#🌌.manipulation

[absentmoon]

im also really glad theres a hot character in such a big game that will tell you later outright that he doesn't actually want to have sex and will dump your ass if you try to pressure him into it. thank god.

#daisy.txt #idk i feel safe about myself with him #like i could talk about my own struggles and he'd understand its so grrhhghhh #I LOVE that he calls out a manipulative tav on their bullshit. its SO good. #🌌.starry

[rhysands-rightknee]

okay, bye sisters, see you on the 30th

be good, empathetic, intuitive souls and free Palestine, and anyone fighting for liberation on this earth

eternal love to every soul seeking a better world 🦋

#the trials have me so emotional #basic human rights should not be fought over #we all bleed the same #yet corruption from politics and religion has manipulated and deceived the human race for thousands of years #we are more than this physical body #we will see this soon enough #🌌🦋💕 #okay bye love ya be safe and enjoy my menstrual ramblings

[fictionkinfessions]

The worst part is, I do think you loved me. You used me, hurt me, and were slowly killing me, but I do think you loved me. You protected me, and tried to make me "strong", like she made you "strong"- but you couldn't make yourself go through with it, and that's when I think you started to hate me.

Because I was your weakness, and you only knew how to hate those.

...Love and hate are two sides of the same coin, and after everything you went through, I don't think you were capable of loving something vulnerable without also hating it.

I hope you are now. I hope you love plenty and love freely, and most of all I hope you're nothing like what you once were.

Still checking the apology tag,

#🌌🔥🥀

#fictionkinfessions #fictionkin #🌌🔥🥀 #shipping issue #murder cw #prevabuse #manipulation cw #mod party cat #apology

[protectxthem]

📞 for jack and john pls.

◤ ✕ ・。* send me 📞 and a ship and i’ll tell you… | Accepting

your muse’s contact photo in mine’s phone -

your muse’s name in mine’s phone - Honey Bunches Sugar Pie

your muse’s ringtone in mine’s phone - Poker Face

how often our muses text - During their Time Agency days? Almost every time they weren't together, although John would sometimes text Jack from the other room or if they were in the same room, just to be that guy. Now? John texts Jack and Jack will read the texts and not text him back sometimes.

what our muses normally text about - It used to be mundane things, mostly what they wanted to eat that day. Now it's just John checking on Jack.

our muses’ last few texts - [Text]: Where'd you run off to Jack? [Text]: C'mon don't be mad at me. You can't stay mad at me forever. [Honey Bunches Sugar Pi]: No, fuck you, John. You let them erase two years of my memories. [Text]: Damn it. It was for your own good [unsent]

@undyingrogue

#🌌 incoming portals #undyingrogue #ship meme #Manipulative Bastard (John Hart)

[caracello]

nah dont let twitter see this one guys.. instant cancel

#lliterally manipulating people into being his fans......... wow..... #whatever like thatd even work on me bitch. i like you because youre gay looking get over it #gush:{🌌}

[hazyaltcare]

Sweet Dreams are Made of This: A playlist for a Gamzee Makara x Kurloz Makara (both Homestuck) fictives.

Warning: Incest, cult mention, drugs and alcohol, manipulation, murder, guns, mind control. Minors, do not interact with this post.

Due to the above warnings, we're putting the playlist under the cut.

Mod Vintage (🌌)

Tracklist

YonKaGor - Circus Hop

The Taxpayers - I Love You Like an Alcoholic

K.Flay - High Enough

The Orion Experience - The Cult of Dionysus

YOHIO - The Show Has Just Begun, So Let Them Laugh

IAMX - Animal Impulses

Shady Cicada - Jazz Hands

Toby Fox - The Circus

Anggun - Snow On The Sahara

Madonna - Frozen

Lenka - Force Of Nature

Hozier - Take Me To Church

Skylar Grey and Eminem - Kill For You

Emily Browning - Sweet Dreams (Are Made Of This)

Listen to the playlist here.

Since there wasn't any specified themes, we put on songs with clown/circus vibes, religion and magic, devotion, manipulation, mind control, murder, and forbidden love from what we know about Gamzee and Kurloz in canon.

We hope you both like this, but feel free to ask us if you need something changed! 💜

Mod Vintage (🌌, the playlist was a collaboration between 🌌 and several other people in the system!)

#minors dni #drugs tw #alcohol tw #manipulation tw #cult mention tw #mind control tw #shipcest #incest tw #tw incest #makaracest #fictive #playlist #fictive playlist #homestuck fictive #gamzee makara fictive #kurloz makara fictive #spotify playlist #mod vintage #🌌 #video game music #electronic #pop #world music #synth pop #dark cabaret #art rock #indie #instrumental #indie rock #rap

[percyshipz]

Yeah but what if Wig.gle wing-manned Gram.ble huih? WHAT IF SHE’S HELPING HIM OUT AND FINDING OUT LIL DEETS TO SEE WHAT INTERESTS ME SEFHUISEHF

#[[ Ik they technically have a rom relationship in game but I don't like how she's manipulating him : ( I understand that's the bu.gsn.ax's #[[ but ughhhh. I can't. I'm sorry I can't stand it but I love her outside of that !!! #[[ So I'm no. Not in my bu.gs.nax euohsuoefs #🌌🌌 ;; Scrambled Thoughts #💖💖 ;; Crush tag #🍓🧶 ;; Crush !

[asunaros-future]

Mr Mirai! I'm back :3

Oh! If it isn't my favorite assistant! Welcome back!

#🌌 classified answers #marschidouin #ooc: mars don't fall for the flattery... it's manipulation....

[denkies]

🐈 clan-confessions  Follow

i'll never say this publicly but honestly i think tigerstar had some valid ideas about having one big clan. obviously he was super wrong with all the violence and force, but one big clan could solve a lot of issues. No more border patrol fighting, more food for everyone during leaf-bare season, no drama involving cross-clan mates, etc etc. a lot of deaths could be avoided if we all took care of one another instead of fighting all the time

🌠 fishluvr76  Follow

ok are we all going to ignore that anon is siding with a literal DICTATOR??? :/

🌸 sweet-tooth  Follow

That's not what they meant and you KNOW it. They brought up some valid points about preserving lives, and denounced Tigerstar's actions as much too violent. Starclan above, no cat can have an opinion these days...

🌒 singlequeen7  Follow

Honestly I don't know how I feel about this... each Clan is beautifully unique and has their own traditions, which would fade away if Clans were desolved altogether. But OP makes a valid point about less violence and food scarcity. I hate the idea of sending my kits off to become Warriors, only for them to die during a stupid argument about Sunningrocks. A pile of rocks is NEVER worth a cat's life, whether they are in your Clan or not. And we have lost lives like that before.

🍄 medicinepawz  Follow

I agree! Traditions are important, but every medicine cat knows that working together saves lives. Sharing herbs can stop the spread of greencough, and sharing prey stops kits from crying from hunger. We really need a better system, because I can't cry myself to sleep another night, blaming myself for not having enough cobwebs to stop a kit from bleeding out in front of me.

🐅 lonelywarrior5346-deactivated

leave it to a woman and a medicine cat to emotionally manipulate proud warriors into giving up our PURECLAN bloodlines and Clan patriotism lolol

🍄 medicinepawz   Follow

HELLO?????

🐛 bug-enjoyer  Follow

> complains about "emotional manipulation" (it wasn't?)

> proceeds to be misogynystic AND racist in the same sentence???

