#Bri Magma | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hawksugarbaby · 4 years

Text

Deku x reader- Minecraft millionaire

Fluff

A/N: I use Xbox so these are Xbox controlls but feel free to change them as you see fit

Izuku sat on his bed flicking his eye's from the facetime with you to the screen in front of him continuously holding the right trigger on his controller and chewing his lip. "Wait what level do you find diamonds?" he asked glancing at his coordinates in the corner and you jumped around the world trying to escape a creeper "Fuck i'm gonna die! i'm gonna die! please NO!" you yelped and decided it was time to dig a hole in the ground and block it off. "Sorry, what did you ask?" you look at the phone propped up against your laptop and chuckle at Izuku's face scrunched up in concentration "uh, what level do you find diamonds" he repeated not taking his eye off the screen filled with grey stone blocks and dot's of black for coal. "12 to 14, usually 13 is like the best place"

You answered uncovering the hole you had dug in just as a creeper passed over you and fell into your 3 by 1 grave. "NOOO!" you screeched as the green mob flashed white and you tried to jump out of the inescapable hole for a final moments peace but to no avail. The unmistakable sound of a muffled explosion and the respawn screen, lighting your face up red and you let out a fake cry. "Did you die?" he asked despite the obvious answer. "Yeahh" you answered with a heavy sigh and respawned at home, grabbing a spare wooden sword and jumping over to the spot of your death. If nothing else you'd get a lot of dirt?

Izuku muttered about hitting his head off every block and you snickered "I mean at least you learned your lesson about digging straight down" he huffed and flailed his arms creating a cold air around him "it wasn't my fault no one told me I shouldn't dig straight down!" he had a point, yes, but still you had presumed that even he would know such a basic rule "I know, I know" you say nearing the site of the explosion and start sprinting ignoring the band of mobs chasing you.

"HOW IS MY STUFF STILL HERE. IT WAS LITERALLY NEXT TO ME?!" you yelped in surprise but ran around the area gathering your stuff and spammed the Y button, automatically gearing up and switched your sword to your hotbar along with your enchanted pickaxe and cooked chicken.

"Maybe the minecraft gods granted you... something?" Izuku laughed and popped out of his mine running to his furnace and dropping in a stack of Iron. "(y/n) I hear you need some cobblestone" Izuku said running to your house across from his and down the basement to your storage area. You groaned begrudgingly trying to fend off an army of spiders who had made it a personal goal of theirs to off you. "Izuku please don't contribute to the cobble chest. I'm begging you. I don't need more cobble" you whined sprinting away with 5x more Xp than you originally had. "Do you have lapiz?" you asked raking through his chests to find the blue material.

Izuku opened the chest almost full with cobble and finished it off with 12 more stacks, leaving one or himself. The green achievement bar popped up at the bottom of the screen "Chestful of cobblestone" and you clicked your tongue pushing your hands together like a prayer in front of your mouth "IZUKU. I SWEAR TO FUCKING GOD I'M GOING TO BURN YOUR COBBLE. STOP GIVING ME COBBLE, THAT GOES FOR ALL THE REST OF THE BOYS TOO!" your shouting could be heard throughout the dorm and some of the other minecraft players snickered to themselves.

Anytime, they had a stack or so of cobble, they would put it in one of your chests and it became a running joke for them to go "Hey (y/n) I heard you needed more cobble" and shove it in the chest despite your begging them not to. You had 3 chests of cobble but never got the achievement because you had burned the first 2 chestfulls before they could finish it off.

"Yes I have lapiz just give me a sec" he answered after your threat and jumped over to you. Meeting in front of your pumpkin farm you were jumping on. "If you fall you're gonna trample your crops" he said and you shrugged "that's what I have a diamond hoe for duh" you say in a bragging way as if having a diamond hoe of all things really just showed your wealth. You jumped off the pumpkin successfully not landing on your crops and spun around in front of Izuku as he threw lapiz at you "Is this what it's like to be a stripper" you chuckled and Izuku snorted at your joke. "Okay that's enough" you say, stopping him from throwing anymore and bouncing off to your enchantment table.

"I can't believe you had 4 extra diamonds and you made an enchantment table and a hoe" he sighed grabbing all the iron from his furnace and spinning to the crafting table to make a new pickaxe and a bucket for milk. He was determined to make a cake just as much as getting diamonds but there was a lack of cows due to bakugo's anger issues when he was in the server. "What would you even have done with them!?" "I COULD HAVE BOOTS (y/n)!" he shouted back and you purse your lips. He could have had boots...

"Okay well I'm sorry I'm rich and have full diamonds" you shrug and he looked up from his controller looking straight forward pinching the bridge of his nose "your a bitch" he laughed and started back down his mineshaft complaining about the steps hitting his head again. "You love me really" you chuckle and he rolls his eyes with a smile "yeah I know" you glance at the facetime and smile, 8 hours, 29 minutes 43 seconds you'd been on a call just playing minecraft in the server you ran for "the lads" as it had been dubbed.

"OOH IZUKU I JUST GOT FORTUNE 3 ON MY DIAMOND PICKAXE!" you exclaim, celebrating by jumping up and down. "Sweet! You're gonna have endless coal!" he laughed and you punched the air excitedly "so much Xp!" "we have an Xp farm" he retaliated and you pouted "Let me be exited" you whined and he awed "sorryyy" he said dragging it out for effect and you huffed "better be."

Izuku's inventory quickly filled with cobble, coal, and iron again, the occasional redstone for Xp and fuck gold, gold sucks. He stumbled into a cave, a platform of stone and on each side was a pool of lava. But Izuku's eyes lit up and he gasped "OH MY GOD!" he shouted digging through the wall to get to the prize. "WHAT!" you shouted back, busy breeding the chickens and throwing eggs in the overcrowded pen. "Sorry but some of you guys have gotta go" you muttered brandishing your iron sword, specifically named "the chicken killer" since you didn't want to waste your diamond sword on chickens. "DIAMONDS!" he shouted back building a platform around the edge of the lave he could walk on and building under the diamonds for safety.

