#> c!dreambur

[dreamsclock]

ggrhrhhhjk madduo hhihkhkgjgjgggghk worshiper of a false god. The divinity is a lie but the god is his

“You’re the admin,” Wilbur murmurs, his dark, dark eyes never leaving Dream’s face, “I know you know what that means. Even if nobody else does.”

And Dream does: feels the plea of the server with every breath he takes, sees the destruction behind his eyelids at night. It’s why he’s stopped sleeping. The stacks of TNT in his inventory are heavier than Atlas’s weight, all of a sudden. Like somehow, Wilbur’s death isn’t the end. It’s the beginning.

“If I pray to you when I’m dead,” Wilbur continues, a puff of smoke leaving his lips at the same time, “will you hear me?”

Yes, Dream thinks. Because he hears everything. Every plead, every desperate, desperate whisper.

“Wilbur,” he says instead, evenly. Level, like he’s not being torn apart by war and factions and the sickly cigarette smoke. “You don’t have to do this.”

Wilbur’s thin fine finger traces his jaw.

“I do, Dream. If not for me, then to ruin you.”

The smile he offers Dream is pale, arrogant, apologetic.

“I know you’ll understand.”

[the-final-sif]

[image ids in descriptions]

[sioster]

Carpenter's personal project

close ups below

Hei, @agladeofviolets !! I am your dreblr secret santa gifter :)

Sorry for posting this so closely to the deadline but I've ran into some problems during my drawing process. I hope that my gift is not dissapointing <3

Happy New Year!!

Clean version

(If it's not clear due to the sketchiness of this style, Wil is holding a chisel for wood)

[kenjo-arts]

My @dreblrtine-gift-exchange for @nothing-is-relevent-but-it-is, they are getting married for peace and love 🥺

[morgueofstories]

My favorite c!dream ships in some sort of tier-like structure(?)

Holy Trinity:

c!Dnb

c!Farfadream

c!Drunz

Runner Ups:

c!Awesamdream

c!Dreamza

c!Dreamnap

c!Awesamdrunz

c!Dreamzablade

c!Driki

c!Hannahwastaken(?) [idk their actual ship name]

c!Grianwastaken

c!Maskduo [for those who don't know it's Corpse Husband and Dream, specifically Tales of the SMP]

c!Dreambur

c!Dreamity

That's all I can think of rn, sleep is calling me

[cdroloisms]

Sixteenth Day Event Prompt:

Dream sneaks into Pogtopia to see Wilbur

woo! managed to finish this in time. kinda unedited and kinda a mess but i've missed writing these guys; i'm deeefinitely in need of more practice to get c!wilbur's voice down, but hopefully this can be the start of me writing some more fic set earlier in the timeline, LMAO.

thanks @elmhat for the awesome event!! been epic to see people's submissions and i cant wait to see this continue. ur awesome &lt;3

c!dream meets up with c!wilbur to tell him about a change to their plans | 2.3k words

---

<Dream> be there in 5 

The communicator in Wilbur’s hand casts a pale glow onto the palm of his hand, the only light he has to guide him as he paces the length of the hollowed-out room; it’s dark, zombies groaning somewhere outside, the dead singing their songs, shuffling through underbrush in the belly of the forest that surrounds Pogtopia. The air is musty in their little dugout, a claustrophobic awning of stone carved into the side of a hill, well-shadowed even during the day, the darkness swallowing the wan light of the comm in his hands now. He can barely see the floor underneath him as he walks, shuffling steps forward and back, ten paces each. He presses his hand against the wall, turning to the entrance and standing still. 

Phil always had a whole thing about light, Wilbur having grown up on lectures about light levels and spawn-proofing and the dangers of leaving cavities unlit while mining, had grilled him on different ways of keeping a room from becoming a death trap. Carpets, half-slabs, glass. How many times had he been warned of the danger presented by surprise creepers and dark corners? 

Phil had never been much of a fan of explosions. 

The main server is mostly well-lit, but the secrecy demanded by revolution effort means that the forest surrounding Pogtopia gets much darker. Not that he’s in the main ravine at the minute–with the amount of people coming and going as of late, Dream had wanted their meeting to be in a slightly more discreet location, and Wilbur had agreed. It was easy enough to slip away with Technoblade once again off to do his own thing and Tommy having run off to find Tubbo, and Wilbur had managed to arrive to the room sufficiently early before sunset to prevent himself from getting ambushed by mobs. 

