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English
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Published:
2021-01-18
Updated:
2021-04-01
Words:
2,443
Chapters:
6/?
Comments:
28
Kudos:
163
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Is there a place for us? There is.

Summary:

Potatoes, showering, stew, and some lore.

Notes:

You have no idea what I have in the lore. You might not like it. But I am the authour, I thrive off chaos. I am Chaos.

TW: mentions of dysphoria, war, fire, d//th.

-- is separation between Techno and Chat.
// is intrusive thoughts or flashbacks.

(See the end of the work for more notes.)

Chapter 1: Potatoes and Dysphoria

Chapter Text

They sigh, running their hands through hair damp with sweat. The glaring light in their eyes told them it was time to finish, their determination told them to keep going. They decide to head back, dumping the numerous potatoes into a barrel along the way. With this climate, there is no need to worry about rot. 

--

E
 technofarm 
 technoweak
 farm
 there’s still light. light. farm.
 E

--

Chat’s been quiet today, choosing to ramble amongst xemselves instead of watching Technoblade’s monotonous farming routine. Check the roots, stems, leaves. Feel through the dirt. Unearth the matured tubers. Xe don’t care for farming. Techno would rather not focus on what xe do enjoy.

Techno reaches their house and enters through the back door, preferring the colder washroom to tracking dirt inside from their day in the fields. They prefer to get the mud off quickly instead of letting Chat think of less peaceful stains. Chat doesn’t have any tolerance for mistakes. Techno’s learnt that the hard way.

--

technoeat 
 E
 chefnoblade 
 you missed a spud
 E
 E
 E

--

Cold showers mean less time waiting for the pipes to warm. Less time for them to focus on what feels wrong about themself. They don’t mind the tusks and snout, having long since moved away from the judging stares. 

Cold showers mean the mirror doesn’t fog up. Cold showers mean the mirror stays in the corner facing the wall so Techno doesn’t have to face themself. 

The frigid climate means more time bundled up being able to ignore what feels wrong. Isolation is a blessing and a curse, the only one able to judge you being yourself.

--

technoweak
 you don’t need a dressing gown it isn’t that cold
 E
 hang your towel up

--

Techno rolls their eyes. “Thanks, Chat.” They gather their soiled clothes into a pile with the rest. “I would have forgotten the towel. The bright pink towel. (/s)” 

Leaving the chilled washroom they head up a few stairs into the warmer living area. A rug protects calloused feet from the harder surface of smooth wood. The fireplace is just embers, but thick stone walls have contained the heat from the now silent flames. 

Turning around they head up another set of stairs towards their bedroom. They do not pause to stare but they still glance at a mural of themself, a past job filled with bloodshed. Chat was less compliant, louder then. They’ve learnt some ways to block xem out, though not for long. Chat always returns.

--

technoclean
 technorobe
 blood fro the blood god
 E
 how did you misspell a three letter word
 E
 technoclean

--

Technoblade chuckles to themself. When Chat is arguing with xemself it means they get a moment of peace. 

They close their door firmly behind themself to ward off drafts. Even though their house is sturdy, the harsh climate of their tundra dwelling leaks through the imperceptible cracks.

Now somewhat dry and dressed in thick soft clothing, Techno begins to think of dinner. They had potatoes yesterday and for lunch. Or maybe they forgot lunch in their concentration. They can't know for sure, the haze of focus makes memory unreliable. 

Time for dinner.

--

technocook
chefnoblade 
pogtato  
E 
pogtato 
those socks don’t match

--

Stew is quick and easy. It smells nice and makes the house seem even warmer. The scent of the cooking pot mixes with the smoke from the fireplace it is cooking over. The flames cast a steady light across the floor. Techno could use the kitchen, but there something more reminiscent? nostalgic? about cooking over the  
//
Flames spreading up wooden supports, pegs failing and lanterns falling. Flames spreading towards where Technoblade sits, having fallen back in shock. Flames spreading everywhere. Flames spreading across flesh, flames spreading the scent of their father’s burning flesh from where he lies, slewn by arrows from a 
// 
flames. The shadows are shifting and slightly flickering, making the edges of all their furniture soft. Bubbles pop lightly in the pot. The logs crackle and sometimes shift under their own burning weight. They can smell the stew finally warmed and ready. 

