#hey purgatory part 5

[hollowblxxd]

[ AU / Speculation for me ] [ I CAN FIX IT .... NOT FOR YOU ]

Okay so because I am a man who hates to see things end badly Im here writing a sort of... fanfiction for myself that cleanse up the mess of Mouthwashing. No disrespect to the whole game but this is my thoughts Some warning for mature subjects and obviously possible spoilers for Mouthwashing!

Basically I thought about the idea of Jimmy being dealt with before he could complete his plan against the crew and it all stems from the idea that there's actually a secret cryopod on the ship. We see only 4 in the main part but there's 5 people on board, which even if you want to argue Pony Express doesn't give a shit, I think its somewhat reasonable to assume that should there be an emergency there would in fact be enough cryopods for everyone to get into so that a potential crew can be saved. This secret cryopod is obviously ONLY used in the case of an emergency and is ONLY known to exist by the captain. Aka Curly. Curly realizes that Jimmy is getting too unhinged and crossing far more lines than hes ever seen him do before. Though Curly fears and cares for his unfortunately stupidly manipulative friend, he realizes he has to take action against Jimmy to ensure no harm comes to the remaining crew. So Curly basically tricks Jimmy into thinking that he's going to be revealing a secret to Jimmy, something only "a captain and his co-pilot can know" before taking Jimmy to this secret cryopod. Since technically having a "potential psychological unsound person" on board DOES class as an emergency and with no "brig" available for holding, Jimmy is put in there. His last moments is Curly's well deserved "betrayal." Thus now Jimmy is a festering sleeping mess inside the cryo-chamber, grinding thru a horrific nightmare where he gets his revenge on Curly, where he gets control of the ship while spiralling further and further into outright INSANITY in some jacob's ladder style purgatory as his mental state is forever stuck "coping" with his anger, his guilt, his fear, his hatred, his selfishness and so on and so forth. Basically everything that happens in the events of Mouthwashing is a already crazy's man nightmare-ish delusion as he awaits judgement day, aka the time when he leaves the pod and has to face the justice he deserves. Meanwhile with Jimmy put away in hold, the crew get a chance to breath. Jimmy overbearing nature eases everyone tension and though it was a hard decision it was a well made one. Its not all perfect however because Anya takes all of this quite hard feeling guilty that it got this far. She does attempt to end her life which she is luckily saved from by Curly and the rest of the crew. Since Anya is now sick, Daisuke has to take over acting as Nurse, following Curly and Anya instructions on how to make this all easier. Anya is safe around Daisuke and his bright optimistic personality is really fitting for a nurse, never once does she feel ashamed or scared and for once feels a sense of relief and freedom. Her commenting that Daisuke would make a good nurse which Daisuke takes to heart since he still obviously struggling to find "what hes good at" Curly temporarily takes up the role of being an engineer with Swansea since, Curly as the lovely captain SHOULD know his ship inside and out too and hey, even as a bonus, he may even show Swansea how to steer a ship. This ends up with Curly and Swansea having a good man to man bond. In the end, Anya recovered free from her abuse and regains her personality and happiness, Daisuke discovers his passion for medical work happily taking college recommendation from Anya, Swansea learns a bit about riding a ship and thinks "hey I could probably do good as a space trucker" and Curly also detached himself from the parasite that is Jimmy who constantly been trying to drag him down! So there, I fixed it. But not for him.

[emeritusemeritus]

Hey Little Train 1 [Fred Weasley X Reader]

Series Masterlist

Title: Hey Little Train 1/5 (5 part mini series)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader {Established Relationship/ Engaged}

Timeline: Set immediately after the war up to 4 years later.

Summary: The memoirs of a broken woman after the death of her beloved.

Warnings: SAD FIC. This one will hurt. Mentions of death, grief, depression, suidical thoughts. Suicide. Loss and pain, a lot of crying. Smut, sexual references, graphic sex. Dreams. Female reader.

Word count: 1.5k

Heavily inspired by Nick Cave & the bad seeds’ O Children’, the unofficial song of Harry Potter.

My dear, my darling one

The cleaners are coming, one by one

You don't even want to let them start

They are knocking now upon your door

They measure the room, they know the score

They're mopping up the butcher's floor

Of your broken little hearts

"Y/n?"

The sound of your name being called barely registered with you as you sat slumped on the floor, almost entirely hunched over and completely frozen, just as you had been since the moment you arrived in that very spot.

You were in sheer agony, mental torment and emotional anguish, or at least you would be if you weren't so painfully shocked. Frozen in time without a semblance of knowledge towards the day or the hour and completely void of any other thought except for what was in front of you.

Your knees were locked, the pain from the collision onto the hard stone floor and the resulting time knelt against the unforgiving stone was excruciating and yet you could hardly feel it. Bruises on your battered knees were already forming underneath your dirty covered ripped jeans, all just another reminder that you were still alive; that your body could still bruise and feel pain.

Someone calls out your name again but you do not respond, unable to look away nor gather any effort to reply. Every unit of energy in your body was already being used for the simple basics of proceeding to live, to breathe and to keep your battered body from fading away, though you wished for nothing more in that moment. The only thing you were conscious of was keeping your hand exactly where it was, keeping a hard grip around the only thing that kept you from crying out with sheer agonising screams to convey your devastation.

You were trapped in an endless cycle of torment, forced to look upon the harrowing sight that would inevitably haunt you forever and yet completely unable to look away, hardly even blinking to make sure that it could never slip away, that you'd never be apart.

Fred's lifeless body was cold now, the warmth of his hand in yours fading long ago as you remained in pieces by his side.

He was paler than you'd ever seen him, his skin turning quickly to a near translucent porcelain as his colour drained to an ashy, cool tone that you hardly recognised- just another reminder of the unbearable reality you were facing. Even his vibrant red hair that had once been an icon of his character and an integral piece of his look was dulling, no longer acting like a bacon of light in a sea of dullness. He was covered in dust, his clothes a rugged mess and a single shoelace untied but you couldn't even bring yourself to fix it for him, after all what use was it now.

Everyone had taken their turns to mourn beside his body, with you and George staying fixed to his side, the two closest people to him unable to let him go. Your knees screamed at you to move but you denied their call of desperation, welcoming the purgatory as punishment for failing to keep your beloved safe.

"We have to leave him," George says sometime later from beside you, his voice broken from the sobbing, hardly more than a hiccuped whisper coming out.

"I can't," you cried, tears freshly falling onto the material of Fred's jumper as you dealt with the prospect of having to leave him alone, for the final time. You couldn't bare it, you'd die here if you had to, at least there would be a solace in that. You couldn't let go of his hand, couldn't do it to Fred. He needed to know he was loved, that he was cared for even in death. He'd never been alone, not even in utero and now he faced his last journey alone and you faced the entirety of your life just as alone.

George managed to gently peel you away, to turn your hunched body away from Fred's corpse and you finally saw that the great hall around you was near empty. Filch and a group of others were holding brooms, with other staff members enchanting brooms and mops to wash away the evidence of the war. How long had you been there? It didn't matter, nothing mattered anymore.

"We have to go," George said, almost pleading with you, though you knew that he wanted to stay just as much, completely unable to fathom a life without Fred. Something in his eyes told you that he was right, that it was time and if you couldn't do it for Fred, you'd do it for George.

With one last look at the still body of the man you had adored for half of your life, you slowly bent down and placed a final kiss in the centre of his forehead. The skin was cold and hard beneath your lips, a stark contrast to the head you had so eagerly kissed that morning, so full of life. Your tears streamed down your face in anguish, body protesting to your mind but you had to do this. Looking at George, you turned to walk away on shaking legs and became supported by George, both of you clinging on to one another as if you were only able to hold it together because of the other person. Once you passed the large wooden doors to the Great Hall, losing the last sight of Fred, you erupted into violent sobs that had you wheezing and barely able to breathe, with George producing the most painful sounding cries that ripped your heart open anew.

You sat in complete silence, still unable to move except for the tremors in your hands and the shaking of your limbs. The tears had stopped, though you couldn't be sure as you no longer felt the skin of your face, anaesthetised by the swelling of your eyes due to the onslaught of sobs and near constant tears. You felt numb, in a sun-space between life and death, a limbo state of existence somewhere between reality and delusion. Denial had set in and without Fred's body in front of you, it was unfathomable to think that he was really gone. Except, you could still feel his stiff, cold hand in yours, the contrast of life and death meeting together in a sickening meeting. Your breathing was shallow, hardly taking enough air to survive but you couldn't bring yourself to take deeper breaths, locked in your own body with no way to help. You felt nausous, sickened to your core each time you remembered Fred, your mind taunting you with the fleeting ability to forget the events of the day even momentarily before the reality set in once again like a cruel joke.

Your mug had been replaced and refilled twice with hot tea that had gone cold in your hands, again like a twisted irony of the day. You paid it no mind, not caring about drinking or nourishing yourself. The tea would not make you feel better, or more awake or take any semblance of pain away from your shattered soul. It wouldn't warm you or ease anything within your tortured heart.

Your half-lidded, tired eyes remained fixed upon the same spot on the floor, regardless of the movement or voices of the people around you. It was all just background static with voices unrecognisable and seemingly unfamiliar though you'd known each one for more than a decade.

Climbing into the makeshift bed alone for the first night in years had been a sorrowful affair, feeling never more alone than you had in that moment. Your body felt like it truly had been through a war that day but you mind still felt worse. The dark room, the cold, single bed; it was all just an unironic reminder of your new miserable life which you'd traipse through alone. You'd refused to stay at the Burrow with everyone else, knowing that you'd be inconsolable at facing it and so opted to spend the night at Grimmauld place. You chose a room you'd never stayed in before, ensuring you had no memory of Fred here and settled down into the cold and miserable room that you deserved.

You prayed to any God that would listen that at the very least you would have pleasant dreams. The main wish of course was that you'd wake up any second and that his whole day had been a frightful nightmare that would take you a day or so to brush off but you'd wake up wrapped in Fred's arms, warm and content. Failing that, you wished you didn't wake up at all.

Taglist:

@ferntv

@aigowen

@that-lame-ghoul9000

@jules-with-stars

@sleepiemocha

@seppys-return-to-madness

@wtvbabes

@the-mrs-malik-styles

@cedslover

@nisapoosworld

@dashhhhkaaa

@ghostlytv

@nerdymesss

@costheticbabe

@cliffburtonscig

@lildrunkjkk

@levylovegood

@jewelsrules

@jphxnix

@asuperconfusedgirl

@staceys-moms-thighs

@nighttimewrites

@egghasnoleg

@mel119g

@angelrioter

@minatozsana

@quinny921

@blahhh819

@comicgollum20

@moonieseyelash

@marisimps

@xslashers

@70s-chic

@shadyunknowncreation

@rockabieesstuff

@moon-2424

@chx-la

@malenk

@jimmywoosimp

@soulessfictionaddict

@twistedlaces1909

@brookiecookiez0

@nightowlgirl

@fiathefirst

@rybrewer82-blog

@cryb4by-te4rs

@rainingsky37

@learninglinesintherainn

@autumnboo126

@kpopgirlbtssvt

[lillybearrie]

Hello I would like to remind everyone that the first (technically second if you wanna get really technical but who cares) thing we heard from fable was

"Release Me,

You are free of Enderian, now focus on purpose"

Directed at Icarus

"Now focus on your purpose"????? WHAT HAPPENED TO "HI" "HELLO" "HOW ARE YOU MY SON"

BECAUSE NEWSFLASH SIR THAT'S NOT HOW YOU TALK TO YOUR FUCKING CHILD

THEY AREN'T A FUCKING ROBOT TO TAKE AND CARRY OUT YOUR ORDERS THAT'S YOUR GODDAMN KID!

PEOPLE TREATED SEVEN WITH MORE FAMIARITY AND RESPECT

no offense to seven great guy rip man BUT STILL

Anyway on to actual analysis

After reading this note, several deductions can be made about our antagonist's character right off the bat, which in season 3 we see to be accurate assumptions

First of all the sending of the note "release me" constantly at the beginning of every reset presumably for the past several ones gives us a base line of a few things A) whoever wrote it is trapped B) they really want out C) whomever was to recive the note presumably can help with this D) this person is either very angry and resorting to formal wording as a form of passive aggression or they are simply a very formal person Had this not been the case they would have written "let me out" or "get me out" or even "help me"

Now for the post-corruption portion

"You are free of Enderian"

1) this person knows Enderian 2) This person knows at least of Icarus 3) They intentionally have been sending these to Icarus 4) despite being trapped they have some way to know what is going on 5) their particular view of Enderian is not favorable it's not overtly antagonistic however this is the one part of the not that can be read as at least partially sympathetic to Icarus

Finally "Now focus on your purpose"

1) they don't see Icarus as anything but a means to an end 2) tone wise it feels like both the chastisement of a child and an order to an unthinking being 3) "your purpose" seemingly refers to the prior statement of "release me" either implying that the writer believes Icarus is only here to get them out of wherever they are or that Icarus's sole purpose in life is to aid and assist them and 4) the use of "now" after the previous statement implies they view the corruption arc as simply something that was inhibiting the progression of them being let out

First off once again SIR THAT IS YOUR CHILD YOU MOTHERFUCKER-

In conclusion deductions that can be made from this note with the knowledge that i now hold are as follows: Fable wanted out of purgatory, they issued Icarus with the fulfillment of this task and saw the corruption arc as merely a speed bump on the road of getting his ass outta there. Fable is a pretentious douchebag. Like everyone else in his life Fable is constantly using his own son as a means to achieving his end goal.

Other notes:

Had Fable's motivations not been his underlying obsession with keeping what he believes is "his" even when it disrupts and disregards the rules of the universe and the sanctity of life he likely wouldn't have given 2 shits about Icarus.

If we view Fable's interactions with others through the lense of him thinking of those of the overworld as "his" his people his creations his world then it starts to become clearer that he only sees individuals as tools and for their potential usefulness to him. And if we want to take this view even further we could even say that he at least on some level viewed Alerion giving a place for his deceased mortals to restate something akin to how a child views their sibling stealing a toy from their room, which then implies that the war of the gods is just a big temper tantrum where Fable hurt his brother then his other siblings stepped in and went "hey woah man not cool you can hit Al dude he is literally just playing the game" to which Fable's response was to hurt them as well and now he's just got out of timeout and basically started blaming his parents for everything wrong in his life which is so silly goofy of him until you remember that these were people he was upset about his brother "stealing" from him and it becomes less silly goofy.

"But Lilly!" I hear you say because you've totally read this far, mhm definitely "If he doesn't actually care about the dead people, then why does he act nice? Why is his charisma stat so high?" Well to that I say is it easier to keep someone in one spot when you make them believe this is where they wanna be or when they know the whole truth?

[l0verclown]

From pressured to driven Part 2

What happens when you feel pressured to do something you never thought you'd do?

Especially if 4 serial killers are the ones pressuring you.

Slight ronin x reader

| spoilers for Killer chat!!! This is part two of "From pressured to driven". As always, my writing sucks so its probably Ooc. I have no idea if i want to continue with more parts, but hey who knows.

TW: Mention of murder, going insane, light gore, SA?(forced kissing)

PSA: I don't support neither am i trying to glorify/Normalize the words mentioned above. SA should be taken serious and it is not meant to be joked around.

Part 1:

You were walking around, searching for any "victims" to kill whilst trying not to freak out by the amount of corpses were in the alley. Damm, you knew Ronin liked going on killing sprees, but this much? If you counted every corpse you have walked past, it would be already above the 20. It didn't feel right, seeing all those unfortunate souls all on the ground, but you also couldn't help continue searching because before you know you are one going to become one of them if they find out.

*Ding!*

A notification?

Dear Reader,

I heard that you were writing a book, which is pretty interesting so my congratulations for that one.

moving on, one of our best reporters, Greg, has unfortunately resigned.

So my question to you is if you are able to make five new articles before the clock hits midnight. I expect at least two articles, but my apologies if this has come to you late, but if you are able to do it, i will try my best to reduce the amount of work you already have.

I wish you the best of luck on this.

Kind regards

Your boss.

You have to be serious. Five whole articles?

Not only did you have to make five new articles, you have to find a way to pretend that you killed a person. Not only that, it was 19:21.

19:21...

Fuck.

