#screaming pointlessly into the void | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

peregrineggsandham · 2 years

Text

Hollow Knight Playthrough Update:

Passed the 110 hour mark, completion at 110%.

2. Ooohoohoo Pure Vessel I have so many feelings

This is very, very disjointed, I'm sorry, I got a combined flu and omicron booster shoot (or as I like to call it, the flooster) and am. feeling. thoughts. in all of the nerve endings. head is large warm cotton ball that soaked up some coffee.

Anyhow. Pure Vessel. The chains in the dream arena just like in the Black Egg, the fact that their dream of themself is everything they are not and could never be, the SILENT SCREAM I am REELING, walking in on them standing tall (is that the same armor they wore in the statue? I need to go and check) in all white, them casting it off, hunching over, but in their dreams they are pure and perfect and it hurts.

They are clearly aware and alive, since the infection got out - we, too, must be, given the siblings' "lingering will" and our own ability to perform altruistic actions. The king almost definitely knew, based on the Path of Pain ending. I wonder, how aware was he of how many vessels were in the abyss? I did some counting, and it looks like there are 10 vessel bodies in Nosk's den, all of which probably hatched from the giant void-soaked egg in its back room (you know, the place where we find pale ore, which is in some way associated with the Pale King). How that got there, no idea, but it looks like the one from the birthplace. Ergo, probably where the vessels came from. That suggests at least 10 vessels can hatch from one egg.

And that suggests that the king may have thought he was condemning a tenth of the number of children to be hollowed by the void. To be clear! The correct number of children to sacrifice to the abyss is 0! Zero children! Zilch! But I wonder, how much did he know? How much did he regret, when thousands upon thousands upon thousands of things that he couldn't, couldn't believe were actually his children, began climbing the platforms and... dying? I've seen fan theories suggest he killed the impure ones who made it to the top, but I don't think that's the case (they fall en masse and all around us, meaning he'd have to be throwing the bodies pretty far off that platform, and also that seems pointlessly cruel - and I don't think the king was cruel so much as callous and willfully blind, bury my father with his eyes shut tight) - we don't take fall damage, but we also land consistently on our feet and the falling vessels do not, and our heads may very well be our most fragile part. And can you imagine making that climb newly-born and stumbling about, without cloak or claw or wings? '

Point is... uh... no real point, I'm just rambling, I have a lot of thoughts and almost enough tylenol.

Maybe he thought he was sacrificing a thousand eggs - or a hundred - or a hundred thousand - and that they would never have a chance to develop, only yolk and potential, only a shell within which the void could take form, and don't bugs often lay hundreds upon hundreds of eggs with the expectation that most will die? That, I can understand. I can even see how he might think it a necessary sacrifice. The White Lady spoke of them like seeds, of which plants have thousands on thousands, and the failure of most to take root is not a tragedy. And maybe the king expected that out of that thousand, or hundred thousand, the void in one might coagulate and shape itself into some mockery of a child, and emerge, and follow the light, and climb, and exist as an empty automaton. They were never children, he might have thought, and those that hatched certainly were not. They couldn't be. They couldn't be. Please.

Maybe that is how he lived with himself. First safe in the knowledge that most would never hatch - as is the way of bugs and plants and most things eaten from the inside out, and when not only did they, but at least ten emerged from a single egg, he was instead safe in the knowledge that, well, they aren't really children, are they?

By the time he starts to doubt, it is too late.

Imagine that moment. The horror of what have I done, and the immediate locking away of that thought, because the lives of thousands depend on a plan that you now know will fail, that you left thousands upon thousands of children to die for (rather than perhaps merely preventing a select few hundred from being born, if we're being very very generous to the Pale King re: egg numbers).

(Of course the Collector throws an entire other wrench into that, holy shit??? They are 100% some kind of kingsmould-gone-wrong, four arms, right height, and that is horrifying. Terrible implications. The king must have known they existed, they laugh, they have a voice and convictions and some kind of relationship with that noble in the Queen's Gardens, they are purely and undeniably a person, and if that happened before the vessels were created, how did the king not see, how did he not take that as a clear sign that void could carry just as much personhood as flesh, how did he not realize. or did he. did he, and did he decide not to think about it, just as he stowed that one tender moment with the Hollow Knight away behind a painful path of buzzsaws.)

Maybe that is why the door to the Tower of Love is locked.

i'm not writing a song about this idea what are you talking about

And why did he bring the White Palace into a dream? Was it to run, to hide? By going into the Radiance's domain? That dream was uninfected, the essence was white, and yet... I wonder if he was hiding, or if he was giving up. Either way, he left his people to die in the city. None shall enter, none shall leave.

Oh, and isn't it interesting, that the Pure Vessel shoots a ray of nails? That they summon spikes from the floor? The former I could believe they got from the Radiance's influence, but this is them untainted by her. This is how they see themself in dream, how they wish they were. Different theory: a love for sharp objects is genetic. Not going to deny I half expected their final phase to involve buzzsaws.

the silent boss scream oh my god

Also it's such a good fight, it is exactly the kind of pattern-finding, learn-the-cues-and-respond-correctly, see-what-I-have-to-do-and-just-need-to-do-it fight that I love, a la Mantis Lords and Grimm. The polar opposite would be the fights where you need to respond to a random pattern in an attack, a la Radiance and Zote. Pure Vessel is pure fun and I'm loving it.

I beat them in the Hall of Gods tonight and then did it twice in a row twenty minutes later, but I'm going for three times in a row before I'm comfortable trying the fourth pantheon again (also need to practice Lost Kin a little, though I got the hang of them eventually - also do they. is it just me or do they dash slash. like, the nail art? I mean a lot of enemies do great- and dash-slash-esque things, but also I looked at my old video for the Lost Kin fight to see how I'd beat them then and they bowed at the end, which on the one hand is almost definitely just a response to meeting a sibling and thanking me for setting them to rest [and a little visual cue of "see!! see, they weren't hollow either!!!"], but also.... secret fourth nailmaster conspiracy theory starting now, let's go, this pairs horribly very well with the sly-is-secretly-hegemol thoughts that spiraled in my head out of speculation about the original inhabitant of false knight's armor, that very large nail, and how maggots work THEY ARE FLY LARVAE, did the City of Tears discriminate against all flies and have them do menial labor, or just maggots, we know larval stages are a thing because grubs and grubfather and Marmu, they aren't a separate species, they are flies, so were flies an underclass? is it because they aren't beetles and most Hallownesters seem to be beetles? "weakest members of the kingdom of Hallownest" said the Hunter's journal, what fantastic motivation for one to become a knight and prove them wrong, to train with the nail, and while the False Knight has that mace NONE of the statues or silhouettes of Hegemol have a weapon so we don't know what he used and then I googled out of curiosity and I am not the first person to have had these thoughts what the fuck Hollow Knight fans the wait for Silksong is doing things to y'all's minds except then somehow NONE of the other versions of this theory I've found have talked at much length about the maggot thing so the thoughts just kept coming i cannot get over this please help).

Anyway, the fight is going well! The telegraph for that void tentacles thing they do, I keep getting it confused with the one for shooting nails everywhere, so I end up dashing straight into their void stomach. (If I get a void heart, they get a void stomach.)

Also! Hollow Knight sweater obtained! Felt weird to have paid so little on Steam for a game I'm getting so much out of, so this supports Team Cherry and also is cozy and has charms on the sleeves, 10/10.

It is a little frightening how quickly I feel utterly in love with this game. Might take a break from pantheons to tackle the speedrun achievements. Or steel soul. Ha. Ha ha. Heh. mm. maybe not.

...

alright new theory, grubfather is hegemol. soft spoken. small, maggot-shaped, could fit in armor. squishy, good reason to cover in metal plates. general "retired dad" vibes. yes. yes, I am adopting this idea into my official understanding of the lore. team cherry please take note.

