#scavenger’s finds

[scavengerlyfe]

Some snail shells of unknown species. Ever since I moved here, I’ve seen snails around, and I’ve been careful not to step on them. Unfortunately, snails don’t live very long, so it’s not uncommon for me to find empty shells laying around. Before taking a shell, I look it over carefully to see if there is still a snail inside. With these three, they were vacant when I found them. The largest one (closest to the camera) is only slightly larger than my thumbnail, and has some damage to the middle of it. I’m not sure if the damage occurred before or after the snail died.

[reclusivesapphire]

mama mia here we go again (this is insanely fun)

[bikefuckersoftheworldunite]

pink wig vale !!!!

[naffeclipse]

Forget-me-not

Reader x Sun and Moon

Commission Info

Thank you for @robinette-green for the lovely request! I adored writing this and making the boys so sweet to the reader! The reader is a clockwork animatronic who's trapped in an abandoned circus, and Sun and Moon step foot onto the forgotten ground and find someone in need of their help.

———

You watch another golden glow creep into oblivion upon the abandoned carnival and its sad, lonely inhabitants. The sun withdraws soundlessly like a stranger passing by. The Freak Show sign slumps, depressed. The once golden and galloping horses in the carousel have rusted into cruel, dark hues and no longer stamp or throw their wild manes back while children ride their once beautiful, gleaming saddles. The big tent—it hasn’t been big in years. It lies in sore tatters, wet from yesterday’s rainstorm with poles sticking up high and stringing along broken bulbs of once bright, yellow lights illuminating the darkness, promising fun to the humans who stepped onto the fairgrounds. 

You hate the darkness. You hate it more than being bolted down in place and left to host a game of ring toss no one has played in years. Your right arm is still extended in invitation over the green and brown bottles. The carnival owner couldn’t even allow you both of your arms, pinning your stance into place with bolts and leaving only your left hand to occasionally wave and flutter to catch the attendee’s eyes. 

After all the trouble he went to steal you away from your creator, you thought he would at least have taken you with him when the bright, colorful lights and happy, bouncing music came to a halt.

The soft words of your creator ring distantly, like a voice calling out through fog. You are—were his most beautiful creation. He whispered the words to you while he painted your lips red and bid you to take a look in the mirror.

You agreed. You were so, so pretty.

Perhaps it’s for the best that you don’t know what you look like anymore. You don’t want to look upon how rusted your clockwork inner workings have become. Your once pale and milky porcelain skin might be gray and slushy as the dirt along the pathways guests took, and that is not something you wish to know. There’s no doubt your red lips and silky red hair have been forsaken to the elements. You fear you are ruined. 

You are now worthy of abandonment.

In the darkness, you truly are forgotten. A hitch within your clockwork chassis catches and grinds before continuing, but the scraping pain remains.

Your attention is drawn back to the front entrance, a good distance away from you. Half crumbled with support beats cutting over the access in an ‘X’ shape, like a warning to not trespass this decrepit lot, shadows slink over the splintered and rotted wood. Long, lanky umbras move with a silence that is so strange and careful.

You squint your eyes. The urge to tilt your head slightly to peer better at the disturbance is cut short by the bolt in your neck, refusing to let your head tilt save from a slight side to side to give an enthralling smile.

You shouldn’t get too excited. It’s likely mere animals. A pair of raccoons or a stray dog who has lost its owner. Once, you watched a doe deer step softly through the wretched ruins, big wet eyes turning to you for one moment before the blurt of your automated voice lines jumped from your throat and sent the creature bounding away.

Nothing is yours here, not even the moment of daydreaming of you prancing out of this forsaken carnival like a doe deer. Free.

The shadows mingle into the dusky darkness. The blue-gray twilight reveals figures, and your mechanical heart chokes.

Two personages creep along the path winding from the entranceway. The same path leading directly towards the ring toss game; towards you. One dons a thick hood and cape, dark blue like midnight. The other’s head is sharper and unconcealed. A crown of jutting points frame the figure’s disk-like face, and a thick deep brown shawl gathers at his throat and falls down his chest and arms. 

