Chapter Text
"Mother," A whisper, from quivering voice as I stared up at the young man who stood before me. It had taken years for my voice to heal, and the fear of losing it again had left me hesitant to use it in front of anyone, except my children.
Michael, my beloved son, had grown into a young man who bore a striking resemblance to his father, Technoblade. His rosy hair cascaded down to his shoulders, and his eyes, unlike Technoblade's crimson gaze, shimmered with a light, shiny gold that seemed to reflect a well of emotions within him.
As I placed my trembling hand on the softness of his cheek, he tilted his head down, a warm smile gracing his lips. Both my children had grown into being mother's boy, a fact that often dismayed Technoblade and the rest of the Craft family. Whenever they sought a moment alone with me, they were swiftly whisked away by them. Michael had developed his own unique style. He favored plain pants and a white shirt, but he had a curious fascination with gold, though he always stuck to silver. This peculiar choice never failed to infuriate his father, who showered him with gold trinkets and pieces. Even his uncles had gifted him gold crowns, all of which lay untouched. He would just roll his eyes at their perplexed expressions.
Michael's eyes softened as he looked down at me, a hint of vulnerability in his gaze. "Did you bring me something, Mother?" he asked, his voice laced with sweet anticipation. I nodded, handing him a present clumsily wrapped with trembling hands.
With eager excitement, he delicately unwrapped the gift, his long, calloused fingers gently parting the paper. The years of training imposed upon him by his father had left their mark. Inside the box, a small silver pin, fashioned to resemble a sword, glistened under the soft light. He grinned with genuine delight before pulling me into a warm hug. "I love it, Mother," he whispered, and I cherished the embrace, craving the touch of my children more than anything else.
Michael…
Micheal remained my only child, the bittersweet reminder of all that we had lost.
Even with all the pressure from Phil, Technoblade I continued to resist. As tears welled up in my eyes. My heart ached with a pain that refused to fade. My son, Michael, watched me with concern, his gentle voice breaking through my despair. "Mother, what's the matter? Are you thinking about my sister?"
I shook my head, trying to regain my composure, to prevent myself from breaking down entirely. "It's okay, Mother," he reassured me, pulling away gently. "My sister is in a better place."
He held my hand, his fingers tenderly caressing the top, and he pressed a kiss on my head, just as I used to do with him. But now, with him towering over me, our roles had reversed.
"Mother, would you pin this on me?" he asked, his eyes bright with excitement. I nodded, my smile reflecting how much his happiness meant to me. He bounced on his feet with impatience as I carefully clipped the silver pin, shaped like a sword, to his chest. He puffed up with pride. "Do I look handsome?" he inquired with a grin.
I brushed his cheek and replied, "You look more and more like your father." His demeanor shifted suddenly, a mix of worry and anger, and I found myself trembling. Fear clutched at my heart as I thought of Technoblade, of what he might do to our child.
Suddenly, two hands cupped my face, and I gasped for breath, my mind reeling. "Mother, Mother, I'm sorry..." It wasn't Technoblade, it was Micheal. I broke down into sobs.
"Let's get you to your room, Mother. You're just overwhelmed," Michael said, wrapping an arm around me protectively. He guided me away, his unwavering support a lifeline.
Michael was always looking out for me, even when it should have been the other way around. I felt like a useless mother, unable to hold myself together for him.
"Y/n, Michael," our names were called, and Technoblade, the unchanging piglin, walked down the hall with his typical stoic demeanor, adorned in his red cape and gold crown. Michael tensed up immediately, his voice laced with suppressed growls as he attempted to lead us away.
"Where do you think you're going, Micheal?" Technoblade's voice held a warning, but gold eyes met his father's with anger and disdain. "None of your business," Michael retorted defiantly, a few inches shorter than his father but making up for it with his attitude. He always knew how to manipulate his father, his uncle, and his grandfather to get what he wanted.
