Verdance

How involved do you want to be?

The wolf godess

Aight it doesn’t have to go incredibly deep, i just want it to feel believable without being completely wrong

Leather boots

Put aluminum hemalurgic spikes in their shoes, then walk up to them and hit them with a basball bat

Yes, if you or another coder type person on the shard is interested, i could use help for the next one, as i want it to heavily focus on hacking and tracking people and spying on people and other such stuff, basically a short section where they use some of Oreo’s unfinished code or info or something to track Mono down while trying not to get bombed from space like the last guy.

9/10 laughed. Something came back to him in that moment. Never again would he possess that much prismite. He still hadn’t accumulated enough plot armor, and couldn’t think of a good way to break through that barrier. The prismite vault immediately collapsed on itself, trace energies from the four substances used there causing a massive explosion somewhere at the edge of space- not that it would do much more that annoy the Witherlord, but it was a fitting end to that experiment. He noted something down, observing that the antagonist’s presence had left this location to visit his vault. It seemed the Witherlord was in fact exceedingly dangerous in terms of combat and terror, but slightly less omniscient and omnipresent than your average Narrator- attributes he could use to his advantage. He appeared first to an unnamed Enuller, handing him a paper bag with a note attached as a sign of goodwill and freeing up the rest of his authority, then immediately returned to Rebus. “Well, that went fairly well. I may not have won, per se, but I did outmaneuver our mutual enemy, slightly,” he said, exaggerating what was really a dumpster fire of a plan. He dug into a pocket, retrieving the only prismite core he had managed to snag from the vault before leaving, and handed it to the former antagonist with a nod. “It will be good to work with you,” he stated, before disappearing to deal with his growing sense of insufficiency.

You stumble after your rescuer, not sure whether to curse or bless your soggy, frigid boots as you trudge through the dirty snow. You leave the clearing, happy to get away from the river, and cross back into the loblolly forest, the freezing rain making the journey incredibly uncomfortable. Then the forest you are traveling through thickens into a deep cypress wood, dark and damp and quiet. Something crunches beneath your boot- a pile of stark bones and rancid fur, the corpse of what appears to be a deer. It looks up at you and whispers death, until she catches you staring at the bones, and seeing something in your face, gently pulls you away. "So, survivor," she says, her voice mixing with the muffled rain. "Do you have a name I can use? Or should I stick to survivor?" You bite your lip and look away, mumbling something to yourself. "Okay, I understand," she says. "You can call me Ivy." The name catches something in your mind- you sit down at your desk, in your room, at a laptop opening a coding platform. Your little sister bangs open the door and demands you come play with her. "I'm busy, Ivy," you say, and then you stand up from the desk and stare at this woman who is not your little sister. She is wearing a thick yellow plaid jacket, heavy snow pants, and for some reason, in the midst of this madness, pink cat ears. She gives you a patient yet concerned look at your stare, then you shrug and keep walking. Thunder rolls in the distance. Soon you find yourself in a larger clearing on the side of a hill. An old, rotting, half-collapsed mansion-like building lays slumped on the hill like a broken body, and nearby, the source of the river you fell into earlier feeds a gristmill that seems inexplicably intact. Despite seeming burned, partially rebuilt, draped with tarps and left to languish like a drunken man in a ditch for decades, the shelter seems warm and inviting. The brick and stone parts of the building seem mostly intact, if not a little scorched. Ivy gives a theatrical curtsy and opens the door, and you enter, something like a puzzled smile emerging on your face. Inside, the place is lit with Christmas lights hanging from the ceiling like stars, some walls made of plywood with blankets hanging out of the edges, others of scratched up and graffiti'd drywall, yet others of concrete blocks stacked up without mortar. The floor is vinyl hardwood, except where it has been torn open in a corner away from flammables and replaced with tiles to house a small burnt-out fireplace. The entire room reminds you of a pillow fort, hot and stuffy and heaven to your frozen corpse of a body. You collapse on a torn-up couch, thinking you will never move again, until Ivy opens a window and builds a fire, and then you huddle up to that, reveling in the warmth that dries your clothes and lifts your spirits. Ivy disappears into a doorway and returns a few seconds later with a blanket, a bandage, two bottles of water, and a pair of MREs. "Whoever lived here was smart enough to prepare for the apocalypse, but they weren't smart enough to work with each other, judging by the two corpses with gunshot wounds I discovered when I first found this place,” she says, washing the dried blood off her hand and bandaging it. You shiver involuntarily, another memory trying to claw its way to the surface. Glancing briefly at Ivy with a smile, you banish the memory, then accept the food. You're not sure what you survived on all those years at Winslow High... impressions of maddened clawing through cardboard boxes stacked in the cafeteria storeroom assault you as you peel open and eat the stale MRE. You quietly ask why Ivy's brought you here. She hesitates, confused. "Because you're alive, and living people should stick together," she recites blandly. Unimpressed, you ask the real reason, and she sighs. "Look, you've been through a lot today. Are you sure you wanna talk about this right now?" You say you have nothing better to do. "I want to get revenge on Mono," she admits. "We thought they wiped themselves out, the bombs were stronger than anyone could have anticipated, but their top people are still alive in a bunker, somewhere, monitoring what's left of the internet. I got a tip from a friend somewhere else that they had found a survivor in a school near where I live by hacking into Mono's camera systems. What's left of Mono bombed him a few minutes ago, he's dead." She looks... scared. Sad. You say maybe she's been through a lot more than you have, then ask about internet. "Yeah, this is the only safe house I've found with a working router. Some of the satellites up there still work, so I get internet every couple of hours." You ask for your backpack back, and she hands the damp bag to you. You unzip it and pull out the laptop- the crappy piece of garbage won't turn on. Short circuited, water damage, something else- you don't know what but it won't turn on. You sigh and toss it into a corner. "Are you... okay?", Ivy says. You respond noncommittally, saying you had an idea but the laptop's broken. "Are you a coder or a hacker or something", Ivy asks. Images flash before your eyes, video games you modded or hacked for fun, endless nights hunched over lines of code in an interface, stealing money from people's bank accounts when you didn't want to work for it honestly. You're not a good person... but you are a pretty good hacker. So you nod in response. Ivy's face lights up like... well, like the Christmas lights hanging from the ceiling. "Ha! Oreo was right! You are that one guy from Winslow High, the one who got arrested.” You shake and bite your lip again, not wanting to think about it, and change the subject by commenting on the name she mentioned. "Oreo? Oh, he's uh, he's the guy I was talking about. The one that found you. He said his name was Orion but I think that's stupid so I called him Oreo. He was working on hacking into Mono's satellites, and said that if I found you, you might be able to help. He actually sent me some of his code, before... you know. But we could find them and kill them, maybe if we post their coordinates online we can get other survivors to help!" She seems excited, like she's trying to distract herself, and waits for your response.

