#written-musings drabbles

[written-musings]

I saw that your asks were open for obidala Drabble requests and I just had to request!

If you’re up for it would you mind writing an angsty (smutty if you’re okay with that, wasn’t sure of your ask rules) obidala moment, after they survived order 66 & everything and are now on tatooine. Where all their emotions and genuine love for each other become something more?

I’m obsessed with the idea of Obi wan and Padme surviving, going into hiding and falling in love.

Sorry this is so late, I had a draft and I lost it. But I typed this up this afternoon. It's unedited, but I hope you like it. It's a bit steamy and smutty!

☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ☾ ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆*･ﾟ

Six begrudging months passed since Order 66, since Anakin turned to the dark side, since the Republic fell, since the perceived deceased Senator had her children and had to hide them, since Obi-Wan and Padmé lost everything, and their relationship changed forever.

They were friends for so long, well over a decade, and just like that… they loathed each other. To make matters even worse, they were forced to live in close proximity via an isolated hut hidden the endless dunes of Tatooine.

Perhaps hate is not the right word, for both of them have too much good in their hearts, but being around each other hurt more than they could bear – grief, anger, sadness… Maybe, just maybe, the fact they felt a gush of emotions in each other’s presence entailed sentiments far greater than they could understand…

Or admit.

But the moment where she let herself slip, that one moment where she met with the Senators who would eventually be the foundations of the Rebellion…

“One Jedi then,” she had offered to the politicians in the room.

At least let me speak the trust to my love. At least. Please, she had pleaded silently.

“There is only one Jedi- one who I truly know all of us can trust absolutely…” She had trailed off, leaving her usually composed self in a stunning silence upon the realization that the Jedi she was referring to was, in fact, not Anakin. The man who had helped save her planet from the Trade Federation after they had invaded her planet. The man who asked her, the young queen who had to be brave, how she was doing. The man who jumped out of a window for her. The man who wholeheartedly kept the secret of her relationship with Anakin to himself because he loved them both. The man who completely understood her as a politician despite his distaste for them.

Obi Wan.

Padmé. He had whispered her name as he stroked her cheek after saving her on Mustafar, her life and the futures of her children uncertain. He chose her after his own Padawan, his own brother, his own son, his own best friend.

They had successfully avoided each other during these months, whether it be hiding in different corners and spaces, or Obi-Wan exploring the planet and working on ventilators while Padme would also explore and barter at markets, selling parts Obi-Wan would make for much needed credits.

An avoidant, yet invisible partnership.

They were in control again.

Today was just like all of the other ones, blistering sun, wondering when they would have to cross paths again, blaming themselves for what happened with thoughts of “I should have done…” and “what I could have done…” skipping over and over again like a broken record. The Jedi was in town looking at parts while the former Senator was scavenging hidden gemstones on rocks a couple clicks away and would hike back for the evening.

All was well.

Until it was not.

The howling. The shadows obscuring the cloudless sky, then the high binary suns. The entire planet growing still. A sand storm. A bad one.

Obi-Wan immediately jumped in his speeder with hopes to return before it hit. Meanwhile, the woman was scrambling down the rocks and sprinted over the dunes in hopes she could make it back, but deep down she knew it may not be the case.

He sped. She ran.

By the time he returned to the little hut, he had made it just in time, only to see she was not there. Panic had struck within him, knowing she could be out there, out anywhere. Frantically looking around the hut, he noted the little colorful gemstones she had collected to sell sprawled about the corner she would avoid him in. Something within him immediately told him where he needed to go.

Meanwhile, the storm was gaining on her, and quick. She covered her thick, caf-colored curls with her cloak as she ran through the sand, the resistance and give in the steps she made making it that much harder to step forward. The howling grew closer and closer, louder, and louder, the burning of the sand infested wind through her cloaks grew more unbearable.

She kept going until it seemed to be impossible. Her arms and legs ached from walking against the wind, the sand pelted her face she blocked with her arm, and it seemed inevitable that she was stranded, stuck, alone. Her legs were ready to give out.

Maybe this was the best way to go. To finally say goodbye. She was too tired to carry on anyway.

But a shadow came into view through the dusty distance, a slight buzz of an engine and indecipherable yelling. Before she had time to even comprehend what was happening, she was being pulled into a speeder that drifted away. Lulling in and out of darkness, she observed the hooded being that saved her, noting it was not a sand person, it could not have been. As the vehicle stopped and she heard the muffled words hurry in the familiar Coruscanti accent she had loathed, she listened anyway.

He had saved her. Again.

He always seemed to be doing that.

Obi-Wan put his arm around her waist as he guided her back to their hut, the sand penetrating everything and blasting through the door as the swirls and howls of the gusts soaked everything around them.

Using the Force, he shut the door. In an instant it was almost silent save the faint whistles outside.

Both of them were tired, exhausted, panting, realizing this was the first time they had even touched each other since the day that changed the entire galaxy.

He was relieved yet she was fuming, also relieved, but mostly fuming.

It was an uncomfortable silence, one they did not know if they could handle any longer, but their limbs were too exhausted, and their skin burned from the sand.

“I would say ‘You’re welcome,’ but your anger tells me otherwise…” He murmured lightly, almost with a sarcastic tone.

The woman rolled her eyes, “Thank you… for the unsolicited psychiatric analysis of my emotions…” She responded in a snarky tone, staring in the omnipresent fire they have on their hearth.

Their exchanges of witty banter had always kept them on their toes, even more with six months’ worth of things unspoken on their tongues.

The Jedi raised his eyebrow as he lowered his hood , “I suppose someone is under… the weather,” he replied, crossing his arms.

“I don’t always need you to come to my rescue, you know…” She also removed her hood, the light gains of sand contrasting that of her hair.

He merely scoffed, “What was I supposed to do? Leave you for dead in the sand?”

The woman pursed her lips, “It would have been a poetic way to go… and at least it would have been my choice.”

I don’t like sand. It’s coarse, rough, irritating, and it gets everywhere.

“Sometimes we do not always make the right choices…” He trailed off, unable to finish his sentence, thinking of the past.

“Like the one where you and Master Yoda decided I would be stuck here with you?” She retorted bitterly, before finally crossing the tight quarters to hang her robe, where she’s wearing a sleeveless tunic and a long linen skirt.

The man sighed again. He was tired. But he could tell she was too. “Do you think I asked for this to happen? Do you think I wanted this to happen? You think I have not thought about what I could have done to save him every day? You think I don’t blame myself?”

“That’s not what…” She stopped herself, not knowing what to say.

“I know that is what you are thinking because I feel the words in your heart, and you have every right to be angry.”

“You think I did not see the signs, Obi-Wan? That I did not think something horrible was going to happen. You think I don’t blame myself? I blame myself every day! I want to fix this! I want to see my children! But I can’t because people made decisions without my consent.”

She was angry… Who could blame her?

“I miss him…” She whispered.

There was an eerie silence so sharp you could hear the wind singing songs outside.

“I miss him too…” He finally whispered back.

Finally… some common ground.

They were heartbroken. Coping with the betrayal. Grieving the loss. He was no more.

