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quotemenevervore · 2 years ago

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About 5000 words later and here we are! I hope it doesn’t seemed rushed, but I wanted to get it out before the finale.

Warnings: soft, safe g/t vore, fearplay, panicking, fear of death and digestion (neither happen)

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Quackity was not expecting his night to end like this.

Shrunken down to five inches tall, barely escaping the grasp of his hunter, the man he tortured for weeks on end? He didn’t even know there was a way to shrink people on the server!

And as if that dizzying experience wasn’t enough, it was immediately followed with a hand slamming down too close for comfort, a familiar white mask meeting his startled gaze. The shrunken casino owner wasted no time in jumping off the desk, away from the larger. His wings snapped out to help him glide down, nullifying the fall damage he would have gotten otherwise. As his feet touched the ground, they instantly broke into a sprint, running out from under the desk and to the elevator as Dream circled the desk to grab him. As the water dragged his small body down, he could hear Dream’s faint taunting, muffled by the water.

“C’mon, Quackity. I just wanna talk. Can’t we do that? Don’t tell me you’re scared~.” He tried to block it out, forcing his pride to take the backseat to prioritize surviving the crazy fucker that shrunk him. He didn’t have a good head start; Once Dream realizes he’s not there anymore, he’d go down the elevator too, and… it didn’t look good.

He was for sure going to die if Dream got ahold of him, that was for certain. He had two lives, but at this size Dream could burn through them easily. He didn’t even know if his manipulated size would fade with death, maybe the former prisoner purposely made sure it wouldn’t.

He continued running, staying close to the walls to try and throw his pursuer off. Most of his plans were crushed instantly by his own panicked logic. Does he try to find Foolish? It may wind up being too easy to hurt him. Besides, didn’t Foolish interact with a god that was like Dream? No, he couldn’t risk it. Fundy’s a Fox, and as much as he’d like to push that aside his instinctual fear told him that he couldn’t risk it at this size. And if his instincts were flaring up, he couldn’t imagine what Fundy’s would do upon seeing him. He couldn’t really slip into any of the buildings, he’d get crushed, respawn in his office thanks to him leaving that bed in there for nights when paperwork was piled up, and Dream would know exactly where he was.

All he could do was keep running.

… Well, maybe not all hope was lost.

Near the toll bridge, there lay a secret chamber, locked in with iron bars and redstone wiring. Maybe, if he could lead Dream to it, he could��

Well, even if he locks him back up it wouldn’t do much, would it? It would only give him a minimal head start and at that point he’d just trap himself. Dream would catch up too easily. He could try booking it to Paradise, but that wouldn’t get him too far with nobody there anymore.

He couldn’t even remember if Wilbur had changed his stance on Dream or not, and even if he did, he didn’t change his stance on him. No, Wilbur likely would have taken advantage of his size to poke fun, been too careless, then he’d be back to the same issue, but with higher stakes.

Quackity found himself running towards the toll bridge anyway, solely on the fact that he was dead the minute he stopped running. Maybe someone would be there, someone who he can hide with. It wasn’t even hope that kept him running despite his lungs burning worse than his legs, it was fear running the blood in his veins ice cold that kept his feet slamming into the pavement below. Frustration had long since started to build up, if he was normal sized he’d have been there by this point!

Mentally going through his inventory, he was thankful that he remembered having a speed potion there. Ducking further against the wall, he paused for a moment, lungs heaving as they attempted to catch his breath. He opened his inventory, eyes frantically searching for the glimmering periwinkle liquid. Upon finding it, he ripped the cork off with almost feral strength despite his entire body trembling with adrenaline and exhaustion, and downed the entire bottle.

Almost instantly, a rush of energy filled him, and he did not wait a second longer to start running again, sprinting to the toll bridge with new vigor.

It was nowhere near his normal sized walking speed, but at least he was making noticeable distance now. At least, that’s how he felt up until he heard his hunter call for him, way too close for comfort.

His body inched even closer to the wall, shoulder practically scraping against it as he ran towards the entrance of his country, the hunting grounds he’d been trapped into. He kept his gaze forward, too scared to look anywhere else and chance getting caught off guard.

It was upon hearing giant footsteps that his own faltered, tripping over his own feet and barely catching himself against the wall. His head immediately snapped to his right, where Dream would be coming from, and found nobody there. Not even a shadow, but the footfalls had been loud, super close.

Quackity scanned the area around him with wary intent, adrenaline still burning through his system and making him shudder. Boom. Boom. Boom.

To his left, someone was walking up the hall, in his direction. As the person climbed up the stairs, the blackette’s breath caught in his throat when the first color he saw was green.

Pressing himself further against the wall, he tried to silence his breathing, still too quick for his liking. The person kept climbing the stairs, and…

What?

That… that couldn’t be right.

It wasn’t Dream, but the familiarity of the person’s face, body still tinted green since the last time he saw him….

The person walking up the toll bridge’s hall was none other than Charlie.

It seemed that his nonhuman friend had finally given up the human façade, his hair completely green and dripping down his equally green and translucent face. He was still wearing his uniform, too, button up shirt stained a very light green. The dopey smile he used to wear was gone, replaced with a neutral line to his lips as he continued walking, maybe wandering? Charlie seemed so different than the last time he was actually able to interact with him that he couldn’t tell anymore. Even with the hesitance of barely recognizing him, Quackity couldn’t stop himself from calling out to him, almost in disbelief.

“Charlie!?” For a moment, Quackity feared that he didn’t recognize the name, or that he wasn’t loud enough to be heard, but the mob came to a stop, and relief flooded through the duck hybrid so fast his legs almost buckled beneath him. It seemed as though Charlie couldn’t figure out where the voice had come from, turning to look at his eye level. “Charlie!” He yelled again, daring to take a step closer to the hybrid before him, away from the safety of the wall. “Down here!”

His gaze snapped down upon the second sentence being spoken, and Quackity couldn’t help the shiver that ran down his spine at the abrupt eye contact. He just looked so… different, from when he’d seen him last. Is this really the same guy? The sudden hesitance melted when a soft smile came onto the slime’s features. “Quackity from Las Nevadas!” He was quieter than he had been in the past, but it couldn’t have been anyone else. He was even grateful for the soft volume at that moment; Dream was still after him, he couldn’t let himself forget. Even if the fact that Slime’s returned melted a lot of the negative emotions away. It was easier to think clearly when you’re not grieving, after all.

“Hey, it’s been a while, huh?” His chest was warm, but his veins still felt full of ice, and it made his voice waver with a terrible mix. It didn’t count the small chuckle that left either, sounding more like a nervous silence filler than an actual laugh. He couldn’t remember Charlie kneeling down, but he definitely was aware of his hand coming closer to him, glossy and green and transparent like the rest of him, and absolutely huge compared to him. Quackity wondered if he’d sink through it, if Charlie tried to touch or grab him. “It has, but that’s okay! I think we both needed the time. I certainly did.”

“Yea, where did you go? I-“ he cut himself off, realizing he was about to tell his former charge that he had been worried. He’d been the one to drill not getting attached into Charlie’s head, he can’t back out of that now. Especially if Charlie still believed it.

“I needed to get stronger before I could take on a more.. human form again. So I went somewhere where I could build my strength up without worrying about anyone trying to ruin that progress. But I’m back now!”

“Yea, that’s.. that’s good.” Guilt gnawed at the shrunken man's core viciously. He opened his mouth to say something, like let’s get out of here before dream spots you or why don’t we head to the needle and catch up? Neither of those came out, instead an apology stumbled out of his mouth before he could stop it. Not that he would have, anyway. He was due for one, he just wished it didn’t feel so rushed and that he could have actually thought about the words leaving his mouth.

“I- Charlie, I’m sorry about what happened. It.. I didn’t think Purpled would ever do something like that. I’m sorry I couldn’t keep it from happening.” Charlie’s face became neutral again, but the hand near him scooped him up anyway, startling Quackity badly. He almost started thrashing before he remembered just who had picked him up. “Quackity, I think we both failed to follow one of your lessons.” A grin spread across the slime’s face, and the blackette visibly melted with relief. “Yea, I guess we did. I missed you.” “I missed you too, Quackity. But at least I’m not the only one who’s changed. You were taller than this last time!”

Fuck, that’s right. Dream’s still prowling through Las Nevadas searching for me.

“Yea, let’s just say I pissed off another person. At least this one took it out on me. But I’m stuck like this and he’s currently hu-searching for me.” He really felt like he was being hunted, though. A cat going after the mouse it found. “Oh. That’s.. not good.” “Yeah, no. Wasn’t expecting to run into you, cause if you hadn’t left I wouldn’t have wanted you involved with this anyway.”

“But I am here. It wouldn’t be fair to leave you like this to face Dream alone.” Quackity’s brow furrowed. He didn’t remember telling Charlie it was Dream. Though, the slime always had that sort of uncanny knowledge at his fingertips. “You shouldn’t have to fight my battles for me. I’m sure this’ll wear off in a little bit, I just gotta keep running from-“

“Oh? I don’t think I’ve met you before.” Quackity stiffened, his good eye widening and breath catching in his lungs. Thank fuck Charlie had been turned around and Dream hadn’t seen his hands. It would have been game over right then and there.

“I think you were in prison when I joined.” Charlie had that neutral look on his face again. Quackity prayed it was a good poker face and that he wouldn’t betray him. He didn’t think he could take it, even if he did deserve it.

“Well, now’s as good a time as ever to meet, right? How about you turn around so I can actually see you.” The second sentence has not been a question, but a demand.

Charlie realized quick that this was a dangerous situation. If he tried to walk away with the shrunken casino owner in hand, Dream would catch on instantly, especially upon being disobeyed. If he left Quackity alone or tried to hide him when he turned, he’d definitely die. Well, he’d die either way, but Charlie may wind up dying too for trying to harbor him. When Dream called out to him again, the slime gave Quackity a brief apologetic look before turning to face Dream.

Quackity forced himself to relax when turned. He was terrified, yes, but he wasn’t going to have Charlie fight his battles. If Charlie had to give him away to survive, he’d let him. But Dream wouldn’t get any satisfaction from it. He forced himself to ignore the sting of betrayal, he’d tasted it before. Still bitter, still hurtful.

“What’s that you’ve got there?” His mask remained on his face, but Quackity could imagine the quirked brow and smirk on his face. Jokes on Dream, he didn’t need a mask to pull a poker face. “Something.” And neither did slime, apparently.

“Something? Looks like someone. As a matter of fact, it looks like..” he stepped forward, and the shrunken man tensed. “The very person I’ve been looking for.”

