#c!technoblade

three lives (part 1 & 2) ♡ ★ 𖦹

Days slowly returned to normal.

Or at least, as normal as life could be in a world still tinged with the echoes of past chaos. Philza and Ranboo built a sturdy, log-cornered cabin nearby, its chimney puffing faint ribbons of smoke into the clear blue sky. Tommy visited often, usually showing up unannounced, his bright eyes shining with mischief, only to leave with half your stored supplies, which was mostly bread and a jar of honey. And every now and then, Ghostbur would wander through, his transparent form flickering softly as he stopped to say hello.

Life moved forward, the shadows of war gradually fading into distant memory. Most nights found you curled up beside Technoblade in your shared wooden bedroom, the crackling fireplace casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. One of his muscular arms rested around your shoulders, while a mythology book sat open in his lap, its pages yellowed with age and faintly worn.

“…and after being sentenced to hold up the sky, Atlas remained there for eternity,” Technoblade read aloud, his voice steady and deep.

You hummed absentmindedly, not because you were listening, in fact far from it. Your attention was elsewhere, focused on the pink-haired hybrid beside you, whose gentle presence made everything else fade.

Technoblade turned a page with deliberate care. “Then Heracles offered to—”

You pressed a tender kiss against his strong jawline.

Technoblade paused, a flicker of surprise flashing across his face, then continued reading smoothly, “offered to temporarily take Atlas’ burden—”

Another kiss, this time against his smooth cheek.

The voices immediately noticed the intimacy.

SHE KISSED US

CHAT

CHAT

WE HAVE BEEN KISSED

LOOK SHE WANTS TO HAVE BABIES WITH YOU

You hid a smile behind your hand.

Technoblade kept reading. “Atlas agreed, allowing Heracles to—”

A third, lingering kiss pressed softly to his nose.

Technoblade blinked, a flicker of realization crossing his features. “…carry the sky,” he finished.

The voices erupted in chaos.

SHE IS FLIRTING WITH US

THAT IS FLIRTING

100% FLIRTING

NO OTHER EXPLANATION

FLIRT BACK

Technoblade frowned at the page, his brow furrowing. “Why are you all yelling?” he whispered, amused.

BECAUSE YOUR GIRLFRIEND IS TRYING TO ROMANCE YOU

AND YOURE NOT DOING IT BACK

Technoblade cast a quick glance at you. You immediately smiled innocently, your cheeks warming. He narrowed his eyes, then you pressed a soft kiss to the tip of his nose. The book was lowered, finally silent.

“There is no way you’re this clueless,” you told him, voice playful.

“What?”

“You.”

“Me?”

“Yes, you.”

Technoblade looked genuinely confused, head tilting slightly.

The voices shrieked.

OH MY GOD

HE’S HOPELESS

ACTUAL DISASTER

TECHNO YOU DUMBASS

You laughed, leaning forward to kiss his cheek again. This time, Technoblade finally understood.

“Oh.” The realization hit him all at once. “Oh.”

The voices erupted into frantic cheer.

HE GOT IT

AFTER SEVENTEEN BUSINESS DAYS

FUCKING FINALLY

NOW BED HER

Technoblade closed the book, his expression amused. “You weren’t listening to the story.”

“I was listening.”

“You absolutely were not.”

“I learned about Atlas.”

“What about Atlas?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. Technoblade looked impossibly pleased with himself.

You groaned softly, then buried your face against his shoulder as his laughter rumbled warmly beneath your ear. That moment, the mythology lesson was forgotten.

Neither of you moved for a long, peaceful moment. The cabin was warm, softly lit by the dying embers of the fire, quiet in the way only genuine comfort can be.

You tilted your head up slightly. Technoblade was already looking at you, gentle and intent, making your cheeks flush.

“What?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he replied.

“Liar,” you accused.

“I am literally incapable of lying.”

You snorted, and the voices immediately objected.

THAT IS FALSE

FACT CHECK FALSE

COMMUNITY NOTES

STOP LYING

You smiled, leaned forward, and pressed another kiss to his cheek. This time, he caught your wrist before you could pull away.

Your breath hitched.

Slowly, he turned his head toward you, the teasing grin on his face softening into something more genuine.

“So,” you murmured.

“So.”

Neither of you looked away.

Then Technoblade kissed you—softly, without explosions or armies or fear—simply because he wanted to. His hand found your waist while yours slid up to rest against his shoulder.

The kiss lingered, slow and unhurried, the kind that makes the rest of the world disappear.

Meanwhile, the voices were insufferable.

LET’S GOOOO

WE WON

NO ONE IS DYING

FOR ONCE

LIFE IS SO GREAT CHAT

Technoblade mentally shoved them into a corner.

You smiled against his lips, the book sliding forgotten from his lap. Neither of you spared it a glance. Your hand found the back of his neck, fingers threading softly through his pink hair. The movement earned a quiet sound from him, a gentle whine that made your heart stumble.

The voices immediately started laughing at him.

CHAT

DID YOU HEAR THAT

WE HEARD THAT

LOL TECHNO YOU SIMP

CHAT GIVE THEM PRIVACY

Technoblade threatened them silently, a warning in his eyes.

You smiled into the kiss.

Months ago, this moment would’ve been unimaginable. The grumpy hybrid who barely tolerated your existence, the man who used to hide in his room and answer your questions with one-word responses. Now he was pulling you closer as if he never wanted to let go.

The realization made your chest ache but not painfully, just enough to remind you how much had changed.

You shifted closer until no space remained between you.

Technoblade’s arm tightened around your waist, protectively, instinctively, as if afraid you might disappear.

Your heart melted.

When the kiss finally broke, neither of you moved very far. Foreheads touching, breathing unevenly, simply enjoying the quiet.

“You know,” you murmured.

“Hm?”

“You never finished the story.”

Technoblade laughed, its sound genuine and warm, a soft, unguarded sound only shared in these quiet moments.

“I wonder why.”

You grinned. “Must’ve gotten distracted.”

“Must’ve,” he said softly, his thumb brushing gently across your cheek.

That tender gesture was so soft it almost hurt, because for all his strength, confidence, and legendary tales about the Blood God—moments like this were rare. Moments where he allowed himself to simply be Technoblade, not a warrior or a legend, just yours.

The thought made you lean forward and kiss him once more—slowly, carefully, as if memorizing him.

And for a little while, the rest of the world ceased to exist.

—

Only a short time had passed—just a couple of days.

That’s precisely why Tommy had spent the last hour complaining loudly in the crowd.

“This is insane,” Tommy whispered, voice raised over the chatter. “It’s been one week!”

“Eight days,” Ranboo corrected, unfazed.

“THAT DOESN’T HELP!”

You fought back a smile, knowing well how unbothered Technoblade looked across from you, as though marrying someone after only a week of dating was perfectly reasonable—classic Technoblade behavior.

The small gathering was set outside the cozy wooden cabin, snow blanketing the ground in a soft white layer.

Philza stood between you and Technoblade, grinning as if he found the entire situation amusing.

“Right,” Phil began, voice steady. “Before I start, does anyone object?”

Tommy’s hand shot into the air immediately.

“Tommy,” Phil warned, raising an eyebrow.

“I just think maybe they should wait a full month,” Tommy insisted.

“No,” Technoblade interrupted firmly.

“A couple of weeks?” Tommy pressed.

“No.”

“At least until winter ends?” Tommy added hopefully.

“No,” Technoblade replied, unwavering.

Tommy pointed accusingly at him. “You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been told,” Technoblade responded

The voices immediately joined in.

SKILL ISSUE

HES MAD BECAUSE WERE WINNING

HES MAD BECAUSE HE DOESNT HAVE A WIFE

GET MARRIED FASTER

Tommy looked deeply offended, though he couldn’t hear the escalating chatter.

Phil cleared his throat. “Now that the objections have been thoroughly ignored…”

You chuckled softly.

Technoblade’s lips twitched slightly—just enough to notice.

Phil turned toward him. “Technoblade.”

For the first time since you met him, the man standing in front of you seemed mildly nervous, just a flicker in his normally composed demeanor.

“You understand this is moving quickly?” Phil asked.

Technoblade nodded. “Yep.”

“And you’re sure?”

Without hesitation, Technoblade responded, “Absolutely.”

Your heart fluttered at his certainty.

Phil’s smile softened, then shifted to you. “And what about you?”

You glanced at Technoblade—the man who had appeared on your doorstep months ago looking annoyed just to be alive. The man who taught you how to fight, reading mythology stories to help you sleep, and kissing you in a cave while chaos unfolded around you. The man who somehow became your home.

You smiled. “I’m sure.”

The voices immediately erupted.

LET’S GOOOO

PEAK FICTION

WE MADE IT

NOW CONSUMMATE THE MARRIAGE

BECOME ONE OF THE EYES OF GOD

Phil chuckled and reached into his inventory, pulling out two simple gold bands—unstyled, unadorned, just bright, warm gold.

But for Technoblade, that gold meant everything.

He carefully took one, holding it while studying it, taking a brief pause, then an intense look at you. For a moment, he seemed far more nervous than in battle. You couldn’t help but smile.

“Are you nervous?” you whispered softly.

“No,” he lied.

“You absolutely are,” you challenged.

“No,” he insisted, but the voices quickly disagreed.

HE IS TERRIFIED

ACTUAL PANIC

LOOK AT HIM

HURRY UP

Technoblade mentally scolded them.

You still smiled as he gently took your hand. The teasing vanished; this moment was real. Carefully, he slid the ring onto your finger, his thumb lingering briefly against your skin. Then he looked up, his voice quieter than usual.

