#laughs but big q later canonized it so yeah ig. dream DID collect all his items and put it in a chest though and afterwards he and tommy

[420technoblazeit]

ik it's been contradicted in canon multiple times but im still in love with the idea that after your last canon death your body stays instead of immediately disappearing

schlatt's body was not left in the caravan. hours after the war had ended bad stopped by to collect his parts, hesitant to let even him rot in that place where everything had begun. the funeral is a trainwreck. no modicum of respect is given to the man who had destroyed so many lives and in hindsight having an open casket service might have been a mistake. puffy, who had never met schlatt, winces as they treat him like a puppet, a prop instead of a dead body. she is an outsider. too late to bear witness to the death of someone vaguely familiar and yet not at all. but she still sees the bitterness behind quackity's words and the cold anger in his eyes and decides it is not her place to say anything. her chair is empty before anyone can notice. by the end of it even his picture is marked by arrows. and the casket holds less weight than it should

the button room becomes a tomb. once the knowledge of what happened there becomes known, it is sealed and avoided. and thus wilbur is not granted the honor that even schlatt was given. to have a grave, to be worthy of remembrance. it remains untouched for days until ghostbur stumbles into it, knees scraped and bleeding. he sees a man propped up against the wall. his hair is curled and matted against the hard stone, fingertips tinged by ash where ghostbur's are stained blue. a slight smile rests on his face. there is still pity left there, in those cold empty eyes that are and aren't ghostbur's own. it is not for himself. and with a shiver he stares at his own body and remembers that cold slick sword in his own chest and tears on his face. he does not remember if it was his or his father's. ghostbur's cheeks sting. and phil calls him from outside the room before he can ponder the matter any further

there is no rain when mexican dream is murdered. a boy and a tyrant are the only witnesses to his death and it would be poetic enough if his life were a story, a cautionary tale about the dangers of pointless disobedience and rebellion. but his life had been neither of those things. and now it is simply no more. tommy has only a moment to process his only ally in this place, the only friend who had bothered to speak up for him, being murdered in cold blood before dream is picking up the body and hoisting it over his shoulder. whatever items were spilled are collected into a chest. and tommy is forced to scrub the traces of him that remain from logstedshire as dream leaves. he is alone once more. and the sound of md's laughter does not linger

jack manifold is not the first to fall to technoblade's sword. he doesn't know what he was thinking, really. no one but dream is a match for techno's skill with a blade. but standing there in the shambles of a country he had given himself to a lifetime ago, jack didn't care. he remembers lunging with a sword he had only ever used to shield himself and a blur of movement. in the end he hardly even no felt the blow that killed him. jack remembers shock freezing him in place, followed by a sense of loneliness and anger. white hot anger that techno would escape unscathed, not even knicked by a sword as jack became just another notch on his belt. the second, least impressive one of the day. and then that rage was replaced by real heat as jack fell, grasping for something to stop his descent. something that would not be there. he does not know how long it takes to get back. but when he does it is in that same place he first died and his fingernails are splintered and cracked. there is still dirt under them and the flesh at his fingertips have turned rotten. and he limps home with broken ribs and burnt skin that will not be soothed for weeks