#I tried to lean more into the manipulative isolation part rather than the

[bipanicoverthegravessiblings]

Spare a little Yandere Ashley, please?

Isn’t that just canon? Oh well!

TW: Possessive Behaviors, Swearing, and Suicide Mentioned

Yandere!Ashley Graves x GN!Reader

Ashley couldn’t explain why she felt so strongly towards you

Maybe it was your looks. The way your eyes lit up when talking about your interests. Your voice. Or…maybe it was cause you were the only person (who wasn’t Andrew) to make her feel cared about

It started with small, insignificant things. A hello in the morning when you crossed paths. Compliments on her hair or outfit that day. A look of pure adoration when she spoked.

It wasn’t until your actions became more noticeable did she truly realize you cared about her.

“Ah shit!” Ashley hissed under her breath at the falling droplets of water.

Of course it had to rain, the one day she didn’t bring a stupid umbrella- or have Andrew to shield her- it rained. She stomped her foot in frustration, her face puffing up in fury towards Mother Nature. She sighed and was about to step forward and seal her fate with the cold and wet when—

“Here,” a familiar voice called to her, “We can share my umbrella.”

Ashley blinked, surprised. Her head slowly turned to look back at the source of the voice. Her assumptions were correct, as you smiled at her- umbrella in hand.

“Uh-…thanks-“ wearily, Ashley stepped closer to you- her arms hugging her body cautiously.

She stayed close to you, her body practically pressed against yours as you both shared the safety of the umbrella. A small blush painted her cheeks as she felt…safe pressed against your form. You always were so kind to her…

From there, she noticed your kindness more and more. And each time it made her heart melt. She felt so loved. So cherished.

…but then she saw that you treated everyone that way. Basic human decency to everyone you came into contact with. She especially hated it when it was other women.

She wasn’t special- she wasn’t as important as she thought. And that pissed her the fuck off.

She ignored you at first- thinking the silent treatment would do you some good. Teach you a lesson.

But then…it hit her-

You’re so kind. And these hussies would do nothing but take advantage of you. That’s what they were doing….taking advantage of you.

Obviously she’d have to protect you.

Ashley clung to your arm, holding you back from chasing after the woman who just ran off. You stared off, wide eyed, before turning to look at Ashley.

“Wh- What was that about?” You sounded dumbfounded, “Why did you scare her off?”

“You couldn’t see it?” She replied, her head tilting slightly.

“See what?”

“She was taking advantage of you, Y/N!” She extended an arm out in the woman’s general direction.

No. She- she wasn’t. Right? How could Ashley know that?

“How do you know that?” Your eyes dared to leave Ashley’s as you looked off towards the fleeing woman again.

“Wow, you really are too nice for your own good.” Ashley grabbed your chin and turned your head to face her once again, “It was so obvious! Cold-hearted hussies like that see a good person like you and want to drain you for everything you’ve got. You’re just too sweet to see that hun.”

Ashley’s nails dug into your arm. You winced from the pain, but didn’t object.

“You need someone like me to help you see that..” her voice was low, her knuckles white from how hard she dug her nails into your arm, “To protect you.”

And protect you she did

You began gaining a reputation in the area, and not a good one.

“Stay away from Y/N, or their girlfriend will bite your head clean off!” “That crazy chick always hangs around them- best stay away.” “I heard their friend harassed a girl into jumping off a bridge.”

Your own friends became scared of you. They slowly stopped answering your calls- all until you confronted them and they gave you their official goodbyes

“Look it’s just..” your friend shoved their hands into their pockets, eyes glued to the ground to avoid your hurt expression, “I think it’s best if we just take some time apart.”

You felt like they had more to say…but you didn’t prod as they walked away from you.

You were now completely alone

Well…except for Ashley.

She comforted you when your friends left. She was protecting you against the people taking advantage of your kindness. She was there for you when everyone left.

You were hers. Forever.

[yanderes-galore]

can you please write yandere alphabet for sans from undertale?

I can try, sure! Doing this mostly from memory so I hope you enjoy!

Yandere Alphabet - Sans

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Stalking, Overprotective behavior, Possessive behavior, Jealousy, Violence, Kidnapping, Isolation, Trauma, Poor mental health, Fear of loss, Dubious/Forced relationship.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

I feel classic Sans leans more into overprotective territory than anything, although he could also fall into possessive territory. For the most part Sans would be very laid-back and not much of a threat. Which means most of the time he isn't that intense.

However, I feel Sans has moments where he can be intense. He hides them well and for the most part is the usual carefree skeleton around you. But there always seems to be an aura of something dangerous with him.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Sans prefers to keep things easy and stress free. Him being messy would only happen if he was pushed to it. Which doesn't happen often...

When it does, however...

He may not accept mercy.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Sans would treat you well if he ever did have to isolate you in such a way. He feels there's no need to mock you, not if he genuinely cares about you. Every need is tended to and you're in safe hands.

Even if you blame and hate him... he promises he still loves you.

He tries not to but his actions may come off that way.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

I wouldn't really say Sans is all that vulnerable. After all he's seen he's most likely not. Rather hardened, actually. But he will try his best to show he cares and to show you how much you mean to him.

Although that's not to say he won't have vulnerable moments, like in the sense of a mental breakdown.

Upset but he's understanding. He knows what it's like to not be in control. But he assures you... what he's doing is far better than what he's gone through.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

No and he doesn't.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Seeing him snap. He doesn't want to hurt you but he may do it by accident. You've never seen him at his full power, you don't want to.

But nothing good can come from him when that eye sparks blue....

You've never seen him fight, so when he gets into a fight or shows signs of hitting a breaking point around you... that may be your worst experience.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

He wants to have someone he knows he won't lose. He wants to protect you. He wants to keep you with him as long as he can.

But with the possibility of RESET around every corner... he worries he'll never get that.

Maybe and he might lash out but most of the time he silently copes instead.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Overprotective, Subtle Manipulative, Slightly Possessive, Caring, and Laid-back. He seems like he'd be mostly docile... but may have moments where you see the truth.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

I imagine when he meets you and befriends you he keeps an eye on you. He teleports around to meet you and always seems welcoming. He doesn't seem all that bad.

Even when he expresses distaste towards others around you he still manages to stay so nice and comforting around you. Despite small outbursts, he may make you gravitate towards him. You can trust him... he only means well...

But by the time you realize his behavior is suspicious...

He already has you locked in his room.

His true nature? Yes.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Isolation, maybe a bone cage. He refuses to hurt you... but he isn't against restraining you.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Not many, for the most part he wants to give you your freedoms... unless he feels he can't.

Surprisingly patient, actually.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

He might not... although he could always wait for another RESET to try again, right?

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

A little and maybe. But you're still never out of his sight.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Trauma, the RESETS, he may not want to lose anymore loved ones so he fixates on you.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

He feels bad and tries to help make you feel better. But if you need space... he understands and leaves you be.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

Skipped.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Reciprocating his feelings is the only way I can think of.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Unintentionally.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

He isn't a worship yandere but he clings around a lot. He would do anything to keep you with him.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

He can wait awhile... but I'd say months.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

Unintentionally.

[dear-wormwoods]

Okay, thoughts on The Worldwide Privacy Tour:

This was a solid episode for Kyle’s character development and I really found myself being reminded of You’re Getting Old/Assburgers in the sense that Kyle, rather than Stan this time, is alienating his friends by being a downer. He’s not moping or feeling depressed, but he IS constantly bitching about stuff the other kids don’t want to hear about, and then when they tell him they don’t want to hear it, he promises to stop but immediately starts up again. I do feel bad for him, though, because Kyle has a long history of trying really hard to reach people only to have no one listen to him, especially in recent seasons when other characters have actively shut his speeches down. But at the same time, I know what it’s like to be that annoying friend and also to have that annoying friend… sometimes you just have to know when to shut up about stuff!

But whereas Stan just kind of accepts that people don’t want to be around him anymore and isolates even further, Kyle desperately tries to change himself to fit in again. This is very consistent with Kyle’s character, because historically he often goes out of his way to fit in and really lets other people’s perception of him impact his own sense of self. Butters, I think, stumbles upon this aspect of Kyle’s character accidentally and that’s why it was so easy for him to give the ol’ ‘Vic Chaos sales pitch’ about rebranding. I don’t think Butters intentionally manipulated Kyle, at least not with nefarious intentions, but I think he did see Kyle as an easy target, which he absolutely was.

The fact that Kyle so desperately wants people to like him but not really knowing how to go about it is so relatable. I loved his explanation of wanting his friends to think he’s more thick-skinned and “stronger mentally than I probably am”. He knows himself but he perceives his sensitivity as a flaw because he gets hung up on stuff and takes things too personally. His black t-shirt transformation was so cringey but that’s to be expected - like I said last week, Kyle has a large capacity for cringe! That locker leaning pose though…

Absolutely loved his final speech! “Look, we all have our faults - God knows I do” was a particularly good bit of voice acting. And the ending was super sweet, first with Kyle catching himself still caring what others think and then accepting Ike for who he is, and then with the other boys basically telling Kyle to go touch some grass in the nicest way possible. They were finally able to understand that there was something actually going on with Kyle that they could help with, but the best part is that Kyle had already solved his own problem! Sure he needs his friends too, but he was able to come to terms with himself on his own, which was great to see.

Stray observations:

Kyle saying “I’m not that outdoorsy” instead of denying being sensitive or a victim.

He WOULD call the police to file a noise complaint at 10:30pm.

“I’m carefree and unflappable!” says the LEAST carefree and unflappable person ever. But that’s the point.

Bebe continues to be my favorite girl. Butters has honestly had it coming for a while now.

[perpetualexistence]

Thank you kindly for the compliment about Noah's refusal to manipulate Owen. I do my best. I also reread through your reply like three separate times because it was so good and I was trying to figure out how else the thoughts are going to go brrr.

Eva starts off with a gruff 'what are you doing here' with a sore throat because she's been screaming too much.

Noah tries to say he forgives her. She says he shouldn't. He tries to insist that it was his fault for insisting on the whole scheme in the first place. She insists that what he did doesn't matter. She still shouldn't have punched him. She let her anger get the better of her, and it hurt him. SHE hurt him. In both the physical way and the feelings way. She crossed a line she never thought she would have, and he got to suffer for it. He's got other people around him that haven't hurt him. He'll be fine. She'll be fine.

He immediately calls that out as bullshit. For either of them being fine. He doesn't want her to isolate herself and lose her as a friend. If he did, he wouldn't have come. He's here because he wants her back. He likes having her around.

He doesn't want their friendship to be destroyed because of some stupid miscommunication that Chris caused. That's what made her get so angry at him. It's what made everyone else angry at him. All of this could have been avoided if Chris wasn't such a drama-hungry, exploitative bastard who lathered him in barbecue sauce and threw him into a pack of rabid wolves who were all too eager to rip him to shreds like the wild animals they are and- No. No, this was on him for deciding to lean into being the bad guy. It wasn't their fault for not knowing.

Eva's brought out of her self-hatred for multiple reasons. One, because the fact that he's forgiving her and she's actually starting to believe him. Two, she's been through enough rage spirals to be able to recognize one, and knows from experience that holding it off is usually just a bad thing for everyone. And three, he's clearly blaming himself for this. So he's being a little hypocrite trying to make her not blame herself. So she's interrupting him.

"You really want me to feel better?"

"Yes!"

"Beat me up."

"Wh-What?!"

"Okay fine. Beat up the punching bag. Punch it. Kick it. Just let yourself be an angry, whiny little bitch."

This would throw Noah for a loop because it certainly wasn't expecting. But the alternative is Eva beating herself up. So he'd reluctantly punch it at first. Eva would egg him on to go harder by reminding him what the rest of the cast did.

And he'd punch harder. Because even if it was his choice to lean into the bad guy role, yeah, he was pretty pissed about his treatment. He hated having to sneak around to get food. He hated being cooped up in his room. He hated all the cold shoulders. He hated the looks. He hated the fact that Eva didn't trust him! He forgives her but he's still pissed that she didn't have enough faith in him damn it!

And Eva's still egging him on and in turn is venting out her own frustrations. She hates what she did, and not defending him, but also she's pretty upset that he got himself involved with Heather! (She's still got that beef from Island.) And just throwing himself to the dogs as part of a get-rich-quick scheme?! What the hell was he thinking?!

They let out their grievances towards each other, the cast, and then finally, and most importantly, Chris and the producers. All the while they're absolutely destroying the place together. It's rather freeing getting all of it out where no one else can get hurt. Even more so when you do it with someone else. It's less like you're against the world, and more like both of you are against the world. And maybe against each other at least a little bit. But that's why they end up focusing it towards Chris at the end, because he DEFINITELY deserves it.

Actions always speak louder than words to Eva. Letting all their anger out together leaving only exhaustion remaining means a lot. And it shows that it can be done without hurting anyone.

And that's how the two of them go back to being friends. It's pretty much inspired by this clip when I thought 'yeah, I want their reconciliation to be messy and for that to be okay because it's what works for them':

Also on the fluffier side to add a bit of reprieve, I like to imagine that upon reuniting, Alejandro, Noah, and Heather have a sleepover in the same room. The first night they tried sleeping in different spots since they're all still new to having a relationship like this. But by the time they pass out they're all sleep cuddling on the same bed.

I don't know how exactly it would happen, but i think it'd be hilarious if Heather tricked Noah into getting in the same bed as Alejandro and sleep snuggling before Alejandro's actually ready to go to bed, forcing him to stay like that or else deal with a cranky Noah.

Thinking about the fake dating AU again. 🤯

What if, during his segment on the Aftermath, Noah plays off his 'cheating' as something so emotionally detached it makes him look almost psychopathic, in an attempt to make himself as unlikable as possible?

The 'cheating' was simply strategic, is all. It wasn't his fault the two of them had to go and catch real feelings; Noah was just playing the game. Nothing more.

What? You thought he had feelings for them? Don't be ridiculous, Noah felt nothing for either of them- they were just there to carry him through the competition.

(He doesn't anticipate the ache that twists through his chest after that statement. It isn't true in the slightest, yet even just pretending to not care about his partners is physically painful.)

At first, both Geoff and Blaineley commend him for enacting some long overdue karma/vengeance on the antagonistic duo, but the more Noah intentionally digs himself into a hole- the more hateable he makes himself- the more people actually begin to pity both Heather and Alejandro. Which was the plan from the beginning, so Noah fully commits to it, playing off every interaction as just another cog in his manipulation machine; he's the 'High IQ', after all, of course he planned it all.

And he hides the nausea writhing in his gut from the blatant lies he's sprouting under a carefully blank, uncaring mask of indifference. Every claim he makes is said in the most casual tone- as if he's commenting on the weather instead of admitting to masterminding the heartbreak of two strong competitors- and that's somehow worse than if he would at least seem smug about his achievement. Because at least then he'd (appear to) care.

So, when the Aftermath finally ends, Noah becomes persona non grata. No one wants to even look at him- who knew the little snark could be so ruthless? So uncaring?

And Noah, knowing that he can't confide in Owen (who can't keep a secret to save his life) or Izzy (who's too unpredictable to trust- and who also 'leaked' fake information about him to Sierra during her time on Celebrity Manhunt, so who knows what else she's leak?) turns to his friend Eva, who promptly decks him in the face.

"I'm not friends with cheaters."

And when he tries to explain himself, clutching at his quickly bruising face and hoping that she'll see reason or at the very least afford him some decency, she throws his actions back in his face (actions have always spoken louder than words with Eva). Claiming that, if he's willing to lead on two people romantically, who's to say he isn't also faking their friendship? How can she trust anything that comes out of his slimy mouth?

It hurts. Every accusation is like a wave of searing heat against his already blistered heart, and yet Eva's eyes are so cold as she looks at Noah like he's the scum beneath her shoes.

So he flees to his hotel room.

And, for the first time in years, he weeps.

.

Given the informative finale of World Tour, the Aftermath crew were given the go-ahead to host one last hurrah, to properly question their finalists about their scheme, and to clear Noah's name.

Their audience was practically frothing at the mouth for an update.

During their interview segment, Blaineley (in an attempt to stir up some drama- she's always endeavouring to stay on brand after all) plays clips of Noah's callous 'confessions' on his Aftermath segment post-elimination, hoping to cause some trouble in paradise for the lovely throuple by sewing the seeds of doubt in their minds.

To her surprise, both Heather and Alejandro start laughing at the clips as if they're the funniest thing they've ever seen, huddling closer to Noah as they poke and tease him. Noah, in turn, sinks in unto himself, red-faced and mortified.

"What? How can you be alright with him saying that?" Cries Blaineley, scandalised that her attempt at brewing tension somehow didn't work.

"Because he does not mean it." Alejandro explains. To his side, Heather nods in agreement.

"How can you be so sure?"

Heather points to the screen, where past Noah is lying his ass off for the world to see, stoic save for the barely noticable twitching of his fingers and the occasional jump of his leg.

"He's lying through his teeth! It's so obvious- you weren't even trying to hide your tells, and after all the practice we did!"

"I didn't need to. Neither of you were there to call me out on the bluff."

[yandere-daydreams]

Title: Revision.

Commissioned by the very lovely @pyrokittyowo.

Pairing: Yandere!Simeon/Reader (Obey Me).

Word Count: 2.2k.

TW: Past Trauma, Toxic Relationships, Codependency, Infantilization, Isolation, Mentions of Physical Abuse, Manipulation, Gaslighting.

The sun never sets in the Celestial Realm.

It’s less whimsical than it sounds, to be fair. Sleep is a luxury for angels, a way to pass time for the young and the injured, but that hadn't been something Simeon thought to tell you when you first arrived, as you tried to follow his mangled, irregular cycle of rest and work. You’d gotten the hang of it with time, carved out your own routine and forced yourself to follow it, but you’d be lying if you said you were completely used to it. It was grating, if anything, just how bright all of it was, the shine only amplified by the ivory and gold angels seemed so fond of. It was overwhelming, really. If you hadn’t known better, you might’ve called it unbearable.

But, you did know better. This realm was warm, but not stifling, not half as oppressive as the Devildom had been. It didn’t have the same constant chill, a pervasive darkness only made worse by the humid air and that invasive metallic scent, like stone and rock and the blood that must've been soaked into the cracks of both. The darkness was worse. All of it was worse, but you tried to keep your mind on the landscape, the starless sky, the bleakness you’d slowly grown to hate.

If you let yourself think about anything else, you’d have to think about the people you’d met, the brothers, the way they’d looked at you. You’d have to remember how tight Mammon’s grip had been, the first time he took you by the wrist rather than the hand, or how dull Beelzebub's fangs were and how much it hurt when he drove them into your skin, your chest, the sensitive area just below your collarbone that never failed to bleed, when it bit down. You’d have to think about how Lucifer’s hand felt as it wrapped around your neck, the sound of your own failing breath, the way he’d laughed as you—

You inhaled sharply, cutting yourself off before you could get any more lost in the memory.

Because that’s what it was – just a memory. Something you’d never have to worry about again, thanks to Simeon.

Still, you were allowed to complain. Even indoors, perched in one of the many bay windows spotted around Simeon’s sizable chambers, you could feel the unyielding sun, notice the light start to eat away at your vision like a hungry, gnawing parasite. There were clouds in the sky, perfect wisps of nothing, but they'd been their since the day you first arrived, fixed features on an unchanging canvas. They wouldn't move. You already knew that. Nothing moved in the Celestial Realm, not unless it had a reason to.

And yet, you found yourself opening your mouth regardless, asking the question that’d been playing on your tongue all day. You could let yourself have this. You could hope that were wrong. It wasn't like this would be the first time. “It doesn’t rain here, does it?”

Immediately, there was a hum from across the room, one of the many soft sounds Simeon seemed to be so fond of. You should’ve been glad he was there to answer at all, really. Simeon spent most of the day tending to his vague responsibilities. If he had time to sit around, pouring over a scroll in a language you couldn’t recognize, it must’ve meant it was either too early in the morning or too late at night for him to be bothered with anything else. You couldn’t be sure which, not when the two were so impossible to tell apart. “Rarely,” He replied, still distracted. “Michael tries not to leave the weather up to chance. If he needed a storm, I’d be able to tell you weeks in advance.”

You almost felt bad for him. You would’ve hated it, knowing everything long before it actually happened, but you doubted Simeon would ever let himself be so careless. “I don’t know how I’d stay sane,” You admitted, your gaze moving back to the window. A white dove had landed on the edge of Simeon’s windowsill, meticulously sorting through bleached feathers with its pointed beak, and idly, you wondered if the animals bothered to regulate themselves, too. “You wouldn't like my hometown. Couldn’t see the sky most days, and when you could, it was nearly too hot to go outside. Never stopped it from snowing a month before winter, though.” You paused, letting yourself smile at the thought. You missed it; you weren’t going to try to deny that. You were still allowed to miss things. “Luke would probably love it. Say what you want about humans, but we've never gotten a bakery wrong.”

Simeon didn’t hum, this time. The silence couldn’t have lasted more than a few seconds, but your heart still found a way to tighten in your chest, stopping completely as you heard his chair scrape against the floor, sharp footsteps following the noise immediately. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, and he was kind enough not to force you to, brushing off your avoidance as he positioned himself on the opposite side of your small shelter. It wasn't much of an improvement, though. If he'd just let himself be a little more cruel, you might've had the pleasure of hating him for it.

“You’re thinking about the human world again.”

He was getting straight to the point. You couldn’t say you weren’t thankful.

“How can I not?” You tried to laugh, but it came out strained, out of place against his sober expression. “I haven’t been home in a year. I’m bound to want to go back, eventually.”

