#death with respawn mechanics

[ice-cap-k]

Computer Virus

Cross-posted to AO3 here: Computer Virus

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The Decked Out 2 section of the museum was turning out nicely. Cub now had a large assortment of artifakes to fill the shelves he had running through the tower he had *ahem* acquired before Tango had ever opened the dungeon doors. And now that the hermits were completing run after run, there was a steady stream of artifakes coming out of the game. It was only a matter of time before Cub had them all. He could be patient. He could be vigilant. 

Although, more shards would be nice. 

He had just made up another handful of item frames. Each one was laid out on the counter in preparation for displaying another exhibit. Out came the shulker box. With one hand, he reached inside and pulled out a Hypnotic Bandana. “And here we are. The first artifake to be put on display.” He reached to place the bandana on an item frame, but the moment he let go, the entire world stuttered.

 Cub froze. He blinked as solid surfaces vanished. He hung suspended in an open space. He couldn’t see anything, but he could see everything. There was no ground. No walls. No blocks in general. In the distance, he could see other mobs like him stuck in their own suspended existence. Horses and chickens were barely specks from this far away. A zombie shambled below him where a cave must have snaked underground. 

The world was reloading the chunks around him.

The hermit braced himself as the world jolted once more. In the blink of an eye he was back in the museum garden. Everything was back to normal. “That was interesting.” 

He shrugged it off. It wasn’t the weirdest thing. Multiplayer servers often experience hiccups. But when he turned back to the item frame, he let out a groan. “Oh nooo.”

The Hypnotic Bandana wasn’t there. 

Had he dropped it? He didn’t see it on the floor. The item frame looked empty. Maybe his inventory? He rummaged through his pockets but didn’t find the scrap of cloth. How about the shulker box? The world could have lagged when it reloaded. So he pulled back out the shulker box and placed it on the floor. One quick look through the contents showed him that no, there was no bandana there either. 

Cub was at a loss at this point. He even double-checked the item frame to make sure the bandanna hadn’t somehow gone invisible. It hadn’t. It was just gone. “Well that’s just unfortunate,” he huffed to himself. “Unfortunate circumstances indeed.”

Oh well. The bandanna wasn’t too difficult to get ahold of. He could always get another one. Tango might even be willing to give him a spare if he told the Dungeon Master that it had glitched out of existence.  

Instead, he pulled out a Horn of the Goat. “I guess that makes this the second first exhibit in the Decked Out 2 tower. Come on baby, let’s go.”  He placed the artifake carefully in the item frame and smiled when it stayed in place. Perfect.

But when he turned around for another, the world vanished once more.

“Woooaah woah woah!” With a sickening heave, Cub felt himself plummet. He couldn’t tell he was falling since there wasn’t a ground or set of surroundings to see and gauge his movement. But he could feel the rush of his body through the negative y coordinates. He might have even fallen past bedrock level. Had he clipped through the world?

As suddenly as it had vanished, his surroundings began to rematerialize in chunks. With a blip, deepslate appeared all around and inside of him. There was an instance of agony as the stone filled his lungs and suffocated him before his velocity caught up with him and every bone shattered. 

Cubfan135 fell from a high place

Cub woke back up in his bed. “Oh man.” There went a perfectly good set of tools and armor. Thank goodness he had put down his shulker box before that happened. He wasn’t sure how he’d handle losing ALL of the artifakes instead of just one. 

Immediately the communicator on Cub’s hand started going off. The little screen flashed with white words streaming across at rapid speed. There were other death messages alongside his. 

XBCrafted fell off a ladder

GoodTimeWithScar fell from a high place

ImpulseSV fell from a high place

Grian fell from a high place

BdoubleO100 suffocated in a wall

The sight made him wince. That was a lot of death. The other hermits were frantically messaging each other about it. Understandably so. There were a lot of questions about lag. 

Cub typed in a quick message to Xisuma. “Does the server need to restart, X?” The message hung undisturbed on the screen for all of ten seconds before the rest of the hermits washed it away in a tide of text.

Tango: Is X even online? I haven’t seen him in forever…

GeminiTay: It shows he’s on the server.

XBCrafted: Could you let us know when it’s fixed, suma?

More and more hermits were responding. Cub checked the listings, and sure enough Xisuma’s communicator signaled that he was there. But the admin wasn’t answering the stream of questions flying through the chat log. 

Now that Cub thought about it, he hadn’t seen the man in a while either. He hadn't thought much about it. It was easy to assume X had been taking a break. They all got a little burnt out sometimes. Xisuma also had a tendency to throw himself into some pretty big projects, even by hermit standards. But here he was online. 

Xisuma was probably caught up in another big project. It could even be one big enough to have caused that hiccup. X was no stranger to making farms that crashed the server, after all. 

But Cub figured he should check on the admin. It wouldn’t hurt to visit an old friend. He wasn’t going to keep going with building when the world was so unstable anyway. So he went to his enderchest and pulled out a spare pair of elytra. The blue filigree wings were a little tattered from his Vex days, but they would do. He slipped on the pair and strapped himself in, only to launch himself off the nearest ledge. 

The wind tousled his hair as the elytra caught the air. For a brief moment of self-indulgence, he let gravity do its job. It felt good to soar through the skies at a gentle glide that carried him down the river through spawn. The best place to look for X would probably be at his mountain. If he was working on some sort of project, it would be there. But Cub wouldn’t make it that far on a simple glide. He smiled as he pulled out a handful of rockets. There were more than enough to get him to the farm district and back. He held his breath for a heartbeat and lit a fuse. The rocket went off with a pop, hauling him forward in a rush of speed that made him laugh with excitement. Even when the motion sent his stomach somersaulting at the sudden change in direction.

He was halfway to his destination when a familiar stutter crossed the world. The ground didn’t disappear this time, though. It was more like a feeling deep in Cub’s bones. That internal sense of “wrongness” that came over him whenever the world glitched.

He looked about him as he flew, but didn’t know what could have brought on the feeling. Nothing appeared to be wrong. Chunks were still loading in as he flew. The ground was intact below him, the clouds were in the sky, and there were even a few mobs below. 

With a shrug, he lit another rocket and let it carry him up along the sheer cliffs of X’s mountain. Cold breezes hit his cheeks as the snowy stone fell away under him-

He was back at the bottom of the mountain. He was back at the bottom of the mountain? Oh no he was back at the bottom of the mountain and it was coming up fast! In a panic, he shot off another rocket, which only launched him face-first into the cliffside with a sickening CRUNCH.

Cubfan135 experienced kinetic energy

Cub was back in his bed. “Darn it.” He sighed, realizing the lag had gotten him again. The communicator was going off with more messages from the other hermits, but he ignored it this time. There was only so much time before his stuff disappeared. So he grabbed himself ANOTHER set of wings and ANOTHER bundle of rockets and set off again. 

One quick pit stop to pick up his lost goods later, and he was back on track to seeing X. This time, he would give all structures a wider birth. The skull in the side of the mountain was a different matter. Rather than risk another long trek, Cub placed a bed just inside the skull’s teeth at the entrance to Xisuma’s mega-base. At least that way he wouldn’t have to come from his own base if the world decided to struggle again. 

“X,” he called, dropping down the chasm under the skull. “You in there X?” There was no reply, but that didn’t mean much. It was a pretty big base after all. There were a lot of places to go and hidden redstone rooms tucked out of sight. Cub started to wander through the halls, calling out to his friend. 

He hadn’t gotten far when he heard a muffled, “Would that be Cubfan I hear,” coming from behind a wall.

Cub smirked. “It would. Does that mean that’s an Xisuma I hear?”

“It is indeed. Come in. Come in. I’m just fixing some redstone.”

Cub took that as permission to break a hole through the wall. The pickaxe came out in a heartbeat, which he promptly used to knock a space into the deepslate tall enough for him to fit through. “Don’t mind if I do.”

Unsurprisingly, the space behind was filled with your typical redstone layouts. Lines of redstone connected smooth stone torch towers. The floor was dotted with raised platforms housing repeaters and comparators.

Xisuma was leaning heavily against one of those platforms. Lines lit up as he moved the torch of a repeater to adjust the delay. At the sound of the wall breaking, he turned to greet Cub. “Hey, man? What brings you down here?”

The sound of Xisuma’s voice made Cub pause. It sounded nasally. Almost like he was having difficulty breathing. “The world’s been acting up,” he eventually says. “People were worried that the server might need a restart. You didn’t seem to be responding. I wanted to check-in. See if there was anything we could do to help?”

X dropped the torch he was fiddling with and crossed his arms. “Ah, my apologies. I must not have seen.” He pulled out his communicator to check on the messages. 

As he moved, Cub noticed that X seemed a little sluggish. There was still the heaviness to his breathing, but just the act of pulling out the little electronic looked labored. “Oh my goodness. I didn’t think the technical issues would cause this sort of problem.”

“So you knew about it?”

“Well, yes, but-” X looked like he wanted to say more, but cut himself off with a bought of coughing. He hunched forward, grabbing the edge of a redstone tower for support. It sounded awful. Even Cub could hear the rattle in Xisuma’s chest as he practically coughed up a lung.

Before the coughing could settle, though, the world fazed out again. Blocks, walls, and floors vanished in an instant. Cub tried reaching out to grab onto some invisible object to keep from falling again, but luckily that didn’t happen this time around. The blocks were just invisible, not gone. Still, it was a relief when X managed to clear his lungs and reality flickered back into place around the two of them.

“You’re sick,” Cub said, deadpan.

“Ah. Yes, I suppose I am…”

He hadn’t even known admins could get sick. “Is that why the world is so messed up right now?”

“Well, there is a substantial link between an admin and their server…” His friend scratched sheepishly at the back of his neck. He was looking away, but now that Cub knew what to look for he could see the latent exhaustion in the little of X’s face that could be made out through his mask. The purple glass didn’t do much to hide the dark circles under the admin’s eyes. 

“Alright. Then that settles that. We’re going to get you nice and healthy again. Let’s go.”

“What? But there’s still so much left to do! I still have to finish this game-” 

Cub cut him off. “Evil X can take care of that if you need it done. You, sir, are going to get some bed rest.” X made an indignant snort but didn’t complain any further as Cub grabbed him by the wrist. He let himself be pulled from the back room out the makeshift doorway Cub had dug into the wall. “Now help me out here and point me in the direction of your bed,” Cub huffed, which got a chuckle out of the other man.

It took a bit of time, but X managed to talk him through finding his bed. “You, stay right there,” Cub said, pulling out a crafting bench and placing it on the floor nearby. “If you need anything, I’ll be right here for you. I can take care of you. The sooner you feel better, the better. Doctor Cub is on the case.”

Xisuma sniffed. “Now don’t you think you’re being a little over the top? It’s just a head cold. It will pass in no time.”

“‘Just a head cold’ got a bunch of people killed,” Cub pointed out, motioning toward X’s communicator.

“Point taken. But really, I don’t think there’s any need for you to blow it out of proportion. I betcha a nice warm meal and a good rest will be all it takes for me to feel right as rain.”

“Ah. Good idea. Let’s make you something to eat.” Nothing helped the metabolism like a nice warm bowl of soup. He even knew where to get some mushrooms. In no time at all he had a nice broth boiling over a crafting bench. 

“That does smell delicious,” Xisuma admitted.

Cub turned from the crafting bench with the wooden bowl cupped in both palms. “Here we are. A delicious bowl of mushroom stew.” Steam curled from the freshly made meal. Hopefully, that would hit the spot.  

