Have you heard of Hypixel?

by do_wnhill

Summary:

Directionless. That’s what most called Skeppy. It’s not like he took it to heart really. But damn was it a way to piss him off.

To say Technoblade had been prepared for Hypixel would be an understatement. I mean 10 years isn’t that long right?

or,

Skeppy and Technoblade both apply for Hypixel University

Chapter 1: Blue

Summary:

it's your favorite odd couple! he doesn't care about college at all, while he cares too much!

Notes:

third draft of chapter one, should be the final draft I think. no base information has changed

Directionless. That’s what most called Skeppy. It’s not like he took it to heart, not really. Since he was small, he’d realized there was a connection between people, smiles, and how much they liked him: laughter. Make the other kids laugh, please the adults, make the ones he couldn’t a punchline. It was a stable pattern. He just had to not overdo it, which he sometimes did. Pranks and such landed him in the office or out of class. But when teachers loved him anyway, who cared? Skeppy was a coaster, a class clown, which has less staying power the further you get away from six. It started with a single question: “What do you want to be when you grow up?”

The question had always floated around from strangers and dinner tables, and Skeppy always had meaningless answers like "Parkour X-Master" or "Supreme Champion of Minecraft." It was never that big of a deal.

His sixth grade teacher, Ms. Ebna, asked the question innocently. Class icebreaker, first day of school jazz. So, innocently, Skeppy chose to not answer. Left his paper blank. It was just an icebreaker after all. So when she stopped by his desk and asked for clarification, he thought for a minute, and said (loudly,) “Bad's parents don't do anything, right? Sounds pretty good to me.”

The class chuckled while an affronted, “Hey!” rang out from the back of the room.

Ms. Ebna seemed unfazed. “Alright, Skeppy,” she said plainly. His grin fell. “Are you sure that's all what you want? I think that paper has a lot of room for opportunity.”

His eyes fell back down to the paper, and he didn't have anything better to say. She hummed and moved on.

Skeppy thought of Ms. Ebna as an interesting character; she was. An optimist. While she didn’t see Skeppy as a slacker or an idiot, she didn't see him as very funny either. He was just another student. She would ask Skeppy about his likes, what issues he had with math problems—she was like that with every other student. Skeppy was really mad about it at the time, he complained to his friends about it for hours. How "bland" and uninteresting Ms. Ebna was. For what Skeppy had upcoming, she was refreshing.

There was Simmons, a “chill” teacher who sat on desks and announced in the first hour of class that he preferred no honorifics at all, calling them “too much.” Ironically, it was not “too much” when he found out Skeppy didn't want to go to college, something Skeppy assumed Simmons would find cool and hippie-like.

No. Suddenly, Skeppy was this strange bug in his class with an annoying laugh and personality that needed to be squashed as fast as possible.

There's one memory of Simmons that stuck like molasses, every time Skeppy thought about the moron: Skeppy and his friends were just tossing one another around in the back of the class with jokes and jabs when Simmons marched past several desks. There might've been five or six in that group, but he zeroed in on Skeppy.

You can get the line a couple different ways from the people in the surround-sound, but either way, what he told Skeppy was buck-fucking strange. Skeppy remembered the sneer on Simmons' lips and the spittle of his voice as he said, “If you cared about your future as much as your silly little jokes, maybe your potential would finally square itself. But with this kind of attitude, I think I'll be seeing in my classroom for a while, Mr. Skeppy.”

It was so out of nowhere, Skeppy sat there dumbfounded, while Simmons walked off, proud of himself. Skeppy could've socked him in the mouth, swear to God.

A year later, there was Ms. wMollx. She was perfectly nice, loved her job, but someone who Skeppy always felt an air of pity around. As if there was something he was suffering that only she could understand. One of those memoirs about the person you passed by in a car. She pulled him aside frequently to ask about his parents, his home life as if he was some troubled kid and not just Skeppy. He avoided her a lot after that.

And that wasn't the half of it! Just year after year, the pressure to think-do-act-speak constantly screaming for attention. Being pulled into guidance counselors office, career quizzes every June-July-August, college emails he never even registered for, it could make anyone sicker than a dog.

He was either a mold who could be fed the right inspirational garbage and would finally be put to good use or a lost cause that wasn't going anywhere.

He tried to move around it. Dodge the icebreakers and the ACT Prep and the needling. Because obviously, his elders didn't react kindly to it. They always wanted more out of Skeppy he was willing to give or shot him down further for not doing so. (He hated both of them equally.) But y'know, besides the years he spent drilling holes in his desk, he got along swell! Mild B-C average, more than average amount of friends, and a can't-do attitude that kept him floating by, same as it always did.

However, by the time junior year rolled around, college wasn't a problem waiting for you in the woods. You were already looking down the barrel of College's rifle, waiting to be shot. Every little step forward was for the next stage of your life. Final exams, college credits, that stupid counselor's office...

By senior year, Skeppy couldn't avoid it. He was studying the inside of the barrel with how close it was. Everyone was so focused on leaving, “remembering these last moments together,” where couples looked forward to each other, friends looking away, and just the finality and all the 'goodbye to the memories' speeches could drive someone to damn near insanity. If he had to hear about another "senior event," he would break something over his head.

“Jesus, Skeppy.”

“It’s true!” He flung a pamphlet toward the pile labelled ‘no’ with a sticky note. “All the 'Oh, it's our senior year, we need to do something now or we'll regret it forever!' Or another goddamn assembly that takes up my free period. I can’t stand it.”

Quackity arched an eyebrow. “ 'Goddamn assemblies?' Dude, we've had two.”

“Two is a lot for September—” He pushed aside more pamphlets to read. “Besides, they're just a waste of time. You get out of class, it's a perk for you.” Quackity rolled his eyes. “And then the parties—Like why can't we just have a normal party without someone asking me what university I'm planning on or what major I'm choosing or what university they're going to?”

“Skeppy, what are you sitting in.”

Skeppy blinked and finally looked around at the mass pile of college pamphlets they were sorting through. “This isn't by choice!”

“Mhm.”

“Necessity and choice are two very different things. I'm just trying to survive out here, Quackity.”

“This isn't the grand conspiracy you think it is,” Quackity replied with a condescending tone.

“No, probably not,” Skeppy scoffed and then realized conceding would mean he lost. He opened his mouth to continue, but the fire burning in his chest was gone. “You get my point.”

“I think you're just mad for a stupid reason,” Quackity mused.

“I—” Skeppy sat on his back legs and had nothing to combat that with. “Fuck off!” He then went back to sorting, now slightly offended.

“Look man, you’ll find some random realm or whatever, say you like it, and that’ll be that! Or you won’t, and you’ll stay here forever.” Quackity then gave him a deadpan look. “Or, you can do this.”

Skeppy grumbled and kept shuffling through the pile the way one would shuffle a laundry hamper. He took one brochure out from the bottom. It glistened in the light. Big flashy letters in an almost medieval font stretched across the page with a castle spanning the bottom half. He read the front of it aloud. “Hypixel?”

Quackity perked up, looked at the pamphlet, and nodded. “Oh yeah, my brother went there. It’s really cool actually. It’s like—Parkour specialized! Or something. You do all these crazy stunts and jumps and that’s just your first weekend!” He grinned. “I know because I split open my nose on one of their courses!”

“Sick...” Skeppy turned back to the pamphlet, slightly grossed out, slightly more intrigued. Parkour, duels, free-for-alls... This place sounded like a madhouse. “Why didn’t you give this to me before?!”

“I was looking for it.”

Skeppy pulled it open to read the small print paragraphs of information. “Is it expensive?”

Quackity hissed. “Yeah, that’s the thing. It’s not exactly cheap...”

Skeppy looked up. “How cheap is not cheap?”

“A lot of kids are there on scholarship...”

“Quackity,” Skeppy pressed.

“You know Simon Hypixel?”

Skeppy stared at the big glossy letters as if the pamphlet had burst into flame. He tossed it away. “Fuck that, dude.” Skeppy tore his eyes away from it as quickly as possible, going back sorting the mess. Quackity nodded; he wasn't going to badger Skeppy on the money thing. Hypixel was fucking expensive.

Through the rest of the day, colleges flew into the pile faster than either could blink and whenever one seemed good enough, passable even, something always came up like distance or just general lack of interest. Eventually, enough time passed Quackity could see the sun lowering below Skeppy’s window and shook his head.

“Alright, we’re getting nowhere. Let’s just turn on a movie, and—” Quackity yawned and pushed his pile away. “Revisit this tomorrow.”

Skeppy nodded, taking the pile that had now been sorted into “maybe” and dumping it in a box under his bed.

 

When he went to bed that night, Skeppy found himself reading the brochure again. Looking at the pictures.

Two students could be seen sparring atop a massive lake of lava. One was an enderian, tall as a willow tree with specialized armor and confidence. The other was an amphibian, about the same height as Skeppy, towing the line between the end of the platform and the enderian. He knew it was probably staged, but he almost didn't want to believe it, putting himself in their shoes.

Another picture depicted a campus town with massive buildings and a floating monolith just right in the middle where all legions of creatures, mobs, and players moved. It was crowded to the brim. The not-pictured only-described parkour hangouts and arenas only made his imagination run wild.

Skeppy had to stop himself. Like hell he was going to end up in debt. That night, he paced around the room, tail brushing the floor. His GPA wasn't spectacular, but he wasn't an awful kid. Well, the most awful kid at his school. He'd never been expelled or charged. He'd almost gotten a teacher fired, but that was specifically stated not to be on his permanent record. But word gets around.

Instead of going to bed that night, Skeppy found himself reading the Hypixel brochure again. The print was too small and dark to read under the shade of his bed, but he could faintly make out the pictures.

In the first, two students could be seen sparring atop a massive lava lake. One was Enderian, tall as a willow tree with a netherite sword and diamond armor trimmed into a netherite base (it could’ve been lapis lazuli.) The other was an amphibian, about the same height as Skeppy, towing the line between the end of the platform and their enemy. Another picture depicted a campus town square with massive buildings and a floating monolith just right in the middle where all legions of creatures, mobs, and players moved. It was crowded to the brim.

Skeppy closed the brochure. He paced around the room, feet leaving trails in the carpet and tailing washing around in thought. His GPA wasn't spectacular, and he'd been given detention about eight times. But he wasn't the worst kid at his school. He'd never been expelled or charged. He'd almost gotten a teacher fired, but that was specifically stated not to be on his permanent record. But word gets around.

Skeppy tried to sleep that night. He could certainly say he did.

But God, either it was the school, or just the idea, or his wild running imagination alone—any of these reasons, he didn't catch a wink. At some point, he'd found himself bent over his laptop.
What did it take to get into Hypixel? Was it an A+ school? Probable hours passed as Skeppy scoured for information, somewhere close to 2 AM. By the time his eyes were getting heavy, he was scrolling through a long list of forums trying to find different ways to get in. He'd found about seventeen, but none were accessible to him. He was beginning to fall asleep for the first time that night before his eyes locked on something.

“HPU PARKOUR TRYOUTS, March 18th through the 21st, stack of diamonds fee. Evaluations beforehand, 600 spots.”

Silence followed.

Maybe this was a scam. A ploy just to get his money.

Maybe it was a mistake in a very long line of Skeppy mistakes.

