#Psychic Static

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

The Sergeant generally being rubbish at their psychic attacks

makes defending oneself from their attempts pretty simple, really.

‘I told you, my mind isn’t that simple, Sergeant. Now, bugger off, I’ve things to do.’

[cookiebunny363]

Ever create an entire fake soundtrack for your series and make 2 CDs out of it because I sure did and I regret nothing

[eclipsecrowned]

thinking about.

thinking about how i have three vampire killer muses.

claude had help. not only are they swift and unforgiving with a blade, but they literally had ax's arm*nd there like :) hi cultists remember me --

susan is solo, but she has gifts some might consider... unnatural. an affinity for the mind and flame that have helped her stay afloat in this game.

and there's karin. standing there. just a mortal with her fire axe. smiling at the other two and just 'oh, still on easy mode? sure, i get it.'

[konkuurito]

“i think pookie-sama will do.”

"--you're lucky i can do very little to actually harm you other than psychological damage."

[yeyinde]

psychic!Reader being relentlessly stalked and terrorised by dead!Ghost.

He's not sure how he died, but considering the aura he has wrapped around him, it was vicious and violent. And while you're no stranger to helping the dead cross over when they need it, but he can't. Or won't. Everything you try doesn't work, and he soon decides that he's fine with that.

Prefers, instead, to follow you around. And at first, it's fine. He explores the world around him—intangible, untouchable—and asks snarky questions about why you're the only the one who can see him. How this came to be. But then he grows bored. Restless. Shifts into bad jokes. Taunts.

Finds the most amusement, though, in muttering in your ear about all the filthy things he'd do to you if he had his body back—in broad daylight, no less. All explicit, ugly things about testing your flexibility. Bending your knees to your ears. Getting that pretty little mouth on his cock—

Watches you shower. Drawls about having you put on a show for him. Slides into the bed with you when he can manipulate and solidify his form better. Icycold hands against your breasts. Squeezing your ass.

Most ghosts continue with their routine. Go on with their lives. Cogs in the machine. But he spends his time messing with you.

The problem, however, is that ghosts can only do much to interact with the physical world. Knocking things over. Stomping their feet down the halls. Saying a word. A name. A whisper. Cold air. Static. A slamming door.

But Simon's pinches hurt. His hand sometimes feels warm when he cups your beasts, or curls his palm over the nape of your neck, pulling you toward his groin only to huff when your face slips through it.

"not there yet, are we?" he drawls, but holds you there anyway just because he can.

Sometimes you have to remind yourself he's a ghost. A spectre. He can't really hurt you.

But when he nuzzles his face into your neck, and bites down so hard it burns, you find yourself unable to explain the raw, bloodied imprint of his teeth there the next morning. Or how warm, how solid, his body feels when he pulls you against his chest, hands groping at you as he stares at the mark he left with something primal twisting across his once pellucid face. Darkening with malintent. Desire.

Maybe you should have taken his threats a little more seriously after all.

[shikai-the-storyteller]

This thing's a crime against nature, but in my defense, one already was a crime against nature, so...

[zombified-queer]

Just had the WEIRDEST Hotelpod dream.

[canisalbus]

Please please share some info on your Claydol/Umbreon sona 👀 👀

Well they're not a very lore heavy character ´v` Just a fun design I got attached to more than I intended I guess.

It's genderless, sexless and doesn't seem to age (it/they pronouns)

It's sentient but in a hard to decipher way. It prefers solitude and sparsely communicates with other beings.

It's seven eyes can move independently from each other.

The head can rotate and spin freely, and while it's not attached to the body, it usually maintains it's position, hovering at the end of the nonexistent neck.

The ears and tail are fully rigid. The tail can be bent from the base but the ears are always static (I think of them as baseball bat-like).

The mouth is a dead end and disappears completely when closed, but it can open very wide and is full of teeth (canines in particular are very sharp, curved and prominent).

The skin is firm, smooth, hairless and matte, similar to unglazed ceramic, and it matches the ambient temperature of the surroundings.

It's mostly odorless but has a faint aroma of dirt and myrrh.

It's resistant to heat and cold but can't stand water. It gets slow, lethargic and confused and starts to suffer tissue damage if it gets wet enough.

It's about the size of a caracal.

It doesn't breathe.

It doesn't seem to need to eat, and it doesn't have a working digestive tract. The internal organs it has are only vaguely reminescent of organic viscera and don't have a clear purpose, they're all uniformly orange and have the consistency of hard boiled egg yolk.

It sleeps a lot, or maybe hibernates, often in oddly upright and stiff positions.

It's generally a quiet and fairly inactive creature, but when it moves it can be surprisingly swift and nimble, the locomotion is mostly a mix of cat, dog and hare movements.

