ok this has been in my drafts for a while pls bear with me
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new undertale idea 🤤
so around a year ago or so i made a post of an undertale x reader idea that y/n is an artist (singer/rapper/whatever) who fell in the underground. some of their music/merch was found in the dumpster and has gained few fans.
my new spinoff is that y/n's an artist but stuff either hasn't fallen to the dump or if it has, no one has found any. MEANINGGGGG no one knew that the human underground was actually a popular artist.
cue mettaton with sparkle eyes for the popularity
so when they get to the surface oh boy!
i like to think of this y/n to be a little older and hasn't released any new music for a while. maybe released stuff in their teens to early/mid twenties.
a couple of years maybe, but either way, y/n is well known.
news broke out on the surface that past-popular artist has gone missing, the internet broke down.
It’s update time y’all! Sorry I’ve been MIA and left y’all hanging on waiting for an update.
This chapter feels a little… slow imo, but if I wrote everything out like I have for my notes, it’d be like 50 pages long. And while I’m great at typing, I can’t do that in a week.
And also, I’m so glad I wrote down notes because I forgot like half of everything I wanted to write (I can never forget what I want to do during execution arc, or prison arc)
TW: none. But that doesn't mean there won't be in the future. Keep yourselves safe!
The three of you searched all through the night for a beehive.
That didn’t mean there wasn’t a moment without running into creepers, skeletons, zombies or spiders. You had even run into a baby zombie once or twice, and both times, Technoblade would shout “Watch out Phil!” when the baby would chase Phil. Phil would wheeze, and you giggled at the points when Technoblade’s voice would give out, or he would cough from the misuse.
And when dawn came, barely lighting the sky, the mobs, terrified of the light, fled to find cover, but Phil and Technoblade wouldn’t spare one mob.
Except for the Endermen.
They would spare the Endermen.
But still not a single nest.
You were tired because 1) you don’t normally stay up all night, and 2) from all the traveling and not taking a single break.
You were exhausted.
But Phil and Technoblade didn’t look like they were as exhausted as you, and you felt a pang of jealousy of their supernatural ability to not need sleep.
“When can we take a break?” you whined, lagging behind Phil and Technoblade as they searched their own trees for a hive. With no luck, Phil decided to answer you.
“I do think we need a break.” Phil looked to Technoblade, but he didn’t stop his searching. “Mate.”
“Break is for the weak, and your training isn’t over yet,” Technoblade pointed at you, who cried at his statement.
“But I’m tired! I don’t stay up during the night like you do!”
“Mate, we can at least take a break to eat. I’m sure we’re all hungry,” Phil backed you up, but not in the way you wanted him to.
“I need this honey farm made now, Phil. Finding the bees is step number one. How else are you going to build the farm if we don’t even have the bees yet!”
“But don’t bees spawn in birch, normal, or flower forests?” you pointed out, and both Phil and Technoblade snapped their heads your way. “What?”
“Heh?” Technoblade spat out. “You knew this and let us wander aimlessly!”
“I thought you knew!” you defended yourself. “I even thought Phil knew too…”
“It never really clicked. But yeah, that makes sense. Bees normally don’t like the cold,” Phil rubbed his neck sheepishly.
“Phil!” Technoblade cried.
“I’m sorry mate!” Phil laughed.
“Let’s go this way!” Technoblade proclaimed, making a sharp turn and headed that way.
“Techno! Let’s use the map! I’m sure we’ll find an oak forest faster than just wandering aimlessly!” Phil bellowed a laugh.
But Technoblade wasn’t listening. He continued on, leaving you and Phil behind, the two of you rolling your eyes.
“Here. I’ll go get him. Just see if there's anything around to get out of the snow.” Phil handed you a rolled up map before sprinting off to where Technoblade went.
“But I don’t know… how to read a map. And you’re gone,” you tried to get out but Phil was gone before you could finish your sentence.
“Sure. Leave the one person who doesn’t know how to fight or know how to read a map alone. By herself. In the cold morning,” you sighed, a shiver running through your body as if the world heard you and a cold, brisk breeze swept the land.
Most of the crows stayed, while some of them followed Phil.
“Whatever. I’ll circle around and see if I can’t fill the map–” you thought out loud, but stopped when you rolled open the map.
It wasn’t empty like most maps should be.
It was filled with bright colors, different shapes, and with different icons. Most of the icons looked familiar. Like the ocean monument. Or the unmistakable icon of a villager, and when you looked closer, there was a village.
“What the fuck?” you whispered. You flipped the map around, expecting to see nothing, but the icons were there with names next to them. And when you turned the map back around, hoping your tired eyes were playing tricks on you and it was actually empty, the bright, different colors and icons were still there.
Bamboozled by the overwhelming colors, you noted the glowing, green arrow pointing west.
The direction you were facing.
You tested it, turning in a full 180 while watching the map. The green arrow followed the way you looked and when you turned back around to face west, it followed once more.
You stared at the map to find the closest forest to find bees. Each color had a small, pixel icon, and one of them looked like a flower. It didn’t look that far, but then again the map was only big enough.
You turned in a circle again, watching as the green arrow followed you and when you were north-west — the direction a flower forest was in — started walking.
The arrow followed as you walked forward, and from above, you heard the crows call out.
But you ignored them, continuing to follow where you were pretty sure a flower forest was.
What else could the icon mean?
The crows followed, and in a very short time, the snow thinned gradually beneath your feet, the white giving way to patches of grass, then dirt. The air changed too, losing its sharp bite, warming just enough that your breath stopped fogging so thickly in front of you, but still a little crisp. Like a cool breeze on an autumn night.
You didn’t get much farther into the forest before fast approaching footsteps came from behind you. Snapping out the daze from the map, you turned harshly around, suddenly holding your breath in fear as to what — or who — was behind you. The crows above cawed and you assumed it was to alarm you about whatever was running your way. So you threw yourself to a tree and quickly climbed it, the compact leaves on the branches hiding you completely.
“Damn it, where is she?” Came Technoblades voice as he and Phil ran past under your tree.
“The crows said she walked off this way. She can’t be that far ahead of us,” Phil huffed as they continued to run.
“I swear, when I find her-”
“I’m right here!” you shouted to them, jumping down from the branch you were on. Phil and Technoblade slid to a stop like two cartoon characters before turning around and seeing you dust off your skirt.
When you looked at them, Phil had a slight grin while Technoblade was harshly glaring.
“I thought you were hunters-“
“What were the rules?" Technoblade interrupts, his voice low, stunning you.
“What?”
“The rules. What are they?”
“Techno,” Phil calmly butts in.
“You can’t be serious,” you said with Phil.
“I’m dead serious. What are they?”
“Phil said I could-“
“Phil knows how to survive,” Technoblade says, his voice flat but still just as pissed.
Phil hesitantly speaks up. “He’s not wrong, but mate, I did tell her to look around.”
“Then don’t,” Technoblade directed at Phil, who raised an eyebrow curiously.
“Don’t what?”
“Don’t give orders that get people killed.”
His words pulled at something in you. Like a cold chill through your blood.
“No one's out this far,” Phil rolls his eyes.
“You’re the one who left me behind,” you huffed, trying so hard not to raise your voice.
“That’s not the point.”
“Then what is the point? This whole trip was Phil training me and so you can get bees for some ungodly reason!” You started raising your voice, frustrated at the constant back-and-forth, up-and-down of his emotions.
“The point is that you don’t wander off when you don’t know what’s out there.”
Phil, fed up with being ignored when he’s partially to blame, steps in before this argument blows way out of proportion. “Ok! We’re not doing this in the middle of the woods,” Phil says calmly but firm. “She’s fine. You’re fine. No one died. Let’s keep it that way, alright?”
The silence became deafening to you. Even though you were breathing heavily and so badly wanted to be heard and show Technoblade how unfair he’s being — or has been.
“Next time, you don’t move unless one of us is with you. Got it?” Technoblade breaks the silence, his hard gaze softening a little.
Very little, though.
“Got it?” He asked again when you didn’t respond right away.
You sighed, clenching your jaw in irritation, but nodded anyway.
“Got it.”
“Good! Since we’re all alive and only mildly arguing, where were you headed, exactly,” Phil clapped, questioning you.
“There’s a flower forest this way, just past a plains biome,” you pointed north-west.
“That right?” Phil raised a brow.
You nod, a little more confident. A little less tense.
Technoblade studies you for a long second.
“Alright,” he finally says. “We’ll follow you this time.”
“Wait, really?” you asked, stunned.
“Yeah, you’re the one with the map,” Technoblade ever so slightly eased his tone. “But if you’re wrong, then we lost some daylight and we’ll never trust you again.”
There it is.
You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue, instead you did as you were told and led the way, leading them through the forest and before long, the tree line broke free, exposing the great plains.
And just past a valley, was a forest, with different flowers of different colors scattering the ground. The afternoon sun graces the lovely flowers, with shadows creating a beautiful scene under the trees.
“Well look at that,” Technoblade broke the silence, resting his hands on his hips, impressed. “You were right and we haven’t wasted half the day.”
“Is that a compliment, Mr. Blade?” you dared to tease, breaking your eyes from the scenery and up to the Piglin next to you.
“Nah,” Technoblade drew out, also staring at you with a cheeky grin.
“I think that was,” Phil chimed in, startling you a little as he snuck up to your left.
“Me giving compliments? Never.”
“I think you’re going soft,” Phil teased.
“Who me? For a woman? What a preposterous thought.”
“C’mon!” you grinned. “Denial is a very convincing look on you.”
“Let’s collect these bees before nightfall!” Technoblade shouted, completely ignoring you and descending the small mountain they stood on top of.
Phil laughed and you giggled as you followed the Brute.
When your group found the first bee, you froze for a second, staring at it like your brain had short-circuited, briefly comparing it to Journey 2: The Mysterious Island, where the world stopped obeying its own rules.
But this was starting to become normal, in a way that felt less like learning and more like remembering.
And for a good portion of the day, the two men followed bees around, finding their nests when the bees collected enough pollen.
The first nest Technoblade broke with his pickaxe angered the bees, stinging at the Brute who ran away while screaming like a little girl.
Of course, his antics made you and Phil burst out laughing.
“You have to put a campfire under it so the smoke rises and calms them down,” you explained once they found another nest, and Technoblade wasted no time in making a campfire.
When the two worked together to place a campfire under the nest, and broke it with their pickaxes, the bees didn’t attack, and stayed inside the nest as Technoblade stuffed it in his pouch.
After that, the boys continue collecting more bees, while you decide to relax a little, stopping to smell the flowers; tulips of many colors, poppies, dandelions, and some lily of the valley.
Some bees that managed to escape from Phil and Technoblade hovered around, landing on the flowers and collecting pollen around you, but you didn’t mind. You know bees don’t attack unless provoked.
The sun had reached its peak when you started to get hot, your clothes designed to withstand the harsh cold of the tundra, not the blazing hot of the warmer biome.
You could take your cape off to ease the heat, you were worried about Phil.
While Niki had let you know that Phil knew about you, you weren't sure if he knew about the wings, or the possibility of magic.
Technoblade had promised you that anyone who saw your wings wouldn’t hesitate to get their hands on them. And while you remembered Phil from the real world and his character, that was without you.
Now you are here.
And you wondered; would these wings mean more to take than Phil’s loyalty to Technoblade?
“Damn, it’s getting hot,” Phil complained, taking off his blue over-coat, and his giant, black wings snapping out like a rubber band returning to its original shape.
”Nah,” Technoblade held out, “You’re just weak. This is nothing compared to the Nether.”
“Don’t remind me,” Phil groaned, stuffing his over-coat in his pouch.
You stayed lying on the ground while listening to the hybrids, trying to enjoy the sun, but with the rising temperatures and your thick clothing, it was hard to enjoy it.
“Hey, aren’t you getting hot?” Phil asked, making you open your eyes to look at the crow hybrid.
“Hmm?” You pressed. “A little, but not too bad. I’ll be fine.”
“If you’re hot, take off your cape. It’ll cool you down a little until nightfall.”
“Oh, um,” you hesitated, tilting your head back to glance at Technoblade.
“Go ahead. You can trust Phil,” Technoblade shrugged his shoulders, acting like it wasn’t your choice to trust Phil.
You thought for a long minute, before deciding you wanted to enjoy the sun. So you sat up, unclasping the chain under your chin and shrugged your cape off.
Immediately the warmth of the air hit your wings, but it wasn’t like the tundra. Your wings sagged a little more and your shoulders slumped at the warming sensation.
And immediately, you rolled onto your stomach, sighing as the sun beat directly down on your wings.
Like this biome is where you're meant to be.
“Feels good, doesn’t it?” Phil asked without looking at you, watching as a bee collects pollen to follow it to its hive, and you hummed in agreement.
Quickly, with the sun beating down on you and the humming of bees started to make you sleepy. Before long, you had started drifting off, and the last thing you heard was Phil say, “I think she’s had enough training for a break. Let her have it, mate.”
And the warm arms of one of them lifting you up.
The birds and the bees joke will return in the next chapter (I think, but soon regardless).
Chat... I'm so sorry I'm 2 days late! Forgive me! I totally wasn't procrastinating until the very last second to write 10 pages for this chapter. nuh-uh. nada.
Anyways, happy Friday the 13th! Love this day bc I love Jason Voorhees! Which is your favorite movie of the franchise/slasher?
Anyways (again) enjoy chapter 6! We're getting to good parts in chapter 7 and 8, maybe even into 9 if 7 and 8 are too long!
Also, should I do a Valentine's day short story?
TW; None, but stay safe out there!
“Oh, um. Hello,” you shyly wave, the birds unmoving as you wave, some even cawing right in your ear. “What!”
“Chat, leave the poor woman alone!” Phil scolded at the birds that surrounded your body.
All the birds, even ones in the trees, looked to Phil, fluffed their feathers and rattled in unison. Some of them even made a hissing sound.
Phil and Technoblade physically took a step back, staring wide-eyed at the crows, then towards each other. They said nothing as they looked at each other, and you could only assume the noise all the crows made wasn’t expected.
Or very friendly.
“What just happened?”
“They basically just talked back,” Technoblade answered, huffing through his snout.
“Talked back?” You tilted your head. One crow thought you were wanting cuddles, and nuzzled into your tilted neck. You internally squealed, and audibly “awed” at the bird’s action.
Before Technoblade or Phil could answer you, all the crows — except for the one cuddling your neck — rattled again, but this time it seemed like it was focused on the one bird.
“What is going on?” you begged, lifting your head from cuddling the bird. One bird on your head hopped off, and landed on the one that you were just cuddling and that one didn’t like the one from your head being on him/her, and they started pecking at each other.
Both were cawing and whining at the fighting and you started rolling your shoulder to get them off. The two did, taking to the sky, and the others on you joined, chasing the poor bird away. You didn’t have a chance to breathe before more flocked you, covering you head to toe in crow once more. This time, however, multiple crows hopped near your head, purring loudly in your ears.
“Help,” you whispered to Phil, causing him to laugh loudly.
“Sorry mate. They don’t like me anymore.”
“What does that mean?” You practically shouted, but the birds on you weren’t bothered by the noise.
“They didn’t necessarily say anything when they rattled. It was just a noise they make when they’re angry. They did not like that they needed to leave you alone.”
“Well they better listen, because we still have training to do,” Technoblade chimed in, stomping his way to you and the crows. All of them snapped their heads towards him, and continued their rattling and hissing, synchronizing enough that it sounded like a horror movie.
