#I already did all the animated ones and wanted to draw the silly moose

[funkinmadnesss]

Oops! All Mysterio!

I had a lot of fun doing these :] and I might eventually do more later but for now! The sillies <3

Info under the cut!

All Mysterios, left to right, top to bottom!

First slide, Cartoons: 1967, 1981, Spider-man and his amazing friends, 1994, TSSM, 2017

Second slide, Comics: Webspinners, Moosterio, Media Blizzard, Undead, Symbiote, Cosmic comic

Third slide, Fan designs: Mine :] , @hollowsart , @lazymonth , @cronchyy2 , @thenyougetbackup , @lazydaydrawings

[galadrieljones]

The Lily Farm - Chapter 46

AO3 | Masterpost

Pairing: Arthur x Mary Beth

Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes

Summary: After Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. What takes place at first is a simple love story: full of trials and journeys that they must endure together, as a team. But over time, things complicate. The gang is in trouble, and as Arthur and Mary Beth aim to set out on their own one day, they must find a way to help those they love while eventually, finding escape. Their ultimate goal is to go north with the Marstons, to find the bucolic stretches of Wisconsin where, rumor has it, there are lily farms. Will they make it? How will they survive when all hope seems lost? This is their story.

Chapter 46: The Widow of Willard’s Rest, Pt. 1

***BEGINNING OF PART IV: AMERICAN PASTORAL***

Most days at Deer Cottage, Arthur would wake up early. He would go outside to chop firewood, and then he’d kindle the fire and drink coffee and smoke cigarettes outside. Most mornings, he would fish, but as the days were getting colder and shorter, sometimes he would just set up a trap line on the Kamassa to leave out all day instead, and then hike back up the ridge to the wooded hinterlands and hunt whitetail. He always rode home with enough to cook, smoke, and cure. He would then come back down to the river, empty out the fish trap and with any luck find a sturgeon or a largemouth bass. His new filly Leah, who he named for another character that he remembered from the Old Testament, which he had learned to read from many years before, was a fast girl and even in her temperament. She did not always take well to strange animals, and she had a wary look in her eye upon most passers-through. But she was wise to predators and upon Arthur’s constant and gentle reassurance, mostly a brave and kind girl.

Mary Beth seemed to need a lot of sleep, meanwhile. But she would stay up late knitting sweaters for everybody she knew, as winter was coming now, and she was anxious, and she needed something to keep her hands busy. Most days she did not wake up until Arthur was already busy with his routine, elsewhere, having left her a note or sometimes a little drawing with a pot of coffee on the stove. She wanted to be useful. She was used to having chores, hence the sweaters, and they were scarce on laundry so she made sure to keep things clean. She tidied the cottage in its every corner. There wasn’t much for berries this time of year, but Arthur had found an apple tree and with the dwindling autumn crop, she would bake. She read everything she could find, over and over again, and she wrote prose here and there, but her mind was occupied with a lot of worry and restlessness those days. The baby, the gang. Arthur would take her out shooting, and this seemed to help. He taught her to use every kind of gun. She tended the horses in the barn, which Arthur had built with help from Hamish over a period of one week. It was ramshackle business, but it would do.

Arthur and Mary Beth had been lying low in Roanoke Ridge now for three months. Together they rode into Annesburg at the end of every week, on Sunday, to check the post for word from Dutch, and to buy supplies and the newspaper. Annesburg was a mining community, and its little camps of gutter homes all lined up in a row made Mary Beth sad. As a boomtown, however, Arthur had said it reminded him of Virginia City, Nevada, a place to which he had traveled many years before right after he’d been more or less adopted by Dutch and Hosea. “They took me there,” he told her one Sunday, as they rode into town, down from the hills, “and we set up shop for many weeks. I pulled my weight in the gang at the blackjack tables for a long time, and I knew how to wrangle, and looking back, weren’t nobody better at keeping his head down than me.” He then sighed and grew stoic with concern. “Virginia City is where Susan taught me a thing or two about dancing,” he said, too, chewing on a reed or a piece of bark, smoking a cigarette, wearing an old cowboy hat given to him as a gift from Hamish. He was trying to make her feel better. The gunsmith in Annesburg was chatty and liked their company, too, so they would often make conversation with him. He thought they were implants from the western plains, looking to start a new life, and they supposed it was not altogether untrue.

There was still no word from Dutch. But the papers were quiet, which was a good sign. There had been a story on the “riverboat massacre” some weeks back—that’s what they’d called it down at the St. Denis Times—but no civilians had been killed, and authorities did not seem to know who or what had caused the blow-up. It had been reported that Angelo Bronte, foreign national and local philanthropist, had gone missing for a time, but he was back now, and safe, having claimed to be on vacation up the river, and though this was suspicious, there was not much to make of the feeling. Meanwhile the Mayor was in trouble with the state government for something or other. It looked like he might even get ousted from office. But Arthur did not keep up with politics. He didn’t care what happened to Lemieux nor Bronte, for he and Mary Beth were long gone, and they were never going back to Lemoyne.

There had been one letter in all those months—from Ranger Call. He kept coy and symbolic in his language, but in the letter, he hinted at a complicating factor involving John and the federal penitentiary. This worried them both gravely. Apparently, there was a hold-up on moving the gang to a more permanent relocation, and they’d had to take temporary shelter in Lakay until the problem was solved. But this had been weeks before. The letter also said they were going west, maybe. Or continuing north. That was what Dutch had claimed, but there was uncertainty.

Some members of the gang had gone, claimed Woodrow. Namely, Micah. The asshole feller with the handlebar mustache, he wrote. He went by the wayside when the Man attenuated their plans to rob a city bank. Some wonder if he is even still alive, as a couple days before his disappearance, he had gotten in a tussle with Mr. Matthews, who threatened his life. He said there would be more news when the gang found camp once more. Do not come to Lakay, Mr. Morgan, said the letter. For the Man has sent scouts high and low, from the Grizzlies East to the Big Valley. There will be salvation soon. In the meantime, Mr. Matthews thinks it would be safest, per Mrs. Morgan’s condition, and for how recognizable you have become down here in Lemoyne, for the two of you to remain where you are. The letter also contained information about the Wintersons. They are okay, it said. They are in Chicago and will return in a matter of months. This was a relief. Of course, they tried not to fret too much over John, as all they could do from here was, ironically enough, have faith that it was under control, counting on both Dutch and Hosea as so often they had done in the past.

In the end, there was very little else that Arthur and Mary Beth could do now but survive, not until they got word on where to go next. Hamish had traveled up to visit them on a few occasions. He was doing okay, and he and Arthur would hunt big game during the day and then at twilight they would all go fishing. Other than the constant worrying over John and the rest of the gang, and the occasional fears for the coming winter, and the baby, the way they were living up there in the Roanoke Valley, it wasn’t so bad. There was so much solitude, privacy, time to just be together. It was a privilege they had not been able to entertain in a very long time. Sometimes at night, Mary Beth would cook up a fine dinner, and they would play music on the gramophone, dance as they had that first night they had admitted their love to one another so long ago. Of course they laughed while they did it. It was silly, and they were rare to approach these sorts of sentimental affairs without sarcasm those days. But that was the point. Arthur would fashion a flower from behind her ear, little magic tricks that he had picked from Josiah, and they would talk and play cards and sip whiskey tea. Arthur had a way of letting it all roll right off of him, like raindrops on a tin roof, and that reassured Mary Beth and got her to focus on the day-to-day. She knew how he held the big picture in his mind like a story, navigating the plot, keeping calm. He had not always been so calm, he thought. This was such a positive development for him that had taken some time, and a lot of work. She was starting to show a little bit now, under her dress. They both saw it. Whenever he himself wanted soothing, he would place his head in her lap in the evenings while they listened to music and looked at the fire. She would tell him stories she made up out of the ether. Stories about escaped princesses with swords and poison arrows, and the country knights who loved and defended them. In Mary Beth’s stories, the knights needed protection, too. They were not immortal, or demigods. Just men, she would say. Arthur liked her stories very much.

One day, when the weather was nice, Arthur and Mary Beth rode north up the river with a mind to do some fishing near Brandywine Drop. They kept riding as the sun was warming their backs from its place in the sky, and it felt good. There had been snow already up in these hills, but it was melting off the trees that day and muddy, and Arthur shot a cougar from a distance with his rifle and then together they observed a moose nosing its way through the pines. They decided to camp after clearing the area for Murfree Brood. There were none about that day. Before the sun went down that day, they were just riding up the river, looking for a place to camp when they came upon a woman up the hillside, under a ridge, crying. When they found her, she was sitting on her knees in front of a wooden cross stuck in the dirt, a grave. She was not dressed warm enough for the weather, and she was very dirty. She had dark hair falling apart all around her face in pieces. Both Arthur and Mary Beth were concerned. They approached on horseback. When she saw them, she staggered to her feet and looked terrified. She clutched herself. Arthur stayed back, but Mary Beth got off her horse. She went toward the woman carefully, with her hands in front of her. She said, “It’s okay. We ain’t gonna hurt you.”

The woman looked around, like she was hopeless. She seemed to trust Mary Beth, as most did. “Who are you?” she said.

“I’m Mary Beth, and this is my husband Arthur," she said. "We’ve been living in a cottage just down the river. We’ve been there a few months. How long have you been up here?”

The woman looked back to Arthur, who removed his hat in chivalry. He still did not dismount his horse. He knew what he must have looked like out here to a woman all on her own. He didn’t want to scare her.

