#except now reaper is Forever Alone. good.

[the-haunted-office]

Doomsday has had enough. Just. Enough. Of everything. Of everybody. That's why she had to leave. What is there for her to stay? Nobody wants her around. She doesn't do any good. All she does is hurt people and annoy people and cause trouble.

Things are better off this way.

At least she has time to think.

Her home Office is just as ruined as it ever was. The way she left it, in shambles. The way she left so many other Offices. Everybody knows that now, since Oleander saw fit to tell everybody. It wasn't their place to tell her Story, but they did it anyway. Well. If everybody wants to hear and believe their version of her life, then so be it. If they'd rather believe a total stranger about her, then fuck them. Fuck them all. She doesn't need any of them.

Then why does it hurt so much...?

They don't understand. They don't need to understand. And neither does she. She'd rather be alone right now anyway.

Except she's not alone. There's somebody else here, and it isn't her Cyrus and Aurora either. They vacated again at some point, after she chased them off last time. Where they went is anybody's guess, but it's not for her to care right now, because the person she finds here with her now is-

"...Stanley?" she says, her voice suddenly sounding so small.

How is this possible? Her Stanley died. He died. Permanently. The mist got him. Killed him. Consumed and digested his soul, destroying it forever. Worse than what happened to her.

And yet here he is. Except... as he approaches, she also realizes that's not Stanley. Whatever this is used to be Stanley, but it isn't anymore. Not quite.

The towering specter looks like Stanley, except like hers his eyes are missing. Instead there are two holes in his face filled with an eerie yellow light. His skin looks like wet paper too, and looks like it could just be pulled right off his bones. And perhaps most concerning, his business attire is stained with what has to be blood. Doom has seen too much of it to believe otherwise.

"Stanley?" she says again. "That's you, isn't it? My Stanley?"

Fuck, he's huge. As tall as the ceiling. He stoops to examine her. Doom just stands there, awed by his presence. "Thursday," he says, his voice raspy and low, although still unmistakably Stanley. "But more than one. You are many."

"Er- Yeah. I take it you can see my other souls?" Doom says, trying not to feel utterly freaked out right now. This is Stanley. Her Stanley. Back from nothing. And he is seeing her souls. He must be a Reaper too. "But, Stanley, how did you-?"

"I don't know how this happened, my dear," he says, pulling back, and for a moment Doom relaxes. Dear. He called her dear. Just like old times. She almost starts to cry. "But I'm hungry. I need to eat. And you have many souls."

Doom is silent for several beats as it sinks in, both the realization and the horror. Stanley's a Reaper, all right. But not the good kind.

Shit.

#doomsday #stanley null #the end of days #cw blood #writing for days #side note: nobody's muses had to have said or done anything - dooms suffers heavily from depression #it affects her profoundly and is very difficult for her to shake it when it when she gets it in her head that nobody cares #thought i should make note of it here to help eliminate any confusion! #also oops i had to correct stanley calling her 'sis' to 'dear' #it's stanley parable who called thursday 'sis' - stanley null called doomsday 'dear' and yes it's a big difference!

[deathfavor]

@kisumshi said: Unfortunately I know exactly how you feel ( Hanma & Draken ) 

prompts for deep conversation

   Hanma wonders if the words should bring comfort to him, but they don’t. His cracked lips curve upwards into a grin that is as hollow as the two of them are. What a sight the pair of them must make. Mostly him though if he had to guess. The couple years on the run has made him lose more weight, as if he had ever had any he could afford to lose. It adds an eeriness to his figure, an even greater desire to avoid the reaper’s glowing eyes. Like he's a skeleton that's crawled out of the grave to drag others down.  

   Hanma isn’t stupid. He shouldn’t be sitting here chatting with Draken on the curb. He should have turned tail and fled the moment he caught sight of the blonde. Hell, he should have high-tailed it out of there when he heard the sound of a familiar motorcycle while he’d slipped into one of the nearby 24/7 hour convenience stores. His own bike wasn’t far away, hidden in the dark alleys. He probably could have escaped, although lying in wait for the dragon to pass would have been the smartest option and likely what he would have done. He had no way to know Draken was going to stop much less step inside a store. Habits on the run had granted him the small win of his hood already being up and turned away from the door – but his gloves weren’t on him right now. People weren’t prone to snitching in this part of town and he doubted his tattoos would even be remembered. Damn. If he was quick enough – 

  That seems to have been where Hanma’s luck ended because it took forever to get his cigarettes, for his cheap dinner. ( Breakfast? What did you even call a meal at this hour? ) And he was pretty damn sure that Draken had seen the tattoos even when he’d handed over the money and darted out the door. Hanma. It felt like ages since he’d heard his voice from someone who knew him. He had stopped. And somehow here they were, two shadows on the side of the road.  

   “  Yeah.  “  Hanma rasps, lighting one of the cigarettes he’d purchased and letting the nicotine soothe him as it seeps into his lungs. “ The sad pawns left behind, and everything’s dull.  “  Except, Hanma thinks, Draken has a chance. He’s a good guy, a far better one than he is. A part of him hopes for Draken’s sake that he manages to escape this. But Draken’s also an idiot. He’s loyal and he’s kinder than he really should be. This moment alone is proof enough. People always think big and tough guys like Draken can handle everything and rarely check on if it's true. Maybe they don't want to know if it isn't, Hanma has no clue other than he's seen it happen many times.

" Want one? " Hanma offers, packet open for Draken if he decides he wants one. He wonders why Draken hasn't called anyone ; he doesn't ask. Tired eyes turn away from the flickering street light across the road and looks towards Draken. " A smoke for the ghosts. "  

#kisumshi #᛭ — [IC] death follows in the wake of the reaper [SHUJI HANMA] #᛭ — [QUEUE] ghosts of the past and of the future

[multiplayr]

"At least you and Gabe managed to have families."

Jack associates both Ana and Gabriel with having a family. In context, this statement implies Gabriel had a spouse and even a child(ren), comparative to Ana’s situation: she was married at one point, and had a daughter, Fareeha. It does not elaborate further regarding Gabriel’s marital status, but we can know with some confidence that, at the very least, Gabriel had a child, and he was a father. Otherwise, why associate Gabriel and Ana together, as having families, in contrast to Jack’s inability to have a family (Jack Morrison was not married, and it is unclear if he has children)? 

Marriage and relationships with Special Forces and Special Operations are often complicated, and it isn’t infrequent to have divorces, break-ups, and even infidelity occur. Soldiers (in particular, Special Operations, given their frequent deployments and classified information they are not permitted to bring home) and their relationships are often strained, or distant. The Overwatch organization is not exempt, and both Ana Amari and Jack Morrison have had long-term relationships that did not last. In contrast, Torbjorn Lindholm has a loving wife, and several children and/or grandchildren-----  here, we have a canon example of a relationship working out.  A marriage or relationship prevailing is not unheard of, either.  

It is confirmed that the family Reaper was observing was not a random family. Given Gabriel’s current age as Reaper (58), we can assume that the family was either one of his children (and grandchildren), or less likely a spouse who remarried. At the very least, knowing that Gabriel had had a family before the fall of Overwatch & the Swiss Headquarters explosion would partly explain and even justify Gabriel’s deep, unfettered anger and hatred for Overwatch, and what “he” had done to him: 

“He did this to me, Ana. They left me to become this thing.”

Gabriel Reyes had not only lost his “humanity,” he also lost his family; his life, in every sense of the word. In canon, the sentience and humanity of cyborgs is disputed and controversial, as evidenced from Genji Shimada’s interactions with others. It would also explain Gabriel’s perceived desperation in researching genetics: recruiting Moira O'deorain, a controversial geneticist and genetic pioneer, to experiment on him, upon his explicit consent:    

“She was personally recruited by Blackwatch's commander, Gabriel Reyes, who wanted someone who could help advise him on matters pertaining to genetics.”

Gabriel was a man with something to lose, everything to lose. He was willing to take risks to avoid the inevitable: he was dying. The augmentation and experimentation done to him under the Soldier Enhancement Program was allegedly killing him. He did not want to die, because he had a family, a career, and a duty to uphold the reason Blackwatch existed at all.  

Gabriel was married, even throughout his career as Blackwatch’s Commander. He was a father, and a deeply family-oriented man who compartmentalized and organized his time with his family (both biological and emotional), and his work. Blackwatch, under the United Nations’ Special Operations Group and Special Activities Division, could not divulge the nature of their profession to “outsiders” (neighbors, teachers, girlfriends/boyfriends, civilians in general). Only his immediate family knew, to an extent, that he was a member of the secret cadre within Overwatch known as Blackwatch.  

Gabriel inevitably “dies” in 2071, in the middle of a United Nations investigation against Overwatch, as an alleged coup broke out at the Overwatch Swiss Headquarters in Zurich which caused an explosion. His spouse, a widow. His children, fatherless. They could not even bury him. 

#► FILE . BLACKWATCH INTEL. #( HC. / GABRIELREYES. ) #god no wonder reaper is so emo. he lost everything because of overwatch/SEP #i know it's really easy to say he's divorced like the rest lol but like. let gabe's relationships be healthy and work out??? #and y'know. open marriages / polyamory is a thing. (^: #except now reaper is Forever Alone. good.

[nanamisflowerfield]

Hi! Could you please do some Kuroshitsuji headcanons for Undertaker, Grell, and Ceil, with a s/o who had recently got the hanahaki disease(if you don't know what hanahaki is it's just a disease from one sided love that can make you cough up flowers. It can only be cured by having the other love you back, or surgery)?

Hey! Of course! I love the hanahaki disease AU so much! Always wanted to write it but never have... So thanks for the request! I will try to do it well! (´｡• ω •｡`) I didn’t know if you wanted to have it fluffy or angsty so I made it angsty... (>﹏<)

Many fans argued about Grell/Grelle’s pronounce and I’ve read many different things too, which is why I will use they/them for Grell. Sorry, if some people won’t be happy about it! (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞

I will also edit it later to put pics in there. Didn’t find any good ones I might want to use, so sorry if they don’t have any yet! (〃＞＿＜;〃)

Warning: Angsty! (no happy ends)

Hanahaki Disease AU

⚰️ “Oh my, how interesting!” Said the whitehaired man, as he glanced into the trash can. How it seemed his dear friend had a little secret!

⚰️ In there he found several flowers strained in the purest bloody red he could ever find, but some one tried to hide it from him, how it seemed.

⚰️ Now his fun had begun.

⚰️ “(Y/N).” You heard him voice call you, when you helped him out in his funeral parlor. Glancing back at the giggling mess, you called a friend and behind his back a crush, he threw something at your direction. Thanks to your fast reflexes you caught it items he just threw a second ago to you.

⚰️ It looked very similar to a bloody flower you tried to hide…

⚰️ “Looks like someone has the hanahaki disease!” He chuckled and wiggled with his eyebrows. “Sooo, who is it?” But the old Grim Reaper never got an answer, because you run out as fast as possible.

⚰️ Of course the old man would laugh at it! It wasn’t funny. It wasn’t great. You were in pain for so many weeks. Months! You were coughing and coughing, sometimes even choking on these damn flowers, hoping that your love for this maniac will soon disappear, but it never did. You wished it so much, but how did idiot made you fall for him even more?!

⚰️ No matter how often you tried to hide yourself from this man, he found you, asking you why your disease still didn’t disappear, asking you who you loved, asking you why your beloved didn’t love you back! Why for goodness sake did he had to be so charming and annoying at the very same time!?

⚰️ “Leave me alone!” You yelled at him, as more flowers came out of your mouth, trying to choke you.

⚰️ “You know… If you really hate this flowers so much, why don’t you just-?“ - “No.” You interrupted him.

⚰️ Surgery? No thank you. You were to scared to never fall for somebody ever again. Losing the funny memories of him…? This great and warm feeling you had, whenever you thought of your dearest Undertaker?

⚰️ Everybody said that love is great. It makes you happy, but it also has one price. Pain. Yes, that is truly a feeling that you know too well. You felt it every day, not because of the long-haired man, not, because of your disease.

⚰️ You knew that Undertaker loved his “guests” and the dead more than anybody else. There was nothing that he loved more and that is why, you were so sure, that he would never love you back. Undertaker wasn’t somebody who would easily love another living person. He was different and he only wanted to have strange and funny things in his life, which is why you always thought of yourself as not worthy for him.

⚰️ But some weeks later, you sat there under the table, staring at the blood strained flower in your hand, when you heard a knock on your door. “(Y/N)!” You heard a giggling voice. Undertaker.

⚰️ Will you let him in? Will you tell him what you choose? To take the surgery? Risk so many things or just keep on going…?

👠 Every time you heard a specific person screaming “Sebastiaaaaaan!~ ❤️”, you just rolled with your eyes. But how comes, that your heart was yearning for that one person so much, that didn’t love you back.

👠 Grell had only they eyes on Sebastian and it made you jealous and angry. Couldn’t the redhead love you too? But of course not. You will probably never be as great as the black-haired demon.

👠 One day, you woke up, after realizing that you had strong feelings for the crazy Grim Reaper, you rushed to the bathroom, feeling something in your throat, but no matter how much you coughed, it didn’t come out until your eyes started to tear up. Was it… blood? Why did you taste blood? What was going out? When you coughed harder and harder, it finally came out of your throat. Flower petals and blood. Shocked, you stared at it. No… Why…? Why did that happen?!

👠 You knew from day one that you’ve got that horrible disease, because of Grell. No, he wouldn’t want to hurt you, for you two are good friends, but the long-haired Grim Reaper did not love you back. That is why you coughed flowers up, felt this pain, had to clean your clothes from your blood. It was because of your hurtful one-sided love!

👠 “He looked so wonderful; don’t you agree?! ❤️ Just so perfect and so-… Mh? (Y/N)? Are you alright? Why are you coughing so much? Do you want me to get you something to drink?” You shook your head.

👠 Nothing could help you with your problem, except if one of two things happen to you. Either Grell loves you back or… a surgery. You were sure, that the one you loved from the bottom of your heart, would never love you back but a surgery? Was it really necessary? If you will choose this, you will never love Grell ever again. Some people even told you, that they lost their memories of their beloved ones and some others of the ability to ever love again.

👠 Day after day passed and here you stood. In front of your trash can, looking at the flowers you used to love before you’ve got your disease. They were so beautiful, but they were strained with your red blood. It smelled horrible and looked disgusting in there. You never wanted to see it ever again.

👠 Grell’s eyes widen when he walked into your room, to ask you for your opinion on their new outfit, but when the redhead couldn’t find you, he noticed the smell of blood. Slowly, they walked to your trash can to see the flowers and immediately knew what sign it was. He knew of this disease. Why was somebody so horrible and didn’t loved you back? Afterall you were Grell’s best friend! The Grim Reaper knew you better than anybody else! But he never realized that you have fallen for somebody!

👠 Quickly they followed a loud noise, Grell heard nearby and saw you lying on the ground.

👠 You looked so sleepy on the ground. So tired. In your weak hands you held three bloody flowers, while the other was in front of your mouth, keeping it shut.

👠 “Hey, (Y/N)! Come on! Wake up! Tell me, what should I do?” Grell panicked.

👠 Now you had to choose… Will you have that surgery or will you live until the day the flowers close your throat and let you sleep there where the Grim Reaper never wanted to see you in for, they will never reciprocate your feelings

♕ “Should we continue, or do you prefer something else, (Y/N)?” Asked the one and only head of the Phantomhive house. “What are you thinking about? You are distracted. Our entire chess game.” – “Mh? Nothing.” You lied and Ciel knew it.

♕ So what exactly was going on in the head of yours? Some might think important business thoughts and some others mayhap that you were thinking about the usual things people in your age thought about. But the truth was… Nothing.

♕ The only thing you did on your chair was actually to not start coughing.

♕ The reason? Ciel. You fell for him. Hard. Which was not a good idea, because you knew him. You knew every secret of him. He not only told you about it, because you were a dear friend of his and he trusted you, but also because he saw you as a sibling.

♕ It hurt you, but this wasn’t the only pain you felt for the couple of weeks, no. It was the pain in your body.

♕ Everyday and every night you coughed up big flowers and flower petals, only because your feeling weren’t reciprocate.

♕ A few friends even told you, that it could be possible for him to fall for you, but you never believed them. Sure, he didn’t love his fiancée like you loved him, but he only had his eyes on one thing. His goal. The one and only reason for him to summon a demon and make a pact with it! Revenge.

♕ Even thought you never liked the idea, you supported him, thanks to your strong feelings. This very warm feeling you held for him, which guided you towards him.

♕ It made you sick.

♕ So sick, that you started coughing again and rushing out of the room, while Ciel called after you and run a few steps after you until he glanced down to see a small bloody flower petal. Was it always there…?

♕ But Ciel was smart. Very smart, which is why he figured out why you have run away.

♕ He knew of your love for him and tried to reject you gently, which made your disease worse than it already was.

♕ It started with you coughing them to you nearly choking on them, desperate to breath, always grasping on something while the most beautifulest flowers left your body. Petal after petal.

♕ Ciel even suggested to help you find a doctor, but you declined it. It was your problem and you were old enough to make your own decisions! You wanted to choose it on your own if you wanted to have this surgery or… well… Sleep forever…

♕ But the day has come, where you stood in front of Ciel and told him your decision and hopefully he will support you like in all those years he stood by your side…

#Kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji imagines #black butler #kuroshitsuji x reader #black butler imagines #black butler x reader #ciel phantomhive #ciel phantomhive x reader #ciel phantomhive imagines #undertaker #undertaker x reader #undertaker imagines #kuroshitsuji undertaker #kuroshitsuji undertaker x reader #kuroshitsuji undertaker imagines #black butler undertaker #black butler undertaker x reader #black butler undertaker imagines #grell sutcliff #grelle sutcliff #grell sutcliff x reader #grell sutcliff imagines #grelle sutcliff imagines #grelle sutcliff x reader #hanahaki disease #hanahaki

[mcbride]

TWD S11 Predictions - Carol/Daryl focused

disclaimer: i don't know anything. i have no sources. just my predictions, thoughts and wishful thinking based on filming tracking, intuition, some theories, images from the teaser/promo trailers and more wishful thinking!

solely focused on Carol and Daryl's storylines, cause apparently that's all my heart cares about anymore! as a wise person once said (Espy, my positive fairy! if you're reading this, ilysm), our baes need to be dealing with their own issues and demons, separately, while getting some closure with other people, so they can finally move forward together.

so i don't expect many actual caryl scenes in part 1 of s11, but i fully expect them to keep each other in mind, and even make some decisions based on a future they wanna have together even before they resolve the awkward tension between them atm.

imo the perfect caryl arc in 11a would include a lot of emotional encounters, drama, disappearances, fake deaths, torture, tragedy, dog, closure and make up and make out... after the jump....

it appears that Carol and Daryl will be involved in different missions at the start of the season - he will head out with Maggie's group to search for food when they are caught up in a storm and have to hide out in the subway tunnels; while i presume she stays back to defend and help clean up ASZ or goes on her own mission with Kelly and Magna.

Carol, Kelly and Magna end up stumbling upon Connie's journal, a symbol of hope for all of them. they might even decide to search the area for any more signs of Connie. i really want Carol herself to find Connie and bring her back to Kelly. and not cause Carol is a hero who saved Connie, nooooooo cause Connie can save her own self. she is strong, not a damsel in distress. she went through hell but she made it back. i think we will see Connie and what she has been through, however, i don't believe she will reunite with anyone from team family before the MSF (11x08) or even MSP (11x09). no idea who she and Virgil are running from in the trailer - it could either be a whisperer, a stray reaper or just some crazy random motherf*cker they run into.

while Maggie's group are in the tunnels, dog runs off and Daryl goes to search for him, never making it back to the group for some reason. after the storm is over, Maggie and the group search for Daryl but not having been able to find him (?) they just assume he is gone, possibly dead? i don't know why Maggie would give up so easily searching for family, but it seems like her current MO to just leave people behind.

along the way, Carol and Magna will find common ground and actually become besties cause she desperately needs some female friends. please and thank you. they can bond over the hope to find Connie alive and well, or the fact, both of them are currently in a very awkward position with their boos while having no idea where the heck they are.

Daryl probably got separated from the group while escaping a small herd in the tunnels (cue to Daryl's face covered in blood in the woods) and when he finally finds dog, he comes face to face with a masked reaper formerly known to him as Leah. he is shocked to learn she's part of the group that targeted Maggie. Leah is probably bitter Daryl chose his family instead of her a few years ago cause she has no idea he came back for her... so she and her friends take (willingly or not!) Daryl prisoner... possibly torture him and play mind games to gather information on team family.

in the sdcc trailer, there are some very heartbreaking scenes with Carol (and Aaron?), i cannot wait for it. i know it's gonna make me cry so hard and i've been needing Carol/Aaron friendship for years. at the same time, i expect Carol to also have some badass fighting scenes with her daughter-in-law and new bestie, Lydia, and tia Rosita! YES girl power!! people need Carol and she's totally there for them.

Aaron seems to be in a bad place emotionally (possibly something happened to Gracie, or just the fact they lost a lot of people in the whisperers war!) and Carol will be there to urge him not to make the same mistakes she did. hopefully, these 2 can join forces and come up with a masterplan to defeat the reapers.

Daryl being Daryl who always wants to save people even from themselves, tries to convince Leah to change sides, join team family, or convince her own family to leave his family alone. he's unsuccessful and when Daryl tries to escape, setting the whole place on fire and killing a few men on his way out of the reapers compound, Leah threatens to harm dog. cause why not? she obvi loves nothing or no one! they take Daryl back to another cell, and dog manages to escape.

meanwhile, Maggie's group returns to ASZ, where they tell Carol they believe Daryl is lost or dead. please give me all the angst that comes with Carol thinking she may have lost Daryl forever! she has been pretty committed to the group and rebuilding their home, but i believe her first instinct will be to run, to leave... TO FIND DARYL!!! cause no way in hell would Carol just accept he's gone unless she sees it with her own eyes.

WELL in true 'if you can't beat them, then join them' fashion, after a few brainwashing sessions with Leah, Daryl tells her all about the note (FIND ME) he left for her at the cabin, how he knows he made the wrong decision then, declares his loyalty to her and joins the reapers...

dog arrives at ASZ just as Carol is about to leave to search for Daryl. good boy always comes back home to mama and together they will find and save dada. (bear with me! from now on i'll be totally running wild with my wishful thinking... it will pretty much read like some fanfic plot!)

Daryl keeps trying to fit in with the reapers group, but he's only taking a page from Carol's undercover book - fake it till you make it + destroy them from the inside. what he doesn't know is that Leah and her new/old bf (Pope!?) have been planning an attack on ASZ behind his back. they simply let him know, this is his chance to prove himself to the reapers. he has to go along with the plan (or DIE!), but he hopes to be Alexandrians' inside man, helping them protect their family at all costs (ironically, exactly what Negan did when he joined the whisperers and they attacked Hilltop... just not the same motivation! i guess Carol wasn't so wrong about Negan after all!)

at night, Daryl puts on his reaper costume and they head to ASZ. reapers learned the location of the place by tracking dog. the plan was much bigger and more explosive than Daryl expected, the reapers destroy a big part of ASZ brand new rebuilt wall and set fire to a bunch of houses and the mill before Daryl can even react.

Alexandrians and reapers fight as Daryl sneaks out to lead the kids to safety. he finds Maggie, asks for Carol, and is glad she is out there looking for him, relatively safe, rather than around to fight and watch ASZ fall.

while out looking for Daryl, Carol hears the explosions, sees the fire and she and dog return to ASZ as fast as they can. they are greeted by Leah at what used to be front gate...

i realize this is getting extremely long, so i'll just say that i absolutely don't want Carol to have anything to do with Leah's possible imminent death. i don't want that guilt on her conscience, and i don't want her to feel like Leah is just another person she took from Daryl (like Connie!). i don't even want Leah to die! unless she's trying to hurt or kill Daryl.

somehow i think it would be a good twist, if for a quick second Carol thought Daryl had betrayed them and joined the reapers for Leah. of course, Carol knows better. SHE KNOWS DARYL. he would never, but for a brief panicked moment, it would be good to see her react to that. i can only imagine the pain in her eyes. but she also trusts Daryl with her life.

we have no idea what Leah knows about Carol, but i'd like the pocketknife Daryl regifted to come back. how would Leah react? likely angry to see another woman with something that was hers. i want to believe Daryl would never tell Leah anything about Carol because she is just too important and too personal to share. but maybe Leah can tell there was someone else !? who knows.

i just want it to be completely clear Daryl is done with that part of his past. Daryl is not alone and lost in the woods anymore without his brother Rick and his bestie Carol. ever since Carol brought him back, Daryl has acted like he knows exactly what he wants and he's done playing games. and what he wants is not Leah or Connie. he wants for ALL his family to be safe and happy, and he wants to run away with Carol and see the world. AND i want both Carol and Daryl to feel free to be free and live freely.

as for the make up and make out part... (that's saved for 11b, hopefully!)

team family won, most of the reapers are dead, except for Leah. Daryl (with Carol's nod of approval!) decides to spare her, gives her some supplies and tells her to get lost. at the same time, Eugene arrives with the troopers from CommonWealth to help with the whisperer war. WHOOPS. 2 wars, 2 late, bruh! but the group leaves to join the good people at CW.