The door opening causes them to turn from grabbing a bowl.

“Hello?”

Chapter 2: Stew and Stewing

Summary:

Dadza shares stew and asks questions. His found-child doesn’t like the questions.

Notes:

Phil isn’t being transphobic here, the character just doesn’t know yet.

Tw: (accidental) misgendering, argument, implied yelling/voice raise, slight/censored cursing, mention of war and dysphoria.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

“Hey, son. It’s f**king freezing out there.”

Techno pauses before replying: “It gets cold rather quickly once the sun sets. Want some stew?”

“I’ll think about it, who taught you to cook again?” Phil removes his cape and hangs it on a peg, letting his wings be freed from the warm heavy fabric. 

“You, Phil.” Grabbing another bowl and placing them both on the table, Techno mentally braces themself for questions they are sure will come.

“How’ve you been? Keeping warm?” Phil is sitting now, leaning back in a chair specifically made to accommodate his wings.

“You know I stay warm.” They may be mistaken for a Nether-spawn, a piglin, but they are not. The thin but dense layer of fur all over their body traps heat much better than sparse human hairs.

--

philza 
Dadza pog 
stew stew stew  
 E 
 technowarm 
 dadza dadza dadza pog

--

The two are now both comfortably seated at the table. Bowls of stew steam slightly. Techno has lit a lantern which hangs over the table and casts a steadier light. Were one paying attention, they could see how Phil’s hair had gotten missed up from his flight. Family does not care about such minor issues as hair. Neither do warriors, unless it gets in the way. 

“What’s in this s**t anyway?” Phil breaks the silence. “No son of mine will shame the family with bad cooking./lh”

“It’s uhhh. Just some simple stuff.” They search their mind, trying to remember. “Carrots, potatoes, some rabbit and of course spices.” 

They do not mention the buzzing wrongness that enters their mind at the word “son.” They don’t know if they will. “Oh and some greens, you’ve finally got me to eat those without complaining… dad.” 

Despite the years they’ve spent with Phil and the rest of the Minecraft family, the terms of endearment still aren’t natural in their mouth.

--

DADZA 
 DADZA 
 vegetable 
 DADZA POG 
 E E E 
 technostew

--

The two continue in casual conversation until the question Techno has been dreading all night is asked.

“How’ve you really been? I know you won’t tell me outright.” 

Damn, they think, he knows me. Another part of them whispers of course he does. He raised you when no one else was willing to. 

“I’ve been fine. I’ve been in control. I get spacey as you would expect from farming all day, but I’m fine.”

“You said that you’re fine twice. You aren’t.” Having finished his stew, Phil leans back with the stern “dad gaze” Techno has come to hate and appreciate in their years with him.

“Okay, maybe there’s a bit of ‘I could totally get more spuds than this’ or ‘I can work longer there’s still more light’ but I’m fine. I can deal with this.” 

Phil uncrosses his arms to put his hands up in surrender. “Okay. If you’re sure you can handle-”

“Phil. I can. If I can set up a whole farm and- and cook stew for myself; if I can be known as the ‘Blood God,’” they make air quotes to display their distaste for this title, “in places as big and far away as Hypixel I can deal with some self doubt. Okay? It seems- it just seems like you think I’m incapable. Asking all the time if I’m okay. I’m a full grown person! I’ve fought and won wars! I can handle myself. I’m in control.” 

 

This last part is for themself as much as for Phil.

Notes:

I had to put something out, I hope this is ok. ADHD makes motivation and focus a juggling act.

I can’t juggle.
I can, if it is wanted, make a discord server for this fic. For when I inevitably mistag something and need to fix it.

Chapter 3: Blood and Backstory

Summary:

A bit of a backstory for Chat. This chapter is shorter because I feel I have to get something out.

