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otrtbs · 2 years

Note

here is my little head canon’s for the characters in art heist baby! to distract me from the upcoming MCD’s. I hope you enjoy!

James: wanted to be an astronaut when he was younger because he saw a photograph of one. will always drink/eat whatever he was given, even if it was gross because he didn’t want to be rude. fell in love once during school for a boy who would never love him the same way.

Regulus: has a peanut allergy but will take that to the grave. kept all the photos sirius took and he takes them out occasionally and cries to himself. loves cats. he always wished his parents taught him to paint rather than steal art.

Sirius: i feel like he would really like dinosaurs as a kid and even now he’d read about them. loves toast. I can’t explain it. but he loves toast. has a seafood allergy but still loves seafood. loves the colour red.

Remus: always wore his dad’s jumpers as a kid because as a baby they’d use them for his blankets and he didn’t want to use anything else. wants to get a University education because that’s what he strives for and to also save up to give his parents a better life. loves the colour brown and disagrees with anyone who says it’s boring.

Lily: loves apples and making things with apples. wanted to be an artist because it was the one thing Petunia didn’t like doing and Lily knew that Petunia wouldn’t try to upstage her. loves dresses and overalls!! loves the beach but only the ones in France and Italy where the shore is rocks instead of sand!

Mary: grew up in a big family so painting was her way to escape from the noise. she always gave her paintings away as gifts because that was her love language. whenever she visits home, she always cooks with her mum. that’s probably the one thing that she will miss.

Marlene: didn’t grow up in a great neighbourhood which is why she was so good at slight of hand and why she had a passion to steal things. though she still wanted to make it out of that town. never thought she’d love anyone before Dorcas. loves honey on bread. loves honey so much she named her pet rabbit honey. always loved braiding her hair and just others in general.

Dorcas: grew up with no siblings which is why she loves this group so damn much. wanted to go into fashion before she took a computer class in school and fell in love with computers and hacking. though she still practices fashion now. always wears gold jewellery because that’s what her mother wore and she loves her mum.

Peter: mumma’s boy, but in a good way. he has no issues with his dad, but he just gravitates to his mum. his best friend broke their arm while they were playing and Peter didn’t like the fact that he couldn’t help. which is why he went into medicine so he could help. has a little sister who he loves more than words could say. his sister and mum are the two people he’ll miss most in the world

Barty: he only likes being called Bartemius by Evan and Regulus because those are the two people he loves most. was a mumma’s boy but only because his dad didn’t like him. he’d always love his mum. Evan is the first and only boy he’ll fall in love with. loves the colour green, but only dark green. loves coffee over tea but will only drink tea if Evan makes it

Evan: grew up with just him and his mum so he was a little lonely as a kid. Barty was his first friend because he didn’t seem hyper and loud like the other kids were. really liked doing math as a subject. even now he’s super good at maths. loves bananas. loves his mum’s cooking.

this,,, all of this is so sweet and so cute I am tearing UP

regulus wanting to paint instead of steal 😭😭 Lily loving apples >>> YEAH YEAH

this is so so lovely and sweet ahhh <33333 I enjoyed this so much!! and I will be reading it 19371 times over <33

#art heist baby!#asks

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samsexualdeancurious · 2 years

Text

In the Shadow of a Church

Pairing: None

Words: 745

Summary: Sam likes graveyards.

Warnings: 15x20 Spoilers, Canonical MCD

A/N: This is the first fic in a whole collection I will be writing for @spnovember. They will post at 6pm my time. Also, not all of these will be this long, seeing as I'm trying to write 30 fics in addition to the usual stuff. So. Be prepared for a lot of drabbles, lol. Also also, I left Dean's death date blank bc. Well. We don't KNOW what it is, so use your imagination!

---

Sam has always been fascinated by graveyards.

He picks his way along the leaf strewn path of this one, the shadow of the church blocking out any warmth the sun could provide to the chilly autumn air. His backpack hangs from one shoulder. He told Dean he was going to the library and he is. He’s just… taking a detour.

Sam’s eyes skip from one stone to the next, taking in names and numbers and mentally keeping track of them. They’re not in any particular order but he’s gotten pretty good at this.

1825, 1843, 1812…

Leaves crunch under his sneakers as he nears the back corner of the graveyard. The numbers are getting lower, which means he’s getting close.