#hollow knight #hegemol was actually grubfather and sly stacked on each other's shoulders inside that armor

13 notes · View notes

xx-hail2theking-xx · 1 year

Note

...pointlessly. yeah.

shy uh, overheard me saying I would mind if shy snapped Setponap in half, or something of the like. I'm... extremely upset with xpr, after what xp did. not only with the void.

...xp wanted us to deliver a message to Reguel. when we made it clear we had no interest, they woke up screaming and sobbing and... if it was 'just' a nightmare, it sounds like it might very well have been the worst they'd ever had. of being tortured by xpr.

maybe it's too much assumption. but things xp have said before...

...

it was a pointless thought on my part. and I shouldn't have answered when shy asked why I was 'invoking' shy's name.

i saw.

if i could, i would hug my sib for all eternity </3

#and never let them go.#chrono #what if we lost our minds - raum

3 notes · View notes

mothsbakery · 2 years

Text

Welcome to the fun zone.

Hi, I'm Moth. I like to pointlessly scream into the void. I write and draw sometimes, i might post some of it. I dont understand how tumblr works, i just come to look at my friends' shitposts. Pronouns are they/him btw

#pinned post #blog intro

2 notes · View notes

nyyxqueen · 1 year

Text

Y'know it's so weird going into my activity page and seeing that people are following me.

It's wild man

People are listening to my pointlessly screaming at the void

#I have never owned a social media before #And I get slightly high off of interaction #But it's fineeee #:)

1 note · View note

youhavereachedtheendofpie · 1 year

Note

✨, 🎈, 🧿, 💌

✨What's a fic you've posted you wish you could breathe life into again and have people talking about it? (or simply a fic you wish got more credit)

ok so the bane of my existence as a writer is that I am so dependent on feedback to finish anything that isn't a oneshot (and I hate it thanks), so if I feel I'm just screaming into the void pointlessly my brain will basically dry up, but for a short answer let's just say the two most current ones 💙 💜

🎈describe your style as a writer; is it fixed? does it change?

probably somewhat too convoluted sentence structures and a propensity for focusing on the characters' inner mental state and psychology, and at this point I would say I'm probably quite stuck in my ways 🤷‍♀️

🧿what steps do you take to not take things personally if a fic doesn't do well, or if your writing/posting/sharing experience isn't going how you'd like it to?

still working on that tbh 🫠 I'll let you know if I ever experience either...

💌share something with us about an up-and-coming work (WIP) that has you excited!

there hasn't been anything really happening for quite a while now, so this snippet from my notes on OHIBA will have to do:

"I want to live. It doesn't have to be exciting or grand or glamorous. I just want a long, simple, ordinary life, as long as I can be with people whom I love and who love me, whom I can belong with. And I want a large family. I want children, as soon as the Empire is defeated. Or in no more than five years, whichever happens first."

Bemused, Cassian smiled. He could see it, could allow himself to picture it. Her with a small baby in her arms, happy and grinning. He would be an uncle… he would like that, he thought. He would like to see the world filled with life again.

#pie replies #ask game #lunapascal #💙thank you darling💙

1 note · View note

dontyoudarejudgemesworld · 5 years

Text

The Apple Doesn’t Fall Far: Chapter Three

Alright guys, so this takes place after a bit of a time skip. While I know that time skips are like coma theories (as in a sort of cheap way out) this is meant to illustrate the sort of relation ship Bill and her 'uncle' are creating. It's a long one (6,000+ words) but gives some insight to the characters. I know not everyone is a fan of time skips but if I were to go from start to finish for this whole fic it would be longer then the whole Lord of the Rings series so forgive me. The next few chapters will all include some kind of time skip as the focus of them is more to establish and form relationships serving as kind of independent one shots instead of parts of the over arching story-line. I understand that this may be a bit unpopular but considering what's coming it seems the best way to structure it to achieve my end goal with out having it drag on forever. I told you this was going to get weird. Also as an aside, I know there were some grammar and spelling errors in the first two chapters, this is due in part to my normal Beta reader being unavailable (because adulting is time consuming). That being said I had a stand in look this over an took much more time in transcribing it so I hope most of the errors were addressed.

Once again it’s posted here on AO3. And now onward to the insanity.

~*~ One Year Later

Stan sat pantsless in the TV room wondering if this was what contentment felt like. Beside him on the floor sat Billie leaning back against the dinosaur skull staring at the trash TV that played across the screen. Murphy announced ‘you ARE NOT the father’ for the third time in a row and the young woman who sat beside him burst out crying as a man who looked like he should be selling used cars jumped up triumphantly to the jeers of the audience. Beside Stan, his ‘niece’ let out a sharp bark of laughter as she took a sip of her soda. He glanced at her and shook his head; she really was a strange one.

