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issybettyx · 1 year

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Technoblade myth/legend au, except he’s not as terrifying as the stories paint him to be

Tdlr; Tommy’s a kid who grew up hearing stories of several different creatures and serial killers, Wilbur used to tell him one most nights if he wasn’t yet asleep. It was the legend of Technoblade that scared him the most.

Techno was an immortal being with something to prove, and he saw a blonde kid who thought twice before walking away and took a leap of faith

Or: techno finds his new brother on the side of the road, and tommy isn’t exactly against it

Or or: bedrock bros :DDDD

It’s a bit longer than i meant it to be, so you’re in for the long run (idk the word count i cant check)

Mentions of murder, scary imagery, near death experience

—

One thing Tommy remembered when he was growing up was Wilbur telling him bed time stories. Until he was 8, his brother would tell him stories of travellers, of dragons and talking cats. After his 8th birthday, however, those childish fantasies became something a little… darker.

One night, when Tommy was 9, Wilbur clambered into his bed as usual, a wicked smile on his face. “Today’s story is a very special one, Toms, you know why?” He asked giddily, grinning into his palm as Tommy shook his head, exhaustion already pulled over his head as he yawned, “Because today’s story isn’t just a myth, but a legend.”

“What’s the difference?”

“A myth is usually made up, from a very long time ago, but legends are real historical events that simply cannot be proven because they’re so old.” Wilbur explained, leaning on the wall as he flicked his flashlight on, revealing his wide smile. “Today’s story is about an immortal being named Technoblade.”

Apparently, according to Wilbur, Technoblade’s story started when he was 6. The boy was thrown to the wolves, and that was not a metaphoric statement. The gods found him, bloodied and torn as he lay beside a wolf pup, his arm slung around it as he gathered any last hint of warmth it was willing to offer.

It seemed he was on his last few breaths, but Death took mercy on him, using her abilities to restore him. Except, these restorations had consequences.

From age 6, Technoblade was made immortal. Not only that, but he was gifted the ability to manipulate blood, his blue eyes flashing a bright red whenever he so much as caught a glimpse of dripping red.

However, all powers have their drawbacks. Technoblade’s had come in the form of voices that yearned for the blood his veins pulsed only to control. Voices that willed him into mass murder, that placed him in the middle of battlefields with no choice but to get a few specks of blood on his knuckles.

Wilbur had explained his appearance strangely; his clothing consisted of a white frilled shirt and black trousers, way too fancy for every-day wear. His boots were once black, now brown from the dirt that soaked them. Pink hair was usually plaited, cascading down his back with different flowers sewn into the folds. Freckles dotted his face, and an emerald necklace dangled from his ears that were already overloaded with gold.

“He’s terrified people for generations, wiped out entire armies in his leave.” Wilbur explained, and never before had Tommy felt such fear; purely because this wasn’t a myth, this wasn’t something fake Wilbur had made up on the spot but a legend. Technoblade was real, and their deaths sat heavy on his shoulders in a way he knew couldn’t be too heavy for a man such as him to carry. “People haven’t seen him in centuries, but the worry remains, the wonder of when his return shall be.”

“Where did he go?” Tommy asked quietly, whispering it with such alarm that Wilbur gave him a soft smile, placing his flashlight down in favour of holding the sides of Tommy’s face.

“No one knows, some say the gods finally welcomed him into the afterlife, others say he’s been waiting somewhere far away to be able to pounce at the right moment.” Wilbur elucidated, and Tommy didn’t like that thought at all. Someone so dangerous could be lurking the planet, and all they could do was sit and wait for him to pass through and leave a trail of bodies behind him. “But hey,” the boy started again, and Tommy willed himself to look up, ignoring the fear in his chest, “You’re too awesome, he wouldn’t be able to lay a finger on you, you’re not even an orphan he wouldn’t care.”

Tommy wanted to ask, but after a short moment of deliberation he forgot the question, his thoughts lost to the cold shiver of the night.

“But he’s mean? And scary.” He tried, but Wilbur smiled again, brushing the hair from his face.

“I’ve been studying the stories of this legend for a very long time, and though Technoblade may be told to be mean and scary, I have a feeling he wouldn’t want to hurt you.” Wilbur continued, planting a kiss on Tommy’s forehead despite his hands trying - and failing - to swat him away. “You’ll be okay, Dad will save you either way.”