1806, 1806, 1804…

1802.

Sam stops in front of the stone and crouches to examine it. The numbers are barely visible through the grime of the years. He pulls his sleeve down over his hand and rubs until he can read the name.

Paulette Michel.

French, which makes sense for this area of Ohio. Sam traces the letters of her name with his fingertips and wonders who she was. She was fifty when she died, just a year before Ohio was made a state. He sits back and examines the stone beside hers. Abraham Michel. Her husband? Her brother? It doesn’t say, so probably a brother.

“Sammy?”

Sam’s head snaps up at the sound of his own brother’s call. He can see Dean standing at the base of the library steps across the street. Shit.

“Sam!”

Dean’s pulling out all the stops now, digging deep in his chest to make the word carry, and Sam is on his feet before Dean can yell again.

“Over here!”

Dean meets him at the low fence surrounding the graveyard, grumbling and scolding before Sam’s even reached him. Sam can hear the undertone of relief in his brother’s voice and he allows himself to be tucked against Dean’s side, nodding and murmuring his apologies. After a few blocks, though, Dean sighs and ruffles Sam’s hair.

“What year?” Dean asks.

Sam grins.

The habit continues as Sam gets older. After someone tells him that the last time a person dies is when their name is forgotten, he starts writing down the names. Birth dates, locations, death dates, epitaphs, even the occasional sketch of a stone. Maybe he’ll be enough to keep them alive, in some way?

The first time he loses one of these journals in the rush to pack up and leave town, he hides his tears in the worn out backseat blanket and stares out the window at the dark countryside passing by. He learned at an early age that things are just that - things. John wouldn’t turn around for the beloved stuffed giraffe that lay forgotten on a shitty motel couch. He won’t turn around for a book of dead people’s names.

That doesn’t stop Sam, though. He finds a new notebook, a nice faux leather one from the clearance section at Walmart, and starts over and this time, he’s extra careful to hang on to it. It comes with him from town to town, motel to motel, and, eventually, to Stanford.

Palo Alto has three graveyards for Sam to work his way through in his free time between classes and studying. He takes his time with each, even doing a little digging on the names. Even after he’s found the oldest stone in them, though, he continues to visit. Brady teases him for it and Jess, when she comes along, thinks it’s strange but she still drives Sam to the graveyard and walks with him while he tells her the stories of the people he’s learned about.

After she dies, he doesn’t visit a graveyard for a year unless it’s for a hunt and he doesn’t look for the oldest grave in any of them until Dean sets down his camping lantern beside the wall of an ancient church, points at Sam with his shovel, and says “Find me the oldest one.”

He picks up the habit again after that and he doesn’t stop until he starts his own graveyard, burying a dark wood box in the shadow of a church built to the knowledge of the supernatural world. His cheeks end up streaked with mud when he wipes at his cheeks with dirty hands and pats down the soil over what remains of his big brother.

Dean Winchester

January 24, 1973 - _____ __, 2021

Brother

#spnovember #my writing #spn fanfic #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #supernatural fic #spn fanfiction #spn fic

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yastaghr · 4 years

Text

Our Skeleton 30

Warning: MCD (Not permenant)

Finally able to publish this! Enjoy!

Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7563223/chapters/51589603

This time there were no passengers in the van when Toriel started belting her songs. A little old lady who was driving like a bat out of hell nearly clipped her van. Toriel didn’t seem to notice. She was on a mission. Everything outside of that mission was irrelevant.

She turned off the main road and was immediately surrounded by wealth. Huge houses on huge lots with beautiful landscaping covered the terraign. It reminded her of her childhood on the Surface. Castles and manor houses were where she, as the daughter of two important ambassadors, had spent most of her time.

She pulled into the driveway of one of the smaller houses in the area. It was still opulent, just at a slightly smaller scale. That left more room for the yard, which was manicured to perfection. Toriel admired it as she drove up to the front door. Asgore would have known more, but, then again he wasn’t the biggest fan of ornamental gardens like this. His flowers were always interspersed with practical plants: lavender, aloe vera, fruit bushes, vegetable plants, tomatoes, peppermint, chamomile, sage, etc. This garden was only meant to be looked at and maybe walked through. Toriel knew it would bother him, but he wasn’t here, so she could admire it all she wanted to.

