Betrayal.

Gods chosen

timelapse

Not everyone is prepared for new pets...

...he hasn't felt safe enough to sleep recently

play fight

or a short fic about the banter between c!techno and c!dream revealing something unintended that i wrote for @alterdnbweek

The eggnog was deceptively strong. It was rich and creamy, the cinnamon and nutmeg almost masking the taste of the brandy. Techno thought it was the best eggnog he’d made but it had made his head fuzzy and he’d only had one admittedly large mug of the stuff. Dream was on his second mug, hands wrapped around the blue ceramic, his missing fingers letting some of the floral pattern peek through. The flush on his cheeks told Techno that it was likely the brandy was hitting him harder.

It’s a good thing he’s already on the floor, thought Techno and then giggled so hard the sip of eggnog he had just taken went down the wrong way. He coughed and sputtered.

Dream looked at him and asked, “W-what’s wrong with you?”

Judging by the glassy look of concern on his face, it was meant as a genuine question but the wording set Techno off again though this time there was nothing to choke on. He cleared his throat and thumped his chest with his fist before speaking.

“Nothin’, Dream. I choked but thanks for askin’.”

Dream blinked slowly and glanced down at his mug.

“You choked? On—On liquid?”

“Listen, Dream—”

Techno paused and drained the last of his eggnog then debated about getting up for another cup. It was late and something warm and sweet would be nice before bed.

“Techno!” On floor, Dream was staring at him expectantly. He had sat up a little, the blanket that was wrapped around his shoulders slipping off. “What?”

The chair creaked as Techno rocked back in it. With the fire and soft light of the lanterns and the even softer pillow behind his head, it would’ve been easy for him to drift off.

“I’m gonna be honest, man, I have no idea what I was gonna say,” he admitted.

Dream rolled his eyes and stretched his good leg out. The room of the cabin was small enough that he was just able to kick Techno’s hoof with his fur-covered foot.

“Oh my god.” The words were broken up by a silent hiccup. He kicked Techno again but there was no force behind it. A lopsided grin was on his face. “You’re so annoying.”

Nudging Dream’s foot with his hoof, Techno laughed. He knew Dream meant it – he was annoying him – but it was the same kind of annoying as eating sour candy. It might make your mouth pucker but you still liked it. He watched Dream empty his mug and set it aside, shoving it half under the bookshelf. Techno snorted.

“Says you,” said Techno, drawing out the last word with heavy emphasis.

The offended look on Dream’s face was completely predictable and he kicked Techno one more time, stretching out as far as he could and slipping a little in the process. His cheeks turned even pinker. Techno had the passing thought that it was a good look on him.

“Yeah, well, I’m—I’m not even that annoying. You’re the one who choked on a drink like an idiot.”

It was a fair assessment and at any other time Techno might have said as much. He would’ve agreed and Dream would’ve fluffed up, believing that he had won the argument even though they both knew that Techno was giving him an out. But the warm, fuzzy feeling that had settled on Techno’s thoughts had moved to his chest and being flustered really was a good look on Dream. He reached behind him, grabbed the pillow he was resting on, and tossed it at Dream. It hit him square in the chest.

“Bruh. This guy is gonna leave his dirty dishes all over and say he’s not annoyin’.”

Dream looked over at the mug. He pushed it further under the bookshelf before picking up the pillow and throwing it back at Techno. The eggnog had dulled Techno’s senses and while he technically caught the pillow, it still smacked him in the face.

“You’re literally the worst and—You snore, like, all time, Techno,” he said, face twitching as he desperately tried not to smile.

Techno spun the pillow between his hands, one eyebrow raised, before throwing the pillow at Dream again. He half-heartedly tried to block it with one arm.

“And how d’you know I snore, Dream? Hm? Is it because I’ve so graciously let you stay with me and sleep in my bed even though I know you wipe your nose on the blanket?”

Dream’s ears flattened and his nose twitched furiously. He buried his face into the pillow for a moment.

“Oh my god! What is wrong with you, Technoblade! I—I hate you.”

