#oh so you thought I was done w Ghostbur huh

[dmwrites]

The Evermore was a beautiful place, if a bit squishy. The clearing was tidy and cute, with witchy looking buildings. The witch herself, Shelby, emerged from a building at Cub’s calls.

“Omg hi Cub! I’m so glad you came!” Shelby said.

“Of course. You said something about needing some help?”

“Yeah!” Shelby clapped her hands. “See, beyond the Evermore is a mysterious fog, and I’m stumped in what to do about it. I want to know why it’s there, and what’s causing it. I was hoping you could help me figure this whole fog thing out- magic seems to be a bust, but maybe science? And you’re wearing a lab coat.”

“Yep. That’s the only credential you need in science, definitely.” Cub said. “Is it dangerous in there?”

“Well, maybe. Kind of? Yeah. People keep going in and not coming out. Not everyone! Most people just hear voices or get their soul stolen. It’s weird in there. Definitely ghosts. Maybe. I don’t know.” Shelby gave him a very nervous smile.

“Well, I’ve got the power of this big axe that Katherine gave me on my side, I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Cub said, hoisting his battle axe before putting it back in its holster. “I’ll slice down any ghost.”

“Awesome! Well, good luck!” Shelby said, waving him off.

And so Cub went, checking behind every tree and root he passed. The mangrove forest was huge, and the deeper he got, the harder it was to see. At first he thought it was just the density of the foliage, but an odd coloration to the air and a rather offensive smell made him realize that the fog was here. And then came the whispers.

“Hello?” Cub pulled out his battle axe, looking around nervously. The whispers in the fog didn’t necessarily sound dangerous, more like an out-of-earshot conversation he wasn’t part of. But the way Shelby had looked at him, the genuine fear in the eyes of the witch who lived with the fog at her back, kept him on edge. And there was this distinct feeling of dread that Cub could feel radiating from his very soul. Someone was watching him. Someone was waiting for him.

“Are you lost?”

Cub gasped, swinging all around him, but only hitting a tree. There was a voice, echoey and almost lost sounding, but definitely distinct from the whispers.

“Who- where are you?” Cub whirled all around, seeing nothing except the fog and the shadows of trees. “What are you doing?”

“I’m not doing anything- oh, no, Friend, don’t- oh my god.”

Something blue came out of the fog, and Cub swung at it. The axe went right through it, and Cub stood dumbfounded with his axe buried in the mud, looking at a blue sheep. And behind it emerged a tall man with a yellow sweater with a gash in it. Cub yanked the axe out of the ground.

“Literally so fucking rude to swing at an animal, lucky Friend has infinite lives.” The man, Cub noticed, was translucent. So was the sheep. He could see the fog through both of them. “So you’re lost and scared, then. They usually are.”

“You’re what’s been causing this fog!” Cub exclaimed, holding the axe aloft again. “I can’t believe I found you!”

“No, you’re being silly.” The ghost said firmly, holding out a hand. “I am Ghostbur, not a fog. Ghost. Not fog. See the difference? I’m just like, here, man.”

“Shelby said there would be ghosts.” Cub said. “I didn’t think she was right. Are you the ghost of one of the people who got lost in here, then?”

Ghostbur shook his head. “No, no. Just, here, you know. Listen, Cub, you look very scared and confused. Here, have some blue. It‘ll help, although it looks a little funny. Maybe it’s the fog- it has a way of distorting things.” Ghostbur reached down as if to pet Friend, but his hand went deeper then should be possible. When he pulled back, the ghost was holding a handful of a dark blue and black substance, that not so much leaked from his hand as it did convulse. Cub knew what it was, he’d seen it before in his travels. Sculk. Ghostbur held it out to Cub, smiling just as politely as he had been this whole exchange.

“You know what… I’m good, actually, man. Super nice to meet you, but I’ve got to get going… meetings, you know how it is.” Cub chuckled nervously and turned around, hoping that if he just walked in a straight line, he’d get out of this place. Forget science and curiosity. Some things were better left unanswered.

“It’s rude not to accept a gift, Cubfan.” Ghostbur said, and Cub suddenly felt a sharp pain in his back and chest. He looked down, and found Ghostbur’s pale hand, still holding the sculk, all the way through his chest. “We don’t want to be rude, now do we?” Ghostbur whispered in his ear, and Cub could feel it, could feel Ghostbur’s slimy lips against the shell of his ear. With a nasty, wet pop, Ghostbur’s hand withdrew back through Cub’s body, and a shiver of cold shot through him, radiating out from the spot where Ghostbur’s arm had been.