As they pass into a silvery slant of budding starlight, metal glints on the crowned one’s face and the other hooded person’s hands spray out while scanning the darkness for threats, silver digits curling and uncurling.

Two automatons. Like you. But not.

A whirl in your servos thrums a loud, exhausted sound, and you stiffen—as much as you can while bolted in place. 

What could two automatons want with an abandoned circus? You were never familiar with the world outside of your creator’s home before you were smuggled out against your will by the circus owner, but at the circus, you learned much. 

You learned of scavengers and automatons gaining their rights. You always wonder if that’s partly the reason you were left here to rot too—are you too human now to own but robotic enough to be neglected? 

They could spy on you in the darkness and decide to strip you for parts. Your clockwork clanks heavily within you like a clapper within a bell, beating against your brass heart. Can they hear it? You have to stop. Be quiet. 

The two automatons prowl forward. Their optics and audio processors strain not unlike hounds searching for a fox. What do they prey upon? The crowned one gestures towards the carousel, the ride well within distance to your ring toss game, and you must clench your jaw tightly to keep from whimpering. The hooded one dips his head but keeps moving forward. Your gears crank in jarring motions, jolting and jerking while you hope they take the parts they desire from the circus and leave.

The hooded one continues down the path. Your chassis tightens, and your fingers tremble in place while you keep your eyes averted, held above the automaton’s head but keeping him in the unfocused corners of your optics.

Please. Please, don’t. Your bottom lip quivers.

“Step right up and toss a ring to win a prize!” The words blurt from your mouth and startle all the ruins and everyone within.

Two pairs of glowing eyes fall upon you. Straightening and alerted, the shrouded automatons stare into your fluttering eyelids as you attempt to beg them to leave you alone. A spark burns in your throat. Your voice lines refuse to give.

One stops and reaches silver and blue digits up and lowers the hood slowly. A face gazes at you, scarlet eyes glowing in the darkness with a face like a crescent moon. A blue nightcap, slightly frayed and worn, and decorated in yellow stars, covers his circular faceplate. 

The other steps closer with a curious tilt of the sharp points framing the automation’s head, and enters the last of the blue-gray darkness before night completely takes over. A yellow face, grinning with round cheeks, observes you. Pale optics beam. 

“Hello, friend,” he speaks, voice bouncing low but with intrigue. “Why don’t you come on out? It’s alright, don’t be afraid.”

Your optics dart side to side. Helplessness settles over you, pinned in place by rusty, dark shame. 

“Do you need help?” The one with the pale yellow sun rays steps closer, his eyes narrowing in the slightest. “Are you stuck?”

The moon-face automaton slips closer. The glow of his gaze sweeps over the game you’re bolted in front of, and he fixates on your right arm stiffly held out in invitation as your fingers curl and clench. You glance down at him, wondering if your eyes plead in the way your mouth cannot.

Biting your bottom lip does not prevent another voice line from bursting forth, and inwardly, you crumple.

“Try your hand! One ring around the neck of a bottle wins a prize!” 

“Not stuck,” the lunar automaton turns to his accomplice. His cloak shifts like shadows under the arc of the moon. “Trapped.”

“Oh, you poor thing! Here, let us help.” The sunny one steps forward, his hands raised as if to pacify a wild creature. “And, if I may be so bold, your voice box sounds like it’s not your own.”

You wish to nod but only succeed in cranking your head halfway to the right, as if in a gesture towards your hapless situation. 

You wonder if they can see the ugly, rusty bolts pinning your body in place, holding you shackled to the ring toss game. They must, for the lunar face man slips closer, stooping down by your feet behind the barrier as he inspects the heavy metal securing you in place. The solar gentleman energetically leaps over the barrier and stops right beside you, hand on his hips. His shawl drapes darkly around him but his grin is bright like a new dawn.

