Hello, My Name’s Kitt

Cold hot chocolate aka chocolate milk

Cold coffee

Behold concerned Brit

Abandoned bunkers that hadn't been picked clean by scavengers like Lino were a different story entirely.

He crept through the eerily quiet halls looking for whatever might be worth taking. The lights flickered on as he triggered their proximity sensors. The place was finely decorated to look like the homes of the wealthy who lived before the war. Crown molding covered in cobwebs, statues caked with dust, paintings who's varnish was so yellow you could barely see the image beyond it.

Lino pulled the strap of his cross body bag a little tighter. The off white marble floors were pristine. His own muddy boot prints being the only source of filth. The floor cleaning bot must still be functional.

The doors to this place had been wide open. Maybe it was only recently vacated? The air didn't hurt, the circulation and vent systems were still doing their jobs all these years later. It was pleasantly cool with none of the humidity or mildew smell that came from broken climate controllers. It was still serviceable when so few other bunkers were. He'd need to return with tools to strip the mechanisms for parts.

Those might be the only thing worth the effort. Pre war art had value, but everything was so heavy he'd only be able to carry one delicate piece at a time... The math on that effort to return ratio wasn't favorable. There had to be more. Something of actual value he could pay his dues with today.

He stepped into what was once a massive living room. The ancient, rotting, couches were pushed up against the walls, side tables and other bits of decor piled atop them to make more space in the center for the army of... Mannequins? Dolls? Scarecrows?

They were made from torn down tree branches, dried plant matter, and hope. Haphazard creations meant to display the clothes they wore. Beautiful dresses, finely tailored suits, ensembles that blurred the line. Each one constructed as a masterpiece of form with no eye given to the horribly clashing colors found within their materials.

Lino didn't know who they would fit.

No one looked like That anymore. Two arms, two legs, a single head atop a neck connected to a straight back. He was the most 'classic' looking human he had ever seen, but even he wasn't the right shape for so many of these.

It was a shame really.

It meant their only value was in the fabrics they were made from.

Lino pursed his lips, looking from the one garment that Might fit him to the mirrors hung either side of the faux fireplace. Luxury and fine items that exist just to be beautiful weren't unheard of concepts anymore, they just weren't things he had ever had the money to know. His leader had told him he would have been beautiful if he'd been born into one of the higher families who could have afforded to decorate him and sell him for his 'classic' looks. The leader offered him that wealth once. If Lino would just dye his albino white hair and let the surgeon remove his extra arms, the leader would have gladly decorated him themself.

He wasn't going to dismember himself to be pleasing for another. He was fine. Constantly living on edge, scouring the lands for any tiny scrap of value left over after so many other hungry scavengers had done the same before him. He was fine. He didn't need to be beautiful to survive.

The dress was shiny and silky smooth when he brushed his fingers along the stormy grey fabric. The fabric from all the other garments would pay his way for the month probably... He was the only person who knew this dress existed.

He didn't need to be beautiful to survive.

He undid the fastens around the dress form's neck and lifted the piece off, laying it over the form's shoulder before shucking off his own shirt. The dress was meant for someone taller than him, his muddy boots and damp pant cuffs would ruin it. Those went off next, then his discolored socks that he didn't want to see poking out beneath the hem, all were dropped in a messy pile beside him. He pulled the dress on as he stepped away from the filth of his own garments and towards the mirror.

The dress was backless. The side hems brushed the bases of his extra arms. It was too big. It would buy his dinner for weeks. Lino didn't want to look in the mirror, but when he did his gut twisted.

He looked gorgeous, the contours of the bodice following the lines of a body he often felt too scrawny to be anything other than awkward looking. The collar was pleasantly firm against the front of his throat, not tight, but present enough to make him feel it every time he moved to find a new angle. Even his extra arms were made to look right in it. The back of the collar came down in a slight point that fell perfectly between his misshapen shoulder blades. It was too big, but it was clearly intended for a woman who looked like the models of before. His longer torso and flat but broad chest meant he'd only need to take in a bit around his hips for it to look perfect... Even the skirt being meant for someone a foot taller than him wouldn't be a problem, it just looked like a fine train. He couldn't stop smiling. Guilt ate at him. He didn't need to be beautiful. He was wearing so much money. The panels weren't even pieced, the skirt alone had to have more pristine bolts in its gathers than most saw in their lives.