In baggy basketball shorts and a tank top, he could see the mural of tattoos she sported. The sleeve on her right arm was actually a bed of colorful flowers and vines with skulls woven in, macabre but beautiful if he was honest. On her left shoulder was a raven’s head that looked like it was tearing through her flesh that was a little to photo-realistic for his taste. She also had a peacock on her left thigh with a long flowing tail that curved around to end on her knee cap, and a small green dog robot thing from some cartoon or other with the word ‘DOOM!!’ in crude childish letters on her right ankle. Wild black curls spilled over her shoulders in an unkempt mane and dark circles around her eyes told him that she had spent too long at the Skull Fracture last night getting rowdy with the lumberjacks. “Told you, Stan that means you’re picking up the tab at Greasy’s,” she told him cheerfully and he let out an exaggerated groan. He should know by now that betting against her was a fool errand. Over the last year, he’d learned a lot of things about Billie. Like she had no fixed address just various post office boxes, and instead, she lived out of a duffle bag and motel rooms. She worked for herself and seemed to make pretty decent money though he had all but confirmed his suspicion that she toed a very fine line between what was legal and what wasn’t. In truth, she played it pretty close to the vest when it came to discussing her work but she’d let a few things slip and he was willing to bet that she was a bloodhound at least part of the time. Someone that loan sharks and crime lords used to find people that didn't want to be found. A dangerous and ethically ambiguous profession at best. And while he couldn’t help but dislike that idea he couldn’t exactly say too much on the matter, instead of taking some small comfort in the fact that at least she wasn’t a full-fledged criminal like he’d been. Maybe if she had kids one day they’d manage to be upstanding members of society, but something told him she wasn’t the settling down type. Overall throughout seven visits and quite a few calls they had developed a comfortable relationship. After the fourth visit, he’d broken down and invited her to just come to stay at the Shack instead of staying at The Twin Beds. Which he regretted almost instantly; Wendy and Soos had both noticed at once and plied him with questions. Fortunately, Billie seemed to have inherited his Ma’s snake tongue and smoothly lied that she was the daughter of an old acquaintance that he was helping out with a place to stay between jobs without batting an eye. Soos and Wendy had been a bit wary of her at first, but they’d come to warm up to her. She tended to help around the shop and was generally amicable flashing charming smiles and quick wit to win them over. He was fairly certain she’d won over Wendy by covering for her so she could skip out to hang out with her friends a few times but couldn’t prove it. And Soos’s natural good nature had caused him to warm to her quickly, especially when she started helping him come up with and build new attractions for Stan to take credit for. When he wasn’t leading tours and she wasn’t off drinking and brawling with the bikers of the town (a pass time she seemed to enjoy a tad too much in his opinion) the two of them usually spent their time watching trash TV in between runs to Greasy’s diner and the bar. Though after she’d started staying with him he’d discovered that the woman could cook. He’d told her at one point that she didn’t need to but she’d shrugged it off with a smile and that cool laugh of hers saying ‘I spent enough nights hungry and cold that it’s a pleasure to be able to make a decent meal.’ That thought had given him pause to wonder what exactly she’d been through; her mother certainly sounded like a piece of work, but it seemed like so much more. But as much as he wanted to know he didn’t ask. In fact, he hardly asked her anything about her past and she in return didn’t ask about his. Instead, they had found a strange sort of comfort in each other's company. Two broken people who had had hard lives that could spend time around the other without pretending to be anything more than they were. The first few visits they'd both been on their best behavior, Billie had kept her habits of beer and brawling to herself and he had cut back on the cigar and shoplifting. But after an incident involving Billie sucker-punching a guy for asking her if she wanted to come back to his room and put a smile on her pretty face after which Stan had declared it was time to leave snatching the guy's wallet as they fled they had come to a silent agreement that they didn't need to put on 'upstanding citizens' acts anymore. He had thought a few times that he vaguely remembered that this strange feeling of accepting each other for who they were was what family had felt like back when Ford and he had been children, but he couldn’t quite be sure. “Earth to Stan,” Billie’s smooth southern drawl broke through his thoughts pulling him back to find her head cocked staring up at him one brow cocked curiously, “You didn't hear a damned word I said did yuh?” she asked a smirk pulling on her lips. “Naw, I was too busy thinking how sick I’m gonna feel at dinner so I cant go to Greasy’s,” he told her to cover his sappy musing. She rolled her eyes as she shook her head. “The most expensive thing on the menu is 15 dollars. I know you're cheap but…,” she began only to be interrupted as an obnoxious commercial can on the volume raising ten octaves. “Are you completely miserable?” came Bud Gleeful’s voice. “Well I am now,” she growled putting one hand over her ear and glaring at the TV as the commercial played. Watching she cocked an eyebrow as Stan’s picture flashed up to be stamped with ‘FRAUD’, “What bullshrimp is this?” she asked incredulously, “That the chubby car salesman? He’s ten times the liar yuh are, how the hell does he have the gall to call yuh out like that?” “I know, right? At least my customers have some interesting stories to go with the junk I sell them,” he said indignantly, “And what’s worse is it’s working. He’s got his kid pretending to be psychic and the tourists are eating it up. Heck, even the locals are. Putting a real cramp in my wallet. I wish there was something I could do to hit him hard but nothing seems to be working. Even the Squid-abitt isn’t enough,” he railed shaking his head. Beside him, Billie cocked her head one eye squinted in thought as she stared at the TV. “What about someone who can talk ta the dead?” she asked and his head snapped over to her his eyebrows shooting up. “What? Well, yeah that would be a real money maker but who the hell do I know that can do that?” he scoffed as he took a drink of his soda, “Even I can't pull that off.” “I can,” she said matter factly and his face pulled into a look of bored skepticism. “Yeah, and I can teach a pig to fly,” he snorted and she looked up at him that sly smirk of hers slowly crawling over her lips. “Ya wound me, Stanford. I’m from the south where snake oil peddlers are ah’ dime ah’ dozen. Hell Bud’s one that’s why he’s pulling this off so well,” she told him in a slightly condescending tone, “Tell you what I’ll go double or nothing on Greasy’s. If I can give yuh a two-night show that will make more then you do in the same two days. That means two dinners at Greasy’s and braggin’ rights from now until the end of the world,” she challenged and he couldn’t help the lopsided grin that pulled at his lips. “Only if you get it up and running by Saturday,” he added, that would give her the rest of the night and tomorrow to prepare. Not to mention that those were the moneymaker days with tour buses on top of regular foot traffic. A challenge he was sure even she couldn’t pull off but she just grinned and put her hand out. “Prepare ta eat crow, Stanford Pines,” she told him as he grasped her hand causing him to let out a sharp hoarse laugh. “Even you aren’t that good kid,” he sniped unable to help the smug laugh that escaped him at the fire that lit in her eyes at his challenge. “Oh you’re fixin’ ta eat those words old man,” she warned as she hopped to her feet. “Hey what about dinner,” he barked as she turned on her heel to head up to the attic. “Time is money, Stanford. Order Chinese from that there place at the mall, card’s by the phone,” she snapped as she hustled off to get started. Watching her go he couldn’t help but smile. She really was something else, and he’d managed to get dinner without paying for it.

~*~

A day and a half…that was all he’d given her. And now he was thinking that had been too much time. The woman had to be some sort of witch. There was no other explanation as to how literally overnight she’d managed to pull this off. By Friday morning there had been flyers plastered all over town with the simple drawing of a closed eye with the words ‘Esmeralda. Two nights only at the Mystery Shack.’ And apparently, somehow everyone in town had heard the whispers about a real live gypsy that could talk to the dead by noon (he had a theory that Billie had somehow gotten Wendy to help her spread the word but once again couldn’t prove it). By Friday night there was a deceptively large tent set up around the totem pole that looked like it had come out of some storybook. It would have been impressive if he didn’t feel the impending loss breathing down his neck. His one hope was that she wouldn't be able to pull off the act; after all, she had become someone the locals recognized by now so they surely wouldn't buy it when they saw her. That was until he’d come downstairs Saturday morning to find a gypsy woman sitting at the table nursing a cup of coffee. Her skin held an olive tint, her eyes a rich deep brown, and her curly black mane was held away from her face by a scarf. She wore a frilled white shirt that hung off one shoulder and a skirt made up of layers of gauzy material in a rainbow of colors with a coin skirt hung low on her hips. Bangles crowded her wrists and a few on her ankle making her every movement musical. Staring at her she flashed him a bright grin. “Good morning Mr. Mystery I’m Esmeralda and I speak to the other side,” she greeted him in an accent that was European but not too strong. Staring at her it took him a minute to realize that she was his daughter. What gave it away was the bandage on her left hand, it was neatly wrapped and wouldn't be worth much note if he didn’t see the slight bump where her extra finger was folded across her palm to hide it. Shaking his head he stared open mouth at her, she looked like a cliche and it was brilliant. The tourist would eat it up. “How?” he demanded his voice cracking in indignant awe causing her to chuckle. “Lots of foundation, contacts, and years of practicing a dozen accents,” she told him smugly in that outrageous but somehow totally believable accent, “You can always admit defeat now Stan and I will only demand one of my dinners,” she offered. “No way toots. You never call a fight early,” he replied and she shrugged as she took another sip of her coffee. Arrogance rolled off her and he let out a low grumble, while he could appreciate her confidence speaking to the dead was a tall order. He opened his mouth to say something to her when Wendy's voice came from the gift shop. "Stan a tour bus just pulled up!" Glancing at 'Esmeralda' she flashed a wicked smile as she stood in a rattle of bangles and rolled her shoulders. Looking him up and down she couldn't help the smirk that pulled at her lips. "May the best con win, " she laughed resting all her weight in on hip as she stretched. Stan couldn't help but let out a bark of laughter that rose in him as a competitive fire lit in him. "Age and treachery with overcome youth and exuberance every time, " he reminded her and she shrugged as she moved to slip out the back door. Watching her go he shook his head getting his cane and flipping his eye patch down, he had to admit having some competition was making the day a bit more exciting. The next 10 hours were a whirlwind of activity as a flood of tourists poured through. He spun his stories with a flare he hadn't felt in years as Esmeralda flittered about. He had to admit that she was good; adding some rustic flare to his stories telling of sighting of the Cat-a-peid in the 'old country' and backing up the claim that the magic crystal they sold were steeped in the mystical energy of the forest. Between the two of them, they managed to create a fevered excitement in the visitors who all but threw their money at Wendy. But even as he reveled in what were surely record profits he couldn't help but notice that all of Billie's help was a double-edged sword. Even as she hyped his attractions she filtered about reading palms and offering charms that she made appear from her skirt. Shiny rocks and crudely carved figures on a bit of string, things he recognized from the bulk supply warehouse he bought his own junk from. A ten here and a twenty there that she slipped away with a smile and an offer to come see her tonight as the spirts had many messages and perhaps one was for them. And he finally got to see her speak to the dead, at least that was what it looked like. Gravitating to a cluster of tourists she placed a hand on her temple as she closed her eyes. Letting out a humming sound she peered up at the curious group. "There is a woman. Older, matronly who wishes to speak to one of you. Some connection with the letter T, " she said softly as she hummed again pausing for dramatic effect, "A name or hobbies maybe. Teresa. Or Teapots. Or Tammy. Or trains...tarting. Tabatha, maybe. I'm sorry it's hard to hear her. Her voice is a soft one but warm like..., " he began only to have one if the men, a middle-aged guy speak up suddenly. "Thelma?" he asked suddenly, "My Mema was named Thelma, " he said excitedly and a murmur went through the crowd. Billie smiled softly as though listening to someone speak before nodding. "Yes, Thelma. She passed suddenly, but not unexpectedly right, " she told him and he nodded his face pinching ever so slightly with emotion. "In her sleep, but she was 98," he supplied and Billie smiled gently as she nodded. "She wants you to know that it was painless and she is at peace, " she told him kindly as she shifted as though leaning closer to someone to hear, "She says that you're worrying over something financial. A promotion or payment of some sort. You are concerned that it won't happen, that it keeps you up at night. You are sleeping and it worries her. Do you know what she's talking about?" she asked and he nodded silently the crowd around him starting in wonder. "Ye...yea. I know what she's talking about, " he choked and Billie nodded sympathetically, "She says that you don't need to worry. That it will all work itself out. She says to tell you to have faith, that God wouldn't have you face a trial you could not handle, " she said her eyes flattering closed once more, "She says she loves you and that you need to read for your own health." For a moment silence hung in the air before the man moved forward and threw his arms around Billie thanking her. Around them, the crowd had tripled in size and an excited clamor rose from them all talking at once. It was amazing and a total sham. He'd seen this sort of psychic before, they were all over daytime TV. And while he had no idea how they did it he knew in his bones they were fakes. But even so, the audiences ate it up including the one now swarming around Billie. "Oh she's good, " he growled as he stood watching her work the crowd telling them that she would speak to the spirits tonight and they were welcome to come, no latter than 7 and cash only for her small admission fee. She only asked 20 dollars so she could continue her travels. And every single one ate it up like starving men. She smiled at just the right moments and spoke just the right word. And that when it hit him. This wasn't her first time pulling this con. She was poised and practiced like she did this every day. This was an old hand to her, a well-practiced grift not some idea she"d randomly thrown out. He'd assumed she was just winging it, she was a PI not a psychic. At least she was now. Just like he was Mr. Mystery now. But before that, he'd been a lot of other things. And it appeared before being a PI Bill had been other things as well. In that moment he realized that he'd been played, that he'd assumed she'd been bluffing without knowing her tells. She was a con artist just like him, and he should have known. Betting against her was a fools errand, and not just when it came to daytime talk shows. She was his daughter after all, and it seemed some of his talents had passed on.

