#i have been weeping with love and gratitude since the moment i first laid eyes on it 🥰🥰

[cuoredimuschio]

“Ah, salutations, your majesty.” He doffs an imaginary cap and tucks his arm in against his stomach, bowing so deep the tips of his frizzy hair brush the leaf litter. “Long time, no see. To what do I owe such an auspicious honor? What brings you back to my humble shop on this fine afternoon?” Alright, here goes nothing. “I need a favor,” Steve says.

i was gonna wait 'til i had chapter three ready before posting this, but fuck it, i'm too excited!!! the amazing, lovely, supremely talented @hellfiredemon has—ever so kind and generously—graced wound up in your heartstrings (aka guitar lessons au) with some absolutely beautiful art and i just had to share it the second i was able to!!! 😍😍😍

[atinyarmyzen]

𝓭𝓲𝓿𝓲𝓷𝓮 ~ｋｈｊ

.:*five*:.

pairing: cupid!hongjoong x mortal!reader

warnings: None, some fluff 

word count: 1.3k

a/n: omg this took wayyyy too long sorry y’all! hope this makes up for it 🥺

squiggles (~~~~) indicates shift from 3rd person to reader’s pov

Everything felt empty. Y/n wept at the death of her sisters. Why had they thrown themselves from the cliff? She couldn’t understand, and she had never felt more alone than she had now. What was she to do?

Y/n spent most of her days wandering the hills by the sea, hoping that her husbands would come to her. One day, she spotted a towering mountain, one that seemed to pierce the clouds, where she saw a grand palace. “Perhaps my husband is there. Could it be the home of the gods?” she thought. Driven mad with determination to find her beloved, she trekked the staggering mountain.

It was when y/n reached the top that she realized she had come upon Olympus. It was beautiful, tall white columns of marble shone in the eternal sunlight of this heavenly place. Y/n found the vast open pains that no doubt belonged to Demeter, the goddess of the harvest. In an effort to win the favor of the gods, she tidied any stray rakes, sticks and crops that she came across. Demeter took pity at the pious young mortal and spoke to her. “Sweet child, so worthy of our pity, go to the gardens of Venus and seek her forgiveness. Perhaps if you swear your fealty and submission to her, you may earn her favor and be united with your husband.” The goddess spoke. Y/n bowed her head in gratitude, “Thank you, my lady.” Soon y/n came upon the vast gardens of Venus and braced herself for the wrath she may face.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You entered the gardens through the grand gates and found the sovereign lady of love and beauty herself. Venus sat on her throne that much resembled a seashell. Her endless tresses of golden hair that was identical to your husbands cascaded down her side. You found yourself speechless, you wondered how you were ever compared to her. Despite your modesty, she received you with contempt.

“So, this is the faithless servant that thinks herself equal to me.” The goddess spoke bitterly. “You seem to have forgotten your mortality, girl. To be so bold as to seek out your husband who recovers from the wound his ever so loving wife gave him.” Venus seethed. In some ways she was right, you had never felt more mortal than you did now, so small and insignificant in the presence of such divinity.

“Please accept my humblest apologies, my lady.” you spoke, your voice shaking. “I had never known the profundity of love until I met him. Please, I will endure any task to see my love again.” Venus eyed you for a moment, a twinkle in her eye and a smirk graced her lips before she spoke again. “Very well, I will make trail of your skills as a wife. Only through your effort to complete the trails I will give you will have the merit for my darling son.” Venus spoke, then gestures towards her storehouse. “In there you will find a pile of grains. You must separate each type one by one and put them in their own separate parcels and see to it that you are done by sundown.”

You bowed your head in respect to the goddess, and started towards the storehouse. There you found a massive pile of grain with what looked like hundreds of different types of seeds. You sunk to your knees and laid your head in your hands, there was absolutely no way you could complete this task, you would never see the love of your life again, and Venus would not think twice to kill you. “She gave me this task because she knew I would fail” You thought. “Even if I should never see my love again, I would rather face my demise knowing that I had tried.” With that you began sorting the grain into piles, determined to at least show your devotion, regardless of if you would ever see your darling Hongjoong again. What you didn’t know, however, was that your husband was watching you from afar.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Hongjoong smiled fondly at his wife who took on the daunting task, his heart swelling at her sincerity. He had never fallen the least bit out of love with y/n. She was too precious to him, and he could never bear to let her perish. Even after he left her, he still watched her from the heavens, looking after her. He felt as though his heart was being strangled when she would wander so long in search for him. He eventually guided her to Olympus by whispering to her through the wind.

He knew his mother would never let y/n win, and that she would much rather have y/n killed if it were up to her. Yet, Hongjoong’s love was true, and there was no way his mother could interfere with such a force, especially one that she is sworn to protect. “Sweet thing” Hongjoong said to himself, still hidden from y/n. “So pure, I cannot bear to see what my mother would have done with you.”

Hongjoong then spotted a trail of ants passing by, being able to bend nature to his will as a god, he commanded “See to it that the lovely maiden sorts the grain by nightfall.” With that, the tiny creatures march their way over to where y/n sat. At this point there was sweat on her brow, having been working for hours. Y/n then noticed the small creatures picking up the grain on their backs and sorting them into neat piles. There were thousands of them, she felt her heart swell with hope that she may actually complete this impossible task.

With their help, the work was done just before sunset. Venus returned from dining with the gods and fumed at y/n’s success. “Impossible. No doubt he helped you, I’ll never understand his fondness for an insolent mortal.” She spat. “Since I have no way to prove this, I have another task for you.” Venus said with her arms crossed.

“You are to bring me the golden fleece on the rams that dwell by the river.” She said with a wicked smirk. “Bring the fleece to me by tomorrow.” That seemed easy enough, right? All she needs to do is collect some fleece, she would go in the morning.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ You slept under a weeping willow tree in the gardens. Although it was not comfortable, you were exhausted from today’s trails. Your thoughts quickly turned to Hongjoong, you wondered if he even wanted to see you again. You shuddered at your memories of the first and last time you ever saw him. He was so beautiful, and all you could remember was the sorrow on his face when you betrayed his trust.

You felt tears prick your eyes, and soon they silently ran from the corners of your eyes down your temples. You have to try, you must complete the next task. You have to live to look into his eyes again, to actually see a smile grace his godly features. Soon, the weight of sleep became too heavy to bear, and you succumbed to a deep slumber.

Hongjoong felt a sense of deja vu watching your sleeping form. It reminded him of the night he saw you for the first time. Never had he been so taken by anyone. He smiled fondly, “My darling, I am always with you.” Hongjoong said softly, delicately brushing a strand of hair behind your ear as you slept. He traced your features with a feather-like touch, almost as if he was trying to memorize every detail of your face. He then draped a blanket over your figure, and pressed the lightest, sweetest kiss to your temple. “Dream sweetly, muse. I hope to meet you there so that I may hold you in my arms again.” With that he flew off, his eyes strained with tears.

previous chapter | six

❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥❥

[kimtanathegeek]

Two Brothers, Many Paths - Ch 25 & Undertale 5yr Anniversary

Two brothers, many paths

Hand in hand, they mourn their past

 -

Torn from home,

trapped underground

Hiding, fleeing,

scared to be found

 -

Two brothers, many paths

Side by side, they grew up fast

 -

The eldest grins.

“We’ll be fine, brother.

No matter what,

we have each other.”

 -

Two brothers, many paths

Hand in hand, they’ll always last

---

To commemorate Undertale's 5th year anniversary and the 25th chapter of "Two Brothers, Many Paths", I drew and wrote this. Art and poetry are not my strong suit, and I wish I could have done that picture justice, but I hope you guys like it! :)

HAPPY ANNIVERSARY, UNDERTALE! Here's to another 5 awesome years!

Guys, thank you so much for reading "Two Brothers, Many Paths"! I can't believe we're at 25 chapters already!!!

Thank you for reading, for your likes, for your comments, and for your reblogs! It means so much to me to know that you guys are enjoying my story, because I absolutely adore writing it.

There's still so much more to go for Sans and Papyrus, so don't worry, we're not even CLOSE to coming to the end!

Thanks again, I appreciate you all! :)

—

Undertale copyright Toby Fox

Story and original characters by me, Kimtana

Please do not use without both permission and credit.  

Read below, or read it on AO3 here.  

First  

Previous  

Next  

The thin hen shopkeeper was sitting behind the counter, knitting and humming as Sans approached. When she saw him from the corner of her eye, she laid her work on the counter and smiled at him.

“Good afternoon,” she said warmly, then furrowed her brow, raising her index primary feather to the side of her beak as she looked up into space. “Or is it ‘good evening’? Hmm....” She shook her head, then gave a shudder, ruffling her sooty grey feathers. “I don’t know, it’s so hard to tell time anymore without the sun.... Anywho—Good day!”

Sans grinned, nodding to her. “Good day, miss.”

“Is there anything I can help you find?” she asked, cocking her head to the side.

“Oh, no,” he answered. “I’m just looking to see what you have.”

She gave a gentle smile. “Ok, then. Please let me know if there’s anything I can help you with.”

Sans nodded politely again, and looked up at the shelves on the left of the shop.

