turbo virgin loser boy Technoblade who secretly LOVES being called a good boy.
Thing is, praise isn't exactly a kink Techno's aware he even has. It's more so just conditioning from his earlier years as a young solider when the world ran on a very simple system: Do your job, win the fight, protect the line.
And somewhere in that rigid structure there were moments where someone above him would nod once and say something like "good work" or "well done, soldier." That was the reward.
So when Techno catches you saying it to his horse Carl? And not him?? His heart embarrassingly stirs with jealousy.
“Aww you're such a good boy today!!” You coo, voice sweet and fond. You're outside in the snow by the cabin, both your hands are on Carls big dumb face, rubbing along his cheeks, fingers buried in his mane. "You're my best boy!! Yes you are!! Yes you are!!”
Techno does NOT call Carl a good boy, not ever. Techno gives nods, approving grunts, a 'good' at best. It's respect between warriors, no praise fluff, no baby talk and certainly no 'good boy.'
So when you say it? Carl melts.
He makes this low, pleased huff. Deep in his chest and leans into your hand hard. Like twelve hundred pounds of warhorse deciding affection is now all he'll ever need. His head presses into your shoulder, his muzzle shoves under your chin, and you stagger with a startled laugh, nearly losing your balance.
“Carl—whoa—HEY—!” You laugh, grabbing his mane to steady yourself.
Carl takes that as encouragement. He nudges you again, harder, practically trying to crawl into your arms, eyes half-lidded, tail swishing like he’s just been knighted. If horses could purr, he'd be purring.
From across the snow yard Techno stops what he’s doing. He watches Carl absolutely lose his mind over being called a good boy, watches you laughing, rubbing his forehead, repeating it without realizing the damage you're doing.
“Easy, easy—good boy, Carl! You're my sweet big boy!!"
And Techno just stands there, quiet and still.
The voices IMMEDIATLY clock it.
WHAT?!?
SWEET BIG BOY??
WHY DOES HE GET CALLED THAT?!
WHY DOES HE GET THE BABY VOICE?!
TECHNO HELLO???
THAT TONE IS RESERVED FOR US!!
THIS IS UNACCEPTABLE!! WE DESERVE PRAISE TOO!! NOT THAT DUMB HORSE!!
Techno’s jaw tightens a fraction, he looks away, pretends he doesn’t care. He absolutely cares.
Carl, meanwhile, throws his entire weight into you again, nearly bowling you over as he shoves his forehead into your chest like "yes. more. say it again."
“Okay, okay—you’re gonna knock me over!!" You're wheezing with laughter now. "Such a good boy! Fast and strong!! You're my good boy and no one else!”
Techno mutters, barely audible, “…Traitor.”
And Techno, who has survived wars, exile and betrayal has to confront the devastating realization that his horse is getting praised and he is not.
And he is, unfortunately, a little jealous.
You're still laughing, one hand buried in Carl’s mane, still riding the high of victory.
“Aww and you're so handsome!! You're my handsome boy! Yes you—”
Carl makes this deep, delighted huff. A sound like a furnace lighting and lunges forward with pure, unfiltered joy. Not aggressive, just way too much horse.
You yelp as the world tilts. Your boots slide out from under you and you go straight back into the snow with an “Oof!” flat on your back, breath knocked clean out of you.
Before you can even sit up, Carl’s massive head is right there.
Nuzzling you everywhere.
Your shoulder, your chest, your cheek. His warm breath fogs your face as he presses his muzzle into you like he’s trying to crawl inside your coat. Snow scatters everywhere. You're laughing helplessly, half buried, hands up like surrender flags.
“CARL—! Carl—oh my God—okay—okay—!”
Techno rushes over, heart in his throat, boots crunching. “Carl—Carl, back—!”
He grabs Carl’s halter, pulling the horse away.
You're red-faced, wheezing, snow in your hair, one mitten lost somewhere in the chaos.
“I’m okay—!” You laugh, gasping.
Techno hauls Carl back with effort, planting himself between you. Carl protests with a disappointed snort, craning his neck like 'but she said the thing.'
Techno helps you up, brushing snow off your shoulders with quick, careful hands. His cheeks are pink. His ears are worse.
“…You good?” he asks, softer than usual.
You grin up at him, breathless. “Yeah. Think I broke your horse.”
Carl stamps once, offended, then leans over Techno’s shoulder to nuzzle you again, much gentler this time, like he learned his lesson in real time.
Techno exhales, defeated. “…He’s never acted like this.”
You, still smiling, reach up and pat Carl’s nose. “Guess he just really likes being called a good boy."
Carl preens.
The voices, immediately:
SO DO WE!!
TECHNO WHEN WILL IT BE OUR TURN!!
WE'VE BEEN GOOD!!
So anyways later that night when the snow's whispering against the walls, you're already in bed, laying on your back, a book open in your hands, lamp glowing warm beside you, the rooms quiet except for the occasional page turning.
You're halfway through a paragraph when the ladder creaks.
You don't look up, "You're late."
Snow still clings to the hem of his cloak. He shrugs it off first, hanging it over a chair by the wall. The heavy fabric falls with a quiet rustle. Then he kicks off his boots, they land beside the bed with a dull thud.
You don't look up yet, but the corner of your mouth twitches.
Techno sits on the edge of the mattress, shoulders heavy after the day. He runs a hand over the back of his neck, staring at the floor for a moment.
You turn a page. Then, finally, you peek up at him over the top of the book. Eyes a little mischievous.
“You seen Carl today? He was such a good boy today.”
He exhales a long, tired sigh through his nose. "Mm," he just sits there another second.
Then he turns and literally flops forward.
All six-foot-something and 250 pounds of stubborn warlord just collapses onto you like a tired mountain, burying his face against your chest. His arms hook loosely around your waist.
“……my turn.”
The book tilts dangerously.
You groan softly. “Techno—” But you're already setting the book aside and roll your eyes, though the smile pulling at your mouth ruins the effect. Your arms slide around him automatically, one hand coming up to cradle the back of his head. Your fingers slip into his hair. Slow, gentle strokes.
His shoulders relax almost immediately.
“I knew it,” you murmur.
He grunts something muffled against your shirt, pretending to be annoyed by the attention.
You sigh dramatically.
“Don't worry, you’re a good boy too.”
His whole body stiffens for half a second. His ears go bright red.
The voices instantly detonate inside his head.
SHE SAID IT!!
THIS IS NOT A DRILL!!
WE'RE HER GOOD BOY TECHNO!!
WE'D BARK FOR HER IF SHE ASKED!!
Techno makes a low, embarrassed grunt and buries his face deeper against your chest like maybe the mattress will swallow him whole.
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Basically the Greek myth about the minotaur but Technoblade is the monster. I wonder how this will turn out?
Oneshot
2.5k words
Today would be the day you die.
That was what you thought as you stood at the entrance of an imposing doorway, almost twice your own height. The doors were locked shut by a large metal sliding lock, and two of the king’s guards stood on either side.
The door was said to lead to a labyrinth, a cold unforgiving prison designed to keep in the half man, half pig hybrid that had once ravaged your nation.
You’d heard that the monster was strong enough to beat one hundred armed soldiers alone in combat, leaving battlefields and cities soaked in blood as he went on an uncontrolled rampage. It was only through the careful effort of the king and queen, along with a skilled inventor, that they were able to lure him into his prepared prison where he resided until today.
To keep the beast entertained in his elaborate jail cell, every few years, nine young men and nine young women were to be sacrificed. Tossed into the labyrinth to be hunted by the monster.
You were one of those sacrifices.
You yelped as the guard leading you tugged on your rope. It was connected to a metal collar around your neck and you couldn’t help but move forward. The other guards unlocked the door and opened it just wide enough for your body to slip through, before promptly pushing you inside. They tossed the rope in with you.
The last sliver of the outside world disappeared as they slammed the heavy doors behind you.
You observed your surroundings. You seemed to be in a dark tunnel, possibly underground, sparsely lit by old torches. The floor was rough and dusty. The walls towered over you and were too smooth for you to climb.
You wondered if you should wait by the door for when they let in the next sacrifice but that would take several days. It was the guards’ way of stretching out the fun for the monster, or else everyone would be killed at the same time, barely sating the beast’s bloodlust.
You shivered, both from the thought and from the chill creeping into your skin. The white sacrificial cloth and sandals that they had dressed you in did little to protect you from the cold. The only way to keep warm would be to move.
Your footsteps echoed as you walked through the abandoned tunnels. Every time the tunnels split, you chose the path to your right. Not that it mattered – the labyrinth was designed to fool even the smartest humans. The stone all looked the same under the darkness, so there were no visual cues to follow. The pathways were also confusing, sometimes turning at right angles, sometimes at sharp, narrow angles. Sometimes, the walls curved gently, leading you down a winding path that had you feeling like you were walking in circles. Not to mention the floor sloped up and down, and you actually groaned when you saw stairs. No doubt there were multiple levels to this labyrinth. It was designed so no one should be able to escape. The sunlight was also completely blocked out, meaning you would have no sense of time.
Sometimes you thought you heard footsteps, or even hoof steps behind you. It would send you into a panic, but when you looked around, you didn’t see anyone. Most likely it was the monster, but it also could have been the echoes of your own footsteps.
After a few hours, you heard dripping water. You decided to follow it to see if you could find a water source.
You entered an open room surrounded by moss and algae. Near the opposite wall, there was a stone basin where water was collected from a dripping pipe. You rushed forward and collapsed in front of the basin in relief. You scooped the water into your mouth, not caring if it was clean or not. Then you rubbed water over your face and body to cleanse yourself of the dust that had gathered on the skin.
It was only then that you realized how tired your feet were. This was as good a place as any to rest. You laid down on the stone and drifted off to sleep.
You awoke to the sound of footsteps and quickly perked up. Standing a few meters away from you was a man wearing an animal skull on his head. Long, pink hair draped behind his back, coarse and tied into a loose braid. The dark atmosphere of the labyrinth made him even more intimidating.
The empty eye sockets of the skull mask seemed to bore into your soul.
“Who are you?” You asked.
He rolled his neck, toned muscle peeking out from the top of his shirt. “Who do you think I am?”
“Are you a hero?”
He seemed surprised at your answer. You felt his demeanor shift, from imposing to curiosity, though he stayed silent.
