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hydromessenger · 3 years

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A Different Place

A Genshin Impact AU verse - Starring OCs and canon characters. Please do not hesitate to leave a review on what you read~

Mondstadt was beautiful once. At least, that was what the old women said when they were telling their stories to anyone who would listen. Ella wasn’t so sure she believed them, though. Their stories sounded like the fairy tales her grandmother used to spin for her, to help her sleep.

It was a nice story to think about, though. That once upon a time Mondstadt had been covered in green, and the people were free to come and go as they pleased. And their beloved God, Barbatos, would walk the streets with his people, playing music and telling tales of his own.

At 19 years old, Ella had long since grown out of fairy tales. And the stories that she used to listen to with such delight, now only made her feel old and weary. She leaned back, bumping her head against the old stone behind her, her gaze locked on the pearly walls that separated Sector 13 from the rest of Mondstadt and released a sigh as the clear ringing of bells echoed through the streets.

A new day had begun in Mondstadt. Any minute now the men and women who worked the streets at night would leave their places of business and retire to their homes, and the merchants who were allowed would start opening their shops. And, like clockwork, within half an hour of the shops opening, the Knights would emerge from their lofty tower to make sure everyone was following the Grandmaster’s edicts.

“Ella!” She was pulled from her musings as a young boy ran over to her. “The Boss has a job for you.” He said, shoving a ball of paper into her hand, before he ran off, likely to deliver other messages from his boss.

She unballed the paper, already knowing what was on it. And she was right, pressed in the center of the paper was the anemo symbol in crisp black ink. She was being summoned.

Ella sighed once again, and shoved the paper into her pocket, before she pushed herself to her feet and started the long trek to Farrier’s shop, which was on the opposite side of the slums from where she liked to watch the sky. She was able to dodge the Knights with the ease of someone with a lot of practice. Though avoiding the Hawkers in their alley was a lot harder.

All of the people in Sector 13 were all a single bad day away from starving to death, Ella included. In fact, the only person who didn’t have to worry about food or the Knights was Farrier. It was an open secret that her Boss was the de facto leader of Sector 13. He was the wealthiest. The meanest. And the largest employer.

In fact, Ella had been his employee since the day that she received her Hydro vision when she was still a teenager. And oh, she hated him. From the top of his smug little head to the bottom of his designer shoes. And yet…

Ella stopped as she came to the largest building in the slums, taking a moment to steel herself for what she was about to see, and then she pushed open the doors.

Farrier’s shop was much more than just a shop. In fact, you couldn’t buy anything from Farrier at all. You could borrow Mora from him, if you felt like owing the impossible interest. And no one in the lowest sector could afford his interest. It didn’t stop the desperate and hungry from going to him for aid, of course.

Farrier got richer, while everyone else got poorer.

“Ah, Ella! I see my boy found you!” Farrier was a short man, built rather like a teapot. He reminded Ella of a rather large fly with his large eyes, and his constantly twitching fingers. He seemed fond of her though, which meant that Ella wasn’t like to starve.

“Yeah. Poor kid needs a raise, Boss.” Ella pointed out.

Farrier laughed, “Nonsense! The boy is here working off his parent’s debts. I don’t pay him in anything other than food.” He laughed even harder for a long while, before he sobered, “Ella, you’re my favorite person here in these slums, my girl!” He boomed, “You’re so competent, and you even have a vision, which makes you valuable!”

“You’ve mentioned that before,” Ella pointed out casually, “You said you had a job for me?”

“I do, I do.”He leaned back in his chair, “You know the old abandoned sector?”

“I do. It’s growing by the year, if no one does anything the 13th sector will all be just like that part.” She replied, folding her arms over her chest, “But I don’t have the ability to fix that boss.”

“No, no. That’s not really all that important in the grand scheme of things.” He said, “No. I need you to go into the Abandoned sector, to the old library, and bring back as many books as you can.”

“Uh. Okay?”

“They’re valuable, lass!”

“They’re also illegal, Farrier,” Ella pointed out, “Going into the Abandoned sector is very, very illegal. For everyone who isn’t a knight.”

“True, true. The grandmaster is kind of a jerk,” Farrier pointed out, as if he was unable to see the irony in his statement, “but, I still need you to do it.”

“Fine! Fine. I’ll do it.” Ella sighed and folded her arms, “I’ll need my goggles and my mask though.”

Farrier beamed, and it made Ella’s skin crawl, “Of course, of course! Your mask and goggles are where they have always been. Also, I recently purchased protective gloves from Sector 1, so you don’t have to worry about getting burnt if you have to touch anything.”

“Fab.” She replied as she turned and walked into the storage room on the other side of the room. Hanging on a hook next to the door was a blue bag labeled Ella, and inside were the protective equipment that she would need to stay healthy in the abandoned sector. She dug through the bag for a moment, and then stuck her head into the main room, “Farrier! The sewer key is missing!”

“Oh, yes. I had to have all of the keys destroyed. The Knights found that entrance. You’re going to be going in through the old church in the south of the slums.” Ella walked out of the storage room, and caught the key that he threw at her, “This will unlock the church, make sure you lock it back behind you.”

“Obviously,” She said, slinging the bag over her shoulder, “Is there anything else I should know?”

Farrier remained silent, a wide grin on his face, “Well. There is one thing.”

Ella waited, “Well?” She asked, after he didn’t say anything for a whole minute, “What is it?”

“Ah, right. The original team I sent to get the books...they never returned.”

“What.”

“I’m sure they just weren’t wearing their protective gear well!”

“What?”

“If you can find their supplies I’ll pay you a hefty bonus.”

“...fine.”

“Splendid! I’ll see you when you get back!” Farrier’s creepy smile was back, and Ella turned to leave so she wouldn’t have to see it anymore. “Oh! Watch out for Knights! Rumor has it that they’re poking around the abandoned zone!”

“You couldn’t-” Ella spun to yell at him, only to be, not so graciously, pushed out the door and had the door slam in her face. “-have mentioned that first?” She sighed and spun away from the building. Farrier was a dick, she wasn’t sure why she was surprised at how he had treated her.

She walked away from the Farrier House, and ducked into a small alley to pull out the map of Sector 13, “Hm...southside church. Abandoned…” She trailed her finger over the map, squinting at the small letters, “Oh, there it is. The Church of Barbatos.” It was actually quite a distance away from where she was currently. So she let out a sigh, shoved the map back in her bag, and started the long trek towards the old church.

While all of the Slums were bad, the southside was the worst. Merchants never traveled out this far, due to the proximity of the abandoned sector. The knights never patrolled so far into the slums either, meaning the crime rate was almost 100%.

The only power in the Southside Slums was Farrier.

And if that wasn’t a damning statement for this part of the slums, Ella wasn’t sure what was.

The only plus to coming to the Southside, was that her bag clearly labeled her as one of Farrier’s, which meant that the people who looked like they were going to risk trying to mug a vision user, decided to take their violence elsewhere.

However, the deeper into Southside she traversed, the fewer people she encountered. Until she was only a few streets away from the church, and Ella realized that she hadn’t seen a single person in several minutes.

Although, as she turned a corner and saw elemental corruption clinging to the street and walls, she understood a little better. Ella paused long enough to pull her mask on, as well as her goggles, and she pulled her hat down so that it covered her ears, before she continued.

Elemental corruption was strange. In some ways it was harmless, for example you could walk through a cloud of elemental energy and not be harmed at all, even if it did feel strange against your skin. If you tried to use your vision while in a cloud of elemental energy, your elemental power would be increased, but there was always the chance of it backfiring on you, especially with the more volatile elements, like anemo, pyro, and electro.

In other ways, the elemental energy was so dangerous. If someone were to walk through a cloud of elemental energy while not wearing protective gear they would suffer from lung infections, eye infections, and eardrum ruptures. And that was just the short term. Long term, the effects could be much worse.

If a lot of pyro elemental energy got into your lungs, it could, and would, cause a pyro swirl reaction inside your lungs. And, well, there are less painful ways to die.

Once Ella was sure that she was properly protected, she stepped through the clouds of elemental energy, grimacing at the feel of it prickling against her skin. It would be an electro day.

Fortunately, the church wasn’t far away by that point, and she was able to jog the few remaining streets to reach the old, and yet well kept, building. She used her key to unlock the front door, and carefully shut and locked the door behind her.

The church had long been surrendered to the elements, none of the old pews remained, some had been turned to ash, while others sprouted into brand new trees. Walls were crumbling and the roof was almost completely gone. And yet, at the front of the church, was a statue of Barbatos, seemingly untouched by the elements.

She carefully made her way to the front of the church, stepping over the missing pieces of floor, or trying to avoid the more worn looking pieces at least, and she stopped in front of the statue. Ella stood there for a short moment, sending a silent prayer to the missing god for her own safety, before she lightly touched the base of the statue.

She took a deep breath, and stepped around the statue, hopping over a broken piece of floor, and opened the door that would lead to the abandoned sector.

As soon as she stepped over the threshold, Ella felt several different elements brush against her exposed skin. She turned to look over the abandoned sector and her breath caught.

It was beautiful, but tragic. There were elemental reactions happening all over the place, houses were covered in ice, even as the land around the building burned. Electricity arced through the air, until it got caught up in an anemo reaction, sending the lightning in every direction.

People had once lived here, long ago. Ella couldn’t help but wonder if they escaped the elemental energy, or if they died without knowing what was happening.

She shook her head, putting those thoughts to the side, and started scanning the buildings. Libraries were normally large buildings, so logically, she was looking for a large building. And, if she was lucky, it might even still be standing.

Eventually, as she turned her gaze towards the west, she caught a hint of a large building that seemed to be covered in trees. Possibly the library, and trees were a heck of a lot safer than the fire tornados that were everywhere else. Decision made, Ella hopped down from the ledge that she had used for shelter, summoned her polearm and began to walk.

Elemental reactions were a thing here, yes. Fortunately for her she had her own element.

One hour later, Ella was irritatedly taking shelter under what used to be a cafe. A massive cryo and electro reaction forced her to seek shelter if she didn’t want to turn into a crisp. However, the time did allow her to take note of the fact that the building she was heading towards was, in fact, a library. And that there seemed to be a remarkable lack of elemental energy around it. Or the area around the building was a hot spot of dendro or geo elemental energy.

Annoyingly, she was only a short distance away from the building too.

It took 2 hours for the cryo-electro storm to pass, and Ella hurried in the direction of the library before another storm could start. All things considered, the storm she had to live through was better than most of the alternatives.

Amazingly, the library was still in one piece. Sure, she had to climb in through a broken window, due to the door being blocked by a massive tree, but other than that, it actually felt kind of safe.

She looked around the room, taking in the walls of books, and, for a moment, felt totally overwhelmed. How was she supposed to know which of these books would be worth the most to Farrier? She rubbed the bridge of her nose, taking a deep breath to try and settle herself, and she grabbed a book off one of the shelves.

It was a book on the various nations of Teyvat, before the walls were erected. Valuable? Maybe. She tossed the book onto one of the remaining tables. And pulled another one off the shelf. A cookbook. Less valuable.

For over an hour, Ella skimmed through the books, looking for ones that might be valuable for her boss. And she was about to leave when a thin book, hand written rather than printed like the others, fell from inside a children’s novel.

“What’s this?” Ella asked the empty room, as she picked up the book and flipped to the first page.

I spoke to Morax today, he agrees with me. The situation is getting worse, not better and our actions don’t seem to have any effect on the creatures that the Abyss pulled from somewhere. They seem almost...immune to our elements.

Ella turned a couple of pages, making a note of the date at the top of each page. It appeared that this was a journal, or a diary of some sort.

The creatures got into Mondstadt today. I…

They killed everyone.

I’ve had enough. I’m going to go to the other archons and demand that something be done.

Ella stared at the last line she read. The things that she was reading, it implied that this book belonged to Barbatos, and that he was keeping a journal before the walls were built. But, who was this Abyss? And what were these creatures?

She flipped towards the last entry.

It’s done. The walls have been built. The creatures can no longer get to my people.

I created a cage for my people, in the hopes to keep them safe.

I am tired. Building the walls took a lot out of me, more than it should have.

I’m going to sleep. Maybe someone, someday, in the future will find this account, and if they do, I hope it helps.

May the wind guide your path.

Barbatos

Ella closed the book gently, and slipped it under her sweater. This was valuable. Valuable enough that she was not going to give it to Farrier, that’s for sure.

She turned to the pile of books she had sorted out earlier, ready to make her choice for what books to bring to Farrier, only to hear voices coming from the other side of the library.

“Why are we searching this place again?” A deep male voice asked.

“The grandmaster believes that some of the roaches from the slums might try to get here to earn some easy money,” A second voice, a female, replied, “Like the three we caught last week.”

The man snickered, “You really think we’re going to find someone else?”

Ella didn’t wait around to hear the woman’s response, she just grabbed her bag and ducked through a cracked door, ducking down behind the wall. That explained what happened to Farrier’s original expedition; she wondered if they were still alive.

The voices were closer now, “I have to wonder why the grandmaster doesn’t just let us purge the Slums. They make Mondstadt look bad,” The man said, his voice now distressingly close.

“We get some good people from the slums. Desperate people will do anything, after all.” The woman sounded further away, though she suddenly stopped moving, “There’s someone here.”

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“Someone’s been going through the books.” She said sharply, “Spread out and find them. We’ll bring them before the grandmaster.”

Ella shifted further away from the door as the two knights began scouring the room for her. Her eyes darted around the room, looking either for an exit or a better hiding place, but the room she was in seemed to be one of the only rooms in the entire library that was largely undamaged.

The footsteps got louder, and she silently moved away from the door, though she froze when in her haste, she stepped on a loose tile. The door to the room she was hiding in flew open, and the knights peered into the room, their faces hidden from the protective gear they were wearing.

“Looks like you were right, we found a little rat.” The man said, and Ella could just hear the sneer in his voice. For a moment, she toyed with summoning her weapon again and just forcing them to let her leave, but the choice was taken away from her when the two adults both attacked her at the same time, ripping her mask and goggles off, replacing them with a much more industrial face protector, and then her arms were bound behind her back, and the male tossed her over his shoulder, like she was a sack of potatoes.

If it wasn’t for the fact that Ella was pretty sure that she was about to be executed, she would have taken a moment to marvel at how Sector 1 looked. All of the buildings were clean, there was no trash on the ground, and the people were all well dressed and clean.

At least, the part of Sector 1 she was able to see was like that. The Knights had been careful to bring her to the headquarters of the Knights of Favonius through alleys and hidden passageways.

She supposed she wasn’t too surprised when one of the passageways led right outside the clearly labeled Grandmaster’s office. And she wasn’t too shocked when the Knights forced her right in and pulled the mask off of her face.

Ella only had a moment to look up at the Grandmaster, an older man with salt and pepper hair and a stern face, and almost a foot taller than she was, before she was pushed to the ground. She tried to struggle to her knees, but a pair of rough hands kept her on the ground, “We found her in the old library, sir.” The woman said in a clear voice.

“Hm, I heard.” The Grandmaster’s voice was as rough as his countenance, “Pull her up, I want to see her face.” Ella let out a slightly pained grunt as she was forced to her knees, “Hm. One of Farrier’s I assume.” The man said, “I am Grandmaster Ferdinand, I lead both the Knights of Favonius as well as the Church of Favonius. Who are you?”

“My name is Ella Hesse.”

“Hesse. Oh yes, the Hydro user who was forbidden from joining the Knights and the Church. Seems like I was right in my judgement of you,”

“Yeah, imagine that. Someone with no options took the only one left. Go figure.” She spat out angrily, only to let out a cry of pain when the grandmaster’s boot slammed into her cheek, knocking her back to the floor.

The grandmaster watched her impassively, and then turned his back on her, “Get her to her feet and unbind her. I do not kill vision users.”

Ella was forcefully dragged to her feet, and her wrists unbound, though the bindings had been so tight that her wrists were bleeding and bruised. “But you kill other people?” She asked scathingly.

“I do what’s best for Mondstadt.”

“Best for Mondstadt? The elemental corruption is spreading, people are starving, and you’re up here in your ivory tower acting like you’re some kind of god!?”

The grandmaster turned and, with surprising swiftness for someone of his build, slammed the flat of his greatsword against Ella’s chest, knocking the wind out of her. She hit the ground hard, coughing and gasping for air.

The Grandmaster loomed over her, “I am the Ruler of Mondstadt. Barbatos abandoned us, and I will lead us to a brighter future.”

“You’re not the ruler of Mondstadt,” Ella gasped out, crying out in pain once again as the Grandmaster pressed his boot on her chest, applying an uncomfortable amount of pressure. “Mondstadt belongs to Barbatos.” She managed to gasp out.

The pressure lifted suddenly, “Your loyalty to a god no one has seen in decades is commendable, if misguided.” The grandmaster walked across the room, giving Ella the time to get to her feet, though the way she was clutching her chest implied that she was hurt far worse than she let on. “Tell me, what did you learn in the library?”

“I learned the recipe for chicken and mushroom skewers,” Ella replied.

“That’s it. You learned nothing about Abyss?”

“Never heard of it.”

“You’re lying.” The Grandmaster turned and regarded her with ice like eyes, “No matter. The outcome of this is the same no matter what you said. Take her bag, and then deposit her outside the walls of Mondstadt.” He flashed a cruel smile, “If she’s so sure that Barbatos is ruler of these lands, then she doesn’t deserve the safety of my city.”

“Yes sir,” The two knights, who had remained silent until that moment, said in unison, before they grabbed Ella and propelled her out of the room.

They said nothing as they took her bag, and they said nothing as they split up, the woman going to take her bag to the archives and the man bringing her to the gate.

It was only after the gate had opened, and Ella was about to be shoved out that the man spoke, “There are other vision users outside of the walls,” He said, “People who were exiled for speaking out against the Grandmaster. If you’re lucky they’ll find you.” He said quietly, “If you’re not...well, just hope that you’re lucky. Godsspeed.” He then shoved her past the gate, and it slammed shut behind her. For the first time in her life, Ella was outside of the city walls.

The first half an hour outside of the wall was strange, but freeing. But after that, things started to get more difficult for her. Her footsteps became more unsteady, and she started struggling to breathe.

45 minutes after she was exiled from Mondstadt, Ella collapsed to her knees, coughing hard, with blood coming from her mouth. The Grandmaster had broken her ribs, intentionally probably. Just as her vision started going dark she felt a warm breeze against her skin.

“Hold on,” A boy with green eyes leaned over her, a smile on his cheerful face, “Don’t worry, I’ll get you somewhere safe.”

And then Ella blacked out.

On the other side of Mondstadt, on the border between Mondstadt and Liyue, Diluc, an exile from Mondstadt, and Fay, a visitor from Sumeru, were finishing up their patrol for the evening. They were having a nice conversation, after having a peaceful patrol.

Though, just as they were about to make the turn that would lead them back to their safehouse, the wind suddenly picked up, blowing dirt and debris into their faces, and when the wind stopped, a young woman lay several feet away.

“Oh!” Fay shot forward, dropping to her knees trying to determine what was wrong with her, while Diluc quickly made sure that whoever, or whatever, brought her there hadn’t lingered.

“How is she?” He asked, once he was sure they were safe.

“Badly injured,” Fay replied seriously, “We must get her inside immediately.” She looked down at the girl, who’s eyes cracked open for a split second, “It’s okay, you’re going to be alright, I promise.” The girl’s eyes fluttered shut again, and Fay turned her attention towards Diluc, “We need to get her inside,”

“Yeah, I got it.” He carefully scooped the girl into his arms and allowed Fay to lead the way into the base.

#About ella #hazelandfriendsoc #my writings

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artnerd1123 · 4 years

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Chapter One

All Moving Pictures End

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Chapter one is always quiet. Until the end, that is. Henry knows this better than most. That doesn’t necessarily make it any easier.

DTRH!AU masterpost AU askblog

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This is my first fic for BATIM, and my first fic i’m posting anywhere! I’m a lil nervous, but mostly excited! Hope y’all enjoy!!!

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Chapter one was always quick. Sure, he could drag his feet if he wanted. The breathing room did him good some days. But there was only so much to do. Only so much to explore. The only other “person” up here was a wolf’s corpse. Not exactly the most welcoming environment. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t seen it all a hundred times, anyways. He could do the whole thing blindfolded if he wanted. Not that it mattered. Everything in this place ground to a halt eventually. Every movie has its credits. Every book has its final page. And every chapter has its ending twist. It was as inevitable as his next loop around this godforsaken studio. Might as well get it over with.

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Henry Ross strolled slowly down the halls, gaze flicking around him. He knew it was safe. Old habits die hard, though, and so would he if he didn’t keep an eye out. And he was pretty sure there’d be a cutout jumping out somewhere soon. He eyed the end of the hall suspiciously. “Last thing I need is to get startled into fight or flight early,” he mumbled to himself. One more step. Nothing yet. Another. Still nothing. Huh, he thought, brows furrowed. Maybe it was down the other hall? His mind was drawing a blank. Always an encouraging sign. Or not. The toon shrugged. Whatever. He had a valve to turn. He took one last step, and the sharp trill of a violin sent a violent chill up his spine. His hand flew to his chest as his body shivered comically. A hollow grin peeked out at him from around the corner, ducking back around before he could do anything more than gasp. “Oh- oh c’mon, that wasn’t even fair,” Henry complained. “Cutouts don’t even do anything. Sheesh.” He rubbed his temples as he caught his breath. It’s still chapter one. The scriptwriter just wanted to throw him off his rhythm. As per usual. Once he quit his toonish shivering, he resumed his stroll down the hall. The cardboard cutout earned itself a slightly stern look as he rounded the corner. “You best behave yourself,” he told it simply. At least he still remembered the projector room’s tricks. Henry strode right in. He didn’t even blink as the projector suddenly sputtered to life. Its light spilled onto the wall, ready for an audience long gone. The animation was simple. Just a cheery demon doing a jaunty dance. Unseen speakers crackled along with it, an old recording whistling over the sound of film spinning. Henry couldn’t help but smile. There he was. The little devil darling. “Right on cue, bud.” The demon kept right on dancing as Henry ducked under the projector. Sure, he could’ve walked through the light. But it’d been a long while since he’d seen bendy dance. He wasn’t about to stop that, even if it was just a fleeting ghost of the past. Henry whistled softly along with the recording, straightening back up on the other side. The valve was right where it should be, next to where he’d grabbed the plushie earlier. Not for the first- or last- time, he wondered why he couldn’t have turned it earlier. Why Joey has me running all over kingdom come is beyond me, he thought. Gripping the sides of the valve wheel, Henry gave it a strong yank to one side. It loudly protested the movement, the grating groan of old metal ringing out. He grimaced at the sound. “C’mon, you can’t be stuck now,” he huffed. Though the racket made his ears want to bleed, Henry pulled harder. The groan resounded again, rusty joints straining as much as the toon, before they finally gave up. He let out a satisfied grunt as it spun a few slow turns. “There she goes.” The valve ground to a stop after a moment or two, clanging as the pipes above it started to rumble and creak. They might have been old, but they held the pressure of rushing ink well enough. Henry gave it a nod of satisfaction. Good. Ducking back under the projection, he gave it a thumbs up. “Step one done, bud,” he told it. “I’ll see you in a b-” What more he had to say was cut off by a very loud pop. A mini monsoon of ink burst out of a pipe directly overhead, gushing onto the toon below it. Henry gasped and sputtered like an angry cat as he scrambled out from the ink. He tripped over the step on his way out, flopping onto the floor with a wet splat. He was utterly drenched. Soaked gloves slapping against the floorboards, the poor toon tried to prop himself up. “Augh- that stuff’s spoiled- uck-” he choked, hacking up some ink. It burned on the way out. As if it was trying to stick to him. The sensation made his muscles tense as he struggled to get his feet under him. No. Not now. Not ever. His breaths wheezed as he swiped ink off of his arms, shaking out his legs and hair. Ink flew everywhere in a haphazard fashion- as if a dog was shaking itself off instead of a man. It was all gone in moments. He was clean again. Never had Henry been more grateful to have a trope at his disposal. “Eugh… talk about a bad time to be short a shower…” Henry said shakily. Looking over his shoulder, he could still make out little bits of light through the spurting ink. The cheerful whistling still reached his ears over the little waterfall roar. The sound eased some tension from him. Even under all the ink, Bendy was still there. Let’s hope that stays true, he thought grimly. Henry’s footsteps quickened as he traversed the halls again. The noise of the machine grumbled along behind the walls. Just one switch to flip, then he could really get this nightmare started. And he was gonna do his damn best to make this loop count for something.

The relic room was the same as he left it. Well, almost the same. Everything sat silently on its pillar. Dust still sprinkled over the floorboards. The screen next to the lever, however, flashed with a single word- READY- in big, bright letters. The rumbling of the pipes confirmed as much. Henry stared grimly at the screen from the doorway. Sure, the machine was ready. And him? “... ready as I’ll ever be,” he said softly. Time to start the show. He crossed the room without another thought, setting a hand on the lever. Despite the state of the studio around it, the metal was warm to the touch. As if someone- or something- had put it to recent use. He didn’t care to think on it further. Henry tugged it down with a grunt. The screen darkened for a moment before the letters changed. “RUNNING,” they declared. At once, the machinery along the wall sputtered to life. Slow at first, but getting faster as ink oiled the worn gears. Henry felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up when the lights suddenly dimmed. The only light left in the room was a bright circle- illuminating the machine’s life-giving power source. And, of course, the toon standing before it. He turned to the door as the clanking, rumbling, and groaning of old mechanics and ink ticked up louder. Step two was over. Now, he had a meeting to keep. The halls- once lit brightly- were now as dark as a tomb. More fitting, he mused, than the false mirth the old lights had given off. All that was left now were candles and emergency lamps. He passed by them quickly, trying to ignore the way they flickered and dimmed. Just one foot in front of the other. Another turn to the right, and a sign greeted him. It proclaimed itself as the “ink output schedule.” As he neared it, a couple other signs came into view. “EXIT,” one said. “DANGER, KEEP OUT,” cautioned another. He slowed to a stop before them. The ink machine was close. One more turn. “... this thing’s gonna need some serious updating,” Henry muttered, giving the output sign a tap. “As for the rest of these…” He snorted, shaking his head. If I could actually follow them, I’d be set, now wouldn’t I? But no, he’d ignore them. Again. He peeked around the corner instead. The way to the machine was boarded up already. How the boards got there, he wasn’t sure. But he supposed a little protection from what was in there didn’t hurt. The fact that he needed it, though, did. Could the demon see him? Did he know he was here? Was he already out of the machine, lurking just out of sight? Was he just a whisper of script? Words yet to be written? Or rather, words yet to come to fruition? He didn’t know how to answer any of those questions. Answers or not, the toon still knew what he had to do. He took a deep breath. Let it out slowly. Fists clenched at his sides, he stepped over the pipe before him. The floorboards creaked lightly as he closed the gap between himself and the boarded up doorway. He raised a hand, forcing his fingers to flatten out. Though the determined look on his face couldn’t hide how he shook. Behind the boards, the room was quiet and calm. Deceptive as the rest of the studio. Just touch the boards, Ross, he thought to himself. Get it over with. You’ve done harder. It’s not like you can go back now. His hand wavered. Moved forward, pausing again. Trembled. And quickly, before a moment more passed, he pushed his hand against the old wood. The studio around him instantly burst into inky chaos, a devilish grin erupting before him. Clawed gloves swiped out from the gap between the boards, a loud shriek accompanying their deadly strike. Demonic talons dug themselves into Henry’s chest before he could so much as flinch. The movement knocked him off his feet, the toon crashing backwards into the floor. He let out a strangled wheeze, stars bursting across his vision. All the wind had gotten knocked out of him. He couldn’t get in any air- he couldn’t breathe- oh g- fuck- c-c’mon- By the time he managed to suck down a breath, the demon was long gone. The remnants of its appearance, however, were still very much in effect. Henry’s chest heaved as he lurched to his feet, clutching his torn shirt. Morphing stains laced over the walls as ink poured from the ceiling. There was so much- too much- that it was flooding the halls. Move move mOVE MOVE, his mind screamed, nothing more than wheezing coming from his mouth. The ink was already lapping at his feet while he struggled to get over the blasted pipe in the hall. Dark liquid clung to his legs, splashing up against the walls the more he struggled through it. He just did what he could to keep moving. Each new crash of ink rupturing old planks made him flinch. But he didn’t need the herding of inky waterfalls to get to his destination. The toon pressed on towards the door he knew was waiting for him. Henry caught a glimpse of a scrawled message on the wall- DREAMS COME TRUE- before another cascade of obsidian sludge obscured it. The irony wasn’t lost on him at all. The only dreams that come true here are fucking nightmares. He let out a strangled chuckle, grabbing onto the corner to pull himself through the rising ink. It was up to his waist now. A slow burning sensation on his legs spurred him on, the toon now throwing himself around the next corner. His hands scrabbled desperately against a chest of drawers against the wall, breaths hitching in his throat. He could see the main room to his left. The exit would be right around the corner- right there! He was close! Just a little farther, Ross! Chest leaking ink, ceiling overflowing with sludge, and spoiled liquid eating at his form, Henry splashed his way around the last corner. The sliver of light shone enticingly in the darkness. Once again, he couldn’t help but wish he could reach it. So he tried. Lurching forward, Henry all but jumped towards the light- -only for his foot to pass through nothingness. His outstretched hand was illuminated for only a moment before the rest of him pitched downwards. He let out a cry- both of fear and of rage- as he tumbled, once more, into the depths of the studio.

————

A loud splash and a stream of curses announced Henry’s arrival at the bottom of the pit. He sat up with a groan. Ink still leaked down from above, pattering against his dark stained clothes. He swatted at it halfheartedly. Frankly, he’d already had enough of it. His free hand reached to gingerly rub his back, the other keeping him from flopping backwards. He got up as carefully as he could. How in the world he didn’t break his spine from that fall was beyond him. But, he thought ruefully, it wouldn’t be much of a story if the protagonist died right away, would it? At least the pain and injury would fade quickly. The trope of animation errors at its finest. “Alright… alright,” he grumbled to himself. “I better get a move on. Where’s those blasted valves…?” A glance around the room didn’t reveal much. It was a simple space. What wasn’t cut off by a small ink waterfall was still half flooded with the foul sludge. A metal shelving rack sat against one wall. A pipe with a valve was against another. Easy enough. Henry was about to wade to the pipe when something flashed in the corner of his eye. He whipped his head towards it, not caring that his neck protested painfully. What looked like a thin box glowed softly on one of the shelves. Henry’s brows furrowed. If it glowed, it had to be important. He paused a moment to see if he could recall… “… Oh!” he snapped his fingers eagerly. “Right! Tapes!” He splashed clumsily over to the shelf, giving the “box” a look over. It was an audio log. He could see that clearly now. A little beat up and stained, but unmistakable. A small smile twitched at his lips as he ran a hand over it. He couldn’t quite remember who this one was… but he didn’t think it mattered. Any trace of his old friends was good enough for him. The voices made him feel less alone. He could do with a little less loneliness. Henry gently pressed the play button, watching the little machine come to life. The tape clicked softly into place. There was a moment of quiet whirring before a grumbling voice rang from the speaker. “It’s dark and it’s cold, and it’s stuck behind every single wall now. In some places, I swear this godforsaken ink is clear up to my knees! Whoever thought that these crummy pipes could hold up under this kind of strain either knows something about pressure that I don’t, or he’s some kind of idiot,” a man barked gruffly. Henry recognized it instantly, his smile widening into a grin. “Tom!” he said brightly. “Good to hear from you, old friend.” Ah, yes. Thomas Connor. The studio’s repairman. Henry shook his head as the tape continued, the memories of Thomas complaining about pipes drifting up in his mind. … of course, a few choice phrases in the recording made the toon’s smile slip. “Like a dying dog on its last legs,” Thomas said about the pipes’ noise. He wasn’t wrong, but the mention of a dying dog… “This whole darn thing… just isn’t natural,” Thomas grumbled uneasily. “You could say that again,” Henry muttered darkly. Of course, it was the last phrase that really sobered him up. “You can bet, I won’t be doing any more repair jobs for Mister Joey Drew.” The final click of the recording echoed in the silence. Henry gave the log a long, hard look. “... well, you weren’t wrong, Tom,” he finally sighed. “You certainly weren’t wrong.” Reaching for the log, he flipped it onto its back. If he remembered right, he could probably get the tape out of there… a muffled click let a smile flit across his face. “There you are. C’mere, you.” He slid off a panel in the back to reveal an old tape. It had a labelled transcript taped to it, thankfully. That’d help keep track of names. He carefully slipped the tape into his pocket, setting the empty audio log back on the shelf. With the tape listened to and taken care of, Henry turned his focus to the task at hand. Draining all this awful ink. He slogged through the black sludge that stuck to his knees, making his way to the first valve. It turned easier than the one upstairs, but still made the same godawful groaning noise. “Geez Louise, you were right about the noise, Tom,” he winced. The ink level was falling, though, so he didn’t complain more. He was just glad the valves worked. “One down, two to go.” Glancing around, he spotted the door to the stairwell through the waterfall of ink. Because… of course it would be back there. Where else would the door be but behind more ink? Henry put his arms over his head as he jogged through the inkfall, shuddering at the feeling of old ooze on his limbs. He continued his jog down the steps, grumbling as yet another waterfall blocked his path. Stepping through this one gained him more than a shudder, though. It was a downright uncomfortable grimace. His foot had splashed right down into another deep puddle of ink. “Aw, c’mon now,” he sighed, wading down once again. “Can’t ever leave things simple and easy, can we?” At least this valve’s right in front of the stairs…

Another two rounds of groaning pipes, descending ink, and running down steps deposited the now soaked-and-grumpy toon in a rather cramped room. Calling the space a “room” was almost too generous. It was more like a glorified broom closet. A very drippy, very busted up one at that. “We’re gonna need a dozen teams of restoration architects in here,” Henry said flatly. “And that’s at a minimum.” Ink dripped slowly down from his hair before he flicked it away. A quick shake off had him relatively clean, minus some staining on his shoes. Once he was satisfied, the toon turned to the one other defining feature of the room. A closed door. It didn’t remain that way for long, the knob turning easily in his hand. He knew his way clearly from here. The door swung in to reveal an old workshop. Henry strolled right in, gaze sliding over the sparsely furnished area. All that was of note were a few stacked barrels, and an old workbench, and a boarded up doorway along the far wall. The bit of graffiti spattered around- a venomous declaration that “THE CREATOR LIED TO US-” drew a soft snort from the toon. Yeah, you could say that. Overall? The room was nothing of interest. No, what he was really looking for sat on top of the workbench. An axe lay out on top of it, its blade glinting dully in the dim light. Henry picked it up, testing its weight thoughtfully. It looked pretty sharp. Pretty durable, too. An axe had always served him well… “Hmm… yeah, I could go for a new one,” he said decisively. Swapping the axe into one hand, he shoved the other into one of his side pockets. He pulled out another axe a moment later. This one was slick with damp ink, its blade blunt and its handle full of hairline cracks. It had certainly been through the ringer. He gazed at it fondly as he set it on the bench. “So long, bud,” he sighed softly. “We had a good run.” Henry took a minute to swing the new axe around. This room was as good as any to test it out. It was a little different than he was used to- no doubt because it was newer- but it swung and balanced well. He gave it a pat of approval. Approaching the doorway, he glanced it over, sizing it up. “Now-” grunting, he hefted the axe over his shoulder- “new friend of mine-” tightened his grip- “let’s get-” and swung hard at the boards before him- “to work-!” The splintering of wood made a wonderful soundtrack as Henry chopped his way through the final hall. The work went quicker than he liked, but it still felt good to swing a proper axe again. Breaking boards was easy. Breaking boards was kinda fun. And, most importantly, breaking boards meant progress. At the end of the short hall, he leaned on the wall to catch his breath. The new axe really was nicer. Hopefully it’d last a few loops. One last door was before him, three boards holding it shut. He eyed it somberly. At long last, there it was. His entrance into chapter two. The toon straightened up slowly, rolling his shoulders. The axe dragged against the floor as he walked purposefully over. One more door. One more room. And one more unfortunate headache. Flipping the axe up, he promptly slammed it into the old wood. All three boards gave away like butter to a hot knife. Satisfied, Henry tucked the weapon behind his back. It was better to save things in his hammerspace than to trust that a certain scriptwriter would provide him another axe later. The door opened with a slow creak after he turned the knob. Before him was a small room, lit only by candlelight. Some sort of large ritual circle was drawn in the center of the floorboards. Candles sat flickering at six points around its edge. Edging in, Henry kept an eye on his feet and the circle. That thing might be his ticket to chapter two, but he didn’t want to jump on the train early. The location didn’t feel fuzzy as he looked around, but… well. You never know what could pop up next in this studio. At the wall across from the entrance, two coffins leaned side by side. A boarded up door was to their left. On the right side of the room, three chairs were set up. On the left side, there was an empty shelf. Whom the chairs or coffins were for, Henry couldn’t say. The sight of the door, at least, was reassuring. All that was left now was to step into the circle. “... you better make this quick, Joey,” he muttered.

Without further ado, he planted a foot squarely in the inky circle.

The pain he felt was immediate, surging up through his leg and into his head like a lightning strike. He couldn’t help but gasp, hands flying to his head as he doubled over. An image of the ink machine flashed before his eyes. By the time he squeezed them open and shut to dispel it, the pain had lurched him sideways. An image of a wheelchair greeted his newly opened eyes, and he groaned desperately. The pain was cranking higher- higher- so much he could barely see straight. He fumbled around, vision clouding up as he tried to turn back to the door. All that greeted him, though, was one last horrifying image. The ink demon was standing there. Illuminated by the light of an open door behind him. Reaching for him. Some distant part of Henry felt his body stumble backwards. His mind finally fell into darkness. And then… Then… … Nothing.

Nothing but the dark of the ink.

