#warrior.writes

[dnbcoded]

cdnb prompt: after his first encounter with ctechno, cdream uses high heels shoes bc doesn't want to look so short next to him and in the middle of doomsday ctechno finds out about this

OK. Let me see if I still got it.

He doesn't notice, at first. There's too much more things going on in his life to even begin to think about it.

Dream's sudden growing sprout is one of those things that he misses in the middle of everything, but still takes notes, waiting for the second he can finally go hibernate and think about it. In fact, he was waiting for that little retrive to capture everything about Dream and just shove it in a box and stop having to take note of everything that Dream does.

He is not repressed, chat. Shut up.

He doesn't notice, and he plans on not noticing, until Dream's little grubby, greedy, slender and surprisingly well cared for hands--until Dream gets him involved like the meddlesome man he is. Suddenly they were walking towards L'manberg's demise as Dream has wanted since basically forever, and Techno realizes --only the slightless bit regretfully-- that he played right into his hand. With horror, he finds himself anything but angry at being so easily led to a solution that benefits Dream and only Dream; rather, he thinks it's a little endearing, and that cannot be possible.

He tried to remind himself about how terrible Dream is as they walk, but the man is anything but subtle, there's a pep to his step--hes practically walking without his soles touching the ground from how excited he is, and he's talking Techno's ear off about how he plans to build the platform for the bombs, and he can hear his shit-eating grin as he discusses how little of L'manberg there will be left.

He's only a pig, after all. So he takes note of all of it, and tries his best to ignore it. He ignores, too, the way they're basically the same size, towering over Philza who's actually doing his job at scouting the terrain so they're undetected at dawn. He pretends he just trusts Philza's judgement, and not that he's terribly charmed by the other man.

This wasn't always the case. Once upon a time, Dream was at least a foot shorter, and more irritating than lovely, and he didn't talk about destruction. There was a hesitancy that Techno recognized as human. He had overcome doubt, and thus, humanity--while remaining mortal. Techno... was intrigued by that. (He'll only stop denying this fleeting crush once it's efficiently death and the recipient of his current adoration is long gone, he promises.)

Now, he's tall and regal, and as deathly as ever. He's a wildfire, a burning lamp. Techno is better than a moth.

His eyes still rake over the figure as he starts towering up, occupying only the faint morning lights as guide. Techno notes the possible enchanted nature of his mask, and hates himself for it.

It's as he's watching, that he notices.

"Bro, are those high heels?" And all at once Dream's height makes sense, even though it shouldn't matter to Techno. He's still gawking at the man who's--blushing. That's a blush on the edge of his ears, not covered by a hoodie for once.

"That's--shut up, don't be an idiot." He hisses, his mask suddenly pointing towards Philza as if scared he'll hear. Oh, this is fascinating.

"Nothin' wrong with being fashionista, I tell you." Techno says, smug, leaning the faintest bit down to look at Dream directly. "But a man that's, ah, homeless... you would think he had better priorities than heels."

"SHUT THE FUCK UP, I HAVE A HOUSE!" Dream shrills, effectively making Techno lean away. Then his arms cross on front of his torso, the picture of a diva. The heels are a deep green, and they click as he steps back. Oh, how didn't Techno notice?

You were trying hard not to notice, chat whispers. Then, of course, it notices it has Techno's attention. eee, EEE, DREAMSIMP, dream dream dream, Dream in chat, hi techno :), eeeE, STOP SIMPING.

"Not denying the fashionista allegations, I see." Techno replicates. His companion huffs, and then turns back to finally get to tower up. And this time Techno allows himself to notice the shape of his legs--and no, he's not being weird, Dream's ass is on the way okay-- and the way it curls with the distinct form of a trained heel wearer. Techno has no thoughts about Dream's skintight pants nor the way the heels are beautifully integrated into his body, to the clear attention to detail Dream used to pride in, that he still has.

Something in Techno's chest aches. But it's barely morning, and they have a job to do.

"If you wanted to see how it felt to be tall," he calls back, placing a lazy hand around to make his voice sound louder. "You could've just asked for me to carry you."

SHUT THE FUCK UP, Dream whispered in chat.