There were so many different kinds of things—some items similar to those found in the other shops, and other products he had not seen sold elsewhere in the market. There were beautifully crafted pottery cups, vases, bowls, plates, and teacups, medicinal salves and bandages, candles of various heights and thicknesses, aprons for different needs, tin boxes with and without illustrations on them, gloves for work and for warmth, and so many other items in between. He picked out a small pot holder—they’d need one now that they finally had a pot—and a bar of glycerin soap that smelled of cherries.

In front of the counter were four crates sitting on two large chests. The crates were filled with old books, sheets of parchment made of wood pulp, fabric fibers, or flower petals, and scrolls with useful information such as measurement conversions for cooking, identification of edible and poisonous plants, and even lists of difficult words with their definitions.

Seeing the paper reminded Sans of the bits of parchment he had been aching to use.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said, standing up straight to look over the counter.

The hen stood up, her knitting still in her wings. “Yes, dear?”

Sans saw that she was making a multicolored sock. “Ooh, that’s really good!”

She smiled. “Aww, thank you. I knit things for the orphans, the poor, and the wounded soldiers.”

Sans’ mouth dropped in awe. “That’s really nice of you to do that. I’m sure they love them.”

“I hope they do,” she said, her smile waning as she looked down at the half-finished sock. “It’s not much, and they’ve already gone through such incredible hardships.” The grip on her needles tightened, and she gave another shudder that fluffed her feathers. “I just try to help where I can, make things useful like socks and gloves for those who don’t have any. It can’t make up for their pain, but hopefully it brightens their moment. Even if it’s just a little bit.”

Sans smiled reassuringly. “I’m sure it does, miss. It lets them know that someone really cares about them.”

The thin hen smiled at the sock, then at Sans. “Thank you, that’s really kind of you to say. Sorry, you had a question?”

“Oh, yeah,” Sans answered, blinking. “I was wondering, do you have any pens or writing utensils?”

She frowned sadly. “I’m afraid not.... They go rather quickly, and they’re hard to get. All of my stock comes from other monsters who are selling me items they’ve made, no longer need, or need gold for more important things, like food. So I never know what I’ll get or when I’ll get new things. I’m sorry.”

Sans’ mouth twitched with disappointment, but he understood. “It’s all right. I’ll keep checking each time I come by.”

“I’ll certainly keep an eye out for you, and I’ll hold any aside I come across.”

Sans nodded in gratitude. “Thank you, miss, that’s so kind of you. I really appreciate that.”

“Let me know if there’s anything else you need help with, dear,” she said, smiling as she sat back down, resuming her knitting.

“Actually,” Sans said as he watched her count stitches. “This is a strange question, but.... The hare next door mentioned that there were monsters who collected food for the poor. If I had some food to give them, where would I find them?”

The hen smiled, her heart warming. “Well, aren’t you a dear. You’ll find the monsters who work on the food collections in the domed building in the northeast quadrant of the city.”

Sans looked at her blankly. “Northeast wha?”

She covered her beak with her wing as she laughed softly. “It’s the only domed building in the city.”

Sans looked relieved. “Ah! Yes, miss, I’ve seen it. I should be able to find it now, thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she nodded. “I know that they will appreciate anything you can give them.”

Sans smiled sadly. “I know what it’s like to not have enough to eat, so if I can help anyone, I really want to try.”

The hen’s face fell, her heart breaking for the little skeleton at his admission.

“You’re an absolute sweetheart, you know that?” the hen said softly.

Sans felt the embarrassment burning his cheekbones. “Nah, I just...hate seeing anyone hurting.”

He pretended to be extremely interested in the hand towels folded up in a crate on the floor, as the hen beamed at him, then returned to her knitting, humming happily.

Once her gaze was off him, Sans started looking through the rest of the items, making his way towards the right side of the shop. There were clothes on shelves and tables starting near the entryway for adults, and children clothes towards the middle. He found a couple sets for himself and Papyrus in their sizes, ecstatic that he and his brother could finally change out of the clothes they had been wearing since they fled to the mountain.

At the end of the children’s clothes were toys. There were wooden blocks, plush monsters of different species, puzzles, balls, and other various playthings. Sans was looking at a small, red toy cart with working wheels, wondering if Papyrus would like it when he noticed the basket at the end of the toy shelves. The toy cart fell out of his hand onto the table as he gasped.

The basket was filled with teddy bears—all identical. They had soft, plush, brown “fur” and shiny black eyes. Their little smiles were stitched into their faces with dark brown thread, and their arms and legs were floppy, perfect for hugging.

Sans staggered to the basket, tears rolling down his face, his mouth hung open.

“I-it can’t be...,” he whispered in shock.

The hen heard him, and raised her eyes from her work to look over at him.

Sans pulled out one of the bears and looked at it, turning it this way and that in his hands.

“Are...are you all right...?” the hen asked gently, seeing Sans’ tear-soaked face.

Sans stared at the bear in his hands, looking into its eyes as he spoke, his voice shaking with emotion.

“M-my brother.... He had a teddy bear just like this...back home.... He loved that bear, couldn’t sleep without him in his crib.... When...when I packed food to leave...I-I should have...I should have gone upstairs and gotten him.... But I didn’t.... I was too scared, I only grabbed food, I didn’t even think about his bear.... We left him behind, and now.... My brother never complained or mentions him, but I know he misses him a lot.... My brother lost so much that day.... Our home...his teddy bear...Mommy....”

Sans hugged the bear and wept bitterly into it. The hen tossed her knitting on the counter and rushed over to him. He clutched her, weeping into her dress as she enfolded him in her wings. She held him as he cried his eyes out, telling her how he watched their mother fighting the humans, and how he watched her die. How she might still be alive if she hadn’t seen him and run to him. How it was his fault his brother didn’t have their mother any more.

She let him speak until his words were exhausted, then shushed him soothingly, rocking him gently as he cried loudly from his broken soul. It had been too long since Sans had been comforted like this by an adult, too long since he had taken on the adult role for his brother’s sake while still only being a child himself. Being embraced by the caring hen allowed him to drop the walls of false strength and competence he had built up over time, and to grieve like the hurting child he truly was.

After a while, he calmed down, sniffling and stammering out apologies for breaking down like that.

“No, no,” she whispered, wiping his eyes with her pinion feathers. “Don’t apologize. I know how hard it is to lose someone you love so very much.”

“R-really...?” he whimpered, his lower lip still quivering. “Did...did you...?”

He didn’t finish, regretting even asking such an invasive, personal question.

The hen shut her eyes and nodded.

“I was with my best friend at the market buying food for dinner. The Royal Guard came—tried to get everyone to leave quickly. There had been a horde of humans spotted in the area, and it was unsafe. Someone shouted and soon everyone was looking into the sky. Plumes of smoke, rising in different directions—multiple fires all around the area. I panicked—one of the columns of smoke was coming from where my house was. My friend and I, we rushed to my house with a few of the Guards, and....”

She choked back her tears, her body shuddering as her feathers bristled. Then her tears fell freely.

“My house was in flames.... My friend had to hold me back because I tried to run inside to save my family. The Guards—they went in. They went in to try to find my dear husband and my four precious children.... Wh-when they came out, I-I saw their faces, and I knew.... The next day, the evacuation order came out. My friend—she let me stay with her that terrible night, and then we left together for this mountain.... And now, we’re here....”

Sans looked up at her, his face broken with sympathy for the poor hen. When she finished her story, he hugged her tightly.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I’m so, so sorry....”

She patted him with her wingtips, then dried her eyes on her feathers.

“Thank you,” she said, straining to steady her voice. “This war...this conflict...it has cost us all so much....”

They hugged each other tightly once more. Then the hen pulled back and put on a warm smile. She nudged the teddy bear, still in Sans’ hands.

“The important thing is to rebuild and comfort those who are still with us.”

Sans looked down at the teddy bear and nodded sadly.

With a deep sigh, the hen ruffled Sans’ hooded head and went back behind the counter. Sans placed the teddy bear and the other items—still sitting on the clothes table—onto the counter.

She totaled the items, and gave Sans the amount. He blinked at her.

“But, wait, miss,” he said, confused. “It should be much more than that.”

“I’m not charging you for the teddy bear,” she smiled warmly.

Sans gasped, his eyebrows raised pleadingly. “No, wait! You don’t have to—”

She reached over the counter and ruffled the top of his head again. “My dear, I don’t run this shop to make a profit. I started this shop to help others out. There is no way I could accept gold for your brother’s bear.”

“Th-thank you, miss,” he stammered, stunned. “I-I don’t know what to say....”

“You’re so welcome,” she smiled as he placed the items in his bag. “And, please, call me Ashen.”

Sans smiled back, shouldering the bulging haversack. “Thank you, Ashen. And my name is Sans.”

“Well, Sans,” she said, giving a shudder that sent her sooty grey feathers rippling. “It was so nice to meet you, and I really do hope you come back to see me again soon.”

“I will, Ashen,” he nodded. “I’m so happy to have met you. Thank you for...for everything.”

The two new friends waved goodbye, and Sans left the shop.

 -

 Sans hurried down the road, looking left and right frantically for an empty alleyway. The city was filled with monsters, so finding somewhere unoccupied was difficult. Eventually he found a small path between two buildings that appeared empty, and slipped down it. Making sure no one was in sight, he shut his eyes, then stepped forward.

