#i just really miss techno man

[loversj0y]

im crying over techno again (this is long and sad im sorry)

i miss him so much man. i hope he knows how much he did for all of us. ive been rewatching old wilbur videos and seeing him in them brings me so much bittersweet joy. he meant so much to all of us. i hope he knows the ways he changed us.

he was my final push to start streaming. i was inconsolable the night he died. the week after i kept thinking about how long i’d pushed off the idea because i simply didn’t think i had the time. something about losing someone that you even just perceive as being close to you gives such a shift in perspective that i figured at that point it’d be stupid not to. and the thing is, he was so incredibly supportive. of every last one of us. he always supported the people in his community.

its a big thing in my life honestly to live in his memory. usually people say stuff like that in a negative connotation but i dont think its negative. i hold his memory close to me as a reminder of the things that ive lost. and its a comfort in a sense to let his deadpan mockery push me to be better and to do things i might fear doing.

he has a space on my ofrienda. i pray to him in the same way i pray to all the family i have lost because even without knowing him personally, he welcomed us all enough to allow me to feel like there was a family with him when my own felt incendiary and volatile.

i think about the fact that lovejoy is playing a festival with the killers. its a festival im incredibly excited to go to, but on nights like this when im crying over a lost brother i never had, i feel saddened in knowing how much he would have loved to have seen it. i think he will be there, watching. but the feeling wont be the same. i think of how wilbur must feel. knowing that he’s playing a festival with the same band that he’s not only loved, but that he shared his love for with techno, to the point that it made such a strong lasting impression on techno. i hope he knows how proud techno is of him. i hope that if he stays to watch the killers perform, he feels techno with him. because i know he’ll be there.

i have a lot of thoughts on how much he meant to me, to all of us, and im kind of just pouring them out in a stream not unlike the tears that wont seem to stop tonight. if i can be honest, ive been avoiding a lot of stuff related to techno. i took a step back from everything as a whole because it hurt too much and i didnt know what to make of it, not really. i keep finding myself mourning how little time i got to have as an active techno watcher, given how recently i joined the fandom and such, but i also know i should rather feel thankful for every second that i got to have. i find myself avoiding a lot of mentions of technodad still. he’s lovely and he means so much to all of us, just like his son, but i cant help but feel my chest reopen each time i hear him speak about his son. ive seen the feeling of watching a person you love mourn a family member who was taken too young personally. ive seen it in my own family with my cousin, and it all feels so heavy. i know there is this narrative of being thankful for the time we had with a person. but i still consistently find myself balanced on the precipice of anger and acceptance. i dont struggle with bargaining or depression, let alone denial. i know hes gone. i know nothing will change that. but i also will never be content in feeling appreciative of the time we had because we could have had more time. even if it was just a. second more. it wouldnt change things but maybe it would ease the ache in my heart as i think on all of the people who loved him who will live past him, myself included.

i keep coming back to the song life worth missing by car seat headrest. i cant quite explain where i find the parallels but i feel it in this delicate balance that i find in the song. theres this delicate balance between grieving and losing yourself in grief and im not that sure that ive found it. for a control freak, one of the things that always has hurt me is my lack of control in death. i cant change it. and all i can control is the way to cope but i simply dont know how to do that. and the temperamental part in my head is the battle i find myself fighting because i know how he wouldnt want this. he wouldnt want the heavy grief but i dont know how to not feel it. i find myself feeling the heavy grief or essentially nothing at all.

and theres quiet, kind moments throughout it all. when i think maybe i can hold his memory and move with it. but those moments dont last long. but they mean more than any other part of this whole process. when i hear him in my head, making fun of me for not putting myself out there. when i feel him supporting me as i feel unstable and shaky. regardless of your thoughts on religion or my own, i know that he is there. whether it is real or it is in my head, both are substantial enough to give me faith. and isnt that religion in and of itself?

i know that all the things we wanted him to know, about how he changed us, how much he meant to us, all of it. i know that he knows them. but i still am allowed to mourn that we never got to feel him know them. am i allowed?

i think im allowed. i think he’d allow it. i think he’d understand.

because when i feel whatever sense might lie in my convoluted ideas of religion and my strong sense of morality, i know one thing above all.

that he understands.

#technoblade #this is sad im sorry #i just really miss techno man #Spotify

[sysig]

Hiya :) I've been getting into DSMP animatics, and I love seeing the different interpretations of the character designs even though I only have a vague sense of the lore so far. It's all got cool vibes!! Can I request a drawing of Ranboo or Wilbur, or maybe even both? I'm not sure if they actually ever interact in the story or not, but I'd say interpret the prompt however you want and have fun??

Day 19 - Stuck inside

#My art #Requestober #DSMP #Ranboo #Yeah I don't think I've seen any instances of Wilbur and Ranboo meeting either :0 #Well they did meet when Ghostbur came into town after the whole thing with Techno and Phil was still under house arrest #But I don't think they had any particularly hard-hitting moments just pleasant greetings haha #Which is a shame! Then again everything is a missed opportunity with what Ghostbur didn't get to do huh haha #I never really got into Alivebur so I opted for Ranboo for this one :) #See! He and Ghostbur would've both had to hide from the rain! Lore-wise anyhow haha #In this case I was thinking of Ranboo going to visit Michael and then it starts raining #Although it would only snow where Michael is wouldn't it? Ahhh just don't sweat the details too much lol #I don't think I ever saw Tubbo's house either - and Ranboo kinda moved in with Techno too didn't he? #At least at one point he was next door I think - man it's been a while since I brushed up on my half-learned lore lol #Point is! Rain outside Ranboo inside! #Hopefully someone will come to visit him soon :) Or it'll stop raining so he can go run around some more haha #Also the kinda ghosting effect on the glass was not intentional! :0 I actually didn't notice until now haha #I think I like it though :D

[thebleedingeffect]

.

#man. sometimes I really do miss techno. I miss him alot #I remember how much joy he brought me throughout the entirety of 2020-2022 and how much I loved him #I think after his passing part of me knew that I could never quite go back to dsmp the same ever again #and I felt myself distancing from the cc's cause the grief was just too much at times and the reminders didn't help #techno gave me so much joy and perhaps embodied the very best parts of those years #his memory is encased in those years and sometimes... part of me is glad he's not around for whatevers happening now #sighs. love and miss you techno

[imflyingfish]

For some reason i woke up today super nostalgic for c!emerald duo and also ranboo despite the fact that they were my least favourite characters in dsmp

#c!emeralduo critical #ranboo critical #idk man i jusssss uhhh didnt like them do i do have nostalgia for when ranboo was my favourite character on dsmp #dream smp critical #CCs are like. fine ig i miss techno a lot but yeag. like doomsday? can we restart doomsday discourse pls im really bored #also like. their characters werent bad i just didnt like them *shrug *

[oasisofgalaxies]

Loss is such a weird thing to deal with- it’ll just hit you over the head out of no where and you’ll be sitting in some random ass place suddenly consumed with grief like. Oh. Ok

#I miss techno man #sometimes it hits me that he’s not on a break #or isn’t making videos #he’s just. gone #and that’s that #hes not coming back #sorry for the random sad post out of nowhere it’s just really hitting me right now #I never expected it to hurt so bad to lose someone I never really knew #nebula rambles #death tw

[candiedblueberries]

the line "if i had a million lifetimes, i would choose to be [who i am right now] every time" makes me tear up every time. like it's just so powerful.