“I mean, your clothes look a lot better quality than mine, so you’re clearly not a sacrifice. And you also look strong- I’ve heard of heroes wanting to kill the hog beast that lives in this labyrinth, so maybe you’re the first one to make it in?” You stumbled over your own words. You hoped this man wouldn’t kill you out of pure annoyance.
To your relief, he seemed happy about your answer.
“Yeah… Sure, I guess you could say I’m a warrior.”
His voice, deep and husky, sent shivers down your spine. You tried not to let it show.
He walked closer to you and offered his hand. Graciously, you took it. His fingers were thick and calloused, but they wrapped gently around your delicate ones as he helped you stand. You brushed off some dust that had collected on your robes.
“Great, do you have a plan to get us out of here?” You asked.
He put his hand to his chin thoughtfully. “I want to get more information about the… monster. What do you know about him?”
“Well,” you started, eager to be helpful. “They say that the monster is strong enough to best one hundred men in battle. He’s got an insatiable thirst for blood. He kills to eat, but he also kills for fun. Parents would tell their kids that the labyrinth monster would kidnap and eat them if they were misbehaving.”
He scoffed. “Well, maybe he wouldn’t be eating them if they weren’t so damn annoying.”
You were shocked. “Wait, does he really eat children?”
“Nah, just gives them a good scare. Children don’t have enough meat on their bones to be worth it.” He laughed like it was a morbid joke. “And he usually only starts fights with those that provoke him first. If he kills someone, it’s for a reason.”
“Sounds like you know more about the monster than me.” You commented.
“Ah, well, that’s just hearsay you get from travelling. It’s all old news. He might be a bit crazier now.”
“Yeah, I suppose spending years in this labyrinth would make anyone go insane.” You spoke.
He stretched his arms, grunting. “Alright, looks like our best plan is to keep going through the labyrinth. See if we can find more information-”
Your stomach grumbled.
Right, you hadn’t eaten in a whole day.
You tried to play it off, but the man hit you with an amused smirk.
“Hungry?”
You glared at him. “I’ve had nothing but water since entering this place.”
The man dug around his pockets and handed you a single cooked potato. It was still warm. You looked at him, confused.
“Eat up. We can’t move if you’re starving.”
--
The two of you spent some time in that chamber. He told you his name was Technoblade, and you told him yours in return. He watched you intently as you chewed through the potato with nothing but your teeth and hands, as if you were a fascinating specimen on display.
Once your hunger was sated, the two of you took a few last sips of water, then began exploring the rest of the labyrinth. Technoblade made you lead the way while he followed behind. He seemed completely at ease, which made you feel relaxed as well.
"Do you think you're strong enough to slay to monster?" You asked after you had been walking in silence for a while.
He barked out a laugh at your question. "Yeah, I'd say we're about the same strength."
When you became cold from the creeping chill of the dark labyrinth, he placed his thick cape on your shoulders. “I’m used to the cold.” He said. You were immensely grateful. The fabric was high quality and bordered with soft fur, finer than anything you’ve ever worn your whole life.
On the off chance you came across a water source, you would take the opportunity to rest. Technoblade asked about your life before coming into the labyrinth. Truth be told, your family was poor, and you had to steal to survive. That meant you were labelled as a criminal, one of the best categories of people to be used as a sacrifice.
Sensing that you were uncomfortable talking about your living conditions, he asked more about the stories you were told as a child, apart from the labyrinth monster. You told him about forest nymphs, legendary knights and princesses, witches, seers, three-headed dragons and sirens. He listened intently to your stories, as if entranced, and you even continued narrating when the two of you started moving again.
When your feet became too sore to continue walking, and there was no water source to use as an excuse, you would sit, back resting against the wall. It seemed that Technoblade never got tired. By the third time you wanted to rest like this, he became impatient, scooping you up in his arms bridal style like you weighed nothing, despite your protests.
“Put me down! You’ll use up all your energy!” You cried.
“It’s no burden on me, as long as you keep telling me that story about the cyclops.” He chuckled.
You were too tired to fight against him. You rested your head against his chest, seeing there was nowhere else to lean it. Eventually, you fell asleep to the rhythmic movement of his walking.
--
When you woke, you were resting on a soft bed. Next to you, there was a wooden wall. A cozy lamp hung from the ceiling. There was even a bedside table where a glass of water was placed, waiting for you. Was that sunlight coming through the window? It seemed like you were inside someone’s cabin.
Wait - weren’t you just in the labyrinth?
Did Techno save you? That would be the only reason why you were somewhere safe and warm. Did he slay the monster? Oh no, what if he was injured?
Your mind rushed with hundreds of possibilities.
“Technoblade?” You called out, cautiously. Your voice sounded meek and pathetic.
When there was no reply, you stepped out of the bed and walked across the room.
“Techno?” You called again.
This time he appeared, his large frame entirely blocking the doorway. He had removed his skull mask. His face was littered with a few battle scars, and you could see two tusks protruding from his mouth. His eyes were an unnaturally bright shade of red, twin rubies that drew all your attention.
Regardless, you were glad to see him. You rushed forward and wrapped your arms around his torso.
He seemed pleased with your reaction. “You called, darling?”
You smiled at him, even ignoring the nickname. “Where are we?”
“We’re in the pig-monster’s house.”
“Wait -huh?” Your confusion was evident. You tried to pull away, but Technoblade’s strong hands gripped your arms, holding you in a vice grip against his body.
“When the labyrinth was built, they built it around the monster’s house while he was sleeping.” He began to explain. “It was clever, real clever. They started with a thick chain net to cover the house. Then they build a wooden fence around it. Outside the wood, there was obsidian, then end stone, creating a wall that would take even the beast a long time to break through with his bare hands. Outside of that, they built a maze of pathways at rapid speed, caging the monster for years.”
“Then we need to get out of here! The monster could return at any time!”
“Ah, wait.” He shushed you. “The ‘monster’ has already returned.”
You froze. He couldn’t possibly mean that.
You looked up at him. His eyes were glowing with anticipation. He was smiling, but to you, it looked like he was baring his teeth. Those tusks were probably sharp enough to tear your skin-
You tried to push past him, tried to sneak into that little gap between his body and the doorframe so you could escape.
“Let me go!” You shrieked.
To your surprise, he actually did loosen his grip. It was enough for you to go running into the hallway, past the menacing weapons that hung on the wall, and into the foyer. You fumbled with the lock on the door leading outside.
“Silly human, you won’t be able to outrun me!” His deep voice reverberated through the walls, but he was taking his time, as if he was amused by your escape attempt.
You got the door open, and stumbled into a potato patch. Dirt covered the white cloth hugging your body and your knees ached with pain, but you couldn’t stop. You pushed forward, jumped through the enormous hole that had been made in the wooden fence, then passed the obsidian and stone layers, tumbling into a dark tunnel again.
But you couldn’t give up now.
You began running blindly down the tunnel. Behind you, you could hear footsteps, hoof steps closing in.
Strong claws grasped the back of your robes, lifting you effortlessly into the air.
The monster, Technoblade, spun you around to face him. His body had morphed, turning him into a giant, bipedal hog with tusks like knives on his face. His red eyes glowed. It would have been enough to make the most experienced warriors cower in fear.
“I must admit, the chase was fun. It seems like you’ve still got some fight in ya.” He growled.
“I- I trusted you!” You said accusingly. Tears were starting to form in your eyes.
As if reacting to your tears, he lowered you so your feet were touching the ground, though his hands still remained twisted around the fabric of your robes. You were facing the dark tunnel again, with your back to him.
“Do you see that?” He said, leaning over you and nodding his tusks toward the darkness. “I figured, if I can’t find a path out of this labyrinth, then I might as well go through it. I’ve created a tunnel that goes straight through the walls. Soon enough, we’ll be out of here.”
We?
That meant he wasn’t going to kill you… yet.
“I’m thinking I’ll build a nice home, hidden far away from the humans. I’ve learned they can be quite a… nuisance when they work together.”
You gulped.
“But, living in this labyrinth has taught me about the burden of loneliness. I’m thinking I’d like to have a little wife to keep me company.”
With that, he scooped you up into his arms, carrying you bridal style.
"Wuthering Heights", but instead of Heathcliff, it is Technoblade.
I watched Wuthering Heights a few days ago, and as an Eng Lit girly, I enjoyed it WAY more than I expected. It motivated me to finally write an idea that's been in my head for a year!
Wuthering Heights, but instead of Heathcliff, it's Technoblade. Other characters' names aren't specified - imagine them how you want. (A mix of the book, the 2026 movie and my own ideas.)
wc: 12691
Wuthering Heights has never once seen the sun.
It is always either windy, stormy, or grey. The wind rattles against the windows and whispers down the chimney. The storms leave nothing but slippy mud outside the house, making it hard to leave the place.
The walls of the house are stone, lined with grotesque carvings and sturdy narrow windows. The inside of the house is always dark, like the windows are blindfolded from light. The walls are constantly cold, and the only warmth the house gets is from candles and the fire.
With the sky always grey, the place is sun-starved.
No colourful flowers, purple herbs, rainbows... The only sort of colour the place sees is Technoblade's pink hair, standing out against all the monotone and dull colours.
He is the only sunlight you have in your life.
Your father took in Technoblade and brought him back to Wuthering Heights when you were six years old. Called him a vagabond from the side o' the street. Nobody else would take in this imp of Satan.
The first thing you noticed about him was his red eyes, a colour as deep as blood. Unusual, but mesmerising.
Despite your father's unfairness towards Techno, it is undeniable that he has the manners and dress of a gentleman.
Ever since then you two have been much too fond of each other.
You sneak into his room in the farm some nights. He stares at you as you get ready for bed through the window in your bedroom.
You happily share food together, biting where the other had just bitten, always giving the other the bigger half.
A rock near the horses' stables sits with an engraving of both your initials. Whenever someone leaves the house, the initials are always visible in their peripheral - a constant reminder of how close together you both are.
Technoblade is you in every form. You both slot together like a puzzle.
You try your best to teach him how to read and write, but the session usually ends with Techno frustrated, grumbling that he doesn't care for any of it.
He still lets you keep teaching him next session.
You both spend hours exploring the moors, sneaking out of your father's heavy grip. You go on long walks, talking about the most random things, like your most embarrassing moment ever and a book you had recently finished reading – you end up being the one mostly talking.
