:) (def would consider checking out this post before for a little more context!!)
Here’s the thing: Dream loves his server. He enjoys playing with it, growing flowers and managing to coax dogs and cats out from the undergrowth of trees. He looks at the stars above him, big and bright and beautiful. When he decided to settle, Dream puts away his shoes.
He walks barefoot through the grass, feels the wind, and feels the earth beneath him. The word he has inhabited, the world that holds him close and murmurs words of love is huge. It’s awaiting his exploration, and hums a song that he doesn’t quite understand.
His feet are bruised by the time he finishes his walk. Bad scolds him for it, but he sees the faraway look in Dream’s eye, and remembers the first time he’d gotten his own server. “Be more careful,” he says quietly while wrapping them. “Shoes are important, and you’re not going to help yourself without them.”
Dream shrugs. He wriggles his toes, and smiles.
“I like going barefoot.” He says. “It makes me feel closer to the World.”
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
Pandora’s Vault burns his feet almost instantly. Dream spends the first week hopping from foot to foot, settling them into his respawn hole, and wondering why it never hurt this much before.
Sam looks at him with no expression, and only raises an eyebrow at his hopping. There were shoes in Dream’s changing bag, but he’s hasn’t worn shoes in forever. The only time was when he’d enter the Nether, but he’d take them right off afterwards.
He’s in the trees, feet dangling. Sam’s underneath him, shoes in one hand and a half-smile flitting across his face. “It’s almost winter,” he says. “You’ll get cold. You’ve got to wear shoes.”
Dream shrugs. “I’ll wear socks.” He counters.
“They’ll get wet,” Sam says back. Dream crosses his arms. No one likes wet socks, but Dream doesn’t want to wear shoes anymore. He hasn’t been for a while.
“What if I only walk on the Path? Or I only leave when it’s warm enough or I just go outside the community house.”
Sam raises an eyebrow. “You’re not going to do that.” He says bluntly. “You can barely sit there for this world, you’re always exploring. Now you’re going to dust inside for a whole season?”
Dream sighs. He climbs down the tree, and Sam smiles at him. He gives Dream the shoes, and then tightens his own laces when Dream’s tying his. “I’ll be back before this season’s over.” Sam tells him, brushes aside Dream’s hair.
Dream feels uncomfortable. Sam says his goodbyes, and once he’s out, Dream takes off the shoes.
(The others look away. They’ve gotten used to not trying; Sam’s the only one who still does. Callahan even took his shoes off for a week or two, trying to connect to the world like Dream.)
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
The thing about Techno joining him is that he’s calm and collected. He’s bored, but he hasn’t been through the things that Dream has been.
“So,” Techno says, looking at the shoes Dream has on. “Why are you wearing Velcro shoes? Can’t tie your laces?”
Dream shrugs. “The Warden put them on me.” He said. “He usually does before Quackity comes.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I think it’s like a punishment inside another punishment. He knows I don’t like shoes.”
“You can take them off right?”
“With permission.”
Techno shrugs. “Well… I’m giving you permission.”
Dream shrugs. “The Warden’s supposed to.”.
Techno hums. He drops his cape around Dream’s shoulders, and leans against a wall. “Well,” he says. “I’m going to sleep.”
(And if Dream leans next to him, far away enough to not touch him but close enough to grab Techno just in case, that’s enough. And if Dream wakes up tomorrow with no shoes, Techno looking like he hasn’t moved, there’s no one’s business except his own.)
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
Dream writes and writes. His hand shakes, cramps, but he taps bare feet against chests and dips them into the respawn pool. Techno takes the books, and flips through them, and sometimes he’ll make Dream laugh. He also just watched Dream and the difference between shoeless and having them.
It’s done, Dream thinks. He signs his name off, writes it in a flourish. It’s like signing his death warrant. Dream finished the last sentence, and hands off the book to Techno. He doesn’t read this one, but he does give a hard look in the camera’s direction.
“Listen, Dream,” he says softly. “I’m going to go away for a while. I promise, I promise, I’ll come back. But you’ve got to stay strong okay?”
Dream stares at him. “You’re leaving?” He says.
Techno takes the cape from the floor and drapes it over Dream’s shoulders. “I am. I’ll come back for you. Team Chaos, remember?”
“Team Chaos,” Dream echoes.
And then he’s alone.
(Quackity hates that Techno got away. Sam hates that Techno got away, and burned the shoes. Dream cowers in the corner, begging forgiveness even though he did nothing.)
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
Drowsy, Dream opens his eyes to see the Warden putting Velcro shoes on him. Dream hates them. It means that Quackity’s going to do something and Dream doesn’t know what. Sam doesn’t look at him, but he does make sure the straps are tight on him before leaving.
Quackity comes in minutes later. Dream curls in a corner, trying to get away, trying to get them off, ect are they on him what is he planning sometime sometime sometime—
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
He’s lead outside, with a bunch of people on the entrance. He tries to reconnect with the earth again, tries to feel the world underneath his feet, but there’s—it’s nothing.
He can’t feel anything except the socks and the shoes that feel dead, dead, dead. He would have fallen, trying to grab something in his hands—grass, dirt, the shoes—if the Warden’s hand didn’t tighten on his arm.
The warning is clear: stop.