And Tommy had stuck with that thought; he forced Wilbur’s confidence into his own brain every day for the next few years, and no one ever really questioned it. Well, that’s a lie, many people questions his adamance on why Technoblade was painted in such a terrible light, how their fear was justified but not for the correct reasons.

Tubbo glared at him as if he was insane, and there’s a chance he was, but Tommy would be the last one to admit it.

Aged 11, Tommy had been given homework to write an essay on a legend, and he immediately got to work with Wilbur, finding every story and theory on the legend and writing an extensive essay. It turned out he had to read it in front of his class, and Tommy did so with his chin held high and a smirk on his lips. Once, his brother had said faking confidence soon turned into natural confidence, fake it till you make it.

It was a Friday, and Tommy found himself hissing as he stared at the graze on his knee, frowning as he wiped the antiseptic wipe over it.

“That’s a nasty one.” Tubbo supplied, ever helpful as he ripped open the paster packaging. “Maybe the blood god will return to shove it back inside.” He joked, placing the plaster over it with a satisfied hum.

“If I ever meet Technoblade, I don’t know if I’d run or wave him over.” Tommy scoffed, rolling his eyes as he tugged his trouser leg back down, standing as he pushed down a grimace, “Either way, this blood is staying where it is if I have anything to say on the matter.”

“Whatever you say bossman.” Tubbo replied with a hum, throwing his backpack over his shoulders. “See you Monday?”

Tommy nodded. “See ya.”

Only recently had Tommy convinced his Dad to let him walk home, explaining how he was 12 now and in big school and how he could crawl home without an issue; the man seemed to hace an unspoken hatred towards crawling, immediately telling Tommy how he shouldn’t and how horribly dangerous it was. But ‘danger’ was Tommy’s middle name, so he didn’t take the man’s complaints as heavily as he probably should’ve.

Because of this, he never paid that much attention to his surroundings, idly kicking a pebble as he ignored how quiet the street had gotten, the distant sound of screaming and way too many pattering feet.

Tommy didn’t hear the loud footsteps behind him, filled with a determination that could rock the very Earth they stood on.

Tommy didn’t feel the red eyes on him, nor the furrowed brows or the aura of fear radiating behind him.

What he did hear, however, was a low cough to gain his attention, making him immediately spin around, his own blue eyes meeting blood red, a sharp smirk on his lips with his pink hair tied back into a loose ponytail.

Tommy knew he should’ve ran, logically it was the smartest move.

Logically speaking, Tommy was staring at the blood god and found himself not as scared as he probably should be.

“I-“ he started, cutting himself off when the other noticed his strange state of panic, taking a decisive step back which Tommy immediately copied. “You’re the blood god.”

“I prefer the name Techno,” he replied with a shrug, offering his hand with a smile, “Nice to meet you.”

Tommy stared at the hand for a moment, then back ip at the glistening red eyes. And then he ran for it, jumping over any rocks in his way as he listened for another pair of bounding feet to follow him, but the area was silent apart from his own shaky breaths and jumping heart.

And yet, despite the blood-curdling fear in his chest, Tommy found he could only feel bad for the man. No one deserved to be looked at in the way Tommy had looked at him, no one deserved to have crowds of children scatter at their mere presence.

And maybe the man didn’t deserve the violent voices that screamed in his head.

Tommy knew he should’ve turned back, he should’ve looked and at least smiled, but his body willed him on, and his front door shut behind him before he could even change his mind.

Tommy needed air.

Maybe leaving the house when a violent immortal was on the loose was a bad idea, but he found that he didn’t really care.

In his research, Tommy found so many more things about him.

For example, apparently he had a pet polar bear when he lived in Antartica - apparently because he couldn’t die he thought it would be a fantastic place to live - named Steve, and someone had tried to assassinate the poor thing. And Technoblade made sure they never saw the light of day again.

He was also caught with a book in his hands a fair few times, eyes tracking the page with such ease that only came with centuries of practice.

Tommy wanted to fear Technoblade, wanted his heart to pound in his ears and run when those red eyes glared at him, but he found he simply couldn’t. In fact, the main reason he ran was out of pure shock and confusion, in his righteous opinion.

The air was cold that night, and Tommy didn’t bother repressing his shivers as he shoved his hands into his pockets, slipping in his earphones and letting his feet match the beat. He walked down beside the canal, finding a bench and falling onto it, sighing as he shut his eyes for a moment.