E̶̷̸̮͍̮̤̪̠͔͚̬̻̼̰̤͉̱͔̝̰͠Ņ͈͉̙̣͙̜̣͖͔͍͍̯̟̬̭͢͠ͅD̷̨̼͇̖̮̙ ̶̴͎̪͓̯̮̲̼͠O͏̶̸̸̞̣̦̟̫̦̞̪̳̤͎͚̯̦̝̳F̶̵̥͚̘̣̮͔ ̣̫̞̰̬͚͞͞C̭͎̥̠͔̩͕͕̯͉͍̤̬̩̙̟͎̱͉̕͠͠͠͞Ḩ̢͜͠҉̲̥̮̫A̴҉͕͚̬̳̲͙̮͙̝͡͝P̵̩͎̩͓̲̬̕͟Ţ̯̱̠͍̝̲̠̗̼͜͜E͏̷̮̬̪̬̠̙R̷̡̹̖̥̖͘͜ ̧̪͈̥̝̞̘̰̬̻̺̞̠͎͟͟͞Ó̠͙̲̞̰͔͕͡N̵̬̜̣̜̬̻̖͈̙͍͍̻̰̤͎̙̜͜͝ͅĘ̰͎̩̺̙̱̯͈̭̬͙͇͔̕.̸̸̧̳̱̣̠̺̭̖̦̹̳͙̼̳̠͠͡ͅ

#batim au #arty writes #dtrh!au #down the rabbit hole au #dtrh!henry #dtrh!bendy #dtrh!thomas #aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa #this is queued bc its like midnight as i'm formatting this lksjdflkjfkls #anyways!!!#here!!! is the thing!!!!!!!!!!!#someone yell at me to rb this to my askblog if i haven't later!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!#i'm v v happy with this tbh ^^#idk exactly what i wanna say abt it #but yea i did this in like. three days of adrenaline filled hyperfixation LSKDJF #go me!!!#i hope u guys like it!!! ;w;

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sleepyfan-blog · 5 years

Text

Reaperdream Soumate AU ficlets

Fandom: UTMV

This was written for the UT Rarepair discord server Secret Santa Event, for @izzy-the-bizzy

Characters: Dream, Reapertale Sans, Aftertale Sans, Ink Sans, Swap Sans, Underfell Sans, Reapertale Papyrus, Reapertale Gaster, Swapfell Sans, Fellswap Sans

Warnings: major character death

Word count: 7,451

tagslist: @anxiety-is-married-to-depression @angelofthehalfmoon @trainwreck-of-skeletons @hisame-amadashi @therandomskelekey

Dream stared at the red string that had been wound around their finger from the moment that they had woken up from that awful stone spell. They knew what it was, of course. It meant that they had a soulmate somewhere in the wide multiverse. They had stumbled and fled through a portal that they had created by instinct, unsure as to just where they would end up, but fleeing the eldritch thing that Nightmare had become. Unsure as to whether or not they wanted to meet their soulmate or not, they fled from world to world, trying to gain strength and generally evade Nightmare as best as they could.

Which was how they had ended up in the situation they are in now, having been drawn to an AU that Ink had warned them to avoid. Reapertale. But they had felt... Drawn here. They were wearing their cape so that their face was hooded and hidden as they wandered throughout the world, finding it to be a mix of monster and humans. There were whispers of gods and goddesses who ruled them all, beings of incredible, indescribable power. They hadn't realized that their Red String of Fate had grown taught until they very nearly ran into their soulmate, who had a scythe raised as a human pleaded weakly for mercy.

Dream called out at the scene before them, confused "Uhm... What's going on here?" The human's injuries were fatal - and their chest had stilled. Their soul was floating freely from their chest, and still pleading for mercy.

"The name's Sans, god of Death. If you try to interfere, I may just have to kill you too." The hooded figure called out, slashing the human's soul in half and turning to face them, a red string taught between the two of them. "I trust that you..." The Sans stopped talking, staring at the taught red string that connected the two of them. "So... I guess we're soulmates, huh?" The Sans muttered, leaning on his scythe and staring at Dream.

Shock and confusion flooded Dream, and they wished that they could take back the "What the hell is that even supposed to mean?" At least they weren't bound to a mortal... They weren't sure what to think.

"I don't know. What do you think it means?" Death asks, staring hard at them.

Dream sighed, knowing the answer to that instantly "Trouble."

"Why, disappointed to find out that the god of death is your soulmate, mortal?" Reaper called, out, squinting at him.

Dream shook their head, lowering their hood "I'm no more mortal than you are. While I can be killed, I don't age, can't die of illness, starvation nor thirst. I suppose I should introduce myself, since we are soulmates, and I know your name, Sans. I'm Dream, guardian of positivity."

"... I've heard rumors about you from the Sanses who run around with Ink. You've been sorely missed throughout the centuries, since your other half has been causing a giant rampage across the multiverse. Not that Ink particularly cares beyond a new game to play. Especially since Nightmare fucks around with darker timelines for the most part."

Dream sighed softly "I was trapped in a stasis spell for centuries... I'm not sure what Nightmare has been up to while I was trapped, but I... Considering how strong he is, I can guess at what he's been up to. I... I suppose that it's nice to meet you?"

Reaper laughed, voice filled with bitterness "I suppose it's good to meet you too... If you're looking for hugs and kisses, I'm afraid I might dust you, even if you're more durable than mortals. My very touch kills."

A small frown appeared on their face at that "You... You've never been able to touch or hold someone? Not ever?" that sounds so horribly lonely...

"My brother, Paps, is also a god of death, and we can hug one another without dusting each other... But hey, it's not all bad. This death touch makes my job easier. You wouldn't believe how -" Reaper began, rearing back in surprise and flailing in shock as Dream rushed him, hugging him tight "Wait I... I... You... You're not..."

"Dusting or dying? Nope... As I told you, the only way I can die is if I'm killed... So your touch won't knock me down." Dream murmured, hugging Reaper tightly "This is going to be troublesome and complicated, but I... If you like, we can try to make it work? Unless you'd rather I vanish and never come back to your world? The multiverse is vast, I'm sure we could manage to avoid each other."

"I... No. I don't... I don't want you to vanish as soon as we've met one another. I do want to make a go of things. Of... Of getting to know you." Reaper responded, treacherous hope blooming in his chest as he looks down at them, his soul twisting and making it difficult to breathe. He had a soulmate... Who wasn't afraid of him. A true smile appeared on his face as he asked "How much of my AU have you seen, Dream?"

"Just a bit of the mortal world. Some of this city and nothing else, as a matter of fact. I'd be delighted to explore more of your world, if you like?" Dream offered, a hopeful smile appearing on their face as well.

Reaper nodded, offering them an arm as he murmured "I gotta take this soul to the afterlife. Then I can show you a few of my favorite places, if you’d like?"

Dream nods. They have no idea just how this will work out... But they're willing to try, hoping that the two of them might be able to enjoy one another's company. "Sounds good to me."

~~~

Reaper ran his fingers along the carved number on the inner portion of his radius. He was well aware of what the numbers meant, as they slowly continued to trickle down, each second passing in less than the blink of a mortal eye. He had taken the souls of many mortals, and their numbers - or the numbers of one or more of the mortals around them had hit zero, as he appeared to them, taking their souls from their bodies, to take them to the afterlife.

Five hundred and sixty-four days, three hours and ten minutes. With twelve-eleven-ten... Seconds left. That was how much longer his soulmate had to live. A bitter smile appeared on his face as he wondered morosely if his only chance to meet his soulmate - who had to be alive... They must be a boss monster of some kind, to live for so long - would be when he took their soul to the afterlife. To meet them only to be the one to take their last breath... As he sure as hell wasn't going to make his younger brother take his own soulmate's life...

He wondered what they might be like? Would he be able to meet them before they died? Would he know if they were his soulmate, and he was theirs? The dull ache that pulled at his soul whenever he stared at the numbers for more than a couple of seconds had returned. With a sigh, he pulled down the sleeve of his robe, shaking himself as he stood up, stretching a little. He was going to pester Tori for a while. It was always fun teasing the goddess of life.

He pauses, sensing something... Someone new in the garden of life. Moving swiftly, making sure to float a couple of inches above the grass, so that he didn't kill everything he touched, Reaper charged to where he could sense the new being - who was worryingly close to Toriel, summoning his scythe, just in case it was another Chara situation. Instead he sees a -

Reaper stops dead, blinking rapidly as the brightly blazing golden aura of the being who was speaking to Tori, their voice too loud and very soft all at once, the dizzying amount of information that he had gotten from seeing them for the first time incredibly distracting and distressing. Yet... The distress and concern that he felt at this stranger - powerful, kind and gentle as he could feel they were - faded away. "Good morning, Sans." Tori called out, smiling warmly down at him. "Come, meet the guardian of positivity. Their name is Dream."

Reaper nodded, coming forwards and nodding politely, his scythe vanishing as he tucked his hands behind his back "Hello, My name's Sans... I'm one of the two Reapers, so I'd like to shake your hand, but if I did, I'd kill you."

Dream smiled a little and nodded in understanding, the radiance of their soul still nearly blinding "It's wonderful to meet you, Sans. I sensed Toriel's distress and came to see if I could help. We've had a brief chat, and she's doing much better. She cares very much for you."

Reaper smiles a little bit and rubs the back of his skull "Yeah, I'm not sure why she cares for such a spooky bonehead like me, but I'm lucky... Although we didn't always get along with one another, haha... I'm... I don't think you're from this universe, are you?"

"Nope! But do not worry, I do not plan on staying here for very long. I like to wander, now that I've learned how. Thank you both for your time." Dream murmured, smiling warmly at Reaper, their magic rippling against his senses and almost causing him to purr at the feeling.

"You're welcome... And thanks for coming to cheer up Tori. That's very kind of you." Reaper responded, a genuine smile appearing on his face. "Say, have you met Ink? If you hop around enough 'verses you're bound to run into him. He's... Interesting and kind of dangerous. But for now at least, he means well."

"I'll keep that warning in mind, Reaper. See you later, I'm sure." Dream calls out, a happy smile appearing on their face as they open a golden portal, vanishing in a flash of light.

Reaper hadn't known what was going on in the multiversal sansnanigans that were going on. He had made sure that they knew that he was neutral. As long as they didn't fuck with his home timeline, he wouldn't reap their souls and send them on to the afterlife. It was a pretty good deal, and those whom he loved and cared for were well protected. Dealing with the mess that the others made when the reapers from the worlds that they had their destructive fights in was annoying and irritating to say the least, but it wasn't the absolutely shittiest thing he'd had to deal with.

What he hadn't expected was to be unexpectedly summoned during one of his rare days off, frowning as he found the Omega timeline in absolute shambles. There were dozens of injured mortals, with hundreds more dead. Sighing, he summoned his scythe, slashing his way through the dead souls, shoving them none too gently into the afterlife, having so many to reap, there was no time for any of the tact nor kindness that Paps showed the mortals who were dying.

He froze as he felt something vibrate on his left radius as he finished reaping the last of the mortal souls dead. With trembling fingers, he pulled down his sleeve, staring in muted horror as the numbers flicked down... Ten seconds... Nine... Eight... Panic seized him as he searched the AU, instinctively knowing that his soulmate had to be here... He could hear sounds of fighting and charged recklessly onto the battlefield to see Dream, Ink, Nightmare and Error battling two on two, their mortal companions dusting around them.

Before he could even attempt to defy fate and stop all four of these assholes from killing each other (as he had no idea which one of the four of them was his soul mate) one of Dream's arrows pierced through Error's soul, shattering it at the very moment that one of Error's gaster blasters was able to slam, full-force into Ink, vaporizing the creative guardian, even as a wave of ink gutted Nightmare. An anguished "No!" Left reaper as he rushed towards the four of them, noting that Error and Ink had already dusted, but he had a couple of seconds left, the positive and negative guardians sputtering weakly, glaring darkly at one another.

"You... Killed... My soulmates... Dream... Of course... I wouldn't... let that... Slide..." Nightmare ground out, surrounded by several piles of dust, the clothes of Cross, Killer, Dust and Hatchet surrounding him.

"It was not.., My intent to do so, brother... I never... Wanted to hurt you..." Dream called out, their eye lights fading. "Oh... Hey Reaper... Here to... Clean up our messes, as always?"

Discarding all sense as he knew in the back of his mind that he would only hasten the other's end, Reaper rushed to Dream's side, picking the other up and gently brushing the tears from their eyes "Dream! Dream no... Please... You.. you have to stay with me... Please no... I just... We... We're..."

"Soulmates? Oh... I'm so sorry to leave you... But..." Dream coughed weakly, golden ichor splattering Reaper's face "There's nothing that... Can be done... S-smile for me?"

"But I... I can't... Not... N-Not when you're dead! I can't... I don't..." He only helps souls cross into the afterlife. He never sees them again not unless they are reincarnated. "I... I'll bring you to Tori... Maybe... Maybe she can... She can heal you?" Tori would do that for him, right? Heal his soulmate? He's already preparing the portal when Dream shakes their head.

"No... I... I'm not meant to exist without him... Gotta... Stay balanced..." Dream mumbled, gesturing in Nightmare's general direction as the negative spirit collapsed into a puddle of dark ooze, having just given up on this life. A spectral form of a small, violet elemental hovered over what remained of Nightmare, waiting to be collected. "But... I'm glad to know... Who my soulmate is... Even if it's just in my final moments. You were a wonderful friend... Reaper... You must... Remember to smile... Maybe we'll meet each other again in a happier time?" With that, Dream faded into a puddle of dust, nothing remaining of them but their circlet and clothing. A yellow, spectral elemental appeared, gently nuzzling into him before chirping, causing the darker spirit to appear, murrmuring lowly. With trembling fingers, he cupped both of them, saying quietly "I release you from this life, and send you on to the afterlife. Rest well."

He reaped what remained of Error's soul... and poked at what little remained of Ink, knowing full well that the other was soulless. Would he resurrect somehow, or was this it? Reaper realized with a jolt, that he had accidentally allowed part of Dream's cloak to touch what remained of Nightmare... and a small sapling had begun to sprout from where the two had mixed. With careful, trembling fingers, he wrapped the little sapling up in Dream's scarf, stumbling into Tori's garden, yelling for her help, covered in dust and miserable.

She came running over, Undyne yelling at him for daring to be in here and gaster staring at him in a great deal of confusion, half a dozen of the other gods watching him. "Tori I... They... My soulmate just died and I... This... This tree.. They... I... Please take care of it... I... Please?" Reaper begged, knowing that he wasn't making much sense.

"Of course... Sans... Give me the sapling, I will tend to them... Go to your brother, and grieve for them..." Life murmured, a sad and understanding smile appearing on her face.

Reaper nodded, staggering off to where he knew his brother to be, collapsing into the other's confused embrace.

~~~

Reaper had gone to these Christmas parties for several years now, having found them to be endlessly entertaining... And if he could poke and prod at people without dusting them, finding their reactions to be amusing as all hell, so much the better. He knew that whatever had happened to his soulmate to cause the other to feel no emotions whatsoever for... Five hundred and twelve years, sixteen hours and seven seconds (so sue him for counting. It had been disorienting and terrifying when the emotions that didn't belong to him but did belong to his soulmate suddenly vanished) had suddenly come back a couple of weeks ago. The first thing he had felt from them was a return of the absolute terror, confusion and soul-rending betrayal that had laid him flat on his back, wheezing as he tried to get himself together. Tori had fluttered over him and yelled for Paps - as his brother was the only one in his AU who could touch him without dying.

The misery and sadness had died down to bearable degree - but much of the warm cheerfulness and contented peace that he had sensed from his soulmate had never returned. Not truly. There was a lot of determination and a grief that caused Reaper's soul to ache. Reaper had searched amongst the crowd of sanses at the Christmas Party, hoping that they were amongst their numbers... And he was getting close to asking Ink for help, to find his soulmate... Even if it meant dealing with the creative guardian's shenanigans a lot more than normal, it would be worth it to find his soulmate and hopefully dragging their miserable butt to therapy.

"Hey, Reaper..." Geno murmured, squinting at something or someone behind him "Ink's here... And he brought that golden marshmallow with him. I mean - Blue is tough as they come. Cheerful and sweet, but he can and will out-maneuver and manipulate pretty much anyone and everyone when he has a mind to do so. What the marshmallow is doing mixed up with the soulless creator and the mafia leader of friendship, I do not know."

Reaper hummed, turning around and freezing as he sees the gold and blue-clad sans. Their magic called to him in a way that he'd never experienced. "I... I think that they might..." He had seen other people meet their soulmates before. Whether the reactions were positive, negative or neutral, the first impression tended to be a lasting one, especially... Especially between soulmates. "I think they might be my soulmate."

Geno snickers a little "You wouldn't be the first to hope for that. They're the guardian of positivity, and their warm aura makes everyone around them feel happy... Sounds really lonely to me... They've been told that by at least half of the sanses here... Not that any of them were right, but hey. Good luck. If you're right, then you're right."

Reaper waves a hand at Geno "I can sense their emotions. What they're actually feeling, not the positive aura that is lifting the spirits of everyone around them." With that he went quiet, making his way over to Dream, mentally rolling his eye lights as a hush fell over the crowd and they reluctantly parted. He looks over at Dream, more sure than ever that the other was his soulmate. The fake smile on their face belied the exhausted circles under their eyes and the almost desperate way that they seemed to be trying to please and distract others. "Hello."

"I... Uhm... Hi." Dream responded, blinking up at him "My name is Dream. What's yours?" They ask, holding out a hand for him to shake.

Reaper grins, taking the other's hand, amused by the way that everyone tensed up around them "It's nice to meet you, Dream. I'm Death."

Dream stared up into his face, their eye lights widening for a couple of moments, surprise, hope and uncertainty flickering through them as they murmur "It's... It's nice to meet you death..."

"Heh... I get it. Not many people are eager to meet me. I think I even scare the life out of some of your companions." He responded, winking a little at Dream. "But don't worry, I'm a pretty chill guy. Meeting me here isn't automatically a death sentence."

The smile on Dream's face shifted to something a little bit more real, and a soft chuckle left them "Hehe... I... I don't think that you're all that scary. I've seen worse things happen to people than meeting you... You seem quite nice."

Reaper shrugged a little, a small smile appearing on his face "Eh. This place is a lot like an idle fantasy for me. I can touch people without killing them here. Which is nice, as in my home AU, anyone I touch who ain't my brother dies. Mortal or not. But in this place, I've got no fangs."

Dream giggles again, their eye lights brightening a little "I think the two of us need to have a bit of a private chat."

Reaper nods, following the other "True, but I'm not sure how private for how long this chat will be. Your friends seem to be kind of... Nosy."

Dream shrugs, grabbing one of Reaper's hands and teleporting them far away from where the party was "This should give us enough time to talk for at least a little bit. And of course, there's the Underfell Therapy Closet to hide in. I... I think you're my soulmate. It's difficult for me to tell, as I can sense the emotions of everyone around me... But your feelings are familiar to me, even though we've never met before."

"... I'm pretty sure that we're soulmates too, actually. Were you trapped in a stasis spell or killed for five hundred years and change before either resurrecting, reincarnating or breaking free of the spell? I couldn't... I couldn't sense you at all for that time and I..." Reaper shuddered a little. He'd despaired of ever meeting the other. That his soulmate had been mortal and worse yet, born in a different world and that they had lived and died before he'd ever had a chance to meet them.

"I... I was trapped in a stasis spell for a very long time. I didn't realize it was five hundred years. I've recently broken free. It's... I... I'm so glad to meet you, finally. Do... Do you mind if I hug you?" Dream asked, voice trembling a little as the other reaches out for him.

Reaper nods, scooping the smaller immortal up and hugging him close, lightly resting his chin on the top of the other's skull. "I'd... I'd very much like to hug you... I'm sure that there's a lot of shit that both of us have to talk about - complicated backstories and whatnot... But for now... I think just holding one another sounds good... What about you?"

Some of the worry and fear that he could sense within Dream ebbed away, replaced with hope and joy as the other murmured into his chest "I... That sounds like a really good idea to me... Thank... Thank you... Reaper."

"You're welcome, Dream." Reaper murmured quietly, hugging them tightly. Come what may, and regardless of any metaphorical or literal skeletons hidden in each of their closets, they had one another, and they'd found one another. That alone was enough for Reaper as he presses a gentle kiss to the top of the other's skull, hope and a small whisper of affection blooming in his chest as he looks down at Dream.

~~~~

Dream has existed for several days when they finally fall asleep for the first time, one warm evening, snuggled into their twin, leaning against what remained of the one who had created them, and what they had been created to protect. They found themself in a beautiful garden - with plants of many kinds that they had never actually seen before - with beautiful blossoms that as they rushed over to smell, found that they could neither touch nor smell.

This was terribly confusing to the young guardian, who tried to grab the flower, their fingers again going through the petals as if either they or the flower didn't exist. They hear two people speaking "telling you Tori, I don't have a soulmate. I've never once dreamed of them, and I've never seen them, if they've dreamed." said one voice, gruff and slightly frustrated and sad.

"Perhaps your soulmate simply hasn't been born or created yet? You mustn't give up hope, dear friend." a second voice said, comforting and gentle.

Dream makes their way over to the pair of voices, continuing to walk through the garden, seeing plants and hearing... Birds? That's what the information in their head from the previous guardian informed them that the strange but pleasing noises were coming from. "Uhm... Hello? Do you know where we are?" They call out, looking up at the tall, fuzzy person and the tall, bone person who looked similar to themself and Nightmare, though the big bone person had on a really cool black cloak. They had seen trees... But none of them remotely resembled the tree that they were meant to protect and live beneath.

"...How did you get in here? You're not supposed to be in here. This place is a sacred place." The tall bone person demanded, a growl in their voice.

Dream shrugged, not the least bit intimidated by the growls "I dunno how I got here.. I fell asleep next to Nighty an' I woke up a little while ago that way." Dream responded, pointing in the direction of the place that they had found themself in "I dunno how I got here... Why can't I touch anything? Who are you? Where are we?"

The furry person paused for a couple of moments before asking "... Do you see someone, Sans?"

"Yeah, there's this little kid like three feet from us. Can't... Can't you see them too? They're right there." The big bone person responded, pointing directly where Dream was standing "You're in Life's Sanctuary, kiddo. I'm-"

The goat person abruptly cut in "This is Sans, and my name is Toriel, young one. You and Sans are soulmates. you are currently dreaming, and you've dreamed your way to your soulmate. I can now see you, but only just. I promise that though Sans may seem kind of scary at first, he is kind and very punny. What's your name, young one?"

"My name is Dream!" The little guardian responded, grinning brightly up at Sans and Toriel, tilting their head a little as they pressed "So when I wake up, will I be back with Nighty and the tree?"

"If that's where you fell asleep, then you should, unless you were moved in your sleep... Why did you fall asleep near a tree?" Sans asked, curious despite the bored and unaffected expression on his face.

"Because me an' Nighty were created there, to protect her!" Dream responded cheerfully. "We are the guardians of the tree of feelings. I'm the guardian of the positive fruits. To make sure that no one eats them..."

"Why would someone want to eat these fruits? What do they do? ... How long have you existed?" Sans asked, moving a bit closer to them, trying to understand why now, of all times, had his soulmate appeared. After waiting what felt like an eternity for them to appear, did they finally show up. Or at least... Make themself known to him.

"The positive fruits represent the hopes and happiness of everyone... if they are eaten, then they don't feel those good feelings anymore." Dream explained with a worried frown "So I gotta protect them! And I've been around for..." They stare down at their fingers "Three days! The previous guardian - who was killed by a human - was dying and made me an' Nightmare! Night guards the negative fruits. They stay balanced so that peoples' feelings are balanced. You are the first people, part from Nighty, Who I've ever seen or talked to."

Toriel spoke up, murmuring quietly "You... You're quite big for three days old... And you can speak quite well..."

"Well, yeah. That's because our creator made our bodies so that they were adult-sized, or mostly adult-sized. An' gave us lots of information so that we would know things an' be able to guard the tree!" Dream responds happily, beaming up at the both of them. "... Why are you two upset? We haven't met any mortals yet... Part from you two right now, but you're not where I am, an' I don't think all mortals are bad... And the mortal who killed the previous guardian is dead because mama killed him."

"Err... Dream. Neither of us is mortal, either." Sans spoke up. He pauses for a moment before forging on ahead "Tori here is the goddess of Life... and I'm the god of Death." He hadn't heard of the tree of feelings, but then again... There were things about the universe that he didn't know about. He'd have to talk to dad, as he was pretty sure that this little one along with their twin were little godlings, perhaps born somewhere within the mortal realm and they needed to be found and trained properly in the use of their power... Why hadn't he been informed of something that was so important? He glances at Tori, dozens of questions on the tip of his tongue, but nothing that he wanted to ask, lest he confuse the very new godling in front of him.

"Ohhh... Cool! I didn't know that gods exist! That's really cool." The little guardian murmured, beaming eagerly up at the both of them. Dream pauses for a moment, blinking as they turn, hearing Nightmare call out for him "I think... I think I'm going to wake up soon. It's really nice to meet you for the first time, Sans! I hope to talk to you again soon." With that, the little guardian vanished into nothingness.

"... Tori, why wasn't I informed about this tree of feelings? Is it protected somewhere within the realm of the gods? Or is it rooted in the mortal realm because the tree affects both mortals and the gods?" Reaper asked, glancing at Life, trying to read her responses.

"I... I honestly have never heard of such a tree, but I cannot think that little one was lying to us. Their words had the ring of truth... Or at least, they believe what they've been told to be the truth, at least." Life responded, frowning a little "Perhaps it is something very old, that I have forgotten..."

"I'll speak with Gaster and Alphys. If there was anyone who could tell me about this tree of feelings, it would be one or the both of them." Reaper murmured, determined to find his soulmate and meet them in person - at least once. The little one hadn't seemed to be the least bit afraid or nervous of him... But the other was so new to the world, it made sense as to why they wouldn't flinch at the sight of death... Nor fall down in worship of Life.

----

Alphys had no idea what he was talking about when he had spoken of the tree of feelings. Gaster had frowned, pausing for a couple of moments before murmuring quietly "Such a tree would be well known, if it was native to this universe, Sans. I believe that your soulmate is from an entirely different universe, Sans. There are multiple universes, but it will take time and research for me to figure out how pan-dimensional travel is feasible... You will need to content yourself with dreaming visions of them and they of you until then, Sans. But I am glad to hear that you have met your soulmate, in some capacity at least."

Reaper nodded, sighing in frustration. Of course his soulmate had to be from an entirely different universe. His luck could never grant him something as easy as a soulmate who he could immediately reach out too... Although he did feel terribly unsure as to just what might happen if the two of them were able to actually interact with one another in reality... Dream was so very young, it was almost certain that they were platonic soulmates. which suited him just fine but... What happened if the other tried to embrace him? Would the other dust at his touch? "I... alright. Keep me informed. Thanks, G."

"Mmm... And I would like to remind you, sans, that by mortal reckoning, you are a little over ten years old, although gods do not age as mortals do, and you have always had an old soul. From what you told me of your soulmate... This young guardian seems much the same." Gaster pointed out, a small and knowing smile appearing on his face. He hadn't expected the other's soulmate to be so far afield... But he had hoped that the other did have a soulmate, as neither of his creations were lifeless creatures, even as many of the gods hissed and glared, muttering irritably at the necessity of such beings.

"Yeah, yeah. I know. It just... Feels weird. I have a soulmate... But I... I'm glad to have finally met them in some way... and that they haven't been hiding from me because of what I was created to be..." Reaper murmured, hope and uncertainty lingering in his mind. Perhaps the other didn't mind his presence now... But later? Reaper mentally shook himself. There was no need to dwell on what-ifs and might be’s. What would happen, would happen. He had a chance to get to know his soulmate, which was more than what a decent chance that Mortals got. "But hey. I'm sure I'll win him over with my punderful sense of humor. Then again, he's so sweet and I've just got this killer sense of humor. They... he? Might not take to it so well, given how saccharine sweet he is."

"have courage, Sans. Your soulmate is yours, and they yours for a reason." Gaster murmured "I cannort say for what reason the fate have bound the two of you together, but it is a rare and precious gift to be able to meet your soulmate, even amongst the gods."

"I... I'll keep that in mind. Thanks, Gaster." Reaper murmured, heading off to go find Paps - who would absolutely want to know that he'd met his soulmate. A small smile lingered on his face - perhaps Paps had met his soulmate today as well? He's pretty sure that he’d hear all about it if that were true.

~~~~~~

Dream was very glad that they wore gloves at this particular moment in time. As otherwise they would have to find a way to hide what was on their palm. Ink had dragged him into this strange place - the... Omega? Timeline? where there were dozens of different versions of the same monster, from many different AUs and timelines. Amongst the goat monsters, occasional humans, buny monsters, Migosp, Aaron, Temmie and Papyri... There were also... Sanses. LIke the Stylized black and blue S that had been carved into the middle of their palm since they had first acquired a body, centuries ago.

Their soulmate was very likely named... Sans. Any one of the sanses he was currently watching talk, fight and argue with one another could be their soulmate... Or none of them were their soulmate, and the Sans whose S this was, was someone else entirely. They lightly tugged up their glove a little higher, trying to decide how best to bring about the end of a brawl that was going on between an Underfell, Swapfell and Fellswap trio of Sanses - especially as a couple of Undynes were headed over, Papyri from similar timelines hot on their heels and it looked like it was going to turn into a huge mess of negativity and pain and they really didn't want that to happen.

They clear their nonexistent throat as they call out, pulsing their magic in order to increase the warm and happy feelings that the assembled and brawling monsters were feeling, lowering the amount of aggression, fear, and uncertainty in the same flare of magic "Hello... Excuse me... But why are you fighting?"

Every eye light focused on them, but Dream stood their ground. They were fairly sure that they could handle this many rowdy mortals. And they could see Blue hovering nearby, prodding at a snickering Ink, possibly to come help keep the peace.

"This asshole stole my chocolate! I want it back... Who the hell are you? You some sorta swap with a fixation on yellow?" The Underfell sans huffed, glaring a little at them, pointing at the swapfell sans accusatory "... I'm called Red, if you didn't know."

"It's nice to meet you Red. My name is Dream." They respond, a small smile appearing on their face. They turn to look at the swapfell.

"The hell it is! I bought this chocolate three days ago, and you're the one who took it from me! You cheated at the sparring match that you made me lose, so I took it back. I'm called Viper." The swapfell huffed, glaring at Red as he tried to keep the chocolate out of Red's hands.

The fellswap Sans growled "That's where they're both lying. These two stole the chocolate from me, and I want it back! I haven't seen a Swap Sans variant who looks quite like you.. are you from a storyswap where you're the king or queen of the underground, given the circlet on your head?"

Dream frowns a little in confusion, wondering what the other meant by that "No, I... I'm not a swap sans. My name is Dream. I don't know if my AU has a name, but I've never... Monsters weren't... But that's not the point of this... I propose that the three of you split the chocolate evenly between the three of you, that way, each of you has some chocolate... Regardless of whose chocolate it might have once been... Besides, isn't there a chocolatier down the street? You could each purchase as much chocolate as you wish from there."

the trio of Fell variants stared at him "I... Fine. Splitting the chocolate sounds reasonable. What do you mean your AU doesn't have a name? Unless you're from an unfinished world, yours has gotta have a name... And are you implying that you're from a surface AU? Are there humans aboveground in your world?" Red demanded, equal parts curious and annoyed at having to share his chocolate. But if it got Viper and Blackberry off of his back, he'd take it. "Ink... HEY INK! What's Dream Sans's AU called?"

"Oh... I'm not... A sans..." Dream murmured quietly. Viper glanced at him quizzically, but no one else had heard them say that.

Ink laughed merrily "Pfhahahaaha! I wish I knew. I found Dream wandering around a littletale, completely out of place and terribly confused. He can travel AUs whenever he wants to, without my help. Also He prefers to be called Dream, rather than Dream Sans. I dunno why."

the answer to that was relatively simple. Dream wasn't a sans. He did inhabit a skeletal body -the body of a swap sans that had been created by the previous guardian of the tree of feelings... But he had not been born, nor created inhabiting this body and thus could not truly be called a sans. Not that they felt any desire, nor the inclination to actually explain this, as they had a feeling that the others might not react all that well to learning about that... Not that they had spoken to Ink and Blue - with whom they had been traveling for some time now - about anything in regards to their past... Everything was just too fresh and painful to begin to think about, much less speak to another about.

"Heya, Ink. Is there a reason why you invited me here? It's not as if there are another one of those parties going on at the moment - though, with those three, I'd not be surprised if you've got a proper death on your hands soon." A low, amused sounding voice called out from behind Dream. all three of the fell based Sanses froze and drew back a little, wariness and uncertainty flashing across their faces.

Dream turns to face this newcomer, a small smile appearing on their face "Hello. My name is Dream. What's yours?"

"... Dream, huh? Like half of the people here, my name is Sans... but I have several nicknames. My favorites are "Augh no, not you!" as well as Reaper and Death. In my AU, I'm one of the two gods of death, along with my brother, Papyrus. You have been sorely missed over the past few centuries that you've been trapped in a stasis spell."Reaper called out, a small smirk appearing on his face "I had wondered what had happened when your soul mark had changed color for centuries, and was hopeful when it changed back to the color it used to be."

"I... You.. we're... Soulmates?" Dream managed out, eye lights bright and wide as they tried to process the huge download of information that had been thrown at them, a giddy grin appearing on their face, their eye lights turning into stars "I... I'm so glad to hear that we are soulmates. It's wonderful to meet you, Sans... Unless you prefer one of the nicknames that you gave me?"

"Eh, as long as you don't call me a curse, I don't care what you refer to me as," Reaper responded with a small smile. He didn't extend a hand... He did hope that his touch wouldn't kill the guardian of positivity... But he had no reason nor the inclination to even attempt to try. Not unless Dream attempted to initiate contact with him first.

Dream hummed, looking at Reaper curiously "I think I'll refer to you as reaper, at least while we are around other sanses, to reduce confusion... Do you have time for us to speak one on one?"

Reaper shrugged "Eh. If the people in my AU - the other gods at least - had it their way, I'd never stop working... But reaping souls endlessly gets really... Dreary. I've got plenty of time to get to know you."

Dream nods, a small smile appearing on their face as they walked over to reaper, taking off their right glove, turning their right palm so that the stylized S could be seen by the other, offering it out for the other to shake. "Alright.. Have you ever been to an OverHaven? They are beautiful places."

Reaper hesitates, showing the gold and blue D on his right palm, reaching cautiously towards him and the two of them shook hands, their magics sparking a little and shifting. "Can't say that I have. I don't tend to travel the multiverse all that much, although it does sound nice."

Dream nods, beaming happily as they open a portal to Overhaven 36, to a point where there should be no mortals around for miles. "Alright. I've opened the portal to what should be a secluded glade."

Reaper nods, smiling a little, though a bit uncertain as he nodded, stepping up to the portal, a hopeful expression appearing on his face. So far, his soulmate wasn't the least bit afraid of him. That was a good thing, though that might partially be due to the trauma they were likely still processing, as Reaper could read souls and was... Well aware of the secrets that the other was hiding from everyone in regards to their past. He steps on through, making sure to float a few inches above the grass, to avoid killing anything. "I... Oh..." The vibrant colors of the flowers seemed to glow in the early dawn light, the dew glistening brightly on the grass, his breath leaving him in a pale white, misty cloud. A goofy grin appeared on his face "This... This is incredible..." He murmured to Dream.

Dream nods, beaming happily and hugging him tightly around the middle from behind "I... I'm so glad to finally meet you, and I hope that we'll be able to get along."

"I hope that we get along as we get to know one another better as well..." Reaper murmured, shifting in Dream's grip so that he could give them a hug, a goofy smile appearing on his face. He'd heard muttering for the longest time from the other gods that he didn't have a soulmate - or that they had died. He had hoped that the latter wasn't true, well aware that the former was false... And now... Here Dream was... In his arms, unafraid and curious about him, even. This was a start for both of them, and one that he was determined not to squander or waste.

#major character death cw #dream sans #reaper sans #reaperdream #aftertale sans #ink sans #swap sans #underfell sans #rt papyrus #rt gaster #sf sans #fs sans

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jasontoddiefor · 5 years

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Title: Death shall not rest on my doorstep

Summary: Bruce dies and suddenly Gotham, previously claimed by the Omega, is without a ruler. And Jason hadn’t planned to do anything about it, but-

AN: Written for @thursday-batfam-prompts ABO! Because I like non-traditional A/B/O AU’s so this is NOT CREEPY. I repeat: NOTHING CREEPY!

In-between all the vigilante occupied cities, Gotham had always been the odd one out. Not simply because none of its heroes were aliens or meta-humans of any kind, but because it was a claimed territory.

If you passed Gotham city borders, you entered the home of the Bat. It made outsiders vary. They weren’t used to the omnipresent feeling of darkness waiting to wrap them in its shadow. They thought of it as unnatural, gross, and downright frightening. For those who called Gotham home, the Bat’s presence was the sweet reassurance that someone would be there for you at the end of the day. Whether it was to welcome you to the gates of hell or heaven’s feather-light embrace, nobody knew. It was the reason nobody ever truly left Gotham. After years of living under someone’s protection, it was hard to move to another place.

During his training, Jason had spent a couple weeks in Bialya, first tracking down a teacher, then learning under them. While the country wasn’t a place Jason had wanted to spend more time in than necessary, Bialya was also one of the few claimed territories still left in the world. Its ruling Omega Queen Bee couldn’t be further from Bruce, but the weight that came from being in claimed lands had been comforting on Jason’s shoulder.

He had never known what it was like to live in free land. Jason had been a toddler still when Batman had started his crusade. He couldn’t even recall what the city’s scent had been before the Omega had torn through the streets, declaring it his city to nourish and cherish. In the course of one night Gotham’s fate had changed.

And now its direction had turned once more.

Jason knew that there was a difference between death and absence. He was the best example of what either did to you. Absence was breathing in and remembering the taste of something you were missing dearly. Death was defined by taking a breath, choking on glass, and wondering how you could ever lose something as precious as your heart.

Gotham was grieving, had been since Bruce had died - or disappeared if you were to believe the words of an equally destroyed teenager. Jason almost felt sorry for Tim. First, another little Beta disturbed the careful balance of Gotham’s vigilante pack, then their parent and guide died, and finally Dick proved incapable of putting his foot down properly, effectively pushing Tim out.

And meanwhile, Gotham was still in tears. Sure, there was a new Bat on the streets who could hit just as hard as the old one, but in the end, Dick was a Beta and couldn’t claim a territory. It was almost ironic that Crime Alley, Jason’s region, was the most stable one. Its people missed the Bat – How could they not when it had such a much more merciful chokehold than the Red Hood? – but at least its borders were still defined every night.