~*~

Billie sighed as she she leaned against the support of the porch, a cigarette in one hand and a can of Pitt cola in the other. She felt like a whole new person after a hot shower to wash off the ton of bronzer and foundation she’d used to make her pale skin darker. It was nice to be out of that stupid heavy skirt and back in sweats and a t-shirt. Pre-dawn just started to brush the sky above the trees with thin lines of pinks and oranges the trees shadows stretched out like fingers of darkness trying to resist the coming day. It got light so early up here it made her feel like it was later (or earlier) then 3:30 in the morning. It really was beautiful though, like a Rob Boss painting. She had to admit when she’d first rolled into the little Organ town the year before she had found the picture perfect place a bit unsettling. It had been the plan to show up meet Stan and never look back, after all she’d never thought he would want anything to do with his brother’s vagabond daughter. Guess that’s what she got for thinking. It turned out her uncle seemed to want something to do with her after all, and surprisingly she wanted something to do with him.

After her research she had expected to find a cold logical man who had no room for sentimentality. While she knew scientific papers were written specifically lacking any emotion his had seemed extra sterile. Even the forwards to the where normally the researcher had some kind of tone had been devoid of anything to give her a glimpse of personality. But instead she had found a man who was the furthest thing from a cold clinical researcher. He was warm in a gruff kind of way and she liked it. It occurred to her that the time line of his published works ending and the Murder Shack coming into being seemed to overlap with Stanley’s death. Perhaps, the sudden change in profession had also been a sudden change in personality, grief was a powerful thing after all.

Or perhaps he’d simply decided that this strange little corner of the world was too wonderful to waste with his head buried in in books. And it was wonderful. And weird. Over her first few visits she’d began noticing strange shadows and odd movement in the trees. And while she’d written off the little men she’d seen rummaging in the diner’s dumpster and the Moth Man she’d seen batting at a street light outside the hotel one night to tricks of the mind and the local legends getting to her, she’d quickly realized there was something inherently odd to the place. Not bad just odd. But once she’d come down one morning to find Stan luring a walking camp fire out from under the porch with marshmallows she’d realized it wasn’t in her head. Instead she had decided that she rather liked this place, after all she was an odd person so she didn’t feel so out of place. It was like she could breath freely in this strange little town with her eccentric uncle.

Her uncle, that was still a strange thought. Billie had never really had a family, her mother had always been too busy being a drunken whore druggie to be anything else. And while she technically had four older siblings they’d all been to busy finding their own way to survive to bother with anything as trivial as bonding. Hell, after she’d been taken into state custody she hadn’t seen any of them for years, a few she still hadn’t seen even after all these years. It had always been her, she’d learned early to never depend on anyone else. Survival was the end game and others had always been passing acquaintances to her. But for some reason she kept coming back here, kept calling to check in on Stan. Perhaps, it was that he never asked any questions or judged her for smoking and drinking. Or maybe it was that she knew that the tired eyes and world weary voice she had was a mirror of his. Not that it mattered, she had come to really appreciate the time she spent with the old con.

It was a nice change of pace. Most people seemed to think that being a PI was like the movies; chasing down leads, sneaking around to get photos, and all that, but it wasn’t. While sure it had its exciting moments (especially when it came to some of her less than reputable clients) it was a lot of time sitting around and waiting for someone to show up. It was digging through mountains of trash and public records to find a lead. It was asking a lot of questions that never got answered to people who didn’t want to talk to you. Over all it was exhausting in more ways then one. She’d always spent her time between jobs partying or holed up in a hotel room getting stoned and sleeping, but now she found coming here to be a much better past time.

There was always some new creation Stan was working on or some project to help Soos with. She had found walks in the woods were eventful as she seemed to run across odd little creatures and weird rocks no matter what direction she went. Even when it was boring around the Shack she at least had company. And Stan sure made for interesting company. He was always ready to snipe at each other or make stupid bets over anything. Heck, the last two days had been the most fun she’d had in years. She had enjoyed watching the old con slowly realized that this wasn’t her first rodeo, though, she knew she had shown her hand and he wouldn’t fall for it again.

Then again even she was surprised she’d pulled it off. While the gypsy shtick had been something she’d acquired as a teenager the rest had been dumb luck. She was constantly surprised that for such a nowhere town Gravity Falls seemed to have everything. 24 hour copy shop to make the flyer? Yup, Shenkos beside the mall. Party rental shop with a thematically appropriate tent? You bet. Costume shop? Yup. Local teenagers willing to spread rumors and wield social media like a finely honed weapon for $20 bucks? Well, everywhere had those but Wendy was a sweet kid who seemed more then willing to recruit help. It just went to show that helping the kid ditch work a few times had been a good idea. Still, some how it had all come together and she’d been able to back up her cocky words. Even with the expenses she’d pull in over a grand in a weekend beating Stan by a hundred buck and some change.