> we get it babygirl, you want to fuck Tigerstar. weird ass mf.

🐈‍⬛ moondrops  Follow

"Lonelywarrior5346" is Flintstep from Riverclan btw

🌸 sweet-tooth  Follow

LMFAOOOOWAGWHQAKDHOA

🫐 berrycloud  Follow

GET HIS ASS

🌌 dorkstar  Follow

nah bc which one of you killed this dude yesterday lmfao 😭💀

🌸 sweet-tooth  follow

NO ARE YOU FR

🐛 bug-enjoyer  Follow

@ dorkstar say sike right now 😭😭

🌌 dorkstar  Follow

border patrol found him dead in a ravine 😭 yall play too much

🫐 berrycloud  Follow

when i said get his ass i did not mean like this

#completely inspired by @starclanz 's post #thought it was so fucking funny i had to make one #warrior cats #warriors #wc #thunderclan #riverclan #windclan #shadowclan #a.txt

[tobealonemp3]

should i get some fake glasses? y/y?

#just like... need to try some new stuff feel like a fuckin uhhh a ffuckin #like the opposite of a river #there is NO course of change happening here no erosion or manipulation of the surfaces beneath #🌌

[tadpolesonalgae]

Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You - Part 7

A/N: Right, this might get a little confusing, but you know how we (English speakers) kind of went from Latin, to old English, to Now English? I’m substituting those for the Old Language, ‘Middle Language’ (the transitional phase—completely made up), and whatever the common tongue is for Prythian? Yeah, sorry about that!

Warnings: none…? I don’t think…?

Word Count: 5,587

-Part 6- -🌌🌠- -Part 8-

You stare at the page, heart in your throat.

Stare at the page, and reach for a pen.

Who is this?

Ink stains the white paper, and stupidity heats your features. He probably left it as a taunt. It’s not like he’s going to respond. You groan, setting the pen down, covering your face with your hands. Mother above. Definitely not your smartest moment. Reach to flip the paper over—not wanting to be reminded of your naïveté.

More ink has appeared, just below your scribbled question.

You may hide your intelligence around your family, but that won’t work with me. Smarten up.

The words burn your features. Scowl at the paper.

Forgive me for not anticipating the paper to talk back, Eris.

It vanishes the second you’ve written the sentence, leaving you blinking at the empty space on your desk. Winnowing isn’t possible within the House of Wind—you’ve heard both Rhysand and Feyre say it before. Yet note passing seems completely acceptable, for some reason. You suppose no harm can derive from simple exchanges.

You’ve been surrounded by magic for nearly two years. It’s shameful to still be taken aback by its multi-faceted ways.

A reluctant smile gilds your mouth. That’s Eris alright. Readjust your hold on the pen.

And it’s embarrassing to rely on stupidly long words in attempt to prove your intellect. Just say it’s versatile.

The parchment disappears, then returns. Nothing’s been added.

Amusement brightens your mouth, raising the writing instrument, poising it to attack. The words dance on your tongue, weapons to provocation: You have a bad attitude to being spoken back to. But you shake your head, instead choosing compromise for your next reply.

Did you want something? I doubt you simply dropped in to say hi. Unless this is your way of making sure I got the book?

Perhaps it was my way of seeing where you fall in this alliance.

Brow draws together. He obviously means the alliance between the Night Court and him, but where do you fit into it all? How does this show your placement? What does he even mean, where you fall? Take a deep breath, release it. It will do you no good to fall for his own provocation.

I hope you were satisfying enlightened, then, you write back.

Quite.

Stare at the neatly scripted response. He’s leaving the conversation for you to direct. First thoughts go to where he acquired the book, but somehow you feel that’s not the direction he wants you to take this in. So, sighing, you stumble straight into the trap he’s laid out.

Why haven’t you told anyone?

Paper vanishes again. Takes a minute to reappear.

It’s pretty blackmailing material. Why waste it in common conversation?

Lips purse together as you read his reply. Manipulative indeed.

Whatever you think you’ll be able to extort from me, I can guarantee you’ll end up disappointed.

Not the family favourite?

Blink at the speed of the response. Like quicksilver. Vague amusement warms your chest—how clear the mockery is. Disconcertingly comforting to know he doesn’t change. The same in every form. Precious constancy. Lower the pen to parchment.

I suppose you would know all about that, wouldn’t you?

And I suppose you’ll hide beneath the guise of observation, now?

It certainly isn’t warfare. I’d think you’d be practiced at spotting pretty, bladed words.

Again, the parchment vanishes, leaving you in the silence of your own room. Feet tap anxiously upon the clear wood, leg vibrating as you wait on him. Realisation smacks you upside your jaw—you refuse to sit here wasting precious seconds for whatever nihilistic response he carves out for you. Instead, you turn to the anthology, flicking to the index, peering at titles. Searching for one that will catch your eye.

I’m flattered—you’ve sharpened your tongue since we last sparred.

Roll your eyes. Lips quirking at the inherent Eris-ness of the response.

Wooden swords will only serve me for so long. Why not experiment with steel in a controlled environment?

The parchment vanishes, and takes its time to reappear. Time you spend scanning titles, pondering their contents. Maybe you should ask why he gave it to you in the first place. Certainly not out of the kindness of his heart.

Paper reappears.

You think merely because there are entire courts between us that makes you safe?

Peer at his reply—try studying it. Does he want you to be wary of him? It seems unlikely, somehow. He wouldn’t be able to get anything from you if you’re afraid of him. He should be encouraging you to feel at ease speaking with him if he wants something.

Do you make a habit of being as unpleasant as possible to every person you encounter, or am I just lucky?

A smile warms your mouth as the paper vanishes, fantasising how irritated he might become. From your words! Exhilarating!

Eyes land on a title that piques your interest: Movement of Light. Brow narrows with interest, flipping to the registered page number eagerly. Upon the parchment, beside the tightly knitted words, lays a neat diagram. It appears to be of a rectangle with two small holes punctured through its thin mass. Interesting…

Do you make a habit of keeping secrets from your family?

Lips purse. Cutting to the core, again. Manipulative as he may be, he’s certainly skilled at finding the right bruises to target. You wonder if it’s a skill he’d been taught through books or word of mouth, or if, perhaps, it was a nastier kind of education. Shake your head free of thoughts, pulling away from the book.

Having no secrets at all is stupidly idilic. Are there any other misconceptions you would like me to clear up?

You’re surprisingly cynical for your age.

Strange how having one’s mortality ripped away will do that to a woman.

Even you can hear the bitterness bleeding through. But the words have been written, and the paper has disappeared, so there’s no use trying to take them back. Even if you’re mentally cursing yourself for allowing that kind of opening. Surprised at how easy it is to be caught up in conversation with him. Or sparring, as he so eloquently puts it.

Wonderful immortality not treating you well?

Again, with the taunting. Amusement and something else prickles beneath your fingertips. Irked.

I’ll admit, it’s not quite as spectacular as I might’ve thought once upon a time.

That seems measured enough.

I thought humans were raised to hate us.

Observe the words—how they sit on the parchment. The contrast between your short scribbles and his elegant font.

Might a deer not wish for a wolf’s strength?

Parchment again vanishes. Once you’ve counted to three, you turn your attention back to the book, scanning the passage of writing. Brows narrow at the leap in language—words you’re unfamiliar with. A photon? Maybe it would be better to start from the beginning. Where’s a damn glossary when you need one?

Paper reappears—you take a moment to pull away from the volume.

