Aqua Utopia｜海の底で記憶を紡ぐ
izzy's playlists!
h
noise dept.
No title available
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occasionally subtle
Show & Tell
sheepfilms
Mike Driver
almost home
ojovivo
Peter Solarz
JVL
Sade Olutola
🪼
NASA
KIROKAZE
RMH
art blog(derogatory)
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Kuwait
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Slovenia
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
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seen from France
seen from United Kingdom
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Malaysia
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seen from Canada
@goopyhumanguy
(OOC Info will be under the cut :3 [Jelka I'm stealing your format >:D])
Jester has told me to make an account on this platform so that I can have, as he put it, "enrichment". I don't know what that means, but it sounds fun, like an adventure! I like adventures :D
@k-jacobs-hn do you think you could help me convince Jester to put a ball pit into the casino?
Oh my god I actually remembered how to log into this account. Hush RP is back on the menu boys (barely cause I'm only sorta here but still!)
...Chaos? Where... are we?
whats your favorite slime tutorial? i really like book of slime Mormon tutorial!
I've never heard of that one! I'm a big fan of
"How To Make The BEST FLUFFY SLIME! DIY Cotton Candy Slime! Slime Tutorial For Beginners!"
because it tastes the best :)
goop goopy gop goop? go goop goppy goop goo. gooby goop go gooppy gop go goo, go goopy gopp.
That is highly offensive.
How could you say that about my cooking :(
I didn’t know that you cooked! (I didn’t realize that they make kitchen appliances small enough).😮
What is your favorite recipe? I’ve been looking to learn more.
I love to cook! My favorite recipe is slime :D
But my second favorite is probably Consommé.
Jester talked to me about "not scaring the customers" again.
Do people not like my bones :)
goop goopy gop goop? go goop goppy goop goo. gooby goop go gooppy gop go goo, go goopy gopp.
That is highly offensive.
How could you say that about my cooking :(
Have I mentioned my hate of heroes before?
Yes?
Well you're hearing it again. I hate them
Stop flirting with me then. It was weird.
ok roll the intro
*Dream lets out an uncharacteristically girlish shriek when he rounds a bend of the sewer’s tunnel to find himself accosted by the reporter Karl Jacobs and a small camera crew.
He turns and dashes down another bend, with a tight yank on Siren’s chains. Half pulling the villain forced to hobble after him.*
not fast enough green boi
*standing with a mic to dream's face*
Green lightning ripples up his body. Snarling like a cornered animal Dream whirls to lunge at Karl’s throat. The microphone is knocked aside, disappearing into the cold, dark water that swirls around their feet as Dream slams Karl up against the wall of the tunnel. The impact an echoing bang. Dream’s second hand coming up to press against his Karl’s mouth.
Siren’s chains dropped—entirely forgotten in the moment.
Dream leans forward against the reporter in his grasp, his voice a hateful whisper;
“I would think very carefully about your position right now Mr. Jacobs. When I remove my hand you are going to command your people to destroy their equipment this moment—or trust, there will be consequences; And if I go down, if Red Chaos dies, because of your stupidity I will hunt down each one of you and destroy you. Am I making myself clear?”
Siren slowly backs away, his eyes widened with a slight surprise. Not surprised about the actions, death he did the same thing to Siren himself. But no, he was surprised at who.
Siren knew the heroes had a distaste for the news, he had watched them on the occasional times he had nothing to watch but the city's news channel. But this? This was something raw, pure unfiltered anger and rage and it almost... Exited the villain, knowing that even a hero can break eventually.
He paused in his movements, tilting his head to the side, a smug grin on his face. Whether the grin on his face was visible or not didn't matter, because for once, it actually met his eyes, a glimmer of something unrecognisable shining in his eyes.
"Not very hero-like Dream"
He spoke in that sing-song way that pissed off Dream so much, taking some of Dream's attention off of the journalist. He was about halfway down the way the two had just walked a few minutes ago. Good. that gave him a headstart.
The place reeks. Karl puts his sleeve to his nose. Entirely unhelpful as the fabric seems to give off the same odor, only tenfold.
Diverting focus back to his escape, the exit only five steps away. Four. Three.
Karl's face skids against the slimy ground, his feet betraying him before a hand grasps him again and oh there he goes, pushed against the wall. Again. The green smile making its reappearance in his peripheral.
The air prickes as tension paints the silence in the sewer, the only sound Karl's panting. Until it isn't.
click
Twin gazes move slowly to a tiny device in the journalist's hand hanging limply but seemingly not helplessly. It was the size of an apple. Well actually, the recorder was definitely a little smaller than an apple.
Karl tries to stiffen a smile. Dream doesnt speak this time. That's alright. Karl got plenty already.
He flips the tech around in a smooth motion. On its backside a blinking red button under an open glass case. Upon closer inspection, the edge of it seemed to be charred. There was no time for that though.
His finger hovers over the button, moved from its previous placement on the black recording button. "Bad choice."
He wonders what Dream's next ones will be, his other hand featherlight on the open skin between the glove and sleeve of the hand hoisting him up.
Wilbur stands awkwardly, he wanted to escape, of course he did. This had honestly been one of his worst experiences ever. But, he couldn't just leave Karl. Could he? Would his conscience, however fragmented, allow him to leave? He couldn't see fully what was happening between the two. He thought about Tommy, he wanted to get back to him. Wanted to tell him everything and beg him not to leave, beg him not to decide that Wilbur wasn't worth it.
He sighed and began to step forward, walking up behind Dream who was way too focused on the journalist. He lifted his arms and dropped them around the hero's neck, pulling them back just enough for the chain connecting Wilbur's hands together to press against the hero's neck. He leaned forward slightly, his breath almost warm against the others ear as he spoke.
"don't make me do this."
Wrong—this is all wrong some tiny voice whispers at the back of his mind. But it—and the slime’s burbling whispers are easily ignored for the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears.
Dream feels almost outside of his own body. Like he’s watching the violence carried out by a stranger. But of course he isn’t.
The show of force had been enough to set the other photographers fleeing. Equipment smashed and submerged. Crushed and splintered under Dream’s feet at every opportunity.
The reporter, crawling, lurches again for the exit. Like a snake Dream thinks viciously, the heel of his boot coming down against the small of his back. Wriggling like a worm beneath his foot.
“Stop it! You’re being mean!” Tiny, gooey hands cling and tug desperately at his hair. “I said stop!”
Dream doesn’t stop. He hauls Karl Jacobs back up against the wall to face him once again.
For a long moment they stare at one another. The reporter’s panting breath the only sound.
“Click”
Dream goes stiff with horror at the sight of the device clutched in the reporter’s other hand.
“Bad choice.”