“You know,” he said softly, “I had this whole speech prepared.”

Your eyebrows raised in surprise. “You did?”

“Yeah.”

“And?”

Technoblade met your gaze, then sighed.

The voices erupted again—

SAY THE SPEECH

DO IT

HE’S CHOKING

LOOSER

“Chat, please,” he begged.

You laughed.

He shook his head, squeezing your hand before finally speaking.

“I don’t really need a speech,” he said plainly. No sarcasm, no jokes—just sincerity. “I love you.”

The world seemed to pause—simple, direct, very Technoblade. Yet it made your eyes sting.

Across the gathering, Tommy looked on, visibly emotional.

“OH COME ON,” he complained. “I SAID I WOULDN’T CRY.”

Philza looked oddly proud, and before anyone could spoil the moment, he clapped his hands. “Well then,” he said with a grin, “by the power vested in me as the oldest person here…” “

That’s not how that works,” Wilbur’s ghost called from nearby.

“I’m making it how it works.”

The ghost laughed.

Phil pointed dramatically at you both. “You may now kiss your spouse.”

Voices erupted in celebration.

SPOUSE

WIFE ACQUIRED

MISSION COMPLETE

YESSSS

KISS

KISS

KISS

Technoblade groaned aloud.

You laughed and stepped forward to kiss your husband.

Later that night, after the celebrations had ended and the last of their friends had finally left, silence settled over the cabin. A comfortable silence. The kind that only came after a long day surrounded by people.

For a while, neither of you spoke. You sat together on the edge of the bed, hands intertwined. Married. The thought still felt unreal.

Across from you, Technoblade looked oddly distracted. His gaze kept drifting toward the golden band on his finger. As if he couldn’t quite believe it was there.

The voices certainly weren’t helping.

WIFE

ACTUAL WIFE

WE DID IT

NOW HAVE SEX

“I know,” Technoblade muttered.

YOU SHOULD LOOK AT HER

“I am looking at her.”

LOOK HARDER

BED HER

You laughed softly.

Technoblade immediately looked away. Embarrassed. Which only made you smile wider.

For someone who could fight entire armies without hesitation, he seemed remarkably vulnerable tonight. The realization made your chest ache.

Because this wasn’t the Blood God. This wasn’t the warrior people whispered stories about. This was simply Technoblade. Your husband.

Slowly, you reached for him. His breath caught. Not dramatically. Just enough for you to notice. Enough to make your heart flutter.

The room felt smaller suddenly. Warmer.

Your fingers brushed his hand. Then his wrist. Then intertwined with his once more. Simple touches. Yet somehow they felt more intimate than anything else.

Technoblade stared at your joined hands for a long moment. Like he was committing the sight to memory. The voices had gone strangely quiet. For once. Not teasing. Not shouting. Simply watching.

You shifted closer.

Technoblade immediately responded. Instinctively. Closing the remaining distance between you. As though being near you was the most natural thing in the world. And maybe it was.

Months ago, he’d barely tolerated sharing a cabin with you. Now he couldn’t imagine a life that didn’t include you in it. The thought terrified him because he knew exactly how much power you held over him.

You could undo him with a smile. A laugh. A simple touch of your hand. And the worst part?

He didn’t mind. Not even a little.

Your forehead rested against his.

Neither of you spoke. There was no need.

The fire crackled softly nearby. Snow tapped gently against the windows. The entire world felt impossibly distant. As if the cabin existed outside of time.

Outside of war. Outside of loss. Outside of everything.

Just the two of you.

And for a long moment, Technoblade simply looked at you. He genuinely couldn’t believe you were here.

That after everything—

You had chosen him.

The violent warrior. The stubborn idiot. The man who spent half his life convinced he was better off alone. Yet somehow, impossibly, you loved him anyway.

His hand rose slowly. Carefully. As though touching something precious. His thumb brushed across your cheek. A tiny gesture. Yet one that made something soften in his chest.

You moved to cradle on top of him, not with urgency, but settled, a perfect, weighty fit in the hollow of his hips. Your thighs framed his, your own weight a gentle, welcome pressure.

His hands, large and warm, came to rest on the crests of your hips, his thumbs tracing slow, absent circles on the sensitive skin just above the bone.

It wasn’t a grip to steer or control; it was an anchor, a point of contact that spoke of grounding, of being present in this singular, suspended moment.

You leaned down and found his mouth again. His lips were pliant under yours, responding with a gentle, yielding pressure.

You lingered there, breathing each other’s air, noses brushing, the world narrowing to the soft, wet sound of lips meeting and parting, meeting again.

You began to move, a subtle, rocking motion of your hips that made the muscles in his abdomen tense and relax in a slow wave. Your own body answered, a soft, building warmth low in your belly, a hum of anticipation that was quiet and sweet.

His hands on your hips tightened.

You drew back from the kiss, your forehead resting against his, eyes closed.

You shifted your weight, lifting yourself just enough. One of his hands slid from your hip, down the outside of your thigh before his fingers found yours, intertwining. Together, you guided him.

You exhaled, a long, shuddering breath that you felt him echo beneath you, and you sank down. You took him in completely, until you were fully seated, the entire length of him sheathed within you, and you settled with a final, weighty sigh, your body accepting his with a perfect, quiet completeness.

His eyes were open now, they held a universe of feeling—awe, tenderness, a vulnerability that mirrored your own. You could feel the fine tremble in his thighs beneath yours, the controlled, deep rhythm of his breathing as he held himself perfectly still, allowing you this moment of absolute possession.

“You know,” he said quietly as you adjusted to him.

“Hm?” Was all you could respond with.

“I don’t think I deserve you.”

Your expression immediately fell. “Techno—”

“I’m serious.” he said, rocking your hips just a little.

It was not the rocking from before, but something deeper, more fundamental. A slow, rolling lift and sink, a dance of profound intimacy.

A soft moan fell from your lips.

The words that he said surprised even him. Because he rarely spoke about things like this. Rarely allowed himself to. But tonight felt different. Tonight there were no walls left between you.

His hands moved from your hips, sliding up your sides, tracing the dip of your waist, spanning your ribcage, coming to rest just below your breasts.

“You make everything better.” His voice had become softer. More vulnerable. The kind of tone reserved only for you.

You leaned forward, bracing your hands on the pillow on either side of his head, and he turned his face into the curve of your neck, his breath hot and damp against your skin. He lifted you up off him, before he continued speaking.

“The cabin.”

He thrusted into you before lifting you up again.

“My life.”

Another thrust.

“Me.”

You were moving together now in a perfect, wordless synchronicity, two bodies speaking a language older than words, a poem written in pulse and breath and shared, shuddering warmth.

The climax, when it came, wasn’t sharp; it was vast. It pulled a soft, broken sound from your throat, a sigh that was half a sob, as your body clenched around him in slow, rhythmic pulses, milking the sensation, drawing it out.

Beneath you, he shuddered, his own climax drawn from him by yours. You felt the hot, liquid rush deep inside you, the final, intimate gift, and it triggered another, softer wave of aftershocks that made you tremble and cling to him.

You collapsed forward, your body going boneless, melting onto his chest. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, holding you as you both rode out the gentle, receding tremors.

You were still joined, and neither of you made any move to separate. The intimacy of the act had faded into the intimacy of the aftermath—the stickiness of sweat between your bodies, the heavy, sated weight of your limbs, the profound, quiet peace that settled in the space where passion had been.

You looked up at him, Then smiled. That same smile. The one that always ruined him. And before he could look away, your hand found his. Squeezing gently. Grounding him. Choosing him.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The way you always would.

The rest of the night passed wrapped in quiet conversation, lingering embraces, and the comfort of simply being together.

Soft. Patient. Certain.

The kind of love that made two people feel like home.

—

The morning arrived much sooner than either of you anticipated.

Golden sunlight filtered softly through the cabin windows, casting warm, shimmering patterns across the wooden walls and furniture.

You found yourself wrapped in Technoblade’s arms, the blankets tangled around both of you like a cozy cocoon. At some point, he had awakened before you; you could tell by the subtle way his eyes lingered on you as your eyelids fluttered open. His expression softened with affection once he realized you were awake.

“Morning,” he whispered gently.

A sleepy smile spread across your face as you leaned forward, softly pressing your lips against his in a tender kiss. Technoblade immediately responded, melting into it with quiet devotion. The surrounding voices cheered in the background.

GOOD MORNING KISS

WE LOVE TO SEE IT

NOW MAKE LOVE AGAIN

YES

When you finally pulled back, your hand remained resting lightly on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart.

“Promise me something?” you asked softly.

One eyebrow raised in curiosity. “I thought we already made promises yesterday.”

You chuckled quietly, amusement dancing in your eyes. “I’m serious.”

His smile faltered slightly, not completely fading but enough to reveal the weight of his thoughts. You shifted closer, close enough to feel the warmth of his breath and hear the gentle thump of his heartbeat.

“This one’s different.”

“Mmm?” he prompted, confusion flickering across his face.

After a brief hesitation, you finally voiced it aloud. “No more violence.”

The room fell into a heavy silence. The voices ceased, even the crackling fireplace seemed distant and muted. For a moment, Technoblade didn’t respond. His gaze drifted upward toward the ceiling, lost in deep thought. Because the truth was—violence had always been a part of him.

Before the wars, before L’Manberg, before you— it coursed beneath his skin, embedded in his instincts. His hands automatically reaching for weapons, the way entire nations trembled at the mention of his name. Violence wasn’t something he had learned; it was something he had carried his whole life. Promising to abandon it completely felt like a lie—something he refused to do, especially to you.

