#mcyt ff

[nefkyo]

This is a wip of a personal project. Please note the tags before reading:

dream smp lore, post Doomsday era, implied character death, implied suicide, necromancy, crimeboys mope around in Limbo, mild description of a panic attack, mild description of body horror, miscommunication, tntduo is real, tntduo family who cheered, avian Quackity, ram Tubbo, Quackity is trans because I believe he can do anything

this is for @werenotacoupleyesyouare.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Faint footsteps echo towards him. He's back from his light jog in the tunnel that loops into itself. He heard him get frustrated fifteen minutes ago but didn't say anything. "Hi again" he says. Even in Limbo, Tommy comes back after arguing with him, sits down next to him and gives him the silent treatment. But at least he's sat down. Does nothing he says ever sting enough? No, never enough. Nothing is ever enough to drive him away, far away enough. Not even a kind invitation to never return. "I have to tell you something about the Overworld, Will." Tommy starts, only to be cut off as usual. "I've already told you, I don't want to know whatever you have to say when you start off like that." "It's really big." Tommy looks up at him, or at least in his general direction, and for a brief moment he sees a sort of pity gloss over those blank orbs. It irks him. "I *really* don't want to know, then." he groans.

"But- How are you not even a little bit curious?"

"With the way you're looking at me, I'd rather keep whatever dignity I have left through ignorant bliss."

"H- That's nothing like you."

"Yeah, well, maybe I've changed."

"You have."

He quickly diverts his eyes back towards the train tracks. Still, cold, unforgivingly grey and dirty. "Will you tell me anyway if I say no?" Wilbur asks, he has before, and he shakes his head, he has before. "Good. Because you told me that it's a secret you were told to take to the grave." he continues. Tommy perks up then, "See?" he says, a knowing smile "That's why I should be able to tell someone else that secret now, especially you!" "You know that's not how the saying is supposed to be interpreted. It doesn't matter how important it could be, Toms," he mumbles into the pitch black horizon, "once you tell me, what would I be left to do about it? I'm dead, we're dead. I'd just spend eternity asking you why you didn't keep your mouth shut." "Yeah, but--" "Just forget about it." Tommy makes a series of noises out of frustration and then stands up, arms crossed, as he starts wandering around again. Wilbur is starting to get tired of watching him do this every time, especially with the way he phases through the shadows of the platform like nothing. "That's such bullshit! How am I supposed to forget?" "By talking about something else?" "No! It's- If anything, it's the evil shit you've been saying lately that makes it harder to choose!" "I haven't said anything necessarily "evil" lately." Wilbur shrugs, angering the blond again. It doesn't take much. "You're constantly praising Dream!" he exclaims, "you praise him, the bastard who took our lands and killed me when I tried to avenge you!" "You weren't avenging me Tommy, we both know you were in Pandora's Box to mock him and avenge yourself." Wilbur corrects him as if he'd seen the whole scene himself. He hasn't, but he got the crude details narrowed down. "Besides, if he's got this necromancy thing down, you have to give him some credit." "Well he probably fucking doesn't, it's been three months! I feel it on my skin!" "Yeah, I know." "And he has not revived me, the green bitch, so my point still stands! A-And you wouldn't feel the same about him if I told you The Thing!" Tommy defends, but once again, Wilbur refuses to hear whatever The Thing. "I'm just saying, if Dream has all this arcane power at his fingertips, then I see him in a new light. I'd be honored to pick his brain at this time." "You would NOT." Tommy groans, but he sits back down.

"...Is The Thing going to make me angry?" he asks suddenly. Tommy nods, his eyes would light up with surprise if there was any life behind them. "Probably." "Is it going to make me hate Dream like before?" "Maybe. Not directly, at least." Wilbur thinks about it for a hard, long minute before he answers. "Fine, tell me." he sighs. Tommy seems to make some mental gymnastics beforehand, then, when he feels ready, he speaks. "I know you and Quackity were dating during Pogtopia, he told me. And... He laid an egg a few days after you died."

----------------------------------------------------------

Wilbur is stunned into silence, frozen in place as the information makes its way to his brain. Not the first part of the information, of course, who cares about that. "Are you..." he stammers, "...Are you serious?" "Yeah, uh... Yours, obviously. The egg." Tommy shrugs, but this is not a casual matter at all. "I promised Big Q I wouldn't tell anyone you were the father, but you should know. She was doing ok the last time I saw her, she looks like you." "She? I-It hatched, the egg hatched?" "Yeah." "Is she healthy?" he asks, his voice constricts in his throat, and Tommy just nods quietly. It takes him a long time to accept that information. He repeats it under his breath, over and over. "A daughter. I have a daughter." he whispers, and Tommy just stares ahead as usual. Tommy touches the back of his head uncomfortably, where the gash that killed him sits in its crimson glory. "Quackity told her about you, showed her pictures of L'Manberg and everything, but... Y'know, more in a symbolic way, she probably doesn't actually know anything." "So..." he hesitates. It's like someone just tossed his brain onto the train tracks. "...So that whole story you told me about Quackity starting that project, the casino, that was a lie then?" "Oh no, I didn't lie about that. He really was building a casino last I saw him." Tommy says. "He called it Las Nevadas." "Yeah, he.. He told me that's what he would've called it." his voice dies out. Wilbur thinks about Quackity, what he could look like now. Their daughter, their daughter must be a little lady now. Does he make her play in the casino? Does she deal cards with him? "When *did* you guys start dating anyway? Like, before the elections or during Pogtopia?" Tommy breaks his thought patterns suddenly. "Because I'll remind you, *you* were the one saying not to fraternize with other candidates at the votes and I will never let you live it down." "Shut up," Wilbur sighs in response, and he knows he would usually smile at this kind of tease, but he doesn't. Even if the images of those times still make something bloom in him. "We started dating *during* Pogtopia, after the festival fiasco. We'd watch over Tubbo together, console each other, as usual. It just felt different that time around." he mutters.

"Dude, ew. Tubbo was unconscious and you were kissing in there?!"

"No- No no no, what? We didn't kiss in his room, we just- we talked about it, our feelings. *Then*, after he recovered, we kissed. Completely separate occasion."

"Right. I'm gonna believe that for the sake of my sanity."

----------------------------------------------------------

So Tommy is now stuck answering whatever Wilbur may ask about her, about this kid nobody has ever seen more than once or twice. But when he's voluntarily about to tell him her name, Wilbur orders him not to. "Are you sure?" Tommy says, but he's already moved on to other questions.

"Does she have brown eyes?"

"I don't know, I only saw her while she was sleeping."

"So how could you tell if she was healthy if she wasn't awake?"

"Well, Quackity would've probably said if she was sick with something."

