( This is a piece of the demon's capability that Peter doesn't share. The mental tether between Peter and Luna is vocal, whispered, little secrets apart from everything outside — a world of their own. But while Paimon can also access that tether, he can go... further. Dreams, nightmares, desires, fears, doubts, certainties... these are all things he has a certain sensitivity to. He can't quite walk alongside someone within their dreams the way Lucifer could — as a visitor that can be spoken to, interacted with — but he can shape and manipulate such things on a level that's emotional, psychological, but also spiritual in its ways. His intimate summoners would request such assistance from him — give him offering and invite him inwards to their psychological state. He would alter it to their requests, giving clarity, lucidity, doses of peace and understanding. Hallucinations, visions, some connection to a higher awareness. Snippets of the future itself.
...It could also be used in opposite. To terrorise, to stoke up nightmares from the deepest trenches of a person's soul, to cast vision and hallucination meant to personally unravel a human spirit. It's how he'd most recently been directed, only a few years ago.
He hasn't been specifically requested by Luna to do anything here, but the need and allowance to take care of her on such a level is something that comes with their Bond. He couldn't do anything that would alter her in the waking world without her specifically asking it of him — but granting her good dreams is something that has no lasting effect. All it does is temporarily soothe one little piece of the many things that are harming her mental state, lately. It isn't much. It's just.... some quiet, brief reprieve. Something he can do for her.
She won't see him there in her dreams. He's an invisible presence, and he sees what her consciousness weaves as though through a filter, something hazy and ghostlike. Mostly, it's the sensations that come through to the demon the strongest. And right away, he can feel how so much is wrong, here. Alone, afraid, searching, desperate. She can't find Peter. The house becomes something stale and damp and dark — like a dungeon, like the place that Paimon had witnessed for himself back in one of Luna's most horrible memories. The demon tenses, expecting the nightmare to play out such torture. The witch with a tangled mass of long, dark hair, and cruel, almost inhuman laughter. How she'd tormented Luna as easily as if she were an insect.
But it isn't the witch who stands waiting for Luna. It's Maul, eyes glowing like a creature in the dark. And in his grasp is Peter, and his fingers are twisting inwards to his mind, to what lives beneath, and Paimon understands what this is. Outside of here, in the waking world, his body shudders beside Luna's whimpering one, his eyes held saucer-wide and wet as he stares at her. Fear, horror, ache — are they her emotions, or his own? In the moment it's both, and the demon is so deeply upset by it, feels something inside himself shredding; it hurts. He doesn't want this, doesn't want to see this. But he won't leave her.
—not peter not peter. gone. gone gone gone.
He watches himself in this dreamscape — eyes too-full and yet somehow too-empty, lacking emotion or care towards the person he cares for the most, hollow like a shark that's smelled prey, springing at her little body with violence. He knows he'll kill her, rip out her throat; Paimon's watching one of Luna's worst horrors play out, and it's also one of his own. For a moment that feels too long, he can't act. Doesn't know how to. He's never changed a nightmare before, simply added things to it in order to make it something soft instead of cruel. But there's no way to add to this; everything needs to be taken away. Everything dark and scary and hurting. He has to stop this.
It swells up in him, louder and louder, all of his energy suddenly channeling into the concept of taking this away from Luna, and suddenly, abruptly — it all stops. Perhaps too suddenly. It's as if a book has turned a page, and everything that was on it has melted away, leaving an entirely new set of words.
Luna is outside, and there is no perpetual darkness. No night at all. Warmth kisses her skin from the skies above, from the sun that glows loving and secure.
The landscape is like a garden that never ends — lined in tall, bright green hedges, and leafy vines that trail down over intricate trellises. A meadow stretches as far as the eye can see and further still. The ground beneath where she lies — no longer trapped beneath an oppressive, snarling heaviness — is so soft it's like feathers, and everywhere are flowers. Their stems curl up between her fingers, their petals brushing delicately against her skin. And there are more still in her hair, dozens and dozens of flowers blossoming lovingly from inbetween her curls.
The grass is impossibly green and sweet, and there are trees spreading around in fantastical colours: purples, pinks, blues, and perhaps some in colours that no human has ever truly witnessed. Across everything is some hint of golden, sparkling iridescent and ethereal just there at the corner of the vision. It's beautiful, and dreamlike, surreal. A painting brought to life. Nothing could ever harm her here.
She isn't alone. Beside her is a boy, eyes closed and breathing quietly; he rests in the most peaceful sleep. Safe; Peter's safe. She has him back, and nothing can hurt him. Flowers bloom from his own dark curls.