His eyes returned to yours, searching. You waited patiently, not demanding, simply hoping.

Technoblade exhaled slowly, then leaned forward and pressed a gentle, tender kiss to your lips—an unspoken message conveying everything he couldn’t put into words. When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, silence enveloping you both.

Then he whispered, “I’ll try.”

The words were quiet, honest, and real—a delicate confession. Not a promise nor a guarantee, just the truth.

A smile touched your lips because you knew him well, and if there was one thing more precious than a promise from Technoblade— it was his honesty.

“Okay,” you whispered.

His shoulders relaxed in relief, a fleeting flicker across his face. You pressed your lips to his again, and in that moment, neither of you thought about wars, politics, or the uncertain future. You simply stayed there, warm, safe, loved— completely unaware of how much that simple exchange would matter later.

You settled back into his embrace, feeling content with his answer. For now, it was enough. The cabin remained warm, the morning peaceful, and the future seemed bright.

What you didn’t realize was that Technoblade had already made his decision—long before the wedding, long before these quiet mornings, long before slipping that golden ring onto your finger. While you dreamed of peace, another promise echoed silently in his mind. The one made beneath a burning sky, a vow kept to himself and the voices.

L’Manberg had to fall. Not out of a desire for destruction or war, but because seeing that nation, he saw betrayal, he saw chains, executions, governments deciding who deserved freedom. Technoblade had never been the forgiving type. As he held you close that morning, while your breathing gradually steadied and sleep threatened to pull you back under, part of him was already thinking ahead—planning, preparing.

The thought weighed heavily on his chest, for the first time, holding something he wanted more than revenge: you, and the life you had built together, the future beyond the snow-covered cabin. For a brief moment, he considered letting it go, choosing you over the war. But the thought vanished just as quickly, for some wounds ran too deep, betrayals left scars that never healed. He had carried them too long.

His grip around you tightened slightly, guilt twisting within him. You stirred against him, half asleep, safe, trusting, you were completely unaware that the man holding you was already walking toward a future neither of you would come through unchanged. Technoblade felt fear—not of war or death, but of what it might cost him.

—

Time passed. The snow grew thicker, the nights longer, and Technoblade became more distant.

But not just Technoblade, everyone around you. Tommy, Philza. As if they were keeping a secret from you.

Initially, you tried not to read too much into it; everyone needed space sometimes. But then he started leaving before sunrise, returning long after dark. He always looked tired, always distracted.

You asked about it more than once. The first time, he simply shrugged.

“Getting supplies.”

“The whole day?”

“It’s winter.”

The second time, he kissed your forehead and changed the subject. The third time, he avoided the question altogether.

Something wasn’t right an you knew it. But every time you pushed, he smiled and reassured you that everything was fine. Trusting him, you let it go—at least for a while.

One afternoon, you found yourself outside clearing snow from the front porch. The storm from the night before had buried half the cabin in white. As you shoveled a path through the thick, icy layer, a familiar voice called out from behind.

“Hey!”

You looked up and immediately smiled. “Ghostbur!”

He waved enthusiastically, trudging through the snow toward you. He always looked the same to you. Blue coat, blue beanie, and a cheerful smile as bright as ever.

“You look cold,” he said.

“I am cold.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

You laughed, Ghostbur joining in as snowflakes clung to his hair.

For a while, you talked about simple, everyday things, such books, snow, friendship—normal conversations you desperately needed lately. Then Ghostbur casually mentioned, “At least it’ll all be over after Doomsday.”

You froze, the shovel slipping from your grasp. “What?”

Ghostbur blinked, his smile faltering. “What?”

“What did you just say?”

Horrified, he looked instantly guilty. “Oh.”

Your stomach sank. “Ghostbur.”

“Oh no.”

“Ghostbur.”

“I wasn’t supposed to say that.”

Panic surged in your chest, your heart pounding.

“What is Doomsday?” you demanded.

He took a hesitant step back. “I don’t think I’m supposed to tell you.”

“What is Doomsday?”

He retreated again, guilt evident in his eyes. “I really shouldn’t have said anything.”

Your pulse thundered louder, the dread settling deep inside. Every late night, every disappearance, every half-truth suddenly made sense.

“Ghostbur.” Your voice cracked.

He froze, seeing the hurt and fear in your expression. Then, quietly, he whispered, “I said too much.”

Your chest tightened.

He shook his head. “I have to go.”

“Ghostbur—”

“I’m sorry.”

Before you could stop him, he turned and hurried away through the snow, leaving your heart racing.

“Ghostbur!” you called after him, your boots crunching in the frozen silence. “Wait!”

But he kept walking, or perhaps couldn’t stop. All you knew was that he was gone, and your mind finally cut through all the excuses you’d made for Technoblade. Deep down, you already knew. You just hadn’t wanted to believe it.

All the late nights, secrecy, lies, the pieces fit together now. Only one place remained—one where you might still be able to stop what was coming.

You turned and ran, sprinting toward L’Manberg, desperate to uncover the truth.

By the time you reached L’Manberg, the dying light of dusk had spread across the expansive server landscape. The sky blazed with hues of burnt orange and fiery red, casting an ominous glow that made it seem as if the world itself was ablaze. And indeed, it was.

You halted at the edge of the ancient crater, your chest tightening with dread. Your breath caught in your throat—you were too late.

Overhead, Withers soared wildly, their ghastly shrieks echoing through the barren ruins. Explosions rattled the ground beneath your feet, shaking the very earth as TNT rained like deadly confetti from the darkening sky. Buildings shattered into heaps of rubble, stones splintered into dust, and the very foundations of L’Manberg dissolved into exposed, jagged bedrock.

Chaos. Absolute chaos.

Amidst the destruction stood Technoblade—your husband.

For a fleeting moment, you hardly recognized him.

His once-pristine nearherite armor was now stained with black ash and crimson blood. His crown, once a gleaming symbol of authority, sat askew atop his disheveled pink hair. His sword swung with relentless fury, each strike echoing desperation.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The voices thundered inside his mind, relentless and deafening.

BLOOD

BLOOD

BLOOD

BLOOD

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD

The battlefield blurred into chaos—the faces, the names, the entire world reduced to a savage symphony of violence.

Someone launched an attack at him. His sword flashed to meet it. Another enemy approached. His axe swung in a deadly arc.

A new enemy emerged. Another strike sounded. A scream pierced the noise.

Everything merged into a frenzied haze of instinct—of survival, of destruction.

He couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe. Only the cacophony of voices roared louder and louder.

Then suddenly—

“TECHNO!”

Your voice pierced the chaos.

You pushed through the brutal battlefield, desperate, terrified.

“TECHNO!”

He didn’t hear you or perhaps couldn’t, overwhelmed by the relentless screams.

Faster, you ran, trying to get closer, trying to reach him, to stop him, to understand.

Then a sudden movement from behind, someone rushed toward Technoblade.

His instincts kicked in instantly.

He spun, sword already in motion—a flash of steel, a familiar face—then—

Silence.

The battlefield vanished. The screams ceased. The world disappeared. The voices stopped.

Because you stood in front of him.

Your eyes were wide, your breath stolen away. His sword pierced your chest.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Neither understood.

Technoblade stared. The chaos around him faded—there was only you.

Only you.

Only you.

And then the voices spoke.

Not screaming. Not demanding. Whispering.

NO

The sword slipped from his grasp.

NO

“My love?”

No no no no no.

You faltered. Technoblade caught you before you fell to the ground. Panic engulfed him—violent, crushing, overwhelming.

“No.”

His hands trembled uncontrollably.

The voices sounded horrified.

TECHNO

STOP

STOP

PLEASE

WE DIDN’T KNOW

WE DIDN’T SEE HER

WE’RE SORRY

WE’RE SORRY

Technoblade no longer heard them.

He dropped to his knees, frantically searching through his inventory—potions, golden apples, anything, everything.

His trembling hands nearly dropped his supplies.

“Drink this,” he whispered, voice cracked with desperation.

You’d never heard him sound like that before.

“Please.”

A healing potion. Then another. Then another. A totem. Anything. Everything.

“Techno…”

“No.” His breathing grew uneven, panicked, desperate. “You’ll be okay.”

A lie. Both of you knew it.

“You’ll be okay.” His hands wouldn’t stop shaking. “I’ve got you.”

The words shattered halfway through—because, for the first time, Technoblade didn’t know how to fix this.

The voices had fallen into complete silence—all that remained were faint, whispered apologies.

WERE SORRY

WE ARE SO SORRY

PLEASE DONT BE MAD

Your hand found his.

His fingers closed around yours as if his life depended on it, reluctant to let go.

Tears blurred his vision—he barely noticed.

“Please,” he whispered like a prayer.

Not to gods. Not to fate. To you.

“Stay.”

Your eyes softened, gentle as always whenever you looked at him—even now, even after all that had transpired. That look, tender and unwavering, hurt him most of all because you weren’t angry. You weren’t afraid. You simply looked sad.

“Techno.”

His name broke him completely, the strongest warrior on the server, reduced to shattered fragments by a single word.

“I’m sorry.” The confession escaped before he knew it—raw, broken.

“I didn’t—”

His voice failed.

“I didn’t know.”

You squeezed his hand. A tiny, almost imperceptible movement—yet he felt it, every part of him responding.

The battlefield raged around you, explosions, Withers, screams but none of it mattered anymore.

Because the war was over. Technoblade just hadn’t realized it yet. As his sword struck you. He lost.

And somewhere deep in his mind, the voices wept with him.

He saw the way your hand slowly slipped from his. The way your grip weakened. The way your breathing slowed.

And then—

Your eyes.

For a moment, they lingered on him.