[dnbcoded]

dnb falling in love with each other through fighting. the inherent intimacy that comes with fighting someone so many times that you just know how they think and move. instead of getting lost in each other's eyes, dnb become enamored with each other's fighting styles (not that either would say it out loud, gotta keep up the image of rivalry yknow)

And it goes a little like this: Technoblade gets knocked down. this, in itself, is a hard thing to accomplish.

Rarer is that he stays on the ground, though.

(Dream is on top of him. Dream is on top of him. Dream is on top of him. his thighs are pressing against his stomach, his hand is splayed above his sternum and if he was gloveless or maybe if techno had discarded his shirt he would be able to feel his heartbeat. Or maybe he does, he does, he knows it in the way he knows how the world works or the frequency at which mobs will spawn with scary accuracy. Maybe he knows and it's just too nice to mention, even though Dream isn't known to be nice, but still, Dream is on top of him.

And he makes no move to stand up).

Technoblade makes no move to stand up but he does laugh, free and unwilling, like it's ripped out of him. He can't see more than a silver of Dream's jaw from this angle, completely covered by his mask, but in the same way that he knows that Steven is eating right this second and that he's never laughed this loud before —voices, voices, the voices— he knows that Dream is smiling. He doesn't think the voices as cruel as to invent this, to trick him into a rare sense of security just for their amusement. Yet they are amused, but perhaps it is at the way Technoblade looks way too besotted for a man that was bested in battle.

“Do,” Dream breathes out, “you yield?”

It's almost hard to follow the script. He wants to tell him yes. He wants too devote his life to this: the halo of light against Dream's messy curls, his horns; the smile he knows he sports under this other smile, crocked and sinful, cracked lips he has stopped pretending not wanting to kiss (inside his mind at least), the elation of being bested but in no danger. Instead, he keeps them safe and sound, doesn't risk one of the best things in his life to vanish overnight due to an unwanted confession.

“In a hundred years, Dream.” He gasps out, throwing him off him.

(And it goes a little like this: Dream gets knocked down. this, in itself, is a hard thing to accomplish.)

[dnbcoded]

I just think that Dream is deeply conscious about body language. He knows how to make himself look confident, unafraid, greater than life. Nobody can know him better than himself, that would put him in a vulnerable position, and he can't have that.

So when he lets his arms linger after playfully hitting Techno's face, that is—tactical. It is a strategy to show that despite everything, Dream is the stronger one. Dream doesn't have to be afraid of Techno. Even when it's only the two of them inside Techno's cabin and Dream has long given up stealing what he came to steal, and is instead robbing Techno of his time, precious fickle thing in this time and age, when Dream is laughing so hard he's doubling over with laughter and his hand finds Techno's arms to not to lose balance, and he feels the soft linen of his work shirt, a thin layer separating skin from skin, even then it is a tactic. It is important. It is necessary.

It's not like Dream misses the heat of a good friend, the support. It's not that Dream has started to shift his schedule to fit at least one visit to Techno's cabin because being there doing nothing is better than figuring what the hell is wrong with that damn book or being pressed by Punz with questions he can't answer. It's definitely not because against all odds, he has started enjoying Techno's presence rather than usefulness. Liking him, even. It's not like that. It can't be like that, because Dream has a plan, and he can't involve Techno in it, who's just trying to have his makeshift, fragile peace. Dream brings trouble.

Dream is deeply conscious of his own body, and so he lifts his hands despite letting it linger longer, he takes that step back and leaves in the middle of the night when it would be smarter, easier to just accept Techno's half hearted (earnest) offer to stay the night at the couch. Dream knows himself, and he knows he can't let himself indulge. Dream knows himself, and he knows when he's failing the task.

[dnbcoded]

HELLO FELLOW DNB SHIPPER MAY I SUGGEST AN IDEA?

King Technoblade and Anarchist revolutionist Dream, are you picking up what i am putting down??

- 🧋🛼

ANON I SEE YOU... I was thinking a lot about this prompt, hence, little drabble. I actually think cTechnoblade would be the most anti-monarchy/autocracy king to ever exist, and it would amuse/confuse cDream, so this has a lot of potential to be fun.

Dream was starting to discover he was less of a prisoner and more of a… undomesticated pet, for the castle staff.