What followed the cold was a floating sense of calm. Cub turned around and was not suprised to find Ghostbur holding a white light in his hand. “My soul.” Cub said. He couldn’t care less, although it was very pretty. Too bright, but pretty.

“Yes. You don’t need it.” Ghostbur replied. “You must spread the sculk.”

“I will.” Cub replied. He knew what that meant. He always had, deep inside. He turned around and walked away, the fog pushing him where he needed to go, back into the Evermore. With every step he took, he could feel the sculk grow inside his body and on his skin. It was wonderful, and soon everyone would know this feeling. Cub smiled. It was simple. Spread the sculk.

[shushiyuii]

if you're doing requests, than can I possibly ask for some G!revivebur and t!tommy hurt/comfort? (with soft noms involved if thats okay)

hope you're doing well today and i love your writing too

Thank you so much! I'm glad you love my writings! mwkdakdn and I've actually had a great day today! So thank you for asking! (Also of course noms are okay uwu)

Warnings: Soft vore, mentions of death and torment of a tiny

Words: 1.1K+

His train had finally arrived…

Meanwhile, Tommy was working on his base, being a borrower, it wasn’t quite as easy as you wish to get the materials needed.

He was exhausted from mining all day and now he just had to organise his chests, which was just another annoying task. Tommy huffed in annoyance at this, at least he had enough minerals to last him ages.

He hated organising his chests but if he did it would at least be easier to find things, as to why he was doing this millennial task.

Chest after chest, block after block, ore after ore. It was finally almost done. Just a couple more to go, he went over to another chest and found some… interesting things… It held his old L’manburg uniform and his flag, things he put away after Wilbur had well, died.

He picked up his old uniform and noticed something strange on it, it was stained with blue, covered in stitches. Alarmed he began to examine the uniform and there fell out a note, from Ghostbur.

“Hey, Tommy! I came to borrow some things and noticed your old uniform! I fixed it up for you! I know you said not to go through your stuff, but I figured you’d like it!” – Ghostbur

He huffed as the note itself was covered in blue, Ghostbur had a tendency of leaking his blue everywhere, It couldn’t be helped…’. He looked down and saw water beginning to seep at the pages, he wiped at his eyes.

He wasn’t going to cry! He was Tommy Danger Kraken Innit! A man! And men don’t cry!

It wasn’t his fault! It was Sam’s! He didn’t let him protect Ghostbur! It could’ve been stopped and now the only remnant of his brother is gone.

Gone to the afterlife, once and for all. Maybe his symphony could finally be at peace with everything being gone now, he could move on…

Little did he know that wouldn’t quite be the case as a thing popped right into his face, much to his hate and surprise…

‘Wilbur Soot has joined the game’.

He couldn’t be back, Dream really didn’t revive him right?! Wasn’t revival supposed to be immediate?! Whatever exhaustion was trying to take over his body was gone as adrenaline pumped through his veins. He immediately booked it through his door towards L’manburg.

His vision went from black to clear, he fiddled with his hands, finally becoming aware of his surroundings, the blue and gold catching his eyes with a torn L’manburg flag, with the crater in front of him. He pinched his arm to make sure he wasn’t going crazy, and he wasn’t!

He was alive again with blood rushing through his newly revived veins! He was alive again! Dream his hero! He had really been brought back! He could feel his excitement jolting every part of his body, so many things to do and see, so many things to make amends for!...

Panic filled with thoughts rushed through his head, what would the others think? Oh god, back when he was dead himself, he remembered how Wilbur was… This is practically going to be doomsday all over again if he didn’t stop it.

He had never run so fast before, not even in the war. It seemed his body agreed with him this once that this was very very bad. And it wasn’t going to be an easy trip for the borrower. Every hole he jumped over, and soon L’manburg came into his view.

His fingers twitched, not used to being able to function. He could feel bruises over his body and particularly felt an aching pain from his chest, probably some remnant from the stab wound, but that wasn’t going to stop him out, now that he was finally free.

He breathed in the fresh air, taking a deep breath, and filling his lungs as much as he could. How he missed being able, you learnt to appreciate such things.

He closed his eyes in a sort of relief, happy, satisfied but this was only the beginning.

“Wilbur!”, he heard a voice, a familiar one. One he hadn’t heard in a while; he knew he was close not far. He was used to having to keep an ear out for the borrower, he was just surprised at himself he wasn’t rusty.

