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songfell-ut · 4 years

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Chapter 10, one month in!

Man, I might actually finish this. Link here and @lostmypotatoes remains great.

This one mostly features Frisk having enough of everyone’s shit.

When Sans had composed himself enough to leave the wallpaper behind, he found Dr. Serif double-checking the paperwork while Frisk rustled around in her dressing room. As soon as she emerged in her black dress, the doctor said, "I have a request, Sans. When you escort Snowdrake home, I'd like you to stay in human form. Two monsters going anywhere without an owner will attract too much attention, especially near the border, and we should see whether your disguise can fool another monster. Do you think you can masquerade as a human who is using Sans' magic?"

Sans didn't like the idea – in fact, he completely hated it – but he was in the mood to think before he spoke, and the more he did, the more it made sense. "Yeah, I guess. If I told 'im who I was, he'd probably think I'd been brainwashed or somethin'. Everyone would be weird about it when I got home."

"Exactly." The royal sorcerer rolled the papers back up and placed the scroll on the edge of the table. "Does Sans need to bring the deed to the house with him in case he's questioned, my lady?"

"No, I've written a note and put my seal on it. Here's a map with the house marked, and I also have an insignia he can carry." The priestess went to a little nook by the fireplace, glanced at herself in the mirror, and opened a drawer full of odds and ends. "Where is...ah." Frisk pulled out a leather armband. "This will identify you as the High Priestess' personal agent. I don't use it often, but anyone you speak to should recognize it."

Sans had retrieved his silver chain from the bedroom. He looped it around his neck, put the smaller items in his overcoat, and accepted the armband, admiring the patterns of tiny white and red crystals worked into the leather. "Spiffy. So, if anyone asks me who I am an' where I'm takin' Snowdrake, I can tell 'em to shove it?"

"You will not tell anyone to shove it." He winced at her tone—yep, she was still mad at him. "Furthermore, please remember your fortune. No matter what happens, unless it is absolutely the only way to keep yourself and Snowdrake safe, I don't want you to kill anyone." She swept an errant lock of hair behind her ear, voice softening. "Please, Sans."

The boss monster's SOUL fluttered. He looked down at the armband, which was more of a wristband at his human size. "Fine," he said, trying to sound careless. "I'll talk first, only kill 'em if they really, really bug me."

"Sans!" He'd forgotten that Frisk had the lungs to roar like a miniature hurricane. "Do you care about anything but yourself and what you want to do? If you kill anyone and you cannot come back here and look me in the eye to tell me why it was necessary, I don't want you to come back at all! Do you understand?!"

Sans was speechless. As her echoes bounced off the corners of the room, he not only couldn't think of what to say, it felt like the magic comprising his vocal cords had evaporated.

Into the silence fell the sound of someone rapping on the double doors. Frisk whipped on her veil and headdress, allowing the bemused Dr. Serif to get up and admit two armed guards.

Between the men drooped a birdlike, half-grown monster roughly four feet tall, ice forming on the chains around its neck and feet. Without preamble, the priestess snapped her fingers at the guards and said, "Remove his bonds. Now."

The shorter guard coughed as Snowdrake shrank further back. "He is secured with the commonest type of lock. Your Ladyship will doubtless possess the key already," the guard mumbled.

Though her features were obscured by the veil, the High Priestess' body language was so expressive of absolute wrath that the men swallowed and gripped their weapons tighter. Without turning her head, she said to Sans in measured, glacial tones, "Get rid of those chains."

"As milady wishes," Sans said cheerfully, raising his left hand. The guards didn't notice the red mist surrounding the collar or shackles, but they did see the metal burst into fragments; the men nearly wet themselves as the rest of the chains fell off the startled drake.

"Leave us," ordered Frisk, and they were happy to obey, one pausing to grab the scroll and the other nearly running out the doors ahead of him.

Snowdrake's beak fluttered open, but he shut it and cringed as Frisk reached for his neck. "That's Sans' magic," whispered the young monster. "How'd you get him?"

Frisk placed her hand on his head, feeling him tremble. "He's unharmed, and he's given us his magic in order to help return you to the Underground." She brushed the last few links off his feathery neck, trying to avoid the half-healed scabs where the collar had rubbed him raw. "I am not your new owner, Snowdrake. You're going to be free."

The ice monster's eyes darted between her and the two men. "Yes, my lady," he said woodenly.

The poor kid. Sans knew exactly what it was like to be at a human witch's mercy and having to hear that kind of crap. Only the knowledge that she wasn't lying and Snowdrake would be home soon kept Sans from dropping the disguise right then and there.

"My guard will escort you as close as he can to the entrance to the Underground," Frisk told Snowdrake, then looked at Sans. "You shouldn't have trouble, but if you run into poachers, I'm giving you full authority to protect yourselves through non-lethal means. Is that understood?"

Sans nodded. To his surprise, Dr. Serif cleared his throat. "I think you had better take this as well. Consider it repayment." He produced yet another brooch from his robe, this one large and faintly pink. Sans wondered irritably how many of them he still had. "If you use this to supplement the magic you already possess, you can make the journey in a few easy stages. Pace yourself, and do not hurry back." He sat down as Sans put the brooch away. "Several people in the plot against Her Eminence have already been detained. We will maintain a watch in case anyone else involved decides to strike before they're discovered, and I will personally check on her throughout the day."

"Indeed," said Frisk. "Please take your time."

Holy shit, that hurt. The boss monster plunged his hands into his pockets to avoid breaking anything. "Breakfast should be here in a moment," the priestess went on, "and as soon as you've—" Right on cue, there was another knock at the door. "—both eaten, we'll pack something for you to take with you."

Sans tried to catch her eye, but she went back to the office as the servant unloaded the trolley. Snowdrake made no move to eat until Sans put a plate down and told him, "Go for it," at which the ice monster almost literally dove in. There was no telling the last time he'd had enough to eat, so Sans didn't ask, letting Snowdrake devour nearly everything and gulp down all the milk.

Fortunately, there was a bundle of apples and sandwiches sitting on the bottom of the trolley, along with three flasks of water and one of cider. "I ordered extra provisions. You'll need to keep your strength up," said Dr. Serif, waving away Sans' muttered thanks. He checked that Snowdrake was done, then called, "They're leaving, my lady."

Frisk reemerged, still veiled. "The best of luck to you both," she said.

Sans picked up the bundle, tucking it under his arm. "Sure, boss. See you when I get back." He jerked his head at Snowdrake, who was peering up at him, eyes half closed. "C'mon." Sans shouldered the doors open for the smaller monster to trudge through; a second later, the guard outside made a squeaky sound that indicated Sans had teleported them away.

The priestess sank into a chair, shoulders slumping as she pulled off her headdress. Dr. Serif cleared his throat. "You look as though you need more rest, Your Eminence. Unless, of course, you'd like to talk about your—"

"No. Thank you," she said, loud and sharp. Frisk picked up a fresh stack of letters, sorting them into different piles according to the wax seals or lack thereof. "I have a great deal of correspondence to catch up on, and I'll be very dull company for the next several hours. I'm sure you also have a great deal of work to do—have you started drafting your proposed specifications for the first set of solar arrays?"

"Yes, my lady. In fact, I've scheduled a meeting later this morning with several of my colleagues to discuss the matter. I'll be back this afternoon, but if you need anything at all in the meantime..."

"Thank you," she said again, a little more calmly. "I also must thank you for your help earlier with Sans. Did you figure out why he was acting so strange? I can't believe he grabbed me like that! I don't know what he could have been thinking."

The doctor made a wry face at her back. "I'm not sure how it happened, my lady. I don't believe he intended to become inebriated, but that is certainly what he was." He paused. "I will also keep you apprised of developments in Fernand's interrogation. Your Eminence will be glad to know that Lord Owen has been cleared of suspicion, more than adequately."

Frisk looked daggers at him. "Has he?"

"Indeed," he said gravely. "The moment his friend was arrested, Lord Owen volunteered to answer questions under hypnosis. He was tested beforehand for any magic with which he might have resisted or subverted the procedure, which ensured his answers were completely truthful. He is guiltless, and can offer no further information."

She nodded, returning to the next stack of letters. Why did she feel just the tiniest bit disappointed?

It was no use pretending. In her too-honest, very tired mind, she knew exactly why: it would've been the ideal excuse to reject him and find another suitor for her "adequate" future. It wasn't at all nice, but facts were facts. No matter how much she wanted to be married, having Luke as a husband would be like sleeping with her brother!

So, that just left...who?

The doctor coughed theatrically. "Before I go, my lady..."

Something made Frisk look up at him. Dr. Serif gave her a brief smile, and said with unusual delicacy, "With no intrusion intended or opinion attached, I beg that you inform me if and when you wish to safely dispose of your box. Whatever may be inside it, I assume there is magic involved, and throwing it away without the proper precautions may have consequences."

Frisk picked up an envelope and hissed between her teeth as she felt the paper slice her thumb. "I understand, Doctor. Good day to you."

He half-smiled. "And to you, my lady." When she looked up a moment later, he was already gone.

If Frisk had ever had a more miserable day as High Priestess, she didn't want to remember when. She hadn't just been trying to get rid of the royal sorcerer; she really did have a pile of mail to get through. The only attention she paid to the proposals was to make a stack of rejects, maybes, and actual prospects. Then she threw the maybes into the reject pile. Then she had to literally grab her own wrist to keep from dumping the entire basket into the fireplace—if she was destined to either marry Lord Owen or hop right into bed with someone unmarriageable, why bother wading through any of these?

A small, flat package at the bottom of the stack puzzled her until she opened it and several bookmarks fell out. Right: she'd ordered them when Sans got after her one time too many for her uncouth reading habits. She could fold all the pages she wanted today, Frisk tried to tell herself, but it just made her wish he was here to tell her to leaf them alone or mark his words. When she got another paper cut, she started to ask him to heal it for her, only to realize she was speaking to an empty room. She had to make do by washing her hands and applying tiny bits of ointment that came right off when she picked up more envelopes.

Just before lunch, Frisk told herself she'd earned a break and went in to flop on the enormous bed. Would Sans be back tonight? If he wasn't back by evening, should she go ahead and sleep in here, knowing he could come back inexplicably drunk and try to cuddle her again?

...She couldn't shake the idea. Technically, she should be scared at the idea of a ten-foot monster with no inhibitions invading her space when she was most vulnerable, but...she wasn't. Not remotely. In fact, her imagination was running with it so fast that she couldn't catch up, much less stop it. Frisk actually had to remind herself that Sans was a skeleton, only for her self to remind her that there were approximately two hundred creative ways around that particular deficit. Ah, well. It was all stupid, harmless tired-brain fantasy about someone she was comfortable with, not as if she was going to marry him or anything...

This was ridiculous. It had only been a few hours, and she was still furious with him, but she missed Sans so much that she could barely function.

There was another knock, and the priestess scowled as she got up to put on her veil and answer the outside door. To her surprise, it was Luke, holding a tiny velvet jewelry pouch out to her. "Good morning, Your Eminence," he said as she pasted on a smile. "Forgive my intrusion, but I came to return this in person."

Frisk opened the drawstrings and pulled out her pearl bracelet, the one he'd removed so the parrot wouldn't destroy it. "Oh. Thank you," she said automatically. Luke waited for more, and she glanced behind her. "I am sorry, Lord Owen, but you've caught me in the middle of decanting. The fumes will be potentially harmful once the mixture has heated, so..."

"It's quite all right. I didn't intend a long visit," he assured her. "I wanted to ask if you've had a chance to look over the contact information I forwarded to you."

Thank God she had found his note in her mail, or else she wouldn't have remembered the farmland at all. "Yes, I have, thank you," she replied. "I'll send your broker an inquiry with the name of my banker. Shall I inform you when I hear back from her?"

"If it's quite convenient, yes, please." The young lord shuffled his feet, as if he was suddenly uncomfortable about something. "Fr—Your Eminence, may I ask if any of the rumors about the All Souls festival are accurate?"

The guard at her door had been doubled, and she couldn't help noticing how both of them were waiting to hear her answer. "Forgive my bluntness, Lord Owen, but I don't know what you're talking about. I have no time for ridiculous gossip," she almost snapped.

"Yes, of course, of course. I'm the one who must beg forgiveness. I'm sure you would never..." Her stare intensified, and he hastened to say, "The last reason I've trespassed on your time is that I am preparing to visit St. Brigid's. I'll be leaving early tomorrow. May I tell Mathilda that you've been well?"

"Absolutely!" Frisk knew this was where she was supposed to ask how his sister was doing in general, how her studies were going, etc. etc., and pass along all sorts of loving messages. But somehow, with her blood still humming and her potential husband right in front of her, and Sans not there to see, she had just one thought: "Could you give her something from me?"

"Yes, of course," he said pleasantly. "What is it?"

Frisk nodded, stepped forward and gave him a quick, decisive hug, careful to get her arms all the way around him before she stepped back. "Please excuse me," she said, "but I haven't seen Mathilda since Christmas, and I miss her very much. I hope you understand."

"Uh..." Luke blinked hard. "Yes, my lady. I'll see her and give her...that. Thank very much, and a good day to you." He bowed vigorously and turned on his heel, speed-walking down the hall in flustered elation.

