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Dear Dream, my beloved,
I can’t remember the exact time my feelings for you turned into love rather than mutual respect. It might’ve been somewhere in between the exchanges of sword swipes and the way you mockingly kissed my hand when I helped you up from the ground that one time.
I hated it at first.
I hated knowing that somebody had that control over me; that somebody could merely touch my hand and I’d practically be putty at their feet. I hated that you seemed to be my only weakness, that the people who truly despise me- not you, with your playful threats and unyielding respect- could end up hurting you to destroy me.
And it would; destroy me, that is.
You compared us to Achilles and Patroclus the day after I read you their story- under the shade of a willow tree, your eyes glowing in the light flickering through the leaves. I entertained you at first, listening intently to your every word as you detailed our supposed parallels, but as the words kept flowing through the light air of the forest, I started to believe.
It makes sense, in a way. Two lovers, completely devoted to one another, yet forever trapped in a seemingly endless war. At first, I supposed I would be Achilles, the greatest fighter in all the lands, but the more I think of it, the more similar you are to the warrior.
Your beauty rivals everybody around you, nobody even compares. You’re divine at every point, even when you’re sweaty and exhausted with exertion, or when the pale moonlight cascades through the window, casting you in an otherworldly glow. If I didn’t know any better, I’d suppose you were the son of a goddess; too beautiful for anybody to truly comprehend, yet deadly beyond belief.
Then again, I feel as though I would be the Achilles in our story. For if I ever caught wind that you had fallen during battle, I would stop at nothing to obliterate whoever took your last breath. I would drag the man through hell and back, I would make him long for death as I never grant him his wish. I would grieve in the form of bloodshed, but at night, in the stifling quiet of our normally wheeze-filled room, I would allow myself to weep.
Then again, nobody said we had to be Achilles and Patroclus: two lovers coming to an agonizing but predictable end.
We can simply be Technoblade and Dream, write our own story of two intertwined souls who expertly perform the dance of death, yet never fall victim to the hands. Two lovers who, after seeing enough battle in their lifetime, retire to the calm of the prairie field you found last spring- where the summers are long and warm, the winters cold enough to make us cuddle that much closer at night, yet not frigid.
We need not compare ourselves to fables, for our love is worth hundreds of stories.
I would volunteer to write said story, to create lines and lines of how much I adore you, but I fear nobody would truly understand, for nobody has ever truly seen you the way I have. Nobody has seen the way you glide through bodies on the battlefield, or the way your emerald eyes shine in the morning light, or the way you look stretched out on ruffled bed sheets, a blissed out expression on your face.
People could try their very hardest to try and replicate our love, to try and dissect it to its simplest form, to try and tear it apart letter by letter until it becomes something they can comprehend, but nobody would ever succeed.
Nobody would succeed because I could never find the correct words to describe the feelings I have for you. No word in any dictionary across the modern world would ever come close to the way I adore you. My love for you runs far deeper than any words can reach, it’s ingrained in my very being.
I fear I will never find the words for even you to hear. If I were able to somehow replicate the admiration that runs through me, I would only present it to you. Only you are worthy of knowing just how deeply I feel about you.
I adore you and everything you do, never forget that.
From, Techno, your heart.
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Dear Technoblade, my love,
Something inside of me has always yearned for you. Whether it be my hands, itching for an actual competition, or my eyes, drawn to your every movement as if you hold the secrets to the universe- which in a way, I guess you do.
My entire being is centered around you- in one way or another, your body is the center of my universe. My fingers ache to hold you at every given moment, to at least try and replicate what I feel for you, deep inside my bones. My brain turns to mush when I catch sight of you, while also running wild as adoring thoughts and phrases worthy of sonnets fill the static.
Even when we were enemies, I knew there was something deep inside me- something I didn’t want to pursue in the beginning- that longed for something more. Something inside of me always wanted your attention, whether it be as a rival or- as abnormal as it sounded at the time- a lover. I would say something inside of me knew that we would end up as more, as souls trapped in an eternal dance, but I would be kidding myself.
My love for you is something I have never felt before.
I thought I had experienced love before I met you, with George and then Fundy, but nobody makes me feel the way you do. Nobody makes me want to write poems about their eyes, or weave flowers into their hair, or simply do something as casual as sitting in a grass field, only the whistling blades of grass and the chittering of bugs filling the never-awkward silence.
My love for you is something I never thought I would ever feel. I knew what love was, everybody did, but the way the lovers talk in the stories never felt close as to what I feel with you. I suppose nobody’s ever written a love like ours, an adoration so deep words can hardly begin to describe it, but then again, it wouldn’t be easy to illustrate such longing using only 26 letters.
If I could take out my very soul and demand it turn into words, demand it configure sentences worthy of describing my love for you, I still don’t think it would work. Nothing in this world could begin to document how you make me feel, nothing even comes close, but I can at least try.
Whenever your ruby eyes so much as glance at me, I feel both timid yet on top of the world. You make my cheeks rosier than I ever thought they could be, my eyes downcast in shyness at your normally harsh gaze turned soft. Yet, with those eyes on me, I could take down an entire fleet of soldiers, knowing the unyielding presence of The Blood God will forever back me.
Your hands, as calloused as they are, make me feel more safe than any shield ever could. I feel as though if you really tried, you could reach into my very existence and find the admiration I hold for you. Your touch feels like fireworks and warm sunshine all at once, an odd combination that feels perfect against my skin.
Your mouth, succeeding at making me breathless with both words and actions, is always soft against my cheeks, my shoulders, my neck, my own lips. The words your tongue twists are enough to rival even the most famous poets, yet to me, they conquer them all.
I wish I had a way with words like you do. I do enjoy writing, that much is true, but I fear I will never be on the same level as you. You seem to understand the art more than I do, as if the sentences you create are a mere extension of your being. Even the small notes you leave in books once you’re done with them are worth their own illustration.
What I may lack in the gift of writing, I can attempt to make up in the form of actions. If you notice me standing closer to you as we walk towards the potato field, attempting to savor the warmth still clinging to you from the morning bed sheets, refrain from mentioning it. If you notice me tracing the letter you gave me when you first confessed your feelings, the worn page becoming more threadbare as my fingers sweep across it, don’t tease me too much about it.
I can never fully express how you make me feel, especially in words, but I can at least try my best.
You are my everything, Technoblade, never forget that.
From, your love, Dream.