“Hullo.”

His eyes shot open.

At first, that wanted fear thrummed slightly in his chest, red eyes significantly standing out among the dark sky. But the way he held himself was anything but confident, his glasses looked a little too nerdy and his hair looked as if he’d swiftly thrown it up before a quick morning jog.

And, despite Wilbur’s insistence that the man never changed his clothing, Technoblade had a black hoodie on, jeans on his legs and boots on his feet.

The immortal bit his lip, waiting for any kind of movement or response, but got nothing.

“Sorry for, uh, scaring you earlier.” He continued, running a hand through his hair before frowning, apparently realising it was tied up. “I didn’t- don’t want to hurt you, you were just, uh, bleeding.”

Oh. Right.

His eyes only shone red when there was blood.

Some people theorised he was like a shark, that he could find someone simply by the smell of blood.

“Could I-“ he started, shifting his feet on the stone with an uncertain look. “Could I fix it?”

Even after everything, after Tommy educated himself on Technoblade’s abilities, after he spent months preaching about how genuinely good of a person he was, after Technoblade scared him off and didn’t bother giving him chase. After he stood uncertain as if worried he would accidentally hit a fly out of the air.

Tommy still found himself shocked.

Even more shocked at his own words.

“Only if I can fix your hair, it’s fucked up.”

Silence overtook them, and Tommy found himself not even bothering to be scared, sighing as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“My hair is perfectly okay, thank you very much.” The man huffed out, crossing his arms over his chest with a frown. Tommy knew he should scream and run and lock himself in a room until the legend forgot he was in there, but instead he found himself chuckling, rolling his eyes and moving over as a silent invitation for the other to sit.

But he paused, glancing at the space and back at Tommy, the boy frowning.

“Are you sure?” He asked, taking a step closer as if he was afraid of the seat barking at him.

Tommy scoffed, “You’re scary, you kill, blah blah blah.” Technoblade froze, Tommy didn’t bothering commenting. “You haven’t killed me, nor anyone since you’ve come back, I have zero reason to be scared of you so sit before I force your awkward ass onto the chair.”

For a moment, Tommy seriously regretted speaking to a god like that. He knew Death would be kicking at his heels until it became weak enough to kill him with a single arrow shot.

But then, a smile broke out onto his face, and he sat down, bringing his legs up and crossing them in front of him. “Where’s the cut?” He asked, scanning over Tommy who huffed, lifting his trouser leg.

But Technoblade frowned, looking at it with a careful eye. “There’s no blood there, wrong leg?” He asked, raising an eyebrow at the now-smirking Tommy, who made a point to rip off his plaster and show off his amazing graze to the one man who could kill him with an injury as such.

It was well known that grazes didn’t kill unless it got infected and untreated, however Technoblade could control any blood he could see. If his mind had a connection to the circulatory system, he could manipulate it.

As the stories had always said, a lost leg would be on equal level as a paper cut.

In Technoblade’s books anyways.

“Woah.” He whispered quietly, going to touch it before flinching back. “Can I touch it? I need to, to uh, heal it.” Tommy shrugged, watching Technoblade move his hand make and carefully press the tips of his fingers to it.

For a quiet moment, nothing happened.

But then, when Tommy leaned in closer, he saw a humming red on his skin, the graze knitting itself back together as if it had never been there in the first place.

It took around ten seconds for it to be fully healed, and the moment the red stopped humming he pulled back, as if worried he would do more damage than good.

“Thanks big man.” Tommy thanked as he looked at his knee, admiration overtaking as a smile continued to sit on his face. “This is fucking awesome.” Then, he looked back at the other, finding an uncertain look on his face as he looked at the canal water in front of them.

His eyes squinted, no longer red but now a pale blue, at the surface of it, a conflicted look on his face that Tommy knew meant danger.

The voices still existed, Tommy knew that much as he watched Technoblade press the ends of his nails into his palms.

The voices demanded blood, and usually took the person closest. And Tommy was sat pretty damn close.

So you know what the best course of action was?

To shuffle closer, demand the man to turn and pull his messed hair out of the hair-tie it was being held back in.

“What happened to your plait, Technoblade?” Tommy asked calmly, mostly as a form of conversation as he brushed his fingers through the man’s knotted hair (a hairbrush would be ideal, but he could work with what he had).