He was followed by the guards, sure, and any attempt of escaping was stopped before it even began. Technoblade’s staff was not only well trained, but truly cared about him, so he wasn’t allowed to get close to him nor leave the castle. 

However, aside from general disruption of peace —such as attempting to get rid of Technoblade, again— he was pretty much allowed anywhere and to do anything. If he wanted to eat, he could help himself in the kitchen or get a full meal by simply requesting. He was allowed to train with the guards, and talk to them freely, even though most of them just ignored any plea of being let go, and aside from that he wasn’t quite interested in them. He was let in the library to spend the afternoons he had to waste reading and writing letters. Hell, he was even allowed to send the letters. It’s like everyone had forgotten he was an actual leader of the anarchist movement in the country, that stood against everything the castle had built. 

It surprised him. But, mostly, it irked him to not be taken seriously. The wonders of being treated like a pest, at best, lasted for a week, and after that he took to hiding himself in his ‘room’ (a cell filled with pillows and carpets, more like), and wait out his sentence until he was liberated by his allies of Technoblade himself deemed him useless and tried to cull him. 

Anyway. 

— 

“I want you to explain your ideas to me,” Technoblade said, sitting in front of him with paper and a quill ready to write, a pair of thin glasses on the edge of his nose. “The ones about community management.”

“Excuse me?” Dream blinked, shocked into politeness. 

“In your speech, you mentioned ‘the people should get a hold of not only the means of production but also the distribution of punishment, thus, the power should belong to the people’. I am interested in how you arrived at this conclusion.” 

There is a silence where Dream doesn’t even know where to start.

“... Karl Marx?” He whispers at last. “I mean, I dunno, I think.” 

Technoblde raises his eyebrows. “Are you insulting my intelligence? Of course I’ve read him, they’re fine authors with even more enticing theories. But that’s all they are: theories. I want to know how you plan to introduce them into practice.” 

Dream considers this opportunity. In all of his life, he’s been told by others that at best he’s an idealist, at worst he’s a child without real purpose. And here’s the king of their country, holding him prisoner with no regard for his own safety —while Dream doesn’t think he’s stupid enough to confront him without a weapon, Technoblade is armorless—, and a genuine intent to learn. From Dream. He suddenly feels misplaced warmth. The only question left is—

“Why?” Technoblade as a ruler has no need to listen to his people. Historically, no ruler has had to worry outside of keeping a general sense of stability so that the people don’t starve and, thus, revolt. But Technoblade’s kingdom wasn’t gearing towards a violent takeover feed by starvation; the reason Dream was gathering both scholars and farmers alike was because he knew the aristocracy wouldn’t listen, and he wanted to step ahead from all their neighboring countries into establishing a democracy. Technoblade’s support could mean everything. 

“I haven’t been born into this kingdom as much as I was entrusted with it,” Technoblade says, a little sheepishly, to Dream’s surprise. “I don’t enjoy the autocracy, the lack of counsel. From where I come from, all decisions are given to a certain group of people that, while still privileged, have the town’s best interest in consideration. I would like to establish something similar in this country, but given the sheer amount of people to consider, not even mentioning the nobility that I’m sure wouldn’t be as kind to your folks as I am, I wanted to transition into what the people would like, rather than completely changing the rules overnight and risking an occupation. Am I clear?” 

Dream is still a prisoner, and despite Technoblade’s words, he’s distrusting of anyone that was brought up in a golden crate. However, this might just be his chance to do a less-murderous coup, if it ends up working up. Besides, he doubts his team is getting through the guards soon. He has time to kill. 

“Well.” Dream stars, tasting hubris in his lips and he licks them. He feels Technoblade’s vacant glare turn pointed, precise. “Since I was a kid, my father taught me that chores are better done in pairs.” 

[dnbcoded]

Studio Ghibli princess Mononoke dnb? And ctechno as Sam and cdream as ashitaka

The Boar Prince is swift and precise.

Dream doesn’t even think about taking his dagger out and blocking the attack from his left, he just does. 

This is not the first time Dream has seen him fight, nor the first time he’s been on the other end of his restlessness energy, so he’s just familiar enough to match him well. He feels his smile grow behind his own mask, a little treat he can allow himself to concentrate on not falling under the God’s prowess. 

