#i still remember so many from mcyt

[mint-is-here]

went bakc to finally watching lmk s4

have just watched ep 4 and am in the middle of ep 5 so heres my thoughts until now

ahem-

FREE NOODLES MOMENTTTTSSS

ITS NOT CANNON BUT MORE MOMENTSS WITH THEMM

my friend is going to be happy when we finally go watch s4 together she shipped tang and pigsy so yay

also pigsy got powersss i guessss

sort offf

alos pigsy being sorry not for trying to cook tang, but trying to cook tang badly

like if he was going ot cook tang at least do it well

anyway ep 5

PIGSY IS MK'S DAD THAT CANNON NOWWWW

HE DENIES IT BUT HE ISSS

also they finally realized the thing that i've been thinking of for months

that mk is the only one that isnt a decendent or reecarntion of the jttw cast

im happyyy

ALSO AO LIEEEE

FINALLY I GET TO SEE YOU GUYY I LOVE YOUU

i have read some fics with hi(theres this one shot where macaque helps him recover from the whole samdhi fire deal and its just so sweet)m and i had fallen in love with his design the moment i saw it so finally seeing him makes me happy:)

the way i screamed when he showed up

like ive only seen him aying "oh hey another person who got caught by the yellow robed demon(idk how to spell his chinese name)" and i'm just. so hyped

also wtf is going on with mk and the rock deal??? i am confused

like is he an actual stone monkey??? ive seen a LOT of stuff about his monkey form but i'm not sure what it is exaclty

anyway i'm going ot finish ep now:)))))

[puppyeared]

save me old flipnote studio MVs.......

[theminecraftbee]

being in true sexyman nostalgia mode today (on account of. IT'S BEEN ONE YEAR BABY.) i think one of the most fascinating things about it is that we will never manage to do that again. like, not in a "we couldn't organize it better" way; there were better ways to do the spreadsheet, we would just turn off comments on posts and anon asks from day one so that we wouldn't then get people accusing us of censorship while we tried and failed to control the tide of things that ended up in the comments and inbox, we'd definitely have a WAY higher non-hermit contingent, both thanks to qsmp and thanks to the sexyman blog and medusa now having MUCH wider reach to other corners of the fandom and the original spread not all rooting at me, etc.

but the reason we couldn't do it again is that i don't know if we could ever replicate the exact circumstances that lead to it blowing up quite to the extent it blew up.

it was while tumblr polls and doing tumblr poll brackets on tumblr itself was still new-ish, and people were still excited about them. the idea of a mcytblr bracket was basically brand new; i won't claim we did it FIRST (because i have no idea if we did and doubt we did), but certainly we did it big first. so there's that; we can never again invent in real time "shit people are sending us threats about fraud lets legalize fraud because its funny, we can't stop it, and that neutralizes that drama as a thing anyone will take seriously", and then in turn accidentally invent a fandom culture of. um. wide-spread voter fraud.

(i don't know if we should apologize for, uh, causing the specific way mcytblr voter frauds. i still think it was better than the alternative at least, especially after seeing how so many other polls crashed and burned after us. there were MANY things we could have done better but i have seen SO MANY ways we could have done things worse since then so i think we came out looking pretty okay.)

but also: february 2023 was a very different time in mcytblr. we were in a hermitcraft dead period, where most of the hermits were either on vacation or playing tcg (which was fun, but didn't end up generating that much fandom activity by that time in february). the former dsmp crew was very much doing Nothing (and in that awkward space when the entire fandom knew dsmp 2 was never happening, but also people were still claiming it would happen, so it was just... busy waiting). qsmp didn't exist yet. there was no ongoing life series and wouldn't be for some time. i think even the dominioners and lifestealers were in a fairly dead zone. there was very little new for people to be excited about, mcyt content-wise.

enter: our poll. our poll which cleo then thinks its funny to call out on twitter. our poll, which was not only new mcyt content for the fandom to interact with (thanks to the fact we KEPT GETTING CC INTERACTIONS???), but participatory.

for about two weeks, we were the mcyt event de jour.

and like. the thing is. now we're in february 2024. mcyt is BOOMING. a new hermitcraft season JUST STARTED. we came off of vault hunters before that. meanwhile, qsmp just restarted and is, if i'm understanding correctly, booming. they just added a new guy! the two current juggernauts of the fandom are in FULL SWING. i honestly think we'd be somewhat overtaken by the fact things are actually happening in fandom. there's stuff to do that ISN'T go insane about a poll.

and it's not new, and we've seen it all before now, and frankly, it's hard to cause a mass hysteria event TWICE. lightning in a bottle, as they say.

i think part of the reason we all just REMEMBER mcytblr sexyman so much is that we could never, ever recreate it, so it remains crystalized in a single moment in time, impossible to replicate, forever memorable.

anyway: HAPPY ONE YEAR TO THE JOE HILLS SWEEP BABY,

[apollos-boyfriend]

anyways this session has really solidified the reason quackity chose the people he did for me. because i remember connor getting an ask a while back complaining about how they wanted quackity to add people who would actually play instead of his friends (ie wilbur) who may not be active as often and. it rubbed me the wrong way for a lot of reasons, but mainly because it's clear quackity didn't choose just his friends. sure, it was a bonus that he was close to them, but quackity's first priority has never been "who can minmax the server and stream every day?" it's been "who is a good storyteller/who can tell a good story?"

because that's the core of it. the qsmp isn't about streaming or playtime, not necessarily. it's about the story. during the first announcement, people were surprised to see dantdm and jaidenanimations on the cast, because dan isn't really in quackity's circle and jaiden is barely an mcyt even if you push it. but you know what they were? storytellers. dan was a part of so many people's childhoods with his mod showcases and miscellaneous videos, all of which had lore. jaiden creates entire stories from video games! games with pre-determined stories that she has to spin into something new, something of her own.

and then the brazilians were added. some of them still did minecraft content, sure, but not all of them. but they were still storytellers. cellbit has his entire rpg. pac and mike have multiple roleplay series. and when you get to the french, the pattern repeats. baghera, for example, with her gta roleplay. not all of them are minecrafters at their core, but they are storytellers, and for most of them, improvisational ones at that. the same, of course, goes for the newest batch. pol is a filmmaker. vshojo has insane, deeply complex lore for all their vtubers. bagi is adept at ttrpg. sure, people being able to log on often is a necessity, but what good would that be if it ended up sacrificing quality for quantity?

this session really nailed it for me because you could see their expertise shine through. i feel like, even still, a lot of mcrp is seen as "lesser" because of its medium, or because of how it can switch between roleplay and just creators hanging out. roleplay is only typically praised and called to attention when it's highly emotional, and the same goes for the storytelling, with a heavier focus on how well creators can utilize angst as opposed to other moments. but this was treated differently. the silliness of minecraft was gone. what was previously disregarded came into light, like how fucking smart foolish is when writing characters and how well quackity is able to play into the story while staying true to his character, among other things! i just think quackity's brilliance in selecting his server members isn't talked about enough, because holy shit has he done a fantastic job

[megabuild]

mumbo said in his recent video that he sees etho as someone who "doesnt show a lot of positive emotion towards people " and thats why he kept the mumbo statue that he thought etho built of him even after joel said he was the one who built it and said he made it ugly on purpose and was surprised mumbo didnt tear it down . said he nearly cried seeing it. what do u think about etho "not showing a lot of positive emotion" do you think thats true

i don't think it's necessarily true but i can see where mumbo's coming from (with the obvious disclaimer that this is all just my own personal feelings, and mumbo is the guy who actually knows him in person and has for some time).

mumbo and etho's relationship or lack thereof is generally pretty fascinating to me because while they both have been on the same server for a long time they've rarely, if ever, interacted or collaborated. unsurprising given that both tend to keep to their own respective groups. agonising for me as a big fan of them both but anyways. i think it's also important to remember that mumbo started mcyt pretty young and watched a lot of his now friends before knowing them (eg. in the same clip you mentioned above he talks about being a big fan of joel's!) so i don't think it's a stretch to say that despite knowing etho personally, i think he could still be in that stage of mythologising etho that a lot of creators who collab with him have went through in the past... tune into 3rd life, mcc 33, hell the elybeatmaker among us stream. i don't think i gotta explain how many people look up to him as this unknowable figure of old mcyt. factor in that he has his hand in a lot of early redstone developments and continues to achieve new things with it to this day and i think it's understandable why mumbo might idolise him to the point of dissociating etho the redstoner from etho the guy

this also isn't helped but the fact that while etho does show positive emotion, definitely, his positive emotions towards others often come across in a way that can be hard to recognise if you aren't looking for it.. etho is full of snark and callbacks and if you don't understand the context around those they might not make sense, but his way of showing care is also far from obvious. another recent example would be the tour of bdubs' base where he told people how to set their light levels. a lot of people on here freaked out over that but if you step back and look at it it's not really.. that obvious that it's a sign of care and positivity towards bdubs, because he's just stating facts. etho can be very literal and i think he likes to rely on stuff like that to show his affection, but that might not be obvious to everyone.

