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#tw manipulation
xcruciatxs · 21 minutes ago
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                                                𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝖕𝖗𝖔𝖕𝖍𝖊𝖙
                              𝔰𝔱𝔞𝔶 𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢 𝔴𝔦𝔱𝔥 𝔪𝔢, 𝔦'𝔪 𝔞𝔣𝔯𝔞𝔦𝔡 𝔬𝔣 𝔪𝔶 𝔰𝔬𝔲𝔩                                𝔟𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔨𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔡 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔩𝔢𝔣𝔱 𝔦𝔫 𝔠𝔬𝔫𝔱𝔯𝔬𝔩. 𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔬𝔱 𝔟𝔢                              𝔣𝔯𝔢𝔢 𝔞𝔫𝔡 𝔶𝔬𝔲 𝔠𝔞𝔫'𝔱 𝔡𝔢𝔫𝔶: 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔢𝔫𝔡 𝔦𝔰 𝔠𝔬𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔤.
TRYSTAN MCDERMOTT has been considered a MODERATE RISK WIZARD by the ministry of magic. their last known location was THE LEAKY CAULDRON where he works as a BARKEEP. according to their wizarding archive, TRYSTAN was born TWENTY-EIGHT YEARS AGO into a MUGGLE family in BOSTON, MASSACHUSETTS, USA. rumor has it, they look a lot like ANDY BIERSACK. in their academic years, the ILVERMORNY SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY ALUMNUS where he was a HORNED SERPENT had a reputation of being ADAPTABLE &  COURAGEOUS as well as RECKLESS &  VINDICTIVE amongst their peers. They can be described as TAROT CARDS SPREAD ACROSS PURPLE VELVET AS CANDLES BURN IN DARKNESS, TATTOOS PRINTED ON PALE SKIN, BREATHING FIRE AGAINST A SUNKISSED SKY AS ALCOHOL DRIPS DOWN BARE FLESH and are known to be A METAMORPHIMAGUS, ADEPT AT WANDLESS MAGIC, & A SIDESHOW FREAK/VAUDEVILLAN.. It would be prudent to keep an eye on their choice between what is right and what is easy.
                                              ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴    ✴   ✴   ✴    
full name:  trystan michael mcdermott
nicknames:  trys, the magician. 
age:  28
date of birth: october 13
zodiac: libra
gender:  male
pronouns: he/him
extra
sexuality:  yes
occupation: barkeep unfortunate
ilvermorny house: horned serpent
patronus: thestral
wand: twelve and a half inch, holly & thunderbird tail feather core, unyielding wand
boggart: father’s return.
physical
hair color:  black
eye color: blue
height: 6′4″
weight:  157 lbs
family
parents: walter mcdermott & bertha mcdermott (nee. shirley)
siblings: matthew, gilbert, phyllis, james, marilla, kenneth, robert ray, roberta lee, & ethel mcdermott
backstory and details - TRIGGER     WARNING :                                      mentions of manipulation, fire, death, supremacists, etc.
                                               ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴   ✴     ✴   ✴   ✴    
The McDermott Family was No-Mag royalty: old money, old power, old control. Trystan was born into the lap of luxury, a pampered boy who played with silver rattles and was fed from silver spoons in a grand home nestled in Boston’s Back Bay. His childhood was one that most coveted: he attended the finest schools, learned from professors who had graced ivy-covered halls and played with children whose parents had money enough to rebuild the Titanic four times over. 
The Stock Market Crash of 1929 hit the McDermott family’s estate hard, bowling them over from extreme wealth into the overflowing hand of extreme poverty. Silver was replaced by tin and luxury was replaced by austerity and at nine years old, Trystan learned the cruelty of the financial world was something that would outlast forever once it began. Much to the dismay of the McDermott family, they were all sent over into tenement housing in the West End, a far cry from the bustling wealth they’d once resided in. Despite it all, Trystan had been a happy child, always one to try and make things better. Imagine his surprise the day he learned he could sprout a flower in his palm. Trystan ran to his mother and held it out with a bright, wide-eyed smile. She chided him for dragging trash into the house. 
Little instances of his magic peeking through kept occurring. After the flower, Trystan tried his hand at more. He could get the dish towel to fly toward him so he could dry a cup, he could move the broom twice with his mind before it clattered to the floor. He was just like the magic man he’d seen in Harry Houdini do when he was much younger. 
He practiced on his own, always keen to keep what he knew he could do from his family. It was difficult, growing in a one room unit with the rest of his family, but he managed. Trystan wondered if amassing fame would help his family out of the gutter, not for grotesque wealth, but security. His answer arrived on the wings of a brown owl that pecked at their window. Mrs. McDermott was terrified of the creature, but Mr. McDermott seemed more interested in the letter in it’s beak than anything else. When he pulled it free and sent the bird off, he studied the blue wax seal, turning it over to read: MR. T. MCDERMOTT, WESTIE TENEMENT, 5TH FLOOR, EAST WINDOW. 
Ilvermorny was a school for children with gifts, none of which the family thought Trystan capable of. Once again, he held out his palm and conjured a small daisy for all to see. His mother saw magic, his father saw money. If he could pluck a flower from nothing, surely money would be no issue. He was berated, called stupid and tossed around. Why was Trystan so damn useless? Gonna play some tricks, why don’t you make us some money? Every holiday home from Ilvermorny turned into the opportunity for his father to shame him for being selfish, for not using his power to make their family better, to bring back the money they’d lost, to get off his ass and do something. No matter how many times Trystan tried to explain the laws to his father, the man ignored them. 
Graduating from Ilvermorny meant freedom with all his knowledge of magic, but it also meant returning to the home his father scorned him for never saving. Deciding against it, Trystan set out on his own. He was tired of being responsible for the future of his family, when his was out there like the gleaming light at the end of the tunnel.
Somewhere south of all his problems, Trystan was stopped and stunned by a Vaudeville sideshow. For all it’s pretty girls and bright colors, it had its share of freaks and carnival attractions for the kids. Something about it stunned Trystan, interested him beyond measure. He wanted to get closer, not to jeer and laugh, but to be a part. He’d always been a freak- in his family, at Ilvermorny where he didn’t fit in with any but the oddballs and misfits. Here, he would find a home. A chat with the manager ended with Trystan joining the travelers as a Roustabout. He’d start at the bottom like everyone did, delegated tasks that meant setting up tents, adjusting large, mechanical rides for the carnival, stringing lights, and sweating under the blazing sun to be ready for the night of fun ahead. The work was hard on his body, but rewarding and every day he felt more a part of the family he’d stumbled upon. Each person grew closer to him, sharing what they had on the long, dust-caked roads that cut across the expanse of the empty central United States. 
After two years on the circuit, a newspaper delivered news he’d never thought he’d have to see. BOSTON TENEMENT FIRE KILLS 42, and in that long list of names sat his family’s legacy. Trystan was the last of the McDermott’s, the last of his burnt bloodline, and all he had to show for it was cowardice. He was too afraid to return home, too afraid to face all his family’s dependency. And now, all of them were dead. 
It was his fault: if he had returned home, if he had tried as his father bade him to, they might have been in better circumstances, kept away from the inferno that consumed them. His found family soothed him, welcoming him further into the ranks of all their dysfunction. Meeting with the manager again, Trystan asked to be made more than a rousty, but he didn’t have the skills and merits of a showman in the eyes of those who ran the show. 
Then, he saw the pass of Trystan’s hand and the sudden appearance of a little flower. The no-mag didn’t know any better, didn’t care about a slight of hand, but as Trystan carried on tricks and small instances of imperceivably wandless magic, confundus charms, and basic tricks of movement, he had managed to entice the manager into offering him a position. In building his reputation, he’d have to build his aesthetic. Tattoo after tattoo, swords swallowed, fire breathed, charmed snakes and levitation, a vaudevillian performer cadence under his belt, Trystan coined himself a made man under the command of his Carnival.
Every step forward was another three back. He had lost his family, but re-forged himself into something more. Now things were looking up, it was time for the crash of the bad, Trystan only wished he’d seen it sooner. Some of the no-mag of the world were savages- Trystan wasn’t afraid to admit as much. They raced around the world and stole cultures and people, then acted as if the stolen were the problem. It was like breaking a mirror, then stepping in the glass; when it cut, they tried to blame the broken pieces. There was no sense, no logic, no reason, and all loathing over fear of the Other. 
The Carnival passed through a town in the south, lost somewhere in the line between Mississippi and Alabama, lost on the dusty trail they’d followed over and over. A group of those no-mag who paraded around in all their bigotry ambushed the carnival in the middle of the night. Chaos reigned in the glow of the flaming torches the faction of zealots had brought along: the gathering of white fought against the army of diversity, brawling for freedom. They were a patchwork family, and Trystan wasn’t about to lose another to a fire of senseless hatred. 
It all happened before he could realize what he’d done. Green sparks flew from the end of his wand, silencing the leader of the white-covered no-mag. He didn’t remember taking the wand from his ankle, didn’t realize the words that left his mouth, though its mark was unmistakable. Obliviate left his lips just after, touching everyone who saw what he had done. Their memories were siphoned, taken and eased, and as the supremacists scrambled to collect their dead leader, the carnival clambered to leave.  Trystan stayed behind, hidden from everyone in the darkness of the night. His family deserved more than to risk themselves for concealing a fugitive. Wand broken over his knee and tossed into the underbrush of nearby trees, Trystan fled on foot hitch-hiking his way down to the coast of the Gulf of Mexico. He found a ship and rode it all the way to London, landing there to stay hidden under the nose of the Ministry of Magic. They seemed a simpler contender than MACUSA.  Finding work was easy, something he managed on a whim. Legally, he works as a bartender for the Leaky Cauldron. Illegally, he sells his wares in a different show than the vaudevillian magic he peddled for the no-mag. Times are changing: darkness is rising, and with no family to hold him down, will he choose what is right? Or what is easy?
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whumperfulart · 54 minutes ago
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A short one today! Thought Claude could use a heavy dose of low self-esteem.  And sorry if it seems rushed or the pacing is off  -Ghost CW/TW: Low Self-Esteem, Sensory deprivation, Manipulation/Gaslighting, Flashback(?), Panic attack, Feeling of drowning —— Taglist:  @tsoa-enthusiast , @princessofonward , @physicsfibber ,  @whatwasmyprevioususername , @milk-carton-whump , @cowboy-anon {Want in on the taglist?} —— -Idiot- Claude was back in the closet again. He told Mister Elijah he didn’t love him. Claude was an absolute idiot for yelling at his caretaker like that. Claude was stupid. He loved Mister Elijah with all his heart; no one in the world would put up with the pitiful person that Claude is but Mister Elijah. Though as he tried to explain himself, he was dragged by the hair and thrown into the closet. But this time was different, Mister Elijah wanted Claude to feel desperate, helpless without his caretaker around. Without a second thought, he tied up Claude, forced the kid to wear noise cancelling headphones with a blindfold. With his hearing and movement limited, Claude could only squirm hopelessly and call out for Mister Elijah with a pitiful whimper. “I-I’m sorry- Pl-Please! Mister E-Elijah! I love y-you! Don't leave me! I’m sorry!" Claude sniffled softly and attempted to squirm around in what little room he had, but the ropes hugging his ankles and wrists were eager to restrict his movements. As the ropes dug into his wrists, Claude placed his forehead against the closet door and whispered under his breath, “P-Please...I’m s-sorry….”
