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Entry 89

It’s quite funny how I can’t fully remember the day the Sun came back to the Overworld. It should’ve been such a memorable day, but here I am, scratching my head trying to recall anything.

I remember I used to write it down every week or so just so I don’t forget. I don’t think I was truthful to myself, constantly rewriting it over and over and over again just to seem better in my own eyes…

. . .

It was cold back then, in the underground. There was a long, constant, loud sound of goat horns and I ignored it for a while, I think. Someone was calling everyone to come over and hear the news but everyone was so used to goat horns ringing all the time so a lot of people didn’t budge… I think it was a kid with tears smearing their face, babbling how the light is back. No one truly believed them before some men decided to go up and check for themselves. 

Everyone cheered and sobbed their eyes out. It smelled like shit, too, as hostile mobs burned under the influence of the Sun. I think it hurted me as well. I can’t recall at this point. 

… Was there anything else?

I need to take a break.

Entry 112 (?)

I believe I remember more now.

I stared at the Sun for a very, very long time. I can’t tell if I felt moved by it or not. I haven’t lived enough back then to truly appreciate the importance of it, to understand the anguish people lived in all these centuries. 

Honestly, I doubt anything would change for me if it disappeared again. 

Entry 91

I remember that one guy - can’t recall their name - they kept bringing me food back to the underground. I think I was a little stubborn shit who didn’t want to get out for a while. We already knew each other, living in such tight spaces together for years, but we haven’t interacted much.

They were a nice kid. Constantly telling me how excited they were and how I should come out and help them since there was a bunch of work to do. Clean up snow, get rid of the corpses, build houses… 

Impressive how much has changed in… Stratos, if only I could remember. 25 years? 35 years?  It doesn’t really matter to me anymore.

. . .

Why am I even writing about the Sun? Maybe I miss it. 

I keep telling myself that my life was better back then. Yet sitting in these 4 walls has reminded me how much I hate being enclosed. 

Perhaps it’s them who's talking. 

Still. To feel some sunlight on us would be lovely. 

Not like he’d understand the feeling. 

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Burnt like Icarus

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the apple of his eye

but . . . whos eye ?

we're getting out of the obsidian torture prison cube with this one ! ( WIP )

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Icarus’ gaze is glued to a hand before him. It’s an invitation he should refuse, leave it rot and never acknowledge it again. Maybe in some universe he would consider it, but not right now, when this grinning face is staring at him. If anyone could even call it a face. Orbrot stopped thinking about it a while ago (a lie). 

“I’m not doing this because I want to,” his voice suddenly rings in his own ears. It makes him flinch. Icarus didn’t mean to speak, didn’t mean to say anything. Turn away and leave, he mutters to himself in his mind as his body mocks him, refusing to listen and accepting Grave’s hand.

Well, fuck him, apparently. 

Grave laughs, quietly. Despite his character, he always sounds quiet, muffled. Orb thinks it makes sense, with that stupid pumpkin on his head. He wonders how he sounds without it.

“Why are you doing it, then?” A reasonable question. Grave pulls him closer, free hand on his shoulder. “Is it for me?”

“No.” 

The man doesn’t believe him. Icarus doesn’t believe himself either. This is annoying. Infuriating, ever, how little control he holds over himself when he’s around this stupid, stupid, stupid creature. And Grave can easily read him, too, using it to his advantage, to make fun of him, degrade him, ridicule and taunt-

“You’re a bad liar, little one,” Grave almost murmurs, taking the first step. “You could be honest with me for once.” Words won’t leave this prison anyway. “I would appreciate some kindness.” I am a dying man, after all.

“You don’t deserve any.”

“Oh my, kindness is a privilege all of a sudden?”

The rhythm is familiar. One, two three- one, two, three… Icarus can turn off his brain for a while. Not fully, he can never relax, but for now, he lets Grave lead. Because it’s easier than fighting for control or trying to impose his own rules.  Because he- doesn’t trust him. Because he knows he can easily take over it if he needs to. 

“It’s a miracle you’re still alive.” 

Orb could say the same to him. He lifts his eyebrow, looking at Grave with absolutely no curiosity at all. Icarus isn’t interested in his answer, he never was, his words have no meaning to him, he just hates the overbearing silence in this stupid box. Anything is better than to be alone with his thoughts. Even if this means listening to rambles of this… ugh. He has no insults to throw at him at this point. 

