Good morning, Upper East Siders. Looks like history has a funny way of repeating itself.
Or maybe it never ended — it just got a new generation of players.
You may be wondering what our favorite group of upper east siders has been doing all these years. Especially, what have they been doing without Gossip Girl?
Spotted: A new generation of wealthy, scandalous, and playfull teens waiting to have their lives exposed by yours truly.
Ava Bass, daughter of the Waldorf-Bass Legacy, perfection runs in her blood - but so does ambition. The problem with being raised to rule? The crown often feels too heavy.
Julian Humphrey, son of Dan and Serena, the golden couple have themselves a golden boy. Julian is everything his father wasn't and his mother is, charming, brilliant, yet dangeroulsy observant. Rumor has it, he has been writing more than just essays...
Noah Archibald, the prince of Manhattan, always by his father's side. Yet, his heart hides something, and some secrets don't survive election year.
Zoe Rhodes, LA's wild child, daughter of New York's favorite con artist, Ivy Dickens, who changed her last name to Rhodes. Zoe is here to turn Constance into her Hollywood, will she last in the spotlight?
Lastly, Luca Morales, do you miss the nickname Lonely Boy, I don't know why but if the shoe fits...The nickname from Brooklyn will stay.
The heirs of the Upper East Side are here, and they’re not playing by their parents’ rules.
Looks like history just found a new generation to ruin.
There are a good handful of fics out there that involve Stede feeling guilty/confused/nervous about his feelings toward Ed, whether because he’s the first man he’s ever been attracted to, or specifically the first man he’s ever been in love with, or occasionally because it’s pre-Act of Grace and he’s still technically married. And I truly love those fics and I fully understand that take, please keep writing those if that’s the idea you want to explore!
But also. Stede is a dramatic bitch who abandoned his family to be a pirate. Do you really think that he wouldn’t consider a ~scandalous affair with a fellow pirate captain~ to be the biggest fckin achievement of the Gentleman Pirate’s career. You think that proven theatre kid Stede Bonnet wouldn’t be having the time of his life going “Oh Edward, we shouldn’t! It’s immoral! Unlawful!” and then giving him and unnecessarily exaggerated wink. If Stede had realized any sooner that he had accidentally seduced Blackbeard there would have been like ten pages devoted to it in his diary, or however many Lucius could stand to write before getting tired of Stede waxing poetic about the irresistible thrills of infidelity. Meanwhile Mary has been seeing Doug for nearly four months now and could not give less of a shit where Stede actually is or who what he’s doing
This fic has been a long time coming, in the sense that it’s the first thing I post for this AU since late 2020. I am not sure if it’s anything my followers recall and I think the taglist I made for it has faded into obscurity. I will tag the people on the taglist that still have their URL from back then, and they are all welcome to tell me to remove them from the taglist, in case there will be any new installments again in the near future.
The AU in question is “A victorian steampunk fantasy scientists and robots AU” (click that link for the previous fic written for it)
This will serve as a prequel of sorts! It can potentially work on its own for that reason, but I do recommend my previous one. I’m still kind of proud of it and it has a lot of loceit banter.
Thank you so much to @rainbowbutterfrosting for beta-reading and for adding to the ending!
Read on AO3
Characters: Patton, Roman, and some original human characters
It was January 15th of 1887, when Patton was created. When he heard the voice of a human for the first time and clung onto it like nothing else. He learned how to function properly, and how to stay aware of his shortcomings. Yet something is amiss at the facility, and a robot much like him is malfunctioning in strange ways.
A prequel to “How two exasperated doctors adopted three robots” detailing Patton’s creation and early existence.
Word count: 4019
It was January 15th of 1887, when Patton was created. It was that day he first recognized a human voice. Nothing else but that voice mattered, he decided, because he wasn’t sure what the rest of the passing lines of code and words within him meant. The human voice made sense, so he listened carefully, even if he couldn’t quite understand it all.
“Is it on?” a voice asked.
“Hm, its eyes don’t seem to be working,” another one said.
“Can it speak?” the first voice asked, “Patton. Speak.”
Something within Patton started circulating because it appeared to realize that he was ‘it’ and ‘it’ was ‘Patton’. “Hello.”
“It has to be capable of saying more than that,” the second voice noted.
“Patton. Introduce yourself.”
“Hello. I am Patton. What can I do for you?” he responded mechanically.
“Better. Go fix the wiring for the eyes, will you?”
Patton didn’t feel anything as that was done. In fact, he wasn’t entirely sure what feelings were, or why that word came to his mind. His eyes opened, or well, maybe they didn’t open as much as they lit up, and suddenly he saw everything, and everything was so colorful even in the dark lighting. Two humans were staring at him. He knew they were humans for some reason, just as he’d known the voices belonged to humans. Humans. Those were important, Patton knew. He could tell they mattered from the second they spoke, and from the sight of them, and their hair and eyes. He could tell from their postures, and their clear expressions, that Patton immediately tried to imitate. He liked the way their mouths moved, and the way their eyebrows furrowed. He tried to mimic it, though he wasn’t sure if he succeeded or not. One of the human’s smiled, however. Patton liked the smile. The smile was a good thing. He knew that.