#just. the thought creators just being so happy in the position that theyre in 🥹 #idk just knowing that others are happy just makes me so soft #also its a line i heavily associate with techno so. it just hits really hard #man . i miss him sm :( #blues nonsensical ramblings

[jadeneppy]

🌒🐽🌘 o7

#man i miss techno so much i just heard his voice again and im just crying #i saw a clip where tubbo found his bunny burrow and then put it back and hhhh #i miss him sososososoosos so sososo much #i wanna watch his old vids maybe his charity stream that was my fav one #the tears always come out tho i just really miss him #xzzt

[dollar-store-sparklez]

fuck i miss technoblade

#pandora speaks #i cant even articulate it properly its just like #i feel stupid for it almost cause hes a youtuber a streamer hes gone i never met him #but like. i had more of an emotional reaction to him than i have had to familt members passing #is it because i didnt actually know him? because millions of other people were mourning with me it felt ok to let it out #no one ever grieved anyone in my family in front of others #but the whole internet is still mourning techno #idk. i really miss him and little things keep reminding me that hes gone #fuck man.

[artificial-transmutations]

Going Green

"Microtransactions!"

Charles looked around the board members.

"Micro. Transactions. Have you ever heard of that? Anyone?"

Slowly, heads nodded.

"Oh, good! So, you *have* heard of them. Does anyone care to explain to me then why our games barely have any? In fact, I have yet to see *any* microtransaction revenue from our latest release."

"But Sir, 'Orcs and Morcs' is a single player game - and not for a mobile platform, too. It doesn't even have an online connection. It would be highly unusual."

Charles M. Anderson cut the engineer up with a gesture. He didn't even know the other man's name, which wasn't too unusual. Even though he was the CEO of GreenGames for six months now, he didn't bother to learn his subordinates names until they proved useful. And this unnamed engineer could be happy if he still had a job after this meeting.

"I don't care about your techno-babble. Microtransactions is where the money is, so I want them in our products. *All* our products. And make sure to make them mandatory for any progress, too."

Charles usually talked about "Releases" and "Products". To him, video games were just a product like any other. Of course *he* didn't play any of those silly games, games were for children and losers. He only cared for the numbers, the graphs and revenues.

"What about the backlash? I mean, I understand that you want to generate more revenue, but GreenGames is known for providing high quality games that *don't* try to rip their customers off."

"So?"

"So, this could be bad publicity for us. Really bad."

Charles looked around the table and noticed most of the other board members nodding.

"Listen up, everyone. I think there is some misunderstanding here. You think that I care about our customers. I really don't, as long as they continue to buy our products. There is no such thing as bad publicity. So, I don't tell you how to draw your silly ogres and you don't try to meddle in the business aspect of the company, okay?"

Even though the inflection suggested a question, it was perfectly clear that it was neither a question nor a request. Again, heads nodded and tried to avoid eye contact. Good. Respect was very important for a leader.

One woman spoke up. Charles suspected her to be some lead writer or something.

"It's orcs, Sir."

Charles blinked. "What are you trying to say?"

"You said ogres, but our games are about orcs. That is our thing, we make games about orcs."

"There is no difference between orcs, ogres, unicorns and all that whimsy stuff. Leave me alone with your fantasy crap."

"But there is another thing. You are responsible for the story of our products?"

The woman agreed with a careful: "Yes, Sir?"

Charles looked her straight in the eye. "It has come to my attention that there are certain woke elements in our products. As a story writer, I expect you to take care of that."

"What... do you mean by woke? And by taking care of that?"

Charles sighed. Why was everyone so incompetent?

"Apparently, there is same-sex smut in our products, some even have pronouns. That crap needs to disappear asap. It is 'go woke go broke', after all."

The writer woman looked at Charles incredulously. "But Sir! Same-Sex romances are a well-accepted part of the industry for *decades* now. And it's not like the player has to engage in that, too. It's just an option - an option we actually received much praise for in the past. And about the pronouns... It's just a setting that influences some dialogues on how the player character is referred to. Again, it is perfectly possible to play as a straight green cis male if that's what you want to do."

Charles shook his head, his voice now dangerously low. "One more word of that, miss, and you can start looking for a new job. 84% of our customer base is male, and male customers want to see boobs, that's a fact. I won't tolerate wasting company resources on pacifying some noisy minority and alienating our main audience."

"But sir!" the writer woman objected.

Charles' look silenced her.

"One more word and you're out. We'll find another writer. Someone who does the job and keeps their mouth shut. This meeting is over. I expect results end of next week."

Nobody dared to speak up when everybody left the meeting room, and Charles returned to his office. What a productive meeting.

Just as he turned to his computer to check today's KPIs, he noticed a new email.

From: Employee Council

To: Charles M. Anderson

Subject: Going Green

Body:

Dear Mr. Anderson,

we here at GreenGames would like to take the opportunity to point out some concerns about your leadership role.

We have noticed a disturbing development since your takeover and would like to remind you of the values we stand for at GreenGames. We like creating games, and we identify with the work we do. Our players are important to us, and we strife to be open and accessible for everyone. Just like the protagonists in our games, we have honor and use our strengths to better the world. You in particular should be the living embodiment of this ideal. Please take this chance to re-think your methods and decisions and "go green" for real.

Sincerely,

The Employee Council.

Charles was outraged. How dared those subordinates criticizing him? He reached for his phone, ready to phone his secretary to find out who this "Employee Council" was but was interrupted by a ripping sound.

The right arm of his expensive suit jacket had ripped at the shoulder, which was unusual. He would have to have a stern talk with the tailor. Charles stood up and took off his jacket - or at least, he tried to. It was like the piece of clothing was way too small all of a sudden. He finally managed to get out of it, but only with several more rips in the fabric. Charles loosened his tie. He was sweating like mad, and when he looked down on himself, he was in utter disarray. His shirt looked like it was several numbers too small and as he was watching, one button after the other flew off with an audible "pling", exposing his torso underneath.