Jason stretched his arms above his head. It was time to get going, least of all some other second-rate Omega thought he could take what belonged to Jason. As he made his way across the rooftops, Jason stopped once in a while just to turn west and stare. The rest of Gotham whispered sweetly, begging for its Knight in shining armor or, perhaps as Jason used to dream so long ago, for a Robin who had spread his wings.

Bruce gave him a promise ages ago when the streets Jason walked hadn’t run red with his own blood yet.

Nightwing had made his home in Blüdhaven then, barely even a member of their pack, and Batgirl had sought new heights to explore. There had been no other children tearing at Bruce’s cape for attention, whether that was in form of an angry blonde Alpha, another silent Omega or two Beta Robins.

Jason had been a son then, the only other Omega. It had been logical that he’d become the next Bat and inherit Gotham. His eyes had been so wide when Bruce promised him this city, so full of disbelief.

The child that had died had been right to question it. Crime Alley was all of Gotham that ever should belong to Jason, to the Red Hood. The rest was the home of the Bat and a naïve, hopeful Robin dreaming of the future.

Red Hood couldn’t care for a city. His job was to keep it contained.

Jason’s attention spiked when he felt a disturbance two blocks further down. The Bat was halfway across the city, but he could tell that the newest Robin was interrupting on the edge of Jason’s territory. Jason wasn’t really able to pinpoint Damian’s scent. He was a child still, smelling more like a mix of his parents than himself. But Jason was more than familiar what Robin’s scent should be. Before they were even allowed outside, Bruce had taught them how to divide themselves.

This was who you were at home.

(Old books, oil, hot chocolate, lemonade tarts)

This was who the media got to see.

(Ink, money, gold, summer)

And this was who you will be on patrol.

(Hope, streets, laughter, the Bat)

Robin was supposed to be attuned to the Bat. Jason had buried that part of himself deep beneath the anger, blood, birth and decay of the Pit. Damian, however, still smelled like the Bat. Like a Bat who was out of his depth and should have stopped hanging onto Daddy’s legacy when he left this city the first time, but a Bat nevertheless.

What was the little brat doing here? There was no reason-

Oh.

Jason bit on his tongue until it bled. It was a bad habit he hadn’t been able to unlearn even after all the terrible lessons his silence had taught him already.

Someone was trying to lay claim on Gotham, or at least a part of Gotham.

Jason shouldn’t care.

He had his part of town, the rest was up for grabs since Jason distinctly hadn’t claimed it and yet-

It had been supposed to be his years ago. When he still recalled how to not only be the danger waiting to snap your neck but the person you ran to for help. The kids on the street came to him, they recognized his slang and knew he was one of their own – but therein laid the problem. Robin hadn’t been one of them. Robin was theirs, body, soul, mind. If you misbehaved, you’d get hurt, that was given. Batman and Robin wouldn’t be effective if they just gave stern talks. The reassurance that despite everything, you wouldn’t die on the cold and dirty asphalt though, was enough to trust Robin above Red Hood every day. As long as Batman had been there, Jason hadn’t needed anyone to trust him.

But now the difference of Bruce’s disappearance managed to tear a rift the size of the Grand Canyon in-between him and everyone else.

Jason hurried to his bike and raced to Damian. He wanted to see which idiot thought he could trouble the most lethal Robin to date yet and dare to claim his father’s city right in front of him. Jason was halfway there when he recognized the intruder.

Victor Zsasz.

Fuck. Jason hadn’t even known the serial killer had escaped from Arkham.

He was already driving way above the speed limit, the few miles more he pushed for shouldn’t matter. When he arrived at the scene, Jason first scanned the situation. Zsasz was armed, Robin didn’t have his belt, and a couple kids were standing behind Robin’s back. Oh great, civilians. Last thing Jason needed tonight. As soon as he jumped off his bike, even before feet touched the ground, Jason threw a smoke bomb in Zsasz’s direction.

“What the hell-?”

While Zsasz was distracted, Jason ran for Damian’s belt lying on the ground.

“Don’t let anyone ever take this from you,” he hissed as he threw it in Damian’s hands. “You lose the belt, battle’s already looking worse.”

Then Jason turned to the kids. “You, scramble. You don’t want to see this.”

They didn’t have to be told twice and rushed off in the opposite direction, disappearing into another street.

“I had it under control!” Damian lied, so Jason didn’t even bother with a reply.

The smoke cleared up and Zsasz didn’t wait for even a second to jump Jason. The serial killer was dangerous, but he had nothing on the teachers Jason had trained under. Jason grabbed Zsasz’s outstretched arm, breaking his wrist as he took the man’s knife away and used his speed against him to throw him on the ground. He crashed harshly against the asphalt, but that wasn’t enough to stop him from trying to kick Jason’s legs away.

Out of the corner of his eye, Jason could see Damian reaching for his batarangs and no. The last thing he needed was more knives in Zsasz’s reach. Instead, Jason let himself be caught and crashed onto the attacker’s back with his knees.

“So you get out of Arkham and the first thing you do is try to claim Gotham,” Jason said. “You’re not really that stupid, are you?”

Zsasz growled and tried to shake Jason off.

“Nobody’s taken Gotham yet!” Zsasz shouted. “The Bat is dead. Has been for weeks now. We all know it! I’m just the first to try to do something about it.”

“And you think you deserve Gotham? You think you’re strong enough to keep this city under your thumb? Don’t make me laugh.”

Zsasz’s face turned into a torn impression of a snarl and he tried to push himself up again, but Jason stopped him by putting pressure on his broken hand. Zsasz hissed and reached for Jason’s leg with his other hand, digging his nails into the armor.

“Don’t act so high and mighty now, little Red Riding Hood, you didn’t do anything either! You’re weak and scared. Barely brave enough to stick to Crime Alley like the trash you are- urgh.”

Jason dunked Zsasz’s face in the ground, but that didn’t stop him. He just kept talking and talking, cutting into Jason’s skin with his words just as well as he would with a knife.

“All dressed up with a Bat across your chest, but we all know you’re not really a part of their pack. You just take like the rest of us. Take, take, take and cut this city into pieces, but you don’t try to fix anything at all.”

“Shut up.”

He didn’t need to hear it, he didn’t want to listen to it anymore. All Zsasz should do now was keep silent and stay down like the scum he was.

“What? Little red afraid to hear the truth?”

“I said, shut up!”

Zsasz kept grinning despite lying on the ground defeated. Jason only had to put a bullet into his head and it would be all over. It would show him what happened when you messed with the Red Hood and tried to take what didn’t belong to you. Jason should claim Gotham to keep all the monsters away from ever touching this city again. Jason should let them rot in the same depth of anger and decay as him.

Them and the rest of the city.

He couldn’t do that to everyone. The rogues of this city, the ugly creatures of terrible massacres deserved to drown in the worst of Jason’s self. But the kids spraying Batman murals and Robin Rs should grow up in a better place.

“Speechless, Red?”

“You,” Jason said and injected Zsasz’s with a sedative. “Talk too much.”

Slowly he stood up. Tomorrow, maybe, Jason would regret it. The Pit would scream at him, and he’d wake up wondering how he could ever let the broken little Robin spread his wings again. But right now Jason was angry. Gotham was his city. The city they had sweat, bled and died for. The hell would he let anybody else take it from them.

No matter what you did, you couldn’t forget Robin. It was almost a little too easy to open up the cage he’d put the kid in and let hope, laughter and the Bat wash over him, effectively switching places with the scent of the Pit.

Zsasz’s eyes went wide, he looked up to Jason as if he saw a ghost. Jason licked his lips.

“Y-you’re dead!” The man screeched. “The Joker killed you! How is your scent like the dead second’s?”

Jason’s shoulders tremored. He wanted to cry, but instead, a pitiful laugh escaped him. He grinned, bright and just on the edge of unsettling.

“He did,” Jason said. “He took a crowbar to my head and didn’t stop until only heaven could have saved me, and it didn’t care. But do you know who cares? Do you know who wanted me back?”

Zsasz tried to push himself to his feet again, only to stumble and fall again in a fit of hysterics. Jason stepped on the man’s back, pushing him down.

“I said, do you know?”

The man sobbed and shook his head. With his hands, he tried to protect his face. Jason could feel Damian’s eyes on his back. He wondered if the kid had ever gotten to see Bruce like this.

“Gotham did. She called me back to keep this city from falling. So listen well and tell all your buddies: This city is mine. It always was, it always will. The Bat gave it to me and if you want it, feel free to knock on our signal and we will answer.”

“W-we?”

“The Bat, Robin, me and all your worst nightmares.”

Before Zsasz could say another word or continue with his freak-out, Jason hit him at the back of his neck, knocking him out. Zsasz deserved death. All of Gotham would be better off with him dead in a ditch six-feet-under.

But murder was hardly the first thing Jason should do after taking Gotham, if it was something he could afford to do at all.

In the distance, Jason could already hear the police sirens.

“C’mon, Robin,” Jason told his Robin.

His.

It hadn’t even been minutes and Jason was already getting protective. He could already feel the headache coming. Was this how Bruce had always felt day in and day out? No wonder that Betas were usually the organizers in charge of keeping everything else running and Alphas were sent to defend their land. Jason had a hard time recalling a moment he had ever felt as cheerful and nauseous as right now.

But maybe his suffering would be short. Dick would kill him as soon as he got to them. Even if Jason would still have to walk Gotham’s borders at least once to finalize his claim, but Dick would be able to tell right away that this particular Robin had laid claim on the city.

He’d shout and accuse Jason of trying to be Batman, except Jason really wasn’t. The man he had grown up to be couldn’t be Batman.

But he still remembered how to be Robin. To look like he belonged in any street, crack a joke for the crying children and give them hope, and linger in the shadow of the Bat and support him.

Their city, their pack, didn’t need Red Hood to spread the fear right now. He could do this when their runaway Batgirl returned to be this pack’s Omega.

Right now, though, they only had Jason, and there was a particular responsibility that came from caring for a city. Mainly, that you had to love all of it. Every corner, every flaw.

And Jason could do it.

“Todd, what are you doing!? How dare you put your filthy scent on Father’s city!”

Damian had finally found his voice again it appeared.

“I’m putting a claim on our city. And I smell just like you, brat.”

“This isn’t yours-“

“Then whose is it?” Jason interrupted the squirt. “Zsasz is right. B is dead and everybody knows it. Unless this pack got another member with the ability to claim territory lying around, be my guest and let them take all of Gotham. Until then, Gotham will be dealing with me. Don’t worry, I’ll stick to your rules. Now, are you coming or not?”

Another second passed, then Damian got onto Jason’s bike.

“Did B ever take you ‘round the city and showed you how to do proper claiming?”

Jason could feel Damian shake his head.

“Then I’ll do it. The most important part is the visualization. If you don’t know how your home looks, you can’t draw proper borders. You know how Batman forces you to memorize maps before you go out? Imagine that but a hundred times worse. Every day he’d have me learn each street and then go about practicing it. I swear, the first time I managed to make a part of the Batcave mine, it was the most exhausting thing I’ve ever done.”

They covered all the bridges, kept driving until the sun was rising again and the newspapers began to shred each other apart trying to explain that it was their dear second Robin who had taken over for Batman. Jason enjoyed the silence of the drive. He and Dick would scream at each other long and loud enough once they returned to the Cave.

#jason todd #bruce wayne #damian wayne #dc #dc comics #batman #fanfic #idk what I'm doing with my life

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hoodie-lover · 4 years

Text

My Multiverse Ask Event! #6

KikiTheSapphireKitsune - Archive of Our Own - First, Second, Third, Fourth

Megalovaniaintensifies - Archive of Our Own - Fifth, Sixth

KikiTheSapphireKitsune - Archive of Our Own - Seventh

Megalovaniaintensifies - Archive of Our Own - Eighth, Ninth

KikiTheSapphireKitsune - Archive of Our Own - Tenth, Eleventh, Twelfth

Megalovaniaintensifies - Archive of Our Own - Thirteenth

KikiTheSapphireKitsune - Archive of Our Own - Fourteenth, Fifteenth

Megalovaniaintensifies - Archive of Our Own - Sixteenth

KikiTheSapphireKitsune - Archive of Our Own - Seventeenth, Eighteenth, Nineteenth, Twentieth, Twenty-First, Twenty-Second, Twenty-Third, Twenty-Fourth, Twenty-Fifth

Megalovaniaintensifies - Archive of Our Own - Thirty-Second, Thirty-Third, Thirty-Fourth, Thirty-Fifth, Thirty-Sixth

KikiTheSapphireKitsune - Archive of Our Own - Thirty-Seventh, Thirty-Eighth, Thirty-Ninth, Fortieth, Forty-First, Forty-Second, Forty-Third

Megalovaniaintensifies - Archive of Our Own - Forty-Fourth, Forty-Fifth, Forty-Sixth, Forty-Seventh

“heya.”

“you’ve been busy, huh?”

“...” Classic was quiet as he took a breath and continued his monologue.

“so, i’ve got a question for ya.” Classic said, smiling a grim smile.

“do you think even the worst person can change…?”

“that everyone can be a good person, if they just try?”

“heh heh heh heh...”

“all right.”

“well, here’s a better question.”

“do you wanna have a bad time?”

“cause if you take another step forward...”

“you are REALLY not going to like what happens next.”

“welp.” Classic said, smiling as he shifted his feet, excited and brimming with anticipation for what he hoped was their true, last fight.

“Get ready Frisk.”

“It’s the end.”

“Well Classic I can tell you that Chara doesn't like Frisk one bit. Chara is on your side, so there is that. You can also blame the askers for this, one of us made the mistake of asking Frisk a question about the multiverse.”

“Well, I’m glad to know I have one human ally in this world.” Classic muttered during the pause as he raised his hand and launched his attack.

“Yes Nightmare! I knew you would get it! Told you that you're smart.”

“Thanks. I just wish I could tell him without being interrupted.” Nightmare said, glaring at Maxie as she shrugged innocently.

“Nightmare, of course you are a good dad. You are better than my parents, although that is a low bar. I think you are great anyway.”

“Whatever you say.” Nightmare said, laying on his back as he retracted his tentacles.

“So guys, how are you gonna keep the brat from loading so you can do this? You have to have a plan!”

“Every time they die, we’ll swap out. Keep them on their toes and curious.” Killer snickered, watching Frisk dodge the bones with masterful ease and boredom.

“if your going to drain frisks DT wait out this timeline and ambush them the second they fall so they never get a save”

“That’s the plan. Get revenge, get a RESET, then drain them.” Dust whispered, eagerly waiting his chance to beat the brat into the ground and turn them into a red mush of flesh and broken bones.

“frisk if humanity is evil why not kill all humans”

“I can’t save or load on the surface, the only reason I can kill all monsters is because I can save and load.” Frisk whispered, standing before Classic.

“Frisk stop it, you say humanity is cruel but look at yourself! You are showing the worst of our species and it needs to end. You can choose to be kind, you can choose to be the change you wish to see in others but instead you attack the people who cared about you? Stop and look at what you have become, there is so much better you could have done. Please, just stop hurting everyone.”

“I don’t care. I haven’t for a long time.” Frisk said, their eyes filled with bloodlust as they swung their knife at Classic, the punny skeleton grabbing their hands and throwing them across the room.

“classic if you don't do certain things to not break script do you fall asleep on purpose at the end of the genocide”

“I do. I get completely exhausted, and the only way to get stronger in the time I’m given is something I’ve tried. Twice.” Classic said laughing at Frisk’s shocked face.

“Though I mostly fake it nowadays, fighting the Dark Sanses really got me into shape.” Classic said, chuckling darkly as Frisk got up and charged. It was pathetic.

“chara why do you let frisk reset at the end of genocide route if you dont reset for them they wont kill toriel asriel and flowey”

“Ḭ̴̯̚ ̵̼̥̇̀w̸͙̆o̴̻̖̅ù̷̮̞̉l̵̗̠͗̈́d̷͚̼̈́̽ ̴̡̘̚ḩ̸̘͌a̶̯̒͋v̷̙̒ͅe̶͙͑ ̸̦͋ṡ̵̪͍t̴̖́̆o̶̭͍͊p̶͙͐p̸̯̩̐ê̷͚̕d̵̰̞͊͘ ̶̛͍t̴͎̫͊̽h̴̗̥̎e̴͐ͅm̸̖̔̿ ̶͓̄ī̸͎̀f̴̢̚ ̸̪͘Ì̸̢̇ ̴̰̓̚ͅc̸̣͊͝ǒ̸͓u̶̥͚͛l̵̯̃̉d̵̦̈́.̵̩̐” Chara said, small tears forming in their eyes as they held a breath they didn’t need to.

“Hey Alt, sad to tell you that you're most likely right. Most Errors were never really shown much kindness in their multiverse, most have been tortured by the creators and even the other versions of yourself and your friends. Most Errors need a helping hand, and are too scared of being hurt more to actually accept it. Also there is the touch phobia most have, which is usually a trauma induced phobia in most people who have it so it makes sense Error would have it. So what are you going to do about your Error? Are you going to try to help him?”

“I’ve tried reaching out several times, I’ve apologized for using him like I did when we fought my Nightmare, and I leave him gift baskets with chocolate and sewing supplies. I think they’re working, he’s not as active, but I hope it’s not because of the creators in my world.” Alt said, looking at Classic. He was fighting the human

“Killer, Dust.... you are both precious little beans who love their new found family and will protect them with everything you have. I don't care what you say you are adorable!”

“No we are not.” They said in unison, they were barely audible over Frisk’s screams of frustration at Sans’ new patterns. Though they haven’t died yet.

“Oh Stretch, you must mean the YandereBerry, yeah he is unsettling to say the least.”

“Ink genuinely made one, and then never made another. Everyone stayed away from our AU for a week after that incident.” Stretch said, shuddering at the memory.

“frisk what do you think of jerry”

“I hate him as much as humanity.” Frisk said, their arm crackling and bones fragments grinding against each other as they swung their blade again.

“I know those ships made you guys cringe but what they put other Red's through is worse. He gets shipped with everyone and everything, including(but not limited to) his brother, blue, the pet rock, classic, black, lust, horror, jerry(ew), and of lust.”

“Oh boy. Do not get me started.” Red grumbled, growling as he remembered one time Ink rambled on about all the ships involving him when he confessed to having a crush on Blue. It held a sour taste in his mouth as he didn’t know if it was fake or not, or if his feelings were fake or not. But he kept going as he was happy and no one was being hurt.

“I feel bad for him, he really has it the worst.” Blue said, kissing him on the cheek or whatever the equivalent was.

“He does, when I say everyone I mean EVERYONE. Every single sans has been shipped with him at least once, as have the papyrus's, he has been shipped with every monster in his universe and the kid. Red is in a lot of smut pieces, and it is kinda weird.”

“Yeah, it’s almost like he has a lot to choose from.” Black said, and Red’s eye narrowed at the sight of the promiscuous skeleton.

“killer and dust so aren't you both technically from the classic timeline”

“We are.” They said in unison.

“Oh Black, how are you planning to win Blue over?”

“I will ruin Red’s reputation with scandals and swoop in to comfort Blue in his time of betrayal. Then I will set up many circumstances where he will be in danger and I shall save him. I will also gift him with many great items worthy of Blue’s magnificence!” Black said, whispering so no one would hear him.

“Hey Frisk why don't you just talk to us for a minute and pay no mind to anything happening, you can just load if something happens anyway so no need to keep your guard up. Stop hunting down monsters and tell me a bit more about who you are, what is a few minutes?”

“A distraction. If better executed, it may have worked.” Frisk said, smirking.

“Guys please tell me this plan of yours is gonna work, do not let this murder child into the multiverse. And Paps, I know you are the forgiving type but they need to be stopped, if they somehow get access to the doodlesphere there is no telling what they might do.”

“No kidding. They are determined, more so than any monster or human we know. It’s horrifying to know what they would do if they got access to the entire multiverse.” Papyrus said, sighing as he watched what was going on, it hurt even though he had watched several times.

“I just want everyone to be ok.”

“So do I.” Papyrus said, shaking a bit.

“Yikes, Paps gave up on someone? I mean I get it, they are doing some pretty awful things just cause they can, not for any reason either. They don't have any reason to hurt anyone other than they can and they feel above consequences. Show them they are not, please.”

“With pleasure.” Dust said, watching Frisk fall down dead and swapping with Classic right as Frisk came back.

Frisk wasted no time before they were stabbed in the arm. And then their other arm, and legs. With cries of agony they fell to the ground and Dust laughed.

“Pathetic. This is what killed me millions of times? What drove me into insanity? Pathetic.” Dust said, as the kid got up and dodged.

“Well, I’m going to admire watching you die.” Dust said, firing blasters at the kid who was much slower as they beld out.

“So Error, your dad knows who you really are, or were... wanna try and guess? I mean you now know you were from a split off of the classic timeline so you should be able to narrow it down.”

“Out of everyone, the chances of them getting into the anti-void is slim, and Ink did entertain Geno as a possibility. And since I did hear a ‘G’ through the censor, I guess I was Geno. Meaning I had to watch them all go crazy at one point in time, though not Horror, he was before any Genocide.” Error said, shaking with rage.

“Is geno helping too? with stopping the brat?”

“Hell yeah!” Geno said, he was in the save screen. He would be going last.

“Error the ship with you and Ink is def a different multiverse. It is usually consensual and both are happy together in most cases. There are a few Yandere Inks but only a few. Error makes me happy.”

“Yandere and Ink are two words that shouldn’t be together. In any sentence. Ever.” Error said, shuddering at the thought.

“Also I will admit to being a tad biased in favor of the Dark Sans's, but just a tad.”

“As are we! I hope that Frisk is murdered and never comes back!” Maxie said, and the other Creators cheered.

“So Dream, Nightmare... what pranks can I help with?”

“The glitter prank.” Dream said and Red looked at him, and Dream turned away, snickering to himself.

“Can't Error use his strings to capture Frisk's soul, like when he is destroying a universe so the kid can't just reset?”

“We could, but some souls have gotten out before. We don’t want to risk him escaping.” Error said.

“Hmm, would be nice if you could somehow give Chara a second chance. They certainly deserve to be part of your family more than Frisk does. Chara still sees you all as their family.”

“They do? You can talk to them?! Oh my god.” Toriel said, falling to her knees as Asgore held his hand over his mouth.

“Well, it seems this is one big mess. Bigger than I thought.” Flowey said, looking at his former parents with an odd feeling.

“See Nightmare, it is frustrating to not just be able to tell them the answer right? Stupid censoring.”

“It sure is.” Nightmare said, sighing.

“Blue, what's in the flask? And don't deny having it, I know you do you naughty boy.”

“Whiskey. And I am once again unable to get to any level of intoxication. I might as well be drinking water!” Blue said, rubbing his temples.

“Hey Alt's Error, you doing ok? The voices aren't being too cruel are they? If they hurt you I will fight them!”

“They’re fine.” He said, giving a very disgusted look.

“error just out of curiosity aren't you and ink supposed to be there to keep balance in the multiverse”

“Replace Ink with the Creators and you have a correct statement. It used to be Ink and I but that, clearly, didn’t quite work out.” He said, rolling his eyes.

“chara is a ghost like napstablook or mettaton so isn't it possible to make a body for him”

“It’d be possible to make one for her, yes chara is a girl. A lot of people get that wrong. But the ghosts of the Underground were born that way, they never died. So I’m not sure.” Alphys said, thinking.

“error have you ever destroyed the classic timeline”

“Wouldn’t be here if I did.” Error said, watching a very morbid display on Dust’s end.

“Well that’ll give me nightmares.” Error said, turning away.

“ok so if dust sans kills all the monsters i mean all the monsters getting him to level 19 he might be able to talk to chara maybe?”

“I occasionally see a wips of green and yellow. I assume that’s the kid, but I don’t have enough DT to actually hold a conversation with them.” Dust said, sighing.

“toriel if you break script and cut the flowers that break the humans fall they will never be able to kill anyone since they died”

“I could do that, but there are other ways into the Underground, small caverns and holes on the mountain, and it’s better knowing where they will fall rather than not knowing where.” Toriel said, sighing.

“Hey Chara, is there anything you would like us to tell your parents? I want to help you!”