Carol and Daryl have a very long conversation about everything that happened and what they have been feeling. Daryl telling her exactly why he was so mad at her (she kept leaving, can't commit!), her actions (almost getting herself killed!) since Henry's death and how he needs her in his life. no matter how she sees herself or whether she thinks she's worthy or not, he just wants her to be there next to him for whatever is to come.

plus Carol realizing she needed to get closer and let people in without fear, not give up hope and actually fight for a better future for herself. and finally, admitting to Daryl that it was horrible to think he might've been gone forever, promising to never make him feel the way she felt. basically, a promise to never ever leave him again (cue to making out!)

#caryl #caryl rants #caryl predictions #carol peletier #daryl dixon #dog dixon #s11 spoilery #good lawd this is long af #did i go full td here? #or plausible possibility territory? #wishful thinking #speculation

[songfell-ut]

Merry Xmas toooo

Hey @venelona remember when I was talking about that Beauty & the Beast thing in your server

Well, I copied myself, ‘cause Sans is still not good at following through on getting a human soul, and a stray bit of paper drives the plot once more.

This is nowhere near finished because it’s me. I’ll polish it up and put it on AO3 once my other gift is done for tomorrow (she said famous-last-words-ly). 

Prepare yourself for a shock: I wrote something long. Indents, meh. Warning, Sans is stupid.

Today was not a good day: it was cold, he had to get married, and now there was a human in his garden.

           This was problematic for many reasons. For one thing, as the literal lord of all he surveyed, Sans always found it hard to get any alone time, much less a chance to nap. He’d started coming outside each night after dinner to doze off for a few precious minutes, at least until the wind whistled through his sockets one time too many or his brother started yelling at him over the wall. On this particular evening, though, after his chat with Toriel, his sole aim was to avoid seeing anyone; luckily, he’d already forbidden the others from coming into the garden, and he was prepared to stay out here forever if he had to, weather and Papyrus be damned.

Sans was not prepared to take a shortcut to his favorite bench by the nightshades and sit down, only to catch sight of someone hunched behind a bush at the end of the row. The skeleton scrambled to his feet in sudden panic, readying his magic to defend himself. Who or what the hell was that? No one should be here—this was his place! Had Toriel told him all that crap to trick him into going out alone, then sent someone after him? But how?

His instinct was to attack first, but for all Sans knew, this was some kind of trap; instead, he watched and listened, waiting for the thing to make its move. His soul thrummed like a harpstring, ready to summon bones to skewer the intruder, or teleport away—

But nothing happened. As the seconds ticked by, Sans gradually realized that the small, dark-clothed figure wasn’t crouched to spring at him or lying in wait, just bending down to examine the flowers. He couldn’t sense any malicious intent whatsoever; in fact, it didn’t seem to know he was there, or that he was coming closer for a better look.

Well, no wonder: it was wearing a cloak with a deep hood that blocked its peripheral vision, and it was facing into the wind, where it couldn’t hear or smell anyone sneaking up from behind. That meant the intruder was either very confident or really fucking stupid.

Maybe it was just Monster Kid or one of the others screwing with him? After all, no matter how often Sans told them to stay the hell out of his garden, and no matter how strongly his subjects were compelled to obey him, he kept finding rocks, bits of bone, and other junk the little bastards had tossed over the wall. Things had gotten better since Papyrus started patrolling the outer courtyard, happy to combine his favorite pastimes of keeping things tidy and beating the shit out of people, but…

           But no, this wasn’t a kid who’d found a loophole in his orders, or an adult monster strong enough to defy him. Sans took a couple of quick shortcuts at different angles to appraise the intruder, confirming that it wasn’t sized or shaped like anyone he knew; it also failed to react when he stepped through an arch of greenery just a few feet away. No shift of attention, no magic gathering to attack or defend itself—who could possibly be that dumb? None of the surviving monsters would ever dream of dropping their guard like this, not even the kids!

The wind shifted, and Sans’ nasal ridge twitched as an unfamiliar stench hit him. He recognized the scent of leather from its clothes, but there were strong hints of…some kind of hair, and…bodily fluids? There was something missing, too, so basic that it took Sans a minute to pinpoint it: the trespasser had no magic whatsoever.

That was the most confusing thing of all. No matter how fishy or perfumed or otherwise gross they might be, everyone had that dry, slightly spicy smell. Had someone dressed up an animal and released it into the garden as a prank? A thrill of fear raced through him again—did Toriel’s curse include female animals? It’d be just like her to dump that on him and then make sure he ran into a bear or a deer or something!

           Suddenly, the intruder sighed heavily, straightened up, and shook its hood off. To Sans’ shock, it wasn’t an animal or a monster: the thing standing in his garden was a human. It turned its back to the wind, squinting down at the white-stoned path and up at the surrounding wall, the smooth black marble shining rose-gold in the twilight.

           What the hell was a human doing here? At least it was a male; Sans relaxed a little, then shook himself and edged forward.

Humans were legendary for their cruelty and cunning, but this particular specimen didn’t seem very dangerous. Beneath its dusty travel clothes and heavy cloak, it was almost as short at Sans, with a wrinkly face and gray streaks in its hair. Did all humans get like that after only…what, fifty years? Granted, Sans was just twenty-five, a baby by monster standards, but he wouldn’t be this twitchy or feeble when he reached the human’s age. And he wouldn’t be dumb enough to wander into someone else’s territory after sundown!

           The man had started walking again, still oblivious to Sans’ presence, and paused at a fork in the path. Sans silently willed him to turn right, and he’d been obeyed by everyone he knew for so long that it was a surprise to see the human go left instead. The skeleton watched in irritation, then disbelief, as his uninvited guest sat down on a low wall and pulled a map out of his pocket.

           That had to be the stupidest thing Sans had ever seen. Did human maps of the area include HAUNTED CASTLE ON FORBIDDEN MOUNTAIN? He doubted it. Besides, there was a village at the foot of the mountain, straight down through the forest; even if he couldn’t find the main path, all this moron had to do was walk downhill, back the…way he’d…

Wait. How had he even gotten in here?

           Quick as thought, Sans zipped over to the massive iron gates that stood between the castle and the outside world. Sure enough, the ivy growing between the bars had been disturbed at one end where the man had squeezed through. Sans extended one bony finger very, very slowly toward the gate, and as his phalange approached the nearest bar, the air filled with a warning hum, his bones prickling with alarm till he stepped away.

The barrier was still working, then. What had the King said before they dusted him? Anything could get in, but nothing could get out…except a monster in possession of a human soul. But there were no—

           The skeleton monster’s sockets widened again, this time in excitement. He grinned hugely, then took a shortcut back to the human, who was trying to fold up the map. Just in case, Sans peered at the human’s chest, gauging how much effort this would take.

           His elation immediately vanished, disgust welling up in its place. Of all the humans who could’ve wandered up here, it had to be one with a pathetically weak, almost sickly little soul—and why did it have to be green? Fucking Kindness! Talk about shitty luck!

           Not that he was going to pass up the opportunity, of course. Absorbing any human soul, no matter how crappy, would give him power greater than every other monster who’d ever lived, combined. He could finally pass through the gates, descend on the human village like a force of nature, grab as many souls as he wanted, and come back here to destroy the ga—no, he’d wreck the whole fucking castle! The others would finally be free, too, though he wouldn’t be stupid enough to share any souls with them. Maybe Pap could have a few, just enough to fulfill his dream of tearing Undyne to pieces, and to help eliminate Toriel; then they’d be untouchable in a world where “kill or be killed” was the only rule!

Sans was jerked back to the present by the human making a horribly wet noise and pulling a square of cloth from his pocket. Why was this disgusting sack of flesh even here, anyway? As far as Sans knew, no one had come near the castle for decades; even the local wildlife stayed far away. Yet here he was, an ordinary-looking human who had come all the way up the mountain in the approaching dark.

The man had finally sensed something wrong and was looking around uneasily. “Hello?” he called. Sans stayed where he was, silent and contemptuous; sure enough, the human’s gaze swept right past him. “Odd,” he murmured, lowering the map and folding it in half.

           Sans knew he should go ahead and kill the guy now, but the wind chose that moment to pick back up, rustling through the flowers and nearly yanking the map out of the human’s hands; the man swore and fumbled at the stiff parchment, fighting to keep hold of it.

The skeleton chuckled, almost pityingly. As lord of the castle, he decided he could be magnanimous and let this moron finish putting the map away. Besides, it was funny as hell to watch him lose to a piece of paper.

           Eventually, the man gave up and tried instead to stuff the half-folded map into his pocket, pulling a few things out to make room. Enough of this, thought Sans, his amusement fading. The skeleton took a few steps forward, letting his magic swell to a darkly feverish pitch and drift off him like red smoke. He was probably scary enough as it was, but anything worth doing was worth overdoing, especially when it’d make the human’s reaction that much funnier.

           Besides, this idiot had trespassed on Sans’ land and his solitude at exactly the wrong time. A quick, clean death was too good for him, but it couldn’t be helped: Sans had to get his soul out in one piece and reach the village before daybreak. Ha, maybe he’d put his hood up and pretend to be the Reaper the humans feared so much—wasn’t that why they had exterminated every single skeleton monster but him and Pap? He’d give the fuckers something to be afraid of!

It was time, all right. The human had finally sensed someone at his back, and began to turn around. “Excuse me, I—”

           Another gust of wind suddenly came howling through the garden and tore the map out of the human’s grip. It landed with a thk and skidded along the white-stoned path; with it went a couple of envelopes he’d set on his lap, and another, much smaller piece of paper, which blew straight into the nearest flowerbed.

           The human’s demeanor changed in an instant from annoyance to panic. “No!” He flailed at the air, then stumbled over the wall, charging through the flowers. “Come back here!” he yelled, as if the wind or the paper could understand him.

           Sans froze, feeling his magic go still as the blossoms answered—or, rather, echoed: “Come back here!” What the hell was the guy doing tromping around like that? Those were echo flowers, not daisies! One of them was worth twenty of this dumbfuck!

The wind was still blowing, but after a few clumsy grabs, the human threw himself full-length onto the ground, trapping the paper amongst the squished flowers. He sighed gustily – ha – and stood up, smiling. “There you are,” he murmured, his voice clear as the wind dropped to a light breeze.

The skeleton couldn’t see what the human was looking at so fondly. In his irate curiosity, he hesitated another moment too long: “Hm,” the man said to himself. “Yes, that’ll do.” He crouched again, grabbed a blossom at random, and plucked it clean out of the ground.

           “What the fuck?”

           Sans’ roar shattered the air like a rock through a stained-glass window. He was too angry to enjoy the human’s shriek of terror, or his attempt to turn and run; the skeleton jerked his hand up and sideways, yanking the man off his feet and hurling him onto the path. “Who the fuck d’you think you are?” snarled Sans. His magic flared up again as he advanced, staining the footpath red. “Huh?”

           The human was trembling violently, staring up at him. “Are you deaf or somethin’?” the monster demanded. He grabbed the man by the collar, hauling him to his feet. “Answer me, or I’ll rip yer fuckin’ head off!”

           The human gulped. “I…” He squeezed his eyes shut, sweat rolling off his face. “P-P-Please forgive me, my lord! I-I was being pursued by bandits, and they didn’t stop until I reached this place! I needed shelter, someone to point the way home—” He peeked up at Sans again, almost hiccuping in fear. “I-If you’ll permit me to leave, I swear I’ll never trouble you again!”

           Sans glanced up at a nearby lantern hanging on an iron post, and it obligingly lit itself. “That’s for damn sure,” said the skeleton. His wrath faded a little as his prisoner gaped at him in the clearer light. Now he understood the expression “bug-eyed,” not to mention “slack-jawed”; it was one of the funniest things he’d ever seen. Still… “You expect me to believe ya just wandered in here outta nowhere?” Sans jerked his head at the castle looming behind him, though the moon hadn’t risen to provide a properly spooky silhouette. “Didja think you could sneak in, grab somethin’, an’ get out before anybody noticed? ‘Cause I fuckin’ noticed!” He stabbed a finger at the echo flower in the human’s hand. “That shit doesn’t grow just anywhere!”

           The man blinked stupidly at the flower, as if surprised to see it. His eyes darted back and forth, his other hand sneaking toward his pocket. “I…I can explain, my l—”

           “Uh-uh.” Sans waggled his finger, and the human cried out as his hand was yanked straight over his head, the little slip of paper fluttering to the ground. Ignoring his protests, Sans made a couple more gestures to open the man’s coat and run a thread of magic through the pockets, then the lining. He frowned as he found several coins, letters, a comb, a pipe…but no weapons.

Huh. If the human hadn’t been going for a knife or something, then what the hell was he doing? Was he just trying to put the paper away? How goddamn stupid could he—

           “Please!” the man almost shrieked, and Sans was startled into releasing him. He watched the human stumble back, dropping the echo flower in his haste to run after the slip of paper again. Luckily for him, it blew against the corner of another bench, where he could easily stoop to retrieve it. The map lay nearby, but the human didn’t even look at it; he sighed in relief, and started to turn around.

           Sans was directly in front of him, grinning at his strangled squeak. “Whatcha got there?” The skeleton didn’t wait for an answer, just reached for it.

           “No!” To his astonishment, the man flailed at him, backing away till his shins hit the bench. “I-It’s nothing!” the human babbled. “Nothing at all! Just a picture that I didn’t want to lose! You can leave it!”

           Later, Sans would try to blame himself for not being more careful. But he had every right to be curious, and no reason to be thinking of Toriel right then; it was only natural for him to use his magic to grab the paper and hold it up to see what was so fucking important. So, he did.

           The human was right: it was a delicate ink drawing. Sans felt the smirk slide right off his face, and he took the picture in both hands, peering so intently that he didn’t even notice the man grabbing his sleeve. “Who’s this?” the skeleton inquired, trying to sound careless. “Yer wife?”

           “My daughter!” The guy was actually jumping to try to grab it, like a frantic kid. “As I said, it’s worth nothing to you! Please give it back!”

Sans absently pushed the human off with his elbow, raising the paper to the light. “Knock it off,” he grunted as the man came right back.

The human’s sheeplike face contorted. “Has milord never seen a woman before? Give it ba—”

Skeletal fingers shot out and locked around his throat. To Sans’ surprise, when he glared down at the human, the man glared right back, even as he clawed at Sans’ radius. “Why d’you want it so bad? Is she dead or somethin’?” the monster asked in sudden hope.

The human’s eyes bulged wider, and he struggled to speak until Sans loosened his grip. After a bit of coughing and puffing, the man rasped, “How dare you? She’s my child, you wretched beast!” He dashed Sans’ hopes with a jerky shake of the head. “I’ve been away from her for over a month, and I was only hours from home when I was attacked! That’s all I’ve had of her! If I’m going to die at your hand, the very least you can do is let me see it one more time!”

           Sans’ jaw clenched so hard that his single golden tooth creaked under the pressure. He shut his sockets, aware that he had to think very carefully before he spoke. “I got some questions for ya,” he snarled. “Tell me the truth, an’ you might leave in one piece.” He opened his sockets, his ruby eyelights pulsing across the human’s face. “Got it?”

           The wind shrieked past them again, but Sans held both the human and the slip of paper steady. The man stared at him in clear distrust; Sans wasn’t sure if he was being brave, or stupid, or what, but he wasn’t cowering anymore. As a slight token of respect, the skeleton opened his hand, letting the human jerk away. “Yes, milord,” the latter whispered, massaging his throat. “Whatever you wish.”

           Sans snorted, and snuck another glance at the portrait. “What’s your family name? What were you doin’ away from home fer so long?”

           The man’s brow wrinkled further. “My name is Proust, milord. I’m a merchant, so I travel frequently. I’ve been investigating a business opportunity in the capital.”

           A merchant? That was hard to believe. The coins in the human’s pockets consisted solely of pennies and a few silver pieces that Sans didn’t recognize; Proust was dressed fairly well, but on closer inspection, the fur trim of his cloak was patchy, while his leather coat was shiny with age. Either he was a cheapskate, or he hadn’t made any real money in a long time. “How’d it go?” Sans asked sardonically.

           “Poorly, milord,” the man snapped. “I promised Frisk I’d bring her something from the city, but then I could barely afford to pay my way home.” He looked down at the echo flower, which lay on the stones between them. “She likes gardening, so…”

           Sans knew he should make another fuss about the theft, but he had a bigger problem. “‘Frisk’?” he repeated. “Is that a nickname or somethin’?”

           “No,” Proust said stiffly. “What else would my lord care to know?”

           Sans gave him another glare, and though the man flinched, he didn’t look away. “Heh,” the skeleton murmured. “She your only kid?”

           “Yes, my lord. My wife died in childbirth. Frisk…” His voice caught. “She’s all I have left.”

The monster grimaced. He almost would’ve preferred an aggressive human to a sappy one. “How old is she?” The paper trembled. It wasn’t the wind: his hands were shaking. “Did you leave her home alone, or with ‘er husband, or…?”

           The human eyed him in rightful suspicion. “She’s twenty-two, my lord. We live with my brother’s family. She’s unwed—I’ve had several offers for her hand, but she refused them all.”

“Why?” Sans asked bluntly.

Proust blinked a few times. “She didn’t love them. She didn’t even like most of them, and the one she might have accepted left because my brother wouldn’t give her a dowry. Why do you—”

“A dowry?” Sans repeated. “The hell is that?”

This was obviously a sensitive question: the human’s face turned a weird color, and something pulsed near his eyebrow—a vein? Was that what it was called? Sans turned his head in disgust, studying the portrait again. If she had veins, he couldn’t see any.

The human cleared his throat. “It’s a gift of money or other goods that a woman brings to a marriage. Many young women in our social class have a difficult time finding a husband without one, and…”

“An’ you don’t have enough cash to sell her off?” Sans waved a hand as Proust swelled with rage again. “Never mind. Whatever stupid shit humans get up to, I don’ care.” He was quiet for a moment. “Just seems pathetic that you’ve gotta pay someone to take ‘er.”

“Was milord listening?” the human demanded. “I’ve had six other gentlemen ask to marry her, and four were willing to forego any dowry at all! She was good enough!”

It was Sans’ turn to twitch. “Why? What’s so great about ‘er?”

Proust made a noise like an angry frog. “May I humbly entreat milord to explain his gracious interest in my family?”

           Sans toyed with the idea of telling him the truth, and shrugged. “Just curious. So, I’m guessin’ you wanna see her again?”

           “Yes, milord, absolutely,” the man said in a rush. “I’d do anything—you have no idea how much she means to me!” He looked longingly at the paper in Sans’ hand, still held up to the lamplight. “She drew that herself,” he added.

           Sans started. “Really?” he asked before he could stop himself.

           “Yes, indeed,” the human said proudly.

           The skeleton scowled at the picture. It was a perfect rendition of a young woman seated at a table, wearing an old-fashioned gown; her dark hair was twisted up into a bun, showing a small earring, a pearl necklace, and a graceful curve of neck and shoulder. Now that Proust mentioned it, she did seem to be drawing herself in the mirror, one hand holding a pencil and the other steadying the paper, her head tilted to look up at Sans.

           For a moment, he was so angry that he couldn’t breathe. This was bullshit! Why should he pass up his chance at unlimited power because of a girl who probably wasn’t even that pretty in real life? He should just rip the stupid picture in half, rip the human in half, grab his shitty green soul, and get things started!

           But the longer he stared at the paper, the less he wanted to rip it in half, kill the human, become godlike, etc. etc. It just seemed…boring? Unnecessary?

Tch. This was all Toriel’s fault! She’d called him to her room that evening in an absolute fit of laughter and told him exactly what was going to happen, and the old bitch knew he’d come down here afterward and—

           And he couldn’t stay mad about it. Instead, something weird was happening behind his sternum, a sticky kind of warmth spreading like an infection through his ribcage and down his limbs. No matter how hard he tried to dwell on being jerked around, or why it had to be some squishy human with a dumb father and a weird name, Sans couldn’t look away from the portrait, caught by the girl’s clear, bright eyes. No one had ever smiled at him like that…

           He came down here every night to get away from everyone, but what if…what if he had someone he didn’t want to get away from? Unbidden, a thought crept up: what would the garden look like with this human in it, helping water the flowers or sitting with him to watch the sun set? What would it be like to always have someone to talk to about stuff bothering him, help with all the day-to-day crap of running the household…smile at him, keep him warm at night—

Shit! Had Toriel laughed at him because she knew he’d actually want this to happen?

           “Hello?” Proust was asking. “Milord? Is something wrong?”

           Sans shook himself. “Fine, she can draw. Does she know how ta do anything?” That’d be a perfect excuse to forget about her. If he wanted to keep something cute and useless around, he could just put a collar on one of the kids and make it do tricks!

           The human actually laughed at him. “We went to stay with my brother, milord, when Frisk was fourteen years old. He was a widower, so she took it upon herself to be the lady of the house. Within a few months, she was managing his servants, balancing his accounts, organizing his social affairs—clear up till he remarried last year.” His narrow chest puffed out. “It’s a large part of the reason she’s been sought after. Any man would be lucky to have her.”

           The monster’s hands were trembling again, a strange sensation burning him from the inside out. “Is—” It was a childish question, but he couldn’t help it: “Is she nice?”

           Proust looked at him strangely. “Yes, milord. She is.” He flinched as Sans’ grip on the drawing tightened. “Forgive me,” the man quavered, “but why do you—”

“Gimme your hand,” growled the skeleton. He gestured, keeping the paper suspended in midair as he lowered his own hands. “Take the glove off.”

           Proust swallowed once or twice, then obeyed. Sans didn’t hide his distaste as he took hold of Proust’s wrist, the human’s pulse twitching against his thumb. For a second, he didn’t know if he could go through with it; then he glanced at the portrait, and said, “Don’t move.” Before he could lose his nerve, the monster lifted a skull-shaped pendant from beneath his shirt, positioned the human’s finger between its tiny jaws, and willed them to snap shut.

           Proust yelped as the pendant latched onto his finger. “What in God’s name is that thing?” he cried, trying to shake it off.

“Magic,” Sans said pleasantly. The poor skull didn’t seem to like it any more than the human did: its jaws sprang right back open, and he could’ve sworn he saw it make a face at him.

Proust was staring at his hand in disbelief, searching for signs of any blood or puncture wounds—nothing. “What…?”

“Here’s what’s gonna happen.” Sans tucked the pendant back under his shirt. “There’s a spot over by the gates where you can sleep. No one’s allowed in here, so you oughta be safe till morning. When you leave, jus’ head straight down the mountain. Pretty much any of the paths will take you to Ebott. I’d send ya there now, but my magic can’t get through the barrier on the gate.” He sighed. “Need ta pull some strings to get you back out at all.”

           The human was torn between intense relief and distrust. “Thank you, my lord. May I—”

           “Nope. Just be happy that’s all I did.” Sans indicated the man’s finger as Proust pulled his glove back on. “I’ll even let ya bring ‘er the flower. Nice, eh?”

           The man swallowed hard. “Yes, milord. I thank you from the bottom of my heart. But…may I please ask why?”

The shadows seemed to creep in, darkening the lamplight. The human shrank back as the skeleton’s grin broadened. “Wanna hear somethin’ funny?” Sans reached up to run a finger along the portrait’s bottom edge. “I’m the boss around here, but there’s a lady hangin’ around I can’t get rid of, and she knows stuff. Guess what she told me ‘fore I came out here. Go on, guess!”

Proust looked nearly sick. “I…I don’t know, my lord. What did she—”

“She said, ‘Congratulations!’ An’ I said, ‘On what?’ And she said, ‘On your upcoming marriage!’ So a’course, I said, ‘The fuck are you talkin’ about?’ An’ she said I was gonna meet my wife real soon.”

It was subtle, but Proust’s eyes flicked to Sans’ pelvis. The skeleton’s amusement vanished. Just like a human—didn’t he know how magic worked? “Yeah, my wife,” he growled. “Funny part is, she was right.” The monster took Frisk’s drawing in one hand and tapped the side of his skull with it. “Wanna know who Toriel said it’d be?”

The man didn’t move, except to make a noise vaguely resembling “Who?”

Sans chuckled. “The first woman I saw once I left the room.”

