#i don't know if any of the “newcomers” here are actual people so here's a heads up!

[killerpancakeburger]

Imagine: Ghost giving you the shovel talk after Soap and you made your relationship official

It's the evening, you two are smoking outside in companionable silence, taking in the star-spangled sky. Suddenly his voice pulls you out of your daydreaming.

"So... you n' Johnny, eh?”

You feel an ominous shiver run down your spine - you do not like the turn this conversation is taking. His tone is steady, like it usually is, but it means nothing when that specter is involved. He could be slicing a throat and his voice wouldn't waver a iota.

If there was anything you learned about The infamous Ghost, in the absence of his identity and the face beneath the mask, it was that the names he used for the people he considered his family were anything but random. Soap was the most common way he refered to his Sergeant, but a Johnny could slip here and there. "Johnny" was personal; intimate; vulnerable; and possessive all at once. Not in the way an insecure lover would act - although...? Maybe...? -, but in the way a pack member would bare his fangs at a newcomer to protect his mates.

There was something animalistic buried within him that would resurface from time to time, when the risk was too great, when the survival of the 141 or of any of its members was jeopardized. Something you would not risk to vex. Simon was extremely protective behind closed doors, it wasn’t a scoop, but you thought yourself safe from his fangs... or at least you did until now.

"Yeah?"

How you hate the interrogation in your voice. As if you were seeking his permission. Like a child knowing they're asking for too much but doing it anyway.

You busy yourself with your cigarette, trying to look unfazed.

"He may sound like a fuckin' playboy most of the times, but he's actually a sensible kinda fella. Doesn't go around givin' his heart to just anyone, y'know?"

You gulp. Take a deep breath. The only way out is through. Might as well be done with it.

"So, is this the part where you swear that no one will ever find my body if I hurt him?"

You're proud of how casual you managed to sound.

He actually chuckles at that. A relaxed, raspy, unbothered kind of sound. Maybe you will walk away with your life tonight after all.

"Got it all figured out, don't ya? But that's good. Saves us some time."

He tosses his cigarette and, for the first time since you’ve been outside, he turns to you and look you in the eye. His stare is as intense as ever.

"We're in agreement, then? Ya'll treat mah boy well?"

"Wouldn't dream of anything else."

"Good lass."

A pause, then:

"This works both way, y'know that, right?"

"Hmm?"

Too busy celebrating your escape from the valley of the shadow of death, you haven't been completely paying attention.

"If he gives ya trouble, I'll knock some sense into that thick head of his."

You look at him again, your face beaming and your chest tingling with a newfound joy.

"Thank you."

You smile, unable to stop the motion of your lips. Your gratefulness is not for the threat he proclaimed, but for the friendship he extends to you.

He doesn't answer. He doesn't need to.

Suddenly a burly arm wraps around your neck.

"What were ya guys talkin' about!? You’ve been there for ages." Pouts Soap.

Glancing over at Ghost, you can see that Johnny has tried to grab him by the neck too, with a lukewarm success, considering the height difference between the two of them.

"Nothin' ye need to concern yerself with", retorts Simon, lying as easily as he breathes.

As Johnny turns to you in hopes of finding an easier target that will confess everything, you nearly miss the conspiratorial wink Ghost sends your way. The action is so far removed from his usual character, you understand that the discrepancy is made to amuse you. So you giggle.

Tonight the sky is full of stars, and your heart full of bliss, the way you feel like your chest might burst with happiness at any moment, with those two men at your side.

A/N: Platonic!Reader x Ghost my beloved 😫 🖤 Tried to make Ghost the less OOC as possible, as usual >_< but man its not a walk in the fookin park.

Trouple potential tho? 👀 sorry not sorry, I can't help it, I love the ambiguity...

[nikka-v]

Apocalypse - Joel Miller x fem! Reader smut

Summary: y/n is raised by Bill and Frank and since they found her they always protected her. Then when two guests arrive, she found a herself crushing on the handsome, older man.

Warnings: nsfw, swearing?, smut, first time (p in v), oral (fem! receiving), age gap! (reader is in her 20s), unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it guys)

Minors DNI, please!!

Hope you like it and I really hope that there won't be many mistakes because I'm not from English speaking country so the grammar is sometimes a bit complicated ♥️

When you first met Joel you were only a child and you technically did not meet him, you just saw him through your window. Bill did not want Tess or Joel to see you or even know about you even though the second thing quickly happened as Frank told them accidentally.

"Have you met any other people around here?" Tess asked Frank who was the only one mainly talking. Bill was his usual self, sitting quietly and carefully watching the two newcomers while slowly drinking his glass of wine.

“Except y/n no. Not even any raiders actually." firstly he did not even realize that he talked about you but Bill quickly shot him a displeasing look. He was extremely protective of you even when you were not his kid. He was the one who found you and brought you home to Frank so he felt the need to protect you all the time.

"y/n? Who is that?" Tess was curious, well who would not be in a world like that when the only 'people' you mainly meet are these undead creatures or people who are trying to rob you? Frank looked at Bill as if he was asking for his permission to tell them about you but even if he shook his head it would not make difference as Frank already started talking.

"She is like our daughter. Well, obviously not by blood but we are raising her like that. Bill found her when he went to see one of the towns a few miles away, it was completely burned but he found there some of the infected hoarding around a small wooden cottage. The parents left their kid there to die because they could not handle taking care of her anymore when she broke her ankle. They even told her that and then said that she will manage on her own better, that the raiders won't kill, they did not think about infected at all." Frank was explaining and surprisingly both Tess and Joel were hanging on to all of his words. "That happened two years ago, she was seven at that time and let me tell you, she was stubborn and had a heart of a fighter, which is making her really hard to raise but we love her. Actually, it would be fun to show her some new people, don't you think?" that question was meant for Bill who quickly rose from the table and shook his head at Frank.

"Not a chance. We do not know these people at all Frank, they will not see her!" Bill was almost screaming at Frank which made him feel really bad later that day but at that moment he thought it would be the only thing stopping him from showing his little girl to some strangers. They did not see you standing near the window, watching the whole situation, carefully so no one would notice you took your small polaroid camera, taking a quick photo of the strangers who were just quietly watching your two guardians arguing. As you looked at the photo and then back at them you felt the man's gaze on you, he could not see you properly, just saw a figure but you quickly hid anyway and stayed hidden until they left, looking at the polaroid photo you took.

You've seen them a few more times but they never saw you, as Bill was strictly against it. So when they stopped coming over you were not that mad but kept the photo anyway, just so you could maybe one day recognize them.

Years went by, during days you helped both Bill and Frank when they needed and later when they fell asleep you disabled the security system and sneaked out. You were walking outside of the fence, waiting for something to happen, for some infected to show or a person to show but for such a long time nothing happened so you kinda started to wish you could go explore other towns and cities. Just to escape the boring life, even though the boring life kept you alive, or at least that's what Frank told you when you confessed to him about your small trips and the wish of going away. He was not angry, that was the difference between Bill and him, Bill would scream and say some nasty stuff but Frank just stared at you blankly and then told you to be careful and take a gun with you. You felt terrible and that's maybe the reason why you stopped thinking about leaving for another few months. Until Joel came at least.

It was one of the calm days, you just celebrated your twenty-second birthday few days ago so you were sitting on a roof with camera that you got from Frank. You got there from the window of your room, watching the area through the scope of your rifle which Bill gave you so you could train shooting and you were surprisingly good. At first, you did not want to believe it, thinking it was maybe just a lost infected but later you realized it was in fact a human being. Actually two of them. Taking your walkie in your hand you quickly informed Bill and Frank who were cooking lunch together.

"Dads? We may have a problem here." you started to call them that when you were twelve. They saved your life and took you in as if you were their kid so it was not a huge surprise that you felt like they were fathers to you.

"What is it y/n? Are you okay?" Bill answered worriedly and you heard him run out. You quickly got down from the roof thanks to a rope you had there from your night walks (a few weeks ago you said to Bill that it was there for emergencies if something happened) and pointed to the horizon where walked the two figures, letting him take your rifle to look through the scope.

"Son of a bitch, get inside y/n and do not come out until I tell you so." you hesitantly looked at Bill who gave you back the rifle and murmured quietly 'please' which made you get back on the roof and to your room. You wanted to know what was going on so you hid behind a curtain and looked through a small hole. You expected Bill to take another gun but he walked closer to the fence, Frank right behind him and opened the gate. Because of the distance, you could not hear what they were telling the other two people but when you took your binoculars to at least look at these people, you recognized them. They were the people from the photo you kept in your nightstand. Joel and Tess. You remembered their name only because Frank told you and you wrote it on the back side of the photo.

"Come in, oh my God Tess, it is so nice to see you again. And the same goes for you Joel." you finally heard Frank's voice as the four of them got closer to the house.

"We are travelling to find Tommy. He's not communicating so we just wanted to stop by and ask if we could stay here one night and tomorrow get going again." Tess explained carefully, probably not to upset Bill but Frank immediately stepped into the conversation.

"Of course, it will not be a problem, right Bill?" he looked at Bill with a stern look which he rarely had to use, mainly because Bill listened to almost everything that Frank wanted.

"Thank you so much, look, we have some new seeds which of course won't be enough to pay for your generosity, but we are willing to give your also some of our supplies and help you with anything you want of course." Tessa was now talking to Bill who just nodded and they all started to walk towards the house again. You leaned towards the window a bit more as you could not see them too much, knocking over a box with some vinyl which you kept in your room. Before you could hide again, Joel's head looked up, making quick eye contact before hiding again. On his face appeared a small smirk as he saw you for a brief moment. He immediately knew who you were.

"No, you can't take her there to meet them." you heard after few minutes Bill's voice behind your door, so you quickly skipped towards them and leaned your ear on it so you would hear the conversation.

"They proved themselves to you many times before, why would they all of sudden do something to us?" Frank was speaking quietly so you barely heard him but they were really close to your room.

"We have not seen them for many years and all of sudden they show up here, that is strange." you tried to remember when you saw them for the last time and it was really a long time ago.

"That is not strange, we were communicating through the radio once in a few months, they are our friends or at least mine, so I am sure it is going to be okay." there was silence behind the door for what felt like few minutes, you already started to think that they left but then a knock on your door startled you, making you jump from the door a bit.

"Yes?" you opened it, seeing Frank who was smiling almost as much as when you first told him to teach you how to play piano.

"We want you to meet someone if you are up for it." it did not take even two seconds for you to nod.

"Yes, of course." Frank led you downstairs, where in the kitchen were sitting the only other people you've ever seen in the house.

"We thought that now when you will be here for the night it would be good to introduce you. This is y/n, the girl I've been telling you about a few years back. Y/N, this is Tess and the grumpy man is Joel." you smiled at them, shaking hands with Tess who smiled at you as well and then when you turned to shake hands with Joel, he was completely and absolutely captivated by you. His lips were parted a little, looking into your eyes as if he saw a miracle. You felt the heat in your cheeks as you smiled at him again and then quickly turned to Frank who was setting up the table meanwhile.

"Can I help you somehow?" you asked him, wishing for him to send you for some stuff but he just shook his head.

"It's all set actually, so no need, but thank you." Frank poured wine into the five glasses on the table and after a few more minutes, when you all sat at the table and were waiting for Bill to bring the food, he brought some fish he caught in the morning that day. The whole time when you were listening to Tess and Frank talking you felt Joel's gaze on you. It was not uncomfortable, not at all, you wanted that man to watch you and maybe even touch you. He was trying so hard not to look at you but he was failing so hard, he just could not help it. You were sitting opposite him, next to Tess so he could pretend to just look at her but actually, it was you and you were aware of that.

"Could you show Joel one of the guest bedrooms? I am going to take Tess to see the garden, so I will show her the other one later." Frank asked you nicely after lunch when Bill was cleaning up alone from the table and then in the kitchen even though both of the guests and you offered your help.

"Sure." that was the only thing you managed to get out of you as you stood up and started walking towards the stairs where you waited for Joel. You could not help yourself but look properly at him, almost scanning him with your eyes.

"Thank you for showing it to me, darling." you had to take a deep breath when he called you that. You basically knew him for only like an hour, so you did not want to show him how attracted you were towards him but let's be honest, after so many years with only your 'fathers' you were horny as fuck and could not handle men affecting properly.

"Here it is, we do not use it normally but the bathroom works and some men's clothes are in the closet, so you can take shower and then change if you want." you tried not to make eye contact by opening the curtains and looking out of the window but after few seconds you looked anyway.

"Thank you again, you really are a good girl." that almost made your knees stop working so you quickly smiled and walked to the door, before saying quick 'bye' and sliding to your own room which was just a few steps from the one where he was. Leaning your back on the door you almost shouted from the feelings that were screaming inside your head.

---

For the rest of the day you were in your room, hiding from everyone, mainly the brown-eyed man who made you want to have sex with him so much. You thought that maybe he did not do it on purpose, that maybe you were imagining all these things but that was not true at all. He was thinking about you the whole day when he was helping Bill around the fence and the house. He could not get you out of his head. You were an angel sent from heaven, that's what he thought.

You wished that they would not have to leave the next day and somehow your wishes came true. Tess fell from a ladder when she was trying to help Frank pick fruits from his tree garden. She did not break her ankle but she bruised it really badly so it was hard for her to walk, so they had to stay for another few days. Both you and Frank were thrilled, even though you did not show it that much but Bill was almost ready to kick them out. It was only because you said to him, that you like the company, that he let it be and let them stay longer.

Joel was always trying to be close to you when it was possible. Helping you carry heavy stuff, even though you were more than capable to do it by yourself, sitting next to you at the table and more importantly leaving small touches on your body when walking around. For example, on your waist, as he was walking around you in tight spaces or just leaving his hand on yours for a brief second when you gave him his coffee or some tools when he asked you to bring him something.

It all happened two days before he and Tess were supposed to leave. Everybody was already in their bedrooms sleeping, that's what you thought when suddenly you heard a quiet knock. You were on the roof but the window was opened so you called on whoever was behind the door to come in. When you saw Joel, you almost wished you could jump from the roof because of how much chemistry was built between you two in the previous days. You could not take any more of it. You were planning on telling him everything the next day so if he laughed at you, he would leave the next day and you would not have to see him again for a long time.

"Can I come in?" he asked as if he did not already close the door behind himself and walked closer to the window.

"Sure, you can come out here as well." you offered and watched how he hesitated for a second but then got out of the window and sat next to you. You were wearing only a long shirt and shorts so your naked legs were touching his because he was wearing just shorts and some hoodie which he found in the closet. You immediately felt goosebumps all over your body so you took a sip of a wine which you brought from the kitchen. Bill did not like you to drink alone but what he does not know does not hurt him, right?

"Why are you sitting here?" he asked nonchalantly and drank from the bottle which you handed him. You had to think about what to tell him but the silence between you was comfortable so you were not in a rush with your answer.

"I like when the world is dark and quiet like this. I can freely think about anything, for example, how is the world out of here. It is such a long time since I've been out there with Bill and saw other places." you explained, looking at the moon which came out from behind the clouds. Of course, you've done a fair amount of exploring by yourself but you were curious about bigger cities and other groups.

"The world is beautiful but terrifying out there. Infected are almost like the smallest problem there. Raiders who are killing anyone in their way and doing other bad things." you knew what he meant by that. Both Bill and Frank told you that many raiders would take advantage of finding a girl like you out in the world.

"I would love to see the world, I don't want to be stuck out here. I love Bill and Frank and I know they want the best for me but I just can't stay here my whole life." you were not complaining but you somehow knew that Joel would understand you.

"I get it, I really do, but let's be honest, even if you could fight and shoot like a pro, it is so hard to survive out there by yourself. You can't leave alone." even though you were looking at the sky, you knew that he was watching you. He was so scared that you would be by yourself and some people would come and kill you or hurt you any other way.

"I know, I am not leaving today if that's what you want to hear." he did not say it out loud, but he felt relieved because of that.

