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bits-and-babs · 6 months

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✦ 𝐎𝐃𝐃𝐒 𝐎𝐍 ✦

simon 'ghost' riley x f!reader (delta) | smut, 18+ | 4.1k

summary: you, soap and gaz make a silly bet at ghost's expense for an invaluable prize.

cw: mw3 spoiler free. 141 ridiculousness, humour, attempts to remove the mask resulting in life threatening (not really) injury, mild exhibitionism if you squint, very talkative ghost, 'interrogation' wink wink, unprotected p in v sex, reference to f receiving oral.

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"Y'know, I'm sure as shit that L.t's got brown hair," Soap pipes up in the middle of the silence that had settled inside the safe house.

The members of Task Force 141 glance up one by one, querying eyes cast Soap's way as the guesstimated observation hangs in the air. It's louder than chopper blades, thudding against your skull and roaring in your ears as you attempt to recall the information you have on Ghost, what little physical attributes you can attribute to him. Each time, you hit a brick wall. The only image conjured in your minds-eye is the black voids of the mask's eyes and the piercing amber of his irises.

The wind howls outside, battering the windows with Wyoming snow and creeping in through the cracks in the panes. It makes a yowling sound as it slips through the crevices, carrying your memories of Ghost's appearance with it. He truly was like an apparition, there one moment, then gone altogether.

Gaz's brows crease in the middle, little crevices in the skin showing his mind working over the sentence.

"He doesn't," he eventually retorts, eyebrow cocked while shaking his head, "He's blonde."

"What makes you say that?" Price scoffs at his colleague's certainty, "You ever seen his face?"

The silence that follows makes the Captain chuckle. A wordless 'that's what I thought'.

"You willin' to bet on that?" Soap pushes Gaz with a lopsided smirk. There it is, that ridiculous playfulness that the Scotsman continuously let slip over coms. Simon had once reprimanded him for how it would get him killed– you were almost certain if he continued down this path in particular, he'd be in a box by daylight.

"I am," Gaz counters thoughtlessly, a smug lilt to his tone as he leans the crown of his head back against the rotting wooden wall, "He's got blonde eyelashes. He's gonna have blonde hair."

"What're ya gettin' so close tae him for?" Soap grins wide, loading the new ammunition and hitting a bullseye on the first shot, "You been snoggin' him or somethin'?"

"Lads," Price warns. It's only one word, but it says a lot; 'he'll have your head.' All of you know Simon 'Ghost' Riley well enough to know it's not a joke. Seen enough of the mangled bodies he left behind to know it wouldn't be clean, either. More like he'd hack your skull from your neck, picking out the dullest blade that'd struggle to slot between vertebrae.

"Bets on, then," Soap continues, white teeth gleaming in the low light, "First to confirm gets the honour of shootin' Hassan between the eyes."

It's like throwing a match at a body doused in diesel.

✰

The parameters of this wager are as follows... First: the competition is between you, Soap and Gaz. Price was ruled automatically exempt the moment he admitted he had, indeed, seen Ghost's face. It was a revelation that caused quite a storm- and a promise from Gaz of £100 if he'd tell.

The Captain, quite frankly, told him where to stick it.

Second: None of you could just ask Ghost himself. That was boring; no fun in that.

Thirdly, there are no other rules. Acquire the information by any means necessary to claim victory. Perhaps this rule should have been revised- because to say that 141's tactics for getting Ghost to reveal his face were a little unorthodox is an understatement of the highest order.

Despite his hulking frame, Ghost is like a cunning fox, cognizant of even the slightest changes in energy and hypervigilant of those approaching. The midnight void of his grease paint that frames his eyesockets contrasts the whites of his eyes as they dart back and forth between you all. He appears to have noted the devious scheming, practically hearing the cogs turning in your heads the moment he returned from his watch. Something is amiss, and you know Ghost knows it.

He says nothing.

Day One; the grumpy, black-clad special ops soldier sits back in his seat as he crosses his arms over his vast chest, cautiously observing the minute movements the three of you made. He'd bristled when Gaz stood from the sofa simply to enter another room, poised and ready to pounce at whatever fuckery the younger soldier would attempt.

"Hey, L.t.," Soap's drawl cuts through the humorously tense atmosphere in the room, and you brace yourself for his master plan. "When was the last time ye got a haircut?"

Ghost hesitates. Waits a beat. The silence stretches almost uncomfortably until he answers, thick, bassy voice almost booming in the box room. "What're you playin' at, Johnny?"

Soap shrugs his shoulders, exuding complete nonchalance as he settles into the seat across the table from the hulking mass of man. "Just wondered if the mask ever came off. How do you cut your hair?"

Amusement ripples through you in the sound of a chuckle, both men glancing your way. Ghost peers at you, suspicion pooling thick in his pupils.

"Shave it," Ghost rumbles bluntly, with an air of finality that leaves no room for argument or for Soap to encourage him to try something stupid like curtain bangs or, God forbid, a mohawk.

You can't help but grin from ear to ear as you watch the Scotsman's shoulders slump in defeat, already waving a white flag upon seeing how unwilling Ghost is to play whatever stupid game you're all partaking in. Even you can't deny the anxiety that prickles across your nerve endings when you see the way Ghost's biceps flex beneath the camo fabric of his uniform, primed for action.

When Ghost's aqua irises slide to you, your shoulders shrug comically, putting on the performance of your life to appear as though you had no idea what Johnny was up to. You see the way Ghost's blacked-out eyelids squint in suspicion. He doesn't believe you, but doesn't say as much.

Day Three and the polite, roundabout tactics had been discarded in favour of the nuclear option. Gaz had tried ambushing Ghost in the shower, opening the door without knocking as if pretending he didn't know the Lieutenant was in there. The door slammed so quickly into his head that an egg had been steadily growing on his forehead for the past hour and a half, blood seeping from his almost certainly broken nose.

"You'll stay out next time, Bravo 2-6, if you know what's good for you," Ghost had growled through the crack in the door before shutting it with a click of the lock.

Holding his face and slinking away, mortally wounded, Gaz uttered a humiliated 'Yes, lieutenant'.

Soap, clearly not having learnt from poor Gaz, decided that the next best option was a trip, so to speak. Executing a ludicrously overexaggerated stumble, Johnny reached out to grab Ghost's mask to 'steady himself' and ultimately drag it from his superior's head.

Ghost had leapt from his seat with a roar, threatening to send Sergeant MacTavish back to Scotland in a box with the Saltire draped across the lid. The standoff only settled upon Captain Price's barked orders to stand down or hang up the uniform.

By Day Six, Ghost had bruised your opponent's egos enough that neither Soap nor Gaz dared attempt to peek beneath the mask again. They look at you like you're absolutely bonkers when you finally announce it's your turn to try and tame the beast.

"Yer fuckin' mad, hen," Johnny grumbled, watching you observe Ghost from across the room. He'd settled on a chair in the corner of the room, ensuring no one could sneak up on him. "You can't seriously be plannin' on-"

"I want Hassan," you shrug, a smile playing on your lips. Though, at this rate, you couldn't care less about the terrorist and the honour of dispatching him. No, Ghost had made this ridiculous game far more competitive than needed, and you planned to win.

"Have fun," Gaz scoffed bitterly, still icing the blotchy green and purple bruise that had welted on his forehead as a medal of dis-honour. You hadn't exactly helped the healing process, poking it harshly with the pad of your thumb as you laughed at his mortifying misfortune.

You wait patiently for Ghost to move, like a stake out on a mission. Lying in plain sight in a ghillie suit, a sniper rifle pointed right between his eyes and your finger on a hairpin trigger. You wait for him to break, for exhaustion to creep in. Thankfully, you don't have to wait long. The Lieutenant rises from his chair, announcing to 141 that he's headed to bed.

A quiet mumble of 'goodnight' from each member grants him leave, and Ghost walks out of the room without further word. You waste no time in hurrying to your feet.

"Are you gonna...-" Soap winces when you stand, trailing off when you start after Ghost, not allowing either of your colleagues to talk you out of this suicide mission.

Though, the moment you turn the corner, you wish you had. Ghost's broad frame practically fills the narrow hallway like someone had plucked Everest from Nepal and shoved its hulking mass into a matchbox. He's ginormous, his usually silent footsteps causing the aged, rotting wood beneath the soles of his boots to creak with the weight he applies when he turns to face you.

The dark hallway obscures Ghost's skull-face mask, but a glittering reflection of the golden light bleeding from the bulb in the living room area flickers across the wet surface of his eyes as he observes you. You can't allow the weighty pressure of his stare to phase you if you're to push ahead with your plan- so you step forward, swallowing down the nerves that Ghost's attention inevitably dredges up.

"Lieutenant, sir," you address him smoothly, voice low as you gaze up at him through your lashes. Ghost's eyebrow arches in response, noting your somewhat suggestive behaviour. "Permission to spea-"

"I'm hopin' you'll tell me what you're all up to," his eyes spear your nerve as he interrupts you, "They're not lettin' up, but I'll get it outta you one way or another."

"What... Did you have in mind?" You chance, heart slamming up against your chest when you realise just how obvious you're being. It's dangerous- you hadn't planned to be so forward. The idea that he'd be able to read your flirting so soon set off mortars in your veins.

There's a pause. It dizzies you, throwing your previously sturdy confidence off kilter when Ghost tilts his masked head slightly. He's turning it over in his mind, considering the past few days' events. Then, he turns everything on its side.

"I know what you're doing," he speaks suddenly, the rich baritone of his voice ricocheting off the walls and ringing in your ears like he's just discharged a round of ammo with each syllable. You jerk upright, standing to attention.

"I don't know what you m-"

"You want the mask off," he interrupts you again, cutting your pathetic excuse short as he steps forward. It's ridiculous, the sheer size of him as he looms over you. "You lot made a bet."

Another beat. Ghost waits for a response, an admission of guilt. It feels like he's cornered you; every answer that springs to mind is incriminating. You know he can see your rueful expression, wide-eyed and panicked by the ease with which he puts you on the ropes.

"Was this your plan?" He murmurs, reaching to grasp your chin. His palm settles on the hollow of your jaw, fingers fanning out across the bone. "Get me into bed and see if I'll take it off?"

Trembling in his hold, you whimper as Ghost's thumb stretches across to trace the curve of your lip. It follows the delicate arc, lining the shape of your mouth and trailing the dip of your cupid's bow.

"'M sorry," you mumble weakly, cheeks hot beneath his touch. Again, you fold beneath the intensity of those honeyed irises. It's a miracle your knees don't buckle when he pushes the pad of his thumb just past your lips, so that it brushes the edges of your teeth.

"That was your plan. Y'can still give it a try, love. But..." he hums, his voice throaty and quiet and settling in the pit of your stomach. It's embarrassing, the ease with which he figures you out, but his words drip over you, easy and warm, and all you can focus on is the slip of his thumb as he presses the pad against the flat of your tongue.

"The mask stays on."

Ghost’s insistence makes you giggle sheepishly and your stomach flip in dread, like a child caught with its hand down a bear trap. Despite the lewdness of him pushing his thumb past your lips, you know that he’s being serious, deathly so. You nod clumsily in recognition of his executive order, and Ghost gently taps the skin of your cheek with his free hand, the soft slap of his palm against your flesh standing your hair on end.

“Go.”

The word hangs in the air for a moment, weighing heavily in the claustrophobic space of the small hallway. It takes a moment for your mind, rendered utterly useless by Ghost’s imposing presence, to understand exactly what he’s implying. Only when he removes his thumb from your mouth to shove you forward towards a bedroom door does his intention become clear.

Oh. Oh!

Scrambling to force your feet forward, they practically float across the threshold of the bedroom door. You can feel Ghost looming just behind you, can practically feel the heat radiating from his chest warming the expanse of your back. Fingers clasp over your shoulder, practically swallow the curved flesh, and shove you back against the bedroom wall.

The force of impact winds you, the air expelled from your lungs swallowed down by Ghost’s lips bearing heavily down upon your own. He’d ripped the mask upwards, the hem of the ski-mask balanced across the bridge of his nose. Simon’s tongue licks into your mouth– intrudes upon the space like he’s kicking down a door, like he’s swallowing the breath he’d expelled from you with his heavy hand.

Once the dazed dizziness dissipates, you moan in relief at finally getting what you wanted. Ghost’s gigantic paw takes hold of your jaw in a firm grip to fit his mouth perfectly against your own, his swirling fingerprints indenting in the soft flesh there in a mottled bruise. The soft pine he coaxes from you bleeds past your open mouth despite your attempt to suppress the frankly pathetic noise.

Fuck it, this was worth it– all of it was worth it. The fear of getting it wrong, the anxiety of being caught, the panic that Simon could turn you away… All of it seeps into the darkness in the corners of the room when your superior drags his tongue across your lower lip. It’s though he’s relishing in the taste of the aftershocks of the arousal he sparks between your legs, the dopamine that rushes through you.

“Was this your plan?” Ghost grunts, grasping ahold of the scruff of your neck. Gasping weakly, you’re almost certain your eyes roll back in your head when he uses his harsh grip to steer you towards the bed. “Get me out of my fuckin’ mind so I don’t notice you takin’ off the mask?”

“That’s–” you huff, rendered breathless by Ghost’s intruding tongue, “That’s not it–”

Your pitiful attempt to excuse yourself is made useless when Ghost practically launches you onto the mattress of his bed, the rusted metal frame screaming under the sudden weight of your body.

“No?” he queries, the usual boom of authority in his voice replaced by something that sounds far more like goading amusement as he places the hefty weight of his palm against your sternum, holding you down and thwarting any attempt to escape.

He needn’t worry. The last thing you wanted was to leave.

“Tell you what,” he muses in that smug tone you always hear over the comms, his free hand quick to grasp at the leather of his belt. The buckle clinks in the quiet as he works his fingers over it, “We’ll run through this mission, yeh? See if you can complete your objective, Delta?”

Your retort, or lack thereof, dies in your throat when Ghost pushes his crotch into your own. If it weren’t for the yelp of bliss that the Lieutenant had to smother with his palm, you’d hear the way he’d practically purred when he dragged his cock against you.

“C’mon then. Try it,” he urged.

It’s pointless, his mock-support. You just desperately reach for the waistband of his khaki uniform trousers, cockdrunk from the tease of its shape against you. Even in the low light, you can see Ghost’s scarred lips, the way they stretch into a smirk at your desperation.

“Abandoning mission, Sergeant?” He asks you, unzipping his trousers. “Price’ll be disappointed to know this is all it takes for Delta to go AWOL.”

“Shut up,” you moan into the cold air of the cabin. You can see your breath. “Shut up and fuck me.”

When Simon removed himself from his trousers, making some glib comment about you being demanding, you marvel at the size of him. Girthy, swollen, the ruddy tip leaks precum down the arch of his cock and traces the pulsing veins. He’s rock hard and throbbing, framed by a thatch of pubic hair.

Fumbling with your own trousers, you awkwardly try to remove them given Simon’s weighty palm still pins you down by your sternum. He watches, a glint in his eye in the low light that would almost embarrass you if you weren’t so focused on the task at hand.

“What was the prize?”

“H-Huh?” you stall, mind fried by Ghost’s unexpected line of enquiry. He picks up where you left off, violently yanking your trousers down your thighs and pushing your panties aside to expose your glistening cunt to his prying eyes.

“What. Was. The. Prize?”

You hesitate for a moment, feeling Ghost’s fingers press against the inside of your thighs as he probes this unexplored territory of you. His touch skirts the areas you want him most, teasing and goading you for more information. “H-Hassa-ahh!”

You barely manage the first syllable of your answer before Simon rests the arch of his cock against your slick pussy lips. His body jerks slightly at the heat of your swollen cunt, the ease with which he can slide himself through your drenched sex.

“You got to kill Hassan?” he asked for confirmation, his voice unwavering. You wonder how he manages to stay so steady– you’re coming apart at the seams, trembling as the head of his cock bumps your clit clumsily.

“Yes,” you breathe, eyes rolling back as he continues his laboured, steady torture. His free hand settles on your hip, arching your pelvis up slightly to meet his own. You grind your hips upward against his cock, and Simon expels a soft scoff from lungs, those piercing eyes settled on your contorting expression.

“Mhmm,” he hums, rolling his hips again. This time it’s even slower, teasing. “A temptin’ reward–”

Simon is interrupted by the moan that splits your lips when he drags the length of his cock heavily against your clit. It sparks arousal deep in your abdomen, clings to the inside of your thighs wetly.

Perhaps the disturbance is one transgression too many tonight, because Simon grasps your hips so hard that you are forced to stop gliding over the length of his cock. You pine in protest, but you choke on the pitiful sound when Ghost suddenly plunges his cock inside of you. It spears you open, breaks you apart, and you find your back arching desperately against the mattress.

The palm that had rooted itself to your sternum flies up to clasp against your mouth, smothering the shriek of bliss that threatened to expose your extracurricular activities to the rest of your squad. You sob through your teeth beneath his life line, tears welling in your eyes as you feel him stretch your walls open to make room for his intrusion.

You can’t help yourself. You need something to grasp onto, and opt for his wrist above your face. Digging your nails into the inked flesh there, you watch as the pain sparks something dark and twisted in Simon’s pupils, his azure irises swallowed by the expanding blackness.

He likes it. You can tell. His cock arches up inside of you, pushing deep and rocking against something earth shattering inside of you. Damp with sweat already, the skin of his wrist ripples as he tightens his grip on your face, refusing to withdraw from your pussy walls and instead opting for sharp, shallow thrusts that push you up the mattress with each connection of your hips.

“Fuck,” he spits, using his tight grasp to pull you back towards him. It’s obliterating you, ripping you apart and pushing all your pieces back together in a mangled, jumbled mess. You whimper as you suffer through his brutal pace, marvelling at how good it feels when he consistently spears your g-spot.

“When would you have done it?” Simon asks you, a little breathless now as he chases the high that begins to build at the edges of your body, tingling and pulsing.

“Shut up–” you beg him, the low rasp of his voice launching you towards that pleasure that threatens to consume you. Jerking your hips up to meet his, your body mindlessly reacts to the sound of his timbre.

“Oh, no,” he chuckles, shaking his half masked face. There’s a silver laden scar that stretches across the base of his chin. It matches the one that splits his upper lip to the base of his nose, the ski mask hovering tantalisingly over the bridge. “When?”

The seriousness of his tone makes your thighs quiver when paired with the sharp thrust he punctuates his question with. Years of training in maintaining a cover-story while a hostage are blown to bits as though Ghost has launched a mortar at your resolve, because suddenly all your state secrets are spilling out of you quicker than you can shove the incriminating words back into your traitor mouth.

“I’d– Hagh… I’d do it j-just as you’re cummin–hhah!”

“And spoil my fun?” Ghost hums, that heavy timbre licking up your spine and sparking viscous embers at the base of your spine, “Anyone ever told you that you’re very fuckin’ selfish, Delta?”

You’d offer a witty comment, but Ghost’s angled his hips just right, and your jaw is falling loose to let out a panicked whimper.

“There it is, shit. Look at you, Sargeant. Fuckin’, you’re so tight–”

You’re like a slip knot, tightening around him further with each knock of your g-spot with Simon’s ridiculously large cock-head. Prickling tears of bliss threaten to spill over the edge of your waterline, continuing to sting even when you shut your eyes. You’re shaking, trembling beneath his rocking hips as you mewl his name.

“S-Simon! Fuck–”

Wild, wet squelches of Simon sinking into your soaked cunt echo in your skull as he ramps up his violent thrusts, the springs of his mattress screaming an unmistakable rhythm to anyone walking by. He doesn’t seem to care now though, his eyes zeroed in on your expression like he’s stalking a victim with his sniper scope. Aiming for complete obliteration.

“C’mon Can feel you squeezin’ round me,” he murmurs, the steady tone he’d offered earlier shuddering slightly as you squeeze impossibly tight around him, coil threatening to snap, “You’re so close, Delta. C’mon, paint my cock an’ I’ll eat you out with my cum in you–”

✰

“He’s blonde.”

