Runaway (Technoblade X reader) + etc.

Your POV: 

I don’t know how long I've been walking. An hour or two, maybe? Like I said, I don't know…but I'm practically frozen. Literally… 

There’s snow on my shoulders and in my hair. My hands are red with cold and I can't feel my fingers, nose, and toes. I have to blink constantly to be able to see. I’m stumbling through snow that’s up to my knees when I come across a cozy looking cabin in a clearing. The roof is covered in snow, but there’s smoke coming out of the chimney, so I rush to the door as quickly as my frozen legs will let me. I have to clutch the railing to get up the steps to the front door, and I wince as I rap my numb knuckles against the hard wood, fidgeting with anxiety and urgency. Time crawls on. I’m not sure if a second or an hour has passed. I knock again. 

“Can I help you??” 

I jump and whip around, as the voice came from behind me, to see a tall man wearing a Piglin mask, his eyes completely white and terrifying, his short brown hair tussling in the slight wind, and, most petrifying of all, blood splattered all across his face and clothes. 

I don’t think that’s his blood. 

“I-i-i–sorry, i-i’m freezing, and i–i-i was hoping…” 

He brushes past me, not even giving me a second glance. He’s dressed like royalty, with a white ruffled shirt, smooth black pants, a red cloak with fluffy white wool around the collar and bottom or the thick fabric, and a golden crown embedded with jewels in his hand. “No thanks,” is all he says. “I’m not taking an orphan into my home, it’s perfectly fine how it is: orphan-free.” 

“B-b-but–” I rack my brain to try and think of any worthy cause for him to take me in. I can’t seem to come up with a single reason, though; my brain is fried from teleporting here and trudging through the endless snow. 

“Whatever it is, that’s a you problem,” he interrupts my stammering, opening the door. I’m hit with a wave of warmth, before he goes inside and closes the door, leaving me outside in the frigid wasteland. I collapse on his doorstep with a whimper, curling up and giving in to hopelessness as the cold envelopes me. I rest my head between my knees, waiting for death to take me. I can’t hear the bickering from inside the house, and I don't notice the door open again as total numbness overtakes my body. 

[earlier that day] 

Technoblade’s POV: 

"̵̙͝D̶̡̒̓O̸̥̚ ̷̻̐S̵̜̲̐Ȏ̷̼Ṃ̷̅͆Ë̴́͘ͅT̶̫͎̽H̸̬̩̆͠I̸͚͍̔͋Ń̴̫G̶̞̃!̴͈̒ͅ"̸͚̤͋́ 

"̵T̵e̷c̸h̸n̵o̶,̴ ̶d̸r̸o̸p̸ ̷e̷v̸e̶r̷y̴t̸h̸i̸n̷g̷.̸.̶.̴o̷r̵ ̴I̶'̶m̸ ̶g̸o̸i̷n̷g̵ ̵t̶o̶ ̶k̴i̷l̴l̸ ̷t̷h̷i̴s̶ ̴h̵o̶r̶s̴e̶ ̴r̶i̶g̷h̷t̴ ̵i̷n̸ ̵f̵r̷o̸n̸t̶ ̴o̵f̸ ̶y̶o̴u̴.̸"̴

"̶T̸e̵c̴h̸n̶o̸b̸l̵a̷d̵e̴ ̷h̶a̶s̵ ̴r̸o̴b̶b̵e̶d̸ ̷o̴u̶r̶ ̴c̷o̴u̴n̸t̵r̸y̶-̷-̴"̶

"̴̺̓̅͆P̶̛̪̬͍̪̈́̉Ȗ̶̻͖̅̃̓L̸̞̉̆Ļ̴͔̣̝͗̈ ̴͚̐̅Ţ̶̧̺͆H̴̨̹̄̒̋E̶̟̜̝͌̎͊ ̵̛͚̞͌L̴͉̼̾́Ȩ̵̟͓͒V̵̜̓́E̴̺͓̥̺̎̂̚͝R̷͔̖͑̉̂ͅ,̸̥̙̥͓̈́̈́́ ̷͍͙̄̎̅͆ͅB̷̲̲̩̔͊I̷̡̊G̸͓̒́̾ ̷̤̼̣̿Q̴͈͈͇̈́!̴̦̉̉̓͌!̶̯̗̇!̵̱̞͙̈́ ̵̨̗̩͚̉͛P̷̘͚̎̋̐̚Ù̵̞̠̖̹̏Ḷ̷͉̳͛Ḻ̶̽̕ ̷̡̑͗̂T̷̜͆̆̇͌H̶̢͉̽̅̽̅E̴̜͉̳̍́ ̵̱͒̆͊̓Ĺ̶̟̝̙̉͆E̵̪͔͔̋V̴͇̑͆͜ͅĖ̶̺̟R̵̩͐͜!̶̩͖̖̈́!̶̩̬̽͐͜!̷͍̫͋́̉̓!̶͍͌̍͊!̶̢̙͚͓̈́͆!̴̰̀̕͠"̸̱͎̖̇̂̽́ ̸̹̱̈͛̅̈́

Ka-chunk. 

⚠️the chaos all around me suddenly seems to dim down into silence as the sound of the lever fills my ears. Time moves in slow motion as the rope tied around the anvil slashes through the air, and i can do nothing but watch as the anvil intended for my demise plummets down, coming closer and closer to my suddenly fragile feeling body as i stare into the object of my death. Every second brings the anvil closer to my weak human flesh and makes the end seem more and more impossibly inevitable. 

But Technoblade never dies–especially not a bunch of nerds who have come simply to ruin my peace because of something i did months ago. If they were going to kill me, they should’ve done it sooner…and more honorably. They should’ve fought me like men instead of using my attachment to my horse, Carl, against me. 

My eyes shut tight and I clutch the Totem of Undying tighter, the gold it’s made out of hot and slick from my clammy hands. Im not afraid, I tell myself over and over and over. 

The air around me crashes like waves. 

The anvil smashes into my skull like lightning. I don’t have time to scream. My heart stops and the anvil crushes my bones, blood and guts splattering everywhere. Pain splits through me, my jaw open to let out an ugly scream but failing as my vocal cords are split from the inside and my jaw smashed to jagged crumbs of bloody bone. 

I’m dead. 

But I’m also not. 

The totem shatters and explodes. My mouth is open to scream, but I don’t have a mouth anymore; I can feel myself all over the ground inside and outside of my cage where flesh and blood and bits of bone flew from the impact. Everything hurts. I’ve never felt more agony; if you added up every wound I have ever gotten from war and cast them all upon me at once, it still wouldn’t come close to the pain I feel in this moment. 

My vocal cords vibrate on the ground outside the cage with the need to scream, slowly knitting back together as the Totem takes effect, reversing the damage already done to me. My heart and lungs are all over the place, smashed into unrecognizable red lumps. 

My shattered bones begin to quake, the reverse of time on my shredded flesh tugging on them and dragging them back toward the anvil. My flesh starts trembling also, droplets of blood arcing through the air. All of my bloody unrecognizable red mess of flesh and bone is swept up by an invisible force and comes crashing into one another. Somehow the pain gets worse; it feels like I’m on fire but my nerves aren’t melting; like I’m being stabbed and torn apart everywhere at once, like there are thousands of blades wrenching themselves free of my flesh all at the same time over and over and over again without relenting. 

An unearthly screech fills the air as my body is knitted back together; I don’t even realize that the sound is ripping up my own throat as my body reforms, skin curling across my skull and my eyes blinking open. The sunlight is so bright. 

My heart hammers once. Twice. My lungs spasm, taking in a short, clumsy breath of oxygen. I don’t even notice, jumping on top of the anvil as soon as my legs will function. I jump over the iron bars, eyes wide with shock and pain but a grin stretching across my lips, my fangs flashing in the sunlight, still stained with blood. I glance down as I land, seeing the bones in my feet, skin flying after me to cover them. 

Screams erupt all around me, and I bark out a laugh as skin and fabric shoots after me, covering the hole exposing my ribs and bits of my skull left uncovered, my clothes repairing themselves around me as my skin corrects itself. I break out into a sprint, adrenaline pumping through me more than any blood in my veins. 

“HAHA! NOT EVEN CLOSE!!! TECHNOBLADE NEVER DIES, BABYYYYYYY!!!!” I cackle triumphantly, pushing myself to go faster. My boots reform around my feet, droplets of blood chasing after my blood vessels like bright red shooting stars. ⚠️

I race past everyone who's still screeching and fighting mercilessly; they yell in confusion as I pass them, trying to process what just happened. I laugh even harder, heavy royal cloak flapping in the wind behind me as my feet hammer into the ground, carrying me farther away from the site of my death as the last of my blood returns to my veins. 