“Um,” said the woman, as if gathering her faculties. “We came here—a month ago? Maybe more. I don’t know.”

“Who’s we, ma’am?” said Arthur. “If you don’t mind my asking.”

“My husband and me,” she said. She seemed to brace herself, then looked back at the cross, the grave. She was crying, a little. “We came out here from back east, Philadelphia.”

Mary Beth got a little closer. She stood beside the woman. “What happened?”

The woman dried her eyes on her sleeve. She shook her head in a combination of sadness and shock. “A bear,” she said, staring at the grave. “It was horrifying. He survived, but only a couple of days."

“Oh my,” said Mary Beth, in near on disbelief. She placed her hand on the woman’s shoulder to comfort her. The woman did not protest.

“I buried him, maybe a week ago," she said.

Mary Beth glanced back to Arthur, who shook his head in sadness. This was worse than it seemed, they both thought together, and they were needed. He got off his horse and came over. When he did, the woman looked up at him. She was very small, smaller than Mary Beth even. But Arthur had a way of softening his demeanor when he wanted to. He took a deep breath. “We are very sorry for your loss, ma’am,” he said.

“Thank you.” She seemed confused, like she was getting lost in his eyes, or like somehow she had forgotten where she was.

“Is there a town, or a train station that we can take you to?" he said. "You shouldn’t be out here alone. I know you’re—I know you’re grieving, but it really ain’t safe.”

“What?” she said. She snapped out of it then, almost immediately. “No. No, I can’t leave.”

“All do respect, ma’am, but why not?”

"Because it was our dream.”

“Your dream?”

“Yes,” said the woman, almost defiant. “We came out here from the city in search of a different life. Something true. Something real. I hate to say that we found it, in the worst possible way, but we did. And I can’t leave now. I can’t leave him behind.” She looked back to the grave. She closed her eyes. "For you." She said his name then, which was Cal.

Mary Beth, still with her hand on the woman’s shoulder, was looking at Arthur like she didn’t quite know how to proceed. They couldn’t leave the woman alone up here. It was feral country, and winter was coming. Surely, she would die. Arthur shrugged. Mary Beth did, too.

“What’s your name?” she said, to the woman.

“Charlotte,” said the woman. “Charlotte Balfour.”

“Well, Charlotte,” said Mary Beth. “Maybe we can help you then, get back on your feet.”

Charlotte looked at them like they were crazy. “Help me?”

“Yeah,” said Mary Beth. “Me and Arthur—well, Arthur especially—we been living on the range a long time, and like I said, we’re so nearby.”

“You’ll starve out here,” said Arthur, watching the woman, closely. “That is, if something else don't get to you first. Bear, mountain lions, or worse. You know how to hunt?”

Charlotte laughed to herself then. It was a strange sound amidst all the sadness. “No,” she said. “Of course not. And of course, I’m nearly out of food.”

Arthur smiled at this. “Well, we’ll teach you.”

“You’ll teach me?”

“Of course,” said Arthur. “Mary Beth here, even she knows how to use a rifle.”

“Ain’t nothing to it,” said Mary Beth.

Charlotte watched them, like she didn't fully understand, but she was listening. Somewhere far away, there was a loon going off, ringing in the twilight. The air was getting colder as the sun was going down past the ridge line. “Okay,” she said, with hesitance.

“Good,” said Arthur, almost soft now. He was half-groomed that day. He’d let Mary Beth cut his hair, had trimmed down his beard. It was probably a good thing. When you could see his eyes, his whole face, he had a kind and a sturdy look that most people trusted. He really was a warm man. “You got a rifle?” he went on. “If not, that’s okay. We got guns.”

“I do,” she said. “I have a couple.”

“Where’s your house?”

“Up the ridge,” she said. “Come, I’ll show you.”

They followed her up a long path to a small homestead painted green. There was a barn and a chicken coup. The coup was bustling, but it looked to Mary Beth that the eggs had not been harvested in a while. “You got eggs here,” she said. “Do you mind if I bring some in for you?”

“Oh,” said Charlotte, like she had not noticed. She was so thin. It looked like she probably had not eaten or slept proper since her husband, maybe not since Philadelphia. “Of course not. Thank you.”

“Any time.”

Mary Beth gathered a dozen or so into her skirt. When she came over, Charlotte seemed to notice then that she might have been pregnant, but she didn’t say anything. They stood on the porch. Arthur was quiet and calm, chewing on a toothpick.

Before she let them in the house, Charlotte stopped with her hand on the door handle. She looked inquisitive and she said, “What—or, who exactly are you?” She seemed embarrassed by the question, like she’d meant to say something more formal. “I just mean—why have you come to the Roanoke Valley? What is it that you do here?”

Mary Beth smiled.

“We’ve had all manner of jobs,” said Arthur. “We been on the road for some time now, and the road gets weary. Like you, we’re looking for a new life.”

This seemed to reassure Charlotte. She smiled down at her muddy but elegant boots. “Oh," she said. "Well, I should say, you look like farmers, or ranchers, maybe? Salt of the earth, if you will.”

“You ain’t wrong,” said Arthur. But he said not more. They went inside then, where Charlotte showed them around her modest home. There was lovely wallpaper and heavy oak furniture. Charlotte was digging around in a big leather trunk by the window, and Arthur and Mary Beth were waiting patiently, but by the time she finally found the rifles and the bullets, it was getting dark, and too cold to go back outside.

“Oh, good heavens,” she said, looking out the window, then at her watch. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” said Arthur.

“Would you stay the night?” she asked them, like she was desperate. She’d been picking at the skin around her fingernails, Mary Beth had noticed. She was so nervous, and worried, and scared and sad and alone. Mary Beth had not met another woman like her since they'd picked up Sadie up near Colter. “I have an extra bedroom," Charlotte went on, "with a bed big enough for the two of you. I just—now that you’ve come, I—”

“Sure,” said Mary Beth. She went to the kitchen table to sort the eggs into a basket, and Arthur was just sort of wandering around with his shotgun still slung over his shoulder. There were some pictures hanging on the wall of Charlotte and the man who must have been her husband, pictures which he was looking at. “We’ll stay. Right, baby?”

“Huh?” said Arthur, only half-listening as he looked at the pictures.

“I said, we’ll stay. We can go out and have a fresh start in the morning. Right?"

He surfaced then, looked at her, easy-going. “Sure,” he said. “Why not?”

Charlotte was relieved.

She showed them to their room. It was simple but beautiful with a high, brass bed and a white comforter stuffed with down feathers. There was not much for food that night, so Arthur stoked the hearth and went back out in the dark to hunt some rabbit, alone, while Mary Beth fried a couple of eggs and made her famous whiskey tea. Charlotte ate the eggs hungrily, though Mary Beth could still sense her trying to be demure about it. They sat on the small sofa together, sipping the tea then, looking at the fire. Mary Beth felt warm and comfortable and though she felt bad for Charlotte, and she could not herself imagine losing her husband and still finding a way to survive, she tried not to pity her, for she, too, had once been a woman all alone in the wild, and after all, she was glad to have a job now, something to do, somebody to help. For a while there, it seemed she and Arthur were always the ones who needed saving.

“Your husband,” said Charlotte after a little while. She was distant, sobered. “He seems very…sturdy, and wise. And you do, too. Do the two of you always know exactly what to do?”

The question was earnest. Mary Beth found it amusing. “Of course not,” she said. “We have found ourselves in our fair share of trouble over the years. But when it comes to surviving in the wild, it's true that we’ve got skills.”

“How long have you been married?” said Charlotte. The fire crackled. The room was warm.

“Not too long,” said Mary Beth. “Maybe four or five months? I am losing track of the weeks now. But we have known each other for a lot longer than that.”

“How did you meet?” said Charlotte.

Mary Beth took a long drink of her tea. She looked at Charlotte and could tell that she was just desperately lonely, that she needed preoccupation and companionship. Mary Beth didn’t want to lie to her. “We met in Kansas City,” she said, shoving the hair out of her face. Her curls were messy from the day. “I was only nineteen, living completely on my own. I was an orphan, and I didn’t have nothing to my name. I was in trouble back then, and alone. Like you. But I met Arthur and his…well, his family, I guess. They took me in.”

Charlotte was listening, rapt. She seemed surprised, maybe, that it was so bad. Like she did not know what to say. It seemed her instinct then to back off. She didn’t ask for anymore details, but she did not close herself off emotionally. She just had a certain polish about her, a certain sheen, even despite her current predicament. For this, and coupled with everything else from the wallpaper to the fine quality of her leather boots, Mary Beth could tell she came from money. “You're so brave," said Charlotte, shaking her head. "It's terrible you had to go through all of that."

"I am no worse for the wear," said Mary Beth. "I found Arthur from it. But thank you."

"My husband and I had all the safety in the world,” she said then, shaking her head like it was just so stupid, so small and silly in comparison. “And still, it wasn’t enough. What a pair of fools.” She closed her eyes. A little tear plopped out. “This was his dream, to escape our lives," she said. "Our lives of privilege, of predictability. And I followed him.”

“I understand that,” said Mary Beth.

“How is it that you’re not afraid?” she said then, opening her wide, pale eyes. “Living…on the range, as you said earlier. All alone? Everything you’ve been through. It sounds so hard, and terrifying. I’ve never known hardship before—before all this. I am a stupid woman, and I am starting to wonder now if I should have been smarter. Maybe I should have been more argumentative, said no. Maybe we never should have come here.” She looked away, at the hardwood floors, which looked new.