"Okay, that's good to hear, I am sure Bill and Frank would be devastated if you left without saying goodbye." he said instead, making you feel a little hurt because you thought that he did not care about you at all and just was thinking about how your 'dads' would feel, but you quickly shook your head when he was not watching you, to make yourself think straight.

"You and Tess are leaving in two days, right? It is nice to see a couple like you." you still were not sure what exactly was the deal between them. Were they a couple? Friends with benefits? Just friends or partners? You were hoping he would correct you.

"Yeah, that's right." again the hurting somewhere close to your heart before he spoke again. "And we are not a couple. There were some moments where we could be called a couple but we are just friends," he added, watching closely your reaction which you tried to hide but you breathed out with relief anyway.

"Okay, sorry if I am snooping too much." he laughed, quietly but you heard it anyway. His hand on which he was leaning was dangerously close to yours and you started to realize that and moved it a bit closer. Just a few millimetres so he would not realize it, but he did. He was studying all of your moves, wanting to know what was going on in your head.

"Don't worry about it, I don't mind." the bottle in your hand was quickly empty so you put it away next to a few other bottles which you hid so Bill would not find out about you drinking alone.

"I will probably head to bed," you said quietly and looked into his eyes while starting to get inside, where you waited for him to get in, and then you closed the window, making sure to close the curtains as well. Joel was watching you curiously and before you realized he was behind you, you stepped back and bumped into him. "I am so sorry!" you quickly turned to him but did not step away and neither did he. Your faces just were just a few centimetres away from each other and his hands gently touched your waist.

"That's okay, actually I really like to have you so close," he whispered, his eyes jumping from your eyes to your lips. But you were the one who broke the distance, connecting your lips to his. Your hands moved from his chest where they were resting to his shoulders and then behind his neck, pulling him closer to you. He immediately kissed you back, not hesitating for even a second his hands moved to your cheeks, holding you as if you wanted to run away.

So many emotions in just one kiss. You could not believe that this was happening and neither did Joel who for a split second thought that it could have been a dream. He dreamed about you almost every night. You, in his bed or in the shower with him, touching him all over and him doing the same before pressing himself against you and fucking you senseless. But then he realized what was happening and pulled you away just a few centimetres, looking straight into your eyes.

"y/n is this your first time doing anything?" you were a bit scared of this question, thinking that if you said 'yes' he would not want to have anything with you.

"Well, yes but I want it." you had to look away so that if he said something bad you would not have to see his face. But he took your chin with his fingers, making you look at him.

"If you really want it, I can give it to you. I would do anything for you. I can not tell how much I wanted this to happen." as he was speaking you felt sort of relieved that he was saying that but still you were a bit scared. No of the act itself or that it would hurt but because he would think that you are bad at it or something but all these worries melted away as he kissed you again. Slowly his hands travelled down your body, searching for the hem of your shirt which you helped him pull over your head. As he saw your naked body with just shorts on, he had to stop himself from hurrying, he wanted to make it nice for you, wanted to be gentle as much as possible so you would enjoy it.

You put your hands on your breast, shy a bit because of how he was watching you even though the room was kinda dark, just two candles lit at your nightstands. Joel quietly laughed, kissing your forehead before putting his hands on yours, pulling them away so he could see you.

"You are so pretty, baby," he whispered, kissing your neck suddenly, making you whimper quietly as he touched your ribs and then his hands travelled to your chest, caressing your breast. His hands were gentle but rough at the same time and he started to move lower with his kisses, stopping at your stomach as he kneeled in front of you. He then touched the hem of your shorts, questioningly looking at you, asking for permission, which made it even more erotic more you.

"Please, Joel, just touch me somehow." you were needy and who wouldn't if someone like Joel would kneel in front of them? On his face appeared a small smile again, he loved finally seeing you from this perspective. Slowly pulling down the shorts along with your thongs which you stole in a lingerie shop on one of your night runs to the small town nearby.

"Oh god, so beautiful." all these compliments he was giving you caused you to get wetter every second. He looked you in your eyes, waiting again for any sign of discomfort but you gave him the type of look which told him every reassurance he needed. You were absolutely devoted to him, wanting to go all the way with this man who you properly knew for only a few days.

Before you could beg for his touch again, his hand move to your thighs, making your legs spread a little and as you looked at him, he moved closer to you, gently with one stroke licking your clit. You were thinking about one thing, if this felt this good, how will the sex feel? Can it be even better? You could not think much more, he started to suck on your clit, his hands still on your thighs, thumbs rubbing small circles on your skin.

"Joel, that feels so good." you moaned, maybe a bit too loudly, but lucky for you, no one was in the room next to yours. You almost did not notice one of his hands disappear from your wast, entering you with one finger.

"Do you touch yourself, love?" he moved just a few centimetres away from your clit, looking up at you, provoking you with the naughty smirk he had on his lips. Of course, you did, lately more than ever, but who could judge you, it was an apocalypse and you could not be sure if you would ever meet men or women with who you could be sexual.

"Sometimes." you definitely did not want to lie, but why would you tell him how often, right? He probably believed you or if he did not, he did not show it on his face, instead, he put his mouth to use again, hitting the important spot with his finger to which he added one more. You were trying to get steady as your knees started to buckle under the rush of pleasure you were feeling. Joel probably noticed that, as he pushed you a little, so you could have leaned back on the window sill, at least gaining a bit of balance.

One of your hands was in Joel's hair, gently pulling so you would not hurt him but instead of it to show him how good he was making you feel. Of course, you were moaning more loudly because of how close to your first orgasm of the night you were but you were all in for physical contact as it was really important for you.

"Come on baby, cum for me." the hoarse voice of Joel, made you realize how close you really were. As you tried to contain your moans, you bit your lower lip, your head tilted back and the knuckles on your hand with which you were holding the window sill, got white as a result of how much you pressed it.

When you once read about women's orgasms, you found the book in the library, you read about the stars in front of the woman's eyes when it was really good. Well, Joel was definitely good at what he was doing as you really saw stars and it took you a few minutes to calm yourself down. These few minutes Joel was holding you in his arms, letting you lean on him with his full weight.

"That was amazing," you whispered to his chest, your hands on his stomach under his hoodie, He was looking down at you, a tender smile on his face, contemplating how beautiful you were with red cheeks, a bit teary eyes and chewed lips.

"Do you still have energy?" he asked, softly kissing your forehead. You looked into his eyes from under your lashes and smiled as if you still had the energy to do anything. He slowly picked you up and let you put your legs around his waist as he brought you to your bed, where he gently, so he would not hurt you, laid you down and then leaned above you to kiss you on your lips. The kiss lasted probably a few seconds but you wanted it to last forever.

Joel kneeled above you, took off the hoodie and threw it somewhere next to the bed. You already saw him without his shirt when he was helping outside in the sun and was too hot in his usual shirt but now it was much more erotic. He noticed you looking at him and kissed you again, he could not resist you, and probably would do anything you would ask him to at that moment.

"You sure, you wanna do it?" he asked you and somehow that made you more aroused. You liked how he wanted your permission, it was important to you.

"More than anything right now." your voice was more like a whisper as you were starting to get a bit nervous but man, you wanted him to do it immediately. You wanted to feel him inside you, you needed it.

"Look, I am going to be careful, if something was too much, just tell me okay? I will stop immediately." he was a bit worried, you could have heard it in his voice.

"I am sure, it's gonna be okay. No need to worry." you smiled at him, trying to make him feel better, which helped as he smiled back and raised from the bed to take off his shorts and boxers which he had underneath. Before you could properly look at his naked body, he already was above you, between your knees, massaging your sensitive clit again to make you wet, but that was not a problem at all so continued with himself.

He stroke himself a few times but he was already rock hard for some time now. He had to relieve himself the day before just because he saw your side boob in one of your shirts before you went to sleep, so he could not get more aroused by you. He guided the tip of his cock to your entrance, slowly pushing himself into you, not wanting to make it painful.

It was okay for a few seconds but Joel was a lot bigger than you thought, making you stretch around him. You rigged your nails in his shoulders, chewing your lips again, your eyes closed.

"Slowly, please," you whispered to his ear as he lean closer to your neck to kiss you. He tried, he really did and it was really hard given the fact that it was a long time since he had sex and you were so damn tight. It took you some time to get adjusted to him but it was still not enough.

"It's okay baby, we can leave it be, we can try tomorrow, I can prepare you better." he was trying to talk you out of it so he would not hurt you but you were stubborn and too needy for this. You shook your head, not wanting to give up.

"I can try to sit on you." just this sentence almost made Joel cum, you were just so innocent. He pulled himself out, laying on his back, helping you to get above him. You weren't scared, you knew that if he hunted you like this, it would not be his fault but yours because of how stubborn you were, but you just wanted it, needed it.

"Slowly okay? No need to hurry." he tried to calm your movements and hold you by your waist as you took his cock to your hand to guide yourself to it. Slowly you started to lower above him, stretching more than before. The soothing words that Joel was whispering, like 'it's okay, take your time my love' and 'you can do it baby' helped you a lot with the pain which started to disappear. You did not sit at him properly, you both knew that Joel will have to do the last movement but he wanted to wait for your signal.

He turned you both so he could be again above you and with a long kiss on your lips he thrust into you, making you moan and cry out a little.

"So brave for me," he whispered after a few seconds before he started to move a little. The pain was slowly fully replaced by pleasure and you could not hold the moans anymore, kissing Joel to silence yours and his whimpers.

One of your hands was on his shoulder, the other you moved to his waist and then lower, to his ass, pulling him closer to you with each thrust. The little whimpers he made when you moved to kiss his neck made you feel so good, hearing that he was also enjoying that.

"I don't think I will last any longer, my love." when he called you like that a few times, you started to feel this nice feeling in your stomach and now it really affected you a lot more. And in just a few more seconds you felt his fingers on your clit, rubbing circles on it to make you cum along with him. And you did. As you got closer, you tightened around him, making him grunt a little and accompanied by your loud moan you felt him filling you. It was like ecstasy, you thought that you've never experienced such a good feeling as sex with Joel.

The only noises in the room were your deep breaths. Joel lay next to you, pulling you into his arms, which made you feel really good. You needed someone to hold you for so long. All the nice feelings made you suddenly realise that he was supposed to leave soon and leave you there only with Bill and Frank. You looked at Joel with tears in your eyes which scared him a little.

"What is it, baby? Are you okay, is something hurting you?" he asked with concern in his voice but you shook your head to reassure him, that you were okay like physically.

"You are leaving soon." in his eyes appeared the sudden realization of the fact that he still was planning to leave to find his brother. He loved his brother and needed to know that he was okay but he really cared about you and did not want to leave you. He wanted you by his side, actually no, he needed you.

"I need to know my brother is okay." he wanted to take you with him but did not want to risk your life even though you would have him and Tess to protect you. He was not sure what to do.

"I will go with you," you suggested immediately, knowing that he was already thinking about it from the look on his face.

"You know I would love to have you with me, but what if something happened? Your dads would kill me." he tried to joke a little but you just wanted to go with him, not caring about what they would think. You knew they would be doing just fine without you.

"I do not care, Joel, please, let me come. I know how to fight and shoot, I can take care of myself and help you and Tess." you were looking into his eyes, almost begging him to take you with them. Not only that you would be with him but you could explore the world and finally see the proper cities you wanted.

"We will talk about it tomorrow, yes?" he asked, kissing your forehead, and making you close your eyes. "We will try to think of something," he added as if he was convincing himself more than you.

And as you nodded and started to slowly fall asleep, the last thought you had in your mind was, that he could disappear before you wake up and come back only if he will find his brother and survive.

[fatuismooches]

Kind of dark stuff ahead? Basic Dottore warnings to be honest (blood, experimentation, he pretty much dissects someone, straps them down while they cry and beg for mercy, in front of the other Fatuis since they made you cry as a lesson, so yeah)

Been thinking about Dottore displaying to everyone in the lab what would happen to them if they crossed you, or Tsaritsa forbid, made you cry. By this point, everyone who works with Dottore or in his labs would know of you. And it'd take longer if you were sickly, but as soon as your presence is discovered, and the regular workers are aware of your standing as their Lord Harbinger's lover, immediate respect is afforded to you without any question. Do they have millions of questions? Yes, absolutely, but they prefer to keep their lives. Surprisingly though, you're... quite nice to them? It's honestly a breath of fresh air considering how the segments treat them, so the respectful way the agents treat you is a mixture of how they actually like you and how they don't want to end up as the Doctor's next test subject. There are always newcomers who are wholly unaware of you and who you are, so the older agents try to inform them as soon as possible. However, one learned the truth far too late, sealing his fate. Berating you for one minor slip-up that was just an accident, that was out of your control. And the other Fatuis are there absolutely panicking, trying to explain that you were not just an experiment, that you were- it was too late, because tears were already rolling down your eyes as you quickly exited the room. And the agents think, they are so fucked because they have no idea what the Doctor will do to them now that you've cried in their presence. They can only hope that he will have mercy on them, and punish the idiot who made you cry directly.

The next day, a multitude of Fatui agents, soldiers, scientists, and really whoever happened to be in the lab that day, were called into a room. It was very random, considering they never had meetings since the segments didn't like to be bothered with such frivolities, but upon entering the room, the same sinking feeling pooled in their stomachs. There was a lone operation table in the middle of the spacious room, along with a small table that had yet to hold anything. Strapped to the operation table was one of their fellow agents, bound and gagged, his screams were the only thing filling the room as the other Fatuis could only watch on speechlessly. Next to the (former) agent, was their Lord Harbinger. And no, this wasn't one of his segments, it was Prime, the real Il Dottore himself. Prime himself came to make a statement. Many of the agents hadn't even seen him until now, only encountering his numerous segments. And to the side of him was Omega too. The combination was enough to make some Fatuis want to faint and throw up, but they knew they couldn't for they weren't sure if they'd wake up again.

"I do believe that this is enough people. Word gets around quite fast around here, anyway," Prime hummed to no one in particular as if there wasn't a man crying next to them. Nonchalantly, he circled around the operation table, paying no mind to the muffled "please" and "i'm sorry" echoing like a broken record from the agent's mouth.

"It has come to my attention that some of you have trouble understanding orders," Prime Dottore began, his voice striking the highest amount of fear into the Fatuis. "I make myself clear, do I not? So why do you all still lack common sense? Why..." his gaze suddenly snapped to the tied-down man, "have I discovered that some of you still fail to respect [Name] the same way you do with me? Do you believe that you, a lowly person such as yourself, have the authority to speak to them in such a way?"

"I despise having my time wasted, especially by fools. Therefore, I expect this will serve as a reminder if you ever dare to think about crossing [Name], and consequently me." Prime then adjusts his gloves and motions to Omega, who then begins to set the table with... medical instruments he's retrieved from a bag. Only that they will certainly not be used ethically. The man only becomes more frantic at the sight of the dangerously sharp and pointy objects, but there's nothing you can do, once you're in the Doctor's clutches.

And so the group of onlookers got a front-row seat of one of the Doctor's experiments. As horrifying as it was, no one dared to look away.

Let's just say no one ever dared to make you sad ever again.

[halfagone]

Let Gotham Be Terrifying

I've seen many different takes and versions of Gotham, but I would love to play into the fact that Gotham is the second most crime-ridden city in America. That's right- Gotham, for all its horrible cruelty, still does not compare to Blüdhaven. But that doesn't make it any less terrifying, especially to newcomers.

I know a lot of people say that Amity Parkers would be desensitized to the Rogue attacks, because of the ghosts that constantly haunt the streets. But I think they would actually be more horrified of Gotham because of the ghosts.

Because here's the thing about Danny's Rogues Gallery. For all intents and purposes, they don't actually want to hurt people. The ghosts might not be harmless, but neither are they expressly malicious.

The Box Ghost? Give him some of your leftover cardboard from when you were moving apartments, he'll appreciate them and leave you alone for a while as a thank you. If you catch him at the right time, he might even be willing to lend a helping hand. With the promise of the boxes afterwards, he doesn't do work for free after all.

