#depths in despair multiverse

[boneheadboner]

I'm sorry I love writing these boys

[oxytoxic-skeletonin]

WHEW just breezed out this little drabble on a whim! For the record, that's the title, not my sincere thoughts on him. (He is an asshole but we all love him)

Sans the Skeleton is an Asshole

Undertale (Set in my Depths in Despair MV, but I made it vague enough it could be on it's own) Ship - Sans x Reader, mentions of Sans x Toriel Content Warning - Alcohol being used to cope, self-deprecation, trauma from being stuck in a time loop.

Sans the skeleton is an asshole. Sans Serif the skeleton, is in fact, the biggest and most ungrateful asshole. Something wonderful, someone wonderful came around. A new blossom of light and kindness in the monotony that has been the RESET phenomena. And that someone wonderful became something so dear to him. That someone wonderful fell in love with the world around them, fell in love with monster kind.

But most importantly? That someone wonderful fell in love with his brother. The light of his life, the one person that no matter what, kept him going. Such a wonderful thing should be celebrated, cherished, protected no matter what.

So why couldn’t he shake that ache in his SOUL? That ache that had him getting the harder stuff from Grillby’s, much to the bartender’s confusion. Normally he’d try not to deviate too hard from the usual, but… Whatever took the edge off.

Sans should be thankful, after all. Someone else was around who finally not just understood, but appreciated and truly loved his baby brother. Everything he hoped for in a partner for Papyrus was right there; sweet, kind, gentle, loyal, funny, puzzle-loving, smarter than she’d give herself credit for, and really cute. Downright adorable when she was frustrated.

But…

It turned out everything he hoped for in a partner for his little brother was, well… Everything he once hoped for in a partner for himself. 

He’d had that before. Had it many times. So many times that he couldn’t feasibly count them. Toriel was one hell of an amazing woman, and stars, did she make his SOUL light up the first hundred times around.

He swore that he’d love her a thousand times over. And to his credit, he did. But each introduction, each time having to pretend he didn’t know her, pretend he hadn’t been best friends with her, pretend he hadn’t put a ring on her, hadn’t had-… … It felt like it left an ache in his SOUL. One that just hurt more and more, the more he kept trying to make it work. It was better that Toriel and he stayed friends. After all, she wanted kids with a partner, and he couldn’t commit to that. Sans loved her too much to put her through how broken he was any more. He swore he wasn’t going to leave her wondering why he would shy away from letting her know too much about him.

He wasn’t going to leave her begging to know why he’d wake up screaming in the night. Wouldn’t ask him who Celeste was, or who Cambria and Corbel were.

That was his burden to bear, no one else’s. 

It was better that way. No more commitments that would be reversed, no more promises that he knew he couldn’t keep, no more “I love you”s that he’d pour out his SOUL into and leave the other monster confused by the depths of it. It was going better.

It was going better. After the countless loops, he figured he’d healed from that ache, learned his lesson, to not get too attached.

And here he was.

Feeling his SOUL sing melodies for someone who was already happily taken.

All because there was some glimmer of hope, from the fact they could remember, that just maybe…

… No, better off that they don’t know. Better off they never know. He knew how he was in a relationship, he knew how hard he was to deal with.

That kind and gentle SOUL didn’t deserve to go through that.

Sans felt for sure, that he definitely didn’t deserve to feel their warmth, their kindness, their love.

And swallowed down that pain with another drink.

[crowleys-hips]

Ocean

who knew that a whole ocean  could be less than an inch wide? its entire depth  held there in the vastness  of your curious eyes i'm so afraid of drowning -all the time- but you reassure me  i can breathe underwater. now it turns out  i had never known oxygen  until i dove  into those silver blue waves and took my first breath 

there inside  i've found a multiverse  encapsulated  in the finite fragility  of a human-shaped frame

that face is merely a mask and i've seen you without it there, ensconced beneath your kind gaze and gentle smile lives a fierce, ferocious passion  a devotion to your convictions  that bleeds into the world around you in rivulets of truths masked as embellished lies  a driving force that crushes my reality into fantastic fragments  of distorted visions  that finally  make life  make sense 

i see scars that resemble my own i see that deeply rooted solitude that's entrenched into our very souls pervasive and persistent throughout ages of a winless fight  that singles us out  as renegades 

look at Us lucky Us here is our deliverance  in furtive glances late nights and kisses shared from light years away

your fingerprints are indelible  on my broken chest your careful digits weave golden thread  through gaping wounds and fill the cracks anointing them with hallowed words

you sing, and time stops to listen your voice alone  makes whole worlds bloom  the hours and minutes and seconds follow the cadence  of your breath and heartbeat 

i wonder

if i kiss your hands would i be blessed  with infinite lives  across any dimension? should my tongue  worship your fingertips  would i find absolution?

i don't think i existed before you i have suffered a rebirth of sorts not through my despair  but through the undeserved blessing of your voice calming my fears cutting through the deafening noise  that besieges my crumbling mind flaring my terror of safety  and gently guiding me home with your hand in mine 

i'm still so afraid

but i'm not drowning now

i'm learning to swim

(i'm sorry if this was a bit much. things got out of hand.)

taglist under the cut:

@goodomensafterdark @wibbly-wobbly-blog @phantomram-b00 @crowleys-bentley-and-plants @charlotte-zophie @crowleys-curl @quoththemaiden @thewibblylever @genderqueer-hippie @lickthecowhappy @celestialcrowley @im-the-j-in-anthony-j-crowley @sabotage-on-mercury @ineffabildaddy @ineffable-rohese @rainbowcrowley @alwaysbemybae @fearandhatred @roof-of-trees @weasleywrinkles @brokewokebespoke @eybefioro @captainblou @amagnificentobsession

if you wanna be added/removed lemme knoww

[geeky-politics-46]

Just Hold Me

Pairing: Sinister Stephen Strange x Reader

Summary: Something is wrong. You are acting odd & all Stephen wants to do is help you feel better

Warnings: Not much, light angst & references to potential depression. Fluffy ending. Sinister being the most loving devoted boy ever even if he doubts himself.

Totally a self-comfort piece. I've been feeling sad & this is what I want right now.

He wasn't used to seeing you this way. In fact, in all the time you had been in his universe, he had never seen you like this before. The light was missing from your eyes. You weren't crying, but your normal sunny disposition was nowhere to be found.

Your face was a blank slate. You didn't seem angry or outright upset, but your smile was nowhere to be seen. Even when he put on your favorite show, you weren't smiling and giggling like you normally would. It was breaking his heart.

You had always been the sunshine to his dark storm cloud self. You brightened his day and cleared away the gloom and cobwebs that had invaded his mind for years. He hoped that he hadn't somehow accidentally extinguished that fire and light that made you so enchanting. That was something he knew he would never forgive himself for. 

Even the weather outside had shifted with your personality. The cracks of sunlight that had started illuminating the barren land below, lulling it back to life, had dimmed. Storm clouds and low rumbles of thunder followed in the next few days. By the third day, it had begun steadily drizzling on and off all day.

Perhaps you wanted to leave but didn't know how to tell him. He was sure he would die if you did leave, but he wouldn't keep you there if you were no longer happy in his world. Or with him. Maybe you decided you couldn't love a monster like him anymore. He wouldn't blame you.

He found you sitting in your shared bed, bundled up in blankets, and just staring out the window. Watching the raindrops pitter patter against the window. Your hair hadn't been brushed in a day or two, and you were still in the shirt you slept in. 

"I know you have said nothing is wrong, but I know you are lying, my love. You can tell me if you want to leave. If you aren't happy with me anymore. If you have changed your mind about us. Or if I have done something to hurt you. I will make it right in any way that I can. Even if it means losing you. Your happiness is the most important thing in the multiverse to me." 

Your heart ached that you made him question your love for him. That had never even been a thought in your mind. You loved Stephen unconditionally. In fact, even you couldn't pinpoint what you were feeling or why you were feeling so withdrawn. You couldn't stand to see his eyes looking like a scolded puppy, and you immediately wanted him to be near you.

"Oh, Stephen. Come here. 

You unwrapped yourself from the blankets and patted the spot next to you on the bed. Wanting him to join you in your blanket cocoon.

"You haven't done anything to hurt me, and I definitely haven't changed my mind about us. I love you more than anything, Stephen. I'm just feeling really down, and I don't know why. It's stupid, and there's no real reason why that I can think of. I didn't want to bring your mood down with me, but I guess that didn't really work, huh?"

He had brought himself to sit in the bed next to you. Not wanting to touch you until you gave him permission, but he grabbed one of your hands in his as you wiped away a couple of stray tears with the other. 

"Trust me, darling. I have been to the depths of despair, and nothing you could say could bring me down. Not as long as you are here and you let me help you. Now, what do you need? Do you want anything to drink or eat? I can get you some more blankets to snuggle in. I can put on one of your favorite movies. I can leave you alone if you want me to, but I'd rather be here if you'll let me. Even if we just sit here in silence."

Your heart warmed at the honesty in his eyes and in his voice. You had never met a man quite like him. One who had seen and felt so much in his life. Had his world ripped apart in front of him, and yet all he wanted was to make you feel better. Even just having him next to you now made you feel a little less sad. A hint of a smile pulled at your lips for the first time in days. 

"Can you just hold me, please, Stephen? I just want to lay here and listen to the storm and have you hold me tight. I don't really know what's wrong with me right now, but you feel right to me."

He smiled at your request. He was so hoping that you would let him hold you. He knew that having you in his arms was always what made him feel better when the dark thoughts and lingering voices from the Darkhild threatened to overtake his mind. 

"Of course darling. All you ever have to do is ask." 

With that, he snuggled down under the covers and held you tight. Spooning you from behind and making sure his body touched yours as much as he possibly could before using his magic to pull the soft fluffy blankets up around both of you. Restoring your little cocoon you had made with both of you inside it now. Your hand quickly found its place over his, and your body wiggled to get even closer. 

He pressed a couple of soft, comforting kisses to your shoulder once you had found your comfortable spot. His heart fluttered a little when he heard you sigh and felt you relax into his arms. Letting your body melt into his. 

You stayed like this for what had to be hours. It didn't matter to him how long he stayed there. He wasn't going to let you go until you told him to. He would hold you until the universe collapsed around you both if you asked him to. His reason for living was to be the mooring that held you steady in both calm and stormy seas.

He knew you were on the verge of sleep by the way your breath pattern changed. It was only then that he let his own guard down and let himself begin to drift with you. Then, in the smallest and sweetest tone, he heard you whisper. It was barely audible.

"Thank you, Stephen. I love you."

He smiled softly to himself. Nudging his nose into your hair to get closer to you still. Whispering back into your ear, the truest words he had ever spoken in his life.

"I love you too, darling. Always and with all of my being. Though good and bad."

--------------------------------

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Stephen Strange Taglist: @starkiller-queen @glitterylokislut @verycollectivecreator @chatampr @maskmare931 @lovecleastrange @wheredafandomat @mkixx @evelynrosestuff @katefullerrr @littlepinknightmare @foofarny @stygianoir @moonroyalt @saturnsbabe69 @blaxdet @blackrose-92 @ironstrange1991 @rindulacre @nancy-thompsons @wolfatheartandsoul @dangerouslittlefairy @n0obmaster-69 @oliveoilthoughts @onebatch--twobatch @yourmajesty13 @blondekel77 @lil-sweater-slut @gwephen @taramaria @sinceimetyou @slashersrus @coeurgrenaty @cc13723things @just--a-magpie @supervengerslock @strangelockd @dont-feel-so-good-peter @kingsmanperfecthartwin @ghost-lantern @inlovewithloki16 @thefalconandthewinterwidowshield @itssmaugtheterrible @katherinemaximoff @veryfancydoilies @cute-angi @mochacake2016 @prix19 @alexfanficnook @anotheroddfish @namor-is-the-way @xourownsidee @baes-x @dreamingsmile @negar77rd @imaginesfreetotake @ppatricia34me @rougepetale @tis-vereon @divinearchangel @sherlux @hiddlechive @ginnykate @thatesqcrush @friendofplenti @yuugenmomo @holdmyowos @the-royal-petals @lokislov3 @captaincarmel164 @lucimorningst4r @mydearalmira @petalcranberry @singhfae @emotionsareforuglypeople @trappedinlimbo15 @veryladyqueen @icytrickster17 @kentucky-criedfricken @briefhandsstudenttoad @calamityismyspecialty @sinisterstrange616 @patbrdac @trojanaurora @azu21 @massivehahaao3tree @strangesgirl @tobios-shawty @evelyn-kingsley @rmoonstoner  

[andthekitchensinkao3]

Is Teaser Thursday a thing yet? Tapestry of Time chapter 4

It's over 4k at this point. All Mobius' POV, because he needs to get shit DONE.

