#techno fic

My fic based on the Eleonora's falcon's whumpy hunting strategies is here! Summary:

For generations, a certain population of Eleonora’s Falcons have been observed learning to capture smaller birds by shredding their wings and trapping them in rocky crevices to have fresh food available later. In the Avian tongue, Eleonora translates to Elytrian. In the Avian brain, Elytrian translates to nightmare. But while Avian Techno is dreading the moment he’s turned into lunch, Elytrian Philza hasn’t slept in three days trying to take care of his newborn. When the line between chick and chick food starts to blur, how will predator and prey handle it?

Design details below cut :) featuring lots of speculative biology and culture based on real birds.

Techno was born from a one-night stand. Phil didn't cheat on Lrostin when that affair happened. Phil and Kristin had separated for a short time, but they came back together. They already had Wilbur when Techno wasn't even born yet.

It was all very strange.

Techno's mother was an alcoholic and abusive, so he was relieved when she died in a car accident.

But then he learned that no one else wanted him, and if his father didn't accept him, he would go into foster care.

Phil was granted custody, but he had to move to the UK with them.

Wilbur didn't like him very much, but Techno accepted it.

Tommy was more curious than anything else.

hey besties another new fic just dropped :D

Title: Techno goes to therapy

Summary: 

“So, Technoblade, what brings you to therapy?”

Techno stares at the therapist—Frank—for a few seconds. On the SMP, his actions are well known—or so he thought, anyway.

The question feels like a trap, but (according to Phil) a therapist is supposed to help. 

“I guess I have a lot of what you might call…‘trauma’.”

Frank tilts his head. “What would you call it?”

Techno’s eyebrow twitches. “Well,” he says slowly, as if explaining to a small child, “I have spent most of my life as a merc–for–hire. I’d call it a Thursday.”

~

I wrote it, you're welcome.

It's short but I put a readmore anyways incase LOL, enjoy-

Technoblade’s snout split into a wide, tusked grin. “Me.”

Technoblade knew what it looked like, do not mistake him in that. Megalomania wasn’t a look many pulled off well. But was it not simply what he was owed? By his continued existence, the subscribers clung to life as well. It was only right that they should make sacrifices to him. Perhaps the echoes of ghosts were cacophonous inside the confines of his god apple corrupted skull, but it was worth it to be so adored. Immortal as he’d foolishly become, was it really so wrong to wish to keep reminders of the humans he’d once known? To try to ensure they lived as long as he did? He was insane, yes, but he was reasonable about it. Anyone would go crazy living as long as he had; Technoblade was just willing to admit it. 

Part 1: The Window

The permanent stain upon the earth called himself The Blood God, but he had collected many names in the thousands of years he’d haunted humanity. He supposed these days he would be considered an elder vampire, though in truth ‘these days’ spanned centuries, and as of late he had rather lost track of it all. He’d been called a monster, a demon, a nightmare. In the ancient days when he’d still cared, he had forced the humans to call him a god. And before then, when he had still been human…

The last time that name had ever been spoken, it was in a hero’s dying screams. The Blood God’s humanity died with him.

The Blood God was left in his place. A menacing brute, more predator than man, his tusks long stained with the blood he drank. But where once mortals feared his presence prowling in the night, now he was nothing more than the fading memory of a nightmare. The mankind he’d haunted had lost even the whispers of stories about him, an old myth, forgotten myth, a dusty artifact abandoned and to lay where it was discarded. But The Blood God preferred to be undisturbed, anyway.

At most The Blood God moved only to feed, and even then it was delayed as long as possible until the maddening blood thirst at last overwhelmed the listless immortality it sustained. It irked him to have to move at all, that the instincts to survive plagued him still. How inconvenient he must persist, but persist he did for an immortal is good for nothing else. The Blood God fed upon the strain of wolves he’d personally domesticated, less for any concern of mortal life, and more so of convenience and a simmering misanthropic temperament born of apathy.

He didn’t concern himself much with humanity, withdrawn from a world speeding past at incomprehensible speed. Below the window he always sat at, the city grew ravenously, architecture transforming with incomprehensible materials, the world unfamiliar and lonely. But the humans rushing past were all the same, swarming ants. The faces he’d seen over the centuries had become little more than an indistinguishable blur, repetitious, dull. The predator’s eyes lazily traced the movement of his prey, but they held no interest, truly. It was only the instincts of a wretched beast, building pressure in the back of his skull telling him it had been too long since he last fed. But perhaps he could postpone another fortnight.

And then in the midst of the miasma of humanity, a beacon. A flash of familiar gold working through the crowd. Vampires healed too quickly for it to matter, but The Blood God still hadn’t lost the impulse to prod at a throbbing wound despite knowing it would still hurt. And so he carefully watched the young human with hair like a gleaming summer harvest, anticipating the second he turned and grief speared through The Blood God once more. Perhaps he could have spared The Blood God by passing out of view, but he lingered at a strange bench. Back to the window, swinging his legs a little as he waited. A type of cruelty, in its own right, to deny The Blood God a swift blow. But he was already waiting till the cessation of eternity with no relief. This throb of his long dead heart made little difference.

As if likewise impatient, the boy’s head twisted, searching. A glance at something small in his hands, a bouncing leg, and he rose. Looking around, and The Blood God braced as he turned into view. But the expected pain never came.

Because this time, it really was Theseus.

The same dancing cobalt eyes and cheekbones and jawline and eyebrows and nose and him, it was him, it was his friend.

With a rattling, choking gasp, The Blood God remembered how to breathe again. It hollowed him out like a gale, almost scorchingly invasive. His chest heaved with it, then stilled, the repetitive instinct long, long dead. His claws twitched, then pressed to his maw in wonder. Thousands of years had passed since those lips drew their last breath. The Blood God had been so worried over it at first, how he could just forget to breathe. Theseus had just teased him over it, subtly assuring him it didn’t matter. And the hero had been right, of course. So wearisome a habit, frequent and mundane, too fast to keep up with for an ancient immortal.

Mortal. Startling, The Blood God lurched to his feet, hooves splintering the floorboards. He needed to act now, before the mortal slipped through his claws. A life so fleeting- no, he could blink and Theseus would be gone again. Cobwebs lacing him to the chair snapped, dust billowing from the dragging of his wings as The Blood God lunged for the window.

The mortal was fully facing him now, talking to seemingly thin air with a familiar exacerbated ribbing that ached to not be directed to him. The vampire pressed to the shaded glass, enraptured with the vision before him. He soaked up every last detail, basking in the mortal’s image. There wasn’t a single doubt in his mind. That was Theseus. His friend. The other half of his soul.

A fractured soul could not endure eternity, not alone. And now, he didn't have to be alone. This time, The Blood God wasn’t going to accept no for an answer.