Tw: blood/gore, death, a lot of death, referenced/implied child ab/se, description of system/multiplicity forming, mention of amnesia.

Notes:

Would the readers be okay if there are smaller chapters every week/every few days instead of longer chapters less often?
We have ADHD which makes consistency hard.
-Chaos

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Flames spreading up wooden supports, pegs failing and lanterns falling. Flames spreading towards where Technoblade sits, having fallen back in shock. Flames spreading everywhere. Flames spreading across flesh, flames spreading the scent of their father’s burning flesh from where he lies, slewn by arrows from a 
raging war. A war they will be forced to join. Flames spreading everyone they’ve known and loved across continents. 

Flames spreading to their own mind, shattering it into many pieces yet still remaining whole, still remaining one while being in essence an innumerable mass of bloodlust around the core of a small child who will not remember these events until they are safe, until they don’t need or want to remember. Until it would be easier to just forget but they can’t because Chat is always there. Chat always was there for instead of them when the gritty air that was the breath of their childhood became too much.

Chat was… Chat was war. Xe care not for whom xe fight for, only for b̸̨̼̈́́̿l̸̢̬̲̦͂͌͜ȍ̵̻̱̣͕̾̍̃͑o̷̠͇̭͓̐ḑ̶̧̮̦̄̆. Only for the slick liquid pouring out of bodies. Xe don’t care if the body is of child or with child, only that it bleeds. Chat was formed from blood and steel, the collision of fear and anger that can only be so acutely experienced by a child forced into war. Chat took all the fear and aggression xe saw and formed it into xemselves. Xe took all the beatings required as soldier’s discipline and returned it ten-thousandfold, releasing all of the rage xe compiled in an explosion of steel and wit. 

Chat was not tame, could never be tamed. Only withheld. 

Notes:

A Discord server is in beta stages, I am still in the process of setting it up.
Until it’s ready, VirgilStormWrites has a server based around his fic Blue Cross Inc. it’s pretty pog.

Chapter 4: Apologies and Hope

Summary:

Father and child apologise. Thoughts about life happen.
Tw: description of behaviour after trauma, war, system forming (not sure if this can be a trigger but putting it in here just in case)

Notes:

I know I said weekly or more often but motivation is a gamble, apologies.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

(Continued from chapter two)

“I… I’m sorry. I didn’t know you…” Phil tries to backtrack, to find where he went wrong in helping his son .
“I didn’t know it would bother you. You are… you are fully grown, you’re a ‘big man’ and I forget that.”

“Phil.” Techno waves their hand gently. “It’s not a big matter. I’m most likely just exhausted from eh, wakin’ up too early and working in the fields.” They find themself holding back a grimace at the rumble of their voice. “I’m sorry for snapping at you.”

A silence with the energy of salt water, cool waves gently shifting about, calming yet stinging now settles on the room. 

“Techno, mate, you should really get more sleep. I don’t want to lose you to yourself like I did with Wilbur… if you ever need anything your dadza’s here.”

“Thanks Phil, I appreciate it. I really do.” Technoblade finally relaxes their shoulders, having realised they aren’t in danger. Phil wouldn’t- Phil isn’t like- Phil is safe. They are safe. 

They are safe when they can be vulnerable. When they can let go of their war forged and scar crossed exterior and just live . When they can sit near the fire without jumping up to search around themself for enemies. 

Perhaps someday this can be normal for them. Perhaps someday there can be a day without startling at a clash of metal or earth, a day where their hoe can be sharpened without sending them back to that grey-skied camp of their first days with the army; days that became weeks then months and years as Chat took more of a hold on their limbs and mind. As they themself retreated back to a simpler place without all this needless bloodshed. 

Notes:

Comments really do help with motivation and ideas.
Questions I have for readers:
• more Chat? less Chat?
• discord server?
• more frequent updates or longer updates?*

* this will still be dependant on my motivation, as this is not a responsibility I have but an activity I want to do.
ADHDeities please let me remember to do things

Are the writing styles of the different chapters similar enough to be put together as a story? I cannot tell. If the styles are too different I will have to get just one genre of music to listen to while writing. This chapter was The Scary Jokes.