“I had it under control!” She had almost shouted. “Coming home in the storm. Just like I had it under control when I took my ship to Mustafar… If you hadn’t been there…” She turned away from him, unable to even look at him without tears falling down her face.

The man moved towards her, sensing the overwhelming sadness in her heart, “You would be dead…”

“What if I should be…” She whispered so quietly she did not realize that was what she had been feeling this whole time until the words escaped her mouth, and she could not take them back.

She had just revealed her soul to the man she could not stand.

A part of him broke when he heard her say such things, but he also understood a bit too much.

The words escaped him before he could stop himself, “Then I would have no one, nothing left…”

The woman turned around and looked into the broken man’s cold, blue eyes, brimming with tears as he looked down, but he knew she noticed. For the first time she realized how self-centered she had been. He, too, lost everything – Satine, his Master, the Jedi Order, Anakin, the Republic he also fought for, his Clones betrayed him, everything.

She stepped towards him and raised her hand to his cheek, which he found himself leaning into… Tears filled her eyes and fell down her sand coated cheeks.

This was the one time she was okay with swallowing her pride.

“Thank you.” She stated confidently.

Surprised by her profound statement he looked up at her and their eyes finally met, and it was at that moment they realized after losing everything around them, they were still here, despite everything.

Those two words somehow melted the ice between them. Suddenly the air seemed stuffy. Kenobi could not explain it, but he found himself kissing her palm.

“You are most certainly welcome.” Kenobi could not explain it, but he found himself kissing her palm again and again.

Padmé felt heat rush to her cheeks, but also between her thighs. However, she did not move her hand, but wanted to continue feeling his warm breath on her skin. She wanted to walk on that fine line of betraying whatever values they had left.

Then again, they were betrayed by so many people. So why the hell should it matter anyway?

He noticed this, and he kissed her palm again, his soft lips and the bristle from his beard tickling her hand and the sensation brought warmth through her entire body. She shivered beneath him, and he trailed along her hand and down her wrist, and down her arm and up to her shoulder, then her collarbone where he licked the crevice between her collarbone and neck, causing her to involuntarily gasp at the sensation.

Kenobi was teasing her, of this she was sure, but she could not get enough. Kisses traveled up her neck, causing her breaths to hitch and for her arms to reach behind his back and pull him closer to her, to feel him against her. An enamored chuckle escaped his throat has he continued to feel her under his lips, even covered in sand she was intoxicating.

He somehow walked forward, and she moved backward with him as he sucked her neck, moaning when he found the perfect spot.

Once her back hit the wall she realized she wanted him, right here and right now.

But all remnants of patience went out the window when his lips finally met hers and his teeth lightly bit her lower lip before his tongue brushed hers. They had been living in a desert and they were desperately parched. She feverishly untucked his shirt and undid his belt, hearing the thud of it and his lightsaber on the ground below. Under hitched breaths and hot, wet, messy kisses he removed her tunic and kissed her neck, her chest, the warmth of his lips and roughness of his beard traveling to her breasts as he sucked her, with a moan of reverie escaping her lips, her fingers in his long auburn hair.

His shirt came off between kisses, reveling his toned chest and abdomen, hair growing in all of the right places, and she took it all in, his face, his body, the overwhelming smell of him. And somehow, her skirt was discarded, and his pants undone, and like the storm, they could not hold themselves back

He had lifted her to him, her back to the wall her legs wrapped around his hips as he felt the wetness of her on his belly. They couldn’t even wait to go to the bed as he filled her, both filling the endless emptiness that was more expansive than the desert dunes – hips thrusting, hot kisses of desperation, nails digging, moans begging for more.

They rose and fell together.

Hidden and tucked away in the Outer Rim,

Sweat pouring like a much-needed rain shower,

Holding on to each other for their dear lives in ecstasy,

Moans harmonizing the whistles of the storm outside,

Because they were all they had left.

[lostwcrlds]

[vixlenxe]

Clear brilliant blues & greens across the endless expanses of the sky, colored hues of yellow & orange as the sun rose over the beauteous bounty of Etheirys. Stars retreated from sight, the sea kissed the paled sands of the land that witnessed the morning rising, the sounds of the waves licking at the pointed ears of those who rose so early to watch this moment. An average scene to be sure, the sun did rise & fall everyday, after all, but never had it lost it's charm, it's ability to bring a brief moment of stillness to even the most chaotic & energetic of lives. After a day of traveling & battling, an evening feasting & drinking, & a night of resting off the buzz of both tavern ale & the partakes of warm bodies, when morning comes it does with this peaceful serenity of old but never ending beauty.

As the sun rose higher & sky began to claim it's natural light blues once more, so to did the earth begin to reclaim it's sounds. Birdsong, the rustle of trees in the morning wind, other patrons of the near by inn waking & beginning their morning haunts. Life itself awaking once more, yet the two that sat at the sea side, having awoken earlier to see this sight, remained unmoving yet.

Twin blades set off to one's side, a large brush & paint pallet off to the side of the other's, both sat with one of their legs raised up to use as rests for their arms.

"... So..." One soon began to speak. "... Is this the adventure you imagined?"

A laugh from the other. "No, not quite..." A smile broke widely across their face, it put a puff in their cheeks. "... but I'm having so much fun regardless!"

"It's been prefect. Even without it being what I pictured."

"Heheh~ I knew you would enjoy it. You're a Quenderlain, adventuring is in your veins."

Laugher broke fast between them. What would be in store for them today? Treasure hunting? Ancient ruins exploring? A social call? Trying new cuisines from the locals? Or perhaps, they will simple take the day to rest? It was all in their hands.

As the laugher settled, & their minds wandered to today's possibilities, the all of it was broken with the crunching of sand beneath boots, footsteps approaching. Making both of the Quenderlains spin their heads to look at the approacher.

"Oh! It's you!"

"Good morning!"

Smiles reformed on their faces anew, springing up from their previously seated positions, snatching up their weapons in the process & slipping them into resting spots on their attire. Up & ready to go.

"Having fun yet?" Ever the playful one, Ivy planted her hand upon the other's shoulder as she approached, a friendly gesture with only warmth in her smile. Awaiting an answer with gusto & only broke into a higher brightness upon hearing it.

"So, adventurer..." With her new vigor for life, Tiffanie's playful smirk seemed to reflect her sister's own, as she too posed her own question. "... where to today?"

[silverwingborn-moved]

“Sever the Ties”

Drabble from Silver’s past, back when she was still alive on Earth and traveling with her Nephilim flock.

TW: violence, gaslighting, abuse, injury, blood, trauma

The lock clicked open, her hand turning the knob and pushing the door inward. Silver stepped inside her apartment, expelling an exhausted breath. Slinging her pack off and tossing it on the floor, she kicked the door closed behind her with a heel. Dancing her fingers along the wall she reached blindly for the light switch. What a stupid setup this place was. Who installs a light switch so far from the front door? Finally her fingers grazed the switch, flicking it upwards.

The entry way remained dark.

“What the hell?” Silver flipped the toggle up and down to test it wasn’t just faulty wiring. The damn light was out. Groaning with annoyance, the Nephil felt her way along the wall as she strode for the next switch in the living room. The dark curtains of her apartment windows were drawn, only the edges haloed by a thin light. Finding the standing lamp, Silver felt for the turn switch, but no light was produced. Her entire apartment was without power.

