YELLOW || GLATT X GHOSTBUR [FINISHED]

Saccharine || CH.7

"Yeah..."

"That's my saccharine.".

Saccharine..

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A/N: Sorry this chapter is only 500 but I got tired of writing this.

I have a quackity x technoblade draft that was requested by someone, that's what this chapter is based off, saccharine.

If you wanted to read the draft:
If you aren't interested then that's fine, i wanna know if I should turn saccharine into a book, I didnt know how to write Quackitys character so its the mcyts instead but its kinda cute :3. I will obviously get rid of the draft if the mcyts are uncomfortable but thoughts on a quackity x techno, i didnt even know the ship existed, pretty weird. I also wanted to try a new concept that wasnt characters.

Saccharine

"You're sweet..

Like honey,," It fell from the tip of his tongue, meaningless?

He laughed a little at the mans statement, a lingering sense of pain sheltering beneath its sturdy claws. An undying wish for words alike to be spoken within a truthful sentence. An uncontainable urge to retaliate, but yet again Ares dagger plummeted through his bereaving heart, cowardice.

He fell silent in hopes to move on, to move away, to escape. Not to face ones fears but to become wounded and flee.

"Techno? I'm uh- sorry, i forgot you-"

He was cut off.

"And you're fragile. Like a bee-"

"Te-"

"Bees are interesting, a lot of people find them unapproachable, poisonous even. Then there's people that let them stay, they aid them and care for them, but eventually they bite. And that's when you take the risk, do i ignore it, or do i let it spread?".

The call fell silent. Alex let out a shaky and uneven sigh, his mind whirring through a multiverse of options, all with the same outcomes. Love or Spite.

"Eventually it takes over, your hands, knees, everything, everything goes numb, it can be easily healed... But if you were the Bee, I'd let you win.".

He was screwing with him. He was drunk? Tired even? He doesn't just say stuff like that without an excuse. Every inch of him wanted to belive his words, believe his kindness, endearment.

But it wasn't him behind the screen, was it?

Inner conflict involves doubting ones thoughts and speculations, a war against imagination and reality, except this time, his imagination was his reality.

He let out another uneasy breath, "Am I awake? What- day is it?". His own questions stumbling hopelessly from his sappy and uncontrollable jaw.

"You can be awake if that's your desire."

"So I'm dreaming."

"Only if you don't want to believe in what's taking place.."

"No.. No i want to believe..."

.

.

.

"But I can't."

- user disconnected -

Spite