The man didn’t move or say anything for a moment, making a point to stare at his hands as he picked at the skin at the ends of them. “I forgot,” he said, and at the lack of an answer decided to clarify, “How to braid, I mean.” And then. “And Techno’s fine.”

“You can’t just forget, it doesn’t work like that.” Tommy sighed back, splitting his hair into three before moving the one in the right into the centre, swapping their places. “It’s muscle memory, I bet you could do it in your sleep.”

“An old friend taught me how, but when she passed I just… couldn’t,” he tried to explain, but when he knew Tommy only frowned more he tried to fix it, “I forgot because I simply didn’t do it for so long, muscle memory doesn’t matter if your muscles have done everything.”

“My muscles do everything.” Tommy continued, Techno humming as if it made sense, “They flex, and grow, they do a lot of growing. They impress women-“

“How many?”

“Thousands.”

“Wow, quite the muscles.”

Tommy paused to look over the man’s shoulder, a grin broad on his face. “That’s what I said, but Wilbur didn’t agree, Wilbur said that I had no muscles and no women liked me.”

Techno hummed again, letting the hands thread through his hair. “Who’s Wilbur?”

“My brother,” he responded, disdain costing his words, and if it wasn’t for his hands moving without shaking Techno may have slain the man where he stood. “He plays guitar and stuff, massive prick but he’s super cool, so it’s okay.”

“And what’s your name?” Techno prompted, handing Tommy a hair-tie which he took happily, tying the end as he thought.

Once, Wilbur had told him about how Technoblade enjoyed learning about Greek Mythology. Sure he was a god, but old beliefs were still interesting to learn about, and Tommy had spent the entire next three months learning everything he could about them all.

“Theseus.” He replied, flicking the plait over the god’s shoulders, moving in front of Techno and offering his hand, doing a slight bow. “But you can call me Tommy.”

Techno’s smile was wide, accepting the hand before standing. “Well it was fantastic meeting you Tommy, not many people are as… well, not scared I guess.”

“Because many people are pussies, but we’re not pussies are we Techno?”

With a sigh, and a shake of his head, Techno smiled just a little brighter. “No Tommy, we’re very awesome and not at all scared of anyone.”

When Tommy frowned, Techno faltered, and Tommy could see the flicker of worry and self-doubt in the man’s eyes.

“What-“

“Say bitch.” He whispered, staring at Techno who seemed strange bewildered.

“I’m sorry?”

“Say bitch, Techno, say it or you are one.”

“I don’t swear, not when I don’t need to.” Techno responded, his smile returning but with more pride. “You can’t make me.”

“Okay, say ass.”

“That counts.”

“No it doesn’t, Dad lets me say that one.”

“How old are you? Like four?”

Tommy’s gasp was a little too loud, but Techno grinned nonetheless.

“Four? How childish do you think I am?!”

“Well-“

An extra pair of footsteps interrupted them, and Techno instinctively turned to them, eyes wide as he stared at the person new to the scene. Tommy took a moment, groaning in annoyance as he sighed, pinching his eyes before turning.

Wilbur’s brown eyes met his own.

“Tommy.” Wilbur started, his voice cautious as his gaze flicked to Techno, the man stood unsure of who to focus on. “Tommy get behind me.”

“Wilbur it’s fine-“

“That’s Technoblade.” He practically spat, glaring at the god who simply shuffled uncomfortably, shoving his hands into his pockets as he avoided any eye contact. “You’re in danger, so please step away before I do anything stupid.”

“You are being stupid, it’s fine I know who he is.” Tommy replied with a shrug, making a point to pick up Techno’s hand and mess with it, turning it over and moving his fingers back and forth, the owner of the hand staring back with utter confusion. “See? Harmless.”

“Tommy-“

“You’re the one who told me he was fine, and look,” he said with a smile, raising the hand in the air as Techno smiled directly at him, ignoring the other person accompanying them. “You were right.”

“Yeah but he can still fucking kill you! Did you never learn about stranger danger?!”

“I mean he healed my graze, look!” Tommy said excitedly, dropping the hand to lift up his trouser leg, making sure Wilbur was looking at it as commanded. “It’s good as new.”

“Dad will kill you.”

“I’ll kill him first.”