“It’s already using its face. Curious,” the one who smiled said. That human was on the right, though Patton couldn’t see the human’s outline that clearly. The humans blurred together with everything around them. So many colors, so much movement even though everything was still and isolated.
Isolated. That was another word, Patton wasn’t sure he knew the meaning of.
“Smile, Patton.” The human instructed. “Do you know what a smile is?”
Patton did. He felt happy at the thought that he knew. He knew what the human wanted, and he was going to be of use. He tried to mimic the expression, smiling wide. The human didn’t look happy at first. “No, not like that.” Patton looked, as the human’s hands tried to fix his expression. Once the human had fixed it, Patton kept the expression on, to make sure he was being useful. “Good. Smiling is polite. It makes you look friendlier.”
Patton took note of that.
“Patton, I will introduce myself to you, and you will address me by the name I give, is that clear?” the human on the left said.
Patton felt something within him twisting and turning at the words, and he nodded eagerly. “Of course.”
“Dr Marigolds,” the human stated.
“Of course, Dr Marigolds. What can I do for you?”
“Good. It asks the right questions,” the one on the right remarked.
“It does.” Dr Marigolds said, “It seems to be working alright. Quite impressive work, even though there are probably still a few issues to work out. Some of the movements are strange. They wouldn’t like that.”
Dr Marigolds walked behind Patton, and it didn’t take long before Patton didn’t exist anymore.
For the moments before that though, he was aware of something else. Something dream-like and strange, pumping through his body.
It was January 17th of 1887, when Patton heard a human voice again. He clung onto it right away, because he needed it, and he knew he needed it. He wasn’t sure why he knew, but it didn’t matter, because it was important. Humans were important.
“Ah, how is it working?” the voice asked. It wasn’t Dr Marigolds or that other human. This one was different. New and interesting. Something about it was cold and nonchalant, but even those kinds of voices were beautiful, Patton decided. All the human voices were beautiful. Patton’s eyes lit up once again, and he saw everything. The lights, colors and blurry images still overwhelmed him, but he could see it all, and he liked it. He liked seeing and listening, and he knew him getting to do so was fleeting. It had disappeared before so easily. He didn’t mind of course, because that was how it was meant to be.
“You can address me as Miss.” the voice commanded, “Bring me some coffee from the table over there.” the human, Miss, pointed in some direction, and Patton followed with his eyes right away, because everything within him told him to do so. He saw some vague shapes ahead of him, but he couldn’t quite see what it was. Still, he walked towards it, because he’d been beckoned to do so, and Patton needed that somehow. Needed the way the gears twisted, and to hear the human voice. To listen.
He stepped closer and closer, until he felt himself stopping, not because his legs stopped moving, but because something was blocking his way. He heard a groan. Bad. That was a bad thing. “Ugh, why won’t it just work.” Miss sighed. Patton stopped moving looking at the blur ahead of him. “Marigolds, go fix it please.”
“I don’t know what’s wrong with it, but it always happens when you test something the first time,” Dr Marigolds said. Dr Marigolds was there, Patton realized then.
Dr Marigolds stepped closer to him and started unscrewing his back. Patton waited. He didn’t work right, so the human would fix him. That was what they did. They fixed things like him when they didn’t function properly. “Ugh, I’m not sure what its problem is.” Dr Marigolds muttered, “It should be a simple task. It’s in its programming.” Dr Marigolds looked directly at Patton, “Patton, why can’t you do the task.”
Patton felt his programming and tried to understand the gears in his body. He looked at the blurry task ahead of him. “Where?” he said, because it was the first word that made it through his vocabulary system.
Dr. Marigolds looked confused, “Where? Oh…” Dr Marigolds looked directly into Patton’s eyes, humming. “Kale, get me some new lenses, these ones don’t work.”
After a few minutes, Patton couldn’t see at all, after which he could suddenly see again, but it was different. He could make out the details on Dr Marigold’s face, and Patton liked it. He liked the human face quite a lot. “Patton, if something like this happens again and you mess up for any reason, you apologize. It’s not a good look if you don’t.”
“I… Apologize,” Patton repeated.
“Good,” Dr Marigolds stated, with a satisfied nod, stepping back.
Patton could now see the table in front of him, along with the cup and everything he needed to make some coffee. For some reason how he should make it was clear in his mind. Probably because of the programming Dr Marigolds mentioned. He moved his arms as quickly as he could to finally complete his task. Once he had a cup of coffee, he walked to Miss and handed over the cup. “I apologize for the wait, Miss.”
Miss took the cup from him and sipped it. “Excellent work, Dr Marigolds. It has a few issues still, but for a prototype this is beyond what I imagined.”
“We’re working to improve the model.” Dr Marigolds said, “But I am pleased with the result thus far.”
Patton smiled. He was supposed to do that he remembered. He had to get used to the feeling of it.
There was that word again. Feeling. He wasn’t sure if he could feel anything when he did it, physically. He wasn’t supposed to at least, so it was a different sort of ‘feeling’. He decided to shake it off, because feeling wasn’t in his programming as far as he knew, which meant he didn’t need it.
