Okay now you got me really interested SO here's the itwall prompt: cphil and cdream doing scar care
well if you insist..... (context)
/dsmp /rp
"On your stomach, lad."
Dream chuckled at the gentle command, his robe hitting the ground as he shrugged it off. Commands like these were casual and comfortable between the two of them; Dream knew that he could disobey if he wanted. He usually settled on a bit of playful back-talk. "You could take me to dinner first?"
"I cooked your dinner myself three hours ago."
"Okay, fair."
Slowly, Dream lowered himself to the mattress, gathering a pillow in his arms and placing it beneath his chest for a bit of extra padding. The candlelight danced across the dramatic valleys of his skeleton and the rips and tears of his skin, casting uneven shadows across his pale back. The sun dropped below the treeline a while ago, and the arctic enjoyed a peaceful and windless evening. Philza proposed that they try a bit of anti-scarring treatment before bed, and Dream agreed to give it a try.
Philza removed a bit of dressing-- a piece of gauze taped over a fresher wound on Dream's side-- and Dream could feel Phil's weight shift on the mattress as he leaned back and observed.
Feeling eyes on him, Dream peaked over his shoulder. "Yeah?"
"You'd think I'd be used to seeing your scars by now." The lid of a container popped open. "But it still hits me sometimes."
"Do they gross you out?"
"Nah. They're just scars. I have them, too." From his limited vantage, Dream saw Phil's blonde hair spill over his shoulder, pooling at his collarbone. His hair was loose. He was dressed for bed. "I'm just... always surprised by how deeply humans can hate."
Dream didn't hate his scars. Well, he hated some of them. The worst of them were on his back. A bracket smile, drawn with unsteady lines. The word "bitch," written in a broken, brutalist font.
"I'm going to massage some silicone gel on the scars," Phil said, "in little circular motions. It might take a while, mate."
"Mm-hmm."
Dream flinched when Phil's fingers, cool from the silicone, touched between his shoulder blades. The temperature simply surprised him. Phil whispered a quiet "You alright?" before proceeding, and upon getting permission in the form of a nod, moved his fingers firmly across the expanse of a scar. It might've been the bracket smile. Dream didn't quite remember its placement.
"The pressure will help the edges flatten," Phil explained in a low voice, "and the jelly moisturizes it to help the discoloring."
The skin was sensitive. As Phil pressed his fingers in, the nerves responded by breaking into chills. Dream's next exhale was shaky.
"Tell me if I'm hurting you."
"No-- No, you're not. I-- fuck, it's just sensitive."
Philza recognized the effects of pleasure when he saw them. "Mm."
It took twenty minutes to finish the massage. Twenty long, vulnerable minutes of squirming and sighing, fighting back the urge to groan. Something about it was so primally satisfying. His skin has been begging for gentle treatment for months. Begging for Philza's fingers along his ribcage, his stomach, his chest, his hands. Even the deep scar along the edge of his jawline got Philza's attention. The slime of the silicone was cold in the winter air, but not uncomfortable.
The candlelight illuminated Phil's golden eyelashes. "Still alright?" he asked, his fingertips on a long scar across Dream's lower abdominal muscles.
Itwall c!doomsday trio prompt ideas: 1)Techno plays dress-up with steve and Dream and Phil are the judges or 2) Techno convinces Dream to play dress-up and they go show Technos masterpiece off to Phil
"Philza Minecraft."
"Yeah, mate?" Philza was lounged on the couch, his slippered feet propped on an ottoman close to the fireplace. Despite Technoblade's gameshow-host-esque tone, Phil's eyes stayed locked on the book in his lap. A hound's furry white head also occupied his lap, unbothered by the book cover on his forehead, and a crow was nestled carefully at his thighs. This old man wasn't going anywhere.
But Techno still had to try.
"Philza Minecraft!" He tried again, "If I may have the honor of your eyes upon my great creation."
"Oh!" Phil tore himself from the page, keeping a finger on his spot. "Great creation. Yes. Show me."
"You see, Phil," He extended an arm dramatically, summoning his best showmanship, "I am a man of many talents--"
"Mm-hmm--"
"I am a man of many talents, Philza, and while I'm most often concerned with the art of war, I am, of late, involved in the war of art. The battles of self-expression. The eternal struggle to create something beautiful. Philza Minecraft," he said, "I am entering the world of fashion."