A beat of silence. Sans was wondering if he’d have to spell it out when Proust howled, “No!” and made a credible attempt to tackle Sans and grab his daughter’s picture. “You can’t—”

The skeleton sent him sprawling with one push. “Sorry, Dad,” he drawled. “I left the room, an’ I saw ‘er. That’s that.” He laughed harshly at the man’s expression. “What? She’s gonna get her own damn castle, lotsa nice stuff—I won’t even make you pay for ‘er!”

“You—” Sans watched, bemused, as the human sprang to his feet, fists clenched. “Tear me limb from limb if you want, but I am not giving my daughter to a thing like you!”

“Yeah, about that.” The skeleton raised a finger. “Y’know that little nibble ya got just now? ’s a great trick. Lemme show you how it works.” Hmm…what to do? Better not get carried away, or the guy would have a nervous breakdown before he could get his daughter up here. “Grab the echo flower and say, ‘I’m a stupid doo-doo butt.’”

Before Proust could protest, his body turned, stooped, and picked up the blue flower. He brought it to his lips, and said, very solemnly, “I’m a stupid doo-doo butt.” Then his head jerked up. “What in the—”

Sans hooted with laughter, fighting the urge to slap his future father-in-law on the back and accidentally break his spine. “See? When I say you’re gonna do somethin’, you don’t have a choice, do ya?” He sobered in an instant. “So, yer gonna go home an’ fetch ‘er for me. Got it?”

“It doesn’t matter what you’ve done to me,” Proust said defiantly. “You said it yourself. Once I pass your gates, your magic won’t have any effect.”

“Good thing it ain’t my magic, then. It’s yours.” He got a blank stare, and sighed in exasperation. This was getting old: it was chilly out here, and he had a lot of planning to do. “I don’ have time fer a whole magic lesson. What it boils down to is, yer a part’a this place now. The magic’s with you wherever you go. Even when ya get back home—”

Proust chose that moment to make a break for it. Sans watched him race toward the gates, then reappeared directly in front of the bars, forcing the human to stop short. “Listen,” he said coldly, forestalling Proust’s attempt to cover his ears. “Three days from now, you’re gonna bring Frisk here. Yer gonna tell ‘er whatever you need to make ‘er stay. Then you’re gonna shut up and leave, and you won’t come back.”

The human’s face was crumpling in a way that suggested something wet was about to happen. “You can’t be serious, milord! Please spare her! Kill me instead!”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake, quit bein’ dramatic!” Sans jerked his thumb at the castle. “Like I said, she’s gonna have everythin’ a lady could ever want. Almost everyone’s dead now, so there’s a bunch of neat stuff left. Hell, we got a whole room with nothin’ but jewelry in it.”

For some reason, this didn’t seem to reassure the human. “Frisk does not want things, and even if she could be bought off like that, a wonderful young woman like her has no business being entrapped by a loathsome abomination like y—”

“Shut your fucking mouth. Right. Fucking. Now.”

Proust’s teeth clicked shut as the air around Sans roiled with crimson magic. “Just for that,” the skeleton hissed. He stepped forward, jabbing the human’s shoulder with one pointed phalange, almost a claw. “Just for that, you’re not allowed ta make stuff up about her goin’ to school or marryin’ a human or somethin’. You’re gonna tell the truth: you fucked up an’ trespassed on my property, and you only get to live ‘cause you had somethin’ worth tradin’.” Another poke. “Let ‘er know that you’ve got three days from now—” Sans glanced at the rising moon. “—an’ if you’re not here by then, she gets ta watch her dad rot from the inside out.”

Another long moment of silence passed as the human stared up at Sans, hopelessness dawning as he searched in vain for any sign of mercy. There was no telling what he would have said if another sound hadn’t made them both jump: “SANS!” It came from over the marble wall, advancing rapidly. “YOU HAVE HAD EXACTLY AS MUCH LEISURE AS YOU DESERVE, LORD BROTHER! I HOPE YOUR TIME HAS BEEN RESTFUL, BECAUSE YOU HAVE FIFTEEN MISCREANTS TO DISCIPLINE AND A JAM SHORTAGE TO ADDRESS BEFORE YOU CAN RETIRE FOR THE NIGHT.” A stiff click-click of heeled boots. “I WILL BE WAITING IN YOUR SITTING ROOM. YOU ARE HUMBLY REQUESTED TO BE THERE WITHIN TEN MINUTES OR ELSE FACE SEVERE CONSEQUENCES!”

Sans mumbled a long stream of curse words as Papyrus’ footsteps strutted away. That reminded him of something. “Don’t even think about killin’ yerself or breakin’ a leg or somethin’ ta get out of this,” the skeleton said, still facing the garden wall. “I’ll say it one more time: go home, get ‘er packed up, an’ bring her back here on time. No tricks, no cute little loopholes, nothin’. Don’t bring anybody else with you, or I’ll kill ‘em. Got it?”

The human shuddered. “How—” His voice cracked. “How can you do this? You don’t have to do this! This is your castle, your land—surely there are enough women of your own kind to choose from? You don’t have to steal my daughter!”

The skeleton shifted to look at him. “Nope,” he said, and made to step around the human.

“Wait!” Proust fell to his knees, fists clasped in supplication. “One thing, my lord, I beg of you! Please don’t harm her!”

Sans could’ve cheerfully punted the man across the garden. “The fuck?” the monster snarled down at him. “Why the hell would I hurt my own wife? What am I, a goddamn human?”

There was no answer, only a ragged sob. “Good night,” the skeleton muttered. Proust tried to say something else, but Sans paid him no mind: he had things to do, and to look forward to.

~

           Her father was hiding something.

           That seemed impossible, and not just because he was a terrible liar: almost the moment he stumbled over the threshold of her uncle’s house in a filthy, sobbing heap, he had started babbling about a monster stealing his Frisk. Once he’d been cleaned up, fed, and tucked into bed, he’d stayed awake long enough to relate a horrible, fantastical tale of stumbling across the castle from local legend and running afoul of its hideous master. And they’d believed it, because…well, she loved her father, but he had the most wretched luck imaginable.

           At least her aunt had been asleep when all the commotion started, so there was nothing to stop Uncle Raph from assuring his brother that they would look into the matter as quickly and thoroughly as possible. Servants were dispatched to fetch books from the library and summon the nearest mage from his cottage outside the village; by the time Aunt Kay woke up, her maid could report to her that her brother-in-law had come home bearing a “geas,” a type of curse far too powerful for humans to break, and would lose his daughter in less than three days.

           Frisk had to give her aunt credit: she said all the correct things about being so very sorry and hoping that there was a way to save her poor niece from having to live with literal monsters, possibly for the rest of her life! And when it became apparent that there was nothing anyone could do, she was the first to embrace Frisk – as much as she could around her enormous belly, of course – and assure her that if any young woman could handle such a bizarre fate, it was her. She’d packed a bag of sentimental items for Frisk to take with her in case she got homesick, with only the slightest hint of glee at having sole dominion over the house now.

           Her father had come home with a cold brewing, because of course he had; knowing she was going to leave and having so little warning had caused chaos among the servants, and Frisk was too busy making arrangements to do more than check in on her father every few hours. He spent most of his time either asleep or staring at the beautiful blue flower he’d brought her.

           That was the last bit of proof anyone needed to believe his story. Echo flowers only grew in intensely magical surroundings, and there was so little magic left nowadays that they were thought to be extinct. But here it was, a thick-stemmed, six-petaled blossom that repeated anything spoken nearby. Frisk would’ve been more excited about it under different circumstances, but…well, maybe her new employer would let her have a few of her own.

           The whole thing was strange, all the more so because of the way her father had told that part when they were gathered to listen to his story. He’d said he was bound to do what the creature commanded him, which was to bring his daughter up to the castle within three days’ time. The most logical supposition was that Frisk was going to get eaten, but her father had hastened to assure them that the beast seemed angry at the very idea of hurting Frisk. He just wanted…

           There was that little hitch in his voice when he said the beast wanted Frisk to perform all the functions of a housekeeper, and that she would be well rewarded—why hadn’t he just said “The monster needs a housekeeper”? And why had he clutched his chest like that afterward? Was the geas hurting him for saying the wrong thing?

           Frisk had kept herself too busy to think about it very hard, to believe that she was really going to be thrown out of another home and into the clutches of monsters from myth and legend; on some level, she could convince herself that her father had exaggerated or made some kind of mistake, and it wasn’t going to be so bad. But now, nearing sunset on the third day after her father’s misadventure, they were most of the way up the mountain, and fear was starting to creep through her veins like frost. Her father could be naïve, even simple-minded, but he wasn’t crazy. She really was going to be left alone in a strange place full of strange creatures, expected to take care of them, answering to a walking, talking skeleton—this couldn’t be happening!

A couple of the younger manservants had insisted on accompanying them part of the way. The mage had warned them that they could only get so close to the castle before the horses refused to go any further; sure enough, about a mile from the castle gates, the men had to help them dismount before the animals grew frightened enough to turn and bolt. Frisk gave each man a quick hug – at least her aunt wasn’t there to scold her – and they reluctantly headed back down the mountain to wait with the terrified horses, ready to escort her father home.

           The latter was growing more and more agitated as they approached the castle on foot. He could barely speak with his throat raw from coughing, but the way he kept glancing at her, clearing his throat and sighing heavily— “What is it, Father?” Frisk finally asked.

           “I…” He swallowed. “I haven’t been entirely truthful, dear.” She stiffened, shifting her bundle to her other shoulder as he coughed into his handkerchief. “The creature didn’t order me to say the exact words in just the right order, and I didn’t want to humiliate you in front of everyone by telling the full story—”

           “What story?” The lump in her throat grew heavier as the trees started thinning out, the ground sloping sharply upward. “Is it really true that I have to stay with the monsters and keep house for them?”

           “It’s true, love, but…” Another maddening pause. “Er. He is a skeleton, so I believe you’ll be spared…some things, but running the household is included in your role as—”

           The wind rose from nothing to a scream of frigid air, nearly throwing them to the ground. Frisk lowered her arm, and to her dismay… “We’re here,” her father croaked.

           In the dying light, a huge wall loomed over them, black marble framing a set of gates over thirty feet tall. The bars were nearly obscured by climbing ivy; despite her fear, Frisk found herself drifting closer in sheer curiosity, reaching to pull the ivy aside.

           “Frisk!” her father croaked. He was almost unrecognizable, pulling her back and giving her a little shake. “I…” She watched him struggle with himself, and lose. “Stay here, and be good,” he said jerkily. His lips formed a few frantic words, but she couldn’t catch them before he crushed her to him in a sudden, fierce embrace. “Be careful,” he whispered. “I love y—”

           The sun had disappeared over the horizen. Before she could hug him back, Frisk felt something coursing through her father’s body, forcing his arms to drop and his legs to carry him back a step. He struggled to get more words out, but it was too late—what had his last orders been? “Shut up and leave”? Charming, and succinct…and effective.

This was it. Frisk had had plenty of practice at smiling, and did her best. “Goodbye, Father,” she said helplessly. “I love you, too.” Then she turned and plunged through the ivy before he could hurt himself resisting any further.

           When she stepped free of the bars and brushed the leaves from her face, Frisk almost forgot her sorrow and despair in sheer wonder. Lamps on iron posts lit up a garden arranged in long, orderly, but breathtakingly lovely rows of bushes, flowerbeds, statuary—she’d never seen anything like it. Letting her bundle hang from one wrist, Frisk turned to look at the gates and the massive walls, wondering how big the grounds must be if this was just a private garden. Granted, it belonged to the lord of the castle, and he obviously cared enough to keep it in good order…

           And had terrorized her father into forcing her out of her home to come play housekeeper amongst total strangers for…how long? If the problem was just that monsters couldn’t cook or clean up after themselves, maybe she could stay long enough to teach them and then go back. Surely they didn’t expect her to do it all on her own forever, not when they had magic to help them do everything? But if they could do it with magic, then why bring her here at all?

           Frisk shook her head, scanning the garden for signs of life. She could hear a fountain burbling in the near distance, just out of sight; the wind was freezing, but carried the smell of flowers, helping calm the human down a little. It was enough to let her take a step forward, then a few more, wandering into the first stand of rosebushes and a patch of black irises. Their petals didn’t reflect light, but shone like velvet, tempting her to reach out—no, she thought hastily, snatching her hand away. Touching flowers without permission was what got her poor, well-meaning, hapless father into this mess!

           No one seemed to be coming to meet her, but then, it wasn’t completely dark yet. If she had a few minutes to herself, then Frisk figured she could spend it in peace and calm before she met her fate, whatever that might be, whatever her father had been trying to tell her… So the young woman stood up and set off down the path, taking her time examining the rows of irises, snapdragons, and several flowers that had no business blooming at this time of year.

She didn’t see a shadow step out from behind a lamppost. Nor did she notice when it hesitated, then vanished, reappearing behind another lamppost, and another, and another, till it was just a few steps away.

Frisk thought she felt someone watching her, but when she turned around, there was nothing there. Shivering, she drew her cloak tighter around her shoulders, squinting up at a faint outline against the darkening sky. The castle wasn’t exactly hard to find, but that didn’t mean she knew how to get there; the garden was so huge that she couldn’t tell which path led out of it. Maybe she should—

“h u m a n~”

Raw terror flooded her senses, and her brain screamed so many conflicting orders that nothing got through; Frisk could only stand stock-still, clutching her bundle till she summoned the courage to whirl around.

Nothing was there. Was her mind playing tricks on her? No, she couldn’t have imagined such an awful voice, deep and rough as—

A delicate tap, tap on her shoulder.

Frisk shrieked and twisted around, landing on her rear with an ungentle thmp. “What are you doing?” she yelled. “Who’s—”

The air went still, her lungs shriveling and her heart stopping at the sight of a skeleton – this must be the skeleton – looming over her. The smooth bone of its skull had a dull, velvety sheen like the iris’ petals, and dots of red hellfire glinted in its empty sockets. Its teeth – no, fangs – were bared in a cruel grin, hands buried in the pockets of its black coat; beneath it, the creature’s shirt was a surprisingly bright red—satin? The tidy, domestic corner of her mind wondered how expensive that had been, and how difficult it was to keep clean; as a matter of fact, the skeleton was more richly dressed than her father had been at the peak of his wealth, right down to a frankly garish gold tooth. This had to be the lord of the castle, beyond a doubt.

But his wealth was less important than the fact that a skeleton was staring down at her. It didn’t speak, or grab her, or do anything but stand there, its face unreadable. Surely it could talk, after the way it had cursed her father?

Anger surged through her, propelling her to her feet. “Greetings, my lord,” Frisk said coolly, stepping back to discreetly brush herself off and drop into a deep curtsey. One of them had to be civilized about this! “My name is Frisk. I am here by your command.”

The skeleton blinked, the bone of its sockets somehow closing just like a human’s eyelids. Frisk was almost too fascinated to be angry—almost. It silently shifted its weight. Was it a “he”? The monster was dressed like a male, and had sounded like it. Why wasn’t he saying anything else?

A light gust of wind flapped her hood against her neck. Shivering, she broke eye contact to hitch her bundle back over her shoulder and reach to pull the hood up. “I hope I’m not too late to—”

Quicker than she could blink, the creature was right in front of her, inches away. Frisk tried not to cringe as his bony fingers plucked the hood from her grasp, letting it drop against her back. “What…?” Stupidly, she reached up again, and the skeleton’s brows drew together. His fingers pushed her hand away and, to her shock, rose to brush her hair off her cheek.

That did it: she was willing to come here to save her father’s life, not to be scared out of her mind, stared down, kept freezing, and all but propositioned by the thing that had done this to them! Who did he think he was?! “I beg your pardon!” she snarled, and the skeleton’s sockets widened as she smacked his hand away. “You will not touch me without my permission, milord! And if I am not allowed to wear this—” Frisk waggled her hood. “—then you will please take me somewhere out of the wind!” She tried not to sniffle, and hoped he’d attribute it to the cold. Without thinking, she scratched her cheek, trying to erase the unwanted feeling of those smooth, warmish fingers on her skin. “Lead the way!”

To her alarm, the red light in his sockets vanished, as if she’d blown out a candle. “Yes, m’lady,” growled a voice from somewhere deep in its chest. Frisk gripped her bundle as the skeleton turned on its heel. “Come along.”

Frisk tried not to gulp too loud, and hoped it – he – couldn’t hear her heart pounding as she followed him across the garden. With the anger ebbing away, fear was reclaiming her, dulling the wind’s bite and the ache building in her feet from the walk here; her aunt had insisted she wear a respectable dress and heeled slippers to meet her new master, never mind how impractical they were for traveling, and Frisk could feel a blister forming.

The skeleton’s shoulders were hunched, his hands in his pockets as his boots scuffed the white stones. It was a distinctly un-noble posture, almost sullen. Was he really the lord of the castle? He wasn’t carrying himself with much confidence, and though she’d obviously irritated him, he hadn’t bothered to correct her. Maybe monsters were nicer than humans overall, no matter what the stories said; maybe, she thought as they exited the garden through a wicker gate and started across a courtyard, humans were entirely wrong about them. She might just be a—

“Dumbass!”

The skeleton stopped so fast that she nearly walked into him. A moment later, something flew across their path, followed closely by a small yellow body. “The ball’s a dumbass,” it said helpfully in passing, with the snide, high-pitched tone of a child almost breaking the rules.

Frisk’s escort made a low noise and suddenly whipped his hand up and around. She barely had time to process what was happening before the little monster was jerked into the air, flipping upside down and hanging in a scarlet cloud. “Ya think you’re smart?” the lord demanded, gesturing to silence the…child, she supposed. “Don’t answer that!”

The lizard-like monster didn’t have arms to gesture with, but kicked his feet and snapped his teeth more than expressively enough. “Knock it off,” the skeleton warned him.

The child obediently stopped kicking, and started mouthing obscenities instead. To Frisk’s dismay, the cloud of magic dropped him onto the ground head-first and, before he could recover, picked him back up; the lizard stuck his tongue out in defiance, at which the red cloud rose several feet higher before dropping him again. This time, when it picked him up—

“Stop it!” Frisk protested. They both glared at her, and she shook her head. “He’s just being a child! He’s not hurting anyone!”

The skeleton snorted. Frisk felt her face flushing again as the magic dropped the young monster once more; the child gave her one sneering glance before scuttling off. Then the lord turned to glare at Frisk, who was trembling with fear and rage. “I could say a lot of stuff right now, but you just got here,” he said with dangerous patience, “so I’m gonna cut you some slack.” He started walking again. “C’mon. Everyone should be in the Great Hall by now, ‘cept that little fucker, but that’s fine. He’ll hear it, too.”

Frisk wanted to ask what he meant, and object to his language, but she was tired, and cold, and sore, and hungry, and now keenly aware of what the monster could do to her if he chose. She followed him meekly across the courtyard and through several more winding paths, most too dimly lit to see more than the skeleton’s broad back; he wasn’t much taller than her, but he was powerfully built, even without his hellish magic. He didn’t look sullen anymore, just angry. Frisk wasn’t one for self-pity, but…what had she done to deserve this?

He eventually stopped in front of a door so small and unassuming that she went right in after him, blinking in the sudden light, expecting to see a kitchen or servants’ entrance; instead, when her vision cleared, it revealed a dazzling array of…red carpets, stairs, dozens of voices, thousands of candles—her senses were too overloaded to take it all in. This must be the Great Hall, she thought muzzily, barely aware that the skeleton had turned to watch her.

She did notice when he took her hand, fingers tightening as she reflexively pulled away. “This way,” he muttered.

Frisk couldn’t help scowling. For someone who had spent so much time and cruel effort getting her here, he didn’t seem at all happy to have her. At least his hand gave her something to focus on as he led her through the columns at the back of the room and into the center of the red carpet. As she’d thought when he touched her face in the garden – which she still resented – his bones were as warm as human fingers, with a strange consistency, smooth and slightly pliant. He was probably strong enough to crush her fingers like brittle leaves, but he held them just firmly enough that she couldn’t get away. How nice of him, she thought irritably.

Suddenly, the skeleton paused and turned to face the room. “Hey,” he said, almost conversationally. “Shut up.”

The human thought he was talking to her until the hall grew very quiet, making her ears itch. A tug on her hand turned her to face the same way he was, and her eyes widened.

The room was full of monsters—the ones she’d heard about as a child, and with whom she’d be living and working now. There were creatures made of ice, one built almost entirely out of razor-sharp teeth, several fire spirits, some with fur or scales, or both…there was another, much taller skeleton, and…

Hm. She was good at making quick estimates, and there were barely a hundred monsters in the hall. Surely this couldn’t be all of them?

“So,” said the lord. With his free hand, he dug beneath his shirt and pulled out a pendant shaped like a miniature skull, elongated like a deerhound and sporting far too many fangs for Frisk’s taste. The skeleton raised the pendant to eye level: in an instant, Frisk sensed a shift in the atmosphere from mild disdain to wary, almost fearful anticipation. “Here she is,” proclaimed the lord of the castle. “Meet…Frisk.”

No one reacted, except for a few scoffs and an extremely half-hearted “Hurrah” from the back of the hall, more insulting than no response at all. Frisk hoped she wasn’t expected to introduce herself, or say literally anything else.

Luckily, the skeleton was already speaking again. “So,” he intoned, and as one, the monsters flinched. “First off, no one’s allowed to hurt her—directly, indirectly, on purpose, sort of on purpose, tricking her into it, trickin’ someone else into it, I don’t fucking care. Humans are weaklings, remember? If any of you assholes so much as breathes on ‘er too hard, I’m gonna take you apart mote by mote and burn yer dust in front’a everyone.”

Judging by the monsters’ shocked faces and low murmurs, this was quite the threat. The skeleton lord’s hand was holding hers a little more tightly—was he shaking? At the front of the crowd, the other skeleton had uncrossed his arms and seemed ready to—

“Second!” Everyone twitched. “You do what she says, when she says, unless I tell you different.” He paused, as if weighing his options. “No lyin’ to her. If she wants ta know somethin’, you gotta give ‘er a good answer.”

More murmurs of surprise and resentment. Frisk could feel little pulses through her contact with the skeleton—his pendant was doing something magic-related as he spoke. With a start, she remembered her father’s description of the skull that bit him and inflicted the curse of obedience; this must be the same thing, in a way that let him use it on every monster at once.

Regardless of how he was doing it, Frisk wished she understood why. He clearly did want her here, but how terrible could things be for him to go to these lengths for her? The first tiny prickling of unease began skittering around the back of her mind. What had her father been trying to tell her? Something he’d been hiding that would have destroyed her reputation among her family and friends, with worse duties than arranging parties and checking whether the maids were stealing anything …and the monster being a skeleton was relevant. What could possibly—

Someone had asked a question. “No, not yet,” the skeleton said, to groans of disappointment. “Party’s tomorrow. We’ll hold off for tonight and let her get settled.”

A loud, rude snort made everyone turn to the back of the crowd. “Well, ain’t that sweet?” It was a tall, armor-clad figure holding a faintly glowing spear. The voice was female, but almost as rough as the skeleton’s. “I know if I was her, I’d want you to hold off for tonight!”

The monsters erupted into jeering laughter. Frisk’s face burned as the implication sank in, and she gave the skeleton a disbelieving glance as that sense of disquiet prodded her again. What kind of party was he talking about? Would he really go to this much trouble to procure a normal housekeeper, much less protect her like this and celebrate her coming?

To her bemusement, the skeleton seemed as embarrassed as she was, and several times angrier. “Fuck off, Undyne!” His magic pulsed again so strongly that Frisk’s palm tingled. The woman in armor made a faint sound and staggered back against the wall. “If you’ve got time to say stupid shit, maybe it’s time you—”

“That’s enough,” said someone above them.

Frisk felt the air in the room shift again; this time, it felt like a classroom where the teacher had walked in and just looked at everyone. Every monster in the Great Hall – even Undyne – sank to one knee; the skeleton’s hands dropped to his sides as Frisk turned to watch another monster descend the staircase. “Tori,” he mumbled.

The white-furred monster glared at him. She resembled a giant goat, but seemed far more predatory, perhaps because of her golden eyes; they reminded Frisk too much of her uncle’s captive hawks, which always looked ready to eat someone. “How strange,” the goat-woman murmured. “I could have sworn that we’ve met before and you know how to properly address me.” Like magic, she was now smiling brilliantly at Frisk. “Welcome to our humble abode, my dearest girl. May I be the first to congratulate you on your conquest of Sans’ affections?”

The human’s polite smile was fixed in place, the one she used at parties when trapped in conversation with people she wasn’t allowed to run away from. “You certainly may, Lady…?”

“Toriel, my child. I am the former Queen of this place, now a silly old lady enjoying my twilight years in retirement.” The goat monster inclined her head, and suddenly raised her voice. “Thank you all for coming. I believe dinner should be ready soon?”

That was the monsters’ cue to scatter, no compulsion necessary. “Well,” said Toriel as the room emptied. Her smile twisted in utter contempt. “You seem surprised, my dear. Was Sans incompetent enough to allow your father to lie about your purpose here?”