“Mate, I don’t think–” Phil started to say, but when Technoblade got close enough, all the crows took off, swarming Technoblade.
“Hey– what! Stop that!” Technoblade shouted, protecting his head from the crows, who started pecking him one by one.
Phil laughed loudly, bending over and slapping his legs.
You stood frozen as the birds swarmed him, unsure of what to do, or how to help.
“Chat– stop! Stop!” Technoblade continued to shout — practically begging at this point — and tried to walk away, but the crows followed, not one crow leaving the swarm of attack.
“Mate, you’ve–” Phil couldn’t stop laughing at the scene, barely getting words out to tell Technoblade something. “Just run, mate!” Phil finally managed to get out in between laughter, and he didn’t have to tell Technoblade twice. The Brute started sprinting away from the swarm of crows, his tail — which you just noticed — in between his legs.
Phil wheezed at the sight, falling into the snow on the ground, wrapping his arms around his stomach, tears falling from his face.
You still stood frozen, shocked that the birds had the audacity to attack the Blood God, just to protect you.
What were they protecting me from? You thought quizzically.
What finally made you start cracking was the distant shouts of Technoblade from the forest, and synchronized caws from the crows.
You didn’t even take a breath before the laughter escaped you. It was loud, sudden, and incredulous. Maybe not as loud as Phil’s, but it escaped before you even realized you were laughing. Eventually, you did take a breath, but the laughter continued, creating a coughing sound.
One breath after the other, you laughed at the sounds of Technoblade in the distance, the absurdity of the crows, their reaction, and their actions, and the wheezes coming from Phil, who was practically rolling in the snow, still clutching his stomach.
“I’m–” you tried speaking, but couldn’t catch your breath. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t be laughing, but this is just so hilarious!”
“Don’t–” Phil also tried catching his breath, but continued to laugh as the shouts from Technoblade continued.
“Don’t be! He knew what was going to happen,” Phil managed to get out, but went right back to laughing. “This has been the funniest thing I’ve seen all week!”
“They won’t hurt him,” you paused to catch a breath. “Right?”
“A little bruising, but I think the important thing we should be asking is if his dignity will be alright!” Phil laughed louder at the word ‘dignity’.
Even you laughed harder, using the railing on the patio to keep you upright.
By the time you and Phil managed to catch your breaths, and the shouting from Technoblade and cawing from the crows died down, dusk started peaking the horizon. Technoblade had come back, at sundown, his sword out, fur sticking out in all different directions, with some black feathers sticking out, his shirt wrinkled from its tucked position, and his cape askew, with a snarl on his face. The crows didn’t dare descend from the trees, but that didn’t stop them from practically laughing at Technoblade.
“How’d you fare, good sir?” Phil dramatically called to the Brute, who shot him a glare.
“I pulled my sword out and they backed off,” Technoblade eventually explained, but the crows rattled at his comment.
Phil chuckled, and Technoblade didn’t meet either of your eyes, instead glaring at the crows.
“I think they just disagreed,” you spoke up, raising a teasing eyebrow.
“How would you know? You don’t even speak crow!” Technoblade grumbled, but ultimately sheathed his sword and entered the basement part of his cabin.
You, seeing as the sky turned dark, and noticing the mobs in the distance, turned to enter the house. Phil stopped you by grabbing your upper arm.
“Nu-uh, mate. Night time is the perfect time for training!” Phil exclaimed, too energized for an old man.
“But it’s dark out!”
“We wasted the day away. Nighttime training,” Technoblade explained, zero emotion in his voice as he exited the basement.
“It forces you to rely on your instincts instead of your eyes. Sometimes you won’t be able to see your opponent, but your instincts never lie.” Phil explained, descending the stairs, and returning to Technoblade’s side.
“So what? I’m supposed to fight the mobs with nothing but my fists?” You whined, staying stationary at the top of the stairs.
Instead of responding, Technoblade untied a sheathed sword from his belt, unsheathing it a little to show the glowing, blue sword that peaked out.
“With this.”
You gaped at the realization that this was the same sword he bought at the village your first day there. You descended the stairs, and walked to grab the sword, but Technoblade held it over his head.
“Not yet, though. You wouldn’t even be able to hold it.”
“How else am I going to be able to hold it without holding it?” You pushed, sticking your lip out in a pout.
“That’s why I’m here!” Phil chimed in, gleefully smiling at you. “I have my methods on how to train, while Technoblade has his own. Mine are, of course, better, but you just had a spec of what’s to come!”
“My training is just fine, I’ll have you know, old man!”
“Not old!” Phil shouted, but Technoblade waved him off.
“Let’s go.” Technoblade’s usual monotone voice sharply demanded, walking towards the edge of his land, where there was more space and where y’all had been training for the last few days.
He didn’t stop, however, when he reached the fencing. He easily hopped over his own fence, and turned towards you and Phil, who was all ready to hop the fence.
You opened your mouth to question why you were leaving the safety of the property and into the unowned, non-lit void of darkness, where mobs were lurking around every tree, hill, and mountain, but ultimately closed your mouth.
Waiting and finding out what training was going to be like tonight.
Hopping the fence, you made sure you didn’t fall on your face — or wrist — this time, and watched as most of the crows followed your little group.
The three of you walked for a while, and if any mobs — mostly zombies, sensing them from a farther distance than other mobs — came closer, Phil or Technoblade would take a few swings at them before they poofed.
Little orbs of experience points fall under the dead bodies like some reward.
If they so happened to run near creepers, Phil and Technoblade would slay them down with ease, not one creeper exploding from their attacks and tactical retreats.
If skeletons shot arrows, you were pretty good at dodging them, and Technoblade or Phil — or both — would block the arrows with their swords, or dodge the arrows, and when the skeleton was reloading, the duo would slay it just like the zombies.
It was confusing, but not at the same time. Like this was normal, and she adapted to the world's logic way quicker than any sane person.
A sane person would question everything, like how the days seemed faster, but not at the same time. Or how the skeletons managed to walk and shoot with no muscles or fat to hold them together. Or how the creatures of the world are. Or how normal it is to heal with just eating food.
Oh how that should work in the real world. You fantasied dreamily, before focusing again to the current world when an Enderman whooped next to you, but didn't attack.
“Just don’t look at its eyes and you’ll be alright. No use in attacking an Enderman if they aren’t hostile,” Phil called when he heard the whoop of it teleporting. He didn’t even look back to make sure you weren’t getting attacked, like he wasn’t an ancient relic.
“Phil,” you began, and he only hummed for you to continue.
“How old are you?” You had hesitated to ask, but pushed past the uncomfortable feeling and asked.
Technoblade called your name with warning, but Phil waved his hand.
“Woof. I stopped counting after a few hundred years. All I can tell you is the stars are completely different than the first day I awoke. Even then this world is old enough that I’m considered young. Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know. I just thought to ask because it’s been bugging me for a second.”
“Well, compared to XD, I’m young, but to someone like Technoblade, I’m old.”
(gag to this, check them out!)
“You’re old compared to me,” you whispered, but Phil heard it.
“I think you’re a different case,” Phil pointed out.
“What does that mean?” Both Technoblade and you asked, but Phil chose — or refused to — not answer.
“Phil,” Technoblade pressed, staring at his old friend with such curiosity, you wondered if he’d die like a cat too.
“We’re here!” Phil clapped, stopping in his tracks and turning to you.
“Phil.”
“Training starts here!”
“Phil!”
“What?”
“What did you mean?” Technoblade asked again.
“Mean what?” Phil tilted his head in confusion.
“‘I think you’re a different case’?”
“I said that?”
“Phil,” Technoblade sighed, exasperated. “I think your memory problems are returning.”
“I never have memory problems!” Phil shouts jokingly.
“When’s my birthday?” Technoblade pushed.
Phil was silent to think, and you giggled at the crow hybrid’s predicament.
“My point stands.”
“Doesnt matter! Because I remember why we’re out here!”
“Oh yeah old man? Why’re we out here?” Technoblade mocked, throwing his hands on his abnormally large (yet sexz) hips.
“Who’s the one with memory problems now? Training, remember!”
“I didn’t forget, old man. I was testing you!” Technoblade said matter-of-factly.
“See, I remember perfectly clearly when you guys didn’t tell me how I’ll be trained!” You interrupted.
“Bah! You’ll find out here shortly,” Technoblade waved his hand dismissively.
“Exactly! Go punch that tree,” Phil demanded, and pointed at a random, spruce tree, its bristles topped with untouched, white snow, like icing on a cake.
“Punch… the tree,” you drew out, staring at Phil, then to the tree.
“Yup!”
“Shouldn’t I need to use an axe or something?...”
“Mate. Punch the tree,” Phil chuckled, crossing his arms like a stern father.
You walked up to the tree, stared at its bark like it would magically chop itself down.
Neither Phil or Technoblade said anything, and the only sounds were the whooping of the Enderman that was still nearby, some rattling of skeleton bones off in the distance mixing with groans of zombies.
You took a deep breath, balling your fist and barely hitting the tree with any force, scared you’ll break your hand if you punched too hard.
“Mate. Harder.”
“I’m going to break my hand!” you whined, turning to Phil with a pleading look.
“No you’re not. Punch the tree!” This time Technoblade chimed in, using his demanding tone.
Practically startled by Technoblade’s sternness — or was it confidence — you reeled your hand back and shot it forward and into the tree bark with all your strength.
At first, nothing happened.
But when you reeled your hand back to throw another punch, there was some bark chipped off in the shape of your first.
“Woah,” you whispered, and once more used all your might to punch the tree. More bark broke off, and this time, your fist went a little deeper into the wood. But then there were the cracks. When you punched the wood again, more cracks appeared — and some longer ones — as your fist met the wood.
By the time you hit the wood seven times, the cracks started circling the tree, and your fist molded a crater into the wood. By hit number 15, the tree broke, but not in a normal way.
A piece of the tree popped out and a small, square, wooden block sat in its place. It hovered, like two magnets that refused to touch, but nothing about it felt weird.
This was normal, but seeing it in person instead of behind a screen?
Totally weird.
You reached for the small block, and it remained in size, and it didn’t feel heavy like a wood should’ve.
And the tree.
It floated between the stump and the rest of wood above, where the snow on the pines were undisturbed.
You wanted to make a comment, but decided not to, scared that by revealing this anomaly wasn’t meant to be like this would get you called out by Technoblade again by your lack of knowledge in this world.
Questioned who you really were.
“Uh… Where should I put this?” You turned to Phil and Technoblade, holding the wooden block out to the two.
“Here!” Phil exclaimed, pulling a pouch dyed with your favorite color out of his… pouch. He tossed it over to you and you caught it with your free hand. It weighed a little heavy in your hands, like something was in it and when you opened the cinched top to look inside, there was a wooden axe inside.
You stored the wood into the pouch and pulled out the axe, which came out with ease, but the axe was normal size.
Nanny McPhee head ahh over here! You joked internally, a smile etching across your face.
“Thank you,” you expressed gratefully.
“Now make a crafting table!” Phil encouraged.
You blinked owlishly, your mind drawing a blank.
This world didn’t have inventory.
Just belts to hold tools, pouches that have infinite space to hold blocks, food, resources in general, but no way to make crafting tables to start crafting in the normal 2x2 square.
Phil saw your blank stare, like a brainless animal finally collecting its only brain cell to create a thought, and just chuckled.
“Place that wood block down and use the axe to split it into four sections,” Phil began, and waited while you reached back inside the pouch, grabbed the small wooden block, and threw it to the floor.
Magically, as it fell, it grew back to its original size, but on the ground, and the rings inside the wood on top.
You raised the axe and swung down, splitting the large log into two halves. Moving to your right, swung the axe again and the log split in half again, creating four sections of the original log. In place were four, spruce planks, and magically once more, it stitched itself together, all four planks combining to create a crafting table.
“Useful,” Technoblade commented, and you looked at both Phil and Technoblade with amazement.
“That is so fucking cool!”
Phil laughed while Technoblade chuckled.
“Got the basics down. Let’s teach you some other crafting recipes,” Phil explained while approaching the table.
Under the table, there was a book. To you, there were very few things on the first page, but Phil flipped through it like he knew it like the back of his hand.
“This book will update as you gain more resources, but right now you probably only have a few things. To pick it up, just grab with both hands, lift it off the ground and it’ll shrink like the wood,” Phil explained, demonstrating by lifting the table with ease, and when it was lifted from the ground, it shrunk small enough to fit in the palm of his hand.
Exactly how he explained it would.
Phil handed the small table over, and you collected it, storing it in your pouch.
“Alright, basics down. Phil, we have things to collect!” Technoblade clapped, interrupting you and Phil from your teacher/student bubble.
“Right. The bees and turtle eggs!” Phil gasped, before turning back to you. “Store your axe in the pouch for now, I’ll find you a weapons belt soon enough.”
“Not before she chops the tree fully down!” Technoblade scolded. “I will not have my property value drop because there's a floating tree.”
“We aren’t even on your property, mate!” Phil laughed loudly.
“If I can see it from my property, it’s my property.”
You decided to just listen, raising your axe to chop at the next log. This time the tree broke down, pines instantly falling to the ground, the snow following a millisecond after, and the logs shaping to small blocks, falling with the pines and snow.
Immediately, you were drenched in snow, the collection of small snowflakes compact to weigh more than a horse, landing right on you, almost engulfing you completely in snow.
Your head was the only thing poking out of the snow pile.
Phil burst out laughing, and even Technoblade couldn’t hide his laughter.
“Not funny!” You pouted, attempting to shake the snow off you.
“You look like a snowman! A snowwoman!” Phil joked, holding his stomach from laughing so hard.
“Help me!” You cried when the snow was too compact to escape.
“Ok, ok!” Phil laughed, but Technoblade held up his arm to stop Phil.
“She’s got to learn how to escape on her own. Sometimes we won’t be there to help her get out of trouble.”
“You’re so mean! Just this one time, please!” You begged, this time you were able to dig your arms out and above your head.
“If you can’t get out of that, how will you be able to hold your sword?” Technoblade asked.
You thought for a second, then glared at Technoblade. “You knew this would happen. A heads up would’ve been nice!”
“And miss this masterpiece. Absolutely not.”
You groaned dramatically, but with your arms free, you were able to push the top layer of snow. You swiped the top layer enough that your torso was free, and instead of bending over to dig out your legs, you used all your strength to lift one leg. It broke free from the snow, and with the pressure of the snow no longer restraining you, you were able to step out of the snow pile and stomp up to Technoblade.
“That was… so not cool, Brute!” You shoved a finger into his chest, and with your height difference, you had to crane your neck to even look him in the eyes.
Technoblade smirked, slighting tilting his head down to get a better look at you, tilting his head in mock defense.
“What’s wrong princess? Feeling humiliated?”
“Very.” You whispered lowly.
“Well that’s too bad, because earlier you were laughing at my crisis with the crows,” Technoblade whispered back, slightly leaning down to look you in the eyes.
“You better sleep with one eye open, Brute,” you threatened.
Technoblade went to respond, but Phil cleared his throat, causing both you and Technoblade to look at the crow hybrid.
“You guys going to kiss, or what?”
Your face lit up as you shoved Technoblade away, the Piglin stumbling a little but regained his balance.
“You’re such a perv, old man.”
“Phil!”
Both you and Technoblade said at the same time, with you hiding your face with your hands and turning away from the two, and Technoblade crossing his arms, and turning his head in the opposite direction of you.