ultimately while i get what mumbo means i think a lot of it comes down to etho being very particular, and they just haven't spent enough time working together one on one to figure out those peculiarities yet. despite everyone on hermitcraft knowing each other and being friends to a degree it's undeniable that parts of the server are more split into groups than others, sort of like a fucked up venn diagram of common collaborators, and etho's in particular is pretty small. but i hope they do collab properly someday.. i really really hope they do

[reiimicxii]

tbh i just dont want the dsmp to be remembered in infamy for being just a server who had criminals on there. it was so much more than just a minecraft server to me, and if it means that im the only dsmp fan lying around, so be it. i like the lore. i LOVE the characters.

i dont care if some of the cc's are assholes/just vile people, im fully separating the characters from em, because, y'know what? the characters aren't the cc's, they're fictional.

i think im gonna plan a lil project, yknow, just to send a "farewell", well, not for me, im still gonna be here lmao, but to the people who're leaving/left the fandom permanently.

to make the memory of the server not tainted by whoever was exposed for doing something vile, to make the memory of the server alive.

it's to make it less bittersweet, and more happy. im happy you were here, im happy you had those memories here. don't be sad or frustrated because it's over or some shitty cc's, be happy because it happened at all. be happy for all the experiences you had in this community.

that server was purely driven by fanworks, you made that server happen, you were apart of its success, you made that little song a whole symphony. and i wish you well on your future :)

-

also, kindly fuck off if you'd like to hate on dsmp or mcyt in general because of creeps, this server wasn't only here because of them, it was the fanbase, the songs, the animations, the art, the fanfiction.

there was a story here, tons of lore throughout hundreds of hours of livestreams on twitch. a story about war, about broken friendships, about nations falling them rising back up and then falling again, about a man wanting control, about a child soldier, about an anarchist, about so, so many things.

so many former fans that have a superiority complex where they deem themselves "better" than people who left later or are still here just because they left. you arent better than any of them, you need to learn that. you just left earlier, you cant just call yourself better than any of them.

im so sick of hearing those fucking jokes with minecraft or dsmp youtubers as the punchline, this is why so many dsmp cc's distance themselves from it. not every minecraft youtuber is a terrible person, what about grian? what about tommy? what about joel? what about scar? what about lizzie? what about tubbo? are they all just bad people apparently because they're minecraft youtubers and/or associated with the dsmp or other servers? no, they arent.

have a more open mind.

WS supporters and dream team stans also kindly go fuck off (support victims btw). i support shelby, alice, niki, lexie, caiti, andi, and freddie, get out of my page, this isnt a safe space for you. get off, go on.

-

just be happy you were here in this beautiful community to begin with :D

anyway, on a lighter note

here's a lil info about my lil project: everyones gonna have new designs / outfits for it !! :D / its an animatic thing lol

(im a lil excited abt it buttt im keeping it under wraps lol)

have a wonderful day :)

[doublemyheight]

I'm so fed up seeing videos about "the downfall of mcyt" or "mcyt history" and then the creator only mentions DSMP and maybe a few youtubers they watched. Like... there. are. so. many. creators. who. counted. or. count. as. mcyt. Here are my thoughts.

There are so, so many who counted, and still so many who count. And yeah, DSMP is an important part of MCYT history, but it's so recent in comparison. Like. Minecraft is a cockroach, it will go through so much shit and still be alive and active. Yes, there are the names who bring or brought down the name of MCYT, but in comparison they've always been such a small part of the community. They need to be remembered for their bad actions, or illegal in some cases, but defining the community by them is not good. Nor is just using one fucking smp.

I have watched, or attempted to watch, those types of videos on the history or the downfall etc., and I always complain internally about it. THERE ARE SO MANY PROMINENT MINECRAFT CONTENT CREATORS THAT FUCKING MADE CONTENT. Some don't make Mc (minecraft) content anymore or they rarely do but it doesn't mean they shouldn't be mentioned. (Yes I know, it's an impossible task to talk about all of them, but mentioning three or four as "the og mcyters" or "the old popular mcyters" just angers me)

DSMP I would say helped with the mc resurgence, but I can say similar to SMP live and SMP earth. I count SMP live as pretty important since I think people started watching the streams and videos from that smp and when DSMP happened people treated the content the same and watched it a lot. People started watching again, then with the boom of content in the covid lockdown people watched more. It wasn't just DSMP though.

Listen if you want to do a video about how DSMP affected you or the minecraft community, sure yeah that's a video to make. If you want to do a video on a specific few ytbers who you watched and how they affected the community yeah sure that's a video to make. To say "these are the three main" that's for you. To you they were the main three. To make the video of "all of mcyt history and mc as a whole" and mention 3 people......... and then DSMP.................... I don't understand you.

I've been a MCYT fan for years and years. As a child and as an adult. From E for everyone videos to watching videos that fucked with my innocence and just exposed me to shit I shouldn't have been watching at the time. Year after year watching different types of videos and different creators. Supporting people and finding out I shouldn't, and supporting people and them being good people. To challenge videos, parkour, adventure maps, droppers, role playing, role playing, let's plays, tutorials, modded content, horror content, hide and seek. So many different types of content exist for mc, and I've been a watcher for a lot of it.

DSMP should not define MCYT. There is too many people who have made content for me to just accept that.

Hold people accountable for their actions, do not define a large community by a few people, and if you want to talk about your favorites affect in the community go right ahead but please don't call them the most popular or most important. Some people might never of heard of them. (I am thinking of the do you know this mcyt blog)

[genevawrenn]

I am just going to put this at the top : this post is going to be a long vent about missing Technoblade, please scroll on if you do not wish to read.

We are coming up on two years without him.

We are also coming up on three years since I discovered his content.

I thought I was at the point I could watch one of his videos tonight, as I used to often do when I am doing tasks or writing he was always the background noise I used. I remember calling into work when he streamed for the sheer sake of enjoying them while they happened the few times I caught them before...well. I think you know. He was the reason my passion for writing came back to life and I believed I could actually follow my lifelong dream of eventually publishing a story.

But I suppose the part I always forget about grief is the absence of the unique spirit that person brought to your life. I found his content and engaged with it instantly, developing one of the longest running fixations I have had in a good while. The sheer excitement I'd have getting the notification he went live for one of his rare streams.

I don't think it truly sunk in when he announced his diagnosis. I remember discussing it with the irl friend who got me into watching him and both of us laughed, saying he's strong enough to fight off anything.

A few months pass with his rare posts and there was always this tiny little bit of intuition I had where he never told us what severity of cancer it was. Like he was a very private guy, yes, but this seemed extra...odd.

Then I remember the way my heart sunk when 'so long nerds' popped into my notification bar. The dashing of my heart against the floor texting people as I tearfully listened to Technodad tell us the words his son Alex wished for us to hear.

Its been a long two years. Its been great ones, tbh. I found a new passion with QSMP and Hermitcraft after the finishing of DSMP [tho c!Techno will forever remain close to my heart]. I kept writing, with over half a million words in published fics on ao3 and several WIP including 3 original novels.

But the only one I ever wanted to thank for helping me find my creativity again I can't, and I never will be able to.

I miss Technoblade.

I will never stop missing him.

I wish he could have laughed with his friends for many years yet, being silently proud of their accomplishments while he messed with people on the QSMP. I wish he could have had another MCC with friends.

I wish his unique soul wasn't taken from us so soon, as we weren't done following our hero yet.

But the only thing I can do now is continue to speak his tales. The first book I properly publish, the gratitude page is going to be addressed to him. I will continue to tell others about his accomplishments and tell them to go watch his content on his Youtube channel [get him to 17 million!]! Buy some of his merch [when it comes back in stock]! Support his family & friends!

Though he would call us nerds for crying, I think its beautiful how many lives he touched and how many thousands mourned his passing. He was a light all corners of the MCYT sphere and beyond saw and respected, and not too many creators can claim such an honour.

I'll always be a Voice at my core. Even if I spend my time these days as a crow, a huevito, a ferret, a tubling, a doozer and many more, my heart will forever belong to Technoblade.

Please keep creating art and writing in his name. I love scrolling the fanart tags and adore every piece I come across with my favourite piglin in them. Please, please, please keep saying his name. Sing his legends. Make references, continue the jokes, hang out in one of his friends chats and support the people he loved.

Support those who are still here, even if your heart hurts.

It's only painful because we all loved him so much, which is a beautiful type of sorrow.