"I want to speak to my wife," Technoblade demanded. "I'm not stopping you," Micheal responded, his smirk never leaving his face. I cupped Michael's chin, gently bringing his gaze down and shaking my head, silently begging him to relent. He understood and walked away turning his head back to ensure its what I wanted. With a small nod he was gone.
"You're spoiling him," Technoblade remarked, leaning in to peck my lips briefly. "Phil is asking for you again today, the same as always." I kept my gaze lowered. Phil's relentless insistence on more grandchildren had become a daily headache, one I couldn't escape.
"I also want more kids. Isn't it time? It's been years since our daughter's passing." I shook my head, my resolve unwavering. I would not replace my lost daughter, no matter how much they pressured me.
The pressure had been relentless, even with Technoblade's stoicism, until it took a knife and a promise to put an end to it. I pressed the knife to my skin, drawing blood, the sharp sting a testament to my determination not to be an incubator for their desires. Technoblade's fury knew no bounds, he yelled, threw things, and even dared me to end it all, confident I wouldn't leave our son alone. It was only when I pressed the knife further that he promised to relent, the only promise he ever kept.
I walked into Phil's grand room, where he sat on his throne with papers in hand. His blue eyes sparkled when he spotted me. "Y/n, there you are," he greeted me, waving me over and settling me onto his lap. He kissed my cheek and said, "Michael is getting so big, soon, it will be time for me to make him immortal too."
"He was so adorable when he was young. Do you recall how he couldn't even hold his human form? It took him years to perfect it," I whispered, my head bowed in agreement.
"I just don't understand why you don't want another! I know Techno does! piglins desire a large litter. It's been years! Surely you've healed!" Phil's voice grew angrier and more irate with each passing moment. He squeezed me tightly. "I know it's because of you. I know you used your pretty words to persuade him. Well, now you're going to do as I say." He stood up, dragging me by the hair.
"I'm done waiting. If you refuse to have a child with Technoblade, how about Wilbur? Ranboo has always had such a hopeless crush on you! Even me, what about me, my little bird?" Phil teased, a twisted smile on his face as he dropped me to the floor.
I struggled to breathe as Phil's smile widened, making me sick with dread over what he desired.
Suddenly, a loud slam resonated through the room, and as Phil locked eyes with the mysterious man, his demeanor shifted from anger to softness. "Michael, your mother fell. I was just helping her—" Phil's words were cut short when Michael wasted no time and punched his grandfather in the face.
But instead of reacting with anger, Phil smiled. "Aw, Michael, you've gotten so big!" *punch* "Would you like some candy?" *punch* It was clear that despite his violent outburst, Phil had a terrible soft spot for his only grandson. As Michael held onto his collar, blood dripped from the man's nose.
Michael didn't stop there. His eyes were murderous as he continued to hit Phil, rage pouring out of him. "Don't you dare touch my mother! Stay away from her! Don't even look at her, you piece of shit!" I gasped and reached out to grab Michael, doing anything to get his attention.
He snapped his head toward me, and I whimpered, relieved that my son had returned to his senses. I hugged him, helping him off the avian.
Phil managed to help himself up, looking dreadful as he folded his arms together. "Michael would simply adore a sibling," he said, trying to entice my son, but I held him back. He could have easily escaped my grasp, but he didn't.
Michael turned away from his grandfather, his focus on me. "Mother, are you alright?"
Three punches were all he managed to land, but they were a powerful statement. My son had not only punched his grandfather but also struck royalty. I took his hands, examining the blood on his knuckles. "I'm okay, Mother, this is nothing," he assured me with a doting smile, never looking away from my gaze. I tried to see what Phil was doing, but Michael tilted my face back toward his.
"Mother needs no one but me. And that should have been enough for you too, Phil," he growled at his grandfather. Phil continued to grin madly, unfazed by the violence that had just unfolded.