His eyes fell to the bottom of the post.

“Early spots open now. You in?”

Skeppy paused.

Skeppy responded.

“How do I sign up?”

Notes:

Skeppy's design is based off this one by this Skeppy animatic So yeah!

Chapter 2: Red

Summary:

tw: food

it takes place in a cafeteria

To say Technoblade had been prepared for Hypixel would be an understatement. In fact, while Wilbur would say the first time Techno had mentioned it was seventh grade, he’d been raised on it since second. To him, Hypixel wasn’t a “dream school,” it was the opportunity of a lifetime. It was part of his lineage, his family of greats; who was he if he wasn’t one of them?

No one could attest that Techno wasn’t skilled. Not with eleven years of PVP training. Within the past four years, he’d been practicing parkour, brawling, and any possible surprise attack for the entry exam alone, and Wilbur joked if his grades ever slipped below a 99, he might faint. He rolled his eyes because he knew Wilbur didn’t mean it—he had his own ambitions—but Techno knew what he wanted.

He'd trained his whole life for Hypixel.

It was more than a school, it was the rest of his life.

 

Technoblade always had a certain antsiness about him that left him distracted, staring out a window or watching the clock. Right now he didn’t know what he couldn’t do, while his hands drummed to the tune of an empty mind. Most thought he was daydreaming or something greater, some big elaborate scheme waiting to hatch spectacularly, but it was mostly just empty noise.

He had a mind. Somewhere in there. But between all the daydreams of a future he could only pray he reached, the ache of sleep begging him to come back to bed, or the weird bird outside the window, the space was limited. Wilbur mocked him relentlessly, the notion that with a cafeteria full of voices, Techno’s head was filled with nothing but his own. It'd become a running joke of how far away Techno could get from the world. He could touch the clouds if he tried. Today was kind of a day like that. No sound in your ears, no wind in your sails, a do-nothing day of sorts.

“You know,” Wilbur said, taking a spoonful of his mashed potatoes, “Tommy’s really sad you’re going to one of the biggest realms in Minecraft, and he’s never gonna see you again.”

“That’s a bit much.”

For no particular reason, he flicked a pea at Wilbur from his own tray and watched it hit him square in the face. He smiled.

Wilbur, unamused, only watched the pea squash into his mashed potatoes. He flicked it out.

“You’re going to SMPLive anyway, big shot.” Techno waved his spoon around to emphasize his point. “He’s got the exact same problem with you. And then there’s your big idea to start a whole new SMP with this brand new—”

“Shshshsh!!!”

Wilbur brought a finger to his Techno’s lips as if that was gonna stop anything. He spun around the cafeteria for anyone listening. Surprisingly, no one was.

“You’re gonna get me in fucking trouble here,” Wilbur hissed, falling back into his chair.

Techno rolled his eyes. “No, I’m not.” He weakly cut into his food with a plastic knife and ‘announced’ to the general cafeteria. “Hey guys! You should totally hear about Wilbur’s new SMP! You know the history nerd? Bet that has nothing to do with it. Crowdfunding next Thursday.”

Wilbur almost looked offended for a second but figured he didn’t have the energy tobe. “You are insufferable.”

“Oh yeah? Make new friends.”

“Like I have any other friends to make.”

Techno furrowed his brow as Wilbur looked at him with unremarkable eyes.

Before Techno could process what he said, Wilbur asked, “Have you submitted your application yet?”

Techno set down his fork. “Submitted that in June. Why do you ask?”

Wilbur dusted off his hands. “No reason.” He snickered a little. “I bet you already started packing, you big nerd.”

In retaliation for earlier, he flicked a pea Techno’s way which hit him in the cheek.

Techno threw it back. “Strong words for someone in potato-lobbing distance,” he goaded.

Wilbur’s grin returned. “And get all of that in your well-groomed fur? Be serious, Technoblade.”

“Course you have a problem with 'well-groomed.' I’m not the freak who spent a week ‘living off the grid.’”

“And I learned a valuable lesson.”

“Yeah, sure you did.” Techno took a bite of his food. “Watch out for mono.”

Wilbur’s eyes widened. “Shut the fuck up. OH my God, shut the fuck up—I hate you actually.”

Techno smiled and went back to eating. The silence seemingly prodded at Wilbur.

“You don't even know anything about that. Fuck you. That was a long time ago. You weren't even there.” The silence went on a little longer. “I will kill us both. I'll take this plastic knife, put it through my fucking chest—”

“Putting that one in your next album?”

“WHAT IS THE MATTER WITH YOU.”

 

As Techno walked home that day, he heard the faint buzz of his communicator and took it out of his inventory. A text from Wilbur.

WILBUR: I know we were joking earlier but don't...

One message deleted.

WILBUR: Tommy says hi.

Techno messaged, “Tell him I said hi,” and waited for a response. But none came. He closed the communicator.

At some points, Wilbur seemed more concerned of Techno’s future than Techno. Gave him all these weird looks and thought Techno wouldn't notice how gentle he was. He was emotionally competent enough to handle not getting in; Wilbur had no reason to worry about that.

Sure, Techno more often than not found himself lost in thought about all the things his siblings talked up: Skyblock, Bedwars, and arena battles, especially when there was nothing else to think about other than the math, poetry, and the words dancing across his paper, but that just gave him something to do. He could handle elimination.

He never craved the glory or the fame like others. There were people like Tommy, the one who demanded attention just by being himself, and Wilbur, who knew his way around his goals and had a silver tongue to get him there. Who wanted to chart new maps and courses and create something, who even if he didn’t have his future plotted out, felt like his was already made.

Techno wasn’t that. For all of Techno’s talk and focus on Hypixel, the last thing he needed was glory. He had cousins, uncles, and whoever else in his family for that. They were the ones with the notoriety he so desperately wished to shake. All Techno wanted was quiet; he pictured it when he stared out the window. An escape where he could tilt his hat over his eyes, lean back on a chair, and feel the wind blow through his fur. And every afternoon, he would plow the fields, tend to his cows, teach his dogs to fetch and fall asleep to do that again the next morning. That’s what Techno wanted.

But right now he wasn’t any of those things. Right now he was Technoblade, the best PVPer in the entire town. The one who you never wanted to get in a fight with, not a real one, only stare at from afar. Like a doll in a window stand or an idol onstage. The one who was on his way to valedictorian despite the teachers who couldn't remember a significant thing about him that wasn't. Technoblade, born of the same blood as some of the most hardcore piglin brutes in the world but still dressed human.

There was no Technoblade who came from the nether, who charted stars and studied them like a religion, whose dreams of being an astronomer lay tucked under his pillow with the rest of himself. He was a charade, a bundle of moving parts and moving personalities, each with their own purpose in his life. So if that meant there was a Technoblade, who fought PVP, who practiced parkour just for a cheaper entrance exam and nothing more, who shot for an obscenely expensive school just to pretend he was something for a family name he could discard tomorrow, he had to be okay with that.

He had to be.

There was no world where he couldn’t.

As he brought his key up to the lock to his front door, his communicator buzzed.

WILBUR: hope you’re doing alright man

Techno smiled.

Chapter 3: Dodger Blue

Summary:

(previously: purple? idk man we're not going through the color wheel on purpose)
^ what marvels the color wheel has

chapter three second draft baby!

Skeppy makes a stupid decision. Like a really stupid decision. Probably top-tier stupid decision

Quackity opened his communicator to a couple different messages from Skeppy.

SKEPPY: So actually. I applied to Hypixel anyway.

There’s a caveat.

[10:12]

QUACKITY: what

The word “caveat,” had never held as much, um, apprehension as it did then. Skeppy said nothing afterward, leaving Quackity to grab his things and drive over.

He pulled in, finding no one on the porch, and knocked.

There was some rustling, a sprint to the door, and a very anxious Skeppy opened the door, immediately skipping pleasantries.

“Quackity, I might've fucked up.”

That was enough for Quackity to push past Skeppy and drop his stuff. Quackity was already hypothesizing ways of how Skeppy fucked up, as Skeppy nervously shut the door behind him. His hair was all sorts of messy, as if he’d been running through it with his hands or never had the time to brush it in the first place.

“So..” Skeppy tapped the side of his leg.

“What did you do?”

“Right.”

 

After explaining everything, to the best of his ability (he had no luck in lying,) Quackity ran straight to Skeppy’s computer and looked up the school, hand dragged through his hair, with Skeppy trailing behind. Skeppy had apparently, hours later, found a lot of really damning evidence on the school and it started to freak him out. Quackity also realized Skeppy hadn't slept since. He quietly opened the HPU Acceptance terms and conditions and oh, the horrors they found.

“If bruised, beaten, or otherwise injured, no insurance is secured and HPU will not be held responsible. You may visit our local clinic for a price of...” Skeppy winced as Quackity read the price under his breath and swallowed. “You know, this explains a lot. About breaking my nose.”

“You think?”

Instead of answering Skeppy, Quackity leaned forward and read the next clause aloud.

“Please secure your items on arrival as cases of theft are common. Any items stolen will not be reimbursed.”

Skeppy covered his face and muttered, “Okay, now that I think about it maybe I should've read ahead...”

Quackity seemed appalled. “You didn’t?”

Skeppy didn't respond. He reached for the mouse to discreetly switch the tab, but Quackity kept his grip. “Oh fuck no, we are running through every one of these. Or I’m killing you.”

Despite the bite of the words, Quackity was just as panicked as Skeppy, who quickly drew his hand back. He scrolled further down the page, with both practically holding his breath at this point.

“Mouth guards, helmets, or any other sorts of protective gear will not be provided and will have to be secured out of pocket. Previous rules apply.” Quackity covered his face with his hands.

Skeppy fidgeted and asked, “Did your brother ever mention any of this?”

“Not that... I remember.”

Skeppy's mind was already going haywire from the past couple hours as he dragged his hands through his hair again. He whispered, “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit,” Quackity repeated. He gathered his bearings for just a minute, enough to ask, “Well—What I wanna know is how you filled out a whole college application in, like... One night..”

“Oh—I didn’t.”

Quackity froze, blinked, and looked dead at Skeppy. “What?”

“They didn’t like, ask for anything that I thought I would've needed; just my name and school and then the stack of diamonds upfront. There was my contact information but that was it.”

He looked baffled, as if trying to decipher how Skeppy so willingly walked into a saw trap.

Skeppy muttered, “You said your brother graduated from here. I’m not even the one who suggested it.”

“My brother had a plan in mind and didn’t apply off some random... Forum? And he read the fucking terms and conditions god what the fuck are these terms and conditions.”

Quackity head dove into his arms as he tried to make sense of this situation while Skeppy shifted on his heels, the tension bubbling in his stomach starting to make him feel sick.

“Look,” he said, “I probably just wasted a stack on some dumb scam website. Y’know? So let’s just—not worry about it.”

“Skeppy, have you even seen what one of the tournaments looks like?”

“I mean..” You had. Say you have. “I have.”

Quackity didn’t seem convinced.

“Dude, it’s fine, honestly, I wasn’t even serious about the school. What, like they’re gonna accept me? Come on. I probably won't even get a letter back.” He surreptitiously closed the tab and felt all the anxiety rise off his shoulder. “It’s gonna be fine. Besides, I’m gonna apply to like, what? Eight different, other schools after that? Ones that are actually in my league or whatever. It’s gonna be fine.”