Toriel soon found herself at the front door, knocking with the large iron knocker that decorated the center of the door. She had looked for a doorbell, but had found none. Just as she was beginning to worry that no one had heard her or that no one was home the door swung open.

A tall skeleton leaned around the door. He was wearing an argyle sweater vest over a red button-up shirt. His pants were pressed into a perfectly straight crease. His shoes were polished black lace ups. His face was set in a scowl, and by the wrinkles on his face, it usually was. “THERE IS AN EXPLICIT SIGN AT THE ENTRANCE TO THE NEIGHBORHOOD THAT THERE SHOULD BE NO SOLICITA- OH. OH DEAR. I DO APOLOGIZE, QUEEN TORIEL, I DID NOT KNOW IT WAS YOU. COME IN, COME IN. OUR HOME IS BLESSED TO BE GRACED BY YOUR PRESENCE.”

Toriel stepped inside and looked around. The floors were tile- not marble, but some kind of stone. The walls were white with gold molding. There was a double staircase that swept down from the upper floor to the center of the entry hall. Occasional small tables around the perimeter of the room held classical statues and one elegant vase. Everything was spotless. “I must say, your home is certainly...nice. The vase is quite beautiful,” She said, reaching out to feel it.

“DO NOT TOUCH THAT! IT- MY APOLOGIES. IT WAS HANDED DOWN TO ME BY MY MOTHER. I BELIEVE IT WAS A WEDDING GIFT OF HERS. WE USED IT IN OUR BONDING CEREMONY. SOMETHING OLD, YES?” The stiff monster said.

Toriel laughed in a practiced way that hid her discomfort. All she could think about as she looked through this room was Papyrus’ burnt hands. Had he been punished for touching something one too many times? Papyrus was a very tactile monster. Everything in his and Sans’ house was built to be handled by anyone and everyone as much as possible. He claimed it was good for the brain. His father did not seem to share the same views.

“Indeed. Do you mind if we sit down? I have quite a bit to discuss with you,” Toriel lied. She really only had two things to discuss with him. Their names were Sans and Papyrus. Nevertheless, they were important to discuss.

“OF COURSE! COME THIS WAY, THE SITTING ROOM IS JUST PAST THE CLOCK. HERE,” He gestured to the room with a flourish that hurt her heart. He looked just like Papyrus.

She tore her eyes away from the pain and took in the room. More importantly, she took in its occupant. “Frisk! Hello, dear child. I did not know you would be visiting today. Does anyone else know you are here, my child?”

Frisk nodded, putting down their piece of strawberry shortcake and signing, [I told Mr. Grillby. I slept at his house last night. Do you know how warm it is in there? So warm!]

Toriel laughed. “That is very true. He is a fire elemental, is he not? They like to keep their surroundings warm.”

Frisk paused for a moment, then nodded. [That’s true. I was just talking to T.N. Roman here about the history of skeletons. It was very interesting, but you probably know it better than I do. You lived through a lot of it, right?]

Toriel giggled. “My child, I am only 1,158 years old. Monster’s history goes a great deal further back than that.”

A cough drew her attention to T.N. Roman, who was looking impatient and annoyed with Frisk. Toriel remembered the restraint marks. Papyrus loved to talk with his hands. Surely he could not be mad at Frisk for the same thing? They needed their hands to talk, literally. They’d had to talk with Linda about this “quiet hands” thing before. Surely a monster would be more understanding? He said, “PERHAPS WE SHOULD MOVE OUR CONVERSATION ELSEWHERE? I AM SURE THIS IS A MATTER FOR ADULTS, NOT CHILDREN.”

Toriel instantly shook her head. She had a suspicion that Frisk knew very well why she was here. They would only find a way to eavesdrop if they were excluded. “No, no. Here is fine. It is not that serious a matter. I only wanted to ask you about some young skeletons who are trying to find out more of their past. Perhaps you have heard of them? Their names are Sans and Papyrus.”

The reaction was incredible. T.N. Roman’s whole face scrunched up into a mask of rage and consternation. His hands clenched so tight the bones creaked. The room filled with writhing snakes of emotional magic, twisting and knotting around each other like Gyftmas lights. Then a door slammed shut and the magic was gone. So was all the emotion on his face.