"OH OH MY GOD WAIT THERE AND I'LL MINE THEM FOR YOU!" you say abandoning the chickens and jumping over to his house again. "wait why. This is my moment I've literally never found diamonds and you're gonna take them from me" he asked looking at the phone, your face twisted with concentration. "Because I have fortune 3 and I can make 8 diamonds like 24" you said. "can I mine these ones and tell you when I find more instead I want to mine my own first diamonds." you stopped at the entrance jumping up and down in frustration "okay fine"

As Izuku ventured further into the cave earning probably half a new chest worth of cobble he shouted for you. "I found more diamonds." you immediately sprang into life holding the left stick to go down quicker. "Okay yeah this is really inconvenient" you agreed about bumping your head on the way down and landed at his shaft. "Uhh which way am I going" you asked. "Left" he said. You followed the trail of torches and Izuku's name tag that got bigger the closer you were eventually running into the same square as him. "Move back I can't see" you instructed and he scooted backwards.

You swung the enchanted pickaxe collecting the aqua gems and throwing them at izuku. "That's like 20 something," you said, shrugging at the phone and running off back home. "That was 28" he said running after you to finally make his full iron armor and tools "I have 33 in total" he grabbed sticks from his unorganised chests that you despised and for the first time, made diamond armor in minecraft.

"Oh my god he's wearing BLUE! It doesn't match your colour scheme" you cried shielding your eyes and looking away. "Sorry (y/n) let me just dye my diamonds green real quick" he said, throwing an emerald at you and you feigned shock. "A MIRACLE. TRULY"

"Okay I wanna enchant it" he said following you to the enchantment table. "We do have those enchanted books if you want something specific?" you said but he shook his head "nah i'm doing it old fashioned" he said standing at the enchantment table and taking his time going through, enchanting each item with its purple iridescence.

"What did you get?" you asked, jumping around him excitedly and he hovered over each item. "Respiration on the helmet, projectile protection and unbreaking, wait I got unbreaking as well?" he asked looking at you through the facetime "it does that sometimes" you shrugged and he raised his eyebrows and hummed with the newfound knowledge. "Those on chestplate, protection on the jeans-" "leggings" "whatever, and feather falling on the boots" he said putting all his armor back on and going over his tools "efficiency on the pickaxe, efficiency on the axe, unbreaking on the hoe, unbreaking on the shovel, and fire aspect on the sword" he said stabbing a chicken that immediately went up in flames. "Roast chicken for life!" you cheered.

"Okay you have your full diamond now come to the nether" you said standing in the swirling portal and Izuku whined. "Literally what for!" he asked standing next to you despite his disinterest and the loading screen popped up. "For that Xp, gotta get that nether quartz" you said jumping to a clump of nether quartz and letting the green spheres fall on you watching the bar go up. "(y/n) What's the bridge for?" he asked walking over to the bridge ignoring the magma slime jumping toward you.

"What bri- AGH FUCK NO NO YOU CUBE FUCKING BITCH THINK YOU CAN JUMP ON ME LIKE I'M SOME WHORE WHO DO YOU THINK I AM" (A real thing i've said playing minecraft with my friends) he turned around just as the magma divided into 4 then each of those into another 4 until there were none. "Don't go on that bridge you will absolutely die" you warned and he backed up onto the bridge anyway. You were surprised he even made it halfway before a ghast needed to tell him his place and shoot him right into the neon orange below. "YOUR FUCKING KIDDING ME RIGHT"

Bonus content

Kaminari, bakugo, and kirishima all joined the call loading up minecraft not expecting to get an earful of your abuse to Izuku who was crying into his controller "I FUCKING TOLD YOU NOT TO GO ON THE BRIDGE BECAUSE A GHAST WOULD KNOCK YOU OFF BUT WHAT DID YOU DO. GO ON THE BRIDGE. I LITERALLY JUST GOT YOU THOSE DIAMONDS ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME YOU BROCCOLI. I WASTED MY FORTUNE BUFF ON YOU."

You loved him really. But you would never be taking him to the nether again.

A/n: What is your relationship with Izuku here? That's for you to decide. Also these are all things that have happened to me while in minecraft with my friends.

#bnha #mha fanfiction #my hero academia #bnha fanfiction #boku no hero academia #mha #mha deku #bnha deku #izuku midoria x reader #midoriya x reader #izuku x reader

52 notes · View notes

all-my-friends-are-himbos · 3 years

Text

penice smp, season 3: the highlights (so far)

simon broke the spawn bed to move it, then bri immediately drowned and had to run/swim all the way back

before we all even had our own beds yet there was a lightning storm and we had to fight a skeleton trap. all four horses made it tho :)

somebody (dont remember who) revived the Penice Party Palace, except it's not a tavern this time. it's a copper block statue of a dick in the middle of town. we call it the Penice Party Phallus and it doubles as a lightning rod

decided i had to make my house out of two blocks that are time and resource consuming to acquire: honeycomb and cut copper

we've been in the world for days and i JUST finished the roof. pain.

found a mooshroom island!!! bri got a mooshroom wife named weedulous <3

simon's house has supreme vibes. will post screenshots at some point

somebody made a little area for nolan to build a house but. he's been busy irl so it's just this moss block square afdjkslsdk

sweet boy III

bri didn't light up his house well enough so zombies and skeletons keep spawning on their roof

a small magma cube hopped thru the portal and got stuck in a boat. simon named him christopher and took him somewhere to build him a shelter? i haven't seen him in a while tho so idk if he's still alive

#this is a wip ill add more #penice smp #minecraft smp #clem #simon #fall #weedulous (mooshroom)#highlights #penice s3

7 notes · View notes

rogerthat-taylor · 5 years

Photo

Numbers on Flyers Part 2

(Roger Taylor x Reader x Ben Hardy One Shot)

Part 1

Summary: While helping Roger give out his flyers for the upcoming gig, Ben stumbled into you. Roger wasn’t enjoying the attention you were giving Ben and the lack of it that he was getting so he decided to be cheeky which only seemed to make the matters worse.

Warnings: Swearing and mentions of smoking (just a tad bit)

Words: 2.3K+

A/N: I’m sorry this took way too long to write but I was literally so stuck with this and couldn’t settle with a proper ending or a continuation so I have at least 3 different versions of part 2. I think at this point there’s going to be at least 4 parts to this so yeah. Anyway, I just really wanna take the time to thank everyone who have been nothing but supportive of this. It really warms my heart and i’m so grateful for y’all. Also, I realised how Roger is actually hella angsty in this series but I promise, he’ll soften up!