There’s the flicker of a smile as Karl Jacob’s finger hovers over a second, red button.
A taser, Dream tells himself. It’s only a taser. Dream is well trained enough to deflect a taser. Control—I’m still in control. He tells himself, a little desperately.
Except… Dream pauses. His stomach dropping with doubt at the look on the journalist’s face.
Absently, he feels the reporter’s hand come up to rest, gently, against the skin of his wrist.
“I can still pay you back for the equipment” he murmurs finally, “—but only if I can trust you to keep quiet about all of this.”
Trust that I can’t afford to give he thinks morosely as he reaches for the recorder.
Yet before his fingers can brush against it…
—Dream jerks at the feeling of cold metal pressed across his throat. The back of his neck prickles. His senses gone momentarily haywire in the contrast of a presence—another warm body that looms against his back.
"don't make me do this."
It’s Siren’s voice.
Shock, relief, then disbelief.
Dream would’ve sworn that the man had left already. Had seen him leave, he’d thought; And the sight had been a growing pit in his stomach that grew heavier with every second that ticked by.
Yet—impossibly—there was his salvation. Tommy’s salvation.
He twists ineffectually to see the other, the chain tightens briefly in warning. He’s tugged backwards. Stumbling against the chest of the taller man. He goes with him pliantly. Karl Jacobs sliding back down the wall as Dream’s grip slips away.
I should fight back, Dream thinks absently. He knows this. Yet somehow the energy eludes him. The all-consuming panic and rage that had so animated him moments before bleeding dry to give way to numb exhaustion.
“We’re both going to die,” he finds himself complaining. Numbly staring at the reporter whom he’s just allowed to slip away from his grasp. “When he publishes the story. They’ll realize that I broke you out..”
His voice sounds petulant, even to his own ears, and he slumps in the other’s grip.
Wilbur is forced to adjust his stance as he pulls Dream back and the hero falls back against him. He doesn't seem to react like you'd expect to Dreams words, he's almost... Content maybe? He pauses for a moment and lets out a laugh, a maniac sort of noise, not quite mocking but underlined with something that makes Dream think that Wilbur knows something that he doesn't
"Do you really think there's a world where our story doesn't end in death"
It's phrased like it's almost a question that Wilbur knows the answer to, like he's testing the hero, that if he chooses the right answer they'll wake up, that maybe this was all a dream and they'd wake up and all this has gone away, like Wilbur wasn't going to be executed and dream was still at home with his brother like nothing ever happened
"It doesn't matter when, or how, this isn't some fairy story hero. We die. People die. And the faster you except that the easier it'll be"
He doesn't know if he believes that himself, but he says it anyway, because what else is there to say? That he wishes he was anywhere but here, that he wishes he was with his family?
He's silent for a moment, his eyes closed in some mock peace before he frowns, does he really want to just accept this reality, that they're just going to give up and wait for the inevitable relief of death?
"get up."
He hisses at dream, pulling the chains that were barley choking the hero anymore over his head and pushing him up.
"we are getting out of here"
Dream stumbles in the sloshing water as Siren gives him a short shove forward. He regains his balance quickly.
There’s no point in arguing with the villain. Not when the man will, otherwise, seemingly cooperate. So Dream only nods. Eying the end of the chain again, considering.
“It’s this way,” he murmurs—shoving his hands into his pockets instead; He inclines with his head to gesture towards the direction that they’re meant to go.
But he pauses with his eyes locked on Karl Jacobs
“And what about him?” Dream asks.
Wilbur watches as Dream stumbles into the water, splashing the villain in his attempt to stay upright and making Wilbur's already water soaked clothes even more saturated with the liquid.
He looks almost unimpressed with Dreams nonexistent attempt to fight back, he squints at dreams covered face, hoping to find anything to tell him that the hero is pulling him into a trap. He found nothing.
Dream looked... Pathetic almost. Well, more than usual, like a particularly wet cat. He's almost hunched over, pulling into himself in a way Wilbur hadn't seen him do before, he barely notices when Dream gestured in the vague direction he assumes that is their way out because he's just staring at the hero like he was a particularly interesting bug he wasn't sure he wanted to keep or squish under his heal.
He finally pulls himself away from staring at Dream to put his attention on Karl. He stares unblinkingly then gives the journalist a look that equates to 'i know what you do and who you do. Don't test me'. Before tilting his head back to Dream
"He's a journalist. He knows when it's in his best interest to not talk"
He pauses for a moment, like he's going to add to that. But he doesn't.
"get these chains off me."
Dream feels absurdly like a child again, standing next to the villain. The unspoken threat on the journalist’s life unchallenged.
It feels so easy, too easy, to step aside and let the other make things right.
And Dream certainly doesn’t have a better idea of what to do with him.
Three men stand in a moment of silence, before Siren turns back glaring, “get these chains off me.”
Dream twitches at the command. The audacity of this man, to give him orders. Dream tries to cling to that anger. Holding desperately whatever shred remains of his tattered pride.
‘As if there were further to fall.’
Dream suddenly feels like screaming.
But he knows that if he begins to scream that he won’t stop until his lungs are empty.
Part of him wants to hurt Wilbur for that.
Even as another part wanted to follow: Fall back into rhythms of childhood. A time when adults promised safety for his blind obedience. (That safety had never meant safe, not truly. It just hurt less to pretend).
So Dream leans into his anger, yet still he follows. Ruminating on his wrath like a man coaxing smoldering embers to burn. Dream reaches for the rage to fill his heart and guide his movements.
He stalks up to his prisoner, bristling. Even as he fumbles with the key.
Dream doesn’t need to fake the tenseness of his shoulders. His fingers curl in white-knuckled agony as the XD-mark begins to pulse. Burning like the brand were pressed afresh against his skin.
The pain never makes him break his stride. Dream is a man above weakness.
He isn’t gentle when he grasps Siren’s wrists. Nor when he twists the key hard into lock, tumblers clicking as the lock comes unlatched. The chains unwind and fall away, like the uncoiling of some heavy snake; slipping to vanish into dark water with a heavy splash.
Wilbur tilts his head as he watches Dream unlock the chains wrapped around his wrists. He is almost surprised when he does so, the villain so used to the fight back from the hero unless his power is used. As he spoke he could almost feel the hum of his power manifesting in the back of his throat, suffocated by the power damper to the point it almost feels that he's swallowing glass as he speaks. Still, he keeps his voice steadily.
He can feel as the hero's hands almost dig into his own as he frees Wilbur's hands, how he flinches as the chains fall to the ground with a splash or how he steps backwards like Wilbur was about to lift his hands and wrap them around Dreams neck. He felt like it, felt like killing him and leaving the body to rot like every so-called 'hero' deserved. But... He didn't.