You have 4 hours and 30 minutes before midnight. You have to find a solution, and quick. Fuck, maybe you do want to kill someone, and with someone you mean your boss or either Greg.

Greg...

Always him, the 'best' reporter in the company. Total bullshit, he was average, a total pervert even. But the fact he resigned and that you had to chase after his bullshit!?

You felt anger raising up, adrenaline rushing through your veins, the amount of stress and anger that was mixed in your body was insufferable, that if you went to a therapist, they would either send you to a mental hospital or diagnose you with whatever mental disorder is popular.

*Ding!*

Another notification..?

@BestGregg: Hey Reader! Sorry for resigning so early and sudden but i got offered a wayy better job, and i couldn't pass up on that offer. Btw make sure to finish those assignments lol and because i'm resigning, how 'bout we meet up? I mean ur kinda chill and its gonna be fun. So what do you think?

Seriously? A meet up? Who does he think he is? My dad???

@SerialMC: Uhh..

sure i guess. Can we meet up here? *Insert Purgatory location*, i'll wait for u there, I'm here with some friends but i'm sure they don't mind.

@BestGregg: Sweet, i'll be there in 10 minutes, be prepared to have the best night of ur life ;)

Not only is he a total loser, he's a total pervert too. You continued walking, your mind just being full of total bullshit right now. First, your serial killer friends want you to kill somebody, second your stupid boss wants you to write 5 articles, and third your perverted ex-coworker wants to hangout and is going to try to hit on you.

Life's been going shit these weeks, you got hit with an inspiration block which means no more idea's for your next book. You've been trying to find out on how to tell the server that you're not actually a serial killer (What will probably never happen) and now this.

You gripped the knife that you previously found tighter, resisting the urge to even throw it. You can't kill anyone, you don't want to kill anyone, but in your state, it seemed like the only solution left.

"EYY READER, WHERE ARE YOU!?"

"I have a feeling they left"

"No way, they wouldn't leave us, their friends behind, i know them."

"Hah, So they're not as tough as they seem huh?"

"Hey! Don't say that, people like us just have our own struggles. Just let us be you edgeboy"

Fuck fuck fuck.

They were searching for you, and you haven't done anything at all, and looking at the time, that stupid greg should be somewhere here now.

How the fuck did you end up in this position!? Seriously, this would've been some fun hanging out day, but it always ends up in trouble. You just wished you could bury yourself somewhere.

"Yooo Reader it's me Greg!"

How he greeted himself scared the shit out of you, you hid the knife somewhere in your jacket, so he wouldn't notice. It was pretty dark out here, but from the looks of it and how he talked seemed like he had a bit to drink.

"Oh hey.. Greg."

"Whats up with the sad face reader? Are you not happy to see me?"

"No it's just. Work and stuff.. Gotta write 5 articles.. Ha ha.."

"Awh damn, sorry reader. Didn't know i was that important to the company, i mean, being the best reporter in the department? Hell yeah!"

He continued talking about how cool, and important he was that you didn't notice that you were basically backing up into a corner because of how much he talked.

"Ohh yeah, I think you need to confess something, reader."

"Confess.. What?"

He got closer to you, basically trapping you in that corner that you went to yourself. You said you wanted to bury yourself somewhere? Guess that place is here. He leaned into your face, you could feel his intoxicated breath, it reeked of alcohol and whatever cocktails he was drinking, but he didn't seem to go away.

"Don't act stupid, i know how you've been looking at me, you like me, don't you?"

Like. Him?

You hated that man. First, he got with all your female coworkers, he's the so-called "best reporter", he acts like a total asshole, pervert, and his looks are like the devil himself tried making the ugliest person that has ever existed. Not only that, but he has so much controversy, but of course, your boss ignores it because he was a good worker.

"I don't understand? I don't like you?

"Don't be shy, i know what you want"

Before you knew it, he slammed his lips into yours, forcefully kissing you as he held you by the waist. You yelped in disgust, tears starting to form in your eyes. You hated it, you couldn't move, you felt helpless. After he was done kissing you, he looked at you with a grin and you looked terrified.

"Look, you enjoyed that didn't ya? C'monn, i know ya want more"

"And don't worry, i won't go rough on you"

Oh.

Is this your end?

No.

It is not.

You can change

Maybe they will say you became corrupted.

But was it really, if it originated from fear?

You slowly gripped the knife you hid in your jacket, and held it tight in your hand.

"You know what i want..."

You put your free hand on his chest, he leaned in, looking like he wanted to kiss you, but before you could do that, you plunged that knife right into his chest.

He screamed, but you continued. You kept stabbing him near his heart, he tried pushing you off of himself, but you were too determined to finish him. After everything he did, all you wanted to do is never see him again.

Countless screams were forming in his throat, it sounded so god awfull, but that is why it was perfect. That's what stupid, perverted good for nothing deserve. A deep plunge in the heart. At this point, you were sure the rest could've heard the screams and were probably heading your way, but you didn't care about that. For now.

You pushed his body to the ground, before gripping two hands on the handle of the knife, and plunged even harder into his chest. You dragged the knife from his chest to his intestines, before stabbing him again for countless times. You felt anger and stress slowly leave, the crimson staining you. You felt.. Weird. You did feel guilty, yes but after all he did. He deserved it. You ripped out the knife, before hearing some voices behind you.

"Oh my, So Darlin' did end up killin someone huh? And even stabbing the intestines? How gruesome, i like that"

You turned around, hearing the voices of your friends

"Oh shit... Who that guy was, he was definitely hated by them.. Look at the stab marks holy shit, reader went batshit and im here for it"

"Oh.. My, reader, how are you feeling? I don't think that guy was some ordinary guy guys.."

"... The sight is gruesome"

You laughed, you kept laughing before finally stabbing the knife into his skull. He was finally gone.

".. That guy was my ex coworker. He kept stressing me out, making flirty moves, and.. Ended up forcefully kissing me."

Angel looked at you with a mix of reassurance and a look of "I've been there", and she slowly approached you along with Misaki. Meanwhile Misaki was a bit in denial, not because of the fact that you killed him, but because what he did to you. V was crossing his arms and shaking his head, while Ronin was heading towards the guy.

".. What you did there, reader.. I, oddly relate to it. Weird creepy perverted men hitting on you while you weren't doing anything? Killing him was a good choice, reader."

Angel was quite literally an angel. She is nice, she is understanding and she can relate to anyone. You're great full you have her as a friend.

Misaki was giving you constant back pats, trying to comfort you from that guy. You noticed that she was trying to lighten the mood.

"Hey so.. That guy was a total creep, and what you did was totally valid- I mean as a pervert, what did he expect?"

You forced a laugh out of that one, it was funny but for the sake of Misaki, you cracked a laugh so that she wouldn't suspect anything. But you know she meant good, if it was up to her, she would've killed the guy in a second.

V was looking at you and the guy, sighing before muttering out a sentence.

"You finished him, not for fun or for entertainment.. But for your safety and because of fear. Not bad at all."

His words shock you, because you didn't expect him to say that at all. You didn't really speak to him, and when you did, he was always on some "I will find out who you are" shit. Guess V is able to feel some sympathy after all.

You didn't even notice the fact that Ronin was ripping apart that guy's chest to grab his heart, you were starting to hear some weird- crack and bone breaking noises, that you couldn't help but look backwards at the body to find Ronin trying to obtain the guys heart.

Eventually, Ronin had the heart in his hand, and looked at you with a smile

"Darlin', Would ya mind giving me his aorta? And it's that ugly guy's heart, which makes it 10x better. C'monn, do it for the poor little devil."

He looked at you, with that stupid little smile from the first time you kissed, the moment you began rotting and corrupting. You laughed, and took the heart. Since Ronin started talking about the Aorta that much, you decided to google search a bit just to know where it was for a moment like this (which you never actually expected to happen)

You carefully ripped some of the other pieces of the heart, accidentally deattaching the superior vena cava and some artery, but eventually you managed to remove the aorta, and handed it to Ronin.

"To my dearest devil, the one who corrupted me."

Angel looked at Ronin with a look of "What the actual fuck ronin." and he just laughed. You smiled and He gave you a hair ruffle and put the aorta in some weird place in his bag. Gross, but hey, he can do whatever he wants.

You looked at your clothes, It was basically stained red now, but your face, hands and pants were a total mess. You sighed, before thinking of a way on how to get home without getting the police after you.

" You look like a complete fuckin mess. Not that i'm complaining, but you probably are. How 'bout i give you a ride to my house, and stay there?"

You wanted to agree, you didn't mind the idea, but you wondered about the others, what about them? It would be quite rude to leave them here.

Before you could say anything, Misaki overheard the convo and made an idea.

"YOO IS THAT A SLEEPOVER I HEAR!?"

".. I'm not really fond of sleepovers."

"Maybe we could? I mean it is the best way to end the hangout"

". Fuck no, i don't have enough space for five people. And besides, i don't think anyone can survive the devils little hideout"

"Stop being edgy for once ronin, your living room is big enough"

".. Wow, guess i have no choice do i?"

"A sleepover it is, then."

You decided to take a photo of the body, and you were planning on sending it in the server. To have some more 'evidence' that you killed someone. Would your old self be proud of you? Absolutely not, but people change. You changed by being rotten and corrupted, and you wouldn't want it any other way.

weird..

You have this odd feeling that doesn't go away

It feels like a craving.

More killing, it screams your name.

You feel like killing more people.

Their agony, your pleasure.

Time to show them what you have become.

[luvangelbreak]

Deprived | Twenty-one

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 22 Part 23 matthew sturniolo x layla venita (female!oc) summary: everyone knows the story of the bad boy and the good girl but what happens when the school's most popular boy, Matthew Sturniolo, and the girl who notoriously is never there, Layla Venita, cross paths. warnings: swearing, mentions of blood, injuries word count: 2.8k a/n: gasp!!

pov: matt

"Hey pretty boy," Layla's voice rang through the cold air as I felt her arms wrap around my waist, her chest pressed to my back as she leaned up to kiss me on the cheek. I smiled as I placed my hands on hers before turning my head to look back at her smiling face.

"Hey," I murmured as I leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her lips. She smiled against me before someone cleared their throat. She pulled away from me and I turned around to see Mia glaring at us from where she stood between Nate and Nick.

Layla moved to stand next to me but I grabbed her wrist, pulling her to stand in front of me as I leaned back against the side of the minivan. I wrapped my hands around her waist before I placed my chin on her shoulder. She placed her hands over mine as she leaned back into me comfortably.

I didn't realise how much I missed being close to her until I lost the opportunity to. The past week my mind had been in a constant state of purgatory, torn between trying to fix whatever rift was between us or deciding if I didn't want to talk to her anymore. Of course, the latter was at the forefront of my mind when I was initially angry but I knew it would hurt me more in the long run. It was a short-term solution and it wasn't what I really wanted.

What happened wasn't worth losing her over.

"You wanna come over?" I asked her quietly and she shivered from my breath fanning against her neck.

"I can't," she answered quietly and I furrowed my eyebrows as she turned to look at me, her brown eyes glowing in the small sunlight that peaked between the clouds, "Gotta help my dad with something."

"Can I come over then?" I asked and she pursed her lips, her eyes scanning my face before she shook her head.

"It's family stuff. I'm sorry," she leaned back, kissing my cheek gently before turning to face the group that was stood in front of us. As much as it bummed me out that I couldn't spend the rest of the day with her, I understood that I couldn't insert myself into her life with no boundaries.

I let my mind travel to tomorrow, realising it was our last game of the season and it was the deciding factor of whether or not we won the finals. I realised that I never updated Layla on our game last week.

"We're onto the finals by the way," I whispered, pulling her attention away from our friends once again and she whipped her head around to look at me, "Tomorrow's the last game."

"You won?" she asked excitedly and I smiled gently, nodding my head as I did so, "That's amazing!"

"What's amazing?" Chris asked, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he looked at us and Layla smiled as she turned to look at me.

"You guys are in the finals!" she told him with joy and he nodded, a proud smile covering his face, "Why did no one tell me?"

"Probably because you were being a bitch," Mia rolled her eyes and I let my face drop as I felt Layla's energy shift, her shoulders slumping slightly.

"Can you shut the fuck up, Mia?" I spat, my built-up frustration towards her finally spilling over and she frowned as she looked at me in disbelief, "If anything you're the one being a fucking bitch right now."

"Are you serious?" she asked, her mouth hung open as she stared at me and Layla laced her fingers with mine. She squeezed my hand in an attempt to calm me down.

"Dead serious. I told you if you don't stop I'm not gonna be your friend and I'm getting real fucking close to following through with that," I deadpanned, not feeling an ounce of guilt as her face contorted into hurt, "You have no reason to be such a bitch to Layla so fucking stop."

"I can't believe you," she mumbled, her face turning sour as she spun around and began walking out of the parking lot.

"Matt, you didn't have to be so hard on her," Allie spoke softly and I raised my eyebrows as I looked at her.

"How else is she gonna know that I'm that I'm serious? She hasn't listened to me this far," I explained, anger laced through the words that came out through gritted teeth and Layla once again squeezed my hand. I sighed, placing my forehead on her shoulder to calm myself down.

"It's okay," Layla said softly as she ran her thumb across the back of my hand and I shook my head against her shoulder.

"No, it's not," I mumbled and she sighed, leaning her head on top of mine. I felt a sense of peace wash over me, the rest of the world fading away as I only focused on her.

The way she smelled, the way her hand felt in mine, the way her thumb gently caressed the back of my hand and the way her breathing began matching mine. I lost track of time when I was with her, the only time my brain truly shut off was when I was around her. I craved that moment of us alone again and I knew she could sense that.

"Matt," Nick called my name and I reluctantly lifted my head to look at him, "Mom said we need to go grocery shopping for dinner. We gotta leave soon."

"Oh for fucks sake," I grumbled and Layla giggled under her breath making me look at her with a frown, "What?"

"Nothing," she shrugged, a smile still on her lips as I continued to stare at her, "You're just funny when you're grumpy."

"Alright, Miserable Matt. Let's go," Chris rolled his eyes as he rounded the car to jump in the passenger side and I let my frown deepen at the nickname that had stuck anytime I was anything but happy.

"I don't wanna go," I grumbled quietly enough that only Layla could hear as Nick began climbing into the backseat and Layla slowly pulled away from me as I groaned. She spun around to face me as she gave me a gentle smile.

"I'll see you tomorrow, pretty boy," she leaned in, pressing a kiss to my lips before pulling away. She knew I'd get carried away if she let the kiss linger for too long, "Have fun, Miserable Matt."

"Fuck you," I rolled my eyes as she began walking away and I pushed away from the car to stand up.

"I know you want to!" she called cheekily making me snicker as I jumped into the car, mumbling a goodbye to Nate and Allie as they got into his car.

+++

I don't know how many times I'd checked my phone since I messaged Layla asking if we could Facetime. It had been 3 hours and she still hadn't read my message. I was checking my phone every 5 minutes to see if she had replied.

"Dude," Chris deadpanned and I looked over at him from where he sat on the couch, "What are you stressing about?"

"Nothing," I brushed him off and he rolled his eyes, shaking his head as he went back to scrolling aimlessly on his phone, not bothering to pry further. I picked up my phone again, the notifications still empty and I sighed loudly.

"If you don't put that fucking phone down Matt I'm gonna throw it in the pool," Nick deadpanned and I looked over at him with a frown, "She'll reply when she has a moment. Stop being a psycho."

"I'm not being a psycho," I rolled my eyes, locking my phone as I put it face down on the couch. I slouched further back onto the couch as I crossed my arms over my chest, my eyes drifting back to the TV where a random movie was playing.

"I didn't know you were so clingy," Chris joked as he continued scrolling on his phone and I ignored him as I chewed on the inside of my cheek. Suddenly, there was a knock at the front door and I frowned, looking between my brothers.

"We expecting anyone?" I questioned as I got up from the couch, knowing both of my parents were already in bed so it wouldn't be anyone here for them. Both Nick and Chris shook their heads and I hesitantly walked to the front door. I swung it open to find Layla standing there with trembling hands and shaky breaths leaving her mouth. Her hair was covering the majority of her face but when she looked up at me, my heart dropped.

"I didn't have anywhere else to go," she choked out as tears sprung to her eyes and I froze for a moment, my body not knowing how to handle the situation.

"Matt, who is it?" I heard Nick's voice appear behind me for a moment before he gasped, "Holy shit. Layls, are you okay?"

