"C!DREAM IS WRITTEN 100% MORALLY BAD AND TO BE HATED" LITERALLY JUST GOT FREAKING OBLITERATED BY WILBUR MFING SOOT YOOOOO "NO GOOD OR BAD" THE HERO-VILLAIN STORYLINE CAN SUCK IT
AND HE DIDN'T TELL US OFF FOR BEING APOLOGISTS FOR C!DREAM EITHER AND COMPARED US TO C!WIL APOLOGISTS?? THIS IS VINDICATION WE STAY WINNING EVERYONE
I haven’t been able to into school recently, I’m just so tired constantly. I don’t mean like physically I’m mentally exhausted. So I’ve just been refusing? My dad called me and he was like “why aren’t you?” BLA BLA BLA and I said I was tired and I’m not going in and he screamed at me until I had a panic attack and agreed to go in, I’m currently fucking hiding in the bathroom of my house trying to calm down and not hurt myself. I’ve barely eaten, the last time I ate was like 2 days ago and my whole body feels like it’s shutting down
Pairing: DreamWasTaken x Fem!Reader; slight Wilbur Soot x Fem!Reader (like if you squint you might see it)
Summary: When your group of friends goes camping, you expect smores, bonfires and scary stories. Instead, you somehow wind up sharing a tent with Dream.
Word Count: 2.9k
Warnings: Suggestive themes, cursing, Tommy and Tubbo being treated like the children of the group.
A/N: Idk I have mixed feelings about this imagine, but I promised content so here it is 🥲 also the Dream fanart used below was taken from this pin. If you know who the actual artist is, let me know <3
“Tommy, what did you do?”
The blond boy stiffens as soon as he hears your voice. He and Tubbo hurry to stand in front of something, hiding it from your line of sight.They share a quick look, before the taller boy laughs nervously.
“Me? I didn’t do anything. We’re just casually—”
You fold your arms over your chest, quirking an unimpressed brow. He stammers as his blue gaze meets with your e/c one, sentence drifting off unfinished. Besides him, Tubbo avidly avoids your gaze, seeming to find the ground much more appealing.
The exchange between you and the two younger boys seems to draw the attention of the rest of your friends as they quickly huddle around you. Dream takes a stance at your left, curiosity sparking in his green gaze as he shares a brief look with Sapnap. “Uh— what’s going on here?”
Summary: Ranboo shows up at your doorstep, wondering what he had done.
Genre: angst
Warnings: mentions of blood, mentions of scars, mentions of panic, implied murder
Pronouns: they/them
Note: THIS ONE- idk where the idea came from but i hope you guys like it
thank you @notphilosopherstudentblog for beta-reading!!
It was a late afternoon and you were busy sweeping around your home. You picked up the stack of paper that was on the floor, next to a small box of half-dried watercolors. You had allowed Michael to mess around with the paint when Tubbo had dropped him off a few hours ago.
Though the baby zombie piglin was long gone, the mess he left behind did not magically disappear with him. You put away the last of the fairytale books near the couch where you had sat with Michael, feeling the warmth of the afternoon sun against your skin.
The soft melody of a music disk played throughout your quaint, little home and you shuffled into the kitchen to put away your broom. It was only then that you noticed a painting that was on your counter, clearly put away to let dry.
Picking it up, you realized it was a watercolor painting Michael had done; he had drawn his family. Smiling fondly, you put it away for safekeeping, taking a mental note of bringing it with you when you go by the mansion in a few hours.
You walked over to your desk, humming along to the disc as you sat down. Resting your chin in the palm of your hand, you gazed out onto the open grass that surrounded your home, a quiet peacefulness overcoming you.
When he came to, Ranboo realized he was staring at the woods. He didn’t recall how he had gotten there, or why, but the faint tune of a music disc told him everything he needed to know about his location.
Turning around slowly, Ranboo walked up the steps of your home. He figured if he had come to you, it must’ve been for a reason.
As he approached your door, he felt strange. His arms felt sore, as if he had been mining all day, and he couldn’t shake this strange metallic smell that seemed to follow him. He felt dirty, his clothes stuck to his skin, and his cheeks stung from his reopened wounds.
He must’ve cried, though he can’t figure out why.
Reaching your door, Ranboo raised his fist to knock, glancing quickly down at his feet.
He froze.
His shoes, usually pristine, were covered in red. Blood dripped down the sides and when he turned back, he realized he had left a trail all the way up to your door.
His breaths came out in short bursts as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying desperately to remember what he had done.