Charlie didn’t acknowledge the statement, only nodding as he tried to come up with an escape for him and Quackity. Now that he’s revealed him, there’s no way Dream lets him walk away. Not when he seems so eager to get his hands on him.

But maybe….

He could just absorb him long enough to get away from the escaped prisoner. It’d make Dream think he betrayed Quackity and think that Quackity’s been killed, and allow him to escape with him safely. He could do it safely too; an air pocket wouldn’t be difficult to conceal if the inner slime was just pushed to opposite ends, it would simply make him look more opaque through his core, without counting his shirt already. Hell, it might even be better so nobody can see Quackity in such a state, the slime knew if he was seen he’d be questioned anyway.

There was only one problem: Would Quackity know? There’s no way for him to tell the duck hybrid he’d be safe without giving it away to Dream, and all he can really rely on is trust.

And isn’t it just ironic that one of Quackity’s lessons is gonna have to be turned on it’s head to protect him?

“-me him, and you can go! I don’t have anything against you, there’s no reason for me to hurt you. But he has it coming.” Oh, Dream’s been talking this entire time that Charlie’s been scheming. He could feel how tense Quackity was in his hand, almost trembling with nervousness. Not fear, Charlie wasn’t sure if he had it in him to feel fear anymore. Well, maybe he’ll find out, if he doesn’t trust him.

“Well, I saw him first. Technically that means he’s mine.”

Confusion met him on one end, and borderline frustration met him on the other. Dream tilted his head, the mask doing little to disguise the annoyance he felt. “Right, but you don’t plan on doing anything with him. Hell, I don’t even know if you really know him or not. Wasn’t really paying attention cause he was busy torturing me. He tell you that?” “I do know Quackity. And I was aware. I was also aware of the things you did to everyone on the server before you got locked up.” I know you’re part of the reason Quackity’s like this, shrinking potion aside.

“Okay. So, hand him over. We can just go our own separate ways afterwards. I’d hate for you to get involved.” Charlie simply raised his hand higher, not taking his gaze away from the masked man before him. He didn’t doubt the second he looked down Dream would try something. “Or we could go our separate ways and I can keep him. I found him first.” “You’re not gonna do anything with him. I will.”

“Who said I wasn’t?” Silence took the man’s voice away, but it also made his friend flinch in his hand. He’d better hurry this up so he can talk to him. He lifted his hand higher, stopping it in front of his face. He watched Dream’s reaction, and upon not getting one, opened his mouth and tipped the shrunken man inside, closing it over a gasp from said man. The soft noise didn’t last long, Quackity screaming as soon as he registered what was happening. It echoed in his mouth strangely, and his ears felt very offput by the yell. He didn’t blame Quackity, if anything he felt hurt that he wasn’t trusted more, but this was the man who taught him not to trust anything.

The movement wasn’t as bad, the frantic squirming just feeling.. nice. Not bad, or strange. Guess it was just slime instincts. Though, normally he’d just absorb and digest the struggling thing, not keep it safe.

It wasn’t as if he needed any assistance sending him down, if he didn’t fit then Charlie could just push the slime outwards and make him fit down his ‘throat’ easier. He wouldn’t let himself linger on his friend’s taste, he can think about that when they’re safe. He wasted no time pushing him back, tilting his head slightly to assist when he began flailing and trying to climb. He waited a moment to let his limbs weaken a bit, and when the man stopped squirming to catch his breath, he swallowed, earning another loud shriek.

For Dream’s part, he seemed shocked at the events that transpired before him. He knew slimes could be ruthless, but he thought that hybrids wouldn’t be nearly as bloodthirsty. He suppressed a shudder at imagining the fate awaiting his previous torturer. Even he couldn’t have pulled something like that on him. He took a step back, and almost jumped when the slime looked back at him. “Don’t think I won’t do the same to you. It took me a long time to get back to this type of form, and it makes me hungry to maintain it.”

Dream simply nodded, stepping back further. “Well, I think I’ll just let you enjoy your ‘meal’ then,” he couldn’t hide the shudder as he said meal, imagining himself in Quackity’s place. He turned and briskly walked off, towards the toll bridge.

Charlie waited until he was out of sight and turned to walk into Las Nevadas, going to the nearest building and locking the door behind him before turning his attention inward.

~ ~ ~

Quackity didn’t know what to think when Charlie had tossed him into his mouth. He’d seen the slime eat before, he didn’t even think that he had a mouth. Unless he formed one just for this. His brain gave up on staying collected, panic overriding every sense not filled with slime and making him lash out at his surroundings. He knew he’d never win; Charlie could literally reform every bit of damage he did, but he couldn’t help it. He couldn’t even tell if the loud pounding in his ears was his own heart or if Charlie’s biology actually gave him one. He didn’t really think he cared at the moment. He couldn’t stop the sting at his eyes, letting the tears fall from his good one. It cleared the slime from his cheek, somewhat.

He could definitely tell he wasn’t there long, even if his sense of time was skewed with fear, before he was lurched back towards what had to be the slime’s version of a throat. He tried to struggle more, but his breath ran out, and his limbs were tired. He’d been running for ages before he ran into Charlie.

He laid on his tongue for only a moment, taking gasping breaths that shook his whole chest, before he was pushed back and down, and he shrieked until the slime reached his face and he stopped to avoid drowning to it. He trembled violently the entire way down, the panic ebbing to leave bitter resignation and stabbing hurt to cave his chest in instead.

He wasn’t even granted the mercy of just drowning, suddenly dropping into an air pocket. He wanted to fight, demand to be released, until the slime’s voice echoed around him. A flinch jolted his whole body at the threat, and he simply sank down to the bottom of the pocket, tremors still holding his body hostage. He tried to take a deep breath, but it broke into a sob, jerking his entire chest painfully. He hadn’t cried in.. so long. It had to have been right after Techno put that pickaxe through his jaw. Or maybe before. He couldn’t remember, but he didn’t remember crying hurting this bad. The sobs continued to wrack his form, and for once he didn’t have the energy to suppress them. Not like anyone would see him, anyway. What’s the point of trying to suppress how he felt now? He was betrayed again, the very person he couldn’t save becoming his own downfall. He shouldn’t have pretended not to care about him. Maybe then Slime wouldn’t have died, and maybe then he wouldn’t have felt the need to do this to him.

Though it was ironic, wasn’t it? Charlie had melted in lava, and now he’s going to melt in the slime he couldn’t save.

His brain thankfully dulled his senses as he cried, feeling blissfully ignorant to his surroundings. It couldn't last forever, but the duck hybrid welcomed it for now, letting himself get lost in his emotions. At least, until the slime decided to interfere with his sorrow.

“Quackity?” He curled in on himself further. He couldn’t take it. He couldn’t listen to him gloat about killing him. He couldn’t. Another sob tore through him, and Charlie’s voice came back, more than a little panicked. “Quackity, are you okay? Are you hurt?” “Why would you care!” He yelled out. His mind was at its wits end, ready to completely shut down. He can’t take the false kindness. “I- This wasn’t to hurt you.” Something pressed against the slime around him, making an indent into the air pocket. His brain didn’t even begin to try and process how that worked. “Why would I hurt you? We’re friends… aren’t we?” He sounded unsure at the end. “I thought we were too.” The blackette replied bitterly. “I- no, Quackity I’m not going to hurt you-“ he cut himself off, and for a tense moment of silence, he was sure that Charlie had abruptly changed his mind. At least, until the slime in front of him suddenly changed, reaching towards him- did he just put his hand through his chest!? Quackity scrambled upright as the hand finished forming, wanting an escape. There was none, and he knew that beforehand- but the fingers wrapping around him scared him anyway. Maybe he changed his mind. Maybe he is gonna drown him with his own body. He closed his eyes tightly, trying to hide from the reality facing him.

That reality is really cold, apparently. He hadn’t even realized that Charlie emitted warmth until he was- wait. His eyes opened and he looked around. He was in Charlie’s hand, trapped in a very loose fist, but he was out.

Charlie sucked in a breath, despite not even needing to breathe. His friend looked so vulnerable like this, shrunken, distraught and panicked. He really hoped he hadn’t ruined everything by doing this. He wanted to come here to see him again, not drive himself away by breaking his trust!

“Quackity..?” the man in question flinched, senses feeling overwhelmed as he adjusted to being outside again. He looked around until he found the slime’s face. He.. looked very concerned. It’d worry Quackity if he hadn’t dealt with everything that had transpired tonight. “What?” He wanted to sound angry, but instead he simply sounded scared, voice shaking. “Did you really think I’d kill you?” He blew out a frustrated sigh. “I don’t know what to think, Charlie. Every fucking move I make someone’s mad about. I keep getting people hurt, one of thems bound to lash out.” He looked away, unable to watch the mob’s face morph into the same anger he felt he deserved. “But why me? You haven’t given me a reason to be mad at you.” “I couldn’t save you.” The tears started anew. “If you didn’t forgive me for not saving you, I’d understand. I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself, anyway.” “But you tried. That’s what counts.” “And failed. If you hadn’t been immortal like you said you were, you could have been gone permanently.” “Why are you stuck on ‘if’ situations? They’re not true. What’s true is that I’m here. I’m alive, and I forgive you.” His voice was firm at first, but softened almost instantly as the duck hybrid tensed at the tone.

“You shouldn’t.” He whispered as he shook harder, tears leaving lines down his slime-coated face. “And I do. I don’t think those lessons really stuck with us, Quackity. Any of them. But I don’t think we need to relearn them. Maybe we can make new ones.” Quackity chuckled. “Yea…” he looked down. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.” “I kinda figured you wouldn’t. Though, I don’t think Dream will be back anytime soon. That’s better, I think.” “Right, yea.” He had to take a minute, remember to actually breathe, but he finally began to calm down. Right after his trembles subsided, he shivered again, the temperature finally starting to get to him. Charlie was faintly warm, but it wasn’t enough to keep him from freezing in the cold night air. “Are you okay?” “I’m cold. I am kind of soaked right now, that’s not really helping it.” He thought over what he said for a minute, hastily adding on, “Nothing against you, Charlie.” “That’s okay. What should I do to help?”

“I’d like to dry off, please.”

Charlie’s lips pressed into a line at the final word, not remembering hearing him ever use such formalities, but quickly brushed it aside with a smile. “Sure, let’s dry you up.” “Don’t phrase it like that, man.”

After retrieving a washcloth (that Quackity wasn’t sure how he grabbed it without soaking it through with slime) and helping the shrunken man dry off, the duo wound up in the living room of the building they’d snuck into, Quackity sitting on the coffee table and Charlie sitting on the floor in front of the table, resting his head on his crossed arms a little ways away from the smaller to give him space.

