#smtimes i feel like i can ignore it for a bit

[diodellet]

4. Go to the art tag (or similar) and reblog some art you like that has under 100 notes

&

30. Share a quote (from whatever media you want) that has changed you as a person

hi! thanks for shooting an ask my way!!

4.) Go to the art tag (or similar) and reblog some art you like that has under 100 notes.

MWAHAHAHAHAH i have been enabled to queue some rbs for this just like i planned nefariously

30.) Share a quote (from whatever media you want) that has changed you as a person

gosh i tend to gravitate towards media that fundamentally changes my brain chemistry a nd outlook on life its hard to just pick one, i guess ill go with my most recent one which is from Ameri by Nilfruits!

🎪"Life is like an allergic reaction to shame."

like look at how cute and pink that pv is, im already a sucker for pastels and a witchy aesthetic, and i kinda feel like it's making reference to the comedy Amelie with all the themes of whimsy and silliness in the wake of persistent cynicism, (I never really finished the musical starring philippa soo in it but I'll finish it one day! FOR HER!!😤😤)

yeah i just think it's a great song, a bop and with an uplifting message in its lyrics 💕💕

(art appreciation ask questions, please bug me to rb some underrated art and fic)

[fireflies-grace]

I can't even. Upcoming : rant abt oc. Genshin

So. He's divorced, right. He met his wife when he was 25, and had shaved consistently because the girl he had fallen for and adored since childhood liked him with a clean face. Even though they never got together, he yearned for her love even though she was slightly toxic in the way she treated him.

When he met his now (dead) wife, he was stuck in an inherent, unhealthy cycle of denying his feelings and wanting to chase after his childhood best friend. (The only reason they knew each other is becuz their parents were business partners.)

He eventually falls for her, slowly and falls out of love w/ childhood best friend. He's actually lowkey so terrified of being rejected due to the many years of being ignored but to him, shes so sweet and she even fell in love at first sight, (before he transitioned and after too). It took abt 6 months until he finally owned up to his feelings and admitted it.

They had spent hours on a date, picking flowers, exploring sites and absolutely falling in love with each other. She gave him a flower crown that was slightly messed up but he loved it anyway, and happily placed it up in his head.

3 years, until the wedding (he's 28 and she's 29) and they find out she contracted a disease around 5-6 months later. It's not fatal and she still has time left but she will die. They both spend hours crying into each other's arms 'nd AUGH.

Around 4 years later now, they've had a child and she dies from childbirth due to the complications of the disease and it slowly affecting her health and they weren't even sure either of them were gonna make it in the first place, with the complication in place. He's stuck raising a baby he absolutely adores. His son whom he soon names after a flower in Mondstadt he had fell in love with. Aster.

4 years later (36) 'nd he's now suffering from being touchstarved, during this period he slowly gets better, and tries to make himself stronger for the sake of his child. He's raising his child wonderfully, makin sure Aster knows crying is absolutely, 100% ok for a boy, especially a young boy such as himself because goddamn a man can be tough and cry too. He bought Aster a little cape from Chioriya's boutique he regularly visits to get it patched up for him. He's extremely respectful towards Chiori, and others too. Only stepping out of line when his son is in danger and needs him. (Also canonically killed a man for trying to kidnap his son but ahem)

He's trained himself wonderfully over the years and is extremely overprotective over his son, who he absolutely adores and has a little secret code with. Mainly in a situation where someone will approach and one little hand squish means 'comfortable', two mean 'uncomfortable'.

He makes sure Aster has protection from his nightmares, telling him tales of valiant hero's to hopefully inspire, and give him hope for the future. Especially of the blonde traveller he's been hearing so much about. The god of Geo and Fontaine's Iudex, monsieur Neuvillette.

He keeps his dead wives ring, right next to his that he keeps nearly in a box that sits patiently on the shelf. Also gave Aster her bow, that sits adorning his hair on somedays, others as an ornament on his wrist since Aster fell in love with the bow at first sight.