Ignoring the guards' smirks, the High Priestess went back inside and slammed the doors, removing her veil again. She knew she should be embarrassed or at least care what they were going to say about her, but really, half the city was probably placing bets on who she'd be sleeping with in however many days or hours, so what was one brief embrace?

It was nothing. That was what she'd felt, anyway. Part of her was surprised at her own cold-heartedness, but Frisk knew what had happened when she hugged Sans, and she was certain that no matter how long she snuggled up to Luke, it wouldn't feel remotely similar; if he had put his arm around her, it would've just annoyed her. At least she had eliminated any remaining doubt: Luke could offer her pleasant company, and that was all. Not warmth, or real companionship, or gentleness, laughter, intellectual stimulation, literal attraction...

There went her imagination again. The workroom was still cold from however long Sans had had the windows open, but she had to pick up some papers to fan herself. It was quite a relief when lunch arrived and she could eat Sans' portion to make up for missing breakfast, then retire to the bedroom.

Having spent so much of her early life on her own, Frisk had been shocked when she came to St. Brigid's and discovered that even in a convent, the primary occupation of adolescent girls seemed to be talking about boys, or sex, or any combination thereof. She understood now that they had had very little else to talk or think about, and that being in a strict religious environment meant that there were no other outlets for their perfectly normal teenage curiosity, but those first few months had been eye-opening, to say the least.

To their credit, the sisters were aware of this and knew very well that after the lights went out in the dormitory, the girls would stuff their pillows under their covers to create a laughable illusion of being in bed, crawl to the center of the floor, and whisper to each other until they forgot themselves and laughed too loud at something, which was the cue for the proctor on duty to shout "BED" and send them flying back to their cots. It was probably also why everyone had to undergo a comprehensive sexual education course when they turned fourteen, and of course, the girls who could tell penis jokes for literal hours on end felt quite differently about the matter when an eighty-year-old priestess was passing out textbooks with full-color drawings and scientific labels.

In short, Frisk knew exactly what she was feeling and why. She'd never had the nerve to try anything when she was sleeping in an open room with dozens of other girls and young women, but once she moved into these chambers and found she had nearly unlimited privacy, she had finally availed herself of the opportunity to ignore the Church's teachings on self-exploration. Then she had availed herself of the opportunity a lot, figuring that it was harming no one whatsoever, and that she wouldn't have been given those parts if she wasn't meant to use them. But she hadn't done it since Sans arrived, especially not when they were in the same bed.

Sans was not here now, and she wasted no time, pausing only to throw a quilt over herself before she moved her skirt aside and worked her hand into place. She'd never done this in the middle of the day before, but that added a little excitement; what if she was to take down the barrier against teleportation, and he happened to get back right as she was in the middle of it? That would be just awful. Would he even recognize what she was doing, or would he just—

Another knock. Another fecking knock on the outside door as she was getting this close, and she wanted to burn down the entire castle. Frisk kicked the quilt off, pulled her clothes back into place, and stomped over to her veil and circlet before she threw the doors open. This had better be worth the interruption!

Over an hour later, she came back to her rooms with her cluster of guards and, given the general trajectory of the day thus far, was not surprised to find Dr. Serif waiting next to a stack of crates. "Good afternoon," he said. "It seems as if the items you've ordered for your apprenticeship have arrived. Would you like some assistance putting them away?"

Frisk looked at them, and at him, but she could barely speak. "I am overtired, Doctor," she mumbled. "I would appreciate your help, and then I need to rest."

"Of course." The royal scientist opened the double doors and directed the guards to bring the boxes inside while she went to the bathroom to remove her veil and compose herself for a few minutes. It didn't work, but it was long enough for the guards to put everything away and leave, so she only had to worry about the doctor when she emerged.

One look at her was enough. He didn't ask if she was all right, just moved aside a respectful distance as she sat down to check the inventory sheet. "Would you like to talk about it?" he asked kindly.

"No, thank you," she said, voice cracking.

"I understand." The doctor removed the lid from a long box of seedlings and began filling a vial at the sink. "They've found the guard responsible for leaving your door unattended and allowing the assassin into your room. It seems he is affiliated with a local group pushing to decriminalize the retrieval of monsters from the no-man's-land. It should be a valuable link in uncovering more conspirators."

"Excellent. I'm glad to hear it," Frisk said politely, mind still buzzing.

Dr. Serif tipped some water into each seed-bed. "If he avoids detours or anything else he is not supposed to do, Sans should be back late this evening. Don't be alarmed if he takes longer, though. I could easily see him deciding to rush back and overextending himself. He can sleep at your house tonight if need be."

The only sound was water running into the vial and being trickled onto the tiny plants. The doctor glanced at her over his shoulder. "If I may, High Priestess. Please don't go there to wait for him or try to meet him. He should—"

"Get out!"

When the doctor had obediently made himself scarce, Frisk threw her veil on the floor, stormed into the bedroom, and flung herself on the bed for a good, long cry, or at least a long one. It wasn't Dr. Serif's fault that he'd happened to visit right as she was returning from a talk with her father. She hadn't been so angry or humiliated in a long time—of all the people to drag her away from her private time to lecture her about maintaining a good reputation and not sleeping around, why the hell did he think he had the right to do it, especially based on a single stupid rumor? It'd been all she could do not to scream at him that he'd spent his youth screwing his way through most of the kingdom, left her to be neglected almost to death for ten years, and only taken an interest in any of his damn-near-orphans when his second wife died in childbirth and the midwives told him the baby might not survive! How dare he?!

The final nail in the coffin came a few hours later, when she'd finally pulled herself together enough to start writing replies to everything that needed replying to. After many more paper cuts, Frisk was almost done when she heard a knock that she hoped, for the other person's sake, was her dinner.

It was, but it was also another messenger. At least this one wasn't there to take her anywhere, merely to tell her that His Holiness had furnished the records she requested, handing over a folder roughly two inches thick.

Frisk probably should have been glad she could peruse the list of enslaved monsters without Sans hovering over her shoulder, and she was; it was just hard to be happy about much of anything when she was reading all the names and descriptions—she'd felt strongly enough about it when she wasn't remembering how completely beaten Snowdrake had looked, and wondering how many other monsters must be in similar or worse circumstances at that very moment. Her duty now was to go through the list of owners and judge which were probably the absolute worst, and organize inspections as quickly and stealthily as possible.

It all went back to her stupid fortunes. She'd half-purposely led Luke on, and her father had made it very clear that he expected her to make the respectable choice, the hypocritical old goat. The problem was that it was what everyone would expect of her; in the wee hours of the morning, it had felt daring and romantic to contemplate a future where she had a child with a not-husband, but the reality was that it would probably ruin her life, just like her mother's. Frisk was more confused than ever: how could she change the world and free monsters if she did something so socially unacceptable that no one would probably ever speak to her again? But she'd also have new parents and a huge family...how?!

Even if Sans had been a complete idiot at the fortune-teller's table, she wished more than ever that he was here to talk to. Damn Dr. Serif for reading her thoughts so easily. There was still the brooch he'd given her a couple nights ago, but she wanted to save it for a real emergency; besides, it wasn't as if she could do much to help Sans if he simply needed to rest before coming back to the castle...assuming he was coming back.

Frisk shook herself. There was no reason to believe that at all! She had to think more constructively. Wasn't there some way to communicate w—ah, yes, he was able to speak to Papyrus in dreams. She had joined him fairly easily the time she'd tried it. If she took down that barrier again...

...then the child could get in. But Sans wasn't here. Could it make her hurt him in a dream?

That was when Frisk officially gave up on thinking, or working, or doing anything else for the day. It was already after sunset, so she folded up the registry, instructed the guards not to let anyone disturb her unless something was actively on fire, and went to run a bath. Her mind didn't clear much, but it did help relax her, even if she was still too tense to pick up where she'd left off with herself. She put on her fuzziest nightgown, whisked the barrier away and built up a fire in the bedroom, then made a warm nest of blankets and settled herself to sleep, leaving her mind cautiously open.

She woke a little as the bed creaked beside her. She grumbled under her breath and turned away from him, pulling the covers up.

Undeterred, he ducked beneath the covers and draped himself over her side. His hard, smooth fingers caught on her hair as he pushed it out of the way to nuzzle her neck. It was a good start, but he must have been tipsy: she yelped as his nasal bone jabbed her. "sorry," he murmured.

That should've been that; she graciously permitted him to stroke her hair as an apology, and settled back down to sleep.

She should have known better when he started petting her back and down her side, and then rubbed her leg, knowing very well that she'd sleepily turn toward him so he could pet the other one, too. Then came a soft, warm touch on her neck, his hands sliding under her nightshirt, and her nightshirt creeping up as he eased his weight onto her.

"Really?" she tried to ask, but his mouth was in the way, and he easily caught the hand she brought up to push him off, spreading his fingers to interlace them with hers.

He would have stopped if she'd insisted. She didn't. She—

Someone was in her office.

Frisk was not afraid. She was done. She got out of bed with an ache in her groin and murderous resolve in her heart, moving silently through the bedroom and the dark workroom. There was no light showing under the office door, but she could feel ripples through the barrier over her safe as someone dug into the floor around it. With no restraint or remorse, she yanked open the doors and slammed a multi-layered barrier into the room, catching the would-be thief by surprise.

Whoever it was, they were unnaturally strong and agile, nearly catching the edge to squeeze through as it sealed itself off. But it was no use: fueled by angry determination, the barrier snapped shut into a golden sphere, trapping the person inside. The intruder struck at it several times with terrific force, but Frisk held firm until the figure staggered, then fell to its knees, wheezing.

Only then did Frisk click her tongue, dropping the layer that prevented air from getting in, and strengthening the layer that suppressed magic. "Whoever you are, you have ten seconds to explain yourself," she snarled.

A gulping breath. "Please, my lady—"

Frisk was so startled that her concentration wavered. The figure took the opportunity to hit the barrier again, and she promptly cut its air off, waiting several seconds before she allowed any back in. The priestess came forward and peered inside. "...Doctor?"

In the barrier's glow, she could see quite well, and though she knew she had him contained, Frisk felt a twinge of fear. It had sounded exactly like the royal sorcerer, but this was not Dr. Serif. It was a monster, a skeleton with a long, eerie face, much more smooth and hollow-looking than Sans or Papyrus. As it straightened, its arms stayed hidden in the folds of its long, ragged black coat, and several disembodied skeletal hands floated over its shoulders. "The man who speaks in hands," she said to herself. No wonder they were supposed to beware him!

The monster's brow creased. "The man who speaks in hands?" he repeated in Dr. Serif's whispery voice. "How very poetic." Cough. "May I ask where you—"

"You may not!" The barrier constricted, nearly brushing the top of his skull. "Who are you?" she demanded.

The skeleton visibly struggled to answer, and finally croaked, "My name is W.D. Gaster. I am a monster who has been posing as a human in order to maintain my post as the royal sorcerer." He took a deep, shuddering breath. "Young lady, what...what is this?"

Frisk sat down on the couch, which had been moved aside to expose the safe. "I assume you mean the fact that you can't lie to me while you're in there. I'm not much good at truth spells, but I figured out how to incorporate one into a barrier, which I am very good at. I just don't use it very often." On some level, she wasn't surprised that Dr. Serif had been hiding something like this, but she was still afraid—had any of his help or kindness been real, or was it all for some unknown, sinister purpose? Would he try to eliminate her now that she knew what he was?

Gaster was staring at her. Above him, both pairs of hands started a slow clap. "I am extremely impressed, Your Eminence. I am also very apprehensive. As a monster, I cannot match your determination, which means you have me at a complete disadvantage. I must commend you."

The priestess was gratified, but knew better than to drop her guard; she could feel him subtly testing the weave and span of the barrier with unseen hands. "Stop that," she snapped, and he did, tilting his head to concede defeat. "Were you trying to steal my box?"

"Of course," he said. "I infer that it contains your memories, and it is now common knowledge that the future of this world hinges on what you do with it."

Frisk controlled another stab of anger, though she couldn't stop the barrier from popping and snapping like a bonfire. "And you thought you would...what? Dispose of it without asking me?"

"I don't know exactly what I was thinking," Gaster confessed. "I succumbed to intellectual curiosity as to what distilled memories look like, and whether I could view them without disturbing the physical medium. What I would do with them would depend on their contents."

The barrier was now eye-wateringly bright. "You broke into my rooms when Sans wasn't here, damaged my property, and woke me up from a very good dream because you thought you knew better than me what I should do with my life?! How dare you! How dare all of you try to decide this for me?"

"You are completely correct, my lady, and I apologize wholeheartedly." The monster placed his hand on his chest and bowed from the waist. "I swear that I will not presume to meddle any further."

It sounded sincere, but the old priestess who'd helped her develop this technique had been very emphatic: if someone promised something while under a truth spell, there was nothing to stop them from breaking it once the spell ended. "Why are you here?" she asked. "What are your intentions?"

He managed a chuckle. "As I truthfully told your apprentice earlier today, that is a large question." The monster's hands folded into pairs. "I do not believe you will derive any benefit from my entire story, and that most of it will unnecessarily disturb you. May I tell you as much as I sincerely believe will benefit you, and omit that which is not necessary?"

