#musekilled

    filling his days with mostly menial tasks has become almost a comfort to damien at this point. it isn't the constant stream of work he was previously used to subjecting himself to, but it worked to distract himself. well, it worked most of the time. he still had his days, where even admiring the flowers he cared for wasn't enough to distract from the reality - of which he barely understands.

   " wh - " an almost familiar voice catches his attention, startling damien enough to nearly drop the watering can in his hand. he manages to get his grip, eyes glancing around to find himself seemingly alone. he relaxes, only to be frightened once more as the figure appears beside him.

   he stares wide-eyed at him as the other speaks, unsure what exactly he is even looking at. finally, he peels his gaze away, dark eyes trailing to the emptiness. he takes a deep breath, nodding.

   " i am. i think that some part of me misses it ... and the rest feels it would be easier. "

THE  ENTITY﹐    DARK ﹐     STANDS  WITHIN  A  SABLE  MIST.   it  sucks  the  color  from  the  earth  beneath  his  feet,  the  very  air  around  him.    he  considers  the  former  mayor  --    the  former  man  for  a  moment,    black,    reflective  eyes  trailing  his  gaze  to  the  pit  that  surrounds  their  home.    it  flickers,    breaking  through  the  facade.    the  manor  remains  broken,    no  matter  what  the  actor  attempts  to  build  around  it,    the  cracks  are  not  so  easily  patched.

.           ❛❛       You  miss  yourself,    whatever  HE  left,    when  he  brought  you  here .     ❜❜              dark  supposes,    his  hauteur  disinterred  by  his  tone.    the  monochrome  figure  raised  his  eyebrows  in  a  receptive  gesture  to  man’s  asservation.    his  form  evanescing   between  one  step  &&  the  next,    flashing  red  for  an  instant  before  reappearing  on  the  precipice  of  nothing.  

.           ❛❛       I  wonder  how  much  of  YOURSELF  is  down  there.     ❜❜              he  muses,    unaffected.    a  brief  pause  fills  the  cool  air  as  he  straightens  again,    looking  back  over  damien.

     The  question  reaches  Robbie’s  ears  and  they  have  to  wonder  if  it’s  a  trick  question.  A  stuttered  ‘um’  to  try  and  buy  themselves  time  to  answer  before  they  end  up  just  going  with  their  first  instinct.  A  pale  bony  finger  reaches  forward,  gently  placing  it’s  self  on  Anti’s  forehead.

        Anti  had  been  struggling  to  keep  himself  together  all  afternoon.  He’d  sought  Dark’s  company  hoping  it’d  help  ground  his  form  in  someway,  but,  it  didn’t.  In  fact  it  seemed  to  do  the  opposite.  So,  he  simply  sat  on  the  other’s  desk,  ripples,  twitches,  glitches,  static,  repetitive  and  with  hardly  any  pauses  in  between  as  he  simply  stares  as  whatever  is  ahead  of  him.  He’d  heard  some  of  the  other  septics  talking  about  it . . .  dissociation?  Perhaps.  Far away,  disconnected,  watching  his  own  body  shatter  and  reform  in  regular  bursts.

horrific headcanons.

▼ what is their greatest fear?

❝ um, i— i guess, uh, if you’d asked me a while ago, i would’ve said, dying? but now, i ... i dunno, man. being left alone? going through THAT again? i dunno. fear is messy as shit now. you think you know what’s scary and then THE GROUND OPENS UP. ❞

✿ would they ever trust dark or wicked magic?

❝ sometimes, you don’t have a choice. ❞

♣ do they believe the world is made up of good and evil?

❝ i think there’s a lot of GREY. people aren’t all bad or all good. i think that’s really, uh, unrealistic? and really unattainable. ❞

✔ are they holding a grudge against anyone?

“  i need you to trust me. “ / @musekilled​

          “ AND WHY, DEAR FELLOW, DO YOU THINK I’D TRUST YOU? “ a natural enough question, fuzz supposed. he hadn’t given him any indication thus far that he was the trustworthy sort, nor had he even told him much of his purpose. fuzz only knew this man before him as something not effbee, but not quite human- one of those things alone was enough to put his hair on end, but as a combination, it was dangerous indeed. 

hands tucked neatly into his pockets, fuzz leaned back into the wall. he kept his moments smooth, unbothered, when in reality he might as well be gearing up for war. with only a voice and a meager scent to guide him ( dead animal, dust, smokey mirrors ), he couldn’t afford to be less than overly cautious.