He said Techno’s name in a specific, lilting way that finally made Techno blush and his stomach go all fluttery. Techno laughed. The pretending to be annoyed had been abandoned by Dream and he was smiling without holding back. The flames from the fireplace were reflected in his eyes.

“Nah,” said Techno, “you love me.”

The smile on Dream’s face lessened, became more serious, and he was quiet for a moment as he stared at Techno. It seemed like he didn’t realize he was staring. Techno almost said something but Dream blinked and spoke first.

“I do.”

Once the quiet words were out of his mouth, Dream looked surprised he had said anything. It could have been the eggnog talking. It was the eggnog talking because Techno knew Dream well enough to know he wouldn’t have said anything sober, knew him well enough to know it wasn’t a joke even if the suddenly sad and embarrassed look on his face didn’t give him away. Dream looked away. His eyes were wet and Techno also knew it wasn’t from the alcohol.

The moment Techno tried to stand, the brandy went to his head and he almost pitched forward. He managed to right himself at the last second. He took one step forward then dropped to the floor ungracefully next to Dream, one leg tucked awkwardly underneath him. It startled Dream and he jumped slightly as he turned to look at Techno, mouth partly open. He was going to say something. That was another thing Techno knew. The blush had faded until his cheeks were a soft pink dotted with freckles.

“Y’know what, Dream?”

Dream closed his mouth and waited. It would be too much to kiss him even if Techno badly wanted to kiss him. If he kissed him now, they could write it off as too much eggnog on a winter night. He put his hand on the back of Dream’s head, fingers threaded through his hair, and pulled him close until their foreheads were touching.

“What?” asked Dream, tense.

His breath smelled like cinnamon. It was hot on Techno’s face.

“Same.”

It took Dream a moment. This close, Techno could feel the exact moment Dream fully processed what he was saying: it was a small hitch of his chest and a gentle exhale. Dream put a hand on Techno’s knee, fingers clinging to the fabric of his pants.

“Oh my god,” Dream said again but it was soft, giggly. “You’re—You’re so lame.”

Techno grinned. He pressed his snout against the side of Dream’s head.

“Maybe, maybe, but what does that say about you?”

Blindly, Dream grabbed the pillow with his other hand and smacked Techno right in the side of the head with it. This close and with the awkward angle, it hit him as well but he didn’t seem to care. He was laughing. The hit wasn’t forceful – it couldn’t be – but Techno made an exaggerated ‘oof’ noise and let himself fall to the side, taking Dream with him, arms wrapped around him.

They were both laughing.

cDreamza but dream, who keeps getting reincarnated, had met and been one of philza's lovers in one of those reincarnations. Phil, after helping techno save dream from the prison and seeing his face, only to recognize the face of his lover from oh so long ago, and accidentally calling him the wrong name, despite knowing it's not him. At least not really.

hope you don't mind that i'm also making it awesamdream. also hope that you don't mind me making it a bit suggestive.

the 'we find each other in every life' trope, except you're an immortal and you're discovering that a certain two people seem to find each other in the same situation again and again. you've loved both of them, in different ways.

-----

To Sam's credit, his new technology has been successful.

Philza made a point to keep half an eye on his old friend, if only to ensure that he keeps his promise from eras ago. If the boy cheats death again, Phil will intervene. Luckily for Sam, his safeguards, advanced weaponry, and village of adoring citizens have made Sam's life quite safe. It seemed that they elevated him to a royal status, undoubtedly thinking of him as a genius or a god, and his fortress was overseen 24/7 by a staff of trained guards.

One of these guards had beautiful, heavily-lashed green eyes.

He mewled sweetly under Phil's mouth, and cried deliciously under Phil's hands. Squirmed and writhed beneath the weight of Phil's body, tangled his hands in Phil's hair and feathers. His sunkissed flesh was made of lean muscle and scars, his hair and eyes made of captivating, autumnal shades. And when the king was away, Phil could sometimes claim him for himself.

Phil liked to pleasure him to the point of overstimulation, when his voice got high-pitched and frantic. And then they'd kiss, tenderly, until his heartbeat slowed again.

"I brought something for you," the boy said with a smile, naked beneath Phil's torso and slick with sweat.