The only thing that kept Claude company in this lonely prison was his heartbeat and his own thoughts, which were less than lovely. Stupid stupid stupid! Claude pulled his knees to his chest and whined, why was he so stupid? Mister Elijah has done so much for him but he’s so stupid that he fights back! Claude was a fool for believing he hated Mister Elijah. He was an idiot for saying mean things to his caretaker, like saying Mister Elijah was cruel, that he didn’t care about Claude’s wellbeing. But he sees clearly again! His caretaker is beyond kind! He makes Claude food every day, helps with baths, what else could Claude ask for? This man adores who Claude is! Hopeless. Claude was hopeless, even if he did escape, how would he return to a normal life? No one would accept him how he is now. A man who cries over a dumb broken crayon, a man who stutters as if his life depended on it, hell! A man who cared for a stuffed teddy bear as if it was a real living thing that could feel pain! But one person didn’t care how Claude acted. Mister Elijah. In fact, his behavior was encouraged by Elijah! To keep having tiny tea parties with Claude’s stuffed animals, to keep being emotional over the simplest of things. Claude gave a sad smile; he was accepted here. He wasn’t seen as weird or odd, he was seen as a precious thing that needed protecting. Weak. As time slugged by, Claude’s mind wandered through the memories during his time with his current caretaker. At first, the memories almost pleasant, sure he was frightened the first few days here but Mister Elijah rarely ever laid a hand on him with ill intent. Without warning, Claude’s heart began to race as his breathing turned stuttery and rapid, the gruesome memories overshadowed the pleasant ones by a mile. The blood and scars are something that will never fade from his mind, no matter how much he tried to suppress them. Claude’s chipped nails began scratching and clawing at the ropes as his chest tightened, it was like he could barely manage a single breath! Fear wrapped around his throat as he recalled the time that Mister Elijah almost drowned for not saying ‘I love you.’ Claude trembled as he felt like he was back there all over again, remembering the water filling his lungs as his vision began to blur from the lack of oxygen. Claude coughed till his chest began to hurt and his throat turned raw, he felt like he was going to drown! “E-Elijah!” He cried out in desperation; he needed help; he didn’t want to die! Claude’s heartbeat was deafening, he squirmed and gasped for air, tears staining the blindfold he had on. Claude began to kick his legs and bang his head against the wall, crying out for his caretaker. Before he could do any damage to himself, the closet doors swung open and the blindfold covering Claude’s eyes was ripped off. Claude trembled and looked up, still hyperventilating. A shaky smile formed on his lips as he realized who was standing in front of him, he didn’t care how panicked he was, his savior was here! Claude flopped onto the ground and crawled his way to Mister Elijah as a caterpillar would. Grabbed by the shoulders and pushed upright, Claude held his breath, waiting for punishment or to be smacked around. But he was met face to face with Mister Elijah’s gentle gaze, worry swimming in his eyes. Mister Elijah swiftly removed the pink noise cancelling headphones and spoke in the most gentle tone he could manage, hoping not to intimidate Claude. “Claude- Claude listen to me carefully, just take a deep breath, okay?” Claude hiccupped and nodded, attempting to follow instructions; he sucked in air through clenched teeth but quickly coughed as his lungs rejected the fresh air. He looked up at his caretaker with tearful eyes and cried, “C-Can’t! H-help- I-” Claude’s lip quivered as he suddenly gave a heartbreaking sob, shaking uncontrollably as he wailed hopelessly. Mister Elijah could only sigh softly as he began untying the ropes around the boy’s wrist and ankles, only to be surprised as Claude lunged forward and hugged Elijah for dear life. Claude sobbed endlessly as Mister Elijah ran a hand through Claude’s hair, cooing, “Shhh...It’s okay, darling...You’re safe. Just take a deep breath, hmm~? I’m here to protect you...Everything is okay...” Claude buried his face into Mister Elijah’s cardigan and whimpered an almost inaudible plea, “S-Sorry- Stupid- Claude’s stupid...I-I love you- D-Don’t hurt me…” Rocking side to side, Mister Elijah carefully placed a delicate kiss on Claude’s forehead and smiled softly, “I won’t, cupcake. You learned your lesson, right?” Claude nodded, “Ngh- Yes…” Satisfied with the answer, Mister Elijah smiled joyfully, “Then I won’t hurt you! I will never hurt you unless you deserved it, sweetheart. You know this already!” Claude hiccupped, that’s right. He did know that. How could he possibly forget? Claude clung onto Elijah, his loud sobbing has turned into gentle but stuttery breaths. He's tired now...
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braindeacl · 2 hours ago
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never seen a ghost before? | eilidh & milo ft. james
SETTING: Local club. TIMING: Recent, early morning - 1am.  PARTNER: @wickedmilo SUMMARY: While Milo is still coping with his predicament, some new friends walk into his life. But secretly they have other reasons for talking to him.  WARNINGS: drug manipulation, addiction, alcoholism, self harm
Milo was nothing if not a creature of habit. He had learned very early in life that if something made him feel good, he couldn’t turn it down, couldn’t limit himself. As far as he was concerned, this hadn’t caused him any problems, though he felt sure Dani, and his parents might attempt to insist otherwise. The trouble with so readily forming habits, though, wasn’t the self-destruction, or the disintegration of his relationships. It was the creeping sense of anxiety he felt when he was forced to break them. Since he was sixteen, his life had consisted of going to clubs, and bars. If he couldn’t get in then he would sneak in, or find somebody willing to take him somewhere that had similar vices on offer. Waking up dead had to be the most confusing, and terrifying thing he had ever experienced. If anything was going to drive him to drink, it was the traumatic loss of his life. But the bloodlust had proven to be fatal, had already turned him into a killer. Having only ever been content with hurting himself, he fought every instinct in his body. The new instinct, to hurt people, to drain people. But the old instincts, too. The instincts he had encouraged for so long. 
It was no surprise that after a month, what little willpower he had managed to scrounge was fading. If he was being entirely honest, he was proud of how long he had spent in the woods, how long he had lived such a non-existence. Barely scraping by on the drugs he could score, and the animals he could hunt, he had undeniably been drawn back into White Crest. On more than a few occasions now, he had visited his old haunts. The quiet ones, the ones where he could hide in the shadows, and avoid people for the most part. Only, this club wasn’t quiet. He had taken a chance, knowing an old dealer would potentially be present, and he was well on his way to being drunk. It hadn’t taken him very long to learn that alcohol gave him the illusion of control. It didn’t take away from the cravings, or the desperation when somebody strayed too close. But he became easily distracted, lost inside his own head in a way that had to protect his fellow patrons. If he told himself that, then he could justify his behaviour. Dragging his feet towards the bar, he tapped the counter, watching as the bartender refilled his empty glass. He wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings, wanting more than anything to pretend this night was like any other. 
It wasn’t, though. And nothing he did was going to change that fact. He was out of his depth. Tense, and uncomfortable. Moving away from strangers when they tried to interact with him, he had taken to hovering awkwardly by the bar. He was usually in the centre of the crowd, talking to everybody, sharing substances, collecting numbers, charming people into paying for his drinks. And now, despite being surrounded, he felt entirely alone. Even staring down at his hands, it was difficult not to notice the two people hovering in his peripheral vision. Without looking up, he took a hefty drink before speaking. He knew he should tell them to leave, but something stopped him from immediately taking a stance. “If you’re looking for a threesome, I’m not interested.” He muttered. “Though if you’ve got something to sell, I could really use a hit right now.”
Despite lacking any interest in alcohol, Eilidh often found herself surrounded by it. Part of her was jealous, watching people partake in an indulgence her biology refused for her to enjoy. But, alcohol was a good way to get people to talk, and places that sold it frequently involved information or actions that would interest her… secret lifestyle. So, there she was, in yet another club, nursing yet another whiskey, with the full knowledge even her seventh one would leave her feeling the same. At least drunk people were entertaining to watch.
And they talked, oh, did they talk. On a really good day, all she had to do was pick a place to stand, wait, and multiple people would give her potential targets just through passing gossip. Of course, she needed more than mere hearsay, but at least it gave her a starting point. With no current leads, and feeling bored, that’s what Eilidh resorted to. Waiting. An hour ago she had been more engaged: dancing, singing, almost starting a fight, and even managing to score a new girl’s number, who she was still debating on calling. But now her social meter was reaching its limit. James took over, his condition allowing him to get that much closer to others. After some time, the two shared a glance and she knew. Still nothing. She downed the rest of her whiskey, slamming it on a nearby table. Well, fuck, another waste. She began to leave, already thinking of the park she wanted to go lay down and dissolve into, when she saw a familiar face.
Well, she didn’t know-know the guy, but she knew of him. He had been a frequent patron of this particular bar, and one that was hard to miss. Eilidh had wondered what happened to him, and by the looks of, something bad. Typically the life of the party, the other was huddled within himself, refusing to let anyone in. Weird. Real weird. She signaled to James and he followed. Time to investigate.
The bluntness of his statement made her snort. Threesome, huh? She glanced at James, who was suddenly very flustered. So, the kid was clearly some flavor of supernatural. Good to know. “Nope. All I got is my personal stash, and that’s for my hands only. I can get next drinks, though.” She motioned to the bartender. As they waited, the amusement in her face melted, concern took its place. “You alright? You don’t seem like you really want to be here.”
The short sound of amusement had Milo finally looking up, curious to see who he was talking to. “Yeah, well, some would say sharing is caring.” He pointed out. He knew trying to get anybody holding to split would be an exercise in futility, regardless of where he was. Money was the motivator, nobody was going to give away their drugs unless they were absolutely insane, and this woman didn’t seem to be. That didn’t stop him from pushing his luck, though. It never did. Raising his eyebrows when she insisted on paying for his next drink, any annoyance he felt seemed to dissipate. It wasn’t quite the same, but he would take it. Tapping his fingers against his glass, he chewed on his bottom lip before deciding to answer her question. “No, you don’t get it. I want to be here.” He muttered, letting out a huff of breath. “That’s kind of the problem.” 
Turning his attention to the man beside his new company, he realised he had yet to say anything. It was only when his gaze fully landed on his figure that he began to notice something might be wrong. It felt almost like looking at a holograph, those crappy projections he had seen online in Disneyparks, and airports. He stared, unable to help himself, his mind running back over the evening, struggling to recall whether he had taken anything that might be affecting his vision. “Who are you?” He asked, suddenly on edge. He stood upright, no longer leaning against the counter in case he needed to make a getaway. “What is this?” 
The substitute offering worked. As the other seemed to ease, there was a twitch of a triumphant smile on Eilidh’s lips. It just as quickly retreated, concern tucking it away to regain its place. Except this time there was a questioning in her eyes, a genuine interest. That wasn’t the answer she had expected. “Ah, is someone here giving you troubl-”
But then, a sudden change in subject. Realizing the outburst was directed at him, James tensed. He looked at Eilidh, to the stranger, to directly behind him, to the stranger again, before pointing inquiringly at himself. “Oh? Oh! Oh, uh, just friendly… curiosity? Concern?” He began nervously, clearly not prepared to be the one speaking. If he had known this conversation would involve him, well… 
He could easily talk your damn ear off. Stopping whatever ramble that was surely bubbling in James’ mouth, Eilidh interjected under her breath, “Don’t think that’s what he meant.” She had noticed the change in demeanor happened soon after staring at her ghostly companion and understanding struck. Time to see if she’s right. Following suit, she stood up. Her hands as well arose, trying to placate. “Whoa, it’s ok. What,” her voice lowered as she slightly leaned in – a secret conversation, “never seen a ghost before?” She winked. “He’s harmless.” From behind her, attention placed on him yet again, James gave an overtly enthusiastic thumbs-up. 
