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alien-girl-21 · 1 year

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I'll crawl home

A little mce modern au drabble i wrote yesterday bc i was inspired :)

–Aquí tienes el dinero —un fajo de billetes reposó en sus manos—. Pon atención a tu celular, te voy a llamar cuando te necesite.

–Está bien —su voz era rasposa, aclaró su garganta antes de volver a hablar—. No voy a estar libre hoy.

–¿Tengo cara de que me importa?

Rodó sus ojos, guardando el fajo en el bolsillo interno de su chaqueta y saliendo de la casa. Observó sus alrededores, ¿Por qué tenía que vivir en medio de la nada? La caminata hasta encontrar alguna estación de bus que lo lleve hasta el apartamento le tomaría una media hora, pero probablemente era muy tarde como para entrar y pedir que lo lleven de vuelta a la ciudad.

Caminó lentamente por la carretera, escuchando sus pasos contra el asfalto y el ocasional zumbar de un auto que corría por la zona. A veces se preguntaba porqué se hacía esto a sí mismo. Claro, la paga valía la pena, pero había un punto donde ese fajo de billetes parecía más una pesa que una ventaja. Siempre era lo mismo: recibía un mensaje con alguna variación de “quiero verte”, un auto aparecía en donde sea que estuviera al instante y terminaba en aquella mansión de pisos de mármol y candelabros colgando en el techo, tenía los mejores orgasmos que había tenido en su vida, pero su cuerpo terminaba lleno de moretones y heridas en el proceso. Muchas veces salía por la puerta principal queriendo romper en llanto.

Era como un círculo vicioso por el cual no veía modo de salir. No importara lo que hiciera, siempre terminaría lastimado, o lastimando a los que quiere. Si exponía lo que estaba pasando entre él y Xocas, tendría a todos los estúpidos secuaces de este detrás de él; si se iba sin decir nada, su cabeza probablemente tendría precio a la segunda llamada no contestada; si se quedaba, probablemente seguiría con esta misma rutina que ya lo estaba carcomiendo. No encontraba escapatoria alguna, solamente el estúpido plan de Mariana y Roier de matar a Xocas, pero eso era una sentencia de muerte esperando a los dos, si él se unía sería como detonar una bomba nuclear. Así que estaba destinado a quedarse ahí por cuanto tiempo el hombre lo necesite.

Mientras sus pies se arrastraban por el asfalto, sus sentidos se agudizaban, sentía que todos lo estaban mirando. Los autos pasando bajaban un poco la velocidad para preguntarse qué hacía ahí, los vecinos de las otras casas echaban un ojo a la ventana, reconociéndolo y rodando sus ojos en irritación. Hasta los pájaros que se posaban en los árboles lo estaban juzgando. A pesar de que esta no era su primera vez haciendo esta caminata de la vergüenza, se sentía como la primera vez, sus mejillas levemente enrojecidas, su mirada pegada en el piso y manos en sus bolsillos, tratando de hacerse lo más pequeño posible; tal vez así nadie se daría cuenta de que estaba ahí. Tan solo tenía que seguir mirando el piso y esperar ver ese pequeño pedazo de acera donde estaba la estación del bus.

Después de lo que parecieron años, logró ver la acerca, finalmente levantando la mirada y observando el pequeño banco con una señal amarilla con un bus completamente vacía. Finalmente dejó de arrastrar sus pies por el piso y comenzó a caminar hacia el banco, sentándose y dejando su cuerpo descansar desde que se había levantado de la cama para ponerse su ropa. No sabía cuanto tiempo tomaría para que un bus pare, pero realmente no importaba, ese pequeño banco de metal era su lugar seguro.