He also may have garnered a light crush on the water/fish Adepti that he found roaming the waters of Liyue, 3 years after Aster was born and he found himself travelling to Liyue to visit Bubu pharmacy. By gods, his tan skin, dimples and blonde hair were beautiful to him.

Info:

36'

Single dad (dilf)

Has a bit of wrinkles under his eyes, and a soft yet sparce beard to match

Light, tan skin

Pastel(?) blue hair with a bit of white hairs

He's got scars a bit over his thighs and legs from swimming and scraping himself on rocks (He is NOT careful smtimes)

He overworks himself sometimes when at work (still figuring out his job but might make him an assistant for smone or a traveller maybe. Maybe.

6'0

His pronouns are he/him 'nd he's trans with top scars shaped a but like a heart. Slightly sharp but round eyes with light blue eyeliner

Yes. Man tits. And muscles from learning sword techniques and training) fighting. He's a sword/electro user

He has got soft skin, and absolutely uses lotion 100%, and uses some lotion on Aster too because no son of his is going to have dry ass skin

He's got a bit of a slim but muscle-y figure with some hip dips

Has a slight thing for canines

Absolutely HATES fatui members but may have fell for ones charm

Hair is 100% soft and braidable but also super easy to tangle, with a bun at the top, soon transitioning into a bit of a braid that shifts off into a loose pony tail (idk if I'm describing it right)

Will probably add more later

[cdroloisms]

do you have any,,,post prison mute dream stuff??? or like, severely quiet, silent and obedient dream shtuff?? and the consequences thereof??? bc im reading your drabbles and i am in literal awe

aww, thank you so much !! yeah selectively mute dream post prison is absolutely a hc i love and write smtimes - it’s already been suggested in canon, and it’s super fun to play w/ in post-canon works. here’s some fluffy syndicate!dream bc gosh knows we need it after the angst that we’ve been getting 

tw: implied torture, panic attacks, trauma - all v short mentions. this one’s definitely on the lighter side! :D

“I didn’t know you knew sign.”

Dream startles, arms flying to cover his face, and the crow he had been signing at squawks angrily when it turns towards Phil. He ignores its chatter, smoothing his own flinch behind a smile, lowering his wings, bringing his hands, palms up, in front of him at his waist - this song and dance has become all too familiar in the weeks that Dream’s resided with the Syndicate, and Phil is nothing if not patient.

Slowly, the boy uncurls from where he’d huddled into himself, arms clasped firmly around his ribs like someone will try and take them from him if he doesn’t hold on tight enough (and maybe, Phil thinks, imagining the messy lattice of scars underneath Dream’s loose-fitting hoodie that he has only seen a few times since they brought him over, someone has - but those are thoughts that are better left untouched for as long as he can manage it.) Dream’s eyes raise, flick over his face, his breathing quieting down from the discordant rattle it had been, and tentatively, ever slowly, he raises his good hand in a loose fist, letting it bob up and down. Yes.

Phil settles into the armchair across from him, raising his own hands. His fingers feel clumsy, but the memories come back with more ease than he would’ve expected - I know a little. Dream’s eyes don’t quite brighten, but his shoulders fall down from where they’d been hunched up to his ears, the hand he keeps tucked to his chest trembling slightly less, and it’s as much as a win as he’s ever going to get.

The silence stretches, familiar in its awkwardness, and Phil stifles a grimace as he forces long-forgotten memories to the surface. Dream’s hands, from what little he had seen from the doorway, had practically flown as he spoke to the crow still sitting by his right side - obviously practiced even with the still-healing injuries tracing over both arms. How did you learn?

We- He hesitates, left hand trembling violently, before pushing on, we all learned with- he signs a C, then lifts his hands to his head in a sign that Phil vaguely remembers as being the one for deer. Dream must see the questions written in his expression, because his cheeks flush as he backtracks. C-A-L-L-A-H-A-N, he finger spells, and Phil nods. That makes sense.