“Thanks, Cub,” Xixuma said with a sniff. His eyes were soft and brimming with gratitude behind the mask as he reached for the bowl. “That looks delicious. I-” X cut himself off. Cub could see the man’s eyes narrow behind the purple glass. His whole body tensed up. Even his grip on the bowl. “I… I… I-” he threw his arms over his face. “ACHOOO!”

The force of the sneeze made the walls shake. The suddenness of it nearly made Cub jump out of his skin. “Geez, man. You scared me.” He rushed to the nearest chest in search of tissue paper. He flung open the cover of the chest, only to have it slam shut on him when he went to reach inside. “Huh.” That was a new one. So he tried to open again, but the lid clipped through his fingers and the chest was closed once more. It took two more tries before he finally managed to get inside. He grabbed the box from the bottom of the chest and tucked it under his arm before rushing back to X’s bed. “Here. Best if we kept these out for now… huh?”

Xisuma hadn’t moved since Cub had left him. And not in the sense that he hadn’t left the bed. Xisuma literally hadn’t moved a muscle. He was frozen in place, one arm still flung haphazardly in front of his face and shoulders hunched under the force of the sneeze. “X?” Xisuma still didn’t move. He didn’t even appear to be breathing.

Cub wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do in this situation. Tentatively, he approached his friend and reached out. When he touched X’s shoulder, everything in sight hitched. 

With a dizzying lurch, Cub found himself back on the other side of his bed. The box of tissues was no longer tucked away under his arm. Crash! Something wet splattered across the front of his coat. Viscous brown liquid dripped down his chest and sleeves. It took him a second to realize it was mushroom stew.

The wooden bowl that X had been holding a second ago now rolled across the floor. Xisuma was once more reanimated, pulling his arm away after the sneeze as time began to flow once more. Cub’s communicator instantly buzzed as the rest of the hermits’ realities caught up with them. 

GoodTimeWithScar fell from a high place

Keralis fell off scaffolding

Grian experienced kinetic energy

GeminiTay tried to swim in lava

Tango was poked to death by a sweet berry bush

Docm77 blew up

Stressmonster101 fell from a high place

The shear amount of death made Cub whistle. That was some awful lag. If the world did that every time the admin sneezed, they would be in for a long day.

“Uh, oh come on now,” X’s voice brought Cub’s attention back to the situation at hand. “Eugh. That's so gross.” X had his hands pressed against the side of the mask. His fingers reached around the edges, looking for the seams so he could take it off. The sneeze had left something awful splattered across the viewing window of Xixuma’s mask. It completely obscured the man’s eyes. The sight nearly made Cub gag.

“Just to be clear,” Cub said, making sure to look at anything other than Xisuma’s face. “When I said I would help you out, ‘mask cleaning’ was not included in the offer.”

[solaneceae]

my battery is low, and it's getting dark.

a codebreakers fanfic about étoiles losing his sight. read on Ao3

It starts off with light blurriness — the kind you get when you forget to remove your contacts before bed, dryness and irritation welcoming you back to the waking world. Étoiles doesn’t wear contacts, although he does don a pair of sturdy, cheap rectangular glasses on occasion, whenever reports have to be read or written in thin leather-bound books for the Résistance’s upper echelon. 

(Upper echelon he’s never caught a whiff off, by the way. Étoiles understands the need for secrecy, for compartmentalization — but damn, it does get lonely here in headquarters, with nothing but his own voice and long-dried ink speaking of codes going rogue and islander alignments to entertain himself with.)

He blinks, once, twice, rubbing at his eyeballs through the skin of his lids. No amelioration. He shrugs it off, readjusts the straps of his slime armor. It’s a shit one, not even the good enchants on it. But he’s been restless lately, antsy. Not quite worried, but something else, something in the negative shape of a beloved, beret-wearing egg. Ants under his greenish skin, a fire only the cold bite of enemy blades and a close brush with Lady Death can fix.

He likes Kristin. She’s funny, with her large brimmed hat and gentle smile and gentler words still. Philza’s a lucky man.

“You are sad,” she would say, in the space-between-spaces he would drift to when downed, just before the ‘doom-doom’ of revival. The crimson bud of her smile would twist into a scowl, as she watched him give her a two-fingered salute. “Is that why I see you so often, starling?”

“I’m not sad,” he would answer without fail — the ache inside his chest wasn’t sadness. Étoiles didn’t do sad. He killed, he destroyed, his body grown in a weapon meant to hurt and maim and be hurt in return. Meant to be wielded by someone worthy. (He thinks of pitch-black feathers and a wheezy laugh, the tingle of wither-decay dancing on his skin, the smell of bone. Claws digging into his bony hips, a litany of trills speaking of ownership-claim, great shadows trapping him in so effectively. His knee guards stained by fresh soil where potatoes are endlessly grown in honor of a great warrior he once crossed blades with. Worship, devotion.)

“I’m not sad,” he mumbles, jumping down the well and into the darkness of the dungeon below. Hopefully it wouldn’t be a shit one, and he could scratch that itch in the back of his mind that demanded blood be spilled, be it his or otherwise. “Maybe I die for real today, let’s goooo.”

He never does. He’s too good at dungeoning, too good at placing blocks and throwing splash potions at his feet, golden apples now a rare last resort because he knows what happens when he eats too many. Aaaah, what a pity, he thinks, as he loses himself in the clash of metal on metal and the grunt of mobs falling at his feet. What a pity, I feel nothing. Bad day for me, bad day.

***

The blurriness stays. Days go by, sluggish and quiet, too quiet on this shit island, and no amount of sleep or healing potions make it any better. His arm stings with static-burn where the black and green binary tar has spread, higher, creeping up his neck. But it does nothing to hinder his movements, doesn’t dull the sharpness of his mind. So he ignores it. “Maybe you should get that checked out or something,” Foolish pokes at it once, as they sit and talk atop the Titan’s head using the blue and green plush chairs the TazerCraft have sneaked in. Pac e Mike, wow wow, sings a little voice in Étoiles’ mind whenever he sees splashes of blue and green, because those two live rent-free in everyone’s builds and brains.

“It’s okay,” he smiles at the shark-totem, easy and casual and Étoiles. “It doesn’t hurt.” It doesn’t. “It’s not changing me.” He is changing, that softness that Pomme had made bloom inside him eroding away with every day she’s gone. It’s harder to stay still, harder to stop and talk to the others, because half of them are depressed and the other half are going insane. But none of that is the code’s doing. “Look, I’ll prove it! 1v1 stick?” he jumps to his feet, throwing a wooden stick at his friend with a fiendish grin. “1v1, right now, let’s go.”

Foolish chuckles, even though his smile doesn’t reach his emerald-carved eyes. (His features are hazy, fuzziness getting worse every time Étoiles wakes. Doesn’t matter.) 

They fight, Étoiles takes it home with six hearts to spare. And he still feels empty.

***

Lilacs. Sunflowers. Cornflowers. Poppies.

Flower biomes were Pomme’s favorites. They’re hard to find, but Étoiles is one patient, stubborn cucumber. “T’aurais adoré ça, légende,” he hums, picking another poppy by the stem and stuffing it into his inventory, the frozen subspace keeping it suspended in time and fresh. He can almost hear the pitter-patter of her little cheeto legs in the grass, the rustle of the blades against her shell. The bomp of a red sign being placed, asking for more red, more blue, more of every color to make her siblings flower crowns and dye her trusty scythe like a rainbow.

He can barely make out their shape anymore, only differentiating roses from poppies by tracing their petals with gold-scarred fingers. He sees a blue blur somewhere at his right, oh, cornflower probably. Her secret code.

He lets out a deep, guttural groan and lets his body fall backwards, hitting the plush grass with a thump. A few butterflies flutter out of the way, one of them settling back on the bridge of the warrior’s nose. He glares at it, faded golden stars comically crossed. He only sees the yellow of its wings, stark against sky blue. “Hey, hey. Tu vas rien trouver ici, tu sais. J’ai pas fleuri depuis des plombes.”

The critter’s wings flap once, unbothered. Étoiles blows on it to make it go away, fails. (He’s a failure, at everything. Fails to keep his kid safe, fails to win a 1v1 against an insect.) Soon enough, there is enough butterflies on him to pin him to the ground under the would-be guilt of disturbing them. Étoiles whines, childish and unserious. “Vas-y, j’peux plus bouger. Pas juste. Même la nature me déteste, c’est bon.”

He’s missed this. The warmth of a sunbeam, the scent of fertile soil, the brush of grass blades, the call of the earth below pulling at him. Part of him wants to sink into it, curl up in Her embrace like a child would in their mother’s womb, forget about the world and the Federation and the Codes and all this shit. Maybe he could fall asleep right here. Let his body soak up the sun, let himself bloom again. Let that softness grow out of his skin for all to see, like he used to. Or, he thinks he used to. The memories of Before are static-fuzz between his ears, unreachable unless he looks at them at the corner of his eye, so to speak.

(The freezing cold, then heat as air exploded around him, an impact. Physicality, sudden and unexpected, the song of the stars loud in his ears as he opened his eyes for the first time in front of a bewildered human in a frayed straw hat. He was happy, wasn’t it? He thinks he used to be happy. What happened?)

But Étoiles is a warrior, a weapon, and weapons dull and rust and grow weak if left to rest. So he takes a deep breath, pushes himself up. “Désolé,” he hums to the butterflies as they scatter away. They are but bright, colorful blobs in his dulling eyes. “Désolé,” he says as he warps back home to forge yet another axe. 

His inventory is full of flowers that he’ll forget about, wrapping him in a constant mix of herbal scents that has Cellbit recoiling next time they cross paths. Étoiles doesn’t notice it, the Brazilian’s bothered expression lost on his rapidly-decaying vision.

***

By the time the Code challenges him to what Étoiles knows will be their last duel for the foreseeable future, his sight is all but gone, everyone and their dog has taken notice, and he has brushed off their concern. “I don’t need to see to click good,” he boasts, slamming down deepslate to launch himself fast and run circles around a disgruntled Pac. “See, see! I’m strafing, I’m doing it, playing the game.” Pac makes a strange sound, one he struggles to guess the emotion behind without body language. “It’s okay, Pac. It’s easy. There’s no problem, at all.”

Phil isn’t here yet, can’t see any names on his comlink but Tubbo told him he wasn’t. Shame, shame he won’t be there to see him die, Étoiles thinks as the rain soaks through his shirt, the boom of lightning bothering him more than he lets show. His ears are ringing as he jumps, ducks, tugs at the string of his bow and sends an arrow flying where he knows the Code is, he can feel it, the only spot that doesn’t smell like anything but void. But there’s no feedback, no satisfying sound of health being chipped at, nothing.

This Code is too strong, his sword winging an off-tune melody as it goes through the binary without ripping or tearing. No damage. Ah, he thinks, so they have finally stopped playing. I see now.

The back of his chestplate shatters into a blast of broken enchant magic and diamond shards, some of them lodging themselves into his flesh. Something cold sinks between his ribs, brushing against his spine in a white-hot flash of pain that irradiates through his whole body, and oh, yeah, it’s over. It’s joever, as Tubbo would say. “GGs,” he gasps through a mouthful of dark green blood. He coughs it up, lets it splash down his neck and paint his shirt. Tubbo’s screaming somewhere, too far away for Étoiles to discern the words. “You- eugh, you slash-kill’ed me, good job you cheater. Easy win.”