“What now?” “I don’t know. I don’t even know if this-“ he motioned to himself. “Wears off. What if it’s irreversible?” “I don’t know, Quackity.” The mob muttered softly. “I’ve seen a lot of things, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen shrinking used here.” “Me either.” They reached a moment of silence, thankfully not tense, and the blackette pitched forward in exhaustion before catching himself with a jolt. “Rest, Quackity. It’ll all be okay.” He was scooped up again, but he couldn’t find it in him to care, letting his eyes drop closed and sleep coming to him easily for the first time in a long time.

~ ~ ~

Charlie gently lowered the tiny man to the bed, letting him slump down onto the pillow. He barely even stirred, remaining blissfully unconscious. The former brunette was thankful for it, he could tell that Quackity needed the rest. He thought about sitting on the floor to wait for him to wake up, but opted instead to sleep as well. He didn’t need to, but he’d rather lay down and be able to keep a closer eye on the smaller than if he were to sit with his back to the bed. Carefully clambering onto the bed, he let his head drop down a little ways away from Quackity.

Now that he wasn’t preoccupied with the former’s words swimming in his ears, he finally let himself think about the situation that had happened earlier.

It… felt strange to him. But not in the way that he had wanted it to, it felt… normal. Right. Granted, it was intertwined with being able to protect his former boss, but he couldn’t find any reason to not.. enjoy it. The squirming had felt nice, and maybe it would have been even better if Quackity hadn’t been completely terrified. And it wasn’t as if he tasted bad, no; there was a certain spice to his flavor that made him pretty delectable, to be honest. Charlie let himself drift into his thoughts, subconsciously bringing a hand over the small body as a single one captured most of his thoughts: would Quackity let him do this again?

#mcyt g/t #mcyt vore #safe vore #soft vore #fear play #g/t vore #protection vore

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moriiartist · 3 years ago

Note

what music fits the people you write for?

I have a lot of people that I write for, so for this ask I'll just answer for the Hermits :> (hope you don't mind anon!)

Grian... well, it's kind of hard to articulate the vibes that he gives me. Barely restrained chaos in the form of an unassuming Gremlin? Comedic relief that turns out to be the villain all along? The Fall by half●alive

Mumbo Jumbo... he's just a guy! A guy that wouldn't hesitate to murder, and would do it with a cheerful smile on his face, but a guy all the same! He does give me more nostalgic energy- a Walkman whose songs are almost crunchy in quality because of how many times they've been copied over. Chapstick by COIN

Scar... will inevitably scam you out of something. He’s not actually all that malicious, more like a cartoon villain than anything else, but he’s legitimately good at manipulating people. He has a kind of goofy charisma, an ambition for power and an involvement in things- a talent for living that is more often than not underestimated. Mamma Mia by Austin Webber

Xisuma... is a star burning from a million light years away, whose impression upon our worlds is a pinprick of light in the night sky. He’s ever-present, constant and steady... comforting, to some. For all that he is, though- a leader, a protector, a friend- you could never remove the memory of mystery from his being. Overthinker by INZO

Etho... he’s the ghost of the server. He has an undeniable talent for everything he deigns to put his mind to, as well as the time spent to perfect the skills under his belt, but at the same time he’s not in a rush to show them off. Where other people might train their entire lives just to stand before a cheering crowd, he is proving his worth to nobody other than himself. Wasteland, Baby! by Hozier

Tango... is an interesting mix of one of the most tenacious and talented builders in the server, as well as a littol guy who delights in destruction and hijinks. I mean- he built Decked Out, there’s nothing more I can say for this man other than that he has a kind of mental illness (/j) that would make gods weep. Crazy = Genius by Panic! At The Disco

Impulse... can and will convince everyone that he’s human when, in reality, he’s probably one of the furthest things from it. He just... something about him makes him capable of going to lengths few could even dream of, whether it’s grinding materials or moving his entire goddamn base up by a block. He behaves the most “normally” out of most of the Hermits, but he’s really Not. Adventure Is Out There by AJR

Rendog... is a theater kid who was given the ability to fight God and win, plain and simple. He’s dramatic, he’s stubborn with the stories he wants to tell, and he’s filled with a simple zest for life. It’s only an even bigger bonus that he gets to be able to make his friends laugh with the characters he creates, and what more could a dog want, really? Best Friend by Rex Orange County

DocM77... has no qualms about breaking the fabric of reality itself, not because he actually is a villain, but because, to him, it’s a normal Tuesday afternoon. He’s not a mean or a malicious person- hell, he’s really only antagonistic for the bit! It’s just become second nature for him to play the villain because it’s funny, so why stop? Supermassive Black Hole by Muse

Bdubs... he’s feral, he’s climbing on the walls, he’s going to descend into hell only to come back with a smoothie and one of those tropical shirts that dads wear like he was on vacation. He’s both someone that is hard to take seriously, and a cosmic horror that would melt your mind to fully comprehend. He can and has cried during an argument because he has that many Feelings. Under My Skin by Jukebox The Ghost

#a snack for the children #ask #anonymous #c!grian #c!mumbo jumbo #c!mumbo #c!goodtimeswithscar #c!xisumavoid #c!xisuma #c!ethoslab #c!tangotek #c!impulsesv #c!rendog #c!renthedog #c!docm77 #c!doc #c!bdoubleo #c!bdubs #tw: language

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dodo-begone · 4 years ago

Text

Ugly Fuckling

Pairing: Yandere!Xisuma x Reader

Request: mmm for requests: some soft yandere shit with any character, maybe??

Word count: 3.9K

Warning: yandere, cursing, depression (?), Anxiety (?), angst (to comfort), dissociation

Part 2 for this is Now Listen Here Sad Bitches - Stop Being Sad

If this EVER looks funky/glitched (which it def is now) I have this up properly on Ao3.

__________________________________________________________

The shopping district made you uneasy. Life just seemed to course through the area. Even without anyone actually being there to give it the energy. It was cramped though; everything was practically on top of each other. Yet it gave such a homey feeling. Like everybody who made the buildings actually liked each other; they all were a representation of how everyone was different but still similar to a family. Standing in front of all of the shops made you feel intimidated. Small, insignificant, inadequate.

You start your journey through the district, looking and giving every build the attention it deserved. It was all in an attempt to imbed everything into your memory. After all, you wouldn’t be around for much longer. Someone like you, who was so alien to the server, shouldn’t just try and worm their way into such an amazing community like this. Especially when they have nothing to offer for said community.

You hadn’t realized where you were walking until you stood in front of Grian’s barge. It was so gorgeous and well made. Grian told you how it began as a small little boat build and progressively grew to the giant floating market it is today. The story was awe inspiring; like an ugly duckling, it grew into something majestic after starting at such humble beginnings. Yet it did little to lift your spirits now. Yeah the barge started as a simple build, but it was still beautiful in its tiny state. And Grian had the talent and skill to make ginormous and intricate builds. You had neither of those abilities.

Slowly you made your way closer to the barge. At the entrance there were numerous posters all bunched together on a post. All for the mayoral campaign. They were so cute, each having a unique look. Representing their mayors very well. But Scar’s. Oh Scar’s was just elite. It was a plain wooden sign; a small but even more unique technique when compared to the others. Nothing beat some good ole fashioned petitioning. You let out a small giggle at the sight of Scar’s sign next to the others. It seemed very out of place. Seemed like a solid representation of you with the hermits. And at the same time it reminded you so much of the Dream smp.

The Dream smp… your old home. Calling the dream smp home feels wrong; you barely felt safe there, but you knew that you were wanted there. Even if just a few actually cared about you, loved you. You fit in so much better there. Your horrendous builds could easily blend in with the others or better yet, stand out amongst the surrounding disasters to look semi-decent. Yes there were actual beautiful builds, just like any other server, but they were few and far between. Those builds were under constant threat of being griefed or destroyed, just like all of the others. Yet everybody seemed mostly okay with it. They would be upset when it would be destroyed, like any normal person would. But they only had two options when presented with the rubble; pick up the fragments and rebuild from the ground up or forever abandon what was once a masterpiece.

With the hermits, there was order there. The chaos was controlled, which was an odd concept to you. Chaos on the Dream smp ran rampant, destroying anything in its path. And there even seemed to be a “type” of person that was deemed a “hermit”. Thought it was hard to pick out something that everybody had in common. But you knew one thing; you didn’t fit the description of a hermit.

On the Dream smp, everything was always on the brink of destruction and very tense. Things could change on the flip of a dime. Nothing was guaranteed. And yet you still wanted to go back there. To feel wanted, important, enough, to be validated. To be so much more than you were with the hermits. With the hermits, you were only an imposter; everything they said to or about you was a lie. Had to be a lie. Why else would you be like this super kinda and incredible person? The person they were describing wasn't even you. It was a whole different person, how could they not see that?!

Leaning against the outerwall of the barge, you slowly slide to the ground. You start a panoramic view from your new position. It only made you feel worse; you felt detached from your body. Like you were watching a movie of you and your life from an outsider’s view. But you had control of your body and could still kinda see through your eyes, which made it feel even weirder. So more like you were walking through a movie that you weren’t made for; a real person wandering the domain of a cartoon show.

A shaky breath breaks it way through your lips. Trails of tears soon start to trickle down your face, slightly obscuring the view you had. Suddenly the world becomes too big yet too small. Much duller, less important. Everything became too much yet not enough all at the same time. Soon the feeling overwhelmed you so much that you broke down into a sobbing mess. The wanted to hide your face in your hands and knees hung over you like a tsunami wave, but you knew you shouldn’t. These were your last moments and views of the hermitcraft server. Even if you couldn’t see clearly anymore. Any view was better than no view. You tried to muffle your cries; do anything to stay silent and unseen. Nobody really wanted to deal with a crying person. They just felt obligated to.

God you were such a burden on all of the hermits. You could barely support yourself with your shitty little farm. Barely any food was produced. And the hermits kept giving you stuff: ores, food, weapons, armour, just about anything you could think of. Golden carrots, golden apples, elytras, diamonds and netherite were the gifts that made you feel the worst. These were such wonderful, valuable, and useful items. Nobody would give them out for free, even to a friend. Especially as often as they did.

So you’d set out on a journey to figure out who’d gifted you stuff and return it immediately. First you just left them in a chest with a book or sign explaining that you didn’t want to accept their gift. It felt wrong that they were giving them such nice stuff. They’d always bring it back to you though. It burned your heart. Both from how sweet the gesture was and the physical pain you felt taking it from them. After a few cycles of this, people started to stop telling you who gave you that new item of yours. Even when you begged them for answers.