"Did she ever chirp like a duckling?"

"She did a few times."

His baby girl, nuzzled in the arms of her father, chirping in her sleep. He can't picture her, but he wants to. "Does he miss me?" he asks suddenly. "Quackity. Does he miss me?" "Well... I think he did. He was skittish of other people, he didn't really want to talk about you much. He didn't even want Phil seeing her." "Phil doesn't know about her?" Wilbur jumps up a little, and Tommy tilts his head slightly. "I think he's seen her at least once. He doesn't know that she's yours, Quackity didn't tell him." "Why?" Wilbur asks, but then he stops and thinks about it. Of course.

There's another stretch of silence. Wilbur sighs heavily and thinks on how everyone knows about a child that he can't even picture. "Do you... Do you think that I could've been a good father?" he asks with wishful thinking on his tongue. "Yeah, you wish! You couldn't even keep yourself alive, man." Tommy chimes with another tease. But after staring out into the dark for another long few minutes, he shrugs. "Maybe. Maybe you could've been." "Ouch." Wilbur smirks briefly then, only then. They're both contemplating a thousand different thoughts a minute.

"Would I have gotten to see her if I'd lived?"

"I think so, yeah."

"Did he hate me when I...?"

"Oh yeah, a lot." he nods. "He screamed a lot, then he went quiet and didn't say anything about you again." he actually turns to look at him - in his general direction at least - and with a voice below a whisper, with that same, angering pity in his eyes all over again, "Why didn't you tell him?" he asks. "I get that you didn't tell me what you were going to do, but him? Why didn't you tell him if you loved him so much?" he feels the faint taste of bile, just for a split second, before he replies with a very weak excuse. "Because I knew that if I did..." He sighs. Now he sees why he and Tommy keep secrets from each other, why they don't want to hurt each other with the truth. "...I knew that he'd never let me die. He would've done anything to keep me alive, and my brain was so set on it, so sure that I *needed* to die. He would've gotten in my way, just like you always did. And I couldn't do that to him, to you, to anyone else."

He remembers it. The night he had a breakdown so violent he almost told him his plans, thinking he was about to die from rabies anyway. In the dark, damp tunnels, pain stinging in his trembling arm, bite marks and blood and a sensory overload. Quackity held him up and looked at him with eyes of horror and repressed despair and kept telling him "It's ok, it's gonna be ok, it was just a wolf," while disinfecting the wound, pressing hard on the gauze. He looked at him and said "Q, I'm so sorry, I--" but before he could find the word that came after that "I", he froze. He couldn't tell him. So he said "I'm scared", which wasn't really a lie, and Quackity held him through that too.

Wilbur sighs as he snaps himself out of it. "Could you tell him that I'm sorry?" he mumbles. "If Dream finally decides to stop playing games and bring me back to life?" Tommy asks "Sure. But how would I let you know what he said?" "I don't need to know." Wilbur replies quickly, then, after a pause, his brother nods. "Ok."

----------------------------------------------------------

A week, maybe a month, maybe an hour later, a train came to the station and actually stopped. Wilbur was sleeping on the floor as usual when the screech of gears and wheels halting startled him awake. He looked up, at the opening doors, at the bright lights inside the car, and he felt this faint rise in his stomach, this feeling that told him exactly where the train was headed. And he must admit, he got excited. A tall, long figure stepped out, a blank face in a dark green cloak walked past him and grabbed Tommy, whose blind eyes darted around in confusion. "Wilbur?" he said, he spoke and Wilbur said "Toms?" with the same tone. "Wilbur, I think he's taking me back!" he exclaims, but he doesn't sound happy at all. "That's ok, I'm right behin--" he tries to stand up as he says it, but a force he can't explain, a pull keeps him seated. He can't go, of course he can't go. He doesn't deserve to go. So he starts again, trying to use that same voice of enthusiasm. "That's great Tommy, that's great! Be careful out there, don't come back here too soon!" he tries to joke, but Tommy doesn't seem glad to hear his voice so far away, to not *see* him when they're just a step from each other. The tall figure keeps a thin hand on the back of Tommy's head. "Will, I'll find a way to make you come back too!" "Don't do that, Tommy, don't try that!" he warns, but Tommy doesn't seem to be listening anymore already. The train doors start closing, one by one, now Tommy isn't even looking around anymore, he's frozen, catatonic. That's when Wilbur realizes, "TOMMY! You didn't tell me her name! Tommy! Tell me her name!" he screams, his voice rasps and the figure, the long, tall, white face in a dark green cloak puts a finger to his mouth to shush him, though it has no lips of its own. "TOMMY, HER NAME!" he begs, he feels as heavy as the day he died. Tommy mouths something, his lips quiver and make a word but the shrill of the metal doors makes it unintelligible. Then, the train departs. Wilbur feels a gust of wind, of life, trailing behind those giant tin cans that just took his brother back to the land of the living. And then it's gone.

All that's left is an empty train station. Nothing but dust on the track, and the echo of the train's wheels as it leaves the tunnel. Wilbur is alone again. That's what makes it hurt the most, really—he was right there! He had a chance, even the smallest, slimiest chance in hell, that he could've seen his own kid. That he could've kept Tommy safe with him too. Now it's gone. All that he has left is to wait, once again, for the wheels that will bring them all back together. Time is never kind to souls that refuse to move on. Wilbur has lost track, how long has he been here? That's another thing he should've asked him, isn't it ? He can think about a moment in time, remember something about himself on the surface and use it as a measurement, but those memories are all slowly fading away. Maybe that's for the best, he can't keep thinking about the people he knows, can't look back if he wants to move forward, so he waits. He waits, he waits, he waits. One day is another, and another, and another.

The train comes again. This time he's not weighed down by anything, by anyone, but he doesn't want to get on. The long, tall figure with a blank face in dark green cloak walks out, dragging from the scruff a pathetic, limp soul. He throws him out onto the pavement, a ghost that looks exactly like him. They stare at each other and they feel so terrified of the other. They can't tell who is more person, but now there's this twisted realization in both of them, that they're not the original. He tries to say anything to him, but he can't, and he doesn't either. And once they're done stalling, trading places, the figure begins to drag him in. "Wait, wait! H-he's part of me, let me get him!" he protests, but the figure doesn't let him. Some things must be sacrificed. The ghost sits in his place and looks at him with neon blue tears brimming in his eyes. As the doors close, he knows he has the other's mission now, just not what it is. He stares into the mirror image of himself, his face hollowed out from burn scars along his cheeks. It's the same in everything other than that. The way he sits, the way he slumps. He frowns, but he's not mad, really. It's just a part of him that will carry out this burden. It'll have to, whether he likes it or not. The train rumbles to a start again, he waves at himself, he waves back faintly but starts sobbing loudly soon after, almost louder than the train's screams. There's this understanding between them that they are not the same person, they could never have been, and this switch was bound to happen, whether the other thought he'd done enough up there or not. So, cheers to the other guy. Everything goes dark as they enter the tunnel, darker than death has been so far. The figure puts a thin hand on his back and he hates it, he hates it so much.