But was it really his torso? Not only was it *bigger*, it also looked way *hairier*. Charles had never been a man with much body hair, but now, he looked down on a stomach that was showing visible abs covered with a dense treasure trail of dark hairs. They continued upwards where they met with a true forest of curly dark hair that covered the slabs of pecs that were still growing as Charles watched.

He had to loosen his tie again before taking it off entirely. All of his clothes felt constricting, so, he peeled himself out of his shirt, too. His expensive watch was interrupting his growth painfully, but Charles was too occupied to notice, let alone care. With a dull cracking noise, the leather strap broke, and the watch flew across the room, hitting the opposite wall.

As Charles continued to grow, the chair underneath him creaked, but, again, he had other things to worry about. His lower body was still covered by his dress pants and shoes, but that was getting tight, too. His shoes especially were getting painful, and it was a relief when the front broke, exposing large muscular feet and toes. His pants were filled to the brim with heavy, muscled legs now, but there was another region where the capacity had been reached. His groin formed an obscene bulge. That alone would have probably fit - barely - but it was accompanied by an unusual feeling. Charles didn't *mind* his extreme change. In fact, the hyper masculine body turned him on, even. He watched as a dick print became clearly visible outlined against his groin, as his cock grew hard. It pulsed, once, and Charles felt a spurt of precum soak into his boxer shorts. A wet patch became apparent as the liquid seeped through his pants - all from a single spurt. His dick pulsed again, and Charles' head began to swim. The air in the room was thick with sweat and testosterone by now, and Charles groaned from arousal. Man, what would he give for a nice firm manly ass right now, giving him a lap dance.

Wait, what? Manly ass?

But it was true! Every time, Charles tried to think about sexy girls, but all that came to mind were men. Burly, hairy men, twinkish shaved men, green-skinned ogre-man. No, not ogres, he corrected himself. Orcs.

As he thought this word, his dick pulsed again and made Charles almost cry out from arousal. He couldn't restrain himself anymore. He *ripped* apart his dress pants and lowered his boxer shorts that looked like a pair of briefs on his massive body now, releasing a gigantic stiff rod and a matching set of heavy balls - along with a whole cloud of manly, musky smell that made Charles even hornier than before.

He closed his gigantic hand around his shaft and moved it up and down, in a slow, barely constrained motion. He had almost come by that one stroke, so horny was his mind. Fascinatedly, he watched as his cock and balls took on a deep, green color. It looked almost like a cucumber, or the penis of the incredible hulk. Or... an orc. As he moved his strong hand up and down again, the green started to spread in all directions.

Yes! There was no doubt: He was becoming a big, strong, sexy orc! Charles let all restraints fall away and started pumping in earnest now. With each stroke, the green spread, until his entire torso was of a rich green color. His head felt a pressure as his facial structure reformed, and his ears grew long and pointy. His hair lost darkened and grew out into a wild mohawk-like hairstyle. At the same time, a black beard sprouted around his entire jaw, underlining his masculinity.

Meanwhile, the green had swept across his arms and legs, quickly eliminating any leftover pink spots. The green color looked incredibly hot under the coat of dense, manly hair, and Charles felt himself getting closer. He grunted with each stroke like an animal and where his muscular green body touched the furniture or his executive chair, it left a film of manly sweat. Finally, he felt a short bit of pain on his ears and nipples, as small metal piercings appeared there: Short studs in his ears and small rings in his nipples.

That sent him over the edge. With a final bellow, he came, mightily. His large green balls contracted and his massive cock spew cum everywhere: All over his stomach, his chest, his furniture, even his face!

Charr panted in the afterglow of his orgasm. He was the epitome of virility and although he had just cummed all over his office, his mind kept creeping back to sexy guys again. He would be able to go again, soon - but that had to wait a bit. He used the remains of his suit to clean up a bit (although it was still clearly visible and smellable what happened here), stuffed his mighty tool into the cum-stained underwear and reached for the phone.

"Please send the board to my office, I want to issue an honorable apology, and announce our new strategy." He rumbled with his new, low voice. After a moment of consideration, he added: "And please send someone to install our games on my PC."

He rubbed his hands. This would usher in a whole new era for GreenGames - with the greenest possible CEO.

I have the feeling that a lot of companies could benefit greatly from a bit of a greener leadership!

#male transformation #muscle transformation #straight to gay #orc #musk

[simplepotatofarmer]

seconds

a short (1,089 words) rivals duo fic about food as love and friendship for @sixteenth-day-event's love month.

Dream didn’t cook.

He had lived on golden apples and pieces of beef that could only charitably be called ‘steak’ and ‘cooked’ and then later he had lived on potatoes, raw and mealy. It had taken months to get the taste out of his mouth. Months of Techno encouraging him to eat until Dream was able to keep down more than a few bites at a time.

It had to be frustrating. Dream had been frustrated, knowing that he needed to eat and knowing his stomach and mind would rebel against it. There had been times he had lashed out and had swept the dish off the table and Techno had rolled his eyes and called him a toddler and a baby and cleaned up the mess.

And he still cooked for Dream, despite it all.

This is so stupid, thought Dream with a groan.

He gripped the edge of the counter and looked down. Half the ingredients of Techno’s pantry sat out: carrots, mushrooms, onions, even potatoes. There were herbs that Dream didn’t know but had passed his sniff test and raw beef that he had dug out of the ice chest.

He had no idea what he was doing.

If Techno was here, Dream would ask him but he was out all day with Phil doing something that was supposed to be secret but Dream knew about anyway because Techno talked and, besides, this was meant to be a surprise.

“How—How hard can it be?” Dream asked the empty kitchen, trying to hype himself up. Outside, the sun was just a little below the halfway point in the sky. “It’s just fucking vegetables and shit in water.”

It was a lot harder than Dream thought.

His hands shook trying to chop the vegetables evenly, the missing fingers making it hard to grip the knife properly and there was one moment where his hand slipped and he grazed his finger, a tiny drop of blood welling up, and Dream had to sit down until he stopped feeling as if his head was full of static. But he had done it.

He had chopped the vegetables (even the potatoes) and then had cut the meat into chunks and had to stop himself from thinking about how easily a person could be carved up. As soon as he was done, Dream had tossed the knife into the sink and refused to look at it again.

Wiping his sleeve across his forehead, Dream began to season his stew. He smelled each herb, tasted some of the spices, dumped a little too much salt into the water and scrambled to scoop what he could out and then tried to mask it with a little more pepper and rosemary. He found dandelion greens and added those, too.

It didn’t taste anything like the stews that Techno made. Dream frowned.

He needed something.

In the back of Techno’s pantry, there was a dusty bottle of beetroot wine, labeled with Phil’s handwriting. That would work. Dream carefully scooped out some more of the water and then poured in half the wine. He added more herbs and spices but stayed away from the salt.

