Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Third person POV:

Dream had one rule when he took the job: he doesn’t do diapers.

“I’ll handle their lessons, I’ll do crafts, I’ll even read them to sleep,” he told the castle steward. “But if someone starts leaking—”

“You’ll be responsible for the children of the staff,” the steward had said, not listening. “A few of the guards, one maid’s child, and of course, His Highness Prince Tommy.”

At the time, that had seemed manageable.

Now, with a toddler clinging to one leg sobbing because he “missed the sun,” two six-year-olds using their wooden swords to duel on top of the bookshelves, and Prince Tommy furiously declaring war on a bowl of soup, Dream was beginning to understand he had made a terrible mistake.

“You’re not the boss of me!” Tommy screeched, throwing the spoon. It hit Dream in the chest with a wet splat. “You’re just the mommy!”

Dream blinked. “What?”

“Yeah! That’s what the guards call you! Mommy Dream!” shouted Fundy, who was now hanging from a tapestry like a tiny daredevil raccoon.

“I will commit a felony,” Dream muttered, wiping soup off his chest as Niki gently handed him a napkin with the grave seriousness of a child who understood this job might kill him. “I’m going to commit multiple felonies.”

“And then I’ll be king!” Prince Tommy declared, clearly delighted.

Dream had just finished prying Purpled out of a cabinet (again) when the door slammed open with all the subtlety of a war horn.

“I FOUND A DEAD BIRD!” screamed Tubbo, holding it aloft like a trophy.

“No you did not,” Dream said, horrified, dropping a crayon mid-color.

“Okay, it’s sleeping,” Tubbo corrected, eyes wide and voice dripping with the innocence of a war criminal. “But it’s also kinda leaking.”

Dream pressed the bridge of his nose. Somewhere behind him, Tommy shrieked, “IT’S MY TURN WITH THE MOMMY,” and launched himself onto Dream’s back like a spider monkey.

“Off. Off now. There are rules—”

“Mommy Dream has a backpack mode!” Purpled shouted, clapping gleefully.

“‘Mommy Dream’ is going to have a breakdown,” Dream muttered, hoisting Tommy off with one arm and taking the bird from Tubbo with the other. “Where did you find this?”

“In the Queen’s solar,” Tubbo replied. “I think I wasn’t supposed to be there.”

“You think?”

“Yeah, ‘cause Quackity chased me with a shoe.”

Dream didn’t have the time to unpack any of that, because at that moment the door cracked open again—calmly this time—and Niki walked in holding Ranboo’s hand like a little sibling, while Fundy and Timedeo trailed behind them.

“Ranboo’s crying again,” Niki reported matter-of-factly.

“I’m not!” Ranboo sniffled.

“Yes, you are. You did the eye-leak thing.”

Timedeo didn’t even go here. Dream had checked the roster multiple times. The kid just… showed up. Every day. Usually with a snack he claimed “fell off a cart.”

“Shouldn’t you be in the apprentice halls?” Dream asked, already knowing the answer.

Timedeo just grinned. “Not if I don’t get caught.”

Dream screamed internally.

That was about when George wandered in—because of course George wandered in—and blinked at the chaos.

“Wow. It’s like a zoo, but more violent.”

“You don’t even work here!”

“I live in the castle,” George replied, stepping over a wooden sword on the floor. “Besides, Sapnap told me you were ‘losing it,’ and I had to see it for myself.”

He flopped dramatically onto a pillow, right as Sapnap appeared behind him with a tray of snacks, Punz in tow and Quackity trailing with paperwork he clearly had no intention of finishing.

Dream glared at them all. “This is not your personal entertainment. This is childcare.”

“It’s harem-raising,” Quackity said with a wink. “Our shared custody situation is very unconventional.”

“SHARED WHAT—”

Before Dream could murder Quackity with a juice box, a sharp ahem came from the doorway. They all turned to find Techno, hair braided back, eyes cool, and arms folded. Wilbur stood beside him looking amused, like a bard who had just heard the first act of a particularly juicy tavern tale.

“I hear our dearest Dream is under siege,” Wilbur said.

“By toddlers,” Techno clarified. “He’s losing.”

“I was hired to wrangle like four of them!” Dream shouted, throwing his hands in the air. “Not run a kingdom-wide emotional triage center! I am not their mom!”

Silence. Eight pairs of tiny eyes stared up at him.

“But…” Tommy said, soft and deadly. “I made you a card. It says ‘#1 Mommy.’”