The entity growls, a hum-buzz that makes his brain (or whatever he has for brains, maybe lettuce?) rattle inside his skull. The blade slides out, cutting away at him further on its way out, and his body falls into a puddle of rainwater and mud with a wet thud. It hurts, blackered arm buzzing, pain creeping up his neck and the right side of his face, extinguishing the last of his remaining sight. 

He faintly realises that almost nobody knows about his respaw mechanic. Ah, et merde. He hopes they’ll have the presence of mind to ask Antoine, when they realise he wouldn’t just re-pop into existence seconds after his death… or when they noticed his body starting to wilt and decay, if they stuck around for long enough.

(Tallulah knows, he remembers. He told her. But had she told Philza, before she disappeared along with all the other eggs?)

Through his fading senses, his comm buzzes with what he knows is his first death message in a really long time. He can make out the sound of rapid footsteps, clickety hooves and heavy, leather work boots. Tubbo and Pierre. He closes his eyes, not that he needs to anymore for darkness to cradle him. He lets go.

He doesn’t see Kristin this time, only hears a faint sigh and a gentle breath sending him off into the void. He hopes they find his seed soon. He doesn’t wanna stay missing for too long, after all.

***

His personal death-void is not so bad of a place. Boring, obviously, but there’s a familiarity to it, to the way the darkness shrouds him like a heavy blanket, pushing against him from all sides. Not oppressive but comforting. Cradling, instead of crushing.

It reminds him of the dirt patch he was born in — he had been asleep and new, just ripe for the picking, dirt-stained hands pulling at his stem with the roughness of a long-repeated gesture. He had screamed, he thinks, not in pain, but to show the world he was here and alive, hello, hello sun, hello dirt, hello person! Had given poor old Théo a heart attack too.

Ah. He could remember, now. Théo, his leathered face and kind eyes with crow feet, wary at first before this walking, talking little legume with the night sky in his eyes, flower-covered vine-tail like some sort of umbilical cord trailing behind him as he follows the old farmer around, asking him endless questions in barely-legible French. But… yes, he’d been kind to him, Étoiles thinks. The first face his face saw. Makes sense it would be one of the first things that came back to him. Maybe remembering was easier in the void? Maybe he should die more often.

…Nah. Dying wasn’t his style. And having to regrow a whole new body over a week was annoying. He had things to do in the island! Like talking with people (eurgh), and giving them things (yes) and fighting with Philza (yes! yes! yes!) and have fun!

So he waits, oblivion pulling at him like gravity. The void is a quiet place, sometimes, but more often it’s not, with the song of supernovas and wailing stars far away keeping him aware, listening. He hums along to it with no mouth or vocal chords (not yet, still growing, still so small, unripe), and sometimes he swears he can hear another voice singing with him. Off-key, awful really, almost crow-like, but it sounds like someone he cares about, so he’s happy to listen to its drone.

Other times, he sleeps. And he dreams of tiny hands and quiet chirps and clicks, of the yesyes uncle Phil taught her, of the chrr-chrr-peep that means him, when she calls Étoiles’ name in her own little language. And he curls around the memory, softness, and lets it carry him up into the stars glittering behind still-forming eyelids.

***

“Étoiles.”

He hums — warmth, the slow beating heart of the earth. The choir of stars constantly burning far, far away. He could listen to it forever, because he had been listening to it since the birth of the first star, he knew.

“Mate. You with me? C’mon, s’been a week already. Come up here, you can do it.”

The voice scratches pleasantly at the back of his brain. But the earth is so warm, so comfy, a cocoon of peace and respite he’s not sure he wants to leave. He sighs with no lungs to breathe, no need for them, when all he could ever need is right there — perfect temp, perfect moisture, glucose, carbon dioxide, rich nutrients all around. Who needs gapples, really. Or thoughts. Or responsibilities. This is the best.

“...Mh. Alright then.”

The voice grates on his ears, ears that try to flick but are stopped by the soil packed around them. He groans in drowsy irritation, curls in on himself in an attempt to shield himself from it and from the world. It seems to work, the noises fading into nothing, and Étoiles feels his thoughts scatter as a faint scratching sound seeps through the earth and into his mind like white noise. Sleep pulls at him again, and he lets it.

He’s startled back into wakefulness by something pulling harshly, somewhere that feels a bit away but is still part of him. His eyes fly open in pained surprise because ow, ow, that’s my— “Come here, you lazy fuck!” That voice — high-pitched, that heavy accent he’s come to love, amusement and exasperation combined, Phil, his Phil, his GOAT, his brother in arms, his Death-touched angel.

Étoiles blinks, unseeing. Étoiles remembers. And with awareness comes something else, something that shimmers and calls his name in gentle whisper-echoes, as he feels himself being pulled up, and up, dirt parting to let him ascend back to the surface. Aah. Goodbye mama. Hello problems. “Get harvested, idiot!” Philza Minecraft grunts with effort somewhere above him, and the tug gets stronger, prompting a pained ow out of him as the ground crackles and breaks above him, and he feels air-sun-outside on his back as he’s forcefully pulled from the ground like the fresh crop he is. He flails a little bit, kicking off dirt and soil (it’s everywhere, in his hair and between his toes and a little in his mouth and nose, bleh!), then rolls onto his back with a groan, frowning up at the sky he knows is there, blue and clear, because it doesn’t smell like rain and the surface soil is dry and warm.

He’s back. And he sees nothing at all. Welp, better close his eyes again then. He feels a shadow fall on him, feels a sandaled foot nudge his side. “Helloooooo. Hello Phil,” he greets the other leaning hard on the deadpan because he knows it makes his friend laugh when he does that. It lands. “What, that’s it?” the elytrian caws, kneeling beside him and poking at his face, talons dulled to a gentle roundness. Étoiles wishes he didn’t trim them, but Phil is too nice, too careful, too eager to smooth himself down for others, for the eggs. Docile.

Étoiles despises it, but he keeps quiet because he knows Phil doesn’t like to talk about those things. “You get yourself killed by a fucking Code of all things,” Phil keeps going, “make everyone freak the fuck out because you won’t respawn like a normal fucking person, and that’s all you have to say for yourself?”

“Antoine knows. And I’m here now, so it’s okay.”

“Antoine barely logs on, you absolute dumbass. You’re lucky Lullah told me about the seed thing, because you would’ve been fucked six ways to Sunday.”

He opens his eyes, if only to shoot Phil a halfhearted glare. And then immediately forgets about it, blinks owlishly. Sits up to get closer to the other man. “Phil. Why are you stars?”

“What.”

He sees stars. (And not in the sex way, because he doesn't do that.) It’s not night, but there are stars in his vision, where pitch blackness used to be, and the constellation is Phil-shaped.

Philza is a cosmic cluster, a nebula shining bright in the darkness that has become his world. He can see nothing beyond him, not the plants surrounding him, not the long vine attached to his lower back Phil used to pull him out. He can tell it’s there, though, lightly thumping at the ground in agitation. “You, are stars. That’s how I see you now.”

“Wait. Can you, like, see again?” Phil asks, uncharacteristically soft. “I know it was getting… bad. And your eyes are like, all greyed out. Did the code stuff on your arm do that?” Étoiles sees a cluster of stars approaching his face — hand — and feels fingers brushing just under his right eye. He’s a bit startled by the contact, the area usually covered by his trust bandana (he needs it back, needs his stuff back, hopefully someone held onto it for him). Phil draws away, an apology ready from the way his constellation-body shifts, but Étoiles doesn’t let him. “I can’t,” he answers, tilting his head, ear flicking in focus — the stars that make up Phil sharpen, and he can almost make out the shape of the wings bound behind his back. “But I can See. I think.” He also wouldn’t mind Phil’s hand on his face again. It feels nice. Scratches at something long-buried, and denied.

Philza makes a confused sound. “Okay, I heard that capital S there. What’s that mean? Are you pulling a Daredevil?”

Étoiles grins, sharp-toothed and playful. “Oh, oh! He thinks I’m a superhero? He thinks I’m cool, Felipe Minecraft? Big win for me.” Phil rolls his eyes, which Étoiles can tell because the crow always makes that low warble when he does. “But no, it’s not like that. I still need my eyes to see like this, and I don’t hear or smell better than before.” Although his status as a hybrid means his baseline is still higher than the average person’s, but that’s irrelevant. “FF.”

“So no cool blindfold for you, ey?”

“No cool blindfold. I will just do a Pomme and drown myself later, to make up for how uncool I am.” (He cannot drown. No lungs. But he can pretend.)

He squints. There’s a little cluster, right there at the side of Phil’s head. He can connect the dots, identify the shape of the elytrian’s bucket hat, but there’s something else there too. “What’s that on your head, Phil? I can’t make it out well.”

“Oh— here,” the other takes his hand and guides it towards his hair, and Étoiles feels a familiar texture under his pads. He makes a noise of surprise. “That’s. Mine.”

“Do you want it back?” Phil hums, brushing at the large cucumber flower tucked in the band of his hat. “It bloomed this morning, on top of the plant you were growing under. Took it as a sign you were, uh, done cooking.” Étoiles snorts. Good guess. “But uh, I guess the plant was also you, cuz it’s at the end of your tail now. Dragging.” Ah. Yeah. He really ought to cut it. “Is it weird? That I’m wearing a piece of you? I don’t know what… fuckin’... cucumber etiquette is.”

“It’s not weird,” Étoiles says, because he doesn’t think it is. “You can keep it.” He kind of likes it. That Phil’s wearing a piece of him. It makes him, happy? “You know, that I am your weapon. Yes? So it makes sense, that you show it.”

“You’re my friend. Don’t call yourself a weapon, man.”

“Same thing for me.”

Phil’s response is wordless, a simple, noncommittal mmh. But Étoiles can hear the hidden fondness in it. He pushes a little further, crudely imitates that  one bird sound Philza makes when he’s happy. Whoops internally when Phil puffs out his feathers and trills out a yesyes in return. Héhé. “Yes yes, Philza? Fight me, right now?” he slips into his usual stance, just a bit offset by the lack of armor weighing him down. “1v1, no weapons, no armor? Fistfight, let’s go.”

Phil cackles, crow-like. “I am not fighting you right now, you little shit. You menace. What’s wrong with you?”

“Aww, Phil hates me,” the warrior whines. “He hates me. He won’t 1v1 me, he must hate me. Sad.”

“Oh my god, stop being a baby.”

“I was literally born five minutes ago. I am baby, and Felipe Minecraft hates me,” he sasses back, and Phil throws his arms towards the sky in exasperation. “Oh come on. I spent a week protecting your green ass! Making sure you got enough sun and water and shit, it was like doing egg tasks all over again. Antoine even talked me into fucking singing, pretty sure he was pranking me with that one by the way, and still you think I hate you?”

“Nice caulk, Phil.”

He can’t see it, but Étoiles knows Phil’s eyelid is twitching. “Mate. I got a faceful of ass pulling you out of here, you’re on thin fucking ice.”

The cucumber snorts. “Héhé, got mooned by the stars.” That was kinda funny. “You were pulling me by the tail, I do not know what you expected. You’re lucky I’m a plant, or there would have been full cock and balls there.”

“Bruh. I thought it would be connected to your… plant belly button, or whatever, like an umbilical cord.”

“It’s an ass button, GGs.”

“Jesus Christ, please don’t call it that. I didn’t even know you had a tail. You didn’t before.”

“That’s because I always cut it,” the warrior huffs, said tail lashing behind him from the restless energy that always accompanies a new body. Its leaves drag around the loose dirt in little swish-y sounds. “Give me a sword, Phil, it’s already annoying me.”