“Damn it, this is not my day!” Producing a silvery flame in the palm of her hand, it produced enough glow, much like a candle stick. The glow and flickering of the flame danced light upon her brunette hair and blue-grey eyes. Sure she could produce her own light source, but it was not ideal by any means. If it’s a fuse that’s blown, she’d have to call the landlord-

“You always like to play with fire.”

The deep, husky voice of a man alarmed Silver, spinning around as the flame in her palm exploded into a small inferno. It was swiftly snuffed out by a cold, deliberate gust, the sound of a large wing sweeping the air and then folding once more. Cast into darkness, Silver could only see his eyes glowing across the room. A honey golden hue that stared unblinking, unemotional back at her. The Nephil felt a rise of anger, balling her fists as she shouted at the intruder.

“Damnit Faller! I told you not to sneak up on me like that! Did you kill my power? Again?! Jesus, man, you did this at the last place. I had to pay out of my own pocket for the repairs.”

The pair of glowing eyes slowly blinked before the sound of Faller’s body rising from the couch could be heard. The furniture creaked and groaned, as if crying out in relief the large man had finally gotten off of it. His eyes now stared down at Silver from across the room, his form barely silhouetted in the dark. He stood a hulking 6’10”, a towering man compared to the 5’6” woman. In three strides Faller stood before Silver, the heat of his body radiating so close against her own that she knew he must be inches apart.

“I see you took a trip,” he spoke smoothly, ignoring her quips about the power. The female Nephil’s eyes darted quickly to the bag in the hall she’d slung off, then quickly back to her flock leader. It was pointless to lie.

“Y-yes. Just a short one. I-I was only gone several days.”

“I know. You’d packed essential things. It was obvious you had no plans to come back from a short excursion.” There was no malice in his tone, simply observant and stating the facts. Reaching a hand out, his long fingers brushed past her cheek to glide through her brunette locks. His radiant eyes narrowed and Silver thought she could make out a grin in the darkness of his face.

“I was worried about you. You’d left the safety of your hiding grounds without consulting me. Why is that, my dearest?”

Her fingers smoothed over the fabric of Faller’s shirt as he pressed himself against her. They’d been intimate like this a few times. The gentle caresses and feeling of his hot breath upon her skin fed a deep hunger in Silver. The need to be touched, to be held, to feel loved more than just another flock member. A yearning for a partner. Faller never went far with his physical endearment, but his words always dripped with honey and lavender. A sweet calm that made the rest of the world disappear if only for a couple breathes.

“I didn’t want to bother you. It was just a short excursion. Trust me, I won’t do it again.”

“Oh you never bother me with your honesty, my shining light. And you’ll always be honest with me, won’t you?”

Words caught in her throat as Faller dipped his head, pressing his forehead against hers. Silver stared deeply back into his eyes, her own wide and vulnerable. Between her legs she him move his knee, keeping them pinned in place. She was utterly at his mercy now. Her heart thudded rapidly, the flow of adrenaline fueling this new excitement. Silver craved this, and yet had the nagging doubt she didn’t deserve him. Faller was far superior and better than her in every way. Stronger, faster, skilled beyond his age, a leader that lead his flock with confidence. She was a mere songbird and he was the eagle.

“Our flock may be apart for now, until the threat of the angels has passed. But we are always going to be your family.”

“I-I know. I miss my family so much-“

A flicker of light flashed in Faller’s eyes, like distant lightning of an impending storm. His mouth parted into a grin, expression empathetic to her longing. The fingers in her hair remained, entangling further to support her at the back of her head. His free hand rubbed gently up her arm, past her shoulder and came to rest at the nape of neck. A finger lifted to trace the tattoo on the side of her neck, where the concealed lightning like scars hid beneath the ink. Silver gasped softly, feeling the familiar hot tingling of his “gift”, the spot hypersensitive now after his bite and magic transfer.

The leader chuckled deeply, amused with her reaction.

“I felt such pride the day I shared my gift with you. My belief it will make you stronger, to excel your powers potential. I chose you, and no one else. Our flock has only grown stronger since we welcomed you in. Embraced you without merit and loved you fiercely.”

His large hand lifted from the mark to lift her chin until their lips remained inches apart. In a low, whispered voice, he spoke.

“And you repay us with treason.”

Silver’s brow furrowed, confused by his accusation.

“What? No. No I haven’t-“

“Oh but you have, Arianell. You disobeyed our flocks rule.”

Excitement quickly melted into anxiousness and embarrassment. Faller never used her true name, not after she renamed herself as the right to leave her past behind. He knew she went back to her home? To see her mother?

“Faller, I-”

“When we took you in we made it clear that we are your family now. All that was would remain in the past. You made your choice. You agreed to the flocks terms. And now, you have risked everyone’s lives with your selfishness.”

“No! That’s not true!”

His large hand swiftly gripped her jaw, the honey golden hues glowing fiercely. In them she say a storm swiftly building. Silver was frozen with fear. There was no escaping from Faller, never. The songbird was in the eagles claws now.

“I ask for your honesty and you cannot even offer that? Something so simple, and yet you use your silver tongue to spin lies and deceit. You deceived the flock, Silver. You turned your back on us all not once, not twice, but three times!”

The female Nephil yelped as she felt Faller’s sharp claw like nails dig into her scalp, hair gripped painfully tight. Shaking her head only increased the pain, forcing her to remain still and unable to avoid his venomous stare. Her hands feebly pushed against his chest, pulled at the hand that gripped her jaw. It was like fighting a marble statue. Tears began to roll down Silver’s face, her eyes terrified and words pleading.

“I’m sorry! I-I didn’t mean to endanger anyone. I never intended to cause potential harm! I-I just wanted to see my mother again.”

Dark wings flared behind Faller, rippling with electricity, the air in the room dropping dangerously cold. The sparks rolled over his feathers like a thundercloud, casting him and Silver into a ominous flickering glow. The lightning scars upon her neck took on the same glow, sending out electric shocks painfully into her body.

“You refuse to sever the ties of your past to rise to a future, Silver. And in doing so you take your whole flocks lives into your hands. A traitor, a liar, and a deceiver to us all. The angels could have found you. Followed you back to our flock. And all you have to say for it is “sorry?”

“Faller stop! Y-you’re hurting me! It hurts!”

She felt a sharp pain in the side of her jaw as Faller’s sharp thumb claw like nail pierced her skin. The blood drawn was crimson, running down his thumb and over his hand.

“Will you endanger our flock again?”

“NO!”

“Will you continue to be a liar and dishonest to us?”

“I WON’T!”

“Will you sever the ties to your past that you’ve so foolishly held onto?”

“I…”

Fallers thumb slide down and under her jaw, stopping at her throat. Blood seeped and dripped freely down her neck and spattered on her clothing. Silver sobbed, unable to struggle away. Crying for help would do no good either. A human was nothing more than a meat sack to a Nephil’s strength and power.

“I WILL SEVER THE TIES! I-I WON’T SEE HER AGAIN! I WON’T GO BACK TO MY OLD LIFE!”