Gawping jaws drop to the floor at your very simple observation, Soap’s eyes nearly rolling across the uneven, rotten floorboards after falling out of his skull. You can’t help the smug smile that threatens to tug at the edge of your lips, especially given the sensation of Ghost’s eyes boring holes into the back of your skull.

The awe only worsens when Price gives a subtle nod of confirmation from the corner of the darkened room, crowning you the winner of this utterly ridiculous joust.

“How do you know?” Gary is as shaken as Soap by the confidence with which you’d offered your final answer, in disbelief as to how you could have possibly obtained it without being maimed, given the egg on his forehead was still throbbing despite days of icing it with the snow from outside the safehouse.

“His pubes are. I assume the curtains match the drapes,” you shrug dismissively.

The sheer incredulity that flashes across Johnny’s face is utterly hilarious. The smirk that had been threatening to break finally cracks across your lips at the confirmation of your victory. Ghost’s eyes appear to have lazered through your skull, singing brain matter with the ferocity of his scowl. Frankly, you couldn’t care less– you can see it in your mind's eye; the gorgeous contrast of a blood-red crosshair settling across Hassan’s forehead, the weight of the trigger beneath your finger as you pull it back.

cod mwii/kinktober taglist:

@mockerycrow @bubuslutty @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @levi-llama @thebiscuitsheep @maelstrom007 @alexxavicry @bug-sy-boy @glennrheesworld @kittenfrostt @luvfromkat @blingblong55 @whore4dilfs @wolfyland07 @doggydale @dog55teeth @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @whore-for-anime @i-love-ghost @cyberpr1m3 @mockerycrow @bubuslutty @lundenloves @cheezitwh0re @haunt3dh3art @babychoi03 @infectedkura @allekat1988 @whore-for-anime @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @mockerycrow @cyberpr1m3 @i-love-ghost @allekat1988 @infectedkura @babychoi03 @freakquenci @maviee @yunggoblin @sleepystaarr @watyousayin @soupbinsoup @passi0np1t @damn-dean-blog @pheonyxmoon @magicalreviewphantom @limegreenbabx @johfaam0 @iaur @justsayk

@mortallyuniquepeach @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @crybaby-blue-blog @heart-atttack @pansa-1-san @maviee @emotion-no-hot-yes-hotel-trivago @s-u-t @ghostslynx @solidly-indulgent @glitterypirateduck @gummyfang @bii-aan-ckaa @konigsblog @crissteetee @crissteetee67 @sylvanasthebansheequeen @akaym2 @exploremyworldsm @thriving-n-jiving @su57 @cabreezer0117 @cathnoneofyourbusiness @marygraceee @thatchickwiththecamera @legend-o-zelda @eatingtheworldsoffanfiction @tusk89 @bellasbees01 @dog55teeth

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purrpletiger · 8 months

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FRESH DRAWING GUIDE:

Hello everybody, I've come to give you all this absurd reference guide for drawing Fresh. yep. I decided to spend hours slapping this together.

If I got anything wrong or should add anything PLEEEASE lemme know! All ideas welcome!

If you want to see my "research" on this character, let me know in the replies, because there's so much to talk about with him and I'd love to do a character analysis or two, I couldn't put much about his personality or source posts in this because it's just a drawing guide!

Link to all the full images

Transcript and close-ups of the text on the image: (May be in a strange order)

Fresh was created by @loverofpiggies (CQ)

Main Outfit:

YOLO sunglasses

Backwards propeller cap

Pink Polo shirt

Crayola Jacket

Gold Tooth

SWAG fannypack

Convertible Zip-off pants

White Heelie shoes

Pink socks

He has thick eyebrows to emote! (The eyebrows are usually depicted with black hair but one human design has eyebrows that match the pink hair color!)

The bag says SWAG on it

His glasses say YOLO by default, but the letters can magically change mid-scene...

this design for Fresh is Tall, we dunno how tall but taller than CQ's Sans characters (or just Geno since he's literally sans undertale with some added steps). But his height is just his host's height sooo it can vary.

those (cyan and yellow) shoe details are on the innerside but not outerside

HE HAS HEELIES!

Pink glove cuffs!

his skateboard is inconsistent dont worry about it

Glasses Off:

The host's soul shows up in their left eyesocket

- The soul tends to look unstable (cracks & a sortve stroboscopic effect.. i couldn't think of a better word.) but not in some cases...

It doesn't have to be a white upside-down heart, that's just a reference to an undertale monster soul.

He has a purple substance full of little RADs that emanate from his eyesockets (when his sunglasses are off)

"The soul in Fresh's eyes CAN be cracked. That soul isn't his. it belongs to his host. And.... after a while.... things go bad for the host, and he needs a new one." -CQ

(example of soul with unstable effect with no cracks) (example of soul with cracks but lacking the effect)

The purple aura(?) can glow and emanate from the eyes when his glasses are on too

i miss this one design specifically. the colors and the SK8 OR B SK8 shirt were peak

I miss the SWAG necklace...

Fresh leaves a rainbow cloud of smoke when he "poofs". Either teleporting him and his host body somewhere or leaving his host behind.

Human Designs:

Fresh can possess humans too.

They all look physically different because they're different people that he's possessing.

Fresh can possess pretty much any body, but I thought I'd show the varied examples of humans anyway

Don't forget the orange jacket flaps! or his hat propeller!

I dunno what's up with the multicolor tongue thing. I think it was extra parasites in the host's mouth? I feel like it was scrapped at some point... but I could be wrong

FURBIES!:

Oh yeah, he also does this: (no image for the bat tho)

"I mean when he fights he pulls Furbies out of his magical fanny pack. takes out a wiffle bat. and hits the furby at his enemies.

And then the furby explodes in a blaze of glory." -CQ

Despite using some furbies as explosives, he seems to 'care' about and treat these two like precious babies:

This one is potentially named McFreshby The Fresh Furbrah (Fresh is mentioned to have one named that, and this is the only other furby he's been depicted with)

It can also do THIS: (roll its eyes back into a spookier look)

This is DJ FurBs. that's all i know about him

The REAL Parasite:

Fresh is actually this little parasite controlling a host body. (if you didn't know that why are you reading this post rn!?! but nah I love new Fresh fans, welcome!)

The main parasite is this purple one with the eyemouth and four(?) tendrils, the other colored tentacles are prrrobably Fresh's offspring (freshmageddon moment?) (I'm not actually sure, I'm just pretty sure they're not part of the main parasite but are parasite tentacles)

You can also see Fresh's five or more purple tendrils here stretching out all over his host's body

All art from CrayonQueen/@loverofpiggies

Reference guide made by PurrpleParrasite/@purrpletiger

pls suggest changes or additions if u have ideas!

That's all!

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diodellet · 3 months

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no, i'd rather pretend (jamil viper x gn!reader)

summary: It was so easy to pretend that you weren't also drowning. content warnings: -reader is an unreliable narrator -reader is yuu -self-deprecating, mean inner thoughts (80% ventfic, 20% comfort) ++unbeta'd all mistakes are mine. word count: 1.4k words

It was one of those days. Where everything felt too much.

Sure you could cope with it, carry on as if nothing was bothering you. Let all the little inconveniences wash off of you. After all, you couldn’t overblot. You were the Ramshackle Prefect, damn it. A long time ago, you were given the title of beast tamer and that made you believe that nothing could even come close to bothering you.

Sometimes though, it meant needing a few moments—maybe minutes to cry—alone to gather yourself.

Which, you couldn’t really get in NRC.

“I wish you would lean on us though.” Jamil’s voice, albeit low enough to give the sense of discretion, sounds far away. But you know that he’s crouched by you.

“No… I can’t do that, I’m already dead weight to you all.” Your arms pull tighter around your knees, trying to compress your frame into something smaller than it actually was.

Most of all, you had no excuse to be throwing around words and thoughts you’d kept hidden like knives to pierce your opponents. Things that you thought once hidden, would remain hidden and eventually be pushed out of your memory.

It doesn’t work like that however. Unpleasant things liked to bubble to the surface, especially during one’s most vulnerable moments.

“Can you please leave… I’m already troubling you all by being like this…” Please let me fix myself. I can’t put myself back together like this.

You curl up further into yourself, pressing your face into your knees, bone against your eyesockets in a vain attempt to stifle the outcry of your pain.

All it does is make a pitiful sob heave from you once before cutting off abruptly. You feel a brush of fingertips against the back of your hand, damp from the futility of stopping your emotional fit. And with a gentle tug, your hand comes away—away from shrinking into yourself, away from reflexively hiding the worst of yourself—only to feel his fingers lace together with yours, not one bit bothered by the traces of your tears.

“You once mentioned that this comforted you.” And in the touch of his skin to yours, your first instinct is to yank yourself away.

You did bring it up once offhandedly, when you were sentimental about things you used to be able to do back home, when you were still a stone’s throw away from your friends and family. But his discomfort was understandable, as much as he spent time at the side of someone who wore their heart on their sleeve, not everyone who brandished their emotions did so in the same way. For a moment, his hold tightens, almost afraid that if he let go, then it would mean losing you to whatever it was that was eating you from the inside.

“You also told me once that burdens were meant to be shared.”

Hearing that come back to you—a thing you said in the heat of the moment, somewhere in the aftermath of his overblot—sends a new wave of tears spilling from you.

With those words, a dam breaks and you’re unable to clamp down on any more of your cries.

“But you already have enough on your plate…” you choke out between broken sobs.

Compared to everything he had gone through, your troubles were insignificant. Shallow, even. A meaner part of your mind cuts into you. If you could somehow muster the ability to throw words to ward off someone, then you weren’t actually helpless. You were using your pain to pretend, so you could catch them off guard. So you could eventually drive them away. That was why you were letting him see you like this, right? So he’d see you at your ugly and rotten core, so he’d know to turn around and leave you behind, right?

“Not right now, I don’t have much weighing me down. See?” And his grip shifts to hold your hand more firmly.

“...Are you sure you’re not just saying that? Just to make me stop?” It was fine if he was, as much as you were given comfort in the past, a part of you was dimly aware that the gentleness you were given as a kid was a disguised plea to stop being so immature. That fact of life carried you throughout your years. That everyone has it worse than you, that your problems aren’t all that bad in the first place, you just had to vocalize what was wrong because deep down, you already knew what needed fixing.

And that was the problem right now, wasn’t it? That instead of the big picture explanation you readily had, all you had were sharpened barbs of emotion to pierce yourself and others with.

“I’m not just saying that,” he counters. As measured as his words are, you can feel a faint tremble in his hand as it holds yours. “I… used to think you were. Just saying things, I mean.”

“I probably was.” You were bad with silence after all. Silence was difficult, because it wasn’t actually a total loss of sound, it was having every minute sensation amplified to a deafening degree, being able to hear what was unspoken.

“You weren’t wrong though.” Jamil says, “it took me a while to realize that.”

Does he mean witnessing the other overblots too? The ugly aftermaths of each one that he was privy to? You couldn’t remember exactly what happened during each one or the exact people who were there with you, only bits and pieces of those moments were locked away in a place much deeper than what your memory could hold.

Maybe the only way you could remember was from the bits that spilled out. The bits that mixed together with your ugly insides.

“But… you don’t have to be here.”

“I know, but you don’t have to deal with this on your own either.”

“...Did I also tell you that shit?”

“...Maybe.”

“God, tell me to shut up next time.” At your groan, you hear an amused laugh from him. Like he’s glad that the roles were reversed in his favor.

There wouldn’t be enough words to describe how much you hated being this vulnerable. Yet not even a fraction of those words could even begin to encapsulate how secure you felt at the same time. All you can do is feel the calmness slowly take over your insides.

“I tried. But you wouldn’t stop.” You can still hear the bitter smile in Jamil’s voice, a pinprick of his true feelings in spite of what was meant to be a playful jab.

“...I’m sorry.”

“No—I’m glad you didn’t.”

And it’s those words that stop your train of thought in its tracks. And you tentatively lift your head to peer at him.

He meets your gaze, and there’s a note of something unbelievably tender, that you wish you looked up before this moment. Jamil Viper was good at hiding his emotions, good at dressing up his words with honey and sincerity.

“Hey,” he says. Like he wasn’t just sitting with you and holding your hand through the worst of your emotions.

“Why…” your voice cracks, “why would you tell me all of this?” Or rather, what you mean to say was, why stay with you when you weren't feeling like yourself?

You supposed that it was so easy to talk, to let observations and promises flow from you without abandon. It was easy being the unbothered party, deflecting any and all cause of concern. It was so easy to pretend that you weren’t also drowning.

“I wouldn’t have said all of that if I didn’t mean it.”

“But…”

And there, you see a falter in his expression, a slight frown forming on his lips. “Don’t make me say it all again.” His gaze momentarily breaks from yours as his free hand comes up to adjust the hood of his dorm uniform.

Ironically, it’s what dispels the last of your doubt.

“Not even one more time?”

“I’ve changed my mind. I’m leaving.” Yet even as Jamil says that, he still hasn’t let go of you.

“...Can you stay for a little bit longer?” And was it okay for you to open up a little bit more? Was he okay with hearing from you? Hearing about these useless worries and feelings that swallowed you up?

“I’m not going anywhere.”

And with the warmth surrounding your hand, a lifeline in your sea of emotions, maybe you could believe that.

a.n. i'll fix this after i've had a moment to sleep. i wrote this on a whim while i was going through shit (i still kind of am... but i'm doing better). omake

#twisted wonderland #jamil viper x reader #g/n reader #jamil viper #dellet-writings #hurt/comfort #twisted wonderland x reader #twst

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peachdues · 9 months

Text

Phantasmagoria -- the final teaser

Sanemi x F!reader modern AU

Enjoy the opening scene of the final part of Phantasmagoria!

CW: descriptions of Douma getting his ass beat (deserved); reference to the implied attempted SA in part 2.

The Party on 52nd Street (Sanemi's POV)

Sanemi couldn’t bring himself to say that he regretted how he’d ended up in handcuffs. Sure, his knuckles were bruised to shit and covered in blood that was and was not his, but at least his face was still a hell of a lot prettier than the sniveling, cowardly asshole curled onto his side on the gravel outside his house.

Granted, the severe swelling of Douma’s face was because of Sanemi, but truthfully, he thought it was an improvement. By the time Sanemi had been yanked off of the barely conscious, campus-resident creep, those freakish, multi-colored eyes had been so blackened and swollen, it was a wonder that Douma had even been able to see the cops swarming his living room at all.

Sanemi knew the only reason his ass wasn’t being thrown into the back of the police cruiser waiting out behind Douma’s hellhole was because Tengen had been the one to escort him out. And, because the local police had been itching to bust Douma for his little drug operation for months, Douma had been hauled out as well, handcuffed for good measure (and for insult) by Tengen.

It also helped that Douma was a dumbass, who’d sent the incriminating photos of his assault on Y/N to the groupchat that included all three of Tengen’s partners. Once he was sure they were safely out of view of spectators and witnesses giving statements to the other responding officers inside, Tengen took care to slam the greasy asshole to the ground, getting a few good kicks in as Douma curled pathetically against the asphalt.

“I will sue your ass,” Douma wheezed as he struggled to catch his breath. Through the purple black swells of his eyesockets, Sanemi could just make out the sliver of jewel-toned irises as they glared in his direction. “The whore fucking wanted it rough.”

Sanemi lunged for the smirking bastard where he lay, ready to stomp the fucker’s face in once and for all, but Tengen roughly threw him back against the side of his cruiser before he could.

“He’s trying to rile you up. Don’t fall for his shit,” Tengen’s magenta eyes were full of warning as he held Sanemi back. “He was stupid enough to send proof of the assault; ain’t no way in hell anyone buys that it was consensual.”

But Sanemi could only see red, the image of Y/N’s tear-streaked and terrified face burned permanently into his brain, worse than any scar that he bore on his skin.

“I don’t give a fuck, it’s working,” Sanemi snarled, struggling against Tengen’s iron-clad grip on him. “I want him fucking dead.”

“Y/N needs you not to be in prison. Don’t you two have something goin’ on?” Tengen shot back hotly. The young cop’s words stilled Sanemi’s struggle against the police cruiser, his fury deflating slightly.

As Kyojuro’s car had jumped the curb in front of the house, both boys agreed to split up once inside the house. Kyojuro was tasked with retrieving Y/N from wherever Akaza had hid her, because Sanemi had viciously vowed that he would be the one dealing with Douma.

And so, he had.

Party attendants had taken one look at Sanemi’s stony face as he’d made his way through the house to the main living room and parted, not wanting to be caught in the crossfire of the violence promised in his eyes.

He’d found Douma, standing back near the speakers that crackled with some out-of-date, heavy bass music, laughing like he hadn’t a care in the world. Those monstrous eyes had met Sanemi’s for only a split second, but the delighted malice they beheld was enough to make Sanemi want nothing more than to make the monster bleed.

Douma’s answering smile had been brief, unable to withstand the smash of his fist as the enraged Sanemi knocked him to the ground and lunged to pin him down.

Kyojuro’s car was long gone by the time Sanemi and Douma had been dragged out of that party house of horrors by Tengen in handcuffs, Sanemi smirking at the way Tengen kicked at the whimpering bastard’s feet every few steps. But that meant that Sanemi had no idea how Y/N was even doing – or whether she’d sustained more serious injuries than what Douma had shown off.

He didn’t want to think about what else might have happened in that room. If he did, Douma would surely not survive the impending ride to the police station. Sanemi knew, however, that Tengen was right, however much it pissed him off. Y/N was the priority here, not him or his righteous, violent fury. He would restrain himself – for her. Nonetheless, Sanemi felt a rush of gratitude for the young cop, who, despite cautioning Sanemi away from ripping the cretin apart once and for all, spat directly on Douma’s bruised, bleeding face.

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #sanemi shinazugawa #uzui tengen #kny #kny x reader #kny fanfic #kny sanemi #sanemi x reader #kny tengen #tengen uzui #demon slayer fic #kny fic #kny smut #demon slayer smut #hashira smut #hashira au

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mychlapci · 2 months

Note

i’m so fucking glad you understand my vision for petplay dominus with the rest of the djd. like, i have not stopped thinking about them for a second bc like, dominus as a beloved beast of the world’s worst group of assholes lives in my heart and soul rent free.

like, he’s never been allowed to fully accept or cherish his altmode bc of functionalist cybertron and it’s horrible shittyness. he’s always thought of it as a burden not an asset and he’s done his best pretty much all his life to hide it away from the people he knows

but the djd didn’t just tolerate his altmode, they fucking loved it. helex loves scratching him behind the ears, stroking along his spine with one set of arms and lightly brushing his tail fur with the other. tesarus lets him clamber up past his grind chamber to sit on his shoulders even if he’s busy doing stuff. kaon had always cooed about how cute his altmode was before he became the pet but now the affection and baby talk has turned all the way up to 110%. the vos who replaced him speaks to him in primal vernacular and even if dominus had a hard time understanding him, he’s assured by an observing tarn that vos is just praising dom for his impeccable hunting skills.

he feels so surrounded by love and affection and it’s just so easy for him to completely forget about his original mission when he’s being pampered by his new group of lovers.

okay that was a lot of sappy shit but now for the horny

i have a thing for size difference and i can’t get the image of helex forcing dom down onto his massive spike while stroking his ears and tugging on his tail all while dom is wearing a muzzle and a vocalizer inhibitor and he can only make animalistic whimpers and whines as the big spike forces his callipers wide open. i bet they get stretched so much that there’s a 50% chance that they just straight up snap and helex keeps fucking him through the pain and dom can only squeal and yelp and whimper pathetically until his pussy gets flooded with hot, thick transfluid.

kaon and him definitely do some kind of predator/prey dynamic thing. normally kaon is the one holding the leash, the one giving the orders but sometimes he’ll have tarn arrange a scene where he gets chased through the wilderness of some random planet. maybe his modesty panel gets removed and tarn has dom shove his snout into kaon’s pussy to get a good whiff of kaon’s scent before he gets a head start to run off into the woods. hrhrhrngh just the idea of dom in his altmode tackling a panting, drooling and positively soaked kaon before mounting him like a bitch in heat really gets me going. like kaon’s valve is just barely prepared for dom’s spike and he squeals and begs for dom to let him go, please please just let him go, he’ll do anything to not get bred by something as nasty as a beast. dom of course doesn’t listen and keeps rutting into kaon’s dripping pussy and the spines and barbs keep making kaon gush more with each trust and finally he overloads with a burst of electricity as dom’s knot slips into him.

oh shit maybe dom has three sets of tits in his altmode. maybe tesarus (whose wiki page says he gets bored easily) likes to fiddle and grope at them when dom climbs up to sit on his shoulders. maybe he fondles them so much that dom’s tits start making thick foamy energon and now he sometimes wanders around the base whimpering and whining bc his tits are so sore and full and the rest of the team is out and about and he just can’t bear the aches anymore. oh even better maybe tesarus keeps lapping at his sore nipples to get more energon out and dom keeps scrambling to get away but those extra clamps on his back keep dom firmly in place and when he finally leaves to go get dinner poor dom’s tits are thoroughly sucked dry and covered in bruises and bite marks.

hmmm dom fucking vos’ face with his spike, not his mouth but his weird freaky eyeholes behind the mask. or kaon’s eyesockets, both are good.

