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somebluemelodies · 3 months

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since we're probably finally gonna be seeing spiderbit back together in a couple days, here's my personal take on their reunion :> just to be safe: tw for talk/implications of suicidal thoughts (under the cut)

They stay there for God only knows how long, holding on as tight as they can, in fear of what could happen if they let go.

(It could all change in the blink of an eye. Heaven forbid.)

They’d started their embrace standing, but it was short-lived, the weight of everything crashing down on them as their legs gave out, water building behind their eyes.

For now, it’s finally over. For now, it’s finally just them. And that’s enough.

It’s Roier who finally moves first, lifting his head from Cellbit’s shoulder but not pulling back far enough to leave his husband’s arms. No, he’s not ready for that yet.

He holds Cellbit’s face in his hands, brows furrowed as he stares him down. “What the fuck happened?”

“I didn’t—” the investigator pauses, seeming to rethink his words— “I chose to stay there.”

(He can never lie to the spider-hybrid, in any capacity.)

Roier’s brows furrow even more, if possible. “¿Qué—? Hijo de puta, what were you thinking?”

Cellbit glances away from him, eyes flickering down. He looks… guilty. Conflicted. “I… I saw Richas die in front of me. At least, I thought I did. And honestly?” He swallowed. “I wanted it to be over after that. I didn’t care anymore. As long as you made it. And you did. That was the only thing that mattered to me.”

Roier purses his lips, chest heavy. He understands, in a morbid truth - he really does. He thinks of how he felt immediately after Bobby died and the days that followed. The hours spent in the damn pool, hoping, praying for a way out. Falling from the heights of his castle without a care. The pain that still plagues him.

(He understands better than anyone else.)

But it was Cellbit who started to make him feel alive again. Cellbit who made his world even just a little brighter, even with the storm clouds of his own past.

And he’ll be damned if he loses him, too.

(They’re together. For better or for worse.)

There’s a question on the tip of his tongue. Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to stay?

(He feels like, deep down, he already knows at least a small semblance of the investigator’s answer. And it makes him upset. For Cellbit.)

(Why does this happen to any of them?)

But Roier doesn’t even have to ask. He knows Cellbit knows, somehow, by the way his husband studies his expression.

(They’ve become eerily good at reading each other. That’s just how they work now. But he wouldn’t have it any other way.)

The thoughts come pouring out of Cellbit before he can really stop them; the same ones he’d relayed to Baghera. “I knew you would've stayed if I told you. And I didn't want you to do that. I didn’t want to take the chance of you around me when I was… like that. And this isn’t much better. I’m still—” he recoils, retracting his arms from Roier, who nearly grabs for his hands at the loss of contact. “You deserve better than this, guapito; you deserve to be free, not stuck there on that fucking island, stuck with me— you’d be happier without me.”

“¿Qué?”

(Roier feels like someone just submerged him under icy water.)

“I thought you’d be happier without me. I didn’t think you could be happy around me like this. I still don’t— I—”

Cellbit is interrupted by a sudden hand against the back of his neck, pulling him forward as lips crash against his, and he’s nearly overwhelmed by all the emotions behind it, intertwining with his own.

But he kisses back immediately, melting right into it; of course he does. He knows he can talk all he wants about not wanting Roier to be around, but what he wants and what he needs are two separate things.

They're breathless when they pull apart, and Roier's hands settle on Cellbit's shoulders. “You’re an idiot, Cellbo, you know that? So brilliant, yet so stupid sometimes."

He breathes in, out, catching his breath and trying to gather the right words. “I spent so long looking for you. Hours and hours, every single day, trying to find some sign of you. Anything.

Why? Because I was fucking miserable, man! I felt like shit without you! I missed you, I missed you so much.” His voice falters slightly.

“But—”

“Pinche pendejo—” Roier hisses under his breath— “I don’t care what you think I deserve. I want you. Always. We stick together, no? Not because we're stuck and we have to, but because we want to, no?"

Cellbit nods slowly after a moment, remaining quiet. "Exactamente." The spider-hybrid reaches up, cradling his husband's face in his hands and catching a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. "I will always help you, no exceptions. Remember? Always here, for anything you may need."

The investigator falls into his arms, muttering tearful apologies, and they're right back to clutching each other tightly, securely.

