#How many more lives should be lost before intervention
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Like.. i know the world does not care. I know only white lives and stories and voices and struggles are human in their eyes.... still it pains me to see the silence. The disregard. The apathy and lies.
#Israel literally announced they are committing genocide and the world cheered#I can not think about anything else.#I do not care for anything else#this really feels like gaza vs the world#and gaza is being actively silenced#How many more lives should be lost before intervention#before even just a change of the narrative???#Did we learn nothing from Iraq? from the “war on terror”??#The cost already is too great. Already too many have died#....#palestine#free palestine#fuck israel
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KimChay prompt
I give you: Soulmate AU
Everyone has a timer in their wrist that shows how many days your soulmate has left to live
For Chay the timer changes every day but the number of days is never more than one year. Chay is very, very concerned for his soulmate and the kind of life he is living.
For Kim, he's convinced that his soulmate is also part of the Mafia or something worse because his timer is just weird. This morning his soulmate had over 50 years left, but something happened between 9am and 9:25am so now his soulmate is gonna die by the end of the week! Then, before lunch his timer changes again and Kim's soulmate will live for another 89 years
How do you think Kim would react to Chay? Just normal, kind, brave, zero situational awareness Chay who hasn't realized how many times he's been about to die
Also Helloo Hiiii how are you?
Hiiiiii, Hellooooo, I'm doing okay other than all this writer's block haha. Onto the timer soulmates!!
Kim wakes up in unfamiliar territory and nearly jolts up before he realizes the uncomfortable feeling below him is a pullout couch and the comforting weight on top of him is Chay.
His maybe-probably soulmate.
Warmth spreads across his cheeks when he realizes they spent all night pressed up against each other like this. Trying not to jostle Chay, Kim checks his watch. The time, 7:00AM, is expected for his internal body clock. Then he pulls down the wristband on his watch and checks his timer, 20:05:03:23:15, which is not expected.
Twenty years? When he fell asleep last night, the boy in his arms had fifty some odd years left to live, and this morning it’s down to twenty?
The timer changes sometimes, everyone’s does. The mechanics are still a bit of a mystery to the world, but it’s a guarantee that when a timer runs out, that person’s soulmate dies. It seems like Kim’s timer fluctuates more than other people’s, but Chay hadn’t led the safest life even before he started hanging out with the third son of Thailand’s biggest mafia family.
Actually, when Kim suspected Chay’s magnetic pull was more than just a simple crush on Kim’s part, he made a phone call ensuring all the Kittisawat debts were paid off and any loan sharks in the area knew Chay was protected.
On that day Kim’s timer jumped from a worrisome ten years to a more comfortable fifty.
That would have been more than enough for most people to prove they were soulmates, but Kim maintains a healthy amount of doubt. Or denial rather.
He doesn’t want Chay tied to him. His little intervention took a whole week of planning to make the orders look like they were coming from someone other than Kim. He doesn’t want his family finding out Chay is important, it’s too dangerous for Chay to get involved with them. This morning is proof of it, their deepening relationship is taking decades off of Chay’s life.
The boy in his arms begins to stir, and then stills suddenly. The corner’s of Kim’s lips twitch up when he feels Chay’s breaths quicken as he likely realizes he’s sleeping half on top of Kim, and then forcibly slow down again.
“Why are you pretending to be asleep?” Kim finds himself asking. He hadn’t even planned to break their peaceful silence, but he’s a little obsessed with Chay and desperate to understand what goes on in his mind.
Chay answer about barely believing any of this is real is like a knife to Kim’s heart, because it’s not. Kim is hiding so many things from him. He hasn’t even mentioned to Chay his thought that they might be soulmates, and that’s the least of the things Kim is keeping from him.
Chay unknowingly twists that knife when he looks up at Kim with his big, lovely eyes and asks Kim if he loves Chay. He’s never looked at the timer on Chay’s timer, but he thinks it probably just lost a decade of time.
He doesn’t respond to Chay’s question, instead sending him off to fetch breakfast for them.
Kim should leave, he tells himself as Chay cooks. He should leave and never return. It’s better to know Chay is out in the world without him, than have to live in a world where Chay is dead because Kim was greedy with him.
When the doorbell rings, Kim makes his decision. He’ll slip out while Chay isn’t looking, and never come near him again.
Then he hears Chay scream, and walking away isn’t an option.
He fights tooth and nail, but he let his guard down too much and he’s not prepared to fight. Chay’s cries have made him frantic and erratic, and he knows he’s leaving holes in his defenses. Just as he’s starting to get his fighting brain turned on he gets tazed. It hurts like a bitch but he keeps going, fighting back as he gets tazed again.
He goes down. The last thing he sees is Chay helplessly splayed on the ground.
When he wakes up Chay is gone.
Kim’s timer reads 00:00:05:08:15.
Five days.
If Kim does nothing, Chay will die in five days.
He won’t let his happen.
He picks up the phone and dials the number he swore he’d never call for help again.
Kim watches the seconds tick away on his timer with as the call rings.
“Kim?” Kinn asks curtly when he picks up.
Kim takes a deep breath. “I need help,” he utters.
His timer jumps. 89:03:12:06:45
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Police are missing crucial opportunities that could protect hundreds of thousands of domestic abuse victims, by failing to impose emergency restraining orders on their alleged attackers – a state of affairs that Labour has pledged to put an end to.
Shocking figures show that just over one per cent of those who complained of abuse were given a domestic violence protection order (DVPO), an emergency order that requires the alleged offender to leave the premises and not contact the victim.
Some forces handed out just 10 in a year – including Hertfordshire Police, whose failings may have contributed to the death of Kellie Sutton, who took her own life after a campaign of abuse by her partner.
Shadow home secretary Yvette Cooper has promised a clampdown on police failings, launching Labour’s plans to force change in an article in The Independent.
The party would make it mandatory for officers to consider the need for a protective order within 24 hours of an arrest or a police report.
Ms Cooper told The Independent: “No woman who has the courage to report an incident like domestic abuse or stalking to the police should wake up the next day and find that no action has been taken and nothing has changed.
“The police have tools to protect victims of [violence against women and girls] at the earliest opportunity; they simply must use them. Never again should we hear that the police could have done more. Missed opportunities cost lives, and too many have already been lost.”
According to government figures, only 10,489 DVPOs were applied for in the year ending March 2022, despite more than 1.7 million women experiencing domestic abuse and more than 800,000 police reports.
Domestic abuse charity Refuge, which has partnered with The Independent to raise awareness of such crimes, said the failure by police to act was putting lives at risk. Meanwhile, Charlotte Proudman, a barrister specialising in violence against women and girls, asked: “How many lives could have been saved if the police had secured [these orders] for victims?”
Nogah Offer, from the Centre for Women’s Justice, said the figures were “shocking”, adding that what is needed is “an effective system to keep survivors safe”.
Police apologised for not considering such an order in the case of Raneem Oudeh, 22, who was murdered by her ex-partner outside her mother’s home in Solihull, West Midlands, in August 2018.
West Midlands Police later said it “should have done more to safeguard Raneem”, including by considering interventions such as a domestic violence protection order, “which could have made her home a safer place”.
Meanwhile, an inquest jury concluded that failures by Hertfordshire Police may have contributed to the death of Kellie Sutton, 30, who was found unconscious at the home she shared with her partner in Welwyn Garden City in August 2017.
Officers had visited her home just weeks before she died after they were alerted by neighbours. The jury found that, had further investigation or action been taken by the police, it may have prevented her death.
Hertfordshire Police said it had since changed its processes. While it applied for just 10 orders in 2022, the force told The Independent that it had issued 109 to date this year – nearly 11 times as many. In response, Ms Cooper said: “As the Hertfordshire response to the failings in Kellie Sutton’s case shows, these powers have been chronically underused.”
Under Labour’s plans, strict new 24-hour time limits would be brought in, during which officers must assess whether or not an order would be suitable. Forces would also have to submit regular figures – and their reasons for failing to apply for orders – to the National Police Chiefs’ Council (NPCC) and the Home Office.
The police have said that tackling violence against women and girls is a priority, but that protection orders may not always be appropriate. Dr Proudman, however, insisted that they can make a difference. She said: “Civil orders have the potential to save victims and children’s lives. The police’s failure to consider the need for DVPOs shows they are not protecting survivors from domestic abuse.
“Within hours of a report of domestic abuse, the police should be seriously considering civil orders. The longer they wait, the more harm perpetrators can cause to victims. How many lives could have been saved if the police had secured DVPOs for victims?”
Ellie Butt, head of policy and public affairs at Refuge, said: “We know that domestic abuse has a higher rate of repeat victimisation than any other crime, and the inability by police to quickly put these protective orders in place – and then, importantly, enforce them – puts women’s lives at risk.”
She added: “Refuge would like to see police proactively monitor protective orders, ensuring that perpetrators are complying with the conditions. Currently, the onus is on survivors to report when these orders are breached, giving women little confidence in the system.”
She also called for police training to be improved so that officers are made aware of the legislation in place to protect survivors.
Sophie Francis-Cansfield, of leading domestic abuse charity Women’s Aid, said the organisation welcomed Labour’s pledge because it is critical that victims are kept safe.
She added: “To ensure this is a success and has a tangible impact, it is essential that existing challenges around DVPOs are addressed, namely ongoing legal aid cuts and enforcement.
“Police forces must have the right resources, training and understanding around domestic abuse for survivors to be kept safe and perpetrators to be held accountable.”
Alessia Bianco, of Hestia, another domestic violence charity, said: “Police must be fully equipped to use protective orders effectively in order to properly protect survivors of domestic abuse and stalking. This requires careful dissemination and awareness-raising among all officers.”
The government said it expects police to treat reports of domestic abuse “with the utmost gravity, without exception”. A government spokesperson said: “Earlier this year, the home secretary announced a package of measures which go further than ever before in protecting women and girls from domestic abuse.
“We have been clear that we expect the police to treat these reports with the utmost gravity, without exception. We have classified violence against women and girls as a national threat for the first time, setting clear expectations that police must treat these crimes on a par with tackling threats like terrorism, serious and organised crime, and child sexual abuse.”