(sending this in again bc i need to know your thoughts about this)

-burnt ice anon

ghrhh I love DJD doing fucked up sex shit, you must understand. Any porn of Dominus knotting Kaon is my lifeblood. He should shove his barbed spike so deep into Kaon that he’s the one squealing like an animal… I honestly want him to fuck Kaon's empty eye sockets and knot them, staying stuck to his face while his spike jerks and twitches, knot trapping hot transfluid in the broken socket <33

Dominus with six titties that get assaulted constantly is so hot. mhmmm I want him squealing at Kaon's feet, titties swollen and leaking as he begs to be milked… I think the rest of the DJD likes to see him whining and desperate, so they rarely ease his ache, unless they want a drink of course. They always leave his titties completely bruised in the end <33

#sowwy this took a long time to answer #i just feel like i’ve been getting worse at answering asks #valveplug #boobdayforever #texty #alt-mode #robogore #dubcon

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magic-hcs · 2 years

Note

How would the boys feel with a secret admirer? And maybe once the secret admirer reveals themselves 👀

It went accidentally out of hand so I’m going to split them up in multiple parts, please bear with me anon! 🙏🏻

Sky: US Sans

Syrup: US Papyrus

If you like what you read, please consider dropping a comment.

Time to cast some magic and see what we’ll get!✨✨

✨✨

All the boys except a few would like having a secret admirer in general. But none would like it if the secret admirer takes it too far by -for example - stalking or a love letter written especially passionately about confessing their undying love.

Sans: He’s very chill in general, really liking the surprise ketchup bottles around his hotdog stand - he knows it isn’t one he possibly misplaced because there’s a ribbon and note tied to it - or the few wild flowers he sometimes finds carefully placed inside his mailbox. He likes to place those wild flowers in the pages of a book. (I don’t know what you call this)

Sans thinks it’s cute, plus it doesn’t harm anyone, so he’s fine with it. But after a while Sans is getting curious who this secret admirer of his could possibly be. So at first he tries to catch you in the act, but if you move in the early mornings, then Sans will never catch you.

Plan A failed, time for plan B.

…

Which is just him sticking sticky notes on the exact places where you leave your gifts. At first his sticky notes only consisted of puns, so after a while of engulfing you in sticky note and ketchup and flower puns you finally replied with a pun of your own.

And I tell you, Sans’ already wide grin became even wider when he read it.

Cue one sided punning war from Sans until you playfully beg for mercy, which he grants - only because you’ve doodled a white surrender flag at the corner of the note. It is then that the two of you start having conversations through the sticky notes and after a month or more Sans has found himself with a crush.

You reveal yourself by placing a note on Sans’s hotdog stand with the words ‘behind you ;P’ written on it. Sans at first thought it was just a prank planned by you. But he goes along anyway, chuckling to himself the whole time. “welp, guess it’s me who should turn around and greet a new pal.” He says as he turns to look behind him, finding you smiling right behind him.

And I swear my dude was barely able to refrain the heart eyes from appearing right then and there.

✨✨

Papyrus: Oh this boy adores it. If you regularly send him positive encouraging letters he’ll jump from his bed and sprint down the stairs every morning to see if and what his secret admirer wrote to him that day. And if he finds a note directed to him in his mailbox, Papyrus will let out a squeal of excitement. Before snatching it from the box and sprinting back inside as if avoiding being caught doing something he shouldn’t. Once back in his room he’ll clutch the letter to his chest, feeling the inside of his chest erupt with fluttering butterflies. Papyrus keeps all his notes in a box inside his closet. The place where he keeps all his treasures and objects that give him comfort.

He is so very excited and happy when you reveal yourself to him. He feels very appreciated by the notes you wrote him, it helped him real well when he had a bad day.

I would say that he wouldn’t immediately want to date you, since he doesn’t know you yet. But he would love to start out as friends!

✨✨

Sky: Oh he’s ecstatic. He loves it a lot and it’s the highlight of his day. The first day you left him a note Sky was feeling quite blue, so when he saw the letter directed to him he gasps and delicately yet quickly grabs the letter, rushing into the house to read it immediately.

Not long after there comes a squeal from within the house. Sky is clutching the note to his chest, a slight blush on his face and stars in his eyesockets.

Syru’s head came peeking past his bedroom door asking what got Sky so excited.

Since then, Sky has been gathering every note, flower and nicknacks his secret admirer has been giving him. He treasures them dearly, but after a while he secretly wants more, he wants to know who his secret admirer is. So he starts to wake up even earlier or staying up later to try to catch you in the act. But unlike Sans, Sky does manage to catch you.

And oh boy, he can’t contain himself. It doesn’t matter if you’re bigger or smaller than him - this boy is stronk, and he could always use gravity magic to aid him - Sky will hoist you in the air and twirl you around. He’s happy he finally gets to meet you.

Like Papyrus, he wants to be friends first to get to know you before considering a relationship.

✨✨

Syrup: you approach him via messages online instead of notes and stuff. Syrup is a bit more skeptical about it. He doesn’t go outside all that much like Sky, nor does he have much of a social media precedence except for his coding job. So at first he’s thinking it’s a prank or something. Asking you how you know him and what you want from him, just being very careful and keeping his guard up.

Once you message him back saying that he had once done a coding job for you and that you’ve been admiring him and his work, Syrup finds himself slowly easing up a bit. Especially when you hurry to say that you’ll stop and leave him alone if you were bothering him. Which he does appreciate. Syrup answers by saying he’ll need some time to think about it, which is a decision you respect.

He gives you the answer on a rainy day; he’s been having a rough allround day and looking through your previous messages really helped him through it. Syrup allows you to keep messaging him on the condition you reveal yourself. That night you either video call him or arrange a meeting. It’s the start of a budding friendship. And maybe even more…

✨✨

Thank you for participating in this spell, I hope it was to your satisfaction!

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red-archivist · 1 year

Text

Rusty Fears 6: Vulture Culture

The winners of the Rusty Fears competition were announced last Monday, didn't expect to win but I think the piece still holds up so posting it here!

This was for the prompt Birds

“I-It was dead when I found it!”

“Sure it was.”

Eddie looked from the bones scattered on his desk to the kid squirming in the seat across from him.

He knew the type; dyed hair, dark clothes, weird tattoos. Probably spent her weekends seed-bombing people’s gardens when she wasn’t picking over bird corpses.

Clearly the wrong sort to be sneaking around Molton Common.

“The council will want a report about it, of course,” He drawled, “Name?”

She stiffened.

“I… don’t have to tell you that.”

Eddie tapped his pen against the desk.

“There are rules about this kind of thing, Miss-”

“I know that! I did my homework!” She pointed at the yellowed skull, “It’s a Goshawk! I know they’re a Schedule 1 bird b-but it’s not illegal-!”

He held up a hand.

“Not the kind of rules I meant.”

“…What?”

Eddie sighed.

“This is a nice park, Miss, the kind of place mums bring their kids, where people walk their puppies. They come here to see pretty flowers and gawk at the oaks. No-one in the Common wants to see... this.”

He waved dismissively at the skull.

She frowned.

“But... It’s just nature.”

“Not the kind of nature that pays the bills. Do you understand? This sort of carry-on...” He shook his head, “It’s just not done.”

Her frown deepened, but she didn’t argue. After a minute of sullen silence, she nodded.

“Glad we agree,” He sneered, “Now, I don’t want the police involved in this anymore than you do- and the higher-ups have enough to be worrying about- so I’ll make you a deal. Leave now, don’t come back, and-” He swept his arms wide, “We can forget this whole thing ever happened.”

The girl nodded again, her cheeks flushed with frustration.

She stood and made to take the skull but Eddie blocked her reach.

“Don’t push it.”

With a jolt, she retreated. As she did however, she turned back to catch Eddie’s eye.

“That’s the third one I found, you know.”

“What?”

She left the door swinging open.

“Something is killing your birds.”

The door to Eddie’s 1-bed-1-bath was 60 feet from the north-east gate to the common. He locked the great wrought-iron thing behind him and crossed the road without looking for cars. He got his keys in his own lock, and headed inside. The house was dark and frigid. Marching to the kitchen, he turned on the heating with a grumble.

He cleared out his pockets and emptied his bag of its daily debris. There was a hollow thunk as the goshawk’s skull landed on the scuffed kitchen table.

“Huh.”

He didn’t remember picking it up. He rolled the thing in his hands.

He had seen goshawks from a distance. They weren’t the biggest BOPs but Eddie was still surprised at how small it was. The eyesockets were pitted holes framed by spurs of bone. It felt fragile, one wrong touch would make it crumble to dust. The beak was as black as an oil spill.

It reminded Eddie of his grandfather’s hunting trophies. Up in Dorchester, there had been a room in his grandparents’ house that he was forbidden to enter. Naturally, he snuck in. All along the walls of that dark space were the heads of huge deer, both native and imported. A stuffed mink glared at him from the mantlepiece. Above it, an eagle-owl was poised to attack.

His grandfather had found him bawling in a corner, terrified by glassy eyes and polished claws. He thought he would get a smack but his grandfather had only laughed, and told him how he had killed each and every one. Wonder tempered his fear. The dead stares and mildew smell of the trophies seemed less imposing when framed by those stories.

As Eddie had grown, so had that awe. He was no huntsman but he always admired the idea of it. Of taking a wild, free thing and making it beautiful.

He felt echoes of that desire when he looked at this skull. He may not have shot it but with a bit of polish, the right display case, he could make it something more.

Placing it aside, he heaved away from the table and cracked the backdoor open. Shaking a superking out of its battered gold packet, he lit up in the doorway.

Eddie leaned back, idly scratching an itch on his hand. His fantasies of gleaming wood stands and brass plaques were interrupted by a sudden noise from above.

On his roof, a bird was singing.

It was high, warbling. A tinny, constant tune that made his eardrums throb. He couldn’t place what was making it. Something migratory, cluttering up the airspace maybe.

As he turned to take a look, something small fell from above and landed at his feet.

“Urgh!”

It was a pigeon, a few days dead. Its body a bloodied pile of down. Eddie’s gut twisted with nausea.

Whatever was singing must have been eating it.

The skull was clean of flesh, gleaming in the low light. Eddie batted away flies as he bent to pick it up. It came away from the body easily. With a shrug, he stubbed out the cigarette and headed back inside.

He plopped the pigeon’s skull next to the goshawk. The difference was almost funny. Away from its body, the pigeon was just another curiosity. It served as a nice comparison, made the goshawk more imposing. No harm in keeping it, Eddie thought.

His hand itched.

“Mr. Stone, this isn’t acceptable!”

Eddie was not in the mood for an angry voicemail.

He had woken to a splitting headache, his hands on fire with persistent itching, and a red throbbing zit below his lip. Like he was twelve instead of forty-three. It was more embarrassing than painful, but it took all his willpower to not pop it. The myriad aches made for a maddening morning.

A distressed call from one of the Commons’ resident complainers was the last thing he needed.

The man on the other end of the phone ranted about his taxes being wasted and the country going downhill for several minutes before he got to the meat of the matter.

“-If that wasn’t bad enough, poor Missy needed to do her business-” Eddie assumed Missy was some spoiled labradoodle, “And I forgot the bags so we went off the path near the western gazebo- we were barely under the treeline when I found the body!”

His ears perked up.

“It was a sparrow? I think? Horrid little thing. You shouldn’t be letting corpses lay about where anyone could stumble into them! It’s unseemly, not to mention dangerous,” He sniffed, “Probably had some disease, and it stunk. I expect better, Mr. Sto-”

Eddie jabbed the end call button and grabbed his things. The western gazebo wasn’t far from his office.

He jogged outside. It wouldn’t do to leave the little corpse out where someone else could find it. He would have to take care of it.

It was a grey day. The park was near-empty, with only the most dedicated runners and bundled-up dog walkers winding around the paths. Just past the wintergreen gazebo, Eddie peered into the bushes but the foliage was too dense to see through.

He would have to step off the path.

As soon as his feet hit dirt, he heard the birdsong again. That wouldn’t help his headache.

Barging through branches, he moved into the woods.

The sounds of urban life became muffled. The song grew louder. Eddie’s hands burned as he pushed aside greenery.

After a few minutes, the bushes gave way to a dim alcove. Eddie stopped at the edge.

He didn’t find a sparrow.

Instead, scattered in a loose circle, were dozens of birds in varying states of decay. Magpies with their glossy green feathers still shining. Blue tits black with flies. Tiny bones bleached dusty white. Some bodies were mere puzzle pieces, unidentifiable.

Eddie felt a flicker of old fear. For a moment, he was a child again.

His breath caught in his throat and as he coughed to clear it, he spat that feeling out.

He couldn’t see any tell-tale signs of predation. This was not done by an overachieving house cat or stray fox. It was too precise. This was done by human hands. Probably that little eco-warrior trying to make a point. Or scumbag kids ditching school.

He needed to get in front of the council, get them to enforce a stricter entry policy. Hooligans needed to be kept out of his park if they couldn’t follow his rules.

Steeling himself, he stepped into the clearing to clean up. He had a black bag to toss the bodies into and gloves to sift through them. As he did, he sized them up to see if they were a good fit for his growing collection. If a stray skull or two wound up in his pockets, there was no harm done. He wanted to take a magpie with him, but they all still had flesh clinging to them.

He could bury a body, he supposed. Let the worms do the work for him.

Mind made up, he dug a shallow grave and dropped a magpie inside. In a week or two, he would get exactly what he wanted.

As he scooped dirt back over it, the zit on his lip suddenly pulsed with pain. It was sharp, as if something was pushing against his skin. Eddie hissed and tried not to scratch. The pain crept up his jaw and he gritted his teeth, hoping it would stop quickly.

It didn’t. Ignoring it as best he could, he tossed the black bag over his shoulder and walked away with a string of swears under his breath.

The birdsong followed him out of the clearing.

The clock read a quarter to 3 in the morning and Eddie couldn’t sleep.

It had been a terrible week.

More birds were found by more visitors who made more complaints. The higher-ups wouldn’t listen to Eddie’s demands. The rash on his hands was now creeping up his arms. The pimple had become a boil, pricking him with prolonged pain.

This wasn’t the first night it kept him awake.

With a sigh, he heaved himself out of bed. If he wasn’t going to sleep, he might as well do something useful.

Downstairs, his kitchen table gleamed bone-white.

His collection was growing with each bird he found. A crowd of empty eyesockets watched him pace the room. He picked some up to idly examine but the thrill was wearing thin. He needed something new to hold his attention.

With exhaustion addling him, he decided to go dig up the magpie. Enough time must have passed for it to be ready. He could find it, clean it up, and the restless feeling under his skin would pass.

Slipping the goshawk’s skull into his pocket, he headed out.

The night was cold but clear. Tugging his jacket around him, Eddie walked to the common and unlocked a gate.

He forsook the path immediately, navigating through the undergrowth to get back to his gravesite. It took longer then he remembered to reach it. His hands were spotted with blood from pushing aside branches. Ignoring the pain, he peered through the leaves.

The clearing was empty.

So was the grave.

The small hole he made had been dug up. An animal must have unearthed it and carried his prize away.

Eddie cursed the woods and his own foolishness. Next time he needed to bury it deeper.

Disappointment ached in his chest. As he resigned himself to another sleepless night however, he heard the singing again. That strange almost-tune wound through the air and, for the first time, it actually sounded close.

He crept towards it. Whatever was singing must have been rare. If he could get his hands on it, it would be the crowning jewel in his collection.

Crouching low, he shuffled along until he reached the spot where the sound came from.

Eddie froze mid-movement.

On the ground in front of him, his magpie- his dead, decaying magpie- was singing. It raised its fleshless skull and sang with no tongue. It flapped its bedraggled wings and reared up to the sky. It still had an eyeball.

Eddie backed away. A slow step landed on a dry twig.

The snap echoed through the clearing.

The eye swivelled in its socket, pinning Eddie with a black glare.

Before he could even blink, it lunged at him.

“AAAH!”

It drove its rotten beak into his hand and he flung it aside with a scream. It landed at the base of a dead tree, wings akimbo.

“Fuck, fuck.”

Cradling his hand to his chest, Eddie inspected the damage.

A chunk of skin had been torn off but there was no blood. The shock of pain was nothing compared to the cold fear in his veins.

Beneath his skin, where sinew should have been, was stained, feathery down. The kind of scattered fluff that was common among his little victims.

Eddie pulled it out but there was more underneath. Where he could feel his bones, he could only see feathers.

The boil on his chin pulsed with the rapid beating of his heart.

The magpie drew his attention with one last high note before it collapsed utterly. Its bare skull falling to the side, its one eye gone glassy. Dark blood stained the roots of the tree.

The branches were gnarled and bare. The bark was dusty white. The trunk had an ugly hole in its centre.

He had never noticed it before. It looked like it had been waiting for him to.

Eddie’s feet moved toward it without his permission.

“Did you do this?”

He wasn’t sure who he was asking. His hands shook painfully.

“Stop it.”

The boil pulsed with an energy that wasn’t his own, fit to burst.

“S-Stop it!”

He fell to his knees at the roots. Something small dug into his side.

He fished the goshawk’s skull from his pocket.

“I-Is this what you want?” He held it up, “Here!”

He tossed it into the hollow with a grunt

“There, it’s yours, you’ve got it back! Now stop this!”

He held up his shaking pinions. The thing inside him pushed against his mouth.

“Stop this!”

He didn’t understand. He gave back what he took. Did he need to give back the rest? Were those the rules?

Pain wracked his body and he curled in on himself, sobbing.

“Please….”

He did not know what the tree wanted, what the birds wanted. He didn’t know the rules. He didn’t even know if there were rules. The ones he knew crumbled to pieces as more feathers fledged from his skin.

The boil bulged with one final jab before the sharp tip of a beak broke through Eddie’s chin. It snapped his jawbone in half with a sickening crack.

He opened his malformed mandible to scream.

All that came out was birdsong.

#rusty fears #original fiction #horror fiction #rusty fears 6 #animal death #body horror #gore #tma

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queerlich · 1 year

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July 18th to July 24th 2022

When I first looked upon today’s cards I thought it significant that we drew two 9s that frame the Emperor in the center. We have the Water of Chalices on one side, and the Fire of Wands on the other. The Emperor also has correspondences in Aries & Mars, so there is extra Fire energy there that leans the reading overall to that suit of passion, creation, and action.

The question I asked my guides for this week was: What might the collective & I need to hear this week? What will encourage us to move through the world?