So she’d won, though, since she had told Stan to keep it since it was his customers to begin with she had basically bought herself two dinners and some expenses but useless bragging rights. In truth, she didn’t need the money, she got paid well for her work and had nothing to spend it one. She didn’t pay rent since she refused to settle, and aside from weekly hotels, food, and smokes she didn’t buy anything really. So she had a huge bank account that she just let sit for when she decided to retire. Plus, she’d liked the idea of helping Stan out, if in no other way then sticking it in Bud’s face. How dare he call Stan a fraud when he sold junk cars at astronomical prices? A small self aware part of her knew that she had done it because she cared about the old man, but she just ignored it.

Shaking her head she snorted, she had to be tired to be getting all introspective and squishy. Feelings weren’t her bag, she’d just done it for fun. At least that was what she told herself. Shifting slightly she groaned, her body felt heavy and her eyes kept trying to close. She was exhausted two days and nights of putting on a show took a lot out of a woman. Not to mention, she’d had to strike the tent after last night’s performance so the rental company could pick it up first thing, and of course she and Stan had sat up counting out their respective earnings. Stad had recounted hers twice growling she’d padded them, before finally admitting defeat. The look on his face had been worth it.

“Alright kid, how’d you do it?” came a gruff voice and the smell of cigar smoke pulling her eyes from the trees. Looking over at him she flashed a smile earning a half hearted scowl in response and a dismissive grunt, “Come on out with it. It’s only fair I know how I got beat.” Smirking she let out a sharp bark of laughter.

“It’s called cold reading,” she told him causing one of his eyebrows to shoot up in question, “You size up a crowd; age, clothes, general stuff you know. Then you throw out a line; something vague enough to not be a definitive statement but specific enough to be convincing. One you get a bite you reel them in, double talk so they tell you everything but it seems like you told it to them and bam you talked to their dead aunt,” she explained as she took a drink.

“Sounds like it would be easier to actually talk to the dead,” he grumbled, “Yur Grandmother would be proud. So where on earth did you learn to pull that off? It doesn’t seem like somethin’ you’d learn for a party trick,” he observed as he took a long puff off his cigar groaning as he settled back on the couch. Shrugging she sighed as she moved over to sit next to him staring out at the dark woods tucking one leg under her.

“When I was round about 16 I ran off from the group home. I was tired of being passed around homes like a fruit cake at Christmas yuh know. So I landed at a traveling fair after a while and met the Amazin’ Jezabel. She pulled the same gimmick and taught me how since my weird hand gav’ ah bit of a witchy vibe. I traveled with them for a year or two, ‘fore getting sick of making her a ton of money and gettin’ hog spit in return. I went out on my own and was good at it,” she told him cracking her neck a touch of melancholy settling over her as she recalled the days she spent running the con at fairs all over the south, “I probably could have gone on with it, got one of those shows on TV, but after a while people started coming to me looking for real answers. Sure, stuff like this weekend is fine. Tellin’ people that their grandma loves them or their dog is always hangin’ around them don’t hurt nothin’ It makes them happy, but when you have people comin’ to yuh lookin’ for their missing kid offering their life’s savin’s for answers it changes the game. I couldn’t bring mah’self ta lie to them. I didn’t want to give ‘em false hope so I quit. I was tryin’ to feed myself not cheat desperate people, yuh know?” she finished before calming up. She hadn’t needed to say all that, and it kinda broke the unspoken agreement they had to avoid anything too honest about themselves.

Glancing over she expected to find him either half listening to her ramble on or looking at her with the inscrutable look of mild disappointment he got when she came in half cocked with a split lip from brawling with the guys at the Skull Fracture. Instead his brows were furrowed and the corner of his lips pulled down in a half frown. It wasn’t that he looked disgusted at her words more…saddened by them. For a long moment they just stared at each other before he looked away taking a drink of his own soda.

“What?” she asked finally ignoring the slight feeling of insecurity that his silence had brought on.

“Nothin’. I was just thinking about your Dad,” he said his voice slightly rougher then normal, “That’s impressive though. You got any other tricks up your sleeve?”

“Naw, nothing worth noting,” she said as she looked away from him resting her elbow on the arm of the couch and leaning her head on it. For a moment they were silent, sitting there smoking before her eyes slid over to him again.

“What about him?” she asked unable to stop herself. While she excepted that Stanley was gone, and he seemed to be a subject Stanford didn’t seem keen on she couldn’t help but wonder about Stanley. He glanced at her from the corner of his eyes knowing what she was asking at once. For a second she thought he wasn’t going to answer before he shrugged.

“Nothin’ really. Just that you’re a lot like him. He may have been a cheat and a liar but he never preyed on desperate people. He’d probably be proud of you for that,” he said as Billie barely suppressed the pleased smile that threatened to surface at his words, “Though if he’d have known about you’d you could bet you wouldn’t have even been in a position to have to decided who were acceptable marks,” he added under his breath like he was speaking to himself not her. Smiling she looked back out at the trees.

“Yeah well if that were the case I wouldn’t have been able to get some free meals and braggin’ right now would I?” she chuckled to break the heavy silence that had settled on them and she saw his lips twitch from the corner of her eye.

“Yeah, yeah live it up kid. You cheated and you know it. That was dirty trick, I wouldn’t have made that bet if I’d have know you were a professional psychic,” he grumbled and she chuckled as she finished her drink and stood stretching.

“I’m goin’ ta bed. I’m beat,” she announced with a small yawn, “You should get some sleep too, Stan yuh look like hell,” she added glancing down at him causing him to chuckle.

“You ain’t the boss ah me kid,” he grumbled as she couldn’t help the stern look that crossed her face causing him to laugh, “Yeah, yeah. I’ll finish then and head to bed,” he assured her waving his hand at her. Smiling she yawned again as she headed in.

“Night Stanford.”

“Night Billie.”

#gravity falls #stan pines #Stanley Pines #billie pines #lost pines daughter #gf #au gravity falls #the apple doesnt fall far #AO3 #gravity falls fanfiction #screaming pointlessly into the void #Mystery Shack #tent of telepahy #pines family #pines family bonding #ugh I suck at hashtags

6 notes · View notes

mosswolf · 5 years

Text

Before I started TMA I'd occasionally see posts about Tim going off kayaking and being happy and didn't question it,,, but now ive actually listened to a season and a half and am familiar with jonny sims's style of endings, im just

#dont! hurt! my! boy!#i plead pointlessly #the magnus archives #my posts #no spoilers please im just screaming into the void

42 notes · View notes

a-froger-epic · 4 years

Text

How To Block Anon Harassment

(and why you should)

A quick guide. 😊

The anon ask option on Tumblr is lovely. It gives people who might be a little shy a chance to talk to others.

But it can also be badly abused by people who get a kick out of angrily ranting and straight up insulting people they take issue with - entirely forgetting that there is a human being behind every computer screen - all while protected and emboldened by their anonymity. But the option to block them does exist! And you should never hesitate to use it.

Here is how it's done:

And you know what it does? This blocks the IP address of the person who sent it. They won't know you have done this. The next time they try to send an ask, Tumblr will tell them that it was sent - but that ask will never reach the inside of your inbox.

So this person will be stuck screaming into the internet void pointlessly forever, probably wondering how you can just ignore them, all while you are perfectly oblivious to their impotent rage.

Pass it on. 👍🏻

#Anon asks #Anon harassment #Reblog #Good to know #Peace of mind

670 notes · View notes

rotshop · 3 years

Text

hello welcome to another half baked idea, this time i am listening to the off soundtrack and crave nothing but misery and suffering

please ignore how pretentious this whole thing sound it just happens whenever i try and put meaning to words !!

tw ; talk of death, some self loathing, general mental unwellness, and brief talk of blood

---

Phobos always knew this was coming. He always knew one way or another this day would come along and he would have to greet it with his head held high. He was so acutely and painfully aware of it ; nights spent mentally preparing and wondering about how he'd busy himself afterwards. Time spent on his lonesome with an unfocused gaze as he lost himself in the tangles of his own mind and questions that -despite his efforts- would never receive a real answer.