He slips his hand into his coat pocket. Chekov’s gun is smooth and cold against the palm of his hand, polished wood and metal. He smooths the pads of his fingers down the barrel, over the trigger. He leaves it, pulling out a half-empty pack of cigarettes instead. His lighter provides a clearer view of the room, still empty. Dream is late. 

Dream is usually late, then again–it’s expected, really, with the way he runs around the server, always busy, always chasing down those plans of his, smart man that he is. Dream likes his secrets, his mystery, mask and armor all made to keep his cards close to his chest–Wilbur can hardly fault him for it, god no. Dream has what he wants, just as they all do, all of them tripping over themselves in their ambition, crabs in a bucket, the pledges to help the revolution coming from each one that jumps off of Schlatt’s sinking ship. He breathes in deep, smoke coating his lungs with tar. 

“Wilbur?” 

Light throws itself into the room from the entrance, rippling wildly as the fire on the end of Dream’s torch burns, casting wild shadows over his mask as he squeezes himself inside. Despite his armor, he has an uncanny knack for moving silently, cloak and hood pulled low over his head so that only the edge of the painted smile is visible. The torch is raised higher, moved left and right as Dream surveys the contents of the room around them. Wilbur smiles and tips his head towards him in greeting. 

“Dream, my man. How good to see you again.” 

“Wilbur…” Dream’s voice trails off. His head turns from one side to the other, making another anxious sweep of the room before refocusing on Wilbur, his hand moving to pull his hood down and then run his hand through his hair, having been pressed flat by the heavy fabric. The blank face of his mask stares back at Wilbur, tilting to the side like a confused dog as he shakes out his shoulders. “We…need to talk.” 

“Well? I’m all ears.” He gestures at himself, leaning against the wall of the room. Dream turns to look over his shoulder again. His armor glimmers, the light of the runes on their surface made more obvious in the dark. He bounces on the balls of his feet, reaches up once again to tug his fingers through his hair.

“It’s important.” No shit, Wilbur almost says, because for all that Dream might think that his mask hides everything he’s thinking, he’s never quite been as guarded with his body language as he might hope; the anxiety rolling off of every jerky movement is enough to set Wilbur’s teeth on edge as it is, never mind the long silences and hesitation, but he’s not stupid enough to think that that would get him anything resembling an answer. Instead, he raises an eyebrow, smiles wider, and spits out another curling thread of smoke.

“You’re an important man. I should hope so.” 

Dream pauses at that. His head does that tilt-thing again. “...alright.” 

“So? What is it? Do tell.” Has Dream decided to go against him? Perhaps. His enthusiasm with regards to their plan is more unpredictable than Wilbur had expected, sometimes perfectly willing, sometimes hesitant to agree to much of anything. But he had agreed, nonetheless, had provided the TNT that Wilbur has set sprawling underneath Manberg’s main stage; cold feet, now, would be rather unprecedented. Still, it’s Dream–very little can be discounted when Dream is in the picture, Wilbur knows. He places his hands in his pockets, thumbs hooked over the edge, pistol brushing against his fingertips. “I hate to push, but the suspense is killing me.” 

Dream takes another second, then reaches behind his head. Wilbur straightens where he’s standing, suddenly curious, as he removes his mask. 

He’s seen Dream without it only a few times–all able to be counted on one hand, this one included. The light of the torch illuminates his face from the chin up, cast shadows highlighting the contours of his skull, the contours of his cheeks, light catching under his brows. His features are delicate in a way that still surprises him, a smattering of freckles over the nose of his bridge made visible as he raises the torch higher. Dream’s eyes are a little wide, a little bloodshot. He bites his bottom lip, blinking twice in quick succession, eyes darting over the walls and then back to Wilbur’s face. 

“Schlatt called me. For a meeting earlier.” 

“Schlatt?” 

“He knows about the TNT.” 

Wilbur blinks. “Well, fuck.” 

“Look–Wilbur, look.” Dream makes a little move with his hands, shaking them out by the wrists. “It’s not–it’s not the end of. This, okay? But, he knows. I didn’t tell him. I don’t know how he found out, I don’t know if someone told him, I haven’t told anyone, but–he knows. We can still work with this.” 