Image Description:

The 9 of Chalices depicts a silhouetted figure sitting on a bench at sunrise over a river. They are looking towards the Sun, with a halo of nine cups arranged above their head. To their left is a tree, shading their rest and a red fog is being swept away by an invisible wind.

The Emperor shows a central ram’s skull coloured with reds, blues, greens, and browns. Behind it is a multicoloured scene of the same colours. Each corner of the card has a smaller ram’s skull, their eyesockets turned towards the corners.

The 9 of Wands shows a human figure, their body covered with flowers such that only their face and hands are visible. They hold a thick walking stick as they walk through a forest of tree trunks that are blooming the same flowers they wear on their body.

9 of Chalices

We drew the 9 of Chalices in our first reading together, Reading for the Future of the Collective in the role of Enjoy. This card still is an overall joyful, rest-filled, and ease-filled card. It reminds us to make our wishes, set our intentions, and get grounded in our desires for the future. Today, pulling this card, I think of dreaming. To me, dreams are a big and necessary part of an embodied activism practice (a term I learned about from Jennifer Mullan of Decolonizing Therapy, who in turn credited Rae Johnson’s book). If we are not dreaming, envisioning, and imagining a new world and way of being then what are we striving for? What is there to hope for?

Dismantling systems of oppression are only one part of the process of abolition and freedom for all. We must also know what it is we want to see in the new world we are creating. I look to the left edge of this card, the red smoke or fog that seems to trail away. If the red smoke is the fog of capitalism and white supremacy, meant to keep us lost and disconnected from each other, then the 9 of Chalices reminds us of what’s beyond. The connected, thriving, and caring communities that we create right now so that they continue into tomorrow, next year, decades, and forevermore.

The Emperor

This card can be more activating for some folks because we live in shadow Emperor times. A time where power is not used from a grounded or caring place. Where power over is dominant, and there is no desire to relinquish power or pass it on to the next generations. If the times we live in are showing us the shadow side of the Emperor, then you may wonder, what is evolved version? Evolved Emperor looks like someone in power who cares for those that have granted them their power. They understand that if it wasn’t for the people around them, they would’ve never ascended to such a role, to such leadership.

Grounded in their understanding that they are temporary, they do what they can during their rule to leave their people, their community, better than they left it. They understand that one of their ultimate roles and purposes is to prepare their successor. When the one who replaces them is chosen, they step down and support the new leader in taking on the role they have left. Emperor becomes advisor, the advisor becomes elder, the elder becomes ancestor, and the cycle continues.

9 of Wands

The 9 of Wands can be a card symbolizing great growth and progress. It can remind us of all we have accomplished and let us know that it is time to reassess our resources for what comes next. However, it is also the funnel towards the 10 of Wands (a place of burnout and the result of overcommitment). Thus the 9 is not just about our recognition of all that has led us to where we are, but a time for pause.

I see the figure in this card, their gaze is set somewhere far off, beyond the forest they are journeying through. There is that Fire determination and desire for reaching the endpoint. However, in looking so far beyond they miss the beauty of the forest around them. The trees flowering & the magic swirling around their body. They have adorned their body in the flowers of this forest, but did they ever stop to thank the trees for clothing them? For sheltering them from the sun, wind, and rain?

Overall, the 9 of Wands comes to remind us that even in the midst of all the dreaming work of the 9 of Chalices, we can also find great beauty in the day-to-day. If the 9 of Chalices is dreaming of the future world we are building, then the 9 of Wands is the process of making it happen. Together, they each support the other and balance what the other lacks. The 9 of Chalices softens the Fire of the Wands, bringing rest and pause. The 9 of Wands brings action to the Chalices, reminding us that dreaming isn’t the only part of our journey. The Emperor brings a reminder of what power truly can be, and that while we may not have many examples of power used in this evolved form; where power truly lies is with the people. We need only join together.

#suit of chalices #tarot readings #community archive #once were paid posts #now theyre just for anyone

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carelesscreativity · 3 years

Text

Kross With Cats and Flirting for PinkHeartSans: Commission for Ko-Fi

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(SFW, Fluff)

Out of everything Cross had been prepared to see upon arriving at the castle, this was certainly not one of them. Given, it had been a couple months since he'd arrived, but this might've been the most startling thing he'd witnessed. A kitten. A kitten staggering across the hallway. It looked very young. Maybe a month or two old at most. Cross paused, unsure of what to do. Where had it come from? He walked up and knelt down next to it, the kitten letting out a loud mew.

He reached out and gently scooped it up, the kitten becoming a small ball in his hands. He was so baffled. He gently rubbed a thumb between its ears and it wiggled. "Hey, what're you doing here?" He murmured softly. He stood up, still gently rubbing between its ears. It was a Siamese. Chocolate-Point Siamese, from the looks of it. It purred and rubbed its face against his finger. Cross couldn't even remember the last time he'd seen one of these. They usually saw stray cats on missions, but never any kittens.

"Hey." Killer's voice startled him and Cross quickly tucked the kitten inside his coat, glancing over at the other. Killer regarded him closely with those empty eyesockets. "Find something of interest? You never stay in the hall this long. You're usually too wary of all of us to leave your room unless it's absolutely necessary, yeah?" He was spinning a knife along his fingers in one hand. Cross was frozen for a moment. One, he was shocked Killer had been paying that much attention. He knew Killer always liked to watch and take small verbal jabs at him, but he didn't think the other had been taking note that carefully. Two, he had no idea how Killer would react to a small, defenseless animal. He didn't think it would be good.

"I-I..." Cross swore at himself internally for stuttering, especially seeing the way it made Killer's teeth quirk at the side in amusement. Killer strode towards him slowly and Cross found himself instinctively backing up. He jumped as his back hit the wall. Killer's sockets, even empty, seemed to roam over him. Cross froze as Killer reached up and used his knife to push aside his coat, revealing the kitten held inside. It mewed again, squirming. For a moment, Cross didn't know what to do. Would he get in trouble for this?? He didn't even know how the kitten had gotten in!

He was pulled out of his panic at an odd sound. Killer was chuckling. Cross watched as he slipped the knife back up into his sleeve. He reached out and took the kitten from Cross, cradling it against the side of his chest. To Cross' shock, the glowing target that always pulsed so menacingly was wavering, the circle becoming unsteady. Finally, it changed shape entirely and Cross kept himself pressed back against the wall as he stared at the inverted heart floating in front of Killer's chest.

"My eyes are up here, soldier." Killer snapped his fingers and Cross jumped, looking up. His jaws were opened to apologize, but the words audibly caught in his throat. Killer's sockets were no longer empty. Two bright, white-ringed eyelights were fixed on him, regarding him with amusement. Killer tipped his head before seeming to realize something. "Ah, right. You've never seen me like this." Cross had a lot of questions. He jumped as he felt Killer's finger his chin and only realized he still had his mouth open when Killer closed it for him.

"I... what...?" Cross sputtered and Killer finally just grinned. Cross had never seen a grin like that from the other. No mockery, just simple amusement. He watched as Killer turned his attention to the kitten, gently rubbing a finger under its chin. "Y-You... you like cats...?" Cross managed to ask in the poorest attempt at a conversation ever conceived. Killer glanced at him before giving a soft scoff and nodding.

"Yeah. Was looking for this one. She got away from her mother this morning. Been looking for her all day." Killer sighed. "Little troublemaker." Cross was more surprised by the implication of other cats, asking in shock if there were more. Killer fixed him with a piercing look that Cross couldn't quite decipher for a moment. "Think you can keep a secret, Cross?" The question momentarily took Cross back before the soldier gave a hesitant nod. He jumped as Killer stretched out a hand.

Cross stared at it for a moment before reaching out and taking it. Killer's grin widened and he turned, Cross yelping as he was practically yanked down the hall. He was being pulled towards a part of the castle he had yet to see. The only thing over there was Killer's room, so Cross had never had a reason to venture there. They approached the door and Killer let go of his hand in order to open it. Immediately, Cross was greeted with loud meowing. He was startled to see at least four cats and a litter of kittens around Killer's room.

Honestly, the bedroom was a lot neater than he would've expected from Killer. Three of the cats had come to greet Killer, rubbing against and between his legs before venturing over to sniff at Cross. The last cat was clearly the mother of the litter, also a Siamese. Killer went over and placed the kitten next to her, which squealed loudly as she dragged it over with a paw and began to groom it fiercely. Cross couldn't help but stare at Killer, so dumbfounded by what he was seeing.

He jumped as one of the other cats butted his leg roughly, making him stumble. The cat was bigger than the others. Fluffier as well and Cross knelt down, gently smoothing its whiskers and rubbing under its chin. He murmured that it was a Maine Coon and that seemed to grab Killer's attention. "You know something about cats, Crossy?" The nickname caught him off guard again and Killer's teeth quirked in amusement once more.

"I... know a little." Cross could tell Killer was waiting for him to explain and he sighed. "Back in XTale, Ink would... bring books when he came to visit and then he'd leave for a while. So I'd read the same books over and over until I knew them cover to cover. One of them was a book about cats..." He continued to pet the Maine Coon cat, it purring very loudly for him. Killer gave him that unreadable look again before nodding and turning away, gently petting the mother cat.

"I see." He said, sighing. He gestured to the two other cats. "What breeds are they?" He sounded genuinely curious and Cross stood up, despite the loud protests of the cat next to him. He murmured that the grey one was a Russian Blue and the one next to it was a Snowshoe. Killer blinked before laughing. "Hm." It didn't sound displeased, like when Nightmare usually made the noise. He moved over to Cross, seeming interested. Cross froze up when Killer stopped in front of him. After a few tense moments, Killer let out some quiet laughter. "So tense, damn."

Cross immediately felt heat rush to his cheeks and he managed a glare with no heat behind it. Killer stared at him in vague surprise before reaching up and tapping his cheek. "Your blush is purple too? Thought it was just your blood." That did nothing to lessen the glow. If anything, it made it worse. "Ooh. You’re like your own lantern." Cross finally pushed him away weakly, mumbling for him to shut up.

The action would've never crossed his mind earlier in the day, but Cross just felt a little more comfortable now. He'd never been comfortable before. Despite lacking eyelights, Killer's gaze was definitely always on him when he would come into the room. Cross couldn't help but yelp as the Maine Coon suddenly pushed between both their legs with a loud, indignant meow. Killer laughed and knelt down, scritching behind its ears. "Yeah, yeah, you’re hungry, I know." He moved over to his bedside table and Cross watched as he pulled out small plates, a large can of wet food and a spoon.

Cross was stumped once again at how careful Killer was with these animals, carefully handing out plates with a small dollop of wet food on each one. Spacing them out enough that each cat had their own area. He didn't realize he was giving the slightest grin of disbelief until Killer glanced over at him and raised a brow. All at once, Cross became aware of his facial expression and shut his jaw so fast that there was a loud click. "Something funny?" Killer asked. He didn't seem upset in the slightest and Cross forced himself to relax again.

"I just... I've witnessed you decimate entire villages. Seeing you care for something like this. Little animals like cats... It's... both relieving and unnerving. I'm not sure how to feel about it." Cross admitted. He tensed up again, really hoping Killer didn't become upset with him for saying that. There was silence for a moment before Killer's laughter pierced the air again.

"Each of us are two sides of a coin, Cross. You've only seen one side of us." Killer was sitting on the edge of the bed, the Maine Coon hopping up next to him and immediately climbing into his lap. "We're not JUST villains. We aren't JUST Bad Guys." He gently rubbed the cat's ears, smiling as it continued to butt its head under his chin. Cross stared at him for a few moments, understanding dawning on him. Shame soon followed after and he ducked his head.

"I-I'm sorry." He managed to say. He faltered as Killer glanced up at him with a raised brow, asking why he was apologizing. "I... I didn't mean to assume anything." There was that unreadable look again before Killer's eyelights softened and he murmured that it was alright. He gave a stretch and nearly fell on his back as the Maine Coon roughly butted his chest. Cross couldn't help the weak laugh he let out, covering his mouth quickly.

Killer grinned as he sat up. "Hope you realize that since you know about them, you’re now legally obligated to help me take care of them." He stated matter-of-factly. Cross opened his mouth to protest, furrowing his brow before pausing. He... wasn't really upset about that. He blinked and couple times before nodding and scrunching up his shoulders, mumbling that it sounded fun. Killer regarded him quietly.

"I think I like this side of your coin, Crossy." He said, making Cross' cheeks reignite from both his statement and the nickname. He glanced over at him, Killer leaning back against the bed as he gave a big grin. "I hope you like this side of my coin too."

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smells-like-mettaton · 3 years

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soriel, 1 (chocolate) for the ask game?

Like a Box of Chocolates

Rating: G Word Count: 2734 Read on AO3: here

---

"Ok. I brought a few choices," Sans said while sitting with his back to the door. He pulled a plastic sack full of chocolate and chocolate-adjacent treats out from under his shirt.

"Oh, you did not have to do that." The voice behind the door sounded embarrassed.

"It's no big deal." He shrugged instinctively, though she wouldn't be able to see it. "Not like I candy things like this for you very often."

The lady laughed, even though the pun was a stretch. She was a great audience like that.

"I cannot argue with that. After all, it is the choco-thought that counts."

Sans let out a wheeze. Man, she had him beat in the bad jokes department. He needed to up his game.

"What can I say, I'm a sweet guy." That joke would work better if she could see his wink.

"You certainly are, my friend."

Sans blinked. He hadn't been prepared for the genuine warmth in her voice. Now he felt something like a melted chocolate himself.

"Uh. You'd better wait and make sure I didn't pick out garbage before you say that." He chuckled nervously and spread out the chocolates in the snow.

"Alright. Hit me with your best choco-shot."

He laughed out loud at that one too. She could really squeeze some mileage out of chocolate puns.

"First off we have the MTT-Brand Chocolate Mettaton. Which is exactly what it sounds like. Chocolate in the shape of everyone's favorite robot superstar." He scanned the back of the wrapper. "Contains sequins and glitter, but it's still monster food, so probably won't cause any more indigestion than Temmie Flakes. Still, wouldn't blame ya if you passed on that."

The lady laughed. "I do not know this 'Mettaton,' but he sounds like someone…"

Her voice trailed off, the way it always did when she neared a personal topic. It seemed to be happening more and more often lately. Sans didn't know if that was a good sign, or if he needed to do a better job of distracting her.

"Someone I know would have liked that," she finished clumsily.

"Welp. It's yours, then." He attempted to slide it under the door.

Attempted. The thick block of chocolate wouldn't fit through the narrow space.

"What are my other options?" The lady asked, not seeming to hear his failure.

(Or just ignoring it. The way they always ignored things they didn't want to acknowledge.)

Oh well. He'd deal with that later, if she wanted to.

He picked up the next box and rattled it. It looked thin enough to fit under the door.

"I think this one's called, uh, pocket?” He couldn’t tell for sure, since the box was labeled in a language he didn’t recognize. Where did Alphys get this stuff? “A pal gave it to me. They’re like chocolate-covered sticks, I think."

"Not precisely what I was looking for, but I would love to try it regardless," she said. "If I am allowed to have both options, I mean. If not, I should probably stick with the Em-Tee-Tee."

Sans bit back a snort. So she hadn't heard after all. That made this a lot more awkward.

"Do you wanna hear the other options first? Wouldn't want ya to have any regrets."

"Oh! There are more?"

She sounded as surprised as a kid finding an extra fry in the bottom of their Grillby's bag. He couldn't help grinning.

"Yup. Next up is a chocolate spider donut—”

“Made by spiders, for spiders, of spiders?” The voice seemed on the verge of laughter again.

His eyesockets widened. “Uh… welp. Guess you don’t need the whole spiel, huh?”

“There is a spider bakesale right around the corner from my home,” the lady explained. “I believe they are saving for a… ‘heated limo’? To travel safely through Snowdin. I wish I could help them, but I did not think to take much gold when I…”

Another dead end. That was fine, Sans could piece together enough. Not that her personal life was any of his business, anyway.

“If it makes ya feel any better, they really raked me over the coals for this one.”

“It does not!” came her quick reply. “I only asked for a chocolate bar. Not for you to spend money that you need on me.”

Geez, this lady was too good for him. As if Sans ever really went out of his way for anyone.

Except Papyrus, but he was family. And sometimes Grillby, if he felt bad about failing to pay his tab for too long. And Alphys, but he owed her for screwing off after space-time blew up in their faces.

And now, the lady behind the door. The lady he didn’t owe anything to, except a few good laughs.

Who was he kidding? Those laughs were more important to him than anything.

“Eh, it just cost me one day of selling ‘dogs. Donut worry about it.”

“Very well. Since it was for a good cause, I will not grill you any further. But please tell me that was the last chocolate you purchased for me.”

“It’s the last one I purchased.” He grinned. While she couldn’t see his expression, she must have heard the but in his voice.

“Please tell me you did not steal any chocolate for me.”

“Geez, lady, what do you take me for? I’d never commit petty thievery.”

“Well, that is reassuring.”

“Yep. Gotta save room for the real high-dollar crimes. Like the illegal hot dog stand.”

The voice behind the door went silent. He wished he could see her face now more than ever. His own grin slowly slid from his skull.

“Everyone knows about it,” he reassured her. “If the King really wanted to shut me down, he’d have done it a long time ago.”

“Oh, I am not judging you for that. I am sure the law is rigged against you if the King has any say in it.” Her voice was surprisingly bitter.

His real problem was that he couldn’t ever find the necessary documents to get licensed in food preparation. His birth certificate was presumably in whatever alternate dimension his old man had blasted them out of.

“You are judging me for something, though,” he realized. The chill of the snow seeped into his bones, but he didn’t dare adjust his position. Somehow he felt that if he moved, she would disappear.

“I am not. I was only thinking about…” She sighed. “It is complicated. There was a time when I could have helped you, but it is long past.”

“Help me? Look, lady, the ‘dog stand is fine. Promise. Better than fine, since I don’t gotta pay taxes on it.”

She chuckled at that.

“Very well. Forgive a silly old lady for worrying.”

“Done.” He smiled, settling back against the door more comfortably.

He should’ve known she’d have a problem with his illegal activities, though. She was a classy lady, and he was… him. Why had he even brought it up? It wasn’t a great joke. Did he really just want her to know?

Eh, whatever. She wasn’t mad, so no harm done, right?

“I would like to know how you acquired this other chocolate, if it was not through your sticky fingers.” She sounded like she was grinning.

“Huh? Oh.” He blinked and dug out the last chocolate of the bunch. Blue dusted his cheeks. “QC—that’s the lady who runs the shop in town—gave ‘em to me for free. They’re called, uh, kisses.”

QC had a knowing look in her eyes when she’d offered the bag of chocolates to him. It was his own fault for implying they were for a girl. Everyone already thought he screwed around in the woods on his shifts, and with the way gossip travelled in a small town, everyone at Grillby’s would be asking about his girlfriend tonight.

“Kisses,” the lady behind the door echoed. “This is not one of your jokes, is it?”

“Not this time. Sorry to disappoint.” His grin felt too tight. “They’re, uh, tiny chocolates. Kinda cone-shaped? QC makes ‘em herself, so they’ve gotta be good.”

“Oh.” Oddly, the voice did sound disappointed. Sans couldn’t imagine why. Not like he could kiss her through the door, even if he had lips. And even if there was some unlikely timeline where she wanted a kiss from him.

He wanted to thump his skull back against the door, but there was no point in worrying her like that.

“In that case, I will take the kisses. They will be perfect for…”

He was sure she would leave it at that. Cover up with some non sequitur.

So his eyesockets went wide when she said, “for the anniversary of my child’s passing.”

“Oh.” He let out a strangled little laugh. “I—geez, I’m sorry. If I’d known—”

“You would have what? Spent even more money on this silly old lady, who cannot even leave to buy her child’s favorite chocolate?” Her voice was firm. “No. I thought you deserved to know, after the trouble you went to, and because you shared your own secret with me today.”

