Art isn't mine!!
Sbi + other one shots (mostly sbi tho)
I'm just writing these mostly to vent and stuff. Angst and fluff.
⚠️triggers will be at the beginning of chapters⚠️
No ships
Just a release and escape. :)
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Everyone seems to want Technoblade angst from me recently. So technoblade angst you shall receive.
Triggers: -blood -major character death 😎🤚 -injury detail (Did I miss any?)
*clicks knuckles* alright.
Third person: Deep and scratchy breaths echoed throughout the dimly lit room, the small lantern that sat on the bed side table possessed an orange hue that painted the room, creating Stygian shadows to stretch and fade behind every piece of furniture. The stormy winds rattled and shook every glass window of the cabin, snow piled up on the windowsills flake by flake, the freezing temperatures seeped through every crack in the oak walls which sent merciless shivers up the home occupants spine.
The figure was sat against the wall of the darkest corner of his room, finding it somewhat peaceful to appear to be unseen, even if nobody was in the room. He had his legs up against his body, they felt weak and unstable which only added to the boys distress. He felt un-nerved, staring at his cold unsteady hands, all he could see was the glistening crimson that stained them. The fluid that always seemed so satisfying, the seemingly odd way it would trail down the skin was an addicting sight. A thick and warm substance that tickled your skin.
The voices were unusually quiet. His mind felt empty. He didn't recognise the hands he was staring at, ones that looked as though he had committed thousands of deranged acts of violence. He felt lost from the world, as if he had parted ways with his body and was watching the scene unfold as if it were a movie, he couldn't quite grasp a hold of reality, like it was separating more every time it slipped right through his fingers. Just out of reach.
The image of blood on his hands was engraved in his mind, the dark crimson stains appearing and disappearing in the blink of an eye. He wasn't sure what was real and what was fake at this point, refusing to tear his gaze away, he was mesmerised by the echo of a memory that was replaying in real time. He felt like his whole world was just collapsing around him.
A crunch of snow rang through his ears, alerting him to a presence in front of him. But he was in his room? He was presumably alone? He looked up and he was outside. Still in the same position, his surroundings had changed. He tried to speak but it was as if he were on mute, his ears picking up only the sounds of the figure infront of him.
And the voices.
He tried screaming and yelling, profanities, promises, threats. And apologies. The voices were overpowering.
He had no control over his movements. He knew this setting all too well, his feet crunched in the snow as he steadied himself. The figure infront of him inched closer, he didn't seem hostile but he was blurred in him mind as he tried to push the inevitable memories down, the man spoke, it wasn't clear, he was being blocked by the voices that screamed and begged, shouting and weeping, but they all craved one thing. Blood.
His head pounded as if his brain was trying to wake him up, stop him from reaching round and grabbing his sword. Before plunging it straight into the body of the man infront of him.
The sound of breaking bones and a squish-like tearing sound shook even the voices in his head. They didn't think he would actually do it. They had pushed too far. He gripped his sword handle tight, not in his right mind, and twisted it sharply. The unrecognisable figure, who was reaching for the painted sword, choked and coughed on his own blood, a mix of fluids leaving the home of his body and landing on the Piglins face as he continued to push deeper.
The shorter figures arms went limp, his head falling. Along with the bucket hat he was wearing.
The hybrid ripped his sword out mercilessly, the body jolted before falling to the ground inanimately.
The voices stayed silent.
As the memory continued, it was like a movie you couldn't pause. But everything still seemed to freeze in that moment as everything became too real. Far too real. The day he knew would come, he knew it but deep down he thought he could handle it. Keep the voices under control and keep your family safe. Two rules he always swore to follow.
He just broke them both in one go.
He dropped his sword, the soft fresh blanket of snow silencing the landing of the netherite item as Technoblade fell along with it. His knees cushioned by the snow, his body heat melting the frozen liquid, only for the water to get soaked up by his pants. The boy shook, from both the cold and the terror. This was not his intention, nor was he in control of his actions. But it was still him none the less.
The voices stayed silent. For the first time in years the voices weren't talking, they weren't mocking, or ordering him to do things, nor were they cheering on death or demanding blood.
Technoblade was left with only the sounds of the freezing winds at his ears, he shouted and screamed for forgiveness from the deceased corpse below him, unable to think of what to do, but this time he could hear every word that left his guilty mouth.
The piglin had never cried before. The way he was treated and trained to become a warrior all his life in the arena was a way to make him strong, and those people saw emotions as a weakness. He refused to let him tears fall as he supported the head of the limp body, the mans blonde locks fell down his face much like the blood in his mouth that stained his lips.
The knot in his stomach only grew at the sight of the mans off-putting, cold, dead eyes that he always knew to be filled with so much light. The blonde that always embraced him so warmly, now as cold as the snow that he lay upon.
He heard the sound of something hard fall to the ground, shocking the hybrid, his head and gaze shot up to see a boy. A familiar boy, curly short blonde hair, face littered with scars. But his usual goofy smile was replied with the quivering lips of a frown. His bright, blue, hopeful eyes dim and wide.
"P-phil?"
No. This isn't real. It's not real. Not again. Not again. The Piglins heart shattered once again, like every other time, the memories seemed far too real to be fake. The look on the youngers face was unforgettable, forever etched into his memory, a look of shock. A look of remorse. A look of fear.
He was scared. He was scared of Technoblade. This was an expression not many would ever see from a brave sole like Tommy. And just like that Tommy was gone. And so was the snow.
The piglin was back in his room. Back in that corner still staring at his hands. The voices still silent. He felt so empty without the very things that caused him so much pain. He wanted them back. He wanted the company. He hated being so alone.
The hallucinations of the blood on his hands had disappeared. The echoes of recent memories had ended. Left with only himself to blame for Phils death.
The pink haired male wrapped his arms around himself and rested his head on his knees. Like every other life he took, there was no bringing Phil back. But unlike all those lives, he couldn't live with the guilt of loosing the man who had looked after him for all those years, the man who had saved him from the hell he was trapped in.
Technoblade was always trained to never cry, and he vowed he never would, being raised to believe emotion was weakness. But he also promised to never harm his family or let the voices control him.
Guess he's breaking his third promise today.
(Stygian is my new favourite word. Ty for your time. Also, y'all still good? Drink water to refill your tear drainers.)