"They'll be playing tonight as well," you said, handing out the flyer to a passer-by who smiled upon seeing the flyer, "Same place and same time tonight."

"Really?" grumbled Roger to a distant girl around your age, "You had to throw it in front of me? You couldn't have tried the next bin?"

"Roger," you called out in an attempt to calm him down.

It was a sunny noon graced with just enough clouds in the sky to make the weather pleasant and enjoyable enough to give out flyers for Queen's gig next week and promote the upcoming gig that same night.

"I spent hours on those-"

Your gaze shifted when you noticed a tall, buff figure from behind Roger walking towards you. It was Ben and he had a cigarette stuck between his lips which he shortly flicked away upon seeing you.

"Y/N!" He greeted, opening his arms to invite you into a hug, "What are you doing here?"

The scent of cigarettes and burnt bergamot greeted you as your head laid flat on his hard chest. It was intoxicating; his luring scent, his muscular frame but oh so gentle hug.

"I'm helping Queen give out flyers for their upcoming gig next week!" you explained, pulling away, "They've got one tonight as well."

"Fantastic!" Ben exclaimed, "My friends and I have been to their gigs and they play solid music. I'm a fan."

Roger was at a slight distance from all this, barely visible thanks to Ben's intimidating figure but nevertheless visible and there but it didn't seem like it to you anymore and he hated that. His heart wrenched with spite as his jaw clenched tighter before stepping in uninvited.

"Roger!" You greeted as your eyes shifted to Ben, "This is Ben, we take the same class for Linguistics."

Ben. Roger knew bloody well who Ben was. Ben was the twat whose number was written on his precious flyer, the git who had the audacity to call in looking for you and the idiot who was expecting to go on a date with you.

You turn to Roger who seemed to have a stiff smile plastered on his face and continued, "...and this is-"

"Roger Taylor," Roger huffed smugly before wrapping his arm around your shoulder, "Her boyfriend."

Your eyes widened as you feel your body tensed under Roger's firm arm embrace. Ben must have felt the same tension as you see his eyes squint in confusion and his brows drawn in some sort of frustration.

"I-I didn't know you had a boyfriend," he said, covering up his previous demeanour seamlessly with a gentle smile.

"Neither did I," you mumbled still at a loss for words.

"I best be off to class then," Ben coughed out and then turning to Roger, "Love your music by the way. I'm sorry if i've crossed any lines."

"Hardly," Roger chuckled, "We have another gig tonight if you'd like to come."

You watched with your mouth slightly agape as Ben walked away, reaching for his pack and then pulling out a cigarette to light up. Roger still had his arm around you and as seconds went by, the tension from whatever had happened was creeping in more and more into you.

"What the hell was that?" you yelled, breaking away from him, "You don't get to pull strings like that, Rog. That was out of line."

"He's not good for you-"

"You barely even know him," you argued back, making quite the commotion in public.

"He smokes," Roger pointed out sheepishly as he internally scolded himself for his weak rebuttal.

"And you dont?"

"I never said I wanted to be with you, did I?" he gushed out.

Roger often yelled out hurtful things out of anger and impulse but never had he wished to swallow them back in to let it rot in his organs just so he could turn back the time to just a few seconds back to right before he said it out. Never until that moment. Hurt was written in your eyes and he has seen the very same glassy look in your eyes before. Only then, he wasn't the reason behind them so they were much more bearable to look into. He knew that you'd come home to him and resort to his comfort and consoling but not this time - no. He was the reason behind the hurt and it killed him.

"Fuck you, Roger!" you yelled, stomping away from him, "Fuck you! Good luck making popcorn and juice on your own tonight."

Roger was notorious for his temper but you were never the victim of his spiteful impulse. Anger boiled inside you as you ran off to Ben. The thing was, whatever Roger had said shouldn't have affected you as much as it was affecting you and you hated that - your resentment became a clear sign that a part of you wanted to be with him.

"Ben!" you called out.

Ben turned swiftly, "Y/N?"

"I don't know what Roger was on about," you panted, "We're just-"

You paused, finding immense difficulty to continue the sentiment of your words, "We're just friends."

"Is that so?" he clarified, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, "He seems awfully jealous for just friends, love."

"Yes," you said with all the confidence you could muster, "We've been friends since we were young, I guess he was just protective?"

"Sure," he said, "I just don't want to be crossing any lines. I don't quite see myself getting banned from Queen's future gigs."

"You're not, trust me," you said, not wanting to trust your own words, "What about we go for that dinner we've been planning for? Turns out my Wednesday night is free after all."

Roger growled as yet another orange squirted its pulps into his eyes. He had been bent over squeezing oranges and popping popcorn for the last hour or so and the amount of times he had orange juice squirted in his eyes were far too innumerable that it was beginning to get into his nerves.

The front door creaked open and Roger froze. His mouth fell and his eyes widened in hopes that he would see you walk in.

"Where's Y/N?" Brian asked walking in, "Wasn't this her idea?"

The heavy weight impending down on him once again; it was his guilt, "Out with some hunky twat on a date."

"Oh," Brian shrugged, walking past Roger, "Good for her-"

A pulped out orange flew above the table and landed with a heavy thud on Brian's head in courtesy of Roger and his temper.

"She's suppose to be here," Roger yelled, "With me! Not with some Ben guy she just met."

"So hunky twat does have a name," Brian stated simply, rubbing the back of his head where he had been hit, "I smell popcorn."

"Could you help me pour in the new batch to their containers?" Roger requested still in his quest to pulp out the few remaining oranges.

"Is this all necessary?" Brian grumbled but nevertheless complied heading to the kitchen to tend to the popcorn.

"Good for her," Roger mimicked Brian with malice, "Good for her?"

"What is it, Roger? Come on then, spit it out."

"Spit what out," Roger yelled back from the dining table.

"What are you on about?" Brian asked, "Why can't Y/N be on a date tonight, hmm?"

"Because we have a gig tonight and-"

"She saw us play two nights ago, surely she isn't missing out much if she misses tonight," Brian cut through his lies, "What is it, Roger?"

"I love her!"

Those three words errupted out of Roger like it had been hot magma boiling within him waiting for its release. Something about verbally saying it out loud made whatever it was that he was feeling for you concrete. It almost felt like he couldn't take it back, that this was it. He truly was in love with you.