“My ‘dog stand is hardly a secret,” he said, still feeling a little shaky. She had a kid? A dead kid?

Well, who in the Underground didn’t have skeletons in their closet? Metaphorically or literally. She was still his best friend. If she wanted his pity, she would’ve said something sooner.

“Regardless,” she said. “It is in the past. Forget it, if you wish. But please do not treat me any differently.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he said sincerely. If there was one thing he was good at, it was maintaining the status quo. “So, uh. These chocolates. I kind of wanted you to have all of ‘em, if that’s alright with you.”

“It would be rude to refuse a gift, would it not?” She sounded like she was smiling again, to his relief.

“There’s just one problem. Uh. Don’t think they’re all gonna fit under the door.” He rapped on the stone surface with his knuckle for emphasis.

“I did not assume they would. The recipe I gave you before hardly passed through.”

Sans blinked. “Then you—huh?”

“I will open the door just a fraction. It can only be done from the inside.” She paused, like she was gathering a breath. “I would ask that you do not look. I promise I will not peek, either.”

Sans’s ribcage tightened. She was going to open the door. She would be right there, with no stone between them.

The thought opened a desperate floodgate within him. He hadn’t realized just how badly he wanted to see her, to know her, to live off of more than just scraps and unfinished sentences.

She once had a child. She had some kind of beef against the King. She wanted to give charity to spiders, but didn’t have enough money. All these facts he filed away, tucking them into the grooves in his ribcage.

It would be enough. He’d duct tape those gates shut again, if he had to. He wasn’t going to betray the trust she’d shown him.

“Got it. You don’t wanna be smitten by my good looks, I understand,” he joked.

(He had a feeling it would be the other way around, if anything. Not that quality of jokes translated to quality of appearance—he would know. If it did, he’d have biceps like his brother.)

“It would be tragic. Much too high a price for you to handsome chocolate to me.”

“Heh, I’m sure you’re a door-able too. But I’ll keep my sockets shut, since our friendship hinges on it.”

That got a raucous laugh out of her, the kind that started off high-pitched and quickly became something of a snorting bleat. That sound was sweeter than chocolate to him.

...Man, his pals at Grilby’s would be right to dunk on him. He was a massive dork.

“Alright,” she said once she caught her breath, “if you are ready, my friend…”

“Yeah.” He nodded. “Better choco-late than never, huh?”

That one only got a snort, but he wasn’t sure if that was because the pun fell flat, or because she was nervous. As far as he knew, she hadn’t been outside of the Ruins in years. And here she was, trusting a sentry—someone whose job it was to keep a look out—to turn a blind eye.

It was a good thing he’d never been good at his job.

Stone ground against stone with a dramatic rumble. His eyesockets stayed shut. Warmth emanated from somewhere near his shoulder, and he lifted the bag of chocolates.

His small hand brushed a large fur-covered one. A shiver trailed down his spine. One small touch shouldn’t have done so much to him, but—but she was real. She was more than just a voice behind a door. Which he knew, but knowing and feeling could be worlds apart at times.

She took the bag, and the moment was over. But the door didn’t close.

“My dear friend,” she whispered, her voice sounding closer than ever. “Would it be presumptuous to ask another favor of you?”

“‘Course not. Glad to do a favor for my favor-ite person.” He kept his tone light, unaffected by the swirling emotions inside him.

“If I could… oh, dear, this is embarrassing.”

He resisted the urge to open his eyes, to see what look might be on her face.

“It has simply been so long… may I hold your hand a moment longer?”

He felt the marrow heating within his bones.

“That all? I gotta hand it to ya, you made me think you needed an arm and a leg.”

She chuckled before awkwardly fumbling to grasp his hand again.

Heat poured from her palm into his phalanges. Aside from the fur, there were several spots of soft skin—probably paw pads. Was she a dog monster, like the Canine Unit in town? She didn’t make nearly enough dog jokes for that to be the case. Her laugh sounded more like a goat’s, but she obviously didn’t have hooves. Maybe she was some kind of chimera? You didn’t see those often nowadays, but then again, no one saw monsters from the Ruins, either.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice as soft as the snow that began to drift around him.

“Not disappointed?” He asked, only half-joking. “My hand can’t be as comfy as yours.”

“Ah, but it is all your bone. And that is wonderful to me.”

“Geez, old lady.” He was grateful she couldn’t see his blush. “You’re pretty fur-fect yourself.”

When she laughed, her body shook all the way down to her hand. The feeling more than made up for all the G he’d spent on chocolate and donuts.

Suddenly his hand was being lifted up, and then something soft pressed against his knuckles. His soul flared erratically, and his eyes nearly flew open. If they had, he was sure his left eyelight would have been blue from shock.

“A kiss for a kiss,” she said slyly. “It is only fair.”

“Heh heh…” His voice shook with more than laughter. “Technically, that was one kiss for a bag of kisses. Pretty sure that math doesn’t square up.”

“Oh, you are quite right! One day we will have to circle back and rectify that.”

He practically had to cast gravity magic on himself to keep his eyes from flying open.

“You—huh?” He said intelligently.

“Perhaps not soon,” she clarified. “This has all been… a lot, for me. But thanks to you, my dear friend, this day has not been so bitter as I am used to.”

“Uh, no problem, then. With all that chocolate, I hope it’s sweet.”

Sweet as the anniversary of a death could be, anyway. He grimaced. Maybe that joke was too soon, but she just squeezed his hand before finally letting go.

“I do think it will be,” she said softly. “I will look forward to hearing more of your punny jokes tomorrow.”

The door scraped shut, and he hesitantly opened his eyes. He couldn't help inspecting the door to see if anything changed. Pressing his still-warm hand against the smooth stone.

“Heh. Good luck getting rid of me now.” He grinned.

Then he tucked his hands in his pockets, where her kiss remained like a tattoo on his bone.

#tali writes #safeutdr #soriel #sans #toriel #fic tag #very happy with how this one turned out :D #hope you like it and thanks for the request!#prompt requests

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a-snow-decahedron · 3 years

Text

Befriending the enemy

Versión en español: Leer en AO3 / Leer en Tumblr

Summary: After Alphys confesses her feelings towards Undyne, she realizes that while the truth is hard to hear, it is better to say it. Papyrus listens.

Set in a true pacifist route, on the way to meet up eveyone else in new home.

Words: 2335

Read on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31130111

Undyne was a monster that always faced her problems head-on. Or so she thought. Feelings were never her strong suit. And that day left her with some complex feelings.

A human showed up in Snowdin during the morning, closing the Ruins' door behind them. They wore a striped shirt, like every other monster child, but their soul shone red with power: it was the last soul needed to break the barrier, and she was determined to capture them and be the hero that freed monsterkind. It wasn't about honor as much as it was about justice for all the pain that monsters had gone through for generations.

But it was just a kid, a thought insisted, and she repressed it. Duty calls, and she wouldn't step back. The Canine Unit in Snowdin forest tried to stop them, yet all of them were unable to capture the human. Undyne feared the worst, that this child had killed them, but every monster that had encountered the human so far said they were kind, and never hurt anyone. She was livid. She knew humans couldn't be trusted, they could turn your allies against you like in those animes Alphys had shown her. So her frustration grew as the day went by.

Papyrus and his brother were no exception to the rule. The tall skeleton reported to her on the way to Waterfall that he had let the human go, after befriending them. He tried to stop her, telling her that she didn't need to get their soul. All of this just confirmed in her mind why he could never be part of the royal guard. What is the human had not shown mercy? The idea repulsed her, but so did extending monsters' wait to reach the Surface. So despite her friend's words and the apparent pacifist attitude the human had, she didn't give up on her goal.

She encountered them a few times in Waterfall, followed closely by another kid. Were they friends? Oh, the nerve of that human, to get someone else to fight their battles. Her anger grew after every time they managed to scape her attacks. Until finally, the monster kid left to go home and she fought the human. Their resilience was astounding and they could dodge her attacks like they had seen it all before. Despite making their soul green, they found the chance to flee like a coward towards Hotland. In the end, she couldn't keep up with her armor. She didn't want to admit it, but the water that human had given her gave her strength to go home. A moment of weakness. She was just glad the child had decided to pity her.

At her house, she meditated about everything she'd seen. The truth was that she was exhausted, and not knowing how to deal with her thoughts, she started playing piano. A while later she heard a knock on the door and Papyrus walked in, as was expected, but he brought the human child along. Against her better judgement, she let them both in. The following events still replayed on her head. How could she go from trying to defeat her enemy to a hang out at her house? How did that go so horribly well and so horribly wrong at the same time? She didn't have any answers, but one thing was certain, that child had proved her expectations wrong, and had flipped her view on quite some things.

Undyne now sat on the green couch at the skeleton brother's house. And now her thoughts gravitated toawards yet another revelation. Alphys liked her. The same way she liked Alphys back. Saying the truth had been hard for her, that was obvious and the Waterfall monster could relate too. Undyne was a monster that always faced her problems head-on but feelings were never her strong suit. Another idea presented itself on her head. Sure she was hot-headed and impulsive, but after such an eventful day it was impossible not tot take some time to think and make sense of everything.

She suddenly heard the door hit the wall as Ppayrus made his way inside the house. Despite being all bones, his expression showed deep worry. "UNDYNE! YOU MUST COME WITH ME NOW!" He said, extending his hand.

"What's wrong, Papyrus? Did the punk call again? Are they lost?" She stood up in a moment, ready to follow the skeleton.

Papyrus shook his head "THE HUMAN IS ON THEIR WAY TO NEW HOME! BUT WE CAN'T LET THEM FACE ASGORE, WE MUST STOP THIS, MAYBE WE CAN CONVINCE THEM NOT TO FIGHT" He replied, some distressed slipping through his voice. "I CALLED ALPHYS AND MY BROTHER TOO, THEY WILL BE MEETING US AHEAD, BUT WE MUST HURRY"

Undyne didn't doubt for a second about how her friend knew that, so she followed Papyrus toawrds the door and they went to the Riverperson. who was fortunately waiting for passengers in Snowdin. They both sat and took the ride. After a few moments, Papyrus noted her silence, and asked "YOU SEEM QUIETER THAN USUAL."

She was about to shrug and brush it off with some excuse, but something else took over her and instead she said "Hey, Papyrus? I gotta tell you something."

"WHAT IS IT? ARE YOU WORRIED ABOUT THE HUMAN AND THE KING? I ASSURE YOU WITH THE GREAT PAPYRUS'S SKILLS AND YOUR STRENGTH WE WILL STOP THE CONFLICT BEFORE IT EVEN BEGINS"

"Well, yes, but i wanted to talk about something else..." What? We're really doing this Undyne? Oh darn it there is no way to stop now.

His eyesocket were staring right through her. "IF THIS IS ABOUT ALPHYS, I THINK OUR TRAINING NEEDS MORE T-"

"Fuhuhu, well, it's not exactly about her, that's still got my magic all shocked, but she got me thinking about some things..." Her gaze turned to the side, avoiding facing him. "Thing is, being honest isn't always easy, you know? I wasn't able to confess to Alphys on my own without the punk's help. She struggled with being sincere too. And maybe part of the truth hurt, I don't know if I can look at anime the same way again— But that's not the point!" Papyrus's mismatched eyesockets looked even more uneven when he raised his browbone, letting her continue. "I... have not been the most honest with you, and i want to put an end to it."

"BUT UNDYNE, YOU'VE SHOWN ME MORE SIDES OF YOURSELF THAN YOU SHOW MOST PEOPLE! NOT EVERYONE KNOWS YOUR PASSION FOR ALL SORTS OF MUSIC, OR HAS TRIED YOUR COOKING! AND CERTAINLY I AM HONORED TO BE YOUR TRUSTED FRIEND! SO WHAT IS MAKING YOU THINK THESE THINGS?" Undyne's soul sank like it had been turned blue. She took a breath, to give herself some extra time to plan her words.

"Dude, I... don't know how you'll take this."

"GO AHEAD, THE GREAT PAPYRUS KNOWS WELL WHAT TO DO IN DIFFICULT CONVERSATIONS"

She exhaled, no going back now: "I was never intending to let you in the Royal Guard."

His smile dropped, but before she could apologize, he simply asked "WAS I NOT SKILLED ENOUGH?"

"No, you... it's not about ability. Dude, you're one of the toughest monsters I've trained with, you can take blow after blow and still keep on fighting." She sighed. "But I thought you were too innocent and naive and—"

"WELL I SURE APPRECIATE THE COMPLIMENT, BUT I FAIL TO UNDERSTAND THE PROBLEM"

"You know the Royal Guard's goal was to capture a human and take their soul to King Asgore, right?" He nodded. "Right, but to do that we'd have to kill them, and humans would resist to that. Anyone would. Humans are powerful, and they can hurt many monsters trying to fight for their life. Some of them may beg for mercy, and trick us into trusting them only to betray us later."

"BUT THIS HUMAN IS NICE."

"Yeah, but we didn't know that when they showed up."

"SO WHAT?, EVERYONE HAS THE CAPACITY TO BE GOOD, I WOULD GIVE THEM THE CHANCE TO PROVE THEMSELVES."

"And that's the problem! They could take advantage of that! I don't want to see you being shattered into smiling pieces because of some enemy with bad intentions!"

"SO YOU THINK I SHOULD HAVE JUST KILLED THEM."

"It's the duty of the royal guard!" Undyne let out a sigh, feeling awful for the things she said.

Papyrus stared at her, empty sockets facing her one seeing eye. His thoughts, unclear. He stayed quiet longer than it was normal for him, but then he frowned and spoke. "UNDYNE, DO YOU THINK I CAN'T DEFEND MYSELF?"

She considered the question, then shook her head. "I don't know... I just don't want you to get hurt. That someone comes and crashes your hopes and betrays you. The Royal Guard must never hesitate. The hopes and dreams of monsters depend on us."

"DO YOU THINK THE HUMAN HAS WISHES TOO?"

"What? Of course I do! Well... I do, now that I've seen how determined they are, and their good heart."

"THEN WOULDN'T IT BE UNFAIR TO DESTROY THEM LIKE THAT?"

"But what if other humans are evil?"

"WHAT IF THEY'RE NOT? I'M SURE YOUR EXECTATIONS HAVE BEEN PROVEN WRONG LATELY. MINE HAVE. I NEVER THOUGHT SOMEONE COULD SHARE MY PASSION FOR PUZZLES AND HOMECOOKED FOOD AS SINCERELY AS THAT HUMAN." Undyne raised an eyebrow, curious about the skeleton's reasoning. He kept going "I HAVE MADE A NEW FRIEND BY BEING BRAVE AND OPEN TO SEE WHO THEY REALLY ARE. AND NOW THAT I KNOW WHAT IS AT STAKE I CANNOT LET THE VIOLENCE HAPPEN AGAINST THEM OR ANYONE."

"I see what you mean, but we can't let then just leave, it's their life, at the cost of the freedom of our kind. And ensuring we do that for monsters is what is needed to be part of the guard."

"THEN YOU SHOULDN'T BE A PART OF THE GUARD ANYMORE EITHER."

His words hit her like the hardest walls of the caverns. There, that's the issue that had plagued her mind all afternoon. It surprised her how the topic had gone from being sincere to Papyrus about her expectations, to talking about the right thing to do. The worst part is that he was right. How could she, the Captain of the Guard, give up on her duty? Shouldn't she set an example? But now the thoght of going after the human kid just made the magic within her whirl uncomfortably. She could feel the humid atmosphere of the Waterfall tunnels all around her.

"I DID NOT MEAN TO BE RUDE, UNDYNE." Papyrus hesitated on his next words, but she interrupted him.

"No, you're right after all. I befriended the enemy."

"AND THEY TURNED OUT TO BE DIFFERENT THAN YOU EXPECTED." She nodded.

"UNDYNE. I KNOW WHO I KNOW, AND I KNOW YOU KNOW WHO YOU KNOW. WELL...." He cleared his non-existent throat, then resumed his speech. "TO PUT IT IN BETTER WORDS, THERE ARE PEOPLE WE KNOW WELL. BUT IT'S BECAUSE WE GAVE THEM THE CHANCE, AND THEY USED IT TO BE GOOD"

Then he pointed at her, and kept going. "YOU THOUGHT YOU WERE DOING THE RIGHT THING, TAKING THEIR SOUL. BUT THAT'S NOT THE CASE ANYMORE, DON'T YOU SEE? WE'RE GOING STRAIGHT TO THE KING'S CASTLE TO STOP THIS NONSENSE!"

Undyne was atypically silent after his words. Who was this guy? Did he always put that much thouught on things? Had she misjudged him? "Woah Papyrus, you really are sure about this. But you're right, i'm on board with you now." She grinned, showing all her teeth "I gotta say, you impress me, can't believe how i changed in a single day thanks to your actions."

"THANK YOU, I AM A SKELETON THAT LIVES TO SURPASS ANY GIVEN STANDARD." He wore his usual grin, and his eyes shone with pride.

"That's the guy I know!" She was getting close to tackle him in a hug when the Riverperson turned and told them they arrived to their destination.

"Come again sometime, tra la la..." Undyne pulled some coins from her pocket and gave them to the monster as tips. They didn´t charge for the ride, but any compensation was more than appreciated.

"NOW LET'S HEAD TO THE ELEVATORS, THE SOONER WE GET OUT OF HOTLAND THE SOONER WE WILL ARRIVE!"

"Hey, Papyrus?" He turned around to face Undyne as she walked to reach him. "Thank you."

"WHAT FOR?"

"For giving us the chance to do the right thing." While she pressed the button to call the elevator she asked: "Hey, one last thing, how do you... feel about what i told you?"

"WELL, IT DOES PUT OUR PREVIOUS ONE-ON-ONE TRAINING IN A NEW LIGHT, FOR SURE" He lifted his gloved hand, to wait for a moment, as he said the next words: "BUT I APPRECIATE KNOWING THE TRUTH, AND NOW WE CAN FORGET THE AWKWARD MOMENT AS IF IT NEVER HAPPENED, LIKE THE GOOD FRIEND I AM"

"Don't you feel bad about it?"

"WELL, I CAN'T SAY I DON'T, BUT I FORGIVE YOU, AS LONG AS WE SAY THE TRUTH TO EACH OTHER FROM NOW ON"

"Papyrus, you're something else." They both laughed as they got off the elevator.

"UNDYNE, I HAVE ONE LAST QUESTION" The skeleton fidgeted with his gloves, but a smirk was forming on his face. "IF THE ROYAL GUARD STOPS BEING ABOUT HUNTING HUMANS, DO YOU THINK ASGORE COULD GIVE ME A POSITION IN THE GUARD?"

"Fuhuhuhu, you bet! But first we have to make sure he and the punk don't kill each other because of some old unfair conflict." And with that said, they both sprinted on their path to the MTT resort.

Undyne was a monster that always faced her problems head-on. Or so she thought. Feelings were never her strong suit. But friends could alwyas subvert her expectations and be there to support her in those moments of doubt.

#undertale #ut fanfic #safe utdr #undyne #papyrus #ut fanfiction #undertale fic #no beta we just die #take this thing wrote at 3 AM

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fandom-blackhole · 3 years

Text

Hayloft- Ezra x Reader P.5

AN: After a bit of waiting here it is!!!! Part 5! I really love this chapter, so much so that I haven’t really edited it because I wanted to share it with you guys lol. So if you see something that doesn’t look right please tell me! Love you guys and I hope you like this chapter!

Masterlist

Words: 3.8k (almost 3.9k....this is the most I have written for one chapter lol)

Warnings: AFAB reader, descriptions of depression, mentions of attempted assault, this chapter gets a little spicy at the end so 18+ just to be safe?, that’s it we are back to fluff lol

According to the town doctor, Ezra had managed to break Tucker’s nose, two of his teeth, and fracture one of his eyesockets, while he himself on managed to get a bruised jaw, and swollen bloody and bruised fist. I, on the other hand, only suffered from a bruised forehead and cheek, miscellaneous scratches, and a bloody nose.