Sometimes you lie down somewhere, staring at the clouds as they move across the sky like they are racing each other.
One day, you both get caught in a storm on one of your walks.
It is chucking it down; there is no sign of sunlight anywhere to be seen in the thick clouds.
"We can walk through it." Techno reassures, gesturing to the pathway in front of you.
You are both sheltering under a stone archway, protecting yourselves from the rain. You thought the rain would stop in a few minutes, but now it has been half an hour. You're both wet, cold, and a mile away from the house.
"It will stop, we can wait."
"I really don't think-"
"It will stop."
You both know your father will be upset when you get back - coming back home after your curfew.
When you look at Techno, he is looking down at you with a small smirk on his face. What harm could it be to stay out together a little longer than usual, away from the house?
The rain did not stop. After an hour, it got even heavier and did not relax one bit. You both wing it and run back in the rain, clothes and hair completely drenched, slipping on the muddy hills.
By the time you are back at the house, the sky is pitch black, with no light from the stars or moon to aid you due to the clouds covering them like a black veil.
Your father's voice hits you both like a sudden thunderbolt.
"Where have you been?"
He sits at the dimly lit dining table with the other housekeepers, who sit with their heads down. Dinner sits in front of him, untouched.
"We were caught in the storm." You admit, mouth agape as you stare at your father's dark face.
"I was worried. Did you forget about the curfew time I set?"
"I am sorry. Let's have supper and-" You forget to say we're sorry, partially as you were the one who said we can wait.
The plate in front of your father gets swiped off the table and flung across the room, past your body, onto the wall behind you. The metal hits the wall with a loud clang, the sound echoing as it spins on the floor.
You flinch as it comes your way, not getting hit as Techno's hand pulls you into him, away from the hit.
"It's completely cold now."
Techno steps forward, putting you behind him. He is almost the same height as your father already, despite only being twelve.
"She kept saying we need to go back. It is my fault, sir."
It will stop, we can wait.
You go to open your mouth, not wanting Techno to take the blame, but your father speaks first.
"I am the kindest man alive. Housing you, feeding you... and this is how you repay me?" Scoffing, his hand gestures at Techno's body. "By trembling? By making me feel like a brute?"
Techno isn't shaking one bit. He sees your father unbuckling his belt before you do and shouts at the nearest housekeeper to take you and hide.
Arms grab onto your body, pulling you out of the room. You shout back, saying it is your fault, and keep shouting after you are locked in another room.
You hear the belt whips through the door, your father's angry, grumbly voice, and the other housekeeper's pleads for your father to stop.
Your father is a cruel, cruel man, and your anger for him lingers for your whole life.
When you sneak into his room in the farm later that evening, you whisper as you gently sit on the side of his bed, "It was my fault, not yours."
"I couldn't see him hurt you."
Your finger lightly slides along one of the marks on the back of his shirt, and he continues.
"I will take this, and more, every day, if it means you don't get hurt."
Your eyebrows raised in sorrow as you stared at his back.
"I'm sorry, Techno."
"Don't ever be sorry for me. I will protect you again and again. Always."
I will protect you again and again. Always.
"Unfortunately, I am going to feel sorry for you again one day."
The rain is loud outside as you sit there, staring at his back, as he lies tilted away from you.
"What can I do?"
"Just stay with me."
You lie down next to him, looking at the ceiling. His arm flicks the blanket over you, shortly after finding your torso, all the while still turned away from you.
When you look at his shirt again, the whip spots are still visible. Blood soaks the back of his shirt in ragged lines, each hit harsh enough to leave scars.
He still has those scars to this day.
The scars glisten underneath his sweat, his back muscles and biceps flexing as he lifts barrels of straw and moves new ones in for the farm animals. As you walk past him, he rises upwards, back faced to you.
Like he can feel your eyes eating him up, he looks up at you.
His eyes follow you as you walk across the front of the house, mesmerised, and you keep your eyes locked on his.
What is the feeling this eye contact is giving you-
He stares and stares with no shame until you leave his vision. You were staring at him first, and then he stared right back at you.
So this is what he would look like on a farm.
As he grew up, he grew much taller than your father. His built body is not the one you would expect for a servant. Broad shoulders, thick arms, a tough torso - you think you felt abs one day when you punched him in the stomach.
His pink hair grew longer, to just above his shoulders, and he lets it fall in any way it wants. A short beard - you force him to trim it when it gets too long, as it covers his features. His eyes stayed the exact same - that deep, unsettling red.
You wonder if he notices how you changed as you grew too.
Father speaks to you and expresses how he really believes that Techno is some sort of devil reincarnation, due to those eyes.
One night, you dream of the river half a mile from the house.
You dream of you and Techno sitting at the edge of it, your feet swaying in the brown of the water.
As your eyes unfocus while staring at your reflection, the water surrounding your feet transforms to red, the water suddenly changing colour like the brown never existed.
When your feet fly out, they are stained red, the colour of the water not dripping off. When you go to grab Techno behind you, no one is there.
Techno suggests you both go to that river on your daily walk today.
When you arrive, it is not the colour you dreamt it was, but you still feel unsettled looking at it.
"Last time I saw this river, it was completely red... like it was full of gallons of blood."
Your face is grim as you say the statement, eyes staring into the river like all you can see is that red and not the dirty brown of it.
He stares at the stillness of your eyes, observing your side profile.
To get you out of whatever you're seeing, he violently stomps his boot down into the puddle between you both.
The puddle erupts in a loud splash, the calm surface shattered by his own foot. The droplets splatter all over both of your lower halves.
The look on your face is worth it.
"Techno!" You gasp, groaning at your now wet skirt, lifting it up and looking at it like it will forever be ruined.
He only laughs, smiling at you, not bothered by his now wet calves.
As the sun sets behind the clouds and reflects in dim shimmers of light on the river and puddle, the droplets of murky water splattered all over your lower half almost do look like blood.
Walking back to Wuthering Heights, you keep moaning about how your skirt is wet, speaking Techno's ear off.
When he's sick of your complaining, he suddenly grabs you by the hips and lifts you up onto a high branch on a tree above a large pond. How he reached this high up while holding you, you can't comprehend-
The action results in only more complaining from you, shouting at him to help you down. The only way you could get down is by getting even more wet.
Despite your shouting, Techno walks away and leaves you on the branch above the large pond - that boar.
"You shall be sorry when I fall out of this tree and crack my head open!" You shout after his disappearing figure, legs shaking at the vertigo of being much higher up than usual.
The next morning, Techno goes to sit down on his bed when he hears loud cracks - cracks like he had just stomped on a whole family of snails.
When he rises and lifts his blanket up, eggs scatter his bed. Yolk crushed and bleeding out across the white, while the shell sits sharp in little bits over the white.
His mind is blank as he stares at the mess, eyebrows furrowed as he thinks of when you could have snuck in here to put these here.
His fingers slide into the split yolk, wading through it, the sensation of it somewhat sensual. His thoughts flicker an image of a similar sensual slide, fingers sliding into your wetness instead of yolks- and he forces himself out of the room before the thoughts have a chance to continue.
Storming into the kitchen where he finds you, he has to tilt his head to fit the low ceiling and slams his hands down onto the table that separates your bodies.
You don't flinch as his hands slam, nor when he leans down into your face, continuing to nibble on some bread.
"Are you pleased with yourself?"
Knowing exactly what he is talking about, you speak back with a full mouth, "Very."
He goes to say something else until the loud and unmistakeable noise of your father travels through the walls of the house.
"I know how to ride a horse- Eff off you silly woman!"
Drunk at midday and shouting at the housekeepers - again.
When the horse reaches you and Techno, your father slurs as he addresses him.
"Technoblade- we had a moment the other day. What a wretch I am, can you forgive me?"
Techno nods a simple nod, "Yes, sir."
"Oh, splendid! Splendid, splendid boy. I'm off to see the solicitor."
With a salute, he and his horse trot away from the house. It starts to rain the moment he leaves, like he left a bad omen here.
You lift your hands above your head to shield your eyes from the rain.
Questioning what they were talking about, you ask, "What happened the other day?"
"Nothing out of the order for him." Techno simplifies.
Huffing, you reply, "Surely he knows you can choke him in his sleep any time."
"He knows I wouldn't." While he says this, he moves his hands to be the ones shielding your eyes, making you all he can see.
"I wish you would."
"Do you?"
You both just stare at each other, like your eyes are finishing the conversation, and you turn to head inside to dry yourself off - ignoring the lingering burn his eyes give you.
Techno thinks to himself if you had replied with yes, your father wouldn't be alive to see tomorrow.
After you dried yourself off, you headed back to the kitchen area, in different clothes and with clean hair. Techno is there, preparing a meal of some sort. His shoulders look big in the dim light.
Making conversation - it is astonishing how sociable you feel compared to him - you ask, "Did you hear about the new neighbours?"
When he denies hearing about anything, you continue, "Father told me what they are called. I saw all their stuff being taken to the house... he can't be anything but filthy rich. It would be nice to be rich. What would you do if you were rich, Techno?"
He looks up in thought like he's contemplating it. "Live in a big house... with a forest behind it. Have a farm. A wife."
A wife?
While Techno responds, you wrap yourself up in layers and layers of blankets and sit near to where the fire usually is. The recent rain did not help your chilled bones and neither does the constant cold of the house.
You imagine the rich life Techno described. It seems more than just rich money wise.
He calls you out of your thoughts with your name, asking, "Are you cold?"
You deny, shaking your head.
"Father is gambling away all our money and spending it all on alcohol - I don't wanna use wood which will make us have to spend more money."
You can feel him looking at you, his gaze intense.
"You don't have to worry about that."
"I'm scared he will make me marry him. I hope I shall die of this cold to spare the torture of it." You confess, referencing to the new neighbour.
At your statement, Techno rises quickly, wood scraping on wood. Your head snaps to him, and he lifts the chair up in the air.
"What are you doing-" The wood splints as he crashes the wood chair against the floor, the legs breaking off.
"Techno!" The wood smashes again, the whole chair breaking apart. He gathers all the wood pieces together and drops them into the fireplace.
He lights a small piece of the wood with a nearby candle and chucks it into the fireplace to get the rest of the chair's wood started.
"Do not marry him."
His voice is final, and with the statement he closes the conversation and slips back away to his room in the farm.