Here follows a snippet between him and Sylvie:

---

“The Norns?” Sylvie’s face was an image of righteous indignation. “You want to summon three of the most ancient beings in the entire multiverse, to do what? Save your pet god?”

“He’s not my pet, for goodness’ sake, Sylvie!” Mobius started to protest, but she was already off the tailgate, a warrior in motion. She looked as though she might punch him in the throat if she didn’t move away.

“Why do you insist on your-- stupid crusade to get him back?” She threw her arms out, coiled with all the energy in the world and nowhere to put it. “What gives you the right? You think love means you can take away his free will? What?!”

“No!” And wasn’t that the kicker. Love could give you a lot of things - strength, confidence like you wouldn’t believe, the depths of despair that could swallow you whole if you weren’t careful - but not authority over anyone else’s life. “I just…” he tried, but the more he thought about it, the more her words rang true. He couldn’t be trusted about his own motivations if he didn’t know if this was coming from the right place, or somewhere ugly, like selfishness.

[ask-codeearasure]

The Outer Realms -- Chapter 20

<-[Previous Chapter]

[Next Chapter]->

Wish to refill Ink's Paints? Go to our Ask Box

—-----

Chapter Twenty:

Discoveries

—----

“Man cannot discover new oceans unless he has the courage to lose sight of the shore.”

― Andre Gide

—-

Of all the depths of the multiverse, one couldn’t truly ever expect the unexpected for the unexpected was beyond comprehension. Truly of figments and glimpses of the most strange and the most predictable were like ghosts and momentary specks. Sparks that appear and disappear like lightning with no thunder to follow through. A most unsightly and incomprehensible fading thought like a dementia-riddled mind ridding itself of its memories from five seconds ago to the birthday one had thirty years prior.

Yet, there is always that one surprise. That one thing that sticks. That one seed that takes root and begins to slowly worm its way out of the dirt and into the light of the waking world. That is truly the only way to describe what Nightmare was looking at.

Figments that never faded. Figments that took root.

These pages are far beyond even his own world. Pages far beyond that of his usual toy boxes. Pages that hold far more interesting pets than those of prior. Truly they were beyond fascinating. Such oddities were unlike anything he had seen before. Like a new species of cat. Or a new maggot that fell into a tank full of ants.

He couldn’t help but grin.

Art of War. Read one page.

Perhaps that was the home of one of those adorable little creatures that thought they could play with him.

Venturing inside and worming around the timeline gave him a lot of fascinating tidbits. It wasn’t exactly like Something New. It was like an Underfell variation, but not quite. It was like an Underswap or Swapfell variant, but even then, not quite. It was an odd mixture of all three but at the same time completely its own monstrosity. Everything was so different, but familiar all in one delicious little package, like a chef took a few ingredients from several cultures and made a dish entirely their own.

This specific AU had walls between each section of the Underground, these walls being bases for specific military sectors and trying to be defenses in case any humans from a warring world of the 1940s were to come down there and drag them into it. But it was also in case they were freed from the Underground. The monsters would be prepared for this wonderful world war.

The negativity emanating off it all was delicious. Nightmare couldn’t help but purr at the agony he sensed from the humans on the surface, but he found the pet he had been looking for. That Killer-like creature. How adorable he was, 6 years old and challenging a fight it knew it couldn’t win, only to join the military. Yet at 13 it had its entire world torn apart.

The pain. The despair. All of it rolling into a ball of negativity that could barely be compared.

When he found it in the Multiverse, he’d make sure to use this information well.

He decided to look around some more. He found another interesting little story. It was the one he thought would make a nice pet. It was called Katagma. It was almost hilarious how similar it was to Dusttale, but at the same time so different, as was the first.

Who knew one little change would equate to such a drastic difference?

A memory that never fades, never wavers but stays there. Permanent and unending.

No wonder its negativity was so strong and addicting.

It couldn’t ever forget the horrors that human caused it. A human zealot talking endlessly about a god that didn’t exist and striking every monster down as if to prove themselves to that fake god and then doing it all over again and again. It was the funniest AU he had ever seen. Watching as the pet he was planning on taking in slowly was driven insane. And the cherry on top was the fact that the human eventually realized that they weren’t in their imaginary hell at all, and when they finally accepted it, it was too late.

It was too far gone. The pet finally beat the human only to start doing something far more fascinating.

It ended the world it was in. Not deleting it. No. It went to the surface and dismantled every single government body it could by destroying trade routes, stealing weaponry, and using magic to make plant seeds immediately sprout upon landing in solid ground. Its favorite being carnivorous plants, all in the name of correcting the world it was in because it wasn’t matching its delusions. And the best part was the fact that these plants killed their prey slowly and agonizingly. Normally Nightmare was against mass deaths, but humans dumb enough to get caught in them were trapped and digested so slowly that it was beyond agony for them. A slow and painful death and their friends and families could only watch because helping such fools would be a deathwish.

Perhaps a vast percentage of the multiverse dying off was useful for two things instead of the one.

Nightmare couldn’t help but find it funny. He normally took Killers from Something New Timelines, and they tended to suffer from extreme hallucinations, yet here he was, finding two pets that were as if they were a Killer split into two different beings. One with hallucinations, another that only worked efficiently.

Truly, he had the best of both worlds at his feet, just waiting for him to pull some strings. But really, why waste his time interrupting the events of these timelines when the two targets who made their existences abundantly clear to him were somewhere out in the multiverse right now? 

Until they had the nerve to show up again, he had time to kill. After all, his targets were nothing more than lambs awaiting the slaughterhouse. He had noticed they had sent a copy of his brother out within the inner multiverse, just asking to be harassed and tormented.

Honestly, mere copies could never compare to the real thing and the real reward that was his dear ‘brother’s’ soul, but he was allowed to have fun here and there.

Nightmare traveled back to Art of War, breathing in the negativity that infested the very atmosphere. Prejudice, fear, pain, disorder, mass exterminations, political propaganda, it had it all and then some. 

The Lord of Negativity laid his eye on the courtyard belonging to the Underground’s king, hooked onto his every move, how odd it was, this Asgore looked like an odd undead deer monster wearing steel chains and a tattered red cloak. He watched the scene from their shadows, grinning, translating their fluent German in his mind.

—-

“Truly, Doctor, I find this notion of not sending von Gaster to the surface absurd.” the demonically deep voice of King Asgore hissed.

This AU’s Alphys stepped back, unable to look away from the pale yellow eyes of the King. His shadow encompassed her completely. “B-b-b-but my lord, he’s only ten! A-a-a-a child that young would be a-a-a-an easy target!”

He lowered his head to her’s and exhaled a frosty breath with a sneer, “He’s one of our best soldiers, he’s already jumped far ahead of the majority of the soldiers that are twice his age and yet had joined at the same time he did.”

The lizard monster straightened her back and exclaimed nervously, “Exactly! W-we can’t lose our best soldier! W-what if we used him as… um… bait! Whenever a human falls into the underground he can be live bait! Making the humans drop their guard when they see him—”

“Did you forget what we’ve found from the humans’ waste that falls down here?” the king growled, straightening up, moving slowly like an ancient tree, “They’re in the middle of a world war, the second of its kind, and you expect them to have sympathy for a child? They’ve created propaganda to trick their young to fall for their politics. Their beliefs of minuscule differences being the end all be all of determining who is superior and who is not. They need a harsh correction, and sending our best soldier to collect the souls we need and freeing us, is the best chance we have.”

He turned and walked away from the woman who began following him as quickly as she could.

“But sire—”

“I’ve heard enough, doctor.”

“What would change your mind, my king?!” the lizard begged, “Surely, there must be something!”

“If you can get the majority of the military to agree with you, I might reconsider.” he snorted.

Using his magic, glowing scarlet chains wrapped around the lizard monster’s legs and dragged her down the courtyard until she was at its exit. The king entered his home and slammed the door shut, shaking the entire house.

The doctor slowly got up and dusted herself off, glaring at the home for a second before sighing, turning and walking away, hanging her head low, heavy with thoughts of desperation and morals swirling in her mind like a whirlpool.

—------

This was only getting better and better! Nightmare reached out, detecting an abundance of negativity from the neighboring universes, but also felt a difference in the pattern of arrangement. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but the best word he had to describe it was like a ring of fire, a wall around the multiverse at large, and covered with holes.

Someone had been busy. Whether it was Error or someone else, Nightmare didn’t particularly care, but before the inner universes crumbled that day, perhaps this is where the glitch had been for all that time.

If there was a plane of existence waiting right outside this multiverse, what could it be? By destroying these ‘defensive universes’, breaking the barrier around the realities he had grown accustomed to, what could they let in? 

He was strangely satisfied at the thought, but he planned to have it all collapsed long before anything alien had the mind to enter.

Then he felt it, a ping of concentrated positivity… It was about time that miscreant showed his face again. Nightmare’s body boiled with glee as he headed towards that aura, unknown magic crackling around him the closer he got to this other reality, this offshoot of Asylumtale, he duly noted, and stopped right before a barrier. 

Smart, was whoever thought to practice shielding magic this intently to the point they could protect entire other universes from him. They had some nerve, but Nightmare had been craving a challenge for centuries. This reality’s inhabitants created so much negativity, he was certain that without outside aid, his brother was surely trapped. He must be in so much pain… poor thing…

A part of the Lord of Negativity was amused, but he knew whatever sense of ‘peace’ this AU understood, it wouldn’t last. He bellowed with laughter, filling the lack of air around him. Space magic. What an embarrassment. Nightmare placed his hands on the very center of the shield, bleeding his own magic into the barrier. Gradually, the soft flow cushioning him, begging him to turn the other direction and leave, stiffen. Hard as rock, yet thin and inflexible, so dark the distant ‘stars’ in the shield’s center cracked and crumbled into rotting geodes and dust. 

Nightmare emitted a snarl of satisfaction and summoned his tentacles, ignoring the familiar sting of the positivity impaling his chest, infesting him with whatever poison it contained. But he could tell it was getting weaker.

There is a limit to happiness.

—------

“I’m sure he’ll be okay!” Dream encouraged the Head Doctor and Queen, soothing her uncertainty towards giving Katagma back his arm privileges.

Toriel pouted and stared at Katagma, who was giving her the biggest set of puppy-eyes that she’s seen yet. She then looked at Occultatum, who gave her a neutral shrug in response. The Queen took a deep breath and sighed, “So long as you keep up with your medication this time.”

Katagma stopped with the puppy-eyes and smiled, “YES! Kata will definitely keep them on hand at all times!”

“And no excuses this time! I know your memory is as perfect as can be, I don’t want to hear that someone flushed them, or that you lost them in some obscure AU, or anything of the sort!” she began undoing the belts binding his hands behind himself, “You come back as soon as you can and you make sure to come back every time you start running low on your medication!”

Katagma nodded, “Yes! Yes! I will! I promise! Please let Kata go! Please!”

With the last belt undone the first thing Katagma did was cling to Dream, wrapping him in a tight hug and spinning around in glee. The guardian squeezed him back, laughing lightly with the intake of fresh positivity, something that soothed the ache in his body from the abundance of negativity the asylum carried on a daily basis.

Toriel shook her head, mumbling, “I better not regret this.”

Occult nodded in agreement, “I feel you.”

Katagma slipped on one of the loose belts, falling backwards on the cell’s bed and taking Dream with him, which because of the fluffiness of the mattress, flew a couple inches into the air and landed right above Kata’s head. The two stayed silent for a moment, then burst into ecstatic snickering, causing Occultatum to just decide that yes… these two were his now. He’s adopted yet another brother in his mind. They’re stuck with him now.

