TFTSD enthusiast

They hug. The two of them interviewed, lost in their own little world. Wrapped up tightly in eachother's arms and basking in the warmth it brings.

He's not jealous.

He's not.

He just wants what they have, wants to feel the sensation of gentle and delicate arms holding onto to him and pulling him close.

He wants a hug, he wants to be held and assured.

But he's not jealous.

Gum-Gum is not jealous.

He's not.

He's just finding it difficult to watch them be close in a way he never can, to watch them have what he so craves.

It reminds him of his own mother, the ome he never got to meet, the one he misses with his whole soul, his whole being.

The grip he has on his favorite axe grows looser, fingers slipping from their white-knuckled grip. The tips of his fingers run over the rough wooden handle, and he doesn't let it go. No, he keeps holding on, but it feels weak, it feels disingenuous.

He doesn't know why he's still holding on.

Deep umber eyes, glassy an unsure, glance over at Bart beside him, flicking over the smaller halfling's features.

Tussled hair, tanned skin, freckles spotting his face like stars in the sky and eyes oh so soft as he watched Guv and Pat.

Unnamed feelings swelled in his chest, swimming around in ways he can't quite place.

He'd always admired the presence Bart held, attention grabbing and confident in a charming way he was sure only Bart could pull off. He lit up any room he so much as glanced at with a charismatic smile and nimble fingers dancing over his lute strings. His presence was strong, loud, commanding, but also kind and loyal. Just like the person it belonged to.

Gum-Gum wishes he could be more like Bart.

Does Bart, Gum-Gum wonders, miss his mother? Does his heart ache for his family, too? A father, maybe a brother or a sister, or both? Gum-Gum's does. His heart ached so badly for her.

A selfish and soul-sinking part of his brain, a wretched little worm eating a hole through his ribs and into his heart, hopes that Bart misses his mother as much as Gum-Gum does. But he squashes that terrible worm as soon as it makes itself known.

He doesn't really feel that way about him.

He knows Bart. He knows him much better than he does the others. He knows he has a better chance of seeing his family.

He's not worried about Bart. Even as he watched the scene in front of them with glassy eyes.

Gum-Gum blinks and looks away, forcing himself to swallow the souring taste in his mouth. Bitterness pools in his gut- but he doesn’t let it go any higher. He looks for a distraction.

Beside him, in the corner of his eye, furred green arms cross themselves in what he could only assume is boredom and disinterest. Apathy.

Mudd was tall, he was stoic and nonchalant and always carried himself like someone with significance and importance would. Someone who knew their worth, and knew it well, and knew other's knew it, too. He was proud without being prideful, humble without being dismissive, caring without being overbearing.

Mudd was strong, unchanging and unflinching. He was impressive in both stature and character, a consistent constant in his life. A role model.

But his deep seeded admiration for the firbolg feeds into those dark shadows and buried insecurities that he's tried so hard to forget.

Gum-Gum wishes he could be more like Mudd.

The sacastic firbolg was never one for affection, he doubts he makes exceptions for family. Whereas Gum-Gum shows too much, cares too much, gets hurt too much.

Frustration and guilt tear at his insides, causing him to wince inwardly.

How long was this going to take?!

Gum-Gum shakes his head, (Stop), he thinks. Don't be mean. They deserve this.

He parts his dry lips just enough to take in a calming breath and-

Clink.

He hears a sound, like skin on metal.

Has that been going on the whole time?

Clink, clink, clink, clink.

Boots disturb the sand as their usually cocky owner adjusts their stance, pale green skin and white blond hair, watching impatiently. It snaps him out of whatever trance had been holding him.

Clink, clink-

Kyborg's long ears twitch as the gentle winds roll over the group, his calloused fingers tapping along his metal arm in a rhythmic pattern and cutting through the suffocating silence.

Clink, clink, clink-

On the surface, the archer seemed impatient, still full of adrenaline and itching to move, to do something- anything. But Gum-Gum has done a lot of observing. He's obseved, and watched, and memorized more than the others give him credit for. He knows the inner storm beating against the elf's heart, squeezing his lungs dry and making his mind spiral into an inky, black abyss.