The crow peers down at the vine, then back at him. “I dunno, man. You look kinda fun with it.” Étoiles squints. He can’t quite make out Phil’s expression like this, all stars and nothing between them, but he can hear the hidden laughter in his voice. “...I will cut it with my teeth then.”

“Won’t that hurt more than with a blade?”

“It doesn’t hurt. Only the base. Like when you pulled on it.”

“Why not keep it? It’s a part of you.”

Because it speaks for me, he considers replying. Because it says and shows things that I don’t want people to see. Even now, it wags, because Phil is here and now brushing stray dirt out of his hair and it’s very nice. (Is he touch-starved? He might be. Pomme is gone, and he doesn’t trust people to touch him, other than with blunt force and sharp diamond blades.) But Étoiles hasn’t kept his tail since he was a child, still wide-eyed and showing his innermost self to the whole world without any shield. He feels weird. Exposed. And it’s okay with Phil, because Phil is Phil, but it’s not okay because they’re out in the open and anyone could come and see. He doesn’t like that. “Because people can grab it, and it gets stuck in things, and it’s annoying. I cut it, now.” He tugs at the appendage, bringing it up to his mouth. “Nope,” Phil snatches it away, and Étoiles hisses at him. “Calm down, dude. At least let’s do it cleanly.”

“Eeeeuugh. Okay.”

”Then we’re getting your stuff back from Antoine’s, good god. You’re still butt-naked and I won’t have you strut around like that.”

“He has my things? Comms, armor, my backpacks?”

“All of it, yeah,” the older man huffs, and Étoiles can hear the telltale sound of an item being summoned of an inventory. Enchanted axe, he parses, recognizing the ozone-y smell of the sharpness enchant and the sound of the air being sliced downward. He doesn’t feel anything when the vine is severed, frowns when he realises Phil left a good… fifty centimeters of it, still attached to his body. “Phil. You misclick? You aim like shit today?”

“You said it hurts near the base,” the elytrian huffs, finality lacing his every word. “Keep it or cut the rest later, your pick, but I’m not hurting you.”

Étoiles’ ear flicks in confusion, and so does his tail. It moves faster, easier now without the rest of the plant weighing it down. “...We fight each other all the time, that hurts more. I don’t care.”

Phil stays silent for a few seconds. Nebula-Phil shifts before him. “It’s. Different.”

Étoiles hums. Philza has the Tone™ again, the one that means he’s thinking of things that hurt. He thinks of clipped feathers, of matted down that he wishes he could run his fingers through and fix, fix, let me fix it, let me do this for you. But he says nothing. Maybe another time, when they’re both ready for that conversation. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Maybe I keep it this time. Maybe.”

He can hear Phil’s smile in the next word he speaks. “Attaboy.” And he tries to ignore the way his tail wags with renewed enthusiasm at that.

[kaytrawrites]

QSMP - Tapestries colored by Death

Summary in which a ritual is performed to call forth a Death Being to protect the life weavings of those who have grown close

Notes CW // multiple character deaths (non permanent), multiple ritualistic suicides (non permanent), violence (make sure you rb with the cw tags, at least)

i've been slowly working on this one for a while. this is my non-canon what-if ending of the islanders vs the horrors. enjoy. (I love the crow poem, if you couldn't tell lmao)

---

The waystone in the tree swooshed as a demon stumbled into existence. He clutched a shredded shirt to his side, inhaling through his teeth at the stabbing pain from moving. Across the floor, three figures were deeply asleep, one wrapped around the other two, a scarred, still beautiful wing covering the two completely.

Bad inhaled slowly. “Sorry old friend…” He breathed, and stepped forward, carefully lifting the dark wing of the blond man, folding it back away from the two still eggs. He pulled the quilts higher around the two eggs, pausing for the briefest moments at their warmth.

He shook his head, taking a crumpled sheet and wrapping it around the deeply asleep man. The tall demon lifted the winged blonde, one arm under his knees, the other supporting his torso.

“Sorry little ones. Your papa will come back soon. I will make sure of it.” He whispered, then turned back to the waystone.

He warped away, arriving in a ruined hellscape. “I have him!” Bad called out, beginning to sprint toward a golden glow not far away.

“Bad!” The familiar voice of Foolish called out. The massive shark-totem hurried to escort Bad and his precious cargo to the structure that was almost complete.

Bad carefully set the blonde man down on the central slab of gray stone. 

“I still don’t get why it has to be him.” Tubbo grumbled.

“He is touched by Death in a way that no other islander is, Tubbo.” Bad said. “Everyone ready?” he looked up at the torn group in various stages of injury, who nodded.

Cellbit, Baghera, Tina, Pierre, Maximus, Fit, Foolish, Etoiles, Charlie, Pac, Mike and Tubbo were all gathered around. Bad nodded. “Ok. Cellbit. Can you start us off? I will be last. Tubbo will need to- put down that sword. Phil will be most likely to follow where you point.”

Tubbo huffed, but nodded at Bad’s words.

Cellbit took a breath and straightened. He flipped the machete in his hands around and as a tear slid down his cheek, declared: “ONE for sorrow.” He plunged the blade into his gut. He collapsed on the floor, his life essence spinning out of his body, a small portion breaking off and absorbing into Philza’s sleeping body. The remainder coalesced above the bed nearby, forming into Cellbit once more. He hurried to gather his things from his dead body as Etoiles began to speak.

“TWO for mirth.” He chuckled, bringing up his code touched blade to his throat, slashing it with one quick movement. He crumpled like Cellbit, the same life essence show happening to Etoiles. He too respawned, hurrying to collect his gear and turn to face the lurking nightmares that were clawing to stop the ritual.

“THREE for a wedding.” Fit declared, squeezing Pac’s hand. He held out a titanium band to the dark haired brazilian, who gladly let Fit slip it onto his ring finger. Pac repeated the action, placing an almost identical ring on Fit’s finger. Fit nodded, and Pac blinked away tears, refusing to let any fall, as he took a step back, his Dreadbow appearing in his hand. He pulled back, a shadowy arrow appearing on the string. After a moment the arrow flashed red and Pac released the arrow, point blank at Fit’s head.

A bit of Fit’s life essence flowed to Philza, and he too respawned.

“FOUR for a birth.” Maximus declared. He took a step back away from the group, and his skin shred itself from the inside. Green ones and zeros danced across his flesh, cutting and eating his body, which spat out his life essence. A small bit of it surged toward Philza, the rest returning to Maximus’ reborn body.

“FIVE for silver.” Pierre declared, sloughing off his jacket, exposing his silver, robotic arms. He turned, the firelight catching his metal cheek. He flicked open a hatch on his chest, revealing the only fleshy part of him, his still beating heart. He extended a finger, and stabbed the fleshy organ, his eyes going dark. A bit of life essence joined the globe that was growing above the sleeping avian before Pierre jolted back to life.

“SIX for gold.” Foolish declared, squeezing the totem in his hand, before dropping it to the ground, unholstering his federation issued gun up, pointing it under his chin, squeezing the trigger.

He crumpled, his life essence roiling out of his dead body, a truly monstrous amount. The small amount that joined the growing lump above the comatose form on the altar barely a drop in the ocean of his life. He hurried to collect his things after respawn, joining Cellbit and Etoiles in guarding the ritual against the monsters.

“SEVEN a secret ne’er to be told.” Tina said, reaching up and untying the ribbon around the little cat ear points of her hairstyle, revealing a pair of sawed off stumps of demon horns.

Tina lifted a scythe that all gathered recognized as belonging to Bagi, and with a single movement, beheaded herself. She joined the others after respawn, her slender horns restored, nails lengthened into claws ready to tear the encroaching enemy apart.

“EIGHT for a wish.” Charlie declared, looking down at his code touched arms, thinking back to the little girl he wished so deeply to see again. He let his body dissolve into slime, then finally into nothingness. Upon respawn, the code infection was gone.

“NINE for a kiss.” Pac said, grasping Fit’s hand, leaning forward, deeply kissing the taller Floridian man. Fit enjoyed the moment, then revved his chainsaw and plunged it into Pac’s gut, ripping it to the side. Pac crumpled, and respawned.

“TEN a bird you must not miss~!” Baghera sang, spinning in place. She revved her chainsaw, spinning it in her grasp recklessly. Resulting in her chainsawing off her own head. She scooped up the still growling weapon upon her respawn, turning and brandishing it at the ever closing in monsters.

“ELEVEN for hope.” Mike said, looking down at the little bouquet of sunflowers. He flicked open a little vial, downing the glowing green contents. He collapsed like a puppet with cut strings, respawning after a moment.

Etoiles turned back toward the altar, opening his mouth to speak again.

“TWELVE for health.” Tubbo declared before Etoiles could speak. Etoiles and Bad froze, not daring to speak for fear that it would ruin the ritual.

Tubbo lifted his wrench, and began bashing in his skull. The others could only watch on silently as Tubbo quickly collapsed, his life essence hovering above his body. It was tiny, and became even smaller as a portion joined the almost complete orb above Philza.

Fit scooped up Foolish’s dropped totem, pressing it against Tubbo’s chest. The totem shattered, dragging Tubbo’s small life essence back down into his body. Tubbo gasped as he returned to life.

“THIRTEEN beware of the devil himself.” Bad said, as everyone else backed away. He lifted his hand to his chest, feeling heart thump thump. It felt like his heart was being both stabbed and shattered into multiple pieces. For the first time, he was dying from a broken heart.

His vision went dark as he heard the DOOM of the ritual completing.

The firelight that warded off the encroaching monsters winked out, plunging the clearing into darkness. One by one, the beings gathered lit torches and lanterns to illuminate the space once more.

Fit carefully helped Tubbo stand, everyone else backing away from the altar, allowing the two to face the now standing figure that had been laid on the slab.

Where before the Being’s bird features had been limited to dark wings and slightly clawed fingers, now He was truly an Angelic fusion of Man and Bird.

The only human skin visible was his hands and around his mouth; every inch of his body not covered by his clothing was covered with tiny, dark feathers. His single pair of wings, once quite large, had multiplied thrice, each of the six now spanning double what they once did. His hand flexed and a 

Witnessing The Angel of Death walking upon the earth once more, those who had performed the ritual were thankful that the time for their Tapestries of Life to be bound off had not yet come. But they prepared to follow the being they had called to cut off the Tapestries of those who desired to stop the weaving of their own.

For they were a family, and were prepared to witness the beautiful weaving of this day…

[keirawantstocry]

Morning crew cutting each other up, and touching each other's organs, not only hearts, but livers, lungs, bones, etcetera

oh beloved tia <3

TW FOR GRAPHIC GORE AND DEATH

Who was who anymore? Who's to say? 

Tubbo's guts were falling out of his stomach. Pac's blood was mixing with his. Fit's blood as well. There was an organ laying on the floor. Someone's liver perhaps. Tubbo was too out of his mind to wonder. 

Fit was gasping, licking up blood. Then he choked and was silent. 

“He's dead,” Pac said mildly with a smile. 

Tubbo groaned. 

Everything hurt and everything was wonderful. Fit came into view and he pushed his own corpse away with a kick. The knife in his hand was drug down their stomachs. Pac coughed up his own blood and finally Tubbo watched the life leave his eyes. 

“You next,” Fit said with a wild smile before he plunged the knife straight through his ribs and into his heart. He died with Fit in his vision and Pac's blood on his lips. 