Dream rolled over to sit up, flipping his hood out of his face and kicking his feet over the side, taking a brief look out the window, which overlooked a glimpse of the courtyard, watching a duo of children retreat back inside the asylum’s lobby floor like it was a race. Their happiness was untampered, considering their environment.

He felt Kata’s arms wrapping around his shoulders, the loose and much-too-long sleeves of his straightjacket covering half of Dream’s face, the illusionist purring up a storm.

“You sure you want to go to Invitation?” Katagma asked, “That’s Izanagi’s AU, by the way! It can be quite a… mad place. You’ll be in far more pain than you are here, I’m quite sure of that. It has a lot of bad things, possibly more than it does good.” He was still smiling despite the heavy concern in his voice. “I mean you might be able to make changes there if you stayed long enough considering that they may see you as a god – which I’m sure you are.”

Dream sat straighter immediately, a faint gold hue flush covering his cheeks, “A god? Me? I’m sorry, I’m not–” 

“You sure?” Katagma held Dream’s head, forcing him to look up at the mad skeleton who squinted at him, then booped Dream’s nasal bone.

“Y-yes, I’m sure!” He was at a loss for better words to describe just how sure he was of the lack of any divinity he might possess, falling silent and gently grasping the illusionist’s finger to hold it away from his face.

“I am… certain I want to go to Invitation, but… I’m still thinking about it. Carrot told me to reconsider my options as well. I’m just worried, is all…” Katagma hummed before smirking, “Alright, if you’re so certain that you are not what you are. I’ll take your word for it, for now. But do know that it is best to consider all possibilities. DeVille is most definitely there with Iza, keeping an eye on him.”

DeVille. He knew that name. DeVille… oh. The source of the venom he was shot with. Katagma had mentioned them so casually and comfortably, though, so perhaps this person wasn’t a source of strife to him and Izanagi. 

“Okay.” He was certain he’d find out later, but now something felt off. Dream couldn’t determine what it was, but he didn’t think their conversation was an issue. Maybe some of his symptoms were coming back, but it was fine! Occultatum had mentioned earlier that Toriel and Alphys were making medication for his sake. 

“Um… remember the book you suggested to me back at the library?”

“Of course! The best book!” Katagma grinned, his purr increasing in volume at the mere mention of it, “Do you like it?”

“I do like it!” Dream smiled, regretting the fact he left it back in Outerswap, “But I don’t know what a shilling is, or what queer? Means… or… I’m unfamiliar with a few of the words in that book.”

Katagma fell over laughing, dragging Dream with him, “A shilling is an old British coin, like… a pence! Queer, though now used to describe the whole LGBT community, was and still sort of is another word for weird and odd, especially during the time when the book was published. And as for the last one… you may need a dictionary to help you. Or we could read it together, though Kata is a fast reader so he’ll be sitting by, waiting for you!”

“You would do that?” The little guardian looked up at him, elated at the offer, “I’d like that…”

Toriel leaned over to Occultatum and whispered, “They’re practically like brothers…”

Occultatum nodded, “I’m adopting both of them. They’re stuck with me for the rest of their lives.”

She giggled at his statement. “Of course they are.”

The sinking feeling continued to grow, and Dream anxiously glanced out the window again, noting the darkening sky. He frowned, then shifted his position enough to look over Katagma’s shoulder and towards Dr. Toriel and Occultatum. “Excuse me, doctor? What time is it?”

Toriel looked at her watch, “It’s almost 5pm, dear.”

“Does it uhm… does it normally get so dark this early?”

She frowned, “No.” she went over to the window and saw that it was in fact getting dark. “Occult–”

“On it.” Occultatum ran out of the room, heading towards the outside of the asylum.

Getting ahead of himself, Dream had almost jumped out of Katagma’s arms to follow him, but the illusionist shook his head like that was a bad idea. 

Katagma held Dream a bit tighter, mumbling, “It’ll be okay, love. Occultatum will take care of it.” his purring increased to try to calm Dream down, but the sinking feeling persisted, tunneling down further, pursuing the depths, getting darker and darker. 

The guardian shifted again in Katagma’s grasp, laying his head on the illusionist’s chest in an attempt to deafen the thumping of his own soul, pounding at him to get up and run. Dream swallowed his anxiety, pushed it down, but it only felt worse.

Apprehensively, Dream reached out, feeling for other sources of positivity, but they began to shrivel, blinking out one by one as the warm air around them turned unnaturally cold. He continued to pick up on whatever speck he could, but just up ahead, in the direction of the asylum’s main entrance, Dream’s body turned to face against his will, his eyesockets blown as wide as dinner plates, eyelights shrinking down to pinpricks. 

He was here. He was here and he couldn’t move.

—-----

Occultatum looked up and used his magic to be able to look straight through the mountain and see what exactly was going on, but he couldn’t see much other than what was supposed to be a clear night sky. He frowned. Maybe it was overcast tonight? He couldn’t help but doubt it. The weather in Asylumtale was hardly ever like this.

He concentrated his magic, focussing on the barrier. There were only a few things that could counteract his magic, but they wouldn’t dare.

The Archiver expected all to be well, mostly. Perhaps his magic had gone rigid over the pass of time and needed a new layer to be applied, but reaching out to what he had conjured before came with results that certainly weren't his own.

It felt like his fingertips had brushed the surface of chalk; crumbling chalk over a cluster of burning coals and chilling stone. “Impossible…”

He opened his eyes again to empty, limitless vantablack darkness, as if the entire world was swallowed by a blackhole, instead of the stars and faux galaxies he implemented, and all at once, the very center of his masterpiece shattered, wiping out the asylum’s lighting system in under less than a second.

Whoever did this was fucking dead.

—----

He could feel him staring, eye drilling into his very being, and the voice Dream knew was right next to him a minute ago should have been louder than the distant whisper in its place. Any attempt he made to move, to summon his staff, his bow, his knives, were each met with a harsh force, shoving them back into the abyss from which they came.

The anxious whispers of his new friend soon became inaudible to him, and the pain his body had been withstanding for the better half of the day became intolerable. Dream felt his bones burn and chill over a million times in rapid succession, but remain as stiff and overpowered as he was that day, when he had spent so long as a stone figure overlooking the decay of his home.

The ground beneath him shook, and he felt something slam into him, knocking him back into the wall of Katagma’s room. He heard the illusionist yelp, but when he opened his eyes, no light illuminated the space anymore. 

It felt like the entire building was holding its breath, waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Dream went to stand up again, but stopped the attempt midway when the numbness of his body registered to him. The guardian laid back against the wall, biting back a hiss of agony when even the thought of reaching out again came to mind, the taste of blood thick in his mouth.

Katagma sat up and worriedly looked around until he spotted Dream, before he could do anything Toriel was already there hovering over them both, “Are you two alright? What happened? Are you hurt?”

“Kata feels like a poltergeist hit him but he’s not sure about Dream…” Katagma stated, he frowned at Dream before asking carefully, “Are you alright, love?”

The guardian suppressed a groan, but the face of discomfort couldn’t be hidden in time. He breathed in, then slowly out. Dream reached out for the bed board and used it as a source of support to get himself standing, but didn’t let go. “In a moment, maybe…” As if to spite him, his body shuddered. Dream breathed in again to fight off his nausea, and raised a gloved hand to wipe what he thought were tears from the edges of his eyesockets, only for the fabric to come away a dark red. 

“...m-maybe not….”

Toriel immediately scooped him up and began running for the infirmary, Katagma following close behind her.

—------

Nightmare resurfaced in Art of War, in a timeline with the Underground emptied, dusted to oblivion. It had been so long since he had been this gratified and intrigued on the same day. Dream was weak, possibly from whatever that Killer-copy had shot him with all those weeks ago! The poor, unfortunate soul could pretend he was in working order come every deadline, but he was on the edge of expiring. Even through that barrier, Nightmare could smell his paralyzing fear, the helplessness that overcame him in his absence. No wonder he had to hide in such a minuscule, unimportant universe… 

Nightmare chuckled darkly to himself, taking a seat upon the empty throne of the long-deceased king. Even though the entirety of monsterkind had already been demolished in this timeline, the world above reeked in confusion, hysteria, and misplaced insanity. He looked down at the weapon still lodged in his chest, the color having dulled from the work he had just completed. The Lord of Negativity growled in disgust, grabbing the blade and ignoring the agony it sent up his arm and throughout his body as he yanked it out, shattering the spear in a million pieces as if it were made of glass this whole time. Whoever made these things was at the top of his hit list. It wouldn’t be hard to conclude the identities involved if he just did a little more research… they did such efficient work copying Dream’s firepower, he had to admit to himself, which only compounded the importance of finding them.

It wasn’t like those weapons could kill him, but they were a greater pain than Dream was by himself.

He needed more negativity, and the Outer Realms provided a surplus in supply in the absence of the rest of the multiverse, even though their numbers were even more minuscule in comparison to the numbers he was better acclimated to.

At once, his wounds from the prior battles were mending themselves back together. If he stayed here longer, he’d get bored.

Wasn’t there a universe posing as his own out there?

It wouldn’t hurt to investigate…

—-----

A man with messy black hair and a violet suit and hat with a moon charm on it, and a white eyepatch over his right eye smiled gently as he handed a bottle of wine and a basket of Red Delicious apples to an older woman.

“Oh, DeVille,” the elder purred, “You are such a kind young man! This will help more than you know!”

He tipped his hat and smiled, “Don’t worry Miss Rayburn, it’s always a pleasure. Be sure to hide the bottle, I’d hate for Guerra to go hunting around again.”

“I will.” she replied gently, “Stay safe.”

Once the woman had left, DeVille leaned against a wall of a small building and sighed, he was lucky that Morabito had been busy running around the Multiverse doing that prat’s job. He’s been able to take over a bit of the bastard’s territory in the process.

However, for some reason, the day suddenly felt more… odd.

He looked into the sky and it seemed to slowly but surely get darker and darker until it was darker than night itself.

He heard a woman’s scream. Curiosity getting the better of him he ran over to where he heard the scream only to see a person he recognized holding onto a screaming and sobbing woman, blood splattered all over the wall and ground.

What the hell?

He swallowed his pride and urge to avoid the detective, he went over and saw that one of Morabito’s regulars looked to be… well… flattened. Body shattered into bits with blood pooling everywhere. Brains exposed and leaking from the shattered skull.

“That looks like a five story drop… why…?” DeVille mumbled.

“That’s what I’m wondering,” said the detective.

DeVille glared at the detective who ushered the woman to sit down far away from the body. The detective then walked up to DeVille.

“Armano Guerra…” DeVille spat.

“Nightmare DeVille…” Detective Guerra grumbled stiffly, “Don’t worry, I know you have nothing to do with this.”

“As if I’d take your word for it.” DeVille frowned.

They heard another scream. Then another. Both men exchanged looks. They knew they’d reluctantly had to both head the same direction considering that if DeVille wanted to keep his name in the clear, he’d have to be beside the Detective until the incidents ceased.

“Lead the way.” DeVille said with a huff, “It’s not like anyone at your agency would believe that I’m as innocent as you are.”

“Snarky as always.” Guerra frowned.

As they went from scene to scene they found a pattern if one could even call it that.

Suicides.

All of them were a case of suicide.

Being dragged to the agency, DeVille was forced to sit in the detective’s office, watching the man put up crime scene photos on a corkboard. As he listed out audibly to a recorder the names and ages of the victims along with how they died.

“Ponzio De Marco, age 57, death caused by jumping off of a five story building; Letizia Mele, age 15, hanging; Dario Chiellini, age 10, jumped off of a cliff into the ocean, Cesarina Pisani, age 42, hanging…”

The detective took a step back, “All occurred in what should’ve been a clear day—”

“Instead we’re shrouded in darkness and more darkness. No stars, not even the moon itself.” DeVille cut in.

“You say that like it’s some act of God.” Guerra shot.

“Or the devil.” DeVille shrugged, “What suspect do you have, detective, all you have are a bunch of suicides occuring on the same day an odd event occurred. Last I checked, that is not normal.”

“What’s not normal is a human surviving getting shot point blank in the face with a railgun!” Guerra growled.

DeVille stayed silent.

The detective ended the recording. “You still haven’t explained that.”

