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salted-caramel-tea · 10 months

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honestly i love mcc i love competitive minecraft but the game just isn’t fun for anyone anymore. lots of players have dropped out are talking of dropping out or go on stream saying things like ‘this is the first mcc i’ve actually enjoyed in a while’ . like. thats not the sign that an event is successful . and i don’t really think that’s scott’s or the developers faults but it’s more so the culture around mcc that has changed drastically in the past year or so.

when i first started watching it, mcc was about cc’s learning to work together and competing in a fun event where there was no real stakes except the winners got a fun little token. mccs rise in popularity has snowballed a little to develop this culture of expectancy . as with all fanbases, some fans become a little too engrossed in the content and become a little overbearing about it creating this toxic culture of criticism under the guise of analysis . this isn’t to say that all mcc analysts are toxic or that the concept of vod reviewing and analysing a players performance is bad- but the attitude that a lot of the more vocal fans have been taking towards this has been .mm . not the best .

forcing players into rigid boxes based on their performance records and dogpiling them if they undeperform or over glorifying a players for performing above their average etc, it creates a competitive culture amongst fans trying to prove who suppprts the better player . very much ‘my dad is stronger than your dad’ kind of vibe.

this whole attitude also makes it less enjoyable for the players who may now feel a lot of pressure to conform to the expectations of their fans- of course everyone tries their best every event but if someone’s having a bad performance they’re more likely to experience genuine discomfort and self confidence issues continuing in the event because they know what people are expecting of them . even for lower ranking players it can affect self confidence because nobody expects anything of them .

its marketed deeply throughout the fandom as a for fun event with people who are naturally competitive being shunned for their competitive attitude but logging online and seeing people hating some people winning, hating on other teams for knocking their team out of top 2, refusing to congratulate the winners, even complaining over and over again that some aspects of the event like pvp and parkour are unfair to their streamer because their streamer ain’t good at them to the point where pvp and parkour games had their coin distribution rules changed . that doesn’t scream for fun behaviour .

that’s another thing . random changes to games that don’t necessarily need to be changed . the buildmart changes were good it make it easier to navigate and allowed people to move between sections faster and featured some new builds, the sky battle coin distribution prioritising the amount of time you survive over kills actually undermines the point of the game as a pvp heavy event . instead of fighting people you can get away with playing more defensively . we already have survival games for survivability . same goes for remixes i don’t think they typically go down well . some might but majority don’t tend to have a good reception .

even within the players themselves, there’s because quite a cliquey kind of dynamic where if the team with the most support doesn’t win, the winners are not congratulated. take last night for example . ponk and gumi scored their first wins, ponk being the first black person and as far as i can remember gumi being the second woc and first asian woman to win an mcc . let’s not even get into the diversity of mcc right now but only two people came into the voice call which lasted a while after the event to congratulate the team, only sylvee and scott and a few replies on twitter . ‘oh but the captain’ idc . i love him too but he didn’t win and it was a big day for the team that did with 50% of the team getting their first win and they played really well together. looking again at fan behaviour towards creators some players have felt unwelcome by the pressure of the competitive dynamic called bad sports for being upset with their own underperforming and alienated by the community for having multiple wins or because they just don’t want them in the event . that doesn’t scream for fun . and that in itself is really bad sportsmanship .

i think overall what started to kill mcc was it’s pandering really. i’ve fully done research on how scott puts together teams before but i still believe a lot of what goes into a team is how well it will be received. it doesn’t really force creators to get to know each other and work with each other it just takes groups of people who already know each other have relationships with each other and have relationships that are recognisable to the fanbase . this doesn’t allow people to meet and find new creators they might enjoy to watch and it prioritises some teams as the Ones To Watch because of certain dynamics pres t which undermines any smaller creators trying to make their way into the event . the insistence on changing games based on viewer complaints as opposed to suggestions from players themselves on how things can be improved is just odd to me too .

