whenever im looking through god tier title tags on tumblr i come across people’s self-insert sburb ocs (no hate here, why do you think im in the tags in the first place?) and im like…your guys’ strife specibus ought to be knifekind, unless you can give a plausible reason for gunkind, tbh.
like, pick an actual goddamn weapon for your strife specibus! i dont care what rose or vriska did, use an actual fucking weapon!! and how many of us actually had swords and spears and guns easily available for kids in our childhood homes? very few of us im willing to bet. meanwhile in literally everyones kitchens are some bigass butcher knives that are halfway to being swords themselves to a small teenager.
anyway, the moral of the story is: if we all played sburb, we would all be knifekind users, except for the USians who lived in the country, who would be shotgunkind.
For some reason I had the idea that SBURB will try to kill any extraneous people who get brought along into the game. Not supposed to be here, don’t need you messing around, die and get out of the way. Presumably this impression is from the beta session, but that was Bec Noir, and there is nothing normal about Bec Noir even by SBURB standards.
What SBURB tries to do with extraneous people is throw them in jail on Derse. Keep them out of the way, but offer them to the successful player as a bonus reward.
Now that I’ve thought of this it seems incredibly obvious.
ok [LONG POST; APOLOGIES FOR PUTTING THIS ON YOUR LOVELY ART]
this made me wonder what happens to like
the players who go godtier in a dead session
because, like, they’re immortal, and with everyone else dead there is no way they CAN die, because suicide is neither heroic nor just, so they will simply continue to reincarnate forever
until they start to go insane from lack of human contact and anomie
and although sburb keeps them from dying, i imagine that there’s some sort of degeneration going on, maybe every time they die they come back slightly wrong in some way, their speech becomes garbled and they slowly start to look less and less human or whatever
and eventually
inevitably
the only voices left for them to hear are the whispers from the furthest ring
because with all of the time in the universe, even prospit dreamers visit Derse eventually, and as the incipisphere ages the boundaries between universes start to weaken
and it’s so hard not to just give up and accept the invitation, shuck off one’s mortal bonds and leave the session for good, sliding into the many-tentacled embrace of the horrorterrors as your body fully degenerates into madness and lines of code, no longer yourself anymore
just a whisper of what once was but is no longer human.
What if that’s where horrorterrors come from? The mutated god tiers from failed sessions.
ps im crying
This is terrifying
NOTE TEAM MISFAIL: WE ARE ALL TO GO GODTIER AND KEEP EACH OTHER SANE OK? OK.
NOTE TAKEN CAPTAIN’
Your name isn’t important. Nothing is anymore. After all, the clouds block out the heavenly light above and below you, leaving nothing but gray and red.
Gray and red and the cacophony of bleeding colors, the torn rags of your friends as they lie cold and lifeless, no more sentient then the ground you kneel upon. Locked forever in time, doomed to be nothing but dolls of the monster that created you all. They will never return to the soil, will never have the dignity of death, as the game that is not a game will not allow it. You never were religious, but you have prayed. Let there be a messiah, two, three, thousands of them. Let there be something, you think every time with hands clasped tightly before ramming another victim’s weapon into your chest.
Each time, you pray a little harder, stay a little shorter. You were a player, but the outfit you have fastened yourself from the clothes of the deceased leaves even you unsure of what kind. Perhaps time, as you can see hundreds of timelines, hundreds of death of hundreds of innocent lives. You sew your rags because after the fifth time you try to release yourself your robes do not regenerate. You sew yourself but the thread is missing and the fabric is missing and your brain is only just beginning to realize the meaning of eternity.
You play with your friends. A flick of their hair here, a halfhearted hand-holding there grows to hugs and empty sobs. A tango for one and a slow degeneration into the madness you welcome.
You lose track of the holes in your robes and in your soul. The tallies blur together. Names and dates and lives fade as the clouds shudder, the ground quaking and Skia itself weeping for the victory you will never see.
