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pastelgrungewrecker · 2 years

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Harrower, Harrowing || Bad End || Sg

If I’m going down I guess I’ll take you with me

Xaaron smiled- slimy, oily and greasy all at once; a mixture of baptismal water and bile as Perceptor stared- eyes leaking starlight and pulling his mascara down in mourner’s lines over sharp features and jagged edges alike.

“B-B... And- Whirl- RATCHET!”

“Gone, thanks to your foolishness.”, crooned the head of the colony, “Do you see? Do you see what you recieve when you bit the hand that feeds you?”

“You attacked people who had nothing to do with this! Nothing to do with who I am, what I am-”

“You are out of control- And now, I have rectified it.”

Perceptor put his hands against CR chamber glass- knowing the fluid within would never repair the damage. Could never repair the damage he saw. Missing limbs, gutted cavities, blank eyes and slack jaws and blown out pupils raised skyward to show the whites like they cried for a God who had so long since abandoned them.

Perceptor’s claw-like nails screeched gently as his fingers curled and he dropped to his knees with a wail of grief. He sobbed, broken and breaking and through all things in pieces as Xaaron drifted around him like an intrusive thought, clicking his tongue in disappointment.

“You did this- with your wildness. With your mania and your unhinged glee. You brought shame to me and so I have brought ruin to you and it’s only fair. Now- Now you have no one, no one but me.”

Quark stood in the background- throat catching in fear as he saw the twitching under Perceptor’s loose clothing, and his chest aching when he glanced at the near-peaceful face of the dead and floating Brainstorm in a CR chamber.

Something ominous pulled at his brainstem like a vampire seeking entry and he turned his gaze away sharply.

Perceptor sobbed for hours- until long after Xaaron’s amusement faded. He struck the scientist and sent him sprawling and grimaced as he writhed and howled before finally curling tight like the unborn in the womb. A few sharp kicks, another angry strike and he finally huffed.

“Fine. Mourn your losses if you absolutely must. From now on- your obedience is not just expected, but DEMANDED.”

Quark watched as Perceptor fell silent- makeup smeared by tears and saliva from screaming and seeing eye blank and staring at nothing. As Xaaron floated out the door, Quark put a foot to Perceptor’s shoulder and shoved lightly.

No reaction.

A roll of eyes as Quark knelt down, “You really did bring it on yourself. If it wasn’t for your... weird breakdown, NONE of this would have happened. You didn’t just endanger the colony, you stole from ME!”

He reached down, feeling powerful for the first time since he and Perceptor became Inoculated all that time ago; and grabbed a handful of grey streaked inky black hair. He pulled, forcing the sniper’s face up to look at the no longer humming CR chambers.

“Do you see? That MTO? It was MINE. It was MINE and you KNEW IT and you still stole it from me, corrupted it and turned it against me.”

He dropped the sniper, disgusted at the heap he fell into.

“I could have made it great. I could have made it BEAUTIFUL and you made it a lunatic. And for what?”

“He is a man. Not a thing.”, whispered Perceptor, “A beautiful, mad, manic man who drove me spare- but a man nonetheless.”

“It was a mimicry of life- but I could have made it into something PERFECT-”

Quark didn’t have time to scream. The puma’s cry that ripped from Perceptor was loud and glass-shattering. The hands that sealed around Quark’s throat tightened in an iron grip and Perceptor’s now goatlike pupils blew wide as they could in rage as his mouth seemed to start splitting just a little too far to be... mortal.

“HE WAS MORE A MAN THAT YOU WILL EVER BE, WHELP OF MY VEINS, AND YOU WILL DO WELL TO REMEMBER THAT NOW THAT MY SHACKLES ARE SHATTERED.”

Quark’s neck creaked from the strain as he pulled desperately at rigid wrists in an attempt to free himself.

And just like that, Perceptor let him go- getting to shaky feet to press against Ratchet’s chamber and sob softly.

“Oh, my darling- they’ve torn you down and down and I wasn’t... I wasn’t there. I’m sorry, oh I’m sorry; my first love, best love, warmest love...”

Quark watched the sniper begin to sob again- a shaking hand petting over the glass over Ratchet’s deathmask face before he bolted.

Something in the way the sniper’s voice echoed without echoing made him wonder if the side he’d chosen was the right one.

Perceptor moved his room that night- a line of drones like an assembly line as he set up his new quarters around the three chambers holding three quarters of his decomposing heart.

Xaaron watched on the cameras, intrigued but ultimately bored. Why should he care where the maniac resides? Even better that he lives where a camera is on his door directly at all times, made it easier for the paranoid usurping King to keep a close eye on him.

And keep an eye on him he did.

The first day, he slunk into the labs during Perceptor’s shift and the corners of his mouth quirked up into a ghostly smile. Gone was the click-clack of heeled shoes over tile, replaced instead with the near silent shuffling of flat soled shoes- artistic, sure, with their beadwork in deep burgundy and soft rose and wine red over black... but far more suitable, far more clean and... controlled. A small step, to be sure, but a good first.

The fifteenth day he watched the cameras, a pleased hum in his chest as he saw Perceptor whispering out of his still-new quarters draped in darkness. Wide sleeves- out of regulation but... acceptable. The darkened beadwork, the smooth shimmer of satin and linen with hair combed the way he used to. Back then, back before the Wreckers and before death touched him.

Xaaron sat back, smiling at the shuffling mourner on his cameras, pleased at his successful taming of the cruel.

Foolish gilded man, Xaaron.

The thirtieth day, there was something of a setback. Xaaron whirled his way into the labs- taken aback at the way Quark looked dangling from Perceptor’s one handed grip.

“WHAT IS THIS!”, he bellowed, feeling suddenly small as Perceptor dropped his prey and turned with the slow grace of a hunting beast to lock eyes with the leader of the colony.

“I will not stand for this breed of mediocre in my labs, Sir.”, was the deadpan intonation as Perceptor’s arms folded into his sleeves, “If his ego is too weak and overbred to handle being corrected when he is in the wrong, then I will correct him in the next best way.”

Xaaron blinked, unnerved at the strange eyes that stared at him from Perceptor’s scarred face- had his lips been that thin all this time...?

“Explain.”

“Quark seems to have built a habit of beating our graduate interns.”, said Perceptor, voice unchanging, “While I understand his... frustrations- I do not understand why he finds that to be a useful reaction when he was the one to misenter measurements to begin with, and when all the subordinate did was check the numbers and report as they were instructed.”

Xaaron swallowed, not liking how the room dropped into frigidity as Perceptor spoke- until he noticed.

He could see the scientist’s scars.

“I... see.”, said the colony leader, looking to Quark, “...Is this true?”

“I REFUSE to be spoken down to- even if I am WRONG I will be spoken to as NOBILITY-”

“There is no nobility in this colony, Quark. Only ability.”, said Xaaron airily as he stepped closer, “And... Seniority. After all- Perceptor has been a supervisor much longer than you, hasn’t he?”

“I have been, Sir, yes. As well as security and defense head for many years as well.”

“Yes, no doubt where the grey came from, eh?”, laughed Xaaron, reaching out to curl the thick grey-white lock around a metal finger and tug lightly, “Very well. Carry on. Quark, you should expect to be treated as you treat others after all. What goes around comes around.”

“Indeed, Sir.”, said Perceptor, finally blinking and a smile flickering ominously over his features, “Especially when you know who the people around you belong to.”

Xaaron paused, looking to Perceptor and realizing those goat-pupils were fixated on him and so full of rage and grace it nearly overflowed like tears, “...Yes, indeed.”

Perceptor’s smile was wooden, falsified and built of balsa and expired glue as he nodded respectfully and turned his back to Xaaron, “If there is nothing else to explain, or assist with Sir- I will respectfully be returning to work.”

Quark massaged his throat, shooting a glare at Xaaron and hating how the colony head ignored him instead to stare proudly at Perceptor’s back.

“Very well, Perceptor. Excellent work.”

“Thank you.”

Quark watched as Perceptor seemed to float, not walk, away to the other side of the lab- watched the way the students and graduates watched him with a peculiar light in their eyes before their gaze turned back to him and radiated malicious glee.

He jerked to the present when he heard Xaaron walking back towards the door, following like the lackey he knew he was deep down before catching Xaaron’s elbow.

“Sir, what are you DOING!”

“...Returning to my own duties.”

“Is it wise, leaving him with those... subordinates.”, the word came out layered in displeased disgust, “For all we know he could be turning them against us!”

“Quark, people hate you because you are detestable.”, said Xaaron flatly.

Quark paused a moment, swallowing down the sting of that statement before waving a hand to clear the air of it, “My nature aside- He and I share the same infection- he GAVE it to me, after all! If anyone would know what he is up to it’s me. And I am TELLING YOU sir... he’s plotting.”

“Did you not see him, Quark?”, laughed Xaaron as his door slid open to show his expansive office, “He’s dressed like a mourning lover, his face is clear of obnoxious paint... He’s once again become the Perceptor we know and trust and NEED in this place.”

“I’m telling you- something is WRONG. He’s a stubborn bastard at the best of times and this is all a COVER-”

“Quark, please. You are both transparent and pathetic, you do realize that don’t you?”, wheedled Xaaron as they both strode into the room, “I know very well what happened with the mycomutagenic study. I have reams upon reams of lines of lies you’ve told, don’t you understand? There is no way to be secretive on my colony, I know everything.”

Xaaron took his seat at his desk, “You served me well, and I would have truly loved to pass my title on to you one day for it- but you are also a disgusting liar and a coward. I know all about your plans for the MTOs on this colony. I know all about your attempted theft of Perceptor’s work back then and I know well of your attempts to sabotage both him and Brainstorm. Please- your lies exhaust me. I’ve already sacrificed one of my best- let the other of them work, would you?”

Quark’s jaw dropped, his stutter loud as Xaaron rolled his eyes- huffing slightly to blow away some of the black dust on his console, “...Mm, Quark if you’re done embarrassing yourself, muster a few cleaning drones. The seal around my windows is dusting again.”

Another brush of his hand before his fingers flicked in a ‘begone’ gesture. Quark turned on his heel and stomped out- slamming his fist against the call button on the wall to summon a few drones.

Xaaron sighed happily as he settled in his chair, turning to look out said window over his colony as the drone trundled out and activated its vacuum attachment to begin picking up the few traces of dust around the impeccable office.

No one noticed the shadows in the drone cupboard shudder and recede slightly with a slick and slimy sound.

Perceptor smiled, way down in the labs, at the matching writhe under the scar on his chest. The smile faded quickly as he looked up at the tap to his shoulder, at the exhausted intern who smiled weakly and asked if they could have another cup of the dark coffee Perceptor brewed in his side office.

“Of course... precious.”

The days leaked into each other- punctuated only by the strange waves of fevers hitting the labs at the end of each month that oozed by. Finally, Perceptor dug his too-strong fingers into the door and forced it to slide on locked hinges; cracking the delicate electronics and he dragged Quark behind him- clawlike nails embedded in the scientists’s cheek.

He tossed him ahead, letting him sprawl on the floor as Perceptor’s face colored in rosewine rage as he stomped in with a billow of sleeves and a clatter of a new beaded shawl.

“COWARD, BASTARD ON HIGH!”, he barked before glaring at the shocked Xaaron, “THIS IS WHAT YOU GIVE ME TO WORK WITH- THIS FILTH?!”

Quark coughed, sitting up as his shredded cheek twitched like tenderized meat where it hung from the jawbones, “Sir, please, I don’t understand what he’s on about-”

“HE’S BEEN INFECTING MY SUBORDINATES! TRYING TO MAKE THRALLS OF THEM LIKE SOME CHEAP HORROR MOVIE MONSTER!”

Xaaron froze, “...What...?”

“I caught this cretin in my office- fussing around like a cockroach as he so often does.”, seethed Perceptor, his anger like glacierfrost, “I caught him leaking bloodsamples into my teamaker. My one remaining piece of home and he’s been infecting it!”

“Perceptor, please, if it’s yours in YOUR office then how-”

“I’ve been allowing the interns to use it- they continuously come in while ill. He’s been exposing them outside of the lab somehow, and tried to continue the exposure by using MY office and teamaker; no doubt to frame me.”

Perceptor glared down at Quark- the blood smeared scientist looking up to Xaaron and pleading without words for mercy or a chance to plead his case but Xaaron sighed, shaking his head.

“...Take him to the lower cells. I’d hoped that perhaps he’d have left behind his slimier behaviors but... it seems old habits die hard.”

“Sir! After all my loyalty, all my obedience and grace-”

“Useless unless it’s rooted in truth.”

“I WAS PERFECT IN YOUR NAME-”

“And yet you were the weakest link in my labs. Take him.”

Quark tried to scramble to his feet but when broad and reinforced hands closed around his upper arms and wrists and hauled him up he stared in terror as Perceptor watched him back- Xaaron shaking his head with eyes closed as Perceptor’s old manic smile flashed over the sniper’s scarred face.

“SIR NO DON’T TRUST HIM-”

Quark’s voice grew fainter and fainter as he was dragged away- soon fading out of existence.

Xaaron massaged his temples as Perceptor approached and cleared his throat.

“...My apologies for my outburst, Sir.”, he said quietly, “....If you are having a headache, I have some uninoculated tea in a thermos. It’s quite good for migraines.”

“Oh?”

“Yes- an... old friend of mine gave it to me after my... unfortunate circumstances.”

Xaaron watched the casual brush of fingers over the edge of a vibrant facial scar, and nodded resolutely, “Yes, that would be nice actually- Perhaps it will bring my appetite back from wherever it’s gone.”

Perceptor smiled, cold and unreadable as he pulled an off white thermos from the depths of sleeves and shawl and shadow, “Of course sir.”

The mass in the bottom of the thermos flattened itself at the unvoiced whims of its Master, leaking darkness into the plain hot water contained within. Perceptor watched as it poured into the thermos-cap, Xaaron taking it and sipping gently, hissing when his tongue burnt at the temperature.

“Sir, you should blow on steaming drinks to cool them.”

“Yes, yes- this really is quite lovely. Earthy, but sweet.”

“Indeed.”

Xaaron drained the cup-cap with a pleased hum, “...If it isn’t too much trouble, perhaps another little cupful?”

“Of course, my Lord.”

Xaaron brightened at that before settling further, “My Lord.... I do like the ring of that. I am, after all, far more than just a supervisor for this colony nowadays- being the population control, the economy’s focal point, the leader of thousands of loyal Kimians... I rather like that. Lord Xaaron.”

“Quite the glorious title.”

“Mm. Yes, I think I may keep that.”

Perceptor watched with well hidden glee as Xaaron sipped at the ‘tea’ the sniper had given him, and waited patiently.

He thought back to the chambers he dwelled with- now empty of fluid and filled with the writhing masses of mycelium and rootwork needed to create a new kind of womb- a new kind of Rebirth.

“This truly is quite delicious... What kind of tea is it, exactly? The taste is heavenly but... hard to... to place...”

And then Perceptor smiled. Xaaron felt his stomach cramp- one of the few organic things left in him, and retched wetly at the feeling of something wriggling like old roots in the back of his throat.

“It’s...”, whispered Perceptor, laughing gently, “It’s my own special and private blend- cultivated in what’s left of my chest... Do you know what it’s like, precious- feeling your heart torn away and only shreds left behind while a Something rebuilds you alongside your own shaking stitches?”

Xaaron gagged, retching again as Perceptor upturned the thermos and the writhing black mass fell out like a bloodclot- already digging mycelial tendrils into the desk-console components and shorting them out before they suddenly rebooted.

Xaaron watched in horror as the screens dotted around the room, around the COLONY- now glimmered with Perceptor’s smiling face.

A hand, a clawed hand like the Devil himself, caught the colony leader’s chin and forced him to look at the sniper.

“You... DESTROYED everything I ever loved, precious.”, cooed the sniper as thick black and ashy grey leaked in lines from broken tearducts, “But you never realized that that was all that was stopping me from... becoming this.”

Xaaron went to speak- choking wetly as something found his modified vocal chords and began to corrode them far too fast.

“I will not be so foolish.”, said Perceptor, his voice shaking in sudden rage as his grip tightened, “I admit- my first thrall was stupid. Foolish. You were right not to trust him, to use him- to give him back to me like a good little boy.”

Xaaron whimpered, trying to move his limbs when sudden critical errors blasted through his nanotech enhanced brain.

“But now.... Now, foolish boy, silly weak king... I have chosen better.”

The thud against Xaaron’s door was loud- ominous. It grew in sound until the door groaned and bent and sheared in half as steel can only handle so much and Perceptor turned Xaaron’s head to show the graduates and interns and security and detail crews that had reported fevers and chills and rashes.

“Do you see them, Xaaron?”, whispered Perceptor with a smile, “Do you want to see what I can do, what you never saw me manage in the dark? Come along, precious, come along with me and I will show you.”

And Perceptor was dragging Xaaron’s unresponsive body like luggage- soon to join with Quark still being carried by the security that had fetched him but that now showed visible signs of infection and conquering.

Xaaron knew the halls and lines of his colony by heart- it took him only moments to realize they were being dragged back down to the room it all started in- the chamber storage room, the new quarters of Perceptor; the end of the line.

“You stole years and years from me, old man.” hissed Perceptor as they drew closer to a door that opened of its own accord, “You bought and sold me like cheap replacement parts and now... Now I’m going to return the favor.”

Xaaron whimpered again, hating the weak gurgle he heard in answer from Quark’s slowly overcome figure next to him- eyes bulging and rolling and bloodvessels bursting under the skin like fireworks as Perceptor’s touch left the gilded colony head for him to stand before the trio of now darkened CR chambers- spreading his arms wide and showing the now gnarled claws that seemed to overtake far more than a nailbed; far more than even the first knuckle. The entire tip of the sniper’s fingers were coated in some kind of hard carapace, like a spider’s legs.

“You liked the sound of Lord, Xaaron.”, murmured Perceptor- reaching out to the mycelium that coated the wall and floors and the sides of the tanks that hummed eerily and plucking a tendril-like sprig to tuck into dark hair and letting it spread.

He turned, eyes ghostly bright in the sockets and the thick dark fungal sludge leaking from tear ducts like the running kohl from the tear-drenched past.

“Now I am become Death, destroyer of worlds...”

The words rang eerily as Perceptor’s face lost its smile and his arms once again spread.

“Give yourself to the inevitable, little ones- Obey me.”

Xaaron stared in outright terror, watching the sprig Perceptor had plucked wind through the snipers hair like a coronet before beginning to reach and solidify into a jagged crownlike appendage- watching the thornlike roughness dig into the sniper’s forehead and add to the leaking sludge like oil and angel’s irridescence during the fall.

The surge was wet- damp like half-dry saliva stains from terminal patients and the sweat on the brow of blood soaked convicts- as Kimians surged into the room to plunge hands and feet and even faces and heads into the piles of mycelia and causing the masses to surge and gurgle and throb.

Perceptor stood, his arms pulling in as one hand holding up two fingers close together.

“Rest assured, you two- I will never bury you in the Womb like the rest of this colony- no.”, said Perceptor gently, smoothly, almost fond and loving as his crowned head tilted, “No... I will keep you alive- bound in my roots and like a living placenta for the future. You will never die, not unless I say it’s time, not until I am SATISFIED with your suffering and with regards to that- oh, I’ve such sights to show you.”

A bitter, vicious laugh as the first wave crowd thinned considerably, and Xaaron swallowed and immediately retched again- feeling fungal roots tumble from his mouth and leading down, down into his stomach and realized, truly, what Perceptor had done.

He slowly looked up, and with a weak gurgled mumble, managed a single word.

“M-Mercy!”

“Oh, precious. You know what they say- No mercy from Percy.”

The CR chambers crackled.

Quark managed a syrupy sob of fear as the first CR chamber shattered apart and it’s mycelial womb wall tore apart to show Brainstorm’s old sneer. The growl rumbled from behind his chest before he looked at Perceptor... and then stepped forward to stand still.

The second chamber broke open, and Xaaron’s eyes nearly bulged out of his head as Whirl’s reanimated remnant stepped free with a razorblade smile-

But it was Ratchet’s that made bile rise and scorch his throat and nose.