"Then tell me this," Brian said, reappearing from the kitchen with popcorn in hand, "Why is it that she's out on a date with Ben and not ... you?"

"Because Ben is this hunky hot stuff and I'm a lanky-"

"You bloody well know that it's not that, Rog," Brian insisted, his eyebrows raised.

"Fine," Roger grunted, "I might have said that I didn't want to be with her?"

"God," Brian sighed, his head dropping low in disappointment.

"And she might have walked out on me yelling, 'fuck you'," Roger added, "A couple of times actually."

Brian took the seat opposite to him, "You know, for a relatively straight-A's student you can be quite daft sometimes."

Roger looked up with a firm glare, "You don't get it, Bri. There's too much at stakes here. We've been friends well before I even knew how to tie my shoe laces. We made sure to steer clear of ever dating each other, we even made a blood pact about all this when we were nine."

The thing was, you've dated before and evidently so has Roger but never had he felt any sort of resentment towards the idea of you out with a different guy so why now? What was so different now?

"How do you know it's love?" Brian asked.

"It's written in her eyes," Roger admitted, a smile creeping up on his lips, "I look into them and I feel limitless... powerful even, I always have. It's like as long as I've got her in my life then I've got everything. I never ever wanted to cross the line and actually try asking her out."

A stiff blanket of silence wrapped around them, Brian's eyes attentively at Roger's while Roger's was gazing hard on the table.

"Besides," Roger sighed, "I'm not good for her a-and whatever I don't want to ruin whatever we already have."

"Well it's not like your friendship is in a splendid state either is it?" Brian shrugged, "I don't know, Rog. Either be her friend and support her and who he chooses to date or if you're not happy with that then let her know how you feel - who knows maybe she feels the same way."

"I hardly think so."

"Not with the way you've been treating her lately," Brian remarked and poured himself a glass of Roger's orange juice, "Too much pulp."

On the other side of the city was a rundown diner, surrounded with neon lights that would flicker out every hour or so and squeaking bar stools. It was charming enough with their ever so kind staff that it covered up the evident need for a renovation. This diner was home to nightly dinners with Brian and Roger when the three of you had just moved into the apartment but those were good days, back when you were all less pre-occupied and not to mention more loaded.

"American or not, Arthur Miller is brilliant," Ben acclaimed proudly and then taking a sip from his milkshake.

"I never claimed to disagree. All I'm saying is, how can one be in complete awe of a playwright whose play he hasn't even seen?" You pressed on with a challenging smirk, crossing your arms.

"Ah, see that's the added factor to what makes a celebratory playwright. A good playwright delivers award-winning plays while an exceptional playwright could do the very same but would also be celebrated for his the script on its own," he explains thoroughly, "Miller is so good in what he does that I wouldn't need to see the play - everything's in the book, my love."

My love. You gush at his words, breaking away from his entrancing eyes and staring at his copy of "Death of a Salesman" which was chucked with pieces of papers in almost every other page showing just how passionate he was for Arthur Miller. It was way past twilight and the sky has transitioned into an inky blue, glittered with stars. Your evening with Ben had been nothing but delightful, just as you had imagined it would be but occasionally when there would be momentary silence, Roger's voice echoes in your head prevalently, "I never said I wanted to be with you, did I?"

"Should we take off?" Ben asked, interrupting you from your thoughts of Roger, "We don't want to be late for your friend's gig, do we?"

"Gig?" You clarified right before it processed in your head, "Shit! Queen! Tonight!"

Your mind has been so preoccupied with Ben and your resentment towards Roger that you have forgotten about helping Roger with the confectionery for tonight's gig which, to add on, you two were already late for. You jumped up and rushed off with Ben back to the campus where their gig was going to be at.

"Liar, liar, they never ever let you win."

Queen echoed through the walls of the hall and it almost felt like your heart was thumping to the song. You were nervous to enter and perhaps you were over thinking it but you had never been late for any of their gigs and you knew just how much this would bother Roger.

"You okay, Y/N?" Ben asked, looking deep into your eyes and reaching for your hand.

"Yeah," you lied, swallowing hard, "Let's go?"

His thumb brushed the back of your hand and you could feel it calming your nerves, "Don't want to miss any more songs, do we?"

You nodded and he took his cue, opening the doors to the hall. The music roared louder and you could feel it getting into you, almost connecting to your soul. Perhaps it was you being bias but you really did love Queen's music. You could feel your worries slipping away to the music but that was before you looked up and found Roger's burning stare pouring into yours behind his drum set. He was angry. His glare never left yours and even though his lips were pouted as they normally were you could feel his jaw clenched as he drummed aggressively.

Roger was furious and he made sure you knew that.

Taglist: @justmesadgirl & @silvver-rose (I didn’t know if you wanted to be tagged so if you didn't, I’m sorry! But thank you so so so much for the support, it means the world to me, you don’t understand how much it made me smile when you guys commented heh)

151 notes · View notes

inky-toons · 19 days

Text

And then to conclude my magmas before I show my wips and then DIE again cos I am animating and that takes eons on its own, I’m a very big Sonic fan, have beeen since childhood..and now that I can replicate styles I figured it’d be good to practice, first time in awhile since I have and oh wow..cool..and also sons fnf COS I LIKE FNF ‼️‼️‼️ and sum msi doodle that my bestie drew Murdoc over which was in character and I told him to keep it

#art #Bri magma #fnf fanart #somic the hedgehog #idk hauling in the masses with this one #I don’t really want to show off to an audience with these cos yk I haven’t posted much of VALUE on here #but we’re getting there #I will be posting big things…real soon ..#just you wait ..

5 notes · View notes

thanidiel · 7 years

Text

Around and Around (Prestige Class Story - PHOENIX GUARD)

WHERE WALKED PURPOSE THERE IS A DEARTH.

Thanidiel was alone.

Not in the forgotten tower; not in Quel’thalas. She was alone somewhere dark, in the belly of some cavern, the walls pressing in and frigid with cold and sharp.

The chill numbed; she did not feel the hands on her ankles until they were dragging her to her knees.

Before her, a tabard forsaken; the burning phoenix of the Blood seemed bright in the darkness.

There was this sense of acute, infinite loneliness; this cavern went on forever.