“You know it’s not safe.” It was a familiar mantra, one you should’ve been numb to, but it still found a way to hurt, to linger, accumulate into a small, aching knot in the back of your throat as you reminded yourself that he was only doing it because he cared. That was all – he cared. He didn’t want to see you get hurt, not again. He didn’t want to see you face anything more harmful than his clumsy comfort, even if he did have a strange way of showing it. “We’ve talked about this before, (Y/n). It’s still too early to tell if Lucifer left any lasting damage. There could still be a tracking spell I haven’t discovered yet, or worse.” There was a pause, and a gloved hand came to rest on your knee. You could’ve mouthed the words, as he said them. “I can keep you safe here, but your world is neutral territory. I might not be able to stop him, if he and his brothers tried to take you away.”

You hated the way he said it. Part of you, a persistent minority, still wanted to think this was all a misunderstanding, a result of crossed wires and mixed messages and the kind of miscommunications that only ever led to such awful things. You knew it was unhealthy, to try to tint your own memories with such a forgiving light, but that didn't help you smother the temptation to believe all the soft, pleasant encouragements Asmodeus had whispered in your ear as his brothers lived out their distorted, carnal fantasies. Whatever Simeon was trying to do, it certainly wasn’t helping, either.

“I’ll be careful,” You tried, slouching against the glass. It was warm to the touch, a feeling you savored under his cold gaze. “It’d be a day trip, at most. Just a few hours. I…” He was wearing the silk gloves, today, soft and smooth as he raised his hand, cupping your cheek without a trace of hesitation. You trailed off instantly, still unused to the gentleness. “I just want to see my family, that’s all. Even if it’s only for a few minutes.”

“You’re bored of me, now?” It was supposed to be playful, the question accompanied by a light chuckle, but you still shook your head, leaning into his palm as you went on. “I can’t say I blame you. I know I’m not one for company, but if you’re dying for entertainment, I can see what—”

“It’s not just that.” You should've let him finish, but it was already too late to stop yourself. You didn’t want to stop yourself, if you were being honest. You just wanted to go somewhere else, somewhere different, a place where the sky didn’t hurt to look at and the sun wasn’t so willing to punish you for existing. You wanted to be able to step outside without worrying whether or not your angelic hosts still thought you were worthy of their concern. You didn’t want this, anymore, even if it was the better option. “I’m just tired, Simeon. I’m tired of being here, I’m tired of running, and I just want to go home—”

There was a small huff, a sharp crack. By the time you realized what happed, by the time that sudden acidic sting faded into a steady throb, his thumb was already digging into your jaw, your head forcibly tilted back in such a way that made it so you had to look at him. You couldn’t avoid the softened anger in his eyes, or the stiffness in his posture, or that tight, unignorable scowl. He was disappointed, and he wanted you to know you were the reason why. He was mad at you, and you’d done everything to earn it.

When he spoke, he did so slowly. Like he was talking to a child who hadn’t quite come to terms with reality, just yet. “I’ve taken care of you, haven’t I?”

“You have.” There was no point trying to deny it. If it hadn’t been for Simeon, you’d still be rotting in that hellscape, subject to the whims of a family of monsters. He'd saved you. He'd helped you escape, and you had to be thankful for that. “I just don’t know if I can—”

“And you care about me, right? You don’t want to see me worry?”

You hesitated, but your answer was inevitable “Of course.”

“And you do remember the last thing Belphie said to you, don’t you? What he did to send you running to me?” He let himself smile, despite the nature of the question. “I could barely understand you back then, with the crying and all. Honestly, I almost didn't notice you were begging me to save you.” It was easy to forget how Simeon could be, when he knew he was right. Most of the time, his confidence was comforting, a gentle reminder that you could trust him, that you should trust him. Right now, it just made you feel weak. “What was it, again? C’mon, love, you can tell me, can’t you?”

You could. Objectively, you could, if you tried to. You could force your mouth to make the words, you could shut your eyes and let Simeon guide you through it, and you could tell yourself they were just memories, that you were somewhere else now, that you were somewhere better, but…

But, you really, really didn’t want to, and you couldn’t convince yourself you did.

If you did, you’d have to remember how tightly Belphegor had held your hand, as he said it, his fingers intertwined with yours and his grip strong enough to leave your palm bruised, after he pulled away. You’d have to think about the small smile he wore, the hatred in his half-lidded eyes, the chill that'd run down your spine as he hid his face in the crook of your shoulder and told you that, if you ever tried to leave him, if he ever had to share you with anyone beyond the six exceptions he was already making, he’d kill you. It was as simple as that.

If he ever saw you again, he’d kill you.

You were safe, here. You were safe in the Celestial Realm, you were safe with Simeon, but you still found yourself choking on the words, your throat going dry as your shoulders pitched forward, a bolt of something frozen striking your chest before you could ward it off. You couldn't be sure why something so distant would make you cry, but you could feel it coming on – hot tears welling in your eyes, blurring your vision, threatening to spill over and strip you of what little pride you had left, but Simeon only wiped them away, as doting as he always was. As loving as he always was, even when you took his patience for granted. Even when you hesitated to lean into him, as he pulled you into his chest, urging you to hide your face and treat him like the pillar of support he was so clearly trying to be. Even when you didn't deserve it, when you didn't deserve him, when you didn't deserve any of this, not when he was kind enough to pretend he didn't know that just as well as you.

“Poor little thing.” He was humming, now, his tone teetering on the line between carelessness and comfort. You couldn’t bring yourself to care, not in the moment, not when it was all you could do to muffle your hitched sobs into small, pathetic whimpers. “It’s nothing to blame yourself for. You just need a little help.” Another pause, elongated and purposeful. Sadistic, in only because he had to try so hard not to be. “You just need someone to protect you. It’s only human.”

It was all you could do to nod, to agree, as mindlessly as you were capable of. You didn’t want to think. You didn’t want to risk remembering something you shouldn’t.

Instead, you just focused on the sunlight streaming the nearest window, how it felt as it hit you.

How, wherever your skin made contact with Simeon’s, it seemed to grow just a little more insufferable than it had been, a second ago.

[vrisrezis]

Oohh wait.. since we got a yandere s/o post... what about yandere matsus? 👀👀👀

Been waiting the day for this ask thank u

Warnings for blood; violence; abuse; toxic relationships; suicide; self harm; just general yandere stuff

Osomatsu is the “eliminating” type of yandere. He will do anything to make sure his competition is not around, he will attack or even go as far as to kill his rivals. If he’s pushed too far he would go as far as to hurt you, or kidnap you. He would even go as far as to kill you if driven mad enough. The only reason he would do this is if you show any kinda hatred or just disliking towards him, or are dating // showing an interest in somebody. He would try really hard to get you to trust him and be close to him, so he’d be really upset if you didn’t like him for some reason because of all the effort he’s put in for you to like him.

“Oh… so you are alive!” He smiles, wiping the blood off his face. Whos blood? Yours? His? Or somebody else’s? That is the question isn’t it.

“That’s good!” He giggles, “I honestly thought I killed you…” he says, coming close to you and caresses your cheek, you flinch at this action. “Now that wouldn’t be good… would it….?”

Karamatsu is a bit of the dependent type to be honest. He is devoted to you, and only you. You are his entire world and you are all that he thinks about. He cannot imagine a world without you by his side. He is so loving, to the point of it being overbearing. Giving you an unreasonable amount of love letters, flowers, anything to woo you. He is extremely delusional, getting the wrong idea and thinking you being kind to him means you love him. Although he is relatively harmless, if you get him out of his delusions (which is by kissing somebody or just dating somebody and showing an interest in somebody else) he ends up killing the person.

You looked at him, mouth agape. He did what? You may need him to repeat that.

The blood on his hoodie though, the tears rolling down his face, it says enough. He’s telling the truth. He killed your girlfriend, totoko.

“I’m sorry!” He exclaims, “please stay with me still! Don’t leave me! It’s okay right? It’ll be okay! Please don’t leave me! I cant live without you!” He barks out a laugh, tears steaming down his face. He seems more bothered by the idea of you leaving him than the fact he just murdered somebody, but you’re too scared to move as he comes up to you, taking your face in his hands.

“We can still stay together forever my dear! Like we always wanted! Hahaha!”

Choromatsu is the obsessive type of yandere, he always wants to be with you, he wants all of your time to himself. He wants you to be with him and only him, only think of him. He is the type of person to have a shrine of you hidden somewhere, he has pictures of you, there’s red scribbles of everyone else in the picture with you, whether it’s simply scribbles or just “DIE” or “NO” on the faces, your face being circled with hearts on it, he has stolen your sock that he sniffs and sighs happily at. He has become so obsessed though, he needs you by his side always. He’s more than willing to manipulate you into staying with him, and he can be very violent towards others. He isn’t violent towards you, but you have the fear that he could become violent. He tends to monopolize and isolate you from others.

“Who is that person you were talking to?” He glares at you accusingly. “You KNOW how I get when I’m upset…” he says, getting close to your face. “You don’t want anyone else to get hurt do you? Another person dying? Because of you? Is that really what you want?” He asks, and you shake your head no, begging him not to do anything drastic.

He gives you a sweet smile, “good” he says, kissing your cheek. “D’aww! I cant stay mad at you…” he sighs happily, “I love you~”

Ichimatsu is a bit self degrading, believing he is not good enough for his muse. He is extremely suicidal, wondering why he even should exist in a world where he can’t be with you. He ultimately decides if he cannot be with you he will simply die. He guilts you into staying with him, saying “I will kill myself if you leave me” he is extremely jealous as well which will make him extremely violent towards any rivals of his. He’s harmful to even himself, but never to you. He tends to self harm, mainly because he feels he deserves it, but also for your attention. When you pay attention to him it makes him feel so good, even if it’s not the good kind. It makes him feel like you care? Give him too much attention towards the self harm and he might actually go too far and stab himself to death in front of you.

“Good news honey..” Ichimatsu smiles darkly, “I killed that douchebag you wouldn’t shut the hell up about!” He laughs at you stare at him. “Yes.. keep staring at me..” he says in almost a dreamy like state, is that drool coming from his mouth? The moment you look away, he’s quick to say “hey… look at me…” he starts out serious before he lets out a rather maniacal laugh. “There’s so much blood coming out… it’s all for you..!”

He leans in to give you a kiss, you can taste the blood on his mouth and what freaks you out is that you don’t know if it’s his or not. “Lets die together. So we can stay together FOREVER in the afterlife.. we can start with you.. or do you wanna do it at the same time? I have sooo many ideas..”

Jyushimatsu is the type to worship you and be absolutely devoted towards you. He will do whatever you ask of him, he is quite literally your slave. He worships you and he is the self sacrificing type as well, he’s willing to kill himself for you, he’s at your beck and call. However at the same time would kill you too, not because he’s jealous, not on accident, but for the simple fact that he loves you. He is overbearing and is by far one of the worst of them, I feel very bad for you if you have this yandere. There is no reasoning with him, he’s beyond insanity.

He giggles, as you look at him covered in blood. “Well of course I killed him silly!” He says it in almost a bashful manner, “I’ll do anything for you.. even.. killing for you… I wouldn’t mind dying if it’s for you! use me however you want!” He grabs onto your hands, “you can just count on me. You don’t even need anyone else! I love you more than anyone ever could.. since I’m doing so much for you.. could you do one thing for more?”

Your quiet, but nod slowly, you’re too scared to do anything else.

“Can you give me your fingers nails? Toe nails are cool too if with wanna give me them instead.. a strand of your hair too! Ooh maybe even a tooth! I want them so I always have a part of you with me.”

Todomatsu is a stalker. He stalks you on social media and knows an unsettling amount of information about you that you never told him. He’s very clingy and obsessive and he wants to be with you always, and always, and always, AND ALWAYS, AND ALWAYS. He wants you guys to be inseparable, he is the most likely to kidnap you. He would be the type to isolate you from others, and he tries to force you to love him if he thinks you don’t. He is a little bit obsessed as well though, he wants to know everything you do, he wants to know everything about you. He can be violent towards you at times though.

“It hurts?” He asked, as he kicks you to the ground. “That’s your fault! I send you like 70 text messages and you didn’t reply! What about me?! Why didn’t you reply?” He glares at you angrily. “Where were you?! What were you doing?!”

When you don’t answer, he finally stops and inhales sharply, “I wanna stay together forever” he finally says, “you’ll never leave my side. Not again. I’ll make sure of it. You don’t need other people. You have me. You only need me.”

[storybookstalker]

. Riddle Rosehearts 

Main Yandere Type → Controlling | Obsessive 

♚ Riddle has been taught from a very young age that rules are a necessary part of life. Rules keep you safe, they offer a cold, guiding hand to those who might not know how to properly handle themselves otherwise! These are the morals instilled in him, and just as they extend to his dorm, they extend their icy grip to his darling as well. 

♚ Riddle’s descent into obsession goes mostly unnoticed by himself, believing that he’s simply worried for their well-being. Afterall, they have that empty dorm all to themselves, what do they do all day? Just sit around? That won’t do! Aren’t they bored? 

♚ He takes it upon himself to create a small schedule for them to follow! It’s just for their mental health, you see, just to give them things to do. He reassures that having a schedule, even the “small” one he gave them will help keep them sane. Don’t worry, Riddle will even update it according to the things they want to do! Just make sure to keep him updated on their life so he can update it on the fly. 

♚ By the time he realizes his feelings, he panics and tries to shove them down. He can’t be in love! What would his mother say!? He tries to brush it all off but soon enough he’ll fall off into the deep-end, after-all, who cares what she thinks? Maybe indulging himself, every now and again, isn’t such a horrible idea.

♔ → “Hmph, Really now, I don’t mind doing this. Don’t worry so much, I can take care of this for you.”

♔ → “Oh? You’re joining a club? Why not join the horseback riding club? It’s very fun, there’s a perfect time slot for it so I don’t have to move anything around on your schedule.”

♔ → “If you ever need help controlling that cat of yours, I’m happy to lend a hand.”

. Trey Clover

Main Yandere Type → Possessive | Manipulative 

♣ Trey is overly calm about his obsession for the most part. He knows it’s wrong but he just takes it in strides, reassuring himself that he has control over his emotions and actions. He’ll charm his way into his darling’s heart, working his way out of plain friendship and into the passionate affection he wants from them. 

♣ He takes all of his obsession in stride, including the increasingly intense desire bubbling in his chest. If he’s losing his mind over them hanging out with the other first years so much, then he’ll just have to gently guide them away from doing that! Trey is much more fun than all of them combined, believe him! When it’s one on one there’s no worry of being left out or leaving anyone out, besides, shouldn’t they be studying more? He’ll help! Trey can help them fix those grades while having fun!

♣ He’ll showly convince them that their “friends” don't actually care about them, ever hear of pity friends? I mean, they haven’t really reached out to darling, now have they? Not that he had anything to do with it, but really! Trey is way more reliable than any of those kids, why does darling even keep them around? As with his obsession, he’s pretty relaxed about getting rid of issues. Slow and steady, he’ll worm his way into isolating them, into being the only one they trust or adore. 

♣ Trey will eventually come to confess, but he’ll make sure there’s no way they’ll even think of rejecting him. He’s clearly the best option for a romantic partner, who else knows them so well? Just stay with him, he’s all they truly need anyway.

♧ → “You seem pretty tired lately. Let me know if you need help with anything, you can lean on me.”

♧ → “Isn’t it exhausting to hang around those guys? Come by if you need a breath of fresh air.”

♧ → “Oh, are you in a good mood? Could you help me with something?”

. Cater Diamond

Main Yandere Type → Obsessive | Stalker 

♦ Cater, while hard to attract, is a rather discreet yet intense yandere. He fights his feelings more than riddle does and fights it for longer. He does what he can to try and shove his feelings down, burying his face in his phone whenever he sees them. But sooner or later, he won’t be able to ignore the urge to angle his phone just right and snap a quick photo. 

♦ At first, he’s tempted to post it as a joke but the idea of sharing such a special picture with anyone else just makes his insides churn. So he starts a private collection, full of photos, videos of his darling. He finds himself staring at them, analyzing any detail he notices. Cater is quick to fall after his breaking point, obsession keeping a tight hold on his heart and head.

♦ He makes an extra effort to keep smiling in front of them, Cater thinks that if he seems happy, then his darling (and others, but there’s a strong focus on darling) will like him more. Cater attempts to flirt with them at times, but the sheer weight of having their full attention is almost too much for him to handle; he usually backs out of it as casually and quickly as possible. 

♦ Cater will probably need some reassurance to approach his darling, or at least time. He doesn’t really feel like he deserves someone like his darling, hell, just looking at them makes his heart jump into his throat. Not that it bothers him too much, stalking them is good enough for him. 

♢ → “You look super pretty today, we should pose for my magicam~!”

♢ → “Ah, you’re always so interesting! Let’s talk more often~”

♢ → “Are you bored? Wanna help me with my magicam? It’ll be fun~”

. Ace Trappola 

Main Yandere Type → Manipulative | Cruel

♥ Ace blames them for making him feel the way he does. He fully embraces his emotions and teases his darling for it. Not that he outright confesses to them, in fact, he’s pretty likely to hide that his feelings are romantic; at least for a bit. Darling will probably assume he’s just a mean kinda person. He’s just teasing, no need to get worked up about it... right?

♥ Of course, he doesn’t constantly tease. If they need help with something, leave it to Ace! He’ll show them just how reliable and trustworthy he is! Sure, he’s immature, but he’s still totally better than any other guy! Geez, they make him feel all intense and gushy, yet don’t even make an effort to make him their number one? What the hell’s wrong with them?

♥ Don’t worry too much about it, Ace is happy to show you how to act towards him! He’s not the most patient person, so they’ll probably get out of it in favor of doing something fun with Ace. Do better next time, okay? 

♥ He likes the idea of being around them 24/7, if not just to make sure he’s the only guy on their mind. Ace probably thinks about stalking them if they’re doing something without him, but where’s the fun in that? If he’s going to stalk them, he’d rather just waltz up to them and start up a conversation or something else fun. He has to talk to them to woo them after all! 

♡ → “Why’re you just standing there? If you’re not busy, let’s go do something fun!”

♡ → “Did you miss me? Ha! I knew it! You’re so easy to read.”

♡ → “You should come to Heartslabyul! It’s a lot more fun than Ramshackle.”

. Deuce Spade

Main Yandere Type → Protective | Delusional 

♠ Deuce doesn’t have much experience with the feelings his darling gives him, so he’s rather possessive, and protective, of their “relationship”. He does understand they aren’t really dating, but he can’t help but feel like they feel the same. The side glances they share… It must mean something! He can’t help but feel like they’re hiding their feelings behind a friendly mask. They must not want the others to feel awkward, that’s all!

♠ He makes extra steps to make sure they feel comfortable coming to him for help. He’s very reliable! Deuce is happy to assist with what he can, that’s what boyfriends do, right? Deuce will especially want to know if anyone’s bothering his darling, he’ll take care of them. All darling has to do is ask for help, Deuce is happy to set some asshole in their place.

♠ Need help with a subject? Well, he’s not the best at doing schoolwork but he’ll encourage his darling! Deuce will do his best, even if it’s a subject he’s horrible at. If they haven’t joined a club, he’ll ask (beg-) them to join Track and Field! It’s fun, and they’ll get to spend more time together, doesn’t that sound great?  

♠ He’s also likely to attempt to stalk them, only to just approach them instead. Though he’ll try to back off some, as much as he’d love to spend every second of every day with them. Though, if he gets some “hints” that they want him around more, he’s more than happy to oblige. 

♤ → “Where are you going? Let’s walk together.”

♤ → “Ah- Sorry about that! I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”

♤ → “I want to be dependable, so don’t be scared to rely on me.”

- Heartslabyul | Savanaclaw | Octavinelle | Scarabia | Pomefiore | Ignihyde | Diasomnia -

[sluttbuttsstuff]

La Squadra Backstory Headcanons Part 1 (GHIACCHIO AND MELONE

Since we’re probably never going to get any straight answers on their backstory, i’m writing my own for them.  Obviously, none of this is canon and guesswork

WARNINGS: none really, aside from dark themes 

GHIACCHIO:  

Came from a very large and very poor family, the youngest of many children.  

As a result, he was the last to get anything-last to get fed, last to get clothed, last to get attention.

He didn’t get the proper care he truly needed, so he had to fight and take what he really needed, or he would have to make do without.

He’s always had awful eyesight, but it wasn’t until stealing a classmate’s glasses that happened to be exactly what Ghiacchio needed, he fought the kid for them and gave him a black eye

“There, now you can’t even use them, they’re better off with me!”

Despite getting into a lot of fights, School was actually something of a sanctuary for Ghiaccio.  

He got the attention he needed, he was able to get free food through the lunch program, and excelled in several sports activities and physical Ed.

During middle school, under encouragement of a favorite teacher of his, he dedicated himself to his studies, and enrolled in as many extra curricular activities as he could stomach.

With his impressive physical fitness, natural intelligence, and a little anger management, his teacher convinced him he could get into a good college with a full scholarship that he wouldn’t otherwise be able to get into

Ghiacchio wasn’t always as loud, angry and violent as he was in La Squadra, but he did have issues with anger management, an inferiority complex, and a self-sabotaging need to always be right.  

But his teacher, now his mentor, never gave up on him.  He took Ghiaccio to therapy, gave him a shoulder to lean on, and served as the support he never got from his parents or siblings.

His family had no interest or desire to get involved with his life, or offer any support or encouragement.

School was tough- it was extremely stressful and he was pushing himself to his limits.  He had very little sleep, had to maintain a 4.0 grade average, but despite it all, Ghiacchio was very happy.

His mentor was like a father figure to him, without him, Ghiacchio wouldn’t have been able to get as far as he did.

And then the worst happened.

His mentor died naturally, of a heart attack, he was an older gentleman with a history of heart disease in his family.

It still broke Ghiaccio.

He skipped school for the first time in years to attend his funeral, and ended up getting in a fight with one of his teachers at school the next day.

Ghiacchio and his teacher argued over the correct pronunciation of a word, but really Ghiacchio was angry at his teachers and school-hell, the WORLD- that no one else had been at his mentor’s funeral.  He felt like no one cared about his mentor, and that included him.  

He broke the teacher’s nose, as well as several other bruises and nearly gave him a concussion.