Sometimes it makes various hollow hissing and rattling noises when it moves, or sounds similar to two pieces of pottery or stone being ground together.

It's most common active vocalization is barking and it sounds like the clack of hyoshigi:

It's not aggressive, but can inflict feelings of anxiety, disorientation and mild catatonia on onlookers when threatened, and being on the receiving end of it's psychic attacks sounds like a bullroarer:

[theskywithin]

☿✨ GEMINI SEASON ✨☿

— all rising signs —

Gemini season teaches in riddles. Wherever the Sun moves, it wakes the mind, stirs the tongue, and shines a light on what’s been unspoken. For each rising sign, the Sun in Gemini illuminates a part of your chart that’s been humming quietly beneath the surface and now, you’re being asked to say it out loud. To speak from the raw nerve instead of the clean script. To let the truth be messy, shifting, alive. Below is your message, what you’re learning to voice, what you’re ready to write, what you’re finally safe enough to question.

♈ Aries Rising

The thoughts don’t arrive as answers now, they come as echoes, as static, as hands rummaging through drawers you swore you already emptied. This is not a mental season, it’s a psychic one. A strange light moves through the mind like steam through pipes, and suddenly you’re hearing everything you’ve ever swallowed echo off the walls of your inner hallway. The words feel foreign in your own mouth. You say one thing, then immediately want to touch the sentence and ask it what it meant. You’re being spoken through. You’re remembering what it felt like to trust your own perception before it got edited. This isn’t about clarity, it’s about contact. Let the thoughts loop. Let them contradict themselves. This is a season for learning the shape of your mind by watching how it leaks when no one is listening.

♉ Taurus Rising

Something is rising from the roots this season, and it’s not subtle. You may feel it first in the teeth, the hunger that doesn’t make sense, the need that doesn’t want to wait. The Sun is burning through the part of you that’s been living on borrowed comfort, polishing your self-worth like it’s breakable glass. But now it’s cracking. Not from damage, from birth. This isn’t the kind of clarity that makes you feel confident. It’s the kind that makes you feel exposed. Like someone opened your chest and asked, what do you actually believe you deserve? And your voice hesitates. You’ve bartered so much of yourself in the name of peace, worn false modesty like silk to keep the ache from showing. But there is no hiding here. This is the season you ask the question out loud. Do I want this because I love it, or because I’m used to it? And then you wait, not for the answer, but for your body’s reaction. That’s where the truth is. That’s what’s always been yours.

♊ Gemini Rising

You can feel it before you can name it, the sense that your skin is shedding faster than your thoughts can catch up, that the person you were three weeks ago already feels like a character you played a little too well. The Sun is moving through your first house like a searchlight sweeping across the surface of your identity, burning through the roles you wore for resonance, the charm you used as camouflage, the stories you’ve been narrating to feel known. But this isn’t a reinvention, it’s an undoing. You may find yourself speaking with a voice that feels like it’s coming from deeper inside you than usual, saying things you didn’t plan to admit out loud. The mask isn’t slipping, it’s melting. And behind it is something flickering, unfiltered, alive. This is the season your presence becomes a question instead of a performance. This is where you meet yourself mid-sentence and don’t pull back. Let the words be messy. Let your face betray your fear.

♋ Cancer Rising

There’s something moving in the walls of your subconscious this season, not loud, not urgent, just constant, like a moth tapping at the glass of a window you thought was sealed. The Sun is casting its light into a room you usually keep dark, and it doesn’t do it gently. Memories uncoil in your sleep, thoughts grow teeth in silence, and your inner world becomes louder than the one you perform in. You may find yourself speaking in fragments, remembering things that didn’t happen in this lifetime, or feeling pierced by sentences that shouldn’t hurt but somehow do. This is not madness. This is the psyche rearranging itself. The part of you that always stays composed is being undone by something quieter — the grief you folded into politeness, the intuition you downplayed to stay likable. You are not here to make sense of the fog. You are here to listen to what rises inside it. This is the season you start telling the truth in whispers to yourself, first. Because even your secrets are tired of being lonely.

♌ Leo Rising

It’s a strange thing to feel invisible while being watched, but you know that feeling better than most, the performance of inclusion, the choreography of connection. And this season, the Sun swings a floodlight over the room you’ve been trying to fit into, showing you not who’s looking at you, but what you’ve been shrinking to stay loved. You may find yourself in the middle of a conversation that echoes like an old ache, a friendship that flatters the version of you you’re ready to outgrow, a dream that suddenly feels like it belongs to someone else. This is not a crisis of direction, it’s a confrontation with legacy. The future you’ve been imagining is knocking now, and it wants to know if you’re still building it from a place of truth or just habit. The people around you may not notice the shift, but you will, in the way your voice feels different when you speak in rooms that don’t require you to censor your magic. This is the season where your audience changes because you’ve finally stopped performing what you no longer believe in.