“Schlatt knows?” He searches Dream’s face. He seems earnest, but god knows, but what would he have to gain from lying about this, anyway? Who else could’ve told him–Tommy? Tommy might not tell Schlatt directly, but Tommy has never been good with secrets, letting anyone and everyone in on everything with an apparent inability to control his own tongue–

“--but it’s, fine. The TNT is still there, the room is still intact. I checked some of the wiring and it doesn’t look like it’s been tampered with. Wilbur, are you listening to me?” 

Wilbur waves him off. “I’m listening. Just keep going.” 

“I don’t think we need to change anything with the TNT. Like, Schlatt’s just one guy. And his gear is shit. If he messes with the TNT, then we’ll–we’ll figure something out, but you know, I don’t even think he even, like, knows where it all is.” 

“Well, it’s kind of everywhere, so–” 

“–which is my point. It’s too deep, he’s still sitting on top of a bomb. There’s nothing–there’s nothing he can do.” Dream crosses his arms in front of his chest, still worrying his lip between his teeth. “I just thought you should know.” 

Schlatt knows. Schlatt knows–Wilbur paces against the wall of their room, ten paces forward and ten paces back. He crushes his cigarette underneath his boot, nails digging into his palm. 

“Well, Dream? Is that all?” 

Dream’s expression twists. His brows pinch together, lips pressed against each other and curling into a slight grimace, his expression giving too much away after spending so much time masked. 

“There’s…one more thing.” 

Wilbur scoffs. “Just spit it out, you prick.” 

Dream doesn’t even react to the insult, shoulders hunching up as he begins speaking. “Look…it’s just. My plans have…changed.” 

What? “I thought you just said that they didn’t?” 

“Our plans are the same. It’s just–Schlatt made me, an offer.” Dream shifts from foot to foot. He swallows, throat working, his eyes still bright and wide, pupils dilated with a thin circle of green around. Wilbur stares at him. He almost looks… “He’s got something. Important. He asked me to…join him, kind of, and he’d–give it to me.” 

“What?” 

“It’s not–look, Wilbur. Wilbur.” Dream raises his hands, palms out, a placating motion. “It’s not what you think, but I–I had to.” 

“You had to join Manberg.” 

“I’m not joining Manberg!” Dream runs his hand through his hair, eyes flashing. Wilbur is suddenly very aware of the axe on his back, the heavy plates of netherite armor. Eret, the button, it was never meant to be. “Why would I join Manberg, what–”

“So what’s this? What’s this then, Dream?” 

“Wilbur–”

“Because from where I’m standing, I have to say, it looks a lot like you’re betraying me.” 

“I am not–”

“That’s just like you. That’s just like you, isn’t it? Good ol’ Dream, mister 1000 IQ, outsmarting everyone–well-played, man, well-played! I really must congratulate you!” 

“Wilbur, can you just–”

“So what is this meeting then, Dream? Gotten cold feet, now that you’ve been discovered? You’re his little lackey now, is that it, his little lap dog–you’re gonna start another war? Put down another revolution, lead us all out to slaughter like last time, good for you, you motherfucker, is that the point of this farce? You’re here to kill me?” 

“Wilbur, can you just listen to me!” 

Dream’s voice is raised. Wilbur draws himself up to full height, Dream’s head craning up slightly as he crosses the room in front of him in two long strides. 

“What.” 

“I’m not. Joining Manberg.” Dream’s arms are crossed tightly in front of him, scowling slightly. It’s an expression not all that much unlike Tommy’s teenage petulance, a set jaw, eyes narrowed under furrowed brows. “There’s just–a peace treaty, right? I can’t just violate that. And now Schlatt knows. He’s asking for me to give him–gear.” 

“Gear, like what.” 

“Armor. Weapons, shields. Support in the incoming fight. You know, he’d already been paying Punz, the rest of the people in my country are already going to fight with him. And, whatever.” 

Wilbur rocks back on his heels. His skin itches, feeling antsy, so he goes back to pacing. “And?” 

“I meant what I said, earlier. This doesn’t change anything. The TNT is still there, we can still blow it up. It…doesn’t matter who wins the, the battle and stuff.” 

Wilbur sets his shoulders, turning back to look Dream in the eye. “Really. It doesn’t matter.” 

“It doesn’t! It doesn’t matter. We have an agreement, that’s still like–a thing.” Dream’s hands close into fists, then open again. “I don’t like this, okay? I don’t like Schlatt–” Wilbur scoffs, “--and I don’t exactly want to work with him. But I have to. I swear, I really have to.” 

