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theminecraftbee · 3 months

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okay so. hear me out. but. au concept--

joel is one of many people affected by a Vanishing. its a phenomenon sweeping the country--people simply not showing up for work, school, life one day, as though they've vanished from the face of the earth. it's almost possible to mistake for normal missing persons cases, if it weren't for the way a few of the higher-profile Vanishings have happened to people who shouldn't have been able to vanish at all, let alone in a way that wouldn't be noticed until too late. look at joel's hometown. the people monitoring the dam were supposed to be redundant, and yet--

anyway. not like he cares or anything, except for the fact this stupid disaster or whatever has left him without anywhere to live or anyone to live with, and he still has a year of high school left, so he can't just do whatever he wants. luckily there's this school in a town called new hermiton that agreed to give him a scholarship to finish his education in the name of recovery and solidarity or whatever, and it's kind of a shwankier school than he'd normally go for, but it's free and, more importantly, they're willing to pay for his lodging, and he can't really turn that down. and it's not like he has a choice but to upend his entire life now. so packing what few of his belongings survived into a bag and getting on a train and moving across the country to a new school it is, he guesses.

(he's been having nightmares that inexplicably feature swarms of blue butterflies. last time he checked, lakes don't have butterflies in them. although maybe it's a metaphor or something, on account of the butterflies saying stupid stuff about how people who are remembered can't disappear, and even a false world cannot be erased if it's watched over, and how fate depends on him holding people in his heart. thanks for saying the same stupid shitty platitudes his social worker told him, just more cryptically, butterflies. real cool.)

new hermiton, it turns out, is a small city. while new hermiton academy is a newer school, much of the city is older. he's moved into a nice enough flat in an older apartment building. he has another cryptic butterfly dream. he thinks he remembers someone trying to urgently warn him of something, but it's all... shaky. that morning, he goes to the school for the first time. he's greeted by a fellow transfer student, skizzleman, although apparently he already knows some of the other folks in town, and transferred here so he could stay with them. but it's at least someone else in a similar enough situation to joel, especially since joel can just tell by the way people are looking at him that skizz didn't have much of a choice but to be here, either, and best friends with impulse or not, he's on his own too.

so. a friend. maybe this school won't be that bad, even if joel keeps having nightmares, and even if the weather here is weirdly cold for july, and even if his new homeroom professor keeps on looking at him really weirdly. (aren't professors supposed to be better about stupid rumors anyway? what's that mr. hills's deal?)

and then, two days later, he waves skizz off at the end of the school day, and gets skizz's friend, impulse, at his door, desperate to hear that skizz had just come to stay the night in joel's shitty lonely apartment, because otherwise it looks like--come on man. joel's already having a shit time. the universe deciding to go after his one existing friend too? he promises impulse to help investigate that night, in the vain hope that Skizz isn't one of the Vanished. joel gets a splitting migraine trying to follow their path back, though, and they have to stop for the night.

skizz is reported missing the next morning. joel resigns himself to cutting himself off from the people around him, as per usual. then, strangely, mr. hills corners him as he goes home.

"you'll need this," he says, and shoves what feels like a cheap butterfly knife into joel's hands. "uh, remember, trust your heart! you'll know how to use it."

"what," joel says. "hold on. you're supposed to be a teacher. why are you giving me this. i know for a fact my file says i have like, ptsd or whatever, which is stupid, but you definitely aren't supposed to be giving me a knife, you weirdo?"