The next time you see him, he is hauling barrels of straw, again.
His shirt is off, and you refuse to look in his direction as you walk past. You know his eyes are on you, and you don't stop standing your ground until you are out the stone archway which separates the house and the road.
A deep breath escapes you, and you begin your daily walk.
That stupid shirtless man.
On your walk, the rich neighbour comes across you - unexpectedly. He greets you very politely and insists you come over for some tea. Despite your refusal, he convinces you to come, his home being only a "five-minute walk away."
He tells you how he has been meaning to meet you, having already met your family, and that it is "lovely to finally meet you, miss."
Little did you know the five-minute walk would sprain and destroy your ankle worse than you ever have before.
Your letter reaches Wuthering Heights the same evening.
Father,
I will cut straight to the point - I have sprained my ankle badly and cannot walk on it.
Our new neighbour came across me on my walk and insisted I come over for some tea. I hurt myself on the way there.
He says I should stay for a few days to heal up.
As your father reads the letter, he laughs, "He really came across her!"
Your father explains to the room that instead of going to a solicitor, he went to go see the new neighbour and asked him to try to find you on one of your walks, in hopes you two would get closer.
He is a nice man. His sister is nice too. I hope to not be here too long.
Techno feels nothing but concern at your letter.
"She has sprained her ankle. I will carry her back."
"It's bloody miles away." Your father squints at him.
"S'nothing."
"No, you can't go! I want them to get closer. Plus, you are a servant. And a vagabond. You would ruin her image."
Ignoring his comments, Techno persists, "We can't just-"
The decision is final. The same kind of finality when Techno ended the conversation with telling you not to marry the rich neighbour. Now you are with so-called neighbour.
His eyes roll in aggravation at the annoyance of the situation.
When your father comes back from visiting you a few days later, Techno immediately asks how you are and when you will be back.
Your father laughs in his face, "If that man is half as in love as he looks, I doubt she will be back for long."
The days go by slowly, at the same pace as waiting for morning to come on a sleepless night. He waits for your arrival, checking the roads each hour.
When you do arrive back, you're dressed differently. Your hair isn't unkempt, and your clothes look expensive - a colour Techno has never seen you in.
The expression on your face shows nothing but happiness at being back at Wuthering Heights, and the first thing you ask after greeting all the housekeepers is, "Where is Techno?"
When your eyes scan the surrounding areas, Techno doesn't see that you're happy to be back as you can see him again. He can only see how you're wearing a hairstyle he has never seen before, which he thinks is only concealing the beauty of your natural hair.
A few hours later, with the thoughts of the hairstyle and clothes you were wearing still running around in his head, you find him.
"There you are!"
He doesn't even look your way as he says, "You're back." His voice monotone and uncaring.
A moment of silence is shared between you both, filled with an air that isn't usually there. Techno doesn't see how the smile on your face dropped at his response to you coming back to him.
"Is that it?" You question, offended. "I've been gone for days. Did you not miss me?"
"How ridiculous you look." He replies, again without sparing a glance at you.
"How cross you look." You snap back. "Are you angry because I was there? I didn't choose to-"
He cuts you off, sharp. "I am working. I am not angry at you."
Quieter this time, he continues with, "We are not children anymore, surely you understand."
That uncomfortable silence returns.
"Sorry for craving your company after so many days with people I have no interest in. Carry on with your work."
When Techno turns to look at you, you are already gone.
He slams his axe back down into the wood.
He didn't think you looked any less beautiful in the rich neighbour's clothing, but it felt like you had accepted influence from another man that wasn't him.
Techno hates the idea of someone else having influence over you.
You think about him the rest of the day, feeling the urge to apologise to him.
Night comes and you tread lightly across the old wooden floorboards to avoid them creaking, calling out for your comfort.
"Techno?"
About to push aside the curtain to his sleep area, you halt at voices and a clinking sound below the floorboards.
You'd recognise that strong accent anywhere.
Slowly peeking through a hole in the floorboards, you barely make out the old man with the warm lanterns.
He and a woman speak in similar tones, whispering to each other, before he cracks a whip harshly on the floor and puts what would usually be put on a horse, on her.
You gasp, confused, before a hand clamps around your mouth.
Another hand then clamps over your eyes, turning everything black - causing you to lose your voice and sight.
Heavy inhales and exhales of oxygen rise and fall on Techno's hand from you as he protects you from the sight of what occurs below his room.=
His large chest warms your back, and a knee over your leg keeps you to the ground.
You focus on the sound of your breathing, Techno's breath near your ear, and the feeling of his chest on you.
How many times has Techno had to witness what occurs below the floorboards?
Your cheeks redden, embarrassment and heat rising in your blood at the new knowledge of the whole situation.
In and out, in and out, in and out - you breathe.
The noises downstairs quickly falter and finish, but it feels like you've been trapped here like a fly in a web for hours.
His hand first slowly slips away from your mouth.
Then your eyes.
The whole room is completely silent.
The moment he pushes himself up on his elbows, you are up from under him and rushing out of the room, floorboards creaking under you, out of the web.
In your absence, he lies on the ground on his back, letting out a deep sigh.
He has to adjust his trousers and take a moment.
The things you do to him.
The next morning you rush past him as he and a butcher gut a dead animal.
Your fast pace furrows his brows in concern, and after finishing up with the animal, he heads after you.
Techno calls out your name, voice blending into the wind. He squints through the fog, looking at each boulder to look for your figure.
When he does see your shoulder, he freezes.
He hears noises but can't ascertain whether it is the wind messing with his hearing.
When he steps forward, the noise becomes clearer, knocking him back in shock at the angelic noise.
They bounce around in his head, echoing out of his own mouth.
He falls back on some pebbles in the moment, and you, him and the wind go silent.
You've heard someone's there.
Rushing to stand, your cheeks start burning in embarrassment of being caught, similar to the embarrassment you felt at catching someone else the day before. When you turn to run away from whoever's there, you fall into their chest.
He looks down at you with an expression you can't place - an expression of embarrassment, the same as yours, but also an expression of interest. A face that says he is flustered.
"Oh god."
Shoving your shoulder against him as you rush away, rambles of phrases that say you're embarrassed escape you.
"This is so humiliating-" you admit through your teeth, frantically trying to speed past Techno.
"It's not too bad." Techno replies and literally laughs.
"You're laughing? Move out of my way-"
You push past him, huffing and puffing, not getting too far before he grabs your arm to stop you.
"It really is fine-"
"I am going to die!"
"This is not worth dying over."
"Stop talking to me!" You huff, leaning down and ripping grass from the ground. "Stop looking at me, stop touching me, and stop talking to me!"
With your final statement, the grass is shoved in his mouth before you realise what you're doing.
A taste of his nature.
His hand holds your wrist while he spits the grass out, brows furrowed as he looks down at you.
"This is your doing, you devil."
"How is it my doing?"
Eyes staring into one another, his strong and still, yours nervous and wavering.
"Let go of me."
His grip only tightens.
"I would follow you to the end of the world."
The moment his eyes move to your hand, you try to pull away.
"Do not. Let go of my hand-"
"Never."
His mouths opens, and he wraps his lips around your dirty fingers, eyes looking back at you as he slowly sucks on them as they pull out of his mouth.
You can't help the gaping of your lips, every movement of his in complete slow-mo.
His other hand slides down your torso into the strings of your corset, gripping onto you and pulling you up to his height like you weigh nothing.
You feel his beard scratch your chin, both your lips hovering over each other, itching to connect, like there's a force pulling them together.
Your lips aren't touching, but you can feel them, and the feeling gives you that warm feeling again.
Pushing away from the force, you rip out of his grip and roughly pull his fingers out of your corset, lowering yourself back to the ground.
You push away from him and stomp back to Wuthering Heights, ignoring the heat travelling through your veins, still overpowering the cold of the wind.
The wind feels like his touch on your skin as you walk away.
When you have stomped your way back, the atmosphere of the place is different. The sky is still grey, but darker than earlier. Everything looks dark and dull, with rain spitting uncomfortably on your face.
Your father is the most irritating of it all. Shouting and pushing at the other housekeepers as they try to help him onto his horse.
"For god's sake." You spit through gritted teeth, your expression matching the grimness of the weather.
"Don't look at me like that. I am ill!"
"We are all ill! We are all ill because of you, you lowlife alcoholic!"
He shouts back immediately, fingers pointing at you, the maids holding him back again.
When you shove the front door open, groaning, the housekeeper shushes you and urges you to be quiet.
You question her in panic, confused about what is wrong.
"The neighbour is here. He has to tell you about arrangements."
Arrangements?
Smoothing yourself over to seem somewhat presentable, you enter the same room as your neighbour, ready to greet him.
Little did you know, this neighbour, who gave you tea and helped heal your ankle, would end up being your husband.
He immediately stands, removing his hat and bowing, greeting you.
"I shall not take up too much of your time and get straight to the point. Am I right in saying your father has informed you of our marriage arrangements?"
"Marriage arrangements?"
Your facial expression of confusion must be evident - marriage arrangements?
"I apologise, I can see how this can be a shock."
You both stare at each other.
"Your father has arranged for us to be married. You will come and stay with me and my sister at Thrushcross Grange. The marriage is, at the moment, planned to be this month or next month."
Married. To a man you have no desire to be with.
Your father making yet another decision without your consent. Another decision where he was probably not sober.
When you speak to your father that same evening, you can't believe what you are hearing.
You deny, deny, deny, but your father does not budge. He is making you marry this man.
You're going to be rich! Every woman in the neighbourhood will be jealous they aren't the chosen one. You should be grateful I am giving you the opportunity to have such a husband. You can't say no.
I am not marrying someone I do not care for!
Shut up before I shut you up with rocks, you wretched woman!
You are marrying a man that isn't him.
Your housekeeper finds you in your state of shock and tries to comfort you about the situation.
"Father is making me marry him." You confess to the housekeeper, eyes looking down at your hands in your lap, fingers fiddling.
Taking a deep breath in, you continue:
"He says I will be rich, and I shall be the greatest woman of the neighbourhood, and I shall be proud of having such a husband."
Your housekeeper looks at you, confused.
"He seems to loves you. It seems smooth: where is the obstacle?"
This is the exact situation a housekeeper would dream of. The opportunity to marry one who will provide and protect you, all the while asking you for nothing in return. Maybe a child, or simply just love.