“Because, what. The treaty?” 

Dream shakes his head, expression still all twisted up like he’s eaten something sour. “He’s got. A book.”

Wilbur laughs outright at that. “A book.” 

“It’s–Wilbur, I swear. It’s important. I’ll, I might–I’ll–” Dream makes a frustrated sound, teeth clenched. “I have to get it.” 

“So you’re going to work for Schlatt.” Fuck it. Wilbur pulls out another cigarette, lighting it as he speaks. “You’re going to be the emperor’s little guard dog.” 

“I’m–”

“No, no, it makes sense. It’d be too boring for you otherwise, wouldn’t it? Not enough chaos, with everyone joining the rebellion.” He gestures with the cigarette, Dream’s eyes caught on it as it moves. “You want us all to fucking destroy ourselves, keep everyone weak, Manberg, Pogtopia–you don’t need to explain yourself, man, you’re a smart guy! Even out the playing field, join whatever team has the fewest players, keep yourself above it all. Bravo, really. Bravo.” 

Dream’s jaw works, but he stays silent. Wilbur smiles at him and breathes in a long drag of smoke. 

“Well, Dream. I very much appreciate our meeting together today, really. Really! This has been…enlightening. Is that all? Or do you have any other important information to tell me.” 

“...I’ll come around in a few days to tell the others. About, switching sides and whatever. And–the TNT is still going off, alright? No matter what.” 

Wilbur rolls his eyes. “Obviously.” 

Dream stares him down, Wilbur meeting his eyes evenly. He breaks eye contact first, looking down at the floor and tossing several stacks of TNT onto the ground between them. -

“Thank you, Dream. Until next time then.” 

Dream stares at him, blinks, his eyes wide and green, before he turns away. The torch disappears into his inventory as he walks to the exit of the room, silhouetted in the doorway as he presses the mask back over his face. Wilbur reaches into his pocket, draws out Chekhov’s gun, holds his arm straight in front of him, fingers wrapped around the pistol as Dream works at the straps behind his head. He keeps it held there, pointed at Dream’s back until the man slips into the night, the blurry reflection of the lit end of his cigarette vaguely visible in the dull metal. 

He’s not sure how long it is before a twinge to his arm makes him slip the unloaded gun back into his pocket. He sighs. He needs to start making his way back; after all, he still needs to think of a birthday present. 

[supernovaa-remnant]

your post-canon utah AU makes me want to eat drywall i love them so much 😭

they mean so much to me 😭💕

oughhhh I wish my thoughts about the au weren't so incoherent 99% of the time so that I could talk about it more

it's just so... the sheer size of the world is so much bigger than the smp. this world has billions of people. yet here they are, c!dream and c!wilbur, in some random town in utah. they're the only familiar face in this giant world. (technically there are other members of the smp in this world, but it's not like c!dream and c!wilbur know this).

they don't really talk about their shared history, but it still inhabits the space around them. c!wilbur wakes to cold sheets every morning, but it doesn't change the fact that c!dream sleeps in the same bed as him every night. c!wilbur hated the fact that there was such a blatant reminder of the smp in his house. he hated when c!dream left for a week. c!dream didn't initially want to stay with c!wilbur. but, as far as he knows, there's not another familiar face in this whole entire world.

c!wilbur is in therapy by time c!dream arrives. it takes months for him to even bring up the mere idea of c!dream trying therapy. they start leaning on each other. they start caring about each other. c!wilbur hates himself for how much he wants c!dream. c!dream just wants c!wilbur to wash away the pain he doesn't admit is there. c!wilbur is practically drowning in guilt when he looks at what c!dream's become. a part of c!dream resents c!wilbur. a part of c!wilbur resents c!dream. they don't talk about it until they do. eventually, eventually they try couple's group therapy.

things get better. then they get worse. and then they get so much better.

at some point, much later, c!dream looks at c!wilbur—once again complaining about the people who don't know how to use the traffic circle even though c!wilbur can't even drive—and he thinks, I love you. at some point, c!wilbur looks at c!dream—sweat causing his hair to stick to his forehead, swollen lips tugged into a smirk—and he thinks, I love you.

they want each other—they crave each other—and c!wilbur hates himself for it. then they care about each other, and it makes c!dream want to snarl and bare his teeth. then they love each other, and they realize that they love this soft, domestic epilogue that they stumbled into years ago.

it gets better. they heal. they don't talk about everything until they do, and then those hurts get better, too. and some days it still feels like they don't really deserve this peace they've found, but they love it anyway.

and they have friends. friends who give them christmas gifts and invite them to new year's parties. friends who laugh with them and bring them baked goods.

eventually they stumble across more people from the smp. it's not fine until it is. which is kinda the big thing with this au. it eventually gets better.