̵͉̩̈̀̈̿͒̽Į̷̗͙̬̹͕̞̩͂̊͗͋̏̉̋͠'̴̱̃̑͛̔͒̈͝͝m̴̧̼͈̬̗̠̋̂͋̓ ̴̰̠̏̈́a̴̠͙͗̿ľ̴̗̤̗̪i̶̧̛̛̙̥̬̠̓̒͂̌͛́͜ͅv̶̫̘̮͓̺̬̪̬̌̚ĕ̸̫͙̝͍̠͓.̸̖͈̋͊͒̈̈́

… 

I reach the tunnel Dream had started for me and take up the pickaxe he'd left so I can finish the tunnel, Carl whinnying from behind me where Dream had left him tucked away in the safety of the tunnel for me. I'm just about to make the first new chip at the stone when I hear a shuffle behind me and whip around just as a sword descends on me. I lift my pickaxe to catch the blow, throwing the sword back at my attacker, Quackity, with enough force for him to stumble. 

“Seriously, Quackity?” I laugh as he scowls at me, as if his glare could scorch my blackened, empty insides, blaze through the voices' need for blood with the power of a thousand suns held in that one stare–as if he could obliterate me, make me implode with nothing but his eyes. The hatred of a thousand warriors was across his face as he looked at me, and I laugh again. “Do you really think you could kill me that easily? You’ve got a sword, I’ve got a pickaxe.” I can’t help but mock him, grinning as the dark haired council member grips his sword tighter, his knuckles turning white. “Do you really think you could take me down??” 

To the voices' glee, he's the first to attack, snarling, his beanie flying off his head with the force that he swings his blade with. I swiftly dodge, catching his sword with the pickaxe again and throwing it against the cave wall with a sadistic grin as his hatred overflows. "You have done SO MUCH F---ING DAMAGE TO EVERYTHING THAT WE’VE BUILT ALL F---ING ALONG, TECHNO--" He screeches, but I cut him off with a kick to the gut. He stumbles, but doesn't fall as he lunges at me again. The voices are giddy. 

B̴̘͍͙̤̺̰͉̟̐̅̈́͐̓̆́̋̀̀Ļ̶̗̮͙̊́O̸̡̪̘̪̺̮̹̳̺̫̭͕̤͓̞͒̐͛͘͝O̸̻̰̓̅̈́̾͒̒͘͝D̵̳͕͙͇͕̠̯̳́͗͑̈́̇̏͘͜.̵̩̩̖͚̿ ̷̖͎̯̻͈̯̽̅́͌͂̂͆͐̌̒͗̔͘̕

K̵̪͚̩͓͎̗̪͓̺̦͗̌͛̀͋̈́̏̇̋͂̾ͅͅI̷̛̬̥͕̼̋͊̃͐́̈́͋̾̒͒͋̕̕͝L̸̨̖̹̪͕̺̦̮̋̐L̶̗̩̮͎͙̯̼̘̭͈͇̱̎̽̽̓̈́̓̾̚ͅ ̴̢͎͓̯͇̖̹̫̟͎̹̮̾͂̾͛͒́͗̇̅H̵̛͖̫͎̤̫͕̓͆͒͋͗̉̾́̈́͑̕̚İ̸̧̦̰͓̫̘̫̗̞̟̩̥̮M̵̝̙͍̲͚̱̱͉͗̇͐̑̾͋͐̀̿ ̶̥͇̥̙̖͈̝̹̪̣̻͋̈͐̂͌̄̒͑͝͝

B̶̨̧̟̜̻̜̪͙̰̪̯̫̟̮̩̫̠̊̓̈͂̓̆́̑̄̿̎͆̓̆̃̍̀̄͗ͅͅL̸̳̔̌̀͌̂̔̾͗̏͠͝͝Ơ̵̢̟̻̣͎̗̦͔͙̟̳͇̠͎̞̍̇̃͆̈͆̃̍̈́̏͐͒̿̂͘̕͘͠͝Ó̴̡̪̱͉̤̦͍̮̗͎̪͉̰͕̻̔̅́͋̊̇̍̚̕̕D̸̛͔̒̓̈́̄͑̿̈́̑̉͌̈́͐͌͑͊͌̊̍̂̇͘͠͝ ̷̛͔͓̝̟̯̪̖͔̘́̿͗̉̃͊̾̈́̓͌̏̈́̕͝ͅF̷̨̯̭̱̖̣͚͔̮̯̹̱̱͕͎͉̗̤̼͛̍̈́̈́͋͒͊̔͒͛̀̀̏̃̈́͐͒͆̽͘͠͝Ṑ̷̧̡̡̼̤͉̞̲̹͍̬̩̹͙͇̿͛̌̇̒̈̈́͐̾̉͊͝R̴̨̛̩̥͚͈̠͈̲̺̘̩͓̘̽̍̂͊͛̄̽͌͘͜͠͠ ̴̺͖͙̖͓̹͉͍̣͈̠͔̣̳͎̩̻̩͑̒́̋̋͐̿͂̀̕͘͜͝T̴͎̱̳̟͉̤̦͛̈̅̓͋̏̾̕͜Ḥ̷͓͉͈͔̳̝̫̫̲̖̘͍͖̬͇̞̳͉̺̃̅͊̇̅͒̋͋̔̃Ȅ̶̜̞̫͉̟̺̲͉͎̩̼̟̟̦͈̩̿̅͊̂̈̾̉̔̿͒̀̕͘̚͝ͅ ̸̧̥͚͖͕͍̜͎͙͇̩̻̣͔̅͘ͅB̴̡͔̗̞̬̘̙̦͓͖̣̹̭͚̬͉͚̮̠͎̯͖͔̪̰͋̑̑̍͐̄̆̏̒̒͗̅͌̋̈́̊͆͘͘͝͝L̴̛̛̤̝̻̼͓͈̳͚̫͉̮̠͐͐̓͊́̓͆̍̍̈̀̄͗̆̇̾͠Ò̴̢̢̧̡̥̯͔̖̝̹͖̗͇̦̙͕͕̱̩̖͂̅͑̈̏̏̉͒̅̄̄͂̒̎́͊̊̃͌̍͘͜͝͝͠Ơ̵̡͙̪̫͕͓̖̪͍̩̪͚͇͔̘͉͓͕͔̔͛́̑͂́̓͊̈́̆̑̍̍̾̚̕̕͝͠Ḑ̷̨̢̨͖͔̘̮̜͉͙̘͎̝͕͇̪͉͍͇̥͙̟̈́͌̀͒̊̉̇̄͒̋͗̾͆̈̐̈́̍̈́͆̈́̑͌̈́̉̕ ̶̡̛͇͎̲̙͓͒͛͌̃̇̑́̽͌̌̆͒͘͝͝Ģ̷͎͕̟͎͚̠̩̺̼̞̰̱͚̺̮͓͚̙̏͒O̴̢̱̤̤͉̞͈͈̲̘̣͆̓̐̿̆̔̈́̀̒̍̅͛̍͂̊̎̀̅̃̂̔́̄̕͝͝Ḑ̸̧̡̥̙̺̪̺͙̤̝͕͉͖̼̜̠̫͇͎̈́̎̈́͐̿̀̑̍͗̀̒̑̉͋͛̔͝ͅ ̴̢̢̡̧̠̝̮͈̙͚̺̫̩̮̭̯̱̫̳̪̳̭͇̩̫̆̐̄͆̋͆̅̂͂̂̇͒̓̄̆̾̑̋̊̉̓

Ġ̸̨̬̠̤̩̳͓͐ ̶̤̤̬͙̼̟̾̿͗̔͛̍͝O̸̢̡̗̩̤̻̦͙͇̻̙̦͗͌̿̈́̄̓̈̚ͅ ̵̳̮̎̔̀̂̓̃̚͠ͅR̵̮̬͕͙̪̘̟̗͕̼̠̓͂̏͑͋̇̕̚͝ ̷̢̣̣̹̹͓͖͖͚̋̉̋E̸͈͊

̷̦͕͈̟̳̬̜̗̃̓̀͐͒ͅ

D̷̡̬̲̠̠̞̏͛̍̍̔͘̕Ȇ̵̛̙͙̞̥̺̪̈́͋͒̈́̃̀͌̍͊̃̃Ȧ̴̠͖͕͈̦ͅT̶̼̝̹̣͑H̶̲͕̍̐͐̆̄͛̐̎̆̆̌͘̚͜͝ ̴̦̻̭̯͍̟͍̺̙̬͈̣͆

G̷̛̳̜̠̖͍̈̀̍̋͐̃̇̐̏̽̀͜͝͝͠O̸̢̲̺̻̦̻͍͇͙̿̈́͊̚͜Ư̵̧̺̥̣̰̣̬̟͔̓̓͌͗͋̀͋̀̚͠Ģ̶̛͉̪͚͍̲͙̲̪̬̭͕̟̰̹̍̆͌̅̈́̑̈́̈̎͗̈́̿̉͝E̸̥͙̦̺̖͍͓̠͎̩̬͎̥͓̽͊̓̏̎͋̃́ ̴̖̝̰͙̲̬̝̹̞́̀̄̓̿͑̈́̕͜O̸̡̮̺̪͕͔̘͙̗͍̦̯̼̣̯̞͊͒͊͛͊̈̿̓̀͌͘͘Ų̵̨̟̚͜ͅT̸̥̥̏̀̽͝ ̴̮̳̉͋̃̈̉̎̽̊͊̚Ḫ̸̛̞̄͋̄͂̔̈́̈̾̔͊͐͋́̓̆Î̴̢̠̱͚͇͒̾̑͠S̷̛̛̛̝̰͓͚͇̆̃͋͌̏̓͋̏͐̚ ̸̛̙͈̻͉̮̬̰̤̱̓̽̽̉͗̕͘̚Ę̶̺̮̺̔͛̌̓̀͐̃̆́͊Y̶̨̢̧̼̲͎̤̭̙͈̹͔̰͖͊͆̀͝ͅĘ̸̞̭̳̰̠͚͖̞̮̳͚͖̖͌̂͛S̵̠̬̪͇̣͚͇͚̙͕̲͎̙̾͊̏͆̑͝͝ͅ ̷̡̛̠͕̪̘̎͊̐̒͒̈́̑̄͌͝ͅ