Obviously, he was expelled from school after that, and sent to a juvenile prison.  He was able to finish high school in juvie, but no university or sports team wanted to sponsor him or offer him a scholarship. 

 It is his greatest regret, not being able to get the scholarship he and his mentor worked so hard for

But at the same time, he doesn’t regret attacking his other teacher and leaving school; he couldn’t stand by and let his mentor’s memory be forgotten, besmirched.

He would be picked up by Passione through the juvie system, he kept getting into petty fights with others and managed to impress some soldatos into offering him initiation.

I like to think that his strict grammar pet peeve stems from his mentor, who taught italian grammar and literature studies, and as a result was especially strict with teaching Ghiacchio proper italian.

The ice theme for his stand?  Yeah, it’s funny because he’s a hot head, but i think it’s his stand, as an extension of his mentor’s teachings trying to literally “Cool” him down.  He has to use a lot of focus to use White Album properly, just like how his studies and athletics would distract him from his own mental health issues.

At least, this is just what I think lol

MELONE:

Hoo-boy, this kiddo has to have had some serious  family issues

His father was the head doctor at the most prestigious fertility clinic in Italy

(He was also secretly into eugenics, and lots of other nasty stuff, but let’s get into that later)

He was so successful, he had even cured his own wife’s infertility

At least, that’s what he had everyone believe

Secretly, Melone’s father had had an extramarital affair with his secretary, who became pregnant and had Melone.

Under extreme threats and blackmail, Melone’s father managed to take Melone away from his biological mother, and convince his wife to raise Melone as her own.

Needless to say, Melone’s father was a very bad, manipulative man

Despite this, his wife had always wanted a child, and actually loved him and cared for him deeply, and Melone became her child as much as his biological mother

Melone’s father was very strict and had high expectations of Melone from a young age.

Melone had private tutors, a personal chef and nutrition plan, and even a physical fitness teacher who would regularly exercise him.

Melone had no other siblings, surprisingly, despite his father’s obsession with eugenics and breeding.  

His father must have been afraid of the possible scandal that would arise from an affair or divorce (italy is still a heavily catholic country after all) and his wife, Melone’s “adoptive” mother was still barren,

Since Melone was an only child, home schooled and surrounded by paid lackeys of his father, he was very lonely.  

His mother was his one and only real friend in his life.  She would sneak him dessert snacks, read him fairytale stories if he got tired of his textbooks, and even played games like jump rope and hide and seek with him.

The entire reason his “Adoptive” mother had married his father in the first place was because it had been her lifelong dream to have children, and she was determined to give Melone all the love his father couldn’t and wouldn’t.

And that was life for a long time- it wasn’t the best childhood but Melone couldn’t really complain.  His father kind of scared him, but at the same time he earned Melone’s respect.  

Melone was interested in Biology, and learning about genetics like his father.

And when the stress of living up to his father, and his own, expectations became too hard, he could always run to his mother.

Then, Melone’s biological mother found him

Melone’s biological mother had never really gotten over losing her only child, and despite the monthly salary and isolated home she had received for her silence, she couldn’t forget about Melone.  

It started innocuously enough, clipping out pictures she saw of him and his father from the clinic’s advertisement brochures, watching him from afar play at the beach with his mother on vacation.  

But it wasn’t enough- she couldn’t just GIVE UP her child.

She started to stalk him, taking photos of him playing in his backyard, going through the garbage to find old school projects and tests in the trash can.  She would try to sneak into the house, bribing guards and getting in fights with the tutors trying to get into Melone’s home.  

Melone didn’t know the whole story between his parents and this “Surrogate” (he had been sworn to secrecy by his mother, knowing it was important to tell adopted children early on or risk causing severe trauma later in life)  but he knew his parents were becoming more and more stressed out.

One day, it came to a head, and Melone’s biological mother successfully was able to meet Melone.  

Melone was a little afraid at first, but his other mommy was so nice to him, and gave him lots of hugs and love like his other mom and played with him at the park.  

They actually had a really fun time together, and it had a lasting impact on Melone for the rest of his life.

But all good things have to end, and for the first time in his young life, Melone was confronted with death.  

Eventually, Melone’s bodyguards (his father had employed some after finding out about Melone's biological mother stalking him) caught up to them, and Melone and his mother tried to escape.  

Melone’s other mother was with the bodyguards,and when Melone saw her, he was unsure of what to do.

He loved both of his mothers, he wanted to stay with both of them, why were they making him choose?

Under His father’s orders The bodyguards, who Melone later found out were associated with passione, shot his biological mother.  Terrified Melone would be shot as well, his adoptive mother dove in front of him to protect him from the bullets.

Both of his mothers were shot, his father had ordered them to kill the bio mother no matter what, even if Melone got shot.  Apparently, MElone’s father would rather risk his son’s life than let his bio mother escape with them and risk the scandal.  Knowing this, his adoptive mother was shot and killed protecting him.  

On that day, Melone lost both of his mothers, the most important people in his life, all because of his father.  

It took a long time for Melone to process what happened-his father didn’t help things either.  He was just as cold and clinical with Melone as ever, and with no one who truly cared about him in his life, Melone withdrew more and more into himself and his studies.

He was civil with his father, and maintained his studies and health, until he officially turned 18.  

After years of planning, he poisoned his father in his sleep and killed him.

The Police were never able to press charges or find any evidence on him, but Passione noticed, and saw potential in him.  

They gave him an ultimatum, pass initiation and join their ranks, or get turned into the police by passione and get his inheritance stolen by the gang.

Without much of a choice, Melone agrees, and finds he actually likes life in la squadra

It goes without saying, his mothers were a huge influence in both his life and his stand.

Both of his mother’s lives were so sad and lonely because they couldn’t have a child.  

He desperately wishes he could have used Baby Face on his mothers, either not realizing or not caring about the implications.

Despite his mother’s best efforts, Melone never really had proper social interaction as a child, and it seriously screwed him over in life, even interacting with la squadra. 

 He’s read up on how to behave in public, social psychology, but it's not the same as learning as a child

It’s easier to learn those things as a child, which is why he makes sure to spend at least a little time with each Baby Face on how to behave and treat others; at least they can succeed where he couldn’t.

It’s also why he can’t control himself around women- he thinks he’s genuinely helping them by giving them children or getting them pregnant.

He’s giving them what his own mothers couldn’t

And you can BET he takes his role as father VERY seriously- you saw how he taught and trained Baby Face in canon.  He’s intense, but he’s also a lot more loving than his own dad was.

I’ll admit, this backstory is a little bit “Soap Opera” but I think it still fits him

[astrolology]

Gemini Moon: Uncovered (Pt. 1)

Hello everyone! I managed to squeeze out some time for this post because it’s been highly requested but I don’t personally know many Gemini Moons (only 1 actually) so I’m taking a shot at the dark here. I tried my best so here you go :-) 

🎭Gemini Moons are really enigmatic people. They exude this aura of surety but internally, their emotional landscape is a bit turbulent. They switch between “it is what it is - why are you making things so complicated/why are you overthinking” and really intense feelings that causes them to nitpick every single action that they did previously. Contrary to common belief, Gemini Moons have very high expectations and can be very hard on themselves. 

🎭This isn’t personality related but I’ve noticed this a lot: Gemini Moons always look younger than they actually are, even when old, their faces are still very alert and often have a youthful quality to them. Also, their fashion sense is often immaculate and personalised. They’re not afraid to make a fashion statement. (Think Hongjoong of Ateez and his furcoat look lol)

🎭Two-faced might be a bit of an extreme descriptor, but to them, it wouldn’t hurt to use a bit of manipulation or persuasion to get what they want. They are excellent manipulators and leaders and can talk their way out of almost anything. They know how to separate their personal feelings from their responsibilities (that’s very admirable). When serious, they are reliable people (not fickle bruh) and won’t accept any excuses/make many exceptions. They actually have quite a commanding presence when they do so. 

🎭Regarding the things that they are passionate about, they will work tirelessly to achieve their goal. Their work ethic can be more consistent than a typical Capricorn/Virgo-esque person.

🎭When upset or angry, they don’t really shout, but their words are extremely cutting and sharp - intended to hurt for sure. They know intuitively a person’s insecurities and if provoked will use that against them. This is because they are intuitively perceptive and have the ability to consider all sides of a story. Their temper is unpredictable - they can be hot-tempered in one moment and ice-cold the next.

🎭To know them truly on an emotional level is extremely difficult, sometimes even they themselves are unaware of what/how they feel. When in their moods, they tend to push people away and definitely lean more on the more pessimistic side. But they digest their feelings quite quickly (which is kinda bad because it means they don’t heal enough) and try their best to move on. They might find their feelings annoying, but their hurt is lonely and like Aries Moons, can be self-isolating to the point it sometimes feels unbearable. 

🎭They are fun people and like to laugh - communication on some level is crucial for their happiness. This sounds cliché, but people find it easy to like them because they seem relatable (even if they themselves don’t think so). Communication to them is a very intimate thing. They might be a bit reserved/shy initially though but are always quite blunt. When they speak, people want to listen.

🎭Gemini Moons are fiercely protective of their friends. They can tolerate a lot of mistreatment towards themselves, but once it is directed towards their loved ones, an inner fire comes out. They are actually extremely loyal people, if you prove yourself to them. They might subconsciously “test” their friends before they let them in. For people that are so… complex? they really do appreciate candid people who won’t beat around the bush. 

🎭Regarding that inner fire, Gemini Moons are very interesting (dual-natured) because they are very rational - they like to take into account all the pros and cons before making any decision, but there are moments where they abandon all calculations and just go headfirst into things. They can be a bit reckless to be honest and are brave, stubborn people.

🎭Gemini Moons are the definition of “quick learners”. They pick new things up rather quickly and can sometimes be considered “jack of all trades”. They have multiple interests which they pursue till an above-average level before they get bored, but they are really quick on their feet and their inquisitive nature only helps to emphasise this talent. They like to probe and push until they can’t do it anymore.

🎭They are naturally curious and seek hobbies which will allow them to express themselves. Self-expression is vital to their happiness. They might be interested in parts of society that other people aren’t willing to explore or just, any niche activity that strikes their fancy. 

Y’all might have some serious trust issues or are always suspicious about people’s motivations - so, relax. I know it isn’t easy but try your best to ease that mental load you so tightly impose on your heart. It is true that in life most things aren’t what they seem but you can’t overlook the things that are. Learn to appreciate the mundane, uncomplicated things more and you might find yourself a happier person :)

[pandoraborn]

Cruelty of the Beast - Part 15

( previous. )

-----

Characters: c!Puffy, c!Quackity, c!Tubbo Word count: 2069 words Content: major character death (referring to Tommy’s prison death), grief, memorials, manhandling, quackity talks sense into tubbo, talk of war, impending doom, dragons, war is coming

-----

Nothing can ever go right in this place. Tubbo has never felt more angry or isolated in his life, with no one close he can fall back on. It had always either been him and Tommy, or him and Ranboo. Ranboo had already made it clear that he was sticking with Dream, but had left Tommy’s situation vague.

Tubbo is tired of arguing with everyone over it. He’s tired of everyone telling him to move on from Tommy, and it shows in the way he keeps his back pressed against the wall, with a crying Michael clinging to his leg. It shows in the way Tubbo is glaring furiously at Puffy with tears forming in his eyes. He’s seconds away from grabbing a weapon and lashing out at her.

“I can’t watch you do this to yourself anymore!” She cries out. “It’s killing all of us, you need to open  your eyes, please!”

“I don’t know when all of you decided to give up on Tommy, but I sure as hell am not.” Tubbo’s voice is flat as he tightens his grip on Michael. Having to explain to the toddler that his papa isn’t ever coming home was bad enough, Tubbo doesn’t want to have to explain about Uncle Tommy, either. “What’s happened to you, Puffy? You swore you’d protect him. You swore you’d never give up on him. So now that he got into one fight with Quackity, suddenly he needs to be treated like some war criminal? Remember what happened last time we isolated him?”

“Tubbo, I know. I really don’t think this is a misunderstanding this time.”

“It’s always a misunderstanding!” Tubbo snarls. His lip curls back as his hands tremble. “Everything everyone feels about Tommy is one giant misunderstanding! No one ever actually pays attention to him! You think I’m going to turn my back on him? I’ve already done that, I’m not doing it again.”

“Tubbo, he threatened Quackity,” Puffy tries to reason. “He plainly said he wasn’t coming home. We have to assume he’s working with Dream and Wilbur.”

“I’m calling bullshit,” Tubbo snaps. “Tommy hates both of them. He also hates Technoblade. Quackity up and disappeared for months without telling any of us what he was up to. His lands words were even ‘don’t trust anyone’. Why would I trust him?”

“Because he was there, Tubbo. He spoke to Tommy, to Ranboo, to Techno...we have to trust him on this.”  Puffy pulls back to text someone on her communicator. Without thinking, Tubbo snatches it from her hands and tosses it hard against the opposite wall. The noise has Michael crying even more louder.

“Tubbo!”

“I’m not falling for this bullshit,” Tubbo snarls. “I’ll break it again if you dare insinuate Tommy went and allied himself with the people who hurt him the most. We’re his friends. It’s up to us to save him and bring him back.” Crouching down, Tubbo wraps his arms around his son, holding him tightly. Michael whimpers.

“Papa,” Michael whines. “Where’s Papa?”

“It’s okay,” Tubbo whispers. “Daddy’s got you. You’re safe with me.” A pointed glare is aimed in Puffy’s direction. “Puffy was just leaving.”

“No,” she responds. “You need someone, I’m not leaving you alone to deal with this anymore. We have to face the truth.”

“There is no truth,” he mutters. Tubbo at least stands up, gently pulling away from Michael .”I need to put my son to bed, and you need to leave. I don’t want  you here anymore.”

There’s no sound from her as she picks up the communicator. It’s not completely broken, but the screen is cracked and hard to read right now. Puffy tries to brush away some of the dust.

“Tubbo, I really want to help you.”

“Unless your help is trying to find and bring my best friend back home, I don’t want it.” They stare each other down. Tubbo doesn’t hear his door opening and closing. He doesn’t hear the footsteps until a hand snatches him by his shirt and slams him roughly against the wall.

Tubbo winces, stifling back a yelp of pain as he stares into Quackity’s eyes. “Tubbo, I’m going to tell it to you straight. The Tommy we knew died in that prison. As far as we’re concerned, Tommy is dead. You need to open your eyes, Tubbo, and come to terms with the fact that we’re all you have left. Your best friend? Your husband? They’re gone, and they’re not coming back.”

“No.”

“Puffy, take the runt upstairs,” Quackity instructs. “Tubbo and I are going for a walk.” Quackity doesn’t wait for her to respond as he drags Tubbo outside. “I want to show you something,” he continues.

Tubbo struggles to keep up, forcing his feet to keep moving. Quackity had become far stronger in his bizarre absences, and admittedly, Tubbo is scared of him. He doesn’t dare try to pull away though, rather letting Quackity drag him around.

They continue moving until they’re at the memorial Tubbo had built. Tubbo doesn’t want to be here, he wants to go back home. This place brings back awful memories that he’d tried so hard to suppress, and it’s like Quackity is forcing Tubbo to relive all the trauma and agony that had brought them to this point.

“Read the sign, Tubbo.”

He tries to turn his head away. “No, I can’t.” It’s not a stretch, his eyes are already blurring. “Please let me go.”

The older man shoves him forward hard enough that he almost trips and face-plants into the sign. “Read it, Tubbo!”

With shaky breath, Tubbo blinks in an attempt to clear his vision long enough to focus on the sign. “In..in the memory of T-Tommy...” Everything is threatening to spill over. Gripping the edges the stone the sign’s placed on, Tubbo tries to still his trembling body. It’s not working. It’s also not stopping the flood of memories that come back.

From Tommy being exiled.

Dream manipulating Tubbo.

Dream humiliating Tubbo in front of everyone.

Tubbo giving up and accepting defeat...

Losing Tommy to death.

“He...he was take-taken from us too soon.” Tubbo’s breath is barely a wheeze as he finishes. This is just as embarrassing as being told  he sucked in front of the entire server. Back then, he hadn’t cried. This time, he’s barely holding himself together.

“Why did you build this?” Quackity asks.

“Because he was dead...he was killed in the prison.”

Quackity lets down, sitting down on the bench. He does pull Tubbo down with him. “I’ve been poking around Tubbo. I found this, and I found other memorials for Tommy. Statues, that Puffy, Eret and other people built. He was great to all of us.”

“So why...” Tubbo pauses to swipe his sleeve across his face. “Why doesn’t anyone care enough anymore to save him? He’s...”

“He was my best friend too, at one point.” Quackity’s voice is more gentle. “There was a time I’d have done anything for him. But the Tommy I encountered just now isn’t the Tommy I knew. He wasn’t anyone’s Tommy. He was mean and harsh, and he knew exactly what he was doing and who he was siding with.”

“I don’t understand.” It’s as if all the anger had evaporated. Tubbo hates Quackity’s approach, he hates the manhandling, but even Tubbo has to admit it’s more effective than Puffy’s mothering approach. It doesn’t mean he understands anything. He probably never will.

“Tommy died, Tubbo. He died in the prison, and he came back at Dream’s hand. We have to assume that Dream fucked with him somehow in a way we can’t fix, because otherwise we’re all going to be asking the same questions forever, and I don’t want to spend the rest of my life asking why.”

“But...it’s Tommy. We can’t just...”

“Tommy’s dead, Tubbo. You didn’t spent time making this entire memorial for him only for it to be thrown back in your face. Puffy didn’t build a statue of him only for him to threaten me. None of us mourned his death, only for him to pick Dream. He’s dead, and gone, and we have to assume that the new Tommy is some imposter.”

For the first time since the prison break, Tubbo feels his heart breaking. He’d been living in denial for so long, always holding out hope that one of his two soul mates would come rushing back to him. Even after meeting with Ranboo, Tubbo had held some tiny sliver of hope that Ranboo would’ve changed his mind and come running back.

But deep down inside, Tubbo had always known. He’d always known that there was no going back, that the prison break had just been the beginning of the end.

Leaning against Quackity, Tubbo swallows back a sob. He’s not going to cry now, that’s better saved for when he’s alone with only Michael to hear him. Right now, he needs to be the tactician. At least Quackity’s pulling him in for a hug.

“I’m sorry, Tubbo,” Quackity whispers. “You still have us. The entire SMP is always on your side, you know this.”

“We need a plan.”

“I talked to Sam already,” Quackity says. Sitting up straight, Tubbo clears his throat, trying to compose himself. “Sam’s already making weapons, and he’s already spread the word to others. Eret’s making preparations to protect the kingdom.”

“I need to fortify Snowchester.” Tubbo clears his throat again before standing up. Priority one is getting away from this stupid memorial. The thought of burning it to the ground crosses his mind. “I can’t let anything happen to Michael.”

“So, talk to people. You have allies, Tubbo. You have Puffy, Sam, me, probably Jack. Eret, and so many others who are willing to pick up a weapon and fight.”

“I have an armory.” Tubbo’s eyes glisten.

“What are you talking about?”

“I have all of Dream’s stuff. His armor, some weapons, and even some potions. God apples.”

Quackity stares at him for a moment.

“I even have nukes,” Tubbo finishes in a whisper.

“They have tons of explosions,” Quackity says slowly. “But I don’t think even they can fight back if we use a nuke.”

Tubbo wags a finger, narrowing his eyes. “No, this is going to be on my terms. I’m not launching one at people we still care about. Just because they’ve decided to start some civil war doesn’t mean we’re just going to kill them. I want care and precision with this.” He turns to walk back toward Snowchester. “I have to think about my son first and foremost.”

“Okay, wait,” Quackity says. “How many people know you have nukes? I can tell-”

“Not many,” admits Tubbo. “Jack knows. T...oh, shit.” Tubbo’s eyes open wide as he stops in place. No, freezes completely. “No, no no no, shit!”

“Tubbo, what’s wrong?” Quackity, alarmed, grabs at Tubbo’s arm and shakes him. “Talk to me! What’s wrong?”

“Tommy and Ranboo,” Tubbo whispers. “They both know.”

There’s a long pause before the realization catches up to the older man. “Tubbo! You realize they could come here a...” he trails off.

In the distance, the prison alarms sound. They had since been rewired to alert Sam of intruders into the SMP, programming them to announce the arrival of hostile enemies. The alarms sounding now doesn’t mean anything good for the SMP or any of the aligning territories.

Quackity slowly turns back to Tubbo, gripping him tighter. With a whine, Tubbo yanks back, turning to march back toward Snowchester again.

Following close behind, Quackity glances in the direction of the prison. His blood is freezing in his veins at the thought of what’s to come.

“Tubbo, there’s no time for care and precision anymore. We have no time to prepare for anything.”

“I know,” Tubbo murmurs. “Quackity, Ranboo insinuated something to me that I didn’t understand til now.”

“What?”

“They have a dragon.”

“How..” Quackity swallows. “How the fuck do you know that from whatever vague words he said to you? You can’t possibly piece-” he’s cut off when Tubbo points. It’s dark as shit and hard to make out anything in the night sky, but Quackity follows his finger toward the prison.

In the distance, barely outlined, is the shape of something that’s only growing bigger. Big enough that Quackity can now hear the roar.

“Tubbo?” He hums as he reaches into his pack for his sword. “Get the nukes.”

[zirkkun-uthcs]

Generic Headcanons (Sanses)

This list includes short bits of information on the various Sanses to be included on this blog. If you’re looking for a specific one, please use CTRL+F to search for the AU, due to the length of this list. Reminder as well that most of this information is entirely headcanon. If there’s canon information that I’ve messed up somewhere on this, please let me know so I can fix it and adjust accordingly!

Please note: When answering asks, I will first list the character being requested in the format of AU!Sans, but the nicknames here are listed because sometimes I drift off while writing and lean towards those names.