Quackity looked unsure, really unsure. But he caved.

“Alright..”

He turned back in his chair and went immediately to business, but the way Quackity’s eyebrows knit and his hand clutched his mouth told Skeppy this conversation wasn’t over. But for now, it was.

 

Unsurprisingly, it followed him back to school come Monday. Or even more unsurprisingly, Quackity ratted him and started blabbing as he had the chance to tell their group about Skeppy’s shady college application. And now he had to listen to all of them talk about it.

Puffy was most immediately baffled. “Quackity, didn’t you say your brother went there?”

“Yup.”

Quackity found the situation a lot more funny than he did yesterday. Or maybe he was just masking confusion.

Skeppy hung his face in his hands as Puffy seemed torn between entertained and concerned. Sam looked ready to grow gray furs at the ripe age of eighteen.

“People have been sent to the hospital on their training course, Skeppy,” he urged.

Skeppy couldn’t help the frigid feeling that flared in his chest as he heard that, but he still tried to downplay the ensued panic.

“Least it’s just the training course! They go home early, right?”

It didn't work, and he could hear it.

Sam’s mouth dropped, and he seemed to age a thousand years more just with that statement alone.

Antfrost nibbled his thumb. “So... This school is—”

A chorus of responses came all at once. ‘A fucking nightmare,’ ‘a massive red flag,’ and ‘cool as hell,’ although Sapnap got some eyes for that one.

“Well, yeah, basically,” Antfrost answered with a wave of his hand.

“It didn’t look that bad when I applied. I swear to God,” Skeppy tried to say for maybe the fifth time, but he was starting to run out of defenses.

“Skeppy,” Sam seemed at a loss for words. “How did you manage...This?”

“I don’t know!”

Skeppy's chest was already tightening. “Guys, guys, come on, it’s not that bad. Why are we acting like this is the—end of the world?”

“I mean it's not but... Skeppy, imagine if you went here.” Sam asked.

Skeppy barked out a laugh. “ ‘Imagine if I went here—’ Imagine if I got accepted!”

He knew it was a shit play off, but he just really fucking wished they'd stop talking about this. Puffy, however, wasn’t listening at all. She thought and thought while everyone had their eyes on Skeppy.

“Imagine if you did,” Puffy spoke. The group's eyes turned to her. “I mean this seriously—” she tried to explain— “You've already wasted money on it, nothing to lose from going all in.”

Skeppy looked at her liked she'd grown a second head. Quackity looked at her like she'd grown a second head. Most everyone in the group looked at Puffy liked she'd grown a second head (except Sapnap, who found the idea entirely reasonable.)

“Puffy,” Skeppy started. “I'm not even sure if this school is a safe option, let alone a plausible—”

“Skeppy, you're made of hard diamond—”

“That's never trained! What if I crack?”

“What if you don't?”

“Puffy,” Sam reached a hand out. “Maybe we should drop it.”

Puffy moved out of the way and gestured to Skeppy. “Oh come on, Sam. Skeppy's clearly got some interest he's not telling us! This could be good for him! I mean, what else does he have going for him?”

What the hell.

“Puffy!” Skeppy shouted, affronted.

“Quackity,” she said, suddenly zeroing in on the bird who hadn't been addressed all conversation. “Had Skeppy liked any other schools when you were filling out brochures?”

Skeppy made quick eyes at Quackity who made quick eyes at him. “To be honest...” Skeppy made a silent plea. Quackity ignored it. “No.”

Skeppy cursed as Puffy proceeded with the proclamation. “Exactly! Skeppy, you should try this. Something you actually care about. Pranking and jokes—all those things are good but do you want to do those for the rest of your life? This could be something new.”

The words 'rest of your life' knocked butterflies through his chest, his feelings as difficult to parse as swamp water. But the worst part was she was starting to convince him. But not enough.

Skeppy looked at himself. Pure, solid diamond. Never shattered, never broken, never stepped out of being Skeppy, and here was a school that said diamond was tough, not unbreakable. How stupidly poetic. “Puffy, it’d never work. I’ve never trained or fought before, I'm not good at any of that stuff. And—And no matter how ‘diamond’ I am, it’s gonna be just the more dangerous when I...” He almost held onto the words, tasting them on his tongue. “It’s not enough if I crack, I could shatter, Puffy. What then? Is there going to be anything left of me?”

The group had gone near quiet, and Skeppy realized how serious he’d gotten. It was too late to take it back, so he just rubbed the back of his neck.

It was so serious that Puffy thought. Thought more than she probably needed to for someone like Skeppy, but she did, and her eyes lit. She looked at him.

“We'll get you a trainer,” she said like this was no longer a hypothetical. Skeppy also noticed the inclusion of ‘we’ in that sentence, but she'd already kept going. “I mean, it’s probably not gonna matter, but if you really wanna try and not get your ass kicked, we could. You could get a trainer, and by the tournament in March, actually survive this fucker and make it to Hypixel. Or you could pussy out. That works too.”

She said that last bit as a taunt, almost metaphorically releasing Skeppy and stepping away. Giving him the floor. Skeppy might've felt cornered, but with how passionately Puffy was looking at him, they might've been the only two in the room.

This didn't solve half the issues, not the money, or the long-term, or the Skeppy himself, but Puffy had so much power and belief in him, it made it hard to say no. And Skeppy did want to say no. But then there was that flicker of desire in his stomach. The rush of the sword fights, the almost death-defying stunts, the thrill he couldn’t explain that made him buy a school on a whim, a really stupid whim. Before his thoughts could speak for themself or Puffy or anyone who could've said something did, the words, “Maybe,” slipped out.

Puffy smiled. “Nice.”

The bell rang, a souring feeling, and she waved goodbye. As everyone crowded off, Skeppy felt the maelstrom of emotions finally crash, and his head lulled into his locker and he let out one solid wail of, not agony probably. Exactly what he’d was trying to avoid, college was one of the most difficult decisions of his life.

Hurrah.

Notes:

obligatory 'sorry about how updates are going.'
I'm just glad you're reading!

quackity: *high at some point* you ever think how we pay in diamonds... and you're madeof diamond

Chapter 4: Imperial Red

Notes:

nearly none of its dialogue except for the end where its all texting

Piglins are social creatures. Their very nature to be friendly and cooperative is almost innate. Thusly, it makes up their culture. Piglins are one of the most barter-based economies you can think of. Not to mention, pack animals with large families. Piglins hate isolation. When you live in the nether, getting lost is one of the worst things that can happen to someone. Baby piglins are often told stories of what happens when you separate from your pack, how easy it is to get lost. Techno often fantasized about getting lost; being found by a bunch of strangers and taken in.

Techno’s family never told him these stories. Techno's family was not social. Nowhere close to the word. Where other piglins were gruff but friendly, Techno's family were simply gruff. They didn't see sociability as a benefit of life, more a hindrance or a business exchange. They were bred for endurance. They were Piglin Brutes.

Brutes are protectors. They are made to last as long as possible in a fight and can take three times what a normal Piglin can. Where Piglins survive best in sounders, Brutes can be separated from their groups for days at a time. They are often the reason their sounders survive. Brutes are savage and protect until they can’t stand, they dedicate their last breath to their sounder. Piglin Brutes don’t depend on anyone.

Techno’s family was like that: brute strength. But no, Techno’s family did not 'stand guard' either. In practice, they might’ve been the antithesis of everything Piglin or Brute entirely—not protectors, not barterers. All warrior, all power. That's what Techno could say about his family: power. Power made through Names. Names that spanned the walls of Techno’s hallways with larger than life paintings, trophies, memorabilia. Lavarshi the Wicked, Gαllish the Exalted, names upon names that all strike fear into the hearts of whoever hears them called or whispered. Their power was their spoken word, their title. And with that name and title crawls the beating life of Techno's bloodline:

Legacy.

On his family tree project, that was the word atop all else. Legacy.

When his parents sat him down and fanned out a list of colleges in front of him like a deck of cards before he could properly descend the stairs, when his siblings discussed the new families of the disgraced and successors with a hushed tongue—when they looked at Techno. The runt of the family.

It was shameful, but while his siblings stood eight or even seven feet tall, Techno at his tallest graced at a mere 6'5. The smallest of his entire litter. His cousins, siblings, and whoever else left would go on to be bigger names than their parents; that was the point. Techno would try to keep up.

Shameful was a word that grew on his back, crawled up his sleeves or found homes in his shoes. He was the runt after all.

Maybe it felt scary to know he couldn’t do anything about it. Frustrating even the only time people ever recognized him, they saw his last name more prominently than his first. His siblings before his own in roll call. Maybe it was a mix of a lot of things.

Maybe it was part of the reason Techno didn’t like bringing Tommy or Wilbur over. He mostly went to their place instead. There were only a few select occasions where they’d been over.

Wilbur couldn’t go home one night. Apparently, everyone thought he was hanging out with Techno, when really he was hanging out with people his parents had never even heard of. What those friends and he did was something Wilbur only described as “fucking stupid.” He stayed at Techno's for the night though, vaguely smelling of smoke.

The second was after the week Wilbur tried to spend in the woods. He crawled back to Techno's covered in grime and missing a tooth. Techno’s mother ordered Wilbur be sprayed down with a hose.

The first time Tommy came over was because he was mad Wilbur had seen it and not him. It was strange. Techno let him inside anyway because Tommy would scream his head off if he didn't, and the first thing he said was a very loud “HOLY SHIT!”

Techno now knew his house was big. Placing his bag down on the sofa, Techno noticed a green sticky note near the cabinets. “Check the furnace – Techno from this morning”

Inside was a overcooked, unseasoned baked potato. He closed the furnace. He didn’t really feel hungry anyway.

Instead, he grabbed his laptop out of his bag and went upstairs.

If he had to guess, his parents left on the seventh and it was the twenty-third of the month respectively, so that meant they'd be back in a month's time. But if he was honest, they were barely noticeable when they were home. Functionally, Techno lived alone. It’s not like any of his siblings visited either, and they hadn’t for quite some time. If he had to guess, VQuria was probably somewhere off map, building a name for themselves in a server he’d never heard of, and Ϙche—Actually, Ϙche was the only one he kept up with.

He had to relish that which meant treating the house like it was his own as much as he could. He'd rearranged the furniture for fun and moved stuff that just belonged to the general living space into his room. Major parts of the house had become obsolete in Techno's pursuit to "live alone." He took cookies from his bedside drawer and laid them on his cover, opening his laptop to start work. He then noticed a string of messages from an unknown account. Tommy had multiple burners he used when Techno blocked him, but the messages inside were oddly professional—or an attempt at it. And about something he had totally forgotten about.

CPTN_PFFY: Hey we’ve been trying to find a trainer for my friend and this one guy referred us to you.

CPTN_PUFFY: he said you like. hold sparring classes for beginners. we're as beginner as it gets

CPTN_PUFFY: are those still available?

CPTN_PFFY: k thanks

Techno was confused for a second, as he hadn't held his sparring classes for quite some time, and then he thought about for a second. And he immediately knew who did this.

BLADE: yeah sure I do

BLADE: do you live in 14532 server

CPTN_PFFY: yeah. I live about

CPTN_PFFY: I think about ten minutes from your house

They sat in silence.