It had only taken about fifteen minutes before Anthony had been sent by my father to go looking for Tucker and Ezra. When he found the three of us, I am sure the scene in the barn was quite a shock. I wish I could say that I had seen his face when he realized what he was looking at, but by the time he had made his way to the back of the barn I had buried my face into Ezra’s neck as he held me and rocked us both trying to calm me down. I had heard Anthony coming, but I was too scared to look up, only clutching at Ezra’s torn shirt.

I did nothing but cling to Ezra as he told Anthony what he had stumbled upon and what he had done, spitting venomous words in Tucker’s direction and holding me close. Anthony didn’t say much and he only really grabbed my shirt that had been thrown aside and brought it towards where we both sat in the corner. Anthony had placed my shirt gently in my lap and gave me a small kiss on the top of my head, which in turn caused me to start crying again, and he then went and grabbed Tucker’s legs and dragged him out of the barn telling the two of us to that he was going to get father.

Ezra had slowly helped me to my feet and into my shirt, before grabbing my face and kissing the tears from my cheeks. Then he lead me from the barn slowly with his hand resting on the small of my back as my arms crossed across my torso holding myself tightly, my eyes not leaving the ground.

The rest of the day passed in pretty much a blur. I barely remember the doctor coming for a visit, I don’t remember how I got to the house, let alone into my room, and I don’t remember when I fell asleep.

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Once again I found myself staying in the house doing small tasks away from the others. The difference, though, was this time it was self imposed. I just couldn’t find it in me to make my way outside and be around the others. Especially knowing that I wouldn’t be able to interact with Ezra in the way that I wanted too, the way I needed too. So instead, I stayed inside and cleaned things that didn’t need to be cleaned, organized things that were already organzied, and cooked meals. I threw myself into anything that could distract me from the events that felt like had left a scar on my very soul. I felt broken and dirty, even though I knew that nothing had really happened. But, the thoughts and feelings of uselessness just wouldn’t fade and the crept into my every waking moment.

The only good that had come from the whole situation was that my father had taken to letting Ezra eat with the rest of us again. It was only then, when Ezra sat across from me with his easy smile and flourishing words that I would truely feel safe, and those thoughts that refused to leave me alone would fade to a static in the back of my head. Instead they were replaced with Ezra speaking openly as Anthony asked him questions, and my head was only full of the the sight of Ezra’s soft obsidian eyes swirling with the galaxies and stars he had seen on his adventures and his soft oddly soothing accented voice. My father always stayed quiet during meals only eating and maybe giving a small grunt if asked a question. My father even stayed quiet as each night Ezra would softly ask about my day and how I was feeling.

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

Things weren’t okay, but things were finally getting better.

Roughly two weeks after everything had happened with Tucker I had managed to get myself to do the laundry. What had finally pushed me to fill the tub with steaming water and get the soaps out was when I noticed that Ezra had been wearing the same clothes for the at least last three days if not longer.

It had taken all morning to get all of my father’s and Anthony’s clothes clean and hung onto the clothes line beside the house. After a short water break, I got to work on my clothes all the while keeping an eye out and taking note of any clothes that needed mended. My father had a couple of shirts with small tears along the seam, Anthony per usual had managed to tear the pockets on his pants and was missing a button on one of his shirts, while I only had a small tear on the back of my favorite shirt from where it had caught a lose nail.

Once I had hung my clothes to dry, I reached for Ezra’s to place them in the tub only to stop short. Ezra, when we had walked from town to the farm, had only been carrying a small sack in which he only could hold two or three pairs of clothes, at most. Looking at the shirt in my hand now, I was surprised the shirt was still in one piece. The shirt was thread bare from what I could only assume was years of use, it had several holes running along the bottom part of the left sleeve as well as wear on the right, and a few along the bottom hem in the front. The other shirt he had in there was worse for wear, having a huge tear near the neck from the fight with Tucker. The pants weren’t much better, the knees rubbed thin from years of kneeling on rough surfaces and the cuffs were scuffed and held several holes of varying sizes, not to mention the sizable hole that was in the crotch of the pants, that only served to turn my face red once I had noticing it, and caused me to wonder how he had managed to hide the hole without anyone noticing.

I washed Ezra’s clothes carefully with a frown, not wanting to cause more harm, all the while trying my best to remove as many stains as possible. As I was hanging the tattered clothes on the clothes line next to mine I couldn’t help but to wonder when the last time Ezra had bought himself new clothes, because it was obvious on both shirts that he had them both when he still had his other arm.

Shaking my head, I smoothed my hand over the shirt I had just washed with a sad smile before an idea caused me to hurriedly clean up the washing tub and put away the soaps quickly. Once back in the house I went to my room and grabbed my small sewing kit, as well as my button tin placing them onto my bed, before turning to my dresser and biting my bottom lip.

When my father had finally figured out that Joshua had left the farm for good he had gone into a blind rage and had made the decision to remove and sell everything he had left behind in his room. He started with the bigger things like his bed and the small desk he had made himself for Joshua. Then he got rid of the small dresser and all of Joshua’s small little nick nacks. When all that was left was Joshua’s clothes my father had marched out of the house and made a bonfire towards the back of the farm. When I had realized what he was doing, I had grabbed what I could without it being obvious and had hid them in the bottom of my dresser under my underclothes, knowing that my father would never look in that drawer.

Now, I reach inside and grab the three shirts, two long sleeved and one t-shirt, and a pair cargo pants. The shirts, while they didn’t have holes, it was obvious that they were second hand, as they each had their own signs of wear, but they were each still in much better condition than what Ezra owned now.

Turning to my bed, with my lip still between my teeth I gently laid the clothes onto my bed before taking a deep breath and getting to work. It hurt slightly knowing that by doing this I was erasing some of the few reminders of Joshua I still had in my life, but I knew in my heart that this more important than letting the clothing items waste away in my dresser. For the two long sleeved shirts, I took the right sleeve and cut it down and sewed it closed so that Ezra wouldn’t have to worry about pinning them up anymore, and for the pants I made it so that the waist was adjustable so that if he needed to he could tighten them or loosened them, because I wasn’t sure how well, or if, the pants would fit him. As for the t-shirt, I didn’t really do anything to it beyond mending the tear along the left side that I hadn’t noticed until I had went to refold it.

The next morning after breakfast I had gone outside and collected the clothes folding and mending them. My father’s and Anthony’s, I left on their beds, and mine I put away, but I left Ezra’s pile of clothes neatly folded on my bed. That night at dinner I had smiled and talked a little more than I had in the last few weeks. It was obvious that Ezra was also in a good mood, and he kept meeting my eyes and smiling at me when my cheeks would turn slightly red.

My father had went to bed almost as soon as Ezra had left the house. As I did the dishes, Anthony had come up behind me offering to dry them and put them away. I had only smiled and handed him the towel. We stayed silent as we finished the few dishes that were left. As I was drying my hands, I jumped a little when Anthony broke the silence saying my name. When I looked up at him he looked me in the eye and took a deep breathe before quietly asking, “When you leave, tell me so I can say goodbye, okay?”

Shocked I could only nod, looking back into his eyes as he stared into mine. He gave me a small smile and then he left the kitchen and I listened as he walked up the stairs and into his room. I stood there for a few minutes trying to really process what had just happened. I must have stood there longer than I had thought because by the time I had moved up to my room and looked out the window the sun was completely gone from the sky and two of K-5’s moons at already risen.

Walking to my bed I grabbed the stack of Ezra’s clothes, both new and old, and turned to quietly walk out of the room, only stopping at my dresser and grabbing the bundle of flowers I had found on the floor of the spare room and placing them on top of the folded clothes in my hands.

Creeping out of the house and into the barn was a new experience. I was used to sneaking around, and until about a month or so I had thought that I had perfected it. But, something about sneaking around outside felt different and it made me more paranoid than usual. Finally reaching the barn didn’t help matters, either. The main area of the barn felt as though it held unimaginable horrors in every dark corner, making me jumpy and scared for what I knew was nothing. Slowly, I made my way to the latter that lead to where I knew Ezra was, all the while my ears were alert and listening for any noise, nothing but the wind could be heard though.

Once in the hayloft I relaxed slightly, not completely though, and scanned the small area, squinting and trying to find Ezra. With my first scan of the area I didn’t see him so I stepped further into the hayloft, the small amount of hay that was up there crunching under my feet. This time as I scanned the area, I whispered out Ezra’s name, too scared to raise my voice any higher. At what I can only assume to be the sound of his name being called, I heard Ezra rustling behind me, and right as I turn in the direction of the sound I heard him call out, “Flower, is that you? Truly you? Because I must confess that I have had many dreams of this situation only to wake aching to hold you and hear your voice. And at this point if you are just another of my my traitorous mind’s illustrious illusions, I might have to break into the house and visit you myself…”

Sighing and smiling at Ezra’s confession all I could do was walk towards where his voice came from. Once I reached him I could see the melancholic look in his eyes in the low light of the small lamp he had lit after hearing my voice. After taking him in for a second, I shyly looked to the floor and bit my lip before clearing my throat.

“I, um… I brought you your laundry. And I hope you don’t mind but I also fixed them up to the best of my abilities, I’m not exactly a seamstress but the holes and tears are closed….”

Smiling Ezra held his hand out and helped me sit across from him on the floor of the hayloft. After sitting I slowly passed the clothes to him chewing on my bottom lip in anticipation of what his reaction would be to both his clothes and the new items I had made for him. Ezra’s first reaction was to small and take the flowers, reaching across and placing them behind my ear with a soft, ‘there, perfect’. Then we sat in silence as Ezra meticulously looked over his clothes with a small loving smile, and when he got to the new clothes the smile turned into more of a confused one as he looked up at me.

“Flower, you claim not to be a seamstress, but this stitching is as close to perfect as anyone would get, I don’t think anyone would think that there was even hole in any of these garments. For Kevva’s sake you even found and patched that embarrassing hole in the intimate areas of my pants that I have until now successfully and embarrassingly hidden from you and the other two. But, flower, I do think you may have mixed some of either your Father’s or your brother’s clothing in with mine, for I know without a doubt these are not mine.”

Looking down messing with my nails in my lap I quietly answered, “Well, you see...I noticed your clothes were, um, well for lack of a better term, worse for wear, and I had some of Joshua’s old clothes so I thought I would fix them up for you. Modify them slightly to fit you better.��

As I spoke, I could see Ezra sorting through the new clothes, unfolding them to inspect them. Slowly I raised my head to watch him as he rubbed the cloth between his thumb and forefinger. I watched as he realized that I had patched the right sleeves to fit what was left of his missing limb. And I watched as his eyes met mine, with a look in them that I couldn’t put my finger on.

Getting embarrassed I looked back down at my lap and finished what I was saying with a quick, “I only modified the new cloths because I didn’t want to mess with your clothes just in case you didn’t like the modifications, and if you don’t like it I can, I can just take them back to the house. You don’t have to kee-”

“You would have to pry this gratuitous gift from my cold dead hands, flower. These are………. Flower, I am a man of many words and you have managed to take them all away from me with this small, but pure, act of kindness. I must admit that I had not gotten new clothing for myself in quite some time, while it be because of self loathing or because I didn’t see the point in new clothes if they were to only end up like the ones I have now, I am not sure. But these are more than what I could ask for. Precious flower you really though of everything when getting these ready for me, didn’t you? Kevva above, what did I do in a past life to deserve your absolute beauty and kindness because gods know that I didn’t do anything good enough for you in this one.”

Laughing quietly, I could only shake my head as my eyes started to get watery. Looking back up at Ezra, I was only met with a gaze that held so much emotion that it almost hurt to return. Ezra then set the clothes to the side and moved closer to me, our knees pressed against each other, and he reached his hand out, pressing it into the side of my neck with a sigh.

“Flower, I must admit that it was starting to get to hard for me not to reach arcoss that damned table at meals and just touch you. I have missed your touch more than I ever thought possible. This time without your touch made walking through a desert without water seem much more comfortable and appeasing. Seeing you so close, and not being able to have you has torn this old prospector’s heart and soul to shreds. Darling precious flower, please allow me the salvation that is your lips on mine, for I think a second longer without them might spell my death.”

Laughing again at Ezra’s dramatics, I lean towards him only to to feel his hand pull me as close as possible as he crashes his lips against mine. I couldn’t help the small moan that escaped me as my lips met his in a kiss that felt like Ezra was trying to devour my very being. Ezra’s hand moved to the back of my neck, his fingers sinking into my hair. My own hands finding their way onto Ezra’s chest and into the hair above his ear, as he pressed his tongue against mine deepening the kiss.

By the time we seperated both of our chests were heaving for breathe, and I finally noticed that at some point during the kiss we had moved closer, I had ended up on Ezra’s lap with my legs wrapped around his waist.

Ezra smiled blissfully up at me and nudged my nose with his own, and when he spoke I could feel his breath fan aross my kiss swollen lips, “Thank you, flower, I can say that after a kiss like that, I don’t think I am going to die on you anytime soon.”

“So you are saying that one was enough? You don’t need anymore?”

Laughing, Ezra pulled back far enough to meet my eyes. “One, will never me enough with you, my sweet flower. You are as addicting as any forbidden substance and you should come with a warning for the weary travels like me.”

Before I could so much as laugh, Ezra connected our lips into another heart achingly passionate kiss. His hand moved from my neck to rub up and down my back and pulling me closer so that our chests are pressed tightly against one another. Using my leg to press closer to Ezra, I without realizing ground down onto him which pulled a gasp from me and a groan from him as Ezra bucked his hips up into mine allowing me to feel just how excited he was to see me.

Ezra pulled away from the kiss then and placed his hand onto my hip as he looked into my eyes with a serious expression and in the most serious voice I have ever heard him use he asked, “Flower, I need to know now if you want this, because if you say yes I would love to do nothing more than to worship every last part of you, and treat you like the absolute goddess that you are. But, if you do not want this, I understand. Afterall it was only a few weeks ago that-”

“Please, don’t talk about it… I.. I want this, Ezra,” and looking him dead in the eye I spoke quietly, “Ezra, please make me forget. Make me forget anything but you.”

With the consent that he was hoping and praying for, Ezra jumped into action pressing me off his lap and laying me onto the soft, but scratchy hay. Slowly he made good on his promise to worship my body. Slowly removing my clothes and revealing my body to him. He kissed, sucked, massaged, and marked every part of my body making me squirm for him.

When he undressed, he kissed me slowly and allowed me to run my hands over him, as he groaned and sighed at my touches. Once he had gotten impatient with only soft touches, he deepened the kiss as he pleasured me with his beautifully calloused and rough fingers, drawing out the first of many orgasms. After his fingers he followed with his mouth, making me moan and whine his name as he brought me to my peak as many times as I allowed him to, until I had to push his head away, too sensitive from his ministrations.

Moving back up my body, Ezra kissed me slowly as I came down from the high that he had thrown me into, all the while still stroking my body in anyway he could. Once I had caught my breath, Ezra moved his lips to my ear and whispered, “Are you sure you want this?”

And with a nod, because he had taken all my ability to speak anything but his name, he pulled back and sat on his knees as he pulled my hips and angled them, with my help, before he slowly pressed himself into me. I had been with a few boys from my planet, but they couldn’t compare to in any way to how full Ezra made me feel once he was seated fully inside of me. Moaning his name, all I could do was clutch at the hay that surrounded me as Ezra made love to me until we were both more than exhausted.

Laying in the hayloft with Ezra’s head resting on my heart, I had never felt more loved or happy or safe in my life. And all I could do was wish that this feeling or this moment would never end.

(Per usual THANK YOU for reading!! Every single one of you mean so much to me! All feedback is welcome, I especially love hearing your thoughts about the last chapter! Reblogs really help with spreading the story, so if you don’t mind, please reblog? And if you would like to be added to the taglist just shoot me an ask and I’d be more than happy to add you! I hope you guys have a lovely week and I’ll see you with the next part!)

Tags: @babybelou @farrvey @anatanotegami @revolution-starter @cadelinhadopedropascal @lucifurrr @coolfishoperatoreagle @pugdalorian @callsigncatfish @marydjarin @jeeperky

(Marked out people on the taglist, tumblr wouldn't let me tag you! Sorry!)

#pedro pascal #ezra prospect x reader #ezra x reader #ezra (prospect)#ezra (prospect) x reader #ezra prospect #ezra x female reader

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alch3mic · 3 years

Text

in between. (drabble series)

chapter three (words.)

prince!sans x gender neutral reader. 3k+ word count.

please be advised for themes of anxiety, panic attacks, self-doubt, some light cursing and sadness.

* the third chapter of the series, this time focusing on our dear underswap sans, prince! he has no official fic as of yet but has his own tag here on my tumblr that you can check out if you wish to learn more about him! thank you all very much and i hope you enjoy!

Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words shall never hurt me.

....

Bullshit.

...Whoever came up with that stupid rhyme must've never heard a cruel word spoken to them in their life!

...

...Or maybe they were trying to sell themselves the world's biggest lie...

....Because... words.. hurt.

They snapped.

They stung.

They burned.

They engraved themselves upon his bones as permanent reminder of his worth.

"Coward."

"Freak!"

"Idiot."

"Weirdo."

They sloshed and swirled inside his skull, drowning him in the waves of their meaning, pulling him down further and further with their weight like an anchor tied to his legs. They sang like a horrid symphony that refused to let him rest, violins screeching their painful notes while the drums bellowed out their laughter at him.

It was so loud.

So loud.

So.. damn.. loud...!

He..!

Couldn't think.

He couldn't breathe, he was...!

....

...Shaking.

He could hear his bones rattling as an accompaniment to the symphony of word in his head, his eyelights refusing to focus and the world practically became a blur around him. Every single thing was fading from his sight. The colors, the shapes, all of it falling away as the sounds sang louder and louder, drowning everything else out. The air felt putrid with every breath he tried to take in, making him want to gag on the horrid taste of it all.

"...ns.."

..Why..

Why did he think he could do this..!

After... what they said to him..!

After everything they.. they..!

..No...

No..!

He was..!

"......ans..!"

His teeth were chattering.

Clicking.

Tapping.

Adding to the unending concert of syllables as they picked up their pace and momentum. They were hitting their high point, the music of words becoming louder.. and faster and..!

His soul was pounding so painfully too, he feared it might just burst from his ribcage.

"sans!"

Panic.

He was panicking and.. and..!

He needed to..!

...

..Papyrus..

...

He could barely make out his brother's features anymore, his name becoming lost to the noises eating him alive.

What was he saying...?

'breathe.'

No.. he.. he couldn't..

He was choking.

Coughing.

Sputtering.

The air was refusing to enter his body anymore no matter how hard he tried.

The air was just too..!

He.. he couldn't..!

His magic was buzzing as it couldn't ventilate properly, straining and pulling against him, making his head spin further out of control.

He..

He couldn't do this.

He.. wasn't.. strong enough..

"You're.. not the person I once knew."

The words they were..

They were going to.. swallow him whole.

"Look at what you've become!"

"What's happened to you, Sans?"

He doesn't know.

He doesn't know!

He doesn't-!

"You're nothing but a shadow of yourself now."

No-! He's-!

He's still here!

He's still himself!

He's just-!

Just...!

"W-w-why di-did you... b-become l-like...this..?"

How the hell was he suppose to know!!

"...How.. disappointing.."

The words were..

Breaking him.

It hurt.

It hurt!

It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt! It hurt!

"sans!"

No.. please..

..Not him too.

Please.. he..

Couldn't take it anymore.

It was too loud it..!

It hurt too much.. he... he had to get away!

He had to get away..!

From this!

From them!

From those people he thought were...!

Just... get away...!

GET AWAY FROM HIM!

GET AWAY!

.....

And so he ran.

....

Or... he tried, until his brother caught his arm.

"sans! wait, please-!"

But he snatched his arms back, not wanting to hear anything anymore.

He just couldn't...

..Take anymore words...

.....

So he fled...

Out of the room.

Down the hall.