The skeleton – Sans – gritted his teeth. Frisk would’ve felt sorry for him if…no, wait, she wouldn’t, ever. “Well,” she said, echoing Toriel, “when my father told everyone at my uncle’s house what happened, he said the monsters wanted someone to ‘perform the functions of a housekeeper.’ He never came out and said I’d be marrying anyone.” Frisk gave Sans as poisonous a look as she could, and his sockets went blank. It was unnerving, but she was too angry to care. “On the way up here, he tried to talk more about it, but then he had to leave.”

Toriel cackled, raising the hairs on the back of Frisk’s neck. “Of course he didn’t tell the rest of your family you’d be sharing your bed with a skeleton! You’d be the laughingstock of the village—no, the whole country!”

“Tori,” muttered Sans. Somehow, his entire skull was turning a dull crimson; he’d shrunk in on himself, looking much smaller and curiously vulnerable. Good.

The goat monster must have agreed; she smirked, and fully turned her back on him. “I hope you can understand your father’s intentions, my dear child,” Toriel said. Frisk would have given anything to make her stop smiling. “Parents tell these little fibs every so often to protect their children’s feelings.” She patted Frisk’s shoulder with a soft, heavy white paw. “I’m sure you’ll understand once you start having them.”

Frisk’s skin crawled—whether it was Toriel’s touch or the thought of that with Sans, she couldn’t say. Probably both. “I wish he had given me some forewarning, Lady Toriel, but I understand his reasons. He was also very sick when he reached the village, and likely still is, so we didn’t have many chances to talk privately.”

“I am sorry to hear that,” Toriel murmured. “But it was to be expected after a night outside without food or drink, and then a walk down the mountain without provisions.”

“A what?” Frisk rounded on her would-be husband, who was sweating profusely. How the hell did—no, never mind. “You didn’t give him anything at all? And you made him sleep outside?” she demanded.

Sans’ eyes sparked red again. “He trespassed on my land and fucked up my garden! What was I s’posed ta do? Give ‘im a cookie and his own private room?”

“Anything but keep him outside like a dog!” Frisk was so angry that her eyes were filling with tears. She swiped them as discreetly as she could. “I am overtired, Lord Sans! May I be shown my room for the night? Or would you prefer I sleep in the garden?!”

“Fine!” he bellowed. For a horrible moment, Frisk thought he was really going to lock her outside—no, he was grabbing the pendant: “Panne! Lapis! Get your asses down here, now!”

“I’m afraid you have your work cut out for you, my child,” Toriel said kindly to Frisk, who was seething so hard that it took a moment to realize someone was speaking. “If you want any help, dear, you need only ask.”

“Thank you, Lady Toriel,” the human replied. “I’ve dealt with bullies before, but they usually don’t have magic on their side.”

Toriel cackled again as Sans’ eyes went blank. “Well said, my dearest Frisk! Very well said. Our lord is accustomed to getting what he wants, but a bit of reality may be what he needs.”

“Y’know what?” The skeleton’s voice was high and loud with indignation. “You’re right. Forget it. Fuckin’ forget about this whole thing! We’ll do the ceremony, make it so yer creepy-ass curse worked, an’ then she can go back to her dumbass family. How’s that sound?”

Frisk’s heart leapt…until Toriel gave a gentle sigh. “Yes, Lady Toriel?” the human asked warily.

“Yeah, what?” Sans snapped.

“Several things, children. For one, Sans, you already came crawling to me for help in getting Frisk’s father through the barrier—to be honest, I’m surprised we were able to do it at all. I absolutely do not have the resources left to move another human through the gates safely.”

Frisk could have cried, but as it turned out, that was the least of her problems: “And if you think you’ll be man and wife after a few words and a slice of cake, you’re sorely mistaken. A true marriage is built on time, trust, and communication.” Toriel nodded benignly. “And sex.”

“What?!” It came out in perfect tandem between the skeleton and human.

The goat monster didn’t bother to hide her glee. “I never said you’d find a wife in name only, you pathetic sack of bones! What are you thinking, trying to get rid of her? Why go to all the trouble of snaring such a lovely thing if you were just going to shoo her off? I’ve never seen you so excited, having your room prepared and planning what to eat for—”

“There they are,” Sans said sharply, looking and sounding ready for death as two rabbit monsters approached. “You! Get her fed, bath, sleep, whatever! I’m goin’ to bed, good night!”

Toriel’s grin was the most evil thing Frisk had ever seen. “Good night, my lord? It’s only—oh, dear. There he goes.” She examined the tips of her claws, and gave Frisk a look that made the human shudder. “Was it something I said?”

 ~

             “REALLY, BROTHER, I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU EXPECTED.”

           Sans tried to think of something witty, but it was easier to bash his head against the wall some more. So—

           “WILL YOU KINDLY STOP THAT FOOLISH NOISE! IF IDIOCY COULD BE REMOVED THAT WAY, I WOULD GLADLY CRACK YOUR EXALTED SKULL OPEN. BUT NO, YOUR LORDSHIP’S STUPIDITY WOULD REMAIN INTACT NO MATTER WHAT MEASURES WERE TAKEN.”

           For the millionth time, Sans found himself reaching for his pendant, the key to the spell encompassing the castle and its grounds. All he had to do was concentrate on Papyrus and command him to shut up for ten goddamn minutes. His life would be easier, and quieter—

           —and complete shit, because Pap wouldn’t be his brother anymore. Sans rolled his skull sideways along his bedroom wall, glaring at the taller skeleton. “Get yer ass off my bed.”

           Papyrus snorted. “WHY? IT IS APPARENT THAT YOU WILL BE THE ONLY ONE USING IT FOR THE FORESEEABLE FUTURE.”

           “Oh, not you, too!” Sans grabbed a book at random from the shelf and chunked it at his brother, who easily caught it and tossed it to the floor. “What, you wanna be more like Undyne?”

           “PATHETIC AS SHE IS, IT WOULD STILL BE PREFERABLE TO OTHER PERSONS OF MY ACQUAINTANCE, BY WHICH I OF COURSE MEAN YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE TERRIBLE.” Papyrus did get up, though, and Sans tensed as his brother approached the mirror. “WHY DO YOU STILL KEEP THIS?” To Sans’ indignation, Pap took the ink drawing from where Sans had stuck it in the mirror’s frame, holding it up for a closer inspection. “SURELY, NOW THAT YOU HAVE CAPTURED THE HUMAN IT DEPICTS—”

           “Put it back,” Sans snapped.

           Papyrus tutted under his breath. “AS MY IDIOTIC LORD WISHES.” Unwilling to make a mess of any kind, the younger skeleton tucked the picture very gently back into the frame, smoothing down the creased edges. “IT WILL BE RUINED IF YOU DON’T STOP CARRYING IT EVERYWHERE.”

           “Yeah, I know,” the elder skeleton grumbled. He let the back of his skull thump into the wall again, earning another sharp look. “You can leave now.”

           Pap’s boots tapped impatiently on the stone floor. Several rolled-up rugs were stacked at the other end of the room, but Sans had made several excuses to leave them there, unable to admit his fear of picking something she didn’t like. Of course, now he would kill for that to be his biggest problem. “WILL YOU BE ALL RIGHT, BROTHER? SHALL I BRING THE MANUAL? THE SECTION ON WOOING A KIDNAPPED BRIDE IS PITIFULLY SHORT, BUT—”

           “I’m good, bro,” lied Sans. “Go to bed.”

           It wasn’t a command, and they both knew it. “I DIDN’T GET A CLOSE LOOK AT MY NEW SISTER,” Papyrus remarked. His gloved finger tapped the edge of the portrait. “IS THIS ACCURATE?”

           “No,” Sans said sharply. “Don’t touch it.”

           “HMPH!” Only Pap could make that a complete sentence. “I SEE. THE ARTIST SEEMS SKILLED ENOUGH, BUT IT MUST BE ANOTHER HUMAN LIE. IT IS A SHAME, BECAUSE THE FEMALE IN THIS PICTURE IS NOT NEARLY AS HIDEOUS AS MOST OF HER—”

           “Get the fuck outta my room!”

           Eventually, Papyrus complied, leaving Sans with only his stupid, stupid thoughts for company. There weren’t enough permutations of “fuuuuck” to express what he was feeling, so he settled on staring at the windows and letting his head hit the wall some more.

           He hadn’t lied to Papyrus. The picture wasn’t accurate: it didn’t show that her eyes were gray, or the way her nose scrunched when she was mad, or how her cheeks turned pink when he touched them. Looking at it always made him want to hold her, but it didn’t have her light, sweet scent or feel so damn soft that he forgot he wasn’t supposed to touch—

           Fuuuuuck. She was here, but this was still bullshit! He’d felt a twinge in the spell framework and realized that someone was trying to get around one of his orders – probably by a lie through omission – but how was he supposed to know it was Proust? He never expected that whinging, craven little shit would avoid telling Frisk she was going to be married. She hadn’t had time to get used to the idea, weigh the pros and cons, maybe move past him threatening to kill her daddy as leverage…

           Oh, who the hell was he kidding? Even if Sans had gone about this as honorably as he could, and even if she’d had a year to think it over, she never would have accepted him on her own. No matter what anyone said, he was still a monster, and she was still…

           His mind veered off yet again to when he’d followed her through the garden. He’d been so thrilled that she was really here, but so terrified that the ideal he’d built up from one picture would fall short of reality; maybe he’d made an ass of himself, getting everyone to clean stuff up and get things out and plan it all down to the second for someone who’d drawn herself to look better than she really was. Maybe her dad was just being a dad and he’d actually spoiled her rotten, letting her take the credit for some actual housekeeper’s work. Maybe she wasn’t really that nice. Maybe this was a mistake.

           So, faced with possible perfection, what did he do? He snuck up close enough to smell her, weirded her out, and then tried to play it off as a joke, which scared her even worse. And…

           No, the picture wasn’t accurate. He’d been so stunned that he just stood there like a complete moron, not apologizing or helping her up or introducing himself, because she was so beautiful that he forgot to breathe. Of course she got scared and mad at him, and he didn’t know how to handle it because he didn’t know how to handle anything, so he just acted like himself, and—

           He was going to kill Toriel if it was the last goddamn thing he did!

           The wind was howling again. Sans wondered if it was keeping Frisk awake, assuming she could sleep at all after discovering she was going to marry him.

He looked at his bed, which had never had anyone but him in it, thank you, Papyrus—he’d enjoyed modest success in his sex life before that stupid fucking day with Asgore, but ever since, he found that being able to make people do anything he wanted was a massive turnoff. It felt creepy and pathetic and, well, wrong, even if he didn’t actually order anyone into the sack, or to do anything in it.

           Now that he was going to have an actual wife – who thought he was a bully, hated and feared him – would that be any better? Maybe if he courted her well enough, let her see that he’d loved her before they ever even met, refrained from using magic to change her mind…

           If that was the best he could do, then no, it wouldn’t be any better. Sans gave himself one last bang on the wall, kicked his boots off, and climbed onto the bed. “G’night,” he said out loud, and closed his sockets to wait for morning.

#hey i think i'll terrorize my way into a relationship #wait wHy DoESN't sHE LiKE Me

[willownoir1112]

Hello beautiful people of Tumblr! Wyn here with day one of White Rose Week 2021 to break my silence! I hope everyone enjoys, and I'll see you tomorrow with day 2!

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Love Bites

Summer Rose vanished, and Ruby suffered.

All her life, all Ruby has ever wanted was to belong. She tries so hard to fit in, first with her older sister's friends. But, they all told her to go away. That she's a baby compared to them. "Why would I want to bring you too?" Yang would always declare. "You're still just a baby!" Her friends would laugh with her, call her names as well, and leave her behind just like Yang did.

Her sister's words hurt her, and destroyed any chance of them having a sisterly relationship.

She tried so hard to be a good daughter. But, her father spent more of his time worrying about his troops, his responsibilities, his duties to Goddess and Country. "One day you will understand, Ruby." He would always tell her. "One day, you'll have to make the same sacrifices for a family of your own." His words never changed, nor his actions. He would be gone constantly, leaving her and Yang alone for weeks or even months at a time, meaning she had to grow up far too quickly.

Her father's priorities hurt her and robbed her of her childhood.

She tried so hard to be a good student. But, subjects like english, history, anything really to do with reading simply didn't make sense to her. She could stare at the page of a book for hours and all she could see is a jumble of letters. Everyone called her simple, stupid, a waste of time. "Oh look, it's little Stupid Ruby!" Cardin Winchester would declare every day at school. He and his cronies would torment and belittle her, and once even cut her long hair off. She suffered in silence, her arms the only evidence of her inner pain. Arms she always kept covered even in the worst heat of summer.

Her peers hurt her with their words, with their actions, and made her withdraw further into herself.

She finally stopped being a good sibling. She shut her sister out of her life first, Yang never noticing that Ruby stayed closeted in her room constantly. She was the bright shiny sun of everyone else's lives, with her outgoing and boisterous personality. Everyone's but Ruby's. If Yang is the bright sun, then Ruby has become the darkest moon of the family, and she likes it that way now.

She finally stopped being a good daughter. She did her chores without complaint and without needing to be told, save late at night when her father would already be in bed or Yang too preoccupied with her latest significant other. He never noticed that his younger daughter dresses in nothing but blacks and reds, or that she never let her hair grow back longer than above her shoulders. The career he chose to continue to support his family had a long ago casualty, and Ruby keeps it that way.

She finally stopped being a good student. She kept going to school, despite all but failing in everything. She went through the motions, ignored everyone when they called her things like Queen of Darkness or Salem's heir, or even worse. She ignored the shoves, the bullying, everything done to her until they all finally grew bored of it and her. She was finally left alone to sit in the deepest corner of all her classes, doodling to pass the time until she could return to her room and her solitude.

But then Ms. Peach, the choir director, invited the secretly shy and lonely girl to her class one day and encouraged her to sing. From the moment she heard the piano play, her soul became exultant, and her voice rose in response. Even Principle Ozpin, who was walking by at that moment stopped and listened as the shy, moody, rather dark girl who kept to herself was in possession of a voice that could bring even him to tears. Peach was enthusiastic in teaching her how to read music, how to project her voice, how to truly appreciate her hidden talent for music.

But, Taiyang finally noticed when he was forced to retire. He noticed the true state of his family, and decided to take firm control. He destroyed her growing dreams when he declared she and Yang both were to join Beacon Military Academy to finish school. That they needed discipline and not freedom to thrive like he once did. That neither of his children will follow in his long disappeared wife's footsteps, and lack the discipline needed to succeed where she obviously failed.

He was furious when Glynda Goodwitch admitted her as Ruby, allowing her to keep that one small bit of freedom.

She suffered like never before at Beacon. She was admitted two years early as a favor to her father, and she hated it. Her hate translated itself into her becoming a powerful fighter with her chosen weapon, a red and black fifty caliber sniper scythe she named Crescent Rose, and soon where she was once either dereided or ignored, she was now feared. Even her own sister fears her now, and that makes her happy.

She is the Darkest Reaper of Vale, and she hates them all.

But one person did not fear her. One person saw past her pain, her grief for her denied life. Weiss was from Atlas, a mysterious, inclusive land far to the north, where they say even the Grimm do not tread. A land of dark magic, of creatures even fouler than the enemy of the world. A land even the demiurge Salem has forsaken. Weiss did not fear the Darkest Reaper, and took an odd delight in hearing the whispers about her, about them both.

She has her own secrets, secrets Ruby will know all too soon.

She cannot help but to feel an attraction to the white haired girl from the north. Her porcelain skin is always smooth and cool to the touch. Her brilliant blue eyes are like the clear blue skies she would once sit under with her long departed mother while they laugh and imagine whimsical beasts and imaginary places. Her long white hair moves like the finest of silk curtains as she walks from class to class, her nose turned up to their peers as if they are all beneath her. All except for her. She treats the Reaper with respect, with courtesy, and after a time, holds out a hand of friendship to her, one she takes willingly.

She finally has a friend, a real friend. Someone who cares for her, Ruby Rose.

But certain things stand out to her as well. The way she barely eats anything but meat, and even then almost bloody and nearly raw. The way she approaches every mock battle with the cunning of a predator on the hunt. The skill with which she wields her rapier, a dust revolver styled weapon she has named Myrtenaster, with near lethal intent even during the simplest of spars against anyone willing to challenge her. She is the only one who can stand against her, her own formidable rage and loathing a match for the heiress's feral cunning and ferocity.

But one late night, during a restless night they both secretly shared, a truth is told, and their lives are changed forever.

She herself couldn't sleep. It was the one thing she could always count on being able to do. It was her refuge from the reality of her world, and she retreated to it every chance she could. But tonight, she tosses and turns, she begs and pleads with the treacherous brain that won't stop thinking, and finally surrenders and gets dressed. Taking up her scythe, she easily steals away into the Emerald Forest, the guards ignoring her out of fear. She runs deeply into the darkened woods, no fear for the Grimm that hide in the shadows as well as whatever other creatures may dwell within.

She never realizes that a pair of blue eyes follow her, belonging to the single person who doesn't fear her. The only person who is beginning to secretly adore her.

She finally stops near the old temple to the Brother of Light, which has been long abandoned when he left Remnant to it's fate. Sitting down, she begins to cry deep tears of pain and sorrow. She hates her life now, she hates being taught to kill, to end the lives of others. She despises the fact that she is good at it. She never wanted this. All she ever wanted was to be a good sibling, a good daughter, a good student. All she ever wanted was to belong, to love a certain white haired girl and be loved in return.

She almost screams in terror when the great white furred head lays in her lap, with sad blue eyes that reflect her pain.

She stares at the great beast, marveling at the fact that a wolf has appeared here. One of the few things she has managed to remember from her poor studies is that the Grimm killed all the wolves when they first came to Vale. None were spared, and somehow she knows this one knows that. To her surprise, she begins to pet the wild creature, smiling softly at the way it's tail begins to wag as it whines. And then she begins to talk to it. She talks about her mother, her father, her sister, her life. She is soon sobbing in grief at the sadness of her life thus far, and is surprised to see tears in the white wolf's eyes as well.

But she forgot that sorrow is a feast for the Grimm, and they soon gather around her and the white wolf both.

She makes her decision. She throws her scythe to the ground and gives in completely to her sorrow. She is so tired. She is so tired of being turned into someone she wants nothing to do with. She's so tired of hoping people will finally love her instead of hate her or fear her. She is so tired of dreaming of a pair of blue eyes that will never look lovingly at her. She is ready, and the Grimm will feed well on her. But she doesn't expect the snarling, the sudden sounds of battle. Opening her silver eyes, they widen as she sees the once four legged wolf has vanished, a naked Weiss snarling in her rage as she wields Myrtenaster against the foul creatures.

"YOU KILLED THEM ALL!"

She stares at the rage filled young woman. She's never seen her fight with this much savagery, this much hate. Even in battles in which she is outclassed or outnumbered, she is still controlled. She uses superior tactics, the icy calm she is infamous for, and her obviously hidden rage to still rip victory from the jaws of defeat.

"ALL THE PACKS OF VALE ARE DEAD!"

She picks Crescent Rose back up. The white haired girl is beginning to frighten her, and she does not frighten easily. She watches in growing terror as an Alpha Beowolf appears, howling in challenge, Weiss's answering howl frightening her to her very soul. She watches as the white haired woman tosses her sword to the side and begins to growl as she grows. She listens to the popping of bone and sinew as fur begins to spring from her bare skin. She stares on in horror as the one friend she has ever made turns into…

A werewolf. A creature from Remnant's darkest stories has come to life before her, and is defending her while taking vengeance for the long dead wolves of Vale.

"You will not hurt my Ruby…"

She screams as Weiss leaps towards the Alpha, her fangs bared and her still hand shaped front paws slashing at the creature of darkness. The Alpha charges her as well, it's own jaws wide open to bite and tear at the white werewolf, it's own claws slashing at her unarmored and exposed flanks. She hears her friend's scream of pain as the Alpha strikes harder than she can, and causes more damage than she can possibly manage in return, and she finally leaps into action. Weiss is the first person to be her friend. She is the first person to treat her like a person. She is the first person she's allowed herself to start having feelings for in her short life.

She may be ready to die, but she will not let Weiss die for her own selfish desires.

Crescent Rose strikes the Beowolf quickly, breaking the Alpha and the werewolf apart as the Grimm leaps back to avoid the deathblow Ruby aims at it. But Ruby is enraged now. She sees the bright red blood upon the moonlit ground, and it adds to her fury. She hears the whimpers of the injured wolf, and it increases her rage. She roars in her righteous anger as her scythe becomes a blur, the Alpha soon howling in pain before Ruby's final blow comes in her scythe hooking around its neck before she pulls the trigger, decapitating the beast with one final roar of triumph. It takes her a moment to calm herself, a long moment in which she has forgotten her anger, her sorrow, her self loathing. And then she finally remembers Weiss. In a panic, she begins to look for her friend, desperate to ensure that she is safe.

It doesn't take her long to find her, and her scream of anguish can be heard back at Beacon.

Weiss has managed to get back to a small cave, her clothes as well as some supplies stacked neatly in the back. She herself is panting heavily as blood flows steadily from her injuries. But her tail thumps on the ground weakly as Ruby slides to the ground in front of her. She doesn't hesitate, but begins to treat the slashing wounds, bandaging them carefully while doing her best to ignore the pain filled shrieks from the badly injured werewolf.

"Oh Goddesses, I'm so sorry, Weiss. I'm so so sorry!" Is her litany as she keeps at her work, until the blood finally stops. Until the white wolf goes silent save for her panting.

The sun rises, then sets once more, but Ruby has yet to leave the white werewolf's side. Weiss has slept the entire time, but she has stayed awake. She is too scared to close her eyes, terrified that if she relaxes her vigil for even a moment, she will lose the most important person in her life. But her body's needs will not be denied, and she finally falls asleep, the large canine head still in her lap and her grip firm on Crescent Rose's handle.

She dreams of white fur and sky blue eyes. Of days spent watching the skies and laughing. Of feeling loved once more, and being confident in being able to return that love.

She moans as she feels the urgency of the lips on her own. Of the feeling of cold skin upon her own now bare skin. Of cold hands exploring her body and her own hands wandering across smooth, uninjured skin in return. She moans in longing as lips caress her skin with feather light kisses. As her own fingers discover places on the other willing body that bring moans of pleasure from a voice she has come to adore since beginning at Beacon.

But she moans loudly as teeth sink into her collarbone, a tender, almost loving bite from the woman she knows she loves deeply.

"Ruby…" Her voice is husky as she releases the love bite, full of longing and need. She can feel a certain heat against her leg that is foreign to the cold that the rest of her skin belies. She herself feels so hot, so needed. She has never felt like this before, and she wants more. She needs more. But her eyes widen as she catches her lover's hands as they grab at the hem of her panties, her face full of fear once more.

"Weiss… I…"

"I know, Ruby." Weiss smiles softly at the Reaper. "I know what you are. But I have wanted you for months now. Since I saw your strength for myself. Since I got to know the real you, and not your mask of anger and self loathing that you hide behind."

"Weiss…"

"Ruby, I am the last of my pack." The werewolf informs her sadly. "I came to Vale seeking the packs that once roamed here, hoping to join them and be safe." She sighs sadly, her blue eyes dimming. "I am beginning to fear I am the last of my kind."

She sits up and pulls the werewolf into her arms. She knows all the signs of sorrow, being well acquainted with them herself. "I… Weiss I'm damaged. Why would you want someone like me?"

Their eyes meet, quicksilver staring into sky blue. "Because I have been alone since I was a child. But you make me feel like I am home now." She cuddles deeper into the Reaper's arms. "I feel safe with you, and I know I can trust you with my secret."

Ruby takes a moment to think, to gather her thoughts while considering everything she has been told. But her thoughts always return to a pair of sky blue eyes she loves to look into. Coming to a decision, she lifts the werewolf's face by her chin with a single finger and kisses her deeply, while her free hand pulls her even closer.

This may be a mistake, but it is going to be the best one she ever makes.

The cavern is soon filled with their moans, their cries of pleasure, their whispered words of love, their need for one another. Their lovemaking is tender at times, frenzied at others, and intense throughout. Morning found them once again asleep, this time in each other's arms and in a tangle of limbs, a part of Ruby still inside the white werewolf, who smiles as she sleeps deeply. They wake upon that glorious morning and decide that Beacon has nothing left for them, and decide to seek their fortunes elsewhere. Someplace where no one knows either of them.

Someplace where their future children can grow up safely…

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Weiss declares her love for her, and for the werewolf, she will throw everything away for a future with her...