Pasaron diez minutos antes de que un bus parara, el cual lo hizo de una manera apresurada, como si no esperara que alguien estuviera en la pequeña estación en medio de una carreta, y tenía razón para hacerlo, si no fuera por él sentándose ahí de vez en cuando, el banco ya hubiera sido consumido por la vegetación. Al menos el conductor sí paró esta vez. Se subió y agradeció al conductor por parar, tomando asiento en los asientos del fondo y comenzando a mirar hacia la ventana. El fajo de billetes en su bolsillo parecía no estar ahí y el murmullo de las ruedas corriendo por el asfalto ya no era aterrador.

Lo bueno de la casa donde vivía era que la estación del bus quedaba a una cuadra, era la ubicación perfecta para un grupo de personas que no querían comprar autos, o que se los viera usando algún modo de transporte privado. También era perfecto para momentos como estos, donde salía sin pensar dos veces y tenía que regresar solo a la casa. Tocó el timbre para indicar que quería bajar en la siguiente parada, y después de volver a agradecer al conductor, bajó del bus y fue recibido por el olor a monóxido de carbono de la ciudad, extrañamente, era reconfortante a diferencia del aire puro que había en la casa de Xocas. Sus pies comenzaron a caminar hacia la casa, ya no tenía que pensarlo, este pequeño viaje era como estar en piloto automático. No tenía que pensar en la vuelta que tenía que dar en la esquina, ni como no tocaba las rayas en la acera, o como solamente pisaba las piedras pequeñas que lo llevaban a la puerta principal, ni como su mano derecha agarraba sus llaves y abría la puerta sin dificultad. Una ejecución perfecta de sus rituales diarios.

Escuchó el sonido de la tele desde la sala, haciendo que asome su cabeza hacia el cuarto, observando la tele en una película que probablemente nunca había visto un estreno en el cine. Shadoune estaba sentado en el sillón, hipnotizado por lo que estaba viendo. No notó que había llegado, o que estaba comenzando a moverse hacia él. Sí notó como se acurrucaba a su lado en el sillón.

–Quackity —su nombre sonaba como un peluche cuando salía de sus labios—. ¿A dónde fuiste?

No respondió, llevando sus pies hacia su pecho.

–¿Quieres hablar sobre ello? —negó con la cabeza—. ¿Quieres quedarte aquí? —asintió—. ¿Quieres que te abrace? —volvió a asentir, eso siendo suficiente como para que Shadoune ponga su brazo alrededor de sus hombros, dejando que entierre su cuerpo contra su costado.

Volvió a relajarse.

Aunque Shadoune no lo supiera, esto era exactamente lo que necesitaba, y siempre estaría agradecido con él por dejarle ocultar su rostro en su pecho mientras sentía sus dedos crear diseños en su espalda.

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taglist: @itsoverfeeling @hungrycrazy

#edite algo de esto? no #hay errores ortograficos? probablemente #me importa? digamos que no #anyways i'm really self-concious about my writing so this is a big step for me lmao #mce modern au #alien ñ posting #resisting the urge to maintag this

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nerdyenby · 1 year

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The inherent tragedy of multi-season minecraft smps, no, listen to me:

Because no matter how much love and effort and time and care and blood and sweat and tears are put into building up a world — a home — it will never last. It will never be enough. No matter how many good memories, there comes a time it must end. The world is infinite, and yet it’s still not enough. When it’s all said and done, the only thing left to do is start over.

With a clean slate, you explore and reconnect and make new connections and create anew. The past still hold a dead place in your heart, but once it’s gone it’s gone. There’s no returning to a world you abandoned, you just keep going, only able to focus on the now. The past is gone, the future is uncertain, all we have is a tentative and hopeful and mournful now.

The world ended. Whether people gradually blinked out of existence around you, whether reshaping the world to your whim left it unable to sustain itself, whether time whittled away until no one was left standing, whether the moon fell from the sky destroying the world in a blaze of glory. There’s either nothing left standing or no one left to see it. The planet never recovered so you found a new one, built it up and made it your own, knowing it was destined to happen again.