“Well, I do get afraid,” said Mary Beth, sincerely. She placed her hand on Charlotte’s hand where they sat in front of the fire. “I get afraid all the damn time."

"You do?"

"Yes. Mostly of losing Arthur," said Mary Beth, "as I have lost so much before him, and I know what that’s like. Losing. As I said, I understand. But listen, Charlotte. It don’t matter where you come from, or who you are. There’s always something better out there, waiting. That's what I'm learning. There’s always something to escape from, and there’s always somewhere better you’re trying to be. You should try not to regret what you did. You don’t know what might’ve happened if you’d stayed in the city. Life is so fragile, I think, and you got to do what you want. It’s easy to worry too much. We gotta...keep perspective. For as long as we can. That's what I'm doing right now. I'm keeping perspective. Arthur helps me with that. There's a lot going on in my life, that's scary, but you know, you don't really find the meaning in life on your own. It finds you. Like with me and Arthur. We was friends for…years, before love found us. Life can be real bad, I reckon, but you never know what’s gonna happen that’s good. Right? So you just gotta keep living, and that’s it, right?” She sat back and placed her hand on her little tummy, as if to reassure herself with the same words she was using to try and reassure Charlotte. "You just gotta try." She sipped her tea and smiled in such a way so that she would seem strong, and like she knew what she was talking about. It was true, she herself was struggling with such similar predicaments, but her husband was alive, and in that, she was the sturdier woman on the sofa that day, by far, so she acted like it.

Charlotte, meanwhile, was staring at Mary Beth, and then looking down into her tea and then back at the fire. They heard Arthur’s heavy boots then, out on the porch. They both glanced toward the sound with immense relief. Charlotte then suddenly looked back to Mary Beth, brightening up a little. She was not okay, but Mary Beth had hit on something it seemed—she was reassured. “Thank you,” she said. “So much. I hate to be a burden to strangers. But you are good people.”

Mary Beth waved her off as the atmosphere between them changed and grown more comfortable. “Don’t worry about it,” she said. “And I hope we won’t stay strangers for long.”

Charlotte smiled. “Me, too.”

Arthur came in the door then. He took off his hat and shook the cold off. He had two rabbits, skinned and cleaned and tied together, laying over his shoulder. “Lord in heaven, it’s cold out there,” he said. He looked at them fondly then, huddled on the sofa, blowing into his hands. “But you two ladies look nice and cozy.”

“Is those rabbits ready to cook?” said Mary Beth.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Thank you,” said Charlotte. She rose from the sofa. Went to him and took the rabbits off his hands. “Thank you, so much, Arthur.”

“Don’t mention it,” he said. He rubbed his hands together and looked at Mary Beth. “You got anymore of that tea, my lady?”

“Yes, sir,” said Mary Beth. She got up to pour him some. He took off his jacket and went to warm himself by the fire, and when she handed him the mug, he thanked her and kissed her on the head. Then he came and sat at the kitchen table. Mary Beth helped Charlotte to prepare a stew and they all three of them chatted for a while. Charlotte had some carrots, cabbage, and salt in her pantry, which they chopped up and used generously. As they were sitting down for dinner a little while later, they looked out the window. It was starting to snow.

“Sweet Christmas,” said Mary Beth. “Is that snow?”

“I guess we’re in it,” said Arthur, amused. He seemed so relaxed there, so deeply in his element. He tucked one of Charlotte’s fine cloth napkins into his collar. “Winter is upon us."

“I guess so,” said Charlotte, like she was unsure. They ate their stew.

As they did, the wind howled through the chimney, filling the room with its strange reminder of all the uncertainty beyond, all of which seemed so inconsequential while they were safe and sound there inside those walls. So much had started, finished, been found, and lost. And yet, there was still so much to do, it seemed, to weather the storm.

[meetthetank]

Perversion of a Desperate Prayer

Rating: Mature                                

Archive Warning: Graphic depictions of violence

Category: F/M

Fandom: NieR: Automata (Video Game)

Relationship: 2B/9S (NieR: Automata)

Characters: 9S (NieR: Automata), Masamune - Character, 4S (NieR: Automata)

 Additional Tags: feral androids, Angst, Hurt No Comfort, Route C/D

Language: English

Series: Part 1 of the Overdose Delusion series 

Due to recent tumblr fuckery I won’t be putting a link to the Ao3 page in this post. Next time it should be good to put a link in though. Hopefully.

Summary: 9S gets his wish.

Why 9S hadn’t killed the machine blacksmith yet is a mystery to him. Watching the armored thing work, with its back turned to him, it would be so easy to run him through with a spear, cleave him in two with a sword, or pummel him to death with a bracer. He could hack the thing, and it wouldn’t have the time to react before its controls are overridden. Yes, it would be simple, quick, painless. More than any machine deserves.

Yet as he holds his hand out to prepare a hack, he fails to go through with it. Seeing the little machine restore the worn white blade to a pristine state halts his attack. 9S lowers his hand with a tired sigh. Every one of those thoughts becomes harder and harder to not act on. He wonders how long it’ll be before he finally does.

9S’ head snaps up as the gears in the little armored machine click and whirr to life. Its torso turns completely around with its legs following soon after.

“There. Good as new,” it says in that grating mechanical drone shared by its brethren.

9S gives the machine a half-hearted thanks as he takes the massive white sword. He nearly loses his grip on the heavy blade before letting it be digitized by his pod for storage. His fingers trace the fading pieces of data with a will of their own.

“...Where is your partner, the owner of that sword. I haven’t seen her in some time.”

The machine’s words cut into his chest, making his whole body tighten as if he had been hit with a physical attack.

“She…” 9S isn’t sure why it’s so hard for him to explain this to an unfeeling machine, but forcing the words out is like swallowing coals, “She’s gone.”

“Ah...my condolences.”

9S turns away from it to hide the sneer that twists his face. What could a machine know about loss, about his pain? What could it know about 2B?

Drawing in a shaky breath, he exits the hidden workshop to resume trek to the resource unit floating nearby. Yet just as he’s about to leave, the machine calls him back.

“Wait, young android. Before you go, heed this warning.”

He stops, casting a tired glance backward at the blacksmith.

“There’s something lurking around the castle of late.”

“...What is it.” 9S curses his curiosity.

“I’m not sure. It seems to be an android...or rather, it seems like it used to be an android. It looks closer to a beast now.”

9S wishes he didn’t know what the machine was referring to. In the time since he's woken up, he’s seen more of these androids turned beasts than he ever wished. He counts himself lucky that they don’t seem to go out of their way to attack him. n Ifact they seem more like skittish animals than the monsters he recalls.

“...I’ll keep an eye out for it,” he mutters before leaving the machine blacksmith to its work.

“It’s like a living shadow. You’ll hear its simple weapon scraping across the ground before you see it.”

Despite 9S being nearly certain that this beastly android won’t drop from the high towers of the castle on him, there’s a distinct feeling of unease that puts him on edge. He instinctively reaches for his sword at every warped shadow or rustling leaves. How silly of him to be so scared by the words of a machine. The senseless thing probably saw a boar or moose inside the castle walls and thought it some monster.

And yet…

If it’s right…

9S keeps his sword in hand. Just in case.

There’s one more thing he has to do before taking on that floating tower of scrap that haunts his peripheral vision. Deeper within the castle lies the library, a sprawling collection of unreadable rotted books and home to the older scanner, 4S. 9S isn’t sure why he chose to isolate himself so far away from the other androids, if something happened to him it’d be hours or even days before anyone would know something was wrong. With this creature supposedly lurking around, his visit to 4S is twofold. To share enemy data as he requested, and to make sure the older model is okay. A part of him says he’s being too paranoid but ever since...He doesn’t want to lose anyone else.

The castle itself is eerie without the hoards of machines loyal to their king. Trekking through used to be a chore as he would have to fight through countless armored machines trying to stop him from getting too close to the infant king. But he could always rely on…

…

But she’s gone now.

And he’s alone.

She called him “Nines” here. She tried to deny it, but he knows what he heard. Her icy demeanor crumbled and was rebuilt in an instant, but he saw someone who cared about him. Someone who…

9S takes a deep breath and wipes the moisture pooling at the corner of his eyes. He lies to himself, it’s just the humidity and dust in the air. He doesn’t have time to sit and cry.

Emotions are prohibited anyway.

4S waves to him as he enters the library then hops down the series of ladders and balconies to meet him. His enthusiasm brings a little smile back to 9S’ face.

“Hey, Nines.”

As soon as that smile appears, it’s gone, replaced by pursed lips and clenched teeth, “Hey.”

4S studies him quietly for a moment before continuing, “Brought me some more data?”

“Yeah. Here you go.”

There are only a few enemy data files to transfer over, simple variations on stubbies and the like. The transfer is over in an instant.

“Hm, I wonder why the machines have such a fascination with hats. They don’t seem to have any purpose in combat.”

“There’s no reason behind anything the machines do.” 9S growls.

“I-...Well yeah, I guess.”

4S dismisses his screen and places his hand on 9S’ shoulder in a gesture of comfort that the younger model has to force himself to accept.

“Hey...do you want to take a break? You’ve been going nonstop ever since-...You look exhausted.”

“I’m fine.”

“...Okay. Well, if you want to talk at all I’ll be here.”

Beneath his visor, 9S stares at the ground between their feet. He can’t meet the other scanner’s gaze. He doubts he could even look at himself right now.

“Thanks.”

There’s a long pause between them, both unsure of what exactly to do. 4S lowers his hand at steps away from him, “...Be careful, okay?”