Claws and fangs and steam as the mycelium shriveled away and the resurrected man stretched tall. All of them- wounds filled in and patched with silver-grey-black fungal webbing, all of them standing at attention.

And then Ratchet’s new voice wetly rumbled out, “...Doooooll.”

Perceptor smiled the smile of the deranged- reaching his free hand out to gently pet Ratchet’s cheek.

“...I think I’ll call them Apprentices.”, he whispered, before looking to Xaaron, “Apprentices, to me- The Grand Maestro. And you, dear Xaaron, dear Quark- you will feed my Firstborn.”

A splatting noise, and Quark coughed his finally free mouth though slime still smeared his lips and cheeks, “Are- Are they ALIVE?!”

“To a degree.”, whispered Perceptor, “They are alive enough. They know me, they love me above all things and on my word...”

He pointed with the hand still holding up two fingers, “They will TEAR YOU APART!”

Ratchet’s Remnant roared, eyes bright white and milky as cataracts before he charged forward- and Xaaron’s world went dark. He shrieked in pain, feeling claws punching through soft eyes and reinforced skull to stab straight though the back of his head- and his limbs wouldn’t react enough for him to try and pull free.

He heard Quark scream, but the scream cut off wetly and there was the sound of meat peeling from bone and then silence.

Perceptor watched with a quivering mouth- mourning his losses over and over and over again even as his new Apprentices looked to him with adoration they never really had in life.

This will have to be enough.

“I did not love you the way you needed in life.”, he whispered as Ratchet’s Remnant dragged the still twitching and alive Xaaron and Quark to a mycelial mound to bury them deep as a living food source, “And as punishment, you will love me the way I do not deserve in death.”

He leaned back- the fungal rootwork pushing and molding into a morbid throne of rot and decay to catch him as he hugged his knee to his chest.

“...As above, so below.”, he murmured, letting decomposed tears leak down dark lines over his face as Brainstorm’s remnant pressed a kiss to a scarred cheek- lips like autumn leaves and the smell of age all around like a miasma.

Perceptor stared forward, letting his resolve harden alongside the toxic tear traces, “Let us begin, then.”

The chorus of screams as Kimia went dark- in space and upon radar, would be heard for lightyears... Until the final Apprentice was birthed....

And, long after the first three, Perceptor would gaze fondly upon the Final Remnants years down the line.

“Quark... Xaaron.... Perhaps now. Perhaps now I can love you.”

They blinked glazed and milky eyes before their faces settle into pathetic adoration- and they kiss carapace-hardened fingertips with the hopes those hands will cup their cheeks in tenderness.

#pastelwrites #bad end #shattered glass #tw gore #tw decomp #tw just ooey gooey #hellraiser but with fungus

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hobo-dragon · 2 years

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Screw it, Second and Red are the target of my angst and none of you will stop me.

This is a songfic using the song, Nowhere King.

Djejiejd go listen to the song, I don't watch centaurworld but I saw an animatic using the song and have been listening to it for hours. Anyways some of this might be ooc but whatever I need sleep it's like 2 in the morning and my first alarm goes off at 4 oh god-

Warnings: Mental breakdown, slight accidental electrocution, usual angst, like one swear.

The Nowhere King

Second was in his room, curled up under a bundle of blankets and shivering, trying to pretend to be asleep for anyone who might walk in.

He hurt them again.

Hush now, hide all you little ones

Fuck - Why couldn't he ever control his powers?

Why couldn't he stop hurting people?

Why couldn't he stop people from getting hurt too?

Rush now, into the middle of nowhere

He didn't want this, he didn't want to hurt his friends, he didn't want to keep having constant streaks of sleepless nights, he didn't want to selfishly leave his friends in danger, he didn't want-

Singing and laughter will die

Tears stung the corner of his eyes and he bit his tongue to hold back a hiccup.

Dreamless sleep, follows the Nowhere King

Red was cleaning up after Reuben and was looking to get more mob eggs but couldn't find the creative block.

When his kingdom comes, darkness is nigh

He poked his head into Yellow's room, seeing him tinkering with some redstone on a small track. A minecart was pushed over on its side a few feet away from Yellow, who hadn't noticed Red until said stickfigure had cleared his throat with a cough.

Quiet, crawl to the in-between

"Oh- Hey Red, what do you need?" He turned in his chair, setting down the redstone and stretching.

"Just wanted to know if you had the creative block or not, I ran out of some mob eggs."

Red said, pointing to his inventory where it was missing some of it's usual absurd amount of spawn eggs.

Yellow paused for a moment before speaking, "I think Second had it last after the uhh, accident. Could you check on him while you're there, Green wanted to tell him that he was fine and that it wasn't his fault.

Before the room could descend into an awkward or tense silence, Red gave a small smile, "Ah thanks! I'll be sure to check up on him, good night!" He shut the door, running up the stairs before slowing his pace at arriving to Second's room.

Silent, secretive feeling

Of fearsome hatred that reaches the skies

It was silent, so he was probably asleep, which meant Red could just go in and grab it without bothering him.

The door opened with a small creak and what he expected wasn't what Red saw.

What he saw made his heart sunk in his stomach.

You will bring joy to the Nowhere King

Second's room was a wreck.

His chair was knocked over and a wheel was half broken. The picture of his friends, something he held very close to him, was on the ground, the glass frame cracked with glass shards surrounding it.

His drawing tablet plug, was ripped at the head, proving to be a hazard as small sparks flew from it.

"Second, a-are you okay?" It took Red a moment to find that the bundle of blankets on the bed were moving, not only moving, but shaking. Second had to be in there.

No response, at least no verbal one, hushed sniffles coming from the blankets as well as green electricity flashing around the blankets dangerously.

Red's gaze softened, he knew the feeling Second was going through all too well. After the Herobrine accident, he couldn't get out of his head that he hurt his friends.

He locked himself away in his room with only Reuben and his parrots for company, scared to set foot into the outside in fear he turned back into that monster and hurt his friends again.

But that didn't stop Second from seeking him help, from helping him out of the thick ooze that whispered to him that it was his fault.

And nothing would stop Red from doing the same.

He moved, with soft footfalls alerting SC that he was getting closer, he couldn't get closer.

No he'd hurt them again. "Go away..." He croaked, voice barely intelligible with tears and sniffling.

Red didn't speak, there was no need for words to try to convince him that he couldn't just go away. He paused in front of the bed, pulling up the blankets with a wince as the electricity shocked him, nothing dangerous, but it DID hurt.

Second's tear-stained face was now visible and he tried scooting away, his vibrant, unfocused, green eyes and electricity glowing brightly in the darkness of his room.

And then suddenly, there were arms around him, and a warm body against him as he tried to comprehend what was happening around him as everything felt like it was moving oh so slowly.

Red had hugged him, without hesitance, only a pained grunt being heard as he tightened his hole on Second, rubbing a hand up and down his back in hopes of comforting him.

There were still sniffles, and now tears soaking into Red's shirt, and Red only tried softly hushing him, as if to drown out the sorrows Second was facing with the love and care he felt for him.

Blank eyes stared at the wall in front of himself, before seeing who had embraced him. Second gripped Red's shirt, trying to ground himself.

His heart was slowing down, although his tears and sniffles didn't stop completely, they slowed. Whether he noticed it or not, the glow in his eyes slowly faded, and a warmth began growing in his chest.

No words were exchanged, they both understood the feelings and thoughts brought fort with the hug, and Second eventually relaxed in Red's hold, weakly returning the hug and resting his head on Red's shoulder.

His eyes shut with exhaustion as he went fully limp in Red's embrace, who had also brought up a hand to stroke his head softly, electric energy stopping soon after.

When he sees the light leaving your eyes

The room descended into quiet once more, the two sticks curled as close together as possible in each other's warm hold.

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art-w0rm · 2 years

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theory time

So I was rewatching the Walten Files and came to a few different conclusions. Everyone in the fandom seems to think Bon is Jack, form what I see, but it wasnt clicking to me. After all, Bon killed Rosie, and it wouldnt make sense for Jack to kill his wife if he loved her- I get the whole “Jack lost it after losing his kids” but something really just wasnt clicking for me, so I did some deducting.

For a bit I assumed Jack was actually ShowBear for the above reason plus; He guided Sophie towards the truth, he seems much more of a “passive” presence, and idk he kinda fucking looks like Jack:

Like. Same fucking face shape and everything; if this was the case I assumed that maybe Bon was someone we havent met yet who was involved with Jack and Felix in some way.

And then I noticed some things:

“Rose should be home by then. If shes not, you call me. Got it?”

This made me think, alright. Could be a husband concerned about his wife. But outta nowhere? Why would Jack be concerned when Rosie is a functioning adult. Like what would he have to worry about? Why would he be worried about her not being back 4 hours when she was supposed to, while hes running the company and not home? Worried your wife not coming home from taking your daughter to the dentist isnt exactly normal unless he had a reason to think otherwise.

My immediate thought was that maybe Rose was cheating on Jack, or Jack suspected she was.

I really dont want that to be true, but then someone in the comments brought this up:

Theyre fucking right.

Wolf in sheeps clothing: Implying not everything is as it seems/ the wolf is lying.

Thinking deeper into this. Bon was playing “Hide and Seek” with Sha aka Rosie. That could be an implication to Jack having to go find Rosie because she may have been cheating. (Sophie also finds Sha in a chicken coop (?) Barn? only thing that could be thought of there is “roll in the hay” aka she was found cheating with someone else maybe?)

Not only this, but Rosie asks Sophie if shes “still beautiful”.

Jack could be concerned that when Rosie takes Sophie to the dentist, Rose could be cheating. That could imply that shes cheating with Sophie right there.

That could mean Rose is asking Sophie if Sophie still essentially loves her, or a better worded equivalent, after seeing her mother cheat on her father/ seeing her mother do something ugly.

(Sidenote, in the Relocation tape, Rosie is asking “Sophie, where am I?” Maybe Sophie saw the whole thing? WHy would she be asking for Sophie? Also Im pretty sure this shadow character is Felix, implying he saw what happened to Rosie to an extent,)

Moving on, @ LadyJadeShade on twitter mentioned to me that Bons chest is ripped out- could be implying Jacks heart is ripped out bc of Rosie cheating.

Taking that into consideration, I could 100% see why Jack would be angry enough to kill Rose while in turmoil in the Bon animatronic. That, and Ive heard that Little Bon could be representing Sophie which would make sense if her father is in/possessing Bon. (And Bon seemed to be having a mental breakdown after the kids where shown to be dead in the Bunny Farm video.)

TLDR; Rose might have been cheating on Jack, hence why he wanted to kill her in the first place after his death.

“He had 3 beautiful children,“

And maybe he wanted to “make his wife beautiful” too?

Another concern as well is, how did Jack die? I originally wanted to say if he was she showbear, then whatever was in Bon killed Jack, but that kinda went out the window.

Those are just some thoughts for now, if anything has been officially said that contradicts this stuff then lmk

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hellofa-ride · 2 years

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Scout Headcanons:

-Keeps BONK! hidden under his hat.

-Because he is a runner, he has legs that he could crush your SKULL with.

-Has a LOT of scars on his legs, in fact he just has a lot of scars in general.

-The reason for this is that he will often get a lot of injuries that he doesn't notice, even if they are very severe.

-So he will often unknowingly let them heal, and then after they heal they leave scars.

-Hates that anything grape or cherry flavored because of how artificial they taste.

-Hides snacks in the sling that he uses to hold his gun.

-Was in the military at one point, but was dishonorably discharged after he attempted to murder one of his coworkers.

-Loves meteor showers and firework shows, but tries to hide it.

-Often will accidentally shoot himself in the foot.

-Has a gunshot wound on his chest.

-He is really good at sewing.

-His mother taught him when he was younger after he would often rip up his clothing from rough housing.

-Nobody knows it but Sniper and Pyro.

-Sniper kept it a secret and in return he repairs any rips that he gets in his clothing.

-One day though Scout was having a bad day, so when Sniper asked him to repair he clothing he told him to fuck off.

-So Sniper told the entire team.

-Now everyone on the team BEGS him to repair their clothing.

-He will do it, but only if he is paid.

-Usually with BONK!

-Will often space out during the start of fights.

-Will run as a coping mechinism.

-If he is stressed, angry, sad, or just bored he will run for hours upon hours on end.

-Sometimes will even pass out from exhaustion because of this.

-Sings in the shower, usually Tom Jones songs.

-Ultimate mamas boy.

-Acts like he is hot shit to secretly cover up that he is an insecure mess.

-During his first couple of months at base, he was genuinely scared of everyone there.

-Especially Pyro.

-His room is really messy, like SUPER messy.

-And not the type of messy where everything looks unorganized but the person who lives in it can find everything easily.

-Its the type where you live in a genuine mess.

-Calls Sniper "Snipes."

-Sniper hates this.

-Also, is not allowed to drive anybody's cars anymore after her drove Snipers van into a ditch and didn't have enough money to pay for repairs.

-Constantly seeking validation, and is a BIG attention seeker.

-But this is because of deep rooted anxiety based around his dad leaving him.

-Sorta touch starved.

-Not sorta actually, very touch starved.

-Started crying after Engie hugged him once he left the room.

-Super insecure about his looks and personality.

-Knows he's annoying, and hates himself for it but he can't help it.

-Used to have a pet squirrel plushie when he was younger that he named "Chucklenuts."

-Tries so little that when he actually does something with full effort, it's above average.

-People called him an idiot because of this behavior and eventually he started to internalize it.

-Once had a mental breakdown on field after he got overwhelmed by all the fighting.

-Makes really good popcorn.

-Bi, work on the internalized biphobia.

-Demiboy and transmasc.

-Used to DIY bind, but once Medic saw that he was transmasc he happily did his top surgery.

-The surgery went so well that he has almost no scar from it.

-Has some forms of neuro-divergence, abandonment issues, and PTSD from all the fighting.

Fin.

(SORRY FOR NOT POSTING FOR SO LONG! I'M NOT DEAD, JUST TIRED! ASK ME SUM STUFF!)

#tf2 #tf2 headcanons #headcanons #tf2 scout #tf2 scout headcanons #team fortress 2 #team fortress two

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awhitehead17 · 2 years

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Batfam Alphabet: Q - Quitting

Summary: Believing it’s for the best, Tim quits being Robin but doesn’t explain why. Being concerned for him, Dick seeks Tim out and gets him to open up about his decision.

A/N: This is an AU Canon Divergence story on Tim quitting being Robin in the comics.

Enjoy! :D

Recoiling at the hand stretching out towards him, Tim shakes his head and steps back, recreating the space between them. He didn’t want to be touched, he didn’t deserve the gentle and reassuring touch that that hand would provide. Not after the bombshell he’s just dropped on him out of the blue.

“Tim?”

Tim shakes his head again, his eyes down cast so he doesn’t have to look at the judging gaze the man is no doubt sending him.

“No,” he bites out, his voice far shakier than he intended it to be, “no don’t. It’s better this way for everyone. I know you’re secretly happy I’ve finally come to this decision, or perhaps it’s because it is my decision rather than you kicking me out, it certainly makes it easier on your part to deal with.”

Tim hears Bruce start to protest against his words. If Tim was truly listening and not caught up inside his own mind about the situation he’s put himself in, he would hear how genuinely concerned the man is about him. “Tim, son, you can’t possibly think that-”

Gritting his teeth Tim cuts Bruce off before he could finish. “I know this decision seems like it’s out the blue but it’s not. I’ve been thinking about it for a long time and I believe this is the best outcome for everyone involved. For myself, for my dad, for you, Dick and the others, for my team… just everyone.”

As he speaks Tim could feel the burning of tears in his eyes, there’s a sob stuck in his throat threatening to break out and his heart weighs heavily inside his chest. Tim pushes all of these sensations down and away, it would be no good if he were to breakdown now because it wouldn’t achieve anything. He takes a deep breath to try and steady himself and then takes another just to be sure he’s composed enough to finish business here.

He keeps his eyes on the ground and starts to slowly retreat backwards with the intention of heading to the stairs that leads up to the Manor. “Just give me an hour to pack my belongings and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

Tim doesn’t wait for a response as he quickly turns around and darts for the cave’s exit. He hears name being called but he ignores it, he doesn’t want to hear what he has to say, he wouldn’t be able to stand actually hearing how happy he is to hear him leaving the mantle of Robin.

As he rushes up the stairs there’s the vague thought of this would be the last time he’d ever see the Batcave.

When he gets to his room Tim dives inside and slams the door shut behind him. He slumps heavily against the wood and the sob that’s been impending for the last hour finally breaks free. He rests his forehead against the cool wood as he breaks down, gut-wrenching sobs rip out from his throat, wet ugly sounds pair with them, tears begin streaming down his face and this time Tim doesn’t stop them. It’s messy and it’s horrible. The fact that he’s having a breakdown, that he’s feeling so weak because of his own emotions from something he’s chosen to do, makes him cry even harder.

How pathetic.

Without realising it, Tim had at some point turned around so his back is leaning against the door and at another point he’s slid down to the floor. He’s still crying but now with his knees tucked up closely to his chest with his head resting on them.

Tim loses all track of time. It could have been hours or a bare ten minutes until he finds himself calming down enough to regulate his breathing. His face feels hot, his throat is sore from the sobbing and his head is hurting from all of the crying.

Taking a deep breath Tim wipes his face and unsteadily climbs to his feet, having to use the door for support. Once he's up right he moves further into his – wait no, it’s no longer his room, Tim moves further into the room, after all he still has to pack everything up, that pathetic breakdown he had has only delayed everything.

A gentle tapping sound gets his attention when he’s moved no more than a couple steps away from the door. Frowning, Tim looks behind him wondering if he heard right as it may have been his wrecked mind imagining things. When a second knocking sound comes along with a voice Tim knows he wasn’t imaging things.

“Timmy?”

Without any warning the door slowly begins to open and Tim is hit with a wave of panic. Not giving It a thought, Tim lunges forward slamming his hands and body against the wood and effectively slams the door shut with a loud bang. As soon as the door shuts Tim locks it to stop any more attempts at opening it from happening. Clearly not having expected such reaction the person on the other side yelps loudly and curses.

Tim doesn’t have the mental capacity to feel bad because he's too busy controlling his breathing to prevent a panic attack from happening. It takes a couple cycles of in through the nose and out through the mouth until he’s calmed down once again to focus on what is happening at the moment.

He’s currently leaning against the door, his back pressed right up against the wood and he could someone on the other side speaking to him clearly wanting to get his attention.

“Timmy, can you open up bud?” They ask and it finally clicks that it’s Dick. “Tim I don’t want to have this conversation through the door, please let me in kiddo.”

Tim sighs and runs a hand down his face. He really doesn’t want to see Dick right now, at least not while he’s in this state. Facing Bruce was hard enough when telling the man about his decision, god knows how hard it’s going to be to face Dick and explain his decision to him.

A knock happens on the door and Tim could feel it vibrate through his body.

“Tim c’mon. I heard what happened, I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

Tim wonders why Dick is bothering with him, after all if he knows what happened then the man should be happy and should currently be discussing things with Bruce about getting a new Robin or seeing how a new dynamic could work between them without Tim in the middle of it.

The handle wiggles next to him from where Dick is trying to open the door with no success.

“Go away Dick.” Tim says eventually, his voice is rough but his words are sharp. The handle stops wiggling immediately. “I’m fine and there’s nothing to talk about. I’m going to pack my things and I’ll be gone within the hour.”

“This behaviour is telling me you are anything but fine Tim. Let me in and we can talk because there is a conversation to be had about this.” Dick’s voice sounds firmer than before and Tim recognises it as his ‘no bullshit’ tone.

Despite Dick not being able to see it, Tim shakes his head. “No. Now please stop making this harder than what it already is.” His voice cracks slightly at the end of the sentence and Tim doesn’t know how much more of this he can deal with.

Originally he figured they would be joyed at hearing that he was quitting and assumed they would let him get on with what he needed to in order to get out of their hair quicker. He had been thrown when Bruce tried to voice against his words and now there's Dick who’s followed him to his – the – bedroom wanting to talk about it.

“Make this harder – what? Tim what are you on about?” Dick sounds genuinely confused by Tim’s words, like he couldn’t understand what he meant by them.