Lunch Lady? You'll see her at the soup kitchens or the food banks lending a helping hand; sometimes she even gets invited to the soccer games to act as hostess and she makes the best main dishes. And her dessert? People have made remarks that they're to die for, which is more than a little insensitive but hey, still true.

Ember McLain? Phantom's made a deal with her: so long as she keeps her mind control out of her music, she can play however much she wants. They hold weekly concerts in the park, you just gotta make sure everyone scatters by the time the Fentons arrive, and don't say shit to the GIW when they come around asking, and everyone comes out of this happy.

Kitty and Johnny? Sure, their arguments always cause a ruckus, and it can be more than a little awkward to watch a couple scream at each other in public. But if you're willing to lend a kind ear to Kitty when she's upset, she's far less likely to lash out and hurt people as a result. As for Johnny, let him do a couple laps around town and he'll get his head on straight. If the Red Huntress doesn't do it for him, of course. And when they're on good terms, you'll sometimes see them walking about town, holding hands and just having fun. Sometimes they'll buy some ice cream or other treats from stores. No one really knows where they got the money, but it's legit and no one feels the need to turn them away, if they're respectful about private property.

Youngblood? He's a bit brash and immature, but sometimes you'll catch him hanging out with Phantom playing astronauts. Sometimes you'll even see him hanging out with that girl Phantom playing cowboys. He likes to play at the parks and playgrounds with the other kids his age. And yeah, sometimes he hogs the toys a little too long, but he's the best storyteller the kids on the yard have ever seen. He's a great playmate once you get the hang of it.

As for Skulker... eh, he and Phantom have their fights but honestly, it's the collateral damage that causes more problems than the ghosts themselves. The morning commute should not take this long.

Spectra got ran out of town forever ago and at this point, people can recognize her on sight. If your mental health has taken a startling downturn, contact one of the helplines and if worse comes to worst, reach out to Phantom to make sure she's not sticking her nose where no one wants her.

Desiree- watch your mouth and stop saying the word 'wish' and you're set for life. She can be petty sometimes, but again, that's why you watch your mouth.

For 7 out of the 9 cases here, the ghosts don't actually mean much harm. Other, more powerful ghosts like Vortex or Nocturn don't come around often. They might think Phantom is a little bitch, but they respect his territory. They would do the same if they were in his place. Predator acknowledging predator, as I like to say.

But that's the distinct difference. The ghosts can be bargained with, reasoned with. If you give them some other outlet, more often than not they're willing to take it and don't bother anyone first.

The Gotham Rogues on the other hand? There is no indulging the Joker or Black Mask or Scarecrow. In some cases, even when Mr. Freeze's wife is cured or he's finally let her go, he still keeps to his life of crime. What about Harvey Dent? Zsasz? Manbat? A lot of these Rogues cannot be reasoned with.

And this isn't even including the drug dealers and the muggers and the traffickers. This isn't even including the corrupt police and the even more corrupt local government. This isn't even including the likes of the Court of Owls and the rich and elite that run the show. This isn't even including the League of Assassins, who've always had a vested interest in the city.

And isn't that sad? Doesn't that say something when the living are crueler than the dead?

So give me a Danny or a Jazz or a Tucker or a Sam- any Amity Park citizen you want- that is disturbed by the thoughtless destruction and murders. Give me a Jazz that takes one look at the Arkham Asylum patients and is unnerved by their incapability to change. Give me a Danny that visits Gotham one time to lend a hand, and by the end of it, he turns to Batman and he says, "I don't know how you do it."

Because this is a family of vigilantes, who all besides one, do not have powers. They have to cover a city filled with millions of people, watch over them every night, and try to stop any possible terrible atrocities. Because even if every single member of Batman's Rogues Gallery suddenly dropped dead, Gotham has far deeper issues than just them. That is why Batman's crusade is endless. That's why it's not as simple as flicking a switch.

Gotham is terrifying. And what does it say when the Batman can put the fear of god into a city like that?

Batman is terrifying, and I think sometimes that can be a reminder to us all.

[bakvrue]

a man's strength

izuku x reader

provocative imagery, strength kink, izuku and reader are married and in love (feverishly so), mostly fluff with horny sprinkles, for my lovely mimi, ~1.3k wc

The cheers from the audience echo through the back halls of the late night studio and you make yourself comfortable in the green room.

This isn't the first time you've sat backstage while your husband smiles and waves at the large crowd. The host, a newcomer who has just recently snagged the prime slot, ushers Izuku over to his seat but when he goes to sit the applause continues.

Who wouldn't want to keep cheering for the number one hero? But your husband plays it down, laughing it off coolly and thanking them before sitting down.

Izuku could barely talk on stage in your first year of high school, turning into a defective robot, but years of experience really does make all the difference.

The host, Lux Larson, plays off of the audience spectacularly. The topics they discussed before the show are a hit with the audience, and the banter they have with Izuku and their band leader is actually funny. It's refreshing.

They laugh like old friends and Izuku tells harrowing stories of recent rescues, he talks about being a husband and you. Pink dusts his ears when you're brought up but the conversation naturally moves on to talk about the new hero initiatives Izuku is promoting. And before long the interview is over.

“Mr. Deku, thank you so much for being here tonight.” Lux sticks their hand out and Izuku happily accepts, shaking it with a smile. “The grip strength on this guy. Wow. More with Deku right after this!”

You hear a buzzer and people on set start moving all at once and you're confused when your husband is led from his seat to the large open area. He still seems relaxed, he must know what's going on, but you don't.

Your eyebrows furrow, the smile on your husband's face is enough to make you suspicious.

A knock pulls you from your mind before you can start to theorize.

“Mrs. Midoriya, your presence is requested at the center stage.”

You follow the assistant through the maze of hallways until you're standing behind the cameras.

The large open stage now has a large sturdy stand holding a glass window. More are off to the side with a variety of thicknesses, and a dawning washes over you.

Izuku jogs over to you the moment he spots you, his smile is so big, he's so excited.

“Izuku, is this why you were practicing your punches in the mirror this morning?”

You cock an eyebrow at him and as much as he would love to bask in the playfulness of your voice right now, he's on a time limit.

“We'll be starting soon, I want you to be front and center to enjoy the view.”

“What do you mean enjoy the—”

A buzzer goes off and he kisses your forehead.

“Watch me,” he whispers softly into your hairline before he walks back to Lux.

The lights dim and a producer counts down until Lux takes over.

“Hello and welcome back! We're still here with Deku and we're about to see the Pro's strength in action. What we have in front of us is a single pane of bulletproof glass. Have you ever punched through glass like this?”

Izuku's hands are in his pockets as he leans down to talk into the microphone Lux is holding, “I've punched through many things but I can't say that I’ve ever punched through bullet proof glass on purpose.”

“I can't imagine any of us have either,” Lux laughs. “Normally punching through glass is very dangerous, and we do have medical staff on standby, but how are you protecting yourself?”

Izuku takes off his suit jacket and begins rolling up his sleeves as he says, “I'll be wrapping my arm with one of my quirks, it should shield my skin from loose glass and prevent me from breaking anything.”

Lux laughs, “Break anything? I don't think the studio can cover breaking you. Are we sure about this? Audience, what do we think?”

The audience cheers and your husband has the audacity to turn and wink at you.

Lux points their finger at the audience, “If he breaks it's you guys that are footing the bill!” The producer hands safety glasses to the two on stage and Lux pats Izuku on the back before backing up. “Whenever you're ready!”

The band gives him a drum roll, “Now kids, don't try this at home.”

He gives you a half smile as he turns to face glass in front of him. The drumroll gets faster and so does your heart, pounding in your chest as wisps of black whip curls around his hand and wrist.

He pulls backwards, the muscles in his back causing his shirt to strain as he pushes them to their max. Electricity crackles in the studio as he punches. His fist collides with the glass, and you watch almost in slow motion as the glass cracks and gives way. His punch goes clean through, an almost perfect circle missing from the center of the shattered glass.

You gulp, realizing just why your menace of a husband wanted you up here. You shift your weight hoping the spark inside you doesn't turn into a raging fire.

Izuku is talking to Lux, probably talking about the breaking points of bullet proof glass and replaying the slow mo footage of the break.

You can see it playing on screen, and while the two of them are interested in the way the cracks in the glass all converged to a single point, you're too busy staring at the bit of forearm not concealed my black whip. Thick, powerful ropes of muscle…

You refocus on the two talking, Lux is pointing out a rip in the seam of Izuku's shirt, to which your husband decides to rip the shirt even further, pulling at the threads until they break.

Now shirtless, he lines up to punch a new piece of bullet proof glass. This one is three times thicker than the last.

His body braces again, but this time you can see every muscle tense in his back. His shoulder pulls back, and he thrusts his fist forward. The glass cracks under the force as his tricep bulges. He plunges his fist harder and deeper, feeling the glass resist him before it breaks to his whim.

The crowd claps at his strength as you struggle to stand. Your cheeks are heating as you watch the replay. The slow motion video shows just how easy it was for him. Like a knife slicing through butter.

You step back farther into the shadows behind you, covering your face. And Izuku knows. He smiles at you and you hope and pray to god that he does not come over here, that the cameras don't record the absolute hunger that must be sitting behind your eyes.

The third and final pane of glass is moved into position. A level eight. It's eight times thicker than the first and made to withstand 5 shots of an ak47.

Izuku once again braces himself for the punch, his bare back glistening under the hot studio lights.

His fist closes, and he presses it against the glass focusing on his breathing.

A drop of sweat trails down his back and he pulls his arm back. He breathes deeply before unleashing his power on the glass.

His fist collides with the glass. The force pushing and bending the thick glass around his arm, until it snaps and shatters.

The leftover shape reminds you of what a drawing of wormholes look like, except this one is broken to pieces in the deepest part of the pit.

The pure raw strength of your husband is enough to break through the strongest of security measures. You feel dizzy.

You reach your hand out towards the wall behind you and look at your monster of a husband. He's laughing with Lux before they send the program off to commercial break.

Thank god the dressing room has a lock, if you'll even make it that far...

[catoslvt]

Gally (tmr) x Reader

You were the first person to come up. It starts with a girl and ends with a girl.

Not together.

I stand with furrowed eyebrows as I watch gally stand and laugh with everyone.

Out of an entire maze with forty-four gladers, it's safe to say I only hate one.

Gally.

But I don't actually hate him, I actually really love him, but for some unknown reason, we act as if we're sworn enemies, but we both know that's not true.

But today, our forty fourth glader came up, so I suppose I should act happy with everyone.

As I slowly approach the group, I watch as Gally quickly realises I'm approaching and straightens his posture and crosses his arms, he always does this and I'm not sure why, I normally just put it down to me being the leader here.

"Hey guys, has anyone seen the new greenie?" I quiz and everyone shakes their head.

"Shouldn't you be keeping an eye on him?" Gally asks as he raises an eyebrow at me.

"I thought Alby was, but he's clearly here." I say as I motion to Alby, who's stood with Clint and Jeff as they both advise him to stop drinking, usually at the bonfire for the new greenie, alby doesn't drink, but when we hit the forty mark he stopped caring, realising that we're probably not getting out of here any time soon.

Suddenly, my attention is snapped to screaming coming from the deadheads, and I take off in a sprint towards the screaming as it actually sounds terrifying, but I let out a groan of annoyance when I realise its just Minho and Ben pranking the greenie, who stands doubled over with a heart over his chest.

"We're having a meeting first thing tomorrow." I tell them all as I point at them before I walk back to the party and Newt and I shush everyone.

"So guys, after something that just happened there, I've decided that we'll be having a meeting tomorrow morning first thing after breakfast, which is perfect because us runners have the day off tomorrow." I announce, and everyone groans and sighs, but Gally just sort of stares at me with a proud smile. Normally, I'd beg Alby to do the meeting announcements, but then I thought why should I?

I was the first person here, so people should respect me.

As I stand in front of everyone, I clear my throat.

"So, I'd like to clarify that there will be no scaring of the Greenies until they're used to the glade and have remembered their names." I say to everyone, and the new greenie nods. He hasn't remembered his name yet, but I'm assuming he'll figure it out by the end of today.

"But how? That isn't fair." Frankie complains and I motion around the room which is full of people.

"You have tons of other people to scare, but scaring the newcomers isn't fair. Don't want them dying of a heart attack before they've even remembered their names, right?" I ask, which earns a wave of laughter from more than half of the room, but the other guys just groan, the sexist guys.

"Why should I be taking orders from a girl?" One spits, I'm not looking at their faces so I don't know who.

"Because im the first in command?" I say confused.

"And what did Alby have to say about this?" Freddie, frankies possible twin brother by how alike they look ask and I turn to them and just shrug.

"I don't give two shucks about what alby thought, I'm the leader here. I don't need to run past my rules to anyone apart from myself." I state, and they both just scoff.

"Yeah, they put a girl in charge and were still stuck in the maze. Maybe they should put Alby in charge. We'd get out of here much faster." Frankie growls, and everyone turns to him almost in shock.

"Okay, frankie, how would you feel if you were the leader here? You had all these responsibilities thrown on you, half of the things you don't even understand? How would you feel if you had to juggle being a runner and being in command? You couldn't handle one day in my shoes, so just slim it." I warn and they both laugh.

"Go ahead, put me in charge. We don't need some useless girl like you in charge. Makes sense on why there's forty-three of us and only one of you." He then adds and that's when I lose it.

"I said slim it, one more word out of either of you, and it'll be three days in the slammer with no food." I threaten, pointing a finger stern at them.

"She's losing the soon she's threatening us how scary." Freddie cries and I throw my hands up in anger.

"You know what? If you think it's so easy being first in command, then you can take my job. I don't shucking want it." I spit before I push through the group of boys and leave the meeting hut, walking towards the deadheads.

Once I found my usual spot where I sit to clear my mind, I hear footsteps approaching, and I expect to year either frankie or Freddie continuing the argument, but instead I hear newt let out a little laugh.

"You will not believe what gally done back there." He ushers as he sits next to me, and I look at him and raise my eyebrows.

"Hm? What did he do?" I ask and he laughs again.

"He punched both of them, but you weren't there to punish him, and Alby and I pretended we didn't see it, so he can't get punished." Newt says, and I let out a laugh.

"Did he say anything before he hit them?" I gasp, my stomach filling with butterflies at the thought of gally someone for me.

"He said,'Will you two just shuck off and leave her alone? She doesn't deserve any of your cruel comments she does everything for everyone, and you two do nothing. One day, when we get out of here, you'll realise how much we need y/n.' And then he just punched both of them and stormed out." Newt explains and my eyes widen.

"I should thank him. Where did he go?" I exclaim and Newt thinks for a second.

"Towards the builders area." Newt answers.

"Great! Thanks, newt." I happily gasp before I jump up and begin running towards where the builders work, quickly slowing my running speed to a normal walking pace when I see gally throwing bricks at the ground.

"Gally." I say as I slowly approach him, and he drops the bricks and stares at me.

"How long do I have in the slammer?" He grumbles, and I shake my head.

"You're not going in the slammer gally, I didn't see it, and Alby and Newt both turned a blind eye to it, so technically, it didn't happen." I say and he just nods.

"So gally, why did you do it? I mean, I thought you'd be on their side with how much you hate me." I then ask and he just stares at me.

"You know I don't hate you, and they had no right to say those things, I mean, we've survived this long because of you, we'd be nothing without you, and I could see that you were getting really annoyed. You shouldn't let those shanks get to you. They're just annoyed that you're the leader, and they're not." Gally says as he tries his best to give me a comforting smile.

"But what if I don't want to be in command anymore? I just want to be me." I say with a small frown.

"Then who would be in charge y/n? You're the best leader we could've asked for." Gally pushes and I shake my head.

"You're only saying that because I'm here in front of you, all the other times I was near you, you acted as if you didn't want me there gally, you're only saying all of this to get out of being put in the slammer." I tell him as I shake my head and he furrows his eyebrows as he steps closer to me.