BLADE: did phil tell you where I live?

CPTN_PUFFY: no.

CPTN_PFFY: I just looked up your town

BLADE: ok.

BLADE: ...

BLADE: do you know how to take the nether

CPTN_PFFY: no.

BLADE: oh

They sat in silence.

BLADE: You should take the nether.

BLADE: If you're serious.

CPTN_PFFY: i mean sure

CPTN_PFFY: but also.

CPTN_PFFY: when are you available

Techno looked at the calendar.

BLADE: friday I think

CPTN_PFFY: cool

CPTN_PFFY: see you then

BLADE: How do you know where I live

They didn't respond. For a second. Then a PNG of a multi-story stone house appeared on his screen.

BLADE: HEH???

Notes:

will probably add more end notes when I need them but I hope the dubious nature of servers in this world works in a way you don't have to understand
also the ten minute walk is ALSO in relation to minecraft. so ten minute -- probably hour to hour thirty minute drive

Chapter 5: Electric Blue

Summary:

Skeppy battles three (two) very enthusiastic trainers

Notes:

there’s no way to run polls on AO3, and since I don’t have a way to audience-consort, the set up change is gonna sneak up on you. I apologize ⩤- read previous chapter is edited.

everything is the same except phil’s a twitch streamer.

there's no way to private this chapter after uploading which sucks because I definitely need to overhaul it

Skeppy had had a very long week. A very, very long week. So far they'd gone through trainers like tissue paper. And it was really trying Skeppy.

That whole 'Maybe' thing was totally ignored, by the way. Puffy took that and ran, and by 3:00, had Sam at Skeppy’s door with a trident, freshly sharpened. It was incredibly cordial, actually. Rather than ambushing Skeppy in his home, they instead just silently walked him down the middle of his street. Now, Skeppy wouldn't admit this, but being escorted by two of your friends, one who breathes through an oxygen mask, is still terrifying and not an experience Skeppy enjoyed.

At some point, they split fifty paces and Puffy began counting down. What would come next would be one of the most terrifying experiences of Skeppy's life as AweSam chased him down the street with a trident like he was mowing the fucking lawn while Skeppy screamed bloody murder.

It must've been quite the scene.

“Is that the best you've got?” Puffy said. She toed behind Sam in an almost chase-like fashion.

“Puffy, what the hell!”

“This is your training!”

“Isn't there a better way than—Oh Jesus!” A trident flew past him, almost grazing his cheek. He ducked down an alleyway and took what little time he had to catch his breath before another trident soared past. He ran down the narrow space for the wall surrounding the neighborhood. He climbed over the stone wall, nearly landing on his knee, but before he could gain back momentum, his foot caught on a tree trunk. Within the literal blink of an eye, Sam's trident pressed the skin of Skeppy's neck.

“TIME! TIME! TIME!”

...

So yeah, Sam wouldn't work out.

Up next was Sapnap, whose session followed a few days after Sam’s. It went as well as you would expect. That is to say, not great.

They had very different fighting styles. Puffy said it was good they were so different, but after the messy battle Skeppy had to endure, he wasn’t so sure. Where Skeppy stood on his feet and preferred to fight that way, Sapnap was fast. Abysmally fast, the only sign of his existence was the trail of red that followed him. He was also something of a cheap fighter this way—He’d go for potshots like sweeping Skeppy’s feet and hitting him as hard as he could. Skeppy would go for merely catching him and throwing a punch if he could see him in the first place.

“Dude, chill out!” Skeppy cried as he scanned a basically empty field.

The hoodie he wore was now lying on the ground as it became a full liability if Sapnap caught fire, and he just hoped Sapnap didn’t scorch him. Despite being in a one vs one, he felt like a deer being circled as Sapnap became a goddamn blur in his vision. Skeppy had never been this alert in his life. Sam’s little five minute walk was a meadow compared to whatever fresh hell this was.

Minutes of this cat and mouse dynamic ensued, where Puffy and Sam watched from the room of Sapnap's house. Finally, Sapnap slowed down enough for Skeppy to land a blow—Sapnap flew back a few feet, held his arm, and did not get back up.

...

So they decided to look for an outside hire!

After cleaning up what was definitely almost illegal, “Trainers in your area,” yielded some results. There was an old Hardcorer just a thousand blocks down. Recently retired as stated in his bio; however, for a hardcorer, that could mean anything. The address gave them a perfectly good neighborhood, simple nice builds— Until they came upon an absolutely haunting all black house. Crows huddled the lawn, and death seemed to ruminate the entire building. Skeppy grew ill, and just once more, he looked at the directions the contact had supplied but Sam shook his head. This was the house.

Skeppy leaned towards Puffy.

“We haven't paid them yet, have we?” He whispered to her. Puffy shook her head.

“Great!”

Skeppy started to speed walk down the street again, quickly gaining momentum, before Sam and Puffy dragged him back up the hill.

He struggled, throwing out all sorts of excuses. Puffy pushed him towards the front steps.

“Knock on the door!”

“You do it!”

“No!”

Puffy glared at him and rang the innocuous doorbell. A faint buzzing could be heard and a lethargic and strangely birdish voice rang out.

“Yeah? Yeah, who is it?”

Puffy looked between the other two, confused, who shrugged. She stepped forward. “Uhm, we’re—”

“Oh, right, the trainees. Yeah, Hold on, I’m coming down.” The buzzer clicked and Puffy, again, looked between Sam and Skeppy for answers, who very clearly had none. She mouthed something to them before the large black oak door opened behind her.

Instead of what they thought, possibly a vampire or an actor from the Munsters, a man in his early thirties with blond hair down to his shoulders and a robe greeted them. What stuck out most to Skeppy was the striped hat he wore. He ushered them inside. The black, death-emanating exterior of the man’s house fully contrasted the sparkling amethyst walls and bright pink neon lights strewn around the house. Reminiscent of a bar, a fluorescent pink sign hung on the wall reading “PHILZA.” And that wasn't even mentioning the merch this guy had. The house was filled with merchandise. From armor sets to chests to dolls and action figures, and Skeppy would've assumed it was his, but some of it was very clearly not. His first thoughts after the initial dissonance went from from holy shit, this guy has commitment, to jesus christ this guy is rich.

“Sorry about the outfit and all—Just came back from a con.” The man– Phil– said, taking off his hat and hanging it on a coat rack. He then ran a hand through his blond hair, shaking it out, and smiled. “Nice to finally meet you. I'm assuming you're Puffy?”

Puffy nodded.

“Good, good, but then I’m guessing you’re not the one I’m training?”

“Nope. He is.” She motioned to Skeppy. He faltered and tried to straighten his back, but was scrutinized all the same as Phil knelt down. “Skeppy then?”

He nodded and Phil stood to his full height. “A lot of diamonds overlook their first chip on the battlefield. Don’t fool yourself, get that shit sorted out. You don’t want to wait around and see what happens.”

Skeppy’s brows frayed. He remembered Quackity mentioning splitting his nose on the course. Despite this, he smiled, grip tightening on the bag around his shoulder. Puffy looked at him. Phil, not noticing anything, continued. “Hypixel's unfriendly and bloody. I've visited it a couple times—That's where you're going, right?”

Skeppy blinked, still trying not to think about what chipping feels like, and shrugged. “I mean, nothing's definitive.”

Which was the understatement of the century. Phil nodded, taking a few seconds each time to respond.

“I know a kid about your age who’s applying this year. Nothing worse fussing over, I promise. All it really is, is just...”

Skeppy appreciated the advice, but it was going in one ear out the other more than usual. Not to mention, being in a house so distracting was already putting him at a disadvantage.

Phil tilted his head back a little. “How long have you been training?”

“Does this week count?” Sam asked. Skeppy elbowed him.

Phil stopped, the entire group stopping with him. “Wait... So you just started training this week?”

The levity of the group was suddenly gone as they exchanged looks.

“That's not good, is it?” Skeppy asked.

Phil frowned and hissed through his teeth. “I’m sorry, I’m gonna have to refuse your services.”

Puffy groaned and threw her head in her hands and even Sam seemed a little unhappy.

Phil threw up his hands. “Hold on!” He plucked out a card from a drawer and handed it to Skeppy. “I have a friend offering lessons for kids—er, beginners. He’s usually pretty tight-scheduled, but he’ll probably be able to squeeze you in. Come talk to me afterward and maybe I'll see about training you. Might take a couple years though.”

Phil gave Skeppy time to read the card. It was a very simple card, with no personable information to the card other than a name and a general list of contacts. “Technoblade... Bl...”

“Bløøɖ. Give him a call.”

And with that, Phil walked off.

Puffy took the card from Skeppy’s hands to read it herself; Sam read it over her shoulder. It gave her little information but she resigned herself to being the one to contact them anyway. Skeppy didn’t protest.

“Well, that settles that then.”

Skeppy frowned and then shrugged. “Yeah.”

He then looked around the room, feeling awkward to linger until he finally saw the pink electric sign his eyes had been fixated on all evening. “Do you think we could get away with—?”

A sword swiped past his right shoulder and implanted in the wall.

“Okay never mind, let’s go home.”

The walk back to their neighborhood was silent. Despite how Skeppy was the one taking most of the hits and the one who needed it, it was clear this escapade was wearing on all three of them. Skeppy just put it to the back of his mind.

They came to a stop at Skeppy's place, being the first one to be dropped off. The neighborhood lights flickered, and the group was mostly shuffling their feet along the ground.

“Alright,” Puffy said. “If this guy doesn’t work...”

They were very tired. Puffy yawned.

“Catch you later, Skeppy,” Puffy and Sam walked off without Skeppy, leaving him standing in the flickering lamplight. He kicked a rock. And then went inside.

Notes:

as you are probably noticing by now this entire story is held up with packaging tape and the author's exhaustion however it is funny to me where techno is having his introspective reflection on life skeppy is getting his shit rocked

anyway Sapnap canon fire jotun (or from any other mythology that has like spirits/forces of pure flame) idk I like the idea

Chapter 6: Blue and Red Mix Together to Create

Summary:

Skeppy has an identity crisis and struggles to figure who he is while Techno has an anxiety attack.

Notes:

HEY SIX-MONTH BREAKERS. How you been? How's it going? You feeling good?

In the meanwhile Skeppy internal monologue, Quackity and Skeppy, and THEN some more Technoblade! (no beta we die like Skeppy in Lavaaaaaaa.......)

Skeppy didn’t go to sleep that night, again—But this time it was entirely his fault. He spent all night on his computer, looking up Hypixel. Endlessly, any little bit of information, not looking for something, just because he could. And then, after hours of raking through information, he found: Top five placements are given [+++] and a full pass to the realm.

And he laughed.

Then he didn’t. In an awkward moment, he forced himself to laugh again and tilted down the laptop. Sure, after he placed 5th, his house would grow wings and it would fly to Hypixel itself. And then it would crash land right after. Then he'd be double broke because the full pass was actually a fake out and he'd just lost his house. If he was getting in at all, and the thought alone made him want to throw up because that price tag was stupid high. Skeppy wasn’t getting into Hypixel. He crossed his fingers and promised. It would take all his money and even worse, it would take his money and break his face into bits! Because Skeppy was very breakable.