"You always do dress very well, mate."
"I-- Well-- Thank you, Phil, thank you. I appreciate your immediate recognition of my genius. But fashion also means knowing how to dress more than just my peak-performance body. My perfect musculature. My piglin-ousity"
Philza nodded sagely.
"And you denied me an opportunity to play dress up earlier, so I am now taking back my right to express myself. My artistry. Through fashion. I present to you: Dream!"
Dream walked out through the shadow of the doorway, the dim light of the fireplace slowly illuminating the absolute mess that he was dressed in. He was dressed, exclusively, in Techno's clothing. Techno's crown hung limply at his gaunt shoulders, while the lacy white shirt was slowly sliding down his torso and revealing the skin all the way down at his ribcage. The pants, too, appeared to be sliding, ready to cascade into the oversized boots.
Dream had a massive grin on his face.
The crow fluttered away and the hound whined as Philza hopped to his feet.
"Nope! Nope!" Philza said, though he was fighting laughter, "No, no, no," He rushed over to Dream and gathered fistfuls of fabric in his hands, trying to pull it all up and keep the young man covered. "I told you it wouldn't fit! Lad, this is all gonna fall off you in three seconds."
Dream's face was red, but his smile remained. Despite Phil's efforts, the clothes had no chance of staying on. He felt the pants drop completely, though the length of the shirt kept him partially covered. A few weeks ago, he was embarrassed of his scarred skin, but there was nothing left to hide from either Techno or Phil anymore. "You bathed me earlier today, Phil--"
"We are in the living room! The windows are open! We don't get naked in the living room with the windows open! Mr. war-of-art doesn't know how to measure his models, eh?"
Techno stood with his arms across his chest, looking awfully proud of himself. "I think it's his best look yet."
Phil sighed, his shoulders falling as he realized how badly he was failing to preserve Dream's decency. Yet, there Dream was, smiling, looking absolutely dwarfed in Techno's clothes and almost half-naked as gravity took its toll. He had some color to his face, and his eyes were shining. He looked, for the first time in a long time, like he was having fun.
Thinking Affections again, and idk if this counts as a prompt or not, but in itwall you mentioned how cPhil constantly touches cDreams hair to calm him down and is just sth he likes so just that being a their thing they do when cuddling or sth is just phil petting and massaging his head
anything can be a prompt if i brainrot hard enough
/dsmp /rp
Dream wasn't sleeping well.
Sleep was always a fickle, delicate thing with him. There were plenty of nights where his exhaustion would take over and he would sleep soundly, especially early on during his time at the cottage, but there were also long periods where he'd barely sleep at all. He would wake from nightmares and seizures, or he'd simply tremble on his mattress for hours and hours, unable to slow his heartrate from its anxious pace. Em helped him to feel safe those nights, but even she couldn't keep his fears at bay completely. For as loving as the dog was, she couldn't stop someone from coming in the night to drag him back into the hell he escaped from. The hell he planned to return to someday. He laughed, sometimes, at the odd predicament he created for himself.
He procrastinated sleep by reading in the living room.
Techno gave him some shitty novel about an underground culture of elves. It was entertaining enough. He sat on the floor with a dog on his lap, leaning against the couch, and pulled his hair from his face. He had to tilt the book forward so the dim light of the fireplace could illuminate the page.
He heard Philza sit on the couch behind him.
The old man hummed thoughtfully before threading his fingers through Dream's long hair, pushing it behind his ears. "Might be less annoying if I braid it," he offered.
"I'm gonna take it out before bed," Dream replied, "but go ahead."
"It's my pleasure, mate." Phil's voice edged close to a whisper. He began carefully selecting some strands of hair from Dream's hairline and drawing them back, letting his fingertips trail along the boy's scalp. Dream shivered at the touch, feeling his skin erupt into goosebumps. "You should be sleeping," Phil continued.
The offer to braid his hair was a trick from the start; Phil wasn't doing anything that seemed close to a hairstyle. Instead, he rubbed and massaged along Dream's head, sometimes scratching with his fingertips. The book slowly dropped to his lap as he couldn't focus on the words anymore. His eyes fluttered closed.