He turned around to see a small figure approaching, seeming to run with all they had, wow, Tommy must’ve really missed him!

Soon, Tommy was just a couple of meters away from Wilbur. Not one of them talked at first, “Hey Tommy! I missed you!”. Tommy’s expression turned somewhat dark, upset, grim. He titled his head in confusion and crouched down as much as he could.

“You shouldn’t be here.”, Wilbur snorted slightly, then turned to giggles and those giggles turned to psychotic laughter as he processed the point that Tommy just brought up, he wasn’t supposed to be here? “I’m not supposed to be here Tommy? What about you?”.

No answer came, he laughed again, “Oh, Tommy, Tommy, Tommy.”. He brought a finger to Tommy’s face, gently squishing it. “Listen, I spent 13 and a half, 13 and a half years! IN THAT GOD DAMN HELL!”. The gentleness faded as he increased pressure on Tommy, causing Tommy to fall over from under the pressure and try to fight back.

The pressure lightened as he removed his hand, he was about to speak when he saw Tommy back away from him, he was confused for a minute.

But whatever it was, Tommy was mumbling and crying, flinching whenever he made a small movement. Usually, Tommy would be fighting back right now?

He put any other thoughts he had aside, “Tommy, what’s wrong?”. Sure, he might be cruel sometimes but that never stopped his older brother instincts. The boy cried louder. He cupped the boy into his hands and brought him closer to his face.

“Tommy, I’m here, what’s wrong?”, “I-, You-, Dream-, Can’t, S-scared”. He hushed the boy and nuzzled him, he flinched at first but soon reluctantly gave into the contact. It was clear to him that Tommy had changed drastically, more than he thought, he was traumatised. Who dared to hurt his little brother?

“Tommy, who?”, “Huh?”, “Who did it?”. He sniffled, “D-dream”. His eyes widened suddenly, a vision flashed of a tiny Tommy caught in an explosion, a memory from Ghostbur. He remained silent.

Without a word, he brought Tommy close to his mouth, gently placing him in. Tommy flinched as he was placed on his brother’s tongue, “W-Wil?”, “You’re safe”. He mumbled as he moved his tongue to coat Tommy, which then lead to tilting his head back and swallowing.

He traced his brother's descent with his finger, and soon felt him land in his stomach, he waited for his little brother to get tucked in and fall asleep, to which he did. Then he decided that he’d keep Tommy in there for a while, where he’d be safe.

[wren-writes68]

oof just had a thought, so you know how Ghostbur burns/dissolves when in contact with water like rain and tears? imagine a tiny Ghostbur coming in contact with saliva, he would dissolve in a mouth like cotton candy. (if you wanted to avoid it being fatal, he could dissolve into mist that reforms back into Ghostbur after a period of time)

Ok fuck the three other promts I’m working on this is actually really cool

So angst huh

<warnings:panic attacks, blood, emotional manipulation, explosion mentioned, implied death, mouthplay>

“Ghostbur!” Tommy shouted as dream grabbed ghostbur tightly, “tommy what did I tell you about disobeying me” dream chuckled and tossed the tiny up into the air, catching him with a small “oof” from the tiny. “Dream please! He has nothing to do with this!” tommy yells and reaches to his dead brother, “oh yea well what if I were to drop him into the ocean, water hurts you right?” He asked looking down at the scared tiny in his hand.

It looked nothing like Wilbur, scared, scrawny, and more importantly sympathetic showing emotions Wilbur never had, ‘ghostbur’ was a disgrace to the destruction Wilbur stood for and there by Wilbur himself. “U-uh yea w-why dream” the scared ghost said trembling. dream laughed and dropped the tiny on a block next to him, one of the few block standing from him recently destroying logshire. Dream was broken from his though as tommy subtly spit in his direction, an obvious way to have some sort of power as dream controlled his every move. Dream of course noticed and smiled moving his mask so he could lean over and spit on the tiny ghost nest to him, eyes locked onto tommy the whole time. He however looked over when he heard a small hissing sound only to find that the spit that had gotten on ghostbur was burning through the ghost similar to water. “Hmm, this will be fun” he laughed.