idk man mcc just isn’t what it used to be and a lot of people are becoming way too entitled over what they want to see there

#mcc

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bullet-prooflove · 20 days

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Memories: Captain Jean Treville x Reader (NSFW)

Tagging: @@princesschyanne @caffeinatedwoman @kmc1989 @lovemissyhoneybee @sekretwindow @rey4kat @roschele @sassyscottishchick @aiko24k @scorpio-1357 @burningpeachpuppy @swanfan17 @@dragon85faby @angelnyx

When Athos goes missing it is you that finds your old friend, he's strung up by his wrists about to be whipped by a baron’s son. It triggers something in you, seeing him like that, at the mercy of nobility who want to get their grubby hands on his land. That was you a long time ago, after your father died, when you were nothing but a girl.

Only there was no one to rescue you, to cut the rope that bound your wrists, to prevent a marriage that was forced at gun point as blood ran down your back. When you fight for Pinon alongside Jean and his Musketeers you fight for yourself, for the girl who couldn’t.

“It brings back memories doesn’t it?” Jean murmurs as he sits down alongside of you by the hearth at the inn. You’re staring into the flames, your attention focused entirely on the logs that crackle and burn.

You’ve been quiet since they’ve arrived, reserved. There’s a tone in your voice, a distance. It’s clear there’s been a dispute between yourself and Athos, you think he has a duty to his people and he wants nothing to do with the damn place. He doesn’t understand that his choice is one that everyone else has to live with, he can’t see beyond his own pain.

“Too many to count.” You say despondently, before your gaze shifts to the innkeeper’s daughter.

“She was lucky you were here.” He says quietly as he leans in close, the back of his hand brushing over yours. It’s a tentative display of affection. Sometimes you don’t like to be touched when you go back to that place, you withdraw from him as if he’s one of the men that hurt you all those years ago. “That you were able to get her out.”

Breaking in the filly is what they called the horror of what they were going to do to her, rape is what you call it.

“I could never resign someone else to that fate.” You tell him, your attention turning back to the fire.

When he takes you to bed that night, you sleep curled up against him like a child, his fingers trailing soothingly through your hair as he whispers sweet nothings. Darkness like this brings dreams, dreams of a man who shamed you, ruined you, who fed you to the wolves so that he could own your estate.

You were nothing to Charles DuMire but a tool to be used, a plaything for men who always held more power than you. You were exchanged for favours, for money, for prestige.

“I was their whore.” You had said, when you’d told him your story.

“No.” He’d whispered fiercely, his eyes glittering with rage as his palms came to rest upon the surface of his desk. “You were abused.”

He doesn’t know how you kept your wits during that time, trauma like that would drive anyone to madness. You were nothing but an object to those men, and men, they speak freely in front of things that they own.

When you learn of their plot to assassinate the King, you decide to act. You gather evidence, letters, a ledger of the money exchanges and the ring that each one of the men wear, a symbol of their allegiance to one another, one that can only be worn in the shadows. You take them to Paris with you during one of husband’s excursions to court.

Your father had often spoke of Jean Treville, the young soldier he had trained to become a Musketeer. He spoke of the battles they fought in, his heroism, his honour.

“He is the Captain now.” He had said on his deathbed. “If there is trouble, he is a man you can trust.”

When you first turn up at the garrison, Jean thinks you are the most beautiful creature he has ever laid eyes on. It’s only when he helps you down from your horse that he sees the darkness in your eyes, the way you clench your jaw at his touch. He’s careful after that, he doesn’t want to cause you any further distress.

When he reviews your evidence there is no doubt in his mind you’ve uncovered a conspiracy, one that’s already in motion. He moves into action, making preparations and you stand beside him, showing him the access points on the map, detailing the plans your husband has made. You have a mind for battle, for tactics and subterfuge. He thinks you would have been a general if you had been born a son.

“You are your father’s daughter.” He had told you once the trap was set, the edges of his mouth twitching up into a smile. “He would have proud of your strength, your ingenuity.”

