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The world is warm

Well no- The world is cold as fuck and horrible, but right now Dream is warm, and he wants to pretend that the whole world is too, that nothing bad has ever happened to him before this.

Just for a bit, he wants the whole world to be this hole in the wall where he and Quackity are hidden from the snow storm outside.

It had caught them both by surprise, Dream going to Techno's cabin and Quackity leaving it, both of them in clothes too light for anything but a quick visit, too far from it to try and find it in the low visibility of the storm, not without risking getting lost and freezing to death.

So Dream had raced to one of his hidden bases nearby, nothing more then a bunker carved into a wall with some supplies and a bed, and Quackity, ever eager to take his chances when he got them, had followed Dream in, refusing to let himself be thrown out in the snow. Literally. He had hugged one of Dream's legs and refused to let go of it, no matter how much the other kicked and threatened him.

One thing lead to another, and it ended here: the snow piled up at least two and a half blocks high and the two of them piled together in bed, Dream's hands carding trought the soft covert feathers of Quackity's wings while the other slept and did his damnest to act as Dream's blanket, snoring into his collarbone, the whole world only them and their shared warmth.

❄️🐇🦆❄️

@loudduo-dreamity-monthly

Hiiiiiii I'm so sorry I wanted to do all the prompts and I will still try to!! But like. Life got in the way, I love you forever thank you for making this event, please accept this short little snippet as a sacrifice.

#the dog barks #qwt #dreamity

c!Quackity: *torturing c!Dream* You're bleeding because you don't floss.

#c!QWT #QWT #quackitywastaken

In prison, there were two constants – two things that never changed.

One was Sam and the routine and 'care' he provided to his prisoner. The potatoes that came like clockwork, always at the same time. The patching up when Dream is hurt, hands burning on his skin with how gentle they were. Never saying anything, always scowling, detached.

The other constant was Quackity. Dream dreaded the routine, dreaded the pain he knew was to come. The torment. The torture. The way he would scream directly in Dream’s ear; the way he slapped him, punched him, kicked and spit on him. The way he methodically took Dream apart. He would mock, would shout, would sneer. Never kind, never merciful. It didn't matter how much Dream begged, how much of his dignity he lost to Quackity.

The only comfort Dream had was the familiarity. The routine didn't change, neither Sam nor Quackity ever changed their approach. Sam remained gentle but detached; Quackity remained cruel and involved – personal.

He knew what to expect, and there is a certain comfort in that; knowing what will happen, even if it's terrible. You can prepare.

So when one day, instead of Quackity walking across the lava, it was Sam, shears in one hand and trident in the other, Dream was left reeling. The pain was worse – so much worse. He tried to reason with Sam, tried to beg him to stop, but Sam remained detached. Somehow, that made it worse.

If Sam had simply adopted Quackity’s demeanour while torturing Dream, then Dream could have mentally switched them, could have pretended it was Quackity, just with Sam's face, and then the routine, the familiarity, wouldn't have been broken. But no. No, Sam had to remain detached, had to remain just familiar enough to be jarring.

And then it was over, and Dream expected Sam to take care of him now. But Sam just left. Dream was already reeling from everything, but when Quackity walked into his cell, his world turned upside down.

Quackity took care of his wounds, setting his bones and working healing potion into his skin. He was so gentle, his hands soft and careful, almost tender. It was so jarring, so wrong and broke what Dream knew as his reality so harshly, that he couldn't hold back from breaking down sobbing.

It wasn't the first time he had cried during this part of his routine, but those times had been with Sam, who was so carefully detached that it felt like crying against a wall.

Not so with Quackity.

Quackity held him, carded his fingers through Dream's hair, massaging his scalp, cooed and whispered to him. It was a soothing tone, but Dream could taste the poison dripping from every word out of Quackity’s mouth.

"You know how to make it stop, Dream. It's so easy. Just give me what I want, and the pain stops. Give me what I want, and you can have this. Why are you denying yourself this? Or do you like it when I hurt you? Hm? I mean, you must be enjoying this, with the way you cling to me, so I can't imagine you prefer the alternative. Look at you, holding on so tight. I can tell you're enjoying this. You can have this every time, Dream. Wouldn't you like that? You only need to give me what I want..."

It's so hard to say no to that. It felt like the hardest thing he ever did. But he said no. And it continued.

After that, sometimes it would be Quackity who tortured him, sometimes it would be Sam. Sometimes, Quackity would torture him and take care of him afterwards instead of Sam, but it was never the other way around.

And each time Quackity took care of his wounds, it became harder to remember why Dream wasn't giving him what he wanted, why he was still resisting, why he didn't just give in. He started looking forward to when Quackity would take care of him, found himself seeking out his touch, clinging to him.

Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a part of himself knew what was going on. Part of him knew what Quackity was doing, and was terrified that it was working. But that part of him was so far removed from himself in the moment that it could have been another person stuck with him.

The poison laced into every word Quackity spoke tasted so sweet on Dream's tongue. He grew to yearn for it, to adore it. The gentleness, the softness, all so rare and sweet that it reduced him to a pathetic, greedy creature begging for more. But the price was too high.

If Quackity had wanted anything else, Dream would have caved by now, crumbled easily, his resolve dissolving into nothing. He wished Quackity wanted anything else. He tried to bargain, tried to satisfy Quackity with every other secret he could think of, his own and others'. Quackity praised him when he did, which made him glow with joy, but it was never enough. It wasn't what Quackity wanted, so it was not enough, and Quackity made sure to let Dream know.

"Look at you, giving over all your little secrets. It's very good that you're giving them to me, so good of you. But it's not what I want, Dream. Shh, shh, I know, I know you don't want to disappoint me. I know. You'll give me what I want very soon, won't you? I know you will."

Dream was so close to crumbling. So close to giving Quackity his most important secret. He could feel it. He wasn't going to last much longer. The only question left was: how long will it take?

Thankfully, mercifully, he was broken out of prison before that question was ever answered.

He was safe, finally. Away from Quackity and his poison-sweet words. Freedom. Finally.

He hadn't quite considered the repercussions of being away from Quackity, away from familiarity, however...

#*fucking bites*#idea dump #dreamity #dream x quackity #tw torture mention #dsmpshipping #c!dream #c!quackity #qwt #quackitywastaken