♍ Virgo Rising

You’ve been building something that looks impressive from the outside, polished, steady, admired in the way people admire things they expect to stay the same. But this season sharpens the contrast between the life that earns you respect and the voice inside that’s starting to ask what if I want something else now? The Sun lights up the highest part of your chart, not to celebrate what you’ve achieved, but to question what it's costing you to maintain it. You may find yourself feeling strangely detached from your own goals, like you’re watching your reputation from across the room. That disorientation is a signal. It means your definition of success is trying to change. And if you don’t pause to listen, you’ll keep building a future that no longer fits the self that’s quietly growing underneath. This is not a fall, it’s a redirection. A moment to decide whether you're creating a life that proves your worth, or one that actually reflects it.

♎ Libra Rising

There’s a moment, just before you leave, where something quiet inside you asks: will I still be myself when I get there? That’s what this season stirs. Not belief, not clarity, but motion, the kind that pulls from underneath, that unfastens the versions of you held in place by politeness, by certainty, by needing to be understood. The Sun is moving through the part of your chart that was never meant to settle. The part that wants to go too far, speak the wrong language, love the thing that rearranges you. This isn’t about finding the truth, it’s about brushing up against something that makes you feel awake again. A place, a book, a person, a moment that splits your vision open just wide enough to remember that wisdom doesn’t come in answers. It comes in movement, in risking your voice in unfamiliar air, in choosing experience over elegance. You are here to stretch until the story you’ve been living breaks open, and a new one walks out. Barefoot. Certain only of its wonder.

♏ Scorpio Rising

Some truths don’t rise through language, they live in the jaw, the breath, the way your hands tighten around the softness you never learned how to hold. This season, the Sun moves through the part of your chart that doesn’t speak unless it’s shaking, that keeps score in bone memory, that knows exactly what it costs to be honest in front of someone who might leave. You’ve inherited more than you realize, not just pain, but protection: ways of staying close without ever being vulnerable, ways of offering your body without offering your trust. But something is stirring now in the deepest room. A shape behind the door you locked before you had words. A voice, not asking to be heard, asking to be felt. You may find yourself drawn to what you can’t control, aching toward someone whose gaze touches the parts of you you’ve kept ritualistically untouched. You may speak what you’ve always translated into silence. And when you do, the air might split, not in fear, but in recognition. This is the soul handing you a key with your own name on it. Let the door open. Let what’s been waiting come through.

♐ Sagittarius Rising

This season moves like a question across someone else’s mouth, a sentence half-formed that lands in your chest and opens a room you forgot you sealed off. The Sun is moving through the part of your chart that speaks in reflections, in the flicker of expression that passes across the face of someone you thought you understood. You’re not being asked to define the relationship. You’re being asked to notice what happens when someone else’s truth brushes up against your favorite story about who you are. This is the season where connection doesn’t come with clarity, it comes with static, disruption, desire that doesn’t follow the rules you set to keep yourself safe. Let this be the season you stop rehearsing your part. Let it be the moment you let someone see the version of you that isn’t clever or charming or right on time. The one who trembles when touched in the place you swore was already healed. This isn’t about love. It’s about recognition. And whether you can stay in the room when someone finally sees you, not as you explain yourself, but as you are.

♑ Capricorn Rising

You’ve been showing up like a ghost in your own life, reliable, precise, invisible in your devotion. And now the Sun moves through the part of your chart that knows how to endure without acknowledgment, how to keep the world turning while quietly starving for rest. This isn’t about burnout. This is about identity. About how easily you become the job, the role, the task list, just to avoid the ache of being idle with yourself. There’s a reckoning coming in the quiet hours, a confrontation with the voice that only feels proud when it’s productive. You may notice it in how you flinch from stillness, in how quickly guilt follows pleasure, in how tenderness feels suspicious when directed inward. But the body doesn’t lie. It remembers every time you abandoned it to meet someone else’s need. Every time you chose usefulness over presence. This season asks for nothing dramatic. Just a return to the part of you that’s been surviving beneath the schedule, to the skin you’ve treated like machinery. This is not the end of your rhythm, it’s the beginning of a softer one. One where you still show up, but finally, also for yourself.

♒ Aquarius Rising

There’s a pulse you’ve been ignoring, the one that doesn’t serve a purpose, that doesn’t lead to an outcome, that simply wants to be felt. This season, the Sun moves through the part of your chart where joy has been waiting, patiently, beneath the layers of strategy and structure and self-restraint. You may feel it as restlessness, as hunger, as the strange ache that arrives when pleasure brushes against the part of you that’s forgotten how to receive it. This isn’t about creativity for the sake of brilliance, it’s about intimacy with your own aliveness. The version of you who dances without recording it. Who speaks without editing. Who touches without asking if they’ve earned it. You may feel clumsy at first. Exposed. Too much. But the 5th house doesn’t want your control, it wants your heat. This season isn’t asking you to show off. It’s asking you to come back into your body like it’s a language you once knew. It’s asking you to feel the joy you didn’t realize you were rationing.

