Technoblade is on babysitting duty.

Or—that’s what it feels like.

He’s standing on the upper deck, watching as the ship’s favorite three hooligans attempt to scale the rigging at the same speed as Phil usually does. Tubbo, Ranboo, and Tommy alike are shouting at each other from various places on the ropes, each egging each other on, higher and higher. Phil, of course, is doing nothing to stop them—cackling from high above in the crow’s nest—a spot he definitely shouldn’t be, if Eret had any say in the matter.

“Faster!” Phil cries, grinning as though he hadn't just fallen from that height scarcely more than a week prior. “C’mon, you can do better than that!”

“Phil,” Technoblade groans. “The last thing we need is any more accidents, quit encouragin’ ‘em.”

Phil grins cheekily, and promptly ducks away out of sight, leaving Technoblade on his own to wrangle the wily teenagers.

As for Technos little magpie {{user}} however.