Dream looked at it. There were stick figures. And glitter. One of the stick figures had his mask.

He burst into tears.

Dream had just finished prying glitter out of his hairline (who gave them glitter again?!) when a page appeared at the door, looking entirely too smug.

“Lord Dream, you are cordially invited to tonight’s Royal Court Dinner.”

Dream squinted at the kid. “I’m not a noble.”

“You are now,” the page chirped. “By decree of His Majesty.”

“What.”

“Apparently being the ‘Mother of the Children’ qualifies as an honorary title,” Punz supplied, leaning against the wall with the casual swagger of a man who definitely knew this was coming and did not warn anyone on purpose.

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” Punz said. “You just don’t want to admit you like when we flirt with you.”

Dream made a noise like a boiling kettle. Sapnap appeared at his side with a comb. “Come on. You need to look presentable if you’re going to meet the nobles.”

“I’m not going.”

“You are,” Wilbur said, swooping in with a full coat ensemble and a bard’s grin. “We’ve all RSVP’d as your escorts.”

“You did what?!”

“You have six eligible bachelors following you around,” Quackity said, counting off on his fingers. “There was bound to be an official function eventually. At least this way it’s catered.”

---

Later, at the Royal Court Dinner…

Dream sat at the high table with all the stiffness of a man awaiting public execution.

The king, a soft-spoken man with suspiciously twinkling eyes, was already two glasses in and calling Dream “dear caregiver of the realm.”

“And who knew,” the king continued, gesturing toward the children’s wing with his goblet, “that such chaos could inspire such graceful devotion from so many knights.”

“Knights,” Dream echoed, dead-eyed.

“I believe they’ve begun calling you the ‘Mommy General.’”

Wilbur, seated to Dream’s left, smirked. “Catchy, isn’t it? I might write a ballad.”

“I will poison your wine.”

George leaned in on Dream’s right, looking entirely too proud. “Everyone’s talking about how radiant you looked walking in. I told Sapnap he should’ve added more blush.”

“I don’t need blush! I need to go back to my room and lie down in the dark!”

“He’s radiant when he yells,” Sapnap said dreamily.

Across the room, noblewomen whispered behind fans. Noblemen stared. One elderly duke outright asked if Dream would consider “raising his sons as well.”

Dream choked on his drink.

---

Meanwhile, back at the daycare…

Tubbo: “Where’s Mommy?”

Tommy: “Court dinner. Probably being tortured.”

Purpled: “What if he gets stolen?”

Ranboo gasped. “Like kidnapped?!”

“No, like romanced,” Fundy clarified grimly. “We cannot let the Mommy be stolen.”

There was a moment of silence.

Then Timedeo, biting into a stolen pastry: “We stage a rescue.”

And so they began the operation known only as: Operation: Steal Back Mommy.

---

Back at the Court Dinner…

Just as Dream was being handed an ornate pendant from the king himself—something about it being a “token of courtly admiration”—the grand doors burst open with a theatrical bang.

Tommy stood in front, brandishing a fake sword. “STEP AWAY FROM OUR MOM!”

Ranboo: “We come in peace. Unless you don’t back off. Then we come in slightly panicked violence.”

Purpled threw glitter like a smokescreen. “DEFENSIVE FORMATION.”

The nobles screamed. Chaos erupted. Dream stood in the center of it all, being tackled by four children and stared at by six swooning admirers while the King watched with the bemused resignation of a man who had clearly lost control of his own kingdom years ago.

---

Later, post-chaos…

Dream sat in his quarters with ice on his head. The kids were asleep in a pile around him like kittens. Punz and Techno guarded the door, Sapnap and George bickered over who made better tea, and Quackity was trying to write up “shared parenting taxes” like that was a thing.

“Wilbur,” Dream mumbled. “Please. Don’t say it.”

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” Wilbur said.

“You were.”

“I was just going to hum the chorus of ‘Ballad of the Mommy General.’”

Dream sobbed into a pillow.

Chapter Text

It was raining.

Rain meant indoor day.

Indoor day meant arts and crafts.

Arts and crafts meant glue, scissors, permanent markers, at least one fire, and Dream’s steady descent into madness.

“Alright, who gave Timedeo glitter again?” Dream asked, one eye twitching. His hair had been glued to his shoulder by a rogue macaroni project and someone had drawn a mustache on his mask. (He was ignoring it.)

“Not me,” said Timedeo, dusted in shimmering pink like a cursed disco ball.

“Also not me,” said Tubbo, with a suspicious streak of glitter under both eyes and one hand behind his back.