The world ended, yet here we are. There are more worlds, after all, but that doesn’t mean that loss goes unnoticed — that that grief goes unfelt. We’ve all felt the weight of a world we no longer live in, we carry it’s legacy inside us. Most don’t dare speak of it, the toll that weighs on our shoulders to make it worth it, the unspoken burden to do it better this time, to make this new world last longer. To make it stronger and more beautiful. To let the silence of the worlds that used to be echo in this soil and in these walls. The love and the loss and the ache for the past is tangible as we move forward. You have lost so much, seen so much destruction, and yet you build. In spite of everything, you continue to create. Death is inevitable, but as is life. You can’t destroy what has not been. Apocalypse is no punishment, merely a consequence of existence. Destruction is merely a reminder to cherish what you do have. It presses on our souls, pushing us to make something worth missing and to love it even, as you leave it behind.

Inspired by this post by @12u3ie

#resisting the urge to maintag mc #I think it applies to the game itself but I’m mostly looking at it from an mcyt perspective #keeping it vague tho #yeah no I’m doing it #don’t know how much sense this makes #but minecraft is a tragedy on every level imaginable and i will study it under a microscope until my dying breath #nerdy’s minecraft rambles #nerdy’s hc things

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bronzetomatoes · 2 years

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loveposting Tommy doesn't make me feel better actually I already know he's wonderful. I think I need to bite c!Puffy

#look anika's talking!#that would just make me feel better ^◡^#mcyt #tommyinnit #c!puffy crit #resisting the urge to maintag her bc i want to uphold my tagging system but i don't wanna be a dick 😞

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do-not-eat-the-dove · 3 years

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I need to write this, I need to write this because I am so fucking angry. I am so, so fucking angry, and every problematic shipper I want you to read this. Read it, all the way through, because if you don’t then you are ignoring children you might have harmed.

Tw’s for: beastiality mention, sexual abuse mention, paedophilia mention, typical darkfic trigger warnings in essential

When I was nine, I moved into the Aphmau fandom. Earlier than that, I was an avid reader of Harry potter. Earlier than that, I was into stampy cat and iballisticsquid and skydoesminecraft. I have been in fandoms earlier than my body can remember, and I started in on wattpad when I was very, very young. Just writing, only writing. I had a vague understanding of what sex and smut was as a child, because of unmoderated youtube thumbnails. I ran into sexual themes online, because that is what a child does okay? I will admit that I knew about sex as a child if only barely.

As a kid in fandom, you don't know how to moderate things. As a literal fucking elementary schooler who doesn’t know how to differentiate “Their” “They’re” and “There”, you do not know the difference between right and wrong. You do not understand what an 18+ warning is, and you don’t know what the fuck a dead dove is and why anyone would want to eat it in the first place. You do not understand, and i think that this is something that problematic content creators expect of literal fucking children, and i also think that it is extremely irrational and condescending for you to do so.

When I was a bit older, maybe twelve/thirteen, I found ao3. I found twitter, tumblr, bnha and anime. I was excited because it was a community, so I became super involved as fast as I could. I had still not hit puberty yet. I hadn’t even learned the pythagorean theorem yet. I didn’t entirely understand variables and I had no clue that washing your face was basic hygiene. I am bringing this up to display to you that I. WAS. A. CHILD. A kid. Five years ago at this point I still had trouble jump-roping. I was a kid who had average decision-making skills for their age and who found the idea of boys gross, crushes were based on who was fastest in gym class.

I let go of tumblr because I couldn’t grasp what on earth it was supposed to be used for and how it was supposed to be used, I posted shitty depressed memes on reddit because I thought I was edgy. And then I got involved in fandom twitter.

Me, my friends, we recommended each other cute ship threads and discussed Notps and did “toxic fandom stuff” because we were children who still celebrated valentines day with sweet-tarts and holographic paper cards. I still knew jack shit about sex and relationships because as a child sex education is just “this is a penis, this is a vagina, this is how you don’t get pregnant, any questions?”

So when one day, i decide to type “BNHA” into the search bar of twitter, intent on finding cute things to share with my online friends and instead am greeted with a picture of a character raping another character, I don’t know exactly what to do.