He felt the frigid air as he opened his eyes, arriving in front of the shelter. He wasted no time in digging out the entrance, calling to his brother so he wouldn’t be afraid someone was invading the shelter.

Sans panicked for a moment when he heard no response, but as soon as he came into the main room, he saw Papyrus, fast asleep on the bed under several fabric scraps.

Poor thing, Sans thought as he unshouldered the bag and put it on the bed.

He nudged his brother gently. “Pap? Wake up, Pap.”

The little skeleton moaned as he was roused, then snapped awake. He gasped and threw himself against his brother, hugging him so tight, Sans’ bones popped.

“I’m so, so sorry that took so long, Pap,” Sans apologized, returning the hug.

“Pa scared mosters take Sas,” Papyrus whimpered, nestling his face in his brother’s chest. “But Pa did what Sas said, waited here, waited for Sas. Sas okay?”

Sans rubbed the top of his brother’s head gently. “Yeah, I’m ok. I’m sorry I scared you. But...well...I have something I’ve got to tell you.”

Papyrus sat back on the bed, a look of utter terror on his face, fearing bad news.

“No, no,” Sans grinned, waggling his hands and shaking his head. “It’s nothing bad or anything. But, well, you see....”

Sans sat on the bed, rubbing the back of his skull as he dreaded his upcoming confession. He couldn’t even look his brother in the eyes.

“I, uh...went...into...the...cavern...,” he murmured, each word getting lower and more mumbled.

Papyrus’ jaw nearly fell off his skull as his eyes grew wider than apples.

“Now, wait, hang on,” Sans said, his eyebrows raised pleadingly. “Before you get upset, let me explain.”

“Sas gonna leave Pa...?” The little skeleton’s whisper was barely audible.

“No! Of course not, Papyrus! I’d never leave you. I snuck in there to get some food!”

Papyrus blinked, his mouth still hanging open.

“Listen,” Sans urged. He then started partially explaining everything—leaving out the part where he planned this trip for the last month and how he had put himself at serious risk of getting caught. “I saw the carts going into the cavern, and I saw them growing the trees with magic, so I thought ‘huh, maybe they’re growing food in there,’ so I jumped on the cart and found out that they have a huge city in there now, with a market, and I got a whole bunch of great food, and now that I’ve been there, I can just use my magic to go back in there anytime we need more!”

Sans grinned winningly at his brother while he panted after spouting out his explanation in a single breath.

Papyrus slowly closed his mouth and narrowed his eyes. An eyebrow soon started to rise as the little skeleton frowned. He gave an exasperated sigh that sounded more like a huff.

“Sas go in cav, coulda been taken by mosters! What if Sas caught?!”

Sans shut his eyes, grinning wider. “Then I would have used my magic and come right back here.”

Papyrus grumbled as his expression softened. “Sas really get food?”

Sans opened his eyes, then gave his brother a wink. “Yup. A lot of food.”

The little skeleton’s face brightened more, the risky adventure being forgiven.

Sans jumped up off the bed and went to the foot of the bed where the haversack was. He showed his brother the purchases he made and told him how he used his own gems to buy them. Papyrus gasped at each loaf, vegetable, fruit, and item that emerged from the bag. Sans withheld the cookie as an after-dinner-surprise, but saved the best for last.

“And...,” Sans said, drawing the syllable out as long as he could. “You will never guess who I found looking for you in the cavern!”

Papyrus sat on the bed, looking up at him, curiously.

Sans slowly pulled out the teddy bear.

The little skeleton gasped so sharply, Sans thought his lungs would tear. Papyrus held his hands to his cheekbones as his mouth remained open, his eyes brimming with tears.

“Teddy...?” Papyrus spoke his teddy bear’s name in a high-pitched, breathy gasp that cut Sans right to his soul.

Sans nodded, holding him out to his brother. Papyrus couldn’t believe his eyes, slowly moving closer, as if he was dreaming and afraid to wake up. He reached out with a trembling hand and grabbed the bear by the tummy, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Teddy! Teddy!” Papyrus wept happily, his eyes shut tight as tears spilled out.

Sans wiped his own tears on his sleeves, the smile on his face unable to wane.

 -

 The two skeleton brothers just stared at it, neither of them able to utter a single word or make the slightest of sounds. They couldn’t move, let alone blink, as they sat, dumbfounded.

It was just too unbelievable.

Their dinner was laid out on their little snow “dining table.” They had prepared it together, cutting, chopping, toasting, combining—enjoying every second of their time making their meal perfect.

Their new wooden bowls were filled with fresh salad, comprised of baby spinach, sliced mouseshroom nightlights, chopped reed stalks, diced tomatoes, pine nuts, and crumbled parmesan cheese, all drizzled with an oil dressing infused with herbs and garlic.

On their new little plates were a couple slices of warmed crusty wheat bread, a small hunk of smoked gouda, a few nuts, and several carrot slices.

Their new wooden cups were filled with ice cold water—Sans had melted some snow in their new pot by the fire, poured the water into the cups, and put chunks of snow in them to chill the water back up. While they didn’t need water to survive—being skeletons, it was impossible for them to suffer thirst or dehydration—it was certainly nice to have something to wash their food down with again.

Sans had set down burlap pieces for placemats, folding up some smaller scraps for napkins and placing their new wooden cutlery on top. Nestled under their bowls and plates were the little parchment pastry bags—Sans insisting that Papyrus not peek inside until after he finished his dinner.

They continued staring in silence, the only sounds in the little shelter being the crackling of the magical flame and the occasional growl of a skeleton stomach.

“This looks amazing,” Sans whispered at last.

“Yeah,” Papyrus breathed in agreement.

Sans gave a small laugh of disbelief, glancing up at his brother. “No more hungry nights, Pap.”

“Yeah,” Papyrus looked up at his brother and smiled.

Sans looked back at their meal and sighed happily. “We should start eating, or we will be going to bed hungry again.”

“Yeah,” Papyrus giggled.

They slowly picked up their utensils and started their salads. The two brothers looked at each other, joyous groans emitting from their chewing mouths at the delicious tastes they were experiencing. Then they went at the food with gusto, savoring every single bite.

 -

 Sans was wiping the last remnant of dressing from his empty bowl with his final bite of wheat bread, as Papyrus had picked up his bowl to his mouth, pushing the last fragments into his open mouth.

Sans finished just before his brother, and couldn’t help but grin as he watched Papyrus, his face hidden behind the tilted bowl. His soul felt fuller than his stomach, knowing that his little brother finally had a proper, healthy meal after so long.

Papyrus licked his bowl clean, then set it back down on the burlap placemat with a satisfied “ahh!” He then looked up at his brother expectantly.

“Can Pa open now?”

Sans grinned and nodded. “Yes, you can open it now. I hope you like it.”

Papyrus cautiously opened the bag, as if a fragile treasure might be within. He peered into it and gasped, looking up at Sans. “Cookie!”

Sans smiled as his brother pulled out the large cookie and gave a huge chomp into it. He took out his own and bit into it, relishing its sweet, chocolaty goodness. They both ate their cookies with the occasional “mmm,” the crunching and munching overpowering the crackling of the fire in the other room.

Not a single piece of snow was consumed that night, for their stomachs were entirely satisfied.

 -

 After dinner, they washed their new dishes in one of the buckets with melted snow water and the glycerin soap. They dried them with burlap, then Sans created another bone shelf in the pantry side boulder, placing the clean wooden dishes up on it.

Sans emptied out the dishwater several feet away from their shelter entrance, scrubbing it out with clean snow, then came back inside to fill it back up with clean water. They changed into their fresh new clothes, and Sans washed their old clothes in the bucket with the soap, rinsed it in another bucket, and, after wringing them out, hung them up on the warming rack bones to dry overnight. The feel of clean, soft, new fabrics felt so comfortable and cozy to both of them. Sans then emptied the dirty water from both buckets outside in a different spot, scrubbed them clean with another handful of snow, then dried them with a scrap of rough cloth.

Sans took the little pot that was melting snow and poured it into the clean water bucket next to the “bowl” dug out of snow, which was filled to overflowing with fruits and vegetables. He stuffed the little pot to the brim with snow from the pile for making snow treats, then placed it back on the bones he had made to dry out the pine cones at the left edge of the fire basin to melt overnight.

Once they were done cleaning up and putting things away, they played together a bit before bedtime. Then they climbed into bed, Papyrus making his blue bones disappear to darken the room. Sans pulled up the fabrics over them as Papyrus snuggled up to his brother, clutching his beloved Teddy in the crook of his arm.

Sans told Papyrus all about the shopkeepers he had met and the things he had seen. He noticed that his brother had fallen asleep somewhere during the part where he was returning home. He nuzzled into his brother’s forehead and followed him into slumber.

The two brothers slept soundly with full bellies and happy souls as the gentle winds outside blew swirls of snowflakes around their hidden shelter.  

