No. No That Is Not What Mothers Do. Are You Okay?

I think C! Scott should eat people and be in love

Here's some text posts.

pix just premiered his minecraft legends gameplay video about when he, grian, false and oli were invited to play it against some of the devs

he revealed that they won their match, and 3/4 of them had no idea how they won because they’d just been running around figuring things out as they went because they hadn’t picked everything up from the tutorial… until they found out that it was because grian had been constantly sneakily sending creepers into the dev team’s base throughout the entire match and slowly destroyed them without anybody noticing

Mcyt as Writing Prompts pt. 7/?

autism regression needs to be talked about more.

you can lose so many skills. lose the ability to mask. lose the ability to control stimming. lose the ability to use motor functions. lose the ability to take care our yourself.

it's so hard.. it's so scary.. we just got able to write again and it's so bad. you can come out of regression, you can gain skills back in some areas or all areas affected but it's so hard and you can always be forced back. it's not fair.

It's being normal(tm) about Scott hours again.

Do you guys ever think about how Scott sees death as a solution? How Scott sees death as peace?

It's the way he finds his way home, the way he makes people like him, the gift he gives his allies, the apology he gives when someone is angry with him.

The players don't have much agency in this game, but if nothing else, Scott always has control over his own body, his life. So..it's become a tool. Something to trade away, something to break apart in a million different ways.

And it's not a big deal (not to him, and certainly not to the ones he does it for)

It'll always come back. Reform the same as ever. Maybe not this season, but he doesn't want to win again anyways (he exists to push his teammates along).

Of course, that's not the whole truth. It's difficult, to dehumanize yourself so much you see your own life as something to give away at a moments notice. Sometimes you see..hesitance, almost, the sparks of whatever part of him knows he doesn't just live to die again.

But death always solves his problems, doesn't it? Scott dies and he gets to see his husband again, Scott dies and he's not alone anymore, Scott dies and he's formed a new alliance, Scott dies so his teammates can win, Scott dies and he's forgiven, Scott dies and at least he was useful.

Scott's (perceived) worth is in his death. This is something the people around him contribute to (often they're just as eager to take as he is to give), but it's even moreso something Scott believes and enforces on himself.

A gift, a sign of love, a way to prove he cares, and a way to assure himself that whoever he's dying for cares too.

Because to bring an animal to slaughter is to prove you value them in some way.

SOOOOO funny when you’re having a strong emotion and your logical brain KNOWS you’re overreacting but you literally can’t do anything about it.

People REALLY liked my Scottho post, which I thought might get maybe 17 notes if even that, so, uh, here’s a dabble based on literally one line towards the end of Etho’s 5th episode of Wild Life.

—————

“Best Decision I’ve Ever Made” -Etho

The rain lashed against the cobblestone roof above Scott’s head. For the sake of privacy and as a defense mechanism against Impulse and Cleo’s snoring, Pearl and Scott had put up cherry wood walls between the four color coordinated beds in the small base. Scott had thought about putting a window by his bed, but he figured it was best to keep his enemies from being able to see into his base in a death game. The blankets were heavy, and Scott was lying on his stomach, completely limp. His cerulean eyes drooped. Grian’s games were fun, but they were also exhausting. If he was being honest, his favorite part came after the games, when he was curling up in his bed with his cat and sleeping for hours and hours after a whole pot of pasta.

There was a knock on the door.

Scott’s shoulders had just settled into the mattress, but he shoved himself up from the bed. His chest was heaving just from pulling himself onto his knees on his bed, and he took a moment to decompress from that effort alone. Nobody else was going to answer the door. Scott is nothing if not selfless. He puts his weight onto his left hand, feeling it sink into the sheets, and swings his legs over the edge of the bed.

The teal haired man stumbled his way to the door of his room and leaned against the frame, running his hands through his bed head. If he was going to answer the door in the middle of the night, he may as well look the best he can manage to represent his team. Scott’s feet dragged themselves to the front of their base, shoulders sagging. Impulse’s snores were faint, but they were audible. Scott pulled his head up to look through the small window in the door. A black eye and a red eye looked back at him. The blue haired man shot upright.

