#final update

A. Story breakdown

The final arc was supposed to be the way I go out with a bang on this blog. I genuinely was going to end the blog after this story, but things didn't go the way I expected, so I'll briefly explain what was supposed to happen in text.

Do note it's been a while, so I kind of already forgotten lots of plot points:

Rahuel's fight with Annoyance would leave them even more broken apart than before, but they'd learn that violence doesn't solve anything and mulled over Annoyance calling him immature and pitiful. They will try to look at all this from a different perspective.

Depending on the asks, Raha will start to try more self introspection and realize slowly that they're getting what's coming to them. Unsure of what to do, they will try seek Blaze for the first time for advice, which they surprisingly get.

There will be a turning point in which they will start viewing their 'work' as a way to atone, and began to clean up earnestly. Finding diaries and relics left behind by their old kingdom and also various notes by Stephan (Sigma), and realizing how self centered and cruel they have been. Some people still believed in them, and they just overstayed the kindness and then decide to leave the kingdom to ruin by taking a 'vacation'.

After just mere weeks a lot of the rubble was actually cleaned out and habitable. Some piglins would genuinely approach to move in and would help cleanup, although they will be doing it more for themselves than Raha. A lot of mutual understanding were reached, and Raha slowly started to remember his Steven side and seems to slowly gravitate to an in-between, more stable state of both duality. Basically, they're starting to grow up and mature.

Unfortunately by this point they would be too weak and started to break apart. This is where Brian, Chimer, Riki, and Sigma will find him and help him. While Sigma could not repair the body anymore, he and Riki decided the safest method is to allow Raha to respawn as a Steve, and they had been fixing up a route for that to happen on the server backend, but lacked a crucial access that was the lava pools Raha was born from.

Blaze, seeing that Raha had changed and made efforts to better themselves, agreed for them to access the pool in which Raha's codes can be stabilized before respawn.

This and that happens, Raha respawns as a steve (If yall have seen 'Stevan' iin my main blog, he would look like that later) and lost his brine powers.

Some future storyline briefly will touch on Steven gaining some access to Blaze's fire magic and Brian's magic tattoos, allowing him to still use fire abilities, just not as strong as he used to. He will also be available for asks and can even help as NPC to others' stories.

...Yeah that's basically it. Honestly, I just wanted to get that out of my mind since I'd remember this blog once a while and would feel a bit blue, but honestly speaking...

B. Doeki complaining

...The fandom is dead and too much fandom infighting (on my circle's end) really soured the mood on my end. And while I know askblogging is a very minor hobby, I had expectations for the story collabs and fun events I planned/was part of. So when a lot of those expectations were not met and some planned things fall through, I felt like my efforts have gone to waste and the disappointment has never left me.

(No, I won't be naming names nor explain what infighting I meant. I also will be deleting any comments that questioned/mentioned said infighting. I don't need people to echo my disappointment nor discuss it. I just want to air out my frustrations and dip.)

On the other hand, I feel like while the story of this blog makes no fucking sense and is messy as hell for me, I really did enjoy it. I learned how to make better panels, better character body language, and overall a better grasp of shitty comic making from this blog.

I didn't expect Sigma's character development: his whole deal with Ann was a form of whump/friendship I crave in collab stories and it was a wonderful welcome, considering there was a point in time I didn't know what to do with him and considered killing him off because he lost his initial purpose.

I also really liked Steven's weird misadventure. He makes no sense. I feel like when I started, I really have this feeling of wanting to convey something, so a lot of the story he has felt very 'I pulled this out of my ass'-y and inconsistent with... whatever... moral I want to show, I guess. Honestly rereading parts of it, I think I was trying to write some sort of 'coming-of-age' story, but I failed to express what I truly want in the story?? Idk bro I didn't go to writing schools, I'm bad at this.

But deep in my heart, I'm just glad of the time I put here and the messy story that is MCSS. Mostly for me. As unpolished and messy and weird as this blog was, Stevan and Sigma holds a genuine special place in my heart from their earlier forms in 2013 and even now. I might just port Sigma and Stevan to Longinus or wait for another fandom that seems to suit their stay. (I always have certain checklists before porting OCs over. It's weird. For now, these two will be enjoying some nice fun time somewhere and getting a mini break in the deep recesses of my mind.)