After that there’s a long silent pause from where Tim doesn’t respond to his question. However Dick doesn’t seem to need an answer because in the next moment Tim could hear him sigh loudly and muttering underneath his breath.

“Fine I wanted to do it the easy way but you’ve left me no choice…”

Tim frowns into the room, not quite understanding what Dick meant, that is at least until the handle starts wiggling once again and a few clicks of the lock being worked could be heard. Dick’s lock picking the lock! With his eyes going wide Tim braces himself against the door, when it eventually unlocks he could immediately feel Dick pushing the door against his weight.

Despite his training and all of the strength he’s acquired over it, Tim still isn’t as big or strong as the older man. His feet lose grip on the floor and slowly Dick gets the upper hand, he pushes the door open and Tim along with it, his socked sliding uselessly against the carpet as he struggles to keep the door shut.

In the end Tim’s forced to move away from the door altogether unless he wanted to be flattened between the wood and the wall. He tumbles forward and darts to the other side of the room to create space between them as Dick staggers in from the sudden loss of resistance.

A moment passes as they stare at one another from across the room. Tim doesn’t know what to say or even what to think. Out of the pair Dick is the first to move, he shuts the door behind him and takes a couple tentative steps towards Tim before stopping in the middle of the room. The man, who’s like a brother to him, stares at him with concern.

“Tim,” he starts gently, “What’s going on? Bruce told me what happened down in the cave and it just doesn’t make sense.”

There’s a storm of emotions inside of Tim right now and he has no idea on what feeling to focus on. A part of him wants to breakdown and cry again, he wants to give in and seek that comfort and safety a scared child would of a family member. He’s feeling confused because why won’t Dick just let it go? Surely he would be feeling ecstatic that Tim is leaving the role of Robin. He wants to be angry, he’s feeling anger towards Dick and Bruce but at the whole situation too, it’s not fair.

Overall he feels lost. Tim doesn’t know which way to turn and what to look for in any direction. The decision he’s made is one of his own choosing but he has to do it for reasons that go behind what he wants for himself.

Taking a deep breath Tim attempts to steady himself. He refuses to meet Dick’s gaze and keeps his eyes lowered to the bed in the middle of the room between them.

“If Bruce told you,” Tim says evenly, “then you don’t need me to explain.” He honestly doesn’t want to have this conversation again. Having it with Bruce was hard enough, having it with Dick would be on a whole new level of painful.

Dick shakes his head in both refusal and disbelief. “No. Bruce told me his side of the story, I want to hear yours.”

Through the sensation of feeling lost, Tim could feel the anger rising. He finally looks up at Dick and scowls. “But why? I quit Robin! That’s all there is too it. Why do you need more, why are you insisting on making this harder than it needs to be?” He doesn’t get why Dick is questioning his decision so much.

Dick appears to be stricken. “What? Tim please, you love being Robin. This has come out of nowhere and we just want to know what has happened for you to come to this decision.”

“Nothing has happened!” Tim exclaims. He hates every moment of this, despising the fact he's now lying out of his ass. “As I told Bruce, this has been on my mind and I believe quitting Robin is the best thing for everyone.”

Dick shakes his head again and Tim hears him let out a long breath as if dealing with him right now is a physically trying task. “Something’s happened for you to make this decision. What aren’t you telling us Tim? You can talk to us, you know this. Has someone said something to you, one of the League members or perhaps someone from your team? Is everything okay at home, has your dad said something?”

Tim tried his best to not react when Dick mentioned his father, unfortunately he hadn’t done as well as he thought because the man homes in on it immediately. He sends Tim a sharp look. “You’re quitting because of your father?”

Tim could feel tears threatening to fall from his eyes as Dick finally gets to the reason behind all of this. A sob gets lodged inside his throat and Tim does his best to push it away, he’s surprised he's even got any more tears to shred considering how much he’s cried already that day.

Closing his eyes Tim shakily nods, finally telling truth for the first time. “Yeah,” he whispers in answer, “I’m quitting because of my dad.” Feeling drained of energy Tim moves to the bed and sinks down onto the edge of it, he buries his face in his hands and breathes deeply.

Tim jumps when he feels a hand land on his knee. It stays there and gives him a reassuring squeeze. As much as Tim feels like he should recoil away from it because he doesn’t deserve the comfort being provided to him, he allows the hand to stay there and soaks in the warmth it gives. He glances between his fingers and spots Dick crouched down low in front of him.

“What happened Tim?” Dick pries gently.

Finding it useless to keep the story to himself Tim tells him everything. He honestly should have known Dick or Bruce would get the full story eventually, after all both of them are detectives it was bound to be revealed sooner or later. He’s just surprised they cared enough to want to know the story.

“My father noticed my rather odd routine. He must have had enough of it because he went through all of my things, figuring I was keeping a secret and upon his snooping he found the spare Robin costume I keep hidden at the back of my closet. He wasn’t happy of course. He connected all of the pieces and threatened to out everyone’s ID’s if I didn’t quit. I couldn’t let that happen so a decision was made and here we are.”

Dick stays silent for a long time after Tim's told the short version of his story. The older man is likely thinking everything over. Eventually he reaches up grasps Tim's hands in his own and holds them, he forces Tim to look at him. “Timmy, why do you keep saying this decision is the best for everyone?”

Tim blinks at Dick, yet again confused on why Dick cares about that. Out of everything he’s just confessed that’s what he focuses on? “Because it is.” Tim states simply, as if it’s the most obvious thing. “It’ll be better without me in the picture, none of you wanted me here in the first place so now you’re finally getting your wish for me to be gone.”

Dick’s eyes widen at his words and Tim holds his breath, unsure on what Dick’s actions were going to be. The only thing the man does is grit his teeth, looks away before letting out a long breath before he’s looking at Tim again with a determined expression. He grips Tim’s hands tightly.

“Tim I’m not going to lie to you but at first yes we were against the idea of you being Robin but believe me when I say that’s not the case anymore. You do a fantastic job as Robin and you are excelling at it. We love you both in and out of the costume.”

Tim could feel his heart pounding inside of his chest as he hears Dick’s words. They couldn’t be true could they?

“You are family Tim. Please believe me when I say that. Despite what your dad says we do want you here. You say we’re better off without you but that's not true, did you even listen to Bruce when he tried to tell you otherwise, have you heard Alfred’s opinion yet, or what about your team? I know for a fact they will miss you, you had a rocky start with them but now they wouldn’t function well without you.”

Swallowing a lump that’s formed in his throat Tim looks down at their joined hands and thinks over his words, unsure on what to make of them. He feels so confused with everything. Of course he doesn’t want to give Robin up, that’s his dads demand, but he doesn’t know how much longer he can live these two separate lives.

His dad had never really been there for him, unlike where the Wayne’s have been recently, so having his dad suddenly care and demand these changes of him is confusing. Apart of him feels like his dad shouldn’t have a say in what he does but at the end of the day he is his dad, so what can Tim do about it.

Tim looks up at Dick, his vision almost blurry from the tears that’s built up in his eyes. He shakes his head and grips Dick’s hands, seeking out that comfort he still doesn’t feel like he deserves. “I don’t know what to do Dick! Everything is so complicated right now.”

“Hey,” Dick says calmly, he lets go of Tim’s hands in order to reach up and cup his cheeks. “It’s okay, everything will be fine, as long as you talk to us Tim. Let us help you. From this I’m sure we can come up with something close to a compromise that’ll please your dad and keep you in the loop. If you truly want to quit, then we’ll discuss that too.”

Tim nods, not trusting his voice to work. If he tries to speak he’ll probably just end up crying again. Dick seems to know what he’s thinking because the man offers a reassuring smile, he pats Tim’s cheeks before letting him go and standing up.

“Now come on, why don’t we take a break from this and discuss it later. Lets go and watch a movie and binge on junk food?”

For the first time that day Tim cracks a smile, it’s small and uncertain but it’s a smile nonetheless. He nods at Dick’s suggestion and follows his lead as they head to the media room of the Manor. A break from it all is what he needs and then he can think about it more rationally with a clearer head later on.

#batfam alphabet #Tim Drake #dick grayson #bruce wayne #emotional hurt and comfort #angst #bit of fluff #breakdowns #crying #big brother dick #feelings #confusion #robin #Tim quits being Robin #Or does he...?#open ending #kinda #sibling relationship #fanfiction

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spidernana · 4 years

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Like Icarus

Alright ^^ this is the birthday present I’ve been sitting on for @semisolidmind, hurried along a bit because I felt so bad for the trouble they’ve been having with their phone T-T I hope you don’t mind the liberties I took, dear. Happy late birthday!

Human Underfell Sans and his monster Frisk belong to Semi, and the little scattered inclusions of soulmating shenanigans are mine. I just can’t help myself sometimes lol

(Also, please keep in mind this is VERY LONG. Like... 17k words. I also have it posted on Ao3, and have included the link ^^b)

https://archiveofourown.org/works/27116962

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

Someone was fucking singing.

Sans' heavy brows scrunched over his closed eyelids, his nose wrinkling and his lips curling as the unwelcome, pervasive song continued. He cursed beneath his breath, throwing a thick, heavily muscled arm over his eyes in an attempt to drown it out, but the motion (and the crude utterance) did nothing but aggravate him further.

In fact, the singing only seemed to get louder, and with that, he'd fucking had it.

If there was one thing that he insisted on, it was his sleep; he despised being woken up before his alarm more than almost anything else. He was allowed so few luxuries in his life, given so little time between work and stress and everything else to just relax... he never asked for much more than to not be disturbed in his rest.

For fuck's sake, even Papyrus knew better than to wake him up before eight, and it was nearly impossible to get anything through his younger brother's insufferably thick head.

But despite his completely reasonable demand, this motherfucker was belting out some... stupid ass song he'd never heard before, what could only be a few feet from his fucking window. He'd give them points, they weren't a bad singer, and if you were twisting his arm, he might even admit that it was actually a rather pleasant song, especially given their soft, sweet voice (not his usual kind of music, but you can't deny talent when you hear it), but that wasn't gonna save them from getting their tongue ripped out of their ignorant skull.

Principals, you know. Can't be lenient, everyone would expect the same.

So the foul-tempered, violent man sat up to do just that, snarling obscenities and scraping a hank of his voluminous, curly hair from his face where it stuck to the stubble of his beard, his magic crackling furiously as he snapped his eyes open to seek out the culprit-

And was greeted, not by the sight of his trash-strewn bedroom, by nicotine-stained and torn wallpaper or the dusty, dirt-streaked window, but by the rising sun, spilling its gentle rays over the crests of rolling foothills and slowly illuminating the field of swaying yellow buttercups he was sitting nearly in the middle of. The wisps of clouds skittering across the sky caught the light, glowing the crisp oranges and reds and purples of sunrise, and all but a few of the brightest stars had already fled in the coming of day.

He was currently sitting on the curve of a large boulder, the cold of it seeping through his pants and into his skin, the surface rough under his gloved palms. A mountain rose high overhead, dominating the landscape and the lightening sky almost entirely, and the hulking, formerly enraged man could only stare up at its imposing facade, blinking incomprehensibly as the flashfire of his temper ebbed away into nothingness.

That was Mt. Ebott, so near he could smell the pine forest gathered around its base from where he sat. The lonely, inactive volcano lay miles away from the city, at the edge of an ancient iceberg and a caldera of its own making; legends professed that it was cursed, that all that went to the mountain disappeared and were never seen again... though he had heard other, stranger tales.

Tales of magic and monsters.

Sans snorted, shaking his head and looking away from the mountain's looming, mist strewn face. Didn't really matter right now. He was more concerned with figuring out the conundrum of his predicament... namely why the hell he'd been sleeping on a fucking rock, over two hours away from home.

There was his jacket, thick and fur-lined, balled up on the boulder's surface; he'd clearly been using it as a pillow, though the twinge in his neck and spine professed to its ineffectiveness. He was still wearing the same clothes he remembered putting on the night before... his jeans were stained with the whiskey he'd spilled and tried to clean up with bar napkins, his t-shirt's neckline likely still decorated with crimson lipstick from the woman he'd picked up.

He couldn't even remember this one's face. He'd been fucking trashed, the dull throb behind his eyes testified to that much... he didn't remember a damn thing after getting her back to the hotel room he'd gotten.

Had he driven out here after he'd finished with her?

Looked like it. His bike was out next to the razor wire fence, at the edge of the field; he could see the chrome from his perch, almost dazzling in the light of the rising sun. Shit... he'd clearly been drunk enough to pass out once he got here. He was lucky he hadn't driven into a ditch on the way and managed to finally off himself.

Papyrus was gonna fucking kill him.

Groaning and gritting his sharpened teeth, Sans rubbed at his aching eyes with his palms, grinding hard enough to make stars pop against the backdrop of blackness. The punishing pressure of his hangover didn't fade, only seeming to worsen in his attempt to soothe it, and he snarled in frustration, dropping his hands away and pressing his forehead to his raised knees. His brow piercings protested, the thick leather collar done up just a little too tight at the base of his throat dug in and restricted his breathing, but he ignored the discomfort, only clenching his jaw tighter.

He'd gotten carried away again. He'd known it was coming, that he was gonna have another breakdown soon and do something he'd regret... at least he hadn't landed himself in jail again, or gotten himself shot. At least he'd just drunk himself stupid and driven himself out to the only place that he could ever feel at peace.

And that was why he hadn't questioned, not even to himself, why he was here, in the shadow of the mountain. How he'd gotten here, sure, but the why of it? Nah.

He knew why.

This was where he always came, when the world became too much and everything hurt. When the loneliness suffocated, when life was too hard to bear, when the drink couldn't drown the misery, when the bitches didn't satisfy. The mountain called to him, and away he would go, because for a reason he had never been able to name, it always, always helped.

He'd drive out the miles of broken down, unmaintained roads to this field, set at the very edge of the forest, sit himself on this rock, and just... exist. He'd watch the sun set and the moon rise, watch the stars come out one by one and pretend he would ever be able to count them all. He'd listen to the crickets serenade the owls swooping overhead, watch the heavy heads of the flowers bend under the winds bearing down, cool and fresh, from the mountain.

It was the only thing that could truly settle the anger that seemed to live inside him almost perpetually, coming here... the only place he could just be.

Ebott was just... so far from it all, from the smog and the bullshit of the city, the sounds of traffic and shouting and the sheer noise of life, from his miserable existence. He never felt as calm and as centered as he did when he was here, pulling the petals from flowers one by one like a schoolgirl and fearing no judgment for it. His phone wasn't ringing, no one was shouting slurs at him from across the street, he didn't have customers breathing down his neck or his brother complaining about his lack of motivation.

Out here, he was just Sans. He was whole, unscarred and innocent in a way he'd never been allowed to be.

He couldn't fathom why being here did this to him. He wasn't usually a flowers and fresh air and quiet contemplation kind of guy... he was loud and rough and crude; he liked cursing and cigarettes and car parts, strong alcohol and sex and bar fights. Gentle, whimsical things had never been a part of his world, had no place in the filth of the city he'd never left, had allowed himself to be swallowed by.

Sometimes he wondered if it was the mountain itself, the magic he'd been told it held, calling to the sorcery that ran through his veins. Was there something up there waiting for him, something greater than he could imagine? He'd thought to ask his brother, before, if he felt the same pull, if being near the mountain stirred anything inside him... but Papyrus didn't hold with such things, he was too practical.

In the end, he supposed why truly didn't matter. He was lucky to've found something that brought him so much peace without a prescription; he didn't trust doctors, hadn't for a good long while, and didn't see that changing anytime soon.

He'd done enough lounging around thinking for one morning, though. Papyrus could open the shop on his own, but he'd never get his hands dirty with the hard work, he had a long drive ahead of him, and he was gonna have to think up a really, really good excuse to appease his brother on the way. Wasn't like he could tell him he'd driven out to a field in the middle of nowhere, drunk off his ass...

God, this was gonna be an even bigger bitch than the crink in his neck, fu-

“Oh! You're awake!”

Sans jolted in pure shock, sitting up ramrod straight and squinting against the now much brighter rays of the sun, the chain attached to his wallet scraping against the boulder as he moved. Once again aware of his surroundings as he was called unceremoniously from his own thoughts, he was suddenly conscious to the fact that the gentle singing that had woken him from his drunken slumber in the first place had fallen silent, leaving in its wake the soft breaths of the wind as it moved through the distant treeline and the chirping of waking birds.

Shit, he'd completely forgotten about his mysterious companion, in his shock at finding himself in a field at too fuckin' early AM, and now he'd allowed himself to be snuck up on. Hope they were ready to be disappointed, if they planned on robbing him... he'd wasted the last of his last paycheck on the hotel room last night.

There was a rustling amongst the flowers to his left, signaling the hidden person's mode of approach (what kind of idiot were they? Announcing themselves, and being almost intentionally loud? Worst mugger ever), but with a swiftness that both surprised him and kept him from doing anything more than twitching his hand towards the handgun clipped to his studded belt, alarm flooding his blood with ice, an extremely hairy, diminutive figure leaped from the swaying flowers and up onto his stargazing boulder in a single, nimble bound.

They came to a stop before him gracefully, footing and posture sure, and smiled at him sunnily from beneath the cover of the crown of flowers they bore on their oddly shaped head.

“I'm so glad you're okay... I was really worried! I don't think I've ever seen anyone sleep as heavily as you were; nothing I did woke you up, not even poking you! I would've thought you were dead but for the snoring... which was very loud. But that can't be helped, can it? No, of course not. Eheh... anyway, I wanted to stay with you, to make sure you woke up and were well!” the small personage explained rapidly, almost too fast for him to keep up with; it seemed they'd gone too quickly even for themselves, as they paused to take a deep, steadying breath, tiny hands propped on wide hips, and as they caught their breath, Sans could only stare, blindsided for the second time in five minutes.

This was very obviously the same person that had been singing, they spoke with the same quiet, sweet resonance as they had sung with, but... but it was slowly dawning on him, the more he looked at them, that they weren't a person at all.

The little being blinking back at him from beneath lashes so dark and thick that they nearly completely obscured their bright, shining brown eyes wasn't human, though they stood quite steadily on their back legs... this person was, one hundred percent, a sheep. A sheep wearing a worn, slightly ripped purple sweater-dress over their (her? Her, for sure. She was wearing a dress, looked curvy in all the right places, and had the cutest, most melodic voice he'd ever heard; if he was wrong, he'd correct himself later, but he was almost certain this little creature was female) thick, dark brown woolen coat, a long, fuzzy tail whipping about her legs in clear excitement. Her drooping ears were perked towards him, soft pink on their insides, and her furry face was bright and smiling, even in her breathlessness.

A sheep. A sheep was talking to him.

This was it.

He'd finally fuckin' cracked.

Huffing out an almost amused breath, Sans raised a large, scarred hand to his aching head, the rough material of his fingerless gloves catching on a loose lock of his hair. He massaged his temples with his fingertips, his smile broad but humorless. Obviously, he'd gotten himself into more trouble than usual last night... he'd gotten himself drugged, and he was hallucinating.

...but no. It'd been a long time since he'd fucked around with the hard stuff, but he remembered what the highs and lows felt like, and they weren't like this. All he could feel was the latent bite of the entire bottle of whiskey he'd downed at Grillby's, the dryness of his parched tongue in his mouth and the rumble of hunger in his belly and the sluggish craving for nicotine at the back of his mind.

So if not drugs, what was it? Had the magic finally addled his brain? He knew he used his more than the old fuckface had recommended being safe, but Gaster'd also never gotten the chance to test he and his brother's upper limits before he took his untimely dirtnap, heh.

Could be... and yet, despite his conjecture, and the impossibility of the talking sheep's presence, he felt okay; sure, he was more hungover than he could remember being for a long ass time(it'd been a hell of a night... he hadn't drunk like that in years), and his back was killing him, but beyond that, he felt no different than usual.

The world turned as it always had, the bees buzzed and the birds sang and the sun rose steadily in the sky, raising a sheen of sweat across the back of his neck beneath the thick curtain of his long hair.

...but if he was fine, how could this creature still persist in existing, now looking on him with an expression of slight nervousness, furry paws twisting together before her chest anxiously.