“Yeah,” 9S mutters as he turns to leave the library and continue his grim quest.

“It’s not just the machines now, you know.”

9S stops in his tracks, “What?”

“Yeah, there’s more than just machines to worry about now. There’s the infected YorHa units too, not to mention this...thing that I’ve seen in the castle.”

“You too, huh? That machine blacksmith by the throne room mentioned something unusual as well.”

“Masamune was the one who warned me about it. I didn’t pay much attention to him until I saw it myself.”

That takes 9S by surprise. The blacksmith’s word only served to unnerve him a little, good for nothing except a bit of paranoia. Coming from 4S, however, it’s far more credible.

“Is it...dangerous?” 9S asks.

“Dunno. It ran away the moment I saw it. It did have this...scary looking weapon, though.”

“So it has the potential to be dangerous.”

“Definitely.”

“Right. Be careful, then. Odd’s are it’ll get bored and wander off.”

They two scanners say their goodbyes to each other before 9S leaves the library, nearly sprinting through the halls of the castle to reach the exit. Even though both the machine blacksmith and 4S said that the monster lurking around is nothing more than a scared animal by nature, the idea that something unknown could be waiting in the shadows disturbs him.

Yet…

Curse his curiosity. If he could, he’d search for the beast. He could already hear 2B-...

…

He’s sure that 2B would chastise him for not focusing on their mission.

But she’s gone now.

…

It’s just him.

Him and his mission.

The blinding light of the never changing sun takes him by surprise. 9S finds himself in the large courtyard that separates the two halves of the castle, yet he doesn’t remember the trip here. A dense fog clouds his mind, but that’s been the case for some time now.

How long has it been?

The red-haired twins said he was out for two weeks after 2B died but after that?

Days? Weeks? Months?

Time has been moving so oddly lately. Not that it matters.

None of it really matters.

9S looks to the sky, to the sun locked eternally in the center. A few clouds drift by, giving him a small reprieve from the blistering, unrelenting sunlight. Staring up at the vast expanse of blue obscured by the clouds and the heavy vegetation of the ancient forest, he suddenly feels small. Insignificant.

Alone.

Really, truly alone.

There’s a dull, yet deep ache in his chest that lingers no matter how much he bunches his coat in his hand.

“2B…” he mutters to no one but himself.

If she were here...things would be so much different. No YorHa, no missions. They would be free. Free to explore, free to feel, free to do whatever they felt.

“If I could see you, just once more….Maybe I could finally-”

A sudden intense jolt of electricity runs from the back of his neck to the rest of his body, literally shocking him out of his daze. He whips around to see exactly what had attacked him, only to find his pod floating close behind him, with arcs of electricity jumping between one of its claws.

“Pod?! What the hell, why did you do that?!”

“Unit 9S did not respond to the previous five warnings. Preventative measures were taken to assure unit 9S was operating properly.”

“Warnings?” Had he really been that oblivious? “What warnings?”

“This pod detected a black box signal eleven minutes ago but was unable identify the unit it belongs to.”

“What does that mean?!”

“A black box cannot be identified when the unit has suffered severe corruption that affects the identification chip of the unit.”

“Where is the signal coming from?”

“Five meters away.”

9S scans the courtyard frantically for anything hiding in plain sight. The longer he goes without finding anything the more panicked he becomes. A loud scrape echoes across the castle, something metallic being dragged across the stone floor. It’s impossible to pinpoint and only serves to further stress 9S.

“Come on...where are you…”

He searches for any movement, anything out of the ordinary hiding in the bushes and shrubs that dot the courtyard. Any oddly moving shadows or misplaced shapes, but it’s difficult to discern anything through the mess of vegetation. The two bright lights that shine through the underbrush-

“Pod!”

At 9S’ command, Pod 153 fires a barrage of shots into the foliage that obscures the creature with glowing white eyes. Whatever it is lets out a pathetic high pitched whine as the energy bullets rip apart its hiding place. A massive shadow darts out of the bushes with speed that shouldn’t be possible of a creature that size, dragging what appears to be a length of rusted iron. Pod’s fire trails it as it bursts out of the vegetation in a shadowy blur, any bullet that does manage to hit it simply ricochets off of the thick black fabric that covers the monster.

Like Masamune and 4S said it doesn’t pay 9S attention at all, it rushes past him, only trying to avoid the pod fire. It moves so fast that he can’t get a decent look at what exactly it is. There’s at least one arm, the one that clutches the hunk of iron that drags behind it. Another arm ending in fearsome claws appears as it leaps up the wall of the castle, scrambling for purchase on the sheer stone.

“Pod, fire laser at forty percent power at its empty hand!”

Pod 153’s body splits in two, revealing a series of lenses that immediately begin surging with power. As if sensing the incoming attack, the monster scrambles up the sheer walls as fast as its claws can pierce the bricks. With precise calculations, a beam of light explodes from the lenses and hits its mark on the shrouded creature’s hand just as its claws dig into the stonework. The brittle stone explodes with from the force of the blast, and with its handhold gone the beast plummets to the ground with an ear-splitting scream.

It lands on its side, a sickening crack echoes above all other sounds the moment the monster hits the earth, its crude weapon landing a moment later. A cloud of dust and dirt erupts around the beast and its weapon, obscuring them from 9S’ view. He shields his face from the rush of rubble and dust despite wearing his visor and coughs when he accidentally inhales a lungful.

As the dust disperses, 9S watches the monster writhe on the ground. It wails in a hauntingly familiar yet distorted tone as it tries to right itself. Its claws tangle in its shroud and prevent it from standing up. It manages to rise only to stumble over itself and crash back to the ground with another pathetic shriek.

9S strides forward with his black katana in hand. This thing was threatening his friend and one of the few machines he’s keeping alive. He has to put this shrieking thing out of its misery. Its unblinking eyes lock onto him as he approaches, gaze unwavering even while it forces itself to its feet. One of its arms, the one it landed on, dangles uselessly by its side. It breaks its focus on the encroaching android to try and make its damaged limb move to no avail. Its focus returns to 9S the moment he gets within a yard of it, and to his surprise, it cowers away from him. This creature that looms over him is... afraid of him.

Now that it isn’t running at breakneck speed 9S can finally get a good look at this thing. Beneath the tattered black shroud that covers most of its body, there are several shards of metal that jut out of its chest and stomach. Some of them look like broken weapons, others are rusted chunks of the same material as its weapon. Its arms and legs have similar patterns on the exposed bone, muscle, and frame as the android corpses that litter the city ruins. However, the beast’s warped claws, twisted feet, and those piercing white eyes are distinctly inhuman. He can’t see its face as its covered by the thick black cloth. In fact, that cloth seems to be made up of pieces of fabric and...hide stitched together haphazardly.

Its unblinking eyes flick between him and his sword, the arm that still functions feeling around for anything it could use to defend itself. Sometimes it nearly touches the handle of its iron cudgel. Fearing what would happen should it hold its weapon, 9S lunges forward with a shout. Just as he’s about to strike the beast across the chest it swings its body with enough force for its useless arm to beat him out of the air. 9S tumbles to the ground and prepares for a retaliation from the creature, but nothing happens. All it does is take hold of its weapon and watches him right himself.

9S snarls as he prepares a plan of attack. He won’t let this idiotic monster humiliate him in combat. He is a scanner, a top of the line model, and he’s fought far worse things than some rotting android. A ring of golden energy appears around his arm and around the hilt of his blade just before he throws it at the monster. It spins in an arc, circling the creature but never actually hitting it.

The beast crouches low to the ground, its joints cracking and groaning audibly. It tries to keep track of 9S’ sword but 9S forces it to move faster and faster until the monster stops trying to follow it and simply stares at him and whines. Seeing his opening, 9S forces the sword to return to his hand and dashes forward. With a pathetic yelp, it deflects this blade with the mass of iron, but the second attack hits its mark. The katana slices through its shroud but it doesn’t connect with the beast itself. It shrieks as it leaps back, batting away 9S’ sword with its own weapon.

Each strike from 9S either glances off the monster’s crude weapon or carves through its shroud. The already tattered fabric is shredded even further by 9S with each attack. It isn’t the fact that he doesn’t even hit the creature that makes him roar and scream at it, but the fact that it isn’t fighting back. It’s just mocking him, effortlessly blocking or avoiding strike after strike with its weapon or shroud. A twisting rage builds inside 9S that drives him to attack with reckless abandon.

Pod 153 acts without command, firing a barrage of bullets at the shroud and shredding it faster than any of 9S’ strikes could. It tries to huddle behind hits massive weapon but 9S is just as unrelenting as Pod’s bullets. He puts all his effort into a strike aimed directly at its head, and just as he expects it shreds the last of the cloth that still shields it from his attacks.

With a roar the beast finally strikes back, clubbing 9S across the body with its crude length of iron. The pain is so great that for a moment he loses visual feed as he crumbles to the ground. It only takes a moment for him to regain his sight only to be greeted by the creature’s face hovering just inches from his.

Its putrid breath nearly makes him gag, its pointed fangs grazing his cheek with how close it is. Without the shroud obscuring its face, 9S can see the skinless face of what used to be an android. No facial features remain beyond the searing eyes and animalistic teeth. A shock of white hair, now yellowed and filthy, masks the exposed wiring of its skull. 9S scrambles backward as far as he can, just so long as he’s no longer underneath this vile creature.