Undertale

Nickname/s: Comic, Tale Date of Birth: ??? Height: 4′9″ / 145 cm Gender: demiboy Pronouns: he/him Sexuality: demiromantic / asexual

+ takes a lot of time to like someone at all, usually by default doesn’t trust people + isn’t a fan of physical contact, but if someone was to manage to get close to him, he’s incredibly cuddly + horrible with directions, will get lost really easily; uses shortcuts to make up for it

character tag

Underswap (original concept by p0pcornpr1nce, who has left the fandom and deleted the content)

Nickname/s: Blue Date of Birth: ??? Height: 4′9″ / 145 cm Gender: non-binary Pronouns: he/him Sexuality: demiromantic / bisexual

+ is a pun connoisseur; will only accept the best puns, anything less is just unacceptable + is emotional, but tries to hide it because he feels the need to keep on a strong persona for the sake of everyone else +  is secretly an incredibly talented writer and has a lot of written works in his room

character tag

Underfell (original concept by Vic the Underfella)

Nickname/s: Red, Fell Date of Birth: ??? Height: 4′9″ / 145 cm Gender: cisman Pronouns: he/him Sexuality: panromantic / pansexual

+ is extremely self-conscious and hides this by acting like as much of a confident asshole as possible + crushes incredibly easy due to the lack of caring people he has in his life, but refuses to believe he’s lovable + secretly hates cats. doomfanger may or may not be the cause of this

character tag

Underlust  (original concept by nsfwshamecave, who has left the fandom.)

Nickname/s: Lust, Lusty Date of Birth: ??? Height: 4′9″ / 145 cm Gender: demiboy Pronouns: he/him Sexuality: biromantic / bisexual

+ is secretly a hopeless romantic, but has yet to meet anyone interested in romance over sex, so he takes what he can get + flirts with anything that breathes; has a plethora of horrible pick-up lines + has been outside of his own AU and is well-versed in the multiverse

character tag

Xtale (by jakei)

Nickname/s: Cross Date of Birth: Oct. 10th Height: 4′9″ / 145 cm Gender: cisman Pronouns: he/him Sexuality: demiromantic / bisexual

+ has difficulty trusting anyone anymore due to the betrayal he’s had in the past + he finds comfort in doodling or other art-related things, and can often be found locked away for hours doing so + will wear literally anything but his uniform when no one’s around, no matter how stupid it looks

character tag

Ink (by myebi/comyet) (same headcanons apply to Underverse!Ink)

Nickname/s: None Date of Birth: April 15 Height: 3′9″ / 116 cm Gender: demiboy Pronouns: he/him Sexuality: aromantic / asexual

+ his ink vials’ colors represent: green = comfort/safety, yellow = joy/energy, orange = encouragement/creativity, red = wrath/violence, pink = love/care, purple = lust/attraction, blue = sadness/concern, cyan = calm/relaxed + refuses to ever drink his pink or purple vials anymore due to the fact he doesn’t want to mislead people into thinking he cares about them + his tastes change based on what emotions he’s feeling/ink he’s drank

character tag underverse-specific

Pale (by unu-nunu-art/unu-nunium)

Nickname/s: None Date of Birth: May 26th Height: 3′9″ / 116 cm Gender: cisman Pronouns: he/him Sexuality: aromantic / asexual

+ clings to people who help him literally only once, because he considers all nice gestures as “Oh, so we’re friends now?” + appreciates any and all physical contact and can get a bit nervous if he’s near someone but can’t hug them + when he absorbs an AU for emotions, he has even more emotions that Ink does, but it’s far more temporary

character tag

Fresh!Ink (by myebi/comyet)

Nickname/s: None Date of Birth: ??? Height: 5′0″ / 152 cm Gender: cisman Pronouns: he/him Sexuality: aromantic / asexual

+ is a parasite like Fresh is, but isn’t the same exact one; they exist as separate beings + doesn’t ever really drink ink vials, hence why he’s replaced them with his spray cans entirely, which just contain normal pain + enjoys making large street-art style murals, but never keeps them, so he places them in hugely inconvenient parts of the multiverse just to annoy people

character tag

Error (by loverofpiggies/CrayonQueen) (same headcanons apply to Underverse!Error)

Nickname/s: None Date of Birth: April 4th Height: 5′4″ / 163 cm Gender: cisman Pronouns: he/him Sexuality: demiromantic / demisexual

+ doesn’t trust anyone and would rather just dispose of someone before he gets the chance to even try and trust them + has tried to delete his own emotions on several occasions, but concludes he must lose his SOUL to do so, and is too scared he’ll die + lacks logic due to the fact that he’s a glitch in a program, meaning he can no longer create logical conclusions

character tag underverse-specific

Template (by unu-nunu-art/unu-nunium)

Nickname/s: None Date of Birth: April 3rd Height: 4′5″ / 135 cm Gender: cisman Pronouns: he/him Sexuality: demiromantic / demisexual

+ constantly does a plethora of redeemable, good things within the multiverse to compensate for the fact he’s an “Error” + tries to be more comfortable with things like hugs in order to further distance himself from Error, despite also having haphephobia. + unlike Error, remembers his past as Geno a lot more vividly

character tag

Ragnartale (by NaomyMikolMaria) (please note I’m a bit behind on this AU)

Nickname/s: Knight Date of Birth: ??? Height: 5′5″ / 165 cm Gender: cisman Pronouns: he/him Sexuality: heteroromantic / demisexual

+ doesn’t like using his magic anymore, but can’t exactly remember why it leaves a bad taste in his mouth + actively tries to void out his emotions for others’ sake, as he finds his own life far less valuable + part of him likes being a monster more than a human, because he thinks he looks horrible now and that more people will leave him alone

character tag

Dusttale (by ask-dusttale)

Nickname/s: Dust, Dusty Date of Birth: ??? Height: 4′9″ / 145 cm Gender: demiboy Pronouns: he/him Sexuality: lithromantic / asexual

+ absolutely despises all humans and it wouldn’t be surprising if he tried to kill any on sight + can often be seen talking aloud to “himself,” but he’s actually talking to “Papyrus” + has the same observant skills as Sans and is just as quick on his feet if not faster, however he’s also more rash in his decision-making due to his insanity.

character tag

Fresh (by loverofpiggies/CrayonQueen)

Nickname/s: None Date of Birth: April 20th (pretends it’s April 1st) Height: 6′3″ / 191 cm Gender: genderfluid Pronouns: he/him or they/them Sexuality: aromantic / asexual

+ while he be default doesn’t have any emotions, if for some reason he starts to feel anything, he will reject it immediately, and become incredibly harsh + started dressing in 90′s clothes as a joke, now he enjoys them unironically and has genuinely started watching human 90′s shows + sends memes to Error just to piss him off; his favorite to send is Rick Rolls

character tag

Outertale (by 2mi127)

Nickname/s: Outer Date of Birth: ??? Height: 4′9″ / 145 cm Gender: demiboy Pronouns: he/him Sexuality: demiromantic / asexual

+ because he can see the stars all the time, he’s far more fascinated by the Earth’s sun and atmosphere compared to other Sanses + has had his jacket since he was a kid but just didn’t bother getting rid of it. that and he never outgrew it. sometimes people still think he’s a kid because of it + gets cold easily; his jacket is extremely thick and fuzzy to make up for this

character tag

Altertale (by friisans)

Nickname/s: Guardian Date of Birth: ??? Height: 4′9″ / 145 cm Gender: demiboy Pronouns: he/him Sexuality: biromantic / demisexual

+ despises his brother so much that he won’t even look in his general direction and will likely burn or destroy anything that reminds him of his brother + appears very calm and collected most of the time, but can easily turn around and be manipulative or angry when least expected + is horrible at keeping watch of the human children because he always teaches them how to exploit things and they use that against him

character tag

Aftertale (by loverofpiggies/CrayonQueen)

Nickname/s: Geno Date of Birth: ??? Height: 5′0″ / 152 cm Gender: demiboy Pronouns: he/him Sexuality: demiromantic / demisexual

+ is really bad at social interaction due to extended isolation and because of that may come off as blunt or rude + if anyone acts friendly around him, especially if they are a more physical kind of person, he will instantly not trust them + seeing spaghetti is a sure way to make him burst into tears, but he’ll pretend he’s not actually crying

character tag

Swapfell (by poptatochisp and community)

Nickname/s: Mal Date of Birth: ??? Height: 5′3″ / 160 cm Gender: cisman Pronouns: he/him Sexuality: panromantic / demisexual

+ doesn’t do well with people who disagree with him. this will cause genuine unintended arguments over the smallest things + very formal in most situations possible, but assumes everyone else should be too + is bad at emotions, just, in general. understanding them, having them, everything

character tag

[bubonickitten]

Summary: Jon goes back to before the world ended and tries to forge a different path.

Previous chapter: AO3 // tumblr

Chapter 13 full text & content warnings below the cut.

CWs for Chapter 13: all the usual Buried-related warnings apply (claustrophobia, inability to breathe, etc.); panic/anxiety symptoms; just a smidgen of internalized aphobia; brief mention of past passive suicidal ideation; internalized victim blaming; canon-typical trauma (including discussion of victims targeted by the Fears as children).SPOILERS through S5.

Chapter 13: Center

The darkness and overwhelming pressure of the Buried make it nigh impossible to orient oneself. The only conceivable directions are forward, down, into, deeper. Jon’s only choice, when he has one at all, is to keep moving – and so he does, digging and clawing his way through the muck, making a transient pathway for himself as best he can.

“Daisy?” It comes out as a rasp. He tries to swallow, but succeeds only in upsetting his already-sore throat. It feels as though the dirt and debris have taken up permanent residence there, clogging his airway just enough to leave him chronically short of breath without cutting off his oxygen supply entirely. “Daisy, can you reach me?”

“Jon,” comes the weak reply, “I’m – I don’t know where – I c-can’t – can’t see –”

“I hear you,” Jon says. “I’m here, I’m coming to you. Just – keep talking, and –”

As he talks, he inhales a cloud of dust, dissolving into wracking coughs.

“Jon? Jon, are you still there?” For a long moment, Jon cannot speak. Daisy’s next words are steeped in panic. “Where are you? I can’t… p-please be there, please –”

“I’m still here,” Jon forces out hoarsely, stretching his arm forward as far as it will go. “I’m not going anywhere. Follow my voice, I – I think I’m almost –”

Chill fingertips brush against his, and he throws his weight forward as much as possible. He hooks her fingers in his and pulls, and with a burst of energy he manages to clasp her clammy hand in his.

“There you are,” he says, smiling weakly.

“You’re real,” Daisy says in disbelief, crushing his hand in a bruising grip. “You’re real.”

“I am.” He intertwines their fingers, as grateful as she is for a hand to hold. “I’m here, Daisy.”

“Daisy,” she says dreamily. “Yeah. Daisy. That’s me.” A pause. “Just – just me.”

Jon closes his eyes with a relieved sigh. There are no signs that the Hunt still has its claws in her. He had no reason to think that reaching her a couple weeks earlier than before would change anything, but there was still that nagging doubt.

“J-just me,” she says again, but this time there’s a waver in her voice. “Just – alone –”

“No,” Jon says hurriedly, squeezing her hand several times in quick succession, “not – not alone. Not anymore.”

“Yeah.” She grasps his hand even more tightly, as if to reassure herself.

“I’m here.”

“Yeah,” she says again, and this time it sounds like she’s starting to believe it.

“How – how are you?” Jon cringes. It’s as stupid a question now as it was the last time. Moreso, seeing as he’s already heard the answer. “S-sorry. That’s – probably obvious.”

Daisy answers anyway, likely glad of the chance to talk to someone else after so long in isolation.

“I – I can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t…” She trails off, hesitating. “But it’s… it’s quiet here? I can’t…”

She seems to be struggling to find the words.

“You can’t feel the blood,” he supplies.

“Y-yeah. How did you…”

“I can’t feel the Eye, either. It’s… it’s just me. All me.”

“Where are we?”

“In the Coffin. The Buried. It’s… the powers don’t have much sway within one another’s domains. The Hunt, the Eye – they can’t reach us here.”

“The Hunt,” she echoes.

“Yes. You’re a Hunter.”

“I… I guess I was. But – not here.”

No, not here. But once they leave here…

Stop, he tells himself. One thing at a time. Escape the Buried, then worry about the Hunt.

“Come on.” He tugs on her hand. “Let’s get you out of here.”

“Can’t – can’t move, and – and even if I could, there’s no way out –”

“No, I – I can get us out. I have a plan.”

“Is this like all your other plans?”

Jon chuckles, but it comes out as a wheeze.

“Yes and no. But – but don’t worry, it’s – I can do this. I just – need to – to find it.”

But when he closes his eyes and concentrates, there’s… nothing there.

“Come on,” he says under his breath, keeping his voice deliberately calm. “Come on, where are you?”

There’s nothing there. Why is there nothing there?

“Just need to… need to focus. Just – focus, think of…”

Think of Martin. Martin is your anchor. Clever, brave, loyal, compassionate Martin.

He was kind to you even when you didn’t deserve it; he cared for you even though you did everything you could to push him away. He reached out to you through the Lonely when you were at your most monstrous to remind you of the humanity you’d thought you lost. He made you want to do better, to be the person that he saw when he looked at you.

You followed him into the Lonely because you love him and because he deserved to know it. You need to return to him now, because this version of him doesn’t yet know that he is loved. If you don’t get back to him, if you don’t reach out to him – he’ll get lost, and he –

Jon’s breath hitches. The fear is starting to move in as inexorably as the earth surrounding them, settling cold and heavy in his gut.

Stop that, he tells himself. Just think about Martin, not the worst case scenario.

Everyone underestimates him, because he spent his entire life striving for the perfect balance between useful and unobtrusive. But he’s not helpless; he’s not a pushover. He took master manipulator Jonah Magnus by surprise; he fooled Peter Lukas for months. Sometimes, you think that Martin Blackwood could outmaneuver the Web if he cared to. If anyone could, it would be him. You don’t think you’ll ever fully forgive yourself for taking so long to notice.

No, Jon tells himself once more, recognizing the warning signs of a guilt spiral. That won’t help. Redirect.

In those early days after the ritual, you briefly defaulted to your old habits, withdrawing and shutting him out. He stood up to your brooding, gave your self-loathing no refuge in which to thrive, because he saw right through your sharp tongue to the vulnerable parts of you that it was meant to hide.

He is intuitive, stubborn, and patient in the best of ways.

You have a tendency to stare. You always have; you typically don’t notice you’re doing it. After you became the Archivist, it went from being an awkward habit to evidence of your inhumanity: all eyes, always watching, always demanding more, more, more until every secret is exposed and any semblance of privacy has been demolished.

But it was never just the Eye urging you to record things. You know from experience that nothing lasts forever, that anyone and anything can disappear without a moment’s notice – sometimes leaving no trace, no memory that they ever existed. It only makes sense that you would develop a compulsion to document everything for posterity. The tape recorders were only the most recent manifestation of that preexisting obsession. Before that, you made lists, you took pictures, you wrote on your hands – and, of course, you stared.

During your first few days together at the safehouse, Martin called attention to the staring. You were mortified, launched into a rambling apology – but he shut it down, reassured you that he was only teasing, that he didn’t mind it, that it was… endearing, in a way. And once you were given permission, you began to consciously catalog every little detail.

He has thirty-six freckles on his face, seventeen on his hands, and constellations of them besides: on his back, on his shoulders, on his arms, on his belly. He blushes easily, and you love it, because you’ve never been good at reading body language, and you can always use a hint. His hair is soft, and the way he leans into it when you run your fingers through it – you think he would purr if he could. You were hesitant, at first, to spend too long looking at his eyes – but unlike most people, he showed no signs that he found eye contact with you unsettling.

You gave him permission to stare, too. And he did. He never shied away from your scars. He liked looking at you – and you knew he was genuine when he said so, even though you didn’t understand it.

Martin is self-conscious about his size, painfully aware of how others see him. He rarely stands to his full height, tending to curl his shoulders in, maintain a curve to his spine, keep his arms pulled tight to his body: anything to avoid towering over others, anything to take up as little space as possible. He saw his stretch marks as flaws to be tolerated; spent most of his life assuming that his weight and soft edges made him unattractive.

There are so many things he hates about himself. It broke your heart a little, to see how difficult it was for him to believe that you like looking at him, that your boundaries regarding physical intimacy weren’t a comment on his desirability. (Though he never voiced that last concern, never wanted his own insecurities to make you feel self-conscious about that part of you. Never made you feel guilty or lacking or… or broken.)

You regularly stole his jumpers; the first time you did it, he went speechless and flustered at the casual domesticity of it all. You took turns ambushing one another with affirmations and small acts of affection like that. It became something of a challenge, a game: springing a pet name on one another here, placing a soft kiss on a hand there, delighting in the reactions it got. It’s strange how easily you settled into that routine, how natural it felt to let down your guard.

At night, he would curl around you like he belonged there, like there was no place he’d rather be – and it made you feel like you belong, too. The first time he held you in his arms, you realized that you’d never truly known what it was to feel safe until that moment – and isn’t that its own special kind of vulnerability, isn’t it such a cliché? You still had nightmares, still jolted awake several times throughout the night frantic and disoriented – as did he – but it felt so much more endurable with someone to coax you back to reality.

When you first led him out of the Lonely, it was still clinging to him. He couldn’t understand what you saw in him, any more than you could understand what he saw in you. You made it your mission to make him understand. And eventually, he did. It wasn’t the first time you told him you loved him, but one morning when you said it, he looked at you and his lips parted ever so slightly, and you could practically see the epiphany dawn in his eyes, and he whispered that he believed you.

You still haven’t found a word that accurately describes what you felt then. You kissed him, and hoped that it would say what words could not.

You never gave up on each other, even when you’d given up on your own selves. He never stopped caring for you, even when you were at your most fearsome and fearful. Despite everything, you communicated, you compromised, you comforted one another. You never stopped loving one another.

You lost him once before. You cannot lose him again. You need to find him. Why – why can’t you find him? Why can’t you feel him?

Jon feels his breath quickening, terror needling at the edges of his mind. He jumps slightly when Daisy speaks.

“Jon?”

“It’s – it’s okay,” he says, his voice shaky. “I’ve – I’ve done this once before. I can do this.”

There’s no rule saying he can only have one anchor, right?

He thinks of Georgie.

She took you in when you had nowhere else to go, even though you hadn’t spoken in years, even though you hadn’t parted on the best of terms. Staying with her felt more like home than you’d experienced in… you don’t know how long. It made you realize how much you missed her – her humor, her ingenuity, her confidence, her tenacity, her generosity, and, yes, even her perceptiveness, daunting though it may be at times. She speaks her mind and you can take her at her word. You can appreciate that, as someone who has always had trouble parsing the implicit and unspoken aspects of social life.

You trust her judgment, and she believes in you, and it makes you want to believe in yourself. You want to be there for her in the same way that she’s chosen to be there for you.

He thinks of Melanie.

You disliked one another at first meeting, even though – or perhaps because – you have so much in common. Over the years, you saw more sides to her. She’s brave and resolute, not just when it comes to fighting back, but when it comes to making the conscious decision to heal. She’s capable of kindness to those who are receptive to it. You’ve seen how she is with Georgie, how her hard edges relax, how her devotion is as fierce as her anger can be – perhaps moreso.

You know that she never deserved to suffer like she has. You know she deserves a happy ending. You want to try to reconcile with her. In your future, she went so far as to suggest that you could be friends. You think you would like that.

He thinks of Basira.

She’s had no one but herself to rely on for months. She feels trapped and alone; she hasn’t had a moment to grieve; she’s forced herself to compartmentalize and detach because if she breaks down, she doesn’t know if she’ll be able to put herself back together again. She’s told herself that her own comfort and wellbeing don’t matter. She has a job to do and she’s the only one left who is willing and able to do it. The only solid thing left in her life, the only thing giving her purpose is the mission. The mission is her anchor, because she’s lost everything else.

When she found out that Daisy was alive, she was almost angry with you for making her dare to hope. You promised that you would bring Daisy home to her, and you mean to keep that promise.

And Jon has a job to do, too, doesn’t he?

You need to stop Jonah Magnus, you need to –

His stomach clenches as the dread grips him.

Okay, no. Don’t – don’t think of Jonah. Not helpful, not helpful, not –

He reaches further. He tries to think of Naomi, of the Admiral, of –

The faraway rumbling starts up again.

“Jon,” Daisy says again, urgently, perched on the edge of panic right along with him.

This is forever deep below creation, some self-sabotaging part of his brain reminds him. Where the weight of existence bears down. This is the Buried, and we are alive. There isn’t even an up –

“I just – I just – I just need to calm down,” he stammers. He can feel his pulse beating in his throat; would be hyperventilating if he could breathe at all. “I – I can’t think straight, and I just need to…”

He thinks back to the physical details of the world just outside the Coffin.

The arrangement of the tapes –

…CASE #0160919 sits 34.2 centimeters west of the Coffin, turned at a 45-degree angle. Approximately 20.6 centimeters south-southwest is CASE #0172904; the casing of its recorder is slightly cracked at the lower left corner. 2.4 centimeters to its right is CASE #0171302; the rewind button on the recorder housing it tends to stick…

– on the floor of his office –

…where fingernail scratches are still visible in the northwest corner of the room, left there by Enrique MacMillan on 4 November, 2003, after he gave his statement regarding his encounter with a Buried-touched Leitner…

– and the tape he left on his desk –

…on top of a softcover Moleskine notebook – black, 12.7 by 21 centimeters, ruled – belonging to Martin Blackwood; the Archivist knows every word written thus far on the 68 used out of 192 total pages within…

– and on that tape are pleas that went unanswered for far too long, laced with desperation and grief and rapidly dwindling hope –

…We really need you, Jon. We – I need you …

– but Jon cannot hear it anymore.

His mind wanders to the single folded sheet of paper tucked away in the top drawer of his desk. A second message for Martin, to be read only in the event that Jon doesn’t return. A transcript, to be precise.