[captainschaos]

begin. again

I got @pancho-pinto as my assignment for @mcyt-halloween, and whipped up a little joel-centric boat boys/smalletho fic for ya!!! with all the markings of a joel trafficlife pov- loneliness, longing, and violence <3 a series of his perspectives at the start of each game. hope ya like it, and happy halloween!!!

ao3 link word count: 1498 warnings for mild gore and violent imagery

---/---/---

It’s fuzzy, the first time. Standing in a circle, fists at his side, trying to memorize faces, if it can be believed. Not assessing threats, just trying to file away the names of the people he’d never seen before. 

How naive, little Joel was. 

So he doesn’t remember details, from the beginning of Third Life. Not many. But through the fog of memories he hadn’t known to prioritize, there was one eye looking back at him. Red, set in a masked face, with a name Joel had heard before. 

Etho.

They didn’t say anything to each other. There was no acknowledgement, when they both saw that the other was looking. But there was a red tab stuck into Joel’s files, a name circled in bold pen, and a note. Danger.

And then Grian called, and they were off. 

…

Next time, Joel knew better. There was no way to be prepared before, not when none of them knew what the games were going to do to them, but now Joel had a bitter taste on the back of his tongue and a renewed sharpness to the touch of his teeth. 

Looking across the circle, he knows Etho now. Not well, and not in a way he trusts, but the seeds of familiarity sit quietly. The recognition is immediate now, and reputations have become rapport. Joel watched Etho float with an icy distance that he respected, as he watched from wolf’s side. 

He has no one to admit it to, but an intrigue has built around the red-eyed figure. 

Due familiarity, perhaps. Etho stands beside Bdubs now, and he’d carried a red shield before, but there’s a raised gaze and a light touch that makes Joel think that maybe, they might recognize one another, if they got close enough to touch. 

What is he saying. Straighten up. It’s about to start. 

…

Much of the same, when all’s said and done. 

Alone, really, again. Double Life carries a promise it will be different, but even when Joel stood upon the mountainside with Scar in Last, it’s impossible to say they weren’t lonely. They were, deeply. Joel is hungry, and Scar’s sly dealings don’t do anything to slake him. He finds himself yearning, already one foot out of the circle as he awaits the call, ready and needing to run. Needing to feel the blood pounding. 

He’s restless. 

Etho leans back himself, hands in pockets, and a discerning eye pacing the line of the circle. And it catches on Joel, for just a moment. A gaze relaxed, expectant, and awaiting opportunity. 

And then something grabs him. 

He grabs it back, clinging desperately to this line before he can even realize he is clawing. He holds it between his teeth and feels it pulse, then holds it tighter. His breathing picks up pace, and he shoves down the air in his lungs as he looks at Etho, and is looked at. Etho can make anyone feel like prey. Not that Joel would know what that’s like. 

He blinks, and only when Etho chuckles and darts off does he realize Grian’s already sent them off. 

…

Joel stares at the ground when the circle forms for Limited Life. His boots are planted firm, his fists slowly clench and release as he focuses on controlling his breathing. He doesn’t look at Etho. 

Everything still feels like it’s on fire. 

The boat was never a very good home, he knew. He builds, but he’s more prone to lashing out, biting, killing, than he is to keeping something safe and precious. He is the wolf. He is the red. And Etho’s much the same, they came to find out, in that he is hesitant to find anything home. 

Whatever. It’s fine. 

Joel can taste it, still, and he has to use all his will to not want it. He feels veins and tense muscle under his fingertips, he remembers the warmth of fire. He remembers quiet moments, where they laughed. He remembers how many opportunities there were, if he’d taken them, to reach out and hook his fingers around Etho’s throat. 

“The mighty Etho, not so mighty after all?” 

Etho had shrugged. 

There were cracks, when you got so close to the whispered enigma. At least, that’s how other people would say it. A man isn’t all reputation, after all, and Etho wasn’t so different from the rest of them. He bled. Joel felt his pain, his injury. No one more than Joel knew the tenderness of his flesh, the vulnerability. The weakness. The mortality. No one ever would. No one would be tied to him the way Joel had been slotted into his skin, how Etho had pressed his fingers against the inside of his dying body. 

Now Etho stood across the circle, and the pulsing of two bloodstreams as one was gone. Joel was alone, again. 

He tried not to care. 

He wondered if Etho was looking at him. 

…

Nothing had worked. 

Joel is wild, breathing deep, surveying the ring before Secret Life as he stands a new animal. All of the game before, there was the constant ticking, the need for sand in the hourglass, the need for blood to feed your own beating, draining heart. And Joel had howled, and screamed, and laughed as he hunted. Joel wasn’t particularly strong, against the pulsing red at the edge of his vision, under his fingertips. He was hungry. So he let it take him forward. 

Grian and Jimmy were fine. They were familiar, so they were easy. But they didn’t feed him. No, they didn’t fight him. They didn’t push at his skin, they didn’t tug at his teeth, they did meet his eye and hold him, entangle him. Joel felt haunted, an empty house walking, and they didn’t pry at the floorboards. 

Etho had been there, in the distance. Teasing, back turned, red gaze over his shoulder. Now, he stands across the circle, looking at the ground between them all with a heavy gaze. 

He looks tired. 

Joel wants to reach out and take, in the weakness. To grab that handle, and pull. 

He remembers falling with him. The laughter, the lilting thanks, the sword between his ribs like a second heart. He remembers ticking moments flowing out of him and into Etho, and for a second, a short and precious second, his life was Etho’s again. And that meant Etho’s was his. 

The absence didn’t get easier. Standing under pink petals, Joel still feels the empty ringing under his skin. He sees Etho as he stands, drained and pale, and his hands flex clawed fingers as he hungers to take, to peel back his own skin until blood and bone are exposed, to weave Etho’s tendons around himself. He wants to feel his blood running under his own skin. He wants to drink the breath from his lungs. 

He wants to take them both apart, piece by piece, and rebuild them together. 

Etho meets his eye. Joel looks away. 

The game begins, and silence falls over the playing field. Joel turns away. 

He needs to get his hands on a weapon. 

…

Blood flowed red. 

…

Joel is on his knees in the darkness. One hand props him up, the other holds his head. It is dark, when there is no game to give him sure footing. There is nothing, when he is not a hunter. 

There will be another game. He is sure. Eventually, he will find himself standing in that circle, and he’ll be alright again. He’ll be able to be alright again. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, tight. He sees blood. Swords, in bodies both warm and cold. Bones left behind. He wishes he were there. It doesn’t matter on which side. 

And he sees Etho. He is not a clear vision, but something soft. Blurred, pale, and ghostly, a map of nerves and warmth to Joel. Everyone else is something to break and hear the brittle cracking. Etho is all marrow. 

No one is the same, to Joel. Sometimes he knows why. Mostly, he doesn’t. 

There’s so little Joel knows. He feels the inside of his mouth with a dry tongue, pressing the backs of his teeth, listening to the arteries whispering under his throat. He doesn’t think. He just feels, the blood and bone in his body, the hunger, and the creaking floorboards. He reaches, he claws, he wants. He opens his hand and closes it again, where there is no weapon but his own body. All he knows is his own body, and the beating heart that yearns for its echo, and the violence. 

When he knows nothing else, Joel knows violence. 

And he thinks of Etho. 

He dreams of breaking them both open, to join their lives again. Bones rattle, and he imagines how they might fit together. When blood bubbles, he thinks on Etho’s red eye. And he lets that gaze grab him.

He goes back to sleep, until he might stand in front of that eye again. 

[seth-burroughs]

Still genuinely so fucking shocked and appalled that people STILL sexualize Yomi while knowing he's literally 3. That is a child no matter how many proshitter mental gymnastics you do in order to convince yourself you aren't a predator. It DOES NOT MATTER whether he was an adult with a job before the cloning, ALL IT MATTERS IS THAT HE IS TECHNICALLY, LITERALLY, LEGITIMATELY A SMALL CHILD(!!!) RIGHT NOW ACCORDING TO ALL LAWS. A normal, non-icky person wouldn't even doubt that, so if you, like, thought that far in order to justify it that's pretty weirddddd imo lolll likeeee why are you so adamant on sexualizing 3-y*ar oldsss lmaoooooo

I didn't want to mention this at first, but I cannot just leave it unadressed, no matter how sick to the core it makes me... and that is, the concerning rise of m*koy///omi content in Rain Code fandom. No matter how much Yomi himself is minor-coded, Makoto is minor-coded to a way higher degree. You cannot argue with this. Listen I don't want to hear anything about "ohhhh but he is an adulttt" I do not care. I do not care about how much proof there is that he's a major, that does not fucking matter if he LOOKS LIKE A FUCKING CHILD. Is THIS your fucking waifu? Is that the hill you wanna die on. Then do it. Not like I care. I'm making a callout post. I'm hunting down all your mutuals and telling them you're a sicko that fetishizes minor x minor-coded minor content. I wonder what you'll do then.