You cannot speak.
You fumble with whatever you can find, play card games that cannot be won against yourself. You try on their clothes and find they fit. You have shrunk. The coding decrees it. You shed your rags and gain new ones. You grow and cycle out the last choices of the dead. You can still hear the screams no matter how much you silently shriek for anything you can repent. Nothing obeys you.
You cannot see.
You thrive on touch and thought, but thought cannot be relied on. Puzzles and riddles have long since ceased to matter, and you wonder if you exist. A living thing reaches into your mind, twists it and molds it and you do not notice.
You cannot hear.
You find a sword after seconds and days and millennia of searching and stab the pain away again and again. There is nothing left to touch, nothing to maim, nothing to live for as there was nothing to live for in time long since lost. Your spirit is gone.
You do not exist.
You are one of many.
You are the Dead Souls that will never truly be free.
Eternity is but a breath in your lifespan, and your dearest wish is death. No one will give it to you.
There is no one left to.
I’m sorry but I need to reblog this again
I’m reblogging this again in honor of 4/13 because it is still my absolute favorite writing I’ve ever done, even nearly a year later.
[Sorry, but as much a you guys seem to think eternity means eternal solitude I don’t really think that’s how things would go. Hope you guys don’t mind if I add to the story a bit…]
You’ve long since given in to the eternity you feel you finally begin to understand. Your skin has greyed and become slick though you’ve barely taken notice. You let the grim darkness eat at you.
At least until you heard something, or you believe you heard something. You’re eyes look around you for a second at the worn out land around you, which has mostly crumbled into what could be considered an asteroid due to the spacial winds and other phenomena you have now barely taken note of.
You hear the noise again. It was a ring that had once been familiar. You didn’t realize that anything in your modus would still work after eternity. After some fumbling with the controls you manage to take out your ringing smart phone. Pesterchum seems to have been attempting to grab your attention.
HD: Hello
HD: Is anyone there?
You don’t recognize this person, though you suppose you could have simply forgotten.
HD: If you are still out there please say something
HD: If you have horrorterrorified then I don’t think you can actually respond.
No, you are quite sure you’ve never met this person. Either way you try to type something to them but your stupid fingers have gotten slick and don’t want to make it easy.
ST: Hi
You would have said that you waited an eternity but your time powers let you know it’s been a total of 5.something or other seconds.
HD: Oh
HD: Wait right there
HD: Or do whatever space-time lets you do there
ST: WAIT
The person on the other side doesn’t respond. Hopelessness threatens to engulf you again.
HD: Sorry
HD: Had to let my folks know about you
Folks?! There’s more?
HD: You still there?
ST: Ya
You take a moment to curse at your current condition.
SD: Can you two keep chatting. It’s difficult to see the signal.
HD: Sure
ST: OK?
HD: Oh yeah!!! Guess I never asked.
SD: smooth
HD: Shut up
HD: Do you want someone to fetch you or are you doing fine over there?
They could fetch you? Or could try to. How they would do that doesn’t matter. You are done with being alone, you have been for an eternity.
ST: Please
And so a millenia passes, with you chatting and waiting for these people to come after you. You re teach yourself how to speak, for your voice has gotten dry and raspy through lack of use. You learn of a universe they promise you. You believe you have friends again and it has gotten you nervous for the first time you meet.
HD: Hey!!!
ST: What is it?
She sounds excited.
HD: Turn to your left
Your heart speeds up and hands slicken, but this time it’s from nervous sweat. Your skin had returned to it’s original state a while ago. You turn slowly but surely till you see what looks like a bright golden dot. It appears like any of the prospit ships only someone has renamed it and decorated it with various welcome signs. Your eyes finally spot someone on the deck waving frantically. She is wearing a maid of hope getup, though it seems she’s made some extra embroidery adjustments that looked unfinished. Behind her was another seer like you, but he was of space. He looked exhausted, probably having to attempt to find you through the void and space. There was another creature there which you suspect had been the player since they had thief of mind pjs.