And away from those people...

....

His shoes were stomping against the floor as the tears filled his eyesockets, making the once blurry world a complete mess of runny colors and odd shapes.

How stupid was he... to believe he was strong enough to face them.

After everything they went through.

After everything they said-!

..He was..

....

He was still a coward.

....

And so he fled, like cowards do, every bone in his body screaming at him to just keep going far, far away from the source of those painful word.

From the people who.. he thought he trusted, a long time ago.

Who he thought would understand, but in the end they...

....

..Mocked him..

"The sky?"

He still remembers the disbelief on their features.

"Wait.. seriously? That's why you've been hiding inside? You're scared of the sky?"

...Yes...

"Sans it can't hurt you. Everything fine."

...He.. knows that...

"Then why?"

He.. doesn't know....

"I can't believe this!"

He.. can't either..

..What was...

...What was wrong with him?

"You're nothing like the skeleton I knew before."

..No.. he' still..

...Here..

"What happened to him?"

He doesn't know..!

Stop.. talking to him like he's someone else..!

He's right here!

He's still right here!

Why are they...?

"What happened to the 'Wonderful' and 'Magnificent' Sans?"

HE DOESN'T KNOW!

.....

...He just... doesn't... know anymore.

....

..Just like now, he didn't know where he was running to.

He didn't have much of a destination in mind, just that he had to go.

He just wanted to get.. away..

"ˢᵃⁿˢ!"

Just get away...

Away from this.

From the pain.

From the looks on their damned faces as they spoke those hurtful words that tore his mind and soul apart piece by piece.

They treated him like he wasn't aware of what he's become!

As if he didn't wish with every damn fiber of magic in his body that he wasn't like this!

A coward!

A disappointment!

An idiot who's so afraid of the open world around him that he couldn't even step outside anymore!

He-!

He wanted to go back.

He wanted to go back...! He wanted to go back!

He wanted to go back to who he was, before all of this but..!

....

The person he once was... was gone...

..He vanished into thin air the moment he took one look up at that sky on that fateful day..

...And the terror he felt had almost swallowed him whole....

..Or maybe it did.. and all that was left was a husk of a skeleton who use to have more confidence than he knew what to do with.

Now the simplest of words could.. break him.

And that.. was the hardest thing of all to accept.

....That somewhere along the way he had..

...

...changed.

And so.. like a coward he ran, wanting to hide somewhere no one would find him so he could lay there for all of eternity without a single thought in his head until he dusted. He was tired of this. He was tired of feeling this way! He was tired of them and these walls and that damned sky that struck fear into his bones every time he looked at it.

Why..?

Why..!?

Why couldn't he be.. him?!

Where did he go?

When did he lose himself..?

Who...

..Who was he...?

The quiet hallways threatened to split his head open as his thoughts poured all over the place, causing his soul to spasm and spiral out of control while he desperately tried to breathe in, but the air still refused to enter his lungs.

He needed something..!

Something to replace the noise..!

All of his hiding spots were inside and if he stewed in his thoughts much longer he really was going to come undone!

He just needed.. something...

Anything..!

Make it stop.

Make it stop!

MAKE IT STOP!

Woosh.

....

He drew in a heavy breath, all at once the scent of rain hitting his nasal bone and the sounds of water hitting the roof, disrupting the symphony.

Softly.

Gently.

Then harder, tapping and thundering against the roof as it...

Washed away the words inside is head.

....

...But they were still singing.

Even the sounds weren't enough.. he...

Glanced further down the hall, to a set of doors that led...

..Outside...

...

He swallowed, desperately chasing the harmony that made all the words fade away and taking a few careful steps towards it...

"ˢᵃⁿˢ!"

.....

Before running off.

....

..Right through the doors, throwing them open with what strength he had left and letting them close behind him as he bolted out into the rain.

It splattered and splashed against the tile, filling his head with nothing but their sounds as the droplets tapped against his empty skull. That tight burst of energy was fading from his chest, gradually falling further and further away as the fatigue set into his bones and he slowed down.

He finally come to a stop in the middle of the garden.

Gasping and heaving, he finally managed to take in some fresh air that filled his body with its cold embrace and overwhelmed his humming soul with relief. The rattling of his bones ceased... and soon he gained control over his breaths, willing his legs to take just a few more tiny strides further out to where no one could find him.

Out, past the normal confines of the garden and into some rose bushes...

...

He was.. exhausted..

Glancing around, the normally pink flowers scattered along the bushes were diluted by the cloudy skies above and harsh rain that thundered all around them. His shirt now stuck to his bones, sending a chill down his spine and making him feel heavy but.. he didn't care.

The symphony had silenced.. leaving him..

..Empty...

...and alone.

....

..Eventually it was all to much as his legs gave out, sitting down to the muddy ground and placing his skull on his knees as the world continued to rain down on him.

And it poured.

All alone in the garden, without a single thought in his head, Sans suffered.

The pain of it all marched on in his bones, gripping and grinding, threatening to break him apart bit by bit.

It hurt so badly and yet..

Yet there were no sticks, and no stones.

Just words.. and the marks they had left on his soul.

And it hurt.

And he was sure he would finally just break...

And his soul would finally give in..

And he'd come undone at the seams.

And...

It.. stopped.....?

He could still hear the sounds of the rain all around him, crashing and thundering upon the bushes and muddy grass, but it stopped tapping against his skull and instead began hitting something... else.

An umbrella..?

Sans picked his head slowly, still having so little energy after his fit of panic and looked up.

You smiled at him sweetly as you stood beside him, holding up an umbrella above as the world continuing its downpour.

..Ah...

...You..

....sat down.. right beside him in the mud, sheltering the both of you under the clear plastic umbrella as you glancing up at the clouded sky with a small look of peace on your features.

..Not a single word uttered from your lips.

..Instead you sat by him..

And even in the dull and grey world around you both..

He swore he could see your eyes shine.

He.. didn't know what to say.

The words just didn't come.

Normally his whole head would be buzzing of things to blurt when you were around, but they were all washed away with the rain.

...

..But maybe he didn't need to say.. anything.

At least not right now..

So slowly he let go of the tension in his chest, relaxing his shoulders and taking a few deep breaths as his eyelights also hesitantly traveled to the sky above. That once endless blue abyss was now covered under a patchwork of gray clouds making that ceaseless void just.. disappear.

In a way he almost felt like he was back underneath the mountain again and.. a strange form of peace also found its way to his soul.

...As did the tears.

Quietly they gathered, because even when the words weren't present in his mind.. his body still ached from the pain that they had caused. Somehow it even felt worse than any sticks, stones or even broken bones. Nobody could believe how much he was hurting because there were no physical wounds, just the throb left in his soul from their brutality. They ached in a way that couldn't be healed by magic... in a way that couldn't be explained or cured..

It's clear that they had.. no idea what they were doing to him anymore.

How badly their words had hurt him, because he tried to hide it all under fake smiles.

He wasn't.. unbreakable anymore.

Somewhere along the way.. he had become so fragile...

And yet they still stacked all of their expectations on top of him.

...Then they mocked him when he just couldn't keep up...

....

He..

...blinked once, catching something on his peripheral vision and glancing towards you again.

Carefully you held out a handkerchief to him.

....That was..

The same one he gave you... those few months ago, when those delicate tears had been falling from your eyes.

....

"...I..." he began softly, tearing away his gaze for a moment as a wave of embarrassment washed over him at his current state.

He was a complete mess with his shirt coming undone, soaked to the bone and his eyesockets brimming with tears.

"..THANK YOU.."

All this time he had built himself up to you as a perfect prince.

He was so desperate for you to.. see him as that....

Kind, strong, charming.. and most of all brave.

..And.. now he's tarnished all that hard work by running and crying in the rose bushes like a coward. Still, he tried to gather what remained of that broken image and took the handkerchief from your hands, wiping away his eyesockets.

Heh...

He really was pathetic wasn't he..?

And.. a liar.

....And you..

Must surely hate him now.

"...FORGIVE ME, MY DEAR.. I JUST.."

The words left again as the rain stole them all away with their pitter and pattering...

"It's okay," you said softly gifting him that gentle smile of yours again. "There's no need to apologize or explain yourself to me."

..Why..?

Everyone else practically demanded an explanation out of him.

Why was he like this?

Why did he lock himself up inside?

...Surely you wanted to know too right?

So, why were you..?

You didn't say anything else..

And neither did he.

So the two of you sat quietly in the middle of the rose bushes as the world poured out it's tears all around you for what felt like a small eternity.

Until he stood up suddenly and pocketed that handkerchief.

"..Sans..?"

He smiled at you rather sadly, but offered his hand. You clearly look up at him a little confused and a bit worried, but didn't hesitate to take it as he helped you stand up as well. The both of you were coated in mud now and the refreshing rain began tapping on his skull once again.

"..Did you want to go back..?"

"...NO," he said softly, taking a moment to admire then gentleness in your expression. "BUT STRANGELY I DON'T FEEL MUCH LIKE SITTING IN THE MUD AND CRYING ANYMORE EITHER.. SO.."

The words threatened to leave again, but he shook his head and steeled his resolve.

"WOULD YOU DANCE WITH ME?"

..He couldn't help but love that surprised look on your face...

..But he loved it even more when you smiled at him, and without a single moment hesitation you threw the umbrella to the ground and let the rain begin to douse you too. He lightly took your hand in his, placing the other on the wonderful curve of your hip as you put your free hand on his shoulder. The two of you fell into an easy and comfortable rhythm, the same one the two of you always fell into when you danced, with nothing but the downpour to accompany you as you swayed.

Just like with the rain, you always brought such an easiness to his soul.

You were always so refreshing and calm, and with you it always seemed like his troubles were so far away. A part of him really believed he could just be himself around you..

..Perhaps that's why he's always so desperate to hide it all behind charming smiles and lavish words..

He didn't want to.. scare you away.

He didn't want you to look at him in that way everyone else did.

He wanted to keep you right here, with the rain dousing you both as your clothes stuck to your form, with wet hair and a sweet and gentle smile that was reserved just for him.

....

..He..

He wanted this to be the fairytale he always read about as a babybones...

With a truly happy ending...

And he really thought he had it now that he had you with him here...

No longer a friend just visiting, but... you now called his place your home.

And you gave him your love.

....

..But.. life keeps going.

And the past.. comes back to haunt you in the shapes of people who you once thought of as friends.

.....

....Would you..

...Become the same way.. one day..?

.....Was this happily ever after.. only temporary..?

He.. didn't want to let go..

He wanted to stay here, under the rain and lost in this fantasy...

..but he did, staring at the wonderful expression on your face as you took the hand from his shoulder and lightly placed it on his cheek. It was a touch so gentle and full of love, he couldn't help but lean in to it and let out a small breath.

"CAN YOU PROMISE ME SOMETHING, MY DEAR..?"

"..What is it..?"

He hesitated for a moment, watching as the droplets of rain gently glided down your face, dousing your hair and your clothes.

"...WOULD YOU..?"

..Again the words fell away.

He took in a struggling breath, trying to push them out but his fears kept them wound tightly inside his chest. He never wanted to be without you again. He never wanted to think of a day where he would wake up and you wouldn't be by his side. He couldn't stand the thought of you becoming... like them..

You were.. so good.. and.. he was...

"Sans."

...

..He never wanted a day again where you wouldn't say his name so tenderly...

....

You took your other hand from his and also placed it on his face.

"I promise, I'm not going anywhere."

....

"I'll always be right here for you."

.....

"Because there's no one else in the world I love quite as much as the skeleton here before me right now."

....

You loved.. him..

Not the person he was before.

...But him.. as he was now..

....

..And that's exactly why he could never let you go...

So instead he pulled you close, burying himself in the comfort of the crook of your neck and letting those quiet words of love soak into his bones..

Softly.

Gently.

Then harder, tapping and thundering against his soul as it...

Washed away the words inside is head.

...

..Only leaving him with thoughts of you.

...

And...

How he will do anything to desperately hold on to this..

...happily ever after...

#the music hit just right when i was editing this and hooo boy #did it make me kinda sad #i'm sorry my poor boy #prince!sans #sans #undertale #underswap #underswap sans #undertale fic #yandere sans #long post #fic #fanfiction #drabble #anxiety tw #panic attack tw #alch!writes #inbetween!fic

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aka-indulgence · 4 years

Text

Your Nightmare

Commission for the amazing @someseriousthot!

Thank you for commissioning me >u<

Ao3 Link!

Warning: Kidnapping, and some *close call* stuff... Think “Lime”. (More specific warnings tagged in ao3 because I don’t want the platform to get mad at me -v-)

(Nightmare Sans/Reader)

You’re an ordinary human. A decent person, if anything. Kind, and gentle.

He should’ve hated everything about you.

But... he doesn’t. The fact couldn’t be further away from that.

He’s obsessed with you, and he lets you know through the countless nightmares he feeds you every night he visits.

And soon... You’re going to become his.

It was dark.

Darker than the night, darker than black.

It was void where you stood. You can’t move. You don’t know where you are- but it feels like you’ve been stuck here forever. You try to move your legs, your hands- tried to look around, call for help, anything- but you couldn’t so much as to wiggle your fingers. All your efforts only seemed to succeed in making you tremble. You try to breathe, but it felt like a ton had been weighed on your chest, struggling to get air in you. The fear seeped through you as you realized…

You were paralyzed.

You stand there, struggling until you see something- someone forming in the distance.

There… Appears a figure that had been haunting you, one that fills you with dread every time they revealed themselves. If you weren’t already paralyzed where you were, you would’ve felt like you’ve frozen when you saw… him.

A skeletal figure materialized before you, his whole body black- somehow darker than the void you were in. Black like the emptiness of space and worse, save for one blue light illuminating his left socket. Tentacles were writhing behind him as he watched you, a wide, eerie smile plastered on his face, devoid of kindness or mercy. His entire body is drenched in with what looks to be black sludge, covering his right eyesocket completely, the ooze dripping off his tentacles as they continued to twist and turn behind him.

Your nightmare begins.

He stares you down, and when he takes a step forward, the instinct to flee immediately takes over you, breaking yourself out of your paralysis. You twist your body away from him, quickly breaking into a sprint. Your breath escapes you too fast, and you feel tired, your chest still feeling as if something’s constricting it.

Every movement you make felt like it needed so much effort, and though it looks like you were running in a vast emptiness, it felt like non-existent walls were closing in on you.

The figure doesn’t even have to do much. When you look behind, you see him walking at a leisurely pace, yet every step he makes brings him closer and closer to you. Your desperate running feels like it’s taking you nowhere. The closer he gets the more excited he looks, that blue eye of his glowing brighter, almost electrically so, while his tentacles start to move rapidly, making increasingly excited movements.

You start to scream.

———————————————————————————————————

Nightmare stands by your bedside, staring down your sleeping form. A single inky black tentacle is imbedded into your head, making soft, wave-like movements as he fed his nightmare into you. Even though he’s out here in the waking realm, he was also inside your nightmare, watching you as you desperately try to escape him, his grin widening both in nightmare and reality as he closes in on you.

It always was exciting the closer he got to you, to have you tangled up in his tentacles.

You toss and turn in your bed, an occasional whimper escaping you. His blue light dilates while his grin sharpens sadistically.

He’d be lying if he said he didn’t enjoy the view.

This is a common scene in Nightmare’s day-to-day. He’s been quietly feeding on the negative emotions of humans and monsters alike, visiting them in their sleep and giving them nightmares to feed on their fear and horror. But for some reason… he’s been especially drawn to you, and Nightmare keeps finding himself standing in your room like he is now, pleasuring in your listless, restless sleep.

By all means, Nightmare should be repulsed by you- your soul glowed the brightest in the area around you. You were happy, pleasant, gentle. Always looking for the best out of life, a smile always seeming to grace your face. You saw the best of people. Everything good Nightmare could list was a part of you.

You were brave, fair, kind, patient. You had a stable and strong moral ground, and you persevered when life gets you down… Determined to go through your life as a decent person.

It was everything that Nightmare hated.

Yet…

Somehow… Those were the exact reasons he found himself so drawn to you. Pull him in to keep coming back again and again to your room, where you were sleeping peacefully in his absence.

And when he entered your dreams and turned it all into a nightmare… He’d revel when that peaceful face of yours turns into that of agony and panic.

Every time he inflicted his nightmares on you… It’s the most thrilling nights he ever has.

When he first found you, he hadn’t directly made an appearance in your nightmares. He was just a shadow- creeping along the edges of your consciousness, letting you feel his presence. Watching every one of your reactions as he twisted your dreams into something horrifying.

But even from the first night, already Nightmare had become curious about you. And as he became more and more interested, the thought of letting you see him… It made him excited like nothing else. To let you meet the entity that terrorized you so, to see your eyes on him, and only him- unable to look away out of sheer terror.

It sent a pleasurable shiver down his spine.

He’d appear to you in the dream, forming out of a puddle of black in the ground, slowly making himself apparent. Sometimes, he wouldn’t appear immediately. Creeping around, letting you get more and more anxious as you traveled the dreamscape, unable to shake off the feeling that you’re being followed. When you notice him, the fun begins- your face contorting to panic once you see him. If Nightmare had a heart, he’d say it was pumping hard while he chased you down through the abstract architecture that formed his nightmares.

Sometimes, he’d give you a head start. Letting you run away for a while after you’d see him. It always brought a smile to his face when he sees the look of terror in your eyes, suddenly seized by his squirming tentacles, having appeared directly behind you.

Whenever he chased you through your dreams, something predatory seemed to awaken in him…

There was a thrill whenever he chased you down- his prey. He’d play around with you, make you think like you could escape him, only to let you know that you couldn’t escape his nightmare. Every time he got closer to you he could feel his smile widen while his tentacles swerved and turned- craving to have you in them. Most dreams he’d let you go- leaving right before he got to you. But sometimes he’d catch you, and he’d take sadistic glee when you find to your horror that you couldn’t wake up from your nightmare.

Being able to turn someone with so much positivity in them, who’s soul shone like a bright light in a sea of others, into such a fearful and anxious little thing gave him a sense of immense power. He felt so much control over you, it was addicting. So satisfying to turn someone’s joy into fear, and yours was particularly delicious to him because of how drastic the change was.

But it wasn’t just that sense of power that’s brought him back to your room night after night… It’s exactly your glowing soul that’s got him hooked onto you.

Nightmare is an entity of darkness- someone who’d get hurt if he was exposed to the light. Even if it didn’t, it was in his nature to be disgusted by it, to have the urge to extinguish it.

But…

Because of the nightmares he inflicts on you, all that powerful positive energy could be turned negative. And so, he could spend time with you without having that urge to snuff out your light. And even when your nightmares ended, your soul turning back from a dim, fearful one into that soft glowing light, like a firefly in the night… Nightmare found himself drawn to it.

He doesn’t understand why. Maybe because he’s gone so long without the light, always filled with the need to get rid of it whenever it’s near, that when he finds something… Someone that didn’t repel him, Nightmare isn’t willing to let go. He’s spent so long without the light, he’d forgotten about why it was such a good thing in the first place.

And he basked in your light.

Nightmare takes a deep inhale, groaning as he feeds. You were screaming in his nightmare, and it’s then that he’s had his fill. He retracts his tentacle, a shlorp audible as it finally pulls out of your head.

After a few more gasps and whimpers of you collecting yourself, you calmed down. You returned to a peaceful slumber, breathing in relief when you realize the nightmare is over.

Because you had so much positive energy that Nightmare could convert into something negative, he’s always able to satisfy himself in one night from feeding on your fears alone. And so Nightmare could spend some time just with you for the rest of the night.

He didn’t need anyone else.

Your soul slowly starts to gleam again, filled with relief and calmness.

Nightmare doesn’t just find it tolerable… He finds the soft glow of your soul beautiful.

Now that his nightmare is over and Nightmare’s had his fill, he should be able to retreat to the darkness and rest himself.

But he just couldn’t tear his eyelight away from your sleeping face. The way the moonlight made it look like your skin glowed… That silky hair.