"Did you?"

"Mm." Twisting so he could reach the nightstand, he pulled out a bottle of wine. "This was left after a recent dinner. I thought you might like it. It's very rich."

Phil sat up so he could take the bottle in his hands and examine it. It was labeled with a language he didn't recognize, and it had an illustration of grapes in red ink. "You didn't strike me for a lush, lad," Phil said.

"I didn't think I'd like it either, but... the King let me try some, a long time ago. Haven't stopped thinking about it since." He propped himself up on his elbows, his strong shoulders and biceps stretching. "I'm sure it's... well, I'm sure you have things like this all the time. Angel of Death, or whatever. It, uh, probably isn't a great gift--"

"Hush. I love it." He planted a kiss on the boy's forehead. "The king let you try it, did he?"

"He did."

"You spend a lot of time in his chambers lately."

The boy's face grew red. "You saw that, huh?"

"I've seen plenty." He did his best to keep his tone and expression neutral. Judgement wouldn't help the situation. "Do you like it?"

"Huh?"

"His attention."

"I... I do. Very much so. It was my idea, the first time. He's handsome. He can be-- uh, possessive, but... I hope you aren't upset. I like your attention, too."

Philza was so far removed from the concept of jealousy that it took him a moment to understand what the boy was so worried about. Beyond his immortal wife, he's had many mortal playthings and even a few long-term partnerships. It was easy to forget that human morality often frowned on these types of relationships. There was a time when Phil himself warmed the 'king's' bed, too.

He passed a hand over the boy's chest, feeling the raised ridges of old scars. They've both sacrificed to keep Sam safe. And to what end?

"Not at all, mate. I just want you to be okay, that's all."

-----

"Show me your cheek, mate. I don't like that gash." Phil reached for Dream's jaw, but the moment his hand touched skin, he was slapped away.

Philza was familiar with scared dogs. He and Techno adopted a fair share of hounds who jumped from the sight of human hands. He knew he needed to be patient. Their bodies moved off of instinct; the bites weren't personal.

"Sorry. Sorry," Dream murmured. Though his face was turned, Phil could see that his eyes were wide with fear.

"All good. I shouldn't have grabbed you. I know better than that-- that's my mistake." With a sigh, Phil sat on the floor in front of Dream, a few feet away, letting the boy take his time and turn his face on his own.

He watched Dream hesitate, his chin tucked into his shoulder, wound hidden out of sight. He had to take a few breaths before he could face Phil.

Beautiful, heavily-lashed green eyes. Behind the mask, Phil had never seen them before. Except that he has, many eons ago.

He felt cold with shock.

He spent days with this boy, back when they were planning for doomsday. Cooked meals for him. Brewed tea for him. Helped him with a stubborn strap in his breastplate, watched him nap with the dogs. He watched Techno spar with him. He heard horror stories about what this boy has done, he listened to Techno while the piglin described his injuries. Yet he's never seen Dream's face until now, and he never noticed the similarities-- the way his voice faltered, the air of playful confidence--

"Oh--" Phil started.

Dream's brow furrowed nervously, and he tucked his face away again for a moment before he remembered what he was doing. A familiar blush spread across his cheeks. "Wha-What?"

Philza took Dream in his arms, saddened by how he tensed against the touch.

You never escaped him, did you?

Rip peak dsmp era, you would’ve loved animating/editing dsmp to Epic songs

Prompt: Dream is released from prison and one night when Sam's trying to sleep the full scope of what he did hits him.

oh this one was heartwrenching anon im in love

the idea that sam and dream were FRIENDS before pandora haunts me so much ,, dream TRUSTED him, at one point, and sam trusted him back ,, it’s really the cherry on top of the whole dang screwed up cake that is the prison :’)

anyway, as is becoming the norm on this blog, please note the warnings bc this gets heavy!

tw: abuse (physical/emotional), toxic relationships, effects of starvation (it’s brief but it’s there), violence, panic attacks, illness, blood, gore (?)

There is blood on the pickaxe.