Have you always been in pursuit of grandeur?

Brow narrows at the question.

I’d say I’ve always been rather passionate about not starving. So I suppose I did once think having three hot meals a day would be utter luxury.

I would have rather rotted away than be forced to live amongst vermin.

A surprised laugh flutters from your chest, amusement sparking within you again.

You’re much too stubborn for such a miserable end, Eris; too bitter to resign yourself to such a fate, either.

Parchment vanishes. One. Two. Three. Return to the volume, start at the beginning. Where your eyes were intended to land. Sighing, you scan the title: The Foundations of our World—Stuff. Brow narrows, lips quirking upward at the vagueness of it. Stuff. Such a lack of precise articulation, yet here it is, in an anthology of noteworthy discoveries. Somehow, this piece had been selected as important; important enough to be the base for the entire book. Strange…

Eye roll across the tightly stacked letters, mind pulsing as words soak into your brain, thumping dully as blood rushes through your ears. Take everything at it’s basest nature, reduce it down to the fundamentals, and what sort of building blocks are you left with? What makes up the world as we see it?

‘Take the prefix a- from the middle language, and combine it with the Old Language verb to cut, creating the name for the indivisible: atom. The smallest bits of matter that can exist independently.’

Intrigue returns with crushing force, making it near impossible to tear your eyes from the volume when the parchment reappears. How long has he been writing? Maybe he was preoccupied.

And yet I understand it was the youngest of you who took up her weapons and headed out into the wild. For how adamantly you protested against my lack of action regarding something I could easily correct, you seem to appear quite the hypocrite. Why didn’t you go out into those woods?

Blink away the memories of frost. Of sweat-stained clothes, and matted, knotted hair.

Getting a little personal with the questions, don’t you think?

Writing to me at all is much more personal than you should ever be getting—I’m sure your friends would agree. Yet there you are, pen in hand, thinking up your next counterattack.

The reply comes with surprising swiftness, allowing you only a brief glimpse of the following passage. Just as you’re beginning to grasp the core of what the essay is talking on.

You write with the confidence sight, you reply, eager to return. Yet he seems to have put his own distractions aside, as the response follows promptly.

Magic is a wonderful thing.

Blood ices in your veins, limbs stiffening, tongue turning leaden.

You’re lying. The House is fortified with wards; practically impregnable.

Yet here we are, corresponding. Does your High Lord know what you get up to behind closed doors?

Heart spikes in your chest, fingers trembling just a little as you lower pen to paper.

You clearly want something; you’re not going to get it if you spook me away, so quit the games.

Very well, but I’ll admit I indulged in the thought of your discomfort.

Release a heavy sigh—he doesn’t somehow have a window into your room, able to watch every move you make. Surely that would be too far, even for his manipulative ways. Skin prickles at how easily he slid beneath it—fingertips brighten.

You share that delightful, sharp-written humour with your youngest brother, you know that?

The parchment vanishes, then reappears in a matter of seconds. You laugh to yourself.

Touchy subject, Eris?

The second you dot the question mark, the door swings open; you yelp, jumping in your chair, shoving the parchment away. Vanishes again a blink later, slightly crumpled from the violent rejection.

“I knocked…” Feyre supplies, features tightening with concern. “Did you not… Oh.” She blinks, peering at the door frame; the threshold. “I suppose it must have been set up to block out exterior noise, too.” Sighs. “I’ll get that fixed at some point. Seems a waste to have a sound barrier up if you’re unable to hear what’s going on outside.”

Swallow heavily, trying to look normal. Like you weren’t knowingly communicating with the heir to the Autumn Court throne. Blue-grey settles upon you, fingers fidgeting in your lap, shifting in your seat to get comfortable. Everything feels unsettled. Her brows arrow, “you’re… What were you doing?”

“Nothing.” You reply, quickly. Far too quickly to be normal.

Lips quirk. “Writing to Bas?” She teases.

Heavy sigh whooshes from your chest, deflating a little. “How do you know about him? I haven’t even mentioned him to ‘Lain,” you say lightly. Something flashes through her eyes, too quickly for you to decipher. “Az mentioned you had someone after you,” she laughs, stepping into the room, door closing behind her. “I had no idea it was so serious,” she smiles, the happiness so inappropriate with the context you have.

Shake your head in denial, “he’s just a friend. There’s nothing else going on.” She gives you a look to say she doesn’t believe you. “I’m serious,” you insist. “There’s nothing romantic going on.” That part’s true, at least.

Feyre laughs again, then shifts on her feet. A strange quest seems to overtake her. “You know things are different here,” she begins softly, “to how we lived as humans.”

Heat flushes your features, making you groan. “Oh my gods, Fey. I am not having this conversation with you.”

“I’m just saying, if you want to get out there…see the world…maybe a few males, too… That’s fine. That’s stuff we can do, now. Well, you can do.” She amends the last part. After all, she’s the youngest, and already has a mate, a husband, and a child. An entire family. The epitome of womanhood.

Shake your head adamantly, “please, stop.” You grimace. Her lips quirk, mischief in here blue-grey eyes. She’s so lively…spirited. Bubbly? But calm, too. When did she become so adult? She seems to have aged in the blink of an eye.

(Why didn’t you go out into those woods?)

She shifts again, peers around the room—it’s a superficial move. She’s buying time, building up to something. “Your floor’s clear,” she notes, nodding to the clear wooden boards. Nod in response, trying not to wring your fingers. You were doing nothing wrong. He had spoken first. Nothing to be guilty about; no one got hurt. It’s fine.

“About our last interaction…” she begins, quietly. Spine stiffens, heart spikes. “I wasn’t trying to find something wrong with you; I’m sorry it came out that way.”

Exhale softly, shoulders lose their tension. Smile easily, waving her off. “Oh, don’t worry about it,” you laugh. “I understand. I’m sorry for lashing out at you, it was unfair on my part to act that way.” Her eyes narrow on you. Keep up the smile. “Is this your way of saying you just don’t want to talk about it?” She asks, softly. Blue-grey shimmers with sincerity.

Lips begin to ache with the stretch. “What are you talking about? We’ve made peace, there’s no need to exacerbate this.”

“Do you not want to talk about it?” She reiterates, keeping calm and quiet.

“What is it?” You laugh, turning to face the desk, eyes flitting to the volume. Scan the page; absorb nothing. “What you said last time. About being a burden.”

Body stiffens, breath catches.

“Fey, I’m getting tired,” you excuse, voice steady.

“You’re tired a lot,” she replies, quietly. Still watching. “Maybe Madja should take a look at you.” Sigh. Lean back in your chair. Tilt your face back, peering at the ceiling. “I’ve had a long life,” you murmur up to the white wallpaper, “I’m allowed to be tired.”

“You’re barely twenty-two.”

“And a lot has happened. I’m allowed to be tired.” You repeat, not looking at her.

Silence stretches between you. Gentle, but taut.

“How about you?” You ask, shifting the conversation over. Turning to peer at her. Your younger sister. Feyre blinks, then nods her head. “Good. Wonderful.” Watch her silently. Mark the lowness of her lids. “Nyx still waking you up?”

Nods again, smiling faintly, traveling somewhere distant. Somewhere foreign to you. “Eight days a week,” she laughs quietly. “Rhys and I are taking turns looking after him during the nights. Despite his work-load.” Sighs, pushes hair from her cheek, tucks it over a pointed ear. “He’s been great. Supportive, attentive, perfect. I keep trying to get him to let me handle Nyx, but he’s insisting it’s a joint effort. Wants to be there in a way his father…” she trails off, eyes misting.