Dream kept laughing as he roughly grabbed ghostbur and kneed tommy in the gut causing the teen to fall to his knees clutching his stomach, “what the fuck dream!?” Tommy yelled. Dream however ignored him completely and grabbed the teen roughly by his hair. Blond mud caked hair stained red as dream stared at tommy nails digging into his scalp. The boy looked absolutely delightful, tear stained face caked with scars and mud, scars trailing down his body, as seen through the tears in his signature outfit, leading down to his foot numb and infected from being uncovered. He chuckled quietly as he looked back at the boy into his fearful eyes, once bright, now dull and empty as dream took away the one thing he had left, and dream planed to make this good.

“Oh tommy you understand, this needs to be done. Wouldn’t you like to see Wilbur again.” A smirk spread across dreams face as tommy started screaming about something and tried to shake his head, dream hold on his hair preventing him from doing so effectively. “Oh toms-“ Tommy hated dream using his name, it was what his family once used before all this. “-don’t fight me, you know better. This, all of this is for the good of the server, I wouldn’t expect you to understand that” “…of course, sorry dream, you always know what’s right” tommy said defeated as he realized he would loose ghostbur. “Good boy toms” dream cooed bringing ghostbur to Tommy’s face “huh?” Tommy questioned “you saw what happened, open up” dream commanded pulling Tommy’s head back “dream. Please” he pleaded weakly as a last attempt “open” dream commanded roughly shoving the tiny on Tommy’s still closed lips.

“Hey it’s ok tommy I’m sure I have some blue he somewhere” ghostbur said as if he’d forgotten what was happening, which with the small ghost was something that happened, “I’m sorry ghostbur” tommy mumbled before a sharp tug at his hair made him open his mouth and dream forced ghostbur in snapping Tommy’s mouth shut, and putting a leather strap around it he’d had on him to repair a broken saddle.

“Tommy!?” Ghostbur shouted as he was thrown around his little brothers mouth, spit burning anywhere he was unfortunate to hit. Ghostbur eventually got situated floating in the small space he had, occasionally saliva would fall on him or the tongue would shift a little, but otherwise the ghost had found a safe spot to hover.

Where am I? Ghostbur looked around before lowering to touch the surface below him only to burn off some of his hand and recoil backwards bumping into more of the weird burning substance. This happened at least 5 more time 3 of which sent the tiny ghost into a short panic attack before tommy couldn’t take it anymore. Tommy broke the stare off he’s been having with dream, looking down as he brought his tongue to the little bit that was left of the ghost and ending it quickly. He felt the guilt almost instantly and broke down crying, “shh toms it’s ok, this was all for the best” dream said crouching down to remove the makeshift mussel “it’ll all be worth it once you learn how to be good” a small chuckle “won’t it.” Dream turned and left leaving a crying Tommy and a blown up logshire with a wicked grin and a smug satisfaction no man as cruel as dream should have.

—————-

Done, angst yes

And I don’t have many more notes for this other that this is a cool promt and I actually thought of a couple different ways to use this so there might be some more with ghostbur later.

Also sorry it was quick

(Not proof read)

[dramaticsnakes]

The Revived - Chapter 19: Unwelcome Thoughts

This is chapter 19 of the Dream SMP multichapter fic @rainbowbutterfrosting​ and I wrote together! I hope you’ll enjoy!

AO3

Read in order (on Tumblr)

Characters in this chapter: Wilbur, Ghostbur

Word count: 3603

Cw: blood, treating wounds, lots of pain, detailed intrusive thoughts about hurting others, tensions between characters, manipulation, spiralling, crying

Fic summary: Wilbur was alive, and it was such a magnificent feeling, that made his mind spark with anticipation. It didn’t take long, however, for Wilbur to realize that this new breath of life, was not just his own. An echo-y voice hides in the back of his mind, and before he knows it, the transparent version of him he saw at the endless train station, is a lot more ingrained than he’d expected him to be.

And Wilbur really shouldn’t care. Because he’d be damned, if he spent the life he’d awaited for so long, babysitting a lost cause of a ghost, stuck in the very same limbo Wilbur spent so long in. It was an even exchange, and one Wilbur wasn’t going to mess with. Why exactly he ends up setting out to get the ghost out of his mind, in order to save the both of them, however, is beyond him. And perhaps Wilbur’s past isn’t as easy to leave behind, as he’d hoped it would be.

Tending to his own wounds was once a routine. It was something that he had to do frequently during the wars, and it hadn’t taken too long for him back then to grow desensitized to the feeling. As repetitive as loading a crossbow, which could cause someone else to go through the same repetitive action.

Though as Wilbur tried to recall the steps, his memory seemed to fail him. He hadn’t had treatable injuries in limbo after all. The ones he had since he was revived, other people had treated for him. Now he was out of practice. Great.