It still wasn’t right and Dream went to the ice chest and pulled out the butter and added a chunk.

Then he put the lid on the pot and let it simmer until Techno got home.

• • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • • •

Steam rose off the bowl of stew sitting in front of Techno.

Across the table, Dream was watching him intently, his own bowl untouched, hand on the spoon, waiting for Techno to take the first bite.

“Y’know, you really didn’t have to do this, Dream,” said Techno, stirring the stew a bit.

“Yeah, I know but—but you always cook and I thought—I wanted to cook for...” Dream trailed off, shifting in his seat, finally looking away. “Whatever.”

Techno smiled.

“Nah, I appreciate it, man,” he said. “It looks good.”

That wasn’t a complete lie: the vegetables were clearly painstakingly cut into chunks all of a similar size as was the meat and the broth had a hearty, deep red color to it. Unfortunately, it colored almost everything with a reddish-purple tint to it but that was fine.

It certainly looked better than it smelled because it smelled like Techno’s entire spice rack had been dumped into the pot.

But Dream visibly perked up at his words.

“Yeah? I mean, I didn’t have, like, a recipe or anything.”

I can tell, thought Techno. He said, “Listen, Dream, the secret to cookin’ is you’ve got to cook from the heart, alright?”

A blush, pink and splotchy, colored Dream’s cheeks.

“Ugh. Just—Just eat the stupid stew,” said Dream, not moving to pick up his own spoon.

Techno took a bite.

It wasn’t awful though Techno would have never called it good. There was an odd lack of salt and an even odder mix of herbs and spices, not all of which went together, and a buttery taste that he wasn’t expecting. The beetroot wine was a bit overpowering.

He took another bite.

“Is it—is it alright?”

There was an eagerness on Dream’s face, nervousness in his voice, as he watched Techno.

Techno hadn’t been lying when he said the secret was to cook from the heart. The fact Dream had gone out of his way to cook anything when food had been such a sticking point for him, the fact he had willingly used potatoes when there had been a point he would gag at the mere sight of them, meant something.

It meant a lot.

Techno took another bite, bigger than the first two, and spoke around the mouthful.

“It’s amazin’. You wanna do all the cookin’ from now on?”

Dream scoffed but the blush had deepened and a pleased sort of relief had settled on his features. It softened some of the harshness left behind from the prison.

“Hell no.”

“I’m teasin’ you, Dream,” Techno said, still eating.

Dream pushed his spoon around his own bowl. He was quiet for awhile as Techno ate.

“Yeah—Well, to be—to be fair, you do all of the cooking and I know I’m a pain in the ass,” he said, finally, and finally lifted a spoonful of stew to his mouth. Dream’s features twisted in disgust. “This is fucking awful.”

Techno snorted, reaching across the table to pat Dream’s hand.

“I don’t mind.”

One of Dream’s eyebrows jerked upwards.

“Really?”

“Really.” Techno pushed his chair to back to stand. “Now, I’m gonna get another bowl.”

#technoblade #dreamwastaken #rivals duo #dsmp fanfic #dream smp #rivalsblr #sixteenthdayevent #disordered eating mention

[theminecraftbee]

okay I didn’t think I’d have to pull out my bribe this early, but…

hello dsmp fans. it’s been a while, right? I haven’t published a dsmp fic in… ages. I also haven’t written techno in a very long time and I miss writing him, man, I miss it. I have one last techno fic idea in me. it’s a story in which he’s an old, dethroned god who has retired to farm potatoes and argue with squid at the farmer’s market, but gets pulled back into one final grand adventure when a young man realizes who he is and begs him to help him rescue his brother, wilbur. it has all the tropes I’d want to send off - SBI! techno and squid’s rivalry! technically some superpower stuff! urban fantasy! niki is really cool in this one!

so, here’s the bargain I have for you: if you get joe hills to the semifinals (where he’ll likely face cleo), I’ll write it. that’s as far as you need to get him; I’m not asking for the finals, just the semis. and once you do that, I’ll write it.

that’s right. it’s bumped up the list to my next project. one last return from the author of black box to a technoblade fic. that’s the bribe I have on the table for you. so before you vote wilbur soot, please just… consider what you’re giving up, by making that choice.

alright? alright.

#mcytblr sexyman #joehillssweep #make the right choice. #also if you have more dsmp followers than me feel free to spread this offer to them as propaganda #I didn’t expect to have to pull it out this early. but the better it circulates the better it may do.

[isa-ghost]

If you're still doing Philza headcannons, how about some specifically about Phil, Chayanne, and Tallulah? I miss the kiddos...

qPhil headcanons masterlist

(NOT) SINGLE DAD EDITION LETS GO

Those two are the light of his fucking life ok. If you were someone that had something against him, they're how you get to him. They're how you hurt him. He will do ANYTHING for them. He'll kill his friends, he'll fly on broken wings, he'll die for them. Nothing matters more than those two kids.

He's not typically a very physically affectionate person. But to the kids? Suddenly he's a cuddler. Suddenly he's head kisses and carrying them on his hip just because he can. Suddenly he's braiding hair and painting nails and playfully tormenting them with tickles. They flip a switch in his brain.

Nothing could ever make him waver on how proud of them he is. Both of them. Chayanne so brave and strong, stressed to the teeth like his dad but persevering like a true warrior. Tallulah is so loving and open, even in the face of so much pain and adversity. She's been through so much, largely alone, and yet she still has the strength to smile and be silly after everything. Ideally he wishes they would've never experienced any pain at all, but Quesadilla says Damn You All

Chayanne & Tallulah can make him laugh until his stomach hurts, and they can do it faster than friends he's known for YEARS. Tallulah especially is the queen of comedic nonverbal timing. All it takes is a certain look with a slow turn after Phil says something stupid and he's Dying.

His favorite thing is when either of them fall to pieces emote bc smth stupid happened. Or whenever they Orange Justice after smth fucked happens.

Listen. LISTEN. Don't be fooled by this man. He LOVES adventures with the kids. He loves them. The reason he refuses to venture out with them or go dungeon raiding with them super often is because survivalist brain is like if the worst happens, the Feds do not have your back. If you lose the kids you have nothing much to live for on this island. Do not risk their lives, even if it sounds fun.

He fucking loves watching the kids talk to the other eggs. The constant taptaptaptaptap of signs being placed while they chat together makes him giggle. He also loves watching them just crouch and silently communicate.

Dude Rose's love for the two of them makes his heart so full. Like legit the first time she told him "they're under my protection" he nearly cried. And not just from relief that they'd be safe from EK.