So yeah. Been fun. This blog will totally stay up for my own enjoyment of reading back of some of the crazy shit I made for it, so if one day it disappears, it's... it's not supposed to. Jesus christ. Let's hope it won't.

But Imma go now. Here, have a mini non-canon scenario that I made with them.

I want whatever toxic fumes they're having.

Though something in him did change this time around, and you noticed it very well: it was like he was on the verge of slipping and barely holding on. If something went wrong, then you almost felt sorry for those responsible.

The researcher with the frosted hair from before—Satoru—stood at a measured distance, his posture slack but his expression sharp in contrast. He watched his counterpart—Suguru—hold onto you, but otherwise did not make any effort to speak. In some ways, his impassiveness unsettled you, but given that what you understood their job to be, perhaps it was right for these people to be so jaded.

Otherwise, you were faring well, considering. Whatever shock you experienced in the dead centre of it all had worn off by now, even if the outcome was now even less clear than before. At least, no matter what happened, you knew that Choso would pull through for you.

Though you felt something in the air shift. Even if the other man—Suguru—did attempt to keep hold of you, keeping his teeth away from your flesh, his resolve was already slipping to irreversible lengths. Since he was already half-turned, like Choso, he could infect you if he really wanted to. What was stopping Choso, however, you imagined to be something similar to him, or maybe, rather, that strange other man you had encountered in the temple. Suguru felt different from you; his mutation—whatever it was that was in his head—felt different from how it was for either.

As if to prove your suspicions, too, his grip then tightened without warning. His hand clamped around your arm with sudden force, and before he could bring himself to stop, his nails pressed into your skin. The pain was sharp enough to sting, but dull enough to soothe the ache and allow for something else to slip into you.

Your breath caught as you tried to pull away from his hold, to react, to understand what this creeping and cold sensation was, but it seeped into your blood and settled.

As that happened, Suguru’s grip faltered, and the last thing you could make out was Satoru exhaling, as if in disappointment, but perhaps not surprise.

You didn’t care too much about it, trying to fight back against something cold that slipped into your body and refused to leave. Choso had entered your mind during such a shift, and you remembered how he, too, thought of something else as he turned, even when it became overwhelming. You hoped that it would be easy to do the same if it had come down to it, but it didn’t feel that way for you.

You tried to steady your breathing, but each inhale felt like fire scaping against your lungs, with each exhale producing something sharper. Going still, therefore, felt like the easier solution, but that alone was a trap, as it felt something had been decided within you that wasn’t from a will of your own. Something else—something that wasn’t quite you—settled deep into your thoughts, and no matter how hard you tried to push back against the intrusion, it stayed.

Your last thought was of Choso, though, even as you turned, and you could not help but imagine his devastation when he was to come back.

For a moment, the memory of him grounded you, but then—

Everything started to darken.