Someone who he wasn't sure of yet, was surely looking down on him as he fell into a financially abusive relationship with Hypixel. And yet here he was, wasting another night scrolling through some Hypixel forum for a sliver of a chance that he might get in on a discount. A fucking discount?

Of course, top #5 wasn’t a discount, but if he really clawed—Clawed? Oh my God, where was he?

He closed his laptop.

Here was a confession: he had cared about something similar. Once. It wasn't Diamond Chasers—He saw a bunch of videos online and wanted to start a club of Parkour Hoppers (the name was a work in progress.) The basic premise was you suspend blocks in the air, you hop from them yada yada, it got shot down. Something about danger to the students and recklessness they didn't want encouraged.

Skeppy didn't even want to jump, he just wanted to make the fucking maps. But that was the last time Skeppy cared about something. He did like to make people laugh though. He'd set up modified bombs in lockers, play a game of Find The Duck where there was never any duck—One time he ran out in front of Sam, strawberry jam all over his arms—He didn't have blood, he was a Diamond.

He reveled in the shared space of making someone laugh. Sometimes he analyzed the jingle of it. Or the way they smiled whenever they realized he was pulling one over on them.

But other than that, he doesn't really... Do anything. He doesn't do anything, he doesn't even play video games because he finds them fucking boring! Even the slacker shit he doesn't do. Gun to his head, he couldn't tell you what he's done in a day. He's the world's most uninteresting slacker! How do you even fucking manage that; doing nothing, that's how.

Maybe if he were a different person, his thing would be entertaining; making noise and being loud. That's kind of Quackity's thing. But Quackity's funny. He's not a force of nature like Quackity is; he's a wall.

Skeppy felt sick again. Of course he did.

Here’s something Puffy didn’t know: she was dead fucking on. Why was this the first thing he cared about since a stupid video online? Great question. His initial plan was just to throw money at places and expect letters back. Hope for money back. Did he have anything else going for him? Nope. The 60 diamonds didn't fucking mean anything, he could buy a cool helmet for that amount. He could quit anytime, and he knew that.

But he wanted this. He really did. He wanted the bruises on his shoulders and shins, the breathless feeling of the wind knocked out of you—He wanted the feeling of standing on one of those stupid podiums, teetering on and off while a timer ran down behind you and people were chanting your name—maybe he wanted glory, maybe he wanted Hypixel.

He took a deep breath and stared down at the pillow below him. He wasn’t going to get in. Did Diamond Chasing for all of one semester, B–C student, and general... Nuisance? Yeah, great look on an application. He didn’t even have a past experience with parkour, not one he could write down. Did hopping dumpsters and fences count? Maybe he should’ve dropped $600 on them instead. Or been born rich and cool.

He groaned into his pillow before solemnly opening the laptop again and continuing to scroll until his eyes grew heavy.

 

The week charged on without him noticing. Assignment after assignment, class after class that drilled into his mind absolutely nothing but a chant in the back of his ear shouting, 'May, eight months away!' An AP essay on the explosion defense of mangrove wood? What if he threw up on his homework and turned that in instead?

It was nice to hang with Quackity though. Again.

“So, you’re going?”

If they could do anything but talk about college.

“How's your stand-up career going actually?” Skeppy redirected. “You done any open mics?”

Quackity openly laughed. “Yeah, totally.” His words had the bite of a lemon. “I’m not trying that shit again until I finish college.”

“Wait, you’re—” Skeppy sat up. “You’re going to college?”

Quackity frowned. “Yeah—Yeah, man of course I am. Where did you think I was going?”

Skeppy didn’t know. He really should've assumed Quackity would've but... Quackity meanwhile, readjusted himself in the sand. “And as I was saying—” He leaned forward, poking Skeppy in the chest. “You’re going to Hypixel?”

Skeppy moved the finger away and cursed himself for bringing it back up. “What’s it matter?”

“You’re hiring a trainer and everything! What do you mean you're not going?” Quackity barked.

He hadn’t told anyone about the top five yet. Maybe Quackity already knew, but the idea depressed him so much, he decided not to think about it. The words swam around his brain like a fish trapped in a wash bin. Going nowhere, but still swimming. “That was all Puffy’s idea, man.” Skeppy laid down on the sand. “I really don’t give a shit.”

“It’s a wonder how you can lie to people’s faces so easily,” Quackity scoffed.

He laid down on the sand next to Skeppy, and the two of them watched the slowly blue sky fade into pink. The more they sat, the more the comment ate away at him.

“I’m not lying,” Skeppy spoke. “You know me, man. I don’t give a shit—” He took a deep breath. “About anything.”

Quackity hummed. “Sure.”

 

Techno was more stressed than he’d like to admit. He was normally a chill guy, you know. He had his ducks all in a row. But new events made him anxious—just unreasonably so. Once, his teacher sprung a server-wide competition on him, and he botched it the entire thing. His brother didn’t talk to him the whole car ride home. His family turned it into an ongoing joke for ten years.

So, luckily he’d come to understand, if he was going to panic about something, do it quietly. And here he was, final period on Friday, nervous foot tap the only sign of any possible distress. Go him.

Phil didn’t make it easier though. He thought Phil was on his side. Phil. PHILLLLLLLLL, he wanted to scream. How could you do this to me?

Techno hadn’t trained anyone older than twelve or thirteen, and he hadn’t trained anyone older than twelve since he was sixteen. And now Phil had assigned him a new trainee out of the blue, and this guy was Techno’s age? What?

But he didn’t. Because he was very calm. He was so calm. He could totally do this.

...Hey, how long had it been since Techno talked to someone for the first time? Freshman year? Didn’t he absolutely despise it? Wasn’t it the most awkward thing he’d ever done? Oh GOD, he was going to look so STUPID.

PHILLLLLLLL, PHILLLLLLL, he wanted to scream. You’re going to make me look so stupid!

No, no it wouldn’t be on Phil. It would be all on Techno. Because Techno lacked the social skills to pull this off. Dear God, this was it for Technoblade. He was doomed!

 

“Techno?” Mrs. CW spoke. “Are you..?”

He sat there for a few seconds more before he pushed himself out of the chair, rubbed at his face, and swung his bag over his shoulder.

“Mrs. CW,” he would’ve asked but didn’t. “Will you still see me as your student if I horribly fail and die a terrible death?”

But he didn’t.

And maybe he wouldn’t!

But it wasn’t likely.

So all he did was leave. He sat in the school parking lot for a few minutes, again, knee bouncing and eye twitching as he realized his body was holding far more anxiety than he thought it was.

He.

Was.

Fine.

He managed to convince himself of this and drove out of the parking lot, drove all the way out of school, and back home. He took the sword out of his weapons closet, an older stone sword, maybe with half its life left, and leveled it in his hand. Obviously the Bløøɖ household had much fresher and sharper weapons than this, but for someone potentially sparring for the first time, it was perfectly fine. Now that he thought about it, was Skeppy bringing his own weapon? They’d never discussed it.

God, of course they hadn’t.

Instead of asking for clarification, he grabbed a handful of stone tools from his armory and brought them to his backyard. And then he texted Puffy.

BLADE: What weapon does Skeppy main?

CPTN_PUFFY: UHHHHHH.

CPTN_PUFFY: Sword.

CPTN_PUFFY: Is that a problem?

BLADE: Nope. You mind if he uses stone

CPTN_PUFFY: nope! not a problem at all

Meanwhile on Skeppy’s side of the world, he and his friends breathed a sigh of relief at fighting with something that wasn’t going to maim Skeppy. They really really hoped Techno would not maim Skeppy. They all gave each other shaky thumbs up and packed themselves into Quackity’s car.

“Doesn’t it suck you don’t have your license?” Quackity asked while straightening his mirror. “Or a learner’s?”

“Shut the fuck and drive, Quackity,” Skeppy said and twisted Quackity’s mirror. Quackity smacked him.

Notes:

I'm going to try to get the point where they meet in the next three months! Three! I can get it done in three months guys!

diamond chaser is just a minecraft sport I think they would have by the way. you don’t believe what they do with it. if you want a bit of a lore dump actually it's a parkour based sport where the entire arena is like a total wipeout course where individuals people race to get diamonds into item frames and try not to get shoved off and if you're wondering why this wasn't brought up earlier IT DID NOT EXIST BEFORE THIS CHAPTER.

Chapter 7: Purple!

Summary:

they meet!

Notes:

top note: I SAID THREE MONTHS. AND I GOT IT DONE ...FASTER THAN THREE MONTHS. W? WHY DID I TITLE THE OTHER CHAPTER PURPLE THIS SHOULD OBVIOUSLY BE PURPLE I think this world reminds me of that one pixar movie Onward. not sure if that’s a good or bad thing. ANYWAY SORRY THIS DYNAMIC TOOK LIKE 10,000 WORDS THAT MIGHT BE A FIFTH OF THE WHOLE STORY IDK IT WASN’T SUPPOSED TO TAKE THIS LONG?

also in an earlier part of the fic I stated that wilbur would not be appearing again. this was like. a day after I'd found out so the feelings of betrayal and disgust were very fresh, but I've come to a much larger peace with the whole situation (he's still a disgusting person but a character is not him.) he would be mentioned again for this one quackbur joke. I removed that note however I’m still honestly not sure what to do with wilbur’s character. he will be avoided for a period though, still because I am unsure what to do with him. anyway this was supposed to come out on the twentieth but I got impatient

Techno waited.

And waited.

At 4:15 pm precisely, there was a loud bang, and Techno rushed to the window. A litany of Spanish curses could be heard faintly and ambiguously, and Techno slowly lifted the curtain to see a blue car, a tilted over mailbox, and a dent on said blue car. Techno stared in shock.

In another world, Techno would say these people already reminded him of his friends. In this world, he would say they just ran over his mailbox.

He let the curtain go limp and went for the door, twisted the handle, looked right, looked left, and looked down.

“Jesus CHRIST—J—Jesus, Christ man,” the voice sputtered, moving from loud abject shock and terror to being open scorn. “Yeah, down here whatever.”

His party however hadn’t gotten over their shock, and were still looking at Techno in complete and total disbelief, reminding Techno that despite his runt of the litter status, he was still 6’5. It was... Uplifting? He scanned the crowd for Skeppy before registering the knock on his leg. He looked down again. A person, this time about 4’0—maybe a little more—with brown skin, brown hair turning blue, and bright blue gems littering his scalp replaced the literal blockhead that once stood at his knees. They waved at him sarcastically.

“Hello! I’m Skeppy!”

Techno was so surprised, you would’ve sworn his mouth caught flies. In his complete and total flabbergast, he spoke, “Phil sent you?”

“Yes! It looks like he did!” Skeppy kicked the mat leading to Techno’s house and strained a smile. “So we both see the problem here. Unless you can shapeshift about...” He measured Techno with his eyes. “A thousand feet shorter. Can you?”

Techno snickered. Techno shook his head.

Skeppy shrugged. “Didn’t think so!”

“Do you think he made a mistake?” Techno asked.

Skeppy again, looked at the height difference the two managed to conjure, this time shifting back into his two foot height. Just to make the point. Techno furrowed his brow. “That doesn’t tire you out?”

“Not really—Do you not shift?”