"What's going on?" Chris asked and I ignored him as I grabbed Layla's arm to pull her inside. I didn't even close the front door behind me as I pulled her into the kitchen.

"Here, sit on the bench," I told her as shoved the various papers away from the edge of the island before I held her waist to help her up onto the cold marble, "Chris, get the first aid kit."

Chris didn't respond, I only heard him run down the hall to get the first aid kit from the bathroom as Layla caught her breath in front of me. Nick walked over to the freezer, grabbing out an ice pack as I placed my hand on her thigh.

"Baby, are you hurt anywhere else?" I asked, my voice shaking as I took in the pure terror in her eyes and she nodded her head, "Can you tell me where?"

"My back," she croaked out and I sighed when Chris returned with the first aid kit, quickly unpacking it on the bench beside her.

"Can I take this off? I just wanna check the rest of your body," I asked her softly as I grabbed the hem of the pink sweater that had drops of blood splattered over it. She didn't respond verbally, only nodded her head as she unravelled her arms from around her stomach.

I gently pulled the crewneck up as she lifted her arms up for me to slide the material over her head. She was only wearing a thin tank top underneath so it made it easier for me to scan her body for any damage. My heart cracked in my chest when I noticed the myriad of bruises littering her body as she covered her face with her hands. I moved around her, noticing the giant bruise on the lower half of her back. I tried not to stare too long knowing it would make her feel insecure so I let out a breath as I grabbed her wrists to pull her hands away from her face as she sniffled.

"Let me help pretty girl," I whispered as she continued looking down between us in shame and she once again nodded. Chris and Nick just stared at me in worry, their entire demeanour towards her changing now that they realised she was in some sort of danger. I could tell they wanted to help but weren't sure how. I let my eyes scan her face, the cut on her right cheekbone continued bleeding as it dripped down her face slowly and the split on her lip had dried blood around it.

"I can clean the cuts if you want," Chris spoke up softly and Layla turned her head to look at him as she tried to keep herself calm, "I know how to do it properly."

"You okay with that?" I asked her as I grabbed her hand and she hesitated for a moment before she nodded. Chris quickly grabbed the gauze and disinfectant wipes as I moved to stand to her left, still holding onto her hand to bring her any sort of comfort that I could.

"This might sting a little," Chris mumbled as he tore open the packet of wipes before unfolding it. Layla moved her hair out of her face, holding it back with a shaking hand as Chris moved to stand between her legs. As he began wiping around the small gash, she hissed from the pain, "Sorry. I'll try to be quick."

"Matt," Nick said from behind Layla on the other side of the island making me look up at him. He tilted his head down towards her lower back and I leaned forward, noticing the bruise on her lower back seemed to get worse by the minute before he asked Layla quietly, "Layls, does it feel like anything is broken?"

She took a moment to let Chris pull away as her face screwed up in pain before she muttered, "No. Just my back really hurts."

"Can I put the ice pack on it?" Nick asked and she hummed as Chris picked up the tweezers.

"This is gonna hurt," Chris let her know and she hummed once again as Nick placed the ice pack against her back. Chris began picking out small shards of glass that were stuck on the edge of the cut as Layla squeezed my hand. She let out a groan and Chris pursed his lip as he tried to work quickly before he mumbled, "Almost done."

He put the tweezers down before grabbing another disinfectant wipe, ripping the packet open and quickly wiping the cut gently once again. He grabbed another gauze and placed it over the cut before he leaned back.

"Hold that there until the bleeding stops then I'll tape a clean one on after," he explained, his voice calm as she nodded. She replaced his hand with her own, "I'm gonna clean your lip but if you put an icepack on it after it will heal fine."

She hummed in response as he used the disinfectant wipe to clean the cut on her lip before he pulled away and stepped back. She gave him a small smile that didn't reach her eyes as she whispered, "Thank you."

"Of course," Chris shrugged as he grabbed the wipes and the rest of the trash on the bench beside her.

"Here," Nick said as he leaned over the island and handed me another small ice pack. I nodded thankfully before I placed the ice pack on her lip and she looked at me with heavy eyes. I gave her a small smile as I leaned forward, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"You okay?" I asked quietly and she closed her eyes, shrugging as she shivered.

"Let us know if you guys need anything," Nick said as he rounded the island and Layla looked at them both with sad eyes.

"Sorry for just walking in like this," she said quietly, her voice filled with shame and Nick shook his head as Chris stood in the doorway to go down the hall.

"It's okay. Just glad to know you're okay," he said softly and she gave him a small smile. Both of them exited the room and I moved to stand between her legs, still holding the ice pack against her lip as I looked down at her.

She didn't say anything, she just grabbed my wrist to pull my hand away that was holding the ice pack and she placed her forehead on my chest with a sigh. I let my shoulders drop as I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and pulled her into me.

We stood like that for a moment in silence as I let her breathe, looking down at her back where the bruise seemed to now be fully formed. I felt a weight on my chest, an anger flushing over me towards whoever did this to her. I knew being angry wouldn't help her right now but I couldn't push down the feeling as it rose throughout my body.

"I'm so tired," she mumbled, snapping me out of my own thoughts as she pulled away from me slightly and I looked down at her once again tear-filled eyes, "This is just so tiring."

"I'm sorry, pretty girl," I whispered as I placed another kiss on her forehead, a few tears spilling down her red cheeks as she tried to steady her breathing, "Do you want to go to my room? We can just lay down for a bit."

She let out a shaky breath before nodding and I pulled away from her. I helped her off of the counter and she grabbed the pink sweater as I grabbed the large ice pack that was against her back. I threw it in the freezer, grabbing a bag of frozen peas since it would cover the surface of her back more before I grabbed her hand and we made our way upstairs slowly, her legs shaky as she walked. As we made our way into my bedroom the only thing that ran through my mind was:

Whoever did this to her, they're going to wish they were dead once I find out.

tags:

@dsturniolo @chrisstankyleg @lov3bug @pinklittleflower @thatcrazybitch-69 @trinity2058 @alorsxsturn @chrizznmetswife @ilovechrissturniolo1 @leprechaunbirthdaygirl @sturnfix @lilsstvrn @sturniololol @sturniolowhore @jebbie-project-blog @jaxyy219

[mapliusoup]

my big theory about whats going on in the bp universe- pt1

hey guys!!!! im just so excited abt the whole tour and the possibility that theyll release new stuff so i thought. why not share the brainrot with the swarm!!!

this is gonna be a i think 5-part (maybe more, maybe less) series of theories im gonna be doing :)

i also wanted to clarify that these are my theories and i am not in any way claiming they are true! im just having some fun lmao, if u wanna add anything just share with me im curious

(i dont include house of wolves and teenagers in the story btw they just dont fit in for me)

this is the part 1, the beginning.

the black parade, for me, is about death. and coming to terms with yourself. i am going to tell the story how i view it.

the story is about the patient, a man dying of terminal illness, most possibly cancer. he is alone, he is sad, and he has nobody to spend his last moments with. this is about him. and death.

his story starts with i dont love you. his partner has had enough of him: he is selfish, broken, and they dont think they can fix him. so they leave him. and he is alone.

the patient never had anyone he could remember of apart of them: his family? he didnt remember them.

in between that and the next song of the album, his fate is sealed. he gets diagnosed with terminal cancer and admitted into hospital. he has no one there. he cant remember anything about his past, in between these white walls.

the sharpest lives, the next song of the album, is the patient being angry. he is angry, at his partner, at the hospital, at himself, at the non-existent god that cursed him to this fate. he cant die, he does not deserve to. he complains, shouting at no one, about his unfair fate.

in this is how i disappear, his anger slowly starts to dissipate, shifting, and turning into slight sadness, maybe even remorse. he misses his lover: he wants to be normal. he wants them back. he doesnt want to go just yet.

in cancer, the patient is starting to realize his fate: hes dying. and there is nothing he can do to stop it. hes regretting every single mistake he ever made. the patient hates himself. he is alone because he deserves it: dying will free him for all this loneliness. he says his goodbyes to no one. and then he dies.

the end.

he opens his eyes, and he is in a place he does not recognize. a land of gothic infrastructures, tall and cutting the horizon into strange shapes. (we'll talk about this landscape more in the future; remember it.) he is surrounded by silhouettes, faceless people he does not know, but that yet seem so familiar. a young white-haired man approached him, smiling. "welcome," he said. "to the aftermath of your life."

the young man, the parade leader as he calls himself, explains to the patient that he is dead. he tells him that because of what how much of an asshole he was when alive, he is here, now.

in welcome to the black parade, the parade leader tells the patient about this place.

the parade, for me, is the purgatory: they send lost souls there to repent themselves- or, alternatively, to get them to hell. the parade leader and his band sing for them, they sing for them to make them remember all their past mistakes and to decide of their fate. the band is stuck there, in this limbo, forever: what got them here, they do not know. maybe the tour will shed some light on the origin of the parade.

then comes dead!, where the parade leader laughs at the patient, explaining to him that he made these mistakes, that he is unloved and he deserves whats hapenning to him now. the patient tries to deny it so hard, but he knows its true. he knows he fucked up.

in a burst of pain, for knowing that this is his fault, the patient has a vision.

he lays in wet dirt, the smell of blood and death in his nostrils. he hears screams and gunshots all around him.

suddenly, he remembers. the patient went to war, probably world war two (i like to think he went there because of the ghost of you music video. maybe im overthinking it lmao), and killed people there. a lot of people. it was normal to kill people at war, of course. but it haunted him. during the battles, he lost so many friends. so many brothers. the only person he had left was his mother.

mama.

his mother cried when he came back. because she could see the blood on his hands. she cried because her own son had murdered other women's flesh- their families.

she died quickly, too sad to live like this.

from that moment and then next song, there is a big gap that im going to try my best to explain.

basically, after the patient recovered his memories of his mother and the war, he started regretting all that he did even more. at the same time, he accepted it: everyone was imperfect. everyone was human. he comes at peace with himself, and prepares to die. i mean yeah he already died but like just his mind died? like he was still technically alive because his old memories still attached him to the living world.

in famous last words, the patient tells his last regrets to the parade leader: how he couldnt tell his mother and his partner that he loved them: that he couldnt live a long healthy life: that he couldnt say sorry to the mothers of all the men he killed.

but in disenchanted, he comes to terms with that: it is sad, but it is how it is. just a sad song, with nothing to say. there is nothing he can do to stop it, so he might as well go peacefully.

the parade leader, himself, had grown attached to this man: the patient was like him in many ways. he couldnt quite explain it, or understand it, but it hurt to let him go.

and so, in sleep, the parade leader sets him off. his song comes from deep inside, from his guts. it hurts. it hurts so bad to let him go. as he screams at him to go to sleep, there is a flash of darkness. and so the patient ends.

thats kind of my interpretation of the story! a man who is broken and does not know why, who is going to suffer an unfair end, and who finally comes to terms with who he is thanks to another lost soul. ofc, thats just how i personally see it!

last little thing before he start working on the next parts, for which i have wayyy more evidence for what im gonna speculate hehe

blood is the "transition" to the next part of the story. the parade changed after the death of the patient. it wasnt the patient directly, but something had changed after he left. the parade had become more defiant, more unstable, more resisting. so someone had to stop them.

thats when swarm comes in.

feel free to share ur theories with me!! i love to hear them :3

[bradandchris]

Chris: Knock, knock.

Brad: Who’s there?

Chris: Orange.

Brad: Orange who?

Chris: Orange you glad it’s all about bananas?

Brad: I was hoping for a hot dog in my bun.

Chris: Oh? Well, why don’t we wave over our neighbor Luke so my hunk a lunk boyfriend here may have both.

Luke: If you love birds turn around I’m peeping in your window.

Brad: Oh. Hey. There’s a pair of your underwear in our microwave. I keep forgetting to text you.

Chris: Is it orange?

Becky: Does it matter Chris? What exactly is going on with the microwave?

Chris: OMG. I am so sorry Becky! I totally forgot you were still on the phone. Brad totally distracted me with some very real orange crush foreplay.

Becky: Chris, I called you to help me get a trick from last night out of my bathroom and two knocks turned into a sex show in less than two sentences. Thats by no means a judgement as that’s exactly how I ended up with this creep but in our version the knock knock part of the joke referred to breasts.

(Silence)

Breasts meaning boobs. Those things women have on their chest.

Chris: Oh. Ok. Cool. Yeah. For a second I thought you were f-ing around with chickens. That would have been disturbing. Does Chick-Fil-A still close on Sundays? Oh. Becky! Did you get my orange thong pic with the leaky popsicles? You’re gonna die. Ok. Now listen. If you’re in some hard core purgatory with this guy in the bathroom, Brad and I are gonna get it on with Luke here. If that creep is still there when this banana/hot dog bun thing wraps then the three of us will come over and reenact every season of Glee until he comes out. How does that sound Becky? Given the feel here, we don’t need to make a bigger deal of things regarding your situation. This guy reads slow not death row.

Becky: Totally. It’s 100% annoying and that’s all. He’s also 5�� and 120lbs. I kicked his ass twice already. That was the draw and probably what he’s looking for again now that I brought it up.

Luke: Is that the official invite inside Chris?

Chris: inside job. Yes. Exactly. For me at least. Brad, where do you want this to go?

Brad: Inside Luke.

Chris: Great. OK. Becky, the webcam is live so you know where we are. Use the chat function if things get funky. This end is…. Well, you’ll see. Luke likes to use blindfolds.

[shallowseeker]

There are a lot of nervous breakdowns in SPN that are very tied up with delayed grief reactions.

S4 Sam - Drinking demon blood is a reaction to losing Dean; to being horrified that Dean could die and having a disgust-reaction to his weakness as a way to protect himself from the emotions he has about Dean's mortality; Sam was desperate to be stronger. He couldn't unpack why.

S6 Cas - Being murdered by Heaven (Raphael), and though he returned to Heaven to be "the new sheriff," he was paranoid of even the angels close to him because of *waves at all of S4-5* That paranoia and withdrawal into himself reached into every relationship he has. He watched his loved ones suffer, so he decided to be the one to "Put a Stop to It--to All of It"

S7 Cas - Nihilism; (The endless repetition of life and deriving no meaning from it; route of flowers being a predestined plan is also a "nothing matters" nod); Feelings of guilt and the need for penance, terminating in s8 "suicide" / wanting to stay in purgatory *is* suicide btw

S8 Cas - Brainwashing redux; Guilt, lots of changes here, as a result of the brainwashing he needs space to figure out what he's feeling and who he trusts; ALSO Feeling afraid of heaven (re: The great escapist and Matatron "Heaven's powers always spill over (to the humans)" and "Who's it gonna be, Castiel, her or YOUR family (human family)?"

S8 Sam - Great big Sam nervous breakdown; totally paralyzed and running away. Even Amelia-Sam was part OF the freakout, something Amelia's father, someone that knew her well and cared about her, recognized (Amelia doesn't wanna go back to her husband, because he can *die* and maybe she's like Sam too in that she's completely allergic to grief, hey?); Sam oscillates between CHECKOUT OF REALITY and WE GOTTA STICK TO THE HUNTING CODE(TM) the same way Dean clung to the simpler hunting code at the beginning of s7; "Don't choke!" Both boys veer between all-or-nothing with regards to the hunting life

S9 Dean - Gadreel and Kevin and feeling like he was doing the wrong thing; Sam's willingness to commit suicide; Cas's symbolic suicide, then Cas falling ��� we see in Dean’s speech to Metatron that he was desperate to also "Put a Stop to It--to All of It" and his reasons were spelled out clearly, protecting Sam and the distress over Cas's grace/falling/being wronged BY Metatron

S10 Sam - Reacting to Dean's death AGAIN; Reacting to the terrible knowledge that everyone was always sacrificing for him and not the other way around; also a delayed grief reaction to how his family locked him up for detox; and of being an addict himself and fearing that it would end in black eyes and blood (he's not exactly wrong, either; he just went too far)

S10 Cas - Delayed reaction to Jimmy Novak's passing; meeting Claire and wanting to be "like a human"; his guilt was so overpowering; also dealing with his hypocrisy (re: Metatron) about wanting to stay on the earth

S10 Dean - Loss of free will redux, but in the disinhibited direction; dealing with feelings of shame over the loss of free will and past experiences where he also felt powerless or manipulated; he (like Claire Novak) overall tends to choose forgiveness, trying to understand and give grace to those who wronged him; also dealing with being Cole's "Azazel," the parallel to Claire dealing with her "Azazels"

S11 Cas - Delayed reaction to Dean dying in s9, reaction to his grace power reduction (he got his grace BACK and it was damaged), also feeling powerless to protect anyone; the attack dog spell etc etc; Sacrifices himself to the cause

S12 Mary - Huge breakdown because she was ripped from her life and is grieving her entire family as she knew it; feeling like she can't escape from hunting and she corrupted John and in reading his journal she empathizes with his plight while struggling with the cruelty of it; she decides if she can't escape then maybe she can "Put a Stop to It--to All of It."