You don’t dare hope. The niceness will fall away like a curtain to reveal the snarling, roaring beast behind it. They will strip you for parts or worse, mock you, revel in your helplessness, and slip back through the night, leaving you with only the daydream of a rescue.

Facing the sunny one, you hold your metaphorical breath as he pauses. He stares deeply into your optics. You stare back into the foggy gray irises he possesses, like a cool, misty fog gathering in the night only to be touched by the sun’s first rays of light. 

“Your eyes are beautiful—the same color as forget-me-nots.” The sunny automaton smiles.

Your servos slow to a calm hum.

“Come on,” he says and carefully reaches for your neck to begin unscrewing the bolt stuck in your throat, “You won’t be left to rust here anymore, starlight.”

Your insides melt, touched by their generosity.

Below, at your feet, the dark blue and silver automaton begins to unscrew the bolts holding your feet down. Rust scrapes away and a harsh squeak of metal echoes. You grunt, jostled but, strangely, you hold to hope like a feathered, tiny thing in your hands, hoping to watch it fly again. 

“We can fix your voice box,” the lunar one speaks in a slight rasp you find endearing. His gaze remains focused on setting you free. “We have a shop. We repair things sometimes.”

“That’s right,” the solar one chimes in, “We scavenge as well. Don’t worry, we’ve repaired a few automatons or two. You can trust us.”

When he pries the bolt from your neck, you can dip your head in acknowledgment. A strange sensation burns through your wires, heating you from the inside out. Emotion. You wish you could ask for their names.

“You look very delicate.” The one at your feet finally frees one of your porcelain slippers with a slow, cautious tug. “We’ll be gentle.”

He tilts his head upwards and flashes a grin. You find yourself warming in the face. Is he being a tease or does he not know how he sounds? By the mischievous glint in your eyes, you fear he knows exactly what he’s doing.

You try to pry your lips apart to find the right words, but all that leaves you is “Enjoy lots of fun! For a small price, of course!”

The automaton of yellow and gray hues glances briefly at you, tilting his heading in confusion while he begins to loosen the bolt stabbed into your right elbow. Holding his gaze, you speak with your eyes, almost pleading.

What are your names?

A spark of understanding answers in his pale optics, and he gasps.

“Moon, where are our manners? I’m so sorry, starlight! My name is Sun, and this is Moon.”

You dip your head again, bobbing up and down in excitement. You know their names. You haven’t learned anything new about anyone in so long…

When they free you from the ring toss game, you can hardly believe how the muddy path now leads you to the outside of the circus as Sun holds you gently in his grasp, how their strides are sure-footed and smooth, and how they look at you with concern.  

You vow silently to speak their names the moment your voice is free too.

*

You haven’t seen anything outside of the carnival in so long, you’ve almost forgotten the sight of dark, shiny paved streets and the lone lamp posts that light the way. Gray and dreary buildings line the streets. One, however, is cheerfully plastered in wooden stars painted bright yellow, and the door is a soft, sky blue with white fluffy clouds along the very top. 

Sun and Moon take turns carrying you. Their hands are careful, cradling you close against their cloak and shawl while murmuring that it’s alright. You’re safe. They’ll get you fixed up in no time. Moon cradles you in his arms now as Sun unlocks the door, and holds it open so you can be carried over the threshold. 

For an odd reason, it triggers your faceplate to heat up more than the colored rouge on the porcelain should allow.

Through the door, the interior of the workshop is set with tools ranging from smallest to biggest, shelves containing boxes marked, and small containers with different, shiny nuts and bolts. There are even some small containers with shiny, bronze gears. You haven’t seen a spotless floor in so long. There were always leaves and mud staining the path serpentining through the carnival. 

A table, coppery under a work lamp, awaits. 

“I’m setting you here,” Moon murmurs close to your audio processor before he lays you softly down with a gentle click of your frame against the metal. 