(They're both crying, now. The tears stream freely, knowing they can be. Together.)

(It's not okay right now, but maybe in time, it will be.)

"Desculpa—" Cellbit chokes out— "te amo..."

They hold on tighter still. Roier's voice is muffled slightly, but Cellbit can make out the words as clear as day as the piece he's been desperately missing for weeks slides back into place.

"You and I against the world, gatinho."

And so it'll be.

#i feel like we've gotten so many angst-heavy reunion fics #which i get it the situation IS super angsty but like the comfort ??? have you also considered the amount of comfort potential ???#really tried to tread carefully with this one tho these cubitos are very emotionally complex and i'm still learning how to write them #but at the end of the day they love each other more than anything #and i think that's certainly worth noting yk?#qsmp cellbit #qsmp roier #spiderbit #qsmp #blue writes qsmp #tw sui ideation #tw sui talk

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silly-core · 1 month

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I forgot to put this on this blog yesterday but celebratory miku day will wood mikus🔥🔥🔥

Icimi miku coming soon

[I made the first one in like february, i had something else planned for miku day but due to technical difficulties, i finished this instead😔]

#tw slight blood #miku day #YAYYYYYYYY #will wood #wwatt #art #hatsune miku #fanart #technically #the normal album #everything is a lot #self ish #the lore for this was me doodling miku with tapeworm pigtails one day #then i thought “hey i should do this for all the ww albums”#also dont mind the notes i wrote i didnt initially intend to archive this on my blog #you can tell i bullshitted self ish mikus legs

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gothsugarbunnidisco · 3 months

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absolutely losing my fucking mind over this pregnant frank iero edit from livejournal in like 2007

#kittyposting #of course i find this one day after i make a weird shit i found on livejournal post #my chem #mcr #my chemical romance #frankie #frank iero #bandom #bandom rpf #mpreg #mpreg tw #that fucking photobucket watermark.#everyone look at this. give this shit 10k notes it deserves it #web finds

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vashstash · 2 years

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It’s knife time baby~

#rvb #red vs blue #richard simmons #rvb simmons #simmons 2.0 #dick simmons #knife simmons #knifemmons #why hello there did someone order the edgelord galore?#I had this ham energy inside me waiting to be edged...wait to...to be edgy. I mean. ANYWAY.#i had so much fun while drawing this bullshit guys you have no idea #i think i'm happy (for now) with his arm and face plating #i can never decide smh #i got so inspired by this last reblog if you haven't seen donutssafeword's knife simmons idk what are you doing here #give them all of the love all of the concepts are so fucking awesome #i keep looking at my font placement and i'm glad i'm slowly improving maybe one day my comics won't look like death note speech bubbles #tw: blood #tw: gore #i like to think that when he breaths so are all the rib lights as the biometal stretches #cool visual

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eclairfair98 · 3 months

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“I lost my father to a war, Tom,” he whispers, heat pressing down on his shoulders, burning the inside of his ribs, slamming into the pit of his roiling stomach. “I know flying’s dangerous. Better than most people, I’d think.”

And he sees it then. The purple sun rising across the horizon. Its faint light glancing across the slope of Dad’s brow, catching in his close-cropped hair, bouncing off his wide grin. Sees Dad’s face every time he got a perfect score on a test. Won a prize at the science fair. Outran every single one of his classmates.

Sees the warmth of pride, of happiness that lit up his eyes. Made them shine. Made Pete think that he could shine, too.

“Why do you want to be a naval aviator?”

Despite himself, he reaches out a tentative hand and touches Tom’s cool cheek. Brushes his fingertips down the slope of his strong jaw, wishing he could banish the stress from his expression.

Tom’s hands still, then crumple into tight fists as his eyes harden into pools of ice.

“I want to serve my country. Be a part of something bigger than myself. Honor my family—” Tom says, and that’s it, isn’t it? It’s that simple.

“Then why is it that I can’t do the same for my country? For my family?” he interrupts, knowing that Tom has to see reason now. That it’s all so very simple when you put your mind to it. “Don’t you see, Tom? If my father was here today. If he was alive… he would’ve been so proud of me.”

Pete hastily wipes the wetness rolling down his cheeks. Tastes the saltwater on his lips.

If he was here today. If Dad was alive. I wouldn’t even be here.