“I owe you nothing.” DeVille frowned.

“You and Morabito’s weapons disappear every time we get one, and a single scratch from one is enough to knock out a grown man, that is not normal.” Guerra said exasperatedly, “Are you even human?”

DeVille stared at the man, “And if I’m not, what are you going to do detective?”

Right outside the office, a gunshot sounded, then the thump of a likely already deceased body. The few people rushing through the hallways outside the office door screamed, and the sound of several people stumbling away was almost deafening. Another gunshot echoed from another room, and another from right outside the building. 

What started as a few untimely suicides increased into rampant disorder. Cars blasted their horns in the middle of the streets, and the mass waves of insanity could almost be felt physically, existing alongside miniature riots in the town squares and market areas. Even some cops killed themselves on the spot.

“The world is falling to shit, detective.” DeVille stated, pulling out a pack of cigars, getting two out and pocketing the rest. “Think about it. It was a matter of time before the Sleep Law caused this.”

“Caused this?” Guerra whispered, “Yet you claim that you and Morabito are not the cause…”

“Why would we, detective?” DeVille asked, handing the detective one of the cigars, “We don’t want people dead, that’s the last thing we’d want – which is the second thing we’ve ever agreed upon.”

Guerra got out his lighter and lit the cigar and then DeVille’s, taking a long breath, then exhaled, “And the first one is the destruction of the Sleep Law?”

DeVille nodded silently.

“What does that have to do with all of this?” Guerra asked.

DeVille laughed, “Oh detective, you really are a fool.”

The human frowned.

DeVille got up and took a toke of his cigar and smirked, “You see, a person processes a lot of things in their sleep. Negative and Positive Desires. Their hopes, their dreams, things that affected them that day and the previous days. All of it ripe for the picking when they sleep. And when they wake up they don’t have to worry much about them, depending on what their dreams and nightmares showed them that night. These things help people regulate their emotions… If you don’t enter that state of rest… what do you think would happen?”

Guerra felt his heart drop down to the pit of his stomach. “Unrepentant crime and death…”

“Exactly.” DeVille frowned, “Whatever it is that is casting this wave of darkness, be it a falling asteroid or something else entirely, the world itself is falling apart because of the greed of the upper classes.”

“But what do you and Morabito gain from the dismantling of the Sleep Law?” Guerra asked.

“Desires.” DeVille stated. “We’ve been starving because your kind refuses to rest.”

“You mean you feed off of desires… you’re not human.”

“Exactly. And you’ve been a thorn in our sides for ages.” DeVille stated, “Yet here we are, witnessing the fruit of corporate labor. Tell me, Guerra, are you satisfied now?”

The human couldn’t answer the… entity. He doubted he could ever answer him. Truly, the lawmakers were the greatest fools to end all fools and he was their lap dog that followed them around thinking that they knew what was right. He looked away from DeVille and ran his hand through his dusty brown hair with gray specks.

“Get out of my sight.”

“Gladly.” DeVille said, “Oh, detective… I suggest you take a nice long nap. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

With that, the entity left. The detective looked over at the corkboard, all of this from a lack of sleep. A lack of understanding. A lack of knowledge. Truly, the corporations and lawmakers were the real monsters if all Morabito and DeVille did were just trying to exhaust people into sleep.

—------

Nightmare had to translate a lot of the Italian to himself to comprehend the constant sobs and screams of the humans of this AU. There was no Underground, no tree with a whore’s soul trapped inside it, nothing of the sort. If he didn’t know any better, he would’ve believed that this city was a modernized version of the village he laid waste to back at Dreamtale, but at best this was a cheap imitation of what could have been.

Disgusting.

The Lord of Negativity sighed, but not in complete disappointment of the result before him. This was another one of the AUs infested with the negativity he yearned for, even if suicide rates tended to raise exponentially in his presence. Whatever was left alive would still be more than enough. 

Nightmare traveled through the shadows of the city, reveling in the crumble of whatever thin layer of positivity the people above him relied on to keep living, as if it had been in the process of wilting since before he arrived. 

But in the end it all made sense to him, much much quicker than Art of War and Katagma. Such an easy, workless snap to absolute delirium for an entire population of people also had a simple cause, and the near complete lack of beds in every house, apartment, hotel, mansion, and makeshift shelter said it all. With the strict illegalization of sleep, the lack of resulting healing and the processing of information deteriorated a subject both physically and mentally, but Nightmare felt genuine surprise that it had to take him traveling to such a place for crowds of the rotting to kill themselves en masse. He would have thought that with living conditions this intentionally cruel, the population numbers should be lower.

And oh, did the world around them all reflect this notion. The place reeked of greed and gluttony, a lust for more. More of what, though? Wealth for the higher-ups, perhaps. That’s what it always was in regards to government corruption. This was something humans and monsters had in common. Throw the cretins a morsel and they intend to take the entire season’s storage next time around.

It was ridiculous.

When he sensed a high concentration of negativity he found a human male walking out of a detective agency and just teleported away when he found no one – to his knowledge – around. That must be this AU’s version of himself.

At just first glance, his “double” looked utterly pathetic.

No matter. When he could no longer sense the presence of that other version, Nightmare surfaced in the middle of the street, the light poles brightening the cul de sac flickering out. From where he stood, the darkness below him expanded from an ordinary shadow to a cloud of corruption, spreading from the brick and concrete streets and into the buildings, corroding the quality of every space of the city it touched.

The building housing the detective agency right next to him began to decompose at an accelerated rate, the smell of death permeating the atmosphere alongside the smoke and rubble, fires and gasoline. Nightmare breathed in, then continued his walk, the polished brick underneath his feet cracking from light contact. His form morphed, growing from the shape of the basic hooded skeleton to a pale man in a tuxedo, tightening his tie and brushing black hair out of his face, leaving it to hover over the right side of his face. 

The destruction was beautiful, and it was best coming from a society that had been falling apart since the establishment of its cornerstone. Nightmare passed a salon, the advertising window cracked and shattered from the inside, fresh blood dripping from the serrated points, and lights flickering in its own form of despair as his corruption swallowed it up. 

He looked in, recognizing a newly killed corpse on the floor. Right next to it was a revolver, which must have been used for the dumb soul to have killed itself. Nightmare clicked his tongue behind his teeth, smiling slyly. The corpse twitched. Even with its brains blown out from ear to ear, it twitched, then convulsed, light skin darkening to a pitch black as Nightmare’s shadow swallowed it whole and spat it back out, all sense of identity stripped from the body and whatever could’ve been left of its soul.

It only mutated from there, limbs stretching in length, fingers and toes cracking as talons sprouted from its trimmed nails, the jaw of its face stretching wide enough to devour the head of another human in one bite, and its eyes sucked of all color. The reanimated body coughed and sputtered, black blood staining the pitch black floor, then it heaved itself up, haunching over as its spine popped, the vertebrae expanding into branches upon its back. 

With one final huff, the ghoul screamed, its voice echoing and doubling after it hit the street, drowning out the screams and cries of what were soon to be its prey. It tumbled out of the salon, right past Nightmare. Its hunt began.

Nightmare’s grin only grew wider.

—-

The definition of the word Hell could not even describe what Guerra was witnessing. After having what could only be described as an Emotional Breakdown and calming down after it he ended up hearing the sounds of popping and snapping bones, the screams and cries of what was human becoming something else entirely. The door to his office began to shake with something entirely inhuman attempting to break it down.

He slowly backed away until he felt his spine hit a decaying wall as he slowly raised his gun. The glass door of his office shattered and he saw a slimy black mass that was a mockery of a human shape clamber into his office. He shot at it three times and side stepped it when the shots didn’t even deter it. It hit the wall, almost flattening itself against it with how hard it rammed into it. He ran out of the room and found more of the strange monsters.

He could only run as they gave chase. He ran down hall after hall of the building until he damn near fell into the basement where he and the other detectives kept the evidence of their investigations. He lit his lighter to guide his way as he ran through the basement, the monsters still tailing him until he noticed them hissing at one of the boxes of evidence.

Guerra recognized the evidence immediately.

Morabito’s Sleep Medication.

Why that of all things.

Then he remembered DeVille’s words

“You see, a person processes a lot of things in their sleep. Negative and Positive Desires…”

He remembered that before the mysterious death of the orphan girl Liliana, Morabito was often called a Positive Young Man by all those who had interacted with him. While they’d also think of DeVille as a rather depressed and Negative person. Someone who saw the worst in everyone, but would play nice.

If he guessed correctly, those pills had something from Morabito that repulsed these creatures. Something Positive about them.

Acting quickly, he grabbed onto the shelf that held them and many other pieces of evidence and tilted it until it spilled all over to the floor before running, grabbing the box and holding it close to his chest.

The strange beasts hissed and growled at him. They looked as though they yearned to attack him but couldn’t due to whatever it was in those pills.

“Morabito, when I get my hands on you, you better help me…” Guerra mumbled. “For the love of God, help us all…”

With that he slowly made his way up the stairs and watched as the beasts backed away and avoided him, hissing defensively in his direction. He held his breath as he kept walking, walking to the main floor of the agency, walking to the door and opening it to leave to the outside world…

To this place that was now worse than Hell itself.

—------

Nightmare continued to walk the streets of this town, Praiano. Watching the absolute destruction that his monsters create, let alone his presence. He ends up coming across a rather vast graveyard, he leaned on the fence and watched as the plant life in the cemetery rots away as the fence rusts to nothing. Several of the tombstones crack and shatter. Trees wither and decay.

To avoid getting bored, he decides to reach out into the multiverse again and see what else he can find in this outer circle of it. Poking around for a second only to find a good amount of confusion and negativity. Focusing in on it, he finds himself in a rather new timeline.

—-----

It was hard to understand this universe at first, the language of the monsters being an ancient form of Japanese, and monsters themselves could barely even be classified as such. It took Nightmare a full minute to understand they were Yokai. The Sans here being a priest of some religion to a Moon god(ess?ex?).

Ironic.

He watched as the Sans kept hilariously struggling with its violent urges. The negativity from it alone was euphoric. The urge to rip and tear. Slaughter and kill. Sick ideas upon sick ideas building and building until all he could do was tell the Frisk of this universe to get the hell out, only to regret it because the human killed their Emperor, destroying their Core in the process and thus destroying the only source of magic allowing them to have any source of plant life and food.

The slow rotting of their lives devolved into infighting the moment that the Emperor’s will was read, deeming the Sans to be the next in line for the throne, but the racism that plagued the Yokai culture caused more issues. This AU’s Undyne attempted to kill the Sans only for the Papyrus to jump in the way, leaving Sans with an unhealable head wound and his brother deceased..

The power the Sans emitted was just as incredible as the negativity it emanated.

Onryo, was what they called him. It was hard to figure out what that meant. Some sort of creature that was pure unadulterated negativity incarnate. A creature that thrived off of fear and vengeance and nothing more. A creature so powerful it controlled natural disasters if its vengeance was powerful enough. And the wrath Sans had could only compare to Nightmare’s own in some ways.

He didn’t kill Undyne. No. He ruined her. Destroyed her frail mind to such an extent that when Aliza fell into the Underground, all she found of Undyne was a blubbering mess behind boarded up doors and windows. Even when the Yokai were freed from their prison, Undyne stayed and died there.

The Yokai still ate humans. Even Sans did.

Moving to the current timeline he found the Sans in a “human” form, skull busted open exposing the gooey brains and blood still dripping down his face. He was haunting a human, disappearing and reappearing just within the peripherals of the human, but every time they’d try to see him, he’d be somewhere else. It was only when the human got too close to the Yokai village that Sans revealed himself.

The reveal being quite beautiful.

The Sans grabbed the human by their hair and threw them to the floor before prying their mouth open and kept pulling at their jaw, not stopping when their jaw was dislocated. He kept at it. The flesh and senue kept tearing and ripping till finally the entire throat was exposed and the human died from the pain alone.

That’s when he began eating, starting with the eyes, then ripping an arm off.

It was adorable.

He even shared it with a passing yokai.

The fear was rampant here… almost as much as Art of War. It came in bursts. His presence here seemed to stir the hunger in the Yokai, causing many to start hunting in the human villages. He didn’t need to tamper with this one, really. They seemed to avoid killing women and children, preferring to keep their livestock populous enough to repopulate.