S12 Cas - Still struggling with the mortality of the human fam (First Blood) and his lack of strength, See Lily Sunder and Stuck in the Middle with You as crisis points. Was enticed by Jack keeping his power because that means he'd have a fam member who could outlive him. The script taps into Cas's wants: Kelly to be at peace, Sam to be free, Dean to be *ahem* thankful, and himself to be strong. Nephilim gives him a cause to not feel guilty about being on earth because it's a Mission (TM)

Nervous breakdowns, man. I can keep going. There are so many nervous breakdowns. SO MANY. And when you look at them AS nervous breakdowns, they make more sense.

[gabsword]

Little rant about Wynonna Earp: Vengeance.

I am someone who has a deep love and nostalgia for this show, it was a really important part of my coming out and discovering myself journey etc and I can honestly say I was obsessed with Wynonna Earp. With that in mind I did genuinely quite enjoy Vengeance and I’m so happy to see all the characters again so any of my criticisms are with that love in mind. That being said there were quite a few choices that frustrated me that I have to get off my chest.

Lowkey afraid to post this because I know so much of the fandom think Wynonna Earp is immune to any criticism (read: the whole racism debacle).

Also I’m sure a lot of my criticisms could also be levied at the show itself but tbh I haven’t rewatched it since it came out so I’d have to rewatch it and put on my critical brain.

SPOILERS BELOW

1. I think the more the show puts Mercedes through the wringer the less of an impact it has. As awful as it sounds I kinda wish something happening to one of the other characters (eg. Nicole) but not necessarily death, could’ve been the catalyst. (I’m less strongly opinionated on this point I just thought it’s worth mentioning.)

2. I though the fight choreography was pretty shit, I felt absolutely no stakes during the hell hound attacks.

3. This might be a controversial opinion, but I think there WASN’T ENOUGH fan service. Considering this is a reunion almost entirely aimed at fans on a random-ass streaming service, intended to lean in to fans nostalgia. Unless I’ve missed it they only mentioned Dolls once (quite subtly and they mention Bunny Fucking Loblaw more than him) never mentioned Rosita, Robin, Chrissy, Rachel Valdez, Kate etc etc and again I might have missed this but they didn’t even mention Julian??? Glad Jeremy showed up at the end though

These next three are the most egregious in my opinion.

4. WHY TF DID THEY MAKE WYNONNA A COP??? It makes no fucking sense for her character. So much of her character arc is about distancing herself from her father and making her own path then she follows in his footsteps???? If they wanted to give her a job to show she was settling into the Purgatory community and still on the look out for demons she could have I don’t know, been a Park Ranger or a PI or literally anything else. Like I get that she has people she trusts and loves on the force in Nicole and formerly Randy but this still doesn’t make sense to me and feels like more copaganda than the show already has.

5. Wtf does Emily Andras have against Wynonna being happy with her child. At the very least even if it was unsafe for Alice to live with Wynonna they could show her visiting her and forming a relationship (which she so desperately wants). It also feels like a disservice to Doc to not follow that up. I wish the ending had been Wynonna sitting with Alice and telling her about Doc instead of just ‘hey welcome to the force! Congrats!’

6. Considering the show has such limited representations of First Nations peoples (I’m struggling to think of any), the only Native American character being a demon feels dodgy af to me. But that alone could theoretically be talked out of as ‘there are demons of every race’. Ok, then WTF would you have your main character making fun of the Native characters calling her ancestor a coloniser??

[omalice]

Isn’t it cute? P.5

When you glance at the store's biggest teddy bear and “Isn’t it cute?” with a gorgeous smile.

Character: Asmodeus, Simeon, Solomon x GN! Reader

Note: My English is really poor, so…please go easy on me if I write something wrong!

P.1 | P.2 | P.3 | P.4

NB! Timeline for Asmodeus and Solomon

The “I will grant your wish somehow”

Asmodeus

“Isn’t it cute?” You mumble while locking your eyes on the store's biggest teddy bear.

“Awww” he pursed his lip together slightly to let out the long sound "Do you dig it? I have a doll that's around this size. It's yours if you want!"

“Eh– yes, I want,” you’re startlingly blinking your eyes. “But…I never knew before that you’re a doll’s fan”

“‘Cause I’m not!” He lets out a soft chuckle

"Hey, my doll has white wings, you know? I brought it with me when I first landed in Devildom. At those times, I really miss my old angel life, seeing the wings makes me feel like nothing's changed."

“Wait…” you instinctively reach out and firmly grasp his arm “Are you sure to give me the doll? It sounds so important to you…”

“It ‘used to’ important to me” he fix your words while gently stroking your hair.

"If having white wings means I haven't had a chance to meet you, then they're meaningless” “So, I don't need that doll anymore."

Simeon

“Isn’t it cute?” You mumble while locking your eyes on the store's biggest teddy bear.

"You want it?" His charming voice inquired in a questioning tone.

“Ah, I didn’t mean to—“ “Don’t worry, it’s alright” The angel waved his hand before beaming an affectionate grin at you.

“I think I can grant your wish somehow, it’s an angel duty after all”

After the talk, he led you to Purgatory Hall and baked you a pancake that exactly resembled a teddy bear from a store.

“Delicious?” The temporary chief asks while sporting a grin.

“Absolutely! Thanks so much, Simeon”

he let out a slight chuckle, "Even the store's teddy didn't have a good taste like this one, right?"

Solomon

“Isn’t it cute?” You mumble while locking your eyes on the store's biggest teddy bear.

“Want it?” Asked Solomon.

“Yes? …why are you asking? Mean to buy it for me?” You bafflingly reply,

“Well, I don't have that much money to do so," then, he shakes his head, and states, "But I think I can fulfill your wish," before bursting into a doubtful smile.

The following morning, Solomon knocks on your door to wake you up and welcome your morning with a huge teddy bear!

“T-Thanks?? But how?”

"You know what,” He replied to your confusion with a slow sigh, "I never expected Barbatos to have such fantastic sewing skill, it makes me honestly envy Diavolo for having an all arounder butler like him.”

“…..”

This week, Barbatos seems utterly frustrated, and you do your best to keep the teddy bear out of his sight.

It’s finally the last part! Thanks for the following. I have some headcanon plans to write, please look forward to it if you enjoy my writing stuff! ✨✨

[saint-starflicker]

5 Dark Academia Movies That I Don't Find Too Many Other People Posting Very Frequently About

Note my definition of Dark Academia: dark because somebody dies (at a stretch, the darkness can be oppression or abuse from which no one necessarily dies but it still gets pretty dark—or if someone attempts suicide or murder then I count it as dark); academia because they go to uniform school or prepster university (the academia part can be an intense study, discussion, or research of a subject even though they are not at a campus.)

1. The Moth Diaries 2011

The book was better, more detailed, but the movie is still pretty good. The campus is peak neoclassical splendor, the uniforms are on-point aesthetic, and the darkness is gruesomely bloody and also it's on fire. The book is set during the school year of 1970 to 1971, but the movie is set in 2010 thereabouts.

2. "O" 2001

A modern retelling of Othello by William Shakespeare set at a prestigious boarding school. Adapting classical literature in a high school was trendy at the time, trying to capture the magic of Clueless 1995, and in my opinion "O" was the most glammed-up production with the most dark academia atmosphere out of all of them.

3. Educating Rita 1983

A working-class British young woman takes a social enrichment outreach education opportunity to study literature, in hopes that a study in the humanities will give her a better sense of self. Her tutor is a "failed" poet who struggles with substance addiction. Unbeknownst to them, both their lives are at the crux of change. In their consistently non-romantic conversations together, they unpack class discrimination in academia and society, as well as argue about the meaningfulness versus empty pretensions of studying humanities.

Nobody dies, well all right somebody almost dies for pretentious academic reasons...but the conversations leave a lot between the lines.

4. Private Romeo 2011

A modern retelling of Romeo and Juliet by William Shakespeare set at an all-boys military school. Sure, it's not the Oxbridge-Camford or "Hollywood New England" collegiate aesthetic...but it is very gay, a feature that I hope lends the movie some compensatory merit in this context. Juliet's a boy. Romeo is still a boy. Nurse is a boy. Juliet's mom is a man. Paris is an abstract concept. They are studying Romeo and Juliet at the military school English class at the same time that they are living and speaking the lines in Romeo and Juliet, so it gets surreal and I recommend getting more into the emotion of it than get caught up in what the lines they're saying are supposed to mean.

This should be chaotic academia or frenzy academia, but there's homophobic hazing and bullying so I think that's pretty dark.

5. Bare: a Pop Opera ???? There was supposed to be a movie but I deduce that it's stalled in development purgatory. I have not liked a movie adaptation of a stage musical since Chicago 2002, so I guess I don't really like movie adaptations of stage musicals—but I definitely want my current hyperfixation to be more accessible than a Spotify album oh hey while waiting for this adaptation to happen you can listen to the Spotify album. It's an operetta, so it's sung-through and you won't miss out on any story dialogue unlike with other musicals. Here's my argument for B:APO being Dark Academia.

DUE TO THE FACT THAT THE #5 SPOT ON MY LIST DOES NOT EXIST...WHAT DARK ACADEMIA MOVIES DO YOU THINK SHOULD BE IN THIS SPOT IN THE MEANTIME?

I CAPSLOCK IN ANGUISH THAT THE B:APO MOVIE DOES NOT EXIST YET AND PROBABLY NEVER WILL.

YOUR RECOMMENDATIONS ARE CONSOLATION.

Honorable Mentions:

The History Boys 2006 had one subplot I was bothered by at first and then grew to despise which is really too bad because this movie had racial diversity, directly addressed misogyny in academia, and had canon gays in a love triangle — but it is dark and it doesn't really seem to know that it's dark.

The Children's Hour 1961 "dark academia is mlm while cottagecore is wlw" WRONG watching this movie to consider evidence of dark academia wlw is part of your yuri duty! remember our history!

Never Let Me Go 2010 I can't describe objectively because I read the book at a time in my life that I was having a time at that time. The movie is a faithful adaptation. I re-read it recently and I think it's more Dark Academia than I gave it credit for, but if you're not into Contemplative Dystopia then I completely understand it not being your thing.

Like Minds 2006 — Huh, so 2006 was a busy year for this genre that did not yet exist at the time. Witness the folie à deux of 21st century teenaged Templar Knight kinnies who are also homoerotic serial killers. (Waves to the people that introduced me to this movie, who—contrary to the header of this post—actually do post about it.)

Rope 1948 does have some activity that I've caught recently enough, but I thought maybe it wouldn't be considered Dark Academia right away because it doesn't take place at a school. It takes place at a dinner party where ex-schoolfriends talk to their philosophy professor who they remain well-acquainted with after graduation, an interrogation of putting this professor's morally heinous philosophy into practice. Also there is a corpse at this dinner party. There's your academics and your darkness, so there's your dark academia.

[sseanettles]

nothing grows in corpses (in the earth of me)

dream x hob gadling | mature | Finally cross-posting my take on the fandom classic of the show progresses as the comics do, even to The Wake. Until Death resurrects Morpheus and forces the choice of "redemption" upon him instead of suicide. It goes...horribly. No good. Very bad. Instead of learning the lesson, Morpheus (in his infinite wisdom) opts instead for a highly effective existence strike until one day Hob Gadling stumbles upon his ghastly handiwork and immediately decides that this just won't do. Man Who Refuses To Die vs. Man Who Refuses To Live: fight.

Dead Dove, Do Not Eat for the following: graphic depictions of starvation, illness, suicidal ideation, self-harm, blood and gore, loss of autonomy, etc. etc. This is some classic old world whump, folks! But I promise it's also supremely healing in the end.

CH. 5: the rockrose and the thistle pt. 1 | 3.5 k | AO3 link | prev part | next part

(or: the one where Hob finds his Stranger; he perhaps wishes he hadn't.)

A blur of familiar shapes and colors loomed above Morpheus in the vague shape of a man, horror and dismay twisting his normally warm, friendly voice into something unrecognizable. It was like a fun house mirror, a wavering heat mirage, and Morpheus placed the blame for this especially cruel haunting on the one undoubtedly responsible. His scabbed lips barely moved, fighting to shape his protestation on the wheezing exhale that eked from his tortured throat.

Leave me, Delirium.

She was trying to relieve the pain of the rats, he knew—just as she would send him insects to distract from the retching and ghostly fingers along his back to take him away from the pain of a stomach consuming itself. She was at least nearer to something normal this time, but somehow, he found this reassurance cut deeper than Despair’s hook. The numbness, that drifting static—he wanted it back. He tried to put himself back out on that purgatorial water, to push off into it and never find shore again.

It was nice there, that dark. Not peaceful. Not restful. But the pain could not reach him as easily there, and neither could cold nor hunger nor thirst. Nightmares could try to ensnare him, but it was a far more trancelike state than it was sleep, and so they could not take hold.

Glass and iron could not rob him of air and life, could not starve and suffocate him for so much longer than a hundred years. He would not endure abuse and humiliation at the Burgess Family’s hands that did not end at verbal beratement and mind games; he would not bring self-wrought ends upon himself that were not as neat as taking his sister’s hand. He would not see Nada smashed upon mountainsides with her bones all cracked and broken and her skin bending the wrong ways to keep all the pieces of her inside.

Orpheus. His hand would not bury inside his boy’s skull, the feeling of his brain matter hot and wet between his fingers, his blood warming him where he had long gone cold…. He would not again endure the murdering of the Dreaming, each loss felt like a limb of his own, like an organ, as the cackle of the Kindly Ones echoed in his ears like an ice pick to the inside of his skull.

He would not find himself sprawled in his current state upon the floor of his throne room of old, staring up at his own uncaring visage as the King of Dreams and Nightmares, the Shaper of Forms, Lord of the Dreaming, watched him perish with glittering black eyes as remorseless as the regalia that dripped off him like the night sky itself. Like tar. As he watched himself die with nothing but utter disdain and derision.

What you have let yourself become, Morpheus could hear Dream sneer in the cruel curve of his lips.

Numbness. Let him submerge once more into numbness, into oblivion. Let his sisters’ handiwork fade….

The last of Hob’s coffee hit the ground, and his knees followed soon after as his Stranger’s bloodshot, rubbery gaze began to drift.

“H-hey,” Hob called. It was a whimper of a syllable, unintentionally teary, and he tried again. “Hey!”

His sharp bark halted those closing eyes for a heartbeat, and the sagging head jerked a touch, like a puppet’s string. Empty; his Stranger was so empty, and Hob’s heart lodged in his throat, bile trying to rise around it as he reached for his friend’s ragged face on instinct, hoping to lift his cold-blistered skin from the snowy ground.

He struggled to speak from his already crowded throat, and the tone of Hob’s next words emerged somewhere between his two hey’s.

“My friend…?”

Hands cradled Morpheus’ face, undeterred by the beard or the blood or the blisters, and they were so warm, so real after so long on the edge of oblivion that something already fraying in Morpheus’ brain snapped altogether. Calluses, firm grip, large span, smelling of coffee and paper and ink and wool, so hot compared to the world that they scorched him—he wanted, no, needed them to let go. Let go. Let go, let go, leT GO—

Never leave.

He wanted those hands to never touch him again. He wanted the feeling of them all over his body, bringing him in from the cold in a cocoon-like embrace, from the hardness and the pain and the emptiness. A mortifying, strangled moan cracked from his tundra throat and split lips and gaunt cheeks, and it turned into a spine-chilling, gasping inhale as his blood-stained hands clutched and clawed at his ravaged gut.

He wanted them gone.

“God’s wounds…” the voice above him rasped, heart-broken and horrified still.