You had to turn to more drastic measures. Every gift you got was soon carefully investigated for any sign of who could’ve given it to you. There wasn't a way to easily get an answer from the other hermits. They had gotten suspicious of your past tactics, so you had to change your approach.

So you went with the closest guess. Even if they weren’t the one to give it to you, you’d give it to them. When the “gifter” left their base, you’d swiftly sneak in and start to put the items back in their storage. Many of them had chest monsters, so it was easier to put the items in their chests. After all, they wouldn’t really notice more items in the giant mess of items they already had. Then there were the ones with organized sorting systems. You’d search for their proper homes and place them in there. Since these people usually had big storage facilities, it wouldn't be hard to hide a few other items in there. What were the odds that they’d notice that they had a little more of an item than they last remember?

Aw who were you kidding, they’d obviously notice a whole inventory’s worth of golden carrots in their chests. But you deluded yourself into believing that your attempts worked. Believing a beautiful life was much easier and felt better than facing the less-than enjoyable truth.

When you finally calmed down enough, you went over your mental plan again. It had to be absolutely perfect. With no flaws or kinks. This couldn’t fail. Every attempt before had ended in fucking failure. You’d look so bad to the hermits if you failed in leaving again. Why did you still care about what they thought of you? That’s such a silly thing to still care about.

Each plan before had one step that’d always thwarted your leave; you always said goodbye to somebody. At first it started with a big group of hermits, but with each attempt the group got smaller and smaller.

When you’d go to say your goodbyes, the hermit you were talking to would get upset. They’d begged you to stay. Or they’d ask you to help them on this one last project. And then another hermit would ask, and then another. Until you were helping a hermit as soon as you finished a project. You were almost never alone for a while. Slowly the thought of leaving would be pushed further and further back into your mind. Until it was practically gone; only echoes of it would remain to haunt you at night. This was a continuous cycle, and you wanted it to end.

This time you weren’t going to get stopped. Having fewer people in the plan makes it easier to leave. That meant nobody was going to get an in-person goodbye. Everybody had an individual letter addressed to them from you and one for the entire server. It was better this way. They wouldn’t have the chance to stop you.

You don’t know how much time passed, nor did you really care. God you wanted to stay here so bad, yet you couldn’t. This wasn’t where you belonged. You weren’t meant to be here.

With a heavy sign, you hauled yourself off the ground and made your way to the edge of the server. Every moment was precious now, so you decided to dawdle as much as you could. Nobody was going to stop you, so you had time. After all, nobody was going to be finding the letters anytime soon.

To savor every last second on the server, you traversed by boat and foot. Yes you’d miss the elytras, but you wanted to travel the old fashioned way. The way you were used to doing it. Elytras weren’t on the Dream smp, so you needed to start getting used to not having them again.

It felt like seconds before you were at the edge. A few blinks and bam! You were at your final destination on the Hermitcraft server. It was now or never. All you had to do was take a few steps over and you would be back on the Dream smp. Yet your feet refused to move. Why weren’t they moving? This was for the greater good. Yes you wouldn’t be happy there immediately, but you’d grow used to it again.

You started to take deep breaths, trying to hype yourself up to take the final steps. It was like three steps, come on. You can do it. The trip here was longer and harder than this. Don’t let something this small ruins all the work you’ve done. God it was like you were like a walking failure. You couldn’t even finish something you started, something you wanted done. A small part of you whispered, begged you to say with the hermits. But it was soon covered by a much louder part of the mind, telling you that this was the best thing you could do for everyone. Come on, they wouldn’t miss you at all. With one final breath, you took a step forward.

“What’re you doing?” a voice seemed to yell. God it was so quiet. Why was it so quiet? Literally any noise was too loud now.

You stopped. Oh no, did you take too long getting here? Man you really should’ve used that elytra instead. Would’ve made this trip so much easier and faster.

Slowly you turn around to see who interrupted you. And low and behold, it’s Xisuma. He was a little ways away from you, which you were thankful for. It was surprising to see him so far away from the server though. Did he find the notes. Shit, fuck, no no no-. You really hope he hadn’t found them.

“I’m just looking around” a nervous shell of your voice answers. It sounded so empty, like the wind could easily blow it away with just a single gentle gust. You desperately look over where Xisuma’s face would be in hopes of finding out what he was feeling or thinking. That mask of his blocked it, so it was futile. But you had to know what he thought about you now. Was he disappointed? Did he hate you? Especially for how you tried to leave?

“This far out,” he spreads his arms out, gesturing to the world around y’all. It was practically deserted. There was only an island, and you two were standing on it. Ocean covered the world to the horizon. Logically you knew you had no reason to be out here other than to leave. You knew Xisuma knew as well. He had to. He was the admin, after all.

“Uh,” you frantically look around, hoping to find anything to help you get out of this tense situation. You hated this. Hated confrontation. This was a reason you left the Dream smp. “Yeah I wanted a good sight for the uh- for the sunset. Yes, the sunset! It’s so pretty when you’re so far from the mainland. Away from all the buildings that could obstruct the view.”

It took a second for your words to finally hit you, and when they did it felt like a slap to the face. “I’m not saying the builds are bad,” you desperately backpedal, trying to change the possible interpretation of your words. “I mean they’re very big. Big and pretty! Yes, very pretty! But they block the skyline so easily and the sunset and sunrise are just hidden by them. And sometimes the light pollution really gets in the way of stargazing- I’m rambling aren’t I? I’m sorry.”

You stared at Xisuma, wishing for him to give you any sign as to what he was thinking. But the black visor thwarted you attempts again; his face was unviewable with his helmet on.

Wait how could you have been so self absorbed to not notice what Xisuma is wearing. He adorned a little bee/wasp (you had a hard time telling the difference at the moment) themed outfit. It was like a whole bodysuit. And he had a little bee/wasp helmet too! Oh my gosh it was the little bee outfit he owned! The one you really liked! He was actually wearing it? The outfit you said looked really good on him? No, wait. He might just like it as well. That’s probably why he’s wearing it. Stupid, remember you’re not special. Especially to anyone. Why can’t you get that through your thick brain?

Xisuma must have seen the emotional trip you just went on. It must’ve been obvious, right? Written all over your face?

“You’re not wrong,” Xisuma starts. “The builds can be rather disruptive of a good view of the sunset or sunrise. But if you wanted a good viewing spot, you could’ve just asked me. I wouldn’t have minded showing you one.”

“That would’ve been such a stupid thing to ask,” you sniffle, barely having the strength to look him in the eyes. Well, where his eyes should be. “Going up to an admin and saying ‘I can’t see the sunrise or sunset well. Can you show me a good viewing spot’ isn’t exactly something you ask an admin. Usually it’s something along the lines of ‘hey this player took my stuff’ or ‘I’m stuck in a hole and need help.’”

Silence smothers the two of you. Your words were heavy. Made your mouth dry too. Wow is it hot out or just you? It’s really fucking hot out here.

“Again,” Xisuma breaks the silence,” I wouldn’t have minded at all. I’m here for you. For the hermits. And I’m here to help. Why do you think my help wouldn’t extend to you?”

You ponder over his question. Now that he states it like that, how can you just make up a stupid excuse? The care he showed in his explanation made you feel warm and fuzzy. Even if it wasn’t a lot. It made you feel special. Just for that moment. He doesn’t deserve a sucky lie. He deserved the truth. You owed it to him. Then you’ll stop being a bother to him and leave. Right… leave.

“Because I’m not a hermit, Xisuma,” you murmur, hugging yourself for comfort. “I don’t think I ever was. Or ever will be, for that matter.”

“And why not,” Xisuma prods, taking a step towards you. “You are a hermit. You’re on the hermit server and you have been for quite a while now. Everyone loves you. They love you so much. I love you so much.”

That question hurts you. It hurts you so much and yet you have no reason for it to hurt you this much. The statement was false and you knew it. So it shouldn’t hold this much power over you. He’s wrong and you know it. But how do you break it to him?

Yeah, break the news to him. The only thing breaking is you. Xisuma’s mask, which you had once adored, scared you. Intimidated you and made you feel inadequate. The more you looked, the worse you felt.

And so you give in. “Because I’m not one of you. I’d never be one of you. No matter what I did, it’d never amount to what everyone else can do! Grian can make magnificent builds, Scar can landscape like a god, and Mumbo can make literally anything and everything out of redstone. Everybody has something that they’re good at, something they specialize in. And me,” your voice cracks. You drop to the ground on your knees, curling into yourself. “I can’t do anything. I can’t build, can’t farm and I can’t even do simple redstone. I’m a literal dunce. I’ll never be able to do anything right. I’ll never be enough, especially on a server like this with so many incredible people like you. And everyone is so nice. I don’t deserve this kindness. I’m a horrible person. And-and I just don’t belong here. It’d be better if a burden like me is gone, out of your hair. It’d be better if I went back to the Dream smp. Where I can’t be a burden to anybody here.” You finally break down. Sobs shook your body and any words that came out after that were unintelligible.

Suddenly there’s a presence near you, giving you a hug. You flinch, but know it’s Xisuma. Who else could it be? He was the only one here with you. He lets go of you slowly, but you quickly latch onto him and hide in the crook of his neck. You really wanted some comfort. You wanted Xisuma’s hugs. You didn’t want to be left alone.

He goes back to gently holding you, quietly telling you that everything was going to be okay. And other things. Everything just went in one ear and out the other. But he’s giving you soft and steady backrubs. You snuggle closer to him. God this was like a whole comfort package! It just made you want to cry harder. And he just stays there! Letting you cry on him. He’s so nice to little ole you.

Soon you tuckered yourself out from crying. You’re so tired, but you’re still crying. Sadness just courses through you. But you’re so tired. Slowly your sobs turn to sniffle and you try to bring him even closer to you.

“Feel any better,” he tries his best to look at you after your sniffles are all that’re coming out of you. It’s really hard to look at someone so close to you.

You nod against him, too tired to answer verbally. Plus your voice probably sounds terrible and wouldn’t be able to handle answering anyways.

He picks you up, holding you close to him and walks away from the border. You’re so thankful that Xisuma is carrying you. It makes you feel so loved. And your body was so weak after your breakdown.

Soon you two are on a boat, heading back to the rest of the hermits. He’s rowing y’all home. You cuddle into him, wanting as much physical contact as you can get. You’re so tired, but you don’t want to sleep just yet. But you still doze off anyways. As you do though, Xisuma starts to talk to you.