“Ṱ̷̠͔̲̭͍̩̩̑̀͠e̵͕̰͖̯͙̫̯̔͌̇̀̍̈́̋̂̉̏́̍͆͝ļ̸̹̙̲͖̗͈̟̰̝̀͑͒̚͝l̵̨̞͙̪̬̒̒̂̈͂̉͌̆̓̊̆͘͘ ̴͈̼̰̖̬̊̒́̓̾͋̂̊̚͝ẗ̸̡̧̮̝̹̘̟̰̪̤̰̖̪̝̦̋͂̆̈͜͜h̴̢͇̜̜͚̻̬͕̻̠̤̝̀̾̍̍̋͌̂͊͊̚͜͠ḝ̶̢̛̯̯͍͖̤̳̻̰͍̓̂͑͂̉͋̃́͂̐̕̕̕͝m̷̼͍͑͒͒̓̃ ̴̟̦͉̙̱̫̞̗̪̭̰̫͌͑͋̀͑̾̀̿̀͝͝ͅͅḮ̷̧̡̛̱̠̯̠̘̫̞̮͓̩̻̥̳̪̖̆̃̅̓̄̎̌̾̓̃̀̓͆̚̕͜͠'̵̨̰̹͕͍͎̻̺͍͈͇̿͗̍̉̓͠m̸̩̀̄̾͗̌̔͠ ̸̺͇̟̤̗̹̫̱͍̯̉̾̅̃̾͊̎́̌͝s̴͚͓̽̈́͑̓͐͊̈́̆͠o̵͔̖̠̥̫̓̓̀̀̈̆͑̒ṟ̸̛̩̞̺̝͖̳͍̘̪̗̣͇̇̂̿͛̔̒̒͛͑͐͘͘͠ͅͅr̷̢̻̜̬̬̟͔͇̭͓̺̺̱̜̹̪͗͊̓̒̏́̔͛y̶̧̼̮̦̞̭̙͚̺͆!̵̨̹͚́̏ ̷͕̹̘͔̰̜̞̯͚̇̑͑̅͊̈́̆͠T̸͎̤̎̄̕͝h̵͍̠͍̣̞̣̜̝̦̘͇͆̏̓̾̋̐̀̋̊̽͗͂̔͝a̷̬̱͎̰̐̾͑̒ͅt̸̡̢̛̝̳̠̗̖͙̺̩̖̣̤̙̐̀̐̽̽̄̿̾͌͗̍̅̇́͜ ̷̨̢̧̡̩̭̠̰͈̰͉̻̻͔̼̘̤͇̈́̑̉͂́̐̈͛̈́̽̃̇͌͝I̵̧̲͍͇͉̘̰̝̠̭͓͈̗̩̞̐̉̒̉͗̕͜'̷̨̨̡̺͇̯̮̮̞̘̰̫͓̑̄̈͐̒̄̊̉̇͋͘̕̕m̵̧͕̹̞̩̱̞͍͈͇̜͇͎̦̦͔̃̑̓̎̑͛̅̊̂̉̒̆̃̕͝ ̷͖͉̈̍̆͌̈̉̑́̏̈͆͊͠͝͝s̷̢̢̗͕̺̔̈́̂̐͐̆̉̏̐͘̕̚͝͝͠ò̴̡̢͓̗̪̝͔͈͚̣̋̒̽̓́͋͂̀̋͜͜͜r̸̲͓͎̠͍̀̂̕r̵̮̭̳̙̖͚͓̤̥͕͒̊̉y̸̡̨̗̼̳̦͖͔̖̟̱̙͎͖̆̆̊̍̐̉͌̽̾̒̔̎͘̕͠ ̶̧̬̟̝̏̍̒̈́̏̓̂̊̚͜f̴̢̨̨̺̰̬̰̤̪̫̮͚̣͎̖͑̃̈́͑͛̊͒͜o̷̢̒̓̀̇͒̅̓͝r̶̢͚̘̖̆̏̑̾͝ ̸̻̱͍̳̭̳̥̜̞̻̺͇̝̻̳͋̚ȩ̷̯͕̱͙͍͕̦̘̱̘͚̰̤̬̝́͑͗̋͝ͅv̸̖̬͎̍̉̃̅̚e̴̢͖͖͓͓̣͇̞͖̝͆͊̆̆͌̃͒̕͜͝r̴͕͚̣̯̻̰̭͉͍͓͇̭̐͛̋̀̀̐͜͜ͅỷ̶̘͊͛͌̆̃̒̏̐͛̀̒̀͝͝t̷̙̦̘̿̈̾͋͌̓̌͠ḩ̴͓̘̠̪̫͔͕̳̗͖͇̺̪̲̝̘̓į̴͇̘̗͆̓͋́̆̈́̉̑͗̏̐͒ņ̴̛̛̞̺̯̝̤̜͚̘͙̜̂̔͗͊̐́͂́͆̿́̍̚ͅg̸͈̠̈́́̀̑͠ ̶̧̩̻̰̠͎̍̑̾̀̌͆̈͂͋̓́̎̇ͅȧ̸̧̢̡̭͙̯̲̙͕̩̤̯̜̙̘̼̅͘͜n̴̡̛͓̘̺̹̠̲̔̍̍̅͗͆̍͐͛̄͆̈́̕͘͝d̶̰͇̱̩̫̻̝̝͍̓͜ͅ ̶̨̑̃̈͆͋̓̑̔̾̈̈͐̒͠I̴̢̡̤̦͇̜̳̖̦͙͖͕̖̱̠̬͈͎̊̂̆̇̑̂́̍́̉͑͑͝͠͝ ̵̮̳͔̩̩̙̇́̐͋͂̿̀̌͠͝͠ľ̴̨̧͈̫̏́̿̀̽̇͌͐̔́̈̽͘͝͝ǒ̴͉͔̫̙͖͇̟͑̋̋̂̂̅̉̒̀̇͂̎͆̄͝͝v̴̫͓͎͙̥̥̤̙͙̱͙̮͚͓̭̻̦̾̌̍̉ȩ̵̡̜̜̺̙̩̻̪̬̼̱͈̰͉̦̳̀̃̈͗͜͠ ̴̛̛̥͕̤͙̠̀͆̈́͂̐͊́͒͑̓̄̿͜͜t̴͙̆̓̊̚h̷̢̳̝̜̱̓́ę̵͓̳̫̲̼͈̲̬̟͉̗̈́̑͛͛̒̍̈́͜͝ͅͅm̷̧̛̺̻̱̜͚͔͕͖̳̭̬̫͍̩̩͌̈́̀́̀̑̅̈̏̄̿͌͆̀͘͝ ̸̨̧̛̪̮͚̯͚̖̗͂̊̾̄́̎͊̂̾̀͗͋́̎̚̚ͅm̷̡̳͚͓͈̦̙̯͕̫̫̺̥̳̱͖̂̎̅͆͊̈́͛̂̀͋̒̒̿͋͊̾̚͘ǫ̵̧͔͈̫̮͈͕͉̩͓̭͈̜͋́͠r̵̹̣̬̲͉͌̋̓̐̍̌̓̉̒̏͒̚̚͝ȩ̴̧̲̰̬̦͕̣̙̜͍̬̹͔̼̩̩͊́͒̈́̋̌̿͌̆̓̇ ̸̛̻̙̭̯̳̊̈́̈́́̓̿̆́̽́̿̊͗̈́̕͘̚ṯ̴͉͖̖̥̹̻͓̫͖͒̀̇̍̑̈́̓̊͂̇̀̑̃̌͝ḣ̴̢͔͔̣̼̥̲̫̤̍̓͑̇̇̂́a̸̝̠̖̯̬̔̃͌̑͛̋͘n̸͓̳̹͎̬͚̺̬̮̟̗̞̝͓̹͛̑̓̈́̎̋̈́͠ͅ ̴̺̠̰͇̣̩̐̂̅͌̉͋͘͝͝ạ̵͚̱̥̙̖̣̦͎̣͕̞̪̗̦̑͒͋̇̏̾͐̓̇́̃́͆́͠͝͠ņ̷͈̪̝̔̎͌y̶̰̣̹̰̰̰͚͙̯̮͙̼͕̩̻̘̦̓̑̑̍̀̅̀̍̀̇́̋͒̚͝͝͝ṯ̸̢̢̢̥̺̭͚̳̼̣̠̞̳͈̥̽̂̓͋̋̇͆́̐̀͂́̅͛̕͜͜͝͝ḩ̵̟̹͇͕̜̖̘͓̥͎̮̐͆̋̋͛͆̂̔̿ͅī̴̢̤͙̟̜̜̞̩̠̰̊n̶̨̛̖̹̗͉̜͕̟̔̂̽̔̅̍̐͛̃̀̀̾͘͝ǵ̷̡̧̨̣̗̻̬͉̗̯̋̑̐̈́̐̈͆̑̋͗̕!̷̧̬̪̜̟͍̯̲̞͓̪̤̅̓͗̂̌͘ͅͅ ̶̱̄̓͑͊͆͌̔͠T̷̢̛̤͎̲̰͐̔͛̈̂̃̀͊̌̔̌͒̓͘͝h̸̢̡̡̧̩̟̬̞͙̪̞̹̳͙͈̼̰̊͜ë̶̺͖̠̦͇̹̦́ỳ̵̨̪̟͇̲̻͈̗̠̪̰̆͒̊̇̈̈̈́̌͌̆'̵̠͎̋̽̏́̽͒͠r̶̡̧̢̨̢̮̹͇͇͉̞̼̼̃̏̉ę̵̮̫̜̥̭͉̰̫̩̇̓̐͘ͅ ̷̨̤̯͇̠̯̽͒̓͂͛̅̈̑̇̀͛̓̅͘͝s̸͖͓͎̞̻̑ṯ̶͖̊̈́͌͝i̶̛̯͓͓̦̫̽̑͗͐́͌̏́͜͝l̷̢̛̪̜͙̭̬͚̓̓̈́̾̅̄͊̊̎̕͜l̸̨̛͕̭̰̥̬̱̀̅̄̍͆̑̄̓̏̊̈́͑̐̿̚̕ ̶̖͖̺̠̺̤̺̬̭̫͓̠͛̎̒̓͂͆͋͌̎̓̍̏͜͝ͅm̸̨̡̹͎͖̅͗͜y̵̢͎̫̲̼̏ ̶̛̝̉́̓̕f̴̡̠̹̿̃ȁ̶̢̨̪̦̮̜͉̘̘̪͉̟̠̟̱̜͈͓͂͒̄͋̐̒̿̐̓̇̈́͌͝ḿ̷̢̨̪̫͙̦͙̖̣̲͈͙͑̔͒̄́́͠ͅi̸̧͓̮̪̋͐͆̎͗̂̽̀͐l̷̜͓̞̗̙̤̟̯̦͉͓͍̰̲̖̞̓́͑̂̏̏͊̅̏̍̈́͑̔̋̂̕͝ÿ̸̡͙́ ̸̜̗̭̼̟̭͖̫́̑͜ͅa̵̦̾̐̾n̶̮͖̝͒̾̾̓̎̌̑͐́̔̽̚͠͠d̷̛̙̏͗̉̔̈́̒͑̍̈́̊͌̐̀͋̈̊͝ ̷̨̡̛̦̤̣͕́̉͗͘Í̴̭͖̝͍̜̗̦̀ ̶̨̩̥͙̭̙̹̪͇̠̩̦̳̩͚̣̔̃̑͐̽̃͐̋͝ͅl̴̨̛͉̯̬̲̜̼̼̣͔̣̳͕̎͐̎̃̆͆̍̇͌̄̕ͅō̶͉͔̯͈̳̠̯̤̹̖͌̆̋̅́̍͋̋͐͗̿͗̕͝͝v̸̡̧͎͕̜̘̓́̄̄̀̊̑ḙ̵̛̘̳͇̾̉̐͑͒̎̈́̍̋̕̕ ̸̱̊̾͐̾̃̀̓̐̎́̽̒͘t̶̡͔̬͔̯̠̬͙͇͈̰̤͒̔̋̇̽̑̽̎̔̈́̑͘͝ḩ̸̙̭̘͓̗̪̪̃e̵͖̙͈͙̥͓̦̹͙̾̌͗̆̿̀̉͌̐̉́̾͑̿̚͠m̷̤̩͙̬̰̘͖̞̠̦̉̈̀͐̃̊̉̐͝͝ ̷̢̧̞͈̋͌̈́̉̍̔͘͠s̵̼̣̦͕͈̻̍̈́́͐̀͌ö̸̦̒͗͗ ̷̧͓̮͇͒̆̄m̵̢͔͈̲̰̍̑͆̆͌̃̓̇̓̓͆͆͠͠͝û̶̠̩͔̻͎̘̠̥̲͎̉͂͘c̶̖͕͈̤̼̝̭͙̩̦̭̲̟̫͕̬̼̊̍̇͌͆͋̓̇̀͛̈́̚͠ͅh̵͈̜̣͈͓̑͑̅̌͒̉͌̑̀̔̚!̶̨̩͔͉͔̎̐̿̐̾̇̓̂̎̾̕͘ͅ ̶̛̘̗͚̝̭͚͉͂̂̐͗̉͋̈́̆̂͝͝͝T̴͓̦͙͍̋̄̉̾͊̐̌̓̏̾ͅe̸̱̘̥̼̟̒̈́̊͑l̶̦̬͋͛̆̅̈́̊̓͊̎͜l̷̡̟̘͇͓̙̻̝̞̯̙̙͕̘̥̈̌̓̀̽ͅ ̴̢̠͈͓̹̱̬̫͙̰̻͕̘̓̄̈́̚F̴̛͓̠̪̑̿̏̔͑̊͌̈́͋̽͝͝l̴͉͇͋̓̀̀̉̋͗́̎ȍ̷̡͈̳̗͓̈́́̊͑̎͐̕w̶̪͙͌̎̇̽͑̉̿̉͊̾͠e̷̡̨̢̧̝̘͈̮̲̦̳̘̤̳͇̱̲͑͑̌̏̿͐̇͊̚͝ý̶̡̢̬͈̦̯͓̠̋͊͠ ̸̨̡͍̱͈̻̲̱̩̳̤̲̟͂͑͒̽̎͑͂̕͝ͅͅI̶̢̜̲̲̖̰͙͎͖̣̭̭̠̭͖̠̊̀͘̚'̷̛͎̫̳̲͂̅́͛̆̂͗̔͐̀̅̔̌̕͜m̸̭̲͉͙̤͎̣͖͖̙̦̻̻͔͉̿̇̔͒̒̍̀̑̄̈́͆͝ ̴̡̡͓̝̖̫͇̠̺̙͉͎̻̻̬̋͋̾̈͑͜ṣ̷̡̡̧̯̣͎͎̹͈͈̬̞̮͆̄̑́̌̔̽̎͗̉̒͝ͅo̶̧̨̠̱̭̮͚̻̪̖̝͂͂̔̍̾̈̾͋͜͜͠͠ͅ ̶̧͇͍̩̞̖̖̽s̵̳̓̈́̃̚̚ǫ̸̞̞̼̟͚͉̻͈͕̮͖̈́̌͒̈͂̚͜r̸̥̝̦̯̙̲͛͛̄̅̐̍̊̿͘͜͝ͅr̶̰̫̒̉̂͆̿̓̀̏̕̕y̸̢̡͖̠̯͍̟̹̩̣̱͈̝̰̟̩̬̯̾ ̷̢̛̰̩̪̰̌̈́̉̓̓̒̊͂̉͂̈̀̕ͅa̴̡̨̧̖̤̬͕͓̎͌͆̈̓̈́͒̋̽͆̚͘͝n̶̬̹͆̐̋͌̃́̊̓́̂͒͘͠ḍ̷̬̀͒͂̿͆͒̈̐̃̽̄̒̓̊͠ ̶̱̺͓̼̮̥̳̦̤͍̊̆̈́̉̀̒̅̑̌̂̅̕̕͠t̶͖̰̺́̉̚e̵̢̧͎̘̘̖̹̬̣̲̖̪͂̄l̵̙̈͌͒̏̈͂͘l̶̨͇͙̮̼̳̎ͅ ̵̛̙̙͙̪͓͖̝̐͂̅̏̄͒̀̈́̂͂̒̀̆̈́̔̌͝M̶̳̟͇͓͓͔͎̘̤̘͉͛̈́̀̂͋̔̿̍o̴̡͔̰͕̘̪̻͉̙͇͎͕̠͗m̴̢̟̟͋͊͂͆̏̔̐̓̊́̇̇̉̕̕ ̶̛̛͙̘̑̽̀́̃̈́͌͐̂̂͒͘ṱ̴̛̩͖͕͙͕̣̖̳̖̮̲͉̮̲͖̾̅͊̊͑̋́̆̚͘͘ḩ̴̦̠̙̦̩̦̝͍͇̖͚̞̫́̑̋́͐̍̀͋͒̈́͆̔͐̏͆̌͝͝ͅa̶̡͍̦̲͉̋́́̔̍̀̎̽̓͑̒̐͊͘̚̕̕͠ͅ��̻̞̺̪̮̗̼̹ţ̶͉̠̬͉̗̭̱̭̩̫̈́̽̈́͜ͅ ̶̢̨͈̤͈̙̻͙̫̰͓̽͂̆̇͌͑͒̿̎̊̈͗͆̃̃͝Ĭ̸̞͇̓͑͊̇̆̕͠ ̴̨̛̜̩̬̖̬͎̥̳͖̯̝̞̗̰̬͑̿̇̀͊̇̏̌̓̆̀̓̈́͊̚͜͠l̵̤̭̞̰͛͘ͅͅò̵̡̧̨̢̼͍͎͎̞̬̩̭̣̺̤̜̉̾̒̌̌̽̀͊͝v̸̮͔͚̹̬̅̈́̑̌̅̒ē̸̢̧̢̻̺͍̜͈͕̼̰͓̲̻͔̪̼̉̇́̑̈́͊͐́͆̓̿̚̚͠ ̷̢̧̨̛̦͙̞̗͈̭͇̼̹̘̙̺̤̲̑̾̉̈́̐̒͜h̷̛̫̠̬̣̺͎̟̩̟̘̅̈̓͑̍̉̾̒̇ͅͅę̷̫͖̣͎̪̖̱̫͍̫̦͈̯̙̞̎̒̈́͛̏̾̽͑ͅr̸̢̨̭͍̫̓̑̋̾̈͋̀͌̉̓͂̉̐͝ ̵̮͍͇̬͚̙͎̖͖͓͖͔̞̹͎́͠a̷̠̓̓̐̑́͂̀n̸̼̯͕̞͔̂̊̍̈́̇̀͒͐̓͝ḍ̷̨̝̩̝̲̅͂͑̉̄̽̌͊̑͠͠ ̶̛͙̭͔͍͒͆̈́̒̈́̽̈́̈́̽͝h̴̛̝̫͕͎͚̭̪̪͐̂̚͝ë̴̡̧̧̨̺͖̭̰̟̯̻̟͛͛̓͛͛̂̀́̈́̋͗̚̚͜͝͠͝ͅŕ̴̡̼̳̰͚̱̫̩͓̃̍͂̽̓̃͐̅̀͌̄̍̌ ̴̨̨̖̟͖̰͉͉̖̪̫̙̝͛͑̈́̉̆̕̕͝͝p̵̹̣̤̻͈̩̅i̴͖͚͌̔̽́̐͘ę̵͚̩̬͉͖̖͔͎̜́̓̓͂̐̈́̃̚͝ͅ,̸̧̰̬̳̭̦͔̥̬̪̮̹̽̋̓̋̽̉̄̈͌̇͗͛͌͘͠͝ ̷̛̹̻̝̠͉͚̗̎́́̾̈́͛̉͊͌̓̚ͅä̷̮̲̤̟̯̼̰̙͖̼́̊͂̆̄̊̈́̒͗͗͒͗̔̏̍͘̕ņ̵̡̧̧̞̦̹͕̱̪̥̤̰́̊̒̉̑͘͘̕͘͝͝ḑ̶̡̯͇̱̼͇̼̆̎̒̃̌͛́͑͑̏̄͘͠͝ ̸̨̩͕̣̻̾̃̕t̶̲̑̄̏̍̆̅̌̀̐̊͂ḙ̴̛̬̙̤͉̃̈́̈̅̐̌̋ḽ̸̡̛̛͖̹̘̙̩͚̫̾̃̉͑͆͜l̶̦̲̋̌ ̴̢̠̖͓̻̟͔̲͎̤̳̊̋̿̅̑̋̊̈́̔̉͒͒̄̋͝Ḑ̶̧̫͇̘̭̤͛̎à̵̖̥̝̫͇̯̘̞̜̳̙͈́͜d̵̡͚̗̪͖̬̫̬̠̙̮̬̬̪͉̟͕̽ ̴̲̰̼̣̱̺͊̔̓͐̎͜t̶̛͈͖̩̳͓̦̰̘̯̪̣̑̀̔̄͂͆̕͝ḩ̷̢̜̺͙̤̩̭̲͇̦̫̀̉̍́́͛́̀̉͋͛͜͜͝͝ạ̸̦̖͇̜͛t̵̨͈̰͙̘̙̮̦̠͚͕̻͕͓̬͚̬̋̀̄͗͊̑̏́̊̑̆̐̏̀̉̏͝͝ͅ ̶̢̛̛͔̱̮̼̹͍̖͈͓̱̫͎͔̺̰̣͍̔̔͗͝I̵̲͆̇̐́̌̽̄̃͊'̵̨̡̢̥̻͉̫̲̝̖̗̳͚͓̦̻̉́̈́̾̋̿̿͒͜͝m̵̨̱̺̙̠̠̞̯͍̝̦̱͖͎̗̪͈̙͐̋̅̀̅̋̚ ̷̝̞̬̣͍̟̫͇̺̞̐͌͋̀̾̚s̴̢̟̹̲͙̻̗̯͕̳͇̟̝͓̖͂̋̈́̐́̈́̎̿͋̍̈̿̽̄̑̊̀͘͜ͅo̴͖͖͉̝̣̳̗̞̰͓̣͋ ̶̱͎̻̦̮͚̠̦̲̭̜͒̌̓͑͋́̎̏̒̑̕̚͝͠s̸̺̼̯͎͎̞͓̞͇͐ͅo̷̩̥͔͑r̷̡̥͔͖̥̝̹̙̞̈́͂̑́͌̿͂̋͊̐́̽͊́̚̕̚r̴̛͖͎̥͎̝̍̀̀́́̊͊̏̀͌̂̂̄̅̚͝ͅy̶͙͒̀̂͠ ̵̛̦̥̬͉̻͕͙̩͆͌̂͛f̴̛̯̼̫̯̙͍̱̫̩͚̬̜̣͎́̍̒̅͒̏̒͗̿̆̀̑̚̚o̸̢̢̻̞̗̖͉͎͎̠̼̟̳̹͕͓͐̌̄̃̆̂͋͊͑̾̑̒͑͒̄́͜ŗ̸̢̧̦̤̮̼̩̩̄̍̌͊̈́̓͑̚͜͝ ̶̪̖͉̠̘̙͈̬͇̠͙͍̙̽͑̏̐̓̍̾̅̅̂͑̌̃̕͝͝ͅp̶̙̥̻̬̗̿̍̌̐̀o̵͉̙̞͗̅͛͛̍͋̾͒̐͐͒͛̋̂͜i̸̛̮̬͂̎̅͌͆̊́̎͐̏̑̚͘͠s̵̡̛͍̠̹̥̼͕͖̖̗̜͍̪̥̪̖̰͛͂̾̈́̅̉̐̈͐͘͠͝ơ̸̬̏̃̓͒́͛̾͂̀̋̎̏͑̚͠ṅ̵̟̮̜͇͚̰̼̈́͗̀͑î̸̗͍̼̯̤͈͒̾͊̈́̉̆̓͠ņ̴͇̟̪̓̍̈́͌̀̍̔̔̽̽́̑́̋̅̽̕͝ǵ̸̢̡̢̯̦̹̝̠̱͍͖͓̠̬̲̿ ̴̛̳̗͈͉̳͉͚̥̭͎̞͐̈́̒̊͊̒̏̃̇͋̂̈́͂̚͝ͅh̸̢̞̭̙̝̲͉͇̼̪̝͕̭̜̦̙͎͂͌͊̊̚į̵̧̢͈͚̩͉̳͈̩̼̦̝͈̟̘͉̀͊ṁ̵̨̛̳̬̰͎͖̻̬̜͇͓͔͍̠̣̀̈́̀̉̋̔̏͒̓͛̐͂̕̚͘͜ ̴̢̨̛͙̪̺̱͍͚̃̍͌̂̃̃̎͑̕w̶̧͍͖̘̥̎̈́̽͐͐́͒̐͛̈̽̏̊̉̀͛ĩ̴̤͓̫͙͛̉̿́̏̆̂̚t̸̠͎̫̱̮̳͈̪͓̝̜̖͒͋̾͘̕͘̚ȟ̸̢̜̭̜̖̖̪̲̺̏̆̆̆͂͗͂̿̃̏̈͗̇̚͠ ̸̡̨̨̱͚͕̣̞̫̫͕̭̝̖̒́͜ͅt̸̡̛̛͓̞̞̱̤̳̝̼̍̉̎̉̓̋̔̒͂̉͗̂̕͠͝h̵̳̠͆͆͆̀̊͐̏̀͝e̵̬͍͓̘̎̿͜ͅ ̶͇͎͖̊f̵̡̡̢̛̛̰͔̼͇͔̫̳͕̤̥͕̩̎͊͗͐͑̓͊́̃̊̇̒͘̕͠l̵̡͙̮̪̪͍͎͚͊̂̅̑͌͛̂͝ọ̵͖͍̺͉̌͛̌̏̈́̍̅̀̍̚͝w̶̨̡̝̪̬͍̤̪͚̙͚̱̣̋̾̃̈́͆͜e̷̬͖̾̏̓͒̀̊̋͆͋̂͒͊̽͆͝͝͠r̸̞͎͚̙͇͇̭̄͆̀̑̊͛̔́̀͝s̵̨̲̞̻͙̪̫͉̭͇̫̮͇̣̼̾ͅ.̸̢̯͕̬̤̹͉͚̬͚̮̫̟̪̺͐́̏͋̈́̿͝ͅ ̶̛̀̓̍̾̏̽͐͌̎͜͝I̷̲̦̺̼̻͐̀̌̉̀̉̆̓̉̏̄̋̐̄̎̊͑̍ ̴̞̃̐̆̋̓̎̈́̀͊̊̏̇͘͘w̵̪͓̳̱̥̗̼̠̮̓̈́́̓̈͒̉̆̒̉͘ö̶̡̯̬͕̳̬͓̜̗͖͖̺̞̼͕́͑̐̇͂̓͐̿̄̌̍̍̈́̑̌͊́̚ü̴̜̘͈͚̣͇̙̹̥̟̣͂̀̀͗̎͘͜͜l̶̡̛͍͓͓͕̾̽̇̈́̀̃̀̑̈́͌̉̕̚d̶̢̪̹͕͍̼͎͊̌̉̾̔̀̄̈'̶͓͖̪̑͒̄͆͆̋̍̈́͑̚͘͜͝v̸̢̡̧̮̝̜̜̫̮̭̬̲͈͖̲͙̈́͋̿̈́̏́͐̂̊̕̚̚e̵̯̺͎̯̩̻͒̔̀̚͠ͅ ̵̙̻͍̘̖̩̞̈́̒̊̀s̴͓͍̗̺̍̀̅͜t̷͇̞̹̮̞͂̋̇̓̃̅̈́̉̚̕͠o̴̢̼̗̤̞̤̳̘̳̫͌̐͐̈́̓͗́͊͌͆̉͘͝p̴̡̛̤̱̪̞̆͒͑̈̀͒̔̔̂̄̈́̚͘͠ͅp̵̨̡̨͉͉̲̦̲͖͎͔̤̯̜͖͕̬͓͗̔̌͛̈̂̈́͝e̸̤̫̪̫̭̲̝͎̰̓̆͊̒̍̀͛̓͑̇̄̒̚͘͜͝ḑ̷̻̙̜̠̯͖͍̦̼͍͛̌͛͊̈́̎̐̋̒͗̕ ̴̺͕̑́͌͗̓ț̸̺̞̤̘̱̯͙̺̏̋̈́̈́̊̓̔͋͆̅̓̐h̷̰̮͈͓̮͐͝ȉ̴̟̲̤̣̳̙̗̹̟̬̠̪̇̋̌̎̓̎̒͆̎̏̈́̕͜͝s̸̞͙̭̜̺͑͗̍̓͊̀̾̅̈́̈͘̚͜͜ͅ ̵͚̤͍̝̮͓͙̻̗̳̬͇͇́̈́͛̃͛͜i̶̧͙͕̦̬͓̦̺̻̺͔̗̗͌̍́͑͒̾͌̒̽̈́̂́͛̿̑̎̐͜ͅf̸̡͉͇̯̗͎̤̻̼̓͗̓͠͝ ̴̼͍̙̪̹̤̟̻͕̬̳̀͜ͅİ̶̢̱̣̲̫̙̩̘̠̫̭͒͒̑̊͝ ̴̧̛̱͓̫̯̰͎͇̺̑͐̆͆̉͒̀̽͆ͅc̴̬͎̖̘͍̣̗̯͚̱͇͚̮͓̐̎̈́͘͝ô̵̡̫̣̩͇̮͚̝̙̱̐͌͑͗͝u̸̧̨̙͕͓̣͔͕͇̪͎̖̘̝͙̤̼͂́̈̑̉͗̚l̵̡̛̼̦̘͉̺̺̗̭̻̜̤͛͛̎̈͌̒̍͂͐͑̀͘̕͝͠ḑ̶͎̻͍̪̱̅̒̋͗̄̿͑̋̐̽͑̐͊̎̍͘͘͝!̵̡̻͔̹̮̬̫̜͑̆͂͛͋”

Chara sobbed as they squeezed their arms and sat on the ground, attacks phasing through them as they watched the fight helplessly.

“Frisk, buddy, pal, amigo, friend, my compadre... Are you sure you wanna mess around with multi-verse stuff? I don't think the other Skelebros are gonna take your threat lying down.”

“They’re nothing compared to me.” Frisk said, cackling like the maniac they were.

“How much therapy is Red gonna need after learning someone wrote smut of him and Jerry?”

“No amount of therapy will ever make this moment ok.” Red said, whining as Blue gave a very pouty look at where the sound was coming from.

“Wait I just realized Maxie forcibly hugged Error just to mess with him, that is messed up. You ask and respect his no, the guy has a touch issue. Don't bully the Error!”

“He’s been getting better, and I rarely do it. And I’m not that mean to him, Nightmare would find a way to kill me if I did.” Maxie said, pointing at Nightmare as he agreed. Not looking up from his spot on the ground.

“Nightmare, what are you and the rest of the multiverse going to do during the fight with Frisk?”

“We’re on standby in case they need help. But they’ve got this.” Nightmare said,

“Frisk, why do you hate humans so much? Did your family hurt you? Did you have a family? why betray the nicest souls you may ever meet? WHY ARE YOU DOING THIS?”

“I don’t need to explain myself to you.” Frisk said, small tears welling up in their eyes as they tried to killer Dust.

“Let me make one thing clear, Error better not get hurt or I will raise hell.”

“As will everyone.” Nightmare said, smirking.

error do you watch undernovela in this version of the multiverse?

“Yes I do. It is amazing.” Error said, winking as he smiled.

“error what do you think of people who ship you and ink”

“I’m sure it’s ok in alternate multiverses, but I will forever see them as weird.” Error said, walking up to face Frisk.

“to sans frisk and chara what do you think off your respective stronger than yous”

“I like it.” Classic said, “I actually listen to it every now and then.”

"̴̠̣̉͒F̵̩̆̿̿r̶̦̹̭̄i̸̡̫̖̩̞̐͗s̶̤̗͎̼̪̆͘k̶̳̘͌̎ ̸̞̙̪̱̓͝a̵̞͑͑n̸̺̹̭̽̊̆̎̕͜ͅd̷̤̰̒͘ ̵̱̓̀̉I̵̖͕̖̓ ̶͖̤̙͙͆̄n̸͖͕͐̒̋̂̇ë̴̻́̏ë̸͖͍̦͜͜d̸͔̩̠̿̒ ̴̥̪̣͙͑̋t̸͍̰̱̲̅̽̈́̚͜͠o̸̮͒ ̵̹̭͓̠͒s̶̼̀̐͗͆͌w̷̤̬̳̱̗̽̄a̵̖̻͇̳͛͐͘p̵̪͔̒͆ ̸̢̊s̶̮̎̕̕o̸̟̘̹̹͊n̷͉̭̩̲̘̐̿͊g̷͙̗̑s̵̗̭̠̉̐́̇.̴͉̭̠̀̿͐̈́͂ ̵̡̻̘̩͔͂́͋͌T̸̗̋̓̇̈͝h̵͙̠̭̪̾̂̈͒o̶̻̖̳̓̈́̽̂̿ȗ̵͎̤̪̺̈́͘͠g̶̡͎͋͂h̷͖͍̏̾̾̿͝ ̷̙̥̼͇̓́s̵͖̙̈́́̈́̀̕į̶̖͎̰̾̅ṋ̸͖̟̈́͘c̶̠̜͇̖͐͊̈́͘͝ę̷͛̿͝͠ ̵̧̙͍̲̐̾t̸̟͑̄h̷̬̳̬̩͓̉͒̾̐ẽ̵͍̗͉̩̇̀y̵͉̺͎̒̿ ̴͇̩̭͗͊͐̾͜ò̷̫͈͙͉̓̎ͅn̷̦̤̟͓̈̌͘l̸̨̘͈̱̎y̷̥͆̄ ̶̥̭͓̲̔͗̂̊̈́ȩ̶̻̊͌v̷̜͙̠̝͂̿ȩ̸̛̦͓̞͛̄͘ȑ̴̪̗̪͋̃͝ ̸̖̭̜̏̍͠m̵̟̥̲̈̃̋̕e̸̛̺͉͎̝̼͐̅̑̕ę̷̡̼̭̰͊͒̃̾t̵̟̰͎̪̬͋̔ ̸̩̒m̶̢̛̟̤͓̠͆̒̚͠e̷̡̢̯̹̐̍̀ ̵̫͍͉͑̇̈́a̸̦͠t̷̛̻̙̝͇͔̓͐̉̚ ̵̜̬͈̰̟̌ṃ̷̗̞͎̾y̸̝̻̳̱͐͒̉̎ ̷̝̇͒͂w̴̙̣͚̞͒͛̊ȏ̴̧̞̞̣̓̕r̶̥͆ͅͅs̴͇̞̐̀̏͑̉͜t̶̳͠,̴͕̰̞͂̓̀͠͠ ̴̢͍̲͒͌̈́I̶͔͇͍̅ͅ ̵̨̥̼͒͆̓͠ç̵̗͇͚̈a̶͓̘͍̥̍̾̀̓͝n̴̬͍̞͈͐́̄̚͠'̴̞̑́̑̊͠t̸̥̙̔̊̈ ̴̢͚̟͆̀́̓͝b̴̢̛͕̦̎̄̀l̴͍̄a̸̛̻͇͇̲͋̆͠m̷̖̳͍̠̈͑e̶͈̩̅ ̵͇͇͖̜̖̓̌t̷͓͍͖̖͛̋̂̍͘ḧ̸̖́̋e̶̲̦̐̆̂̉́ ̶̰̈́̓̀ẅ̵̡͖͖͍̯̃̆̄͠r̴͓̪̥͍̐̎i̶̙̲̗̮̘͊̕͘t̴̗̳̫̏ȅ̸̜̞͑r̸̛̪͕̞͓̣̊͐̒̕s̴͚̿̊̑̋.̵̖̩̼̟̿̅̋ ̴̪̗̀͊̈́Ť̸̼̼h̶̛͖͖̝͌͠ḛ̸̉̒̈́͋̕ỳ̵̝̾̓̾̋ ̵͚̠̂̔ș̴̛͙͇̗̉̌̕̕o̶̦̯͆͑̇̔n̴͔͎̽̅̎g̵̮̗̖͆s̷̟͈̹͔̖̓̚͝ ̷̯̥͚̤̅a̴̡̙̻͓̕̚r̷̡̡͓̩̀e̸͙̙̾̍ ̷̮͗̑̈́̄ŗ̴̂́͘ȩ̴̲̗̝̹̀̾̏͑̄ã̶̻̘͛̈̾ͅl̷̖̲͙̈̄͗͝l̸͙̠̎̇̐y̸̨̻͍̻̾͝ ̶͓̹̓g̵͍̙̃̔ͅợ̶͍̙͐̚o̴͎͍͔̎̐d̸̢̺̄́ ̶̦̱̣̳̎̇͠t̶̲͓͒̀̈͋h̴̢̥̠͈̣̀̈́̽̅o̷̡̧͖̔̋̐u̸̙͐͐̅͒g̷̺̖̘̬̀͑̎̕h̶̹̦̳͔̾͐͌.̴̟̉̉̑͝"̴̢̛̼̞͊̉͋͛

Chara said as they smiled at Frisk’s miserable state.

“frisk what do you think of tEMMIE pls stop kill tem”

“Temmie is an annoying abomination.” Frisk said, looking at Error as they grinned.

Next - Pending

#my multiverse #ask_event #sans #papyrus #toriel #asgore #alphys #dark sanses #frisk #flowey #maxie #underswap sans #underswap papyrus #underfell sans #swapfell sans

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firehedgehog · 4 years

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Retconned Chapter Thirteen: Unlucky

So the plot is moving forward, this is linked to another story. and yes.. this was planned when i originally started both stories

“The Good Sans want to have a meeting with the Dark Sans?” Goth said in surprise.

“The Retcons have rather spooked them,” Error said as he knitted.

“Well... is is a rather spooky issue,” Blue said, the rather energetic small Sans had appeared in the anti-void earlier in the day and was using the hanging strings as swings.

“How did you get here anyway, Error didn’t cough kidnap cough you today and he didn’t open any portals today?” Goth asked, after living in the anti-void so long eh became sensitive enough to feel portals open there.

“Err...” Blue said a strange look on his face.

Flashback

Blue was cooking his Taco’s, he was sure that this batch would be perfect.

“They smell perfect,” he said happily, putting them down to cool.

Even better, he’d heard Cross would be busy till tomorrow so no Taco stealing Sans would get them today. He sat down to relax til he could eat them.

“Arf!”

“Noooo,” Blue cried spinning around, dropping his book.

Sitting on the counter was annoying Dog, the white mutt that seemed to jump between multiverses on a Lark.

A counter devoid of Tacos.

“No, bad annoying Dog, Bad!” he cried, and starting chasing the dog in wain hope to retrieve the Taco’s in whatever subspace the canine had hidden them.

“Toby.. no!” he cried.

Then tripped.

When he looked up, he was alone.

And in the anti-void.

“That’s cheating!” he cried.

Twenty minutes later Error found him.

End Flashback.

“Ha ha ha, nothing to be concerned about,” Blue laughed.

No one wanted to ever speak of the things that dog did.

“Riiiight...” Goth said dryly.

OoOoO

The room was enormous and over crowded, people giving some of there neighbours nervous looks.

There hadn’t been such a huge gathering.. well ever.

Dark, Light.. neutral.

Beings of as many AU’s as could come.

It was a freaking zoo.

There were quite a few nervous glances towards the very front off to the left, for there were a lot of the Sanses known as the big bad’s.

Including the destroyer.

For Error and Nightmare to be there, along with Nightmares crew something had to be up.

Silence filled the area as Ink and Dream walked onto the stage.

“From your silence, by now you’ve realized this is a serious issue,” Dream said placing his notes on the podium.

“For the last several years, there have been thousands of AU’s destroyed. Yet not by the destroyer,” Dream said, that set off whispering of disbelief. “Part of it you might have coem across, the fact no one can actually what these destroyed AU’s were, or suddenly you feel as if something or someone is missing.”

There was a very deep silence at that.

“We have discovered the cause, its called Retcons. It erases Au’s people.. everything it touches. There has been only one true survivor, and only Error’s anti-void kept them alive. I escaped being retconned because of that person, but it still cost me several minutes of memory,” Dream said.

Hidden between Error and Nightmare Goth sighed, after being in pretty much isolation for years in the anti-void many people made him nervous.

“Each of you find packets under you seats, the survivor’s name is not on it before you ask and will not be released. I ask you to reach out with bit of information you may have or come across, All the information as little as we have is in it. Thank you,” Dream said, and left the podium.

Goth felt deep relief his name would not be released.

He had enough nightmares of people demanded while he existed why another didn’t.

“Let’s get out of here kid,” Error said patting hsi shoulder Goth nodded and gripped his lantern tighter.

That’s when the roof came off.

Literally.

OoOoO

Perfect!

Just perfect!

So many of them together!

Even the one that escaped.

Without that one, bits and pieces that they couldn’t retcon would be erased.

They’d wipe more then half the multiverse in seconds.

“Then they will be gone, just like you brother,” he laughed.

OoOoO

The multiverse must have a sense of irony.

That was what Geno thought as arcs of purple lightning began to bleed into the world, anything ht was just gone.

The ceiling was just gone, revealing a black sky.

Monsters or humans it hit, were just gone.

This was a Retcon.

He was pretty sure, that the only reason that they remembered those lost was that they were in the midst of the event.

Screams surrounded him, as people tried to escape causing injuries to others as they trampled them in there panic. Portals and Shortcuts didn’t seem to work, so this situation didn’t look good.

“This is all your fault,” a Sans screamed at the destroyer, who hadn’t escaped either.

“Your a nimrod,” Error said, the sans would have attacked but more screaming caught those nearbys attention.

“Please, let me go,” A child’s voice cried.

“Were all going die, give me the freaking lantern,” a voice snarled.

Geno spun around and ran, the Sans didn’t have a moment to prepare and Geno slapped him away from Goth.

“Are you okay Gothy?” Geno asked, the nickname slipping from his mouth to his surprised.

Goth broke down in tears, Geno grabbed Goth into a hug.

This was his child, he might not remember but this was his kid.

“I.. don’t want to be retconned again,” Goth cried.

“Shh.. we’ll figure this out, your papa always has a plan,” Geno whispered.

Suddenly he flying back, shocked as Goth violently threw him backwards.

The world seemed to go quiet and frozen to Geno, his hand out reached towards Goth.

Goth smiled.

“I love you,” Goth said.

Lightning hit.

Geno screamed as the lantern fell to the ground.

Shattered.

OoOoO

Goth stumbled and fell, cold sand under him made him more aware.

He’d been retconned.

Again.

But shouldn’t he be non existent?

Wincing he slowly got up, noting he was lacking his save lantern but he didn’t feel that time limit eh did usually.

“Where am I?” he asked outloud.

The sky was darker then black, the only bits of light were purple lightning which was signs of being retconned. Where ever he was, it was also gone, except for this small space of sand.

And a statue.

...

“Palette,” he screamed, recognizing the statue.

“No no no,” he cried.

“Oh...” he said freezing, as one of his many selves memories came forward.

He wasn’t just Goth, he was teh Goth’s of this multiverse also.. a multiverse fully Retconned except for this one spot.

Now he could feel it, a tiny shard of soul.. a piece of his soul.

“We have to wake you up,” he whispered.

OoOoO

“Please please wake up,” a voice begged.

He hurt, so badly...

“Come on, I know your alive... I need you to help me reverse this!” the voice begged, it was a child’s voice and familiar.

Wait that Voice!

That was Goth’s voice.

He gave a gasp as something shattered around him, and he fell to the ground.

Woozily he looked up, he could see shards of Stone on Sand.

“Goth?” he asked his voice raspy.

Wait.. the clothing were wrong.

“Sorry, call me Retconned,” the Goth whispered.

Palette fell unconscious, from the stress of breaking free from being turned to stone.

OoOoO

When Palette woke again, it was to the thought that it was too dark.

Slowly he shifted til he could see the Goth called Retconned, who was curled in a ball on the sand tear track down there face.

It was then that he realized that something was seriously wrong.

The sky was pitch black... with purple lightning arcing across it, but there was no sound and he could only see about five feet away from himself and Retconned.

“Its called a Retcon, when your AU or multiverse is erased from everything even living memories,” a soft voice sad, turning he saw that Retconned had woken.

“My... multiverse got Retconned? But how am I still here! Wherever this is that is.... and how are you here?” Palette asked panicked, e couldn’t save Gothy if Gothy didn’t exist.

“Two things saved you, you being sealed in stone and this,” Retconned said, gently opening his hand. Palette made a strangled sound, as a speck of glowing soul was revealed.

“How... I thought that weird Alternate o me stole all of Goth’s soul shards,” he said in disbelief.

“He loves you very much, you never did check your own soul for a speck,” Retconned sighed.

“That idiot,” he cried, even now Goth was protecting him.

“As to how I got here, I’m from the multiverse right next to this one. The retcon hasn’t swallowed all of it, but apparently it finally got me. Originally all the Goth’s got Retconned in my multiverse at the same time yours did, but I survived... you could say in simple terms I’m all the Goth’s,” Goth sighed, and explained his situation and the function of the save lantern.

“Wait... are the Goth’s of my multiverse there too?” Palette asked quickly, Retconned blushed heavily and Palette felt relief. “Than there is still hope, I still exist... and your still here even though you said your not. Then lets fix this!” Palette said jumping to his feet.

“I don’t know how to fix it, the save lantern that kept me stable is missing and I’m in the wrong multiverse...” Retconned said unhappily.

“Since your the Goth’s of both multiverses maybe you can slide back over and we can smash the source of the Retcons!” Palette said excitedly.

“I can try,” Retconned said frowning.

“Ah... before we try anything, do you have any idea how i got turned into a stone statue?”Palette asked embarrassed.

“From my memories here, just as you went to leave Nightmare Pallette reappeared as apparently he never left. Using the apples curse he sealed you away. I’m afraid at that moment the retcons hit, the sealing and the soul shard somehow slightly moved you a bit out of phase keeping the retcon from you,” Retconned replied. After all his Goth was part of him, and was still connected to the soul shard.

“Thanks...” he said, he wasn’t happy that his.. multiverse was just gone with only himself and his Goth amalgamated into Retconned to remember it.

“Well, lets try this,” Retconned said with a sad smile.

“No try, do,” Palette said grinning.

Retconned laughed, and then they were gone.

Seconds later the spot they were in was Retconned, no longer phased away from the rest of the multiverse. And thus The Shatter multiverse appears

#retconned #shatter #Goth: @nekophy #fanfic

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softjeon · 5 years

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Caim | Final

• Pairing: Witch!Yoongi x Namjoon • Genre: Fluff/ a bit of angst | Witch!AU ( → Gifset Trailer) • Words: 18k | written with @cassiavioletblue • Disclaimer: black magic, cursed induced dark thoughts & anxiety, mentioning of death, smut content

↳ Caim (scottish, n.) - an invisible circle of protection, drawn around the body with the hand, that reminds you that you are safe and loved, even in the darkest times or just a story about how Namjoon stumbled in the middle of Yoongi’s spell.

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Yoongi made sure to stay within reach while Namjoon was showering in case the other felt dizzy again and needed him to step in but after he had hydrated enough Namjoon seemed perfectly fine aside from a bit of tiredness maybe. While stepping out of the shower Namjoon knocked his elbow against the edge and Yoongi flinched with him, half way over to help until he remembered that he had seen Namjoon in his naked glory enough for today and should give the other some privacy. He turned deliberately and tried to stop himself from peaking nonetheless, half out of worry for the other and half because he just… looked amazing like this.

He fluffed up Namjoon’s pillow and waited until the other had laid down to drape the comforter over him. “I’ll be downstairs, just yell if you need me. Either me or Hoseok will hear it and be there immediately.”

Namjoon’s arm wrapped around Yoongi’s waist before the witch could take another step forward, “Can you please stay…the last time I rested…it had gotten worse again. Do you mind if you…” He propped himself up a little more, watching the witch nervously look around the room for somewhere he could sit but Namjoon only shook his head. “No, closer.”

Namjoon gulped against the lump in his throat, his heart beating nervously. But it felt right to ask Yoongi to stay close. Only a witch was able to work with the dark magic that was currently burning him up from the inside, though the effects of the purifying spell had settled in Namjoon was still scared. And the moment he closed his eyes he was easy prey for the darkness to swallow him.

“You want me to…” His eyes widened a little when he realized that Namjoon was asking him to lie down with him. He had told him that he would do whatever he could to make him feel safer and comfortable, so he swallowed hard and then tried to lie down besides Namjoon without it being awkward. Of course, it made this even more awkward because at first he tried to lie on top of the cover which felt strange, so he slipped under them, staying a few inches apart from Namjoon which somehow managed to accentuate even more how intimate this was. “Uhm, like... like this?” He asked, wondering when his voice had become so feeble.

Namjoon couldn’t help but laugh softly at Yoongi’s behavior. “Yeah, wait…” He reached out for him, pulling him closer and letting him rest on his arm that wasn’t cursed – yet. Yoongi felt so small in his hold and easy to move him around the way he wanted – maybe a little stiff, but Namjoon just shrugged it off. “This way you don’t touch the curse…” Namjoon’s voice was only a whisper, while his hand caressed over Yoongi’s hair lightly as he pulled back his cursed arm. “Don’t you think I should get a tattoo like this? I mean when it’s all over…maybe then I look more badass and not as boring. What do you think?”

Yoongi felt incredibly comfortable in Namjoon’s hold and he could feel his cheeks heating up as the other almost-hugged him. Without their weird circumstances, curse and all, he would have loved to do this casually. Though he wasn’t sure if he would have ever dared to cuddle up to Namjoon like this if not for fulfilling Namjoon’s request. “Not like you would need a tattoo to be interesting - but if you really want to do that then I’d suggest magic ink. Now that you’ve entered the world of magic anyways and will soon have battled a deadly curse you could easily go to the next level with that like... tattoo a demon contract onto your skin. Or create a permanent, a fancy looking cheat sheet of easy spells on your palm. Or get a soul bound.”

“A…what?” Namjoon blinked at him tiredly, “I don’t think I want any magic to be inked into my body for a while. This was…or is…interesting enough.” He cuddled a little bit closer, instinctively pulling Yoongi in even more under the blanket. “Why are you so cold?” He rubbed up and down Yoongi’s arms softly, wrapping his arms more tightly around the witch. “Is it because of the spell?” Namjoon yawned and nuzzled his face into Yoongi’s neck.

“I was jok...” The rest of his sentence kept stuck in his throat as Namjoon was practically feeling him up. Yes, he was cold because the spell had drained a big part of his energy but laying a while under the cover would have worked to warm him up as well. And now he had Namjoon’s body against his and the other’s mouth dangerously close at his neck. Namjoon had said it himself before, they barely even had a hand full of proper dates and even though he had seen Namjoon naked this was… different. The witch was as tight as a bowstring, his heart picking up speed as Namjoon’s breath fanned over his skin and had him shivering.

It didn’t take long for Namjoon to just fall asleep like this, his arms wrapped around Yoongi’s small waist. He was mumbling in his sleep, his hands wandering over the witch’s body all on their own. Yoongi tried to keep his breathing in check as Namjoon pulled him even closer in his sleep. This was ridiculously cliché, him being caught in his crush’s embrace while the other didn’t even realize what he was doing to him. If he hadn’t worried about Namjoon’s reaction to have magic used in him he would have happily sneaked out of the other’s hold by using some simple untangling spell.

Namjoon’s hand was wandering down to his waist even further, tightening his hold once more and pulling him in so that he had to actually hook up his leg to fit in his hold. His heart was threatening to jump out any second, but instead of that happening, Hobi jumped up on the bed, pushing Namjoon’s arm away from Yoongi with all of his might, making the human lay back onto his stomach.

“Really?” He meowed. The cat turned its head to the witch whose eyes were still wide in shock. “I mean, I’m all up for you getting some but it’s the curse… again. Don’t you see?” The cat carefully stood up on Namjoon’s stomach who was thankfully dead asleep to look at the black streaks pulsating from the arousal the human had felt. “It heightens everything he feels, I guess. Didn’t you oil him up properly?” He meowed and curled himself up in the little space between his owners and Namjoon’s body to create a little border between them. “This arm is safe,” He motioned towards the witch and where he had been resting his head and yawned, showing off his long, sharp teeth in the process.

