thinking about the events of the dsmp hundreds of years later being just a bunch of stories.
In a village nestled between tall pines children play Manberg Vs Pogtopia, the names of nations and reasons for war long forgotten as they hit each other with sticks and tackle their friends to warm summer grass.
When their mothers tuck them in that night they tell them stories of a snowy wasteland, so ancient it still holds the scars of long wars forgotten. They tell them of the wasteland’s inhabitant, the greatest warrior this world has ever seen. His name is lost to history but warriors still pray to him on the eve of battle and tie ravens feathers in their hair in his honor.
If the children misbehaved that day their mothers tell them a different story, one of a masked man who steals bad children and drowns them in the sea.
There’s a crater a few miles east of the village in the middle of the marshlands up by a glittering ocean. The crater is so deep that you can throw rocks off the edge and never hear them hit the bottom. Legend says that once upon a time the goddess of death had a son who walked this earth and when he died in her rage and grief she tore into the city that once stood there with her bare hands and ripped it from the earth leaving nothing but a crater behind.
On long sunny evenings in the inns that dot the coastline bards tell stories of a cursed city of gold and glass buried in the heart of a desert where it snows. They whisper the city is full of riches but nobody who looks for it ever comes back.
On stormy nights the Bards tell a different story, a story of a town that sits over a slumbering god. Strange things happen there. Red vines sport up over night. If you listen closely, the people say you can hear them talk. Everyone there has red eyes and cold cold hands.
If you start at dawn and ride in the opposite direction of the carter you can reach the vault before nightfall. The locals claim it used to hold a faceless god guarded by a king but time has weathered the vault’s defenses and the towns children dare each other inside its walls, running though the tight passages.
An old fairytale says if you follow a small barely visible path from the doors of a vault beyond you’ll reach a forest full of trees so overgrown they block the sun. The fairytale says if you walk to the heart of the forrest there’s a prince sleeping there, nestled in the flowers and weeds. The fairytale says his true love and his knights are long dead. The fairytale says he dreams the whole world in existence. The fairytale says a lot of things but nobody really believes it.
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Y'all I am so enamored by the AUs but WHERE are my normal boys. where did the jesters go. why are they furries now.
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shoutout to the sdv modding community for letting me launch my game like this. god bless our troops (the modders)
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I'll never be over the fact that being batman it GYAHHHH! so when bruce becomes batman and makes his vow to get justice for gotham, to make it so that no one else has to experience the devastation and loss he did the night he lost his parents- being batman means well his job, his mission requires overexposure to death crime and tragedy in order for him to prevent it, and like yeah he never truly ever left crime alley, but that wound is constantly being ripped open. Every person, every ally, every one of HIS KIDS especially that he loses in pursuit of this mission makes the injury new and fresh and red.
this isn't news of course but everytime it hits me that because batman is built on grief he's destined to do it forever I just ☹️☹️
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Baby James Wilby in Privileged. (1982)
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LOVE the trope of a captive finally getting ransomed back to their own side and they're brought out in front of their friends for the first time in weeks, maybe months, squinting in the bright light, pale and bruised and limping, and they're practically dragged towards their friends before being dropped unceremoniously at their feet, they try to tell everyone they're okay or even make a joke, but start to sway and then pass out before they can finish speaking.
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