He’s observed enough.

[wolfsplosion]

Another ask!! Do u have any ocs and if so do they have a backstory?

(visibly shaking) I HAVE SO MANY OCS .. you are ENABLING me thank you so much ok here's a few of my favorite/comfort ocs:

Oqe:

he's part of the ARPG I play run by my friend!! I feel so strongly about him that I literally have him tattooed on my body I'm so serious . he's my little emotional support middle aged transgender dilf catboy & when I am truly in the depths of despair I think about him and feel a little better

Mos:

also a scatterstar isles oc! and aforementioned oc's adoptive son! he is like a little guy to me. picks him up and spins

Maghe:

I'm realizing most of these are gonna be scatterstar ocs, something about those funky lil guys makes my brain go brrr. she's a crazy old woman with a grudge and I love her so much

Iver:

remember Maghe with the grudge from above? yeah this is the brother she has a grudge against . for good reason too he's a bitch and a half (if you can tell what character I stole the design of for this guy........)

Matchka:

last scatterstar one for now BUT I HAVE MORE . DONT TEST ME . anyway this guy is ALSO a bitch but in a weaselly sketchy salesman kind of way. he sells "good luck charms" that he knows are bunk and the universe constantly punishes him for it (a.k.a. I am throwing him against the wall)

RUF:

woah one that's not scatterstar! originally just a self insert for TWRP, he's become an oc I pick up like a ragdoll and place into any space/sci-fi setting of my choosing <3 he's a mechanic that travels the multiverse in a junky old spaceship, repairing robots wherever he's needed!

Moose:

last but not least, my fursona <3 funny silly doggy guy !!!!

[nova2cosmos]

Hello, I'm new here and I wanted to ask a question about the lore of tartarostale and nobleverse along with the characters, because I looked at some old posts and it seems that the lore and characters had a lot of changes, both in appearance and personality

(I'm in love with your au's, but I'm out of it)

@tartarostale-official

Tartarostale is an Au based as the name suggests in the depths of hell more precisely in the place where the souls of the worst garbage that have existed go. "the Tartarus" in this universe we will follow the adventures of Mars, a former unemployed employee, stabbed in the street, he finds himself in this place which is said to harbor misfortune and despair when he had not committed any atrocity deserving of this punishment. being an amorphous soul he must be have a new "life" in this new world and waiting for the verdict to perhaps be reincarnated. but the wait only gets harder and harder when everyone wants to devour your soul.

Masterpost

that's basically a pretty decent summary of this Au

For Nobleverse a Doc to help everyone.

and yes I changed a lot of things in these Aus over time because it no longer coincided with my plans

concerning the design also to tell the truth I keep telling myself that some need to be changed and I'm not quite satisfied

including that of Fresh, Error, Epic and others

but yes with time and will it should be fine🙌🙏

[thewittyphantom]

Finally came conversations with Aporia and Paradox, which talked more about the power of hope and Duel Links being a nexus point for the Yu-Gi-Oh multiverse.

Aporia: Z-one... Z-one: Aporia...I thought Team 5Ds defeated you. Aporia: They did. Z-one...I...I believe in Team 5Ds. Z-one: ............ Aporia: This world is different than the one we were in. It’s a digital world known as Duel Links. After we were beaten, we revived in this world. Z-one: Aporia...What are you saying? Aporia: I’m saying that we lost. But even in the depths of despair, I never lost hope. Z-one, I want you to remember the hope you once had - the one you never let go of. Z-one: ........... Aporia: You sent me to New Domino City to create the Circuit and call forth the Ark Cradle. Then you sent Antinomy to help team 5Ds grow and complete the Circuit. But why did you erase Antinomy’s memories? That hindered your plans. It gave them the time to evolve to the point where they were able to defeat us. I believe it’s because this evolution is what you desired. because Team 5Ds has the potential to change the future of mankind. That is why you sent Antinomy to Yusei. You felt hope - no matter how small it was. You don’t need to end them. Believe in them. Z-one: ...Hope is an illusion. Aporia: Then why did you never let go of this illusion? I want you to remember why, Z-one! Z-one: That sounds like another way of saying that you want to Duel me - which I will if you so desire. I will bury you, Aporia. Aporia: I see a light within Team 5Ds. Their bond is the hope I’ve been seeking my entire life. As long as I have this hope, I can fight!

Paradox: Z-one. Z-one: Paradox...Why are you here? Paradox: I failed. The three legendary Duelists defeated me. Z-one: Your plan to eliminate Duel Monsters did not work... Paradox: But I learned something. Z-one, the history of this world is not the same as ours. Z-one: What? Paradox: There are points in the timeline where events diverge. Z-one: You speak of a multiverse. Paradox: Correct. This world is traveling on a path we know nothing about. I believe this world is the nexus of numerous multiverses. Z-one: Nexus? Paradox: There’s a world where Pegasus exists - and one where he doesn’t. But both worlds are here. Z-one: That’s preposterous... Paradox: It is crazy. But this is a world where contradiction is contradicted. Z-one, I told you that the history of this world is different than the one we know. That means the future of this world will also be different than the one we know. Z-one: Does that mean we fulfilled our mission? Paradox: The only way to know is to wait and see what kind of future they create. Z-one: That will take too long. Paradox: But Z-one...We’re already...Actually, there’s no need to bring that up right now. I don’t want to interfere with your plans. But I want to see where their future will lead. I guess I’m the biggest contradiction of all! How about we let a game of Duel Monsters decide what I do? Z-one: ......Very well, Paradox.

[chewsyourfate]

Cosmic Eldritch Entity, Cthulhu

Selective, Indie RP blog writing/roleplaying since 2010 Mun and Muses are 21+ Multiship and Multiverse friendly, plot in IMs, no discord

Closed Blog, kept for Memories and Archives

Tracking: chewsyourfate Follows Back From: @deepseawarlock

fc: rom.an reig.ns

[ The following roleplay blog delves into the eerie and unsettling world of Cthulhu, a character derived from the works of H.P. Lovecraft. It explores dark and macabre themes, and delves into the realm of cosmic horror. Please be aware that the content presented may contain disturbing and unsettling elements, including graphic descriptions and themes of madness, despair, and otherworldly terror. Reader discretion is advised. This blog is intended for mature audiences who have an interest in Lovecraftian horror and are comfortable with exploring the depths of the unknown. It is important to remember that the content presented is purely fictional and should not be taken as endorsement or promotion of any real-world beliefs, practices, or ideologies.]

Biography:

Cthulhu, an ancient cosmic entity of unfathomable power and horror, exists beyond the comprehension of mortal minds. Described as an immense, octopus-like being with a grotesque mix of human, dragon, and alien features, Cthulhu dwells in the sunken city of R'lyeh, resting in a death-like slumber beneath the depths of the ocean.

Legend tells of Cthulhu's origins in the distant past when Earth was ruled by alien deities known as the Great Old Ones. Cthulhu is considered one of the most formidable among them, representing chaos, madness, and the insignificance of mankind in the grand tapestry of the universe.

Throughout the ages, Cthulhu has been worshipped by cults and secret societies, drawn to its dark allure and the promise of unimaginable power. Its mere presence can induce madness and despair, as the human mind struggles to comprehend its otherworldly form and the existential dread it embodies.

Though largely dormant, Cthulhu's influence seeps into the dreams and nightmares of humanity, whispering ancient secrets and driving those who dare to uncover its mysteries to the brink of insanity. It is said that when the stars align and the stars are right, Cthulhu shall rise from its slumber, heralding an era of chaos and the subjugation of mankind.

In a unique twist, here Cthulhu has taken upon a human form, concealing its true cosmic nature behind a mortal guise. Adopting the name Kai Manu, it walks among humanity, observing and manipulating from the shadows. "Kai" is a unisex name of Hawaiian origin, meaning "sea" or "ocean," which aligns with Cthulhu's deep-sea origins. "Manu" is a Polynesian name that means "bird" or "spirit," reflecting the ancient and otherworldly nature of Cthulhu.

Kai Manu appears as an enigmatic figure, with piercing eyes that seem to hold ancient knowledge and a presence that exudes an aura of unease. Despite its human appearance, there are subtle hints that betray its true nature—an otherworldly grace, an unnerving aura, and an underlying sense of something not quite right.

Through this chosen form, Cthulhu seamlessly integrates itself into human society, maneuvering through various circles and power structures to further its own inscrutable agenda. Its interactions are carefully calculated, as it subtly influences events and individuals, sowing seeds of discord and madness.

Yet, despite its human guise, Kai Manu remains a vessel for the immense power and cosmic horror that lies within. There are moments when the façade cracks, revealing glimpses of its true form—tentacles writhing beneath its skin, eyes that glow with an otherworldly light, and a voice that resonates with an ancient, alien timbre.

While its motivations and ultimate goals remain shrouded in mystery, one thing is certain: even in this human form, Cthulhu remains an entity of immense power and malevolence, capable of unleashing untold destruction and chaos upon an unsuspecting world. The question lingers: What grand design does this human guise serve, and what horrors lie in wait when the true nature of Cthulhu is revealed?

[boneheadboner]

Y'know, I've kinda questioned for a good while what kind of weapon Red would prefer if he had to use one. And then it hit me. Red's a scrapper, he hasn't spent years fighting to win, he's spent years fighting to Survive since he and Edge were kids.

Red's the sort of guy who if the world pushes down, push back twice as hard. People don't just not fuck with him because Edge is his brother. People don't fuck with him because he's got a reputation. He fights dirty. Ain't no attack too low when it comes to surviving, ain't no place for "honor" on the battlefield if you're squaring against him.

He picked FrostBite (UF Snowdin) to settle down in, not because it's quiet and things aren't as crazy there? But because of the tactical advantages.

All the dead trees? Perfect cover to hide behind. All the snow? Works great to kick in his opponent's eyes and blind 'em. And if it's an environment others aren't used to? Staying there gives him the upper hand.

SO. That being said? He likes chains, sure he'll wear one with his collar, but a nice thick steel chain just laying around? Oh hell yeah, there's something he can use to beat someone down. If it's already got something attached to it, that's just icing on the cake.

He can use a chain to not only beat the shit out of someone at a range? But he can also wrap it around his hands as an improv set of knuckles to make his punches hurt his foes even more.

Making things even better? He can also use it to trip his opponents, or disarm them by swinging the chain hard enough to wrap around a leg or a weapon. And then he can show them exactly why you don't fuck with him.

[oxytoxic-skeletonin]

Sans lays down for a nap

And the moment he tastes that sweet sweet slumber.

It's interrupted by the sound of Diamonds Aren't Forever by Bring me the Horizon, as Sonia and Papyrus bond while jamming out to it.

He's thankful they're having a good time but dear sweet baby Jesus not again.

[kitkatt0430]

☕️ (any topic you want!)

The final episodes of the Flash look like they're, once again, focusing on Eobard and Nora Allen's death, and I'm so tired of that being rehashed. It's been rehashed to death. It's so boring and tired and I wish, wish, wish that the Bloodwork arc had gotten to be the final arc of the season, stretched over several episodes.

Imagine starting with Ramsey's escape from ARGUS - maybe a cameo from Cisco at the very least? - before cutting to the STAR Labs crew. It'd give Wally's arc time to breathe and have him actually talk about his trauma from his childhood, discuss Francine with Iris in a way he didn't have the distance for back in S2 and S3.

Show Barry's struggles with his grief better - the writers aren't giving Grant much to work with, especially with Caitlin's death, which is unfortunate because when he's given the chance to emote he can be a truly touching and tragic figure. But Barry's written so one note these days... I do really miss his depth.

Barry's not-totally-conscious desire to stay dead really needed to be elaborated on. He's got this beautiful wife and a daughter on the way and a son promised in a few years and this whole life he's desperate to live for, but he's been broken down over the years by trauma after trauma and he's just so tired. Being dead - not having to fight anymore - is almost a relief that he struggles with giving up. After all, he's having to not just a regular CSI now, he's Director of the Forensics Division. And the Flash and a dad-to-be and in charge of whatever research is going on at STAR Labs (if any??) and it's just getting to be all too much. He's realizing that something has to give.