“I’M AFRAID I’M GOING TO HAVE TO ASK YOU BOTH TO LEAVE.”

Frisk stood up with a longing look at the rest of their cake and quietly followed Toriel out of the house. Neither said a word until they reached the van. Toriel opened one of the back doors and gestured Frisk in. “I am sorry to have lost you your cake, my child. I will make you a new one when we get home. Would you please come with me? I believe it is time for a counsel of war.”

Frisk didn’t answer, but they did climb into the van and buckle their seatbelt. Their eyes were darting all around them, not that Toriel could see through those long eyelashes. They’d only ever encountered that much anger in bad people; the kind of people who would lash out at the source of their anger. They didn’t want anyone to get hurt.

The next thing they knew Frisk was waking up with their ears ringing. Their head was full of stars and pain.

<You’ve got a concussion again. I think you’ll need to go to a hospital. Ask Mom if...oh.>

Frisk didn’t like that tone of voice. That was the dead tone of voice, the one Chara used whenever they were talking about “the plan”. They looked around and saw the bone. Somebody had raised a giant bone right in front of Toriel’s van, and they’d had enough harmful intent and she’d had enough speed that the whole van was wrapped around it. Frisk was safer in the backseat, but they couldn’t see Mom. Had she gotten out already? Her door wasn’t open. Had Sans teleported in and saved her?

<Frisk...the front seat is full of dust. She’s...she’s dead, Frisk. Mom’s dead.>

Frisk shook their head. No. Mom was...Mom was invincible. She wasn’t...she couldn’t be… A flashback overtook them.

-----

Frisk stared up at the giant monster, quaking in their boots. They were terrified of this woman. She touched them in weird ways, and tried to feed them weird food, and yelled at them when they asked to leave. It was just like the foster homes, only now, the only way out was through her. Frisk didn’t want to kill, but...there were so many warning signs that this woman would be abusive. They really didn’t want to take the risk.

Frisk stared down at the pile of dust. They felt sick to their stomach. They weren’t that much of a danger...were they? They just wanted to be free. Being trapped reminded them too much of that place. They needed to roam, to move, to be free. And that old lady wasn’t going to let them through for anything...right?

-----

<Frisk...we need to LOAD. Right now. Please, Frisk, I don’t...Frisk? Frisk, can you hear me?>

Frisk wasn’t listening. They were desperately trying to undo their seatbelt. They had to see. This couldn’t be real. They...they just had to!

Finally it came undone, and Frisk burst from it and crawled over to the driver’s side. They peered over the edge, hopeful that somehow, Chara was wrong. They were sure-

-But they were wrong. All that greeted them was a big pile of dust. Round, dark patches appeared in the pile. Frisk saw a drop of water fall from them to the dust. They were crying. Sobbing, now. Their whole world was turned over.

<Frisk. Frisk. Can I LOAD our SAVE? We SAVED just outside the door to the mansion, remember? I know you can think of some way to divert Mom from talking to him.>

Frisk sniffed. They could think of a way or two to do it, yes.

Frisk nodded and reached for their SAVE.

#undertale #our skeleton fanfic #toriel #frisk #mcd #temporary character death #yastaghr

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mellybean89 · 7 years

Text

Ode to lovers past, & their untimely return.

It was a quiet night. Work was drawn out and exceedingly boring. Made some delectable chicken parm and roasted zucchini and settled in to rewatch Entourage.

Then I heard it.

Beep. A text.

“Wassup.“

Cue eye roll. It seems every single time things are going fantastically Major reappears.

It’s never expected, but it always fucks with my head.

“Not a whole lot and yourself?”

*face palm* No no. Not this again silly girl. Major is like crack. Addictive and dangerous. Always leaves me wanting more. Once I get a taste he’s gone.

We worked together once upon a time, slinging coffee in the middle of nowhere. He has a killer smile and a debonair way about him.

His taste still lingers in my mind. His hands, his gaze. The past hits he like a Peterbilt truck travelling with no breaks, no chance in hell of stopping.

He was mine for a few nights, but that was forever ago. I still can’t believe that I had him. But like a puma he returns to his solitude, his jungle and I’m left reeling.

We were young, highschool aged. There was always flirtation but the torch I carried shone so bright you would’ve been blind to miss it. I always thought he was just being nice to me.