And related: Oh my GOD does he fucking love the term "fledglings" for them. It's SO CUTE. Rose was so right for that. Something about it drives home the thought of "these are MY kids" even more. He just 🥺

Chayanne's mask reminds him of Techno's boar one sometimes and it makes him wanna cry /pos. If Chayanne ever mentions being guided by Techno's spirit to fight EK Phil will never recover

He loves this "new era" of Tallulah, between her cutting her hair short a while back and now dying it + changing her hat. It feels like she's getting more independent despite everything and considering Phil used to have to Really hover around her to help her out, he's the world's proudest papa about it

He's told them stories about all the hardcore gods (that he knows of) at this point. Rose bc ofc he did. EK bc he kinda had to. The others bc at this point he's expecting them to poke their heads around at one point or another too. Chayanne loves Blaze. Tallulah still loves Rose the most. She's gone on a rant about "Papa how the fuck is Ocean Overlord a god when he fumbles things so badly???" He wishes he knew, Tallulah.

He wants to take them on a flight so bad it hurts. Literally. He's more angry EK fucked up his wings maybe permanently bc he robbed them of that than he is that EK did it to spite him.

He really really really hopes they do hatch some day and become lil dragon hybrids bc then he can watch them fly and teach them how to do it well (the best he can while he's grounded) (he might get a little envious)

He fucking LOVES sparring with the kids. He goes easy bc he's insanely skilled and experienced compared to Two Literal Children but they catch on and improve So Quick and it makes him so unbelievably proud and excited to see them demonstrate their skills in a real (hopefully non-lethal) situation.

#qsmp #qsmp philza #philza #q!philza #qsmp chayanne #qsmp tallulah #q!chayanne #q!tallulah #chayanne the egg #tallulah the egg #qphil headcanons

[aconflagrationofmyown]

but then…Gigi

a future forward one shot, circa 1979

Snuggle me Tender

Trust me I laughed and cringed every bit as hard as you over that title but after the strain of pushing this mushiness out of my brain in under twelve hours I haven’t got any sensible titles left in me, ok?

Requested: Yes / No

Warnings: next to none? complete fluff and no rancidity for once, just Big Daddy Elvis with a very young baby and a very young wife and tour life and mentions of his health concerns…so much baby talk which I do not apologize for, if you’ve never done it I suggest you do, it adds years to your life. To quote Alex Turner: “I’ve been feelin’ foolish, you should try it.”

Word count: 2,884 is my version of a blurb, ok?

Notes: this is dedicated to my baby Bri whose devastating prompts lead to this whole Gigi endeavor and whose sweetness lightens up my life

Blaring horns end the set with its iconic flourish, their brassy notes echoing in his ears as he exits. It was a good show, a lively audience and Ronnie kept the rhythm together this time and even the sound system was decent for such a packed out stadium. Elvis is satisfied as he takes his final farewell of the sea of glossy, enamored faces, the frenzied send off of their ovation thudding into his veins so thickly he thinks his pulse will jump straight outta his wrists.

He flicks his writs irritably and hooks his thumbs into his belt, hoisting it just that little bit from where his exertions made it creep down and down and ever down, keeping it where it’s not pinching him as he lets the boys hustle him off the stage and into the back hallways in a well worn maneuver. The clapping and roar of the crowd is still deafening and he’s still attuned to it, vibrating like a leaf and the shake, rattle and roll of it pounds along with his chest and more worrisome still is the way his vision flickers with it, like some damn techno scene. But it’s just the fluorescents, and this interminable hallway leading to his dressing room.

And to his girls.

He takes a deep breath and tries to begin the effort of steadying himself just a little before foisting himself on them. It’s easier, so much easier, with them here, but his blood pressure still skyrockets each time he performs and it doesn’t seem like there’s a pill or a regimen out there to prevent it. It might be the death of him one day and awhile back he might have flippantly hoped so.

Now he’s got his girls to live for

and he tries his hardest to moderate himself, to temper himself in between to be the man he wants so badly to learn he is, not just the icon he’s perceived to be. Every step takes him closer to the anecdote and he breathes easier, hiking his belt higher so he can really gulp in those belly expanding breaths and he feels Charlie patting his back, his boys murmuring in an affirmative babble that it was a good show.

Elvis knows it was. He doesn’t need them to tell him. There’s only one persons opinion he gives a shit about right now and she’s probably conked out asleep or at the tit. Both of which sound like damn good options to mimic, in Elvis’ opinion.

Little Miss Erin Love Presley.

She’s become his life and between her and Gigi and Yissa he is bombarded with the insistence that he is wanted to the point that he’s gradually had to assume that, well…that he is -wanted, that is.

He’s wanted. Not just needed.

And so he allows them to fret over his pulse and he agrees to less stimulants when possible and he endeavors to be a more cheerful bastard despite the persistent urge to bite heads off most days.

Ricky jogs ahead of him, opens the door that Sam’s been standing in front of and ushers Elvis inside hurriedly before closing the door behind him, leaving him alone with his little family. Nearly blinded by the change in lighting, Elvis staggers towards where he knows there's a couch in the gloomy dressing room Gigi so considerately dimmed for his sake.

“You were magnificent, daddy!” her soft praise registers more profoundly than all the applause out there and Elvis sinks into the couch utterly spent, yet entirely satisfied.

“Thanks darlin’.” He murmurs with his head tilted back, winded and a thousand miles away but he’s trying to come back down. His hand reaches out for her hip and the give of her soft flesh tethers him to earth.

Gigi doesn’t skip a beat before she’s bending down and unclamping the large buckle from his belly single-handedly with practiced ease, delighting in the relieved groan Elvis lets out as she removes the heavy ornament. She swings it away from him only to replace it with the soft weight of their baby girl.

“I’ll get your medicines, you hold tight.” Gigi soothes, her hand lovingly pushing his hair back from off his damp forehead before she bends to kiss it and he chases her wearily for a taste of her lips which she presses to his ardently before pulling away to go find his pills.

Baby girl is perched on his belly in her tiny sequined onesie, balancing like a Pilates teacher on a ball, her wobbly little neck doing its utmost to stay straight and fix him with her appealing stare. It’s devastatingly effective when paired with her pitifully frustrated little squeaks.

Elvis knows what Lovey wants and a few months ago he might’ve been appalled at the notion of it despite being an utter sap for his daughter. It had seemed too gross to subject her to the post-show sweat and musk that cling to him in moments like these. But like her mommy, the little girl wouldn’t take less than the deepest of intimacies and so he has learned that Lovey will continue her fussing until she feels the warmth of his skin beneath her.

The tiny wrist golden chain around her wrist jangles as she tries to pull herself up the ornate expanse of his jumpsuit front, clawing determinedly up the exquisite sundial motif towards the heaving expanse of his sweaty chest. ‘Return if found’ her bracelet reads and Elvis smirks at the notion of her being put down long enough by either of her parents to be misplaced.

