CrowSong

Boring stuff/My art ask box is open.Ask me to draw anything Mcsm related/or even just your Mcsm oc, I will within a week timeframe draw them on a sticky note just for youuuu.

[a0lone0crow0song]

[a0lone0crow0song]

Tweaked ankle au

Some bad art of it, I got major artblock in January and this is the result of that.

That last little doodle was meant to be ivor losing his mind at Soren trying to use the command block to restore Ellegaards leg, unfortunately it doesn’t work like that.

[a0lone0crow0song]

Lusamine x Cynthia ship name tie breaker

DivineAetherialShipping

BrokenDivinityShipping

Voting ended onJan 10, 2025

[a0lone0crow0song]

Cynthia x Lusamine shipping name

BrokenDivinityShipping

DivineAetherialShipping

SeraphicShipping

DistortedPrismShipping

Voting ended onJan 9, 2025

I tried searching for a shipping name for them but all that comes up is lusacynth, so I’m trying to come up with one for them. One that follows the usual Pokemon ship naming conventions. I know the ship isn’t popular except for lewdness but as a kid I totally shipped them. Like Lusamine is complex, obsessed and tragic, Cynthia is mysterious, enigmatic, and kind, they’d probably hate each other but they look so good together. Cynthia can fix her, gladion and Lillie deserve a step mom.

Cynthia(a historian respecter of legends and gods): whatcha got there

Lusamine with a type null right beside her: a smoothie

[a0lone0crow0song]

All my other Mscm fanart, just mevia and Ellegaard plus a little Xara. Some are from earlier in the year and not very well taken care of or consistent

[a0lone0crow0song]

All my Jesse mcsm fanart this year, these are sporadic and not very well taken care of

[a0lone0crow0song]

Tweaked Ankle Au

I dunno what younger me was on, but was looking at old google docs and found this old mc:sm au

Basically it goes like Ellegaard loses her leg sometime before the order is set to fight the enderdragon. Because of this they take a break for a while, letting Ellegaard build her prosthetic and learn how to walk again. This break causes tension with the group slowly fracturing and becoming more and more unstable.

Now onto the fight with the ender dragon, it goes the same as in canon with them freezing up and Soren deciding to use the command block to despawn it. This completely breaks the group with Ellegaard blaming herself, Ivor blaming Soren, Gabriel fighting to keep everyone together with magnus conflicted and unsure on what to feel. Soren thinks he did what was best but isn’t so sure. The group splits with it going the same way as canon, with the exception of Ellegaard hiding that she only has one leg away from people.

Now onto mc:sm season 1, Olivia goes to find Ellegaard, she does what’s needed to sneak into the dome of concentration. Except when there she find’s Ellegaard fiddling with her malfunctioning prosthetic. Olivia is shocked but brushes past it trying to explain about the witherstorm, Ellegaard, panicking tries to stand up and ends up falling onto Olivia causing her to faint. Even more panicked Ellegaard anxiously waits for Olivia to wake, when Olivia does, Ellegaard promises anything to make sure Olivia doesn’t tell. Olivia still stunned tells her they need her help fighting a witherstorm, Ellegaard agrees.

The story goes the same with the exception of Ellegaard being kinder to Olivia. Then in episode 3 when the gang is leaving Soren’s fortress instead of Ellegaard lying about having a tweaked ankle to not be the one who sets off the f bomb, she’s genuine with her prosthetic malfunctioning and having complete locked up. The gang is shocked but they don’t have time for it, with Jesse taking magnus’s armor a setting of the f bomb. Magnus dies and Ellegaard loses it and completely blames herself.

Soren is able to stop her before she reveals the lie and basically tells her that it is her fault and not to sully magnus’s name. The gang is confused and unsettled by this but brush past it now they have to worry about 3 witherstorms. Olivia, though is growing more and more concerned, while having to help Ellegaard with fixing her leg. When ivor shows Ellegaard is seething but unable to do anything. To distract the witherstorm axel, Lukas and Petra go while Jesse, ivor, Soren, Olivia and Ellegaard head to the far lands.

When the secret is revealed, Ellegaard attempts to take the blame but fails when ivor instead blames Soren. Stating that he didn’t believe in them and let Ellegaard be the fall guy when he was the one to blame.

