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Zam is used to feeling filthy - like he's doing something wrong. Like he is wrong.
Mapicc and Minute are always quick to fight him on it despite the fact it falls on deaf ears. Even though they didn't really get where it came from.
"Can you be fucking serious, Zam? We- What have we done wrong? Like- We're the ones defending ourselves from Wemmbu and his stupid ass goons."
"Okay, dude, relax. Like, are you- They're the ones making a- a fucking mega team to beat us. We have Jepex on our side (Hey!), and that's it. What have you, or any of us, done besides defend ourselves? Aside from your-" he motions at him generally, brows furrowed in frustration and a frown on his face, "y'know, the princess thing."
But that's the problem. The princess thing.
They don't understand where it - Zam's complicated feelings of self-loathing - comes from, not that he can really blame them. Zam isn't sure he knows, either. Minute, Mapic, and even Jepex, had all been understanding about his "princess thing" from the start, even if they didn't really get it.
Zam didn't think he could be happier than he was when he wore this dress. He could stop being PrinceZam for a while, and be the Pretty Kitty Princess instead. He hadn't even made it, just stumbled across it while organizing shulkers in their little deepslate base. He didn't know where it came from, who gave it to him, but he'd known it was his.
When he started wearing it around, he hadn't meant for it to go this far. It was a bit. A joke. They were excited for the new mythics that'd been unveiled, a chance to take the power into their own hands and away from their tormentors. How long had they suffered? Now, there was more than enough to go around. Something for each. The avian trident. The dragonbone blade. The void bow. The pretty kitty princess blade.
He was sure that Wemmbu had added it to mock them. They'd joked about it as a team, an uncomfortable weight in his chest as he laughed at it's name. He didn't mean for it to go this far until he'd heard Wemmbu call him the "Pretty Kitty Princess" for the first time. His cheeks had burned scarlet, a deep satisfaction in his chest that made him feel whole and ashamed all at once. It was a bit. It was supposed to be a joke.
He'd joked about being PrincessZam too much after that, a secret indulgence that had started to creep into something real that even he didn't understand. He remembered the suspicious looks the rest of his team had thrown him when he'd worn that dress for the 2nd day in a row, still insistent on referring to himself as a princess and exaggerating every mannerism as if he was born into grace and not as a guy meant for war. He wanted to believe that it wasn't malicious, but he was afraid they judged him the same way he scrutinized himself. He didn't get it either, he didn't blame them. Still. They didn't question it, at least never to his face, even after he cried a pitiful amount when losing the blade for the first time.
He remembered the way he'd sat on the cold, wooden floor. How he'd clawed at the skin on his arms until his fingernails left long lacerations. He hadn't felt them until the next day, stinging red marks that Minute and Jepex had dressed with bandages and health potions. They helped him clean it up, shed the gentle lilacs and pretty gold of blood and soot from the explosions. Not that it mattered. He didn't earn this dress. Didn't deserve to be a Princess anymore. He'd lost that right the moment he'd lost that battle, and now the only person who could call themselves that was FlameFrags of all people.
Zam had never wanted to be a girl before this. Not that he wanted to now, but that didn't stop the loss from hurting. He'd told Jepex that much who'd responded in kind by scrunching his nose at him. "I don't- I don't think that's true." It was careful, more careful than he'd ever expected Jepex to sound, which only served to frustrate him more. It was because they'd lost more than that, he'd rationalize. It was because it meant Wemmbu had won. It was because... He didn't have a reason. Jepex didn't fight him on it, which he appreciated, but couldn't ignore the skepticism in his eyes as he tried to talk his way out of the hole he'd fallen into.
He missed being a princess. He missed feeling like he meant something. It'd always been fake, his regalty, but with the blade ripped from his hands he felt more like an imposter than he'd ever expected to.
"Zam, you can still be a princess without- without the stupid dagger, y'know?" Mapicc had reassured him. He remembered how Mapicc had eyed him, like he was a deer trapped on the highway, ready to bolt and injure itself in the process. He didn't think he was a deer. He felt more like he'd already been turned to roadkill.
"It's- I need it back, Mapic, I've- I'm not the Kitty Princess witho- I'm not a princess at all." It was hard to speak between broken sobs and hiccups that stole every one of his shallow breaths, but Minute had held him anyways. He'd sat on the ground with Zam, let him lean against his chest and stain his silky white button down with lip gloss and tear tracks. He remembered the way his stomach had fluttered when Minute squeezed his shoulder with an awkward half-hug, a gentle murmur into their embrace that said, "You'll always be a princess to me, Zam. If you want to be."
It had felt good. Too good. He didn't deserve it. It didn't make sense to Zam, why Minute would indulge this fantasy that didn't make sense. He was his teammate, sure, but he didn't have to care about something as stupid as this. Zam would be fine eventually. He put the dress away until he'd reunited with the dagger after a torturous couple weeks, a sense of belonging clicking into place as it found its way back to him.
He didn't deserve their kindness. Not really. He was a mess. He was confused about who - what - he really was. He wasn't a princess. He wished he could be. Not a pretend one, who wore frilly dresses and let his teammates indulge his fantasies. He wished he was a princess for real.
In his dreams, he could still be PrinceZam and PrincessZam. He could keep both halves of himself, even if it didn't make sense. But it was a dream. It didn't have to be realistic. In his dreams, he could wear his dresses and keep his pretty long hair and still be Zam. Minute would call him a pretty princess and he'd mean it. Minute would look at him and call him a pretty girl like he wasn't lying through his teeth.