̵̧̼̼̝̰̭̐̀̆̑͂́̔͋̌́͘

̷̨͔̻͓̝͎̪̤̼̂̅̀̇̃̏Ḑ̵̢̛̞̣̮̲͛̈͑͆̀̈́̈̑̀̉̃͐̚͜͝ͅÉ̶̢̥̟͍̠̗̳̻͍̻̞̫̹̳̟͂͋̈́̑̈́͆͘͝S̷̻̖͛́͐̆͆͗͗̃̆̌̾͝T̶̢̧̛̺͖͖͔̫̫͔̺͑̎̆͛͋́̈̑̍̾̈́̈́̈́̋̕Ŗ̵͙͙̫͇̜̤͚̩̫̞͓̝̙̩͇̂̾̈̿͝͝Ử̶̜͈̤̑̔̈́͋͝C̶̨̧̘̣͖̺̣͖̹̫̪̗̿̓͋̎̓̊́̆̌͛͂͘̚̕͝͠ͅT̷̡̮̰͖͖͓̙̞̻͚̖̘̰͚͌͑̈̃̉̅̎̽͝Ï̷̢̖̮̰̯͖͚̮̱̖̰͈̠͇̗O̴̞̣̔͗͛́̅̿̈́̾́͋̏̎͛̕͠͝N̸̢̦̝̗͖͈̼̭̎̔̋͜͜͜͠ ̸̨̰̤̓̍͑͋̀

̶̡͓͍̺̻͕͎̮̥͍̐̂͜

̶̡̗̯̰̩̰̰͖̣͉̘͓͉̪͆͐͂̒͌̄̾́͒͜͠V̸̢̹̝̩́̒͌͗̇̀̅͐̌̃̑I̵̠̣̘͙̩͙̮̘̱͚̎̾̐̿ͅƠ̶̧̢̨̢̛͖̲̮͇̤̗͚͙͉̬͋̔͑̾̇̓̽́͂́̃̀͝ͅL̶̨̡͇͚̞͖͎̩͇͛͗͛̚͝Ĕ̷͇̻̠̭̜̅̾̀͐͛͑̔̊̀͋́̂͑͝͝Ń̷̛͍̬͓̯͊͛̐͆̂̾̿͛̒́̾̚͝͠Ć̴̨̨̫͉͚̙̭̳̠̉͋̈́̃̾͑̃̐̍̀̏̎͠ͅẼ̶̡̨̧̘͉̞͇͈̺̪

"I have a pickaxe," I yell, my voice sounding all too gleeful as I ready myself to give the final blow as he leaves himself open, "AND I'LL PUT IT THROUGH YOUR TEETH!" 

A single powerful slash. 

Crack. 

A shriek that ends as abruptly as it started. 

The thud of a body. 

Silence… 

Quackity lays on the ground in a rumpled pile of gashes, his face too ripped up to look at, a pool of blood forming around him. 

I don’t know how long i spent attacking him; he wasn’t even a threat to me. I knew beating him would be easy. But the voices…i had blacked out. I take a step back from the bloody body at my feet. 

The voices take a moment of silence to take it in, before begging for more. I have to force myself to turn around and mine my way out of there as the voices screech in my head. I'll be glad to get back home after this...I'd recently chosen to pursue a life of peace, but, now, L'manburg has made its decision. 

L'manburg has gained a new enemy. 

I̵̡̹͉̰̝̼͖̯̩̟͎͈̺̐ͅ ̴̭̻͎̺̥̩̠͊́͗͑̉̃̓́͜͝c̵̢͉̭͕̗͕̦̝̣͇̮̥͓̱̈̐͊̉̓̓ͅh̶̲̫͎̫̥̠͚͉͉͗̄̓̾̋̒̊͐̑͊͌͝͝ǫ̵̛̺̾̂̎͂̃͗̓̈́́ỏ̵̧̠̲̃̑͆̈͌͌͐͌̐͠͠͠͝͠s̸̡̞͕̥͈͇͛̉͛̔̽̓̆͌̀̈́̾̕̕̚͜͝ę̵̨͙̲̻̼͖̤̺̫̪̟̇̍̿ B̸̧̫̻͙̦̭̩̺̬͕̱͇͖̣̭̘͙̫̗͈̯͗̊͂̔͝L̶̛̼̦̘̠̗͈̱̜̠͒̄̆̈̎͗̈́̈́̾̇̇̑̒̈́̄̓̑̌͐̆̎̍̿̀́͊̆̏̄͘̕̕͘ͅO̷̡̨̢̨̬͈͇͇͖͙͓͚̰̞͚͚̰̼͓̜͎͚̳̦̝͔͉̬͚̹̯̞̜̖͇̣̦͈̼̟͛̈́̎̆͛̑̃̄́͛̍̈̃͋̂̃͗̀͂̾͐̾̈́̃̆̈́̕̚͜͝͝͝ͅͅƠ̴̡̢̢̡̧̡̛̛̭͚͖̙̬̣̞̻̙̦̯̝͔̙̜̳̮͍̤̠̰̥̻̻̯̗̺͓͈͉͓̫̦̙̿̂̈́͋̋̅̈̄̈̓̋̍̇̍͋̽̎̋̇͆̋̉̈́̅͋̂̿̾̃̌͐̓̃͘̚̚̕̚Ḑ̴̺̫͚̦͉̥̬̹̀̀̽̕͠.̵̧̧̨̖̩̫͍̥͕͇̟̞̪̠̭̯͎̯̖̪̄̄͑̅̏͊͊̚͜͜

… 

I scoop up my cape from where I dropped it outside my house earlier and clip it around my neck, picking up my crown as well but not putting it on as I approach my house to see a small girl at my door, shivering helplessly. After the day I've had, a random girl at my house is really the last thing I want to deal with. 

“Can I help you??” I ask pointedly, and she whips around, her eyes wide and frightened as she takes in Quackity’s blood spattered all across my face and clothes. 

The girl nervously clutches her hands to her chest, trying to keep them warm as she stares at me and starts stammering. “I-i-i–sorry, i-i’m freezing, and i–i-i was hoping…” 

I sigh heavily and brush past her to the front door, my shoulder grazing hers. She’s got wavy black hair and glowing purple eyes, and her skin and lips are blue from the cold. It looks to me like she didn’t intend on ending up here, from the way she’s dressed.  “I’m not taking an orphan into my home, it’s perfectly fine how it is–orphan-free.” 

“B-b-but–” 

“Whatever it is, that’s a you problem,” I snap, before opening the door and stepping inside, closing the door roughly behind.

I’m shocked to hear a voice coming from downstairs. 

“Oh sh- I’ve got to go, Ghostbur,” yelps the familiar youthful voice, before I hear the creak of the downstairs door and the crunch of snow. 

“Already, Tommy? I was just getting to the good part of my story,” responds a disappointed, echoing voice with a thick British accent. I recognize this easily as Ghostbur, the goodhearted ghost of Wilbur Soot, who died with a huge bang–no joke, that bang took out all of L’manberg–and whose ghost is the complete opposite of his former personality. 

“Who’s there?!” I yell, dropping my crown before immediatly throwing myself down the hole to the first floor without even touching the ladder and looking around. 

“Oh, hello, Techno,” Ghostbur greets me with a happy smile. I ignore him–it’s not unusual for him to show up in random places, being a ghost and all. 

Running past the ghost and to the open door, I run after the trail of footprints in the snow until I come across a blonde teenager wearing a cloak that looks suspiciously like it was made from some of my cloth, clawing busily at the ground, his movements rapid and scared. 

“Tommy hole, Tommy hole, dig myself a hole, it’s my Tommy hole,” he chants nervously to himself, trying and failing to tear apart the frozen dirt he’d uncovered. 

“Hello, Tommy,” I hiss, my eyes narrowing.

“Tommy hole, Tommy hole,” he continues in a singsong voice, paying me no mind. 

 Is he seriously ignoring me?! I wonder, scowling. Being the straightforward guy I am, I decide to cut to the chase. “What were you doing in my house?!” I demand. 

“Oh, hello, Technoblade,” he greets me awkwardly, trying to seem natural. “How are you?” 

“WHAT WERE YOU DOING IN MY HOUSE?!” I reiterate. 

“How are you?!” the blonde boy says again, growing nervous and standing up, beginning to walk away.