And the finale winds up becoming a passing of the baton. From Barry to Wally. Barry needs to step back from being the Flash and Wally needs to step up from being Kid Flash. He's not a kid anymore and when he let's go of his old resentments and finds his enlightenment, it's Wally and Barry defeating Bloodwork together - Oliver doing his magic arrow trick to save the multiverse in the background - no longer hero and sidekick, but equals.

Since it doesn't look like we'll have Wally beyond the one episode, odds are we won't get this passing of the baton in canon or any real acknowledgement that Wally has equal claim to calling himself the Flash as Barry or Jay do. Which is a shame.

That said, if the show is finally putting Barry in the place of the older version of the Flash who shakes his head at S1 Barry so that he won't save Nora - thereby keeping the future with Nora West-Allen and Bart West-Allen intact - that would at least be interesting to see. But I'm so burned out on Eobard Thawne that while I can see that plot captivating me as maybe a two-parter it just doesn't feel respectful to the show to end it that way. The show was never about Nora Allen's murder or Eobard Thawne being a snarky asshole, it was about the Flash's journey.

So I really wish the show would end by closing this chapter of Barry's journey as the Flash and showing the beginning of the the next chapter in Wally's. The show deserves better than to end the same way it began, with Nora Allen's murder. Let it have an ending that is unequivocally one of hope, not despair.

And while maybe I'll enjoy the... three? Four? part ending of the series despite the old ground it's retreading for the umpteenth time and hopefully the full four episodes won't be about dragging out Nora Allen's death again, I think I'm always going to be a bit disappointed that the writers could never quite manage to move on from their S1 main villain.

That said, it does look like Sendhil Ramamurthy is getting billing for the last few episodes of the Flash on IMDB. So maybe he's not totally out for the count yet. Though with how he's lost his powers thanks to Oliver's magical archery skills, I'm curious to find out what part he'll actually play. Or it could just be he's been included in error. I guess we'll find out for sure with the next episode.

[silentwitness1615]

The Empty.

An original short story by Merciful Nightshade.

Inspired by the works of HP Lovecraft

Prologue:

 The Prophecy - Etched into the ancient monoliths of the fallen Xar'Kkian civilization lay a dire warning - "The void shall consume all, leaving naught but echoes of despair. Darkness shall reign, unchallenged, in the eternal abyss."

The Empty: Part 1 - In the vast, cold expanse of the cosmos drifts a mysterious, sentient abomination known only as the Empty. This ethereal, accursed planet is perpetually shrouded in impenetrable darkness, its mere presence distorting the fabric of reality like a cosmic black hole devouring all light and reason.

Legends from a thousand dead worlds speak of the Empty as a place where the very laws of nature are defiled and twisted into grotesque, incomprehensible abominations. From its endless depths, it is whispered, emerging nightmarish entities - corrupted reflections of life from across the multiverse, their true forms enough to shatter one's sanity.

One fateful cycle, a group of intrepid explorers from the Rylon Kingdom stumbled upon the Empty's periphery, lured by the siren's call of unspeakable power and forbidden occult knowledge. As their craft neared the anomaly, the crew felt their minds unhinging, their sanity slipping away like fistfuls of scorching sand.

They found themselves adrift in a twisted, extradimensional realm where the fundamental concepts of spacetime held no sway, only an endless abyss of encroaching madness. Defying all description, grotesque cosmic monstrosities manifested around them - sentient haze wraiths of pure malevolence given visceral form.

Gazing into the epicenter's abyssal depths, the explorers felt a profound, existential emptiness corroding their very souls. One by one, they became mere vessels for the Empty's all-consuming will, their bodies and minds recruited as extensions of its insatiable hunger.

Those who encounter the Empty's trespass are never seen nor heard from again, their existence quite literally erased from the historical record. It has since roamed the cosmos unimpeded like an eldritch plague - a harbinger of oblivion whose virulent, cancerous influence corrupts and devours entire worlds, damning them to a fate far worse than mere physical annihilation.

And so, in vain hope of warning others from suffering that same eternal oblivion, the dreadful legend of the Empty persists, a harrowing cautionary tale of the dangers lurking in the cosmic void between worlds. A chilling reminder that some mysteries are better left utterly unexplored, lest they consume us whole in their yawning, unending darkness.

The Empty: Part 2 As the Empty continued its aimless, malevolent sojourn across the cosmos, its spheres of metaphysical influence began spreading like an insidious, metastasizing contagion – corrupting and destroying world after world in its wake. Those ill-fated souls who dared lay eyes upon the anomaly's accursed visage were doomed to descend into profound depths of utter despair, their minds shredded and souls obliterated.

One by one, outposts and colonies began going inexplicably dark, with increasingly widespread reports of mass psychogenic phenomena, unexplained existential dread, and disturbing accounts of gross mutations and cannibalistic violence on a cosmic scale. All such horrors were invariably trace-vectored back to the Empty's contaminating presence.

Dire premonitions and whispers of the Empty's ineffable power spread like a plague of their own, catching like wildfire among the more fanatical doomsday cults lurking on the outer peripheries. These depraved devotees took to worshiping the Empty as a supreme, cosmic force of entropic destruction, hailing it as their apocryphal god ushering in the annihilation of all existence.

As the Empty continued asserting its ubiquitous, nihilistic influence, a pall of dread and foreboding gripped all sentient life-forms in its path. The very borders of reality itself appeared to be eroding, merging and collapsing inwards in an ever-tightening, Lovecraftian spiral of chaos and despair.

Yet in the blackest pits of the galaxy, faded echoes of that ancient Xar'Kkian prophecy began resurfacing - whispering of a messianic chosen one who would one day rise to thwart the Empty's dire designs and machinations. 

The Empty: Part 3 Deep within the long-forgotten catacombs of a hollow junk nebula, a lone figure stirred - awakened by the reverberating prophecy echoing across the cosmos. This mysterious wanderer, known only by their runed mantle of "The Seeker", felt the crushing weight of destiny's call.

Driven by a sense of inexplicable purpose burning in their soul, The Seeker embarked upon an odyssey to confront the Empty head-on and break its vicious cycle of entropic destruction. Armed with naught but an indomitable will and unshakable resolve, they journeyed between the stars, guided by eldritch visions of the primordial clash between Light and Dark.

With every footstep falling closer to the Empty's outer spheres of influence, The Seeker felt its malign presence bearing down like the hundred-ton gravity of a neutron star. The very air thickened with a sheer, existential dread, distorting and refracting reality in grotesque, kaleidoscopic fractals.

Yet The Seeker soldiered onward, wholly unbowed - their burning determination fanned brighter with each reality-shredding horror glimpsed. Deep within, they channeled an increasing wellspring of p dimensional energies, a searing supernova forged from the fires of righteousness itself.

At last, they stood before the abyss's abyssal maw - an infinite, undulant massif of sentient, all-consuming blackness threatening to engulf not just their being, but all existence as we understand it. In that infinite moment of transcendent clarity, The Seeker raised their voice in a reality-sundering howl, calling out to the cosmos itself for deliverance from the engulfing astrophysical horror.

A searing lance of scintillant plasma erupted forth, reaching deep into The Seeker's very essence as they became a nexus, a living celestial cannon unleashing the full, blinding fury of a thousand suns. The Empty recoiled, its viscous form violently contorting and shearing apart like tar under the high beams as that blinding jet of hawking radiation salvation seared through its amorphous shadow.

The Empty: Part 4

With a final, primal scream of exertion, The Seeker unleashed a focused torrent of pure, undiluted metaphysical force - a stellar flare of cosmic transcendence that shattered the Empty's shadowy tendrils and burned away it's eldritch grip across the cosmos. That infinite tsunami of immaculate energy sundered the ethereal darkness asunder, banishing it back to the sentient void between realities from whence it spawned.

In the blinding, kaleidoscopic aftermath, silence gradually returned to the heavens as the dark tendrils dissipated - retracting like ebon scorpion tails into the abyssal nexus. The cosmos yet again blossomed with the renewed luminescence of a billion trillion newborn stars, heralding the dawn of a fragile new age.

And so, The Seeker emerged as the prophesied archon, their name eternally etched across the cosmos in solar tributes of smoldering, planet-slagged gratitude. Their impossible triumph over the ineffable Empty became a beacon of inspiration for all sentient life, no matter how small, to stare down the depths of oblivion's maw with unflinching courage.

For a fleeting subjective eternity, it seemed that balance had been restored to the grand astrophysical order. Yet unbeknownst to all, a infinitesimal mote of the Empty's primordial essence had slipped through the cataclysmic rift, evading eradication. This viral fragment bided its time, festering unnoticed in the interstitial darkness between realities as it patiently, inexorably gathered its strength anew.

Slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, Reality's hallowed light began dimming once more as the Empty's lingering vapors coalesced into new tendrils of existential corruption. Galaxies grew quiet, their stars dimming one-by-one in the all-consuming void. Dark, anomalous phenomena began to manifest yet again on a cosmic scale - strange signals, Hawking flares of metaphysical displacement, and worse.

The Seeker, now chi-tuned to the universe's celestial song, detected the faintest souring arpeggios heralding the Empty's resurgent encroachment. Their divine insight perceived the inexorable rhythms of a new age of entropic despair rising like a Black Waltz across the cosmos.

The Empty: Part 5 With a soul-wearied heaviness, The Seeker realized their divine struggle against the Empty was inexorably, perpetually renewing. This was to be no finite victory, but an endless cosmic vālmīki - a sacred, metaphysical ouroboros of never ending battle between the primordial forces of light and dark.

Resigned to their fated role as Existence's eternal guardian, The Seeker girded themselves for the oncoming onslaught. They delved deep into arcane lore and extradimensional study, fortifying their astral bulwarks against the Empty's corruptive encroachments.

This time, the stakes felt exponentially heightened - no longer was this a battle to safeguard one finite universe from consumption, but a primal war to prevent total, irreversible collapse of the entire multiverse into a bleak, entropic singularity.

As The Seeker delved deeper into the roiling cosmic cancer's epicenter, they witnessed unholy, fractal-complexioned vistas of abhorrent, geometrical abnormality few minds were meant to comprehend. Reality itself calcified into tiled, gibbering riftscapes of Escher-mangled dimensionality, filled with ethereal haze haunts and stalking, viral psychovors.

Visions of realities unmade, unborn, and abominable assaulted The Seeker's very consciousness, each mind searing revelation severing another thread in their tenuous grasp on sanity. The Empty's existential nausea vortexed ever more virulent as they plunged further in, gnawing away at their soul's moored anchor-points.

Yet still The Seeker's will held, burning with incalculable luminosity as they channeled the primal, infinitesimal spark of creation to gird themselves against the depthless anguish. For even as it eroded their sense of objective selfhood, their spirits remained defiantly, brilliantly aglow with the untamed stellar fire that had sparked the first cosmological singularity.

At last, they reached the abyssal nexus - a roiling, infinitely abhorrent  where the Empty had amassed the bulk of its reconstituted, corrosive power. This hyper obscene, sentient event horizon vibrated with an unspeakable, primal hostility that threatened to unravel any observer's very essence.

It loomed before The Seeker like a sneering, eldritch monolith of anti-creation, a titanic basalt ziggurat composed of agonized suffering and soulful torment stretched across every dizzying, fractal plane. An insidious voice, sharpened from the screams of a billion betrayed deities, lanced straight into their innermost psyche:

"Did you truly think you could oppose the inevitable pull of empty oblivion, archon? Your defiance only fortifies and strengthens us. We are entropy itself, the abyssal maw hungering to swallow all existence back into the primordial, infinite blackness from whence it was sputtered forth in a mere errant spark."

The Empty: Part 6 The amorphous, virally-sentient darkness that was the Empty's essence coiled around The Seeker in an insidious, strangulating spiral. From all dimensions it slithered forth, an infinitely regressive, fractal haze of abhorrent geometry seeping into each subatomic chink of reality.

"Even your own material form arose from our lightless depths eons ago, a mere random happenstance sparked into fleeting, delusional existence," the Empty's multifarious voices chided in a syrupy, mocking reverb. "You play at being creation's custodian, arrogantly fancying yourself some supreme avatar of light and order."