Real. The hands were real.

Then the body, the voice that they were attached to had to be real, too. And that meant….

It’s him.

Morpheus’ body locked into its fetal position, so rigid he began to shake and seize with it. All cognizant thought whited from his mind in the wake of the pain and desire that swept over him amid the paralyzing panic.

“Fuck,” Hob hissed and fumbled to cast his bag to the side and shrug his way out of his long woolen coat. Morpheus’ head was on fire, and a quick check showed his chest and gut were in a similar state, his lungs rattling like a babe’s toy on every breath. But the rest of him…. “God’s wounds” didn’t do it any measure of justice, but it was the only useless phrase that would come to his stupid mind. His friend, who should have been VERY dead, mind you, was otherwise a block of ice with nothing but skin and bone on him, and this was too fucking much to process at the end of a work week, final exams were on Wednesday, he still had to correct the last set, grades were due end of month, and FUCKING CHRIST. “Fuck, Stranger, I—”

Another strangled bay of pain wracked his friend’s chest as Hob swaddled him in his coat, and he doubled the dirtied quilt around the outside until the snow no longer touched him, wincing all the while as his friend continued to weakly moan in agonized protest.

“Shhh,” he hushed. His hands and his voice shook as badly as his friend. He ripped the black scarf from around his neck and wrapped it about his friend’s skeletonized head, tucking it around his throat. “Shhh, you-you’re gonna be fine, mate. C’mon….” Those horrible eyes stared wildly at him, that bleeding mouth opening and closing with gasping, guttural breaths that were all so viscerally wrong. Hob gritted his teeth against his tears and rested one hand as gently as he could atop his friend’s head; the other touched ever so delicately to his chest. “Shhh…shhh, please, friend. Just…just breathe….”

His Stranger’s hair, once so lovely and glistening dark, like rain on fresh pavement, crunched beneath his touch. That foreign, patchy beard disintegrated further as his jaw continued to work, hungry for air that could not seem to reach his lungs, and grime and rusted blood flaked from his hollow cheeks to the scarf that bundled him. Hob waited there beside him, knelt like that with coffee-melted snow seeping through his trousers, and prayed to anything listening that his friend’s shaking would cease.

Several fruitless minutes later, Hob sank his teeth into the edge of his tongue. The wracking shivers hadn’t let up, and now Hob was faced with a decision. And if anything of the Stranger that he had known remained, he knew he was going to catch hell for his choice when Morpheus was well enough to talk.

He shifted his hold until he could guide his exhausted friend’s eyes in his general direction, going numb himself far more quickly than he liked in the cold. Hob shivered violently enough to jolt his friend’s head where they touched, and he struggled to ignore the biting freeze in just his button-down and blazer.

“I’m going to get you up, now, ‘kay?” Morpheus’ quaking worsened, though his line of sight hovered somewhere near Hob’s chin without recognition. “Real gentle-like.” Slowly, so slowly he felt his already sore back begin to cramp in protest, Hob began to slide his arm beneath his friend. “Just so. Just-just try to keep breathing….”

They were doing okay, or at least no worse than they had been, until Hob got Morpheus upright, paused to sling his bag back across his body, and tipped Morpheus forward into the plane of his chest to pick him up. The figure in Hob’s arms turned to steel, a terrified breath sucking into his lungs before catching there. Frigid adrenaline hit dried-up veins like a flash flood, and those cloudy blue eyes bulged.

Destruction. Destruction was on him, crushing him in his arms, pinning him in place, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t breathe. It was so cold, Burgess’ basement, iron and glass on naked skin, the crushing and tearing oblivion of a black hole—

The arms around him pulled him close anyway, turning him this way and that even as he fought to thrash and breathe, and as he finally managed to suck in a ragged gasp, a head pressed to his. It was warm with shoulder-length, dark brown hair, and Morpheus realized he was no longer suffocated against the other man. He was laid against him, back to chest, with his head tipped back against his shoulder and his face bared to the snowy, overcast sky. The arms that had been crushing his lungs settled lower, applying pressure to his gut where Despair had wounded him but staying clear of his ribs and throat. A low rumble passed into him, and through the riptide of panic that washed over him like the waters in the cave, Morpheus heard the endless litany of reassuring hushes and sweetness uttered against his ear…

…like a father to his frightened son…

…or a husband to his agony-stricken spouse.

An anchor.

“That’s it,” Hob murmured. He adjusted his hold and breathed through his quaking shivers. “That’s it, love, shhh…you’re doing so well. That’s it. It’ll pass…it’ll all pass…and it’ll all feel better. Promise.”

Gadling.

“I promise…I promise it goes away, and it’s all lovely again…. I’m right here, love….”

Morpheus felt himself hit a different sort of wall, a buzzing dissociation that took him beyond his body and yet grounded him in every point of contact between himself and Gadling behind him. And as Morpheus relaxed, bit by painful bit, Hob continued to shush and soothe with eyes shut tight against ancient tears and lips that moved on muscle memory. He spoke as he had spoken to his dearest Robyn after his nightmares, as he had spoken to Jim as he clutched his corpse in the rubble of their home in the Blitz…. as he had spoken to Eleanor after he had forced his way past the physician and nuns into their blood-soaked bedchambers and she perished in his arms, their unborn babe trapped within the cradle of her pelvis and dying with her.

He spoke as Gwen had spoken to him when he had woken, inconsolable, from a funeral in his dreams almost a year ago now. As he had woken from a funeral for the entity he now gathered like a senseless child in his arms, so bundled within the coat, quilt, and scarf that only a shadowed glimpse of his strangely bearded face remained.

He remembered his Stranger had been tall in life. And though he still possessed that height, the rest of him had withered away, and Hob’s stomach flipped so spectacularly that the resulting splash seared the back of his throat as he stood and found his Stranger weighed nothing at all. He had always seemed so dense, his friend. Ethereal, yes. Light in the way a full-mooned eclipse was light; all sharp angles carved of obsidian, starry eyes and a velvety tongue barbed with the wicked spryness of a wit born of the lands that lurked beyond fairy rings. But Hob had always known his friend to be a mirage upon a mirror upon a one-way window he would never peer beyond. A deceit. He had always been more compressed down into a shape that he knew Hob’s hungering, human soul would chase to eternity.

He had been lording and beautiful and fair with all the delicacy of a soft-handed King. But if Hob had ever dared to strike that porcelain skin, he knew his blade would have shattered instantly upon the diamond-plated osmium revealed beneath it.

What he held in his arms now, the weight he shifted easily into the cradle of a single, decently strong—but by no means brawny—arm while his freed hand fished his phone from his trouser pocket, was not the friend he had known.

He fumbled through his contacts with numbing fingers and nearly dropped the phone altogether in his rush to both pin it between his shoulder and ear and simultaneously redouble his hold on Morpheus. The line began to ring.

His friend stopped shivering; he grew limper, heavier.

Hob walked faster.

“Come on,” he huffed and slipped in the trampled sludge along the sidewalk’s edge as he tried to wind his way between the other folks trying to get home before the storm fully hit. His arms clamped down tight as he stumbled, the image of Morpheus tumbling from his arms to the frozen concrete filling his veins with ice faster than the breaking blizzard.

Something cracked beneath the quilt and coat, and his heart jolted.

Shit. Shit, fuck, shit.

The line continued to ring.

“Come on, Gwen,” he begged. His lecture bag thumped against his leg with every jogging step, the edge of his laptop and textbooks beating a steady bruise into his thigh. “Come on, c’mon—”

Click.

“Robbie! God, finally, I’ve been trying to call you—”

“Gwen!” Her name burst from his lips like a shipwrecked man’s cry of land. “I know I’m late, but please, listen to me—” He tried and failed to tip Morpheus closer to him, to shift his weight in his arms so his exposed face tipped against his own rapidly cooling body. “I need you to get the first aid kit out of the cabinet beneath the sink, run a hot bath, get some soup started or-or cocoa or tea just-just anything easy to eat and warm—”

“Robbie,” Gwen repeated. She sounded very calm and very serious, far from the beleaguered girlfriend she had been five seconds ago. “What’s happened?”

“Please, just—”

“Robbie,” she repeated. He anchored himself in the cut of her voice, in the grounding blow her steadfast calm dealt to his spiraling anxiety. “I have you. But what am I preparing for?”

Yes. Sitrep. Right.

“It’s my friend,” he panted, “the one who died or wh-who I thought had died. I—”

He had scarcely spoken the words before their full import struck him like a train. And with the shattering impact, the shadows around them grew darker, sharper. The alleys turned to passing mouths in which predators lurked, and the deepening snowstorm mounted into the perfect cover for an ambush. Every face, every body, every feature he passed that he could identify beyond the bundling layers of coats and scarves and hats, he did his best to memorize. He looked for the duplicitous, for the liar, for the threat, and tried to move faster. The weight of his words sank down to his bones, really settled in his mind.

Morpheus, Dream of the Endless, the Dream-King, whichever one of his many names he wanted to call himself, wasn’t dead. There had to be at least one person or thing in this terribly wondrous world that would have been very pleased to learn such news, and Hob was in no state now to defend them should it come knocking. He swallowed past the heart that was still lodged in his throat and tried not to cough on each knife-like inhale of freezing air.

“I found him,” he continued in as low of a voice as he could manage. “He-he’s in a bad way, I don’t—”

“Jesus, Rob!” Gwen hissed, and he heard her bustling about their flat with matching urgency. “Doesn’t he need a hospital?”

Hob’s heart skipped and dislodged from his throat to land in his feet.

“NO!” he half-shouted, clutching Morpheus closer, and instantly winced as the suspicion around him deepened. More eyes tracked him as he passed, and he felt their intense scrutiny on his back as he fled down the street. “I-I mean, yeah, probably,” he admitted at a more reasonable, if no less frantic volume. “But I can’t take him there. I…”

He eyed the dead man in his arms who somehow breathed still. Took in the starved face, the kind of deteriorated visage he had seen only in prison camps and famines.

“I think he’s like me now,” he whispered and could not wrench his eyes away from his Stranger. “He was m-more before, but now, I…” His breathing felt funny. Everything seemed a bit farther away now, even the man-not-man in his arms. “I think he’s like me.”

“Okay,” Gwen said after a long time. “Okay, Rob.” Ever resolute, ever sure, ever calm and in control. The truest Guinevere, if ever there had been one. “We’ll be ready.”

Hob let out a wet laugh that wilted and ultimately broke beneath the strain of relief and love that crushed down upon him atop the dread.

“Fuck,” he groaned. He looked as far as he could to the snowy sky without losing his phone, blinking swiftly, and cleared his throat against the tears gumming him to silence. “Fuck, I don’t deserve you.”

He could feel her smirk, warm and taunting and tense.

“Damn right, you don’t,” she teased, but it was more hollow than usual, tempered by the gravity of what was rushing home to her. “Just get yourselves inside.”

“We’re ‘bout ten minutes out. I’ll do my best to make it less,” he promised and shuffled Morpheus’ dead weight until he could fetch his phone and ended the call. “Hoo…” he exhaled, sniffling again, and hugged Morpheus tightly to him, trying to rub some warmth into his back and arms as he did. “ ‘S alright, friend…” That ice-laced, fever-hot face tipped into Hob’s neck, and he started at the press of the sharp, freezing nose against his most sensitive skin before leaning unsteadily into it. He pressed his head as far as he could against Morpheus, tried to draw him into his own waning body heat despite the coldness of his skin and the stench of his hair. “ ‘S alright.”

His heart stuttered as he felt his Stranger’s mangled mouth move against his throat in a twisted echo of his deepest, most private fantasies, a perversion so grotesque that it sent shivers down his back.

It was the barest whisper, a single, half-formed word. But even still, Hob understood the shape those three little letters made.

He swallowed. His tears threatened to spill over.

“Yeah,” he croaked and shifted one hand to the back of his friend’s head, cradling him closer. “Yeah, mate, it’s me. I’ve got you. ‘S okay.”

The horrible dry tears returned as Morpheus listened to Hob ramble, his voice spilling down and around him like the warmest of blankets, the safety of a hearth. It was a calming deluge of reassuring words and soothing sounds and shaking endearments that he could not bear to hear. The shattered glass buried deep within his heart drove and twisted deeper.

Stop, he begged, the silent word barely mouthed against the warmth of Hob’s vibrating throat, lost amid the comfort the man outpoured in every deep syllable. Morpheus’ shoulders shook with sobs, and his already gasping breaths stuttered dangerously toward suffocation. Stop…put…back….

All the while, the babble of what Hob hoped was still calming nonsense continued to pour from his mouth. His bluing lips stumbled more and more frequently on his rushed, quiet words, but one foot in front of the other, as quickly as he could manage? That was easy enough to keep in his head.

Just one foot in front of the other. Don’t draw too much attention. Don’t trip. For Heaven’s sake, if not your own, don’t drop him.

Do not process the multiple layers of deception that had to have been in play to bring this situation about. Do not even begin to contemplate the rage you feel at it, the betrayal and hurt and anguish and confusion at seeing your very dead Stranger again, let alone in this state. Allow only the panic. Only the survival mode. Strike the match upon only the protective streak within you that fueled the Father and the Husband, that drove the Companion who dared chase after a being of cosmic something with counsel and comfort, both ultimately unheeded.

Just keep talking and try not to think too hard about it at all.

He was running out of sensible things to ramble to the man-not-man clutched in his numbing arms and had begun to resort to a hodgepodge of soothing sounds and endearing pet names that would’ve gotten his immortality instantly revoked under any normal circumstance when he rounded one last corner. His boot struck the snowy step of a warmly lit stoop, a black door with a golden handle ahead of him, and his mad flight finally, finally landed upon safety.

[emeritusemeritus]

Hey Little Train 5 [Fred Weasley x Reader]

Series Masterlist

Title: Hey Little Train 5/5 (5 part mini series)

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader {Established Relationship/ Engaged}

Timeline: Set immediately after the war up to 4 years later.

Summary: The memoirs of a broken woman after the death of her beloved.

Warnings: SAD FIC. This one will hurt. Mentions of death, grief, depression, suidical thoughts. Suicide. Loss and pain, a lot of crying. Smut, sexual references, graphic sex. Dreams. Female reader.

Word count: 1.1k

Heavily inspired by Nick Cave & the bad seeds’ O Children’, the unofficial song of Harry Potter.

Hey little train!We are all jumping on

The train that goes to the Kingdom

We're happy, Ma, we're having fun

It's beyond my wildest expectation

Bright white lights surrounded you, brighter than you'd ever experienced but by some miracle it didn't hurt your eyes nor make you want to shy away from the brightness. Your eyes were wide open, fixed to your curious surroundings as you tried to make sense of what you had walked into. It reminded you of King's Cross station, the brick support arches all around though they were near translucent, camouflaged into the white Misty background that seemed to go on forever.

You were walking forwards but you felt like you were floating, with no sound from your footsteps and a complete stillness that made you realise that you weren't breathing, your chest not moving and the familiar feel and sound of your thumping heartbeat no longer permeating through your body.

Your entire soul felt free, no longer burdened by the pain and the grief you'd carried like a curse for these past 4 years. There was no pain here, no sadness and at last you felt a glimmer of hope that you'd be welcomed into paradise having endured your purgatory.

You searched around in the calm stillness for a sign of anything to guide you when a sudden anxious thought overcame you. It had been four years since Fred's death, four years that you'd continued to live and age whilst he had not- if you were fortunate to see him again, would you look old to him now? Would he still want you? Would you ever even see him again?

You looked down at your left hand and smiled seeing that your engagement ring was still proudly sat upon your finger. Only, your hand looked different in some way, the thinness and the toils of grief no longer present upon your skin- you were younger.

You breathed a sigh of relief and once again smiled, more hopeful than ever that you were now completely unburdened.

"Fancy seeing you here, princess."

You spun around faster than you thought possible, almost stumbling as you followed the sound of the once familiar voice, the exact one you'd fought so hard not to forget.

Fred was leaning against one of the brick support arches over to the side and the sight of him made you want to weep, to fall to your knees and scream out in elation, the sheer emotion of seeing him again too much for you to handle. He had the most gorgeous smirk upon his face, arms crossed with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and it brought a wider smile to your face seeing him so casual, so happy. His hair was fiery red just as you remembered and his hair was spiky at the front, exactly styled as you last remembered it to be.