“He would be ashamed of what I’ve become.” You say as you pull on your cloak, drawing it up around your shoulders.

“No.” Jean had told you. “He’d be ashamed of the circumstances he left you in, that he trusted his neighbour to care for you the same way he did. None of this is your fault.”

You meet his gaze and you can see the sincerity of his words, the anger that fuels them. None of this should have happened to you, you should be living a happy life, married to a man who loves you, who wants to give you children.

“You can’t go back to him.” He asserts as you tie the fastening of your cloak just underneath your chin.

“If I don’t, he’ll know there is something amiss.” You say before gesturing at the plans upon his desk. “And all of this will be for nothing.”

It kills him to send you back into the viper’s nest, to know that you’ll be sleeping next to a man who gives you to his friends as if you were a trinket. When he helps you onto your horse, he lingers for a moment, his palm lightly caressing the animal’s nose.

“It’ll be over soon.” You say with an air of finality as you pick up the reins. “I’ll take great joy in watching him hang.”

And you do. The next time Jean sees you is inside the prison courtyard as you both watch the men who conspired against the crown hang for their crimes. You smile as your husband takes his final breathes, his body quaking and his legs kicking. Anyone else would look away but you keep your eyes fixed on his the entire time.

“There were others?” Jean asks quietly as he escorts you from the prison.

He’s surprised when your hand comes to rest on his arm. You tilt your head towards him and he can see that a burden has been released. His palm covers yours in a show of solidarity as you walk together side by side.

“Yes there are others.” You say, slowing your step as you reach into the pocket hidden within your skirts and withdraw a piece of parchment. “Here are their names, if you are patient I will get you your evidence. I have no doubt that I’ll be fair game now that Charles is dead.”

“I would never ask that of you…” You cut him off by shushing him and he sighs as the two of you come to a standstill.

You are a wilful woman, spirited despite the circumstances. Your husband’s death has given you a taste for vengeance and he knows you will not stop until you see every single one of those men dead.

“You wouldn’t would you?” You say softly, squeezing his fingers. “You would never ask anything of me.”

“No.” He says, his lips pursing together into a fond smile. “No I would not.”

It takes two years but you send every single one of those men to the gallows. Their reputations in tatters, their lands claimed by the crown, you leave them with nothing. During every death you stand at the front your eyes locked on theirs because you want them to know it was you, that you are the harbinger of their demise.

It’s a few nights after the last one is hanged that you enter his chambers. He’s sitting on the bed, having just removed his boots and jacket when you stand before him and begin to undress. Your skirts go first and then the bodice, the rest of it follows until your clad in simple white garment that’s almost translucent. He can see the outline of your dark nipples, that special place between your legs and his mouth goes dry. He wants you, he always has but he’s not like those other men, he won’t rut at you like an animal.

You mistake his resolve for rejection. He knows your story, of the men you’ve been with. It makes sense that a man of honour would want a woman of virtue, not someone ruined.

“I understand.” You say quietly, your cheeks colouring as you reach for your clothing.

“Terese.” He says softly as he pats the space alongside him on the bed. “Please sit with me.”

You take up residence beside him and the scent of orange blossoms floods his senses. He prays to God for strength because having you this close, feeling the heat of your body, seeing it through that thin sliver of material it’s enough to drive a man to madness. His thumb chases along the line of your jaw, tipping your chin up so that your eyes are fixed in his.

“Have you ever given yourself freely?” He asks you, his nose trailing along yours until your lips are barely apart. “Have you ever known love?”

“No.” You whisper. “I have never experienced the pleasure.”

“You will with me,” He murmurs, as his lips brush over yours. “If that is what you wish.”

It's you that kisses him, that strips away his shirt, that unfastens his breeches. It is the first time you’ve had a choice in your partner, in your intimacy and you choose him. He takes his time worshipping you, he maps out the contours of your body with calloused hands and an eager mouth.