I sigh and unsheath my Netherite knife. “I’ll ask you one more time, Tommy.” 

The obnoxious British teenager lets out a screech, his braces flashing, before he turns tail and flees back towards my house. 

“YOU GET BACK HERE, TOMMY!” I yell, tossing my knife back into its sheath before sprinting after him, my king’s robe fluttering behind me as my boots crunch through the snow swiftly. 

“NONONONONONONO! STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP IT, STOP IT,” he’s screaming, running towards shelter like a wild animal. Carl, my diamond armor-clad horse, watches from the stable attached to the front of my house as Tommy races back up the stairs and into the second level of my house.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, TOMMY?!” I demand, gripping the knife fastened to my hip and glaring at Tommy. 

The British boy yelps in fear as I advance and ducks around me. “NOTHING, NOTHING AT ALL!” he screeches in a very convincing manner (note the sarcasm) as he throws himself onto the floor of my basement. 

“Then why were you in my basement?!” 

“That’s nothing, that’s nothing, that’s nothing,” he insists, stumbling to his feet and clearing his throat. He draws himself up to his full 5’8” glory and lifts his chin, glaring back at me defiantly. “Besides, you can’t kill me, so stop trying to act all big and hard,” he taunts, his lips threatening to twist into a smirk. 

“Oh, yeah? I think I really could, Tommy. I think I really could,” I respond, pulling out my Netherite knife and playing with it as the boy’s eyes sparkle with nerves once more. 

Tommy tries not to waver. “Well,” he begins to retort, turning to sift through a chest, “I have…” after desperately rummaging through potions for a few moments, he moves to another chest. “I have…” 

“You’re literally just takin’ my stuff!” I exclaim. 

Ignoring me, the boy continues to rummage around, opening another chest and throwing things about inside of it. “I have…” 

“THAT’S NOT WHAT YOU HAVE!” I yell over him in exasperation, scowling at him. 

“WELL I HAVE…THIS!” he exclaims triumphantly, pulling out…a chicken egg, before his face falls. “D— IT!” he shouts, throwing it back into the chest and happening upon a lighter. “HA! EAT FIRE, B—-!” he yells, clicking the lighter until a tiny flame appears. I lunge for him, and he drops it, the fire licking hungrily at the floor. 

“I HAVE A WOODEN HOUSE!” I scream. “MY HOUSE IS MADE OF WOOD! TOMMY, STOP!” 

The blonde teenager pauses for a second, his face thoughtful. “Well…I sort of like ‘our house,’” he responds seriously. 

“Wh-what-” I sputter, before Tommy grins mischievously, walking over to open the door. a zombie and a spider stumble into the house as evening bleeds into night. 

“And these guys’ house, too,” he adds with a smirk, ducking out of the way as they walk towards me for some unknown reason. 

“WHY ARE YOU LETTIN’ THEM IN?!” I scream at Tommy, grabbing my backup Netherite sword from a nearby chest and fending off the spider as it lunges at me, my sword the only thing keeping it’s fangs from connecting with my flesh. I grab an axe that just so happened to be in a chest nearby as well and use it to slice open the spider’s head, before quickly dispatching the zombie and glancing around with a scowl. “By the way, Tommy, your pants…” I trail off, hoping to embarrass the teen. 

“Oh…oh, my trousers are ripped up. That’s okay, because I found these.” During the chaos, Tommy must’ve slipped away, because he comes back down the ladder from the third and final level, which just so happens to be my room, with a pair of my pants over his shoulder. 

“Bro. Tommy, give me back my pants,” I growl. “That’s just too far.” 

“No,” he hums nonchalantly. 

“Give me back my stuff!” I order, glaring at the teenager, whose brown shorts that reach down to his knees have a wide tear along the leg that will definitely grow. 

“Hm…no,” he replies, grinning. 

“You really wanna do this, Tommy?” I rest the tip of my sword against the floor nonchalantly, raising an eyebrow at the boy even though he can’t see it underneath my mask. 

“Oh I’m doin’...THIS,” Tommy exclaims, throwing himself down the ladder and sliding to the basement. “AH, F—, SLIVER,” I hear him yell through the floor as I jump down the ladder, using only a couple rungs, landing gracefully each time with one foot on a rung and one hand on another before dropping another level. I make it to the basement just in time to see Tommy slide aside a block of stone and slip into a hole I’d never found, disappearing from view. 

“Heh?! HEH?!?! I cry in confusion, running towards the hole before hearing a thud upstairs and nearly cursing under my breath. “NO! A ZOMBIE GOT IN!” I shout, racing back up the ladder to kill the zombie before it causes too much damage. “NOOOOO!” I cry, slicing open the monster swiftly as it trips over a small, wooden chest, getting rotten bits of flesh and sparse, ancient drops of blood smattered across the wooden lid. 

I can hear Tommy’s mocking laugh echo through the stone floor. “What’s going on up there, eh?!” he shouts up at me, and I growl. “Sounds like someone’s having a rough day!” his British accent makes him mispronounce “rough” as “rooph.” 

More frustrated than ever, I lower myself to the basement floor swiftly and pry the block of stone I saw Tommy move earlier away from the floor, slipping down the hole and landing on the floor with a thud. “What the heck is going on down here?!” I demand, pulling out my Netherite knife and using it to gesture around the room. The “room” is hacked into the stone roughly, yellow concrete crudely covering the stone. There’s a messy bed with a rumpled red blanket and a white pillow in the corner, along with a bell hanging from a place where the ceiling is too low in another corner. There’s a random chest under the bell, made of dark, partially-rotting wood with a lopsided latch.

“Ay, ay!” the blonde teenager yells over my voice. “Read the sign, bro!” he points at a random, shabby wooden sign hung on the wall that says ‘NO STUPIDS ALLOWED’ in big, messy black letters. “OUT!” 

I open the chest and sift through its contents. “This is literally all my–” I stop dead when my hand wraps around something cold and hard, and I stare disbelievingly at the emerald in my hand, then back up at Tommy. “YOU TOOK AN EMERALD?!” 

“I took a lot, actually,” he shrugs nonchalantly, before giving me a shove. “Get out of my stuff!” 

“IT’S NOT EVEN YOURS–” 

“Here, here, here, this’ll, this’ll make you feel better,” he grins, before pulling out a potion bottle and chucking it at the ceiling. I narrow my eyes as glass rains down upon us, along with the glowing drops of potion. Still grinning, Tommy climbs onto the modest matress on the rough stone floor, before jumping off and declaring loudly, “now we sall flow! I mean–now we flow sall–FALL SLOW! Try saying that, fall slow, sall flow, AH, slow sall–” he sinks through the air and lands lightly on the ground, struggling simply to speak. “Why is this so–sall flow- SLOW FALL.” 

I hop, simply to humor him, but land at my usual speed. “Wait, how did that miss me?” I wonder aloud as Tommy continues on with his tangle of words. 

“Hey, Techno, say flo–‘slow fall’ then ‘flow sall,’ you get ‘em wrong,” he says, jumping off the bed again. 

“Well, I mean, it’s the wrong sequence of words,” I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. 

“WELL LISTEN, B—-, I AIN’T NO ENGLISH MAJOR! I’M JUST A KID WITH A DREAM!” he yells, shaking his fist before jumping off the bed again and promptly hitting his head on the stone ceiling. “OW!” he screeches, gripping his head and flailing around awkwardly as his body slowly floats to the ground. I watch disapprovingly, shaking my head and sighing hopelessly. 

“Why are you goin’ on the offensive?!” I yell. “You’re in my hou- my basement!” 

“Jeez, man, chill out! Why do you have a knife?! We’re at home–” 

“I ALWAYS HAVE A KNIFE, TOMMY!” 

He starts screaming, but I can’t make out a word he says and I don’t think he can, either. 

“I WAS JUST EXECUTED, TOMMY! I’M NOT IN THE MOOD FOR GAMES RIGHT NOW!” 

“Come again-” he stumbles when I glare at him, “--nevermind, here, I’ll feed.” he walks past me and points to the little golden bell in the corner. “Bell.” he grins at me. 

I sigh heavily, walk over, and ring the bell continuously, my spirits lifting as, for some reason, the bell quiets the voices in my head. Maybe it’s the constant, steady noise that blots out the screams for blood; I don’t know. All I know is that I love bells. 

“Ay, I moved out, by the way.” I sigh as Tommy lifts his voice once more, but at least, for once, he’s not screaming. “You know my old home? Yeah, I moved out. I’m, I’m here now,” he says with a nervous smile. 

“I KINDA NOTICED,” I shoot back with a glare, turning away from the bell momentarily. 

“Oh, hey, look at this,” he hums nonchalantly, rummaging through his chest and pulling out some gold, before decorating one of his walls with golden flecks. I swear, this kid has the worst ADHD I’ve ever seen–and I, myself, happen to have mild ADHD. “Nice decor, eh?” he brags, nodding smugly as a grin spreads across his face. 

“Wait- are those MY GOLD?!? WAITWAITWAITWAITWAITWAITWAITWAIT!” 

“Yeahhhh, like an L for L’manberg.” he stands back to admire his work, bobbing his head, ignoring me. 