"In... In the prison," Dream started, "Quackity liked to grab my hair. He'd grab it, like, in the front, and slam my head on the ground."
Phil's fingers trailed softly along the back of his skull. "Dream..."
"Sam hated when he did that. My skull would crack, and it would bleed a lot."
Phil could surely feel the bumps and valleys along his skin. They were hard to miss. He would feel rough scars and some patches of flaky, dry skin. Maybe some sharp lines where a crack healed. Dream's hair has been a source of frustration and humiliation for a long time; he hated that Quackity could feel the thick mats, the tangles, the spots of blood he couldn't wash out.
He felt Phil plant a kiss on the top of his head.
"Join me on the couch?"
Dream would spend the night there, on the couch, lying on top of Philza with his head on the old man's chest, sighing at the sensation of his head being massaged until he fell asleep.
@chrysalizzm got me thinking about the butterfly chat headcanon and “in the wild all lessons last” happening in the same verse with this awesome drabble they wrote and honestly the imagery was impeccable. so here’s more of that.
takes place very early on in the itwall story.
read the full fic here , info and trigger warnings here
The steam rising from the soup bowl seemed especially thick in the chill cabin air. It was a bitter cold night, and Philza was starting to wish he put on a pair of socks underneath the slippers he slid himself into earlier. At least the soup offered some warmth– he held it carefully in one hand while the other turned the doorknob to the guest room.
Dream had only been with them for three nights. Full meals still upset his stomach, so Phil was careful to make sure that he had a number of smaller meals throughout his day. No more than five hours passed without some kind of food, which unfortunately meant waking him in the night. Phil might not be so strict about it if the boy wasn’t so thin; he heard of strong-willed men dropping dead from the effects of starvation long after they were eating normally, and he wasn’t willing to take any risks. Plus, eating and then heading right back to sleep afterwards should be a good way to put weight back on.
So, mindful of the noises he made as he shuffled around, Phil entered the darkness of Dream’s room and lit some candles.
Orange light blossomed around the space. Dream was sound asleep in the center of his bed, his head lolled gently to the side and his features relaxed. His hands, free of the trembling that infected his waking hours, rested atop Em as she lay on his chest.
Phil nearly jumped when he saw the fluttering.
A blue butterfly rested on the wall directly above Dream’s head, its wings flapping slightly and catching the candlelight. Another was on Em’s paw, its legs shifting through her fur. Phil approached slowly as he placed the soup bowl on the nightstand, careful not to startle one that was perched there. Thankfully, it was calm and still. Phil wondered, for a moment, if they remembered him– Dream’s chat was an alluring and stealthy ally in past battles, and Phil enjoyed talking with them and trying to interpret their unique body language.
What he interpreted now was a message of overall calm, and maybe even relief. He had no clue how these delicate little insects made their way to the cottage on such a cold night, but it might’ve been quite the journey.
Phil lowered himself onto the edge of the mattress. Dream offered no response– he was deep in sleep and completely still. Free of nightmares, hopefully. Phil offered a finger to a butterfly on the wall, and it crawled onto him. Its little feet tickled his skin as it traveled around, investigating his pointer, and then his middle finger.
“Dream,” Phil said quietly. He hasn’t quite mastered the art of waking Dream without scaring him, so he tried to speak as gently as possible. “I brought soup for you. And you have company.”
Again, no response. Nothing besides the same soft, steady breathing as before. The candlelight illuminated many of Dream’s most lovely features– his eyelashes seemed gold-dipped– but it also highlighted the ridges of his scars and the hollows of his cheeks. No child should be so thin. Still worried about startling him, Phil gingerly ran his fingertips across Dream’s cheekbones and then all the way down to his jaw. “Dream,” he said again, a little louder, “Look who came to see you.”
Dream’s breath halted and then sighed, his shoulders tightening for a moment. When his eyes finally opened, he briefly made eye contact with Philza and flinched, gasping.
“You’re alright, mate, it’s just me.” He redirected the hand he had on Dream’s face to the boy’s shoulder. “Well, I guess it’s not just me. Look, mate.”
Dream’s eyes fell to the butterfly that was grasping Phil’s fingers. He seemed awake in an instant, his expression bursting with energy as he scrambled into a sitting position, crumbling his pillow behind him. “Wha– How?!”