There’s stars dancing in front of his eyes, and he can make out each individual pin-prick of light. A dazzling, blistering white. Like Magnesium burning in the air with a brilliant, luminous flame.

Tom’s silent for several seconds, his eyes dark, almost black in the dim light of their bedroom. “I think if your father was here today, he wouldn’t want his only child to fly in active combat. To risk getting shot down, or captured, or killed.”

The rings on his left hand feel a lot heavier than they did an hour ago, like they weigh a thousand tons each. Like they’re rusted metal chains shackling him to the cold, lifeless ground.

“You keep talking as though we’re actually at war,” Pete says. You’ve no idea what Dad would’ve wanted for me, Pete thinks. You didn’t know him. You don’t even know me. Not really. “The Cold War’s practically over.”

“I guess we should write Brezhnev, then. Wonder how long it’ll take them to tear down the Iron Curtain now that you’ve declared the War’s over.” Tom deadpans, his voice flatter than Pete’s ever heard it. Unwavering gaze flickering down to his belly before settling on his tear-stained face. “You know this isn’t just about the Cold War, Pete. As long as we’ve had history, there has been combat. We aren’t going to enter an era of world peace just because our military has started commissioning omegas.”

“You’re being a hypocrite. You do realize that, don’t you?” Nausea burns the pit of his stomach. Punishing and hot. His chest aches like someone’s taken a sledgehammer to it, ragged breaths rapidly burning his insides. “You stand there and talk about the dangers and unpredictability of war when you’re fully prepared to serve in one, if and when duty calls. I’m supposed to live with the knowledge of not knowing when you might be sent off to combat. Deal with it as a part and parcel of my life. But God forbid, I ask you to do the same for me—”

“I shouldn't have to be the one to tell you that alphas and omegas would be taking on a very different set of risks going into active combat duty,” Tom bites out. His expression’s a mask but Pete can see the carefully-restrained fear in his eyes. An emotion so out of place on Tom’s face, it almost stuns him speechless. “Say you get shot down over enemy lines one day. Say you don’t go out in a blaze of glory as you might imagine… What then, Pete? Do you know what the prisoners of war lived through at Hanoi? Do you have any idea how bad it got for them? Imagine how much worse it could get for an omega…”

“What are you saying?”

Pain sparks through the base of his skull, making him drop his head down and press his clammy fingers to his brow. It feels as though he’s slowly being ground into dust. These days, it always feels that way.

How much worse could it get?

“Please, don’t make me spell it out for you,” Tom whispers, somehow instinctively knowing that Pete doesn’t understand. That he hasn’t thought about getting shot down. About getting captured. Getting killed.

“Everyone’s gotta die someday, right?” His throat hurts from the effort it takes not to cry. He closes his eyes. Thinks about his life. The seemingly endless hours spent at home alone. Doing laundry. Washing dishes. Dusting shelves. Throwing up until he’s sobbing from the relentless pain in his head. Thinks about the second line on his test. Bright pink and impossible to ignore.

About how maybe, there are worse things than death. Than being eighteen and feeling like your life’s over already. Than not being where you want to be.

Even if it doesn’t feel that way.

“I could die five months from now. Or in five years. Or fifty. That’s not upto me, Tom. Some things are just… out of our control. But what I can do is make my life matter. Make it worth something. I want to learn. I want to grow…”

I want all of the same things you do.

“And I want all of those things for you. I want you to study. I don’t care about how much it costs us, as long as you get to learn. I want to do things your way. When we got married, I promised myself we’d do everything your way—” Tom pauses for a moment. Weighs what he’s about to say next. Seems like he doesn’t want to say it but soldiers on anyway, jaw set in a tense line. “But you need to stop chasing ghosts, Pete.”

Something cold and heavy swoops up from Pete’s belly. Settles on his chest. Presses hard against his ribs.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The heavy feeling worsens. Squeezes his lungs. Sharp and unkind. Almost like he’s cracked a rib.

“I think you do.” Tom’s mouth twitches, and he looks away. Runs a hand across his tired face, looking much older than his twenty-one years. His Annapolis ring glints a caustic blue in the dim light. A potent reminder of all the things in the world that just aren’t meant for Pete. “You don’t need to join the Navy to make your life matter. You don’t need to seek validation in what you think your father would’ve wanted for you—”

“Fuck you.” His stomach wrenches and he presses his hands over his abdomen, struggling not to vomit. It takes him a moment to realize that he’s angry. To recognize the raw, painful thing lurking under his sternum. To give it a name. Tom takes a step towards him, concern flickering across his face, bleeding into his ice-cold eyes. And Pete leans away. Lets the tepid air rush in between them. “Fuck you, Tom.”