But, you know. Whatever. Shit like this happens every day in fandom. People are disgusting. People dissapoint me. People leave me. Discard me. Because I tell them how illegal their ships are. No one cares, because they're all sickos, and I am the only normal person in fandom. I don't let it get to me. Life goes on, you know? If I ever get too stressed out scrolling yaoi on tumblr I can always scroll yaoi on twitter. My own son won't even speak to me. He's 6 months old, but I know he's just giving me the silent treatment. Because he fucking hates me. Because I'm the only one in this fandom to try and keep the fucking order, and people hate that. They hate all authority.

So please. Sophia, sugarplum. Please. Unprivate your likes tab. Don't let the fucking likes tab get between us, Sophia. Show me the yaoi you've been looking up. Why are you scared? Because you've been lying to me? Because, when my back was turned, you were romanticizing abusive relationships? No. No, Sophia. It's not just fiction. It's my life, Sophia. So. Unprivate your likes section. Unprivate your likes. Why won't you discord call me anymore. Do you remember how we used to run. I will not lose my twin flame to the fiendish predatory height difference. Not ever again. Not ever.

Do Not Fucking Interact with this post if you are a: basic DNI criteria, timeskip plot apologist, axclusionist, support lesbians, an abuser/racist/groomer/illegal ship supporter/a serial killer, below 18 or above 19, engage in k*nk, if you enjoy irredeemable media such as D*nganronpa, Homesfuck, Gr*vity Fa//s, Mcyt, H*zbin H*tel, FnaF or musicals (complete list at pinned), ship Yuma or Makoto with adults, ship Yuma or Makoto with minors, are a Sh*nigami apologist, a self-shipper, if you have impure thoughts, are anti-harassment, a system, toothpaste flag users, h*llectro shipper (IT'S LITERAL ABUSE YOU FREAKS), do not approach all media critically, do not approach all media with contempt, annoying people, icky people, bots, do not approach state-sanctioned executions uncritically, if you support abuse especially in fiction, sexualize Fubuki (minor-coded), yanderes, if you enjoy gross characters, cannot respect my safe space, interact positively with my disowned disgusting daughter, are an asshole, are a freak (you know who you are), if you reblog from my mutuals (they are mine. no one elses.) s*th fans are fine ig but on thin fucking ice. will be updated with time always check the og post for edits before reblogging or I will make a callout post for your offense

[trashland-llamas]

I Was a Human

[Written as part of the @mcyt-halloween gift exchange for @kozzax]

Jack remembered the burning inferno that was hell. How the embers had eaten away at his flesh and the smell of brimstone filled his lungs even though he was no longer there. Even now on the surface again, his eyes saw the desert basin with its red and purple sand. It was all still at the forefront of his mind but he couldn’t tell if it was a dream or reality. Clawing his way through the topsoil, he climbed up to his feet. His limbs felt so sluggish, so heavy. Barely able to use his body after months of laying in a tomb. His brain wouldn’t move his leg despite mentally screaming for it to move. It took a few tries before Jack could make his way to the front of the Big Innit hotel. 

Unclear if days or months had passed by. Walking through the doors, he made eye contact with Captain Puffy at the front desk. ‘But you’re supposed to be dead.’ Those words filled his body with a sense of dread. ‘Can I at least take a shower before dealing with all of this?’ Referring to the concept that was socializing. ‘Yea, sure. Take as long as you want.’ Handing over a random key card to an unused room. Not that the hotel had many patrons to begin with.

It annoyingly takes three separate attempts before the key card actually works like it’s supposed to. He didn’t have the energy to kick down the door nor the money to replace the damages that would cause. Sighing, Jack let the door fall shut behind him. The layout of the room is just the same as every hotel room he’d seen in his life. Immediately going to the adjoining en suite, he paused when he came into view with the mirror. Is that really what he looked like? Half of his body seemed to be composed of robotic elements. 

Hissing, he retracted his hand from where it had touched a patchwork of wires and stitches. No wonder Captain Puffy had looked at him with such a shocked expression. The components looked to be melted into the skin somehow. Scar tissue surrounding the edges. ‘How am I still alive?’ Jack asked himself in a low whisper, just now noting the caked dirt and blood under his fingernails. The right half of his body that was still skin, was more bloated and had a waxy consistency to it. Able to see his veins with the pallor, cheek bone extremely pronounced with its hollowness. Turning on the skin, he scrubbed under his fingers, watching as the water turned murky. Once happy, he pulled his upper lip up to see the state of his teeth. Not surprised at the yellowness and slightly irritated gums. 

Debating whether to get in the shower as he was unsure if he’d end up electrocuting himself. He had already died once and had gotten hell that time around. Who was to say he wouldn’t get some other realm the second time? With this ‘fuck it’ type mentality, Jack continued on, turning the facet to a random temperature he guessed to be lukewarm. Emitting a string of cuss words when he felt the water to be frozen cold. Ultimately discovering that he in fact wouldn’t electrocute. The robotic side did explain why his limbs had refused to operate earlier, heavier than his muscles. Asking himself if he’d have to incorporate polishing into his daily or weekly routine.

‘Thought Tommy was running this place, how long has it been since I died?’ Jack asked, now sitting across from Captain Puffy, wearing what clothes she could find from the lost and found that would fit him. ‘Tommy asked me to fill in for him today. Temporary thing. But it’s been…6 months since you died.’ Filling the cups in front of them with tea.

‘...6 months?’ Jack echoes, his mouth suddenly dry. He had been gone for half a year now, roughly 182 days. Yet the server had seemed unchanged. ‘Did–was I given a funeral? Did anyone mourn?’ His voice was hoarse from disuse, the phrasing stilted. If Captain Puffy didn’t know any better, she would describe his tone as angry. ‘No. You weren’t given a funeral, not an official one, but Ponk did write you a death certificate. Death by sinkhole, I believe.’

‘So no one?’ The question was a defeated one. He had gone through all that pain and suffering for what? To come back, barely half a man? ‘Jack, I’m merely one person. I can only give you my perspective. No one on this server keeps track of everyone, always involved in their own stuff. Ask around, there has to have been someone,’ Puffy sternly responded. While she was done being the server’s therapist, she wasn’t going to watch Jack run himself into the ground when he had done the impossible. When he had somehow managed to acquire his three lives back. ‘At least ask around. Give this living thing another shot. You used to be as thick as thieves with Niki.’ Giving him a vague starting direction. 

‘What if I can’t find a purpose?’ Jack asks. All that was left of the tea was the leaves at the bottom. Seeing a butterfly in the graininess as his finger ran around the cup’s rim. ‘You’ll find something. It’s only your first day back. You’re bound to rebuild,’ Puffy then tells him to sleep on it, cement the memories of the 6 months he spent in that hellscape. To Jack, it didn’t feel like 6 months. In fact, it had felt exponentially longer. Trapped in a purgatory where nothing looked recognizable. Where all he heard for miles were screams. And now he was dropped in a different state of limbo.

The rest was well needed as it made Jack realize what he had to do to gain some semblance of peace. The brain fog lifted and once he had spent enough time getting used to his new body, he left the hotel in search of Niki. Assuming she might feel the same, having been dealt a similar card by those in power thus far. They didn’t care who or what was lost when they played house, the presidential, special edition version. Noticing two people had been at the center of each and every conflict; Tommy and Dream. No one knew where to find Dream with his aloof nature, thus he’d have to go after the former. There’d have to be some consequences for treating others’ lives so carelessly. In itself, it was its own form of cruelty.

Alas, the journey ahead filled Jack with a fiery, bottled up rage that made it clear he’d only stop once he saw this endeavor to the end.

[pancho-pinto]

I think our past is haunting you

my gift for @ccssystem / @tyberious-arts-sometimes as a pinch-hit for @mcyt-yaoi-exchange

Fandom: 3rd Life, Hermitcraft SMP Words: 3,037 Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence Relationships: Etho/Joel Additional Tags: Mild Gore, Illusions, Hallucinations, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Joel-centric Summary: Despite their time apart, Joel joining Hermitcraft might've triggered specific memories. And quite bloody memories.

Fic under cut.

The first time happens shortly after returning home. Joel barely even remembers the images imposed in his mind, only left with the searing pain of sharp weapons slashing through his body. Paper thin skin, waterfalls of blood, only one survivor. 

Vaguely, he sees an arena, a colosseum that expanded from horizon to horizon; a thousand eyes in the sky like stars, burning up in broad daylight. The eyes watched them for hours without blinking. His and their every move and action for their amusement. 

On worse nights, when sleeping is impossible and the experience becomes present, a feeling bubbles under his skin. He stares at his hands relentlessly—flashes of blood, bloodied weapon in his hands, a body gone cold. Breathing is hard on those nights, the guilt overwhelming. 

But time passes and it becomes a distant memory. 

One day he stops flinching when he hears sounds behind him. One day he holds the handle of his sword with confidence again, one day his ax makes a return and he feels complete. 

With time, everything returns to normal. 