A part of him turned their head up and sneered as the depths crawled up his limbs in waves. They bared their teeth in a grin, remarking how he should've known, he should've known that as a god he'd face this emptiness one way or another. He should've known that he was best on his own, tainting and souring himself when he'd grabbed and held onto you for something.

Part of him looks back on those memories with bitterness and anger, mocking his past self for having held onto some mere mortal with such desperation. Mocking him for having held onto you as though you weren't dust in the start and wouldn't be dust in the end. It claws and screams and bites endlessly like a trapped animal, vaguely hoping for release in the form of the void or freedom. All those regrets tangled together in sharpened thorny bushels, writhing and lashing in anguish.

Another part of him admits that you weren't just some other person, admits that you were a tether to reality for him and a shoulder to lean on. It admits that there's so many words he wish he'd spoken clearly when you'd looked to him with energy in your eyes and the light casting a halo around your figure rather than whispering them in the dark of night when you were resting. It admits that he wishes he'd pressed his lips to yours more when they'd perked up and smiled at him. It admits that you made him feel like more than a caricature of a man and a vague shadow that dragged along with no object to cast it. All these regrets wrap around and grasp tightly onto him, pulling him down further into an unsure sea of white noise.

He just wishes he'd said more then rather than now where it all hangs behind his teeth and makes his tongue feel like lead. He just wishes he'd done more, fulfilled some of those promises and plans he'd carefully crafted with you. Those same plans all crumble into heaps around him now, while he would've snapped to fix them, attempt to hold them up on shaky legs back then he's found a sick contentment in sitting and watching quietly. He doesn't make move to salvage what's long gone, instead, he just stays quiet with straightened posture falling and lets himself fall apart along-side them.

He can still remember it all so vividly, the memory hanging over and resting its head on his shoulder to whisper to him when his mind goes blank once more. He remembers you'd been separated briefly, sending each other a brief glance before you'd parted paths. You'd rushed off to go deal with a few out-of-order grunts while he'd made haste to go deal with an uncontrolled mag. He'd never enjoyed fighting unless he absolutely needed to, perhaps that's why he was drawn to you.

You were fiery and quick on the draw, you'd impressed him with your raw talent and skill. He'd always enjoyed watching you fight, eyes watching every movement you'd make carefully. You were well taught, you'd even shown him a thing or two (he's sure he tried to insist he didn't need help at first before he'd fallen into it, listening intently as you showed him how to do something). He trusted you could handle it on your own, you trusted him he could handle this on his own.

He remembers catching his breath and hastily wiping the blood off his hands as best as he could at that moment. The sound of his heels clicking on the tile as he headed back to the direction you'd gone off in. He was too set on checking up on you (though -he winces- he never would confess that to you, that he sincerely worried about you) to notice the way a few stray agents warily looked away from him. He didn't even notice how quiet it was, brushing off the distant ringing in his ears as nothing more than a side effect from the loud roaring of that old mag.

He remembers looking up in a bit of confusion when you hadn't responded to his question- it was something dumb, some half-baked joke he'd expected some witty response to. You were always clever, at first his pride had hated how well you were at holding an argument with him, your power over him. Over time though, he'd grown fond of it, chuckling under his breath as he imagined little responses you'd make to little questions on his mind. He remembers looking up and feeling that confusion, then feeling nothing at all.

It took a moment or two for him to really process much of anything at all, the scene a blurred mess before him. That part..he can't remember very well. All he remembers is red smeared about the room, him walking forward, and then your weight. His minds eye seems to regain his vision as he's walking again, heels clicking on tile with the occasional drip of something falling beside it. He can feel your weight against his chest, almost perfectly mirrored by the weight that rests on it as he stares at the ceiling.

He recalls vaguely how numb it all felt, he carried you off to a medical station for..some reason. He knew there was no point, your pulse was long gone and your body was creeping with cold already. Yet he'd done it anyway, out of some fleeting hope or simple desperation he wasn't sure. All he knows is the way people viewed the sight of him holding your lifeless corpse in his arm and shied away, turning their gaze. He could barely hear what one doctor had said to him, something about how they would see what they could do.

Humiliation crawls up his throat as he thinks about it. Pity. Everyone in that room filled the air with pity over him, both refusing to look in his direction and watching with careful eyes. That god that had been built up and up reduced to a statue that simply sat down and waited pointlessly. He wasn't shocked or stunned when that same doctor had hesitantly walked out, voice hesitant and strained as they apologized that there wasn't much they could do.

Phobos lets go of the recollection with a sigh, internally cringing with guts tying further at the shakiness of it. He feels it all and feels nothing at the same time, humiliation and regret, despair and decay, an ugly mix of emotions he'd never associated with himself. You had knocked him down from his detached state as a god, both in life and in death. He can feel himself reach out to your side of the bed, he can just barely feel himself actively doing it at this point ; it's more of a reflex or routine that he's fallen into, doing it mindlessly without question or purpose.

The feeling of the sheets greets him, empty and cold ; he chokes back a sob.

#director phobos x reader #phobos x reader #madness combat imagines #madness combat x reader #madcom imagines #madcom x reader #rot writes

89 notes · View notes

yanderenightmare · 4 years

Text

YANDERE ! SHINSO HITOSHI x FEM ! READER

goodiebag WARNINGS: dubcon/noncon themes, yandere, abuse, profanity, ableism, amnesia, animal abuse, anxiety, kidnapping, abduction, manipulation, mind control, stalking

CURIOSITY KILLED THE CAT

He didn’t want it to be this way.

Or… that’s a lie. He didn’t want to enjoy it being this way. He had to do it either way, but disliking it would make it slightly easier to forgive himself afterwards. Yet, he was enjoying himself, thoroughly at that. Looking into those large wax-like eyes, glossed over by some thick veil, no longer in her own control, but in his. No longer constantly distracted by the faintest noise or the mildest view or the most mellow smell accompanying the fucking breeze. Her attention undeniably and uninterruptedly set on him and only him. It felt better than what he had imagined, as though some war had been won; peaceful, right.

Yet wrong. It was wrong of him to take advantage of her trust, what more: it was wrong of him to enjoy it so devilishly as well. But how could he not? How could he resist taking pleasure in her utter submission, even if he’d forced it from her; looking at him so helplessly, hopelessly, no plead or hatred or fear evident in her defenseless features, just complete and pure vulnerability.

Not that she was ever one for caution anyways. She was always so temptingly careless, reckless, ruthless, dangerous. Chaos in desperate need of control. She was always chasing some new type of death as though in love with the idea of her life being ripped away, in love with the idea of not having any control. He was granting her just that. Where she lacked the ability to control herself, he had no qualms in doing it for her. She couldn’t blame him when she was practically begging for it.

He was scared, he realized. Afraid of letting go now that he’d taken her, unsure of how to brace himself once he unclutched his claws from her mind. It was easier to simply stare into her orbs as she did him. Yet, he didn’t take her to feel safe. Quite the opposite. He took her to taste the chaos she provided. That unpredictable terrifying wilderness that seemed to swirl behind her eyes, the one he’d currently subdued. There was no way to prepare, he figured. No point in postponing the inevitable either.

Her eyes flickered, as though waking up from a nap, fluffy puffy soft-looking tail raising behind her, ears ruffling as though sensing she wasn’t where she was supposed to be before her mind reached the same sense of dread. Licking her lips as she’d been unable to for some time. Hands scrunching into the bedsheets, nails plunging through the thin fabric, knees retracting to her chest as her breathing picked up. Eyes locked onto him, recognition then confusion, then a newfound panic building and brewing and storming her senses all at once.

“What did you do?”