Ruby opens one silver eye, smiling at the blue eyed pup staring back at her eagerly as she whines. Sitting up, she yawns as she stretches, her mouth opening wide as her fangs gleam in the light of the morning sunlight. Bowing her head down low, she nuzzles the white haired silver eyed pup tenderly before the two of them leave the comforts of the small, modest home she and Weiss have built together. It has been a decade since she and the white werewolf left Vale far behind and traveled to Mistral. To their surprise, as they explored the deepest parts of the wilds of Anima, they encountered a village full of others like Weiss, led by a lioness named Pyrrha Nikos and her own mate, a human woman named Nora.

She had heard of Pyrrha, who had been reported killed in a massive battle at Haven Academy. A report fabricated by the woman herself so she too could escape with her own mate and their hard won freedom...

They had met so many others, who had fled the destruction of their own packs and prides, their own groups and hutches. They met Velvet, who was a kind and gentle soul of a wererabbit and her mate Coco, who was the heiress of Mistral's largest corporation and their secret benefactor. They met Blake, a panther who loves to read, and her chameleon mate Ilia. There had even been a tearful reunion between Weiss and her older sister Winter, who had also barely survived the destruction of their pack and had also fled. They even met a pair of birds who squabbled constantly, an overly violent Raven and her dusty, drunken Qrow of a brother.

But the biggest shock comes when they reach one small cabin in particular, where a lonely woman lives. A lonely woman long thought vanished by the young woman, but who in truth had been forced to leave by the man she thought loved her.

Ruby sobs as she rushes into her mother's arms, Summer Rose holding her tightly as she too weeps in joy. A mother and her daughter are reunited to their eternal joy, and Weiss cheers in her happiness for them both.

They talked late into the night, the white werewolf asleep in her mate's lap as mother and daughter catch themselves up on years of their lives. Summer is livid at how Ruby has been treated, how she has suffered for so long because of her absence. Ruby had been furious to discover that her mother had been driven off due to a twist of fate, as she had been bitten by another werewolf during a mission. She had been bitten to save her life, and had been punished for it.

Ruby made her own decision that same night, and smiled as her beloved sank her fangs into her skin in a love bite that would change her forever. She turned willingly, determined that Weiss, her sister, and her own mother will not be the last of their kind.

She quietly cheered her mother onward as she found the courage to move on with Raven, who adored her and treated her with kindness, respect, and love. She had happily held her baby sister when she was born two years later, Weiss still at her side and a smile on her own face to match the look of peace in her eyes. She and Weiss had themselves celebrated the birth of their twin pups a year later, naming them after both their mothers.

But the biggest surprise is still to come.

She still checks her scroll from time to time, she and Pyrrha both agreeing that they cannot remain ignorant of the outside world. There is still danger out there, both from the humans and faunus as well as the Grimm, and all while quietly offering safe haven to others like them, as well as their families. They as well as Raven and Nora are the defenders and leaders of their small community, and they take their responsibilities seriously. But Ruby had been surprised to find an email waiting for her one day, when she had travelled far to the south before turning it on, a feat she can accomplish with ease thanks to her semblance and now enhanced senses and superior stamina.

She never expected to hear from her sister ever again.

Downloading it, she returns to the village and her mate, asking her to read it for her. Weiss of course does so, having been the one who finally helped the Reaper figure out that she was not stupid like everyone in her life claimed, but struggled with severe dyslexia. She and Summer have been helping her learn to finally read and write, but it is a slow process, one she still finds herself getting frustrated with as well as embarrassed. Opening it, she soon stops to summon Summer, the two of them sobbing at the state of the brawler's life since they fled. Tai has placed his blame on his eldest for her disappearance, and she has suffered greatly for it. Her life is a disaster now, and she has already been in a failed marriage. She begs Ruby to at least reassure her that she is alive, that she is at least doing well, that her suffering is worth it if it means that the sister she long ignored is finally happy.

That they have traded places, and that her sister is finally whole in spirit and at peace.

Pyrrha does not hesitate to give her permission to bring Yang back. To allow them to reunite, so that she can see for herself that her wishes are indeed true, and that Ruby is happy and thriving. She goes and meets Yang at Mistral's airship port, where the two of them meet in a long overdue hug between sisters, and not the strangers they have been all their lives. They return together, where Yang is also overjoyed to be reunited with her own mother, Raven. Ruby herself nods in satisfaction that her sister is on her way to a peace of mind she now enjoys, and is grateful that she too settles into life in their village, calling it home as well.

Only she and Weiss bear witness to Winter sinking her fangs into Yang's flesh, the two of them falling in love in this place they too call home.

Summer and Luna play happily with the other children, who include their cousins and their aunt. They are gentle with their younger brother, and fiercely protective of their newborn sister. Ruby and Weiss have slowly become the leaders of their still growing safe haven, and lead both by excellent example as well as with hard learned wisdom and knowledge. They share a deep, beautiful commitment to one another that many envy, one forged in mutual understanding and undying love.

Weiss Schnee came into Ruby's life, and she has prospered...

#White Rose Week 2021 #white rose #ruby rose #weiss schnee #Day One #werewolf Weiss #Trans Ruby #here we go!

[munku-collar]

I would very much appreciate an analysis of the reasoning and song placements for you Macavity playlist whenever you get the opportunity.

- Signed, a big fat music nerd

Putting this guy under a cut cuz it'll be long! I'm just going brief with these but if there's one in particular you want a deeper look at I can def do that. Also I didn't proofread this before posting so i'm sorry for any typos ksjdbgksbdg

Dead Souls- It's a combination of the title and sound for this one. It kind of encapsulates that cool guy vibe that he was born with, that Tugger was born with too. Kind of slow, steady and strong. It covers his general essence, the sort of beat of his heart if you will, and then the lyrics speak to his loneliness as a child and the allure of giving into his worst impulses. He's just lost, looking for support which he unfortunately doesn't find.

How Soon Is Now?- Same idea here. He's left the tribe, he's on his own and every bit of positivity has disappeared. He's hopeless and tired of feeling "other" and not getting what he feels he deserves from those around him so focuses on building an empire instead, exploring crime and taking what he wants, because it won't be given to him. Essentially, he's tired of waiting and tired of trying to make things work at home. "I've already waited too long," if you catch my drift. And "I am human and I need to be loved," is self explanatory: All he wanted was to be accepted for who he was, and that wasn't happening, so he left.

Hungry Like The Wolf- He's hungry. He's hungry for power, for fame, and unbeknownst to him until he lays eyes on Demeter, love. He's ignored that bit for a while now and focused on taking things to fill the void instead, but when he meets her he's just blindsided with this desperation to have her. He's determined, and at this point he is quite a hunter. He knows how to read people, how to break them apart, to get what he wants. She doesn't make it easy. Honestly she makes it a little hard for him to think straight, and always does. He feels like a beast chasing after her, and luckily for him, he catches her.

Candyman- Demeter has fallen for his charms and for the bits of him that are still, whether he admits it or not, Jellicle. She's intrigued by him and has no idea of what she's going to endure by letting herself fall into his arms. And he has no intention of hurting her, never does, but to any bystander it's clear that he's dangerous, and that things won't end well. He can't help his nature, and she can't change it.

Don't Fear The Reaper- Whether he admits it or not, he's a reaper, and she starts to understand that, at least a little, but it doesn't bother her. They come to know each other better, shared their experiences and pain and believe they're a true match. They've been hurt and lonely and turn from strangers to "us against the world," or and naively think that they'll always be together. He hasn't fallen yet, but he will.

The Same Deep Water As You- He is at his core, really a sad figure. He thought Demeter would fill the void, and she does fill some of it, but not all, and in the quiet hours of the night between heists and fights and celebrations of his power, he crumbles in her arms and clings to her. But they're both starting to realize that maybe it's not for the best. Maybe they're not what each other really needs, and he hates that idea. It's her, or nothing, he thinks. He'll be damned if he lets her go.

The Killing Moon- This is really the shift. He's killed others now, and finds more joy in violence than anything, excepting Demeter's company. It's a kind of latent realization on Demeter's part of what she's gotten herself into, and how nothing she could have done would've let her avoid any of this. She's disgusted, and somewhat terrified, but knows that he won't let her go, and she still loves him despite it all. It's a cruel twist of fate. He's determined to keep her, reminiscing on their meeting and how he fell in love with her. Honestly the memory of it is sweeter than being with her now, and it's killing them both.

The Promise- She keeps distancing herself from him, and he keeps trying to get closer. He's given her so many promises, but at this point, they don't matter anymore. It's really upsetting, to see what they've become, and part of him knows it's his fault. He feels guilty for it, but he can't stop doing what he does, because he doesn't know how. Who is he without power, without bending others to heel? A scared, damaged tom, and that's worse than anything. He can't face his own reflection in the mirror, and that's his, and their, downfall.

Monsters- He's angry at her, she's angry at him, though they won't show it to each other. But he's not an idiot. He can see how her soft gazes have turned hard, how she doesn't lean into his touch anymore, and she watches him grow more violent day by day, until he well and truly is a monster. His frustration at her turns into frustration at everyone else, and finding new ways to be cruel to his enemies, and even his subordinates, is the only way he can redirect the pain it's causing him. But they're still hanging on by a thread. She's too scared to leave, and he's scared of her leaving. But there's no saving it, even if she cares about him and always will.

Vantablack- His romantic gestures used to delight her, comfort her, but now any attempt from him just makes her feel dread. It absolutely ruins him that she's not comfortable with him anymore, and when he tries to make things like they were, it's useless. He's let too much darkness consume him, and he can't hold on to her anymore. It makes him insanely angry, and he lashes out at others twice as hard as a result. He blames her for it all too, when she runs away, and leaves him all alone.

Not Just A Name- He really thought she was his match, that she was the one cat who understood him and wouldn't let him down. She made him believe that things could be good, that he could find happiness, but he didn't realize just how much of himself he would have to change for that to happen. He refused to change, couldn't bring himself to, and instead surrendered to his worst impulses, and now she's run from him. He wasn't who she thought he was, and she clearly didn't know him as well as he thought she did, and quite frankly, he's just hurt. (Even if it was all his fault, he doesn't see it that way.) "Made me someone I wasn't, it's not just a name." He didn't, and can't, meet her expectations, or be what she needs, and that might be the only thing he's ever experienced that really breaks his heart. And she won't ever give him another chance.

The Less I Know The Better- He tells himself he doesn't need her, that he doesn't want her back. He tells himself he couldn't care less if she rots out there on the streets without him, but really, he still cares. He still wants her. He's haunted by her absence, and wants nothing more than her at his side again. She really was the last tie to his humanity, his morality, and he's lost without her. He'll beg for her, if he has to. He needs her back, but she's moved on, and ironically, was pushed into his brother's arms.

Loner- He constantly flips between thinking of stealing Demeter back or burning everything to the ground. He steals and fights and commits crimes just because he can, just because there's nothing else to do, or feel, without her. He's entirely closed off. When she was there, one of his henchcats could sometimes ask him questions or have somewhat easy conversation with him, but nowadays that's an impossibility. He has completely put on a mask and only barks out orders, reprimands, or toys with others to pass the time. He's just this angry, lonely figure. He hardly feels like a person at this point. Without Demeter, he has no direction, and no connections.

Gimme Shelter- The more time passes, and the more he realizes he can't get Demeter back, the worse he gets. He's intentionally nefarious at this point, and hateful. He resents her too, even though he still loves her. If he ever gets his paws on her, he isn't sure if he'll caress her or choke her. It's a bitter, cruel world, he has remembered, and the only way to survive it is to be crueler than everyone else around you.

I'm So Afraid- He truly feels as if he's been alone his entire life, and loneliness is the root of his problems. He felt lonely and misunderstood as a child, driven away. He feels lonely without Demeter, without her love. Really, if he tried hard enough, he could come back from his darkness, maybe try to find a new life, repent for his mistakes, but he's too scared. He's afraid of losing himself, knows he already has, honestly, and there's nothing to do about it. Macavity is big and strong and clever and intelligent but underneath all that he's always just been terrified of emotions, of abandonment, and of himself, and whatever bits of him that are Jellicle, burried deep down, are disappointed, and it kills him. He hates that he still has those feelings, and wants to drown them, or lock them away forever. He'd rather feel emptiness than any of this anymore.

Lord Of This World- At this point his name is beyond infamous. No one remembers the more tender parts of him, and no one relates to him. He's been branded a villain, by everyone, and so assumes the role with a sick sense of pride. He knows he's not to blame for how he is, no matter what the others say, and won't let them judge him. He's in charge. He is a stronger, better leader than his old tribe could ever have, and this is his world. He bears that burden alone, but believes it was always his to bear, just like it was his burden to fall in love with Demeter and endure so much suffering for her kiss on his lips.

Double Dare- He invites his old tribe and in fact everyone around him to self reflect. They're not blameless, they're not better than him, and they're not as strong as him. They haven't survived what he has, haven't built something from nothing, haven't overcome his odds. He thinks everyone around him is weak, even Demeter, for not sticking by him He's angry at her for being with the Jellicles, and believes they've killed the stronger bits in her, the twinge of darkness that she also had, and allowed them to be miserable together. He won't be fooled, won't be changed, even at the cost of her, now. Either she'll be brave enough to come back to him, like he believes she should, because she was made for him, or he is truly the only brave cat in the world. And if that's the case? Then so be it.

-------

So yeah. This man is fucking delusional. Yes, he had a rough start to life, but it was his own arrogance and fear that prevented him from becoming a better person or adjusting. He turned to dark coping mechanisms instead, and ended up ruining the only positive relationship he's ever formed for the sake of remaining comfortable. If he wasn't so frightened of judgment and change, things could have gone very differently. But nope. Now he's hated by everyone, including the object of his affections, and he'll be sitting alone atop the cold throne he built for the rest of his life. He's really just driven by impulse and desire, despite his masterful approach to crime. It's an interesting juxtaposition. Someone so powerful and intelligent is really just constantly pushed and pulled by his emotions. He's one second from spiraling out of control at all times, and that's what makes him really dangerous more than anything.

#my shit #asks #macavity #demecavity #cats 1998 #cats the musical #demeter #cats demeter #demeter cats #macavity the mystery cat

[petrichoravellichor]

Begin and End There

For Day 3 of the Supernatural Deserved Better Creative Challenge (prompt: Castiel has rainbow wings).

This is Chapter 1 of 2; the second chapter will be written for a future prompt in the same challenge and should be up within the week.

Rating: T

Relationships: Castiel & Jack Kline, Castiel/Dean Winchester

Summary: After the Empty takes him, Castiel wakes up in the last place he expected, with a second chance at happiness when he reunites with Dean and the latter finally gets to speak his truth.

(Read on Ao3)

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

THEN

Dean: “Just want to let you know you are saving our asses here. You’re saving the whole world’s ass.”

Amara: “I haven’t saved anything yet.”

Dean: “But when the time comes, we can count on you, right?”

Amara: “Like I told you when we first met: ‘You and I will always help each other.’”

-15x17, “Unity”

********************

NOW

Castiel opened his eyes, blinking against the white light that blurred his vision. Strange, he didn’t remember the Empty being this bright…

“Cas?”

That voice...He knew that voice. Jack. Had the Empty reneged on Its deal and taken them both? He felt a stab of panic at the thought and reached out in blind desperation. “Jack? Jack! Where are you?”

A hand caught his wrist and squeezed gently, and as quickly as the panic had come on, it was gone, banished by a soft pulse of familiar grace. “It’s okay,” he heard Jack say, “it’s okay, I’m here. We’re safe.”

Castiel sighed in relief. Thank goodness. He turned his head toward Jack’s voice and blinked once, twice, three times until his vision cleared and he saw, much to his surprise, that he was lying on the couch in Heaven’s throne room. Next to his head, sitting cross-legged on the floor, was Jack, looking relieved as their gazes met. He stood, finally letting go of Castiel’s hand.

Castiel got up off the couch and immediately pulled Jack into a hug that the latter returned in earnest. “What happened?” Castiel asked as they parted. “How did I get here?”

Jack’s lips quirked in a conspiratorial smile. “I made a deal with the Empty.” Then, eyes widening at Castiel’s look of alarm, he added hastily, “But not like the one you made! I told the Empty that Chuck was gone and that if It gave you back, I’d leave It alone forever. No more interfering, no more bringing anyone else back, just peace and quiet, like It wanted. And It said yes.”

Castiel felt his brow furrow. “Chuck is...dead?” How was that possible? And what had been the cost? Suddenly, every fear crashed down on him at once. He surged forward and seized Jack by the shoulders, frantic. “Dean. Sam. Where are they? Are they hurt? Are they here? Is that why we’re—”

“No.” Jack’s hands came up to wrap around Castiel’s forearms in a reassuring squeeze. “Sam and Dean, they’re both fine. Stevie, Eileen, and the other hunters too. I brought them back. I brought everyone back.”

“‘Everyone?’” Castiel echoed. He frowned. “Jack, what happened?”

Jack’s smile faded, and his grip on Castiel’s arms tightened, as though afraid Castiel would be torn away from him at any moment. “Before, when the Empty...when It took you, Chuck took everyone else away, too, the entire world. The only ones left were me and Sam and Dean, and then we found Michael, and then my...Lucifer, he came back, and he pretended to be you so Dean would let him into the Bunker, and…” Jack chewed his lip, considering, then said, “Here, it’s better if I just show you.”

He raised his hands to Castiel’s temples and pressed lightly.

Castiel saw the inside of the Bunker. He saw Lucifer killing a reaper to make a new Death, then eliminating her permanently once she’d opened Chuck’s book. He saw the fight that had followed, saw Michael kill Lucifer and Jack absorb the latter’s power, saw Jack sit down with Sam and Dean and Michael in the war room to formulate a plan…

As though from far away, Jack’s voice filtered into his thoughts: “And then we all went after Chuck...”

The scene changed. Instead of the Bunker, Castiel saw a large clearing next to a lake. He saw Sam and Dean, armed with angel blades, yell for Chuck to come and face them. He saw Chuck appear, arrogant, condescending, his expression twisting into one of fury when Michael stepped out of the trees to stand next to the brothers, his archangel blade glinting in the sun. Castiel saw Chuck order Michael to kill Sam and Dean, saw Michael flat out refuse. He saw Sam and Dean and Michael rush Chuck together, all of them quickly becoming enmeshed in a brutal hand-to-hand combat that ended abruptly when Chuck sent out a shockwave that brought the others to their knees. He saw Chuck raise his fingers, poised to snap, ready to end it for everyone except himself, when—

“Amara!” Dean yelled. “Now!”

And then Castiel saw Chuck seize, as though restrained by an invisible force. He saw Jack step into the clearing and walk purposefully up to his grandfather, a look of fire in his eyes. He saw Jack place his hands on Chuck’s temples, saw the surge of energy that flowed into Jack as Amara materialized at Jack’s side, unharmed. He saw Chuck fall to the ground with a cry, powerless. Saw him beg first Amara, then Michael, to help him, saw both refuse.

He saw Chuck turn to Sam and Dean, a relishing sort of spite on his face as he asked if this was the part where they killed him, because how perfect, how fitting that would be! And he saw Dean say that no, he wasn’t a killer. Saw Sam throw Chuck’s book to the ground in front of him and tell him to write his own story, because he was done writing theirs. Saw the brothers turn and walk away with Jack and Amara and Michael, the five of them driving off in the Impala as Chuck stumbled after them, begging, pathetic, defeated, as he was left alone in the dust…

The scene faded, and Castiel was back in Heaven’s throne room, gazing at Jack in wonder as the former lowered his hands. “Jack, you...You’re the new God.”

Jack gave him a sheepish shrug. “I’m still me,” he said, “just...more. I can do everything I used to, and then some. Chuck’s power, it’s mine now, and I’m going to use it to fix things.” He gestured around at the throne room. “Like Heaven. The way Chuck made it, with everyone locked in their own memories...He put them behind walls so he could control them. I’m going to tear down the walls and remake Heaven the way it should have been from the start, so that people can decide where to go and what to do and who to do it with. No more control, no more constraints, just...choice. Free will.” Jack smiled. “Just like you and Sam and Dean taught me. It’s what we fought for.”

Castiel felt himself smile in return. “Yes, it is.” Then, a doubt: “What about Amara?”

Jack beamed. “Oh, she’s going to help! We’re going to do it together, and once we’re done, she’s going to stay and look after things up here while I go back to Earth and help people down there. That way, I can stay with you and Sam and Dean. Speaking of which,” Jack gave him a nod, “you should go. Dean is waiting.”

Castiel felt himself suddenly still. “He’s...waiting?”

Jack nodded. “For you. I told him I’d try to get you out of the Empty and that if I could, I’d send you back to him.”

Castiel swallowed; he felt as though his entire being was holding its breath. “I...see.”

“He said he had something he needed to tell you.”

“Did he...say what it was?”

“No, just that it was important.”

“Ah.” Castiel looked away, mind racing. What if he’d made Dean uncomfortable by confessing his love? What if Dean just wanted to see him to tell him that he didn’t feel the same way? Would he still let Castiel stay, as a friend? Castiel wasn’t anywhere near as powerful as he used to be. Chuck had said it himself, and so had countless others before him: Castiel was defective, broken, had come off the line with a crack in his chassis. He hadn’t even been able to help in the final fight, because he’d been dead. What was left of his grace began to prickle anxiously. Now that Heaven was finally safe, what use did the Winchesters even have for him anymore?

Or worse, what if Dean blamed himself for Castiel’s death? Dean had been through so much, had overcome so many burdens that should never have been his to bear. If there was any part of him that harbored guilt over what had happened, then Castiel would fix that. Dean deserved to be happy, and Castiel would make sure that he was. Even if Dean’s happiness didn't involve him.

“Cas?”

Castiel looked up and, seeing Jack’s concerned expression, forced a smile. He nodded. “Yes. I heard you. Thank you, Jack; I’ll go see him.”

Jack beamed. “Good. Oh! But before you do, here.” He placed a hand over Castiel’s heart. “I have something for you.”

A current of grace flowed from Jack’s palm into Castiel’s chest. He felt a prickling sensation on his back and glanced over his shoulder, gasping at the set of magnificent black wings that materialized even as he watched. They were exactly as he remembered, healthy and strong, shimmering like an oil slick in the sun and making rainbows of refracted light.

“There,” said Jack, stepping back with a grin. “I thought you might want them back.”

Hesitantly, Castiel reached out to run a finger over the velvety feathers, shivering at the familiar-yet-long-forgotten sensation. His wings. He’d thought he’d lost them forever, had even mourned them, and yet here they were, returned to him at last. “I...” he managed, at which point Jack pulled him into a hug that Castiel returned fiercely. “Thank you, Jack.”

“No,” said Jack, his voice somewhat muffled by Castiel’s shoulder, “thank you. I chose you as my father before I was even born because you risked everything to make sure that I would be. From the very beginning, you knew what I was, knew who I was, and even then, you never stopped believing in me, never stopped fighting for me, not even when I lost my soul. You saw the good in me, and you taught me to see the good in others. I am who I am because of you, Cas; we won because of you. You’re my family, and I love you. And I want you to be happy.”

Castiel swallowed the lump in his throat. He didn’t know what to say, was too overwhelmed to even begin to respond, so instead, he just hugged tighter, wrapping his wings protectively around Jack and pressing a kiss to the top of Jack's head, hoping that he understood.

When they finally separated, Jack smiled at Cas and raised his hand in a gesture of farewell. “Go,” he said. “Talk to Dean, and tell him and Sam that I’ll be home soon.”

Castiel nodded. “I’ll see to it that we have Krunch Cookie Crunch cereal on hand for your return.” Then, with a wave and a flutter of wings, he was gone.

#castiel #jack kline #destiel #deancas #spndbcc #cas & jack #spn #spn fix-it fic #spn 15x18 #spn 15x19 #spn 15x20 #fanfiction #begin and end there #my writing

[charming-2d-boys]

angsty hisoka sceanrio??? leaving the imagination up to you but i love angsty situations that would give my anxiety irl but like angtsy to fluff situation type thing ahaha

Ooooh, my favourite kind of thing: drama, spice and everything nice 😂💕

Thank you for requesting this! Enjoy! 😄💕

A/N: The song that I used for inspiration is Forever by The Amity Affliction. God, I love those guys ❤ Also, I suck at describing fighting scenes and coming up with fighting strategies, but I'm actually pretty proud of this one 😄

Warning: somewhat graphic descriptions of serious, fatal (for normal people, that is) injuries; also slight spoilers in case you haven't read Ishida Sui's Hisoka's Past

We can't live forever - Hisoka x Reader

   Hisoka couldn’t believe it.

   He had just talked with you the previous night about this match. He had bragged about how much fun it would be to break his opponent and about the reward you were supposed to give him after he won. You had laughed as he hugged you to his chest, both of you still sweaty from your previous trysts. You had assured him that you’d definitely reward him, like you always did, and also promised to give him a massage for all the hard work, ending your promise with a kiss on his cheek.