On their way to the Panopticon, they had been separated when they traversed the Lonely’s domain. Jon had searched frantically, resisting the urge to simply Know because he had promised. As much as he wanted to, he didn’t feel right forcing Martin to See him the way he did before. It was Martin’s domain, and he had the right to decide for himself whether to leave it behind. Even if Jon had wanted to, though, he suspected that he wouldn’t have been able to actually find Martin this time unless he wanted to be found. And in the end, he did.

Just before Jon found him, he managed to catch the tail end of Martin’s statement. Naturally, the Archive memorized every word and dutifully filed it away without any conscious effort or consent on Jon’s part.

…I am Martin Blackwood, and I am not Lonely anymore; I am not Lonely anymore. I want to have friends. I – no, I have friends. I’m in love. I am in love, and I will not forget that; I will not forget…

Before he entered the Coffin, Jon copied it down and left it behind. Just in case. Just in case something goes wrong. If he goes missing in action for too long, he trusts that eventually someone will clear out his desk, find it, and hopefully pass it along to its intended recipient.

It was a last-ditch effort to impart the truth: that a future exists wherein Martin isn’t Lonely; that he can be and is and deserves to be cared for; that it isn’t just an unattainable fantasy. And, most importantly, Jon is not the only one who can provide that, nor is Jon alone enough to fulfill that need. In the end, Martin chose to turn his back on the Lonely. He can do it again.

There’s every chance that it was a meaningless gesture, but Jon doesn’t think he could live with himself if he didn’t at least try – and if he does get lost down here, he’ll be forced to live with himself for as long as the Buried itself exists.

But Jon doesn’t want to leave Martin alone with that inexplicable scrap of statement, hoping that it’s enough to get the point across. Jon has to get home. He has to; there’s no other choice –

“Jon?” Daisy says again. “You sound like you’re… what – what’s wrong?”

“Sorry, I’m – I’m just… I can’t – I can’t feel my anchor.”

“Anchor?”

“Y-yeah. Something to ground me, help me feel the way out. It’s – there’s a void where it should be, and…” His short exhale shudders on the way out. “I think – I think we might be here for awhile longer.”

“N-not alone, though,” Daisy says, almost questioningly.

“No. No, not alone. And – and I can still get us out, I think,” he adds hurriedly. “I just – I need to… I need to come down from the panic, and it’s hard to do that when I can’t – I can’t breathe –“

His breath catches and he closes his eyes. Stop, he tells himself, you’re – you’re spiraling, talking yourself into a panic. Just… listen – listen to the quiet.

“Jon?”

“Still – still here,” he says, squeezing her hand again. “I’m not going anywhere without you, I promise.”

“Do you – if you need a break from – from whatever you’re doing…” She falters for a moment before blurting out: “C-can we… can we talk? I haven’t – I just want someone to hear me.”

“Of course. I’m listening.” When Daisy doesn’t reply, he offers a gentle prompting. “Daisy?”

“I’m – it’s difficult. I can’t find the words.”

“Would it help if I… ask?” The last time, it did help her get her thoughts out.

“Y-yeah,” she says with only a slight delay. “Do your… thing.”

“Right,” he says. For a moment, he worries that he’ll have difficulty concentrating long enough to compel an answer, but his mind clears almost as soon as he opens his mouth. Of course. “How are you feeling?”

The question buzzes like static on his tongue on its way out.

“S-scared. I – I’m – I’m s-scared…”

Daisy’s words do not deviate from the last time he was here, but he does not interrupt her as she speaks. He latches onto her voice, focuses all of his attention on her story, and tries to ground himself in the present.

“Y-you know what I thought, when I woke up here? I thought this was hell. I – I was dead, and I was in hell. And I - I knew I deserved it.” Daisy stifles a sob as she nears the end of her statement. “I don’t want t-to b-be a s-sadistic predator again. I – I don’t want to hobble around like some – pathetic wounded prey here. I don’t know which would be worse. But I’m scared now – that I won’t ever get the choice.”

One thing I’ve learned, Daisy, is that we all get a choice, he told her last time. Even if it doesn’t feel like one.

Now, though, he’s not so sure. Or, rather, now he thinks it isn’t quite that simple.

“It’s… complicated,” Jon starts slowly. “Choice, I mean. We all have choices, but – but when all the alternatives are unendurable, or impossible to achieve, or – or even conceptualize, then… well, it’s not a fair choice, is it? Sometimes because that’s just – how it is, and sometimes by design. There – there are people, and – and things out there that will abuse their power to deceive you, keep you ignorant about things that would affect your decisions. Or – or convince you that you have no options, no autonomy – or even that you can’t trust your own judgment, your own senses. Some choices can hardly be called choices at all.”

He begins to grind his teeth as he considers his next words, but stops as soon as he feels the grit between his molars when he bites down. There are a lot of things to hate about the Buried, but its refusal to allow him to engage in any of his usual nervous habits definitely adds insult to injury.

“You say you deserve to be here, but – do you think you deserved to be marked by the Hunt in the first place? Because one thing I’ve learned is… most people who become Avatars – we don't necessarily do anything to deserve the attention of the things that take notice of us. To be put in these positions, to be given impossible choices about – about things we have no right to decide in the first place.”

“What do you mean?”

“It seems that a common thread is… well, um, I think Tim hit the nail on the head, actually? In his testament before the Unknowing, he – he said, ‘The only thing you need to have your life destroyed by this stuff is just bad luck. Talk to the wrong person, take the wrong train, open the wrong door, and that’s it.’”

“You remember that verbatim?”

“It’s – it’s an Archivist thing.” Well, technically. Jon can’t access the Archive right now, but some statements have looped so many times in his head that he has every word memorized by now. “But the point is that our transgressions, they… the punishment often doesn’t seem to fit the crime.”

Daisy is quiet, so Jon continues.

“Uh, Jane Prentiss, for instance – stumbled upon a wasps’ nest in her attic, and then the Corruption infested her. In her original statement, she was afraid of what was happening to her, she was asking for help, but it… it was slowly hollowing her out. Appealed to her insecurities, whispered to her that it was the only thing that could love her, that wouldn’t abandon her. Maybe eventually she embraced it on her own, but at that point, how much of her was left to make that choice?

“And – and Michael Crew. He was struck by lightning when he was eight. The Spiral never stopped stalking him after that. He spent his childhood in fear, obsessively sought out information about – lightning, and fractals, because understanding it felt like the only way to resist a thing that feeds on uncertainty.”

Jon can relate to that, can’t he? He was always curious, but his desire to know and understand things became more obsessive after he encountered his first monster – as if he could solve any problem if only he learned enough about it. But it was never enough, and that impulse never actually kept him safe. It only offered him a flimsy illusion of control, which was something he desperately needed after the Web showed him what it was like to have none. Still, an ineffective coping mechanism was better than not coping at all – or so he told himself then.

“When Mike realized that there was no escape from the supernatural once he’d been marked by it,” Jon continues, “he decided that the next best thing was choosing which Fear to submit to – to serve. Obsessively sought out Leitners until he found the Vast, and… it offered him safety. The most basic of human needs, something he hadn’t known since he was a child. The things he did to feed his patron were – indefensible, but I can’t help thinking about the person he might have been, if the Spiral hadn’t come into his life. He… he was only eight. How is a child supposed to process something that even an adult would have trouble coping with? I’m sure many children don’t even physically survive an encounter with one of the Fears, but even those that do… they never actually escape, do they?”

Daisy makes an indistinct little noise in her throat. Jon can’t Know for certain, but he imagines she’s thinking of her own first encounter with the Hunt. When enough time has passed that she doesn’t seem ready to say as much, Jon continues.

“And there’s – there’s Oliver Banks, he’s an Avatar of the End. He just started having dreams one day, became a death prophet. As far as I can tell, nothing provoked it. It just… happened. And early on, he tried to use that ability to help people, but… the powers granted us as Avatars, they aren’t for helping or saving anyone. When you realize that, after a long string of failures, you start to become… despondent – numb, even. Maybe some misstep along the way piqued the End’s interest in him, or maybe it was completely arbitrary. I don’t know. I don’t know that Oliver does, either.”

It’s difficult to speak at length here, and Jon’s speech is punctuated by frequent gasps and stops and starts, but he plows ahead. Granted, he’s always had a tendency toward intense, rapidfire speech whenever he gets invested in a topic of interest, but it’s also that he needs to cover as much ground as he can as quickly as possible. There’s no telling when the Buried will constrict again. Sometimes there are long intervals of relative peace; other times, the bouts of crushing pressure come one after the other in a barrage. The inconsistency makes the dread all the more potent: you can never predict when the walls will close in.

“And Helen,” he says, moving right along, “before she became the Distortion, she opened a door. That’s all. Most people would have probably done the same. A door that wasn’t there before, that can’t be there – of course the human mind wants to test its perceptions, make sense of the discrepancy. Which is exactly what the Distortion preys on. It let her escape its corridors, because it would make the fear that much more potent when it came for her again, when she realized that it had never actually let her go, that there was never any way to escape. It was… it was just playing with its food.”

Like with Benjamin Hatendi, Jon thinks. ‘The blanket never did anything.’

The Fears are never merciful. For an earthly predatory animal, the pain and fear of the prey are only relevant insofar as their utility in capturing it. Granted, the majority of animals may have no qualms about eating their prey alive so long as it’s incapacitated, no concept of putting their food out of its misery – but still, sustenance isn’t derived from the experience of the prey, only from its organic matter.

For the Powers, though… terror is the food source. If anything, the misery is deliberately drawn out. The suffering is primary to the meal.

“I still don’t know how much of Helen Richardson was left by the time she embraced her new existence and began feeding” – by the time she chose to stop feeling guilty, Jon notes privately – “but she never asked to be in that position to begin with. She just… opened a door.

“And you… all you did was trespass on a childhood dare, right? You and Calvin Benchley. I did hear the tape – of your interrogation with Elias. Maybe the Hunt chose the both of you, was deliberately waiting for you there. Or maybe you were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Either way, you… you did something that most children do at one point or another, exploring out bounds – I did plenty of that myself. And – and you’d done the same thing many times in the past, there was no reason to think that things would go any differently. But that time, that time you stumbled into something that most children – most people never do.”

Jon debates whether or not to share his own initiation into this world. He never told Daisy about it last time, but he knows – and Knows – about her childhood encounter. It seems only fair to include his own.

“Actually, I… I had a similar experience, when I was eight,” he admits, pushing through his habitual reservations. “Unlike Michael Crew, though, I was an active participant in my own fate. There’s no dodging a lightning strike, but me – I… I opened a book I shouldn’t have, knocked on a door I shouldn’t have. I could’ve just… not.”

“That’s a funny double standard,” Daisy says flatly.

“P-pardon?”

“Couldn’t you just as easily say that Crew could have chosen to not stand outside during a lightning storm?”

“He – he actually wanted to go inside, but his friend pressured him to keep playing,” Jon says, almost defensively. “By the time they decided to go in, it was too late.”

“Like I pressured Calvin.”

“That’s –” Jon gives an agitated little exhale. “It’s still different.”

“How?”

“Did you have a bad feeling about the dare, or was it just like any other day? You had no reason to think that things would go wrong. I… I knew that book was wrong, and I opened it anyway.” Daisy scoffs. “What?”

“Has anyone ever pointed out to you that you’re capable of some truly infuriating mental gymnastics?”

Jon puffs out another exasperated breath before muttering, “Yes.”

In fact, she said almost the exact same thing to him the last time around. And Georgie – she used to say so all the time, especially when they were dating.

“You always do this,” she’d pointed out once during an argument, hands on her hips and a shrewd look in her eye. “Any time a conversation gets a little too uncomfortable for you, you just – throw your hands up, say it’s your fault and shut down, and nothing ever gets resolved. Why are you so eager to take the blame for things? Is it that it’s better than admitting there are some things you can’t control, or is it just easier than actually talking about your feelings?”

The answer was yes on both counts, and he had been angry with her for putting it into words. He’d already known on some level, but he studiously avoided that sort of introspection. Now that it had been verbalized, the knowledge would always be there, floating around in his mind – yet another thing to overanalyze, to obsess over, to ambush him in moments of doubt.

Since then he’s gotten better at communicating in healthy ways, but the self-blame thing… well, Martin still had to periodically call him out on it, right up until the end. It became a common refrain: “It’s still victim blaming even if you’re the victim, Jon.” The reminder did help – at least some of the time – but it wasn’t enough to undo a worldview that he’d spent his entire life internalizing.

“Y-yes,” he says again, less sullenly now, “I – I see your point.”

“Good. So – evil book?”

“A Leitner, yes. The Web.” Jon has no desire to go into all the gruesome details, not when he’s – when they’re both already being suffocated by fear. “And I only escaped through… I don’t know, some combination of mundane human cruelty and luck – or… or someone else’s misfortune, more like.” He gives a tired sigh. “Or it could have been deliberate interference by the Web, taking someone else in my place because it had other plans for me. I’ll never know the exact reason why. If there even is a reason.”

He pauses, expecting the Beholding’s characteristic objection to the idea that he should accept not knowing anything, before remembering with grim satisfaction that the Eye can’t reach him here. Nor can the Web, for that matter. A small mercy, but he’ll take it.

“But the experience led to an obsession with the supernatural. I suppose I thought that if – if I could just understand it, I could conquer the fear. It didn’t work, but an obsession like that – it persists regardless of whether it’s successful or productive or – or healthy. Eventually it led me to the Institute. Which led me… here, ultimately.” He bites his lower lip as he considers his next words. “I’m sure many of my choices along the way were mine alone, and – and I’m responsible for my actions regardless. But that first domino… it was just a restless child ignoring gut instinct, all because he needed to know.”

“Jon,” Daisy says, the hint of a warning growl underlying her tone.

“I – okay, yes, I know, I know. Double standards.” He takes a shallow breath before continuing. “My point is, most of us are just… unlucky isn’t the right word, but it’s as close as I can get. Sometimes the Fears seem to seek out victims who are already uniquely susceptible to them – people with phobias, or specific traumas. Other times it seems… arbitrary. And sometimes it seems like the difference between an average victim and those who eventually become Avatars is… compatibility, or – or in some cases, a sense of kinship, even.

“I’ve always been too curious for my own good, a natural fit for the Beholding. Jane talked about being seen as toxic, and it was the Corruption that found her. Annabelle Cane said she was well-versed in manipulation as a young child, the sort of gift that the Web favors. Jared Hopworth always had a sadistic streak, but the difference between him and any other bully is that he found The Boneturner's Tale. I… don’t really know what to make of Jude Perry. The way she told it, she always had the disposition for the Desolation. She would likely have been a nightmare with or without supernatural help, but there are plenty of people like that in the world. She just happened to be one of the few who caught the attention of the Lightless Flame.

“But – but I also don’t think preexisting compatibility is a requirement to be an Avatar. Some people really do just – stumble into it, probably. Grow into it, maybe, after enough exposure. Especially if the same Power keeps coming back.”

Jon can’t help thinking of the Distortion and its tendency to dog its victims for years. Helen said once that she couldn’t just force her victims into her corridors, that they had to open the door on their own. But that was a lie, wasn’t it? Marcus MacKenzie refused to open the door every single time it appeared throughout his childhood and young adulthood. It started to take increasingly drastic measures: disguising itself as other things, at one point even opening up in the ground in front of him, hoping he wouldn’t notice until he already stepped over the ledge and gravity did its work. When that didn’t work, it took his father. And then, even after evading it for decades, Helen eventually took Marcus anyway. Choice didn’t come into it. It didn't matter how many times he walked away – it followed him wherever he went.

“Either way,” Jon continues, “whether it’s part of some grand plan or just happenstance, the Avatars… we catch the attention of something predatory, and it sinks its hooks into the vulnerabilities it finds. There are plenty of other people in the world who may have the same… flaws, or inclinations, or experiences, but most are lucky enough not to be drawn into this world. I’m not sure exactly what determines who is, but I don’t think it comes down to fairness, or deservedness, or – or some sort of cosmic punishment. I – I don’t think the universe works that way.

“And – and after we’ve been marked, maybe we can make choices along the way. But as far as I can tell, none of those choices ever lead to complete freedom from the Powers that lay claim to us. We’re still accountable for our actions; we can fight back, we can resist – but we’ll always be struggling against our natures. Sometimes it seems like there’s… there’s really no choice we can make where things actually turn out okay. Doesn’t mean we stop trying, or give up hope, but…” He pauses to gnaw on the inside of his cheek for a few seconds. “It can be hard to ignore the fear when it’s become such an intrinsic part of you, is all. When it makes its hunger your own, and hollows you out if you don’t feed it. It can make the concept of choice seem… empty.”

When he trails off, Daisy blows out a forceful exhale.

“That was… a lot.”

“Surprised the Buried let me get it all out,” Jon says, a bit sheepishly. “Sorry, I’ve… had a lot of time alone to ruminate.”

“I think I can rela-”

Daisy’s words are cut short when all at once the earth crashes down around them with a vengeance, as if exacting payment for the courtesy of staying its hand for so long. An indeterminate amount of time passes, weight pressing down on them from all sides, leaving no room for breath or words or thought. Jon focuses on their hands, still linked tightly together, the only anchor to be found here in the dark.

Eventually, the walls begin to withdraw in tiny increments. The sinister, sibilant shifting of soil is a constant, unknown variable – it sounds the same whether the earth is compacting or moving away, and often there is no way to tell until it’s already too close and pressing down. Jon can feel his pulse hammering in his throat, can hear Daisy’s gasping breaths overlapping his own.

“I was gonna kill you,” she blurts out eventually, breathless and rushed. “You know that?”

“Yes.”

“I – I don’t just mean that day in the woods,” she clarifies. “Af-after the mission, I was planning on killing you.”

“I know. You – you realized I wasn’t human. That I needed to die.”

“H-how did you –”

“I’ve been here once before. And – and I should apologize for the dreams, I –”

“Jon –”

“I know it’s not an excuse, but I never meant to compel you that time – didn’t even realize at the time that that was something I could do, and –”

“Jon –”

“I didn’t realize then that the dreams were real, and – and when I finally did, I still didn’t have any control over them, but I –”

“Jon! Shut up a minute.”

His mouth snaps shut a little too quickly and he winces as he bites down on the tip of his tongue. The metallic taste of blood just barely registers on his tongue in the few seconds it takes for the cut to heal.

“Just – back up,” Daisy says, toning down the intensity this time. “That thing you said about… you’ve ‘been here once before’? What is that supposed to mean?”

“It’s… a long story. And difficult to believe.”

“Well, it’s –” Daisy huffs. “It’s not like we don’t have the time?”

“I suppose,” Jon sighs. He’s already told this story to the tape recorder at length, but… the idea of telling it to another person, in his own words this time, feels both terrifying and cathartic at the same time. It’s just – difficult to talk about, no matter how many times he recaps it. “Where to begin… oh, I should probably preface this with ‘time travel is real.’”

Daisy sounds far too nonchalant when she says, “Okay.”

“O-okay? That’s… that’s it?”

“Sorry if it’s not the dramatic response you expected. Encounter enough – vampires, and people made of sawdust, and – and this, here, and… I don’t know that anything would surprise me anymore.”

“R-right,” Jon replies, still a bit incredulous. “Well, I’m – I’m from the future.” He pauses again, but she doesn’t interject. “And… and I came back to stop the apocalypse.”

His inflection pitches up into a near-question on the last word, certain that this will be the point at which Daisy calls bullshit. Instead, she just gives a dry chuckle.

“And how’s that going for you?”

“Well, uh, actually…” Jon’s laugh manages to sound slightly hysterical despite its brevity. “Being stuck here actually does – put it on hold indefinitely?”

“H-how’s that?”

“Because – because it can’t go forward without the Archivist.” He takes a shallow breath. “Just like the Stranger has the Unknowing, the Eye has its own Ritual. I was – I am a part of it. I – I didn’t want to, Elias – he orchestrated the whole thing, f-forced me to –” He nearly bites his tongue again when he cuts himself off. “But that – that doesn’t change anything,” he continues, almost viciously. “I’m the one who opened the door. It wouldn’t have happened if not for me, s-so it’s as good as my fault.”

“Don’t know about that,” Daisy says.

“What?”

“Don’t think I can see you making a choice to end the world, if you had any say. Doesn’t sound like you. You – Jon, you just went on about having choices taken away.” Jon is silent, teeth clenched; Daisy jostles his hand insistently. “So – so how’d it actually happen?”

“I, ah…” Why is this still so hard to talk about? “So you know how I – I… need the statements?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I – it – my appetite only got worse as time went on. Started craving live statements, and – and hunted for them. The others intervened eventually, and I stopped, but I still needed – need – statements, or else I’d… starve, for lack of a better word. So I made do with the old statements like before, but they were – less and less filling as time went on, and – and I needed more of them, and more frequently, even though I tried to – to spread them out, ration myself. And, uh, some things happened, and Martin and I went into hiding – used your safehouse, actually –”

“Which one?”

“Scotland.”

“Ah,” Daisy says softly. “I like that one.”

“So did we,” Jon says, smiling fondly. “I – we only had a couple weeks, before… b-but the time we did have, it was…”

He clears his throat.

“An-anyway, I went – hungry, for a bit, until a box of statements could be sent to us. And the first one I read, it was – a trap, by J- Elias.” He can explain about Jonah Magnus later. If he takes that detour now, he’ll never get through the rest of this. “The heading looked – just like any other statement. Statement giver’s name, date – but as soon as I started reading, it was Elias’ words. It was a, uh, statement about – about me. About what I am. I’m not just the Archivist, Daisy, I’m the Archive.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I – when I take or – or consume a statement, I, ah – experience it like I’m there, and it – it becomes a part of me. I’m like a – like a living record, a library of – of people’s worst fears, nightmares, moments that I have no right to witness, and – doesn’t matter. Elias needed a fully realized Archive for his ritual to work, so he – he created one, and he fed it a statement. And I – I tried to stop reading, but I couldn’t, even though I – I tried, I really did, I –” He laughs nervously. “Even tried to – to blind myself, but it just – healed. Then, at the end, there was an – an incantation. To open a door that could let all the Fears into the world. And when I read it… it did.”

