#cw abyss

[ant1quarian]

A Fragmented Mind

A c!Philza thing that will likely stay a oneshot

“Hello?” His voice echoes, reverberating from the darkness around him. Philza is used to fear, to the icy claws of terror snapping around his heart and freezing it in place. He isn’t sure why he’s not shaking at the moment.

There’s no response. So he continues forward, each step over the not-quite solid inky darkness below him only unnerving him further. He tries not to focus on the way ghostly tendrils curl around his legs as if he were walking deeper into a spider’s den. He especially tries to ignore the phantom lingering of wings he has long since lost.

Philza swallows, shoulders hiking up. He continues forward, not because he wants to, but because he has to. Because there’s nothing else to do and he would surely go insane from allowing himself to feel the full effect of the foggy shadows around him. He can’t let that happen.

There’s a feeling of nakedness about the abyss. This isn’t like the void he had made contact with a few times. This isn’t like death, either. Her embrace is much sweeter.

… it’s empty. Terrifyingly empty. But so, so full.

He trudges forward.

The material beneath his white-knuckled grip feels like a suggestion, more than a reality. He can feel the old familiar feeling of nausea building in his gut. He must have been walking for hours. Is there any end to this? Is it all futile? He isn’t sure. But he continues.

He has to.

It’s only when he comes across rock beneath his feet that he lets himself stop, collapsing onto it with a breathless sob. It's hard beneath his knees. He isn’t crying but he has never been gladder to feel the ground beneath him.

He’s dizzy. His mind is a gentle tapestry settling on a plush cloud. His entire existence feels fuzzy.

“You’re not meant to be here yet.”

“What?”

[six-demon-bag]

THE ABYSS (1989) dir. James Cameron

[toffeebrews]

I managed to draw something!!!

[benevolenterrancy]

"There, he finds a humanoid demon roughly his size and nicely asks for a change of clothes and directions to water suitable for bathing. The demon rudely refuses. Then he asks nicely again once the demon has fewer limbs. He gets the clothes and directions."

A scene from the fanfiction Recollections and the Nature of Love by TGP because the hilariousness of this image was too much for me to handle. Politeness really will get you everywhere!!

[toffeesbabbles]

dialogue from this rp chain

[roachymochi]

When sweet baby is a rampaging beast of destruction 🥰

[somethingnewarchive]

ASKS:

Disclaimer: There may be repeat links and asks. Any new asks I find will be added on. Stuff from superyoumna will be here as well.

How he got his name.

His birthday.

Where are the clothes from?

Do you sleep at all?

What’s your favorite food?

Can I hug you?

Tell me your secrets.

Why do you want a soul?

What do you do in your free time?

Do you have Gaster Blasters?

Do you speak Spanish?

How much LV does he have?

Do you miss Frisk?

Where is Chara?

Is Chara talking to him?

Terrifying face.

What do you feel when killing, Killer?

What do you like most about killing?

What does it feel like, killing everything you see? Don’t you get tired?

How does it feel to work with the Bad Sanses?

Aren’t you tired of everything?

Don’t you like stars?

Do you like anyone?

How do you feel? (After the Stage 4 comic.)

What do you think of Nightmare?

What about Fresh?

What about Error?

What other Sanses do you know?

How much do you know?

Multiple personalities.

Nightmare. (After leaving Nightmare.)

..aren’t you the one who made Killer!Sans?

Does Killer have or will have any place in Underverse?

How did you get the idea of Killer!Sans?

What’s Killer’s story?

Is Killer insane?

Why did he accept Chara’s deal to kill everyone together?

Everything is canon.

How did Killer get that black sludge on his sweater?

Skipped Killer’s battle with Undyne.

Killer vs Swap is just a side comic.

Where can I find Killer’s story?

How tall is Killer?

What is that stuff coming out of Killer’s eyes?

Has Killer ever been to Outertale?

Killer’s reaction to losing a limb.

Is there an ending to Killer’s story or is it up to interpretation? (Think this was made before the Something New Happened comic/Good Ending with Color).

So Killer is good now? What will he do with his new life, free from Nightmare?

Killer, why are you so mean to Swap? (tw: strangling, abuse.)

How did Nightmare find Killer’s AT if he has no negative feelings?

Nice new outfit! Is it comfy for..you know, killing?

Is Killer a friend of Chara?

Where did you get your inspiration/idea for making Killer?

Is Colorkiller canon?

Killer, you’re so cool. Just like your creator!

What’s Killer’s ship rn?

Killer, could you die and never come back, please?

Will I be your friend if I give you ketchup?

Killer doesn’t care about ships.

Did Killer kidnap Blueberry?