[llitchilitchi]

c!dream and c!wilbur making out the night before c!dream betrays pogtopia for manberg and as they part, lips still slick with spit, he whispers 'this was never meant to be'

[cdreambur]

space au where professional pilot dream is hired for a transport flight across half the galaxy.

his employer even supplies the ship, a new model made by reputable manufacturer soot corp. and "one of only six released prototypes", as the guy proudly tells him.

dream's not complaining, considering the sleek design, strong motors, and impressive technology on the control panel.

with the first half of the pay deposited in his account and his cargo stored, dream boards, sinking into the surprisingly plush seat of the captain's chair.

flipping the switch to activate the controls, he startles when a sudden light flickers to life on his right, bathing the cockpit in a bright silver blue glow.

when dream turns to it, a face is staring back, and it's only now that he realizes that he's looking at a hologram.

"hi, i'm wil, your assistant navigator." the hologram says before smiling brightly at dream.

it takes the form of a young man, probably around dream's age, with wild brown curls, warm eyes, freckled cheeks, and a simple black sweater.

dream just blinks at it, righting himself in his chair as wil explains, "i've already received the coordinates to your destination. do you want me to tell you and let you figure out the route or should i guide you step by step?"

his head is spinning, surprised that the artificial intelligence already knows where to go when dream didn't get more than an "a small, relatively populous planet in the outer ring" from his employer. though this might explain why he didn't go into detail about it.

he clears his throat, finally smiling back at wil.

"i'd appreciate it if you tell me."

finally starting the motors, he listens as wil rattles off the coordinates, already mapping out the best way in his head. it isn't an area he's been in before, but he's visited planets close to it, and while it's a relatively long trip of around a week, it's also not a very complicated one.

when he voices the thought, wil agrees, right before rambling about all the reasons why the region is a lesser visited part of the galaxy and how that's good for them.

they're in hyperspace already when the talking eventually stops, wil blinking up at dream.

"wait. what the fuck is your name?"

the question is so blunt and out of the blue that dream can't stop himself from snorting, finally introducing himself. he tells wil a bit about his home planet, about his family, and how he came to be a pilot.

and it's nice.

the artificial intelligence is a surprisingly good listener, with a great sense of humor and a seemingly endless supply of little jokes and quips.

dream thinks he's going to enjoy the week of travel.

-

the days pass way too quickly. dream spends almost all of his time in the cockpit, talking to wil, who he's learned a lot about.

wil goes by he, and he likes to sing. he's sarcastic and enjoys telling stories. he knows a lot about the universe and loves nothing more than talking about it.

and dream's getting way too attached to an artificial intelligence bound to a ship that doesn't belong to him.

it doesn't get better when they reach the orbit of their destination.

because it definitely doesn't look like the planet dream's employer described to him.

sure, it's in the outer ring. but it's not small, and not populous either. in fact, it seems as if no one lives on the giant green planet.

"are you sure this is the right place?" he asks wil, doubtful as he looks down at the hilly surface.

"yes." wil answers softly, and there's something in his voice that dream can't quite place.

he pushes it to the back of his mind when the hologram starts directing him to the landing site.

it's... weird.

the place where they finally touch down is a flat area covered in green stems dream has never seen before, close to a majestic mansion that reminds dream of the strange, intricate glass structures you can find on diare.

something doesn't feel right, and dream voices as much to wil.

"i'm sorry." the hologram replies.

dream whips around to him, finding wil unable to meet his eyes and his expression hidden behind his disheveled curls.

"what do you mean?"

and when he doesn't get a response, "wil, what the fuck do you mean?"

wil swallows.