Because that’s his father. That’s his life. His dreams Tom’s talking about so callously. Dismissing like Pete’s just a lost little child who doesn’t know right from wrong. Doesn’t know what he wants. Who doesn’t know himself.

“Yeah, fuck me.” Tom sucks in a breath. His next exhale a little bit sharper. A lot less steady. He stares down at Pete’s bloodless fingers still clutching the flat of his belly, before looking up and meeting his eyes. Wistful and angry and resigned. “But that’s how we got ourselves into this situation. Didn’t we, Pete?”

#the unbearable lightness of being #wip wednesday #icemav #topgun #omegaverse #tw: unplanned pregnancy / misogyny (in the context of omegaverse) / talk of death / mentions of war and war crimes #on another note #happy new year guys 🙈🌻#hope you’ve been doing well!#one of my New Year’s resolutions is to get around to answering asks and replying to comments and DMs #so I’m going to try and get around to doing that in the next few days

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peliginspeaks · 3 months

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Reference for Hallowrove's scars!

First death: Lost the Feducci duel, got impaled with his lance. Would have healed more messily if Oversol hadn't been there to take it out and help afterwards.

Shapeling Arts first aid: stabbed in a dock brawl, patched up creatively by Haarsink

Vake: first encounter with it in BaL, the text mentioned it raking its claws down the player's legs while holding their shoulders and the image just stuck with me

Upper River Beast: sometimes there's a Big Fuckoff Flesh Creature. Lingering scar from an out-of-game roleplay incident.

Others: no consistent canonical placement for the assorted small scars, except for none around the eyes. Definitely most of them are from monster hunting or clambering around over walls and other types of Hallowroveish Activities they get into out of curiosity, but a couple lighter and older ones are from absentmindedness when they used to do metalwork and mechanical stuff on the Surface.

#hallowrove tag #tw scars #one of these days I'll lure Haarsink and Oversol's players to come post more about them on here #anyways #it's so strange for me to post stuff like this because I've had Hallowrove for almost two years now but not posted hardly anything #so it's just funny to see them with all this wear and tear knowing they probably come off Grizzled or whatever at first sight #when i know they're just some guy. that i happen to enjoy hurting dhdhfh #on a serious note though i love giving my ocs texture. i love scars and wrinkles and body hair and stretch marks #i just don't know how to draw most of that stuff yet #hmm. i should give hallowrove More texture. anyways #peliginart #i guess

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jakowskis · 22 days

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30 Torchwood Questions!

Can be used as an ask game, or as a 30 Days of Torchwood challenge! I’m doing the latter (more on that later) and created this for that purpose, but then I realized it would work as an ask game as well, so here you go! Gwen bashers DNI!!! Everybody else, enjoy!

1. How did you first get into Torchwood?

2. Who’s your favorite Torchwood member? (And if it’s not one of them, who’s your favorite character?) Why are they your favorite? Do you have any secondary favorites (maybe a one-off or minor character that really stuck with you)?

3. What’s your favorite episode(s)?

4. What’s your least favorite episode(s)?

5. What do you think, objectively, is the best episode of the show?

6. Favorite season/series?

7. Do you have any all-time favorite scenes? You can bring up multiple - a well-written scene, a silly scene that makes you smile, a sad scene that makes you cry, maybe a scene that just sort of stuck with you… your choice!

8. Are there any scenes (or even full episodes) that you can’t stand? If yes, and you could go back in time and rewrite them, how would you fix them?

9. Are there any characters you dislike? Do you legitimately hate them, or do they just kind of irritate you? What would it take to make you like them?

10. Do you have a favorite cast member? If you’ve gotten into the behind the scenes end of the show at all, do you have a favorite cast moment or story (from bloopers, TW Declassified, convention panels, etc)?