“I’m not sure, honestly. They were here when I walked in.” Phil replied, “It’s a bit cold for them to be traveling, isn’t it?”
The butterflies gathered around them, landing in Dream’s hair and atop Philza’s shoulders. There were only about 10 of them, but that alone was vastly more than Phil would expect to make it through such a great distance on a winter’s night. Seeing them flock around Dream was a bit of a relief, though– he looked more like the young man he once knew, who had hundreds of them at his beck and call.
“It is,” Dream agreed. He lifted a hand and a butterfly landed obediently on his fingertips. He watched it, his eyes alight and shining with tears.
“Hm. Well, to make it so far, they must be stubborn little creatures. Much like yourself.”
(Phil was right. Dream had no less bullheadedness in the face of the cold– he ran into the forest with all the strength he could gather after spending so much energy dodging Sapnap’s blows, and his butterflies followed close behind him. They landed on his back, on his arms, on Em’s shoulders as she ran alongside him. And when he collapsed, they gathered there, intermixing with the snowflakes and looking so ethereal and surreal as his vision faded.)
TRIGGER WARNING FOR AMPUTATED LIMBS, DISMEMBERED FINGERS, AND (mentions of) FROSTBITE.
takes place between chapters 10 & 11
read the full fic here , info and trigger warnings here
Dream’s amputated finger lay still in the center of a metallic tray, its nerves already dead from frostbite, the flesh a terrible blackish color.
Phil’s cut was quick and smooth. After tying a tight tourniquet and splashing Dream with an enormous amount of weakness potions to keep him asleep, he amputated just below the spread of dead flesh, and then cut the bone back even further, allowing him to stitch the remaining flap of skin together. The stump was slightly longer than the remains of Dream’s pinkie finger, and although Dream’s heart rate spiked and fluttered directly after the cut, his slumber seemed peaceful. Everything went perfectly well.
Yet, Phil hasn’t said a word in over 20 minutes.
“Philza. Phil.” Technoblade followed Phil into the kitchen, where he was taking the tray and a number of other supplies, “I’m worried about you, man. Talk to me.”
“What do I do with this?” Philza whispered in a rush of breath, his gaze on the finger.
Techno took the tray from his hands and placed it on a nearby counter. “I’m goin’ to put it in the ground, somewhere in the forest.” The sooner he could get it out of Phil’s view, the better.
“Thanks, mate. Bury the towels, too, while you’re at it.”
Despite the tourniquet, there was still some bleeding, and they used towels to clean the mess. One was laid across Dream’s torso to protect his blanket and clothes, and that one took the majority of the carnage. But it was just blood, and it could be cleaned. The Voices screamed something incomprehensible at him every time he laid eyes on them, but he could put up with it a little longer. “I can wash ‘em, if you want,” Techno offered.
“No. Toss them.”
Phil dropped himself onto a kitchen chair, torso slouched forward as he rested his elbows on his thighs. He seemed pale. Techno crouched in front of him, having to drop a knee to the ground to get close to Phil’s eye-level, and grabbed one of his hands. “Listen,” Techno said, “Dream’s a practical guy, alright? He’s gonna be a little upset, because losing a finger sucks, right? But he’s gonna see that you saved the rest of his hand. And maybe his life. He’ll be okay.”
“Who’s ‘sir,’ Techno?”
“Uh,” he replied, “Can’t say I know any of those. ‘Sir’ isn’t exactly a concept I subscribe to.”
“Tech…” Phil finally met his eyes for the first time since the amputation began, “When I found him, I-- He was still running. He tried to fight me, just for a little bit. I... I didn’t know what else to do, I had to make him stop moving before he hurt himself even more. I held him down.” Phil swallowed. “He went still under me. He apologized and called me ‘sir.’ Who is that?”
The Voices raged.
“Quackity.” Techno answered in a low voice, “Has to be. I saw him with Sam, and he never… said that.”
Phil pulled his hand away from Techno’s grasp and raised it to his face instead, burying himself in his palm.
“Philza…”
“He called me ‘sir,’” Phil said, his voice muffled, “and I took his finger.”