“Thank you for staying with us. With me. I really appreciate that. I love you, remember that. I’ll tell you that a million times if I have to. I’d tell you daily, hourly. Whatever you want. Just don’t leave, please. I love you so much. It’d hurt if you left. If I lost you. But it also hurts to see you in so much pain. Oh I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you sooner. I should've seen the signs. But I’m here. I’ll help you. I love you so much. I’ll stay with you as long as you’re with me. I’d follow you to the end and back.”

You can’t exactly hear what he’s saying, but it must be really nice. The tone of it is so comforting. Wait hold up. Weren’t you doing something. Struggling to stay awake, you mind scrambles for an answer. The border. Yes, the border! You were there. But for what? You couldn’t remember anymore. But was it important if you forgot? Oh who cares, you got Xisuma with you! You were home! That’s all that mattered.

As you finally start to drift off, you mutter an ‘i love you’ to him, finally falling into a well deserved slumber.

#tw: yandere #dodo writing #mcyt x reader #tw: cursing #tw: depression #tw: anxiety #tw: dissociation #tw: angst #hermitcraft x reader #xisuma x reader #yandere #yandere xisuma #c: xisuma #hermitship

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go-learn-esperanto · 3 years ago

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Oh Gods in the UK (and here) it's already the 16th.

Well, I can't really say "happy November 16th" since it isn't an happy anniversary at all. (I also don't have the energy to theorise about it)

It's been a year. A full year. I can't believe it.

You know, my stance on the traitor was "nobody's the traitor". I believed Dream was just lying because I couldn't believe anyone was the traitor. I simply didn't want to suspect anyone.

It's so stupid looking at it now. Wilbur streight up said it himself. He was so transparent with everything. And I really didn't believe it could have been him. To me he had created L'Manburg, he was the leader, even with his declining mental health I just wasn't able to imagine him actually going through with the plan. I thought if he pressed the button it would be a joke. It was Wilbur! Surely he won't destroy everything he worked for, maybe everyone working together will show him that L'Manburg still exists!

I definitely would have never imagined he would kill himself, even if there were so many signs in retrospective.

It's so weird to think about my mindset at the time.

When Wilbur died I didn't really feel anything. The only thing I might have felt was a little anger directed towards the ones who wished for the button to be pressed. I knew it was a big event, but for me it has't really hit me yet. I just didn't think of the future, I joked about George building his house in the middle of the war. I just didn't process that Wilbur's character and role would be gone. But the more time pased the more it hurt. I think it fully hit me when Ghostbur showed up. And everything started getting worse.

I think the fact that I was kind of in a pause... Is it even denial? For some time made it so much worse. I just thought to myself "how didn't I see it? I'm such an idiot.)

November 16th was the thing that made me become 100% emersed in the lore. It's not like I didn't see lore before or that I did not care for it, it was just that until then my mentality was "People making stories in Dream's silly server" and I was definitely more fixated on the fun parts then the angst. After that I really saw the Dream SMP as a full story. It was the perfect ending for the first season, no matter how devastating it was. And the fact that the story kept going was what truly made me feel about that time. The characters had to move on, but they were scared by the events nonetheless. I looked at how the people reacted to Wilbur's death and thought about how everything had consequences. This wasn't the funny lighterted Minecraft series I started with. It was still funny sure, but it had such big of baggage. I started to follow everyone on the server, actually tried to be there and not just hear from people what happened.

November 16th was an unforgettable moment, even if just for the amount of trauma it gave me.

I guess today we celebrate how good of a story it was and how much work was put into it.

Thank you to all Dream SMP CCs. You created such an interesting story that attracted so many interesting and talented people. This, wether I choose to acknowledge it or not, has affected my life, and for that it deserves to be recognised. 💜

#so much pain #tw suicide #dream smp #wilbur soot #mcyt #november 16th

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seaswalllow · 4 years ago

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liveblogging observations, all condensed into one post since it’s so late:

- oh shit. the suit. the suit. AND THE COAT?? eret has raised the fucking BAR

- stomping boots to stomp the fuck outta the egg lmaooo

- o h? an overthrow arc, you say? “we need to do something abt this for the greater good of the server” eret my beloved.

- eret please one of the pro-omelettes is going through her own identity crisis and everybody else is either dealing with the prison

- the most casual declaration of war: “i’ve decided that i don’t like all of this red shit around, want to help me destroy it?” iconic.

- “i’ve not had any detrimental effects” hmm. hmmmmm.

- “i’d break the egg but i’m afraid it’d unleash whatever’s inside the egg on the entire server... i’ve fucked up enough times, i’d rather not fuck up again” [tucks this into my eret observations]

- there’s so many egg outposts klkgjhsgjhds i, for one, think it would’ve been hilarious if they all built their rooms around the egg’s nest and just barely avoided running into each other down there

- LMFAOOOO two of the best builders on the server and they’re hunkered down in a little tiny room in an abandoned, flooded base. that’s... a badass, and lowkey sad aesthetic

- “badboyhalo seems to be the main mouthpiece. one thing that we should keep in mind is- i don’t think that’s really their fault. we can’t hold this against them. i don’t want to hurt them.” foolish my BELOVED thank you

- “i don’t know if we destroy the egg, do we destroy their minds?” if nobody’s got me, i know foolish’s got me!!

- eret’s 20.5 days played vs foolish’s 26.6 days played on the server, this is so fucking funny, foolish’s been here for barely a third of the time eret has

- “definitely not eret and foolish’ secret base” i love these fools, this is a comedy

- very interesting how c!eret’s definition of power has changed, i think? from claiming kingship was power to recognizing that fear is no more powerful than respect and knowledge?

- “there’s too much sad in this smp” “if everybody got mental health help, so many problems would be solved” you both are so right

- “one diamond or blow up a piece of history” when you put it like that,,, KDSKJLH

- chat: sees michael art

- chat: goes feral

- eret theory: vines are related to the mortal plane, somehow. c!eret believes that in fucking with the natural order of things, the egg accelerated, and that the vines started accelerating after wilbur’s failed revival. now these theories may not necessarily be correct but again: it’s fascinating how much more connected to this side of matters c!eret tends to be/ pass themself off as?

- “it wasn’t wilbur that came back, but something else?” mentions of ghostbur seeing two, then one figure.

- anyways egg-breaking time

- “it wasn’t always peaceful for me. since i’ve arrived, i’ve kept the peace, though.” foolish lore foolish lore, callbacks to being a former totem of death?

- “not many people live in this area anymore” foolish please you don’t have to call that out because i will Cry. partially the bloodvines forcing them to abandon it, partially everybody drifting.

- “after l’manberg, everybody split off” yeah. :tears:

- ah eret lore discussion with foolish,,,, “after my betrayal, i’d hoped that things would go back to how they were” correct me if i’m wrong, but the VODs from way back then also showed quite a bit of thirst for power, right? there’s a character analysis waiting here

- “seperated them infinitely more, and now i’m just holding on to what little i have left, i guess” gamers i WILL cry don’t test me!!

- “when i think of the egg, the first thing i think of is i don’t know” oh man, yeah, that’s probably not something that a fuckin ancient totem god is used to, huh

- i will say tho, my guy, “nobody’s fighting the egg anymore” bro they’re either underground, absent, or fighting a different concern,,, u should talk to tommy pspspsps talk to tommy or fundy or niki- ah. eret-syndicate conflict potential,,, hmhmhm

- punz is canonically a valorant pro player and i agree with this

- after the egg: ant’s power: can speak enchanting table, ponk’s power: can speak for the egg, punz’s power: gets a new fit, and bbh’s power: he can swear. he’s been unleashed, oh fuck oh shit-

- ah, so the end of the stream is where foolish drops the fuckin lore bomb, okay. [1:24:54 is where it starts!]

- “cleaning up the mess of the wither cult” “what?” “what do you mean?” “are you thinking of a different person, or-?”

- “nope, you, eret, one with the glasses, one with the netherite armor”

- “u h”

- “it was a while ago, i suppose.”

- foolish and eret both are confused as fuck and y’know what, fair enough.

- worldbuilding! cults outside of the smp, trolls, mountains! i love it here, foolish, eret thank you for feeding us

- “i’ve been here for months-” “well, i do agree, you’ve been here for months, but you’ve been elsewhere, eret!”

- “have i shown you my eyes before?” “trust me, i know what your eyes look like” followed by “the sunglasses are a new look for you”

- HELLO???

- “you’re not scared?” i’m gonna make a post on this in one fuckin second

- “we’ll catch up, old pal” WELL OKAY

- to the person saying “let’s go old man hd dementia” in chat: i’m already wheezing please

#eret #foolish gamers #dream smp #liveblogging tag #this got so long but yknow what i'm saving it for my own ref #liveblogging ref

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marshmurmurs · 4 years ago

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It is time, the moment you’ve all been waiting for

Neither Tubbo nor Purpled had expected Technoblade to allow them to stay in his little snowy area after he had caught them hiding out in the nearby village. They probably had Philza's pity to thank for that. The man had been called over to deal with the "orphan situation" as Techno had called it. If it had been any other time or if Tubbo had been just a little less shaken about having once again lost everything, he would’ve challenged that specific phrasing. Just because his dad was lost to space and time didn’t mean he was dead. Tubbo would know if he was. But he bit his tongue and stayed quiet, he knew when a fight wasn't worth picking.

Somehow Philza had managed to convince Techno to let them stay (or more accurately, let Tubbo stay and allow Purpled to freely come and go). He pointed out Tubbo’s state as proof that the two weren’t a threat (pity, his mind reminded). Pity was a weird thing, it was a double edged blade, Tubbo had learned. Being pitied meant he was being looked down on, seen as weak. It meant he was being underestimated. Being underestimated let him fly under the radar and let him get away with so many things. Nobody ever thought to look twice at whatever he was doing because nobody thought him capable of doing the kind of things they would need to look out for. It was why he made such a good spy. The downside was that being seen as weak made him an easy target. Nobody would burn down Philza’s home, nobody would pick Technoblade as the target of their manipulations. People didn’t mess with them because they knew the consequences of going after the Angel of Death or the Blood God.

And so Tubbo would take the pity for now, but he wouldn’t stay someone to be looked down on. If becoming a threat was what it took for people to leave him alone, for him to finally be able to feel safe, he would be the biggest damn threat the server has seen.

