My Art Book

Untitled Part 74

Ignore the title. I have no idea what to call this, but it has been Untitled Part 74 since it started, and it will stay that way. If I make a sequel, you had better bet it'll be called Untitled Part 74 Part 2 u^u

Anyway

Graphic descriptions of violence? Fundy being overworked and treated like sh*t? Graphic descriptions of what I think MC zombies should look like? Guilt and depression and panic attacks? Pog

Seriously though, there are several TWs for this one-shot, such as the following: Anxiety, depression, overexertion, going without eating, VERY graphic violence (there is a warning before the paragraph though so you can skip it), blood, bruising, broken bones, being taken for granted, fighting, panicking, cursing, also Fundy is indeed trans in this but it's not part of the story very much, it's merely mentioned

There is. Absolutely no timeline for when this is happening. But Dream never participated in the Manburg - Pogtopia war okay, he and some other characters looked at the drama and just absolutely left alright,

Also! Lots of headcanons, so if something isn't exactly completely the same as it is in canon, then just. Please don't question it (I may or may not have invented a dark oak forest that surrounds one side of L'Manburg haha)

As usual, Fundy had fucked up.

He didn't even know what he had done that time, but Tommy and Tubbo were staring at him with mutual expressions of vague disappointment, making him want to slink away in shame. He settled for wilting slightly, his shoulders slumping and his gaze flickering to the floor.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled, trying not to yawn. When was the last time he had slept? He was always so busy with paperwork and... everything else. What was everything else again? His eyes stung like dry paper and he blinked several times, trying to clear his vision.

Tommy slipped him a glare, and Fundy nearly flinched. Nearly. He had grown accustomed to the burning stares, the way that people avoided him whenever they could. All he could feel was numb at this point, and he met Tommy's gaze with a kind of exhausted pleading. "I'll fix it if you want me to, really. I'm sorry."

"No, you're not," Tubbo said, his voice slicing into Fundy like a set of knives. Fundy willingly let nerves flood into his chest, almost grateful for the rush of adrenaline turning his cheeks red. Tubbo drummed his fingers on his polished chair, folding one leg over the other and giving Fundy a scathing stare. "All you've done for the past few days is ignore your work. You're an even bigger slacker than you were when you started. I don't understand why you always have to do this, Fundy."

Fundy bowed his head, accepting the words that were thrown at him. He just nodded.

Over the past couple of days, over the past week even, Tubbo and Tommy had scolded him more and more for his mistakes. Fundy didn't care. He knew he deserved it. But he just didn't know how he kept making mistakes. He didn't even remember what he had done, he didn't remember what he was supposed to do. He hadn't slept in... was it weeks? His stomach ached horribly, Fundy had mostly given up eating after the first few days of puking it all back up. He didn't care anymore. Was he supposed to care? He was too tired to care.

His amber eyes, dulled and worn, stared up at the president of L'manburg. He had heard Tubbo's eyes described as though someone had taken the sky and made it into candy, sweet and open, but all Fundy could see were closed doors, icy eyes made for icier stares. He rubbed at his neck, remembering through a kind of haze that he had several bruises on his throat after he had slipped while trying to run to the office, but he knew that Tubbo didn't care. He hadn't noticed the way that Fundy's eyes had dulled to a dark brown, the way that more and more often he just... didn't talk.