“Hey cuddle bug, hey how’s it goin’, hmm?” he coos to her and finds his voice is fried and gravelly.

Without having to even reach he finds Gigi pressing a plastic cup into his hand that he ravenously accepts along with blood pressure regulators she presses into his palm, small and round and white. He throws them back with exhausted gusto and his baby nearly wobbles backwards in her arc to follow his movements with her big ole baby head.

They made a pretty baby, he and Gigi, how could they not? -but even the prettiest of babies have bowling balls for heads compared to the rest of their body and it still tickles Elvis immensely. He wheezes a laugh into the last of the water while catching her head with his other hand and crushes the cup with something bordering a burp and a groan.

Lovey’s bright little eyes expand just a fraction more at the vibrations against her belly. “ ‘scuse me, miss.” he teases, eyes still wavering blearily as he tries to focus on Gigi rummaging for something at the far end of the dim room. The water makes him feel at least partially alive again and he runs his hand beneath his nose to catch the sweat and what all that is collecting atop his lip.

Heaving in a big breath he feels his hands calm their shakes enough he looks down at Lovey’s valiant attempts to reach the apex of his unzipped suit, clammy baby hands snagging the hair on his belly and tugging. He’s gonna have bald patches down there at this rate, he’s told Gigi this and she just lathers more hippy oil on him and says he’ll be alright -so he guesses he will be.

“Look at you baby, so strong, yes you is, fightin’ gravity like a champ, got yo’self halfway up the sun, yes you has. Want daddy to help ya? Hmm? Yeah? You want a kiss, don’t ya? Me too, I want kisses from my bestest girl.”

He hooks his thumbs beneath the giving flesh of Lovey’s armpits and pulls the floppy length of her higher till she’s balanced on his broad chest, in between his gaping jumpsuit front, watching as she crows and grins the minute she feels his tacky skin beneath her palms. The swell of his belly keeps her high up and her little elbows dig into his soft chest, it’s a well worn ritual to spend her “belly time” on his chest, fascinated by her daddy’s face. It holds her interest more than any gaudy toy or tv show ever could.

Elvis pats her bottom gently with his ringed hand, careful not to pinch her delicate thighs as Lovey kicks and shudders in delight at getting her way. She’s a little masochist, his baby, she drools and coos even as she grips significant portions of his chest hair and tugs in glee as if it’s her own personal shag carpeting to aid her towards scooting up that last little bit needed for her to kiss him on the chin.

“Das it, das it almost there, gonna give daddy a kissy? Gonna gimme kissies? I wan’ ‘em so bad, yes I do!” Elvis pickers his lips and she strains every ounce of her little self to grab ahold of his sideburns. It’s all over then, Lovey is triumphant in her grip, a pack of wild horses can’t tear anythin’ that baby has once she’s grabbed ahold of it. With a gurgly little crow she scoots herself up till she’s able to devour his chin.

She’s quite coordinated when preening her angelic little face up to receive a kiss but upon dishing them out she goes about it like a starved man would a set of pork ribs, open mouthed and with the goal to slobber as much as possible on the recipient. Elvis can’t bear to turn her away ever and in his after-show state of permanent dampness he doesn’t even think twice as a sloppy, gummy and fervent baby adds to the sweat rolling down his throat.

“Fank you.” he murmurs, tilting his head to facilitate her attack, “Fank you so much, ooh, I love your kisses, ya know that? Favorite kisses in the world, yes ‘dey are! Better than any of those out there, Mhmm, way better. Yes, yes better gimmer another -aww thank ya!”

Gigi watches from the side as she finishes her breast pumping by the dimmed vanity as Elvis puckers his cherub lips and pecks at their baby’s matching glossy pink pair. In this moment with their bobbing heads and tender coos and the nearly identical soft forms of them both slouching in their matching jumpsuits -they could be twins. The thought makes her smile and right in this moment there’s a belonging she feels so strongly and richly that her eyes burn with it.

“I thought it went pretty well, mhmm, what’d ya think about the new song, hmm?” he always does this, consults Lovey’s side-of-stage perspective on his show and he swears to Gigi that her feedback is essential for the success of what has been a certainly well received comeback tour. “Yeah I thought so too, ‘could tinker with those background vocals but the bass was tight. Yeah, yeah man, I know, I told ‘em, but they don’t listen, no dey don’t! I know! I know I told ‘em! Can ya believe that, Lovey? Oh well.”

With each of his heavy breaths and remonstrances Elvis’ chest heaves and sends Lovey tilting further and further up to his face till she’s careening alarmingly into the crease of his neck, wedged between it and the couch back. The tip of her tiny body makes Elvis die laughing with a fit of those genuine, hiccuping laughs that their baby loves to mimic until they both end up dry coughing from their mirthful wheezes. He gets them both situated again, Lovey firmly back on the safe expanse of his tacky chest with his hands criss crossed over her tiny back. One of his hands can span the entire width of her little ribcage and folded over each other as his hands are now, they looks like a bejeweled turtle shell sheltering their Lovey’s delicate back.

Gigi packs up her kit and rummages through her sack for Elvis’ glasses before they’re needed for the camera-flash-lit trek back to the hotel.

Lovey lets out a vigorous yawn, suddenly utterly tuckered out from watching her daddy perform and waiting up to kiss him backstage. It catches Elvis’ attention and yet again he’s amazed by the fact he feels even remotely weary himself, like he’s able to tap into his girl’s calmer systems and regulate his own just a little to match them. Not so much a family as a trinity of souls so intertwined they’ve long since lost where one ends and the other begins.

“You sleepy, hmm?” Elvis hums to her and strokes over her head soothingly, “How bout we go back to that nice hotel then, we can eat somethin’ and yer mommy’ll call up Yissa to say goodnight. How’s that sound, hmm?”

Lovey rubs her face into his chest to emphasize how much she needs this sleep plan to be enacted speedily, the tired rub backfiring as his chest hairs tickle her sensitive little nose. Without fail it makes her sneeze violently and afterwards she’ll gaze up him dazedly as if asking for explanation as to her own bodily functions.

“Hutchooo, bwess you.” he thumbs at her sloberdy chin. “Dat was a big one, wasn’t it? Mhmm, daddy’s sorry he’s so fuzzy. Don’t got that problem when ya snugglin’ wif mommy, do ya? Nu-uh, smooth as marble, that pretty girl, ain’t she? Mhmm.” he ponders Gigi’s loveliness with a dreamy look of appreciation and his baby resignedly lays her head in the sweaty thatch of chest hair, wadding it away from her face with a tiny fist, Elvis stares over her head at Gigi who he knows has been playing at being busy to let him wind down.