“I think it was you,” said Purpled, pointing at Dream. “You let us have a glitter hour last week. You enabled us.”

“I regret trying to make Tuesdays whimsical.”

Ranboo had somehow turned his paper into an origami forest diorama featuring “Mommy Dream’s Great Adventures.” It was sweet. It was detailed. It was also slightly ominous because all the villains looked suspiciously like nobles from the royal court.

Tommy was finger-painting with enough passion to warrant war crime charges. “I’m making your throne, Mommy.”

“I don’t need a throne, Tommy.”

“It has cupholders!”

“...Okay that’s kind of smart.”

Dream was holding together pretty well until Fundy accidentally spilled the glue pot, slipped in it, and took Niki, Ranboo, and the table with him. There was a horrible splat, a shriek, and then—

“I’M STUCK TO THE FLOOR,” Niki wailed.

“THAT WAS MY PROJECT,” Ranboo sobbed.

“I CAN’T FEEL MY SOCK,” Fundy screamed.

Dream took a deep breath. One long, rattling inhale. And then:

“I CAN’T DO THIS!” he barked. “I WENT TO COLLEGE! I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A KNIGHT! I HAD A SWORD!”

Everyone froze. Tubbo dropped a googly eye.

Dream, voice rising, declared, “I have glitter in my lungs! I haven’t slept since last Thursday! And all of you keep calling me Mommy like that’s normal, and Quackity keeps flirting with me, and George keeps sleeping on my lap, and Sapnap keeps bringing me food I didn't ask for, and Punz keeps carrying me places when I'm tired like I’m a bride!!”

He paused, eyes bloodshot, arms out, covered in macaroni, tears prickling behind the mask.

“YOU’RE ALL ACTING LIKE WE’RE MARRIED.”

Silence.

Then, from the hallway, three voices at once:

> “I’d marry you.”

Dream turned. Quackity was leaning in the doorway, unreadable. Punz, standing behind him, looked like he meant it. And Sapnap, tray of snacks in hand, was already pulling a ring pop from his pocket like he came prepared.

Dream made a high-pitched wheeze.

“Did—did I just—”

Wilbur popped in from the window like a crow with a lute. “Dream, did you just propose to three men at once?”

“I DIDN’T MEAN TO.”

“Too late,” George called from the other side of the room. “They’ve accepted. We’re having a spring wedding.”

“Spring is nice,” Techno added from the couch, petting a smug cat that no one owned.

Dream collapsed face-first into a pile of pipe cleaners.

---

Aftermath, aka “The Engagement Debrief”

The children were all whispering furiously in the corner, forming a wedding planning council. Tommy appointed himself Best Man. Tubbo wanted to be the flower boy. Purpled wanted to parachute in. Ranboo was in charge of emotional support tissues. Fundy suggested a cake shaped like Dream’s mask. Niki immediately vetoed it. Timedeo offered to steal royal jewels for the rings.

Meanwhile, Dream was sitting in the corner, wrapped in a blanket like a post-battle veteran. George spoon-fed him pudding. Punz leaned against his shoulder. Sapnap braided his hair. Quackity updated the royal registry.

“This is fine,” Dream mumbled. “I’m fine. I only proposed to three people. That’s legal. Somewhere. Maybe.”

“You’re glowing,” Wilbur whispered. “I’m going to write a poem.”

“I’m going to throw you in a well.”

Chapter Text

Dream woke up to soft humming.

Not the peaceful, angelic kind. No. This was the ominous hum of a six-year-old planning a coup.

He opened his eyes to find Purpled sitting on his chest, holding a wooden sword.

“Rise and shine, Mommy Dream,” Purpled said ominously.

Dream blinked. “Is it—what time is it—”

“We’ve discussed it, and the others are unfit.”

“Unfit—what?”

“For parental co-ownership.”

Purpled stood dramatically, arms wide like a cult leader. “I, Purpled the Loyal, declare custodial challenge by combat!”

“Oh god,” Dream muttered, rubbing his temples. “You’ve been hanging out with Techno again, haven’t you?”

“HE SAYS THE STRONGEST SHOULD RAISE THE CHILDREN.”

---

Ten Minutes Later: The Duel

The “arena” was the front garden.

The “weapons” were foam swords.

The “referee” was Niki, who took her job very seriously and wore a crown made of daisies.

Punz stood in one corner looking like he regretted every romantic decision he had made. Sapnap stood next to him with his sword already on fire somehow. (It was a foam sword. Why was it on fire?)