"you'll know how to use it," joe hills says again. "goodbye! believe in yourself!"

mr. hills sprints behind a building before he has to explain anything else. joel is left standing on the sidewalk holding a knife, staring after him.

so. that's weird as hell. joel shivers in the cold and continues on his way home. the butterfly knife feels heavy in his pockets. he should probably report that guy to his social worker or something, but actually talking to his social worker feels like conceding defeat. joel can take care of himself. he can prove he can take care of himself. just watch him. step one: go out to get ramen because he forgot to buy any food for his apartment.

he sees impulse putting up signs as he eats. impulse looks miserable. joel thinks about how skizz, just in the short time he'd known him, had sort of unintentionally given away that he felt isolated after his mother Vanished. that impulse was a great friend, but impulse didn't understand what it was like. he never really SAID as much, but--

it's not fair to impulse, for that to be the last thing impulse remembered of what was apparently a friend since childhood. and joel doesn't care about any of these guys, but he can still pay his check and go out and help impulse go looking. he's no good at comforting people and doesn't know this guy, but joel had been alone too, sitting on the roof and crying, when the helicopters came.

except when they go back to the path by the school, joel's head starts to hurt again.

he looks up and there's a butterfly.

"hey, impulse, are butterflies common here?" he asks, a little desperately.

"i mean, not really, why?" impulse says.

"uh," joel says, and gestures. the two of them stare as the strange yellow butterfly circles in place.

"okay, so that is kind of weird," impulse admits.

"right?" joel says. "the only way it would be weirder is if it were blue." impulse gives him a look. joel does not explain.

it starts to fly away.

"we should follow it," impulse says, his voice getting a little dull. "yeah. we should follow it."

"what? no! no we should not follow the haunted butterfly, are you nuts?" joel says, but it's a bit too late. (maybe this is what the knife is for: stabbing impulse. it would be an effective method of stopping him!) he chases impulse down, down to the river, where yellow butterflies are swarming. impulse, as though possessed, simply steps into the swarm and falls through them to the water.

joel's, uh, freaking out more than a little bit? he'll admit he's freaking out. he dives forward to try to grab him, only to realize that he doesn't see impulse anywhere.

a single blue butterfly lands on joel's shoulder. "do you hold his heart next to yours?"

"i'm going insane," joel says.

"no heart is meant to be completely alone. do you hold his next to yours?"

"this isn't happening," joel says. "this is like a stupid manga or something. it's not happening."

"there is still time to save them; you must hold your heart strong, or the consequences will be dire. i believe in you."

the butterfly vanishes.

"fuck it," joel says. "if i drown then it's nothing people haven't expected of me anyway."

he steps through the swarm of butterflies.

that night, he drags both impulse and skizz out of the river. they're all freezing cold. shadows and strange, yellowy liquid still cling to all of their skin. also, joel stabbed himself, which like, glad to know that's what the knife was for, apparently, and the scar is warm and comforting. he can feel his--persona, and don't ask him how he knows that--shifting under his skin, under the mark on his hand. it said its name is pygmalion; it says it is a piece of joel's soul.

this is all patently insane. but skizz and impulse are alive and NOT eaten by shadow monsters, so even if they're both a little unconscious, joel takes that as a win.

they lie on the ground outside the river. someone stumbles across them. "well give me some teeth and call me an alligator. you got out on your own," breathes a fellow student clutching a dagger. joel thinks he's in the class across the hall. also--

"what are you talking about," joel wheezes.

"you found it on your own. you can find them?" the student says. his eyes are wide. something in joel's soul recognizes something in the student's. something in joel's BRAIN puts two and two together and realizes why mr. hills gave him a knife.

"no. no, go away, i don't want to be involved in this," joel says.

"well, don't you think it's too late for that?" the student says, and joel passes out. he's pretty sure the butterflies have to be laughing at him. in fact, as though to mock him further, after passing out, he doesn't even get to avoid it forever, because he wakes up in a glowing blue boat. there is a man with white-blonde hair, blue eyes, and a blue outfit leaning over him, poking him.

joel takes no responsibility for punching him. he'd do it again, too, as the long-nosed man sitting next to the unmanned steering wheel welcomes him to the velvet room.

(this, joel realizes later, all rather sets the tone for what the next year of his life is about to become.)