Still warm.

Still alive.

Still you.

Then that light began to fade—slowly, painfully—as if the last ember of a dying fire.

“No,” he choked out, broken.

Tightly clutching your hand, as if he could somehow keep you here, force you to stay.

“No, no, no, no…” His voice cracked into shreds.

The voices sobbed now.

TECHNO

DO SOMETHING

DO ANYTHING

PLEASE

SAVE HER

PLEASE SAVE HER

GIVE YOUR HEART TO HER

GIVE HER OUR LIFE

“I’M TRYING!” he screamed, tearing into his throat.

“Please.” The word was pleading—desperate, human. “Please stay.”

Your gaze met his once more. One last time and, gods, that look haunted him forever. Because there was no hatred, no blame, no anger—just love. Even now, even after all he had done, you looked at him with love.

And that shattered something inside him.

Your lips parted slightly, as if to say something—maybe you did, maybe you couldn’t—but he would spend the rest of his life wondering.

Then your gaze unfocused, just slightly, enough for him to notice and know.

“No.”

The word escaped as a whisper—a prayer, a denial, anything but the truth. The truth was unbearable.

Because this wasn’t your first life. Or your second. This was your last. And he knew it.

You only had one more—one—and he was the one who fucking took it.

Not Dream. Not Quackity. Not some random accident.

Him.

His sword. His hand. His choice. His war. His fault.

The realization hit harder than any weapon ever could.

Technoblade had destroyed kingdoms, slain enemies, ignited wars, yet nothing, nothing had ever hurt like this.

Your eyes finally lost their light. The world stopped. The explosions grew distant. The screams faded. The battlefield vanished.

Because the person he loved most was gone.

And he was the one who just killed her.

The voices fell silent, because they had nothing to say, there was nothing left to say.

Technoblade sat alone amid the ruins of a nation he had sworn to destroy, holding the body of the woman he swore to protect. And for the first time in his life—

The Blood God wept.

—

Weeks passed.

Technoblade was never the same.

At first, friends and fellow villagers came to visit: Philza, Tommy, Ranboo, even Ghostbur. They knocked on the cabin door, called his name, and tried to coax him outside. Most days, he didn’t answer; eventually, visits became less frequent.

The world kept moving, continents shifting, seasons changing, yet Technoblade remained exactly where you left him.

Inside that cabin, your cabin, the one that once radiated warmth and life, now sat in profound silence. It felt too big, too quiet, and painfully empty.

The bed seemed larger than before; the chair beside the fireplace lay untouched. Your favorite mug, chipped and battered, still rested on the kitchen counter, untouched by his hands. He couldn’t bring himself to move it.

In the first week, he kept expecting to hear your footsteps or see you in the doorway; in the second week, he found himself setting out two plates at dinner, yearning for your presence; by the third week, he woke up reaching for someone who was no longer there. Each of these realizations cut deep—the pain fresh each time. And the worst part?

Your scent was fading—slowly fading. The blankets no longer carried your perfume; the sweaters you used to steal from him lost their familiar aroma. Even your pillow was beginning to lose traces of you. Time was gradually stealing your presence piece by piece. And he was powerless to stop it.

The voices in the cabin had become quieter, still there, just muted. Mourning, like he was. Sometimes, they whispered softly:

WE MISS HER

WE MISS HER A LOT

WE MISS HER ALL THE TIME

Sometimes, he answered softly: "So do I."

Other times, silence enveloped them.

The cabin had transformed into a graveyard of memories—every corner whispering stories: the bookshelf filled with mythological tomes, the porch where you’d sip tea during snowstorms, Carl’s stall, the kitchen, the bedroom.

Everywhere he looked, there was you.

Only you.

You.

You.

Yet nowhere at all.

Technoblade found himself staring at the golden ring still resting on his finger. He hadn’t removed it, nor would he. His thumb brushed against the cold metal—a habit formed after the wedding, when touching it once made him smile. Now, it only hurt.

The memory returned uninvited: a snowy morning, your head resting against his chest, your voice still heavy with sleep.

"Promise me something?"

His eyes closed, and the words came back in perfect clarity:

"No more violence?"

At the time, he hadn’t wanted to promise. Violence had been woven into his very bones, into his name, into what made him Technoblade. So, he gave the only answer he could:

"I’ll try."

A lump formed in his throat, because he had failed you, he failed in every way that mattered. Yet, somehow, that promise was all he had left. So, he kept it.

The axe gathered dust; the sword remained sheathed. Wars and conflicts came and went; he ignored them all. People still called his name, asked him for help, blood, the Blade. But the Blade was gone, buried beneath the ruins of L’Manberg, along with everything else he had lost. Because the day he ended your life, something inside him died too.

Technoblade wanted no part in violence, not anymore. Not after learning what it could cost him. Not after you.So, he stayed inside the cabin, in the silence, keeping the promise he never truly made and loving you long after you were gone.

Tag list:

The first time you died was purely by coincidence, an unforeseen event that you could not have predicted.

To put it simply, you were in the wrong place at the wrong time, caught in circumstances beyond your control. It was a chaotic battlefield during a brutal war.

You met Philza years ago.

Over the years, the two of you crossed paths more times than either of you could count. It became a running joke between you. No matter where you traveled, Philza was never far behind.

Eventually, your wandering days came to an end.

While Philza continued exploring the world, you settled down in a small cottage tucked away in the snowy tundra. There, you dedicated yourself to researching medicine and crafting potions to develop remedies to aid local villagers.

It was quiet there. Peaceful. Exactly what you’d been looking for.

Philza kept in regular contact through heartfelt letters and occasional visits to each other's homes.

One day, you received a letter from Philza. One of his sons was about to be caught in a brutal war. He trusted you to assist in any medical needs that might arise. Without hesitation, you set out on the journey to help.

However, when you arrived an explosion erupted nearby—a deafening blast that hurled you across the muddy ground with a violent force. The last thing you heard was the crackle of debris and the shouts of people in the distance before everything went dark.

You wake up in your bed, a mix of fear and confusion clouding your judgment. Your mind races as you try to grasp what has happened.

Thirst—that's how your throat feels. That's the only sensation remaining after you become aware of your body.

Getting out of bed, you stretch your back. A ghostly pain erupts behind you. You know it's not real, but you remember your back was thrown harshly into the wall before your death.

After drinking the ice-cold glass of water you prepared, you write a detailed letter to Philza, explaining everything that happened and sending a sincere apology for not being able to help.

This was your first death, and you didn't die as the hero you tried so hard to become, but as a victim caught in an unpredicted and tragic event.

—

Days pass, and although you still occasionally have nightmares of that day, you learn to push through and return to your normal routine.

You revisited the memory and tried so hard to figure out what went wrong and what you could have done to still have that extra life. Despite the life that you lost, you remained hopeful that you still had two left, especially after Philza mentioned that one of his sons, whom you now know as Wilbur, wasn't so lucky.

And the sad part? Philza was the one who took his life that day, the weight of guilt heavy on his shoulders.

You didn't know the full story—and honestly? You don't think you want to. But Philza did say that if you crossed paths again, he would try to explain everything.

Now, you stare at the pink-haired pig hybrid who just knocked on your door a few seconds ago.

He's much taller than you, with a visibly annoyed expression that clearly shows he doesn't want to be here. You recognize him as a close friend of Philza from the stories you've heard—his demeanor, the way he carries himself, all hinting at a tough, no-nonsense attitude. He didn't even need to introduce himself; you already knew his name. And judging by how he said yours, I'm guessing he felt the same way.

“Yeah… that’s me,” you replied when he said your name in that flat, unimpressed tone. “You’re Technoblade, right?”

The piglin hybrid stared at you for a moment, eyes narrowing slightly.

“Unfortunately,” Technoblade said with a dry, sardonic tone.

You blinked. “…Right,”

An awkward silence settled between the two of you, thick with unspoken questions.

You waited for him to explain why he was standing on your porch. He waited for you to invite him in. Neither of you moved. Finally, Technoblade sighed deeply.

“Phil sent me,” he said.

“I figured,” you replied, crossing your arms.

Another pause followed, heavy with anticipation.

“…And?” you prompted.

“…And what?” His eye twitched, irritation flickering in his expression. “Are you going to let me in?” he sneered.

You crossed your arms tighter. “Depends,”

The annoyed expression on his face deepened, the weight of frustration evident.

“Depends on what?” Technoblade asked, voice with impatience.

“Depends on whether Phil forgot to mention he was sending a six-foot-something armed fugitive to my house,” you retorted, narrowing your eyes.

Technoblade glanced down at the axe strapped to his back, the metal gleaming faintly.

“I can leave,” he said quietly.

For some reason, that irritated you more.

“That wasn’t what I meant,” you said, voice sharper.

“Then what did you mean?” Technoblade shot back, arms crossing defensively.

“I meant a warning would’ve been nice,” you replied, voice steady.

“You got one,” he said simply.

“When?” you pressed.

“Just now,” Technoblade answered with a hint of sarcasm.

You stared at him. He stared back. Somewhere in the distance, a wolf barked, tearing into the silence.

Finally, you stepped aside with a groan, tired of the standoff.

“You know, most guests start with hello,” you muttered.

“I knocked,” Technoblade replied casually.

“That’s not a hello.”

“It’s close enough.”

You shook your head as he stepped past you into the cabin. You were beginning to see why Philza always looked tired.

—

Living with Technoblade was not as difficult as one might assume.

He was rarely at home, often venturing off into unknown areas, perhaps to hunt, practice, or hunt some more. But when he did return in the late hours of the night, his heavy footsteps echoed loudly through the small wooden cabin shared between you, startling you awake as if a thunderclap had shattered the silence.