A spokesperson for the NPCC said: “Tackling abuse, stalking and violence against women and girls are priorities for policing, and we are committed to protecting victims and bringing perpetrators to justice.”
They added that while DVPOs are an important tool, “they are a civil rather than a criminal order, and may not be appropriate where alternatives such as a criminal justice outcome are being sought.”
A spokesperson for Hertfordshire Police said that the force takes tackling domestic abuse “very seriously”. He added that its approach had been informed by the findings of the inquest into Ms Sutton’s death.
He said: “Every case dealt with by the unit is now assessed by specialist officers for [its] suitability for a domestic violence prevention order. We have also built close working relationships with the courts to help ensure the successful granting of applications, and training about the orders has been delivered to teams across the force.”
The national domestic abuse helpline offers support for women on 0808 2000 247, or you can visit the Refuge website. There is a dedicated men’s advice line on 0808 8010 327. Those in the US can call the domestic violence hotline on 1-800-799-SAFE (7233). Other international helplines can be found via www.befrienders.org
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I’m dying to hear about the your Norm and Tsu’tey HCs🤭🤭 (Side bar: I’m also so conflicted about Tsu’tey living hcs bc then we don’t get Jake’s imposter syndrome (?) feelings about being the leader of the clan (ik there’s a name for it but I don’t feel like looking up how to spell it) yk? Like I’m sure he’d probably still have it to some degree but idk it’s like on a lesser level yk? ) this is probably a grammatical nightmare I’m so sorry 😭😭
Hi friend, no, don't worry, I understand completely what you're trying to say.
First, you've completely distracted me with your side note, so we have to start with that. I see no reason why Tsu'tey living can't still involve Jake's imposter syndrome feelings, in fact, even make them a new and bigger beast. I think there are two schools of thought with Tsu'tey surviving the Battle of the Tree of Souls; one where he lives and remains clan leader and Jake becomes kind of like his right hand man, and two where he is severely injured in the battle to the point that he is disabled and he gives his role to Jake. I adore stories with both, and I see endless potential in both, but I kind of love the second one just for the pain and trauma and potential healing that it poses.
Like, come on. Tsu'tey is shot like a ton of times. I think they only way he could survive is like, Eywa intervention and also human surgery and tech. I'm thinking it would have to be that one of the humans finds him first, or once the battle was over Norm and Max had separated Jake's loyal humans out to help with some medical help just because so many people and Na'vi were hurt, and once they found Tsu'tey Mo'at encouraged letting them help? The logistics of how it would even work, letting the humans help, are a little complicated to me.
BUT ANYWAYS, I feel like that's like, double the imposter syndrome drama. Tsu'tey is still a badass, obviously, but he can't do things with the ease he used to. He gives his title to Jake because it takes him years to recover properly, and even then he knows he won't ever be like he used to be. There could also totally be a layer of mistrust in some of the older Na'vi, their leader should be dead but was saved by creepy human tech, and the new possibility is fucking Jake "used to be human" Sully? DON'T even get me started on the fucking ride Jake and Tsu'tey can go on, getting close over life changing disabilities, crazy leadership pressure, and being weird Eywa freaks. BUT ALSO Jake just stole this dude's job and fiancee, and now he's disabled? Please that has to be some imposter syndrome and guilt like crazy. And Tsu'tey definitely has some bitterness and guilt, but also feels useless and aimless? Like what is his purpose now, Jake and Neytiri have a family and the clan and he's just, like wandering around like half the guy he used to be, no family and should be dead?
AND THAT'S WHERE NORM COMES IN. Norm gets the weirs, jealousy, uselessness, I've-been-replaced-in-my-one-purpose feeling. My guy was hired with like seven degrees to do a job Jake came in wholly unqualified for and half assed his way through epically and changed the state of the world. Idk, I feel like in a ton of ways they are kindred spirits in a polar opposites way. Same feelings in different circumstances.
I've said this before, but one of the things I adore about Norm and Tsu'tey as a concept is neither of them is each other's first love. They both had their epic love story, their perfect person. They had their fairytale. And now they are both a little older, a little more jaded, and a little more broken and aimless. They also were both in a heterosexual relationship before. It's so far from a replacement of what they lost, it's learning to be a new person in the wake of the old and finding the perfect person for the new ones they've become. They're both stuck in each others world for the time being, what with Tsu'tey stuck recovering in the base and Norm now stuck on Pandora forever. I think that is a fun concept to explore. I've gone too far into this though, so here's this word vomit.
#this just came out of me at 6:20am on the train to work#and I love it#when I actually sit down and make time for the asks they are so so fun#norm spellman#tsu’tey#norm x tsu’tey#jake sully#max patel#mo’at#neytiri sully#avatar#avatar the way of water#james cameron avatar#melissa’s asks#melissa og#melissa on avatar (cameron)#we are mindmelding get in
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what are the things you like and the things you dislike about before the storm? please feel free to elaborate as much as you want, i love your essays
Oh this is a fun question! I'll do top five things I like and dislike since the game is a bit of a mixed bag for me! The things I like I love, but the things I don't like really stick out.
Things I Like:
A: Amberprice was my favorite thing to come out of the game. I love the electric dynamic between Rachel and Chloe that was present from the moment they met. It's a great representation of a whirlwind teenage romance and they play really well of each others personalities.
B: As someone who loves analyzing media Rachel is a great character. She has so many nuances and I feel like she's one of those characters five people could interpret in five different ways. She's very complex and I really love her personality. She's the star of every scene she's in. As she should be.
C: Some of the standalone scenes are the best of the franchise in my opinion. Rachel burning down the tree while wind swirls around her, the play that comes off as a proposal, the excitement of discussing leaving their small town and Rachel sealing her promise with a kiss, the dream scenes with William. All of those scenes stand out very vividly to me because of how much I enjoyed them.
More Undercut
D: I liked doing graffiti more than taking photos! I liked the choice about what type of graffiti would you wanted to do like either drawing devil horns on Nathan or a halo on Rachel.
E: I really liked the portrayal of young Chloe! She's jaded and cold, but a lot of her rougher edges haven't come into play yet. Which makes sense as David isn't living with them full time and she hasn't lost Rachel at this point. I think her depression is also written really well. It's never stated outright, but all you have to do is read her journal entries to see her mental health struggles. It's a good confirmation of what we already knew in the first game but wasn't focused on much.
Things I Dislike:
A: I hated everything with Damon so much. It takes a slice of life story and tries to turn it into this a drug dealer conflict which I was not a fan of seeing. Especially because Before The Storm could have had plenty of main conflicts that didn't need him at all. For example, show why Rachel and Chloe never left Arcadia. Was it their parents intervention? Lack of money? Chloe's truck hardly working? One of the girls being unable to commit? All of the above? I find that more interesting then anything with Damon.
B: Rachel is barely in Episode 3. Rachel is the entire draw of the game so why she was regulated to damsel in distress stuck in a hospital bed while Chloe goes to rescue her kidnapped Mother I don't know. I feel like the intention was to show how far Chloe would go for Rachel...but doesn't she already prove that in the first game?
C: Everything with David doesn't really make sense. Before The Storm is a prequal, so why can the game end with David and Chloe on decent circumstances if we've seen how that falls apart in the next game? Like...what happened? It leaves more questions then answers that I don't feel like a prequel should bring up. Personally I think it would've been better for their relationship to degrade during the game so we can draw a conclusion on how things got so bad,
D: No power system. One of my favorite things about Life Is Strange and True Colors is getting to use the powers. I know Chloe couldn't have powers because that would contradict a LOT with the first game, but all I'm saying is Rachel would be a cool protagonist and also she's implied to have some kind of wind and/or fire power.
E: I hated everything they did with Rachel's parents. During the first game the big reason that Rachel and Chloe never left Arcadia Bay is because they didn't have the money to leave. But apparently Rachel's parents are rich? And her Father is so crazily overprotective he kidnaps a women who only wanted to talk to her daughters? But he doesn't care when Rachel goes missing in the first game? Plot holes aside, I also just didn't like James as a person nor did I find him interesting. Which really kills a character for me. So I didn't love him being such a big part of episode 3.
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@estarion: ❛ family? the word has no meaning. ❜ someone isn't getting along with his siblings. ( continued from @fallesto )
He was very lucky indeed, in this corner of the gutter, little insects like this who wish to do some form of good within the world, are more often than naught, crushed without much thought. Had it not been for his timely intervention, he would have perished to his injuries, he had cried out for someone to lend him aid and he had answered the pitiful little wails of a mortal and now, well now this one was his now .. until he would no longer require him, but such things would take, not months nor years. Not even decades as he was beginning to see and for himself understand the bargain that was struck, just how much he would actually need to put forth to make it all happen and fall into place. “Are you questioning me?” Has the little spawn forgotten, just how many decades have passed, since he was little more than a dying rat in the street, being kicked, struck and left bleeding out, without anyone caring for him, all of the good he had done, all of the plans he had, gone like the river of blood that boards into the cracks in the stone on the pavement. “Is this not, far more than you ever had before?” As he would stare right at him for the moment, was this, not the family that he had wanted. Seven spawn that he had made, living together within his castle, serving him in every single want and need he held for himself and bringing him, more little mortals to .. feast upon. His life would have ended in the gutter and if not, with the time that had passed, he would have perished long ago. Eternal life, and power, limited of course, placed within his clawed hands, he ought to be more thankful than he is, for it could be worse, so much more worse than it already is.
Woe is as hot steam hissed from the cracks of grit teeth; he remains ignited and feral in the aftermath of a fraternal brawl, dragged kicking and screaming all the way to his master’s feet. Raw knuckles bear evidence of tempers lost and rage unleashed unto his ‘little brother’s’ face. He has been made to collapse onto knees first, tearstained cheek second, guided roughly by Godey’s boned hand tight around his nape. It’s too late to avoid the kennels, so he may as well purge his system, spit his truth—right here, all over this immaculately polished floor.
“—it is not ME!!” Finally, his starved, metallic mouth works again. And it won’t just stop after the first bite. “It’s Petras—!” Astarion is defiant, careless, ripping and chewing through every syllable with Cazador’s eyes right on him. “He tore the shoulder of my doublet trying to impersonate me in front of the others—” They were uproarious, loving it. Bonding over the big joke they all view him as.