However, you fail to see it the way she does.
"At least he isn't ugly. Or a clown." Your housekeeper shrugs, listing more positives.
There are no positives in your mind to this arrangement.
"Why do you seem upset about it?
Your hand strikes onto your forehead and chest harshly.
"Here, and here! In my soul and in my heart, wherever the soul is, I'm convinced it isn't right for me-"
The expression on your face looks like gentle sorrow, like you are about to cry golden tears and look up at the sky in some sort of prayer.
"I've no desire to marry that man. Same as I've no desire to be provided and protected by someone because they feel obliged to. I need someone who wants to provide and protect me, like it is all they know. Father says it would degrade me to marry Technoblade now- Says I have left the opportunity open for too long and now he must make the choice for me."
A sigh leaves you as you shake your head in disbelief of the situation.
"He shall never know how I love him. Not because he is handsome... but because he is more myself than I am. Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same."
Your housekeeper shakes her head at you, trying to tell you it will be alright.
"Your love for him will grow as winter changes the trees."
Your response is as quick as the speed of light, aggressive and certain.
"That man and I are as different as dark and light! Ma'am, I am Technoblade! He is always in my mind, as my own being."
To your housekeeper, you look like an absolute lunatic.
"I can't make sense of your nonsense, miss. You have the opportunity to live a good life with absolutely no worries. Do not be ignorant and miss out on this pathway."
"What worth does life have if it doesn't involve the one person you truly love?"
That night, Technoblade left.
There was a storm which was full fury. Violent wind, as well as thunder, some crumbling stone, and a tree splitting in half.
His hand was on the kitchen's door handle, about to twist it open, until he heard one sentence which set his mind on leaving at that very moment.
All he heard were the words:
It would degrade me to marry Technoblade now.
It would degrade ME to marry Technoblade now.
It would DEGRADE me to marry Technoblade now.
It would degrade me to marry TECHNOBLADE now.
Like you had considered marrying him before and would rather be shot than marry him now- or even like the idea of marrying is sickening to you.
He can't stay around you now that he knows you never thought about him the way he thought about you.
That night, you were sure he was just hiding in the barn. Or simply gone out somewhere for the night.
You stayed out all night, waiting and waiting for him to come back and explain why he was gone for so long.
Sitting, standing, pacing in the rain that soaked you head to toe and gave you repetitive shivers due to the cold of it.
"Dear, I do not think he is coming back!" Your housekeeper shouts at you, hoping you would come inside at last.
"He would never leave me."
You refuse to consider that he could have left you, after all the emotions he has put you through - giving you no choice in marrying who your father wants.
Only in the morning when the sun has risen but the sky remains a dull grey and your housekeeper forces you back inside do you realise that Technoblade was not coming back.
The next three years are foggy. You know you are living but don't feel like you are living.
Thrushcross Grange doesn't necessarily have bad weather compared to Wuthering Heights, but it somehow feels grimmer than Wuthering Heights.
The wind itched and only made you annoyed. The scent of the flowers in spring and summer was sickening - the smell an off sweet. The sun burnt and reddened your scalp, like a fire was on your skin, and didn't make you feel like you were glowing.
You are surrounded by the wrong atmosphere and people.
The house itself is lovely - gold-bordered ceilings, shimmering curtains, soft carpets... It is expensive and suits your husband and his sister, but it makes you uneasy. Ill.
When you got married, it was quick. Very few people, done in the closest church he could find. Done like it was a chore he didn't want to do. You are grateful he gave you a ring, but it was so simple. A silver band. It felt like any other ring on your finger - an accessory you are happy to take off at the end of the day.
When he lifted the veil off your face, his eyes didn't quite reach yours, and the kiss was a quick peck.
Your first kiss was one that felt like it had no love in it.
Your husband doesn't share a room with you. You find his hands are too small to comfort you. His voice doesn't quite reach you, and neither do his compliments.
His sister is nice. She involves you: she sews with you, laughs at men in books with you, swings you on a swing...
But you don't like sewing. Or swings.
You do quite like the laughing at the men, though.
You want to share a room with someone. You like when a voice rumbles against your chest, and compliments from that same voice make you flustered, a blush erupting on your face.
In your sleep, however, you dream of this life. A life which was so close to your fingertips.
The dream is repetitive and consists of the same location and same person every time. The only difference each time is what occurs in the dream.
A home near the edge of a cliff, a tall forest behind it and a river separating the two.
Here, it is never grey. The sun is always shining - sunrises and sunsets bring relaxing colours through the windows of the house. In one of the dreams, Techno told you he loves the colour the sun makes your hair.
The house isn't cold, the ceilings aren't so low that Techno has to bend his head, and there is enough wood in the house to make fires without burning furniture.
You both usually go swimming in the river, splashing each other. Together, you catch fish, clean clothes, collect water... This river never turns red.
There are moments where you both lie in the grass and you force him to let you put flowers in his hair. Moments where his hand rubs up and down on your back while your head lies on his chest. Moments where you go walking in the forest, sometimes coming across a wild dog. The dog is never left alone without being stroked or cooed at.
The house has a farm. Techno has a horse he tames every day - one that is the right size for him. He got you a few baby goat kids, despite him thinking they are ugly, as he knows they are your favourite. He laughs as you almost faint along with the goat at how cute they are.
Everything in this life is loved - never disregarded.
There are flashes where you swear you see a ring on your finger. A ring way nicer than a silver band. It doesn't bring alarm to you when you see it. Instead, it feels like a resemblance of you - the colour suiting your skin tone and blending into you. It doesn't stick out as an accessory or have a constant weight on your finger. It feels like it really belongs there.
He worships you. Never hides his true feelings and gives you what he has always wanted to give you. Kisses whenever he feels the urge, touches anywhere on your body, and provides a feeling of constant protection.
Techno sleeps in the same room as you. When he kisses you, they are long and full of passion, not forced quick pecks - his touches linger in pleasure.
Every time you have the dream, you are calm. Your stomach doesn't have a pit of anxiety, nor do you feel guilt for belonging here.
When your eyes open, you still feel calm, until your eyes realise what walls surround you. Not a large window that overlooks the horizon, but walls of wallpaper that make you sick to your stomach.
Is this what life would have been like if you weren't forced to marry? Or if Techno didn't run away?
You know you will never know - the only solace you get is knowing the dream will return when you close your eyes again.
When you take your husband one night, he turns you over and covers your eyes with his hand, thrusting in and out of you from behind.
It doesn't feel the same.
At dinner another day, Isabella is far too giddy about a public hanging.
"Have you heard who it is?" She whispers, leaning forward towards you - her eyes as bright as a child receiving a new toy.
You feel your stomach drop, anxious about who it could be. Your mind immediately thinks of Techno, it's instinct to relate everything to him. The rope tight around his neck, suffocating him as everyone watches-
"It is a woman."
You sigh in relief, fork dropping to the table, slightly leaning back in your chair.
Your husband tells his sister off, groaning at such a grim subject at the dinner table, "You have scared her."
"I am fine." You assure. "I just need a second."
Pushing your chair back, you leave the room and take a moment near an open window, imagining if it really was him who was hanged... You don't even know if he is still alive - it's been a year and a quarter. You think a part of you would feel it if he died.
On one of you walks, you saw a man his height just walking. He has the same shoulders, hair length... you couldn't believe it. You shouted and chased after the man, but when he turned and greeted you hello, it was just a stranger.
You also visited your father a small number of times over the years. Whenever you went back to Wuthering Heights, the same conversation would repeat.
You look well.
When are you gon' send more money?
You know drinking is not good for you, father.
Did I mention you looked well?
Every time your father would bring up you bringing more money - expense from your husband.
Maybe that is why he sent you off to marry him. So he would get money to buy more alcohol.
You get a burp in your face and a backhanded insult, and then he acts offended when you throw the coins to the floor instead of handing them to him.
After two years and three quarters, you get good news.
You are pregnant.
Your husband now looks at you differently, like something about you is worthy, and his eyes finally reach yours.
His sister is more excited than both of you - planning out the baby's future room, names for boys and girls, and estimating the baby's birth date.
The news doesn't excite you the same as it does them. The idea of something growing inside of you makes you uncomfortable, not knowing how the baby will end up being like. Truthfully, you are scared of what pregnancy brings - you have never had a sister or mother around to tell you the truth.
You let yourself have a moment where you pretend it's his.
You don't feel uncomfortable, instead, you feel comforted.
If there's anyone you want to have a child with, it's him. This baby you can see in front of you, like it is really there - as a newborn, a toddler, a child, a teenager, an adult... You feel happy when you look at this child.
You tell yourself it's wrong to not be grateful for the baby growing inside of you, yet you can't help but feel like your womb won't stretch for it.
A month later, you go to visit your father, again.
Wuthering Heights is barely visible through the fog. It's like the place you used to live has somehow become more miserable since you last saw it.
Your skirt drags in the squishy mud, its hem turning a dark brown. Your shoes squelch in the wet filth as you slowly make your way past the house, the wind blowing your hair backwards as it howls against your ears.
There's an ominous presence behind you.
Turning around, you stare at the stone archway you previously walked in through, unable to see through to the other side and only seeing the fog which covers the heaths and hills.
Nothing else.
When you knock on the door, there is no response. When you call out your father's name, there is no response.
The house is empty of people but still manages to feel haunted.
Closing the door, you absentmindedly walk, trying your hardest to stay upright on the slippery mud.
Until you hear a similar squelch in the mud - the type of squelch from human steps.
You whip around and see the silhouette of a tall, dark figure.
Their silhouette is blurry in the dense fog, like a statue frozen over time.
Their coat whips around in the wind as they stand below the previously empty archway - body angled to show he is staring directly at you.
You know that figure from anywhere.
"Technoblade." You whisper, lips parted in shock of his unexpected presence.
His hand visibly clenches.
You think you hear a sigh of almost relief from him over the wind.
Your body moves instinctively, not bothering to lift your skirt up away from the mud, and walks directly to him.
His face becomes more and more visible the closer you get.
Reaching your arms out, you force away the instinct to hug him and shove your arms against his chest, which doesn't falter one bit against your hands.
"Where have you been, you brute!"
He looks so different but still has that same handsome face.
Hair tidy and cut shorter, skin clean of dirt, clean-shaven, gold earrings...