Nod your head slowly. “And I suppose you want to be there in a way our mother…?”

“Yeah,” she replies thickly. “I guess that’s part of it.” The quiet turns viscous, coagulating into something almost translucent.

“I read some things…” you begin gently, “about the turbulence of motherhood.”

Her features lift into a smile, “oh, don’t worry about me. Rhys and I are working through it. It’s difficult, but everyone’s there when the strain starts to set in.” You blink away subtle surprise. “Mor’s always up for taking him off our hands for a day or two. It’s the same with Cass and Nesta,” she laughs fondly. “Amren…well, she’s Amren. And Elain’s great at making little treats here and there. Smiley faces out of his breakfast and things like that—he loves it.”

You nod slowly. Blink. “That’s great.” Again the silence creeps in.

Then she’s shifting on her feet, and. You just know—

“What kind of person is Bas?” She inquiries, not at all subtly. Nosey.

“He’s my friend, and nothing else.” He’s much more than a friend, but there’s no way to explain that without an entire Court’s worth of misunderstandings and uncomfortable questions. Still, she nods, but remains in your room. “And he… His intentions?”

“Feyre,” you scold, incredulously.

Your younger sister doesn’t flinch. Keeps her gaze straight. “Okay. Okay,” she sighs, holding up her hands in defence. “I’m wary of him.”

“Please, you can trust me he’s harmless. To me, at least. I’m sure if someone swung at him he’d be the type to swing back, but that’s besides the point.” You leave out the part that you’re fairly certain he would be the one to also somehow provoke a fight. He can be pretty provocative when he wants to. Not always in a bad way…

(…a hot, male body that’s pressing you into the wall.)

“I just want you to be careful,” she says quietly, eyes misting, going somewhere far away. “Males…people can be unkind. I don’t want anything to happen to you.” Amarantha, Tamlin… You nod your head, “I understand. But Bas…I can trust him. So please don’t doubt him; please don’t doubt me either, in this decision.”

Feyre nods again. Silence stretches, then she straightens. Pats the doorframe. “Well, I’ll have this fixed as soon as possible. It’ll need to be disabled, than I can remake it—so you’ll be able to hear people coming. It’d be awful if you got yourself hurt from being startled by one of us.” She gives you a sweet smile, then disappears out into the hall, door clicking shut behind her.

Unsure if it’s her silent feet or the sound barrier that prevents you from hearing her disappearing footfalls.

————

Skin is itching, fingers burning. Heart spiking.

Burning, burning, burning. Hands on fire.

Vision blurs, floor spinning. She’s on the ceiling.

Crash into a wall, bone crunching. Stumble to the kitchen.

Water. Where’s water. Burning skin. Charring fingertips.

Liquid drips down cheeks, splashing onto knuckles.

Scraped raw, searing pain. Bone splintering, nails peeling.

Cool water fills the sink, drown her hands.

Sweet strangulation, dulcet deprivation.

Lovely oblivion.

————

Breath eases in and out, soothing your lungs. In and out. Slow and steady. In. And out.

Chest deflates, keeping your body straight but relaxed—imagine sinking into the mattress. Cheeks puff up with the exhale, calm and quiet. Sit silently. Allow the world to fade. Tension seeps from your shoulders, muscles relaxing the way you’ve practiced. Now to make sure you don’t drop off instead.

Empty out thoughts, settle into the silence. Float away on a breeze. Imagine hands being set aglow. No. They are aglow.

Eyes remain shut, tight. Picture the radiant green seeping onto your skin, setting it alight.

Fingers twitch, bones itch. Teeth grind. Nails heat.

Eyes open in time to catch the glow as it fades, sinking back into your skin. A flicker of Starfall, then nothing. Sigh heavily, back slumping, shoulders sloping. It’s something; most importantly, it’s progress. Day three of fourteen. Slow movements, slower response. Gently stoking the flames.

Remove the light from your world, lids closing, return to the darkness. Seeking solace. Breath eases in and out, soothing your lungs. In and out. Slow and steady. In. And out. In. And out. Fingertips warm, but eyes remain closed. Don’t acknowledge it. Can’t look or feel for it. Allow it to grow in the back of your mind, allow into latch into your blood; flourish. Swirling and billowing, gaining momentum until it can move on its own, until it can function without nurture.

Keep your back turned to the power, allow it to remain unseen. Pull it upward; hear as it cracks and fizzles in your head. Rapidly dividing…splitting at high-speed…multiplying until it boils and bubbles. One cleaves another in two…into three…nine…

(…Twenty-seven, eighty-one, two-hundred forty-three…)

(…two-thousand one-hundred eighty-seven, six-thousand five-hundred sixty-one, nineteen-thousand six-hundred eighty-three…)

(One-million seven-hundred-seventy-one-thousand one-hundred forty-seven.)

Heat burns your fingertips, flashing pain blaring so rapidly, sparking like lightening across your palms, splintering phalanges…down into the carpal bones, nearing your wrists.

Vision blasts into view, pupils contract to tiny dots, shrinking away from the pale green light that’s blazing from your hands, barreling up your forearms, crackling past elbows, bolting up, up, up… Muscles seize, contracting against the hot itch scrambling your flesh, twisting at sinew. The blinding light dims, eyes peeking open as it dulls to a quiet luminosity, tinting your skin. Feels like poison ivy…the nettles by your old estate.

Swallow, staring at the radiance. Almost mesmerising enough to block out the burn. Throat itches, tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. Deep breaths. Ease in. And out. Deep and easy. Calm and quiet. Collected.

Slowly, warily, you rise from your bed, door swinging open on the house’s command. Silently pad down the hallway, arms and torso concealed well by your dress, cardigan hiding the faint incandescence of your wrists. Hands—no way to hide them. Ignore it for now, you need a drink. Deep and easy. In. And out. Calm. Quiet and collected.

A glass waits for you on the table, walk steadily forward, fingers tremble as they clutch the cup. Water vibrates inside, tiny ripples fluttering across the surface. Effervescent bubbles shimmer at the base. Grow larger, swelling into compact air, fizzing up. Simmering in your hands. Tension coils your shoulders, brow dampening. Liquid heats up, boiling into a volatile mess. Bubbles pop at the surface, scalding water splashing onto your knuckles.

Scream as glass shatters, burning your bare feet as the liquid sprays.

Heart spikes, glowing brighter, inching up your arms, over your shoulders. Crawling across your collar bones. Muscles knot, tangling over themselves as they seize in terror. Power coils closer, snaking toward your throat, slowly…slowly…

“What—”

Hazel pierces into you, flicking over your hands, marking the shards of glass. He appeared in a flurry of darkness, shadows pulling back once he’s materialised in the doorway. Eyes already scanning for the source of distress. Fix on the slow spread of toxic green as it tip-toes higher. Hits a barrier. It’s a small hesitation—but it’s enough. Magic flickers, recoiling from your clavicle, enough hesitation to be quashed. Like a weight sinking down, an avalanche of rock crushing vermin, bones crunching beneath the pressure. Incandescence shoved away, dripping down your arms, cut back to your fingertips.

Sweet relief washes over you, waves of coolness cresting from your forehead to your toes. Lovely reprieve. Exhale heavily, spine nearly collapsing beneath the strain, leaving a slight glimmer to your fingertips, nails curved and warped from heat. Stagger back as he silently moves toward you. Scarred hands reach out, wanting to touch; wanting to steady.