It was clear he felt the same about you—an unavoidable presence in his otherwise solitary life.

The tension between you both was so thick it seemed almost tangible, where even the sword always strapped to his back couldn’t slice through.

He viewed you the same way you saw him—an inconvenience.

One evening, you dared to ask him when he planned to return to his true home.

“Until they stop hunting me down,” he muttered with a gruff, annoyed tone, his eyes narrowing as if the very thought irritated him.

Sadly for you, he was being hunted down. Despite his tall, muscular frame that overshadowed you, you appreciated that he kept his distance.

Sharing dinner with Technoblade was a rare event. Most nights, he would quietly gather his plate and slip away before you had the chance to speak, or he simply didn’t show up at all.

Tonight, however, he sat across from you at the small, sturdy wooden table, the dim candlelight flickering between you. An uncomfortable silence stretched on, filled only by the soft sounds of your utensils clinking as you picked at your food. Technoblade ate fast, as if trying to finish his meal before anyone could speak.

After several long minutes, you finally broke the silence.

“So… what actually happened at the festival?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

A grunt was his only response, which you took as permission to continue.

“The one in L’Manberg.”

He paused, fork still in hand.

“I know which festival you’re talking about,” he said flatly, his tone conveying a hint of annoyance.

You rolled your eyes internally but kept your expression neutral. “Then answer the question.”

For a moment, he stared down at his plate, contemplating.

“It was a betrayal,” he finally replied.

“That’s it?” you pressed, frustration creeping into your voice.

“What more do you want?”

You frowned, feeling a pang of anger and sadness. “I lost a life that day too, Technoblade. Everyone keeps talking around it like I’m some naive child.”

The room grew silent, heavy with unspoken words. He lifted his gaze, revealing an unreadable expression.

“Trust me,” he said after a moment, voice low and steady. “You’re better off not knowing.”

Without another word, he returned to his food, signaling the end of the conversation and leaving the table in tense silence.

—

The snowstorm battered relentlessly against the cabin windows, layering the landscape outside in a thick, glistening sheet of white.

You had grown accustomed to Technoblade slipping into the spare room whenever the nights were like this. So it caught you off guard when you entered the living room and found him seated by the stone fireplace, a thick leather bound book resting open in his lap.

For a moment, neither of you spoke.

You moved around the small kitchen, gathering herbs from the jar on the countertop and filling a cast-iron kettle with warm water for your tea.

The silence had become a comfortable backdrop over time. That is, until Technoblade suddenly broke it with a hesitant voice.

"So…" he began.

You nearly dropped the dried herbs, surprised by the sound of his voice. Your head snapped toward him, and you saw his eyes widen in what looked like genuine surprise at having spoken.

Unbeknownst to you, the voices immediately erupted.

JUST TALK TO HER

SHE’S RIGHT THERE

SAY SOMETHING IDIOT

"Chat…” Technoblade muttered softly, almost under his breath.

You frowned, confused. "What?”

"Nothing," he quickly replied.

Those voices only grew louder, teasing him:

YES STOP BEING A COWARD

TECHNO CAN’T TALK TO A GIRL LMAOOO

You studied him intently. "Are you alright?" you asked, concern slipping into your voice.

“Never better," he responded too quickly, as if trying to convince himself.

A few more moments of silence passed before he finally spoke again, hesitantly.

"So, I never saw you at the festival," he said, looking into the dying embers of the fire.

You wrapped your hands around the ceramic mug filled with steaming, freshly brewed herbal tea, its aroma mingling with the scent of burning wood. "And I never saw you either," you responded, voice soft.

"I mean…” he paused, staring contemplatively into the fire. “How did you die?" he asked unexpectedly, his tone unusually serious.

Your eyes widened in surprise. Of all the questions he could have asked, that one took you by surprise.

Warmth flooded your cheeks, and you clenched your jaw slightly.

"It’s embarrassing," you admitted.

"Now I’m even more curious," he said, leaning slightly forward.

You groaned in frustration, rubbing your temples. "I had literally just arrived—"

Technoblade looked up at you, a curious expression on his face.

“I wasn’t even there for ten seconds before a TNT explosion flung me halfway across the server," you explained.

Silence settled for a moment, then punctuated by a snort from you, followed by another chuckle.

Suddenly, Technoblade burst into laughter that caught you so off guard that you momentarily forgot to be annoyed.

“You died to TNT?” he managed between laughs.

"Oh, shut up!" you snapped, but a smile tugged at your lips.

"You got taken out immediately," he teased, still chuckling.

“I WASN’T EXPECTING IT!" you shot back, throwing a nearby pillow at him.

Technoblade caught it effortlessly, still laughing harder. The noise blended seamlessly with the crackle of the fire and the raging storm outside.

—

The start of your friendship quietly blossomed over time, not suddenly.

There was no dramatic moment where you both officially became friends; instead, you gradually found a comfortable middle ground.

You would accompany Technoblade into the Nether while he searched for valuable treasures and rare resources, collecting ingredients needed for your potions along the way.

You shared silent companionship during snowstorms, and exchanged meals when neither of you felt like eating alone. Over time, the awkwardness of silence left, replaced by a growing sense of ease.

One particular trip to the Nether became a memorable highlight.

You had noticed a patch of Nether Wart growing near a fortress and immediately wandered off to investigate. Technoblade had warned you to stay close, but of course, you didn’t listen.

As you crouched near the edge of a cliff, gathering ingredients, the ground beneath your foot suddenly crumbled.

For a horrifying second, your stomach dropped as you saw the glowing molten lava far below.

You slipped and began to fall.

A firm hand grabbed the back of your shirt, yanking you back with force. Your startled yelp echoed through the air as Technoblade hauled you backward and dropped you onto solid, safer ground.

“You absolute idiot," he snapped, pulling you upright.

“I was fine," you retorted defensively.

“You were falling into lava," he shot back.

“I wasn’t falling. I was slipping.”

“Into lava.”

You crossed your arms in defense. "Details.”

Technoblade stared at you in disbelief, as if reconsidering every life decision that had led him to this moment. "You have two lives left," he reminded you.

“I know," you replied.

“No, I don’t think you do," he countered.

You gasped dramatically. “How rude.”

“You nearly turned yourself into a potion ingredient," he added, his voice tinged with concern.

Despite his scolding, he didn’t immediately move away. His hand lingered on your shoulder a second longer than necessary, as if reassuring himself that you were really there.

Then he stood.

For the following week, he kept reminding you about that incident, mentioning it every time you tripped, climbed something dangerous, or suddenly vanished from his line of sight.

"Remember when I saved you from becoming lava soup?" he would say, each time with mock seriousness.

And each time, you threatened to throw him into the nearest ravine.

In addition to your Nether adventures, you helped him with farm chores, feeding his loyal horse Carl, who immediately adored you.

Technoblade grumbled that Carl didn’t like people, but the horse always trotted over to you the moment you appeared.

He continued to deny this reality, but you knew better.

You also helped maintain his potato farm, which, much to his annoyance, you turned out to be surprisingly skilled at. Even more astonishing was your talent for cooking with potatoes.

One evening, after spending most of the day harvesting potatoes, you decided to prepare dinner.

Technoblade didn’t think much of it; potatoes, after all, were potatoes—there were only so many ways to cook them.

But when he took a bite, everything changed.

Suddenly, the voices immediately erupted.

WAIT

HOLD ON

THAT’S ACTUALLY GOOD

COMPLIMENT HER

“Absolutely not," he muttered.

COMPLIMENT HER

YOU COWARD

Technoblade scowled at his plate. You looked up from your own meal, noticing.

“Why do you look offended?” you asked.

“I’m not offended," he replied defensively.

“You look offended," you teased.

The voices grew louder still.

SAY IT

JUST SAY IT

IT’S ONLY TWO WORDS

After a tense silence, he finally muttered, "The potatoes are good.”

You blinked in surprise.

"The potatoes?”

“Yes.”

“The potatoes that I cooked?" you asked.

Instant regret flickered across his face as he realized what he had just said.

The grin spreading across your face only made it worse.

“So you think my cooking is good," you said with a satisfied smile.

“I didn’t say that," he quickly defended.

“You literally did," you countered.

“I complimented the potatoes," he insisted.

“You complimented me," you retorted.

“I didn’t," he said defensively.

“You did," you grinned triumphantly.

Technoblade let out a long sigh and returned to his meal, muttering under his breath. You, meanwhile, looked far too pleased with yourself.

And the worst part? The food truly was delicious.

—

Naturally, you and he gradually developed feelings for each other without a specific moment of realization— it simply happened over time.

Your love language was acts of service, so you would find small ways to show your affection, like helping him clean his weapons. You avoided letting the blood make you queasy, despite the smell and appearance.

His love language, on the other hand, was quality time; he would make any excuse to spend time with you. When you couldn't sleep, he’d sit beside you and read aloud a Greek mythology story, his voice soothing and steady.

One day, Technoblade asked if you wanted to help him train, and immediately, you sensed something suspicious.

"You want me to help train you?" you asked.

"Yes," he replied simply.

"The Blood God?" you pressed.

"Yes," he confirmed.

"The guy who has won more battles than I’ve crafted potions?" you challenged.

Technoblade rolled his eyes but kept a calm demeanor.

"Do you want to learn or not?" he finally said sternly.

That’s how you found yourself standing in a snowy clearing behind the cabin, a sword clutched in your trembling hands. The sword felt awkward, wrong in your grip.

Technoblade stood opposite you, looking entirely too comfortable, as if he had been born for combat.

