𝕯𝐚𝐞n͟͟𝐞𝐫𝐲s͡ 𝐂𝖆𝖘t͟͟i͟͟l͟͟𝖔 𝐅𝐢r͟͟s͟͟t͟͟ 𝐋𝐚d͜͡y͜͡ 𝕺𝐟 𝕸𝖆n͟͟b͟͟𝖚𝖗𝖌
𝕭𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖐 𝐟𝖑o͟͟w͠𝖊𝖗𝖘 I b͟͟e͟͟l͟͟i͟͟e͟͟v͟͟e͟͟d͟͟ y͟͟o͟͟u͠ w͟͟h͟͟e͟͟n͡ y͟͟o͟͟u s͞͞a͞͞i͟͟d͟͟ y͟͟o͟͟u͜͡ w͞͞o͞͞u͞͞l͟͟d͟͟ b͟͟e͟͟ m͟͟i͟͟n͠e͠
Now consider the nature of death in this dimension.
Death is not final here. It is a revolving door. A brief darkness followed by a respawn. But for the man called Schlatt, death arrives not with a sword or an explosion, but with a stopped heart. A bottle in his hand. A weights bench beneath him. A body that... gives up.
And she is not there when it happens.
She is in the next room. She hears the thud. She hears the silence. And she does not run. She does not cry. She walks in, sees him on the floor, and thinks: "You idiot. You promised me forever and you couldn't even give me a year."
𝕯𝐄𝐀𝐓𝕳 I͟𝐒 𝐓𝕰M͟𝐏O͠𝐑A͟𝐑𝖄 𝐈'L͟𝐋 𝕷𝕺V͟E͟ 𝐘𝐎U͟ 𝕱𝕺𝕽𝐄𝐕𝕰R͟
𝐆𝐎𝐎𝕯𝐍𝐈𝐆H͟𝐓 𝕸𝐎O͠𝐍 what should I do I'm just a little baby what if the lights go out and maybe and then the wind just starts to moan outside the door he followed me home
Imagine now a new city. Las Nevadas. A monument to greed, built on a cliff, glittering with lights that disguise the darkness beneath. A man named Quackity has built this place. He has built it with manipulation, with ambition, with the bones of fallen nations. And he has built a penthouse for her. Out of utility. She has connections. She has money. She has the ghost of a dead president's name, which still carries weight in this strange land.
She knows she is being used. She does not care. Because being used gives her purpose. And purpose is the only thing standing between her and the void.
Into this city comes a creature. A slime. A man made of green gelatin and nervous energy. His name is Charlie. And he looks at her the way no one has ever looked at her—He looks at her with want. The kind of want that asks permission instead of taking. And she lets him in.
They hook up in the penthouse that Quackity built. They go on dates. He wants to be with her for a moment, brief, flickering, like a candle in a hurricane, she remembers what it feels like to be wanted for herself.
The man called Quackity grows paranoid. He sees enemies in every shadow. He sees tools in every friend. And Charlie whom is soft, loyal, loving Charlie becomes expendable. A plan is hatched. A slime factory. An army of copies and she agrees to it. Because that is what she does. She chooses the side with the money.
Charlie confronts Quackity. He pleads. He tries to reason with a man who has replaced reason with rage. And Quackity pushes him off a balcony. He falls. Like a man. Like a friend. Like a piece of garbage that has outlived its usefulness.
And somewhere in that penthouse, high above the glittering lights of a city built on sand, Dany hears the thud. And she thinks of another thud. Months ago. In a caravan. When a different man fell.
"Thank you for showing me what it's like to be human."
That's what Charlie said to his killer before the end. And those words find Dany like a bullet. Because she knows what it means. She knows because she lived it. She watched a man she loved destroy himself, and now she has watched a man who loved her be destroyed by someone else.
REVERSED SEATS ― @namiversee. @rexsplooge . @eternallyaoleil . @rumitome . @battledovez . @circa2k . @lovlyrealities . @bambieyesshifts. @ofthemidnightsorrows . @anhelically. @suncraftedsoul. @vwellouria. @lynnilunette. @littlemisscomics. @moonkichi. @disanointt. @belamourmoon. @chwrrystwr. @caseokeyboard. the ticket booth is right here.
A NOTE THAT PIQUES... Since people care about my dsmp lore in my streamer dr, and my actual s/o fucking died in the lore #firstlady #gambling #money. I also fuck half-humans.