Until they are summoned again. And again. And again. 

Five seasons. Five whole seasons, all those months he will never get back. All the scars he got in return—

Joel thinks he is handling it pretty well, all things considered. He is tough, and he is resilient, and, above it all, he is stubborn. There is nothing that can keep him down—he refuses to stay down. 

And yet…

Two months flew by since Secret Life, and suddenly Joel finds himself in a new world. A whole new server, though not another game. Something nicer—somewhere more domestic where death means little, and friends are less back-stabby with many new faces. 

Some familiar, the rest strangers he will know in time.

Despite it being a piece of paper, the invitation in his pocket weighs more than he could imagine. He still hears Jimmy’s cheering in the back of his mind, and right now, he has Grian babbling on and on about whatever. 

He should be listening. But something else distracts him. 

While the whole group discusses how to divide the cherry mountain, Joel looks to the horizon, the only way he can answer the abrupt tug on his soul—much too familiar, jarringly familiar. His body stays frozen as the world heats up, crisp air replaced with smoke and cherry petals turning into soot. 

Pinks and greens become reds and browns, a world set ablaze. It eats his clothes, consuming threads by threads, clawing at his skin and eating through the muscle down to the bones. Arduous lashes cut through, shattering bones as the smoke wraps around his neck. 

There is screaming. Throat scorched and his words dry. Voices, there is someone calling out to him—

After that, Demise plays out as everyone settles into the new world. Activity is plenty, and block by block, bases rise up from the ground. Of course, Joel is among them. 

Skyscrapers reaching out to the sky, bustling city with signs that never sleep. Soon, his world is filled with more and more, and yet he feels hollow. The pride he feels is not enough to mute the call. 

During a sleepless night, one of many, Joel sits on the edge of his bed, staring at the planks of his floor. His body is stone but far too wired to rest, so he sinks his elbows into his knees and drops his head. 

There is static under his skin, soot under his fingernails, a fire he cannot see but feels. Licks of fire on his face, running fingers through his hair, wishing him back in the arena where blood can be shed. 

He has made it a habit to store his tools away at night. In a special shulker in his ender chest, the sharpness kept from his hands and delicate skin. Death means nothing on this server, but it calls with a honey-sweet voice. 

The itch to sink his ax into something until it squirms, until it stops squirming and a pool of red flows under. Break a bone or two, push someone off a cliff, explosions that lead to a warm rain—bloody raindrops and rotting guts. 

Joel yanks his hand down, digging his fingers into the edge of his mattress, the tension pushing back on his fingers on his hand. His eyes unfocus on the planks, lines of wood becoming tripwire in the darkness. Awaiting. Awaiting. Some poor soul—

A hand grabs his forearm tight, claws tense around his muscle, nearly piercing. There is growling in front of him, purple particles floating down as the hand freezes his arm. It pulls him but he fights back. 

It screeches. 

His hearts begin to tick down. 

Joel throws his body back, left hand wrapped around his right, trying desperately to pull it back, feet planted for support. He screams when his shoulder pops out of place, slowly, slowly he feels the muscle pulling as it comes undone, ripping under his shirt. 

Blindly, he kicks forward. The sole of his foot makes contact with something and he frees himself, quickly gathering his bearings before running out of his room. He practically throws himself down the stairs, a jolt of pain shooting up his spine when the heel of his foot plants forcefully on the hard planks. 

In his haste, he runs with an empty inventory, shoeless down the stone streets. Lights sparkle around him as every cut and every bruise on his body resurfaces—lighting down his spine, burning coal under his feet. 

He runs out of his city, from the overwhelming to the eerily quiet and cold. He hears mobs, all his instincts heightened to the max as survival kicks in. Without a plan or a way to protect himself, he runs through the fields, evading hungry groans and zapping arrows. 

Water rushes nearby, raging waves against his thundering heartbeat. His sweat is like sludge, stuck to his brow and slowly dripping, burning up his nostrils and filling his tongue with a bitter taste. 

A vine latches from his left shoulder to his right hip, looping back to lasso him back. Thin, wire-like vine that slices through his clothes, sliding cuts across his chest as it pulls him back. Another vines loops on his right upper arm, drawing a hiss from his lips as it pulls on already sensitive muscle. Then one more around his left ankle, like weed growing up his leg with thorns embedding into it. 

Despite holding strong on his chest, his limbs waver with every step, hung back closer to the grasp of whoever or whatever behind him. Joel spares no glance, gritting his teeth with white-knuckle fists, pulling his body forward. Every muscle in his body strained, but his determination remains unbroken, until—

Stupidly, he slips on a rabbit-hole, twisting his ankle with a shout. His body slams against the ground, the pain quickly dulled by the sharpness and harness of being dragged through the ground. Rocks and sticks make a mess of his clothes and body, the grass staining his ripped clothes into a mocking green. 

Green is safe. Green is good. 

Ironic. 

How very ironic. 

His body folds over a trunk, knocking the wind from his lungs, but his instincts make the most of it, arms rapidly around the base, holding on tight as his body finally stops moving. Whatever is behind continues to pull, pull, pull, but his body stays in place. Bark chips against his face and arms, sweaty palms slide slightly but he holds on. 

With brute force and fiery determination, Joel climbs the tree until he is on his feet again, more vines around his body now. There are some around the tree too, trapping him to it but not as firm and without the tension. He presses his forearm across the trunk, keeping himself from fully hugging the tree. He breathes in fire and breathes out smoke, tasting iron and salt on his tongue, skin like wet ash and the rest of his body wails in agonizing pain. 

At this rate, he will be torn apart muscle by muscle. 

A bloody taste appears on his tongue, his teeth sharpening into the canines of a wolf, sharp enough to tear through muscle. He had. He had—

Joel pulls his body away from the tree as he uses his forearms to push back, the tension of the vines merely growing. Snap, snap, snap, he chants in his head. His plea works when a couple break, though not without a price. The broken ends whips into his back and sides—more cuts, he is almost numb to the pain. 

He sobs when he finds his opening, one more cut against his palm before he is running again.

Shaky legs. Soaked in sweat and body. Strangling vines still latched. 

Then one more. He feels it, casted like a line. Half a loop, from his left shoulder to the right side of his hip again, then it stops—

A single claw hooks—

It drags a deep line, retracing the path already made, opening his shirt to the harsh wind. He screams into the dark of night. The claw catches on the bone of his shoulder before he finally breaks through it. It snaps, the line breaks, and he wishes he could land.

Instead, he keeps running. 

He remembers. 

He answers. 

He calls.

His soul rattles, screaming into the void so it screams back. Tear stained face, bloodied body, torn muscles— He prays Etho feels not an ounce.

In his fogged up state, Joel realizes too late, unable to stop himself from plummeting off the cliff. From one second to the next, the ground stops existing under his feet and he splashes. Cold shocks his body before it burns, he sinks, he sinks—

Lava. 

It burns. 

It melts. 

He gasps for air when he breaks the surface, losing feeling of his body as he loses himself. Lost in the the dead of night, lost somewhere in the world, he looks up and a thousand burning eyes stare back at him—

The crowd laugh and cheer when he is too weak, when every blink takes longer to recover from. A voice, it calls to him—

Still, he wakes up in darkness, jolted awake with sweat on his brow. His body aches and his lungs cannot quite fill up when he heaves. 

Warmth. A light. Dim—

“Settle down. Aren’t you tired?”

No, not darkness. There is the dim light of a candle nearby, Joel does not bother finding it; instead, he finds the voice, follows it until he faces him. 

Etho. 

His soulmate. 

Former?

Etho does not question the silence nor tries to fill it in. Despite their whole thing this Hermitcraft season, Etho is content to not play along right now. Joel almost finds it odd, if it were not for the fact that he feels relief. Relief at the mere sight of him. 

Etho chuckles as he hands him a cup of water, “Drink up. Though you had plenty of water already.”

Joel accepts the cup and gulps it down, only acknowledging his thirst once the cup is empty. He looks at Etho with big eyes and a pathetic look, and Etho gives him his cup. When he finishes Etho’s cup too, he clinks the cups, eyes fixed on them rather than his companion. He thinks about Etho’s words, but before he can ask, Etho is sitting on the edge of the bed beside him, watching as always. 

He clinks the cups one more time then asks, “It didn’t happen, did it?”

A second, then another, then an answer. Quiet, hushed, sweet. “No.”

“I…”

“Ran into the river. I…” Etho pauses, Joel is scared to look. “You were sinking. Almost halfway down when I found you. You… You were so weak and… I… I’m sorry. I should’ve found you sooner.”

That makes Joel look up, unsure if hopeful or confused. 

“I had this feeling that you were calling. I didn’t think… Grian… He said it wasn’t supposed to happen—a bug, he called it. Impossible.” Etho chuckles, dropping his gaze to the side. Joel looks at his naked face, traces the sad smile on his lips, wonders idly about the same things he had thought about back then. How his lips tasted, how it would feel to be held by him, how it would be to be with him. “Grian said it was impossible, and look at us. Still… still tied together.”