Time passes incredibly fast, all at once, faster than Limbo, faster than life. He feels vertigo pull his body in all directions, pulling his neck backwards, his chest forward, his back up, his legs down. For the first time in such a very long time, pressure enters his body. His body has depth. He sees a light, ironic, oh so ironic that he wants to go towards it but instead feels himself being pulled away from it. He fights the current, the figure stares, unaffected. He pushes through the barrier, the train shakes and rattles and screeches. He doesn't dare look.

----------------------------------------------------------

The cold, dewy air of an April's early morning fills his lungs. Lungs, he has those. He has to get used to that feeling again before he opens his eyes. His head spins, his whole body hurts like hell. Air shudders out of him violently, like a spring has just jumpstarted the valves in his system and now he's feeling the reebot. He tries to move his arms and legs, and he succeeds, but the pain that shoots through his body makes it hard to enjoy the discovery. Every joint and bone screams at him, every suture. Suture? He lifts his hand, tentatively, carefully to his eye. Stitches. Along his wrists, the creases of his fingers, his legs, his ankles. He's been pieced back together into a single string of flesh. By who? He knows who. He doesn't care, for now. For now he's alive. He groans, and for the first time in over a decade he hears his voice without echo, he can feel heat around him, his nerves are full of blood. His body aches in places that he didn't even know could hurt, but maybe he's never been more glad. And he's laying in front of a small altar, a memorial to his name, literally. Strangely enough he can still read, and his name is written at the bottom of the marble. There are drapes of the old L'Manberg flag hanging unceremoniously over his date of birth, flowers - mostly wilted - have been left beside pictures of him. And a single, still lit lantern sits near his boots. His boots? It's strange, but he's almost certain this isn't how he was dressed when he died. He uses the flat marble surface to hoist himself up again, the weight of his own body might make him throw up if he thinks about it too hard. He glances all around. Everything is empty, quiet—like a museum. Except it's not, this looks more like a rocky pit overgrown with nature. He groans aloud, the pain is excruciating but he tries to focus on the sights around him. His body wants to shut down once more, but despite the overwhelming weight of the world that's bearing down on him, he can't let his mind slip away again. He must keep going. He stands up, head bobbing slightly. This doesn't feel like any afterlife or secondary plane, it feels like the Overworld. It just *feels* like it. He stares up, he looks as far as he can squint, at the hills of exposed rock covered in dew and moss. These are ruins alright. He wants to laugh, but he just sneers. Someone built him a memorial over the ruins of what he destroyed, it's like making a plaque for the potted plant that fell on the pavement and made a crack, except the potted plant was him, and the crack was more of an abysmal crater. He squints at the ruins in front of him, everything is still and silent. Not one sound but the wind. Not one person but himself. It's all here in front of him, in this broken down splinter of what used to be L'Manberg. There's a sense of finality in the air, but it's not sad, it feels like an ending. He feels the air chill his breath and the cold ground underneath his feet. But it's a different feeling from what he was experiencing when he was dead.

Not anymore, apparently.

He hears those footsteps behind him, hurrying, running on stone and wood. Two, no, three people, and at least one other creature. He turns around in time to find himself smiling at a horrified Tommy, a very drained, jittery Tommy, with a blue sheep on a leash, and then Tubbo and... An Enderman in a suit. Tommy walks towards him carefully, maybe a little cathartically, like one walks up to a heaving rabbit they just shot with an arrow. "Oh, you fuck." "Hello again." he says, and he can't help laugh at his little audience. Tommy is looking *at* him, and he's cussing him out, it's just like the old times. Nothing's changed! Well, besides everything else. "Hi Wilbur!" Tubbo waves from the back of this posse - when did he get so tall?! "Is... is this real?" he asks, breaking the teethering tension. "Yeah. Where's Ghostbur?" Tommy asks back, and he can't answer that. He was expecting anything, a 'Welcome back', a clear indicator that he was anywhere near missed, but instead he's asked where the other guy is. The better version, he imagines. "Oh, he's... He took my place in Limbo." the words just sort of slip out of him. "He WHAT?? How do we get him back??" "I-I don't know, I just got here! I'm back." he shrugs as he speaks, like this was supposed to be obvious. He's still taking everything in, glancing at the blue sheep and the enderman, still mostly paying attention to the sound of his breathing and the feeling of the solid ground underneath his feet. So *real.* "You're supposed to act at least a little bit happy to see me." he mutters. "W-We are." Tommy forces out, but he doesn't want to move towards him any further. "So why aren't you coming here? Hey, it's me! It's me, man!" "I-I didn't think you'd-- trade places with him. I thought you'd be all in one piece together. I didn't even have a ghost, why'd you split?!" "I-I don't know." and Wilbur really doesn't know, but it feels weird not to lie anymore. "Tommy, we just got him back, can you guys not complain about each other already?" Tubbo chimes in, sliding past Tommy to walk over and hug Wilbur. It's an instant regret. It feels strange, uncomfortable, irritating like a stubble rash. But Tubbo's heart is in the right place, so he lets him. He instigated it anyway. Then the sheep tries to sniff his leg. "Oh god don't tell me I have to hug the sheep as well" was not a thought, or sentence in general, that Wilbur ever thought he'd hear himself saying, but thankfully he doesn't have to. "That's Friend," Tubbo says as he steps back "Ghostbur befriended it and we- we thought he'd be here, so we were gonna take it to him." he hears a faint and shy "and I'm Ranboo..." from behind Tommy. "Yeah that's Ranboo. They're here too." Tubbo nods, taking Friend's leash to hand it over to the creature. "...Charmed." Wilbur says, a little too focused on the other matters at hand and, quite frankly, a little unsure whether he can look them in the eyes or not.

"Y'know, you look like you haven't aged." he tells Tubbo as they accompany his out of the caved in rock. "Really? I reckon I actually look different, like, my horns came in, fuckin' finally. Didn't you notice?" he asks when he puts his head down to show him. A set of horns, already scratched in. "I mean, yeah, I did. Looking good." "Thanks bossman." "It's just... I thought you'd be... Older, older than... This." Tommy and Tubbo share a glance, then look back at him. "How long have I been dead?" he has to ask the two. He has to ask before he starts moving his legs in any direction and he doesn't stop, it's getting hard to sit still. "About a year and a half." Tommy says something finally. "A year?! A year and a half??" he spits out. "A fuckin' lot's happened, Will, and I need you to promise that you're not gonna say some weird shit about Dream being cool or--" but Wilbur is too busy laughing incredulously at how little time has passed since he died. "A year and a half, are you kidding?? I was dead for thirteen and a half years, Tommy!" "I- No, Will. You weren't dead that long, it's just a Limbo thing."