The voices, meanwhile, were ecstatic.

YES

MAKE OUR WIFE STRONGER

SHE NEEDS MORE STATS

IF SHE DIES AGAIN I’M SUEING

Technoblade mostly ignored them, paying them no mind.

"Your stance is terrible,” he said.

"I’ve been standing my whole life," you replied defensively.

"Clearly not correctly," he shot back, pointing at your feet.

You looked down, inspecting your footing. Nothing seemed wrong. When you looked back up, Technoblade was already closing the distance between you, his expression focused yet calm.

Your breath caught, not out of romance— definitely not— but from surprise as he reached down and nudged your foot into the correct position.

"Spread your weight," he instructed.

You obeyed, feeling the shift in your stance.

"A little more," he added, and you adjusted again until he nodded with approval.

His hand briefly rested on your shoulder in a comforting, steadying gesture before he stepped back.

"Better," he said.

You hated how pleased you felt by his compliment, even as embarrassment threatened to bubble up.

"Ready?” he asked.

"No," you replied, already knowing what was coming.

"Good," he said simply.

Before you could protest, he lunged forward with swift, practiced moves. You barely managed to block, the impact rattling through your arms and shoulders.

“Ow!" you exclaimed.

"Again," he commanded firmly.

“Technoblade—" you started.

"Again," he repeated, relentless.

He attacked over and over, never hard enough to hurt but just enough to force you to react, to learn. The afternoon blurred, mistakes corrected immediately, openings exploited, weaknesses pointed out without mercy.

Eventually, you managed to land a weak hit against his arm—a tap, barely noticeable. Still, it was enough to make you gasp,

"I got you!" you exclaimed.

He looked down at the mark, then back at you, expression unreadable.

The voices inside erupted, louder and more triumphant:

SHE DID IT

LET’S GOOOOO

ACTUALLY CRACKED

Technoblade sighed dramatically, as if exhausted.

"Clearly I’m washed," he muttered.

"You admitted it!" you said with triumph.

"I admitted nothing," he replied, his tone dry.

"You totally did," you teased.

A small, rare smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. You froze, momentarily stunned. The smile vanished just as quickly as it appeared, as if it had never been there. Still, you had seen it, and somehow, that felt like a victory— even more than landing the hit.

—

The second death became far more devastating.

Not because you didn’t expect it. But because you fought your hardest to prevent it.

The day had started like any other. Snow blanketed the ground around the rustic cabin, shimmering lightly in the pale morning sun, while Carl happily munched on the fresh hay you’d brought him, his tail wagging softly. You smiled as you brushed a hand through his thick, velvety mane.

Then you noticed movement.

Several figures were making their way up the hill, their dark silhouettes stark against the white landscape. Your smile vanished. Visitors weren’t uncommon, but armed visitors were. Your heart rate quickened.

Carl huffed nervously beside you, sensing your tension.

The closer the group came, the tighter your grip became on the bucket in your trembling hands.

Something felt wrong. Very wrong.

You forced a strained smile onto your face anyway.

“Hello!” you called out, your voice wavering slightly. Your confidence was slipping. “Can I help you with something?”

No one answered immediately.

Your eyes swept over the group—armor gleaming in the light, weapons glinting ominously, faces set with determination. Then your gaze landed on the man wearing a dark beanie, his expression cold and unreadable.

An axe rested comfortably in his hand, not drawn but clearly ready, the netherite catching a glint of sunlight.

Your stomach sank.

You recognized that look. You’d seen it before—people only carried themselves like that when they’d already made a decision. And suddenly, you understood.

They weren’t here for supplies. They weren’t here for directions. And they certainly weren’t here for you. They were here for Technoblade.

Unfortunately, you happened to be standing directly in their path.

“Tell us where Technoblade is,” the man in the beanie demanded, his voice low and menacing.

You blinked, confused. “Technoblade?”

The group remained silent, their expressions unreadable.

You forced a nervous, uncertain laugh. “I think you have the wrong cabin.”

“Don’t play dumb,” he snapped, stepping closer.

“I’m not.” The lie slipped easily from your lips, false and shaky.

Your pulse thundered in your ears.

The man took another step forward and you took a step back.

“Look,” you said carefully, trying to keep your voice steady, “I don’t know what kind of grudge you have against him, but—”

“Enough.” His patience snapped suddenly.

The axe in his hand shifted, a subtle movement that made your stomach drop. The warning shot through your mind—instinct took over.

You threw yourself backward as the first attack came, the noise echoing harshly in the cold air. The bucket clattered to the snow-covered ground. Carl bolted, darting away in a flash.

Your hand immediately found the sword hanging at your hip— a sword Technoblade had insisted you carry, and one you had spent weeks learning to use.

The blade left its sheath with a sharp hiss. The world erupted into chaos.

You blocked the next strike, steel crashing against steel. The impact rattled through your arms, your muscles trembling. You staggered but refused to fall.

For a brief moment, your mind flashed back to standing in the snow behind the cabin.

“Again,” he urged.

“Technoblade, my arms hurt,” you gasped.

“Again,” he repeated sternly.

You sidestepped another attack, barely avoiding a blade slicing through the air where your head had been moments before. You retaliated, forcing the attacker to stumble back with a curse. Someone shouted, another rushed forward—then another.

You knew you couldn’t win, but you could survive. You could buy time. Keep them away from the cabin. Away from him. That thought fueled your resolve.

You blocked, dodged, countered—all techniques Technoblade had drilled into you flooding your mind. For a moment—

You were actually holding your own. The Butcher Army seemed surprised. Good. Let them be surprised. Let them realize you weren’t some helpless civilian.

You ducked beneath a swing and drove your shoulder into someone’s chest, knocking them into the snow. Without hesitation, you turned toward the next threat. Then—

A familiar voice echoed loudly across the clearing.

“GET AWAY FROM HER!”

Your heart stopped.

No.

Technoblade burst from the cabin with his axe already drawn, his presence suddenly illuminating the chaos. The sight of him shattered your concentration. For one terrible moment, relief flooded your senses—he’s okay.

Of course he was.

But the distraction lasted less than a second. It was enough.

Pain exploded through your chest. You looked down in horror— a blade protruding beneath your ribs.

The world went silent. Quackity had slipped behind you—silent as a shadow. You hadn’t seen or heard him, hadn’t noticed their presence at all.

Because your eyes were fixed on Technoblade.

The sword was pulled free, and your knees buckled as your body went limp. Snow rushed up to meet you as you fell. Somewhere in the distance, voices shouted words you didn’t recognize. You couldn’t focus or make sense of them—the only thing clear was Technoblade’s face.

His expression—a mask of horror, panic, disbelief—frozen in time as though he couldn’t understand what he was seeing, as though this wasn’t supposed to happen, as though he had arrived too late.

“Tech…” you managed weakly.

Your voice was barely a whisper.

Then darkness swallowed everything.

Technoblade watched in horror as your body collapsed into the cold, frosty snow.

For a moment, the entire world seemed to freeze—the frenetic fighting, the shouting voices, the biting cold wind—all halted in solemn shock.

Your blood dyed the snow beneath you a deep, dark scarlet, pooling quickly and staining the landscape with tragic finality. The silence that followed was unnerving—far too still, far too quiet.

“No…,” the word escaped his lips as a fragile whisper, barely audible over the chaos.

Suddenly, the voices erupted.

NO

NO OUR WIFE

OUR BELOVED

SAVE HER, TECHNOBLADE

KILL THEM

MAKE THEM PAY

REVENGE

GET THEIR BLOOD

BLOOD

BLOOD

BLOOD

WE DEMAND BLOOD

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD

BLOOD FOR THE BLOOD GOD

Something inside him shattered.

The axe in his trembling hands suddenly felt oddly lighter, as if drained of its weight by grief. The Butcher Army barely had time to react before he moved with relentless fury.

The first person never saw him coming; his axe sliced through the air, connecting with lethal precision. The second narrowed into a blur but it was futile—every swing carried weeks of Technoblade’s axe brought with it weeks of fear, worry, and the haunting dread that you only had two lives left. Now—

Now you only had one. Because of them.

The voices roared in approval, fueling the chaos.

MORE

MORE

MORE

THEY TOOK HER FROM US

TAKE EVERYTHING FROM THEM

Someone shouted his name amid the chaos. Someone else tried to retreat, but Technoblade’s focus was unbreakable.

All he saw was your motionless form lying in the snow. All he heard was your joyful laugh echoing hauntingly in his memory—the teasing words, the mischievous grin, how you always stole food from his plate, and the way you smiled whenever Carl was chosen over him.

His grip tightened around the axe handle. The blade swung again, driven by raw fury.

“TECHNOBLADE!” Quackity’s voice cut sharply through the tumult, commanding and urgent.

Technoblade looked up, eyes glassy with pain, and froze.

Carl stood several yards away. A sword pressed firmly against the animal’s vulnerable throat. Carl pawed nervously at the snow as Quackity’s hand tightened around the reins.

“That’s enough,” Quackity demanded.

Technoblade’s breathing grew ragged, pain flickering in his eyes as the chaotic voices shifted tone.

WAIT

WAIT

CARL

NOT CARL

PROTECT THE HORSE

SAVE THE HORSE

His jaw clenched tightly. “Let him go,” he rasped.

Quackity shook his head stubbornly. “No.”

Carl shifted anxiously, the sword still pressed against the horse’s neck, unwavering.

“Drop the axe,” Quackity ordered.

Every instinct in Technoblade screamed to fight on—to finish what had begun, to make them suffer, to unleash vengeance. But Carl was more than just a horse; he was family. Judging by the smug expression on Quackity’s face, he knew that deep down.

