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Fundy saw the cat café and just knew it was going to be a horrible day.
It was almost an exact replica of the Cat Maid Café, except bigger and located in Las Nevadas, right behind the Strip Club. He wasn’t a fan. He hadn’t been a fan of the original café either, but at least that building had had the decency to not be located near his home.
With mounting dread, he approached.
He found Quackity outside, hunched over a temporary bamboo desk. Scattered across it was blueprints, some posters Fundy wasn’t going to examine too closely, and, ominously, what looked to be patterns for clothing.
“Oh, Fundy! Just the man I wanted to see,” greeted Quackity, looking up from the papers.
“Quackity, what is this?” responded Fundy. The dread was continuing to mount. He felt like he was in a horror movie. Specifically, he felt like he was in one of the scenes where the music becomes more and more and more intense, and the tension unbearable, as the audience had to just sit there and wait for the jump scare, unable to do anything to stop it. Except he was both the audience and the poor idiot about to open the wrong door and get murdered.
“Our newest addition, of course!” replied Quackity. He sounded excited, like he always did when he was trying to sell Fundy or Foolish or Purpled on a job. When he was trying to sell anyone on anything, really.
“And what, exactly, is the newest edition?” pressed Fundy.
“Why, a cat maid café!” answered Hbomb.
Fundy watched in horror as he emerged from the café entrance, his maid outfit already on and his tail curling behind him. What was Hbomb doing here? This jump scare was worse than anything Fundy could have imagined, and yet he should have one hundred per cent seen this coming as soon as he caught sight of those cursed cat ears on the new building.
“I would have preferred the murder,” said Fundy to himself. Both Quackity and Hbomb looked at him weirdly – which, he wasn’t the one building a fucking maid café, what right did they have to look at him weirdly? – before continuing.
“Hbomb is the newest member of the Las Nevadas family,” explained Quackity. Fundy made a pained noise. “And we are very lucky to have him.”
No, thought Fundy, no we are not.
“I’m just happy to be here, uwu,” said Hbomb, making two peace signs. A part of Fundy’s soul crumbled to dust. He looked to Quackity, pleading.
“Quackity,” said Fundy. “Quackity. He just said uwu. Out loud. In speech.”
“Look, Fundy. The weebs love that shit. And the weebs are an important market. Have you seen how much they spend on figurines? They have diamonds,” said Quackity, rubbing his fingers together, “and we’re going to get those diamonds.”
“What weebs?” protested Fundy. He racked his brain. Who on the Dream SMP was a weeb? Was it anyone he knew? Niki had pink hair now. That was kind of anime. Technoblade also had pink hair… skin… whatever. It was close enough. And Philza’s outfit does kind of give this impression of anime… was his grandfather a weeb? And if he was a weeb did that mean…
Primes, was his grandfather into cat maids?
Quackity continued, unaware of Fundy’s downward spiral. “This is going to be very lucrative, I can just tell. But of course, HBomb can’t be expected to answer demand all on his own.” He reached into his bag and pulled out a maid dress, just the right size for Fundy.
“No,” uttered Fundy in horror.
“Yes,” replied Quackity, thrusting it towards him. When Fundy didn’t take it, he dropped it to the floor. “Don’t forget your accessories.” Those too Quackity dropped on the floor. Fundy saw a headband, gloves, socks, a collar with a bell and it was at that point his brain started blocking everything out. “Everyone, myself included, will take shifts until we find more employees, but, for the first couple days, it will be mostly you.”
“Except for Tubbo and Purpled,” added Hbomb. “I find I can only do my best work when minors aren’t around.”
We could just make it a PG Cat Maid Café, thought Fundy but he didn’t say out loud. Partially because he knew that wasn’t how people (or, rather, enough people to make it a problem) worked when it came to cat maids, partially because he knew that wasn’t how H bomb worked, and partially because it would undermine his final gamble to get out of it.
“I’m only fourteen, technically,” pointed out Fundy weakly. “So, technically, I shouldn’t work at the café.”
Quackity looked at him, unamused. “In human years, yes. But in fox years you are clearly an adult. I know how hybrids work.” Suddenly, a look of concern appeared on his face. “Unless… you’re saying my understanding of your age is incorrect, and I should start treating you as a minor?”
“No,” answered Fundy, admitting defeat. A part of him had been tempted to lie but he knew he would end up regretting it. Being a cat maid was bad, but being babied again would be worse. He still remembered the frustration of him having outpaced Tommy – physically and mentally – and yet having Wilbur still refuse to see him as anything but a child. He couldn’t go through that again. Wouldn’t go through that again.
“Well then, go and get changed,” said Quackity.
Fundy reluctantly picked up the maid outfit and went into the café’s toilets.