When the witherstorm is defeated, Jesse reveals the orders lies and Ellegaard basically goes on a self imposed exile. Only to later return when Olivia tracks her down and tells her that she still wants to be her apprentice, Ellegaard agrees. Unbeknownst to Olivia this basically Ellegaard way of killing herself, passing down all her knowledge and skills so she won’t be needed anymore.

This eventually turns into Ellegaard helping the new order find the eversource, making sorta amends with ivor and eventually going with Jesse, and the others through the portals. That’s all I’ve found written so far, might continue this

[everydaythings7807]

ginger 😔

[everydaythings7807]

context (?)

[a0lone0crow0song]

This was my dream!!!

Omg that's so cool.

[ceramic-galanter]

An unofficial guide to Hermitcraft for Season 10!

Be sure to check out Skizzleman and Smallishbeans, this season's newbies!

A big thanks to several anonymous contributors, @sudden-memory-loss and @cerealisafunbath for helping with some of the quotes and blurbs!

Transcript / Accessible version here

[chrysalizzm]

ttdtn blurb: execution

“Do you know what Stockholm Syndrome is, Sam?”

warnings: references to abuse, abusive relationship, references to torture, c!sam neg, vague body horror, death

for @lookinghalfacorpse's phenomenal fic the trees deny themselves nothing, which has been living in my head for the past month.

People always forget that Phil is millenniums old. That he’s put on every face there is. That he’s spoken every tongue that’s lived and died. He can clean any wound and ease any illness, and when the bombing was over and the dust had settled he’d limped through the crowd and offered potions and poultices, and consolation if they’d take it, so: of course they think he’s a senile old man who only knows pain and death. Of course.

But Sam, all of king and court magician, redstone genius and pickpocketing slummer, should know better.

And he does seem to remember, judging by the full-body flinch he greets Phil with at the door to his old workshop. All his fur roils on end, a forest of green, as he says, “Philza.”

“Hi, mate.” Phil folds his wings back demurely, watching Sam’s eyes follow the Void-black sheen of them. He steps over the threshold without waiting for an invitation to do so, steering Sam back towards his workbench with a thump on the back. He kicks the door closed behind him, and it creaks laboriously shut with a protesting groan. Sam’s gaze flickers to the door. Back to Phil’s wings. The fine, faint feathers dusting Phil’s cheeks prick up.

“Nice space you got here,” he says, real friendly-like, parking Sam’s ass in one of the only chairs that doesn’t have a chunk taken out of it for tinkering. “Gloomy and shit. Perfect for you. Is this body going blind yet?”

Sam straightens. “No,” he says mechanically. “My eyesight is perfect, thank you. I’ve improved both foveal acuity and the range of peripheral vision in my left eye. I could track in the dark.”

“Like you couldn’t before,” Phil teases. “Creeper vision and all, yeah? Though the wider periphery is nice. Bet you can see anything getting away.”

Sam’s voice comes out so stiff and starched Phil could probably make a sheaf of paper out of it. “In theory, yes.” 

Phil draws his gaze away from Sam—who knows better than to run from the mythical angel that haunts every page of every history book—to observe the rows and rows of tinkertoys, the delicate baubles, the shiny trinkets. He can practically hear his feathers puffing up in glee. It’s really a shame he knows that Sam’s hands shaped them; all he wants to do is pulverize them into pretty glittering grime.

“Is there anything specific you needed, Phil?” Sam asks, apparently having regained enough of his wits to brave impatience. “I’m busy. I just got an important commission and I really need to get to it.”

“You’ll sit right there until I say you can leave or I will sprout wings of flame and turn your bones into glass,” says Phil mildly. “Is that clear?”

Silence rings out into the workshop. A leaky faucet somewhere drip-drip-drips into the hollow quiet. Sam shifts. 

“...Crystal.”

“Perfect. Glad to see we’re on the same page.” Phil’s eyes flicker briefly to the ceiling, where Sam has, perhaps for posterity, installed a flimsy skylight. A crow—soon to be a whole murder of ‘em—pokes its inquisitive little head in, and Phil stifles a smile. Turning to face Sam, he tucks the smile behind the fan of his clawed fingers and asks, “Why did you lie to me?”

Sam jerks. “What?”