Fire

9/10 cursed as the Witherlord’s presence filled the room, crackling and reacting with the ordered light permeating the air. Liquid nullite precipitated on the ground as the anti-narrator defense was nullified, and soon the vault was filled with an aura of chaotic darkness. Trying to show strength, 9/10 tried to burn away the dark with a flash of light. “This is my own private domicile and I will not be harassed,” he replied, but nothing happened. It seemed he had exhausted his narrative authority for the moment. Sighing, hr collapsed the projection, creating a new one on a fragment of the planet the Witherlord had just destroyed. “It’s only a mistake if I regret it,” he countered. “I was betting on you learning of my actions. Honestly, it only shows how weak you are that you had to learn this from that fool. You hold Antagonist and aren’t even fully Threadaware?” He composed himself before continuing. “Do you really want to be the last thing living in the Thread? Do you know what happens to those who destroy worlds? You will be stripped down the core of your existence, of all your legions, your power, of your very soul,” he bluffed. “If I were you I would deal with me very carefully.” —— Night had no idea how to create a space suit and guessed it would make a baseball bat very difficult to wield, so she siphoned off a small section of breathable atmosphere from a nearby planet and told it to stay put around Unintelligible.

In perpetuity we stand slowing down the increase in members though

The Cookie Clicker Universe

Welcome back!