“Come on, come on!” he whispered to himself, hands tightly gripping onto his hair. “Please! Anything, just- anything will do!”
When he pulled them out, he noticed they were stained red. He moved his fingers around, refusing to believe that he was staring down at his own hands.
Letting out a shaky breath, Ranboo knocked on your front door, finally.
You jumped from the intrusive sound breaking the comfortable atmosphere of your home.
Opening the door, you were shocked to find Ranboo, your friend, covered in blood. Quickly, almost instinctively, you pulled him inside; you examined the boy for any cuts or wounds left open and untreated.
Ranboo pulled out of your grasp, putting a bit of distance between you both. You noticed that he was shaking. You wondered what had happened, what had he done?
Trembling hands covered in streaks of ruby red grasped at your arms, Ranboo’s face twisting into an expression you couldn’t quite decipher.
The blood stained your sleeves as his grip tightened and you realized then that it was fresh.
“Why do you have so much blood on your hands?”
Ranboo just stared at you, and you felt an unsettling feeling creep up your spine.
You analyzed his face; his scars under his eyes that will never fully heal, the way his eyebrows were furrowed, his tightly clenched jaw, and the faint smears of red on his cheeks from when he must’ve wiped his own tears away.
“I- I don’t know,” his voice was hoarse, his throat was closing up. “I can’t remember. Why can’t I remember what I did?”
Hesitantly, you placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, “Whatever it was, I’m sure it can’t be that bad.”
He pushed your hand off, curling into himself, pushing himself into a corner of your room, “How do you know? How do you know it’s not bad? You don’t, you don’t know. You’re lying!”
“Ranboo, I-”
He didn’t let you finish, turning around and facing the wall instead, mumbling to himself the same phrase over and over again.
“What did I do?”
You didn’t know what to do, you had never seen Ranboo like this. You picked up the phone, dialing Tubbo, but there was no answer.
You feared the worst; you kept calling, hoping that, by some miracle, he would pick up.
When you finally gave up, you were breathing hard. Your lungs felt like they could give out, hands beginning to go numb. You turned to face Ranboo once more, but there was something off about him.
His gaze was fixated on the floor, standing perfectly still. Suddenly, his head snapped up, revealing that his eyes had gone a purpley-blue color. For a moment, you thought he was fixated on you. But, he was looking past you, at the kitchen.
He was fixated on the painting.
Pushing past you, Ranboo grabbed it off the counter, the sheer force of his hand crumpling the soft paper.
“Ranboo, what did you do?” you asked, hoping that with a distraction, he might remember.
Ranboo stared down at the painting in his hands, eyes glowing a neon purple color as strange particles began falling off of him. Carefully, he took one bloody finger and painted ‘X’ over both Tubbo and Michael.
You wondered what he meant, until he handed you the painting and you saw what he was saying. Everything clicked into place. It was on him from the start: the blood all over him, his tears, the fact that Ranboo couldn’t remember what he had done.
“No,” you breathed, hand flying to your mouth as you felt the urge to throw up.
Nausea wracked your body, bile rose up your throat, your head felt full.
You stumbled back a few steps, fear squeezing your muscles and making it hard to move. You knew well enough that the Ranboo in front of you wasn’t the Ranboo you had grown to call your best friend. You knew of his enderwalking state. Yet, you were terrified of whoever was standing in front of you.
For several minutes, neither of you moved. Then, he slowly turned around, stumbling out of your front door.
As soon as he had stepped out, you rushed over to lock it, taking a deep breath. It felt like the weight of the world had just been lifted off your shoulders.
The shock of it all had worn off, the heavy realization kicking you in the stomach. You fell backward, onto your wooden floor. Pulling your knees up to your chest, you bit your lip to control the sobs that rushed out.
Ranboo sat outside your home, back pressed against the wall, fingers splayed against the tall grass blades. The watercolor painting rested in his lap, the paint blurred from his tears that fell through the cracks of his fingers, as he held his head in his hands.
TW in regards of S*lf harm, p*dophelia, g*re: Be careful Milque, there is an anon by the tag “Somi Malek” going round, sending links to Ao3 about a “DreamNotFound” fanfic, but it’s full of graphic SH pictures, they are also shipping DristaNotFound and allegedly writing smut about it. Don’t. Click. On. Any. Links. They. Send. You! Stay safe and be aware! Somi is targeting MCYT x reader accounts so if you could spread word to friends that would be great! PLEASE watch out for this -Cloud
watch out for this guys!! ^^
i know i shared about it before but always good to share again! -rome
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