The commotion had drawn not only the sleep guards but also the rest of the family. Wilbur wore a perplexed expression, while Ranboo shared his confusion. Tommy entered, appearing stunned but with a hint of understanding about what had transpired. Technoblade, their father, walked in and spotted the blood on his son's fists, realizing that the only one wounded was the King. He put two and two together effortlessly.
"Michael," he growled. "What the hell were you thinking?!"
Michael's eyes glowed with dangerous gold. "I was thinking that I have a useless, damn old man who can't even protect his wife!"
Wilbur moved toward his father, but he was waved off, as the wounds were already healing, even with the brute force of his piglin son.
"I'll never forgive any of you. Not one of you could keep my mother safe!" I tried to stop Micheal before he could say more, before he dug himself deeper into trouble.
"You're just a child. What goes on is none of your business," Technoblade chastised him, further infuriating our son.
"Wow, Technoblade, you can't even discipline your son. No wonder he grew up to be so wild," Wilbur chuckled as he helped Phil up. "Don't look at me, Y/n was the one who spoiled him."
Ranboo sighed, "At least on the next one, try to ensure they are properly educated."
"Next one? I thought you and y/n were done having kids," Tommy asked curiously as he fetched a chair for Phil to sit in.
With the king now seated, Michael blocked me, patiently waiting and listening for someone to make a move. "We might have to keep Y/n all tied up, maybe even locked in a small room, so she won't hurt herself. But I've been speaking with Phil, and it's time we expanded the family."
Of course, the decision was made without my input. Instead of anger, I resigned myself to my fate, my head hanging low. A hand reached for mine – Michael's. He led us out of the room before anyone could say another word, knowing that, like my words, his would fall on deaf ears.
.
..
…
Michael clung to me, his proximity causing annoyance not only to his father and grandfather but also to the rest of the Craft family. Every time one of them tried to greet me, he would dismiss them with the harshest of words, declaring there was no point in being nice to "sick bastards."
His grandfather, a brave soul, attempted to dote on the child the moment he was healed up, only to be met with threats of more violence. Not even Technoblade couldn't control the kid, seemingly unable to tame him. Anytime he tried to have even a moment of alone time with me, Michael would get feral, baring his teeth, and even forgetting how to speak as he delved deep into his instincts. It drove Technoblade insane. However, this was also a piglin thing, some kind of horde instinct, and I, to Michael, was his treasure. Technoblade was frustrated that no one in the house was let in on this bond.
Michael nuzzled his nose into my neck, and I couldn't help but smile, reminded of the times when he was younger. Technoblade called it "scenting," a way for piglins to establish ownership, and he assured me that Michael would eventually grow out of it. But he never did.
"You've grown so big, Michael," I said, smiling back. I reached for a book on the top shelf, but the young piglin was quicker, fetching it for me. I went to grab it from his hand, but he held it behind his back. I rolled my eyes and said, "Thank you, son."
"Anything for you, Mother," he replied, handing me the book. Blinking, he gently seated me in a chair, sitting down beside me. I knew he wanted me to read to him, a habit he'd developed, not because he was a book fanatic, but because he liked hearing stories to fall asleep to.
As I cracked open the book, I heard Wilbur's voice from behind. "Y/n, there you are. I was wondering if you—" Wilbur backed off the moment Michael stood up, raising his hands in a sign of peace.
"Easy, kid. I ain't your dear old dad. I just want a nice chat with your mom," Wilbur said, but Michael cut him off.
"Don't think I don't know how you used your voice on her. It won't work on me, Wilbur," Michael retorted, his gaze unwavering. Wilbur glared at him. "You're turning into a real mommy's boy."
"Maybe if there was someone man enough to protect her, I wouldn't have to," Michael responded defiantly, blocking me with his form. He took on a more piglin appearance, and Wilbur watched on with a mix of horror and interest.
"You can't keep her away from us forever. Just keep that in mind," Wilbur warned before rolling his eyes and backing off. Michael shifted back into his more human form, and I rushed over to him.