“Are you—”

“Don’t,” you bark, snapping your arms closer to your body. Feel their unnatural heat as it singes the fabric of your dress. His nostrils flare, scenting the charred material, shadows flicker.

Call breath into your lungs, soothing. Deep and easy. In and out. Calm and quiet. In. And out. Calm and collected. A familiar scent has hairs raising at the back of your neck, eyes flicking up to lock with hazel. Closer than before. Despite the heat.

“What was that?” He asks, the deep roughness of his voice curling across your breastbone, soothing the heated skin like a balm. Swallow heavily, keeping your hands tight to your torso. Turn away; move to the sink. The tap turns on independently, cool water sizzling as it washes over trembling hands. Cold metal mollifies your skin, a comfy weight around your neck. The tiny barrier your magic had hit. Tripped up on.

Azriel doesn’t make a sound, but you can feel him nearby, standing at your side. Watching silently as the water fizzles and hisses, the last of the glow dimming from your fingertips. How close he’d come to touching the blisteringly hot skin. Slowly, the cold begins to souse into your digits, running smoothly over your hands, no longer bubbling or evaporating on impact.

The house has already cleared away the shards of glass; dried the pool of scalding water by the time you’ve dried your hands. Flaky, and ashen. The smooth, creamy texture seemingly been ravished by the heat. Yet all you felt was a slight itch to begin with. You don’t make any attempts to conceal how quickly you want to escape the room, but you’re kept where you are. Waiting…waiting for him to change his mind about keeping your secret. After what he’s just seen…

Feet are pinned to the boards, muscles unwilling to obey your mind as you explore them to turn and leave. Arms feel leaden, stiff and immovable. Wait for the compromise to be retracted. Hands tremble, teeth faintly bite onto your tongue. Wait for the condemnation. For being so foolish; stubborn.

“Are you hurt?” Words thud dully against your ears, keeping your hands as out of sight as possible, hidden beneath the sleeves of your cardigan. Nod dutifully. “I’m okay,” you murmur. Lips are numb, mind buzzing faintly. Floorboards spin ever so slightly, blurring in and out of focus. Deep breaths. In and out. Slow and steady. In. And out. Calm and collected. In. And. Out.

Boots appear at the top of your sight, just a little way from your own. Far enough not to be intimate. He holds out a scarred hand, palm facing upward. Almost expectant.

Blink away the dizziness. Flesh tingling…wriggling beneath your skin. Nails itching.

Wait silently to see what he’ll do.

Continues holding out his hand, waiting patiently to see if you’ll offer up your own. Remain rooted to the spot, numbness crawling beneath your sleeves. Mind buzzing with confusion at the outstretched palm.

Slowly, he begins reaching for your wrist, as if to inspect the results of the experiment. Analyse the consequence. Examine.

It topples you into motion.

Turn on your feet; quietly scamper off down the corridor. Behind the safety on your door.

With the wooden barrier in place, plus the sound block on your room, you can truly feel forgotten for a while. Like time’s stopped.

————

The shower had your blood moving again, temperature cooling to a regular heat. Mind working again, mentally cataloguing every thought you had, every twinge of unusualness that could have been the signposting you should have noticed to prevent that rapid surge of…burning.

Peer down at your hands, almost absently. Aside from the slight roughness to your skin; the chapped dryness to your knuckles, there’s nothing to show for the bone deep itch that had manifested within your flesh. Just the texture becoming sandpapery. Flaky.

A dark blue towel is draped over your shoulders like a shawl, preventing the damp ends of your hair from saturating the changed dress.

(What was that?)

It stopped almost out of nowhere. One moment, steadily spreading throughout your body, the next, it seemed to stumble. Like hitting a bump of some kind. Something that disturbed its momentum. Peer down at the necklace that’s sitting comfortably around your throat, resting just above your collar bones. In the dip of their joining point.

The small, glass pendant hanging from the bronze chain sits innocently on your person. Fingers brush over the map in wonder, curiously feeling. Cool metal contains the accessory, lead encapsulated within a gleaming polish. Even the underside has a pretty finish. Lead, bronze, and glass. Maybe some ink, but that’s all it is. No secrets carved to its base, no hidden compartment. Just a simple ornament, yet something about it disagreed with you. Thank the Mother.

Fingers play with the charm as you take a seat at your desk, reopening the volume. Rusty red leather creaks as you turn to your page, more than willing to submerge yourself in learning. The candles flicker as you ease out a breath, taking in the familiar scent of parchment and something pleasantly spiced. Maybe it’s an Autumn Court scent.

Crumpled paper lands on your desk, settling comfortably between the two large pages of the anthology.

It may surprise you to learn I have better things to do than spend all my hours writing to you.

Stare at the neat, elegant script. Debate the merits of responding willingly. Returning to this strange sparring match would be acknowledging your interest. There’d be no way to talk your way back to innocence. Putting pen to paper will mean…

And yet here you are, Vanserra, writing back to me.

Oh, you hope that irritates him. Hope he sends back something vicious. Something to make you spark awake again. To light up the numbness that’s turning your world monotone.

Would you like to tell me where these wrinkles came from?

Lips tug at the edges, but remain set in a dull line. Lower your pen to the roughed-up parchment. Fingers dry and somewhat cracked in the low light.

Nonsense, Eris. You don’t look a day over thirty.

Picture the way his sharp caramel eyes blaze with ire at the brazenness. Maybe his palms also heat when he’s in a mood. It’s a little comforting to remember power probably didn’t come naturally to him. Maybe. You’re making assumptions, though.

And you don’t dress a day over fifty. Considering Rhys’ wealth is at your fingertips, you have the fashion sense of someone who’s still destitute.

Mouth parts as you read the response. Brows flicking up your forehead. Harsh…

A smile quirks the corners of your lips.

I’ll have you know I dress for comfort. You’re the one who cares so much about prettification. Maybe I could visit your personal beauty parlour sometime, Eris?

Parchment vanishes, allowing you time to peer down at the diagram before you: a small rectangular table. There are various squares left blank, while others are filled in with one or two letters. The boxes that do contain letters attached are numbered, correlating with asterisks further down the page, displaying a full title.

Who would ever accompany you? It’s bad etiquette to visit a tonsorium on one’s own.

The smile fades after a few moments. Who would go with you if you wanted to visit somewhere? Elain? Feyre? …Mor? Shake your head, pushing away the dismal thoughts he’s brought to your attention. Divert elsewhere.

It’s worst to not entertain your guests. What a miserable (and sour) host you would be. I think I’m actually quite glad to not be visiting anytime soon.

Try to return to the anthology; find yourself awaiting his reply. Leg tapping against the floorboards. Minutes pass while you attempt to absorb more of the text, but nothing’s sticking. Like there’s a fog passing through your brain, stopping you from taking in the wonder of the world. More minutes tick by—the sky a solid dark blue the other side of your window. A few other candles gleam alight, and you murmur your thanks to the House. Flame flickers in response. Oddly comforting.

Eyelids start to feel heavy, weighing into your vision.

You don’t realise you nodded off until you wake from your nap. The desk is still void of a reply; you wearily peer around your room, attempting to orient yourself. Knuckles itch to be scratched, still rough to the touch. Gaze settles on your door. Perhaps it’s a little scary that you wouldn’t know if something was lurking directly the other side. Wouldn’t be able to hear any heavy breathing, or the scrape of steel. Deep breath, because there’s nothing there.