“You... you are well, right? Are you hurt? It can't have been very comfortable to sleep on a rock like that... I tried to help, I tried to move you to the ground, but... um, you're a lot bigger than me, and... so, I just put your jacket under your head. If... if you want, I can help! I'm not the best at it, but I do know a little bit of healing magic,” the little sheep murmured, fuzzy cheeks flushing at the admission that they had attempted to move him (ha... that'd've been a sight, the tiny thing was maybe half his size), and with her newest spiel, Sans' gaze brightened, snapping back to her discomfited expression, his hand dropping away from his face to lay at his side.

Magic. She'd definitely said magic, though any kind that healed was a mystery to him... but she had admitted to having magic, and that brought him back to the world of reality with a screeching halt, his eyes moving from her earnest face and to the mountain that loomed behind her.

His own possession of magic was an anomaly. He and his brother had been bred by the man he'd never called father to bear it, an experiment in emulation of Gaster's deepest, most sincere fascination... monsters. Legendary beings long said to live on the cursed mountain he now sat at the foot of, gone for so long that they had nearly passed out of all memory, recalled only in history some described as mythology.

Monsters were said to be made entirely of magic, the stars' own children, beings of pure love and at one with nature; they were described to come in many forms, from hideous to nearly shapeless, elementals and amorphous blobs and animals of a far more intelligent nature than their own.

Could... could this talking sheep be one of them? Had the monsters finally left the mountain? ...or was this creature alone?

She certainly seemed to be alone. Any companions she had might be hiding, waiting to see what he would do to this soft, tiny being that radiated unadulterated concern and kindness (he bristled at the conjecture, that she'd been thrown before a mad dog like him as a test, his teeth gritting before he'd even realized what he was doing; what did he care?)... but for some reason, he doubted it. His instincts hadn't let him down in that area before... which meant the little lamb waiting patiently for his answer was wandering the wide world by herself.

The thought bothered him more than it should have, with their practically newborn acquaintance... with how little he truly knew about monsterkind. Maybe the little thing was a powerhouse of magical ability, capable of taking on armies alone. Maybe her completely open and friendly and nonthreatening bearing was a ruse. Again, though... he doubted it, and his worry redoubled, the knowledge of what the world would do to a magical being that couldn't defend itself filling his aching head with a concerning amount of empathetic anxiety.

He hadn't cared about anyone besides his brother for nearly his whole life... that just came with the territory of existing in his kind of world. Use or be used, take or lose it all. Kill or be killed. That's the way it was. Feeling real worry for the well-being of someone else was an entirely new feeling, and try as he might, he couldn't seem to shake it.

He'd think on it later, when his head was clearer. He had more things to consider at the moment... like the little monster still waiting for his response.

He grunted, beneath his breath, shifting his position on the still frigid boulder to attempt to ease the ache between his shoulders (nope.... nope, just made it worse, fuck it all-) and, at the same time, test the watching creature's reactions to sudden movements, only confirming the ill feeling of worry in his gut when she merely watched, bright and curious and completely unbothered by a much larger being changing postures.

She was gonna get herself killed out here, no doubt.

“nah, ‘m fine. y’ain’t gotta waste it fer my sake,” he murmured at last, his voice raw and scratchy with thirst and abuse, and the little sheep monster, bright eyes widening at the sound of his voice (the fur of her cheeks darkened as well, for seemingly no reason at all... flighty little thing. A satisfied, confident little voice at the back of his mind whispered that she blushed over the depth and roughness of his voice, like many women had before, but he dismissed it before it settled), unwound delicate, thin fingers to wave her hands through the air dismissively, the smile returning to her face to light it up with gaiety.

“O-oh… it wouldn’t be any trouble, really! But if you’re sure…” she rejoined, obviously leaving the offer open while at the same moment respecting his decision, and Sans' heavy brows scrunched, his mouth twisting to the side as his confusion overtook him. Any doubt that he'd had over her being a monster that lived under a literal rock was completely dismissed, now; no one from the outside world would offer a complete stranger help like this, spending valuable strength for the singular benefit of another.

Had she really emerged from her home without knowing what it was like out here? That she'd be taken advantage of in a second, offering herself like this so readily?

A twinge of guilt assailed him, at the knowledge that he was one of those kind of people too... that he'd done his fair share of being the bad guy. Sure, it'd kept him alive, but he knew perfectly well that some things he'd done had been purely out of cruelty and spite, to benefit himself and no one else. It was a mystery to him that he'd turned down her offer in the first place, though perhaps it had been out of distrust for having a stranger use magic on him (he knew better, he hadn't even considered the danger of it), and an even further mystery that, on having it offered again, he had no intent to change his answer.

It felt... wrong, on a moral level he hadn't answered to once in his life, to let her make herself vulnerable. He'd done some truly despicable things, but even considering this felt damnation worthy.

What was wrong with him? Where was this all coming from?

“‘m sure. you’ll need it, likely as not… monster out here by yourself,” he replied pointedly, jerking his head to the world outside their conversation and then wincing as his headache worsened (fuck, it was bad. Just having his eyes open was taxing, and the steadily rising sun wasn't making things any easier), and at his words, his diminutive companion let out a quiet gasp, the glitter of her eyes sharpening under the heavy fan of her thick lashes.

She took three eager, leaping steps forward, her entire, round form bouncing with an unknown excitement (he couldn't have stopped his eyes from lowering to watch if he'd had the presence of mind to try, old habit and wanton curiosity ensnaring the fall of his gaze in a moment, and he wasn't disappointed in the least by what he found there, to his complete and confused surprise), to settle before him on the balled up expanse of his thick jacket, fuzzy legs folded primly beneath her and hands propped under her chin with rabid interest.

“So you do know about us. I’d wondered, if you’d forgotten us like the others that fell... I’d thought there was something different about you. Did I… I thought I felt magic from you too. Is that right?” she queried breathlessly, watching him with a closeness and a simultaneous wonder that would have made him laugh if it hadn't sunk under his skin and into his bones like a knife, stabbing all the way to his center in a single motion. He was just as breathless as she was, his throat tight and his fingers clenched and his aching eyes riveted to hers... he, for the first time since he'd been a child, blood on his hands and his creator dead at his feet (there was the ringing in his ears again, chasing him through the years and echoing from the house he'd tried to pretend still didn't stand at the edge of town, empty and yet full of ghosts), didn't know what to do.

He was a man of action. He didn't waste a lot of time on thinking, not when quick reactions yielded the best and richest rewards... the path he needed to take to achieve his ends was always clear before him. But in this moment, the sounds of the wind in the trees and the singing of the birds in his head, the scent of the flowers and his dirty clothes and something that smelled like warm hay and brown sugar and honeysuckle (was... was that her?) assaulting him, her liquid chocolate gaze pinning him to the spot and sinking into his blood to speed his heart and cloud his mind... he didn't have a clue what lay ahead, where to go from here, and that scared him more than he liked to admit.

It wasn't just being faced with an entirely new world, the reality that Gaster hadn't actually been full of shit and that monsters really did exist. It wasn't just having a complete stranger show him mysterious benevolence, watching over him while he slept and offering him help from the goodness of her heart. It wasn't even having someone he didn't know reveal that they knew he had magic, a knowledge he guarded from all but close friends and those he was already planning on killing... it was something that he couldn't name, something that felt bigger than him, something that some people liked to call religion, a devotion to a higher power that worked in mysterious ways.

He didn't know what it was, what he was going to do in this brave new world now laid before him, and he hated that more than anything. He didn't like feeling powerless, not when being powerless meant death... and yet, even as he wallowed in his inadequacy, he felt no threat from her. She only watched, and smiled, and wiggled her little tail further into the fur of his jacket (was she cold? She had a lot of pretty thick looking wool, probably not... and yet the concern lingered), her presence so painfully peaceful and benign that he was almost embarrassed to be losing his cool the way he was.

He needed to chill the fuck out. She wasn't pushing him for any decisions... no one was, not out here. No one was nagging at him, pressuring him to think faster, be better, work harder. She was just... waiting, curious about him with no design behind her queries, and with the knowledge of that, his pique faded just as quickly as it had risen. The calm and quiet returned, the feelings that soothed him and drew him to this place when he was feeling as muddled as he had been a moment before, his eyes caught by the little crown of flowers on top of her fluffy head, fluttering in the same breeze that bowed the heads of the others still planted in the ground around the rock.

That nameless something tugged at his heart, trying to tell him something he just couldn't grasp (there was something about her, something that felt far more familiar than it should... like he'd known her his entire life, and had missed her so much he had come to the only place that felt even a little bit like her), but he couldn't understand, couldn't make the connection, and so he brushed it away for the moment, shaking his head to clear it and glancing back down to meet her waiting gaze.

She'd asked him about his magic. It was a personal question, for him... but for her kind, likely as easy a conversation as considering the weather. He could indulge her in that much, a trust he didn't understand blooming in his heart without qualm.

“yeah, i got magic. most humans don't, though. ...you could tell i did, just from lookin'?” he divulged, letting his formerly tense body finally relax (it felt like such a foreign thing to do, letting go of the anxious tension of his muscles in front of someone else... he didn't ever do that, not even around his brother), and she nodded eagerly in response, her shoulders shrugging up and her head tilting so cutely that his lips quirked into a half-smile completely unconsciously.

What was she doing to him...

“Oh yes. Monsters are made of magic, we can feel it in our souls~ there’s so little out here, beyond the barrier, you stood out like a beacon. I’ve… I’ve never felt any like yours, though. It’s so warm… like a hearth fire, heating me all the way to my soul…” she murmured gently, her hands rising to rest on her chest, over the same place that beat so steadily and strongly in his own; her lashes fluttered to veil her beautiful gaze (beautiful...? The foreignness of the term in reference to this strange little being was staggering, but the more he looked, the more he thought it, and he had no want to deny it), her head bowed and her smile softened into a fondness that he couldn't fathom, and he could do little more than stare, moved by her words more than he knew how to handle.

He'd never thought of his magic as how she described it. It was a tool, and an angry one at that... he'd used it to get his way for long enough to know that for certain. It blazed in his veins like lava, in his worst moments, stealing all but his unending temper from his mind and leaving nothing but destruction in its wake... burned in him furiously enough to leave ash on his palms and send smoke from his pores. It terrified those that stood in his way, and he liked that more than he probably should... and yet, despite knowing that she was wrong, that he'd burned both himself and others with its fury, he never wanted this delicate, flower-crowned lamb to think otherwise.

If she thought him a hearth, he could be that for her. He could keep her warm in the depth of winter, give her comfort and safety from the storm, temper his flame to never burn her with its ferocity; he could be anything she desired, everything she'd ever wanted-

...what?

Sans blinked several times in succession, returning to his own mind with a rush of confusion and distaste for his own poetic thoughts. What the hell had that been? He'd never been a romantic, that flowery, foolish nonsense would only get him robbed in the middle of the night... saying nothing of the strength of the desire to be just that that had overtaken him, the want to be the best he possibly could be, all for her.

He was acting like a love-struck moron, drunk in a way he never had been before, and he didn't even know her name. Not that that had ever stopped him from getting what he wanted before... he'd had his way with women that he barely knew more times than he could count.

This was different, though. There was a draw to her that he couldn't begin to understand, fierce and unquestionable but more than just the want to slake his lusts; every moment that passed only made it stronger, the beating of what could only be his own soul pounding a tattoo against the inside of his ribs. His hand twitched where it lay beside him on the rock he sat on, drawn to mirror her motion, but he clenched his fist instead, firmly keeping it in place at his side.

He was being ridiculous. He was out of it, tired and in pain and thrown off his rhythm entirely by the strangeness of meeting a monster in a field at whatever-the-fuck o'clock in the morning, and there was no reason for him to entertain the tangled machinations of his loopy brain (besides the pervasive want to do just that). A smoke would've helped him, he knew it would, but he recalled, with the small smile she'd brought him falling from his lips, that he'd smoked his last one outside the bar last night, while waiting for his conquest to shake off her friends.

Damnit...

He was irked now, his jaw tightening and his mood souring against his will, his gaze far away as he wondered when the next time he'd be able to get another pack of cigarettes would be (he could stop at a gas station on the way back to the city, but it'd only make him later...), and nearly missed the way the little sheep monster sobered before him, her shoulders drooping and her blissful smile falling away. It didn't look right on her face, the loss of the light that seemed to radiate from within her, and the wrongness of her upset garnered his attention again in an instant, a welling of worry for what caused it filling him before he could stop it, his need for nicotine forgotten.

She fidgeted, as her soft moment of consideration fled her, hands dropping to pick at a tear in his jacket and gaze falling to her woolen knees (no... no, don't look away-), flat, pearly teeth worrying her bottom lip as she pondered on her next words.

“I'm... I'm sorry. If I said something wrong, or made you uncomfortable. I'm sure this is all very strange for you. ...it is for me too,” she whispered, shrinking under what she clearly thought was a flare of temper directed at her, and Sans had never felt like as big of an asshole as he did in that moment. She thought he was angry with her... maybe that he intended to lash out. It was a natural reaction, of course, one he would have expected from anyone he knew in the city... she had no way of knowing how often he lost his temper and he took out his anger on others, but it was an irrefutable truth, even if he'd had no intention to hurt her.

The very thought of it made him physically recoil, made him ill down to the marrow in his bones; he'd sooner cut off his own hands than ever lay a finger on her (or have her fear him as she rightly should), and he knew that with an incontrovertible, furious sort of passion that nearly stole his breath from his body entirely. He didn't even try to deny its presence... it was a simple fact.

Whether she knew or not was inconsequential, though. The fact remained that he'd upset her, that she thought his anger was directed at her and that she might suffer for it, and whatever it was that he thought about her (pretty, soft, tiny, good, precious-), in keeping with his extremely odd behavior that day, it bothered him to his core, so much so that he scrambled for an answer to her former question, to share with her more than she'd asked for in an attempt to make up for his failing.

Things he'd never told anyone else. Things he somehow knew she would understand. Things he knew without a shadow of a doubt she would keep secret, without even being asked to. ...the only thing he wasn't sure of was how he knew. That nameless something whispered it in his mind, pushing him to trust her beyond anyone he ever had without reason or proof, and he didn't doubt it this time, despite his dismissal of the same feeling only moments before.

He supposed, in the end, it truly didn't matter, little voice in his head or not... even if she couldn't be trusted, its not like she was going to follow him to the city and spread the information. He... he was never going to see her again, after they parted company here, when he went back to his life and left the peaceful field and the slightly warmer rock he watched the silent stars from and the little lamb that made him feel like he never had before behind.

...why did that bother him so much?

“my old man made me an’ my bro ta be different. phylacteries, he called us, since we started out empty conduits before tha... treatments. think tha official term is sorcerer, though. some kinda mix b’tween monster an’ human. freak, mosta tha people i know like ta call it. ...my magic runs a bit hot, so y’might be feelin’ that,” he divulged quietly, looking away and across the field as he spoke; it always grated, to speak of Gaster when he usually pretended, extremely fiercely, that the old bastard had never existed at all... it made anger and hatred and rarely felt fear run down his spine, fear that even thinking of him too long would bring him back, and then he'd really be fucked. He raised a hand to scratch at the back of his neck, trying to settle the hairs that had raised from his own admission and the memories of it, picking nervously at a burn on his jeans with his other hand in an attempt to dismiss the now rampant craving for a cigarette... and flinched unconsciously when a hand, a tiny, soft, warm hand, touched his thick, scarred fingers with the gentleness of a landing butterfly.

He nearly flung it off, unthinking and reactive to sudden contact, but stilled when he looked down at the culprit, his mouth drying even further than it already had been at the sight of her slim, delicate fingers curling to hold his in their grasp. It was almost funny, the difference in the size between them... his palm would encompass her entire hand effortlessly, if he flipped it over and held her hand the way he suddenly wanted to. He was a large man, both tall and broad even without his muscle tone; the magic in his blood had made sure he stood head and shoulders over all but the tallest basketball players... but even in comparison to a normal sized human she would have been small.

He could probably hold her entire weight in the embrace of one arm.

The realization was an odd one, one that he had laughed at in others before... one he'd used to his advantage often. All he could think of now, as the sun rose above them both on the surface of the rock they sat on, knees nearly touching and hands connected with a tenderness and a quiet repose he didn't dare break with his too loud, too brash voice, was that something like her, a being so small and delicate and quite possibly defenseless, was meant to be protected by people like him. That perhaps he had been wrong his entire life, to think his size and his power made him better... they had made him into the perfect guardian, a shield against everything that would ever want to harm her.

That nameless thing was whispering again, begging him to accept this ideal and fall into it as effortlessly as it seemed he could (and it would be effortless... he could feel how right it would be, to be her protector and her comfort), but he shook it off again, hardening his impossibly soft heart as much as he possibly could while her little hand still rested in his.

Whatever it was that was at work here today, whatever spell was addling his mind and filling his head with rainbows and hope and the possibility of love, needed to fuck off. There was no room in his ramshackle life for niceties and pretty little lambs and things like that, and that was how he liked it.

...didn't he?

“That’s so amazing… I didn’t know it was possible!” her soft, melodic voice intoned beside him, drawing Sans from his confused, tangled thoughts and back to the reality of her knelt before him with her little hand in his, her gaze raised to his and her smile gracing him yet again (his heart squeezed in his chest, warmth leeching into his blood that had nothing to do with the rising sun). She squeezed his hand, shifting where she was still curled up on the expanse of his coat, before going on. “Can… can you show me? If that’s not rude…”

If anyone but her had asked, he would have considered it as much; he'd've taught them better personally, even, and made sure they never asked again. But he felt no resistance to the idea even as the query fell from her lips, an eagerness to his compliance that baffled him even as he raised his free hand from his side, already steaming and flaring as his magic rose to his fingertips. It felt almost... intimate, to bare himself like this for her (it was just his magic... why in god's name would that be intimate...), but the knowledge of that didn't halt him, red lighting arching between his fingers and singing in the air as he drew one of his weapons into existence to rest in his palm.

She watched, wide-eyed and open-mouthed, as the thick, heavy bone fell into his hand from thin air, crackling with his magic and thickening the air around it, both of her hands now gripping his like little vices. She let out a quiet gasp, when she was able to catch her breath in her surprise, and nearly made to reach out to touch it (his heart stuttered again, as her hand twitched towards it, a want that overshadowed anything else he'd ever desired filling him to the brim), but pulled back at the last moment, trembling and looking up at him with such wonder and awe that it sent a rush of pride through his blood that instantly made him lightheaded.

“Stars… Conjuration is so difficult, you must be very strong-” she whispered in ardent admiration, her stunning gaze sparkling with the depth of her sincerity, and the combination of it all, of her hands in his, the approval and amazement in her voice, her closeness and her presence and her, the space she took up in the universe and in his mind and in his clenching soul, the whiplash of his culminating feelings and the slow change he could feel overtaking him despite his best effort, sent him physically reeling, losing his balance so quickly and so badly that he nearly fell, his magic shattering into wisps of red mist as his palms slammed into the boulder to keep himself upright.

His heart was pounding in his ears and behind his eyes, his hangover surging as his brain attempted to steady his various malfunctioning systems; he was gasping for breath through gritted teeth and clenched eyelids, fingers digging into the stone beneath himself to try to stop the trembling he could feel radiating through his entire body... yet through it all, he felt the presence of her hands, shifted from his palm and to his bicep. She was pulling against it, straining to keep him upright despite her much smaller frame, and from where she touched radiated such a deep and penetrating calm that it was all he could do to keep from scooping her into his arms and holding her to his chest, a security and a balm to his overpowered senses.

Was he having a heart attack? Papyrus swore up and down he was going to have one eventually, with all the crap he ate and how much he smoked and drank, yet he had a feeling that wasn't it. His ribs ached with the powerful beats it was attempting to contain, both his heart and his soul working his body into a frenzy... but he felt none of the pain he'd been told to anticipate from an infarction. He felt... warm, and staticky, like the time lightning had struck outside the house and every hair on his body had stood straight up for days. The pounding in his chest didn't feel wrong, it only felt powerful, as though something inside him had changed and grown.

It had something to do with her. It had to, nothing like this had ever happened to him before...