“—how am I meant to present myself to your lovely future meals, Master, if the scraps I’m given to wear are in tatters—? YES, I hit him—” Savagely. Over and over. How he burns to again. “—but the stupid idiot swung at me first! Maybe he’s learned his lesson—maybe now he’ll actually have a shot at being called ‘handsome’ with that newly arranged mug! AHA—! Honestly?! He should be GRATEFUL—!!”
#fallesto#(v)—the downward spiral.#[ depictions of violence tw ? ]#[ imagine it's 'meet the parents' day at school and cazador struts in ... YEE HAW ]
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Chapter 7: In Which Twig Fixes Some Shutters
Autumn gave its final gasp and winter rushed in to fill the space it left. The village Darkrai's hostess called home lived up to its name even in the cooling months, with a group of floette keeping the deciduous trees in Verdant Village full of green leaves and bountiful flowers, though perpetuating berry production seemed too difficult to achieve. He was impressed regardless. It seemed Twig was as well.
He would often find her pausing on the road back to her home from the market, staring up at the archway of trees that formed a vibrant emerald corridor for a long stretch of the journey. Snow weighed heavily on the branches, creating a blanketed atmosphere that muffled every sound as stray flakes drifted down from overhead. It was an awe-inspiring sight, beautiful beyond words, and he was grateful for the frequent stops whenever they passed through that area. He couldn't say he knew what went through her head whenever she stopped mid-stride to gaze overhead with wide eyes and a near reverent aura, but he felt like he was of a similar mind.
Since he had unintentionally learned things she clearly hoped to keep unsaid, Twig had closed herself off even more than before. Darkrai was surprised by how thoroughly she managed to clam up despite baring her soul to him just a few nights ago. She had explained a wild tale of time travel, self-sacrifice, and a bond between her and her partner that moved Legends to divine intervention— all of this in a blatant effort to distract from a more mundane story of a child preyed upon by their caretaker— and now she barely spoke a word to him most days. She spent most of her time chopping firewood with a chipped, dull axe and staring at the same page in a journal that's spine was warped with how many papers had been torn out from it. He caught glimpses of the page on several occasions, despite his efforts to uphold her privacy, and found it filled with symbols he didn't recognize. Perhaps that odd language she spoke in during that nightmarish memory? Whatever it was, she clearly didn't want him to pry, and he would respect her wishes.
Her neighbors were surprisingly warm in their welcome of him. He had come to expect dispassionate greetings and harsh rejections in his wanderings, but the gallade, gardevoir, and little ralts living next door were ceaselessly kind. They constantly strove to incorporate Twig into their lives despite the woman's efforts to keep them at arm's length, and had begun involving Darkrai in their attempts at fostering companionship as well. Gardevoir in particular was particularly persistent, and Ralts was a clumsy echo of her mother's earnestness as well.
It was taking him some time to get used to responding to the name Ark. He was improving, but it felt like a clumsy sort of progress— like the name didn't quite fit, or wasn't exactly his. There was also his hesitancy to offer his given name in conversation. Perhaps there was some memory he had lost in which he came to be familiar enough with others to flaunt his given name, but it was hard to believe. Even Ralts eventually brazenly introducing herself as Lyra ruffled him, though it was easier to stomach than hearing his name come from one so young. Even Twig referred to him by his species— which should have made the least sense when she insisted everyone referred to him as Ark before his memory loss— and this made the contrast in name usage more blatant.
Twig hadn't spoken to him whatsoever that morning, insistently avoiding eye contact and sequestering herself away in the kitchen for much of the early hours. It was past noon when she broke the silence. "I'm going to do some work on the house's exterior. There's a couple shutters that keep squeaking when they open, and the roof needs some work before it snows for real."
That sounded enough like an invitation for his tastes. He set aside his tambour and joined her outside as she did her work, the flame at the end of her tail flickering a frosty lavender when he rose to follow.
It was painfully obvious as he watched her work that Twig had no idea how to perform home repairs— but Darkrai wasn’t exactly skilled in the area either, and could offer no assistance with any amount of confidence. He remained handy, so that if she needed someone to fetch a tool he would be around to do it. He could provide that help at the very least, and it was pleasant to repay the kindness he’d been so generously provided— even if it was only to a pitiful degree, it was a start, and he eagerly took the opportunity to begin paying back his steep debt to the charmeleon.
He wondered how she withstood the cold weather. He wasn’t one who often found himself bothered by the chill of winter, even in the coldest months, but he suspected that the ability was afforded to him by his status as a Legend. Twig was mortal, and suspect to the elements. Admittedly, fire-types were better prepared for chilly weather than someone of grass-type or bug-type descent, but she seemed to struggle to keep herself warm enough with her inherent gift with heat. She shivered at almost all times, with the tremors almost seeming to intensify when indoors. It was remarkably ironic for one of her typing to be so easy to send shuddering at what seemed phantom breezes that even he, for all his sensitivity to the world around them, couldn’t detect.
That ralts girl made her way down the side of the road, struggling through a drift that came up to her knees as she dragged a small sled behind her. She waved excitedly at the two of them, and Darkrai followed suit when Twig returned to the gesture. The girl then wandered off to enjoy the gentle slopes that her hillside home provided alongside the snow. He knew some time must have passed since his last recollection of a calendar date, but it was jarring to see a child so enthusiastic in how she greeted her seniors. Perhaps it was a matter of location, and that was simply how children were raised in Verdant Village? The idea seemed unlikely, as he had encountered other youth who held similar attitudes. Times must have changed. That was the most sensible theory he could produce.
Ah. Speaking of children, Lyra was hastening over to where he stood below Twig as she worked on the roof.
“Hey! Ark, my sled got stuck in a ginormous bush. I can’t get it out. Can you help me?”
Again, it was unsettling to be spoken to in such a way by a child. Not unpleasant, but definitely jarring. He agreed, noting the way Twig tensed overhead. Lyra led him out a ways over to a small thicket that certainly must seem insurmountable to one so small. She then threw little fists out in glee when he retrieved the sled. It was never comfortable to hover more than a few feet above a surface, but it was bearable when he knew it would be only for a moment, and Lyra’s joyous enthusiasm at her sled’s return certainly didn’t serve to sour the sensation further. She rushed off to resume her self-imposed challenge to sled faster than her personal best (which she insisted was less than a second to go from a large hill off in the distance to the roadside— he found that hard to believe, but didn’t voice his misgivings) and he made his way back to his post beneath where Twig worked.
He came within range of hearing and found her muttering to herself.
It was a panicked whisper— more a series of gasps than anything close to controlled speech— and she kept her eyes fixed on where Lyra must have vanished from view as she recited a terrified mantra. “It’s okay, it’s okay— this isn’t an Azurill kind of thing, it’s fine— stop freaking out, breathe, it’s fine…” Her recitation trailed off as he closed a certain distance, and it occurred to him that she hadn’t thought he could hear her before he reached the range in which a mortal could typically discern speech. Unfortunate. He wasn’t sure he wanted to inform her of this misunderstanding when she was so clearly perturbed by something unknown.
“Are you well?” He asked.
“Peachy!” she gritted out in a saccharine tone.
“You do not seem to feel so.”
“I’m fine. Mind handing me those nails?”
He did so. She didn’t speak another word all evening.
***
Seeing Darkrai disappear from view with Lyra earlier had set some sort of alarm system off in Twig’s head, and she was struggling to come down from the spiking panic that gripped her in that moment. Memories of duking it out with Drowzee after a terrified and sobbing Azurill ran off and hid stung anew. She had made sure to check on the ralts as soon as an opportunity arose that she was sure wouldn’t clue Darkrai in to her nervousness, and Lyra was just as chipper as ever— and made sure to show off how fast she could sled to Twig before she left. Lyra was fine. Azurill was fine. Twig was fine. So if her heart could stop pounding like everyone she knew was in mortal danger, she’d really appreciate it.
The worsening weather meant that Twig was stuck inside most days. She didn’t have the excuse of going to the market daily when most stalls only opened up once a week, and they all did so in unison. She also didn’t want to go out on expeditions with Darkrai, because there was no way in heck that she was going to be able to work safely with a distraction like that trailing behind her at all times… also, judging by how she’d found him in Mount Travail, he wouldn’t exactly be an asset in a fight. So she was stuck at home, alone with Darkrai, who was making greater efforts to converse than ever before. He asked her about the one book she had in her entire home— a dense tome on memory and amnesia— and asked if she had ever made progress recovering memories beyond what she had told him. And what he had seen himself, she lamented inwardly, before insisting that nope, absolutely nothing had ever come back to her, and she honestly thinks she remembered that stuff from the get go, why did he ask?
She needed someone to talk to— really talk to— about everything. About her roommate situation, about the return of her memories, about how tired and overwhelmed she was by literally everything in her life at the moment. She couldn’t bear to reveal to Kip what she’d been up to, the thought of opening up to Grovyle or Celebi left her shaking at how selfish she would certainly be to burden them with her baggage, and she wasn’t exactly raring to explain to Gallade or Gardevoir how she would be erased from all of existence right now if it weren’t for Dialga bringing her back as an “oops, my bad” apology gift for Kip so that she could get into the current mess of her life. She didn’t have anyone who she could open up to. She didn’t have anyone she could spill her thoughts to. She had no one who she could stand to taint their opinion of her with burdensome rambling. She sniffled as silently as she could as she traced the letters of Kip’s signature on his most recent letter with a claw. She had no one who she could burden with her lamentations.
No one, except maybe…
Oh.
She scrubbed her eyes, wiping away any hint of silently shed tears, and stood up from the breakfast nook in the kitchen. “Hey, Darkrai, we’re gonna head out on a trip for a few days.”
#pmd2#pmd eos#pmd sky#pmd explorers#pokemon mystery dungeon#pmd fanfic#pmd fanfiction#pmd fic#the present is a gift au
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Had a thought about Gai and Dai in GOS, was curious on your thoughts on it (I made myself cry again). Sorry for the fanfiction length.
But, what if for a while, Gai wasn't sure if he wanted to go back for reincarnation after his second life. Like no offense to Obito but... THAT LIFE WAS AWEFUL. It had some amazing highs. But the lows were so deep it was a miracle he clawed out of them. He lost his humanity. His family hated him. He had to fight Fucking uh..... That guy!!!