Some of the crows in the house must have noticed Phil’s arrival, because they storm into the room from the doorway, awkwardly hopping across the door with their wings waving by their sides as they eagerly voice their displeasure at the lack of attention. He’s not in the mood to pick out the words between their angry caws, so he simply watches as they scatter all over the room. Something almost like a smile tugs at Dream’s face as he watches them enter - the kid has grown inexplicably fond of both his flock and all of the assorted animals that Techno drags back into the house whenever he goes out, and Phil has long since resigned himself to being outnumbered one hundred to one by a literal army of mobs wherever he goes. Some of the crows had been pretty wary of Dream at the beginning, but after a few weeks more or less the entire flock has become viciously protective of the kid, sufficiently won over by gifts of head scratches and berries and various shiny things. Sure enough, the birds form a dark, squawking circle at Dream’s feet, a few flying up to tug impatiently at his clothes, and despite the (very obvious) favoritism, Phil smiles; the flock is good for Dream, as annoying as they can be.

DADZA, one calls, its lone cry soon echoed by the entire group of fluttering feathers gathered on the floor, DADZA AND DREAM DADZA DADZA. Phil laughs, a familiar warmth and exasperation filling his lungs, and he turns his attention back to Dream.

You up to some more? He tries; it’s a chance, for sure, and he brushes away the creeping anxiety crawling up his neck; he doesn’t want to make Dream panic, hopes that he’s doing the right thing. I could always use the practice.

Quiet, once again, only broken by the murmurs of his birds eagerly awaiting Dream’s answer as the boy rocks side to side in deliberation, and Phil is halfway through working out a frantic you don’t have to if you don’t want to when Dream raises his own hands.

Sure, he signs, a forced smile on his face but eyes still clear and bright, why not?

Somehow, they end up in a bastardized version of twenty questions, surrounded by birds that do not hesitate at any chance to voice their own opinions. They work through favorite colors (green), favorite flowers (roses for Dream, peonies for Phil), favorite mob (Phil answers this with a pointed definitely-not-crows, staring at the flock who have been shouting over themselves naming different colors for about five minutes, which immediately makes them devolve into screaming caws and divebombs at the edges of Phil’s cape that leave him thoroughly occupied for the next ten minutes), and at some point Phil falls further into the cushions of his chair and Dream’s legs lay against the sofa instead of being drawn up to his chest and it’s almost normal.

By the time Techno finds them, they’ve forgone structure all together, Dream watching intently as Phil signs out an embellished tale of one of the Antarctic Empire’s exploits with a crow held gently in his hands. Techno’s voice behind him startles him bad enough to send his wings snapping outwards, feathers standing on end, but Dream doesn’t react much beyond a twitch of his lips - he must’ve seen the piglin hybrid and tag-teamed to prank him, Phil realizes with a half-hearted grumble. Techno’s eyes sparkle mischievously, definitely planned, then.

“Hi Phil, Dream,” Techno shrugs off his cloak and drapes it over the back of Phil’s chair, “Looks like you’ve been busy. Can’t say I’m not feelin’ a bit left out, though; Phil, you never told me you knew sign language.”

“You never asked, mate,” he quips, even as Dream signs animatedly from the corner of his eye. T-E-C-H-N-O-L-O-S-T.

Techno narrows his eyes. “I get the feelin’ that you’re messin’ with me, nerd.” Dream blinks faux innocently, smiling wider, and Phil picks up on the bit. Oh, this is fun.

He can’t understand us, he assures Dream, feeling a wicked smirk of his own growing on his face. So what do you think for dinner?

“Phil- the betrayal!” Techno splutters, voice going high and pitchy, and that reaction alone would’ve made the prank more than worth it - but Dream’s shoulders shake, eyes glittering as his fingers fly almost too fast for Phil to catch, and oh, that’s laughter, tiny, breathless giggles falling from his lips, and Techno must catch it even as he begins to berate the voices in his head, “This is not a bruh moment, Chat, don’t you start-”

Stew? Dream signs, still snickering, and he looks happy, more than Phil has ever seen him, the sight of him smiling and bright-eyed with amusement almost enough to cover for the gaunt quality of his face, the pale scars left all over his skin.