The dark was endless.

There was no more purpose in this tabard.

All these things were dead.

The hands simply sealed what had already been done.

“You bear chances now that none have yet seen; you, Breaker of Wheels. What was fate was overturned, violent in its death and birth.”

WHERE WALKED PURPOSE THERE IS A DEARTH.

Thanidiel was alone.

Not in that genocide; not in Stratholme. She was alone somewhere dark, in the belly of some church, the shadows pressing in and frigid with cold and sharp.

The chill numbed; she did not feel the hands of blood and black curl around her shoulders until they were dragging her to her knees.

Before her, a faith forsaken; the shattered gauntlet of the Silver seemed bright in the darkness.

There was this sense of acute, infinite loneliness; this prayer went on forever.

The dark was endless.

There was no more purpose in this faith.

All these things were dead.

The hands simply sealed what had already been done.

“You bear chances that none have yet seen; you, Knight. What was fate was overturned - the Light is not lost to our people. Come, see what Astalor has for us.”

WHERE WALKED PURPOSE THERE IS A DEARTH.

Thanidiel was alone.

Not in that hopeless fight; not in Emberbreeze. She was alone somewhere dark, in the belly of some forest, the world pressing in and frigid with cold and sharp.

The chill numbed; she did not register the hands, curled around the hilt of a warblade, pressed to Cayvia’s back, until they were dragging her to her knees.

Before her, a life forsaken; the dripping blood of the blade seemed bright in the darkness.

There was this sense of acute, infinite loneliness; this journey went on forever.

The dark was endless.

There was no more purpose in this life.

All these things were dead.

The hands simply sealed what had already been done.

“You bear chances that none have yet seen; you, Miss Highdawn. You ought to be dead - what was fate was overturned. You ought to be grateful.”

WHERE WALKED PURPOSE THERE IS A DEARTH.

It takes only three hours into the night before the restlessness thudding through her breast overwhelms her desire for company; like a shaking fist snuffing out the fire’s wick against its palm. Both careful of her tender wounds, yet impulsive nonetheless, the former Blood Knight presses the heel of one bandaged hand against Bricini’s shoulder - and pushes.

She watches carefully as those glowing eyes pull open in the darkness, noting the fashion in which the other was faking her groggy tiredness. ‘Patiently’, Thanidiel allows that oh-so inconvenienced sigh to break through the Dawnmender’s lips, then cuts her off. Her words come in a slash of teeth - contrasting with the low quiet of their conversation earlier.

“What, Th–”

“Get the fuck off of me. I want a smoke.”

“...That’s too bad, I’m comfortable right here. Might even turn the lights back on and get back to reading now that you’ve woken me up.”

The Duskward emphasises such as she props herself up just a bit; her vision glancing down to the now-crumpled magazine spread along Thanidiel’s stomache, crushed when the doctor had grown bored and drowsy an hour’s half earlier. The light from the streets outside just barely catch the glossy surface.

“Hold on, let me clarify; that wasn’t a request. Get the fuck off of me, or I’ll shove you off–”

“No. No, you wouldn’t. Because you’re burned to shit. Because you could still very well tear up your wounds and bleed out. Because you wouldn’t dare to make yet even more work for your dearest mender - right, Than?”

“If you think I’m beyond killing myself and ruining your apartment furniture to make a point; you’re dead wrong.”

Bricini’s face takes on a flat, peevish, quality with her ears pinning just slightly back.

“And if you think I’m beyond finishing you off to rid myself of such a melodramatic headache; you’re dead wrong.”

“Get off.”

“I’m tired.”

“The bed is over there. It’s high time we moved from your shitty couch anyway.”

“It’s not shitty, you backcoun–”

The soldier heaves a deep sigh from her chest. The fatigue wears away any and all pretense of their harsh play. It shakes the air like something discordant, like a stone crashing along a blade’s edge and taking away whole slivers. The once-Blood Knight observes the ever-brief pause it summons before the Mender, as always, rolls over it with a tight, lopsided, grin.

“...well, you, and my couch, have been a good substitute for the bed. Regardless! Fine. I’ll be off, have fun brooding about your lost purpose or whatever is up your ass tonight.”

Bricini lingers, leaning forward to press her lips to the corner of the Lightward’s mouth. Thanidiel has a hard time deciphering if it were to stir another ember of annoyance with a continued presence or a genuine urge of affection. Perhaps it is both.

For once, it is unreturned. A gloom unlike any gloom that the elf has experienced in many years hangs over her. It buzzes in her blood, her muscles, her thoughts: it is like a black miasma settling over everything. She has it not in her to respond. The warmth she had possessed, just earlier this night, drained the whole of the well, leaving it droughted. There is no more stirring urge for the Duskward. The other finally slides off and saunters for sleep. Thanidiel, for some minutes, struggles to raise herself.

It is not the injuries: the quiet, constant, agony where acidic ichor seeped into her flesh. It is the heaviness. Every throb of blood that courses through her body contains malaise. She could suffocate in its weight. She only moves when her restless frustration boils back to the surface in the way hot magma erupts from the shiver of the suddenly snapping earth underneath.

From there, Thanidiel moves with as much of her frenetic energy as her wounds would rightfully allow. She slips over a long-sleeved shirt, something she had left here weeks ago over the back of a chair, over the bandages that enwrap her. A silent note is written down to take stock of what is her’s in the items strewn about the apartment. She spends too long on her boots - something mastered in its swiftness now made fumbling, interspersed with seconds of pause and weary, pained, breath. She exits. Or–

Or–

…

Bricini’s tabard hangs over the door knob. The red-black shine of the Blood Star glints. Something spills, then. It roars, it gushes, it rushes all along her. Frigid and biting, the way the ocean fills shattered hulls. It is reminiscent to the way her wounds burst and bled when she was putting herself into that fucking ceremonial armour for that farce - how it trickled and stuck into every crevice.

She reaches out with more force than she had ought to, feeling the scabwork on her arm pull painfully. The heavy commendation slams down with the fabric trailing behind it, cracking sharply against the ground underneath.

“Fucking hells, Than! Wh–”

The thud of the door locking into its frame muffles the rest of the other’s indignant husk. Thanidiel pauses then, and she tells herself it is more to breathe, that she found herself suffocated within that room like any fire when it is contained; certainly it is not the agony of protesting muscle.

