#paulletters

techno: spork

tommy: two-pronged fork

tubbo: spoon with a sharp end

ranboo: the one really long spoon

philza: fork

dream: serrated on one side knife

small and crappy analysis of Technoblade’s anarchy:

Techno stays human for many reasons. For one, he’s more likely to not be attacked or avoided if he stays human. Other players are more likely to recognize the shape and don’t go after him in order to “make the nether more safe”. Players are more likely not to take wide circles around him in order to avoid an Piglin. And while Techno’s not the hugest fan of social interaction, he does need it. It’s also good practice. (In his opinion, he’s barely gotten better at small talk, but Phil says he’s improved). 

Those aren’t the main reasons.

He’s seen Piglins shoved into holes and players to throw gold at them, before leaving the Piglins to struggle getting out. He’s seen players tear apart bastions and leave like they haven’t ransacked a home. He’s seen players kill Piglins who don’t give them what they want because they’ve ran out of items to trade, as if the Piglin was some cow to be put down when it couldn’t produce milk. He’s seen players with scars from Piglin attacks loudly complain about their existence. He’s never seen one treated more than an animal.

This is to say that Technoblade is not a monster. He’s not an animal. So why would he choose to look like one?

Now, he sort of regrets that; he’s bedridden due to the pain of being shifted. Phil hasn’t checked up on him yet. He probably thinks Techno is going into hibernation again.

Techno’s eyes widen at the feeling of his stomach rebelling. He attempts to lean over his bed so to not choke on his vomit, but the already excruciating pain triples. He thinks he blacked out for a moment, because when he blinks, he’s gasping for air and tears are flowing down his face. His throat feels worn, too, like he screamed for a solid 10 seconds. Honestly, he might have.

As he catches his breath, thudding noises erupt from downstairs, and the telltale sound of someone climbing the ladder to his room grows louder. He can’t move his head, but he peels his eyelids open and looks as far to the right as possible. He can’t see much, but Phil wears such a distinctive green, he doesn’t need to. His ears distantly recognize Phil speaking, but words are too difficult with his brain constantly panging him with indescribable pains.

He can’t hold out like this for much longer. He has to shift at this point, but fear is somehow greater than his pain. He can’t trace the exact thoughts that his anxiety is coming from, but he’s almost sure that it’s from the aforementioned reasons. Phil reaches out and gently feels his forehead. Wordless noises try to escape from Techno’s throat, but none of them have the ability to leave. The touch is like getting shot with fireworks, sparkling and tearing into his skin. A few more tears escape his eyes.

Finally Phil steps back and heads down the ladder, shouting something at someone, maybe him. Techno glances a few times at the ladder, making sure that Phil’s gone, before shifting.

It doesn’t make a pleasant noise, bones shifting outwards and changing shape, nose pressing outwards. It’s something that should cause pain. Yet Techno only relaxes as the pain dips away and becomes nothing. He relaxes as his body settles into the shape of a monster Piglin. 

It’s almost infuriating that he feels no pain now, like he didn’t just spend the entire month slowly losing his ability to walk. Like he didn’t just lose control of his own body as it shook with nearly mind breaking pain.

He pushes himself up, but his natural shape is unfamiliar, and he nearly falls off the bed. It’s not that he’s larger or stronger than normal, just that his muscle distribution has changed so radically he doesn’t know how to use it. He shakes his head as he reorients himself: the weight of his hair is gone, leaving him feeling lightheaded, but his lengthened snout is pulling his head down. How long has he spent in his human form that he can’t even keep his head straight?

Once, Techno had been the most comfortable in his Piglin form. He scurried across nether biomes like a real Piglin, snorted and snuffed in ways only Piglins understood, and wielded a gold dagger in hooves.

Now those hooves struggle to move right in order to scrunch his bedsheets. Those sounds that made language struggled to come out clearly to call for Phil.  Those quick and dexterous movements of his legs struggle to balance while sitting.

He gives up on keeping his head up, letting it fall to his chest. He keeps his eye trained on Phil as Phil climbs the ladder again. He stares with tear soaked fur as Phil’s eyes soften and begin to understand.