“Easy to anger. Easy to fluster. Just… easy.” Grave continues. “Like Alice and White Rabbit. Gullible.”  

The height difference makes it uncomfortable in some parts. Orbrot sees how much Grave needs to lean forward to make it work even a little bit. Not like he cares. He just doesn’t want this man to step on his feet. 

“‘Gullible’... What makes you think that?” he says. There’s no anger in his voice, for some reason. He wants to be angry, he is angry, he was insulted. Mocked. Again. 

“You never question anything I say…” Grave hums, his grip on Icarus’ hand gets a bit more firmer. He wants to pull away but he doesn’t. “You believe my words just because you think I can’t lie to you.”

“You don’t look like the man who would lie,” Icarus protests, immediately realizing how stupid he sounds. He talks to a crazy person, what he would consider the living example of insanity. He won’t admit that Grave is right, though. Because he isn’t. He never is. Orb clears his throat. “You’re in no position to do so, either.”

“As if I ever cared about that,” he laughs as if he just heard the funniest joke, his body shaking in delight. “You’re either searching for an excuse to trust me or you're just naive. I wonder what’s worse.”

Icarus stops in a beat and Grave is quick to follow. His ears are ringing and it feels like this man just spat in his face. He scoffs, angrily, pulling away, taking a few steps back. Another chuckle, so confident of himself as if he just cracked some code. He didn’t. Grave doesn’t know fucking shit, he doesn’t, and it doesn’t even fucking matters-

“Nothing happened here. If you even dare to open your mouth to speak about this, I’ll make sure that your life here is torture,” Orb hisses, panting. Heavy feeling in his chest drags him down, making his mind fuzzy. This man is the worst, he wants- he needs to put a blade through his chest, make him shut up, eat his words and apologize, plead for forgiveness. 

“It already is, beautiful. But my mouth is shut.”

He believes him. Again. Not a single doubt rings in his mind and Icarus swallows hysterical laughter. This fucking bitch.  

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Icarus’ gaze is glued to a hand before him. It’s an invitation he should refuse, leave it rot and never acknowledge it again. Maybe in some universe he would consider it, but not right now, when this grinning face is staring at him. If anyone could even call it a face. Orbrot stopped thinking about it a while ago (a lie). 

“I’m not doing this because I want to,” his voice suddenly rings in his own ears. It makes him flinch. Icarus didn’t mean to speak, didn’t mean to say anything. Turn away and leave, he mutters to himself in his mind as his body mocks him, refusing to listen and accepting Grave’s hand.

Well, fuck him, apparently. 

Grave laughs, quietly. Despite his character, he always sounds quiet, muffled. Orb thinks it makes sense, with that stupid pumpkin on his head. He wonders how he sounds without it.

“Why are you doing it, then?” A reasonable question. Grave pulls him closer, free hand on his shoulder. “Is it for me?”

“No.” 

The man doesn’t believe him. Icarus doesn’t believe himself either. This is annoying. Infuriating, ever, how little control he holds over himself when he’s around this stupid, stupid, stupid creature. And Grave can easily read him, too, using it to his advantage, to make fun of him, degrade him, ridicule and taunt-

“You’re a bad liar, little one,” Grave almost murmurs, taking the first step. “You could be honest with me for once.” Words won’t leave this prison anyway. “I would appreciate some kindness.” I am a dying man, after all.

“You don’t deserve any.”

“Oh my, kindness is a privilege all of a sudden?”

The rhythm is familiar. One, two three- one, two, three… Icarus can turn off his brain for a while. Not fully, he can never relax, but for now, he lets Grave lead. Because it’s easier than fighting for control or trying to impose his own rules.  Because he- doesn’t trust him. Because he knows he can easily take over it if he needs to. 

“It’s a miracle you’re still alive.” 

Orb could say the same to him. He lifts his eyebrow, looking at Grave with absolutely no curiosity at all. Icarus isn’t interested in his answer, he never was, his words have no meaning to him, he just hates the overbearing silence in this stupid box. Anything is better than to be alone with his thoughts. Even if this means listening to rambles of this… ugh. He has no insults to throw at him at this point. 