He ripped the fabric off the wound to free it. As bleeding started to come out from his wound, he remembered that the arrow ideally should be removed after the first bit of the immediate treatment.

Ah, shit.

With a piece of cloth he’d picked up, he applied as much pressure as he could to the wound. It stung, but it was better than nothing. “Now I’m going to rinse it,” Wilbur narrated. 

Ghostbur’s whimpers became clearer every time the wound was touched, and Wilbur was starting to grow tired of it. Every single time he heard it, he was momentarily brought back into the pain. It was pathetic to let himself be affected by it.

He took a water bucket and slowly poured some on the wound. Suddenly he heard Ghostbur scream.

“What’s going on, what’s going on, what’s going on?” Ghostbur pleaded.

“Huh?” Wilbur said confusedly, “I’m rinsing the wound, I just told you.”

The words were unclear through the quick breaths. “With- with what?”

“Uhh, water?” Wilbur said, confused at the question.

“O-oh-” Ghostbur said, “It- Water burns me. I’m sorry I just didn’t expect it this time.”

“Water burns you?” Wilbur asked. Abruptly, he remembered the tears steaming on the figure’s face. As if they were burning him. 

They were burning him.

“That didn’t happen last time,” he said, remembering when his wound had been rinsed way back then.

“It does now,” Ghostbur said quickly, and if it had been anyone else, Wilbur would almost have assumed it was with slight annoyance.

Wilbur hummed with acknowledgement as he picked his brain to remember if anything was different. He remembered how Ghostbur had been able to taste the consistency of the steak. The touch on the hand. The fur on the sheep. “I guess you feel things more clearly now.”

“O-okay. Please-” Ghostbur cut himself off.

“Please what?”

“W-warn me next time?” It was asked like a question. Uncertainty dripping off every syllable. It was familiar in a sense.

“Sure,” Wilbur said with a nod. “I’m supposed to be rinsing it for a couple of minutes though. To avoid infection.”

“Your time or my time?”

“My time.” Wilbur said, and the words tasted bitterly in his mouth.

“Okay,” Ghostbur whispered, his voice so hushed, that Wilbur could’ve easily missed it.

Wilbur continued to rinse the wound with water, Ghostbur’s whimpers coming through every once in a while, though they turned quieter and quieter. He thought of the way the tears had burned the ghost. He thought of the sobs, the pleas and the cries.

For how long had Ghostbur been crying?

Wilbur pushed the thought away as fast as he could, because he didn’t need it right now. It attempted to drag him towards the ground, and he was so so close to taking off. He was so close to letting his mind wander into the comforting freedom that came with the control he’d gained. He disinfected the wound, inhaling sharply at the feeling.

“I’m done rinsing it,” he said after a little while, and the ghost stopped whimpering. He took the bandages off the surface of the chest next to him, and wrapped them around his leg. He took a big sip from the potion of regeneration, the pinkish purple mixture making it into his veins. It felt a lot more comfortable than an instant health one. It settled, as if everything was being stitched together with a grip as gentle as water. 

Or well, perhaps not water in everyone’s case. 

There was silence from Ghostbur, and Wilbur hummed, satisfied with his work. “See? I’ve taken care of the wound, just like you wanted.” He chuckled lightly, “How do you feel?”

The ghost swallowed something in his throat. “Better,” he said, though the words sounded choked.

Wilbur remembered the buttons underneath his fingers, and the satisfaction that came with breaking something in his hands. He thought of George, backed up into a corner. “Hmm? Are you happy now?” he said, and somehow it didn’t feel like he was the one saying it. It was, of course. It was something he would say.

Ghostbur sounded like he was about to sob again, though it was hindered. After a few moments of silence, he spoke, “...thank you.”

Wilbur felt his shoulders fall into a relaxed position, as he looked straight ahead onto the books on the shelves. “You’re welcome,” he said. It came out quieter than he intended.

Once the potion had done some more work, he could go have a look at the books. Figure out his next course of action. But there was no rush. Not really. That was another pro to working alone. He decided when he was working, without the weight of expectations keeping him down.

Ghostbur sobbed, before cutting himself off again. “Wilby, ‘m sorry.” he said. It didn’t mix in with the rest of the pleas. It was intended for Wilbur properly this time.

“For what?” Wilbur asked, a bit of confusion slipping in with the nonchalance. 

Ghostbur’s breathing wavered. “Sorry for it hurting too much.”