The silent standoff stretched unbearably, the wind howling through the stillness.

Then, slowly—painfully—Technoblade lowered his axe, the weight of grief heavy in his mind.

The voices screamed in protest.

NO

TECHNOBLADE

DON’T

But he couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t risk losing Carl, just as he had lost you. Not today.

The axe slipped from his trembling hands, landing with a dull thud in the snow.

Quackity smiled with eveilness, a sinister gleam in his eyes.

Technoblade wanted nothing more than to wipe that smile off his face. Instead, helplessly, he stood frozen, his gaze drifting back to your motionless body, to the blood staining the snow, to the person he had failed to protect.

—

You woke suddenly, a sharp gasp escaping your lungs.

Instinctively, your hand shot to your stomach, but found nothing—no wound, no blood. Yet, an unrelenting ache persisted deep within, like a phantom sensation nestled beneath your ribs, causing your stomach to churn with unease.

As the pain prickled, memories flooded back in an instant: the brutal fight with the Butcher Army, the ferocity of the battle, and Technoblade’s face amid the chaos. You drew a quick, sharp breath, your mind fixated on his name.

Technoblade.

Your eyes darted around the room in a flicker of panic. The space was empty—no one sat beside your bed, no familiar pink-haired hybrid was slouched in the corner chair, no sarcastic quip or teasing remark greeted your awakening. The cabin was deathly silent, eerily so, amplifying your unease.

Panic clenched at your chest, tightening like a vise. Without hesitation, you threw back the blankets and stumbled out of bed, your legs shaky beneath you.

“Techno?” you called out, voice trembling.

No answer came.

You hurried through the cabin’s main areas—the kitchen with its cold stone counters, the living room cluttered with scattered books and empty mugs, the spare room with its neatly made bed—each silent and deserted.

“Technoblade?” you repeated, desperation creeping into your voice.

Still, nothing.

Your heart pounded fiercely now, echoing in your ears. The last clear memory was him charging fiercely toward the advancing Butcher Army, his determination blazing as he fought. And then—darkness.

A terrifying thought took root in your mind, sinking like a stone into your gut.

Without taking time to grab a coat or cloak, you threw open the door and dashed outside into the biting cold.

The frigid air seared your skin instantly, sharp as needles, while snow crunched beneath your boots with every hurried step. Your eyes scanned the clearing desperately—looking for any sign of movement, for the faint pink shimmer of hair, for any sign of life.

Instead, your gaze fell upon a dark, spreading stain on the pristine snow. Blood—your blood. It was thick and dark, a stark contrast against the white powder, making your stomach lurch and twist in horror.

Nearby, scattered items lay half-buried in the snow—the sword Technoblade had spent weeks teaching you to wield, its hilt stained with crimson, along with a few glimmering potions, fragments of armor, and personal belongings, all tossed aside or fallen.

The battlefield was already succumbing to nature’s relentless erasure. The swirling storm’s wind and snow were already erasing the evidence—obliterating any trace that a fierce fight had taken place, erasing the fact that you had fallen there.

With trembling limbs, you moved toward the grim scene. Your grip tightened on the cold metal of your sword as you knelt, staring down at it. Its surface was icy against your fingertips, a stark reminder of training, laughter, and countless hours spent in the snow under Technoblade’s watchful eye—his voice guiding you, correcting your stance.

A lump swelled painfully in your throat, choking off a sob. Because, despite the detailed memories, none answered the most critical question:

Where was he?

Your gaze swept again across the barren landscape, searching. No footprints marked the snow—no sign of a struggle, no trail leading away, no hint of where he might have gone or been taken. Only silence stretched endlessly.

The only thing you could do was wait.

Logically, you knew that. If Technoblade was truly captured, there was nothing you could accomplish alone. You had one life left. One. The smart thing would be to stay home, find Philza, make a plan, and think.

But thinking was impossible. Every time you closed your eyes, you saw Technoblade charging toward the Butcher Army. You saw the look on his face. So instead of thinking, you ran.

You ran without a plan, supplies, or even stopping to catch your breath.

The cold air burned your lungs. Your legs screamed in protest. But you kept going. Through the snow. Through the forests. Across frozen rivers and icy hills. Every step sent pain shooting through your body, and the phantom wound in your chest ached with every heartbeat. You ignored it.

Technoblade was out there, and if there was even the slightest chance he needed help, you couldn’t stay behind.

Hours passed. Your breathing became ragged. Your vision blurred. Several times you nearly fell or should have turned back, but you didn’t.

The walls of L’Manberg finally appeared on the horizon just as the sun began to sink. Relief flooded through you, but briefly. Dread replaced it because now that you were here, reality settled in.

You had no idea what you were supposed to do next. You were one person, with one life left, standing outside a nation that wanted Technoblade dead. Yet your feet kept moving forward because losing him hurt far more than the fear of what might happen to you.

When you reached the center of L’Manberg, a small crowd had already gathered. Your heart sank. People stood shoulder to shoulder around a raised platform. Some cheered, some watched silently, others looked away entirely. You pushed through anyway, ignoring the protests, elbows digging into your sides, and your lungs burning. You had to see, had to know.

You reached the front and froze. Technoblade was inside a small cage, chains around his wrists, an anvil hanging directly above him. The sight made your stomach twist.

“Techno…,” you breathed.

He looked exhausted, bruised, yet still unimpressed by the situation.

Your eyes burned. You’d spent hours running here, praying you weren’t too late, and now—now you were about to watch him die. Your fingers curled into trembling fists. You wanted to do something, anything, but there were too many people, guards, weapons.

Then Technoblade’s gaze lifted and found yours. The world seemed to stop. Neither of you looked away. His eyes widened slightly—in surprise—and it was clear he hadn’t expected to see you.

You weren’t supposed to be there. You were supposed to be safe, back at the cabin, alive. The realization flickered across his face, and then something softer followed—relief, as if simply seeing you made this entire disaster easier to bear.

Your throat tightened. Then a voice rang through the square.

“Big Q.”

Everyone turned toward the podium. Tubbo stood there—young, nervous, trying very hard to look like a president.

“Pull the lever Big Q”

Your blood ran cold.

“No—,” the word escaped before you could stop it.

Quackity yanked the lever.

The anvil dropped, and a scream caught in your throat. The iron plummeted toward Technoblade’s head. The impact echoed across the square.

For a horrifying second, everything went silent, and your knees nearly gave out.

No. Not him. Not after everything, not after you had run all this way. Not after—

A flash of green and gold erupted beneath the anvil. Your breath hitched.

A totem, a Totem of Undying, its familiar glow wrapping around Technoblade, saving him from death.

The crowd erupted into confusion. Meanwhile, Technoblade looked entirely too pleased with himself. The cage exploded apart, chains shattered, and suddenly the Blood God was free.

A wild, victorious, dangerous laugh escaped him.

Chaos followed immediately.

You didn’t even realize tears were streaming down your face until you wiped them away. Relief hit you so hard your legs nearly gave out.

He was alive. Against all odds, against all reason. He was alive.

Amidst the chaos, a hooded figure in green appeared from the crowd—Dream.

The infamous man you’d heard so much about. His hand landed firmly on your shoulder.

“Come,” he said, glancing toward the square where Technoblade had just escaped. “Follow me if you’d like to stay alive.”

The urgency in his voice left little room for argument.

Every instinct screamed at you to run, distrust him, or find Technoblade yourself. But logic won. Barely.

If the crowd became angry enough, they wouldn’t stop at Technoblade. You were associated with him, and you only had one life left. So you followed.

The stranger led you through a hidden tunnel beneath L’Manberg, the sounds of chaos slowly fading behind you.

Eventually, the tunnel opened into a small, dimly lit underground room with rough stone walls and a low ceiling. And there—there he was. Technoblade, standing tall, his clothes and cape slightly dented and streaked with dirt from recent battles.

For a moment, everything stopped. The two of you simply stared at each other. Alive. Both of you. Alive.

Then Technoblade’s expression darkened, eyes narrowing beneath his crown of spiked gold. “What are you doing here?” he demanded.

You flinched, shock and fear evident in your face. “What?”

“I said, what are you doing here?” he repeated, his tone sharper. The relief in his eyes vanished beneath frustration and worry. “You should be at the cabin,” he added, voice tense.

You stared at him, heart pounding. “I thought they killed you!”

Silence followed, thick and heavy.

The words hung between you like a fragile truce. Then Dream quietly excused himself, slipping out the back, leaving the two of you alone amid the echoing silence.

Technoblade dragged a hand down his face, visibly upset. “You have one life left,” he said softly, almost regretfully.

You crossed your arms, stubbornly. “No.”

Technoblade looked genuinely offended, eyes wide. “No?”

“No.” Tears began burning behind your eyes for the first time since arriving. “You don’t get to be angry at me.”

His expression faltered, momentarily lost.

“You disappeared,” you said, voice cracking as emotion overwhelmed you. “I woke up and you were gone. I saw my blood in the snow. I thought you were dead.”

The anger slowly drained from his face, replaced with a quiet sadness.

You hated it—hated how vulnerable you suddenly felt. But after everything, you couldn’t hold back the words.

“I ran all the way here,” you continued, voice trembling.

Technoblade froze, eyes wide with shock. “You what?”

“I ran.”

His eyes widened further. “You’re insane.”

“Probably,” you admitted softly.

The voices lost their minds.

SHE RAN ACROSS THE SERVER

FOR US

CHAT

CHAT THIS IS NOT A DRILL

Your hands trembled. “I couldn’t lose you.”

The room fell eerily silent.