Quackity had shown up with a feather boa, a martini glass of apple juice, and sunglasses. “I will only be participating in spirit,” he declared, sipping regally.

“You’re fighting for Dream’s hand!” Purpled shouted.

“I already got it,” Quackity said, winking at Dream. Dream passed out a little.

Purpled pointed dramatically. “I challenge the co-parents to prove their worth!”

“Okay, hold up,” Sapnap said, stepping forward. “You want to fight all three of us?”

“Correct.”

“You’re three feet tall.”

“I’m four feet tall and full of rage.”

“God, he’s like a tiny Philza,” Quackity muttered.

---

The Great Custody Duel of 3:17 PM

The battle was short. It lasted roughly thirty seconds before Purpled launched himself like a rocket and hit Punz in the kneecap hard enough to drop him.

“OH MY GOD—”

Sapnap tried to catch Purpled mid-air but got a glitter bomb to the face.

“AAAHHH, I’M BLIND—”

Quackity just stepped aside and let Purpled trip on his own feather boa.

“HA. SURVIVAL INSTINCTS.”

Purpled lay on the ground, tiny chest heaving. “I concede… temporary joint custody… until I’m taller…”

---

Post-Battle Conference

All the kids gathered around Dream, presenting him with a glitter-covered custody treaty written in crayon.

Dream squinted. “Why is this on a pancake.”

“We ran out of paper,” Tubbo explained. “And syrup is legally binding.”

From that moment on, Punz, Sapnap, and Quackity were referred to exclusively by titles:

“Daddy Punch-Punch” (Sapnap)

“Stepfather Punzington” (Punz)

“Mommy 2: Legal Edition” (Quackity)

Each had designated responsibilities:

Sapnap: wrestling, snacks, emotional pep talks.

Punz: fixing broken things (including feelings).

Quackity: paperwork, bedtime stories, and tax evasion lessons.

Purpled still maintained veto power on “all important motherly decisions.”

Dream had no idea how he had become a monarch of chaos. But the kids were happy. The suitors were surprisingly helpful. And for once—just once—Dream sat down with a cup of tea and wasn’t immediately tackled.

He almost relaxed.

Which was when George popped his head in.

“The kids are planning a wedding rehearsal. Tubbo’s assigning roles and Fundy’s making cake armor.”

Dream screamed into a pillow.

Chapter Text

The castle gates slammed open like the world's most dramatic front door.

Two figures strode in with matching cloaks, glowing reputations, and wildly different energy levels.

"Announcing the arrival of Lord Halo and his companion, Skeppy of the Western Cliffs!" yelled a herald, immediately flinching as Skeppy shouted, "It's Skeppy and BBH, get it right!"

"Don't yell at the herald," BBH muttered, smoothing down his sleeves. "They're just doing their job."

"You yelled at me in the carriage for humming."

"You were humming WAP in a church zone!"

Skeppy grinned. "I teach through vibes."

---

The Meeting

Dream was mid-nap (or nap attempt-Timedeo was drumming on a pot nearby) when Punz gently shook him awake.

"There's... new moral supervisors."

"Why?" Dream croaked.

"Court decision," said Quackity, unhelpful and smirking. "Apparently, someone's letting toddlers duel nobility and there's concern."

Dream face-planted into the pillow. "Fair."

He dragged himself to the great hall, hair a mess, glitter still clinging to his sleeve, Tommy riding his back like a baby monkey.

And there they were. BadBoyHalo and Skeppy. Living legends. Public moral figures. Secret chaos magnets.

"Dream," BBH said warmly. "We're here to help guide these sweet little angels-"

Skeppy snorted.

"-through ethical behavior, kindness, and early developmental accountability."

"Cool," Tommy said. "What's your stance on stabbing people who touch my glitter?"

Skeppy gave him a high five.

BBH screamed.

---

The Lullaby Debate

Later that day, as part of their "bedtime moral integration," BBH and Skeppy took turns singing lullabies.

BBH, in his gentle, sing-song voice:

🎵 "Sleep, little hero, the stars shine above... kindness is power, the world's full of love..." 🎵

It was sweet. It was calm. It was-

"BORING," Fundy declared, already half-asleep in a pile of pillows.

Skeppy stood. "My turn."

He cleared his throat and began in a guttural whisper:

🎵 "Close your eyes and shut the hell up, if I get up again you're all f-" 🎵

"LANGUAGE," BBH shrieked.

"I said flyingly irrationally sleepy."