Even so, you held on, even slightly.

~~~

In the meantime, Choso moved on a one-track path back towards the center of the city, forcing him to move at a pace that would have exhausted anyone living by now, but he was different now. Understanding that part was crucial: he was not exactly human anymore, and therefore, he needed to take advantage of that. If that meant pushing his body past its limit, knowing he could get away with doing so, then he would. His new instinct didn’t even fight him on it; hell, it even urged him forward, as if encouraging him to test what he could do now.

The neighbourhoods shifted as he passed through them otherwise. He remembered how still the house he took you to was—his old childhood home—untouched by the undead, even days into the chaos, understanding that some weren’t as lucky. The more on route the suburbs were connected to the inner city, the more ruin that was left behind. Doors were split apart, windows were shattered, and old blood stained the driveways.

The contrast stayed with him more than the destruction itself.

Then, closer to the outskirts of the city, the damage worsened. Vehicles had been overturned, and the air no longer smelled neutral; smoke lingered, and so did rot. Something still otherwise burned up ahead, but that was no longer his priority, even if he did feel compelled to go and see if anyone needed help. Unluckily for anyone still alive during this mess, you came first.

By the time he got closer to the dead center of it all, it was exactly as he expected: overrun with the dormant undead. They thankfully did not react to him because he was only half-turned, but they twitched when he made too much of a sound when walking. Choso shuddered then, thankful that he had only been turned during the initial chaos, before anything risked swarming him. That would have been a horrendous way to go, and for you to follow.

For now, he didn’t allow himself to dwell on the matter, though. He moved faster until a building that he recognised from Satoru’s description came into view, standing apart from everything else around it. It was made of a tall, dark, and reflective material that left no hint of what to expect inside.

Choso didn’t slow as he approached, not even as the undead formed larger crowds around the buildings that remained untouched. He moved through them without much trouble, pushing some aside, redirecting others as he went. Then, at some point, one of them latched onto his shoulder, their teeth sinking into his skin—not out of hunger, perhaps, but curiosity more likely—and Choso stiffened. Though he found there was no more pain, any blood that surfaced was different, too, producing a thick, dark mass that hardened as soon as it spilled.

When it had settled over his skin, it felt more like a hardened, reinforced shell that wrapped around his body like a shield, rather than something that had once been fluid. When the thing that had reached for the same spot tried to bite him again, its teeth were shattered by the next attempt.

Choso did find it peculiar, though the moment did give him an idea. He dipped briefly to the ground, forcing blood to surface along his knuckles by scraping them hard against the pavement, forming a barrier around his hands. Then, he used the hardened layer to drive his first into the reinforced glass, forcing it to give way. Normally, a strike like that would do nothing, but now it was enough to shatter under impact. In doing so, he managed to trigger an alarm that was immediate and blaring, loud enough that it might have awoken every undead thing left in the city.

He stilled only briefly, but shrugged it off, knowing that he had to be especially fast now. He forced himself inside without looking back, holding onto the instructions for each of the basement and retrieve the case. The elevator wasn’t too difficult to find; just past the lobby and the now-empty reception, and through another layer of reinforced glass, access to it stood waiting.

However, accessing any floor at all, let alone entering the elevator, seemingly required a code. This briefly surprised him because he did not expect the building to still have any power, but even so, not even this made him falter. He pried the doors apart at their seams, punching through the metal floor no matter the complexity of the task ahead. He could have technically removed the panel overhead, but there was no reason for him to go up when he needed to go below.

Catching onto the cable beneath with one hand, he used it to lower himself down; the friction and coarse wiring not tearing apart the skin on his hand like it should have done. Instead, the hardened blood held firm, allowing him to almost smoothly glide down with a controlled descent, steadying him without the risk of tearing flesh or breaking bone.

When he reached the bottom, the entrance into the lab was already clear, and though he registered the absence of pain yet again, it only lingered for a moment before he pressed on. It bothered him, only for a second at a time, that each access point of the lab was lined with reinforced glass doors, but it didn’t stop him. Like before, anything he pushed against could be forced open, even if it wasn’t meant to be. He moved through the interior regardless of his limitations, his gaze fully intent on latching onto the description that Satoru gave him, even if it was vague.

It didn’t take too long before he found it, either.

The case stood out immediately, bright and out of place among the duller equipment. It was an eyesore by design, but somehow, given the outspoken nature of that man, that didn’t surprise him all too much. He closed the distance quickly and reached for it, only for his arms to strain from the moment he lifted it. The weight was far heavier than he had anticipated, but he pushed past his own limitations, readjusting and steadying his grip.

He could drag it, if he needed to, but it would take more effort, so he did not mind surrendering to the instinct just a little more to help through it, even if he knew that he perhaps shouldn’t.

The alarm above had already done its work, though, the sound drawing everything—and what was once everyone—in, filling the path he had taken until movement pressed in from all sides, crowding the space beyond what it should have allowed. Irritation surfaced, but situations like this were not new to him, given what his job was before. He could force his way out regardless of the weight he carried, and while it felt wrong to think it, the undead provided what he needed—

A way to climb back up the elevator shaft, even despite what he carried.

He shifted the case, securing it against himself before starting his way up. The climb was strenuous, of course, and his grip was firm to the point that it felt like it added weight rather than steadied it. This caused him to move slower than before, but he didn’t stop—not even as the undead reacted around him, erratic and grasping as he climbed, their weight crowding him in. Choso remained relentless, forcing his way through what was once people, leaving them to run towards the source of the noise.

Perhaps in doing so, he managed to save others trapped in the city, because as he left the building, more and more of the undead appeared, drawn in by the still blaring alarm.

Eventually, he made it past them completely, which left him with one last thing to do:

Getting back to you.

Assuming you were still you.