His hearing was slowly returning to him, as the thunder of his heart calmed slightly and allowed him steadier breath, and through the cacophony his mind was making (what could it mean... what was she doing to him? Was it a curse, or some sort of enchantment? It felt wrong to suspect it of her, and he dismissed the thoughts almost immediately, though they were quickly replaced by others), Sans heard her calling to him. She had his thickly muscled arm clutched to her chest now, her arms wrapped around it desperately, and her voice sounded heavy and choked, almost as though she was on the edge of tears.

Oh hell no.

“-n! Please, are you alright?! Please answer, I don't know what to do-” her voice plead as he forced himself to surface from his sudden bout of... whatever the hell that had been, intent on putting her upset to rest, and her stressed, worried face swam into view when he jerked his eyes open at last, her lips trembling and her lashes, indeed, beaded with the beginnings of tears. His heart throbbed at the sight, regret washing ice through his blood, and he immediately pushed himself back upright, releasing the strain off her so suddenly that she staggered a little bit (he reached to catch her, but she seemed to have an incredible equilibrium, and was standing perfectly well without his assistance only a moment later).

She turned on her heel and immediately returned to pat over his shoulders and arms, breathing quite heavily herself and looking absolutely stricken, her expression tight and her little hands shaking.

“I thought you were dying, I thought I'd done something on accident and hurt you-” she sniffled, her head falling and her crown of flowers slipping as she drooped from emotional and physical exhaustion, and the overpowering need to gather her close and hold her rushed through him again, this time to offer comfort instead of receiving it. He'd never been a touchy-feely guy, he got nothing out of hugs or cuddling, but now, the thought of just... holding her, tucking her in his arms and sheltering her from the world, was a craving powerful enough to make his palms itch.

That would likely only make her panic more, though. He owed her actual comfort, not a stranger grabbing at her (were they actually strangers, though? It was beginning to feel less and less like it, especially in the wake of his strange near collapse...), and only reached out to tilt her head back up with the knuckle of his thumb, sending her as reassuring a smile as he was capable of. Her fur was unbelievably soft, even the little of it that he allowed himself to feel before he pulled his hand back to lay numbly at his side, and his thumb tingled upon its parting, the want for more and longer akin to obsession.

“sorry 'bout that, sugar... jus' got dizzy all've a sudden,” he explained as evenly as he was able to, excusing his frailty away with a little white lie (she had no need to know exactly how intense it had been... he didn't want to worry her any further), but she didn't look reassured at all, watching him squint his eyes against the now beating down sunlight and shift uncomfortably to try to keep the pressure off his sore back. Her fingers clenched in the material of his t-shirt's sleeves, her lips firming as she seemed to decide on something, and she looked back to him with the sort of resolution that told him she fully expected him to comply with what she was about to say.

It was an oddity that he only found himself slightly amused by this, rather than annoyed, as he usually would be when anyone assumed to tell him what to do... it was yet another that he wasn't surprised by this discovery. It felt like contentment, somehow knowing that whatever it was she was going to say would be agreeable to him... he didn't mind that in the least.

“I want you to let me heal you. I… It hurts me too, seeing you in pain. I don’t know why, but it does. I promise I won’t hurt you... I only want to help. ...please,” she insisted shakily, her intense firmness fading away the longer she spoke until she plead in a murmur he could barely hear, her grip on his shirt tightening and her gaze falling away, as though abashed. He had a feeling this was one of the first times she'd ever tried to be pushy, and even though it wasn't nearly as poignant as he'd been expecting, Sans had no intention of denying her this time.

There was a nobleness in resisting, in letting her keep her full strength and not waste it on him when he was just going to get drunk again the very next night... but with his bout of cryptic malady, his momentary chivalry was beginning to fade away. He didn't give a shit if she healed him or not... his hangover and his aches and pains would pass. What he did want was her to touch him again, for her to focus her attention and her care on him. He wanted her as near as she'd been while trying to support his weight, and he wanted it with a fury that no longer surprised him; it had felt good, it had felt right and real, and he'd missed it the moment she'd stepped away.

His former protests were nonexistent now, against the selfishness and the intensity of his wants... what had he even been resisting in the first place? Surely nothing that bore any weight against the high it was to have her close. He'd do anything to have it again, and if he could get it through the front of her healing him of his maladies, hell, he'd take it.

“if it’s botherin’ ya that much,” he agreed equably, after a moment that he pretended to think it over (can't be too eager, not yet... such a timid thing, don't wanna scare her away), and bless her little fluffy ass, she didn't even hesitate. Her smile flitted back into existence like the sun peeking through a cloud bank, filling him with a warmth and clarity that dismissed even the worst of his pain, and she reached for him in a way that made him clench his fingers into the material of his jeans so tightly he felt them tear, forcibly reminding himself that she wasn't asking him to sweep her into his arms, no matter what his mind wished and insinuated.

That would come later, and with her permission. Patience... patience. He'd never been good at having patience, far too used to taking what he wanted, but this... this he would wait for.

Besides, it appeared that she had simply been attempting to reach him to heal him; she was dithering now, trying to find a good place to stand while his legs were still sprawled all over the place from when he'd nearly fallen over. She hemmed and hawed for a moment, so cute in her little wonderment that he didn't offer any assistance at all (he'd never been one to play hero, and though he knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he'd help her in a trice if she truly needed it, he found himself chuckling while watching her puzzle it out, indulgently amused), before looking back up at him, furrowing her brows and flicking her ears.

“I… um. I need to touch your forehead… could you-” she said lamely, waving her hands at his stained jeans and steel-toed boots, and though he could more than play dumb, a smile perking his lips at his mute teasing, he finally shifted enough that he could prop his shoes against the rock, his knees bent and his elbows set on top of them. His posture would force her to step into the cradle of his thighs, overshadow her in his presence entirely, but she either didn't notice or didn't mind, nodding and clapping her hands together happily.

“Yes, just like that~”

Her stepping between his legs and halting mere inches from his chest, so near he could feel flyaway bits of her wool tickling his forearms (the sweetness of the air was definitely her, she smelled like all the best things in the world, he wanted to clutch her to his chest, bury his face in the curve of her neck, and stay there forever-) was everything he could have dreamed and hadn't had the decency to ask for. Her warmth radiated from her like a miniature sun, the roundness of her hips a breath from the curve of his thumbs... it would be simplicity itself to reach out and touch her, to feel her fur against his skin, to see if her wool was as soft as it looked, to find out how much of her curvaceous body was wool and what wasn't.

To see how she would react, if she would lean into him when he-

Sans balled his hands into fists, where they draped across his knees, digging his blunt nails into his palms to erase the wanton thoughts with the bite of pain. He needed more control than this, and though it was a long shot to bet on himself in that regard, he had to have it. He was an impulsive, desperate son-of-a-bitch, a horn dog at best and a degenerate at worst, but there was a time and a place to let himself get carried away, and this was not it. Feeling up his (his... strangely possessive, yet he didn't shy away from it. In fact, something purred and stretched deep within him at the thought, awakening him to the realization that he quite liked calling her his) little lamb while she was upset, much less out in public, wasn't what he really wanted, no matter what his dick insisted, and he knew it enough to curb his curiosity for the moment.

There would be time to find out what was under that little dress, a thought that intrigued and consumed him in ways he was more than familiar with. Now, though, he wanted the comfort the soft little hands tracing over his cheeks promised him, her touch settling on his face and dragging against his stubble stealing away every thought but the perfection of knowing peace in her embrace. His eyes lidded, entranced by the path she took to press her fingertips to his temples, but he refused to close them entirely, watching her the same as she watched him.

She was so close he could see the little droplets of tears that hadn't dried yet clinging to her lashes... could see flecks of gold in the deep brown of her eyes beneath their cover, could feel her breath washing over his slack, sloppy grin. Her chest rose and fell as she concentrated, nearly touching his, her fur and wool were a deep, lustrous brown that rivaled his own skin tone, and her lips twitched up into a wry grin as her eyes flicked from his forehead and to his own, crinkling with amusement.

“I’m Frisk, by the by. It’s very nice to meet you!”

Sans couldn't have kept from laughing if he'd tried, his nose wrinkling as he chortled raucously at the incredible irony of the moment. Here he was, utterly craven and all but on his knees at her feet, grasping and covetous for her in nearly every way, and he still hadn't known her name.

He honestly wished he could be surprised at himself at this point, but even given the newness of their acquaintance and the outpouring of feelings that he could barely contain when it came to this shining new light in the darkness of his being, he knew who he was. He'd always been selfish, attending to himself above everything else... that would be the first thing he changed, now that he knew she existed in his miserable life. She would come first (heh...) in everything he did, he'd make sure of it.

“sans. ‘n same,” he replied the moment his laughter had faded, his amused grin lingering as he watched her expression greedily and rolled her name around in his head (Frisk... a name he'd never heard before, but it suited her that way. She was like nothing he'd ever known before either), and her own smile grew to echo his, a shared moment of camaraderie that warmed him from head to toe like the ray of sunlight she was.

“Sans...” she murmured beneath her breath, clearly trying out the name the same way he just had been... but hearing her say it aloud was like an electric shock, his throat tightening and the air in his lungs thickening, like he was trying to breathe water. He was absolutely certain his heart skipped a beat, his vision tunneling and locking out everything but her and the sound of her sweet voice calling his name, leaving him lightheaded and softening the sharp slice of his smile into a crooked resemblance of itself.

He'd never cared much for his name... it had been his designation, gifted him from the clinical mind of a madman (“Ironic, isn't it boy? Sans, without: just like you are. Ah... but you've never understood my humor. Small minds... Hold still, you'll upset the tubing.”), kept out of pure spite after his demise. He preferred Red, what most people had taken to calling him over the years... but her, he never wanted to call him anything else. It just sounded... right, coming from her.

The realization left him slightly winded, and more than a little besotted (where was she gonna go after this? What was she doing out here, what were her plans? He'd find a way to see her again, and often, that much was certain... but how far did she plan to go? Hopefully not too far... he didn't think he'd be able to live without seeing her every day, now), watching her little brows furrow as she concentrated her attentions again on doing what she had promised she would. He felt a spark against the skin of his temples at the same moment that something potently green flickered in her gaze, sinking into his blood with the ease and soothing sensation of stepping into a warm bath.

He was instantly relaxed, fingers of magic as gentle as her own smoothing the aches from his muscles and coaxing the pain behind his eyes into nonexistence; in the same way that his magic was a ferocious gale, hers was a calming breeze, not prying or tearing but beckoning, a suggestion that he was free to accept at his own discretion. He took the extended hand of her power without question, letting her in and welcoming more in the blink of an eye, and felt his eyelids flutter closed only a moment after he did, the feeling of her taking the control he'd freely given her far more comforting than he'd ever expected it to be.

His guard was completely down... his defenses set aside in favor of this gentle, quiet moment. She could easily take advantage of him like this, and he knew it... but the small, nameless something he was beginning to like quite a lot whispered that it would all be well. She would never hurt him, he could feel the assurance of it radiating from her and the touch of her hand and the softness of her magic, and he let himself fade from all but the knowledge that he was safe, placing himself entirely in her tiny hands.

Nothing had ever bothered him less, a drastic change from his almost constant anger and annoyance with the world at large, and he nearly fell back asleep, soothed and blissfully empty of all but the dreamlike state of peace she gave him... only roused by the sound of her voice breaking through the fog of contentment surrounding him.

“...I’ve never seen a human before. Even though you aren’t all the way human, I… you’re not what I was expecting,” she was muttering as he shrugged off the blanket of languor reluctantly, drowsy and likely grinning like a fool, and it took him a moment to grasp exactly what she was saying, groggy from teetering on the very edge of sleep and blinking against the sun rising behind her (it made the petals of her crown and the fluff growing thick on the top of her head practically glow, giving her all the appearance of an angel... his angel...) and slowly becoming aware that her hands were wandering across his face, tracing the curve of his pierced brow and shifting a thick, curling lock of his hair from his forehead.

When he did fully hear her words, his mind immediately turned to the worst, dread and anxiety clouding the softness of the moment and making the cold numbness of disappointment rush through him in a tidal wave, freezing his soft, warm heart into stone. He shouldn't be surprised, he'd been nothing but a let down his whole life, why would she be any different, a pure, transcendent being like her wouldn't be impressed by the little he had to offer...

“‘n why’s that?” he grunted shortly, paralyzing upset and the helplessness of scrambling despair turning his mind to white noise (maybe it wasn't too late, maybe he could still prove he was worth something; all he needed was a chance, he could show her that he wasn't as pathetic as he seemed, he could, she'd just come into his life she couldn't leave again, she couldn't-), but she didn't seem to notice the tightness his voice had taken on, her gentle gaze tracing over the lines the years had worn into his skin, the edge of her thumb rolling over one of his piercings as she, almost unconsciously, explored the expanse of his visage.

“The only thing our elders told us was that humanity was fierce and powerful. They… I thought that meant you would be unsightly,” she admitted hesitantly, quiet and more shy than she'd been thus far (the blush was back, tinting the soft brown of the fur on her cheeks a dulcet rose, and her ears twitched forward, nearly hiding her eyes completely), and the anxious squabbling of Sans' thoughts died out with a nearly audible sizzle the moment he'd translated what she'd murmured, his eyes widening and his lips popping open in his surprise as his mind clunked along with all the speed of a harbor tugboat.

Was... was she saying what he thought she was?

No other meaning for her admission, or for her reticence, was forthcoming, the way she fidgeted and averted her eyes and yet continued to trace the lines of his face (the edge of a finger grazed his eyelashes, the tip of another trailing along the length of an old scar) telling in all its own ways... and yet it simply wasn't sinking in. Women found him attractive, sure, he used that to his advantage regularly... but there was none of the same sort of hungry lust in her eyes that always glowed in theirs, hopeful that his power and his size and his roughness would be of benefit to them.

He didn't hold back either, gave them what they wanted cuz it suited him just fine (a lay was a lay, all he cared about was getting off), but the simple, frank appreciation in her gaze, the admiration she looked over his face with and the gentleness she employed in touching him, the soft pads of her palms smoothing his beard stubble down with the delicacy she used in everything she did... he'd never been treated like this. It was so foreign, so quiet and intimate and... and... he didn't have the words to describe it.

He didn't understand. Perhaps it had been the abrupt change from worrying that she thought he wasn't good enough to considering that she found him attractive...perhaps it was simply difficult to believe that this perfect, angelic creature could look at him and find something worth admiring. Whatever it was, he was consumed by it, by the disbelief and the confusion and the want (he hadn't questioned it the moment that he'd found her beautiful, no matter their differences... could it really be that she felt the same for him? Was it too much to hope, to ask of the heavens, for this one good thing to become even greater?), his hands shaking in the fists he had forced them into and his chest shuddering as his breaths came short and quick in his anticipatory excitement.

“...you sayin’ i’m easy on tha eyes, sweetheart?” he pressed the moment he was able to move his mouth again, trying desperately to hold back the hopeful thunder of his heart as it hammered against the inside of his ribs, but lost control of it entirely the moment Frisk's blush deepened, her chin ducking down into the neck of her sweater-dress and her shaking hands leaving his cheeks to cross anxiously around her body (he nearly reached out to snatch them back, immediately protesting the loss), her ears now fully covering her eyes. His mind was a riot of cheering, drifting confetti, and budding hearts, his vision fuzzing around the edges until everything looked as soft as she was, as soft as the heart melting into a puddle in his aching chest.

He was full, full of her and affection and a lightness he'd never known, and he was certain, in that moment, that this was what he'd been searching for in his empty, meaningless life, what he'd been missing and had never known it. Nothing he'd ever done had meant a damn thing... he hadn't done anything in his life to be proud of, besides saving his little brother from their bastard of a creator. He'd given up on finding a purpose, he'd cashed in his chips in that regard early. Hadn't seen the point, not when the world conspired to keep him down at every turn.

He was filled with a hope like nothing he'd ever known, though, with reciprocation and possibilities and optimism that made him feel light as air, all through his little lamb's kindness and charity and pure affection and gods, he was never gonna be able to let her go now, it'd destroy him-

“I’m sorry, I don’t… I don’t mean to be weird, or too forward. When I found you, though, sleeping under the light of the stars… they told me I should be afraid, when I met a human, and I could tell immediately that you were intimidating... but I couldn't help but admire you. From a distance! I promise I didn't do anything! I just... I don’t think I’ve ever seen a prettier person…” she whispered bashfully through the haze of his joyous ecstasy, playing with the hem of her sweater-dress and looking up at him from beneath the cover of her lashes and her velvet ears, and he could barely get his tongue to work, flattered beyond comprehension and still swept away by the thought that maybe, maybe he actually had a shot here (he couldn't fuck this one up, he wouldn't let himself; she was too perfect to let go, he'd follow her to the ends of the earth if he had to-).

He struggled with it all for a moment, utterly speechless and trying his best to force his befuddled mind to find a way to explain it away (he could feel something that felt a lot like addiction taking hold, he recognized it's pull, and he knew he couldn't let her know how desperate he was yet, it'd definitely frighten her), settling on the first nonsense he could force out and hoping he wasn't making too much a fool of himself.

“...uh. ’m… sorry, i... never been called pretty before.”

Frisk giggled at that, bright and amused and he fell just a little bit deeper at the sound of it, her fingers winding together before her as she bounced on the tips of her toes (so goddamn fucking cute, what the hell...), and she sent him a wink so teasing that it made his heart flutter like a bird's wing, a blush of his own that he was certain he'd never worn before springing to life on his cheekbones.

“Well. Now you have,” she snickered, smiling and sincere and so fuckin' beautiful as she swayed in place and her tail swished around her legs and she watched him watching her back, and Sans couldn't help but laugh along with her, so lost to this incredibly soft, private moment that meant nothing to the rest of the world but everything to him.

He'd wondered, when he woke, how he came to be here... and what could only be fifteen minutes later, wouldn't want to be anywhere else. Was it luck, long dormant and springing upon him all at once? Was it fate, the long road behind him leading him to this exact moment? He didn't know... and he didn't care.

It didn't matter, what name he gave it, what force or power was behind it. He was here, and so was she... it was a new beginning that he wasn't sure he deserved, but one he sure as hell was gonna take. Only an utter moron would give up a chance at heaven, and he could already tell she would be his.

That nameless something confirmed it, stood strong at his back to press him onward, and he, with a confidence he'd long employed but felt was only practice leading up to this moment, reached out and took her soft, delicate paw in his hand, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles and sending her his best, most charming smile.

“thanks sugar... ain't much, but you're the prettiest monster i ever seen, so. guess we're even, heh.”

Her round little cheeks flushed a deeper pink than he'd seen thus far, a tiny gasp leaving her parted lips, her momentarily flirtatious persona fleeing her and clearly leaving her scrambling for an answer of her own, and his ego swelled almost uncontrollably. Her chin dipped again, trying to hide away from him in the shade of her ears, and it was all he could do not to pull her into the enclosure of his body again... but this time, to press her against him fully, raise her chin and watch her eyes widen and sparkle, feel her sweet breath on his lips before he leaned into her and did what he truly wanted to.

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her in a way he hadn't kissed anyone since he'd been a kid, explorative and tentative but desperate to show the depth of his affection without asking for more (that would come in time, he'd take it as slow as he was capable of, show her he could be good to her), kiss her until neither of them could breathe for the passion of it, and he wanted it so badly his fingers tingled with nerves and desire... but he held back, clenching his fists harder and biting his tongue until the piercing dug into the roof of his mouth and he tasted blood.

He wouldn't kiss her now, not with the scent of another woman on him, stale but still present from his previous night's debauchery. He wouldn't disrespect her like that, would never make her think she was just another conquest to him... a curiosity to be assuaged. She was everything, and he'd make sure she never doubted that. He wasn't sure about a lot of things, especially in what lay ahead for them... but one thing he knew he could guarantee was that.

Next time they met, he'd do it. They would find each other again, he'd make damn sure they did, and he'd kiss the hell out of her the second he could get her in his arms.

Shit... he'd have to start investing in mints. Maybe smoke a bit less, she probably wouldn't like that…

Outside of his amorous thoughts, Frisk was clearly searching for a subject change, out of her element but not seeking to pull her hand from his (in fact, she slid her fingers into his grasp more securely), and seized upon one as she glanced back up at his forehead, seeming to recall her former occupation before being distracted.