“Wait – all of them?”

“Yes,” Jon says quietly. “Just before she died, Gertrude figured out that a ritual to bring one of the Fears into the world could never succeed on its own. The Powers can’t exist without minds to experience them, and our minds – they’re highly associative. The experience of fear is just… far more convoluted and subjective than any artificial taxonomy can capture. The Fears have overlap, and – and some of them are defined by their opposition to the others.

“A Vast ritual would collapse without the existence of the Buried, for instance. Or – the Stranger and the Spiral, they’re both tied to unreality, to not being able to trust your perceptions – which can feed into paranoia, which the Eye and the Web also thrive on. The Hunt and the Slaughter run together, and the Flesh can tag alongside. Both the Corruption and the Desolation are equally efficient and thorough in ravaging a home or a body or – or even the general concept of safety.

“Even here – we’re too far deep below creation for the Eye or the Hunt to reach us, but there’s still more than the Buried to fear. The Dark, for instance, or being Forsaken. Even the Vast can be found down here, if you start obsessing over your own insignificance in the grand scheme of the universe. The Powers are just – too interconnected, and their rituals never accounted for that.”

“So the Unknowing…”

“Would have failed even without our intervention,” Jon says bitterly. “Same goes for all of the rituals that Gertrude stopped, and all the others that have been sabotaged throughout the centuries. All of that sacrifice, and for nothing. Michael Shelley, and Jan Kilbride, and – and Tim, and you ending up here –”

“Tim?”

“He… he died during the mission,” Jon says quietly. He hears a sharp intake of breath from Daisy.

“And Basira?”

“Alive. She got out before the explosion.” He can just barely make out Daisy’s sigh of relief. “She… she told me to tell you that she’s waiting for you.”

“Oh,” Daisy says softly. “I’m s-”

Before she can say more, the Buried begins to writhe around them again, this time closing in molasses-slow. They both instinctively tighten their handhold on one another. As horrid as the crushing force is, this time it at least has the decency to press them closer together. Daisy’s free hand tentatively brushes against Jon’s free wrist. Understanding the unspoken request, Jon interlocks their fingers, and they wait.

“S-so,” Daisy wheezes when the earth finally relaxes and settles again, “about – about the rituals?”

“R-right.” Jon coughs lightly, still catching his breath. “Well, ah, Elias found out about Gertrude’s theory. Came up with a – ritual that would bring all the Powers through at once, but with the Eye ruling over the rest. It required an Archivist – Archive – directly marked by all the Powers. Elias – chose me. Made sure I’d encounter each of them, and… when I was ready, he laid one last trap and waited for me to wander in, because he knew from experience that I would.”

And it could happen again, Jon’s brain helpfully supplies.

“Huh.”

“Yeah. S-so it probably goes without saying, but if you thought I wasn’t human before, I, ah…” He gives an exhausted, humorless chuckle. “I’m definitely not now.”

Daisy is silent for a long moment before saying: “I take it you – you didn’t come here the first time.”

That wasn’t the comment that Jon had been expecting.

“No, I did.”

“Then… how –”

“I told you, there’s a way out. I just – I just have to find it. Last time I found you, and we escaped together. We can do it again.” She doesn’t respond to that, and he kneads the tops of her hands with his thumbs. “Daisy?”

“You’ve been here once before, and you escaped, and… and you came back?” She says it in such a small voice, it almost doesn’t even sound like her. “After – after seeing what it’s like, you still came back for me?”

“Yes…?”

“Why?” she whispers. “Why do that for me? I – I had a knife to your throat, I would’ve killed you if Basira hadn’t found us first, I saw the fear in your eyes and I enjoyed it – and you knew that I’d still planned on killing you the moment I got a chance, so – so why?”

“We’re –” Jon stops himself, rephrases. “In my future, we became friends.”

“What?”

“W-well, we – we were both Avatars trying to resist our darker natures. We went through this together. We just – we had a lot in common.”

Daisy offers no comment.

“I… don’t know what I would have done without you, honestly,” Jon continues, jiggling one foot nervously as best he can in the confined space. “You were… you were the only one I had, most days. The only one who knew what it was like, having the hunger consume you because you refuse to feed it. And – and you had Basira, but she… there were things she didn’t fully understand, couldn’t relate to. So you would come to me. We, uh… we helped each other. Trusted each other.” He adds, a bit timidly: “I… I’ve missed you.”

Still, Daisy says nothing. Jon is about to start rambling again – about what, he doesn’t know; he just needs to fill the awkward silence somehow – but Daisy speaks first.

“But – but what about before all that? Why did you come down here the first time around?”

“I was… in a bad place,” Jon admits. “Tim was dead, Sasha was dead, Melanie hated me, Basira saw me as a monster, Georgie wanted nothing to do with me, and Martin was… gone. I had no one, I wasn’t human anymore, I was afraid and ashamed and guilty and tired, and I… I was starting to doubt my decision to live. Not wanting to die had started to feel selfish, and I – I needed some way to justify living, some way to make myself useful.

“When we found out that you were alive, I – I just didn’t want to lose anyone else. If there was a chance of bringing you home, I had to try. And… there was nothing to lose. If I got stuck down here, it – it would be no great loss. The world would have even been safer for it – moreso than I even imagined at the time. I… honestly didn’t think that anyone would care if I didn’t come back.”

“That’s messed up,” Daisy says, a hint of wry amusement in her voice.

“Yeah,” Jon says with a self-deprecating laugh. “That’s what you said last time. Like I said, I was in a bad place. But – but in the end, we got out. I know I can get us out of here again. I promised Basira I would bring you home, and I – I – I will. I just… I need some time to find the way.”

“No pressure,” she deadpans.

Jon makes a strangled, exasperated noise in his throat.

“Seriously?”

If he could gesture at the tons of dirt pressing down on them, he would – but he can’t, because of the tons of dirt pressing down on them.

“Just trying to lighten the mood,” Daisy says, just the slightest hint of a self-satisfied smirk in her voice. Jon feels one corner of his mouth quirk in spite of himself.

God, he really had missed her.

The concept of time has no meaning within the Buried. Without any real way to observe or calculate its passing, things tend to feel stagnant. One long note of boredom and desperation and restriction. If not for the unpredictable tides of the soil around them, it might even feel as if time is at a standstill. In a way, it is: there is only one time here, and it is forever – or until the End of everything, at least. To make things worse, true sleep is impossible in the Buried. Sometimes, though, there is a lull in the movements of the earth, and within that liminal space, the mind may be allowed to drift.

Jon isn’t sure how long he’s been drifting when Daisy tugs on his hand.

“Jon.”

“Hm?”

“You’re muttering again.”

“Oh.” Jon clears his throat when he realizes how groggy he sounds. “Was I?”

“Care to share?”

“I’m just – I keep thinking about how Basira escaped the Unknowing,” he says, rousing himself. Out of habit, he tries to stretch, only to remember that he can barely move at all – which, of course, only intensifies the urge to fidget.

“Oh?” Daisy shakes both his hands in hers, prompting him to continue. Judging by the waver in her voice, the silence must be getting to her again. “How – how’s that?”

“She… thought her way out. Like a – an ‘I think therefore I am’ thought experiment.” Jon smiles to himself and shakes his head slightly. “She put Descartes to shame.”

“Not even a fair comparison,” Daisy scoffs.

“Agreed.”

“Were you thinking of trying that here?”

“I… don’t think it would work.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re not that level-headed.”

“That’s –” Jon’s indignation fizzles out just as quickly as it emerged. “That’s… okay, yes, that’s fair.”

Daisy snickers; Jon can’t help a small grin in return.

“But what I was actually trying to say is that it was a strategy uniquely tailored to the Stranger. The Unknowing was all about – unreality, about not being able to trust your senses, even your own identity. Basira figured out that the best way to anchor herself in that situation was to boil her entire reality down to simple logical premises: She existed. She existed in a place and time. The place was dangerous at that time, so she had to not exist in that place at that time. Places have ends, and if she kept moving, she could reach a different place.”

“Huh.”

“Straightforward. Elegant, even.”

“It’s Basira,” Daisy says, unmistakable fondness creeping into her tone. Jon snorts. “Shut up, Sims. You were saying?”

“The Buried doesn’t operate in the same way. Basira reasoned her way out of the Stranger’s domain by denying unreality. If we tried to do the same thing, we’d just be denying… well, reality. The earth, the pressure, the – the ‘too close I cannot breathe,’ it’s all real.”

“Good pep talk.”

“Sorry, that’s not what I –” Jon sighs. “I didn’t mean to sound… morose. I was just thinking about different kinds of anchors. Basira managed to center herself and use her own mind as an anchor, and I – I find that impressive, is all.”

“That’s one way to describe her,” Daisy says. “She’s… always been like that. Practical, reliable… centered.”

Wait, Jon thinks to himself, brow furrowed. What if…

“Daisy, tell me about Basira.”

“What?”

“I – she’s your anchor, right? And – and you’re hers.”

“I don’t know about –”

“She called you solid, a – a – a fixed point,” Jon says excitedly. “When you’re there, things make sense to her. You ground her. And now, without you, she’s… she has trouble knowing where she stands. She has no backup, no one to orient her. What she did during the Unknowing – it was impressive, but it isn’t sustainable over a long period of time. You can only go it alone for so long before you lose your bearings. She – she needs you. And you need her. Right?”

“She’s the fixed point,” Daisy murmurs, as if that explains everything – and maybe it does.

“Exactly, s-so – tell me about Basira. From your perspective.”

“Why?”

“Because this is the Buried, where we’re at the center and everything is weighing down on us,” Jon says, mind racing five steps ahead of him. “The dirt, the pressure, it’s all real, but – but the Fears are also about state of mind.”

Jon can feel his heart rate pick up, the way it does whenever he’s talking his way through a puzzle. If he could, he would be pacing right now, burning off that restless energy. Instead, he finds himself tapping his fingers rapidly against Daisy’s hands. She doesn’t stop him, though.

“I’m not saying that we can solve this with ‘mind over matter’ thinking, but it might – help, if we can both focus on an anchor – a different center point, that is, one outside of this place. Move from this center to that center. There’s a better chance of figuring out which way is up if we’re both feeling for the way out. We can orient each other. If we both feel a tug from the same direction, we know we’re going the right way.”

“I can’t feel anything, though,” Daisy says. “Or – I can, but it’s – it’s everywhere, pushing in one direction – pushing down –”

Jon grips her hands more tightly when he hears her breathing start to grow ragged.

“That’s why you need to tell me about Basira – until you do feel a pull. I could be way off, but it’s worth a try. And – and if nothing else, it might help clear my mind, so I can give finding the way out another shot.”

“A statement, then?” Daisy asks sardonically. “Recharge your battery?”

“I wish,” Jon says with a grim smile. “The Eye only likes horror stories. If any story would sate my appetite, I could just watch biopics any time I was feeling a bit peaky. Hell, imagine if a fictional story was enough. An episode of the Archers would be like an afternoon snack.”

“You like the Archers?” He doesn’t have to see her to know that her eyebrows are raised as high as they’ll go.

“You know, I said the exact same thing to you once. And no, I don’t, but you do, and you used to make me listen with you. We didn’t even make a dent in the back catalogue, but I’m an Avatar of terrible knowledge and the Beholding loves spoilers, so guess who Knows every episode now?” Daisy barks a laugh at that. “There are over nineteen thousand episodes, Daisy!”

“That sounds like a you problem.”

“Anyway,” Jon says, squeezing both of her hands in lieu of nudging her shoulder, “a story just… helps take me out of my own head sometimes. Always has. You’re humoring me, not the Eye. Besides, do you have anything better to do?”

“S’pose not.”

“I mean – you don’t have to, of course, if you’re uncomfortable. I don’t want to pressure you –” Jon cringes. “Bad choice of words. I –”

“Stop babbling, Sims.” He knows that tone of voice, knows that she’s rolling her eyes right now. “We only have so long before the walls close in again –”

Daisy cuts herself off with a strangled noise, which she tries to cover by clearing her throat. She was likely trying to lighten the mood again, but the inevitability of the Buried’s ebb and flow is still too real, too close.

“Do you, uh… do you want to hear a story or not?”

“Please.”

“Back again?”

Martin jolts at the sound of Georgie’s voice. He tosses a brief glare over his shoulder at her where she stands just outside the doorway to the office, a safe distance from the Coffin. Martin discovered quickly that the Coffin’s compulsion has no impact on him, likely muffled by his allegiance to the Lonely. Georgie, though, has no such protection.

Coincidentally, it also means that as long as Martin keeps close to the Coffin, Georgie has to keep her distance from him as well.

“It’s been a week,” Martin says in a quiet monotone, tearing his gaze away from her.

“Yeah.”

“He should have been back by now.”

“Well, he didn’t really give a timeframe –”

“But you said he implied that it wouldn’t take more than a week,” Martin says impatiently. “And knowing Jon, he exaggerated how long it would take, just so no one would worry if he was late.”

“I… yeah, I know,” Georgie sighs. “I was expecting him to be back by now, too.”

Martin nods in a clear ‘I told you so’ gesture – then immediately feels childish. Why is he acting vindicated by her admission?

“Does Peter know you’ve been coming down here?”

“Don’t care.”

“Oh?” Georgie says, her voice suspiciously bland – and only then does Martin register the significance of what he just said.

“I just meant – it’s –” Martin huffs. “It’s none of your business.”

“Of course.” Martin can hear the smirk in her tone.

“Why are you here?” he snaps, swiveling to look at her again.

“Same reason you are, I expect.”

Martin says nothing to that, simply turns his back on her. For a few minutes, the only sound is the low, indistinct chatter of the tape recorders, still spooling out their horror stories on a loop.

“Have you tried calling to him?” Georgie asks. Martin continues to ignore her, teeth clenched until they ache. “It could be worth a shot. He left all those tapes running – don’t know if he can hear them exactly, but they’re meant to call to him.”

Go away, Martin thinks, his hands curling into fists on his knees.

“Your voice might be better than a recording.”

Why is she so persistent?

“Just – think about it, okay?”

When Martin doesn’t respond, Georgie sighs, knocks twice on the door frame, and takes her leave. He doesn’t look back around until the sound of her footsteps fade away.

“Sure, just leave the door wide open,” he grumbles irritably, rising to his feet to remedy the issue.

He pulls the office door shut with more force than intended, practically slamming it. The lone tape recorder on Jon’s desk, previously standing on end, topples over with a light clatter. Martin exhales heavily and pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to suppress the static buzz of nervous energy simmering inside him.

“But we need you, Jon,” the tape recorder grinds out. “Jon, please, just – please.”

“Fuck,” Martin says, voice thick and strained. He takes several deep breaths – in through his nose, out through his mouth – trying to clear his thoughts. Eventually, his shoulders slump and he sighs. “Fine. You win.”

He settles himself on the floor in front of the Coffin again, closer this time.

“Jon,” he says, then falters, unsure of what to say. “I –” He lets out an agitated breath, then follows it up with a bitter chuckle. “This is stupid. You probably can’t even hear this, can you?”

There is an uncomfortable, stinging pressure in his eyes and he reflexively tries to swallow back the tears, only to realize how dry his mouth has become. He rubs his eyes instead, digging the heels of his palms into the sockets and applying pressure.

“I – if you – if you can hear me, I… I already lost you once. I can’t do this all over again, I just – I can’t. I’m – everyone is waiting for you, and I still…” Martin sniffles and clears his throat. “Just – come home, Jon. Please.”

“I think I’d forgotten what it was like to just be… present in the moment? A – a quiet moment, anyway.” Daisy sighs. “On a hunt, you always have to think a few steps ahead, anticipate the prey’s movements so you can get out in front of it. Even when you’re present-thinking, like during a fight, it’s – it’s instinct and reflex, quick movements and jagged edges. You can never just… be.”

“I think I understand,” Jon says. “Not the Hunt aspect, but – but the intolerance of stillness.”

“But in that moment – laying back in the grass, Basira going on about the stars – I was… I was just me. I was focused on her – she gets so excited, so animated whenever she has a chance to talk about something new she’s learned, and I – I let her go on for” – Daisy laughs – “going on forty minutes, probably, about – about the Wow! signal before she looked over and saw me staring. Got all embarrassed that I let her talk so long.”

Jon can feel himself grinning.

“In her defense, the Wow! signal is a fascinating topic.”

“I thought so,” Daisy says warmly. “I mean, I must’ve, right? The whole time she was talking, I never felt the blood calling to me. Afterwards, it felt wrong, somehow – unnatural – that I’d been ignoring it. Not even resisting it, just – tuning it out altogether. I didn’t notice until then how loud it was – like for my whole life there had been teeth at my throat and I just never noticed until that moment.” She pauses. “It’s strange, but I – I think I liked it. The quiet.”

“I don’t think it’s strange at all,” Jon says softly. “I think –”

Suddenly, there’s a distinct wrenching sensation within him – like having a hook yank upwards, painless but abrupt enough to make his breath catch in his throat.

“Jon?” Daisy says warily. “What’s wrong?”

There’s something there.

“Do – do you feel that?”

“No? What – what is it?”

“It’s – wait, just let me…”

Jon concentrates, holding his breath as he waits, and –

There. Another pull, like a fish tugging at a line. And another, gentler but just as insistent.

“Daisy, I –” Jon lets out a breathless little laugh. “I think I know the way. C-come on, follow me.”

End Notes:

tbh I was tempted to split this into two chapters but it felt like it wanted to be all one thing, and also I didn't want to end on an angsty cliffhanger because:

I know I was managing a loose every-7-to-10-days-ish update schedule for awhile there, but it miiiight start looking more like an every-two-weeks schedule going forward. I've been on split shifts at work but we're supposedly going back full time soon, so that might effect how much writing time I have each day. Just wanted to give a heads up in case it takes longer than usual before the next chapter is ready.

There are several snippets of dialogue borrowed/reworked from Jon & Daisy's conversation in the Buried in MAG 132 - they're scattered throughout the chapter. (The "This is forever deep below creation..." and "One thing I've learned..." internal dialogue bits are from 132 also.) Probably goes without saying, but Martin's Lonely statement is from MAG 170 and there's also a previously cited usage of his dialogue from the S4 trailer. The Tim quote is from MAG 117. "The blanket never did anything" (still one of the creepiest lines in the podcast i s2g) is from MAG 086.

[xxwritemeastoryxx]

Monster Part 9

Author: xxwritemeastoryxx

Pairings: Damon Salvatore x Reader

Word Count: 3.3K

Warnings: Canon Typical blood and gore. 

Author’s Note: I’ve been looking forward to this particular part for a while now. I finally get to incorporate the song this fic is based off of! While I’ve added pieces of it in previous parts, they could easily be glanced over. So I’m excited for this one. Anyways, I hope you guys enjoy this one. It’s a little longer and we are close to the ending.  Also! A side note for the link that is included in this one, I own that particular one in red, I absolute love it and I loved how it didn’t make me feel uncomfortable in anyway. 

Feedback gives me life and motivation for future things. ♥

The weight of the cardstock felt heavy in Y/N's hands. If there were ever a moment where she had been wrong, now would have been that time. She was so sure that her father would have played out his plan at the Town Hall Meeting. But the invitation she held in her hand was enough proof that it wasn't.

Y/N grabbed her phone, her fingers sliding across the screen until she found her contacts. With a tap, the phone began ringing as she brought it up to her ear.

A moment later, Damon's voice came over the phone. "Everything alright, Y/N/N?"

Y/N chuckled and shook her head even though he couldn't see her do it. "You sound worried."

It was Damon's turn to chuckle. "To be fair, you've never called this early."

"My life isn't being threatened or anything." She tried to joke. "But I know why we couldn't find the plans for the meeting."

She could hear a rustling in the background at first. "What did you find?"

"You might want to look out your door." She said as she looked at the invitation. "I'm sure if I got one, you would have one waiting for you."

"Would you look at that. " Damon said a moment later. "Want to be my plus one?"

Y/N could hear the smirk in his words. "I can't be a plus one if I already got an invitation."

"Then, I'll pick you up at five." That caused her to chuckle. "Do we need to go compel you a dress for this event?"

Y/N rolled her eyes. "I don't need you to go out and manipulate people for things I don't need. I have something for tonight."

"Alright, fine." Y/N chuckled. "But we do need to meet up with everyone beforehand to come up with a game plan."

"That would be smart. Just let me know when."

A few hours later, Y/N found herself at the Salvatore house. Everyone gathered to come up with a plan. Just as Y/N thought, everyone had gotten an invitation to the party her father was throwing tonight.

Before they started going into the details of the party, Y/N hadn't forgotten about what she learned recently. The moment she saw Stefan, she tried to hold back her anger, but she couldn't. All the pain that came with her mother's death rushed to the surface.

Stefan had been able to see the hurt and anger in her eyes. When he tried to explain, Y/N didn't want to hear any of it. Her hand met his face, with a hard smack. Stefan knew he deserved it.

Y/N said things in the heat of the moment, leaving several people with their mouths hanging open. It took Damon to pull her away and into the kitchen to get her to calm down.

Now, Y/N sat on the couch, with Damon right next to her. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, keeping her close. Stefan stood at the far side of the room, hoping to prevent angering Y/N any more than he had.

"I don't think all of us should go." Bonnie said as her eyes scanned everyone. "We know this is a trap. It wouldn't be smart for us to all go."

"She's right," Liz said with a nod. "All of us there would make it too easy."

"Who stays and who goes?" Y/N asked.

"I'd feel comfortable if Caroline stayed out of this." Liz said.

"Mom," Caroline groaned. "I can take care of myself."

"I'd rather not have my daughter killed in front of the whole town." Liz said as she kept her eyes on Caroline. "If I can't stop anything, I will have to live with that. I'd rather you be safe."

"She has a point." Y/N said. "If you are both there, I'm sure they will try to isolate both of you."