She lurches against the nearby wall, staring out into the hallway. As usual - she senses Renalyas. The ward remains, then. In the shadows of the building, the Mark of the Inquisition is something felt than seen. It hangs over the air in a curious sense of alarm, like the eyes of predators glinting in and out of the darkness. Or perhaps its presence is much more incorporal and unfelt to the world, and the woman, who was once Hand to the dark organisation, is merely attuned to a familiar energy.

Thanidiel allows herself more moments of rest to think on that: that it remains. That Renalyas’ services have remained open to her old companion. She knows, truly, that it stems from the unspoken fondness held by the Inquisitor. Still, the thought itches that this is another way of keeping tabs from now on. The hound’s collar, so caked in Blood, had been snapped clean from her throat and replaced with a slithering noose, the woman feels.

Such a thought only doles out more weariness to press onto the Lightward’s shoulders. She pats at her trousers. She forgot to take her cigar tin on the way out. Fuck. She cants her head just a bit, to fix the bad eye back towards the apartment. The door is all a fuzzy, dark, blur against the white of the wall around it. She should have taken her eyepatch, too. The once-Knight is unsure if she will return later tonight, or at all.

...she doesn’t want to disturb Bricini’s night anymore than she already ha–

No, Bri doesn’t fucking care.

She’s projecting.

She cares. Uselessly. Unnecessarily.

She’s placing more weight, than ought to be put, into the earlier requests that her partner had murmured against her skin.

If she had done this, to have rejected their presence, to–...

Or–...

With–...

Bri isn’t V–...

Or R– ...

Or C–….

…

Bri isn’t… any of them.

…

Thanidiel will come back.

She just needs a walk to clear her head. She makes her way out of the complex and onto the City’s streets. She walks.

WHERE WALKS PURPOSE THERE IS A DEARTH.

Thanidiel is alone.

Not in the apartment; not in the City’s lights. She is alone somewhere dark, in the belly of this plagued city, the air pressing in and frigid with cold and sharp.

The chill numbs; she barely understands the compulsion that sends a hand outward towards a browline, dragging her to her knees.

Before her, an elf forsaken; the dead eyes of the Sin’dorei seem bright in the darkness.

There is the sense of acute, infinite loneliness; this disquiet goes on forever.

The dark is endless.

There is no more purpose in this elf.

All these things are dead.

The hand simply seals what has already been done.

The sickly sweet of rotted flesh is something that permeates more than a handful of the many nooks and crannies of the Murder Row. Little surprise thrums in Thanidiel’s breast; a mixture of warning and lack of care towards this District in particular makes it common place, for what would take an hour’s half to wipe away in the rest of the Capitol, to take much longer. With recent affairs, it is logical that this remnant of the Riot remains days after.

Such fact does not make it easier to push down the tidal waves of aggravation rolling in her gut. It does not ebb the ache tightening the muscles of her ribcage. It does not quell the sweltering disillusionment choking in the base of her throat.

Astute as always, Thanidiel had begun to conceptualise and learn well of the Capitol since her first winters: of its wickedness, of its depravity, of its disease, of its farce. She has always known. And she had always tolerated it like hound and prey-property of those above. She can no longer be so blindly obedient.

Where this had changed, she had struggled to pinpoint in earlier days. The work did not change. The duties she had sensed behind the appointment to the Watch: none of it was new. She knew. She knew the moment that Lightfury and Mace had approached her, that their goal was to awash the streets of Silvermoon in blood. She had razed estates, families, villages, provinces. What was a City’s culling, to several lifetimes over of dutiful reaving? Yet, it still caused grief to shake through her.

The night Elanya died was the first time Thanidiel had ever, truthfully, regretted her silence. She saw it, then. She saw it in Truefeather and Dawnstalker’s ignorance. She saw it in the Archon’s shock. She saw it in Autumnsong’s sorrow. She saw it in Lightfury’s hand, blazing with the Light as blood and melted flesh surged along his digits in outpour.

She had permitted it.

All of what had occurred.

She had permitted it as she has always permitted it; glancing the other way, allowing the story to be rewritten. Letting the shadows crawl and envelop what was truly there. She let the labels fall where they would from the Magisterium’s hands, wreathing what she had been.

Such permissiveness had brought sickness to her like bad air and bad grain, she realises now. A sickness that had always been there, like a plague wrought beneath scarring; flaring up like an ache on winter nights, then falling into dormancy with only a remnant feeling of what was there. The former Blood Knight feels as though this sickness had reached its apex, that something had rotted for too long in those old wounds, that it had burst through her blood.

That something had died.

Something, that had allowed the wolf to be masqueraded as a hound. The sword to be passed off for the kitchen’s knife. The Blood Knight Order is no Protector to Quel’Thalas. Neither was the Blood Watch. The City learned keenly of their truer roles as Headsmen. Killers. Butcherers.

She was not freed by her resignations. There is no redeeming qualities to be said on the matter, on her. She let Elanya die. She knew the woman would never leave the cells below the Hall of Blood alive the moment that little Phoenix flew from the Sunfury Spire, catching the eye of her and Lightfury that night.

The People lauded her as a hero for stepping away from the madness of it, and every warm smile and nod and ‘Lady Highdawn’ sunk into her heart like pins. There was nothing brave to it. Nothing heroic nor noble.

She walked away.

As she always does.

As she always has.

She just… didn’t want to do it herself. Personally.

What does passivity make of anyone, but as a useless bystander?

The letter from Captain Sunstorm came in just this morning, to the Infirmary itself where she had been. The word of the Archon Truefeather and his Uncle supplemented her extensive record of service. She had been accepted. Once her wounds had healed - it was off to basic all over again for her.

Thanidiel is more than unsure of how much she deserves such a thing. To distort reality once more. To allow the story to be retold. To continue to be retold. She is no defender, no hero. Nothing that constitutes a proper member of the Phoenix Guard.

So what is she?

…

...perhaps, the question is in the answer, as Ithanar might put it if she had asked him.

The Dragonsworn urged her to embrace this opportunity of rebirth; that all things burn and begin new. That the natural order relies in the deathly metamorphose of life from one form to the next. She would never admit it to the woman, but those words stuck to her breast and to her mind for days afterwards. Apparently, they still do.