[convexicalcrow]

Okay but

Indiana Johns like Scar finding the Pyramid of the Pharaoh Cub.

Perhaps the Pyramid is also cursed with the spirit of Vexes?

When I read this, my brain was like, maybe this is the backstory that Scar tells ppl about the newest, and deadliest, attraction at Scarland, and this is what came out of that thought process. Also this is my first attempt at writing Grian so idk how well I have captured his voice and character, but I think it turned out okay.

-

"Oh, you wouldn't believe how far I walked through the desert! You'd think a pyramid would be easy to spot, but it wasn't! Man, it took forever, and I was almost out of water when I found it at last. It was just a gold block, shining in the sunlight, but I knew it. I knew what it was. That was the pyramid of the lost Pharaoh! It had to be! So I started digging, not knowing what I was going to find when-"

Scar paused, distracted by some more Hermits joining the line. He beamed and gestured them over.

"Hello, hello! Welcome to the Pharaoh's Lost Pyramid! The scariest attraction in aaaaaall of Scarland! It's a faithful recreation of the pyramid that I found many years ago in a desert many blocks away. Come, I will tell you what I found in there," Scar said.

"You found Cub, that's what you found," Grian said.

"Nonono! Not Cub! The lost Pharaoh! Doomed to rest in his pyramid, cursed by what he'd done to the land and his people, buried with so much treasure I could not carry it all away with me... But do not disturb his tomb, or you will die!" Scar said, gesturing wildly as he brought the group up to the entrance. "Do you still dare to enter the Pharaoh's lair?"

"Yeah, of course. It's just Cub. What is there to be scared of?" Grian said.

Scar opened the gates and stepped aside. "Oh, you'll find out, Grian. Beware, if the cursed Pharoah touches you, all hope is lost."

Grian shrugged as he went inside. "I'm sure I'll be fine."

Scar closed the gates behind him and locked them. Grian turned back.

"Hey! You're not locking me in here, are you?" Grian said.

"What, you said it wasn't scary! I'm sure you'll be fine, Grian," Scar said dismissively.

"You'll pay if it isn't, Scar, just warning you now," Grian said.

"Hey, you chose to go in, any deaths are not the fault of Scarland and it's owners. Goodbye, Grian, and good luck!" Scar said cheerfully.

Grian huffed, but continued inside. Scar turned back to the rest of the gathered Hermits. "Now, where were we? Oh, yes! I'd found the golden tip of the pyramid just peeking out from the sand! Night was closing in, I didn't have much time to make camp..."

-

Inside the pyramid, the Pharaoh lay in his sarcophagus, sleeping. At least, he had been sleeping until his senses told him he had intruders. His hands glowed and he summoned some Vexes.

"Go, my friends, tell me who walks the halls of the pyramid. They will become ghosts soon enough," the Pharaoh murmured.

The Vexes hissed, chattered their assent, and disappeared. The Pharaoh closed his eyes and waited, already tasting blood on his lips.

-

The hallways were tight and winding, full of dust, sand, and cobwebs. Grian could hear strange sounds as well, sounds he couldn't identify. He had the distinct feeling that he was being watched. Something that felt like cold fingers touched the back of his neck, and he startled, turning to see nothing behind him.

"What- who's there? Scar? What's going on?" Grian said, looking around him.

A sudden gust of wind blew the torches and candles out, plunging him into darkness.

"Oh, no, I don't like this. I don't like this!" Grian said as he reached for the wall and started moving, hoping he might find the way out.

-

"...It took an hour to break into the pyramid once I'd dug out enough sand. The limestone was harder and thicker than I thought, but once I managed to break in, I found myself in a one-block-wide passageway, filled with cobwebs and dust and a pile of rubble I'd just let in! I lit a torch and stepped inside, hoping the map I had of the passageways was accurate. The treasure was in here, I just knew it! I had to find it!" Scar said to his captive audience.

This wasn't how he intended to work the pyramid, but Jevin had got him on a roll and there was no stopping him now. They would hear the whole story whether they wanted to or not!

-

The one with the empty eyes walks the halls, master, the Vexes reported.

The Pharaoh smiled, knowing who they meant. "Well, well, well. Now, that's interesting. Chase him deeper. I'll awaken soon enough."

-

Grian had walked for another ten minutes, now inexplicably lost. He'd been shot with an arrow after tripping over a wire, and now he could hear zombies groaning behind the walls. He wished he had some torches on him, he might have been able to mark his way. But he'd brought nothing useful except for some food, acutely aware that Scarland was full of danger, not just from the dimly lit park that spawned mobs after dark, but from Scar himself and some of the attractions he'd built in here, like the pyramid. He wasn't taking any chances of losing his gear in a place he wouldn't be able to recover them from.

He stopped, hearing something screeching. Like a minecart breaking quickly on rails, followed by a thump and a howling sound. Perhaps coming in here had been a mistake. He froze as something sharp pressed against his neck.

"Who's there? Is that you, Scar? What do you want?" Grian said, trying to keep his voice down in case he attracted any further attention.

Run.

"Why would I do that? Who are you?" Grian said. "Maybe I'll just stay here."

Then you will die.

Grian nearly argued back, but a Vex face appeared as something grabbed his ankle and it was such a shock he kicked and kicked until he was free and did indeed run for it.

"Maybe Scar was right, maybe this place is cursed," Grian said as he ran down more hallways.

Well, run was a little optimistic. The darkness concealed a lot of hazards, and without a memory of where he ought to be going, he simply followed the halls blindly, hoping he might get back to the entrance at some point. Hopefully. Perhaps without dying, that would be nice.

-

The Pharaoh rose out of his sarcophagus, pushing the lid off until it crashed onto the ground. Grian was getting close, he could sense it. Grasping an ornate khopesh, the Pharaoh, bandages dragging through the sand, pushed the door of his tomb open and began to walk the halls.

-

In the back of Scar's awareness, he could sense where Cub was, and what was going on, as he told of his brave feats of adventuring as he walked through the old pyramid, avoiding traps and killing spiders and making his way to the treasure room. Every sentence became more incredible than the last, which is usually what happened when Scar let himself just spin a story like this.

He and Cub had cooked this idea up in Bdubs' coffee shop one night after several games of TCG at Cub's arena. The mummified Pharaoh creeping through the pyramid to kill whoever disturbed his sleep, with Vexes and other dangers thrown in for good measure. After all, Scarland needed at least one death game, right? It had to live up to it's reputation as dangerous as much as it was the happiest place on earth. That's what made it so special.

-

Grian heard spiders. Cave spiders. The problem was, he couldn't work out where the sound was coming from. He stopped in an intersection of three other passageways, all as dark as each other, unable to decide where to go next. He was sure the Vexes were still behind him, but they seemed to be toying with him. Getting close to bite him, before backing off again. Not even deep bites either, just warning shots, as it were, leaving him a little bloodied and in pain as he kept going.

He saw the eyes first. Beady red eyes charging at him through the corridor in front of him. It took a moment to process what he was seeing before they were suddenly on him, and he ran, unable to have avoided being bitten.

"Scar! SCAR! WHY WOULD YOU PUT CAVE SPIDERS IN HERE? WHO DOES THAT?" Grian screeched, feeling the poison burning through his body as he ran.

-

The Pharaoh laughed, hearing Grian's cries. He knew where he was, alright. The spiders were crying for blood. He was close. He raised the khopesh, its blade sharp and ready to strike, as he took a left, and prepared to end the game.

-

Grian had found a small nook to hide in, where he was waiting for the poison to wear off as he ate as much as he could. His feet were hurting in more ways than one. He was shivering, ignoring the blood from another arrow shot that had hit his thigh. At least he couldn't hear any spiders anymore.

What he could hear now, once he stopped breathing so heavily, were footsteps. Human-sounding footsteps.

"There's someone in my tomb. Someone who shouldn't be here. Someone who won't live to see the sky again once I find you," a voice called.

It was definitely Cub, Grian realised. But also, more than Cub. His voice had been booming, shimmering with magic. He should probably move, especially now that the poison had worn off. The problem was, the Pharaoh's voice was coming from all angles. He had no idea where he actually was.

"I'm just going to have to guess, aren't I? Oh, good lord. Where's left to go? There's only a couple of passageways from here. Guess I'd better just pick one and see where I end up," Grian said.

-

The Pharaoh pushed a button, hidden underneath some sand. Whichever way Grian went, he wasn't getting away. He was so close now. Time to feed. Time to eat the soul of his next victim.

-

Grian crashed into a wall that he was sure had been a much longer hallway.

"No! Hey! Let me out of here!" Grian said thumping on the stone.

Footsteps approached. Grian turned to see a dark figure closing in.

"You dare to disturb my slumber, mortal? No one enters my tomb and lives!" the Pharaoh cried as he ran at Grian.

"No! Scar! Hey! Wait, I-"

-

Grian was slain by TheCursedPharaoh using The Vengeance of Ra

-

Scar pulled something out of his bag as his fellow Hermits looked on in awe. "See, this is a golden cup I found in the tomb! Look at the intricate carvings! There were a pair of these, and I rescued them, along with so many other treasures! Once you complete the pyramid, you can see them all in the museum, and buy replicas of your favourites in the gift shop! Take home a little piece of the Pharaoh's treasure to remember your visit to Scarland! So, who's keen to go next?"

[hcguesstheauthormessageboard]

Oh, we're talking about body count? I certainly... SORT OF have death in mine? I mean from a certain point of view nearly every named character dies? But also, uh. It's complicated. -🌋

.

[apotelesmaa]

I tried to play don’t starve again and remembered exactly why I stopped playing it that game hates you so fucking much. Respect to the people who play that game because it just beat the shit out of me.

[razzle-zazzle]

Whumptober Day 07: i paced around for hours on empty, i jumped at the slightest of sounds

Radio Silence

3764 Words; PN Terraria AU

TW for violence, death (temporary), mild gore

AO3 ver

“Hey, Norma, what does the Beastiary say about Truffle Worms?”

Norma looked up at the sound of Frazie’s voice. The blue light of the glowing mushrooms caught on her hair, making it look almost silver. There were Giant Fungi Bulb spores smeared on her clothes and dripping off the Enchanted Daggers hovering over her head—though it was already fading.

“Don’t you have access to the Beastiary?” Norma still put away her Palladium Waraxe to pull out her own Beastiary. The giant mushroom could be chopped down later. “I don’t think I have that entry.” She said after a moment.

“Well, of course not.” Frazie shoved something small and wiggly at her, much to Norma’s dismay. “Here, hold this.”

Norma did not want to hold it. She took the squirmy worm thing anyway, trying to ignore the way it pulsed in her hand trying to wriggle free. Its bulbous blue head looked poisonous, and Norma wanted to drop it. Frazie met her grimace with a mischievous grin.

Norma turned back to her Beastiary. Indeed, a new entry was already appearing, words solidifying the longer she held the awful thing.

“Truffle Worm.” She read. “An extremely rare, difficult to catch glowworm.” She turned back to Frazie. “Congrats. You’ve caught a rarer worm than usual.” She drawled.

Frazie huffed. “Read the rest of the entry.” She insisted. Her Enchanted Daggers darted off to attack a Spore Skeleton. She kept her gaze locked on Norma.

Norma turned back to the Beastiary. “...A specific, powerful sea creature is insatiably attracted to these.” Huh. That was… interesting.

Frazie grinned. “Yeah! I think—” She turned, then, pulling her Durendal off her hip to clear out the gathered Spore Skeletons. A Spore Bat ducked down—Norma shot it with her Phantom Phoenix.