When he moved towards you, your knees almost buckled but it gave you the shock you needed to snap back to reality.

You ran, as quick as your feet would allow, desperate to feel him again. You jumped into his arms like a child, the solid wall of his body flush against yours once more as he wraps those big arms around you tightly. You could hear his chuckle, it permeated through your mind and your soul and you clung closer to him than before. His scent enveloped you completely, the comforting and oh so familiar blend that you knew to be so specific to Fred that filled your nostrils and anchored you back to happier times. You'd have sobbed with relief if you could have, but there were no tears here.

Frantic words fall from your lips but they are mostly unintelligible, more like sounds of relief and of love intermingled as you cling to him, praying they he wouldn't disappear again.

"I love you," he says, the relief clear in his voice as me of his hands wraps around the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair as you hold on to each other. Your feet are completely off the floor, secure in his hold and you both laugh in sheer delight as he moves his hands and spins you both around by holding your waist.

You bend down, for once it's you doing the leaning, and you press a kiss to his full lips. You place both hands on the sides of his face and dedicate your entire attention to the kiss, trying to spell out how desperately you'd missed him with your lips. His hands scramble on your waist, clearly itching to hold you elsewhere and he places you down back onto the ground before dominating the kiss whilst keeping you close. His left hand wraps back into your hair whilst his right holds your hip tightly as he walks you back two steps until you're pressed against the brick pillar. Time doesn't seem to exist here, or maybe you just don't care about it, your entire focus on Fred alone.

You both pull apart eventually with matching dazed eyes and soft smiles, hardly able to let go of each other as your hands remain entwined.

It's everything you wanted, better than you could ever have imagined, better than your wildest expectations of how this would go. You feel complete again, finally a whole person.

He rests his forehead against yours and you savour the moment, committing it to your memory incase you're ever separated again.

"You have no idea how good it is to see you again baby," he says softly and you almost laugh at the ridiculousness of his words.

"I think I have an idea," you say with a slight hiccup, hardly able to think of the pain from before.

"You should have, you didn't have to," he says gently, stumbling over his words in a rare occurrence. "You had a life to live."

"Without you?" You counter, understanding now what he was saying. "Without you, it wasn't a life worth living."

He pulls you in for another kiss, this time it's equally as heartfelt but not as blistering, conveying the love that was shared between you.

"What happens now?" You ask once you'd pulled apart, a little afraid of what he'd say. You hadn't really consider what happens after this.

"Now we have forever," he smirks, chuckling as your face erupts into a beaming smile. "But first, this."

He pulls you by the arm and holds you closely with his right arm before linking your left hands together, just as you had all those years ago at the Yule Ball.

"There's no music," you laugh as he begins to sway and spin you wildly.

"Don't need it Mrs Weasley, we can make our own!"

[ichiwashername-o]

What Are Friends For Ch. 24

An Undertale fanfiction.

Written by ichiwashername-o

Summary: The skeleton brothers begin to construct their time machine! But, of course, time traveling is very rarely a simple endeavor . . .

Rating: Viewer discretion advised.  Contains swearing, trauma, and psychological horror

Cast: Undyne, Papyrus, Sans, W.D. Gaster, Grillby and others

WE'RE BACK, BABYYYYY! And to kick it all off is a doozy of a chapter! I really hope you all enjoy!

[CH.1] [CH.2] [Ch.3] [CH.4] [CH.5] [CH.6] [CH.7] [CH.8] [CH. 9] [CH.10] [CH. 11] [CH.12] [CH. 13] [CH. 14] [CH.15] [CH.16] [CH. 17] [CH.18] [CH. 19] [CH. 20] [CH. 21] [CH. 22] [CH. 23] [CH. 24] [CH. 25]

AO3

With no time to waste, with neither brother wanting or needing sleep, the duo headed downstairs to the basement, a room Papyrus hadn’t personally entered for some time. It was much like how he remembered it; dusty, with parts and blueprints strewn all about, a massive blue tarp half-covering some sort of strange metallic contraption. And for the first time in a very long time, Sans stepped forward to tear it off.

A great cloud of dust billowed in the air as the tarp was removed, revealing an arc-shaped machine, half-constructed with metal plates torn off, exposing the wiring and skeletal structure underneath.

“The time machine?” Papyrus ventured.

Sans gave a lazy half-shrug. “Was supposed to be. All the math checked out ok, but theory and practice are two different beasts. Could never get it to work right, and never figured out how. I suspect the human kid had something to do with it. Interference, or something.”

Papyrus gave a cautious nod. He was vaguely aware the human has— had —some strange influence over time. “But now the human is . . . not here anymore—”

“No more interference. So, maybe it’ll work this time,” Sans finished. Hey, it was the best they got. Anything was worth a shot if it meant they kept Gaster well and out of their lives. Let him rot in whatever purgatory he found himself in. 

Bastard deserved a lot worse.

“Let’s get started.”

Sans dug through the drawers, stuffed with an encyclopedia’s worth of blueprints and schematics. Initially, Sans was tentative about showing all this to Papyrus. This was complicated stuff, and the last thing he needed was to confuse his poor brother. But, to his delighted surprise, Papyrus took to the blueprints like a fish to water. It seemed all of Papyrus’s extensive knowledge of fabricating his own convoluted traps proved to give him exactly the experience he needed to read the blueprints. He had quite the mechanical eye, Sans would learn.

It really was impressive how quickly Papyrus picked up on things. With something to do, something for him to physically work on, Papyrus dove in with vigor and enthusiasm Sans hadn’t seen in him for a long time, not since the kid, that was for sure.

“Could you hand me that crescent wrench?”

“Sure thing, just pass me the terminal plates while you’re over there—"

“You want 12-gauge or 9-gauge wire for this?”

“Well, our current voltage is going off 240, and depending on the load, I say we err on the side of caution and go bigger—”

“-Green to ground, white to neutral, red to hot—could you hand me that black wire, this motor is three-phase, oh, we might have to change out the fuses, those aren’t nearly big enough—”

The hours flew by, both skeleton brothers working in tandem, getting their bones and clothes covered in dust and grease and wire shavings. And it was . . . fun . Sans had no idea how much fun it could be building something with his brother. Why hadn’t they done this before? The two of them had their fair share of joint projects, but either Sans’ slacking off made the end result a joke, or Papyrus’s endless ambition and enthusiasm caused it to blow up in a spectacular fireball before the final piece was finished.

To be fair, they were very spectacular fireballs.

But now, with the two of them working with synchronized fervor and purpose, they were making more progress than either of them could ever dream of.

Which proved to be to their detriment, they would find. So engrossed in their work, so captivated by a tangible mission and something to throw all their energy into, they . . . might have lost track of the time. And only were reminded of petty things like eating and sleeping when Papyrus stood a little too fast and nearly fainted.

Sans caught him before he could crack his head on a table. “Alright, um, I think we need to put a pin in this And I ain’t talking about the pins and needles in my legs from kneeling so long,” he chuckled.

“Clearly, we do need a break,” Papyrus noted sourly. “Because your jokes are becoming truly insufferable.”

Retreating up from the basement, they made their way to the kitchen where Papyrus began to pull out various food bits from the pantry in an attempt to cobble together some sort of breakfast—actually, what time was it? Papyrus glanced at the clock and his eyes widened. Ah, not breakfast, he decided. More like a dinner. A very, very, very late dinner.

How the time flies.

And how he hoped they’d make time fly at their own discretion when they were through, he thought wryly.

Soon enough, Papyrus, with Sans’ help, (or interference, depending on how you looked at it) he had made a nice dinner of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. So, he did end up making breakfast. But only because he hadn’t gone shopping in a long time and they were starting to run out of food! That was next on the list! Going to the store!

As they ate, they continued to talk about their project and how the time machine was coming along. Progress was going smoothly. If they kept up this pace, it’d be done by the end of the week.

“The hardware’s not the issue, though,” Sans said, jabbing the air with a fork. “It’s the programming. If you think plotting out a series of coordinates in 3D space is tricky, try doing it with another dimension mixed in there.”

Papyrus stuttered for a response. Yes, he was more than capable of handling the mechanical side of their little project, but the mathematical side? Not as much. “Well! Surely you have a good idea of how to do it! Or at least, where to start.”

“I do, but it’ll take a while,” Sans shrugged. He speared a rather crispy piece of bacon where it crumbled under his fork. Shrugging again, he squirted a dollop of ketchup over it and nibbled up the pieces. Papyrus gagged.

“Seriously, how on earth did I end up with such a defunct brother,” he sighed, shaking his head

Sans snickered. “I’m gonna swing by Alphys’s lab tomorrow and run the numbers by her and see what she thinks. She has a great eye for this sort of complex stuff.”

“Good idea! I need to go grocery shopping and refill our pantry! And then we can have a proper dinner!”

“Why, what’s wrong with eggs and bacon? It’s a classic,” Sans says as he takes another bite of a ketchup-slathered slice of bacon.

“But that’s breakfast food, and we’re having dinner!”

“Huh, funny, because we’re eating it for dinner, thus making it a dinner food.”

“UGH! Sans! You know what I mean!”

“I defy your conventional food standards and declare myself a culinary rebel.”

“Not as long as I’m the one in the kitchen, mister!”

“Ah, then I better go get my own.”

“Maybe you should! Then you can commit all the sacrilege against your daily sustenance that you wish!”

They shared a laugh, and in that moment, it was like their life was right back to normal. No longer did shame and guilt haunt Papyrus, and no longer was Sans writhed with fury and indignation. Determination filled them both. Determination to set things right. And knowing his brother as well as he did, Sans had all the confidence in the world that it will be done.

The brothers departed their home, both traveling on the boat together to Hotlands, further discussing construction plans and Sans waxing theories too complex for Papyrus to understand. But the younger brother didn’t mind in the least; he was more than happy to be someone Sans could think to out loud. Stepping off the boat, they split off, Papyrus running to the store and Sans veering towards the Hotland labs. 

He knocked on the door, but there was no immediate response. He knocked again, and veering on the side of caution, he also opened up his phone and shot the good doctor Alphys a text.

Hey, you around? I wanna run some numbers by you, he wrote.

He didn’t get a response back to his text, but the doors did crack open, revealing the little yellow lizard. Alphys had certainly seen better days. Her eyes were lined with dark circles, her scales were dull, her clothes absolutely filthy. But there was a brief spark of life in her eyes behind those dusty scratched spectacles that lit up when she saw Sans.

“S-S-Sans! W-What a surprise!” she said, her voice quiet and scratchy. Sounded like she had a sore throat. “I w-w-wasn’t expecting you.”

“I wasn’t expecting me, either,” he joked. “You got a moment? I’d like your input on something.”

“O-Oh, do you? I’m n-n-not sure what input I’d even give you–”

“You don’t even know what I’m working on yet,” he said gently. “C’mon, ain't you a little bit curious? I can promise ya, it’s real juicy.”

Alphys’s lips twitched in what Sans assumed–-or at least, hoped-–was a smile. “O-Okay, b-but p-p-please don’t be mad, the l-l-lab’s a total disaster.”

“Why would I judge? It probably looks exactly like mine,” Sans said, earning an actual laugh from the doctor. He stepped inside, casting a brief look around the lab. Honestly, it wasn’t that much worse than the last time he was here to look at the camera footage of the fight. Maybe the garbage pile was a little taller and more instant ramen cups were scattered about. 

Alphys cleared a small space on her desk, swiping away reports and food wrappers alike off into the overflowing trash can. On the trash was a small sticky note that simply said, “Me.” Sans frowned.

“S-so, what are you w-working on?” she asked. She tapped her claws together nervously.

“Paps and I are building a time machine,” he said simply. He produced a folder, opening it up and showing off all his blueprints and notes.

Immediately, Alphys’s interest was piqued and she leaned forward, adjusting her glasses. She picked through the papers, reading them over eagerly.

“Y-you are?!” she said, the excitement in her voice palpable. Sans shrugged, his grin growing. He figured this was just the thing to break through poor Alphys’ stupor. “B-but I thought you totally gave up on this project–”

“I did, because the human kept interfering with it,” Sans said. “But now with the human gone . . .”

Alphys deflated. “Y-yeah, that’s a good point.” She chattered, her entire body shivering as her stuttering grew worse. “But there’s–there’s s-s-still s-someone else wh-who can control the t-t-timeline . . .”

Sans paused. “Flowey.”

Alphys nodded.

Well. Shit. In all the excitement, he completely forgot that one tiny little hiccup.

Sans tried to hide his frustration, but it was hard not to be discouraged. He was so sure this would work, only to find out that–once again–his plans and work all amounted to nothing.

“Ah. Well, in that case, I better get out of your scales,” Sans said, taking the folder out of Alphys’s reluctant hands. “Sorry to bother you.”

He turned to leave. Now how in the world was he going to break the news to Papyrus–

“Wait.”

Sans paused. He turned around. Alphys was still hunched over, but from her frown and the way one claw was raised to her lips in deep thought, he could see the gears churning rapidly in her head.

“W-what if . . . what if Flowey was . . . willing to help us?”

Sans stared. “And why in the world would that little weed wanna help us ?”

“Because he’s bored !” Alphys said. “H-h-he was talking to me recently, a-a-after he m-m-made me–”

“What,” Sans asked sharply. “What did Flowey make you do?”

“It’s not important,” Alphys dismissed. Sans knew better than to push her. “But what is important is that he was telling me how bored he was now! He told me how much he hated how things worked out! Nothing’s fun for him anymore!” Despite what she was insinuating of the little flower’s psychotic behavior, she was smiling. She looked genuinely excited. 

“I-If we told him we were w-working on something to fix the timeline, I think he’d help out!” she went on. “N-Not because he’d want to help us, o-of course, but because the one thing Flowey hates more than anything is being bored. And this timeline is really, really boring for him!”

Sans hated to admit it, but Alphys had a point. He remembered all of Flowey’s rants and taunts about how much he liked to play with them. How much fun he was having torturing them. And he recalled very distinctly how furious Flowey was when the fun had run out for the little beast.

“Well, that’s an idea,” Sans said slowly. “But it’ll be hard to convince him. He can be pretty stubborn and egotistical. Maybe if we make it seem like his idea instead of us asking him directly–”

“L-Leave it to me,” Alphys said, smiling for the first time in what felt like forever. “B-Being s-stuck with him for so long, I know how he thinks.”

“Just be careful,” Sans warned. “And if he does anything to hurt you–”

“D-Don’t worry about me, he w-won’t hurt me,” Alphys said. Her voice lowered. “He . . . he enjoys playing with me t-t-too m-m-much to hurt me too badly.”

Sans stiffened. 

“I got this!” Alphys added in a rush, putting out her hands. “J-Just trust me! P-Please?”

Sans let out a reluctant sigh. “You got my number handy. Just promise to call me if he does anything funny . Cuz that’s my job.”

“Promise,” Alphys swore, drawing an x-shape over her chest. “O-Oh, and Sans? I ran your calculations through my head.” Once again, her eyes sparkled. 

“It’s going to work!”

–---

“Let’s see here–spaghetti noodles–always an essential–and sauce, and bread to make Sans’ favorite sandwiches, and milk ! Don’t forget the milk!”

Papyrus cruised up and down the isles of the massive general store, appropriately called The General Store, loading his shopping cart with food. If they wanted to build the time machine, they needed plenty of energy! And for that , they needed food to make plenty of tasty meals!

As he shopped, he hummed a little tune to himself, not paying too much mind to the surrounding shoppers. If he was, he might notice them giving him a wide berth, which just made shopping that much easier since he wouldn’t have to snake the big bulky car through the throngs of fellow patrons!

The humming also drowned out the whispers and the mutterings. All for the better. 

As he proceeded to the check-out, he was surprised to see a familiar blue flash of scales and crimson hair. He brightened, waving over at Undyne. Undyne caught sight of him, jerking in surprise herself, before she smiled and hurried over.

“Hey, Paps, whatcha doing?” she asked gently. She hadn’t seen him since the funeral for all the Snowdin residents and sentries, but he looked so much cheerier . Which was a very good thing!

“What does it look like? Shopping, obviously!” Papyrus said, gesturing to the cart of food. “Our food stores grew dangerously low, so I thought it most prudent to restock!” He glanced at the basket in Undyne’s hand. “I’m assuming you’re doing much the same?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, I was running low on tea and seaweed,” she said, hefting the basket stuffed so full it was a miracle nothing was spilling out and over. Or that Undyne could carry it all effortlessly in one hand. “Um, you look . . . good.”