“You lied to me. You claimed you had no underhanded intentions with Dream, yet you took his leg and left him for dead. You claimed you were keeping no secrets, only to lie, repeatedly, to my face. You claimed you would do everything in your power to rectify your mistake, but you’ve instead made a bigger one.” Phil folds his hands over Benihime’s hilt, feeling her purr under his palm. “Do you understand what I’m saying, Sam?”

Sam, clearly not understanding what Phil’s saying, scoffs. “I never lied to you once,” he says matter-of-factly. “I adhered completely to my code of ethics as both an engineer and the Warden, and acted upon the best interests of everyone on this Server.”

“Taking out a perceived threat,” Phil agrees cheerfully. Sam stumbles over his words, caught off-guard by Phil’s concurrence, and it gives Phil the room to continue, “Yeah, I’ve been thinking about what you said over and over for the past three days, mate. Had a lot of time to sorta mull things over, as like.” A minute tense of the knuckles; in the back of his head, Benihime hisses. “But that’s not all that I’m here for.”

Sam lifts his head, shucking off his redstone-stained goggles. His eyes are round: comically surprised. “It’s not?” he says.

Phil smiles with all his teeth. His wings sharpen against the air. The shadows at his feet stretch and seethe. Sam recoils. 

“It’s not. I’m here not only because of those things, but also because you used Dream.” Phil’s voice unspools in a low croon. Quietly, quietly, so not even the crows overhead can hear and whisk the sacred words back to his wife. “Before the Old World fell, they had a name for what you’re doing to Dream. They called it Stockholm Syndrome. Do you know what Stockholm Syndrome is, Sam?”

Sam, his green pelt gone over gray like the gunpowder he’ll fade into if Phil takes a knife to his skull, shakes his head. Ever an eager student, quick to confess to his ignorance. Between becoming empress of a kingdom and a girl in the wilds running with the wolves, Phil had spent a stint as a young king’s tutor, pleased by how quickly the cunning kid caught on. One of many regrets, in the end.

“It means Dream knows how you think about him. He understands. He empathizes. He knows what you think he is, and he agrees. He might like you, Sam. He might even like you a lot, so much that he will ignore anyone trying to save him because you have convinced him he should not be saved. Maybe even that he does not deserve to be saved.” Techno had told him about the incident in the barn, and they both have eyes; you don’t survive centuries amongst the Servers without developing a sixth sense for interpersonal relations. Besides, Phil came before Techno. Much, much before, when there were names for these things, and people knew that you could look at your captor like a lover. Times have changed. People, it seems, have not.

“I don’t know all the details of what you and Quackity did to him in that prison. Frankly, I don’t give a shit. But I care that somehow, while doing what you fucks did, you convinced him that he is not a person, and that he does not deserve love, and that he doesn’t get to live.” The lurid, limpid fury that Phil had carefully banked before leaving burns back to life in his chest now, saying what he knows to be true out loud. “And he believes those things in part because he thinks he loves you.”

Phil didn’t tell Techno—he would have had a fit, and maybe snapped Sam’s neck, not that Phil would’ve been too pressed to stop him—but he’d walked in on an entirely different thing just a day or two after Dream’s first steps. He’d closed the door the moment he realized what was going on, but skin on skin, Sam holding Dream like a worshiper at the feet of an idol: Sam is fooling himself too. “And I think you might have used him. Just a thought.”

The air of the workshop is cold in Phil’s lungs as he draws in a careful breath. He’s always wary of losing his temper. It’s one thing to do it in front of Techno, who’s plenty immortal himself and could probably withstand an accidental eyeful; it’s another thing entirely to do it in a place not specially warded and enchanted and lined brick to brick with sigils to keep the eldritch from spilling everywhere. Once it gets out, there’s no getting it back in, so: deep breaths. Bit by bit, the inferno simmers low. His feathers ease back down. Benihime’s howls fade away.

Sam swallows hard, his throat bobbing in the dark. His new eye throws off bits of light when he blinks. He stands, and he smooths off his pants, and there are a thousand, a million words caught in Phil’s throat, held fast only by the pacts of gods, as the measly little mongrel of a creeper before him says, “I only do what he lets happen to him.”

Dream’s earnest face, his faint smile, drift in a golden-brown smudge across Phil’s eyes. “He only does what I let him do to me.” 