He stares at them both, his smile evaporating, his breath catching. "No, there's no way. I feel so... I feel jaded, jaded and stuffy, Tommy!" There's no way he was only gone for so little time, it's impossible. He could swear on his life that he was alone for so much longer, there's no way his own memory could deceive him like this. But Tommy looks almost the same as when they last saw each other in Limbo, Tubbo's just a little taller than before. It's the landscape, that's what really changed. He can feel the rushing of wind from nearby cracks in the stone, he can feel the need to look through them. "I mean, no offense, you look older than you're supposed to be..." Tubbo says, cocking his head slightly. "Did you know you've got white hair?" "I got white hair too, after I was revived." Tommy points out. Wilbur hasn't even had the chance to think about a mirror, he's just wandering off, staring out into the sky, the blooming dawn. If he's not thirteen years older, then his daughter, who's out there somewhere, isn't a teenager. She might still need him. Quackity might still need him. His soles find a step and he stares down at a sea of glass. If regret needed a preview, it would look like what's underneath it. "Is this L'Manberg?"

[dailypeskybird]

New Year new….me?

FFABs closest adjacent to Spore mother😊✨

[zeb-z]

The thing about Forever and Bad is that they don't know how to deescalate, and they start at 100 straight from 0 every time with each other. They will spend hours arguing about semantics that don't matter. They will go to the extreme ends of pranks (which as fun as the audio remixes were, spending hours trying to find the source was literal hell genuine psychological torment). They will go for the throat just to antagonize the other.

So no, I don't think Forever knows a thing about Dapper or the other eggs whereabouts. He just knows better about the way Bad operates, the way he lies and deflects. He's familiar with his crafty words and how he turns a conversation on its head. He knows that what Bad is being accused of is entirely likely, that he is not who he usually is when the eggs are around. And he knows that Dapper, beyond a shadow of a doubt, is who Bad cares for most of all.

This isn't something he can argue hours about, to chip away little by little like he usually does. For both the safety of the worker, because the longer they're locked up surely the worse off they'll be - and for the safety of Bad, who if he wasn't under extreme watch by the Federation, he certainly is now, after Tubbo very loudly accused him in his Federation office.

He goes for the throat, immediately playing a trump card that he knows Bad won't just brush off or ignore, because as much as Bad can be unpredictable, Forever knows that Bad cares about the eggs as much as he does. As questionable as his morals are, as slippery as he can be to pin down, Bad has always placed the eggs as the highest priority - and he needs Bad to have no choice but to be honest, or to knock him off guard enough that he'll give him something to work with.

Is it fair? Maybe not. But when has Bad ever played fair with him?

[pixiemage]

If folks try to “duo-ficate” more people after Limited Life’s finale, I WILL start defenestrating people. Get more creative. Good grief, not everything has to be a ____ Duo formatted name. There are FAR more words in the English language than just that one. I’d reblog my last, more detailed rant post about this, but frankly I’m not willing to put in the energy of finding it. Just - for the love of god, if everything is duos, that makes it INCREASINGLY difficult to tell ‘em all apart. So get fucking creative.

[negativepeanuthoarder]

As a former SBI reader/author who moved to DTQK+ I notice a lot of differences between SBI found family fanfics and Munchymc found family stories, so I thought I'd make a list of some of the differences I notice most frequently. (Disclaimer, I am one person and therefore am not the authority on whether or not your story is good/bad or fits into the described tropes. Also I have not read every fic in existence and this is just what I've noticed from broader trends. None of these points are intended as criticism towards either of the two genres and are intended as a neutral comparison between the two.)

SBI stories frequently center around adoption as a core aspect of the story, usually with Phil (and sometimes Techno) adopting Wilbur, Tommy, Tubbo or occasionally Ranboo. On the other hand, Munchymc stories seem to center more on the characters coming together as adults and building a friend-group style found family without adoption aspects. A lot of SBI stories have defined roles for the characters. Phil is dad, Kristen is mom, Wilbur and Techno are older siblings (or Techno is a friend of the family who serves a 'third parent' role) Tommy is the baby of the family, you get the idea. Munchymc stories tend to completely ignore this - and if they use it at all it's usually just making Bad the father, Skeppy the other father, and everyone else their kids - but most of the time Munchymc stories tend to put all of their characters on even footing. Age differences are a big thing too - SBI-type families tend to dramatically change the ages of their characters, either for story purposes or other reasons, changing anyone and everyone's ages, usually to exaggerate the adoption and parents and children aspect of the dynamic. Munchymc stories rarely do this, from what I've observed, occasionally exaggerating Bad's age to make him Sapnap's biological father but never to the extent of SBI stories. The way each dynamic treats the baby of the family. In the case of SBI stories, Tommy is often made extremely young, even younger then his traditional age gap between the other characters - he's only 8 years younger then Wilbur but in some fics the author will stretch this gap as wide as they want (the widest I can remember off the top of my head was a 20 year age gap between Wil and Tommy). Usually SBI stories will make Tommy dramatically younger then he is in real life, often playing up the more childlike aspects of his character. In the case of Munchymc, their 'baby of the family' is usually Sapnap, who is hardly, if ever, aged down - unless he's being aged down in a flashback or if he's Bad's kid (or the story takes place when characters are children - ie, a chapter taking place in elementary school). Furthermore, authors on the Munchymc side usually keep ages consistent, and rarely age Sapnap down without aging the rest of the ccs down as well. The way SBI authors treat 'add-on' characters to the family is interesting, too. Characters like Tubbo or Ranboo who are seen as side characters usually have other things going on or are already in established families with parents and siblings (Dadschlatt on Tubbo's end, usually). Munchymc on the other hand usually just accepts 'add-on's' readily - anyone from Karl to Foolish to Quackity to Tommy are readily accepted as members of the family, with no formal 'adoption', they're accepted and treated as equals, as opposed to SBI dynamics, which tend to treat any non-adopted members of the family as close family friends instead of members. Lightning round: SBI tends to lean heavily dsmp canonical, while Munchymc tends to lean rpf. SBI often involves heavy use of fantasy tropes and nonhuman characters, while Munchymc leans more human. SBI stories usually involve only one relationship (Phil/Kristin) while Munchymc stories tend to involve multiple (DNF, Karlnap, Velvetfrost, Skephalo, etc etc) SBI has a more defined patriarch (Phil) who makes decisions for the family as a whole, while Munchymc leans away from that and towards group agreement.