“At least it’s clean,” he told himself. “One good thing about this place.” He shook the clothing, sending sand scattering across the floor. He looked at the grains mournfully, knowing he was probably going to have to clean it up.
He… he didn’t want to let Las Nevadas down. Didn’t want to let Quackity down. But he also really, really didn’t want to wear a dress.
Did Quackity not know? Fundy had never… hidden it – being trans was nothing to be ashamed of, and no one had ever done anything to suggest they would give him shit for it – but didn’t tend to volunteer it either. Most people who knew did so because they had known him from infancy or because Wilbur had mentioned it off-hand. He thought Quackity might have known, from Wilbur or from how he had acted, signing the contract, but Wilbur must have kept his mouth shut and he supposed a feminine middle name wasn’t that strong of a clue. Plenty of cis men still had feminine middle names, after all.
Still, a part of him had wanted to change it, initially. But Georgina had been a gift from his father. Not that Wilbur would have been insulted. When Fundy had first approached his father with the name Fundy – still new and fragile, held close to his chest – Wilbur had looked him in the eyes and had told him that the name he had given him had been a gift, and that meant he was free to do whatever he wanted with it. And that included throwing it away. And, if Fundy wanted to do that, then Wilbur only regretted that he hadn’t gifted him a better name – a name like Fundy – in the first place. So, it had entirely been Fundy’s decision, to keep it, and he had kept it because the part that was attached to it was stronger than the part that was made uncomfortable by it, even though he still couldn’t help but be embarrassed the few times it came up.
Maybe this dress could be like Georgina. He would be a little embarrassed, but he would live. And he’d still be Fundy.
With a deep breath, he started putting on the costume. Everything except the cat ears and the clip-on tail, because that just seemed redundant.
When he was done, he looked at himself in the mirror. It… wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. It made him cringe, but that was more because of the maid part rather than the dress part. Maybe that would be the secret to success; being too embarrassed about working at a cat maid café to even think about the dress.
He walked a few steps, and was surprised by how comfortable it was. It actually felt… kind of nice. With his fur, clothes could be uncomfortable at times and this outfit certainly covered less fur than his normal one. The dress even had a hole for his tail.
He took a few more steps, and, yeah, having a skirt actually felt kind of great.
This isn’t too bad. Just think of it as a kilt, he told himself. That’s basically a skirt, anyway. Just, a very cringy kilt.
He left the toilets feeling surprisingly okay.
“You look so cute!” cried Hbomb, and Fundy flinched. Apparently, he had been waiting outside. “I loved having you as my master, but I can just tell that I’m also going to love working side by side, to satisfy our customers.”
“Why did you have to emphasis satisfy like that?” Fundy asked. He wasn’t sure if he was grateful that he had left Yogurt with Purpled today, because it meant his son wouldn’t be exposed to any of… this, or regretful because having a child around would have offered some protection.
“Because that’s what we do as maids!” replied Hbomb. “We make customers come in our café so we can satisfy them!”
“Prime subs,” uttered Fundy.
“Anyway, as I was saying, you look like you were maid for this,” said Hbomb. Fundy was seriously considering finding the nearest lava pool and throwing himself in it. “The customers are going to love having catgirls and fox—”
Fundy tensed.
“—boys and catboys. Granted, we need to find some catgirls. Ooo, do you think we could find some foxgirls?”
Fundy relaxed. Right before it sunk in. People were going to see him. Working at a cat maid café. Wearing a maid dress. Primes, what if someone he knew came in? Hopefully Tommy and Tubbo would have the good sense to stay away, and most people he knew weren’t weebs except—
“My grandfather is going to come and see me in this,” realised Fundy, horrified. Which, the maid thing was already pretty bad. But… Philza knew. What would he think, when he saw Fundy wearing a dress? What… what if Wilbur saw him? Wilbur, who he still hadn’t seen since his revival?
I… I need to go,” said Fundy. Hbomb looked confused, then like he was going to say something, but Fundy was already barging through the entrance. Quackity stepped forward, but he ran past him. Kept running, till pale yellow turned to rich green and no one else was around.
Then he sat down and tried to force away the pain in his chest.
This was stupid. He was stupid. So, what if people saw him in a dress? It wasn’t like he chose to wear it. It was a maid dress, for primes’ sake. No one would look at him and think he was… what, lying?
“Fundy, what are you wearing?”
Fundy looked up and saw Eret standing there, holding a basket with flowers in it. He had almost forgotten he had been wearing a dress at all, until now,
“A maid dress,” snapped Fundy. “Got a problem with that?”
“No, no,” said Eret hastily. “No problem. It looks… cute.”
“Thanks,” said Fundy bitterly.