“Etho?” Scott swung the door open towards himself. The poor man’s white hair dripped and sagged over his headband, covering it completely. Etho’s eyes were as sunken in as Scott’s, and they were almost hidden in the dark of the night. Water rushed down his skin, dappled with sun and age. The torches covering the base were like a bonfire outlining Etho’s lean frame. Scott was starting to think he had overdone it with the mob spawn-proofing.

“I know this-” Etho couldn’t finish his sentence, before Scott was dragging him inside by his dripping vest. Scott was too tired to notice how Etho’s eyes dropped to look at his lips, momentarily confused as to the blue boy’s intentions.

“What are you doing out here?” Scott slammed the door shut behind them and practically threw himself into his team’s storage. He fished out the thickest wool blankets they had. Cleo had prepared them for the team during the early days of the game, before they had walls and a roof over their heads to keep out the wind. They didn’t need such heavy blankets now that they were in a safe little abode, but Scott was a hoarder. This was exactly why. He wrapped them securely around Etho’s shoulders, and his hands brushed Etho’s neck. The white haired man was ice cold, but he wasn’t shaking. Scott knew cold like nobody else. Etho should be freezing. His teeth should be chattering, and his nose should be running. Maybe Scott would never understand how Etho had managed to reach such a point in his life that such conditions were normal to him.

“Bdubs stole my bed,” Etho shrugged, hugging the blankets closer to him, digging his fingers into the fabric. “You have- uh. Thank you,” Scott would not have been surprised if Etho was about to admit that he hadn’t seen a blanket in weeks. “I know that I was the one who said that we- uh, that we would keep it, keep this alliance on the downlow, but…”

Scott blew on his hands several times and pressed them against Etho’s masked jaw. It was tense. That must be why his teeth weren’t chattering. Etho stared at Scott. The tension in his shoulders, even under the thick wool, visibly relaxed, and his head dropped into Scott’s palms, which felt like a fireplace on Etho’s face. The stiffened joints in Etho’s neck audibly cracked, and Scott could practically feel the knots in Etho’s shoulders and upper back unraveling.

“You don’t have to apologize for wanting to be warm,” Scott murmured. Thumbs rubbed Etho’s cheekbones, which seemed to jut from his face. The blue haired boy made a mental note to feed this lanky man.

Part of Scott wanted to pull Etho’s head into his neck and cradle his shoulders, letting the man put all his, admittedly very minimal for such a tall survivalist of a man, weight on him. He pulled away instead. Scott pulled a towel out from the chest monster and draped it over Etho’s head. A surprised little “oh!” squeaked out of Etho’s throat, as Scott dug his hands into the towel and mussed Etho’s soaked hair, doing his best to dry it. Trying his best to keep his head still, Etho squeezed his eyes closed, as Scott bunched the towel in his hands on Etho’s scalp. The redstoner’s hair was pretty short. Scott didn’t have to try too hard to get it dry enough.

“Uh, do you have an extra, an extra bed?” Etho shuffled in place and rolled his shoulders. Scott did not have an extra bed, nor did he have the resources to make one. The G’s had yet to move their livestock, so shearing sheep would require a fifteen minute run to and from the island far from the rest of the bases in the rain and darkness.

“Yeah. It’s in that room,” Scott handed Etho a water bottle and nodded to his own room, pulling the blanket off of Etho. “You go ahead. I should set up a hook in here to dry this.”

Reluctantly, Etho pulled his mask down. Scott turned away respectfully, but he could hear Etho drinking. He sounded like he hadn’t had fresh water in a year, before he made his way to the ‘spare’ room. He stood in the doorway for a moment and looked back at Scott. The dry man did his best to ignore it, pretending everything was normal. Scott wrung the water out of the blanket in his hands and draped it over his shoulder, opening the chests to look for the materials for a tripwire hook. Etho’s eyes softened, and he crossed his arms, leaning against the wall.