“I can shift,” he said, sounding more defensive than he meant to. “Never mind. Long story.”

“Tall story,” Skeppy cracked.

Techno rolled his eyes.

“Either way—” Skeppy announced. “We can clearly see this is not going to work.”

“I get it. Phil’s senile. Not all of his brain parts work the way they should. You can just—” Techno started, looking up as he spoke and stopping once he saw a driveway devoid of a blue car. Skeppy frowned and turned around.

“No fucking—“

 

“Quackity owes me like, so heavily for this!” Skeppy shouted as they sat in Techno’s kitchen, slamming his digits on the buttons of his communicator. His blood was boiling so heavy, it might've turned to vapor. If he had any.

Techno sat down, holding a cup of netherwart tea. “Quackity?” He deliberated the name in his syllables as if he were sizing him up just through speaking it. “Interesting name.”

“He picked it out himself,” Skeppy answered. “Or at least that’s what he tells us. And we believe him.”

“Huh.” There was still that tone of sizing Quackity up, and in turn, sizing Skeppy up. “And he just left you?”

“I know. I’m gonna kill him.”

Techno smiled, hiding it behind his coffee mug. In seconds, he couldn’t take it anymore, and Techno burst out laughing. Skeppy was so startled, he stopped. For one, Techno had an ear catching laugh; fully enunciated his “ha-has” in a tone that completely contrasted the room. For two, what?

“Alright, I’ll bite,” Skeppy said, putting his communicator away. “What is it? Do you know him?” But Skeppy had to admit, he was starting to smile as well. They hadn’t even gotten to the punchline yet.

“Oh, I know him,” Technoblade answered. “QuackityHQ?”

“Think he just goes by Quackity now.”

“Oh. Well, that’s nice to know.” Techno went back to sipping his tea before that smile grew again. “We went to summer camp together.”

This perked Skeppy up enough to completely forget Quackity abandoning him. Quackity never talked about his summer camp days.

Techno looked at Skeppy. “How long have you known him?”

“Pshh....” Skeppy had known him for years. Practically since they were old enough to lose teeth, and he said as much to Techno. “—But he never talked about camp.”

Techno’s smile grew even wider. “Never?” He repeated with almost malicious glee. Skeppy shook his head. Techno weighed his options and motioned Skeppy forward.

And they talked. Oh, did they talk—all about Quackity’s escapades at Camp RB. In Quackity fashion, he immediately picked Techno out as the best person to talk up. He went all around camp, spreading this rumor that he beat up Technoblade and won. It didn't matter much to Techno, but it mattered a lot to the other campers, who hounded Techno for days. Techno then said to someone that he wanted a rematch, word got back to Quackity, and Techno found ten diamonds under his pilllow and a note to never mention it again. Techno barely had to do anything. To top the story off, Techno showed Skeppy a picture of what Techno looked like at the time. His fur was patchy and uncut, his head was bigger than his body—He wasn’t much of a hulking pig, but a stick with a tail.

This wasn’t even the half of it—But Techno wouldn’t share anymore.

“Just one question though—” Techno asked. Skeppy stopped taking out his communicator, for which he was going to take a picture and taunt Quackity with— “Did he ever mention getting mono?”

Something clicked in Skeppy’s head. Quackity was extremely sick one month during freshman year. That was after the camp. “He got mono?” Skeppy asked.

Techno’s eyes glinted. “I guess he didn’t.”

Skeppy smiled and stood on top of his stool. Techno leaned in with an awkward smile for the picture. It wasn’t a very good photo, but Skeppy didn’t care.

“You know, sparring with you might actually be pretty chill,” Skeppy spoke.

What?

Skeppy was surprised at himself as was Techno. He quickly latched on, “Just don’t shatter me or anything.”

Techno was quiet for a moment as he surveyed Skeppy before conceding, “You’re sorta the size of all my other students, now that I think about it...” He sighed, pushing himself out of his chair. “Alright, looks like I owe the old man an apology.”

“About?”

“Maybe we can make this work.”

Skeppy realized what he was getting himself into and began to stammer a slurry of words. Unfortunately, none of those words were a no, and Techno was already out of the kitchen.

“Shit.” Skeppy got out of his chair and ran after Techno. He got lost in Techno’s house for a second before finding him in the backyard, stone axe already in hand and sleeves rolled up.

“I've got the evening cleared for a reason. You need a trainer, right?”

I need to not die, Skeppy thought, and Techno must’ve read it on his face. “Don’t worry, I’ll go easy on you. Like you’re one of my other students.”

Skeppy frowned. “You trained middle schoolers, didn’t you.”

Techno rubbed the back of his neck. “Scale of one to ten, how much does that hurt your pride?”

A six. Skeppy sighed and picked up the stone sword leaning against the wall. “Whatever.”

Techno nodded. “You know, stone swords actually have a 0.15 disadvantage to a stone axe as they break in thirty hits, while a stone axe breaks in thirty-five. Stone swords usually have sixty, but both of our weapons are dulled down for shorter fights.”

Skeppy faltered. “Good—Good to know.”

“Of course the really powerful one is the iron axe, which doesn’t do as much damage but has more—”

Skeppy took his chance and ran at Techno, trying to regain some of that Diamond Chaser’s speed from sophomore year and was immediately parried and sent flying.

“Now, if I was actually caught off guard, you might’ve done some damage. But you seem ready so...” Techno’s axe brushed the dirt, and Skeppy swallowed. “Let’s get started. How much do you know about sparring?”

“You fight with weapons,” Skeppy said, unconfidently.

“....Have you ever sparred?”

Skeppy tottered. “3 times.”

“Across this week?”

Skeppy wondered how Techno guessed that. Maybe he wore it in his confidence. “Yes.”

“Oh my god.” Techno was so shocked, the axe nearly slipped out of his hands. Skeppy saw his chance and ran in. Techno took damage. “Augh! That’s not bad.”

Techno smiled but readjusted the axe in his grip rather fast. “Well, you sort of know what you’re doing. That’s good. But this isn’t a turn-based arena.”

“What—?”

Techno charged at Skeppy who screamed and dodged in the other direction. He fled, and Techno raced after him, until Skeppy finally mustered the courage to turn around and parry. He raised his sword and just barely missed getting clocked on the wrist.

“We’re taking healing potions after this, right?” He asked.

“Yeah sure!” Techno swung at Skeppy’s midpoint, which was only narrowly blocked. He then cleared his sword over Skeppy’s head. “The key is to guard yourself—”

There was a high-pitched noise as Techno’s sword hit a gem on Skeppy’s scalp, and the impact sent immediate shockwaves through Skeppy’s whole body. He staggered and screamed, dropping his sword and clutching his head.

“Oh God—” Techno stumbled, not managing to lose grip on the stone pickaxe and only tightening it. He didn’t reach forward. Rather, he looked around the backyard and rushed inside. Skeppy meanwhile collapsed onto the ground. His vision was swimming, and in simple terms, it felt like he’d been given the world’s most awful migraine. In more specific terms, it felt like his head was going to split in half.

Eventually, Techno came back with a turtle shell helmet. He clutched it nervously, scrutinizing Skeppy’s scalp before asking, “Do you feel better?”

Skeppy couldn’t do anything but hum. That wasn’t enough for Techno. They waited on Techno’s back patio for what felt like hours until Skeppy was coherent enough to form words. Then Techno thrust the helmet into Skeppy’s arms. “Don’t take that off....Please.”

Skeppy didn’t need to be told twice.

 

“Okay...” Techno said, intently focused on his communicator. They still hadn’t gone back to fighting yet until they (Techno) figured out what the hell just happened. Skeppy hadn't even put on the helmet yet, it just sat in his lap. “Phil says Gem hybrids have hypersensitive 'growths' on their scalp connected to the spine which prevent from creepers, falling rocks, and sensing stalactites...” Techno sighed, waving his hand. “Phil infodumps a lot. Point being, you gotta wear that helmet.”

Skeppy might’ve figured; that fucking hurt. Techno tapped his fingers together in a rhythmic pattern. “So like—You didn’t know about—I mean, I guess there aren’t very many chances to learn.”

“Actually, I fell on my head once as a kid. My mom always told me to blockshift whenever that happened though so—”

Techno leaned forward. “Your blockshift kept you from retaining damage?”

“Yeah.. Yeah, I guess it did.” Skeppy’s eyes widened, and he staggered to stand. “Come on, I want to get back on the field.”

Techno blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I got it. I’ll be fine.” He slammed the helmet onto his head, before nearly throwing up at the resulting nausea.

 

When you’re battling, time passes as if it’s nothing. Skeppy couldn’t tell if it had been fifteen, thirty minutes, hell, he hadn’t even noticed the sun beginning to set. But Skeppy was... Having the time of his life? They’d already figured out shifting was one of Skeppy’s most powerful assets and that his blockhead form could tank hits like nobody's business so all he needed to worry about was paying attention and blocking. And Techno knew what he was doing.

“You’re focusing too much on your defense,” Techno instructed. “When are you going to hit me?”

“You’re focusing too much on your offense!” Skeppy argued, which wasn’t as much trash talk as it was fussing. He swung at Techno, to which Techno immediately landed a ribcage shot without even realizing. Skeppy took damage.

“Ow! See?”

“Don’t swing at me just because I ask you too!”

“How does that—” Skeppy groaned, blocking one of Techno’s strikes with his sword. How much damage had he taken over the course of the fight? Between the splitting headache, the little nicks Techno kept giving everytime he had his guard off, he hadn’t had a chance to look. Of course, it was hard to think during this fight. In the moment he took to think, Techno almost cleared his head.

His shifting had a major advantage though; already, there was a difference. When in blockhead mode, (terrible name) he didn’t have to worry about the helmet at all. He would switch and tank the damage. He went from being terrified to impressing himself. Of course, it was confusing, and he was starting to get dizzy, but Techno was a good sport about how much shifting Skeppy was doing.

Eventually, he got in a clear hit, clumsily slamming his sword against Techno’s shoulder. He smiled and would’ve swung again when the sword shattered in his hands. He stumbled, watching pieces of rock fall from the air to the ground and Techno sighed. “Knew I should’ve gotten a full sharpness.”

Techno picked up the empty hilt and slid it into his pocket before he held out his hand to Skeppy. Skeppy shook it. “So I lost?”

Techno gave him a funny look. “No? Your sword broke. You’re fine.”

Skeppy smiled and took a seat on one of the chairs on Techno’s patio. He placed a hand under his hoodie to feel the cool plating of his skin and ignore the heat of his organic nonsense that made exercising difficult. Techno took a seat next to him while Skeppy checked the one text from Quackity.

QUACKITY: 🖕

He typed out a message saying he was ready and turned back to Techno. “So how much do I owe you?”

“How much you got..?”

“Enough,” was all Skeppy could say.

Techno narrowed his eyes and spoke deliberately, “Five hundred diamonds...”

Skeppy shot up like a firework as Techno barked out a laugh. “I’m kidding. Just twenty should be fine.”

“T—Twenty?” Skeppy repeated.

Techno nodded.

“I don’t want to like—Scam you—”

Techno interrupted, “Skeppy, look at my house.”

Above them towered a three-story stone and moss house, dripping from head to toe in class. Skeppy got the message.

“Just twenty is fine,” Techno repeated.