Frisk bit her lip. "I'd prefer to be the judge of that. Answer me, please: what are your intentions towards me, and Sans, and this kingdom in general?"

Gaster didn't reply. Frisk felt him trying to use some kind of magic similar to Sans' to slip out of the barrier, and she gave one sharp whistle; the skeleton's hand went to his throat as his magic dissolved and the air started to thin again. "Please, stop!" he rasped.

The priestess did so, feeling a tiny bit guilty. That rush of anger was starting to fade, but she knew she couldn't let him manipulate her into letting him go before she was ready. The fact that he had been manipulating her up till now was more than enough to steady her resolve. She crossed her arms and stared him down in silence.

A hand came up to massage Gaster's temple. "All right. I...do not intend to harm anyone. I came here solely as an observer, and have only remained for this length of time in order to rectify my errors." He sighed. "As is so often the case, every attempt I make only compounds the problem, and yet I cannot seem to stop."

Frisk shook her head. "I don't want vagueness or lies by omission, Dr. Gaster. Where did you come from, and on whose behalf are you observing us?"

"I came from a place similar to this one. I lived inside Mt. Ebott, which contained the Underground, home to monsters such as Sans, Papyrus, King Asgore, Queen Toriel...to my knowledge, every living monster I knew currently resides here as well."

The priestess' mouth fell open. "How...?"

He made an impatient sound. "As I said, the majority of this information is not necessary to impart. You can do nothing with the knowledge of another Underground, except for the one or two details that are relevant to you and Sans, which I will tell you if you agree to trust me that you do not need the rest. Do we have a deal?"

She exhaled. "Fine. What are you doing here now? Are you gathering information to bring back to your Underground?"

"I dearly wish that this was the case, young lady, but no. I was expelled from my home in an accident, and I no longer exist there. I have been wandering ever since, looking for another place I might settle into." Another sigh. "I know now that it was not only a vain hope, but a dangerous one."

"Dangerous? How so?"

He grimaced. "I found out the hard way, of course. I thought I was doing the right thing when I transplanted a certain monster from a dangerous environment to a safer one where he was needed. I did not know that the danger would follow."

Frisk's skin prickled. "What do you mean? Please start making more sense."

"Very well. To start at the beginning, I must tell you I am not the first W.D. Gaster to have lived in this kingdom or its Underground. Many, many years ago, when I happened upon this place, I went looking for the first item on my checklist: myself. Unfortunately, when I found him, I discovered that your Gaster was easily one of the cruelest I have seen. He conducted horrific experiments on defenseless subjects, both humans and monsters, and he created new life purely to torment it."

The chill increased as Gaster's face darkened. "I was skilled enough to observe him unseen, and his actions disgusted me. I should have left, but when I saw him murder one of his 'sons,' I grew so angry that I could not stop myself. I killed this world's Gaster, and I tried to save his other creation, but it was too late. I broke my policy of noninterference without any real benefit to anyone." He sat down inside the barrier. "Imagine my surprise when I checked the rest of the laboratory and discovered one copy of the younger skeleton ready to awaken, hardly more than a baby. There was no sign that any other creations had survived. I now had a decision to make."

"The 'younger' skeleton? You don't mean—"

"Yes. He created Sans and Papyrus, and he killed them, knowing he could replace them at any time."

The priestess had to fight the urge to be sick all over the office floor. "Couldn't you have taken his place and tried to undo the damage he caused?"

"That was a definite option, and I was tempted. But this is not my home, and I did not want to stay for much longer. I believe I made the correct choice in that respect."

Now she understood why he hadn't wanted to tell her this. Too late; she had to hear the rest of the story.

"It was quite the dilemma. I could not leave Papyrus on his own, nor could I stay here to raise him, or take him with me. He was too young, and I did not know what might happen if I brought him into another place with another Papyrus. But there was no Sans here to care for him. So..." He closed his eyes, pulling the slashes taut. "I made another well-intentioned mistake."

There was a very long pause. "There are certain variations of time and place that I have seen more frequently than others," he said slowly. "The most tragic is where a very sorrowful and angry SOUL becomes warped into a force of absolute destruction, essentially a demon, and it finds a vessel to connect it to the physical world." His eyes opened. "It kills everything, Frisk. Every monster in the Underground, every human above, until there is nothing left. But the force itself does not die. It finds another place to destroy. And another. And another. The child you have seen in your nightmares is here because it cannot bear the fact that in one place, at one time, there was one monster it failed to exterminate. It has come here looking for him."

All the hairs on Frisk's body were standing straight up. "What exactly happened?"

"I found a place where a Sans stood ready to meet the child on its way to murder Asgore and leave the Underground. He had made a promise not to harm any fallen humans, and that promise bound him until it was too late. As always, he was still going to fight it, knowing that it was futile." Gaster looked at his hands, studying the holes in the palms. "I did not speak to him, or even let him see me. I approached him from behind, rendered him unconscious, and transported him here. I had checked Snowdin and saw that the house in which they usually reside was empty, so I brought them both there, left a supply of food and money, and allowed them to live as usual."

"...But...but doesn't he—"

"This world's practice of memory excision is not a good one, in my opinion, but it gave me the idea to try to...adjust him. I did not remove his memories to save for later if he chose to revisit them: I destroyed them entirely. As far as he or anyone else knows, he has always lived here with his little brother." Gaster looked back up at her. "I wanted to give him a second chance in a place where the demon did not exist, and where circumstances were not likely to replicate its creation. I knew that he might have nightmares as echoes of his past experiences, or even glimpses of other lives, but I had no conception that the child itself would stalk him all the way here."

The barrier wavered. Gaster did not move as Frisk shook herself and hummed it back to full strength. She'd have to process all of this information properly later. For now, next question... "Why did you become the royal sorcerer? Didn't you want to leave as soon as you knew they'd be safe?"

"I did, but I came back periodically to check on them. All seemed well until one visit where I discovered that a group of humans had just visited on a diplomatic mission that ended in violent catastrophe. Imagine my surprise when I examined Dr. Alphys' records and discovered that the Sans I rescued had become a boss monster through imperfectly understood means. It was one of the most anomalous variations in his growth that I have ever observed, and it absolutely fascinated me."

His tone was a little too rapturous for her tastes. "You disguised yourself as a human and became the royal sorcerer to keep a closer eye on Sans?" she asked warily.

"Oh, no, my dear young lady. I did so in order to keep a closer eye on you." Frisk started as the skeleton slowly got to his feet. "In order to affect physical matter, even something as tenuous as a monster's body, the demon must find a host. In the course of observing Sans and his brother, I became convinced that the child was trying to reach him, but it could not attach itself to any of the monsters. Through various means, I eventually tracked it to you, just as you were being considered as a replacement for the murdered High Priestess. Not only did I feel the need to protect Sans from a danger he no longer recalled, I became curious about you."

"In what way?" Frisk couldn't help rubbing her eyes. "Why did it choose me?"

Gaster smiled thinly. "At the risk of threatening you or, even worse, stating the obvious," he said in a different tone, "I would guess that a barrier of this strength and complexity requires a great deal of power, and you are not going to be able to maintain it much longer. I will only be at your mercy for another few minutes at most, after which I could make a serious attempt to break out and potentially injure one or both of us." He took a step forward. "I propose instead that I tell you more about Sans while you still know I am being truthful, and then you release me."

He was right. "If I release you, will you attack me or take any other malicious action against me, now or in the future?" Frisk asked carefully.

"I do not intend you or Sans any type of harm whatsoever, Frisk, now or in the future. I bear you no malice, though I admittedly find being caught in this fashion very irksome."

Frisk would have to be content with that. "Done. What do you want to tell me?"

"That you did not give Sans the opportunity to apologize for his conduct at the festival or the morning after, and you said something fairly cruel before he left. I thought I made it clear that he is not stable and you must be careful how you handle him."

It took a second to recall how she'd told Sans to take his time, and his expression after she did. "I'm not his mother," she argued. "I'm sorry I hurt his feelings, and I'll apologize when he gets back, but even you said I shouldn't be held responsible for his behavior. He's been fairly good at keeping his temper, all things considered."

"He's been good at keeping his temper around you," Gaster said severely. "Did you know that monsters can see the condition of a living monster or human SOUL? I have been monitoring Sans for a long time, as you now know, and soon after he became a boss monster, his SOUL began to darken at a remarkable rate. It was natural for him to accrue EXP as he fought humans to protect his kin, but it is extremely unusual for a single monster to develop such a taste for violence when the rest of the Underground remains unaffected."

Frisk didn't know what EXP was, but she could guess, and time was running short. "What are you saying, Doctor?" she snapped.

"I am saying that I do not know exactly why he is the way he is, and I don't only mean his metamorphosis into a boss monster. No matter what kind of magic he was subjected to, and however his LV grows, it cannot explain why Sans is so very angry. It's so ingrained that it feels deliberate, which I don't understand. Is it vestigial regret from his first life? A heretofore unknown side effect of the accident that spurred his transformation? All I know is that when he was listening to your song yesterday morning, I saw him let go of his accumulated rage for the very first time. When I took another look, it seemed as though several layers of that filth have been sloughed off his SOUL since he came here, though far more remains."

The priestess flushed. It was flattering to think she could affect him that much, but...

Gaster must have seen her skepticism. He sighed so mightily that his entire body settled to the floor, as if he simply couldn't keep himself upright. "You can't seriously—you can." He drew himself back up to his full height. "You may still be hurt by having been previously abandoned by those you cared for, young lady, but what do you need to hear before you understand the current situation? That Sans is deeply in love with you? That he behaved so stupidly at the fortune-teller because he was beside himself with jealousy? That any apprehensions you may have about him deciding not to come back here are laughable at best, and you are the only one who can make him want to return to a happier state of mind and avert the possibility of him hurting innocent people?"

Frisk had specifically been taught not to do what she did next: spring to her feet and bring her fist straight down on the barrier, shattering it like paper-thin glass. "However you got in here without alerting the guards, or waking them," she added darkly, "please see yourself out the same way. Good night, Dr. Gaster!"

In the sudden blackness, his eyes showed as two tiny pinpricks, one yellow and one blue. Frisk made herself meet his terrible gaze and point at the door, and he chuckled appreciatively. "Good night, High Priestess," he murmured. There was a rush of shadow, then an empty room.

The priestess could barely move or think. She felt her knees bend and her hand grope around the space where Gaster had been tunneling into the safe. She removed the barrier, picked up the box, put the barrier back up, got to her feet. Back to the bedroom, another barrier up on the door, and a collapse into bed, pulling the blankets around her. Too tired and too troubled to remember where she had left off...what would she see the next time she dreamed?

More importantly, where was Sans?

She was walking over an expanse of sand and scrubby trees that she had never seen before but somehow knew was the no-man's-land, closer to the Underground than to human territory. Her head turned at the sound of men screaming, far off to her left. In the fading light, she saw flickers of magic, a bigger flash, and a sound more awful than screams: silence.

Not total silence. As she approached, Frisk heard a familiar chuckle, but not in a familiar way. This was not a skeleton pleased with his own stupid puns or laughing at her rage when he beat her at chess five times in a row. This was someone standing amidst a pile of broken human corpses, surveying his handiwork and enjoying it.

For a terrified moment, Frisk thought Sans was doing this in the present, or had just done it, and she wanted to scream at him—but no, he was wearing the ragged canvas garments she'd first seen him in, not the wool and linen ones she had given him. If this had ever happened – which felt likely – then he was dreaming of a time more distant than the past twenty-four hours.

She was only about fifty yards away, but he didn't seem to notice her. She tried to call out to him, only for her voice to get stuck as she looked again at the human bodies he was stepping over like rocks in his path. Gaster had been right. Sans really was capable of this, wasn't he? He wasn't the gentle, protective, sometimes-somewhat-sweet-natured skeleton she'd grown fond of. He was a killer.

No. He was gentle and sometimes somewhat sweet, and he was a killer. Frisk couldn't fall into the trap of believing that only one side of him existed, or that only one was "real"; people didn't work that way. She had to talk to the one she knew—he was there, too!

Sans was trudging away. Remembering what Gaster had said, Frisk took a big breath and whistled at him over the empty expanse, using a few bars from this morning's song—she'd often seen him stop what he was doing to listen to it.

Sure enough, he paused. He turned, and his orange eyes focused on her. The flames dimmed just a little. "Frisk?" Sans came closer, skirting the pile of bodies. "'sat really you?"

The priestess held out her hands. Sans reached out to touch her fingers, then recoiled—his hand was spattered with blood. "What are you doin' here?" he asked, voice rougher than usual. "Ya don't wanna see this!"

"No, I don't. But I wanted to see you," she said.

Sans blinked at her. He jerked his head for her to follow him, moving until the grim scene was out of her line of sight. Then he sat down, plunging his hands into the sand to scrub the blood off. "Yer an idiot. Why'd you come after me? I thought ya wanted me t'take my time gettin' back."

Frisk winced. She really had hurt his feelings. "I'm so sorry I said that. I missed you today."

The boss monster swallowed hard. "Fine. Ya saw me." He shook sand off his metacarpals, aiming it away from her. "Look, 'm sorry, too. I embarrassed the crap outta ya at the stupid festival, and I..." He shrugged elaborately. "I dunno what the hell I was doin' yesterday mornin', but whatever happened, I'm sorry."