He no longer wears rugged workwear - he wears a long coat over a black vest and a white ruffled blouse - a sophisticated look.
His frame is even more athletic and sturdy.
A hand on your face breaks you from your mind and you feel his cold rings push into your cheek.
You look up at him and meet his eyes properly for the first time in three years.
Deep-red eyes full of black fire stare into your soul, one thing still unchanged about his appearance.
Flinging your arms out again, you tightly reach around his neck, and his hands immediately tightly reach around you too and circle your waist.
"You look handsome." You admit into his shoulder.
"You're as beautiful as the day I left."
His tone is foreign but ever so familiar.
The voice that speaks back is immediate comfort. That deep tone reminds you how low his voice goes down into your bones and soothes the chill of them. The voice that was speaking to you the last three years made you forget the ethereal and dizzying feeling of his voice.
When you pull back, his eyes find your hand, specifically your ring finger. His eyebrows furrow at the discovery.
"You're married."
He assumed you would have tied knots after hearing your conversation with the housekeeper but can't help the deep sense of betrayal he gets at the sight, and feels a knife stab right into his back.
"Yes. You should come over for dinner. He would love to meet you."
At dinner, your husband and his sister are surprised to hear the words you have brought over a guest - the first one in three years.
The housekeeper - the same one from Wuthering Heights - says that, when Techno enters, she always knew he was a prince in disguise. He is handsome.
At the dining table, your husband's sister can't keep her eyes off of him.
To start the conversation, your husband speaks to Techno.
"So, you have been abroad?"
"Tell us- where have you been? What have you been doing? Was it exciting?"
He looks blankly at you, "At times."
At times...
"At times. Is that all? After three years. It was exciting at times." The last part of your words is uttered looking downwards, grimacing at how vague he was being.
Annoyed he is different and collected, you continue, "Sounds boring if you don't want to explain."
"It wasn't."
Your husband's sister brings up how she is surprised by his presence, saying we didn't know she knew anyone else besides us.
You and Techno both share a flick of eye contact - the tiny glance sharing the same feeling of annoyance.
"Where are you staying?" She continues.
"At Wuthering Heights."
"What? Why would you want to stay there?"
He turns his head back to you.
"I bought it."
He stares as your face drops and you look at him like he's the stupidest, most insane person ever. Your husband's sister, however, is pleased by the information.
"How wonderful to have a new neighbour!"
He gestures to her, teasing you, "Wonderful."
For the rest of the meal, he leans back in his chair, blowing the scent of tobacco everywhere as he eyes you with a pipe in his mouth.
When he gets up to leave, thanking everyone for the service, your husband's sister leans over to you and says that he is the most handsome man I have ever seen.
That evening, when you go back to your bedroom, ready for bed, you hear a deafening crack as you sit down.
You rise quickly, startled, staring at your bed like you can see through it with x-ray vision. It can't be.
When you lift the duvet up, eggs scatter your bed. Yolk crushed and bleeding out across the white, while the shell sits sharp in little bits over the white
You know that Techno will not be leaving you alone any time soon.
Back at Wuthering Heights, your father still chooses to spit filthy words at Techno, despite the ugly state he himself is in.
He tries to torment Techno, telling him, "My dream was to make you a gentleman here. Now look at you. Not a greasy pig anymore, are ya? I can't tell the difference between us. But it's not good enough, is i'? Not for her. You're still a dirty, ragged child to her."
You'll only ever be her pet.
Techno is almost joyful when he wakes up one morning to find the body of your father.
When the news is delivered to you, it feels both good and bad.
Despite all the hatred and anger you have for his bones, you are on your horse in a flash, galloping at the fastest speed you can towards Wuthering Heights.
When you barge into the house, the smell is rancid. It reeks of alcohol and wet wood and still smells cold.
The coldness of the house is echoed in your tone of voice when Techno appears in front of you.
"Is he in there?"
The smell pulls you to the body of your now dead father.
His face is sickly - green and grey and all battered from all the harmful things he gobbled up into his body. He lies in the middle of the room, the same room where he threw all his used bottles of alcohol, too lazy to chuck them out.
You can't help the wave that comes over you - crouching at your father's side and grabbing at his coat.
"I'm sorry father-"
Your hand brushes the little hair he has left on his face, fixes his collar, and pokes at his cheek.
Tears fall down your face - tears of both regret and relief.
When you stand, the relief within your body takes over, and you kick him in his arm.
Adrenaline flashes in your eyes and veins, forcing you to kick him harder this time in his side.
The moment your leg pulls away, you grimace and feel repulsed with yourself for what you just did.
Techno sees the expression on your face, stepping forward to take hold of you. You tug yourself out of his grip, not in the right mindset to be held. Your overcoat is all he is left with as you storm out of the house the same way you stormed in.
You barely make it up the hill before the rain starts. Heavy, unempathetic, drenching you. Your dress sticks to your skin and causes shivers to run up and down your body.
He calls your voice over the rain - over and over.
"Stop following me!" You shout, ready to kick Techno too.
"You will catch your death, and it will be your fault!"
"It will be yours!"
Your final shout is enough for Techno. You're lifted like a straw barrel, effortlessly, and chucked over his shoulder. You push, kick, and shout at him, despite him only trying to help and get you out of the rain.
He carries you to the same stone temple you both used to shelter under when it rained.
Once you're both under, he shoves you against the wall and shoves his coat around your shoulders.
Despite it also being wet, he pushes it into every crevice of you, trying his best to provide you with a tiny bit of warmth. Little does he know his hands provide the warmth, not the coat.
Anger is the only emotion you feel at that moment. Angry from being picked up, angry you kicked your father, angry you didn't kick him while he was alive - you can't help it when your hand reaches up and slaps him across the face. It isn't gentle but hard, a simple way to express the anger you feel at him and your father right now.
He doesn't look one bit mad at you for it.
"I shouldn't have kicked him." You confess quietly, ashamed.
"I can only admire your strength for kicking him twice."
You both stare out at the rain, and you wonder if he noticed the rain is the same as it was the day he took your father's hits for you.
"Why did you leave, Techno? You said you would follow me to the end of the world. You went in the opposite direction."
His head snaps to you, offended, like you just said something that goes against everything he believes in.
"When did I leave you? I heard you the day you accepted him. You said it would degrade you to marry me."
"You did not hear all- my father said that."
He stares at you in silence, waiting for you to continue.
"Did you hear when I said I loved you?"
The words hit Techno like an arrow from Cupid, the word love coming out of your mouth hitting him right in the heart. The sun pops out through a split in the clouds after the words leave your mouth - he feels like his heart also just lit up.
"You loved me?"
Despite the feeling in his chest, he spits his words out at you.
"Then why did you still marry him? You separated us on your own will."
"I had no choice in marrying him, Techno. I begged my father to not make me, but he didn't budge."
His head shakes, not believing what he was hearing.
"You were forced to marry him?"
"There's nothing that will change it now."
"We could have ran away together-"
The dream flashes in your mind - running away together.
The sunrises and sunsets. The river that never makes you feel wary. The baby goats he says he thinks are ugly, but gets some regardless - for you.
But that was only a dream. This is reality.
"You ran away alone. Without me. I feel guilt every day for following my father's orders, but where would I be now if I had refused?"
"I have not caused your guilt. I have not broken your heart; you have broken it. In breaking it, you have broken mine."
The unfunny words leave his mouth, and you feel like one of the men you and your husband's sister laugh at when reading.
He ignores the colours of your eyes pulling him in and turns away.
He walks away like liquid falling through your fingers, uncontrollable and ungraspable. You were about to kiss him on the cheek, but he probably would have seen it as a Judas kiss.
In your trance of thought, you don't hear the sound of his footsteps walking back your way. His broad shoulders fill your vision and become all you can see.
"Forget it all, and let us both be dammed."
He wastes no time keeping the two of you separated, pushing his lips onto yours roughly, your noses bumping. It feels like he is trying to consume you - his hand rough on your hips.
You both go in for more once, twice - both struggling to pull away, eyes fluttering in pleasure. Your hands comb themselves into his hair, gripping tight until they fall onto his biceps.
On the third long kiss, his hands move up to your face, and he exhales deeply before pulling back - his forehead falling to yours, and you close your eyes in fulfilment.
"I'm sorry for leaving you. I didn't know you were forced to marry him."
"I'm sorry for making you think that I felt degraded around you."
The next time you see each other is at your father's funeral.
Your husband reads a bible verse to send peace to those grieving a loved one.
Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.
Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.
For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.
The verse doesn't reach you or Techno. Perhaps your father wasn't a loved one, or you both simply feel unaffected by the Bible's words.
The only action that affects you is when his hand slides into yours, clasped behind your back - instead providing the comfort the verse is intended to provide.
Your father's casket is lowered into the ground, and you feel like you can feel him laughing at you and pointing at you with the same intensity as a compass pointing north - even though he is the one being put in dirt forever.
When no one is paying attention to you both, you sneak off behind a wall together.
The black veil you wear is slowly lifted off your face and over your head, and Techno looks at you like you are the bride he will never have.
He looks at you like he is ready to say I do and kiss the bride.
His lips find yours, and he kisses you ever so gentle - head tilted to kiss you deeply.
The veil is lifted back over your head and the ceremony is finished, now legally wed together.
You quickly push your lips onto his one last time through the veil, unable to hold back from expressing how significant that veil lift just felt to you.
A veil lift from the man you always wanted it to be from. A veil lift that felt passionate and not forced.
He tells you he will see you later, at Thrushcross Grange, so you wait for him that evening.
The night sky is clear. There are thousands of stars shining and a planet that stands out the most visible, not twinkling.
Pushing the window open, the cool breeze gently blows against your face as you look out to the nearby forest and see his figure.
By the time you've leaned out of the window, he's in front of you and tilting your head down onto his lips.
Your lips collide and push at each other, faces tilting, savouring the feeling and ignoring the call of your name from somewhere in the house.
The call gets closer and closer, and you only pull away from each other when the voice is right behind the door.
A smile plastered across your face as you flick your eyes from his eyes to his lips, happy to see your lover again.
The doorknob audibly creaks as it twists, and another kiss is placed on your lips.
"I'll see you tomorrow." Techno says, before fading away and camouflaging into the darkness of the trees and bushes.
Your husband questions what you're doing when he comes in, and you tell him you're only getting some fresh air.