Milo watched, stunned into silence, as the man looked around. He seemed genuinely caught off guard. If anything, that only elevated his sense of confusion. Why did nothing seem to follow logic anymore? He had been raised in a house of strict science. But how could science explain what he was? How could science explain the strange, holographic man in front of him? Even when he was actively trying to forget the things that had happened, the universe continued to send more weird his way. Maybe he wasn’t allowed to forget. Maybe he was doomed to relive his death, over and over until he finally accepted it. Still tense, ready to bolt at a moment’s notice, he continued to stare, he couldn’t stop himself. His mind was working impossibly fast, pushing through the haze of the alcohol with a burning desire to understand. Curiosity, and concern. He had only ever really experienced those things in the form of Dani dragging him home, or his parents staging stuffy, uncomfortable interventions. Whatever this was, whoever these people were, he wasn’t sure he was ready to believe that quite yet. Swallowing his anxiety as best he could, he turned his attention back to the woman. She seemed far too calm, all things considered. He didn’t know if that made him more or less nervous. 
Freezing in place as she leaned towards him, he held his breath, but there was no wave of longing. No desperation clawing at his chest. “What?” He asked, a breathless, rhetorical question. If anything, the explanation should make him feel better, more grounded. Instead, he came to the sharp, and disconcerting realisation, that he was talking to a dead person. Not dead in the same way he was… dead dead. I have no body dead. “You’re- you’re a ghost?” He echoed, his eyes wide. “No- no way, you’re fucking with me…” He knew, just from the expressions on their faces, that his statement was far from true. But if he clung to it, then maybe he could convince himself. “Or- or someone put something in my drink- how can you see him? How can I see him? Why- why are you haunting a fucking club?” 
Eilidh and James shared a look. A hidden conversation lay within their locked gaze. After decades of knowing someone, you master the ability of communicating with sight alone – well, James had at least. By their brief exchange, they could tell neither of them thought at all this is where the interaction would go. And that it seemed it would be going on much longer than either of them hoped.
Damn. It was like needles just pressed into her brain. Though, if Eilidh were fully upset by her predicament, she would just leave. She’s done it before, let the loose ends of a conversation flow in the breeze without even looking back. But, a stronger part of her, the nosy part, was interested. This wasn’t usual. Not in the ooooh-spooky-supernatural way, but in a this-isn’t-how-ooooh-spooky-supernaturals-act way. Sometimes, the two of them noticed glances. Brief, inconspicuous glances directed at James. An acknowledgement. An admittance to what they truly were. But, usually, if they even noticed James wasn’t a typical human, there wouldn’t be a hint on their faces. They’d simply just keep about their day, rarely letting their secret be known.
But this was different. And she could tell James felt the same.
Her hands went up again, meant to placate, but they were stiffer this time. “One: keep your voice down. Regular humans get uppity when you talk about shit like ghosts and ghouls. Two: he doesn’t haunt this joint,” Eilidh began.
“I haunt her.” James finished. “It would probably be easier haunting this place, honestly.” He looked around and shook his head in disapproval. “Either way, what a headache! This place is too much!”
“And three,” Eilidh continued, shooting James a look. “Are you a shut-in, or are you new? You seem... new. At being,” once again, she leaned forward, but this time her voice invoked a quality similar to a Halloween ghost prop, “suuupernaaatural.” Back to normal. “Or whatever they call people like us nowadays. ‘Cause that’s the only way you’d be able to see him.”
“It’s fine, you know, to be new. We were all new at some point.” James added, gently. 
Milo scowled, a surge of anger coursing through him, briefly chasing away the panicked sense of confusion that had been clawing at his chest. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was being told what to do. He hated it. “Anyone who knows me’ll just assume I’m high.” He muttered. “It’s whatever.” He was starting to suspect maybe these two strangers really did have his best interests at heart, but he wasn’t about to admit that quite so soon. He stubbornly set his jaw instead, turning his attention to the drink they had paid for, now sitting innocently on the batop in front of him. Picking it up, he downed it in one go, unbothered about making them wait for a response. If they really cared, they would wait. And if not, well… his situation wasn’t going to be any better or any worse. The burn was familiar, it comforted him. He relished in it for a while before setting the glass back down, raising his eyebrows pointedly. “A person?” He asked, unable to hide his genuine curiosity, even if there was still an edge to his tone. “Why? Aren’t you supposed to be like, rattling chains in a mansion somewhere?” 
Hesitating before answering the woman’s question, he tapped his fingers. Focusing on the mundane sensation of cold glass beneath his fingertips. He appreciated her attempt at humour, but it didn’t help him to feel any better. “New.” He said finally. “I shot up, nodded out, and woke up dead.” Even as he fought to lower his voice, his bitterness was obvious. The longer he spent wallowing, the more ways he found to blame himself for what had happened. Apparently he was incapable of saying no. His parents had always said his habits were going to kill him, and in a way, they had. “Now I can’t even come to places like this without wanting to fucking kill people so… y’know, things are going well.” He glared down at his hands, too embarrassed by his admission to maintain eye contact with either of the strangers standing before him, though he felt a strange warmth spread outwards from his chest as he registered the man’s words. It wasn’t something he had considered, the idea of every vampire, every ghost having to start from somewhere, having to learn how to be what they were. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.” He admitted, offering a half-hearted shrug. “I just- I feel like I’ve gone from freedom to- to not being able to do anything. I can’t do anything anymore. It’s making me insane.” 
At the mention of chains, a sudden chuckle bubbled in Eilidh’s throat. “Oh, Jam-jam, please please ple-”
“Not this again. No, I’m not manifesting chains! I don’t even know if I can!” Eilidh pouted. “No!” Growing somber, James started fiddling with his fingers. “And, uh, to answer the ‘why,’ well you see… that’s a long story. Maybe some other time.”
An air of awkwardness settled in, the topic still being somewhat of a sore subject between the two. Eilidh turned her attention back to the kid, looking him up and down. Woke up dead? Was he like her? Not that she saw herself as dead, but she noticed that was a common belief for people similar to her. And she could certainly relate to the killing people part. Though, nowadays it was mostly due to irritation rather than hunger, and eating people wasn’t an exclusive trait amongst her kind, anyhow. Nevertheless, interest sparked in her eyes, yet it didn’t reach her mouth. “Don’t worry. If you were really dead, you’d look like this guy.” She motioned to James.
It was James’ turn to shoot Eilidh a look. He opened his mouth with a short gasp as words readied to roll from his tongue, before he snapped it shut, shaking his head. Take two. He looked over at the other. “Our condolences, that sounds terrible. It’s not the same, but I understand. It’s jarring when you, when you realize the change…”
As James took over, Eilidh was silent for a moment, eyes looking upward but not registering anything. Thinking. The corners of her mouth straightened; playful shine faded from her gaze. Darkness rolled in. “Yeah, that is terrible.” So, he was turned while he was asleep, huh? While Eilidh had no qualms with the creation of new undead beings, she did have issues with doing so without the person’s consent. She knew all too well how forcing someone into a new life can turn disastrous. People could get hurt. And it sounded like this guy was already hurting. “You remember anything ‘bout the fucker who did that?”
The darkness in her eyes weakened ever slightly. “And you just need time to adjust. There’s secret hangouts for every kinda extraordinary fucker in this town it feels like, so this is the best place to adjust. And yeah, some stuff you can’t do, but I bet there’s a bunch of shit you can do now, you just don’t realize. Example: I can’t get drunk but I can do this.” She grabbed her pinky finger and bent it. Literally bent it. Like it was made of cheap rubber. After a few seconds it popped back into place. “Tada.”
Milo watched the exchange, torn between finding the pair amusing and irritating. They talked as though their situation wasn’t serious, as though it was easy, and natural. Just a part of their everyday experience. He wasn’t there yet, it was a constant struggle, not only to deal with what he was, but with what that meant. The bloodlust, and confusion. The fear, and the anger. Somebody had done this to him, and he might never know why. He had taken a person’s life because whoever was responsible had chosen to abandon him. Leave him out in the cold with no idea of what was happening, what he was becoming. Too distracted to push for an answer to his question, he accepted the fact that the ghost apparently didn’t want to talk about his death. At least that was something they had in common. “Yeah, well my heart stopped beating. As far as I’m concerned, that means dead.” He muttered, turning his attention back to the woman. Narrowing his eyes as it became clear the man wanted to say something, he wondered whether he was making a mistake by hesitantly putting his trust in them both. Should he really be talking about this if they were withholding information? 
But then the ghost was being gentle again, assuring him in a way nobody had up until this point. And it was obvious to him just how badly he needed that. “No shit, it’s jarring.” He countered quietly, too conflicted to add an edge to his voice. Part of him still wanted to push them away, while part of him wanted to let them in, to tell them everything. Watching as the woman’s expression darkened, he couldn’t decide whether it was in response to his admission, or something else entirely. Maybe she was bored of him, he couldn’t exactly blame her for that. “No,” he admitted, scowling down at his hands. It was easier than maintaining eye contact. “I could walk past them on the street and never fucking realise. I was… I was pretty out of it, y’know? It’s my fucking fault.” Letting out a huff of breath, he knew he should be surprised to hear there were hangouts for people who weren’t human. But his worldview had been warped and twisted far too many times now for the information to even warrant a reaction. Finally glancing back up again at the mention of being able to do things he couldn’t before being turned, his eyes widened in horror as the woman pulled back her finger. Every instinct in him told him to stop her, that she was hurting himself, but clearly that wasn’t true. Her body compiled, bent to her will, and when she let go the joint seemed to snap back into place. He had never seen anything like it, not in real life. He didn’t know if he could do that, he certainly wasn’t about to try. His bones still felt rigid, and very much as breakable as they had been. “I… I don’t think I’m like you. I don’t think I can do that…”
Eilidh studied the kid for a moment. She wasn’t the best at providing comfort. That was more James’ job, but even he had his limits, his lack of experiences. And it felt wrong to leave the topic unmentioned, for it was a conviction she opposed. “Is a tree dead without a heartbeat?” Naturally, she defaulted to talking about, well, nature. “It’s just a different way of life. Don’t even remember what it feels like anymore, but I feel lively as hell.” There was a commotion from behind, causing a large number of the nearby patrons to let out a loud cheer. The sudden sound made her tense, made her scowl. “Sometimes more than others.” She remarked, bitterly.
At the same time, both James and Eilidh said a variation of, “It’s not your fault.” James was the one to expand upon the sentiment further. “Whomever he was, he did something awful while you were vulnerable. That was entirely the fault of him.”
“Yeah, fuck that guy.” Eilidh continued, fully meaning the aggression in her voice. The explanation only furthered her suspicions and concerns. And the lack of any description certainly put a dent in her plans. But she’s had weak scents before. Following the trail, she’ll probably come across something more enlightening. Just had to try harder. The club would definitely be seeing more of her. Unfortunately… for her. 
Noting his horror, a hint of disappointment settled in her chest. As the years, decades, trickled by, it became less common for Eilidh to come across those like her. But at least now she doesn’t have to hear the dreaded z-word. Absentmindedly, the reformed pinky began to trace around the rim of her still untouched glass of whiskey. With her secret out in the open, she didn’t feel like upholding false pretenses, and left it there. “What are you like, then? Vampire?” Even without anything else, knowing the species would be useful in narrowing her search down. 