“I think we should go up and see this—” Frazie backflipped away from a Giant Fungi Bulb. “—sea monster for ourselves!”

It could be just the thing to get them out of their funk, really. And it was better than the Jungle, at any rate—Frazie still hadn’t forgiven her brother for their argument, and Norma emphatically did not want to deal with that drama. A distraction would be perfect.

“Do you still have the Magic Conch?” Frazie asked, turning her attention back to Norma. “Or should we take the Pylons?”

“Pylons.” Norma said. “I think the conch is still back in the old base.” That, or someone else had come along and grabbed it. It wasn’t like she’d really talked to anyone other than Frazie since the split.

A pang of bitterness rose in her throat at the reminder. Things had been going so well, too—Plantera was down, and they were all ready to move on to the next boss right up until Lizzie decided to open her mouth. A break, she’d said they needed. To slow down. But they couldn’t slow down, not when the only way home was through, not when slowing down meant spending more time stuck here—

Norma needed to continue progressing. She needed to know that they were making progress of some kind or she felt she would go insane in this stupid, dangerous, nonsensical world where zombies and skeletons and all manner of equally impossible enemies wanted to tear them all apart.

Frazie and Dion had been of a similar mind—Dion wanted to go home as soon as possible and Frazie didn’t see the need in slowing down. So the three of them had persisted, even as everyone else went off to do their own thing, and attacked the Temple.

And then Frazie and Dion decided to blow up at each other out of seemingly nowhere—

(No, it did not remind Norma of herself and Lizzie. Not one bit. She and her sister were far better adjusted than the clowns. They’d just had a disagreement, and it would all work out in the end when Lizzie realized that Norma was right—)

And now Frazie and Norma were exploring underground for other things to do, because Frazie had left the Jungle in a huff and dragged Norma with her. But it seemed that luck was still on their side, because now they had something to do that didn’t involve going back into the Jungle.

They’d have to travel a bit to reach the Underground Pylon, but there was a rail track that’d shorten the journey. From there, they’d be one small Pylon hop from the beach, and then they could take a shot at something worth going after.

Finally, they were getting somewhere.

+=+=+=+=+

The skies above the beach were cloudy, the threat of a storm forcing Frazie and Norma into the houses Adam and Lizzie had built for Captain Morgan and—ugh—Miles. The Pirate was fine, most of the time, even if Frazie still got hives thinking about the Pirate Invasion. Worst three days since waking up in this world, truly.

But Miles…

“You. Clown girl.” The Angler’s voice was as annoying as ever. He was annoying as ever. “Where’s my best minion?”

“Careful,” Frazie said, “Or I might just start to think you care.” She didn’t get what Dion saw in this little turd. Dion said that Miles reminded him of Queepie, and he was right on that—they had the same too-big eyes and round faces, even if Queepie was only half as demanding. But Dion was awful at fishing, so Frazie still didn’t understand how he and Miles got along.

Ugh, she didn’t want to even think about Dion right now. She turned away from Miles and looked out the window at the beach. The wind was picking up.

“I haven’t seen him in forever.” Miles continued. “There’s still so many fish he needs to catch for me!” His voice pitched up, “If he’s somehow hurt or trapped and you’re not telling me—”

Frazie didn’t hear the rest of it through the slam of the door. She marched across the sand, not caring about the rain starting to mist down. A Flying Fish swooped down—her Enchanted Daggers took care of it.

The rain was cold—almost cold enough that Frazie missed her Flinx Fur Coat—but she’d deal. She just needed some space. She didn’t want to think about Dion—didn’t want to think about their argument, about what they ended up yelling at each other before she left with Norma.

She waited until the sun set and the Raincoat Zombies started showing up to go back inside—she and Norma had a long day ahead of them.

They cast out the Truffle Worm the following morning. The monster in question was big, green—and fast. Frazie was respawning in Miles’ room before she even realized she’d died. Norma landed on top of her a moment later.

Fuck.

Well, whatever. They could always try again.

“You’re headed straight into a wall, Miss.” Captain Morgan’s caution grated against Frazie. So what if that giant pig fish… thing had beaten her and Norma? They just needed to adjust the platforms, change their strategy, dodge better. They could do this. They could still do this.

Miles continued to pester her about Dion. It was getting to be too much, thinking of him back in the Jungle. That stupid, self-centered idiot probably wasn’t sorry at all. Frazie hoped he was having trouble going at the Temple all alone. It’d serve him right, to get thrashed a few times. Maybe he’d finally pull his head from his ass.

(Maybe Frazie’d finally stop feeling uneasy when she thought of the last thing she’d said to him.)

Frazie and Norma moved further down the beach, away from the Pirate and Angler.

They needed more Truffle Worms anyway.

+=+=+=+=+

Lizzie chuckled as her Crystal Storm shattered another Ice Golem. This was getting too easy. The giant lugs kept letting themselves get trapped in small spaces where Lizzie could wear them down at her leisure. It was great.

A Frozen Zombie lunged for her—Lizzie swapped to her Shadowflame Hex Doll. The dark flames made quick work of it, but another quickly popped up after.

Yuck. Lizzie hopped down, picked up the Frost Core, and pulled out her Ice Mirror. A few moments later, she was back atop the mountain, safe in her home.

Ugh. It looked like one of the zombies had bitten her before she’d gotten out of there. Lizzie dug through her stuff—she had a Health Potion in there somewhere—there!

“That’s better.” She muttered. She was getting low, though, and mushrooms didn’t grow up in these icy mountains. She’d have to go get some more.

Not right now, though. Which was good—Lizzie was just fine up here in the mountains. It was nice and peaceful—if one ignored the Ice Slimes at day and everything else at night. It was just her, the penguins, and the endless, quiet snow. The perfect place for a break away from, well—everything.

And Lizzie needed that break, she really, really did. They all did, even if half of the group was too busy tearing themselves apart to realize it. But they couldn’t sustain their pace—and now, with the group all across the map, there wasn’t a pace to sustain at all.

The thought of her sister gave rise to a knot of complex feelings. Yeah, sure, Lizzie could understand that Norma needed to be doing something, that making some kind of progress or reaching some kind of goal was her coping mechanism—but that didn’t mean she could just drag everyone else along with her. Lizzie grimaced. Norma’s need to be in charge had been a problem since they were kids, and it was no less unpleasant now.

So yeah. Lizzie needed this break. They all did. The world wasn’t going anywhere—they could continue later, when they weren’t all burnt out.

Adam had come by earlier that day, and Lizzie had almost agreed that it’d been too long—but then Norma’s smug grin appeared in her mind, and she could hear so perfectly her sister’s satisfaction at being proven right—

Adam left empty handed. Lizzie would stay up here longer yet.

The snow was quiet. Peaceful. No smug older sisters, no draining bosses. Just her, the penguins, and the snow. Quiet. Peaceful.

(Lonely.)

+=+=+=+=+

Adam sighed as he made his way back to the old base.

How the structure was still standing—Adam had no idea. They had built up and then built out, resulting in a bulbous sort of tower that looked more like a lopsided mushroom than anything else.

“Adam!” William’s voice cut across the grass, the Golfer speedwalking over to where Adam was standing. “No Lizzie, I see.” He commented. With a shrug, he continued, “Well, if she or the others want to golf, they’ll have to come back here.”

Adam nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He turned back to the base.

“Still no luck?” Lori leaned out from her room at the sound of the door, her ears twitching. “I’d have thought at least Morris or Lizzie would come back with you—they are your friends.”

“I don’t even know where Morris is.” Adam lamented.

Lizzie didn’t want to leave the Snow, Gisu was outright avoiding him, Dion kept throwing himself at the Temple, Sam was holed up in the Hallow, and Frazie and Norma had split off from Dion at some point to who knows where. And Morris…

Nobody knew where Morris was—not even Chanterelle or Bri had any idea where he’d disappeared to. It seemed so impossible for the guy who needed the whole room to know he was there to disappear off the face of the… were they even on Earth anymore? No, that wasn’t important. What was important was that all of Adam’s efforts to try and pick up the pieces had been completely and utterly fruitless.

It didn’t help that both sides of the argument, instead of coming to any sort of agreement, chose to dig in their heels even further. Lizzie was right about them all needing a break—but Norma was right about the only way home being to push forward.

And Adam had been too caught up in everything going on to actually mediate. He might as well have just stood around for the entire fight—it’d have had just about the same effect as all his shouting did. He was so caught up in trying to be a leader, but the moment his ability to actually lead was tested, everything blew up in his face.

What a joke. What an awful, no-good joke.

A boom sounded out from the other end of the base. Adam ran across mismatched wood and stone, pulling out his Gradient—

Next to the brand new hole in the wall was none other than Sam, halfway into a chest.

“Oh, thank god.” Adam was glad to finally see a friendly face. “You’re back.” Maybe it was over, this awful silence between them all. Maybe they could finally start working together again—

“What are you talking about?” Sam had finally returned from the chest she’d been digging through. “I just came by to grab Mr. Fluffernut and Fran II.” She stuffed the terrariums into her inventory. “Can’t let them go unsupervised for too long. Don’t know what kinds of chaos they’d get up to.”

Of course. Why would Adam assume that anyone would be coming back? Tempers still hadn’t cooled and nobody wanted to talk to anybody. Of course Sam was just passing through, of course she wouldn’t help him, even as she meant him no ill-will. She was simply doing her own thing, like everybody else.

But they couldn’t do their own thing. Not here, not forever. This world didn’t care if they were alone; it’d come after them with the same prejudice whether they were all together or not. And frankly, Adam preferred their chances together.

But everyone else disagreed. The fight was too fresh, the hurt too deep. And Adam hadn’t been able to pick up the pieces.

“Well, I better be heading out.” Sam said. “Me and my good luck charm have a house to build.”

“Wait—” Adam couldn’t do this alone, he couldn’t keep going around getting the same answers from everyone over and over again—

Sam was already gone.

+=+=+=+=+

He floated, head over chair, the glitter of the cosmos stretched out around him.

It was quiet, up here. He hated quiet.

ROARR

Well, it was quiet up until that Wyvern flew in.

Morris pulled out his Megashark. “Not today.” He muttered, watching as the Wyvern burst into dust below him. He wasn’t ready to come back down.

(He wasn’t ready to open The Book.)

+=+=+=+=+

Gisu shoved the door open with a slam. She stormed right past Mrunok and into the room she’d carved out in the rock beside his. She threw herself onto her bed, buried her face in the pillow, and screamed.

She’d been trying to build the most epic skate rink she could, the past several days—and it was going great, no matter how many times she got bitten by Cave Bats—but she’d hit a wall. And not the fact that she didn’t have a skateboard or levboard—she’d be making this rink whether she had one or not—no, the wall she had hit was something even worse:

Creative block.

She had the half-pipe hammered to perfection. She had tunnels, rails, and even a small stalactite meant for grappling off of. But her rink was missing something, and she couldn’t put her finger on what.

(She was missing a lot of things. A lot of people.

But she didn't want to talk to anyone if all they wanted to do was fight.)

After another few minutes of chewing her pillow, Gisu stood. She walked over, opening her door. “Hey, Mrunok?”

The Goblin Tinkerer looked up from the project he was fiddling with and regarded her with a curious gaze. “Yes, Gisu?”

Gisu gripped the doorframe. “I…” She sighed. “I don’t know what to do next for my skate rink.”