"It's all right, Sans." Frisk folded her hands behind her back. "Did Snowdrake arrive safely?"

"Yeah. I only saw one nosy neighbor lady at the house, an' I played nice 'n let 'er see the note. She left us alone after that. Didn't see anyone else till we got close enough to the Underground t'let 'im go. Poor little bastard kept thinkin' it was some kinda trick." The skeleton brushed more sand off his femur. "I ran inta some poachers on my way back t'the city, but they didn' have any monsters with 'em, an' they just told me to get lost, so I did."

Frisk smiled. "Thank you. That means a lot to me."

Sans made his usual noises, which just made her smile wider. "How was yer first day off from babysittin' me?" he asked crossly. "Good?"

"It sucked," she said, deadpan, and he snorted. "Seriously, Sans, it was awful. Everyone's heard of my fortunes already, and my father, who has had at least fifteen children that we're aware of, gave me a talking-to about my sexual mores."

The skeleton's eyes were fully alight. "Yer kiddin'. Ya haven't even done anythin'!"

There was the tiniest pause, and lest he add "...Right?" and force her to kill him, Frisk said, "Right. It just reminded me that if I open the box and end up having a child on my own, I'll be an unwed mother. Among humans, that makes you a complete outcast. I wish we were more like monsters, I really do."

Sans was very quiet, in a way that put Frisk on edge. "But, of course," she said with forced optimism, "if I don't open it, I'll get married and be completely boring and respectable for another fifty or sixty years, and just have to live with the fact that I chose not to let monsters go free." Her throat was closing up yet again, and she shook her head. "Why do I have to decide this, Sans? I'm used to being under pressure, but not like this! What am I supposed to do?!"

The boss monster edged closer as she sniffled. "Ya know what you should do?" he asked.

"What?!" It came out nearly as a shriek. "What should I do, Sans? Tell me!"

Sans remained sitting, watching her quietly as she scrubbed her face on her sleeve. "I think you should make a decision an' go for it insteada tormentin' yerself like this. Whatever ya wanna do, it'll turn out t'be the right thing. An' fer what it's worth..." He fidgeted, scowling at the ground. "Whether ya pick the bird guy or...someone else, if ya ever need help, I'll do whatever I can. Heavy lifting, beatin' people up, dumb jokes, whatever. So...quit whinin' and pick somethin'. Flip a coin if ya need to. Just stop hurtin' yerself. Okay?"

Frisk's heart stood still. She looked at him in such a way that he sat back warily. "What? What'd I say?"

"Don't say anything," she said, advancing on him. "And don't get up yet."

"Hey, hey, lady, this's a dream, remember? Ya can't touch m—"

Sans lapsed into stunned silence as Frisk's arms went around his neck and her cheek rested on his clavicle. She leaned her full weight on him and heaved a sigh. "I'm sorry to ambush you again," she said into the space between his ribs. "I just needed to see something." It was the same as before, a wonderfully tingly feeling in her chest that spread through her body until she wondered what'd happen if she moved away too fast. Frisk sighed again, trying to work up the willpower to let go. Somehow, he wasn't as uncomfortable as she would've thought, as if there was a very thin layer of something padding his bony exterior. It just made it harder to—

Sans' arms came up to hold her against him, as he had the previous morning, and neither of them cared that they were so big, they overlapped over her back. His cheekbone rested against her head, careful not to be too heavy. "Whaddya do with yer hair?" he muttered.

It was...not what she'd expected him to say. "Can you elaborate, please?" she muttered back.

"I dunno what smells are what. I think the longer I stay human, the more human-ish stuff I can do, like smell, 'n feel stuff I touch." His phalanges moved softly through her hair. "This doesn't make any sense. Yer not s'posed to be able t'interact with anyone in a dream 'less ya went ta sleep in the same room or somethin'."

"I don't know about you, Sans, but I'm sick of thinking." Frisk stared at a spot of drying blood on the ground behind him. "In fact, you're right. I'm done thinking about this." She squeezed him gently, though she knew she could use all her strength and he'd barely feel it. "Let me go, please. It's time for me to get some real sleep."

"...Nuh-uh."

Frisk laughed. "It's vanilla," she said over his shoulder.

"Hm?" Sans was absently petting her hair again. "Wha's vanilla?"

It was so nice that she wanted to fall asleep right there, somehow. When was the last time she'd felt this secure? "It's...my hair. I don't use a lot of expensive lotions, but I'll splurge on anything scented with vanilla. Do you like it?"

"Mm. 'snot as bad as most of the stuff I've smelled so far."

The priestess smiled, then reached up to touch his skull. He tensed as her fingertips encountered the wide, smooth expanse of bone. It was warmer than she'd expected, almost velvety—probably from magic, she figured. "I'm very tired, Sans, and I've used almost all of my magic already. Can you please let me go now?"

He wouldn't. The last shred of doubt in her mind disappeared, and in a surge of determination, Frisk ducked free of his arms, moving out of his reach. "I'll see you soon," she told him. "Tomorrow?"

"Uh." Sans had the oddest look on his face. It reminded her of when she'd cleaned the fork for him at their first face-to-face meeting in the bedroom. "I dunno. I might be drunk again when I wake up. It kinda feels like it."

Frisk gave a long, theatric sigh. "If you are, please sleep it off before you come back. We've gotten in the supplies I ordered, and I don't need you eating the plants or something ridiculous." She stepped back further. "Good night, Sans."

"Night," he said inaudibly, and she left.

The guards outside Frisk's doors admitted Dr. Serif after breakfast, then settled in to wait for the royal sorcerer to leave, after which they could properly nap. His morning visits were usually an hour or so, in their experience.

This time, after only five or so minutes, the doors banged open, and one guard dropped his halberd. "I wish to be very clear, Doctor," the High Priestess said, voice pitched to carry down the hall. "Do not open it, do not attempt or allow anyone to attempt to open it, and do not keep it for any reason. I want it destroyed. Will you please do so as soon as possible?"

"Of course,Your Eminence." To the guards' astonishment, the normally imperturbable doctor was frowning, and took the little rosewood box with obvious reluctance. "Good day to you."

The priestess shut the doors without another word. The guards stared at Dr. Serif, who was now scowling full-force at the box. With a glance at the doors and none at all at the two men, the doctor tried to pry the lid open, only to drop it as the box sizzled at him. "How did she put a barrier inside it?" he said to no one.

The guards could barely wait till he was gone to whisper to each other, "She threw it away! I knew she wouldn't—" "Oh, bull shit, you said she'd get knocked up by this time next w—" "No I didn't! I—"

Slam went the doors. Frisk glared at one, then the other, and waited the count of five before she slowly pulled them shut.

#songfell whoo lemme at the next one

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ainsleymorgan · 4 years

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『MARILYN LIMA ❙ DEMIGIRL』 ⟿ looks like AINSLEY MORGAN is here for HER SOPHOMORE year as a COMPUTER SCIENCE student. SHE is 20 years old & known to be ORGANIZED, BENEVOLENT, INDECISIVE & OBSTINATE. They’re living in NOLAND, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳ lexi. 23. pst. she/hers.

we’re back at it again folks! this gal has been bopping around my head for a good long while now - i apologize if this is an incoherent mess. give this a little like and i’ll slide into ur dm’s to plot smth ok ily

stats

— background. (death tw, grief tw, cancer tw)

The Morgans have a long, complicated history. Margaret and Callum meet near the end of college (she’s studying English, he lives in town) and fall rapidly in love. The only problem? Margaret’s engaged to her high school sweetheart. When Margaret ends up pregnant, she pretends like it’s her fiancee’s and has a shotgun wedding. Callum goes off to join the army and pretend like his heart wasn’t just shattered in two.

Years pass - Margaret gets her PhD in English and has another kid (this time with her actual husband). Callum leaves the army, gets married too (and widowed a few years later), has some kids of his own. But then they run into each other at a bar in a city far away from the last one they were in together, and it’s like nothing ever changed.

The two get married almost immediately after the divorce papers are signed, and have two more kids almost immediately after that. Margaret becomes an English professor, and Callum’s content with taking care of the gaggle of children their blended family has produced.

Five years after the last set of kids, Ainsley and her brother Tristan are born. They’re just as unplanned as their eldest sister was, but no less loved.

They quickly become the apple of the entire family’s eye, doted upon by their army of older siblings. The twins are late to walking, so they get taken to the pediatrician, who says that they’re so used to being carried everywhere by their family that they haven’t felt the need to walk yet. They’re set down more often, and quickly catch up to be able to run after their brothers and sisters.

Ainsley and Tristan are attached at the hip. Despite the attention from the rest of their family, the two maintain that specific bond only twins can. They make up a language that only they can understand, and throw tantrums whenever they’re out of eyesight of each other.

They’re happy kids, bright and bubbly. And loud. The house is always filled with screams and laughter. It’s an idealistic life, a perfect family.

DEATH TW // There’s an accident when the twins are nearly five. Nobody knows what happened - they swear they were watching the kids splashing in the lake - but suddenly, Tristan’s gone. His body is found in the water later that day. // END TW

GRIEF TW // Ainsley’s too young to understand what’s going on when they bury him. She gets quiet and shy, a once bubbly little girl drawing in on herself. All she knows is that her best friend is gone, and now there’s nobody to actually talk to.

They move soon after, to a town called Lovell, when Margaret gets a job at the local university. It’s something the family needs, after Tristan, and they hope that the change will help Ainsley open back up again.

She doesn’t, not for a while. She’s thrust into kindergarten, in a new town without her twin there to keep her grounded. Her teachers worry about her social skills - she seems to prefer painting or doodling to playing on the playground with her classmates. But slowly, surely, she starts opening up again as Lovell becomes home. // END TW

The Morgans decide that they like Lovell, and that they’re going to stay. They buy a nice house in a quiet neighborhood, with big trees for the kids to climb on. Ainsley breaks her leg falling out of one when she’s seven (she still has the scar on her knee from where a branch snagged).

As the kids get older and start moving out of the house, Callum decides he needs a project. He’s always loved cooking and restaurants. So he decides to buy one. Calls it the Main Street Diner (not very creative, but it tells you right where it is!), and starts really integrating himself into the Lovell community.

Ainsley spends nearly every afternoon there, sitting at the corner of the counter after school. Her siblings are old enough to babysit, but they’ve hit their moody teenage phase, and Ainsley wants nothing to do with it. Her mom’s either teaching or grading papers or reading, and that’s boring to a nine-year-old. So diner it is.

She spends most of her time at the counter drawing or painting. Each one is proudly displayed on the wall, marking her progress over time.

Sometimes she helps with little tasks, like sorting silverware or wiping down tables. Eventually, when she hits high school, she graduates to waiting tables to make some money of her own.

When it comes time to think about college, Ainsley decides she wants to go as far away from Lovell as possible. She knows everything and everyone in town - even some of the Radcliffe students who frequent the diner. Ainsley wants something new and interesting.

She looks at schools in California, eventually gets accepted to UCLA. Ainsley packs her bags and flies across the country. She learns to miss the comforts of home, but enjoys the independence being on the other side of the continent gives her.

CANCER TW // Halfway through her first year at UCLA, Ainsley gets a call from her mom. Dad’s sick, she says. Cancer.

Ainsley drops everything and moves back home. She takes a semester off of school to help take care of her dad while her mom continues teaching. He gets better, goes into remission, but there’s still the lingering fear that it’ll come back, that it’ll be worse, that she’ll lose him too. // CANCER TW

So she decides to transfer to Radcliffe. It’s local, in case anything happens, but she can still live in the dorms to keep some semblance of independence. And she gets to go for essentially free. She starts working at the diner again, to keep an eye on her dad, though she claims it’s just to make money. It’s a good set-up, for now.

— personality.

Ainsley is super artistic. Literally constantly drawing or writing or doing something creative. There’s usually paint somewhere on her clothes, regardless of how new the clothing is.

Also has this Thing against making her hobby her career, which is why she’s a computer sciences major rather than an arts major. She grew up watching her mom and dad turn their passions into their jobs, which seemed stressful and like it took some of the fun out of it. So she said no thanks.

She still really enjoys computers and coding - mainly web design. Hopes to become a full-time web designer after college, while throwing in some of the graphic design portions of web designing to sprinkle some of the artsy aspects of her personality.

Despite being a computer sciences major and pretty good with technology, she definitely prefers going analog in most of her life. Writes everything down rather than typing it into her phone or laptop, and goes through a million journals (also owns a million more blank ones).

This bitch definitely bullet journals.

Is a fairly organized person, but her room? An absolute mess. Ainsley says it’s an aesthetic mess (it’s not).

The only part she takes care of is the collection of plants on her windowsill. One of her notebooks is dedicated to their care schedule, and notes on how they’re doing.

Her bag is basically Mary Poppins’ tote, but make it a beat-up Fjallraven she bought during a 50% off sale three years ago. Has literally anything you could ever need in it. Paper, pens, snacks, water, first aid kit, you name it. Need some superglue or a needle and thread? Ask Ainsley.

Is simultaneously super indecisive and super stubborn. Will take a thousand years to decide on something, but once she’s picked it, she’s stuck on it.