"Y/n, I don't hate you." He tells me, and I just scoff.

"So what's with all of the glares? All of the mean comments?" I quiz, and he grabs my face and looks deep into my eyes, his stare sensing shivers down my spine.

"We both know the answer to that." He states and I shake my head.

"No, gally, I don't. I've never understood why you hate me, I've asked newt, but he doesn't know either, so why me? Why do you hate me." I exclaim, extremely frustrated and gally doesn't say anything, and instead, he leans in and kisses me, taking me by surprise, but I kiss back anyway my hands making their way around his neck as I pull him closer than ever, as close as we've ever been.

"That's why I acted as if I hated you y/n, because deep down I loved you, but I didn't want any of the other boys to know incase they got you before I did." Gally complains, and I stare at him, extremely confused. Before it hits me, gally would've been jealous.

"You should've just told me gally!" I exclaim as I then hit one of his shoulders out of pure outrage that he never told me.

"I didn't know you felt the same way. You returned the hatred feeling." Gally complains, and I let out a quiet chuckle.

"I was trying to make the feeling mutual." I argue, and he smiles.

"God, you're such a shank." He tells me before he kisses me again, my smile widening against his lips.

[54bpm]

Tips For Vtubers

Howdy there, I’m Liv and I’m a vtuber much like you, but I’ve been here the whole time so I’m here to compile stuff for you to help make your transition less scary.

To start, here’s is a post with a lot of tips for general tumblr use and here’s one for giving your blog a custom theme.

Beyond that here’s other things that aren’t mentioned but are gonna be relevant for you:

If you’re coming back to tumblr know that you can’t follow from your sideblog, if you want to follow back it will be from your main, as will your likes, replies, asks. Decide what to do with this information now before you settle into a blog.

Fully explore the settings, there's a ton of stuff hiding in there. AND do it on PC at least once, some stuff is not in the app.

Blogs have individual block lists, no idk why either. So if you want someone banned from everything you need to do that manually.

 Also enable tumblr Labs! It’s got reblog graphs which are rad (my beloved orbs) And alternate dashboards, the Blog Subscriptions one is my fave because it means all you have to do is turn on notifications to get all your fave guys in one dashboard.

Contrary to popular belief there is still a porn and adult content community here, if you want to get anywhere near them you have to have age in bio or they’ll smite you. EDIT: I posted more about how to navigate lewdposting here.

Tiktok embeds don't play nice with tumblr for some reason, if you also do tiktok then just reupload your videos and link your account there underneath.

The link post type will show up for your followers but there’s a chance it won’t show up in any tags, so don’t do going live posts like that.

BUT you can straight up embed your stream into your posts! As long as you're using the New Post Editor you should see this menu:

Click the video camera, link to your twitch and bam. There it is. You can also do this with the video post type! If you're ever worried about your post format getting bonked just go through the tags and see what posts that DO make it are doing. Together we can overcome spaghetti code.

General "tumblr culture" is to not comment on posts but its not one thats set in stone, your fellow small vtuber account is probably dying for interaction so comment on posts! scream in the tags! send funny asks! Getting interaction right now is going to be a big comfort during a weird time.

Oh yeah we have ask boxes built in, no marshmallow needed.

ALSO we have pinned posts just like twitter, but as long as you want! Put your ref & socials & art tag (yes you can keep your fanart tags) & your minors DNI & a picture of your cat if you want.

OH I do suggest picking out tags for your personal content if you plan to also do reblogging, makes it easy for newcomers to find what you're doing.

#vtuber and #indie vtuber are full of fanart for the big guys. If you wanna find each other use #vtuber uprising

Okay this post is getting so long but final tip: check out custom pages. They're on the custom theme menu and they're basically mini webpages on your blog that can have their own coding. You can do Literally Whatever. Lore! Credit page! Ref sheets! I once put a choose your own adventure where you navigated by clicking specific parts of a picture on tumblr pages. I Mean Anything.

That's all for now, please add other tips if you want. And please reblog! Not just this post but other peoples too! This will all be way less of a drag if we can find each other. 💖

EDIT: One more thing, lolisho shit Does Not Fly here. They are some of the only tags that tumblr has actually shadowbanned and there is a reporting criteria for it to get taken down. It also doesn't fly on my blog! Begone!!

[johnslittlespoon]

curtbuckbucky nightclub au .* :☆ﾟ. ☽

open for drabble/more pics! <3

alright, i've never done a proper 'intro' post for a fic/au i have in mind, but this one has been rotting in my brain for ages and i know there's no way i'm not gonna write something for it eventually so here goes, bear with me <3 made a lil edit (took me fucking hours to collect enough stock footage lmfao) to go along with it too >:)

a modern au where college student curt is a regular at a new–ish queer nightclub, showing up every friday night without fail to dance his heart out, his way of de–stressing at the end of every week and getting his pent up energy out. he's the prettiest little thing, dresses up so fun– some nights he throws on dresses or crop tops with skirts or short shorts when he's feeling it, other nights he goes for more of a relaxed baggy pants and flowy linen button up type of vibe– always with the same pair of scuffed up sneakers on for ease of dancing.

the bartenders and other regulars adore their bubbly little club bunny, always looking out for him, doting on him with free drinks and food. and even if some of them eye curt like he's dinner when he's out on the floor swaying his hips, eyes closed to fully lose himself in the music, the glitter on his eyelids and cheekbones catching the lights just right, curt's not there for any of that. he dances with people occasionally, he's confident and carefree and likes the attention and it makes him giggle when he catches newcomers staring, doesn't mind a wandering hand here and there, but he never goes home with anyone. the same routine, every friday, dancing until his dark waves are curling damp with sweat against his temples and his black eyeshadow is smudged and he leaves to make the walk back to the flat he shares with a few roomies.

enter john and gale, longterm boyfriends who sometimes like to go out clubbing and find someone pretty to bring home for a fun time, only an open relationship in that sense– they have no interest in actually dating other people, both adamant that it's no strings attached, too head over heels for each other to have eyes for anyone else anyway.

they decide to check out a club they haven't been to yet, usually sticking to the tried and true ones, but a couple of their friends recommend it, so they give it a go one friday night. they've barely sat down at the bar with their drinks when they see a boy who, john comments to gale, looks like the 'energizer bunny' (gets a snort out of curt when he tells him so in the future.) even once they're buzzed enough to head out onto the dance floor together, neither of them can take their eyes off of the bundle of energy, mesmerized.

they both know the other is equally enamoured with the boy, drinking up all the glitter and bouncy curls and blissed out smiles, already knowing they just have to have him– the prettiest thing they've ever seen. curt's confused when they approach him, because he's noticed them too, has been admiring from afar, but he's also noticed their hands and lips all over each other, dancing much too close and comfortably to not be a couple. but john purrs out "we just like to have a little fun every now and then sweetheart, don't you?"

and no, not really, he doesn't. usually a night of exhausting himself dancing is his idea of fun, not ever looking for anything else, not finding most guys worth his time. but john and gale sweet talk him just right, spend time actually getting to know him when he agrees to let them buy him a drink at the bar, and fuck, they're both the hottest things he's seen walk into the club in a long time, and they're giving him all their attention? he decides that maybe he'll be brave and flirt back. despite his confidence and lack of caring what other people think about him, he's so shy and easily flustered when someone he's actually into makes the moves on him, doesn't even know what to do with himself when he realizes he's blushing at their compliments and the combination of their heavy gazes on him.

obviously they all get each other worked up as the night goes on, and curt goes home with them and gets his world rocked, spoiled and pillow princess–ed and showered in praise, not at all what he expects hook–ups to be like after having only been with people he's been dating. he expects to walk back home after since they all live in the same vicinity of downtown, tries to ignore his wobbly legs when he finally crawls out of bed, gets dragged back down by gale for one last messy breathless makeout while john gets him an uber before curt can protest or offer to pay.

normally john and gale don't get the numbers of their one night stands, but they want to make sure he gets home safe, and they can both gauge how the other is feeling and they know they'll want to see him again if they're lucky enough for curt to say yes, so john puts his number into curt's phone and tells him "text when you're home safe, yeah? or, y'know, text whenever you want." and curt isn't sure if this is john saying they both want to see him again, because he's dense and shy and they made it clear beforehand that they're in a closed relationship, but next friday he texts to let them know he'll be at the club again, and john and gale tell him they'll be there, the three of them going home together for a second time that night, and they fall into a routine from then on.

curt gets giddy every friday, dolling himself up extra pretty for the two men, flushed at their attention every time and so thrilled to dress up for someone other than himself for once. he can already feel himself going all heart–eyes for them after the second or third time they hook up, but he knows where he stands, and he's having fun experimenting for the first time and having two experienced, sweet guys show him a good time every week, so he doesn't want to jeopardize that by getting his feelings involved.

little does he know that john and gale are falling head over heels too for this sweet energetic boy, loving how much he spices up their lives, both in the bedroom and out, realizing their flat feels so quiet now on the nights where they don't take curt home with them. so that leads to some serious conversations to see if they're on the same page about getting to know curt better, both of them learning how to navigate this new territory because neither of them expected to want to bring someone else into their world like this. they agree they'd like to take curt out on a cute date, during the daytime for once, to properly test the waters and see how curt feels– of course he slots into their lives perfectly, as if he's been there all along. <3

but along the way: lots of slow burn, miscommunication, endless filthy smut, curt trying to balance college and work and friends with his newfound feelings for john and gale, john and gale getting dragged to raves and festivals by their always adventurous bf, city night–life juxtaposed by early morning domesticity, etc etc.

this has been floating around in my head for a couple weeks since i got this vision of 2012–stalker–era barry with eyeshadow and glitter stuck in my brain and thus a whole universe/plot spawned from it. honestly would mostly be pwp, but would love to write a proper fic for it anyway eventually, each chapter littered with filth, obviously LOL. i have so many thoughts and so many little scenarios planned out in my head already... these three have me in a chokehold.

i need to make proper intro/drabble posts like these for my other aus too aghhh it just takes so longggg because i get carried away with the drabble and then i have to find the perfect clips for edits and the perfect pics to tie it all together and suddenly i've spent half a day on one post but. someday <3 leaving!bikeriders au next surely! thx for reading hope u enjoy this version of the boys and hopefully i'll have time to write it soon!

all posts about this au will be under #curtbuckbucky nightclub au :-)

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Exactly as you are

Previous chapter / Next chapter

a/n well look at us meeting at part three already. Thank you so much for all of your love. And an extra thank you to @brekkershadowsinger for being my knight in shining armor and a beta reader! Love you so much!🤍

summary: when two broken souls meet something is bound to happen.

warning: mention of past trauma, anxiety, sexual assault, murder.

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The sun peaked through the open window. The sun - which was supposed to warm and bring hope did little for the coldness that lingered in the room. Kaz rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. Sleep just didn't find him tonight. And how could it be when all he heard were your cries? Screams and pleas that dragged way into the night. Kaz leaned back into the chair that he had pulled over hours ago. His gaze fell on your curled-up body, now fast asleep in his bed. His pillow beneath your head, his blanket warming up your body, his shirt clenched between your hands as you held it closer to your chest.

When Kaz had made his way back, the first person he was greeted with was Jesper. He could tell that the man was lingering. Purposely trying to wait out to catch Kaz there. Kaz thought about ignoring him, and he was going to until Jesper spoke up, "I'm sorry. You know that I am", dirtyhands spun around to face his crow. A cold, predatory gaze seeped through his eyes. Not family. Not friends. A boss and his investment, "Are you, though?" Now step away from one another, they were practically breathing at each other's throats. "Imagine that was Wylan? What would you do, Jesper? How far would you go?", Kaz barked out and turned away in an instant. Too much. Jesper had already seen too much. There had been too much. Too much was at stake. Too many people were involved.

"You love her", Jesper breathed out. "You…", but Kaz quickly turned back to him, the tip of his cane now pointed straight at Jasper's throat. "One more word, and I will rip your throat out". The warning was primal, raw, and something that deep down Jesper hoped Kaz would never actually do, but from the way, Kaz's eyes blazed and the way his hand shook ever so slightly, "Consider yourself lucky because Wylan was there if none of you would have been…", but his words died down. Choked out by that fear of losing once again. Kaz had already run through every possible scenario and every feasible way that those two could have hurt you. He needed names. Needed a reason. Now he wished he had left at least one of them alive. One of them to tell Kaz, who had been stupid enough to try to get to you when you were his. Because those faces were new to him tonight. Not prepared. He was as unprepared as the crows, and for that alone, Kaz couldn't find the strength to properly punish Jesper.

"Take Inej and sift through the docks. I need reports of all the newcomers, their names, who they work for, and why they came here. Find out who those two were", Kaz ordered, fingers running through his hair in frustration. He needed to calm down. To properly pull himself together. His emotions were too much of a giveaway that he cared. But shouldn't he? Shouldn't he care? His business might be in danger. There was a tassel in his club. His property was damaged. Who knew how much it would cost to get the blood off the floor? "Inej is upstairs with Nina looking after Y/N", Jesper muttered, and Kaz only nodded his head. "Good, go after it or go alone. I don't care".

"Kaz", you had muttered at least a thousand times since Jesper had walked in with you in his arms, shaking like a leaf. Nina dragged a wet cloth down your back, locking eyes with Inej, who was just as worried, before turning to you. "He will be here shortly, darling. Fix a couple of things, and I will be with you", she said as lightheartedly as she could, although Nina doubted if the state Kaz would come back in would help you in any way. The heartrender had suspicions. Most of the crows did. You two were almost glued to each other. And for goodness sake, who else besides you got to sit on Kaz's bed, let alone lay or sleep in it? No one. They couldn't even breathe the same air as him for longer than intended. But then there was you. And no matter when or for how long you stayed in Kaz's office, there wasn't a time when you were cursed out and pushed through the door. Together. Almost always together. Kaz's heartbeat changed first. At least that was what Nina caught onto. Maybe it wasn't affection at first, but still, you managed to alter Kaz's heart. Give strength to the beats, but lighten them at the same time.

"Kaz", you muttered your mantra, once again, big puffy eyes looking up at the two girls. Inej was a breath away from comforting you once more, but Nina cut in swiftly, changing the subject, "Let's get you out before you turn into a prune. Come, up you go", she pulls at your hands, making you stand, before wrapping a towel around your naked body. "Inej, why don't you fix a cup for all of us, huh?", but there was more behind this, and Inej could tell. Almost a silent plea to go look for Kaz. That whatever Nina was doing to keep you calm wasn't going to hold for much. She could feel it too. Slowly bubbling. Building up.

Kaz selfishly did not want to seek you out after all. Why would he? You had Nina and Inej. What would he do there? Stand and look? But then shouldn't he go up there and demand answers? Maybe the two had told you what they wanted. Because this seemed more than just a quick fuck that they were after. If that had been the case, Kaz would have been too late to stop it. Too late… Promised to protect. To keep safe. The image of you stripping in his office the first night flashed through his eyes. Kaz clenched his fist angrily. He had killed them all. Found a list of every man who had put in money to buy you off. They were begging for it to stop, but all Kaz did was repeat your name over and over to them. Dragging their deaths painfully slowly. No one knew about that. It wasn't something anyone else needed to be a part of. It was for Kaz. It was for all the rage that waked in him every time you flinched, every time his eyes caught a glimpse of your scars that painted your wrists and ankles, the torn skin on your back while you were changing, and the emptiness in your eyes.

Then Kaz heard it—the faint sound of your voice once again. His name slipped out of your lips in desperation. Calling for him. Searching for him. Kaz stood up, rushing towards the door, but then he halted. Still as a stone. He could not face you. He could not see you. Not now. Not like this. Not for everyone to see. Your voice grew louder. Kaz. Kaz. Kaz. Kaz. Kaz put his palms over his ears. Turning to walk to the furthest corner. Yet he still heard the way Nina was trying to soothe you. Kaz could almost see you trashing in her arms. The cries made him tightly close his eyes. He wanted to. There was nothing more that he wanted than to hold you now. To answer the call. To pull you out again, but he couldn't. There was no way.