"if you want answers, go to room 16. and for the the small chance that someone asks why you're there, tell them you followed hullar's orders."

then, he flickers one last time before disappearing.

and dream is left staring at the console, torn between finding out what's going on and leaving to complete his job.

as always, his curiosity wins in the end.

he crosses the short distance between the ship and the house, surprised when he finds the door unlocked. no alarm bells start ringing when he steps into a grand foyer, and there aren't any people either. the whole building seems empty and unprotected, but there's a creepy air hanging over it that doesn't quite allow dream to relax.

two doors lead further into the mansion, and dream picks the left one at random, peeking inside to find a long corridor with numbered doors, all of them a strange off-white color.

the numbers start with two though, so he closes it again, walking over to the other door.

the hallway that lies behind it looks identical to the first one, but this time, the numbers start with zero and thus seem more promising to dream.

he closes the door behind him when he enters the deserted corridor, taking a slow, deep breath before he starts walking.

the even numbers are on the left side, and room number 16 is almost at the end of the hallway, looking just like the rest of it.

dream's hand shakes a little when he reaches for the handle, but he pushes it open without any hesitation.

on the other side stands wil.

he looks exactly like he did on the ship; messy curls, light brown eyes, smooth skin, a black sweater.

but this time, he's real. a person made of flesh and blood, just like dream.

dream doesn't know if he wants to punch or hug him.

"what the hell?" he chokes out as the door silently shuts behind him.

wil smiles sheepishly at him before ducking his head, curls falling into his face in the way dream has seen so often in the last week.

"hey dream." he whispers, and dream almost flinches at the sound of his voice, so similar and yet so different from the slightly distorted version of it he's heard over the last few days.

"what the hell." dream repeats, softer and a little more composed. he straightens his shoulders, letting out a deep sigh as he crosses his arms.

"care to explain?"

it comes out a bit more demanding than he wanted to, but in his defence, this is probably the strangest situation he's ever been in and he doesn't quite know how to handle it.

wil doesn't seem to take offense, although he does shrink a little bit further into himself.

"i'm really sorry." he apologizes again, tone the same as when he said it on the ship. but this time, he doesn't disappear after, instead continuing, "my name is wilbur, wilbur soot."

dream's arms fall to his side at that, the name registering immediately. however, he doesn't get the chance to think about it as wil goes on with his explanation.

"my father is the founder and chief engineer of soot corp., and as you may know, they're the leading company on the market when it comes to spaceships. with that comes a lot of envy and a bunch of very ambitious rivals."

wil finally looks up at him, a soft, sad smile curling the corners of his mouth.

"i'm my father's only child. and people know that hurting me would hurt him. so he keeps me here, keeps me safe. but i don't want to live in a golden cage anymore."

his expression shifts, something so sweet and hopeful in his eyes that dream has to hold himself back from pulling wil into his arms.

"i wanna see the universe. i wanna see the planets and the stars and the galaxies i've only ever read about. i wanna be free."

and dream knows how this is going to end, knows what he's going to ask before he actually does.

"can you take me with you?"

and how, how is dream supposed to say no to someone with so much wonder twinkling in their eyes, someone with so much passion and curiosity for what the universe has to offer.

he nods.

the smile that takes over wil's face is blinding and steals dream's breath for a moment. he basks in it, just for a small second, before he reciprocates it, gesturing towards the door.

wil nods, and together, they leave the room, and then the hallway, and then the house.

there are still no people, still no alarm bells, but the creepy atmosphere seems to disappear in wil's presence, leaving nothing but a content warmth in dream's chest.

it doesn't take them long to reach the ship, and dream sinks into the captain's chair with a satisfied sigh, something that makes wil giggle from where he's tucked himself into the co-pilot seat.

starting the controls, he expects hologram wil to come back to life, but the spot where he usually appeared stays empty.

"huh?" dream mutters to himself before turning to wil.

"where's the artificial intelligence? even if i found you, it should still be here."

wil's sheepish grin returns.

"you weren't talking to an artificial intelligence. you were talking to me. to get away, i had to find a way to contact someone, and since my father developed these prototypes here, i had the chance to secretly build in a video messenger."

dream blinks, stunned.

"so... everything hologram wil said and did was... you? it was real?"

wil nods, and something in dream settles at that confirmation.

because it's strange. theoretically, they only met twenty minutes ago. but dream already knows how wil sounds when he's tired and how much he loves constellations and what his favorite food is. and in turn, wil already knows who dream's best friends are and which planets he likes visiting the most and which ships he would love to fly.

wil is real, and he's here, and he's going to stay.

dream grins to himself when he starts the motors and lifts off, leaving the planet behind and entering space in no time.

stabilizing them somewhere where they're not going to be in the way of other ships, he turns to wil, planning to talk about their next moves.

he's stopped by the sight of wil curled up in the chair, knees pulled up to his chest as he looks out the window, sparkles in his eyes and the softest smile imaginable on his face as he watches the stars.

dream chuckles, quietly making a promise to himself.

he's going to show wil the universe.