“I worry about how long you were left there.” Sun loses the shawl and locates a brown leather apron. Tools line the pockets as he swiftly ties it behind his back. His eyes are creased though he still smiles reassuringly. “By the amount of rust, I would guess years. For your sake, I hope I’m wrong.”

The answer is on the tip of your tongue. What comes out instead is a showy voice declaring “Whoever can ring three bottles wins the ultimate prize!” 

A whirl in your servos practically screams out your embarrassment. You lower your gaze. The stiffness in your joints is almost as unbearable as the voice lines the circus owner forced upon you. 

“Shush,” Moon says, his cloak falling away as he snags an apron similar to Sun’s off of a hook. “Wait for a moment, pretty thing, then you may have your words back.”

“That’s right,” Sun nods and shifts to stand close beside you. He grows still for a moment, his bright disposition falling behind a somber cloud. “We’re very lucky to have found you.”

You smile—not the forced, showy smile that has been plastered on your face while you lie in the ruins, but a true smile for the ones who rescued you.

Moon moves to the other side of the table. His hands, now gloved in black leather, hesitate. 

“We will open you up now.” The automaton turns flush along the spindle support of his neck. “Is that alright? It’s the only way we can fix your voice box.”

Sun leans forward, his smile still cheery while he modestly averts his eyes, “As well any other damage done from being exposed and negligent for… however long you were out there.” 

You never thought the solar automaton could be shy, and yet. 

You nod your head as it rests on the table. You feel safe, so much more so than when you were bolted in place. The circus owner did not ask you what you wanted then.

Moon and Sun move in tandem. It’s strange and beautiful, how effortlessly they weave their fingers to begin work. Sun unlocks your chassis and Moon gently lifts it open. You throw your gaze to the ceiling. You don’t want to know. You know they will find it horrible and awful, but you don’t want to see it and have it seared into your mind.

“You’re beautiful,” Moon utters.

You blink, as breathless as a machine can become.

“Your clockwork—is very beautiful,” a slight stumble from his raspy voice seals your fate. You say nothing. You press your lips together and wonder if you might overheat right here and now. 

“You are pretty,” Sun continues effortlessly, though there’s a slight trill to his voice that may give away his nervousness or bashfulness, you can’t decide. “Clockwork automatons are rare.”

The circus owner made mention of that.

You close your eyes as Sun and Moon narrate their every movement. Hands held down by your sides, you only occasionally shift or softly buzz as they clean and fix your voice box nestled within the bottom of your throat. They are so gentle. You never knew hands could be so kind, even if they are rummaging through your inner workings. 

Could they possibly let you stay?

The absurd thought enters your processor and you almost immediately shove it into a box and bury it deep into cold, black soil. 

“You’re doing so good.” Sun grins as he looks down into your chassis. “There. That should do it. Moon?”

“I’m done.”

Slowly, carefully, as if finishing a sacred rite, the two close up your chassis and tighten it back into place. You haven’t opened your eyes yet. A part of you wonders if you’ll only look out into the ruins of the circus again, and find this was all one blissful moment of a daydream. 

“Can you say something, starlight?” Sun’s voice washes over you.

“It’s alright if you’re not ready,” Moon answers in a low sound of comfort.

It falls past your lips before you realize you are not ready, but you so terribly want to speak anyway.

“Thank you.” Your eyes flash open, and you gape—the echo. Your soft, demure tones no longer strained into shouting and calling attention. 

It’s you.

Your hand touches your lips, and a sound between a laugh and a sob emerges from your voice box. 

“Thank you! Thank you!” You look between the two of them, overwhelmed. With the overhead lamp now touching their features as they sit back, grinning, you get to admire their handsome features. 

You two are very striking.

“Oh, my,” Sun chuckles, bleeding red in the cheeks, “Thank you!”

“You’re very sweet,” Moon murmurs, touching his nightcap with a slight bashfulness.

And you realize you spoke your thoughts out loud. You called them striking.

“Oh,” you begin to burn.