Slow her heartbeat, make her pass out, Kaz thought to himself. Come on, Nina, be useful. And as if the heartrender had heard him, the cries died down softly. Followed by a little sob from Nina and a ray of apology slipping past her lips. The silence stood again. Kaz braced himself against the sink, catching a glimpse of his worn-out face in the mirror. Weak. Worthless. How can you protect her when you can't even go to her when she needs you the most? The anger rippled again, and without a second thought, Kaz's left fist slammed into the mirror.

The room was dim. The last remaining light source was the fire slowly dying down in the fireplace. Wylan was rubbing his hands over Jesper's shoulders. Nina was leaning onto Inej. The tea that sat in front of them had gone cold. Neither of them had touched their cups even once. It had been several hours since the last cry echoed through the house. Nina had stopped sniffling. She had never before used her ability in that way. It was one thing to make someone fall and cripple them in the middle of the job; it was a completely different story to choke the air out of the lungs of someone you cared for while watching their limp body in front of you.

Even at the thought of that, Nina's lips trembled once more. Jesper reached towards her, placing a supportive hand on her shoulder. Tonight had been a mess. Everyone's brains had been scattered with questions. All the ifs and whys, maybes, and whats. And with Kaz nowhere to be seen… He had made it clear to everyone that Y/N was someone that each of them had to look after. And tonight they all abandoned their posts. Sure, it was Jesper's night to keep an eye on you, but the blame couldn't be placed solely on his shoulders. They all let loose. Disappointed Kaz, but most importantly, hurt you in the process. They didn't talk about the other side of this. There was not even a thought about it that lingered. Jesper, while telling everyone about the conversation he had with Kaz, cut himself off right before the question of love was brought up. Not his to discuss. Not his to be brought to daylight.

"Why are all of you still here?", Jesper had stood up so quickly, nearly sending the little table flying, the tea cups rattling. All of them stiffened, like kids who had been caught misbehaving and now were awaiting the scolding of their parents. None dared to meet Kaz's eyes. It felt like he had brought coldness with him, as the room suddenly became almost freezing. If Kaz was being honest, he wasn't sure if he wanted them to fall over one another while they apologized or if he preferred silence. The silence that carried fear. The power he had over them.

"I gave orders to Jespere…", dirtyhands spoke once more, and Inej was quick to cut in, "He told us". Kaz nodded his head, and said, "Good. Then why are you here?" It seemed like such a simple question, but then again, what were they supposed to say? Because they wanted to see him? Because they tried to find strength in one another? Because being alone felt too vulnerable? Yet this set of silence was met with a growl from Kaz. "Go", he muttered angrily. Turning to the side so they could walk past him. "Kaz, she…", Nina started, being the first one to lift her eyes, and the coldness that pierced her made a shiver run deep within her body.

Kaz lifted his hand, silencing her. "I'll take it from here. I have unfinished business with her as it is", Nina shook her head. "Kaz", you were too weak. The demons within you had feasted on your strength. If he were to come at you Kaz-style, he would send you into yet another panic attack. But Kaz only let out a snarl, "Did I ask for your opinion?" They lowered their heads. Jesper wrapped one of his arms around Nina, bringing her closer to him, and clasped Wylan's hand in another. He glanced at Inej, who only nodded her way. Get the two settled, and then they would hit the town just like Kaz had ordered them to.

When Kaz finally made his way up to his office, he tried to pretend that you weren't lying in his bed. That he couldn't hear your breathing. When that got too hard, he tried to trick his mind into thinking that this was the usual night. Like always. He had chosen to work too late, and you had ended up falling asleep. The only difference was that on nights like that, Kaz found himself watching you. The way your face would relax. There was no sign of the slight frown that lingered then. Calm and relaxed. Comfortable enough to sleep in his presence. Now, however, Kaz tried to keep his eyes away from you. Too afraid that it would only break him more.

But the uneasy breathing was hard to miss. You let out a cry, and Kaz's eyes drifted to your frame. Only now did he notice the shimmering drops of sweat clinging to your forehead. Hands clenching the sheets. Kaz blinked again. There in your place now laid Jordie. Turning and tossing as the plague spread further and further. Kaz stood up, crossing the distance between him and the bed in a couple of steps. He ripped the gloves off his hands. The taste of bile in his mouth picked up again. What was this cruel joke? Sure, he was a bad person. Had done so much wrong, but why you? Why Jordie? What have you two done? Or was it a curse for just letting Kaz be a part of your life?

He kneeled once more. One deep breath in, and his hand came into contact with your warm forehead. Not burning up, but warm enough for a slight fever. A part of him was trying to stay rational. To get a fever after a night filled with such events was normal. It could happen, but what if this was something more? What if they had poisoned you? What if he had missed it? Kaz reached for a jug of cold water before dipping a piece of cloth in it. The moment the cold material came into contact with your skin, your eyes opened up slightly.

The fright in Kaz waked again. He wasn't ready. Wasn't prepared to see you conscious just yet. You glimpsed up at him tiredly. Body eased slightly at the sight of him. Kaz swallowed thickly. He didn't know what he wanted to say or what he should say. A part of him wanted to shout at you, but one look at your eyes, which had lit up ever so slightly at the sight of him, halted him once more.

"I'm sorry", you murmured, licking your dry lips as the uncomfortable tightness pulled at your skin. Kaz shook his head, reaching for a cup, "Nothing to be sorry about". The words had come out more sarcastic than he had wanted. As if he didn't genuinely mean it. You gave him a look. One that he had learned to identify. One that let him know that you were more than aware that he was lying. But he wasn't.

"I would do it again", he muttered, turning his gaze away from you. And he would have. As much as he tries to tell himself that he would never reach for you again, he knew deep down that it was a lie. Because he would. Because you were now a part of him. In ways that Kaz couldn't fully identify. Ways that were unfamiliar to him. He had only felt somewhat similar when it came to Jordie. Sure, Kaz cared for his crows, but that was different. You were different. Your eyes filled with tears as you watched him. You had been so desperate to apologize. Aware that you crossed the line by touching him tonight. For reaching out to him in a way that he didn't want to be reached. And here he was telling you that he would do it again. You shook your head, "No." Your voice died down. Cut off by the fear. By the lack of words spoken for a long time.

"Don't push yourself", Kaz ordered you firmly, but you jerked your head once more. He needed to know. You wanted him to know. Through your heavy, tired eyes, you looked at Kaz. You searched for him as you always did. "No one has ever touched me without bad intentions. You…", you stopped yourself as the tear ran down your cheek, stinging in your eyes getting unbearable. "You were the first who wanted to hold me without the intention to hurt me".

The sob finally slipped past your lips. You quickly moved your hand to cover your mouth. Trying to silence the cries, knowing how much Kaz hated emotions displayed like that. Kaz closed his eyes, lifting his head ever so slightly. If you hadn't crossed the line before, you sure have now. You reached for the sides of the sheets. Not waiting for him to scold you. Not ready to face him pushing you away. But Kaz was quick to snatch the side of the blanket out of your hands, pressing it down onto the bed and keeping you covered.

There was so much that Kaz wanted to say. So many words at the tip of his tongue. So many thoughts. And you knew it too. You could tell, so you settled back down. Both of you used up your emotional resources tonight. Drained yourselves dry. Yet Kaz looked at you once more. Reaching for the cloth to dip it into the cold water once more. Just this time, his palm lingered on your hair for a moment. A silent promise that he wanted to figure this out together. Step by step. No matter what was to come, you were going to do it together. Then he turned away from you once more. Pushing the rising water down. You watched him for some time until your eyes grew heavy, and the darkness pulled you under once more.

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Kazzle Dazzle taglist: @igakc @anxiousbeech @vicky-09 @coldheartedmar

[straighttohellbuddy]

what you love you devour {c!Wilbur Soot}

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

{ masterpost }

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

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

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

Citrus Scale: 💚 LIME 💚

{ full playlist }

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

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

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

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

"Wilbur," he corrected you automatically.

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

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

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

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

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

"It could be a ruse!" Tommy insisted.

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

"You shot me!"

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

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

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

"It's the funniest option."

---

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

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

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

"Thomas, Thomas listen to me -"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Oh, absolutely."

----

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

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

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

"You're going to try."

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

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

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

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

"The new guy?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

"Stop. Talking."

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

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

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

"I think you overestimate how challenging you are -"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What took you so long?"

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Don't patronise me," he warned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"A revolutionary jester," you agreed.

----

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

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

"Still?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you lying?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you planning on betraying me?"

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What the fuck did you do?" 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Silence. Deafening silence.

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

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

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

"What happened?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What the fuck does that even mean?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I absolutely would have," you answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

"What?" 

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

“Maybe it’s because I respect them -”

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

"What the hell are you talking about?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Their loyalty to me?”

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

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

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

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

----

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

"Of course."

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

"What happened between you and Dream?"

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

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

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

“What did he say?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You won’t hurt me, though.”

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

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

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

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

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

“I thought you wanted to hurt me.”

“Well I can’t.”

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

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

“Who?” Softer this time, Wilbur asks.

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

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

“Understand you?”

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

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

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

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

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

“It was novel to feel understood.”

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

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

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

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

“Are you trying to push me away?”

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

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

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

“Yes, absolutely.”

----

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

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

"Of course." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Then why the fuck are you here?"

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

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

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

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

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

"You're stalling."

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

Eret swallows hard.

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

"Not quite." 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

In your house, his voice turns softly malevolent;

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you like Quackity more than me?"

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

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

"Wilbur…"

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

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

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

You hesitate. You drop his gaze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

“It sounds like self sabotage.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m always honest with you.”

“That’s not an answer.”

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

“That’s not an answer.” 

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

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

“Like this?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

"What do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

“And you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

“Not your fault either,” you shrugged.

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

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

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

“I don’t do it on purpose.”

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

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

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

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

"What then?" 

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

"You sound like Dream."

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

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

"My attachment to him is situational at best." 

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

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

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

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

"Correction, I almost died for you."

"What's the difference?"

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

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"What do you mean?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

"You suddenly decided to grow a conscience?"

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

"Sorry about that, again," he muttered.

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

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

"I'll be by your side until -"

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

----

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

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

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

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

“You caught me in a moment of weakness.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t like seeing you sad.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallowed hard, huffing a humourless laugh.

“And he’s the one who got away.”

“Y/N...”

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

----

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

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

“Oh?”

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

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

“Not even close.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

“Why what? Why he did what he did?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you. I’m sorry.”

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

“I know.”

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You trust me," its not a question.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Kill me."

"What?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Dream... I -"

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

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

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

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

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

"For now," you agree.

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bold to assume I love you, Q.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ghostbur went very quiet. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He trusts your words, even now. 

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

----

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You have my loyalty, my love.”

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

i love the pumpkin decor from anura and the skulls from silk cradle !! even though its not even close to halloween,,,(its always in my heart lmao) i was thinking about bishops (+narinder and/or labert, if your up for it) platonically with a child! black cat reader (who is kind of like in the spooky month skid and pump mindset LOL, but the town they grew up in, possibly outside the lands of the old faith, is very halloween-centered)

i hope this isnt too specific !!

Don't worry, Halloween's ALWAYS in my heart haha. I love those decorations too! And the ones from the blood moon ritual. Can't wait for that event again

.........

Heket

With pumpkin patches flourishing in her domain, it only makes sense for her to have celebrations and rituals surrounding the harvest season.

Yet she knows nothing of this "Halloween" you've rambled on about to her followers, nor why you became so excited upon discovering that Anura's environment reflects the autumn season.

That's because the town you're from is centered entirely around the holiday, with you living among ghouls, skeletons, demons, crows, and (of course) other black cats.

To you, every day is Halloween and you're loud and proud about it!

You introduced the idea of jack o'lanterns to Heket when she discovers you carving a pumpkin, sticking a candle inside after you gutted the entire crop, much to her confusion and annoyance.

"You there..why do you waste precious food?" She accuses, but you're completely oblivious to her anger.

"Where I come from, we always carve pumpkins! And we make cool things like this!" You show her your finished product: a Yellow Crown carved onto the face of the pumpkin. "I offer this to you, Lady Heket."

"I see, but...what am I to do with it?"

"You put it outside your home to ward off scary spirits! Like those who wanna wilt the crops!"

She had her doubts about these traditions of yours, but she grows to like this "jack of lantern" and puts it into effect almost immediately.

More followers join in, learning how to carve their own pumpkins and place them outside their homes.

It actually gives the incredibly superstitious and paranoid some comfort that they won't be haunted or plagued by negative spirits/energy.

Heket made a point to allow an overabundance of pumpkin patches during Halloween season so there's enough for both food and carving.

She also discovers people are willing to pay for the best-looking ones, so she allows the elders to run stands by the fields and make some coin.

Ofc, a good chunk of the profits go directly to her.

Shamura

Skull piles and skeletal decorations are commonplace in Silk Cradle, being trophies of wars and intimidating those who dared wander into their domain--grim reminders that it could be their own skull next.

You, however, find them nonthreatening as you've had similar decor back in your little town of Halloween (/ref).

Fake or not, you loved them all the same (plus the cobwebs, even though most are just part of the natural environment) and had to ask Shamura if Halloween was celebrated all year here, too.

Although their brain struggles to recollect things, they have books on holidays and their ancient origins..so they are aware it exists.

But it's not one they ever cared to implement.

Nevertheless, they permit you to decorate your home to your heart's content with whatever skulls and bundles of silk you found--as well as pumpkins shipped from Anura.

They're nicer to you bc you remind them of Narinder back in his youth, fascinated with the spooky and the taboo.

All the giant axe traps and toxic pits scattered throughout Silk Cradle never bothered you, as you've seen them back in the spooky dungeons of your hometown.

Usually the resident bugs would freak out any newcomer shelling in new traditions..but Shamura told them that you, specifically, are not to be harmed under any circumstance and that they allowed this.

You've actually befriended Hauras, sewing them a spidery Halloween cape for them in place of the gray rags they wore.

They wear it with pride to every sermon from there on, not caring who judges.

Kallamar

This bishop's paranoia is a force to be reckoned with.

Even if one hapless follower said the words "red crown" in any context, he'll strike them down for "preaching heresy". He's easily scared of the taboo and misfortune falling into his realm.

So Halloween is definitely the last thing he wants to hear about, especially with its association of black cats (who are in turn associated with bad luck and Narinder).

He keeps trying to shoo you away when you try explaining that's a common myth.

If he sees you using bones and skulls as decorations, he feels sick to his stomach and orders you to take them down.

Those can be used to forge weapons or intimidate potential dissenters! They're not yours to keep!!

Yet you never listen, oblivious to his demands as you try telling him they're harmless.

Would he ever punish you for disobeying with sickness or sacrifice?

No...or at least not at this stage in your life.

That would damage his already-fragile reputation as a leader even further.

But if you grew up into an elder and continued with these "twisted traditions", however, he'd punish you as retribution for the "torment" you've brought upon him.

He just wishes you'd follow his ways and his ways alone.

Fortunately for you, that retribution never comes as he's brought into Lamb's cult during your teen years...with you keeping the Halloween tradition alive and well.

And Kallamar has a more open mind now, although he's still easily spooked by the decor Lamb brings out during the Blood Moon Festival.

The first time he partakes in it, someone pranked him with a fake ear and it traumatized him so bad he cried and hid inside his shelter.

But you comforted him, forgoing the festivities and sharing your candy until he was okay.

You just show him how to carve a jack o'lantern for the remainder of the night, and he's in awe as it glows.

Every year since, Halloween becomes less and less scary for him--and it's all ironically thanks to you.

Leshy

As a young bishop, he's open to ideas for traditions, holidays, etc. for his followers to enjoy.

So when little kitty cat you hailing from a distant land of Halloween propose celebrating it...he's all for it!

The only problem is, well, his sight.