Wilbur let out a breath as the weight on his wrists disappears, a sigh of relief that morphs into a hiss of pain as his calloused thumb rubs against the lacerations and abrasions caused by the chains. A rare moment of weakness he allowed himself before he pulled his (thankfully not wet yet) sleeves down. It was a problem for later. Not something he can worry about now.
Wilbur lifted his head, his eyes meeting Dreams and never wavering as he spoke
"What now. Do you even have a plan? Or are you just winging it"
It's almost a genuine question... Almost. More of a demand, seeking the knowledge that Dream was so obviously keeping from him. That last sentence was full of snark as well, mocking the hero even despite their current situation
“We’re meeting a secure rendezvous point”
Dream tells him as he turns. Then, more quietly—
“I wanted to talk to you a little first. Before the others get there.”
Wilbur pauses. Who is working with Dream, the syndicate? Would they do that? Would Dream do that? Did they have something Dream wanted? Or was this just an over-elaborate plan to play with Wilbur, dangle his freedom over his head before they kill him. It hurt Wilbur's head to think about it.
So he didn't.
He instead focused on the words the hero said next. 'I want to talk to you'. Huh. Talk about what? Red maybe?
"about what?"
He tilted his head as he spoke, curious about Dreams intentions
Dream urges the other along. Walking faster, away from the prying ears of Karl Jacobs, and Dream murmurs.
“family stuff.”
He doesn’t dare look back to Siren when he says it. Staring inexorably towards the direction of their path forward as they walk.
Wilbur follows the other, using larger strides to keep up with Dream as they moved further and further away from Karl. He pauses as Dream spoke
"family stuff."
Family stuff? What's that supposed to mean? About Red? Tommy? He's sick of this cryptic shit. He wants answers more than anything
Dream can feel the villain watching him out of his periphery for several long minutes. Dream stubbornly ignores the man, and the questions that must be dangling at the tip of the other’s tongue. Dream only hurries Wilbur along, his demeanor an impartial façade
...
Silence.
Nothing.
It pissed Wilbur off, the way Dream drops information and then refuses to elaborate on anything. He wants to just grab the hero by his shoulders and shake him until he does something
"Dream."
Nothing.
"Dream!"
He hisses the hero's name, almost sounding like a child trying to get its parents attention.
"you can't just tell me something and not elaborate."
Silence.
He pushed the other, attempting to elicit any shred of information or reaction from the hero
"For fucks sake, just talk to me"
He sounds desperate.
Dream, confused, does finally chance a look at the other when he hears the note of desperation in Wilbur’s voice. He’d assumed that the villain was just trying to be annoying.
“About what?” He asks. Replaying the conversation in his mind and coming up blank.
"What. What?!"
He almost growls the word. And it clicks. Dream is confused. Like actually, genuinely confused. And that frustrates him more than anything.
"where do I even start? The fact that I have no idea where we are going, or who we are meeting. Or maybe. You know. The fact that you tell me we need to talk about 'family stuff' and don't elaborate. Family stuff means a lot of things. Are we talking about Red here? Your family? My family? I don't know because you don't explain"
He's barely holding his frustration back, speaking quickly, his hands moving animatedly the way they would when Wilbur talked about something that interested him.
"If you say we talk. We talk. None of this silent, stoic bullshit or whatever you have going on"
Dream fully stops walking at that point. Staring at Siren as if he’s grown another head.
“Yes?” He answered. He was answering the family question, Dream thinks. But Wilbur had come at him with a lot at once so maybe those ones weren’t what Wilbur had meant.
“I was waiting until we got to a secure location—.” Dream starts, but pauses as he senses his conversation partner’s mounting rage. “I mean— which of the questions were you trying to ask?”
Wilbur pauses, taking a good few seconds just to stare at the other. Was he being unreasonable in this situation? He sighed.
"just-"
He pinched the top of his nose, trying to calm himself. Dream is at least attempting to meet him in the middle.
"which question are you more likely to answer"
The underground heavy air sticks to his clothes, his skin, everything. And though it can't reach into his brain, Karl swears its making his train of thought malfunction.
He sticks to the shadows, stretching the chains now on his hands-borrowed from Siren -as much as he can to keep a safe distance from the other two as they trudge and argue along. Moreover argue. He's pretty sure the empty peanuts packet drifting along sewage water is making faster travel time than them.
He flicks the glass casing of the button open and shut, straining to hear the aggressive whispering going on up ahead. Trying to piece it together with the flashes he's receiving from Dream.
His breathing quickens. No. One foot in front of the other. One. Two. Come on. Karl wants to groan. He's holding on to too many. They've told him, he knows. Just as he knows he's not going to press the button. Karl knows that too and so does Wilbur.
Seriously, threatening him with that look. Does Wilbur think they're in high school?
But it worked. If there's one weapon Wilbur can wield. And Karl Jacobs sticks to Dream's heel like a puppy. (Is this how red chaos lives?)
He'll hold onto the universe, as many as it takes before it gets to harm them. In this volcano of a sewer the rings in his pocket burn like the sun.
Up ahead the hero and villain halt. Karl fidgets with his device.
Open.
"Fanily stuff--" Two main paths. Pause. Talk. Tell- more words on the tip of the tongue- or
Close.
Dream turns abruptly, pulling Karl along. Ah, the second choice then. This one was easier than the other ideas the hero contemplated. Less bloody too. And if Karl has to see one more flash with crunching bones-
"Dream!" Siren hisses. Karl has half a mind to press the recording button again. He tries to catch bits and pieces. Wilbur wants to know something about family. His or Dream's? Karl tries looking deeper but its too far a decision for him to see. But wait-
Open.
Fire. Family. Towards the Pit, the blood entrance. Enforcers, in hoardes.
Or?
A purple band on a ring finger. Spinning. Around and around. Manhole cover, thrown open. Leaping into the beast's mouth. Hand and heart aflame A tracking device in the other. Spinning. Stop.
Close.
Darkness. Karl sputters, his grip on the device almost shattering as the white is fading and his senses returning. He's coming. Oh god he's coming.
Karl turns his focus back up. How much are these going to stare at each other?
Open.
One step forward. Two. Or-
Close.
"404 been gone a long while huh." Karl mutters to himself just as Dream lets out a "Yes?"
Yes? Dream's family? Karl has never heard of any mention of Dream's family. He racks his brain for the flashes from Red Chaos- unless...the only old person he is seemingly to close with is the man Sapnap just chose Karl above.
His breathing quickens again. Oh god. Karl has been in this forsaken place for how long? This isn't even his best hoodie. He has half a mind to ask Wilbur to fix his hair- if he's going to meet his future in-law. Maybe he could check his reflection in a nearby Pringles can?