11. Do you have a favorite track from the score? Maybe the soundtrack?

12. Favorite location in the Hub?

13. Favorite ship(s)? Any Torchwood OTPs? Go ahead, gush about them!

14. Favorite friendship(s)?

15. Are there any ships you dislike?

16. Have you read Torchwood fic? If so, any all-time favorites?

17. Favorite kiss in the show? What was so special about it? If kisses don’t do it for you, were there any other scenes that stood out as particularly sexy and/or romantic?

18. Who would you say had the best character development? Who do you wish got more?

19. Would you recommend the show to people? If you would, would you feel the need to include disclaimers in your pitch? Any particular scenes you’d want to warn them about first?

20. Discuss Jack. Opinions? Favorite moment? Least favorite moment? Any unpopular opinions? Any fun headcanons?

21. Discuss Gwen. Opinions? Favorite moment? Least favorite moment? Any unpopular opinions? Any fun headcanons?

22. Discuss Owen. Opinions? Favorite moment? Least favorite moment? Any unpopular opinions? Any fun headcanons?

23. Discuss Tosh. Opinions? Favorite moment? Least favorite moment? Any unpopular opinions? Any fun headcanons?

24. Discuss Ianto. Opinions? Favorite moment? Least favorite moment? Any unpopular opinions? Any fun headcanons?

25. Now that we know how you feel; shag, marry, cliff / fuck, marry, kill the team! (If you feel comfortable doing so, of course.)

26. Do you have a favorite antagonist?

27. This is a sci-fi show, after all… any favorite aliens? Favorite gadgets, maybe?

28. Do you like how tragic Torchwood is, or do you wish it was more light-hearted? Do you think the ‘dark and adult themes’ were explored sufficiently?

29. Do you have a favorite quote? Serious or silly, or both! Maybe a favorite quip / exchange?

30. Why, overall, do you love Torchwood?

#torchwood #mine #txt #don't send me any please! like i said im gonna do a 30 days of tw thing so im filling em all out anyway fsdkfj #btw some notes on this #1) sorry it's written by an american. writing favorite without the u next to something torchwood related felt wrong fhdsjfkdsh #but i wasnt about to fake it thatd be cringe FKSJDF so. shrug #2) i didn't do bullet points so it would be more spaced out bc i have adhd and closely spaced shit is annoying to read #so sorry it's a like. lengthier post bc of that but. hopefully some of yall might appreciate that too. i hate clumped text fhsdkjfd #3) i can't take full credit for this! i saw one of these on LJ from 2010 and saved it ages ago #but i didn't like all the questions so i heavilyyy remade it #ok thts all. like i said ill post more info on what im doin in a second #torchwood posting #tdot

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ra-archives · 6 months

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Ah yes its 'Follow the Lights' time where we get to watch everyone in the chain get shocked half to death because they had the audacity to simply exist.

Lu-tober day 14

Prompt: Electrocution From my Goretober prompt list

*TW* A bit of lighting and Wars being shocked. Its not very graphic, but figured I'd throw this on there anyway

Experimenting with art styles? More like I didn't have time for todays prompt but still wanted it to be colored so I decided to just go a messy version of my texturing style and hoped it looked good without lines. Honestly its not terrible, could use a bit of clean up but otherwise pretty okay.

IS IT RAMBLE TIME YES IT IS

'Follow the Lights' is a fic written by CluelessMoose on Ao3. 'Don't Go Into the Light' is the follow up alternate POV fic, and they are both fantastic. Expect more angsty art based on this fic.

The idea behind both of them is a Chain meets Wild fic, except everyone gets scattered across hyrule between a bunch of different shrines. Super angsty, and is definitely on the more extreme side, but is also fantastic. Come here to get your helping of hypothermia, heatstroke, blood, gore, unreliable narration and a lot else. Its essentially just kicking the chain while they're down and I love it. Especially Wild, he gets kicked a lot.

#lutober #lu warriors #tw electrocution #tw lightning #Once again on my way to not tag the author bc I'm not thrilled with the art #Idk my art seems to just find the people that inspired it naturally so I'm sure they'll stumble on it eventually #Tumblr really be like 'Oh you don't want people to see this art piece you made bc its not your favorite?'#'Boom more notes on this art piece in a day than your last five original posts got combined and multiplied by three'#Thats totally not what happened with the day one prompt what are you talking about #Anyway might reboot this piece and some of the other less impressive prompts once LU-tober is over and I have some goD DAMN BREATHING ROOM #Rambling in the tags again sorry #I'm not sorry actually but I'll say it anyway #Also everyone go read 'Follow the Lights' right now

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omegaverse-bfdi · 1 year

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never thought i'd find myself making one of these but i havent felt so low since i lived with my dad.