Is a tree dead without a heartbeat? Maybe if Milo hadn’t studied English Literature he would have written off the question as pretentious bullshit. But he could understand the deeper meaning behind it, he knew exactly what the woman was trying to say. Plants used photosynthesis, humans needed food, and water. He drank blood. There was more than one way to define life, his definition had just… changed. He hated to admit it, but it did make him feel a little better. A little less alien. His expression softening, he couldn’t help but laugh at the way the woman’s own expression shifted in response to the crowd. “You mean, you don’t like drunk strangers with a worrying lack of brain cells, and a suspicious resemblance to the Missing Link?” He watched as the frat boys continued to yell, wrapping their arms around each other, pushing and shoving in a pathetic display of masculinity. “It’s not that simple.” He added, turning back to his company. His demeanour was calmer now, more relaxed than it had been just a few moments before. Whether that was the alcohol entering his bloodstream, or a genuine sense of trust, he had no way of knowing. “I took a risk… I used to do shit all the time knowing it could get me killed, so it’s not exactly shocking that it finally happened.” If he had listened to his parents, if he had listened to Dani, then he would still be alive, the human definition of alive. That much was undeniable. “But yeah… fuck that guy.” It felt good to say, even if his heart wasn’t in it. 
Deciding it was never not going to be strange, hearing people name supernatural creatures so easily, so casually, despite talking about them in the context of his own reality, he nodded, offering the woman a hesitant smile. He felt exposed answering her question, telling her exactly what he was, though he couldn’t say why after everything else he had managed to divulge over the course of their conversation. With every moment he spent in the couple’s company, he became more steadily convinced they had no ulterior motives, they weren’t about to become a threat to him. “I’m Milo, by the way… that’s my name.” His voice was quiet, and somewhat melancholy. After admitting he was a vampire, he almost needed to counter with a reminder of who he was, his identity beyond his new label. Maybe they would be able to understand that. 
Eilidh let out an amused breath of air. “No, not at all.” Sure, they could be fun, especially with how stupid drunk people can get. But after a while – or very, very quickly – that enjoyment turned sour and she just wanted to start busting heads. She tried yelling something, but it was lost in the buzz of the room. One hand tensed into a fist under an impulse, before relaxing again. Luckily for the men, she was preoccupied. Pressing a finger into the ear closest to them, she refocused her attention. “I do dumb shit all the time, too. Doesn’t give people the right to do whatever the hell they want, though.” 
“Right…” James nodded. He looked at Eilidh, expression guarded.
As the conversation stumbled along, Eilidh noted the change in their acquaintance’s behavior. He still wasn’t like how he was months before, but he seemed to be a touch less withdrawn than moments prior. She internally thanked James for that, because on her own the results would’ve been less than ideal. Sue her, she’s been in a bit of a cranky mood. And while a small part of her had begun to sympathize with the other as his story became more clear, the remainder was washed with satisfaction at her first clue. Vampire. Not much, but something. “I’m Macleod.” She offered Milo a hand to shake. “And my buddy here is-”
“James.” He interrupted before Eilidh could throw out one of her many nicknames. “It’s nice to meet you, Milo.”
Milo smiled when his sarcastic assumption was confirmed. Usually he could find a certain sense of enjoyment in judging the crowds, laughing at the way they behaved when they were under the influence. But now, seeing how free they were, how happy in their own blissful ignorance, he was almost jealous of them. He saw the woman cover one of her ears in his peripheral vision, and wondered vaguely whether it might be time for him to leave. When people got rowdy, they forgot the meaning of personal space. He briefly made eye contact with a jock, who was embarrassingly wearing a varsity jacket, and wondered whether anybody in this place realised the only thing standing between their necks and his fangs was personal space. Begrudgingly turning his attention back to his company, he frowned. It felt too easy to think like that, to disregard any part he had to play in his own downfall. The strange look on the man’s face didn’t go unnoticed, but he already knew any questions he had to ask were going to be brushed away, so he said nothing. 
Instead, he shook the woman’s hand, half expecting her skin to feel rubbery, and unnatural. When he realised she felt about as regular as he did, he laughed at his own stupidity. “Macleod, and James?” He echoed, more to commit the names to memory than to confirm them both with their owners. “Yeah... it’s nice to meet you too.” He agreed, genuinely meaning his words. It felt good to spend some time with people who, at the very least, knew about the strange world he had become a part of. “I, uh-” He pushed away from the counter, slipping out of his seat. Stumbling as his feet hit the ground, he was reminded of how much alcohol was currently in his system. Eyeing the loud group of friends inching steadily closer to where he was situated, he couldn’t hide his discomfort. “I should probably go…” He muttered. “I need a cigarette.” It wasn’t technically a lie, and it was far easier to admit than trying to explain the sense of longing that was gripping at his chest. 
The sudden laugh was… weird. An eyebrow quirked curiously, tension rising in her neck – a combination of confusion and slight insult. Eilidh was on the verge of questioning the action when Milo suddenly floundered out of his seat. Just as quickly, she stood, hands inching close to offer support. When it was clear he had a handle of himself, at least enough to not fall flat on his face, those hands dropped back to her side. “Mm, yes. Leaving.” That sounded amazing. She should’ve been home by now. She usually was home by now. At least the night wasn’t a total waste, she thought as she eyed Milo again. Watching him, she saw the tension riddling his face; it was beyond what she would expect from a loud crowd. Something seemed to be bothering him. Another time she would’ve asked, but with the exit calling her name, she decided to drop it. For now.
“Perhaps we can get together again. I think that would be nice.” James eyes locked onto Eilidh’s. Looking at him, she could tell he would even be willing to walk the kid home, considering his state. But Eilidh wasn’t feeling as generous. She’s done her duty for the night.
Still, she took his stated hint. Eilidh pulled a piece of paper out of her jacket and began to write something down. While doing so, she motioned to the door with her eyes focused on Milo. An invitation. Walk with us. As she began her departure, she offered an aggressive grin to the unruly group before snapping her teeth. The clicks were loud enough to get a few to look. Many moved away. But only just a bit. Fucking pricks. 
Milo noticed the way Macleod moved to catch him, and he felt a strange spark of emotion in his chest at the realisation. Was it affection? Gratitude? He realised he liked her, he liked James. They had no obligation to help him, or comfort him, and yet they had chosen to spend their evening doing exactly that. Looking at his company with genuine surprise, he made no effort to hide the fact that he hadn’t been expecting them to stay in contact. The feeling in his chest only grew, warmth spreading outwards from where his heart lay, unnaturally still. “You- you mean that?” He asked, worried they might change their mind. What if they left him like the person who had taken his life? Or walked away like the vampire who had first told him what he was? It scared him. “I mean… I would like that. Thank you.” He corrected himself. Just because people had abandoned him in the past, it didn’t mean they were going to abandon him in the future. Following Macleod to the door, he noticed the way people seemed to look through James. Wondering briefly whether that was an unhappy existence, being invisible to most living people, he was distracted by the sharp sound of teeth. He so badly wanted to ask Macleod what she was, but it felt like a conversation for another time, so he smiled quietly to himself instead. Amused by just how irritated she apparently was by the frat boys. His life had been so uncertain, as of late, but he was hesitantly hoping he may have just found two friends.
Such a tentative voice, like she was a frightened bird that would fly away at the wrong move. Or maybe he was the frightened bird, finally finding a place it could safely perch. The hope, the desperation, it stirred the remnants of her dead heart. The kid was worse off than she thought if this simple encounter could invoke such a strong reaction. Eilidh didn’t know whether to be perplexed or honored. But she was definitely a little concerned. If only the kid knew how many broken connections, broken hearts, were left behind her without even a simple goodbye. But it was too late, no reason to rush to that part yet. Some hope was better than none. And she loved new company. She took a moment to consider her options, then quickly wrote an addition to her note. 
“Of course! We would love to!” James shouted to the best of his ability, combatting the uproarious crowd as they entered the thickest part. 
Once at the door, her ears tingled at the lack of stimulation. Physically shaking off the experience, the wrinkles on her face quickly subsided. She offered Milo the note. The first line listed her phone number, and the second read, Call me anytime. Before catching his reaction, Eilidh turned and began to walk home. “Later!” She declared as James offered him a little wave. The night quickly took them in, and they were gone.
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daggryet · 2 hours ago
Audio
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i did, yeah! during the exile arc, it was a fun way to remember some of the quotes i liked the most and just to spend the time - it was also as close as i could get to do stuff like animatics because i can’t draw to save my life
there’s four audios in all in the audio i’ve attached - they’re not directly connected, so some lines do repeat, but they were made during the first couple of days of exile. so that’s the context so trigger warning for the themes and lines that were said during exile.
audio one: c!tommy getting exiled (not one of us - lion king 2) audio two: c!tommy’s regret and depression (good years - zayn) audio three: c!tommy and ghostbur (rear view - zayn) audio four: c!dream’s puppeteering (marionettes - kanaya)
transcript and song lyrics under the cut:
audio one
transcript:
tubbo: i have come to the decision that it will be best for the nation, the most logical thing to do, for Tommy to be... exiled from l’manberg
quackity: what?
tubbo: dream, please detain and escort tommy out of my country.
tubbo: actually listened to you and done what you’d said, and maybe had a couple ounces of respect! selfish.
eret and wilbur: it was never meant to be
tommy: i know there’s that one line that rings through my head as i sleep of wilbur going...
wilbur: then...then let’s be the bad guys!
tommy: i don’t wanna go
song: not one of us from lion king 2
let him run, let him live, but do not forget what we cannot forgive
and he is not one of us, not our kind
someone once lied to us, now we’re not so blind
for we knew he would do what he’s done, and we know he’ll never be one of us
he is not one of us
audio two
transcript:
tommy: and it has always been - even when it was just me, you versus dream - it’s always been about getting those discs back, remember?
tommy: i don’t wanna go
tubbo: actually listened to you and done what you’d said, and maybe had a couple ounces of respect
tubbo: they (the discs) don’t matter!
tubbo: selfish.
tubbo: dream, please detain and escort tommy out of my country.
tommy: please don’t leave me...
tommy: what will you do if i go through?
technoblade: if you want to be a hero, tommy...
ghostbur: do you want to be ghostinnit?
dream: it’s not your time to die yet, tommy.
technoblade:..then die like one!
tommy: it’s never my time to die
tommy: i don’t wanna go
dream: tommy’s coming home!
song: good years by ZAYN
i’d rather be anywhere, anywhere but here
i’d rather be anywhere, anywhere but here 
what the hell were we fighting for? ‘cause now the whole damn world will know
that we’re too numb and just too dumb to change the story
and neither one, one of us wants to say we’re sorry
i need a chance just to breathe, feel alive
and when the day meets the night, show me the light
feel the wind and the fire, hold the pain deep inside
it’s in my eyes, in my eyes
audio three
transcript:
tommy: will you help me?
ghostbur: why don’t we pretend i’m alivebur?
ghostbur: you did a really good job, and everyone thinks you did really well
ghostbur: i remember that! i remember alivebur was so happy
tommy: i just- i don’t wanna miss tubbo, man
tommy: where will i go?
tommy: where’s tubbo?