“Easy to anger. Easy to fluster. Just… easy.” Grave continues. “Like Alice and White Rabbit. Gullible.”  

The height difference makes it uncomfortable in some parts. Orbrot sees how much Grave needs to lean forward to make it work even a little bit. Not like he cares. He just doesn’t want this man to step on his feet. 

“‘Gullible’... What makes you think that?” he says. There’s no anger in his voice, for some reason. He wants to be angry, he is angry, he was insulted. Mocked. Again. 

“You never question anything I say…” Grave hums, his grip on Icarus’ hand gets a bit more firmer. He wants to pull away but he doesn’t. “You believe my words just because you think I can’t lie to you.”

“You don’t look like the man who would lie,” Icarus protests, immediately realizing how stupid he sounds. He talks to a crazy person, what he would consider the living example of insanity. He won’t admit that Grave is right, though. Because he isn’t. He never is. Orb clears his throat. “You’re in no position to do so, either.”

“As if I ever cared about that,” he laughs as if he just heard the funniest joke, his body shaking in delight. “You’re either searching for an excuse to trust me or you're just naive. I wonder what’s worse.”

Icarus stops in a beat and Grave is quick to follow. His ears are ringing and it feels like this man just spat in his face. He scoffs, angrily, pulling away, taking a few steps back. Another chuckle, so confident of himself as if he just cracked some code. He didn’t. Grave doesn’t know fucking shit, he doesn’t, and it doesn’t even fucking matters-

“Nothing happened here. If you even dare to open your mouth to speak about this, I’ll make sure that your life here is torture,” Orb hisses, panting. Heavy feeling in his chest drags him down, making his mind fuzzy. This man is the worst, he wants- he needs to put a blade through his chest, make him shut up, eat his words and apologize, plead for forgiveness. 

“It already is, beautiful. But my mouth is shut.”

He believes him. Again. Not a single doubt rings in his mind and Icarus swallows hysterical laughter. This fucking bitch.  

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it hurts. it always did. not his nails dig into not his skin and not his bones, if only they were a part of his existence.

the meat burns, aches, itches to the point where blood that shouldn't be there appears. he ignores it, always. the body, while not his, is why he lives, why he’s allowed to breathe and why he still thinks. the pain, despite being overwhelming, overarching, overbearing, is his. 

it’s the only part he owns. it’s the only part he’s allowed to be proud of. he isn’t, but he keeps chanting in the voice that doesn't belong to him, that being alive means being in despair. he’ll wear that despair on his neck like wonderful pieces of jewelry he stole. 

they’re long gone and dead and ghosts don’t exist (except for him. he could probably count as one, not-his body intertwined with those who were tortured) and yet he almost feels them wiggling, like worms. We’re rotten, they say. Our meat is nothing but a feed for maggots and bugs and flies, they say. Replace us, they beg.

and he does, like always, stuffing the insides of what barely can count as his shell. no matter how much he feasts, they will always plead to let them go. he wishes he could, he really does. at least they taste good. or so the parts that can taste say. this mouth is not his. these mouths are not his. 

he remembers the question. if every part of you is replaced, is it even you? was it ever him? he wishes someone would hold the answer to him. the faint chime of weird, sponge-y, cold substance almost feels like they have one. he doesn’t ask, because it would be stupid, and places it inside their mouth with eyes glued to him. “Gross,” he knows they think. and he shrugs, as if it ever mattered. 

it at least makes their voices calm down, leaving only real parts of him to exist. it’s a weird feeling to know that the real him is nothing but a sensation that they experience compressed in one coat. he wonders if the eyes before him know what they are. he’s not sure why he keeps thinking about them. why they, as a collective, find eyes amusing. 

But oh well. The water around them is warm, the air is rotten, the clothes pressed against them feel like torture. And it hurts. Again. 