As 9S holds his sword tight in his hand, the monster does the same with its own weapon. Its stance changes to that of a fighter, rather than a scared animal. Still, its eyes remain trained on 9S even as they size each other up. 9S makes the first move, launching forward to strike at its feet. Just as before the monster flings its mangled arm down at him, but this time he’s ready. With his lingering momentum, 9S swings up, slicing through the brittle metal and rotting wires of the monster’s arm. As the useless limb falls to the ground, the creature reels back and lets out a horrid corrupted shriek. Its retaliation comes faster than 9S expects, the creature twists its body around and strikes 9S again. This time he’s only forced back a couple of feet before he charges once again.

“Now you decide to fight back, huh?!” he shouts.

A rumbling snarl echoes from the monster. It swings the iron cudgel effortlessly in broad strikes that keep 9S out of range of it. He has to focus on evading, after taking two hits from that hunk of metal he’s not keen on taking any more. Especially since it seems that it’s suddenly decided to fight seriously.

But then again, so had he.

The creature leaps into the air, flips, and slams the mass of iron into the ground just inches away from 9S. Again, it leaps and strikes, and again. Each time 9S barely avoids it, the force alone winding him.

“Well, come on then! Do what you were built to do!”

He isn’t sure where this fury is coming from, but it roils in his gut and burns in his veins. A vile hate that spurs him to strike and strike without a plan.

“That’s all you know right?!”

The beast meets him blow for blow, striking with great spins and flips. It moves with the grace and precision of a YorHa android, and with the crushing power of one as well. The stone beneath their feet shatters each time the creature’s weapon.

“All you know is war!! All any of us know is war!!”

The tip of the makeshift weapon tears a long gash in his coat and drags him with the backswing. He crashes against the castle walls but doesn’t take a moment to let his jostled systems reorient themselves. The beast strikes its weapon against the ground and roars at him.

“But no...you’re different from the rest, right?!”

It charges him, or rather it runs a few feet then lunges at him, dragging the weapon behind it and carving great gashes into the earth. It spins furiously as it lands and strikes at 9S with everything it has left. There’s nowhere for him to run. He takes the full force of the monster’s attack. Something in his chest shatters and the rest of his coat is torn to shreds. Yet just as before, he refuses to stay down for long. He rises to his feet, albeit hunched over and clutching the wound seeping a thick red fluid.

“You...Your job was to…Kill us.” he struggles to growl at the monster, “An...executioner.”

Something jolts through the monster’s body. As if that word had physical weight to it, it freezes mid-swing. A low, pitiful whine escapes the beast, like the grinding of metal on metal.

“That’s what you are...right?!” he shouts, “That’s your job?!”

It charges him again, and 9S matches with a roar of his own. The fire churning in his gut swells and numbs the pains in his chest. He goes on the offensive, his unrelenting attacks chip away at the rusted iron and rotting android frame.

“So do your job!! Finish your mission!!”

9S fights with a feral anger, looking not unlike the monster he’s facing. His blood flows freely without the pressure of his free hand. A trail of crimson coolant follows each rabid attack he makes.

“Do it already!!”

He slices across the monster’s stomach, emptying it of what seems to be gallons of festering black sludge.

“Kill me!!”

The monster screams and slams the iron maul down, but 9S rolls forward to bury his sword in its chest next to the countless others.

“Kill me!!”

It grabs his face in its claws and pins him against the ground. Its claws constrict around his throat, the tips digging into his skin. He stains for air and beats his fists weakly against the monster’s crushing grip. Error messages cloud his vision as he gasps and chokes on the fluids that pool in his mouth.

“K-kil-....M-...”

Just as his visual feed fades to vague shapes and blaring warnings, the monster’s grip loosens. It draws its claws away from his throat and places them on his chest with a tenderness ill-fitting a beast. It presses its palm against his wound and lets out a pathetic sound that almost sounds like speech.

“N-....nnnn….Ni-”

9S screams and wrenches his sword out of the monster’s chest, then plunges it back in. And again, and again, and again, until he’s coated in the sick black sludge that bleeds from its wounds. His screams turn to roars, he puts every ounce of strength he has into throwing the beast off of his body. The synthetic muscles in his arms and legs tear under the strain, but he forces himself through the pain to pin the monster against the earth.

The wailing creature thrashes in a growing pool of its own fluids, feebly swatting at 9S with its remaining arm. With each stab its attempts to resist grow weaker and weaker until it falls still. Even as a lingering whine escapes the dying beast, 9S continues his onslaught.

He isn’t sure why tears start to fall or when exactly his vocal processors give out, but his rage fades only to be replaced by that crushing emptiness from before. His furious roars turn to choked sobs, the strength in his arms leaves him slumped over with his shoulders heaving from the effort of breathing.

With what little remains of his strength he reaches out to the creature’s face. His touch lingers on a bit of skin on her chin just barely attached. After wiping a bit of grime away, a little blemish appears, one that he’s only seen on one particular android. Such an insignificant thing; how could it tear into his heart like this? His fingers comb through the remnants of her hair as his tears and blood mix with the foul-smelling sludge.

9S moves in a daze, climbing off of her chest to cradle her skeletal head in his lap like a precious object. The wounds he’s suffered seep with each sob that wracks his body. He barely notices Pod trying to staunch the flow.

He sits there till his cries are reduced to quiet wheezes and tears no longer fall. Beyond the crushing exhaustion, there’s a tension pulling at his skin where the staunching gel holding him together hardens. His body is caked in sludge and blood that cracks when he forces himself to his feet. Something that mourning android said ages ago rings through his clouded mind.

With Pod’s help, he drags her body to a quiet spot surrounded by bushes and budding flowers. The pair collects pieces of rubble and loose stones broken during the battle to gradually pile them around her corpse. Once her body is completely covered with several layers of stone he and Pod embed her weapon, her real weapon as opposed to the crude iron bar, at the head of the memorial. He sinks to his knees once again, pain and sorrow draining the last reserves of strength he has.

“I’ll be with you soon...”

[katymacsupernatural]

Stories to Awaken Terror Chapter 4: Purple Candy

Dean Winchester x Reader

2400 Words

Story Summary:As a couple of kids read a scary book, Sam, Dean and Y/N live those scary tales. Will they be able to figure out what’s causing the hunts before it’s too late?

Catch Up Here: Masterpost

“Aren’t we done with these stories yet?” Tyler whined as the three kids once again met in the tent, Zach holding the book in front of him. His sister was already there, her stuffed animal held tightly in her arms, a bowl of popcorn off to the side. “I don’t think they can get any better.”

“We have to finish the book,” Zach insisted, his eyes wide as he stared at his friends.

“Zach, are you okay?” Sophia asked, leaning back away from her brother at  his frenzied look.

“I will be if you don’t stop asking questions and let me start reading!” He yelled, both Tyler and Sophia quieting down to placate Zach. “There was a house at the end of the lane,” he started reading, his voice low, much creepier than normal.

“This house was nestled back in the trees, the wood no longer white but a dull, greasy gray. The windows were covered in dust, and everyone, the young and the old refused to step inside, afraid of what awaited them.”

“Years past, and still it sat empty, many people thinking that it would disintegrate with the wind. But still it sat there, until one day!” Zach exclaimed, glancing up at his friend and sister with wild eyes.

“What happened?” Tyler asked, his voice much higher than normal.

“It was almost like magic. This couple moved in, and the house transformed with them. The grey walls turned back to white, the windows shined the brightest of any in town. They were happy people, bringing children closer to them, offering them sweets. They began selling candy to the children, bags of candy. These little shiny purple balls. Children loved them, pleading with their parents for enough change to buy a bag after school.”

“What’s so scary about candy?” Sophia asked.

“After a month of selling their special purple candy, our heroes roll into town, looking into the mysterious deaths that had recently occured. Including those of children.”

“Dean, do you think this is a normal hunt, or…,” you asked, sitting in the front of the Impala for once, as Sam stretched out in the backseat. Dean had pulled you closer to him, his hand resting lightly on your thigh.

“I really don’t know,” he sighed lightly. “I wish I could say it was, but I also feel the pull of this hunt, much like the other ones. I just wish Cas would hurry up and figure out what’s going on.”

“I do too,” you whispered. “I have a bad feeling about this one.”

“We’ll be fine, like we always are,” Dean tried assuring you.

Turning silent, you stared out the window as Dean drove down Main Street. It was small and quaint, with only a couple of Mom and Pop shops. At the end was a little hotel, and Dean went inside to reserve a room while you turned to wake up the sleeping moose behind you.

Stretching, you watched as children passed by, bags of a strange looking purple candy clenched in their hands, their mouths dyed purple. Expecting them to be silly, and bouncing with all that sugar, you watched as they shuffled down the street, almost zombielike.

“That’s weird, isn’t it?” Sam asked, just as Dean came out of the lobby, smiling widely.

“So they only had two rooms left, both singles,” he announced. “Sam, you get your own room for once! Y/N and I can share.”

It had become a normal habit in the week since your last hunt, and you didn’t mind it at all. After all, falling asleep being held in Dean’s arms was definitely not a hardship, and you found yourself sleeping better than you had in a long time.

Pushing open the door to your hotel room, you were pleasantly surprised. A simple queen sized bed was placed in the middle, a patchwork quilt brightening the room. A small table, along with a fridge and couch completed the living area, but the bathroom had a deep bathtub along with a nice shower. “This is actually pretty decent,” you announced as Dean brought your items in.

“Ohh, I bet you’re going to want to try out that tub,” he stated before plopping down on the bed beside you. “Hopefully we get this hunt taken care of fast, and then we can spend a day relaxing. Maybe I could even join you?”