Of course, mate, Phil signs back, throwing in a do you think T-E-C-H-N-O ended up lost in those same woods again for good measure, rewarded when it sends Dream into another round of giggles. Techno grumbles without any real heat behind it, plopping himself down in the remaining chair.

“Ok, nah, no more of this exclusive club; you guys are teachin’ me this tonight before Chat loses it - yes that was an insult, don’t you start it with the E’s,” and Phil laughs, hard, the flock cawing and beginning to spam E on their own, for some reason, and Dream signing through the alphabet with the biggest grin on his face, and-

“Oh, Prime, this is going to so scuffed,” Phil says, breathless, his warning unheeded as Techno finishes his rant at Chat to focus on Dream.

And it is scuffed - it is so fucking scuffed, between Phil’s lackluster memory and Techno’s frequent interrupting to quiet down an extremely rowdy Chat and the incessant calls of the flock further egging them on, but it’s warm and Dream doesn’t stop smiling and Techno looks more relaxed than he has in weeks and the helpless, singing urge of protect protect protect that has lived in Phil’s head ever since Techno had carried Dream, beaten and bloodied and broken, through their front door finally, finally, begins to quiet down.

He tunes back into the impromptu lesson - they’ve finished the alphabet, seemingly having moved onto common words and objects, and Dream- hesitates, raises his hand, all five fingers drawn together, to the corner of his mouth and then pulls it back. Home, he signs, moving to fingerspelling, H-O-M-E. Home.

For a moment, they’re all quiet, Dream’s hand still raised by his face, even the crows falling silent as they all stare at each other. Phil watches, breath caught in his throat, as the planes of Techno’s face soften, the teasing edge of his voice, for once, leaving. “Yeah, nerd. You’re home.”

Home, Dream signs again, then again, looking up, eyes bright, hopeful. Phil thinks, proudly, that it looks like a new beginning. I’m home.

[cdroloisms]

sparrow im already so fucking busy how DARE you inspire me to write something else /j

anyway, thanks sparrow for inspiring another addition to the ghost!dream au. oh ghost!dream c!sam, you. people are not gonna like this one im not going to lie <3 

tw: grief? and some messy ways of dealing with said grief, major character death as per usual for the AU. manipulation, maybe? that’s abt it. oh, and c!sam critical/neg ig, but it’s all sympathetic, again, as per this AU. mans is trying his best! he’s just also got the worst decision making skills smtimes lmao 

It’s Dream’s birthday. 

He starts the day by ramming into the back of Sam’s legs, a grin so wide it’s threatening to split his face in half. Sam blinks the sleep out of his eyes (blinks away the afterimages of Dream, screaming after his latest nightmare - Awesam, it hurts-) and turns around to ruffle his hair, still tousled from sleep. 

“Hey, Dream,” the kid hums, and Sam feels a small shock of relief and regret at how his name no longer gets stuck in his throat as he says it, coming to mind without the word prisoner clinging to it like shed skin. “What’s got you so excited?” 

Because it is early, even for Sam’s standards - he’d been startled awake and unable to sleep, hence his starting the day with a large cup of coffee and a more complicated-than-usual breakfast, but early for him means that for Dream, it might as well be the middle of the night. Sam glances behind him towards the opposite window, to where the sun is barely peeking over the horizon.

“It’s my birthday, duh!” Dream sticks his tongue out, seemingly missing it when Sam freezes in his place, barreling on without a care, “and I dunno how birthdays work ‘cause I’m dead, which is stupid, but we can still have a party, right Sam?” 

“Y-yeah,” Sam tries to smile at him, hand clenched tightly around a spoon at his side. “Of course, bud.” 

“Awesome!”

With that, Dream zips off, and Sam turns back to the stove, mindlessly stirring around the eggs he’d cracked into the pan. The fire flickers underneath the metal, steam hot against the palms of his hands like lava against his back metal against his hand screaming screaming screaming that he will ignore- 

“Oh god-” Sam steps back, flinching away from the pan as it begins to smoke, quickly turning the knobs of the stove all the way down and staring at the charred, entirely inedible mess inside the skillet. He wants to scream. 