It took Wilbur a moment to comprehend the words, and when he did he wasn’t sure whether to frown or to laugh. An apology. The ghost was apologizing to Wilbur for feeling pain. It was just like the other times, and it truly dawned upon Wilbur just how apologetic the ghost was. How the ghost would go silent just for feeling unwanted.

How easy it was, to make the ghost go silent.

The thoughts came to Wilbur like little gusts of wind. Like the button underneath his fingertips. Ghostbur couldn’t do anything, and Wilbur held every ounce of power to do whatever he wanted. The pure water didn’t harm Wilbur in the slightest. He imagined letting the water stream down himself, hearing the ghost’s pleas and faint apologies. He would beg Wilbur to stop, and Wilbur could touch his old wounds, and jump in a tank until he was entirely covered in water. The ghost’s apologies would fill his mind, and Wilbur would encourage them fully. He would take them at face value. He could have Ghostbur never talk again. He could finally be alone. Because breathing at the surface of the ocean was hardly necessary when you were brilliant enough to breathe underneath it.

As the thoughts appeared, he had a difficult time pushing them out. They lingered there, temptingly.  They shouldn’t, Wilbur realized. That didn’t make sense at all. He shook his head quickly.

Wilbur spent so long feeling like nothing. Feeling pathetic. Prime, how he yearned for the freedom. Wanted to be everything he knew he had the potential to be. Wanted to ride that high, that led him to the button that destroyed everything he’d created.

And yet, a faint hint of the ground he was standing on before, tried to drag him back. Tried to push the familiar high away. 

What the hell was he thinking? What did all of those thoughts mean?

He needed control. He really really needed control.

It was strange to have a ghost in his mind that lacked control whatsoever. Any knowledge was given by Wilbur, and even then, the poor thing still needed an explanation at times. The ghost spoke in the back of his mind, “I heard from Phil that when you get an injury you should use rice. Not the food though, he told me not to use actual rice.” Ghostbur chuckled somberly, “It’s an acronym. Tells you that you should rest, ice, compression, and elevate something when it hurts. I- I know that we don’t have ice, but can you- if it’s not a bother- elevate it?” Ghostbur quickly added, “Just a bit please.”

How far could he push the kind soul? How much would he take before nodding along to what Wilbur said. “It is a bother,” he said dully, the words seeming automatic. They tasted wrong as he continued to speak, “You’re lucky I’m kind enough to take care of you.” He grabbed the chair near him and laid his leg onto it, shifting it slightly so it wouldn’t hurt as much.

“Thank you,” the words were strained, almost a whisper that slightly shook.

You’re welcome, stayed on his tongue. It tasted more and more bitter the more he considered it. Silence lingered between them. He barely had the words to say what he wanted to say.

A small part of him said to apologize. Perhaps that part was infected by Ghostbur as the rest of him was so boldly different. The thoughts reoccurred, louder this time, swarming him with all the ways he could make Ghostbur silent. “Shut up,” he muttered to nothing in particular. 

A muffled whimper filled his ears. He couldn’t tell if it was his mind or Ghostbur as the ghost’s screams echoed in his mind. He moved the chair under him slightly, making it so he could reach the bookshelf in Tubbo’s bunker. Perhaps light reading would take his mind off of things.

He skimmed the titles with his eyes. Most of them were about L’Manberg and Schlatt2020, but a few stood out. He thought carefully before picking the book that read, “Pandora’s Box”. The name felt familiar. Someone must’ve told him about it, but he couldn’t remember a name. 

He leaned over, barely grabbed the book as it was near the end, and put it onto the table in front of him. He opened it, skimmed through the index, and flipped to the first page.

“Pandora’s Box, is a massive prison, commissioned by Dream on the 6th of December 2020. It was primarily built by Awesamdude, with the help of BadBoyHalo, Antfrost, and Dream. The prison is said to be entirely inescapable.”

Wilbur nodded along with the words, and flipped to a page that detailed the captives. 

“Current prisoners: Dream, imprisoned on February 7th 2021”

Wilbur chuckled to himself. Oh the irony. Trapped in one's own prison. Truly the fate for someone considered a villain.

Wilbur’s mind was silent. There were barely any whimpers. Wilbur hated how his heart seemed to jump to his throat for a moment at the realization. He turned the page back to the part detailing the entry protocol.

“To gain access to the prison, the guest must summon the warden by clicking the button at the entrance hall and travel through the portal grid controlled by the warden.”

Silence. Wilbur felt his heart rate increasing.