Killer x Color?

What do you think of Cross?

What do you think about Cross?

Do you know Cross?

Did Cross do something wrong or is it the X Event?

And how about your creator? You like her?

Greetings.

Does your eye glow?

Do you have any favorite foods or dislikes?

You could never be good. What about all the monsters you killed?

Who is your best friend?

Killer makes Swap eat Nice Cream off the floor. (TW: abuse.)

Is Killer the one from the present, or is he from before he was rescued by Color?

Who said I’m a good guy?

Then are you a bad guy?

What if..it’s all lies?

Do you like anyone?

Do you prefer chocolate or ketchup?

Killer likes cats.

Is Killer good now? There are multiple timelines.

Dust, Horror, Hell & Killer make dust angels.

Thanks.

What is the black thing that flows from Killer’s eyes?

Ref sheet.

Killer’s reaction to a cat sitting on him.

Is it okay to ship Killer? Yes, he’s a very romantic guy.

So Killer wants to feel stuff, but he can’t. Why does he kill if he knows it’s pointless?

Who should we crackship Killer with?

Should Killer get a new name since he is not a killer anymore? Maybe Noka? (Not Killer Anymore)

I don’t know why, but I feel kind of bad for Nightmare.

Will rahaf ever make a remake?

Is platonic colorkiller canon?

Can I use color & killer for an askblog colorkiller?

Draw killer & color as Finn & Jake.

Does rahaf ship Colorkiller?

Why is Color, out of all people, Killer’s dearest friend?

Is it okay to make merch of Killer?

Can people do commissions of Killer?

Is there any ship with Killer that bothers you?

Do you ship Killer x Murder?

[peggythestrange]

Binghe's side of the story was different.

Binghe was always a good disciple. He knew his shizun hated him, he perfectly knew that Shen Qingqiu despised his character. But only for his twin brother he tried to keep their relationship at least acceptable.

Binghe was grateful to Shen Yuan for his efforts, he was the only one to actually see him as a person and not a monster. He really was grateful, but could not ignore the hurtful comments and his cruel glances. He didn't know what he did to make his shizun hate him so badly, he didn' know what to do to sole the matter with him.

But growing up he ha developed a strong resentment towards that man. Something he could restrain only thinking about the second shizun, the kind and benevolent Yuan-shifu teaching them under the stern gaze of Shen Qingqiu. Disciples loved him and his methods, his stories were the most interesting and his smile the brightest.

Binghe didn't know that Shen Yuan attempted to replicate an attitude he thought it was enough to save his twin.

It was his first big mistake. Shen Jiu didn't asked to be saved. He never asked to change his destiny and dind't want his brother to risk domething for him. But Shen Yuan tried his best.

After all he loved teaching and his ducklings were what was most precious to him even if he never wasted the opportunity to mock them a bit.

An everyone loved that of him. Especially Binghe loved that, of him.

He promised his whole life that he would never allow anyone to erase that smile from his shifu's face. Shen Yuan was a beautiful angel and he didn't care if his personality was a fake one or if he was really like he shown, Shen Yuna was the only one to show him kindness and respect. He loved him, he loved him so much. And even if he hated his twin brother, he couldn't stop showing his affection towards that man, but it seemed he couldn't even see him. But he would never give up, he would make him happy.

This was his promise.

But then, one day, his shizun came telling that he did not have many days to live and that he did not want his brother to have to take care of him and worry about his sorry condition. Shen QIngqiu left for some days to find a cure for his twin, but came back almost dying, with its deeply damaged qi and internal incurable wounds.

Shen Jiu told Binghe, that he was doomed to lose his mind. With teary eyes he told him he was cursed and he would have tried to kill his brother, he didn't want to, he asked him to kill him.

Binghe knew that this was because he wanted to part him from A-Yuan forever. Because Shen Jiu knew that if Binghe had killed the person everyone knew he hated most, Shen Yuan would not have forgiven him. Shen Jiu exactly knew the game he was playing. And the worst part for Binghe was that... had cornered him and forced him to make a difficult decision.

Binghe eventually chose to kill his shizun, because he couldn't bare the thought to lose A-Yuan forever. Maybe one day he could have told his shifu the truth about his dreadful sin, but only if his shifu was still alive. He couldn't tell the truth to a ghost, could he?

So one day, he ripped his shizun's heart, only waiting for his punishment.

And when Shen Yuan ran to them, what he saw was only Binghe's smile. He couldn't see his tears, he couldn't know his thoughts.

Binghe just wanted to cry and tell how sorry he was for what he did, but he couldn't, because his hands were stained with blood. He gave back to Shen Yuan his twin's heart still punding, still warm, while life slipped away from the arteries.