Philza remembers a time before the gods walked the earth. A time before monsters and a time before the Builders. He even remembers a time before the Servers, though that’s a secret sealed in blood and ichor he’ll only divulge if he wishes to die. He remembers floods and famines and foul, fetid plagues. He remembers every bone broken, every life lost. He remembers the Nether before it was a ruin of hellfire. He remembers the End before the night swallowed it whole. He remembers the Ancient Cities when they were not so ancient, before the sculk sprayed its spores, before the Warden—the real one, not a plaything for a pathetic, mewling nuisance to emulate—came through the Builders’ doorway.

Phil has been empresses, wild children, healers, teachers, gods in human skin. Phil is the oldest thing he knows.

He feels every inch his age and horror and terrible, untethered knowledge as he sheds his skin into tongues of flame.

His limbs are End in their own way, cold Void, but that’s just because of his ill-advised dealings with the Ender King. The rest of him is Blaze Empress to the bone, blessed by Hell, kissed by Death. What manner of creature could stand against his full glory, the sheer brutality of his rage? Certainly not a silly little wannabe immortal with wide, stupefied eyes and a dumb, slack mouth. Certainly not a pitiful sack of meat and bone that whirls to pick up a golden trident and is struck down between the shoulder blades with the tip of a blade whittled so finely it winnows the ligaments of his vertebrae and sticks him to the wall opposite, where he screams and curses and makes all manner of noise.

Phil chuckles, amused. It’s a sound that no mortal was meant to hear. Quite possibly it ruptures one or both of Sam’s cochleae, because the man’s ears start to bleed as he shrieks. It’s a shame. Phil had a whole spiel ready to go.

Glossy black bodies wobble across the skylight, squawk in alarm; as one, the murder takes off to tattle to his wife. Phil throws his head back, all glorious mane of sun and storm, and cackles. Benihime has already pierced Sam’s heart, is poisoning him from the inside, a slow death by unstoppable self-mutilation: informing Death would be a mercy. 

Phil folds himself back demurely into his facsimile of a body. In this way, he and Sam share something. He smooths his hair back under his hat, ducks under the doorframe, and gives the workshop a fond little pat on the wall. He’s about ten paces away when the whole thing, outbuildings and all, burst into flame. He’s twenty when he starts to laugh.

He’s forty when he starts to cry.

[hchollym]

What are your headcanons for Percy and his siblings relations and vice versa?

I've talked about this in a lot of posts before, but I'll combine most of them here (ordered together by post, which will be linked in the first comment of each list):

Percy adores Ron, but Ron can't stand Percy. Out of all Percy's siblings, Ron likes him the least.

Percy was a third parent to his younger siblings.

Percy was closer to Charlie than Bill. The twins were closer to Percy than anyone else (aside from each other).

Percy and the twins all have an “only I can mess with my brother” mentality. Bill is the only one in his family that Percy never fully reconciled with after the war.

After the argument, Percy would have felt most comfortable with Charlie.

The twins demanded that Percy read them a bedtime story every night. Percy was also the only one who could always tell Fred and George apart. Percy got compared to Bill a lot by almost everyone. He tried to sneak onto the Hogwarts Express when Charlie left for his first year of Hogwarts, and the twins were so mad at him for trying to leave them that they didn't talk to him for a week. Percy once helped Charlie sneak a Niffler into the Burrow and kept it hidden for several weeks before their mom found out. Percy actually loved playing Quidditch with his siblings.

Percy would blow up (in anger) at his parents and older siblings but not his younger siblings. 

The twins had a lot of resentment towards Percy because they had to deal with constantly being compared to (and falling short of) him by Molly. Percy was also dealing with resentment because the twins’ constantly pranked and insulted him (which was made worse by the fact that Arthur always laughed right along with them). 

The twins call him 'Perce' more than anyone else, followed by Bill.

The twins and Percy were actually very close, and the twins were super hurt when Percy left.

Percy participates in a snowball fight with his younger siblings.

After the war, I think that Percy developed a better bond with Ginny, Charlie, and possibly George, but his relationship with Ron & Bill was always strained.

Ginny & Percy weren't overly close while they were growing up.

Percy disciplined his younger siblings and was a mother hen towards them.