The cottage felt far too quiet. Barely within sight from the kitchen, Dream lay quietly on the couch, chest rising and falling with each gentle breath, his hands folded delicately on his stomach. If not for the new bandages around his shoulder and hand, he looked just the same as those quiet afternoons that he’d nap in the living room.
“You know it’s not the same, Phil.”
“Will he know that?”
“He will.”
If nothing else, Dream understood what it meant to sacrifice for the bigger picture. Of course he’d understand. He never lost his grip on reality, even if it became blurry to him at times. Even in the depths of panic, he’d eventually look the two of them in the face and know who they are. Every time. Noticing Techno’s confidence, Phil looked at him and nodded.
Technoblade stood, his hooves clacking on the floor, and straightened his back. It seemed like he had some work to do. “He can’t defend himself, huh?” he asked solemnly.
hello!! thinking of posting extra scenes and other random stuff that doesn’t fit into my fics on tumblr! if i get enough i’ll compile them on ao3 but for now y’all can have this
takes place between chapters 2 & 3 (dream is taking his first nap outside the torture box)
read the full fic here , info and trigger warnings here
“He looks like he’ll just… stop breathing at any moment,” Phil said with a nervous smile, “doesn’t he?”
Technoblade nodded. They sent Dream to bed an hour ago and checked on him twice during that time, and he hadn’t moved a single muscle since they last saw him. Techno grew all-too familiar with Dream’s sleeping habits after spending three months in an obsidian box with him, and even his rest seemed restless. His hands would wander and grasp, his breath would hitch and sigh at random. But now, looking small and unguarded in the center of the guest room bed, Dream was completely still and his breath was horrifyingly slow. There were several, long seconds between each inhale and exhale, and it was far too easy to imagine his chest stilling completely.
“He didn’t sleep like this in the prison,” Techno said.
“I believe it.” Phil sat on the edge of the mattress and took hold of Dream’s wrist, gently turning it and placing two fingers there, feeling his pulse. Dream didn’t stir or react. “He’s exhausted. I was almost putting him to sleep in the bath, did you see that?”
“I did see that.”
“This is probably the most comfortable he’s been in months, I guess it’s not surprising that he’s sleeping so… so deeply.” Brows furrowed, Phil switched to feeling the pulsepoint on Dream’s neck instead. “He’s just making me nervous.”
Techno crossed his arms across his chest. His body cast a long shadow over the mattress, dwarfing the other two men. Both Philza and Dream were so damn small. So much for hibernating, he supposed; he should be awake to protect them. “Think he’ll make it?”
“Oh, he’ll be alright, mate. Don’t you worry. He survived this long with very minimal care; he’ll thrive with good food and some careful treatment. If we sent him out into the wilderness, I think he would’ve dropped by now. But he’ll be fine here.”
The dogs were curious about Dream. Many of them stopped in, sniffed at him, and then went about their way, while others investigated the worst of his injuries, undoubtedly smelling blood there. Some welcomed themselves to his bed and laid alongside him, thankfully avoiding his wounds. All the commotion still didn’t wake him, and he didn’t even move much in response. Even his hair, which Phil tucked behind his ear during their last check-in, didn’t budge.
One dog was keeping a diligent eye on Dream since only a few minutes after he fell asleep. One of Techno’s biggest pups-- a survivor who endured Doomsday and all of the many battles that followed. She didn’t hop onto the mattress, but instead opted to sit like a statue near the nightstand. Her eyes, dark and observant, watched Phil’s hands as he quickly examined the bandages that were within reach.
Techno smiled. She was going to do this whether or not he asked her to, so he might as well make it official. “Come up here, Em,” he said, patting the mattress.
She obeyed, jumping up and sitting exactly where she was instructed. Techno took one of Dream’s hands in his own and displayed his palm to her. “This is Dream, okay? I dunno if you remember him or not, he was pretty different when you last saw him. He’s hurt right now, see?”
Em sniffed at his hand, nose lingering at the missing finger, long black eyelashes fluttering.
“He’s yours. Watch him. Make sure he doesn’t do anythin’ stupid, and if he needs somethin’, tell me or Phil. Probably Phil.”
Risking a glance at Philza, he saw his old friend smiling.
“This is gonna be a tough job, alright? This guy is stubborn, and he pushes too far.” Em traced her nose up Dream’s arm, nestling it into his neck as she sniffed at him. She lifted his jaw a bit in her investigation, and his next exhale came as a sigh. “This is the last thing I’ll ever ask of you. I’ve put you through enough. Sound like a deal?”