Sam's hand brushes over the netherite; even in the dark room, the metal, lit by the soft lavender light of enchantments, is clearly stained reddish-brown, some flecks reaching the polished wooden handle. He must've forgotten to clean it after the last session with the prisoner- Dream, throwing it and the rest of his Warden set in a chest haphazardly before going to sleep.

His fingers brush against it; the edge is ragged from a lack of maintenance, the dried blood leaving the entire surface patchy and irregular. The bottom of the handle is well-worn, the wood easily molding to the palm of his hand, the weight familiar. He watches himself move it with a strange sort of disconnect, maneuvering the tool - weapon around with almost more ease than his own sword. He flips it around, fingers easily finding the nick in the top third of the handle, the groove where metal meets wood, eyes tracing his own handwriting, words written in neat, blocky script along the bottom edge of the netherite.

Warden's Will Breaker

The Warden. It's hard to remember that that person was even him, wearing netherite like a second skin, sword perpetually within reach, a monotone voice and metal mask to hide everything soft away; completely emotionless, until the pickaxe was in his hand and every feeling he'd kept bottled deep beneath came up, furious, suffocating, leaving nothing behind but a simmering rage that demanded release-

(Blood on his hands the sound of cracking bones tugging on the handle and meeting resistance screams echoing on obsidian please please Sam stop please stop please-)

He breathes in, out, the pickaxe (Will Breaker) still lying in his hands, still stained with blood. He blinks down at it; it feels wrong to hold it without the rest of the Warden's gear on his body, to carry this thing still saturated with memories of dark shadows and stifling heat and so much pain, to be staring at it without the weight of a mask on his face, of armor sitting against his shoulders, of a sword on his hip. It feels like it belongs to someone else entirely, completely out of place against his creeper print pajama pants (courtesy of Ponk) and knit slippers; it feels foreign, even with memories of it held in his hands flash through his head.

(you deserve this you are a monster you didn't stop when he asked you to I'll stop when you're sorry I'll stop when you're broken behave behave behave)

The prison was all boxes, hard edges; there was no room for kindness, no room for mercy. The prison meant that he was the Warden, that Dream was the Prisoner, that they would not, could not step out of the roles carved for them in the unforgiving obsidian. The walls were stark; every inch deliberate, methodical, necessary. The Warden held the monster and the Prisoner sought to escape his Labyrinth and thus went the game, everlasting, until one of them broke, until one of them failed, Will Breaker, really, only meant to speed up the process-

Only that didn't quite happen.

The Prisoner left, but didn't escape; the Warden was no longer needed, but did not fail. In the end, it was Sam that found Dream wheezing, feverish, in the back of his cell, Sam who carried the man across the bridge, feeling him lie limply in his arms, all skin and bones, Sam who brought him into the Community House as everyone clamored over his weak and dying body.

He'd been released from Pandora (for the foreseeable future, Puffy had said, voice trembling, until he's well enough to stand trial) and Sam, unable to stare at the still-unconscious man and remember his own hands covered in blood and bits of shattered bone, had left to hide away in his base. Until he's needed to be the Warden, again, he'd muttered to himself on the boat ride over, until that responsibility is once again his to bear.

It's harder to justify it all, here, where his floor is covered in carpet and dog hair, where there's a soft light behind him from the redstone lamp hooked up next to his bed, where everything from the Warden has been scrubbed away and left just Sam, limbs a bit gangly, hunched down over a chest that's just a bit too short for him to reach comfortably, feelings raw and painful like an exposed nerve. It's hard to say that the violence and cruelty were necessary, looking at the walls laid down by hands kinder than his own, the remnants of pie still stuck in his chests and blocks of bright pink wool (You Matter <3) decorating the few that he hasn't opened in a while, staring at the soft-edged memories of someone that had yet to know that pickaxes could be stained red by something other than redstone.

("You're leaving?" Dream, younger, hands knotting in the bottom hem of his hoodie.

"Just for a bit," readjusting his crown from where it stands, off-center, on his head; Dream laughing and reaching up to straighten it for him. "I just want to explore a little. Find somewhere open where I can really rig some stuff up, you know?"

"I can't believe the things you do with that crap, man," freckled cheeks rising in a brilliant smile. "It's insane."