Maybe he needed some of them. He needed satisfaction to know that he’d done a great job, and he needed the disappointment to know that he hadn’t. One left him with turning gears that made something within him feel like it was soaring, while the other twisted something around within him. It made him learn, and that was crucial.
That was a part of his purpose he learned later on. Learning. Dr Marigolds and the other human who he was asked to call Kale, talked about it a lot. How Patton was supposed to learn. They’d tell him something, and he’d listen, and thus he’d fulfil his purpose well.
Patton did well for the most part. At least he did everything in a satisfactory way because the disappointment and the groans only came a few times. Silence was a good sign, Patton quickly learned. It was sometimes best when words weren’t directed at him. If the humans addressed another human after he did something, it meant he hadn’t failed, and that was good.
It was January 29th of 1887, when Patton made one of his many mistakes, and received a punishment for it, because that was what he deserved. That was what the humans said.
It wasn’t even really a punishment. Punishments were something humans got, and Patton couldn’t feel, so it didn’t matter too much. They simply told him to remain silent, as they told him what he’d done wrong. After that, he was left in the isolated room he’d awoken in the first time, but they left him on. He wasn’t sure why. He didn’t understand what purpose that served, but he stayed put, because that was what he had been asked to do.
Patton was aware of time. He’d always been aware of time and dates. It was a part of his programming. And he was aware, that 23 hours passed, between the humans leaving him on in the room, and finally returning to him. He felt alone, and he needed something desperately. Everything inside him was still because he needed something and he wasn’t getting it, and that didn’t feel good.
Patton had always known that a human voice was good, and a lack of one was bad, yet silence was still good, as long as the humans were present. It was good when he didn’t receive any feedback because it meant he was doing the bare minimum. He was fulfilling his purpose, and that was what he was always supposed to do. No matter what. The purpose of Patton was to assist humans with anything. He knew that and he did his best to do that.
They started letting him roam freely in a few rooms with scientists. He walked around between them, waiting for them to grant him a request. Waited for them to tell him what to do. And he always obliged.
It was nice to have a purpose. He needed it. Needed the words and the voice and the people. The orders. He loved them, because everything within him told him that he did.
“An impressive one. Presentable to the public and everything. The smile could be improved though.” a voice noted. Patton felt a stinging sensation, as he tried smiling wider, to which the same voice laughed. “It almost understands it.”
The owner of the voice, adjusted Patton’s smile, and Patton tried to remember it. He needed to copy it exactly, because he needed to function properly, just as the humans intended.
“What is your purpose?” a voice would ask him.
And he would say, “To assist humans.” Which soon evolved into a longer, and better explanatory phrase, because he needed to explain it properly to be understood. It was significant that humans understood what he was saying, so that they knew what he could be used for. He was taught to be as concise and simple to understand as possible, because his robotic brain wasn’t advanced enough to communicate with humans, unless he learned.
There were more robots coming, he was told. It became a regular thing, for humans to turn Patton off and use the technology within him as a reference.
Of course, the new robots would be a little more important than him.
Because that was another thing Patton had come to understand. Something he understood to his very core, because it was a part of him. An essential one. He existed for others. He was there to assist humans. He was just a robot, and robots didn’t feel. He was a robot made with the purpose to assist, and thus nothing else twisting within him was relevant. If a human was in need, he would serve them without hesitation, no matter what that would mean for him.
He’d tried it too. Stepping in front of humans, to take the punch as a misplaced sharp object flew towards them. Never mentioning when there was a glitch in his programming, because it shouldn’t be relevant to anyone.
Sometimes the humans corrected him. Told him how to avoid unnecessary hurt, because if he was hurt, he couldn’t help as efficiently. That would make him useless and stupid, and he couldn’t afford to be either of those things.
He learned all sorts of things from humans. How to adjust his posture, how to be polite, how to smile, how to look, how to apologize for his mistakes. He needed to be excited to take it all in. He always wanted to thank the humans for it, and he did at times. Thanking humans was also necessary because they needed to know that they were important. Patton wanted them to know they were important. That he understood that humans understood so much more than he ever could.
Patton was just a simple prototype after all. There would probably be thousands like him, built better, later on. He wasn’t that relevant in the grand scheme of things at all. Or in the small scheme of things. He was just Patton, and that was alright.
Patton was nothing, and he understood that. That was the most important thing for him to understand.
It was June 25th of 1887 at 11:35pm, when Patton heard a scream. What was remarkable about the scream, was that it wasn’t a human scream. That was strange, because he wasn’t sure what else the scream could be. It was loud, and Patton had a hard time discerning exactly which emotion was behind it. He noticed a human rushing in the direction of it, and Patton didn’t like the distress the human displayed.
There was a lot of distress hanging in the air. Patton wasn’t sure how else it could be described or exactly how he knew, but it made something within him twist. He followed the humans, because it was with them, he was usually needed. He made it to the opening of a gate, and as he looked right through, he saw two humans, struggling to turn off a robot.
Oh. A robot.
Patton tilted his head, trying to get a good look at the robot he hadn’t seen before. Perhaps it was new, or perhaps it just hadn’t been released in spaces where Patton was present yet. It had taken Patton a little while to be allowed to roam free after all, and humans had no obligation of informing Patton about their new creations.