They share a knowing little smile and Gigi shoves off from her perch on the vanity and clip clops over to him in her strappy heels, bending at the waist and offering him a lovely view down the neck of her dress as she gently fits his tinted glasses on his face. “There, all set.” she murmurs fondly while fiddling with his hair, dabbing at the mess of sweat and drool that the now sleeping baby has left in her wake.

Ricky cracks open the heavy metal door with great care but it’s not enough care to please Elvis who barks

“Gently, for God’s sake, there’s a baby sleepin’ in here!”

and Gigi smirks as she herself gets manhandled by her new husband to sit beside his bulky manspread, for no other reason perhaps than to keep her ass pointed away from Ricky. Gigi suspects that Elvis likes to bark at his traumatized entourage just because he enjoys getting to cite the baby’s needs. He has a baby again, and it’s turned him into more of a bear than a man on this tour. That thought makes Gigi sigh dreamily and she lays her head on Elvis’ shoulder and watches as Lovey’s sleeping breaths stay even and calm despite his outburst, utterly secure in her daddy’s love.

Gigi gets her thigh patted in recognition and she shudders as always from that promising touch, feeling how torn he is between winding down or thrumming off into the astral sphere. Only once they’re in the hotel and snug in the white sheets with Yissa on the phone will she know which way the night will go.

“Car’s all set.” Jerry quietly delivers the message that Ricky fled before he could finish delivering.

“Thanks man.” Elvis nods and after exchanging a look with Gigi asks her, “Ya ready, baby girl?”

“Yes.” she nods and gives him her arm as an aid to heft himself out of his burrow in the couch, his one arm still occupied cradling Lovey to his chest.

Gigi helps him drape his coat around his shoulders, flapping around him like one of his capes, allowing him to pull it over Lovey’s face in the ensuing glare of the photographer’s flashes as they speed down the hallways and into the parking lot, hand in hand.

Lovey is used to the racket, the screams and the pounding of an audience a natural backtrack to her young life. Nevertheless, Elvis moves gingerly, stays calculated in his movements lest he jostle her as he follows Gigi into the car, scooting into his seat as methodically as possible, his exhausted thighs quivering from this last ounce of endurance demanded of them. He succeeds though, Lovey still snoozing and drooling onto his chest by the time the Limo door shuts and they’re off in a streak of light and motion against the night sky.

He can feel Gigi slip her smaller hand into his own on the seat between them, tugging until he surfaces from his trance and turns his face towards her with a relieved sigh to find her always there beside him when he needs it.

“You alright, daddy?” she checks in with him and he watches as her features, so lovingly crafted by a generous God to make her appear young enough to be his baby much less have one herself, are gently lit by the occasional street lamp glowing into their speeding haven.

“Yeah darlin.” Elvis rumbles from deep in his chest, rubbing the back of his knuckles against her soft cheek, watching as Gigi leans into his affections as eagerly as that first night they met, “Never been better. I mean it, gonna need to make this the order of business. You and Lovey waitin’ for me, end of show -I could go on forever like this.”

TAGLIST: (drop a comment below if you’d like to be tagged in all installments for this universe)

@prompted-wordsmith

@parodsal000

@ab4eva

@stylespresleyhearted

@presleyenterprise

@kendralavon7

@coolgirl462

@colahola

@lillypink

@stephthestallion

@vintageshanny

@landmermaid12

@ashtag2887

@notstefaniepresley

@butlersluvbot

@steph-speaks

@eliseinmemphis

@lookingforrainbows

@dkayfixates

@ellie-24

@memphisflash1935-1977

@marriedtopresley

@powerofelvis

@thatbanditqueen

@elvisabutler

@butlersxbirdy

@heartbrake-hotel

@fav-fanficssss

@austinbutlersbaby

@freudianslumber

@kxnnxy

@kingdomforapony

@be-my-ally

@crazymadpassionatelove

@that-hotdog

@missmaywemeetagain

@fallinlovewithurlove

@richardslady121

@lilycherries123

@18lkpeters

@xenaspace3-blog

@lil-mamas-obsessions

@father-of-2cats

#but then…gigi #Gigi #elvis fanfiction #elvis presley #elvis fanfic #70s #70’s shag carpeting elvis for real #70’s elvis #elvis imagine #elvis x reader #70s elvis #elvis fans #Elvis #Elvis fluff #big daddy elvis fanfiction #big daddy Elvis #BDE #mine #elvis fic #elvis fan fic #austin elvis #elvis austin butler

[1wn8ure]

Meeting Minutes

Taken By Ranboo M. Beloved Minutes Man, New L'manburg Administration

10:02-The president is calling the meeting to order.

10:06-The president has made 4 deez nuts jokes. The vice president has made 2.

10:07-The president told me to write down his deez nuts joke. I would but I have already forgotten the context so instead I will just write that it was very funny (I think)

10:08-The president is wearing his green tie today. I like it more than his blue one. He always has to tug at the blue one- I think it is too small for him.

Gift ideas: 

A new blue tie

More green ties

Flowers maybe? I don’t know wha

10:17-The vice president started shouting. I missed what happened but the president does not seem very happy. He looks tired.

Oh, he’s shouting about Techno again. That makes sense. He’s usually shouting about Techno.

I should probably be writing down what he’s saying, but Quackity speaks very quickly. And they never look at these notes anyway.

The president asks me to read them sometimes, but not usually.

10:24-The president looks like he would rather be anywhere else but here. 

His forehead wrinkles when he’s thinking really hard. Or when he’s annoyed. It’s wrinkled right now but I’m not sure which one it is. 

10:26-The vice president is standing now, which means the president is also standing now. He’s still so much smaller than the vice president. I think it bothers him.

10:33-The president is slamming his fists on the table, which means it is a Bad Day. Everybody else is yelling. I think they have forgotten about me.

To Do:

Bring the president dinner (He’ll tell you he wants chicken, but his favorite is rabbit. Chicken is just cheaper. Ignore this, bring rabbit.)

Buy the president a gift (Christmas is soon)

Tell the president he looks handsome today

Tell the president he did well today

Tell the president a joke

Get the president to smile

Tell the president you

10:46-They’re looking at me. The shouting has stopped. The president looks very tired. The vice president just looks angry.

10:48-I think the meeting might be over for today. 

10:51-They asked me what notes I took. I told them the same notes I took every time.

The president laughed. The vice president didn’t.

10:57-People are getting up from the table now. Meeting adjourned, I guess?

I hope there’s less shouting next time. 

I hope they don’t ask for these notes.

Maybe I should write new ones, just in case.

Signed, Ranboo M. Beloved Minutes Man, New L’Manburg Administration

#1wn8ure.writes #beeduo #cranboo #ctubbo #new l'manburg #ranboo beloved #dsmp #dsmp fanfic

[lookinghalfacorpse]

cdoomsdaytrio going to the hot springs to have a relaxing bath and both phil and dream lay on techno chest while closing their eyes and enjoying the warm of the water and techno it's resisting the urge to swim like a fish in circles and starting a water fight

you're onto something here

----------

/dsmp /rp warning for description of torture, burns. seems like an odd trigger warning for the prompt but stick with me. flashbacks in italics.