"Fine, I'll stay." Caroline said with a roll of her eyes as she crossed her arms.

"I'll stay with Caroline." Bonnie offered.

"So will I." Elena said, smiling at her friends.

"The rest of us will go and enjoy the party." Damon said with a nod. "At least until it all goes to Hell."

Y/N sighed as she shook her head. "Hopefully, I can convince him not to go through with this."

"Leave that as a last resort," Stefan said, looking over at Y/N. "If you go and tell him you know about everything, he might jump the gun on this."

"He's right." Damon agreed. "We've had our fair share of that in our past."

"Last resort got it." She said with a nod.

Damon looked over at Liz. "For those of us going, were going to need to keep an eye out on at all times. If Y/N learns anything, we'll be sure to pass the news along."

"For those of us not going," Bonnie got their attention. "We'll be trying to find a way out of this from here. I'm sure there are a few spells that I can find."

"If you find anything, call us and let us know." Stefan said with a nod of his head.

_____

Y/N could feel her heart pound in her chest as she walked up to the old Lockwood Estate. She had her hand tucked into Damon's arm as they headed up the steps. Even though Damon was supporting her, she couldn't stop the heavy feeling in her chest.

The beautiful black dress she had picked for tonight felt heavy, even though the material was light. It had been the whole reason she had chosen it in the first place. She wanted something light just in case anything happens.

Her father and his wife stood by the entryway, greeting the guests. As it was Damon's and Y/N's turn to be welcomed, she could see her father's face light up. Any other time she would have rolled her eyes, but she hadn't.

"I wasn't expecting you to be here tonight." He said as he took in the both of them before holding his hand out for Damon to shake.

Taking his hand, Damon nodded. "It took some convincing on my part, but I told her it wouldn't be the worst night."

That caused her to roll her eyes. "I'd rather be at home, ignoring you." The scoff coming from her stepmother's lips made Y/N glare at the woman. "What? You'd think I'd be happy with open arms to have you here?"

"Your father has done a lot to ensure he was back in his life. I figured you'd be at least happy to see him." She said as she narrowed her eyes at Y/N.

"He chose you and your family while leaving me behind. There won't be happy thoughts where you are involved." Everyone standing there could easily hear the venom in her words.

"Okay," Damon said, looking over at Y/N. "How about we head inside." Before Y/N could even nod, Damon led her inside to get them away from the conversation.

The moment they were inside, Damon led her over to the side, away from everyone. "I need to know where your head is at." Damon said as he placed his hand on her shoulder.

"That felt great to get off my chest." She said with a small smirk pulling at her lips.

Damon chuckled. "While I enjoyed that, that wasn't what I was asking. Before we got to the door, your heart was beating a mile a minute."

Y/N  looked down at the ground for a moment before looking back at him. "I'm afraid of what could happen. I don't want to be the reason this fails."

"Hey," His words were soft as he moved his hand from her shoulder to her cheek. "We are going to get through this. We'll be able to stop them before anyone gets hurt."

"Are you sure you can promise that?" She leaned into his touch. 

"I'll try my damnedest to make sure we all walk out of this unscathed." Even if he hadn't been able to walk away from this, he wouldn't let anything happen to her. That was the promise he was making, not only to her but to himself.

"Damon," Stefan said, getting their attention. "a word, please."

Damon pulled away from Y/N before turning towards his brother. "What is it?" Stefan tilted his head off to the side, hoping that his brother would know this needed to be a private conversation. Rolling his eyes, Damon looked back at Y/N. "We'll be right back."

Y/N's eyebrow raised, but she nodded. "Okay. I'll see what I can get myself into while you're gone."

Damon chuckled before pulling Stefan away. She watched as they disappeared into the crowd before she began looking around. Looking towards the door, she found that her father was no longer welcoming anyone.

"Y/N, hey."

Y/N turned as she heard her name. As she did, she found Elena, and a small smile pulled at her lips. "I thought you were going to hang back just in case?"

Elena thought for a moment before answering. "While we were, Bonnie mentioned she had found a protection spell. Since you need to be here, we figured you of all people needed it."

Y/N's eyebrow raised. "What makes you think I'd be a target?" She looked around, making sure no one was listening to their conversation. "The whole point of this is to out the vampires. I shouldn't be a target."

"From experience, nothing ever goes as planned. We want to make sure you'll be okay." Elena grabbed hold of Y/N's hand and placed a small vial into it. "Trust me on this one. It's better to be safe than sorry."

Y/N nodded her head as she closed her hand around the vial. "Damon doesn't know you are here, does he?"

Elena shook her head. "He believes he'd be able to protect you without it. Stefan is currently trying to convince him that it's needed. Going behind Damon's back isn't going to go over well. But in the end, he'll be glad we did this. "

Y/N didn't like the idea of going behind Damon's back like this. She trusted him enough that everything would play out just as they needed. But what Elena had been saying was smart. She didn't want to get hurt by being in the middle of it.

Her eyes scanned the room, looking for Damon. He had still been in the far corner, arguing with Stefan. She could see him run his hand down his face. If he and Stefan were currently arguing about this, she wanted to be the one to decide on her own.

Opening the vial, she brought it to her lips and drank the contents. A look of disgust formed as she took in the taste. "What the hell was that?"

Elena chuckled. "Trust me. You don't want to know. But it will do its job."

"I'm going to need a drink after that." Y/N shook her head. She couldn't wait to get the taste out of her mouth.

"Go on," Elena said with a tilt of her head. "I should go before Damon gets back."

Y/N nodded. "Thank you." She watched as Elena gave her a small smile before heading out.

Damon sighed as he found Y/N over by the bar.  He was trying not to stress about the information Stefan had just told him. They already had a lot on their plate. They didn't need the added stress.

Seeing Damon walk up to her, she gave him a small smile. "Is everything okay?" She asked as she held out a drink for him.

He nodded his head as he accepted the drink. "We have a not so blast from the past trying to make an appearance."

Y/N's eyebrow raised. "Is that something we should be worried about?"

"Not tonight, anyway. We can worry about that after this is taken care of." Damon didn't want to worry about it at that moment. While any other time there would have been sirens going off, Y/N's safety held more importance.

I wanna be the blood that it's in your veins Why am I led so easily astray? It's something about the cool way you understand Say you will be the life of me, take my hand

As Damon looked around the place, he knew they couldn't just be standing around. As the soft music began to play, Damon placed his glass on the bar and held his hand out towards Y/N.

Y/N looked at his hand for a moment before finally placing her hand in his. She had been surprised that he had even thought about dancing at a time like this. She believed they were supposed to be on their guard for anything. But if Damon was going to indulge in dancing, she wasn't going to deny that.

"Fair warning," She said as he led her to the dance floor. "I've been known to step on toes."

Damon chuckled at her words as he stopped in an open space and pulled her close to him. "I think you've forgotten who I am. You wouldn't be able to even if you tried."

"Cocky much?" She asked with a smirk as she looked up at him.

"Always." He said with a wink.

If I'm lost, why do I feel found? Pull me under, let me drown Cause who needs air? When you're mine, you're safe and sound Haunted and completely bound to my nightmare

"Doesn't that make your blood boil seeing that?" The woman's voice rang in Y/D/N's ears.

He tried not to seem bothered by her voice as he kept his eyes on Y/N. No matter how much he wanted to kill her, he couldn't. She currently had too much over him.

"You never explained why it had to be her." He said, looking over his shoulder at the woman. "Or what it is the Salvatores have done."

The woman laughed. "I don't need to share in that information as to what they've done. That is my business to know. As for why it has to be Y/N, you were the one that threw her into the fire. I gave you a choice, and you made it. Now you have to watch it unfold."

His eyes went back to Y/N. A laugh had just passed her lips as Damon spun her out and brought her back to him. Since he had been in town, he hadn't seen her as happy when she was alone. Whenever she was with Damon, the smile he missed so much had been there on her lips. "That's the compulsion, isn't it?" He asked, hopeful.

A chuckle passed the woman's lips. "It isn't. The only thing I made her do was to trust him, even when she was afraid. Her falling for him was all on her. Believe it or not, Damon also loves her. I've seen that look before on him. And that alone is going to make this even better. I would suggest getting your men ready."

We tie together darkness and the day Be here with me forever in the grave Has something to do with the beat of your heart It's nothing like mine, it's the missing part

As Damon pulled her close again, a scent hit his nose. It had made him shake his head as it overwhelmed his senses. The smell was sweet, mouthwatering as he took it in. He had never come across a scent like that before in his lifetime.

Y/N hadn't missed the action or the fact that he had stopped dancing. "Damon?" She asked as she watched him. "Is everything okay?"

Damon nodded, even though he knew he wasn't okay.  "I just need a moment."

He said as he kept her close. His mistake had been moving his face by her neck. As he did, the scent overwhelmed him again, and he felt the veins under his eyes. Damon quickly took a step back from her, trying to get himself under control. He wasn't sure what the hell was going on, but he didn't want to hurt Y/N.

"Are you sure you are okay?"

Stefan heard Y/N's concern in her voice. "Something's wrong." He said, looking over at Liz.

"What is it?" She asked as her eyes began scanning the room.

"I don't know." He said, bringing his attention back to his brother. "Something is wrong with Damon."

A moment later, a scent hit Stefan just as it had hit Damon. While Damon had been able to handle it for a few seconds, Stefan couldn't. The smell had caught him off guard, and his eyes changed quickly.

Liz had noticed it right away. "Control yourself." She hissed as she turned him away from prying eyes.  As soon as she had Stefan turned away, she understood what was going on. Whatever plan Mayor Y/L/N had, it was finally happening.  "We need to get you out of here."

You're a monster, but I want you What does that say about me?

Y/N took a step back as she watched the veins under Damon's eyes moved. It had been the first time she had seen it happen. No matter what it had been that Damon, or even her father, had told her it never prepared her for what she saw now. Her hand lifted to her mouth as she tried to hide the gasp that wanted to form.

"Damon, we need to go." She said a moment after she gained her composure. She took a step towards him, hoping she could at least steer him away from the crowd.

Gasps filled the air causing the group to look around. From their spots, they were able to see that several vampires had no idea were even there, picked up on the scent as the Salvatores had.  The source of smell leading straight back to Y/N.

Through the hunger that Damon felt, he put himself between Y/N and the other vampires that had begun to come their way. "Did you take anything?" He asked through clenched teeth, trying to keep himself from taking a breath.

"Only what Elena gave me." It was soon as the words left her lips did Damon fully understand what was happening now.

Screams filled the air as humans ran, hoping to avoid the vampires. Members of the sheriff's department began taking down the vampires.

Damon placed his hands on Y/N's face. "You need to run. When you get the chance, call Bonbon. Get her to do a protection spell until whatever you were given wares off."

"I can't just leave you. You'll get killed." She said, pulling his hands away from her face. Taking hold of his hands, she tried pulling him in the direction of the exit.

"I'll be right behind you." He said, pulling his hands free. “But I need you safe."

Y/N nodded her head at his words before turning to run. As long as Damon gave her a chance to run and follow her out, she'd be able to leave him. She didn't fully understand how she had been the trap. Elena was supposed to have given her something to help her, not make it worse.

Just as she was about to reach the door, a gasp left her lips. The pain that radiated through her body as she stood there unable to move. The smell of her blood hit Damon’s nose a second later, along with the other vampires in the room. The sweet scent of her blood was intensified the moment she was stabbed.

Y/N looked down as her lip trembled. Pierced into her abdomen was a dagger. Her fingers coated with the blood that seeped out of the wound. As she looked up at who done it, confusion had filled her face. “Elena?”

“Sorry Y/N/N. But you’ve definitely got the wrong person.” She said with a smirk growing on her lips. 

As darkness consumed her, the last thing Y/N heard was Damon’s voice calling out to her. 

Always & Forever Tag: @taylordrunkonwhiskey @thewolf-and-thesheep @wayward-dan @neeadinghugs @fafulous @kenmen02 @elizamonet @dora-the-grownup @mschellehitt @xanderling @fandom-princess-forevermore @buckysarm4 @hi-my-name-is-riley @helenasingers @alka16555 @yaniiie

Monster Tag: @butifulsoul125 @this-is-mycrisis @writingsoftheunderworld @voidnarnia @nicole-lynne @marvelouslysherlockedhunter @multifandom-fangirl4 @awkwardnesshabitat @ninipoo1 @herloveforstories @krazykatkay456 @aliahemmings97 @blackrockshooter780 @llama2264 @suits-and-smirks  @newheart97 @amy-choices @heimdoodle

Bold tags mean for one reason or another I cannot tag you in this. Please let me know if you would like to be added to, or taken off, the tags. ♥

[yandere-daydreams]

A Yandere!Takuto Maruki/Reader commission for the very lovely, very patient @furudolove for Persona 5 Royal. I’ve never played a Persona game and I don’t plan to, but I can hope I got the majority of Maruki’s character, in this. He’d so idyllic, and so delusional... He’d make a wonderful Yandere, if I knew a little more about the series. 

Word Count: 3.0k

TW: Imprisonment, Emotional Manipulation, Gaslighting, and Isolation. 

You could feel every detail of the cot underneath you.

It would’ve been impossible not to. Prominent, pointed springs poked through the thin mattress and prodded at your back, biting into your arms, your legs, any patch of open skin they could find and force themselves into without objection. You took it in, for a moment, your body too sore and your mind too drained to do anything but lay back and let the chilled air wash over you, too cold to be natural, too sterile. When you opened your eyes, you did so reluctantly, but there was nothing to ease your anxiety. Above you was a plain, tiled ceiling, glowing with an artificial light you couldn’t quite name the source of, not unlike the lamp you might place above the cage of a reptile, and the rest of the room seemed to fall into place as your eyes found it, a desk and a pair of chairs coming into existence as you struggled to comprehend the world you’d fallen into. They were white and unmarked, your bed bolted to a floor speckled with grey dots. Like the presidential suite of a freshly renovated asylum.

You weren’t certain where you were, but you were sure you’d never been here before.

And you knew you didn’t want to be any longer than you had to.

Slowly, you pushed yourself up, your back aching under the strain, protesting any slight shift, as if you’d fallen too far and landed too suddenly. A similar pain was quick to make itself known in the back of your head, and thoughtlessly, you brought up a hand to try and soothe the knots of pressure tying themselves in the back of your skull. You hissed as your fingertips made contact with the worst spot, the area tender, bruised, but you didn’t have much time to investigate.

As soon as you’d begun to examine the area in earnest, there was a hand around your wrist, pulling your arm away gently and hesitating to release it when you failed to resist. Your attention turned to the man now standing above you, and suddenly, you were startlingly aware of just how muddled your mind had become, how difficult it was to formulate any thought beyond general observations about your current predicament. His features, although vaguely familiar, were blurry, unfocused, and you couldn’t bring yourself to try to put a name to his face. You didn’t have to, though, not when his voice was more than enough to identify him.

“You shouldn’t push yourself,” Your counselor, Takuto Maruki, explained. “I’d hate to see you hurt yourself this early on.”

You opened your mouth, but he was quick to hush you, letting your hand fall into your lap and repositioning himself, smiling as he lowered himself to your height. It was all you could do to stare in his direction, a million questions playing on your tongue, the least indescribable of which had to do with his attire, suddenly too formal, and the grin he was barely trying to conceal, wide and welcoming, only broadening at the slightest hints of your acknowledgment. “I know this seems strange,” He began, his speech rehearsed, as if he’d been preparing it while you were unconscious. “But there’s no reason to be afraid, anymore. You’re in a better place, now, a better reality, one where you can be what you’ve been trying so hard to be, with my help.”

“I don’t understand,” You whispered, drawing your knees to your chest, your voice smaller than you’d like it to be. The creak of the ancient bedframe threatened to drown it out. “I can’t… You want me to change?”

“I want you to be what you’ve always wanted to be.” This time, when he took your hand, he held it close to his chest, a wide, self-satisfied smile spreading across Maruki’s lips. As if he couldn’t be more proud, and expected you to be just as exultant. “You’re in so much pain as you are, (Y/n). I want to take that away. I’ll satisfy your desires, make you the person you want to be. Assertive, brave, confident.” He paused, squeezing your hand a little too tightly for the gesture to go unnoticed. “We’ll rule this place together. You’ll have everything you’ve ever wanted, and I’ll have you by my side. We’ll be happy.”

You blinked, once, twice, your gaze flickering from your knees, to the ground, to Maruki’s face, still alight with anticipation as he waited for your answer. You could only think to say the obvious.

“I’m sorry, but… I’d rather not.”

~

Maruki visited twice a day.

Or, it felt like twice a day, at least. It was difficult to tell, when the sky outside your windows was always dark and the lights were always on, remaining bright and untouched regardless of how many times you threw your few, meager possessions towards the unfaltering ceiling. You were given books to occupy yourself with, games and consoles to play them on, but the hours were long and he seemed to be the only company you were allowed. You were tempted to complain, but it was difficult to find your voice, when he was around. When anyone was around, really, but you tried not to think about that. Not when there were so many other things to keep your concern yourself with.

For example, the location of your prison, relative to the world you should be a part of. And, preferably, how you got back to the latter of the two.

When you asked, you didn’t dare think. You swallowed your nerves and spit out the words, keeping your eyes narrowed on the pad of lined paper in front of you. Maruki had handed it over the moment you expressed an interest in the object, but you had yet to decipher its contents. To you, it just seemed like a list of names, only a handful of which you recognized. “Where am I?”

“It’s complicated,” He answered, automatically. As if he’d expected you to ask this question sooner. “It’s… It’s my perfect reality. One where everyone can be exactly what they want to be, and have everything they long for. There’s more of it than-” He motioned vaguely around the room, clearly unimpressed with its contents. You couldn’t say you blamed him. “-this, but I didn’t want to smother you. I know how overwhelmed you can get, sometimes.”

“I’m working on that,” You mumbled, immediately longing to take it back. If anyone knew what you were working on, it was Maruki, the man who you considered to be one of your closest confidants less than a week ago. He was a kind man, and you’d trusted him… You still trusted him, honestly. It was impossible to stop, once you’d already allowed yourself to open up. “And there’s no way out of… ‘your reality’, is there? Without your help, I mean.”

Maruki took offense to that. He’d been seated at your desk, for the duration of this visit, maintaining a professional distance, but he stood when you brought up the topic of leaving. You heard a sigh as soft, measured footsteps made their way to your side. He hadn’t tried to close the distance between you two since you first woke up. Rather, he slid onto the end of your bed, his back coming to rest against the barred footboard, his legs left to intermingle with yours in the space between. It felt intimate, and as if by instinct, you were against it. “I don’t want you to feel like your a prisoner--”

“I am a prisoner,” You interrupted. “I can’t leave, so I’m a prisoner.”

“You’re a guest.” He sounded disappointed, but firm, his eyes flickering over your face and attempting to meet yours. You looked away, once again attempting to focus on his many, nonsensical lists. “I wasn’t lying when I said I wanted to make you happy. I can make people different, here, and I can make you different.” He finished with a bright, broad smile, only realizing his mistake a moment after your hurt became palpable. “Wait, that’s not what I - You won’t be different. You’ll be what you’re meant to be.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees, beaming forward like there was nowhere in the world he’d rather be. “Nothing about you will change. If anything, you’ll be more you than you are now. Everyone here is. I can show you around, if you let me help you.”

“If I let you control me.” He opened his mouth, ready to provide another repetitive rebuttal, but you didn’t let him, biting the inside of your cheek as you fought to continue. “That’s what it is, right? You know I won’t fight, not once you’ve got me trapped in your little, perfect daydream. The only thing I can’t think of is why you don’t just-” You waved a hand in some vague, arbitrary gesture, attempting to vent your frustration physically. The effects were minimal, at best. “-do it, already. If this was really your reality, you wouldn’t keep asking for my consent.”

“It has to be your choice.” The declaration wasn’t triumphant, or altruistic, or anything less than pained. As if it hurt him to admit it. “I know you need to make progress. You want this to be your accomplishment, and I’m not going to take that away from you. I want you to be proud, (Y/n), I do, but I can help. This can be our achievement. I can make it so--”

“So I forget I hate myself?” Before you knew it, you were on your feet, your fists clenched at your sides and your vision red. You were angry. There wasn’t a point in denying it, why would you? He was the only person you’d spoken too in weeks, and it wasn’t like there was much to discuss. You had no one to protect your reputation from, and you refused to strive to prove yourself to Maruki. He didn’t deserve that. Regardless of how badly he wanted to try to act like he did, he didn’t. You were sure of that.

You had to be sure of that.

“I don’t want to be some brainwashed doll you can tow around as a shining example of how wonderful your fucked-up therapy is. I’m not who you want me to be, I’m not who I want me to be, I’m me. I have to be the one to deal with that, even if I have to do it on my own. There’s no quick-fix, or magic solution, or ‘cognitive wrap’, whatever you’ve been calling it. That’s not what I need.” You gasped, if only to stop yourself from losing your temper. You’d started to pace without realizing it, and when you came to a stop, you were facing one of the dull, white walls. It was fitting, you guessed. You didn’t want to see his response, not right away. “Remember the first time we met? When I went to you for advice?

His reply was delayed. It came with a soft exhale, ragged, but tamer than yours. Nostalgic, even. “You shook like a leaf. How could I forget?”

“I was terrified,” You admitted, letting a fraction of the tension in your body dissolve. “I was in a bad place, and it took me days to scrape up the courage to tell someone about it. If you’d made your offer then…” You let out a sad, breathy laugh, the sound as humorless as it was dry. “You said I had to believe I could make progress before I relied on anyone else. That’s what I’m doing. You can’t guilt me for following your advice.”

There was a beat of silence, a moment where you genuinely could’ve thought he’d begun to understand. Then, Maruki opened his mouth, and you were snapped out of that fantasy as abruptly as you’d been thrown into it. “I loved you back then, too. As much as I do now. If I could’ve done anything to end your suffering, I would’ve.”

