#x shitpost

It’s stupid. It’s so stupid and he’s up at three a.m. after yet another nightmare and he doesn’t want to fall asleep again. the piglin looks at his bed, at his cloak that he was using as a blanket and thinks, fuck it, I can’t feel cold anyways. and heads downstairs. Edward is sleeping in the boat and he thinks for a second that it’s way too late or early to be doing this but a shadow of the dream creeps into his thoughts and he clenches his fists again. 

Steve is by the door. it probably just snowed outside but it’s only a thin layer and he barely feels it in his hooves. the polar bear looks at him with those black eyes of his and he knows that he knows. it’s another one of those nights. so they do what they always do.

With no armor, in a tank top and boxers, technoblade runs charging at the white bear who meets him with a roar. anyone who doesn’t know them would think that it’s dangerous, but you wouldn’t know for who it would be. Philza is up by this point, and he knows this. He knows this ritual of this and he doesn’t worry, and he perches outside the window on top of the soft snow and smiles a soft smile and waits. and watches. 

the two grapple. technoblade is screaming unintelligbly. Steve doesn’t understand what he’s saying but he knows this anger. he knows this three am routine. 

to any outside eye this is a real fight. but to the voices, they know that it’s not. they urge him on because they know that repressing the anger only makes it worse and he’ll go back to killing and it’s safer this way. so they chant, blood, blood, blood, blood. And they know that he will know that they don’t really want blood. but it eggs him on and that’s what they want. 

minutes pass. neither is winning. to a trained eye, the two both have plenty of oppurtunities to win, but it isn’t time to win yet. right now it’s only a fight and this fight lasts for fifteen minutes. then thirty. Steve knows, not yet, not yet.

technoblade sees his dream again. he feels the helplessness of that day and he hears the fireworks and the shouts and he feels the eyes of everyone and no one. he starts crying. the tears burn his cheeks. his attacks become reckless and unpredictable. he punches and he hears, again

blood

blood

blood 

blood

the memories flood him and he collapses, Steve on top of him. he’s sobbing and angry and fights the bear but he doesn’t mean it and the bear doesn’t mean it and they know. and he stops fighting. lets himself be embraced. lets himself be buried in the mound of white fur that’s warm against the snow, that comforts instead of burns, and his breathing slows again. his heartbeat decelerates and turns instead to a sow drum that beats,

thump

thump

thump

all the way till they get up, weary and worn;

thump..

thump..

thump..

and now there’s not a feeling of dread in his chest and he ruffles the bear’s fur with a smile he doesn’t mean and yet does. his top is wet and probably ripped but he can sow and he can mend it. Philza’s downstairs now. The doors open for him. He can sense what mood it Is, exactly how to respond. today it’s comforting silence but sometimes its nonsensical chatter to distract from thoughts and sometimes its a hug but now it’s just a warm mug of cocoa and the wait until the dawn comes.

and technoblade knows he’s not alone this time. that this time he’s got friends and someone who would stick by him and explain the rules again and again and act tired of it but never mean it. and he has someone, someones, who care and who wave at him and share jokes and secrets and plans. 

an hour or so later, Ranboo comes in. he also knows this mood. he’s been there sometimes, when he has restless nights too but today his dreams were calm and so he’s here now. he brings bread and salmon for Steve and the three laugh as the bear jumps.

the air is peaceful now. outside, the snow has been tossed about from the fight that now seems like years ago and the sun is rising. icicles melt from the edge of the roof,

drip

drip

drip