“Oh you naive children,” Phil shook his head. “I’ve been alive long enough to know that look. That look of desire, want–”
“BEES!” Technoblade shouted, his voice cracking at the end. “Bees, Phil. We need bees!”
Phil laughed again, but decided to not push it further, and followed Technoblade when he started walking again, but you stood in place, too stunned, too flustered to move.
Welcome back to HMU! We're getting to the good parts of the story! And I'm really excited to write five and up!
Please read the ending part once you're done with this chapter :3
TW: none. But that doesn't mean there won't be in the future. Keep yourselves safe!
It was just past noon when they arrived back at the cabin, and Technoblade let You slide off Carl before following after. You went towards the staircase, but a “nuh-uh” from Technoblade made you halt in your tracks.
“Right. No leaving your sights,” you groaned, but Technoblade shook his head.
“Nope, that's not it,” he clicked his tongue, finishing up with unsaddling Carl and feeding him a carrot.
“Then what ‘is it’?” You airquoted.
“It’s training time!” There was a little excitement behind his words, but not at the same time.
“Training? For what?” You gasped, looking at the brute with panic.
“Well you can’t fight–” Technoblade began, putting a finger up — even though his hand only had three fingers.
“I totally can–” You interrupted, throwing your hands on your hips in offense.
“You broke your wrist jumping my fence.” Technoblade shot back, giving you a teasing glare.
“You have tall fences!”
“Fenses will be the least of your worries on the SMP,” he replied, very unfazed by your comment.
“I–” you started but shut your mouth when you had no comeback. Instead, you pouted and looked away from the brute.
Technoblade smirked like he’d won the bickering war. He walked away from Carl’s pen, and disappeared behind the door next to his enclosure. He exited a few seconds later with a wooden sword.
You put two and two together. “Why only one sword?”
“I doubt you’ll be able to hit me even once,” Technoblade cockily replied, tossing the wooden object at you.
You clumsily caught it, instinctively wanting to cower yourself from the object. You adjusted the sword to grip the handle with both hands.
You paused, staring at your wrapped wrist.
You frowned, flexing your fingers around the handle.
Your wrist didn’t throb.
It didn't ache.
Didn’t scream at you the way it did the day before.
“Wait,” you muttered, twisting your hand slightly. “My wrist doesn’t hurt.”
“You’ve been eating?” Technoblade questioned, like you were the dumbest person alive.
“But what does food have to do with healing my bone back into place?”
Technoblade stared at you for a long minute, studying you. You felt his stare, looking from your wrist to him, watching as his face held no emotion, or anything to hint at what he’s thinking.
Then, he furrowed his brows like he was angry.
“Who are you? Really.” Technoblade practically growled.
You were stunned by his sudden change in behavior.
“What?”
“Who are you?” he pressed again, this time a little more angry. “You find my cabin out of nowhere. You say you're running from someone but won’t say who. You’re a complete mess, with nothing on your person, not even clothes to keep you warm. And you’re clueless about everything!
“Who. Are. You.” This wasn’t a question anymore. Technoblade was demanding to know who you are.
“I grew up somewhere far away from here. Away from L’manberg, away from the election, the war, the rebuilding!
“Where I’m from, you don’t just heal because you… ate. You wrap injuries. You bandage them. You use potions. That’s how it works. I’m not clueless… I just… I grew up learning some things differently.
“And I had to leave everything behind because I’m being hunted!” You rushed to explain, watching Technoblade to make sure he wouldn’t attack you, or his change of emotions on his face, or even hopefully believe you.
The words made sense as they left your mouth, yet somewhere inside you something felt off.
Silence stretched between you, before Technoblade relaxed his face.
“You’re holding the sword wrong,” Technoblade scolded, pointing to the sword in your hands.
“What?” You gasped.
“Your dominant hand goes on top while your non-dominant hand goes below.”
You looked back down to your hands, seeing as he’s right, and adjusted your hands to be exactly that, and when they were in place, looked at Technoblade again, expectantly. Waiting to see if he had any more questions — more like accusations — for you.
“And your stance,” he scoffed at you. “Widen your stance, and make sure you have balance. Keep the same foot of your dominant hand in front, while the other is slightly back.”
You followed his instructions, stepping your right foot a little wider, and bringing your non-dominant foot a little forward with the other foot back.
“Decent.” He hummed, stepping forward and walking around you, judging your stance. “Bend your knees a little bit.”
You listened once more, glancing down at your legs, bending your knees under your skirt.
“Ok, not bad. Glad your skirt is loose enough to allow this,” Technoblade practically mocked.
“You’re very nitpicky,” you whined, already tired of his judgment.
“Not nitpicky. You have to get the stance right to even think about surviving the SMP.
“Now step forward.”
You stepped forward with your back foot, pivoting the other.
“Don’t focus on your feet, focus on the weight of the sword when you step forward. If you focus on the wrong thing, you’ll get killed before you even swing.”
“This is all new to me, can you not pick at everything I’m doing wrong? Can’t I focus on one thing at a time?” You pleaded, looking over your shoulder but Technoblade wasn’t there.
Suddenly, your back foot was kicked out from under you and you fell to the floor. You let out a loud yelp as you fell, landing flat on your back in the snow. You had flung the sword somewhere the moment you lost balance.
Snow crept up the back of your collar as you stared at the sky, blinking, stunned more than hurt. The clouds drifted lazily above you, entirely unconcerned with the fact that you’d just been humiliated by a man with hooves.
Technoblade loomed into your vision a second later.
“Lesson one,” he said calmly, looking down at you. “If you take your eyes off your opponent, you’re already dead.”
“You tripped me.” You groaned, hiding your face with your hands.
“Very good. You noticed.”
“That’s not fair!”
“There is no fair in love and war,” he replied immediately. “There’s life and there’s death. Pick which one you want.”
He nudged the wooden sword back to you with his boot. “Up.”
“You didn’t even say you were going to do that,” you grumbled as you grabbed the sword and rolled onto your side and pushed yourself up, snow clinging to your clothes and hair.
“Neither will your opponent.”
You huffed. “You’re enjoying this.”
Technoblade snorted. “Incorrect. If I were enjoying this, you’d be face-down.”
You shot him a glare, brushing snow off your clothes with your gloved hands. “You’re awful.”
“Stance.”
You muttered multiple unkind words under your breath, not even the goddess of death would repeat, but obeyed, feet widening, knees bending, sword up, one hand on top the other. Your grip felt shaky now, knuckles tight around the handle.
Technoblade circled again, boots crunching softly, the snow indenting as he walked around. “Better. Still stiff. Relax your shoulders.”
“I just got kicked over.”
“That was the point. Fear locks you up, makes you doubt yourself. That’s what gets you killed.”
You swallowed, forcing yourself to roll your shoulders, eventually relaxing them slightly.
“There,” he said. “Now, step forward.”
You stepped. This time, you kept your eyes on him.
And this time, Technoblade lunged.
You squeaked, instincts screaming, and swung wildly. The wooden sword cut through empty air as he sidestepped with infuriating ease, but you didn’t fall.
He paused.
“You didn’t look away,” he practically praised. “But you’re supposed to back up when someone lunges at you. And don't close your eyes.”
“Still new to this,” you snapped, glaring at the brute.
“Doesn’t matter. You won’t know when you’ll need to fight for your life. Again.”
Technoblade didn’t wait for an answer as he lunged again, this time raising his fist to swing at you.
Instinctively, you closed your eyes and attempted to block the punch with the sword. Raising it to protect your face.
You did this for days. Technoblade would wake you up harshly — he’s started stomping around upstairs before descending the ladder — toss you an apple, and he would rush you to eat before leaving the cabin entirely, and you would finish eating.
It’s been an unwritten rule that he would leave the cabin when you would change, since you didn’t have your own room, and he once explained, “Too much work. More convenient if you just stay sleeping on the couch,” as he put his boots on to leave. And when you were done changing, you would meet him outside.
There, Technoblade would toss you the wooden sword, you would stance up, Technoblade would lunge at you, and you would attempt to block, or even swing to hit the brute sometimes.
Every time was a bust.
Today, however, was different.
Technoblade didn’t wake you up early, nor stomped around upstairs to wake you. It was like he was deliberately trying to be quiet that morning.
However, everything was too quiet. No movement upstairs, no grumbling of you waking up late. Just quietness, with the exception of the shudders rumbling outside the cabin.
That’s odd. You thought, slowly sitting up and looking around the current living area you'd been sleeping in. Technoblade wasn’t at the table, eating a baked potato. He wasn’t descending the ladder to wake you. The sun was already past sunrise, which you had to guess was probably around 9 or 10 o’clock.
As you looked around, you clocked the apple, sitting patiently on the bar table, just ominously waiting to be eaten.
Next to the apple was a small, black box.
Curious as to what it is, you got up and headed to the bar. You grabbed the apple, shoving it in your mouth and picked up the small, black box with both hands. You turned it around and inspected it.
Underneath the box was a ripped paper with some writing on it.
“‘Gone. Be back before noon. Don’t try running, I’ll find you. And don’t leave the property, or snoop around, I’ll know. I have eyes everywhere.’ Tsch, this guy is so extra,” you hum out loud, but not like anyone could hear you as you set the apple down, a bite taken out. “‘The pager has my number. Emergencies ONLY.’” You thought for a second before you started typing away.
where did you go exactly? You typed, not thinking the first — and only — number would actually be Technoblade’s. And just to see how he’d react to that message.
There wasn’t an immediate response back, and you set the pager down to take another bite of your apple. You enjoyed the apple, taking a very close look at the cabin. Since you've been there, you never really had a chance to look around in great detail, being outside all day and passing out the moment you’d hit the couch.
The cabin wasn’t clean.
Not dirty either.
Everything had its place.
It just looked… neglected.
A thin layer of dust dulled most surfaces, undisturbed except for a few places that clearly saw regular use. Shelves lined one wall, cluttered with potted plants that looked stubbornly alive despite the lack of sunlight or water. You frowned at them, suspicious, before spotting a framed self-portrait mounted above the fireplace.
You snorted quietly.
Of course.
The bar table nearby was coated in dust too, except for two clean patches. One beneath the pager. The other where your apple rested, a faint swipe mark betraying where Technoblade obviously “cleaned”.
You finished the apple, and threw the core into the composter, and just as you closed the trap door over it, the pager beeped with a new message.
that’s not an emergency.
use it for what I said. don’t waste it.
You scoffed. “You take that long to respond, and that’s all you have to say.”
You responded back with, then give me niki’s number.
Once more, you had to wait for him to message back. You drummed your fingers against the table, blowing out air as you waited for him to message back.
What felt like eternity, the pager beeped.
“‘I gave her your number. Don’t give her the cords to the cabin.’ Like I even know what the cords are,” You rolled your eyes. There was another beep with another message from Technoblade. “‘That isn’t a request.’”
Then another.
technoblade got you a pager i see. The message was from a different number. Presumably Niki’s.
not sure how, but yes. niki, right? You typed back, a smile breaking out on your face.
yup! glad he did it quickly, i was worried i was going to have to wait an eternity for him to get you a pager lol.
“Glad they know some slang like ‘lol’,” you laughed, typing back on the pager.
thank you again for the pads and tampons! can’t believe i forgot those lol!
i’m surprised technoblade even knows what those are, hes never around women that often!
not surprised. You giggled at Niki’s comment and your reply, but the moment you sent the message, you had no idea what else to message about.
You assumed Niki noticed the falter in messaging, because after a second — how is Niki responding faster than Technoblade? — there was beep on the pager.
you settling in ok? i know he can be a little intimidating when you first get to know him.
You thought for a second. Would it be too much to tell Niki he’d been teaching you to fight, knocking you on your ass like its soccer? Or about the note about him being gone?
Ultimately, you decided to tell Niki about the last few days since your first meeting.
hes way more intimidating than a ‘little’! hes a big guy, yet he manages to knock me on my ass every other second! i blink and hes behind me!
training i presume?
Niki didn’t wait for you to reply.
and be thankful its him, i heard phil is a little more intense on the training aspect. phil told me one time that hes the reason technoblade is as brutal as he is now because of him.
oh peachy! technoblade said i would meet him eventually. i hope by that time ill already be able to stand my own against techno.
apparently, and you didnt hear this from me. apparently phil already knows about you. said he already knew for a while now.
Of course Phil already knew about you. The crows probably wouldn’t shut up when they reached him.
You smiled, warmth curling in your chest in a way that surprised you. You hadn’t realized how much you’d needed this.
Someone casual. Someone who didn’t watch you like a hawk. Someone who thought you were just a human. Someone without wings to tear off.
A friend.
The familiar laughter from Technoblade — although rare — came from outside, with a new laugh alongside his.
technoblade needs my help. text you later!
You messaged Niki, before clipping the pager on the hem of your skirt; opting to wear a warm, forest-green, long sleeve, turtle-neck shirt. Its neck thick enough you looked like a frog croaking, designed to keep your neck warm. You matched it with a maroon, ankle-length skirt that had equally matching color stitching in shapes of little hearts embroidered in lines going from hem to hem.
Quickly put on your boots, you grabbed your cape from the hook and exited the cabin.
The cold outside smacked you in the face like it was a slapping competition, forcing you to blink away the immediate cold in your eyes. Technoblade and a man with a mixed-matched bucket hat walked past the gates, both laughing without a care in the world.
Well, more like you weren’t there, standing at the top of the staircase like an awkward gremlin.
The crows returned, and they were the ones who spotted you first, a large flock of them flying right to you, practically all of them landing on you, cawing loudly. Some even hung off you like you were monkey bars.
With the commotion of the crows, Technoblade and the man next to him snapped their heads to you.
The man next to Technoblade laughed loudly, while Technoblade shook his head in disappointment.
“Phil, Y/N. Y/N, Phil.”
“Nice to meet you, mate!”
In this (and last) chapter, I know I talk about messaging as paging, and while I'm not old enough to fully understand how pagers work, I read a Technoblade x reader where they wrote that the messaging system wasn't through the whispering chat in minecraft but "paging" and I liked that context
a pager in this fanfic is more like a phone from the early 2000's where it'd slide from behind the phone to show the keyboard, but also like a flip phone, where you had to type the numbers to get the right letter, but acting like a pager (did I explain that properly?)
Anyways, chapter four everyone! This chapter is a little short because its just filler, and some context for up coming chapters (and because I'm really excited to write MC and Niki's relationship dynamic ahem, bullying technoblade, ahem)
TW; Mentions of Bi-polar, but, like, once. that's it. Keep yourselves safe, please!
OK the reason I'm putting Bipolar as a TW is because it can be a sensitive topic for some people (I grew up with a bipolar mom and grandmas so I know how sensitive it can be)
“What exactly are we doing out here?” You questioned, staring at Technoblade as he jumped down from Carl.
You had jumped down after Technoblade reined Carl to a halt and told you to get down.
“I’m meeting up with someone,” Technoblade nonchalantly responds, his arms crossed over his chest, leaning against Carl, and looking around, looking for the “someone”.
“Why am I here?”
“Because you’re not leaving my sight, remember?”
You did.
That morning, you were startled awake from Technoblade climbing down his ladder, already in his normal attire; white button-up shirt, the collar not fully closed, brown braies with matching brown hose underneath, his classic red cape, and a belt holding his infinity-pouch and weapons.