“I am, and I’m feeling much better, too!” Papyrus said. He leaned forward and whispered in a voice that was only barely quieter than his usual bombastic voice–

He was speaking loud again!

“Sans and I are building a time machine!” Papyrus said excitedly, barely able to contain his own excitement. “Isn’t it great?! We’re going to go back in time and fix everything!”

Undyne stared. Now, she had seen plenty of animes with time travel shenanigans, and it always seemed to go . . . poorly . To say nothing if it was even possible.

“Oh, is that so?” she asked, trying to gauge if this was some sort of ruse. But no, Papyrus looked completely serious.

“Indeed! My brother is visiting Alphys as we speak! He’s running the calculations by her to make sure everything’s up to snuff! We’ve already got the machine built in our basement!”

Oh. Oh, wow, they were serious .

“That’s–that’s great, Papyrus,” Undyne said, but her head was reeling. Darn it, she didn’t have the head for all this complicated science crap! She knew Sans was smarter than he let on, but smart enough to build a time machine?!

“Hey, you know what? I haven’t visited Alphys in a bit myself. Let’s swing by and say hi!” she suggested. She needed to see all this for herself. It was too crazy to believe! Time travel, of all things!

“Okie-dokie!”

Papyrus quickly paid for his groceries, loading himself up to the elbows with bags. Undyne helped. They made their way over to the labs, which wasn’t too far of a jaunt from The General Store. With their arms so full of groceries, they didn’t have anything free to knock, but the door was slightly ajar, so they let themselves in, figuring Alphys and Sans were just inside.

“Hey, Al! Sorry for barging in, we just wanted to say hi–!” Undyne shouted, but her voice stopped cold when she saw the lab was a wreck . It was more than the usual mess of papers and food wrappers and trash; furniture was toppled over and computers smashed. Vines snaked their way out of cracks in the floor and walls.

Both she and Papyrus dropped the groceries. They only shared one brief and horrified look before they took off, scouring the labs.

“ALPHYS?! ALPHYS!!!” Undyne shouted madly, panic and anger rising up in her soul. If anyone hurt a single scale on her girlfriend’s head, she’d destroy them!!!

They rounded a corner, getting a brief peek of more carnage before Papyrus grabbed Undyne’s arm firmly and pulled her back. He placed a finger at his mouth, signaling her to keep quiet. They both leaned around the corner together.

Beyond, in a room, similarly destroyed, with vines coating nearly every inch of wall and floor, was Alphys, wrapped up in thorny vines as a little yellow flower scowled viciously down at her.

Teeth grinding together, Undyne summoned a spear. She was going to KILL that thing–!

“ Wait ,” Papyrus urged, pulling her back again. 

“What– why ?! That stupid weed is hurting her!” Undyne seethed.

But Papyrus held firm, simply gesturing to hold back to watch and listen. The scientist and the flower, not noticing their presence, continued to talk.

“And you just thought you could sneak around like this, behind my back, and I wouldn’t know?!” Flowey was saying. 

“I w-w-wasn’t trying to t-t-trick you,” Alphys insisted. Though she was shaking and completely trapped, she didn’t look . . . scared . In fact, she looked quite focused and composed. This was enough to get Undyne to pause, much to her regret. “I’m j-j-j-just the m-messenger.”

“So that sneaky little trash bag thinks he’s so clever, doesn’t he?! Bet he thinks he’s even smarter and more clever than me, huh?”

“W-w-well, he is very s-smart,” Alphys said, shrugging as much as her vine prison allowed. 

“Enough! No more smart retorts from you! Tell me! What’s that trash bag up to?!”

“M-m-me? Or him?”

“DON’T PLAY STUPID WITH ME!” Flowey roared, and the vines tightened around Alphys, making her wince.

That was it. Undyne didn’t know what was going on, but she wasn’t going to let this stupid flower hurt her friend! 

She stepped around the corner, and she saw Alphys’s gaze flicker over to her. And she swore she saw Alphys mouth “No.”

No?! No what ?! No to saving her from this monster?!

But Alphys turned right back to Flowey, acting like Undyne wasn’t even there. “S-Sans is working on something. A big machine. He sh-showed me some notes . . .”

Undyne felt her phone buzz with an incoming message. Instinct told her to answer it. She pulled it out of her pocket, hardly tearing her gaze away from the scene in front of her.

It was from Alphys. It simply read, Don’t.

Undyne didn’t understand. What was Alphys doing?! She looked harder, and between the layers of vines, she could see the glow of a cell phone clutched in Alphys’s hand. Her thumb moved as she typed, all while keeping her attention focused solely on Flowey.

“It-it looked like . . . like . . .” she stuttered.

“Like what ?!” Flowey demanded.

Another text from Alphys. I got this.

“A time machine.”

Trust me.

Flowey paused. “A time machine?! Really? HA! That proves it! That trash bag is as stupid as ever!” He puffed up smugly.

Undyne deflated. That proved it, didn’t it? Time travel just wasn’t possible–

“No one can control the timeline but ME!!!”

Wait, what?! Undyne thought.

Alphys’s eyes widened in horrible realization. But it looked . . . forced? “W-what?! Oh no! That’s t-t-true! H-How could I have forgotten?”

“That’s right, my scaly little friend!” Flowey cackled manically. “You of all people should know the extent of my power! Silly little scientist! My DETERMINATION won’t allow just anyone to mess with my SAVE!”

“W-Well, I guess it’s not much of a loss,” Alphys sighed sadly. “Not much of a SAVE, if you ask me . . .”

Flowey froze. His smile slowly turned from gleeful to enraged.

“Would you like to repeat that?” Flowey hissed, dragging Alphys close. Alphys, despite herself, couldn’t help but squirm.

“I-I-I’m just s-s-saying what you said!” she pleaded. “W-Weren’t you the one who was s-s-saying how you weren’t having fun anymore?”

Flowey paused, grumbling, growling to himself. “Well, it’s pointless anyway! I can’t go back past the stupid human’s death!”

“Not unless you had some help , maybe . . .”

“I don’t need anyone’s help! And certainly not the help of that dumb trash bag!” Flowey protested fiercely. 

“Right, of course, of course,” Alphys backpedaled quickly. She then sighed again. “I guess that means we’re stuck in this boring, dull, not-fun timeline. Forever.”

Flowey scowled, barely able to speak.

“Yeah, yeah ! That’s right! You’re all stuck here! With me ! Because no one has control of the timeline but me ! SO DON’T YOU DUMB SCIENTISTS EVER FORGET THAT!!!”

And then, Flowey was gone. The vines slithered back through the walls and floor, dropping Alphys on the ground as Flowey slinked away.

“Alphys!” Undyne raced up to the scientist, pulling her to her feet and looking her over. Papyrus joined her, coming out of his hiding place. “Are you ok?!”

Alphys, despite the terrifying encounter, was smiling, looking quite pleased with herself. “Y-Yeah! I’m fine! I’m ok! I w-wasn’t expecting you! What are you two doing here?”

“Checking in on you, ya big nerd!” Undyne said, breathing a sigh of relief. Alphys was unharmed, thank the Angel above. “Are you going to tell me what all that was about?”

“W-Well, long story short, Sans is building a time machine,” Alphys said. She looked at Papyrus. “You told her, right?”

“I did! But I am not sure how Flowey found out! Or why was he so angry!”

“Oh, th-that was me!” Alphys explained.

“WHAT?! WHY?!” Undyne cried. “Flowey’s crazy evil, why would you tell him?!”

“Undyne, it’s ok! It was all part of my p-plan!” Alphys explained quickly. She adjusted her glasses, which now had a hairline crack through them. “Sans and I figured out that the time machine won’t work because Flowey’s power wouldn’t allow it to work; he would override the machine Sans is building.”

Undyne stared back and forth between Alphys and Papyrus. “Wait, are you actually telling me time travel is real ?”

“In a sense. But it’s very situational, and only beings with incredibly high Determination can do it,” Alphys said. “Beings like Flowey and the human.”

Papyrus smacked his forehead. “Oh, of course! How could I forget that?!”

“To be fair, Sans forgot, too,” Alphys giggled. “And if we want the time machine to work, we figured we needed Flowey’s help. B-But, of course, Flowey being . . . who he is, we couldn’t just ask him for help.”

“So, you set this up?” Undyne asked.

“This was all a most clever ruse into tricking Flowey to help us!” Papyrus said, putting together the pieces. “Well done, that was incredibly clever of you, indeed!” 

Alphys blushed.

“And incredibly stupid . He could have hurt you!” Undyne protested.

“I k-know, but it was a risk I had to take,” Alphys said. “A-And besides, I think I know Flowey well enough to know he wouldn’t do anything too terrible to me. I-it would mean one less friend for him to p-play with.” She laughed, but she couldn’t suppress a shudder.

Undyne got down on one knee and wrapped Alphys up in a tight hug. “Alphys that was . . . so brave of you. But you shouldn’t have done something so dangerous without telling us!”

“I knew what I was doing. I had everything under control!” Alphys assured. “Besides . . .” 

She pulled out her phone, pressing a button on it. Two things activated at once: first, a magical bubble barrier popped around Alphys, shielding her from harm, and secondly, machines in the room they had just been standing in began to activate. Out of the wall panels, gears and pistons whirred to life, revealing a mess of pipes that extended from concealed holes in the walls from every angle. The pipes sputtered to life, belching out a torrent of roaring flames that engulfed the room.

Alphys grinned. “I had a back-up plan.”

Undyne stared at the booby-trapped flamethrower room, lips slowly pulling back into a delighted smile. “Alphys, you are the coolest person ever.”

Alphys beamed.

–--

Sans didn’t have to wait long.

In fact, he was barely back in his basement, setting aside his notes, when a most unwelcome visitor barged in, springing up on Sans and wrapping him up in vines.

Sans sighed sarcastically. “Hey there, Buddy. But, I thought you knew better by now to try this trick on me,” he said as he seamlessly teleported out of the vines, standing right back on the floor. 

He stared up at the mess of tangled thorny vines that had inexplicably grown in the corner of his basement lab, and front and center was Flowey himself, grinning sinisterly. But Sans also knew  Flowey fairly well, and he could see the flower’s frustration and anger behind the mask of sadism. 

“It’s still fun to remind you how easily I could crush you to dust!” Flowey sneered. “And besides, it’s been a while since I popped in on my faaavorite trash bag.” A vine extended and poked the machine. “And lookee here! Someone’s been busy.”

“Just a little pet project of mine,” Sans shrugged. 

“Don’t pretend I’m stupid!” Flowey scowled. “Oh, I already visited your bestest friend, Alphys, and she squealed allll about your secret project! I know what you’re working on!” He closed in, his grin growing. “And I can tell you, it’s not going to work! I won’t let it!”

Sans allowed his smile to fade. But from his point of view, his and Alphys’s plan was going perfectly. 

“You forget, little trash bag, that as long as I’m around, I’m the only one with the power to SAVE! I can decide when we get to keep going, or if we get to start alllll over from the beginning–”

“Well, not the very beginning,” Sans interjected unhelpfully.

Flowey’s voice cut out, spitting in frustration.

“As powerful as you may be, you’re not as powerful as that kid. There’s only so far back you can go,” Sans reminded him, trying to suppress his own satisfied grin.

“Well, you know what?! NEITHER CAN YOU! Not with this dumpy, stupid hunk of metal!” Flowey protested, smacking a vine against the machine.

“Still doesn’t change the fact. I think we’re both getting fed up with how current events played out, aren’t we?”” Sans pressed, shrugging casually. “It would be real nice if we could go back and prevent any of this from happening.”

“Yeah, well, we can’t ,” Flowey fumed.

“Not with that attitude we can’t.”

Flowey paused, turning to Sans very slowly. Sans could practically see the flower swallowing his massive pride to maybe, maybe humor the idea that it might be beneficial to actually work with him. Just this once.

“Keep talking,” Flowey hissed.

Sans stepped up to the machine, tapping where Flowey smacked it with a vine. There was a scratch, but it was superficial. “This time machine replicates the power of Determination. And we know from past experience that Determination is a multiplicative power–”

“Use English!”

“It means, if you use your power in tandem with this machine, your power multiplies significantly. You’ll be way more powerful than you are now.”

“Powerful enough to override that brat’s SAVE?” Flowey ventured hopefully.

“It just might.”

Flowey chewed it over. It was true, he hated being stuck in this timeline more than anything. It got boring so quickly seeing Papyrus mope about and cry. He wanted Chara–-Frisk, whoever back again so they could keep playing together.

But he couldn’t let Sans know he was actually contemplating this. “Or I can just take this machine for myself, harness its power, and take over the WHOLE Underground! With that sort of power, I can easily defeat Asgore, take his soul, and take the rest of the human souls he has hidden away!” he cackled gleefully. 

“Great plan, but unfortunately it doesn’t work like that,” Sans said casually.

“What?”

“It’s a lot of science-y mumbo-jumbo, but the crux of it is that this machine only works on the time travel part of your Determination. Effectively just enhancing your ability to SAVE.”

Flowey blinked, confused. “That doesn’t make any sense!”

“Yeah, like I said, it's a lot of complicated science. You try to do anything outside of travel around the time stream, it won’t work. Sorry.”

Flowey scowled. “You could be lying to me.”

“I could be.”

They stared each other down, but Sans’ expression was the completely unreadable mask it always was. Finally, with a defeated huff of frustration, Flowey relented.

“Fine! FINE ! I’ll do it! But it’s not because I want to help you! In fact, first thing I’m gonna do when I bring back that brat is torture your brother even MORE! I’ll find even more sick, twisted ways for you and your brother to go feral! I’ll make you go on a feral killing spree! I’m gonna make you kill the WHOLE Underground! Hee hee hee hee!”

Sure, you do that,” Sans said calmly. He wasn’t concerned in the least. He knew a bluff when he saw one.

“I will!” Flowey declared triumphantly. “Now just tell me what I have to do to get this hunk of junk working!”

“Well, first, we need my brother here.” 

“Fine, fine.”

“And then we need to activate the machine, and when the machine powers on, I go through and–”

“You’re not going anywhere!” Flowey protested furiously. “I will be the one to go back in time! I will kill your rampaging brother! And the human brat for good measure!”

“Sorry, you can’t.”

“WHY NOT?!”

“You can’t exactly time travel if you’re the one powering the machine, can you?”

Flowey dissolved into a furious sputtering fit of rage.  “That–that’s so unfair!!!”

“Sorry, it’s just the way it works.”

Flowey sputtered more barely comprehensible obscenities. “ARGH! This isn’t fair! This sucks! YOU suck!”

“Sorry.”

“NO, YOU’RE NOT!” Flowey continued to rage. But his desire to go back trumped all else. “UGH! FINE ! I’ll do it! But if you’re tricking me in any way, I’m going to make you and your brother suffer! As well as Alphys!”

“That’s fair.”

Flowey stood there, fuming. And with that settled, Sans made some phone calls, and within a few minutes, Papyrus was back home, dropping off his groceries in the kitchen before heading downstairs. With him was Alphys and Undyne. Undyne glared at Flowey. Flowey stuck his tongue back at her, and Alphys desperately avoided eye contact with anyone.

“So, we’re all filled in on what’s going on?” Sans asked. “With Flowey’s most generous assistance–” Flowey grunted. “--we’re going to power on the time machine, go back in time, and stop the human from falling to the Gaster Blaster beast.”

There was a nod amongst everyone, all looking grim and determined. Save Flowey, who continued to pout. 

“Our priority is making sure the human soul isn’t destroyed,” Sans went on. “So that means preventing the Gaster Blaster from fighting the human. Our optimal option is to prevent Undyne from turning Papyrus in the first place.”

Undyne squirmed uncomfortably. 

“If that doesn’t work, we need to take out the human.”

“Or take out Papyrus,” Flowey said with a cruel grin. “Killing either of them prevents all this mess, doesn’t it?”

Sans frowned, not immediately responding. As correct as Flowey was, he wasn’t going to just suggest killing his own brother!

“Aww, what’s the big deal? He’ll just come back. If everything goes to plan, that is,” Flowey continued to taunt.

“We’ll play it by ear,” Sans dismissed. “You just focus on keeping the timeline open and sending us back.” 