Stand to draw the curtains, but hairs stand on end. Remain still for a few seconds, centring on the feeling. Is it fear? Is it loneliness? Brow knits in concentration, absently drawing the curtains, turning back to face the entrance to your room.

(The only exit.)

Sigh in frustration. It’s not good to give into your…however you’re feeling. It will only encourage your mind to exacerbate whatever problem its fabricated. Still, you find yourself opening the door, peering down the well-lit corridor. Nothing there, no strange feeling, no lurking presences. Just your mind finding something to react to, creating a madness to subject you to. Deep breaths. The House of Wind is secure. Safe, and secure. You’re safe here. Nothing bad will happen; you won’t get hurt.

Deep breaths, heart lowering its pace.

Move to bring the door to; notice something on the ground, beside the frame.

Crouch down to pick up the small tin. Bring it inside, door swinging shut as you hold it up to the light.

Peer at the neat label. Pop open the lid; look inside.

It’s a small pot of hand cream.

General Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022

Az Taglist: @azrielshadows1nger @jurdanpotter @positivewitch

CBMTHY Taglist: @impossibelle @naturakaashi @sakurafrost3-blog @ficienjoyedrbspot @azriels-shadowsinger @marina468 @misstea12 @going-through-shit @fussel9913 @minakay @i-am-infinite @wannabewolf @thegirlintheshadows101 @kennedy-brooke @esposadomd @horneybeach1 @jeannineee @harrystylesfan2686 @tothestarsandwhateverend @abysshaven @starlight-hope @stupidwingboy @nastynesta @luvmoo @furiousbooklover @kuraikei @kemillyfreitas @chasing-autumns-chill @marvelpotter @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @imma-too-many-fandoms

#CBMTHY #CBMTHY Part 7 #Azriel #Azriel x reader #Eris #Eris Vanserra #Azriel shadowsinger #Shadowsinger #Azriel angst #Azriel x reader angst #multi-part fic #Can’t Bring Myself To Hate You

[sleepyconfusedpotato]

What's Silja's story and her relationship with Heimdall?

Ah yes! I've mustered up a story for Heimdall and Silja inside my mind, so here goes! (This is gonna be a long post lol I'm gonna pour it all here)

🔮Some Heimdall x Silja Lore! 🌌

oh and their theme song is 'Circles' by EDEN 👁️👁️

Silja was born in the times when Freyr ruled over Alfheim. As Freyr was away a lot because of the conflicts with the Aesir and Freya, Freyr and the elves decided to 'create' a being which can hold the balance and peace between the light and dark elves. Freyr merged a piece of himself with the Light of Alfheim. From there, Silja was born/created. So Freyr is kind of her father.

Silja is the goddess of memory and remembrance, as her eyes were imbued with the Light of Alfheim itself, enabling her to see everyone's past. She was raised as a princess by the elves, but she's pretty much a trophy goddess who holds the peace in Alfheim when Freyr disappeared after Odin and Freya married.

In truth, Silja became bitter and judgemental as well from her hindsight powers. She could see the elves' pasts, even when they don't remember. She's always in Alfheim, and so she desires adventures more than anything - freedom.

During the time of Odin and Freya's marriage, Silja often comes to Asgard as an ambassador of Alfheim for diplomatic reasons. That's when she finds her joy, a chance to get out of Alfheim to visit other realms. And that, was where she met Heimdall.

(YES THEY'RE COUSINS) (BUT NOT REALLY OKAY) (Heimdall had 9 mothers while Silja is born from the Light) (God that sounds so bizarre HAHAHAH)

Heimdall can see her thoughts, while Silja can also see his past. For once in their lives, they met a similar person. They quickly become the Judgy Friends™.

One day, because she could fly (another gift from the Elves) she took Heimdall away from the wall and took him strolling along other realms, showing him that the other realms are beautiful as fuck as well.

When Odin knew that Heimdall had left his post in the wall, Odin became furious and disappointed, telling him how would he entrust Gjallarhorn with him if he left his post like this.

Heimdall (with his Odin's manipulation tactics) grew distant and pushed Silja away. With Freya's banishing from Asgard and locked away from other realms, she had to stay in Alfheim to keep the Light and Dark Elves from fighting again.

Without her father figure and her only friend, Silja, who desired freedom from her responsibilities as a trophy goddess, ran away from Alfheim, which left the realm in a state of war once again. She didn't care anymore.

>>> BOOM God of War (2018) <<<<

Silja roams the Midgard and Niðavellir, helping people with her powers of memory and remembrance, learning not to judge, but also how to empathize. At first she was still judgemental about the weakness of a powerlessness human and dwarves, but from her adventures, she learned to empathize, and helping tortured souls come to terms with their pasts.

She spent most of her time roaming Midgard, but after the death of Baldur and Fimbulwinter came down upon the nine realms, she had to go back and check on Alfheim. Finding it in chaos and dead bodies of Elves are everywhere, Silja sneaked towards the Light of Alfheim, and saw a glimpse of Kratos going inside the Light.

>>> BOOM God of War Ragnarok (2022) <<<

Still helping the Midgardians surviving harsh winters, and with her seeing the pillar of thunder-ice, Silja encoutered Kratos, Atreus, and Mimir in a fight against trolls and draugrs. Mimir introduced Silja to the father-son duo.

(The way Silja was SHOCKED when she saw Kratos' past tho...)

Kratos thought that Silja mean harm to them since they killed a lot of Elves, but turned out she paid it no mind, since they won't stop warring even if the sun lights upon Helheim.

They part ways, but Atreus bumps onto Silja in his adventures with Sindri, begging her not to tell his father. Silja being the naughty goddess she is, promises Atreus not to tell Kratos.

When Kratos and Atreus brings back Tyr to Sindri's house, Silja was left flabbergasted, because she couldn't see Tyr's past at all. It was weird, because back in the days, She could see Týr's past well enough as the others. However, Mimir suggested it might be one of the many consequences of Odin's tortures.

When Kratos and Atreus' relationship grows tense, she chooses to stay silent, because Silja understands what Atreus feels. When Atreus stormed out of Sindri's house and ran to Asgard, Kratos and Freya was worried shitless about Atreus going to Asgard, so Silja offered to follow Atreus, saying she'll make sure Atreus doesn't do anything too stupid.

Plus, she knows that the first person Atreus will meet in Asgard is him. Someone needs to protect Atreus from his antiques.

Time to visit a long-lost friend 😉

---

Colored version of Silja's early design (⁠ʘ⁠ᴗ⁠ʘ⁠✿⁠)

#Silja is the fun aunt to Atreus HAAHAHA #I'd set her as an ISTP Enneagram 7 #carefree and chill #daughter of Freyr because we need more Freyr appreciation #god of war #god of war ragnarok #god of war oc #heimdall gow #gow heimdall #heimdall x oc #heimdall x silja #silja freyrsdottir #heimdall odinson #sleepyconfusedpotato art #god of war heimdall

[fictionkinfessions]

Had a really detailed dream last night. I was Loki. I remember being in this sort of...pocket in time and space. Thor MAY have been there, but it's all a bit blurry. It was a library/study and I found these two books that I knew could change the fabric of reality. (Thinking about it, its likely it had something to do with comic lore, and my canon is a mix of comic and MCU). Obviously I was extremely intrigued and...I messed with them.