[ladyofmaidensandwine]

Day Nine

Day Nine of the Hello Spring 2020 Writing Prompt Challenge

Characters- Dean Winchester, Fem! Reader, Chuck Shurley, Gabriel, Billie, Charlie Bradbury, Jo Harvelle, Bobby Singer

Prompt- Broadway/Theatre AU

Wordcount- 1,436

A/N- I know, Phantom of the Opera, how original. Phantom holds a special place in my heart, as I played Christine in a production of it, and it’s really just a bloody good show.

                Your entire life, you wanted to perform. The stage was your home, and your first love, and everything you’d been working towards since you were a girl. The moment you got the call that you had the part of Christine, you cried in joy, and had called everyone you knew to tell them the good news. For the past two months since, you’d been rehearsing by yourself, and finally the first rehearsal was announced. No one knew who the other leads were, and the press had yet to learn who Christine had been casted for, so the entire thing was a sort of reveal and surprise as well as the first official performance practice.

             “Hi, Y/N L/N?” You said with a smile to the registrar checking in all the performers. They handed you a name badge labelled Christine with your actual name in small font below it, and you continued into the auditorium. You were hit again with a rush of excitement as you quickly shook hands with the casting director, vocal coach, and the director, and then took your seat. You were so caught up in trying to process the fact that this was really happening, and didn’t even notice someone taking the seat beside your own. “Mind if I sit?” A gruff male voice questioned, and you whipped around with wide eyes to meet a pair of vibrant green eyes still waiting for a response.

              “By all means. Oh, I’m Y/N, Y/N L/N.” You introduced quickly. “Dean Winchester. Hey, weren’t you in Wicked, too?” Dean asked, brows furrowed as he recognized where he’d seen you before. “Yes, actually, I did a circuit as Elphaba on broadway. Forgive me, but you look familiar, too, I just can’t place it...” You trailed off, squinting at Dean. He was about to respond when the director called for silence, and instead flashed a quick smile your way before focusing.

              “Hello, welcome, and congratulations to all of you on making it to Phantom of the Opera on broadway. I’m your director, Chuck Shurley, and I’ll introduce everyone briefly before we jump in.” Chuck announced. “The casting director, whom you’ve met, is Bobby Singer, our vocal coach is Billie Reeper, and of course our head technician, Charlie Bradbury.” Chuck said, the three waving or smiling as they were listed. “Obviously, the names of who has been casted for each part has been kept secret, but today we are releasing them to the press. I’ll start from the bottom and work my way to the leads.” Chuck explained, before launching into a long list, from ensemble, to extras, to understudies- your understudy was a nice but sassy girl named Jo Harvelle- before reaching the main roles. “Playing Raoul, Gabriel Novak,” a shorter man with amber eyes and light brown hair gave a large and cheeky grin, “and as the Phantom, Dean Winchester, whom I’m sure you’ve heard of, as he played Jean Valjean in Les Mis, and, last but not least, in the role of the lovely Christine Daaé, Y/N L/N, most recently starring as Cinderella on broadway.” Chuck concluded.

                    Your eyes went wide when you realized where you’d seen Dean before- you had been in the ensemble of his performance. He seemed to know what you’d just recalled, winking at you with a sly grin, and you gave Dean the most annoyed look you could muster. “Now that that’s covered, I’d like to run through the show. Everyone should know their lines, and their songs by now, but this is just to see where you’re at before we can begin.” Chuck explained quickly. 

                  You sang your way through the opening scene, and everything ran smoothly. Rehearsals picked up, the press had a field day with the entire cast, and you spent countless hours each week perfecting the show. As you and Dean were co-stars, you became close quickly, and often Chuck would compliment your flawless and natural on-stage chemistry, which you admitted to yourself was less talented acting and more hopeless crush on the handsome man. You were a goner the moment you first heard him sing, and his charming personality, sense of humour, and flirty comments didn’t help. You’d kissed many people for many roles on the stage, but with Dean, it actually meant something, and you could safely say he was quite honestly the best kisser you’d ever met. 

                The first show began in only an hour, and you’d already gotten into your first costume. As you peeked at the completely sold-out auditorium, you could feel your nerves grow, and your breath hitched at the sight of so many people. You weren’t normally so nervous, but this was your dream role, and you desperately wanted your performance to be perfect, especially on opening night. Besides all the acclaimed critics, playwrights, and other actors and actresses watching, you had another person you wanted to impress- Dean. He’d practiced with you, of course, and you often would go eat dinner or lunch together and run lines at each other’s flats, but for an actual show, you couldn’t help but want to prove you were talented. 

                   “Don’t be nervous, Y/N. You’ll do great.” Dean assured. You had no idea how he knew what was running though your mind, but you were grateful for his support. “Thanks, Dean. I haven’t felt so anxious since my first debut on broadway.” You laughed softly, Dean smiling back. “They’re gonna love you. C’mon, sweetheart, would I lie to you?” Dean asked, raising a brow with a cheesy smile. You snorted, rolling your eyes playfully. “You’re ridiculous, Dean.” “Aw, c’mon! You have to be nice to me, we’re about to make out in front of hundreds of people, and my performance will be lacking if you’re bein’ mean.” Dean smirked. The thought send heat rushing to your cheeks, and you were grateful for once for the stage make-up you wore, which helped disguise your blushing. “Hey, if you’re still nervous, we can always practice.” Dean joked, wiggling his eyebrows at you. You laughed loudly, and slapped a hand over your mouth to muffle the noise from the crowd. “Shut up, Dean, I’m trying to be serious!” You reprimanded, unable to maintain a stern face when met with his goofy smile. “Yeah, but I got your mind off of it. You’re welcome.” He said proudly, bowing to you. “Okay, but for real, Y/N, you’re going to blow ‘em away. You’ve been working hard for this for, like, your whole life, and you’re gonna get on that stage and be the best fuckin’ Christine they’ve laid eyes on. I’m talkin’ angels weeping, melt-their-hearts, leave-them-speechless good.” Dean encouraged, hands on your shoulders comfortingly. You gave Dean a fond smile, and nodded. “Thanks, Dean. I really needed to hear that.” You said sincerely. “That’s what I’m here for, sweetheart. Dean Winchester, best pep talker ever, that’s me.” He winked, pulling you in for a side hug. “Go get ‘em, sweetheart.” Dean said warmly, kissing your cheek, and walking back to wardrobe. It was time.

                  You swore Dean was some manner of magician- when you sang your favourite song, you saw audience members in tears at your emotional performance, and when you kissed the Phantom before leaving with Raoul, you definitely heard sniffling and sobs. At the curtain call, as you all took your bows, your smile was so wide your cheeks were hurting, and you caught Dean’s bright green eyes and mouthed a ‘thank you’, to which he returned with a wink that said ‘told ya so’. The applause was deafening, and reaffirmed the meaning of your life in your eyes. Nothing fulfilled you the way standing ovations after such a show did, the gratitude making your own eyes brim with tears of happiness. 

                 You made it off the stage, and Dean picked you up and spun you around, both of you laughing. He pulled you into a crushing hug, and when he stepped back, you saw your smile mirrored on his handsome face. “You were amazing!” He praised. Your cheeks turned scarlet, and you beamed at him. “Me? You were amazing!” You retorted. Dean didn’t reply, but his grin grew, and he crashed his lips to yours. You barely had time to respond before he pulled away, looking like a child on Christmas Morning, giddy and excited. “Wha-?” You managed to get out. “I uh- is that ok? I think- no, I know, that I really like you.” Dean said shyly. “Thank God.” You breathed. You still couldn’t stop smiling as Dean kissed you, both of you laughing giddily in every breath.

                         You’d never been happier in your life.

TAGS-

@ibwhellowriting​

[raendown]

Pairing: HashiramaIzuna Word count: 3545 Soulmate au: The one where there exist specially trained jewelers who will craft you a unique accessory that leads you to your soulmate

Follow the link or read ti under the cut!

KO-FI

Chapter 145: Hashirama/Izuna

Skimming his fingers over the glass, gaze all but devouring the precious gems nestled protectively below, Izuna wondered what it would be like to be trained in the art of soul-crafting, to be born a civilian and follow his heart down whatever path he wanted to. His palms ached to cradle the glittering stones and mold the precious metals in to something so beautiful it made others weep to look upon them. Instead he had scars and callouses, eyes that spun red when adrenaline ran high, and more blood in his dreams than any civilian could fear to see in their entire life.

“Have you chosen one?” a soft voice asked him. Izuna sighed, basking in his unwanted longing for a few more seconds before letting go of it. There was no use in wanting something he would never have. He was born to be a shinobi; no other path had ever been available to him and to wish for one would be to wish for the impossible.

“Emerald,” he breathed after a few moments. “An emerald, please.”

The soul-crafter did not question his choice – which meant that he had made the right one. Izuna smiled as he watched the man delicately flutter both hands over the inside of the display cabinet before selecting a pillow carrying several tiny little gemstones. Each of them were perfectly cut and caught the light at every turn. The deep green color reminded him of nature; not of spring or new growth but of the tenacity, the endurance, the everlasting purity and the strength of nature. There was nothing innocent about that color of green and yet neither could he see any evil.

“An excellent selection.” The soul-crafter hummed over the gems for a moment, looking between them and his customer several times. Then he smiled like he’d thought of a great secret. “Several, I think. And what metal shall they be cast in?”