“Swear it. Swear it on your LIFE. Swear it to ME. To your FLOCK. To the FAMILY YOU CHOSE!

“I SWEAR! I S-SWEAR ON MY LIFE! IT BELONGS ONLY TO THE FLOCK. TO YOU. I SWEAR I WILL NEVER BREAK THE RULES AGAIN!”

He leaned in close until he could whisper in her ear, his words coiled with a lethal edge.

“You will uphold this promise. If not, I will defend this flock by all means necessary. May this mark serve as a reminder.”

Silver felt his hands and body leave her, allowing the woman to collapse to the floor. On her knees, she clutched at the blood that poured freely from the long gaping wound. She looked up fearfully at Faller as he loomed over her, his eyes narrowed and body standing stoically.

“I will come for you when it is safe again for our flock to reconvene. You will remain here and not leave the safety of this town again. Understood?”

“Y-yes flock leader…”

The rolling lightning over his wings began to brighten and intensify, snapping and crackling in the air of the room. The light fixtures flickered wildly around them.

“Fair flight and may Heaven never see you, Arianell.”

In a flash and rumble of thunder that shook the building, Faller was gone. All the lights in the apartment complex burst, the distant shouts of tenants filling the quiet building. Silver remained on the floor, clutching the open wound as she sobbed. Wracked with guilt and fear, the Nephil knew she could never see her mother again. This was the one and only warning she would receive. Her leader had given her a merciful second chance. She would not betray her flock again. The only family she had now…

[starsweepers]

                LITTLE ARMS CLUTCHED THE STUFFED ANIMAL.

          wet cheeks, shaking limbs. but her face was buried into the soft, welcoming sensation of the item. her sobs drowned into the white fur that slowly dampened. the day lingered on her mind, a stretching void of dark shapes that grabbed and shouted, their voices like screams grating against her mind. overwhelmed. she had been overwhelmed.

      brown depths had widened, CHOKED breaths, jerky movements. she couldn't get away she couldn't run. only her walker, and that wasn't enough to help her get going. four years old was not an age for fleeing. running was reserved for play and joy and games... and even those were out of h e r reach. because legs didn't move right, body didn't move right. dawn knew this already, understood she was never going to have those opportunities and experiences. she was okay with that, she was okay with herself, but that didn't mean everything was fine.

              how her father had had to grab her up. hold her close, trying to give her only one sound; the beating of his heart in his chest. pressing her against the soft folds of his shirt, other hand about her head, attempting to dim to cacophony, attempting to protect her from the fervent crowd that demanded his attention. his fame, his status. they didn't pay mind to the child, to the little girl, to the wailing that she relented as panic gripped her. stiffened, frozen, there was n o t h i n g she could do but be consumed in the chaos. until her father had swept her away, he freed her from it all, and then just held her in a silence far away. rocked her. waited for her to come back from everything. grounded her. her hero.

      but little dawn. oh. bravery was what she tried now. struggle. because she was already a lot of work, right? she was already ( unable... disabled... the people said that a lot around her. she couldn't she couldn't she couldn't ). don't be another burden on her family, her parents, she couldn't she couldn't she couldn't. be tough like her sister, like her mother. like her father; pushing away the crowds, she could push away the fear, the hauntings, the shadows. MEMORIES. played on repeat. too much.

                but her little heard was known too well. night light spun stars on her ceiling, a little tinkering song lulled an attempt for her to sleep, but she squirmed and squirmed and clutched that little toy. until the door cracked and there he was, gentle for a giant. her father swept her back into his arms, those arms, and he lay with her on the bed. her and the stuffed dog - frufru. he kept them both near, he hummed, he rubbed her back, large hand barely having to shift. she hiccuped.

       breath slowed, heart stopped its dance. little girl curled, half clutching him, half chewing her fingers. hiccup. a little sob, releasing the weight still lingering on her chest. but it was okay, it was okay, and her father assured her. over and over and over.

            there was no need for bravery, there was no need for fear. not there, at least. all she needed, all she held... was love. and dawn CLUNG to it. to him. the monsters of her fear, of being overwhelmed, of being incapable... they were small in comparison to him, to the love that bound. for the first time all day, though the moon hung high as one of the only visible lights in a los angeles sky... she felt the sun.

[starrspice]

Is there a story that goes along with the cupid au?

If you're asking if theres a fanfic to go along with it I'm afraid not

(If someone wants to write one I will literally die of happiness)

BUT i do have an idea for a complete story for the Cherub AU

[fightingthetides]

'small things' (for Yamamoto)

[Original] ||Accepting|| @squaletta From a meme tag in my other blog

Readmore because it got long (~2k) because I went with actual canon scenes.

For Yamamoto, it wasn’t very accurate to say that he’d think any memories he had with others were insignificant, as he simply treasured any moment he spent with his friends and family. What could be said was that there were some memories that became something like a ‘core memory’ for one reason or another. Just a memory that he falls back to every once in a while to remember how things began.

Speaking of that, of course the most important memory is how he’d first met Squaletta. Initially, it was just a regular day out with the guys, in the shopping district. Okay, maybe it wasn’t so average, considering they skipped school that Sunday to hang out with friends instead. It was just prep day, so it’s no big deal. Basil came crashing in (literally) into Tsuna and there she was, Squaletta.

He can remember the chaos in the moment with people screaming and debris flying everywhere as she was causing a fuss with her attacks. Honestly, Basil was quite the guy to have gotten that far with Squaletta hot on his tail. He may have lost the rings in the end, but the fact that he managed to keep his life was impressive enough.

Gokudera and Yamamoto teamed up together when Squaletta approached Tsuna, asking about the relation she had with Basil. Maybe for Gokudera it was mostly his sense of duty for protecting his ‘boss,’ but at the time Yamamoto had moved because of his sense of camaraderie. He viewed Tsuna as a respectable friend. He didn’t have an instilled sense of her being his ‘boss’ or anything yet. The mafia business just felt like… yeah, a game.

Don’t get him wrong, games were important to him. He took each game very seriously, but a game of mafia was secondary to the wellbeing of his friends, that’s where he and Gokudera mostly differed.

Just when he felt concerned for Tsuna, he felt his bat at his side, like some trusty sidekick that could be summoned at will. Funny, right? Even if he’d seen first hand how capable Squaletta was (the destruction in her wake was telling enough, after all), he wasn’t a true swordsman by any means. He had an instinctual aversion to hurting someone with the blade.

He didn’t have the guts to seriously hurt, much less kill someone with the blade. He didn’t think about it at the moment, but there was a part of him that held back because Squaletta was a woman. What if he could overpower her and hurt her?

A stupid and conceited thought to have considering that Squaletta defeated Gokudera and him without breaking a sweat. He can still remember the rebuke they both got from Reborn after everything was finished with Dino’s intervention:

“At the level you’re fighting at right now, you’ll be nothing but a bother. You two can go home.”

“Especially you, don’t think yourself so highly and accomplished to think you can look down on a swordswoman for something so arbitrary like her gender. That woman is a master at her craft and should be respected as such.”

