𝙽𝚢𝚌𝚝𝚘𝚙𝚑𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚊 {𝙳𝚂𝙼𝙿𝚇𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁}

𝟹. 𝙰 𝚂𝚒𝚌𝚔 𝙺𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚘𝚏 𝚃𝚘𝚛𝚝𝚞𝚛𝚎

A/N

You have chosen to take Tubbo's place. No
matter the consequences.

ت

I sucked in my breath, bracing myself for the decision I had already made. The decision that was honorable. The crowd stilled trying to catch the words on our lips, but we were too far from the microphone for anyone to hear.

"I'll-" I opened my eyes to see him staring me down intently. Swallowing I met his sights, "What you want with Tubbo, I can do twice more, better even." Schlatt gazed down to the crowd again, focusing on the small boy.

The wind had stopped, almost as if it was scared to move. I lifted my forearm slowly grasping his own arm to get his attention again. "Let it be me. Don't bring the boy into this, anything you want done I will do so." He turned back now, eyes becoming venomous. "Anything you say?"

I bit my cheek to keep back a retort. "Yes," I hissed, trying desperately to keep the edge off my voice. The people below had still not spoken a word, moved a muscle. I couldn't save Tommy... or Wilbur, but I could do something for Tubbo. He nodded to himself taking in the offer.

In a sudden movement Schlatt snatched the microphone off the stand once more shifting me at his side. I stopped myself from squirming, it would be no use until I had movement on my arms. I longed for the hilt of those blades in my hand once more. Their handle molded to my grip. Wil had made sure that they fit, that they felt... correct.

The man sighed in a delighted manner, turning down to his subjects "No- no. Tubbo, stay." He turned back to me, "I already have what I want." My gut churned now. As much as I hated it, I longed for Wil's reassuring hand-hold, a genuine laugh, he was always there to guide me.

But he was gone. They were gone- And there was little to nothing to be done about that.

The horned man bowed to the crowd once in a dramatic manner, a smile still lingering from his victory. "Thus ends the 1st presidential speech, I will be back soon. But first... I have business." My body was tossed to another in utter nonchalance. I stumbled into Quackity and he immediately ushered me to the White House.

I left no time to waste trying my best to maneuver in his physical bindings. "Y/n." Quackity huffed, tightening his hold on my wrists, "Be nice and I'll let Tubbo live. You are forgetting who has the power here." His voice seemed to change, the fun loving crazy friend of the people turned cold leader. But he always kept his gaze forward, it still seemed he still had an issue with my irises. I stilled finally, allowing him to lead me up the hill, the stone building overlooking the river beside it.

Before I knew it I was being thrusted into a dark leather chair, the opposite of me a mahogany desk and a bigger, more official looking seat. The man let go of my arms and I immediately rubbed them to relinquish the thrum of pain.

I had been trained to deal with pain in short bursts. A stab wound, a practice arrow to the shoulder. I had spent countless nights on the edge of my cot in L'manburg, picking out fragments of iron from my torso. But this just felt more personal. An enclosing hand was somehow worse than a duel to the death.

An enclosing hand meant I had less control.

"Well then," Schlatt whisked into the room as if he treaded air for a living, snatching a stash of whiskey behind a particularly dead plant. "Y/n, y/n, y/n. You have gotten yourself into quite the mess here haven't you?"