“Up early. Good,” he commented, walking around the couch, and you watched him as you sat up as he opened the fridge again, throwing you another apple, and you ate in silence.
“Ok, there are some rules you’ll need to follow as long as you stay here.” Technoblade stated, staring blankly at you.
Straight-to-the-point-Blade everyone. You thought, snapping your eyes to Technoblade mid-bite.
“Ok,” you swallowed before responding.
“You’re not going to leave my sights unless you’re 1; changing, or 2; using the bathroom. You’re not leaving this plot of land unless I’m with you. Because you're on my land, whatever I ask from you, you do it without complaint or questions.
“And your wings? Hidden unless you’re inside. I don’t want whoever was after you to get wind of you being here.
“Got it?” Technoblade asked, raising an eyebrow while staring you down.
Fuck, why so strict? It’s not my fault I managed to find your land, or how mean you really are, you thought internally, rolling your eyes imaginarily.
“Yup.”
“Good. Now let’s go.” Technoblade walked past you, completely ignoring that you weren't done with your apple and opened the door.
That was why you were out in the middle of nowhere, somewhere out south-east, Technoblade telling you nothing as to why he’s meeting up with someone, or who the someone was.
Was he secretly going to hand you over to anyone who would kill you? Or maybe his enemy, who you still had no idea who it was? Why had he been so hasty over leaving?
Your thoughts were interrupted when another horse trotted towards them, breaking from a forest. It was another woman, with hair as black as the night sky, with some blonde strands near her face. Her horse was a thin, black-and-white spotted horse, its mane matching the woman's hair color.
When Technoblade noticed her, he pushed off Carl and headed the woman's way. The said woman halted her horse and jumped off, her dress skirt falling into place.
“Niki,” Technoblade calls out, giving a light smile at the woman; Niki.
“Technoblade,” she responds, but not looking at the piglin. Instead, she was staring you down, making you shift from hip to hip.
“Who’s this?” Niki asks, cutting off Technoblade from talking, and turning his head to glance at you.
Technoblade said your name shortly. “Y/N, Niki. Niki, Y/N.” Technoblade moved his hand from one woman to the other with each name.
“Nice to meet you,” you awkwardly greeted, waving to Niki from behind Technoblade.
“So that's why you wanted me to bring some… hygienic stuff,” Niki chuckles, shaking her head at the situation. “Finally got a girlfriend and can’t get anything for her.”
“Not my girlfriend!” Technoblade raised his voice, said voice cracking at the word “girlfriend”. Your face lit up red at the accusation, because let’s be honest, that doesn’t sound so bad, you thought, face burning more red at the thought.
“Oh. So let me guess; she just so happened to stumble upon your secret house, that only Phil knows about, in the middle of the night, when you were, oh I don’t know, making baked potatoes?”
The silence that immediately followed made Niki’s eyes practically bulge out of their sockets.
“No, you’re lying.” Niki’s head flicked between you two like she was watching a tennis match. Technoblade didn’t look away.
But you did. You flushfully looked off in the distance, away from Niki’s shocked gaze and Technoblade’s unamused look.
“Why?” Niki pressed. “How!”
“She was being chased by mobs. Fell jumping the fence. Broke her wrist. I threw her inside so she wouldn’t die.” Technoblade explained with zero emotions behind his words, and like he was talking about the weather.
Niki stared at him.
“You threw her?” Niki was starting to feel like she had somehow jumped to a different reality and this whole conversation was a spec on a bigger piece of bread.
“It was efficient.” Technoblade retorted.
“How’d she even get close to your place with nothing?” Niki once again pressed, this time she crossed her arms with sass.
“Classified. Next question.”
Niki was stunned at the blunt answer Technoblade gave her. It took her a second to process what “next question” she had.
“Okay. That explains the secrecy.” Inevitably, she just shook her head and looked back towards you. “It’s nice to meet you. I promise I’m not here to interrogate you.”
You looked at Niki. “That’s… good. Because I’d cry.”
“Deal,” Niki giggles. She reached into one of her saddlebags and pulled out a neatly bundled cloth sack, holding it out to you.
“I brought… necessities,” she said carefully. “Things you might need. Stuff Techno very clearly does not own.”
Technoblade crossed his arms. “I have plenty of things.”
“None of which are pads,” Niki shot back teasingly.
You blinked owlishly.
“Oh.”
Oh.
Your face went nuclear.
“Oh Notch.”
You practically snatched the sack like you were Swiper from Dora. “Thank you,” you said quickly, yet bashfully. “I—I didn’t even think about that.”
Niki gave a confused look at your comment, but decided not to ask why you wouldn’t think about normal monthly visits.
Instead, Niki leaned closer to you, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “There’s also shampoo, conditioner, soap, and something that smells like berries instead of… whatever this guy uses.”
“I smell wonderful, I’ll have you know,” Technoblade replied defensively.
You snorted before you could stop yourself.
Niki grinned playfully.
“When was the last time you bathed?”
“What’s a bath?”
Niki and you burst out laughing, even Carl snorted like he was laughing.
“What? Was it something I said?” Technoblade asked, playing dumb.
“Does your place even have a bath?” Niki giggled, and you laughed harder.
“The Blade doesn’t have time for baths!”
“Oh you poor soul,” Niki told you. “If you need anything else, even a nice, hot bath, you tell me. Don’t rely on him.” Niki loudly whispered between laughs.
You nodded quickly. “Deal.”
Technoblade muttered, “Traitors. Both of you.”
Niki wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, still smiling. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop bullying him… for now.”
“You will not,” Technoblade replied immediately.
She ignored him and turned fully to you, her tone softening in a way that made you think of a mother hen. “Seriously though. If you need more,” she gestured vaguely at the sack, “or you just have questions, you can page me. Anytime. No judgment.”
“Page?” You tilted your head in confusion.
Niki chuckled at your cluelessness.
“Message me,” she explained before she turned towards Technoblade once more, “You get her a pager soon, and give her my number.”
Technoblade raised his hands in mock defense, and Niki rolled her eyes.
“For now, have him message me if you need more or have any questions.”
“Thank you,” you responded quietly, earnestly. “Really.”
Niki nodded once, like it mattered. Then her gaze flicked to your wrist, still wrapped.
“How bad does it hurt?”
“Oh. Not too bad,” you admitted. “Better than two days ago.”
“That’s good,” Niki said. “Eat some more, and before you know, the pain’ll be gone.”
Technoblade scoffed. “I told her that.”
Niki rolled her eyes so hard you thought they might get stuck. “You’re lucky she didn’t get worse under your care.”
“I kept her alive,” Technoblade said flatly. “That’s the goal.”
You blinked, then muttered, “That bar is at bedrock.”
Technoblade paused.
Then, slowly, he turned his head to look at you.
“You’re learning,” he said, almost approving.
Niki laughed again. “Oh no. You’ve corrupted her already.”
“She corrupted herself,” Technoblade replied. “I just provided the environment.”
Niki patted your shoulder before walking back towards her horse, swinging onto its back, and adjusting the reins.
“I should head back before the others realize I’m gone. But,” she pointed at you, “if you need anything else, you tell him to page me. Or just come to New L’manberg. I’ll know.”
“That she won’t be doing. I’ll just page you if she needs anything else.”
Niki rolled her eyes once more before shrugging her shoulders. She looked at Technoblade one last time, her expression shifting just enough to mean something more serious. “You’re doing… fine,” she said carefully. “Just– don’t be an idiot.”
He snorted. “I’m not an idiot.”
With that, Niki nudged her horse forward, trotting back toward the tree line. She lifted a hand in farewell, then disappeared into the forest like she’d never been there at all.
Silence settled in her wake, broken only by the wind and Carl shifting his weight.
You exhaled slowly. “She’s… nice.”
“She is,” Technoblade agreed, mounting Carl. He glanced down at you. “You good?”
You nodded, clutching the sack to your chest. “Yeah.”
“Good,” he said, offering a hand up. “Let’s go home before you find something else to almost die from.”
You took his hand. “Wow. You do care.”
“Don’t push it.”
The ride back was… uneventful. You rode sideways like the day before, with Technoblade’s arm keeping you steady, but you were starting to get used to the motion.
There was no conversation on the way back, though. No crows came since yesterday. Even the forest was quiet on your way back; no whistling wind, no trees shaking, or snow falling from lack of wind.
You were confused as to why, and when you got a glimpse of Technoblade — acting like you were taking in the scenery — he didn’t look bothered at all.
And so many questions were running through your mind.
Why had Niki told me to eat more when talking about my wrist? Did Techno mean to call his cabin our home? Was he only saying it because it's his home? Why had he been so friendly but so cold the moment Niki offered me to visit? I know I lied about staying in L’manberg, but why had he been so rude to Niki?
The most burning question; Had he found out I was lying? I’m certain Niki lives in L’manberg, but this was our first time meeting, and it showed.
The wind started to pick up, and you couldn’t help but start itching your legs through your dress skirt, and your eyes couldn’t settle on one thing, darting between trees, looking to the sky, watching your finger itch the fabric.
“Stop looking around.” Came Technoblades monotone voice, breaking you from your thoughts.
“What? Why?” you asked, this time taking your time in slowly looking around.
“There are some left over endermen. Stop looking.” He demanded.
Your eyes froze on a tree in the distance, and a tall, black, creature was just to the left of it. It was common knowledge to not look at endermen or they’ll attack, but you couldn’t stop yourself from accidentally staring at it.
It looked like it did in the game; purple eyes, tall, lanky, and pitch black, perfect to blend into the night. But it stood out like a sore thumb in the white, wintery wonderland.
You watched for a whole second or two before Technoblade shoved your face into his chest.
“Are you stupid!” he harshly hissed. “Don’t look at it!”
“Sorry!” you mumbled, but it was muffled by your face being squished into his chest and the fabric. You could feel your heart starting to pick up from embarrassment or realization that they’ll get attacked by the enderman, you couldn’t tell which was the reason.
The enderman didn’t screech though, it didn’t teleport forward to attack, and Technoblade didn’t kick Carl into a canter to escape the mob.
However, that didn’t stop the enderman from teleporting nearby, it’s familiar fwoop as it teleported, and you felt Technoblade lean over with you to avoid looking at it. You did hear him curse, and carefully kicked Carl to go a little faster.
The sounds of the passive noise of the endermen faded as Carl led you away, and the wind started settling with the rhythm of your heartbeat, as if it was listening.
“We’re clear.” Technoblade let you go, but you still didn’t dare look around. Instead, you watched as you messed with your skirt.
“Don’t you know it’s common knowledge not to look endermen in the eyes? Or did you grow up under a rock?” Technoblade practically spit, and it startled you.
Fuck, is he always bi-polar? You woefully thought, still messing with your skirt.
“No. I didn’t mean to look at it,” you quietly replied.
You heard Technoblade sigh before speaking up, “You’re lucky you didn’t look directly at it, or else we would be in a different situation.”
“But–” you snapped your mouth closed, opting to not tell him you did, in fact, stare at the enderman.
But why hadn’t it attacked?
braies are like shorts, but more like underpants/breeches, during medieval times, and if you didn't know, it was common for men to wear hoses (basically stockings) and the braies together, and I like the look of it and think that technoblade would wear something like that (since his legs are like Mr. tumnus from "the lion, the witch, and the wordrobe) to be comfortable.
this has been historical facts with annony
Honestly, I hope I did Technoblade's reaction justice in this chapter, I feel like I half-assed this but also not at the same time.
maybe I might do some Technoblade POV sometimes, but I have to keep you guys guessing on what's to come >:3
I am begging literally begging for someone to please write a fic about CaseOh where his girlfriend dresses up like Chris Redfield for Halloween. Please🙏🙏🙏🙏 I will do anything😭
I got sick (COVID AND the flu) while on my cross-country trip, and I'm still recovering from it (since I've never had COVID, so it hit harder on me) but chap 3 was already finished, I just had no energy to edit and post before yesterday.
TW: as always, there's none in this chapter, but that doesn't mean there won't be in the future. Keep yourselves safe, please.
A soft chime from outside over rules all the noise inside, and you flinch at the ring of the bell, but Technoblade didn’t.
“It’s noon. I got to buy some more stuff before nightfall, but I don’t really want you roaming in the snow with just a blanket,” Technoblade cuts himself off, an idea popping in his head. “Actually, let’s go.”
Technoblade leaves a few emeralds on the table for the villager, and pulls your chair out, offering you his hand, way more eager than your conversation before. You take his hand and stand up, following as he leads you to the tavern doors. Before he opens the door, Technoblade takes the blanket, and throws his red cape over your shoulders.
“Techno?” You question, stunned at his action.
“Cold doesn’t affect me, remember? This way I can get what I need, get your clothes and get back to the cabin before nightfall.” Technoblade said it so matter-of-factly like he solved world hunger.
“Alright,” you give up, reaching for the door before Technoblade swats your hand away. He says nothing as he opens the door and lets you exit first.
At first, the cold hits you face, but with the overwhelmingly large, red cape engulfing you, you don't feel the cold rush under the cape and through your unfitting clothes.
“I look like a vampire who doesn’t know his own size,” You complain, grabbing at the cape and lifting it up off the ground like a princess dress.
“Nahh, you're just short,” Technoblade teases, steering towards the weapons smith, you following.
“Short? I’m not short! You’re a giant hulk of pink fur!” You bite back, walking with the cape like a ball gown.
“Who doesn’t get cold,” Technoblade sing-songs, taking longer strides to prove his point.
“Stop that! I’ll have you know I’m considered tall from where I’m from!”
“Oh boy, can’t imagine how short the others are.”
“I will climb you,” You threaten.
“That is such a short person response!” Technoblade chuckles.
“Uhm, how can I help you today?” The weaponsmith asked when you guys got closer, watching you banter with Technoblade.
“How much for a diamond sword?” Technoblade answers, digging into his seemingly-never-ending pouch of emeralds.
“Oh, 28 emeralds. 34 for an enchanted one,” the villager tried upselling. You internally laughed at the poor effort of the upsell.
Technoblade would never buy an enchanted sword—
“What enchantments?”
Technoblade, be for fucking real.
“Sharpness four and Unbreaking one.” The weaponsmith looks proud.
“Sure.”
Technoblade?! Your eyes practically bulge out in disbelief. The weaponsmith took the emeralds, and safely handed him the glistening, diamond sword. Technoblade weighed it like it wasn’t real and then sheathed it away on his belt, next to his netherite sword and axe.
Technoblade leads you away, and when you were far enough, you whisper-shouted, “An enchanted diamond sword! For 34 emeralds! Are you insane, you could’ve gone cheaper and enchanted it later!”
“Getting experience and having the chance of Sharp IV is too much hassle. I’d rather spend the emeralds than do the grind,” Technoblade shrugged, walking up to a farmer.
He asked the same question, and Technoblade asked if he had any apples or potatoes to sell. Of course the farmer did, and Technoblade spent another 24 emeralds for 48 apples — why so many — and 36 potatoes — again, why so many!
“How many emeralds do you have!” You whisper-screech when he tucks the bulk of apples and potatoes into the same pouch he keeps fishing emeralds from.
How was it not spilling over!
Is he Nanny McPhee!
“A lot,” Technoblade emphasized, refusing to elaborate.
“I’m pretty sure you’ve spent more than 64 emeralds in the last 2 hours,” you hiss. “A quarter of which were for my clothes.”
“Clothes are important.”
“Not that important!”
“Living in the tundra? I think they’re pretty important.”