“Oh? Is it finished already?” Mrunok moved to push his project aside—

“It’s not.” Gisu complained. “It’s not but I don’t know what it’s missing!”

“Hmm.” Mrunok was a fun guy to hang out with; he was always down to experiment with the various mechanics of this world, and made for the perfect sounding board when everyone else was being too busy getting into fights with each other to talk to her. “Maybe you need a break?”

Gisu groaned. “I already tried that.” She muttered. “But farming souls didn’t get me any closer to getting over this block!” It’d gotten her a lot of materials, and even more injuries, but no new inspiration.

“I’m not sure, then.” Mrunok shrugged. “Maybe a trip aboveground will give you some inspiration? There’s a lot of materials you could get in other biomes that you can’t get in the Caverns.”

Gisu hummed. That was true… she could get some sand to make into glass, maybe even add in some gems for stained glass. But glass wasn’t always the best to skate on. Ice would be better, and even that wasn’t great.

“Oh!” Gisu clapped her hands together. “I got it!” What her course was missing—it wasn’t more things to skate on. It was personality. Something special to bring it all together. Sure, she’d decorated it with stuff she liked, had bought paint from Marco to add all kinds of decals all over—

But that wasn’t enough. Right now, the whole thing was just a bunch of obstacles, with nothing really tying it together. Not even the fossils were enough. “Thanks!” She zoomed out the door, heading for the rail that’d take her to the Underground Pylon. She knew just where to start—and it’d be nice to see Lizzie again.

Mrunok shrugged, and turned back to the model he’d been working on. “Kids.” He chuckled to himself. “Always full of energy.”

+=+=+=+=+

It was pure pandemonium.

Oh, Sam loved a little panda-monium from time to time. But there were no pandas in sight—just more of those stupid clowns.

The Blood Moon hovered ominously in the sky, tinting the whole world red. Another giggling clown rolled over, and Sam threw another beenade. She was not getting blown up, not today! Tonight. Not tonight. Or any night, really.

Her house was only half-built, leaving her little shelter. She could avoid some of the chaos by standing on one of the unfinished walls, though—but Dripplers and Demon Eyes continued to harass her.

Too bad. Sam had more than enough beenades to get rid of them all. Her Sanguine Bats weren’t doing too bad, either—they were helping hold off those awful awful clowns whose stupid bombs she wasn’t immune to.

A missed throw let a Drippler get in close, nearly knocking Sam off the wall. She shoved a beenade right into one of its dripping eyes with a cry. It exploded, the shower of gore briefly blinding Sam before it faded.

Her health was really low. She needed a potion—fast. She reached into her inventory, digging around—there!

“Ha!” Sam pulled out the potion—

She wasn’t holding a potion. In her hand was her good luck charm, glowing slightly. Sam frowned, moving to put it back in her inventory—

Only to drop it in the chaos of everything. Whoops.

The jar containing her good luck charm—a butterfly called a Prismatic Lacewing—fell to the ground in what felt like slow motion, shattering on impact.

“Nooooooo!” Sam wailed. Her good luck charm! She hadn’t seen any other Prismatic Lacewings since catching the first one—the Beastiary even said it was rare. She watched as it fluttered up, off into the night—

One of her bats swooped down on a Demon Eye passing just under the Lacewing. Sam watched as the butterfly burst into bits, her bat not slowed down in the slightest.

She had only a moment to mourn her lost good luck charm before the night lit up into a maelstrom of colors.

+=+=+=+=+

Dion flipped up over a row of spikes, slashing at a Flying Snake on the way down with his True Excalibur. He landed on the level below, passing by the chests he’d looted in his attempt to push deeper.

The Temple never really changed, between attempts. All of the traps were the same, with the pressure plates all in the same spots. It was just a matter of remembering where not to step as he tried not to die to Lihzahrds for the umpteenth time.

He was almost at the point he’d made it to last time, almost to the point where he’d be going further than he had before—

Click.

Dion pulled back from the pressure plate, raising his sword—

The world came crashing down around him.

+=+=+=+=+

Dion curled up on the bed. That… could have gone better. His whole abdomen ached with the phantom sensation of being pierced through. He’d… he’d get up in a bit.

Going at the Temple alone sucked. But everybody else was busy with something else, and the two people who’d been willing to go in with him…

Dion curled up a little tighter. He knew he needed to apologize to Frazie. (Just like he needed to apologize to Raz, when all of this was over with.) He knew that.

But he just… he needed time. He needed something physical, some sort of achievement or reward he could present to make his apology feel less like a cry for help, less like a I can’t do this alone.

Because he could totally do this alone. He’d made it down to the second level! That was progress! And he had to do it alone, because there was nobody else. He had to. He had to do it—the only way home was through.

And then what? Some part of him hissed. You don’t even know what’s at the end of this Temple, let alone what comes next.

Dion growled, rolling over to face the wall. A chlorophyte vein had emerged into his shelter, glittering in the torchlight. So what? He’d figure it out, probably. Or he’d track down Morris and goad him into opening The Book again. And even if he didn’t know what came next, it was still better to be doing something than nothing, useless as it’d be in the end—

“Hey.”

Dion shot up so fast he fell off the bed entirely, looking around wildly. Sam watched him flail with seemingly endless patience—or maybe she was amused. Dion could never tell.

“What are you doing here?” Oh, wait, that came out harsher than Dion intended. He opened his mouth to try and say something that sounded less like an insult, wary of the glowing bats hovering protectively above Sam’s head—

She beat him to it. “You’re good at dodging, right?”

[rassicas]

In the splatoon fanbase, there are many misconceptions surrounding the relationship between inklings and water. without fail whenever I mention something related to the topic I'll get replies of "actually the canon is [some popular but incorrect theory]" "no they can do this and this canonically [it's actually a headcanon]" "no its really [something NOA made up]"

so to briefly go over The Facts:

Inklings canonically die when submerged in water. And yes, getting "splatted" is them dying for real, respawning is also an in-universe thing that has existed for at least 2000 years and not just a game mechanic. While the dying in water thing originally came from a game mechanic, it has been repeatedly stated that they incorporated this into the inkling's biology. The water weakness is not because of the water itself being toxic. The reason is based in osmosis. in the process of their evolution, Inklings (and octolings) changed a lot, and one of these changes was the ability to transform between a humanoid and swim form. Doing this transformation requires skin that is a thin, semi permeable membrane [this kind of skin is a trait found in real life molluscs]. The evolutionary trade off is that, because of how semi permeable their skin is, the ink inside of their bodies will bleed out when in contact with another liquid. This is the answer given directly by the series' creator. And here it is confirmed that while the water weakness originated from game mechanics, it is very much became a part of an inkling's in-universe biology. Kind of like how a slug will die if you sprinkle salt on it (for a reason that's almost the same as the inklings), but ultimately needs salt in its diet through the food it eats to live, inklings do drink water and other liquids. Its also not like they touch water and immediately explode, it seems they can wash their hands in it and dip their feet in it and be fine.

Some people think the water weakness is stupid, personally i think its reasonable because Inkling biology is already weird as hell and of how ridiculously advantageous it is to be an ink-based cephalopod. the ink gives them the ability to jump absurdly long distances and cheat death to an extent. they're not losing much by not being able to dunk themselves in water. Anyway point is it sucks that all the relevant canon information on this is one of those japan only things/exclusive to developer interviews and pretty much every time it's brought up in English the localizers make shit up. I plan to make a video about this one of these days, but with how 'controversial' the topic is, and how many little details and connected concepts there are, I've been holding it off because I want to do it right. there's also some specific details that are unclear that I've been hoping would be clarified in the artbook or a dev interview but haven't, I might just have to go for it at this point. for the time being, i hope this post helps clear up a few things!

[sajdd]

by the way i dont know if i ever shared this headcanon from my dsmp days but i liked to think of the in-game exp drop that happens when someone dies, as the character's soul breaking into these particles and flying away to the player's respawn point. sort of my explanation for how the respawn mechanic works. and that if someone perma-dies that the particles just disperse out into the world like fireflies (or maybe they fuse into a ghost)

and thats why cdream was able to revive ctommy and cwilbur. because ghostbur was just all of cwilbur's soul particles fused together. and ctommy's never got to disperse because nothing leaves pandora :') so cdream was able to just put them back together

just sorta an idea i came up with that could explain how the revival & muliple lives mechanic could be explained in an actual story setting instead kf just minecraft physics. and i think it could make deaths look really tragic and beautiful because of the imagery of someone's soul just dispersing into what looks like fireflies, and just floating away, never to be seen again.

[gnomewithalaptop]

I'm still too distracted to write so here have a list of YJ-cast centric fics that make me froth at the mouth

Kon-centric recs:

I Want It That Way (1990s Tim/Kon) by WynterSky / @wynterstars -- A revamped, 90s-style Superboy origin story with added Lex Luthor AND a lil bit of 90s Robin for spice and flavor. Honestly, this whole series is so elite -- goes hard with the Superboy mythos + angst PLUS the third fic leans hard into the secret identity shenanigans in a way that'd make Miraculous Ladybug jealous. The first fic splits its attention between Tim and Kon, but the latter two are solidly Kon-centric

one plus one (easy math) by connerdrakewayne / @comphetkoncass -- Cassandra Cain and Kon go to a gala together. I'm always a sucker for a good Cass + Kon friendship. This one's very short and sweet, and it gets the job done -- 10/10 would read again

a timeline can be a haunted house by connerdrakewayne -- post-universal reset Kon angst + terrible coping mechanisms! This one goes so hard I read it three times. Tbh this author has an excellent handle on Kon as a character in general, so I honestly recommend just checking out their whole fic stash

Tim-centric recs:

Top 10 Secret Identity Fails by @havendance -- Tim's new English teacher is his on-again-off-again superhero teamup Helena Bertinelli (aka the Huntress). This one's just fun, okay -- the whole thing reads like it could be straight out of Tim's 1993 solo run, plus I love the dynamic between him and Helena. Overall just a very cool vibe

only the dead stay 17 forever by Sky_Dust (couldn't find their tumblr sorry) -- Listen, I've really been restraining myself here, because I realize my love for time-travel bullshit is not universal, but I genuinely couldn't not include this one. This bad boy is a Tim-centric time-loop featuring a seriously unhinged Tim -- definitely a darker tone, but I can't stop rereading it

Bart-centric recs:

reflections on respawning: a gamer's uncertainty by merils / @mamawasatesttube -- Bart has a hard conversation about his death and subsequent resurrection (feat. Kon) man, I just vibe with this one so hard. It's such a thoughtful take on Bart's more contemplative side, while still managing to keep his personality intact

the backlash to the backlash to the thing that's just begun by @kermit-coded -- trans/gnc impulse my beloved <3 also we get some funky Max & Bart bonding, made much rawer and more real by the fact that it's the 90s and nobody knows what they're doing. Again, feels like it's straight out of Bart's solo series

Cassie-centric recs:

you and I, we are more than just this armor by @suzukiblu -- KonCassie bonding + gender feels. They're both so trans in this, and the author does a great job of really digging deep into their complicated feelings (both about gender and about each other)

(also PLEASE somebody give me more Cassie-centric fic recs I'm literally begging you)

Team recs

I'm all yours but you're all mine by suzukiblu -- Poly Core 4 Soulmates AU! Essentially, everybody gets their 'soulmark'/soulmate-identifier (not really, but the best word) right when Kon wakes up in his pod, and because Superboy hasn't really made his big splash yet, they misidentify their soulmate as Superman; this is an issue mainly because 1) they're all 14-15 and Superman is roughly 30-ish, and 2) by the time this fic takes place, Superman is pretty verifiably dead. Currently in-progress, but this is such an interesting and fun take on the usual soulmates trope. I pinky promise you won't regret reading it