“Silver,” Izuna answered automatically. He was the second born, the lesser son no matter how much love his brother had for him. He would never dare to wear gold. Could never bear the weight of it.

“Very well. I shall have it ready in three days.”

“You don’t want to ask about the design?”

The soul-caster only continued to smile at him. “I have been listening to the sounds of your soul since you arrived, young man. I know the design you will need. Three days.”

Izuna blinked but didn’t bother to ask further. Most people visited a soul-caster when they were young, picking out the gem and the precious metal which spoke to them the most to create the piece of jewelry which would guide them to the person they were meant to be with. He should have gone when he was a child, had set out with his father to do so once, but they had been ambushed on the journey and there never seemed to be time again after that. It felt strange to stand in the shop and look at displays that had been lowered to stand at a height for children to gaze in to. The embarrassment was easier to ignore when he reminded himself why he was here.

Three days from now he would have his own very own Guide, the piece of jewelry that would connect him to the one person his soul yearned for the most. No one but those who studied the art knew exactly how a soul-crafter created them and not everyone who applied for the training was accepted but nearly every person in the world had commissioned their services at some point in their life. There were many who refused to wear any adornments except their guiding jewelry. Izuna himself had never accepted any gifts of necklaces or broaches, not even the scarf sewn with golden thread and pearls that a prospective suitor had tried to gift him once. It just felt wrong for some reason.

Waiting was difficult. Their father had been settled in his grave for a full year before Izuna found the courage to ask his brother’s permission to make this trip and he had been pleasantly surprised to be gifted an entire week of leave. Now he understood why he needed it. It was hard not to just march in to the shop and station himself right in the middle of the room until it was ready but he knew better. Soul-crafters were venerated even above the Daimyo himself. He would never insult one of them like that even if they weren’t making him the single most important accessory he would ever own.  

Instead he spent the three days wandering around the village he was visiting and paying attention to the way certain things were set up. Madara’s peace looked like it was finally sticking despite the elders having more and more audacious demands every time they met with the Senju to rewrite the treaty. Izuna very much doubted that there was room in his brother’s head of dreams for things like road planning or market layouts. He knew that rat Tobirama was probably thinking of these things and more but Izuna would be damned if he let his old rival show up the Uchiha like that; he would be prepared with some suggestions of his own to show Tobirama he wasn’t the only smart person around.

Madara might have the bigger muscles but Izuna had the bigger brain.

His nerves were so strung out by the time all three days had passed and he was able to go back to the shop that he very nearly didn’t spot the two figures on the roof top above him when he left the inn. Stopping dead with one hand reaching for his kunai holster out of habit, Izuna narrowed his eyes at where the two Senju brothers were looking back at him with mild surprise. Tobirama glared and turned his head. Hashirama waved cheerfully.

“We didn’t expect to see you here, Izu-kun!” the Senju clan Head called down. Izuna twitched.

“Don’t call me that,” he snapped. Hashirama gasped and drooped with sadness while Tobirama dropped his face in to one palm. Izuna shifted his weight and tried to decide how he wanted to handle this situation.

Technically they weren’t really at peace yet, not until the treaty had been signed, but to attack these two now would erase all the hard work his brother had been fighting for – not to mention get his ass beat. No matter how confident he was in his own skills, not even Madara could face both of the Senju siblings together and hope to live.

“Move along, little Uchiha,” Tobirama said with a shooing motion. “We didn’t come here to bother you.”

“Oh be nice, Tobi. He’s an ally now! Bye Izuna-k-…-san.” Hashirama tittered nervously over his almost slip but waved again just the same before tugging his brother along with him and leaping away towards the red light district. They were probably here to meet with some sort of seedy contact. Every clan had some informants they weren’t exactly proud to associate with but those usually tended to be the invaluable ones with ears in all the right places.

Izuna put the retreating Senju out of his mind easily. As weird as it was not attacking each other on sight, too much of his attention was taken up by the excitement of receiving his Guide today. He tried not to smile too weirdly as he hurried through the streets towards the deceptively modest shop at the very edge of the marketplace.

He’s seen soul-crafters in the bigger cities with marble facing on the front of their shops, grand designs carved in to the lintel and fine silks hung in the window. It wasn’t just the shorter distance which lured him here to this village so close to where his own clan compound lay, it was the simplistic humility of the man who welcomed him in to the shop with a nod and a knowing smile. Clearly this man had pursued his craft for the joy of it, not the prestige.

It wasn’t like he made any money off of it. Guides were freely made and freely given. And in return, soul-crafters were supported freely by their community and provided with the finest jewels available.

“Welcome back, Uchiha-san. I have something here that will lead you to the one you are looking for.”

“You have my gratitude,” Izuna told him, bowing low. The man shook his head.

“Do not bow until you have seen it, eh?”

Chuckling quietly, the man pushed a small box across the top of a glass case holding different colored quartz samples. Izuna felt like a child as he snatched it up and cradled it against his chest for a moment before opening the lid with fumbling fingers.

His heart nearly stopped beneath his ribs when he laid eyes on his Guide for the first time. Ten small emeralds had been cast in a ring of purest silver, each placed in their own delicate little leaf, and it looked just the right size to slip on the third finger of his left hand. As he turned the ring to admire it from as many angles as possible he couldn’t help but gawp like a simpleton at the way it caught the light and almost seemed to shift the emeralds between endless shades of green.

“It’s perfect,” he breathed. “You deserve a hundred bows and endless thanks. I have nothing to offer you that could possibly be repayment enough.”

“You need offer me nothing,” the man denied him. Transaction complete, he turned away and hummed a little tune to himself as he headed towards the workshop at the back of the store. He was out of sight even as Izuna opened his mouth to offer a protest.

Suddenly alone, Izuna licked his lips and gently pulled the ring out of its box. While he was in town he would need to pick up some cleaning solution to make sure he kept it in good condition and maybe some polish so that it kept its beautiful shine. It would have to come off for the missions where he might be getting his hands really dirty but every shinobi knew how to get blood out of jewelry; he could remember practicing on his mother’s necklace when she came home from battle wearing the vestiges of smoke like a crown and a gentle smile just for him.

The ring slid on to his hand like it had always been a part of him, cool against the warmth of his skin. It felt odd having something between his fingers stopping them from touching but it was a good sort of odd. Izuna twisted to admire it in to sunlight – and dropped his jaw with shock to see the jewels begin to glow.

Was this how he was supposed to find his soulmate? Exactly how the Guide brought you both together varied from person to person. For some people their designs were the same. For others the shape was significant to one or both of them. Izuna’s, apparently, lit up when he turned in a certain direction. It was hard to misinterpret, at least. He tested it a few times, turning in all sorts of directions and pointing his hand without turning his body, but as soon as he understood the rules of what made it glow he was dashing out the door and rushing off in that direction.

Madara had been kind enough to grant him a full week of leave and he’d only used three days so far. He could cover a lot of ground in two days to get a general sense of where to search for his soulmate and then use the last two days to make it back home in time.

Plan set in his mind, Izuna was across town and two miles out when he thought to look down at his ring again – only to find that it had stopped glowing. A quick check reveal that it was telling him to double back in the opposite direction. His first thought was that he had made a mistake in which way to go. When he hurried back to the shop where he had started from, however, it was still telling him to go northwest, down exactly the same street as before. Confused, he decided maybe it was better to proceed more slowly.

It seemed a bit too much of a coincidence that his soulmate could be in the same city at the same time when he just happened to finally commission his Guide but he supposed he’d rather be safe than sorry. He could afford an hour or two to make sure he was going about this whole thing properly. Izuna bit his lip with focused determination and marched forward where the glow directed him. At one point the glow disappeared without warning and he spun in a circle four times just to confirm his new direction before taking off on a more western path than northwest.

He almost missed the Senju brothers coming back up the street towards him, almost running straight in to Hashirama headfirst. It seemed the clan Head was as distracted as he was, head lowered to look at something on his arm it looked like, but Izuna could care less what they were doing. Tobirama took the time to glare at him suspiciously as he skirted around them both and continued on his way.

And then his ring stopped glowing again.

Izuna frowned, spinning in a circle like he had before, frustrated when he realized it was telling him to double back for a second time. He was starting to think he had misinterpreted what the glowing was supposed to mean. There was no sense in making him run back and forth for no reason.

“No, back this way now,” he heard one of the Senju say behind him.

“We just came from that direction,” Tobirama whined. It was jarring to hear him old rival express such a human emotion as minor annoyance. He didn’t like it.

“Maybe they’re close, Tobi!”

“Alright, alright. So turn around then.”

Izuna was paying attention to his own situation mostly but he was too much of a shinobi and too long at war with those two for him to put them out of his mind entirely when they were this close. One small part of him stayed alert to track their movements while he stepped forward just as they did, passing each other on the street once more. He stopped walking almost at the same time as they did as well when the jewels of his Guide released their glow yet again.

He almost bit straight through his lip, an impossible and unwanted idea occurring to him. Whipping around, he stared at the two Senju with intent eyes, watching Hashirama fiddle with something on his wrist while Tobirama grumbled quietly, fingers pointing vaguely in Izuna’s direction. From the few sentences he had overheard it seemed they were doing the same thing he was – too much of a coincidence for him not to at least indulge the wild thought that this might be something stupid like fate.