♓ Pisces Rising

You’ve always known how to be everywhere for everyone, fluid, present, woven into the needs around you, but this season pulls you inward, back to the part of yourself that remembers what it’s like to be held, not useful. The Sun moves through the deepest part of your chart now, casting light on the foundation you built long before you knew what you were building. And suddenly, things feel tender again. Rooms you used to escape in your mind are showing up in your dreams. Words said to you years ago echo louder now, not to haunt you, but to ask: what part of this do you still believe? You may feel the pull to disappear into solitude, not to avoid life, but to meet yourself inside it. To stop performing stability and actually ask what kind of softness you need to stay. This isn’t about healing the past, it’s about realizing you’re allowed to stop carrying it. It’s about choosing to feel safe without explanation and letting silence be a language that loves you back.

If you want to go deeper into your own chart or just fall in love with astrology in a way that actually makes sense to your soul, my book The Sky Within is waiting for you. Available on Amazon & all digital platforms.

[edenspoem]

Omg can I request Ellie and reader on halloween night exploring an abandoned house that’s known to be haunted. Ellie and reader are both huge fans of horror and ghosts, often exploring abandoned places and even using those apps that you can talk to ghosts with. So, you both go, but terrifying things begin to happen and you’re both freaking the fuck out equally. Bonus points if Ellie gets protective <3

ok so yeah i had to do a bit of a drabble for this one! nothing too extreme though, but i love this idea. instead of them using apps, because ellie is such a nerd, i think she would have the genuine gear for it. girl heard the words "ghost hunting" and decked out immediately in all the utilities. ellie image @/angel-gbc

“Can you tell us your name?”

This house is a chamber of disembodied sounds. Ellie discovered it on her usual walk from work, dead and moth-eaten as ever, and all she wanted to do was explore it through and through. She loves horror, and you follow her on that sentiment. The Victorian face of the house has remained gently intact—a debris-ridden ghost of its preceding self—save for a few holes, shattered windows, spots of soot from fire, and the eternal state of squalor. Eternal life of loneliness, unwantedness. Quite a big, blotchy stain on a lovely modern neighborhood full of copy and paste houses, huh?

Wrong!

Gentry used to live there, and now the gentry want it torn up. Like a sketch you feel disgust looking at.

But you admit this plainly. Watching your nerdy girlfriend psych herself to come here with every gimmick and gadget pushing on the seams of her backpack really is cute. Noticing her lip curl when there's even a second of static feedback on the spirit box, really is the cherry on top of a long weekend; you regret nothing.

For now.

She is kneeling, you are crouching. “You can use the—um, spirit box,” Ellie swallows her throat clear, adjusting the placement of the equipment. ”To talk to us.” Ridiculous excursion or not, you both felt a bit on edge. Hairs raise in anticipation.

Your pores felt susceptible. Open to the change in the air, responsive to the uncomfortable sounds of clothes and limbs shifting. Maybe your mind had made up an individual now: a pompous and rich woman. Tight in the waist from the boning of a corset, and rather busty because of it. She is the woman of this household, you believe, and she circles you with broad shoulders and steel curiosity. Not too creative for a nineteenth-century ghost.

You could feel her stare crawling all over you. Or your imagination. Shivers run up your spine regardless.

“Hey, maybe we should ask what happened to her,” you bleat, not conscious of how disomforted you look palming the back of your neck, or your words. The air has gone cold.

Ellie scales a brow at you. “Her? Shit, have you gone psychic now?” Her questioning tone drips of mock and shock, somehow simultaneously. But one widens her expression when static crackles inside the receiver, and lets a low sound through. She props up on her knees. “Could you tell us what happened to you?”

The feedback ends.

Ellie huffs a sigh of disappointment, lowering herself again. So much for going psychic. “Good job, though. Seem to 've said somethin' right,” she reveres you softly, pricking a knee up to set her fist on. Her leather jacket shines low with your flashlight.

The event left you paranoid, but all you can do is wonder if she feels the same, but stomachs a facade over it. God, does she think she needs to impress you?

Apparently so. Behind the silence, came a violent clatter of wood, or a door, none can be sure. You were the first instantiation; something between a shirek and a gasp calls your hand to cocoon at your chest, and you scatter aimlessly onto your bottom. It felt like an injection of fear. It made your blood drain. Made your breath run thick.