1 note = 1 day i continue this pathetic existence. i don't care what it is. a like, a reblog, anything.

i just wanna know if someone, anyone out there, still cares.

im sorry.

#one note one day #tw implied suicide #tw suicide mention #tw suicide #tw implied abuse

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mister13eyond · 3 months

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honestly i love this stupid kirby meme for the dumbest reason:

which is that "i want to dead" has lodged itself as permanent echolalia in my brain, so when i'm Spiraling it becomes the despair mantra my mind is chanting, which like

WOULD be harrowing, but i keep picturing this sad little low poly kirby saying it and i'm just patting his angular little head like "i know kirby, i know, but the horrors persist and so must my juicy ass"

#externalizing my impulsive spiral thoughts as a separate entity was only step one #step two was making that entity a charmingly pathetic little guy who must be treated with compassion #broke: yelling at the imaginary personification of your suicidal thoughts for being a loud dick #woke: seeing this sad little kirby and sagely comforting him #tw sui ideation #mental health #also it's worth noting that like #i've come far enough that these days 'i want to dead' doesnt carry nearly the weight it used to #like yeah it's bouncing around my brain like a frantic echolalia every time i'm upset and overwhelmed #but i know low poly kirby doesnt ACTUALLY want to dead #he want to turn down the volume of everything happening and it's the only way he knows to express it #the kneejerk impulse will probably never go away #i spent too long with my immediate reaction to every struggle being 'i wanna die' for the habit to ever fully vanish #but i can't get mad at my brain for saying it #it's just a sad little low poly kirby ok #be nice to him. he's so low poly

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mlobsters · 1 year

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bonus (how'd it get so hard / how'd it get so long)

hannibal x the downward spiral (1994) by nine inch nails

piggy / the ruiner / the becoming / reptile / closer

(prev: hannibal x pretty hate machine)

#hannibal #nine inch nails #help me get away from myself #the downward spiral #went less cheeky and more depressed #will graham #mygifs #tw cancer --- but i'll share a slightly less miserable memory about this album #so i used A Warm Place in this awful and dumb physics experiment video presentation i did with my friend #my dad had cancer and was in out of the hospital at the time this was 96 so i was 16 #one day she put a small teddy bear on my desk before physics started and i just lost it #it's the moments of kindness when you're going through the worst shit that sometimes make you crack #i did say it was slightly less miserable #anyway whenever i listen to it i think of that #on absent fathers (excused with a note)

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dr3amofagame · 2 years

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a quick fic for c!dream hybrid day !! involving creeper hybrids c!dream and c!sam (what will they do)

tws: abuse, torture and death mentions, lots of Weirdness about hybrid traits bc c!sam has Issues (tm)

The cell is hot.

It cuts through even the coolant running through the insides of Sam’s armor, the residual effects of the fire resistance he downed before pearling through the lava. The air shimmers and warps next to the lava, and he turns away from the overwhelming brightness with a tight frown, fist tightening over Warden’s Will as he surveys the cell. It’s relatively clean for one of Quackity’s visits, not that that means very much. Dream has managed to pull himself upright against the back wall, eyes blank.

“Dream,” Sam rolls his eyes, rapping his sword against the floor until his gaze swivels over to focus on him. His pupils are pinpricks, shining gold.

“Sam,” Dream mutters, his voice hoarse. He blinks, shakes his head, blinks again. “Sorry.”

The apology is tacked on like an afterthought, and Sam sighs again.

“Get up.” He surveys the damage as Dream struggles up to his feet; there’s another series of bleeding gashes carved into his back, some sort of large, amorphous burn that’s ruined one pant leg and covers most of his shin, his hair stringy and wet - if Sam were to guess, from being dunked in the cauldron again. Manageable enough, even without potions, but he’ll use one anyway for his back just to ensure he won’t bleed out. Dream’s legs wobble underneath him, his ear flicking back and forth, and Sam pushes him away from the back wall of the cell with the flat of his sword, handing over a change of clothes and a health potion as he does.