(Madara: I swear to me if you forget one more time-)
It was terrifying. And depressing! He never got to be with the man he loved in a way he wanted because he was a fucking dragon!!! He couldn't even bring himself to confess! Was not a fun time!!! He's almost happy to be dead because at least now he can see his hands again. His human hands...he hadn't seen them in centuries.
And Obito feels a little bad but he also struck a deal with Hashirama that Gai's next life would be amazing! Absolutely stunning. If Gai wants to move on to the next part of death, of course, he wouldn't stop him but... that would devestate his brother... so before Gai made a final choices, he asked him to see one person who wanted to see him first.
And Gai of course thinks it will be Kakashi but...its Dai. Its his original papa...
And of course the two break down seeing each other and holding each other in the classic Maito hug (can't not have it happen.) And after catching up and informing Dai about his new life, Dai listens and takes it all in stride...but very much wishes to meet Gai's so-called "father" and get him very aquainted, with his fists!!!
But after they get reaquainted and calm down, Obito tells him the plan. That when the time is right, he'd like to not only send Gai back...but send them back together, as father and son again. In a world less unforgiving (their tribe originally predated farming before the godly intervention. It was VERY hard life), full of "modern" comforts. In a time of peace. They both might need to wait a while, and he might need to practice this whole reincarnation thing because well...he's new at it and its a little hard. But he could give them an amazing shared life together if they trust them.
And they do.
Which results in King Dai, and Prince Gai. And true to his word it was an amazing life. For both of them. To the point that every time Gai would die and meet Obito again he really was all "When can I go back again?!" All enthusiastically!
But after Dai meets Gai again after the third life ends and upon hearing his story, it turns out...Dai won't be coming back again. Not ever. This was his last life.
Not because he didn't love both lives. He's not giving up on his youth...but he knows the next life has no guarantee that Gai would be his son again. Or a life after that, and he is happy just to have had the opportunity to raise Gai not only once, but twice. To hold his sweet baby son once again and then see him grow into a noble man which he might not have been able to see in his first life... all that was more than he ever wanted. He is at peace, completely fulfilled and ready to move on to the next part.
But he insists Gai should stay. Gai should be reborn as many times as he likes, forever if possible, because Dai can see the world is a better place when his son is in it. And he wants Gai to know that no matter how bad things get, or how hard they are, how old or young Gai ends up becoming, even if he becomes a dragon again or a tiny worm in the future... that Dai is always will watch over him in his own way.
No matter how the world shapes Gai's life, and who or what he becomes... Dai will always love him, and his eternally youthful spirit.
There's probably more Maito crying (because THEY NEED TO FEEL) I could even see Gai's spirit becoming a child for a bit as his papa hugs him, but they both accept each other's choice.
I'm not sure what becomes of the dead when they move on in this world. Or if Dai could have become something akin to Kakashi's lightning after his human die and their spirits mingle with his power forever (as Gai and Dai are both mortals). But I like to imagine some part of Dai is always with Gai in his heart/ spirit from there on out. No matter the lifetime or what happens, the voice of Dai cheers his heart on, and Gai keeps the spirit of youth alive with his papa in that way. Even if he can't remeber him in life, he feels his warmth in some way, always. And he gets to remwmber his papa and his kind words every time he dies.
Also Hashirama is watching ALL of this to the side with Obito (both times). He's outwardly bawling and Obito is subtly crying- ("NO I'M NOT! I HAVE SOMETHING IN HIS EYES, OKAY?! ITS DUSTY IN THE UNDERWORLD!!!"), and both go see their dads afterwards for....reasons!!!
(Hogoromo: Its been almost been a million years. Why are you visiting me?
Hashirama: Because you're my dad... 🥲
Obito: *tea day with Sakumo.*)
Just... I'm sorry. I love Dai and Gai so much. Sorry if none of that is true/ even slightly what you invisioned. I just like the idea of them having their own little story in this grand universe.
Ohhh all of this is beautiful and i really love the moment when the two choose their paths going forward, knowing full well they may never interact again but also getting the opportunity to tell each other how much they love each other.
It’s Definitly an emotional time for everyone who’s there to witness it
I wouldn’t have Dai mingling with Kakashi’s lightning, but death in this world is very… interesting. There are spirits (like Hiroki’s daughter who hangs with Nakano) and the actual domains for dead people, but i think Dai would be one of the special few
A star that Obito places in the sky so he can watch over the world, and Gai, at all times. Dai has always wondered how things would progress and he gets to see it for himself for all of eternity. He even gets to watch as Kakashi turns into a mortal and finds Gai all over again, just to fall in love with him again.
And every-time Gai dies he gets to remember not just his parents love from that last lifetime, but all his parents love. Especially the love he gets to remember that Dai had for him.
But also, as a star Dai gets to have visitors and you bet your butt Kakashi’s going up there once in a while to make sure he’s doing ok. Gai even gets to start visiting his papa in the sky once he becomes a god 🥰🥰🥰
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Argh *dies in pain* why to hurt Lambros so much( for angst and entertainment obvi)
but on the opposite side of the barricade what if Sideswipe dies and Strongarm is left with two kids and Sunstreaker who propably don't fell very well mentaly ( he just reconect with his lil bro and lost him again forever) Our girl has a lot on her plate so does she manages to contain her pain/feelings for sake of everyone else? Or maby she let herself be vulnerable?
And how her relationship with Sunstreaker evolves? Because at the end they are familly whether they like it or not.
Our girl turns into a whole Mama Bear is what, you thought she was dangerous before, you haven't seen her with two babies she's got to protect in middle of the war.
She is. VERY Luisa about it though. She doesn't have time to grieve, not much anyway, she's got to be strong for the team (which is down one frontliner so she takes up the slot Sideswipe formerly filled the moment she's able to withstand a punch---against First Aid's advice---because their dad isn't here to fight for them, so she has to) and for her babies even if she wants to cry and rage at the world, and it takes a dangerous while for her to realise that she cannot haymaker her way out of Postpartum Depression which hits her like a fucking truck.
Someone's got to run intervention on her, and it's Sunstreaker of all people who manages to get through, speaking with her at her level, with full understanding of her pain because it's one shared between them.
He's the one who chooses to be vulnerable first--he's already had his moment of raging against the heavens, he's working through the five stages of grief, he's trying, let him help you--and initially she (broody, irate, Not OK in the slightest) does what's instinctive and lashes out at him, calls him every horrible thing under the sun, brings up all the times he had been a rotten brother to Sideswipe, and in a moment of absolute viciousness tells him straight up that the wrong brother died.
Dead silence, and then surprise from Strongarm's end when he keeps his tone level (they're well known for getting into loud quarrels, and he was verbally nasty to her back in the day) and doesn't disagree with her at all.
She's right. It should have been him and if he could have traded their places, he would have, in a heartbeat.
But they're all the blood family these babies have left now, and the little ones have such a long path ahead of them and need their mother to be alright, whole---mentally and emotionally instead of merely physically, for the journey.
And their mother needs to know that she doesn't have to do this alone---he's not Sideswipe, he can never be what Sideswipe was (reverse uno because Sideswipe had ostensibly lived under HIS shadow for a very long time, and it's only in recently that many saw Sideswipe for who he really was instead of Twin #2/The Other Hellion), but he'll do whatever he can for her and them, and together, they can make sure the girls know their father by heart even though they've never met him.
It's at this point that the wall she's built specifically to keep him out shatters bit by bit and she finally admits to Sunstreaker that she's not OK, she hasn't been OK in what feels like forever, and she finally allows herself the space and time to properly, openly grieve her loss---their loss---with him
It's not a conversation or a moment the two share with anyone else---they've become more withdrawn since Sideswipe's death---but there is the understanding now that they are family, their personal past issues be damned, and they'll get through this together.
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For the meta for writers questions, 1, 3, 8, and 20!
Tell us about your current project(s) – what’s it about, how’s progress, what do you love most about it?
Ah, the Ace Longfic! Which still doesn't have a title to itself. It is supposed to be like ten chapters but will probably be more than that, and I'm in chapter four! I'm trying not to talk about it too much online because then I won't want to write the actual thing, but without spoilers, it's a series of solo adventures for Ace that explore her parallels with/similarity to the Doctor. I'm trying to actually write full adventures and I'm having fun coming up with interesting characters for her to meet. Plot less so, but we'll get there.
Since she is on her own and filling the Doctor's shoes, I've found she works less and less well as a POV character. So I'm writing from the perspectives of people she meets along the way, which also allows me to show how she's growing and changing and getting weirder (as she should). My current POV character is a wet-behind-the-ears military officer posted to an isolated space station where secret scientific experiments are being done. I'm sure you can guess whether the scientific experiments go wrong or not. My young officer has to step up and make complex moral judgment calls (which she does not want to do but discovers she will if she has to) when both her superiors get their brains taken over.
3. What is that one scene that you’ve always wanted to write but can’t be arsed to write all of the set-up and context it would need? (consider this permission to write it and/or share it anyway)
Hahaha I always do just write it anyway! That's why I have so many ficlets. The things I dream about and don't write are the big sprawling daydream AUs that won't distil into one scene.
Oh fine OK I do have one key scene but the reason I haven't written it is because no one will have any idea what it's all about. Remember you asked for this! This is from the viewpoint of an agent of the Gallifreyan CIA who's been spying on the Seventh Doctor during the events of the novel Set Piece.
--
It's a shame to see a good agent--never reliable, but brilliant at his best--end up in such a state. A shame, but not surprising. He's not the first agent to end his career like this and he won't be the last, especially being a renegade as he is.
They know from his file that nine centuries' hard living has put him in his seventh body already. Most of his career he's believed he was defying the Agency. Some of it he actually was. They've retrofitted quite a bit of their timeline planning around his entirely unauthorized interventions--and it's always turned out better than you'd hope.
Now he's stranded, sponging off an old friend, health broken, nerves shot all to pieces. He's lost that TARDIS of his--gossip says they'd grown hopelessly into each other--if she's dead he'll have a horrendous psychic wound. Perhaps that's even the root of what ails him; perhaps that's the reason he's drinking French wine laced with opium at ten o'clock in the morning local time. Not much else he can hope to do for it, not without a Gallifreyan medic.