“Do you hate it?” Joel asks, quiet and terrified. He feels small and stupid. 

Sitting in Etho’s too big bed, wearing clothes that are not his own, holding two empty cups. Staring at his former soulmate—this stranger turned soulmate turned enemy. I love you, Etho had said last game, Joel hung onto the words even if he knew better. 

His eyes drop when Etho does not look back, landing on his arms. Scarred skin, burn marks that will stay with them for a while. Not many but some linger, and he feels a patch of skin burn in his own arm. Matching, exactly the same. 

Joel thinks about his base, his own bed. He feels tired. The chase must have not been real, but his body is still exhausted. 

He must have run circles around the server. Lucky enough to not die to any mob or fall into some ravine. Luckier to still have made his way to Etho as he subconsciously wanted. 

Luckiest that Etho found him? 

Can he say that?

“Of course I don’t hate it.” The words break Joel out of his trance, head snapping to find Etho looking at him, brow knit. He opens his mouth to say something but Etho gets ahead of him. “You’re tired. And sad, but mostly tired. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I thought you wouldn’t care.”

“Wh–”

“It’s not like you came to me either.”

Etho presses his lips shut, but this time, he holds Joel’s gaze. Joel catches flickering determination in his eyes, specks of fire like the time they had turned Red together. When the Relation-Ship burnt down. He knows that fire, his fire that ignited Etho’s. 

“You care,” Joel mouths the statement, hesitation in the background.

“I care,” Etho confirms. 

One of the cup rolls between his legs as he drags his now free hand down his face. There is lingering tension on his body with a healthy dose of phantom pain. Etho squints, attentive. Joel worries,

Etho sighs, “I don’t think the soulbound is fully back. I can… feel you, but not like before. It’s like a tug, a weakish one.”

Joel forces himself to relax, even after being told Etho knows, slapping a smirk on his lips. “You feel me? Gee, Eefo, I know this is the first time we are spending alone since Double Life, but—”

He still wavers. 

Coward. 

“No, no, finish that,” Etho taunts, crossing his arms over his chest in a challenging stance. He quirks an eyebrow, lips mostly a line. 

Joel tosses the other cup beside his thigh. 

“Come on,” Etho says, and Joel can begin to pick up the laced taunting in his tone, “finish your statement, Joel. I want to know.”

The smile appears eventually, enough to soothe some strain—physical and emotional in equal parts. He finds it odd to be able to stare at his face for so long. He almost laughs at his past self for holding onto those glimpses and brief moments too tightly, so close to his chest. If only past Joel knew he would be able to openly look at Etho's maskless face, he wonders how things would have played out back then. 

He still finds it hard to believe. 

“But…” he starts, but comes out short with no continuation. 

“What if I kissed you? We don’t have to talk. We’re not very good at talking.” Etho offers, and Joel clutches the sheets tight. Etho smirks, “Breathe, Joel. You know how to.”

“Don’t use the soulbound against me!”

“I’m not.”

“You are!”

“You are being dramatic. Have you considered that you are just so easy to read? Or maybe, just maybe I know a little about you? Enough to know your tells.”

“You don’t know anything about me. You haven’t talked to me since Double Life, and the times you have, it’s always been around others. You can’t know me. Double Life was so short. You—”

Etho leaps closer, right knee pressing down on Joel’s right thigh, looking right into his eyes. Heat. Again. 

This is how they died. Back in the portal. Surrounded by raining lava, burning up, staring at each other with defeat and acceptance and feelings that went unspoken. 

Joel remembers that moment. Has it engraved in his mind, carved with chisel into his very soul and heart. Etho’s face dulled the pain back then—Etho’s presence lights up the fire this time. 

A hand cradling his face, slightly cool against burning skin, dizzying heat all around him. The cup rattles as Etho tosses it with the other. Joel finds it hard to breathe, finds it hard to break from the fire and cold of Etho’s eyes, he finds himself entranced and trance and so happily content to be where he is. 

Lips scorch his, just a touch that has them breathing into each other. A sigh, relief, satisfaction. Etho goes for another, longer, lingering. His body pushes forward too, free arm wrapped around his side, messing up the sheets under them even more. Joel wants to kick them off, but he also wants to push back, kiss him back like he has always dreamed about. 

Rather, his head falls back as heat trickles down from the corners of his lips to his jaw, pooling around his neck. He closes his eyes and he sees red, shallow breaths and sighs as lips nip on skin. His body stutters when Etho kisses the underside of his jaw, trailing up under his ear where teeth teases shudder from his lips. 

Wet lips lock on his again, leaving his neck burning without attention. 

Joel kisses back, a new kind of burning that numbs his mind. The night stays sleepless but the memories are quieter after. 

[bloodpen-to-paper]

Heya, I don't plan to talk about it much but due to what happened with forever, who was my fav and really the heart of the project for me, I'm probably not going to post about Qsmp much anymore. Or if I do, it'll take a while. But please read if you're in the same boat as me, its kind of a ramble and you can skip certain parts but I'd like to hear your thoughts. The last couple of paragraphs touch on some stuff that I hope can help be worth your while, whether you're here for the Qsmp stuff or the mental health part.

Now this is absolutely not to say the rest of the project doesn't matter or that people should give up on it. The Qsmp is incredible and should be known for what it has achieved: breaking language barriers and uniting communities. Its wonderful, unique, and still has so much to offer in terms of content creation, so please don't let the whole of it be tarnished for what happened with one creator (we've seen that before already and it sucks). Personally, it got me back into streaming content/mcyt and I'd like to stay more present this time, its so much fun and its nice knowing I can sort of drift back and forth when new things pop up. If you're in the same boat, I encourage you to not feel like its all over immediately if you still feel a passion for this kind of work, maybe you won't get back into it but maybe you just need a bit of time. Whatever you feel, as long as you're happy and having fun you're doing it right.

So, personal feelings (which I suck at but its better than bottling my thoughts and I encourage others to do the same). I'm fucking devastated lmao. His character was my absolute hyperfixation, I'm talking 24/7 brainrot for months. I haven't felt this passionate for a character since dsmp, I honestly didn't know I could still do it. But there's another layer. I live in the U.S., and I'm Brasilian-American. In the U.S., you don't hear anyone saying shit about Brasil. You hear a lot about Mexico, but nothing really south of that, and if you do its usually about sexualizing Brasilian women or narcotics and gang stuff. Not the best representation for little me, admittedly. When you-know-who won the Qsmp Election, y'all I felt something in me spark to life that I hadn't felt since we won the Olympic soccer tournament in Rio in 2016. I'm proud to be Brasilian, I've always been proud of it, but its a pride that's been limited to sports and my own personal experiences. To see myself represented, to see Brasil naturally enter the conversation for a piece of media I loved that I didn't know would have us, and to see us win something, phew, shit got me higher than my wisdom tooth removal. We Brasilians banded together to secure the win, and what's more, my fav cc on the project was the one at the center. I felt so happy, for my country, my community, and for myself. And I know recent events might taint that memory for some of us, but I refuse to look back on my feelings from back then negatively. That was one of the best damn moments in my chronically online life, and I will always remember it with pride and joy, along with the many other moments when this wonderful server made me proud to be me.

So, naturally, when the news hit I was pretty fucked up over it. Still am tbh, but better now that I've had sleep (though it took me a while to fall asleep because of course my sleep gets ruined by bad feelings, bleh). All this to ultimately say it sucks. Like, it really fucking sucks. The anxiety, the disappointment, the sadness, and the uncertainty of "what now?". Might be sounding dramatic but again, 24/7 brainrot/serotonin supply for months that connected me to my culture abruptly cut off because of pedophile allegations. C'mon Satan, I already have to go to therapy, you didn't have to kick this horse while it was down. Joking aside, if you feel as absolute dogshit as I do and have that kind of anxiety where the world feels like its about to end because moments like these leave you with the rug pulled out from under you and the uncertainty leaves you not knowing what to do with your life after this... well, welcome to the boat, bathroom's on the lower deck and snacks are in the lobby. And also I'm here, and everyone else who's been left in the same crummy place emotionally. We're here together, and I hope that can help you, cause I know for me the worst part is feeling alone in it all, but I'm not, and neither are you. We're here, holding hands and cursing existence for putting us here and making us so sensitive and giving us something great only for it to end up hurting us. We're here, and if you wanna say anything, my DMs, comments, asks, whatever you'd want to talk through, are all open.