“Don’t take too long,” he warns, watching carefully as Dream cradles the glass bottle with two hands. “And don’t drop the potion. You’re not getting a second one.”

“Okay.”

Sam turns away from him, looking at the blood and grime on the ground and internally lamenting the mess; no matter how many times he tells Quackity to be more careful, he never manages to listen quite as well as Sam would like. This is supposed to be better than the last few days, which - if Sam is to be fair - it is. But better doesn’t mean he’s not going to be here for the next thirty minutes mopping the obsidian, nor does it mean that Quackity hasn’t ruined yet another prison uniform that Sam will inevitably end up having to find the materials to replace. He lets his sword fall back into his inventory, pulling out a bucket of water and a mop with a frustrated sigh that barely skirts around becoming a low hiss, starting at the leftmost wall of the cell in silence.

It’s barely five minutes later when the hissing begins: an almost inaudible low hum of noise at his back that he stubbornly ignores. The mop splashes loudly as he dunks it in the water, scrubbing grit and grime from the cracks in the stone and staining the head of it red-brown, and the hissing grows in volume like it’s trying to drown it out. His fists tighten on the mop handle. There’s a puddle of dried blood and vomit in the corner he has to scrub at for a solid minute and a half. He adjusts how his mask sits on his face with one hand, a spark of a rising headache pulsing brighter against the front of his skull-

“Will you stop that?”

The hissing cuts off. Dream stares back at him, wide-eyed, the points of his eyes impossibly small and bright. Smoke curls from the corner of his lips, mouth barely open. Sam notes, with no small measure of irritation, that he has yet to put on his new shirt.

Dream looks away first. “Sorry.”

“Hurry up. And stay quiet.”

Sam turns back, mop clutched tightly in his hands until the joints of his gauntlets creak against each other, headache worsening despite the silence from the man behind him. With new vigor, he scrubs at the floor along the back of the cell, determined to leave as soon as possible.

“Sam-”

“What, Dream.”

“I- my shirt.” Sam looks back at him; with how sickly pale he’s become, the embarrassed flush that settles over his face and neck is impossible to ignore, the darker, blocky patches of green over his cheeks and shoulders much like Sam’s own fading into the rest of his skin. “I can’t-”

Sam bites back a flash of burning anger, startled momentarily at the ferocity of it even in his own head. “Figure it out, Dream. I’m not your butler.”

“Please, Sam.” Behind the words, the hissing builds, then stops. “I-”

The cell is sweltering; heat gathers at Sam’s collar, the fire resistance long having worn off. He sets his jaw and looks over at Dream, who - admittedly - looks a little pathetic. He’s tangled up in his shirt, one sleeve dangling loosely, beads of sweat gathering at his hairline from the heat or exertion. His eyes have brightened to a piercing orange, pinpricks of brilliant light in his dark eyes, and Sam feels the hairs of his neck stand on end.

“Watch it, Dream,” he mutters, waving away a curling fog of smoke and gunpowder. Dream hesitates, then nods, shoulders tight as Sam reaches for his shirt, careful not to touch him. The lava glitters at the edges of his vision, hair sticking to the skin of his neck. It’s awkward, maneuvering his arm into the sleeve, and Sam backs away immediately after with a roll of his shoulders.

“Thank you,” Dream says, voice almost a whisper. He pulls at the shirt awkwardly, wincing every so often from the strain at his back, and Sam turns his gaze back to the cell after he starts fumbling with the buttons. There’s a dull ache in his head that he tamps down, clearing his throat awkwardly as he returns to the mop.

He finishes cleaning the rest of the cell without any more interruptions, finally looking back at Dream clutching the bloody rags of his old uniform and an empty potion bottle. Sam picks up the bucket of water from the ground and returns it and the mop to his inventory.

“Sam,” Dream says, voice pitched hesitantly, and Sam feels his jaw jump.

“What now, Dream!”

Dream stares back at him, silent. His expression is unreadable, eyes an even darker orange, a dull, inconsistent buzzing making Sam’s ears ring. Inside his own ribcage, there’s something hot and bright and sharp, begging to tear loose. To swell into light and aching heat, to set the world aflame, and Sam swallows a gulp of air that’s not cool enough to do anything more than fan the flames.