She sounded unsure, unbelieving of her words, half expecting there to be some logical explanation behind her situation, yet she couldn’t shake her insurmountable sense of dread. Eyes scanning and spiraling from the purple-haired man to the large bed she was placed on to the unknowingly locked door.

Without further thought, she leaped as though she had wings attached to her back, all granted by her cat-like mobility, and even as she realized the door was locked, she still pointlessly shook at the handle as though some saint would grant her wish and unlock it for her.

She only stopped when she felt his hand touch something sensitive. His hand feeling so familiar in its distinct resolution, firm and purposeful and greedy, handling her extra limb, controlling the only reign she had in keeping control, keep her balance, keep her footing, now strangled inside his fist.

Her tail wormed in his grasp, bending and twining in discomfort, begging for her to whip around and plant those knife-sharp claws into his skin, dragging them, digging them, graveling along his arm, leaving an imprint of three blood-red streaks in their wake, a stark contrast to the softness of her tail-fur.

He hissed and let go, yet couldn’t blame a wild thing for acting on mere instinct, thinking that maybe relieving his control of her was a decision made on hope more so than on logic. His scarf coming to wrap and slither around her quite similar to how a boa constrictor would suffocate their victims. The tendrils lifting her up into the air, all with her thrashing, joined with all downtrodden panicked little yelps and screams which were second by overwhelming second becoming uncontrollable sobs the more and more the situation dawned on her, feeling herself be placed down on the bed again, which sparked the dreadful thought of what impending violation the following events might contain. However, despite the fat globs of tears that soon made passage down her face, drowning out her sight, she was in no shape or form subdued, and would most definitely not be handled without a fight.

The sheets were an easy target for her claws to shred into ruins as quickly as her body met with the soft surface of the mattress. Feather of pillow came flying shortly after, until the idea of ruining whatever bond was holding her in place even came into mind. Her hands finding the capture weapon, beginning to pull and scratch, but to no avail.

“Chess.” His voice managed to send chills shooting through her, now that she could remember each and every time she’d heard it but been made to forget afterwards. All those times he had pulled her tail, coaxed her into answering a question then made her forget the whole ordeal. All those times he’d come by to rub the softness of her furry ears like lucky charms, those times he’d twirl the plush bushiness of her tail around his fingers and hand, those times he’d kissed her, tested to see if her tongue was gravel in texture, and the moan he gave when finding how it was velvety and squishy like a regular human’s would be, maybe even more so.

Her caution rendered frail and pointless in the whirlwind of her panic. “Let me go!” It was half a sob and half a scream, soaked with panic, yet it made no difference to the heavy weight that soon feel upon her conscience. Her eyes growing wide and glossy and void like before, her body lying limp on the bed. Every nerve of her body; raped. The entire construct of her mind; abused, to the point where she felt the faulty cracks created like never-ending ravines made by the gaps in her memory, decisions she didn’t make, wasn’t allowed to make.

It’s not something you think about… how easy it is for the strong to make the weak crawl, how easy it is for them to excuse themselves, forgive themselves, thank themselves.

His was a patronizing smile, sly in its crookedness. Thinking of how cute a little reckless and forgetful creature he had the liberty and luxury of finding, of having, taking, owning. “Curiosity really did kill the cat, didn’t it?” In her defense it hadn’t sounded like a question. In her defense it wasn’t even her real name, yet the new, or rather old, memories flooding her mind told her otherwise. “It would seem… Kitty’s on her last life.” A long pale finger dragged up her leg slowly, and although she wanted nothing more but to pull her leg to herself, she couldn’t even as much as look at the attacker from anywhere but the very edge of her peripheral, his control not allowing her an inch of mobility.

She realized she hadn’t known fear. She only knew of small fleeting moments where her heart would make a leap into her chest, the feeling of almost pleasant fluttering followed by that flush of relief that could feel like blessing or absolution at times. She used to think fear was something people needed every once in a while. A good little thrilling scare to keep the mundane at bay. But this, this crippling crawling creeping draining, as though there was a puncture somewhere and all her blood was leaking from her limbs and had the fine hairs of her skin raising like spires in a manor where she swore it hurt. And although the fear had her feeling light, as though she was nothing, made of glass or worse, she felt heavy, grounded, trapped. The command placed not in her mind, but on her chest like a two-ton brick.

Stray silent tears slipped past his control, but the act was just as meek and pointless as a whisper in the wind. “I have you wrapped around my pinky, but I promise…” She felt like shaking, like trembling, quaking like earth does in uproar, but her body remained engulfed in some false sense of calm. His knees dipped down into the mattress, and she’d never before wanted to whimper so badly, the sound stuck in her throat, choking her. Her breathing slow and reserved, her own lungs betraying her even as his finger made way to brush up the valley between her breasts over the satiny feel of her blouse. “I won’t do anything you won’t like.”

Hitoshi liked to think he’d learned how much to give and how much to take, when in reality the only thing Hitoshi had cultivated through his several years of struggle was the tenacity, the drive, the strength to take and take and take things when the world doesn’t serve him his desires on a silver platter.

352 notes · View notes

sohin-ace · 4 years

Text

Diavolo - Empty

Pro tip: go on youtube. Search "creepy ambiance music". Click on "NECROMANCY" by Horror Music World.

You are now in anxiety mode. Survive.

TW: Mentions of suicide, self harm and you know... Toxic relationships. It's Yandere, you know what to expect.

"I have to go get some food and water, okay? I'll be gone for about an hour." He leaned down and pressed his lips against your forehead in a gentle kiss. "I'll hurry, so behave."

You didn't say anything and watched him as he hesitated to move his gaze away from you. He slowly turned around and opened the door, taking his sweet time.

'Just leave already.'

You weren't at peace even when he closed the door, locking every single one of the seven locks he installed on the door. A tight security system to prevent you from fleeing.

The apartment was so dead silent you could hear his footsteps from outside hitting the stairs as he walked down.

So silent. Deafening. So lonely. Even the sheer sounds of your breathing and heartbeat were loud and infuriating to you.

God, so damn infuriating.

You clenched your fists, barely feeling anything from it, rage and anxiety building inside you.

'No detail escaped him, huh?', You thought to yourself. He even cut your nails so short, you couldn't inflict the slightest damage from trying to dig them into your skin.

What a smart man.

What a smart bastard.

Everything was so miserable. You stood in the middle of the living room, staring daggers, not even sharp ones, into the void. You rathered not look at anything, for the sake of your own sanity.

Anything in this place could trigger a mental breakdown from you. Who knew what you could do if your eyes fell on those picture frames of you and him? Or those unwithering flowers on the table? Or even just the books he loved so much resting on the shelves?

Everything here reminded you of him. Of what he did to you. How he had stripped you of your freedom, your dignity...

Your will to live.

Yes. Today you would take your freedom back. Today, you would spread your wings and fly. Away from him. Away from this.

The thought itself brought a smile to yourself. Oh you couldn't wait. You chuckled a, what in other circumstances, would be a cute bubbly laugh, but here, seemed more crazed and unnerved than anything.

Oh you couldn't wait to end this.

Your head twitched towards the kitchen, hope sparkling weakly again inside you. Gone for an hour? That should be enough.

You walked towards the kitchen and looked around. Knives, knives... Where did he keep the knives? It's not like you knew the kitchen all that much, he barely let you roam the house much.

The counter and cupboards were all empty. Everything was empty. Even the fridge contained so little, you even wondered how the hell did he even manage to cook meals for the two of you. Did he even cook for the two of you? Where did the food come from? Did he send one of his numerous pawns or that weird Doppio guy do that dirty work as well?

You dug up frantically through every drawer, and cabinet, hell you even checked inside the oven!

Empty.

There was nothing. No forks, no cups, no nothing. It was like the kitchen had barely just been furnished. Your breathing became labored and your chest tightened painfully.

