"Philza knelt in front of him on the ground, blue eyes scanning over him. Phil never saw his face before, Dream realized, but his gaze didn’t linger on his features — he was examining his wounds. God knew there were plenty to look at."
Yooo, @lookinghalfacorpse I made you fanart!! Itwall is one of my all time favorites, I found it two years ago and reread it every now and then. Love your writing, pls stay cool, mwah!~
I think it actually helped me with a rough period in life. At the start of this year I was really stressed and found myself thinking "I need to fix this" and "xx will listen to me if I try hard enough". And then I started thinking about parallels with the fic. In the end lessons have been learnt - to stay in a place where you feel peace with people who care about you.
Couldn't figure out the background, since I didn't wanna paint a full cabin, so I just plopped some snow there
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one little thing I once noticed in itwall (I think it happened twice??) was philza telling cdream to do something and cdream would think something like:
‘while Phil said this demand NICELY to me, it was still a DEMAND so I couldn’t Not really do it’
Cdream never did this to ctechnoblade, but I don’t think ctechno ever really Told cdream to do anything in a way that cdream would think was a Demand
exactly !!! i had a very distinct dynamic in mind for them, and i tried to make sure it came across in subtle ways. although dream respects phil, he just isn't comfortable with him like he is with techno, especially not early on.
phil watches, sometimes, fingers laced under his chin and elbows braced on the sill, as dream holds out his hands and laughs through the cloud of colors that smothers him. even though dream doesn’t need the constant surveillance anymore, at least this pair of eyes is one he doesn’t mind showing his back to, even if it’s off-putting at times. techno made his opinion on the butterflies clear; phil’s centuries older than him and has insect-eaters for company. not that dream would begrudge phil’s beloved flock a snack, but the proximity between chats is a little worrying at times.
“they’re lovely, mate,” phil offers once, shooing a curious crow away from the horde with a searching look.
dream hums. “they are,” he replies, emptying his voice deliberately, because: this isn’t a matter of loveliness, or even of preference. his butterflies carry his messages and watch his server. their beauty is one that predicates survival, blending into thickets and splaying owl-faced among the branches. though he may not have chosen them, they’re his now, and they folded down into his prisoner’s garb, his pools of blood, his oversized netherite chestplate. they melted down sam’s body for him.
phil’s eyeing him again, feathers rustling against the cold, like he knows what he’s thinking. dream lets a bright green butterfly crawl imperiously all over his face and bolts his mouth against his smile.
Not from itwall specifically at the moment (it’s on my list of fics to illustrate) however I draw quite a bit of inspiration from it when I have the doomsday trio interact.
Once I’m done with my big project it’s one of the next on the list. (I also have to be mentally prepared- cuz that fic makes me cry so much XD)
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in hindsight i bet some people interpreted cdream's affinity for the sheep in itwall as a puffy reference. valid interpretation and you all are smarter than I am. the truth is that i like sheep and im projecting
crying 'cause I just passed Phil having to amputate some of Dream's ring finger and aaaaaa
“I was getting better,” he managed.
“I know,” Phil replied.
“You said it yourself. You said…”
“I know, Dream. I know. I’m so sorry.”
IT HUUUURTS
i always start feeling nostalgic for itwall when winter hits.
i LOVE the trope of having to hurt someone in order to support their long-term healing... the guilt, and the justification, and then the guilt again. and for phil, someone who lives with a life-changing injury, knowing that he has to cut more from dream after he was finally stabilizing.
(if anyone hasn't read the extra scene relating to the amputation u totally should)
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.