You threw your arms up in defeat, and surprisingly, your wrist didn’t hurt as much as it did earlier that morning.
Huh. Wonder why.
Maybe Technoblade has a secret healing ability. You internally joke.
You guys continue to two other shops; a butcher — when asked which meats you eat, you deny pork, a habit you picked up in game after Technoblade’s death — and a cleric — to get 12 enchantment bottles for 12 emeralds.
In totally; he spent a stack and 34 emeralds in 4 hours!
The sun started to glare over the horizon by the time the tailor fetched you, having finished your clothes at the perfect time.
The tailor ushers you toward the changing partition when you and Technoblade walk into the shop, practically buzzing with pride. Technoblade leans against the nearest wall like he was preparing to be disappointed by cloth.
Behind the curtain, you were handed the first outfit: thick, insulated pantyhose — surprisingly soft — and a long-sleeve, medieval-style winter dress dyed a rich emerald green. The skirt fell just above your ankles so you wouldn’t trip, and the sleeves ended in elegant tapered cuffs.
You strip yourself of your old clothes, slip into the outfit — the tailor even included small, yet big enough, slits in your shirt for your wings to slip through — tie your boots up, and step out.
Technoblade takes one look and absolutely short-circuited.
“You… bought a dress,” he said, voice flat, as if a fashion crime scene was unfolding before his eyes.
You blink.
“I like dresses?” You ask like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Shouldn’t you have asked for– oh I don’t know– pants? Something you can fight in?” He gestures at you like you had presented yourself for war in ball attire. “How are you supposed to fight in a dress?”
You square your shoulders, scoffing.
“I’ve climbed trees in a dress. This is nothing.”
Technoblade just stared at you, having nothing more to say.
Except for an, “Unbelievable,” under his breath.
The tailor snorts behind a polite hand, then passes you more pieces to try: a few more dresses, long skirts with sturdy hems for ease of movement, several long-sleeve tops with slits in the back — some even with high collars to keep the tundra winds off your neck. One particularly pretty piece: a decorative under-the-bust corset with snow-thread embroidery.
“For outfits that deserve flair,” the tailor said, “free of charge for my first winged hybrid in a very long time.”
“You’re enabling her,” Technoblade informed the tailor.
“A woman deserves fashion,” she replied cheerfully.
The tailor folds everything: ten sets of clothes — a mix of different dresses, winter-attire shirts, and skirts thick enough to prevent frostbite — gloves, scarves, the promised cape of your own — specially designed to keep your wings warm but part when you need them — and stores them in a large paper bag.
The tailor also included a neatly-folded bundle of undergarments: three additional pairs of insulated pantyhose, and ten soft sets of matching bras and underwear meant to hide what shouldn’t be seen. “Included with the price,” she chirped knowingly.
Eventually, you and Technoblade leave the tailor's shop, waving goodbye gleefully — still in the same shirt and dress you tried on earlier — your cape completely hiding your wings, but tailored to your size and height — completed with your favorite color. The cold didn’t affect you now.
“Come back soon!” The tailor waves as you walk towards Carl.
“Of course!” You shout back from a distance. Technoblade rolls his eyes while letting out a groan.
“Next time, you’ll purchase your clothes — see how expensive it is with your own currency.”
“Oh you won’t see the doorway with how much I’m going to buy,” You tease, waiting patiently as Technoblade unties Carl from the post.
You went to vault Carl like you were once taught, but failed to realize; your dress wouldn’t let you straddle Carl like normal.
“Regretting picking a dress now, huh?” Technoblade mocked.
“Never. I just— never sidesaddled a horse before,” You sheepishly explain, stepping down from Carl’s stirrup.
Technoblade chuckled, shaking his head before vaulting onto Carl first.
“It’s in the name, Princess Face-Planter. I’ll help you up — just turn your back to him and jump up.” He offered his hand, steady and sure.
You accepted it, gathering your skirt just enough to free your legs. You hopped up, back toward Carl, and settled neatly across the saddle with both legs draped over one side, surprisingly smooth for your first try.
“It’s— a little uhm, weird.”
“It is at first, yes. But get used to it because you chose a dress!”
“Next time I’ll ask for a split,” you pout, clearly unaware of the mistake you made when asking for dresses and skirts.
Technoblade snorts and ushers Carl with his heel, the steed trotting as Technoblade guides him back towards the cabin.
“It’s a little later than I wanted to leave, so let’s hope we can make it to the cabin in time,” Technoblade sucks in a breath through his teeth and tusks.
“Not if we trot,” you point out, cranking your neck to the side to look at Technoblade.
“I don’t know,” he hums.
“You’ve never ridden side-saddled before. Trotting’s one thing — galloping like that is… a good way to fall on your ass when you’re inexperienced.”
“Would you rather deal with mobs?”
Technoblade sighs. “Not really.”
“So let’s gallop, I think Carl can take it, considering he barely broke a sweat earlier.”
The sun started to slowly set, but at this pace, you guys would still be out by the time early night hits before you even reach Technoblade’s cabin.
Technoblade clicks his tongue, eyes narrowing with the kind of calculation he usually reserves for battle strategy. He sighs like a man accepting his fate.
“Alright,” he says finally, “but you’re going to hold on. Tight. Side-saddling feels stable until the horse actually moves.”
You open your mouth to argue — obviously you know how to hold on — but the moment you shift, your hips slide to one side and you nearly lose your balance before he even nudges Carl to gallop.
Technoblade shoots you a flat look. “Yeah. Exactly.”
He adjusts your position, swinging one arm across the front of you to reach for the reins. The motion pulls you securely against him — basically flushed against him. You could feel you face heat up at the feeling of his body, his Piglin bloodline warming you up almost instantly.
“You keep your knees together and as close to his body as possible,” he instructs. “If Carl lunges or turns, don’t fight it. Just move with him with your hips.”
You nod into his chest.
Technoblade leans forward slightly — Carl responds immediately, bunching his muscles underneath you.
“This is going to feel very different than last time,” he warns, his chest rumbling in your ear from talking. “Do not let go.”
Before you can say “I’ve got this”, Technoblade kicks Carl into a gallop.
The world tilts.
Your weight swings outward — the lack of a leg on the other side nearly throws you right off. A startled gasp rips out of you, and you instinctively wrap your arms around his torso — you couldn’t touch your hands together around his back — like he’s the only thing keeping you alive — because suddenly, he is.
Technoblade reacts instantly, tucking his left arm close to his body, keeping you pinned against his chest while he steers with both hands. Your side-saddle balance finally syncs with Carl’s gallop — your hips rocking left and right with each powerful surge of Carl’s gallop while you cling tighter, moving with Carl instead of against Technoblade.
You don't dare move your head to watch the forest go by in fear of falling off — but also from embarrassment of how giddy you feel basically hugging Technoblade. Rocking on Carl to properly keep yourself steady and uninjured with Technoblade feels weird, but if he doesn’t seem weirded by it, then you’ll keep those unholy thoughts to yourself.
You did eventually open your eyes to slightly peek out your burrowing head from his chest to check how much daylight you two have left. The sun had gone down faster than you’d realized, and dread started seeping in your bones.
“Will we make it to the cabin in time?” You shout over Carl’s panting and the wind rushing by.
“Yes!” You hear him shout from his chest, amazed he could hear you.
Relief eases your worries a bit.
Especially when the trees thinned and the lights around the cabin shone through the darkness from the corner of your eye. Sighing, you relaxed into Technoblade’s chest a little more, and the mobs started spawning just as he eased Carl into a trot.
Technoblade tapped you to let him go, and you did, grabbing the horn with one hand and resting your injured hand in your lap. Technoblade swung off Carl, opening the gate and guiding both you and Carl inside the safety of his land and towards Carl’s pen.
As Technoblade fed Carl carrots, you slipped off and smoothed out the skirt of your dress. You stood there awkwardly as Technoblade continued feeding Carl some carrots. He didn’t look towards you when he spoke up.
“Go on, say ‘thank you’ to Carl,” he blatantly told you, and you twitched your head in confusion.
“Thank… the horse?”
“Carl. And yes.”
“Yes, I know his name’s Carl, but like– why?” you tilted your head while raising a brow.
“He gave you a ride so your legs wouldn’t freeze off, and I think it’s the least you can do after you insulted him earlier,” Technoblade replied flatly, glancing at you with a knowing look.
Was it really a knowing look if you didn’t know what he meant behind it?
“Uh– Thank,” you cleared your throat to push past your confusion — and slight uncomfortability. “Thank you, Carl.”
Technoblade seemed to take your gratuity, before answering, “Go on inside, I’ll be there shortly,” and you are already turning on your heel before he can even finish.
The warmth inside the cabin never seemed to have diminished since the morning, and you couldn’t help but wonder if there was some Minecraft logic overruling logic.
Like the lanterns. They still burn even without the oil necessary to keep it burning.
Or how the cabin was still warm throughout the day when the fire probably went out by midday. There was no hint of insulation around the cabin.
Or the fridge. How the hell did Minecraft have fridges without electricity? How did he even craft it to begin with?
The concept of things running like it’s normal makes you dizzy.
“Think outside the box, now,” you whispered as you stepped in, taking your boots off. Slugging off your new cape, shuttered at the slight chill on your wings— Notch you’s really got to get used to them. Hanging the cape on the hook next to the door — opposite of where the ladder leads up — you head towards the couch, plopping face first into it.
The door opened and you assumed it was Technoblade. You were right as he grumbled at you.
“Could’ve kicked the snow off your shoes before entering.”
You thought for a second. This isn’t your own place anymore, you're a guest now — or maybe prisoner? — regardless, you definitely have to treat Technoblade’s cabin with a little bit more respect than your own.
“Sorry,” you mumbled into the couch, twisting your head to look at the Piglin.
He had slugged his cape off, hanging it on the hook over your own cape, and kicked his boots off. His hooves thudded on the wooden floor as he walked around you, and once again lit the fire with flint and steel.
Once he was done and the fire had started, he made his way to the small kitchen, opened the fridge, stuffed all the apples and potatoes into it, then closed the door. When he turned back around, he was holding an apple, and a baked potato.
You raised an eyebrow at him.
“Food.” He noticed your look, and stated it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
It was.
“I see that. Am I going to eat both? Is that why you’re holding both?” you chuckled slightly at the obvious fact.
“Just the apple. Your stomach might get upset from eating a fruit, which is mostly acid, and a potato, which is a starch. Neither work together.” Technoblade handed you the apple as he explained, biting into the potato once you had the apple in your hand.
“How do you know this information!” you laughed.
“Doesn’t take a genius to know,” Technoblade paused. “I might or might not have experience.”
“Technoblade!” you threw your head back as you laughed a little louder.
“I said maybe!” He defensively shot you.
“Well, from where I come from, this is considered a healthy, balanced, dinner.”
“Ha ha,” Technoblade mockingly laughed. “Don’t get used to it.”
“What does that mean?”
“Nothing,” Technoblade quickly responded — too quickly — taking another bite of his potato.
You took a cautious bite of the apple. You hadn’t realized how delicious Minecraft apples were. The perfect mix of juicy, sweet, and cold crisp with each bite. Enough to have you roll your eyes closed in delight.
For a few minutes, the only sounds were them chewing, the low crackle of the fire, and the wind whistling as it brushed against the cabin exterior walls.
“For a terrifying anarchist,” you began quietly after swallowing a bite from your apple, breaking the silence. “You built a nice place.”
Technoblade huffed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
You smiled into your apple.
You finished the apple slower than you meant to, savoring it until there was nothing left but the core. When it was just the core, Technoblade offered his hand to toss the core. As he walked towards a barrel — more like a composting bin you just noticed — you felt your shoulders sag and your eyelids drooping, the tension of the day catching up to you all at once.
Technoblade noticed.
Of course he did — he was built to observe.
“You’re tired,” he said, tone flat but observant.
“Am not,” you replied automatically, even as you yawned hard enough to make your eyes water.
“Riveting argument.”
You huffed, but ultimately, he was right, as you felt like falling asleep sitting up. Instead, though, you laid on your stomach and felt your wings — were you controlling them now? — extend to each side of the couch, just like the night before. You tucked your hands under the couch pillow, your wrist only dully throbbing, but you didn’t care to think as to why it didn’t hurt as much as it did that morning.
Technoblade moved around the cabin, quieter now. He checked the door latch, glanced out the window once. The fire popped gently, sending sparks up the chimney, continuing to lull you deeper to unconsciousness.
Technoblade said nothing as he walked past the couch and to the ladder.
“Goodnight, Technoblade,” you mumbled sleepily.
You were out before you heard him whisper a goodnight back, and the creak of the ladder as he ascended to his room.
By the time Technoblade had closed the trap door above the ladder, and the cabin settled, your breathing had evened out, slow and steady.
guys, I hope this chapter makes up for me being gone during the holidays, and for missing yesterdays post.
Y/N is the guard who worked the week before Mike. She didn’t quit; she disappeared, but she left behind tapes (similar to "Phone Guy" from the games) for whoever came next.
Hope you enjoy!!!!
The air in the security office of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria felt like it was made of lead. It was 3:15 AM. The flickering fluorescent lights hummed a low, nauseating B-flat that vibrated in Mike Schmidt’s teeth.
Mike sat slumped in the swivel chair, his eyes stinging from the grainy glow of the monitors. He had already checked the East Hall. He’d already seen Bonnie’s shadow looming near the supply closet. But then, tucked behind a stack of moldy "Employee of the Month" flyers in the bottom desk drawer, he found it: a VHS tape with "Y/N - SHIFT 1" scrawled across the label in shaky, frantic handwriting.
He slid the tape into the player. The machine groaned, swallowing the plastic with a mechanical crunch.
~The Tape: Shift 1~
The screen exploded into a static-filled haze before settling on a shaky, hand-held shot. Y/N was holding the camera, her face partially reflected in the glass of the office window. She looked younger than Mike, with eyes that weren't tired yet—just curious.
"Okay, so... the career counselor didn't mention the smell. Or the fact that the rabbit moves when you aren't looking. My name is Y/N. If anyone is watching this... I’m not crazy. I’ve started recording because the logs don't have a space for 'The bear looked at me like he knew my middle name.'"
Mike leaned in, his heart hammering against his ribs. On the tape, Y/N panned the camera toward the stage. In the infrared light, the animatronics looked like towering, prehistoric monsters.
"I think they’re lonely," Y/N’s voice whispered from the speakers, sounding hollow. "I played the music box for them tonight. Chica... she stopped at the door. She didn't attack. She just tilted her head. Like she was trying to remember a song she forgot a long time ago."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Mike hit pause. He looked up at the monitor for Cam 4A. There was Chica, standing in the exact same spot Y/N had filmed weeks prior. The realization chilled him: Y/N hadn’t been fighting them. She had been talking to them.
He fast-forwarded through "Shift 2" and "Shift 3," the footage getting darker, the audio more distorted. Y/N’s voice was changing. The curiosity was gone, replaced by a desperate, maternal sort of grief.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The last tape was different. There was no camera movement. It was set on the desk, pointed toward the hallway. The office was dark, save for the red blinking light of the "Power Low" warning.
"Mike? If you're the one who got the job after me... I'm sorry."
Mike froze. She knew his name? No—she was guessing. She was talking to the ghost of whoever came next.
"They told me his name was William. The man in the suit. They showed me, Mike. They’re not monsters... they’re just trapped. I’m going to try to lead them to the back. To the room that isn't on the map. If I don't come back to the desk... don't come looking for me. Just watch the tapes. Learn how they move. Stay alive."