[ficrecliterally]

Extension

dancewiththewaves (orphan_account)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Archive warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Fandom: Minecraft (Video Game)

Relationship: all platonic and family

So....here I am, I promised I'd write something after every fic I read which I definately did not hold upto but!!! I have just read this amazing fiction by the above author named Extension (read here)

This fanfiction explores a found family trope where Wilbur and Technoblade are the princes of a flourishing empire which is lead by Philza and they are in search of having a new someone to call their brother. Enter Tommy, a blind child with a bright mind and extraordinary powers! He has kept the entire Kingdom on his toes and now is wanted alive and cuddled by the two princes.

This is a very heartwarming story with beautifully interwoven fantasy and magical elements. The plot is wonderful and delivers what the tags promise with wholesome feelings and emotions. It's a perfect balance of fluff and angst.

It took me around 4 hours to read it entirely in a go. It's very easy to read and comprehend. The language and theme are wonderful and absolutely amazing. Kudos to the author ( I don't know if they have a Tumblr account. If they do please tell me.

[junoito]

the fear when you accidentally post something to your account with your friends and not your account for yourself

[x-i-l-verify]

Suppose one reads a story of filthy atrocities in the paper. Then suppose that something turns up suggesting that the story might not be quite true, or not quite so bad as it was made out. Is one's first feeling, 'Thank God, even they aren't quite so bad as that,' or is it a feeling of disappointment, and even a determination to cling to the first story for the sheer pleasure of thinking your enemies are as bad as possible? If it is the second then it is, I am afraid, the first step in a process which, if followed to the end, will make us into devils. You see, one is beginning to wish that black was a little blacker. If we give that wish its head, later on we shall wish to see grey as black, and then to see white itself as black. Finally we shall insist on seeing everything -- God and our friends and ourselves included -- as bad, and not be able to stop doing it: we shall be fixed forever in a universe of pure hatred.

- C.S. Lewis.

how are you going to sit on your twitter and INSIST that there has to be some kind of victim some kind of person harmed traumatized victimized because there cant be any way that this ONE GUY didnt groom abuse or sext a child. how is it that there is not a single world these people can imagine where dream isnt a predator preying on innocent fans. you would think after hearing and seeing "no, i didnt, and heres the proof" youd breathe a sigh of relief knowing that at the very least one person in this world escaped something so horribly negatively life altering and traumatic. but no, surely not, surely someone had to suffer at the hands of this guy i hate ! ! because if not then what did i do all this tweeting for ! ! ! ! ! !

[rhapsoddity]

People are absolutely insane sometimes! BROTHER THEYRE MCYTS MOST OF THEIR AUDIENCES ARE KIDS EVEN IF RHAPS WAS OKAY WITH POSTING NSFW ON HERE IT STILL WOULDNT BE LIKE. OKAY?????

FR FR

no matter if it's a nsfw or a sfw blog who in their right mind gets all 🙄 toned when someone doesn't want a kink accused @ them ffs

Id maybe expect this behaviour on twt since its well known twt generally has ppl who get riled up over nothing quicker but here???

Tumblrs genuinely making me learn to have a backbone BC some dumbasses don't know how to speak to ppl nicely

[wack-wizard]

Hey!

I’m gonna step back from mcyt standom probably for good. It’s been a great 3/4 years in this fandom and I don’t regret a moment of it, I don’t regret the time I’ve spent on fanart or reading ff or talking to other fans

Thank you for all the support in my art I feel like being here truly did boost my art skills.

This blog as always been muilt fandom so I’m not going anywhere but idk what I will post in the future. I was thinking about going back and changing aus around so they are ocs instead of ccs as well as going back a changing some mcyt art into oc art for my portfolio.

I’m not leaving mcyt for good, I love Minecraft and I love what people create with minecraft. If I do get end up posting mcyt stuff I’ll be on my sideblog @glcharm

Love you guys ❤️❤️❤️❤️

[nefkyo]

White Noise

I wrote this as a gift for @/chrustilins.art.corner on Instagram and their amazing Surgeon AU. They make insane art and are a really cool person all around. This is based on their aforementioned AU.

Characters: Dream/George, SBI family dynamic by which I mean they are actually family, a bunch of mcyts become doctors, unnamed background characters and a lot of em

Tags: medical terminology, hospital, gore, surgery (duh), implied trauma and loss, sensory overload, auditory overload?, hurt-comfort, if you know the au it'll hurt more, I promise nobody dies

1/1

Words: 2,311 words, 12,593 characters (circa)

When Dream was still in medical school, he was assigned to review a thesis by one Mr. Rosarito M. Guerrero. It was 50 something pages of a guy reinstating what he already thought was obvious to everyone who ever walked through the automatic doors: hospitals are loud, and they get louder every year. It included little graphs the printer he was at the mercy of spat out in shades too dark, but they weren't an enigma to understand then, much less now that he basically lived on the cardiology floor. He could hear all of it, all of the time: children's shoes squeaking as they ran around unsupervised, blaring ambulance sirens that couldn't just stop after getting the patient out, doctors shouting orders to interns that won't understand them, people crying over nothing, or just the low humm of the ceiling lights while he gave up on waiting for his next patient.

The fourth one. The fourth time his pager alerted him for an emergency downstairs since he started his shift. A woman in her 40s this time. He sighs, drops the clipboard he was writing his inventory on in the hands of the first nurse in his way and takes the stairs. Fixated on the steps, he starts a little guessing game to steady his nerves: What's Killing You? "A woman in her 40s needs heart surgery" said the fist note on his mental coarkboard. If it were overdose, she'd already be dead. Anyone who overdoses after 30 wasn't rescued, but discovered, and discovered means done for. Heart attack? In her 40s? Either they've been actively torturing her at work or there's a family history. Or, and he really didn't want to deal with another, it could be a- Screaming breaks his thought pattern. Yep, he's reached the ground floor. No use in trying to think about anything once you have to walk past rows and rows of people holding their broken limbs like they have to get them amputated and patient's family trying to argue with staff like they know what they're doing. He gets bumped into twice, has to dodge a cart once, and was almost stopped by three separate people, shooting up from their seats to ask him when they can be recieved. Like every doctor works in the same department. Not finding anything polite to say to the third, a comfortable woman who was actively breaking the sound barrier, he replied "I don't work here" and took off. Sometimes he wishes it was true, but only for a moment.

"Car accident, isn't it?"