“It’s alright,” Moon says swiftly, interrupting your apology. “We would like to know what your plans are after this. Now that you’re free.”

“Free,” you whisper back. You clutch at your chest, over your clockwork heart, and marvel. “I…”

You have your voice back. Use it.

“I—if I may be so bold, may I ask to stay with you both? I won’t be a burden. I won’t stay longer than you will allow, and I—”

Sun sighs, dramatic and cheerful, as he finds your hand to hold it. 

“I thought you would never ask, starlight!”

Moon’s hand slips under your anxious fingers. His nod echoes his solar counterpart’s enthusiasm. You turn your head between both of them, your lips parting in awe.

“Thank you,” you whisper. “Sun. Moon. Thank you.”

[barkbarkbo]

I’ve never seen this frame I’m not ok right now. I can’t even form sentences LOOK AT HIS FACE! LOOK AT HIS FUCKIN FINGERS.

Cant stop look at this picture

[hyunpic]

confused [font: angry]

[bleue-flora]

***UPDATE***

I did some snooping of my own as well as had people find or rule some out (I’ll probably continue to update this as we go on so to check the updated list return to the original post instead of the reblogs)

Alright, by popular demand here it is. There are likely things on here that may not exist yet because the map is from before the finales or don't exist at all or aren’t on this map (these items will be marked DNE - does not exist). I don't know, but that's part of the fun I suppose. :) Feel free to leave the answers in my asks, tag me, or just use the tag: #dsmp scavenger hunt so I can find your posts. <3 Good Luck!

DSMP Scavenger Hunt

Places

1. Staged Duo Island [related post]

✔️2a. Map #1 - Found ✔️2b. Map #4 from Dream’s wall in his bedroom cell [related post] (hopefully they are oriented right, I based it on the other wall maps’ orientation) - Found

2b. is Sam's Base at -3803 70 -3926 [post] (seems the map was oriented wrong oops, my bad... apparently it was right on his wall)

2a. has been determined by @sumwan to be a map of a more completed version of Sam’s handmade retirement island [post] (which is not actually shown in its completion on the dsmp map we were given, but is another mystery solved nonetheless :D)

���️3. Quackity's storage room (what is in the chests?) [clip] - DNE

Given the look of this room and the presumed general area based off of the stream, I searched everywhere and am going to say this no longer exists and must have be changed since April 2021, perhaps it was part of a Las Nevadas building during construction… so no new torture method lore I guess :[

4. Quackity’s birthday poster (does it really say he’s 28? Or that his birthday is on December 28?)

5. Dream’s house (does he actually have one that’s not the prison or his old secret base)

✖️6a. Revival Book Lab [clip] - DNE ✖️6b. Punz's secret underground room - DNE

6b. The finale secret room has been confirmed to not have been built yet [post]

6a. It is a general consensus at this point that because Punz's tower does not appear the same as in the video that the video was filmed on a different map so there is no lab.

✖️7. Dream’s bed for respawning in the disc confrontation (it had to be close for him to get there so fast [related post]) - DNE [post]

8. Warden’s prison stasis chamber on the outside [clip]

9. Does Quackity have an in Minecraft calendar? (that Dream mentions [clip] & is shown in vod)

10. Did they make a replica of the cell for the scrapped lore and just never filmed it?

Items

✔️11. Books Dream gave to Techno in prison (are they all empty?) - Found

No, the one labeled Dream says “dear technoblade” and the others also have things in them, not necessarily super notable but not nothing [post].

➖12. Dream’s letter to Techno - Maybe?

There is a world in which it could perhaps be the Dream book with “dear technoblade” in it [post] because that is what the scene ends on [clip].

13. Revival Book

14. Are there multiple Enderboo prison waivers for multiple visits?

➖15. The OG pink bed (shown in old enderchest [from this post] but not later) - Unfindable

So there are actually a shit ton of pink beds on the server a result of Eret’s ‘you matter <3’ pink wool no doubt. So I think this will be pretty impossible, unless we find something that seems like Dream’s house which has a pink bed.