ghostbur: i will follow you, whatever you think we should do
ghostbur: i mean, you did so much good for l’manberg
tubbo: you’ve messed this up for no one but yourself!
ghostbur: no one would laugh at you
tommy: but every time i’ve put the discs aside, i think for one time...
tommy: how do you know when it’s too much?
tommy: i’m here for a good time, not for a long time
ghostbur: so i thought what else does tommy like? his favourite thing in the whole wide world is tubbo!
ghostbur: it basically points you in the direction of tubbo
song: rear view by ZAYN
i will tell no lies as long as you look me in the eyes
i’ll go wherever you are, i’ll follow behind
heard about all the things you’ve done, and all the wars you’ve been in
heard about all the love you lost, it was over before it began
heard about all the miles you’ve gone, just to start again
heard about all that you’ve been through
and it sounds like you need a friend, a friend
audio four
transcript:
dream (to tommy): i don’t give a fuck about spirit, okay? i don’t give a fuck about anything actually - i care about your discs
dream (to eret): what do you think gives you power?
dream (to tubbo): tubbo... i trust that whatever decision you came to was the first best one for l’manberg
dream (to tubbo): i wanna officially regonise l’manberg now
dream (to eret): eret, i need you to take your crown off
dream  (to eret): just remember where your power comes from because it doesn’t come from a pretty little crown
dream (to tommy): you’re the only person who doesn’t ever listen to me
dream (to tommy): it’s not your time to die yet, tommy, i need you alive
dream ( to tommy): tubbo said it looks so much better since tommy left
dream (to tommy): you know, he got given a compass that leads to you actually [...] tubbo came here. just when you were offline
dream (to eret): and that you were a good ruler...
dream (to eret): you don’t have power because of your crown, you have power because of me
dream (to eret): ...you were very well behaved.
dream (to tommy): because that’s what gives me power over you, and your friends, and everybody that you care about!
song: marionettes by kanaya
i spy with my own two eyes a land soon to meet their demise
let me give you my piece of mind: i was never on your side
you’ve got it all wrong, baby, pulling the strings on your frail body
chaos is my lover, power is my best friend
you’re all my marionettes
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brainsanalysis · 3 hours ago
Text
Home Away From Home
Summary: You're one of the og members of the server, and someone everyone knows they can trust. Away from conflict, your doors are always open to people in distress. People begin to take that offer.
Chapter two: Platonic Tommyinnit x GN!Reader, (Platonic Ghostbur x Reader background)
Warnings: Exile Arc, Manipulation, On The Run
Notes: There's a survey at the end of this to choose chapter three. Happy reading <3
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As time passed, more people showed up to stay at your house. Ghostbur was a regular, of course, latching on to you and showing you anything new he had. He showed his "blue" to you, hoping it could make you happy too.
Today, he came back with different news.
"You should visit Tommy with me!" He perched himself on your counter, swinging his legs back and forth happily.
"You know I don't like going into L'manburg, 'bur. It's still very.. conflict-y."
"Well, he's not in L'manburg anymore!"
"He's what?"
-
"You're good at sailing," Ghostbur smiled, savoring the breeze in his air as you laughed and continued to move the oars.
"Thanks. Hold on to the side, okay? I don't want you touching the water."
"Okay!" The phantom watches your face, bobbing his head with the waves. "You seem worried, are you okay?"
You nod, watching for land. "Tommy's a social person. I don't like the thought of him being isolated."
"Oh." He pauses, then hums in understanding. "You're right, he is pretty social! I've been keeping him company though, and so has Dream!"
"Didn't Dream exile him?"
"Well yes, but he's still spending time with him! The exile was.. for his own good? In Dream's words, anyways!"
You hardly have time to process what's he just said, the land finally rendering in your sightline. The wind is knocked out of you at the sight just ahead- Tommy looks exhausted, beaten down, and pained but still managed to jump up and wave as you pull next to the shore.
"Y/N! GHOSTBUR! WHAT'S UP GUYS?"
You suck in a breath as you hop out of the boat, offering Ghostbur a hand. He happily takes it and once you've helped him out of the boat he turns to wave at Tommy too, following as you start towards his makeshift camp.
"Hello Tommy! How's vacation?" He chirps once you're within earshot without yelling.
"Shit, man. But better with visitors!" The outcast grinned, all too excited. He meets your eyes and is practically bouncing. "And fuck, dude! Hi! It's been a while, I haven't seen you leave your house much!"
You smile back, more gentle, trying to cloak your sadness with kindness. "Hey. Well, I figured if you didn't have the resources to visit, I should stop by myself."
"Thank fuckin'- Yeah no, no thank you! I uh- I would have visited if I could I just.." His smile falters as he looks over your shoulder, like he's expecting someone to walk up and snatch you away. He shakes it off. "Well, y'know how exile is, ha!"
"Actually, I don't." You tilt your head. "Are you just not allowed in L'manburg? Or you're not allowed to leave here?"
"I- uh- Well I just can't go.. close? I still go to the Nether!"
"Ah." You smile. "At least that gives you some extra breathing room."
"Well it's fuckin' harder to breathe in the Nether though. All hot and shit." He crosses his arms, but you can tell there's no actual frustration behind his words. You laugh, and he smiles.
"Fair enough. Why don't you show me around? Ghostbur says you two built together."
"Fuck yeah! Come on, there's so much to show you!"
-
You weren't expecting Tommy to show up at your doorstep near midnight a few days later, but the moment you saw him involuntarily shivering and hugging himself you'd pulled him inside, shutting the door behind you.
"I'm sorry-"
"Please don't apologize, take a seat and I'm going to grab some first aid, okay?"
"This isn't fucking- I didn't want to drag you into-" He curls in on himself as you rummage through the cabinet.
"Hey, hey. Breathe. You're fine, Toms. I'm okay."
"No, you- You fucking hate conflict, and I brought it to your door! Holy shit, I'm so fucking-"
"Tommy." You finally find the kit and turn back to him, voice gentle but firm. He freezes and sucks in a sharp breath to look at you. "I don't involve myself in unnecessary conflict. Your safety and wellbeing are necessary."
He shakes his head but makes no further protests as you sit next to him and start cleaning a wound on his arm.
"Can you tell me what happened? Or too soon?"
"Dream blew it up. Everything. I kept a chest under my base and he found it, and.." He trails off wincing either from his arm or from the memory.
"Jeez," You exhale softly, shaking your head and looking up. "That's screwed up."
"I shouldn't have kept a chest."
"You have a right to privacy."
"Nah. I'm a danger to everyone," He laughs, but there's no humor left in his voice. "Even myself."
"Dude, look at me. Just for a second?"
He nods, meeting your eyes.
"You are not a burden or a danger. You are a human being. No one, and I mean no one, should convince you otherwise. Don't listen to whoever the fuck told you that."
Tommy takes another breath and nods. "Sorry."
"You're good, Toms. Just don't let shit like that get to you, okay? You're worth more."
"Okay," He mutters, but you see something of a smile returning to his face.
You nod and continue to wipe at his wounds before he grumbles something.
"What?"
"Do you have food? I'm fucking starving."
You let out a startled laugh and he grins too.
"You have worse mood swings than Ghostbur!"
"Awh Y/nnn, don't say that!"
»»————- ♡ ————-««
Chapter 1 || Choose Chapter 3 || Taglist open! || Rbs appreciated :)
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foxglove-airmid · 6 hours ago
Text
Dandelions 7
this is angstier than other chapters and discusses Eugenia and Augustus’s relationship and how he hurt her, if this is triggering for you please don’t read. You can send me an ask for clarification or if you want to plot without having to read this xx
(makes it sound a lot scarier than it actually is but I want everyone to be safe xxx)
Chapter 7
Thomas POV
Thomas could hardly ever remember feeling this angry. Perhaps the last time was when Alastair had told him some stories about his ex, or when he had last heard Augustus Pounceby’s name spoken in his presence. When he had first heard what he had done to Genie. Thomas couldn’t believe the bastard was standing in the doorway to their apartment. How could Charles bring him here? 
Thomas saw red, memories of Eugenia on the floor of her bedroom sobbing in anguish over a broken heart and shame. He stood, fully intending to punch him in the face. He saw Augustus throw up his hands in surrender, taking a step back. Thomas was sure that he was quite a frightening sight when he was angry, not to mention that the last time Augustus would have seen him Thomas would have been tiny and of no real threat to him.
That was no longer the case.
Before he could reach him however, he heard Eugenia say, in a voice crystal clear and hard as ice. “No. He isn’t worth it.” Thomas stopped, vision clearing just a bit as he looked at his sister. Barbara had once said that Eugenia had been changed forever by what had happened, hardened, Thomas had never been able to see it. He saw it now, in the cool and uninterested way she looked at her ex. The man she had once thought she would love forever.
“I hope that it is perfectly clear to you that you are not welcome here, I don’t believe that my friends are all that fond of you” Eugenia told him. Augustus nodded. Charles took his eyes off where they had been staring at Alastair to throw an irritated look over his shoulder at him before saying “He is my room mate Eugenia, you’re going to have to get along” in a condescending voice.
Alastair hadn’t moved, in fact Thomas wasn’t sure he was even breathing.
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Eugenia POV
How was this happening? How was he here? Eugenia didn’t understand, it felt like her head was buzzing loudly and her vision swimming. Yet she felt oddly numb, like she had been dumped into ice water, she could hear that coldness reflected in her own voice as she spoke. 
Augustus wasn’t supposed to be in this university, he had teased her for choosing it. So why was he here? She was supposed to be free of him. Of the rumors and nasty words.
She had loved him so much, or at least as much she supposed as a teenager was capable of falling in love. They had been together for six months. Six amazing, blissfully happy months. It wasn’t as though he hadn’t his faults and her her own. But they made it work, she had been so proud to walk around holding his hand.
So caught up in him that she could barely remember much else at all, only him.
They were together six months when he first started to get annoyed with her.
She had been fine with kissing him, even a little further than that. But at seventeen she had felt she was ready for no further. At first he was more patient, accepting her explanations and apologies that she would later realise she had never owed him.
He got tired of it eventually though. He had found what she wouldn’t give elsewhere. And that had been bad enough, the agony of his unfaithfulness and the horrible unshakeable feeling that it was her own fault. But when she had ended it he had been furious, told her that she was unfair, cruel to have gotten angry with him for what he couldn’t possibly have helped. She told him to go fuck himself.
So he had ruined her. Eugenia hadn’t realised it was even possible to ruin a girl in this time. Believed it to be a long forgotten relic of the past. Oh how wrong she had been.
The rumours hit her almost immediately, her phone blowing up with so many texts, calls and snap chats that she threw it at her wall, shattering it.
He had told everyone so many lies, no one seeming to care that they didn’t even make sense. That she had cheated on him, that she had been willing to do all sorts for him, that she said this awful thing about her friends or done that, and more. Soon everyone had a new idea of who Eugenia Lightwood was.
And Eugenia had felt that she no longer knew herself at all.
Her family had tried so hard to keep her together, to pick up the pieces when they didn’t succeed. She had found herself glad that Thomas attended a different school, she knew he would have gotten himself into a fight that he was too small to possibly win. 
Her father had wanted to change her school, Eugenia hadn’t wanted to give Augustus the satisfaction. Even though in the end, she could hardly make it through the school day without having to call and beg her parents to come get her, or hiding in the bathrooms willing herself not to cry. 