“WAITWAITWAITWAITWAITWAITWAITWAITWAITWAIT, I’m checkin’ my gold!!!” I inform him, racing up the ladder. 

“W-well, well, I wouldn’t advise checking…” he murmurs nervously as I head to the first floor to check inside a certain chest, finding that all of my gold is missing.

“THEY’RE GONE!” I yell angrily. It took me so long to find all that gold. 

“Well…it’s not GONE…” 

“You took my gold,” I growl, coming back downstairs and prying it off the wall swiftly. 

“Hey, hey, pass it back, pass it back!” Tommy whines as I pocket the shining metal. 

“IT’S MINE,” I remind him, scowling. 

“Well, it’s obviously not yours if it’s in my hands, idiot,” the teenager sasses, holding the last of my gold to his chest and glaring at me challengingly. 

I stare back with blank eyes for a moment, before taking my knife to his throat with shocking speed. 

“WOAH, WOAH, WOAH, I don’t like that! You’re so violent!!!” he cries, tripping backwards over his own feet and scrambling to get away from me. “Can you stop doing all that stabbing and stuff?! I don’t need to talk to you ‘cause you’re stabbing me and s—!” he glares up at me defiantly. “You’re such a WUSS!” 

“Tommy, I’ll give you one last chance to give me back my stuff,” I growl. Okay, so maybe I’m a little possessive, but I’m also kind of rich, so I don’t appreciate being stolen from–especially not when the thief is a 16 year old boy who thinks he’s tougher than he actually is. 

“Go away, actually. This is my room,” Tommy sasses, walking over and pushing on my chest, trying to get me to move. I refuse to budge and, instead of pushing back, simply lean forward until the boy gives out, before catching myself. 

“That sure went a long way,” I remark. 

“Oh, shut up, b—-. Get out of my room.” 

“THIS IS MY HOUSE!” 

“WELL, THIS IS MY ROOM!” 

“IT’S MY HOUSE!! YOU LEAVE!!!!” 

“Hmm…no, I don't think I will,” he says with an arrogant smirk. “But,” he continues in actual seriousness while beginning to press bits of gold into the wall again, “if it makes you feel better, I can explain to you what happened.”

“STOP MESSIN’ WITH MY GOLD!” I yell at him, scraping it off his lumpy yellow wall and into my palm. 

“OKAY, OKAY, FINE,” he yells back, throwing the last bit of gold he had at me. I growl in frustration as it scatters across the floor. 

“Fine then, explain,” I mutter, kneeling to try and scrape together the gold scattered around me. 

“Well,” he begins, “I was living with my friend, Dream–” he cuts himself off quickly, his brow furrowing and a scowl claiming his face, “he was my friend! And–it’s all been re–it’s been a really confusing 48 hours.” my focus dips in and out as he blabbers on. “Emotion wise, it was like a, uh–have you ever seen a zigzag, Technoblade? It was like a big zigzag full of rainbows and also dogs—. Like, it was so confusing. And then–” 

“I’m so lost right now,” I admit to myself and Tommy (if he cares to hear), picking up the last few bits of gold between my forefingers and placing them in my palm, standing and dusting off my cloak with my free hand. “I’m spacin’ out entirely…” 

“Waitwaitwaitwaitwait, I've realized,” the teenage boy continues on his speel, mostly ignoring my comment, “that Dream–although my friend for a long time–is a wrongman, and I hate him. I hate thinking about him, and I know that right now because the more I think about him, the more I get confused.” my heart almost goes out to the sixteen year old child that I’d known for so long, who, despite our age difference, had been around for almost as long as I can remember. Almost. “But, right now,” he continues, his nose now wrinkled in belligerent distaste for the man who had caused him so much pain, “he has my disks, and, you see, Technoblade,” he takes on a more nervous tone, the wrinkle in his nose disappearing as he rubs the back of his neck, “I’ve been sort of exiled, you see, I’m a little bit alone…” 

“Yeah, I remember that,” I reply, crossing my arms and pushing aside the memories of our history together. 

The past is the past, Technoblade. He’s somebody else now, and you need to stay away from him. 

Tommy’s POV: 

“I’m sort of like a, you know, like a lone wolf, you know,” I chuckle nervously, fidgeting as the ache of loneliness in my chest widens, leaving a cavern around my heart. “I was starting to work, but, then, I thought, ‘Hmm, what about stealing?’” 

“‘Why don’t I mooch off Technoblade??’” My brother ridicules me from across the room, his hard white gaze penetrating my skin. The cavern grows just a little more as I recall when we were young, when nothing mattered more than whose stick was whose in our game of pretend. 

“I’m going to beat you to death and take over the world!” the younger version of myself cackles, jabbing a stick in the direction of the child in front of me. He wore his long pink hair (which I always teased him for) in a long braid that cascaded over his shoulder, and a bright smile across his face. Instead of the fancy clothes he wears today, he wore the simple, dirty clothes of a child at play. 

“I’d like to see you try!” he answers, whacking my stick with his own. 

“I WON’T LET YOU TAKE MY CASTLEEEE!!!!” a boy with fluffy brow hair yells, jumping into the fight with his own stick as the three of us proceed to swing our pretend swords at each other in the heat of our (very lame) battle. 

“KING WILBUR, YOUR CASTLE WILL BE MINE!!!!” I yell, triumphantly attacking the exposed ‘king.’ 

“Nooo, I have fallen to the blade of the mighty Tommy once again!” Wilbur cries dramatically, dropping his ‘sword’ and sinking to the ground. He was always one for theatrics. “Avenge me, Techno, and protect my kingdom!” 

“Don’t leave me, your Majesty!” my older brother cries, but it’s too late; Wilbur’s eyes are already closed as he pretends to die, allowing his tongue to fall from his mouth. “NOOO! YOU SHALL PAY, TOMMY THE HORRIBLE!!!” 

Techno lunges at me with his stick, and I just barely manage to duck out of the way. It’s not long before he’s cast aside his sword and jumped on top of me, wrestling me to the ground in a mass of squirming bodies. I scream, thrashing about as he pins me down, desperately wrestling with him in hopes of breaking free. 

“LET ME GOOOO–!!!!!!!!” I screech, kicking at his knees and trying to wriggle my way out from under him, knowing from experience that I’ll never be able to move him with my strength alone. 

“YOU KILLED THE KING!!!!!!!!!” he yells back as I flip onto my stomach and try to crawl out from under him, taking every ounce of strength in my body just to make it an inch before Techno jumps back on top of me and we roll about in the grass, a tangle of limbs and childish screeching. Unfortunately, it’s not a very even match, me being 6 and Techno being about 12 at the time. 

"I've got food, you little gremlins!" Calls a familiar voice from the sky. All three of us call out different names for the man at the same time. 

"Crowdaddy!" 

"Dadza!" 

"Philza!" 

I buck, trying to throw Techno off of me as Wilbur, the oldest of us three, jumps to his feet and angles his face towards the sky, watching brightly as a man in a green robe and a green and white striped bucket hat flies overhead, his semi-long, golden hair brushing against his jaw in the breeze as he flaps his large, black feathered wings. 

"Me hungy! Me me hungy!" Wilbur whines playfully, reaching his hands toward Philza in imitation of a toddler. I try again to throw off Technoblade, to no avail. 

"Well then, get something to eat!" Phil retorts with a roll of his eyes, stopping to hover above Wilbur with strong flaps of his crow's wings. 

"I want Crowdaddy to swoop in and feed me!" Wilbur laughs as Philza looks up to finally notice Techno pinning my hands behind my back roughly, grinning while I scream insults at him as my last resort, squirming and kicking helplessly under my older brother. 

"Techno, don't maul your brother," he says, throwing a small baguette at him. It bounces off his back and lands in the grass next to us. "One hit to the head will do, none of this drawing it out business." 

Techno looks up at his adoptive father with a grin, his maskless face glowing with childish arrogance. "But that's no fun, Philza!" He laughs. 

Philza rolls his eyes as I yelp and whine loudly to no avail, before he gets distracted by Wilbur again, who has begun jumping up and down and peeping excitedly. 

"Peep! Peep! Peep! Peep! Peep!" 

"Ugh, here you go, you little s---," Dadza says, pulling another mini baguette from the basket Momza sent with him and holding it out to Wilbur, who jumps as high as he can, groping for the food. 

"I can't reach it," he whines, before resuming his previous peeping and resorting to hopping. 

With a sigh, Philza gives up on handing his son his food the traditional way and makes a fake barfing sound, before dropping the baguette for Wilbur to catch, earning himself cheers from his oldest son. I burst into a fit of laughter underneath Techno. 

"Me next! Me next!!!" I yelp, squirming even more than before. Finally, Techno tosses a playful swat to the back of my head, before releasing me. I stumble to my feet, nearly falling on my face in the process, and run to my father, ecstatically jumping up and down, my peeping coming out at the volume and pitch of a shriek, causing Wilbur and Techno to cover their ears and yell at me to stop. I ignore both of them. Rolling his eyes, Philza pulls out another baguette, making a fake barfing sound as he releases it for me. It falls between my outstretched, clumsy hands, but sends me into a frenzy of cackling that has me rolling in the grass anyways (likely crushing the bread) as Philza lands behind me. 