Skeppy tied twenty in a bundle and passed them over.

“Besides,” Techno said, taking the diamonds and weighing them in his hand. “You’re cool.”

Then Techno picked himself up and went inside. Skeppy smiled.

 

WOOF. Techno’s limbs were. Shaking. Had they really trained that long? Had it been that long since he trained? It felt like every bone in his piglin body was going to snap and crackle and pop all at the same time. He had not realized how much priority senior year had taken over actually staying in shape. This was terrifying.

Oh, and Skeppy?

Skeppy was cool.

Severely entertaining, if he was going to call him anything. Outside his house, a car horn honked, and Techno again, peeked through the curtain. Hanging out of the window of the car, he could see an arm pulled through a blue tracksuit, and he grinned. Skeppy came into view and ran to the car before turning around and waving towards the direction he assumed Techno was in. Then he got in the car with Quackity, and the car pulled out of the driveway. Techno sighed in relief and stumbled away from the window, still clutching his chest. Then he took off his boots and slunked off to the living room where he collapsed onto the couch and took out his communicator.

PH1LzA: So it went well?

Techno thought for a second.

BLADE: Pretty okay.

PH1LzA: Not the massive disaster you thought?

Techno frowned.

BLADE: Stay out of my head, Philza Minecraft.

PH1LzA: lmao

Techno messaged Phil for a little bit longer until his eyes got heavy. Despite the paint of his muscles and the lack of food in his stomach, Technoblade passed out on the couch and slept for a whole seventeen hours.

Notes:

all those minecraft stats techno said were bullshit by the way I didn’t fact check any of them, I just wrote them down.

you want an explanation for how diamond swords can exist where diamond people exist that isn’t immediately just so fucked up? well the diamonds used to craft and create are a different chemical and genetic makeup like chicken eggs except they come from two very different places! so essentially there are good diamonds which hatch into real people and diamonds that can be harvested for all your crafting needs! sound fun yet?

Chapter 8: Mauve

Summary:

Filler episode with Quackity! Skeppy! and Puffy! next to Tommy! and Techno!

Notes:

This fic is like my weird cousin I visit on Christmas. edited a few of the chapters (edited a bulk amount of Chapter Six, to be more precise about Skeppy and give him one actual tangible goal before. edited chapter one and two for clarity and cohesion.) this story probably needs a full overhaul so i stop restating shit but i edit these in the 3am crack of the night. it is, as I am writing 1:53 am. Hello

Also, by the time I finished this chapter I graduated. And it has been like 3 months since I graduated. So, idk what to do abt this.

edit: apparently this story was rated teens and up. I don't know why. this is not deserving of teen and up.

Skeppy, Puffy, and Quackity were all crisscrossed in Quackity's living room, with his copy of Elden Ring for Minecraft paused and drama filling the air. Surrounding them was a ring of different snacks cheaply scored from the convenience store and pooled with their own money. Puffy and Skeppy seemed to be in inordinate amounts of glee, while Quackity seemed positively miserable.

"Kill yourself," Quackity spat. "I survived poison ivy, bears, mentally-disturbed counselors—"

"Technoblade," Puffy teased.

"Undiagnosed mono," Skeppy taunted, curling himself over a throw pillow in his lap. "I can't believe you never told me any of this. Literally the most selfish thing you’ve ever done. You've been sitting on a goldmine for years."

"Like... Holy shit," Puffy said, almost laughing. Quackity had confessed the world’s most sickening first... Something, story ever. She leaned forward and repeated, as if to make sure she had the facts right. " 'He caught a fish in between his teeth and turned it to me, still flapping in his mouth. You could see his teeth poking out, and his smile...’ "

Skeppy’s own laughing cut her off. "Dude, I think an Oedipus complex would save you, holy fucking shit."

“You look like the Oedipus complex gave birth!” Quackity shouted. He yanked a throw pillow from beside himself and started beating the two next to him violently.

“Aah! Hey Skeppy—“ Puffy tried to say, shielding herself from Quackity’s blows. "Why don’t you tell us about training? Training sounds fun!"

"Uh—Techno's cool!” Skeppy responded under his own pillow shield. “I'm pretty sure I said that already." In one huge swing, he swept Quackity off of him and knocked him past Puffy all the way to the coffee table. Puffy flew back to make room.

“Jesus!” she shouted.

“If you can hit like that, I’m sure training went great!” Quackity exclaimed, although not with encouragement.

“I don't know, man. There's not much to say.” In all honesty, he didn't want to admit he'd almost gotten himself scalped or had nearly been knocked out from shifting. He put his pillow behind his back to properly sit on it and shrugged.

“Techno’s a better trainer than Sam or Sapnap, that’s for sure,” Skeppy said confidently.

“I didn’t think they were that bad...” Puffy muttered.

“Let’s hunt you for sport, see how you like it.”

“They weren’t really hunting you—” Puffy was interrupted with a throw pillow to the face.

“Anyway,” Skeppy said, trying to move things along. “It’s fine. Good! Now I get to rest and fuck off.”

“You don’t wanna like practice shifting or parkour or—”

“No.” Before anyone could contest, Skeppy picked up the controller and started playing Elder Scrolls for Minecraft. It wasn’t even his session.

Quackity sighed and leaned against the coffee table. He thought for a second and elbowed Puffy. “If you want, there’s a Parkour Palace down in THE HUB. We can do that.”

Puffy perked up. “Yeah, I haven’t gotten to go there yet! They have really good builds, don’t they?”

“Yeah, surprising for only 5 diamonds admission. And they pin your wings to your back like the real thing—”

Skeppy leaned closer to the screen. He was really bad at Elden Ring for Minecraft. “I like building them myself...” He mumbled petulantly.

“Hey. This is between me and Puffy here.” Quackity clicked his tongue. “Besides, would I want to clear—”

Puffy hopped in easily. “—A whole afternoon building a parkour obby by myself or go to a premade one with my friends?”

“Now that is a good question, Puffy,” Quackity said with a grin.

“Thank you, Quackity!” They were on the same wavelength, and it was horrible. Worse, it was working on Skeppy.

“We could go—” Puffy tapped her chin. “Well, when are you free, Quackity?”

“You know what, I’m free as far as I can tell.”

“I’m free whenever! How about—”

Skeppy let out a loud groan. Quackity and Puffy shared an adjacent glance of triumph. “And if I WENT,” Skeppy said with all the petulance of a middle schooler trying to get out of soccer. “Would I get to pick the date?”

“If you went!” Puffy recited like a scandalized journalist.

“If you went...” Quackity drawled like an easy salesman.

“Would I get to pick the date?”

Quackity sighed and shook his head. “But Skeppy doesn’t like work, Puffy. He wouldn’t do it.”

“And we almost had him,” Puffy said with a sigh.

Skeppy was at his wit’s end. “What do you want me to do? Beg on my hands and knees?”

Quackity stayed suspiciously silent.

“Let me pick the date, you asshole.” Skeppy was really at his wit’s end.

“Woah! Lot of hostility coming from—”

The eponymous Elden Ring screen of death rang through the room, and all three turned their attention to the TV that Skeppy had left running. Quackity covered his face. “You recover my work and I’ll let you pick a date, how about that?”

“I think your friend is shtupid,” Tommy said with a mouthful of sandwich. “I would’ve quit very fast. Why would I make myself sick?”

“Okay, human-boy, I didn't know you were so knowledgeable about shapeshifting and its effects on the body,” Techno derided.

Tommy frowned and loudly smacked his sandwich.

“Don’t humans like.. Get lactose-intolerant all the time anyway? That’s just like a thing you guys do.”

“Wouldn’t know anything about that,” Tommy announced proudly. “I drink cow’s milk, goat’s milk, even some—”

“I don’t need to know all the milks you drink, Tommy.” Tommy was very funny, incredibly gross however.

In retaliation or as if to say, “I’ll show you right now” Tommy grabbed the all-inclusive (sort of) milk off of his tray and chugged it before inhaling wrong and coughing up heavy amounts of milk all over the lunch table and dangerously close to Technoblade.

“Charming,” Techno said, using his empty tray as a shield. He grabbed some napkins and laid them down as Tommy bent over to cough into his shirt.

“Fuck you,” Tommy rasped. “I’m awesome—”cough—“big—”cough— “all those other fuckin—”

It was hard to make a point in those circumstances. Once he regained his composure, Tommy redirected off the topic of milk. “So, you beat the shit out of that kid or what?”

“No, not really.” Techno set his tray back down. “His sword broke, and we ended the match.”

 Tommy’s nose wrinkled. “That’s not even to the death.” He sounded frankly insulted it wasn't to the death. “How boring!”

“Unlike you, I don’t want everyone I fight dead.”

Tommy ignored him. “Me, I start stabbing. I give ‘em wounds to make sure I don’t see their stupid face again.”

“They pay for these sessions, Tommy,” Techno stated plainly. “Also, I give sessions to middle schoolers—I gave a session to you!” He sat up. “That one was free!”

Tommy sat up in return, almost gleefully. “That’s where you’re stupid, Techno. You steal their money, go for their arteries, and then—”

“So you're saying I should make you pay for it?”

Tommy turned a certain color, cleared his throat and sat back. “And that’s why you’re so generous and pogchamp, Technoblade my best friend. You don’t bill me hundreds of diamonds—”

Techno folded his arms. “I don’t?”

Tommy began to sweat.

Like a green angel sent from the Aether, someone shouted: “Bossman!” And Tommy turned around to see a scrawny kid pointing to their table. Tommy was quick to stand up, almost as if he was afraid.

“Well, this has been lovely, Technoblade—”

“Five hundred diamonds,” Techno taunted in a ghostly whisper.

“I’m gonna go sit with Tubbo—!!”

With a swipe of his tray off the table, Tommy sped off, presumably to complain to Tubbo about how terrible Technoblade was. Techno meanwhile waved him off and began to rifle through his bookbag for something to kill the period with. There wasn't much option: a book he didn't care for, a notebook with nothing to write in it, and his communicator. He picked the latter.He scrolled past a couple names, responded to a couple messages, found himself in that stupid group chat with Wilbur’s friends, who had all been presumably signed up for SMPEarth. There were about 20 of them altogether, Techno and Wilbur included. Techno had no real attachment to them, but Wilbur called them 'great company.' An @everyone read:

W.EARTH: HANGOUT !!! THE HUB !!! WHEN???

With various dates to vote on linked underneath. Realistically, Techno had no idea how Wilbur was going to keep his ‘SMPEarth’ idea a secret with his online name a full-direct reference to it but what did he know? He voted on the last possible date and moved on. That really left him with nothing to do, so he slung his bag over his shoulder and headed to the library.

Notes:

to elaborate on that last point, its like. you get it like this fic was heavy based on my experiences in high school that are now over. like it's not that complex of a fic but life updates!! and all that

Chapter 9: Wisteria

Summary:

minecraft mechanics, inventory sorting, and a solid amount of introspection

Notes:

Unsurprisingly, I have run out of colors to meaningfully convey my purposes in this story, as I was originally limited to red and blue and purple. I am silly.

I have an edit prepped for the first seven chapters, but it is not a very good edit. to salvage this and keep in tune with the story, I've only replaced chapter seven's Camp RB thing from Techno, because I wanted that rewritten anyway and chapter one which I thought was the most cohesive. But something like chapter three has been entirely re-written and thusly, I'd need to overhaul the overhaul.