Fucking ghosts.

Ellie repined in a yelling whisper. “Jesus!” Her silhouette much more composed and still upright, but with a hand on her heart. Faint sounds of her scooting over, however, spurn your sight from the suspected room of activity, her acorn-brown brows pulled to a worried low. “You good?”

The gentleness of the question soothes. “Sure.” Somewhat.

Her lips quirk, and she hesitates a laugh. “Ha—yeah. No clue what the fuck that was,” she rasps as she slides up next to you, the warmth of her hand eroding the stifle in your back. She encourages you to ease into it with rubbing motions. “Way scarier than horror movies make it out to be, huh?”

You over-ease, “Definitely,” the word falling out so heavy. The charm of her actions make you forget this place even surrounds you. Material disappears. “God, my heart is racing.” You lean into your knees.

Ellie noses at your neck, tip smushing. “I got you.”

She does. You cannot see her from your cocooned vantage, but you can feel her breath, and sweet lips forming into kisses. The little noises created let you imagine instead: she is probably donning a dorky smile, and has wispy, brown, shut eyes. You picture her hand coming up to clasp your shoulder, right when it actually does.

“Good thing we aren't in an actual horror movie, though,” Ellie presses the joke into your humid neck, slowly creeping behind your ear. “That would suck.”

You bring your forehead up, smiling tauntingly. “You would probably die first since you're so distracted.”

Her mouth clicks. “Shut up.” But resumes the delicate act of pinching at your skin without shame. That, for her, is the reason the other-worldly, torturing atmosphere around you turns to something of a soothing bliss. Funnily enough, it happens during said movies. Distractions on your neck and a greedy girl hungry to eat them whole and proudly.

Though, when she finally comes to her senses, she plays knight in converse and band-shirt armor and scopes the area of interest. Nothing was there except an old broom and a rat nest. Made for a whole lot of embarrassment later on in bed, that is for damn sure. Little comments of “I'm such an idiot,” rolling off your tongue while Ellie complimented you on your sudden intuition; the house did indeed belong to a woman of affluent status. How sexy is intuition? Ellie would know.

But Ellie loves being your ghost-hunting bodyguard—and nerd—either way. Something inherent inside her says she might be made for it.

a/n: wrote this in one go so i hope it suffices enough! click here for my autumntime masterlist!

[qadmonster]

Ko-fi Dooble!

"Fakemon based on the disco clam/flame scallop"

Arclam - Psychic/Electric I really wanna give it levitate, but maybe something like shell armor or overcoat, or even static. Extremely slow and somewhat bulky with decent special attack and lots of buffing and status moves.

Also, sorry it turned out looking so much like Flittle! It was meant to look like a little ufo when closed, but it kinda looks like a burger.

Consider supporting me on ko-fi and get your own monster dooble! 

[slutoru1207]

Catch me if you can Part 7

GIF by saiyanprinceofdbz

Reader x Variant!Invincible

Pain.

That was all you knew.

All you had known for hours. Days.

Time didn’t exist here.

Not in this cold, sterile, metal hell where the Viltrumites had tried to break you.

But you weren’t broken.

Not yet.

Not ever.

Your body ached. Every nerve screamed. Your mind felt like it was on the verge of splitting apart from the torture they had put you through. They weren’t just hurting your body—they were digging into your mind, trying to pry you open, to rip you apart from the inside.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been strapped down to this chair. You only knew that every time your body gave out, they brought you back.

Kept pushing.

Kept asking.

"Where is the resistance?"

"What do you see when you look at Mark?"

"What does he mean to you?"

They were trying to weaponize him against you.

Trying to make you hate him.

Like you could.

Like you would.

Your breath was ragged, shallow. Blood dripped from the corner of your mouth as you blinked through the haze of agony, barely registering the Viltrumite scientist standing over you.

“Still alive?” He sighed, almost bored, brushing a gloved hand over your cheek. “You telepaths always last longer than you should.”

You wanted to spit in his face, but your body was too weak.

He leaned down. “But don’t worry. We’ll break you soon enough.”

You barely heard him.

Because something was changing.

The pain was still there, but it was... different. Shifting.

Like it was fueling you.

Like it was feeding something inside of you that had been starved for too long.

Your fingers twitched.

The air around you grew thick, almost static.

The Viltrumite frowned. “What are you—”

You exhaled.

And the room shattered.

The walls trembled as a psychic wave exploded from your body, sending everything flying. The chair you were strapped to was ripped apart. The scientist was flung back like a ragdoll, screaming as his mind was forced open, his thoughts fracturing under the sheer weight of your power.

Your head throbbed.

Your vision swam.

Your body screamed for you to stop, but you didn’t.

You couldn’t.

Because this was your one chance.

And you weren’t going to waste it.