“Is... is the pain better? I'm sorry if not... Like I said, I'm not very good...” she queried, gesturing vaguely at his head with a wave of her free hand, and it took Sans a moment to recall what she was referring to, furrowing his brows and forcing himself out of his vivid imaginings, before making a small sound of realization and nodding in confirmation.

He'd honestly completely forgotten that he'd been in pain at all... falling head over heels tended to do that to a guy.

“loads. don't think i've felt this good... ever,” he admitted completely truthfully, rolling his broad shoulders and twisting his neck to crack it several times (good stuff, healing magic... he'd have to make sure no one ever found out she had it. Never found out about her at all, if he could help it), and she looked ecstatic at the news, grasping his extended hand in both of hers and squeezing it as she smiled infectiously.

“I'm so glad I could help!” she gushed, jumping in place, and even with the tenderness of the just dismissed moment, the tenderness he still felt as he watched her celebrate his recovery (and, he had to admit, watching her breasts bounce while trying his hardest to keep his smile from twisting into the smirk it was attempting to), he felt, with a strange sort of inevitability, his happiness begin to fade, punctured by the realization that she was being far too giving and trusting. She had trusted him so quickly that it honestly made his head spin, and were he anyone else... He absolutely could have done this gentle creature ill.

He could have used her easy trust, bent her to his will... he could have intended to hurt her, suss out her powers to use them for himself, or any number of other terrible things. He didn't even want to think about what it could have meant for her to fall victim to a predator, either an animal larger than her or a person intending to harm her... just considering it for the swift moment that he did made a spark of rage ignite inside him, his teeth gritting and his free hand clenching so hard his knuckles popped.

He would never be ungrateful that she was here, that he knew she existed in his world and that maybe, maybe there was hope for him after all... but what was she doing out here, especially by herself? Shouldn't she be with her people, not out in the wide, unforgiving and selfish human world? She was too kind. Too giving.

Too good. For the city, for the world... for him, too. But just too... good.

“why’re ya out here alone, darlin'? why’d ya leave tha mountain?” he asked quietly, heavy brows lowering over darkening eyes and thick, rough fingers squeezing the ones she had slid into his grasp gently, and Frisk blinked, stopping midjump and letting out a small gasp, as though she had just remembered why she was there in the first place.

“Oh! I… well, I found a way to escape, and I was going down to the city I saw from the mountain, to ask for help! We’ve been trapped down there for a long time, much longer than I’ve been alive… and I wanted to find a way to free my people,” she replied soberly, hanging her head and looking down to the toe of one of his boots as she spoke of the mountain she had escaped, of her trapped people, and an entire menagerie of emotions stampeded through Sans, empathy and anger and worry and admiration and outright fear flaring and burying all but the strongest of his former feelings.

It was incredibly noble of her to try to save her people, to appoint herself the duty of their hero and brave a world she had no idea about... but it was also incredibly foolish and naive. She was going to get herself killed, especially if she was heading to the city (she'd end up dead, or far worse, the moment she set foot there alone), and in the wake of all he had felt for her, all the things they could be and the way she made him feel... he couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't let her sentence herself to a pointless death.

“sweetheart… that’s a nice plan’n all… but ain't no one there gonna help ya,” he sighed, raising a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose as his sharpened teeth ground together (the anger was getting hotter and hotter the more he considered what would befall her, searing his insides like acid; he needed to stop, he couldn't lose his temper now, it'd scare her), and Frisk jolted, wide-eyed as she looked up at him cautiously. Her hands were still and stiff in his now, her back ramrod straight and her breaths short and terse.

“Wh-what?”

Monsters must be less like humans and more like her, for her to be so surprised... she truly had no idea what they were like. ...what he was like, behind the temperance he'd been able to show her so far. He cringed, within, shuddering at the thought of what she'd have been greeted by there... what she would have thought of him, outside the brightness of the sun and the field of flowers she had found him in. If she'd have thought him so pretty in the back alleys he slouched through and committed foul deeds in, if she'd have been so kind if she knew the things he'd done just for the pleasure of doing them.

...pointless conjecture. That wasn't how it had happened, and it never would, not if he could help it.

“they’ll just kill ya. put ya in a zoo, dissect ya in a lab… run ya down in tha street. t’ain’t safe for someone like you. ...ain’t safe for most, really, but especially not for pretty little monsters that trust too easy. y'won't live ta see next week,” he warned, shaking his head jerkily and tightening his jaw so hard it cracked audibly (won't happen. Won't happen. He'd kill anyone that even thought about touching her, tried to take her away from him, he'd swear it in front of any god and all the stars in the sky-), and Frisk, so slowly that it physically hurt, pulled her hands back and against her now heaving chest, her little body trembling and her eyes sparkling with tears.

Shit... shit, he hadn't meant to make her cry, fuck-

“...That can’t be true. They… I have to find help, I p-promised I would...” she stuttered, clutching at her sweater as though trying to hold herself together with just her soft little hands, and he'd never felt so useless, so utterly useless, in his entire life. All he could do was just sit on his hands and watch her break down, her overflowing happiness and positivity leeching away more and more with every tear she shed.

She choked on a sob, trying desperately to hold it back but failing, and sank to the ground as the fire that had lit her soul was extinguished in the gales of her own misery, her head dipping and the droplets of her tears falling to stain the rock and mat down the fur on his jacket. She looked so... so small, curled into herself and starting to rock in place... he couldn't have kept from scooting closer to her, reaching out to stroke her back as gently as he was able to (his hands were so scarred and coarse, they caught on her sweater and he felt so awkward, he wasn't good at this, but he wanted to help so badly), if he'd had the mind to try.

He didn't know how he could possibly help, but he needed to, he couldn't stand her crying, it hurt so much…

“hey… hey, don’t cry, honey… ‘s alright… it'll be fine, you'll see,” he whispered, sweet nothings that felt so incredibly odd on his tongue but slipped from his lips before he could stop them, and though her sobbing didn't cease, her tears didn't stop falling from her watery gaze... she lifted her head, sniffling and shaking, to look up at him pleadingly, her arms raising from her hold on her dress to reach from him.

It was an invitation, the one he'd been waiting for but had suspected he wouldn't receive (at least not today), and he took it without hesitation, shifting his posture to give himself room as he reached for her just the same, welcoming her in with a heart full of gleeful anticipation. She crawled into his embrace only a moment later, throwing her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder, and he enfolded her in his embrace, moving her from her feet so he bore her entire weight.

...and dear fucking god, it was better than he could have possibly imagined.

It was like holding a slightly weepy but very warm cloud, composed completely of the feelings of peace and calm that he came out here for in the first place, radiating through his chest and all the way through his body in waves of absolute bliss that washed away everything but happiness in a trice. She was the perfect size as well, curled into the curve of his arm so comfortably, settled against his chest and shoulder so right (he could feel her stuttering little breaths against his throat, her tears dripping down to stain his t-shirt more than it already was, but they were slowing already), that he was absolutely certain he could carry her for hours and not be burdened.

It had been a miracle and a mistake all in one to allow himself this. He had never felt so complete, so absolutely fulfilled, than with her clinging to him and taking comfort in him, with a perfect, delicate being curled in his arms, dependent on his care and trusting him to give it... but he also had never felt such incredible, pervasive greed, either, the hand not cupping her thigh securely picking up its stroking along her back, his cheek settling against the fluffy, impossibly soft top of her head and his mind whirling into darker and darker places the longer and harder she clung to him.

He’d gotten a glimpse of eternity, here today… he was certain he now knew what actual, real happiness was, pure and simple and good. It was her in his arms, it was her scent in his head and her voice saying his name, the sound of her laughter and her hand taking his… there was no going back from that. There would be no returning to his empty house and his empty room and his empty bed and his empty life alone again… there would be no letting her go about her business, only intruding when he felt he was allowed. Good things were rare to the point of nonexistence, in his experience… things as good as her the stuff of legends. He’d be a fool of monumental proportions if he let that go for even a moment, and no matter what people liked to insinuate about him, Sans was no fool.

He needed to find a way to make this last, to keep her close, without alarming her. He found himself suddenly grateful that she was so trusting… so easy to convince. She clearly put value in his words, as well… there must be something he could do or say, something he could twist to fulfill his selfish, grasping need. There was a twinge of wrongness to the thought, some little needling thing that prodded at him, chastising him for thinking to manipulate her… but it was easily silenced, pushed aside and mollified. This wasn’t just for him, after all… it was for them.

She just didn’t know it yet.

Her cries were slowly quieting, where she lay securely in his embrace (she’d never be safer anywhere, he’d outlive the stars through sheer stubbornness to make sure she never suffered again), her breathing steadying and her tears ebbing; he flattered himself, as she took a lock of his hair in hand to twirl around one of her fingers, that he was having the same effect on her that she had on him, that perhaps she felt the rightness of this and what they could be together in her soul. The consideration bolstered his ego, his pride and confidence surging (of course it was right, it felt so good to have her, what could be wrong about that-), a broad and self-satisfied smile curving across his face as he pressed it to the top of her head in a phantom kiss, an emulation of what he really desired.

In time. They’d have plenty of it, if he got his way.

Frisk sniffled quietly, in his grasp, tracing a line of silver through the lock of hair she was toying with with a shaking forefinger, and glanced up at him through her thick lashes, hiccuping softly in her faltering outburst of misery.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do Sans… If they won’t listen, if they'll j-just... I can't do anything. I'll have to go back, and I can’t… I can’t go back in there, I can’t…” she whimpered, her voice breaking in… in what he could only name fear, and it was everything he could do to hold in the bestial snarl of rage that rose to his tongue the moment he realized it, his before settled anger flaring in the worst of ways. She should never have to fear anything, going back to what should be a home to her least of all (not that she would be… going back was out of the question, obviously), and a consuming and complete hatred of the unknown beings beneath the mountain rose within him inescapably, his hardened, sparking gaze moving from her face and to the inactive volcano’s imposing facade.

Had they threatened her? Had she not left, as she’d said, of her own goodwill, but on an appointed errand that demanded success upon pain of death? His mind whirled with questions, each more accusing and bitter than the last (all the more reason for her to never return… fuck’em all, if they’d had the gall to make his angel so terrified), but his silence was concerning her… he could feel her eyes on his expression, registering the set of his jaw and the curl of his upper lip. Her reaction to his last show of anger hadn’t been ideal… he needed to calm down.

It was pointless to be angry with the monsters still trapped beneath the mountain, after all… the only one he gave even the tiniest shit about was right here in his arms, and she sure as hell wouldn’t be leaving them.

“would they be mad atcha? fer failin’?” he grunted out, forcing calm into his voice and nothingness into his expression as he stared blankly at the far off mountain (it didn’t matter… it didn’t matter, she was here now, and they weren’t gonna came after her… if they did, if they found some way out, he’d take care of them before they ever got to her, it didn’t matter, damnit), and his quick, even response seemed to soothe her growing worry, her brow unknitting and one of her hands shifting to lay against his chest.

“No… they didn’t want me to leave in the first place… but it’s… it’s a prison, it’s claustrophobic and crushing and I can’t- I feel so selfish, but you don’t know what it’s like to be trapped away from where you know you belong, to find what you've been longing for and have it ripped away so quickly...” she murmured, her gaze turning to the sky overhead as she set her head against his shoulder again, and his eyes turned back to her, a small, indulgent, secret smile pulling at his lips.

Before today, he wouldn't have had a clue. He'd attached himself to nothing so as to miss it that much, had no such strong feelings for anyone or anything; becoming too fond anything in his world was just asking to have it stolen, broken, or killed. Besides Papyrus, there was nothing in his life even worth trying to keep around enough to miss it, or long for it, nothing but his vices and various addictions.

Now, though... now, as he looked down at the delicate, weeping little lamb in his arms, clinging to him for comfort and safety and reassurance in the storm of her tribulation... now, he knew. He knew it so intimately that his heart broke with it, with the thought of her ripping herself out of his life and returning to the mountain. The void she would leave behind would be impossible to repair or fill, he knew it without a shadow of a doubt… and he wasn’t going to allow it.

Duty or not, she wouldn’t be leaving him… and now he had his in.

“...i do, frisk. i really do,” he replied in an undertone, the hand stroking her back soothingly moving up to smooth her ears down and to press her head further into his shoulder (she didn’t even resist, precious thing…), rocking her in his embrace and raising his gaze again to the rolling foothills in the distance, blind to all but the thoughts simmering in his mind.

It was too simple. She didn’t even want to go back to the mountain, despite her attachment to her people… she couldn’t complete the task ahead of her either, at least not alone. He sure as hell wasn’t going to let her remove herself from his life in either fashion… and the answer to it all was clear, set before him as though it had always been there, just waiting for him to discover it. A little bit of sabotage on his part, playing up the impossibility of it all, and she would be all his, for good.

He knew that keeping her from her mission would mean her people stayed imprisoned (not that he cared much, to be frank)... he knew she probably wouldn't like it much, at least at first.

He'd taken the hard road before, though. He'd done the things no one else would do, he’d been the bastard and the heel. And if her staying alive, in his life and able to be the comfort to him that she'd been thus far (who knew, maybe was the same for her… and if not, maybe one day he could be), required not just protecting her, but keeping her... well.

He could do that too.

Sans could feel himself settling into the familiar backdrop of his shadowy world, in his considerations... could feel the rusty cogs of treacherous machinations beginning to turn. He hadn't had to do the sort of work this would need for some time, but he remembered the ropes... the hardest part would be her, convincing her it was for the best, and convincing everyone else she wasn't worth the trouble. It would require finesse, likely Papyrus' help too (he’d better not dig his heels in too much, either, this was important). Slight manipulation... a few little lies. Some intimidation, easy enough... some bribery, a little harder. What some might term coercion, but he was choosing to consider momentarily forced protection.

There's no reason this couldn't work... he'd make sure that it did. He had to. The consequences were too severe to even dream of in his worst nightmares, and the rewards everything he’d ever wanted.

She’d forgive him, in time. He knew that already, without doubting it for a moment.

“...maybe i can help ya. my brother an’ me… we could protect ya, help ya find whatcha need. we ain’t pushovers, an’ we got a house y’can stay at,” he mused aloud after he had forced down the nerves and excitement desperately trying to spoil it all by making him tremble like a little girl with a sugar rush, and Frisk sniffled again, the rubbing of the material of his t-shirt between her fingers idly halting and her head turning so she could look up at him through her drying tears. His heart thumped loudly at the play of a smile around her mouth, hopeful and bright and the most beautiful thing in the world to him; he’d missed it fiercely in just the few moments it’d been gone.

“...Really? You’d do that?” she queried halteringly, wiping ineffectually at the tears clinging to the short fur of her face with the backs of her hands, and Sans chuckled dotingly, shifting his hands to swipe at them for her. She blushed gently, under the contact, moving her hands to hold his wrist trustingly as he swept away her tears (for the love of Christ, he could feel her tail wagging against his thigh, if she got any goddamn cuter he was gonna embarrass himself-), and he shared her smile, encouraging and charming as he could possibly be.

She had no reason to distrust him… he could see the knowledge of it in her doe-like, beautiful eyes. Misplaced, perhaps, but it was fine. He’d earn if back, after the minor breaks he made to it.

“i ain’t heartless, baby doll… i can’t letcha go back somewhere ya don’t wanna, not when ya hate it so bad, an’ i ain’t about ta let ya get hurt. not if i can help it,” he swore, not having to lie in the least (he did technically have a heart, unused and forgotten as it was, and every little black piece of it was hers and hers alone), and the sheer joy that radiated from her, filling him near to bursting just being close to her as it swept the rest of her listless melancholy from her, nearly blinded him with its radiance, everything outside the warmth of her hands rising to hold his face between them and the sparkle of her gaze lost to him.

She was glowing, with more than just the sun now beating down on the both of them, and he found he couldn’t breathe quite right, the way she was looking at him now… as though she was feeling just what he was, that she couldn’t have been more grateful than to be in his embrace and have found out that he existed too, and raised herself from his arms to press her forehead to his, her eyes shuttering and her form stilling completely.

The breeze danced around them, the birds flitted from their boughs to swipe at the waking butterflies and trill at the flower-scented air… she let out a tremulous sigh, sanguine in their repose, her sweet breath gusting across his lips and singing in his blood.

“I knew you were special. I knew it the moment I saw you, I felt it in my soul; the stars led me to you, we were meant to meet. Thank you, Sans, thank you…” she whispered gratefully, as she pulled back after a timeless moment of contented peace he couldn’t even begin to name (he… he’d slept his way through more women than he cared to count, but he had never experienced anything as intimate as that simple gesture had been), and lingered one moment longer, before dancing out of his arms and along the surface of the boulder for an unknown reason, to press a kiss to his stubbly cheek.

The guilt was back the moment she skipped away, hissing in his ear and reprimanding him for deceiving this angelic creature, but again, it was easily ignored, especially with the press of her lips to his cheek somehow lingering on despite her departure, brushing against the corner of his mouth and stealing all but thoughts of getting another from her. He raised his fingers to touch there, leaning back on his other hand and watching her disappear behind an outcropping of stone, and smiled crookedly to himself.

“no problem, sugar... ain’t no problem t’all.”

And it wasn’t, it truly wasn’t. Sure, it wasn’t going to be easy to keep a monster hidden in his house, especially when she started wondering why he wasn’t making good on his promise to help her (it was bound to happen eventually, he was more than aware of that, but he had little honor to lose in that regard… and he’d find a way to convince her of his good intentions again, he was sure of it), but in his eyes, the benefits far outweighed any struggle it would be.

Besides… he’d thought of a way to keep most outside interference and questions at bay. He was already a freak in most people’s eyes, someone to fear and not question beyond the barbs whispered behind his back… it wouldn’t be so strange for a weirdo like him to adopt a pet sheep on a whim. Sheep needed homes too, didn’t they? Of course they did.

...maybe not foolproof, but it’d work until he could workshop something with his brother later… and it would get him something else that he wanted at the same time, something that, as the tingling press of her innocent kiss faded, resurfaced in his mind and twisted his smile into a perverse smirk. One small indulgence... just one. She was sacrificing so much already and didn't even know it... this would be all that he asked of her for the sake of their ruse.

Sans knew it was a lie even as he thought it, knew he was setting a trap for himself that even he could scent out (seeing his collar on her was only going to make him want more, would only encourage the rampant desire he was trying to hold back) but it didn't stop him as he reached up to the collar strapped around his throat, unbuckling the thick, spiked leather and sliding it from around his neck and into his hands. He weighed it in his palms, considering and contemplating (it was pretty dirty, and it didn’t really smell all that stellar, considering the kind of shit he got up to... but it’d do for now, until he could buy one just for her), and rubbed the worst of the smudges from it onto his jeans just as Frisk leaped back up onto the rock, a little backpack now in place on her shoulders.

He grunted as he stood much more laboriously, heaving his greater bulk from the ground and stomping the feeling back into his feet as he gained them (hot damn, he’d been sitting on that rock awhile… healing magic or not, that one was gonna stick for a while), before beckoning to her with a crooked finger and an inviting smile, swiping up his jacket from the ground and throwing it over one shoulder carelessly as he did so. His smile grew as she approached, unsuspecting and chipper and flush with her joy, and he reached out to drag his thumb along her jaw gently when she stopped before him, fond and admiring.

She leaned into his touch, her happy grin softening and her lashes fluttering prettily, and he let out a quiet huff of appreciation before moving to one knee before her, her bright inquisitiveness and bashful demeanor only adding fuel to the fire of his need to see her wearing his collar.

“jus’ one thing before we head out, darlin’… somethin’ that’ll help keep ya safe,” he professed, juggling the collar between his hands just out of sight, and Frisk nodded encouragingly, glancing at his hands with something akin to excited curiosity. He could hear the cogs in her mind turning, wondering if he had some sort of protection charm he was going to give her, had some enchanted item that would keep her from harm… heh.

Something like that.