It was with that mental promise to himself that Tubbo tried to swallow down whatever fear he had of Technoblade and got to work on starting over once more. He started building himself a nice little house in the area. Purpled offered to help, but ended up on guard duty at Tubbo's request. He just had to stick around and keep an eye on where Techno was. Sure Tubbo had said he forgave Techno and he tried not to hold the execution against him, but that didn't mean he forgot, that didn't mean he was suddenly comfortable around the man who not only executed him once, but also helped destroy the nation he he’d bled and died for. He planned for that to be a nonissue soon, though. He wouldn't have to worry about Techno turning on him if there was mutually assured destruction. He would make himself too much of a risk for Techno to try to take out. But that was a future plan, for now, progress on the house was going well. It was a cozy little thing, matching the overall look and feel of Techno's own. Underneath it, Tubbo took some more… creative liberties, he would say. One wall of the basement doubled as a door that would momentarily open if he flicked a trapdoor he had placed to look decorative. Behind that door was a bubblevator that led down to the lab.

The lab was fairly decently sized, filled with various projects Tubbo and Purpled were working on. It was made as a decoy, and it still was, but that didn't mean it wasn't used. Part of it was sectioned off for Purpled's use. In the corner was a contraption, a collection of buttons connected to speakers. The hope was to be able to teach Dogchamp what things correspond to each button so they could communicate and understand him better. It was still a work in progress. He also had a few spare bits and pieces left over from building himself a hoverboard. On Tubbo’s side of things was nothing concrete yet, just blueprints and plans. He had wall of ideas he wanted to get to at some point, like some sort of multitool that could do what a pickaxe, shovel, and axe could but all in one or arrows that would explode on impact.

There were two hallways leading to additional rooms on either side of the lab. One was built from obsidian, a testing room for any of their more explosive ideas. The other room was the area Tubbo used for messing around with enchanting. He wanted powerful tools, even if he had to brute force his way into getting them. Besides, who made the rules of enchanting? Who decided Loyalty was exclusive to tridents? What if they just weren't trying hard enough? He thought being able to throw his axe and having it return to him would be incredibly helpful. Purpled agreed, and it wasn’t like there was anyone to stop them.

If someone were to find the lab, they would think it ended there. They would have found Tubbo's secret lab, no need to look further. No need for a second glance at the honey that lined the walls. No need to notice the small gap between the wall and floor that could fit a keycard. No reason to realize there was a work of redstone there that would open up another area. That redstone opened up to another piston door, this time using a combination lock. It was probably overkill at this point, and it wasn't like they had any way to stop someone from just mining through if they got that far, but still, the precaution was there. Behind this door was what Tubbo actually wanted to keep hidden. This lab area was far less decorated than the last, more like a bunker. It was there where he, with Purpled’s help, was developing his greatest weapon, his greatest defense. What Tubbo was planning would put both Wilbur’s TnT and Technoblade’s withers to shame. They had both needed many to get what they wanted out of it, Tubbo was going to take that destructive power and condense it into one superweapon.

Tubbo was going to make nukes.

#mcyt #tubbo #purpled bedwars #dreamsmp #marsh tries #uh oh exile remix #au hours #i will be spreading dadsparklez propaganda at any given opportunity #anyway this part of the au is just me desperately tryna apologize to c!tubbo for everything ive put him through #by letting him be a bit op #he deserves it #also gonna take this moment to say the crane wives take me to war? c!tubbo vibes

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vigxilance · 4 years ago

Text

hostage

“i don’t know what to do with your kiss on my neck, i don’t know what feels true but this feels right so stay a sec… i wanna be alone, alone with you.”

a c!dreamnotfound one-shot based off the song “hostage by billie eilish”

WARNING: dreamXD is considered a figment of george’s imagination in this and george questions reality a bit so disassociation?

dreams pov (third person)

the room was hot, it felt like he was in the nether. but he wasn’t. here he sat, all alone. in a cell. of course he was one of the most powerful people on the server, but right now he was powerless. not because he didn’t have him to call upon technoblades favor, not because he could figure out how to break his way out. but because he was worn down to the shell of a person, he’d lost the one thing that meant most. the one thing he’d pushed so hard to get away. george. his george. that’s the one thing that mattered. what did the boy think of the masked man now? what had he heard? sapnap must have told him something, dreams old best friend had threatened him after all. told him if he escaped he would kill him all on his own. if he could say that to dreams face, what could he have said to his beloved george? that no longer mattered because here he stood, in this stupid cell. nobody could get to him without sams permission. yet sometimes he’d still here a familiar sound, the sound of someone so close yet so far out of reach. the laughter of george. it would remind him of the times when dream was out of prison, before all of this had occurred. when it was just him and his two best friends… his family. his brother and his boyfriend. so that’s what drove him insane. not the idea of what he’d done. but simply the idea of how his actions had completely destroyed his relationship with the only people he had ever loved. possibly his sentence was worse than tommys exile, yes he’d tormented the boy. but there’s one thing tommy had that dream never would. hope. there was no hope for dream. george was gone, forever.

george’s pov (third person)

the chilly breeze left goosebumps all over the brown haired boys arms, it was cold. so so cold. not only physically, but mentally as well. life had been so good… for so long. he was king, he had friends. hell, he even missed a war so he didn’t have to live through that pain. but one day it was yanked out of his grasp. dream was taken away, just as dream had snatched his kingship away. george knew it shouldn’t have hurt as bad as it did. dream hurt him. multiple times. yet here he stood, staring at the prison debating entering. recently things had gone crazy. a man had been popping up… but could he be considered a man? or a god? it was odd, when dream was gone another version of him had began popping up. first in small little time periods, such as behind trees which typically led to the smaller brunette chasing after nothing into the darkness of the woods or the gaping pit of what used to be l’manburg and now into full fledge conversations. then the god made him make a promise, to be his forever. then they went and the weird figure started scaring george’s friends away, but then when asked later… nobody remembered. they claimed george had been speaking to himself which left the boy wondering if he’d gone crazy. he needed dream, was he just making up this imaginary dream to feel less afraid? just so he could feel dreams protective grasp once more. so that’s how he found himself in the cold entrance of the prison, it was now or never. george needed to decide. was he giving up on his lover or not? after a moment of debating, he gave in. at least if they spoke he could feel dreams presence even just one last time. so there he went.

general/both (still third person)

“sam?” george called out in a soft tone, peeking his head in and looking around before rushing to the doorbell that summoned the guards. he pressed it and took a step back, looking around in a cautious manner. he propped up his glasses and set them on his head instead of over his eyes so he could see even in the dark atmosphere of the prison, holding his cape close and waiting for the creeper person hybrid to show up. that’s when he heard his voice. “george… what do you need?” echoed through the room and he took a deep breath, straightening his back and rolling his shoulders a bit. “i’m here to visit dream.” “what for?” “i’d just like to speak to him.” that’s when he was commanded to step into the portal. he rushed to it and stepped in, watching everything distort into a hue of purple before slowly placing everything together as you would a puzzle. suddenly he was in a separate room, he stepped out and looked at the white room. it was plain and small. but before he could decipher anything else he was told to step back into the portal and the same process happened all over again, except this time he was in a huge waiting room. he turned and there stood sam, tall and strong with his head held high. george’s head fell a bit and he rushed over to the desk sam stood at, looking around at the room. “hello, so may i see dream?” he repeated himself and sam just stood, staring at him with a stern look as if deciding what to do with him. “yes. but i must ask you a few questions and you have to read this book, then sign it.” george nodded to show his understanding. “what’s your relationship with the prisoner? do you believe he deserves to be in here?” what was his relationship with dream? they were boyfriends… kind of. they hadn’t been on the best of terms when dream was brought here. did dream even still love him? did george trust him? regardless, george knew he couldn’t answer the last question truthfully. he wouldn’t be allowed in. the dream he knew… that dream was different. sure he’d make mean jokes but never once did george believe he could harm anyone unless they dared lay a finger on george’s pretty little head. so george decided to stretch the truth because yes, this version of dream deserved to be here. but the dream george knew, george’s dream deserved happiness. so he’d just stick with sam’s version of dream. “we’re uh… we’re not on the best of terms, but friends id say and i do believe he deserves to be here.” with that, george went through with the prison process. soon he found himself standing in front of lava, it was suddenly very hot and it made george cringe. what was happening to dream? but before he could ask about dreams living conditions, he was told in a stern voice “step on the platform. walk with it.” then there it went with a small click he was on it.

“george…?” dream called out, his eyes snapping up as he spotted the british boy stepping off the platform. it took all he had not to let the tears fall. george’s eyes softened and his whole demeanor seemed to relax, there was dream and oh god did he look different. he looked so… tired. that shattered george’s heart. why did he still care about someone who had put him through so much pain? “dream.” george whispered, stepping up to the barrier and tilting his head. the lava fell behind him and he was let in, the barrier dropping. dream rushed to the smaller male and pulled him into his arms, george flinched slightly. dream had hurt so many people, would he hurt george now? that action hurt dream, more than could be imagined. that’s when he broke down, the tears falling. he gently cupped george’s cheek and looked down at him “i’m sorry… i’m so so sorry.” he whispered to him, which made george relax. here was his dream, his soulmate. not the dream sam or sapnap or tommy knew, just the dream he knew. the kind and loving dream. george leaned into his touch and pulled him close. “it’s okay. we’re okay.” he told him in a gentle tone, gently dragging a hand through the blondes hair as he quietly hushed him. “i’ve missed you so much” dream told him and tilted his head, looking down at george. the british boy smiled softly and wiped away his own tears, laughing a bit “i’ve missed you as well. i’m sorry I didn’t visit sooner.” he said sadly, although dream just smiled. god how he loved the boys voice. how he spoke so kind, yet his british accent held so much confidence. in dreams eyes george was perfect. “what have they done to you?” george asked, weakly pulling away and sighing softly. the sight in front of him was scary. his boyfriend seemed to be in so much pain. “well, i used to throw my clocks in the lava so that was taken away and i’ve been living off raw potatoes.” george’s jaw dropped at the boys statement. “i’m so sorry.” “it’s okay.” “no it’s not.”

then there was silence. the two stood, admiring each other for a long time. before dream suddenly broke it “i will get out. don’t worry. then you will be my king, nobody will be able to harm us ever again.” dream said softly and george took his head, leaning against dream as the masked man grabbed his waist and pulled him in. “how will you get out?” george asked and tilted his head, confusion filling his eyes. dream simply smiled “oh come on now gogy, you know how smart i can be.” dream assured him, george knew this should have unsettled him. the worlds biggest villain assuring him that he would make an escape. but he wasn’t scared. dream would never ever hurt him. “is there anything i can do to help?” george asked and bit his lip, staring up at him in shock. dream shook his head “i’ll be okay, i have a plan. i’ll escape.” dream stated and george smiled weakly, nodding to show his understanding. “our little secret?” george asked in a hushed down and dream chuckled, nodding his head. “our little secret.” dream stated and rubbed george’s back, that’s when he realized george would need to leave soon. “time to go, i love you george.” george’s heart sunk and he buried his face in dreams chest, quietly crying. “i love you as well dream…” george said in a quavering voice, that one hurt. george never convinced his love. but here he stood, clinging onto dream. that’s when dream knew he needed to get out. not for himself, but for his beloved george. “now go, but remember what i said.” george nodded and smiled weakly, wiping his tears away and calling out for sam. once everything was all set up, george stepped onto the platform and waved goodbye to dream. then just like that he was gone.