"That's not even a real phrase!"

Dream was half-asleep, hugging a pillow, while the kids cheered like it was a wrestling match.

"BBH, he said a new bad word!" Ranboo gasped.

"Write it down!" Tubbo shouted. "We're adding it to the secret list!"

"What secret list-?"

"The one labeled 'Things to Never Say in Front of Phil.'"

---

Meanwhile... in the shadows of court...

A noble watched with disgust from the balconies. They whispered to a robed figure beside them.

"So this is the 'Mother of the Children'? An emotional wreck flanked by criminals and degenerates?"

The robed figure tilted their head. "Should we act?"

"Soon. The court cannot tolerate much more of this... anarchy. We'll strike at the wedding."

---

Back in Chaosland

Dream sat at the center of a pillow fort, Tommy drooling on one arm, Purpled passed out on the other. Skeppy was teaching Fundy how to throw daggers at fruit, and BBH was trying to redirect the lesson to "Fruit Salad Diplomacy."

"Why is everyone insane?" Dream muttered into his cocoa.

George, curled up next to him, shrugged. "You attract them."

Wilbur, behind them, was softly singing "Ballad of the Mommy General." Techno sharpened a knife in time with the beat.

Dream exhaled.

He was doomed.

But at least he was loved.

---

Next up(spoilers ahead!!)

Wedding Rehearsal Mayhem, featuring: Techno in robes, Wilbur rewriting the vows mid-ceremony, and Ranboo losing the rings.

The noble court's assassination plot begins... and is promptly ruined by Purpled's tripwire trap, BBH's moral panic, and Tubbo's bomb.

Dream finally kisses someone. Accidentally. Possibly in front of everyone...

Chapter Text

It began almost normally.

Dream woke up, not to screaming, but to soft chanting.

This was, surprisingly, worse.

He opened one bleary eye to see Tommy and Tubbo, dressed in makeshift priest robes (bedsheets), waving incense made from burning flowers and aggressively chanting, “Hail Mommy Dream, Keeper of Juice Boxes!”

“Why are you like this,” Dream croaked.

“We’re practicing your wedding,” Tubbo said brightly.

“By founding a religion?!”

“Wilbur said it adds gravitas,” Tommy explained.

Wilbur poked his head in. “Also I thought it’d be funny.”

---

The Roles Were As Follows:

Techno: officiant, wearing a crown and a full set of ceremonial armor.

Wilbur: composer of vows and live musical accompaniment.

Tommy: Best Man, against everyone’s better judgment.

Tubbo: Ring Bearer (with explosives “just in case”).

Purpled: Flower Child and Emergency Legal Witness.

Ranboo: Nervous groomsman holding cue cards for everyone.

Fundy: Cake artist (and sabotage prevention officer).

Niki: Designer of suits and emotional support for all involved.

Timedeo: Definitely not supposed to be here, now hiding in the cake.

The suitors—Punz, Quackity, and Sapnap—stood side-by-side in matching tunics, glowing like a trio of emotionally damaged princes.

Dream stood in front of them with a dazed look and a suspicious glitter bruise on his cheek.

“I still don’t understand how this is legally binding,” he muttered.

“It’s not!” Quackity grinned. “Unless you say ‘I do’ under a full moon in the presence of royal kids and one (1) crow god. But that’s unlikely.”

“Phil’s coming,” Tubbo added helpfully.

Dream screamed.

---

Meanwhile… in the Shadows Above

The plotting noble leaned toward the cloaked figure beside them. “Now. During the vows.”

The cloaked figure nodded and slipped away, their crossbow hidden beneath ceremonial robes.

Down below, Wilbur strummed the first chord of his latest masterpiece, “Vows and Violence: The Mommy Ballad, Part II.”

Techno cleared his throat. “We are gathered here to celebrate the increasingly chaotic union of Dream, Mother of the Children, and his three very desperate boyfriends—”

“HEY—” Sapnap yelled.

“—who will now make their final vows.”

---

And then it went off the rails.

Literally.

Because Tubbo’s “emergency sparkler” exploded.

“WHO GAVE HIM FIREWORKS INSIDE?!” BBH shrieked, shielding Skeppy with his cape.

“I said it was for ambiance!” Tubbo cried.

Everyone dove for cover as the ceiling partially collapsed.

Dream tackled Tommy to safety, just as Purpled screamed, “SOMEONE TRIPPED MY BOOBYTRAP!”

Across the ballroom, the cloaked figure tried to aim their weapon—only for Ranboo to fall off the stage, flinging cue cards directly into the crossbow bolt's path.