Techno, sitting cross legged in the grass nearby with his baguette, rolls his eyes. "You guys are weird," he mutters, taking a bite of his food. 

"Look who's talking," Phil retorts, ruffling the boy's hair affectionately, to which he ducks out of his reach with red cheeks. Dadza takes a seat in the grass with the rest of us, Wilbur following suit as I finally manage to sit up, frowning and pickily inspecting my now rumpled bread, brushing off any specks of dirt I come across. "Ugh, I felt like little f---ing riding hood on the way here," my birth father complains, retrieving his own bread from the basket, "but you know your mom." 

"Never argue with Momza. It ain't worth s---," I quote proudly. Wilbur and Techno exchange a glance and roll their eyes together, knowing how much I like repeating any cuss words I hear my father say. 

Philza smirks at me, amused. "Yep. Never forget that, even when you're married and you try arguing with your wife." 

"I'm gonna marry a model," I tell him, proudly puffing out my chest, the sparse feathers across my shoulder blades fluffing up. "She won't be able to resist me." 

"Imma marry a mermaid," says Wilbur, smiling and gazing at nothing in particular. 

I wrinkle my nose at him. "Ew, then she’ll smell like seaweed." 

"I wouldn't care, because we'd be in love," he sighs dreamily. "Plus, I never asked for your opinion, Tommy." 

I cross my arms and pout at them. 

Philza, who seems to be finding our childish conversation rather humorous, looks to his adopted child. "What about you, Techno?" He asks the Piglin hybrid, who was in the middle of quietly eating his bread and hoping to avoid the topic. 

He takes his time to swallow before answering, "I'm not going to get married." 

"Why ever not?" Asks Dadza. 

"Because I don't want to," he answers quietly, looking away, his cheeks dusting pink. "I don't see the appeal." 

"How's mom doing, anyways?" Wilbur butts in, looking to Phil with worried eyes. 

Our father sighs wearily, dragging his hand over the blond scruff on his chin. "She's still sick," he tells us, giving Wilbur and Techno a special look that makes me quite jealous. 

"Dadzaaaaa, play with meeeeee," I whine, crawling into his lap. 

"Let me eat first, you clingy gremlin child!"

I snap from the memory as quickly as it enters my brain, plastering a fake grin across my face that I pray reaches my eyes as the younger versions of us fade to nothing. Now we’re nothing but a broken family; it’s me, the ghost of Wilbur, the empty space where Technoblade used to be, Philza’s out of reach voice locked inside his house, and nothing but the memories of our fallen mother. “Yeah, Mr. Mooch!” I exclaim, throwing up my hands for effect and bouncing on my heels, happy to finally be with a family member that isn’t turned against me. 

“Wooooow,” Techno sighs sarcastically, rolling his eyes. 

“Yeah, but, by the way, just to remember, I, uh, wha- i- one thing- these past m–” I’m not unable to form a sentence out of stress, but, rather, excitement. My mind buzzes at 100 miles per hour with excited thoughts and about one million different things I could say. “You know, these past weeks have been very confusing with Dream… i very strongly remember what you did, mister Tuh-heseus,” i growl, the memory of my brother betraying L’manberg and setting free a Wither still fresh in my mind, followed closely by the death of my best friend, Tubbo, leaving the mark of his death forever emblazoned across his cheek, “blowing up Tubbo on JSchlatt’s command. Technoblade, look at that- look at that sign,” i shout, pointing at the sign behind my brother. He turns to look at the sign as I continue in a loud, angry voice, “‘no non-Tommys allowed.’ you know what you were, Technoblade?! YOU WERE A BIG STUPID GUY!” 

He stares at me levelly. “Is that supposed to be an actual insult-?” 

Ignoring him, I continue with my point, “So, please, LEAVE MY HOME!!” 

“This is my house!” 

“I KNOW, you’ve only reminded me about HALF A MILLION TIMES SINCE I’VE BEEN HERE, but this is MY room so YOU get out!!!” I’m practically screaming at him. I’m so mad. Between him leaving early when I was young, to all he’s done to L’manberg, to hurting Tubbo…it’s safe to say I’m a little ticked off. I turn my back on him–literally–and cross my arms with a huff. “So, basically, I need the discs back. But I don’t need your assistance, big man, so goodbye.” 

I hear Techno sigh heavily behind me, before speaking. “Tommy, alright, we have–” 

“Goodbye.” 

“We have two options here.” 

“Goodbye.” 

“So stop saying goodbye–” 

“Goodbye.” 

“STOP SAYING GOODBYE..” 

“Make me, big man.” 

“Just- just listen,” he heaves another sigh, running his hand through his once-pink hair. 

“Goodbye.” 

“STOP SAYING GOODBYE, THIS IS MY PROPERTY!” 

“Um, well, is it? Are you sure about that?” I challenge with a smirk, “because it certainly has the prime log.” I pointedly fix my gaze on a certain sign that says ‘PROPERTY OF TOMMY.’ 

“I will break the prime log,” Techno growls through gritted teeth, glaring at me. When I start guffawing, he raises his voice and declares, “I’ll do it!” 

“Man, no need- no need to be serious here,” I deadpan nervously with a last few giggles. 

“THEN GET OUT!” 

“NO!” I chuff loudly, flipping a loose fleck of gold to the side with a grin, watching as the glint of light off the golden surface catches my brother’s eye. 

“IS THAT MORE OF MY GOLD?!” he demands, pushing past me to pick it up. 

“Maybe,” I hum. “For perhaps- perhaps I- i have a secret stash somewhere maybe, like upstairs.” 

He turns to glare at me, standing so close I can feel his hot, potato-scented breath across my face. “I’m not that stupid, Tommy. I’m not about to fall for that,” he informs me with a sardonic huff. 

I cross my arms and huff as well, copying him in an exaggeratedly matte manner. “I don’t know why you’re still here,” I say, returning to my usual vivacity. 

“I live here.” my brother continues to stare at me through empty white eyes, his pig mask hiding the scars that decorate his face as he grinds his teeth in frustration. He lets out a sigh and ruffles his hair, before looking at me more seriously now. “Let me tell you something, Tommy,” he begins with contempt, his stance rather stilted, “they took everything from you, L’manberg; they exiled you, they left you for dead, and they–and whatever Dream did to you happened…and you know what, Tommy?” he stares me dead in the eyes, and i nearly flinch from his intense, blank gaze. “They took everything from me, too. They’ve put Phil under house arrest–” his lips pull back into a sneer of anger at the imprisonment of our father within his own home–i must admit, it kind of ticks me off, too, “they stole Carl–” okay, i could care less about your horse, Techno, i want to say, but i bite my tongue, “and they took my armor… you know, there are two things we could do here. One: YOU COULD GET OUT OF MY HOUSE–you could leave–you can’t stay here–, OR…we could team up, and we could take down L’manberg and get your discs back.” 

There’s a moment of suffocating silence as I take in his words. Suddenly, the gaudy yellow walls around me seem to close in just a little–just enough to make me squirm and my chest heave. “...you destroyed L’manberg, right?” 

“...uh…well, i mean…” 

“You killed Tubbo, right??” 

“I-i-i am known to do that…” he admits, reaching up to brush a scratch on his worn Piglin mask that he uses to conceal his face. 

I stare at him silently, before stepping aside with a huge fake smile and gesturing to the ladder leading out of my room. “Good day, leave my house,” I chirp, my voice dripping with satire. 

“How many times have I told you, THIS IS MY HOUSE, TOMMY!!! MINE!!!” he yells, before carefully nudging his fingers beneath the edges of his pink Piglin mask to rub his temples. I turn away with a huff and begin climbing the ladder out of my room, shoving aside the loose stone at the top and hopping out of the hole. “YOU WANT YOUR DISCS BACK, TOMMY?!” 

“WELL, I DON’T WANT TO TEAM WITH YOU, YOU PIG PRICK!!!” I counter heinously. 

“SORRY, I CAN’T HEAR YOU,” I yell, snatching up a random bell I’d had for no important reason and ringing it furiously as I make my way outside, slamming the door shut in my brother’s face as he tries to follow me. 

The door bangs open behind me, a very agitated Technoblade following me outside and slapping the bell out of my hands. “TOMMY, LISTEN, FOR ONCE IN YOUR LIFE,” he screams, trying to nullify the constant ringing of the bell so he could speak, only for me to grab it away and start ringing again, right in his stupid face. The moonlight reflects in his empty white eyes, making them seem to glow as his eye twitches with irascibility. 

After about an actual minute, Techno slaps the bell out of my hand once again, his eyes huge and round with irritation, and, this time, I leave the bell on the ground, my stomach twisting in anger as I turn and begin to walk away from him. “I will NOT team with you,” I insist, with full intentions of keeping my word. 

“Okay, bye,” he sneers from behind me. “I guess you’ll just never get your discs back, Tommy.” 

My discs… those two little music discs, Cat and Mellohi, that I worked so hard for, that got taken away from me so long ago by Dream and started an all-out war. Those two, innocent little songs that had caused so much violence, so many problems. 