dreams pov (third person)

the lava fell down, covering the cell once again and he was left in silence. he stood there for a moment, the british boys scent lingering on his prison suit for a moment until it was just gone. that’s when the tears fell, he turned his back to the wall and slid down. he buried his face into his knees and sat there sobbing. he needed george back, he needed that comfort and now he could guarantee… he would do ANYTHING to get out.

i really hope you all enjoyed this! i’ve been thinking of posting some of my writings on AO3 so how would you all feel about that? also don’t forget to send feedback if you’d like and send me some requests <3

#dreamnotfound #dnf #dream smp #dreamwastaken #georgenotfound #dream x george #dreamnotfound fluff #dreamnotfound angst #dnf angst #dnf fanfic #dnf oneshot

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melon-wing · 4 years ago

Text

A Confession of Love 3/3

[Fanfiction Masterlist] It took Grian a few days and he felt emotionally drained each time he was done. He felt like he was pouring all of his feelings and emotions into this and maybe it wasn‘t really healthy. Mumbo and Iskall would probably frown at him if they knew how much sleep he missed over getting everything done. Impulse had dropped by a few times, cheering Grian on, making him believe that this might really work out.

To say Grian was nervous would be an understatement. He had the coordinates already typed into his communicator in a private chat with Ren, but he kept pulling his finger from the send button.

“Oh come on! Just do it! You really need to know! Or should I press it for you?“ Grian turned to look at Impulse, who was still with him, just in case he needed some mental support. And Grian was kind of glad he was here. Especially when he realised that while turning around to Impulse he had accidentally hit the send button. Well, that gave him one less thing to worry about…

Wait! Fuck! He had sent it and Ren was going to come over and that meant he‘d know, which meant Grian was maybe minutes or hours away from being gently let down. Oh god, he wasn‘t ready. He really wasn‘t ready. Impulse started laughing at Grian’s panicked face and when Grian glared at him that laugh made room for a fond smile. “It’ll be alright, Grian. And I’ll be here with you all the way, okay? No matter what happens tonight, you still got me, don't forget that. I might not be as cuddly as Ren, but Zed always tells me I give one hell of a hug."

Grian looked at Impulse and just like that his heart seemed to calm down at least a bit and he felt like he could actually do this. So what if Ren wasn't feeling the same way? What if Ren only liked him as a friend. He liked his friendship with Ren. Staying friends wouldn't be the end of the world and he'd be finally able to move on from those feelings that had been getting him down lately. He'd be able to go back to his comfortable single life that he had never wanted to leave anyways.

"Yeah I guess it's alright. I'm just... nervous. This isn't some romance novel. Stupid grand romantic gestures never work in real life." Grian laughed joylessly and pushed a few loose strands of hair out of his face. "But that's alright. And I won't be here forever anyways. The season is coming to an end soon, I can tell. I don't have much longer with you guys."

"You know you could ask Xisuma to-"

"I know. I could. I won't. I've got friends waiting for me to return. I can't just stay here. And if he's saying no there's no reason for me to stay here anyways. Not that I don't like all of you guys... But yeah. I think I'm not ready to fully commit yet. And moving on will definitely be easier once I'm off world."

Impulse looked at him sadly and Grian avoided his gaze. Mumbo and Iskall had already tried to convince him to stay as well. Heck, even Taurtis - who he was supposed to return to after Hermitcraft was done - kept urging him on to stay, to find happiness.

"Can we not talk about this while I'm freaking out about getting my heart broken?"

Impulse sighed once more and put an arm over Grian's shoulder, pulling him into a half hug. "I'm sure it’ll work out. Don't worry too much. It doesn't help anyways."

Grian nodded and, taking a deep breath stepped back once more. "So you saw what I did, right? You think he'll get it?"

Impulse laughed again, shaking his head. "Grian. He will know. Dude. You practically turned your Infinity room into a love confession."

Grian blushed a little as his mind went to the small room below his base, thousands of blocks away. It had taken him forever, but armed with some black dye and a brush he'd poured out his love over the walls. The room had been turned into a corridor, and with the help of a few armour stands (Cleo had luckily agreed to teach him a few things about creating them) it now told their story and the way Grian had fallen. Or well... He'd put it more in terms of Red Riding Hood falling for the Wolf. He would have felt weird putting his own face onto those armour stands and his own name into the story.

But he was sure Ren would get it. Hell, there were lines out of their private conversations written over the wall. He would get it... wouldn't he?

A loud beep rang from his communicator and Grian almost dropped it in a hurry to get it out.

<Ren> I'm there now! I'm very excited for the surprise!

"Oh... Oh fuck. I don't know if I'm ready for this", Grian mumbled and then kept walking in circles around the campfire, Impulse's eyes following him. He couldn't handle this. Minutes passed and every noise made him jump as he anticipated the communicator going off.

The longer it went on, the more nervous Grian got. After ten minutes he had taken off his flower crown and started fidgeting around with it, leaves and pallets dropping to the ground. His hands were shaking, he needed to keep them busy. Ren sure as hell must have finished by now, right? He couldn't still be in the room. Why was it taking so long? Maybe he wasn't getting the message after all? No, if that was the case he would have messaged Grian by now. That left only two options. Either Ren was still down there and looking at Grian's work or he knew exactly what it was about and didn't know how to let Grian down gently. The last option was way more likely.

Another ten minutes seemed to pass by agonizingly slow and Grian knew he was a nervous mess. He couldn't handle this pressure. He just couldn't.

Finally, his communicator beeped. A message. He just knew it was from Ren without even having to look at the display. A second ago he had thought he wanted nothing more than to see a message, now he was frozen, unable to even look at the tiny screen. His heart was racing, he was sweating and he had the urge to vomit.

It took him a minute or two to calm down enough, but his fingers were still shaking when he opened up the communicator and then Ren‘s message.

<Ren> Grian? You there?

Grian was pretty sure by now he was going to vomit. Why had he thought again this might be a good idea? It wasn‘t. It had never been. Ren surely had gotten the message going from just those two sentences. And now? Was he really ready for this?

He just knew what was coming. Ren would let him down, trying to be gentle, but still crushing his heart in the progress. It had always been like this. Sam, Taurtis, Mumbo… It had always been the same. He had fallen hard and thought he might have a chance only to be disappointed once more. Only for them to tell him that he was such a nice guy and a good friend, but really, there was nothing there. No feelings.

Despite that, Grian replied. He still had Impulse to cry to later. He needed to get this done - rip it off like a bandaid.

<Grian> Yeah.

<Ren> You know I‘m a coward sometimes and a bit dumb…

Grian had to giggle a bit at that though he felt like sobbing even more, his heart racing.

<Ren> But I was really wondering if this thing you made for me… Is it based on real life?

Grian‘s hands were shaking so much he could barely type a reply. He settled on something short instead of some long winded explanation.

<Grian> Yes. Sorry.

Grian put the communicator down again, closing his eyes, taking a few deep and shaking breaths. He wanted to turn back time. He didn‘t want to be in this situation he had put himself in. It was frightening. It was all too much. Why had he done this to himself? He wasn‘t brave enough to face the disappointment. He wasn‘t ready to have his heart broken once more and watch Ren be happy with someone else. He couldn‘t bear it. Not again. Especially not with Ren.

There was no reply. No beeping noise. Nothing.

Grian knew what that meant. After all, there was only one logical explanation. Ren didn‘t return his feelings. He had put Ren into a corner, pressured him to reply to his feelings and now Ren opted to not say anything at all. Minutes passed without anything at all happening.

Grian gave a sigh, feeling his heart rate return to normal, a cold feeling spreading in his chest as he typed the next message.

<Grian> I like you. A lot. More than a friend should. But if you don‘t, that is totally fine and I‘m totally chill with that. No worries, really. No pressure.

His communicator stayed silent again for a long time. Grian kept staring at it, tears forming in his eyes and then slowly dropping down onto his hands. This had been so stupid. He didn‘t deserve to be loved by someone as bright and amazing as Ren. Ren could have anyone on the server, so why should he even settle for Grian. It had been dumb to think all those love declarations meant something special. They never did. He had been delusional, blinded by his love.

The communicator beeped and knowing that it would be something to let him down gently, Grian steeled himself to read the message.

<Ren> Goibve mee a mimute. Flyng rn.

Grian looked at the jumbled message for a few times, blinking in confusion. Ren was… flying? What was that supposed to even mean?

And just when it slowly dawned on Grian what it meant, there was already the sound of exploding rockets fired in a far quicker succession than absolutely necessary drawing closer. Nobody would waste resources like that unless it was an absolute emergency.

Grian raised his head and the moment he did something or rather someone collided with him at such a high speed they both fell to the floor. Luckily enough, the landing was rather soft with the grass below them. Warm arms wrapped around Grian, his face buried in someone neck and just taking a short breath he felt a familiar scent filling him.

Still, Grian felt hesitant about returning the hug until Ren drew back a little, arms staying around Grian, but now able to look at him. And his eyes were shining brighter than Grian had ever seen them.

“Ren, what- Why did you come?”

“Of course I’d come.” Ren let out a laugh and the way it made his eyes just sparkle more made Grian’s heart skip a beat. “After what you did - what you said.”

“Does that mean-” Grian started, but broke off, his throat suddenly feeling tight, his heart only racing faster as all the hope he’d constantly pushed down rose up all at once, overwhelming him. This was it. This was the moment of truth and he was more hopeful than he‘d ever been before. Surely Ren wouldn‘t have come over if he wanted to let Grian down, right?

“I’m feeling the same way. I love you. I want to be with you.”

Grian couldn’t help it. All his emotions came out all at once and with a small giggle a tear slipped down his face as well. He was just too happy.

“I love you too, Ren. So very much. I’ve loved you for so long. I just… I didn’t think this would happen. I don’t even know where to go from here. Can I-” Grian stopped, licking his lips and looking up at Ren. “Can I kiss you?” And when their lips met Grian was glad he had stopped hiding how he truly felt, glad that he hadn’t kept on pretending until it was too late. This was perfect. This was what he had always dreamed off and he wanted this moment to go on forever.