Will die on any hill she feels remotely attached to.

That being said, she’s not a super aggressive person. Is actually pretty calm, still quieter than she was before Tristan. The human equivalent of a warm blanket.

Also super gay. So so gay.

(But she’s never been with a girl bc she’s got issues w feeling worthy of romantic attention!! Or any attention!!)

This bitch needs to go to therapy.

— wanted connections.

aka the part im so bad at

Where my Lovell locals at?

Friends - pls give this cinnamon roll ppl to fawn over she loves her friends !!

Enemies - idk if she’d think of them as an enemy but let ppl be mean to her so she can be kind of mean back

Crushes - either on her or ppl for her to crush on !! she will pine until the day she dies !!

idk what else im bad at this just love me and love Ainsley

#radintro #// god this is long and probably incoherent im so sorry #death tw #grief tw #cancer tw

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sonderrow-moved · 4 years

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LINK TO QUINN LINK TO ROY LINK TO ARCHER

LIKE for a preestablished relationship/plotting line with Jael… BUT have at least one category in mind before I hop in your IMs!

I entirely get the urge of wanting to roleplay, expand our muses together, and this is my personal starting pack for Jael! If you’re hooked to one category but don’t think your muse can fit still HMU about it and I’ll see how we can work that out!

REMINDER I HAVE A LOT OF THREADS. Like often a lot. Roleplaying is something that effortlessly really relaxes me, but I am still one human. I like to see all my threads through no matter how long the wait is and do my best ! Thus we might not be threading right off the bat depending on how much stuff I have, but everything established can get into asks, dash shenanigans, etc. What matters is that it shapes our characters. 🙏

MILITARY PEERS. Be it someone of the same rank, above or below, fellow militaries all have a particular bond by the fact that hey went through roughly the same thing, albeit it can go on the wild side. Be it from another country or from the same place, from being another soldier or the lady that gave food at lunch time, at some point you and Jael were in the same camp. This profile fits any muse who can fit an occupation into a military setting.

MISSION PEERS. Different from military peers, you didn’t necessarily know Jael while he was doing his everyday work, you two collaborated in action, be it to handle a hostage situation or launch an attack on a terrorist camp. Be it in the Middle East where he did earlier service or right in New York City where you had to juggle between politics and doing your duty, you were both on the same case and had to work your way through it. This profile fits any muse who has undergone military type of missions, they do not have to be officials; they can be mercenaries, criminals, anything goes.

BLACK OPS. At the peak of his career, Jael was part of the black operations. Nasty stuff with no records. See the ugly side of the nation, the whole world. A “good” soldier, he followed orders and did like everyone else his best to not be too emotionally scarred. However, as Jael became a branded traitor due to an inside machination from higher ups, several of his peers were killed and he found himself on the run. Whether your character also survived but think of Jael dead or you are still loyal to the army without having been betrayed, you two know what no one else do. This profile fits muses who excels in what they do under military operations, they do not have to be officials; they ca nbe mercenaries, criminals, anything goes. It also targets characters who are in hiding with a convoluted lifestyle.

PAST FRIENDS. At some point in your life, you spent a consequent amount of time in Canada. There, you may have met a young farm boy who scraped his bleeding knees wounds on top of his knees wounds, or a tired young man who drank beers, played hockey and smoked weed with no idea where he was going. Maybe you went to the same secondary school. Although he had a lot of flaws, you befriended this person, maybe you were rivals through the sports team you were sharing or dated after meeting at the park you were both walking your dog at, with who you built youthful memories. This profile fits muses that range around 30+ years old who were at the time chummy enough to attract such a normie jock/slacker.

GIRLFRIENDS. Unlike dates that would be consider past friends, Jael had some serious girlfriends. That lasted several months, maybe even one or two years. They most likely broke up due to his insenstivity and immaturity, most likely your character became an adult while he stayed a kid the whole time. Still, you two spent so much time together, so many memories of young love, that it’s a unique bond that shaped how you both are. This profile fits female muses (or male muses before their transition) who range around 25+ years old. Mostly good-looking people who could handle such a normie like him to consider dating him.

ONE ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). Alcohol was most likely involved. Jael is casual when it comes to sex and your character has caught his fancy. You two spent the night together and... really, that was it. This profile fits female muses (or male muses before their transition) who are casual about sex and are quite open about it, with having, at least at the time, very feminine type of attire, most likely along the mainstream type.

PRISON BREAK. From being in the same gang in the caucasian corner of the yard to the guard he kept bugging when he was born, you were in a high security prison alongside John Smith, which was Jael fake name at the time. His chumminess, loyalty and muscular build helped him be on the good side of others despite the rougth environment. However, he was also known, like it or not, to participate in humiliating others who didn’t do the way they wanted, both sexually and physically to keep the jungle in control. If you ever talked, faught or just ate together, you witnessed John’s behaviour, and then, he broke out and was never seen again. This profile fits male muses who worked in a prison or were jailed.

FARM BOI. Jael grew up on the countryside in a numerous siblings family and like any of those, every mouth to feed at to pull their weight. You were involved in the market, be it as another farm or the kid of the trucker who took the bounty to the city. You saw Jael grow up (quite pathetically, to be honest...) alongside yourself and so many days spent together, although it was work, don’t go unnoticed. Atop of that, it’s always in those areas that town gossip and families pressure to find your future match too. This profile virtually fits any muse who worked actively with farmers.

DRINKING BUDS. He’s nearly 40 and is Canadian; Jael loves beer and will go to any pub that sells chips and nice a microbrewery drink. As a usual drinker yourself, patron gets to know patron, just by sight even, and sometimes exchange a drink or two, unbeknowst at times of the history of the other. This profile fits any muse who likes alcohol (most likely beer) and likes to hang out at common bars.

MISC.I’ll add more when I think of them! DO THROW ME YOUR IDEAS LET’S GO.

Like with any interaction, relationships are officially in the singleverse timeline if it is roleplayed to a minimum extensively. Looking forwards to write with you!

#preest #that's all I can think of right now that'd be interesting #Jael is not as much prompt to preest !#long post #.saved

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sinfvls · 4 years

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hey all you cool cats and kittens ! it’s carole desi from big cat rescue and i’m here to deliver a tubular trio to this glorious group. i’ve been on the hunt for a solid supernatural rp for idk how long and i’m so stoked to find a home in bloodshq & begin writing / plotting with every single one of you ! admittedly, their backgrounds are pretty underwhelming because they’re all new muses ( lord help me ) and i’m still getting a feel for them, and i have just a few wanted connections up for grabs listed at the end of each of their blurbs, so if you see any that strike your interest please feel free to slide into my ims ( but i’m also super open to anything, so feel free to hit me with your ideas too ! ) & now without further ado, i give you DAMON BELMONT , NICHOLAS SPENCER & VERONA ADLER.

damon belmont has been seen walking the seattle streets. the werewolf has been in town for one week, and are known to be aloof but also very loyal. the thirty seven year old is the vice president of the mongrels motorcycle club. if you tilt your head and look at them in a certain light they might resemble charlie hunnam. their pronouns are he/him. damon’s werewolf gene is triggered.

statistics & connections

doesn’t know who his parents are / were. he was found abandoned in the woods of hayfork, california as a wee babe by a pair of hikers. tossed into the social system, he hopped from foster home to foster home, until finally sticking with a woman named delilah belmont, who eventually opted to adopt him.

she lived off the grid, in the backwoods, where she fended for herself by hunting for meat, growing her own produce, and even tended to livestock. damon thrived in this lifestyle, learning how to survive in the wilderness. he didn’t go to public school. instead, he was homeschooled by delilah, who taught him only what she valued to be of great importance. she wasn’t gonna raise no soft, yellowbelly who couldn’t fend for himself.

however, one day while out hunting, the two were attacked by a grizzly bear and it mauled delilah nearly to death before damon put a few rounds of bullets into it. there was no saving her, and she knew it. instead, she begged damon to end the pain. out of mercy, he killed her, and thus triggered the werewolf gene he didn’t even realize was in him. the confusion he had to deal with alone as a result was heartbreaking. he didn’t understand what he was, seeing himself as a monster whenever there was a full moon to unleash his inner beast. damon thought he was the only one of his kind, until he met a group of mysterious travelers.

the mongrels motorcycle club, what everyone assumed to be a band of criminals. damon first met them at a dive bar in town, where he’d been planning to drink himself into a stupor. they knew what he was immediately and offered him a home; a new family with them. while he had so many unanswered questions, the young werewolf also had nothing to lose, and so he joined the bloodmoon pack and never looked back.

the acceptance and relief from knowing he wasn’t an abomination was overwhelming. never did he think that he would develop such a strong bond with another person, let alone an entire pack of werewolves. the bloodmoon pack has been travelling just about everywhere, stopping in areas to rest before carrying on again, living as vagabonds, and picking up “strays” / other packless werewolves along the way. he’s been with the pack for sixteen years.

( more tba yikes )

wanted connections

bloodmoon pack / mongrels mc members. still need a president, sgt at arms, road captain, enforcer, chaplain, etc. info can be found on the wanted connections page on the main !

soulmate. listen, he’s been around the block and i think it’s safe to say he’d have found his mate by now asdjkhg. she could have already been with the pack when he joined, or joined after him at some point. completely open to plotting all the details. filled by cleo clarke

( more tba maybe sdjhfg )

nicholas “nick” spencer has lived in seattle for twelve years, and are known to be broody but also very altruistic. the twenty one year old human goes to school at seattle university. if you tilt your head and look at them in a certain light they might resemble finn cole. their pronouns are he/him. nick is unaware of the supernatural.

statistics & connections

born in los angeles, california to a pair of admirably gifted parents, nicholas spencer lived a fairly privileged first eight years of his life. his mother, a soap opera actress, and his father, a talented chef, gave both nick and his older sister a life full of love and luxury. yes, everything was absolutely perfect in their world. until it wasn’t.

at barely eight years old, nick was violently thrown along with his sister into one of the most traumatic experiences any child could go through; they lost their parents to a fatal car accident. being forced to move to seattle with his sister to live with their aunt, he didn’t fully understand what it meant; he couldn’t properly process what was going on. the pain of his loss was expressed more out of anger, feeling as though their parents abandoned them. and thus, nick’s out of control behavior was born.

suicide mention tw. he struggled in school. his emotions betrayed him. instead of relishing a happy childhood, nick found himself pushing everyone away, getting into fights, sneaking out late at night to run around the city with his friends and get into all sorts of trouble with them. he couldn’t count on his hands how many times the police picked him up and brought him to his aunt’s doorstep. it only got worse once one of his best friends was found dead, written off as a suicide, though it didn’t add up in nick’s eyes and seemed so much more sinister. the young man was nearly deemed to be a lost cause, until he discovered his passion for writing.

language arts or literature was the last thing anyone would ever think to group with nick spencer. he was quite eloquent, sure, but the one thing he always did was play basketball at one of the outdoor courts in seattle. anytime he needed to blow off steam, to contemplate life, or just to shoot hoops, you could always catch him at the court. but his english teacher noticed how well he could articulate his thoughts and feelings on paper, and submitted one of his pieces to a writing contest, which earned nick the win and three thousand dollars as a prize.

bewildered by a talent he hadn’t even realized was in him, nick embraced it. he started writing in a journal ( which he keeps safely tucked away beneath the mattress of his bed ), documenting every feeling and thought as a way to express his emotions in a more productive manner. this talent earned him a full ride scholarship to seattle university, where he’s now a literature major with plans of either becoming an author or perhaps an english teacher, to follow in the footsteps of his high school teacher who he came to idolize.

( more will be added later oop )

wanted connections

his three best friends ( see listed in wanted connections on the main ! )

someone he doesn’t see eye to eye with, maybe opposite in personality or morals. most likely someone he went to high school with or someone who also attends seattle university ( bonus points if they’re supernatural )

some bad folk he may have accidentally gotten mixed up with, either in the past or current ( or both sdfhkjg ). could literally be ANYTHING, maybe he saw something he shouldn’t have, maybe there’s some drug scandal he got mixed up in and now can’t get out of ??

more tba eventually !

verona adler has been seen walking the seattle streets. the fae has been in town for three years, and are known to be restive but also very fervent. the twenty four year old works as a bar & grill waitress. if you tilt your head and look at them in a certain light they might resemble dove cameron. their pronouns are she/her.

statistics & connections

oakdale, louisiana. born and bred. she was raised middle to two brothers, one older and one younger, but was the absolute apple of her mom and dad’s eye, being their only daughter. her family was reputable, as were the strawberry fields they owned. people from all over the state would pay a petty price to pick a few cartons full of the famously juicy adler strawberries.

at a very young age, verona had to learn how to better control her emotions, which is very difficult for a child to understand and do. she was known for glowing tantrums, and levitating when particularly elated over something. however, in due time, the young faerie learned to hide these paramount parts of herself from the world surrounding them, out of fear over the potential backlash of human ignorance.

she’s been very personable her entire life, much like a light in a dark room. excelling in school, she mastered both academics and the social aspect, she was on the school’s yearbook committee as well as the cheerleading squad, and played an active part in her community as best as she could, generally through volunteer work. a true southern belle, through and through.

however, verona was exhausted. she couldn’t stand pretending to be something she wasn’t; hiding her true colors from the world just because the world was deemed to be much too censorious when it came to being different. while she adored her family and friends, she wasn’t being true to herself which left her unhappy behind closed doors. so, at the age of twenty one, she found an ad in the paper for a roommate in seattle and the city was evidently huge in comparison to her small town. the thought of living somewhere that was hopefully more accepting was an absolute dream, so she packed her things and made the move.

she’s been living in seattle for three years now, working at the same bar & grill she started off with as a waitress and she loves it. she loves meeting people that come from all different walks of life, the mixture of humans and supernatural is perfect. though she’s still a little put out by hiding her true self, she enjoys being surrounded by a bigger populace of supernatural beings that she generally doesn’t have to hide around.