Fast forward a few years. After I moved to a tiny town that will forever be referred to as the devils pit. We kept in touch over those years. Every few months or so. Our messages becoming more urgent and wanting. We made plans though they always fell through.

Then I found myself back in Toronto, my heart. Oh how I had missed the loud unending traffic, the smell of asphalt and the cramped city buses. My soul was alive. He got ahold of me, beckoned me to visit him on the other side of town. I remember borrowing my mother’s caliber. My heart pumping so loudly in my chest with each passing traffic light. I was in a daze…

… could this really be happening. I arrive and it took me everything to not run away like a scared child. Major was untouchable, mystical even. I bolstered myself, I wasn’t the inexperienced little odd girl anymore. I checked myself in the mirror for the final time and walk to the door. Praying that my clumsy ass doesn’t face plant on the way up the drive.

He opens the door and I am in awe. He looks the exact same, but different, more mature, wiser. His smile rivals that of a movie star type. My knees instantly weaken. He leads me down to the basement. It’s large with a beautiful brick fireplace.

We get settled in, catch up, laugh about the time I pretended to be superman and dove into the bushes of a McD’s (that’s an interesting tale). Decide on a movie that neither of us intended to pay attention to.

I get brave and cheeky and start to massage him. Slowly and thoughtfully. This is the man I’ve wanted for far too long. A man that I could finally have for a night at a time. He kisses me. It’s deep and I’m instantly ignited alive. One kiss and I knew id spiraled down the rabbit hole.

I knew then that the story was really just beginning.

“Long weekend started early for me… hanging out. How’s everything bee.”

I am no longer a silly girl. I know that what I wanted those many moons ago was not something he could ever offer. He is like a ghost occasionally drifting in and out of my life. I’m always surprised to hear from him. He will never be a constant, someone I could have relied on.

I remember the night we spent together, I’ll spare you the more salacious details. It started off to be an interesting evening. I was visiting my cousins, Major found out I was in town and invited me to a movie downtown. We saw Hancock which is right up my alley. Prior to meeting him he had informed me that an ex-girlfriend would be joining us.

If I had to be completely honest I was anxious. This is a girl he had dated, I know what types of girls he dates and she is the polar opposite of me. She was quiet, tiny, and elegant. I am none of those things.

This was the moment I knew for sure we would never be a thing. Just passing lovers. Circling each other with the prospect of carnal bliss.

After the movie we discuss how to ditch the little missus. No hard feelings doll, but your time had passed. We get to the Subway and wait for a train we had no intention of taking, her train arrived first going the opposite way. We head back to the surface and continue the dance.

We decide to go to a pub on Yonge St. across from the former record shop of Sam the Record Man. We made our way up the stairs to the second floor so we could overlook the bustling street down below. I order an Alabama Slammer, he orders a beer, probably a Keith’s, even more likely a draft.

We talk and flirt as old friend’s do. We perch ourselves right at the window, looking down at everyone rushing by. The neon sign for the Zanzibar flashes and dances out of the corner of our eyes. We order another and the butterflies kick up again. There has been so much build up for so long that the electricity is buzzing in the air around us.

We decide to head back to his place. On the way down the stairs I get a rush of boldness, I say his name, he turns. I wrap my arms around him and pull him close and our lips meet. I linger, savoring the moment. The air pops and crackles around me.

I’d like to blame it on the slammers, but I know better. I needed desperately to know two things.

1: That there was indeed a spark, that my girl crush had blossomed into a womanly desire and that this was what I wanted.

2: That he wouldn’t be ashamed and pull away from me, in public, completely crushing my soul in one swift aching moment.

I caught him off guard, but he didn't seem displeased in anyway. So we continued our journey. We hopped on the subway and then took a bus and walked to his place. I remember how nervous I was, and I could tell he was nervous as well. We were both far from virgins but that didn't stop my heart beating in my chest. While we undressed each other my hands were shaking. I kept my voice as quiet as a whisper, afraid if I spoke too loudly the bubble would burst around me and it would all have been an illusion. Once we had finished we both fell into a deep slumber. Got up, showered and took the bus and subway downtown. That night will be forever engrained in my memory.

#my writing #first time #story #blunder #my story #trouble #love #or some shit #lovers #i'm cringing #once upon a time #spilled thoughts #spilled words #confession

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