#🍉 stories #hermitshipping #hermitship #gren #Happy 6 month anniversary to my love! <3

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dreamsclock · 4 years ago

Note

Could you do "Are you afraid to die?" directed towards Dream? Thank you!

i instantly had an idea rattling around inside my head that i had to use for this; tysm for giving me the opportunity to write it!! :D in this fic, dream xd is the god of the world who claimed dream as their admin/human representative. dream was supposed to save the server, but got blinded along the way, and is destroying it now - and he knows what happens to the villain of the story.

prompt: “are you afraid to die?”

characters: dream, dream xd (separate entity, god of the server)

warnings: general mental illness warnings - dream is in an incredibly bad place, religion, violence + death mentions!! also bug imagery!!

[ send me a dream smp ship or characters and/or a prompt from this list, and i’ll write you a drabble! ]

Dream doesn’t look it, but he’s a holy man. He doesn’t believe in heaven or hell (he’s been through both), but God does exist, and he’s dedicated himself to be their most dedicated follower.

He collapses at his god’s sanctuary, dripping blood and leaving scattered debris in his wake, and can only laugh: tipping his head back, laughing wildly to no one and everyone. L’Manburg is gone - L’Manburg is gone, finally, after all his efforts trying to get rid of it, he’d finally succeeded. It feels good, a rush of euphoria flooding his veins and leaving him weightless.

It almost doesn’t matter that he’s alone, and that his laugh echoes emptily around the End portal, because he’s so joyful he can almost forget about his next duty, his next part of the story.

Almost. His laughter dies, suddenly, on the emergence of a creature with six wings and curled horns and a blinding white glow, that serves to remind him of what comes next.

“I did it,” Dream tells his god, voice soft, euphoric, “I destroyed it. It’s gone.”

The god says nothing. He hadn’t expected them to. Pushing himself to his feet, Dream approaches them cautiously, letting his axe fall on the ground between them with a clatter, warm netherite hitting cold stone.

It’s bloodied. It’s funny. He doesn’t remember using it. By the time he’d finished with the TNT, there had been almost nothing left that needed destroyed.

You know what comes next. The god doesn’t speak, doesn’t even have a mouth - its painted face smiles at him through the glow, and Dream’s delight slips away just as suddenly as it had come on. You know the rest of the story, now.

He does. It’s bloodied. It’s funny. He doesn’t remember it starting like this.

But like the god says, he knows how the story ends now. It hadn’t always been this way; he remembers meeting the god as a child for the first time after creating this world, staring at them with bright bewildered eyes. They had given him his mask, pressed a silvery kiss to his forehead through a summer’s breeze.

(I’ve claimed you as my representative, the protector of the world tells him at eight years old, and Dream remembers understanding, as a child, he remembers knowing he’s going to change this world for the better, don’t let me down, child.)

(And his god doesn’t speak to him about representation anymore, but Dream knows he’s let them down nonetheless. He hasn’t changed the world. He’s destroying it, bit by bit, but they can’t stop him now. Nobody can.)

The story had started with a child. Dream and his god know how it ends. It ends with a villain - inside a cliff, where the darkness sucks the life from everything it consumes and where he’ll be inevitably betrayed by his closest allies. He’s not an idiot. He’s well aware that villains never win.

You know the story, his god tells him again, but Dream’s joy over destroying L’Manburg is crumbling, even as he stares at the beautiful, terrible creature in front of him, thinking of the beautiful, terrible creature he’s become, you could have been the hero if you’d let yourself.

And isn’t that the worst part? Dream turns away, sitting down suddenly, because he wants to. It has nothing to do with the way his legs feel weak at the thought of his impending doom, at the thought of the hole he’s dug himself. He always ends up on his knees in front of his god: always devout, always faithful, even with tears in his eyes and blood staining his hands.

“Maybe I’ll win,” he says, but it sounds weak even to his own ears, “we don’t know what’s going to happen. I could win. I could…”

He trails off, unable to imagine a scenario in which things go according to his plan. His god stretches, presence enveloping him like a fog in his head. Impossibly, he almost feels his imminent demise; a spider crawling over his shoulders, a cold wind down his back.

Tell me, they whisper to him, voice skittering around inside his head like bugs, are you afraid to die?

Dream stares ahead at nothing, the god behind him spilling light through the End portal room. He’d had a negative answer to that question not even twenty four hours ago. Things have changed. He remembers taking L’Manburg’s last life, and wonders if Tommy will feel the same wild joy he did when he takes his final life.

Are you afraid to die?

It’s bloodied. It’s funny. He isn’t as ready for his story to end as he’d thought.

#mcyt #dream smp #dreamwastaken #dream #dream smp fic #dream xd #> my writing !!#> my asks !!

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dendrite-blues · 4 years ago

Text

Fluff, and Why it Triggers Me

Odd start, isn’t it? I bet most people reading this are like “whaaat?”

Which....fair. I know it’s weird. I didn’t have an explanation either, for the longest time. Like 15 years. Seriously.

I just knew that fluff fics made me irrationally sad, angry, and lonely.

I avoided these stories so hard that I left whole discord servers just to get away from them. I developed aggression and frustration with the people who posted about it. I starting getting annoyed just by looking at the prompts channel because it was most often used by the fluff mongers. It’s super unhealthy.

But that begs a really obvious and hard to answer question:

How the fuck could fluff—a genre explicitly about heaping the reader in good feelings—be triggering?

Well that really gets to the heart of trauma and the ways it warps cognition, particularly childhood trauma. If you’d like to see me unpack that trauma, keep reading. Otherwise, have a nice day. :)

We learn to process the world through our parent’s eyes, so when our parents are not good blueprints we end up with some whack ass mental hallways and trapdoors to the haunted basement that healthy people just don’t have.

For instance:

Fluff-->feelings of comfort, love, support, acceptance Angst-->feelings of hurt, sadness, fear, loneliness, depression

But when I read fluff the story doesn’t have that intended effect on me. I actually feel most of the words listed after angst when I read fluff. And vice versa, reading angst makes me feel seen, validated, comforted, and like I’m not alone.

Having given the matter lots and LOTS of thought, I can finally articulate why.

Because when I look back at my life and particularly my childhood I cannot remember a single specific incident in which I was given comfort or support when I needed it. (God and I’m tearing up just typing that out, fuck’s sake.)

My parents were not outright abusive. They were wealthy, they gave me the best clothes, food, toys, and education money can buy, but they were utterly oblivious to the emotional needs of a child. If I cried I was given a toy or food or told to stop complaining when I had it so good.

Any negative emotions were treated as an aberration, and when someone broke down in our house it was seen as a display of that person’s weakness, or laziness, or lack of gratitude for the riches we had been blessed with.

To my parents happiness was the natural state of a person, and being unhappy meant you must have done something wrong, or you must be broken in some way.

Receiving comfort or support required you to first prove that you were entirely the victim, because otherwise your pain and hurt would be answered with a lecture about how you deserve whatever happened because of X, Y, and Z.

The worst part is that my parents are exceptionally logical, orderly people and so most of the time they had very coherent, rational reasons behind their painting of you as a bad person who caused your own problem. It’s a very insidious kind of message that leads you to punishing yourself in their stead, since you leave totally convinced of your own culpability and badness.

My family has two children, me and my sister. I think it’s pretty telling how we turned out because we really are the two most natural responses to growing up in this kind of environment.

I am a hyper competent perfectionist who cannot handle even the slightest insinuation of critique. She is a pathological victim who seems allergic to success and accountability.

When negative emotions are a punishment for wrong doing there are only two ways you can respond.

Either you eliminate failure and unhappiness from your life so that you do not need support—me.

Or you focus all of your energy on deflecting blame to others so that you can present yourself to your parent as a helpless victim and receive the emotional support that you need—my sister.

But this post is about fluff so let’s get back to that.

Why does fluff trigger me?

Because it confronts me with how healthy people respond to a loved one in pain, and in the course of witnessing that freely given love, I am subconsciously told/reminded of how my ‘loved ones’ failed to do that.

It’s not a conscious thing, as I said at the beginning I went 15 years without ever making this connection. I just knew that flew filled me to the brim with resentment, disgust, discomfort, and anger.

And all of these feelings happen because on some level, my soul is hurting. It’s hurting so bad because I know that I deserved that.

I know that I deserved to be the protagonist of a fluff fic when I came out. I know I deserved that when my busted wrist killed my illustration career. I know I deserved that when I failed to finish my Masters degree. I know I deserved that when my film work dried up and I lost everything. I know I deserve that now, for no reason other than because I’m sad and doing nothing in particular with my life.

And I wasn’t.

Not because my parents didn’t offer me comfort, but because I learned to never offer myself comfort. I learned to regard my own pain as a weakness, and my desire for support as a character flaw. I learn to hate and resent that weakness inside me, and to project that hate bitterly onto other people who were capable of being comforted and were capable of enjoying soft, fluffy stories.

Because we humans never want to think that we are the broken ones. It’s too scary. Too much cognitive dissonance. It’s easier to think that everyone else is just stupid or weak or shamefully self indulgent in their reading habits.

But that’s not true, and thinking in that way certainly isn’t healthy for me. In fact it works against my recovery to regard stories about healthy coping/relationships with distain and resentment.

So I’m making the effort from now on to retrain myself, and to unpack all of those emotions I denied myself. To—as some psychologists say—re-parent my inner child.

I might never be a fluff fanatic, and I certainly am not going to stop enjoying angst. I will always love hurt/comfort (or ‘earned comfort’ as I’ve started calling it, to remind myself of why I conveniently allowed myself to enjoy this genre even though it is basically the same as fluff). But from now on I’m not going to let myself look down my nose as fluff and fluff readers.

I’m going to take those negative feelings and ask myself, “Why do I hate this?”

Is it because fluff is stupid, shallow, annoying, and pointless? Or is because I’ve been conditioned to see love and comfort as things I’m not allowed to want, and that I am weak for wanting?

I’m not sure if anyone else has this reaction to fluff. I know that it’s without a doubt the most popular genre in every single ship tag ever. I know that I have felt freakish and deformed for disliking it because it was so overwhelmingly popular and so universally regarded as harmless and pure and good.

I don’t know if I’m the only one, but if I’m not then I hope this helps the one other person with this problem. I hope it helps you in your recovery, and that it makes you feel seen.

Pull out your inner child, and give them a hug from me. Because we’ve both been deprived of things every single human being needs, and that’s a wound that nobody deserves to carry into adulthood.

#personal #mindfullness #journaling #fluff #fanfiction #recovery #meditation

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