Open.
Close.
Open.
A deer, but not a fawn. Pouncing, teeth bared. Antlers like daggers. The boar, unassuming, vulnerable. A blade lunging to kill.
Another blade. An axe.
Meeting its kind up. Up. A crow caws-
Blood, filthy and crimson. A hand of bones and rot flinging Karl out of the flash into Red Chaos' mind.
Close.
Karl stumbles, mud and whatever disease-ridden liquid sloshing onto him. How good is a demon smell anyway?
Its nothing. He's fine. Walk on. Turn back. Or
"Jacobs?" Dream calls out warily.
"What was that?" Karl sputters. The hand, it was an amount of power he's never come across before. "Red Chaos- he- would never-" An axe in the hand of the Hero that never kills. "Not anymore." He mumbles as footsteps approach.
Open.
Crooning. Twisting, wretched horns. A hand on- a hand on his chin, where it certainly doesn't belong anymore. Fall into it, lean.
Or- He moves forward. Spits. The hands, the horns, angry now, move closer.
"No!" Karl screams.
Smash.
The recorder plummets. He hears a crack. Oh. His company won't like that. Karl is on his knees now, wet till his waist. When did that happen?
The footsteps stop in front of him.
Wilbur stops when he hears the scream, followed by the sound of the recorder crash to the ground.
...what?
He turns towards the noise and reaches for the weapon on himself that he knows is long gone, taken from him when he was imprisoned. He silently cursed dream out for that, he was already vulnerable enough right now after everything, not even able to access his powers.
He softens slightly when he realises who it was, just slightly, not enough to be noticeable.
"You."
He hisses out. He was so tempted to- no. Not now. He doesn't have time for anything but getting out of here, plus that would be a pain to explain to jester.
He was so close to prying something out of dream, he knows it. He can feel how he was finally peeling back some of Dreams outside defences, but no. He just hand to be interrupted. Breath Siren. This is not the time to start more things, even if he deserves it-
No.
Breath.
He doesn't step forward to check on the other. He looks at Dream expectantly however, like the hero would know what to do.
"You should help him," comes the small voice from Dream's hoodie. "Mr. Red wouldn't be very happy if he found out what you were doing to a civilian," Slime whispers into Dream's ear. He speaks carefully, each word holding a knowing weight to it. "Especially not after what happened last time you almost broke your code." "It wouldn't be just him, either." Slime's voice is darker, not the cheerful, almost annoying rambling that Dream had grown begrudgingly used to. "Best not to harm any reporters, or you'll anger some important people." Slime's words are vague, yet the warning is clear.
Dream jerks away like a startled animal at the noise. Horrified.
His guard—(at what point had he allowed it to slip? Siren is his enemy)—snaps right back into place, and with vengeance: The realization that Dream had allowed it to fall at all fills his heart with terror.
So many secrets that he had nearly allowed to slip from his tongue. Released and unrecoverable into the world. Weaponizible by any opportunist who sought to use them. Such an opportunist was with them now. Dream chokes his secrets back as he chokes on the putrid air, Grateful that they had never left his lips.
Dream can’t understand—doesn’t want to understand—the reality in front of him. “Why couldn’t you have just stayed away” he thinks desperately at Karl Jacobs, furious.
Heart pounding far too hard in his chest. For an instant Dream wants to believe that if he closes his eyes that the journalist will vanish too. Like the winged phantoms in Bad’s stories: warping in an out of reality with sleep, undead mirages born from a starry sky.
He feels’s Wilbur’s eyes turn back to him, and Dream’s mind scrambles to grasp at something to ground himself. Latching onto to the first thing his mind can make sense of—words murmured into his ear.
He twists his head inward into the shadow of his hood where the tiny slime resides. His eyes wide behind the cover of his mask.
“Are you blackmailing me?” Dream gasps, aghast. He’s almost too flabbergasted to feel properly angry.
‘I must really be a terrible influence’ Dream thinks, self-depreciating, ‘—to be rubbing off on even him.’
Slime's tiny eyes widen. "Nononono," he rushes out. "Blackmailing is mean, I wouldn't do that!"
Slime tilts his head to the side, trying to think of a suitable replacement word for what was, by all intents and purposes, blackmail.
"Think of it more as..." Slime trails off, then suddenly perks up. "A recommendation! From one friend to another." He smiles widely. "Like friendly advice!"
Have I mentioned my hate of heroes before?
Yes?
Well you're hearing it again. I hate them
Stop flirting with me then. It was weird.
ok roll the intro
*Dream lets out an uncharacteristically girlish shriek when he rounds a bend of the sewer’s tunnel to find himself accosted by the reporter Karl Jacobs and a small camera crew.
He turns and dashes down another bend, with a tight yank on Siren’s chains. Half pulling the villain forced to hobble after him.*
not fast enough green boi
*standing with a mic to dream's face*
Green lightning ripples up his body. Snarling like a cornered animal Dream whirls to lunge at Karl’s throat. The microphone is knocked aside, disappearing into the cold, dark water that swirls around their feet as Dream slams Karl up against the wall of the tunnel. The impact an echoing bang. Dream’s second hand coming up to press against his Karl’s mouth.
Siren’s chains dropped—entirely forgotten in the moment.
Dream leans forward against the reporter in his grasp, his voice a hateful whisper;
“I would think very carefully about your position right now Mr. Jacobs. When I remove my hand you are going to command your people to destroy their equipment this moment—or trust, there will be consequences; And if I go down, if Red Chaos dies, because of your stupidity I will hunt down each one of you and destroy you. Am I making myself clear?”
Siren slowly backs away, his eyes widened with a slight surprise. Not surprised about the actions, death he did the same thing to Siren himself. But no, he was surprised at who.
Siren knew the heroes had a distaste for the news, he had watched them on the occasional times he had nothing to watch but the city's news channel. But this? This was something raw, pure unfiltered anger and rage and it almost... Exited the villain, knowing that even a hero can break eventually.
He paused in his movements, tilting his head to the side, a smug grin on his face. Whether the grin on his face was visible or not didn't matter, because for once, it actually met his eyes, a glimmer of something unrecognisable shining in his eyes.
"Not very hero-like Dream"
He spoke in that sing-song way that pissed off Dream so much, taking some of Dream's attention off of the journalist. He was about halfway down the way the two had just walked a few minutes ago. Good. that gave him a headstart.
The place reeks. Karl puts his sleeve to his nose. Entirely unhelpful as the fabric seems to give off the same odor, only tenfold.
Diverting focus back to his escape, the exit only five steps away. Four. Three.
Karl's face skids against the slimy ground, his feet betraying him before a hand grasps him again and oh there he goes, pushed against the wall. Again. The green smile making its reappearance in his peripheral.