( more tba probably ... eventually )

wanted connections

exes / flings / one night stands. her friends calling her a slut is just teasing and gets a laugh out of her, a stranger calling her a slut will put vee in a full on rage, but all in all .... girl gets around. NOT because she’s a sex fiend, but because she loves the idea of being loved, and therefore looks for it in all the wrong places sdfahkfjg.

best friend ( supernatural only pls ! ). she needs someone she can fully open up to without worry of being judged, rant / vent to each other about all the shit in their lives, talk about things they wouldn’t normally be able to talk about in the public, etc. a good wholesome friendship.

someone she annoys / who annoys her / or both. girl is basically a constant ray of sunshine & agonizingly curious / nosy, and that probably presses at least one person. she can’t stand some who’s a grump without a cause & has an insatiable need to pick people apart in order to find out wtf happened to them / the reason why they are the way that they are.

maybe her brother(s) ? i mean, if anyone wanted to pick them up, they’re free to snag !!

more tba later !

#bloods.intro #* 𝙙 . 𝙗𝙚𝙡𝙢𝙤𝙣𝙩 ╱ intro .#* 𝙣 . 𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙣𝙘𝙚𝙧 ╱ intro .#* 𝙫 . 𝙖𝙙𝙡𝙚𝙧 ╱ intro .#suicide tw #murder tw #death tw #made individual intro tags thinkin i was gna post individual intros #i played myself

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imnotcameraready · 5 years

Text

hey um tumblr wasn’t letting me. put in a read-more on this? and im not here to post a 100+ word fanfiction without a cut off so im reposting in the hopes that staff doesn’t wreck me :’D @forrestwyrm here ya go!

Prompt 16 — “YOU SAID TO BE HONEST STOP HITTING ME!”

Warnings: u h h self-deprecation, swearing/cussing, Insecure Roman and Insecure Deceit™™™™™ — mostly a lot of fluff lm a o

Words: 2013!

enjoy!!! <3

Deceit hadn’t expected Roman’s hands to be so soft. Sure, it made sense, Roman had a skin care regiment and had lotion on his hands nearly constantly, but Deceit thought that would just make his scales feel greasy. Like, he might actually become a slimy snake after this, as Thomas so colorfully phrased it.

“Stop creasing your brow,” Roman whispered, leaning in closer.

For the third time in the past hour day, Deceit had to refrain from rolling his eyes. He didn’t want to ruin anything Roman had already done. Instead, he just shifted his hold on Roman’s back, hands sliding down to his hips as Roman scooted closer in his lap. Of all the ways to be sitting, too. It was bad enough that he was letting Roman so close to his face, but this was just degrading.

“Of course, your highness,” Deceit’s voice may have dripped with sarcasm, but that was only to hide the fact that he was actually enjoying the situation.

Finally, after days, probably weeks of asking and hounding and begging, Deceit was letting Roman do his make-up.

Roman had roped everyone into it at least once. First was Patton, as always. Patton was always on board with Roman’s antics; he’d actually approached Roman himself, asking if Roman could do his face, and Roman jumped at the chance. He gave Patton a whole look, with everything from a light bronze highlight to some baby blue eyeshadow and dark blue eyeliner. It became a weekly tradition, then, for Roman to test out some make-up techniques he’d seen on Youtube on Patton, for the two of them to exit Roman’s room with some of the most extravagant looks that the others had ever seen.

Every so often, Roman slipped the idea of Logan with make-up. “Every so often” being nearly twice a day, much to the logical side’s chagrin, with Patton quickly bouncing between being enthralled by the idea of seeing Logan in make-up and promising that he didn’t have to if he didn’t want to. Logan never outright refused, but he did point out that it was a waste of time. When Patton pointed out that it would be a good bonding experience, ergo not a waste, Logan relented.

Roman did his best to keep Logan’s minimalist design preferences in mind, and thus kept the palette even, without too much glitter or shine. While he’d never admit it, Logan adored the blue-to-black gradient eyeliner. It was sleek, professional. His actions spoke enough, though, as he wore it for the rest of the day.

Seeing Logan enjoy the make-up got Virgil intrigued. Roman brought the idea up once or twice or fifty times, and Virgil was defenseless against Patton’s puppy-dog eyes once he began helping Roman in the convincing. He joined Roman and Patton at one make-up session immediately after Logan’s make over, because he wasn’t about to sit in a room with just Princey and let his appearance get judged.

Virgil would never admit how much he really loved the black lipstick, the way the lilac highlighter sharpened his cheekbones, the way the blood red eyeshadow matched with the black below his eyes. Okay, yeah, so maybe he almost started crying when he saw himself, but that was just because Princey got some eyeshadow in his eye. Not because he was surprised at how beautiful he was. Patton and Roman didn’t bring it up.

But now even Virgil had done it. And, as Deceit appeared more often in their common rooms, more casual with the other four, Roman decided he’d be his next model.

It had taken months — MONTHS, even Logan wasn’t that much of a stick in the mud, JESUS CHRIST — but finally, here they were, Deceit stiff as a board with Roman sitting in his lap. It was bad enough that Deceit had his eyes closed and couldn’t see what the creative side was doing, but the position they were sat in was almost too close for comfort. It was good Deceit had insisted they be alone, too. He didn’t want any of the others to see him like….this.

“I hope you know how to clean your scales after this,” Roman mumbled, leaning above Deceit’s head, “There might be glitter there.”

Deceit groaned. “There better not be too much or it’s never coming out.”

“Whoops. You’re a glitter noodle, now.”

“You are insufferable.”

Roman chuckled, then brushed a hand through Deceit’s hair, pulling it out of his face again. He leaned forward again, biting his lip and inspecting his handiwork thus far. “I think it needs one more pass with some eyeshadow, and then we’re done.”

Deceit’s lip twitched. “Wonderful.” Roman had been sitting on him for about an hour, and his legs were growing numb.

He could feel Roman’s brush dabbing lightly over his human eyelid and fought the instinct to open his eyes. Truthfully, he was excited to see what it looked like, what colors he’d chosen, if he looked okay. Deceit had considered doing make-up before, but never to make himself look pretty. When he was still planning his first interaction with Thomas, Deceit had thought of using SFX make-up to hide his scales, but scrapped the idea when he decided to impersonate Patton. If he was going to be shape shifting so much, then the logistics of shape shifting with half his face covered in thick fake-skin would add complications he didn’t want to deal with.

“Alright,” Roman patted his cheek and Deceit could feel him climb off of his lap, “Open your eyes, let’s see.”

Deceit blinked his eyes open and hissed at the brightness of the lights. Roman laughed at him, now standing beside the bed. He was packing away the make-up palettes and brushes, reorganizing them in the containers he kept at his vanity.

“It’s bright.”

“You just had your eyes closed,” Roman reminded him.

Deceit finally got to roll his eyes. “Touché. Where’s your mirror?”

He went towards the vanity, lightbulbs turned on, and climbed off of Roman’s bed toward it. Before he could get on his feet, though, Roman jumped in front of it, arms wrapped behind his back as though trying to be casual. Deceit squinted, confused by the motion.

“Are you sure?” Roman asked, now a little...well, his nonchalant tone was clearly forced, and the higher pitch betrayed his nervousness.

“Yes, I’m sure,” Deceit tried to look at the mirror around him, but Roman move in the way. He shot Roman a confused expression. “What, did you draw something on my face?”

“No!” Roman put up his hands defensively.

When Deceit cocked an eyebrow at him, Roman lowered them, exhaling slowly. He was steeling himself. “I just….okay, you have to tell me. What you think.”

Deceit frowned. What an odd request. “Of cou—”

“Honestly,” Roman said, shifting his weight on his feet, “You must be honest.”

Ah. Did Roman think it looked that bad? Deceit wasn’t exactly a model, but he didn’t think he looked that ugly. Plus wasn’t the point of make-up to make him look better?

His shoulders fell, brow furrowing. The scales might have been too hard for Roman to work with. Or Roman wasn’t confident in how he did.

You know, the more Deceit thought about it, that was probably it. Insecure as ever.

“Fine.”

Roman stepped aside and Deceit leaned in to see.

The first thing he noticed was the color differences. Roman had only applied foundation, contour, and blush to his human side — wherever there was highlight, though, it was echoed in emerald green on the scaled side. He had forest green eyeshadow with golden glitter flakes pressed in near the nose around both eyes. His lips had also been done in black, though with a golden tint near the center and smeared out.

Deceit popped his lips, looking over every inch of Roman’s work. Impressive. He definitely wasn’t ever getting the glitter out of his scales, but that would be a problem for later.

He made a face, a sneer, and hissed at his reflection. Moving his mouth made the gold on his lips glimmer in the lights of Roman’s vanity.

He was never taking this off. He was devastatingly handsome, good lord.

Deceit leaned on the desk and raised his eyebrows, moving his face around to see the shimmers change. Was the glitter two-toned? It seemed to turn green at certain angles.

His eyes, too, popped with the eyeshadow. He made a face again, smiling wide at himself. Wow.

“...Well?”

Oh, yes, Roman. Roman was here. Deceit leaned back and exhaled, trying to act cool, as though he hadn’t just spent a few minutes admiring his reflection.

Roman wasn’t even looking at him. He was starring at his feet, still teetering from side to side. The man looked so anxious for Deceit’s verdict.

“Roman, look at me,” Deceit said, “Come on.”

He watched Roman’s shoulders hike up as his head snapped up, fixing his formerly concerned expression into a brave grin. “Yes?” he asked, a tinge of disappointment — no, Deceit thought, of sad acceptance — in his voice.

It was easy, in the way Roman exuded confidence, to forget that it was mostly fake. Deceit made a pose, resting his hand beneath his face and lifting his head a little. “It’s beautiful,” he said, winking at Roman, “I love it.”

Roman blinked, twice, and his smile softened in obvious relief.

“Really?”

“Look at me!” Deceit glanced back at the mirror quickly, then back at Roman with a cocky smile, “You did wonderfully. The glitter’s staying forever.”

Roman’s shoulders fell in ease as he came closer and patted Deceit on the back, both of them turning to the mirror. “I’m glad you like it,” he said, a soft, sincere smile sitting on his face.

But, well, Deceit wasn’t going to let him get too sappy. “I look like a mermaid,” Roman snorted at that one. “No. No, like,” Deceit made a face again, sticking his tongue out, “I’m Maleficent.”

Roman laughed and smacked his shoulder. “Alright, slow down,” he said through giggles, “You need a chill pill.”

“I’m going to kidnap your princess, what are you going to do about it,” Deceit said, clapping and barring his teeth in a mock snarl, “I’m a bad bitch.”

He popped his mouth extra on the hard “b” syllables. At that, Roman hit his arm again, bending over in laughter. “Shady bitch,” he choked out, then burst into another bout of relieved laughter.

Deceit made another pose just as Roman tried to stand up, leaning on the table with his butt and looking up at the ceiling.

“You’ve armed me better than any weapon, Roman,” he clicked his tongue against his teeth and winked at him. “Haven’t you heard that looks can kill?”

Roman held onto his table, shouting between his giggles, “DECEIT!” as he kept smacking Deceit’s side.

Deceit laughed, holding Roman’s shoulders, careful to not get his face on the creative side’s clothes. He didn’t want to smudge anything, since it hadn’t been sealed yet. “You said to be honest! Stop hitting me!” he said, giving up on the flirting.

As Roman’s giggling stilled, though, he met Deceit’s eyes and brushed his hair out of his face again. His eyes slowly trailed over Deceit’s features, most likely inspecting his work with his approval in mind.

“Fine,” Roman said, “But only because you’re cute.”

Deceit chuckled when Roman held his chin, turning his head a little. “That won’t work, you’re the one who made me cute.”

Roman raised his eyebrow and, for a split second, Deceit was worried he’d offended him. The mirth returned as Roman smiled, sly and quick, and kissed him quickly on the cheek. “Oh, you didn’t need my help with that,” his voice was so quiet.

Deceit smiled, hoping the redness in his face was masked by the foundation. “You’re right. I’ve always been a bad bitch.”

He decided, then, that he’d have to ask Roman for another make-up day. If only to hear him laugh like that some more.