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it hurts. it always did. not his nails dig into not his skin and not his bones, if only they were a part of his existence.

the meat burns, aches, itches to the point where blood that shouldn't be there appears. he ignores it, always. the body, while not his, is why he lives, why he’s allowed to breathe and why he still thinks. the pain, despite being overwhelming, overarching, overbearing, is his. 

it’s the only part he owns. it’s the only part he’s allowed to be proud of. he isn’t, but he keeps chanting in the voice that doesn't belong to him, that being alive means being in despair. he’ll wear that despair on his neck like wonderful pieces of jewelry he stole. 

they’re long gone and dead and ghosts don’t exist (except for him. he could probably count as one, not-his body intertwined with those who were tortured) and yet he almost feels them wiggling, like worms. We’re rotten, they say. Our meat is nothing but a feed for maggots and bugs and flies, they say. Replace us, they beg.

and he does, like always, stuffing the insides of what barely can count as his shell. no matter how much he feasts, they will always plead to let them go. he wishes he could, he really does. at least they taste good. or so the parts that can taste say. this mouth is not his. these mouths are not his. 

he remembers the question. if every part of you is replaced, is it even you? was it ever him? he wishes someone would hold the answer to him. the faint chime of weird, sponge-y, cold substance almost feels like they have one. he doesn’t ask, because it would be stupid, and places it inside their mouth with eyes glued to him. “Gross,” he knows they think. and he shrugs, as if it ever mattered. 

it at least makes their voices calm down, leaving only real parts of him to exist. it’s a weird feeling to know that the real him is nothing but a sensation that they experience compressed in one coat. he wonders if the eyes before him know what they are. he’s not sure why he keeps thinking about them. why they, as a collective, find eyes amusing. 

But oh well. The water around them is warm, the air is rotten, the clothes pressed against them feel like torture. And it hurts. Again. 

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April 8th ? Must have been a pretty good day for Mr. Icarus !

☆▪︎☆♡

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every evil business man needs to have his unhealthy hate boner for a sculk infested pumpkin , while his wife , cousin of the scientist trying to find the cure for the sculk , is taking custody of his four chicken children .

i created the most asshole character . . for the lore . . .

capitalism ! spawn control ! being very careless with infectious sculk ! i mean who wouldnt have fun being a tyrant on a silly minecraft smp . . .

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this means a lot btw thank you

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i created the most asshole character . . for the lore . . .

capitalism ! spawn control ! being very careless with infectious sculk ! i mean who wouldnt have fun being a tyrant on a silly minecraft smp . . .

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Eyes are the gateway to your soul . . Minecraft 🔥💪

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I haven't been on in 3 weeks what does this mean

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I've got quite a few more in store but ehh I dont have the time to draw em right neow

Stickfigures ? Quite unorthodox ones at that !

short collection of my stickfigure OCs ( old and new . . ) that i've been meaning to redesign ! still writing their lore though :P

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My af/pr phase might be crawling back

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to be fair i did deactivate my tumblr blog for quite a while 😅

quick reminder i'm always more active on my twitter @0rbrot ( and @0rbrot_2 ) , though i usually post more minecraft adjacent content !

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HI ! I'm the person who helped make this video ( kind of hard to realize since neither my username nor my blog name is 0rbrot ) . Even if i promised i wouldn't be back to talk about shiny anymore , i believe this was really important to help with since its genuinely sickening .

Massive props to Stupiroo for making this video , the editing was really good and it was pretty concise about everything !

if you guys have any inquiries after the video , i'd love to answer them with what i know and my side of the situation .

Please stay safe and spread the word about shiny so she may never hurt anyone ever again .

Worse Than We Thought [@shinybeyzer]

Content Warning: Child Grooming/Pedophilia/Abusive Behavior/Gaslighting

This was a post I did not want to make again, but here we go. My heart got over my head again, and this is where it got us.

The original content was never deleted:

Google Doc: Shiny Archive

Original Video: Shiny Bezyer: Roblox's WORST Creator

Here is the new video that goes in more detail:

Shiny Bezyer had been lying to my face for months now, making me think she'd changed. She was better. She was okay. I was wrong.

Given information I now know [most detailed in the video prior,] it is safe to say Shiny has a very unhealthy parasiocial and abusive relationship(s) with multiple minors.

Not for the feint of heart:

I'm desensitized from the aforementioned behavior as I've been preyed upon multiple times in my life by now

Below are text receipts and highlights of stated behavior:

[Also, thank you to 0rbot for some of the screenshots and evidence]