The bolt bounced off a decorative cake tray, knocked into Skeppy’s apple juice, and launched it into the noble’s face with perfect comedic timing.

Quackity yelled, “I KNEW IT, THAT GUY WAS TOO TALL TO BE TRUSTED!”

Punz leapt from the stage and pinned the noble to the floor with all the force of someone deeply in love and aggressively overqualified for violence.

The children screamed, then cheered.

Wilbur never stopped playing.

---

Aftermath: The Debrief

The noble was escorted out, sobbing and covered in icing.

Philza, who had arrived just in time to watch someone catch on fire, sighed. “I leave for one week—”

“I’m engaged!” Dream shouted, glitter still in his hair.

Phil blinked. “To who?”

“…Yes.”

---

The ballroom was still smoky.

Tubbo had been bribed with six cookies and a juice box to stop lighting things. Purpled was pacing with a clipboard, muttering about “new structural regulations for the flower petal drop.” Ranboo was sitting in Wilbur’s lap, being consoled after “heroically deflecting a bolt with my FACE,” even though it had actually been the cue cards.

Dream stood by the punch bowl, trying to piece together how his life had reached this point.

“I am not getting married to three people at once,” he muttered. “That’s not a thing. That’s—bigamy, or poly-drama, or—”

“Poly-dreama,” Quackity cut in, appearing next to him with two glasses of suspiciously purple liquid.

“That’s not—don’t call it that—”

Quackity handed him a glass. “Too late. I branded it.”

Before Dream could argue, George and Sapnap started bickering across the room. Loudly.

"You're not even qualified to be a co-parent," George snapped.

"I changed diapers last week!"

"ONCE!"

"I help with nap time!"

"You start nap time by knocking them out with boredom!"

“I do crafts!”

“WITH FLAME THROWERS!”

Dream groaned. “They’re going to kill each other.”

Quackity raised an eyebrow. “And you think marrying us will stop this?”

“I’m not marrying—!”

Sapnap stormed over at full speed, flushed and furious. George followed, arms crossed, already mid-rant.

“—and another thing, Dream, you shouldn’t pick someone based on who makes better grilled cheese because that’s a manipulative metric!”

“What are you talking about?!”

“I SWEAR ON MY LIFE, IF YOU KISS ONE OF THEM FIRST—”

And that’s when Punz tripped. Because of course he did. He’d been dodging a rogue ring box thrown by Fundy, who was still bitter that his “cake knife defense demo” had been canceled.

Punz stumbled directly into Dream.

Dream turned to stop him from falling.

And bam.

Lips.

Right on Dream’s.

Silence.

Absolute silence.

Even Wilbur’s lute squeaked to a halt.

Every single child in the room gasped like they’d witnessed a royal beheading.

Tommy screamed, “DID YOU JUST KISS OUR MOM?!”

Dream, frozen, blinked. So did Punz.

“Oh no,” Dream whispered.

“Oh yes,” Quackity grinned.

Sapnap looked betrayed. “I made you waffles.”

George stared. “This is just like that time you kissed a frog in the moat, except so much worse.”

Skeppy, from the sidelines, called, “Ten out of ten! Do it again but with tongue!”

BBH shrieked. “SKEPPY, NO—!”

Punz finally stepped back, face blazing. “That was—That wasn’t on purpose—”

“It was beautiful!” Niki cried.

Ranboo clutched his pearls (actually a macaroni necklace). “Mommy Dream chose!”

“I DIDN’T CHOOSE ANYONE!” Dream yelled. “IT WAS A COLLISION!”

“THEN COLLIDE WITH ME NEXT!” Quackity said, throwing a rose at him.

Wilbur began tuning his lute again. “New song title: Accidental Vows and the Unexpected Mouth Crash.”

---

Later that night…

In the chaos's warm, sparkly aftermath, the kids finally drifted to sleep in a heap.

Punz sat quietly in the corner, occasionally glancing at Dream.

Quackity had claimed Dream’s shoulder with a lazy, smug grin. Sapnap sulked nearby with a pillow barricade labeled "DO NOT TOUCH. SAD."

George stole Dream’s drink and left a note that said, “Talk to me when you stop playing favorites, Your Majesty.”

Dream lay there, wide-eyed, absolutely overwhelmed, with Tommy snoring half on top of him and Tubbo curled around his arm like a baby badger.

He stared at the ceiling and whispered to himself:

“…I need a vacation.”