Yoongi had never been so thankful for Hoseok’s cheeky interruptions. “Of course, I oiled him up properly I just…” He groaned. He had left out his ‘private parts’. So that’s where the curse was still active. It was making Namjoon greedy, restless, wanting. Lust was a ‘sin’ after all so the curse must revel in it. Next time he had to perform a spell to purify someone cursed (hopefully there would never be a next time ever again) he would ignore modesty and just go for it all the way or else he might end up getting groped again.

The rest of the night was pretty uneventful and the three of them actually had gotten some rest, while the other two witches had been working all night to create a spell. Namjoon woke up at the first sunlight peeking through the window, making him blink and turn his head. He jerked a little in surprise, when he saw Yoongi curled up next to him and Hobi in the middle. It was almost domestic and Namjoon couldn’t help but reach out for the witch, pushing a strand of hair behind his ear lightly. Yoongi didn’t flinch - because he had already been awake, basking in Namjoon’s warmth will trying not to give away how much he was enjoying it. He was a light sleeper and with his worry about Namjoon and the unusual situation of someone sleeping next to him he had stirred awake pretty early. However, despite his initial shyness he had found it quite enjoyable and if Hobi’s purrs was anything to go by then he was as content as one could be as well.

Namjoon didn’t want to tear himself away from this. It felt too good and for a moment, he could forget why they were here in the first place. In a stranger’s bed, somewhere in the middle of nowhere with two witches downstairs. He leaned in, placing a soft kiss onto Yoongi’s hair. In a way he was wishing that one day he could kiss him for real, but the other part of him told him much more darker things. The part of him being scared was growing stronger day by day and when he got out of the bed carefully not to wake them up and into the bathroom he could see it perfectly. The black lines had moved all the way down the right side of his chest now. It didn’t hurt and it seemed like they were thinning…but it was still there. And he was losing the hope of Yoongi finding the cure.

Yoongi looked after him, confused by the softness and care Namjoon handled him with. However, when he saw Namjoon’s back he froze and the nausea swept over him, threatening to swallow him whole. The black lines hadn’t stopped growing like he had thought they would they were so close to Namjoon’s heart now that it hit him like a blow. He had known before that Namjoon could die but he had been so busy trying to find a cure that he hadn’t found the time to think about how exactly it could end. Namjoon could die in front of him, right here, right now if the curse grew just a little bit quicker, a little bit further.

He got out of bed so quickly he almost collapsed because his blood circulation didn’t have time to adapt to the sudden change in position. ”Namjoon!” He sounded as desperate as he felt.

“We have to wake the others - right now!”

Namjoon had no time to put his shirt back on, when Yoongi had already caught him by his wrist and making him stumble forward as they rushed down the steps. Jimin woke up from the noises right away as he laid on top of Jungkook, who was dead asleep on the couch, one arm hanging off the side, the other swung around Jimin’s hips. There were books strewn all over the place. “Wh-what’s wr-,” The love witch eyes widened when he saw how the curse had been growing despite the purifying spell and cursed quietly.

He was up in a second.

“I combined a spell last night but...it’s not quite done, yet. I’m not sure if it will work...I don’t know. I haven’t…” He saw the desperate look in Yoongi’s eyes and sighed, “It’s a mixture between a purifying spell, a ‘return’ spell and some elements from different spells to unbound the curse from his body...but I’m really not sure, Yoongi.”

“I’ll take ‘not sure’ over ‘certain death’ anytime!” Only after he had said it did he remember that Namjoon was right behind him and he shouldn’t throw around such expressions, so he quickly verbally retreated, “I just mean... we should try, right? What else can we do. If Namjoon’s fine with it?” He turned towards the human again who didn’t look convinced, but it wasn’t really like they had other options.

Jungkook rubbed his eyes sleepily, a frown on his face (if it was that Jimin’s warmth was missing or that he still had the habit of not functioning without breakfast Yoongi didn’t know) so Yoongi decided that he would give them a second and try to prepare them some tea. It was important they were feeling well and hydrated and as healthy as they possibly could. Though apparently he was everything he should not be because his fingers were shaking and there was a pressure behind his eyes that spoke of tears trying to push their way out and he almost spilled hot water all over himself and when he tried to fix the mess he didn’t concentrate on his emotions just for the tiniest second and his own sob startled him and...

“ShIt! Shit, fuck, goddammit!” He sat down on the floor, head buried in his hands and tried really hard not to cry. He couldn’t lose Namjoon. And especially not like this. This couldn’t happen!

Hobi had heard his masters sob and rushed to his side in a second. “Yoongi,” The cat meowed and nudged his side softly, placing his paws onto Yoongi’s knees. In all the years he had been with the witch, he had never seen him like this. So broken and vulnerable. Hobi started licking his hands softly, nudging him a couple of times until the witch pulled him in. “It’s going to be alright. I promise. You’re a great witch and you’ll help Namjoon.” He meowed softly, licking the salty drops off his cheeks.

“Thank you, Hobi.” He clung to the cat and the comfort like a lifeline. “I’m just.. so scared what might happen if I fail. I hope he can forgive me for the mess I pulled him in.” It took him a little longer than he was comfortably with to pull himself together but luckily none of the others came after him and so when he came back into the living room, the tablet with the tea in hand he could pretend that he was fine. And his eyes were just dry.

Or still red and sensitive from sleep.

Namjoon was nervously tapping his foot on the ground, watching the witches prepare whatever they needed to prepare. Honestly, he still had no idea about this. So far magic hadn’t gotten him anywhere. His eyes flickered over to Yoongi, who was holding onto his cat tightly. It still was weird to him to see the cat meow and only seconds after Yoongi was answering him. Namjoon shook his head, brushing a hand through his hair nervously.

“You just have to focus and concentrate a little more.” Hobi meowed once more while Yoongi walked back into the back room where Jungkook had stored all of his dried herbs to get some of the ingredients they needed. “But, I might add that I am a bit concerned. Jimin hasn’t been working long on the spell…he hasn’t tested it… Do you really think it’s safe to use the spell without-“

A sudden scream echoing from the living room, made both of them jerk around. Namjoon was holding on to Jungkook desperately as he had fallen forward, writhing in sudden pain from the curse. “I…I can’t do this…an-anymore,” Namjoon fell onto his knees while Jungkook was holding on to him desperately, his eyes flickering around the room, towards Jimin – but both witches were helpless.

“Do we need him conscious for this? Maybe it would be better to pull him under?” If Jimin’s face hadn't been so worried then it would have sounded horrible but this way it was pretty obvious that he wasn't suggesting this for their sake but Namjoons. “I don’t know, I..” He snatched Jimin’s notes from the table and went over them, trying to wrap his mind around what each and every part of the spell would do. “Jungkook´? Do you have all the herbs you listed here? Can we start now? Should we?”

God he hoped it worked. It had to!

“I-I think so,” Jungkook hastily ran to the counter, collecting everything they needed while leaving Namjoon panting and on his knees. “Now?” Jimin was talking to Yoongi, but his focus was on the human as he helped him lay down and bring him a cushion to rest his head on.

The chaos was perfect, and it was making it a lot harder for the love witch to think.

“Shouldn’t we wait? There’s a full moon in two nights…just two! We…we can keep purifying him until then. It’s…I’m really not sure, Yoongi.”

“What if he doesn't make it till then? He could die before that! Or go insane from the curse. Or it takes over and erases everything that makes him human! We don’t know what exactly will be in two days, but it will be bad - look at him, he’s suffering. Please, please just help me make it stop.”

“Okay, okay, we’ll try it,” Jimin said and brushed over Namjoon’s sweaty hair softly. There was a sudden silence in the room, only the sounds of drawers being opened and the whimpers of Namjoon were audible. The human had curled in on himself, closing his eyes as he tried to block out everything else. The pain was too much, making him feel weak. When the three witches stepped into the circle again and kneeled around Namjoon, all ingredients placed around them, Jimin reached out for their hands.

“Let’s concentrate, okay?” He said and rolled his shoulders back. Jungkook was nervous, taking in a shaky breath as he closed his eyes.

Yoongi tried to concentrate on the words, holding onto the other hands tightly. But with Namjoon in the middle he was looking at what he had done wrong the whole time and while he had managed to suppress it mostly for now the guilt didn't want to stop pestering him now. His voice sounded off, but he kept trying and trying because there wasn't time to pull himself together.

Jimin kept his eyes open while they were chanting, trying to focus on the spells and the right order that at first he hadn’t seen how the black streaks on Namjoon’s body were slowly thinning more and more. When he did though, his eyes widened, and his voice was softer and more hopeful. He squeezed the other witches hands in delight but the moment he wanted to celebrate their success it all tumbled down again.

A painful gasp came from Namjoon, his back arched off the floor. His eyes were wide in shock. The breath stuck in his lungs. The black streaks had stopped thinning and instead it seemed as if they were meeting at one spot, forming a black pool that was pulsating under Namjoon’s skin. Jungkook had stopped chanting, his own eyes wide in fear while Jimin was leaning closer. “This…this…isn’t right. We missed something, we…” Jimin’s mumble got interrupted by another painful scream and Yoongi who had closed his eyes was only chanting louder. As if he had shut out everything else but this, not even recognizing that the others had stopped.

“Yoongi! Yoongi stop!” Jimin was screaming at the witch, who was almost hissing the spell by now. “You’re not in it…you’re messing this up…Yoongi!” The love witch let go of his hand and pushed Yoongi hard by his chest to make him waver and fall back, breaking the circle.

“Fuck!” Jungkook cursed loudly turning to Namjoon who was crying and a whimpering mess, holding on tightly to himself. “Sh-sh, it’s okay, it’s…” The young witch was soothing the human softly, holding his cheek and wiping a few tears away. With a twirl of his finger there was a vessel flying towards him. Inside was a yellow fluid, something for the pain that Namjoon recognized and took from him right away, gulping it down hastily in blind panic.

When Yoongi came to, his mouth felt cottony and his body felt too heavy. Maybe it was the lead in his stomach or the weight on his heart. Namjoon had stopped moaning in pain but it wasn’t because they had succeeded.

Jimin and Jungkook were staring at him, something like pity or empathy in their eyes, mixed with the shock about Namjoons state. “It.. didnt work, right?” His voice sounded croaky. He hated this. His weakness, his emotional state, his fucking uselessness. “He’s..,he’s gonna die. And there’s nothing we can do.” He laughed, desperately, “We’re fucking witches - and he’s still going to die. Because of me.”

“No, no, shhh,” Jimin pulled Yoongi at his arm and up, ordering Jungkook to take care of Namjoon while he was taking care of the witch. He didn’t want Yoongi to break in front of Namjoon who didn’t need someone shouting at his face that he was most likely going to die. He brought him outside quick, pushing him down onto one of the benches in Jungkook’s garden. “Where was your head? I could feel the anger through our connection. Even Jungkook felt it. He was shaking, the poor boy.” Jimin looked at Yoongi with a mixture of pity and empathy.

“It worked…but not as we thought it would. I think we got us some time but…,” Jimin sighed deeply, before he turned a little more to his friend, “Something happened. I’m not sure. You didn’t see it…since you were…doing whatever you were doing. I need you to sort out your shit! You can’t go around doing spells with so much anger inside of you…”

“I’m not angry!” It might have been more convincing if he hadn’t angrily screamed at Jimin’s face. There was silence for a second in which all Jimin had to do was look at him with him eyebrows raised before everything spilled out of Yoongi.

“Well how can I not be angry at myself? I fucked this up! After I don’t know how long there was finally someone who liked me despite me being… me. And I finally felt like I had it all figured out, I’ve got the best familiar I can think of, the shop pays of the bills more or less and with the black magic I sell I could have had a nice life. Namjoon? He was like the cherry on top, the person I didn’t dare to dream of and yet secretly longed for, nonetheless. And I didn’t simply scare him off, no, of course I had to do something majorly fucked up so not only did I expose who I am - ignoring how this alone could get me in so much trouble - no, I had to curse him! His first contact with magic is a curse. From me. Because he was being nice to me. And yeah, it’s all shitty and sucks but if it was done properly I could have just reverse it, but I had to even mess up the curse! And so, we’re.. we’re sitting here and…and watching him die and.. how…how am I supposed to do this! He’s gonna die, Jimin, he’s.. he’s gonna die on me. Away from home and in pain and all I can do is helplessly watch - or maybe do the merciful thing and let him die in his sleep.” The tears were running over his face freely now. He was done holding on.

Jimin pulled Yoongi wordlessly in and despite his struggle, the witch let the hug happen, leaning his head onto his shoulder.

“Do you ever think of how this is a little bit of ‘karma’ back to you? You’ve been doing so much black magic lately? And…despite that I shouldn’t be the one telling you what to do, maybe this is life giving you a shitty, very cruel lesson. But we’re witches and karma is just a pretty word, right? You’re the most powerful witch I know of. Please look at the notes with me. We’ll keep a clear head, let Jungkook take care of Namjoon for a bit. Being close to the curse…it is projecting on you as well.” Jimin pulled Yoongi away from him and cupped his cheeks, wiping away the tears with his thumb, “We can do this. The spell wasn’t completely wrong. Don’t lose a piece of yourself in this…I need you to conc-.” Jimin stopped, his eyes narrowed and then he snapped around. “That’s it!”

“No, I don’t want Jungkook to take care of him. It should be me. It’s my fault. And you are right the curse is bleeding through onto me. I don’t want to have you clean up for me anymore…” He flinched when Jimin yelled so close to his ears. “What? What is it?” He willed the hope down that started to bloom in his chest. He didn’t think that he could deal with any more disappointments for today.

“A piece of you – that’s the solution,” Jimin looked at Yoongi with a hopeful glint in his eyes, “It only makes sense. The spells I combined…they all are to withdraw the curse from the handsome human but where should it go? While you were still chanting the curse was pooling at one point underneath his skin. If I’m thinking this right, then we could center it, retract the curse but we have to push it to another living thing. The curse can only exist inside a living organism. We can bound it to a purifying sigil, one that neutralizes his powers. Namjoon will be left with a small mark…as well as the one who takes it upon himself to wear the burden – inside a sigil.” Jimin chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, “Does that make sense?”

“Wait, you’re saying that I should take the curse?” While freeing Namjoon from it sounded promising he didn't want to die either, but even worse, if he went insane he could cause a lot more chaos than Namjoon with his magic. It did make sense though. “So, we’re going to... roll it up backwards and rewind what happened to send the curse to where it came from. To me. And then you’ll try and trap it and neutralize it and if it doesn't work then at least Namjoons free from it and can heal and we have a few more days before I’ll be in his state just that I might turn into a magical berserk and try to murder everyone that gets too close but yeah, sounds about right, let's do this.”

He was shaking.

“It will work! You have the best witch for sigils right here. You’ve seen Jungkook…he’s the best at them and with the heightened power of a full moon and my abilities.” Jimin cupped Yoongi’s cheeks again, leaning in a little closer to look at him thoroughly, “I promise to kill you before you kill anyone.” He giggled softly, placing a kiss onto the tip of Yoongi’s nose, “What is a love witch good for if I can’t save the one’s in love.”

“That’s...really sweet of you.” Yoongi cleared his throat and then got up. “What are we waiting for then? We only have to do an entire new spell, have to convince Namjoon that he lets us experiment magically on him again even though nothing brought the solution yet and then hope that he doesn’t die until we figure our shit out.” Although his voice was dripping with sarcasm he felt a little bit better now that he knew that there was at least some hope left. It was better than feeling so weak and helpless. And it wasn’t like he could give up on Namjoon. That had never been an option.

“Only been waiting for you,” Jimin said and followed Yoongi with a smile. The two witches were fueled by the hope, getting out the spell books and Jimin’s notes once more. This time they wouldn’t let anything go wrong – both were sure of it.

…

“We need a spell that contains the curse, so we can trap it inside a sigil. Do you have any idea on how to achieve that?” Jimin asked, sitting so close next to Yoongi that he almost plopped down onto his lap. “I am not leaving anything to chance this time. We will wait until the full moon, be well rested and use all our powers. Nothing can beat the power of three right?” Jimin ruffled through Yoongi’s hair and opened a spell book, when he could hear footsteps coming down the staircase. Jungkook looked awfully pale, visibly still shaken from what had happened.

“Namjoon…he’s not good. He’s having a fever…I gave him some tea to stop the hallucinations he’s having.” Jungkook sighed deeply, smiling warily, “Did we find something?”

“I once trapped a shadow demon inside a sigil trap and it held him so it should hold the curse I guess..,” He broke off when Jungkook came down, the state he was in turning into another weight on is consciousness. “Is he asleep? Or do you think I should go up and keep him company?” He wasn't sure if Namjoon would want that anymore considering he hadn’t been of much help before and Jungkook with his herbal knowledge and healing abilities being the better caretaker.

“He’s pretty much out of it right now,” Jungkook shrugged his shoulders, “Hobi and Godzilla are with him. So, they can get us if Namjoon wakes up. You can go and see him later. Let him rest right now.” He placed a hand on Yoongi’s back as he walked around the couch in a caring manner and sat onto the floor right before the witches. “But…I heard we’re trapping the curse in a sigil? Are we bringing it back to you?” Jungkook looked at Yoongi, “It won’t work if we trap it onto a locket or something, am I right?”

“No, it won’t. It’s a blood curse. It needs blood. Something that’s alive. As I am the one who created it, it might accept me, but it won’t settle into anything lesser than that. If we had the time we could have gotten the person it was originally supposed to be for, but he would never do the ritual willingly - obviously - and we also don't have the time to even try. So, it’s going to be me. And then we figure out how to keep it locked inside of me without spilling over and growing like it did with Namjoon.” He explained almost clinically as if there weren't two life's at stake here.

Jungkook nodded at that, his expression turning focused, “Let’s do it then.”

…

It was easier to work together and Yoongi could feel the hope flaming up inside of him and even though he willed it down, he couldn’t help but feel it. Somewhere. A small flickering flame.

Jungkook had apparated soon after they ate some breakfast to get a bit more information on sigils and a few more ingredients from the black market, while Jimin and Yoongi were working on the spell all day. “You can go. I got this,” Jimin said, chuckling low when he noticed Yoongi’s side glances towards the staircase. “I know you’re concerned, just go. Bring him some of the soup we made. And don’t worry, we did a lot today and we got all day tomorrow. It’s going to be fine.” He reassured him once more, giving him a light pat on his bottom. “Check up on your boyfriend.”

Yoongi ignored Jimin’s teasing for the sake of getting to Namjoon faster, putting his things aside to get up the stairs, his heartbeat quickening he closer he got to the door. He was scared of what he might find but he calmed himself with the thought that one of the familiars would have alarmed them if Namjoon had gotten bad. So, he must be okay. He was still out cold when he opened the door, but he figured now that he was here he could check up on him anyways.

Namjoon blinked his eyes up, feeling something cold and wet on his forehead. His vision was still a bit blurry and it took him a few blinks to see that it was Yoongi who was taking care of him. He was having a bad fever, he could feel it in every fiber of his body and although the pain was almost gone (because of whatever Jungkook had given him), he still felt cold and hot at the same time. Namjoon’s hand slowly reached out for Yoongi, his own cold, sweaty hands wrapping around his delicate wrist.

“I’ve always thought that my life was pretty boring. That I am pretty boring…kind of useless.” Namjoon’s voice was sounding croaky and way too tired out. “But you found it interesting. My stupid dissertation, where I came from, what I thought about the most random things.” He looked at Yoongi with a faint smile, his thumb stroking over his soft skin, “You know I don’t blame you, right? For this… I know you wouldn’t have cursed me. You were scared and I wasn’t really careful. Just…a lot of bad luck.”

The witch smiled sadly at that. “You’ve gotten a lot of bad luck, don’t you? And it’s not fair especially because you are the kindest and wisest soul I’ve ever seen. How can you not blame me for something that was definitely and entirely my fault? Just locking the door would have been enough to spare you all of this.” Namjoon was about to talk back so Yoongi just placed a finger on his lips. “Don’t worry, I believe you that you really mean it. You’re not really good at lying and you also still let me close to you, so you apparently really are as forgiving and merciful and gentle as you say. I still don’t get it. You deserve better. I always thought that magic could help to make the world a little bit better, balance some stuff out - but right now it feels like all it does is punish someone who doesn't deserve it at all.”

Namjoon leaned into Yoongi’s touch a little more where his finger had wandered from his lips to his cheeks. “I bet it can make it better. You made my life a lot easier.” The human sat himself up a little, placing the cushion further up so he could rest comfortably. “You made mine a lot less painful…well, at first at least,” He laughed, “I still trust you that you will balance this out. Jungkook was talking a lot while he was treating me. I’m not sure which parts I was hallucinating but he really thinks highly of you. He also said something about you being like a turtle or something.” Namjoon furrowed his brows and shook his head, “Bad luck is my second name, the only time I got lucky was when I stumbled upon your little cat. Wouldn’t have done it any other way.”

“You really are something, Namjoon.” He chuckled, finally feeling a little more at ease. “And I’m not sure if you heard that right, Jungkook probably talked about Godzilla, his turtle.” He motioned over to where Hobi was sleeping curled up and in midst of the circle, surrounded by catbellyfluff was peeking out the tiniest bit of green. Yoongi had told them to get some rest while he was with Namjoon and as guarding him for hours had been exhausting they had napped off within minutes. “You had been in the best hands - sorry, I mean claws - while we were all downstairs.”

Namjoon peeked over to the cat and smiled, “Yeah, but I prefer your hands.”

“You do?” He smirked, “Don't let Hobi hear that or he’ll pout for a century.” He somehow still had his hand on Namjoon’s face and let his thumb glide over the heated skin. “I would think that you’re flirting with me but considering you have a fever you probably just can’t be held responsible for what you say, hm?” Their little teasing felt refreshingly like when all they had to worry about had been their next date and not how to keep one of them from dying.

“Yeah, could be that I’m also just hallucinating again…maybe you’re not Yoongi and I’m holding Hobi’s paw right now?” Namjoon pulled Yoongi in by his arm and looked at him closely as a smile pulled at his lips, “No, I think it’s you and I’m also pretty sure I am flirting. B-but maybe I should test it…the hallucinations…and stuff…just to make really sure.” His eyes flickered down to Yoongi’s lips and up to his eyes again.

“You think it’s a good idea to make out now?” On the other hand, who knew what might be happening tomorrow so they might as well live for the moment and enjoy what they had so after a second of hesitation Yoongi leaned down and just kissed him. Namjoon tasted like herbal tea and something bitter that was probably a residue of the curse, but he didn't mind cause he was kissing him, finally and like hell would he stop just because the curse tried to take every bit of joy from him. Namjoon’s hand found its way to Yoongi’s neck right away, keeping the witch close. Yoongi’s lips felt soft against his own, the kiss making him shiver from its intensity. Both knew what it could mean. It could either be their first and last kiss, or only one leading up to many. But Namjoon didn’t want to think about it, instead he poured all of what was left of the positive feelings in side of him into the kiss, only pulling away when he was completely out of breath.

“Alright, human, let’s let you catch your breath while the witches get some more work done. You think you’re going to be fine on your own for a little up here? I’ll wake up Hobi and Zilla and they’ll keep you company. Call me when something changes. This time it’ll work. We’re certain of it. You just have to hold on for one more day and then you can forget about this or... whatever else you want to do about it.” It was easier to be hopeful for Namjoon than it was for himself.

…

The witches were working on the spell non-stop, only pausing to eat something in between. Yoongi was studying the spell a million times, going through every detail of the ritual, preparing it precisely and even finding and measuring the right spot in Jungkook’s garden, where the moon would shine its light perfectly onto the little meadow. He was almost manic the way he made sure that every detail was perfect. But none of the others said something. It was better this way. Jimin even helped cleansing Yoongi’s body to be purified for the ritual the day of the full moon. There were no mistakes allowed anymore. After that, Yoongi stayed with Namjoon as much as he could, caring for the human and making sure he felt no pain at day as well as night, only then he dared to lay down next to him again, basking in Namjoon’s warmth and the way he put his arm around him for a little while longer, willing down his own nervousness and keeping his mind focused.

“You’ve said you found the reason why it hadn’t worked last time? What will be different now?” Namjoon sat up carefully with the help of Yoongi. His skin was looking awfully pale, his cheeks still red from the fever that was weakening him. The black streaks on his body had grown back to where they had been in the beginning, flourishing all over his chest, way too close to his heart by now. “Or don’t I want to know?” From where he sat, Namjoon could see the full moon shining through the window, dipping the room into a beautiful, almost magical light. He reached out and grabbed Yoongi’s hand.

“It makes sense, honestly. We just didn’t think of it at first - or didn’t want to.” He decided that being honest with Namjoon was the least he could do after the other was still so trusting and open with him. “We’ll send the curse back where it came from and then try to trap it there. Which means you’ll be free from it immediately. Though you’re going to feel the effects. You will need to heal. Give yourself some time, be nice with yourself, do what feels good and feels right. Make yourself laugh, do what you enjoy, heighten your spirit.” He smiled at him, hoping that Namjoon wouldn’t ask further. The human nodded at that, holding onto Yoongi’s arm for support as they walked downstairs and into the garden. Namjoon had already slipped into a bathrobe before, so it would be easier for him to just get naked this time. He weirdly felt so used to it already.

When they stepped out into the garden though, Namjoon gasped. The moonlight was shining perfectly into the spot their prepared, illuminating the scene. Jimin and Jungkook were dressed in all white, reflecting and glowing beautifully under the light. Hobi sat nearby and outside of the circle, his eyes focused on his owner. He was nervous on the inside – a lot.

For Yoongi, for Namjoon.

For this whole thing to go south again, but they had prepared everything and even Hobi had seen the notes. And it looked perfect. It had to work this time. It just had to.

There was no other choice.

They stood in front of the circle before Jimin gave them a sign that the time was right. They had prepared it so that they would start the ritual when the full moon was at its peak, so that they could lend the most energy from it and be as powerful as they needed to be. Yoongi had brought a black satin ribbon that he placed between him and Namjoon while the other witches closed the circle. There was no turning back now. He wished he had kissed Namjoon before this just to be sure because honestly he had no idea how it would be to have the curse himself. Even under control it might alter his perception or feelings and honestly he was scared. But he’d do it in a heartbeat.

For Namjoon.

Namjoon had no idea what it meant to bring the curse back to where it came from and he hadn’t thought about it much. So, he laid down, ignoring the darkness that kept trying to pull him under each time and concentrated on the voices around him. Jimin began chanting, pouring an oil over his chest and where the curse was the strongest, when Namjoon could feel a heavy push on him immediately. All three witches held their hands on top of each other, pushing onto his thorax, now chanting together. It only took a few seconds for the curse to react and for Namjoon to writhe in pain, hissing and screaming out while the darkness inside of him was fighting for his spot not wanting to leave the body.

As the darkness was triggered and under pressure Yoongi would give it an out: his own body. More healthy tissue to infect, more magic to feed from - and more darkness to mingle with.

He’s had his fair share of black magic and he was sure that his body was like a tasty treat for the curse. And definitely better than Namjoon who was magicless and dying and had no chance against the power of three witches. Yoongi took the black satin ribbon and wound half of it tightly around Namjoon’s wrist, exactly where the curse had entered him first. The other half was wound around his own wrist (by Jungkook and Jimin as he had to use one hand to join theirs on Namjoon’s body and he couldn’t use magic to do it because he was pouring all of it into the main spell.)

As soon as they were joined he gripped Namjoons wrist, helping the other to wrap his fingers around the witches wrist in return. Namjoon was so out of it that he let Yoongi do what he wanted and a part of him was glad that Namjoon didn’t realize what was happening. Because with him being so caring and thoughtful he wasn’t sure if the human wouldn’t be stupid enough to try and keep the curse if he knew that it could harm Yoongi just as bad as it had affected him.

Jimin nodded at Jungkook to give him the sign to start.

The youngest witch began chanting another spell, while the others were still repeating the one that would unbind the spell from the human body. Jungkook’s spell on the other hand was to force the curse into Yoongi’s body at the same time. They were shouting against each other, eyes focused on the curse which was slowly pushing out of Namjoon and hitting Yoongi full force.

“Now!” Jimin screamed and Jungkook let go of their joined hands, grabbing the oil he had prepared before, pushing Yoongi onto his back. “St-stay still now, okay?” Jungkook was shaking, pouring some of the oil onto his hands and rubbing them together. He had to be fast and concentrate enough for this to work, while his friend was lying on the ground, shaking – eyes wide in sudden realization that he had put himself under a deathly curse.

It was different than he had imagined. With the black streaks he had thought that the curse would feel like a burn or heat, but instead it felt like something icy cold entering through his fingers and traveling up his wrist until his whole palm felt numb. He could feel his heart beating way too fast and the way he was lying there on his back, vulnerable and half naked everything in him screamed to sit back up and just run. He willed his instincts down forcefully, closing his eyes and taking a shuddering breath while Jungkook did his work. He had decided and he would go through with it.

While Jungkook was still murmuring his spell, trapping the curse inside of Yoongi’s body, Jimin was holding Namjoon. He gently hovered a hand over his face, whispering a sweet but short spell that made him fall into a deep sleep quickly. They had decided it was best for Namjoon’s body to rest and to let it heal on his own first.

“You’re doing so good, keep going!” Jimin bit his lip, caressing over Namjoon’s hair mindlessly as he cheered on Jungkook. There was sweat forming at his forehead, his eyes were narrowed while his fingertips were luring in the spell, drawing the same pattern repeatedly until it got swallowed by the sigil that slowly started to form. Taking Yoongi’s hand, he placed it onto the black symbol and motioned for Jimin to do the same. One last time they began chanting a protection spell to lock in the curse safely and not harm anyone ever – anymore.

He could feel the curse going for his magic right away, like a parasite, latching onto his magical core, his spark, his deepest, personal magic. He had to breathe calmly to push down the nausea and when another rush of it went through him he whimpered pathetically.

Yoongi knew that his life was pretty much in Jungkook’s hands now. When he heard Jimin’s voice, telling Jungkook how good he was doing he knew that the other must be finished with Namjoon. He could only hear soft , deep breaths from his right side and when he turned his head he saw that Namjoon was deep asleep. There was no pain on his face, no creased brows or frown, he looked relaxed.

The curse was gone. He would be fine. The knowledge that Namjoon would live had him smiling. And as his body was busy with stomaching the shock of the curse that had entered him he just let go, let his mind slip. No matter the outcome of this Namjoon would be fine. He had kept his promise. There was still a smile on his lips when he lost consciousness.

…

Namjoon was blinking his eyes awake after what felt like days of deep sleep. His body had taken what it needed, making him black out completely. When he woke up though, the human sat straight up in a matter of seconds. His hands were searching his own body, eyes wide in fear as he tried to orientate himself, find out what had happened and if the curse…

“It’s gone,” Namjoon looked at his palm, then rolled up his sleeve, “It’s not there anymore.” A chuckle to his right made him snap his head around.

“It is. We’ve done a great job this time,” The young love witch said and got up from the chair to walk to his bedside. “In case you’re wondering. We’re home…well, we’re back in your town. Upstairs of Yoongi’s shop.” Jimin explained and placed his hand onto his forehead to check for a fever or anything alike, “We brought you back soon after. How are you feeling?”

Namjoon gulped, only nodding as an answer. “How’s Yoongi? Where is he?” A soft smile pulled at Jimin’s lips and he stepped aside, motioning over to the bedroom. He knew it was no use to tell Namjoon to take care of himself first. He wouldn’t have done it anyways.

Yoongi was lying in his bed, still asleep. He looked even paler than usual against the bedsheets and he was so motionless that Namjoon was glad he could see him breathing or else he would have looked a little more like a ghost than a human. Hoseok was sleeping curled up against his side, head buried in his own fluffy tail and paws placed over his nose as if he was hiding. It had taken a toll on the familiar as well to see Yoongi at risk. Luckily Jungkook had done an amazing job. The curse was trapped. The sigil was still visible on Yoongi’s wrist, just like a tattoo because the curse had tinted it black just like ink. Apart from that everything was back to normal. Except that Yoongi had to replenish his magic and he had slept lots to get back on his feet.

Namjoon sat down at the edge of his bed, carefully reaching out for the witch, softly caressing over his cheek. He turned to look at Hobi who had been peeking out from his paws to see who had been dipping the mattress, meowing quietly when he recognized him. “Hello little one,” The human scratched the cat behind its ears, before he returned his gaze onto Yoongi. He pushed his hair back, soothing over his cheeks and down his neck to his chest. It was a way for Namjoon to check once more if Yoongi’s heart was really beating, because the witch definitely was looking awfully sick. Maybe it had been because of the stress? The amount of magic he had to use for the spells? It must have taken a toll on him. “Hey,” Namjoon curled up a lock of Yoongi’s hair around his finger with a smile, “Wake up, sleepy head.”

Yoongi blinked slowly as he recognized that the touches felt more like a human caress than Hobi’s tongue. The cat had licked him a lot, trying to get the smell of ritual and curse off of him. “Namjoon?” His voice was a little croaky from not being used for a while and he turned his head to Jungkook who was pouring him some tea. He accepted it with a thankful smile and then tried to sit up to drink it. “How are you feeling? Are there any traces left? Thoughts or aching muscles? You should let Jungkook check you - if you haven’t done that already.” He had no idea what day it was or how long he had been out. “Since when are you awake?”

“Just a while now, maybe an hour,” Namjoon shrugged his shoulders, smiling at Jungkook who left the room for them to have some privacy (though Hobi was still there). When the familiar smell of the freshly brewed tea reached his nostrils Namjoon recognized it right away. It was the same tea, Jungkook had given him for the pain and exhaustion. “Thank you, really. For saving my life and…sticking by my side.” He placed his hand on his thighs averting his gaze, “Don’t worry about me. I think I just need…a bit of time to process this. Everything.”

“It’s fine, I brought you into this and I got you out so you shouldn't thank me really. We can just file it under ‘interesting magical adventure that wasn't really necessary’”, He tried himself at a smile, but it only worked half ways when Namjoon’s words sunk in. Somehow it didn't sound like the other was talking about some time at his place with some tea while petting Hobi - it rather sounded like goodbye. “What…what do you mean?” His throat closed up and somehow he didn't feel like it was the curses fault.

“I don’t know. I just had barely time to process any of the things that happened,” Namjoon looked at Yoongi with a sad expression. “You said yourself I need to focus on myself after everything that happened. I feel like…the darkness. It’s still there in a way. I need time to work with what happened. Witches. Magic. Almost dying. It’s a lot, when all I had before was my dissertation and unpacked boxed in my apartment. I’m confused. My body is exhausted.” Reaching for Yoongi’s hand, he intertwined their fingers, “Just give me a bit okay? I just don’t want to jump into anything when I’m not sure where my head or heart is right now.”

Although Namjoon had phrased it perfectly and Yoongi did understand him it still hurt in a way. A tiny little part of him had hoped that despite everything Namjoon would stay with him right away, maybe tell him that everything they’ve been through had showed him that they could manage everything so something as simple as a blooming relationship isn't scary anymore. He knew he should have gotten rid of that hopeful, romantic part of him a long time ago. Yoongi smiled encouragingly despite his heartache. “Of course. Thank you for not yelling at me for almost killing you.” He put the tea aside. “Do you want my cellphone number, or do you want to.. come by if you decide you still want to see me?” He wondered how long it would take for him to stop hoping that every next customer that came in would be Namjoon who had decided he loved him nonetheless or that every phone call would be him telling him he wanted to see him again.

“I’ll come by, I promise,” Namjoon said with a faint smile, “Please make sure to rest as well. Don’t open the shop until you really feel like it, ‘kay?” Leaning in closer, he placed a kiss on Yoongi’s cheek, “Thank you – again.” He got up from the bed, hesitant to let go of his hand. “I just need to sort myself out, really.” Before he turned, he quickly kissed Yoongi’s other cheek once more, waving him goodbye with a faint smile. As soon as Namjoon had left the room Hobi jumped up and onto Yoongi's lap, nosing along his cheek.

“Don’t be sad, Yoongi. He said he’d come back!”

“Yeah, I know.” The witch sighed deeply. “But who knows if he really will. I believe him that he means to right now but when he’s home and has time to think about it then he might just decide that it's safer to stay away from magic. And therefore, from me. Maybe I’ll get a nice little card instead that says that he’s sorry but that he can't come again because it stirs up uncomfortable memories of almost dying. And he would be totally right to take care of himself first.” He hugged the cat close to his chest. “I’m so glad that I have you. You won’t leave me, right?” As an answer Hobi just started licking his face.

…

When Namjoon opened the door to his apartment, it almost felt like a parallel world. All of it seemed so strange, out of place and suddenly not like he imagined it to be.

There was still drips of blood on his carpet that he had forgotten to clean up. Great - this would be a nightmare to get out and his landlord definitely wouldn’t be happy with it. He started cleaning it right away and only when he was tidying up everything else, leaving no spot of dust in his apartment did Namjoon fall onto his bed. Turning his head, his hand caressed over the soft sheets that were empty. Suddenly it felt too big, when before he loved to have his space, rolling around and using every bit of it to his advantage. “Fuck,” He groaned and got up, ignoring how the sun was setting and the night was taking over as he kept his mind busy with answering emails instead of thinking about what it all could meant. It was leaving him with a headache, a really bad one.

The thoughts were fighting to take over, rather wanting to think about what the existence of witches would mean, if magic was good or not, if Yoongi was a good witch ...or not. He stumbled into his bedroom, closing all the blinds so he wouldn’t get woken up by the sunlight. The anxiety was flaring high, leaving his heart beating fast and him to a wide-eyed mess that couldn’t sleep. All because of Yoongi.

The next days, Namjoon tried to work as much as he could, filling his days with his dissertation and even traveling into the city to get some more books from his office. He visited his mother, apologizing for the sudden silence on his side, explaining that he had been on a trip. “Just a small vacation,” He mumbled and quickly changed the topic. Because the moment he thought about it, Yoongi was present in his mind again. His cute face, soft cheeks and pouty lips that Namjoon would have loved to kiss again. It was there, the picture of him, all the way back to his apartment, haunting him like a ghost.

It was driving him crazy.

“Fuck!” Namjoon angrily screamed out at no one, “How should I know if he’s good or bad...How do I know? What do I do?” He was panting, holding onto the kitchen counter so hard that it turned his knuckles white. And then he did, what all humans would do in such a situation - he googled it.