“It’s hot in here, Sam,” Dream says, looking away. His eyebrows are furrowed in inscrutable thought. “It’s too hot. You know that.”

“You should’ve thought of that earlier then,” Sam says, clipped. “This cell was your design-”

“I know, I know-” Dream mutters, dismissive, and Sam forces down the hiss building in his own lungs. “But- with Quackity-”

“I don’t see how this has to do with Quackity.”

“The- the gunpowder, Sam! And the lava!” Sam’s ear flicks irritably, and he runs his hand through his hair beside it, remembering Dream’s doing the same. “It’s not- you know it’s not-”

“Quackity has been supplied a mask and appropriate precautionary equipment.” Sam’s voice comes out more guttural than he intends, and he forces himself to take a deep breath. He has to leave. The searing brightness at his sternum presses against the cool metal of his chestplate.

“You mean- a bucket of ice water and a shield? Yeah, because that’s going to do so much when I literally explode and kill us both, Sam! Don’t you remember-”

“He’s been informed with what to do in case-”

“-what happened to Tommy!”

Sam whirls around. Dream’s eyes are wide, eyes glittering in the lava’s light, lips still slightly parted as Sam stares down at him. There’s a seething rattle to the air, steam in a kettle, rising to a fever pitch as Sam feels himself move forward towards where Dream is still standing in the middle of the cell.

“Tommy? You killed Tommy, Dream! You ruined his life! You wanted to put him in here!” The mask digs into his face, knocking against his chin as his mouth moves.

“Sam-”

“You’re the reason why the cell is like this. You’re the reason why Quackity has to visit. Stop trying to- use all of these things to convince me- you know what? You’re right! You’re right, I do know what’s necessary for the cell. I know better than anyone, and you know that. So don’t try and threaten me, Dream!”

“Sam, please-”

“You deserve this, Dream-”

“SAM!”

Sam’s hand clamps around Dream’s wrist only to wrench away - the cell is hot, and Dream’s skin burns. Dream’s eyes are wide as saucers, the smoke spilling from his mouth blurring the image of his face with a hazy sheet of translucent grey, and Sam only barely registers himself pulling out a pearl and launching himself into the lava, forcing himself through over to the opposite side with his heart pounding in his chest.

He waits; one second passes, then two. His breathing is harsh and heavy and loud through the mask, hissing ringing in his ears. From Dream’s cell, there’s no sudden swell of sound, no harsh crack of an explosion tempered through the lava curtain. He forces his breathing to steady with his shoulders pressed against the atrium wall, waiting for a detonation that never comes.

Finally, relatively confident that the danger zone has passed, Sam peels himself from the wall, feeling strangely heavy on his feet, almost disoriented. He ignores the levers on the wall - Dream is fine, surely, he didn’t hear anything from the cell - and heads for the bathroom. Some cold water on his face sounds amazing right now.

(A few minutes later, he hesitates as he leans over the sink, focusing on his reflection.)

(The eyes in the mirror glow bright orange as they stare back.)

#chybrid day #tw death #tw torture #tw abuse #writing !!#my writing :D #some additional notes bc i made up so much random shit about creeper hybrids in here:#no one knew c!dream was a creeper hybrid pre-finale #creeper hybrids usually have smoke that comes from their mouth - they don't mind it #but the fumes can be noxious to others #hence c!sam and c!dream's masks #they have black sclera and white eyes Usually #but they turn yellow -> orange -> red when they get stressed/about to explode #they also usually run cold but heat up when they're about to detonate #explosions by creeper hybrids can be more controlled than regular creepers #(as in they can explode partially instead of their entire body)#but as they're still very painful + regeneration takes a long time #most avoid explosions if they can manage it #explosions become especially hard to control with heightened emotion + stress #and are very destructive + potentially fatal if you explode #so yeah c!quackity is literally torturing a living bomb that's . fun.#sam had Some weirdness about being a creeper hybrid bc of the destructiveness before #but it definitely gets 20x worse with the reveal of c!dream being one #cause he sees c!dream as being the embodiment of everything he fears about himself etc #as well as being u know. Terribly Evil.#hissing from creepers is a warning they're about to explode as well skks #so yeah a lot of sam's deal here is telling dream to control himself #as to not literally blow up #which is hard considering the constant stress of being u know. tortured.#anyway that's about all i think !! hope u guys enjoy :D

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