Dawnstalker told her to find her own way, free of any of the bonds or shackles that have enwrapped her. Perhaps there was something envious there, in the perceived opportunity to do as such. He has never been one to see the nooses trail around the necks of others, so obscuring the shadows are.

Or, perhaps, she has never been one to notice when the restraints have all fallen away, so well she had once been trained.

The words of the Oracle revisit her, images swirling to the fore of her mind once more. The cavern. Ithanar, with the humour always at his lips. Bricini, wreathed in warmth. Varric, split apart. Cayvia, on her knees. Elanya, consorted in a scream. The Phoenix, dying. The hydra-beast; all things that sunder Quel’Thalas. The blood. The blood hanging from the exposed points of Varric’s ribs. The blood dripping from the blade through Cayvia’s body. The blood of the Phoenix. The blood coating the streets. The blood seeping from her bandages. The blood rolling in a fat, trickling, stream from Elleynah’s raw eye socket.

“You bear chances now that none have yet seen; you, Breaker of Wheels. What was fate was overturned, violent in its death and birth. You are devoid of purpose, and must build. You must stand for this, with this choice made. You are interlocked into change. Do not let the blindness of others blind you. Do not let the coldness you feel rot your feelings for what you once defended. Where you stand, change will come. Embrace, deny; it shall be. Be wise where you lay loyalty.”

So what is she?

…

Nothing. Empty. Lost. Devoid.

…

New.

Something to rebuild.

Truth rings to the bone on that: that Thanidiel Highdawn, as it stands, is nothing that constitutes a true member of the Phoenix Guard. She is no true defender. She is no true hero.

And what she was, detracts even further from the matter. The Lightward was the dark murmurs that would vacate entire streets when her banner hailed the sky, that would silence and darken homes when her footsteps would push towards residences. Over a century later, and still, she had heard the whispers of her moniker of Terror amongst the Order.

But there is room to change. The Wheel has been broken.

Embrace, deny; it shall be.

The sword had been driven through the Phoenix, and Thanidiel would see it reborn.

She would step into the new dawn shining before her.

The once-Knight takes in one last breath of the chilling night air. She, with as much quietness as she can muster, steps back into the apartment.

( Appearances - @jessipalooza @stormandozone Mentions - @rivendork @captainswingbeard @azriah @trained-trainwreck @felthier @erilihn)

@felthier @thesunguardmg

#writing #thanidiel #bricini #avada #ithanar #elleynah #ethalarian #ellasha #erilihn #arrodis #koyasha #telchis #symphony #sunguard

46 notes · View notes

venomous-qwille · 1 year

Text

Weekly Magma Session 12

That’s a wrap for our twelfth ☆ DCA Artists ☆ Weekly Magma!

Thanks to everyone who turned up to draw- y'all did such a great job <3 You can check out the boards below~

[ID: The above images are from a Magma canvas with various pieces of Sun and Moon fanart drawn by different artists. End ID]

If you like what you see and you crave more (..I know I do), you can find a bunch of these amazing artists are tagged below!

@chocolateseeds // @grayyskies // @venomous-qwille // @eclipsedcrystalstar // @imoreosdude // @pointyfruit // @the-lady-kay // @majicbeazn // @lilsteppybigoof // @fishydaycare

@bri-does-art // @passsionfish // @sinnabee // @simpalert // @wrennie // @pasteldragonstuff // @victarin // @gopsnippers // @slimelijah // @moonlight1caladium // @clxckwork-sun-n-moon

@thetiedyesheep // @glitzybunny // @asadnerdtm // @lec743 // @drawwithshay // @skizabaa // @burntbread9 // @nosleepyguy // @thecatnipwizard // @kibbits // @theblog-with-thestuff

@beeeepis4why // @foxboidrew // @nightbearsnebula // @piistacio // @thedemonsurfer // @destructiveemily // @zkev // @dragoncxv360 // @peanut-007 // @honeydropsstuff // @synthrobeat

@remidraws // @nicmares404 // @soupdweller // @echoingkarma // @clownmcgown // @maudiemoods // @sunboops // @parznite // @eveimoon // @ki-kosmo // @ultrafnaf10 // @sillywabbits // @rambunctioustoons // @greaserink

Someone missing? I try hard to keep track of all the artists who participate! Make sure you add a legible signature (tumblr handle) to future Magmas so I can find and tag you!

If you would like to take part in our future Weekly Magmas please take a moment to join the ☆ DCA Artists ☆ Magma group where we will be hosting all our weekly sessions. Future Magmas will be live on:

Saturday 6pm-4am UTC

I will be posting the Magma link on tumblr when we do go live, so keep an eye out around this time!

If you are looking for more events and fun stuff to do in the DCA fandom come join the DCA Palooza discord, where we will be doing more collabs and community stuff for creatives in our orbit!

See ya next time Superstars ☆

#dca fandom #fnaf dca #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf moon #fnaf sun #magma #weekly magma #fnaf security breach #the dca palooza

328 notes · View notes

lesbiananimeism · 8 years

Text

Tagged by @niconiconoo (daughter why)

Nickname: Bri/Wesk/Umi

Star sign: Aquarius

Height: 6′1.6″/187cm

Last thing I googled: "Brianna the Hedgehog”

Okay, in my defense the Discord I’m in decided to play the “Hedgehog game” or whatever, where you Google your first name and “the Hedgehog”, and share the first image you find.

Favorite music artist: Toss up between Nightwish and Sonata Arctica.

Last movie I watched: Uno: The Movie.

Last TV show I watched: I started a rewatch on Hellsing Ultimate the other day, so.... I guess that?

Any other blogs: Well most of my socialist/Marxist stuff tend to find a home over on @comradeumi (which is honestly very rarely updated), I’m also a member of @lovelive-musicbox (I’m the one that does all the bass boosts, so come complain to me about there being too many of them and not enough actual covers).

Why did I choose this URL: Because I want Umi to burn me.

Do I get asks regularly: Not “regularly”, but I do get some every now and then.

Gender: Female

Hogwarts house: Ravenclaw

Pokemon Team: Either Magma or Aqua, ‘cause gen three is best gen.

Favorite color: Forest green or ocean blue.

Average hours of sleep: Eh, either four to five a night.

Favorite characters: There are characters that aren’t Umi?

