(These are Yandere HCs, and all the characters are C!)
RamHybrid!Reader Drabble.
CW: Mention of breaking horns. That’s it I think.
What would each character do with the horns n shit??
Quackity would leave em be. He thinks they’re cute. If you tried to use them to hurt him, he’d put some kind of protective installment on them. Some mental plate over it that keeps it from piercing skin.
Awesamdude would probably do the same as Quackity. Except he’d do that the moment he got you.
Sapnap would literally sand them down. Not too much, and not anywhere close to your nerves.
Dream, this fucker. He’d sand em down to stubs. Hitting REALLY close to where your nerves start. He’d threaten to break them off if he’s really mad at you.
And Techno would leave them be. He knows full well that whatever you try to do isn’t gonna hurt him. And he knows that you know better.
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New fic! A Shift in Power
✨ Sleepy Bois Inc, prison fic
✨ Summary:
“If it’s connected to Dream, we need to know,” Techno said, sitting back down at Sam’s desk, ready to wait until he got his way.
After a few seconds of silent staredown, the Warden sighted and bent down to switch the live cams.
“Meet ‘T’, the unwilling cause of my most recent headache.”
Wilbur didn’t think he had any surprise left in him. This one gave him a run for his money.
“Sam,” he said slowly, “why in the world is there a child in the high security cells?”
Or: All Tommy’s ever known are the walls of this cell and the slow bubbling of the lava. Not that that's a very long time; Tommy doesn’t remember his age (or much of anything, these days) but he knows he’s young.
From the other side of the wall, Dream tells him tales of arrogant heroes and misunderstood villains, which grow bitter as the time pass. And, though Tommy doesn’t want to be selfish, sometimes, he thinks he has it worse.
Dream, at least, knows why he’s imprisoned.
✨ Warnings: imprisonment, fantasy violence, non-graphic character death (no one we'll miss, don't worry), old scars
✨ 1/2 Chapters (but all the plot is there) | 8501 words
read on AO3
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Chapter one: Prisoners of conscience
“What does ‘cold’ feels like?” Tommy asked.
He swayed in place slowly, lost in this fuzzy place between wake and sleep. When an answer came, his eyes cracked open, mindful of the bright light at his left.
He didn’t think Dream was still awake.
“It’s hard to explain.”
Tommy turned his head, smushing his cheek on the smooth obsidian wall against which he was slumped. This way, with his ear pressed flushed against the stone, he could almost pretend Dream was in the room with him. Too bad he couldn’t do it for long. The wall was too hot.
“It’s less hot?”
“It is, yeah.”
Tommy kinda expected it to stop there. Most days, Dream didn’t have much patience to talk with him. Tommy was young, and annoying, and whiny.
He was very lucky that Dream was lonely enough to want to talk to him.
… Yeah. Add ‘selfish’ to that list.
The white-hot trails of light slowly faded from his retina, but there was nothing in the tiny cell worth looking at, and Tommy was feeling like sleeping a little, so he closed back his eyes.
Falling back into a red-tinged darkness. The eternal light of the lava, filtered through the red of his eyelid’s blood.
“But it’s more than just… ‘not hot.’ First the heat decreases, sure, but if you keep going, it starts getting more intense. Only, cold this time, instead of hot.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Sometimes. When there’s too much of it.”
“Huh.”
Tommy didn’t question Dream’s words, because Dream never ever lied, but Tommy really couldn’t imagine that it could ever hurt to get less hot. Not when it must feel so good.
“I’ve heard that when you get really, really hot all at once, it almost feels like cold. Because your nerves are overwhelmed, they don’t know what to make of it.”
“I almost want to try,” Tommy muttered.
“Do not.”
Tommy whimpered into his shoulder. It was his own fault, really, he knew how Dream felt about that particular discussion. Still, he hated that voice.
“What will happen, if you try to touch the lava?” Dream asked, ruthlessly pressing.
Tommy’s eyes opened a silver, watching the dark, hard contrast of the netherite bars against the wall of liquid fire at the end of his cell.
“The Warden will come,” he muttered.
“And?”
“She’ll be mad. Sorry Dream, I won’t talk about it.”
“Don’t talk at all,” Dream scoffed.
Slow as the lava, Tommy slid against the wall. Resting his head against the end of his cot, curling away from the bright-hot-dry of the lava, toward the dark-heavy-wet of the crying obsidian that made up the end of his cell. He positioned a small, dirty palm in front of his eyes, in a poor attempt to shield them from the glow behind him. Spreading his remaining arm as far away from his body as he could, to try and lesser the heat.
For a while, everything was calm.
Not still, for the lava always flowed, on and on from its mysterious, never-ending source. Neither quiet, with the drip-drip-dripping of the crying obsidian’s violaceous drops.
Tommy was floating in the in between when the speakers crackled to life.
“Your attention, all prisoners,” came a voice.
.
✨ Continue reading on AO3!
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Here is my tiny rendition of Centaur-style Sam
((I am not great at drawing armor)).
But.
He has armor, as best as I could imagine, with a gas mask and a crown.
I also gave him a bag on his hip. Shoulder? And a trident. But I am also so bad at drawing straight things without a ruler.
I think it’d make more sense for him to have a messy mop on his noggin rather than a the prettier styles I see other folks use, given how he spends ages super-focused on one thing or another, so He wouldn’t spend much time on his appearance.
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