   And now, it was like everything was flashing right before his eyes. Strangely enough, it wasn't the way he'd heard it would be. It wasn't his whole life flashing before his eyes - there was almost nothing from his past, from when he was a child.

   He briefly saw his mother as she was showing him the Ace of Hearts. He chose that card when she was shuffling them and she guessed it. That was one of the first card tricks he had ever seen.

   Then, he remembered his time at the circus, with Moritonio and Abaki. The smell of popcorn surrounding him and the taste the Bungee Gum left in his mouth.

   An amalgamation of people’s faces, places and blood as he travelled and developed his Nen.

   Then the first time he saw you. Your first date and the way you laughed when some kid's cotton candy got stuck to his clothes. The many kisses shared and hours spent together...

   All going rapidly through his head as he was stuck to the ground by pointy poles of steel that his opponent managed to catch him with, one of them jutting right out of his chest and between his symbol suits. Hisoka could barely breathe, no matter how much Aura he was projecting to stop the bleeding. The sound of the rainy weather outside seemed somehow foreboding now, compared to how he felt about it in the morning, as the two of you were getting ready - a slight inconvenience.

   His opponent was wiping his mouth of blood as sweat rolled down his face, eyes blazing at Hisoka’s figure on the ground as he made another pole with his Nen. This guy hated Hisoka. That much was clear from his bloodlust.

   You were watching them. Hisoka could feel your eyes and he saw you, in the stands, in the first row to his left. You were crying and he could see your hands clasped together as you were praying for Hisoka to get up, to not die on you, not now. Your eyes moved to the opponent, watching as he started advancing slowly towards Hisoka’s body, his own injuries and fatigue slowing him down considerably.

   Am I really going to die here?

   Hisoka looked away from you and to the ceiling, wishing he could see the clouds and feel the rain on his face - just wash the blood away. His fingers were either torn off, broken or crushed; both of his arms were broken and pierced through because of the poles, rendering them pretty much useless; he couldn’t feel his right leg from the knee down and he was sure that a few of his ribs were broken.

   What could he do? His enemy was coming closer, intent on winning and possibly even killing Hisoka. He could feel your eyes on him. Those beautiful, teary eyes of yours. God, he always hated when you cried. What would you do if he died? He couldn’t just leave you alone like that. One of the few truly good things in his life. Always so happy to see him. And now you looked like your very heart was breaking right in front of his eyes.

   I'm not afraid to die.

   He really wasn't. Hisoka always felt that he'd rather die doing something he liked rather than dying from anything else. Too bad you had to witness it.

   “Lovely! If I die...” His voice was loud and harsh, blood going down the left side of his mouth as he turned his head towards you. It was hard to breathe. His opponent was still approaching. If only his other hand wouldn't have been broken and now falling limply at his side, Hisoka was sure he would be carrying two poles, mostly as a way to make sure he ended the magician forever.

   He wondered how many knew about the two of you. With how affected you looked now and all the looks you were getting, probably enough.

   But I'm so afraid of leaving you here.

   "If I die... I'll see you on the other side~ ♥️" He winked and smirked at you. You could only shake your head and mutter no as you saw Hisoka turn back to face his opponent. He was back to his usual self - despite the blood, the pain, your tears. Hisoka felt lighter already.

   "Ready to die, Grim Reaper?" His enemy asked, pole up over his head, ready to go through Hisoka's face.

   "Only if you lead the way~ ♣️" Hisoka responded with a smile, faltering a bit with a wince as he moved his left leg just a little.

   "I'll wipe that smile off your face right now!" Hisoka thought he heard a scream right before the pole struck.

   You couldn't watch. You didn't want to. And you almost felt like collapsing to the ground when you heard the thud as Hisoka was declared winner. You jumped over the wall and ran to Hisoka's side, ignoring the audience's cheering and the commentator the second you snapped out of your shocked state.

   The pole embedded deep into the ground besides your boyfriend's head was heavy and didn't seem like it would budge anytime soon. You listened to Hisoka's instructions as you pulled his opponent's body off the pipe in Hisoka's chest and then slowly got his broken body upright, trying to support his weight as much as you could. Several staff members had shown up to help you and you thanked them as they carried Hisoka to the hospital wing in the arena. He'd have to use a lot of Texture Surprise and prosthetics for these injuries.

   You were soon left alone when the doctors made sure Hisoka was stable. You wouldn't let him use his magic tricks that easily - for now, at least. First, he'd rest for a while. The rest could come later. Only that Hisoka didn't want you to go. Not that you would.

   "You're such an idiot! I thought you were going to die." You scolded him while wiping your tears, hand holding onto his broken one gently.

   "Hmm~ So did I, lovely. ♣ But I had to get him close enough so I could use my Bungee Gum~♦" You had seen the entire thing and were thankful the commentator didn't say anything before Hisoka struck.

   Just as his opponent was about to kill him, Hisoka used his left foot, that wasn't broken and only had a sprained ankle, to catch onto the edge of one of his opponent's poles. By pulling it with high speed towards the two of them, there was a high chance of his enemy noticing and moving out of the way, thus resulting in Hisoka killing himself.

   But tired, dizzy from blood loss and probably thinking that all of Hisoka's limbs were broken and unable to be used, he had let his guard down. And just like that, he got pierced by his own pole, going straight through him and deviating slightly to the side in the process, striking next to Hisoka's head, while his body slumped over and fell onto the pole in Hisoka's chest.

   "Tell them the Grim Reaper sent you~ ♠️" Hisoka had said as he watched his opponent die, face set into an incredulous expression.

   "I'm so happy you're safe..." You hugged Hisoka and kissed his cheek, then his lips, thanking every deity you could think of for helping him survive this time as well.

   "I'm not leaving you that easily, lovely~ ♥ You're stuck with me for a long time~ ♥" He hummed in delight, wishing he could wipe your tears himself. But seeing you smile down at him and knowing that you were by his side was satisfying enough.

   "Good, I only love one clown. And that's you." You kissed him again when you saw his teasing grin. He never liked being called that, but you were an exception.

#hxh #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter x reader #hunter x reader #hisoka #hisoka morrow #hisoka x reader #hisoka morrow x reader #hxh hisoka #hxh writing

[secret-time-is-here]

An Error’s Journey

Chapter 5

Previous - First - Next 

TW: Talk of death, killing, and cannibalism.

Waking up, he stared at the ceiling for a moment, heavily confused.

What was that dream? Why did he remember all of it? Why was Hearts going by Lust? Why did everything feel so familiar? Were they memories?

Far too many questions, far too early.

Slowly he sat up, reaching for the glasses he knew he had nearby. Looking down he fell asleep in his day clothes, half-heartedly he misses when he could easily wear the same clothes every day, but that’s a price you have to pay for sanity.

He could’ve sworn he was knitting before he fell asleep, and was definitely not tucked in or laid down. Nightmare must’ve come in to check on him at some point.

He pulled the strings from his eyes as he carefully got off his hanging bed. Being mindful to not have it swing too much or else it’ll whack him in the back, and let his magic open up the curtains and grab a change of clothes as he started a shower. Also setting the clothes and his glasses on the counter.

Those dreams were far too detailed. He nearly never had dreams in the first place, let alone that vivid and so many back to back. Hearts doesn’t go by Lust anymore, not after he joined Nightmare.

Hearts had always said that Lust was a name he used to use, one a beloved ex of his repurposed and he was always so hesitant to let go of it, but when he left the Star Council and started a new life apart of Nightmare’s gang, he decided it was time to let go.

Why would he dream of dating Hearts in the first place? He was with Blue, and while they are on opposing sides, they still love each other. Both agree Hearts is safer and happier with Nightmare, and Blue safer and happier with Dream.

He’s happily single thank you very much. Far too many mental instabilities to even think of a relationship at the moment, that wasn’t changing no matter how much Reaper flirted with him.

So what were those dreams? Why did they give him such emotion?

He shook off the thought, for now, changing into his clothes before giving himself a once-over in the mirror.

The reflection of a skeleton with coal bones stared back at him, mismatched eye lights sitting in his sockets and bright blue tear tracks under his eyes. One of his eyelights was plain white, like most Sans’ have, the other was deep blue ringed with a murky yellow.

His neck was bright red for no other reason than to show how much of an error he was inside and out, but he had a dark blue scarf around his neck to hide most of it. His dark red shirt fit him for the first time in centuries, much like his black patchy jacket. Looking down his pants were baggy and long, but overtime staying in Nightmare’s mansion, he grew into them, since he’s no longer staying in a place where time is paused infinitely. Looking at his feet, his toes wiggled on top of his black flip-flops.

He was missing something… looking back at the counter, he grabbed his glasses, then back in the mirror, he saw that handsome bastard he knew so well.

Smirking he grabbed his phone before heading down to the kitchen, most everyone already gathered there, most sitting at the kitchen island, a few at the couches decorating the walls.

“MORning.” He called, voice glitching.

“Good morning, Error.” Nightmare called, “Get some coffee before Killer drinks it all.”

Nightmare was one of the eldest in the Multiverse and had collected a gang of so-called bad sans’ to wreak havoc upon the multiverse, a sort of payback for being outcasted. While Nightmare refused to talk about his past, the gang knew that his goop was not natural, as the dark guardian had confessed once upon a time he didn’t look like a perpetually dripping blob of a skeleton with a single cyan eye.

The odd goop that surrounds Nightmare thankfully doesn’t soak into everything, so he can still wear most clothing without a problem. Even though he doesn’t change from the black hoodie, shorts, and slippers he wears every day.

“I’m not drinking all of it!”

“You’ve had three cups already. You got in the kitchen six minutes ago.”

Killer was one of the several Sans’ Nightmare had collected for his crew and was from a genocide gone horribly wrong, Frisk convincing him to kill everyone. Frisk did this over and over through many resets, and it slowly tore Killer apart. By the time Nightmare found him, he was very much insane, desperate to get rid of the guilt that was eating at him. He had so much negativity, that he had black tears running from his sockets, and his eyelights gone.

Nightmare offered to let him in and help him, and unknowingly, Killer had accepted. Today, Killer’s wearing a long-sleeved black turtleneck and basketball shorts with sneakers and socks, his old tattered hoodie resting around his shoulders. For once, he even has a single eye lit up, a sign that he’s happy.

“Morning, Ru!” Hearts called patting the seat next to him, “How’d ya sleep?”

Hearts was wearing a comfortable knitted sweater that Error had made for him last Giftmas. Since he was no longer plagued by that unbearable heat, he can wear it without discomfort. Alongside that, he’s wearing comfy but thin black sweats along with fluffy socks.

“WEiRd.” Error shrugged, sitting down next to Hearts after stealing some coffee from Killer, “Just sOmE Odd dREams thOugh, hOpEfully, tOnight I wOn’t havE thEm again.”

“Night terrors?” Nightmare questioned

“No… I think thEy might bE mEmORiEs, but it’s hard to say. ThEy wERE cOnfusing thOugh, sO I’m trying nOt tO think tOO much abOut it.”

“Sounds like the multiverse in a nutshell,” Cross spoke up from the doorway, having just woken up. Horror let out a gruff chuckle at that.

Cross and Horror were also skeletons that Nightmare had found. Dust being the other one he had found, although the stupidly tall skeleton loves to sleep in. Dust came from a genocide gone wrong as well, except he killed out of desperation, how would Frisk be able to kill everyone if he did it himself? Although after Dust killed his brother he snapped. His eyes seem to forever shake and are mismatched like Error’s. Both red, but one with an inner ring of blue.

 Nightmare found Dust talking to himself, or seemingly so, his mind so gone that he imagined his brother as a ghost that follows him, telling him to kill more. If Dust was awake and downstairs, he’d probably be wearing his brother's scarf and his hoodie paired with long trek pants as well as slippers.

Horror didn’t come from a genocide but did come from a very dark AU that had a famine, and after so much time without food, to survive many turned to eat each other. The first time Nightmare and Horror met, Horror had tried to cut Nightmare up and eat him. At the moment, Horror’s not trying to eat everything and anything but is cooking breakfast for everyone. 

Wearing his apron, a fluffy hoodie he stole from Cross, and his normal faded t-shirt, he smiles wide. Although, much like Killer and Dust, he also wears basketball shorts and slippers. Yet, unlike everyone else, his AUs story left him with a jagged hole in the side of his head and only one bright red working eye.

Finally Cross, the one that changed the gang. The only one that hasn’t gone insane. After Cross joined, Nightmare started helping everyone else with their insanity, and eventually helped himself as well. Cross doesn’t wear the uniform his AU had forced him into anymore but does still keep some elements of his old outfit. He has his fluffy hoodie that he kept, that Horror enjoys stealing far too much, but he also kept his black turtleneck. Aside from that, he got rid of everything else, relaxing with black athletic pants and dark sneakers.

He’s the only one that looks the most like a sans appearance-wise, his eyes both white, with no scar insight. The gang says that one of his eyes used to be red, with a red scar under it. Nightmare has confirmed this but says that the reason behind that was he was sharing a soul with a human, and that now that the human has been taken care of, the red eyelight and scar are gone.

“Any… um... Pa-...pl-” Horror struggled for a moment, his injury messed with his head a lot, making it harder to speak and get sentences out. Everyone waited patiently, “Plans! Any plans?”

“Hmm… PlannEd On hanging Out with REapER, LifE, and MERcy fOR lunch. SpEnd sOmE timE with thE Charas, makE suRE IntEnt is kEEping thEm all undER cOntROl. ThEn dROp by CcinO’s, why?”

“We were thinking about a movie night later.” Dust popped his head through the door, twitching a little less than usual, a good sign. That means his brother hadn’t been keeping him up all night.

“I’ll have tO gEt gOing sO I can makE it back sOOnER thEn, dOn’t I?” Error spoke with a smirk, and Horror’s smile widened.

-----

A few portals later, to hide his trail to Nightmare’s base, he arrived in Reapertale. He passed many Gods on his way to Life’s realm, and he waved to each of them, everyone knowing him well, a long-time friend of the Gods.

“There you are, Error, I was beginning to think you forgot.” Life spoke, sitting on the deck of her cottage. Reaper a few feet away from her, floating as he sat.

Life was the Toriel of ReaperTale, but also as the nickname suggests the Goddess of life and nature. She is a goat monster with fluffy white fur, red eyes, and a flowing green silk dress with golden accents.

“Heya, Ru,” Reaper cooed, Error rolled his eyes. “Mercy couldn’t make it this time, few more souls than usual. You know how it is.”

Reaper is the God of death, his younger brother, Mercy, the God of merciful death. Both of them wearing dark cloaks tied with a rope, both having their own tokens. Reaper a small gaster blaster skull holding together the hood of his cape, and Mercy a long wisping red scarf.

“Alright, make sure to tell him ‘Hi’ for me some time then,” Error sat on the deck with them, and pulled out his knitting, “How have you two been?”

“Same old Same old,” Life sighed, “Not much to do for me, although Reaper has a little something~”

“Tor, come on, thought you agreed you’d keep that a secret.”

“Awww, yOu lEft mE Out Of a sEcREt?” Error faked betrayal, “HOw cOuld yOu?!”

“You watch too much UnderNovela...” Error gave pouty eyes, “Fine Glitch. Ink and I have been cuddling a bit outside of work. Just Queerplantonic cuddling, nothing more… right now.”

“YOu bEttER nOt lEt DREam or NightmarE knOw yOu caught fEElings DEath,” Error chuckled, Reaper scoffed.

“What about you, Error?” Life asked, setting a cup of tea down in front of Error.

“Had some weird dreams… but nothing much more than that. The war is still going on, but I complain about that nearly daily.” Life and Death gave confused looks, as if asking him to elaborate, “I think they might be memories, but it’s hard to say. They weren’t really about me… they could be, but I doubt it.”

“What do you mean by that?” Reaper rested on his stomach, head cradled in his hands, still floating in the air.

“Well, the dreams were about some Classic timeline, a skeleguy named Sci who’s dated Hearts back when he was Lust.” Error stopped his knitting and picked up the tea, “I know it has to be Hearts, he’s the only UnderLust timeline with a human named Ace and a brother named Pink.”

“Well, it might not be far-fetched that you’re from a classic timeline, and we all know that you haven’t always been an error and that you do get the occasional flash of something with the right prompting.” Error hummed, “Did this Sci guy act a lot like you?”

“...Admittedly, yeah. We even have the same glasses.” Error tapped the rim of his glasses, the same he saw in the first dream.

“Maybe you’re going to be slowly dreaming through your past life for a bit?”

“I know we’re literally Universe travelers and Gods, but that’s a little crazy, don’t ya think?”

“Well, you don’t remember anything before the AntiVoid, so it’d be a fair theory to say the AntiVoid is the reason you can’t remember anything… and you moved out of there some years ago.” Life reasoned, “Maybe without its influence your memories are starting to come back.”

“Maybe...” Error’s phone buzzed, and he looked at the new text.

Intent was losing control of the Charas, they ran out of chocolate. The destroyer chuckled. “Sorry guys gotta get going, Intent needs me. Thanks for listening to my weird bullshit though.”

“Anytime, Glitchy.”

His mind flashed and he was in the dark world of the save screen, Reaper cuddling close, his chest hurting from a long red slash across it.

-----

Sneaking into the Omega Timeline was absolutely terrible the first time he had done it, but now it had become routine. Alongside his glitching, he learned that he could manipulate his code to look like any Sans he wanted, and even match their voice, although it put a slight strain on his soul if done too long.

Looking like a Classic Sans, he got a secret identity in the Omega Timeline, a small workshop under his false name that he uses to sell his crafts giving him some G to use to buy gifts for the gang, the Gods, and the Charas.

Pulling a pouch out of his pocket, he walked to the grocery store, buying several fun-sized snack packs of chocolate for his idiot humans, before heading out to the pocket space that all the Chara’s lived in.

By accident, he discovered the space and all the Chara’s living there years ago, and regrettably, grew close to all of them. Intent acted as the main parent of the house like pocket space, and Error was the punny uncle that saved them with his copious amounts of chocolate.

He arrived and before he could even knock on the door, he was jumped on by many Charas. Intent was quick to pull them all off before he crashed.

“Sorry, Error, they’re all a little cranky and are coming down from a sugar high. Brats found where I’ve been keeping the chocolate and ate all of it at once.” Intent explained, red eyes glaring at the younger ones.

Intent was one of the eldest of the Chara’s and the only one willing to take an active role as caretaker. Their Frisk long since paused and seeming to not be returning to the underground. When he had first found all of them, the eldest of the Chara’s, not so cleverly nicknamed Dest, had pulled him aside and explained things. 

The pocket space they live in is the in-between of the in-between. The space that separates the Void from the AntiVoid. Time is slow, but not at a complete stop. It’s connected to everywhere, and nowhere at once. From the pocket space, the Chara’s can live and go check on their Frisk’s as they please. Although with so many new AUs recently, a lot of them are young.

Intent’s timeline is the first Genocide timeline, long since abandoned by everyone, all the characters dead except Frisk. Dest’s timeline is the original timeline, and they keep a very close eye on their Frisk, who’s been on the surface for years now.

Thanks to Error, things had been more liveable and far less confusing. With his knitting and newfound hobby of sewing, he made them all new clothes and bought necklaces from the OmegaTimeline that have their nicknames on them.

Now not everyone’s wearing the same green and yellow striped sweater and brown pants, and a lot of them have their own styles and tastes. Plus, with how slow all of them age, it’s not often that he has to refit them or make new clothes.

“It’s alright IntEnt, thanks fOR gEtting thEm Off mE.”

“Least I could do, now come on punny.”

His mind flashed, showing the image of a young Chara and Asriel, both clambering around his body, and enjoying themselves, laughing happily.

He shook his skull, and Intent gave a concerned look, “Ya good, E?”

“Y-yEah...” Shakily, he followed the other inside.

-----

Error sighed as he sat down at a barstool of his favorite Cafe.

“Hey, Error, bad day?”

“COnfusing day...”

“Strong coffee or extreme hot chocolate?”

“ExtREmE cOcOa,” He reached into his pocket and passed a few G for the drink, “I dOn’t gEt what’s gOing On with mE. FiRst thEsE wEiRd dREams slash mEmORiEs thEn I’m gEtting flashEs Of mEmORiEs I dOn’t REmEmbER-?”

“Woah there, let’s slow down a bit.” Error stopped, hanging on Ccino’s every word, “Deep breath in,” He breathed in deeply, “and let it out slowly.” He exhaled for a long minute. “There? Is the world a little less overwhelming?”

Ccino is from a surface AU, simply owning a cat Cafe and living above it. He has grey eyes and pale bones, usually wearing earthy colors and an apron, although on occasion outside of work he wears a blue hoodie with bunny ears attached to the hood.

Error nodded soundlessly, closing his eyes, “Why don’t you start from the beginning, then I can try and help, but before you start, take a drink, alright? God or not, it’s good to stay hydrated. Even with hot cocoa.” His eyes half opened at the sound of a cup softly landing on the counter. He took a big sip and then began to speak.

“StaRtEd with thE dREams I guEss… thEy wEREn’t abOut mE thOugh, but thEy might bE? At lEast LifE and REapER think sO. ThEy think I might bE REmEmbERing my past nOw that I’m nOt living in thE AntiVOid...”

“And what do you think about the dreams?” Ccino spoke slowly and softly, petting a cat that had jumped up into his arms.

“I dOn’t knOw what tO think.”

“That’s okay. You’re allowed to not have an opinion on things. What do you want to do about the dreams?”

“NOthing Right nOw.”

“Then you don’t have to do anything.”

“I’vE bEEn gEtting flashEs Of mEmORiEs tOO, but I dOn’t REmEmbER thEm. I knOw thEy’RE minE bEcausE it’s in my pERspEctivE, thEy fEEl familiaR. I can REcOgnizE pEOplE in thEm.”

“What do you want to do about the flashes?”

“SEE what happEns with thEm I guEss...”

“Then you can wait and see.” Ccino pulled out his phone for a moment, “Before you leave to Night’s, can you stay a bit longer? Night had put in an order for some sweets and drinks for your movie night.”

Error nodded, and Ccino walked away, going into the kitchen area to work on the order.

“Hello, Error.” A young voice suddenly called, and he froze. The voice was one from his dreams… and one he still knew to this day. He didn’t bother looking over.

“...Hi, CORE.”

“Don’t avoid sleep.” Error slowly turned his head towards Core, “Your dreams will help. I can’t promise all of them will be happy. I can promise that they will help. You need to go through them. Otherwise, the multiverse is destined for peril.” He just gave confusedly.

Core stared back at him, “Why the confused look? I’ve already told you before that I’m the watcher of the Multiverse.” 

-

Everyone belongs to their respected creators

#Undertale #Fanfic #An Error's journey #AEJ chapter 5 #Chapter 5 #Error sans #Error #Nightmare sans #Nightmare #Underlust sans #Lust #Hearts #Underswap sans #Blue #Killer sans #Killer #Horror sans #Horror #Cross sans #Cross #Dust sans #Dust #Reaper sans #Reaper #Reapertale Toriel #Life #Reapertale Papyrus #Mercy #Intent Chara #Dest Chara

[evabellasworld]

Written in the Stars

For @thecl0wnwars, this is my gift for you as past of the @starwarssecretsanta event. Thank you to @lilhawkeye3 for organising this event. I really enjoyed it so far.

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Summary: Bly and Aayla were stargazing after a brutal battle while longing for the war to end

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Laying on top of the soft, emerald grass, Bly rested his head on top of his arms and focused on the night sky, which was encrusted with sparkling stars and an illuminating sapphire moon.

Two, four, six, eight, he muttered to himself, pointing his finger slightly towards the horizon. The clone commander of the 327th Battalion wondered the exact number of stars that he's gazing at this moment.

With only the crickets chirping in his surroundings and the rest of his men asleep in their tents, Bly thanked the Maker that he gets to spend his alone time counting all the stars in the sky, since he hardly had the privilege to do so.

Though he wished that his Jedi General was laying beside him, instead of resting after a long day at the battlefield, with bodies of his dead brothers and sisters laying cold on the ground and an orchestra of blasters and explosions deafening Bly, who was an unwilling actor in this play, along with his troops.

It was his duty to fight for freedom and justice so that one day, the people of the Galactic Republic will live in peace and prosperity. And yet, Bly finds himself doubting whether the war was worth the lives that were lost during the brutal battle.

Moments ago, Aayla was leading him and his troops to fight against the Separatist invasion on Reza, which was a planet known for exporting corn. The prairie land, with a barren grassland and a small town nearby, was engulfed in flames along with the sea of cornfields.

With the screams of the civilians that were caught in between, Bly could never forgive himself for watching as a child got shot by the battle droids and not being able to save him from the Grim Reaper.

But Aayla, on the other hand, had it worse. As a Jedi, she not only sensed their emotion but absorbed the pain that the villagers had to suffer. It got to the point that a fellow Jedi Knight, Eva Bella Young, suffered a seizure from the intense emotion.

