"What am I gonna do with these kids..."

•Chapter one•

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Philza
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Philza Minecraft had always wanted kids. He and his wife had tried numerous times, but to no avail. When they moved in together they had bought a big house, planning on having a big family… but now that his wife had passed, Philza was all alone - her memory still filling the empty halls.

After nearly two years of loneliness and slipping in and out of his depressive, grieving state,, Philza signed up to be a foster parent. It took months to get through all the background checks and paperwork, but eventually he was cleared to care for a child.

Philza wasn't good with babies or toddlers, so he opted for preteens and young teenagers instead, despite the numerous warnings from people around him that they were hard to deal with. He had set up the room that was once going to be a nursery to be the typical teenager's dream room. There was a captain's bed in the corner by the window, a desk with a PC, and a small bookshelf for whatever few books he could get the kid to read. He didn't have any bedding or anything like that, because he wanted to let the kid he was fostering pick that out themself, to try and make them feel a bit more at home.

A week or so after he set up the room Phil got the paperwork for the child he'd be fostering soon. "Technoblade" was the name listed. "Hm.. odd name.." Phil mumbled aloud as he was reading through Technoblade's papers and sipping his morning coffee. As he kept reading through the paperwork he felt more and more sympathetic for the kid; according to the papers, now 13 year old Technoblade had been pulled out of an abusive home at age 5, and since then had gone through no less than 23 foster homes. Apparently, at age 10 Technoblade was diagnosed with a mild case of schizophrenia, and it seemed like since his diagnosis he'd been jumping from home to home faster, not lasting more than a few months in each.

"Fucking assholes." Philza muttered under his breath as he stared at the paperwork. Why even agree to foster him if you're not prepared to help with his mental illness?? Phil knew it wasn't an easy task, but to kick a kid out because of something like that, when he can't even control it…. Phil would never understand people like that. It was then that he made a promise to himself to be there for Technoblade in any way he could, this kid had been through enough shit.

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A few days later Phiza was waiting expectantly by the door with a tray of fresh chocolate chip cookies in hand, and sugar cookies in the kitchen in case Technoblade didn't like chocolate chip. The social worker was supposed to be arriving with Technoblade any minute, and to say Phil was nervous would be an understatement. What if he didn't like Phil? What if he didn't trust Phil at all because of everything he's gone through? What if he didn't like living here and immediately asked to be transferred?? The ‘what ifs’ kept spiraling on endlessly, getting more and more absurd until the doorbell rang, immediately silencing Philza's thoughts.

He took a deep breath, smiled as genuine as he could, and opened the door.

A relatively tall but frail looking boy was staring back at him, his clothes were just a little too big and a tad bit too worn out for Phil's comfort. Technoblade had almost straight but messy shoulder length hair, the lower half of which was dyed a light pastel pink, while his roots remained a dark brown that Phil assumed to be his natural colour. He kept looking at techno for a moment, trying to assess his general condition before he realized that he was staring, and blinked a few times,, looking at the social worker that was standing with Technoblade. "Hello! Nice to meet you" he held out his hand for the social worker to shake, stayed like that for a moment, and just slowly put it back down when the woman made no move to shake his hand.