Without Wilbur or anyone else to keep him company, Techno found himself alone again. Sharpening swords before school, sitting in the library until lunch, sliced potatoes or carrots at 5:00 pm, homework at 6:00 (if he had any), and intermittent checkings of a communicator that never had anything new to say. Luckily, apart from the monotony was Skeppy who was the closest thing to keeping Techno sane. Unfortunately, he was also the closest to bringing Techno to his breaking point.

To put it bluntly, even if Skeppy was a competent fighter, he had no grasp of basic PVP mechanics, such as archery, axe v. sword, the hitboxes of any of the tools... The one thing he did enjoy—parkour—he still didn’t understand beyond the basics. The highest angle of a landable jump? Nada. The tensile strength difference between vines, chains, and ropes? Total blank. Techno wanted to believe Skeppy was messing with him, but he was almost certain he was not.

Techno also found out what he thought was a joke, that Skeppy had only fought three times prior to their first meeting, was not a joke. Very solidly not a joke. And then he thought maybe he should discourage this Hypixel thing.

It wasn’t in his place to discourage anyone, especially not his students. But Techno and him were the same age and well... There were several alternatives and possible backups. The most prestigious PVP school in Minecraft was maybe not the best no-backup option. If not discourage him, Techno tried to lead the question forward.

BLADE: what’s your second choice?

BL0CKH3AD: don’t really have one. maybe I’d take a year off.

BLADE: so hypixel or nothing?

BL0CKH3AD: I guess.

BL0CKH3AD: or community college.

Those were some pretty high hopes—Techno’s parents would disown him if he ever went to community college. He didn’t say this of course, he had enough social tact. So silently, he just let the conversation drift to a halt and planned to not bring it up again.

Speaking of Techno’s parents, the two week deadline had passed. They sent him money through the mail regularly, and it’s not like two weeks was more than a guesstimate but... Well, they were never home anyway, so it didn't matter. But he knew Phil wouldn’t be happy about it. Or Wilbur. I mean, it wasn’t very good news in the first place.

But Phil pops the question, asking if Techno’s parents have gotten home yet sooner or later. And Techno has nothing good to say. And Techno watches that bubble pop up and disappear—And then Phil says, “I’m sorry to hear that m8”. And Wilbur’s not better either with his well-hidden tone shift. It goes from a question to the most bite-the-bullet smile and chipper laugh, “When do you think they’ll be home then?” And Techno doesn’t know. At least Tommy had feelings to hide, but it’s not exactly moralizing to hear Tommy squawk, “YOUR PARENTS ARE SHITHEADS.” And come up with an elaborate scheme for a house party. At least he doesn't ask when they're coming back.

Skeppy tried, he really tried. That progress was not recovering. They settled on the 2nd of next month anyway, at the mercy of Quackity’s save. That was a week after his next session with Techno. And he was... Unfortunately, looking forward to it. A couple times, he’d run a hand over the bend of his scalp to remind himself of the precarious... Antenna? There had to be a word for them somewhere. There was no crack where Techno made contact two weeks ago, (and thank god) but he could feel the smallest nick. Now, with Gem healing you either take the parts you already had and re-fuse them, or you get a new part fused in for you. This didn’t matter for Skeppy, as it was just a nick, but that shard was not coming back. A piece of him lost in Techno’s backyard forever.

Skeppy wasn't unafraid. He was scared of doing irreparable damage to himself, but there was that flicker of excitement. One small nick. One small nick, just the beginning. And then a thousand hundred nicks after.

Skeppy was driven by Sam this time. At Sam’s encouragement, he’d gotten a mismatched set of armor to take with him—no sword though, and he didn’t feel like stopping at the store to buy one.

Over the course of two weeks, Skeppy and Techno had discussed a lot. Skeppy’s diamond physiology, his endurance, and his experience with the various forms of PVP and parkour. Techno was really passionate about this. Or at least he was just committed to being a good trainer. Skeppy couldn’t tell if he was intimidated or envious, but he was already in the car for his second trip. Sam wasn’t much of a talker. Frankly, out of everyone, Sam might’ve believed in him the least. Him or Antfrost. Which might’ve been for the best. Someone had to keep their hopes to a minimum. Luckily, Sam wasn’t completely praying on his downfall. Or maybe he was and just kept quiet about it.

Eventually, they pulled into Techno’s driveway. Sam balked.

“Holy fuck, Skeppy.”

“Holy fuck is right,” Skeppy responded. “I wasn’t messing, this dude is rich.”

“And you said he’s going to Hypixel?”

Skeppy laughed. “Of course he is. A kid like him is probably being paid to go to Hypixel instead of the other way around. What confuses me is how he ended up at the same camp as Quackity.” He made a waving motion with his hand. “Don’t mention that to Quackity, by the way. Never mention that.”

Skeppy got out and gave Sam a thumbs up after double-checking his armor was adjusted properly. Sam nodded and backed out. It only took a few seconds before Skeppy heard a whistle and saw Techno waving him over the back porch.

Techno was leaned over the fence gate, quite deep in thought, until he saw Skeppy’s armor and frowned. “Is that yours?”

“No, it’s my friend’s.” Without inspection, the armor was not a looker. It was half chainmail, half iron, with leather boots. “It’s not great.”

“No, it’s not,” Techno responded matter-of-factly. “How much durability does it have on it?”

Skeppy read what he saw aloud. Unfortunately he was not great at reading stats, and messily read out, “Half yellow, sort-of green, orange—”

“Okay,” Techno interrupted. “Give me the chestplate.”

“That’s the hardest one to get off,” Skeppy complained and slipped off his helmet instead. The helmet glowed for a few seconds in Techno’s hand, a select sign of Techno’s ‘magic,’ and he handed it back.

“You have about 70 hits left, which won’t immediately destroy it.” Techno looked down. “Those boots don’t have much of a chance though.”

Skeppy waved his hand. “Probably not. But this is getting embarrassing.”

He moved past Techno, picking up a sword propped up against a chair and testing its deftness. He swung it left, he swung it right, he swung it into a chair and cut through the cotton cover. Techno cleared his throat. Skeppy cleared his.

“So. Defense?”

“Right.”

Skeppy walked out onto the backyard, and Techno did the same. “We’re gonna practice switching tools.” He tossed Skeppy a shield, which Skeppy sloppily shifted into the other hand.

“You can shift into pure Diamond, but Hypixel isn’t keen on special abilities. Endermen can’t teleport, avians get their wings pinned, and at some point, you won’t be able to shift.” Techno planted his feet firmly, hooves digging into the dirt. “So, you need to learn how to swap items.”

“It’s just reflexes right? Just—” Skeppy swung and threw his shield up, miming a real battle. “I mean, is this really necessary?”

“We’ll see,” Techno said. He charged forward.

Unlike last time, Skeppy was rather sloppy at swapping items. More than a couple times had a swing got him on the shoulder or an arrow to the wrist. And then he would react in pain and get hit again. It was not a very functional system.

Was he still having fun? That remained to be seen.

He was not having fun.

At the apex of his frustration, the leather boots broke under him, and he slipped as if stepping on a banana peel, twist. His ankle fucking hurt. Techno ran inside, and Skeppy just readjusted himself hoping he healed fast. He wasn’t quitting. But between the scratched up hand, the shitty armor, and looking like an idiot over half-broken boots, he felt pretty bad. After a few minutes, Skeppy felt moderately better. He stood up, staggered a little bit, fell, stood up again.

“I’m good!” He yelled to Techno’s general house. Techno came back out. He placed down the healing potion and surveyed Skeppy. Rather than back to battle, he came to a different conclusion, and kept his sword on his porch.

“Alright, stay where you are.”

Skeppy frowned but complied. Techno in turn, walked all the way to Skeppy. “I don’t think fighting is working right now.” He sat down. “Let’s start slow.”

Skeppy sat down with him. There was still a relative ease Skeppy observed as Techno swapped between sword, shield, axe, and a few miscellaneous items such as apple, book, and communicator. “Now you try.”

Skeppy sighed, took a deep breath, and swapped between communicator, sword, and a bundle of school supplies. Specifically, only those three.

“That’s baby stuff, man,” Skeppy said half-joking.

Techno nodded to Skeppy’s scratched up hand, and Skeppy sighed. “Fine.”

“Alright, I wanted you to focus on two items now. Your right hand and your left.”

Skeppy took another deep breath and did a few trials between sword and communicator. Communicator in right hand, sword in left. Sword in right hand, communicator in left. “So like... Bug hybrids have way more space than we do right? Because of their multiple hands? They got like four of them? Sometimes six.”

Techno shrugged. “I never checked. Phil has all the hybrid knowledge. I know the basics. But if I had to guess maybe they do; or maybe they just have two more hands. Something has to balance out for how small they are.”

“But they can fly! I can’t fly!”

“Yeah, but you can tank damage and hit like a truck. Why are you only focusing on the first three slots of your inventory?”

Skeppy accidentally slipped over one, where a pillow popped into his hands. After a few seconds of silence, Skeppy said, “My inventory is very heavily tailored to me.”

“Uh huh.”

“Shut up,” Skeppy chided. Still, he was smiling.

He swapped back to the bundle of school supplies and went back to practicing, albeit slowly. Techno practiced with him, but as Skeppy watched his clean discipline and practice, he began to feel a little jealous.

“How long have you been doing this?”

Techno hummed. “It’s not necessarily my thing, but Phil thinks it’s a dying art. So he practices with me. I’m still really bad at it.”

“Phil’s your mentor or dad or what?”

Techno recoiled. “Not my dad. He’s like thirty. But he’s really smart for thirty, so I listen to him. I think he was going to be a professor of Mobology before his Hardcore World.”

Skeppy looked up. “What happened?”

“Dunno.”

They fell back into silence for a little bit before Techno put away his inventory and stood up. “How are you feeling?”

Skeppy tried to stand, focusing on his foot to find any pain and nodded. “I’m fine. Another round?”

“Yeah, before the sun goes down.”

And with a little practicing, Skeppy was better. Not great, at least three nicks he counted, but at least he could count them this time. And his pants broke because next to the boots they were first to go. But you know what? The shield was working. Pay attention, move fast, and have it ready. Those were the main tenets of tool switching. And don’t swap to your fucking pillow in the middle of battle because you placed it too close to your sword, you moron.

That didn’t happen to Skeppy.

Whatever, he did the battle good and he handed off the twenty diamonds to Techno before dialing Sam and waiting in the front yard for a green car to pull up.

Techno meanwhile, went inside. Still empty.

Once Skeppy was gone he checked the mail for six hundred diamonds from Dad, eight hundred from Mom. Separate envelopes, obviously. He added it to the bundle with Skeppy’s twenty and trudged up the stairs. No messages, obviously. Except for one reminder of THE HUB this weekend via @WilburSoot. Truly wonderful.

Notes:

The difference between SKEPPY and BL0CKH3AD is just text message labels vs online handles.

anyway, I started reading homestuck, at least what I could of it, and that largely inspired the heavy emphasis on like Minecraft mechanics and the politics of inventory sorting. i also started playing stardew valley, which made me forget most of how minecraft worked.