She took a gap year. It was the best decision she ever made. She stayed at home for the first little while, spending time with her family and going to therapy eventually getting well enough to work part time at a local craft store. Which she had very little interest in but she really liked the old lady you ran it. 
She didn’t think she could have survived it without Thomas and Barbara. Her parents had been amazing, more than amazing. There were some things you didn’t want to share with your parents. 
It was strange how many nights Eugenia lay awake thinking of all the things she would say to him if she ever saw him again, and yet here he was and she couldn’t think of any of them. Didn’t care enough to think of any of them.
She felt something for the first time since she had first seen him in the door, she felt a burst of pride zinging though her veins. The hurt felt distant, like it had happened to another girl, someone who she wasn’t anymore.The hurt was still there, the anger and the embarrassment. But her confidence, her absolute certainty of her worth and the love of those around her kept her feet feeling as though they were firmly on solid ground. She could do this, even if it hurt
He was here. And she didn’t care.
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Alastair POV
“Excuse me I have to go” Alastair heard himself say, though he couldn’t recall deciding to say it.
The world felt like it was tilting as he tried to stand, he was aware of some distant level that even as he stood he was falling. But all Alastair could really think about was getting away. He made it somehow, gracefully, into the hall before he let himself fall. He felt hands catch him as he stumbled blindly past, and heard through water Eugenia’s voice, reminding him of diamonds, crystal clear and hard. She wasn’t ice, ice was cold and breakable. Eugenia didn’t sound or feel breakable where he clung to her. “come on, lets go home” she murmured to him. He didn’t know how she had gotten out there
Alastair knew that once he calmed down he would be humiliated at being seen so vulnerably, but right now he was just relieved it was her and not any of the others. “No one saw don’t worry its just me” she told him gently.
Alastair knew that she must be hurting too, he knew, as everyone did, what had happened between her and Augustus. Yet she was here trying to take care of him. 
“I think we have a lot to talk about don’t we?” Alastair managed to choke out. Eugenia laughed beside him, sending pleasant warming shocks through him where they were touching. 
“We are going to need a lot of tea” she told him grinning through her tears.
Taglist: @niagotthomastair-inthesanctuary @panicatwallmaria @ilovefandoms @justanormaldemon @thechangeling @nott-the-best @kamalajcshi @anarmorofwords @surrounded-by-exquisite-clutter @apple-bottom-jeansx   @stxr-thxif and @styxdrawings @alastair-esfandiyar-carstairs1 @liasan-stuff @darkfartdaze @that-dreamer-girl-m @yozinha-z @autumnangel20 @arangiajoan @littlx-songbxrd @clarys-heosphoros @fictionally-fantastic @cordaisya @livingformyself  @idio-9 @lifewouldbebetteronmars @zosiaenrique @the-blackdale   @fair-childd    @shadowhuntingforfanfics and @shadowhuntertrash (if I have forgotten anyone please let me know xxx)
(send in requests for fluff to balance this out if you want and I promise to answer at least one (maybe more) today xx)
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vicicus · 6 hours ago
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»transmission sent by: @dcsolate​: he stares, unmasked, so the general can see the smite kindling in his dark eyes.  ❝ no one will ever love you. you don’t deserve to be loved by anyone but a monster like me. ❞
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𝐓𝐇𝐄  𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒  𝐄𝐂𝐇𝐎  𝐀𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒  𝐇𝐈𝐒  𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐃  like  a  call  into  an  abysmal  cavern,  vibrating  and  stirring  up  corpses  that  had  been  long  buried  in  the  deepest  catacombs  of  his  diligently  catalogued  it  mind.  Threatening  to  raise  𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙾𝚂  with  the  rage  of  a  storm.  He  stills  the  whistling  winds  of  Ren’s  tumultuous  words.  What  as  love  but  a  treacherous  game  that  left  you  wounded  and  broken  under  the  crushing  grip  of  another’s  hands?  A  means  of  destruction.  
He  had  sworn  himself  from  falling  prey  to  trivial  emotions.  Promised  himself  that  he  would  never  again  fall  vulnerable  to  the  piercing  stab  of  a  monster’s  jagged  claws.  “No  one  will  ever  care  for  you,  you  vile  and  useless  boy.”  His  father’s  words  echoed  in  his  mind  akin  to  Ren’s.  And  where  there  had  once  been  an  aching  sting  in  his  chest  there  was  nothing  but  𝙽𝚄𝙼𝙱𝙽𝙴𝚂𝚂  and  a  hollow  throb  that  he  attributed  to  perpetual  squeeze  of  stress.  The  endless  trigger  of  fight  or  flight  reflexes  that  set  his  body  ablaze  whilst  sleeping  in  a  den  of  beasts  always  on  the  verge  of  pouncing  and  ripping  his  body  to  shreds.
The  only  way  to  control  a  monster  was  to  tame  it.  The  only  way  to  understand  a  monster  as  to  𝙱𝙴𝙲𝙾𝙼𝙴  𝙾𝙽𝙴  yourself.  
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“  Did  you  think  I  loved  you?  ”      A  cruel  laugh  dangled  at  the  edge  of  his  voice.  eyes  alit  with  a  stirring  flame  that  rose  from  the  embers  of  a  dying,  slowly  stoked  by  the  drift  of  the  wind.      “  Did  you  think  I  cared  about  you?  ”      He  had,  the  only  way  to  craft  a  telling  lie  was  to  𝙱𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙴𝚅𝙴  it.  So  he  had  fallen  in  love  with  Kylo’s  finesse,  his  vicious  demeanor,  the  frightening  look  in  his  eyes  when  he  watched  the  life  fade  from  a  struggling  body.  Cultivating  those  feelings  in  carefully  kept  containers  in  his  carefully  controlled  mind.  Projecting  them  at  the  most  delicately  of  times  until  the  beast  fell  into  the  𝚃𝚁𝙰𝙿,  thinking  of  him  day  and  night,  longing  for  a  man  who  had  once  been  his  enemy.  He  watched  the  emotion  flicker  in  Kylo’s  eyes  over  and  over  again.  And  then  burned  his  own  to  ash  when  he  was  alone  and  allowing  the  bitter  loathing  seeped  back  into  his  chest  like  a  plague.      “  Maybe  I  did.  ”      The  tone  in  his  voice  shifts,  softens  into  something  delicate  and  vulnerable  before  rising  to  a  steady  still  melody.      “  You  will  never  know  if  you  choose  to  turn  against  me.  ”      Glove  fingers  trace  along  an  unsteady  jaw.  A  myriad  of  emotions  dancing  in  his  eyes,  while  the  feeling  in  his  chest  is  numb  and  𝙴𝙼𝙿𝚃𝚈.      “  I  know  you  don’t  want  to  be  alone  again.  ”  
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stellocchia · 12 hours ago
What's your take on the idea that, right now, c!wilbur and c!tommy "need each other" and "can heal with help from the other," or that "ghostbur is just trying to show tommy that wilbur can be redeemed and tommy just needs to help him and let him in" because, oh boy, have I seen it on twitter a lot recently
I didn’t know that that was a take and I hate it!
Like, don’t get me wrong, both of them need a system of support. But were Tommy just needs help along his healing process, Wilbur still even has to realize that he needs help and, like it or not, it’s most definitely up to HIM to try and find help where needed, nobody can come in and fix him, that’s NOT how mental health works, ESPECIALLY not in their world!
Now for why this take is just horrid: Wilbur was one of the people who were abusive to Tommy. Tommy still has a lot of trauma related to Wilbur’s more obvious verbal abuse, but he also more recently recognized him as manipulative even admitting that he is still very much susceptible to Wilbur’s manipulation. 
Also Tommy having gone through worse after doesn’t invalidate his experience in exile with Wilbur and Wilbur’s spiral doesn’t suddenly make his actions any less severe. 
Which is honestly why I absolutely HATE Ghostbur’s take of “A villain is just a hero you haven’t convinced yet” because no, f*ck that! Why is the burden of “convincing” and “helping” the other person along on the shoulders of their victims? Why is that a thing that ANYONE considers acceptable? 
The absolutely LAST thing Tommy should do is “help Wilbur and let him in”. It’s NOT his responsibility and he is in NO CONDITION to help ANYONE in the first place. Let alone one of the people who caused him huge amounts of trauma. And that’s without even considering Tommy’s confession of still being very much susceptible to Wilbur’s manipulation that just, for some reason, keeps getting brushed to the side in this fandom.
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stellocchia · 12 hours ago
Someone else commented on that one post with comments on how people portray Techno and Tommy, and i'd like to add something: people who make it seem like tommy owes techno everything or should abandon his life for him, or with the people who automatically assumed tommy would be ecstatic in death with wilbur and would be okay with him do the same thing dream apologists do: ignore tommys (at best) manipulation or (at worst) abuse at their hands to make wilbur/techno/dream seem like the Best
Yes absolutely!
I don’t see this done much with Dream (though it may be just because I block Dream apologists on sight) but with Techno and Wilbur? Oh man...
Especially after Tommy’s resurrection I’ve seen so many people say he “must have been faking his reaction” because “Wilbur wasn’t that bad” ignoring entirely the fact that we already knew of Tommy having recurring nightmares about him and him having to consistently split Wilbur in 2 when speaking about him and never being able to speak about Pogtopia!Wilbur. Like, say what you want, but that man was definitely verbally abusive to Tommy to quite an extent to have this results...
With Techno it’s even worse because a lot of people straight up don’t realize the harm he has done because they’re so convinced of c!Techno’s narrative of him being Tommy’s “saviour” that “constantly gets betrayed for no reason” that they often times just don’t see him radicalizing, isolating and treating Tommy as worthless as damaging. 
The thing is: NONE of them were good for Tommy and I’m absolutely GLAD that he left their asses every single time. Sure, it took longer for him to let Wilbur go in particular, but I’m sure GLAD that he doesn’t want him in his life any longer. 
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reglaargentum · 12 hours ago
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/rp "I don't understand why Tommy always said, in exile, that people weren't visiting him, that no one was coming, that they were only there out of pity when lots of people visited and gifted him things! He was basically trying to be a victim when he wasn't one!" Honey Honey Honey he was manipulated. At first it was a mix of both his personality and how the visits were made. He's a proud person, if he believes that people are pitying him he will not accept their help. Most people visited only once or twice. Sure, Bad gave him a disc and tried to help him more, and Tommy actually appreciated the disc (as he said later). But then, Bad didn't come back. And so did Antfrost after giving him a cow, or Sam after literally said he would take him in. Why they didn't come back? A mix of problems in the server (the whole Egg thing actually started in that period of time!) and Dream, of course, lying to everyone about Tommy not wanting visitors. But that's something that we knew - Tommy didn't. Tommy believed that they just came once at the beginning because they felt sorry, not protesting the exile at all (for example, Antfrost gifting him Mushroom Henry, but saying to not tell Dream that it had been him), and then they never came back because they didn't actually care.
Also, didn't help that the first visitors (Bad, Ant, Sapnap, and I'm including Sam too because at the time it was true) were people very close to Dream. After that? After that Tommy was manipulated constantly by Dream. He was told that people didn't care about him, that L'Manberg was even better without him, that THEY didn't want to visit him. So when people came? And maybe, because they didn't realize how actually BAD was exile, didn't take it seriously? Or came just once, never to return? Yes, Tommy took those as them just coming because "they had to". Ranboo is actually a big example on how Tommy's view about their visit changed with Dream's manipulation - by comparing how Tommy took Ranboo's books and messages in the beginning versus when Ranboo gave him his pickaxe. And then comes the beach party. Last nail in the coffin. When Tommy said "No one is visiting me" he wasn't actually speaking literally. What he meant was "No one wants to visit me". He fully believed that they were only there because of pity or because "they had to", not because they cared about him. He cleary said it many times (I remember once when Jack visited, for example).