The air prickes as tension paints the silence in the sewer, the only sound Karl's panting. Until it isn't.
click
Twin gazes move slowly to a tiny device in the journalist's hand hanging limply but seemingly not helplessly. It was the size of an apple. Well actually, the recorder was definitely a little smaller than an apple.
Karl tries to stiffen a smile. Dream doesnt speak this time. That's alright. Karl got plenty already.
He flips the tech around in a smooth motion. On its backside a blinking red button under an open glass case. Upon closer inspection, the edge of it seemed to be charred. There was no time for that though.
His finger hovers over the button, moved from its previous placement on the black recording button. "Bad choice."
He wonders what Dream's next ones will be, his other hand featherlight on the open skin between the glove and sleeve of the hand hoisting him up.
Wilbur stands awkwardly, he wanted to escape, of course he did. This had honestly been one of his worst experiences ever. But, he couldn't just leave Karl. Could he? Would his conscience, however fragmented, allow him to leave? He couldn't see fully what was happening between the two. He thought about Tommy, he wanted to get back to him. Wanted to tell him everything and beg him not to leave, beg him not to decide that Wilbur wasn't worth it.
He sighed and began to step forward, walking up behind Dream who was way too focused on the journalist. He lifted his arms and dropped them around the hero's neck, pulling them back just enough for the chain connecting Wilbur's hands together to press against the hero's neck. He leaned forward slightly, his breath almost warm against the others ear as he spoke.
"don't make me do this."
Wrong—this is all wrong some tiny voice whispers at the back of his mind. But it—and the slime’s burbling whispers are easily ignored for the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears.
Dream feels almost outside of his own body. Like he’s watching the violence carried out by a stranger. But of course he isn’t.
The show of force had been enough to set the other photographers fleeing. Equipment smashed and submerged. Crushed and splintered under Dream’s feet at every opportunity.
The reporter, crawling, lurches again for the exit. Like a snake Dream thinks viciously, the heel of his boot coming down against the small of his back. Wriggling like a worm beneath his foot.
“Stop it! You’re being mean!” Tiny, gooey hands cling and tug desperately at his hair. “I said stop!”
Dream doesn’t stop. He hauls Karl Jacobs back up against the wall to face him once again.
For a long moment they stare at one another. The reporter’s panting breath the only sound.
“Click”
Dream goes stiff with horror at the sight of the device clutched in the reporter’s other hand.
“Bad choice.”
There’s the flicker of a smile as Karl Jacob’s finger hovers over a second, red button.
A taser, Dream tells himself. It’s only a taser. Dream is well trained enough to deflect a taser. Control—I’m still in control. He tells himself, a little desperately.
Except… Dream pauses. His stomach dropping with doubt at the look on the journalist’s face.
Absently, he feels the reporter’s hand come up to rest, gently, against the skin of his wrist.
“I can still pay you back for the equipment” he murmurs finally, “—but only if I can trust you to keep quiet about all of this.”
Trust that I can’t afford to give he thinks morosely as he reaches for the recorder.
Yet before his fingers can brush against it…
—Dream jerks at the feeling of cold metal pressed across his throat. The back of his neck prickles. His senses gone momentarily haywire in the contrast of a presence—another warm body that looms against his back.
"don't make me do this."
It’s Siren’s voice.
Shock, relief, then disbelief.
Dream would’ve sworn that the man had left already. Had seen him leave, he’d thought; And the sight had been a growing pit in his stomach that grew heavier with every second that ticked by.
Yet—impossibly—there was his salvation. Tommy’s salvation.
He twists ineffectually to see the other, the chain tightens briefly in warning. He’s tugged backwards. Stumbling against the chest of the taller man. He goes with him pliantly. Karl Jacobs sliding back down the wall as Dream’s grip slips away.
I should fight back, Dream thinks absently. He knows this. Yet somehow the energy eludes him. The all-consuming panic and rage that had so animated him moments before bleeding dry to give way to numb exhaustion.
“We’re both going to die,” he finds himself complaining. Numbly staring at the reporter whom he’s just allowed to slip away from his grasp. “When he publishes the story. They’ll realize that I broke you out..”
His voice sounds petulant, even to his own ears, and he slumps in the other’s grip.
Wilbur is forced to adjust his stance as he pulls Dream back and the hero falls back against him. He doesn't seem to react like you'd expect to Dreams words, he's almost... Content maybe? He pauses for a moment and lets out a laugh, a maniac sort of noise, not quite mocking but underlined with something that makes Dream think that Wilbur knows something that he doesn't
"Do you really think there's a world where our story doesn't end in death"
It's phrased like it's almost a question that Wilbur knows the answer to, like he's testing the hero, that if he chooses the right answer they'll wake up, that maybe this was all a dream and they'd wake up and all this has gone away, like Wilbur wasn't going to be executed and dream was still at home with his brother like nothing ever happened
"It doesn't matter when, or how, this isn't some fairy story hero. We die. People die. And the faster you except that the easier it'll be"
He doesn't know if he believes that himself, but he says it anyway, because what else is there to say? That he wishes he was anywhere but here, that he wishes he was with his family?
He's silent for a moment, his eyes closed in some mock peace before he frowns, does he really want to just accept this reality, that they're just going to give up and wait for the inevitable relief of death?
"get up."
He hisses at dream, pulling the chains that were barley choking the hero anymore over his head and pushing him up.
"we are getting out of here"
Dream stumbles in the sloshing water as Siren gives him a short shove forward. He regains his balance quickly.
There’s no point in arguing with the villain. Not when the man will, otherwise, seemingly cooperate. So Dream only nods. Eying the end of the chain again, considering.
“It’s this way,” he murmurs—shoving his hands into his pockets instead; He inclines with his head to gesture towards the direction that they’re meant to go.
But he pauses with his eyes locked on Karl Jacobs
“And what about him?” Dream asks.
Wilbur watches as Dream stumbles into the water, splashing the villain in his attempt to stay upright and making Wilbur's already water soaked clothes even more saturated with the liquid.
He looks almost unimpressed with Dreams nonexistent attempt to fight back, he squints at dreams covered face, hoping to find anything to tell him that the hero is pulling him into a trap. He found nothing.
Dream looked... Pathetic almost. Well, more than usual, like a particularly wet cat. He's almost hunched over, pulling into himself in a way Wilbur hadn't seen him do before, he barely notices when Dream gestured in the vague direction he assumes that is their way out because he's just staring at the hero like he was a particularly interesting bug he wasn't sure he wanted to keep or squish under his heal.