Let me repeat that; I looked up JUST the word “BNHA”. Just that. Nothing else.

And I, a child, who has no decision making skills, clicks on the post. Because it makes me feel funny, and children are curious.

As a middle schooler. As a child who had the average physical and mental capacity to resist impulse, aka none, as someone who used Uwu and OwO unironically, who thought spelling “as” with a Z made me quirky and fun, discovered a main-tagged post of a character being nsfwed in a sexual assault.

From here, I explored. What you people don’t get is that is what children do. That is what children DO. And you, in all your wonderful wise ways, decide that it is on ME. On someone who had no understanding of what this was, to be the adult and say “I do not think this is right.” You, the thirty year old woman who maintags, are saying that to me, who was a twelve year old.

I think the most traumatic thing I read during that time was an aged-down character, who went from fifteen to five, being sexually abused and pimped out by his mother and forced to have sexual contact with dogs.

Today, I suffer from intense intrusive thoughts that I do not think I need to be diagnosed for, because constantly wondering if you’re going to be sexually assaulted by every single man you come in contact with, having to shoo away evil disgusting thoughts that have made you involuntarily gag and nearly vomit, having to deal with these awful things in my brain is proof enough. Today, I have such a deep-rooted fear of sex and men and relationships that despite me being entirely Heterosexual, wanting children in the future, having these ideas of a family, I feel incapable.

Today, I saw a fic saying that it was my own fault if I found their problematic fic, and today I raged for every child that is going to be messed up by people who choose to blameshift just because they want to use maintags.

As fandom spaces get younger, and the fan age range grows bigger I have noticed a distinct uptick in who is reading and consuming fan content on social media. I know eleven year olds, ten year olds, I have met a nine year old child who messaged like they were twenty. All of these children read fanfiction of characters that they adore, and click on fics that include those characters because they adore them.

I’m going to share another experience that I’ve had with sex and sexual abuse that was self-inflicted, but normalized by the content that I had consumed. As a child, a thirteen year old, I messaged adult men. I went on omegle text chat, I found forums for sexual roleplay, I talked to probably a dozen adults in sexual manners without them knowing or realizing. Even a few women, and I am completely certain this experience is going to scar me until the day that I fucking pass. It makes me feel empty inside, but you know what? Your fics normalized that for me. I read a tweet from an adult, someone much older than me, who talked about having gone into adult spaces as a child. They did the same thing as me. It is a trend, but while I recognize that I was too young to know what I was seeing, reading, hearing from people who were older than me and therefore authority figures, they blamed themself. And that is the most heartbreaking fucking thing.

When you maintag. When you use a main tag, that a child who does not know how to filter out scrolls down on, and they decide that this will be an okay thing for them to consume because adults know better, will you look them in the eyes and tell them the fear of things they don’t understand and haven’t even been introduced to yet is their fault? Will you tell them that ao3 is an adult site for adults and it’s their fault for being stupid enough to read it? Will you tell them that the images that will play in their minds for years until they’re desensitized and so so scared that they’re now a bad person because of it, will you tell them that it was their fault for clicking on it when they were seven, eight, nine?

Frankly, I do not give a shit about what you write. If it is in rpf and you still push it i will think you are a bad person, but other than that I could never care less. But I do care what you tag, because If you write the word bnha on twitter with an image of a young child's favorite character being sexually brutalised? If you maintag a fic where someone is starved till they are nearly dead, infantilised, sexually abused during all of it, and leave it out in the open on a site you know has children, in a fandom you know is targeted towards kids. If your tags leave a child open for attack, harm, mental scarring? I care, because I will not let another child be blamed for something they themselves did not fully understand the weight of.

#fandom #anti anti #problematic authors #problematic shipping #ao3 #archive of our own #tw #tumblr #fanfic #fandom space #I have never talked about these experiences with anyone but if there is a time to talk about it it is now.

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