On the screen, Y/N stood up. She walked toward the dark hallway. She didn't have a flashlight. She didn't have a taser. She reached out her hand as a massive, fur-covered shadow loomed over her.
"It's okay," her voice echoed, barely a whisper. "I'm here now."
The tape cut to static.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The silence in the real office was deafening. Mike stared at the "NO SIGNAL" screen, the blue light washing over his terrified face. Suddenly, the door to the office creaked.
He didn't check the cameras. He didn't close the door. He looked down at the desk and saw a small, hand-drawn picture tucked into the tape sleeve. It was a drawing of a girl and five children sitting at a table with a yellow cake.
Below it, in Y/N's handwriting, were the words:
"They're still waiting for the party to end."
A soft, metallic scraping sound came from the vent above his head. Mike didn't flinch. For the first time, he didn't feel like a security guard. He felt like a witness.
Chapter 2 chat! Welcome! Sorry its a little later at night (at least for me) I got carried away with building my MC city :3
Also, I know some people don't like the use of "Y/N" but I think this'll be the only time I do (eventually Technoblade will give you a nickname ;})
No TW this chapter, but again, be warned; future chapters might not be subject to everyone, but I will add TW when it's necessary.
When morning peaked over the horizon and into the house, you grouchily fluttered your eyes open.
For a hot minute, you believe you're at home, your phone alarm just about to go off so you can get ready for work, memories of the night before were just a dream. Instead, there’s a pulsing pain in your wrist where your head is sleeping on it, and as you move, the weight on your back shifts as they seem to move on their own.
The wings.
Right. You think. You sit up slowly, instantly regretting every movement. Your wrist pulses so hard you think you're going to be sick, and there’s a burning ache in your back, spreading all the way through the wings as you shift. And your head — it just pulses worse than your wrist, and you have no idea why.
Slowly, you manage to look around. The fire had gone out sometime during the night but the cabin was still warm. The sun was peaking over the trees. There was a small kitchen with a smoker, furnace, and a blast furnace along one wall. Barrels along another next to the furnaces, merging into a bar table with matching color stools under. Lastly, Technoblade was nowhere in sight.
For a moment, you wonder if you dreamed of him too — but then you spot the huge axe resting on the bar table, its blade polished enough to reflect the sun.
“Finally up,” his voice rumbled from behind you.
You snap your head towards his voice, watching as his hooves hit the ground with a loud thud.
“Finally?” You question, raising an eyebrow. “Dawn just started.”
“Late start. You’re a heavy sleeper,” Technoblade comments, walking around to the small kitchen. He opens the fridge — how the hell does Minecraft have fridges? — and grabs a cooked potato.
You caught a glimpse of more potatoes covering the entire shelves in the fridge.
“Do all piglins like potatoes or do you have an addiction?” You ask when he turns around.
“Do all fairies have wings, or is it for aesthetics?” He shot back, staring intently at you.
You turned your head in a pout, until Technoblade said, “catch,” and you turned your head just in time to see that he tossed a piece of bread in your direction. Instead of catching it, you raise your arms to protect yourself. The sudden motion of raising your arm to defend yourself, sharp, blazing hot pain through your body, a reaction to the broken — it’s definitely broken — wrist moving. The bread lands on the couch, but you don’t care as you audibly sob, bringing your wrist to your chest, cradling it in hopes to ease the pain.
Technoblade gestures to your wrist. “Let me see it.”
You recoil slightly, protective, but his brow lowers like you're making the dumbest possible choice in history. Very slowly, you extend your injured arm.
Technoblade crouches, grabbing your elbow, his hand only having three fingers, and surprisingly, he carefully inspects the bandage. You hold your breath the entire time, afraid to move, afraid to speak, afraid he’d hurt your wrist more than it already is.
“It’s swollen,” he observes.
You offer the most nervous attempt at humor you've ever produced: “Haha… yeah. That’s what happens when you land on your wrist wrong.”
He looks up at you.
Not amused. Got it.
You just clear your throat.
“You did a horrible job at wrapping it,” Technoblade chastised.
“Oh, I’m sorry, I don’t usually injure myself enough to know how to wrap a broken wrist.” You roll your eyes, growing frustrated at his nonchalant comments.
Technoblade looks like he’s about to say something but then closes his mouth. Instead, he unwraps your wrist and starts to properly wrap it. The way he was doing it caused you to hiss and whimper in pain, occasionally flinching and trying to move your hand back.
“Hold still.” Technoblade demands.
“Well it hurts, be more gentle,” you remind him.
“Too bad, it’s not my fault you broke your wrist.”
It was your turn to open your mouth but say nothing. Instead you turn your head away and let the Piglin do a better job at wrapping your wrist than you did.
“There,” he says, sitting back on his hooves. “Try not to fall on it again.”
“I didn’t mean to, I was busy trying not to die,” You mutter.
He stands, ignoring your comment, rolling his shoulders as if helping you was some kind of tedious exercise.
“You’re lucky you didn’t shatter it. Humans are fragile.”
You click your tongue, wings expanding slightly on their own. “I’m not– well– entirely human.”
Technoblade just stares at you. “Right. The wings. I didn’t forget the giant neon sign on your back.”
You blush, tugging the blanket up instinctively like it could hide the fuzzy wings spilling from between your shoulder blades.
Technoblade snorts. “Relax. If I wanted to skin you, I would’ve done it while you were asleep.”
“Why would you– Why would you say that?” You stammer, horrified.
“Setting expectations.” He shrugs. “You’re safe. Try to appreciate the hospitality.”
You would appreciate it — if his hospitality didn’t sound like a threat.
Technoblade stands up, and turns towards the fireplace, pulls out a flint and steel from his pouch, and clicks them together to create a spark. He did it a couple of times before the charred wood caught the hot metal, creating a small warmth of fire before it roared larger. He says nothing as he stands and moves toward the door, grabbing a pair of boots and slipping them on.
“Why do you wear boots?” You blurt, unable to help yourself.
He pauses long enough to glance over his shoulder, tusks catching the firelight.
“Do you know how exhausting it is to clean a horseshoe every day?”
That catches you off guard. You blink owlishly.
“Horseshoes?”
“Hooves. Horseshoes. Same difference.” He grumbles. “Point is — boots keep the dirt out. And the frost. And the blood. It’s all very practical.”
“And why not a coat?”
“You already figured it out. Piglin.” Then, after a beat: “We run hotter than humans. Frost doesn’t bite as easily.”
You blink.
“Lucky.” You eventually mutter.
“Not if you want to blend in.” He jerks his chin at your wings. “You’ve got the worst end of that problem.”
You shrink more into the couch, tugging the blanket closer around yourself. He sighs — short and annoyed. “Get up. We’re going to a village.”
Your eyes widened. “A village? Why? Won’t they… stare?”
“They will. Don’t start crying about it.” He opens the door, cold wind billowing inside. “Bring the blanket if you’re that scared. And I guess you'll have to find out.”
You scramble up, careful with your arm, and follow him. Your wings twitch under the blanket — again, like they have a mind of their own. The moment you step outside — your shoes still on from last night and completely ditching your coat — the cold gnaws through your clothes, and you shiver violently.
Technoblade eyes you sideways. “You’re going to freeze before we even get to the gate.”
“Well not all of us can be walking ovens,” You snap through chattering teeth.
One corner of his mouth quirks upward — almost a smile, like he’s humoring the idea of one. Then he reaches out suddenly. You flinch like he’s about to grab your throat but instead, he adjusts the blanket around your shoulders, tucking it snugly like he’s packaging a burrito.
“There. Stop whining.”
“I wasn’t whining,” you sputter.
“You ever ridden a horse before?” Technoblade asks over his shoulder, completely ignoring your comment, glancing at you as he approaches a golden brown horse.
“It’s been a few years,” You comment, “why?”
“Can’t walk all the way to the tundra village with your,” Technoblade pauses, “condition, captain obvious.”
You stutter again, going to defend your — very obvious — question, but your words fall short when you watch as Technoblade guides his already saddled up horse out of its pen — built along the front wall of his cabin.
He led the horse — Carl, a name you could never forget — straight towards you. Technoblade dropped the reins and you went to mount the horse, but didn’t get one step in before Technoblade’s hands grabbed your waist and he lifts you clean off the ground — like you once again weighed like nothing — and plops you on the back of Carl.
“Wha— I could’ve done that myself!” You protest.
Technoblade chooses to ignore you and swings on Carl behind you with expertise. He reached around to grab the reins, and the sudden closeness caused you to blush, and shiver uncomfortably.
You hug the blanket closer in shyness, before jerking slightly when Technoblade kicks Carl into a trot.
“Don’t fall off,” Technoblade comments as you grab the horn of the saddle with one hand to balance yourself.
“As long as you warn me next time.”
Carl’s hooves thud against the snow-packed ground, steady and rhythmic. You lean forward slightly, trying to keep yourself balanced while also not thinking too hard about the warm wall of muscle seated directly behind you.
Above you, a series of caws split the air.
You glance up — black shapes circling overhead, wings gliding against the bright blue sky.
Crows.
One dives towards you and lands dead-center on the saddle horn.
You tilt your head curiously. Crows from your world don’t really approach you, no matter what food you throw for them. You've always wanted to have a friendly crow — they’ll bring you stuff as gifts, they’ll attack anyone who hurt you, their basically body guards in the sky.
“Hello there,” You coo, but you don't move to pet it no matter how desperately you want to.
The crow tilts its head, beady eyes studious. Then it lets out a long, excitable caw.
Technoblade groans. “No.”
You crane your neck backwards. “‘No’, what?” You ask, thinking he heard your thoughts.
“Nothing,” Technoblade answered quickly, monotone voice failing to hint at what the crow said.
“You can understand it?”
“Sadly.”
“That’s so cool,” You gleefully comment, craning your neck to look back at the crow.
“What’s its name? What’s its gender? Can it understand me right now?” You gasp like you discovered a cute new creature, “Can I pet it?”
The crow caws loudly with your rapid questions, and Technoblade groans.
“This was supposed to be a quiet ride.”
“C’mon! I love crows, what’s it saying? Please answer my questions,” You beg, once again cranking your head backwards to look at Technoblade, eyes wide with pleading.
Technoblade glances at you, seeing your pleading eyes, and looks straight ahead again, clearing his throat.
The crow continues to caw, and even the ones flying above them start cawing too.
“XD, fine! He’s male. I will not try to repeat his name,” the crow caws loudly, sounding angry. “No! It’s a stupid name, who names themselves ‘ShadowRock69’! Your name should be, I don’t know, ‘Dave’!”
You giggle at the name. When Technoblade doesn’t answer your other questions, you stick your bottom lip out in a pout.
“Answer my other question! Can I pet him?”
The crow answers for him, as the crow — yeah you will also not be calling him ‘ShadowRock69’ — hops from the saddle’s horn and under the blanket, pecking at your good hand.
“Oh. My. Notch! You’re so cute! And so fluffy!” You basically screech as you pet the crow.
“Don’t feed its ego!” Technoblade chides, but you don't believe he means it.
“C’mon! You said he’s male, and I don’t think crows have egos,” You giggle as the crow hops around under the blanket. You let him do his thing, until it frantically starts cawing and flapping its wings under the blanket.
You gasp at the feeling of the crow beating its wings and the sudden noise. Technoblade halts Carl as he looks down at you, watching as the blanket raises and falls frantically with the crow’s movement.
“Let him out!” Technoblade demands, and you listen quickly as you throw open the cozy blanket. The crow took to the sky, and you shiver as the isolated warmth under the blanket is released.
“What was he saying?” You ask, watching the crow take to the sky.
“I don’t know! He wasn’t talking, just screeching! What did you do?” Technoblade accused you.
“Me? Nothing! He was hopping around under the blanket!”
As the crow joined his friends — family? — the rest started cawing loudly with him.
“Oh for fucks sake,” Technoblade groans out, rubbing his temple with his three-finger hand.
“What?” You urged.
“He saw your wings and got excited. Oh great, now they're off to go tell Phil,” Technoblade sighs.
“Phil?” You asked, looking away from the crows — half of them flying south, while the other half stayed — and to Technoblade.
“He’s their… How do I put this? They call him different things; Crow Father, Dadza, Angel of Death, and sometimes just Philza. They call themselves his ‘chat’. He doesn’t own them like an owner, but Phil is part crow so they see him as their leader?” Technoblade explains, rocking his head back and forth as he thinks of his explanation. As he explained, he kicked Carl back into a trot, this time, you were expecting the jolt of movement.
“Oh,” You could only get out, soaking in the — already known — information.
Another crow — or the same one — landed again and started rattling off a string of caws and chirping croaks, bobbing its head between Technoblade and you repeatedly, wings fluttering like gossiping hands.
“No, I will not be calling her that,” Technoblade pauses as the crow caws in rebuttal. “No! I will not be relaying that!”
“What?” Your curiosity is getting the better of you.
“Nothing!” Technoblade responds too quickly. He won’t look at you which means the crow must’ve said something embarrassing.
The crow caws, and this time, it stuns Technoblade.
“I don’t know, chat.”
“‘Don’t know’ what?” You press.
Technoblade clears his throat. “He wants to know your name.”
You short circuit for a second. My name? Didn’t I tell him before– You laugh at the realization.
“Don’t laugh!” Technoblade practically whines, but Technoblade being Technoblade, it didn’t sound like a whine, more like a demand. You know the difference.
“It’s Y/N,” You say between laughs, almost doubling over.
Another caw from above.
“Fine, fine. I’m Technoblade,” he sheepishly tells you, making you laugh a little harder.
“I know. They talk about you a lot in L’Manberg,” you giggle, but freeze when Technoblade tenses up.
“You were fleeing from L’Manberg?” Technoblade finally spat out.
“I– uh, not directly from L’Manberg,” You whisper. “I was only there for like, a week. I was already on the run and they said they’d keep me safe, but then they didn’t, so I ran.”
Technoblade didn’t say much for a long while, the sounds of Carl’s hooves trotting through the snow outweighing the silence.
The crow on the horn caws again, and this time, the leftover crows descend to your level — still flying — and start cawing too.
“What’re they saying?” You hesitantly ask.
“They have now deemed you as Philza’s daughter,” Technoblade sighs, breathing through his snout deeply. The conversation you guys were having wasn’t meant to be discussed right now, so Technoblade leaves it be.
“I haven’t even met the guy!” You eventually giggle.
“Eh, you will. Probably sooner rather than later,” Technoblade shrugs.
“Why’s that?”
“He’s due for a visit soon, might be sooner when the other crows reach him.”
You just hum, finding no words to his comment.
The crow on the saddle’s horn continued to caw, and while you wanted to know what it was saying, Technoblade shooed it away.
“Away with you lot! You’ve checked up on me, go bother Philza,” Technoblade shouted, and the crows lingered for a tad bit longer, before flying south, presumably back to Philza.
“Wait, if Phil is part crow, doesn’t that mean he has wings?” You question. Technoblade hummed, confirming your question.
“And the people I was running from are south, wouldn’t they hunt Phil?”
“Nehhh, I leveled their nation, and know Phil is my best friend, they won’t fuck with him. Phil also knows how to defend himself.” Technoblade nonchalantly explained, unfazed by your choked gasp.
“I heard about that, hadn’t realized it was you,” You sheepishly explained.