You staggered to your feet, barely able to stand. Blood dripped from your nose. Your limbs felt like they were breakingunder the strain of your own power. But you moved.

You had to.

You had to run.

Your mind reached out, pulling at the thoughts of every soldier in the facility, scrambling their perception of reality. They wouldn’t see you. They wouldn’t find you. Not until it was too late.

You stumbled through the corridors, pressing a trembling hand against your ribs, your own blood seeping between your fingers.

You didn’t have much time.

You were dying.

But you were free.

You had to get back to the Resistance.

You had to tell them.

You had to—

A shadow landed in front of you.

Tall.

Familiar.

Your breath hitched.

Your heart stopped.

Mark.

And the look in his eyes?

Pure shock.

“…No.” His voice was almost hoarse.

You could barely keep your vision from blurring, barely stand as your legs threatened to collapse.

But you smiled.

A bloody, broken smile.

“I told you…” You exhaled, voice barely above a whisper. “You’ll never keep me.”

Then—

Your body gave out.

And the last thing you saw was Mark rushing forward, catching you before you hit the ground.

And for the first time—

He looked afraid.

[skmhlml]

Slender man SMUT PLEASE

Note: okay, right to it…😀 let’s go!

Warning: CNC, kidnapping, breeding, inhuman breeding, monster fucking

Slender man x F!Reader

🕸️ You were chosen the moment you stepped into his woods, the air tightening around you like a spider’s web. Your scent, your voice, the way you shiver in fear… it fascinates him in ways that disturb even himself.

🕸️ He’s always watching. No matter where you go: your home, your work, your dreams- he’s there. Behind curtains, in the static on the TV, reflected in mirrors just long enough to make you question your sanity.

🕸️ Isolation is his favorite tactic. Friends stop answering. Technology fails. You think you’re losing your mind, but in reality, he’s softening you, shaping you into something more dependent. Something pliant.

🕸️ he is eerily silent, but his jealousy is violent. Anyone who gets too close to you either disappears or suffers bizarre accidents: shattered limbs, scrambled minds, skin stretched tight with fear before they vanish altogether.

🕸️ His touch is cold, tendril-like, and invasive. He’ll wrap around you when you sleep, slowly coiling tighter with each breath until you’re gasping…not from fear, but from the twisted desire he forces into you.

🕸️ He doesn’t ask for consent in the traditional sense. He invades your thoughts, making you crave him, whispering dark desires into your mind while you dream…desires you wake from panting, soaked, ashamed.

🕸️ His form shifts to suit your darkest fantasies. What he lacks in warmth he makes up for in deep, instinctive knowledge of your pleasure and pain threshold.

🕸️ Tentacle play is a given. Restraint, overstimulation, and sensory deprivation are common. He loves to see you helpless…eyes blindfolded, arms bound by silken tendrils, whimpering as he takes his time.

🕸️ There’s no dirty talk. just ragged breathing, inhuman growls, and the unsettling hum of otherworldly static in your ears as he pushes you past the edge. Again. And again.

🕸️ His tendrils aren’t just extensions. they’re erogenous, sensitive, and reactive to your touch. When they wrap around your thighs or slide up your spine, he feels it like a current of electricity running through a nervous system that isn’t meant to exist.

🕸️ when he penetrates you- is wrong. It’s too warm for something so cold. It’s silky and tight, with a wet, rippling texture that almost massages as it enters, designed not for procreation but for ensnaring. There’s no simple “cock” it’s a shifting, prehensile appendage that forms to fit you exactly, stretching and reshaping mid-thrust to exploit your every weak spot.

🕸️ For Slender Man, intimacy is consumption. Each time he’s inside you, he’s absorbing more than just your body. he’s stealing your breath, your sound, your will. Your moans echo in his mind like hymns, rattling around in that hollow psychic space he calls a soul.

🕸️ You don’t just feel him. you feel his hunger, his need to burrow deeper, to ruin you, to leave an imprint so permanent that no one else could ever enter you without feeling like an intruder in his domain.

🕸️ He can be slow and hypnotic. drawing it out for hours, teasing you until your body is limp and twitching- or violent and consuming, slamming you into the mattress or forest floor, grinding into you while pinning your arms and legs with those pulsing, inescapable limbs.

[thewertsearch]

Resolution to the summoner's mutiny is foggy, as I only understand what has 8een rel8ed to me through the 8rief answers I thought to solicit. Ultim8ely, the ire of the Condesce would 8e such that in the settling dust of the conflict, she would 8anish all from the homeworld, except the young. […] I cannot imagine how she would come to enforce such an upheaval in our civiliz8tion. Though I suppose she will have on her side the advantage of an unparalleled lifespan, and the leverage extended 8y the hideous psychic prongs of her deep undul8ing monstrosity.