[the-final-sif]

I love your cdreamza idea like i need a fic it's so funny. Cfundy's going to find out his exfiance make out with his dad and cry to ho to his grandpa house and find cdream in his bed and cdream would just jump out the window leaving him alone to have a talk with his family and then he goes "there's someone in this family who hasn't Kissed My ex?!" And ctechno resplies "yes, you"

c!Techno fucking WOULD say that too. You understand me anon.

[sioster]

Hei, @supernovaa-remnant I think your madduo plushies are an invasive species

[thal-chandra]

This drawing somehow made us come to the conclusion that the Egg is homophobic. And no, I dont know what possessed me to draw c!Dreambur in the year 2023.

I guess it's a good time to talk about the "not a polycule" thing ? Because it's complicated. They're not dating, those two, they have that weird relation™

Reblogs >> likes

Anyways, as Always, the Egged au is scared with @purp-man , follow them <3

[morgueofstories]

c!Dream ship color dynamics

Decided to mess around on fabrecolor.com and see what color palettes different c!dream ships are that I could remember off the top of my head

(quality is probably trash as these are screenshots from my phone)

Link to website

[cdroloisms]

paces around the room

[supernovaa-remnant]

Sixteenth Day Event Prompt:

Ghostbur confronts Dream on Doomsday

Baptise Your Anger

Dream & Ghostbur | Gen | 1.4k words | Hurt No Comfort @sixteenth-day-event

Dream’s not sure how to feel about Ghostbur. Whenever he’s around the ghost, his thoughts are filled with the stench of cigarette smoke and the feeling of knuckles brushing against his own. For all that everyone insists Ghosbur is different from Wilbur—or Alivebur, as everyone’s taken to calling him—all Dream can see are the similarities. Sure, Ghosbur is more naive and trusting, but he’s still Wilbur. He still has the near-inhuman ability to spin simple words into poetic prose, and he still has the same smile and the same laugh and the same anxiety tells of biting lips and tugging on sleeves. He still has the same self loathing, too, and though Ghostbur tries desperately to push all of that onto the image of Alivebur in his mind, Dream can tell the ghost still harbors hate for himself as he is. 

That’s one difference between the two; Dream can read Ghostbur much easier than he could ever hope to be able to read Wilbur. 

But even with that, Ghostbur is far more similar to Wilbur than anyone cares to see. His fingers still feel the same when they curl around the edges of Dream’s mask, a silent question of May I? lingering in the air before Dream folds and nods his head. (Because Dream will always, inevitably, bend to the will of Wilbur Soot, regardless of which name the man uses to call himself). His lips feel the same, too, whenever they brush against the back of Dream’s hands or dust over the freckles on Dream’s cheeks. 

And yet, even with the similarities, it’s undeniable that there are differences. Ghostbur is like Wilbur in many ways, but only in the way an echoed phrase is like the original words spoken. So, Dream’s not sure how to feel about Ghostbur. 

He’s especially not sure how to feel, now, watching as the tears falling from desaturated eyes burn the ghost. 

He’s especially not sure how to feel about the look of utter betrayal that paints over the ghost’s face. 

“How could you?!” Ghostbur cries, his words accented by the sob that shuddered through his body afterwards. 

Dream sighs; he’d been hoping to avoid this confrontation. 

“I don’t know why you’re surprised, Ghostbur,” Dream says. “It’s not like I’ve hidden my dislike of L’manburg from you.” 

“But–” the ghost starts, pausing to try in vain to wipe his tears. Dream tries to suppress his wince as he watches the tears burn the ghost’s hands, but he still finds himself instinctively reaching out to his inventory to look for a healing potion. “But I liked L’manburg,” Ghostbur finishes quietly. 

Confusion washes over Dream. 

“Why would that affect my actions?” 

Ghostbur looks somehow more upset at his words. 

“Because I thought you cared about me,” he says, and Dream desperately tries to ignore the way his words make his heart squeeze. “It wasn’t about whether or not you liked L’manburg! I thought Phil cared enough about me to not destroy my home. I thought you cared enough not to.”