He isn’t quite a God, though: Dream is not delusional, he holds no chance against a proper God, and he knows they exist, and they live inside the very forest he’s taken temporary residence in. He’s even seen them, sometimes, and he knows the stories from before he was banished. The Forest God had taken pity on a small orphan, and blessed him with understanding of the Hogs, and that was how the Boar Prince or Hog God was born. Still, in terms of abilities, they’re quite close. Dream loses only half of their matches, after all.

He, however, knows this isn’t as fun to his sparring partner as it is to Dream. 

“Give up,” the Prince growls, grabbing his sword fiercely and issuing three hits with enough strength and swiftness that Dream struggles to match. His red eyes 

Dream feels pathetic about how he swoons internally. He didn’t plan on developing a (small, minute) crush on the man that’s hellbent on killing him for daring to enter the forest, but he’s terribly weak for competent, pretty men, and the Prince is apparently just interesting enough to catch the attention of Dream’s heart. Not that he will ever know. Not that Dream wants to tell him. 

“Aw, so mean.” Dream whines, too sincere for their very violent match. He doesn’t want to allow the seriousness of the situation to seep into his bones, all too conscious of the horrid, blue rash on his left hand that promises actual murder. He doesn’t want to hurt the Prince back, he just wants to rest and maybe have a chat with the Forest God, see if he can clean him of the horrid curse put upon him. 

The Hog God replies with more force, as expected, and Dream can hold his own in sparring, he can, except that today his left hand is bothering him terribly and he hasn't managed to sleep well in the tree branches he’s taken to call home, and he’s just—off his game. He tries to deflect a hit straight to his core, but his wrist fails, a true hit to his side knocking his mask out. He slips and falls on his back just as the Prince seizes a hit, traps him under his dagger.

Now, when Dream would win, he’d leave a window for the Prince to escape and lick his wounds, never attacking him once he was done. 

When Dream felt himself losing, he’d run away, too aware of the bloodthirsty nature of the prince. About how he has been heard to chant no mercy when in war. He didn’t trust the feeling of misplaced warmth would hold his dagger down as it would Dream’s. Like this, his life is on the line. He can’t even appreciate the warm wind against his uncovered face. 

“Dumb waste of a warrior,” the God mutters quietly, condescension dripping from his words. Dream feels his stomach clench and he hates himself for it. “So much strength, and for nothing.” 

The blade shines against the line of his throat. They’re both breathing heavily, affected by the fight. The shine of sweat in the Prince’s throat is enticing. 

Dream has never been the smartest about ensuring his own survival. 

“I got to fight you,” he mumbles, staring straight into the boar mask. The other man’s eyes are blood-red, dangerous. “That’s enough of an honor.” 

This, for some reason, enrages him. He pulls the dagger closer. 

“That’s so lame, dumb human. Why are you simping so hard?” He snarls, the blade pressing against his Adam’s apple and drawing the smallest drop of blood. “I have half a mind of cutting your throat; that will shut you up.”

The midday light frames the Prince’s hair in a way that almost creates a halo. Maybe Dream is all too aware of his humanity, but like this, he could be convinced he’s truly a God, luring him to another place of existence. The Goddess of Death wouldn’t look this enticing even as he’s near the entrance of the Underworld. 

If he’s about to die, he might as well speak his last truth. “You’re beautiful.”

The words make the man stumble back, shock coloring the silver of face he can see. His eyes widen, truly taken aback. Dream’s survival skills finally appear, and in a second he’s dragged himself away from the man and holding his weapon again, ready to spar for his own life again. 

However, the second he blinks, the man is gone. In his absence, he can finally ask himself if he truly saw the Hog God blush, or if his mind is finally making him see things that aren’t there. 

[dnbcoded]

･ﾟ✧. ⋆ *★ ･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ— c!dreamnoblade scholar

20 - warrior - they/them

don't be a weirdo. :) if the minecraft characters didn't want to be shipped they shouldn't have been little freaks about each other.

I'm indifferent about other ships, but I don't mind it! Everything is with c!dreamnoblade endgame though.

AUs: to be done