#look don’t judge my first draft plz lol XD…<3

[bleue-flora]

@error-dream-was-found, WIP Thursday huh?… well see I actually got writing done this week and I’d honestly love nothing more than to share some but it just spoilers way too much soo… I guess enjoy the most recent thing I wrote that doesn’t have major plot giveaways :) and… ya know what I’m not even gonna tell you what it’s from…

There was nothing safe about the corner, nothing that made it cozy or softer than the rest of the harsh surface of the cell, and nothing that could keep Quackity and Sam from getting to him. But there was something comforting about the spot between the chest and the wall, not just because the chest was much cooler than the scorching obsidian, but because there was something so stupidly and mortifyingly comforting about cowering in a corner.

There was a sense of protection, one he didn’t have in the water hole or near the lava. There was something about being pressed in by both sides that made it feel like it was arms instead of jagged obsidian and splintered wood. It wasn’t safe but it was the closest he had, and if he squeezed his eyes and pressed enough he could almost feel like he was safe, safe in someone’s arms instead of alone.

It was stupid, but that was all he had. It had to be enough. It had to be.

When the chair got involved or rope or chains pinned him down, it made it so much worse, robbing him of yet his last freedom and comfort, taking away the only thing he had left to take.

And even now, now that he has agency again and food and days without Quackity and access to the sky and the world beyond, sometimes he finds himself back in the corner. Curled up alone in his fortress pretending he’s safe when nowhere is safe.

Beds are soft, but they weren’t his only companion in his darkest moments, they weren’t his hiding spot. They are no hiding spot at all. On a bed one is exposed. And no matter how soft and cozy a bed is, it's not comfortable like the corner is. It doesn’t provide the same illogical safe that the two walls pressing upon him on both sides do.

A bed can break, people can leave, but walls remain steadfast and dependable, almost impossible to destroy. The best loyalty to watch his back. The walls don’t judge the tears sliding down his face, or his whimpering breathes. They don’t judge his flinches and shaking and fear. They just remain. Unlike people.

“Dream!” A voice screams on the other side of the lava.

Tagging uh… @elmhat @simplepotatofarmer @catsandgoodbooks I guess and as always whoever wants to join in.