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lavishbylaw · 16 hours ago
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[ @ruthlessnessisyourdesire​​ said ]:
❝ i feel like you’re taking advantage of me.❞ (DD60)
“I can’t believe that you’d say something like that to me, Sixty...” The attorney retaliated much too quickly. It was almost as if she’d practiced this sort of gaslighting technique before on him. A worried expression evolved onto her face, yet another addition into her manipulation. Her eyes honed in on his own, purposely making sure that he could see her.
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“All that I have done for you -- All that I have given up to make sure that you’re satisfied, and you say that I’m taking advantage of you? Whose house is this that you’re living in? Whose car it is that you drive? Who gives you clothes when you need them? Because that’s me. That doesn’t sound like someone who is taking advantage of you. Why the hell did you even say that to me? Who told you that?”
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miochanzy · 19 hours ago
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okay, okay. got smth i want to talk about.
disclaimer beforehand; it's fine if you're a c!dream enjoyer, i actually am one myself.
so okay, let me just talk abt smth. c!dream apologists. like, i get that the dream smp is fictional but it makes me so damn uncomfortable when they defend a child abuser and manipulator. it's just so??
i dunno man. abuse is just portrayed in such an accurate way that i hate it when people try and justify the shitty things he did. plus when people joke about it saying "he's hot lol" or "haha annoying child deserves abuse haha" it makes me uncomfortable as well.
sorry if i'm being soft or whatever, but as someone who's been in several extremely toxic relationships it just hurts to see people making fun of the situations. i know they're not real, but literal victims of abuse have made posts and posts about how well it's portrayed.
i dunno if i phrased this right cuz i'm going through my dumbass arc but yeah
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marshmallowprotection · 19 hours ago
Hallo so ummm my friend is in real trouble and idk what to say honestly.. I'll just type what happened and I'm sorry if this is a bother (in their words) >I went over and made a real friend online. I really liked them romantically, but since she's straight, I had to keep it in for a while. I made more friends in the server, and we all got along. My self desrtuctive habits got the best of her, and I didn't want to hurt her friend through my account, so I made a fake one and proceeded to hurt my friends. I didn't know the impact of my actions until Kait talked to this fake account (my destructive self) about it. Kait's sus that it might've been me, and I got scared, so I made this whole character for that fake account. Now, my friend's in love with this fake character, and I'm here just hurting because she likes this faux account that I play as, and not me. it's so messed up, and it's been like this for months now. i can't take it anymore, but i don't want to hurt any more people. i'm lost. i don't want to lose any of them.
TW: Manipulation, Bullying
Sorry, I saw my name there and I was like, “You’re clearly not talking about me, here, but that’s my name.” Anyways. Now, I have to say that your friend is clearly in the wrong here, there are no if’s, and’s, or but’s about it. I’m sorry. This is just straight-up catfishing. There’s no excuse for manipulation and bullying others. I don’t have the context here, but hurting your friends here isn’t great. Even if the goal was to hurt yourself, you’ve hurt not only yourself but other people. I have to say that your friend is very clearly in need of help. It’s not the kind of help that one person can provide.
This is lying, manipulating, and stringing something along that’s not healthy for anyone involved whatsoever. They need to come clean about all of this, and I’m aware that’s likely going to put them at risk of losing whatever relationships that they have with everyone, but you cannot lie to people. You cannot build healthy relationships on lying. You simply cannot. 
Your friend needs to come clean, be honest, and get themselves some help in any way that they can. They are clearly hurting, but they’re only going to hurt more by living a lie and letting things string along like this. There’s not an end game in sight for this that is going to end well. Like, I want to be really gentle about this but I can’t be because you need the cold and honest truth about what you’re doing because it’s hurting you and others. 
Be honest. 
Tell the truth. 
Face the consequences of your actions. 
Understand that you are not entitled to forgiveness or people to want to be around you after this. Understand that it’s okay because it’s better to fess up now than before someone else gets hurt even more. If you lose the relationships you have here, it’s just going to happen. It’s not the end of the world. You will get back up again and you’ll learn how to be better for yourself, and you’ll be able to make better relationships where you don’t have to lie and pretend to feel like you are loved. 
I’m sorry if you expected something different, but... this is just the truth of what you need.
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daggryet · 22 hours ago
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since everyone is so mad over this, you should understand what these words mean:
heartless
"displaying a complete lack of feeling or consideration."
"someone who's heartless is inconsiderate and insensitive to other people's feelings."
c!dream forcing a country he doesn't have power over to either exile one of their own or practically doom their people to being murdered and the country destroyed
c!dream systematically manipulating and abusing someone, and having them rely completely on him; and destroy everything they've built and worked for
c!dream driving c!tommy to suicide
c!dream destroying l'manberg and laughing in the face of the l'manbergians pain
c!dream forcing c!tommy and c!tubbo to come fight him alone and continously holding their trauma against them
c!dream keeping everyone's dearest attachments in a hall to hold against them and force them to do what he wants - or planning to steal their dearest item/pet/friend
c!dream being 0.2 seconds from murdering c!tubbo and throwing c!tommy in an inhumane prison cell where he'd be surrounded by lava (one of c!tommy's biggest triggers, which he'd know because he'd knocked c!tommy away from jumping)
c!dream murdering c!tommy and threatening to kill him again and again after c!tommy told him about how painful it was to die and be revived
extremely arrogant
"exaggerating or disposed to exaggerate one's own worth or importance often by an overbearing manner"
"showing an offensive attitude of superiority"
c!dream's speech to c!tubbo in the ruins of the community house, proclaiming how stupid he is, how bad of a president he is, and how he just gave c!dream the only thing stopping him from destroying l'manberg
c!dream's speech to c!tommy and c!tubbo on the mountain: "i'm playing with my food" "i wanna show you how powerful i am, how powerless you are"
c!dream's speech to c!tubbo and c!tommy in his vault
c!dream thinking that c!tommy is as attached to him as he is to c!tommy, saying c!tommy won't kill him because he thinks c!tommy also views their relationship as co-dependent
c!dream's speech to c!tommy: "i'm a god!" "we can be gods together" "we can experiment, we send you back, we can learn so much about death"
c!dream proclaiming he'll bring back c!wilbur - and that c!wilbur will feel indebted to him for reviving him
manipulative
"exercising unscrupulous control or influence over a person or situation."
"people who manipulate others attack their mental and emotional sides to get what they want."
c!dream exploiting pogtopia's paranoia by telling them there's a traitor - that there's not a traitor - no, there is a traitor
c!dream giving new l'manberg the dilemma: "exile c!tommy or we will build the obsidian walls up to block limit, i'll have guards patrolling the walls, there will be no trade, you'll be locked in. anyone breaks those rules, and everyone gets slaughtered inside"
c!dream systematically manipulating c!tommy all throughout exile, establishing a cycle of abuse, and making c!tommy reliant on c!dream's presence
c!dream manipulating c!tubbo to think he was his friend, that c!tommy was angry and didn't want visitors (allowing c!dream to abuse c!tommy further)
c!dream stealing - or planning to steal/kidnap - everyone's dearest, including weapons, pets, and a literal person that'd be kept in a 1x3 cell - to hold it over people's heads to make them do what he wants them to. (this includes his so-called best friends, c!sapnap and c!george)
c!dream holding c!wilbur's possible revival over c!tommy's head in order to not get killed - and then revoking that promise in prison unless he's let out
tyrant
"an absolute ruler unrestrained by law or constitution."
"a ruler who exercises absolute power oppressively or brutally"
c!dream holding the rules of the server ("no griefing, no stealing") against c!tommy and l'manberg, but liberally breaking those rules himself - and allowing his allies to do the same
commands power over l'manberg's governing despite 'allowing' them independence (ie. they should not listen to c!dream obediently)
c!dream threatening to build obsidian walls all around l'manberg, force everyone to stay inside, and slaughter everyone inside if they broke a rule
commissioned a prison, that is inhumane, and planned to put not only his biggest enemy in there (who he couldn't kill), but also planned to put other people in the other cells.
destroyed l'manberg as soon as he got the disc from c!tubbo
started the dream smp vs l'manberg war
c!dream literally was the one to write the declaration of war book
c!dream was the one to ignore l'manberg's fighting style - we fight with our words and not our swords - and made it into a violent war. "i wanna see white flags, outside your walls by tomorrow at dawn, or you are dead"
instigated the disc war
it's very blurry who started it and c!dream stealing the discs were retaliation for c!sapnap and c!tommy killing him (non-canon, he was not a fatality during this war; no one was), but c!dream was the one to keep the war going
c!dream killed c!tommy and c!sapnap multiple times to get his stuff back and stole the discs to ensure no one would sneak off with his things, and then he killed them a few more times
c!dream stole the discs repeatedly after c!tommy had gotten them back, and even traded one to c!skeppy
should the wiki have used such colourful language? i don't know, given the state of the fandom, but the words fit c!dream as we know him from the actual canon.
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yanderesmythos · 23 hours ago
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✉Yandere!Hermes love letter💱:
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To my dearest treasure,
I've traveled to many countries, cities and plenty more. From Mount Olympus, where my brethren are to the lowest point in the depths of the underworld.
Yet....
None has beheld my interest and sight for such a long span as of you. No matter, how much I try to busy myself or to drown the memories of you from resurfacing. You find a conniving way to leave a mark within me and remind me of your presence.
Sometimes, I doubt who is the better thief. Is it me? Or you, who have the clever and wits to steal my heart unnoticed?
Nonetheless, my devotion and care doesn't come free from price. You'll have to reimburse me with some sort of payback. Fret not, I assure you that you're capable (with that cunning mind of yours) of paying me one way or the other.
Until then, I must warn you of those who you consider companions as they're corrupt and wish you harm. I just can't wait to hold in my arms where you belong. You're the greatest treasure I ever seen. As a thief, I can't let such opportunity pass me when I can steal you to a better place. I would rather not see you injured by the hands of whom you trust, so heed my words as a token for my concern towards you.
Yours truly~
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dr3amofagame · a day ago
yk, I always thought of c!dream to perfectly fit the saying “the road to hell is paved with good intentions.” and every time I think about it I get even sadder send hepl
hello !! it’s been a bit, so sorry anon, but ty for ur patience :D 
but yeah !! that saying REALLY fits c!dream - he’s someone that has done a lot of awful, unjustifiable things, but they were all for a Reason, as much as people like to think otherwise. he’s said so before, repeatedly - it’s all for a vision of the smp as it “used to be,” one “giant family” that can be happy again. and obviously, what he does isnt right, and will never be right - but in the end it’s all in a very twisted attempt to find a home he lost, which makes his character all the more twisted and tragic, yknow? 
sometimes i wonder what an earlier dream would say, after seeing how far he’s fallen, which is what really led to this oneshot - it’s a bit messy, but i like it nonetheless. c!dream is a disaster that makes me Very Sad 
tw: derealization, implied torture, hallucinations, injuries, dark content, mentioned abuse, manipulation, emotional distress, implied suicide, panic attacks, self-hatred  
“Was it worth it?”