He pines as he glanced at the mesmerizing painting that the Maker has blessed him in the sky. He has travelled from planet to planet and yet, he took the beauty of the universe for granted. 

Growing up in Kamino, the only thing that Bly was taught was to fight until you die. Nothing more, nothing less. It wasn't until he was assigned to Aayla that he learned to appreciate everything before it was gone forever in his life. His brothers, his sisters, his best friends, and Aayla.

Like the blue moon, he finds her attractive. With blue skin and luscious lips, Bly was struck by her looks, and his feeling for her was more intense when he saw how she treated his brothers and sisters, especially Ahri.

Whenever Bly wanted to speak to Aayla alone, his vod’ika, Ahri, would always be asking her stupid questions, like how to find a book in the library or how to strike a conversation with a woman she met at the bar.

He envies them for trying to steal her attention from time to time, but he knows that jealousy would do no good except poisoning his own heart. He knows that having a sense of entitlement is not the way to have around a woman like Aayla. But yet, he watches most romance movies that his batchmate, Ares recommended to him and he noticed that the characters were constantly pining for each other’s love, ignoring the people around them.

He thought those couples in the movies were selfish and had little chemistry with each other. From what Odd Eye told him, relationships take years to build and seconds to crumble. The thought of losing Aayla in the war scares him as if he has enough of seeing his own troops dying and suffering in pain.

“Bly?” he heard a familiar voice calling him. “Are you alright?” 

The commander turned around and saw Aayla standing behind him, her Jedi robes wrapped with her cloak. Bly glanced at her with awe as her beauty shone underneath the blue moon. Her eyes sparkled as her gentle smile warms his heart, making him unsure of his words towards her. “Can’t sleep?”

“Not really,” she answered honestly as she sat beside him, turning his cheeks deep red. “I’ve been thinking about the battle today. It was horrifying to see the villagers suffer in the middle of the battle.”

“Yeah, it was awful,” Bly let out a sorrowful sigh. “They don’t deserve to be caught in the middle of the battle.”

“Unfortunately, that is the cost of the war. It’s always the good ones that had to die first, and all because we want peace in the galaxy.”

Bly hates to agree with that statement that Aayla but she has a point, even if it hurts him personally. "People don't seem to understand what we have to go through, and yet, here we are."

"That is true, though people have a point about the war. All it does is take lives after lives until there are no more to take. Even the ones that survived aren't the same anymore."

That also rings true to him. Bly himself had gone through so many battles. Day by day, he wished that the Reaper would visit him instead of his brothers and sisters. He felt sick to the stomach whenever he had to list down every clone trooper who perished in his report. They may be engineered to kill droids but deep down, those men and women have feelings as well. All those wishes that they made within themselves, were never accomplished.

“Aayla,” he stuttered. “Do you ever wish that you could turn back time and save everyone you loved from dying?”

“Sometimes I do,” Aayla admitted. “I sometimes wished that I could save my friends from death, but in the end, there was nothing we could do except to mourn for them and move on with our lives. It’s not good if you often dwell with your own grief.”

“I see, but do you always blame yourself for watching them die without being able to do anything at all?”

Through the Force, the Twi’lek Jedi sensed turmoil within Bly. His questions about wanting to save his brothers and sisters alarmed her, though, not in a severe manner. She understood the weight he had to carry as the commander of the 327th Battalion. As a Jedi General and peacekeeper, she felt the same burden as well, even without training in leading an army. 

“Bly, if something is bothering you, you can always talk to me,” she assured him, brushing her hand with his, much to his surprise.

“I’m alright, general,” he cleared his throat and sat up straight, letting go of her soft palms. “It’s just….”

“You don’t have to say it if you don’t feel comfortable about it.”

“No, general,” he shook his head. “You’ve made a good point about moving on.”

Aayla shifted her gaze towards the sky, which were painted with the stars and galaxy by the Makers. She was thankful that she was wide awake in the gloomy night to see the wonders of the universe. With the war raging in the galaxy, Aayla felt like a youngling who was counting stars until she decided to go to bed.

She remembered a time when there was only peace in the galaxy. A time when the only thing she was sad was when an elderly Jedi Master became one with the Force. A time when children were running around in the hallways of the Jedi Temple instead of leading an army of soldiers. 

Aayla wonders if suffering and pain was worth it to achieve peace in the galaxy. She heard a million times that the war would end someday, but that someday doesn’t seem to come any faster as it goes on and on, claiming lives after lives. But for now, she just wants to enjoy the everlasting sight that is laying beside her, counting every star in the sky. “So, how many of them did you manage to count?”

“I’m sorry, what?” Bly asked, clueless. 

“The stars, silly,” she chuckled. “How many stars did you manage to count?”

The clone commander blushed, feeling like an idiot for not paying enough attention to her. “Well, I counted around a thousand stars in the sky.”

“Really?” her eyes widened. “That’s amazing. I’m impressed with your mathematics skills.”

“To be honest with you, Aayla, I was only guessing. I didn’t get to count past 20 stars, actually.”

“Well, it’s still impressive, though,” she shrugged. ���At least it’s better than not counting at all.”

Bly beamed, tightening his lips. “H-hey Aayla, can I ask you something?”

“Of course, Bly. What is it that you want to ask me about?”

“What kind of advice would you give yourself if you could go back to the past?” he wondered, glancing deeply at her eyes. 

“Well, that is a good question,” she said, moving her eyelids upwards, thinking what kind of answer would she give to him. “My only advice to my younger self is to not be overly attached with everyone you loved, as it is unhealthy and it leads to obsession.”

He nodded at her statement. “Did you have an unhealthy attachment with someone before?”

“I used to have intense emotion with my friend Kit, but he doesn't feel the same way for me. So I had to let him go and respect his feelings towards me.”

Bly couldn't help seeing green whenever he saw Aayla and Kit Fisto interacting with each other. Then again, he also felt the same way when Ahri stole her attention away from him. He knows that he doesn't own Aayla, but he felt that he should stop being jealous towards everyone who talks to her, especially his vod'ika, Ahri.

“Are you and Kit still friends?”

“We are,” she nodded. “He is my best friend and I won’t have it any other way.”

“That’s good to hear,” he gleamed. “It’s no good getting your lustrous feelings in the way of friendship anyways. Imagine what it does to your friendship with Kit.”

“Yes, there would be horrible consequences,” she answered, taking a deep breath of the fresh air in her surroundings. “Has that ever happened to you before, Bly?”

He has to be completely honest with Aayla, especially when it comes to his feelings towards and resentment towards Ahri. “My sister and I have been close with each other since the Battle of Geonosis. And then one day, when we were assigned to one of the most beautiful Jedi General, who is also smart and cautious during wartime.”

Aayla could only blush as she knew what Bly was telling her, and who is the particular person that he was referring to.

“And guess what, my feelings towards the general grew as we fought with each other, side-by-side, and we even began to understand each other as well. So imagine my surprise when I found out that my sister also has feelings for the general as well. I didn’t take it well and I ended up lashing out at her.”

He paused for a moment, before he decided to continue his story towards her. “She ended up crying and retreated to her quarters. I felt terrible. She was my closest sister in the 327th Battalion and I made her cry. I guess envy and possessiveness has grown inside my heart without realizing it, but that doesn’t excuse my behaviour towards her.”

“Later, I knocked on her barrack and I apologize for making her feel this way. She forgave me, but I still felt bad for making her miserable, so we talked and talked for hours, and we strengthened our friendship, without letting our pride and ego get in the way.”

Aayla looked at him in a proud manner, placing her hand on his shoulder. “I’m glad that you and Ahri worked on the issue between the both of you. Bly, I understand that you love me very much but sometimes, we can’t be too attached to each other. Otherwise, our relationship would lead to obsession, which is unhealthy for the both of us.”

“I know, Aayla, and I’m ashamed for thinking this way,” he frowned, avoiding her glance. “I just wished that we’re both allowed to be open about our love towards each other. I’m just sick and tired of keeping this a secret.”

“I know,” she caressed his face as she leaned her forehead onto his. “But as long as we have each other, then you have nothing to worry about.”

Bly wrapped his arms around her waist as he felt his heart pounding gently, his eyes closed. Their love may be forbidden and scandalous towards everyone, but he and Aayla surrendered their fate to the Maker of the galaxy. After all, their love story is written in the stars for their children and their grandchildren to read someday.

#star wars #star wars ocs #clone trooper #clone trooper ocs #clone ocs #female clone trooper #commander bly #aayla secura #blyla #bly x aayla #stargazing #emotional intimacy #intimacy #swsecretsanta2020 #love story #fluff #angst

[deans-haunted-baby]

Best Part of Me

*This is my fix-it of Jack’s reaction to Cas’s death in 15x19 and some of the events in 15x18 rewritten. Featuring a flashback post episode 14x10. I was so disappointed they never really let Jack feel this loss when he dreaded that deal for a whole year. The title is from a song by St Leonards. Enjoy!*

Summery: In Hastings Minnesota, after learning from Dean of Castiel’s sacrifice to the Empty. Jack runs off to be alone somewhere in the deserted town. Breaking down and reliving the last good memory of a hunt he and Cas went on together 

Sam and Jack sauntered down the quiet roads, surveying the desolated scenery, coming to a 4-way stop. Nothing but emptiness all around them. Vacant buildings and vehicles, one smashed into a telephone pole. Stores still blinking their neon open signs in the windows. Car alarms blaring off in the distance. But no voices. Not a trace of any souls anywhere. Just nobody. Everyone was gone and the two hunters began feeling like they were starring in that Chuck Heston flick The Omega Man.

Jack could see his tall, anguished mentor was distracted, often checking his phone for calls in case Dean or Eileen or maybe Cas… Desperately searching inside the unoccupied cafes and stores in case they missed someone. He’d been beating himself up all night for not being able to save the AU world survivors. And it was driving him crazy not hearing from his brother for the past 12 hours. 

“We should’ve heard from them by now.” Sam blurted; quickening his pace towards a truck. Peeking inside. “Come on Dean, where are you?”

“You think they’re alright?” Jack asked uncertain.

“I don’t know. But you were the last person to talk to Cas.” Sam approached the boy getting restless. “What; did he say anything to you before you guys got cut off?”

Immediately Jack stopped; swallowing hard as he lowered his eyes to the pavement. “No…not really.”

The truth was Jack couldn’t get over this weird twinge he felt in his chest; an ache that refused go away. Like a piece of him had been severed and now he was nursing the phantom pain. The Nephilim boy had it ever since the last time he spoke to his father on his phone…before they were abruptly interrupted by static. Last night the group had split. Dean and Castiel went to confront Billie at the bunker while Jack stayed behind with Sam at the hideaway to protect the remaining people that hadn’t been erased. Next thing he knows survivors are disappearing in front of him, people he knew. Friends and fellow hunters. And then his phone set to vibrate; buzzes irritably in his jacket pocket to which he’d fished it out.

________________________________________

Several hours earlier

 “Jack!” the angel’s gruff voice was urgent. But relieved when his son had answered. “Oh, thank heavens.”

“Cas?” the young boy chirps; raking his fingers through his hair. Still not over the shock of seeing all their people vanish and exchanging disturbed looks with Sam. “Cas are you and Dean okay? Did Billie?”

“No, we’re fine,” he replies back; tone switching from critical to sudden despair. “What about you and Sam, the survivors?”

Jack’s face fell on the verge of tears; pacing away from the tall hunter and leaning against the wall.

“They’re gone.” He chokes out. “All of them… Cas…Sam and I tried…we tried… It happened so fast… We just couldn’t save anyone.”

The Nephilim boy heard a heavy sign on the other end then Castiel says, “It wasn’t your fault Jack. None of this is your fault, alright.”

“No, I could’ve done something! If-if I still had my powers, I could’ve protected all of us!”

“Jack, no. Don’t do that to yourself. There was nothing you could’ve done and you did all you could do, okay.” The angel encourages firmly though soft. Giving Jack a chance to calm down before he adds. “Listen…there’s something I…need to tell you…in case anything happens.”

Jack’s heart rose in his throat. “What do mean in case something happens to you?” he demands; voice rising. “Cas what’s wrong?”

“Nothing…yet.”

“What does that mean?”

“You remember what we talked about?” There’s something in Castiel’s question that begins to worry the young Nephilim. “The night we were hunting in Albuquerque?”

Jack let out a sharp intake of breath. “Yes but…what does that have to do with right now?”

The angel hesitates briefly and resumes a response; spontaneously changing the subject.

“I’m so proud of you Jack. I’m proud of the person you are and who you’re becoming,” Castiel’s deep baritone was gentle as it always was whenever he spoke to his son. Never above a decimal than he had to; reserving his emotions. Yet the sadness was unmistakable. “The day that I met you and your mother…changed my life forever. When you chose me…I knew…I knew the moment when I first connected with you through Kelly…felt your love…that I wanted to be your father. And I never felt more happiness in all my eons than I did raising you.”

“Cas why’re saying this?” Jack stuttered; his eyes glistening. He was so confused over the angel’s choice of phrases. “Don’t…”

“Jack I…I need you to do something for me…alright?”

Castiel’s request was blunt yet sudden, jerking the young Nephilim out of his afflicted stupor. “What is it?”

“I want you to look after Sam and Dean for me,” He says melancholically. “Can you do that?”

“Why? What about you?” Jack gasps; his whole-body trembling; going cold. Sinking into a corner holding his knees. Yet he tries to maintain his anxiety during the situation. “Cas, you’re scaring me.”

“I know this is going to be difficult for you to understand but…I want you to be strong, Jack. Stronger than you’ve ever been… To never give up on yourself no matter what. Because I know you will do amazing things one day. I believe in that. I’ve only ever seen good in you.”

“Cas…”

The angel pauses, and with another sigh he reveals, “I love you, son. I love you more than anything in the whole world… You’re the best part of me, Jack… I’m happy because of you; for the time we got together. And I just wanted you to know that…”

Jack could hardly speak his throat clogged. Tears now rolling down his cheeks. He wanted to return those words so badly, his chest swelling like something crushed him from the inside. Finally untangling the muscles in his neck, he pleads.

“Cas…Dad, wait I-” just as the Nephilim boy is about confess the line goes dead mid-sentence followed with an indescribable pain hitting him in the heart; causing Jack to drop his cell in defeat. Muttering the words to himself. “…I love you too.”

________________________________________

Present time

Not long after the two hunters had given up their search for signs of life, did they hear a familiar engine of a car. And a black 67’ impala wheeled around the corner of the street; parking beside two large plants in front of a blue and white store. Dean, he was alive. Sam and Jack wanted to feel elated at that moment…until they saw him exit the vehicle. Alone. And the Nephilim boy’s chest pains increased. Why wasn’t Castiel with him? Jack was too afraid to even ask in case he got an answer he didn’t want. So instead, the three guys traded bleak looks in the middle of the road; minding the fragments of what was once a functioning civilization.  

“Everyone’s gone,” Sam says to Dean; barely leveling his shock. Looking around with that false hope someone else might pop up. Then he glances back at his older brother who’s avoiding his gaze. “You see anybody on the way here?”

“No.” the elder Winchester replies huskily. His expression tormented. Again, Jack is afraid of reading him too closely.

Sam fidgeted on the spot; squints his eyes and imparts, “I couldn’t save anybody.” A hint of bitterness enflames his voice at the thought of that reaper. “Billie.”

“It wasn’t Billie. It was Chuck.” Dean discloses.

“What?”

Right then Jack couldn’t keep quiet anymore. He needed to know the truth; impulsively jumping into the conversation.

“Where’s Cas?” His voice was harsh.

The taller Winchester peered over his shoulder at the Nephilim boy but Dean couldn’t even give him direct eye-contact. Visibly shaken. Jack had detected redness within the whites of his puffy eyes. He was so anguished about something that it made the other two hunters nervous. Finally, its Sam’s turn to inquire about the angel’s whereabouts.

“Dean, where is he?”

The elder Winchester was apprehensive; staring off vacantly. Hanging his head and licking his lips trying to conjure up the best explanation he could which might lessen the blow. But Jack was impatient; arms at his sides. Heart pounding with fear. He doesn’t want excuses he just wants a straight answer from his other mentor about his dad. And he was going to get it whether he liked it or not.

“He saved me. Billie was coming after us and…Cas fought her off until we found someplace safe,” asserts Dean and he looks over at Jack who’s getting paler listening to the story. “While you and Cas were…speaking on the phone, he summoned the Empty. It took her. And it took him…” Jack’s heart instantly sank to his stomach. No, this couldn’t be true. No. The Nephilim boy backpedaled, shaking his head in disbelief. Noticing the tears in the hardened hunter’s eyes. “I’m so sorry Jack… Cas is gone.”

Sam’s grief had swallowed him up whole; touching his face with both hands. Struggling to keep it together. But Jack was the opposite. Standing there wearing a hollow smile; releasing a counterfeit laugh.

“No, that’s not true,” argues the Nephilim. “I just talked to him last night. He was okay.”

Sam attempted to console the boy; quickly wiping at his wet face. “Jack.”

“Cas’s fine you’ll see. He’s coming back. He has to come back. I didn’t get to tell him I loved him too.”

But Dean hardly in the mood for sentiments wouldn’t play along. “Jack, he-he’s not… Cas isn’t coming back. I’m sorry.” As Sam tries to reach his hand out to touch the young Nephilim’s shoulder, he receives a heated defensive glare.

Nobody touches him there except for Castiel. NO ONE.

“NO!” Jack barks jerking his body away from the taller hunter’s grasp; face beet red. Even though he already knew. Felt the truth in his heart all along the second that line went dead; the boy had been reluctant to accept it. He was too overwhelmed with denial. “I said Cas’s is coming back! HE’S COMING BACK!”

“Jack, wait!”

Quickly the Nephilim storms off in a random direction of the street; ignoring the Winchesters’ shouts behind him. It didn’t matter where he was going, he just needed to get away from them. Away from the sunlight. From the noise. Away from everything else still standing. Into nothingness. Somewhere that didn’t feel so loud or enclosed. Putting a palm to his head, Jack starts to feel dizzy and an urge to vomit. His vision blurred and his legs began to wobble each step he took. Nothing felt real anymore. It was terrifying.

He could hardly breathe as if something were suffocating him.

Over and over, Jack’s mind is racing in between panicked breaths. “Cas? Cas, where are you?” Reaching his hand out in front of him like a blind person; aimlessly searching for that invisible tether that bound him to the trench-coated angel. Receiving nothing but a light breeze against his skin. “Dad, please, tell me where you are?”

At last, the Nephilim boy stumbles on an old dessert parlor. Sammy’s Highway Café. Despondently gawking at the stupid giant pink milkshake on top of the sign. Walking inside not caring whether he was trespassing or not. The lights were off but Jack could see traces that this place was thriving not too long ago. It smelt of stale food and drink; evident of half eaten platefuls of burgers with fries and empty glasses sitting on top of some of the booth tables. Along the counter was a partially bitten donut beside a cold mug of coffee. A receipt with some money next to the till. And draped on one of the stools, it seemed as though someone had left their beige jacket which resembled so much like the angel’s trench.

Fragments and memories…of live people. Before Chuck took them…just like Castiel. His father.

Stepping towards a jukebox tilting his head, Jack’s blue eyes meet a half-full glass of milkshake sitting on the table close by. Pink, like the one on the sign outside. It disgusted him. A serge of hatred suddenly overflowed his body; knocking it onto the floor and smashing into pieces on impact. Unable to avoid the dibble of pink goo getting on his jeans only enraged the Nephilim more. Resulting in a fit of fury; swiping everything off the counter. Kicking at stray contents clinging to his shoes. His throat clogged up as the anger gave way to uncontrollable sobs. He wanted the pain to stop, but no matter how many things he destroyed, the hurt wouldn’t leave him.

“Cas you liar! YOU LIAR!” he howled; covering his tearful face with one hand collapsing into a corner. Crying. “You said you’d still be with me!”

For over an hour Jack sat like this; breaking down into his palms over his knees. Shedding more tears than he ever thought possible. Practically wearing his eyes out. It was his fault. He should’ve said it back, why didn’t he say it back? Why could he never tell the angel how much he’d meant to him when it counted? Jack wanted the tears to stop the but every time he tapped into an arbitrary memory of Castiel’s face smiling back at him or giving him that infamous sage advice. Heard that soft raspy voice saying his name. The pain worsened causing Jack to cry harder and longer.

All of a sudden, a sharp jab interrupted his grief. Jack was just about to grab the thing whatever it was and toss it until he realized what it was. Digging inside the sleeve of his white jacket, the Nephilim pulls out a single silver angel blade. Jack had completely forgot he’d been carrying it around with him since yesterday. No much longer than that, he carried it all the time in his clothes for a year now as it was very special to him. Wiping at his eyes, Jack clutches the blade and is instantly transported back into a memory of when he’d first received the weapon.

________________________________________

One Year Earlier

Castiel and Jack were in the outskirts of Albuquerque hunting a couple rugarus in the process of kidnapping a family in a warehouse. Around this time the young Nephilim was on probation for using his powers in the fight against AU Michael’s monsters. Ending with the unholy archangel prince trapped inside Dean’s mind. The reason for the restrictions was because of the resurrection spell keeping Jack alive. Every time he used power, he’d burn off part of his soul; something Castiel and the Winchesters did everything possible to prevent. And the best distraction for boy was usually going on some Team Free Will 2.0 hunts.

“Jack, NOW!” the angel shouts, wrestling with the second monster after his son successfully torches the first.

“I got it!” the Nephilim calls back, aiming the flamethrower nozzle ready to blast the creature. He’d remembered Sam and Dean’s specific instructions that the only way to kill a rugaru was to burn them. And he would’ve if he hadn’t frozen on the spot; Castiel would’ve been fried otherwise. There was no way, he couldn’t risk it. “I-I can’t! I can’t get him!”

“Jack, what are you doing?!”

“I don’t want to burn you!”

Immediately the angel groans grumpily. “It’s not holy fire!”

Jack wasn’t a gambler. “Yah but-

“Jack!”

Running out of time, the frantic young hunter goes over another strategy in his mind. He wasn’t willing to singe his dad to stop a monster. And that’s when it hit him. Reckless though it just might work.

“Wait, Cas let him go!” he clamors.

“What?!” Castiel was mystified at how crazy that plan was.

“Just let him go, trust me!”

Taking on too much faith the angel puts his trust in his son anyway and releases the rugaru; dodging out of range. As expected, it instantly launches at the nonchalant Jack who’s armed and ready with the flamethrower; projecting a lethal jet fuel of fire. The Nephilim then covers his ears as the creature releases high pitched throat screeches; its entire body engulfed until the thing’s charcoal hide falls lifeless to the ground. Breathing a sign of relief, Jack stares at the dead monster; spacing out. Brought back to reality when he hears the angel grumbling and rushes to his aid.

“Are you okay?” he asks his dad breathily; helping him to his feet.

“Yah, I’m fine.” Castiel belches; still sore from the fight. As an angel he was much stronger than a human, though it still hurt getting punched in the ribs. And the monsters he tangled with were far from weaklings. “So that was your plan? Just let him go, huh?”

Jack shrugged smirking. “It worked didn’t it?”

“Yes, it did.” The reluctant blue-eyed angel agrees dryly; giving his son an affectionate shoulder pat. “Come on, we’re not finished yet.”

“What do we have to do now?”

“Tend to the civilians.”

After releasing the captive family, Castiel and Jack resumed the dreary task of getting rid of the rotten smelling corpses and packing their things into the aquamarine pickup truck. The night air was hot accompanied with the usual sounds of owls and crickets chirping. Jack’s busily loads the flamethrower into the back compartment, unaware his father is taking a moment to gaze at him. Expressionless though underneath that reserved exterior is admiration. Despite using none of his powers, the boy had handled himself just as he’d done the other several times they’d hunted together.

Castiel couldn’t help feeling impressed with Jack; overwhelmed with a sense of pride. He’d come a long way in his training in such a short time; picking up skills faster than the angel had seen any human. But Jack wasn’t just getting better at the combat or the weaponry. His mind functioned more acutely than any other hunter in the field. And he wasn’t even three years old yet. Still there was something about tonight’s hunt that bothered Castiel. His son had nearly given into his own fear. Fear of losing…him; which could’ve costed them the lives of the family they were saving.

“Well, we’re all packed.” Jack announces gleefully; turning to the angel.

Stonily, Castiel approached the young Nephilim.

“Good.” He says; scratching his hair. “Ah Jack…can we talk about what happened back there?”

The question made the boy frown, unwinding his jaw. “Oh…right… Yah, I-I’m really sorry, Cas. I didn’t mean to-” He stopped himself.

But the angel finished his sentence. “To freeze?”

“Yah.” Jack hung his head in shame.