Eret put down their basket and sat next to him. “What’s wrong?”
Fundy pointedly looked away from him. “What do you care? You’re not my father or my mother or anything.”
He saw Eret flinch out of the corner of his eye. It made Fundy a little satisfied. Let someone else feel shitty for once. They reached for him with their hand, only to drop it.
“I… I fucked up with the adoption, I know,” said Eret at last. “I was… asleep. On the day. And the day after. And… a number of days after that. When I woke up, well… I know the adoption didn’t happen, know it’s too late for it now, but that doesn’t mean I can’t care.”
They sat in silence for a minute, then two, and then Fundy started talking.
“Quackity invited Hbomb to join Las Nevadas. And he built a cat maid café. And Quackity wants me to work there, which means wearing… this.” He gestured to the outfit. “Which what if people look at me and think I’m, I don’t know, unmanly or something. Like Philza.”
“Why would Philza be in a cat maid café?” asked Eret.
“I don’t know!” said Fundy, throwing up his hands. “Because he’s a weeb?”
“Philza’s a weeb?” asked Eret.
“Well, someone on the server has to be!” answered Fundy defensively.
“Do they?” Fundy could see Eret’s confusion mounting.
“Look, it’s not important,” dismissed Fundy. And he was slowly starting to realise that was true. “I think… I think what’s actually going me upset, is that I don’t hate wearing this. If I did, and someone commented on it, I could just complain about how I was forced into it, and everyone would laugh and it would be over. Hahaha, a man has been forced into a dress, what a funny joke. But if I don’t mind it… if wearing it doesn’t make me dysphoric… what then? When I was a kid, I tore up all the dresses Wilbur got for me. That fact… it’s always made me feel secure, you know? Like, dysphoria fucking sucks but at least I know I’m not faking or being dramatic or anything.
“It’s like a paradox. I get dysphoria because something makes me feel not like a man, which makes me feel like a man. Also, like shit, but a man who feels like shit is still a man. So, when I didn’t get dysphoria…”
“Fundy, can I touch your arm?” asked Eret.
Fundy nodded, and they reached forward, gently placing their hand on his arm.
“I do feel obligated to say, before anything else, that you do not need dysphoria to be trans,” said Eret. “You can feel perfectly fine living as not a man, and still be a man and be happier living as a man.”
“Yeah, I know,” said Fundy. He felt a twinge of guilt. If someone came up to him and asked if lacking dysphoria meant they couldn’t be trans, Fundy would say no without hesitation. But sometimes it was hard to apply to yourself the standards you used for everyone else.
“Okay, now that that’s out of the way, Fundy. I need you to look at me,” said Eret. Fundy did as they said and finally noticed what they were wearing. A dress. It was pink, with red strawberries that glittered in the afternoon sun, and puffy sleeves and a skirt that was just begging to be spun. It looked… really nice on them.
They turned their body so that they were face-to-face. Fundy could catch glimpses of glowing white around the edges of their sunglasses.
“The clothes you wear,” they said, “can’t make you less of a man. Or more of man. It’s is just fabric. Is Hbomb not a man because he wears a dress and feels comfortable? No. Does wearing a dress make me… whatever I am? Also no. I would be who I am, with or without the dress. Just like I would be who I am even if I wore nothing but the manliest outfits you could think of.
“Fundy. You are a man. No maid dress can change that. Even if you loved wearing it, even if you wore nothing else from here on out, it wouldn’t have that power.”
“That,” said Fundy, his voice thick, “that was… I think I needed to hear that. Though I don’t think this is going to become my regular outfit just yet. In fact, scratch the just yet. Never. It’s never going to become my regular outfit.”
“Fair enough,” laughed Eret. “You do look cute in it though. A very kawaii gentleman.”
“No, stop,” said Fundy. He was glad his fur hid his blush. “I’m going to be hearing that shit from Hbomb. I don’t need to hear that from you too.”
Eret stood up and offered him a hand. Fundy took it.
“You know, you still don’t have to wear the dress. I’m sure Quackity will understand. And if he doesn’t… well, I do have some wither skulls I’ve been saving for a special occasion,” said Eret, grinning. He sounded like he would do it too, and Fundy was suddenly reminded that they did, in fact, have a villainous streak, even if it was usually buried beneath the kindness.
“That won’t be necessary,” said Fundy hurriedly. No need for Doomsday 2.0. “Like you said, this dress can’t do anything to me… and it’s kind of comfortable. And if anyone gives me any shit, fuck them, right?”
“Oh, 100% fuck them,” agreed Eret. “Not in the fun way though. I know your taste in men.”
Fundy spluttered. “Those were jokes! I was joking about having a crush!”