Dream blinks, looks up; this is new. He’s no stranger to hallucinations, of course - they’d started somewhere around the first week or two of solitary, and had only grown in frequency and duration as time went on, but this has never happened before.
The figure standing - well, sitting in front of him is hazy at the edges, indistinct, little more than a splash of green and grey, blown out at the edges by the bright white highlights from the lava lighting them from behind. Even so, Dream is all too familiar with the craftsmanship of the iron armor they wear, with the bright green hoodie tucked underneath that he’d once worn like a second skin. The figure’s face turns just enough to catch the slightest sliver of a mask.
“Well?”
“You’re me,” Dream says - breathes, really, his throat too sore for the words to be much more than a labored exhale. The other Dream turns, the lava throwing shifting shapes in orange and red all over his chestplate, his mouth visible and pulled into a frown underneath the bottom edge of the mask. Dream touches the cracked surface of the one sitting on his own face reflexively, feeling the jagged hole on its left side surrounding his eye, the edge pulled over his chin to keep as much of his face obscured as possible.
“Well, I mean,” the other Dream’s hands come to the edges of his mask, easing it over to the side of his face in a practiced motion; his eyes burn brilliantly in the dark room, green and furious and bright. “I wouldn’t exactly say that, now.”
Dream knows that this man isn’t him - well, isn’t him anymore, doesn’t have the burn scars that trail all over his body, doesn’t know the feeling of his stomach turning itself inside out in pain and emptiness, doesn’t know how it feels to have an axe dragged painfully, slowly over his skin over and over and over and over until he’s screamed his throat raw. This is the ghost of a man that has not lived and died a million times, that does not know the feeling of blood on his hands better than he does kindness, that can think of other faces and feel something other than shattered ribs and remembered pain.
“Was it worth it?” The other Dream watches him, eyebrows furrowed, insistent. It’s hard to remember that this was once him, that he has a face made of skin and muscle and bone instead of porcelain and leather even with the bruises and dried blood beneath his mask reminding him otherwise. The expressions on his face, the ones that must be on Dream’s own face, feel foreign, like they belong to someone that isn’t him. Maybe that’s the point.
“You’ll need to get more specific,” Dream’s voice cracks, throat protesting at the strain pulling at the still healing wounds from within it. Dream takes the pain, boxes it up, files it away; he’s becoming pretty good at that. “Was what worth it?”
The other man throws his arm out in an arc, gestures vaguely at the entire cell. “This! All of this- this prison, what you did to Tommy, what you did on Doomsday, what you did in the vault.” His words burn with a dangerous fury, and Dream closes his eyes. It’s not real. It’s not real. “You ruined everything! You destroyed our home! Everything is gone and it’s all your fault!”
“Don’t-” Dream’s voice cracks, shatters in on itself, and he swallows around the pain and pushes on. “Don’t act like you wouldn’t do the exact same thing as me.”
The other man scoffs, a fiery light dancing in his pupils. “As if. This is all your fault. You didn’t have to exile the kid. You didn’t have to blow up the community house. And you sure as hell didn’t have to manipulate a fucking teenager, you sick fuck.”
The voice morphs, overlays with the echoes of voices he hasn’t heard in what feels like an eternity. His back burns, stings; his head pounds furiously and threatens to plunge his world into darkness. Through it all, green eyes stare at him, twin flames in his ever blurrier vision, looking for all the world like a god handing down judgment.
“You know you would,” Dream mutters, each word dropping and shattering on the ground like broken glass, “if you had to sit in here for just a chance at bringing them together, you would. If you had to burn the whole damn server down for them, you wouldn’t hesitate.”
The other Dream shakes his head, teeth bared. “Don’t you dare pretend that you did this for them. Don’t you dare pretend that you don’t deserve this.”
I deserve this. I know, I know, I know. “But you would.”
The hallucination’s shoulders rise, fall; it’s hazy, shimmering from the heat, but the eyes glow ethereally and feel more real than anything in the cell.
“You’re an idiot, you know?” He laughs, and Dream tastes iron and ash and salt. “You’re so fucking stupid. You- you thought that the problem was Tommy. You blamed everything on Tommy because you couldn’t see him as anything other than the person that ruined our server and you’re so fucking stupid.”
The voice distorts, echoes in on itself; a half-hearted whisper of wrong wrong wrong rises in Dream’s mind and melts under the fury of the other’s glare. The image shimmers, shifts, and the other Dream- is he even Dream, anymore? - smiles humorlessly, stepping closer. It’s not real, Dream knows, because the image is hazy and flat and wrong but his mind echoes with the sound of shoes scuffed against obsidian and a netherite blade dragging against stone and the book, Dream, and we’ll stop-
“The real problem was you. It was always you. You were the one that ruined the server, you were the one that blew up the community house, you were the one that destroyed L’manburg. You are the one that everyone hates, that everyone fears. You are the villain, Dream, a monster. You’ve always been a monster. Now that you’re gone? The server is finally at peace. You were the problem.”
“And- well, Dream,” The figure leans over, lips right by Dream’s ear, and when they speak their voice is sweet-sharp, all-too-familiar. Quackity. “I guess you should’ve fuckin’ offed yourself when you had the chance.”
He flinches back, eyes squeezing shut, hands scrabbling around his neck. His lungs heave and he tries to suck in air but he can’t there is lava in his chest like everything inside has been torn apart like the words have ripped through him like he’s no more than wet paper and he chokes and stutters on the exhale and it’s not real it’s not real it’s not-
(That night, long after Quackity leaves with a fresh bouquet of bloodstain blooms splattered over his shirt like a field of blooming poppies, after the Warden leaves from forcing another round of health potions down his throat, Dream curls around his ribs in the back corner of his room, watching the lava fall.
Was it worth it?
He laughs, low, bitter, every inch of him feeling scaped raw and open and hollow, thinking of a world without himself in it, of a sky and earth and family with the ugly parts cut neatly away. He thinks he must be a wither skeleton, watching as everything his fingertips touch crumbles away into black rot and ash, breathes in and out and hears the same echoing rattle from deep within his chest. Was it worth it?
It must’ve been, he tells himself, even as the sound of a drop of brilliant purple magic falling against the obsidian makes his muscles seize, leaves him cowering under a blow that does not come. It must’ve been worth it, because-
What was this all for, if it wasn’t?)
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undermattsun · a day ago
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i’m actually upset skate rat yuudai isn’t real like the fact i am not being led on by a 6’7 grimy gaslighter rn is a sin against sky daddy
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xxbl33dingb0ixx · a day ago
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Person: *manipulates me into staying up for nights terrified bc they'll kill themselves if I dont bc they need and love me*
Same person: "ew ur gross for cutting tf is wrong with you"
Internet: yOuRe LoVeD oK
Me: 🥴🥴🥴
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the-mourning-stars · a day ago
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Fandom: Obey Me!: Shall We Date?
Genre: ANGST
Ship: Asmo x MC & Solomon x MC
Warnings: suicide, self harm, depression, cheating/abusive relationship, manipulation, swearing
No one has any right to repost/sell my work
Not beta read, we die like Lilith
"MC..." Asmodeus reached out for them, fear and tears in his eyes. "Don't leave me, yet.." he whispered quietly, looking away sadly. They laughed and shook their head. "You'll be fine, Asmo, stop being such a baby," they scoffed, pulling on their shirt as they left Asmo in a mess of sheets and clothes.
"Has anybody seen Asmodeus?" Lucifer asked a breakfast, looking at his brothers, minus the avatar of lust. "No, why? He's probably with some witch or poor demon he caught," Satan replied, eating his breakfast. "Actually.. I haven't seen him in a while," Levi said though his eyes were still trained on his D.D.D. "That's because you're almost always in your room." The conversation trailed off after Lucifer spoke.
"MC.. aren't you with Asmodeus..?" Solomon spoke, trying to push them away, swallowing nervously as a light pink covered his cheeks from where they'd cornered him. "Things aren't exactly... going right. He's always out with witches and I'm left alone," they said, looking away as if sad. Solomon smiled slightly. "Alright. I'll take you for dinner. Just once though."
"Asmo didn't turn up for classes," Beel said as the brothers walked back to The House of Lamentation. "Not even to speak to Solomon." Mammon frowned slightly at that. It really wasn't like his brither to miss classes. He bit his lip. "Has-" he was cut off by Solomon who ran over. "Where's Asmo?! The pact-"
MC rolled their eyes at the crying Asmodeus. "Seriously, how can anyone fucking love you if all you do is cry and want attention. How can I ever be okay if all I have to do is chase after you all the time-?!" They slapped him across the face, the fifth born simply allowing it to happen. "You're just a pathetic excuse for a demon." The argument had fizzled out but there was still the anger and venom in their words until the phone rang. "Solomon? Hi, pretty boy. How are you?" They spoke as they walked out.
"What about the pact?" Belpegor asked, rubbing his eyes, seeing th state the sorcerer was in. The white haired male was visibly panicking as he took deep breaths to try and calm down. "I-I felt a pact break and I called Asmo! But he didn't come!" He explained as the brothers exchanged looks with each other before they took off running. A couple of shouts of 'Lucifer' and 'Diavolo' as they passed the demon lord's castle was enough to get the prince and eldest to follow.
Asmodeus took a deep breath as he placed the envelopes on his dresser. "I'm sorry.." he whispered quietly, his fingers running across the several jagged scars along his arms as more and more blood left his body. He felt himself get dizzy and coughed, laying on the bed and dragging the knife across his throat. He jerked, the pain hurting more than he expected but his eyes were getting heavy and body limp.
Diavolo opened Asmodeus' door, Barbatos by his side as the brothers and Solomon crowded outside the door with worry and tears in their eyes. Barbatos stumbled back, a hand on his mouth anf he turnt away from the graphic scene, all compusture leaving him as he cried. Lucifer gently pushed the butler to the side and cautiously stood next to Diavolo, who was in complete shock. "Lucifer.."
"Don't.." the first born whispered, tears trailing down his cheeks as he numbly walked in, bending down by his little brother's bed. "Asmo.." he sobbed suddenly, covering his mouth. Barbatos had been trying to keep the other away but they pushed past him, each one entering the room, immediately wishing they hadn't. Mammon felt the bile rise in his throat, just feeling sick at the sight of his brother so pale, so weak, so... ugly.
Levi was shaking, having to leave the room. He didn't make it far, breaking down in sobs outside his room. Satan felt empty. Anger and hatred built up inside him. "Who did this to you, Asmo.." he whispered, walking over to hold his brother's hand, recoiling slightly at how cold he was. Belphegor was already sobbing, on his knees next to the bed as Diavolo looked around helplessly. He didn't know what to do. Solomon had his hand over his mouth, shaking and cries leaving him.
"Guys.." Beelzebub whispered, voice thick with tears as he pointed to Asmo's mirror. Messily scrawled on there with red lipstick was: 'Am I pretty yet?'
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vampking · a day ago
[skitters in here] would you happen to have... a playlist for sin 👀
wait just one sec (i say as u dont see this reply until i post it)
ok here u go! warnings for blood (imagery), meat (imagery and lyrics), smoking (imagery), cannibalism implied (lyrics mostly), body horror (lyrics), uh. manipulation and violence. there is also minor flashing, and possibly spiral-esque scenes in one- i can’t quite recall. i THINK that’s it. yeah it’s a colorful playlist. it SLAPS though. im just trying to cover all the bases (though those are TWs that also apply to sin tbh)
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