You hadn’t meant to say that aloud—not yet, not ever. But it was too late. The confession sat between you, fragile and terrifying.

Technoblade stared at you, eyes searching. You looked away first.

“Forget I said anything,” you whispered.

“No,” his voice was unusually quiet, almost pleading.

SAY IT

SAY IT

CONFESS

DO IT

TELL HER

NOW

Technoblade looked pained, a rare vulnerability in his expression. “Chat, please.”

NO

TELL HER

NOW

PLEASE

He let out a long, suffering sigh, his gaze locking onto yours. For once, no sarcasm, no humor, just sincerity.

“I couldn’t lose you either,” he admitted, voice steady.

Your breath caught in your throat. The room suddenly felt much too small.

His voice was soft and weighted. “When I saw you fall…” he swallowed hard. “I can’t lose you.”

The confession wasn’t poetic or dramatic; it was genuine, and that made it hurt even more.

A slow, genuine smile spread across your face. Technoblade immediately looked away, embarrassed.

LET’S GOOOOOO

WE WIN THESE

ACTUAL CHARACTER DEVELOPMENT

NOW KISS HER

MAKE LOVE TO HER

MARRY HER

“You’re all insufferable.”

The cave trembled beneath your feet as a distant explosion echoed through the tunnels.

Both of you froze.

Then another explosion followed, closer now, dust drifting from the ceiling. Someone was trying to breach the defenses.

The one you just noticed that Dream had put up.

Technoblade immediately moved, his hand grabbing your wrist. “Come on.”

You barely had time to react before he was pulling you deeper into the cave, Carl trotting anxiously behind.

Another explosion shook the walls, and the entrance wouldn’t hold much longer.

Eventually, Technoblade stopped beside a small, narrow opening hidden behind a rough cluster of stones—something you hadn’t noticed before. It was tight and cramped, just large enough for you and Carl.

He pointed toward it. “Get in.”

You stared at him. “No.”

His jaw clenched. He said your name with frustration.

“I’m not hiding,” you said firmly.

“Yes, you are,” he replied.

“No, I’m not.”

The voices immediately joined the argument, loud and insistent.

OH BOY

HERE WE GO AGAIN

PUT HER IN THE HOLE

PROTECT HER

SAVE THE WIFE

Another explosion rocked the cave, much closer now. You could hear stone cracking somewhere in the distance.

You pointed toward the tunnel. “I can help.”

“No,” he responded succinctly.

“I know how to fight,” you added.

“No,” he repeated.

“You taught me how to fight!”

“I know,” he said, unwavering.

“Then let me help.”

Technoblade took a step forward, his expression hardening. “No.”

The single word cut through the tension, final and resolute. You hated his stubbornness, hated how he tried to make the decision for you.

“You act like you’re the only one in danger,” you told him.

For a moment, Technoblade fell silent. The voices quieted too.

The walls trembled as the danger grew imminent. Still, you refused to move.

“I’m not leaving you,” you said firmly.

Technoblade closed his eyes, appearing exhausted—not physically, but emotionally. Like he’d reached his limit. When he opened them again, the anger was gone. Only fear, raw and unfiltered, reflected in his gaze, like never before.

“I can fight them,” he said softly, eyes steady. “I can fight anyone out there.”

His confidence wasn’t arrogance; it was conviction.

“But if something happens to you…” he began, then stopped, unable to finish.

Both of you already understood the outcome: one mistake, one death, one life lost forever. That knowledge terrified him more than any army.

“Techno—” you started.

Before you could finish, he stepped closer, cupping your face in his hand. Then he kissed you—urgent, unplanned, fueled by desperation, weeks of unspoken feelings, almosts, and excuses crowded into that moment.

YES

OMG

KISS KISS KISS

FINALLY

The war, explosions, and fear all faded away. There was only him.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, both of you breathing hard.

His eyes squeezed shut. “Please.”

The word broke something inside you—not a command, not an order, but a plea.

His voice cracked. “Please hide.”

The vulnerability in those words hit harder than the kiss. Technoblade never begged, not for anything or anyone. Yet, here he was, begging you, terrified.

You looked at him, long and hard, then slowly nodded. Relief flooded his face, almost painfully so.

“Thank you.”

He immediately opened his Ender Chest—armor, potions, golden apples, weapons—anything that might keep you alive.

He shoved them into your arms, then gently guided you toward the narrow opening.

Carl followed obediently.

Before you disappeared inside, Technoblade caught your hand one last time, tightening his grip briefly.

“I’m coming back.”

This time, it sounded like hope, and that was scarier than confidence. Then he let go and turned toward the approaching battle.

You expected to hear the echo of multiple voices entering the cave—an army, a crowd, perhaps the entire Butcher Army. Instead, only one voice broke the stillness. A voice you recognized instantly, causing your blood to run cold.

Quackity.

The very man who had driven a sword through your chest.

For a fleeting moment, the cave seemed to dissolve around you. You could almost feel it again—the jagged edge of the blade, the sharp burst of pain ripping through your body, the cold snow crunching beneath your knees, and your final breath before darkness claimed everything.

A ghostly pain flickered beneath your ribs. You inhaled shakily.

No. You weren’t there anymore. You were alive. You were safe—at least for now. Yet, your hands trembled uncontrollably. Not because you believed Technoblade would lose—never that. Trauma, after all, ignored logic.

And Quackity’s voice dredged up every terrible memory, dragging them to the surface.

Beside you, Carl shifted closer, sensing your distress.

The horse pressed his warm head against your shoulder, grounding you amid the chaos. Gradually, your breathing steadied; your fingers instinctively found Carl’s coarse mane.

“Good boy,” you whispered softly.

Outside your hiding place, silence stretched through the cavern—tense, heavy, like the calm before an impending storm.

Then, Technoblade’s voice filled the cavern. Loud, confident, and dangerous.

“I have a pickaxe,” he declared. The threat echoed harshly against the cold stone walls. “And I’ll put it through your teeth.”

A heavy silence followed his words.

Despite everything, a faint, small smile tugged at your lips. Somehow, hearing Technoblade threaten someone was oddly reassuring. Because if he was still speaking like that, he was still standing, still fighting.

Suddenly, you heard distant footsteps echoing down the dim, cavernous tunnel, each step echoing off the cold stone walls. Your entire body tensed, muscles coiling instinctively. Without hesitation, your hand flew to the hilt of the sword Technoblade had kindly gifted you—its leather grip familiar and steady in your grasp. You tightened your fingers around the hilt, ready for whatever was coming.

Slowly, cautiously, you controlled your breathing, each inhale and exhale measured and steady. The footsteps grew louder, closer—one deliberate step, then another, approaching with a purposeful cadence. Your heart hammered fiercely against your chest ribcage, loud in your ears.

Then, from around the corner, a figure emerged—a familiar silhouette illuminated briefly by a flickering torch mounted on the wall. Relief washed over you as you nearly collapsed with a sigh of release. It was Technoblade.

The sword immediately slipped from your grasp, clattering softly onto the stone floor. “Techno,” you breathed, words catching in your throat.

He was alive.

For a suspended moment, neither of you moved, caught in the shock of reunion. Then, your gaze flickered over him—eyes searching, heart pounding—and your relief quickly twisted into concern.

Blood. So much blood. It stained his silver armor, splattered across his forearms and chest. His hands, clutching his axe tightly, bore streaks of crimson. Dark crimson splatters darkened nearly every inch of his armor, seeping into the fabric and metal.

Your stomach twisted with worry. You took a hesitant step forward. “You’re hurt,” you said softly.

Technoblade looked down at himself with a quick, dismissive shake of his head. “It’s not mine,” he replied calmly.

The words should have reassured you, but instead, they made everything feel worse. Because if the blood wasn’t his—

Then it belonged to Quackity. The very man who he had fought—a fierce battle, a hard-won victory. The man he had defeated. The man he just killed.

Despite everything, Technoblade’s piercing gaze remained fixed on yours, steady and unwavering—as if the first thing he needed to do after surviving was ensure you were still there. Still alive. Still breathing.

His shoulders visibly relaxed—just a little, a subtle shift most would miss. But you noticed. You felt the weight lift, if only slightly.

For a long, tense moment, neither of you spoke. Then Technoblade awkwardly cleared his throat, breaking the silence.

“See?” he said softly.

You blinked, confusion flickering. “What?”

A small smirk curled onto his lips, a rare hint of warmth.

“I came back,” he said simply.

That simple statement nearly shattered your heart. Because he had. Despite everything, he had returned. Just like he promised.

Without thinking, you surged forward and caught him in a tight embrace, arms wrapping around his shoulders.

Technoblade froze. Completely.

The voices immediately erupted.

OH MY GOD

PHYSICAL CONTACT

WE’RE WINNING

SHE HUGGED US

NOW HAVE SEX

Technoblade ignored them. for about three seconds. Then, slowly, his arms wrapped around you in return, securing you gently.

And, for the first time since waking up in that cold, empty cabin, you finally felt like you could breathe again.

Neither of you moved for a moment, the distant sounds of destruction echoing faintly through the cave’s tunnels. Yet, standing there with him, everything felt eerily quiet—safe.

Technoblade adjusted his grip on the axe, then nodded toward the dark tunnel stretching ahead.

“Let’s go,” he said.

You frowned. “Where?”

A soft, almost tender expression crossed his face for the first time all day.

“Home.”

The word hit you harder than you expected. Not merely the cabin, not the tundra beyond. Home, no longer a place, but a feeling. It was now the two of you, standing together, alive, connected.

In that moment, everything else faded, all the chaos, the pain, the uncertainty, now leaving only the unbreakable bond between you.

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