It was just a dress.

He twirled in front of the mirror to make the too long skirt flare out around him. His bare feet padding on the hard stone, his own reflection distracting him, his guilt making him focus in on the price something so beautiful would go for if he could just make himself destroy it.

Lino didn't hear the breathing until it was already too late.

A scrambling form shot around the corner, its growling tearing through the still air as it launched towards Lino with more speed than something so twisted looked like it should be able to.

Lino was so grateful his fear response had always been flight. He bolted to the side, the badly mutated man careened into the mirror, shattering it across its massive shoulders. Lino didn't look back. He could hear the man panting and snarling like an animal as it gave chase. Its hands pounding on the stone as it dragged itself behind him. He could hear it gaining on him. The door was in sight. Would it follow an intruder out of its home? Lino had to hope not. The threshold was under his foot. A harsh tug at his skirt. He came crashing down, his jaw knocking hard against the concrete porch sent his head spinning with painful disorientation.

"Auth Code 1756" The man spat. Lino had thought him too far gone with his mutation to be person enough to speak. The bunker beeped in response, something mechanical thunked. Gears ground.

Lino kicked, his leg was grabbed. He turned to see the featureless face of his assailant for a split second before it was blocked from view by the closing door.

The wretched thing's shrieking ceased soon after the door closed over it's limb. Vincent never minded killing roaches.

He pulled the part he still had in his hand away from where the door had cut it off.

That was the only reason his fog filled mind could come up with to explain why he felt like he'd been hit by a truck. He screwed his eyes shut, trying to will the sludge in his skull into making a single coherent thought as his hands balled up into fists in the sheets either side of him.

He didn't even fight anymore. No flailing kicks or wild swings of his thin arms, just quiet acceptance of Vincent's fussing over him. Vincent liked that his Angel didn't resist his attempts to lend aid, but that didn't soothe the pit of worry that grew in Vincent's deepest gut. His Angel, dear and precious, was too weak to even tell him what was wrong. Oh how much easier it would all be if he just could.

His Angel tried to speak sometimes, of course, but it was always so muddled by exhaustion that Vincent struggled to make out any word longer than 'yes' or 'no'. It was such a shame that his Angel couldn't speak. Both because it made caring for him that little bit harder but also because he had such a gorgeous voice when he did manage to share it. Sweet and on the higher side of the scale. Like the darling actresses of old in Vincent's favorite movies, or like the music box his great to the fifth grandmother had brought with her into the bunker all those years ago.

Every little sound his Angel made was divinely healing. His content sighs after a meal would put Vincent at ease even through the harshest of anxiety, his off put grumbles when Vincent woke him for a trip to the bath would make his heart flutter in his chest, his happy half moans half whines that fell from his lips when Vincent chased the stiff soreness from his boney joints with gentle hands that felt so clumsy against the fine form beneath them made it so certain in Vincent's mind that all the dreadful loneliness he had faced in this tomb was more than worth it now that he had this blessing as his reward.

"My Angel," Vincent hated his own voice. It was an ugly, crass, garbled thing that had no right to soil the air with its presence, especially not now that his Angel would be subjected to it. Still, he used it because his gracious Angel made those precious almost-words in response. "I think I finally figured out the diagnostic machine."

Vincent bundled his Angel into his arms, careful to not disturb his leg's stump or the blankets wrapped around him. His Angel had gotten so cold to the touch over these days... Vincent could still remember how much like a warm hearth his Angel had felt pressed against him the first time he took him into his embrace. Vincent should have cherished that more when it was happening, but that day was defined by his stupidity already so there was little reason to dwell on yet another facet of it now.

His Angel's stump retained warmth though. It was always fever hot when Vincent checked if the bandages needed changed. That had to be a good sign, right? His Angel's divine power focussed in on where it was needed most.

He rambled to the still air about his trials with the machine while they made their walk. How his reader failed over and over with the faded text of the manual and how the machine's needle had left deep gouges in Vincent's misshapen arms during his experiments. But finally he was confident enough with the awful beast to trust it with his Angel.