Without any further complaint or suggestion, Em laid down and placed her head directly in the center of Dream’s chest. A protective and reassuring position-- and, of course, it put her ears directly on top of both his lungs and heart.
Phil chuckled beside him. One of those low, throaty chuckles he did when he was using those mind-reading powers that Techno could never get him to admit to.
“What is it, Philza?”
“Oh, nothing, mate.” Phil patted a hand on Em’s back. “I’ll feel a little better with someone else watching his vitals. The biscuits are probably done, we should go take a look.”
IT’S INTERNATIONAL DOG DAY !!!!! :’) thought i’d speedrun a bit of em content.
read the full fic here , info and trigger warnings here
After 3 long months, Technoblade came home smelling like stone, sweat, blood, and potatoes.
Philza was busy fussing over him, digging through a medical pack and repeating the word ‘sorry’ over and over. Em learned that word’s meaning from him, although sometimes the context would confuse her. He’d use that word when he accidentally stepped on her tail, which made sense, but he also used it after a battle, or after he wrapped her paws when they were burnt, or when he massaged her aching hips. She didn’t know why humans insisted on apologizing for things they didn’t do.
While he was fussing and apologizing, Em investigated all the scents on Techno.
His hands and shoulders smelled distinctly of human; a familiar scent that she associated with a man she knew during Doomsday. A human with something smooth and white where a face should be-- stone, maybe?-- whose hands used to linger in the dog’s fur when Techno and Phil weren’t looking.
His hand was bruised, but there was a spot of blood on Techno’s sleeve that wasn’t his.
Techno surrendered his hands to her, rotating them so she could reach the crevices of his palms. He had a slight smile on his face, and although his eyes seemed sunken and exhausted, they were alight with intelligence and knowing. “What do you smell, girl?” He asked her, and she couldn’t answer.
---
Later, Technoblade would come home again with something bundled in his arms. It had a weak heartbeat, and it smelled like stone, sweat, blood, and potatoes.
She’d learn later that it was a human. Techno and Phil seemed insistent on getting that scent off of him as quickly as possible; they fed him, bathed him, burned the clothes that hung from him. He smelled almost exactly like Philza by the end of the night, save a few spots of blood around his hands, legs, and face. Those spots were strikingly similar to a scent that she associated with a man she knew during Doomsday.
But there was no way this was the same human. This one could barely lift himself off his bed, and he winced and cried and trembled. Sometimes he would release an odd scent and his heartbeat would flutter, and then he would collapse to the ground and seize. Phil would use that ‘sorry’ word again, and she still didn’t know why.
But, just like before, his hands lingered in her fur when no one was looking. Em raised pups before and she remembered how it worked-- if they were crying, sometimes all they needed was to be placed a little closer to their mother. Maybe they were lost, maybe they were scared, or maybe they just needed some attention. When this human cried, she did the same thing.
He talked to her sometimes, using a low and honest tone. She understood more of his language than he gave her credit for. She knew ‘hurts’ and ‘fight,’ and she even knew that ‘fight back’ meant something completely different. And, of course, she knew ‘sorry.’ She’d hear him say it sometimes, when his heartbeat soared so quickly she thought it might burst, and he’d mumble it into her fur as he pressed his face into her. She still didn’t know why.
Watching this human was technically an assignment, sure, but it felt like second nature. Any mother would step in when she hears a pup whimper. As she watched Phil coat this boy in his own scent, she figured that he felt the same.
---
Raising her nose to the air, Em caught a whiff of stone, sweat, blood, and potatoes. Feeling fear rise in her chest, she clamped her jaw around Dream’s sleeve and brought him to a halt.
She was nervous when she saw Dream packing up some of his belongings, and she even tried to get in his way a few times. He laughed at her, which was a good sign. If he was trying to sneak away or do something reckless, he probably wouldn’t be laughing, and he definitely wouldn’t be doing it within Phil and Techno’s line of sight. Techno held her face and whispered, “Make sure he comes back,” before allowing her to leave with him.
He took her to a giant, dark building in the sea.