And he won't come home, they know that too. He'll wither away there, jumping at shadows, country servant-girls pitying him, before he'll come home and be properly looked after. Some of the agents think he can't anymore; after so long away, they say, he can't take his place in Gallifrey's telepathic web. The closest he can get, now, is the buzz and chatter of human voices around him.
They note how he haunts the kitchens.
He's made a wreck of his lives and fortunes, probably his ship as well. He's reduced to drifting about in the local skirmish called the Franco-Prussian War--a purely human conflict, not even a branch of the War, which would be something--and he isn't even doing anything there. He's serving as a dreadful warning to young agents: the renegade life may seem exciting but this is how it ends.
There's some suggestion they should inform Cardinal Braxiatel. If you want to speak to him, you should do it soon. Before nineteenth-century drugs and living on his nerves and the loss of his ship and the unknown wound in his shoulder he keeps rubbing take their toll.
Even the humans say he isn't quite all there. And wherever else it is he's going, it's somewhere the CIA can't reach.
--
It's a weird book, Set Piece. Don't worry, Seven has a very complicated plan going behind all this. But he does have something of a breakdown. It ends up being quite cathartic for him actually. (He's drinking the drugged wine because someone else is drugging it and he doesn't want them to know that he knows. He claims.)
8. Is what you like to write the same as what you like to read?
I like to read the sort of thing I write, certainly! (Although there's some things I've written that I'm pretty sure if someone else had written them I'd find hopelessly saccharine.) But there's also things I like to read that I could never write. Novel-length fics, for sure, I really appreciate but don't write; I also love a good pastiche of a book series with a strong authorial voice, but avoid doing them myself, after a really harrowing experience doing cod-Pratchett. (Although I had a really fun time doing that Stevenson-in-space bit. Maybe I just need the amount of distance provided by an AU to enjoy doing author pastiches? I should try space!Aubrey-Maturin sometime and see if that'll do it.)
20. Tell us the meta about your writing that you really want to ramble to people about (symbolism you’ve included, character or relationship development that you love, hidden references, callbacks or clues for future scenes?)
These questions assume I don't shove all that in the notes already! :P
Oh yeah, I did do a bit of research for that Hornblower fic that I forgot to put in the notes! I wondered whether the superstition that it's bad luck to toast in water was old enough for the characters to think of it. The few minutes of research I did were pretty inconclusive, actually--one source did say it originated in the Royal Navy but didn't say when, which was not very useful to me, but I decided it at least sounds old enough that I could project it back to the 1800s. Apparently the superstition is specifically that someone who drinks a toast in water will die by drowning, which... well, both of them avoid that at least....
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The Kids
Thinking about Faerun and how its magic directly and indirectly changed the five kids of Earth.
Thinking about Nick. A kid who only wanted to be with his dad. A dad who was frequently away to support them. So in turn, Nick would do things his dad liked over his own wants just to be with his one remaining parent for a moment longer. Only to be forcibly taken from that parent, reunited briefly, and have the cycle repeat once more before never seeing his dad ever again. Because Nick disappears. He gets his entire existence wiped form the memories of all but four.
Thinking about Nicolas, the kid who replaced Nick. A kid who has both of his parents who remained a steady presence in his life. One of the parents being the mother Nick was supposed to keep. And as soon as we get to know Nicolas, he too is replaced by another. Well, not replaced exactly. Not int eh same way he replaced Nick.
Thinking about Nicky, the kid who Nicolas transforms into. A boy who contains demonic demi-g-d powers, the life experience of Nicolas, and the faint memories of Nick. A boy who is also suddenly a prince of a realm he didn’t even know existed prior to his transformation. And now not only is he split between the lives he’s had, but the worlds as well. Because who is Nicky really?
Who is this boy who took the place of a boy who took the life of a boy who wanted to be with his dad.
Thinking about Lark and how the Deck of Many things fundamentally changed him.
How it caused him to arrive to a conclusion to an extreme that he normally would not have, have it not been for the Deck’s intervention.
And from this change, Lark is no longer able to look at the world in the way he once did. Fighting no longer gives him the pleasure as it did previously. Instead of relying on instinct and adrenaline rushes to win his fights, he enters them with cold calculated plans dripping with malice. The sense of pride he feels from a battle well fought is replaced by the need to do better next time, regardless of the outcome.
The words his father would speak to him to placate him used to annoy and irritate him to the point where he eventually would follow and listen to of his own accord. And now, every word his father speaks to him makes his skin crawl and hands itch to destroy. Riling him up and causing the opposite of the intended affect.
An even worse notion is that Lark is no longer able to love his father in the way he once did and is unable to forgive his father for who he is.
This change leaving Lark angry and resentful to the point of pushing away those who love him most.
Thinking about Grant and how he was forced to change to save his life.
How he had to pry for details on what his dad refused to tell him. Even though his dad has always been open with him and told him the importance of communication.
After the details are revealed, he then had to accept the fate foretold to him.
Grant had to quickly and unfairly come to terms in committing an act he never wanted to do. An act he was able to avoid for weeks in an environment that doesn’t give you many options not to.
He follows through with the plan his dad laid out, trusting his judgement, along with the promise of talking it out afterwards.
So he did it, and in the process lost himself. Becoming closed off, reserved and numb. Because the very nature of what he had to do had to change him to his core. Making him into a completely different person.
And now Grant doesn’t want to talk about what he made his dad promise him before he did it.
Thinking about Sparrow and how torn up he is on who he is, who he thinks he should be and who he wants to be.
He is a Love Wolf, after finally being able to connect with his father. They connect through love and acceptance and protection. Giving him new purpose on how to approach the vast world before him.
He is loyal to his brother. His other half and partner in crime, who changes overnight with no explanation. Causing them to lose the connection they once had, making it feel foreign and distant. And no matter his efforts, or how hard he tries, their connection never goes back to what it once was.
These changes pull Sparrow in opposing directions. Leaving him torn between the two most important people in his life. Having to decide between who his father expects him to be, who his brother needs to be, who he wants himself to be, and most importantly who he truly is.
Thinking about Terry Jr and how he’s the odd man out, due to his change resulting in a more ‘positive’ outcome.
Because he’s the kid who entered Faerun angry, hurt and lost. Reeling from multiple changes out of his control. Needing and wanting the stability he once had.
He then ‘finds’ what he ‘wants’, in a false projection. Which is okay with him because it’s better than the nothing he had before.
The illusion is shattered, and Terry Jr does his best to pick up the pieces by himself. Alone through his own conviction.
That’s when the parental figure he never wanted steps up and give shim what he truly needs. Allowing him to start healing and healthily move on from his loss.
Just some thought on how the Forgotten Realms irrevocably and fundamentally changed the five children of Earth
#dungeons and daddies#nick close#nicolas foster#lark oak#grant wilson#sparrow oak#terry jr#reposting cause i think tumbl shadow banned me the first time#crossposted to ao3
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A Seal and an Oath (Part 1)
(Based on the prompt. Every generation, a holy maiden, is chosen to imprison the soul of a powerful demon. The maiden must embark on a pilgrimage to holy sites to reinforce her soul and contain the entity. Every demon is out to kill her and free their master. You are appointed as her life long protector.)
“The church must be running out of holy soldiers. Guess that’s what happens when you carelessly throw away lives. What did the high priest think was going to happen when he sent them to march into Hailsford? It’s a church infested by the undead. The ‘Undead’. No matter how many times your soldiers would strike them down, they would keep getting up. Defeat was a matter of time.” Jaxn said, placing a clawed finger against the skull of a deceased soldier. He shifted the skull around until the silver helmet fell off.
“Our order can cleanse the undead. We were not sending our soldiers to die in an unbeatable battle. We were sending them to cleanse our holiest of churches. The high priest wanted to make my journey more secure. We hoped to avoid involving you.” Maiden Trista said, pulling the demon away from the dead soldier, tugging on his horns until he let go.
“You know how to make a guy feel wanted. You book kisses were willing to kill a thousand soldiers to avoid my aid? I bet your deity is pleased. Speaking of deities, where is that bitch? Was she having a nap while they raided Hailsford?” Jaxn didn’t react to her tugging, letting her pull him along, having lost interest in the skull. He had already confirmed what he wanted to know. They were getting close to the church.
“Lady Marva works in mysterious ways. It isn’t for a demon to judge her divine actions. It’s her will that drives us to be better. Without her divine intervention, the world would be run by people like you.” Trista released his horn, pointing towards a large stone column that sat in the middle of the forest. “We are close. If we keep going north, we should arrive there shortly.”
“Right. Lady Marva certainly does work in mysterious ways. So mysterious that you never see her. Lazy Bi- ARGH.” Jaxn fell to his knees, a spray of holy golden light casting a square of energy around him. The light burning, threatening to peel the demon’s skin, only to stop before it could do that. When Jaxn looked up to the heavens, he could see the parted clouds close, forming a cloudy sky once more.
“Lady Marva is all forgiving, but she won’t tolerate your careless words, demon.” Trista smiled, clasping her hands together in thanks. Even if that action may have seemed petty by goddess standards, Trista was thankful for it.
“Ah… damn. Where was that when her soldiers were raiding the church? I’m sure they would have appreciated it.” He muttered under his breath, not foolish enough to let her hear that comment.
“Keep walking. We don’t have time to waste. Tell me something demon, why did you offer your aid? What benefit does this provide you? Most of your kind want my soul to present to their master. Yet, you swore an oath to protect me. A demon’s word is absolute, which means you can’t betray me. So, why?”
“Think about it from my perspective.” Jaxn pulled himself to his knees, catching his breath before making it to his feet. “If that old bastard comes back, I’m screwed. I’ll be forced to become a minion to him. No one can defeat the Great one, not even yours truly. So, I’ll happily help you keep him sealed, as that allows me a chance to rule the world without his interference.”
“Hah.”
“What’s so funny?”
“You ruling the world? You couldn’t even stand a slap on the wrist from my goddess and you speak of ruling the world. It’s laughable.”