Fred & George adored Percy. They were resentful of Ron for stealing Percy's attention once he was born, which is why they lashed out at him so viciously.

Percy was a "safe" person for his siblings, which is why they took their anger out on him.

If someone insults Percy, then suddenly, Fred & George have a new "willing" test subject for all of their nastiest products. If someone insults the twins, Percy makes some scathing remark about the inferiority of whoever insulted them, and then he goes out of his way to bust them for breaking every little rule imaginable.

Thanks for the ask! 😊

[citrongarde-deactivated20240407]

lusamine is a fascinating character and actually a rlly compelling villain. like woman so wracked with grief over her missing husband that she becomes consumed and overtaken by interdimensional beasts (metaphorically at first but eventually literally with the mother beast incident) and begins exacting painful control over the lives of her children trying to preserve them and keep them as ‘pure’ ‘perfect’ ‘beautiful’ children with no independence or free will, controlling how they dress and how they act and probably more while maintaining a veneer of loving goodness and beauty…god. fucked up twisted woman moment. i want to put her under a microscope and study her

[grendel-menz]

like a lion, like a lamb

[antaarf]

A comic commission with Mello and Near for @nachtyr-haus-comics Lau, thank you so much for this project!  ♥ Commissions info ♥ My gallery ♥ My twitter ♥ Support me on Patreon

[golyadkin]

Sons Of The Labyrinth or The Things Our Fathers Do To Us

[ladyddanger-deactivated20250305]

thinking about the events of the dsmp hundreds of years later being just a bunch of stories.

In a village nestled between tall pines children play Manberg Vs Pogtopia, the names of nations and reasons for war long forgotten as they hit each other with sticks and tackle their friends to warm summer grass.

When their mothers tuck them in that night they tell them stories of a snowy wasteland, so ancient it still holds the scars of long wars forgotten. They tell them of the wasteland’s inhabitant, the greatest warrior this world has ever seen. His name is lost to history but warriors still pray to him on the eve of battle and tie ravens feathers in their hair in his honor.

If the children misbehaved that day their mothers tell them a different story, one of a masked man who steals bad children and drowns them in the sea.

There’s a crater a few miles east of the village in the middle of the marshlands up by a glittering ocean. The crater is so deep that you can throw rocks off the edge and never hear them hit the bottom. Legend says that once upon a time the goddess of death had a son who walked this earth and when he died in her rage and grief she tore into the city that once stood there with her bare hands and ripped it from the earth leaving nothing but a crater behind.

On long sunny evenings in the inns that dot the coastline bards tell stories of a cursed city of gold and glass buried in the heart of a desert where it snows. They whisper the city is full of riches but nobody who looks for it ever comes back.

On stormy nights the Bards tell a different story, a story of a town that sits over a slumbering god. Strange things happen there. Red vines sport up over night. If you listen closely, the people say you can hear them talk. Everyone there has red eyes and cold cold hands.

If you start at dawn and ride in the opposite direction of the carter you can reach the vault before nightfall. The locals claim it used to hold a faceless god guarded by a king but time has weathered the vault’s defenses and the towns children dare each other inside its walls, running though the tight passages.

An old fairytale says if you follow a small barely visible path from the doors of a vault beyond you’ll reach a forest full of trees so overgrown they block the sun. The fairytale says if you walk to the heart of the forrest there’s a prince sleeping there, nestled in the flowers and weeds. The fairytale says his true love and his knights are long dead. The fairytale says he dreams the whole world in existence. The fairytale says a lot of things but nobody really believes it.

[cdroloisms]

thinking tonight about how c!Sam's abuse of c!Dream was a self-reinforcing cycle in that. c!Dream's literal reactions to being abused were things that c!Sam used to justify abusing him, thinking about that stream of the two of them post-Techno's escape where c!Sam convinces himself that because the prison was created for Tommy, any time c!Dream acted negatively due to torture or starvation or solitary confinement that's just more evidence of how c!Dream deserves further punishment because That's Exactly How He Planned Tommy To Be Treated like. like the continual projection of c!Sam's own actions onto c!Dream because CLEARLY c!Dream was going to do the same thing to c!Tommy, CLEARLY the abuse c!Sam approved of and engaged in were all within c!Dream's machinations in order to ruin c!Tommy's life like. gah . prison arc is so