#hermitcraft #joel smallishbeans #smallishsona au #THAT'S RIGHT BABY ITS THE PERSONA AU I WAS WAFFLING ABOUT #because i'm playing p3re right now this is pretty p3 inspired but also expect elements of p4 (my fav) and p5 #i. do not know enough about p1 and p2 to be using all these butterflies but FUCK IT WE BALL.#a bee fic #KIND OF I GUESS I'LL PUT THIS THERE.#anyway the idea is that this au is half a crack au and half DEEPLY SINCERE #because the JOKE is that joel hates every minute of being a persona protagonist #but the OTHER bit is that joel is genuinely an extremely loyal guy who would do VERY WELL as a persona protagonist #you just have to drag him there kicking and screaming #(sort of in a very. p3-esque way)

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radioactivepeasant · 1 year

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Ambush! It's an unscheduled Free Day Thursday!

It's my b-day and I can break my scheduling rules if I darn well please. And yes, it's more Meddling Mar. I'm chipping away at Faulty Info writer's block and working on a different project for a bit usually rejuvenates my writer brain.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

As much as he hated to admit it, the monks' disgusting "desert lily" juice did do a lot to make Jak less lethargic and thirsty. Not that he would ever admit it. It was embarrassing enough when the monks would come each day to make him practice walking. He hated that he had to lean on them for support just to get to the latrine. It had been days, right? Why did he still feel so weak? He'd been able to run mere minutes after the final dark eco injection!

Part of him wondered if perhaps he healed faster when he was in imminent danger. If the dark eco merely kept his body moving and in fighting condition, just waiting for the next chance to come out. Maybe it just went back to being a detriment when he was truly at rest. But how would he know? Jak didn't think he'd actually had a chance to sleep in since- well, probably since before he convinced Daxter to go to Misty Island with him.

By the third day, he was sick of it. Sick of the medicine, sick of feeling helpless, and sick of the boring beige clay covering metal wallframes imperfectly. So when Mar once again suggested an escape, he was pretty sure he could force his legs to keep moving long enough to see something other than this stupid recovery ward.

"There's stairs right when you get through the door," Mar told him as he hauled himself out of bed. "I haven't tried going up yet, but I know there's always somebody downstairs."

"Well let's just start with me not falling down the stairs and cracking my head open," Jak answered flatly. "Did either of you see what they did with my goggles?"

Mar lifted blankets and pillows, then turned to shrug. "Maybe we'll find them upstairs?"

Tugging Jak's arm with one hand, and grabbing Daxter's hand with the other, Mar tried to pull them out of the alcove. He was eager to leave, and with his brothers both awake, now was the perfect time.

"So!" A booming voice echoed through the ward, curtailing the boys' escape attempt. "You've come back from the dead, have you?"

Jak instinctively shoved Mar behind him and whirled to face the door. The man blocking the exit wasn't the tallest person he'd ever seen, but his shoulders were broad and his frame was solid enough that Jak knew he wasn't going to be able to just push past him.

"And here my monks were, ready to pray for you."

The man folded his arms across his chest and smirked.

Daxter tensed up and pointed. "Jak! It's-!"

Mar scowled. "Thats-"

"The Snitch?"

The man's smirk stretched into a sharp grin that put Jak in mind of a shark.

"I'm afraid I'm here to ruin your escape attempt again, little Secret."

"Um."

Jak frowned and fruitlessly tried to push Mar behind him again, towards the beds.

"What are you talking about?"

The horned man -- or crowned or something -- strolled into the ward like he owned the place. "Well, every time I ask his name, he says it's "A Secret," after all."

He tilted his head towards Mar, that strange smile still glued on.

"Hmm, maybe I should have asked before. Do you prefer to go by "A-Sec"? Or "Cret"?"

Mischief sparkled in his dark eyes.

"What about "Seek"? Should we call you Seek?"

Mar's face twisted in confusion. "You're weird."

Daxter snorted. "That is not the worst nickname you coulda gotten, kid. Trust me."

"Where are we?" Jak demanded.

Fatigue pulled at his limbs, draining his resolve faster than he'd expected. But he didn't want to go back to bed, not until he had some answers.

"How did we get here? Who are you people?!"