With the Green Crown, he can see the general forms of followers, his siblings, and most structures within Darkwood, but he wouldn't be able to see the tiny details that gave Halloween its magic.

But you explained how you could go for bigger and brighter things. Like jack o'lanterns (made of both pumpkins and turnips) and skulls of giant beasts!

He approves of it and lets you lead in decorating the village nearest to his temple.

Followers initially questioned why they had to listen to a child, of all folks, but they're grateful it's something genuinely fun.

From your town, you've also brought scented candles to really enhance everybody's spooky spirit.

Especially for your Lord Leshy, who finds the smells delightful.

The pumpkin spice ends up becoming his favorite.

You've got him completely fixated on this event.

Plus it's a good opportunity for chaos to reign: with followers pranking one other and scaring each other half to death, dressing up like ghouls and skeletons.

The Bonfire Ritual is one Leshy likes to conduct to boost both his strength and cult morale (he's gotta benefit from all of this somehow too, of course).

Lamb

Not only did Lamb's cult know about Halloween...but they also celebrated it with the Blood Moon Festival.

You fully participated in the ritual every year, rushing outside just in time to see the moon turn blood-red and the sky darken for several days.

The ghosts of deceased followers usually terrified the living, yet you greeted all of them with smiles, waving goodbye as Lamb exorcised them with their book.

Crows, cattle skeletons, and even demons flocked to the cult as well, having been residents of your hometown, too.

And the decorations?????

You were obsessed and jumping for joy, wanting to decorate your little shelter and help everybody else with theirs!

And of course you participated in the many activities going on, including bonfire rituals, apple bobbing, and passing out soul cakes (yep you had a recipe for that from your hometown, too).

One year, Webber showed up and was initially scared since everyone was just staring at them and the spiders scattered around their feet..

But you greeted them warmly, showing them around the cult grounds and what the festival was all about.

Lamb themselves is impressed.

You're only half the age of most of their followers, yet you're active and very responsible (although only if your tasks have anything to do with Halloween).

So as a gift, they bless you with a jack o'lantern necklace. Not only does it light up at night, but its magical properties allowed you to lift up any pumpkin no matter its size with ease!

You vow to carve the biggest jack o'lantern the Old Faith's ever seen.

[horizon-verizon]

I'm still on my self-imposed Tumblr writing break but I had to share this comedy gold mine where Condal tells us all about "impostor syndrome" before I'm overtaken by the urge to write an essay on it instead. I have no time to cook. Fortunately, we've been served a meal on a silver platter.

https://bigthink.com/high-culture/house-of-the-dragon-ryan-condal/

House of the Dragon, which premiered in 2022, might have continued that [Game of Thrones] trend. Instead, the show proved a return to form, offering the same Shakespearean dialogue and political intrigue that made people fall in love with Martin’s fictional universe back in 2011. The second season is just as good, if not better.

I can see that this is going to be a very fair assessment of Condal and his work.

“Every day,” Condal confesses when asked if he suffers from imposter syndrome. “For me, though, it was less the scale and scope of House of the Dragon and more its visibility that intimidated me."

😭😭😭 It's okay! He wasn't worried about whether he'd do a good job! He was just worried about how visible his ingenious work would be.

Appointed for his encyclopedic knowledge of Martin’s oeuvre, Condal has — in his own words — “played with fire” without getting burned. In the following interview, he demonstrates his mastery of Westerosi lore and explains why all history – real or imagined – ultimately amounts to propaganda.

The business major is about to tell us about historiography. The question is, does he understand historiography? Or does he think he's inventing a new concept?

Condal is a relative newcomer to television. In his previous life, he graduated from Villanova University with an accounting degree and spent eight years working in pharmaceutical advertising — quite different from working as a Hollywood showrunner, but not entirely unrelated.

Yes, we know. It's actually very related. Especially the way Condal does it. I'll also point out here that his university was a private Catholic institution. I don't feel the need to connect those dots right now.

"I also learned to compromise, adapting your writing to clients who aren’t always going to love your brilliant, avant-garde choices. That’s the talent-studio relationship, right there."

I... this tells us two things about the writing process and attitude behind it. Two things we already knew. But... it's sure telling.

"I was able to navigate challenges that some of my colleagues with filmmaking and art history degrees maybe weren’t prepped for."

In theory, nothing wrong with this^ statement. But in context...

While some criticism is valuable, too much can lead to creative paralysis. “I tend more towards the negative than the positive, so I made a conscious decision to stay away from social media when I got this job,” Condal says. If anything, he believes the healthy distance he maintains between himself and his audience has improved the show: “Audiences think they know what they want, but sometimes, they have to be given what they need instead."

I repeat my prior sentiment.

Ultimately, Condal’s own passion for Martin’s writing outweighed any doubt he had about his own. “I’m trying to make the type of show I would enjoy as a fan, which I am. And while I realize my ideal fan show will be different from someone else’s, I still think that it’s a good true north heading on my compass. Actually, I think that’s why HBO hired me in the first place.”

Oh, we know.

“It was hugely intimidating, moving to a new country [the U.K.] and working with a new but also hugely talented crew that I had to — not tell them what to do, exactly, but lead them; collaborate with them. I definitely had to earn my place, but think that — because I came in with a clear vision of what I wanted for the show — those relationships were easy to establish.”

Make it stop.

The most important part of making a successful fantasy show isn’t the sets, costumes, or special effects, but lore. Fictional places like Westeros have their own unique cultures, customs, and social institutions, all of which help create the illusion that this fantasy world is as real and complex as our own. To transfer that illusion from page to screen, the writers must know Martin’s work as thoroughly as Martin himself. “It’s not just me,” Condal says. “We are all deeply entrenched fans of George. One of our writers has worked with him for many years. If I’m a graduate in Westeros studies, she’s an archmaester,” referring to the order of academics sworn to advise and educate Westeros’ nobility.

Well that explains why they're worse than Gyldayn.

Condal: “Textual references are best done in light touches to remind people that this is a fully realized society with hundreds of years of mapped-out history to it. And you don’t need an entire scene to do that. Instead of writing, you can communicate details environmentally through props like heraldry. For the fans, these little touches tell them they are in good hands. Better yet, they know the details are there just for them, the hardcore fans. For everyone else, the casual viewers, this stuff is flying by 100 miles an hour, and they probably won’t notice it. But it’s there.”

Again, there's nothing wrong with this^ in theory. In. Theory.

“I’m definitely an architect,” says Condal, “and I think I have to be as a screenwriter, because our life is so deadline-driven. The literal definition of a playwright, W-R-I-G-H-T, is ‘one who builds plays.’ A dramatic writer is almost by necessity a structuralist, and I very much fall into that camp.”

Now wait for it... wait for it... Keep in mind these are Brinkhof's (article author) words. But wait for it.

Martin, by contrast, identifies as a gardener. While this writing style — with its many unexpected twists, turns, and deaths — helps explain what made Game of Thrones so successful, it may also have been responsible for the show’s eventual downfall. Sticking to Martin’s analogy, “gardening stories” grow like trees, their narratives branching out in an exponential number of paths, making them difficult to finish. As of today, Martin has spent more than 14 years on the next installment in the Song of Ice and Fire series, his prolonged bout of writer’s block forcing Weiss and Benioff to come up with their own ending.

No words. Now back to Condal.

“The advantage we have over them is that we’re dealing with a finished text, where they were working with an unfinished, living work,” Condal says. “Where the Game of Thrones team had to trim down 5,000 pages into a few dozen scripts, we’re challenged in the opposite direction, turning around 100 pages into a multi-season arc of television, and that requires a lot of invention.”

Oh? So... you do know where it's going. Which means your "inventions" should... probably lead there?

Condal treats Fire & Blood like a real-world historian might treat a manuscript from the Middle Ages. “These three writers all had personal agendas which, to me, seem to reflect one of the main themes of our show: powerful women living in an unbreakable patriarchy. The writers, particularly the priest, appear to blame the war on the squabbling between Rhaenyra and Alicent.”

No comment for now. No... comment...

House of the Dragon pretends to show the real history that Fire & Blood recorded and distorted. Some events happen the way the one of the three authors describe it, while others contain elements of all three conflicting accounts. Others still indicate that none of them got it right. As a rule, every character in the show is far more complex than the jester, maester, and priest made them out to be.

I... I... I... I... I...

“Alicent can be the stereotypical evil stepmother at times,” says Condal, “just as King Viserys, played by Paddy Considine in season 1, can come across at weak. However, the thing that in-universe historians don’t get about Viserys is that he was carrying the burden of a prophecy passed down through generations and couldn’t tell anybody about it. A lot of his supposedly weak decision-making was actually in service of this secret prophecy. We were trying to show that there was more to him, that multiple things about him could be true at the same time.”

Must... Resist... Urge... To... Write... Essay...

“We have to arrive at the same endpoint as the book,” he reminds himself. “Whoever George said becomes king must become king at the end of the war. Hopefully, though, we have a bit of latitude leading up to that, to show how history has been interpreted differently at different times by different historians. I realize I’m playing with fire, but it does excite and fascinate me — to be able to comment on how history is made, not just this fictional history, but all history. It’s all propaganda to some degree.”

😭 The clownery.

Historiographers weep.

@rhaenin-time, you must be stopped. Ryan should be , too, but you have decided to bring me in close proximity to this nonsense. I am sitting here, eating chewy ChipsAhoy, and you came in here like a wrecking ball with this news....I hate you. [read, this is a joke]

I don't think I'll be able to address every thing I want to address in this. I want to be done with this show, I have been tired since the 6th epi of the last season.

Condal is a relative newcomer to television. In his previous life, he graduated from Villanova University with an accounting degree and spent eight years working in pharmaceutical advertising — quite different from working as a Hollywood showrunner, but not entirely unrelated. [...]

I also learned to compromise, adapting your writing to clients who aren’t always going to love your brilliant, avant-garde choices. That’s the talent-studio relationship, right there. [...] Audiences think they know what they want, but sometimes, they have to be given what they need instead."

Who tf does this man think he is?!!! Yes, I needed mother-son coochie eating. I needed to have a brown girl erased for a rapist to become a family man with a sick child. I needed Cole fucking Alicent at least 3 times instead of a brown haired Targ make instrumental alliances with more people to add to his stepfather's armies in the Riverlands. I needed to see nonexistent and sterile parallels. I needed to see a black woman be burned alive when she actually died at least surrounded by family, her ignored by her husband so his later marriage to a white girl be that much more special. I needed to see a disabled man jerk it over a queen's bare feet like she's in OnlyFans and doesn't know where her next meal is. I needed to see a pretten prince jerk it over a window and barely even tell what his brother was doing later with Vhagar instead of another preteen girl bond with the most powerful dragon of the then living ones. I needed to see a woman so much more hypocritical than her book counterpart be framed as one of the wisest women to exist while she praises Jaehaerys I of all people for having a peaceful reign as if his decision to have that council have no bearing on the burgeouning war coming up right now.

He can't even properly write character ACRTION as opposed to REACTION (Seth Abramson's article on substack):

Appointed for his encyclopedic knowledge of Martin’s oeuvre, Condal has — in his own words — “played with fire” without getting burned. In the following interview, he demonstrates his mastery of Westerosi lore and explains why all history – real or imagined – ultimately amounts to propaganda.

And yet Daemon dislikes his daughter or grow impatient with her bec she doesn't have a dragon....while he only claimed one at 16 or a bit younger with Caraxes AND Targs don't actually bond with dragons in the cradle that often, actually usually doing it in preteens to teens AND Aegon I definitely had to bond later in life as well. And said that Aegon I lived/was alive when Old Valyria still existed. Allowed Criston Cole to be called Dornish both by Alicent and the fans without giving us any explanation or exploration of that identity esp when canonically he came from the Stormlander part of the Dornish Marches. "Encyclopedic" my nonexistent ballsack! He has no authority to claim that F&B is so unreliable that he can't tell truth form agenda-motivated fiction and then claim himself intelligent or "brilliant" at the same time!

"avant-garde"...yes bc it's so revoluntionary and creative to have a man lick his former home from his own mother in a "vision". As if making a woman her son's character tool wasn't something HBO already did with its female characters and perform male gaze....okay...As if he's special and different from other male writers and it not just keeping with ASoIaF adaptation tradition. It added so much to the story other than the sick eroticism of something already cleared up last season.

I definitely had to earn my place, but think that — because I came in with a clear vision of what I wanted for the show

No you didn't. If you did, you wouldn't have had a such a problem with the pacing, the numerous inconsistencies, plotholes, the [if true] possible merge of Rhaena and Nettles and many episodes would't contradict each other as if one writer disagreed and vetoed another. And you'd see why/how show!Rhaena's purpose must be kept more or less the exact same as her in the bk for the post-Dance environment. We'd have Maelor. We'd have Daeron mentioned and described much earlier, not as some sort of random ass surprise that is bound to thrown so many locals off when he does appear.

If I’m a graduate in Westeros studies, she’s an archmaester,” referring to the order of academics sworn to advise and educate Westeros’ nobility.

....what the fuck does this even mean?! There are no fucking graduates of anything in Westeros and there are no archmaesters of real life bc the set ups in education of EU medieval history vs Westeros are so different it's not even funny. there are no universities for one to even imagine there are Westerosi "graduates", and there is no way you can tell if a graduate would be more or less educated than a grandmaester, bc we don't have rules of "graduation" or gradations of maestership. the modern school system can never be properly equalized in structure or depth or habits to Westerosi maestership, the instituton.

Therefore trying to create some sort of analogy as if grads exist in Westeros by immediately using "grandmaester" for another you're aligning yourself with is just so stupid. worst part is, I know exactly what he's trying to say, but his use of this device is so wrong, that I'm mad and ure people will just take this at face value instead of see how inept this man is with literature analysis and thus creative writing. Reminds me, ironically, of his saying he's inspired by PARADISE LOST in writing S2...if you don't sit yourself down to hell, sir!

Martin, by contrast, identifies as a gardener. While this writing style — with its many unexpected twists, turns, and deaths — helps explain what made Game of Thrones so successful, it may also have been responsible for the show’s eventual downfall.

And there it is, Ryan is prepping to use the ole fan excuse of "not much story left" excuse people had for D&D, and it makes sense how he would considering how F&B is considered to unreliable to adapt even the clearest events and characterizations as they are given....

[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️ Ranking Richonne

#11: I See Things (S3E12)

Something I appreciate so much is that Richonne's journey is a love story, not a fairytale. Their story feels grown and grounded, healthy, and realistic, while also feeling perfect and aspirational between two flawed people doing their best in a broken world. And through each season of their slow burn, we got to organically watch the many building blocks of what makes their love so genuinely strong and special. So I cherish these early moments that laid Rick and Michonne's foundation, especially here in my favorite scene from the masterpiece OG Richonne ep that is Clear...

Rick, Michonne, and Carl pack up to leave King County after a stellar episode with both Rick and Morgan’s storyline and Carl and Michonne’s storyline. The acting was superb all across the board in this ep. 👏🏽

The three really do look like a family as they pack up and head out. And in their own ways, this scene has Carl and Rick both telling Michonne...

I love that it just took one trip for Carl to be completely warmed up to Michonne. And he admits this in the best possible way to his dad. Because Rick, in such a dad way, asks if everything went okay with her, and again, I always feel like Rick really really wants the answer to be yes because deep down he knows he wants Michonne around.

And to me, it isn’t just Rick asking if everything went okay on their trip but if everything is okay with Michonne as a whole. This episode was about Rick and Carl beginning to truly accept Michonne and learn that not only does she not have a problem, but in fact she is the beautiful solution to so much in their life. 

It’s also just great to watch this scene back knowing Rick is asking Carl about the woman who will become his wife and mother to all three of his children. 🥰

And then I will forever love Carl saying, “I think she might be one of us.” Just the absolute best. 😭 That statement is the gospel truth too. And it’s so meaningful because of how much Michonne will end up being not just a vital member of tf but a true blue member and matriarch of the Grimes family.