“You deserve the world.” He whispers against your thigh as he kisses a heated trail to nirvana. “You deserve love, adoration, ecstasy…”

And he gives it to you.

Jean, he gives you everything.

You’ve never known rapture, not like this. His hands anchor you in the moment, his palms caressing you as you climax against his mouth. He moans into your cunt at the taste of your sweet nectar before he devours you all over again. When his name rolls off your lips a second time, he kisses a teasing path up along your body, his lips brushing over your sensitive skin. You look beautiful underneath him, your skin flushed and eyes bright.

He stays your hand when you reach for him, bringing your fingertips to his lips instead, kissing them.

“Not tonight my love.” He whispers. “Tonight is about your pleasure, not mine.”

He’s the first man you give yourself freely and the last.

In the small principality of Pinon, he lies in bed with you, his spy, his lover and his wife and he knows you won’t just be fighting for Athos’s people, you’re fighting for your own, for the innocents that were slaughtered when your first husband took over your lands, the ones that tried to save you, the ones that couldn’t.

This is the reason that Pinon is so important to you.

This is the place you make your stand and this time he makes it with you.

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vampireapple · 2 years

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Grief

Warning: this story contains violence, murder, and suicide.

. . . . .

Humans have strong pack bonding instincts. They are predictably protective of those they consider theirs. They predictably react with danger or violence when their people are threatened.

What is not predictable is how they react when one of those closest to them dies.

. . . . .

The pirate ship they had been sent to capture was drifting in front of them. Captain suspected a trap.

Three days ago a pirate crew had taken a pair of humans. Their crew had been dispatched to rescue the humans. Five hours go the pirate ship had appeared on their radar, not moving.

Captain ordered the ship captured and boarded. The boarding crew had barely left before they returned, reporting that the ships toxic chemical alarm system was blaring. The crew put on the proper protection and reboarded.

Everyone on the ship was dead, all sixteen pirates and both humans. Some looked they died from the poison in the air. Others clearly died from violence. The saddest was the humans. They were in a locked cell. The male had clearly been brutalized. The female was curled around him. She had seemingly less severe injuries, indicating she most likely died from poison.

Captain ordered the security logs and video feeds seized to be reviewed for investigation. The resulting information was... disturbing.

The humans had been bound on opposite sides of the same cell and left there for nearly a day, presumably as the pirates made their escape. Five pirates finally entered the cell and took turns beating the male to death. It was difficult to watch, made all the worse by the female's reaction. She screamed and begged, thrashing against her bonds, and injuring herself. When the male finally died, she made such a horrible keening wail, as if she herself were dying.

The pirates left the cell for another three hours before two of them entered to remove the female. She was limp until all the rope was removed. She exploded into movement, incapacitating both pirates. She ran, not to an escape pod, but to the engine room. She sabotaged the engine, cutting power to most of the ship. Then she attacked the air filtration system, pumping poison through it. She took several large tools, broke the door so it could not be opened, and went after the crew. She killed four of them before the alarms went off. The pirates went to the engine room, desperate to get inside. She went back to the cell, to be with the male.

The families of the humans expressed grim satisfaction at the death of the pirates. Justice had been served, they said.

Humans were known to be a vengeful race. It was understandable to kill those who murdered the male. But to kill all of them? And not even try to escape or survive? Humans were a scary race.

. . . . .

It was an accident. A freak, one in a billion accident. But that didn't matter. Her sweet baby was still dead. Cheerful Miriam would never again bring her emm a pretty rock or colorful leaf. When Jonathan died of an aneurysm five years ago Rebekah had shattered. She loved her husband dearly, had no idea how to go on. But she had to go on. She had a toddler depending on her. She had to pull herself together. Miriam became Rebekah's world. Now her daughter was dead.

Rebekah did not want to live anymore.

. .