“Sure,” replied Eret, still grinning.
“If you’re going to keep teasing me, I’m leaving,” said Fundy.
“To be honest, I need to get back to the castle,” admitted Eret. “But if you need anything, don’t hesitate to come to me, alright?”
“Alright,” said Fundy and then, softly, “thanks Eret.”
“Hey, it was my pleasure,” he said back.
Fundy watched them leave, and then headed back to Las Nevadas.
“Hey, Fundy,” greeted Quackity. “Look, about the maid thing, you really don’t want to do it, you don’t have to. I’m sure Slime can take your shifts—”
“No, no,” said Fundy. “It’s fine. Just needed to work some stuff out.”
Quackity looked hesitant. “Are you sure?” he asked. “Look, you taking the shifts would be appreciated, but if the outfit is too much, I’m sure you could be a… foxboy butler or something.”
“No, no,” said Fundy. He ran his hand along the dress’s frills. It was embarrassing, yeah, but to be honest they were very soft to the touch. Quackity hadn’t been cheap. “It’s just a dress, right? What’s it going to me?”
“Fundy!” cried out Hbomb. “I’m so happy you’re back, meow!”
On second thought, maybe he should have taken the out. The dress couldn’t do anything to him, but Hbomb certainly could.
“Okay, excellent!” declared Quackity, back in business mode. “You start now. Hbomb, show him the ropes.”
As it turned out, being shown the ropes was, indeed, a painful experience. But it was one Fundy survived. To his relief, the numbness set in only three days after working with Hbomb. Talk of satisfying customers and making them come now only caused him the slightest pain. And, yeah, people did make fun of him working at a cat maid café, but, to be honest, that was deserved. And, eventually, he started getting his payback. Turns out, there was a reason Hbomb loved torturing people, and that was because it was fun.
In fact, to his surprise, all of it was becoming kind of fun. Even with the embarrassment of working at a cat maid café.
Then, as he and Hbomb were closing up, Quackity reviewing the café’s performance with them, Wilbur came in.
“Quackity, my dear friend- why is my son wearing a dress?”
The confusing mix of emotions – joy, resentment, anger, hope, fear – that Fundy felt at Wilbur – Wilbur, who he still hadn’t talked to since he came back, Wilbur who had started a van, a new one, with Tommy and Ranboo and not Fundy – calling him my son temporarily blocked out the embarrassment. But only temporarily. At least there was the small mercy of Hbomb being in the kitchen.
“Wilbur,” greeted Fundy, because his shift had ended and even if it hadn’t Fundy would die before calling Wilbur master or sir, but Wilbur ignored him.
“Quackity,” said Wilbur instead, his voice trembling with… rage? “Quackity. Did you make my son wear a dress?”
Realisation dawned.
“No Da- Wilbur,” jumped in Fundy. Literally. He placed himself between his boss and his father. “He told me I didn’t have to. But… it’s just clothing. And it’s comfortable.”
“But, you tore up all your dresses,” said Wilbur, confused.
“Well, that was then,” said Fundy, bracing himself. Fuck him, he told himself. His opinion doesn’t matter. It doesn’t. You don’t owe an explanation.
“Oh,” said Wilbur. “Well. You look like a very charming young man, then.”
Fundy stared at him. At his tired and aged eyes. At the white streak through his hair. The dirty trench coat, with a bandage that was seeping red.
This is the same man, Fundy realised. This is the same man who, when I told him my name, treated it like a gift to him. The same man who, for the first month, would add Fundy to every sentence. Who, when he thought I was sleeping, would practice his hes and his hims to the night air, just so there was no chance of him ever fucking it up. Who would hold me tight and tell me I was his favourite son, and laugh when I replied that didn’t mean anything because I was his only son.
But he was also the same man who disowned and abandoned him, so Fundy buried that realisation. It wouldn’t stay buried forever. Just long enough. Because if Fundy processed that right now, he would cry. Hard. And he refused to have an emotional breakdown in a fucking cat maid café, in a maid dress, in front of his father and his boss and fucking Hbomb.
“So, what did you want to talk to me about, Wilbur?” asked Quackity. His voice was low and hostile, and communicated that his preferred answer was something along the lines of about how I’m going to leave, right now. Fundy silently thanked him.
“Oh, nothing much,” replied Wilbur. “Really I’ve forgotten it.” He glanced at Fundy, and, for a second, he thought he was going to say something. But then he walked out the door.
Fundy stared after him, at the swinging door. Had he wanted Wilbur to say something? Or to leave, like he did? He wasn’t sure. Maybe the answer was both.
“Oh, did the person leave?” asked Hbomb, finally emerging from the kitchen. “What, were they not a fan of pussy?”
Fundy groaned.