“Not on my watch, he makes amazing pizza and I don’t think I can live without it.” Wilbur told him, seemingly more relaxed as he pointed at the kid, then at Techno with a more careful eye. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.” He muttered back just loud enough for the other to hear, before turning to Tommy, crouching to his height. “Who’s this Dad of yours? Is he good not only because of pizza?”

“Dad’s the best.” Tommy affirmed, and when Wilbur didn’t disagree it seemed good enough. “He is very boring though, he spends his time reading and going to the library, you’d probably get along great.”

“You horribly concern me, Tommy.” Techno sighed out, and Tommy beamed happily, seemingly taking it as a compliment, “Does he have a name or do I just call him Dad until you give me something to call him?”

“Phil.” Tommy said immediately, smiling as he swung. “Phil Watson.”

What they didn’t expect was for Techno to freeze, not before standing and staring at Tommy with wide eyes.

“What?” Wilbur asked sternly, moving and slowly dragging Tommy away to a safer distance, scanning Techno’s furrowed brows with caution.

“Phil Watson as in Philza Minecraft Watson?”

Tommy and his brother shared an unsure glance, before eventually nodding.

Techno continued to stare blankly.

“You heard of him? He on your hit-list?” Wilbur scowled, tugging his brother closer who tried to struggle out of the grip. Techno frowned.

“If Phil was on my hit-list I would kill the person who asked for his head.” Techno practically growled, and this only confused them both a little more. And then, after a few deep breaths, the murderous glint to the god’s eyes was gone, and he felt back onto the bench with a sigh. “Phil’s a good man, I can’t deny the fact he is likely as good a father as he is a man.”

“You know Dad?” Tommy asked, finally pulling away from Wilbur and sitting beside Techno, his legs kicking beneath him as the god let his eyes drift shut.

“He taught me how to quiet the voices, amongst other things.” After a quiet moment of consideration, Wilbur moved to sit next to Tommy, making sure he was far away from the god even when Tommy edged closer and rested his head on the man’s shoulder. He was always too trusting, Wilbur promised to scold him for it if they came out of this alive.

“But how do you know him?” Tommy asked after a moment, and Techno hummed in questioning. “I swear no one’s seen you in, like, hundreds of years.”

“Well yeah, but-“ he cut himself off, and Wilbur immediately glared at him, as if daring to accuse their Dad of anything. “But he taught me, in secret, a few years ago.”

It was clearly a lie, and Wilbur really wanted to force to truth out, but Tommy beat him to speaking, always eager to say something else. “That’s very nice of him, I like Dad even more now.”

“More than Tubbo?”

Tommy looked at Wilbur, something daring and almost disgusted in his eyes.

“Please.”

Techno laughed, and it shocked Wilbur so much he forgot he was meant to be scared, finding himself smiling as well at his brothers antics.

“How old are you?”

Wilbur laughed this time, mostly at the offended look on Techno’s face.

“Oh god, I’m gonna have to talk to Phil about this, teach you some manners about how to speak to immortal beings.” He sighed out, and Wilbur pressed his hand over his mouth to hide his smile. “Never ask a god his age.”

Wilbur leaned over to Tommy, whispering something in his ear that made the boy’s eyes gleam.

“You’re 7658!”

After a brief moment of processing and quick maths, glared at the kid, and then at Wilbur who was smirking. “You guys know way too much about me, first the Theseus comment, then the braid, now my age which I didn’t even know myself, what’s next?” Despite the tone, the man didn’t seem too unhappy about it (if his smile was anything to go off of).

“Did you know that Death visited you on your 1000th birthday and gifted you a cool ass sword?” Wilbur asked, as if he didn’t know he’d lived through it himself. Techno, for one was astonished. Tommy had that same curiosity he always carried with him wherever he went.

“Do you still have it? Is it still cool ass? Did Death kill you?”

“I mean I feel pretty alive right now.” Techno mumbled, looking at his scarred hands with a frown. “I think.”

“What about the time when the God of Life gave you a wolf big enough to be ridden as a horse, how epic was that?” Wilbur asked, leaning forward as he looked at him, an emotion akin to amazement in his eyes.

“Oh! Oh! What did you name it?”

Techno grinned, “Floof.”

Wilbur grimaced, Tommy seemed to love it even more than the owner himself.

“That is epic.”

Techno grinned, and Wilbur found himself weirdly comfortable in the Blood God’s company, even if he reprimanded himself for it. Tommy seemed to simply be enjoying it, and Wilbur would be lying if he said he didn’t want to join him.