Chapter 5: Not a chapter- update explanation.

Summary:

Small explanation of why updates are taking so long.

Chapter Text

Greetings. I am not the one who normally writes the chapters. I am not the one who knows about this story. Our fronting has been a mess, not allowing the authour among us to write its story. It wants to write zyr story, it wants to provide content to those who have followed/bookmarked/subscribed (I also am not the one who is wise in AO3 terms) to its story. Due to the fronting situation however, it is unable to do so.

We do hope it can have a more stable front so that zy may continue its story. We do hope that it will be able to write its story and provide content. We do not know when this will happen. Hopefully, when (or if, though the former is preferred) it is able to front continuously, zy will be able to continue writing zyr story. It really does enjoy the writing even if motivation and ideas are not constant. 

Dearest wishes for your lives. Sincerely,
I do not have a known name yet. I believe I am what is called a “fragment” and am trying to find my identity. I am content with this. 

Post Script— Thank you all for the support provided by means of comments and kudos. This makes our authour immensely happy. 

Chapter 6: Tea and Names

Summary:

They question their name. And tea.

Notes:

So I’m finally back! Sorry for a short chapter, I felt it was best to leave it at a voting point. (See bottom note)
I don’t know if the formatting has changed, if it has I can try and fix it.
If the transition from the last chapter is strange, it’s been a month irl let me be. *insert <3 thing*

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

[The next day] 

They come into being. Vaguely at first then more rapidly they awaken. Who are they? It takes a moment for their thoughts to settle. They are Technoblade. The one name they know yet hate, the lone legible remnant of their past. They should really come around and get a new one. It’s something they’ve put off for years; change being difficult, even if good. 

A small thought at the back of their head prods at them, telling them they’ll never be more than a boy; they’ll never be more than Brian; never more than the son of a pig farmer made to flee to another dimension due to nature and unchangeable fact.

They shake this thought off and move from under the covers. Perhaps today they will try the tea they were always begged to drink. They wonder what it tastes like.  
 Moving down stairs into the kitchen, they search through cupboards trying to find the tea. They set a pot on the rack over the fire and find a cheesecloth as well. 

--

what’s this?
cheesecloth? We aren’t making cheese 
don’t quote that tumblr chain-
E E E  
Did we make the bed I don’t remember
new name pog?

--

What do they drink it in? A cup? A mug? They settle for a mug. It is hot, even if it isn’t soup. They hear that the water has boiled and put the leaves in. They aren’t certain how much is enough but do it anyway. 

--

we baked tea! pog! now all we need is sspacgetti 

--

They place the cheesecloth over the opening of the mug and pour the… mud? They know it’s tea but it has a rather murky colour. They add a fingerful of sugar to the mug after removing the cheesecloth. 

“What the Ne- oh.” They have forgotten to stir it. “This makes much more sense.” 

This is nice. They wander into the sitting room, noting that the embers are nearly grey. They’ll fix that once they finish this “cuppa” or whatever the Crimson foresters call it. The wind has settled down from last night and so have they. They sit in a lightly cushioned chair and enjoy the relative stillness they have today. 

--

would we be enbyblade or technoblagender
both of those are horrible names 
what about spudnik 
E E? 
do we look russian to you 
spuds is nice

--

Notes:

The voting is for their name, it wouldn’t be right to leave them with just a war title.
Options: Spuds or whatever you can come up with in the comments.
On another note, a discord! https://discord.gg/EEYvEAwR The invite expires in seven days from posting or after 25 uses, the server is still in beta and this is a test run.

Notes:

I am in a system, this is based off our experiences. Chat is a collection of fragments.
Being a system is NOT a threat to society.

Hi, Virgil. I hope to rival your angst. (Everyone else go read his fic Blue Cross Inc. do it.)