“i’m gonna need ya ta wear this,” he went on, at last holding the collar out to her, and she reached for it before even realizing what it was, taking the aged leather and turning it in her palms before recognizing it. Her eyes widened, flashing from it, to the now bare base of his throat, and back to the object in her hands, her cheeks turning a shade of red he wasn’t yet familiar with but wanted desperately to become acquainted with. The buckle jingled quietly, as her hands trembled, and her gaze rose to meet his tentatively, her teeth worrying her lower lip dubiously.

“...W-why?” she queried in a quiet, shy voice, clearly concerned by the implication, but he had anticipated that, reaching up to tap the place it used to reside around his own throat.

“i’ve had that collar fer goin’ on ten years. my bro got it for me as a joke, an’ i leaned into it… people know it’s mine. they see ya wearin’ it if i ain’t around, they’ll know you’re mi- uh. under my protection. and ain’t no one fucks with me an’ mine,” he explained, nearly slipping and admitting to one of his most sincere wants as he did (his… all his), and Frisk swallowed mutely, nodding her understanding and looking down at the collar in her hands again.

“Oh… okay. If it’ll help, sure,” she murmured slowly, clearly dubious but laying her trust in his hands. She turned it over several times, pressing a thumb to one of the dull spikes and flicking at the buckle, before nodding, seeming to steel herself, and raising it to her plush throat, fumbling with the clasp and the logistics of attaching something that she couldn’t see (he nearly offered to help, but held back, far, far too happy to indulge in the sight of her practically binding herself to him). It took her a few moments, a little pink tongue extending beyond her lips that he found himself way too interested in, before it was in place, stark red and gold against the chocolate brown of her fleecy wool, and Sans could have purred at the sight of it, a dark, possessive sort of satisfaction settling into his bones as he reached out to adjust the neckline of her sweater, so the collar could be more easily seen.

It wouldn’t do for anyone to not know who she belonged to… it wouldn’t do at all.

“believe me, sweetheart… it helps,” he assured her, dragging a finger along the studded leather and doing his level best to keep from crowing in victory (keep your fuckin’ head on, moron, job ain’t done yet…), and smirked up at her when her breath hitched at the casualness of his touch, sending her a wink that, much to his anticipation and delight, only made her blush grow darker.

Cute as fuck...

“now c’mon. sooner we getcha home, tha better, an' it's a long drive back to tha city,” he encouraged, holding out one arm wordlessly to indicate that she was being welcomed back into his embrace (she was gonna have to get real used to that… he’d have her in his arms every second he could manage it), and she hesitated for a moment, long enough to send a lick of annoyance through his blood but short enough to extinguish it the second she took a step forward, before she accepted the offer and let him sweep her back off her feet, hands on his shoulder and expression conflicted as he stood and hopped off the boulder, thoughtlessly crushing flowers under his boots as he strode towards the road, his bike, and the future that lay ahead of them both.

He had a future to look forward to, suddenly... something worth coming home to, something to work his ass off for. He’d have scoffed at the thought that that could be what he wanted only yesterday… and yet now, as gravel crunched beneath his heel and the wind blew his hair from his face and his little lost lamb clung to him, he knew it was everything he could have ever hoped for.

It’d be the hardest thing he’d ever done, but he could tell already that it’d be worth it, and that was a novelty he knew would never get old.

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shortyisweird9 · 3 years

Text

'Lonely ghost serie'

"Babysitting is hard when you ,yourself, are a gremlin, baby"-part V

Tw⚠️: swearing, angsty vibes ( I think)

Your body moved in distress, turning the sheets all over as you left out a gasp of terror, your face clenching in pain. You have a nightmare, a usual occurrence that happens when you are stressed. Having such a big imagination, your dreams/ nightmares came vividly, with excruciating details. You could see them in colour however the images were blurry, hazy almost.

This nightmare was about Fatima, the sketch artist from up top. She was a senior here and usually the person in this block turned for guidance, relief and peace. She was from the South part of Sudan, fact that she lets it known by her traditional style fashion, her food and her drinks and the occasionally loud conversations she has with her folks back home. A peaceful artist with beautiful brown skin with yellow undertones, an oval face with a big smile plastered on it and shinning black orbs. An angel in disguise that you often seek when the world proved too much for you. Fatima never really showed her own worries and fears but you were one of the privileged few who did see her at her lowest, an experience that motivated you , scared you and hurt you. The amount of times your heart clenched those times matched with how many tears left her orbs.

You were ejected vertically on your bottom as your mouth left a silent scream, tears dropping from your eyes but you didn't have time to think it over since loud noises came from upstairs,Fatima's room. In your paranoid state you didn't question the musicality of the sounds ,chosing to ran out the door ,slapping it shut and jumping two steps each time till you reached her door.

Fatima was enjoying her second favourite types of music, Afro-Latina songs when a storms of pounds hit her door. Confused and terrified, she grabbed the nearby mop before she opened the door. It was just you.

You stood there in black shorts made from former leggings to long for your short legs, white ripped shirt stained with old paint from when you helped her renovate and messy long hair and tear filled puffy eyes.

"Y/n! My girl ,what happened?"

There she was, with a long white fit dress that ended in a curve at the start of her feet and silver grey hijab wrapped around her head. She look energised despite being 5 in the mornina Most importantly she was Most importantly, she was safe, unharmed and happy.

Your noise picked up the aroma of her handmade mix of tea that filled the textile of her dressing where now your head rest as your body convulse in a breakdown again. Shocked and confused, she wasn't stopped however from showing you the comfort your soul may need.

She caressed your long hair and rubbed your back as you two sat on the white tiles of the entrance. The door long close by her other roommate, Catherine Blank - a 26 years old from Dublin.

On Fatima's commends, the red haired freckled woman brought you a knitted blanket and a cup of water. Her hands found their way on your cheeks when you finally calmed down,rubbing them on your wet skin as you drank the water. Your eyes fell down in shame for disturbing them.

You didn't know why it happened. Just two hours ago you finished talking with Corpse and went over your notes one last time.

You seemed fine, too busy for any bad thoughts to bug you or anything such as. Yet here you are.

"Jesus ,girl. You scared us." Came the heavy accent voice of Catherine.

You looked at her standing in black leggings and a black top, skinny hands on round hips and a scowl of worry on her square face. Green eyes softening when they met yours.

"I..um..."

"You don't have to tell us right now, sweet girl. Come, let's enjoy each other with some select songs."

You all three burst in laughter at the ridiculous pompous tonality Fatima chose to express herself with.

You followed, grasping the extended hand of Catherine as Fatima rearrange the blanket around your tattoos covered body.

————————————————————

It was morning when you finally return back into your apartment. The door closed itself with a heavy thud that resonated within the insides of your shaky lungs. You calmed down significantly since that explosive outburst of fears and terrors.

You cleaned your eyes as the light of the morning painted you in a sick look: eyes blood shot, red nose, puffy face and pale skin. You looked like you died and came back alive, well maybe a fragment of your sanity died tonight who knows? Your shredded sigh echoed in the empty apartment ,the others already gone to work/university. Essentially you were alone. Again.

You cleaned your eyes as the light of the morning painted you in a sick look: eyes blood shot, red nose, puffy face and pale skin.

You looked like you died and came back alive, well maybe a fragment of your sanity died tonight who knows? Your shredded sigh echoed in the empty apartment ,the others already gone to work/university. Essentially you were alone. Again.

Your soul long desired the touch of another: to be grasp tightly and lovely by their hands, to be enveloped in their smell as they whisper sweet nothings into your ears, to have their warmth dry your tears, to bring comfort to your pain. You resigned years ago that you were never meant to experience this sessions, merely observed them. But your heart craved them and craving it did, as you watched in fake disgust the romantic displays in Ace's romances.

Right now, after crying your eyes out, your burns needed that comfort, needed that care and love but again you were denied of them, you can only thank yourself for that.

The cup was slapped in foolish fury as you tossed some hot water in it. The tea bag falling towards the end of the cup.

Three knocks were heard at the door and you curiously turned, cup left forgotten.

Opening the door, Omar was standing there with a little albino boy with clear big blue eyes and curly locks. He was wearing a red blue and white checkered shirt with beige church pants. He smelled nice ,his cologne hitting your your long narrow nose immediately after opening the door.

You raised a brow as he sheepishly smiled.

"Nice kid."

"Thanks."

Then silence.

You continued drinking your tea,staring at the man who finally realised that you didn't know the motive of his visit.

"Alma didn't tell you?"

"What?"

"She said you agreed to watch over Tj today."

Wait.

Your panicked grew was your eyes turned to the calendar to the right of you. There in bold yellow numbers the day of 5th November was left clear with the exception of being circled over with a gold marker.

"Shit ,it was today? I mean ...fuck. Sorry, Omar. It totally slip my mind."

The man laughed ,his brown eyes were warm and forgiving, no offense taken by your skip of mind.

"It's fine,Y/n. So it's alright if I leave this little guy with you for a bit?"

"Y-Yeah. But I don't have-"

As Omar entered the hallway, a grey bag you previously not seen was by the door , you picked it up before going to the living room.

He sat the kid dressed in a sailor white and navy blue stripped t-shirt and light grey sweatpants on one of the sit of your 1970s floral printed sectional sofa.

The kid was making sounds and hand gestures ,wanting to be picked up again by his father who was busy speaking with the 159cm tall woman.

"Tj here is a big of a love bug, get him to like you and you can't go anywhere anymore. Just like his mother I suppose. "

"Does he have any..um..food preference I should know about?"

"Um...Wait, Alma left you a notebook, ah well not you but me. Here ,it should have anything you will need. Again,thank you so much for doing this Y/n."

"Yeah, yeah. Don't worry about it." You said ,flipped the pages of the hard back notebook. Luckily Alma had a neat writing.

"Well, I need to go now. Be nice, little guy. "

Omar bent down to kiss his son's forehead, a sign of goodbye. The child stared at his father with a confuse look as he bubbled nonsense. His tiny hand reaching for the leaving figure.

Omar left soon after ,waving bye-bye to his son and almost kissing your forehead as a habit he picked up since he got together with Alma, their form of goodbye.

You stood there, staring at each other as the kid started to laugh and throw his toy at you. You caught it, he will throw it again and so forth.

You were tired however and knew the boy with too much energy will not be easily manipulated into sleeping. Opening the TV to the kid's cartoon channel , you settled on the opposite couch ,eyes falling victim to tiredness.

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

You must have been asleep 2 hours and so begore the loud crys woke you up.

Crys? Shittt! The kid.

Shooting out of your crouched position, you ignore the stirring pain of your sudden movement. Your legs' thud brought the attention of the crying mop of hair.

A wrenches smell filled your nostrils as your dread grew when you realised where its source came from. Looks like it's time to change a diaper. Oh ,man!

With a mask over your nose, hair tied behind your back and gloves you started changing the boy in the bathroom, you cleaned and washed him and brought him back on the layed blanket on the couch. Your disgust grew as you cleaned the sink and disinfect it.

You groaned as you threw your equipment in the bin, a bing didn't let your stomach cringe at the memory of the smell. It was a message from Corpse.

'Hey :)'

You smiled, quickly texting him back.

'Hey!"

'Up to play something today?'

'A new stream? You just finished one tomorrow, I don't want you to burn yourself out.'

'<3 But no, I mean to play together in private, just the two of us.'

You wanted to text him back, teasing him with the proposition of a date but the sounds of broking glass was heard from the living room.

With a scream , you quickly typed out :' Cant baby in troble.!'

The kid was fine thankfully , grinning and laughing at your panicked state. What was not fine was the white porcelain vase with blue florals Sabrina brought for her collection. She wouldn't be mad per say but she wouldn't be happy either.

The kid ,now standing to ran around the room ,using the coffee table to his advantage, your legs screaming from the workout. Luckily the broken vase was behind you away from the child.

Unfortunately, your phone started to ring. Who the fuck would call me now? Oh! It's Corpse. Wait..Corpse!

"H-hey Corpse ! What are you - come here you little block of swiss cheese."

The man laughed as the phone's speaker vibrated on your right ear where you lodged it.

Tj laughed innocently as you grabbed him and hold him to your left hip. Your hair,nerves and mood all a mess.

"A-Are you okay?" Corpse asked after recovering from the fit of laughter.

"Me? Oh ,sure. I have a gremlin here who's more trouble than his worth. Hey! Stop that!"

The happy face of Tj turned in a cringy crying one as he wailed. Apparently you wanting to stop him chewing on your white banda, tightly nicely on the top of your head ,was too much.

"Sounds like trouble. By the way, you called me?"

"I did?"

Your eyebrows clenched as you look at your calls history,you did actually. The icon of the call must have been press on accident or that it was a sign from the universe that you are in dire need of assistance.

"Y-yeah. Look, Corpse l-I gotta go. I will call you-"

And you stopped, your breath becoming more fast as your nose flared.

"Um ghost? Are you...Are you there?"

"Stay on the line,Corpse. This kid just pissed on me."

With that another wave of laughter hit the man as he thrown himself into the chair.

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

Finally, you changed the damn brat after cleaning him again and taking a shower yourself. You left a breath as you watched the chil playing with his blue rocket toy.

"Babysitting is much harder than the films makes it out to be." You grumbled, pouting as you listened to Corpse's chuckles.

They managed to calm you enough to turn the intimidating glare you had plastered all over your face into a more stern one.

Your body dressed in a clean pair of white jeans short, black tank top and blue checkered shirt over, leaned on the frame of the door. You were waiting for the milk to heat up, luckily the boy was only a month away from being an year old so you could give him cow milk without worrying.

"Babysitting is hard when you ,yourself, are a gremlin, baby." He said ,his voice making you visibly tingle.

You sighed, placing the phone near the wooden bread box and grabbing a cup. By now the milk should have warmed up.

"Um...goofball?"

"Yes,Corpse?"

"You...you are not wearing your voice changer. I..I am sorry, I should have told you from the start but I like the s-sound of it ,I didn't want it to stop."

You could hear the beads of his bracelets as he played with them, nervously waiting for your response.

"I-It's okay, Corpse. You don't need to be sorry."

You swallowed, this day really came for your neck. Your eyes stung as you fight them off, no reason to make Corpse's day shittier by being pathetic.

"You are not fine ,are you goofball?"

The kind and worried tone of this wonderful individual you became to take a liking of was enough to cause everything in you to break loose.

"N-No ,it's not. Everything been so fucking stressful and I-I don't know what to do Corpse. I try my might to fight these thoughts but everytime they resurface stronger and more disturbing. I can't keep them in control, Corpse. I just CAN'T. A-And I keep worrying about losing all: my friends, my belongings and my family. I feel like I will drive them away especially if I can't bring my share to the table. I don't even know why I tell you these to be honest, I don't want to scare you away but in the same time I ... FUCK!"

Your fists hit the table you been resting on hard , scaring the child in the living room. His cries only angered you more.

"Ghost. Ghost! Ghost! Gho-"

"WHAT?"

You instantly regretted shouting at him,stopping from your pacing too.

"Calm down,buttercup. I know how you feel and going down a warpath or an abyss of sorrows ain't the answer. Come, let me help. "

"You still want to?" Your voice came out timidly and shying away in fear, shielding your eyes in shame despite him having no possible way of seeing your face.

"Of course, you goof. Now let's see what we do with that kid."

You swiped a tear out of your right eyes ,smiling and nodding before remembering he couldn't see, just hear you. That made you more anxious now that you realised that he knows a close guarded information.

————————————————————

A smile ran down your face as you watched the child all wrapped up in his dark blue blanket struggle to jeep his bright eyes opened as his ears and energy were captured by Corpse's singing. It's was a lullaby about moon and love, being in Spanish you only understood unfortunately the words close to your mother language.

You almost lost yourself to the gentle hums , stringing of a guitar and over all wholesome cozy atmosphere when loud voices and thumbs came from the apartment near Fatima's.

An idiot called Tudor who plays the bass part in Sergiu's band lived there, he and his boyfriend Micah. Two assholes who had a bone to pick with everyone, well more like Tudor had ,Micah was a follower.

The sense of protection enveloped you as you caressed the child's hair and kiss his right temple, letting him with Corpse to fall asleep.

Your grey flippers cracked against the stone stairs harshly and quickly. Your glare being as cold as the staircase room.

You knocked furiously on the door, hurting your hands by the metal indentations carved into the door. Your ears picked up footsteps approaching the door in a lazy manner, the two making jokes about what kind of bitch could be bothering them.

The smirk on his long face vanished when his pale blue eyes meet your fiery dark ones. He puffed a lock of dirty blond hair , saluting you in a cocky but intimidated manner :

"I wonder why the Red Riding Hood is paying us a visit? What do you think ,Micah?"

He leaned back to let his dark skinned boyfriend take a look at you. His eyes showed fear but he continued the masquerade in order to please his scumbag of a lover.

"I don't know, babe. Maybe she wants a threesome."

Tudor laughed like then pig he is, Micah lipped an apology to you, his black gems cowering in shame.

Micah wasn't a bad man , he was just naive and a people's pleaser, with no sense of stern morals but even awareness to know he is the wrong. You never understood why he wasted his breath by staying at the side of this buffoon of a dude. You ignored his half-cocked insults, knowing they didn't really had a backbone to them.

"I will appreciate if you could tone it down a little. No one needs to know you two are making a sex tape."

This seemed to anger the taller white as mayonnaise man who dismissed his boyfriend with a wave of his painted hand and moved forward to you. The red door of his apartment shutting up with an echo.

You two glared at each other, not one of the other backing down. Your breath was forcefully calmed down by your anger , last thing you needed is for him to know he was affecting you by coming too close. Your hands shook in their tight grip and you were pleased you cut your nails earlier.

"Just because Sergiu lets you come with us when we play, doesn't mean you and I are friends. Got it, girly?"

His rough tone only displeased you.

"And just because you can string two cords and not sound like a dying cat doesn't mean you are a great singer either, buddy."

"Fuck you." He said that to you in a clasped breath, his teeth biting on his lower lip as his face appeared more furious.

If this motherfucker puts his hands on me ,I swear I will...

"Y/N? Y/N!"

It was Sergiu.

The man in a punk style leather jacket ran quickly up the stairs, his armored black boots clicking away.

His face was twisted into a fearing expression before turning into a more pissed off one. He knew of Tudor's dislike towards you and knew that the both of you won't hold back if this turns physical. He needed to be smart about this.

"Man, come on. Leave her alone."

He moved to come between you ,Tudor's movement of hand stopped him.

"Nah,man. This bitch thinks she come here like she owns the fucking place and tell me what to do? I am sorry, princess, but you got another thing going. "

"TUDOR ISAAC POPESCU!"

A female voice caused his blood to ran cold and you to smirk.

Behind Sergiu, a petite woman in her mid fifties glared at him. Her greying hair caught in a bun,her olive wrinkled face was in a madden frown as her blue eyes shield by fuchsia framed glasses stared at him. The madame in green suit pants and white and black blouse was his mother.

His mother, a teacher at your University, was a lioness of a woman, never detour from the right path of doing things and more importantly never afraid to tear down anyone if they being dickish. Not even her loved son.

Sergiu grabbed gently you without a word as you two left the mother and son quarrel in peace, a part of you already starting to feel bad. You hate when you argued with someone but your anger sometimes got the better of you. Today truly has been an exhausting day.

————————————————————

You are in your room,Corpse still on the phone with you. You already explained what happened and know you enjoyed just talking with him about everything and nothing at the same time,trying to not fall asleep for how calming his voice was.

"You sure you don't want me to end the call. You must be tired from all the noises. "

You stirred, cleaning the droll of your left wnd of your lips. Your head ache as you saw that night has befallen.

"Wh-What?"

"Goofball,I was talking if you wanted me to let you rest but you already beat me to it."

"T-Tj?"

"Your friends said they will take care of them. They were so surprised to find me singing to him, though."

"Ah,shit. Sorry Corpse."

"Nothing to be sorry about, pumpkin. "

"Pumpkin, seriously?" You asked ,snuggling back into the comforter.

"Yeah, why not? The fall season is still up for a month or so."

"Hmm, I prefer goofball better."

"If you say so, princess. You *yawn* you sure you don't want me to let you sleep?"

A panick arised into your soul as you quickly told him no.

"P-Please stay."

"A-Alright."

He began to continue the story one of his subscribers send him as your eyes shut. A smile on your lips at last.