He finally pulls himself away from staring at Dream to put his attention on Karl. He stares unblinkingly then gives the journalist a look that equates to 'i know what you do and who you do. Don't test me'. Before tilting his head back to Dream
"He's a journalist. He knows when it's in his best interest to not talk"
He pauses for a moment, like he's going to add to that. But he doesn't.
"get these chains off me."
Dream feels absurdly like a child again, standing next to the villain. The unspoken threat on the journalist’s life unchallenged.
It feels so easy, too easy, to step aside and let the other make things right.
And Dream certainly doesn’t have a better idea of what to do with him.
Three men stand in a moment of silence, before Siren turns back glaring, “get these chains off me.”
Dream twitches at the command. The audacity of this man, to give him orders. Dream tries to cling to that anger. Holding desperately whatever shred remains of his tattered pride.
‘As if there were further to fall.’
Dream suddenly feels like screaming.
But he knows that if he begins to scream that he won’t stop until his lungs are empty.
Part of him wants to hurt Wilbur for that.
Even as another part wanted to follow: Fall back into rhythms of childhood. A time when adults promised safety for his blind obedience. (That safety had never meant safe, not truly. It just hurt less to pretend).
So Dream leans into his anger, yet still he follows. Ruminating on his wrath like a man coaxing smoldering embers to burn. Dream reaches for the rage to fill his heart and guide his movements.
He stalks up to his prisoner, bristling. Even as he fumbles with the key.
Dream doesn’t need to fake the tenseness of his shoulders. His fingers curl in white-knuckled agony as the XD-mark begins to pulse. Burning like the brand were pressed afresh against his skin.
The pain never makes him break his stride. Dream is a man above weakness.
He isn’t gentle when he grasps Siren’s wrists. Nor when he twists the key hard into lock, tumblers clicking as the lock comes unlatched. The chains unwind and fall away, like the uncoiling of some heavy snake; slipping to vanish into dark water with a heavy splash.
Wilbur tilts his head as he watches Dream unlock the chains wrapped around his wrists. He is almost surprised when he does so, the villain so used to the fight back from the hero unless his power is used. As he spoke he could almost feel the hum of his power manifesting in the back of his throat, suffocated by the power damper to the point it almost feels that he's swallowing glass as he speaks. Still, he keeps his voice steadily.
He can feel as the hero's hands almost dig into his own as he frees Wilbur's hands, how he flinches as the chains fall to the ground with a splash or how he steps backwards like Wilbur was about to lift his hands and wrap them around Dreams neck. He felt like it, felt like killing him and leaving the body to rot like every so-called 'hero' deserved. But... He didn't.
Wilbur let out a breath as the weight on his wrists disappears, a sigh of relief that morphs into a hiss of pain as his calloused thumb rubs against the lacerations and abrasions caused by the chains. A rare moment of weakness he allowed himself before he pulled his (thankfully not wet yet) sleeves down. It was a problem for later. Not something he can worry about now.
Wilbur lifted his head, his eyes meeting Dreams and never wavering as he spoke
"What now. Do you even have a plan? Or are you just winging it"
It's almost a genuine question... Almost. More of a demand, seeking the knowledge that Dream was so obviously keeping from him. That last sentence was full of snark as well, mocking the hero even despite their current situation
“We’re meeting a secure rendezvous point”
Dream tells him as he turns. Then, more quietly—
“I wanted to talk to you a little first. Before the others get there.”
Wilbur pauses. Who is working with Dream, the syndicate? Would they do that? Would Dream do that? Did they have something Dream wanted? Or was this just an over-elaborate plan to play with Wilbur, dangle his freedom over his head before they kill him. It hurt Wilbur's head to think about it.
So he didn't.
He instead focused on the words the hero said next. 'I want to talk to you'. Huh. Talk about what? Red maybe?
"about what?"
He tilted his head as he spoke, curious about Dreams intentions
Dream urges the other along. Walking faster, away from the prying ears of Karl Jacobs, and Dream murmurs.
“family stuff.”
He doesn’t dare look back to Siren when he says it. Staring inexorably towards the direction of their path forward as they walk.
Wilbur follows the other, using larger strides to keep up with Dream as they moved further and further away from Karl. He pauses as Dream spoke
"family stuff."
Family stuff? What's that supposed to mean? About Red? Tommy? He's sick of this cryptic shit. He wants answers more than anything
Dream can feel the villain watching him out of his periphery for several long minutes. Dream stubbornly ignores the man, and the questions that must be dangling at the tip of the other’s tongue. Dream only hurries Wilbur along, his demeanor an impartial façade
...
Silence.
Nothing.
It pissed Wilbur off, the way Dream drops information and then refuses to elaborate on anything. He wants to just grab the hero by his shoulders and shake him until he does something
"Dream."
Nothing.
"Dream!"
He hisses the hero's name, almost sounding like a child trying to get its parents attention.
"you can't just tell me something and not elaborate."
Silence.
He pushed the other, attempting to elicit any shred of information or reaction from the hero
"For fucks sake, just talk to me"
He sounds desperate.
Dream, confused, does finally chance a look at the other when he hears the note of desperation in Wilbur’s voice. He’d assumed that the villain was just trying to be annoying.
“About what?” He asks. Replaying the conversation in his mind and coming up blank.
"What. What?!"
He almost growls the word. And it clicks. Dream is confused. Like actually, genuinely confused. And that frustrates him more than anything.
"where do I even start? The fact that I have no idea where we are going, or who we are meeting. Or maybe. You know. The fact that you tell me we need to talk about 'family stuff' and don't elaborate. Family stuff means a lot of things. Are we talking about Red here? Your family? My family? I don't know because you don't explain"
He's barely holding his frustration back, speaking quickly, his hands moving animatedly the way they would when Wilbur talked about something that interested him.
"If you say we talk. We talk. None of this silent, stoic bullshit or whatever you have going on"
Dream fully stops walking at that point. Staring at Siren as if he’s grown another head.
“Yes?” He answered. He was answering the family question, Dream thinks. But Wilbur had come at him with a lot at once so maybe those ones weren’t what Wilbur had meant.
“I was waiting until we got to a secure location—.” Dream starts, but pauses as he senses his conversation partner’s mounting rage. “I mean— which of the questions were you trying to ask?”
Wilbur pauses, taking a good few seconds just to stare at the other. Was he being unreasonable in this situation? He sighed.
"just-"
He pinched the top of his nose, trying to calm himself. Dream is at least attempting to meet him in the middle.
"which question are you more likely to answer"
The underground heavy air sticks to his clothes, his skin, everything. And though it can't reach into his brain, Karl swears its making his train of thought malfunction.
He sticks to the shadows, stretching the chains now on his hands-borrowed from Siren -as much as he can to keep a safe distance from the other two as they trudge and argue along. Moreover argue. He's pretty sure the empty peanuts packet drifting along sewage water is making faster travel time than them.
