DreamSMP and Hermitcraft Oneshots [By Request]

Façade (Part 1)

Original Request, from AO3 user Shining_Diamondsae

(((Could you possible do something related to why Xisuma and Dream wear a mask? Like maybe a backstory on why they wear it or how they obtained it, i think that can be cool! )))

First chapter is on Dream and his mask, next is on Xisuma and his helmet. Fair warning, this one is just sad, the next one is sad, then happy.

Enjoy.

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Dream stared into the horizon.

The sky was still dark as ink, but with thin streaks of soft cream and rose pink bleeding into the vast blackness, the first hints of the rising sun brightening the sky along the east.

He exhaled, tasting the sweet scent of early morning in the air, the freshness of dew washing away the husky tenderness of night.

He was proud. Proud of everything he had done, everything he had made, everything he had raised from the nothingness.

He had accomplished so much. Made so much of his power.

Yet he was scared to do one simple thing.

People urged him on. It was their curiosity that led them, enticed them. They saw, or rather, could not see, a mystery, and they wanted an answer.

But he couldn't give the answer. Wouldn't.

He refused to show anyone his face. Even his closet friends had no idea who stood behind the mask.

He let people make stories. Some thought he was a mob hybrid. Some blamed it on low self esteem. Others seemed to think that he had scars, or some sort of horribly disfigured face.

He let the rumours fly. They were all wrong. But they were better than the truth.

His fingers brushed against the cold porcelain surface of his mask gently, as is reassuring himself that it was still there.

He hated the mask. It trapped him, made him feel weak. His power was muffled like his voice when he spoke with it on, hidden within him.

But that was also exactly why he wore it.

The mask strained his power, blocked and muddled and hid it. He had made for that purpose, and, of course, to hide his single distinguishing feature that followed him, no matter what form he took on.

He was fully aware of what he was capable of, knew precisely how much power he held. He could will the entire world his friends lived in to die, crumble to nothingness in a heartbeat if he had wanted, which was exactly what he was afraid of.

He had nightmares of what would happen if, no, when, he lost his temper, when he would finally snap, and something would notify his friends. The only mortals he had allowed close to his heart for as long as he could remember. And they would turn away, scared and disgusted by the things he had done, the un-washable blood that stained his seemingly clean hands. Or if he hurt them, although something inside him knew that he never could, not by choice at least.

He dreaded the day that they would find out, the disappointment in their eyes, the way they would turn to each other and exile him, condemning him to eternal loneliness again.

He wanted friends. Wanted comfort. Wanted someone to fill that forever empty hole in his heart that came with the price of immortality. But he knew, even as he tried to keep his friends around him, keep them tied to him, that it would bring his downfall, that they would shatter the heart he was so desperately trying to use them to mend.

He only had friends now because he was lying to them - none of them knew who he really was, what he had really done.

He stared at the tip of the sun that had just started to appear, rimming the clouds in gold, as if they had just been dipped in precious metals. A new day.

A new start.

A blank slate brimming with possibilities.

Something he didn't have the luxury of.

He watched the sky lighten, the shadows being chased back, aware that no one was around. He reached up, slender fingers removing his mask for the first time in what had seemed like forever, just to feel the morning air on his skin.

Blinking slowly, he opened his eyes.

Pure, glowing white eyes gazed forwards.

They never seemed to change, no matter what he tried to will them into.

Some called him Herobrine, although that was simply a form he had taken on during some of his darkest days. When he was a monster, born from chaos and craving destruction. He had carved a path for himself in the dark, through the blood, striking down anyone and anything that stood in his way.

Before he had realized how power, his power, would condemn him to an eternal lifetime of ice cold loneliness. He regretted those days, and it almost seemed a punishment to him that his cursed, empty eyes followed him whatever form he took - a reminder that he couldn't walk away from his past.

He had found it amusing that the creators had specifically chosen to "forget" to remove Herobrine in a recent update. Truth was, they no longer saw him as a threat - he had changed, softened. The harmless smile he had drawn on his mask seemed to farther prove that to them.

At least, that was what he told himself. It let him convince his own bitter mind that he was worthy of having friends, worthy of being ignorent to everything that he had done.

Yet deep inside him, he knew that he could never turn his back on his past, never ignore the thick blood that stained his hands. There was too much he had done, too much to forget. And he knew that the people he called his friends, the mortals he had invited into his heart would see it too, with perfect clarity. They would no longer want him.

So just for a while, the tiny fraction of his life that he would spend here, his heart closer to complete then it had or ever would be, he let himself hide from his past.

But he knew.

One day, he would take off the mask for the last time - discard it into the blood and chaos that would undoubtedly be left in his wake.

One day, it would be over, and he would be alone, forever.

One day.

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Well that was depressing. Fun to write, but depressing ;-;

Hope you enjoyed, next chapter is on Xisuma.