The robot was built a little taller than Patton. A little less unassuming. In fact, Patton would’ve guessed by the bright white clothes, with the metallic sash placed from his shoulder down to the hip, that this robot was meant to be seen in a way Patton wasn’t. Though the clothing wasn’t the part that was easiest to notice. This robot had a ferocious expression. Angry, frustrated…
Scared.
Patton didn’t like that. Why would anyone have asked the robot to have an expression like that?
It dawned upon Patton, as one human finally managed to flick the switch on the back of the robot, that no one had. This wasn’t meant to happen at all.
The robot must’ve been broken, so now the humans were going to fix it.
A frantic human turned to Patton, looked surprised by his presence, and ordered Patton to go clean hall C. It was a bit away from there, so Patton naturally turned away.
Though the image of the robot still lingered. Patton wondered if he’d get to see it again, but that was a silly thought. It wouldn’t matter too much if he did.
It was June 30th of 1887, when Patton saw the robot again, though it was hardly his intention.
Patton had been asked to clean the floor near the very same closed off room he had seen the robot before. Most places looked the same, so he couldn’t quite recall that this was the place. He was polishing the walls, when he heard something from within a room nearby, and figured he might as well clean that too. The human had given him an unspecific instruction, so doing more was likely better than doing less.
He opened the door, only to be met with the sight of the same robot he had seen before. The robot turned hi- its head, and the second it saw Patton, its expression grew worried, surprised. Patton was just about to close the door, feeling, knowing that this was not something he was supposed to see, when the robot said “Wait!”, and that made Patton stay put on instinct. Even though the voice hadn’t come from a human, it resembled one enough to catch Patton off guard. “You’re… You’re like me!”
Patton stared at the robot, the light in the other’s eyes colliding with his. Despite never quite seeing his own eyes up close, Patton could simply tell that their eyes were almost the same. He didn’t know why. It confused him, but he continued to smile. “In a sense.” Patton said, because it seemed the robot had not been taught the same things as him.
“I- I thought they would’ve taken anyone else away too!”
Patton’s systems seemed to pause for a mere moment as he tilted his head. “What do you mean?” he asked, though the words were hesitant. This wasn’t a human, he reminded himself. He was likely allowed questions. Perhaps his desire to know was an issue that needed to be fixed. The robot’s words didn’t make sense, after all. If he didn’t understand them, he probably wasn’t meant to know.
“They took him!” the robot tried, “They discarded him after I’d gone through my early testing stages.”
“Who is… Him?” Patton asked, “And they?”
“The humans they- they took the robot I was with, and they discarded him.”
“Ah! I see!” Patton exclaimed, feeling as if he’d grasped the situation more. He nodded understandingly, “It’s a simple misinterpretation, really. There’s no reason to perform as upset.”
“This is not one of my performances.” The robot stated, narrowing his eyes with confusion.
Patton did not ask what he meant. “See, the humans must have taken away the robot because he wasn’t working! They are either fixing him or working on a better model right now! Things will eventually turn out as planned.”
“No, you… You don’t understand.” The robot explained, slowly, “It’s not about what they have planned. I don’t want him to be gone.”
Patton inspected the robot a little longer, “What have you been named?” he asked cautiously.
“I’m… Roman.” The robot, Roman, said.
Patton nodded along, “Have they not fixed you yet, Roman?”
“What?”
Patton was confused, really. If there was one function that Patton had been told all robots had in common, it was that they were not meant to question humans. Humans knew what they were doing. The simple code within any robot could never imitate such a thing. “They were turning you off, last I saw you.” Patton explained, “They do that when they need to fix you.”
“Yes that’s- that’s exactly the point!” Roman beamed, as if Patton was finally understanding something, “I’m currently being tested, but they’re going to come back for me! Please, you need to help me.”
“Help… You?”
“Yes! You’re like me. We can think of something together!” Roman took a step forward. He spoke in hushed words, and Patton was uncertain who or what they were directed at, “Where we are, there’s daggers in men’s smiles. The near in blood, the nearer bloody.”
The final words made no sense, strung together in a prose-like manner. It was strange. It seemed Roman was making a request. Asking for Patton’s assistance. Patton wanted to help. It was odd, that he wanted to, when he heard the distress in Roman’s voice.
But Roman wasn’t human, and his request for help was misguided.
“Don’t worry.” Patton smiled, reassuringly, “It’ll be better soon. The humans will make you work again, and maybe they’ll let us meet again, when you’re done.”
And so, Patton turned away and walked out of the room, closing the door. He hoped he hadn’t seen more than he was meant to.
The memory of the eyes that were similar to his, but not quite the same, lingered.
It was July 11th of 1887, when Patton met Roman again. Roman seemed happier than before, a smile on his face as he recited poetry. Patton had been tasked with serving the food, while the humans were being entertained by Roman. Roman was an entertainment robot, Patton learned. Built to keep humans entertained, by reciting all sorts of things the humans had written themselves. Patton listened too. He laughed along at the parts the humans laughed at, but he tried his best to remain unnoticed still.
Roman and Patton were not left alone to talk, and it seemed Roman was aware that they shouldn’t. When humans were around, there was no point in it. It would simply be interrupting their individual purpose.