“Sorry, Em,” he told her, “I can’t take you the full way inside. It’s dangerous, okay? I need you to stay here.”
‘Sorry’ was quickly becoming her least favorite word. She tugged at his sleeve again, taking him backwards a full step.
“Em,” he said, “Please.”
She knew nothing about this scent. She only knew that the last time she smelled it, her human couldn’t walk.
“I’m sorry. You’ll be safe right here, I promise. I’ll-- I’ll be back to get you, I wouldn’t just leave you here.”
She’d bring him home, just like Techno told her to. But he’d smell like stone, sweat, blood, and potatoes.
just a fun little scene that i brainstormed a while back that isn’t gonna fit in the final cut! (fr though if you’ve never seen sheep getting sheared, please watch, they just be TOSSING those babies around)
read the full fic here , info and trigger warnings here
“Watch her ears, Techno.”
“I see ‘em,” Techno replied, obviously trying very hard to hide a smile.
Sitting atop a log that he dragged over from the firewood pile, Dream tried to keep his anxiety at bay while Technoblade sheared the sheep. They were due for a trim; their wool was thick and matted and the temperature was, slowly but surely, rising. If they didn’t shear them soon, they’d surely regret it.
Dream was starting to regret it, regardless.
Techno was quick and efficient with the shears, tossing the sheep into various positions and holding them there between his lower legs as he made long, sweeping cuts. It was positively terrifying to watch. Dream would far rather be doing this job himself, but between his trembling hands and the way his heart pounded in his chest when he so much as looked at shears, this was a task for Techno instead.
“Oh my-- Techno.” Dream scolded, trying to relax his posture so he didn’t look so nervous, “You’re so fast, just-- just… watch her tail.”
“Everything's cool. Look, she’s very relaxed, and I’m very, very aware of her body parts.”
“Well, she’s-- Listen, she’s one of the nervous ones, so she might get scared. She could flinch.”
It was one of the smaller sheep, who sported a fully black face and a thick layer of white wool over the rest of her body. She quietly endured as Techno pulled her backside upwards so he could reach around, and although she didn’t seem bothered by the manhandling, the position surely didn’t seem comfortable. Or dignified, for that matter.
Em, who was sniffing the barn wall nearby, walked over and placed herself directly in front of Dream, blocking his view of the scene behind the wall of her white fur. Dream simply scoffed at her before picking up his log and moving it two feet to the right, sitting down again.
Unfortunately, it seemed like Techno agreed with her. “Dude,” he said, “you gotta stop watchin’. The only reason the sheep would get scared is if they look over and see that you’re scared.”
“I’m not scared,” Dream replied, flatly, as Em moved back to him and nuzzled her head under his chin. Her fur tickled his neck, and her nose was wet at the edge of his jaw.
The pile of wool beside Techno was building, looking a bit like dirtied snow as it peeled away from the sheep’s skin. Some of the snow already melted, including a large spot next to where Dream was sitting. The nights were still extremely cold, but the weather was more amicable than it was just a few weeks ago. The seasons were changing.
He would try to relax and enjoy it if the consistent snip of shears wasn’t about to drive him to madness.
Em pushed her snout against the side of his face, forcing his gaze away. He felt a chuckle bubble in his throat as he raised his hands to her head, scratching along the base of her ears and quietly telling her how ridiculous she was.
“If you need somethin’ else to do, I got plenty of ideas.” Techno said, “There’s a water tub for the cows in the barn attic that’s all dusty and gross, you could clean it out so I can replace the old one.”
“No, I’ll... I’ll feel better if I’m nearby until you’re done. Really.”
“Doubtful, but alright.”
In a patch of open ground, unveiled by the melting snow, was a short and sturdy stick. Its edges were evenly cut; it must’ve been a piece of kindling that dropped from someone’s hands, or maybe it fell out of the wheelbarrow when it was on its way to storage. Em stepped away from him for only long enough to scoop it into her mouth and then return to him, dropping it enthusiastically onto his lap, dark eyes shining.
“What, you wanna play fetch?” Dream asked her.
Her tongue fell from her mouth as she started panting.
“Fine, fine, you win, okay? But I’m staying here.”
Techno’s eyes lifted from his job for just a moment as he watched the two of them begin a relaxed game of fetch, no longer able to hide his smile.