His shizun played a fair game, he won this battle.

Shen Yuan couldn't forgive what he did. And he couldn't forgive Shen Qingqiu for the choice he was forced to make.

But Yuan-shifu was beautiful, even with his face streaked with tears and his heart torn to pieces. This angel would have hated him forever. And Binghe would have loved him for the rest of his days.

He jumped into the Abyss on his own.

He didn't need anyone to force him to.

He jumped because he couldn't stand Yuan-shifu's hatred. He couldn't stand a worl, were his A-Yuan couldn't be kind as he once was.

[aamputation]

uh, did NOT expect my cumplane art to blow up like it did, so... bone apple queef? circa 2023

so this was basically my take on a Shen Bros AU (or maybe even a Shared Body AU, where Shen Jiu took over when Shen Yuan couldn't bring himself to yeet Bingmei into the Endless Abyss.) shout out to adornedwithlight for the reblog banner

[levemetal]

Day 2: Timeloop / Xiao Qi and Jiu Ge

I am cringe and I am not even free

Feel free to reuse this idea but 24 hours are not enough for me to finish an entire comic. I could have taken the simpler prompt but nOOOOOO timeloop is too tempting. Past me why are we like this

[kodasea]

Fetch the hearse,

and I will curse,

your name again

[cicada-candy]

Uh oh!! I'm insane abt him I fear.

Alts vvv

[howlsofbloodhounds]

quick question! is there a connection between color and a camera, whether it's a headcanon or canonically stated somewhere, since i've seen a couple of artworks with him taking pictures

It’s just a headcanon.

It’s a very popular headcanon that Color’s complex trauma surrounding having his entire existence erased, forgotten, and replaced leads to intense fears of being replaced, forgotten, nonexistent, ignored, overlooked, or alone and abandoned—as he also does canonically fear being alone very very much— has led to him becoming obsessed with leaving reminders of his existence and presence and memory.

Often times he probably panics, dissociates, or gets angry if he feels like he’s being forgotten or ignored—even if it’s as simple as someone refusing to look at him when he’s speaking. Likely needing acknowledgment and reminders from his loved ones that he does still exist and they haven’t forgotten him.

Marking places and items with markers or pencils or even via carving in the pillars of the Last Corridor when in the Void, hoarding things (even unimportant things), obsessively journaling and scrapbooking, marking and keeping track of time a lot, refusing to heal any marks scars or wounds on his body, always having a camera or phone with a working camera nearby to take pictures of just about every memory and experience he has. Likely keeping every single gift someone gives him, and probably taking pictures of said gift to put in a picture album.

And because Color is also commonly HC’d as autistic as well, many also see photography as one of Color’s special interests. On top of that, due to Color’s severe skull injury, it’s possible that he fears forgetting things and people and losing track of time and moments as well—on top of the possible heavy dissociative episodes and how some people have HC’d him to struggle with maladaptive daydreaming, its likely he could struggle with memory loss as well.

[rush-the-stars]

new tricks

pairing: yandere abyss prince kaeya x gender neutral reader

cw: dark content, kidnapping/capture, the reader is treated physically well but is still captured/being held against their will, mentions of a punishment, strange and toxic dynamic, mildly suggestive.

wc: 2.1k

a/n: dividers by @/cafekitsune!

this is just a tiny drabble. don't squint at worldbuilding or plot lol. i had this idea prattling around my head and wanted it out. one day i will write the dark long fic of my dreams but today is not the day. thank you to @/lorelune for taking a peek beforehand and assuring me <33

on the back of your neck, goosebumps ripple to life. a chill races down your spine. you know it well—as intimately as you know the brag of your own heart.

sensing him, you cast your eyes up in the reflection of your mirror to catch the shape of him behind you.

you didn’t even hear him enter your chambers. but you’d felt him somehow, known his presence. maybe known his gaze on you.

(it burns deep and vicious to know his gaze. to become accustomed and attuned to him.)

prince kaeya smiles knowingly.

the dark glint to his eye lets you know he’s in strange ways.

“you’re getting quite perceptive.” he muses. “if only you’d been so sharp when i first took you, maybe you wouldn’t be here.”

you were just a naive artist from mondstadt then. a child who knew the sound of the wind in the trees and the birdsong that rose into the sky early in the morning. you knew the golden hills and the valley and a sort of freedom that made you sing like those birds in the morning, too.

(in the dark, he asks you to sing. sing like you used to, he says. and when you open your mouth, you’re always terrified of what will come out.)

now you sit tucked away in the gilded cage he’s made for you in a land far from your home skies. in a castle where the eyes of gods cannot reach you.