"I'm fine, Mum, just tired," he reassured me. I held him close, feeling that it should be me protecting him, not the other way around.
*****
Michael clutched my hand as we made our way back to my room. He seemed unusually tired, his instincts taking their toll on the boy, leaving him more exhausted than usual. Despite my gentle encouragement, he refused to listen.
I let it go, as I always did.
Michael held onto my hand, his head resting on my shoulder. A yawn escaped him before he fell asleep against me. I marveled at the transformation of his hands, once little hooves, now large and strong. He despised his piglin side more than anything, always afraid to reveal all facets of himself to me. I hummed a soothing melody as he slumbered in my embrace, hoping to ease the turmoil within his soul.
"Starlight, are you ready to come to bed?" the voice whispered in the dark, feigning sweetness as a tail swished impatiently. Not once had they left me alone. Not ONCE. Even in marriage, sweet words turned into deceit, and it terrified me. The moment we arrived in this place, I found myself longing for our isolated life in the forest. Then, I only had to contend with my husband's growing needs.
But this act we put on was something else entirely. Michael was growing older, and with that, he would become less attached. He'd eventually leave me behind, starting his family and becoming a better person than the rest of his family, myself included. We were all terrible influences on him. If he could go, I squeezed his hand, perhaps he might escape this suffocating unhappiness.
Being forced into a role even his father didn't want – a sad, lonely king – was something I couldn't allow to happen. "I'm with my son," I answered, and his tail flicked out to grab me. "Come now, you're always with him," he spoke bitterly. "Like Dad said, even Ranboo will do." He hinted with a scowl, and I sensed the movement of the wind as something on the bed shifted. Ranboo let out a surprised squeak.
"I know how you spoke to my mom from the darkness like the coward you are," Michael, half-asleep, mumbled. He reached out as if to finish his throw. Was that a knife?! but he seemed to be sleepwalking. Ranboo gulped, muttering, "That kid is Insane!"
"Insane? You want to see insane?" For a moment, I thought Michael's eyes turned red, but I hugged him and said, "Michael, baby, go back to sleep." He froze in my embrace and then collapsed.
Ranboo ran.
I clutched Michael close, knowing something was terribly wrong. He was changing, either for the better or the worse, but the latter weighed heavier. I feared that the longer he stayed in this place, the worse it would get. I bit my lip and covered him back up with the blankets. The change had to start with me and end with me.
I got up from the bed, knowing my husband would be waiting for me.
Technoblade sat in a chair by the fire, relishing the heat that fueled not only his body but also his blood. He glanced up at me for a fleeting moment. I struggled to hold back my sadness. "I'll have another child," I told him, letting the words escape my lips. His scarlet eyes flickered with a hint of lust.
"But—" he growled, sounding annoyed.
"Michael I want him to see the world. Not just the inside of this castle," I said. Technoblade chuckled throatily. "You want to send your son away? He's next in line, and you think it wise to just—"
"He deserves that," I interrupted, "he's everything I ever loved. I'll have another child, please, let him experience more."
Technoblade pretended to think, although he already had his answer. He enjoyed making me wait. "Tell me this, did Michael ask you to do this?" Confused, I stammered, "No, he would never."
"Then, does he hear voices?" Technoblade asked then continued his thought. "Voices that aren't his own? Does he talk to himself, his head swarming with thoughts not just his own. Voices"
Wondering what he meant, I tried to recall the moments when Michael had seemed different, when he spoke to himself and appeared to be possessed by something far more... even more than Technoblade.
"No," I replied, "He's been the same as always." I didn't know if Technoblade believed me of it, he simply wanted to send my child away to have more.
"Tomorrow" I wanted to scream that it was much too soon. But this might be his only chance to experience life. So i suppressed my protective instincts, the loneliness, and sobs.
"Thank you," I reluctantly said, knowing that when morning came I was going to be left alone with the Craft family, I would break down again.
But until morning,
I would go and be with michael.