“Sammy, are you alright?” 

Dream’s in the kitchen doorway, eyebrows drawn in concern. Sam tries to steady his breathing, looking back with a half-assed smile that probably comes out more like a grimace.

“It’s- fine. Don’t worry.” Another deep breath, and the smile on his face shifts into something that feels a little less strained. “I’ll call you over for breakfast in a bit, alright?”

---

It’s Dream’s birthday.

Sapnap runs into George much earlier than he’s usually awake, which is the first sign of many that something is wrong. Another look confirms that George seems much more- aware, in a sense, than he usually is, and that’s about when George looks up to glare at him, the pensive look on his face immediately replaced by mock annoyance.

“Ugh, it’s you,” George huffs, relief flashing across his face all the same, and Sapnap rolls his eyes through the vague warmth that comes along with the familiarity of his expression. 

“Who did you expect, Gogy?” The retort - usually finished off with something akin to your boyfriend or another jab or three about Dream, gets cut off before he can speak further, anger and shame and grief mixing into one in his chest. George looks away, eyes once gaining away that sort of far away fog that characterized him for months after Dream got thrown into prison, only to disappear a little while after with no explanation. 

“It’s been a while since-” George’s voice trails off, lips pressed together in an expression that usually means he’s thinking about Dream, and Sapnap scoffs. 

“It’s his birthday,” he mutters, momentarily grateful for the way it’s George, next to him, and not anyone else. Bad would’ve tried to make him think of happier memories, Quackity would’ve gone on some rant that only would’ve made him feel worse, and there’s a good chance that Karl wouldn’t have remembered the significance of the date at all. As it is, it’s George next to him, so all he does is sigh, eyes uncharacteristically serious. 

“I miss him,” he finally replies, looking away over the hill to the rest of Kinoko. Sapnap sighs, pressing closer, nudging his shoulder softly with his own. 

“I miss him too.”

---

Sam finally manages to get through breakfast without nearly setting the kitchen on fire, balancing two plates piled high with pancakes as he heads towards the dining table. Dream’s already there, to his surprise, Fran having curled at his feet. Sam blinks, somewhat caught off-guard, at the sight of them both - and the sheer amount of stuff sprawled all over the tabletop, a good two-thirds of it completely commandeered by Dream and his collection of clutter. 

“Pancakes?” Dream gasps, eyes widening. “Awesome!”

Sam stares at the mess, feeling just a little out of his depth. “Um- what’s all this, Dream?” 

“Oh!” Dream hurries to gather some of the scattered paper and various drawing utensils into a slightly more compact pile, giving Sam enough space to put down the pancakes without worry of trapping a whole plethora of colorful knickknacks underneath. “I was making invitations!” 

“Oh.” Sam feels his gut sink. “Invitations, huh?” 

“Mmhm!” Dream points at a few papers that have been conspicuously set off to the side, covered with large, colorful letters and various drawings. “This one’s for Pandas, and George, and Bad, and Calla, and Punz, and Ant-” he lists them off one by one, each one corresponding to a carefully made and customized invitation - a messy drawing of a panda on the one for Sapnap, a cat on the one labeled Ant - “-’cause I know it’s dangerous for me t’go to them but they can come over here, right?” 

Dream’s hardly even struggling with the names of each person, which means that today is a good memory day, not needing any prompting to come up with the names that go along with each invitation - he rummages through the pile, picking up a bright green piece of paper and shoving it into Sam’s hands. 

“And this one’s yours!” He beams up at him, very clearly proud of himself. “’Cause you’re invited, obviously. And this one is for Fran!” 

“These are...very nice, Dream,” Sam encourages, tucking the paper carefully into his inventory. “But how are we going to give everyone the invitations? It’s a bit late.” 

“Well, you’re going back today to check on things, arentcha?” Dream’s head cocks to the side, eyes wide and pleading. “You said you had to do something quick today after breakfast! You could deliver the invitations, and then tonight everyone can come, and we’ll all have the most coolest party ever, right?” 