Sure, you and Dean had been sleeping in the same bed, but you had never gone past the kissing stage. Mainly because you were worried that you wouldn’t be good enough for the experienced man. But you didn’t tell him that, and he didn’t push.

“So, tell me again why we’re here?” You asked just as Sam came into the room, settling down in one of the chairs, opening his laptop.

“Because of the weird way children are dying,” Sam explained, pulling up the police records. “There have been four confirmed child deaths in the past month, and each one have been connected.”

“How?”

“They literally had no blood left in their bodies. Their veins were filled with these tiny little bugs,” he said, turning to show you the screen, and you hid your face in Dean’s shoulder, creeped out by the little bugs. “The weirdest thing?”

“What’s weirder than little bugs in your veins?” You asked, making Dean chuckle.

“Their hearts were gone. No sign of getting cut open, nothing. But no heart.”

“So what are we thinking? A very tricky werewolf?”

“I have no idea. The police haven’t been able to tie them together. The kids were different ages, and hung out in different circles.”

“Wait, I did notice something. Sam remember? Those kids out front, they seemed so weird. Eating that purple candy!”

“That’s not much to go on, but we’ve dealt with less,” Sam thought out loud. “I’d really like to head down to the police department, see what else I can find out.”

“Good. Y/N and I will try to find some kids, see if they can tell us where this purple candy is coming from, and if it’s tied in.”

“Meet back here in a couple of hours?” Sam suggested, Dean pulling you to your feet before you left the comfortable bed behind.

“It seems like every kid has eaten this candy!” Dean exclaimed. “I wonder if it’s the culprit?”

“Yeah, but no one is telling us where it’s being bought at,” you groaned. “If it is the cause, you would think we could figure out something.”

“Excuse me,” a small voice whispered, a hand reaching up to tug on your coat. “Are you here to stop those people?”

“What people?” You asked, turning to see a small boy, about six years old with dirty blonde hair and light blue eyes staring up at you.

“The people selling the candy. My friends are getting sick,” he whispered. “I’m scared.”

Kneeling down, Dean turned the boys attention to him. “Why don’t you tell us about these people, and where they live.”

“They live down there,” he pointed. “Selling candy. They were old when they came, but now, now they look young. It scares me.”

“Have you eaten any of the candy?” You asked him, and he shook his head. “Good, keep it that way. Go home, and we’ll get this figured out.”

Watching as the boy ran away, you turned to Dean. “Shall we go check them out?”

Taking his phone out, he called Sam, leaving a message as you made your way down the street. The houses turned from well maintained, to dark and falling apart. Watching closely, you hoped you could figure out which one you needed. It wasn’t until you rounded the corner that you knew finding it would be much easier than you thought.

It was the middle of three houses, and it stood out like a sore thumb. Both houses flanking it were falling apart, their windows boarded, no trespassing signs on the porch. But the one in the middle was tucked into the trees, it’s white paint vibrant against the darkness. It looked cleaned, and well maintained, and a sign proudly proclaimed it to be a sweets shop. “I think we found it,” you announced.

“Why don’t I have a good feeling about this?” Dean wondered out loud just as a couple stepped out onto the porch. The woman was stunning, with her long, thick dark brown hair and voluptuous body. The man was handsome with his olive skin and thick wavy hair. Standing side by side, they waved towards you, a smile upon their face.

“Welcome!” They called out, as you carefully stepped forward. “How can we help you?”

“Hi, we were just wondering if you were selling those candies?” Dean asked, keeping his arm wrapped around you waist.

The closer you stepped to the house, the more you could sense something was wrong. The grass in the front had a sweet, pungent smell, and the women’s eyes were dark and cruel. Her hand was wrapped in a blood stained cloth. “We are. We normally sell to children, but if you want some I just made a fresh batch.”

“No thank you,” Dean told them. “We were just wondering if they were connected to the deaths of the children in town.”

“I knew we would draw hunters if we weren’t careful,” her husband muttered, moving faster than you expected, standing in front of you and Dean before you could blink.

“Y/N, run!” Dean exclaimed, just as the man smashed Dean’s head with a rock, immediately knocking him unconscious.

“What the…,” you started to say, pulling your gun from your back pocket just as the man turned on you, his teeth long and sharp. Shooting him in the chest, you stared in shock as it didn’t seem to phase him before he brought the rock down, knocking you out instantly.

Your head aching, you woke up, immediately remembering what happened. Opening your eyes, you groaned as pain radiated through your head, your vision blurred from the blood that had seeped out of your wound.

You were chained to a table, both your hands and legs held by chains, an iv attached to your arm, blood slowly leaving your body.

“Y/N!” Dean exclaimed from your left, and you were just able to see him tied to a chair, his mouth tinged purple.

“Did they…,”

“Yeah, two bags full of candy,” he muttered. “I can already feel it taking effect. My reflexes are slower, and I feel sluggish.”

“Dean, I feel so tired,” you whispered, watching the blood leave you through the IV.

“That’s from blood loss,” he muttered. “Y/N, stay as still and as calm as possible. We’ll figure something out.”

“Dean, I think it’s going to be too late,” you whispered, already noticing how cold your body felt.

“It is too late,” the woman announced from the doorway. “You’ve already lost most of your blood. In a moment, you’ll be nothing but a lifeless body, another tasty meal for me and my husband.”

“No!” Dean yelled, pulling at his bindings, as your eyes closed, and the last breath left your body.

“No!” Sophia exclaimed, tossing her stuffed animal to the side. “These stories have been scary, but she can’t die!”

“That’s what it says in the story,” Zach argued. “I can’t change what it says.”

“I like her, and I want her ending up with Dean. So I say she can’t die,” Sophia insisted.

“And how do you expect to change it?” Tyler asked her.

Thinking for a moment, Sophia pulled out her marker, taking the book from her brother’s hands. At first she thought he was going to fight her, but he gave up the book, and she quickly wrote in the limited space. “There, that’s better.”

“Sophia, I don’t think that will work,” Zach started to say, but she just glared at him. “Fine, I’ll read it.”

“Thank you,” she answered, sitting back.

With a deep breath, Y/N shot straight up, as far as the chains would let you. Breathing heavily, your eyes wide and frantic, you stared around the room. Dean was no longer in the chair, and the woman lay bloody off to the side, her head no longer attached. You could hear voices in the other room, and you struggled against the chains.

“Dean, you know Cas won’t be able to bring her back,” Sam was saying. “We need to get her out of here, and give her a hunter’s funeral.”

“This isn’t right!” Dean was arguing. “She wasn’t meant to die this way! I knew something was wrong, I should have made her stay back at the motel!”

“Do you think she would have? This is Y/N we’re talking about. She died trying to save children, and that’s what matters.”

“Sam, I never got the chance to tell her,” Dean’s voice softened as you stilled. “Why didn’t I tell her?”

“I’m sorry,” Sam told his brother. “I wish things were different, I really do.”

Footsteps were heard as they came back into the room. You could tell the exact moment they noticed you, both men freezing in their spots, their eyes wide as they stared your way. “Y/N?” Dean breathed, but Sam placed a hand on his chest, stopping him.

“Dean, this could be a trick.”

“Y/N, how are you…,”

“I don’t know,” you whispered. “I remember dying, and then suddenly, I’m back.”

They both came forward, Sam with his silver knife in his hands. Carefully, he slid it across your skin, his eyes widening as you made no reaction. “Dean, I think it’s really her. Somehow, she was brought back.”

As soon as Sam said those words, Dean was undoing your chains, pulling you into his arms. “Damn it Y/N, I thought I had lost you.”

“You had. I have no idea why I’m back,” you answered, scared. “Do you think it has to do with, whatever’s going on?”

“I think that’s our only answer. If we could figure out what is going on,” Dean muttered, just as Sam came into the room, a piece of paper in his hands. It was yellowed, the words faded.

“Dean, I think you need to see this,” he spoke up, handing the paper over to him. From your spot, you could barely make out the printed words, along with words written in childish script, in bright red marker.

“Y/N, this is exactly what happened to you and I,” Dean stuttered. “And this writing here. I think it’s what brought you back to life!”

“Does that mean we’re living in some sort of book?” You asked, both brothers staring at each other with wide eyes, no one having the answer.