Gerker was saddened by his coworker Rebekah's death. She was a good worker and a good human. Her self-termination was a waste he could not understand. He resolved to ask another human coworker, Sarah, about it at lunch.

Sarah raised an eyebrow as Gerker joined her and two others at the lunch table, but didn't comment. They were not friends, but everyone in the office was friendly.

"If I may, Sarah," Gerker started "I would like to ask you a question about Rebekah."

Sarah closed her eyes, took a deep breath, held it, let it out, and opened her eyes. "Yes, what question did you have?"

"Rebekah's self-termination seems so pointless. She had much of her life left." Gerker missed the way Sarah went very still. "She could have found another mate and had anoth-"

Sarah jerked to her feet, her chair clattering back to fall on the ground. She grabbed her ceramic mug and raised it, ready to strike Gerker. Hot liquid spilled over on the floor, the table, Sarah, but she took no notice. The expression on her face, her body language, filled Gerker with dread. He shrank back in his seat. Suddenly he understood why humans were so feared.

They had the attention of everyone in the room. The three other humans, Noah, Hannah, and David, stood and moved closer, putting Gerker in a rough circle of humans. Their body language was not threatening, not yet, just watchful, and ready. The others at the table wisely moved away.

"Did you say that to Rebekah?" The menace in Sarah's voice had shivers going through Gerker.

"Wh- what?" He squeaked.

"Did you tell Rebekah that she could just start a new family?"

Tension in the room elevated as Noah, Hannah and David went from watchful to angry. David jerked, as if he was restraining himself from attacking Gerker.

"No! No, I swear! She was dead before I could tell her!”

Sarah did not waste time by walking around the table, she flipped it over and came within inches

of Gerker, ceramic mug still elevated in a strike position.

"Do not ever,” Sarah snarled, venom in every word "tell someone they can just start a new family. Never."

The room was silent as Sarah stared down Gerker. Noah held out a hand to her. After two beats she took it, allowing herself to be lead from the room. Hannah and David glared at Gerker before following them.

Most in the room vowed to never speak to a human about death again.

. . . . .

Vanessa heard someone walk up behind her, but she ignored them as she finished with the breaker box. No need for someone to get an electric shock. When she was done she turned around, not really surprised to see the first mate standing there.

"Hutchington's leave has been extended by another week," he informed her. "His grandfather has also passed."

Vanessa rubbed her face and signed. Her partner had left five days ago to attend his grandma's funeral, and was supposed to be back in two days. "Yeah, I was kind of expecting that."

"Oh?"

She signed again. "Rick's grandparents were basically the dream. High school sweethearts, married right after graduation. They were together for 81 years."

"That does not explain his grandfather's passing. Was he also ill?"

"No, he most likely wasn't. He was probably grief stricken."

"So he was ill."

"No." Venessa made a frustrated sound. How to explain this? "He loved his wife so much he couldn't bear to live without her."

The first mate stared at her, uncomprehending.

"It doesn't happen all the time, but it's not unheard of, especially with couples that have been together a long time. They just... go to sleep and never wake up. When that happens, we say they 'died of a broken heart'."

"... and this is expected?"

"No, not expected, exactly. But not shocking. People just... loose the will to live without the one they love most."

Venessa turned away, done with the conversation. Sympathetic sadness tightened her throat as she put her tools away. Poor Rick. Poor Rick's family.

The first mate did not understand, but he declined to pursue the matter. He did not want to upset Venessa further. The entire situation was bizarre. Only a human could expire from an emotion.

. . . . .

Author's Note: My favorite uncle unexpectedly passed in March 2022. A friend lost her battle with cancer in June 2022. Grief had been heavily on my mind when I wrote this July 2022. This was the first time I experienced catharses from writing, so this story, as grim and dark as it is, will always be special to me.

EDIT: Here is a link to a sister story In Memoriam

#humans are space orcs #humans are weird #humans are deathworlders #earth is space australia #aliens #grief #murder #sucicide #violence

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