Michonne truly belongs in this group and this Grimes family, and I love that intuitive little Carl picked up on that so quickly. That seal of approval from him is huge because it allows Rick to feel like he can slowly but surely stop fighting the clear undeniable connection between himself and Michonne. 

I also absolutely love Rick’s dramatic reaction to Carl saying Michonne is one of them. He can’t hide that this is great news to him, and you know Rick's extra side is so loved by me. 😋

Rick acts taken aback and asks, "What?" and I think part of it is actually being surprised that Carl made such a big statement because he could have just said 'yeah she was cool' but instead Carl lets him know she’s truly meant to be with them. And also part of the reaction is because our man Rick has for sure been catching some sorta feelings, even if just the earliest stages of attraction.

I know Rick's happy to hear his son likes her as much as he deep down wants to like her too. Also I really don't think Rick would be having a low-key tickled reaction like this over just any newcomer getting a good report.

Then Carl is just the cutest when he gives a little laugh and tells Rick "Everything went okay." This is all just so precious, especially after Michonne helped Carl retrieve a photo of his family all while planting the seed of Grimes 2.0 at the very same time.

And think about it - this moment is occurring so freshly after losing his mom. Carl probably hasn’t had many smiling moments since then, so I know it means the world to Rick to see that Carl and Michonne bonded and that she brought some joy back into his son's life. She's the best. 🥰

Then, because our lovely leading man is always expressive when it comes to his kids and Michonne, Rick has the biggest smile hearing this.

And again, we gotta be so for real for a second because this smile from him is not just cuz it in-general worked out with a newcomer. I feel this is specific to Michonne. Because like I said, Rick really wanted Michonne to check out (partly so he could keep checking her out🤭) and so he’s really glad to hear that she more than did.

I love that even this early, Michonne is putting smiles on Rick and Carl’s faces. After everything they’ve been through leading up to this ep, it’s refreshing to see.

So Rick is happy, but then he pauses as tho he’s seeing something - likely Ghost Lori. And my theory has long been that Ghost Lori stayed showing up in moments like these to let Rick know his soulmate had now arrived and he should get with Michonne, just like Lori got with her soulmate while Rick was in a coma.💁🏽‍♀️ 😋

Like I just know in this moment Lori's ghost was looking at Rick like...

It’s interesting how we the audience don’t see what he’s hallucinating like we have in other episodes. I like this choice tho because in just seeing Rick staring off it shows how much Michonne was able to read and understand him.

Like all Rick was doing was standing there, and from the outside looking in, it could easily be missed that he was having another hallucination - but Michonne knew Rick was having a moment of seeing things cuz she gets him. Always has. 😌

So Michonne notices it right away and her look of care and concern is really sweet. Throughout the series, Michonne so often looks at Rick like her heart is tugged by this honorable man in all his humanness.

I also love that she brings it up. She could’ve just noticed him seeing things and not said anything, especially because it’s personal and they're still mostly strangers. But this choice to bring it up immediately established that she and him can talk on a deeper level, even this early in the relationship.

And it shows Rick that he doesn’t have to feel misunderstood or ashamed for these episodes he's been having. Someone else sees it, and not only that - relates to it too.

So she gently asks if he saw something and Rick silently looks surprised that she could tell exactly what was happening.

Michonne says, "I know you see things - people." And then in one of the first examples of Richonne doing their signature thing of leveling with each other through being vulnerable, she tells Rick she used to talk to her dead boyfriend. Saying reassuringly, “It happens.” I repeat, Michonne is the best. 👑

It is lovely to see Michonne open up about this, and I love how innately she knew she could share this with Rick. We saw in a s3 scene by a fire with Michonne and Andrea that Michonne was not the type to fully open up about her past family, and yet here with Rick she's willing to share something personal and offer up this part of herself. It just further suggests that Rick and Michonne have a different and uniquely intrinsic connection. And I repeat - they trusted each other before they knew they trusted each other.

It’s also sweet that Michonne is willing to be vulnerable to help Rick feel less alone. This is such a big reason why their union is so special. With each other, they're never in it alone.

They are cut from the same cloth and understand each other deeply. And despite living in a world that would suggest you should always have your guard up, I love that Michonne and Rick instead allowed themselves to open up to each other, slowly but surely. 🥰

Also, more and more, I realize that the making of Richonne was actually so obvious from season 3 forward, and especially here in Clear.

Like this episode really plants the seed of Rick, Michonne, and Carl becoming a whole family because that family theme runs all throughout.

I mean even just the fact that the episode takes place in Rick and Carl's old hometown, bringing only Michonne on this run where she gets to gain insight into the past of her future husband and son, R&M essentially co-parenting together when Michonne offers to go with Carl to get the crib, and then Carl wanting the family photo and needing Michonne's help to retrieve it, and then Michonne finally opening up a bit about her family.

Richonne was looking like Morgan's apartment in this ep because, honey...

So then Rick is quiet for a sec after Michonne addresses him seeing things and letting him know it happens, and I know deep down he appreciates this moment from her. It's a rare moment of someone looking at him not to lead or provide an answer but simply to know he's not crazy or on his own.

And then Rick definitely gets flirty as he asks her if she wants to drive. (and again, letting Michonne drive is another establishment of trust) Also, I just love that throughout their pre-canon era, Michonne is the one Rick most wanted to be sociable with from team family.

I adore this scene for being the first moment of flirting between them as he asks if she wants to drive and she smiles and says "yeah." Rick then says "good" and takes the scene to new levels of adorable with his playful flirty energy when he adds, “Cuz I see things”  and hands her the keys to his heart and the car. 😊

It’s a nice way for him to admit Michonne was right that he sees things but still keep things light. And it's adorable how quickly Rick would go into flirtation mode with Michonne, even this early on.

(Side note: Y'all sometimes I used to want a body language expert who has never seen TWD to analyze these pre-canon Richonne scenes because I just know they'd confirm that Rick and Michonne's pre-canon moments read as more than platonic. But truly there is no body language expert needed for it to be known that Rick's energy is flirtatious here.)

And same for Michonne's energy afterward because I love how she smiles as she holds the keys and watches him go. #SmittenKitten 😋

They’re both real fond of each other, y’all. Even in season 3. Like this moment lets you know Rick and Michonne really do have “common interests” lol.

And while of course Rick and Michonne are still on their own individual healing journeys atp so they aren't yet aware that they're meant to be, it's still nice that in this scene they at least now know they like each other as people.

I love that Michonne who can read people so well, knew Rick was a good man doing his best in this world as a leader and father, and as she closes the trunk she looks like she knows she might have found her new home with these people, which I love that for her. 🙌🏽

This beautiful scene is just such a great and foundational moment in Rick and Michonne's love story and gives an excellent peek into how their dynamic will be going forward as they evolve into a husband and wife. 👏🏽

And how spoiled are we that Gimple was planting the Richonne seeds back when he was writing for Season 3 (before Richonne's journey had even aired for us to see), and now here we are 11 years later with Scott, Danai, and Andy having created a whole miniseries dedicated to Richonne and constantly confirmed to be an epic love story. 🤩🥳🤗

Like this is me and every Richonners' energy for a reason lol...

I'm forever thankful to Danai, Andy, and Scott for loving Richonne like we do and returning to give Rick and Michonne Grimes closure. And I'm grateful that we stan a married ship that always flourishes within the actual franchise. #WinningSinceTheBeginning 🥰

There's also just something so poetic about the fact that way back during the season 3 Clear days, Scott said Danai was able to pick up on the Richonne trajectory because she was a writer - and now we'll have the privilege to watch a whole TOWL episode written by the illustrious talent Danai, herself, as she gets to help shape the final chapter of Richonne's years-long love story. What. A. Journey. 😭🙌🏽

So as the classic and fitting 'Home' song concludes this phenomenal 3.12 ep and the three drive away, it shows how these three entered that town as strangers and left as a family more than they could ever imagine. They didn't know it entirely yet, but after Clear, Rick, Michonne, and Carl were on pace to become home to each other.

Imo, Richonne was written in the stars from the moment they laid eyes on each other at at that prison fence. But after Clear, it was set in stone, with no going back, that Richonne was bound to happen. They were too perfect together, too much passion and attraction emitting from them in these early stages for it to not eventually blossom into more.

Rick and Michonne were destined to be Mr. and Mrs. Grimes. And heartwarming scenes like this just made that so, well, clear. 😌🤍

[yuu-kumeii]

Heeello, hru?

i want a tsukishima kei × fem!reader, NO TIME SKIP, i want his reaction on the reader hugging him suddenly without saying anything and the reader doesn't pull away from the hug (aka gives him a long hug)

(Reader is clingy and doesn’t want to vent, but at the end she let it all out)

Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff, crying

Omg hi anon❗❗❗ I'm doing fine when I got this, but now I'm like a deflated grammar balloon 😭😭😭

SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO FINISH YOUR REQUEST I SWEAR I WAS THINKING ABT IT THE WHOLE TIME AFTER I GOT IT, I just didn't get the motivation at that time so I waited for inspiration to strike. But then inspiration hit me too hard and this ended up going waaaay off track ⚰️ PLUS I wrote the middle part during a campus tour and boy am I glad to have friends who are willing to be my beta readers bc past Yuu was NOT having a good time there 🥹. So sorry again in advance if this isn't exactly what you were expecting 🙏

Btw, your all caps red NO TIMESKIP is kinda funny to me bc it's like telling me to REMEMBER THAT THIS IS A PRE TIMESKIP THING NOT POST since I'm someone who mainly writes for post timeskip 💀 ntm how you probably had your own timeskip waiting for this thing 🧍‍♀️but anyways I hope you still enjoy this monster of a drabble fic hybrid 🫶

Also heads up, it's an established relationship, yeah sorry I didn't know if you would be ok with that but uh yeah sorry 😭

Word count : 3.5k (How did I get here)

There wasn't any indication as to why you started to feel the way you do, maybe you were tired. It could be from stress, school work has been piling up so it wasn't a stretch to say that you might've been feeling a little burnt out. But deep down, you know exactly why. You're just too embarrassed to say it out loud, because what kind of person would you be to think that your friends were that shallow? A bad manager and an even more awful friend, that's what.

Everyone has been asking about you, concerned for your lack of response as of late. You barely look up from your notebook, something about a 'full proof strategy for their next game'. One so full proof it apparently doesn't need any input from the team or Kiyoko...or the coach... It's obvious you're trying to avoid them without being absent. Which makes it even more strange, usually you'd want to get away from the people you're avoiding. So why aren't you?

"Oh no, [Y/N] lookout!" A voice suddenly calls out, snapping you out of your thoughts just as you see a ball coming straight for you.

Before you could react, someone beat it to you, "I got it!" A hand reaches out and blocks the ball, you don't register who it is until—

"Nice save, Yacchan!"

Of course.

Yachi was the one who saved your face from getting pummeled while you sat there with your head in the clouds. All the more reason the team should just— just—

Just kick you off the team.

Ah.

There it is.

That's what's been on your mind. Why it was so hard for you to actually avoid them, you were scared to be pushed aside while trying to encourage them to do so. Thinking you were being good at your job, only to see someone new do it better.

You feel like you've been lacking as a manager, despite being in the club for longer. It felt like the newcomer, Yachi, was doing a lot better in the short time she's here. You know it was unwarranted, she's been nothing but helpful. Picking up all the little things you and Kiyoko taught her. The team also welcomed her with open arms, as did you.

It was a gradual realization on your end, with 3 managers on standby, it's easy to lose track of who does what job. But more and more it felt like you've been doing the least out of the 3 of you. It really affected you, even without you knowing.

You start to forget routines, things like after school clean up duty, homework, even going as far as to forget planned hangouts. It felt like all you wanted to do was finish the day as quickly as possible, you don't even get up from your seat much anymore. Your indifference in class is mostly likely why no one tried approaching you for stuff, which makes sense, you probably look unapproachable anyway.

Well, almost unapproachable. If it weren't for Tsukishima, who chose to come up to you on days you fully ignore the team.

"What's up with you?" His words were short and lacked any poise, fitting for the only first year keen on riling up opponents and allies alike.

"...Nothing is, I'm fine" Much like Tsuki, your words were curt. Hoping that the less you answer, the more he's inclined to leave you alone.

Giving you an unconvinced look paired with an equally unconvinced once over, he shrugs and turns to leave you be.

"Suit yourself"

That hurts more than anything your own mind can throw at you, because all it does is convince you further that they're better off without you. All you've been doing is feeling bad about yourself, starting to forget everything important in favor of ignoring the problem.

But strangely enough, even when you forget, nothing seems to have any big consequences. When you realize you forgot about cleanup duty, your class partner just shrugs, saying your friend stayed behind and helped them instead. You think that it could've been Yamaguchi, he sometimes helps with cleaning duty when someone's partner goes home early.

It makes you feel worse about your moping, inconveniencing not one but two people. All because you can't convince yourself that just because Yachi is doing a lot better than you, it doesn't mean you're useless.

Right?

Not to mention the heartwarming messages from your friends when you don't show up to a hangout, they seem so understanding in spite of how you don't even tell them anything. The messages telling you to "Take care of yourself" and "Work things out at your own pace" could honestly make you cry.

Even the team tries their best to cheer you up, or at least to get your attention. You can't lie and say you don't see Hinata trying to get the other first years to pull some cool volleyball stunt he saw once, hoping that you'll congratulate them. It's hard to ignore it, especially when you can just feel his occasional stare, trying to get a reaction from you. But, as much as you want to cheer them on, you just can't do that. And yet, they're still so understanding. Trying to raise your spirit, Yachi even tried to start a conversation with you by asking for help on different managerial duties. But to no avail, all you do is point her in the right direction before going back to your place in the stands. Her efforts weren't in vain, but not enough to really get to you.

But it doesn't add up, how would they know you're going through a tough time? Are you really that obvious? You probably are. Either way, it's sweet of them to still think about you even when you're basically ditching them.

What does make sense to you is the homework, which you still end up submitting on time. All thanks to, you guessed it, Tsukishima. He just started reminding you about homework due in 2 days, complete with the pages and formulas needed. A smart comment about your recent forgetfulness is always attached to the message, something to remind you that it's from Tsuki of all people.

Someone you got to know through Yamaguchi, a mutual friend of yours, and if that's not enough, then being on the same team definitely is. As a manager on said team, you were always there for whatever sarcastic quip he had at the ready. Complete with every short joke ever made and that snide smile of his almost everyday. Needless to say, it didn't take long for a friendship to bloom. No longer hanging out only when Yams was around, you both built a routine for when you have each other. Yet you were always one to break routine for something new, a habit the tall beanpole never fails to challenge.

"Why do I have to come with you? You can just go alone" He says, not too keen on the idea of skipping your usual bakery visit for a cafe.

"Because I don't want to go alone and you're the only free one" You were always so sure he'd come with you anyway, to the point where you don't even try to convince him anymore.

He did end up going with you in the end, even if he did have his complaints here and there. But overall, it was one of the few times you can visibly see him having a good time. You chose a cafe themed around the stars and space in general, which you knew Tsuki liked quite a bit. Sure it would've been better to go to a dinosaur themed cafe, but the ones you know about are all the way in Tokyo and Fukui. Nevertheless, that space cafe visit was definitely a core memory in both your and Tsukishima's friendship, no matter how much that salt shaker wanted to deny it.

Though you did promise that one day, both of you would go together.

As friends, cause that's what you are, right?

Wait, actually do you even remember what happened after the space cafe? Wasn't it really important?

It feels like you know exactly what it is, it's a *fact* that you remember what it is. But much like everything else around you, it as well, whether you mean to or not, is pushed to the back of your head. Your thoughts start to discourage your resolve in this self-driven solitude of yours, built upon claims with no support. But why would the evidence matter if the claim itself is enough to make you believe?

It really felt like you were going to keep up this ruse forever, nothing really served as a consequence to you. The only thing keeping you in this state were the small glimpses of the team above your notebook, always up to some dumb fun. Something you always looked forward to in spite of the grueling practice ahead of them, well it was something you looked forward to.