Jaxn stared at the maiden, grinding his teeth. How he would have loved to drive his claw through her stomach for that. He swiped his hand forward, only to stop before he made contact, his oath not allowing him to make the killing blow. Trista watched, letting out a small gasp at the near contact, holding the front of her robes.
“Don’t ever insult me, human. This oath will end. I suggest you keep that in mind. When the Great ones sealed, I can kill you if I please.” He threatened, before continuing to walk towards the church.
Trista didn’t move her hands. Feeling the markings of the claws in the fabric of her robes. The claws had gotten so close to hitting flesh. She had almost died, only saved by an oath that would expire. Sure, they had deemed the demon a lifelong protector, but the demon had been crafty. Jaxn only agreeing to serve until the oath expired, not giving eternal servitude like the church had desired. Had the church been in a better position, they could have tried negotiating the deal. Without a proper army, though, they needed all the help they could get, willing to take the risk.
The walk to Hailsford was a silent one. Neither party wishing to speak about what had happened. As they neared the church, they found its once magnificent design was in pieces. The walls cracked, leaving the shrine exposed. The holy statue of Marva missing her arms, leaving her unable to embrace the holy book that sat near her chest. Behind the decaying walls hid the undead creatures. The closer they got, the more noise they could hear. Sniffs and whines of dead beings, sensing fresh human flesh.
“Careful now, maiden. I would hate to see you get a chunk bitten out of you. Have you ever heard how an undead hunts? They latch onto your neck and pull out your-“ As Jaxn spoke, Trista raised her hand. A golden light forming between her fingers, shooting past the shoulder of the demon. The blast blowing apart the undead creature that had been sneaking up behind him.
“Pay attention, beast.” Smoke wading from her hand as the undead began their rush. Some creatures wearing the patterns of the holy church, having turned in that horrible battle. Trista said a prayer while she fought, hoping to guide the fallen to the holy mother when they passed.
She hated seeing them this way. Those painful whines almost sounding like human speech that couldn’t form properly. Each face showing nothing but that last look of fear they held before falling. Even their bodies displayed those last moments, showing off the wound that had slain them.
Jaxn felt nothing for the humans. They were the foolish ones that had marched to their deaths. Had they chosen a life of sin, they could still be living their lives in peace. It wasn’t the undead that worried him, either. Jaxn was able to easily slay them. It was the demons that intimidated him. If they killed Trista, he would break his oath, having his own soul damaged.
When the first demonic fireball spiraled through the battlefield, Jaxn rushed forward. The demon’s leathery wings blocking the flames from hitting the maiden. The blood red demon that cast it landing, staring at their fellow demon in confusion.
“Kill that one. She dares to kill the Great one. Seize her.” It screeched, blood dripping from its sharp teeth, recently having fed.
“Kill her? Alright.” He turned to the maiden, putting a hand on her forehead. He took a quick side glance at his fellow demon. Making sure their defences had dropped before turning and firing a purple line of darkness through their chest. The darkness lifted the demon into the air before dragging them into the ground.
“What was that?” Trista asked, looking at the fallen demon.
“Deception. I didn’t wish to have a fair fight. I can’t sense any other demons, so please. Say your silly little prayer.” The demon entered the church, causing Trista to gasp.
“Don’t demons burn up if they enter holy places?”
“It limits our magic. I can’t fight inside of a church, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enter one.” He dropped into a church pew, staring at the statue. “That’s Marva? I can see why humans get on their knees for her.” He laughed.
“One more word and I’ll smite you myself. Lady Marva is the goddess and holy mother to us all. You will speak about her with reverence and respect.” She pointed her palm at the demon, who raised his hands in fear. If she blasted him while his powers were weakened, it was going to hurt a lot.
“I’ll be quiet. Remember, if I die, you’re on your own.”
Trista lowered her hand and kneeled at the statue. When she heard Jaxn giggle, she jolted her head in his direction, glaring at him. Again, he raised his hands and let her go about her prayer in peace. When the prayer finished, a golden hue surrounded her, reigniting her faith. The light so blinding that Jaxn had to look away. After the prayer, they rounded up any remaining undead, purifying any that remained.
“The church couldn’t handle this many undead? How weak is your order?”
“I believe some of the undead have wandered off. The reports suggested at least a thousand roamed this church. We may have killed at least a quarter of them.”
“So, there’s a horde of undead roaming the world? That’s going to cause some problems. Maybe if your church gives me a magic artifact or two, I’ll take care of that.” Jaxn smiled, offering his hand, prepared to make a deal.
“We will set a bounty for the undead. I’m sure mercenaries would love the chance to earn some coins. Now we need to keep moving. We have two more churches to reach.” Trista led the demon along, taking him away from Hailsford. The group’s next destination being the small village of Balioa.
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*A letter, addressed to anyone that finds it, lands on the floor next to Lucid's feet. The writing looks like Tommy wrote it if he was being extra careful and the wax seal, though it had no emblem on it, felt like an Admin made it.*
Dear…whoever the fuck finds this.
My name is TommyInnit, and my Pact Spirit’s name is Nokia. Funny name, I know, but he chose it and I wouldn’t change that. We made a Pact to make a world habitable because I wanted a place for my friends and I to have fun, enjoy ourselves without our parents worryin’ about us bein’ okay. And things were doin’ pretty damn good. Even had Speedrunner Legend Dream Wastaken come by to practice for his Manhunts there. Well, I invited him and he took a practice run to see how good the place was.
But, instead of askin’ for a permanent whitelistin’, he saw Wilbur murder me and take enoungh of my Pact to bind Nokia to him.
Dream took my body after Wilbur left, gave up his eyesight to create his own world and hid my body in a place no one could reach to make sure Wilbur didn’t finish the job.
This worked for about a year. Then Wilbur glitched himself into the DreamSMP. Yeah, Dream knew it was unoriginal, but he was in a hurry at the time of makin’ the world, so…the name stayed. Wilbur, he somehow figured out how to use Nokia to influence people to listen to him. Made them his sentient peons and turnin’ them against Dream, accusing him of makin’ a prison, or destroying L’Manburg.
Both of which Dream had nothin’ to do with and I know that for a fact. I was his seein’ eye ghost, and we didn’t even know about a prison or what caused L’Manburg’s destruction. We were busy tendin’ to a rupture in the coding that called itself the Egg.
But…Wilbur did finish the job in the end, but with Dream, instead. And, because of that, we truly lost everything. Our world’s deterioratin’ as I write this, only thing left’s the Altar.
If anyone finds this letter, please, please remember our lesson and our warning. Sometimes, the best things come with a sacrifice. Dream gave up his eyes, I gave up my wings, Hell, Xisuma gave up his own damn skin! But for our worlds, we would do it again to see people have a home and be happy. We just wanted to make people happy.
So please. Please remember us. Don’t cry for us, pity us, or try to help us. By the time this finds you, even the Altar’ll be gone. Just remember us. That would honor us enough.
-TommyInnit and Nokia
Lucid’s hands tighten on the paper that had been tucked inside the envelope.
This might not be the usual way he learns of a death, but he’s no stranger to the weight of knowing that there’s one less person in the multiverse.
It had been hard to come to grips with the fact that sometimes, there’s nothing he could possibly do to help. Even if he did know about any given reality before a death– which he almost never does– he, personally, can only tell the T3 about it.
His nature as an admin means that he’s bound to his server. He’s stopped even attempting to step foot outside of it– by now, too many people need Sanctuary. The duty he has to those who arrived here by way of divine intervention, often with nothing more than the clothes on their backs, outstrips any personal interest he might have to roam.
Not that he should have been doing that in the first place. The scant few hours he could manage left him feeling like shit for days afterwards. His connection to San would feel fuzzier, too.
In the end he decided that the costs were too high to be worth it. So now, all he can do is live vicariously through those who can freely leave.
…Or, not live, as the case might be.
He exhales softly, feeling the nudge of his server’s concern. The phantom taste of licorice and salt is one he knows all too well.
“More names for the memorial,” he tells them. San’s response is sorrow in the form of the way a wither rose smells and the gritty, exhausted feeling that remains after you cry.
The memorial is where L’manburg once stood. The crater its final cannon death had left behind had been painstakingly sculpted by nearly everyone who had been living here at the time. Leaving it as a giant, gaping hole had been a non-option as far as the Reformation Team was concerned.
It hadn’t been intended as a community project, but it became one anyway. There had been a real catharsis in everyone working together, block by block, to help the wound become a scar. Not gone, but healed nevertheless.
But its current purpose came later on. By the nature of how bad things needed to be for the T3 to decide that there needed to be a rescue, the bulk of Sanctuary’s current residents have had more than their fair share of trauma and grief.
It had been Atlas, actually, who suggested putting up a memorial; a large stone statue that read simply, “To what has been lost.”
The site is a place to grieve for not just people, but the ideas, places, and whatever else might have been ripped away. Even if they may, technically, still be around…the people who live in Sanctuary will likely never see it again.
Carving them all into something is impossible, even before getting to the logistics of it. How does one differentiate several dozen people who all share a name? How does one explain that they want to add that they’re mourning being able to sleep soundly at night, or their ability to see a crimson forest without having a panic attack?
So the solution is, instead, to add new things to it by standing there and willing it to be there.
Not everyone wants to speak of their traumas out loud, for a host of reasons. That’s fine; their grief doesn’t need to be public. Those who want to say it can, and those that don’t can leave that matter between themselves and the gods.
Usually, any additions are done by those that seek refuge in Sanctuary. But on the rare occasion that there isn’t someone to do that– when there isn’t anyone personally connected who can do it…
Well. In those cases, there can be a few people who step up. The T3 are the ones who most often do it; they’re the one who are most likely to learn about something to mourn. Day in particular feels a duty to make sure that there’s proper respect given if he’s had to be the witness to a world where there’s no hope for saving anyone.
It almost never happens that Lucid is the one who is made aware of a loss in the cosmos. But, the letter was given to him, not to one of the T3 or the Reformation Team, nor the Orientation people.
As someone who has committed himself to making a sanctuary for those who need it, he wouldn’t be able to look at himself in the mirror if he rejected such a blatant call to action.