"You're pretty insane yourself, Mr. Manhunt," Dream tosses his head back, wheezing, and Sam laughs with him. The sun rises over them, sky pale and pink and beautiful.

"Well, this is the Community House, Awesam," Dream pulls him in, arms wrapping around his neck, head bumping against his chin. "You're always welcome here."

He smiles, soft, murmuring an agreement that rumbles deep and low in his chest. "I know. Y'all take care of yourselves, ok?"

"Of course," Dream punches him, lightly, in the shoulder, trying and failing to hide the way his eyes shine. "We always do.")

The pickaxe falls from his hand, clattering to the ground. Distantly, Sam realizes he's crying.

Prime, what had he done?

horror movie au!dream finally getting to experience someone who likes him for him and it doesn't involve fancy dinners and expensive cars or anything like that. it's him and techno in a crappy motel eating stale chips from the vending machine or sitting in the back of techno's van that smells like wet dog and shampoo.

What do you think that c!Dream would think or feel about c!Will using him as a way to externalize his daddy issues? That maybe 70% of c!Will’s animosity was based on the way that he subconsciously resented the shadow of his father, and twisted it into fitting a narrative that wasn’t happening.

His father is an anarchist, c!Dream was titled a tyrant over nothing other than being the one that others went to when things went out of wack, he was an incidental authority figure that c!Will and c!Tommy reflexively hated

i think you'd have to hit cdream upside the head with it for him to notice, for starters.

if he spent more time with cphilza, he'd probably notice the similarities between them. or, at the very least, he'd notice that cphilza has achieved a lot of his goals, and he might put cphilza under a microscope and try to study how he did it. an immortal who seems to understand more about the world than most, who lives a peaceful life with technoblade. sounds like a life cdream would enjoy, if he reflected enough to realize it.

(post-prison, he'd see a man also living with life-changing injuries.)

now, the idea that someone would think they're similar right now? he'd be taken off-guard, for sure. i think he'd take it as a compliment. i think he'd hold it over cwil's head and mock him for it. i think he'd hold some personal bitterness about it, and he'd pretend he doesn't care about it, like he handles the rest of his bitterness.

he values his allies and wouldn't want his anarchist allies to think he's a tyrant, but he seems to trust their intelligence enough that he doesn't try to defend himself to them. where's his kingdom, after all?

Okay so I've been insane about this for A While now, but I rly wanna talk about it now. Like, the parallels between cQ & cSam and cPhil & cTechno in regards to cDream. Like with how one in each pair is a mostly humanoid bird hybrid(the duck hybrid!Q hc) who's smaller than cDream and the other a giant mob hybrid. The way one of those pairs made cDream a wreck(okay he was a wreck before that but yk what I mean) and the other pair is helping him heal from being a wreck. But then it's like, you look at both pairs and how they are with cDream, or literally just in general. And they couldn't be anymore differant. Like the initial parallels between the pairs could make sth feel too familiar in a bad sense, but then realizing, that it's just cTechno and cPhil, he'll calm down. In itwall, you even mentioned the parallells between cQ and cPhil and like how cDream could mistake them for each other and stuff.

Hope this makes sense and that I got the point of my little ramble across lol

YES this is big-brained. i can't believe i've implied this so many times yet never said anything outright about it.

techno and sam, both giant mob hybrids, serve as guardians. these are the people dream is most physically comfortable with, and who he trusts most. techno moreso guards dream himself while sam guards "the prisoner," if that makes sense, and techno encourages freedom while sam denies it. in ttdtn, techno jokes a bit about their roles being reversed ("think of it as a visitation system"). i like the idea of techno being the tallest on the server and sam being the second tallest; the competition between them is palpable.

phil and quackity, both bird hybrids and both shorter than dream, are more active agents of change. quackity was more, uh, "hands on" with dream in the cell, and i wrote philza as being the more knowledgable and active healer in itwall. these are the ones who create either pain or comfort, and unfortunately for dream, they're easy to mistake for each other. dream struggles with things like that. i particularly like designs where phil has massive wings (that are broken) and q has small, useless wings.

careful, i bite