~~~

In the meantime, as you gave in to the assimilation of what had entered your body, you found yourself surprised that it didn’t feel like death, but something else. Yes, your vision had already been swallowed up by something endless and dark that refused to lift, but you weren’t completely gone. You could still react to sound and scent.

The instinct settled into you quietly all the while, threading through your body as if it had always belonged there, guiding you towards something that felt like relief. You tried to resist the full assimilation, though, knowing that surrendering to it fully would be wrong.

Even now, you kept thinking of Choso, even if by now, he felt far away—not by distance either, but—in memory, perhaps?

But then your body started to pull you towards something familiar. You noticed it through scent first; as something faint and grounding urged you forward, even if your movements no longer felt like your own. Overall, there was no clear decision behind what you did at all anymore, as if you, as a person, had been pushed to the very back of yourself, left to observe the world in mere fragments. You were aware when your weight shifted or when your arms moved—when your teeth bared—but not much else.

You hated it.

Then, something again caught you—

Another familiar feeling.

Hands?

“Easy,” a voice murmured, low and close, steadier than the chaos unfolding around you. “You’re still in there. I know you are.”

Choso?

Right, he was there, he had to come back, after all—with the cure—or whatever it was that they called it.

He stared at you with clear doubt at first, finding that your turned state made little sense when what was promised was anything but that. He had gone through hell and back to keep you safe, so their failed promise felt more like an insult than it did anything else. Though, whether or not it had been intentional or not didn’t matter, because it wouldn’t change what he was about to do.

He held onto you tightly as you lurched at him—seemingly mindlessly—your body twisting and writhing in his grip as you tried to fight against his grip. Your movements were sharp, erratic, and uncoordinated—hostile in a way that didn’t feel like you—your hands dragged against his arms as you tried to tear into him.

Then, without loosening his hold on you, he stepped back with you in tow, kicking the case toward Satoru, who immediately scowled at him.

“Careful,” Satoru barked out sharply, already staggering towards it. “If you want your share, you’ll treat it properly.”

Choso only shrugged, forcing himself to remain impassive for the time being, his attention otherwise solely fixed on you. He tuned out the pale-haired man as he prattled on about instability—about how everything could easily go wrong—not bothering to mention just how much of a beating the case took in getting here to begin with.

Either way, Satoru set off to work, allowing a makeshift setup to come together quickly: pieces of equipment pulled from stabilised black foam spread across the ground. Suguru stepped forward, allowing his sample to be taken without hesitation, whereas Choso stayed right where he was. You were held firmly against him, restrained by his grip as Satoru approached to take Choso’s sample.

Then, just as Satoru reached to inject the mixed concoction into his companion, Choso lurched forward to intercept him, pulling the syringe free, driving it into you instead.

It was his plan as soon as he was forced to accept you as their hostage, after all.

As the needle sank into your body, the solution—mixed with the blood of the half-turned and something else—took hold immediately. Your entire form jerked violently in his arms, the reaction to the injection harsh and unsteady, as if something else was being forced back into place. Your movements became wild and frantic as you thrashed to an almost violent extent, your breathing rough and uneven, your skin paling, until—

It all stopped.

Your body went still against his own, the tension fading just enough for the difference to be undeniable from the moment you opened your eyes.

Before you could say anything, Choso blurted something out, his voice strong with desperation, heartbreak, and relief all at once.

“Oh—thank goodness,” he started, his words catching. “I thought I lost—”

However, he didn’t get the chance to finish, Satoru lunging at the remains of what was still seeping into your body—pulling the almost emptied syringe still lodged in your arm and plunging it into his own flesh—resulting in something wrong.

Like you, his body started to seize and convulse sharply, but unlike you, it didn’t stop when it was supposed to. Lesions spread across his flesh instead, unevenly, splitting open something beneath that resembled eyes—bright and blue—blinking open one by one across his body.

Still shaking, Satoru barely managed to get a word out.

“You ruined everything,” he finally managed, his voice rasping and strained, “you’ll both—” he paused to cough and sputter, unable to finish his accusation. His gaze snapped briefly back to Choso, his shoulders twitching as he tried to continue. “That was everything you just wasted,” he spat. “Everything. One shot—”

Choso caught him mid-speech. “Just one shot?” he repeated, the betrayal setting in even though it had been obvious from the start. “So, you were never going to offer her anything at all, were you?” he asked him, already knowing the answer.