————————————————————

Hey,guys!💖

Hope you enjoyed the fifth part of the serie. It was a roller coaster to write.

Anyway, stay safe!��

Tagged💖:@moolujk @magenta-skyline @yikesyikesyikes95 @simonsbluee @cherry-piee @yoyoanaria @gaysludge @mythicalamphitrite

#corpse husband x reader #fanfic #hopefully not cringy #lonely ghost serie

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levisnackajack · 3 years

Text

The Wrath of War

Chapter Nine

An hour into open territory and Eden began noticing the sky filling up red flares. She swallowed hard, urging her horse to continue matching her squad’s pace.

They persistently switched courses, avoiding as many titans as they could. Eden felt like her heart was stuck in her throat as she watched a thick forest filled with immensely large trees edge closer and closer to them. Deep within her bones, she felt like something was terribly wrong.

It was going so well until Erwin commanded Levi’s squad, along with the central column wagon escorts carrying some type of special target restraining weapons to enter the forest. Everyone did as they were told and Eden looked back to meet Eren’s cautious stare, only to get wacked across the head by Oluo as he told her to focus.

The deeper their horses led them into the forest, the more uneasy Eden began feeling. Suddenly, the razor sharp sounds of ODM gear sliced through the air as two Scouts appeared behind the squad. Eden craned her neck as she watched over her shoulder, her heart faltering at the skinless titan with straw-colored hair and piercing blue eyes.

She gasped as the female titan swatted the two aerial scouts like flies; the sound of their bones crunching against the trees mentally imprinting in her mind. It sprinted towards them, its physique athletic and lean, as though it was going on an afternoon jog.

“Captain! Tell us your orders, sir, it’s catching up with us!” Petra shrieked beside her, the panic in her voice thinly veiled. The rest of the squad began voicing their concerns, each individual holding a different essence of panic in their tones as they pleaded for Levi to give them the green light.

Eld Jinn pulled his blades out, fingers holding onto the handles tightly as he cursed the female titan in a venomous voice. Eren started voicing his own thoughts as he fought a battle of his own- unsure as to who he could trust. That was when Levi whipped his head to glance at the titan for the first time, his hooded stare giving away nothing but boredom. It made Eden feel reassured that he probably knew what was to happen.

But, who’s to say that those narrowed grey eyes kept well-concealed panic within the Captain himself? She chose to completely disregard that thought for her own comfort.

“Everyone, cover your ears,” Levi barked out over the sound of the horses’ hooves coming into contact with the Earth floor. They all followed his instructions as he pulled out a sound grenade.

The blast reverberated through Eden’s core as it echoed into her brain, the sound waves hurting her covered ears. She waited for Levi to signal for them to switch to ODM; but his voice never broke the deafening silence between the comrades. She looked back at Eren with wide, hazel eyes- the way his brain was visibly processing everything as his palm inched closer to his lips.

She listened to Petra’s pleading, her beautiful amber eyes filled with tenderness as she begged Eren to trust his team. Their goal was to protect Eren- as Levi had said- and his well-articulated speech directed to the young boy resonated deep within the young girl’s soul. Eren had the power to transform into a ravenous beast once his teeth grazed the soft flesh of his hand. But instead, he chose to sit back nervously and trust his Captain’s judgement.

Truth be told, it shocked Eden. The boy she had grown up with was an impulsive wreck on the verge of a breakdown at any given moment. He thought with his heart, not with his brain. And to see him falter like that truly made her think just how much trust her comrades had in Levi.

She looked upwards, the muscled fist of the female titan wide open as it stretched towards Eren. Eden gripped her horse’s reins tighter.

Then it all happened so quickly.

The sounds of canon fire seeped through the air like a never-ending parade of lightning bolts. Flashes of yellow, orange, red and white danced around Eden as her mouth dropped.

It had all been a well-designed trap. Levi’s silence had paid off. The trees surrounding them were filled with veteran scouts, hands pressed against the canons filled with rope that had struck the female titan in every single open area against her skin.

They rode in silence for a little while; away from the entrapped beast.

“Halt further upwards and switch to ODM gear,” Levi commanded, his voice calm and collected as his boots pressed against his horse’s saddle. “I’ll need to break away for awhile. Eld’s in charge. Keep Eren hidden.” His eyes moved to meet with Eden’s pained ones, as though realization that they were about to be truly alone crept into her. “And tend to my horse.”

He flexed his gear’s grapples, the hooks ripping through a nearby tree bark; whisking him back towards the female titan.

Eden held onto her breath until her lungs started burning, her stomach churning uncomfortably. She felt nauseous.

“A spy. Are you sure?” Gunther’s question had ripped Eden out of a trance as they stood atop several tree branches; fists clenching against their blades.

“Well, no. But I’m sure Commander Erwin believes it. Think about it, Captain Levi had us use Eren as bait for the sole purpose of leading the titan into the trap created by the Commander. Seems to me there’s some sort of suspicions going on within the upper ranks. What if there’s someone else who possesses the same titan abilities as Eren?” Eld replied thoughtfully, stroking his chin as he spoke.

“Maybe the reason why he didn’t let you in on the plan was not because he doesn’t trust you, but because they were uncertain as to where this titan spy was placed within the ranks?” Eden continued, earning an astute nod from the second-in-command and Petra.

Oluo scoffed, waving his weapons in the air towards Petra. “You see that, snivel-drops? Even our newbie doll over here cooked up a better assumption than you.”

Petra rubbed the back of her neck, closing her eyes as she sighed. “Yeah, maybe you’re right. I guess I was wrong for questioning the Commander and Captain’s trust in us.”

The chattering continued for a few more minutes until Eld instructed them to move.

They switched to ODM gear, soaring from branch to branch as they glanced up at the sky expectantly. A green flare painted a line through the sky.

“Must be the Captain,” Eld muttered as he shot a green flare in response, letting the rest of the squad members know their course had changed.

Eden’s sweaty palms gripped on her gear for dear life as she elegantly swooped from one branch to another; careful not to waste too much gas. That knot in her stomach continued tightening and growing; reaching her lungs as she struggled to control her breathing.

The ghost of goosebumps licked against her skin as she noticed an extra person edging closer to her squad, blades extracted. Her scream left her throat a moment too late as the traitor’s weapon sliced against the thin flesh on Gunther’s throat.

Everything after that was clouded by a blur of emotions and adrenaline. Eld had shoved Eren forward as he yelled for him to keep going. Eden bit her lip as she commanded herself to stay strong; the sight of Gunther’s hanging corpse becoming smaller as they sliced through the air at immaculate speed.

“Go Eren, get back to the Scouts. We’ve got this!” Eld commanded in a hard voice, Eren’s deep-blue eyes seeking refuge in Eden’s hazel ones.

“I can’t leave you here, I’ll fight too...-”

“After everything, do you still not trus...-”

“Eren, if you want to reach your goal. You’ll leave,” Eden spat out, interrupting Petra harshly. “You’ll go and leave it to the team designated with your protection to deal with this obstacle. Please, if you care about the promises you made me keep; that day in Shiganshina. The promises you made Armin and Mikasa swear to. If you really meant all of that, you’ll go...” Eden finished, her voice breaking.

Eren looked like he was going through the greatest turmoil in existence. He gritted his teeth, eyes glistening as he nodded towards his comrades. Towards Eden.

“I won’t let you down,” he forced out, memorizing the way Eden’s face contorted into a lopsided smile; her features relaxing. Suddenly, she looked like a normal 21-year old girl; her face rid from the agony that had become part of her everyday routine.

“I know you won’t,” she whispered, her voice swept away by the forceful hands of the gushing wind. He continued onwards as the rest of the squad slowed down their gears. There was a crack and a bright light emitted through the fractures of space between the trees. Much like when Eren transformed into a titan.

That couldn’t be good.

The muscular form of the determined female titan came into sight as she charged towards the remainder of the Special Operations Squad. With a yell, they attached the hooks of their ODM gear to the upcoming trees, closing in on the titan.

With Eld and Oluo flying in the titan’s eyeline, Petra and Eden lowered themselves a couple of meters above the ground. The men spiraled in the air, hooks sinking into the titans eye sockets as the two women worked on slowing her movements down.

Blood splattered against Eden’s skin as her blade sliced through the tendons of the titan’s ankles, an exasperated cry seeping out of its wretched mouth. It grabbed onto Eden’s iron wires, yanking her away from her partially-severed foot; throwing her against a nearby tree column. She let out a bloodcurdling cry as she felt her ribs snap inside her chest, her eyesight beginning to blotch. She focused on her breathing, her lungs trembling at the pressure and pain.

Eden didn’t have the power to pick herself up as she lay twisted against the floor. The familiar taste of metal engulfed her senses as the liquid trickled down her brow, staining her skin, lips and teeth. She felt so helpless, utterly vulnerable- served like a fresh meal on the decaying ground.

The sound of blades fracturing flesh sounded around Eden- her eyes squeezed shut as the blood and headache punctured her brain. She heard screams, first a female one...and then a male one calling after her.

By the time she had managed to squeeze one eye open; her heart had dropped down to the pit of her stomach; the screech that came out of her lips terrifying and broken.

Petra’s body lay crushed up against a nearby tree, her soft, strawberry-blonde hair moving with the breeze. Oluo’s corpse settled against the ground several meters away from her. Eld was gone too. They had been defeated.

Accepting that picking herself up on her two feet would be practically impossible; Eden dragged her body towards Petra’s; her salt tears mixing with her crimson blood. She didn’t even have enough power to cry out loud, for she had fallen into shock.

Groaning and grinding her teeth, she pushed onwards; completely missing Eren’s transformation as he took on the female titan with vengeance oozing through his veins.

Eden continued making her way to Petra when the sound of metal hooks clenched against the tree’s casing resonated beside her. A familiar harsh grip settled on her shoulders as he flipped her body around.

She landed on her back, the sudden movement causing her to choke. Levi descended to his knees, his virulent eyes wide and blank.

“What the hell happened here?” He snapped in an urgent tone as his gaze fell to Eden’s chest and the blood stains that would not evaporate.

“I don’t know...we saw the flare. We figured you wanted to find us...turns out it was the titan in human form. It came and killed Gunther...then transformed...and...-”

“Alright, take a breath. Are you badly hurt?” Levi’s jaw clenched as he watched Eden nod tightly, lips pursed as she bit back a cry.

“I’m not sure, Captain. I think my ribs are fractured, if not broken. If you can just help me up, I’ll finish the...-”

“Like hell you are, brat,” Levi commanded, voice frigid and absolute as his fingers gently pressed against her shoulder. “I’ll see to Yeager. I want you to stay put; I’ll come get you when it’s done. And don’t you dare fall asleep,” he finished, scowling down at her the small sense of relief coiling within the Captain as his soldier gave him a tight nod.

Within milliseconds; he disappeared towards the sounds of titan clashing into titan. Eden’s eyes dropped, but she shook her head to keep herself awake. She knew that in these instances, it was vital not to fall asleep.

But as her eyes grew heavier and her fingers grew colder; that fact began completely slipping out of her mind. The last thing she could remember before her world got painted black were his stormy grey eyes that could see through everything, but reveal nothing.

Soothing movements rocked Eden out of her reverie. Her head was pounding and heavy; her ribs were crying and her heart was bleeding.

She felt like a wreck as she slowly came back to consciousness. The horse’s hooves clashing against the even ground; distant, grim chattering and the sound of wagon wheels all overwhelming her at once. Eden shot forward, only to have her waist grabbed by the person behind her. He settled her back onto the saddle, gripping the horse’s reins from behind; his forearms brushing against her nonchalantly.

The young girl glanced back and was met with Levi’s usual, indifferent stare. His physiognomy was so detached; as though they had just come back from regular sparring.

“Stop moving before you topple off my horse. I have no interest in scraping the horse’s hooves for remnants of my cadet,” Levi huffed, his cloak’s hood framing his chiseled face as he silently urged the horse to pick up its speed.

Eden looked back ahead, watching the wall edge closer and closer.

Were they really back home?

She paused, face contorting into a hurt expression. It doesn’t really matter. This was all for nothing.

Walking through the city was hell on its own. The scrutinizing glares and judgmental eyes of the citizens pierced through Eden’s body. Levi had leaned over and muttered for her to ignore it all hardly tended her nerves.

She kept her head trained forward as she listened to a male citizen push through the Regiment, conversating with the Captain directly. He was soft-spoken and his words were filled with pride.

Then, he had uttered out her name.

The name that had made Eden’s heart stop; her lungs fighting for air.

He continued inquiring about her, only to be met with Levi’s screaming silence that had answered all of the citizen’s questions for him.

The following day, Eden lay in the infirmary part of the Scout Regiment’s headquarters. Eren was strapped to supplement tubes in the cot beside her, napping loudly.

Jean came to surprise Eden in the morning. Historia, Connie and Sasha were also recruited by Levi to live in the castle. It was eerily strange having them around; as though they were cadets, fresh out of the Training Corps; eager to take down to world.

There wasn’t much discussion, but from what Eden could remember, when Mikasa and Armin came to visit her; they had told her that Captain Levi had personally handpicked the remaining members of the 104th Training Corps, in order for them to train and protect Eren as Hange continues with their titan-shifting progress.

As for Captain Levi; he was never around. At least not in the infirmary, anyway. He had dropped Eden off that same day and left without a word, or even a glance behind his shoulder. It stung Eden.

“Did you hear that Captain Levi had a girlfriend?”

“No- I think she was his fiancée.”

“What was her name?”

“Petra, I think? Petra Ral.”

She listened to Sasha and Connie discuss the deceased girl as a chill struck through her.

Were they sweethearts?

Eden gripped her sheets until her knuckles grew pale; a white, hot ball of fury coiling within her. She wordlessly fumed, her mind soaring from question to question. Why did she feel hurt and discomfort at the words uttered out by her comrades?

Brushing the queries aside; Eden concluded with the fact that she was just mourning. With everything happening so quickly, the youthful cadet did not have enough time to properly grieve away her feelings.

But even Hange came to visit her in the infirmary. Could it be that he was blaming her for what happened to his squad...his beloved?

Eden pulled up her oversized pajama shirt, her fingers gliding against the the black bruises starkly juxtaposing the porcelain skin on her torso.

On the brink of being broken- just severely ruptured. The nurse told her to stay away from training for the time being and be careful when she moved around.

But, as she lay in her cot seething and battered; she began feeling disgusted with herself. Levi had saved her from the same fate she was due to experience as her fallen comrades. And he hadn’t mentioned them at least once.

Disregarding the miniscule voice squeaking in the back of her head to head back to the infirmary; Eden made her way through the coldness of the empty hallways and towards the Captain’s office. It was past twelve, so she had no fear of running into someone unexpected. And she was almost certain he was be still be up.

She waited for his voice to invite her into his office and she saluted him after closing the door behind her. He waved her salute off with a tired hand, his fingers seeking refuge on the bridge of his nose.

“What is it, brat?”

Eden pursed her full lips, ignoring the growing pain in her temple. He looked almost as bad as her. The skin under his eyes a ghastly coal color, the way his brows scrunched in the center revealing a different, more unmasked side of him.

Her charcoal locks swished against her shoulders as she made her way to his desk, arms folding awkwardly against her chest; careful not to meddle with the bandages under the thin fabric of her shirt.

“I just came to ask you how you’re doing,” Eden said in a soft, almost gentle way. Levi finally looked up at her.

“I’m fine,” he declared in an even tone; his expression a blank canvas that made Eden perceive that he could be feeling any type of way right now. But, she would never know.

“I’m sorry the expedition was classed as a failure. I wish I could have done better...to help Eren...to help them...” Eden’s voice broke off in a whisper as she barely managed to finish the sentence. She felt as though she was at the brink of falling into a vortex of insanity; her heart couldn’t cope with the flickering images of her fallen squamates in her mind.

“You did what you could,” Levi stared up at her from his chair as he paused, lips pressing against his teacup. “There’s no point for you to start blaming yourself for things you can’t change.”

Eden huffed, his insensitivity striking her across the face. She pushed the stray strands of hair behind her ears as she meticulously reflected on her next words.

“I know- I mean- I’ve heard that you and Petra were close,” she rushed as he turned his frigid stare back to her face, “I understand if you think this is none of my business; but if you feel like you want to vent, I’m here to listen.”

“Right. Is there anything else you need?” Levi asked slowly, almost as though it were a question. Eden couldn’t think properly in that moment as she began feeling that pit of anger and despair bubble up within her. She felt like this flame was too powerful for her to tame as it slurred within her circulatory system; making its way to every inch of her body. Every crevice was filled with this lawless, bewildering animosity that blocked her from thinking straight.

She huffed, turning her back to Levi as she stalked towards the exit. Her fingers covered the doorknob, muscles pulling the heavy door open. But before she could stop her own actions; her arm slammed the door shut with a loud thud.

Twisting her body around in Levi’s direction; Eden’s eyes blazed with hot fury and torment as she strode over to his desk.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” She yelled at him, her ribs pressing against her lungs in a twisted way; the reaction resulting with her almond eyes brimming with tears. Levi’s lips parted slightly, the frown growing deeper, his eyes widening slightly.

“No no, I mean it, what the hell is wrong with you? How can you sit there, commanding everyone to clean and train and prepare for the worst when you lost your entire squad?” Her voice was filled with emotions, her heart palpitating in her chest, so hard she could barely hear herself over the sound of her blood rushing. “It’s all about trust and being a team; but when they are gone, you suddenly stop giving a shit? I haven’t even being in your team for that long; I understand if expecting you to at least ask me how I’m feeling could be a little far-fetched; but what about Oluo? And Gunther and Eld? And Petra?” Eden cried as he slowly stood up, his left eye twitching as though he was ready to beat her to death.

“I don’t know who the fuck placed all these fairytales in your head, but you need to calm down and start thinking straight,” Levi warned her in a low, phlegmatic way.

She let out a heartsick laugh. “That’s a twisted way of -once again- avoiding your emotions. How can you be so heartless...-”

“You don’t know the first thing about me,” Levi barked out, catching the way she flinched at his tone. “You know absolutely nothing about the way I feel. How can you stand here whining because I didn’t physically show you my grief?”

With a few long strides; Levi stood before the quivering girl. He clutched her by the jaw, shaking her as he yelled in her face. “You don’t know how many people I’ve watched die. You have absolutely no idea how it feels knowing that the people you were once in charge of are now dead.”

Levi roughly let go of a distraught Eden and she winced as her heart clenched painfully. “Didn’t you come to me saying you feel this weight of responsibility on your shoulders? I thought you- of all people- would understand the pressure of obligation meant,” the Captain spat at her, his voice dripping with venom.

And torment?

Eden couldn’t believe her Captain. She stood there trembling and thrashing back at the images of her fallen comrades as they flickered through her mind as though they were imprinted into an album.

Levi watched her carefully with his peripheral vision. Eden walked back towards him, jabbing a finger against his chest as the tears began flowing down her cheeks. “You don’t get to guilt trip me into feeling shitty for coming to you now. Or that night. And maybe I don’t know what it must feel like to lose people over and over again; but when I do lose someone I care about; I can’t exactly keep a blank face on and go around telling people to clean the second floor for the third fucking time that day because you miraculously found one speck of dust on the staircase railing.” Her jabs turned into shoves as she let out an overpowered cry.

It was all too much. His eyes, his apathetic voice, Petra’s smile long-gone, even Oluo’s frustrating quips. Eden’s knees weakened as she felt him grip her biceps; the devastated sobs coming out one after the other. It was the type of pain that clenched her heart until she physically couldn’t think properly- knowing there was nothing else to be done but accept the fact that she needs to move on.

She fell to her knees and Levi smoothly dropped beside her. Eden fell back against his chest, her shoulders convulsing, the tears a never-ending river of sadness stroking her skin. She felt his arms awkwardly embrace her smaller frame; side pressed against his body as she cried into him.

Eden didn’t even have the power to feel sadness anymore. Numbness crept through her, but that somehow sliced through her heart in a different type of way.

Nonetheless, she sat crying in the Captain’s office and he was more than willing to let her do so.

As always, thanks for reading! The link to this story in AO3 is: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28919136/chapters/70952145

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