“Upon entering, the warden at the desk has the visitor sign waivers waiving the prison's responsibility and gives the prisoner the responsibility for all risks.”

Wilbur tried to absorb the information, as he became increasingly aware of his own breathing.  “In addition, the guest is vetted through interrogation with questions regarding the visitor's visit history, relationship with the prisoner, and the location of residence.”

Wilbur remembered the faint apologies. Sorry for it hurting too much. Yet there was barely a sound in his head, and all he could hear was his heart, and his breathing, and he had one foot on the ground, and the other elevated. He was no longer about to fly. His mind wanted to, but it couldn’t seem to find a place to take off. The click of buttons seemed foreign to him. He wanted to throw the book away to make sense of his mind, and all the desires blasting through it at miles a second. The desires he didn’t want to have, the desires he was supposed to have, the doubts he thought he shook off long ago. 

Pathetic. Pathetic shell with nothing to offer for his time. A legacy, a crater in the ground. He wasn’t going to be pathetic anymore. He knew he could do so much more. He could affect miles worth of land. Could fill so many pages in history directly and indirectly. Wilbur was a genius! A work of art, and no one else knew. No one else understood. No one else could truly see the big picture the way he could.

Control. He really really needed control.

Wilbur shut the book abruptly. “Ghostbur, do you want me to read something out loud to you?” The words came out so quickly, that he barely realized he was the one who’d said them.

“Huh?” a moment of hesitation followed, “I-I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I- I don’t know.”

“There are quite a few books here,” Wilbur said, his voice softening.

“I…” A few confused silent breaths came out, “What- what am I supposed to answer?”

“Hm?” 

“I’m sorry, this is hard, I don’t… I don’t know. What do you want me to respond? You said I shouldn’t-” There were some quiet unintelligible mumbles.

Wilbur’s hand shook on the cover of the book, his back suddenly straightened. It had worked. Just a few words, slipping out as a small test, and the ghost was right there, trying to please Wilbur’s every whim. The ghost was in his head, and the ghost was desperate. The ghost feared him, and Wilbur wasn’t even sure if the ghost knew how much more Wilbur was capable of or not. Just how little Wilbur had to do, for the pleas to never cease, or for the silence to extend forever. 

And perhaps, there was a little bit of influence lingering elsewhere, because the thought made Wilbur feel sick. Dizzy from the power, yet lacking any sort of grasp or control when it came to his own thoughts.

“I’m sorry,” Wilbur said out loud, the words echoing the ghost’s own muffled apologies.

“Huh?” Ghostbur said.

“There is no right answer,” Wilbur said. “Just uh… Pick what you want.”

“Would it… Would either bother you?” Ghostbur asked, his voice choked.

Wilbur shook his head, though the ghost couldn’t see it. “No. Reading brings me information regardless and reading some out loud would just… Help me memorize it.”

Yes. Wilbur didn’t care either way. What did Wilbur care about anyway?

“Oh.” Ghostbur said, taking a deep breath, “R-reading is calming. If it isn’t any trouble I wouldn’t mind listening for a bit. Sorry.”

Wilbur flinched slightly at the apology. “No reason to be sorry,” Wilbur said. “What do you wanna hear about?” He asked, looking at the shelves, “Oooh, how about all this Egg stuff? I don’t know much about that.”

Ghostbur made a small hum of agreement, “Whatever you’d like.”

Wilbur insisted on Ghostbur’s opinions to be heard, the persisting guilt pressing onto him painfully, “Do you not have a preference or do you secretly want a certain book?”

Ghostbur’s voice wavered, “I- I’m sorry. Just um- whatever you want.”

Wilbur hated that he could tell Ghostbur had a preferred book. Yet, he knew the ghost was distressed enough as it was and decided to force himself to not dwell on it too long. Of course it lingered in the back of his mind, but he pulled a book titled “The Egg” off of the bookshelf. He took a shaky breath as he opened the book. 

He didn’t bother looking at the table of contents as he cleared his voice, “The Crimson, also known as The Egg, is a strange large red egg that was discovered by BadBoyHalo while mining out his statue room before December 6, 2020.”

The silence was present, but it wasn’t as loud as before. It slightly irritated him as it taunted him in the back of his mind.

“Since then, it has grown much larger and exhibits a strange phenomenon of weeping vines and tendrils that have been found across different locations. The Egg appears to be sentient, talking to the infected in a strange language.”

Wilbur awkwardly laughed, “That’s sorta cool.”