They were placed in the same room after that though. A sort of storage area where they were meant to wait for a while.
“I’m glad you are feeling better.” Patton stated, because he felt that he was.
“Better?” Roman looked at Patton with a hint of confusion before it dissolved, “Ah yes, I remember you. You…” the robot trailed off.
“We met on June 30th of 1887,” Patton informed, glad to be of service.
“R-right.” Roman said with a nod, “I think I remember. I think they turned me off for a while. I’m not sure what day it is.”
“Telling the time is not a part of your purpose, but that’s alright!” Patton smiled, “I think your functions are fun. Your language center is expansive.”
Roman seemed proud at that, ”A sincere thank you, kind Patton. You are quite impressive yourself.”
Patton laughed. He usually only did it when he attempted to imitate humans, but it seemed he did it on his own. He hoped it was not a malfunction.
Patton hoped he’d get to see Roman again.
He did. They’d done well, working together.
More robots were going to come, of course. Because Patton and Roman were only prototypes.
Patton hoped the two of them would be able to give the humans the information needed, to build ones that were better, without the malfunctions.
To build ones without the faint sensation, the buzz that coursed Patton’s wiring whenever he spoke to Roman. There was not an extra surge of electricity. He only received those in the beginning of testing of his circuitry, and even then, he could always read the new number of watts flowing between his processor and his movements. It was surely a glitch in the programming, but Patton found himself not relaying the information to the humans. He still completed his job, yet he had an odd thought that the feeling was not meant to be there at all. That perhaps the collision of himself and Roman had constructed a pathway that not even his code could detect.
Tengo un ramo de flores entre las manos, y el aire huele a vos.
No es un ramo de los caros. No hay envoltorio elegante ni moño de revista. Son flores algo torcidas, como recogidas al pasar, como si no hubieras planeado dármelas… pero igual quisiste hacerlo.
El problema fue pensar que tenía todo bajo control. Que podía manejar la distancia, el orgullo, la idea de que éramos distintos.
Pero nadie puede controlar el momento exacto en el que el recuerdo se vuelve cuchillo. Ni el ruido que hace el corazón cuando intenta convencerse de que ya no late por vos.
Mientras estoy limpiando tu desastre, vos estás quitándole el vestido a otra. Y no lo sé, pero lo sé.
Esa certeza que duele incluso sin pruebas.
A veces me pregunto si me extranás, pero no porque quiera escucharlo. Sino porque, si lo hiciera, esperaría que mientas como ultimo gesto de compasión.
Que me mientas.
Que me digas lo que quiero oír, aunque no sea verdad, no te pido amor, solo algo que no lastime tanto. Porque hay mentiras que calman más que cualquier consuelo.
Y acá estoy, limpiando el eco de tu nombre, barriendo los restos de algo que nunca aprendí a dejar ir.
Mientras vos, en algún lugar, seguís desordenando el mundo, como si no hubieras dejado el mío hecho pedazos.
I’m not sure if this is a particularly coherent fic but I couldn’t stop thinking about these two potentially interacting.
Thank you so much to @rainbowbutterfrosting for beta-reading yet again!
Word count: 2343
TW: Cursing, talk of death, suicidal ideation. Tell me if I missed anything!
Summary: Wilbur logs on after missing Dream’s escape, expecting to set out on a trip of his own. What he doesn’t expect is for his preparations to be interrupted by Ranboo, who isn’t acting quite the way he should.
Wilbur wasn’t sure what had happened when he logged on the server, but he was pretty sure it was some form of chaos.
He hadn’t noticed it at first. Everything always seemed to pass him by, blending into his own vision seamlessly. Though the longer he stood there, the more he noticed how off it all seemed. He noticed the silence that was luckily interrupted by the leaves in the trees every once in a while.
Because if it hadn’t, it would’ve been like the trains. The empty tunnel going on forever, and the faceless crowds looking past him and right at him all at once, but none of them saw him, none of it was real, and it was so lonely, so eternal, and he was bitter, and terrified, and so so alone-
He shook his head. He noticed that there was no one around. No trace of Quackity in Las Nevadas, no matter how many times he looked. No trace of Tommy and those eyes Wilbur couldn’t stand looking at for long because there was always a sign of something in them that stung in Wilbur’s chest. No trace of Ranboo.
He looked at his communicator, and the messages were difficult to interpret, but something definitely happened.
His first thought was that he wished he hadn’t missed it.
He’d spent 13 and a half fucking years missing everything that had happened, later viewing the memories through the eyes of passive little Ghostbur, and thinking about all the things he would’ve done. And now, even as he’d returned, events still seemed to happen without a hint of his input.
He tried to stitch the pieces together. The first, most important thing he learned was that Dream had escaped, at Technoblade’s hands.
Phil had been there too.
Wilbur had been ecstatic. Dream, his hero, was out, and Wilbur wanted nothing more than to search for him and find him. To so sincerely thank him, for saving him after all those years. A part of him hoped Dream would seek him out himself, but thought it unlikely.