Love, Not Loved series by @popsunner -- hoooomygod this series makes me cry literally every time I read it, it's genuinely one of the most realistic representations of grief I've seen on AO3. Basically explores the general fucked-up-edness of pretty much the whole YJ Core 4 Squad dying one by one, with each fic focusing on a different funeral (complete with survivor's guilt, regular guilt, and just plain old complicated feelings). We get Cassie feels, we get Tim feels, we get Bart + Kon feels -- it's the whole shebang. Don't worry -- there's a happy ending eventually, but you def gotta work for it. This series beat me up and stole my lunch money and I'd happily do it all over again

Lost the Last Piece of Me by InsaneTrollLogic / @last01standing -- YJ Core 4 Animorphs AU! I'm sad to say I've never read the original Animorphs series, but every single Animorphs AU I've ever read has been such high quality. Unsurprisingly (I love this author, okay), this fic is no exception to that rule. Solid alien-invasion plot, character driven, and the world-building is explained well enough that even a newbie like me can understand (feat. some TimKon, but it's not the main focus)

Ikonoclast by anantipodean (couldn't find a tumblr) -- Tim and Kon get sent to an alternate reality that's almost (but not quite) like their own. This one's just fun for me -- I love the TimBart buildup and the worldbuilding on the other Earth is a funky time. Also, the other universe's Tim is goth and absolutely cannot stand mainstream-reality Tim, and I find that extremely funny for some reason

[convexicalcrow]

A Discussion Between A Pharaoh And His Ba

a/n: ba = eternal soul a.k.a cam accounts; ka = the current life/incarnation a.k.a the player; akh = a ka who has passed judgement and become one of the ancestors; the kingly ka = a soulspirit of Horus that each king bears and makes them half-divine.

-

The season was coming to a close, and weariness sunk into my bones. The kind of tiredness you can't shake, that eats away at you. My hands refused to build anymore; the very thought of finishing one last room was beyond them. I'd grown very used to feeling like this. The old man had always struggled a little, but this felt … different. Perhaps the Pharaoh's magic had exacerbated things, I don't know. All I know is that the sunset was closing in, and perhaps, there was a different fate waiting for me.

Did I want to know the answers? Well, probably not, but when you have a curious mind, that isn't really something you consider. So, perhaps against my better judgement, I took counsel with my ba, my eternal soul, sitting in the room I would never finish, seeking some resolution.

He looked like me in many ways, except for the much larger wings instead of arms, and the clawed bird feet. He carried scrolls under his wings, and he didn't speak so much as have words emanate and vibrate through the air into my mind. He looked at me with pity, though I would never quite understand why.

You fear death, were his first words. But why fear death when you will simply respawn? You are essentially immortal. Death means nothing but a temporary inconvenience. So why does your heart falter?, my ba said.

He was right, of course. Was it even death anymore? It never really felt like death. Just a large chunk of pain that faded fairly quickly after respawn. There were no penalties for it. You never stayed dead. But I'd come to understand death very differently this season. Perhaps it was the Pharoah's powers, or the presence of the Kingly Ka burning bright in my soul, I don't know. Certainly having all the old Kings on speed dial was a strange experience. I had only become Pharaoh for the theming of the pyramid base. I never expected to get the power and legitimacy that came with it. Those old kings spoke of so many things, and kept saying they'd be waiting for me once it was time for me to go West.

Me? Join the Kingly Ka? Hah! No way. Not me. I'm just some guy, I'm no king. And yet… The idea that the Pharaoh would die, no, the fact that he would whether I liked it or not? Yeah, it scared me. Permanent death is scary! No one ever just… died and never came back. We always come back. Which death would be my last? Would this be the last world I ever played on? Would this be the last time I saw my friends?

The time for this ka is coming to a close. A new ka is soon to be born, my ba said.

"What do you mean by that?" I asked.

This ka will be judged. This ka will become an akh. The ba will manifest a new ka. The old man's time is over. The fountain of youth is calling, my ba said.

"I'm going to become someone else? Is that what you're saying? I'm not sure I like that idea," I said.

The old man was already someone else. He served you well, but his time is up. There is nothing further he can do for you, my ba said.

"Wait, so I spend all this time building the Great Pyramid and this is how I'm rewarded? I just become someone else? Nah, no way. You have no power to do that to me," I said.

And yet, here I am. I am eternal. Death does not touch me. I will see all the lifetimes you lead whether you are aware of me or not, my ba said. Death beckons to the old man. It's okay. You can stop now. Your weary body can rest, my ba said.

I didn't reply as I took in the scope of his words. I did feel very tired and old, that's for sure. But the idea of just becoming someone else scared me. I didn't like to not be in control of that. I already knew who I was pretty well by now. I didn't want to have to do that all over again in a new body.

You can fight it if you want, but you'll have no choice in the end. The West beckons. It's time. Make your peace and come into the arms of the gods. All Pharaohs die, and you are not an exception, my ba said.

"But where will I go when I die? Into the void? Will I just be trapped there? I don't know if I want to be trapped in the void!" I said.

Your heart will be weighed against the feather of Ma'at, and that will decide your fate. Could be tricky, we both know the evils you've done in the name of greed. Your hands are stained with blood. Let's hope you have done enough good to balance out the bad, my ba said.

The Vex hissed angrily at my ba's accusations, but he was right. If I was brutally honest, getting other Hermits to fight a war for us and then selling them the weapons in which to do so, was definitely not up there with a good thing to have done. The Vex, too, were hardly nice. That's when I realised I might be in some kind of trouble, and in my panic, returned to my consciousess, not wishing to hear my ba's counsel on that particular point.

I shouldn't have asked. I should have just remained ignorant. Let things pan out however they wanted to pan out. But now that I know, I feel helpless. Ba, please, spare me from the Lake of Fire. Heart, speak true and do not betray me! Gods, spare me from the jaws of Ammit!

Oh, I really shouldn't have asked. I have had no sleep for a week, too scared to go to bed in case I never wake up. But the season's winding down fast, there's not much time left. The sun sits just above the western horizon. And yet, I am paralysed with fear. I will put my affairs in order while I still can, but… I didn't build a tomb in this pyramid for nothing. The guardian I left in there may become my executioner. The old man will rest here for all eternity. Who knows who I will become? Only my ba knows that, and I'm not sure I want to know this time.

[thedeaddandy]

With Ya Dead, Ya Dead: Obsidian in the late summer air, I’m curious:

For those curious, player death/respawning is apparently canon! The Respawn Anchor and Recovery Compass suggest as much.

I would Love seeing the details in the tags too

[hcguesstheauthormessageboard]

So I've been reading these in chronological order, and in terms of death count; WHY?! Everyone has such high body counts! So far my story only has 75%... of one person. ~Grian Drowned

.

[locusfandomtime]

see the fandom has this thing where the hermits are different species and when they’re part animal/mob they’re a hybrid but nobody talks about the even funnier canon lore that they’re all the exact same species. Their species is hermit.

[long post - lots of worldbuilding and speculative biology below]

Jevin looks like a slime, Doc looks like that, most of them look human, but in actuality they’re all just hermits. The only information we have about this is that hermits are shorter than the average player, some references to hobbits, some references to hermits being hardworking, the fact that gem isn’t a hermit and had to wear antlers to pretend to be one, and that’s it.

I love biology and worldbuilding and this is fascinating to me. When you take into account previous seasons and events and throw-away lines this gets even more insane. Grian and Hypno are acknowledged to not have mouths (and even more hermits don’t have them on their skin). Mumbo turned into a potato. Cleo had snake hair at one point. There are a million other weird things I’m forgetting. You could handwave some of this with an explanation like “hermits are shapeshifters” or “hermits are gods” and that is a very valid and fun take but I think it is SO much funnier if these are just normal things that happen in the hermit species, which aren’t fantastical at all and are adaptations with elaborate mechanics and explanations.

Perhaps hermits, similar to bugs, regularly shed their skin (or a process similar to it) and change their appearance. Some insects change colours/appearance due to their environment rather than genetics, ie macleays spectre stick insects can turn lichen colours when raised around lichen. Maybe the hermits shed their skins on a regular basis, including during their adult life, and this allows them to better match their environment- causing physical changes related to what they have been exposed to. This causes potato Mumbo and medusa Cleo and DM Tango and any other example of a specific skin change. For more constant differences in appearance - maybe life cycles could be considered?

this may be the weirdest thing I’ve ever made. For those that don’t know, “n” is the number of chromosomes, where n is the haploid number, so 2n is diploid. Diploid cells are necessary for sexual reproduction. Of course, a lot of these life cycles are centered around reproduction, as is the nature of a life cycle, but in reality the hermits are in no rush and are happy to stay at whatever point of the life cycle they’re at, this is just an outline of the species’ mechanics.

I mean, most of this diagram is conjecture… but I think it is interesting to consider! Jevin especially reminded me a lot of slime mould life cycles so this is heavily inspired off that, but also inspired by bug life cycles as well.

If you want to get even more indepth we can consider the gender roles of hermit society (remember that clip where Grian implied builders were housewives and redstoners were breadwinning husbands?). Perhaps we can get meta and consider respawn an aspect of being a hermit as well - are they able to regenerate after death? What is Cleo’s place in all this, being undead? Is arm thickness, where your arm can either be 3px or 4px wide, an example of sexual dimorphism?

but. well. tldr: the hermits being one species is a very fun idea we should be doing more with, i think

[shepscapades]

Something I've been wondering- how do player deaths work in dbhc? Like is it a permadeath au, or does respawn work similarly to how it does in minecraft? Bit of both? I know there was the real threat of etho shutting down as a result of his injuries when he first deviated, but if respawn isn't a thing then that begs the question of how the life system works when they're on 3rd life etc

Sooo excited abt the xisuma comics btw they're AWESOME

HI good questions :D I actually rambled a bit about “damage’’ and “respawn” mechanics in This Ask Answer! (ALSO THANK YOU I’VE BEEN HAVING LOTS OF FUN WITH THEM!!)

I will add on though: i mention in that post that a “Shut Down” is most similar to a permanent death, where the android goes offline due to permanent damage, injury, or loses the ability to function some way otherwise. The android won’t be able to boot up or come back online unless it’s fixed or repaired, and because of the androids’ programmed psychological responses to pain, shutting down feels the most like dying. So, even though they can be fixed, it’s unpleasant and scary at the very least. However, I’d also like to note an exception to this concept: It comes up once or twice in the base game(dbh), but I believe that an android can actually be briefly re-activated post initial shutdown. By triggering a start-up sequence, re-connecting crucial power cords, or forcing the system to try to come online, the android will likely boot up for anywhere between a few seconds and one minute before shutting down again (due to previously mentioned injury or inability to stay functioning). This is hardly a productive state, however: the android will likely be panicked, desperate, and flooded with error messages that makes it difficult for them to function beyond basic comprehension, and the more times this state is triggered, the less likely it is that the android will be able to turn on at all unless fully repaired. It’s kind of like trying to boot up a laptop that’s out of battery— the lights will come on, blink a few times, the monitor may briefly light up, but then the system will realize it’s out of power and shut down again.

So while it’s possible to get information or answers out of a shut-down android, there are very few circumstances where it could be considered justifiable or productive to try booting them up only to put them through a few more seconds of suffering.