Your eyes catch onto the other first years happily chatting with each other, except for Tsuki who preferred to stand on the sidelines, only chiming in to add a sprinkle of sarcasm into the conversation. That seems fun, you knew it was. As you watch everyone laugh at something Yachi says, something in you starts coiling around your heart.

You're suddenly aware of every breath you take, your thoughts start to repeat 'breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out...'

Your surroundings start to feel heavy, like you were tethered to your place. The sound of your own breathing feels louder than the voices in the gym. So focused on your empty notebook that everything else blurs at the edges of your vision.

It wasn't until you caught golden-brown eyes staring at you from across the court, genuine concern masked under a nonchalant gleam. You hold his gaze for longer than you'd like, unsure if there's anything else hidden under the bespectacled stare.

Tsuki only tilts his head in the direction of the other first years, probably telling you to come with them. You can only refuse, solemnly shaking your head. They can't possibly want you there with them, not after ignoring them for the better part of a week. It wouldn't be right to just butt in like that.

He probably knows that you're still not giving in, because it looked like he let out a sigh before walking towards them. Not before one last stare down with you, his gaze asking if you're sure about your decision. You can only hesitantly nod, you're not sure, you don't want to pick this decision, but you've convinced yourself that you're backed into a corner.

A corner you made up.

Well, no use in thinking about it now.

"Oi [Y/N], I'm gonna lock up the gym now! Better get going" Oh coach Ukai, you forgot he was still here. Taking your notebook and pen into your arms, you nod at the coach before heading towards the exit. Body slightly hunched over when you pass him, unable to look at him in the eye.

"Whatever it is you're going through, you know they got your back, right kiddo?" Ukai suddenly says, right before you leave. It makes you stand in your place for a while, thinking. You know they do, it just doesn't feel right to, especially when you didn't give them a valid reason for your distance.

"Y-yeah…Thanks, coach" You mumble, fully facing away from him. Turning to leave, when you catch a glimpse of the orange sky outside. Realizing how late it got, you break into a sprint back to your classroom.

Through the now empty halls, doused in ombre. No other soul in sight, leaving the sounds of your footsteps to be heard. The sky is beautiful today…wouldn't it be fun to experience it together?

Your pace slows right in front of your classroom, 1-4 written on a sign next to the door. Putting your hands on your knees to catch your breath from all the running, you stop to admire the light that passes through your classroom door.

And that's when you heard it, the faint scratching of a chalkboard being erased, you'd know that sound anywhere. It's soft, you could barely hear it over your own breaths, who could be cleaning it at this time? You know your partner didn't come to school today, they were sick. You yourself forgot, so why would anyone be there?

Slowly peeking through the door frame, you see a lone figure standing by the chalkboard. Short blond hair, a lean figure, headphones over his neck, the wire hanging loose. It's him, the one you felt the most guilt for. You watch him for a while, lazily swiping the eraser across the chalkboard.

So that's who your cleanup partner was talking about.

It wasn't Yamaguchi…

It was Tsuki.

He's been the one filing in for you, the one picking up after you. The one who kept pushing you to just talk to the team from a distance, he was looking out for you. The one that's been trying to reach out in his own way, you feel so stupid. Running away while your…

Your…

Your...

Own boyfriend looks out for you even when you unfairly pushed him away.

Your eyes glaze over and your breathing interchanges between short huffs and long shaky sighs. Feeling like you owe so much to him, keeping you afloat in an ocean of your own solitude. Step by step, you make your way over. Speeding up the closer you got.

Reaching him, you immediately press your face into his back. Arms wrapping around his waist, grabbing at the fabric of his school uniform to keep yourself in place. You can feel him tense, before slowly relaxing and going back to his cleaning. The guilt eating up at you even more, you clench your fists around his uniform, trembling in your place. Your lip trembles slightly, making your words sound even more pathetic than they already are.

"I'm…I-I'm so-so-...so-sor—ry—!" You sob, voice breaking off the same way you are. No words could express the mix of relief and remorse you feel, relief to be able to express your true feelings and remorse for your actions that didn't. Your eyes fill with tears that linger at their edge, waiting for a push to get them down.

"You better be, do you know how much they miss you? Those idiots won't stop asking me about you" Kei's words striking right through your heart, the coil no longer tight. Your tears finally fall as your cries get louder. You press your face further into your boyfriend's back for comfort, letting out all the pent up feelings you've harbored the past week.

"I…I just f-felt like—like I wa-was u-useless!" You whimper, sobs reduced to short intakes of air between big breaths.

"Idiot…" Turning to face you fully, Kei's hand settles itself on the top of your head, sliding down to the back. Pushing you further into an embrace of his own, refusing to look at you. One hand on the back of your head, the other fiddling with his headphone wires.

All that you've done, the distance you tried to make, it all came tumbling down. All at once. It was never supposed to take hold of you the way it did, so all you needed was something to justify ending it. Kei, is that something.

"It's just tha-that—Yachi is such-such a good mana–ger…be-better than me…" The words flow out before you could stop them, a confession to your actions. Hearing it out loud, you truly realize how weak your reasons are. It just shows how little it took to have you questioning your worth as a member of the team, laid out in front of the both of you.　

"..." His silence causes you to meekly look up at him, afraid of what he might think. Kei was always good at keeping a neutral face, never making it easy for you to know what he's thinking.

"I don't want to stop being your guys' manager…" You lower your head, voice a whisper, lip still quivering slightly.

"Then don't, no one's telling you to quit"

Huh.

"But—" You quickly look back up at him.

"But nothing, Yachi's great and all but when will we ever get another clutz like you who pays for my drink?" He has a smug look on his face after saying that, eyes filled with nothing but mischief.

You say nothing, words stuck in your throat. Still staring at his stupid smile, he's probably so proud of himself for that. But, you knew he said that to cheer you up. Something to keep you out of your own head, and it's working.

"Way to ruin the moment…" You mumble, "Could've been a bit more dramatic" A soft smile takes over your expression, already feeling much more relieved than before.

"You can do that by yourself," Kei retorts, looking at you from the corner of his eye.

"But you'd still do it with me" Your smile grows, eyes filled with adoration for the pretty face in front of you. After being alone for the better part of a week, it was nice to finally talk again. Even if you had so much making up to do, to everyone in the team, maybe you could start with the one who still held you close.

"Oh? You sound so sure of yourself for someone who's been running away from me" Eyebrow raised in faux skepticism, waiting for your answer.

"I promise I'll make it up to you first" You tell him, before burying your face back into his front, basking in his familiar scent and warmth where you feel most at ease.

"You better"

And you will. To all of them.

Walking home from school during sunset is a special kind of rare to you, barely anyone on the streets. Your newfound goal for the following week, circling in your mind. Beside you was Kei, matching your pace with long strides contrasting your own smaller steps.

"Kei…Do you want to stop by Paprika heaven?" You suddenly ask.

"Paprika heaven? Really?" Kei is not convinced you're being serious, you can practically sense that raised brow.

"It's a cafe! I know the name isn't the sweetest sounding but trust me on this!" You insist, letting out an exasperated huff.

"Shouldn't it be closed?" He questions further, still doubtful.

"It closes at 9, I checked" You proudly exclaim, crossing your arms with a content look on your face.

Kei rolls his eyes at your antics, "Alright, I yield" he raises his hands in surrender, yet a smirk still makes its way onto his face, "But you're paying"

You freeze, realizing that he's right. You are going to pay for it, with your own money. Immediately, your figure deflates dramatically. Slouching forward with an exaggerated groan.

"Right…" Your wallet will never forgive you. But not because Paprika Heaven was too expensive, a piece of your soul just dies whenever you take out a remotely large amount of money from your wallet.

This apparently amuses your boyfriend because he starts laughing, so much so that his shoulders move in time with each laugh. He turns to look at your stunned figure, which only entertains him more. Hearing his mocking laughter, it shakes you out of your stupor. Irritation starts to take hold of you, wanting him to stop laughing at your obvious misery.

"Wha—?! Stop laughing!" Your fists make contact with your boyfriend's chest, repeatedly hitting him to get him to shut.

"I'm serious! I might become poor after this!"

"That's your own fault" In between laughs, Kei is still able to call you out. Seriously, can't he take this seriously?

After a while he calms down, wiping a single tear from his eye. You also calm down, arms tired from the repeated attacks on your boyfriend. Leaning your forehead on his chest to rest, eyes closing on their own from the change in atmosphere. Kei only stands proud, hands in his pockets and a grin spread across his face in content.

Comfortable silence wash over you, the sun still peeking just beyond the horizon, lighting up the road just enough for you to see the way ahead. It's way too late for a bunch of high school students to be out, let alone ones who plan on staying out. But that doesn't matter, you can take the worried lectures from your parents later. Right now, you want to make up for lost time.

"Kei—," You raise your head to face him, taking a deep breath,

"Thank you" A closed eyed smile appears on your face, "For still putting up with me"

"...Whatever" He looks away from you, eyes gazing over the road in front of you.

But no matter how much he tries to hide it,

You can still see that small genuine smile on his face.

[cerastes]

So, Tekken 8. I'm pleased with the direction it has fundamentally taken. In general, high profile fighting games have taken a far more welcoming approach towards newcomers, which is much needed and has thankfully gotten pretty good results so far: Street Fighter 6, for example, went lengths to provide a good, welcoming experience for new players, Granblue Rising retains its beginner friendly nature while expanding on systems to give it more depth at a higher level without stopping to be a fundamentally simple and 'easy' (but fun) fighting game with gorgeous flair, and Tekken 8 is following on the same road. It did this to some degree with Tekken 7, but Tekken 8 definitely goes a step further.

In general, Tekken 8 is much better geared towards user experience and perception than Tekken 7 was. I was a bit surprised to hear about friends that never really deal with Ranked in any game ever, tell me they were queueing up to climb the ladder. I started playing Tekken 8 a few days ago, and when I hopped into Ranked, I noticed small changes that carry a big impact with them in the UI, particularly in the loading screen pre-fight: What it shows.

So, in Tekken 7, you can see both players' Tekken Power, total wins as the character, rank, the results of their last 10 games, their 3 highest player tendencies, and personal match-up win and stage win rates.

That is a lot of information, and you'd usually think "more information is better, right?", I think in this case it was a double edged blade, however: If you're a newer player who's gotten wiggity washed four games in a row now, with your 13 total wins and 9k Tekken Power (or Prowess, as it was in 7) and your B/C/C tendencies, and get matched up a guy with a rank you've never seen before, with over 10 times your Power, triple S+es, 2.3k wins, on a 7 win streak... Well, you're probably going to be more than a little intimidated before the game even starts. For a lot of people, understandably, this immediately becomes the moment of "holy shit, I'm about to get ragdolled", so you go in with a different mentality than you might go against someone whose stats you don't know. Some people don't get affected by this, but a lot of people do, especially curious people that are trying to get into the games and might get put off when they mentally lose before the fight even starts.

In contrast, the Tekken 8 loading screen offers less information, but it's a far better user experience:

3 highest Tendencies, Tekken Power, Rank, and that's it. There's other stuff like console or PC, area, but it's otherwise a lot more laconic. And this works better! You just know their Power, their tendencies, their rank, and that's that. In the actual fight, you can see their current win streak, but no one can see if you or the opponent has 8 loses in a row. You don't know if they have 100 wins or 6000 wins, and so, you don't really think about it, you just go and fight. And if you lose, it's a world of difference to be "ok I got outplayed, that was some solid play from them" than it is to be "ok, yeah, they had ten times the amount of wins than I have lifetime games of Tekken, this was inevitable". So you can go and fight and win and keep playing. The user experience is much better.

I also really appreciate Arcade Quest: It's basically a short, very interactive tutorial: Instead of going through hours of dry tutorialing, a more inductive style like this is far better for newcomers, it's got basic, colorful characters, lots of tutorials peppered in throughout its run time, and a friendly coat of paint so you can get acquainted with the different systems at a nice pace: Your initial opponents are pushovers, letting you get a feel for movement and attacking, then you reach the third or so arcade, and your tutorial guy goes "hey, I heard they defend really well here, and they like opening you up with lows, let's learn how to deal with these" and you get your tutorials on how to open up opponents as well as dealing with lows, and then you fight the people in that arcade and it's mostly opponents like Law, Lili, Bryan, Dragunov, who have snake edges (strong low sweeps that offer good oki or launch for air combos, depending on whether its a counter hit or not) and their AI is specially geared to using these lows, as well as having better defense against highs so you use throws or lows. It's less a story mode and more a series of flavored tutorials, and I think it's really good for a game to have to ease players into the game's meatier systems.

The high level good ass Tekken is all there, it's just, there's a far more concise way of getting there for people that didn't grow up playing these games or had the raw gumption to deal with the sometimes Spartan fighting game community standards for onboarding. It's not a dirt road leading to the beach anymore, they paved it nice and easy so more people can get there, at their own pace, whether it be speeding there on a car, or through a nice leisurely stroll. It's something that I can appreciate both as someone who grew up in arcades playing fighting games with randos and regulars, and as someone that loves good, welcoming, efficient game design and wants more people to discover the joy of the fighting game.

[firegirl888101]

just wondering, what if reader was like. super popular with the girls(or guys. or both) would the harbingers get jealous?

ik this is a pretty dumb ask, but I gave it a shot💀

I'll be answering as a 'what if' and 'canon' for this one!

Before the Harbingers turn Yandere, they won't mind much. It'll annoy them slightly that Y/N, their prisoner, has a lot of people's attention meaning if they were to go missing so suddenly it could cause problems.

However, it won't cause any issues which doesn't have a solution. In their eyes, yandere or not, their sole priority as of when they entered this world is and has foremost been to deliver them to The Tsaritsa.

But, their actual mission will have to be delayed. They'll have to manipulatively control when Y/N goes to college and make them later and later, missing some days, before taking them away back to Teyvat.

Yandere-wise, they'd hate it. Just when they were starting to get used to you, Y/N, taking care of them and letting them help you with your education which deem important... They see you being followed by many humans similar to your age back to your house. You claim not to be interested with them, and find them nothing more as acquaintances.

But is that really the truth? You've lied to them a lot recently, especially when they first met you in the flesh. What's to say you're lying now to not only save yourself, but to save those pigs who see themselves as friends to you?

The Harbingers would get Childe and Columbina on the case. They look closest to your age, and are the most charismatic out of all the harbingers. If anyone can sneakily follow you to your college and threaten talk to those whom follow you around, it's them. The two would blend in with the students and act like newcomers, only approaching you when you ask them how they're there and what they think they're doing.

Childe and Columbina will somehow adjust to college life and glue themselves to your side. Soon enough, the crowds will get smaller and smaller. Those who seem too confident to stay by your side and dismiss their warnings will find either a limb missing, or themselves missing. They won't worry about the details either way, those who annoy the two harbingers will find themselves dead in unexplainable ways.

And the best part about it, you'll never know where your 'friends' went or why you're suddenly feared in the campus. All the Harbingers will hear you cry in your bedroom, who wouldn't? Unfortunately for you, it had to be done. Wipe your tears, and spend some time with them now, won't you?

Canon:

Nah dw this is pretty interesting - and it lets me communicate through my notes a bit more.

In the actual plot, you'll never see Y/N go to College due to the whole 'Missing' situation. But, I think I can reveal parts of their College life without spoiling too much of the plot.

As I've revealed in the earlier views, Y/N is a rather lazy and carefree person. They don't do much outside of College, and lie to their parents a lot.

Here are some sneaky little hints if anyone is interested:

There is a reason why nobody (college friends) has tried to contact Y/N after finding out that they're missing by the police or the news.

There is a reason why Y/N's other side of the family (their father's) hasn't bothered to help the police search for them.

There is a reason why Y/N hasn't attempted to message a friend or call for help.

There is a reason why Y/N has never, and will never become popular in College. Or any of their school years for that matter.

I think these notes will do nicely for now. Thank you for asking this and if you have any more questions let me know <3