Dream grabs the healing potion. He gets closer to Ghostbur, internally sighing with relief when the ghost doesn’t back away, and offers the potion. Ghostbur takes it with mumbled words that might have been a thanks but also could have been an insult. Dream pays it no mind, though, instead focusing on softly wiping away the remaining tears whilst Ghostbur drinks the shimmering pink liquid. Dream places a hand on Ghostbur’s chest to keep him stable, uncaring of the vibrant blue that will no doubt stain his glove. Ghostbur doesn’t seem to mind the contact, wrapping a pale hand around Dream’s wrist whilst Dream tries to not think about the lack of a heartbeat under his palm. 

“Do you really think L’manburg was that good?”

“Of course I do!” 

“Even though Alivebur made it? Aren’t you always talking about how bad Alivebur was?” 

A troubled look passes over Ghostbur’s face for a moment, and Dream briefly wonders if this is when he’s going to forget this conversation.

“Bad people can make good things sometimes,” Ghostbur says. “And Tommy helped make it, too.” Dream stiffens at the mention of Tommy, but Ghostbur continues as if he doesn’t notice Dream’s reaction. “Besides, you cared about Alivebur. I don’t understand why you did, but you must have had a reason, so he couldn’t have been all bad.”

Dream inhales sharply. He tells himself that one of these days Ghostbur’s words will stop having such an effect on him, but he knows he’s just lying to himself. 

“Who said I cared about Alivebur?” He asks, trying to save face. He doesn’t know why he’s trying so hard, especially when Ghostbur is bound to forget this encounter anyway, but maybe he’s trying to convince himself more than he’s trying to convince the ghost. 

“Who said I cared about you?” He adds for good measure. 

“But you said–” 

“Does it matter what I said? Does any of this matter? You’re going to forget it all anyway like you always do,” Dream says, and he internally scolds himself for being unable to fully remove the accusatory tone. 

Ghostbur squeezes Dream’s wrist in what may be an attempt at a comforting gesture. 

“I’m sorry I’m so forgetful,” he says. “I really really am. And I know that I always forget the bad things so I might have a skewed perception of the world, but I remember the good things. And I remember that you care about me. And I remember that I love you.” 

Dream tries to pull back at the words, but Ghostbur tightens his grip. 

“And I don’t just remember Alivebur’s love for you, either, as twisted as it may have been,” Ghostbur continues, “I remember my love for you, because I’m not Alivebur. And this love is mine. Which is why I’m so hurt that you’d do such a thing to me. Because I can still remember the fondness in your eyes when you look at me—you never were good at hiding your expressions without your mask.” 

Dream hisses, frantically putting up walls in his mind because he has a plan to complete and a path to walk down as he’s guided by hands that smell of cigarette smoke. He’s going down hand in unlovable hand by the one who gave him this role, and attachments are a weakness he can’t afford.

“Why would I ever love you?” He asks, venom filling his tone. Ghostbur didn’t accuse you of love, a voice in the back of his mind says, you’re revealing your hand by claiming he did. But the voice doesn’t matter, now when all Dream can think about is a nest that may have one egg left after all, an egg that can’t be there if he’s to continue with the plan. “I don’t care about anything, Ghostbur! Least of all you!” 

Ghostbur pulls back with a whine. “You’re lying,” he says. “I know you are, but that doesn’t make it hurt less.”

“How would you know if I’m lying? All you have are fragments of memory from someone you could never hope to compare to! You could’ve died again when I was blowing up L’manburg, and I wouldn’t have cared! I wouldn’t have even noticed.” Dream can barely hear the words he’s saying, just letting them tumble out of his mouth in hopes something will cut whatever thread stretches between him and Ghostbur. 

“Stop lying!” Ghostbur’s turning intangible in his distress, tears burning him yet again, but this time Dream forcibly locks away any part of him that aches at the sight. “Why are you lying?!” 

“Don’t you get it, Ghostbur? I want you to forget this. I want to taint every happy memory you have of me so you can forget about every delusion of care between us.” 

A stricken look passes over Ghostbur’s face, but despite it all he manages to find more words to make Dream bleed. “It’s not the end of the world if someone cares about you, Dream. You don’t have to be what Alivebur made you.”

“Yes I do,” Dream says, and then he walks away, not stopping until the sobs behind him fully fade into the distance.

[llitchilitchi]

what if c!wilbur and c!dream went on that pizza date instead of warring over lmanburn

what then