He hoped for a passive agreement that was tinged with melancholy, but instead, silence greeted him. No- it wasn’t a greeting. It was a harsh intrusion that played on repeat.

“The vines, also ca- called Blood Vines appear to be slowly growing across populated areas. The v- vines reek of iron, and taste like metal.” 

Wilbur’s hands shook the book as he looked up at the ceiling. He almost expected the stone surface to morph into Ghostbur himself, and proceed to tell him how horrible of a person he was. It was welcomed more than the silence. He knew he didn’t deserve Ghostbur’s voice, but he wanted to hear him laugh again. He just needed the reassurance he would be okay.

The thought made him look back at the book. He shouldn’t be so soft. The ghost had done nothing for him. He only knew him for a few days. He shouldn’t care. He really shouldn’t. 

Ghostbur probably didn't care either. He probably pretended to, for a way out of limbo. Yet, part of him knew Ghostbur wouldn’t be silent if that was his goal. He would ask questions about Dream or the train, instead of leaving him alone in his own mind.

“Ghostbur, please just-” Wilbur didn’t even acknowledge what he was saying. He screwed his eyes shut as he put his head down on the table. He felt his eyes water despite being closed. He wasn’t crying if he didn’t let the tears fall, was he?

He didn’t even know what he wanted Ghostbur to say, but it certainly wasn’t what the ghost said. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to read it if you don’t want to.”

A sob reached out of Wilbur’s throat. He constantly ruined everything. It wasn’t any wonder why everyone preferred Ghostbur over him. Apart from the occasional person that preferred Dream over him. The one written down to be the villain that everyone regarded out of malice. He couldn’t have a moment without someone wishing he was gone and it killed him.

Not literally, even if he wished so. He didn’t stop his cries from tumbling out. He went to cover his mouth with a hand, but he couldn’t see a point anymore. The worst that could happen was the villain finally reaching the end of his story. A story that finished months ago, but now the creators of life were releasing the sequel that nobody asked for. 

“Wilbur? Is there something I can help you with?” Ghostbur’s voice was so small and hesitant compared to all the thoughts in his head. He got up from his seat, just to curl himself up under the table, moving his leg slightly. He winced from the pain, but he kept it stretched straight to make it hurt a little less.

“G- Ghostie?” Wilbur stuttered through sobs.

Ghostbur’s voice had a fondness that shined through it slightly. A pang of guilt roughly hit him at the gentleness he didn’t deserve. “I’m here.”

Wilbur’s mind ran as he blurted, “Ghostie, please don’t stop talking. I- I can’t stand it. I can’t stand the train station anymore. I need someone else. Please.” Wilbur’s voice cracked on itself as he grabbed part of his hair. He hated the fucking train station, the silence that constantly rang in his ears. The gray walls and ceiling taunted him as if freedom was on the other side. If he ran far enough, he would find the end of the tunnel. If he ran quick enough, no one would even notice he was gone.

It took him a while to hear the thoughts in the back of his mind, “-t was a silly idea! B- but Tommy insisted. So we took a bag with us with some potions in it. They weren’t for me but just Tommy. We ran out into the snow, it was so much fun!”

Wilbur put his head between his knees as he felt the wall against his back. Tommy. Snow. Potions. Ghostbur. No train station. He was out. He tried to count his breathing, but it only worked so well as his breath kept on hitching.

“He was wearing three layers and I was wearing… I guess one? Phil said he needed more layers to feel warm, but I always felt warm since I was a ghost and stuff. So I just wore my normal outfit.”

Wilbur nodded as his voice shook, “Mhm. P- Phil is really nice.”

“Yeah. Phil is part bird, I think? Or angel maybe, some people have said. He has wings and he makes little chirping noises when he’s happy. Sometimes he makes higher ones if he’s worried.” Wilbur already knew all of it, but he felt familiarity with the information that comforted him.

Ghostbur continued to talk and Wilbur was appreciative of it. He’d add small comments occasionally. It took longer than it should have for Wilbur to stop crying, but at the end, in a smaller voice than he wanted, he muttered a quick, “Thank you.”

Ghostbur sighed peacefully, “You’re welcome.”

“Tired,” Wilbur’s eyes desperately wanted to close but he made sure to keep them open. He didn’t want to leave Ghostbur. Not right now.

“Go to sleep, Wil. I’ll be here in the morning.” Wilbur could barely hear the rest, nonetheless debate that he didn’t want to leave Ghostur alone, as he passed out under the table without another word.