When she sees him, Peter's eyes will slowly open to look to her, and he'll reach for her hand there where they both lie in the flowers. He'll smile, loving and warm, and human. And somehow, there's a thought, the certainty that exists in this beautiful, safe place—
let's fuckin gOOOO (cw: mention of torture, attempted neck injury)
...It could also be used in opposite. To terrorise, to stoke up nightmares from the deepest trenches of a person's soul, to cast vision and hallucination meant to personally unravel a human spirit. It's how he'd most recently been directed, only a few years ago.
He hasn't been specifically requested by Luna to do anything here, but the need and allowance to take care of her on such a level is something that comes with their Bond. He couldn't do anything that would alter her in the waking world without her specifically asking it of him — but granting her good dreams is something that has no lasting effect. All it does is temporarily soothe one little piece of the many things that are harming her mental state, lately. It isn't much. It's just.... some quiet, brief reprieve. Something he can do for her.
She won't see him there in her dreams. He's an invisible presence, and he sees what her consciousness weaves as though through a filter, something hazy and ghostlike. Mostly, it's the sensations that come through to the demon the strongest. And right away, he can feel how so much is wrong, here. Alone, afraid, searching, desperate. She can't find Peter. The house becomes something stale and damp and dark — like a dungeon, like the place that Paimon had witnessed for himself back in one of Luna's most horrible memories. The demon tenses, expecting the nightmare to play out such torture. The witch with a tangled mass of long, dark hair, and cruel, almost inhuman laughter. How she'd tormented Luna as easily as if she were an insect.
But it isn't the witch who stands waiting for Luna. It's Maul, eyes glowing like a creature in the dark. And in his grasp is Peter, and his fingers are twisting inwards to his mind, to what lives beneath, and Paimon understands what this is. Outside of here, in the waking world, his body shudders beside Luna's whimpering one, his eyes held saucer-wide and wet as he stares at her. Fear, horror, ache — are they her emotions, or his own? In the moment it's both, and the demon is so deeply upset by it, feels something inside himself shredding; it hurts. He doesn't want this, doesn't want to see this. But he won't leave her.
—not peter not peter. gone. gone gone gone.
He watches himself in this dreamscape — eyes too-full and yet somehow too-empty, lacking emotion or care towards the person he cares for the most, hollow like a shark that's smelled prey, springing at her little body with violence. He knows he'll kill her, rip out her throat; Paimon's watching one of Luna's worst horrors play out, and it's also one of his own. For a moment that feels too long, he can't act. Doesn't know how to. He's never changed a nightmare before, simply added things to it in order to make it something soft instead of cruel. But there's no way to add to this; everything needs to be taken away. Everything dark and scary and hurting. He has to stop this.
It swells up in him, louder and louder, all of his energy suddenly channeling into the concept of taking this away from Luna, and suddenly, abruptly — it all stops. Perhaps too suddenly. It's as if a book has turned a page, and everything that was on it has melted away, leaving an entirely new set of words.
Luna is outside, and there is no perpetual darkness. No night at all. Warmth kisses her skin from the skies above, from the sun that glows loving and secure.
The landscape is like a garden that never ends — lined in tall, bright green hedges, and leafy vines that trail down over intricate trellises. A meadow stretches as far as the eye can see and further still. The ground beneath where she lies — no longer trapped beneath an oppressive, snarling heaviness — is so soft it's like feathers, and everywhere are flowers. Their stems curl up between her fingers, their petals brushing delicately against her skin. And there are more still in her hair, dozens and dozens of flowers blossoming lovingly from inbetween her curls.
The grass is impossibly green and sweet, and there are trees spreading around in fantastical colours: purples, pinks, blues, and perhaps some in colours that no human has ever truly witnessed. Across everything is some hint of golden, sparkling iridescent and ethereal just there at the corner of the vision. It's beautiful, and dreamlike, surreal. A painting brought to life. Nothing could ever harm her here.
She isn't alone. Beside her is a boy, eyes closed and breathing quietly; he rests in the most peaceful sleep. Safe; Peter's safe. She has him back, and nothing can hurt him. Flowers bloom from his own dark curls.
When she sees him, Peter's eyes will slowly open to look to her, and he'll reach for her hand there where they both lie in the flowers. He'll smile, loving and warm, and human. And somehow, there's a thought, the certainty that exists in this beautiful, safe place—
This can last forever. )