You look so calm and serene… Oblivious to his presence.

So innocent… So pure.

He wanted to touch your light, keep it to himself.

He gives in to his temptations, and slowly, he peels the blanket off your sleeping body, curled up from the fear that took over you in your nightmare. Now, you’ve considerably relaxed, no longer clutching onto the blanket, your muscles lax. The nightgown you wore draped over your body in such a way that made his breaths quicken, make him want to run his hands up and down you, feel every curve and inch of your skin. Two tentacles move forward, circling around your chest and your legs, gently lifting you off the bed. He slides into it, right where you slept with his back to the headboard, and slowly lowers you on top of him.

He exhales as his tentacles retract, placing your head on his chest while your legs laid between his. So close to you, he could smell your hair, a soft sweet scent.

Vanilla? Or… Caramel?

It was the scent of home. Of morning sun in your hair.

Whatever it is, Nightmare enjoyed it, taking deep breaths of it. He put his skull on top of your head while he smelled more of you, his arms coming around to embrace you. One hand rested on your waist while the other came up to your cheek- hesitating for a moment before he ran his phalanges along the soft skin, sighing as he leans back. His tentacles come closer, instinctively drawn to you, to your warmth. His breaths start to slow as he pulls you closer, pressing you in the slightest to his chest as he buries his face in your hair. His tentacles tenderly wrap around you without his conscious thought.

One winding around your arm up to your wrist, another twisting around your waist, down your left thigh, to your calf. Another climbed up your right leg, and another circles around your chest drawing near your center, above your soul.

He gently cups your cheek as he presses his skull to your crown, reveling in the closeness, the intimacy of your position on him. He could feel your quiet breaths brush against his neck, a pleasured rumble building in his chest.

He always enjoyed whenever he managed to have you to himself in these quiet nights. It was many nights ago that Nightmare had found himself staring down at your sleeping body, having no intentions on leaving so soon. He watched your glowing soul, his eyelight roaming all over you, tempting him to touch you, pulling him into your bed, to entwine himself around you.

Nightmare found himself addicted to yet another part of you- the softness of your body against him, your face so close to his when he holds you.

He was at ease when he held you… And it had a calming effect on you too. You didn’t fight him off when he picks up your sleeping body, nor did you flinch when his tentacles wrap around you. It filled his chest with a feeling of want, like you weren’t afraid of him, that the sensation of his tentacles and sludge against you didn’t disgust you. His breath comes out shakily at the thought. He holds it when he feels you nestling up against him, unafraid, unaware of the sinister entity that was holding you.

He lets his phalanges slide down from your cheek to your neck, stroking it thoughtfully. You make quiet whimpers and mewls as his phalanges traces over your skin, sounds that excited him. Make him want you closer- to cover you up with his inky black gunk and claim you as his.

There were no nightmares. No fear, no anxiety. He’s just… Resting with you, letting himself roam over you, feel you- his leg brushing up against yours. Just a quiet moment that Nightmare could indulge in. He never had quiet moments- something was always going on. Whether it’s causing corruptions in a universe so he could feed, or fighting off those intervening Star-Sanses, Nightmare had always been on the move. And so he savors these quiet moments.

Just him and you. One small human in his embrace as he rests through the night. Something… Someone positive he could indulge in.

During the nights when he’s in your bed like this, his tentacles coiled around you… He gets the most tempted to just take you, to bring you back with him. He’s become obsessed, with this human that wouldn’t seem special to anyone else. A normal human in a mundane universe.

His other hand trails down your stomach down to your leg, slipping under the gown to touch your thigh. Feeling the warmth on his phalanges, his breaths becoming heavier…

He wants to take you back to his domain, his pocket dimension where his castle resides. He’d be able to keep you all to himself, where no one would disturb his time with you… Where he could spend as much time as he wanted with you.

He’s wanted to do that as soon as he realized he’s become obsessed with you. But he grits his teeth, knowing he can’t do that just yet.

The irritable Star-Sanses had driven him away from his territories, managing to have the upper hand recently. They managed to take Killer away from him- one of the most useful members of his group, someone who had no emotion and could kill easily because of it. They somehow got way too close to his “kingdom” for his liking, and it drove him to hide away. With his castle under “surveillance”, the so-called Sanses looking for him to turn up again, he couldn’t return to it lest he gets pulled into another battle with them.

He’d jump from universe to universe, eventually losing their pursuit, when he found your universe. There was nothing outwardly special about yours, which was exactly why it was such a good place for him to hide and lay low for a while. Biding his time, storing his energy… When he meets them again, he’ll give them one hell of a fight.

Soon, however… He’ll be able to take you. Something else is happening in the multiverse, causing corruption and destruction. Another universe-hopping entity running amok. The Star-Sanses had stopped looking for him, their attention pulled away. Soon, Nightmare will be able to return to his realm.

And when he does… He’ll bring you along with him.

He holds you for a bit longer, letting his tentacles smother you, his phalanges stroking your chin. He closes his socket, savoring the moment… When he notices the first few rays of sun reaching the floor of your room. His calm grin turned into a frown, his phalanges curling up around your face.

It was time to leave.

Reluctantly, he pulls back all but two of his tentacles, picking you off of him, gently laying you back down once he’s gotten off your bed. His tentacles linger for a few moments longer before finally unwillingly pull back from you.

Night after night, his urge to have you grows.

Nightmare remains where he was beside your bed, his single eyelight watching your restful face, the morning light bouncing off of your skin.

Even though he always took pleasure in your pretty, fearful face… When your face isn’t distorted by fright, peacefully resting like this, you look beautiful.

He pulls the blanket back onto you, tucking you in. He wanted to make sure you’ll have a comfortable rest.

Because soon, you might not have anymore of those.

He leans in near you, putting his teeth close to your ears, and whispers.

“Sleep well, my dear… Soon, we’ll be able to meet.”

———————————————————————————————————

The sound of scrubbing filled the air as you brush your teeth, spitting the foam into the sink soon after. You cup your hands under the faucet and splash your face with water, feeling the droplets trickle down your chin. You wash your face and spray more water, looking at the mirror as the suds clear away from your face.

… You look horrible.

You hadn’t had a restful night in a long while. You couldn’t- you’ve been having nightmares lately, and they only seem to get worse. They all had one thing in common- a dark skeletal figure, oozing with darkness, with twisting and thrashing tentacles that looked like they were always searching for you.

It was always the same. As soon as you notice, you were running. You’d run as much as you could, hid the best to your abilities, desperate to get away from him (you always assumed they were a he…). But he was relentless. Every bit of running you did never seemed to deter him, and there was always a way for him to stay on your heels while his tentacles reach for you. Sometimes you’d wake up right before he got to you, or when you manage to fall into a pit.

Then there are times when his tentacles would find you…

Thinking about it just gives you shivers. It’s as if you could feel the ooze on your skin as they squirmed all over you- grabbing you by your leg when you were hiding somewhere, screaming as you were lifted into the air, face to face with your captor. The figure had a sadistic smile present whenever he heard you screaming, struggling to free yourself of his bonds. His laughing only got louder and more manic as more of his tentacles grabbed you- and you couldn’t stop screaming. You’d think that you’d be able to wake up once he’s caught you, but there are times where you’d stay in that position for so long. Where all you do is try to break out of his hold, only to have more of those dripping black tentacles cover over of you.

… It was always the worst when he caught you.

Sometimes he’d speak to you. His voice was deep, something dark lying underneath it. Like the devil trying to coax you into giving him your soul. He’d taunt you as you were running, telling you to

“Run away, little girl. Run away from your monster.”

It sounds as if he spoke to you both from where he was and inside your mind. It reminded you how no matter what you did… He was always behind you.

He spoke to you while he caught you as well, his voice dripping with false sympathy, saying how “What a poor thing you are, trapped and hopeless…” while you struggled to keep his tentacles away from you.

You started to dread going to sleep. It used to come by every week or so, then it became twice a week, then every other day, and eventually every night… You would be visited by a nightmare. When night falls you’d get anxious, and you wonder… Why was it always the same entity that appeared in your dreams? They were the most vivid dreams you’ve ever had, feeling every inch of his slimy, horrid tendrils when you became entangled in them.

You’ve told your friends about the recurring nightmares and even went to a psychologist once. You told them about the skeletal figure that chased you relentlessly throughout your nights, making your mornings feel tired and restless. You don’t know where he came from- you’ve had uncomfortable dreams before he suddenly appeared, and he kept returning ever since. It always felt so real, and you were terrified of him.

But most of them have told you the same- it was just a dream. “He’s not real,” They’d say. “He can’t hurt you,” They’d say. It may be a form of something bad in your life turning into something awful in your mind when you slept. He can’t get to you.

You laughed it off then- feeling like a child. It was just in your dreams, in your head. Probably some kind of manifestation of your subconscious. You might be having terrible night terrors, but he isn’t real and he can’t catch you when you’re awake and conscious.

… But… Sometimes, late at night when you’re in between sleep and consciousness… When you peek out of your eyelids, you swear you could see a shadowy figure in the corner of your room, watching you unblinkingly with that glowing blue orb as you fall asleep. And every time you managed to jolt your self awake, searching for him- he wasn’t there.

You don’t know what to believe- sometimes you fear that you might be going insane.

But as much as you dreaded those nightmares, you knew you needed sleep.

You’ve tried avoiding it once. Try to keep yourself awake, sitting in your bed, only to end up falling asleep anyways. You had the nightmare again- but it felt worse. Even in the dream, you felt lethargic and weak, and your anxiety felt ten times worse. The skeletal figure had again appeared and had easily caught you, pulling you close to him and laughing at you when you can’t even struggle against him, wishing for your nightmare to end.

You couldn’t avoid it, so you didn’t try to anymore. It was just something you had to go through your nights now.

You slip into your nightwear, walking towards your bedroom. You do your best to ignore the uneasiness creeping up on you as you enter, locking the door. You turn off the lights and slip into bed, thinking of good thoughts to calm yourself down, preparing yourself to sleep.

As you slowly slip silently into unconsciousness, your mind is suddenly alert when you see him. A dark corner of your room, grin flashing on his face.

You’re lying on your side, an arm dangling off the bed when you saw him. The dread you felt earlier comes back with a vengeance as you try to scream, but your lips barely move. You try to get away, to hide, but your utmost efforts only bring a twitch to your finger.

You’re in sleep paralysis.

The realization hits you like a truck, and through your unmoving eyes, you see him start to come closer. Your heart hammers in your chest, your mind screaming for you to move but your body doesn’t obey. You feel your breath quicken as you’re forced to watch his approach. Eventually, you manage to get your dangling arm moving, throwing it on top of the blanket. You grab it and with what little control you have, pull it up over you, hiding you.

You try to control your breathing as you peek out of the blanket.

He isn’t moving anymore, and when you look twice- you notice he hadn’t even moved from the spot in his corner. Your eyesight wavers and the figure just turns into static shadow in the corner of your room. Your heart continues to thump in your chest as you stare out, fearing if he was going to return, but you don’t see any movement. Eventually, you tell yourself that this is enough, giving in to your exhaustion, and your eyes close.

…

You’re… Somewhere else.

You were still on a dark landscape, but standing in front of you was a black castle. Darker than the rest of where you were, reminding you of him.

But as you turn around, looking in all directions, searching… He was nowhere to be seen. And something you noticed very quickly was the fact you could move at all.

Having nothing else to do, you walk through the entrance, grand, reminding you of royalty. As you moved through the black hallways, running your hand along the walls, feeling its smoothness, you wonder.

Why are you here?

It didn’t feel like your usual nightmare. It felt more like a surreal, weird dream. You could think much more clearly, and you didn’t feel fear building inside of you. But even so, something about the castle made you uncomfortable. Like something’s not right.

… Like you’re being watched.

You spend what feels like hours just exploring and turning around the winding hallways, climbing up and down ebony stairs, when you finally reach an opening in what seems to be the heart of the castle. Its entrance is grand as well. Not as big as the one you used to enter the castle, but it felt more… regal.

When you enter, you see two chairs pressed to the wall.

This is probably the throne room.

One of the thrones is huge- tall and imposing, fit for a ruler. Somewhere where they would be able to look over the room and address anyone in it. Next to it is a smaller throne.

Even though it was smaller and black like everything else, it was adorned with decorations. Some patterns swirled and winded along its back and top.

You couldn’t stop staring at the smaller throne. It felt… Right, for once. It set your chest at ease. You wanted to keep looking at it, feeling an inexplicable draw to it, like you were being pulled towards it. A voice inside your mind tells you

Sit. Sit on it. You want to sit on it, it looks so pretty and nice. You want to sit on it.

Without making conscious effort, your body obeys, your feet bringing you closer to it step by step. It felt like it belonged to you… It felt like you belonged there. Like that’s where you’re supposed to be. It brought you a sense of rightfulness and a sort of strange joy in you.

A smile tugs at your lips as you approach.

You want to sit on that throne.

But as you draw nearer… You stop yourself, your smile falling. Where are all these feelings coming from? It is a beautiful chair, especially now as you stand closer you could see more of the intricacies on the patterns that adorned the throne- but you don’t understand why you felt so drawn to it.

You stand in front of the throne, thinking- only to start screaming a moment later when abruptly, tendrils shoot out of the throne, grabbing you by your limbs. You get tossed and turned, and you lose your “breath” when you’re yanked into it, your back hitting the throne with such a force that you cry out. You shriek as the black tentacles coil tighter around you, fighting to get out of the seat. To your horror, you realize the familiarity of the black appendages holding you down, reminding you of something… Someone else. Your efforts in struggling doubles, shutting your eyes as you pulled against the tight grasps, managing to stand up a bit- screaming again when a pair of bony hands clamp down on your wrists, jerking you back.

You immediately open your eyes. The castle’s gone, and you’re back in that void you’ve become so familiar with- with the same entity that had been haunting your nights. He holds you to him, his head next to yours, watching you with one electric blue orb. His grin is sharp and wide, so close to your face as you cry- he’s tightened his grip on you, and it’s starting to hurt.

“You can’t run from me anymore, (Y/n).” His voice spreads throughout the void and booms in your head, full of mania. “You can’t run away from your Nightmare.”

“No! No- let me go, please!” You shout and sob, but no one else hears you. He only laughs in your face and you start to drown in his black sludge as it fills the void. It rises with an alarming rate, coming from your legs up to your chest and neck, finally reaching your face. It covers you and spills into your mouth, and you start to choke-

…

You gasp as you shoot straight into sitting position, throwing your blanket off the bed. You pant and gasp for air, your eyes wide with fright as you look around the room frantically. You could feel beads of sweat rolling down your temples, the damp cloth sticking to your back.

… That’s new.

Your frantic breathing eventually turns quiet, and you take a deep breath, swallowing thick saliva.

Another nightmare.

But this one felt… Different. It was always somewhere dark where the nightmarish entity chased after you, and it certainly wasn’t the first time he’s caught you- but you’ve never seen that castle before. It sounds silly considering it was a dream, but usually, you were running on that vast plain of darkness that threatened to swallow you whole, or someplace with abstract shapes where he’d play “Hide and Seek” with you. You’ve never been somewhere with clear-cut features.

And you’ve never had a moment of calm before your nightmare. It always started quickly- as soon as you were there, the figure would make himself apparent to you, and his hunt would begin.

This… This was something new.

Tick… Tick… Tick…

But still, it was another nightmare.

You look to your side, to the clock hanging on the wall of the room. 3 AM. You could still go back to sleep. You felt groggy, sluggish, tired- and afraid. So, so afraid. But now that you’re awake, knowing it was just another nightmare, you feel your nerves settling, feeling the cool air on your skin.

You spend some time just gathering yourself. You breathe long and deep, pressing your palms to your face, giving yourself a moment.

It’s ok. It’s just a nightmare. You’re ok, (Y/n).

You gave out a loud exhale, emptying your chest of air before breathing again, staring at your room. It’s quiet, the air only filled with the sound of your ticking clock. Your eyes wander to your window, hanging ajar. The curtains flew gently in the wind, and as you look longer at it you think the moon must be full because it lit up your floor a soft blue. You enjoy that your room wasn’t pitch black- something that’d remind you of the void in your mind. You smile, yawning, filling your lungs with cool, soothing air, feeling drowsiness creep back into you. You blink your eyes tiredly, deciding to go back to sleep.

… But then… You see something moving in the shadows.

Your eyes move from your window to the floor, where the shadow of your curtains moved along the wind.

… There’s something else that peeked out of the corners of your room, slowly swaying.

A shadow of one lone tendril, waving in the air. Your breath gets stuck in your throat, and your eyes widen. Your mouth turns dry as your eyes trail up to the tentacle casting the twisting and writhing shadow on the floor, glistening under the moonlight.

You follow along the tentacle, and you see more, moving in similar patterns, curling and uncurling as if they were restless.

Time seemed to stop when you see a grin in the shadow, one blue orb glowing above it, slightly lidded.

… No.

His eyesocket widens and the orb glows brighter when you make eye contact. He takes a step out of the shadows, and you see him- A skeleton with a jacket and shorts, glistening and drenched in what looks like black sludge, taking slow step after slow step closer to you.

… No no no!

This can’t be happening! You’re still dreaming, it’s not real!

“Oh, but my dear…” He speaks, his grin turning malicious, apparent that he’s enjoying the look of terror that must be on your face. “This isn’t a dream…”

“I am your Nightmare.”

Your heart pounds in your chest, clamming up once you’ve heard him speak. But as he gets closer and closer, whatever spell you were in breaks and you quickly turn your body away, jumping off your bed and heading for the door- when black tentacles grab at your arm and legs. You squeal and kick as you’re picked clean off the ground, the slimy members coiling around tightly until you couldn’t move more than a jerk here and there. You’re abruptly pulled towards him, pressed chest to chest, feeling the inky black substance cover your skin.

Your breathing turns rapid and shallow, realizing you can smell him. He smells damp and musty, like something old and forbidden. Of untouched crypts, of rain on hot tarmac. He smelled bad, and not in the sense that he smelled bad- He smelled wrong, like a bad memory tugging on your mind, of something bad that’s about to come.

In all your nightmares not once have you smelled him.

This is real.

Your nightmares had always felt scarily real, but when you feel his tentacles now, on your arms and legs, feeling its slime rubbing off of you and soaking you… Your heart feels like it’d jumped when you come to the terrifying realization that this is real.

He is real.

You immediately open your mouth to scream, but just as quickly, a tentacle wraps around your head and covers your mouth. The skeleton laughs darkly as you feel another tendril slowly glide around your neck, staring at him with wide eyes.

His blue eye lights up with glee as he sees you fight against his tentacles, your sounds of struggle muffled by them as it felt like more and more of his tentacles kept wrapping around you. His sludge covers up every surface of your body until you’re completely drenched in it, save your eyes.

His manic grin takes up all your attention as a skeletal hand cups your face, almost tenderly so, surprising you. His sockets lid while his smile starts to look drunk, the blue light of his eye dilating. “No more running away, (Y/n)…” He murmurs, eyelight watching you unwaveringly.

The expression on his face turns intense as he seems to lose solidity, losing his form and sinking into the ground, taking you with him.

“I’ve caught you.” He growls, “ And you’re mine.”

He sinks into a puddle in your room, as more of your screams are muffled, your tears pooling in your eyes as you try desperately to escape. One hand manages to reach out of his muck before he grabs it. He pulls you down with him until you’re completely engulfed by his slime, disappearing into the floor, leaving no trace behind.

…

Tick… Tick… Tick…

The clock in your room continues to run, the curtains gently swaying in the wind. Your room is empty with only a messy bed while moonlight filters into the room… It’s as if you weren’t even there.

Your nightmare begins.

#someseriousthot #commission #sans/reader #nightmare!sans/reader #female reader #hohoho :)#there are some *close call* scenes in this fic #so be careful before you read it!#I post this on tumblr but ao3 tags are much more helpful...#-v-;

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