Then again, Dream totally started it. 

I was just MINDING MY OWN BUSINESS when he came along and stole my discs. 

I want them back so badly…and, unfortunately, I know how little chance I have of getting them back on my own, but I haven’t got a choice. 

Now playing: Fairytale by Livingston

Your POV: 

I roll over with a groan, my body swallowed up by the thick, fluffy white blankets around me. I feel along the bed, patting the area beside me, unsurprised but disappointed when my fingers brush cold, empty sheets. With a sigh, I reluctantly pry open my dreary, heavy eyes to reaffirm that my boyfriend’s spot is, indeed, rumpled and empty. I force my limp body to move, sitting up and stretching my sleep-ridden muscles with a yawn and holding back my grumbles as morning light floods through the window to assault my tired eyes. 

It annoys him when I grumble. 

So I don't grumble. 

He’s got enough stress during the day, anyway. I won’t add to it. 

It takes a ridiculous amount of effort to lift my feet from the warm, soft covers and swing them to the floor, sitting on the edge of the bed and bracing myself to get up. I practically have to drag myself to a standing position, yawning and stretching again. 

I turn to frown at the messy, empty, still-warm bed. It seems to call me. It looks so cozy… but no, I can't go back to bed. It’s easily the hardest part of my day trying to force my limbs out of bed, but it has to be done. He told me so. “If you stay in bed too long, you won’t be able to get up until noon, and then what?” he’d said. “Your face will be tired and droopy all day if you do that.” 

He’s never wrong. 

After straightening out the pillows and blankets, I brush my teeth, get dressed, and open the bedroom window. I lean my torso and head outside the window, breathing in the stale scent of underground. Light poured in the window from some redstone contraption on the ceiling that he set up. I have no idea how it works, but it does well enough imitating day and night on its timer. I inhale deeply, my eyes fluttering closed as I feel the warmth of the unnatural light on my face. 

“You know, natural sunlight would be good for the plants…” I recall once saying. He’d shaken his head with a sad sigh. 

“y/n,” he’d said gently, his voice tinted with sorrow and pity for how little I know, “we’ve been over this. I can’t let any light in from the surface, or it’ll reveal where we’re at.” he wrapped his arms around me and pulled me close, resting his chin on my head. This sort of affection from him is rare nowadays. “The plants will have to cope. My main priority is keeping you safe.” he certainly made me feel safe. He kept me under lock and key so no one else could find us and hurt me. He doesn’t have the best reputation, and someone like me is bound to be hurt on sight; as a half Enderman, half human, if anyone were to know about me…my boyfriend tells me I'd be hunted down and, well, I prefer my life as it is. All that matters is that he’s happy. 

I sigh. Sometimes, I like to act as if I’m a princess from a fairytale, awaiting my prince to come and save me–the only thing that separates me from those princesses is the fact that I get to be rescued every day, rather than just once in my lifetime. My heart warms in anticipation for him to come home tonight as I slip out the window and into the garden. 

I suppose you must be wondering about my situation; well, I live in an underground house with my perfect boyfriend. The house is small and tidy–from the inside, it’s about the size of a nice apartment–and enclosed by four cobblestone walls as well as a cobblestone ceiling. There’s only one door, and only my boyfriend has a key–he’s also the only one who actually knows how to reach the front door from the surface. He tells me I don't need a key, since I never leave anyways; besides, it’s a pain in his arse to get another key made. There’s another wall on each side of the house to separate the front yard from the backyard, to help protect me in case of intruders. 

He did, however, bring me a few plants to start a garden in the backyard with: wheat, potatoes, and carrots. I’ve been asking him to bring me something else soon, too, like watermelon or pumpkin, but he just teases me, saying, “Now that’s a little much, don’t you think? Feeling bold?” but then he tells me he’ll see what he can do, sending a light smile my way. That smile always brings a grin to my face. 

While the setup of the house may seem a bit uncanny, it’s only because my boyfriend cares for me and wants to protect me. He’s in danger for being on bad terms with a partially established kingdom called L’manberg, which puts me at risk as well, since I could be used as leverage if anyone who is against my boyfriend were to find out about our relationship…not to mention that I’m an odd half-breed. 

I sit in the dirt and contentedly begin checking the vegetables and pulling weeds, humming softly to myself. Gardening is one of my favorite activities, as it allows me to do something physical; despite everything, there’s not a whole lot to do down here. I like to draw on occasion, but I don’t do it often because I try not to use any more paper than my single notebook, as my boyfriend likes to write about the events of each day when he returns home. 

He keeps his stack of filled notebooks lined up neatly on the bookshelf, in order of date. He likes to keep the house neat and organized; he says there’s enough chaos and stress for him on the surface every day, so he likes our living space to be clean and tidy, which is understandable. I do my part every day by keeping the house in order while he’s away dealing with those “pesky L’manberg citizens”--after all, he’s the one who leaves to try and keep the server from falling apart every day. 

That’s a good enough reason to act the way he does. 

I finish up in the garden and make my way to the back corner of the yard. Brushing aside some dirt, I open the trapdoor that was hidden underneath and slip down the ladder into the chicken pen. He takes care of most of the animals, hiding them away where I won’t get attached to them and, therefore, won’t try to keep him from killing them for meat, but he allows me to care for the chickens, recognizing that they’re worth more alive and laying eggs than dead. I love the little white-feathered birds. As soon as my feet land on the dirt ground, I’m swarmed by six chickens, all clucking excitedly. 

“Hey, girls,” I giggle as they trip over my feet, looking up at me in hopes of food. I reach into my pocket and pull out a handful of grain, which I'd saved for this very purpose, and scatter it across the ground. The white hens, squawking wildly, run every which way to greedily gobble up the food. I crouch and lightly brush one’s feathered back with a smile, only for her to tense up and cluck at me in annoyance, slipping out from under my fingers to go back to eating. I watch the six feathered creatures for a moment as they scratch around contently, humming to myself quietly. I barely notice that I'm humming; it’s just a strange sort of habit I have. Even so, though, I've taught myself to hum quietly, barely audible, so as to not annoy my boyfriend. 

After a minute, I stand, check the chickens’ water, then pull myself back up the ladder, closing the trapdoor behind me and cautiously stepping over the rows of plants in the garden to the window. I brush the dirt off my clothes carefully, before climbing through the window and back into the house and heading to the bathroom for a shower. He likes it when I’m clean and fresh. He, himself, has this particular mixed aroma of faint smoke and minty soap. I love it, but I don’t get to breathe it in unless it’s the rare occasion where he invites me into his lap. 

My shower is quick and efficient. I wrap myself in a towel and take care of my hair, brushing and blow drying it, before lightly curling my mostly black locks just enough to cause a ripple of gentle waves throughout my hair. He likes my hair wavy. He tells me it looks too flat when it’s straight and it’s just plain weird when it’s curled–this is his preference, so this is how I wear my hair. It takes me about ten more minutes to do my makeup; he’s not fond of my smatterings of zits, and tells me I look better with makeup on–but not too much; he likes when it looks natural. 

Leaving the bathroom, I make my way to the wardrobe. Still wrapped in a towel, I open a drawer and pull out some clothes, slipping them on and stopping by the bathroom one more time to check my reflection. I’m wearing a simple oversized purple sweatshirt and a gray pair of my boyfriend’s shorts. He’s not as strict about my clothing choices as he is about some other things, so long as I wear something purple that brings out my eyes. He also commented once on how cute I look wearing his clothes, to which I won't complain, since his clothes are usually warm and comfortable. I like how large his clothes feel on me, and how they swallow up my body, even though I'm not that much smaller than him. He does have a slight problem with feet, though–he finds them “kind of gross”--so I slip on a pair of socks over my naturally chilly feet and make my way to the kitchen to check the calendar. 

“Tuesday,” I murmur to myself quietly as I cross off the previous day, thinking of today’s chore list; it fluctuates from day to day, so that I don't have to do everything every day. 

“Hey, Y/n.” 

I turn at the familiar voice, a smile lighting up my face when my eyes meet with the black, empty orbs that hide DreamXD’s face. “XD!” I cry, hugging him. “It’s good to see you.” 

DreamXD is a good friend of mine–my only friend, aside from my boyfriend (does he count? I don’t know)--who comes to visit from time to time. He sticks around when he has a spare minute and we just chat. It’s quite pleasant, but I never know exactly when he’ll show up, as his schedule changes on the dot. He looks the same as the real Dream with his mask on, save for the patch with “XD” that’s sewn onto his sweatshirt and his telekinesis abilities. With the mask off, though, he looks a little different: his eyes are hazel, and his sandy hair is a little longer and shaggier than Dream’s. He’s not technically supposed to remove the mask, but it’s not like anyone would know besides me–and I’m not about to tell Dream. I don’t think it matters that much. 

XD takes off his mask and grins at me, pushing his hood off his head as he returns the hug. “Good to see you, too,” he replies. Unlike the original Dream, he’s almost always grinning–at least when I see him. “Sorry it’s been a minute. The smp got real rowdy these past few days, for no particular reason.” 