✔️16. Does Dream have any named possessions? - Yes

A fish named J DAWG, good on Sneapeekay for giving Dream a pet, our boy has an attachment now :) [post]

17. Dreamrider [clip]

18a. Dream’s blue shield 18b. Smile shield from staged finale

Enchantments

19. Enchantments of Quackity’s netherite low durability axe

20. Enchantments of Quackity’s diamond sword

21. Enchantments of Quackity’s diamond pickaxe

✔️22. Dream’s armor enchantments after prison (how does it compare to Nightmare?) - Found

Pretty comparable as far as main enchants go, but definitely missing the extra frills [post] (thank you to @sumwan for finding Nightmare)

Questions

✔️23. Would Techno and Dream have been able to escape from under the cell? [clip] - I think EVENTUALLY Yes

I’m gonna probably do a separate post about it

✔️24. Is the End completely untouched? [related post] - Yes

@blockgamepirate has made the observation that no End file exist so presumably they never went to the end before the finale.

✔️25. Are the cow and sheep still at the disc confrontation vault? - No

Just For Fun - Where are these?

✔️26. KSI portraits from sex class (are there any still around?) - Yes

I do not have the plugin but all maps seem to still be in the school.

27. DEFINITELY NOT PENIS

✔️28. Dream’s Diary - Found

It was still in the cell.... [post]

29. “thanks for visiting” prison book

30. The :) book Sapnap gives to Ranboo from Dream in prison

31. Sam’s book that says "I am not an idiot "over and over

32. The L’manberg photo from the finale [clip]

✔️33. Are there any Tales of the SMP sets? - Yes

@feyscape has found the City of Mizu at 13979 70 12937 [post]

@feyscape’s website notes that The Town That Never Was is at 843 97 -296 [link]

✔️34. Egg - Found

Oddly, near Bad and Skeppy's mansion and the prison, not the banquet room, at 325 11 -884 [post]

35. Bones and Skeppy’s house (in Egg Finale) [clip]

✔️36. Antarctica Tommy got teleported to when he was banned on his first day [related post] - Found

@feyscape website coordinates at 2000 64 2500 [link]

37. The ocean monuments missing elder guardians (for prison build)?

38a. Fundy's house in mesa 38b. Fundy’s nightmare set in mesa biome [clip]

✔️39. Dream’s parrot’s grave [Dream's parrot] - Found

@oduvany has found it at 237 2309 [post]

Helpful Resources

@sumwan’s post [here] tells how to access inventories

And @seriousbusiness4130 left some helpful replies on my post about finding the loaded chunks of a map:

@feyscape has set up a helpful coordinates archive [here]

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Your posts about wen ning are making me very sad. He just wants a hug 😔 can we wrap him up in a weighted blanket instead of chains? Much more comforting and still deadly when thrown at others!

He has been blanketed and given a mug of hot coco.

[tetrahedrals]

[scavengerlyfe]

Cockatiel (Nymphicus hollandicus) feathers. Technically speaking, I found these. I have a pet cockatiel, and I keep some of her molted feathers. Her gray and white coloration is due to a mutation, though I’m not sure what the specific color morph is called.

The larger of the two is 4 inches (10 centimeters) long, and the smaller one is about 3.5 inches (9 centimeters).

Additional image of the lovely Stormchaser, who gives me feathers sometimes.

[Image ID: A gray and white cockatiel peeking out from where she is held gently in a hand. End ID]

[mysteriousmissme]

toilet trio art for the ch120 release!!! who else cheered!!!

[spamton-deactivated19970420]

collage of some old stuff

[moth-nautilus]

(WIP) I love the creatures in this game and what better way to appreciate them than drawing every single one!

[leondegranced]

My piece for DarKymi for the Merthur Glompfest 2023!

[probably-not-a-rutabaga]

i actually love them so much it's not even funny

[shadowzel]

gale has specific dialogue to compare the other companions to tara !

+ durge