Now comes the hardest part: acknowledgement and playing the waiting game. Like I said, if you're feeling like me, this kind of anxiety and disappointment has you feeling like its all over. So now's when you gotta remind yourself that the only thing that's over is this moment in your life when you enjoyed a Thing. That Thing can have meant a lot to you, it could have gotten you out of really dark places, and it could be something you'll still think about down the line. It can be something like minecraft cube people that you (I) got way too emotionally attached to. And for whatever reason, that Thing could have meant the absolute world, whether other people would've understood it or not. Its not your fault it ended the way it did, life just does that sometimes, as unsatisfying of an answer as that is. But its true, and its an important lesson. The Thing is over.

You know what's not over though? You. You're life. Whatever the hell you are doing and will do in the future. If this was the best thing in your life you had going for you, I am so fucking sorry. You deserved to be happy with it, we both did. But I promise you, this Thing is a moment in your story, not the whole story. This really was the source of my joy for the past few months, and if its the same for you, I see you. We can feel like shit together, along with the rest of this wonderful community who understand it too. And you know what else we're gonna do? Live, and move on. Not now, maybe not for while, but we're human beings, we persist (sometimes that might look like you're dragging your battered self out of a trench smelling like depression and expired cheese, but you'll get out of the trench, we both will). There's too much to life for this to be what stops you from finding the rest, whether that's some dramatic life change that completely changes the world as you know it for the better... or just figuring out what comes next. Taking a shower, watching that movie you were waiting for the right moment to watch (I'd say this qualifies), setting up a therapy appointment maybe. Whatever you do to feel like a person again, you have that to do, and later down the road you'll have new Things that give it all meaning. So keep yourself going, hit up me or others who would get it, and do what you gotta do to let it pass. Because it will pass.

Deep breaths friend, I'll be cheering for you when it does

[starlight-and-the-moon]

AHHHHHHHHH

gift for the @mcyt-halloween event for @a1sart

SORRY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG!!!!!!!

_______________________

He didn’t remember much of the accident.

He remembered chatting, talking, but about what?

His father turned around to respond, and in this moment- he could still hear the screams, could still hear metal crunching.

Ranboo buried his parents a week later. 

After this… incident, he was taken into foster care, sent to a strange town. Ranboo would survive, he had to, but at what cost?

Luckily, this cost would never be found, for his sister had come home from Germany.

Niki was a woman of many strengths. After their parent’s passing, she saved and saved so she could come back to the United States to take care of her little brother. A miracle came in the form of the house on Prime Path.

The real estate agent warned her of a haunting, mysterious incidents in the house, but why would she listen? It made the market value drop. 

So that was how Ranboo, aged sixteen, found himself in front of a single story house in the middle of nowhere.

“Okay, so, welcome to the place,” Niki said, trying to appear confident.

Her emotions were always, forever, present. And she let them be, because why would she not?

Ranboo could never, Crying hurt their soul in a way that bled.

Niki continued talking. “I set up your stuff in the attic, come take a look!”

Dubiously, Ranboo climbed the ladder to the attic. Surprisingly, it seemed… half decent.

There was a bed and a bookcase, with a wardrobe against the other wall. On the bed was a black, small book.

“My memory book,” they whispered. “Thank you, Niki. Really.”

Niki looked at him, and smiled. “THis is hard, but we will get through this, okay? I am here.”

Ranboo hugged his sister, overcome with emotions. Not the sad stuff, the happiness. Or maybe not that.

It was the feeling of driving by a childhood home. It was the feeling of reading an old favorite book, almost forgotten.

Wrapped in this feeling, neither sibling noted two little shadows, watching from the ceiling. 

ᯓ★

As Ranboo settled into the house, strange things would happen.

“Hey, Niki, did you see my notebook?” they asked one day.

“No!” his sister had shouted back. Ranboo and Niki had looked everywhere for the memory book, but they didn’t find it. It wasn’t on a random bookcase or on a counter, wasn’t in between the couch cushions.

Niki sighed. “Ran, maybe we should-” she slumped on the couch, then reached behind her. “Oh.”

In her hands was the little black book.

“That’s odd,” Ranboo whispered. “I could have sworn we checked there.” The irony of forgetting his memory book was not lost on him. But, there was nothing to be concerned about, so he slipped upstairs to the attic.

Another time, when Niki was out at her bakery, he’d made himself breakfast. 

“Where’s the milk…” he muttered. 

Cheerfully, a voice behind him shouted, “in the fridge, you menace.” He turned around to thank the voice-

-and then remembered he was home alone. Oh well.

These strange, recurring incidents came to a head on January 4th. Ranboo knew because it was all laid out in his journal- he’d stopped bringing it places in fear of losing it.

He had been rummaging for a letter he had received when he was young, needing to relive the memory. He reached up to the top shelf of the bookshelf-

-two pairs of eyes, one blue, one brown, met his. 

Excuse him for fainting straight away.

ᯓ★

“Tubbo, did you fucking kill him?’ a voice said above him.

HAnds on his wrist, hands on his face. 

“Nope, bossman. He seems alive.” 

Something slapped Ranboo’s wrist. He jolted up.

“Holy fuck, you can touch him!!!” the first voice yelled. Ranboo couldn’t quite make sense of it. “Does this mean-”

“No, I don’t think-”

The two boys fought back and forth while Ranboo observed their surroundings. The two boys seemed to be… translucent? One of them had blonde hair and bright blue eyes. When Ranboo tried to focus on him, his appearance distorted into green. 

The second boy, which was apparently Tubbo, was much shorter. Brownish eyes and brown hair. Both boys wore extremely dirty, tattered clothes. 

Ranboo cleared their throat. “Uh… what’s happening?”

The two boys craned their necks, turning around to look at him. 

“We’re your roommates, dumbass,” the blonde snarked. Tubbo elbowed him. 

“This ray of sunshine is Tommy,” Tubbo added. “I’m Tubbo. And yes, we are your roommates.”

“Wha- how?”

Tommy’s blue eyes appeared to cloud over. “S-sometime before, there was a man in the house. He liked to visit my brothers. One- one day, he was there, and the next… he found me taking a walk. I woke up and was like this. A spirit.”

Tubbo nodded. “Same here. I moved into this house, and one of the neighbor kids- he was coming towards me, and I woke up like this.”

Ranboo nodded. Then, a thought came to mind. “Prove it.”

Tommy stared, resembling a koi fish. But Tubbo stood. 

“As you wish.”

And, just like so, he walked through the wall.

Look, if he was going to faint twice in one day, he might as well do it with style.

ᯓ★

When Ranboo awoke, the sun was shining. 

“Get up, sleepyhead,” Niki said, standing on the attic to the ladder. “You have school.”

Ranboo’s blood ran cold. Ah, yes, the school. That was a thing. 

He had been good in school before the accident. After, he just couldn’t focus. It had been winter break, but now it was over, and with it came the greeting of a bell.

“Don’t get in trouble, Ranboo!” said Tommy’s voice from behind him. and Ranboo jumped.

“Tommy,” he said, voice patient. “You cannot do that.”

Tubbo faded in behind him. “Good luck in hell, bossman!” 

Ranboo’s brows knitted in concern. “Uh, why do you say that?” 

“I don’t know!” the smaller boy replied. “Now go!”

ᯓ★

The first day of school. to put it lightly, sucked. 

It was all a blur. 

“What’s your name?”

“Ranboo.”

“Alright, Ranboo, this is the class. Now everyone, pull out your notebook, we will be doing quadratic equations. If you fail, you will be executed.”

Or something like that. He might have exaggerated a tad. 

At lunch, he sat alone, picking at some questionable pizza. He made a mental note to ask Niki to start packing him a lunch.

“Yo, kid,” said a voice. “This is my table.” Ranboo looked up. The speaker wore a hoodie in the ugliest shade of green known to society, and his face was fully covered. 

Deflect, deflect, deflect. 

“...uh…”

“I said move!” the kid raised a fist, and Ranboo flinched back.

He did not need to worry, for the kid decided to punch himself in the face.

“W-what’s happening!” they screeched, before seeming to be yanked back.

Ranboo ate his lunch in peace that day.

ᯓ★

When Ranboo got home, Tommy and Tubbo greeted him.

“Hey-”

Ranboo looked at them. “Why did you follow me to school today?”

Both boys looked down, before Tommy spoke. “You’re literally the only one that can see us!”

Tubbo looked at the floorboards. “You have people, but we only have each other. We- we can’t risk it.”

What does it take, to be locked in a home on your own?

Suddenly, it all clicked for Ranboo.

Everyone would come and go, next to them but never able to see them.

No one could tell their story. No one could see them. No one but Ranboo.

What’s worse, finishing your story or writing more that no one will read?

“Oh…” he said softly. “Oh.”

The boys nodded. “Y-you’re the closest thing to a friend we’ve had in ages,” Tubbo explained.

Tommy nodded. “We’re sorry.”

Ranboo looked at them, in their eyes. Stared at them, saw past Tommy’s green static.

“No. Don’t be.”

And that was how a second beginning began.

There was a house on Prime Path once, where they said monsters lurked.