Then, after a brief pause, he added, quieter, “Were you even going to use it on him?” he asked, gesturing towards Suguru, understanding that he was likely going to administer it on himself from the start.

At that, Satoru didn’t even reply, his gaze snapping towards you with accusation and resentment consuming him.

That much was enough for Choso to react, though. Something in him—that instinct which was becoming more and more difficult to ignore—pushed him forward without any hesitation that time. He lunged towards the other man, attempting to drive a punch straight toward his face, only for those unnatural eyes across his body to track the movement, allowing him to slip away just in time.

“So predictable,” Satoru scoffed, a strained laugh breaking through.

Choso didn’t respond, moving again, guided by the instinct fully that time. He was faster and more direct with each punch he threw, his strikes aimed with intent each time. Even if Satoru could anticipate the attacks, he hadn’t accounted for being gradually forced back and losing space, allowing Choso to step by step, close in, leaving him backing up against a wired fence along the pavement, allowing him to—

Connect his fist at last. A few hits were avoided, sure, but with nowhere left to retreat, Satoru lost whatever advantage the foresight on his body had given him. His confident demeanour faded quickly, replaced with the strain of trying—and failing—to keep the attacks at bay as Choso pressed forward, driven by something not quite human anymore, not even primal, but focused instead.

With each blow, Choso prevented him from being able to recover, wearing him down quickly, until the final strike caved in his skull entirely.

The lesions—the eyes, whatever they had become—stilled and blinked close at last.

Suguru—or rather whatever or whoever now occupied his mind—watched, only moving away once it became clear how little chance remained without Satoru, because not even he surrendered to the instinct fully. Choso didn’t spare a second, though, advancing on him with that same force, ending his life with a caving blow before any chance of escape was possible.

Then, his attention returned to you.

His eyes, still bloodshot, locked onto you, searching—waiting for something familiar to surface—ready to react if it didn’t. He was right on the verge of slipping—right on the edge of surrendering to something he shouldn’t, only for your voice to pull him back to earth.

“You came back for me,” you spoke softly.

The cadence of your tone stopped him, forcing him to stagger a step back as something in him gave way, forcing his balance to falter before he dropped down in front of you, catching himself on his knees. When he looked up, the rawness in his expression stood stark in contrast to everything you had just witnessed.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed out. “I shouldn’t have left you—”

You met his gaze, your chin tilting down to hold his.

“It’s okay,” you assured him. “I don’t think they meant to do it, but something just slipped—”

You stopped yourself with a quiet exhale.

“I’m just happy that I made it back to you, considering,” you admitted, choosing not to linger over what had happened. It felt easier to let go of that much, the usual weight of panic absent, replaced with something that felt much steadier. “I thought I wouldn’t get to see you again.”

Choso watched you closely, taking in your reaction, digesting the way you spoke.

“You’re not… panicking,” he caught.

You blinked at him, surprised by yourself, before letting out a small breath of a laugh. “I guess there’s… It’s like there’s something in my head telling me everything’s fine, so it all just feels… clear, even with all of this happening.”

He nodded quickly, understanding exactly what you meant.

“It’s like that for me too,” he acknowledged.

“So, what of that cure then?” you asked, glancing at the corpses and the scattered aftermath of what was once in the case.

“Something I think I know how to replicate,” Choso considered, understanding that two half-unturned and a mixed solution of what was otherwise tightly packed into the contents was needed to piece something together. “Maybe that can be what we do? Slowly reestablish more people like us—those already turned—and take things back before everything falls completely apart.”

You hummed in consideration. “That would be nice.”

“But first,” he caught, stopping you before he let the thought go entirely. “You’re no longer as afraid of things, are you?”

You shook your head.

“Then… how about I finally show you that spot I’ve been meaning to take you to?” he suggested, thinking about a rooftop that looked over the highest point of the city, which, even despite the destruction ongoing, was something he still wanted to experience with you.

“The one I always refused to go to because I was scared of how high it was?” you replied.

“That’s the one,” he confirmed, then added more vulnerably, sounding closer to the man you remembered him as, “I’ve been wanting to show you… a lot of things. Things we couldn’t see before because of—” he stopped himself, hesitating because he did not wish to upset you.