Man, the kiddo always knows how to knock some sense into you with some harsh words, but he needed to hear it! After being defeated so one-sidedly, it ignited a spark of competition and vengeance that he didn’t know was possible for him if the subject wasn’t baseball.

If this woman was a master at her craft, then the only way for him to get his revenge match would be to study a craft himself, and he knew just who to talk to. The Asari dojo was finally going to welcome him within her walls as a student even though he’d rejected her for years in lieu of baseball.

(ref: ch. 82-84)

-

“We are the Cervello Organization, a branch of the Millefiore. No more and no less.” Weird how these women look the same as the ones that oversaw the Ring battles between Vongola 10 and the Varia. Yamamoto vaguely recalls at the time wondering if they were all clones or something.

“The Cervello… of the Millefiore?” “Screw this! Whoever you are, you’re blatantly on the enemies side!”

Leave it to Gokudera to start firing off verbally. The one who is brave enough to speak his mind where others may hesitate or not be able to see the issue regarding bias.

“Oh, no, they will judge fairly. It’s their specialty. Indeed, surely it is you who are not following the rules of fair play?”

It was Kikyo who spoke next to build off Byakuran’s statement, “I feel obliged to congratulate the individual in question for her impressive ability to conceal 99.99% of her bloodthirsty presence… but faint though it may be, I can still sense the remaining .001% there is somebody hidden in that base unit of yours.”

That’s when Squaletta emerged from the base. She had hidden herself in there so well that none of the others had noticed her there. “The heck! So you showed up!” Yamamoto smiles at the discovery.

Varia-quality indeed, being able to hide 99.99% of her bloodthirsty presence. Though, that Kikyo guy was also impressive to even pick up on that.

“Don’t get me wrong, ya piece of trash! I just snuck in in the hope of causing a bit of madness and mayhem.”

“Hahaha”

That’s what he can expect from her. Secretly, he’d been pretty disappointed that she couldn’t be around to witness the battle. She’d spent her time training him so that he’d be ready for battle and it was a shame that she couldn’t watch over him—but here she is!

“The thing holding you back is the fact you’ve never fully embraced the sword.” “Never fully embraced the sword?” “The you I knew in this era was the same way.” The two were camping out in the woods to train in seclusion. The fish that Squaletta had caught while on the fishing boat was being grilled over an open fire. Yamamoto felt that it was almost like having a camping trip, but he kept those thoughts to himself. “It always pissed me off… but I accepted it as part of who you were.” “What…what are you talking about?” Yamamoto did have a hunch as to what she was talking about, but it was a difficult topic for him and he almost wanted to avoid it. Would he be able to discard baseball forever in order to focus on the blade, or would he choose to remain focused on both, not giving either one his full attention and efforts? Of course, giving up on the blade wasn’t an option. “If you really want to become strong, there’s just one thing you have to do! Baseball or the blade. You have to choose one.” The gravity of her tone was too much for Yamamoto to dismiss it easily with a laugh, his usual go to knee-jerk response. He’s silent before he cracks a small joke when the awkward air hung too heavy on his shoulders. “What are you, my career counselor?” “I know you have the talent to handle both at once! But the blade isn’t something you ‘handle,’ it’s something you stake everything on!” Squaletta hopped onto her feet to scream these words at him. Yamamoto goes silent again, watching her from past the fire. Slowly, a smile shows up on his face, “Then the answer’s obvious. I’ll devote myself to the blade.” He grabs his blade that was sitting beside him and holds it close to him. “You know, when I fought Genkishi, I felt confident that I could win… that I’d take him down, and we’d all go back home to the past…” he remembers the pain of running full force into a wall, damaging his skull. The memory causes him to wince, “But the difference in power was just crazy, he slaughtered me. As my consciousness faded away, I found myself overcome with regret… that I hadn’t taken the blade seriously enough that I’d brought shame upon the name of my Old man’s Shigure Souenryuu… and most of all... that I hadn’t done the best I possibly could for the sake of my pals.” It wasn’t often, but Yamamoto was opening up about the thoughts he always kept hidden deep inside. He usually opted to keep his thoughts to himself, and wallow in his thoughts when alone, but he felt that perhaps Squaletta would understand him, or at least understand the feelings of regret he had at the time. Perhaps that’s why she went silent and listened to him speak. “I don’t ever want to feel that way again. But you know what, It’s strange-“ he lays down against the log that he was sitting on earlier. “Now that I’ve decided to focus on the blade alone, suddenly it’s like a huge weight’s fallen off my shoulders.” “So you were letting that get to you, huh…” That was her sole comment for him. “Still, it’s kind of sad… forgetting all about baseball, even if it’s just for a while.” He smiles, knowing that she was going to scream at him the moment she registers that Yamamoto was going to focus on the blade solely for a temporary moment. “OI!!!”

Looks like she’ll get to see the fruits of their training after all.

(ref: ch. 243 & 246)

-

Yamamoto was awake, staring up at the ceiling. He was alive, well… if you can call it that. He kept fading in and out of consciousness. He’d lost a lot of blood and the shock of being betrayed by a friend was something he needed to wrap his mind around.

Whenever his mind was awake, it wasn’t for long, with how much drugs were in his system at the moment. The doctors did everything that they could in order to keep him alive. His condition was severe, and the doctors were sure that there was a higher chance that he’d never be able to walk again.

He could only hear bits and pieces of what was going on around him, but he wasn’t sure what parts actually happened, and what may have been caused by the delirium of all the drugs and adrenaline in his body.

Maybe some of what he ‘remembered then’ was a figment of his imagination.

He can remember feeling the presence of his father being by his bedside, his hand shaking with nervousness. They’d already lost his mother, and his Old man wouldn’t be able to handle losing him as well. If nothing else, he had to pull through for his Old man.

He had a few visitors who came by to visit and drop by small get-well gifts.

It may have been a fever dream, but he can remember his father reading off a message Yamamoto received. He couldn’t understand it at the time, but he later found out from the others that Chrome was tasked with making an illusionary version of him to take his place during some ceremony. He wished he could’ve been there for Tsuna and the rest of them—but… what can you do when you were fighting for your life?

Not sure how much of a life he could’ve had if his prospects was that he wouldn’t be able to walk. He’d have to effectively lose both his dreams of playing baseball and being a swordsman forever.

Apparently, Dino and Squaletta had both noticed the fake instantly and asked for details. Squaletta had sent a message off during the ceremony that he’d better work hard to recover. Someone of his caliber shouldn’t listen to some lame doctor who says there’s a ‘good chance’ he’ll never walk again. Unless his legs are chopped off, he better find a way to make them move or she’ll render his useless herself.

Harsh words, but so like her.

At least, that’s what he THINKS he remembers.

Luckily, someone came by to heal him back to new, so he could rush off to go be with his friends. He also wanted to clear the air with his misguided buddy.

(Inspo ch.295)

[reflective-muses]

drabble: happy birthday, kaveh!

The day was like any other.  Kaveh woke up, got dressed and ready for the day, had breakfast with Alhaitham and then got to work on drafts that needed to be revised.

He had almost forgotten it was his birthday, but it was fine.  His birthdays no longer held the same excitement as they did when he was a child.  They felt more melancholy now.