Attention is drawn to the prodigiously long lifespan of the Condesce - the empress of Mindfang's time, and Feferi's probable ancestor. I used to think that the modern Empress was a different troll, but now that we're aware of fuchsiablood longevity, I'm pretty sure the two are one and the same.

Based on a line from Feferi's introduction, I was assuming that she was the only fuchsiablood in the universe - but let's take another look at the way that line's phrased.

You are 'the only of your kind' known to possess this blood.

That doesn't necessarily mean she's the only fuchsia troll, does it? For example, it might just mean she's the only Alternian with fuchsia blood, because the Empress doesn't actually live on the planet.

I really want this to be Mama Peixes, because the existence of a living Ancestor has so much story potential. Just how much does she know, and what's her agenda?

Nevertheless, I take the prediction as truth, and find it amusing that a homeworld domin8ed 8y children will 8e the gr8 summoner's legacy. One of them, at least.

Anyway, the Summoner - the boy who could fly - is the reason Alternia is a planetary Neverland, making it clear that he was the original inspiration for Pupa Pan.

It's also notable that we've only just started delving into Alternian history, and we've already learned about two massive rebellions against the social order. Contrary to what Alternians have been led to believe, this oppressive culture clearly isn't natural to them, and they've been fighting it every step of the way.

They don't want to be a murderous empire - they're forced to be, again and again and again.

More importantly, and less amusingly, his legacy will 8e my demise. You see, I first learned his name when I asked who would 8e the one to kill me.

And here's yet another layer to the Quest Cocoon Incident. Vriska wasn't content with living like Mindfang - she wanted to die like her, too.

Given that Vriska knew about the Summoner, one can only imagine how weird she must have been around Tavros. Not only was she constantly berating him, she was also putting him on this bizarre pedestal, comparing him to someone I'm damn sure he never knew existed.

And she'd never tell Tavros about the Summoner, either, because that would allow him to derive confidence from something other than her tutelage. No - she just silently compared him to a legendary hero, and he constantly failed a test he didn't know he was taking.

Seems like something's going very wrong in the Veil.

This seems like a sign that the session is on its last legs, and we're running out of time before it completely turns to static. We're entering the endgame.

The oracle I will resolve to part with. I will conceal it in a crypt 8earing the sign of the expatr8, with a map to its loc8tion hidden in this journal.

The cueball was sequestered in an Expatriate chest, which makes me speculate about whether Equius ever got his hands on it.

He can't see inside it himself - but like Mindfang said, it shouldn't be too hard to find a technological workaround, and Equius is a roboticist. I wonder if either Zahhak ever used it for themselves?

To whomever finds it, 8e wary, for the truth it tells may leave its new keeper 8lind as I was. Though no more.

She warned you, Vriska.

She told you it would leave you as blind as she was.

And it did.

[quentinsofio]

[ELIZABETH — SESSION REPORT #009]

SUBJECT ID: P-07

DATE: [REDACTED]

LEAD OBSERVER: [REDACTED]

LOCATION: [REDACTED]

OBJECTIVE

To evaluate the impact of multi-spectrum Frequency Enhancement (FE) on the subject's remote visualization and psychic levitation capabilities while in a controlled prone state.

EXPERIMENT SETUP

Subject Position: Prone, face forward, left arm extended in line with spine.

Environment: Outdoor, natural light exposure.

Object Placement: 16 everyday items placed behind the subject (1.5–2m range), randomized arrangement.

FREQUENCY ENHANCEMENT (FE) PARAMETERS

Duration: 1 hour

Frequencies Administered:

963 Hz

432 Hz

528 Hz

4–8 Hz

7.83 Hz

Method: Layered binaural audio + low-frequency induction

PHASE I — REMOTE VISUALIZATION

Instructions: Subject to visualize and verbally identify objects behind them without physical contact or line of sight.

Objects Used (randomized):

Fork

Vase

Electronic guitar tuner

Dictionary

Plate

Rope

Frozen peas

Shoe box

Leather belt

Notepad

Laptop

Sweatshirt

Handgun

Pillowcase

Headphones

Backpack

Result:

Identification Accuracy: 100%

Details Noted: Material, color, shape, and orientation of each object correctly described.

PHASE II — PSYCHIC LEVITATION ATTEMPT

Instructions: Focused intent directed at each object. Duration: 3 minutes per trial.

Movement Observed (5 of 16):

Fork:

Full levitation

Vertical lift ~12 cm

Hover duration: 4.2 seconds

Rope:

Partial movement, light coiling

Vertical shift: <2 cm

Leather Belt:

Rotation along vertical axis

Minor slide motion

Handgun:

Rotation on horizontal axis

Audible metallic vibration noted

Pillowcase:

Sudden lift at one corner

Hover duration: 1.1 seconds

Remaining 11 Objects: No visible movement. Subject reported encountering “static distortion.”