If you enter the house, you might see a woman baking. Climb the ladder, you’ll see a boy on the floor. He’ll be talking to someone, and you won’t see who.

It won’t matter. 

There is no monsters in this house.

And if things crash and break, and the lights flicker, just yell “I see you.”

Because anything looks like a monster if it’s shrouded away. 

[appleblocks]

My good friend Fantom made me realize that like,,, yall probably have no idea what is going on in my au at all

And I apologize for that! I get so involved in my own mind that I forget to actually make informational posts

So below I'm writing some info about my au and the characters in them!! :D Focusing on the 'main cast' which are the protags of my fic Fresh Life!

and also I will touch upon the recent shiping ive been doing of the characters

As for my other au, it kinda stems from that first one, but it is a Next Generation AU. I'm currently writing a fic for it, and the premise of the au as a whole is quite simple: the (mostly) cannonical kids of the hermits and lifers grown up and having their own adventures! <3 I'm a sucker for Next Gen aus, and this adoration started back in my MLP days lmao The au follows Hermes (Empires 2), Tiny Tom (Empires 2), Grumbot (HC 7), Jrumbot (HC7), and Jeremy Jr. (SOS smp) in their lives as young adults, exploring their friendships and their familial relationships, and my fic Fresh Life (name derived from the term Fresh Meat) follows them experiencing their first Life Series together, with the return of the Boogeyman and a new Canary :3 I'm currently writing Chapter 1 and I'm writing it in 'Sessions', so each chapter will be the span of 1 mc session, roughly. I have multiple tags for this but the main ones are #next gen au and #project fresh life!

Description from a previous ask ^^^

This au and fic (and future Empires based fic) follows the many fictional kids of the lifers, hermits, and emperors of the MCYT sphere I watch and fin entertaining, but I've adapted them so much to what I wanted that they very much like ocs to me ;w; but it feels weird to make them fully ocs because of how connected to the original world and characters they are in my mind and it makes me really sad to let go of all that to make them ocs of some kind.

I didn't inicially intend to ship any of them, cause I thought people would think I'm weird, and some probably do think that. But I'm doing it in the sense of character exploration, and imagining how they would act and feel in deeper connections and relationships (non romantic term)

Hermes and Grumbot to me are genuinely good friends, even best friends. Of course Hermes and Tom also are best friends, but that stems from the fact that they're siblings through Joel.

Hermes and Grumbot, to me, have a lot more possibility for a deeper connection than Jrumbot and Tom, because honestly Jrumbot and Tom know each other more because their brothers are friends than anything else, and so I started gravitating towards Hermes and Grumbot's friendship and relationship a lot more.

They are all friends and hang out whenever, along with the other characters that I haven't posted much about yet like Hillary, Jonn, Mandy Mane, etc. (but I will post about those more eventually)

They all care very much about each other, but to me Grumbot and Hermes in this AU are a lot closer than others. Hermes doesn't expect anything from Grumbot in the way that others might, so Grumbot is able to feel a lot less stress and relax a lot more around him. ( <- this is derived from the fact he was made with a purpose and then stored away when his efforts failed ) And Grumbot is very protective, in his own way, even if he's mean and murdery in the Life Series context he could and would drop everything to protect Hermes and the people he cares about.

I'm mostly just defending my character exploration now but yeah TwT it's late and idk what to do but I wanted to maybe clear some things up and provide some more insight into things

Also, for those that remember me saying Grumbot is aroace, that still applies!!!! I'm very much putting my own experience of aroaceness onto him and his deeper connection with Hermes does not negate that! I'm in a relationship too rn and I still identify as aroace, it's a spectrum, so i hope thats okay ;w;

[mindelectricdemofour]

if I want a man, then imma get a man

March 13: Solidarity / Hobbies (the hobby is mischief and lying)

Prompts: @mcyt-aro-week // ao3 Link: if I want a man, then imma get a man // Title: meghan trainor - no

It was a Thursday afternoon and Grian was experiencing shrimp emotions.

“Ugh-” The waters splashed as a book (Bane of Arthropods II) hit the surface, soon sinking under.

Grian stared at it with utter contempt.

“I mean, we've been through so much, and- I mean you treat me like I'm what- like I'm disposable!” The fishing rod was long forgotten. Grian's lips were pursed, eyes never leaving the book. “You are the worse, I hate you- no, please take me back!” 

He wasn't one for relationships, but right now, it felt like he was in one. One that ended in bitter divorce and fighting over who would care for the kids on the weekends. All because the ocean refused to give him a simple Mending tome. Really how hard could it be, to get one? Scar even got one! It was like the ocean was purposefully keeping him from it, cackling at his many failed attempts while throwing Mending at Scar and Gem. Anyone but him. 

He could imagine it now. The toxic relationship, the fighting, the begging. It felt like he could write a poem right now. Or a rock ballad.

He hadn't even noticed he was on his hands and knees. Although he was fully preparing to dive into the ocean if the next catch wasn't Mending, so he supposed the position reflected his mental state.

“Uh. What's wrong with you.”  “Ah-!” Grian jolted, eyes wide staring at Joel. The other man had seemingly materialised beside him. Joel wore a blank, uninterested stare.

“You scared the heck out of me, jesus-” Even as Grian explained, Joel still stood, waiting for him to answer the question.

What exactly was Grian doing? Did he even know? Moping and whining wouldn't get him closer to that Mending book.

He may have sat here too long. He'd lost track.

“Feuding with my ex wife,” was what came out his mouth, instead of any semblance of clear thoughts.

Joel glanced between him and ocean.

“...the sea?”

Grian nodded. Fuck it, he was dating the sea now. Instead continuing whatever weird bit they'd gotten themselves into, Joel just accepted it.

“Wow. That’s rough…” He blinked towards the ocean once more before glancing at Grian. “Well. Have fun getting mending from your… ex.” He squinted his eyes on saying ‘ex.’ “...I may have married your ex in a past life. Sorry-”

Before Grian could even process that Joel had said anything, (and what he’d said, because what the hell did that mean?) he was gone. Vanished with the wind.

But he’d left Grian with an idea.

An idea he couldn’t help but capitalise on.

//

“Fish endorsed by the Ocean. Ethically sourced,” The sign on Grian's post read. He was rather proud of it too. He adjusted it a little, thinking with a finger on his lips before adding the price.

Five diamonds seemed fair. If they were endorsed by the sea itself. They weren't ethically sourced of course, but he figured nobody would call him out on it.

“What's all this then?” He barely heard Mumbo's footsteps as the other man approached. There was barely any time to respond, as Mumbo was already reading his sign. “...Sourced by… the sea..? One would hope so… Also who is paying five diamonds for fish?”

Mumbo's eyes glanced back to Grian. Suspicious.

Grian swallowed his doubts and put on his act.

“Yeah, so I found out recently that the sea is my ex wife.” Grian hopped onto a barrel beside the sign. “I know, I know, horrible thing to forget but the sea is cold and unforgiving and I'm not that so I put it out of mind…”

Mumbo looked skeptical, (as he did most of the time Grian talked,) but hadn't interrupted him yet. Grian counted that as a win.

“...so then come to I remember the other day, our passionate love for each other, the coldness she treated me with, everything. But I'm doing this as I'm cooking up fish right-”

“I thought you didn't date?” Mumbo finally interrupted. But Grian had figured this out too.

“Yeah that's why we broke up,” he answered as flatly as possible before continuing, not letting Mumbo's mind dwell on it for more than a few seconds. 

“And I cook up the fish while I'm remembering and I look down. Because, I didn't remember that while we dated, we had kids.”

Grian lent in, eyes wide, putting his hand on Mumbo's shoulders. He had to sell this. “They were my kids Mumbo. I was cutting up my own fishy children, and oh-” He pulled away, fake sobbing. “-I can't even think about, just take them. Five diamonds for a stack. I can't be remembered for this awful deed.”

Mumbo did not look nearly as convinced as Grian had hoped. However he did look towards the price and then at Grian again. “I guess five diamonds isn't that much in the grand scheme of things.” He lent towards the barrel, Grian quickly jumping off, and sorted through the fish.

And then stopped. 

Grian grew nervous. Mumbo had thought of something.

“Do you have a permit for these..?”

…

Shit.

 He forgot to figure that part out. Grian deflated. “Uh-”

“That's what I thought.”

“I'd figured everything else out though. And you were ready to buy them because of my trials and tribulations.” It felt so upsetting to see his whole routine go to waste. And Mumbo was about to buy too! He could see the way his eyes became enraptured as Grian talked about the sea and lost love and whatever other poetic words sprung from his mouth. 

..

And then Mumbo spoke.

“We don't have to throw the whole thing away.” Grian hadn't even noticed his friend’s mind deep in thought. One hand was clasped around his chin. Eventually Mumbo looked away. “How about we adapt it a little for our wart blocks?”

...

Grian felt his face light up. He could work with that.