"The nation of Spargus, I fished you out of the Strider Range, and Damas, king of Spargus, in that order," the man answered archly.

A king?!

In hindsight, Jak thought that might have explained the weird spikes coming out of his skull. But it didn't explain much else.

"Spargus?"

He said the name slowly, and fought back a yawn.

"Wait, nobody lives outside Haven's walls!" Jak sputtered, "Not a whole city!"

"Ah, yes." The king’s tone was dry. "We are the...forgotten ones. The refuse of cities like Haven, thrown out and left to die."

Oh.

Jak supposed it made sense that he wasn't the first person Haven had done this to, but it still managed to surprise him.

"Sounds like us," he muttered bitterly.

"Mm." The king stepped forward, straight into the little alcove where the boys had been sleeping. "Right: back to bed with you."

Mar shook his head fiercely. "Go away! It's not bedtime!"

Damas didn’t look offended. If anything, he looked amused.

"It is for Jak, little one. The sooner he sleeps off this ordeal, the sooner we can integrate you into the city."

The brothers glanced at each other.

"Who said we wanted to be part of your city?" Jak demanded.

"We're trying to get to some place called the Lighthouse."

All at once, Damas threw back his head and laughed.

"The light- the Lighthouse?" He shook his head and spread his arms wide. "Young one, you're in the Lighthouse!"

Daxter hopped up to the bed when it became obvious that this Damas guy wasn't going to let them leave.

"Uh, hate to interrupt here but- aren't lighthouses usually, y'know, near water?"

Damas smirked. He bent down and scooped up Daxter without so much as a by-your-leave, then held the offended ottsel up to the window cut into the stone wall.

"Tell me what you see."

It was the first time Daxter had gotten close to the window. He gripped the sill as a wave of nostalgia crashed over him.

The air was clean, and clear.

He could see so far-!

"It's...it's the ocean!" he gasped.

"Jak! Jak, we made it to the ocean! And the water is still clean!"

"You serious?!"

Jak scrambled up onto the bed to peer out the higher window overhead.

Sure enough, seabirds wheeled over an endless expanse of blue. Waves rolled and crashed as though they'd never heard of all the pollution of Haven, and Jak could have sworn he glimpsed something absolutely massive moving under the water.

It was so much like the view from Sentinel Beach.

Even after standing in the ruins of Samos’s hut, Jak knew that this was the closest he'd felt to home.

Damas set Daxter down and leaned casually against the wall.

"So. A couple children from Haven, trying to make it to unmarked shores. What were you hoping to accomplish?"

Caught up in nostalgia, Jak absently answered, "As long as I can see the ocean, I'm still free."

Surprise creased the king’s forehead, followed by an unexpected understanding.

He nodded slowly.

"You'd be surprised how many of us come to Spargus with the same thoughts."

Something wry and a little self-deprecating crossed his face.

"And how many of us get here on the edge of death’s door, like you. The Lighthouse represents the hope of both freedom and rescue to those stranded by their enemies. Once we're rescued, though, our lives belong to each other and the nation of Spargus, to be used for the city's good."

Jak dropped from the window to crouch on the bed, and a dark, suspicious look entered his eyes.

"What do you mean "belong to"?"

If he noticed the boy’s abruptly hostile tone, Damas didn’t indicate it. He shrugged and tipped his head back as though deep in thought.

"Out here, strength and survival are what Wastelanders respect the most. We live in a harsh land, boy. In order for there to even be a nation to accept the exiled, we all had to work to reclaim enough desert to live on."

Damas pushed off of the wall and scooped up the mortar and pestle on the table. Ignoring Jak's groan, he began methodically grinding up one of the last two leaves of Desert Lily.

"Everyone pulls their weight in Spargus," he said, lifting the pestle to point at Jak, "Be they king or recent rescue. Some serve as warriors, some as scouts. Some make things, some tend animals, some teach and tend to what few children we are granted. Without one link, the chain falls apart."

Damas straightened and looked from Jak to Daxter to Mar, more serious now.