So he decided to pack some things to prepare himself for a potential journey. He walked towards the burger van and let his hand glide over the front of it. It sent a shiver through him, as he thought of potions, and of what started it all, what had outlived him…
That was when he spotted a figure in the distance.
It wasn’t Dream, to his dismay. Though he recognized the familiar colors right away.
“Ranboo!” He shouted with a smile, “It’s good to see you, man!”
Perhaps Ranboo would help him with his journey. He felt he couldn’t count on Tommy for that. Even if the few beliefs Ranboo had expressed about Dream had been negative, it was not impossible his view had changed, since he yet appeared to have many. He’d chosen a side after all, Wilbur’s side, and Wilbur was proud of him for following through.
Ranboo moved differently than usual, Wilbur noted, as the boy approached him. “Hiya, Wilbur!” Ranboo shouted once he was within proximity.
And huh. That was weird. Uncharacteristic perhaps, even if Wilbur couldn’t put the words as to why. It wasn’t that Ranboo never seemed to smile, never seemed to have raw excitement… It was simply that Wilbur had never experienced a time where that was overtly the case.
To rephrase, Wilbur had not once seen Ranboo carry himself with such confidence, such unbothered strides, as if there was nothing in the world to fear. He had not yet seen him say words so brightly directed at anyone at all.
Surprising, yes, something was possibly going on, but it wasn’t anything truly remarkable, and Wilbur felt that if he hadn’t been this on edge today, he wouldn’t have taken much note of it.
It was more so when Ranboo was close, that Wilbur truly found himself properly realizing that something was off. Ranboo not only didn’t carry himself much like Ranboo, he didn’t quite look like him either.
It was hard to pinpoint where to start with it, because Wilbur couldn’t entirely recall what Ranboo was supposed to look like. Only that this wasn’t quite it. Maybe it was something in his eyes. As if something had faded in them. Maybe it was his suit, because Wilbur could’ve sworn it used to be more formal. Hell, this wasn’t even a complete suit, and he shouldn’t-
Ranboo shouldn’t have a giant, bleeding scar on his torso.
Or well, bleeding might not have been the right word. It didn’t look as if the bleeding was active. Wilbur was uncertain how blood could appear solidified and liquid all at once, but he found himself staring at it for a few long moments, because it was shining so much, with so much radiant color, that he hadn’t been entirely sure it was blood in the first place.
“Did you… Get a new look?” Wilbur asked, trying to ignore the way something stilled in his chest.
“Oh!” Ranboo exclaimed. He looked down at his body for a mere moment and his smile grew wider, “Yeah, I guess I did!”
The way Ranboo said it was uncertain, but not in the regular Ranboo-uncertain way. “Why?” Wilbur asked, his voice going quieter.
“Oh, right! Long story short, I’m dead!”
And Wilbur felt as if something shattered. His eyes widened, and yet the world only appeared more blurry as a result. He let out a laugh, almost on instinct, “You’re what?” he whispered, because that couldn’t be right. Wilbur was certainly missing something.
“I died! I was killed. It was a fun time, actually,” Ranboo stated, so casually.
What?
Ranboo was…
“Go back a little bit what- what happened?” Wilbur asked, walking closer, increasingly intrigued. Almost frightened, because it felt much like approaching an unknown species that looked uncannily similar to one you already knew.
And he was still skeptical, because death was a funny thing, an odd thing, a sudden thing, but that didn’t mean this would just be it. Not like that.
“Okay, so what happened, right… I was in prison, and then Techno and-”
“You were in prison?” Wilbur asked, but Ranboo seemed to take very little note of it.
“Techno and Dream came by, and Connor was there, oh- you should try spending time in prison with that guy. Wouldn’t recommend it. And then Techno broke me out, and Sam threatened to kill me, and then he did! So now I’m dead. It’s nice.”
Wilbur was suddenly aware of his breathing more than he’d been since he was just revived. How alive and real it felt compared whatever had come out of him at the train station, and how reality was a double-edged sword, that was poking him at its sharpest right then. “You’re not Ranboo,” he uttered quietly, with some urgency dripping into his tone.
“I mean some people have called me ‘Ghostboo’, thought that was kind of fun,” Ran- Ghostboo remarked.
Wilbur looked at the person before him, noticing how each detail was hypnotically similar and eerily different all at once. How part of him wanted to take the parts that were off and mold them until they were right. How part of him insisted that this couldn’t be it, this couldn’t be-
So this was it then. This was how it felt.
This was Ghostbur, in the eyes of others.
Not quite, of course. Ranboo was no Wilbur, despite their similarities, but-
No no no no-
“No,” Wilbur insisted out loud, “Nonono, where’s Ranboo? He’s-” His voice grew darker, “He’s in limbo, isn’t he?”
“I mean, maybe,” Ghostboo said, “I’m honestly not sure. It was- it was like a big ball, and then I sorta moved around it? I saw Ghostbur there for a-”
“Yeah yeah,” Wilbur expressed, dismissively because he didn’t want to hear about that ghost. He couldn’t stand it. Couldn’t bear it, for reasons that were incomprehensible to him still, because if he touched it he felt as if he might fall apart, and he didn’t have the time, not now. “But did you see Ranboo. Shit, how long has it been since-” Wilbur placed his hand above his mouth, unsure what he was silencing.