“you’re lucky i wasn’t.” you reply sharply, trying to keep your bite around him.

it grows harder and harder to.

every day the edge you’ve tried so desperately to keep begins to whittle away. it’s hard to always be angry. it’s miserable to always be vicious.

(and he’s never harmed you. not physically—just in stranger, worse ways. emotionally. mentally. you wish he’d just break a bone or make a scar, so that when it heals, you know you’re okay again.

it’s worse that he spoils you. it’s worse that he cherishes you. it’s its own form of torment. he knows it.)

he smiles lazily, on the edges are amusement. fondness. he is endlessly entertained by your contempt.

he approaches where you sit in front of your ornate vanity. it’s too beautiful. it’s too grand.

he’s a dark shadow of blue behind you in the mirror. you watch his reflection carefully. he watches you back as he approaches.

something thrills inside you, wild and dark and sudden.

he reaches out, touches your cheek.

you watch his knuckle brush against your face in the mirror.

he’s testing you.

the last time you bit him.

the moment you turn your face towards his hand, it slips away, dancing out of your reach.

he smiles again knowingly.

it’s insufferable.

sensing your ire, he says, “let’s play our game.”

you breathe hard through your nose.

you turn to face him so you’re not caught in his endless reflection. you glare up at him with all the vitriol you can muster.

(it isn’t much anymore.)

“don’t you have more important things to do?”

“nothing so important as you, darling.”

your teeth grind together. but you get out;

“i’d try to escape from the balcony.”

he tsks.

“the guards would spot you.”

“i’d poison the guards.”

he laughs outright at this, “with what poison?”

you feel heat in your face, but you press on, “the hemlock i’ve been growing in the garden.”

he pauses at that. tilts his head.

“my, you’ve gotten good. i can’t tell if you’re lying.”

“go and check.” you dare.

“maybe later.” he agrees, “say i destroyed it. i froze it.”

“you’re not playing fair.” you accuse.

he laughs warmly, reaching out again to tousle your hair. you swat and push at him, but it only excites him, it only makes his hands catch your wrists and come down to your level. kneeling beside you. he holds your wrists tight, presses them down into your own lap. in another world, he could be a lover on his knees for you, his hands clasped over yours.

he fits himself between your legs. he presses himself too close.

but it isn’t another world. and his eye is like the endless night sky in this one. so dark, so terrifying.

“fine,” he agrees pleasantly, “the guards are poisoned. you slip out from the balcony. i’m a light sleeper—i hear you jump to the ground.”

“i try to run.” you breathe.

“where would you run?” he asks, nose nudging yours. you can feel the sharp cut of his foxish smile.

“past the fountain.”

“come now, you’re cleverer than that. i’d find you and drag you back.”

“i’d kick and scream. i’d make you bleed.”

“you’ve done that all before, it doesn’t stop me anymore.”

your nails bite into his shoulders as he lifts you from your place in front of the vanity. you hang around his neck like a child. instinctively, you wrap your legs around his waist.

you tuck your face into his shoulder so you don’t see the pleased look in his eye.

you know where he’ll take you.

“you need new tricks.” he hums as he sits on the edge of the bed with you in his lap.

“maybe i already have them—if it’s a good trick, you wouldn’t know.” you mumble into his shoulder. you hide there.

his hand creeps up to the back of your neck. goosebumps prickle. his fingers slip into your hair and then curl into a loose fist. he tugs gently to dislodge you from his shoulder, to pull you away so that he may see your face again.

he looks at you as if he’s trying to find the trick you speak of. perhaps it’s in your eyes or the set of your mouth.

“i always know.” he warns.

“let’s play again.” you say.

and this time, you use your weight to push him down onto the bed.

he goes down willingly, too easily.

you capture his wrists the way he did to you earlier. you pin them by his head. languidly, he stretches beneath you, amused with this show of sudden power or interest.

“okay, you begin.” he says and his smile is the curve of a laughing, crescent moon.

“i grow to trust you.”

he tilts his head, uncertain or intrigued, you can’t tell. but you can tell you’ve surprised him. his smile falters.

“i’m pleased—you know it’s all i want.” he says and though it’s softened, it’s guarded. you can feel the way he tenses beneath you, waiting, searching.

“and i grow to—to want you, too.” you say and your voice sounds strange to your own ears. far off. maybe too near. not your own, or else, horrifyingly, only yours.

perhaps there is truth there in a way you cannot even begin to untangle.

he’s silent. watching.

“what do you do?” you prompt, breath hitching, almost beg him to speak. “play the game. it’s your turn.”

you feel his wrists flex, the tendons and muscles moving, encircled in your fingers.