When he was little, Kaveh would run up to his father who picked him up and kissed his cheek with a wide smile.  His father would wish him a Happy Birthday, saying it was a very special day because that was the day their family became whole.  Him, his papa and his mama.

A happy, whole, little family.

After dinner, his mama and papa would bring out a cake and Kaveh would blow out the candles!  He’d try to do it in one breath, and was told to make a wish.  There wasn’t much that Kaveh wanted for when he was a child, so he would always wish for their family to be happy.

Kaveh wasn’t sure when he had zoned out, but a hand on his shoulder brought him back.  He looked up to see Alhaitham, a forever constant in his life in one way or another, and took the cup of coffee he offered.

“We have visitors,” Alhaitham told him and ushered Kaveh to the living room.

The front door opened and three grinning faces joined them in their home with well wishes and gifts.  “Happy birthday, Kaveh!!”  “Happy birthday, Mr. Kaveh!”

Kaveh met their friends with a warm smile and joined them on the divans for a small, impromptu party.

Tighnari had gifted him a succulent–a low maintenance plant for his office to brighten up the area.

Cyno had, of course, gifted him something TCG related–a custom made Casket of Tomes; it was a beautiful red with gold and white patterns painted onto it.

Collie had sewn him a little desert fox plush to go with the plant on his desk.

And Alhaitham… He had found a fairy tale book about the aranara, one Kaveh had only mentioned a few times that his father would read to him as a child.  Kaveh stared at Alhaitham as he took the book and held it close to his chest.

“How did you…?” Kaveh started.

“I don’t ignore you when you speak.  Is that what you thought?”

“No, I just…  Thank you, Alhaitham,” Kaveh smiled, “Thank you, everyone.  I love everything.”

“We’re not done yet, Mr. Kaveh!” Collie chirped as she set a cake on the table, “No birthday is complete without cake, right?”

“Heheh… Right.”

Kaveh wasn’t alone anymore.  He still had a family–a found family with cherished friends.

A happy, whole, little family.

Maybe his birthday wasn’t so bad, after all.

[bhaalborn]

the nature of platonic intimacy with ulysses in a snapshot/drabble

only one of you is facing the fire-warmth crackling intermittently in the center of camp and it is ul, bent over a crude wooden shape that they clumsily whittle away at with a thumb-length blade. you yourself are facing away, black-scaled tail flopped over your lap as you run a damp cloth over the grime that has accumulated over your days of travel in lieu of a bath ( the temperatures are below freezing and ulysses states they'd rather die than subject their extremities to such cruelty ). algae and muck, from wading through gaseous swamps as well as caked dust, from your underground adventure in the dank crypt. there are moments where you have to manhandled the appendage into stillness when ulysses unconsciously gives a frustrated flick of their tail but otherwise it is peaceful, meticulous work.

ulysses stares at the lumpy wooden cylinder in their hand with a single-minded determination you've only seen on them when you're facing a particularly troublesome foe, and the night passes under a sky of stars and with the repetitive scrape of wood.

but then ul makes a noise of discomfort and you stop your ministrations, worried you may have scrubbed to roughly, when you see spittle of red staining their otherwise spotless blade, thumb and forefinger rubbing together hurriedly to soothe the neat slice splitting their finger.

" did you nick yourself? "

" . . . a bit. "

" here, let me see. "

[iinexorabile]

smth smth, this blogs muses have a main connected universe via their fandomless au's

[neo-shitty]

✍️.

[chillin-at-partys-bar]

pertaining to this thread with @ravarui

He was still numb. His hand still coated in the blood from his act of complete betrayal of the highest order. His bicep had stopped bleeding on its own accord, useful as he had no intention of attending to the wound himself. If he died, he couldn’t be used like this anymore. But then again, it was because he lived that the other had yet to follow through on his threat.

The man’s back was to him. An arrogant show of faith considering what had just transpired. But the man had no faith in a pirate. No faith in Benn. Not in a million lifetimes.

What Fleet Admiral Sakazuki had faith in was that Benn’s blind, misplaced devotion to his captain outweighed any desire to help himself. Pirates weren’t complicated.

“So. You did as requested?”

“Aye.”

The disrespect from the pirate was astounding.

“Yes. Sir.” The correction seethed through Sakazuki’s gritted teeth, the man unsure if he was more infuriated that he had to give a lesson in manners to a pirate or that the pirate was still breathing. Wasting precious air on such rot and filth.

Benn was silent.

“Yes. Sir.”

“I heard you.”

Sakazuki finally turned slowly, putting every bit of disgust and disdain in his glare as he could. This man had been a part of the crew that had poisoned the mind of Monkey D. Garp’s grandchild. He actively encouraged children to become pirates. Tainted the minds of the innocent and continued his day as though it didn’t make them the scum of humanity.

No. Not humanity. Pirates never had that.

“Listen here, pirate.” The last word was spat like a swear. “I give the command and the Red Hair Pirates are wiped from the face of the Earth like they deserve. And you’re here acting like a smartass?” His hands came down hard on his desk. Benn Beckman didn’t so much as flinch. And it made Sakazuki angrier. The man held no fear of him when he absolutely should. “Do. Not. TEST. Me.”

He wanted nothing more than to wipe the blank expression off of his face. “Is that clear enough for you?”

“Yes, sir.”

Despite the stoic expression, despite the lack of emotion, the yeilding words were proof at least to Sakazuki that the pirate did hold some reverence towards what could happen. Would happen should he so much as twitch wrong.

“Good.” Even that little word of praise towards a pirate got at his very core. He couldn’t believe he had made a deal with a pirate. But with the command Shanks had, with his connections, with the damn respect he held from Sakazuki’s own colleagues, taking that crew out suddenly wasn’t an option. Weakening them though. Destabilizing them. Crumbling them from the inside. That was an option.

And through that he would also get this man. A disposable, powerful tool who would obey or suffer consequences unimaginable. Could be useful given the upcoming times.

“No harm will befall them as long as you listen to us. You’re mine now, understand?”

There was silence. Sakazuki felt his hand beginning to melt into magma. He’d about had it with-

“Yes, sir.”

He didn’t bother solidifying his arm entirely. He wanted the room to heat up. To get uncomfortably hot. He wanted to see the sweat beading on the pirate’s hairline, dripping down his cheek and off his chin. He wanted to remind the other in no uncertain terms who he was addressing. A man who fought to get where he was and who would exterminate any and all threats to justice in his world.

“Until your next task, we have a cozy spot for you.”

With the slightest glance he signaled for the two Marines who had been flanking the doorway to come forward. They grabbed Benn’s arms, forcing them behind his back. The wound reopened. Chains were used as though Benn’s actions weren’t restrained enough by the threat to annihilate the Red Hair Pirates.

“Sit tight, Benn Beckman. Remember our deal.”

The next thing he knew, after forced movements, gasped whispers, and awed gazes at the former first mate in chains, he was sitting in a cell. They’d stitched up his wound, offering nothing to dull the pain. But that was fine. He wanted to feel it.

His cell was on the sixth layer of Impel Down. Secluded, silent. Dark, damp. His arms were chained above him, his back against the cold wall. Clamps around his ankles kept them from moving much. He hadn’t been given enough slack to stand or shift position. All he could do was sit and wait.