Dean/Jensen Tags:@acreativelydifferentlove @a-girl-who-loves-disney @akshi8278 @anokhi07 @aubreystilinski @bebravekeeponfighting @brindz30 @colette2537 @crusadedean @deanwinchesters-impala67 @haelyn @horsegirly99 @ikeneasul11 @its-not-a-tulpa @just-another-winchester @lady-phoenix-of-tardis @librarygeekery @msimpala67 @love-charmer-sketch @ria132love @ruprecht0420 @shadowhunter7 @sizzlingbearpolice @sleep-silent-angel @sortaathief @superseejay721517 @torn-and-frayed @wonderfulworldofwinchester

Stories to Awaken Terror Tags: @joseyrw @suckystoryteller @salt-n-burn-em-all @wingedcatninja @waywardbaby @waywardnerd67 @horsegirly99 @profoundly-bitchy-collection @jae-sch @sociopathtime @depressed-moose-78 @sophiebobzz @oreosatmidnight @librarygeekery @winchesterxtwo @asirammm @itsmerighthere @squirrelnotsam @karmamariejoy @linki-locks11 @xthelittlethings @incredibly-sarcastic-url @alwayskeepfightingkaz-2y5 @imascio08 @deansbabygirl01 @deansgirl215 @sasquatch5 @kay18115 @gh0stgurl @quackerstheduck663057 @photos-by-16 @idk-wtf-is-happening @pheonyxstorm

Forever Tags(CLOSED):

@16wiishes @4401lnc @algud @amanda-teaches @andreaaalove @angelsandwinchesters @anspgene @artisticpoet @atc74 @be-amaziing @bemyqueenofdarkness @bohowitch @bumber-car-s @brooke-supernatural16  @brunettechick @camelotandastronauts @captainradicalpassion @chelsea072498 @clairese1980 @captainemwinchester @createdbybadappreciation @darthdeziewok @destiels-new-girl @donnaintx @dont-you-dare-say-misha @dslocum89 @duckieburns @docharleythegeekqueen @emmazach @emilicious-7 @emoryhemsworth @ericaprice2008  @esoltis280 @essie1876 @generalgoldfishldrm @goldenolaf25 @growningupgeek @herbologystudent252 @heyitscam99 @highfunctioning-soiciopath @hms-fangirl @hobby27 @ichooseeternalplaces @imboredsueme @internationalmusicteacher @ithinkimadorable-67 @iwriteaboutdean  @jayankles @jensen-gal @just-another-busy-fangirl @karlee-fay-my-wayward-son @keelzy2 @leanbeankeane @lifelovelaughangell123 @li-ssu @littleblue5mcdork  @lowlyapprentice @luciferslucille @maui137 @mellowlandrunaway @mogaruke @nanie5 @natashacamillaus @newtospnfandom @offbeatsilhouette @percussiongirl2017 @pilaxia @pizzarollpatrol @plaid-lover-bay25 @ronja-uebrick @rosegoldquintis @roxyspearing @samanddeanmyheroes @sandlee44 @shamelesslydean @sillesworldofwriting @sgarrett49 @skyewardolicitycloisdelena91 @smoothdogsgirl @spnbaby-67 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @spnwoman @sunskittlex @starry-chaos @superbadassnatural @thebikiniinspector @theflameontheinside @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @tina8009 @totallovelesson @tunadean @whimsicalrobots @walkslikesummeractslikerain @whimsicalrobots @wildlandfox @winchesterbrothers-inc @winchesterxtwo @winchester-writes @worldwidehansum @zombiewerewolfqueen

[suteshiro]

all of them for ruby

Under the cut ofc

1- What is their favourite food?

Probably pies! They remind her of home

2- Do they have a fear of an animal? If so, what animal?

I wanna say hyenas freak her out. and also moose.

3- What do they wear to bed?

those cute pajamas that are like, a tank top and shorts are very nice. also Cute sleeping dresses. I know words

4- Do they like cuddling?

She loves it!!!! she’s so damn affectionate

5- Do they have a secret handshake with anyone?

I don’t think so, no

6- What do they look like?

Very pretty and feminine tiefling who is 6′1 and Fat

7- Do they like chocolate?

She loves it!!!! Especially white chocolate. So sweet

8- What are their good and bad traits?

Good: her selflessness and general desire to bring joy into the world, I think. Bad: Her dismissal of herself and bottling up of her feelings until everything just kinda goes to shit?

9- Do they have any artistic talent?

She’s a good dancer! And she can play the tambourine! I feel like she likes embroidering but idk how good she is at that one.

10- What is their favourite room to be in, in the house they live in?

Maybe the kitchen? it keeps her busy and the smell of food being made is nice and comforting

11- Do they believe in luck?

Yes!

12- Can they do magic?

Yes!! Her Cleric

13- Do they believe in dragons?

I mean. they’re Not Fictional so

14- What is a pet peeve of theirs?

When people are unkind for No Reason,

15- What was the last thing they cried about?

Her friend who she really liked and Really wanted to get to know better just sorta turned around and left, that was fun!

16- What is their sexuality?

Bi with a Big preference for girls

17- Do they have a best friend? If so, who, and what makes them their best friend?

She has Two very dear friends who Briar has not really told me things about yet skjfvnksjvf but she helped them out in a rough situation and they helped her out in return and the relationship was founded on That so they have grown to really care for each other

18- Have they ever been in a romantic relationship?

Yeah!!

19- What does their relationship with their family look like? Are they close? Distant? Ect.

She was so close with her family

20- Do they have a pet?

No, sadly! Get Ruby A Dog.

21- Do they have a familiar?

Nope

22- Are they a supernatural being?

... I can’t tell if tieflings count as supernatural for this...

23- How do they usually wear their hair?

She likes to put on hair bands and ribbons and things like that that keep her hair out of the way but still let everyone appreciate how Pretty it is

24- Can they play an instrument? If so, what instrument and what can they play?

Tambourine!!

25- What type a high schooler are/were they?

I don’t. think she went to school

26- Have they ever been in a physical fight before? If so, with who? Who won?

I feel like she got in a fight like Once as a teenager. She lost but its not like there was any Damage done

27- What is their favourite holiday?

If there’s an equivalent of Valentine’s day then probably that. She’s getting a nice romantic day with someone and/or an evening of sex and even if she’s getting neither in All scenarios she is getting some chocolate it’s a win/win/win situation

28- If they could have one wish, what would they wish for?

Bringing back her family, probably. At least her sister. She’s come to terms with most things but it just feels like her sister left too early for her time,

29- Do they wants kids? If they already have kids, do they want more?

She Loves kids but she feels like she’s not quite at a point of her life where Mothering is for her to pursue

30- Do they have a job?

Well. Not anymore skjvnksjfv she Is a street performer tho so kinda.

31- Do they know how to drive?

No cars in dagalogue we walk like men

32- Do they get stressed out easily?

Not really! She usually keeps a cool head and works on one thing at a time which is Great except she has a real hard time to realize if she’s burning herself out.

33- Did they ever dye their hair before? If so, to what colour? Did they like it?

I don’t think she has. There’s a few colors she likes but she Really likes her hair as it is.

34- Have they ever broken the law?

Purrobably.

35- Do they own a plant?

Yeah!! She has a few plants around her house. She likes caring for things

36- Have they ever rode a horse before?

I don’t think so, actually

37- What is their favorite gif?

According to Briar gifs exist so. probably some gif of a cat being silly

38- Do they get along with others easily?

yeah, that’s. kinda her whole thing

39- Do they have any tattoos?

Nope!

40- If I wanted to draw them, what would be distinct physical features that I would have to know to draw them correctly?

I think if u remember to draw her Fat, give her big curly hair, and the peculiar shape of her horns (which isn’t exactly consistent but u know what i mean) then ur gucci

41- What is their favourite breed of dog?

golden retriever/cocker spaniel mix...

42- Do they live with anyone? If so, who?

She lives alone!

43- Where is their dream vacation?

Shit, I dunno, probably inside the wall

44- Do they know more than one language?

Yeah! She knows at least Infernal and Common. I feel like she might have an extra language but I doubt it.

45- Are they a quick learner?

Eeh. For practical skills, yeah. Mostly tho if she wants to learn something it requires Lots of determination

46- Have they ever won a contest before? If so, what for? What did they win?

I don’t think she’s spent her time entering contests. She might have won a dancing contest when she was a Young One tho

47- If the world were to end in 24 hours, where would they be and who would they be with?

Maybe in a temple to Kelemvor, thanking him for everything he’s done for her and asking him to look after her in the afterlife. Also making sure to comfort people who might be in distress about the situation and have nobody to turn to.

48- What does their room look like?

Very pretty! She has a flowery comforter that she loves. its warm and good

49- If they could have an extinct animal for a pet, what would they have?

I don’t know extinct d&d animals skvjnfvs,

50- If they got called out by someone, what would they do?

Probably realize she was doing a Bad, and like, accept that this is a thing but also feel v bad about it

51- Have they ever shot a gun before?

No guns in this world I don’t think? if there are they have definitely not come near her

52- Have they ever been axe throwing?

I don’t think so

53- What is something that they want but can’t have?

Her family

54- Do they know how to fish?

I don’t think so, no

55- What is something they always wanted to do but too scared?

Open up about her mental health issues?

56- Do they own their own baby pictures?

Yeah!!!! She keeps all the family pictures she can

57- What makes them standout among others?

Tall, fat purple tiefling who wears eye-catching clothes

58- Do they like to show off?

Oh absolutely. She loves validation

59- What is their favourite song?

Saturn by Sleeping at last or (Don’t fear) the reaper by Blue Öyster Cult

60- What would be their dream vehicle?

Fuckin. I dunno. She doesn’t care. Not that many options.

61- What is their favourite book?

I don’t know what books exist in this world,

62- Who, in their opinion, makes the best food?

She’s very proud of her own cooking and hasn’t eaten anyone else’s in a long time,

63- Are they approachable?

I wanna say yeah? I mean she’s Big Teef but not Nearly as big as she could be, soft as opposed to muscular, and she’s so pretty and always smiling, I think she comes off as approachable

64- Did they ever change their appearance?

I mean. She got piercings. And she probably had short hair when she was younger. Idk anything else tho

65- What makes them smile?

Feeling like she did something good for someone/seeing someone she cares for Happy

66- Do they like glowsticks?

Uuh. I don’t know if they’re a thing but. I think she’d like them.

67- What is something that is simple, but always makes them smile?

Getting compliments,

68- Are they a day or night person?

Both have their charms! But I think she likes day the most. She likes how lively it is when people are walking around everywhere doing things

69 (nice)- Are they allergic to anything?

I don’t think so!

70- What do you, the creator of this OC, like most about them?