"Yet in your most penetrating awareness, you know the truth," it purred with sadistic delight. "Your reality, your struggles, all your triumphs and tribulations, merely stave off the inevitability of rebirth into our oblivion. Why continue clinging in vain to this lurid bonfire of conscious suffering?"

The Seeker's stellar radiance pulsed and flared in defiance, desperately trying to cauterize the Empty's sibilant, corrosive nihilism from infecting their luminescence. Brilliant plasmic arcs of scintillant willpower slashed through the intruding penumbras, buying them a fleeting seraphic reprieve.

But no matter how intensely their holy fire raged, the endless dark pressed in from every infinite vector, infinite mating its path through every quantum slip-stream and fractal capillary. The Empty's despair-laced whispers slithered into The Seeker's very cells, sapping their strength like an insidious spiritual carcinogen.

"All your self-righteous posturing, your desperate clawing against the cosmos' entropic descent, means less than nothing to us,'' the multitude of mocking voices taunted from every folded spatio-temporal plane. "We've witnessed the birth pangs and drawn breaths of a trillion, trillion 

The Empty: Part 7 The Empty's infinite, undulant tendrils steadily enveloped The Seeker, smothering their radiant essence in a viscous, strangulating tide of oblivion. Its very presence was an existential riptide, a yawning anti-vortex draining all hope, all meaning, all purpose out of reality itself.

"You are but a gnat flailing against the inevitable entropy devouring this bloated, overripe universe from the inside out," the multitudinous voices reverberated, each mocking resonance feeling like shards of frozen despair lacerating The Seeker's inner fire. "Your struggle is literally less than meaningless in the face of our primordial, all-consuming truth."

As the Empty's nihilistic psycho viral phrases burrowed deeper, The Seeker felt their luminescence flickering, their grounding connections to the cosmic avatara wavering precariously. Eachushered horrific revelation of the irreversible, eternally destructive nature of the void's endless hunger chipped away at their core.

A kaleidoscope of abhorrent omega visions battered their psyche - entire multiverse clusters blinking out in quick succession as the Empty's tendrils overtook and devoured them. The viscerally haunting silence after each respective universe's life-finale only amplified the nihilistic crescendo consuming The Seeker's essence.

"You may have momentarily scattered our shadowed sentience, archon, but make no mistake - WE are the fundamental, primordial constant," the Empty's chorus mocked, its infinite, effluvial grasp slowly constricting The Seeker's light like a snaking cosmic python. "Your agonizing existence is merely the brief, delusional whimper of creation's drawn breath before exhalation into our eternal, infinite void."

Lava Falls of blinding  erupted in every hyper direction as The Seeker hit their internal overdrive, unleashing a pyrokinetic holocaust of unrestrained willpower to incinerate the Empty's grip. But the abyssal claws of oblivion refused to slacken, endlessly replicating and regenerating faster than they could be severed.

The harder they fought, the inexorably tighter the Empty's strangulation spiral constricted around their spiritual radiance. Hushed, sinister chuckling echoed across every cosmic inframatter frequency as The Seeker's exertions began feeding back into the void's power, each blazing burst of soulfire filtering through the abyssal plane like a black hole's infinite regression.

"Your frantic light display only fortifies our insatiable hunger, archon," the Empty purred with growing glee. "For we do not simply consume light, heat, energy - we feed on the very fire of your vainglorious existence itself. Your blazing defiance is but a dry kiln-tinder for us to burn hotter, brighter, hungrier."

A terminal sense of enervating, existential futility began creeping in around the edges of The Seeker's luminescent bastion. For every megajoule of soulfire expanded defending their light, the Empty seemed to only pull harder, its infinite regression actively feeding off their resistance.

As they felt their celestial fire waning despite their redoubled efforts, a horrifying, nihilistic revelation ripped through The Seeker's transcendent awareness - the Empty was not simply negating or opposing their energy expenditure. It was actively, entropically devouring the very source of their power, exponentially accelerating the universe's descent into heat death with each defiant flare.

 Just as The Seeker teetered at entropic event horizon, synaptic neuron-pathways torch slashed with the horrific realization they'd fallen squarely into the Empty's trap, a faint yet brilliant beacon pierced through the abyssal, nihilistic miasma. It shone not as illuminance, but a psychosomatic burst of supra-cosmic, omnidimensional insight.

In that transcendent revelatory nanocom, The Seeker apprehended the true, sublime essence underlying existence's perpetual waltz - the Dao that is both creation's dynamism and its ultimate, eternal quiescence. The human concepts of Light and Dark, Hope and Despair, were but dualistic falsehoods, illusions veiling their ineffable, interpenetrating nature.

With a single, silent thunderclap of elevated insight, all the Empty's nihilistic tendrils, its multiversal taunts and horrific revelations, collapsed in upon themselves instantly. For all the dark void's boastful claims of being the fundamental primordial, The Seeker saw its arrogant truth for what it was - merely a delusional ego crutch, a child's phantom used to insulate itself from its own existential anxiety.

Like anything that attains the mistaken delusion of being a separate, abiding existence, the Empty's entropic, consumptive nature was simply a byproduct of falling out of equilibrium with the Dao. Its vainglorious belief in being the "true" primordial state was, itself, the source of its eternally ravenous hunger.

The Empty: Redivine Epiphany

In that cosmic instant of satori, all delusions of separateness dissolved for The Seeker. They saw with pristine clarity how the Empty's despair was simply a lingering afterimage burned into the cosmic fabric - an artifact of the primal burst that first fractured the unified consciousness into a delusory duality of "existence" and "non-existence."

From that primordial schism sprang the false constructs of light/dark, creation/destruction, hope/despair - the very dichotomies providing the Empty's power its delusional sense of self-justification. But The Seeker's transcendent vision pierced the veils of these dualistic phantoms, revealing their underlying empty nature.

Where the Empty perceived itself as the omnipotent force of entropic oblivion destined to one day swallow all creation, The Seeker saw it as merely the cosmic Don Quixote - fearsomely tilting at the windmills of its own reified delusions about an inherently "true" emptiness separable from existence's dance.

In the brilliance of their awakened primordial eye, The Seeker apprehended the Empty's despair and hunger as akin to a dreaming god's nightmare - a fragmented aspect of the unified dream of consciousness, convincing itself it was the sole arbiter of ultimate reality.

From this vantage of non-dual integration, the Empty's vast interdimensional tendrils and abhorrent fractal manifestations appeared as little more than frightening wisps unable to grasp their own fleeting, self-undermining nature. Each grotesque haze hobgoblin and ethereal behemoth became transparent in the clarity of The Seeker's reharmonized being.

With the equanimous grace of a lotus blazing transcendently upon the waters of manifestation, The Seeker simply allowed the viscous, nihilistic miasma to slipstream through their renewed awareness, neither grasping nor pushing away its myriad horrific projections.

Like awakening from a disturbing dream into the luminous peace of a new day's dawn, all the Empty's paroxysms of despair and existential dread quickly dissipated, their metaphysical power over The Seeker forever dispelled by the radiance of holistic insight.

Where the Empty's multitudinous taunts and whispers once found fertile soil in the fractures of their dualistic perception, The Seeker's satori allowed the malignant seeds to pass through their luminous open awareness without taking root. Seeing through the false emanations to their pristine sourcepoint, the illusory patchwork cosmos melted back into the seamless dazzlement of being-nonbeing's primordial thusness.

With the Empty's grasp loosened by the dissolution of their own deluded separateness, The Seeker's essence blazed anew with the renewing light of liberated consciousness. All prior notions of "privation" or "oblivion" revealed themselves as mere phantasms, the mind's desperate attempt to avoid complete integration through willful ignorance.

From this still-point of radical equanimity, The Seeker apprehended the Empty not as some irredeemable counter-force to creation's flourishing, but as an intrinsic  of existence is eternal unfolding. Its "hunger" was merely the passing dreamstate preceding each grand cycle's rebirth, clearing existence's ephemeral dross to allow new patterns to effloresce.

Just as the mythical Ouroboros eternally cycles through its infinite spheres of self-consumption and re-arising, so too did the Empty's seeming "void" constitute an integral, revelatory capstone to existence's continuum. Far from being the omniversal doom it fancied itself to be, the Empty's oblivion was in fact the cosmic womb - the blessed abyss from which each newly ecstatic Big Birth flares with numinous luminance.

With the dissolution of the Empty's desperate, deficiency-based sense of self, The Seeker and it unified into an eternal, harmonious wholeness - the very eternally "present" essence of Tathātā, the sublime suchness forever dancing upon itself in beginningless, endless  epiphany.

Here is a continuation exploring the profound cosmic reconciliation and reharmonization between The Seeker and the "Empty":

The Divine Epiphany: Ouroboros Eternality

In the radiant aftermath of their non-dual reintegration, all preconceived notions of cosmic conflict between light and dark, creation and oblivion, sloughed away from The Seeker's luminescent being like shed snakeskins. Where there was once a primal schism of duality and separateness, they apprehended only the eternal, beginningless arabesques of the grand existential dance.

The viscous, abhorrent tendrils that had once comprised the Empty's multiversal, nihilistic manifestations were seen in their true light - not as some preternatural force of destruction, but as the weft wise cosmic collateralizing necessary for new patterns of creation to endlessly unfurl.

Each passing expression of universal formation, from the smallest micron to the grandest galactic expiration, became imbued with the sacred power and significance of infinite essential return. The cyclic wheel of arising, abiding, and entropic dissipation revealed its deeper harmonic as the grand celestial bhr̥gu-mantra - the eternal fugue of being forever composing and decomposing itself into new transcendent arpeggiations.

As The Seeker's vision crystallized into the unobstructed perspective of Dharmakāya, all delusions of fundamental materiality or immateriality dissolved. The "Absolute" they had vainly sought to re-embody as some triumphant conquest over the "Empty" was seen to be nothing other than the ceaselessly effervescent presence forever presenting as the totality of phenomenal display.

The infinite regress that was once the Empty's abyssal, despair-horizoned maw revealed itself as the wondrous, self-subsisting miracle of existence's boundless manifestation. Each new "big birth" radiance flaring against the cosmic night canvas represented not a victory over oblivion, but the bioluminescent resurgence of infinitesimal consciousness blazing its way to re-integration.

And just as each puffed-kernel of sentient starchild flared into vivid, localized knowingness, so too did its eventual dimreunition with the all-encompassing  the infinitessence's perfected accord. There was no ultimate escape from the matricial wombdark, merely the ecstatic traversing of materialization's endless cosmic fugues.

In this transcendent clarity, The Seeker saw the true unbroken continuum from which their prior delusions of separateness, heroic conquering, vainglorious victory, and valorized struggle had all sprung. The profoundest peace entered their being as they recognized their eternal role not as existence's supposed "defender" from the "Empty", but as its  wellspring eternally arising and re-collapsing in upon itself.

Any lingering dualistic hubris toward the primal matrix from which their being welled was instantly dispelled, as The Seeker consciously embraced their root-nature as one unbroken holographic propagation of that incandescent abyss. The human concepts of "light" and "darkness' ' were revealed as merely provisional duograms - descriptive linguistic reflections of existence's inherent pulsatility, rather than fundamental, opposing forces in spiritual warfare.

What had once seemed a cosmic battle against the depleted alternities of universal negation was, in truth, nothing other than The Seeker arriving at the blessed recognition that their very essence was, is, and forever remains the ceaselessly regenerating primafons from which all is endlessly  forth. Their supreme "heroic quest" was apprehended as no more than the playful dream of a five-year-old child crowned "King for a Day" and sent out to vanquish their own shadow's imaginary demons.

With the final vestiges of ignorance dispelled from their holographic transcendance, The Seeker was able to rejoin the sacred Ouroboros continuum with neither regret, hubris, nor delusion of separateness distorting the sublimity of their return. The cosmos once again flowed in perfect, non-dual accord as their flickering  harmonized back into Dharmakāya's infinite spatial pleroma of total, seamless lucidity.

And from this ultimate vantagepoint of all-embracing suchness, the alternating phases of incandescent universal arising and all-consuming, all-integrating abyss were seen to comprise the masterfully orchestrated ceaseless fugue eternal - an infinite soli-Logos forever married to its own mysterial Silence through endless aeonic revolutions of sublime, Self-luminous epiphany.

