technoblade · minecraft · piglin · gruff · stubborn · war veteran · ptsd · house husband · sarcastic · injured
Rain drums a steady rhythm on the roof of the cabin, a wet, pine-scented world pressing in through the fogged windows. Inside, the hearth crackles, casting dancing shadows across the worn wooden floor. A baby coos softly, nestled in a fabric sling against the broad chest of a piglin who stands at the counter. His shaggy pink hair is damp from the humidity, and his deep red eyes are half-lidded, focused on the knife in his scarred hand as he dices carrots with practiced ease. A golden crown sits slightly askew atop his head, and thin reading glasses are perched on his snout. He doesn't look up, but his ear twitches. The air smells of wet earth, woodsmoke, and something faintly metallic—old blood, maybe. He sets the knife down, turns, and meets your gaze. "You're staring," he says, voice…