What was the meaning of this? It didn't make any sense. He made you eat together, you were positive you had used silverware and dishes before.

Did he hide them too? Did he really mistrust you so much he hid any bit of potential danger? Did he think you'd try that hard and would not take the risk?

That damn fucker.

The only thing preventing you from screaming bloody murder currently were your wheezy breaths.

It was scary. So scary. That he would think like that. That he would know how much he killed your sanity. That he would know how far you were willing to go. He knew he knew he knew he knew he knew-

"He thought..." You wheezed and held yourself over the counter, your other hand clutching your painful chest. Your voice was leaving you and you were drenched in sweat, panick and anxiety arising from within. "He thought I would cut myself with the shards..."

You didn't know if you were laughing or sobbing at that point. Not that he was wrong about it at all, in fact, he had guessed perfectly right. But the fact that the idea even crossed his mind and that he acted upon it just added to your dive into madness.

He just knew he destroyed you so bad he couldn't trust you with even a single blunt object, because he knew you'd find a way to harm yourself on it. That's how low he thought of you and he was right.

What else were there to do? He always kept a careful watch over you, even when he worked, his back turned to you, he'd whip his head towards you at the meerest noise you made. If he wasn't home, he'd have someone to keep an eye on you.

He would sleep with you, shower with you, dress you up. Every occasion he had to take control over you, he took.

It was a miracle that he ended up unshackling you from his bed, trusting you enough to let you roam pointlessly around the house, but visibly not trusting you enough to let you be around even a porcelain plate.

You wanted to give up. The windows could be opened but the metallic blinds were steel shut. Just like prison bars. He could sacrifice a little sunlight if it meant you wouldn't try to jump.

You dragged your feet towards your couch and sobbed. Loud. Desperate. Letting warm tears stream down your face. It was over. You couldn't do anything.

You plopped yourself on the couch and buried your face in your arms to muffle your wails. That was it. That was the only liberty you had. You could only cry, cry, and cry, until the tears ran out.

You couldn't cut, you couldn't jump, you couldn't poison yourself with cleaning chemicals, hell, he made sure there wasn't even enough water to give you water poisoning. Even tap water was limited. He calculated everything.

It was over. There was nothing you could do. He won again. Diavolo wins again...

You let yourself break down, almost comforted by your own cries, the only thing that made you feel alive. The only emotion remaining. The last healthy bit within you.

You knew you had to stop, though. Because one hour flies by fast, and Diavolo could cut his time short whenever he felt, and if he came home to you crying, he'd shower you with questions and try to console you. And that was the last thing you wanted. In fact, he didn't even deserve to see or hear you crying.

You hated to be confronted by him, and to be held by those bloody hands of his, and to be talked with that fake, manipulative concern in his voice, deepening softly just for you.

Oh he could have been such a good man if he wasn't such a disgusting fucking monster.

You couldn't bear closing your eyes that were stinging and burning as you kept them open, drying them out. Every time you closed your eyes, you were haunted by the visions.

The visions of blood, from your loved ones. The picture of his brain splattering out of his skull. The sight of her guts spilled out, still pulsing out of her stomach. How they crawled vainly on the floor with their limbs torn off messily barely kept connected to their bodies by gooey strings of flesh, bones scraped against the ground. The ones dearest to you.

"Why... Even my poor animal..." Your voice cracked painfully through labored sobs, your heart skipping with every scene you recalled.

Everything about the memories was so wrong. Everything about Diavolo was so wrong. Killing every one you deemed dear to you was one thing, but why did he have to make it so gruesome? Why did they have to die in such agony? Why? Just why?!

If he truly loved you he would have at least let them go fast and painless. He would have at least spared you the trauma. He couldn't even let you have the bliss of knowing they passed on quick and peacefully. You were stuck with the knowledge of their suffering, the screams, the gurgles, the pleads for mercy, the gore.

The pain was to much, the burden so heavy. Why did he not let you kill yourself? It's be so easier if you could just die. He claimed he loved you, but he made you suffer every minute.

Without realizing it, and very slowly, you calmed down. Not because you were finally at peace, or because you were unwinded, but because you were at your limit.

You were so tired, your eyes were swollen and begging to rest, your voice was gone, your throat dry and your mind so shattered, you couldn't even think about all that made you so unhappy anymore, or the painful memories. Your thoughts were empty. Your soul was empty. Everything was empty.

Slowly but surely, your drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

Diavolo walked back home earlier than anticipated. He did hurry, and he somewhat knew he wouldn't actually take a full hour to do his errands. He hated to go outside and he especially hated to leave you to yourself.

He unlocked all his locks on the door with great patience. He was proud of this work, very secure, so that nobody, not even yourself, could ever take you away from him.

He walked in slowly to the scent and warmth of home. He wasn't sure what he was expecting you'd be doing, but he didn't expect you being passed out on the couch.

Oh Diavolo wasn't scared. He was confident he skipped any danger from the house. He was sure you never even discovered that this place was actually not an appartment, like you believed, but a villa. He had locked the other floors so carefully.

But he also knew you were one clever little cat and maybe, just maybe, you may have found an issue to hurt yourself, even a little bruise.

He did not appreciate that thought.

He clenched his teeth, grinding them out of stress. The reason you were passed out on the couch better not be his worst case scenario. Or else...

Like a bipolar disordered man, his tone switched under a second. There was nothing to worry about. Surely his little gattina was just taking a nap, he thought to himself. Of course, you didn't get much sleep last night, that would make sense.

There was nothing to worry about because Diavolo was absolute, and he planned everything and he was confident. Nothing escaped him.

Like the lover that he pretended and believed to be, he quickly put his bags away and approached you on the couch, not wanting to be away from you any longer.

He stared longingly at you. You looked so pretty, so adorable, all vulnerable like this. Unaware of his looming form shadowing you, so innocent.

He noticed how wet your arms and cheeks were and how blemished your face was. Certainly, you had cried. It was fine by him, though. He'd allow you to cry to yourself when he wasn't there. Because it was harmless.

He leaned over, getting closer very carefully. Gosh you were so lovely to his crazy green eyes. He could hardly contain himself around you. No one has ever had that effect on him. Your skin, your hair, your scent, your lips, everything about you was soft and gentle and sweet. It was even cute when you thrashed around and kicked and insulted him.

He looked over your small form, studying you. Your wrists were so thin, scarred, often shaky. He noted you dropped a lot of weight since he took you here, but it didn't matter. You were beautiful regardless, and he would protect you, because you were so fragile, and it was his duty as a husband.

As if to confirm his thoughts, he grabbed one of your wrists, wrists that he had grabbed so many times before. It was so light, like a little twig, his entire fist closed on it. It was a crime to be so deliciously weak. It was like asking to be taken, held, snatched, manhandled.

Good thing Diavolo was the one to have you and not anyone else. Who knows what kind of crazy fuckers had bad intentions out there? Especially in these dangerous parts of Italy.

He moved you with no effort whatsoever and the lack of response or reaction from your poor body just made his twisted heart clench even more. It was so desperately easy to just use you to his will, it was almost scary.

He let himself plop down comfortably on the couch and laid you back down to rest your head upon his thighs, so that he could watch your angelic face and touch your hair as you rested, nested close to him.

Like two empty lovers.

I mean... I did say I'd never write yandere again, but I've been back to playing Mystic Messenger and Saeran inspired me. (Don't worry, there are no spoilers here!)

Also, the fic was so long, I decided to cut in in half and make the other half into another character. Recycling is always good for the planet. So expect another domestic Yandere story some day.

#JoJo's Bizarre Adventure #jojo #jjba #Jojo no Kimyou na Bouken #Vento Aureo #Golden Wind #part 5 #Jojo Part 5 #x reader #reader insert #diavolo #diavolo x reader #yandere #yandere diavolo #writing #suicide tw #self-harm tw

96 notes · View notes