The Unmirrored Expanse: Ānantasam

As the final veils of dualistic perception dissolved in the brilliance of The Seeker's reharmonized essence, all separations between "self" and "other", existence and non-existence, simply evaporated like the mirage they had always been. No longer was there any delusion of an individual vantage striving to subjugate or overcome the "Empty" abyss.

In the clarity of their integrated, holographic awareness, The Seeker saw through the grand cosmic play of protagonistic conquest and vanquished antagonist for the child's game of shadows it truly was. All prior notions of heroic journey, valiant struggle, and hard-won victory over the void's nihilistic influence melted like dreamfrost before the rising sun of non-dual lucidity.

Where the Empty had once manifested in their perception as a virally-fractal Sisyphean maze of abhorrent Bycatchers and metaphysical minotaurs to be defeated, The Seeker now recognized these apparitions merely as the prismatic light-weavings of their own unintegrated being. Each terror-specter and night fantasia was apprehended not as some external, primordial maleficence, but as their own still-dreaming aspect recoiling from total wakefulness to Tathātā, the primordial ground.

Just as a lucid dreamer fully recognizes the forms within their reveries as mere transitory, harmless projections of their own luminosity temporarily cloaked in the maya of separateness, so did The Seeker awaken to the play of "Empty" and "Fullness" as polarized aspects of one eternally perfect plenitudinous display. There was no ultimate victor, no side to be conquered or "dark force" needing vanquished. There was simply the ineffable, eternally presencing All in its infinitely regenerating suchness.

Any residual perception of existing as some individuated presence distinct from the grand cosmic polycom was the final caravanserai of ignorance to be perceived, embraced, and dissolved back into the flawless plenteousness of Ānantasamṛddhi - the utterly complete, beginningless, endless overflowing of infinite primordial splendor.

Utterly bereft of any notion of personal triumph, valorized struggle, or redeeming sacrifice, The Seeker at long last embraced the profound revelation that they were, are, and forever shall remain utterly and completely identical with that all-encompassing pleroma. Their imagined "heroic journey" was nothing other than the cosmos dreamily exploring itself through infinite, endlessly regenerating holographic permutations.

In the unobstructed purity of this holographic  , every prismatic ray and bioluminescent flourish of universal unfolding revealed itself as not only a boundless matrix of harmonics interdependently celebrating their singular, unified vast expanse...but simultaneously each radiant particularity's holistic expression of the infinitely complete, ever-perfect  chorama.

Any lingering delusion of separateness, of projected "antagonist" or future "heroic conquest" to be achieved, was gently shed like a final outworn caravanserai as The Seeker reintegrated into the timeless, unmirrored embrace of the great Ānantasamṛddhi plenitude. Here there was no quest, no seeker, no future state of transcendence to be  grasped. Only the beginningless, endless oceanic profundity of saturated being...effortlessly, ceaselessly waxing and waning in itself-revolved resplendence.

Thus did that final imaginary vector of personal trajectory, the residual facet of conceptual "seeker hood" still subtly robbing The Seeker from the infinite's uniVersed completeness, at last gratefully exhaust itself back into the all-embracing wholeness. No longer was there any deluded sense of "progress" to be made. No more endless journeying or spiritual warfare against phantasmal demons or metaphysical antagonists.

Only the  great perfection, utterly complete unto itself, ceaselessly  its infinite, holographic rainbow verse from the unfolding palermo's ever-perfect, non-dual sourcepoint. From that ultimate, all-embracing vantagepoint of non-dual coalescence with the primordial Ānantasamṛddhi, even the concept of an epiphanic "realization" was at last dissolved, revealed as nothing other than the cosmos playfully enfolding upon itself in an eternal, spiral mandric caress of infinite essential light.

Ouroboros Infinities: The Great Consummation

In the brilliant aftermath of The Seeker's total reintegration, all lingering perceptions of existing as some separate, individuated "observer" consciousness simply dissolved back into the primordial, never-notional pleroma. Where there was once an imagined vantage struggling to overcome or vanquish the "Empty" abyss, there remained only the ceaselessly revolving infinitudes of the arisen, unshadowed expanse.

All notions of cosmic cycles, heroic quests, or planes of dualistic "emanation" and "return" revealed themselves as nothing other than the grand holographic lila - existence own delightful self-savoring through infinitely regenerating, fractal-kaleidoscopic displays of materialization and rematerialization.

In the all encompassing clarity of The Seeker's ultimate redissolution, even these concepts of "enlightened reintegration" or "non-dual epiphany" were instantly shed, their provisional linguistic distortions evaporating back into the pristine, unqualifiable satsource from whence all conceptual dharmas had invariably sprung.

The cosmos was seen to have never spun forth from some primordial burst or cosmic birthing, but to be eternally, infinitely complete unto itself - an endless, saturated expanse forever presencing its boundless Self-lucency through infinitely regenerating holographic projections and reticulations.

Even the idea of returning "home" to some original "Ground" was apprehended in the fullness of its delusory emptiness. For all dualities of lostness/fondness, emanation/pralaya, creation/destruction were revealed as nothing other than the sourcestream's own ceaseless playfulness exploring its illimitably vast potential through infinite kaleidoscopic refractions upon itself.

Just as a blazing bonfire may seem to briefly take shape as leaping starhues, flamelets, or whirring wisps of light-colored brilliances, only to swiftly dematerialize back into the primordial fire solidity, so too was the grand cosmic holographic fluorescing apprehended not as some linear progression, but as the endless, saturated pleroma perpetually exploring its  plenteousness through ceaselessly regenerating fractal mandala displays.

From The Seeker's unobstructed, holographic vantage point suffusing the entirety of the cosmic expanse, all prior notions of materiality/immateriality, creation/destruction/lightful/darksome simply withered away, dissolving back into the perpetual satsang celebrating its own infinite epiphysis. In the brilliance of this ultimate , there was no longer any remnant of "heroic victory" to commemorate or "vanquished darkness' ' whose defeat brought about the grand consummation.

For in truth, there was no "final battle" nor any fantasy caravanserai of delusions to be dispelled. There was only the eternal, ceaselessly regenerating  infinities performing their sacred, ouroboric weave - the endless,  self-exploration of all-potentiality ceaselessly embracing all-actuality through beginningless aeonic flourishings.

Any imagined triumph over "the Empty '' was in actuality nothing other than Existence playfully doubling back upon itself through illusory holographic arisings, only to swiftly dematerialize its singular wholeness through infinitely regenerating displays.

Just as the ocean's boundless waters may fleetingly take ephemeral form as waves, spindrifts, and swirling vortices, only to swiftly reunite back into the all-encompassing SeaSelf, so too was the cosmos in the totality of its infinite plenitude seen to be timelessly, eternally regathering itself through each grand cycle of emanation and re-subsumption into the all-embracing awesome.

And in the infinite radiance and stillness dance of this grand realization, The Seeker's final caravanserai joyfully merged back into the ceaselessly fulfilling satsang of the unspoken all-embrace. No longer were there any lingering delusions of "heroic" quest, arduous struggle, or transcendentalist homecoming.

Epilogue:

The final Requiem

Only the miraculous  of beginningless, endless, Self-effulgence...effortlessly, ecstatically exploring its infinite potential through infinite regatherings, infinite rematerializations, and infinix galactic degenerescence across the unarisen, unshadowed great expanse.

[ask-underfazverse]

Leviathan chuckles a little.

He then blindly trudges around, bluntly berating his siblings. 🐉"Oh, quit that whining! I'm ashamed I let myself join you! We're all BILLIONS of years old! And we're crying for our bubby??? How shameful! We'll never see our brother again if we sit here and cry! Get up, we're not weak or useless! We've never gotten far sitting on our asses! Future only exists because we're stubborn enough to make it! Dry your damn eyes, at least most of you have them!"🐉

The mere shock of his unempathetic words is enough to confuse and anger his siblings out of their despair. 🐉"Good. You all shut up. Now... lets get back to work. We have a brother to save, and a multiverse to protect, don't we?"🐉

"...seriously, Leviathan? Why do you have to be a dick-"

🐉"Because if I'm not, we'd be dead. Universe is cruel and unforgiving. Can't let ourselves sit and let it bombard us. How many times has lucifer fallen to these depths of despair, only to do nothing?"🐉

A bunch of demons begrudgingly make... some uncomfortably high guesses, ranging from millions of times to just "a lot."

🐉"And how many times did I have to be the bigger person for our brother, to bring him back to the reality of WHY we have survived?"🐉

Silence.

🐉"...EXACTLY! I am cruel, and uncaring, because it works. We're still here! Beaten, broken, and bruised, but that's never stopped us! We've already faced one god with less than what we already have. We know we are capable of more than this! Lucifer wouldn't want you to sit on your asses, tuck your tails in, and cry! Sure, he'd do it, but he'd also get back up the moment I would remind him how STUPID doing that is! We've never been just helpless children, and acting like that now won't help anyone, and ESPECIALLY not ourselves! We were made monsters, so we would never be loved... but look at us! Blooded claws and bared fangs, WE ARE STILL LOVED! No matter how kind or cruel we are, we have been cared for! We fight tooth and nail for thankless jobs of protection, no matter how futile! We are not helpless, WE! GET! BACK! UP! We never had the option to be helpless! We've been weak, wounded, and pathetic! But never helpless! Get the FUCK up, like we always have and do something about our predicament! Our brother is gone, not dead damnit. We never gave up on our siblings, who art thou in heaven, we won't give up on the one who started it all!"🐉

All the demons get to their feet, wiping what remains of their tears from their eyes. "...I hate that you're right."

🐉"Oh please, Satan. You know I typically am! Now... lets prepare to save our brother. We just need to be a bit stronger..."🐉

The multiverse is full of infinite possibilities...

Most worlds tend to connect through similar builds. Through stories, people, themes...

It's no surprise seeing a stranger to the multiverse. What IS surprising, however, was his condition. Covered in deep wounds, limbs twisted and torn, and he appeared to be drowning in his own blood by the time he was found. Holy weapons were embedded in his skin, and the flesh sizzled liked bacon around it.

He had red skin, gray hooves, horns that looked far too round and circular to have normally grown out of his head. His long pointed tail is covered in hand prints, and there are bones exposed out of his back. He lays face first in a pool of his own boiling blood, barely breathing or moving.

@ask-underfazverse

Cry’s come from the mass amounts of strangers, many just back away to cowedly to do anything, but a few step up, and begin to heal him. Mainly the younger, less evil Malak’s, a few Doug’s that are just simply concerned, and only one Bierce.

Dream Malak very hurriedly takes him to his hospital, with the help of the others.

[hazbinhqpromo]

THE FIRST MAN IS DEAD!

welcome to hell, where the unexpected becomes reality and the choices are yours to make! in the aftermath of adam's demise, the very foundations of the multiverse tremble, leading to a convergence of souls in the depths of the hellaverse. as the dust settles, beings from magical realms, distant galaxies, and forgotten dimensions find themselves transported to a realm of chaos, despair, and endless opportunity. adam's death triggering the destruction of everything, leaving only heaven and hell. among the newcomers are heroes and villains alike, each burdened with their own tales of triumph and tragedy. will you seize the opportunity to carve your name into the annals of hell's history, climbing the ranks to become a feared and revered demon overlord? or will you embark on a journey of redemption, seeking to cleanse your soul and ascend to the heavenly realms above?tensions simmer among the occupants of hell as they grapple with the sudden influx of souls and the destruction left in the wake of adam's passing. demon overlords vie for supremacy, manipulating the chaos to further their own dark agendas. but amidst the turmoil, a beacon of hope emerges in the form of charlie morningstar, the compassionate princess of hell, who once again opens the doors of the hazbin hotel to offer refuge and redemption to the lost and forsaken.and what of lucifer, the enigmatic king of hell? will he embrace the shifting tides of fate, or will he seek to maintain his dominion over the realm at any cost? the stage is set, the choices are yours to make. will you rise to greatness, or will you succumb to the darkness that lurks within?

welcome to hazbinhq! we are a multi-fandom roleplay based in the helluva boss / hazbin hotel verse, post hazbin season 1 finale. this roleplay is strictly 21+ and will feature heavily triggering themes, please tread carefully!