He flicks the glass casing of the button open and shut, straining to hear the aggressive whispering going on up ahead. Trying to piece it together with the flashes he's receiving from Dream.
His breathing quickens. No. One foot in front of the other. One. Two. Come on. Karl wants to groan. He's holding on to too many. They've told him, he knows. Just as he knows he's not going to press the button. Karl knows that too and so does Wilbur.
Seriously, threatening him with that look. Does Wilbur think they're in high school?
But it worked. If there's one weapon Wilbur can wield. And Karl Jacobs sticks to Dream's heel like a puppy. (Is this how red chaos lives?)
He'll hold onto the universe, as many as it takes before it gets to harm them. In this volcano of a sewer the rings in his pocket burn like the sun.
Up ahead the hero and villain halt. Karl fidgets with his device.
Open.
"Fanily stuff--" Two main paths. Pause. Talk. Tell- more words on the tip of the tongue- or
Close.
Dream turns abruptly, pulling Karl along. Ah, the second choice then. This one was easier than the other ideas the hero contemplated. Less bloody too. And if Karl has to see one more flash with crunching bones-
"Dream!" Siren hisses. Karl has half a mind to press the recording button again. He tries to catch bits and pieces. Wilbur wants to know something about family. His or Dream's? Karl tries looking deeper but its too far a decision for him to see. But wait-
Open.
Fire. Family. Towards the Pit, the blood entrance. Enforcers, in hoardes.
Or?
A purple band on a ring finger. Spinning. Around and around. Manhole cover, thrown open. Leaping into the beast's mouth. Hand and heart aflame A tracking device in the other. Spinning. Stop.
Close.
Darkness. Karl sputters, his grip on the device almost shattering as the white is fading and his senses returning. He's coming. Oh god he's coming.
Karl turns his focus back up. How much are these going to stare at each other?
Open.
One step forward. Two. Or-
Close.
"404 been gone a long while huh." Karl mutters to himself just as Dream lets out a "Yes?"
Yes? Dream's family? Karl has never heard of any mention of Dream's family. He racks his brain for the flashes from Red Chaos- unless...the only old person he is seemingly to close with is the man Sapnap just chose Karl above.
His breathing quickens again. Oh god. Karl has been in this forsaken place for how long? This isn't even his best hoodie. He has half a mind to ask Wilbur to fix his hair- if he's going to meet his future in-law. Maybe he could check his reflection in a nearby Pringles can?
Open.
Close.
Open.
A deer, but not a fawn. Pouncing, teeth bared. Antlers like daggers. The boar, unassuming, vulnerable. A blade lunging to kill.
Another blade. An axe.
Meeting its kind up. Up. A crow caws-
Blood, filthy and crimson. A hand of bones and rot flinging Karl out of the flash into Red Chaos' mind.
Close.
Karl stumbles, mud and whatever disease-ridden liquid sloshing onto him. How good is a demon smell anyway?
Its nothing. He's fine. Walk on. Turn back. Or
"Jacobs?" Dream calls out warily.
"What was that?" Karl sputters. The hand, it was an amount of power he's never come across before. "Red Chaos- he- would never-" An axe in the hand of the Hero that never kills. "Not anymore." He mumbles as footsteps approach.
Open.
Crooning. Twisting, wretched horns. A hand on- a hand on his chin, where it certainly doesn't belong anymore. Fall into it, lean.
Or- He moves forward. Spits. The hands, the horns, angry now, move closer.
"No!" Karl screams.
Smash.
The recorder plummets. He hears a crack. Oh. His company won't like that. Karl is on his knees now, wet till his waist. When did that happen?
The footsteps stop in front of him.
Wilbur stops when he hears the scream, followed by the sound of the recorder crash to the ground.
...what?
He turns towards the noise and reaches for the weapon on himself that he knows is long gone, taken from him when he was imprisoned. He silently cursed dream out for that, he was already vulnerable enough right now after everything, not even able to access his powers.
He softens slightly when he realises who it was, just slightly, not enough to be noticeable.
"You."
He hisses out. He was so tempted to- no. Not now. He doesn't have time for anything but getting out of here, plus that would be a pain to explain to jester.
He was so close to prying something out of dream, he knows it. He can feel how he was finally peeling back some of Dreams outside defences, but no. He just hand to be interrupted. Breath Siren. This is not the time to start more things, even if he deserves it-
No.
Breath.
He doesn't step forward to check on the other. He looks at Dream expectantly however, like the hero would know what to do.
"You should help him," comes the small voice from Dream's hoodie. "Mr. Red wouldn't be very happy if he found out what you were doing to a civilian," Slime whispers into Dream's ear. He speaks carefully, each word holding a knowing weight to it. "Especially not after what happened last time you almost broke your code." "It wouldn't be just him, either." Slime's voice is darker, not the cheerful, almost annoying rambling that Dream had grown begrudgingly used to. "Best not to harm any reporters, or you'll anger some important people." Slime's words are vague, yet the warning is clear.
The sewers are a very interesting place to catch all the tea!
Have I mentioned my hate of heroes before?
Yes?
Well you're hearing it again. I hate them
Stop flirting with me then. It was weird.
ok roll the intro
*Dream lets out an uncharacteristically girlish shriek when he rounds a bend of the sewer’s tunnel to find himself accosted by the reporter Karl Jacobs and a small camera crew.
He turns and dashes down another bend, with a tight yank on Siren’s chains. Half pulling the villain forced to hobble after him.*
not fast enough green boi
*standing with a mic to dream's face*
Green lightning ripples up his body. Snarling like a cornered animal Dream whirls to lunge at Karl’s throat. The microphone is knocked aside, disappearing into the cold, dark water that swirls around their feet as Dream slams Karl up against the wall of the tunnel. The impact an echoing bang. Dream’s second hand coming up to press against his Karl’s mouth.
Siren’s chains dropped—entirely forgotten in the moment.
Dream leans forward against the reporter in his grasp, his voice a hateful whisper;
“I would think very carefully about your position right now Mr. Jacobs. When I remove my hand you are going to command your people to destroy their equipment this moment—or trust, there will be consequences; And if I go down, if Red Chaos dies, because of your stupidity I will hunt down each one of you and destroy you. Am I making myself clear?”
Siren slowly backs away, his eyes widened with a slight surprise. Not surprised about the actions, death he did the same thing to Siren himself. But no, he was surprised at who.
Siren knew the heroes had a distaste for the news, he had watched them on the occasional times he had nothing to watch but the city's news channel. But this? This was something raw, pure unfiltered anger and rage and it almost... Exited the villain, knowing that even a hero can break eventually.