Flowey just swayed back and forth, grinning unsettlingly.

“Alphys, stay here and keep an eye on things. Papyrus, you too. Undyne–” he paused, settling his eyes on her. “You come with me.”

Undyne jumped. “Wait, you want me to come back in time with you?!”

“You’re pretty tough. If we need to fight the human, I’m gonna need your help,” he explained.

Undyne understood. Papyrus was strong, but his fighting spirit was completely shattered. If they needed to fight–and based on the unsettling feeling she was getting in her gut, that was very likely–Sans needed a fierce and determined warrior at his side. And knowing what the human would do to Papyrus, what that human subjected them all to, Undyne would find no qualm in her conscience about putting that human into the ground.

“Alright, everyone, let’s begin.”

Everyone got to their stations. Alphys stood at the controls, typing up the commands to power it up. Flowey wrapped his vines around the machine, sinking into the cracks to get at the “meat” of the electronics so he could feed his own power into it. Papyrus stood back, offering his assistance where he could. And Sans and Undyne stood before the gate, ready for anything.

“Powering on!” Alphys called out. 

The machine whirred on, lights blinking on, electricity humming. At the same time, Flowey’s own magic pulsed, flooding his Determination into it. The roar of motors grew louder and louder until it was a constant thunderous rumble. Sparks ignited within the circular gate, the sparks coming faster and faster until lightning arched at a constant flow. And with a sudden crash, the sparks split across the gate, creating a vortex of light. The light became a cyclone, a fierce wind whipping up and pulling them towards the vortex. Sans planted his feet, bracing himself against the wind.

Beyond him was a swirling kaleidoscope of colors and shapes. It played tricks on his mind, blinking away the stars that were flashing in his eyes as he struggled to comprehend what he was even seeing. But he knew this was it. The time machine was powered on. It was working .

“Readings are stable!” Alphys cried out over the deafening noise. “GO!”

Giving one last nod to Papyrus, Sans jumped in, followed closely by Undyne. They stepped into the vortex, and suddenly, they were pulled and stretched and thrown about, two tiny insignificant beings battered in the incomprehensible stream that was time itself. Beyond flashing lights that blinded them and shapes that defied definition, they saw images. Fragments of moments in time as they were buffeted about. Some they experienced themselves, some experienced by others, and some they couldn’t tell when they happened, or if they happened at all.

And strangest of all was the overwhelming feeling of a presence with them. Sans felt a hand grab his hood, and he turned to see Undyne clutching onto him fiercely, her eyes wide with awe as she struggled to take all of this in.

Having fun? A familiar voice called out.

“Flowey?!” Undyne scowled. “Where the heck are you?!”

“All around us,” Sans reminded her grimly. “This is his SAVE. We’re flowing through his timeline.”

Hee hee! Perhaps we should make some little detours!

“Not now, you punk! Just take us where we need to go!” Undyne cried out. But her protests were ignored as a memory played in front of them. It was the day Papyrus woke up from his extensive sleep after the human died, where he found out . . . what he did.

Helpless, they could only watch as Papyrus broke out in tears, crying in sheer anguish–

“This is old, Flowey,” Undyne growled. “Could we all just get this over with already?”

But don’t you feel just terrible about what you did to your very best friend? I mean how could you do something so hideously awful to him?

“No shit , Sherlock, why do you think I’m here right now?!”

Flowey scowled, clearly discouraged by Undyne’s lack of a reaction. Well, how about you, trash bag? Shall we relive some savory moments for you?

“Sure, it’s not like I can stop you,” he shrugged passively.

Huh? Flowey said, stunned. There was a brief pause and a stutter as Flowey found his voice. Ha! That’s right! You can’t stop me! I can do whatever I want! Show you whatever horrible memories I choose!

And he did just that. He showed the two of them the worst memories he could think of, from Papyrus’s anguish to the way the townsfolk spoke of him with fear and revulsion. He showed them how miserable Papyrus was, lamenting in his grave sin. 

Through it all, San did not react, and following his lead, neither did Undyne. They couldn’t give Flowey that satisfaction. They couldn’t let him know he was getting to them.

Clearly frustrated by this, Flowey tried harder. And with a wicked burst of inspiration, he dug up the memory of him in the lab with Alphys, forcing the scientist to watch the video of the bloody carnage over and over and over again, punishing her if she dared to look away and laughing cruelly at her sobs.

Undyne stiffened, rage billowing in her chest. That horrible little thing! She wanted to lash out and hurt him for daring to torment her friend, but Sans was there, gripping her hand tightly. He gave her a subtle shake No.

Don’t give him the satisfaction.

Undyne swallowed the hot lump of rage in her throat. And she scoffed.

“Yeah, like I care.”

The images paused and then slowly began to fade away. 

You two are so boring!

“Just take us to where we wanna go,” Sans said.

Reluctantly, and with much belly-aching, the timeline swirled around them, bringing them further and further back. They could almost sense approaching the fated event–

Undyne screamed in shock as she was suddenly slammed against some invisible wall. Her reflexes kicked in and she hugged Sans close to her chest, preventing him from striking that wall. But still the billowing force of the timeline bore down on her, pinning her to that “wall,” like being trapped against a drain under a tumultuous downpour of water. She could barely move. And worse of all, she felt a static energy burn all along her back as it was pressed against the barrier. It seared her skin, burned her flesh, setting her teeth on edge as she felt lightning course through her body.

“FLOWEY!” she screamed. “What are you doing?! MAKE IT STOP!”

We’re not there yet! He protested. It’s right there, it’s right there , we need to get there!

“There’s a wall!” Undyne cried. “There’s a wall! I can’t! It burns! IT BURNS!”

Stop your complaining, I can get it! I just need more–! More Determination! I need to get past that wall!

A foul acrid smell filled her nose. The burning turned to an ice-cold chill. The rest of her body still seared from the constant surge of lighting flowing through her. Her muscles clenched so hard she thought her teeth would crack.

“Sans!” she called out.

We’re almost there! We’re right there! Just hold on! This was your idea!

Sans saw the state Undyne was in, but beyond that, he saw the wall. It was made of an energy Sans knew all too well.

Determination. But not just anyone’s Determination.

The kid.

Even with all that extra power . . . it wasn’t enough.

I can get it! Just hold on!

Sans looked back to Undyne. She was barely hanging on. They didn’t have time to spare.

I–I–I can . . . ! Flowey protested. His voice cracked. I can’t! It’s not working!

“GET US OUT.”

And just like that, everything . . . stopped.

Undyne cracked open an eye. She was laying on the lab floor, Sans standing above her. Alphys and Papyrus rushed to her side, while Flowey was still wrapped up in the machine.

Papyrus was the first to come to her aid, looking worriedly at the burns all over her back. “Oh my goodness, Undyne!!! What happened?!”

Undyne was too rattled to speak. Papyrus didn’t hesitate before putting his hands on her and cast his healing magic. Like a soothing salve, the ache of the burns dissipated and her skin began to slowly heal. She sighed in relief.

“Thanks, Paps,” Undyne muttered. She shook her head and stood on uneasy feet, Papyrus helping her up. “Seriously, what the hell happened in there?!”

Flowey wouldn’t look at them. He stared at the machine, shaking with frustrated rage as his vines wrapped around it. “We were so close! We were so close !!! Why couldn’t you just hold on for a little longer?! I could have broken through!!!”

“No you couldn’t and you know it,” Sans said, his voice level but fierce. 

Flowey didn’t look at him. Because as much as he hated to admit it, Sans was right.

The kid was far more powerful than they thought, if even all this didn’t work.

“So . . . what now?” Undyne pressed. “That’s it? It can’t be it! We can’t give up! There has to be another way!”

Sans and Papyrus shared a look. They both knew of one more option, but Sans refused to humor it.

“That’s it.” Sans said, locking eyes with Papyrus.  “That’s the only plan we got. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t believe you,” Undyne said.

“I can’t give you the answer you’re looking for,” Sans replied.

“Yes you can,” Papyrus said, startling Sans. “You just don’t want to.”

“What are you talking about?” Undyne pressed.

“We have one more option,” Papyrus said, turning to Undyne. Sans sunk into his jacket. “We’re going to ask Dr. Gaster for help.”

[twofrontteethstillcrooked]

Confession: Destiel Month 5 Nov.

"Do you recall what you said to me in the Empty?" Cas asked.

established deancas, post 15x18 au, lil angst + schmoop for the 5th of November

Dean felt the spell finally vanish; of course he did. Physically, its disappearance was akin to a soap bubble popping, an ephemeral blink-and-you'll-miss-it. And oh, he did miss it: the emotion that swam to the surface was immediate and severe. He remembered, for the first time in many years, hanging from meat-hooks in Hell, the jagged metal that pierced his flesh and bound him taut, pain hotter than fire and colder than ice blotting out all other thought.

This wasn't that bad, surely? He bent himself in half to touch his palms to the living room floor. The couch squeaked beneath him as he tried to ground himself. He focused on the sound of one of the neighbors laughing in the yard next door, an airliner passing far above, a squirrel fussing at another squirrel.

"Are you all right?" Cas asked, voice low as he put a palm on the back of Dean's neck.

Dean let him ease his hand down his spine and sat up. "Yeah. Yeah." He knuckled away a tear that was threatening to spill. 

"Dizzy? Nauseous?" Cas's eyes were full of concern. 

"No, I'm fine. Scout's honor." Dean quirked a quick half-smile. "Hey." He paused, catching Cas's gaze. "Lookin' good." 

Which wasn't a lie in the least, but Cas made a small huff. "I'm not supposed to say you look terrible."

"I don't look terrible, I look sleepy," Dean countered, shifting his gaze away. "Nap had bad vibes, is all."

"Dean–"

"The spell," Dean said sharply. He exhaled when Cas didn't respond. "The, uh. The thread snapped a minute ago, like Rowena said it would." He couldn't look at Cas so he studied his clenched fists. "So nothing's." His voice shook. "Nothing's got you tied to me anymore." He tried to smile. "Should be a relief, for you."

The silence gaped wide as a canyon, ate up the neighbor, the planes, the squirrels. Only Dean's stuttering breath remained. He stayed as still as he could – you can't move, John would've said, or it'll find you – and ignored the salt water raining on his stupid goddamn cheeks.

He startled when Cas began to drag him, carefully, backwards on the couch, until he was wrapped in Cas, his head tucked under Cas's chin. They fit together snug as puzzle pieces. The first time, over a year ago, it hadn't even been a surprise to find out how good it was to be held by Cas, and it was that lack of shock that had made Dean sob. He was close to sobbing now, with Cas's hands rubbing warmth into his arms. 

"Do you recall what you said to me in the Empty?" Cas asked. His conversational tone of voice made it sound like a rhetorical question; Dean was too shaky to answer regardless. "'You're coming, that's final. Nobody gets left behind.'" He paused to gentle his fingers through Dean's hair. "You repeated yourself. I don't mean, you said something you'd said to me once in Purgatory. I mean, you said what you always said, when you came to rescue me." 

A trickle of confusion needled its way into Dean's brain. He shifted to be able to look at Cas, his ear resting against Cas's shoulder. He let the question show.

"In the Empty, I dreamt about you trying to rescue me. Over and over. You rescued me a hundred times. Jack rescued me a hundred more." Cas swallowed. "Even Sam rescued me a couple of times." He gave a little laugh. "And the darkness would swallow us back up, every time." He kept Dean's head cupped in his hand. "So. You'd said what you'd said before, and before.

"And I said, 'I understand.' Every time. Because I knew my line too." Cas smiled, even though his eyes were beginning to shine with tears. "I knew it didn't much matter, since you – and Jack, and Sam – weren't really there. But I went along with it.

"This one time, though." His smile faded. "You didn't play your part. I was just waiting for the inevitable conclusion, the foregone ending, and you– You did something new. You didn't even wait for me to stand up–"

Dean hadn't. The Empty's thick fog had been wound around them like wet wool, like sludge, like every blood-slickened Hell-memory he'd ever wept over in his worst nightmares, and Dean had known Cas would say the right thing but attempt, as ever, to do the noble thing by sacrificing himself – or, in this case, staying sacrificed. Staying in the Empty for eternity, after it belched Dean into the waking world again like a wad of phlegm from its nasty maw. Dean wasn't proud of much, but he was proud of having learned that he would absolutely trust Cas in any and everything except for his having any sense of self-preservation.

"–before you were cutting our palms and reeling off that spell." Cas's fingers resumed their massage of Dean's scalp. "Turns out there were things stronger than the Empty."

"Jack helped. Sam too," Dean said hoarsely. "And Rowena, you know."

Cas nodded. "You remember what I told you when we fell through the portal unceremoniously into the bunker hallway?"

"Ouch?" Dean guessed. He was curious since, in fact, at the moment he didn't remember.

"I took your face in my hands and said, 'You are the most beautiful sight I've ever seen.'" Cas managed, somehow, to sound honest, earnest, sentimental, and matter of fact all at once. "I wasn't lying then, and I'm not lying now: you're still the most beautiful person I've ever known, and I love you. I am in love with you, irrevocably."

Dean's face in the present was suddenly hot like lava and though he was glad of the late afternoon shadows in the room, those did nothing to banish the ache of tears in his throat. "I didn't mean to tie us together, with the spell," he whispered miserably. "I conjugated the fucking verb wrong."

This was a point of some contention, since he had said the spell fast, before Cas could slip away, before the Empty could sever them apart. His mistake might not have been a conjugation one. He might've used the wrong verb altogether. Dean's memorization skills were first rate, usually. His fear had made his teeth chatter; he nearly dropped his blade; dumb luck he'd been able to say any useful part of the spell Rowena had cobbled together from a half dozen terrifying grimoires. His grip on Latin was maybe not as precise as Sam's. Ego animas nostras ducere. Coniungo animas nostras. Animabus nostris iungo. Whichever he'd said, he'd intended: Cas was coming with him, bodily, out of the Empty.

What the spell – its own tricksy entity – meant was, they were bound together as soon as the words pierced the deadened air and he'd laced his bloody fingers through Cas's, and he and Cas remained that way when they crashed onto slightly dusty concrete.

He'd felt the spell like an extra pulse beneath his skin, right up until a few minutes ago. Rowena had thought it would dissipate more quickly since the spell was powerful, sleek, and unstable outside of its original purpose. Dean wondered if his own fucked-up'edness had kept it in place longer.

"The spell never bothered me," Cas said softly. "But I also never needed it as an excuse to stay with you. Please–" His voice crackled. "Please tell me you know that. I'm not going anywhere unless you ask me to leave."

Dean gathered every lousy bit of courage in his heart and mind and eased himself up, pulling Cas alongside him on their ratty couch. He kissed every word he couldn't say yet into Cas's mouth; he smiled to feel Cas's fingers digging into his thigh possessively. The kisses were fierce at first and slowly became more tender. Dean held on. Cas didn't pull away, and it still felt like a miracle. Maybe it always would. Dean sorta hoped so.

Staring into Cas's dark eyes and unable to stop himself, Dean whispered, "Marry me?" As soon as he said it, he knew it was too needy, but he'd barely formed that pathetic thought before Cas was answering, "Yes, yes," with one kiss for each yes and then another that seemed like its own unbreakable spell, as final as a ritual forged in blood.

"I love you," Dean said, and kissed his husband again.

[eileenslibrary]

Keep Your Eyes Peeled

(Part 5 1/3)

Warnings: Crime, OOC Wriothesley

The other parts of chapter five will be out in a moment, the rest goes over the text limit

You stretch finishing up your notes and stacking printed photos of the proof “What now?” Wriothesley asks “Now I go back up to the overworld and collect evidence at the crime scene, trace my brother's steps, and figure out why my brother killed my fiance.” You rub one of your hands over your eyes “I am gonna guess you are done here then” Wriothesley comments “That would be correct, thank you for letting me stay in your bedroom” You put all of the evidence needed in your bag “Of course, I wouldn’t have a guest stay in one of the bunks. Unless I see you in court as the accused of course” he jokes “Let’s hope that doesn’t happen” you chuckle, he opens his office door for you “See you around I guess. . .” you smile waving your hand and walking up to the guards “Are you ready to go Mx. Vincent?” One of them asks “Yes I am ready”

A/N: Hey my followers I'm back from purgatory (Mental Health break) sorry I've been gone long I will get my blogs up