#silverpracticality

[ranbooupdatesstuff]

hello ranbooupdatesstuff! do you know if there will be a list of approximate timestamps for when ranboo was in vc during the tubbathon? if not that's okay, it'd just be super pog if there was a list for those of us who didn't catch every moment or don't have the time to go through the vods

I could probably do something like that with the preexisting vods :D

[10yrsyart]

Zira calling Az "my good angel": MAGNIFICENT. Crow looking like a pirate: *chef's kiss*. AJ's everything: so much yes! (wearing heels specifically to be even taller than Crow to annoy him further?) Crow's lovestruck expression/Az's beautiful smile: PURE SEROTONIN.

hahah thankyou so much!! serotonin is the goal~ 9v9

Az is still of the mind that digital works are a crime against his precious books. Zira could be persuaded to be interested in the sheer volume of stories he could collect on a kindle. fanfiction and fanart is as old as life itself, so they don’t need any introduction into that. have you seen the Sistine Chapel? have you read Shakspeare?

aah perfect! because his chompers make an appearance quite often XD

thankyou so much! ;v; will the realism win out or the chibis?? we just never know..

he does! he likes it a lot :)

[hydrangeathief]

i can see patton making sugar cookies and about to frost them when he sees virgil and starts excitedly patting the table, encouraging virgil to join him. virgil rolls his eyes but obliges and then at some point patton boops virgil's nose with a frosting covered knife and then suddenly they're play-fighting with frosting and then there's sugary smooches

YES PURE CONTENT GOOD CONTENT

[onlyonecanbeking]

((dude i highkey admire and the way you write dark. so much malignancy edged in distilled poison. so malicious. so much concentrated evil blatantly flaunted. i'm working on a fic with dark in it right now and yours is like, hashtag goals. it inspires me to write him even better <3 keep up the good work!))

( half of the words you just complimented me with I have never used in my entire life. I have a feeling you’re going to write Dark very very well. Give me a holler when you’ve finished the fic so I can give it a read! )

“Yes. This one. I believe I’ll like being written by this one.”

( Shut the fuck up you know you like my constant typos and memes, it gives you pizzazz. )

“I’m going to pizzazz my fist up your-”

(okaaayyy thats our cue to end the conversation bye.)

[hydrangeathief]

prompt: google being extremely offended by anti's complete disregard for how electronics are supposed to work, ie: anti how the fuck did you do that THAT'S NOT HOW THAT WORKS DAMMIT

“Oh, my phone died,” Wilford pouts, tapping the black screen of his brand new iPhone X. Google is about to open his mouth to offer to charge it for him, but Anti beats him to the punch, leaning over the table and tapping the phone’s screen with an index finger.

“There ya go,” Anti says, and returns to his burger, seemingly unbothered by the show of pure technological monstrosity that just occurred before Google’s very eyes. 

“Thanks, Glitch!” Wilford says brightly, resuming his scroll through Instagram. The phone’s display proudly proclaims it to be at full power, the screen bright and responsive, despite having been completely drained just moments ago.

“What did you just do?” Google asks. His systems can’t decide between the annoyance response and the curiosity response, so he settles for glaring slightly but leaning forward to show interest. It’s the best he can do to blend the automatic emotive responses to such a perplexing external stimulus.

“I charged it,” Anti says simply. He finishes the rest of the burger and says, “Can we leave? I’m bored.”

They leave a few bills on the table and stand, making their way out of the diner. Outside, the sun shines, not a cloud in the bright blue sky. Humidity is high and there is a cold front coming in, but the forecast for the next two days is nothing but balmy and bright. 

They climb into Wilford’s car, which he’d insisted on driving despite it being bright pink and rather cramped for the three of them. Google has to work to climb into the backseat, but Anti claims the front with a hiss and a glare, so he does it out of self-preservation. Wilford revs the engine as soon as it turns over. He peels out of the parking lot at two-point-five times the speed he should be traveling at and immediately gets stuck at a red light, in a line of cars that will, according to Google’s predictive software, remain at a standstill for the better part of half an hour.

“Aw, fuck,” Wilford groans, revving the engine and tapping his fingers on the wheel impatiently.

“Gimme a sec,” Anti says, and vanishes. Google blinks, sensors struggling to find where, exactly, he could have gone to. He doesn’t have long to deduct, as Anti is flickering back into existence within the next instance, hair mussed and face flushed. “Okay, there.”

Up ahead, the light turns green. Wilford cheers and guns it. The light stays green until the instant their bumper is past the intersection, at which point it turns right to red and stays that way for as long as Google can watch it in the rearview mirror. 

When he can no longer observe the behavior of traffic lights, Google leans forward in the backseat to watch what Anti is doing on his phone. He is quickly dumbfounded by what he sees.