Namjoon simply typed in ‘Good and Bad Witches’. He knew it was stupid and pretty “human” of him, but he had no other choice. At least he thought so. He was torn between wanting Yoongi, to take him out once more - but knowing what he was capable of, how easily he got involved with dark magic was scaring him. So, he read all about it all night. About Love-, Garden and other forms of Witches, trying to figure out what kind of Witch Yoongi was. He read all about curses, dark magic and familiars (secretly wishing to have one of his own right now, because he felt so utterly lost). He even read about séance that could help him talk to either Jungkook or Jimin if he had the right ingredients to do so, but Namjoon saw that most of it he wouldn’t get in a normal shop. He could only buy it in Yoongi’s. Maybe they could have help him? Figure out the feelings, the thoughts and doubts.

To figure his heart and mind out, he kept reading the next day. And the next. Until even the Bonsai Tree that he had started to take care of the day before he met Yoongi started wilting (then he quickly googled something about ‘bonsai tree dying help’ now completely messing up his search history).

He definitely was going mad now, he thought to himself.

Namjoon brushed a hand through his hair in a desperate manner, turning to look out of the window. It had almost been a week now without Yoongi and he still hadn’t figured out any of the things that he wanted to figure out. He didn’t dare to think that Yoongi was a bad witch. He felt it. Somewhere deep in his heart, he just knew it.

He may know a bit more about curses now, about how salt circles were working and why it had fucked up Yoongi’s magic. Therefore, he combined that he literally pulled Yoongi out of his magic concentration, which made him so scared that it mingled with the curse he was doing. Namjoon also remembered the GOMs Yoongi had been talking about. And figuring that black magic wasn’t really allowed had been easy. So, he wondered even more. Why was he doing that? Could Yoongi do as much good with his light magic? He groaned and stood up.

In the end, he knew all along that only one person had the answers to his questions.

And his heart had decided a long time ago.

Namjoon stopped and looked at himself in the mirror, giving himself a quick once over. It left him groaning even more seeing his messy hair, the dark circles under his eyes from all the sleepless nights where his headaches had kept him awake. He needed to see Yoongi and he needed to know the truth. His heart skipped a beat when he walked into the alley of his shop. It was late, almost time for Yoongi to close up.

Namjoon hurried, almost stumbling over his own feet.

…

It hadn’t taken Yoongi long to get back up on his feet. In the care of Jungkook and Jimin he had regained his strength quickly and thanks to Jungkook’s more regular visits he always had some herbal medicine in store in case he felt dizzy or strange. The curse was sealed inside his hand and it didn’t even try to get out. Maybe the seal was so strong that there was no point in trying or maybe the magic had broken down the curse into a hint of black magic or faded trace of it. Either way Yoongi was fine with it. He had thought that his gut would clench every time he saw it, but although he flinched the first few times when he noticed it out of the corner of his eyes he quickly got used to it. At first it was like an itch, then he accepted it as a new part of himself and started to ignore it. If he was angry or felt like shouting at someone he had noticed that the sigil heated up a little. But apart from that he was just like before.

Except maybe a little melancholic although it had nothing to do with the curse and everything to do with that Namjoon was gone.

It had been all he had thought about the first few days after he reopened the shop and so he had been thankful that there were more customers than usual as apparently his shop had been missed. When screech came over again he gave the owl some curse powder to take back to his master, nothing close to a blood curse but he had decided that he wouldn’t do long lasting black magic again. Some borderline black stuff or greyscale magic would still be in his schedule because there was just too many fascinating potions and spells out there that he wanted to try or thought useful. Though blood curses or stuff that would result in death if he failed were off the table. He felt like he owed that to Namjoon.

Even if the other might never know.

…

The little bell at the door of Yoongi’s shop was ringing loudly when Namjoon stepped in. A smile formed at his lips when the familiar smells of fresh herbs reached his nostrils. He was holding onto his bag tightly, taking slow steps inside. Nothing much had changed in the shop and Namjoon let his hand soothe over the books in the shelf walking in deeper. He could feel his heart pace picking up drastically when he could hear Yoongi’s voice shouting from the back.

“I’ll be with you in a second. Just take a look around!”

It send a shiver down his spine and he thought about how much his heart had been yearning for him when he only been away for not longer than a week. It felt like a part of him he had already lost to Yoongi. But there was fear, too. Uncertainty and one too many questions. A sudden noise behind him, made him turn around and when his gaze fell onto Hobi’s green eyes, Namjoon smiled.

Yoongi quickly stored the ingredients away that he would be using for his new potion, something to lighten people’s mood. He would try it out on himself and if it was safe he would sell it in his shop. He wiped his hands on his jeans to get rid of the yellow dust of the “hypericum perforatum” that was left on there when he saw who had stepped into his shop. His heart missed a beat and his stomach plummeted.

He had thought so often that one of his customers was Namjoon that it was kind of embarrassing. It always had turned out to be someone else, obviously. But now that the other was in front of him he was absolutely sure. He felt that it was Namjoon. And when the other turned and looked at him Yoongi had half a mind to turn around and hide in his storage room. He was utterly scared. If Namjoon was here it could mean two things; he either wanted to tell him that he had decided that they could still see each other - or he was here to say goodbye.

“H...Hi.” He cleared his throat to keep it from sounding so frail but the way he was avoiding Namjoon’s eyes was giving away how insecure he felt anyway. “Hey,” Namjoon bit his lip, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. There was silence between them after that – which made him completely panic. Because he didn’t want to be awkward, nor did he want to say the wrong things or just straight away ask Yoongi if he was a bad witch, or if he wanted to see him again – so instead he blurted out: “I- I…hurt myself.”

“What?” He reacted on instinct, reaching out for Namjoon’s hands because that’s where he mostly injured himself. Only when he had both of Namjoon’s hands in his did he realize what he was doing. He couldn’t just let them fall now that he had reached out for him which led to him gently peeling back the layers of clothes from his wrist with flaming cheeks. There was nothing but soft skin under his fingers so he kept going, stroking feather light, careful touches into the other’s arm until the sleeve wouldn’t go up any further. Only then did he dare to look up. “Where is it? What... do you need?” No matter what or their relationship was right now he would always take care of Namjoon if the other wanted him to.

“I…eh, I…mean, I,” Namjoon gulped nervously, “I mean…I did hurt myself last night because I knocked my knee on the table and the day before I hit my elbow on the doorframe, and the headaches had been…a lot… but…I think I’m fine. Or not. I don’t know.” He sighed deeply knowing there was no good way out now. He had stumbled into this mess once more. “Can we talk? Just you and me?”

“O..oh.” To say Yoongi was confused would have been understatement. Did Namjoon want him to give him something against bruises and his headaches just like the first time they had met? Was this what he wanted to talk about? How he would like to get herbs and medicine from him without it being awkward and that was about it? Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hobi sniffing warily on a paper bag that Namjoon was holding. He was just about to warn the other when the cat bit right into the paper.

“Hobi!” Before he could grab the bag - or the cat - Hobi had bit through the bag and stole a big chunk of what looked like some kind of pastry. Happily, he ran away with his prey in full cat-gallop, his fluffy tail waving behind him. The witch sighed deeply. So much for Hobi being on his side. “I’m really sorry, I’ll pay you for whatever he just stole of course.”

“Oh no, no, don’t worry about it,” Namjoon chuckled softly, “It was for him anyways. I just thought I could give it to him and tell him that I was sorry.” He noticed Yoongi’s confused expression and quickly added, “For leaving without saying anything to him. Just as much as I wanted to apologize to you…with half bitten cinnamon buns?”

“You wanted... to apologize?” His eyes widened and he felt stupid for how easily the hope started to bloom in his chest. Then he burst into laughter. “You brought Hobi cinnamon buns? No wonder he loves you so much!” And for himself Namjoon didn’t even need sweet pastries to make Yoongi love him but of course he didn’t say that out loud.

“Of course, that’s how we met, right? I think he only lured me in because he wanted the cinnamon buns, you remember?” Namjoon relaxed a lot more when he heard Yoongi’s laughter. The weight was lifted off his shoulder and he put the bag onto the counter and got out the buns as well as the jar. Namjoon had bought one for each of them and he actually wanted Yoongi to fill up his ‘headache’ jar later.

“I wanted to apologize for just disappearing like that. I panicked. You didn’t deserve that, after what you did for me.” He motioned over to the back room of Yoongi’s and the witch quickly walked ahead so they could sit down on the couch. “And I want to learn.”

“It’s alright.” He was so happy that Namjoon had come back and that it didn’t look like he would be cutting him out of his life right now that he would have forgiven anything. Except there wasn’t really anything to forgive. He had taken everything that had happened remarkably well and taking time to think wasn’t something he had done to hurt him. It just happened to make his heart ache whenever Namjoon wasn’t there. But that wasn’t Namjoon’s fault. Yoongi sat down on the couch, sitting onto his hands on purpose because the urge to reach out for Namjoon was so strong. He wanted to hug him or lay besides him in bed again, just being there, knowing that he was close to him. If Hobi wouldn’t have been so busy eating his stolen cinnamon bun he would have probably pawed him in the face for being sappy.

“I want to know about magic. The good kind that you do, the one you help people with.” Namjoon said, feeling a little bit out of breath. He hadn’t thought about what he wanted to say, instead there had been only one word on his mind on his way over: Yoongi. Yoongi. Yoongi.

Most of the questions he had, Namjoon forgotten already but he figured he could ask them later. Right now, just this moment was counting to him, to make this right. Because without Yoongi in his life something had felt off. He wasn’t sure how this happened so fast, considering he wasn’t one to lose his heart quickly but Yoongi stole his from the get-go. With his cute pout and beautiful smile.

“I tried to figure it all out on my own, but I can’t do this without you. Because it all leads back to you and it only feels right when you’re with me…,” Namjoon blushed, “Even now it feels easier to talk about it. My mind had gotten it’s rest. The dark thoughts stopped the moment the curse was gone, but my heart…it didn’t. The longing. The love. Is it because I felt it before it happened? I feel like it only multiplied.” He cocked his head to the side, embarrassingly hiding in the palm of his hands, “I’m talking nonsense right?”

Yoongi’s confusion only grew when Namjoon told him he wanted to know about magic. He had thought the human wanted to forget and even at best he might tolerate it but actively seeking knowledge - from him? And then Namjoon kept talking and had him even more speechless and his breathing stuttered because his heart suddenly felt so full and then he said that he loved him, so nonchalantly, so casually and honestly how only Namjoon could do it. He was talking about something so delicate and dangerous as if it was nothing, as if it didn’t mean the world to Yoongi to hear this and so he just… broke.

The tears ran silently down his cheeks and Namjoon was so busy talking and trying to make sense that he only saw when he asked Yoongi if he was making sense. But Yoongi couldn’t talk because his voice was choked up and he didn’t get enough air into his lungs, so he just shook his head. Because Namjoon didn’t make sense; he couldn’t believe it, didn’t dare to believe in Namjoon loving him despite what he had done.

“Oh, oh no, did I say something wrong? Are you okay, Yoongi?” Namjoon reached out for Yoongi’s hands, holding onto him tightly, trying to make sense why the other was suddenly crying. “Tell me if I did something wrong, please. I want to make this right. I want to do this right from the start…no curses, no interruptions…just us and our second date if you’re still up to it?”

Yoongi nodded quickly, wiping his eyes with his sleeve while trying to even out his breath - and failing. He was afraid that he would scare Namjoon off if he wouldn’t get himself together but Namjoon had shaken him to the core.

Love.

“Can you.. can you say it again, please?” He wanted to make sure that he hadn’t imagined things, maybe the ingredients of the mood brightening spell had a hallucinogenic effect or maybe he had just wished so hard that his mind had let him hear what he wanted. “The part about.. about you.. liking me?”

“W-what? Please, baby,” The nickname slipped from his lips so easily that he hadn’t even noticed it himself as he reached out for Yoongi, feeling like he was just too far away and pulling him onto his lap and into his arm to hold him tight. He leaned his head onto his shoulder, nuzzling his face close to Yoongi. “I liked you, a lot. The moment I stepped in here, I knew I would like you. And when we first met up, I knew it would turn into so much more.” Namjoon whispered holding him close and soothing over his back, before pulling him away a little to look at Yoongi’s face. “I wanted to ask Jimin about it, but I wasn’t sure if I could reach him with a séance. I googled something. I wanted to make sure that it was real. But it is. I can feel it, you know. Is it cheesy?”

Yoongi stiffened when Namjoon pulled him on his lap, a defensive reflex he couldn’t quite get rid of. It only took a few seconds though, of Namjoon’s warm hands on his back and the younger’s low voice against his ear to have him relax fully into his embrace. He wondered how something simple like an embrace could feel so right and reach so deep within him. The witch shuddered in pure bliss. Actually, he was so content that it took him a little while to get what Namjoon was talking about, his eyes widening when the other talked about a seance - before he realized that no, of course Jimin wasn’t dead, Namjoon just had no idea what he was talking about. He broke into a laughter again (Namjoon was giving his emotions a really good shake to have him laughing and crying and laughing again in just a few minutes) and at the other’s confused face he explained quickly.

“Namjoon please, do not try a seance. It’s for the dead. With your luck you would probably be haunted by a very vengeful spirit for the next month. If you want to ask Jimin something just call him. He has a phone. And I’m really happy that you think that this is real because I do too and… and it’s the most beautiful feeling and I’m so happy that I honestly don’t know what to do right now but.. you really trust google enough to confirm your feelings? Do I have to be worried that you might change your mind if google says something different?” He wrapped his arms around Namjoon’s neck, leaning in closer. “Because I would really, really like to keep you in my life forever.” Namjoon’s lips crushed onto Yoongi’s as an answer, pulling him against his body until there was no space between them and their breaths mingled hotly on his. His heart swelled with so much longing that he wondered how it could go on beating. His lips opened on a soft groan; he echoed it as he crushed his mouth to his. Namjoon was sure he would never get tired of kissing Yoongi. “Th-there’s something else,” He was whispering against Yoongi’s lips as he opened his eyes.

“Hu?” Yoongi blinked the haze away that had settled over his mind when Namjoon had kissed him like this. He had really gone all in, kissing him breathless like he was starving for his taste. It was incredibly hot to be wanted like this. He leaned back to see Namjoon better (and also get a little space between himself and Namjoon's lips because they were really tempting, and he couldn't promise to be able to concentrate on anything but his desire to kiss him again if he got to close). “What is it?” He wondered what else could make Namjoon shy after he had bravely confessed to him just like that.

Namjoons hand settled low on Yoongi’s back, wandering down to his waist. “I…I really, really want you. The curse was making it even worse…at least I thought so, but I still want you. A lot.” He could feel the blush on his cheeks, “I want to make this real…so let me take you out. Real date and stuff… or else, I can’t promise…” He leaned in again, kissing him sweetly and softer this time. “I can’t promise that I will be able to hold back if I am allowed to kiss you like that. It’s probably just the after effects of the curse, right?” Namjoon blinked up at Yoongi, “Maybe you have some secret potion for it?”

Yoongi laughed, feeling pure joy bubbling up inside of him as if he was made of champagne.

“Nope, I'm sorry to take that excuse away from you but as soon as the curse left you it also stopped its influence in you. You did feel exhausted because it had taken a toll on your body, but your thoughts were solely your own again since then. So, if you say you want me..” He spread his thighs a little further, scooting closer to Namjoon's groin, “…then you have no one else to blame but your own desire.”

He leaned in and brushed his lips over Namjoon's, teasing, fleeting, a barely there kiss. “I should give you a little warning though. If you plan on fucking me you should be careful because if you are able to give it to me good enough you'll literally see sparks. I can't control my magic if I come hard. It's not dangerous, just fizzy sparks but it can be a little startling if you don't expect it. Though as I said you have to fuck me right to see then anyway. Do you think you are at risk here?”

Namjoon gulped heavily, the desire pooling hot in the pit of his stomach. “I...I...really wanted to take you out first.” He mumbled one more time but pressed his lips against Yoongi’s right away hungrily. “You…you're making it hard to believe that if you keep turning me on like that.” Taking it slow after just having been told that they had a chance together would have been the proper thing to do - but Yoongi ached for this, for Namjoon's touches and his care, his closeness and attention. It was making him dizzy with the overwhelming desire for more.

He didn’t give himself or Yoongi a chance to backpedal but instead grabbed the hem of Yoongi’s shirt and pulled it over his head. He attacked Yoongi’s neck right away, kissing, biting, letting sweet bruises bloom on his skin where he wanted everyone to know that Yoongi was his. That he decided to trust him, because he was trusting his heart in this. Yoongi was good. And he loved him. He wanted him more than anything else.

“I hope you have the door closed this time?” Namjoon cocked an eyebrow and pulled Yoongi flush against him, before returning his attention on placing kisses everywhere his lips could reach on his beautiful skin. Yoongi wanted to feel him, all around him...again he had to take a second before it clicked what the other had said. “The door? Uhm, well, not yet…,” He quickly waved his hand and with a flick of his wrist the door clicked shut. Hopefully no one had seen it - or else the wind would have to take the blame for his magic, but there was no way he would get up now or let Namjoon further than his mouth could reach.

Namjoon looked up for barely a second, hearing the door shut, before he smiled and just kept on kissing Yoongi. It was the sweetest mixture between soft nibbles and heated make-outs, their hands exploring all of their bodies and Namjoon easily let Yoongi pull off his shirt as well, leaving them both shirtless and aching to be even closer. “You’re making me crazy,” He mumbled, “All week you did.” And now it felt like the purest bliss to love him. With a swift movement, Namjoon held Yoongi tightly around his wrist and turned so he could lift him up for a second and lay him down onto the couch, hovering over him. With Yoongi’s arms around his neck, Namjoon turned to kiss his wrist softly as he let his hands fall down his chest. His own found its way to Yoongis zipper right away, a smirk appearing on his lips. “Fuck, you don’t want to know how many times I’ve dreamed about this...or hallucinated,” He chuckled low, kissing down Yoongi’s chest and slowly going lower and lower.

The sudden change in position had Yoongi’s stomach lurching upwards. Suddenly there was something else mixing with his arousal. It had been a while since he’s had sex with someone, for different reasons and lying on his back like this with Namjoon hovering over him made him nervous. He trusted the other, he really did (and even if Namjoon turned out to be too rough he could always defend himself with magic). Still it was different sitting on someone’s lap and talking dirty with the arousal making you dizzy - and lying on your back while someone was undressing you and you got aware of your own vulnerability. He swallowed hard, trying to calm his nerves.

“You okay?“ Namjoon looked up at him, kissing his neck and jawline again, before softly nibbling at Yoongi’s lips. He had noticed the way Yoongi stiffened up right away under his touch and if there was one thing Namjoon didn’t want, it was for him to feel uncomfortable. “I…I can stop if you want. Anytime. Whenever. If you want me to do something differently… Just say it and we’ll go back, and I just hold you forever, deal?”

“That.. sounds good. You holding me I mean.” He pulled Namjoon close enough so that he could hide his face in his neck. Although Namjoon was supporting most of his weight on the couch Yoongi could still feel the younger’s body on top of him, weighing him down. He was so close that he could feel Namjoon’s heart beat and every exhale against his skin. It calmed him, grounded him. Namjoon was safe. He always would be.

“How do you want to do this?” He wanted to make sure that he could be what Namjoon wanted. If Namjoon told him he loved him and in return got disappointed with him because it wouldn’t be like he had imagined it... Yoongi had no idea how he would be supposed to cope with that.

“However, you want me to and it is comfortable for you.” A soft smile played on his lips, showing off his dimples, “How about I’ll undress you, give you the love you deserve, and I should have given you before. Then I’ll kiss you a lot more until we both gasp for air.” He leaned in to place a kiss on his lips, “Then I tell you how I fell in love with you, the moment you looked at me. How much I wanted to kiss you in that alley behind the black market and how I needed you by my side, because when I was with you the thoughts weren’t as bad. I could concentrate on you, hold your hand and just look at your beautiful face instead of worrying about whatever had happened.” He grinned, cupping Yoongi’s cheek, “And then I let you undress me and if you want, you can sit back up on my lap? So, I can hold you close, you can be in control while I adorn your body with kisses and make sweet love to you, which I should have done a long time ago. Because I love you.”

Namjoon smiled at him, telling him everything he needed to hear without a second of hesitation. Yoongi could feel his eyes start to burn again and he hid his face even more to make sure Namjoon couldn’t see how overwhelmed he was and what his words were doing to him. He nodded because he didn’t trust his voice at first and then added in a whisper. “Then I’m yours.” The other would take care of him he knew it with a certainty that he couldn’t explain himself. Namjoon leaned in and devoured Yoongi wholly. He didn’t hold back anymore, kissing him deeply while his hands were all over his body, exploring and touching his soft skin just like he wanted to all the time. It only felt right to do so.

Slowly, he kissed down Yoongi’s jaw and further down his neck and chest. He smirked, feeling how Yoongi was sucking in some air. “Relax baby, I got you,” He whispered and reached out for his hand to intertwine it with his while the other opened up his zipper and button easily. With his eyes on Yoongi, Namjoon licked up his happy trail, before placing his hands on the hem of his pants.

The witch spread his thighs on instinct to give Namjoon more room which actually made it more difficult to get rid of his jeans. He blushed hard when the younger had to manhandle him a little to get the pants off of him. The cool air that hit his skin had him yearning for Namjoon’s body heat, he craved the warmth, the closeness and so he undressed Namjoon as well, a least as far as he could reach before it got stuck at the other’s knees. “Get rid of them please. I want them gone.” He swallowed Namjoon’s answer in a demanding kiss, holding onto the humans shoulders for balance and comfort.

Namjoon couldn’t help but chuckle, kissing Yoongi once more before he got up to get rid of his pants. Of course, he noticed how Yoongi was staring at him, his eyes wandering over his body and Namjoon cocked up an eyebrow, “You’ve seen it before. I won’t pretend I haven’t heard what Jimin said.”

“That was different. I was a little distracted by trying to keep you from dying. Sure, I noticed that it would be a waste not to worship your body but... I was busy.” He twitched when Namjoon nipped on a sensitive spot.

When he got rid of his pants completely, Namjoon quickly got back over Yoongi and kissed the blush on Yoongi’s cheek. “Let me make you feel good, okay?” He said and hooked up one of Yoongi’s legs, starting at his knee as he slowly kissed down his thigh. “You’ll be good for me, right?”

“Depends.” He was too breathless to answer in complete sentences, but sassiness sounded better in short anyway. “What do I get if I behave like you want me too?” It wasn’t easy to pretend to be unaffected when all he wanted to do was melt under Namjoon's mouth.

“This,” Namjoon wasted no second to grab Yoongi’s cock, licking slow before sucking on the tip like a lover would – slowly and passionately and driving him absolutely mad with it just to stop seconds after. “Or maybe you rather want this,” He smirks as his hand plays gently with his balls, slides down and then softly rubbed against the rim of his hole once. “Only if you’re good for me.”

Yoongi cursed, low and desperate, arching embarrassingly quickly into Namjoon’s touch. “Fuck!” He was way too sensitive to have an actual chance in this.

“I’m good! I’ll be good!” He was hard and aching already, the tension pulling his muscles tight. He shuddered violently when Namjoon got close to his ass, his nervousness bubbling up once more, but it was quickly pulled under by need and passion. He bit his lip to keep from moaning when Namjoon touched him again, his breathing shuddery mess.

Namjoon kissed the moan right out of Yoongi’s mouth, pushing himself closer until he could rock his hips over Yoongi’s slowly. Reaching down, he pulled him even close by his waist, rubbing their dicks against each other in a desperate move to get some friction. He was completely breathless when he pulled off his lips, but kept close nonetheless, their hot breaths mingling. “D-do you have lube somewhere? I don’t want to hurt you.” Namjoon asked and kissed him again.

“Don’t worry. You won’t.” He wasn’t prepared for something like this, not with products he could use but as a practical witch he knew one or two spells he could use. He actually liked it, using magic on himself like this. It was intimate, personal. It made him tingle from the inside and instead of having to get used to something that felt strange and cold against his skin it felt nothing but natural to use his own magic for this. Yoongi held Namjoon’s gaze as he trailed his fingers down in between his legs and only when he dipped his finger in did his gaze break. His eyes fluttered shut as he pushed deeper, a soft whisper of the spell the only explanation for the wet, easy slide of his fingers. It felt good and even better to know that Namjoon was watching him and that this wasn’t everything he’d get tonight. The thought of Namjoon having him had him trembling, his hips twitching as he slowly fucked himself on his fingers.

Namjoon gulped, leaning back as he watched Yoongi fucking himself open like that…with…with magic. He couldn’t believe what he was witnessing. He really needed to learn a lot more.

He let his hands wander down Yoongi’s thighs, feeling them tremble under his touch. “You look beautiful, baby, yeah, just like that,” Namjoon started stroking himself, licking his lips in anticipation as he kept on observing how the magic was unfolding itself, making Yoongi wet and perfect for him to take. Soft gasps fell from Yoongi’s lips and when his cock started to twitch he knew that he was beyond ready. “Do you want to take over?” His voice sounded dark and sweet, like chocolate or velvet against naked skin. His body was flushed and heated, his eyes so dark that they almost looked black. Yoongi scraped his nails over Namjoon’s back, a gentle nudge in the right direction. “Make me yours..”

Namjoon bit his lip and wrapped his arm around Yoongi’s hips to pull him up and flush against his body as he sat back down on the couch – now with Yoongi back on his lap. “Yes,” He squeezed Yoongi’s ass tightly, spanking him once – lightly but he just had to. It felt good. He smoothed over the soft skin, squeezing his bottom with one hand while with the other he soothed over the rim of his hole and then pushed in two fingers. “Fuck, you’re so wet for me,” Namjoon groaned leaning his head back, “You sure you can take me, baby?”

Yoongi’s muscle clenched when Namjoon slapped him, a surprised gasp leaving his lips. It kind of turned him on how easily Namjoon could move him around as if he weighed nothing… as if he was Namjoon’s to play with as he pleased. He moved restlessly on the other’s lap, trying to get away from the other’s touch while also leaning into it right after. It was always on the verge of too much and not enough and it drove him crazy. “Don’t drag it out! What are you waiting for? A formal invitation? Just fuck me, please. Take me apart.”

Namjoon laughed and nibbled at his collarbone, “Relax baby. I will.” He lined himself up against Yoongi’s hole, holding him tightly around his waist to make sure the other wasn’t pushing himself onto him with full force but that he was controlling his pace right now. Namjoon threw his head back the moment the tip sunk into his hole. He slowly let Yoongi settled onto his cock and lap, holding onto his waist tightly to keep him from moving, yet. When he was buried to the hilt, Namjoon smiled faintly, “Fuck…this feels even better from when I hallucinated it.” He smacked Yoongi’s bottom again, enjoying the way he was clenching around him, his walls tightening around his cock. Yoongi shuddered violently when Namjoon pushed into him, he felt so overwhelmingly full that he couldn’t breathe for a moment. The slap on his ass stung a little and when he clenched again he almost choked on how deep he could feel Namjoon inside of him. His fingers dug Namjoon’s shoulders as he tried to hold onto something that would help him to focus but his desperate attempt at grounding himself soon fell apart when Namjoon moved his hips.

He whimpered, soft and vulnerable when Namjoon’s cock slid deeper. His thighs trembled as he was keeping himself upright on Namjoon’s lap, but he could already feel his knees getting weaker. He moaned when Namjoon moved again, an experimental little thrust that felt like torture because Yoongi wanted more, needed more. He needed Namjoon to fuck him for real, but he was too shaky to ask for it. So, he just closed his eyes and held onto the younger, waiting for the sensations to take him over completely.

Namjoon kissed along his shoulder, moving his hips slowly. “You feel so good baby,” He moaned, pushing in once more and keeping Yoongi tight against his hips. “C’mon baby, move with me, let me know how desperate you are for this, for my cock,” He ordered with a rough voice, not really sure what was taking over him but Yoongi shuddered, holding onto him even more. Wrapping his arms around Yoongi, he pushed him down on his lap, thrusting upwards at the same time. His pace slowly starting to go up and become rougher.

Every thrust drew another sound from him, his was blushing hard, trying to shut up but he couldn’t. Slowly his body found a rhythm to move against Namjoon’s and the pleasure sparked so suddenly up his spine he felt like he was aflame. “Namjoon!” His soft gasps and desperate little whimpers where like a melody, a prayer for Namjoon to keep going. He still clung to Namjoon’s shoulders because he could barely keep himself upright, and when Namjoon slightly changed his angle, hitting his sweet spot for the first time he collapsed forward, burying his face in Namjoon’s neck again. He panted, short shallow gasps of air against Namjoon’s heated skin while the other began abusing his sweet spot so well Yoongi felt like he was about to cry.

Namjoon used the opportunity to keep Yoongi just like that and in place to fuck right into him. He was sure Yoongi could take it and if he could go by his reactions even loved it. He turned his head a little, kissing Yoongi sloppily while he was thrusting in deep, moaning with every pull out of him. “Fuck,” He cursed, scratching his fingers down Yoongi’s back. It was getting exhausting to push up into Yoongi, so Namjoon used their position to lay Yoongi onto his back again, making sure to still keep close to him. Only this way he could thrust into him even harder, roll his hips into Yoongi’s and make the younger moan in pleasure.

Yoongi was thankful that Namjoon flipped them over because he had been utterly lost with his attempt at riding Namjoon. He was too strung up, too sensitive to manage to concentrate on both moving and trying not to scream whenever Namjoon pushed into him just right. The witch went completely pliant in Namjoon’s hold, taking everything the younger was giving him, keeping his thighs spread so Namjoon could fuck into him again and again. “Please..” His voice was barely a whisper. “Don’t.. don’t stop. Feels so good .. fuck, yeah, like that.. “ He pressed the back of his hand against his mouth to keep himself from sobbing, hoping that no one would hear his desperate sounds. No one but Namjoon was supposed to know how good he made him feel.

Namjoon only took it as a sign to give it to Yoongi even harder. He sat himself up a little, finding the right spot where he knew it would drive the witch crazy and pushed into him slowly. He was pulling out just as slow and then pushed in harder again. With a smirk, he repeated the sweet torture a couple of times, feeling the pleasure rush through his veins, making him feel hot and dizzy from it. “You feel so good,” He hummed, moving his hips in circles before thrusting in deep again. His movements grew erratic, fast and deep. His groans only gotten louder and Namjoon really hoped that the magic had closed the door of the shop so there was no one eavesdropping. “Fuck,” He cursed, feeling the heat pool at his groin, “I…I can’t…”

Yoongi was beyond words already. He moved against Namjoon with quick little snaps of his hips, chasing the friction that had his thighs quivering and his stomach clenching. He didn’t want this to end and yet he could feel the tension pull tighter and tighter, his release so close he could practically feel it, a foretaste of what was about to come. Namjoon was just as close and when the younger’s grip suddenly tightened around his hips and Yoongi felt like he was moved just like Namjoon needed, knowing that the other got himself off with his body he was gone. The heat in his gut snapped and he came hard and with a high pitched cry, shaking apart on Namjoon’s cock like the human had wanted him to. It pulled Namjoon right with him, making him moan low and bury his cock deep down in Yoongi as he came. It was the same moment Namjoon saw the sparks.

He couldn’t believe it. There were literal sparks flying around Yoongi as he came and if he wasn’t so out of it himself, he would have loved to just stare and watch the witch fall apart in ecstasy. He would definitely remember to ask Yoongi to do that one day for him. The sparks were traveling from Yoongi’s fingertips over Namjoon’s shoulder blades down his skin like fizzly sparks of light making him shudder. He quickly caught himself on his elbows, or else he would have fallen onto the witch with how weak he felt.

Yoongi sighed with pure contentment. He felt warm and sated and absolutely wonderful. Namjoon’s skin was comfortable warm against his own and when he kissed the younger’s shoulder he tasted salt. As soon as he had regained his breath he placed a few more kisses along Namjoon’s jaw, sleepy and affectionate because kissing Namjoon had quickly turned into his favorite pastime. He didn’t move at all, because there was a pleasant heaviness weighing him down - and also because he liked that Namjoon hadn’t pulled out right away. Knowing that he was still inside of him, just for the sake of it made him strangely happy even though he knew that they would have to separate eventually, before it got uncomfortable. Still he dragged it out a little longer.

“Did you like it?” The question might be abundant considering that he could still feel Namjoon’s release hot and wet inside of him, but he wanted to know nonetheless, needed to hear Namjoon tell him that he had enjoyed it and wanted to do it again. Unfortunately, he got oversensitive pretty quickly or else he wouldn’t have minded for Namjoon to take him again and use him for pleasure until the other’s body against his own and his hard cock inside him was all that he could feel. Yoongi absentmindedly traced pattern into Namjoon’s skin, symbols of love and protection, things he would have told Namjoon if his heart didn't feel too full for him to talk more than a few words. ‘thank you’ he wordlessly told him ‘thank you for loving me.’

Namjoon chuckled low, pushing himself up from Yoongi and slowly pulled out of him. “More than words can describe,” He whispered sweet against Yoongi’s lips and kissed him once more. Namjoon got up hesitantly, wanting to just lay with Yoongi forever but he wanted to clean the other up first and himself, maybe put on back some clothes before they could comfortably lay in each other’s arms. Only then did he allow himself to lean back and pull Yoongi against his chest, cuddling him for real.

He was soothing over his hair, leaving soft kisses on his ear and cheek, when he suddenly saw it. Namjoon stiffened up completely, his hand reaching out for Yoongi’s wrist. Yoongi got a little lost in Namjoon’s gentleness and his eyelids started to drop on their own. He was about to comfortably zone out under Namjoon’s hands with his fingers softly brushing through his hair when the other pulled him up and was acting shocked. “N-no, don’t...tell me, you’re going to...that’s not what you meant when you said...that you bring it back to...no, Yoongi, you won’t die on me right? You won’t, right?” Namjoon cupped his cheek and turned him towards him, his eyes suddenly full of worry.

Apparently Namjoon had only seen the curse on his skin at this very moment. Carefully he pulled Namjoon’s hands away from his wrist and showed him his palm upside down. “You just figured this out, hm?” He couldn’t stop himself from teasing him slightly. “There is no reason to worry. I won’t die. When you had the curse, it inhabited your body without restraints. It would have grown bigger until there was nothing left of you. This however…” He showed of the circle of sigils that enclosed the spot where the curse hat met his skin, “…doesn’t only keep the curse at exactly this spot on my body, it is also so strange that the curse is completely dormant. I don’t feel it like you did. I’m all me, no dark thoughts, no high risk behavior, no pain. I just have to give up a tiny piece of my skin to keep you in my life. And I figured that it’s a fair price.”

Namjoon relaxed visibly, leaning back and pulling Yoongi with him. “Fuck, thank god, I wouldn’t have survived this a second time,” He mumbled, placing a soft kiss on Yoongi’s cheek, whispering another thank you, “So it keeps us forever bounded, I see.” Namjoon kissed him on top of his ear again, “I love you too. I’m glad you’re alright. Because I’m definitely the worst at taking care of things. Did I tell you about how I killed my bonsai tree? I thought that wasn’t even possible…but it died. I swore I watered it every day. Maybe you can whirl around your magic and revive it?” He pulled Yoongi a little tighter against his chest, “You will show me right? The good things you do? What about the black magic you sell…do you still do it?”

“Oh no, your beautiful tree!” Yoongi pouted at the thought of the little plum tree bonsai wilting so he happily complied to Namjoon’s request. “Of course, let me take a look tomorrow. I’ll make it indestructible. You’ll have your own reminder of magic existing in your home then. And I’ll make sure it has the most beautiful blossoms in spring. You won’t believe how plants can change if you give them a little attention and magic.”

He felt a little shy which didn’t make much sense considering that Namjoon knew him quite ‘intimately’ now but still, his magic was always something very personal and close to his heart.

“Yeah, if you want to I can show you. There are so many spells out there. And not every magic is about achieving something or doing something big. You can work the domestic kind of magic, the natural kind, little things that just come naturally to me.” It was exciting to think about showing someone his absolute honest and true self because he had never dared to show anyone more than his ‘passing as human’ charade. “No, not really. No curses, no voodoo, no blood magic that it meant to harm. But.. I can’t give up on black magic completely. You should know that even love magic can border on black magic. Staying 100% on the light side would feel like closing myself off from so many different opportunities to grow and learn and get experiences I’d otherwise never would. I understand if you don’t want to know about this part of me and I’ll make sure that you won’t ever be present when I’m doing a spell or potions that’s more complex than the safe, harmless and light versions. Please don’t worry. We’ll make it work. You’ll see, I’ll be able to pay my bills and still keep you from any harm. I promise.”

“No, I don’t want you to change for me. I just want you to be safe, that’s all,” Namjoon shrugged his shoulders, “I don’t want to lose you over a spell gone wrong or people coming after you…what did you say they were called? GOMs? Just explain it to me and I will listen and understand. If this is a part of who you are, then I will get to know it just as much as every other part of you. I believe that you’re good. I feel it.” He cupped Yoongi’s cheek and turned his head so he could look at him more closely, “Just promise me to be safe. Because I need you by my side.” There was a quiet meow, making both of them look over to where Hobi jumped onto the couch, plopping down onto Yoongi’s stomach as he curled in on himself. “And he needs you too.”

Yoongi chuckled at that. “Hobi said what he needs is his dinner. Otherwise he threatens to blackmail us with telling Zilla about our sex life which ultimately means he’ll tell Jungkook.” He fluffed up Hobi’s fur in revenge, ignoring that it just made the cat purr even happier. “I’ll be in the kitchen in a second, just let me be sappy for a tiny little while longer, okay?” He turned his attention back to Namjoon, placing his arms around the other’s neck comfortably as if they belonged there.

“I’ll promise to be as safe as possible with my witchcraft - if you promise to do the same with your chemical stuff. Cause somehow I feel like you’re more at risk than I am. And what you just said counts for both of us. I need you. We both do. So, you better make sure you’ll stay.” He then sealed their promises with something that made to be just as powerful as magic: a kiss.

A/N: Yay. Fluffy, sweet, cute happy and a little smutty endings! We hope you enjoyed this little story. If you wanna see what kind of stories are coming up next, feel free to check out my WIP page here. Thank you for reading and support Cat and I ;; We’re really always so excited to see your comments and everything. It makes us so happy!