Clink, clink, clink, clink-

Gum-Gum knows the elf deep down is beating himself up for things he could never change- or have.

Clink-

He knows kyborg misses his mother. This is a fact Gum-Gum is proud to know. Kyborg's the only person he'd share his dark, writhing secret with. His one and only confident. And Kyborg had confided back- let him know his feeling were shared and he wasn't a terrible person for sharing these feelings, letting them overwhelm him sometimes, or even feeling them at all.

Clink, clink, clink-

Those were things he'd only share with Kyborg.

Clink.

Not because the others wouldn't care, no not at all, but because they wouldn't (they don't his mind snapped) fully understand.

He misses his mother.

Can you miss someone you've never known? Mourn a loss you've never had? Is it moving on if you've never actually seen them?

They were questions he'd never been able to think of amswers for, whether they were unanswerable (or he was too dumb to think of them, his mind-worm supplied) or they would come in time, he didn’t know.

All he knows is that no matter what happens, he wants to love.

And he has a Dia-good family to start loving, here and now.

"Hey, Kyborg. Say there's this ship," Mudd's voive drifts lazily through the air, cutting through the silence to reach my ears.

Pain explodes from all sides- wrapping me up in a mock embrace. My ears are ringing- ringing- ringing- won't stop ringing-

searing and white hot, holding me tight- too tight, too tight. I cough, lungs buring, burning like hot fire, coals in my lungs and lava in my veins. It burns, it burns, IT BURNS, BURNING-

"It sails for a while, and over time parts are replaced until the whole thing has been replaced,"

My arm- I gasp, desperately clawing at whats left of my arm, wires hanging loosely and metal chipped and jutting into my palm- what's left of it, anyway.

I sputter, sharp debris and shrapnel slicing through my charred throat- Dia, it burns.

Pain pain pain pain- it shreds my insides like paper. Oh Dia, please-

"Yeh think it's still the same boat?"

Smoke curls and twists in the air- beautiful ribbons of death. Flecks of burnt paper dance in the corner of my eye, bright orange and strangely pretty. Would be even more pretty if I couldn't see the blood soaking my shirt, coating my hands- hand.

"I think so, yeah,"

A cough tears itself through my cracked lips- and the whole underdark breaks loose. My chest heaves in futile desperation- breathe please, please breathe BREATHE-

I inspect my arm, the metal one with the cannon and the gem.

"The captain," I turn my hand in the light.

"-Ky- g!"

"He's the same, right?"

I can't hear anything over the incessant ringing in my ears, can't see through the spots dotting my vision, creeping at the corners like coiled snakes.

I'm cold. So cold.

Giant ginger flames flare around me, but I feel no heat. I shiver, because I feel no heat. I'm too cold.

"It's his ship,"

I'm cold.

"It's the same ship."

He looks real,

He feels real,

He talks just as I remember-

How could this be fake?

How could I simply be imagining things?

Is my mind truly that cruel?

How could this part of my life,

This piece of my world,

This precious person,

Simply be a lie?

What is there to gain?

My wilting soul twists,

My troubled thoughts race.

My own mind turned against me-

A roaring animal

Towering over me

Taunting me with dull eyes,

And pretend feelings.

Claws digging into my soul,

Plucking my heartstrings out of my chest,

As if they were delicate flower petals.

Questions line my tattered thoughts

Guarded walls,

choking me with crumbling stone and chalk clouded air.

Am I real?

How do I know who to trust anymore?

Maybe this is all just one big game,

A prank played on me?

There's a chance,

It's fake,

Just as there's

A chance

It's real.

My hands,

My ears,

My nose,

My eyes,

They all feel real,

Feel like me.

Theres a chance, i think,

An anxious beast in my brain

Telling me that my body is fake.

That I'll wake up

And never have existed.

Is this how he feels?

Stuck between the nothingness of imagination

And an endless worry?

Would moving on be too cruel?

Give up his name and forsake his memory?

Should I wipe his tangerine fur

And bright amber eyes

From my mind?

My memory?

Should I truly forget?

Let go?

Would he be hurt,

If he was here?

Watching me lay

Staring at the ceiling,