havent seen the most recent lore streams, but i could do with some technoblade fluff. just a calm sit by the fire, maybe some hot chocolate, philza minecraft rambling in the background, steve.
Characters: Technoblade, Philza
Word counter: 907 words
Content: Right after Techno is freed, hints of anxiety and trauma, mild religious talk
"Would you like something warm to drink, Techno?" Phil's voice is a gentle cadence as he tries to coax the pig-man out of his stupor. Techno's been shell-shocked ever since being broken out of prison, and Phil is trying to push aside the guilt. Techno can joke with him about waiting three months, but Phil can recognize the sadness in the pig's eyes as well. A deep, unspoken emotion that he knows will never be talked about outside of casual jokes.
"No. Well, maybe." Techno turns his head toward Phil, resting his chin in his hand. "I feel like that's the least you can do for me." He snorts before turning back toward the fireplace, gaze unfocusing for just a few seconds.
"I can also bring your polar bear inside," Phil offers. "Steve's trying to break the door down." There's a laugh in his voice, but Phil's downplaying the very real worry that the polar bear would actually destroy their door in order to get to Techno. The bear is big enough.
"I can let him in." Techno pushes himself to his feet. He's unsteady, fingers trembling, but he manages to bring Steve inside without falling over. Lumbering back to the armchair, Techno sits down with a sigh, then wraps his arms around Steve's neck, burying his face in his pet's fur. Steve makes a grumbling noise that Phil would swear is purring, if polar bears could even do that.
Shaking his head, Phil heads for the kitchen to fill the kettle with water. He contemplates tea, but they're running low on herbs, and he doesn't exactly feel like going out to find any; that would be a big trek. What they do have is chocolate. It'd be easy enough to make some hot chocolate for both of them. Actually, Phil has a better idea.
Dumping the water out, he wraps his cloak around him as he heads out, grabbing a bucket along the way. He can easily grab milk from one of the cows for something richer.
Phil does exactly that: patting the cow on the head when he's finished. The milk is warm, and Phil lifts it to carry it back inside the house.
It doesn't take long for Phil to put the milk to fire, stirring in bits of cocoa until the aroma of rich chocolate starts to permeate the air. In the other room, Techno starts to sniff.
"Smells good in there Phil." He still sounds distance, like he's just barely waking up from a heavy sleep. Phil wonders if Techno had noticed he went outside to milk a cow.
"I'll be done momentarily," Phil calls back. He adds some sugar to sweeten the drink a little more, but no more. Neither of them want anything too sweet, and the hot chocolate already smells divine.
Pouring it into mugs, Phil carries the drinks into the parlor and sits in the chair next to Techno's. Techno reaches for a mug, fingers trembling lightly.
Steve shifts, eyeing the drink curiously, lifting a paw as if begging for some of the drink. "No," Techno chides the bear. "This is my drink, we'll get you milk later."
Techno clutches the mug with both hands, as if trying to leech the heat from his drink. Phil doesn't know Techno to ever get cold, but he certainly seems like it now.
"Are you sure you're alright?" Phil asks.
"Did I tell you I met God?"
Phil blinks. Of all the things Techno to hit him with, he never expected religion. Now he's panicked, just what exactly had happened in that prison? He doesn't get to ponder for long, because Techno's continuing as if Phil isn't even there.
"Dream and I accidentally summoned him. Them, it. I don't know. It gave us one wish, so I wished for a bell. Phil, it was pog, he actually gave me a bell."
"You met God, and asked for a bell?" Phil purses his lips. "I never pegged you as the religious type."
"Don't get me wrong, I'm not a believer or anything. At least, I don't really have a reason to be. I still hate the Church of Prime, but come on, how many of them can really say they met God and lived?"
Phil laughs. "I'm assuming you had to leave the bell in the cell, then?"
"Of course, mining it would've been awful, and Quackity was-" Techno cuts himself off there. Techno's mug tips dangerously forward, spilling a couple droplets. Phil can recognize anger, so he doesn't press.
"Drink your cocoa, Techno. Warm yourself up."
Techno obeys silently. Steve rests his head on Techno's lap, letting out a soft rumbling noise that Phil recognizes as something more calming.
"That's right Steve, you're cool. You and Phil both, you're just amazing." Techno smiles down at the bear as he drinks his beverage. "Thanks Phil, this is good."
"Anything for you Tech," Phil responds, feeling a sense of pride. "Take it easy, alright? You deserve a break."
The pig doesn't say anything in response, he continues to sit there, idly petting Steve and staring out the window. It's a quiet evening, and Phil senses unrest brewing in the rest of the server. But this moment, this night? He can be there for his friend and comfort him.
After all, he's sure even Techno needs someone to lift him back up when times get tough, and Phil's glad he can be that someone.
She can not stand the way her hands shake. How still she is too paranoid to go to the school restrooms by herself. It is the most frustrating thing she has ever experienced. Worse than dealing with idiots on the quidditch team. Worse than dealing with those who were jealous of her relationship with Harry. Was it too much to ask for a life free from the memories of a smiling face, of green eyes that shone with unnatural light?
Everyone's dreams were haunted with their own demons. Death Eaters, snatchers, the red eyed, snake face of Voldemort himself.
But it was Ginny's seventh year at Hogwarts and she still found herself unable to walk passed Moaning Myrtle's bathroom.
It made her so bloody mad.
The way her hands shook, the way her body froze up, the way she couldn't write in a notebook without dashing a few drops of ink on it to make sure the pages didn't absorb the ink and write back to her.
She had no one to blame but him, and now he was gone, dead, beyond her reach. And everything was kept under careful lock and key.
Plenty of others had suffered. It felt too late to suffer under his memory. She had had her chance to recover, to grow.
But it will be years before she stops seeing red when someone who wasn't there jokes about the torture they all endured under the hands of the death eaters. Years before she can grit her teeth and smile coldly as she tears them down with words instead of hexes.
And for now, all she has in her hollow skin is frustration and anger at herself for seeing him in every mirror, standing right behind her, hands on her shoulders -- a smile on his dead lips.