The night air is relaxing and chilling and pulls you from the uncomfortable warmth of the house. You can see the moors and feel Techno's hands squeezing at your waist, until you can't.
The window is pulled shut in your face, almost snapping shut on your fingers, and your breath fogs it up.
"You will cool the house down." Your husband states, locking the window by its handle firmly and placing a quick hand on your back.
A nearby bush rustles, and then another not far behind it rustles. The hand on your back disappears, and you realise Techno was staring at you admiring the night's beauty instead of immediately leaving.
No wonder you felt so safe.
Similar occurrences like this occur every night, with Techno travelling miles from Wuthering Heights just to kiss you goodnight, you travelling miles to Wuthering Heights, and other times meeting halfway.
The moments are short but special. They make you feel like you are back home and fulfilling a destiny. More connected to wilderness and spiritually closer to him - each touch building your connection closer and closer.
The next time you go back to Wuthering Heights, he puts himself into you for the first time. It puts you in a state you have never been in before - completely different to how your husband makes you feel.
Techno buries himself so deep inside of you, further than you've ever felt, and fulfils every crevice of you. When you properly moan beside his ear for the first time, Techno feels like a devil hearing an angel's voice for the first time. When you pulse around him, he groans into your neck and begs you not to stop.
He takes you out of yourself. You make him tell you that he loves you, and he makes you tell him that you need him.
When you sleep over at Wuthering Heights, using the excuse that you missed your other housekeepers and wanted to see them again, you both sleep in the same room.
You don't separate for one second of the night, using every moment you have together connected.
Moments like this make you feel like you are really living that dream. When you sleep in the same room as Techno, you don't have to imagine you are living your dream - you are living it.
He expresses all of his praises and does anything you want him to do to you.
Outside of your husband's house, he shoves his face between your thighs and leaves your legs shaking. When you look back at him while leaving, you immediately regret it - the smitten smile on his face as he watches you walk away causes your lower stomach to bloom in heat again.
When you meet halfway, he ends up rocking up against you on the very same boulder he found you at years ago. He tells you what the sight and taste of you did to him then and begs that he can do it again.
He calls you darling, sweetheart, baby, and you call him the same things back. He especially likes handsome.
He kisses you with his tongue, a kiss like one you have never experienced before.
He brings you a necklace one day. A small necklace with a pendant with the same inscription as the rock at Wuthering Heights - both of your initials together.
He must have carved the gold himself, and when it becomes the only thing you are wearing, he kisses the pendant against your collarbones.
He makes a matching ring for himself that sits on his pinky, adding to his collection of rings - ring finger still empty.
Despite confessing a short amount of time earlier that he doesn't treat me like how you do and that Techno makes you feel so loved. Every reunion, you tell him:
We shouldn't be doing this.
He is going to find out-
However, every reunion ends with:
Same time tomorrow?
Despite how wrong the situation is, you both plan to meet back up the next day. You think Techno doesn't feel one bit of guilt.
Every reunion ends in kisses and the both of you expressing how much you love each other.
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
Tonight, your husband leans down to press a kiss to your forehead after questioning what you were reading, before you are both startled by a loud thud on the window.
You gasp, looking up to see a new large round crack, the shape only created by a rock hitting glass.
Arising, you panic, "That could've been a bird- I have to check on it."
Unsurprisingly, your husband denies it.
"I will be one minute."
"...As you wish, but be quick." He responds to your pleas, and you're out in a flash.
Stomping down the patio stairs, you look out in the darkness trying to spot him.
You know exactly who it is.
"What was that?" You spit into the dark, brows furrowing as hands grab your waist and pull you away from the door.
"You broke the window- he's going to know!"
Kisses are planted up and down your neck as his hands rub over your torso.
"He can afford to replace it." The deep voice mutters on your neck, words muffled due to the occupation of eating at your neck.
"I don't like him touching you." He confesses, hand sliding to the back of your head to make your neck more accessible.
"That's too bad, we're married. Stop- I'll send the dogs on you."
"Every bite would be a pleasure."
The moment the door clicks open, his hands are off you, and you are left staring at the crack in the window. Gone as quick as he came.
"Come in now. You'll catch a cold."
"I like the cold." You reply, casual, not like another man was just consuming your neck.
"But our son may not."
You freeze at what your husband says - but our son may not. The declaration sends panic through you at the realisation that Techno now knows.
Looking behind you into the dark, no figure is seen, but a presence is there.
When your hand reaches the door handle, you take one last look behind you, and Techno takes a few steps forward.
The warm candles from inside the house dimly frame one side of his face, and you can't figure out the expression he is wearing.
Sighing, you ignore the feeling you get of wanting to grab hold of his hand and force yourself back into the house.
The next time you see him, he immediately addresses what you expected him to say first.
A breeze was flowing through the house due to a window left open. You didn't open it.
When you slam it shut, he finally speaks.
His voice emerges from the shadows of the house, even deeper than you remember it.
"Tell me. Is it mine?"
"No." You sigh a denial to his question, feeling wrong having to admit it is not his.
"How can you be so sure?"
"I knew before you came back. He says it's a boy. I think it's a girl..."
You finally meet his eyes and can only look at him with regret.
"I'm sorry."
His brows furrow in confusion at your apology, hand slowly sliding into yours as he confesses.
"Do you think... I would mind? I would have enjoyed it more if it was mine."
"I'm surprised he had it in him." He continues, almost mocking.
"You'd be shocked at what he is capable of."
"Would I?"
You are lifted by the thighs and carried towards the grand piano, Techno dropping you onto it as he pushes himself against you.
"He never leaves my side. Can't keep his hands off me. He loves me so much."
"Liar. Do you love him?"
"More than anyone I've ever loved."
"You bitch."
His lips are on yours instantly after the words are said - aggressive and forceful.
"I'll rip his heart out and slip his throat open."
Both of your hands slide and push on one another, heavy breaths panning on each other's faces as he starts to push your skirt upwards.
But you pull back, questioning, "Would you really do that?"
"I can go to his room right now. Just tell me to do it."
Pushing further back, you notice the seriousness on his face, and a grim feeling washes over you.
"Oh god-"
A thought of realisation hits you hard, like the thought has been shoved right in the centre of your brain.
Why would he say such a thing like that - threaten the father of your unborn child to your face and the man you are married to?
Regardless of all your hatred for this place, you wouldn't want him to kill your new family-
When you look at him again, he is down and on two knees, looking up at you like he really would do anything for you.
"Father said it would degrade me to marry you. I didn't know I would degrade myself-"
He says your name seriously.
"It will not last."
"This can't happen any longer- you have killed me."
He rubs your hand across his face and mouth.
"We can leave together. Just tell me to-"
"It is too late, Techno. You left. I am pregnant."
It sounds like a half sob comes out of him.
"Don't do this."
"This is over."
Your response is final. He knows you really mean what you are saying but can't quite believe it. Neither can you.
"If I thought you really meant that, I would cut my throat."
"Cut in then."
Backing up, your head shakes. The tears on his face are unbearable, only causing tears to come out of you as well.
When you walk away, both of your cries can be heard through the house, bouncing off the walls.
Those cries haunt your mind. The sound of them replaying over and over, refusing to pause for one moment.
You deteriorate so much the next few months it is like the thought of Techno was what kept your body working. What kept your blood flowing, oxygen coming in and out of your body, your brain controllable...
The walls are speaking and are full of sound.
Whispering and murmuring incoherent words, like it's speaking another language, or not even saying words at all. You can't tell if the sound is real or is all in your head.
Each wall around you is dripping in sweat and drenching you along with it.
The walls are a prison cell, keeping you contained in a room with access to everything, but just not what you need.
With the room's window closed, you feel like you are constantly being stared at. Eyes popping open and closed as they stare stare stare and stare at your frazzled state-
You try to reimagine the eyes as someone else's but do not even have the strength to imagine the feeling that wind creates on your face.
To others you are the epitome of brain fever. Rolling back and forth with the duvet only half up your body, nightgown askew, mouth agape and brows furrowed in distress.
All this pain and torture that you're going through - it feels like you're dying for him.
When a rag cleans your forehead of sweat, you gasp out his name, reaching for whoever's attending you.
Your husband comes in daily, saying your name. The voice that you hear is not his.
When soft fingertips rub over the surface of your hand, you only feel rough and calloused fingers. Those fingers don't rub; they hold - certain.
You restlessly cry and plead for him every day, but everything that physically enters the room is never him.
The letters he sends every day are immediately burnt and never reach you. You are oblivious to the fact he wrote you volumes and continuously waited for you to come back outside, not fully believing you would refuse to ever see him again. Unable to enter the house himself, he waited. He would never go inside the house and go against your wishes.
I will wait for you every day and every night.
Why do you not respond?
I love you.
I love you.
I love you.
Only when he does finally come, is it too late.
The devastating sight of you knocks the breath out of him - neither of you now breathing.
Red, as deep as his eyes, soaks your lower half and the bed. Blood, blood, blood everywhere he looks, more than what only one person could contain.
It leaks to the floor and soaks the carpet like a puddle formed from heavy rain, still growing, crawling into every fibre within the carpet.
Only he can't splash in this puddle and laugh as the person next to him tells him off for getting them wet.
The image is almost familiar.
The puddle has a sickening metallic smell that sticks to the bottom of his boots, almost keeping him trapped in place like a fly in a flytrap.
The red turns darker the further it travels, its thickness thinning as every last bit of blood leaks out of you.
He can only stare in disbelief, not believing what he is seeing. Your final state is so graphic he couldn't have ever believed it to be your fate.
His expression is sour, a look only you would know as being on the verge of breaking down, with anger and disappointment gushing through him. Angry and disappointed that he was not here with you in your final moments and more so that he didn't even know what you were going through... For how long you were going through it - it had been months since you told him that it was over.
His legs finally move, treading through what once kept you alive, approaching you.
You lay there so delicate-looking, eyes closed and frozen still.
He gently sits beside you, turning his back from all the blood so that all he can see is your face.
When his hand touches your face with the same delicacy as holding a mouse, your face is the coldest it has ever been.
Only then does he falter, and tears start to stream down his face with the same flow as a river does. The tears fall down his chin and onto your chest.
When he looks at your chest, the necklace isn't there. The housekeeper has taken it off so your husband doesn't see.