“Akainu said if he somehow survives till next month, he’ll execute this one himself.” It was a whispered rumor from a guard that Benn pretended to ignore.

The whole time he could only think: I really need a smoke right now.

It was only when he was completely alone, nothing but the hard stone and unforgiving chains to keep him company, that his emotions finally caught up with him. He’d had everything he could ever want or need: a family, friends, people who loved him and who he loved back. A purpose: his captain’s frivolous and exciting whims. Freedom to say or act how he pleased. To drink and get shitfaced or quietly read and exist in his own world until Shanks, the noble, deeply empathetic man he’d vowed everything to, pulled him along to their next adventure.

The things he’d said to them. The blade and bullets he’d used. All he could do was pray an empty prayer to whoever still was taking calls from him that Yasopp had survived. That Shanks had survived. That all the damage as he had planned, that he had caused, had been strictly superficial. That it had been enough for them to know he was serious, not enough for the consequences towards them to be so.

And so with nothing else to be done, he wept.

[idolsummons]

drabble prompt for cuties of your choice: 041. a train on its way to its destination, a sleeping passenger resting on a shoulder .

joke's on u ren and kal time ･ﾟ✫ @discipulusmaleficus

They were both stressed. And tired. Ren, burning the candle at both ends and then somehow a little in between, balancing his day job as a barista and weekend job as a musician along with creating new music; Kal with... whatever it was Kal did. He still wasn't really sure. It seemed better that he didn't pry. And so it was the reason they had gotten out of the city for the day. There was much more of Japan to see than Tokyo, Ren had told him, and so had taken the train out to a small town Ren was quite fond of, with a quaint little cafe with the nicest coffee Ren's ever had and the cutest looking cakes, shops with various trinkets that had probably be sitting on the shelves since time immemorial, and an opportunity shop which Ren had been meaning to visit again lately (and might have been a little of his motivation for going out that day). It wasn't the most exciting thing the country had to show, but the slow pace and quiet nature of the town was much different to the hustle and bustle of the city. On their way back to Tokyo and in the peak hour, they were barely able to get a seat on the train, snapping up two seats opposite each other by the window, their neighbours being a young woman scrolling through her phone and a middle-aged businessman who seemed to be having difficulty keeping his eyes open. No words were exchanged between one another lest they disturb the peace of the train, silent other than the sound of the train running along the tracks. It wasn't long before Kal felt a gentle thud on his shoulder and would hear the stifled laugh of Ren, who covered his mouth and went back to looking out the window, though in its reflection was able to see well enough the now sleeping businessman and the scowl on Kal's face. It would be fun, he decided, to see how long Kal was able to put up with the head on his shoulder or if he would somehow act to put an end to it, or if he would allow the man rest until they finally got back into Tokyo... Ren would bet good money on it not being the latter.

[dullweapons]

tag dump ( ray )

⸻  RAY  :  in character   ✦   i am a weapon & weapons don’t weep  ˎˊ˗

⸻  RAY  :  answered   ✦   i keep everything i get  ˎˊ˗

⸻  RAY  :  visage   ✦   rusted cracked & broken : but still standing  ˎˊ˗

⸻  RAY  :  about   ✦   remember me i ask . remember me i sing  ˎˊ˗

⸻  RAY  :  dash games  ✦   lets gamble  ˎˊ˗

⸻  RAY  :  muse  ✦   you live for feelings you never felt because you cannot feel  ˎˊ˗

⸻  RAY  :  dash comm.  ✦   do i look conveniently human ?  ˎˊ˗

⸻  RAY  :  aesthetics  ✦   i’m afraid i'll go to heaven  ˎˊ˗

⸻  RAY  :  music   ✦  i miss the rage  ˎˊ˗

⸻  RAY  :  clothing  ✦  nothing gets the blood stains out of your soul  ˎˊ˗

⸻  RAY  :  drabble  ✦   its written in dead tongues  ˎˊ˗

⸻  RAY  :  crack  ✦   we got a number one victory royale  ˎˊ˗

⸻  RAY  :  desires  ✦   i’m starving’ darlin’ let me wrap my teeth around the world  ˎˊ˗

⸻  RAY  :  smut   ✦ we're plotting our demise of perspiration & alcohol as i introduce the bedroom brawl   ˎˊ˗

⸻  RAY  :  one liners   ✦   not a man of many words but of actions  ˎˊ˗

[sunhalf]

*  sans is sparing you.

Sans has spared you eleven times now.  As you did last time, you stumble into his arms —— stumble is over - generous.  Your left arm is broken and your right leg is fractured and everything hurts.  You all but collapse against him.

* i don’t know why you keep doin’ this.

You don’t have time to be surprised — it’s the first time he’s said anything other than get dunked on — before you are impaled again.  Two through your hips.  One through your throat.  Three through your stomach.  You don’t have time to scream, as you did not the first ten times you died like this.

It’s quiet, then.  The fallen reaches to reload — you struggle, but you can’t stop them.  It takes all of your effort just to wrench control of your body in the hall from Chara’s hands, but you’re still helpless.  Not strong enough to reset or stop the other from reloading.  Just barely strong enough to keep letting yourself die.

They reload, and you feel it — less than a heartbeat.  Less than a millisecond.  Your body pulling back to stand at the end of the hall, your gore and guts reforming in your stomach.  The scar’s still there, but you’re not spattered across the floor anymore.

* that expression that you're wearing...

You can feel yourself crying, shoulders shuddering, mouth twisting.  You want to drop the knife.  You can feel chara’s fingers around your own, gripping tight, refusing to allow you to let go.

* well, i won't grace it with a description.

Your body dashes at him — you rip and fight and try to wrench it back.  The fallen giggles, shrill and cruel inside your head.

Your body speaks their words:  ' It’s not your body anymore. '

Sans doesn’t ask.  He just dodges, like he always does, and Chara jumps your body back to avoid one of his attacks.  You don’t have to worry about hitting him; you know you can’t.  You just need to keep dying.  You just need to keep getting killed. 

' You’re pathetic! Stop trying to stop me.  We came this far. '

You try to crawl into your mouth — take back control of it.  Say something.  Chara’s answering laugh fills the room.

' It is kinda fun to watch you die, though! '

This time, they don’t make you dodge, and the blaster turns you to ashes.

When you come back, Sans isn’t smiling.

* sure wish i could be part of your conversation, kid.

He doesn’t give you a chance to attack; Chara barely keeps you from being torn apart.  You manage to avoid being impaled, and instead the weapon clips your left side; your shoulder and elbow both shatter.  The scream you let out is yours, not theirs.  They tighten your body’s grip around the knife.

*  it sounds pretty...one - sided.

Chara says nothing, and you still can’t.  You dodge, and so does he.

*  sans is sparing you.

Chara laughs — says something about watching you both writhe — but doesn’t stop you when you force yourself back into your body.  You march unceremoniously into his arms, your blood smearing on his jacket; it turns the blue navy and then black.  The knife falls, and you curl the fingers of your good hand into his jacket — he embraces you.  It almost feels real.