“i—cherish you. i foster your desires. i give you whatever you want.” his voice is bedroom soft. his lashes flutter.

“freedom?”

he releases a slow breath of frustration. you feel it against your cheek.

“a form of it.” he answers. and then, carefully, you feel the shifting of his hand beneath yours. his thumb sweeps over your wrist, into your palm. “more and more as i grow to trust you, too.”

you let your hand open up to his, feel it bloom to the touch.

“being alone in the garden.” you press, “i ask you one day to tend to it by myself, when i please.”

he laces his fingers with yours.

“in time.” he agrees, “and you can tend to your garden alone. you can walk on the grounds, wherever you please. you can take dinner in the atrium or the greenhouse or by the lake. it could all be yours.”

you squeeze his hand, “say i earn your trust—let’s finish the game.”

“i give you the world.” he breathes it and you feel it against your lips, feel it somewhere deep inside of you. on the other, soft side of your chest, where your heart thrums.

you know he is telling the truth.

but it rings discordant inside of you. just as softly, you murmur;

“and then i disappear with it. you wait for me to come in from the garden one day—and i never do.”

the tender hold of your hand turns vicious, biting.

you bare your teeth and hiss, “i steal your world and your trust and the love you gave me and i run and run and run. until you can’t find me—until you can’t catch me. i do it when you least expect it—when i love you too much.”

he pushes and twists you under him. he presses you down hard like he could keep you from disappearing, like you’re slipping from him already. but you press on;

“and you’ll see my face everywhere—in the windows of the atrium and the corners of the greenhouse. in the hemlock i grew in the garden and the wind that howls while you stand on the balcony. but i’ll be gone—“

“you’ll never earn my trust now.” he warns, “and you’ll never know the garden alone, or the world i could give you.”

“but i’ll know the one you took from me.”

his eye flashes dangerously, the flicker of frigid, dark waters beneath ice.

but then he’s gone. off of you. the warmth of him leaves you in a rush.

he grabs for a coat of his, throwing it over his shoulders in a flare of dark fabric.

“where are you going? i thought you wanted to play.” you sneer.

“and i thought you didn’t?” he heads for the door anyways, “i’m going to the garden. alone.”

“scared you’ll find hemlock?” you ask.

“are you scared i’ll find hemlock?” he retorts and then lowers his voice, almost to a caress, “i would punish you.”

“you’ve done that all before, it doesn’t stop me anymore.” you tilt your head, “maybe you need new tricks.”

the door slams behind him. you don’t even flinch.

and in a moment, you watch his figure, a dark smudge against the gray fog, trudge out towards the garden.

you watch from the balcony.

there is no hemlock in the garden.

and he is gentler again when he returns that night. but he locks the door to the balcony and he keeps the key tethered around his neck, pressed to you as he holds you; so close and yet so far.

you can feel it’s cool metal against your bare back. you can feel his skin to yours, the way he holds you like you’re going to slip away.

there is no hemlock in the garden, but there is nightshade.

“let’s play our game.” he whispers that night, pressing scattered kisses like falling stars along your shoulder, your jaw.

“i steal the key around your throat. i unlock the balcony door—“

“i hear you. i let you go, anyways.”

you go perfectly still.

“i—i climb down the balcony and i run—“

“past the fountain?”

you nod slowly. you feel your heart kick into an unsteady rhythm.

“i let you go. i let you get far.”

“you’d let me—“

your throat constricts; a ball of emotion wedged there suddenly. you feel your eyes prick with—with shock. is he really—?

something terrified stirs inside you at even the thought of your real freedom; of the thing you want most.

“and then i hunt you.”

he kisses beneath your ear, like a lover.

your blood goes cold.

“i chase you across the world i gave you and the one i took from you. and every time, i find you. i’d find you. and i’d drag you back.”

“i’d—i’d kick and scream. i’d make you bleed.” you manage to get out.

he props himself up, if only to catch your chin, to force you to look back at him.

he kisses you. slowly. sweetly.

“there’s no hemlock in the garden. you need new tricks.”

but the nightshade opens its flowers to the moon, just outside the locked door of your balcony, in the garden that you can’t tend to alone.

you melt into the kiss, open mouthed and tender. soft and deep like lovers.

when you pull away, you have the key dangling in your hand;

“and this isn’t the key to the balcony. so do you.”

when he kisses you again, brutal and dreadful, and with too much heat for someone so, so cold, you feel the sharp cut of his foxish smile.

and maybe even some sick curve of your own.

[yourlocalsaltyfish]

more self indulgent stuff

cw spoilers for mia probably

[tactical-shovel]

Another shrouds log