“Rumor’s true, but I left that behind. I’ve retired.”
“Retired anarchist. Never thought I’d hear that combination.” You giggled at your joke, and you heard a snort come from the Piglin behind you.
Silence suddenly washes over you two, and you hide your smile behind the blanket.
This time you know the tiny exhale behind you is a laugh, making you giggle but don't say anything
You continue to ride on as the snow begins sluttering from the treetops, the world slowly shifting from forest to frosty plains. You tuck yourself deeper into the blanket as the wind picks up slightly, the trees no longer protecting you from the wind, and this time Technoblade helps, pulling one corner over your shoulder without being asked.
“Thanks,” you murmur.
He grunts in acknowledgment, then adds — much quieter — “Don’t want you freezing before Philza meets his ‘daughter’.”
You elbows him lightly.
“Shut up.”
His reply is soft, but very cocky. “Make me.”
“You don’t know if I have magic to do that.”
“Doubt it.”
Silence stretched again, but this time, you let it linger. You took the time to watch the horizon as the sun started reaching high in the sky, creating a fairy tale view along the snowy plains.
The snow glistened, almost blinding you if you weren't already used to the glaring sun.
Off in the distance were frozen lakes, a river, and a small pond where some white foxes were playing. The wind whistled as it picked up extra snow, blowing through the air. Despite the cold air, you found warmth as the wind rushed past you and Technoblade.
“Do you,” Technoblade begins, clearing his throat as he guides Carl up a large hill. “Do you actually have magic?”
You open your mouth to respond, but instead just gasp.
“I– uhm, I don’t actually uh, know,” You finally answer.
Technoblade’s brows knit. “What do you mean you don’t know?”
You shrink a little. “Having wings doesn’t automatically mean I know how to use them. Or… anything else.”
He studies you for a long beat. “Your kind usually comes with magic.”
“My kind?” You echo quizzically.
“Fairies,” he clarifies, voice rough. “They’re rare. Thought to be extinct. And hunted. Because wings like yours always mean some sort of power.”
“Where I came from…” You say carefully, “No one ever mentioned magic being inside me. They mostly just… stared. Or avoided. Or–” You cut yourself short with a small laugh that’s anything but amused. “I don’t think they liked me very much.”
Technoblade doesn’t respond right away. Carl’s hooves crunch through fresh snow as you and Technoblade crest the hill.
“You aren’t with them anymore,” he finally says, voice like gravel. “So their opinion doesn’t matter.”
Your breath catches. There’s no softness in how he says it — just sturdy conviction, like he’s making a statement of fact, not comfort.
You want to ask how’d you even know if you do until Carl slows at the top of the hill.
Technoblade raises a hand to shield his eyes, scanning the horizon. The tundra stretches wide below — flat, white, and distant — but far off, built on the snowy landscape, a cluster of homes. Lantern-lit. Smoke rising from chimneys.
The village.
Your heart jumps. “That’s it?”
“Yeah.” Technoblade nudges Carl forward again into a careful descent. “Tundra village.”
“What are we even getting?”
“You’ll find out when we get there.”
You groan. “Why are you so cryptic? That’ll take forever, Carl’s so slow.”
Carl huffs as if understanding you, and even Technoblade doesn’t have a comeback. He says nothing, and you think you might’ve offended both him and Carl.
Before you could apologize for the joke, Technoblade leans forward, forcing you to lean forward as well, and he lets out a “hoya”. Suddenly, the soft wind snapped sharper as Carl took off, and you let out a shriek.
Then your scream turns to a laugh as the rush of the wind and sprint of Carl creates amusement.
“For someone who insulted my horse,” Technoblade shouts over the sound of the wind, leaning his head down to your ear, “You’re enjoying this!”
“First of all it was a joke. And second, are you kidding me! This is so fun!” You shout back, completely oblivious to the fact he was hunching over to even reach your ear, or how close his mouth was to your ear.
Your eyes start to water from the speed, the cold slicing your cheeks like knives. Your hair attempts to whip wildly behind you like a movie star, but with Technoblade practically leaning over you, it stays compact. Your wings tucked between your back and Technoblade — comfortably — as he leans against your back.
Carl barrels onward, the village growing rapidly closer and Technoblade makes no motion to slow Carl down.
“Shouldn’t we slow down!” You shout over the wind. Technoblade doesn’t respond, and you grow panicked as you see villagers roaming around with vigor as they approach quickly.
“Techno!” You scream, panicking as it looks like you’re about to ram into the wall of a house at mach speed.
Technoblade suddenly stops leaning against you, and pulls on Carl’s reins, the horse expecting the pull, as he skids to a stop. Technoblade, expecting you to fly forwards, wraps one arm around your waist to stop you from flying off Carl. Your body lurched forward but still seated on the saddle, and your hair flies over your head in front of your face from the force.
“What. The. Fuck!” You screech but laugh, panting as you raise your arm to flip your hair back into place. You turn your torso around to look at Technoblade — who was also panting — a large smile on your face. “I said warn me next time!”
“Where’s the fun in that!” Technoblade laughs — actually laughs, not a snort, or huff of air — one arm still wrapped around you waist.
You blink because Technoblade is laughing.
It’s nice. Warm. Shockingly human. It makes your heart flutter.
You grin wider, your cheeks flushed from the cold — and totally not from his laugh — until you realize his arm is still firmly around your waist.
“You can uh… let go now,” your face flushes, breathless.
Technoblade looks down, as if only just noticing he’s holding you like a precious parcel. He clears his throat and releases you instantly, straightening up so fast he nearly falls off Carl.
“Right. Sorry,” he says too quickly.
Technoblade slides off Carl, and this time, he doesn’t just lift you off Carl. Instead, he offers you a three-fingered hand, and you take it, and jump off Carl with Technoblade’s help.
“Thanks,” You sheepishly comment, hiding your hand under the blanket.
“Try not to drag your wings, they might tear,” Technoblade mentions as he ties Carl’s lead to a fence post, where other horses were chilling.
“I, uh, don’t know how to keep them up,” You go red in embarrassment.
“You– You mean to tell me you’ve never used them before?”
“It’s like you said! If anyone sees them, I’m setting myself up for death!” You protest.
Technoblade sighs, shaking his head. “You're like a child who doesn't know how to walk. Just, don’t drag them too much.”
You give a tight smile, and try to follow his suggestion as he walks more into the village.
You watch in internal amazement at the villagers. They weren’t blocky like in the game, but they still had their large noses. Iron golems wandered the village, the machines eyeing you as they passed by. One was handing a child villager a poppy as it followed your every step.
“Why’re the golems only looking at me?” You whisper to Technoblade, keeping in step with him.
“Probably because you’re new, and they keep a close eye on newcomers. Did the same thing to me when I first visited.”
You let out an ‘ah’ before focusing on what’s in front of you.
Eventually, Technoblade stops you at a building with a faded sign painted in green dye — a needle and spool carved above the doorway. The warm scent of wool and leather leaks from inside.
“A tailor?” You question.
Technoblade nods once. “You need proper clothes. Ones that won’t freeze you to death or snap your wrist when you trip face-first into snow.”
Your jaw drops. “I didn’t– that was an accident!”
He holds the door open — lips lifting in a smug smirk — and gestures you to enter with a small flourish of his hand.
“After you, Princess Face-First.”
You step past him with the most dramatic glare you can muster, wings fluffing in indignation. They really have a mind of their own. “You’re never going to let that go, are you?”
“Nope.”
The shop is instantly warm. Rows of cloaks, fur-lined coats, and thick boots fill the space. A villager tailor — green robe, spectacles, a measuring tape around her neck — pops up from behind a table of dyed wool, eyes widening at your wings as you slugs the blanket off your shoulders.
“Oh!” She gasps, clapping her hands together. “Special tailoring! A rare pleasure!”
You blink, flustered. Technoblade simply nudges you forward.
“She needs clothes custom to her… anatomy,” he says, gesturing vaguely to your wings then taking the blanket from your arms gently.
The tailor nods, already circling you with a professional hum. “A split-back cape, yes? Three-panel wing accommodation? Durable fibers, light enough for flight?”
You stare. “You can– you can do that?”
“Of course! This is a proper tundra village, young lady. And you're not the first person coming here for the same accommodations."
Technoblade leans against the wall, arms crossed, watching you with a lazy patience.
You raise your good hand timidly. “Um, can it be warm? Like — very warm? And comfortable? And not trap my wings? And maybe,” you motion for the tailor to ‘come here’. The villager does, and you lean down to whisper, “Can they be dresses?”
The tailor beams. “Naturally!” she whispers back, before stepping away from you.
Technoblade raises an eyebrow. You send him a sheepish — yet smug — look.
The measuring tape snaps to life — wrapping around your shoulders, wings, waist, breasts, wrists, neck. The tailor works fast, professional, all business.
When she’s done, she shoos you gently toward the door. “Stay nearby! Won’t be long — a miracle of good craftsmanship never takes too many stitches!”
You blink. “Wait, now? You’re making them now?”
The villager flaps her hands at you. “Shoo shoo! Go warm up! We will fetch you!”
Technoblade pays without a single complaint — emeralds exchanged so casually it stings your pride. When you guys step back into the crisp air, you nudge him with your elbow.
“You didn’t have to pay for me.”
“The debt will be repaid,” Technoblade replies, blunt and simple.
You open your mouth, then close it.
“What now then,” you ask as Technoblade leads you towards another building.
You don't know which building he’s leading you towards, but figures it out when a bustling tavern’s doors open, Technoblade holding the door open for you. Still wrapped in the blanket, you enter with a small, “thanks,” and is immediately greeted by villagers servicing hungry villagers.
You aren't sure if this is like real life where you wait for a server to seat you, but you have your answer when Technoblade rests a hand on your lower back and guides you to an empty — clean — table in the corner. He pulls out a chair facing away from the entrance of the tavern, and pushes your chair in when you're seated comfortably. He sits opposite of you in his own chair and you lean comfortably back against the chair.
A villager brings over two steaming bowls of something thick and stew-like. You don't even wait for Technoblade — or question how a villager came with soups so fast without asking what you even want — as you dig your spoon in and shove a burning-hot bite into your mouth.
You immediately regret it as your mouth starts to burn.
“Ow, ow, ow– hot–!” You pant, waving your hand in front of your mouth. Technoblade snorts, reaching in his pouch and pulling out a bottle of water, offering it to you.
“Patience,” he says, amused.
“‘Patience’,” you mock him. “I haven’t eaten since,” you pause. “Uhm, since yesterday morning.”
“Well, they have really good beetroot and sweet berry soup here, but let it cool off first,” Technoblade chuckles, dipping his own spoon into his soup, bringing it to his lips and softly blowing on the steaming soup.
You follow suit, blowing on your next spoon full of whichever soup was chosen for you. When you believe the soup is cool enough to eat, you swallow the spoon, and melt at the taste. Heavenly, is the best way you can describe the soup. It wasn’t beetroot, it was the sweet berry that Technoblade mentioned earlier, and it’s very sweet.
You guys eat in silence as the loud sounds of the tavern grew louder. Some older villagers were already getting drunk even though it was probably close to noon. Some working villagers came in as you ate to grab lunch, before leaving to return to working.
When you were all done, you set your spoon in the bowl, the bowl practically licked clean, and stared at Technoblade. Either he hasn’t realized you started staring at him, or doesn’t care as he continues eating his soup.
“Techno,” you say quietly, glancing to the side in shyness. You missed the way he snapped his eyes to look at you. “Thank you. For… all of this. For not letting me freeze. For letting me ride Carl even though I called him slow.” You give a sheepish smile.
Technoblade sets his spoon down, leaning back in his chair. His expression softens — not much, but enough that you notice.
“You’re not a burden, Y/N.” The comment makes your chest tightens, heat rising in your throat that has nothing to do with stew.
“And I’m sorry about not telling you about L’Manberg earlier, I knew what you did to the country, and I wasn’t sure if you’d kill me right away after knowing–” Technoblade cuts you off by leaning forward suddenly.
“Running from something before you got to that country was the main thing I wanted to know. And while you haven’t given me the full story, I’ll respect you’re protecting yourself. You shouldn’t have to be around me,” Technoblade jokes, and you giggle, before continuing, “But I know it’s hard to trust someone right away.”
“Even though I’m being hunted, why won’t you let me collect some resources and leave you alone? You’re retired after all,” you finally find the courage to ask the burning question you’ve been sitting on since last night.
“Because no one will suspect you to be on my land.” Technoblade leans back in his chair once more, arms thrown behind his head.
You chuckle at the statement, and Technoblade just watches you as you hide behind the blanket.
“And why L’Manberg of all places?” Technoblade jokes. “You could’ve literally toured anywhere else, bunkered at a village nearby, but you chose L’Manberg?”
You laughed. “I know, I know. The country was literally in ruins when I arrived, but they promised it was a better nation than the crater, and I was running and they said they’d protect me, so I stayed for literally a week, less than that.”
Technoblade chuckled, proud of his destruction he created.
“‘Better nation’ my ass! The only reason that country was blown up was because of a corrupt president. I had the pleasure of killing him once, but a heart attack stripped me of my second chance.”
You slowly stopped laughing, throwing him a confused look.
“If you killed him once, how did he die of a heart attack?”
Technoblade also stopped laughing when he processed what you asked. He stared at you for a long moment, and you weren't sure if he was glaring at you, or studying you.
“Show me your wrist again?” Technoblade demanded, offering his palm to you — but it didn’t seem like an offering, more like demand.
You hesitated but slowly gave him your injured wrist. He grabbed it gently and positioned your wrist facing up. He rotated it a bit, staring intently at your wrist — or maybe your palm — like something would appear.
“Y/N. How old are you?” Technoblade asked, releasing your wrist carefully. You didn’t pull it back.
You drew out your age before asking, “Why?”, giving him a confused look.
“That doesn’t make sense, Tommy’s 15 and he has canon lives,” Technoblade commented. You thought he wanted to keep it to himself, but he said it out loud, so maybe he wanted you to hear.
“Technoblade, what are ‘canon lives’?” You urged.
“The gods gave everyone 3 canon lives. 3 times to die before you enter the afterlife. Everyone has them — well except for villagers. And the mobs. And the gods.”
You blink. “But you said someone was fifteen. What does age have to do with—”
Technoblade meets your eyes, gaze heavy and searching. “Canon lives don’t regenerate with age. You start with three. You lose them when you die… permanently.” He taps his own wrist, showing you the faint, pale black markings of 3 tally marks. Technoblade leans forward, elbows on the table, voice lower.
“When someone with canon lives gets hurt — really hurt — the symbols show up on their wrists. 3 tally marks. Counting down from each confirmed death. Most people your age would’ve lost at least one by now. Even by accident. But you?” He turns you wrist upward again. “Nothing. Blank slate.”
Your throat suddenly feels tight. “So… what does that mean?”
He lets go, sitting back like he’s distancing himself from his own conclusion. “It means you’re either a god–” you choke on air “or you have far more than three.”
You stare, heartbeat roaring in your ears.
The idea of more than three? If it’s true, who would use that against you?
But the homeless guy specifically said, “You die there, you die here.”
“I’m not a god,” You say quickly, honestly.
Technoblade’s gaze flickers to the blanket covering your wings. “No. Fairies can’t be gods.”
Your pulse jumps. You don’t want to reveal more — especially not here — but you can’t shake the discomfort crawling through your bones.
Technoblade notices your discomfort.