haha we welcome you

hmmm relatable. This is really difficult for me in particular, figuring out if you're depressed of psyching yourself out. I wouldn't have considered myself really "depressed" in any way, shape or form, until i committed self harm, and then i realized how serious it was. So, yes, this is difficult and you should take it seriously. anxiety ATTACKS and long term depression, I have no idea about. It is so weird how i feel like my friends are easier to talk to about depression than my therapist, who is PAID to listen, if you understand. The person might care so much about you, but at the end of the day the fact that this is their job somehow gets in the way, at least that's my experience. Still, therapy is good overall. mmm the questionaire. Yeah, i can see how you wouldn't want those conversations. My best friend basically tried to go to sleep forever two nights in a row a while back, so i felt guilty talking about it with him. Depends on your situation- are they the kind of person who would focus entirely on you, and that would distract them from their depression (like me) or would that make it even worse? Cause you need someone close to you you can talk to. Pets are lifesavers, i love my dog she is the best :3 yes, this is also my life right now, supposed to make A's but procrastination + guilt spiral + anxiety just freaking ruins me. You're not alone. You've got to find that balance where you're making the grades you want first, but not killing yourself with the stress and anxiety. It's tough but did you say you've survived how many years of suicidal depression? I am impressed and your story gives me hope. You can do it. other responsibilities are also really frustrating. Sometimes you feel like you're having a hard enough time pulling your academics and your personal life together, and you can't even think about making money or preparing for college. When it comes to college, don't put it off, start early, nag your parents about touring and go out of your way to apply for things. Time passes SO quickly. Don't kill yourself over a job, it sounds like you have enough going on as is, and if your parents love you, they'll see how hard you work for school and being a responsible older sibling and sponsor the things you would pay for if you could. really important- stress is a cycle. it makes getting unstressed harder by making working to get rid of the cause of that stress more difficult, and by making you feel guilty for relaxing to relieve stress. If you can break that, it will help a lot with some of these other things. hmmm... not fun i dont know what to say about this, i have a friend who is basically sick half the time i talk to him, all i can do is pray. Do you mind if I pray for you and mention you to my youth group? Just overall, I'm doing my best to empathize here, but this sounds like a lot. I'm impressed you have the courage to share this, I would probably end up hiding this inside forever. SH, I have found, is useless, and it gives me SO MUCH HOPE to hear someone who has a lot of the same struggles as me and quit. Legitimately this is super inspiring and kind of exactly what I needed to hear. I hope you manage to get on top of this anxiety and depression, they are monsters, but you've already come this far.

Thaidakar cause he sorta technically did survive, thats his whole thing

9/10mmHB#2 winced, then tried something. While he probably shouldn’t ignore Rebus, he could possibly- 9/10 appeared in the vault. The air, once untainted by light, dark, order, or chaos, its main defense against narrators and the like, now carried a faint scent of smoke and death. Black cracks, slashes in the defenses, were forming on the interior walls. He sighed. Light usually was a direct counter to darkness, so he couldn’t count repelling Inkwell. That meant this would be the first true test of his new form. He placed a hand on the wall, willing it to stabilize. You are a wall, he thought. Unbreakable. Your narrative is to guard this vault, and it will not be compromised. Trying to enforce the narrative was like, well, like pushing against a brick wall. Hard. Something wet ran down his face, his nose bleeding, but the cracks sealed, and the air itself in the vault felt charged with ordered light. He heard a faint screeching from outside, a mixture of pain and anger. While 9/10mmHB#2’s projection dealt with the withergeist, his main body, the one with the full name, turned to Rebus. “Sorry,” he said, wiping the blood from his face. “Agents of the Witherlord are trying to interfere. So, do you accept?” @Through the Living Heir —— Night blocked a swipe from the dark claw with a field of condensed gravity, then sent an avatar towards the voice. “Feel free, I would rather not waste too much good stardust on this one,” she replied, not letting on that this was more difficult than it looked. —— Inkwell made angry withergeist noises and contemplated the meaninglessness of existence.

Hmmm i dont know, what do you want? Cause you keep asking people on here for help, but you dont want to get help from someone who could actually help you far better

Dont hate yourself, you’re not ruined, you probably should get help, but getting help doesnt mean your ruined, its like a vaccine when the flu comes around its okay to hurt, lily. Just dont get stuck in it.

I know the basic premise of SpyXFamily i have seen the first few episodes forever ago and want to watch it more sometime soon Only name i remember is Anya tho Oh my Ado, WHITEPINE 10 dropped you gotta watch this show its called whitepine its a murder mystery serial shot using minecraft and its soundtrack is the reason i know piano

Good point! I have heard some interesting debate over whether hemalurgic spikes naturally carry ruins investiture and intent but that probably fits better than “wayne likes big booms”

You have an allomantic electrum symbol in your profile, as well as what i think is feruchemical steel? i dont own era two yet, i library’d them or else i could help more

Erm i didnt appreciate my childhood enough either holdon give me like twenty minutes Glad you enjoy it! its about the happiest music i listen to and then it only goes downhill from there

Arbitrary deadline again, trying to space put my writing to improve quality aaaaaa eighteen days until CWHOS drops i literally cannot wait

Okay, honestly, idk what mental block is getting in the way of what is honestly just good hygiene imma try and write happier stuff until Friday