POST-SESSION NOTES

Subject reported:

Mild fatigue

Visual distortion (temporary)

Persistent auditory hum (~528 Hz) for ~17 minutes post-experiment

No physiological anomalies detected.

Subject requested re-entry into session within 48 hours.

END OF REPORT

@f0rcee

[spr1ngpvrinbunny]

OK another idea that's been living rent free in my head - Steve raglan/William afton dealing with an absolutely chaotic psychic investigator who was hired after the missing kids case went cold (or in steve's case around the time the FNAF movie takes place so they can be psychic besties with abby)

they keep giving him the most cryptic messages "from the spirits" (half of them really are, the other half are made up cause they like seeing him frazzled)

They know from the beginning (or just about) that he's probably the killer (mans royally failed the vibe check and also the ghosts told them) but they need to gather evidence so they have to stick around (and while they're there they're gonna do everything in their power to drive him absolutely bonkers)

💀💫 Headcanons: Psychic Investigator vs. Steve Raglan/William Afton

The Psychic Investigator (you)

You're the FBI’s "weird case specialist" — the one they call when things get too spooky for normal agents. You talk to ghosts, vibe-check haunted dolls, and haven’t paid taxes in years because your third eye is too open for paperwork.

You dress like a mix between a washed-up magician, a Victorian ghost hunter, and someone who rolled out of bed at 3pm.

You're chronically cryptic. You speak in riddles, metaphors, and sometimes just noises. Sometimes you're right. Sometimes you're just messing with people.

You showed up to the Fazbear case sipping a Slurpee, said "The spirits told me there's a funky little man behind all this," then made direct eye contact with Raglan.

You absolutely know he’s the killer. Ghosts told you. But you need receipts — and while you're at it, you're gonna make him regret ever reincarnating.

Steve Raglan / William Afton (as of the FNAF movie era)

He tries to maintain his calm therapist/dad façade, but every time you're around, he gets ten more gray hairs.

Starts off dismissive: “You must be the... psychic they sent? How quaint.”

Ends up spiral-noting every one of your cryptic warnings, slowly losing sleep over whether you actually know or if you’re just messing with him.

Has nightmares where you’re just standing at the foot of his bed whispering, “Tick tock, tick tock. Do you hear the wires scream, William?”

🎭 Imagine: Your First Session with “Steve Raglan”

You stride into his office, completely ignoring his outstretched hand, and instead press two fingers to his forehead.

You: “Mmm. You’ve got a very haunted skull. Heavy lies the crown, huh?”

He blinks. Clears his throat. “You must be Agent... [Your Name]. I understand you're here to help with the missing children case?”

You nod, slowly circling him like a crow analyzing prey.

You: “They whisper, you know. The children. Especially the bitey one. He says you suck at hide and seek.”

William: 😐

You plop down in the therapy chair and immediately pull out a pendulum, a flask, and what appears to be a plush rabbit with one eye missing.

You: “So. When did you first hear the call of the void, Steve?”

🌀 Highlights of You Driving Him Absolutely Bonkers

Every time you enter a room, you pause and say something deeply unsettling like: “There’s blood under the floorboards. Just thought you should know.” (There is, but how do you know that?!)

During a casual meeting, you whisper “the carousel spins backward” and then walk out without context. Later that day, he discovers the security footage looping in reverse. You weren’t guessing. You knew.

You sit in his car uninvited. “Your glovebox smells like copper and regret. You keep a mask in there, right?” William: sweats profusely while pretending not to know what you're talking about.

You bond with Abby instantly. She thinks you're hilarious. You teach her how to use tarot cards. Together, you leave spooky notes around the house for William like: "He watches from behind your eyes." "Don't trust the yellow rabbit." "Tonight you dream in static."

At some point, you start leaving fake ghost messages too, just for chaos. Like: “The spirits say you should try decaf.” Or: “Chica says your tie is ugly.”

William begins having full-on paranoia spirals. He starts second-guessing himself constantly. Are you bluffing? Are you toying with him? Did the ghosts really send you? Are they angry? (Yes. Yes. Yes. And hell yes.)

💥 The Final Confrontation (Maybe)

You finally catch him slipping — maybe he messes up with Abby, maybe he leaves a clue behind — and you’re waiting for him at the pizzeria.

The animatronics stand still. The air is heavy.

You lean against the old Show Stage, arms folded, that same annoying knowing smirk on your face.

You: “So. The spirits say you’re out of time, William.”

He sighs, defeated — not because he was caught, but because you were the one who did it. Because your nonsense worked.

You: “Also? Freddy says bozo behavior.”