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punishandenslavesuckers · 6 years

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Mollymauk Tealeaf wakes up in a grave by the road ten years after he died. Things have gone a bit wrong since then and he might be the only one who can set things right… since it’s the Mighty Nein themselves who’ve gone wrong. AU: Where Molly comes back to yell at his super-powered Level 20 friends. (AO3 - part1) (AO3 - part 2) (AO3 - part3) (AO3 - part4) (AO3 - part5) (AO3-part6) (AO3-part7) (AO3-part8) (AO3-part9) (AO3-part10)

Mollymauk is getting accustomed to this teleporting thing.

He’s getting accustomed to a lot of things, really, like the dying. Like the constant apprehension painted in a thin, burning layer across the inside of his lungs. Like the taste of blood in the back of his throat and the way resurrection magic slithers through his body – like a climax but turned horribly inside out. Molly’s getting used to this dissociation now between his physical self and his soul as he’s pulled through reality from point A to point B. That tooth-click that keeps happening when he stops being nothing and exists again suddenly. That weird ‘pop’.

Molly pops back into being standing in what looks like a dim and unkempt professor’s study.

It’s a big room. There are long wood tables scarred with chemical and arcane fire. Books stacked and laid out everywhere, papers scrawled with shorthand that seems to slither on the parchment when Molly looks at it. The place smells of burnt ozone and there are fading white runes painted onto the flagstones beneath his boots. Suggesting to Mollymauk that Caleb’s pulled him somewhere very specific. He’d hazard it’s Caleb’s personal workshop by the vaulted ceilings literally top to bottom and wall to wall bookshelves stuffed and stacked with tomes.

Caleb Widogast is still gripping Molly’s hand. Like a man might have hold of a handle.

On immediate instinct, Molly tries to extract his hand. But Caleb doesn’t let go so they just stand there. Caleb is still just a little bit shorter than him, but his eyes are still lit from the inside by whatever power lives in him like a star dying behind his irises. He’s staring at Molly and as Molly watches, the blood and gore and the crushed pieces of dead insect that coat his skin begin to flake away, floating and peeling off like embers off a log until Caleb is whole and healed and his hand is hot around Molly’s knuckles.

Through his teeth, Molly says, “Let go of me.”

Caleb’s eyes seem to focus then, like he’d been staring at some other layer of reality until Molly’s voice brought him. His fingers unfurl and he watches Molly instantly back away three paces, massaging his hand where the wizard touched him, rubbing off whatever lingers in the ink and scarring. If he’s offended by this, he gives no outward sign.

“Don’t touch anything. I can’t promise the items here won’t hurt you.”

Molly tells him to go fuck himself in Infernal.

Caleb blinks, then says, “You say that a lot, ja?”

“Well, you haven’t listened to me yet and I really think you fuckin’ should,” Molly snaps, frantically looking around the room. There’s no visible exit, just a strange constant convergence of walls and shelves and acute to obtuse that don’t seem to quite follow the laws of geometry as Molly understand them. It makes the room simultaneously bigger and more claustrophobic. Molly finds breathing harder all at once. “What do you want from me?”

“To talk,” he says, “for now.”

Molly processing that for a minute.

Then snarls, “Are you out of your bloody mind?” When Caleb knits his brow, Molly waves his hands around. “Kidnapping me? You think holding me hostage is gonna do shit? I’m the magic undead teifling, you dumbarse. You can’t threaten me. I’m literally the most useless hostage you could take. What’re ya gonna do?” He puts on a sarcastic voice. “Kill me?”

“I don’t plan on it.”

Molly’s still got one hand around his own wrist, rubbing restlessly at the tattoo run over his knuckles. His fingers dig tight until the bones in his hand pulse with his own rabbiting heartbeat. His entire body feels wound too tight to take. Shaking to bolt or battle, but his hasn’t got any weapons now and he’s standing near enough to touch to a man that kills with one word. He consciously slows his breathing. Tells himself to stop bloody shaking while Caleb studies him head to foot. Incrementally. Like he’s committing details to memory.

“Will Caduceus be alright?”

“That cell has more air, if that’s what you mean.” Caleb circles to Mollymauk’s left. “I wouldn’t use a fire-based spell otherwise.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Molly steps right to keep the same distance between them.

“He won’t die,” Caleb says, still circling, forcing Molly to move so they’re slowly orbiting one another. Caleb never breaks eye contact and Molly’s heart keeps racing, panic telling him that, and just that, could be some somatic component in a spell. Caleb shrugs. “I don’t know if he’ll be okay. That’s a bad enchantment. It can, ah, affect people.” He waves a hand vaguely at his head. “You know, that way.”

“Torture spells are traumatizing?” Molly snaps. “Fascinating. Who knew?”

“You think Caduceus is so gentle.” Caleb’s brows lift. “So soft, ja?”

“No, he skewered a dragon and trades in man-eating beetles. I’ve met trolls that were less scary. That doesn’t mean I’m on your side.”

“Of course not.” Caleb stops to face Molly full on. “You’re on the side of those who raised you. It’s understandable.”

“Oi, bite me, Mr. Widogast. I was on your bloody side until you killed me on a whim and word.” Molly squares himself to the wizard. “Don’t try to play victim when you bring up demons and attack your friends without a kindness of warning. If you mean to make me see your reason in all this, I’m tellin’ you now it’ll be a hard fuckin’ sell.”

“I know,” say Caleb. “Mollymauk, I’m going to show you something, but you need to do a few things for me.”

“Ha!” Molly didn’t mean to laugh that loud, but he’s a little hysterical at this point. “I’m not doing fuck all. You can drag me around on a magic leash first.”

Caleb sighs, then waves a hand… and Molly starts to glow. Or rather, his mithril-chain shirt and his bracers start to glow. Also, the rings on his index finger and thumb. Also, the half-dozen charms hanging around his neck and the clasp around his right horn, and the empty sword sheathes at his hips. Molly is lit up all over, glowing from every magic source on his body which is – with Nott’s insistence – quite a lot of magical aid.

“Take all that off,” Caleb says, hand still shimmering with the detect magic charm.

Molly doesn’t move.

“I’m not identifying any of that shit,” Caleb says evenly. “Take all of it off.”

“Nott gave these to me.”

Caleb’s expression cracks. A slight widening in the eyes suddenly – not of surprise but hurt. Then it’s gone under a stern indifference and he tilts his head a little and raises his other hand, thumb pressed to his middle and index finger in the precursor to a snap.

“Last chance,” Caleb says.

“Nott gave all this to me,” Molly whispers, “to protect me from—”

Caleb snaps his fingers and the air behind him displaces as something massive just materializes in the space directly behind him. Molly jerks back, his hips hitting a worktable. The thing behind Caleb sort of… unfurls. A broad, muscular back shifts as gargantuan leather wings arch up and flare over the wizard’s tawny head. Blue hide, riddled in plates of scale, shimmers in the torch light. A long serpentine neck arches up and up until the beast turns giant predator-gold eyes to fix on Molly. Its skull is the size of a battle shield, its jaw long, draconic, and toothy. Talons big as coat hangers clack and scrap on the floor as what appears to be a bull-sized blue dragon rises up behind Caleb the way a hunting dog comes to quarry.

“Blue dragon wyrmling,” says Caleb, reaching up to pat the beast’s horrifying jaw. “They like magic. Frumpkin doesn’t get to play with anything magic in this form, you see. My work is too dangerous.”

“Caleb,” Molly starts to say, fingers, digging into the table edge behind him. “Don’t—”

Caleb says a word in Zemnian. On that command, his hulking familiar looses a joyous predator scream.

Then it lunges at Molly.

It tears past Caleb, so smooth it barely disturbs the wizard’s fine black and gold robes. Molly, to his credit, immediately hurdles the table, dive rolls, and comes up sprinting on the opposite end of the table. Frumpkin hits the table, missing Molly by inches, then it hits the ground behind him, claws scrabbling on the stone like an off-balance Labrador. Molly feels it on instinct when Frumpkin swipes at his back. He ducks right, going low, skidding, razor-sharp claws whipping through the air over his head.

But then he’s on the ground and Frumpkin is huge.

Frumpkin’s jaws snap closed on the back of Molly’s tunic and with a whip of his head, the hurls Molly against another long table like a cat slinging a mouse against a wall. He crashes through a pile of books which – wondrously – take flight and scatter like a flock of disturbed pigeons. It would be neat if a small dragon didn’t then slam Molly like a battering ram. The beast pins him under massive claws, landing so the pads of its feet are crushing Molly’s upper arms flat, his spine bent back over the edge of the table as Frumpkin the blue dragon wyrmling start to bite excitedly at the mithril chainmail beneath Molly’s tunic.

“CALEB!” His tunic shreds under eager dragon teeth. “FUCK! WHAT THE FUCK!?”

Frumpkin drives his massive bony head against Molly’s chest and instantly cracks two ribs. Molly still manages to scream. Then Frumpkin is grinding an anvil-heavy skull against him like a cat might shove its face in a pillow of catnip except it’s his fucking ribcage and stomach. Frumpkin snuffles at Molly’s skull, chewing lightly at the clasp clipped to his horn before giving that up as a back job and rearing back to study him.

Then Frumpkin’s jaws start to open, crackling with blue static, a long tongue lashing with sparks. Molly sees it coming but he can’t stop it. Frumpkin licks Molly’s neck which… you know, fucking electrocutes him. Molly chokes as a short, agonizing current rips through him, lashing every muscle in his body into a garrote-wire of tension before the current dispels into the wood and it’s over.

Molly isn’t conscious of Frumpkin getting off of him, only of hitting the floor and rolling onto his side, his entire body throbbing and his neck searing where the dragon-thing licked him. He smells burnt skin and ozone.

“Okay, ah, that was a bit much…” Caleb is saying. “Bad cat.”

“Fuck you,” Molly snarls, but it’s undercut with a sob. His entire chest pulses red rivers of fire with every breath.

He curls his one arm around himself and just lays there in a heap with his forehead pressed to the cool stone, tail wrapped around his body at the knee. He has one palm pressed to the floor near his waist, but he can’t find the strength to get up. Through the feverish glow of pain, he feels a hand touch his neck and that cold palm smooths from the hinge if his jaw, down the line of muscle to his clavicle. A slow bleed of magic slides through the gash, like pouring liquid salve into the wound and from there it travels down, down, spreading out inside his chest until the hairline cracks splintered through his ribs go cold as well. Soon, there’s no pain left. Just a numb buzzing in the nerves.

Molly lifts his head.

Pale blue eyes stare back.

“Are you going to take off your enchantments or do you want Frumpkin to try again?”

Molly shoves Caleb in the chest.

This knocks the wizard onto his butt. He didn’t seem to have expected that, because he just kind of drops on his ass and blinks. Surprised while his gigantic wyrmling familiar sniffs at his hair. Molly levers himself into a sitting position. Then he starts pulling the rings off his fingers, palming them, before reaching up to remove the clasp from his horn and the earrings that stave off cold. He unstraps the bracers, pulls the charms from around his neck and sets all this aside. Then he glares, gets to his feet, and turns his back on Caleb while he reaches up and tugs his shirt off over his head from the shoulders.

That way no one can see it while he wipes his eyes with the back of his hand.

Molly puts his ruined shirt on the table while he pulls the chainmail off, leaving on nothing but the thinner, sleeveless under-shirt he’s been using to pad the chainmail. The rings are still leaving marks in his skin. He’s not used to armor. Molly starts to pull his shredded tunic back on over his head when he feels Caleb start to move toward him again and –

Molly whips around, snarling, the words going Infernal in his throat: “Back off!”

Frumpkin the wyrmling starts to growl, but Caleb waves his quiet. There’s pause. So, Molly turns back around and finishes pulling his clothes back on. There’s an ache in his bounding heart now, a low panic like a current in his blood that makes him want to double over and start screaming for the frustration of it. The fucking unfairness and stupid cruelty of it. He straightens his shirt and pushes his hair out of his face, then turns to look at Caleb.

“What now?”

“That wasn’t intentional,” Caleb says.

“You sicced your giant bloody cat on me.”

“I warned you.”

“Oh. Well. Alright then. All’s forgiven.”

There’s a tense silence.

Then, “Follow me. Don’t try to run or Frumpkin will sit on you again.”

And then quite suddenly there’s an obvious doorway on the wall to Molly’s right. Caleb crosses the room and opens it, going through, not stopping to check if Molly follows. Probably because Frumpkin is now standing directly behind Molly, breathing static on his neck. Molly pauses to glance back up at the giant familiar. He literally has Molly’s cursed sword sheathes between his jaws like a grinning dog with a stick.

“Your boss is a bastard,” Molly says.

Frumpkin just blinks and nudges him in the shoulder.

“Fine.”

Molly follows Caleb.

Through the door is a long hallway, mostly featureless and should be cold for all the empty stone space, but the air seems to be magically regulated to a comfortable room temperature. The silence is broken only by the soft slap of boots against the floor and the terrible scraping clack of Frumpkin’s talons. They walk through the hall. Caleb keeps surreptitiously checking a dark metal pocket watch as they walk, but the face of it is blank and makes Molly’s eyes hurt to look at it directly.

“The others are looking for you,” Caleb says.

“You don’t seem worried. I would be.”

“I have time,” he says, pocketing the weird watch. “Jester’s young god still needs time.”

“Famous last words.”

Molly glances at a hanging tapestry on the wall nearby – a map of a land he doesn’t know. He’s certain now that he’s passed it a few times. He’s getting the impression that Caleb’s lair really does not obey any laws of physics and the only reason they’re moving through it at all has to do with the wizard himself. Frumpkin, once more, nudges at Molly’s shoulder. Like a border collie keeping a flock of one in line, confirming this really isn’t his first time playing guard dog to visitors.

“The others have told you I’m trying to end the world,” Caleb says.

“No.” Molly folds his arms across his chest, tail lashing anxiously around his boots. “They were very specific that’s not what you’re trying to do, just a possible side effect of what you’re trying to do. That’s what they told me.”

“Hmm,” Caleb says.

Molly feels a heat flare in his throat. “What?”

“I thought they’d lie a little more. I’m surprised.”

“Maybe you just think all your friends are against you when really they’ve been busy – you know – being crazy with grief or kidnapped by demi-gods. Which, by the way, I’m curious, did you try to get Fjord out of there?”

Caleb looks over his shoulder. “Of course. Did they tell you I didn’t?”

“No.” Molly rolls his eyes, leering for effect. “But you’re such a jackass right now…”

“No one could reach Fjord,” Caleb says plainly, blinking. “None of my magic meant anything in the face of that. Nothing short of a god could get close and the only god we had was Jester’s. Fjord was gone so long…” Caleb pauses. “I thought he’d be insane by the time we got him out or thralled to the Serpent.” Caleb’s eyes are unfocused, looking sidelong and away. “It seemed impossible he might still be him.”

Molly hesitates before saying, “Fjord’s stronger than you gave him credit for.”

“Maybe, or maybe he’ll turn on the others in due time. Jester has a blind spot for him. Always has. She would not accept that Fjord might be gone. She obsessed and no one could talk her down from it. Not Nott or Caduceus or anyone. Maybe Beau could have talked her down, but Beau was gone and Yasha was gone and so…” Caleb shrugs and looks forward again. “She was taken too.”

Molly tilts his head. “You say ‘taken’.”

“Yes. There’s a difference.”

“You sure?”

Caleb glances again at Molly. “Caduceus left me. He promised he’d never do that, but he did. He wasn’t taken by anything. Neither was Nott, but I don’t blame her. She was scared. I scared her.”

“You’re a moron,” Molly says.

“Thank you, Mollymauk. Nice to have you back.”

“You’re both morons,” Molly insists, bending at the waist a little to put some emphasis on it, really enunciate. “Caduceus stuck by you because he’s an optimist who couldn’t see you’ve got your head so far up your own asshole there’s no fuckin’ sunshine. Caleb, I’m here to tell you.” Molly cups his hands around his mouth. “Pull it the fuck out, mate! You’re going to end the world because you feel bad about Beau dying.”

“You act like you’re the first to tell me this.”

“I know I’m not the first, but since you won’t listen to literally anyone else, the gods brought me back from the bloody dead specifically, I think, to tell you to stop being a bastard stuffed bastard in bastard sauce and just stop.”

“I can see why the gods in their infinite wisdom decided to intervene and raise you from the dead.”

Molly spits. “I didn’t come back from the dead to persuade you of shit.”

“Apparently.”

“I’m not your conscience, Widogast.”

“You’re saying that like I ever thought that was the case.”

Molly folds his arms again, gripping his elbows in his hands and swallowing, glaring at the wall to distract himself from the slow crush of panic and futility coiling around him. It seems impossible he was in the Blooming Grove less than an hour ago. That he was laying in the grass, chatting with Caduceus. That he’d been surrounded, however briefly, by familiar faces and there was a plan, however, tenuous, as to how all this was going to end and now… he’s here. The shock of loneliness stings his throat and eyes all at once.

“You know, I’m not sure what I am, really.” Molly drags a palm across his face, pulling his hair from his brow again, wiping his eyes. “I thought my job was to get everyone together to, I don’t know, dogpile you until you stopped being a lunatic, but that doesn’t seem to be working.” He glances at Frumpkin who bares horrible fangs around belt and scabbard set in his mouth. “I don’t think I’m doing this right.”

“You got Fjord out,” Caleb says.

Molly blinks but Caleb doesn’t look at him, just keeps walking.

“It’s not your job to save us. You’re your own person. You don’t serve our purposes, Molly.”

“You can’t say that and hold me hostage, Widogast.”

“I know, but I’m a terrible person. Imagine someone better said it. It’s still true.”

Caleb’s hand is pressed against the wood of a heavy looking oak door. Molly can’t say when it was that the distance between the infinite hallway suddenly started to close, but it’s closed now and Caleb looks over his shoulder to meet Molly’s eyes. The wood beneath his hand is complex with runes and sigils, cut with some kind of arcane formula. It, like so many things in this place, ripples and changes before his eyes just looking at it. Caleb keeps staring at him, his burning stare inhuman and bright.

“Have they told you about Beauregard?” he says.

Dread drives a rod straight through Molly’s gut. His pulse rabbits fast.

“They told me a little. Like what she did, how she went down.”

“I don’t mean that. I mean have they told you about her. Do they talk about her?”

Molly hesitates. “If you mean, do they tell me funny stories about her, like what a shithead she was or the time she, I dunno, snorted oatmeal up her nose laughing at breakfast… no. They didn’t.”

“Ja. It’s hard for them.” He kind of looks away. “I remember her. I remember everything she ever said to me, actually.”

“Beauregard… she was pretty important to you.” Molly looks meaningfully around the giant mage-lair around him and the miniature dragon leering over his shoulder. “You’ve done a lot to save her. You’ve, well, you’ve pushed away everyone else who cares about you to do this. I can tell you’re dedicated but, speaking as a formerly dead person… you sure Beau would want to come back like this?”

“They didn’t tell you she became our leader, did they?” Caleb doesn’t wait for Molly to answer or acknowledge his previous question. “She told me once, that she had a reoccurring nightmare. In this dream, she’s standing on that cart on the Glory Run Road. She can’t move, her boots are frozen to the wagon wood while Lorenzo kills you.” Caleb’s looking at him with this strange expression, unreadable as a wall. “I don’t think she ever stopped having that nightmare.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Molly says.

“She called you ‘the best of us.’”

“Wow, okay.” Molly managed an exaggerated laugh. “That’s just because you didn’t know me very well and your bar was low back then. I should have told you all about this one time, in this port town, there was this thing with noodles –”

“It doesn’t matter,” Caleb cuts him off, visibly irritated. “It doesn’t matter that you’re an obnoxious, loud, carnival man that we barely knew. It doesn’t matter that we never really understood you, that you kept secrets, and died before we knew them. None of it matters because when you died, Beauregard regretted that it was you, instead of her.”

Molly stiffens a little, shoulders tensing. “Look, that’s a nice notion and all, but from what I’ve seen over and over, none of you much remember me like I was.” A beat. “Like I am.” Another beat. “Like I was before? Ah, fuck it…”

��Stop being flippant.”

“Sure. Stop holding me hostage.”

The wizard shakes his head, looking tired all at once. “You’re not going to listen to a word I’m saying, are you?”

“Caleb,” Molly says, “If you want me to listen, I would do that. You wanna sit down and have a cup of tea and talk? Great. I’d love that. Gossip is my thing. But I don’t think you’re trying to convince me of anything. I think you’ve already made some godawful decision and you’re just thinking out loud in my face.”

Caleb says nothing.

Just… stares at him.

It’s so strange. It’s Caleb, like it’s always been Caleb, just five degrees off Molly’s memory of the man – cleaner and more put together. He’s had a haircut and a proper shave. He looks like he should be on a council to something important somewhere, telling people to do things… but through every bit of that there’s still the fucking eyes. Just… empty and sad and resigned in exactly the same way he remembers but so much fucking deeper and blacker than that.

“I can’t talk to you,” Molly says softly, “if I’m a spell component and not a person to you.”

Caleb stares. “I don’t think you’re a spell component.”

“Then what do you want?”

“I want to know if you want to kill Beauregard.” He says it so blankly, so hallowed with exhaustion that it feels impossible that he’s been able to mask it until now. A deep festering despair in his voice that goes all the way down to the core of him as he laughs a little. “Because it seems now that everyone else in our little family has decided to kill her and it occurs to me that you, Mollymauk, might be the only one undecided on the issue.”

Molly doesn’t say a goddamn thing.

“Would you answer me?”

“It’s not as simple as –”

Caleb cuts him off saying, “Until I’m done asking questions, you should tell me the truth, Molly.”

And the suggestion takes hold of him. Gently. Not dominating but it slides over his tongue with such an easy familiarity Molly’s swallowed it before he can make even a token resistance and his shoulders kind of relax, tension easing out of his limbs for the first time since he was torn from the Blooming Grove. Caleb’s hand, holding something nonobtrusive at his hip, opens and he reaches up. It’s familiar. Molly lets him pat his cheek and thinks, unbidden, about Hupperdook and a very fucked up Caleb slurring, “Yeah. Th’only magical thing here… is you, friend.”

There’s something sticky on his palm. Smells like honey or…

“Just tell me what you think,” Caleb says.

“Okay.” Molly feels… strange, a little drunk almost but in a nice way, a mild anxiety in his breast that compels him say, “I don’t wanna kill, Beau. Bloody hell, of course I don’t.” It’s such a relief to say that, he goes on a little urgently. “Everyone is saying this is the right thing to do, but it makes my whole fucking body ache to think about. I don’t want to do it.”

“Do you think you can do it, if you had to? If it was down to you?”

“No.” The admission physically hurts to say aloud. Molly clenches his eyes shut. “I can’t.”

Caleb’s quiet for a moment.

Molly feels a hand on his head, pressed over his left ear, beneath the curl of his horn and he looks up at Caleb.

He looks strangely relieved. “Me too.”

“I’m not on your side, Caleb. It’s the wrong thing that I can’t do it. I can’t do it because I’m selfish and I don’t want to live with doing that to my friend… but I know it’s wrong.”

“I know.” Caleb laughs a little. “You feel poorly about that. I don’t. I’m not willing to kill Beau to save the world.” He shrugs. “I know its not fair or right, but she was… she really was the best of us. I can’t let her go like this.” He shakes his head, a wry smile suddenly on his lips. “This mistake. I don’t have to let it stand like the others.”

“Good people die all time,” Molly whispers. “The world’s not a fair place. It’s our job to make it fair as we can, but you can’t bloody do this.”

“My people don’t have to die,” Caleb says. “Not this good person.”

“Caleb, just stop—"

“You cared about Beau, yeah?”

“I died for her, didn’t I?”

Caleb studies his face and in his stare, Molly sees it – the bald-faced fact of it: He’s not looking at a man expecting to get away with anything. He’s not looking at someone with a tomorrow in mind. Then Caleb waves a hand and Molly feels the enchantment release its hold on his thoughts. It’s a cruel hand pulling a warm blanket off his shoulders and he’s standing in the sudden cold aftermath of the spell. All the compelled words sour suddenly on his tongue and a ripple of rage and grief lances through him simultaneously.

“I’m sorry. I needed to know where you really stood.”

And Caleb pushes the door open.

When he does, the air in the room rushes out. It’s freezing cold, turning Molly’s breath to fog instantly and penetrating him to the bone. He shivers, arms jumping up to tuck around his chest, his teeth chattering almost immediately in the artic chill. There’s light coming from the other room, cold and blue and anti-septic. It’s a large circular chamber, empty of everything, just stone walls etched in the same magical formula as the door except all the runes here glow gently blue, humming a slow two-two beat. Like a pulse.

Which makes sense because sitting the in the middle of the room, legs crossed, and facing them… is Beauregard.

She’s seated on a low stone dais. There is a barrier of blue light around the platform. The air glows around her, a vertical shaft of cold azure magic from floor to ceiling. She’s sitting as if in meditation, back straight, hands in her lap, eyes closed. She’s wiry and dark. Small and dense with muscle. Denser than he remembers. Her arms are probably bigger in the bicep than his now. Around her arms are silver bracers, smithed in the symbols of Ioun. There is blood on her fingers, on her knuckles, her lip split, her eye darkened with bruising and that… that makes her so familiar it turns something tense in Molly’s stomach.

Beau with a black eye.

Beau standing on the back of an ice-cracked wagon.

Beau screaming his name, her blue eyes wild in the dawn light, as Lorenzo –

“Why is she bloody?” Molly manages.

“She’s been like that since the day she struck down Oblivion,” says Caleb. He’s still got his hand on the door, his eyes on Beau. “Nothing touches her except divine magic. Caduceus and Jester used to heal the wounds, but they always return. Nothing we do stays. She always… goes back to the way she was in the moment she killed the Oblivion.”

Molly moves into the room. With every step toward Beau, the temperature drops, until Molly’s shivering so hard, Caleb must see it because he taps Molly on the shoulder and warmth slides through his clothes and insulates him in a thin layer of heat that makes his skin steam slightly in the freezing air. Molly moves close enough that he can see the light around her is not just light, but a thin, runic barrier – a magic layer of transparent blue writing so fine it looks like mist moving up and down the surface of the barrier wall.

“You can touch it,” Caleb says. “It only contains.”

Molly cautiously presses a palm against the magic and his hand cleaves lightly to it, like glass, like Beau’s a thing in a shop window he’s trying to see.

Molly can see now that the stone where she touches it is calcified and cracked, frozen as if by a spill of liquid nitrogen. Frost cakes the ground around the platform in shimmering white. The air near her is… humming. Shaking in Molly’s bones, buzzing down to the atoms that compose him. It feels awful and familiar all at once.

But he can see Beau clearly.

She is dressed in battle attire, or what remains of battle attire. The kind of thing you wear when you go to war for the gods.

Her long sleeveless jacket is shredded along the hem and shorn as if by a blade. The royal blue fabric is dark with blood which does not appear to have dried somehow. Her tunic is shredded open to the athletic small clothes beneath. There are etched and glowing bands around her arms, around her wrists, obsidian studs in her ear lobes that shimmer with enchantment. Her dark hair looks exactly as he recalls: shaved along the sides then knotted up at the top. Molly recognizes Yasha’s touch in the beads woven there in braids and plaits. There’s a tattoo of a posie beneath her right clavicle.

Molly’s throat knots up.

“Yasha and Beau…” Molly says, only after her gets his voice working. “Did Yasha—?”

“Marry Beau then lose her?” says Caleb. “Yes. On the same day in fact.”

Molly’s eyes burn. He clenches his hand shut against the barrier magic, leaning his weight against it. He can feel Caleb moving to stand at his right shoulder, watching him react but he doesn’t care. Frumpkin’s heavy footfalls place the dragon creature to his left, hovering protectively as Caleb touches Molly’s arm.

“Yasha won’t survive it.” His voice is certain and indifferent as sunset. “Losing her completely after Zuella—”

Molly knock his hand off his arm, yanking away. “Don’t!” Infernal heat laces his breath. “Don’t you try to use her—”

“You know I’m right.”

Molly pulls his hand from the barrier. “You want me to help you, don’t you? You’re trying to get me to help you.”

“No.” Caleb sounds sorry. “Just… confirming some things.”

He snaps his fingers and there’s a flare suddenly from the light barrier and the color of the runes, glowing faintly from every stone surface, changes suddenly to a deep, seething purple. Black steam immediately begins to burn off the sigils and Molly lunges back from Beau’s alter, hands up like he can defend himself from anything Caleb is doing. The wizard is ignoring him. He has some kind of crystal in his right hand suddenly and he’s drawing signs in the air with the fingers of his left hand. The signs stay there, like ghost writing, shivering with terrible potential energy. Like a bow string pulled taut except pulled through the whole fucking universe.

Frumpkin bumps into Molly’s back, his tail lashing in a sudden half-circle around him, penning him in suddenly, wings flaring up over head.

“I think the gods are on my side,” Caleb says, still casting his spell. The crystal in his hand disintegrates to dust and he waves a hand. Summons a blade from somewhere and uses it to slice open his left forearm, but doesn’t stop casting. “I was hasty before. I didn’t see it.” Blood splatters the floor. “All the spells to bring Beau back are so complicated without sentient sacrifice. Willing sentient sacrifice. I’ve had to build workarounds. So time consuming but now it’s so simple…”

“I’m not dying for your bloody spell!” Molly snarls.

“You already did.” Caleb looks over his shoulder. “You died for Beau ten years ago and not just a little; you died a true death. You were dead of a different kind. The kind that matters and makes gods intervene.” There’s a smile then, on Caleb’s lips, both sad and victorious. “That magic is forever, Mollymauk.”

Light flares blinding from Caleb’s fingers, igniting the blood on the flood so it burns white and evaporates into a red steam. Caleb closes his eyes. He breathes in and the crimson effluvium disappears down the wizard’s throat and when he opens his eyes, they’re burning red as a blood-letting sunset. He turns and presses both hands against the barrier wall that holds Beauregard in. Red light injects itself into the magic, spreading out like a cancer along the surface of it.

Molly feels a pull. Not on his body but a pull he’s come to know in the transition between life and death. Every time Vax’ildan sends him to and from the plane between realms– something is pulling on his soul.

“Caleb!” Molly feels that pull again, hideous and cold and Molly hits the floor on his knees, clutching uselessly at his chest. “Fuck! Stop! Stop!”

“It’s okay, you won’t lose your soul,” Caleb says. “I just need it here…”

There’s a flare from the barrier wall and Molly screams as the light seems to shove himself out of his flesh and the sliding back in feels like falling into a solid slab of screaming nerve and blood and it hurts. It hurts. Molly’s doubled over on the floor, arms knotted around his body, tail curled around himself. This spell has no guiding touch on it. No raven knight errant gentling the transition between astral and material and its like dying a little over and over. Nauseating and awful.

“I’m sorry. Most sacrifices are dead when this is happening.”

“Oh really?” Molly grits, getting one knee under him.

“Just a little longer,” Caleb murmurs. “It’s just a little farther—”

Molly doesn’t let him finish. He snaps his fingers.

Instantly, there’s a flash of light from Frumpkin’s mouth as the empty scabbards in his jaws ignite with conjuration magic. Frumpkin’s head jerks back, the dragonling snarling in surprise. But before anyone can lift a finger, Molly pivots around and lunges at him, faster than he can remember moving in his life… and his fist closes around something solid. He dive-rolls past the familiar, tearing the scimitar from its scabbard. Molly spins up, sword in hand, breathing frantic.

Caleb is glaring at him.

“Stop fucking around.” There is a dark and throaty edge to his Zemnian accent. His eyes flare in his skull, burning brighter, fixed on Molly. “You think you’re going to fight me, Mollymauk?”

“No.” He shakes his head, breathing fast and shallow. “No, I can’t fight you.”

“I know this has been… confusing.” There’s blue flame gathering in the man’s hand. “It’s an admirable instinct, but—”

Molly reverses the sword. An easy, almost casual flip of the blade in a two-handed grip, and sets it point-first against his own sternum. No hesitation. No time. The hit at first: like being punched, the breath driven from his body, then the pain (the feeling Lorenzo taught him ten years ago on the Glory Run Road). Mollymauk shoves it through his ribcage and—

He wakes up standing on a hill beneath the shining moon.

He’s clutching his breastbone, fists stacked where the hilt of a blade was driven in the Material plane. The moonlight is shining, shimmering on his skin like a sheen of diamond dust on his knuckles. Molly stumbles. His knees give out but before he can fall, he’s suddenly tackled as a blur of blue and skirts and arcane light bursts into existence and lunges at him. He collapses against them, arms seizing instinctively around their neck and their hair is silky, chiming with silver, and smells like carnival caramel when he breathes in.

“Jester!” Molly clutches her, fingers sinking into her hair, hooking his elbow around the back of her neck as she laughs and hugs him back. “Bloody hell.” He plants a big kiss in her hair, catching the curve of her ear. “Fools flock together huh?”

“Molly! Molly! Fuck! Shit!” She’s kind of crushing his ribs. “Are you okay? Did he hurt you? How’d you—?”

“Caleb didn’t kill me,” Molly whispers. He hugs her more tightly. “I did it myself.”

Jester freezes. Her fingers dig more tightly into his shoulder.

“S’alright, Jes.” He tries to laugh, but it’s not very convincing. “I’m a one trick tiefling.”

“Can you go back?” Jester whispers. “Molly, were you with Caleb? I can break through another way, but if you can go back–”

Molly pulls back, lets Jester cup his face in shaky fingers. “Caduceus put the Death Ward on me.”

Jester nods. Her eyes brim bright with tears, her pretty white teeth biting at her lower lip. Molly carefully mirrors her, fitting his hands around her dark, heart-shaped face. She starts to say something, but it comes out a sob, so Molly just drops his brow against hers and stays that way for a moment. Feels her tail lash protectively around his right knee, her fingers sink a little more deeply into his hair.

She murmurs, not words, but a low Infernal subvocalization that has no translation into the common languages of the realm – it just means… sadness, sadness, rage, regret.

“Tell me about it,” Molly says in kind.

Jester moves her hands down his neck, to his shoulders, his arms, taking his hands in hers.

“I’ll do it, Molly.” She squeezes tight. “I can stop him.”

“I know.”

A voice over his shoulder says, softly, “You will have half a moment.”

Molly smells dust, old soil, the faint scent of decay – not of flesh but some older less transient material. Jester tucks herself close to his side, gripping his arm tight and it hurts how much strength he can draw from that. Molly turns. Vax’ildan stands again on the hill with them, beautiful and familiar, but unlike every time before… Molly can feel the eeriness in the Raven Queen’s champion. The size of him suddenly astronomical behind his physical presentation.

There’s darkness rising from his shoulders, a strange canopy that stretches up from his back and spreads out in translucent gloom. Molly hears the rustle of wings, of feathers, of a thousand, ten thousand ravens taking wing. When he looks up, he realizes the darkness is merely the massive arch… no… just the shadow of two leviathan wings. Vax moves forward and the moonlight avoids him where walks. Molly doesn’t flinch, even when he fits both palms to either side of Molly’s face and lifts his eyes.

“ I can give strength you don’t remember, Mollymauk. But that’s all I can do. Are you ready?”

Molly pauses, then, “Kiss for luck?”

Vax’ildan – wreathed in darkness, gaze holding the mass of collapsed stars, the voice of the Raven Queen on his tongue – gives him a look. Then rolls his eyes and says, amused, “Fuck it. Kiss for luck.”

Then he leans down, tilting his head and kisses Molly gently on the mouth.

And Molly opens his eyes.

He’s standing in the same room, holding the scimitar point first against his chest, in the precursor of killing himself. There’s blood all over his forearms, his hands, and soaked through his tunic. But he’s still on his feet and Caleb is staring at him with this… startled expression. Eyes wide, mouth open as if in the middle of saying something. He’s still got one hand against the burning red magic that’s holding Beau, the other hand kind of raised in the attitude reaching or casting.

He looks frightened. That fades though as Molly releases his grip on the blade and it clatters to the floor. Molly exhales, his breath a silvery cloud and he backs up a little, shaking his head at if to clear it.

“Why did you do that?” Caleb says blankly. “Killing yourself won’t make a difference.”

“It did to me,” Molly pants.

“Please, don’t do that.”

Molly stares at him. “Caleb, I wish I could I say I’m sorry about this… but you’ve been an asshole.”

And that’s when Jester – stepping out of the ether like a woman stepping through a door – grabs the wizard from behind and punches him. It’s not, like, a ‘how dare you slap’. She snatches his collar in one hand, rears all the way back, and cracks him across the jaw with the other. Caleb staggers, shoulder slamming against the barrier wall. He scrabbles at the wall, visibly struggles to stay conscious through what is certainly a concussion and a broken jaw. Jester doesn’t give him the time. She raises one hand over her shoulder. A massive lollipop bursts into existence – pink and white and brilliant with ribbons. Then she takes the handle in both hands and she swings.

She hits him like a kid playing stick ball.

There’s an arcane flare – of magic hitting magic and Molly feels it as unmovable object meets unstoppable force. The lollipop hammers a defensive spell Molly has no understanding of and the impact ignites the air in blinding radiance. Molly is knocked to one knee by the shock wave alone. A body launches from the center of the room like a rachet ball and then slam into the far wall like a rag doll. It’s definitely Caleb. He hits the floor in a heap, a swirl of passive magic siphoning around his body.

Frumpkin, by then, has finished tearing across the room and lunges at Jester, jaws full of lightning –

“Bad kitty!” she screams.

Her eyes flare white and Frumpkin poofs out of existence.

Caleb seems to be regaining consciousness. He shudders and levers himself up on one elbow, head hanging low as he sways dizzily. He coughs blood, red splattering the flag stones. There’s blood in his hair at the back of his head. He can’t seem to orient himself or speak, suggesting that his skull might be cracked so badly its costing him basic functionality. He tries, with difficulty, to lift his head. His eyes are flickering erratically, brightening and dimming, like a circuit is shorting in him.

Jester, again, does not wait. She disappears then reappears standing directly over him.

She doesn’t say a damn thing.

She just raises a hand and with a flare a soft orb of pink magic blooms around her, encasing herself and Caleb. Immediately the passive magicks moving around Caleb go dormant and disappear. Over her shoulder, the massive lollipop rests like a mace in her hand. Invisible winds disturb her hair and skirts. Her eyes burn green in the iris and she just… waits. Because Caleb is bleeding out at her feet, fast losing consciousness in the neutral bubble of her anti-magic field.