#roman #deceit #roceit #fic #my fic #ts roman #roman sanders #ts deceit #deceit sanders #thomas sanders #sanders sides #ts fanfic #i also JUST FOUND OUT IM NOT FOLLOWING YOU #WHICH I RECTIFIED LIKE IMMEDIATELY ALSDKHASDLFKJF #i literally have been sat here like 'huh why aren't they on my dash more' lkdashgldf im the biggest dumbass #but anygay now take some Soft Roceit #i owe u my life and soil

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kpopisthereasonihavenolife · 6 years

Text

Off Limits

Monsta X

Im Changkyun/Reader [F]

Genre: High School AU, Rebellious, Drabble

Warnings?: Smoking, Disregard for rules, Swearing, Inappropriate language

Words: 1.5k

“Hurry your bitch ass up, I’m not getting any younger out here while your dick is stuck in some Spencer’s purchased, unsanitized fleshlight.”

“I’ve never been more offended or proud of you for your onslaught of insults lately,” Changkyun said back to your obviously fake rage over the phone. “Besides, if anyone’s bought anything from Spencer’s, we both know it's you. How else can we explain that kinky set up in your closet, hmm?” He chided as you promptly hung up on him without a word.

Slotting his phone back into his ripped jean pocket, he stuck his AirPods in his ears, blasting whatever edgy band he was into these days. He found himself listening more to edgy American labels more than most these days, his time in America really laying into his DNA, despite not being born there. That is one more thing you never let him live down, his Western like behavior.

You’ve claimed to be ‘scarred for life’ when you walked in on him in the middle of a keyboard smashing, screeching deathmatch in Overwatch while he was stark-ass naked at 3 AM. In your house mind you. Seeing his fake American Tit-Tat was one thing in life you never planned on seeing.

You had to buy a whole ass new computer chair after that night, too traumatized with the imprint of his naked arse in your sweet leather seat to ever sit in it again. You had half a mind to call a priest and have it excised, but you couldn’t afford a whole Holy Man in garbs, so new chair it was. Thankfully, as compensation, Changkyun pitched in on half the bill for it.

He walked a bit further down the ever darkening roadside as he soon watched light post after light post flicker on. Some with working lights, some with new LED lights that not only allow you to see below you but apparently 30 feet in every other direct resulting in direct blindless for 5 minutes if stared directly into.

He soon rounded a corner as he saw your silhouette not too far off. He watched your arm raise to your mouth, stay for a moment only to drop and a puff of smoke push past your lips. It looked like you were wearing a jean jacket he got for you for no other reason than you looked good in it. Jeans that nicely rounded your ass, even from his distance, and he could guess what shirt you were wearing. Probably something about aliens if he had to guess.

He reached for his phone, just before stopping and plucking one AirPod from his ear to hear his footsteps. He had to be quiet; yes, very very quiet. He moved along a barely holding together brick wall and slid along it, looking like a blond fool at dusk where he was still pretty much 90% visible.

Taking step by step in his torn up, ankle black Harley Davidson biker boots, he held his partially painted finger in front of him. Tiptoeing like some cartoon character, he stood nearly directly behind you now. He waited, watched you take a breath of your nearly finished cigarette and once your hand was dropped to your side, he jumped into action.

“HOWDY!” He screeched into your ear as you whirled. You swung your arm behind you, your stupid best friend ducking down, safely out of the way while your unfinished, but small cigarette fell to the ground. He looked up at you, seeing your shirt. Black with white writing saying “I bEliEvE” in a pretty awful font. Not at all pleasing to the eyes. “Alien shirt, I knew it.” You were quick to kick out your converse covered foot and push his squatted ass into the ground.

He teetered over as you stood over him with your arms cross. Hair hanging in tangling in front of your chest as you looked down at him. To any stranger, you would seem to be bullying the blond high schooler, but you two were fairly well known in your small town. He pushed himself up on his elbows.

“I always knew you were the ringleader of every relationship you’ve been in. PUshing people down, oof.” You rolled your eyes as you stepped over him. Not quite disregarding his chide.

“This is why you can’t get a girlfriend. You suck,” you groaned back as you stepped on your still smoking cig with the toe of your shoe. He hopped up like he wasn’t on the ground to begin with.

You and Changkyun have known each other since middle school when you first showed up in his rinky-dink little town. Officially attached at the hip when you flashed your chest to some stuck up jock and got picture proof to frame him for sexual harassment, all because he kept making jabs about your ass.

If one were to drive through your town and blink, you’d be in and out in a flash. Population a whopping 500. Everyone knew everyone, stories of “I taught so-so’s parent in school too” coming from every old and rotting teacher on school property.

Not that either of you heard it much. Neither of you really care much for the school scene. Not fitting in with the small school system. You’d think such a small town would go to a bigger town for schooling via bus, but no. School houses were built, and by houses I mean houses. You swore they held lectures in superstores, they were that small.

It’s not like school was important. Even in a small town, no one cared about grades or success. It was all about who was wearing what. The TV programs on the night before. Jocks trying to win over hearts of adolescent girls thirsting for whatever they could get for a night and $20. Or who was fucking who in the public bathroom at lunchtime.

So, you both stayed in your world. A world of bad choices, smoking, drinking having the time of your lives regardless of the opinions around you. Some adults couldn’t wait for you both to just up and vacate town. Maybe then they’d stop hearing about what you both did the night before.

One time it was graffiti on the side of the doctors building. Another it was tying every cart in the supermarket together with zip-ties. One night you both decided to paint on your face and start a bond fire in a vacant abandoned lot and acted like fools. Life was never dull with the two of you, that's why it was thrilling.

“What’s the plan tonight then?”

“Fuck if I know. You’ve killed my last cigarette and I can’t afford another pack right now.” You whined as he plucked a fresh pack from his back pocket.

“Ah, my mistake. Madam Piss-Poss needs a cigarette like an alcoholic need beer. Just where have my manners gone to.” Packing the box in his palm you rolled your eyes.

“you’re just as bad as I am. Shut your mouth before you choke on my fist.”

“I’m not into your kinky stuff, Y/n.”

“You’re pushing it.”

“Pushing what? Your buttons? I suspect you only have 2, and they’re named as such:” He poked at your breasts. “Nip and Nap.”

“You are such a pig!” You whack at his head. He swirls around completely unbothered as you fix your shirt he had bunched up. He tore off the plastic around his pack of cigs as he pulled one to place between his lips and offered you one more.

“Pig that you can’t stand to be without. How precious, you might be pulling at my heartstrings.”

Although you gratefully accept the toxic stick of tobacco, you still get in one last jab. “Don’t imply I make you horny,” you finished. He chuckled as he plucked his lighter from the side of his boot. You never understood why he kept it there, it always smelt of feet. He offered you the light, but you shook your head. “I don’t want your smelly foot lighter.”

Changkyun rolled his eyes. “Then let me light it, baby.” He stepped closer to you as you tipped your cigarette between your lips up with your tongue. He always does this. He grabbed the back of your neck with one hand as he steadied his light with the other between his black-tipped fingers. Pushing the fiery ash against the tip of your cigarette, it took a moment but soon you were huffing in the toxic fumes, same as he.

It was stupidly intimate, but it was your thing. It was the thing between you two.

You refused to label it, as did he. There were no titles, no distinguished relationship status: they were off limits. You two were the pair who did everything together. You’d hold hands, you’d hold each other, you’d ugly sob and get drunk together in an abandoned building. You’d even get lost in lust from time to time; greed and lust were no exception to human nature.

You both even sat at each other’s side and hyped one another up when you both got your first tattoo’s and piercings that continued to grow in number as the years ticked by.

Yet, you were also the pair who would call each other ‘pussy’ just because someone didn’t make a crumbled up burger wrapper into the nearest trash can. Insults were compliments, and if a compliment was truly shared, then your bond grew tenfold. There were no hurt feelings, no titles, no words to describe you both.

You were just Y/n and Changkyun, just two humans living their lives. The words ‘I love you’ were strictly off limits.

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roman-reigns-princess · 7 years

Text

The Pack Survives (Roman Reigns): Chapter 1

Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Writing Masterlist

Summary: Andromeda has spent years overseas trying to outrun her past. She finally decides to come back to Florida to try and settle down in the house her grandmother left her. She meets Leati and feels instantly drawn to him; but there's something he's not telling her, a secret he's hiding. A secret that may cost Andromeda her life if she can't accept it.

Warnings (for the fic over all, not specifically this chapter): cis-female OC, 18+, mentions/flashbacks of previous physical and/or mental abuse, smut at some point, werewolves. I will be switching between their wrestling names & their actual names in this fanfic, im sorry if it gets confusing (I’ll make sure to mention who’s who below so yall dont get the twins mixed up lol)

Andromeda Drakos (OFC) Face Claim: Naomi Scott

Word Count: 2019

A/N: Did I really steal the title from that Game of Thrones quote? Yes I did lmao, dont @ me. I don’t really know where I’m going w this fic, I’ve had about 3 chapters written since may, so we’ll see where it goes lol. I love my werewolf shit, but I also love my Hellenic/Greek stuff so it might get confusing im sorry. Also idk why it wont let me tag some of yall, dont hate me.

Tag List: @savmontreal @vivalavonvon @hardykat @racingandreigns @inkedirishbbydoll-blog-blog @fivefootxo @lovetusk @captainrogersbucky @imamoxbrose24 @kamdog0014 @empress-with-the-crown @sabrina-blyton @littledeadrottinghood @vanity1385 @wweburnitdown @maahsrandom @glowrioustrash @roman-reigns-empire-1996

Roman = Leati Jimmy = Jon Jey = Josh

Andromeda’s house:

Andromeda huffed as she hauled box after box into her new home; a large house in Tampa left to her by her grandmother when she passed. Meda was beginning to wish she'd just sent all of her stuff with the moving trucks that would arrive in a day or so, but she needed stuff for that day itself.

As she walked back out to get the third box from the back of her truck she spotted two men standing by it. A smile stretched across her face as she recognized them.

"Jon! Josh!" she exclaimed as she jogged back down the driveway. She'd known the twins for most of her life. Despite the age difference and the fact that she barely saw them more than once or twice a year as a kid, they'd become good friends and she'd grown to trust them. The last time she'd seen them was at her grandmother's funeral nearly seven years ago.

"Good seein you again, Meda," greeted Jon as he pulled her into a hug. "It's been too long."

"You all grown up now," smirked Josh, eyeing her as he hugged her in turn. She laughed and shoved him with her shoulder, though he didn't really move at all. "Need a hand with your stuff?"

"Yeah I'd appreciate it," she replied with a smile as they started grabbing several boxes each. "Be careful though, I've got a bunch of expensive camera equipment in some of them."

"Yes ma'am," teased Jon, she stuck her tongue out at him and grabbed another box, leading them up the driveway.

"You can leave 'em anywhere," she said, gesturing around the house.

All it took was one more trip, as the boys managed to carry most of the boxes between them. She was about to say something to them when Jon yelped, nearly jumping out of his skin.

Andromeda's cat Enyo had startled him by winding around his legs; Josh tried and failed to hide his chuckles while Jon grumbled under his breath. She bent down and picked the cat up.

"Sorry that's Enyo, she's a very friendly cat," she said, trying to hide her own smile. "I'd offer you guys drinks, but I just got here."

"'S alright. We'd love to stay and catch up , but we actually gotta get goin now," said Josh sharing a look with Jon that she couldn't decipher. "However, if you're free tonight around 8, we usually have a couple drinks with a few friends at Boomer's. Give you a chance to meet new people."

"Yeah sure I'd love to," she replied as she walked them to the door. "I'll see you guys later."

Roman's POV:

Roman paced back and forth in front of the large oak desk; he'd already sent a message through the pack bond to his cousins to get their asses back. The patrols had just reported four sets of foreign tracks.

If he had to take a guess he'd probably say they were rogues, which he could easily take on himself, but he couldn't be completely sure without engaging them, and he wasn't about to leave the pack mansion unprotected.

Roman came to a stop when the twins barged in; he had half a mind to chew them out for taking so long. But his thought process was halted by a new scent. It was coming from his two cousins standing before him, but it belonged to neither one of them; it was new, and intoxicating, and Roman knew he had to find the owner before his wolf drove him insane.

"Who were you with?" He growled, his eyes flashing grey for a moment as he unintentionally let his power seep into his demand. The two brothers exchanged a panicked glance, wondering if they'd done something wrong. "You didn't do anything, just tell me who's scent is all over the two of you."

"Oh, that would probably be Andromeda, she's Sophia's granddaughter, she moved in today," explained Jimmy, Roman barely waited for him to finish before marching out of the room. "Yo, uce, what the fuck's going on?"

"I'll explain later, just stay with the pack," Roman ordered as he walked out of the house and into the woods, leaving the twins staring after him in confusion. Quickly shedding his clothes at a familiar tree, he shifted into his wolf form.

Find her, find her, find her, findherfindherfindher

He sprinted through the trees, heading down the familiar path to the Drakos house. Her scent grew more and more enticing as he neared the house. She smelled like honey, and lime, and roses; soothing and invigorating at the same time.

The trees gave way to the backyard, and he silently walked up to the backdoor. The house was silent but he knew she was in there, he could sense her, and he wondered if she could feel his presence too. Her scent seemed human enough, but there was something about it that made him wonder if there was more to it.

Still driven by his wolf, he shifted back to his human form to yank the door open, but now that he was back in his human form, he managed to stop himself before he went any further; he took a deep breath, trying to shake himself out of the trance.