Tobirama spared him another suspicious look but said nothing when Izuna edged carefully around them, eyes flickering between them and the ring on his finger. He managed to do a full circuit around the two men before Hashirama noticed his presence as well but that was all he needed to confirm something so unbelievable he almost couldn’t take it in.

One of them was his soulmate.

No matter what angle he stood at the ring lit up only when he pointed it at the two Senju brothers. His Guide was leading him right here to them. Of all the possible reactions he’d imagined himself having, all he found himself thinking about was that if his soulmate turned out to be Tobirama he was going to spend the rest of his life trying to figure out a way to yell at the gods in person. No one deserved that kind of headache, not even his poor little cousin Kagami who waxed poetic about the albino every time he was allowed to come along for the peace talks. Foolish misguided young thing.

“Anija,” Tobirama bit out between clenched teeth, “I think your problem is solving itself.” Hashirama looked up at his sibling and Izuna was startled to notice that such a battlefield titan was capable of making such a cute, wide-eyed expression.

“But Tobi this doesn’t make any sense! My guide has never just randomly gotten warm like this before. I thought maybe my soulmate was here but do you think it’s broken? What do you mean the problem is solving itself? I don’t understand any of this!” Hashirama flustered around and waved his arms, giving Izuna a glimpse of the bracelet circling his wrist, something he’d never noticed before as it was usually hidden under voluminous sleeves.

It was a rare piece, not a single gem to be found but cast entirely of gold shaped to look like flames circling round his arm. Silently he commended the skill of the one who had crafted it. The little flames almost seemed to flicker and jumped right before his eyes.

“Point it that way,” Tobirama told him in a tired voice.

“Eh? Alright…”

“And I’m going to take my leave now before anything disgusting happens.”

“Wha-? Tobi where are you-? Oh! It’s warm again! Tobi come back my Guide is warm again and – oh, hello again Izuna-san!” Hashirama’s smile was cheerful and polite, if a little distracted.

Izuna stared at him in wordless shock until Hashirama looked down to see where the green light was coming from, smiling growing impossibly wider when he spotted the ring with its ten little glowing gems.

“Pretty! Are you looking for your soulmate too?” he asked.

“I…think I…found them…” Izuna swallowed nervously but Hashirama only continued to smile, not understanding, so he forced himself to continue. “Um…my Guide only glows when I point it at you. I think we’re soulmates, Senju-san.”

Watching understanding dawn in Hashirama’s eyes was like watching the sun come up over the horizon, bright and beautiful and mesmerizing in a way he couldn’t properly explain. It made him wonder why he had never taken the time to notice how attractive this man was. Actually he knew the answer to that. Years of being raised to hate each other had blinded him to seeing anything but an opening for attack but now? Now he was close enough to admire the strength of Hashirama’s jaw line, the perfect earthy brown of his eyes, and the brilliance of his happiness just before the man threw himself forward to wrap Izuna in a tight hug.

“Really!? That’s amazing!” He stood to his full height with his arms still locked around Izuna, lifting him right off the ground. It should not have made him flush but he couldn’t stop his cheeks from flooding with heat.

“Uh…it is?”

“Of course!” Hashirama squeezed him until he squeaked in protest. “I wonder why it took us so long to find each other? Not that it matters, I’m just happy to know now. It’s so romantic, don’t you think? Like – like star-crossed lovers!”

Izuna squirmed until he was set back on his own feet, though Hashirama did not release him entirely and he did not ask to be let go. When he tilted his head up he found his vision filled entirely by Hashirama’s face. It wasn’t nearly as terrible of a sight as he might have expected even just earlier that day. The longer he stared the less he wanted to look away, finding more and more details to appreciate.

“Maybe I’m not…totally against this. It would be a good way to solidify the peace between our clans.” His fingers bunched in the material of Hashirama’s sleeves until he worried about his chakra enhanced strength misshaping the brand new ring on his finger yet he couldn’t seem to make himself let go.

“Ooohh I didn’t even think of that,” Hashirama said. Izuna lifted one eyebrow.

“Really? I would have thought that was the first thing on your mind. You and Aniki are so obsessed with making this peace work.”

“Yeah but you’re really cute Izuna-san.” Leaning in just a little bit closer, something in Hashirama’s smile changed in a way he couldn’t define, a way that made his knees turn to water. “Since we’re soulmates, can I call you Izu-kun now?”

To combat the sudden urge to burst in to flames, Izuna buried his face in Hashirama’s chest, more glad than ever that his rival had given them a bit of privacy for this moment.

“Madara is going to be so happy and so mad at the same time,” he deflected.

Hashirama went stiff in his arms and Izuna finally remembered how his brother used to go on and on about the man’s mood swings, how sudden and rapid they could be. Feeling Hashirama droop against him in a way that pressed their bodies together, he thought to himself that he was more than willing to ride this roller coaster – for the sake of peace, of course.

[azulaahai]

You Could Draw Me To The Gallows - Jon x Sansa, regency era fic. A stupid one-shot I started for @jonsa-creatives historical event but didn’t finish on time, finished and posted it now since I haven’t written something longer for Jonsa for such a long time? 

This is mostly a bad Jane Austen impression since I finally read - and loved - Persuasion. Pardon all the awful historical inaccuracies and/or typos! 

Title from this lovely Dickens quote.  Read under the cut - or on AO3.

* * *

She gave a false name, of course, but it did not matter - the townsfolk had already begun to whisper. 

She'd been staying at one ragged inn after another, moving every few day to stay one step ahead of the rumors. It seemed, however, that she'd underestimated how fast word traveled - though a mere fortnight had passed, it seemed everyone had heard of Ned Stark's eldest daughter having run off with and been abandoned by Baratheon's heir.

Sansa had dyed her hair, let flaming auburn turn darkest brown, but it seemed some still recognized her, still knew of her shame and stupidity. Under the name of Alayne Stone, she went from village to village, hiding from view as best she could.

It would not last forever. Neither would her money. Baratheon had left her nothing, of course - Sansa could not even find the energy to be bitter anymore. She had what little she brought from home, that cursed night she'd gone off in the Baratheon carriage, thinking it would take her to the stars and beyond.

Oh, how silly she had been.

The thought of what she would do once the money was gone made a pit of dread open in Sansa's stomach. Her options were precious few, and Sansa found herself too terrified to weigh them properly. Of one thing, however, she was absolutely certain - she would not go home, even if her father surely would not turn her away. She'd brought enough shame upon her family's name as it was - raked it through the mud. In a single moment of folly, Sansa'd wounded Robb's future prospects, for certain, perhaps prevented Arya from ever making a benefitial match in marriage. Not that Arya would mind. A twist in Sansa's heart at the thought. She missed them all terribly.

But it was best for them all if she did not see them, never interacted with them again, Sansa told herself. Though in her heart she wondered if she herself could ever bare to see their faces, to look in their eyes and see what she'd done.

* * *

The worst part, though Sansa hated to admit it, was the loneliness. Not that Baratheon had provided much in the way of company, but with him there, she had not been so very bored. She'd read, attempted intellectual conversation that Joffrey failed to uphold, and he himself had had all sorts of ideas as to how to make time pass for them both.

Now that he was gone, having taken her future with him, she was left with an aching restlessness that was like to drive her mad. She found herself too distracted to read, too impatient to draw, and so she turned to walking, despite it meaning she would have to face the sometimes curious, sometimes flat out disapproving faces of villagers she met.

It was from one of these nervous, fast-paced walks of hers that she returned, on the day when everything was about to change.

* * *

It was in the entire atmosphere of the inn - something laid in the air, something shivering, expectant. Sansa glanced around suspiciously. She'd become increasingly anxious, after Joffrey's betrayal - increasingly frightened of the world.

But her eyes found no cause for alarm as they surveyed the room. The inn looked as she left it - small, crowded, not at all a place for a miss Stark of Winterfell. This was the dwellings of Alayne Stone, on her way to visit a fictional sick aunt in the Riverlands.

Having found no explanation for the peculiar sense of foreboding in the inn, Sansa was just about to walk up the stairs to quietly sneak back into her modest room when a servant emerged from the kitchens.

"Miss Stone?" the young girl called out in a knowing tone suggesting she knew just how false that name was. Sansa nodded nevertheless. She was not easily taunted, these days.

"You have a visitor. A gentleman, I should think! He's waiting in the sitting room for you."

Frozen, petrified, Sansa could feel herself paling. A gentleman calling on her?

Her first thought was - Joffrey. He must've come back for her. A chill crawled up her spine at that, but she quickly dismissed the thought. Joffrey had left, and he'd made clear it was for good.

But then, who had come?

"Did he give a name?"

"Yes, miss. Trouble is, I can't seem to remember it. Something short ... not Stone, of course, I mean, that's your name ..." the girl giggled. "Something like that, though. Salt? No, Snow! That's the name. Mr Snow."

* * *

Sansa stepped into the sitting room with the mind of someone facing their death sentence. Whatever Jon Snow had turned up here for, it could not be good.