“See?” Quackity says. “He’s fine. Sam hasn’t done anything to him.”
Dream looks up at the sky, and tilts his head. It’s dark, almost like it’s about to rain. Dream hasn’t seen rain in a long time. He wonders what season it is, before his attention is snapped toward Antfrost, who looks him up and down.
“Why is he wearing shoes?” Antfrost asks. “Dream never does.”
“Pandora’s Vault is hot,” the Warden says. “His feet will burn otherwise.”
They ask the Warden a bunch of questions. They don’t ask Dream, but Ant kept giving him weird looks when he reached for the grass beneath his feet. He just wants to connect again.
Dream feels wind against his face, and he looks to where it’s coming from. There’s a shadow, flying low with the wind. Dream almost looks up, but doesn’t. It’s probably a bird.
The Warden’s hand tightens again, and Dream could feel tears building. Dream looks up and then suddenly everyone is staring at him.
“Dream,” Puffy says. There’s something in her expression that he can’t quite place. “Are you okay?”
Dream turns away and tries to grab some grass again.
“Prisoner,” the Warden says. “Answer the question.”
Dream catches Quackity’s eye, and watches how his expression changes from one of pleased to angry. The Warden’s hand is getting tighter, almost digging into him. Dream nods once, and the Warden lets go.
“Well, that’s a lie.” Technoblade says from above, and then all hell breaks lose.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
Dream loves the night sky and the stars that come with it. When Dream first settled, they could see millions of stars above them and Dream made his own constellations. The stars glowed bright.
(Later on, it became too light to see some of them. But Dream remembered where they used to be. He’d sit on the roof of the Community House for hours, tracing where they were.)
But in the Arctic, they are unfamiliar. “Make new ones,” Techno told him. But Dream misses the old stars, he misses his fri—
He misses when there was no wars.
When it was just Dream in the world, he managed to bring a star down from above. He held it in his hands, hot and cold at the same time; and he watched it. It fizzled and spit and didn’t burn out for a long time.
Dream thinks he was a star, intimidating and untouchable. But he’s also at the end, his fizzle had sparked out. He’s not who he used to be.
He doesn’t know who he is.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
He tries to be barefoot in the snow, tries to feel the earth underneath his feet. There’s nothing except the stinging bite of cold and the dogs’ breathing.
Techno finds him, shoeless, sitting on his porch edge. He’s holding onto two pairs shoes, one Velcro and the other with laces. “It’s pretty cold,” he says.
Dream doesn’t reply. Techno sits down next to him, “Listen,” he says. “You lose the most heat out of feet and your head. I’m okay with you being shoeless in the houses, or the porch. But once you step off, you’ve got to wear shoes. Choose one.”
Dream looks at them. “Laces,” he says. “I can wear laces.”
“Sure, nerd,” he says. Techno leaves the shoes on the porch, and then gets up to go inside. “Phil’s making hot chocolate,” he says. “If you want.”
Dream nods. He lays down on the porch, and looks at the stars above him. A million, waiting for constellations.
So, Dream begins drawing.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
Dream used to coax flowers into blooming early before the Wars began. Iris and Ivy, lilacs, and Lilies, asters and carnations. Roses and willows, and everything underneath the sun.
In the Arctic, they don’t grow. They shrivel because the Arctic is cold, and flowers are used to warm weathers. And Dream almost cries, when he manages to have a flower grow.
It’s a daffodil.
~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~.~
The Syndicate come back from a mission, gunpowder staining hands and wither residue left on Techno’s cape. They’ve also got Redstone dust on them, but Dream doesn’t ask.
Dream watched them walk up, and Techno glanced down at his bare feet. “We can go on a training mission,” Techno tells him. “Somewhere warmer.”
There’s a break, and Dream looks down at his feet, and the flower that he’s grown. Niki and Phil are already inside, discussing what they should bake for dessert tonight and Boo’s already gone and writing something in his Book.
Dream looks up at Techno, and smiles. “Sure,” he says quietly. “I’d like that.”
(There’s something almost beautiful when he reconnects to the server. When his feet dig into soft soil, and he can feel everything.
Dream lays down, and watches the sky. Techno lays next to him. They’ve got weeks to spend here.)
Hello, is this McDonald's? Yes yes, I'd like to order a happy ending, please. Ketchup and fluff on the side--oh and hold the reader heartbreak and pickles. I'm allergic. Severely allergic.
Bold of you to assume I’m bound by Workplace Health and Safety laws or in anyway regulated. You’ll eat your heartbreak and pickles and you’ll enjoy it. Allergies won’t stop me.
Snippet: Just once, Zevran wanted to walk into a remote mountain village and discover a lively dance. A drinking festival. An orgy. Alas, no. Haven’s Chantry was filled with cultists. Not the good little cultists of Val Royeaux Approved Andrastianism, but the bad little cultists of High Dragon Worshipping Andrastianism. Mad, with a bit more blood letting and human sacrifice than usual.
A trivial alterity, to be sure. The mages within the Crows often made sacrifices of blood, and such things had given them uncanny abilities. Whatever the abilities of the cultists, his Warden would have them before their little venture was through. Zevran knew it to be true. It was like a sickness, Amell’s obsession. Something in his blood that made him desperate for more of it.