But you didn’t mind.

“That’s okay,” you assured him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “We can do all of that now, and more.”

He leaned back slightly, just enough to get a proper look at you.

“God, I love you,” he could only bring himself to say. “I love you so much.”

Whatever this world had become, whatever was left of it, he could—and would—face it all with you, and if there was anything left to build, to take back, he would do that too.

Especially, even now, after everything—

He had you.

Which was more than enough.

I find myself trying to tackle this project again and again, and it is something I want to do, but whenever I try to make progress on it I find myself stuck. Like I have a clear idea for what I want to work on, what to change, but when pen meets tablet my hand just stops. I initially thought this was just art block or something like it, but I've come to terms that its not.

I've since made other projects after putting CRPR on the shelf and MCHA, Minecraft Horror Asks, has been doing well over on TikTok and has since taken up the space for my side project. I also plan to be working on a MLP Infection AU as it has gotten some hype as well. Compared to the work I'd put into CRPR, those two projects have gotten actual success way faster.

So what does this mean for CRPR?

Well, I don't know. The last thing I want to do is cancel it and throw everything away, but with how things have been towards the project I think a full redo is what it needs. CRPR is my first project that did get attention, both good and bad, and helped me get that starting experience and even a small audience. I don't want to just throw it away but instead preserve it. I want to remember it as a stepping stone towards what I want to do with my life.

In short...

CRPR, on Tumblr, is cancelled.

I've made my final decision on the series. It won't be a comic, and it won't be an ask blog as I now already have one. Instead, it'll be going to go back to it's roots as a fully written series of short stories. Its only one part of what I had originally planned, but its something I could actually manage alongside everything else. There won't be a set schedule for when things are posted because I'm not going to make this as a main project anymore. The full reboot of it isn't gonna happen for a while though as I'm gonna have to remake... well everthing! Just keep an eye on my main blog and socials if you wanna follow along on. And hey! Maybe you'll like some of my other stuff.

So whats gonna happen? Well, a lot. I'll be moving everything over to TikTok and Instagram, and by everything I mean art and updates will be on there. The actual stories will continue to be posted on the website which will once again be getting a rework as I've found better platforms for them.

What happened?

Heads up, this section is gonna get kinda venty but if you're an aspiring creator like me I think reading about my experience could make for a good cautionary tale.

The original plan I had for it was something big, this was more than a side project it was a full on main project. But as I went on and did more and more work for it I found a voice in the back of my mind. I always wondered why I'd included Buddy when he didn't exactly fit in, and thats because he was a sub-concious reminder of what was important to me. My original creations, my full creativity that wasn't just basing off something already popular.

CRPR was meant to be an outlet for a fixation, it was meant to be a side project, but the moment I saw it get some success and had an outside influence warping my view I forgot what I was doing this for. Originally I was going to work on this, finish it up, and then go to my actual main projects with the hope that any audience I did make through this would check it out, but then my anxiety took hold. It continued to cause me to add more and more to the project because I didn't want it to end. That fear that nobody would want to check out my original series made me expand this into a project that was far too much for one person to handle.

Once CRPR went from silly ask blog to adding stories and then two entire seperate timelines on top of multiple comics and making a whole team that I alone had to manage without any experience, I got overwhelmed. I'd tell myself that when I got home from work I was excited to sit down and spend whole days sketching out pages and concepts and rough drafting and editing and not taking breaks until I burnt out and neglecting myself and worse of all not spending the bit of time I had left with one of the most important people I had reconnected with in my life... until I got hit by the final burn out that still had a hold on me.

CRPR went from a fixation, to a fun side project, to practice, to a full project, to a lesson. And I'm thankful for everyone who helped me see it. Despite where it led me to, I'm happy I got to have fun with it when I did. This projet, although mismanaged, still helped me try out new things. I developed my artstyle further, learned new skills, tried out tweening animation, met cool people who gave me advice and helped me grow, and more. And even if I made so many mistakes with it, I'm glad I did so I could learn. I don't want to just throw away this blog though so it's going to be repurposed.

Hopefully I can get it done soon but I'm going to reuse this blog as a space for my first main project, a comic series heavily inspired by Johnny The Homicidal Maniac and Beneath the Trees Where Nobody Sees, featuring an old favorite character of mine.

Stay tuned, friends. - 🌷