Conjugal Visitation

did it work?

Quackity followed Dream's instructions. Only when he remembered that Schlatt had died in L'Manberg, and that L'Manberg was now a pit of rubble, did he start to worry.

According to Dream, he needed the book, a piece of the dead person -- their body or blood -- and a way to destroy the book once he'd signed it. The contents of the book, well...Dream had told him word for word. And when Quackity was satisfied he'd said everything there was to say -- when Dream was an absolute wreck beneath him, sobbing for mercy -- Quackity had finally let him cum.

He came a lot.

It was a fucking ego trip, making someone fall apart like that. Especially someone like Dream, who was always so cool, so collected, so aloof and mysterious. Quackity wondered if he was the only one who'd ever gotten to see this side of Dream, the Dream who craved surrender rather than control.

But he shouldn't get too full of himself. It wasn't like he was special -- of course it wasn't all that hard to please a man who hadn't had sex in god knows how long. Fuck, he was so sensitive. For all he knew, Quackity might have been his last lay before the events that had landed Dream in prison. Well, maybe Punz or George. They hadn't talked much about their respective sex lives during their brief fling.

Afterwards, Quackity had written down what Dream told him, letting him take a nap. He didn't expect Dream to wake up from his nap ready for round two. Quackity made him write down the instructions first. And then Quackity made him cum some more.

If this didn't work, and Dream had simply used him...

The personal humiliation he thought he could handle. The other consequences...Quackity didn't want to think about it. He couldn't avoid Schlatt's ghost forever, and Sam would expect him to keep visiting Dream. What was he supposed to do with Dream during those visits if it didn't work? He couldn't just give in and fuck him anyway, as tempting as that might be. Were they supposed to sit around and gossip? Play poker?

Torture him? The thought was a whisper at the back of his mind. Quackity shook it off. He'd already traded his body for Schlatt; he wasn't about to trade his soul, too. Kinky motherfucker would probably like it, anyway. Real torture would be leaving Dream alone with his hand again and no one to talk to.

The problem he'd run into with Schlatt's revival was that the dead person was supposed to come back at the same place where they had died, and the place Schlatt had died didn't exist anymore. Quackity had expected the biggest challenge to be the body -- ghost Schlatt, or Glatt as he called himself, was essentially Schlatt, which made him essentially selfish. Despite his desire to return to life as a full, living, breathing person, Glatt probably wouldn't like the idea of killing his ghost body during the revival.

Quackity, thankfully, still had Schlatt's remains -- some of them, anyway. The grave had been robbed. Some of his body had been put on sale for a few months at L'Targay. Tommy had a couple of Schlatt's bones lying around in a junk chest somewhere. And Quackity took a deep personal satisfaction in the knowledge that Schlatt's heart had ended up as so much shit. Fortunately, the bones he still possessed meant he didn't have to involve Glatt in the process at all.

Quackity performed the ritual at Schlatt's grave, thinking that it was the most likely place for him to appear since L'Manberg was gone. He signed the book, threw it in the blue soulfire, and watched it burn. Then he waited.

And waited.

He wanted to just leave. He'd agreed to revive Schlatt, but he didn't want to stick around to help him afterwards. But he needed to see the proof that the book worked. If Schlatt wasn't going to reappear here at his grave, there was only one other place he could be.

Quackity dragged his feet all the way to L'Manberg.

He climbed up to the sky grid, lying on his stomach as he searched for any movement beneath the glass memorial. He had no idea where the original building Schlatt had died in would have been, so he settled for scanning the ruins in a grid pattern.

He remembered Dream standing on this obsidian grid, eerily calm as he demanded to see bedrock. Technoblade had wanted to leave, his objective accomplished. But for Dream it clearly went deeper than that. What had he said? It's never enough. Something like that. Quackity remembered hiding and watching him through the night, the white mask lit up red from the flare of redstone and the constant roar of TNT. And then he'd followed Dream when he left, intent on confronting and killing him, and...

Well, now he was here. Hate sex was probably a healthier way to deal with his emotions than murder, anyway.

Maybe it was the place, maybe it was just his nerves, but Quackity found himself in a weirdly sentimental mood. He was drawn to stare at Wilbur's shrine, regret clouding his thoughts. Maybe, if this worked...

But maybe it was kinder to leave the dead where they were.

Movement -- there it was. Quackity squinted into the gloom. A large part of him hoped that Dream had lied and that he was just seeing a zombie down there. It would be a much simpler world if that was just one of the normal undead.

Then he heard, very faintly, a familiar voice: "Hello? Hello?!"

Quackity's stomach churned and he had grip the edge, suddenly dizzy as though he would fall. The full realization of what he'd done -- actually brought back the dead -- hit him like a pickaxe to the face. He gulped air.

It worked.

It worked.

For once, Dream hadn't lied.

Now it was on Quackity to uphold his end of the deal.

Sure, he could just leave Dream in prison to rot. He had a feeling that conjugal visits weren't the only reason Dream wanted to see him every day. He probably had some kind of scheme -- he always did. He was still dangerous. The wisest thing would be to abandon Dream now that he'd gotten what he wanted.

For this kind of power, though? Screwing him until his brain leaked out his ears was the very least Quackity could do.

"Hello? Is anyone there?!"

Schlatt's voice was closer. It sounded different from his ghostly self -- harder, more real. It sent a cold shiver of fear all through him, taking him back months. Worse, he felt a surge of sympathy. I'm pathetic. He still has me fucking trained to answer his beck and call like a goddamn dog.

He did not want to face Schlatt. Not alone.

He needed to tell Sapnap and Karl about Schlatt, and take steps to provide protection in case Schlatt decided to take revenge. The ghost version of Schlatt hadn't been vengeful, but Glatt had also wanted Quackity to do something for him. Now that Quackity had delivered on his debt, he'd be of no use to Schlatt.

But people could change. Maybe Hell (Schlatt had definitely gone to Hell) had made him a better person. Reformed him. Maybe he'd make something better out of his second chance.

But Quackity doubted it.

He slipped away and ran.

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A/N: Thank you for reading! I have a ko-fi and commissions currently open at ko-fi.com/switchwitch. I like reading all your comments they're very funny :)