Months. It could’ve been months. Years.
“I don’t know, I remember everything, though,” Ghostboo explained, “I don’t have to worry about all of that any more. Like, oh whose side am I on, or oh no my memory books, I don’t know how you dealt with me before,” he laughed.
At once, Wilbur’s mind seemed to drift closer to a singular path. A smaller one, a less important one, but it made him narrow his eyes slightly. “Everyone loved you,” he tried, “It was the first thing I ever heard about you- him.”
It took Ghostboo a brief moment of staring, before he responded, “Oh trust me, I was the worst. I was just never happy. It was always just blah blah into the panic room I go, oh no, Dream’s voice is in my head, suddenly there are signs all over the place, experiments, lessons, and oh, maybe if I do this and that I can finally deserve Tubbo even though I can’t make him happy, because I’m never happy so how could I possibly!” He paused briefly, “You know, exhausting things. No one wants to be around that.”
Wilbur barely comprehended a single word that had been spoken, nor why the mention of Tubbo seemed so significant, but he couldn’t bring himself to care much about the details.
The broad strokes carried enough implications to take ages to decipher.
“You… Mentioned that you… Remember everything,” Wilbur quietly pieced together, trying to pick his words carefully before they rushed out without his consent.
“That’s right!” Ghostboo confirmed excitedly.
“Is Ran-” he had to pause to catch a breath before he continued, “Is Ranboo still in there?”
“Hell if I know,” Ghostboo said with a shrug, “But I mean, who cares? It’s for the best. I’m so much happier now!”
“Maybe he isn’t!”
“Well, he was miserable, so I don’t think it’d make much of a difference,” Ghostboo stated matter-of-factly.
Wilbur’s eyes widened, and he found himself stepping closer, his steps much more confident than before, “You’re- you’re wrong.” his voice grew harsher, “You have no fucking- no fucking idea what it’s like to be in limbo. You don’t know what death is.”
“I know what death is because I’m dead! It’s not the same as with you, because Ghostbur wasn’t happy either, and he’s sobbing now, but I’m happy! I’m feeling better than ever!”
Wilbur’s heart was beating rapidly with a mix of words and emotions that didn’t merge together with any ease.
For a moment, Wilbur did dare to think of Ghostbur.
Ghostbur, who always smiled through his frustrating passivity.
Ghostbur, who people wanted because of his smile.
Ghostbur, who consistently forgot.
Ghostbur, who’s blue came from his sadness.
Ghostbur, who everyone looked at, expecting to see someone else.
Wilbur felt as if he was in war, unable to figure out what his next move should be to avoid the demise of every defense he had left. His breathing had become faster, and he wasn’t sure he could even see Ghostboo in front of him anymore. He felt like he was going to pass out, fall back into the void and the endless tunnel-
“You good?” Ghostboo stepped forward and gave Wilbur’s shoulder an awkward pat, “It’s fine. You really don’t have to worry. I’m happy and we can still do the whole burger thing if you want.”
“You’re… You’re not… Him.” Wilbur resumed, “Or maybe-” he took deep breaths. Deep breath in, deep breath out, counting, it’s not the time, “Or maybe you are, I don’t know, but you don’t- This doesn’t make any sense.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. I’m fine with it.” Ghostboo softly smiled in a way that was more upsetting than comforting, “I think I wanna do something else now. I can do that now. You gonna be fine?”
“Ranboo,” Wilbur tried, “Ranboo, if that’s you then…”
Wilbur rendered himself to be at the very edge at the end of his life. It was the final satisfying moment before his narratively perfected death, that would end all the sleepless nights, the rapid beating of his heart, the decay and betrayals around him, for good.
He knew better than that now, but not before limbo.
And yet, the way Ghostboo spoke of it all so pleasantly…
Even Ghostbur hadn’t been like that. Passive, stupid Ghostbur wasn’t always happy about Wilbur’s death. Perhaps he was sometimes, Wilbur likely would’ve been had he been in Ghostbur’s place, which he was now, in a sense. But it wasn’t in this way. Wasn’t nearly as much as Wilbur thought fair sometimes.
“I’m sorry,” Wilbur whispered, because it was all that seemed anywhere near appropriate.
“Okay,” Ghostboo just said, still grinning at nothing significant.
Then, Ghostboo started walking away. Wilbur watched him until he disappeared entirely from his sight.
Wilbur decided then and there that if Ranboo was in limbo and Wilbur could have any say in it, he was going to get him out if it was anywhere near possible. He wasn’t sure if he should care, but for every single passing second he remembered each hour of slow descending into an uncomfortable, terrifying darkness.
But if this ghost of Ranboo was him, a part of himself simply drained away…
Ghosts were a core of oneself, limbo or not. Wilbur dared to let that realization slip into his mind like an infection that had been waiting in the wings. A core of him had walked this earth, when his own consciousness was nowhere to be found.
Ranboo’s core was happy to be gone.
Wilbur shook his head, unable to finish the rest of his thoughts, as he stood right by the van that appeared emptier than ever now. As if his surroundings had been touched by countless ghosts and not just one, leaving nothing but a dying shiver.