"Yeah, she hit the guardrail at a curve and her airbag didn't open." replies Sam, marching towards him. "The lawsuit will be glorious." Dream mumbles with the dry humor he can only use around a select few. His colleague, first on that list, hands him his plastic wrapped facial mask with an already muffled "If she makes it." They turn the corner to the entrance and find the woman on the ambulance stretcher. They spot Darryl's hand shoot up from the crowd of interns and nurses, gesturing them to come closer. "Dr. Wast." he introduces him quickly to the posse. He then walks back to exchange a few words to a blond man about the same age as the woman. His hands rest on the shoulders of two almost identical teenagers, one a brunette, the another with dyed pink hair. Between them stood, clearly lost, a boy that couldn't be older than a gradeschooler.

Dream stares at them for a second, then looks down at the woman. Even if half her face is being covered by an oxygen mask, she looks way younger than 40. It makes Dream shiver.

At the count of 3, she is lifted - Sam and Dream hold most of her weight, but nobody is actually going to point it out - and transfered to a proper hospital bed. "Major injuries?" he talks over the younger staff, settling for the one that looks the easiest to deal with. He stammers, holding the metal railing of the bed as it rolls through the hallways. "Uhm- broken nose, left femur is fractured in two places, but we've also-- Dr. Halo detected internal bleeding. Her sternum..." He starts but draws a blank, so he gestures, opening his palm to his chest and pressing hard on it. Dream resists the urge to roll his eyes at the unprofessionalism and just nods as he slows down to stand behind the bed. "Dr Halo, we'll have to get her to radiology--" tries another nurse, but Darryl dismisses her. "There's no time, her heart is already struggling. We'll have personnel from the unit join us and, if necessary, she'll be flipped on her side." Dream looks over at him. Thank god he's in charge of things. From behind, they hear a tiny British voice shout "Mum!", then die out.

Catching up with them in the hall, Dr Ponk opens the door to the operating room to carry in the patient, now identified as Mrs. Watson, while the staff gets ready in the prep room. Dream is the last one out, about to get his equipment sterilized when he hears a very unsubtle and squeaky pair of children's sneakers chasing after him. Dream turns around to meet with that tuft of blond hair over the biggest blue eyes he's ever seen. They stare up at him. "Is my mum in there?" asks the boy. "Yes, but you can't see her now. She's sick." Dream says, not knowing if he should lie. The boy looks past him for a second, then back up at him before running towards the door. Instinctively, Dream slams it behind him. Hard.

"What was that?" Sam says while fitting his gloves again. "One of her kids followed us somehow, the youngest. He's outside." Dream says firmly, subtly taking a moment to breathe in before stepping closer to the table. One of the interns, a young woman with already sterilized hands looks at the door at the information, but goes back to preparing the basin. Dr Ponk, already sterilizing the tools, is the only one who actually responds with alarm "What?! How did he get in here?!" "Not my problem." Dream shrugs, "If I heard him coming, so did his family. They'll come get him." "No, we have to at least tell him to leave." Ponk points out like it's obvious. "Why? We have to work fast, there's no time to think about some kid!" Sam defends. "Are any of you not sterilized yet?" Darryl asks the interns, all shaking their heads. "We're ready, Dr. Halo. Dr. Wast is the only one who hasn't..." the girl speaks, until her voice dies out once she realizes Dream absolutely does NOT want to open the door. That's when they hear a pair of small fists banging on the door. "Tell him to go back to his dad." Darryl orders, pointing at the door. "Me??" Dream snaps "I'm here to save this woman, not babysit!" "You're here to save a MOTHER, and her child is standing outside. Just be nice." Darryl says firmly. Dream refrains from groaning in his face.

The boy immediately goes quiet. The lights keep buzzing. A knot of muscles and saliva clogs Dream's throat. The boy is staring up at him with terror in every part of his body. The little body he, the adult, is probably pulling and pushing too hard. He sniffles softly and Dream wishes he could cry with him. Instead he lets him go slowly, putting his hands on his shoulders. He kneels, breathes in like he hadn't been breathing the whole time. "...Your mommy will be fine, she's just sleeping because she got hurt." He whispers. The boy nods. "When we get hurt or we get sick, our bodies need time to recover. You'll see her soon, just not now, ok?" "Ok." the boy says. That's when he hears a pair of British voices barge in with a nurse. "TOMMY!" the brunette boy says in unison with his twin. "Tommy, you can't run away like that!" The father says, catching his breath. He spares a glance at Dream. He just nods and steps back. Tommy is picked up by one of his brothers and hides in the crook of his neck, tired out. "I'm sorry, I just wanted to see mum." "We've already told you, Tommy. The doctors need to take care of her." "I know, Wilby." Tommy's voice murumrs, as 'Wilby' follows his dad's gesture to back through the door with the nurse. Once they're alone, the father steps forward, red in the face. "I am so incredibly sorry. He just slipped away while I was signing the forms and--" "It's ok. He's very brave." Dream stops him. "And your wife is in good hands." He adds as he slips through the door, hearing the man sigh with relief behind him. "Thank you." he manages.

He opens the door slowly to find the boy on his tip toes, trying to see through the drawn blinds of another window. Dream prays he doesn't manage to see anything. "Kid, you can't stay here." Dream starts, to which the boy immediately tries to run into the room again. Dream closes the door behind him to not let the cold air escape. Or let the others, who got to actually work, hear him struggle with a little kid. "Let me see my mum! I want my mum!" the boy protests, flailing his skinny arms. Dream reaches down, grabbing him and pulling him away and into the hallway. The kid is relentless and won't listen to anything he says. Dream has handled annoying children before. Hell, he even held a newborn once. But he's completely unable to talk to them like children, subconsciously expecting them to understand everything like a grownup would. "Just calm down, you can't see her now, alright!" Dream's voice rises inadvertently. The boy takes it as a challenge and kicks him in the leg, hoping he'll flinch and let go. It doesn't work. "Will you stop? Go back to your dad, he's looking for you!" "I want my mummy!" "Go. Away." "I WANT MY MUMMY!" All Dream can think about is the surgery. That woman on the table. He's not the only cardiologist, but they need him inside. T"She can't see you right now! She can't talk to you!" The ceiling lights buzz. The boy's shoes squeak. He starts screaming. Is he getting dizzy? This was supposed to be the only quiet place in the hospital. "I WANT TO SEE HER!" One of the boy's arms slips free and trashes around. His gloved hand tries to catch his wrist again but the fabric feels sticky and starts to itch if he thinks about it too much. He thinks about the woman. Her family. The internal bleeding, her sternum crashed against the steering wheel. The car crash. The car crash. The car crash. "I WANT TO SEE MY MUMMY!" The car crash. The car crash. The car crash. The car crash. "I WANT TO SEE HER! I WANT TO SEE HER! I W-" Her heart.