—

“Phil?” Techno’s deep voice rang through the house, Tommy and Wilbur kicking off their shoes and immediately running to the kitchen to find snacks.

“Yeah?” The man called back, no hesitance as if it was a normal occurrence to have an old friend shouting your name. It was also strange because Tommy and Wilbur never called their dad by his first name, the former had explained how it was ‘disrespecting the best man ever’.

And then, after a moment, the door slammed open and fast footsteps followed, even the boys in the kitchen paused to watch their Dad jump down half the steps before pausing, staring right into Techno’s eyes without a hint of worry or fear, but rather relief.

He was immediately pulled into a hug, and Techno didn’t bother stopping the tears, holding him tight with no means of letting go. It felt safe, like everyone in the world who was after him would back off with Phil holding him in such a way.

“I’m sorry.” He cried quietly, and the warm, safe arms only held him tighter. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s alright mate.” Phil responded quietly, running his hand down the man’s plait with a smile. “Nice plait, did you finally relearn?”

“No your son did it.”

Phil froze, breath pausing for just a moment before finally relaxing, likely having lost a few years off his life from just that minute alone.

“Are they still out?” He asked quietly, hoping for an answer he knew he wasn’t going to get.

“Nope they’re stood right behind you.” He whispered back, and he heard Phil sigh, regretfully pulling away and turning to look at his sons, both as confused as each other. “What did I tell you guys about stranger danger?”

“Well he clearly isn’t a stranger.” Wilbur mumbled.

“Strangers are people you don’t know, I know Technoblade!”

“Yeah, you know that he’s killed a fuck ton of people.” He pointed out, Techno smiling slightly as Wilbur grimaced, Tommy rolling his eyes.

“He fixed my leg though! Look! Dad look!”

Phil was subjected to looking at Tommy’s healed knee, humming in satisfaction. “That was very nice of him.”

“It was! It was! He said he knew you, you helped him! You’re very cool Dad.”

Phil smiled so bright Techno was worried the kid would be blinded. “Thanks kiddo.”

And then, Techno caught Wilbur’s gaze. His eyes were carefully squinted, his mouth even and his hands being clenched and unclenched at his sides.

The kid knew something, so Techno smiled, rocking on his feet as the boy looked on in disbelief.

“Dad why are you friends with Technoblade?”

“Why are you friends with Technoblade?” Phil asked back immediately, clearly deflecting, but the boy didn’t seem to notice, huffing.

“Because he was nice to me! And he didn’t hurt me! And he’s cool and I like cool people!”

“Dad?” Wilbur asked, his father smiling as he looked at him, “How old are you?” He asked slowly, carefully, and clearly with a thought in his head. Phil noticed it, smiling with warning.

“Don’t ask me my age, that’s rude.” He huffed back, standing and ruffling Tommy’s hair. What he didn’t expect was for Wilbur to smile back, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Techno said that you never ask a god his age.” Wilbur continued, and Phil paused, glancing back at Techno who sunk into himself. “And he also said you helped him a few years ago, but you hardly ever leave the house unless it’s for shopping.”

Tommy gasped, slapping a hand over his mouth. “You’re old old.”

“I’m not that old.” Phil reasoned, but he knew any attempts at lying would be futile, sighing. “Okay maybe a few thousand years is a bit old-“

“Tubbo’s Dad is old, he’s 40 next Thursday.” Tommy explained, and Phil could only stand baffled, looking to Techno for help, but the man only smiled again, looking into Wilbur’s proud eyes with something almost challenging. “Wow, you’re both old, me and Wilbur are so much better than you two.”

Wilbur nodded in agreement, and Phil sighed, wondering if after everything these boys would be the death of him. Maybe they would, they definitely could if they tried.

Instead, they all decided to settle on the sofa that night, Tommy making the executive decision to fall asleep at Techno’s side, Wilbur dozing off in front of him with Phil running his hands through his hair, Techno focusing only on the telly.

The stories painted Technoblade as a horrible man, a man who yearned for blood and dreamt of the fall of armies, of governments up in flames and orphans at the end of his sword.

But here he sat, with a young boy held close and his friend by his side, an older boy by his feet who had managed to feel comfortable enough in his presence to let sleep take him.

Sometimes stories aren’t always completely correct. Technoblade was living proof of such a statement.