When he stands in front of the towering stone monument, he reaches out to brush its well-worn surface. Countless hands and the weather have smoothed it even further than it had been when it was first put up; countless more of both will smooth it even further.
“To Tommy, Nokia, Dream, and all those who are gone,” he says, “You are remembered. I’m sorry that’s all we can do for you.”
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The Incident
Part 1
Sam’s rain boots were lagging just behind the movement of his feet as they resisted each step and pivot. The opaque layer of muck coating every stagnant surface in the cave added a suffocating smell of rot to the buzzing of giant bugs, squelch of slimes rolling, squeaks of attacking bats, and grunts of effort as the three battled for their lives.
There was a rhythm to the attacks, they’d found. Sam, with a dagger, a dented trash can lid, and over-sized kitchen gloves, slashed another tear in the membrane of a slime that jumped to attack him, knocking it back to where it had leapt from. Just like baseball – if your bat was one-handed. Jackson, by his side, had managed to get his hands on a sword sized for his juvenile frame. He skewered a bug the size of his head, then used the momentum of swinging his sword to fling it into a bat that was flying towards him.
Sebastian, his back pressed against Sam’s, had a large wrench and a makeshift shield from a hubcap – courtesy of the local bus driver. Another bug dove for him, and he batted it away with his shield. Out of the corner of his vision, he saw a rock lift and begin to move towards him. “Jackson! Triple threat!” He yelled.
“Yoba, not again!” Jackson responded, moving so that the three of them had their backs to each other. “How many times is that now?”
“I’ve lost count! Rock crab headed your way – rotate?” Sebastian felt a body tense against his back; Sam held up his lid as the slime jumped again, bursting on impact.
“Ready when you are! Just got this guy and nobody’s next in line!”
Jackson called out, “Let’s do it! Three, two, one!” At one, they shuffled, turning so that Sam was facing the next bug and Sebastian was facing the rock crab. “I’ll break off, you two keep together!”
“Got it!” Sam swung at the bug’s next attack, failing to make contact; despite that, it was still enough to keep the bug out of attacking range. He heard Jackson yell out as he landed a hit and the bug landed with a squelch – no, two squelches – its body still twitching. “You okay?”
“I got the bug!” Jackson took a look around, his curly hair dripping sweat, his breathing finally starting to speed up. The onslaught seemed to be slowing down, though. He’d read about infested floors, but this was their first. Hoping it wouldn’t be their last, he continued to search for threats. A flash of furred movement caught his attention. It flew, again and again in his mind, before he watched it pick a path that he’d prepared for. A swing of steel, and he sliced through the small body, sending it to the ground.
He turned back to the other two boys, holding their own, but just as wiped out as him. His eyes went wide as Sebastian’s wrench wedged under the rock crab’s shell. Every scenario that played without his intervention was the end of his friend. Yelling as the kid tried and failed to overturn the crab, Jackson leapt, pivoted, and leapt. “Watch out!” He called out, swinging his sword between the wrench and the shell. Metal clanged against metal; Sebastian dropped his wrench and fell away from his rescuer, leaving Sam’s back defenseless; Jackson pushed his blade through the crab and it collapsed onto its side; Sam cut off a bug’s wing, sending it careening into a wall, and the three made eye contact.
Sebastian scrambled to his feet, helped up by Jackson, and managed to grab his wrench. The crab was dead, the bugs were dead, the bats were dead, and they hadn’t seen any more slimes since the last one. The flickering light of the torches they’d picked up and re-staked into the ground illuminated the empty space of the cave. “Thanks.”
Jackson nodded. “Yeah. I think that’s all of them.” He took a deep breath, his blood vessels still pumping for his slow heartbeat. “We should check around that corner, just to be safe though. Are you guys okay?”
Sam panted out, “Dude… gimme… a minute… first. Please. I- I’m good. Just gotta… catch my breath.”
Sebastian, just as winded, “Yeah. That’s… gonnaleaveamark,” he agreed, breathing out the last four words all at once. “Should… should be good.”
“Eh, you two catch your breath. It’s a dead end over there, I got a peek. You could fit one, maybe two monsters back there – I can handle it.”
“Don’t expect- expect me to- to save your ass,” Sebastian retorted.
“Didn’t I just do that for you?” He teased.
Sam threw his head back in frustration. “Don’t start. Just… I dunno, yell. If you need… help.”
Jackson rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry. I got it.” He turned around and made his way to the narrow passage, weaving between rocks. Something shifted in the darkness ahead of him. Something big. “Shit,” he hissed under his breath, before yelling out, “Throw me a torch!”
“Got it!” Sebastian called back. A torch landed at his feet, rolling and flickering from its momentum. As the fire flicked back to full strength, its thrower screamed, “Jackson, what the fuck is that thing!?”
“Stay back! Don’t get its attention!” The massive slime turned to Jackson, its many eyes turning red underneath the main membrane. “SHIT!” He leapt to the side, holding the monster’s focus as possibilities screamed through his mind at top speed. “Over here, motherfucker!” None of them went well if the others got involved at this rate. “Stay over there, guys! I’ll call you in when it’s safe...er!”
Sebastian stepped back, then swiftly made his way to Sam. “Come on! We need to be ready when he is!”
He groaned. “We’re leaving after this!”
The two boys jogged back over to where Jackson was, crouching behind rocks as they watched him battle. He kept jumping to the side, leaning in, slashing, jumping back, and repeating that cycle. Over and over and over again, his breathing turning to panting, until finally the membrane broke. It should’ve been victory.
“SHIT! TRIPLE THREAT! TRIPLE THREAT!”
The other two boys rushed in to find four slimes coming at Jackson. His shirt was soaked completely with sweat that dripped off of his nose. “Come on!” Sam ordered.
“We’ve got you!” Joining into their three-sided battle formation, they fought the slimes. “We might not get home clean tonight!” Sebastian warned.
Sam yelled as he landed a critical hit, tearing through the slime’s membrane. “I’m more worried about getting home at all,” he replied, the fear audible in his voice. He kicked the slime and it collapsed in on itself, oozing out between the broken pieces of skin that had once held it together. “Hit that one my way, Sebastian,” he offered. A second slime rolled sideways into his field of attack, having been knocked away by a wrench.
Sebastian turned his attention back to the slime in front of him, swinging his wrench at it. The metal only scraped the membrane as it slid across and under the slime, pushing it back away from him. He groaned in frustration.
Next to him, Jackson was feeling much the same. He’d slashed and stabbed at this slime for what felt like ages, but it was like its skin was three times as thick as that of any others he’d fought. Finally, he took a chance: with one deft swing of his sword, he caught the edge of his blade on the star at the end of the slime’s antenna and pulled it off. The membrane, full of gashes, finally fell apart as if he’d ripped it open by a pull tab, and it collapsed around what looked to be its core.
Jackson turned to the other two. “Break! Mine’s done – lemme help!” The three broke formation, and he helped Sebastian defeat his slime. They turned to Sam as he plunged his dagger into the last slime, causing it to burst all over his gloves and boots. He turned back to them, looking exasperated.
“Let’s… get outta here,” Sam breathed out. Sebastian nodded and stepped forwards.
“I’ll meet you… over by the- the ladder,” Jackson panted. He turned around. He took a few steps. He reached for the core of the slime. He didn’t see the flash of light. He didn’t hear the pop of a teleport, or the footsteps, or the man inhaling to shout a warning. His hand wrapped around something solid and smooth, warm to the touch and glowing ever so slightly.
CRACK! Sam, who had been watching him, suddenly found himself blinded by a bright flash of light. Sebastian, who’d had his back turned, dropped into a crouch and raised his arms over his head, mirroring Sam. The wizard, who’d seen everything fall into place for this disaster in the last moment, had managed to shield his eyes in time and held up his hands as if to catch something.
Catch something he did, surprisingly enough – at least, it surprised Sebastian once he could see again. He whipped around to find Jackson – rather, what he hoped was Jackson – levitating, his body curved around the force of the energy that had thrown him. He turned again to the wizard, whose face was pale and grimly laser-focused on the task at hand.
Keeping his eyes on the boy he’d caught, Rasmodius transferred his spell from both hands to one, using his newly freed hand to unclasp his cloak and bring the fabric to his mouth. He muttered into it, “Wrap him, don’t let him touch anything solid.” The cloak fell from his shoulders and whipped through the air, stopping just short of the floating, shape-shifting body before swiftly wrapping it. The wizard relaxed a little, releasing his spell. Slowly, it levitated back to him, landing gently in his outstretched arms.
He turned to the boys, who were both watching him in disbelief, urging, “You two, come here. Don’t touch him or the stone,” he warned. Waving his hand, he muttered, “It’s relatively harmless now, but I’m not taking any chances.” He looked back up from the stone to the children in front of him.
Sam put his arm out to the side, indicating for Sebastian to not come closer. “Who are you?” He tried to keep the shaking out of his voice, but it was impossible.
The wizard shook his head, exasperated. “We don’t have time for that. Quickly now, or I’m leaving you here.” He could see the older boy opening his mouth to protest, but the one behind him stepped forwards and nodded his head to Rasmodius. Once the two were at his side, he gestured them to come closer.
Rasmodius instructed clearly and urgently, “When I say so, you’re going to want to close your eyes and hold your breath for just a moment.” He picked up his foot, turning his leg so that it pointed as far out as possible, and jammed the toe of his boot into the ground, hearing the click of a mechanism he’d installed long ago. “There’s going to be a loud noise and a flash of light – not quite as severe as the last one, mind you – then you’ll be okay to go back to normal,” he continued, rotating his leg until his knee was facing inwards. A dim teleportation circle lit up on the ground beneath them, growing in size with the turn of his leg until it was large enough for all four of them in the center. “Do you understand?” The children affirmed that they did.
“Good.” He flattened the sole of his boot against the cave floor, and there was a dull scraping sound as the circle carved itself into the dirt. One-time-use only. “It’s time.”
One successful teleportation later, the four were together in the Cindersap woods, getting rained on at the bottom of a staircase leading up to the wizard’s tower. Rasmodius tapped the front half of his boot into the grass twice, causing the second teleportation circle to flicker and disappear from beneath them. Adjusting his grip on the body in his arms, he spoke into his cloak again. “Set him down for me, will ya?” A fold of fabric unwrapped from the bundle to thwap lightly against his shoulder. “What?”