"OH MY GOD, CAN YOU JUST SHUT UP? IS THAT SO HARD FOR YOU? WHY CAN'T YOU SHUT UP?"

The rest of the night, Dream doesn't hear any of it. Literally. His brain simply doesn't process any words, instructions, questions. Fortunately for him he stepped into the operating room too late and most of the important incisions were done by Sam, though he still had to do a lot of dirty work. He washes his hands and the water tap doesn't make a sound. His colleagues talk to him but he doesn't listen. Mrs Watson is in stable condition by dinnertime, when he steps out on the roof and takes out his phone. He contemplates a smoke, but he chooses against it while the call rings.

"Hello?" George answers on the other end. It's the first pleasant thing he's heard in hours. "Hi." Dream musters. "Clay!" he chirps, and god, it's the first time all day that he hears a pleasant sound. A beautiful sound. "I'm just uh, cutting potatoes. What's up? ...Clay?" "I just finished my shift. I'll clock out in 5 minutes." Dream answers with delay "Ok, so... That's why you sound like a deflated balloon, or at least more than usual?" George scoffs, masking a note of concern. Dream sighs with a smile. "I just..." Dream strains. The woman. The car crash. Her son. Her family. Her heart. "I can't stand any more... Anything. There's too much noise, too much light..." George hums in response and the call goes silent. Dream feels his phone vibrate against his ear before he can ask if he hung up. "ft?" The message lighting up the screen says, and Dream believes himself the luckiest person in miles. He turns on the camera and so does George. His screen shows him the kitchen ceiling for a few seconds, then his boyfriend's head pops up in the corner, smiling and waving. He finds himself waving back to the screen, now grainy as George flips the camera and shows him the cutting board, the peeled potatoes he was slicing and white mackerel sizzling in a pan. Dream flips his own camera and shows George the view from the hospital roof. Once they close the call, Dream gets another message. "You're not gonna hear a single sound around the house, I'll be super quiet" "Really?" Dream replies thinking he'll take it as a joke, but no, George thinks about it, then replies "Give me a number, that's how many times I can make noise" "Or else what?" "idk, I sleep in Patches' bed" "10" Dream settles with, sure this bit won't last.

He walks to the reception to clock out and meets face to face with the Watsons again. They extend their gratitude, Dream doesn't process any of the words but nods politely, smiles at Tommy and then slips into the parking lot. The traffic is loud and bright. The radio is on, but he somehow can't reach over and turn it off. He feels he wants to scream again, but, taking deep breaths, he tries to cancel out the noise. He parks outside and tries to focus on what he can feel. The key is cold when he turns it in the lock. Before he's made it all the way through the entrance, Patches is greeting him, and her fur might just be extra soft. And then George, running up to him and enveloping him whole, that clears his mind all at once. His hug is warm, so warm he could melt right there. He lets go to watch him open his palms and whisper "Welcome home". Then he closes a finger back into his hand. Dream feels he could say a thousand things right there, but he couldn't stand the sound if his own voice, so he just smiles. George takes him by the hand and drags him soundlessly - in socks, he'll notice later - past the living room, lit with soft lamps instead of the actual light, two hot plates of fish and potatoes waiting on the table. Smells nice. He takes him to the bathroom, points at the sink, then back at him, squinting, which should mean "You better wash those hands", and then disappears into the hallway.

After that, he hears exactly 9 more things.

Nine, Patches purring against his chair leg, begging him to let her try the mackerel.

Eight, his and George's fork "battling" when Dream wants to let Patches try the mackerel.

Seven, the tap running again while they get ready for bed.

Six, the bedsheets.

Five, George stifling a laugh when Dream kisses him on the side of his Adam's apple, right where it tickles.

Four, the click of the bedside lamp.

Three, his own voice when he whispers "Thank you. I love you so much."

Two, when George flips around to huddle up next to him.

One, when he whispers "I love you too."

----------------------------------------------------------

Hey you made it to the end! Yippee! Remember to check out my friend (and the au) on Instagram! Here's the link, bye :)

https://instagram.com/chrustlins.art.corner?igshid=MjljNjAzYmU=

[mcytblrconfessions-but-badder]

I enjoy rpf and think its fine but I sideeye people who like mcyt rpf but dislike all other rpf. If you make fun of BTS fans for writing ff of BTS while you yourself write about MCYT rpf ff, I do not trust you in the slightest. Same with TS, P!ATD, and every single fandom based around real people and their rpf. #ILoveMyRPFSiblings

.

[skayleay]

✧ MASTERPOST ✧

MCYT:

lee!Tubbo and ler!Tommy

lee!Tommy and ler!Aimsey (ff fanart)

lee!Ranboo and ler!Crumb (ff fanart)

lee!Ranboo and ler!Tommy (ff fanart)

lee!Ranboo and ler!Clingyduo (ff fanart)

lee!Ranboo and ler!Tommy (ff fanart)

lee!Ranboo and ler!Wilbur

lee!Niki and ler!Wilbur

lee!Ranboo and ler!Aimsey

(and that's the last one, now I'm Genshin Impact only focused)

Genshin Impact:

lee!Kuki Shinobu and ler!Arataki Itto

lee!Childe and ler!Zhongli

lee!Xiao and ler!Venti

lee!Zhongli and ler!Childe

lee!Wanderer and ler!Nahida/ler!Aether

lee! Alhaitam and ler!Kaveh

lee!Wanderer and ler!Aether

lee!Aether and ler!Wanderer

lee!Cyno and ler!Tighnari

lee!Zhongli and ler!Childe

lee!Zhongli and ler!Childe

lee!Alhaitham and ler!Kaveh

lee! Aether and ler!Xiao

lee!Childe and ler!Zhongli

lee!Venti and ler!Aether

lee!Scara and ler!Nahida

lee!Alhaitham and ler!Kaveh

lee!Venti and ler!Zhongli (fanart)

lee!Albedo and ler!Aether (COMMISION)

lee!Heizou and ler! Aether

lee!Childe and ler! Neuvillette

lee!Childe and ler! Wriothesley

lee!Childe and ler!Scara

lee!Zhongli and ler!Childe

lee!Wriothesley and ler!Clorinde/ler! Neuvillette

lee!Venti and ler!Diluc (COMMISION)

lee!Lumine and ler!Tartaglia

lee!Gaming (COMMISION)

lee!Xiao and ler!Venti

[n0tmykays]

idk

U ever get where u like miss the things that were popular when u were younger, like yk gravity falls, ik its getting popular again but i remeber when i first watched it and looking up every little thing abt it.