Jon Snow had been part of her acquaintance since childhood, though Sansa had never quite taken to him. Her mother did not approve of Jon excessively spending time with the Starks as they grew older, due to his low birth. A few years back, at the brink of adulthood, Jon had unexpectedly acquired himself a smaller fortune due to an inheritance from a distant cousin. Sansa hadn't thought much of it at the time - he was still same old Jon to her, too brooding and serious to be of any interest to her.

Now, seeing him in the shaggy inn at which she'd taken residence, Sansa was surprised at the intensity and variety of her own emotions. She was surprised, of course, but more so she found that she was happy to see him, and that was enough to stun her - she was delirious, in fact, to see his familiarly set jaw, grey eyes she knew so well. He was dressed modestly, as always, but even so he stood out in the run-down sitting room. Jon Snow reminded Sansa so much of home she all of a sudden wanted to weep.

The other feelings she had upon viewing him were harder to interpret. There was a strange sort of grief for the past she had now tainted, and shame, vague and strong weighing her down, and something else, something almost longing, something that made her approach him faster, almost against her own will.

He stood from the sofa and Sansa halted. They stared at each other in awed silence for a moment.

"Miss Stark", he said.

"Sansa", she whispered, suddenly aching for someone to call her by that name. She'd been Alayne for so long now, it felt.

"Sansa", he obliged softly. "It really is you."

* * *

Sansa wasn't entirely sure what happened next, and if you'd asked her what they spoke of later, she would not have been able to tell you. Curtesies and inquiries filled conversation for a while - he brought detailed reports of her family's wellbeing, managing to without once mentioning  her elopement. Sansa couldn't adequately express her gratitude for that. 

She asked him how he'd found her. He admitted to having searched for ten days or so - almost since the day they'd first been sure that Baratheon had left her without intending to marry her. A quiet, seething rage radiated from Jon as he spoke of Baratheon. Sansa could not find it within her to think it improper. Finally, Jon'd heard of an Alayne Stone thought by locals to bear a striking resemblance to a miss Stark that had visited a year or so prior, and followed the trail, leading him to the run-down inn.

He'd been sent by her father, of course, though why Ned Stark would send a Snow to find her was beyond Sansa's understanding. When conversation inevitably turned to the big question - what would happen next, Sansa found herself almost panicking.

"I cannot go back home." Of this, she was certain - no matter how he tried to persuade her.

And did he try.

"Miss Stark", he'd start, time and time again.

"Sansa", she'd correct him through gritted teeth.

"Sansa, it is simply folly, to deny yourself the right to a future because of one past mistake, and one not entirely of your own making, either." Bitterness, was it, in his voice?

"It is not simply I who denies myself a future, as you so eloquently put it, mr Snow. Every single  wellborn northerner will deny me a future as well, should I come home. It would bring shame upon my family name, if it's possible to do so more than I have already done. I would be closed off from society for life, you know that as well as I. Don't you think I want to?" she breathed, and to her frustration she felt tears pricking. 

"Don't you think I want to go home? See the north again, apologise to my parents, hear Arya tease me to death? Of course I wish to go home, Jon Snow! But there's no future for me there, can you not see? I am a burden now. I will never marry and I -" A pause, to catch her breath and swallow to keep the tears at bay. In the sofa opposite her, Jon Snow had gone absolutely still. "If I am to be a burden, I will be mine own. Not my family's."

He did not reply, him turning away keeping her from reading his reaction. Silence fell again - not the awed silence of before, but a more bleak, sinister one. Sansa felt the room had gone cold. He remains quiet because he knows me to be correct. The thought stung surprisingly much. How she longed to be wrong!

“Miss Stark”, he blurted out.

“Sansa”, they both said in unison - Sansa correcting him at the same time Jon Snow corrected himself. Sansa stifled a smile at that.

It’d been a while since she smiled.

“I came here to offer a ... solution to the troubles you perhaps accurately appreciate.”

She interrupted him.

“There is no solution that will not end in the ruin of my family’s good name and the prospects of all my siblings, mr Snow, as you know very well. Yes, I suppose you know it better than most, the ... harshness of our social circle. How eager it can be to shun those deemed unworthy. No, there’s nothing that can be done for me, mr Snow, though words cannot describe how much I appreciate you trying.” It was true, her final statement, though the forwardness of it felt rather improper; Sansa felt herself blushing. She’d gone wild, unrefined, during her days on the run, it seemed.

“I beg your pardon, miss Stark, Sansa, but I believe you are mistaken. There is a way that you could return north with honor ... A way for you to come home.”

Sansa irritatedly felt her heart begin to beat faster, treacherous hope taking root in her stomach. A fool’s hope.

“What, mr Snow?” she breathed.

“A marriage.”

“... with whom?” she spat out, forgetting courtesy all together as the situation, in her eyes, abandoned all attempts at reason.

“I understand it is far from what you might have wished for”, he quickly said, seeming jarred by her confusion, a bitterness sneaking into the grey of his eyes. “It is ... I would never dare to presume, of course, and naturally you have the utmost right and understandable cause to refuse ... I spoke to your father, as we heard of Baratheon’s betrayal ... it - my fortune is humble, of course, and my estate naught compared to Winterfell, yet you would live comfortably, close to home. We could discuss -”

“Mr Snow”, she interjected his ramblings, shock having struck her to her core. “I do not think I grasp what you are saying -”

“I’m asking”, he muttered. “Miss Stark, Sansa, I - Marry me.”

[pilawforhire-archived]

Headcanon: Valentine’s Day, aka (to Law) Corazon Memorial Day

I wrote a drabble-thing last year (briefly rewritten below) and never revisited the idea, but every Valentine’s, by his lonesome, single bachelor Law disappears for some quiet time in the outdoors to commemorate Corazon. On the solemn occasion, he reminisces about the adventures they had together, the good, the bad, and the ugly. The general custom would be to wander to someplace high with a vantage point and make a toast to the skies.

Granted, Law does already think about Corazon on a daily basis. It’s not difficult with the heart and smiley tattoos staring him in the face every morning when he looks in the mirror. However, that day is important to him, for reinforcing his motivations, especially with regards to his ultimate goal of taking down Doflamingo on Corazon’s behalf. It’s also a reminder that someone thought his life was worth saving; someone believed, against all odds, in his future enough to go to such extents to help him. Corazon gave him hope. Sometimes the hope fades; sometimes people falter. Things get stressful, distressing. Perhaps he’s dissatisfied with actions he’s taken, consumed by various overwhelming emotions. But Valentine’s Day, Corazon Memorial Day, would be a peaceful day with a moment of silence offered to remember Corazon. And on that day, no matter what ails him, on that day, there is calm.

Also, he knows he’s not going to get a willing Valentine, so why bother? Offering to steal their hearts, literally, was apparently not a successful flirting tactic. In other words, man who can’t get laid nor a date decides to isolate himself and brood over the past. While it seems pathetic, he thinks he’s happier this way. (In his own defense, he would argue that he’d never bothered taking a lover, for there were things of greater import than love.)

Valentine’s Day after the events of Dressrosa, however, would be slightly different. Trying to live his life to the fullest, the way Corazon would have wanted him, Law explores the idea of getting a date. There was one problem. What did he know about romance and courtship? Enough to send them running—away from him. Well, the first step was to exude confidence and charm, wasn’t it?

This isn’t going to have a happy ending.

This was the original drabble, which, looking back, is a complete disaster. An attempt at fixing it somewhat:

“It’s so much darker when a light goes out than it would have been if it had never shone.”

The majestic expanse of the open seas, volatile yet captivating in spite of the numerous lives it had voraciously claimed, it was where he had survived most of his years, sailing, journeying, final destination unknown, without a place to call home. Raging waves and an accompaniment of golden hues painted across the horizon welcomed him with open arms as he stepped up to the edge of the cliff and admired the view of the sun sinking slowly into the ocean. He marveled at the thought of how every second was both an end and a beginning, and wasn’t there something absolutely thrilling about staring danger in the face?

A grave of jagged rocks scattered the bottom. The wind soughed dirges from the sea, coaxing him away from the edge. Law stood his ground, unwavering. Waves crashed beneath him, an inexorable process of erosion disintegrating the base of the cliff face one crack at a time, until the entire structure would someday collapse, and the whole process would repeat once the cliff receded inward to land. Nature itself was self-destructive. It only reasoned that so was man. There was no running from life. He had to count on his tenacity to keep him from succumbing—but for how long could he withstand fate or himself? Every passing second, he felt his soul bleeding into the void. In spells of anguish, each breath was sandpaper scraping raw wounds. The resulting formation of erosion was often spectacular, but no one grasps the torment it endured to get there.

Valentine’s Day, with heart motifs ubiquitous, prompted remembrances of Corazon, more than the usual. His goofiness, his clumsiness, his love, his sacrifice, his smiles, which were all bloodied in Law’s memories, they evoked warring emotion within. There was the nagging guilt that gnawed away at him; the unrelenting yearning that carved him into an empty shell; the barely suppressed wrath and bitterness that fiercely ached—

Law spared Corazon a few drops of tears that disappeared silently into the sea. Rather than tears of release from the weeping of his heart as it slogged tirelessly to expunge perpetual grief, they were tears he considered an offering of his gratitude, as part of the annual custom, with only the wilderness to witness his disgraceful sentimentality.