"You want power so fucking bad, man? You want power?" Quackity's voice waivered as though he was on the edge of laughter. "You know the greatest power of all? It's the power of choice, Dream. The power of choice. I'm ready and willing to offer that to you."

Dream clutched his hand. It was still bleeding-- he's been applying pressure for a long, long time, and it was still bleeding. A large slice opened at the base of his ring finger, splaying open layers of flesh. It might've been to the bone. He noticed Sam watching attentively.

A small cauldron of boiling water lay directly between him and Quackity.

"So choose. Lose another finger," Quackity continued, "Or dunk the whole hand in this cauldron. Just a preference thing, really, but it's more than I usually offer you."

Dream felt his head spin. The memory of losing his pinkie finger was still fresh, he could still see the dried blood in the crevices of obsidian that Sam missed--

Dream woke. The steam around him caused a moment of panic, but as soon as he recognized the pink fur his head was laying atop, he knew where he was.

"Kinda rude that you still get nightmares at the hot spring," Techno droned.

While he was mining a few months ago, Technoblade stumbled upon an underground hot spring. Dream didn't even know that underground hot springs could exist, let alone that they were safe to bathe in. He heard stories about boiling, acidic lakes on the surface, and he worried that this would be similar. He waited until both Techno and Philza entered the water before he followed suit, but now they were arranged in a comfortable, warm, sweaty pile. Techno was half-floating with his shoulders rested on a rock wall, Phil was settled on his chest, and Dream was tucked somewhere underneath Phil's wing.

Dream didn't remember falling asleep. He stretched his limbs, finding that he was less sore than he normally was. The warm water must have helped. The burn scars that decorated his left hand had faded; the other, more dramatic and miscolored scars were more visible and drowned them out, in a way. He'd forgotten about that day. They all started to blend together after a while.

Philza was curled next to him, skin-to-skin, legs tangled. He must've drawn closer during the nightmare. He felt Phil's thin fingers threading through his hair.

Techno nudged the tip of his snout into the crook of Dream's neck. "You good?"

"I'm good."

#techno was going to start causing Problems but then dream fell asleep #plan foiled #asks #drabbles #affections #dreblr #doomsdaytrio #doomsday trio #c!doomsdaytrio

[elmhat]

// dsmp rp

"dark & stormy night" — for @simplepotatofarmer's rivals duo spooktacular!

~

By the time Dream got back to his supply bunker, the storm was well underway. Thick, heavy lashes of rain through the darkness; his hood stood no chance against it. But as he ducked into the doorway, finally sheltered, a clatter of metal sounded from within, and Dream froze in place.

He had been found.

His axe was drawn immediately. Okay. This was okay. Shit, shit, how was someone here? Had he been followed? He shook his head; took a breath; it didn't matter now. This kind of problem had a simple solution.

He crept further in. The lanterns were out, so it was impossible to see ahead with any clarity, but Dream knew this base well. His brain latched onto the muted rumble from outside and the drip, drip, drip through the ceiling.

Lightning flashed through the room, casting a bold silhouette. Someone was standing by the stove. The intruder was huge. Dream felt his heart skip; there were so few people that tall. Sam came to mind. But whoever it was, they hadn't seen him yet, and that was all he needed. Silent, Dream approached from behind, and he raised his axe above his head.

He brought it down—

—and the intruder stumbled back, missing the blade by an inch. Another flash of lightning, and Dream could finally see their face.

And he balked.

“Techno?”

Techno raised his arms in surrender. “Bro, relax! You almost took my head off.”

“I was trying to! What the— Why are you in my fucking base?”

“I’m makin’ dinner!”

Dream looked from Techno to the pot bubbling away on the stove. Dream’s stove. Hastily, he lit a lantern so he could actually see what was in it: an assortment of vegetables, and perhaps some light seasoning. Dream watched it stew, dumbfounded.

“Listen, man,” Techno reasoned, “I was headin’ home when the rain started, and rain just isn’t great for my hair, it really isn’t. Y’know, it gets a bit, uh, a bit wild, a bit untamed. And really, I don’t wanna end up lookin’ like Tommy, that would be… that would be pretty bad…”

Dream still wasn't looking at him. He couldn't really process what Techno was saying.

“But then I remembered, oh yeah, that Dream guy has some pretty conveniently placed bases, as well as still conveniently owin’ me that favor."

Dream felt himself deflate. He let the axe drop, going to slump down in one of the stools with a long, deep sigh. “And you decided to let yourself in and— and, like, just make yourself some stew?”

Techno shrugged. “I mean, you weren’t exactly around to ask about your, uh. Your eatin’ preferences.”

“That’s not the point! Obviously!”

“I’m hearin’ a lot of complainin’ here, Dream, and not a lot of gratitude.” Techno was grinning, he realized. He went back to stirring the pot without a care in the world, as if this was somehow a normal thing to do. After a moment, he wafted the smell and took a sniff, nodding approvingly.

There were too many questions, like how was he cooking in the dark? or how did he know about this place? or did he somehow know Dream was coming today? But, in all honesty, Dream didn't have the energy for the arduous process of pulling answers from him. He wanted to sleep. Sleep sounded good.

Techno placed a bowl in front of Dream with a proud, “Voila. Dinner is served.” It actually did smell amazing—so much so that Dream realized that if it weren't for this random meal, he might not have remembered to eat today. His stomach groaned.

“Thanks,” he muttered, and he made sure to leave the mask on until he had managed to wipe away the smirk.

Techno sat across from him with his own bowl. Dream took a spoonful, and—yeah. It really was that good. He had no idea when Techno had learned to cook so well, with carrots and mushrooms and…

“No potatoes?” Dream asked.

“Well, you didn’t exactly seem like their biggest fan.”

Dream scoffed, which turned into a strange laugh. “This might actually be the dumbest thing you've ever done,” he mused. “I was genuinely this close to killing you.”

“Ah, but you're forgettin’ one crucial fact—”

“Technoblade never dies,” they said in unison, which might have been more amusing if it wasn't so obvious.

“Yeah, okay.” Dream rolled his eyes. “Whatever.”

Techno stayed until the morning. Dream didn't exactly have a spare guest bedroom, but with enough assorted (and vaguely damp) blankets, they worked something out. Once they had said their goodbyes, Dream returned to the pot of stew. It was still almost full. He ate nothing else until it was finished.

#c!dream #c!techno #c!rivals #rivalsduospooktacular #dreblr #drabbles #my writing