Or when gacha life was rlly big, like yk glmm and glmv. Like i want that era back but i have to accept that i cant js make it appear out of nowhere and that that sucks but its life sadly.

It makes me miserable that ill never have that back but atleast i got to experience it yk. Creepypasta, gacha, animation memes, fnaf, sally face, fran bow, little miss fortune, gravity falls (the colours animatic actually changed my brain chemistry), ffs even dsmp, mcyts, anime, all of it. Sure it was cringey but it was fun and im glad i got to experience that at a point in my life. Ill always feel sick when i think abt it tho. Its js knowing ill never have any of it back.

Im scared to be cringey now, secondary school has actually ripped any sense of confidence out of me, i used to be loud and proud abt the things i liked and now ill never tell anyone except ppl im close with abt how i love theories abt all these shows and games. Everyone thinks everything is cringey but maybe its js ppl having fun, did no one think of that?

Genuinely i could write an entire essay on nostalgia of my own childhood, it was enjoyable and made me into who i am today. I dont want what others think of me to change that. Bc of the fear of being judged i wont start things i enjoy, like streaming, its purely bc im scared ppl in my school will find it. But most youtubers and streamers started at my age, so why should i let that stop me. It didnt stop them. Ill be happier, im seen as a weirdo as it is so why not purely embrace it. You live everyday but u die once.

[blockgamepirate]

So there’s another one of those cool Hermitcraft trivia posts circulating again which I kinda wanna reblog but also I’m feeling a little bit hesitant because some of the points seem maybe a little bit inaccurate or exaggerated? Like I’d like to fact check them first at least.

(Particularly what stuck out to me was the point about season two only happening because Joe did a coup, because that’s not how I understood that story the way Joe and Xisuma have told it? Or at least as far as I can remember... the impression I had was that Xisuma was mainly the person who took the initiative to keep the server going but Joe was one who broke the gridlock on whether or not they should add new members by just straight up inviting Cleo without asking the others.)

(So maybe a more accurate way to phrase it is that without Xisuma season 2 wouldn’t have happened, but without Joe, season 2 might not have had any new members. And at this point the only still currently active Hermits who were already on the server were X, Hypno and Joe, so the lineup could have turned out very differently, if the server had even survived past season 2.)

(I could be wrong but I’m pretty sure this is how I remember hearing it?)

But what actually annoyed me was this comment from someone (not OP, to be clear) in the notes:

(cut for discourse reasons)

#these people have been around for so long #compared to dsmp where its like new white guy who popped up in 2021 fully formed LMAO

(Don’t go looking for this please, and don’t harass this person, I’m just highlighting this because it’s an example of an attitude you see a lot. It’s not just this specific person who I don’t know at all and whose url I already forgot.)

So

1:

I don’t wanna start counting diversity points on each server like it’s a fucking game, but I DO wanna point out that the “white guy“ comment is pretty rich coming from a Hermitcraft fan.

Both servers have a white guy problem.

But at least with Dream SMP I can actually think of more than one creator who isn’t white, and it didn’t take them until season 2 to add a second female member...

(I know Hermitcraft is more of a private and closed group and they have extremely strict qualifications they demand from new members, plus every current member has veto power, so it’s much harder to add new Hermits than it is to add new DSMP members where it’s all decided by One Guy, but I think some frustration about this is still justified due to how big Hermitcraft is in the MCYT community.)

It’s also extremely annoying when apparently there was a whole thing where Hermit fans were insisting that Quackity is white during the sexyman polls?? Presumably just to excuse their shitty behaviour??? idek. (And I also heard on the other hand that there were some straight up racist comments made about Quackity as well. He literally cannot win, apparently.)

2:

What is this weird attitude towards new creators?? Yes, it’s cool that Hermitcraft has been around for over a decade and that the Hermits have all these cool histories in the community and even influenced the development of the game itself, but you can celebrate that without needing to put down new people, ffs.

I know it’s annoying when the new guys suddenly get more popular than your guys, but it happens, it’s the circle of YouTube. Please chill out. No need to be a hipster about it.

Besides, even if we don’t count people like Vikkstar who admittedly didn’t play on DSMP all that much, there were still people on the server who had long histories in the MCYT community:

Phil has been making Minecraft videos at least since 2012, when he started his first Hardcore Series, and holds the record for the longest running hardcore world to date. There’s a splash text in Minecraft referencing him (”Ph1lzA had a good run!”)

Techno started his channel in 2013 and was part of the Hypixel player council (or was it called the Elite Team back then? Not sure) since he was like 14 or 15, helping with testing and game design on many of the iconic Hypixel games before the server became the biggest Minecraft server in the world. He too has a splash text in the game (”Technoblade never dies!”)

BadBoyHalo has his own PVP server called MunchyMC which was launched in 2015 and before that he was part of the staff on a different PVP server.

Also while more recent, a whole bunch of DSMP members were also on SMP Live and SMP Earth back in 2019. In fact 2019 was when a lot of the DSMP members originally got their initial boost into popularity.

Honestly the only DSMP members who fit the description of “new white guy who popped up in 2021“ are like... probably Foolish and BoomerNA??

3:

I think you probably meant 2020 anyway, because that’s when Dream, George, Sapnap, Tommy, Tubbo and Ranboo became popular. I assume so anyway because those are usually the white guys people actually seem to be talking about when they talk about DSMP white guys. (Obligatory note that Ranboo is in fact nonbinary though.)

tl;dr:

You can just hype up the Hermits and just not say anything about DSMP. That’s an option. Especially if you clearly don’t know that much about DSMP.

[cringe-y-gumi]

Hi \(◍•ᴗ•◍)/! I wanna make things still quite light-hearted but...

Due to stuffs that happened in the fandom while I was away (busy irl), I'll take the advice of my friend here to say this and put/pinned on my blog.

I'm an FF writer who would be only writing the fictional characters created by the CCs in the MCYT fandom (or from any fandom I would be joining from this point)

So I guess... info about me/my tumblr time?

You can call me "Gumi" (or heck even Cringe— just make sure to capitalize that C)

I am a fan who started writing fanfictions exclusively about DREAMNOBLADE

I use this blog as my safe space for enjoying DNB ship. I made this to let myself FINALLY ENJOY WHAT I LIKE— WITH THE PEOPLE WHO LIKE THE SAME STUFF THAT I DO [also feel free to interact/talk with me about dnb even if it might take time for me to respond (• ▽ •;)]

I AM AN ADULT. Not teen (currently: Very much busy in real life stuffs)

I draw sometimes

And I would say this again:

I enjoy the fictional characters separated from the CCs. I don't want my stuffs be associated directly to the CCs, unless I specifically intended to do or asked.

I would like to keep my peace.