I pull away from the hug to give him a smile. “Nothing out of the ordinary, right?” 

He chuckles. “Not really,” he admits, tossing his mask onto the counter and taking a step back. “So, what’s on the agenda for today?” 

“Dusting, vacuuming, and a couple other things,” I reply, not missing a beat. It’s something that I've learned from my boyfriend; he doesn’t like it when I take too long to respond. 

He gives me a lopsided smile. “Well, why don’t you go make the tea, and I'll get started on the dusting.” 

I sigh, but nod anyway. I’ve told him in the past that it’s my job to do these things, but he still insists on helping, saying that the chores will get done faster if he helps, then we can sit down and talk for a while. The problem is, once he leaves, I’ve got nothing left to do. 

I head into the kitchen, pouring water into the teakettle while XD takes out the dusting rag from under the sink and disappears into the house. He’s been here so often in the past few years that he knows exactly where everything is and what is required for my every chore. It’s not long after I place the teakettle on the stove and turn on the heat on the stove that I hear XD begin to belt out the lyrics to Sunshine by Onerepublic. I smile softly, not joining in until he encourages me to. Eventually, I lift my voice, and he shouts in triumph before we both sing the song very off key and tempo. I don’t mind it, though, because this is the only way I’ve known this song. XD taught it to me and, despite owning a phone, i never use it, so i don’t know what the actual song sounds like and end up copying off of XD. he comes into the kitchen and twirls me lightheartedly, and i laugh as we begin to–or, at least, try to–dance to our offbeat rendition of the song. Soon enough, my chores are done, and the two of us settle in for our cups of tea while we talk about nothing in particular. Eventually, though, DreamXD’s phone buzzes, and he pulls it out of his pocket with a frown. Sighing, he rises from his seat. 

“Sorry, Y/n. duty calls.” 

I nod, trying not to show my disappointment as he reaches to give me a hug, which I accept with open arms. The hug is short, though, and he makes his way to the door. “Bye, XD,” I call after him softly. “Be safe.” 

He tosses a playful grin over his shoulder at me and winks. “Where’s the fun in that?” and, just like that, he’s gone. 

... 

I set his coffee mug on the counter, handle angled just so. The way he likes it. His coffee is the perfect blend of coffee and creamer and is steaming… 

Just the way he likes it. 

I stay by the counter while I wait for him. I check the time. 9:17 P.M. he’ll be home any minute… sometimes he’s home at 9:00 on the nose, but, other times, he doesn’t come home until 12 P.M. or, at the latest (or perhaps the earliest, technically), 1 A.M. I've learned to get used to it. He comes home when he can. 

I perk up when I hear the key jiggle in the lock, double checking that I’m standing up straight and pushing my shoulders back and brushing my hair into place. The door opens, and a sneaker hits the floor, before a man in a green sweatshirt walks in, closing the door tightly behind him, his white mask tied closely around his face, per usual. 

“Hi,” I greet him cheerily, but not too cheerily, standing on tiptoe and pecking the side of his mask, which he does not remove. I used to find it odd how he would wear it so often, even in the house–even though I’ve seen his face–but I’ve long since grown used to it. “How was your day?” I ask, stepping back as he reaches for his coffee. 

“Long,” he sighs, lifting his mask to take a sip of the hot liquid. 

I nod. He doesn’t really talk about what happens on the surface much, but he’s told me enough for me to know he has a hard time with L’manberg…especially a certain citizen named Tommy Innit. “Anything notable?” I ask, hoping he’ll talk to me some. 

He grunts and sets down his coffee. “Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head about,” he replies, fixing a strand of my hair. Despite his kind gesture, his voice is laced with frustration and his lime green eyes are glittering with annoyance, almost seeming like they could glow in the dark. 

The rest of the night is uneventful as always, but it’s nice to have Dream home. I cook dinner, Dream writes in one of his notebooks like always, we exchange a few words, then go to bed at exactly 10:30 P.M. as usual. The next morning, I wake up and pat the empty spot next to me, then sigh and climb out of bed to do everything over again. 

… 

Dream’s POV: 

I sigh heavily and unlock the door, slipping inside and locking the door behind me. Y/n is there to greet me as always, her bright purple eyes shining, amplified by the purple sweater she wears. Her wavy hair is tied up in a cute messy bun today. 

She gives me a smile. “Hi.” I lift my mask, and her face lights up as she lands a kiss on my cheek. “How was your day?” she asks as always. 

“Fine,” I reply. 

Just to be perfectly clear, I don't like Y/n. not in that way. She’s just a tool that I keep locked away, and, the more I can control everything she does, the more she’ll lose the ability to think for herself and do whatever I tell her to. As a half Enderman with teleportation abilities, I believe she could be a real asset later on…once she learns how to teleport far distances without tiring. I have the suspicion that she might be able to teleport other people with her, but she doesn’t do it enough to know. Who knows, she might have some way of producing Ender Pearls, too, which could certainly be helpful. I don’t think I could trust her with practicing her teleportation quite yet, but we’re almost there…and, after the last couple days, I have the feeling that I'll need an advantage very soon. 

⚠️ “so what are you hungry for?” Y/n asks, interrupting my thoughts, innocent of my intentions. “I’m running low on ideas…” she admits, fidgeting nervously and lowering her gaze. 

I set down my mask, and she looks up at me in surprise as I wrap my arms around her waist, her back pressed against my chest as I rest my face in the crook of her neck, the fabric of her shirt the only thing separating my lips from her skin. “Not anything that you’re considering,” I murmur, purposely lowering my voice to a husky whisper. Before she can respond, I scoop her up, and she squeaks and wraps her arms tightly around my neck, giggling lightly as I carry her to a different part of the house. 

“Dream, what~?!” she laughs, unaware of what’s happening, simply glad for the attention. “Where is this coming from??” 

“The part of me that loves you bunches,” I respond with a fake grin as I drop her on the bed, climbing on top of her. 

Y/n gives me a skeptical look as I press a kiss to one of her freckles. “...y-you want to go to bed already…?” 

I chuckle. “Oh, sweet girl…” I mutter, before taking her lips with my own. She doesn’t hesitate to return the kiss until I push my tongue past her lips and prod around the inside of her mouth until I find her tongue. I can feel her tense just slightly, and a shiver makes her entire body quake for a second, but she doesn’t push me away…which is definitely a good sign. Eventually, I break the kiss, my hands slipping down to her hips and gripping her tightly as her eyes widen. From the panic in her gaze, I dare to guess she’s finally gotten a hold on what I’m trying to do. 

“Dream–” 

“Shh, just relax,” I reply as gently as possible, keeping my voice smooth as I feel her shift nervously. 

“I-I–I told you before that I don’t want any of this–” she says, quickly and quietly. Her words come out so fast that they seem to slur together as she pulls herself out from under me, sitting up and looking at me through a paranoid gaze. “I just–” 

She gets caught off with a gasp as I push her roughly against the wall, pinning her hands above her head with one hand while my other slides up her shirt, trying to rip it off as my patience wears thin, my lips seeking skin. She lets out a strangled sound of panic and fear, and, out the corner of my eye, I see her head turn. ⚠️

There’s a puff of purple smoke. 

And then she’s gone. 

Your POV: 

Panicking, I look away. Anywhere but at Dream, with his cute freckles and the smile I used to find innocent. Maybe it is an innocent smile. I don’t know. But I told him it’s too far, and he didn’t back off, and now he seems weirdly aggressive, and– 

My body automatically goes into fight or flight mode, and I yelp as something brushes my neck, before I teleport to the nearest place I can think of…which only gets me into the backyard. I feel myself weaken a little, but my mind doesn’t process this fact as, suddenly, the backyard feels too small and cramped and the walls are caving in and Dream will come for me and I have to run… 

I close my eyes and picture the only other place I know: the surface. The only problem is, I've been down here so long that I barely remember the surface…but I'll never forget that beautiful blue sky. So open and free. 

A burst of purple. Wind scourges my body. Cold air. 

I open my eyes, then scream as I find myself high above the clouds. Immediately, my body responds by starting to thrash around, but there’s not much of a point as I'm falling with literally nothing to stop me. I teleport to the first place my eyes land: a blotch of white in the distance. 

I land with a yelp in something cold and white, my knees hitting the ground first and sending a shot of pain through my legs as I collapse face-first into the cold stuff, failing to catch myself as I hardly register anything but solid ground and momentary safety. I don’t even notice the freezing cold at first, and I prop myself up with my hands, breathing heavily as I try to wrap my mind around what just happened. I stay there until I finally notice the sharp ache in my knees and the cold that seems to be scorching my hands. Eventually, I look up and take in my surroundings. 

surrounded by cold, white…what’s it called…snow on every side for as far as the eye can see. It blankets the ground and drapes itself across the branches of the pine trees everywhere. I can see nothing but white and flashes of deep green trees wherever I look, and I shiver. I’m definitely not dressed for this weather in my purple sweater and black distressed jeans. I stand up shakily, hugging my torso and looking around again as if I might see some way out of this frozen land. Instead, my eyes are greeted by fresh snowflakes dusting my eyelashes as the weather decides my fate.