❦𝐒𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐓𝐨𝐫𝐯𝐚 𝐌𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐫❦【 DreamSMP // Technoblade 】

❦Thirty One❦

[Thank you for the Fanart above by -D1CT4T0R !]

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I hate admitting I'm delicate, because I've been conditioned all my life that I'm meant to be strong.
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The voices were screaming louder than Technoblade could last remember. They were asking, no demanding for Schlatt to die. He could imagine the many ways to kill him, torture him and make him terrified. Make him feel far worse than how he made Torva feel.

Those voices and demands are what made him feel the need to apologize. Because well, he realized what Schlatt did wasn't far off from pinning her to that bed. She didn't say no, but well she didn't exactly say yes either. So he apologized for once, and he almost never apologized.

He made his best attempts to block out the voices and instead focus on the girl shaking in his arms. Her hair tickled his face and he smiled feeling her pressed against him. Going six months without this was far from enjoyable.

I felt his grip on me tighten.

Later that night I just found myself wanting Eret. I just wanted my friend to hug me. Both of them. I wanted Phil too, I wanted him to say how it's alright. I wanted Skeppy and Bad. I hate wanting comfort like this.

I hate relying on others in general. I've never relied on others. I have convinced myself my entire life that living for somebody else, needing somebody else, is nothing but weakness.

Yet now I was convinced I want these people. No need these people in this moment.

Maybe I'm weak sometimes.

Weakness is an interesting feeling. It's like, everything has turned to grey. Like the color itself has scratched up my throat from the pit in my stomach to my brain. Wrapped it's tendrils around what I call my emotions and plagued them with an unwanted dread.

At the mere possibility I am anything but strong.

Or maybe weakness is being tucked inside of a sleeping bag, desperately clinging to your best friend of who knows how long at this point. Having asked him in tears to just hold you in fear a ram horned man should find his way to you.

I'll never be able to drink alcohol again after that, so there goes that fun.

Maybe weakness is just existing.

Maybe we are all a little weak.

I'm still trying to figure out if that's okay.

I thought I was done growing. I thought I had my emotions and beliefs sat in a row. I had the people I needed in my life. I had everything figured out.

But here I am. Truly thrown for a loop.

And maybe I like it.

Everything in my life right now was a maybe, but one thing was definite.

Jschlatt is going to die.

The next morning was just loud. I swear Tommy and Wilbur's arguing would be the death of me. If Wilbur wants to have an existential crisis; keep it down.

Though something broke through to me. His terminology of 'bad guys'. I suppose in his term I fell under this, I wouldn't doubt it. But, I've learned that my opinion of myself is the only one that really matters to me. I think- no I know what I'm doing falls under what I want and what I deem just fine. So honestly his opinions of me can fuck off.

His state declining only really confirmed his insanity. It started with pacing along the cave, dragging his fingers across the walls until the skin on his hands was so red and raw they would almost be bleeding. I could hear him muttering. The words that if L'manburg well now Manburg cant be his, it's nobodies.