She shares a lot of my Particular relationship with death and grief - that’s kinda The Point of why I made her - and I just think that’s neat.

71- Who is their ride or die?

Not sure

72- Do they currently have a significant other? If not, are they going to get one later one?

Currently no but she’s a goof with a big heart who falls in love very easily so who knows how soon that’s gonna change

73- What attracts them to another person?

Kindness. Big big bonus if they make her feel like she’s wanted or even needed around.

74- Who is one person that can always make them laugh?

Honestly if she’s in a Depression Mood it’s. really hard to get her to laugh or express any emotions,

75- Have they ever partied too hard and their friends had to take them home?

I don’t think so actually! She likes getting Rowdy but she tends to prefer to stay more sober and make sure her friends are doing okAlso being able to remember what everyone else did when they got ridiculously drunk - and reminding them of this the next morning- is the best

76- Who would be their cuddle buddy?

Probably anyone in the party skjfvnksjfv

77- Who would cheer them up after a long day?

Literally anyone who can show up and give her nice things and hug her and tell her they care about her has that power. It’s not really a person-specific thing

78- If they had a nightmare, who would they run to?

In recent years? Nobody

79- What object to the care for the most?

A picture book full of family pictures

80- Do they like other people’s children?

Yes!! Kids Good

81- How would they react if someone broke into their home?

This is a funny question considering it’s happened in game skjvnkjfConcern! Alarm! Depends a bit on the situation!

82- Does anyone make them have butterflies in their stomach?

Not right now, no

83- What is something that they are good at?

Doing her best!

84- What is their neutral expression?

Somewhere between bored and surprised, it’s somehow hard to tell

85- Do they like to cook?

Yeah!!!

86- What is something they can’t leave home without?

Her Holy Tambourine

87- Who is someone that they rely on?

Nobody

88- Do they liked to be tickled?

Probably, yeah!!

89- Have they ever been a sword fight before?

Nope!

89- What is a joke that they would find funny?

“Where do cats go when they die? Purrgatory!”

90- Do they have a place that can go and turn off their brain?

Probably just her house

91- What was their childhood like?

It was great but also sorta where she started to repress her feelings and put on herself the responsibility of other people’s happiness which is H

92- What are they like as an adult?

Very lively and happy and in love with life and people

93- Do they take criticism well?

Depends on what it’s about, honesty

94- Have they ever jumped out of a plane?

No planes

95- Who do they like to make jokes with?

Her friends!!

96- Have you ever drawn them before? If you are comfortable with it, would you post a picture?

it’s not Perfect but i like this one

[benito-cereno]

Santa Claus Letter 2017

So for years, starting in the 1920s, JRR Tolkien would write letters to his children as Father Christmas, including fanciful drawings and tales of FC and his friend, the North Polar bear, exploding the Northern Light gunpowder or fighting goblins.

Upon the birth of my own nephew last year, I decided I would steal this idea. Even though he is only a year and change old, nevertheless I composed a letter for him from Santa Claus. Theoretically, I will continue to do this, making the letters longer and more intricate as he gets older until he decides they’re stupid and that they should stop.

Unfortunately, I don’t have the skill for drawing or fancy lettering that Tolkien did, so I just had to type it up. Maybe future letters can include drawings.

I understand that this is obviously past Christmas and most of you have already thrown out your tree, but I still haven’t seen the neph for Christmas yet, so this got put off a little in favor of other holiday stuff. I hope you will forgive.

Anyway, I thought I would share it with you here under the cut (even though it does give away some of my Santa Claus secrets!). Feel free to reblog this, or if you want, to use it as a template and alter it for use with a child you know and love, but please do not republish this without my permission. Thankssss.

You can read 2015′s letter here and last year’s letter here.

Santa's Workshop

Beyond the Riphean Mountains

Beyond the North Wind

True North Pole

December 20, 2017

My dearest [name],

Here it is, your third Christmas! Amazing! It seems like only yesterday you had your very first Christmas for the very first time, and here we are at three. Three, you know, is a very special number.

Three is the number of sisters that I secretly gave bags of gold to when they couldn't afford to get married. I threw the bags of gold through the window (chimneys were not invented yet) and they landed in their stockings, which were drying by the fire. This was the first time I ever gave someone a gift by night and it gave me the idea that I might keep doing it. It's worked out pretty well so far!

Three was also the number of boys whom I saved from a wicked innkeeper who stuffed them in a pickle barrel so that he could steal their money. This is how I was named as a special protector of children, the title of which I am most proud. (The innkeeper works for me now, helping me bring joy to children to make up for being bad many years ago. Don't worry about running into him, though. He mainly helps me visit children in France.)

Three is the number of innocent men I once saved from punishment by catching a sword in my bare hand. Three is the number of generals, also innocent, whom I saved from punishment by appearing to the Roman emperor in a dream and telling him what had really happened. (These stories are not as famous as the other two, but I am still fairly proud of them.)

Three is also the number of gifts brought to the baby Jesus by the Wise Men: gold, frankincense, and myrrh. The Wise Men were the very first Christmastime gift-bringers, and all the rest of us, like me or Grandfather Frost, whom I told you about last year, are merely following in their footsteps. In fact, in many countries, children expect to receive gifts from the Wise Men more than they do from old Santa Claus! In these countries, they get their gifts later, on January 5 or 6, which is still a very fine day to receive gifts. This day is called Epiphany, and it marks the end of the Twelve Days of Christmas. Children will set out food for the Wise Men's camels, and the wise old travelers from the East will leave them presents in exchange. You can tell the Wise Men have been to your house because they will write the letters “C+M+B” on your house with chalk. These letters can stand for their names—Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar—or they can stand for words that call for a blessing upon the house in Latin. (I will not make your mommy or daddy have to try to say Latin words out loud to you if they read you this letter. Maybe one day you will learn to read Latin and you and I can write letters to each other in a language that was very common when I was your age, but which is not so common now.)

There is a song I like very much that says that “The past and the present and the future, Faith and Hope and Charity, The heart and the brain and the body give you three as a magic number.” Three is also the number of a mommy and a daddy and a [name]. A magic number.

I can see that it has been much colder where you live this winter than in the other years that I have written to you. That may explain why we have not seen much of Jack Frost and his brother this year, but I can see also that it has been icy cold down there without much snow. I think this is very rude of Jack, to bring cold but no snow. Very inconsiderate. Jack himself would say that it only snows when his grandmother, Holda, shakes the feathers out of the blankets of her bed, so perhaps she has not done much cleaning this year. On the other hand, Jack is well-known as a teller of tales, and I'm not even sure that Holda really is his grandmother. The only grandparent I've ever known him to have was Grandfather Frost, but I do know that he was adopted, so who knows what may be true?

I have also seen that you love animals very much. This is something you would have in common with my friend and helper Rupert, who tends to the animals on our farm. We have a very unusual farm, as I believe I have told you before. We don't raise pigs or cows here. I don't think they would like the cold very much. Instead we of course have reindeer, which are very famous and I suspect already familiar to you. We also have horses, including my most famous horse Amerigo, and donkeys, and goats. These are not so unusual to have on a farm. But Rupert also takes care of moose, alligators that I take to Louisiana, white kangaroos that I take to Australia, dolphins that I take to Hawaii, and even a number of werewolves, though they can mostly take care of themselves. We also receive visits from a very special Camel and Mule, but they don't usually stay long, as they have gifts of their own to deliver. There is of course also Callisto the North Polar Bear, and her cub Arcas, whom I have told you about before, but they really live in the sky and only come to visit us sometimes.

But those are only the farm animals. The True North Pole is also home to a number of wild animals that live in the thick forest of fir trees tended by Mrs Claus and her wood nymphs that surrounds the workshop. These animals are protected by my friend Belsnickel, the fur-trapper who would rather be alone in the woods than live in the workshop. These woods are home to a number of magic reindeer who have not yet been trained to pull a sleigh, as well as animals such as Arctic foxes and Arctic hares, and birds like snow buntings. You should look up pictures of these animals if you have never seen them. They look very different from animals in [state]! I will also tell you a secret about the North Pole: even though many people like to make pictures or movies about penguins at the North Pole at Christmastime, the truth is that penguins live at the South Pole, not the North Pole. It's true! You can look it up. It would be better for people to draw me and my elves being visited by puffins, which is a bird that actually does live around the North Pole. They are just as cute as penguins, if not more so in my opinion, so far as that counts.

If you travel out beyond the silver fir forest, you will eventually hit the Riphean Mountains, which are a very dangerous place to visit, but which are home to our friends the griffins, which are magical creatures that look like they are part lion and part eagle. You can also look up pictures of these if you have never seen one. (There are not many at zoos, so I suspect you would not have seen one there.) The griffins are led by their noble but dangerous king Lunicursor, whose long-standing war against the moutains' one-eyed giants to protect their large hoards of gold has the added benefit of helping keep unwanted visitors out of our workshop on the other side of the mountains.

At any rate, all of these animals—every one of them—says hello and merry Christmas to you. Even King Lunicursor gave a grim-faced but solemn nod of approval when I told him I was writing you this letter. Sometimes when you are older, you may feel lonely or sad, which is okay, but remember that somewhere far to the north some reindeer, some foxes, a bear as big as a dinosaur, the king of the griffins, and a silly old toymaker know your name and hope you have a good Christmas.

Please send my warmest greetings to your mommy and daddy and all your family, and to all your animal friends from all of mine. I will visit soon to fill your stocking as you have been very good this year, as ever. See you soon!

Your dear friend,

Santa Claus