Sam watched as the fabric moved of its own volition, seemingly communicating with the strange man who somehow had bright purple facial hair. The wizard’s face went pale again and his mouth fell open ever so slightly before his expression changed to astonished, grim pity.
“Gods have mercy on your soul, kid,” he managed, keeping his voice steady and even. “You-”
“Hey! Are you gonna tell us what’s going on?” Sebastian interrogated, “What happened to him? Is he gonna be okay?”
Rasmodius looked up from the small frame in his arms to the other two boys, as if suddenly remembering their presence. “He’s still got a fighting chance,” he reassured, “I need you two to go up those stairs and stand by the door.” He waved a hand over the child’s uncovered face, then spoke into his cloak again. “It’s safe to set him down – give us some distance, though, then go protect those two. I’ll handle this one.”
Uneasy, Sam piped up. “Are you… talking to your cloak?”
“Worry about that later,” he dismissed; the fabric levitated several feet away and eased Jackson onto the ground. “It’ll protect you while we try and get this figured out.” The fabric slipped out from underneath the child’s shape-shifting frame and returned to the other three, taking a slight bow for the kids. Rasmodius stepped forwards, nodding to it, then swiftly walked over to Jackson.
As his cloak guided the boys up the stairs, the wizard crouched next to Jackson, whose eyes had opened. One red, one blue, framed by the even-more-blue hair of a character he’d been writing about. Rasmodius spoke in a grim but determined voice, “Listen, kid, I know you’ve got no reason to trust me, but you just absorbed far more energy than it should be possible for you to survive,” he pulled a pair of gloves out from his belt, “and if you want to continue to survive, I need you to listen closely.”
Jackson, barely aware of what had just happened, was going to great pains to process what the wizard had said. The countless scenarios in his mind were playing at top speed, and none of them were making any sense, and yet they all made perfect sense; somehow both seemed true at the same time. “Huh?” he managed, blinking back into focus after what felt like a full day. It had only been about five seconds.
“Good enough for me.” Rasmodius pulled the gloves on over his hands and spoke again. “I’m gonna guide you through this, but ultimately, you’re gonna have to do it yourself. You’ve gotten this far, though, so I’ve got faith in you.”
Another few seconds that felt a hundred times as long. “Do what?”
The wizard moved with swift confidence, picking up the boy’s arms and positioning them so that they were pointed straight up, perpendicular to his back and the earth. “Hold your arms up like this, straight out. Put your hands together – like this,” he instructed, demonstrating with the tips his thumb and index finger on each hand touching tips, mirrored, “and point it up as far as you can.”
Jackson, shaking, feverish, did as he was told. “I died so many times today.” He didn’t mention the fact that, in his mind, he was still watching himself die repeatedly. That, in his algorithmic predictions of possibilities, he’d watched his friends die numerous times. That there were a few scenarios he’d lived internally in which he’d leveled the town. That he was being given information by his own brain’s processing of this energy that he’d never considered before, that he’d never thought possible.
Rasmodius didn’t notice, either – he was a little busy trying to keep three children and himself alive in the reality they were all existing within, the reality they had to live with in that moment. “Not yet, you didn’t,” he reassured. Had it been anyone else, that might’ve worked. Then again, had it been anyone else, none of them would’ve made it out of that cave alive. “I need you to concentrate on the space between your hands and focus all of your energy there. As soon as something starts to come through, you’re going to want to release it and keep releasing it – kind of like untying a water balloon and squeezing all the liquid out of it.”
The child nodded. Every new word was fifty new scenarios. He arduously pulled his attention from within to the air in front of him. A sudden increase of light startled him and he gasped as a low hum began to vibrate through him. Rasmodius watched in amazement as this boy, who had never once cast before in his life, focused the energy of an experienced mage’s ticking time bomb into a ball of light that grew with accelerating speed. “Good, kid, now let it go!” He urged.
Jackson winced. He exhaled, and the light brightened into something that surely should’ve blinded him as it shot out into a beam wider than the wizard’s tower. Over by said tower, the cloak, which had wrapped itself around Sam and Sebastian, closed the window it had left for them to watch, protecting them from the equivalent of their third flash-bang that day. Even the wizard had to shield his eyes again. Eldritch blast.
Seven seconds later – at least eight hours for Jackson – it flickered, then faded out. His arms went limp, and time returned to something slightly more bearable for the poor, winded kid as the world spun around him. Back at the tower, the cloak lowered, then unwrapped from the two boys slightly, still on guard. There was a hole cut into the clouds. The sound of the blast echoed through the entire valley.
#stt#the ficcy fic#The Incident#stt jackson#jackson stt#stt sam#sam stt#stt sebastian#sebastian stt#rasmodius stt#stt rasmodius
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Personal CRK au world ideas
Just want to ramble some cookie run ideas that I had for a while.
Cut for long info:
1st idea:
Cookies making themselves at home at an old “abandoned” witch’s house. The leader of all the cookies is known to be a powerful benevolent mage whose magic is said to rival the Witches. The house is far and deep in the forest, far from the other witch’s home that Gingerbrave and friends are from. The house cookies already know the truth about the Witches but most refuse to follow Dark Enchantress’s calling to join her cause or other related evil plans. One cookie probably heard about DE and joined her army by now.
Extras:
- Cookies may enter the house by being a powerful mage that knows the secret password or be assisted by the Great Mage there herself.
- The house is hidden and protected under the Great Mage’s spell for centuries so to outside cookies they thought there was a tribe/kingdom that is only heard of in myth.
2nd idea:
The fairy realm in cookie version basically. The kingdom within the realm is ruled by a kind and wise queen whose wings are said to shine brighter than a clear spring day. And it was said that long ago after the Great Flour had ended, many cookies had gone into hiding and some had stumbled into the realm of the fairies where the current rulers and natives had initially tried to drive the intruders away despite many pleas of mercy. It was then the young princess of the land vouched for them to be able to live in their world peacefully and helped them adapt to their new home. Touched by such kindness themselves to their current descendants they all pledged their loyalty to the princess now queen to live happily and peacefully.
Current day in the fairy realm (after DE’s re-awakening), the queen is hardly seen due an cursed illness she had ever since she was a child. Her son, in her place, rules over the land hoping to keep the peace while his mother recovers. Or if in dire scenario should the queen perish, be prepared to be crown King of the Fairy Realm amongst the all trials. So far, he has proven to be a very capable heir.
Extras:
- Fairy Cookie was most likely born and raised in this world before travelling to the outside world.
- Time in the outside world stops as you enter the Fairy Realm
- To enter the Fairy Realm, one must find a fairy ring (mushrooms that grow in a circle) and chant the ancient entrance spell. If not helped enter by a fairy or native inhabitant to the realm.
- It is unknown how cookies of the past managed to enter the Fairy World without the spell or fairy intervention. May come up in the mainline story in mention or something.
3rd idea:
The Realm of the Dead or the Spirit World, however you call it. As the name implies, it is the underworld where spirits of fallen cookies come to rest from life and be sent to the Skybread above or Burnedbread(hell in cookie-verse ig?), or if myths hold true, be reincarnated into new cookies with different lives. This world is overlooked by the fabled Reaper Cookie and their followers, few to be mentioned are Cheshire Cat Cookie, the Yellow-Eyed Guide, and Kijo Cookie, the Punisher. Reaper Cookie collects souls and guides them from their old life to their resting place with the help of their followers and unknown co-ruler.
As a land of seemingly unexplored mystery, the world seems to be littered with many paths that will confuse lost souls (or cookies that stumble there by accident) to take more risks than precautions without the help of the Yellow-Eyed Guide or the other native inhabitants.
Extras:
- Can be found in a secret entrance not far from the Forgotten Academy due to strong disruption of spirits and mana in the area.
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What I find frustrating about the "conservationist" argument of: maybe if there were less humans it would be easier for the planet, and everything would be better... is that while it might, it dismisses the people who would die.
The people who will die due to climate change are not the rich and the financers of the super corporations (they'll be just the same they are now), it would be the common and poor people, those who go day by day living with less than the bare minimum... And all of them dying would have effects on nature, like... decomposition? heard of it?
And all of that dying would do little to clean up several of the messes we already have, and while without intervention nature would do its thing and go back... do you think the rich (who would survive) would invest on cleaning the mess and giving everyone left decent wages for doing that work? I don't see it happening, I've seen too much of human nature and selfishness to be that hopeful about an apocalypses scenario making us work for the betterment of all of humankind.
Plus, the trauma of it, we can speculate about what would happen to human society because there have been catastrophes before and we should check on those to learn a bit of what humans do when facing one/many. All that people dying wouldn't mean that humanity learned the lesson, or that the knowledge we (humankind) have collected would be preserved and used... Just like what happened when the Roman Empire in Europe went down, there was a lot of knowledge lost in the process -a very urbanized society went rural again and lots of knowledge was lost, and later the Bubonic Plague - it had HUGE effects for the people who survived it... Of course there was more land for the few survivors, but can you picture being the sole survivor of your family/community? what would that do to someone's psyche? We know a lot about PTSD and CPTSD now. THAT.
Like, it will happen anyway, probably, we don't have evidence of the great decisions makers changing their minds about how the economy works and what the big corporations and countries do about climate change... not in a meaningful way.
But what I find worse. Is that I've heard that idea coming from normal people, not rich, no more special than me or the guy who works on the street outside my office or the farmers who produce the food we eat... And I don't think they stopped to consider that the people hypothetically dying are actual people.
Those are human lives, wonderful people everywhere who would be no more. Parents, children, grandparents, friends, neighbours, colleagues... they are someone to their communities, to their families.
I'm not prepared to assign those lives a value in a scale of "this one deserves to live, this one not", and that's not dependant of any scale... I don't feel like I have that right over anyone and I find it baffling that anyone would suggest it, to me it's cold and inhuman.
Plus: it's a lottery, it could be any of us. We're not safe because we know it's coming, nobody is safe. Not even the rich, even if they got the means to get away of danger zones and such... that's the thing about natural catastrophes - nobody knows if they'll strike where you are, and even with bunkers and such, you're not guaranteed a survival or a living after it.
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