His throat aches in pain as he swallows bile down and inhales and exhales sharply, feeling like he isn't getting any oxygen.
There is nothing Techno feels in this moment other than pure anguish.
Although your face is totally devoid of life, he can still see every one of your expressions.
The shape of your smile when you laughed at him when he swore and slipped in mud. The smaller smile you gave him after he carried you across a flooded field so you wouldn’t get wet. The angry look you gave him whenever he said anything to tease you. The relaxation on your face whenever you slept next to him. The relief on your face when he came back after being away for years-
Techno.
Your voice rings in his ears, like you are a presence in the room with him.
I cannot live without my life.
I cannot live without my soul.
The wind rattles against the window, banging and shaking with want.
Let me in.
He pleads on your neck, not like a man, but like a savage beast who is willing to do anything for the person he loves.
You said I killed you- haunt me then.
Only do not leave me in this abyss where I cannot find you.
It was supposed to be a simple mission, a quick in and out.
There were supposed to be less men, less powers, less dangers.
Hero Commission had assured you that you’d be home on time, and despite being dead on your feet you accepted like you had a choice.
You wish you hadn’t.
Number one hero or not, having a run in with the drug cartel that ran the underworld of L’manburg was not good.
This was your end.
After they had spotted you, you tried to flee, but someone apparently had underestimated how difficult it would be for a winged hybrid to leave the tight ventilation channels. You were trapped and as the members of the cartel dragged you out, your vision faded into nothingness after a fist had connected with your head.
So now you were here, tied to a chair, wings at the very least sprained and unable to properly feel your legs. You lost feeling after the first half hour of you being properly awake. If you had to guess, it was probably due to your quite uncomfortable seating position.
You were in a dingy and freezing basement, only artificial light illuminating the empty room and guard at your door. All your attempts to talk to him and convince him to free you failed, so your only option was to wait for a rescue team.
If they came.
Despite your ranking, you weren’t exactly great friends with a lot of people in the hero force. Only Royal and Dream really counted, maybe Red Chaos too. But the paperwork needed to approve a mission with such a high risk could take weeks. You needed to survive until then.
It certainly had been a few days, if you judged by your hunger and resulting headache. Your wounds struggled to close despite your rather accelerated healing, the continuous torture at the hands of your captors adding salt to the wound. Not enough to break you, but enough for you to cry whenever you heard steps outside the door.
You didn’t have the information they were looking for, utterly unfamiliar with the ship routes of the harbor, but that did not dissuade them. Maybe the took a sick kind of joy from this.
Pain clawed its’ way through the cotton that stuffed your head, a welcome distraction from the nothingness in your heart. You had missed the last few days of medication, the sudden withdrawal inking your thoughts black.
All you could hope for was a swift end. However, if the rumors were to be believed, you’d end up at the feet of some rich guy, sold like a pet. Would you fetch a higher price than what the Hero Commission had paid for you?
You tensed up before you knew why.
Footsteps.
Oh god. They were back. Had they brought the drills again?
But...something felt off. The footsteps were too fast, like someone was running.
A sudden scream interrupted your thoughts. The door flung open, and you saw him.
Big, burly frame that took up nearly the entire door frame. Pink fur, bloodstained, sharp tusks coming out of his snout. His red eyes seemed to glow in the dim light like an omen.
His axe was smeared in red, dripping onto the floor.
This was so much worse. They had gotten your executioner, your worst nemesis.
The Blood God.
You were as good as dead.
--------------
You locked eyes, but he looked shocked.
With a swift movement, he swung his weapon at your guard and scattered his brains over the wall. If you had anything in your stomach at all, you surely would’ve fought to keep it in your body at the sight.
Good god, you were next. He would swipe your head off, or chop you to bits while you screamed-
The ropes binding you loosened.
Huh?
You turned your head around, trying to decipher what on earth was going on. Behind you knelt Blood God, fiddling with the ropes until he took his dagger and simply cut them.
To reiterate: Huh???
“Get up.”
Never did his voice fail to raise goosebumps on your arms; too much did you associate his gruff baritone with the foul smell of death and agonized screams.
You hauled ass, trying to get as far away from the danger as you could, but your feet weren’t cooperating. Falling flat on your face, you cursed your frail body. A deep, annoyed sigh behind you was the only warning before you were picked up like a particularly misbehaving cat.
He just manhandled you like it was nothing! Just how strong was he?!
As his shoulder dug into your side. your now elevated vantage-point gave you the opportunity to overview the situation: Blood, gore, bits of innards.
The rest of the Syndicate was nowhere to be seen. Where they even here?
Blood God carried you out of the room, through some floors and halls and what-nots. How the hell did he know where to go? You’d already lost track after the first three corners you rounded.
“Can you type?”, his annoyed voice ripped you out of your musings.
You wiggled your fingers.
Yes! you told him. His ear twitched.
Letting go of you with one hand, he quickly fished out his phone and gave it to you.
“Call someone to pick you up. I ain’t stickin’ around.”
Doing as he told you, you punched in Royal’s number and listened to the beeps patiently. He picked up after the second ring.
“-ello, Blood God? What is happening? Where are you?”
You interrupted him with a “Nice to see you too.”
“Guardian? You OK? Where are you right now?”
Good question.
You poked Blood God’s shoulder.
“Where are we?”
“Brighton street 25, the old warehouse has an underground cellar we’re in.”
As you relayed the information to your fellow hero, you ordered him to bring you something to eat, God knows you were starving.
Royal was on his way, so you could focus on other important things, like food. And your weapons. Speaking of which.
“Have you seen my weapons?”
“If I had, I’d keep them as payment. You owe me a favor, and a big one at that.”
Bastard. You could hear the self-satisfied smile in his voice.
“How do you even know where we’re going? It all looks the same.”
Blabbering his ear off wasn’t something a smart person would do, but c’mon. You had no one to talk to in the time you were kidnapped, so you welcomed the entertainment. As far as you could call being slung over your arch-nemesis’ shoulder like a potato sack “entertainment”.
He huffed.
“I’m the human GPS. I always know where I am.”
You sent him a flat look, which your helmet effectively blocked. You decided to mentally transfer the feeling of being judged to him.
“Stop that.”
Just as you were about to retort, you stopped in front of an elevator door. Freedom!
Blood God had to duck to enter the elevator, and you would’ve laughed if you hadn’t almost hit your head along with him.
As you stood in the ungodly slow elevator, you took inventory of your body.
You noted your rising irritability, which you chalked up to your hunger and general pain-level. Maybe the withdrawal of your meds.
Everything hurt, even muscles you didn’t even know existed.
This was not good. So you poked Blood God.
How did you even know I was here?
“I didn’t. Also, stop pokin’ me.”
You huffed, not that he could hear it.
Why rescue me?
He was quiet for a second too long.
“Didn’t wanna deal with the hero replacing you.”
Finally, the elevator dinged and the doors opened. Sunlight flooded your face, too used to the artificial lights.
You were dumped unceremoniously. Blood God just strode off into the light, not even sparing a glance towards your crumpled form. Asshole.
Swift footsteps approached you, Royal’s mask popping into you field of vision.
You could relax, you were safe. He picked you up, struggling, and got you to his car.
TWSTBALL, 2/? : When you appear in an all too familiar world where danger creeps around every corner, survival means everything. You wouldn't call yourself a fighter, but you do have one upper hand— you know how this ends. Can you change how the story plays out before it catches up to you? (augtbi rewrite)
BINOMI
BINOMI, 3/? : When word of a supposed vampire breaks out on the SMP, what does that mean for you- the vessel of the Crimson Egg?
My name is Kelsey. I write Techno x reader sometimes (Old AUGTBI under the cut.)
You can call me Kelsey! Any pronouns. I write for fun even if it’s cringe ^_^
Currently my two projects are TWSTBALL and BINOMI! TWSTBALL is a rewrite of my fanfic An Unofficial Guide To Being Isekai'd! You can read the original with the link at the end!
Enjoy! I post updates and jokes here! If you wanna filter out Binomi content (as it has gore) just block the binomi tag !! :) Though, all my posts are tagged anyways
Tags: #TWSTBALL , #Binomi , #AUGTBI (retired)
Previously:
An Unofficial Guide To Being Isekai'd
AUGTBI, 20/? : … After a nostalgic watch of an old indie show you used to love, you wake up in said show. Living through a plot you already know should be easy. Key word: should
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hiiiii heres my main mc that i use for almoust EVERY SINGLE FIC🥹 who at first was just an ordinary human but after reading kmtmc i decided to make him a deer for no reason at all
Soooo~ I wrote smt. I had this in my drafts for such a long time that I wasn't sure when to post but here is a lil snip of a fanfiction I am currently writing. Not sure when chapter 1 is going to be done 😭. Anyways enjoy~
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✧*｡☆｡*ﾟ*.✧
Forgotten prayers left your lips. Each a chanting reminder of the past that had long left you. Looking up at the night sky waiting for the sun to rise, you just hoped, begged the gods to bring back that missing piece of you. To finally be complete once again.
A cold gust of wind hit you, despite you shivering from the cold you stayed. Knees glued to the stone floor waiting for the sun to come shine their warmth onto you.
Waiting. How strange. A woman kneeling here at the top of the bell tower to gods who may never answer her prayers. A force of habit you had grown accustomed to since your return to the temple. How long will you wait for them?
Will you wait until your body drops dead from exhaustion? Perhaps until your teeth rot? Or for the stars to hear your cries of mercy? For any god out there to grant your wish because, isn't that why you're here? A beacon for the gods in this mortal world.
Their worthy followers. Their voice, eyes, a living proof of the gods existence in this world?
Or have they abandoned you?
Are your gods merciless to forgive their own daughter? What was it you have done to not be forgiven?
Please… Anyone… Give this woman a sign of who she was.
Shutting your eyes you buried yourself deeper into your prayers. The sound of your own heart beating in your ears, your nails digging into your skin, legs becoming numb from the countless hours you stayed there kneeled down, became some light in your life. A desperate excuse to forgive those gods for abandoning their people because why else would they let you live? Your body shivered when another cold wing blew against you but still you kept praying.
…
Even if it was a small memory, it proved to you the gods never left you…
“Please…” You crooked, tears falling past your shut eyes and a single name leaving your lips. Foreign to the women but still her heart knew of that name all too well. “Blood God.”