He paused in his movements, tilting his head to the side, a smug grin on his face. Whether the grin on his face was visible or not didn't matter, because for once, it actually met his eyes, a glimmer of something unrecognisable shining in his eyes.
"Not very hero-like Dream"
He spoke in that sing-song way that pissed off Dream so much, taking some of Dream's attention off of the journalist. He was about halfway down the way the two had just walked a few minutes ago. Good. that gave him a headstart.
The place reeks. Karl puts his sleeve to his nose. Entirely unhelpful as the fabric seems to give off the same odor, only tenfold.
Diverting focus back to his escape, the exit only five steps away. Four. Three.
Karl's face skids against the slimy ground, his feet betraying him before a hand grasps him again and oh there he goes, pushed against the wall. Again. The green smile making its reappearance in his peripheral.
The air prickes as tension paints the silence in the sewer, the only sound Karl's panting. Until it isn't.
click
Twin gazes move slowly to a tiny device in the journalist's hand hanging limply but seemingly not helplessly. It was the size of an apple. Well actually, the recorder was definitely a little smaller than an apple.
Karl tries to stiffen a smile. Dream doesnt speak this time. That's alright. Karl got plenty already.
He flips the tech around in a smooth motion. On its backside a blinking red button under an open glass case. Upon closer inspection, the edge of it seemed to be charred. There was no time for that though.
His finger hovers over the button, moved from its previous placement on the black recording button. "Bad choice."
He wonders what Dream's next ones will be, his other hand featherlight on the open skin between the glove and sleeve of the hand hoisting him up.
Wilbur stands awkwardly, he wanted to escape, of course he did. This had honestly been one of his worst experiences ever. But, he couldn't just leave Karl. Could he? Would his conscience, however fragmented, allow him to leave? He couldn't see fully what was happening between the two. He thought about Tommy, he wanted to get back to him. Wanted to tell him everything and beg him not to leave, beg him not to decide that Wilbur wasn't worth it.
He sighed and began to step forward, walking up behind Dream who was way too focused on the journalist. He lifted his arms and dropped them around the hero's neck, pulling them back just enough for the chain connecting Wilbur's hands together to press against the hero's neck. He leaned forward slightly, his breath almost warm against the others ear as he spoke.
"don't make me do this."
Wrong—this is all wrong some tiny voice whispers at the back of his mind. But it—and the slime’s burbling whispers are easily ignored for the sound of his own heart pounding in his ears.
Dream feels almost outside of his own body. Like he’s watching the violence carried out by a stranger. But of course he isn’t.
The show of force had been enough to set the other photographers fleeing. Equipment smashed and submerged. Crushed and splintered under Dream’s feet at every opportunity.
The reporter, crawling, lurches again for the exit. Like a snake Dream thinks viciously, the heel of his boot coming down against the small of his back. Wriggling like a worm beneath his foot.
“Stop it! You’re being mean!” Tiny, gooey hands cling and tug desperately at his hair. “I said stop!”
Dream doesn’t stop. He hauls Karl Jacobs back up against the wall to face him once again.
For a long moment they stare at one another. The reporter’s panting breath the only sound.
“Click”
Dream goes stiff with horror at the sight of the device clutched in the reporter’s other hand.
“Bad choice.”
There’s the flicker of a smile as Karl Jacob’s finger hovers over a second, red button.
A taser, Dream tells himself. It’s only a taser. Dream is well trained enough to deflect a taser. Control—I’m still in control. He tells himself, a little desperately.
Except… Dream pauses. His stomach dropping with doubt at the look on the journalist’s face.
Absently, he feels the reporter’s hand come up to rest, gently, against the skin of his wrist.
“I can still pay you back for the equipment” he murmurs finally, “—but only if I can trust you to keep quiet about all of this.”
Trust that I can’t afford to give he thinks morosely as he reaches for the recorder.
Yet before his fingers can brush against it…
—Dream jerks at the feeling of cold metal pressed across his throat. The back of his neck pricks. His senses gone momentarily haywire in the contrast of a presence—another warm body that looms against his back.
"don't make me do this."
It’s Siren’s voice.
Shock, relief, then disbelief.
Dream would’ve sworn that the man had left already. Had seen him leave, he’d thought; And the sight had been a growing pit in his stomach that grew heavier with every second that ticked by.
Yet—impossibly—there was his salvation. Tommy’s salvation.
He twists ineffectually to see the other, the chain tightens briefly in warning. He’s tugged backwards. Stumbling against the chest of the taller man. He goes with him pliantly. Karl Jacobs sliding back down the wall as Dream’s grip slips away.
I should fight back, Dream thinks absently. He knows this. Yet somehow the energy eludes him. The all-consuming panic and rage that had so animated him moments before bleeding dry to give way to numb exhaustion.
“We’re both going to die,” he finds himself complaining. Numbly staring at the reporter whom he’s just allowed to slip away from his grasp. “When he publishes the story. They’ll realize that I broke you out..”
His voice sounds petulant, even to his own ears, and he slumps in the other’s grip.
Ooc but i gotta see a @goopyhumanguy repost of this now
I would but I can't write long form roleplays well 😭
My body is less viscous than normal. I don't think I like hot weather.
What if I just... Blew everything up?
No heros, no villains.
Nothing,
Just a smoking crater we used to call home
But consider. There would be no more craft stores to buy glue from :(
*places a few pink food dye into @goopyhumanguy body*
There you are pink now
Yay, pink!
Jester took away my phone but I got it back! He said something about "eating too much gravel"
@catmanwastaken perchance how many bones do you have?
…
Is that a threat?
...are you sensitive about your lack of bones?
…What?
I demand further explain of your bone metaphors.
Your bones, do you lack them? I have many bones! Do you want to see them?
I…
um…
Perchance… are you a museum curator/researcher or a serial killer?
ya know what—sure. I do want to want to see your bones. :)
(whispering so only dave can hear)psst charlie is a slime pretending to be human. he is harmless.
Oh.
Like a hybrid? I always assumed that slimes were cubes and… uh* (Family friend used to tell Tommy and I a lot of stories); But I’ve also never met a slime before. That’s rad as hell.
Do you think I should tell him that he doesn’t need to pretend with me? Or do you think he’d feel more comfortable if I just played along?
I genuinely have no idea what charlie is. I think he is something slime related.
Also play along, poor guy likes to roleplay as a human. We humour him because its funny.
Alright then.
Hello @goopyhumanguy I am also a human and I have bones too.
Would you like to go see some bones in a museum with me?
I heard that Royal is sponsoring a new L’Manberg museum. I think he mentioned there’s be fossils?
*whispered* Please come with me @chaoticbeegremlin I like this guy but I don’t really know how to talk to him.
I would love to go on a boney adventure with you!