“This is your room,” Etho stated. Scott huffed and half-heartedly picked through a chest for string.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Scott tried.

“I’m tired, Scott. I’m not clueless. The whole room is blue,” Etho argued. Scott threw the blanket onto the chests.

“We don’t have a fifth bed,” Scott mumbled, defeated, and looked up at the taller man. Etho shrugged nonchalantly. He hadn’t pulled his wet mask up. His lips had a scar running through them. It looked like it might have been from the same attack that scarred over his eye. Scott ignored that he was looking at Etho’s lips.

“So I’ll sleep on the blanket.”

“Absolutely not.” The blue haired boy sped over to Etho and practically tossed him onto the teal sheets. Scott closed the bedroom door behind him. “You’re not a stray fighting for scraps on the street anymore, sir. You’re my teammate, and no less.”

Scott tugged the blankets from under Etho and tossed them onto his frozen form. The warmth from when Scott was still under the sheets not too long ago seeped into Etho’s muscles. The older man had little time to react before Scott climbed in next to him, wrapping his arms around Etho’s neck and tucking Etho’s damp head under his chin. Etho didn’t know what to do with his cold hands. It seemed rude to press them against Scott’s warm shoulder blades. Scott’s neck felt scorching against Etho’s frozen nose. He doesn’t know when he had begun to let his body shiver.

“...If you insist,” Etho whispered. Scott’s hands ran through his damp hair. They felt like a mug of hot chocolate after a day in the snow. He felt like he was melting. “This is, like, the best decision I’ve ever made, I think.”

—————

Thanks for reading my little drabble!!🩵

Grian is a type of hybrid that, unlike normal hybrids who's hybrid half type is predetermined usally due to genetics even if they wernt born with their traits off the bat, his genetic code for what hybrid type he would be is blank so he appears to be a normal human

These types of hybrids, known as adaptive hybirds, instead stay dormant until an unknown time in the future that varies from person to person, upon when that happens their code will start to adapt based on environment, behavior, and possible other hybrid influence.

This process activated and started for Grian early on in season 6, and he was actually on track to become a fox hybrid due to his nature and behavior but when he took fondly to elytra and flying his code changed and avian dna took over fully and basically destoryed the fox dna after a period of time.

It finally locked in and finished at the end of season 6, but it wasnt until later in early season 7 he finally presented in a litteral bloody mess as his body chanaged rapidly and moved around/grew the new hybrid traits.

-✨️🌌

.

"Scott and Jimmy are divorced-" actually Scott was widowed.

Which is very nitpicky, obviously, because. They're both currently alive and also no longer married. So divorced is a pretty fitting term.

But I think it's been so long since Thirdlife that we too easily forget when Scott was widowed.

Coming home to silence, to an empty house that was usually full of banter and laughter. He finds the cake he made Jimmy earlier that day, something he pranked Jimmy with, something they laughed about. It would stay uneaten now. He holds the Pufferish of Peace, a silly little misspelling that was just so Jimmy, one of the last things to remind Scott of him. It's quiet.

The rest of Scott's life was pretty short and miserable. He lost all his lives in pretty quick succession and the whole time after Jimmy died he was "dazed" as Bdubs put it. More violent and reckless than he'd been before (hadn't scott been the one to warn jimmy not to antagonize or get himself in trouble?), more dulled and unfocused than before. And then he died alone.

I think it's important to remember that Scott was widowed, not divorced. Losing Jimmy wasn't a mutual decision, or even something Jimmy asked for. It was sudden and violent and unfair. It broke Scott for the rest of the season. And Scott didn't even get to process it, really, living a short and miserable life and then being thrown into the next season where he was told nothing from before matters.

But it does matter. It festers and hurts and smothers. Not always, and it seems to get less as the seasons go on (or maybe scott just gets better at hiding how much love and grief buries him every time he sees someone he once called a partner), but when there are moments where Scott brings up their marriage, whether he's trying to get Jimmy's attention or being petty toward Jimmy, I feel like we don't analyze it enough through the lens of Scott as a widow.

Admitting my star sign was a mistake.