You stand for a moment in shock. No matter how long you’ve waited, you were in no way prepared.
“You ready to come with us? It’s a bit of a long drive but we’ll get there,” the hero of hope beckoned you forward to the deck. You can’t help but cry. It had been so long since you’ve last done so but unlike the last time, these tears feel good as they run down your cheeks. You drift to the deck.
“You okay?” she asks with a concerned look. How would you be able to explain the pain that you’ve gone through. How could you explain that you had nearly gone to a point of no return. You simply nod your head.
Time goes on as it wishes. The void makes sure of that. Your new group finds small and large civilizations of failed and successful sessions. How you missed so many of them as your asteroid drifted, you’ll never know. Eternity allows you to make an infinite amount of friends and enemies. Infinite possibilities makes sure that you never know everything. While it is possible to be bored and hopeless for long periods of time, eventually some new experience has to show up to change things around.
“Alright, we’re here,” you friend of hope states drifting to a horrorterror. You’ve come to learn how each is an individual who had lost all hope. You can’t quite understand them and you’ve wondered if they feel better now that they meet all these knew people and creatures. Your attention returns to the hope player. She seems to whisper something that you can’t hear. The horrorterror blows a bubble that engulf you and the new gang of close friends you’ve made. The scene is familiar to you. It’s one you’ve always seen when passing the bubbles. Usually the final battlefield of your session is empty and for a second you think this one is too. Forms start to come from behind rubble. Their eyes are blank but that hasn’t mattered to you for a long time. This was your team. The team you had gone through the game with. The team you lost. You were finally back with them.
The game is difficult to understand. There are many rules which can be broken and many ways that things can go wrong. There is only one limit you think you’ve come to realize about the game and that is that
so i combined derse and prospit together with painttoolsai using the luminosity feature and…………
look at it…….
that’s so…. pretty… omg let’s all dream here pls
I’ve lived here all my life.
And then everyone lived on Derspit, the end.
soft grunge
headcanon time!: derspit is what happens when one person tries to play Sburb/etc by his or her self. Either through two computers running the program at the same time or through bizarre cheating methods.
It’s an attempt by the game to create both moons despite there being only one bed, forcing the player to go through weird glitchy mixtures of events from both areas.
The Derspitiatites (dersite+prospitian= Ders-pit-ti-a-tites) are at war with themselves and are extremely glitchy and volatile, expressing both Heroic and Just traits. They both wish for the game to be continued and for the game to be lost, and are neither helpful nor harmful towards the player. They are so volatile that they become neutral by default.
It is extremely difficult, if not impossible to win the game, due to the black and white king being the same character. The reckoning, along with all other moon-based events, must be started by the PLAYER in order for them to get farther into the game.
heres a Derspitiatite arch/antiagent (cheap jack edit) to make reading all that worth your while a bit
“…are at war with themselves and are extremely glitchy and volatile”
so baSICALLY THE TRICKSTERS
CAN THIS
BE A THING
CAN THIS BE WHERE THE TRICKSTERS DREAM OMFG
OH MAN EVEN THE COLOUR SCHEME WORKS FOR TRICKSTERS
Someday I’d like a compendium of Shit Sburb Does So Kid-Gods Die Young. In the first place, targeting kids who want to play a game for a huge responsibility. Separating them from their guardians, wanting the new world to have no godly help growing or knowingly preparing for the next session, the God Tier system of dying encouraging players to stay out of significantly interfering when they don’t have to…
SERIOUSLY. I hope you don’t mind me answering this publicly (I’ve stripped off the username) but I was meaning to make a post about this sometime anyway.
I don’t know if Hussie meant it this way, but it doesn’t take much effort to view Skaia/SBURB as grooming kids to fulfill its aims and then disposing of them.
just moving along like everyone else 