Still he manages, “Jes…ter…?”

“Where is Caduceus?” she says. But when she speaks, her voice quavers. Water drips from her chin. “Did you kill him, Caleb?”

“Nev… I’d never…”

He can’t finish the sentence.

Jester covers her mouth with one hand, eyes squeezing shut, and Caleb slumps unconscious on the floor. For a moment, there’s just silence. Blood freezing on the cold stone floor. Then Jester dismisses the spiritual weapon and drops to her knees. She fits her hands to Caleb’s bleeding head. She combs the bloody hair from the ugly split in his skull and magic begins to sink gingerly into the wound. She’s whispering something softly, like a refrain.

Eventually, Molly moves to kneel with her inside the dome.

“He’ll be okay,” she says, attempting cheerfulness as tears overrun her eyes. “He’ll be okay. I’m asking the Traveler to break some of the… the forbiddance spells around the keep. The others will be here soon. We’ll be okay.” She chokes a little on her own voice. “Everyone’s back together.” Her fingers close in the back of Caleb’s robes, the magic dissipating from her fingers, and that’s when Molly loops his arms around her. She grabs his shirt, clinging suddenly, something building in her chest until she blurts, crying, “What did we do wrong, Molly?”

“Nothing.”

He cradles her head, rocking a little as she starts to sob.

“We tried so hard!”

“I know.”

Jester is wailing now, just gut-wrenching heaves against Molly’s shoulder. “I miss her so much!” She can’t seem to breathe, giving in entirely to ugly crying, almost hiccupping. “I miss Beau! She said we needed to take care of each other and we didn’t.”

“Hey, the world asked a lot from you. S’not your fault if you didn’t do every damn thing on the list.”

“I’m sorry!”

“Shh, stop it. It’s over,” Molly murmurs, hugging her closer. “It’s over, Jes.”

Jester just keeps crying until it seems like she may never stop, but even as he begins to think this, there is a sudden rush of warm wind and the scent of… of somewhere else. Somewhere green and summer-y, sap-sticky, and hot against the skin and Molly feels someone step into the space to his left and kneel. There’s no one there of course, but Molly sees it when Jester’s hair moves a little, an invisible hand tucking strands behind her ear and only then does her wailing become a sniffle.

“I know, but I didn’t want it to be this way,” she says loudly to no one.

Molly feels that murmur of wind again, so comforting it wipes away the cold of the room.

“You promise?” Jester says, looking up at the empty air.

And there’s a chuckle, resonate and deep. Molly gets the impression of the ‘yes’ and a whisper like a cloak against his shoulder, passing by.

And Jester turns to Molly and says, “It’ll be okay. I’m okay.”

Molly gives the room a wary once over. “You sure?”

Jester starts to smile. “We can fix it. It’s… it’s going to be—”

“Finally,” says a voice.

The word splits through Molly’s skull like a nail through the roof of his mouth. He’s on the floor before he can process anything farther, his every limb locked up around a sucker punch that didn’t happen. Dizzy, he struggles to lift his forehead from the ground, but the voice goes on like a tuning fork jammed inside his brain.

“Hey, man. Don’t run, I have some questions for you.”

Molly manages to lift his head. His vision is splitting, going dark around the edges. It hurts to look.

But, there in the middle of the room, Beauregard is standing. The barrier spell around her is gone. She’s stepped half way down from her dais, one foot sill up on the platform, the other on the floor in the attitude of descending a short flight of stairs. Her body is on fire. A pillar of blue and black flame sheathes her skin, billowing the torn edges of her jacket.

She’s looking at something forward and slightly to her left.

Her left arm is extended and her fist closed around something Molly can’t see. Her arm jerks slightly, like something is fighting her hold but she’s smiling this kind of confused, mildly annoyed smile. Like someone is being a little rude at a dinner party or something and she steps down fully. Ice bursts across the floor where her feet touch the stone, the temperature in the room going sub-zero and Molly knows without knowing that if the anti-magic field drops, they’re going to get the brunt of it.

“Wow. Stop spazzing out. I just want to talk,” Beau is saying in that awkward friendly-but-I’m-kind-of-faking-it voice she does when she’s working at being a person to someone she’d rather punch. “Hey. Listen, buddy. This isn’t like before. I’m something else and I need to ask you some stuff.”

And suddenly there’s someone standing in front of her. They’re struggling to get away from Beauregard, who has one iron-fingered grip viced relentlessly around their wrist.

They’re the size of a regular person, tall, slender, arguably a male build. Their skin is strange and iridescent and glowing faintly with a dim greenish warmth that penetrates the cold around them. They are dressed in adventurer’s finery – good boots, a clean blue tunic… and a long, long forest-green cloak that’s pulled up over their head and shadows everything but the lower half of their face.

Jester, seeing this, screams in horror.

But Beauregard doesn’t seem to hear. Her focus is entirely on The Traveler. She uses her free hand to grab a fistful of their cloak and drag them closer.

“I’m trying to be nice here,” she says, exasperated when her captive shoves a hand against her chest. “I’m a new god too, you know. We should stick together.” The Traveler doesn’t say anything, just bares their teeth and light flares through their body, snapping through Beauregard like a blow that knocks her face to the left. “Fucking. Rude,” she says, glaring down at the other god in front of her. “Stop it.”

“I don’t have answers for you,” says the Traveler. His voice cuts through the disharmonics from the other god, dragging a swath of relief through the room allowing the mortals there to breathe again. “I didn’t kill a god to become one.” A smile pulls briefly at his mouth, wry, and fiercely proud. “I found a faith stronger than any in the world and she believed in me. I don’t know what you are, half god. You are not like me.”

Beau-Who-Is-Not-Beau thinks about that.

Her eyes, Molly notices now, are pitch black hollows full of nothing.

“You’re right. Duh. I need to talk to her.” She thinks about it some more, then looks suddenly toward the two tieflings huddled together against the wall. “Hey, Molly. You know Vax’ildan, right?”

“Oh no,” Jester whispers.

“I wanna talk to his boss,” Beau says. “Can you tell him that?”

Then she smiles at Molly… and of course it kills him instantly.

#critical role #mollymauk tealeaf #caleb widogast #the mighty nein #critrole #long post #this one goes up to eleven

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lovestruckay · 7 years

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WIP Game

Talk about the WIPs you’re intending to work on this year.

I was tagged by @crimsonriley and this looks like a good opportunity to taunt all my readers lot of fun!

I’m going to tag @vesperlionheart, @shyyynobi, and @beyondthemoor to join in on the fun. And, because I absolutely count WIPs as including art, I’m going to tag @yomi-gaeru, @byelawliet, and @maybe-please! <3

I have a number of WIPs (over a dozen) but there are only a few that are going to be actively worked on this coming year.

Homeward

MadaSaku, Time Travel AU, Eventually Mature

[FF - AO3]

This is my most popular fic and my main focus as a writer. It’s an AU where Sakura is thrown backwards in time during the battle between Danzo and Sasuke. The majority of the story so far is her amassing a reputation as a miracle healer and as an incredibly powerful kunoichi. I thought it would be more realistic for Sakura to have to survive and eventually thrive in the past before she came across one of the major clans (well, except for the poor Fuma clan).

The story has already gotten to the point where she meets Madara and Izuna (in a pretty flashy way). This is my pride and joy and it’s a fic I’m very happy to write. I love writing Sakura as this incredibly powerful and indomitable woman who demands respect wherever she goes while simultaneously being this sweet, openhearted healer and friend. And I love writing Madara as being this powerful, intelligent and calculating, yet kind man who people have to work to earn a way into his heart. I always envisioned Madara as being a man who needed a indomitable woman like Sakura to make him happy. A woman who could challenge him yet encourage him at the same time. And this woman would certainly be Sakura.

Snippets

“But you have blood on you,” she pointed out, taking a step towards him and reaching forward to touch a splatter of blood on the neck of his high collared shirt.

He nearly shivered as her fingertips brushed his clothed collar bone, his sharingan flickering on of its own accord. The world around him became sharp and crisp and the sight of her reaching out to touch him embedded in his mind before his sharingan returned to inactivity in the span of a heartbeat.

“It’s not mine,” he muttered in a tone deeper than normal as he stared at her concerned expression.

...

He turned his head to face her and could feel heat rising to his cheeks as he noticed how close they were, their noses nearly touching. All he could see of her was her half lidded eyes and her dilated pupils, the black heavily encroaching on the sea green of her irises. She stared right back into his lazily spinning sharingan, her own cheeks taking a red hue.

Uchiha MC

MadaSaku, Outlaw Biker AU, Mature

[FF - AO3]

This fic was actually the beginning of me rejoining the fanfiction world. I had written a couple fics but this was the first one I actually went out and posted. It started as a oneshot but I combined it with a couple other WIPs I had and created this awesome story that I was just giddy to write. It has turned out a long longer than I had anticipated although it has been so much fun to write.

It has just begun to rapidly escalate. The story is a little more than halfway done but there is going to be a lot of incredibly intense and “holy shit” moments coming up that are going to keep everyone on their toes! The story is really at a pivotal moment right now so any snippets will give away what’s going to happen. Sorry!

Untitled ObiSaku

[FF - AO3]

ObiSaku, AU where Obito comes back to the village, non-massacre, Mature

EDIT: I posted this fic while I was doing Sakura Week 2018. It didn’t turn out as absolutely filthy as I had previously planned as another fic (a MadaSaku fic - FF, AO3) I wrote decided to take the whole choking kink. While this fic is still smut, it’s not as dirty as I had originally planned.

This fic is one purely written out of spite. Some random user on AO3 was talking poorly about one of my MadaSaku fics and asked if I was going to do an ObiSaku fic too (because that’s soooooo ridiculous). So I replied with a “you better fucking believe it” and put together an outline for this pure filth with a heaping of fluff and plot.

Some aspects of this fic: Rin will be alive but her, Obito, and Kakashi will be non-romantic best friends. How Kushina and Minato will live and how Minato be Obito’s mentor as he trains him to take over as Hokage. Kakashi will still become the sensei for Team 7 and how Team 7 will split up to train individually, Sakura and Naruto going on journey’s with Tsunade and Jiraiya respectively and Sasuke going with Shisui to train with the Military Police. There will be a lot of self hate, kink self-shame, angst, and a wide age difference.

Nesting

MadaSaku, alpha omega beta AU, founders era, Mature

This fic was entirely inspired by the “nesting” phenomenon in ABO fics. And the fact I very much wanted to write a MadaSaku ABO fic.

Sakura is the leader of the famous clan of healers, the Haruno clan. The Harunos are close allies of the Uzumaki clan, hailing from the same region, and Sakura and Mito are such close friends they consider each other sisters. It is because of Sakura’s influence that Hashirama puts fourth a peace treaty in exchange for him healing Izuna (much to Tobirama’s horror). When the village if finally founded, there is a meeting where all of the clan leaders that are allies of the Hidden Leaf join together to discuss the future. And this is where Madara and Sakura finally meet and everyone makes the catastrophic (at least for a city block) decision of trying to drag them apart.

There will of course be ABO smut with mating bites, pupping, womb sex, etc. But a huge aspect of it will be Sakura and her “nesting” behavior as she chooses a place to make her nest and have her pup. Very sweet and fluffy.

Nonsensical

[FF - AO3]

ShisuiSaku, soulmarks AU, Mature

A cute and kind of funny little one shot made because there is a drastic shortage of ShisuiSakura fics. Depending on how long it turns out being I might break it up into smaller bites. It’ll be a non massacre fic with a healthy amount of angst, some super bad first impressions, some happy endings, Sakura being a badass, Team 7 being bffs, and Hokage Itachi.

Here are a coupe snippets although they are very rough because they are part of the outline and not actual written material.

Snippets:

Shisui didn’t get his soul mark until March 28th when he was eight years old.

He had gone to bed that night with clear skin and woke up that morning with his soul mark written across his left pectoral in a flowing, feminine script. He was excited to learn that he did in fact have a soulmate but the fact that the phrase now inked across his chest was the most random, nonsensical bullshit he had ever read in his short life dampened the feeling. Was his red string connecting him to a psychopath?

He couldn’t think of any other reason as to why someone’s first words to him would be “Pants are not ripe water grass bastard”.

What in the hell does that even mean? Was it some sort of secret code? Was she going to be drunk? Was she insane?

...

Sakura has had her soul mark since she was born although she didn’t learn this until she was a young girl.

When she had asked her parents why she didn’t have one, at the tender age of five after her friend Ino had shown off hers, her parents had laughed with mirth, given her a hand mirror, and told her to find it. After a solid fifteen minutes of searching and acts of stretching that contortionists would be proud of, she located her soul mark printed in a small, professional script in the crook where her inner thigh met her hip. While part of her had been disappointed it was in a very personal place, a spot she could never show up, she had been overwhelmingly satisfied with the words on her soulmark.

I didn’t know angels had pink hair”.

Other Fics (may or may not get written)

Broken Trust

ObiSaku, Uchiha MC branch off, lots of angst

Guardians

MadaSaku fic where Impure World Reincarnation is never outlawed and instead becomes a technique for raising “Guardians” to protect the village. Izuna becomes the first guardian and leads to the formation of the village. Madara, Hashirama, Tobirama, all the hokages, Itachi, etc become Guardians and never technically die, instead being treated as well respected protectors

Fighting Dreamers

MadaSaku MMA AU, Sakura “Cherry Bomb” Haruno and Madara “Wildfire” Uchiha

The Chances

MadaSaku soulmark AU, takes place during the war

Three Rejects

NaruSakuSasu, dark fic where the trio runs away from Konoha after suffering through years of abuse and neglect. Sakura is an orphan, stolen from her clan of incredible healers following the massacre of her family. They can only trust each other and only love each other, ends in tragedy for the rest of the world but bliss for them

Wake Up

MadaSaku fic where Sakura, Madara’s wife, is in a coma in the Warring States Era and imagining her life in the future

Like the Ocean

IndraSaku fic where Indra goes on his journey to help the distant village to determine if he would become the next leader of his village and comes across a strange woman on the beach, part of an even stranger clan of healers and mystics who live on the ocean’s edge

Cosplay

I have a new wig from Shippuden Sakura that I’m very excited to try out. I even got a pair of customized boots that are pretty incredible! I even met a Sasuke cosplayer who is so incredibly sweet and is just as into cosplay and Naruto as I am! So you may or may not see me and Sasuke at Anime Matsuri in Houston, TX this year.

#wip #fanfiction #madasaku #obisaku #shisaku #shisuisaku #indrasaku #homeward #uchiha mc #my fanfiction

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starsgivemehp · 6 years

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It occurs to me most of you don’t really know my other muses

Not anymore, anyway. Way back when, I had a neat little post with them all. Nowadays... Well, I have so many, it would be a really long post if I tried to describe them all in detail. BUT! I can at least say a few words about each (and link to their blogs, which are all dead, but maybe I can fix that)

SO! Here we go. In order of creation, mostly.

HorrorFELL: @missingmorethanmyskull

Arum: The Sans. He got the hole in his head some time ago, and now has episodes of forgetting everything/being near catatonic at times. Violent, crude, always starving, and unable to die.

Tox: The Papyrus. Fought long and hard in the war between Undyne and Toriel for the capital (spanning many years). Is now struggling with PTSD and taking care of his brother. Is a sweetie inside. Makes poisons.

Underswap: @kotovinblue

Legall: The Sans, trans woman. A master of chess, and the Queen’s royal bodyguard. Aware of the constant loop of genocide, pacifist, and neutral timelines their human keeps them in. Fights them in Judgement Hall. Tries to be upbeat, not infantile like fanon likes to make blueberries.

Prise: The Papyrus. Oral fixation, and loves sweets to death. Plays the piano. Very mild seer powers when playing. Also aware of the loops. Steps in to fight in Snowdin, sacrificing himself in genocide timelines. Considers himself a coward.

Fellswap: @abrokenheartdisease HEAVY FONTCEST WARNING

Howl: The Sans, an ice king due to a traumatic childhood. Self-confident, ambitious, bordering on megalomanic at times. Has been separated from his brother and wanders AUs searching for him after their world was destroyed.

Daemon: The Papyrus, a sweet, friendly puppy of a man. Has a small inner voice telling him to dust people and gain power. Mostly only Howl or another authoritative figure can help him control it. Draconic appearance when getting violent, and can breathe fire. Searching for his master through the AUs.

DustFELL: @anevendarkerplace

Chaos: The Sans, female. Wanders the AUs dusting entire timelines. Vain, bitchy, but lonely. Fears her sister hates her for what she’s done, and tries to never be alone. If she is, the ‘ghost’ of her sister berates her for her misdeeds. Wears her sister’s scarf on her forearm.

Harmony: The Papyrus, female, deceased. Is she really a ghost? Or is Chaos a little insane? Who knows...

LustFELL (is it, though? It’s pretty tame): @wanttogetusedbyyou HEAVY FONTCEST WARNING

Jazz (Jasper): The Sans, nonbinary. A prostitute and pole dancer. Kind, laid back, charming. Does not see themself as anything more than a good bedmate and nice person, and declares themself ‘not for love.’ Despite this, loves their brother dearly. Not scientifically inclined, doesn’t teleport around. Has bouts of nihilism and feels their timeline is pointless.

Cad (Cadence): The Papyrus. A member of the Royal Harem, chains and whips and all that. Had his heart broken by the Undyne, now insists love is not worth it. Stoic, serious at first, has a soft side. Loves children. Loves Jazz deeply and dearly.

NOW ALL OF THE MUSES THAT DON’T HAVE BLOGS.

Classic:

Vega: The Sans. Patient soul. A bit overprotective of his brother. A real daddy type. Sleeps a lot.

Solstice: The Papyrus: Integrity soul. Very anxious at times, but optimistic. Can fight pretty well. Can’t cook that well. Pretty typical.

HorrorLust(Fell?)

Laz(arus): The Sans. Head melted in slightly from the Lust getting out of hand. Loves intensely, or not at all. Bitter about how things turned out. Self-appointed leader of Snowdin, trying to keep everyone’s lives intact.

(Ja)Bez: The Papyrus. Horrible experiments during the civil war stretched his body to humongous, spindly proportions. A gentle giant. Was with Undyne, was betrayed by her, hates her now. Takes care of Waterfall and all of the plant life.

Reaper:

Salem: The Sans. Punny, laid-back, but can be vicious when he’s been cheated. Often is incarnated into an Altertale timeline, where he is the ruins caretaker. Everything pumplins.

Anubis: The Papyrus. Not used much.

INK AND ERROR:

Tag: Inkfell!Sans. The creator of all of my characters, he uses spray-paint cans. and a large paint roller. Soulless, artificially feels through his paint. Hates Inks that abandon timelines to decay.

Dox: Errorfell!Sans, the other side of Tag’s coin. They were both made from the same baseline sans before everything went wrong. Severe touch-phobia. Knits puppets to play with. Protective of Tag’s worlds, they work together. Also despises Inks who let worlds decay, and only deletes worlds that cannot be saved.

Another Underfell:

Roxy: The Sans, female. Loves baseball, carries her bat around and hits damn well. Rumored to have fought the King and (kinda) won. Drinks maple syrup. Plays electric guitar.

Rust: The Papyrus, the pitcher in baseball, throws really well. Royal guard member, but still very Papyrus-like.

AlterFELL:

Alka: The Sans ruins caretaker. Meditates a lot, drinks a lot of herbal tea, due to old and severe injuries. Rough around the edges, but protective of anyone who falls. Teaches them to fight, tries to make them stay. Used to be king before his brother took over and he fled.

Scoria: The Papyrus, now king, a horrible tyrant wielding his abusive father’s lava trident.

StoryFELL:

Urban: The Sans, king of the underground. Possessive, yandere, a little insane. Really just lonely and misses his brother a lot. Won’t kill the human... so long as they stay with him.

Memoir: The Papyrus, ruins caretaker. Good lord is he intense and kinda violent. Insists his brother is terrible for killing a human, even though that human had killed others.

Yet another Underfell:

Dirge: The Sans, rough, leather jacket, smokes, is an asshole. Wears a collar. Drinks a lot. High ATK, still 1 HP.

Hearse: The Papyrus, stoic, icy, commanding. Doesn’t talk much. Captain of the guard. A kindness soul, oddly enough.

JESUS WHY DO I HAVE SO MANY UNDERFELLS:

Rav: The Sans, even rougher, high LV, SEVERAL weapons he can pick from and manifest at will. Collects even more. Wears a collar, does whatever his boss says, loves him dearly. Violence, violence, violence. A protective guard and attack dog.

Dess: The Papyrus, I don’t do much with him.

Regular Error:

Pixel: Error!Sans. OCD, loves efficiency and patterns. Don’t touch him. He’s that rich housewife that’ll ogle the pool boy, so long as the pool boy is doing his job efficiently, except the pool boy is an effective killer.

Horrortale:

Guts: The Sans. Highly, highly selectively mute. High-functioning sociopath, probably. Charming, can act either cute or suave with people he likes. Refuses to eat humans. A little gremlin.

Blood: The Papyrus. Don’t use him much.

AND THERE ARE ACTUALLY A FEW MORE THAT I’M JUST NOT PUTTING ON HERE BECAUSE I DON’T USE THEM MUCH.

BUT JESUS THERE YOU GO, THAT’S A LOT OF CHARACTERS. AND THEY’RE ALL PRETTY MUCH FULLY DEVELOPED, NOT JUST OUTLINES. I HAVE A FREAKIN’ SPREADSHEET. SO. YEAH.

I’ll make a post with all the pictures I have too, later.

#out of skeleton #reference #my characters #fontcest #only for some of them tho #god there's so many

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all-alone-he-turns-to-stone · 7 years

Text

Already Gone - AU

Summary: He is death. In a form of a wolf, everything he touches die. Everything has to die one day… but he can’t help but feel empty… alone and cold. She is life. In a form of a human, she’s the light he’s looking for. And when the two meet… Everything changes.

Character: Derek Hale, Reader

Word count: 3715

A/n: First, I need to thank @roseringleader13 for helping me proofread this fic I wrote months ago. I didn’t have the courage to post it cause it’s kinda my first AU? And it’s a bit sad. And deep. Anyway. This fic is highly based on this video (a sad video again) and this song, Already Gone by Sleeping at Last. A long time ago someone requested a fic with this song and I promised to write something. So here it is!

He loved life.

She loved death.

He lived for her.

She died for him.

The rain no longer seemed to want to stop, mitigated by the thick foliage hiding the cloudy sky. The cold seemed to penetrate everywhere; wherever animals tried to protect themselves from the mortal temperature. But just as no one can escape the cold, no one can flee death that always comes with fall and the disappearance of heat. The little rabbits could try to find shelter, to hide, to disappear, but he always found them.

The black wolf walked alone in the dark and cold forest. Each of his steps cracked the branches beneath its broad paws. Everywhere he went, everyone fled. Animals, frightened, went in all directions to avoid crossing his bluish gaze. The cold accompanied him wherever he went. The plants would die in contact with his fur against the leaves or his paws on the roots.

Everything would die at his contact.

Death felt alone. In the form of a male wolf, the reaper of the forest was condemned to spend his life searching for the souls of the animals whose time had passed. Every day the bad weather accompanied him, bringing cold and diseases to the animals too weak to spend the winter. And every day he roamed the forest, touching with a sad paw a poor animal to take away his soul. Every day the black wolf sank a little more into solitude and sadness. He didn’t like to kill. He didn’t like death.

He loved life.

So, obviously every day was for him only more painful. His blue eyes scrutinized the darkness of the forest to see only the blackness, blackness also present in his heart. The wolf would like to no longer have to do this. Not to be so alone, in cold and pain.

He would like someone to not be afraid of him.

The rain was still falling that day when he saw her for the first time. It was bright for him, yet the rain was still falling. But the light piercing the clouds didn’t come from the sky, but from his heart. In front of him, in the distance and through the branches, she was standing. From the distance where the wolf stood he couldn’t really distinguish her features. But suddenly the cold inhabiting him was gone. His blue eyes widened, totally caught under the spell of the human. His paws moved forward towards them, but this time he didn’t notice the plants that would die. Neither the animals who fled, scared. He was only seeing her, standing upright in her backyard overlooking the forest. He felt only the warmth, rising in him, clinging to his heart. He felt alive. For the first time the wolf bringing death felt life invading him. It was like the first day of his life, a rebirth.

"No," thought the wolf. "Not a rebirth. A birth. "

It was raining even more outside the forest where the dense trees’ foliage couldn’t protect from the cold water. But the human remained there, outside and in the cold, accepting the water and the numbness of the autumn temperature. She accepted the rain that ran down her face like tears the wolf would have liked to gently wipe away. Her hair was dripping, soaked, like her clothes.

But she didn’t move.

She didn’t move either when the wolf, absorbed in the contemplation of the human, approached too close. His blue eyes shining in the darkness startled the girl who jumped a little.

"She’s afraid," thought the wolf, drawing back, sadness returning to cling on his heart like a heavy and painful anchor. "They're all afraid. Always."

" Don’t leave! "

Her voice, soft, suppliant, sounded sweet in his ears which moved in her direction. The wolf stopped retreating, intrigued but above all surprised to hear the words so desired, so much wanted, coming out of the girl's mouth strong enough to cover the sound of the water falling loudly around them.

"Don’t go ..." The human added, moving this time towards the wolf, who, caught off guard and in fear to kill her by letting her get too close, quickly ran away.

He could not. If the human touched him, she would die.

He was cursed. And he didn’t want her to die. Not her. Not anyone.

Salty tepid tears mingled with the cold, lifeless water of the rain in his ink fur.

The days of the wolf were no longer the same since he had seen her. His thoughts were now directed only towards the young girl, who, even in the icy rain, seemed to emanate a gentle and inviting warmth. He thought of nothing but her, her soft and tender face, her friendly and welcoming eyes, her hair soaked in the rain without her worrying about it. He couldn’t remove her expression from his mind when he saw her ask him to stay. He remembered the fear making his body shake, the adrenaline discharge telling him to move away from her. Not to hurt her. Not to kill her.

Too absorbed by his thoughts, the wolf hadn’t noticed immediately he had surrendered by automatism towards the backyard of the human. His paws had led him by themself as if he knew the way like he had always followed it. It’s only by the perceived warmth, the light, which, among the cold drops of the rain, shone with full fire that he understood. The human was sitting in the soaked grass in front of the forest, waiting. She waited for something and when the wolf's blue eyes glided over her, her eyes lit up as well.

"You've come back ..." The human sighed as she got up, a luminous smile stretching her pale lips in the cold weather. " I was waiting for you. " The warmth immediately invaded the heart of the wolf, who felt for a second time the life inhabit it. He fell in love with the girl again. She was everything for him. She was his life.

And he refused to be her death.

As he began to retreat to not make any contact with her, to not curse her, he stopped suddenly.

The rain had stopped.

As quickly as it followed him everywhere, the cold water falling from the cloudless sky ceased to fall. The clouds slowly dispersed to shyly give way to the sun and a sky as blue as the eyes of the wolf. It was so sudden, so new to see the sun and the color of the sky the wolf stopped moving to raise his head and admire the beauty of the new phenomenon.

Believing during his entire existence he only brought death, cold and sadness, the wolf finally saw. He saw the beauty of the world. Life, the color of joy that could bring as much life to his heart.

"My name is Y/n," the human said to him, sure of herself and not afraid of him. She wiggled her hair slowly, her smile still on her face, surely even brighter than the sun and more colorful than the sky. Her smile succeeded in making the wolf feel emotions he didn’t think possible. A new spectacle left him panting; the birds chirped in the trees, not at all afraid of the wolf and its curse. Timid animals emerged from the shadows to gambol in the fresh green grass, surely happy of the long awaited good weather. Plants were no longer dying under his paws.

The wolf felt so good, alive. Happy. For the first time, animals were no longer afraid of him.

"I have never seen you here," she continued, kneeling in front of him, leaning her head to the side to detail the wolf. "You look very lonely. I have known loneliness, actually I am always alone. Life is sad when we pass it alone, don’t you agree? "

Sitting in front of Y/n to better look at her and listen, all his attention directed towards the girl, the wolf imitated the gesture of the human. The picture was comical, a big black wolf that can pass for scary who tilts his head to the side, his highest ear folding in a cute angle. The scene was so unusual, impossible to imagine, Y/n couldn’t hold back a little laugh that escaped her vigilance, a laugh the wolf didn’t miss. Her laughter was more melodious than the song of the birds. He could have listened to her for days without ever wearying.

"Yes," Y/n concluded, recovering her seriousness and her smile fell. The wolf didn’t want her smile to disappear, it was so beautiful, she was so beautiful when she smiled and joy reigned in her face. "You're alone... exactly like me. "

As a single answer the wolf dropped his head, scraping the soaked floor with his paw. He was deeply sad the human felt so. That she must live the same pain as him. He didn’t want her to suffer.

Not her.

He could suffer. Stay alone. Living in the cold and death. But he couldn’t accept she was suffering from loneliness.

The wolf then made a decision.

Never again would she be alone.

And he kept his promise.

Every day he came to see her. Every day the two met at the edge of the forest, her sitting down in the grass and him in front of her at a good distance to prevent any contact with the human. Throughout the conversations, Y/n had even given him a name. It must have been the best day of his life when she pointed a finger at him, making him jump and step back in the sudden fear that they could ended up touching. But the surprise was rather when she uttered simple words, words so simple but so much wanted, touching the wolf deep inside him.

"You need a name. Derek. I'll call you Derek."

Derek couldn’t speak. He would have liked to be endowed with the sense of the human language to tell everything to her. Tell her how much he loved her laughter, how the melody could become a comforting lullaby and how he never forgot the sound it had. Or her smile that could illuminate his dark days forever. How her voice and words and how only her luminous presence made him feel alive. But he couldn’t, he couldn’t speak. So he could only listen. The wolf listened to the human talking about everything and nothing, things of everyday life, her little problems and anxieties as well as her future dreams. He listened attentively, memorizing each of her dreams, placing them in a corner of his safe memory to never forget them.

Y/n wanted to be a doctor. Her goal was to save people’s life, to save them from death. Give the sick and wounded extra years to live, or at least enough to see all the things they would have liked to see and live. It was her ultimate goal, her most precious dream.

She was the opposite of him. While the wolf brought death and sadness, the human wanted to give life and happiness.

She had also told him she wanted to go horseback riding one day, she loved horses. She wanted to dye her hair, orange or purple, she didn’t know yet. Fly in a hot air balloon. See fireworks. Learn to swim. Go to the beach. Eat Nutella with a spoon, even if too much makes her sick. To have a cat. No, two cats. A house full of cats! Fall in love, get married, have children.

A lot of children, she had specified. To be equal to the number of cats.

Y/n had so many dreams and her face was amazed when she evoked them. Derek was happy to hear all the future plans of the human, to see her face light up while she imagined them coming true. He loved to watch her speak, to only drink in her words and feel her joy through each of her gestures.

But he couldn’t know the sadness that dwelt in each of her dreams. He couldn’t see her dreams weren’t future projects.

Derek couldn’t know they weren’t going to happen.

And one fine day she stopped coming to the usual place. The place where she used to sit in the grass was empty, cold. And just as the days spent in the absence of Y/n were dark and cold, the temperature became the same.

And it rained again. The clouds came back to hide the sun and the blue sky, swallowing the bright colors and replacing them with a dull and lifeless gray.

Every day the wolf came to the usual place. And every day no one came. The animals had begun to flee from him, the whole world was fleeing him or died at his contact.

Derek lived once again in sadness and loneliness, but worse. He had loved so much and her prolonged absence made him horribly sad. He had loved, listened, made everything to make her happy. Where was Y/n?

Where had the sun that illuminated his heart went?

Days changed into weeks. Derek walked to the usual place every morning in the meager hope of seeing her again. Rain and cold following him wherever he went leaving a trail of dead plant behind him. The path he took was void of plant.

All were dead.

It was soon winter and the cold was only even more present. The water turned into ice in the morning and the rain into snow a few icy days. It was a very cold day when something changed.

Derek was heading in the usual way towards Y/n when a warmth he could have recognized anywhere caught his attention, dwelling in his body, numb by the cold. The sensation awoke in him memories and the image of a girl standing in the rain.

The wolf began to run without thinking, coming quickly to the spot, the hope arising in him causing the rain to stop momentarily. He couldn’t believe it, the joy swelled in his body so much he didn’t notice right away that the heat hadn’t the same brilliance as before. That the smile which welcomed him when he arrived was no longer as full of joy as before.

He only knew something was wrong when he was close enough to see her eyes. Her gaze, which he loved so much, was dull and empty.

She was sick.

Y/n was sick.

Derek's world collapsed.

"Derek ..." Y/n mumbled softly, hardly crouching at his height, her limbs thin under her loose clothes. Her hair seemed so fragile, about to fall at any moment and her skin had to be as pale as the snow on some mornings, too cold to get up. "Derek. "

"No," thought the wolf, shaking his head, stepping back by automatism, tears rolling in his ink colored fur. " No. Not Y/n. No.” He kept repeating for himself. She couldn’t be sick. She couldn’t leave him. Not her. Not yet. No more loneliness. No more death. He wanted no more death. Never again. His heart split in two, he felt as if someone was pulling half of it from his chest.

"Derek, listen to me," Y/n mumbled as she coughed in her sleeve painfully, coughs that Derek felt deep inside him. He stared at her with his bright blue eyes, never removing his gaze from her. Once her cough was calmed and she apologized, Y/n sat down slowly on the frozen ground.

“I want you to know… It doesn't matter where we take this road. But someone's gotta go and I want you to know, you couldn't have loved me better… But I want you to move on...”

Derek scraped the frozen ground with his paw mechanically, trying to chase away the pain that clung to him, stabbing, poignant, present. But nothing could stop the suffering.

“ We were always meant to say goodbye. Even with our face held high, it never would have worked out right… We were never meant for do or die, Derek. I was sick when we met. I was lonely. I had dreams and hopes. You made me want to live. Before I met you, I was ready to die. But when they brought me to the hospital a few weeks ago, I fought. I didn’t want to die. I wanted to meet you one last time. You gave me life, Derek. And I want to thank you for that.”

No. It wasn’t true. The black wolf only brought death, he was cursed, condemned to kill and to remain alone. He could not give life.

“ Looking at you makes it harder, you know. But I know you'll find another who doesn't always make you want to cry like you’re crying right now.”

Y/n then approached, her hand held out to the wolf, who froze while also slowly stepping back. But the resolution was read in the almost lifeless look of the human, she wanted to do that. She wanted to touch him and if it was her last wish, even if the dull pain only felt heavier, the weight of the dead on his conscience, Derek let her do it.

And for the first time he felt the touch of another living being against him. Her warmth. Her touch. Y/n's hand stretched towards him, gently caressing the fur of the black wolf. He had closed his eyes under the blow in fear of seeing her die immediately. But when he felt the warmth still there, her thin fingers gently wiping away his still flowing tears, he opened and laid his cold eyes on the warm face of the human.

And he snuggled up against her. Y/n's arms closed around his massive body, sending warmth and life into him like never before and it was only even sadder. She was dying. And he had never felt so alive.

After a moment, Y/n backed away. The contact was broken and the darkness got back in his heart. However, she was still there. Derek couldn’t stop crying and sobbing, the howl of pain escaping his usual vigilance. But that day, under the cloudy and cold sky, he could not.

A weak smile then stretched the dry and pale lips of Y/n. She approached her face to the wolf who didn’t flinch, not knowing where her actions were going to lead them.

Then he felt warmth on his muzzle, followed by a significant sound.

"I love you, Derek.” It was the last words of Y/n who soon closed her eyes. Her smile remained hanging on her lips as her lifeless body slowly fell into Derek's arms, his sobs making his words inaudible. If someone had passed by and would have witnessed the scene, they would have seen a man holding the lifeless body of a girl, a smile still stretching her cracked lips, welcoming death as a friend.

“It started with the perfect kiss then. We could feel the poison set in… Perfect couldn't keep this love alive.”

A voice was behind him. Derek looked up to see the most beautiful deer standing there. The animal was white, but of a warm white, a luminous white that warmed his heart like never before. A warmth he recognized brought new tears in his now hazel eyes.

"Y/n ...?” Derek finally sobbed and the deer nodded, making Derek's tears drop even more.

“ Remember all the things we wanted… Remember the memories, they’re not haunted. You made me wanna live. I want you to live as well. But you knew, Derek. You knew.”

“ We were always meant to say goodbye.” Derek finished in her place.

And on these words, the magnificent deer disappeared into the dark forest, bringing with her the cold and bad weather, leaving Derek alone with Y/n in his arms and her life boiling in him.

Y/n wasn’t afraid of death. And Derek wanted to live.

He brought death, she spread life.

She loved death, he loved life.

He lived for her.

She died for him.

Y/n had given the best gift she had. She had given her life to Derek, turning the black cursed wolf into a mortal human. Y/n’s soul had become a magnificent deer, bringing with her the burden of Derek. Bringing death with her.

And in the time of a breath, a look, a touch, she was already gone.

"I love you ... I love you ..."

"Thank you."

By becoming human, Derek had been given another chance. A chance to live a normal life, each day being different while resembling each other.

Soon after, he had began to go to school. From the beginning it was his goal. It took him many years, during which he drank to life as if every day was the last.

He took riding lessons. He dyed his hair a few times, even though people thought it was weird. He learned to swim. Went to the beach. Flew in a hot air balloon and watched fireworks. On calm days without work or school, he ate Nutella with spoon while watching television.

He even adopted some cats. Only a few, he had promised himself. Obviously he had taken them all.

But Derek had never forgotten Y/n. Nor had he tried to rebuild his life with another person. He couldn’t forget the girl who had saved him, the one who had given him life and had been carried away by death.

"No," Derek thought. "She had taken death away with her to give me life. "

And it was to her that he thought of each day after his graduation. Every day he was saving a life, he thought of her.

"I hope you look at me," the man thought for himself, a serene smile on his face. "Look. Your dreams have come true. You gave me your life. And I swear to save everyone who wants to live. I will do everything to make it possible for them to taste the gift of life, even for only a moment. Because you taught me something.

Life is worth living for."

On these thoughts, Derek laid the stethoscope around his neck and opened the door of the hospital room where his patient was waiting.

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