“...right,” Sam replies, one wrong word away from a breakdown. Dream’s right, in that today is the day he’s supposed to go back to the Greater SMP area, specifically to keep up with Warden duties and keep up appearances as not to alert everyone that the prison is missing both its main Guard and prisoner. Because nobody even knows that he’s dead. 

Great job, Sam. Look at this wonderful mess you’ve made.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Sam says, finally, unable to meet Dream’s eyes. Suddenly, he’s not very hungry. 

---

It’s Dream’s birthday. 

Techno frowns, looking up at the front of the prison - Chat is unusually subdued in his head, murmuring about Dream and Quackity and Sam but not saying much else. Like him, he supposes, they haven’t seen the teletubby in a long while. 

“This really wasn’t what I was thinking when you said you had a house,” Techno grumbles under his breath, walking off the path towards a small black box on the grass, the one reported to hold the portal - and the only means of communicating with the Warden. It’s been a long time since he’s heard anything from Dream - over half a year. It doesn’t look like people come here very much at all. 

Chat rushes past his ears, almost unintelligible - this place gives me the creeps prison pog pandora’s vault where is the warden quackity hasn’t streamed for a while where is dream - and presses the stone button on the side of the portal. 

“Uh- hullo?” 

“...Technoblade.” 

Sam’s voice is deep, unusually tired - something about it is disconcerting in the same way as the rest of Pandora, in the same way as the Mining Fatigue pulling on his limbs and dragging them down. 

“Nice- uh- prison? Is that what this is? You’ve got here-” Techno laughs, and Sam doesn’t reply. “Authority- you know I love authority.” 

“Technoblade, what do you want?” 

Right. The reason why he’s here. “I was actually thinking about scheduling a visit.” 

Because that’s the truth of it, really - he’d been waiting for some kind of communication, but after so many months of complete radio silence - after months of scattered whispers and warnings and rumors surrounding the impenetrable, impregnable prison sitting in the middle of the server, it’s been more than about time for him to at least give it a look over and see how his old ally is doing. It’s a Syndicate mission, in the barest sense of the word - the unchecked power that comes from Pandora is hardly what he’d consider ethical or anything resembling fair - but more than that, it’s a matter of owed debts and favors to pay back. 

Dream had looked out for his back when people had shown up on his front door and demanded his life. It’s only right that he try and do the same. 

“The prison is not taking visitors at this moment,” Sam says, stoic, and great. Of course this couldn’t be as easy as getting in and getting out, of course. Why would anything ever be that easy. L L L L TechnoBad- Shut up Chat.

“Well, do you know when a visit to the prison will be available?”

Another pause before Sam’s voice crackles through the intercom. “After the last incident with a visitor to the prison, prison visitations have been indefinitely put on hold.” 

Well, that doesn’t sound suspicious at all.

“Alright,” Techno steps back, turning away. This isn’t getting him anywhere. “See ya, Warden.” 

Looks like he’s got some planning to do.

---

“Sam!”

Sam smiles at Dream, the pressure on his head loosening at the sight of the kid - the chat with Technoblade had raised his hackles far more than he’d like, leaving his head pounding long after he’d left. He stills at the sight of his front yard, Dream literally floating in the middle of it all, smile nearly blinding in the noon sun. 

“Look look look! I couldn’t move the table ‘cause it was so heavy so I grabbed the stuff for the picnic after I found it in the chest and then I tried to make some decorations but they’re not very good and I found all of the board games and brought them outside for us to play when they arrive and-” 

“Woah woah woah!” Sam laughs. “This looks very nice, Dream.” 

“Well, yeah! It has to be cool! It’s my birthday party!” Dream runs up to him, hands flapping excitedly. “You delivered the invitations, right? Everyone’s gotta come and it’s gonna be epic-” 

“...right, yeah,” Sam ruffles his hair once again. “Here, how about you help me make a cake?” 

“Really?” 