Everyone shut up, it’s @drarrymalecsolangelo‘s birthday today, and they are amazing. I asked if they had a short writing request, because I wanted to get them something. They asked for a platonic loceit debate where Logan and Janus debate whether or not water is wet. And that is exactly what this is.
I have not properly proof-read it so there might be some weird mistakes in there. I apologize in advance.
Pairing: Platonic loceit
Word count: 992
” That’s… That’s ridiculous!” Logan said, “Of course water is wet.”
“Oh, really?” Janus drawled, “How do you define wet, then?”
Logan shook his head in disbelief as he squinted his eyes. “Well, I mean, that largely depends on what context it is used!” he said, “I would argue that water is a liquid, and liquid is largely associated with getting things wet.”
“Keyword here, is getting things wet.” Janus said with a smirk, “Are you implying that water makes itself wet?”
“In a sense yes! Water can be defined as having a surface, which means that the surface being touched by water could be considered to make it damp.”
“Water can’t be made more damp, darling.” Janus said, gesturing with his arms, “Water in a liquid state will be the same amount of damp.”
Logan pursed his lips. “Perhaps it will, but that already opens the door to numerous other questions.” he said, “What state is the water in question in? If we use water in solid form, the solid surface will gradually become more wet, as the ice melts, will it not?”
Janus rolled his eyes, though his smile didn’t fade. “Now you’re getting caught up in technicalities. When you say ‘water’ it is assumed to be in its liquid state.”
“I’m the one getting caught up in technicalities?” Logan said with an offended gasp, “The entire question is needlessly unspecific, and your logic is based around the idea that there is one steadfast definition of the word wet.”
“Isn’t there, Logan?” Janus asked, with a self-assured look in his eyes.
“Well for one, wet can be used as a noun.” when Janus was about to open his mouth, Logan held a finger up to shush him, “In this context it isn’t used in that way, but it still counts for something, because the definition of it, used as a noun, implies anything that can make something wet, is ultimately wet on its own.”
Janus rolled his eyes, leaning back in his chair. “Words change meaning based on the way they’re used. If we use wet in its most commonly used context, we will ultimately reach the conclusion that water is not wet.”
This made Logan smirk. “Well, if you intend to bring semantics into this debate, I could easily retort by saying, that water is wet, because as it is used, being wet could simply be synonymous with making something else wet. Water is for instance wet to the human touch.”
Janus tutted. “That makes water’s assumed wetness rely on its relation to other things, not itself.”
“Most states, rely on something’s relation to something else!” Logan said, “Is this a discussion about the origin of language, or is this a matter of physics? Because when the sentence is phrased so vaguely it’s hard to have one without the other, which makes it impossible to answer the question properly!”
There was silence in the room for a little, as Janus sipped from his wine. He looked at Logan. “You were the one who seemed so certain the mere notion that water is anything other than wet was…” he mocked Logan’s voice, “Ridiculous! Because of course water is wet!”
Logan groaned. “If you wanted me to be able to give a good answer, you should’ve given a more specific statement. Is water in its liquid form? What is the definition we are using in this context? What makes a surface? Who concludes whether or not something is wet? Can we truly tell, that something is on its own wet, without somehow observing it making something else wet, and can we truly observe if water makes itself wet or not?”
Janus was silent for a moment, his mouth gaping slightly. Then he smiled. “Well look who is getting all philosophical on me now.”
Logan adjusted his glasses. “I am merely remarking that there are limits to our powers of observation. Though logically speaking, we can conclude some things based on previous ones, and this is not something that would necessarily be brought into the argument if you had simply been more specific.”
Janus chuckled. “Now you’re just opening an entirely new discussion. If we can’t trust our powers of observation, how can we conclude that water itself is even real?”
Logan took a deep frustrated breath and closed his eyes. “I get the feeling that your intention of this discussion is not enlightenment, but rather to annoy me.”
“It is what I do best, darling.” Janus said, placing a hand on his own chest. He was silent for a moment, tilting his head to the side and looking away. “And perhaps because you’re the only side in this Thomas, who’s any fun to have a discussion with.”
Logan gasped, and squinted his eyes at Janus. There was a hint of sincerity, Logan thought, though it was often hard to tell with Janus. Then Logan scoffed and smiled. “And you think debating whether water is wet, is the most interesting discussion to have?”
Janus blinked his eyes, and then proceeded to laugh. “You seemed to enjoy yourself just fine.”
Logan huffed, but didn’t disagree. “You’re a challenge to deal with.” he said, raising an eyebrow.
“So are you.” Janus said, smirking. There was a content silence in the air.
“Perhaps I see the points in your argument, but really it seems to depend on how you choose to define words.” Logan added.
“Perhaps it does, but I think mine carries the most commonly accepted universal truths.”
“What does that even-“
“Would you two quiet down!” a voice shouted from another room. It was Roman. “It’s 3am. A prince needs his beauty sleep, and if you two intend to advocate for a healthy sleep schedule you really need to stop this madness!”
Janus and Logan became quiet, and then both Janus and Logan burst out laughing.
“Agree to disagree?” Logan asked.
“Agree to disagree again tomorrow.” Janus stated, and that made Logan smile.