“Hey.” His voice drops, softer. “It’s not a threat. Just information.”
You nod slowly, even though your stomach twists.
“I don’t want to know the truth,” you say honestly, gaze flickering down to the table.
“Won’t have to,” Technoblade responds, once more leaning back in his chair.
Yo, end of chapter 2! I'm thinking I might update every week (we'll see how long that lasts). Chapters 3 is already in the works, and I might add HMU on AO3, if I do, I'll put out a post, so prepare for that.
I'm a firm believer that Technoblade is a gentleman at heart (or maybe I'm just being delusional PFF)
Additional side note; chapter two and three were originally supposed to be one chapter, but why not leave you guys on a cliff hanger???? Chapter four and five might or might not also be split into two chapters from how long it is. (I like writing long chapters, mostly because they usually are meant to be a “short story” but I get carried away with them and eventually end up as a “book” LOL
guys i need help finding a sans x reader smut oneshot LMFOA
it's on ao3 written years ago 😭 y/n and him are in a bathroom stall and he's holding up a vibrator on y/n while fucking 💀 i can't remember what it's called
Welcome to the "first" chapter of Help Me Understand!
I put quotations because this is isn't half of the first chapter from the original, which if you gotta know, is like 30 pages in the 8x10 letter setting oops
I might put TW eventually, especially when I get to the more gory parts (not in just this story, but also in "Plague of the Gods").
I also don't know if I want to do a tag list, but I will see
With that being said; Enjoy chat!
“Auf Wiedersehen!” You shout over your shoulder, waving goodbye.
“Bye!” Multiple of your coworkers call back. The door swung shut behind, and the cold evening air smacked against your face as you left the warm building. You crossed the parking lot towards your car. Your boots click steadily on the asphalt, the crunch of the salt being crushed under you… until you see him.
A homeless man sits beside the stoplight at the corner — no sign, no cup, just a thin backpack and clothes that have survived too many winters. He watches cars pass like he’s waiting for one to stop and speak to him.
You hesitate, then sigh and veer off course. “Hey,” You say gently when you get close enough, pulling a folded twenty from your pocket. “Here. I hope it helps a little.”
The man takes it gently, like its fragile glass. “Thank you,” he rasps — then he studies you with eyes too sharp. “If you could enter a fictional world of your choice… which would it be?”
You laughed, caught off guard. “That’s a fun question. Uh — Dream SMP. With Technoblade.” You tossed the answer out casually, expecting confusion.
Instead, he nods once. “Very well.”
“What?” Your amusement falters.
“There are rules,” the man says, suddenly sounding nothing like someone who sleeps on sidewalks. He lifts a single finger.
“One: The person of your choosing will be loyal to you. Fiercely so.” A second finger rises. “Two: You will be hunted by that person’s enemy the moment you arrive.”
Your smile dissolves at the word “hunted”.
“Sorry– what?”
“Three: Loyalty can only be broken if you choose their enemy over them.”
Your heart speeds. You try to laugh it off. “Are you… quoting something?”
“Four: You cannot return until the enemy either surrenders or dies. Five: Time in this world stops while you are gone. I’ll see you when you get back.”
A pulse of fear spikes in your chest.
“Okay, sir – maybe we should get you somewhere warm–” You begin, turning around and planning to head back to your workplace. Suddenly, though, there was a spark — like a camera flash — bursts in front of you. You gasp, flinching and you're blinded. The world spins as your car, the parking lot, the scent of asphalt and winter — everything spins away like water down a drain.
“And if you die there, you’ll die here.” You hear lastly, and your blood runs cold. Die? Who’s dying? You want to scream outloud, but your voice fails to call out. Darkness encases your vision, when you swore there was a blinding light not moments ago.
When you opened your eyes again, you weren't on the ground at your work, there were trees overhanging above you. There were no trees near your work, it was tucked away in a corner of an outdoor shopping center. It was day last, too, so why was it suddenly night?
Has someone kidnapped you while you were passed out? Wouldn’t you coworkers have seen if someone took you? And why out in the middle of a forest? At night, no less?
Snow surrounded you as you lay on the floor — cold ground more like — as the stars above you glistened. It was quiet, too, which was unusual. You remembered something from somewhere that “if nature quiets, there’s a reason to be quiet”.
So why was the forest being quiet? You internally wonder, not moving from your spot on the ground. The snow was pretty deep, and the fern around you hid you pretty well, so if danger did approach, you would most likely be fine. Right?
The wind picked up, causing the pine trees to shake, dusting off snow onto you. You weren't in the attire to stay in the snow — only wearing a winter coat, a turtle-neck sweater underneath, long jeans protecting your legs from the cold, and some men’s boots to protect your feet from the snow. You had no gloves, scarf or ear muffs to keep you warm. While your coat could keep you from freezing to death, your jeans don’t do much to keep you any warmer.
The world was quiet enough that you heard sluggish footsteps walking in the snow. Whatever — or whoever — was nearby, wasn’t worried about being found.
Then, the unmistakable sound of groaning of a zombie.
You’d watch too many zombie movies to know that moan from anywhere.
This is bad! You shout in your head, I can’t stay lying here, the zombie might smell me. You slowly — oh so slowly — lifted your head to look around, but the snow was too high, so you continued to slowly lift your body to overlook the snow.
Looking left, then right, and in between the trees you saw the zombie. It wandered aimlessly, but the clothes were all too familiar — a teal shirt with blue jeans. A minecraft zombie.
You believed you were hallucinating, so you rubbed your eyes quickly, and when you opened them again, the zombie was looking directly at you.
Searing hot fear flashed through your veins, making the cold world around you feel warm for just a second, as the zombie groaned and started walking your way. Slowly at first, before slightly speeding up in a jog.
Adrenaline pumped through your veins faster than your mind could comprehend that you had stood up and ran in the opposite direction of the zombie. The snow was so high — almost to your knees — that it was hard to run through, but you didn’t care. You ran as best as you could in the snow.
As you continued to run, more zombies started circling you, and you noticed it wasn’t just zombies who spotted you now.
Creepers — tall, but not taller than you, green creatures with fur covering its body — targeted you.
Skeletons — taller than the creepers, bony creatures with bows in their hand. The fact that they could walk, raise the bow, load it with an arrow from the quilt on their back, and stand alone without muscles slipped your mind as you dodged a flying arrow.
Large spiders — oh your fear of spiders increasing ten-fold — with beady red eyes hissed as they spotted you too, some jumping down from trees to lunge at you.
A raw, fearful scream left your throat as one spider got too close, tears pricking at your eyes as you watched the creature from over you shoulder start to catch up.
As you ran, the wind picked up, pricking your nose with the cold wind, and the tears lining your eyes started frosting up, blinding you. You blinked away the cold from your eyes, but in the process, you failed to notice a creeper in your pathway, and you would’ve run right into the creature if you hadn’t seen the creature light up, and the unmistakable sound of its hsssssss for you to make a sharp left. The creeper blew up behind you as an arrow lodged itself in its head from a skeleton.
The blast knocks you off balance a little, creating a strong gust of wind, snow spraying into the air like shrapnel. Your ears ring and you can’t tell which direction you are facing anymore — not like you knew which was north, or south — all you know is forward.
Forward is away from teeth, arrows, and eight-legged nightmares.
So you just run.
Your boots punch through deep snow, dragging you down, but adrenaline keeps you going. Sharp breaths burn your throat, your lungs feel like they’re shattering with every gasp of frozen air.
You can’t stop, though, the voice of the homeless man — was he really homeless though — ringing in your ears like a mantra. “If you die there, you’ll die here.”
Another arrow whistles past your cheek. You flinch — poorly — but it still grazes your cheek and lodges in a tree. Tears basically freeze in place as soon as they fall, forming icy salt tracks on your skin.
There’s more hissing. More groaning. More rattling of bones, more footsteps, more noise to create raw, primal, fear.
Too much noise.
Your legs burned as you pushed through the thick snow. Your chest heaves, both in adrenaline and panic. Your thoughts spiral.
This isn’t real. This can’t be real. It’s just some delusion or dream or– A spider screeches behind you — echoing in your brain — and your denial shatters.
“This is real,” you wail loudly, stumbling to stay upright as you sprint harder. “Oh Notch this is so real!”
In the distance, the forest starts to thin. Between trees, you see a cabin. Sturdy logs atop a stone foundation, smoke curling from the chimney and into the night sky. Lanterns scattered around the encased land, the fencing cutting off the wilderness and comfort of the cabin.
“Yes!” You screech, pushing through the snow faster.
Lights flicker faintly from the windows as you get closer. Golden, warm, impossibly welcoming.
“Someone—!” You once again screeched, voice breaking. “Help me!”
The fences are short enough that you vault over them, but you underestimated just how far you were from the snow covered ground and you basically fell face first to the snow.
You catch yourself with your hands — instinct overriding all thoughts — and you hear a crack and pain shoots up one of your arms. It doesn’t last long as an arrow lodges itself in the frozen ground next to you, and both fear and adrenaline overtake the pain. You scramble up, and fail to notice a large figure exiting the cabin until you run face first into it after barreling up the steps.
The figure grabs a hold of your coat and lifts you up like you weigh nothing and tosses you into the cabin, where warmth immediately encases you, a shiver running through your body at the sudden change in temperature.
You hit the wood floor with an umph, your breath punching out of your lungs. You scramble backward on your elbows, searching for something — anything — familiar in the suddenly well-lit space. Your heart slams in your ears so loudly you don't hear the door shut but you feel the final thunk of it.
Your pulse doesn’t slow until a shadow falls over you. Metal glints under the glowing lanterns when you look up. A massive axe rests at the shoulder of a man — or, not quite a man. Tall. Bulky like a cartoon character. Pink fur covering his body. Tusks curving from his jaw. Nose that of a pig. Eyes burning scarlet like embers, eyeing you down like you’re prey. A red cape resting on his shoulders and down his back, slightly flowing from his movement.
“You’re loud,” he says flatly.
Your mouth opens, but all that comes out is a pathetic wheeze.
He tosses his axe onto a nearby table with a heavy clang and cracks his knuckles.
“You brought half the mobs in the tundra with you,” he states, tone unimpressed. “Explain.”
Explain? EXPLAIN?!
Your breathing comes in panicked gasps. Your mind is in chaos.
“I–I don’t– They were– It’s night!”
“Brilliant observation,” he deadpans.
You flinch, more tears springing from fear, frustration, and the splitting ache in your arm.
Technoblade’s gaze tracks the way you cradle it, the unnatural coloring of your wrist.
“You break something?” he asks, voice low.
You can’t answer — you can barely breathe.
Technoblade sighs like you're the most exhausting thing that has ever crossed his path. He crouches down — not close, but close enough that you can’t ignore the heat of his presence.
“You’re either very stupid,” he says, eyes boring into yours, “or you’re running from something else.”
Your pulse stops for just a moment.
Because he’s right.
Your wings — still bound painfully under your coat — burn against your back, cramped and screaming for space. You haven't dared acknowledge them in the terror. Or even noticed them until now.
Technoblade listens to the silence building between you, then stands. “Stay,” he orders, tone final and unquestionable.
You listen, in fear, shock, and obedience. He walks towards a wall of chests, opens one at the bottom, and grabs something. It’s when he turns around and tosses the object at you that you see it’s a bandage.
“Wrap it up. But if you dodge my question again,” he says, voice low but deadly. “I’ll throw you back out there to finish what you started.”
Your survival instincts finally jab your brain back online.
You force words past your dry throat as you start to tightly wrap your wrist, wincing in pain at the slightest of movement.
“I’m not—” You swallow, trying again. “I didn’t have anywhere else to go.”
Technoblade folds his arms, unimpressed. “Everyone has somewhere to go.” He tilts his head. “Why isn’t yours where you came from?”
Your heartbeat spikes.
The homeless man.
The blinding light.
The rules.
You can’t tell him any of that. He’d think you're insane. Or worse — lying.
You shiver violently, curling into yourself.
“Someone was chasing me,” You finally admitted, voice cracked as you lied. You just hope he thinks it's because you're terrified. “They wanted to kill me.”
“And who,” he asks slowly, “would want to kill you?”
You hesitates, terrified of the truth spilling out.
Technoblade steps closer.
“Names,” he demands.
You stiffen, fear spiking again.
“I don’t know their name,” You lie again. It comes out too fast.
Technoblade’s jaw twitches — irritation or suspicion, you can’t tell.
“Then why’re they hunting you?”
Your breath shakes as you whisper, “Because of,” You paused to think of an excuse, “my wings.” That was the only thing that popped up in your mind, hoping it's a good enough excuse for Technoblade to not bring an axe down on your neck.
Technoblade goes utterly still. Then his eyes harden — not with fear — but recognition.
Wings in this world are hunted. Wings are power. Wings are sacred.
He narrows his eyes at you.
“Show me,” he finally demands, unfolding his arms and resting them on his hips.
“W– What?” You freeze.
“If I’m going to decide whether or not I should kill you, I need to know what I’m dealing with.”
Your heart crawls up your throat like an animal trying to escape. You hesitate, and a harsh glare from Technoblade makes you move. Slowly, with shaking fingers, you reach your good hand for your coat zipper. You pull it all the way down.
Your wings practically explode when you slugs your coat off — forced and desperate. They unfurl halfway before gravity drags them down, fluttering weakly. Velvety-soft wings, a mix of pink and yellow, shimmer under the firelight.
Despite the warmth of the fire, colder air hits the newly-released limbs and you gasp with a shiver — half from relief, half from terror.
Technoblade’s expression doesn’t soften. If anything, the crimson in his eyes darken.
“Fairy,” he mutters. “Great.”
You blink. “Is– is that bad?”
His brow lifts just a fraction.
“Oh, unbelievably.” He turns away — as though your presence is now simply a problem to be sorted.
“There are people who’d rip those wings off you to mount on their wall. Or to take the magic inside them. No wonder you were running.”
The room tilts. Magic?
There’s magic in your wings?
“Well, you didn’t fly here, which means you came from the south. And the only idiots who would hunt winged people south of here are–” he stops himself, clicking his tongue. Then shrugs, almost unconcerned.
“Doesn’t matter. They’re probably still searching."
Your lips tremble.
“So… what happens now?” You ask, voice tiny.
Technoblade stares at you for a long, cold moment.
“You stay here. If you came from the south, I can’t have you wandering around now knowing where I live.”
“W–What!” You shout, but Technoblade ignores you, turning around to climb the ladder next to the door.
He climbs two rungs, then pauses — glancing over his shoulder just enough for his tusks to catch the firelight.
“And don’t try to run. You won’t outrun me.” His voice drops lower — a warning. “Or make it past the wolves before they eat you whole.”
You are left alone in the warm glow of the fire when he closes the trap door above.
You don't know if Technoblade was joking.
You don't think he was.
Your wings ache as you can’t seem to get them to relax, your shoulders sag as the weight between your shoulderblades feel like a foreign object.
They were.
It felt like forever for the adrenaline to wear off, your body shaking in violent shivers, until your eyes started to droop. Your wrist still throbs when you crawl towards the couch sitting in the middle of the room, careful to be quiet as the couch creaks from your weight.
As you lie there, you can't find a comfortable position when lying on your side, so you twist and turn until you're lying on your stomach, head resting on the couch pillow, your wings slugging over the side and back of the couch. Eventually, your consciousness slips away before you can question the choices from earlier. Or before you can think about taking your boots off.
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