“Do you know why?”

Did he know why? Of course, he did! Jack was afraid. Afraid of hurting Castiel. No…he was scared of losing him and had been ever since that deal he’d made with the Empty. For the past month it’d been daunting on Jack the severity of his dad’s sacrifice; what it meant. Tried as he might to pretend it didn’t trouble him. Smiling, acting normal. the Nephilim secretly agonized over the angel’s fate. To the point where it either made him overprotective of Castiel or reckless during hunts. Just like tonight.

“I…just didn’t want to set you on fire too, that’s all.” Jack answers vaguely earning his dad’s titled scrutinized glare.

Being as close as they were, Castiel was pretty astute at reading his son’s body language. Knowing when he wasn’t entirely honest. “Are you sure that’s what it was…or was there something else holding you back?”

Jack swallowed, averting his gaze. And it dawns on the angel, sighing, looking heavenward. He didn’t need a verbal explanation; putting his hand on his son’s shoulder in an attempt to console him.

“Oh Jack, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize how tough this has been for you.”

“I can’t help it,” concedes the young Nephilim; his gaze shiny. “I know you said not to worry about you but…I am. All the time. And when I keep thinking about that deal you made… I get this…awful feeling in my stomach. Like I’m being torn apart…from the inside.”

Castiel’s reserved face promptly falls, listening intently as Jack confides his deepest fears. Knowing that this deal had been causing his son so much grief pained him. The angel felt like someone had just run him through with his own sword.

“Cas I…I love you. And I don’t want to lose you. Not to the Empty or to anything.”

Parting his lips and softening his eyes; slowly absorbing everything he was hearing. Castiel was touched; taking a deep breath before reassuring. “But Jack, that rugaru was barely a threat to me. And you know my deal with the Empty… I’m far from happy for it to take me away any time soon.”

“What if I don’t want it to ever take you?” Jack remonstrates; defiantly scowling.

“I’m afraid its not that simple.” Sadly, contests the angel.

“But…I don’t want to lose you. I hate even thinking about it.”

“I know…so do I.”

Together the angel and the Nephilim boy endure a tender moment, leaning against the tail end of their truck side-by-side; taking small solace in each other’s company. And quietly gazing at the stars. Then out the blue a bright twinkle catches Castiel’s eye; reminding him of something he’d forgotten. His present to Jack. They’d been so wrapped up in dealing with Michael’s shenanigans, he hadn’t even found the time to give it to him yet. Delving into one of his trench-coat sleeves, Castiel presents the dumbfounded Nephilim with a polished angel blade.

“Cas what…why are you giving me this?”

Castiel pursed his gentle smile and winked. “Call it a late Christmas present. I’ve ah, I’ve been meaning to give it to you…when I felt there was a more appropriate time.”

Jack furrowed his brows; observing the weapon. “Your angel blade?”

He humbly accedes.

“Not just any angel blade but…its the very first one I ever fought with.” Divulges the docile angel. With two fingers he carefully touches the tip, devotedly looking over Jack’s awestruck expression. “I won many battles with this blade…for millions upon millions of years. Just when I thought I’d fall…this weapon seemed to…save my life. And I started to look at it as more of a…good luck charm I guess.”

“Cas I…I don’t know if I should take this. It means too much to you.”

“Jack, I want you to have it. Sort of a celestial warrior’s birthright and with your archangel half technically being of royal lineage…and you’re my son.” The young Nephilim grinned at him somberly; working the blade in his hand. And Castiel pauses giving himself a minute to think about what he was going to say to his son next as it would be difficult. Exhaling heavily, he conveys. “But I also want you have it…as a reminder that…wherever I am…I’ll always be with you.”

At this Jack’s eyes find his dad’s; expression dismal absorbing Castiel’s every word. “Because someday Jack its true, I won’t be here and you’ll have to carry on with your life. I can’t say when it will happen…it could be months or years… Whether it’s the Empty or something else…we will be separated… And it will hurt…” The Nephilim boy’s lip quivered as he holds back oncoming tears; looking away. Pain twisting all his insides; he didn’t like this conversation. Though Jack’s ears and heart remained open to the angel; touching his chest using his index finger. “But just because I won’t physically be here anymore…doesn’t mean I’m gone, Jack. I’m right there…within you. Whenever you need me. You understand?”

“I think so.”

Without warning Castiel embraces Jack in a bone-crushing hug; chins touching shoulders. Closing their eyes. And they held each other tight; savoring every single second of that closeness.

“I love you Jack.”

And Jack whispers out of earshot. “I love you too…Dad.”

________________________________________

Present time

Just like that the memory passed. Jack was back in the café he roughed up earlier. Alone. Curled up in fetal position, clutching the precious gift his father had given him; tears still streaming down his face. Hair matted and moist; clothes soiled. And his heart as broken as that milkshake glass he’d smashed on the floor. Castiel was gone. His dad was gone… Forever… It didn’t feel real, more like a nightmare. A nightmare Jack desperately wanted to wake up from. He couldn’t even think about moving his body it hurt too much. Whenever he tried lifting his head the dizziness settled in and he sunk back into his depression.

“No, I can’t do this.” Jack thoughts bombarded; gawking the angel blade in his grip. “I can’t keep lying here feeling sorry for myself. He wouldn’t want that, not after giving his life for me. I’m supposed to be a hunter and a celestial warrior. I have to be stronger now.”

Using every muscle at his disposal, Jack forces himself up off the floor. Grabbing a stool and countertop for support. His whole body ached; weighted down like it was full of dumbbells yet he didn’t quit moving. Jack could hear Castiel’s voice in his mind, encouraging him like he’d always done on hunts and during one of their sparring sessions in the gym.

“Come on Jack, get up! Get up now!”

“Yes, I will,” the Nephilim promises himself; gnashing his teeth. Lumbering forward on his wobbly legs ignoring the agony. “I won’t let you down Cas! I swear I won’t.”

“That’s it Jack, come on! You’re almost there!”

“Okay!”

One foot in front of the other. Jack slowly repeats this method of awkward walking until all the muscles in his legs have loosened and are functioning properly. As he’s feeling more mobile the pain is subsiding. It’s not quite gone but it’s not intolerable either. In fact, the Nephilim uses it to power through the wreckage and towards the exit. Drying his eyes with the back of his palm. Before Jack realizes it, he’s already reached the door pushing it open. And on his way to search for the Winchesters. Because he’s not alone… He’ll never be alone. He has his family. And Castiel is always with him; guiding him.

#dadstiel #Jack Kline #castiel #supernatural #SPN #castiel x jack #cas and jack #spn one shot #sam winchester #dean winchester #jack x castiel #spn fix it #spn fanfiction #spn fanfic #supernatural season 15 #spn spoilers #spn 15x19 #spn 15x18 #jack and cas #spn season 15 #angst #hurt and comfort

[holylulusworld]

My favorite angel

Summary: Castiel is your favorite everything. Favorite Man. Favorite friend. Favorite angel.

Pairing: Castiel x Reader

Warnings: mutual masturbation, smut, unprotected sex, fingering, spanking, restraints (tie), dom!Castiel, voyeurism, bad porn references, language

Kinktober Special: Mutual Masturbation

Kinktober Specials

You don’t know how it started. You assume it was one of these movie nights you spend with Castiel after his grace was gone. You liked the human version of your angelic friend.

The only thing you disliked was he had sex with a reaper instead of you. It was the first time you saw the angel in a different light, the first time you saw him as a man – not the angel he was.

He got his grace back years ago and you missed the opportunity to tell Castiel how you feel about him. As an angel, he doesn’t bother with feelings or sexual attraction, except for this one time he pressed this dirty demon Meg into the wall…

You still got no clue what he meant with ‘I learned this from the pizza man’. Dean was laughing, just like Sam so you never dared to ask Castiel about it.

Alone and bored you let your mind drift toward Castiel. A few days ago, he stripped his trench coat and jacket off along with his tie. God, the tie… He stripped it off, aggressively and your breath hitched in your throat.

Now you try to imagine his hands, his dominant voice while your hand snakes between your legs to rub your clit. Eyes closed, focused on pleasuring yourself you start moaning Castiel’s name.

The angel is on your mind and you can’t forget the way he looked at you while stripping this goddamn blue tie off. Your pace increases and you are close to reaching the peak as someone clears his throat.

Shrieking you grab your blanket to cover your naked body. “You prayed to me to show me your naked body?” Castiel husks and you blink your eyes open, flustered.

“I did not pray to you, Cas. I swear…” Nervously chewing on your lower lip you wonder how much Castiel saw and heard.

“You were chanting my name. Your thoughts were filled with me. I know you prayed for me to come to you, Y/N. I liked what I saw not moments ago. I’d like to see you cum for me.”

“I…Cas?” Choking on air you watch Castiel stripping his trench coat off, followed by his jacket and then he slowly opens his tie before he aggressively strips it off, tossing it onto the bed.

“Show me this pretty pussy. Touch yourself while I touch me…” Castiel orders and your core aches. Castiel doesn’t hesitate. Dragging the blanket covering you away the angel licks his lips.

“Cas?”

“I said touch yourself. I want to see what you do to this pretty wet pussy thinking about me.” His blue eyes shine watching you spreading your legs to move your hand back between your thighs.

Hissing he slowly starts stripping his clothing off while his eyes are glued to your dripping sex and your fingers entering your slit.

Moaning you watch Castiel sitting on a chair, touching his cock. He’s slowly stroking his length, eyes still on you. His lips part seeing you writhing on the bed, calling his name.

“Are you close?” The angel rasps and you nod, not taking your eyes off his hard cock. “Stop.” He orders now and you whine. So close to your high you don’t want to stop but right before you can cum Castiel drags your hand away. “I said stop. You cum when I tell you so.”

“Cas…please…”

“I think I need to show you who is in charge, dirty girl,” Castiel mutters flipping you onto your stomach. You can barely blink before your hands are tied to your headboard. Glancing at your hands you chuckle seeing he used his tie.

“I wanna cum…” You mutter and Castiel’s hand collides with your ass. Another slap hits your thigh and you start cursing. “Bad girls don’t get to cum.”

“Please…”

“No.” His hand slaps your ass again, and again until it’s red and sore. “Shh…” When you start whimpering the angel gently kneads the pain out, before his grace heals your skin. “Good girl, taking your punishment. What do you want?”

“Your cock, I want it so bad, Cas. Please…” Moving behind you Castiel tease your clit with the tip of his cock.

“Please what, Y/N?”

“Fuck me…”

“As you wish…”

Entering you in one go, splitting you open the angel curses behind you. Moans escape your lips feeling his shaft hitting your cervix as he bottoms out. He’s silent, stilling for a moment to watch your reaction to the feeling of him inside of you.

“Feels so good, Castiel. Please move…I need to cum so badly…” Your whimpers turn the angel on even more, so he starts moving his hips in a fast pace.

Hands gripping your thighs the angel slams into you, causing you to cry out with every hard thrust of his cock. Castiel is purring behind you, enjoying the sight of his cock entering your pussy.

“Look at you. Your pussy is sucking me in, already squeezing my dick. Do you want to cum?” The angel groans and you nod eagerly.

“Please…”

Body ready to give in you look over your shoulder and Castiel smiles before he uses his grace to set your body on fire. Pleasure is floating your whole being, causing you to chant the angel’s name like a prayer.

His name leaving your lips in this intimate moment fills the angel with pride. He’s gripping you tighter, pounding you harder, seeking his release.

Your toes curl and you push back onto his cock, as another high ripples through your body. Castiel stills, shooting his cum into you with a loud grunt of your name.

“That was…magnificent. Not even the girl in this movie made such lovely noises.” Castiel pants. “I’d like to do this again…”

“Same…fuck, Cas. You can play my pizza man any time you want to.” You chuckle.

“Hmm…I’d rather be the angel of your dreams…”

“You are my favorite angel…”

SPN Forever Tags

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If your name is crossed out Tumblr won’t let me tag you for some reason. Sorry.

Kinktober Specials Tags

@werewolfbanshee-love​

#spn #spn fanfiction #smut #castiel #castiel smut #castiel x reader #cas x reader #castiel x y/n #castiel x you #kinktober #lulu's kinktober #Castiel One Shots

[bssaz97]

What do you think would happen if Jaune and Ruby never met?

Interesting question! So here’s what I think:

Let’s say that if Jaune was never able to make it to Beacon that would lead to some major problems down the line. Primarily if Ruby were to have never met Jaune this n the first day of Beacon I think it would have caused Ruby’s stay at Beacon a lot more harder. By that I mean she would have not been able to open up to the idea of making friends as she would had she initially met Jaune that day in the crater. So without Jaune there to meet her that would have meant that she would have had to drag/help herself out of that crater and while that may sound like it would have been more cooler than someone helping her out of that crater, it would have made Ruby feel more alone that first day. But for speculations sake let’s say she did manage to find a way to get along with her team there would still be a lot of situations where Ruby and the others would have been in a more difficult situation than originally. For example:

Instead of Ruby calling someone for help when they were at Mount Glenn in Volume 2, she would have no one to suspect that something were to go wrong with her team and the Breach would’ve been more harder for team RWBY to handle the aftermath.

Without Jaune’s call for help no one would have known about Pyrrha and Cinder’s fight, and Ruby wouldn’t have seen Pyrrha lose and die at the hands of Cinder. But if we were to remember that event ultimately led to Ruby awakening her Silver Eyes at the Fall of Beacon. (Now some could argue that if Jaune weren’t there then Pyrrha wouldn’t have died at all but let’s not go there shall we) In this incident this would have resulted in Cinder’s Victory and resulted in Beacon’s relic to have been taken (unless Ozpin were to have moved the relic from the vault as a precaution). This would also mean that Cinder would never have been defeated by Ruby as well and she wouldn’t have lost her arm and eye as she wouldn’t have been exposed to Ruby’s SEW powers at this time. Which would have been a lot more messy when the Wyvern would still be around to cause havoc and possibly leave Vale in greater disarray than before.

If Ruby had never met Jaune, she probably would have tired to go to Haven ALONE. Which means Nora and Ren wouldn’t have gone with Ruby either because who was the bridge to allow these students together, Jaune. Because going back to what was previously stated, Ruby’s social awkwardness would have been really hard to get over if she were to have never gotten a friend on her first day and if we were to remember Ruby and Jaune’s friendship was the reason why both teams interacted so often. So with no friends or team to back her up, Ruby would have been forced to go at it alone for her trek to Anima, which would not have lasted as long as it did.

Because here’s how it would have gone and forgive me if I go a bit harsh here: Ruby would have either gave up halfway or she would have nearly been killed. With no one to support her, Ruby would herself eventually lose hope and that’s a concept not many would ever think Ruby would do but that’s the reality of this situation. Let’s say she would have gone through all her rations and supplies thorough the first few weeks and with no one willing to hire her to do Huntress work because she was by herself. There’s no doubt in my mind that people were willing to give RNJR jobs to do because they were a four person team. While Ruby is an exceptional Huntress in training, it would have been a lot harder to convince settlers to allow a minor to kill your Grimm problem. Not to mention that the jobs would have been more harder as Ruby would truly had to do things by herself. Like imagine the Volume 4 Ruby short buuuuuut with Ruby by herself, no NJR to help her at the end to let her know about the Grimm activity at other places. This would have been exhausting for the poor reaper as one Huntress could do only so much by herself. Although chances are that if Ruby were to have been in a life or death situation, Qrow would have swept in to help/save her. I think if this was the case, Qrow would try to convince Ruby to go home as she would have been too exhausted and tired to try to make it further. Naturally Ruby would try to argue with Qrow about staying the course but I think he would make a point that she could barely stand on her own two her legs after the past few weeks he’s been watching over her and that’s she’s doing more harm to herself than good. But let’s say Ruby does convince Qrow to let her continue on with him, that would be easier for her but she would still be by herself and no doubt more reliant on him as she has no one else to turn to in search for closure about the events after the fall of Beacon. At least none from her peer group.

Ok! Now let’s talk about Jaune. If Jaune were to have never met Ruby..... his life at Beacon would have been a mess. Alright maybe that’s a bit over exaggerating but I’m not far off. Here’s why:

If Jaune were to have never met Ruby then he too would have no friends at the beginning of Beacon, at least not at first. But many things would have not have happened to him if Jaune had he not met Ruby.

He wouldn’t have been able to get the courage to stand up to Cardin because Ruby would never have been there to give him the speech about being a good leader. I want to believe that Jaune would still have tried to fight back against Cardin and it could have gone similarly to the way it did during the Forever Fall episodes but he still wouldn’t have gotten that talk and I feel that was a great development for Jaune.

Jaune wouldn’t have been as close to Weiss, Blake and Yang at all because both teams were connected by his friendship with Ruby.

Jaune wouldn’t have been able to call anyone to help Pyrrha that would have been there in time and I think that would just frustrate him and caused more Grimm to come after him. (Seriously I don’t think anyone considered that plot hole)

Without Ruby messaging him after the Fall of Beacon to come with her to Anima to find out about Cinder, he wouldn’t have had the resolve to go after her by himself or with his team.

So yeah, Jaune’s life as a huntsman would have been very short lived and he would have most likely gone home feeling like a failure and had been in a very dark place. His team would have been in shambles, his partner dead and his will diminished.

Hard to believe how much a story would change if a kindhearted blonde knight would never have met a adorable crimson reaper in a crater on the first day of school isn’t it.

#rwby #ruby rose #jaune arc #anonymous asks #dark thoughts

[fieryfantasybooklover]

Broken Things - An analogical angst fic.

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“Fine Logan! If that’s what you truly think!” Virgil’s angry voice filled the mindscape. “I thought we had an understanding! I thought we had worked out a dynamic! An ability for us to both be happy.” Virgil stopped, the phrase coming much softer and in much more pain. “I thought you liked me. I swallowed everything that makes me who I am and tried to change. I told you how I felt and when your response came, I was happier then I’d ever been. But now, I see. I see that I can never be really accepted, I can never really be loved.” Logan made an effort to speak, but at this point Virgil was lost. Lost to everything that told him he wasn’t enough and that he never would be. Turning, Virgil left, silent as a wraith, returning to his room and leaving a gloomy air behind.

Logan had been going through strain lately, and had been acting very different from himself. Everyone had the knowledge that it was just a passing stage and had been offering love and support from all angles. The shores had been calming… until Logan pulled an all nighter and woke up cranky. This led to him shouting at Virgil… which would have been survivable, had they not been dating. Logan had said things he regretted saying to his very core, things he most certainly did not mean. Things that just happened to strike Virgil’s deepest feelings. Things that could not be retrieved or unsaid.

Logan sat on his bed, silently fighting an internal battle. A razor blade slashed his heart open as he recalled everything he knew and everything he would never know. Logan knew he loved Virgil and that Virgil loved him. However, the universe seemed set against them. They would be forever limited to slammed doors and harsh words that could never be taken back. Logan’s body wracked with sobs as he allowed himself to dream of all the moments he and Virgil would never share. Feeling a fresh wave of sadness well up as Logan realized that Virgil would probably blame himself for this, Logan turned on his side and closed his eyes, silently willing for oblivion.

The same situation was happening in a different room, except in a much darker glare. Virgil wasn’t crying, but he was holding back tears. He wanted to yell, to scream until he passed out. He wanted nothing more than to be with Logan and treat him like the king he was. But they couldn’t. “It’s my fault oh god it’s my fault just like it always is. If only I were different. If only I could change who I am to make myself more lovable. Maybe I don’t deserve to be loved. Maybe I don’t deserve anything.” Virgil thought as he turned into himself and surrendered to the darkness inside him.

Janus was slowly realizing that he had made a mistake. Unwilling to let the hurt linger and fester, he had called every side to the living room to talk about what had happened. This tenuous peace that had endured when everyone first arrived was quickly failing, and everything was falling apart. Everyone was talking over everyone else, with different levels of sadness and anger. It turns out that every side had been internalizing their woes, and everything was being turned out now. Needless to say, there would be several epidemics of guilt, sadness, self-doubt, and anger today. The straw that broke the camel's back however, was Logan rationalizing everyone’s issues away. It didn’t matter to Virgil that Logan was doing it because he was terrified. Terrified at what these feelings meant for him. Terrified of what he might be facing. Virgil lost it, spilling out everything he had wanted to ever say.

“Don’t you see Logan! We are all flawed, we are all imperfect! You aren’t perfect but you try! Janus can be good but he LIES! I’m way too hard on myself but I don’t know how to stop! Roman is shattered but won’t ask for anybody’s help because he’s too proud. Patton is messy but kind. And Remus… Remus is just lonely and lashes out because of it.” Virgil was heaving with sobs while shouting, Logan standing there stoically while breaking apart on the inside. “We are all broken things. We are all incarnations of a battle between good and evil and sometimes neither side can win! We are all broken things.”

With that Virgil turned and vanished, no doubt retreating to his room for a very very long time. Logan stood there shook, a hair’s breadth away from breaking down in front of everyone. The others had heard the shouting and now stood there in various shades of despair and shock. Logan turned around and began robotically walking towards his room. Silently, everyone else dissipated, unwilling to broach the topic now. While walking, each was chanting to themselves “Don’t cry don’t yell don’t show weakness. I may be broken but I can be broken alone.”

Logan snuck into the kitchen later, hoping to the high gods that he didn’t run into anybody. Wallowing in shame, the logical side didn’t want to see any other side tonight. Sadly, the gods were not on Logan’s side tonight. He walked into the kitchen to see Virgil muttering to himself, a sight that broke Logan’s heart. “Why is it that Virgil is always the one to pierce my heart? Why is it that I always want to protect him, but never can?” Not speaking a word, Logan stopped moving to hear what Virgil was saying. He wanted to know the boy he loved, no matter how flawed he may be.

“I’m so tired.” Virgil was whispering “Bone deep tired. I’m in pain every single day as I see everyone tearing themselves apart, never ceasing never stopping. And… I hate it. I hate it so much that I want to scream and cry and sob all at the same time. I see everyone catering to me like I’m some sort of prize that needs tending, while constantly ignoring all their demons. I can handle myself, I really can. But what really kills me… is all the sadness I see. All the pain I see passing by. IT KILLS ME AND I CAN’T STOP IT. I’ve penned up everything I feel, everything I see. And I see a lot. I see a lot. But now, the floodgates are finally breaking. And I fear the result.” Virgil was clearly feeling pain, sobbing and yelling quietly at the same time, the storm of emotion finally crashing into the shore.

Virgil, realizing that he wasn’t alone, whirled to face Logan. The logical side could suddenly only see the unshed tears in Virgil’s eyes, and how the other was trembling. “What is it Logan? What do you want now?” Virgil inquired viciously. “What else do you want to say? It isn’t as if you haven’t said enough already!” Logan stood there, taking each verbal blow with barely a flickering of emotion. “Oh Virgil…. You’re the most beautiful person I’ve ever had the gift of knowing. I should’ve kissed you. I should’ve hugged you and held you close. I should’ve been stronger. I should have done better. I should have done so much more. But I didn’t. Because for all my knowledge, I’m an idiot when it comes to you. And I’m proud of it. If I could go back in time to change things, I would. But I can’t.”

Leaving Virgil in silent shock, Logan returned to his room, willing himself to not look back, all the while silently begging himself to look back. When that part of him finally won, Logan turned to find Virgil already gone, like a wraith to the wind. Logan, eyes glistening with unshed tears, returned to his room, not looking back again.

And that’s how they ended the day. Each side in self isolation, unable or unwilling to leave and face the strife and sadness of the outside world. Their room was their den, their cave where each side could be safe and secure. But never truly alone… always accompanied by their own thoughts. Logan was throwing himself into work late into the night, distracting himself from the ravaging emotions inside him. He knew if he stopped, he would start crying and never stop. Patton had no such restrictions, and was currently curled up quietly sobbing. Patton’s mind was filled with images of everything they had worked for. A family, love, happiness, contentment… all crumbling to dust. Virgil was leaning against his bed, doing his absolute best to hide from himself. As the waves of inky black internal darkness crashed against Virgil, the side wondered if it would be better to just let them drown him.

Roman was already asleep, having turned in early to avoid the demons that filled his thoughts. His sleep was not peaceful, filled with creeping monsters and regret. It would be a long time for Roman to accept that it wasn’t his fault… that he hadn’t ruined everything like Roman thought he always does. Janus was deeply pondering what had caused this. Filled with disappointment, Janus wondered after lost hope. He had barely been a part of the group for a month before it all went to hell, with no hurt of returning. And finally, Remus. Remus had enough practice distancing himself from emotion, so he was fairly numb. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t hurt. It didn’t mean that he wasn’t quietly sobbing. Alone, as he had always been. Darkness shrouded them all that night, promising to be a grim reaper of not death, but despair.

#virgil sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #sanders sides #patton sanders #janus sanders #remus sanders #angst #no happy ending #i'm sorry #megans writing