The sky darkened, dusky, subdued blues extinguishing the vibrant tones. He set down his sword and sat cross-legged by the edge before he pulled out a small bottle of sake and filled two sake cups to the brim. He placed them at his side and commenced his typical solemn remembrance and reproachable entertainment of what-ifs. How different would things have been had Corazon survived? Could he sacrifice the past few years of experience, knowledge acquired, attainments, and his crew, his best friend, to go back and redo it all, to fix his initial mistake? He was glad he would never have to make that call.

As the wind continued to whisper, the waves strike the cliff, and the trees rustle behind him, he strained to listen for voices, either from the beyond, or otherwise, while he drifted into a state of recollection. More than seeking comfort from reminiscence, his motivations were derived from the concern of time and age robbing him of his memories, for undoubtedly, his mind couldn’t stay sharp forever. Even if forgetting was inevitable—and would it have been a blessing?—he could at least cling to whatever he could, for it was already fading. When he tried to conjure up the image of Corazon’s face, all he remembered was Corazon’s harlequin paint. What color were his eyes? Had he dimples when he smiled?

Law averted his thoughts and glanced at the ground. Despite the absurdity of the notion, ever since he’d discovered a cup knocked over years ago, he’d always checked to see if it’d happen again. The rational explanation would obviously suggest the wind had toppled the cup, but, what if…? A risible idea, that it could be communication from a ghostly presence, and yet—

And yet, as Law raised his cup to the sky and gave a silent toast in honor of Corazon, as he began to summarize aloud the adventures he’d had over the course of the year, Law hoped, with all his heart, somewhere out there, Corazon was listening.

[sanctus-bellum]

14, 23, 32, and 37 for Bara and Rajhani

Disclaimer; 18+ only please.Since there are multiple numbers, they’re going to be shorter than ficlets, but still something substantial for the amount given, I think. One of the characters in this ship does not belong to me, so I hope I did her justice!Final Word Count: 1,478.█ ║ ⊱ ✁ ⊰  ║ █            14. First Kiss. (cw: blood)          Word Count: 430.           Rajhani brushed the dirt from their hair and blinked the blood out of their eyelashes. A putrid, muddy mixture of green and red were peppered across their face in constellations of destruction and death, a script that told a story of a battle that will be burned into their memory forever. One that was play on repeat whenever the silence was too strong and their mind would wander to the darker corners of their memory. This struggle could very easily continue to echo through their years - one of wrath and scorn, of blood, sinew, and bone.          There was a distant cough, forcefully pulling the elf back to reality.          Barabeef.          Their heart sunk, melted even, trickling through their ribs and leaving nothing but a cold, hollow monument to what could’ve easily been shattered. They stared down at their hands, killing machines carefully crafted, not from heat and steel, but from greed and deceit. They were not important hands - not the ones that carried out the judgement on this battlefield. They were hands that played with the strings of fate and wrapped around the lungs, smothering their flame. They did not belong to the man whom sounded the war drums and stood as a pinnacle of power and light.           Barabeef.          Rajhani snapped their head in the direction of the sound and there he was:          The Draenei, rising from the dirt and ashes left behind from buildings and the charred remains of their foes.           Overcome with the bubbling anxiety and sheer relief that quickly took its place, cradling the stinging feeling in its warm embrace, Rajhani sprinted toward the paladin. Tears welled in their eyes as they tore off their mask, they threw their small arms around their much larger counterpart. Barabeef was clearly taken for surprise, as he stumbled backward from the impact of the rogue, “Rajhan-”          Before he could finish his exclamation, the elf rapidly closed the gap between their lips, passionately and albeit a little clumsily. The contact was short but their arms remained tightly wrapped around Barabeef. Such an action was near foreign to them, but the time was right, the want, the need to express their feelings of gratitude and love finally boiled over.          “Thank you,” They wheezed out, smiling and caressing the contours of Barabeef’s face with the back of their hand. The anxiety returned, twisting their stomach in its cold vice, a different kind of apprehension  "You’re safe. Thank you, thank you,“ Rajhani buried their face into the crook of his neck, breathing in his scent through the near overwhelming metallic sting of iron, ”Thank you,“Additional numbers included beneath the cut;

         23. Weight of the World.          Word Count: 386.          "The king will see you now,” The guard confirmed with an almost over-enthusiasm. Behind his eyes was the warm pride of a father who could now put his fears to rest - to close the book of nightmares where Hellfire and the teeth of a beast reign, where he searches endlessly for his spouse and son, finding nothing but ash in their wake.          Rajhani blindly reached for their companion’s hand, locking their fingers between his and giving a gentle squeeze before eventually letting go. The two nodded in acceptance and the doors opened, giving way to a world so incredible and unknown to the two; velvet rugs and the static tingle of arcane magic in the air, an imposing feeling dwarfed only by the gleam of recently cleaned armor and beaming eyes.          They began their walk with Barabeef at their side - the elf’s back began to heat up, their equivalent of a dog’s hair standing on end. Hushed whispers began from every corner as they passed, belonging to young squires fresh from the womb and women adorned in silk and opulent jewels. The pair slowed their pace, eventually finding themselves before a throne. The king arose from his seat, his age and stress clearly showing in the lines of his haggard face. After a few moments of silence, he smiled, his eyes softening their stare,          “You two have shown such bravery, such camaraderie,”          Silver eyes shot to their left, meeting the soft glow of their counterpart’s searching for comfort. Their heart began to beat faster with each word that was announced by King Varian. Such a custom was not unknown to them, nor was it strange, but aimed at them? Such an honor was never expected nor even wanted by the rogue and the growing attention was almost maddening.          “And…” Varian motioned to a window on the west side of the castle, clearly alluding to the damage the kingdom had recently suffered, “You have my gratitude,” His voice was gruff, tired, like he didn’t have many more battles left in him, yet he persisted in a tone of a great ruler and warrior, “and I believe I speak for the entire kingdom when I say this,” He smiled, blinking slowly and collecting his thoughts before sighing in relief, “Thank you, warriors. We are truly in your debt.”         32. Open Your Eyes. (cw: major character death)         Word Count: 438.          This wasn’t supposed to happen.          A man of his stature was never destined to fall, his arms were for lifting others up, his mouth for spreading the word of the light, and his legs for continuing even when others wanted to give up. He was never supposed to drop to his knees and succumb to defeat - it was impossible, unthinkable. A soldier of the light falling to the darkness was an irony so sickly played out in their reality it felt unreal. His crystalline hammer laid mere inches away from his battered hand and his golden shield lay in pieces. Any Gods had left him abandoned.          “Barabeef…” Rajhani started.          “No, my friend,” Barabeef hissed out. He painfully gurgled past the collecting blood in the back of his throat, “do not weep for me,” He continued, an obvious pain peeking out behind his feigned strong gaze, “celebrate, for we have won,” The paladin forced a smile before turning his head to spit out more blood into the war-torn earth.          “Not without casualties,” Rajhani whispered in response to him. They laid a gentle hand against their companion’s cheek, studying the pained expression on Barabeef’s face before quickly glancing to the rest of his broken and gnarled body. They knew what was to happen in this encounter, but fate was cruel and they did not want to accept that just yet. They were not skilled in the light, nor where they advanced in any type of magic to stitch the flesh back together. Their knowledge of simple first aid was a joke.          “Such is how war carries on.” He said matter-of-factly. Deep down, Rajhani knew that to be true. It was a fool’s game to try and debate otherwise. They hung their head, defeated, closing their eyes and focusing on the labored breathing of their partner. It stung to even entertain the idea of being alone again, to wander with little purpose and no guiding light to pull them out of the cold abyss. Nothing to keep them balanced or in line or assure them of their accomplishments and very real feelings. A man of honesty and bravery was about to leave the world, their world, and it wasn’t fair.          Elune was cruel.          The Naa'ru were monsters.          They felt another squeeze of their hand. It was time.          “Antiana kalo korah…” Barabeef eventually finished, he smiled, giving slack on his grip of Rajhani’s hand and shifting to lay flat on his back. He was ready to go, his vision was beginning to fail and temperature no longer existed. He did his job and that’s what he was placed on Azeroth to do.        37. Meant no Harm. (cw: animal death)        Word Count: 224.         Rajhani cradled the now limp creature in their arms, their lip quivering as they analyzed the gash they had created - a clean cut that trickled blood into the animal’s fur. Each individual hair near the wound held a sickly red gleam to it, coated in the odor of death that was swiftly approaching. The elf prided themself on their tight moral compass, one that housed the line between good and evil, a balance between blade and nature, between the eternal night and tireless day.          The rogue stroked the animal, fingers trembling and eyes beginning to water, “I… Didn’t mean to, Barabeef…” They bit their lip, whimpering a gentle prayer under their breath, “I.. It snuck up on me, I just…” Rajhani sucked air in desperately to maintain their composure, before leaning their head back and staring up pleadingly into the paladin’s eyes before hanging their head in eventual defeat, “reacted,”          The small beast in their lap finally ceased its movements, settling into a comfortable death. The elf, although walking, living in the shadows, never lost their faith to Elune and their utmost respect for her creatures. Even the passing of something as small as what they had struck would follow them, mar their conscience with the fear of impending death and the lost soul of an animal too soon taken from Elune’s loving embrace.