"I’m s - sorry," you say.  You.  Your mouth, your words.  "I’m s - so sorry."

You see his eyes go wide as you die again.

When you come back, he’s grinning, and so is Chara.

* that expression that you're wearing...which one of you is that?

Chara’s eyes go wide, but then the smile only stretches, tight, across your mouth.  

' It’s just me, Sans. '

* i have a hard time believin’ that.

Suddenly your body is bent low and you’re throwing yourself at him, knife in hands.  He dodges like it’s easy.  When he attacks, your left eyes is rendered useless.  That’s okay.  That’s okay.  

"I’m not gonna let you progress," you manage to bite out, Chara distracted with throwing your body at the skeleton.  The knife misses.  Good.  Good.  Sans looks to you, confused for a heartbeat, but you weren’t talking to him.

' Try and stop me. '

The next time you hug Sans, he holds you a moment longer.

* what the hell are you doing?

"Stopping them ———"

Chara laughs, the sound bouncing around within your skull as the bones go through the stomach.

Your hands reform around the knife when you pull back to your save.  ' You’ve always been weak, Frisk. '

* is that why you’re here?  to take care of them?

San’s words are mocking and harsh.  Chara laughs.  You hate the sound of their laugh in your mouth.  You hate the feel of their self in your skin.  You can't hate Chara but you hate this.

' They’re so pathetic and weak.  Someone needed to keep them safe. '  You feel their smile widen, eyes half - lidding in condescension.  You don’t want that kind of look on your face.  ' After all, you weren’t doing it. '

Sans doesn’t stiffen; he just throws another attack at you that they scarcely manage to avoid.

' I mean, they wouldn’t have been desperate enough to listen to me, ' Chara continues, wiping blood from their mouth, ' if every monster in the underground wasn’t trying to hurt them while they were all alone.  Maybe if someone had protected them, they wouldn’t have needed me. '

You had been so alone, and afraid, and overwhelmed.  Chara was cruel and mocked you, but they protected you, too.  They said that they could keep you safe.  They said that the monsters would hurt you — that you had to protect yourself.  They’d held your hand and called you lonely / sad / worth protecting.  Only they could keep you safe.  Only they would ever want to.

In the end, they were right. The monsters did hurt you. Over and over. Chara was the only thing that kept you anything like safe. You hadn't realized that they'd do this.

' You all left a little kid all on their own, knowing what monsters would do to them.  Knowing that they’d hurt them.  Knowing that they’d die.  Every monster in the ruin...Snowdrake... All of them.  Even your pathetic brother. '

They don’t even try to dodge the attack that follows; it’s your turn, but Sans has been breaking the rules for ages.  It knocks their body (  your body, you remind yourself  ) back onto the ground — you skid to a stop, dragging blood and a freshly broken arm behind you.

' Each of... ' Chara hacks out, voice low and strained with hurt, but still smiling, ' Each of you — failed Frisk.  Each of you deserved this.  And especially you. '

You close your eyes when Sans kills you.  You keep them closed even as you feel your body being rebuilt once more.

* genocide’s your answer, huh?  ‘cause we didn’t protect your meat puppet?

It isn’t!  It isn’t, you try to shout, but Shara doesn’t let you have that.  Chara’s fingernails bite into the skin of your right arm, the pain thrumming through both of you.

' We died a hundred times and you didn’t help us.  I thought it was just humanity that would be monstrous enough to hurt a child.  I thought it was just humanity that would stand by and let a child suffer — ' they snarl.  Some of the mockery’s gone out of their voice; something aching and miserable replaces it, years of suffering shattering against your skin.  This creature that has stolen your flesh and turned you into a murderer is — like you, like YOU. A hopeless, aching, miserable child. A child who wanted to save you from being the same.  Turned you into a ghost within your own broken body to do it.  Chara can’t hide everything from you, not while they exist inside you.  They tried.  But you know some.  You know that they hate humans because humans hurt them.  You know that they harmed humans because humans harmed them first.  It isn’t right, but — you think of Mommy and Daddy.  There are moments where your understand.

' But no, ' the fallen continues.  Your mouth / their pain.  Their cruelty, their love for you.  Their voice / your voice rises in time with their rage, higher and louder and sharper.  ' All of you are corrupt.  All of you deserve to die.  Mo — Toriel is the only person who even tried to keep us safe, AND SHE STILL HURT US! '

The cut off of their voice (  your voice!!  ) is abrupt and harsh.  Your body’s chest heaves.  Sans doesn’t speak — his face unreadable, eye sparking bright.  Chara presses your hand to their face; you feel their smile, shuddering, steal across your lips as their eyes go wide and distant.  Your hand drops, shoulders back; body loose.

' Enough of this, ' Chara hisses, still smiling, a laugh unsteady and sick in their (  your  ) mouth.  ' Let’s play, comedian! '

You don’t hit Sans.  He doesn’t hit you.

*  sans is sparing you.

You take a step towards him — again.  Like the last Sixteen times.  Sixteen?  You think.  But Chara wrenches you back; you feel the surprise reflect upon your face for a half - moment before your body’s expression belongs to them.

' I said enough! '

No!  You scream; Chara’s surprised, you think, when you fight back harder.  When you push yourself further, begging, determination and anger sparking in your chest.  If you progress past this, you might kill Sans.  You won’t kill Sans.  You won’t let them use your hands to kill Sans.

"This is my body!" you growl, tears pouring from your eyes.  You force a step nearer; they resist, they hate you, but with the next step they weaken.  Then the next.  Then the next.

Sans holds you tighter than the last time.  You stiffen, waiting for the violence and the blood and the now - familiar sensation of your organs spilling out of you.  You can only wince when, instead, you’re met with a skeletal hand gently...Patting your head.  Comforting.  Almost affectionate.  You can feel Chara’s surprise beside your own.

* you know what, kiddo?  you’re right.

Your shoulders buckle; your grip in his clothes tighten.  You are suddenly aware of the tears rolling down your face as the hand moves from your head to rub slow circles into your back.  God.  God, you miss him.

* we shoulda — i shoulda taken better care of you.

Chara’s surprise in your mind is short lived; you feel the grin, and the cruelty, the fear, the bone - deep unfamiliarity with kindness.  Punish him, they hiss within you.  Punish him for letting you hurt.  Punish him for all the hurt he caused us.

You don’t.  Chara wrenches for control, but you’ve always been strong like this.  Loving and being loved.

* I’m gonna give you mercy, ok?

"I’m s - sorry," you sob.  "S - Sans, I never — m - meant to ———"

* I know, kid.

His grip on you tightens.  Your eyes go wide.  His voice is very soft when he speaks.

* Don’t waste this.

You’re too surprised to flinch or scream when he murders you again.  Your vision fails, goes blurry, as the bones punch out your organs and force you upwards.  You stare down at him, fading and shaking, your blood spilling, and past his smile his eyes are — pleading.  Pleading?

Then you’re gone; it’s black and dark and.  Chara doesn’t push to reload.  Chara is too surprised / angry / hurt.  Chara is —

Don’t waste this.

You hear Chara scream as you throw your hand out, but it’s too late for them to stop you.  

RESET.

——— The flowers are warm.