Vincent set him on the vinyl seat, positioning him carefully as to insure his comfort and safety in the machine's grip. Anxiety welled in him, the machine was behaving well so far. It's beeps and chimes telling him to do this or that with each part. His Angel's arms were strapped to the machines, the machines cuff like hands placed over the soft skin that covered his Angel's pulsing veins. His Angel was so brave. Not once did he stir or panic. Not once did he worry. His resolve was the only strength Vincent had, if his Angel trusted this machine with his delicate form then Vincent could too.

His Angel trusted him.

The machine droned as it set about taking its readings. Weight, pulse, blood oxygen, every other basic little thing before its motors whirred and the cuffs began their search. Vincent was glad for his blindness, if he could see the ugly mechanical thing touching his precious Angel his resolve would disappear in an instant and he'd hurt them both trying to rescue his beloved.

All he could do was wait, laying on the floor at his Angel's feet with his head resting on his whole thigh. His Angel may have slept constantly, but Vincent had barely slept at all.

The whirring, his Angel's soft breathing and gentle warmth. It pulled him into the embrace of sleep like a lullaby that hadn't been sung since Vincent was a babe.

Consciousness came back slowly. Lino couldn't tell how long it had been since he last woke. The med bay around him was pitch black beyond the single screen illuminated to his side.

The read out for an all in one doctor stared back at him. Its text stuttering in place from some connection having grown loose.

Renal failure, stabilized, further dialysis needed. See guide book to find the recommended schedule.

Severe Overdose, cleared, no further action needed.

Severe Infection, controlled, purge source immediately.

Pain Management Administered.

Lino blinked at the screen. Renal failure, sure, he hasn't taken his meds in days, infection, of course the freak didn't clean his crush wound right, but the overdose irked him.

The days of sleep, and briefest moments of being woken and manipulated like an invalid or child's doll. He faintly remembered his captor saying something about medicine the first time he woke, but with how foggy everything was, that may have been decades ago.

Lino moved to put his hand in his lap and found he was not alone. The man was there, laying silently with his massive head resting on the cushion between Lino's thighs. The light from the screen cast him in sickly silver and let Lino get a look at his face for the first time. The boney jut of a nose was there, as were the bulges of eyes beneath the man's skin, but there were no holes or slits in his grey and mottled skin to give either use. The entire face was on top of a long beastly head, his mouth looking like an awful slash in his throat with his upper jaw being made from his face's chin.

His breathing was loud, like an old air con unit full of debris, but even with sleep. His hair was wild, thick and black with streaks of grey that showed the man's age.

Handsome wasn't a way to describe any part of him, but as he slept he had his appeal. Like an old dog mangled by age, or a noble beast meant to be felled by the hero of the story.

Lino remembered him calling him Angel. Remembered faint prayers whispered between his shoulder blades as the man cleaned him. He remembered the rambling, the endless rambling that never went anywhere but always thanked 'his Angel' for blessing him with his presence.

Lino reached one of his hands, his arm still aching and bruised from the needles that filtered his blood for him, and raked his fingers through the man's hair.

It's clean, and warm from the furnace that was the man's body. Course but straight, unkempt in a way that betrayed how little company the man kept.

Me: Oh my god it's a FORK lift.

COVERUP

COVERUP

“Having abolished all Governments of men, I have ascended to Heaven to take on the Kingdom of God" 

-Technoblade 

Everything Techno did, everything he said, was oozing with nothing but love for his community. Techno was never afraid to tell his community just how much he cared, he never hesitated to say what we meant to him or how proud he was of us.

So I don’t think it’s wrong to say Techno loved us, and I don’t think it’s wrong to admit that we loved him. Maybe not personally, maybe not intimately, but love isn’t defined by intimacy. Love doesn’t have much of a definition at all, really.

If they want to, of course. But that’s the thing that’s stuck with me the most. He wanted us to know that. In his last words to us, he made sure we knew that. He apologized for selling out, not that he needed to, and told us there was a reason and a result: “thanks to everyone that bought hoodies, plushies and channel memberships, my siblings are going to college”.

Technoblade changed so many lives, both of fans and creators alike. Hell, he changed my life too, he brought joy, he brought light, he brought laughter.

His legacy lives on, through us, through his friends, through the Sarcoma Research Foundation, through his colleagues.

Through his family.

His siblings can go to college.

“If tomorrow starts without me, and I’m not here to see,

If the sun should rise you find your eyes all filled with tears for me;

I wish so much you wouldn’t cry the way you did today,

While thinking of the many things we didn’t get to say.”