"Let that be your first lesson in this city: through unity, we survive. If one person shirks or throws their work onto the shoulders of another, we all suffer for it."

Daxter folded his arms and scoffed. "Somebody tell Haven that. Right, Jak?"

Jak's frown was more pensive than suspicious now.

"Does everyone live by that?" he asked pointedly, "Or just you?"

The shark grin came back.

"Oh I learned it from an old woman here, when I was the half-dead stray. Those who have been here longer than twenty years all learned the value of unity long ago."

While Jak pondered the implications of that, Damas poured a little water into a bowl. Carefully, he tipped the mortar just enough for the bitter, gel-like juices and eco of the plant to slide into the water without splashing. After a moment's stirring, the king lifted the bowl to his own lips and took a sip. Instantly, he made a face and put it down.

"Ecch. That's not well filtered. I'm going to get a cheesecloth."

He stepped out of the alcove and began rummaging through the supplies the monks had lined up neatly on carts between alcoves.

Mar blinked twice. "What...what does cheese have to do with Jak's medicine?! Why are you so weird?!"

Bemused, Damas shook his head and turned his attention back to the search. "It's- It's for straining. I do not know -- Ah, there's one! -- I do not know why it is called a cheesecloth either."

"Because you pour the whey into it to catch the curds when you're making yakkow cheese," Daxter supplied idly. "Whey goes through the weave, curds don't. Get it? Cheese-cloth, for cheese-making."

Catching Mar's surprised look, Daxter shrugged. "Kid, I went from the brat who mucks out the barn to owning my own pub. I know everything we use yakkows for. Everything."

Mar wrinkled his nose. "We didn't have any yakkows left when we got the Rift boat working. Metalheads ate em all."

Jak recoiled. "All of them?! What- what about old Zeb? What happened to him?"

He wasn't sure he wanted to know.

Sure, he'd known on a cognitive level that everyone who had lived in Sandover was long dead now. But when Mar had been living in the immediate aftermath of his departure, it was hard to think of the old folks dying. Especially if it had been in front of his younger self.

Mar shrugged with the careless nonchalance of childhood. "I dunno. Everybody that didn't get eaten moved to the jungle to hide in the Precursor ruins. We went back and forth a lot the first two years."

Jak's shoulders fell, and he nodded. "At least somebody survived, I guess."

"Samos always complains that it woulda been more if you'd gone back with us." Mar rolled his eyes. "Like he wasn't the guy who made you stay behind in the first place."

As he returned to filter the medicine, Damas read the small boy's signs in mild bewilderment. Rather quickly, he decided he wasn't going to poke that bear. Not while the boys were still recovering and in a potentially volatile state.

Samos was a name he recognized -- that Precursor History nut from the court of Haven, as he recalled, grandson of the last Green Eco sage. Damas had always found the man irritating. It seemed as if the little one, at least, shared his opinion.

"Mar, stop." Jak set his jaw and kept his signs low, partially out of sight. "We'll talk about it later."

The boy probably thought he'd been very discreet, but considering they were communicating with the lingua franca of Spargus, it was really pretty obvious. It was as if they believed they were the only signers present! Damas tucked the thought away to ponder later, preoccupied with the sign he guessed was little "Seek's" abbreviated name.

It bore a distinct similarity to his own son's nickname.

#surprise free day thursday #jak and daxter #meddling mar au #jak and daxter au #jak and daxter mar #dadmas #king damas #ENTER THE DADMAS #man steps inside and immediately starts cracking dad jokes. probably because he knows they go over everyone's head #continuation #daxter probably knows a lot about food and food preparation considering he actually managed to turn Krew's saloon into something functional #playing with the orignal game script to reflect what i feel a more developed game would be like #although to my chagrin there actually is a doylist reason for the Arena of Death #it's a mini version of all the game-overs you could face once you get the gate pass and go out in the desert #the darn thing actually has a useful function #Jak and Mar still don't realize literally every adult in Spargus can understand them. Their names are the worst-kept secret in Spargus

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