You didn’t hesitate, your voice just loud enough for him to hear. “I think you should leave.”

“(Y/n), I--”

“Please, Takuto,” You interrupted, your nails beginning to dig into your palms. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

There was a huff. A sigh. But, you didn’t look over your shoulder until the metal-plated door had swung shut, a lock clicking into place from the other side, leaving you more alone than you had been before he made his daily visit.

For whatever reason, you had a feeling you wouldn’t be getting a second, that day.

~

Isolation was a tenuous thing.

You couldn’t keep track of time. Not here, not in this room, not when the sky never changed color and you never really felt hungry or thirsty or much of anything at all, if it didn’t have to do with Maruki and his ‘perfect world’. But, after your first real argument, Maruki had stayed away long enough to make his absence known, rather than just a particularly long lapse between tense encounters. It might’ve been a day, a week, a month, but you didn’t care about the specifics.

It was long enough to make you miss him. You supposed that was all that mattered.

There was a unique intimacy in the hand he rested on the center of your back, the steady fingers of a practiced professional rubbing slow, deliberate circles into the space just below your shoulder-blade. He hadn’t gotten this close before. He could’ve, you wouldn’t have had the courage to stop him, but after so much time spent alone with your own thoughts, this was the first time you truly embraced his presence by your side, his knee almost touching yours. Anything to make it feel like you weren’t trapped inside your own head.

He allowed you to sit in silence for a moment or two, your face buried in your palms and your legs crossed, keeping you perched on the edge of the bed, allowing you to wallow in your own self-pity and a fraction of his, too. Maruki didn’t seem to mind. He smiled, the expression nothing short of nurturing, pushing you a little close to the cliffside between you and the flawless, guilt-ridden submission he so very much to shove you towards. The way he spoke wasn’t any better, just as kind. As sickeningly tender as the rest of his facade. “I pushed you too far,” He admitted, a half-hearted laugh lacing the edges of his confession. “Too much ground to cover, never enough time. I should’ve let you think.”

You sighed, the sound desolate, miserable. A poor imitation of something that should’ve brought relief. “It’s not… It’s not just that. I’d never really adjust to…” You trailed off, swinging your legs over the cot’s side, kicking idly at the well-scoffed tiles. “...Whatever this is. Maybe you should work on that. Make a Visitor’s Center for your next abductee.”

“I’ll make you the host,” He added, prodding your side with an elbow. “My offer still stands, if you’ve changed your mind.”

You leaned against him. You leaned against him, and you rested your head on his shoulder and you let out another labored, languid sigh, somehow more sorrowful than your last. “I think you know what I’m going to say, Takuto.”

His collected grin pressed against the top of your head as he pushed a kiss into your scalp, a gentle hand coming up to draw you into a one-sided hug. You allowed it, indulged it, even, smiling up at him as he pulled away. Maruki took his time standing, stretching idly and holding out a single hand, letting something long and golden appear in his palm, a staff that tapered off into a sharpened point on one end, and sprouted into a shining, petaled star on the other. You were shocked for a moment, both by the gaudiness of the object and how wrong it seemed in Maruki’s hand, but you didn’t have much time to linger on the new addition. Not when he was so quick to draw your attention away.

“I think I’m too nice to you,” He started, still facing the furthest wall. “That’s the common factor. I get ahead of myself, and then I try to make it up to you with time and understanding and all the things I assume you’ll want. That just makes you hostile, though. I’ll try something different, next time. Something less… personal. On my end, at least.”

There were a dozen things you could’ve said. Accusations, questions, everything in between and a handful of options you hadn’t thought of, yet. But, as soon as you opened your mouth, your eyes were closing, your body collapsing and a supreme sense of exhaustion washing over you, traveling hand in hand with dizziness and every other sensation that could’ve urged you to sleep. Every other tortuous thing Maruki could’ve forced onto your mind to bend you to his whim.

You felt yourself fall to the floor just as your vision went black.

~

You woke up on a cot that squeaked when you moved.

It was an awful noise, rusted out and worn down, and it only got worse as you forced your body to move, pushing yourself into a more respectable position with arms that didn’t want to cooperate. They ached, argued, screamed, and you had a feeling they would creak too, if they could. The room around you was blurry, blurry and smudged and alien, and you realized rather numbly that you didn’t know where you were.

You realized you didn’t know where you were, and alarmingly, you realized you didn’t care.

You didn’t have to. There was already a familiar face at your side, one hand clamped around your bicep and the other resting on your shoulder, holding you up when you failed to do so yourself. It was your counselor, Takuto Maruki, smiling as brightly as ever.

“I have an offer for you,” He said, once you’d regained your balance. “One I have a feeling you’ll like.”

Without thinking, you found yourself nodding along.

[cowtale-utau]

Hey here’s another alt of the cast, because apparently I hate myself or something. (that’s a joke, mostly) Here are the ‘canon breakers’. Originally known as the ‘dark’ alts, I realized not all of them were that dark. But they are all based off breaking canon soul lore so. ‘Canon Breakers’ it is.

However I should warn, some of these versions are for the most part, built on much darker themes and touch on delicate subjects. These mini bios are short, but might still be bothersome to some. Please be careful.

Undertale Sans/Magister : Is highly manipulative. He seems passive, but is always pulling the strings. Even when it seems like someone was doing something he didn’t want, it’s inevitable that it will actually be working in his favor.

Undertale Papyrus/Hero : Delusional, with a hardcore savior complex. He will help everyone, whether they truly need it or not. He plows right over anyone else’s will to do what he believes to be “correct”.

Underfell Sans/Blossom : Skittish and fragile in many ways. He’s prone to outbursts of anger but quickly reverts to fawn out of trained fear. He’d do and has done everything for his brother, to his clear detriment.

Underfell Papyrus/Boss : Very much full of himself, but also able to back it up. He has a cruel streak, but doesn’t usually seek to harm people specifically. He does let his temper get the best of him at times, and expects everyone to bow to his whims.

Underswap Sans/Marauder : Leans into his “cute” image heavily, all the while playing everyone for the fools he thinks they are. He’s convinced even his brother he is this sweet innocent being in need of guarding, all the while indulging in untold levels of debauchery. He doesn’t care who gets hurt, as long as he gets his way.

Underswap Papyrus/Smoke : Wildly moody. At times he can seem a chill sort to vibe with and at other times he flips to a cruel and vindictive being. His words cut deep and he has driven people over the edge before. He is wildly possessive and unpredictable.

Swapfell(Red) Sans/Chain : Very much full of himself. A violent megalomaniac prone to incoherent tantrums. The problem is, that when his rage tapers off, the grudge still exists and his true cleverness can shine through.

Swapfell(Red) Papyrus/Jackal : Apathetic and cool. He does as he pleases. While he never goes out of his way to break laws or rules, he also doesn’t care if he does. He obeys his brother mostly to humor him, but also enjoys being an ass about it. Malicious compliance is one of his favorite things.

Horrortale Sans/Han : A ruthless, sadistic hunter. At times he can be good company. Good, albeit dark, humor, a relaxed confidence, he can be quite pleasant to be around. However, he is also willing and able to kill damn near anyone at the drop of a hat, and rather enjoys it.

Horrortale Papyrus/Lector : He doesn’t enjoy killing per se, but he has no issue with it either. He does enjoy rather dangerous and violent traps, and gets a thrill out of startling people. However, more than anything, he loves to consume. Food, media, anything.

Swapfell(Purple) Sans/Hyde : A very broken, shell of a skeleton. Not only pushed away, but violently abandoned by his brother, he seeks to regain Addict’s company at any cost. Unfortunately this desperation goes unanswered, and Hyde often finds himself chasing a hopeless dream.

Swapfell(Purple) Papyrus/Addict : Entirely self-driven. He has absolutely no care for the wants or needs of anyone else. He enjoys causing problems on a larger and more malicious scale than his original counterpart.  Cruel, selfish, and above all, greedy.

Fellswap Gold Sans/Vincere : A much more controlled megalomaniac. He has an extreme sense of self importance. His opinion is the correct one, and everyone should obey him at all times. His word is law, and he deserves to be revered.

Fellswap Gold Papyrus/Servire : There isn’t much of a person left in him. Quiet, stoic, the perfect soldier in that he follows commands to a T without question. He no longer bothers with his “silly childish hobbies” and rarely interacts with anyone.

Underlust Sans/Nox : Ever since the loss of his child, has been desperate for another. He doesn’t care about anyone else’s wants in the matter, only that he gets to have his kid. When not actively seeking that eventuality, he’s wild and over indulgent.

Underlust Papyrus/Lux : Leans just as far into his “otherness” while also using it to his direct benefit. Rather than the largely passive actions of his counterpart, he manipulates people and events to get his way. He’s garnered quite the following, and they all bow to his whims fervently and without question.

Dancetale Sans/Locke : He exists in a constant fog of sorrow, which he cannot source. This leaves his struggling to understand why he feels as he does, and leads to him withdrawing so as not to “drag others down with him”.

Dancetale Papyrus/Twist : Questions his own value desperately, and in turn seeks validation from any and all sources. It doesn’t matter how bad or toxic the situation or relationship. If he is being acknowledged he will cling. He can be prone to outbursts if he feels he’s “falling out of favor”.

Outertale Sans/Atlas : Is convinced he must ‘save’ this backwards time, and is very cross about it. His temper is short but burns dangerously cold.

Outertale Papyrus/Sisyphus : Is literally incapable of experiencing negative emotion, which makes for a very strange life experience. All of his “empathy” is built on book knowledge and watching people, as he truly has no practical point of reference.

Farmtale Sans/Dust : He ultimately won against Frisk, but at what cost? Driven to kill everyone before Frisk could, he came out victorious and left the barrier, but now he is alone, and haunted by his choices.  He tries to keep to himself, eke out a quiet, isolated living, but that isn’t always allowed.

Farmtale Papyrus/Rot : Full of anger, sorrow, bitterness and hate, he feels his death was meaningless and rages over having life stripped from him. He will influence or at times outright possess Dust, pushing him into killing sprees. At other times, regret sinks in, and he tries to comfort his beloved brother, only for the rage to seep back in and take over once more.

G!Sans/Beller : All of the impulse, none of the regard for the saftey of others. He does as he please with little consideration for anyone beyond his brother. He goes where he wants, takes what he wants, and lives like to the fullest, even if it means someone else suffers.

G!Papyrus/Ophon : All the science, none of the morals. He doesn’t go out of his way to hurt people, but won’t let it stop him from testing a theory either. He figures a few bad tests will likely make things better or easier for the survivors later, so oh well.

Bermudatale Sans/Shoal : Has absolutely no interest in leaving the island, and uses his role as Judge to ensure the barrier remains intact. Anyone who arrives on their shores and finds themselves comfortable settling in, is allowed to stay, but anyone with delusions of “saving the monsters” meets a swift end. This is the only circumstance that will push Shoal into action. He likes his peaceful, slow, life, and will allow no one to take it from him.

Bermudtale Papyrus/Reef : He is very similar to the classic form, but minus most of the self control, or understanding of other peoples limits. He pushes not only himself but everyone else to and past their limits, and fails to understand when people can’t keep up.

There we are, the spin offs of a spin off of a collection of spin offs. Lmfao. I’ll have the ladies done and posted at some point as well. c:

[erekiosuncreativeideas]

The Guilt Imprisonment - Chapter 01

Summary : "Guilt really was an awful feeling. Lurking in the darkness, always waiting for the worst moment to attack its host, this terrifying emotion could have so many destructive effects on one’s mind. The damage was even worse if said person’s mental health was already in bad shape after hundreds of years passed in absolute isolation.

Other factors could play a role in that as well and, for Moonjumper, it was mostly jealousy, hatred and resentment. All of them had been directed towards one particular person: his other half. While the latter had managed to escape from Vanessa’s basement, Moonjumper had woken up in this nightmarish dimension, one he ended up calling the Horizon."

Moonjumper feels extremely bad about his past actions. His mind cannot help but remember them constantly, trapping him in a prison of guilt. However, he learns that he's not the only one feeling that way...

Also available on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/24665326/chapters/59601370

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Guess the sequel of "Reliving An Old Nightmare" is here ! Hope you'll like it !!

If you haven't read "Reliving An Old Nightmare", I highly suggest you do so before starting this one, as you'll probably don't understand this story otherwise. If you like this story, please don't hesitate to tell me !

Also, English is not my native language, so there might be some grammatical mistakes I'll need to correct. Don't hesitate to tell me about them if you find one !

Happy reading !

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Chapter 01 - A New Beginning

Guilt really was an awful feeling. Lurking in the darkness, always waiting for the worst moment to attack its host, this terrifying emotion could have so many destructive effects on one’s mind. The damage was even worse if said person’s mental health was already in bad shape after hundreds of years passed in absolute isolation. Other factors could play a role in that as well and, for Moonjumper, it was mostly jealousy, hatred and resentment. All of them had been directed towards one particular person: his other half. While the latter had managed to escape from Vanessa’s basement, Moonjumper had woken up in this nightmarish dimension, one he ended up calling the Horizon.

He had never been good with names. Coming up with one for this place had been quite hard, given how desert and empty it was. After all, this dimension was just a seemingly infinite void, white everywhere, with small floating islands. Some of them were bare of any element, others had trees and bushes, while certain were full of rocks.

However, only one had a magical pond, and it was the one he was on most of the time. Now that he had gained the ability to float rather than having to crawl on the ground, he had been able to explore the Horizon, discovering what the other islands had to offer. Well, the answer was “not much”, though it was still better than being restricted to a single island. Considering the infinity of this place, Moonjumper tried to use his strings to connect the islands together, as a way to find his way around. It was like a giant map, where he had to follow the strings and their directions to find back his original island. Most of the time, it worked pretty well! Other times… The ghost had to search for it for what seemed hours to him.

Well, time couldn’t be measured here anyway.

His inability to find good names could also be seen in the way he chose to call himself. After coming to hate his other half and what the latter had become, the undead spirit didn’t want to have anything to do with him, and that also covered the person they both used to be. Thus, just like his other part did with his own name, Moonjumper thought of another identity he could use. The process had certainly not been easy and he had had to see which name fitted him the best, which one made him the most comfortable. He had tried to find something related to one of the things he liked the most and, eventually, the name Moonjumper came to him.

The Moon had always been something he had loved, watching it at night. Some people loved to stargaze but, as for him, he always had prefered to admire the beauty of the Moon. Choosing a name based on it seemed like a good idea and he had liked the sound of it.

And then, an opportunity had presented itself to him, an opportunity to leave this cursed place. Moonjumper had not hesitated a single second, manipulating Vanessa during her sleep to contact her. If he had to be honest, he wasn’t even sure how he did that, even to this day. It was before the Time Piece affected his body, his appearance and gave him his… Abilities. But maybe he already had gained some powers after his death, but wasn’t aware of it. Even today, the ghost still didn’t know. What he did know at the time, however, was that a small child had fallen from the sky in the mortal plane… A hatted little child, who had brought with her a lot of powerful artefacts, some sadly lost in Subcon Forest…

All he had had to do afterwards was to find someone desperate enough to listen to him. Someone easy to manipulate, someone who would do anything if promised the impossible… And soon, a plan had appeared in his mind. It was flawless! He had passed so much time planning everything so it would be perfect, so he would finally leave and get his revenge at the same time! What a wonderful opportunity!

Except it wasn’t. Because he had killed a kid in his attempt to get free.

Leaning on a tree, back in the Horizon, he closed his eyes. A lot of things had changed since then and, one of the biggest difference was that he was now able to go in and out of this dimension as he pleased. The spirit’s face winced as he remembered the scene. So much blood, so many tears and cries, the little girl’s body sliding against the ice as gravity pulled her body closer to the floor… It has been so awful, so horrible… And something the ghost had never wanted to do in the first place.

… Well, this wasn’t entirely true. He did try to kill her once, shackling her in the cellar, next to his unconscious other half. The truth was that, even if he had considered her as a threat to him because of her magical hats and knowledge regarding other dimensions… Moonjumper was not a killer. Contrary to his other half who had named himself The Snatcher, the spirit had never killed anyone voluntarily, let alone a child. When he had to get rid of her… He had chickened out, unable to murder her. All he had been able to do at the time was to lock her somewhere, hoping the collapsing rift would kill her instead, taking away the dirty work off his hands.

And it had been the same with Snatcher and Vanessa: it had all been hot air, bluff, lies, empty threats! Anything so he wouldn’t have to kill them himself. Using the hatted child as a hostage had given him the perfect escape scenario! Snatcher and Vanessa hadn’t been able to attack him while he was holding the little girl, just like he had planned. However… He hadn’t planned said kid would risk her life to get free. When the spirit had pushed her away, trying to avoid her attack… He had never meant to kill her. It had all been a huge accident!

The ghost curled up, taking his head into his hands. He could feel the sensation of his claws scratching his head, leaving marks as he brought them down. It made an awful sound. Silence was everywhere around him, making his thoughts even louder in his mind. Guilt was an unbearable feeling. Every day, every hour, every minute, every second… This was all he could think about: how he had murdered an innocent kid.

It hadn’t been a definitive death, but still.

After his other half broke the Time Piece, he had woken up in the attic, just like he was before being teleported outside the Rift. Next to him were the unconscious bodies of Snatcher, Vanessa and… The hatted kid’s. Since there hadn’t been any ice pillars in this version of the attic, the child had been lying on the floor, safe and sound. A sudden wave of relief had engulfed him as he had realized that she was still alive. He had tried to float closer, wanting to be sure, though Vanessa had woken up, trying to attack him.

He barely escaped that day.

The spirit had been free since then. Yet, he didn’t feel like he deserved this newfound freedom, especially because it had happened thanks to a child’s -temporary- death. Eventually, he had learnt that his body had been much more affected by the Time Piece than what he first thought.

First, the ghost was now alive and dead at the same time. It was extremely weird to him, in a lot of ways. One of them was that he could feel and smell things, contrary to his other half, who apparently couldn’t. Another one was that, while he didn’t need to eat, he felt the need to sleep. He could also feel pain, though he wasn’t able to heal his injuries, the ones caused by Snatcher. The latter had ripped the Time Piece out of his ribcage, breaking bones and bruising some organs in the process. Now, some time had passed since then, probably a few months from what Moonjumper had been able to tell, but… His body had remained unchanged, still as damaged as before. Since he didn’t have any healing magic, the only thing he could do was tying his chest up, in order to keep it closed. He had thought about closing it definitely by sewing his own skin, but… The very idea made him extremely uncomfortable. Considering he could feel pain now, this was not something he wanted to do. Thus, he had chosen the least painful solution, hoping that one day he’ll have the courage to do more than this.

He knew he wouldn’t, though.

The spirit let out a huge sigh and lifted his head back up, his eyes reexamining his surroundings: nothing ever changed in this place, it always remained the same. Just like him, in the end.

Moonjumper materialized several red strings, tying them between his fingers as he started to draw forms with them, mindlessly playing as his thoughts kept on wandering.

He couldn’t say he liked going back to the Horizon. Yet, even if he now had the possibility to leave and explore the world he had yearned so much… It was -oh- so overwhelming. The mortal plane was so lively, so noisy, so full of sensations he had lost the habit of feeling… At first, Moonjumper had been so happy to leave the Horizon, but soon his senses had been submerged, hit by a wave of sensations he had forgotten the existence.

Plus… There were a lot of people staring at him, judging him from afar… But who could blame them? It wasn’t every day one could see a literal living corpse! Though, all those stares and scared glances made Moonjumper feel even worse about himself. His new appearance was a reminder of what he did, of the bad things he had done just to be free… Of the death of an innocent child. It was too much.

Eventually, he couldn’t help but come back to the Horizon, where it was calm, where there was no one else but him, where no one would judge him. He did that very well on his own anyway. He still liked to leave this place, of course! Just… Not too long and only when it was late in the mortal plane. In that case, there wouldn’t be too many people staring at him.

It was really ironic! He had wanted to be free, to get out of there so much… And now, he was trapped again, trapped by his own loneliness. He did try to talk to people, but most of them were either scared or really uncomfortable by his presence. In the end, his situation was even worse than before. Yes, he could leave, but now his inability to socialize was his own fault. When he was stuck in the Horizon, he had his other half to blame for that… Now, he had no one else to blame other than himself.

It was a very different matter.

Moonjumper made the strings disappear and he stared into space. He needed to take his mind off all of this. Maybe a walk at night would help him? It had been a long time since the last one. He had been focusing on staying outside longer and longer. The mortal plane was overwhelming, but it was becoming easier to bear all those new sensations. It was a slow process, but it was progress nonetheless.

The ghost lifted himself from the ground, using his new floating abilities to move. He flew higher and higher, getting farther off the island he was on. Then, he extended his hands in front of him, grabbing empty space with them. But there was still something, even if it wasn’t visible. Clenching his teeth, the spirit started pulling the reality apart, separating it with his hands as he tried opening a window to the mortal plane. It was hard, and Moonjumper could feel his arms getting tired quickly at how difficult it was. But, after a few seconds, he managed to open a passage. The sight of a city greeted him, a town plunged into the darkness of the night, with no one outside. It was apparently a calm city surrounded by water, with tall buildings. An island, perhaps? But it mattered little to the ghost: all he wanted was to go on a stroll without catching anyone’s attention.

And this place seemed perfect for that. Before leaving his dimension, he examined the city once more, smelling the sea air as he passed his head through the crack. It was a messy town, with garbage and graffiti everywhere. There were a lot of scaffoldings, as if the city had gone through major changes. Many crates were scattered around. There was a beach, though it seemed just as messy as the rest of the island. Several hot-air balloons were settled on the sand, all empty. A huge geyser was coming out of the centre of the town, holding up a sort of platform on which could be seen a building.

Moonjumper let a small smile appear on his features, something he barely did nowadays: this was going to be a promising stroll, he thought, as he entered the new dimension, the crack slowly closing behind him.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Hope you liked that first chapter ! :D

See you soon on the next chapter ! Take care in the meantime !

=> Chapter 02