Before I knew it, the Avengers had found a way to where I was. Whatever I has done has majorly fucked up...everything. Thor vouched for me and I truly had no idea what I had done had ruined all of their lives. So I helped to reverse what damage had been done.

Then we all learned it had been planned. All of it. By Kang. And I don't know if it was me or a Loki realization in the dream, but I remembered stuff about the TVA and Mobius.

The details are a little scattered but I'm pretty sure that was a memory dream. It was really cool and it made me miss that life. - #🎵👻🌌

#fictionkinfessions #fictionkin #🎵👻🌌 #lokikin #marvelkin #mcukin #memories issue #manipulation cw #mod party cat

[the-fat-raccoon]

🌌 astro-gnomey Follow

Some of you don't want to hear it but at some point we're going to HAVE to acknowledge the effects of storm sorcerers (and keiromancy as a whole) on the environment. The wizard council has been pushing for regulations on these practices for years due to its large ecological effect on the realm, and yet it still stays unregulated because of misinformed petitioners who insist on preserve this harmful practice.

x x x

🌬 420haz3it Follow

hey ops ex here. they literally went through my family's tome of spells and destroyed every page that contained keiromancy. spells that were in my family since the Wizardry Renaissance, that saved towns from floods and droughts alike, are now lost to time and space

also as people in the notes pointed out all of those links are blatant misinformation that ignores what storm sorcerers have done to protect not only their local communities but the environment as a whole for centuries, and the people who spread this information are the exact same people who advocated to repeal the wishing star protection act.

hating keiromancy has always been a distraction so astrological mages can push for more unsafe practices in their own field. don't let them lie about their intent, and don't let the wizard council rush the process to earn an astromage liscense.

🪄 tradmage12 Follow

Being from a family of storm sorcerers puts a direct line from you to the Great Calamity that wiped out our magic for a millenia. You deserve to lose that tome and every last spark of magic in you.

🌬 420haz3it Follow

what

🌬 420haz3it Follow

theres no way youre serious. you dont actually believe that.

🪄 tradmage12 Follow

We all know it, the Great Calamity would have never happened if the sorcerer faction had listened to the wizard councils orders and steered clear of dragon hunting. But they didn't listen, and everyone suffered because of it. Don't act like there's no reason to not trust your kind with their own practices. You just can't help yourselves.

🌌 astro-gnomey Follow

I leave for the Berry Harvest and come back to this mess, really funny how you'll mention me taking action against your family's evil dark spells but don't mention that you only dated me for your weird gnomeplay fantasies. Also pay attention to the language used, very Anti Mage rhetoric being spread. What else would you expect of a storm sorcerer, of course they want to keep their powers, I'm going to shut off reblogs if people in the notes cant see how they're being manipulated by keiromancers. Quit trying to be 'progressive' when you just want to keep ruining the course of nature and keep down the mage class.

🌬 420haz3it Follow

get me off this fucking lichsite. there is no 'anti mage rhetoric', that's not a fucking thing. mages aren't some repressed class no matter how much you want to pretend that, they haven't had to deal with magical restrictions since before the great calamity even happened, meanwhile sorcerers to this day are still fighting to be seen as magical equals.

and while im at it 'keiromancers' is a made up term to put all weather magic users under one umbrella, as if forms of keiromancy arent so diverse amongst the realms that you cant even begin to compare them. it is not the same as saying necromancers. dont even start that bs.

also, gnomeplay is perfectly normal and acceptable between consenting partners, which we were, so idek why you bring that up. if i as a half elf want to have gnome partners theres literally no issue with that, youre mad because gneillielle has a more bountiful gourd harvest and far more whimsical tunes than you ever brought to our relationship.

storm sorcerers have done nothing wrong, you're the problem.

perhaps some shadow work could unlodge the staff youve got stuck up your cap and you could see the filthy fuckign system youre supporting as an astromage, im sick and tired of this.

🎱 claire-vances-fourth-eye Follow

op starts posting untagged wizard council x reader failed abjuration content in a year btw

5,482 notes

#fake post #unreality #tw unreality #ask to tag #wizardposting #wizardblr #inspired by my good friend pig and their occeanblr posts :3

[modelbus]

YOOOO MODDLEE

yeah I did it again.

(Help I have a problem of disappearing into thin air)

THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR PART THREE OF CUT CHAOS SHEBSJNSUH

you said you would write 500 chapters.. but like obviously exaggerating..? (Kiddinggg)

tho a few more couldn’t hurt..

juuuust saying if you ever feel like it I will eventually see it and it will eventually make my week. <3333

BUT THATS NOT WHY WE ARE HERE! (I’m sorry my requests are always so long and dramatic bro I just brain like that)

Actual request:

ok so like I knowww cut chaos started from rumours but like rumours are an easy way to start plot lines k? (Also I use she pronouns out of habit but they is pog too)

the friends in question: Tommyinnit (duh), Wilbur (moosic boi), Ranboo (generation loss trauma guy), Possibly Slimecicle?? I know he’s not someone you do requests for normally buttt if you’re okay with it that would be POG, or if slime is a no, tubbo!

SO a few months ago Y/N started working on an SMP with some minimal custom mods, some fancy texture packs, maybe some data packs, and its like this BIGGG project, BUT its not public and its taking a lot of her time, so she can only really do a few streams and most of the time because her schedule is so full its hard to work out streams with friends so, she is alone. with the internet being the internet people started to think something was up, some annoyed viewers made a few rumours and people kept making things up and escalating things until people were saying she did all sorts of horrible things to “lose all her friends” but one of the most popular theories was that she was emotionally abusing them (??? Internet wildin ig) she ignored them while mostly finishing the stuff for the smp, but decided to address it in a very- y/n way. Getting four friends to come to her house and hide slightly off camera while she made a purposefully bad apology video only for them to jump out at the end and her to stand up and be like “YALL REALLY THOUGHT I WAS SOME MASTER MANIPULATOR?! I’M JUST A FUNKY LITTLE CHAOTIC MINECRAFT GOBLIN N’ I’VE BEEN WORKING ON AN SMP THIS WHOLE TIME!! ITS GONNA BE SUPER COOL AND THESE FOUR PLUS ALOOOOT MORE PEOPLE ARE GONNA BE THERE I’M POSTING THE CREATORS SOON AND ITS LAUNCHING IN A MONTH!, SO STOP ASSUMING I’M A BAD PERSON AND GET PUMPED BITCHES!” something along those lines, maybe at the end a little peek at what people are responding with. (Obviously no pressure, but like id be cool) (thanks for considering deity of the busses and models.)

HOW WE LIKING THE SILLIES?!?

P.S I’m not always an angst gremlin (just most of the time..) - ✨🌌🌙 Annon

I DO BE LIKING THE SILLIES (and thank you for elevating me to the level of deity, my ego has been inflated)

Pairing: Cc! Wilbur, Tommy, Ranboo, Charlie Slimecicle x Gn!Reader (platonic)

Roaring Rumors

Life was all about sacrifices.

Or, that’s what you keep telling yourself when you’re up at 1AM working on your server. Putting together an SMP is harder than it sounds; texture packs, data packs, comparability, world-building, even the (seemingly) simply act of contacting people to play on it. For the amount of time you spent on your computer, your hands might as well be part of your keyboard.

Sleep wasn’t the only thing you sacrificed. Streaming, even just fun ones with your friends, had quickly became rare. Although you loved to hop on a call while coding still, your online presence had severely receded.

You just keep telling yourself that sacrifices are necessary. That the payoff would be worth it.