“Well, you need to have a cake, don’t you?” Sam raises an eyebrow. “Unless you don’t want one-”

“Of course I want a cake, come on come on come on!” Dream goes to wake up Fran, who has taken up napping on the grass by the picnic blanket. “Come on Fran! We’re going to go make cake! Ooh- and we can make even BETTER decorations! Right?”

“Of course,” Sam swallows down the guilt swelling in his throat - it’s not like he doesn’t have the practice. “But we better start now if we want to get everything done in time.” 

“Let’s go! Hurry up, Fran!” Dream and Fran rush indoors, and Sam watches them with a sigh caught behind his teeth, face falling once they’re out of sight. 

---

It’s Dream’s birthday. 

Punz stares at the horizon, snow whipping past their face and whipping up the fabric of their cloak, the endless white of the tundra as blinding as it is unforgiving in the middle of the snowstorm that had landed on them the second they arrived at the rendezvous point. He gets the distinct feeling that if Dream were here, he’d be pissed- coming here was a completely unnecessary risk, given the circumstances. He’d ramble about staying safe and not gambling with their life - which is rich coming from him, given the fiasco of the fucking disc vault - and Punz would probably respond by bringing said fiasco up, and he’d grumble but be otherwise unable to respond, and then he’d give him a piece of his mind for ghosting him for seven fucking months- 

Punz scoffs. Seven months. Seven fucking months without a single word, without as much as a signal that he’s still fucking alive in that stupid fucking prison, Punz unable to do as much as visit because of some bullshit about not alerting Sam of their involvement and raising suspicion, that it’s fine, Punz, there’s Ranboo to keep up communication, stop worrying, everything’s still going to the Plan- 

They think they’re about one wrong move away from stomping over to that kid’s place and slapping him into shape themselves. 

Breathe.

Fine, so what if he’s a little frazzled? Sue them. It’s been so fucking long with not a word of news as to what’s happening in the prison - even Sam doesn’t seem to show in that place as much as he used to. It feels like everyone is moving on, like they’re the only one that even remembers that there’s a fucking person inside that thing in the first place, like Dream doesn’t fucking matter to them at all- 

The snow stings at his cheeks. Their fingers are going numb. Within the tundra, nothing moves, the world completely silent save for the sound of falling snow and howling wind - they’re completely alone. 

You better know what you’re fucking doing, Dream.

---

“Sam?” Dream mumbles into his chest, sobs having died down into hiccups, the ruined birthday decorations still strewn all over the floor. “Why didn’t anyone come?” 

“Maybe it was just too late notice, bud,” Sam mumurs, rubbing his back through another shuddery heave of breath that makes his entire body shake. “I’m sure they really wanted to.” 

“If they wanted to, they would’ve come!” Dream nearly screams, voice cracking, and Sam shushes him, afraid that he’ll dissolve into another round of hysterics. Thankfully, aside for a fresh round of tears that dissipate the second they roll off his skin, Dream doesn’t otherwise react, just curling further into Sam with a heartbreaking whimper. 

“I’m sorry, Dream,” Sam murmurs, holding him until his breathing steadies and he falls into sleep, eyebrows still knit together and face still blotchy, stilling at the sight of a papercut-thin cut appearing on the back of his neck, flickering in and out of existence until finally dissolving as Sam cards his fingers through the tangled knots of hair at the nape of his neck. Within his inventory, the undelivered invitations feel heavy as ever. 

This is for his own safety, Sam steels himself, setting Dream in bed to sleep. It has to be this way. 

---

(The next morning, Dream wakes up late, coming down the kitchen bleary-eyed with a yawn dangling from his lips. Sam smiles at him, close-lipped. 

“Sorry about your birthday, bud,” Sam says softly, watching as Dream knocks his forehead into the side of his leg. “I know you really wanted to see Sap and George.” 

“What?” Dream rubs at his eyes, face pinched in unmistakable confusion, and Sam’s heart drops. “Who’s that?”)

ghost child c!dream from dr3’s au who throws a birthday party and wants to invite everyone and nobody shows up <3 /dream smp roleplay