I guess I’ll tag... I dunno, @nishikinico, @obviously-amateur, @tigermoji, @kwonnie, and... @timelypuns

#tagged

9 notes · View notes

inky-toons · 11 months

Text

I drew with my friend, I love rigamaroles style for Rick so fucking much dude. Hey R&M artists you have to hmu so we can draw together, I love drawing w/ people sm 🫶

#art #digital art #rick sanchez fanart #rick #rick and morty fanart #rick and morty #r&m fanart #Bri magma moment

11 notes · View notes

venomous-qwille · 1 year

Text

Weekly Magma Session 11

That’s a wrap for our eleventh ☆ DCA Artists ☆ Weekly Magma!

Thanks to everyone who turned up to draw- everyone did such a great job <3 You can check out the boards below~

[ID: The above images are from a Magma canvas with various pieces of Sun and Moon fanart drawn by different artists. End ID]

If you like what you see and you crave more (..I know I do), you can find a bunch of these amazing artists are tagged below!

@rambunctioustoons // @sillywabbits // @synthrobeat // @beeeepis4why // @nightbearsnebula // @peanut-007 // @foxboidrew // @majikbean // @lilsteppybigoof // @cody-welsh // @venomous-qwille // @kibbits // @just-a-drawing-bean // @glitzybunny // @slimelijah // @simpalert // @victarin // @bri-does-art // @the-daycare-assistant // @pasteldragonstuff

@melanirana // @skizabaa // @lec743 // @panda // @thecatnipwizard // @pixzyn // @gopsnippers // @the-lady-kay // @nananeroy // @sunboops //

@neonlazycat // @garbagechocolate // @captain--comet // @nomsthecat // @nicmares404 // @justy-stuff // @Destructiveemily // @miaumiautzi // @honeydropsstuff // @thedemonsurfer

@fudgernutter // @craykaycee // @maydeer // @abandoned-dezxyre // @impcarcass // @ypp13-ju1c3 // @icy-gendango // @ihearnocomplaints // @goldenjuniper

Someone missing? I try hard to keep track of all the artists who participate! Make sure you add a legible signature (tumblr handle) to future Magmas so I can find and tag you!

Saturday 6pm-4am UTC

I will be posting the Magma link on tumblr when we do go live, so keep an eye out around this time!

If you are looking for more events and fun stuff to do in the DCA fandom come join the DCA Palooza discord, where we will be doing more collabs and community stuff for creatives in our orbit!

See ya next time Superstars ☆

#ciw #dca fandom #fnaf dca #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf moon #fnaf sun #magma #weekly magma #the dca palooza

241 notes · View notes

thanidiel · 7 years

Text

Inferno

The pain is good. It means she hurt the Wildfire more than the Wildfire hurt her. If she wasn’t hurting, wasn’t feeling how heavy her bones were - that would be bad. Would mean that, at any moment, she could just collapse and bleed out.

There’s a roiling flush of heat in her gut, her head. It’s like her blood has been replaced with hot magma, like coals are sitting in her belly. When was the last time she stirred that blistering wrath in her like this? Every throb of pain through her body is a throb of fire.

That’s good too. She can feel the saturation of blood sinking into her gambeson increase, clinging to her skin with wet weight. Despite that, feeling is good. Being able to move as freely as she does is good; no severed muscle.

She wished the rest of them farewell once they all settled from the climatic end of the spar. After that, it’s hauling ass through the Dawnspire grounds. She wants to get the fuck out of there.

She feels suffocated. Ithanar doesn’t have to know that part.

There’s so many people surrounding the perimeter of the pavilion.

Harthen is there.

Of course he is. He wanted to see her fight someone her of her own mettle for once. Well, now he knows just who he has to impress. Fuck. He’s breaking from the crowd. She doesn’t want to talk to anyone else.

Before a word can escape that yapping maw of his, she’s planted the length of one arm against his chest. There is a hiss of pain, derived from the way shorn metal rivets dig into her opened flesh. She can see the blood seep into the cotton of his tunic. Clenched teeth pry apart and there’s this almost unfamiliar slurred growl that comes out,

“Get th’fuck out of m’face.”

Down Harthen goes with a shove. And onward Thanidiel presses. To the Infirmary. Get everything washed and stitched. Demon talons? Far from sanitary. She calls for Lirelle Dawnbrook. That’s a medic she remembers - from the Sunspear gathering. It’s the early afternoon, Silversword is too industrious to not be preoccupied right now. Bri? Sleeping, probably.

Sensory memory replays itself over and over and over again. Rolling waves without lull of the way she felt something once sturdy give under the weight of her boot. The cacophony of shrieks, flurry of wings, rapid fracture quaking through bone. The buzzing quiet of Victory that settles after like snow blanketing the field after skirmish.

There is this sense of searing triumph that wipes away everything else in the blinding white of its ferocity. She thinks back to the Knight-Commander and Knight-Lieutenant. They had asked of the Sunspears to fight, and to learn.

What did she derive from that frightful combat? Nothing new, if she were being honest.

But she was reawakened.

It has been so long since she has fought as so; years have been spent under the restrictions of her assignment as Instructor for the Order. When was the last time she had struck with intention to end a fight? Sparked more than just embers from that shard of stolen Light?

This is her kind of speed, to adopt Ithanar’s kind of vocabulary. She feels… unleashed. A wildfire allowed to consume, a hound unmuzzled, a sword turned onto its edge. This control, this restraint, this limitation - it’s all falling away from her. It is as though summer has dawned and antlers, so gloriously donned in blood and velvet, have broken towards the sky.

This is her kind of speed, and she wants more of it.

No longer shall she hold back. If the Guard thought of her as vicious already, they would learn the true meaning of the word next they took to combat.

What they had witnessed beforehand of her was merely embers. She would return to them as a blaze, an inferno.

And the Wildfire? Thanidiel had her taste and knew it not to be whole. She would coax similar heights from that woman.

----Ah, here, the Infirmary.

The Blood Knight breaks out of her clouding thought and plants her bleeding body against the pillar. Awaiting that worried Dawnmender.

What is everyone else so worried about?

(( @curiouslich @sakialyn @azriah and @captainswingbeard @jessipalooza @retributionpriest @tyleril-silversword for mentions! ))

#writing #thanidiel #kaltaia #sunguard #sunspear

24 notes · View notes