And it really would be, but you just had to get there first. Which was proving harder than you had thought.

At the very least, you still had your friends. Wilbur sitting silently on call with you while you work, Tommy dragging you out of your room, Ranboo always willing to get excited over your progress. Every day you woke up with a text from your groupchat—typically Charlie—just filling you in on the latest internet trend by a meme.

Today, your news comes from Wilbur and Tommy.

“I think they’re canceling you.” Wilbur says casually while you’re in the midst of detailing the hunger bar for a texture pack.

“Ooh, you’re a wrong’un!” Tommy yells in the background of Wilbur’s side of the call.

The three of you had been idly chatting while each doing your own thing. Wilbur and Tommy were engaged in some Twitter competition, as far as you know.

“Canceling me for what?” You ask, deciding to ignore Tommy’s shouting.

“Existing, I think.” Wilbur answers.

“So the normal.”

“The normal.”

Although the conversation stops there, you can’t help yourself. Later, during one of the few hours you dedicate to getting sleep to stay alive, you pull open Twitter on your phone. Your last tweet was nearly two weeks ago, so it’s been a minute.

But you just want to make sure nothing horrible happened while you were busy. You’re a content creator, this is normal. Definitely. You definitely aren’t just justifying this so you can do it.

You swipe through tweets, heading to trending and searching your name. Tweets load, making your mouth run dry. Wilbur wasn’t joking.

All you can do is scroll, reading as the messages get wilder and wilder. From people saying they were missing you to theories on why nobody was streaming you. Each one seemed considerably more implausible, and before you know it you’re glaring at your screen like it’s to fault.

Some thought you had grown apart.

Some thought you had a falling out.

And, apparently, a lot thought you were emotionally abusing them. Or, depending on the tweet, manipulating them.

Quite honestly, you didn’t even know how they got the idea. The long threads of explanations did nothing but send you into a spiral, biting your bottom lip so hard that it bleeds.

You were so close to finishing the SMP. It needed just a few things, then you'd be able to start scheduling to get it up and running. You didn't have the time nor mental capacity to deal with whatever the fuck is going on right now.

Is it a good choice? Maybe not. But do you still ignore the accusations? Hell yes.

-

By the time you get even closer to finishing the preparations for your SMP, you've come up with the perfect plan to address the (quite stupid) rumors. It'll be a two-in-one; you address the rumors and announce the SMP at the same time.

"How long do I have to lay on this floor?" Tommy asks, stretched out behind your chair.

"Nobody asked you to lay on the floor." Wilbur points out, standing next to your computer. Charlie, on the other side, laughs.

"Yeah man, you wanted to be down there."

"Besides, I'm doing great down here!" Ranboo chimes in.

You roll your eyes, grinning. "I'm about to start stream, so it won't be for much longer. Just wait for my cue, yeah?"

Tommy grumbles, but shuts up. You take that as your chance to start the stream, switching it off your waiting screen and waving to the camera. Your chosen stream title has brought in a bit more than your usual casual steam view number, "Talking about some serious stuff," leading people to believe there will be drama. And if it's drama they want, it's drama you'll give.

"Hello, hello!" You smile, leaning back. "So I've decided to talk about some things. Namely, the Twitter shit. I am so sorry for everything, and I mean that. A lot. Sincerely. There's meaning in it."

Tommy snorts, and from the corner of your eye you catch Wilbur kick him to shut him up.

"What am I sorry about?" You ask rhetorically, acting like you read it off of chat. "Oh, you know. People have been saying all types of stuff. The things about me manipulating my friends?" There's a pause while you let that sink in. "So, I'm sorry."

It's a purposefully shitty apology, but you sigh and act like its heartfelt for a few moments, nodding towards chat. Their messages are mostly confused, especially because it isn't one emote-only.

"Sorry you guys are so gullible!" You shout, and Tommy practically tackles you.

Wilbur's the one to fix your chair, Ranboo and Charlie appearing next to you within moments.

"You guys really thought this one could manipulate me? The master?" Charlie asks the stream, pointing at you.

"Yeah!" Tommy shouts, way too energetic for someone who complained five minutes ago about being on the floor. "We're the master manipulators! Get fooled!"

"I, for one, haven't manipulated anyone-" Ranboo starts, but Tommy slaps a hand over his mouth and nods empathetically.

"Yeah, I don't know what you guys were thinking, but I've just been playing fucking Minecraft for the past few months nonstop." You laugh.

"Nonstop. It's a problem." Wilbur nods.

"It is not a problem!" Pause. "Anyways, I made an SMP! And that's where I've been! Not because I've been manipulating my friends or some shit, stop being dumbasses."

"It'll be super cool!" Ranboo adds in helpfully.

"These four-"

"That's us!" Charlie points around at himself, Wilbur, Tommy, and Ranboo.

"-will be on it, plus a lot more. It'll be posting those people soon! As in, check your Twitter obsessively guys! The SMP will be in about a month, too, so get fucking excited! I want to see some hype!"

"WOO!" Tommy screams, making everyone cringe at having their eardrums ruptured.

"So that's all I wanted to talk about I think. Anything to add, guys?" You glance around at the four surrounding you with a grin.

"One thing." Charlie nods, leaning in really close. "I have a secret. This SMP, it's actually-" He hits your end stream button mid-sentence. "And that's how you keep 'em interested."

-

Ycgmaenthusist NEW SMP NEW SMP NEW SMP NEW SMP

Mammalianeighingreflecenthusiest We are dumb as fuck aren’t we

Poabsenthusiest i will RIOT IN THE STREETS if any of yall be mean to MY STREAMER -> Cmwylenthusist FR I GOT TWO FISTS AND A CAUSE

#dsmp #mcyt #mcyt imagine #tommyinnit x reader #tommyinnit x you #wilbur soot x reader #tommyinnit #wilbur soot x you #wilbur soot #ranboo x reader #ranboo imagine #ranboo mcyt #ranboo #ranboolive #charlie slimecicle #charlie slimesicle x reader

[deadl-ine]

Canyon the Porcupine 🌌⚡️

A few 100 hours later and his reference is finished. o(-< Full bio under the cut.

General: Canyon | 104 cm (3'5") | Porcupine | Ionic Manipulation

Bio: He and other generations of survivors live on the Space Colony ARK in a reimagining of Silver’s post-apocalyptic future. He’s no ultimate life form, but he was created on the ARK along the same vein.

He’s the cornerstone of Project Canyon, as he was designed to be especially resistant to their world’s newfound hazards in an effort to reclaim the planet. He can manipulate plasma and chaos energy—the latter being thanks to the research that was rediscovered in the ARKs archives.

Canyon’s shoes pocket small vials called chaos shells, which are repurposed chaos drives, that he can energize to varying levels of volatility with his powers.

Team Zenith: Canyon, Comet, and Vox make up the reconnaissance members of Team Zenith (speed, flight, and power respectively). He’s emboldened by his title to be a good team leader.

Personality: He's a mellow and fierce character, who takes his position very seriously--often concerned with the future of everyone on the ARK--and is very distrustful of strangers.

Likes: High-speed/high-action training and pushing his limits; reading about the old world and his predecessor, Project Shadow; occasionally goofing around with his teammates.

Dislikes: time waisting; relying too much on others; the ARK's rations i.e. astronaut food.

#sonic oc #sonic fancharacter #sth #sonic the hedgehog #sonic fan character #deadline.art #deadline.ocs #sonic #character sheet #character reference