Anti is not touching the screen. Rather, he holds the phone in an open palm, staring at it without moving a muscle. The phone itself is functioning perfectly, though Google is at a loss for how. As he watches, Anti scrolls through his Twitter feed and refreshes his YouTube subscriptions, sends a text to Chase and declines a call from Marvin. All without touching the screen.

“How do you do that?” Google asks eventually.

“Do what?” Anti says, turning around with a sneer. “It’s a phone, android. Ever heard of it?”

“I have,” Google confirms. “However, the manner in which you are using it is incongruent with any known method of using a phone. Generally, one must touch the screen for the phone to function, but you are able to accomplish any task without lifting a finger.”

“It’s just how phones work? I dunno, man, get off my case.”

“Additionally, you were able to charge Wilford’s phone with only the tap of a finger, and I have my suspicions as to your involvement in our earlier escape from what previously appeared to be a lengthy traffic jam,” Google finishes. 

Anti rolls his eyes. “That’s literally just how technology works. Update your systems or something.”

The internal signal for annoyance goes off in congruence with the trigger for anger, and Google narrows his eyes. He updated his systems the night prior. He knows he is functioning at full capacity, and in a way that tracks perfectly with the accepted methodology for using technology. He is not at fault.

He sits back in his seat, mind running the possibilities, fuming. 

[hydrangeathief]

headcanon prompts: 7 + anti pls

7. how’s their cooking?when anti cooks the result is always without fail either something burned to a crisp or some terrible otherworldly combination of ingredients that is somehow eldritch in nature. it’s oozing. should there be an eye there? what has he done. oh god, it’s moving.

[hydrangeathief]

a blank headcanon for you: ethan's gymnastic ability manifests itself in blank as the ability to bend all of his joints at least 50% further than the average human can. needless to say, it's creepy as fuck for everyone involved

YES SILVER YES oh my god

i’m imagining him doing the thing where you don’t want to get up but you need to get the remote and it’s slightly out of reach so you contort to get at it, but he’s got one leg bent backwards and his arm is definitely not supposed to bend that way and why is his elbow doing that, jesus christ, what the fuck

the first time he meets dr iplier and schneep he goes to goes to crack his knuckles and they’re both convinced that he just broke every single one of his fingers in one fell swoop

boy can turn his head like an owl if he wants to

i love this

[hydrangeathief]

"Stop trying to save me!" with darkstache

Wilford swipes a hand across his nose and it comes away wet, blood soaking into the fabric of his shirt, staining the yellow with a bright stark red. He spits out a mouthful of blood and reaches for his gun. The instant he thinks about it, it’s in his hand, cool metal a welcome weight, and he swallows hard. He puts his finger on the trigger. He bites down the urge to fire.

“Wilford, calm down,” Dark says, hands up, palms out, but all Wilford can see is Damien, all he can hear is Celine, all he can think about is Mark, and god, what is this? What is happening? 

His hands are shaking.

“What the hell have you done with my friends?” Wilford–no, William–says, waving the gun. Where did he get a gun? Has he always carried a gun? He can’t remember.

“Wilford, take a breath,” says the man, and is that Damien? No, can’t be. Something happened to Damien. Right? Damien is dead. Damien died. No, Damien was playing a trick on him, along with Celine, and everything is all fine. Just a joke. Ha.

“Who are you?” he says, and huh, his voice sounds like he’s been crying, maybe screaming. He tastes blood. That’s weird. When did he start bleeding? He swipes a hand across his nose and it comes away red, blood soaking into the fabric of his shirt, staining the yellow with even more bright stark red. 

“It’s Dark,” Dark says, and that’s right, that’s Dark, and just this morning he and Wilford were curled up together in their massive bed, all warm and nice, and Wilford had said something that made Dark laugh, and they’d made out for a little while, and everything had been nice. That’s right.

“Dark?” Wilford says slowly, and shakes the cobwebs away from his mind. There’s a gun in his hand. Where did he get a gun? 

“Wilford, calm down, and everything will be alright,” the man says slowly, hands up, palms out. Who the fuck is this? 

“Stop trying to save me!” Wilford shouts. His throat hurts. Has he been screaming? Why is he bleeding? Is that a gun in his hand? Where are Damien and Celine and Mark?

“Calm down,” says Dark, and the lights flicker. There’s a horrible ringing in Wilford’s ears and for a brief moment all he can see is red and blue, and slowly he starts to trickle back into himself. Inch by painful inch, Wilford calms down.

“Oh hey, Dark,” he drawls. He wipes some blood from his nose onto his shirt and frowns. “Huh, I’m bleeding. Weird.”

Dark visibly relaxes. “You must have hit your head.”

Dark tucks bloodied knuckles into his pockets and leads Wilford back to their room.