Showing up naked probably isn't the best way to meet her even if she is my mate, he argued with himself. Besides, he was supposed to be dealing with the invaders.

His ears pricked up as he heard distant howls that he knew didn't come from any of his pack members. Shifting once more, he took off into the woods, trying to clear his head as he set out to hunt down the rogues.

Andromeda's POV:

Meda shut the front door and set Enyo down as she walked over to the boxes. She grumbled at herself for not labeling them, she had to open more than a couple before she found some clothes, towels, and Enyo's cat stuff. She set up the litter box, food, and water by the kitchen before dragging the box of clothes upstairs to the masterbedroom on the second floor.

After spending half an hour digging through her clothes, she threw together a pair of dark green jeans, a black tank top, and a mismatched set of underwear for that evening.

She made her way to the conjoined bathroom to draw herself a relaxing bath. She groaned softly as she leaned back in the tub, her hand absentmindedly reaching up to rub an old scar on her shoulder. The bath proved to be too relaxing, and very soon she found herself asleep and dreaming.

It was a full moon and Andromeda was in the middle of a clearing in a forest, crouching low behind a fallen log. She was scanning the trees with weary eyes when they settled on a dark figure on the edge of the clearing right beneath the moon.

The world stilled around her as it moved into the moonlight, revealing a giant black wolf. She knew she should've been scared as it approached her, but instead she felt an eerie calm she'd ever felt before as it came to a stop right in front of her.

She held a hand out for him to sniff as she looked into his intelligent grey eyes. She flinched a little when his tongue flicked out to lick her fingers. She slowly reached further to run her fingers through his fur when-

Andromeda was abruptly pulled out of the dream by a throbbing pain in her right shoulder; she'd come to learn that the mark on her shoulder blade only hurt when something was bad was happening or going to happen.

She quickly got out of the tub, letting it drain as she rinsed and dried herself off. She pulled her clothes on in a hurry and padded downstairs. Andromeda looked outside to see that the sun had set, a chill settling in her bones; Enyo loved wandering in the dark. What if she'd left a door open and her cat had run out?

"Enyo," she called out, checking the kitchen first of all, but she wasn't there. "Come here, Enyo!"

Nothing.

Meda continued to call for the cat as she searched the house; the front door was shut, but that did nothing to calm her nerves. She became more and more frantic, searching under couches and behind cabinets. She finally made her way to the back and her heart nearly stopped beating. The back door was open, she had no idea how, and the back yard was directly connected to the woods behind the house.

Not thinking clearly, she ran out of the house, into the woods, barefoot calling for Enyo. She nearly sobbed with relief when she heard a faint meow coming from the depths of the woods; not wanting to let Enyo wander further away, she ventured on without any light, playing a weird game of Marco Polo in the dark with her cat.

Something brushed against her leg, making her screech before she realized it was Enyo. She scooped up the cat, who proceeded to rub her face against Andromeda's neck, purring. Despite finding her safe and sound, Meda was still on edge, something didn't feel right.

She froze when she heard a twig snap behind her, and Enyo hissed at something over her shoulder. Very slowly she turned her head, holding her breath, hoping that she was just being paranoid. Her fears were not unfounded as several vicious growls sounded before she could even turn her head half way.

Gripping the cat tightly, she bolted in the opposite direction, further into the woods. She, somehow, managed not to trip in the dark as the adrenaline heightened her senses. She ran till the trees finally broke to reveal a small clearing.

She forced herself to halt in the middle as she saw two wolves at the other end; albeit rather mangy wolves, but they were as tall as her waist, and their fangs sharp enough to tear her to bits.

She turned around and confirmed her suspicions when she saw two other wolves behind her. As she stood panting in the middle, her mind raced, trying to get her out of this situation.

Duck down.

She whipped her head around, thinking that someone else was in the clearing with her before she realized she'd heard that voice in her head. She was trying to figure out what to make of it when she heard it again.

Duck, NOW.

She automatically obeyed, dropping to the ground behind a log, curling her body around her cat just as two of the wolves pounced towards her. She shut her eyes, waiting to feel their claws and fangs pierce her skin but there was nothing except the cool evening air and a lot of growling. Instead it sounded like a fight was ensuing; she dared to sit up and peer over the log.

The four wolves seemed to be fighting a giant black mass. It was mesmerizing to watch as it threw one wolf half way across the clearing, into a tree; the wolf howled and yelped as it fell to the ground.

She heard the sickening crack of bones as another wolf had one of its legs snapped. Soon the black mass was chasing them back into the woods until the howls became fainter and fainter.

She gulped, shivering with adrenaline rather than cold as she looked around, making sure nothing else was there. She looked up into the sky and her breath hitched, a feeling of deja vu slamming into her as she saw a full moon. This was almost exactly like her dream except Enyo was squirming in her hands. Deciding it was safe enough, she set the cat down on the log she was still kneeling behind.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood as she could feel herself being watched; her eyes instinctively went to the woods below the moon, and sure enough there was the giant black wolf standing there.

#roman reigns #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns fic #fic #my writing #my post #wwe fanfiction #wwe fanfic #roman reigns werewolf

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thorne93 · 7 years

Text

The Right Path (Part 6 - FINAL)

Prompt: (From request) Hi! I was wondering, would you it be okay to request a Charles Xavier x telepath!reader? Where they have a mind link since their ability first showed up and so they already know each other even before theyve actually met and then he finds her when he first uses Cerebo and he and Erik go to her first?? Its an idea ive had for a while, but im not nearly an amazing writer like you!

Word Count: 1683

Warning: language (maybe??), child abuse, mental and physical abuse, depression…

Note: I LOVED this request. Thank you for sending it in. I am so sorry it took so long to write. I hope I did it justice dear. Plus, thank you for the super sweet note ; ) Beta’d by none other than @like-a-bag-of-potatoes

Forever Tags: @capsmuscles @cocosierra94 @essie1876 @magpiegirl80 @letsgetfuckingsuperwholocked @harleyquinnandscarletwitch @iamwarrenspeace @marvel-imagines-yes-please @superwholocked527 @myparadise1982sand @missinstantgratification @thejemersoninferno @rda1989 @marvelloushamilton @munlis @thefridgeismybestie @bubblyanarocks3 @random-fluffy-pink-unicorn @hardcollectionworldtrash @igiveupicantthinkofausername @kaliforniacoastalteens @feelmyroarrrr @kaeling

James McAvoy: @bohemianrhapsody86 @lenawiinchester

Charles Xavier: @bohemianrhapsody86 @lenawiinchester

Right Path: @polkadottedpillowcase

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

You and the team worked tirelessly for a handful of days. You helped ease Erik’s mind when he got too upset, you helped calm Banshee before he tried to fly, giving him a bit of confidence that he needed to fly. You and Hank talked chemistry and biology, while you and Raven discussed her crush on him when he wasn’t around. Charles trained with you every day, and each time, the two of you had such chemistry and bonded so well, it nearly drove you mad.

Other than that, Charles and Hank assigned you to help train everyone. You would get inside their head, ease fears, help them see what was holding them back, and then you’d work with them. It was becoming quickly apparent that you were Charles’s right hand. Yes, he and Erik made a great team, they were pretty much your leaders of the pack, and you didn’t want to deny or invade on that. However, when it came to keeping uniform, you were the better choice.

You dealt with all sorts of obstacles of your own, dealing with the others, and even with Charles. He asked you to help him train as well, which felt incredibly foreign, but you loved to be of any service to him. You realized you had thought about your feelings around Charles numerous times, not on purpose, and you were sure he’d heard you, but you’d never admitted it out loud to him. Now wasn’t the best time. Not while everyone was gearing up to fight Shaw.

Raven had confided in you about the thing that Hank had said about being beautiful, she also told you that now she had feelings for Erik. At first, yes, you had a bit of a crush on Erik, but now, now he was just a good friend. Charles was the only man for you and he would always be, even if he didn’t return the feeling. So you let her cry on your shoulder, as you tried to explain Hank’s thoughts. You informed her that if she felt more comfortable around Erik then she should be with him. Erik was a lot stronger on the “mutant and proud” front than Hank, and that’s all Raven had ever wanted -- acceptance. So Erik would be the obvious choice for her. She told you of her plan to seduce him and it made you blush and squirm a tad, but ultimately you gathered your senses and told her she should do whatever will make her happy, whatever she won’t regret. She had kissed your cheek and bounded off to set her plan in motion.

Charles had confided in you about Erik’s personal vendetta, the one he’d seen in your mind.

“I saw it too,” you confessed. “But can you blame him, Charles? He shot his mother right in front of him.”

“I know that,” he said, pacing his bedroom as you sat on the end of his bed, watching him. “I don’t want to get there to stop Shaw and Erik is so blinded by rage and hate that he blows the whole thing. Do you know he asked me if I was naive or arrogant?” he asked, nearly rhetorically. Usually he was never this upset, but then again, his newest and closest companion was giving a stance, a hard one, against an idea that everyone felt very strongly about.

As a mutant, it wasn’t a political debate. Not one that some people felt strongly against the humans, some felt strongly with the humans, and someone was neutral.

No.

No, when it came to the stance of “Are you for or against humans?” there was only one answer to be had. A side to pick. You and Charles believed in humans like Mr. Nobody and Moira. Erik believed in humans like Shaw.

“What did he actually say?” you wondered, knowing Charles was upset.

“He said, ‘Are you really so naive, as to think that they won't battle their own extinction? Or is it arrogance?’.”

You nodded. “Charles...You won’t change his mind. He’s been through too much to believe humans can be good. It would take an act of God for him to see that they aren’t all the same.”

“That’s my fear, is that they are,” he confided.

“You think they’re like Shaw?” you questioned as he walked over to you and sat down next to you, your legs practically touching.

“No,” he stated, seeming exasperated. “No, but I know how people are. People are just like animals, when they’re hurt, they lash out. Someone like Moira might be okay today, while we’re helping them, but if something goes wrong, are we suddenly the problem? The thing that needs to be cast out?”

Your hand found his as you gave it a squeeze. “That will always be a question we have. But we have to have faith that not everyone is like that. How can they trust us if we don’t trust them?” you asked. “It has to start somewhere. It needs to start with us. No matter what happens tomorrow, or in ten years, or in twenty years, we can’t give up hope. There will always be non-mutants that will stand beside us and fight with us, not against us...We just have to get through the ones that want to fight us first.”

“How do you have so much hope? You’re upbringing was nearly has heartbreaking as Erik’s. How can you have faith after all this time?” he wondered with curiosity.

“You,” you said without much thought or hesitation. “You were my beacon for so long. I held out hope that we’d meet. You came to me in my dreams over and over, without fail. You could’ve given up on me, on meeting me, you didn’t know anything about me, but I’m willing to bet, something within you made you want to come back to me. Somehow, Charles, we’re linked, and not just because we’re telepathic. But because you somehow knew I needed you in my life. If people like you exist, mutant or not, then I have to hold out hope. You’re proof that it’s real. That having faith pays off.”

A small v formed between his brows and a wild look swirled into his eyes before he lurched at you, his lips crashing on yours, taking you by complete surprise.

The feeling of pure electricity lighting up your body, from your lips down to your toes. You’d dreamed of this moment for as long as you could remember, and now that it was here, you felt light, floating, dizzy, nearly ethereal. His lips were softer than you ever imagined, but they were firm, the feeling behind his lips determined as ever. Somewhere you were vaguely aware that his hand was resting just above your elbow. All too soon, the kiss ended, but you were far from sober from that kiss.

“I---uh--” you stammered, your mind and body not quite caught up to what was happening.

“That was…better than I ever imagined,” Charles breathed with a bit of a joyous laugh in his voice.

“You liked it?” you asked, a tad embarrassed and nervous about your lack of experience.

“I loved it. I want to do it every day for the rest of our lives,” he said in a low voice, a giant grin painted on his face as his slender hand reached towards your cheek to cup it.

“I’m in love with you,” you said, quickly as if you were ripping off a bandaid. You had to say it. You’d been putting it off, but with the impending war, you were tired of waiting. Tired of waiting to be yourself around someone. Tired of putting your feelings away for other people.

You were so afraid to look at him. To meet his eyes. You were so afraid of rejection, it wasn’t even remotely funny. You wanted to rant and say it was okay if he didn’t love you back but you kept quiet, letting him gather his thoughts.

After a moment, Charles suddenly said, “Y/N, I love you too. Look at me,” he gently commanded and you obeyed. “I have loved you from the moment we met. And not because I could read your mind, although that was part of it, but because you’re good and pure and compassionate and wise and smart and kind...You’re so many things, Y/N. You’re everything anyone could ever want in their life. More importantly, you’re everything I want. I know we’ve only known each other for a handful of weeks, technically, but I feel so connected to you. I want to spend a lifetime with you, getting to know you, getting to help you, having you help me with mutants.”

“But...we hardly know each other,” you prompted. Yes, you loved Charles. Yes, you wanted to spend your life by his side. Yes, you knew you’d never tire or fall out of love. Yes, you knew it sounded crazy. But you knew how you felt. Charles could just be infatuated.

“Read my mind and tell me I’m not serious,” he challenged with determined eyes. “I know it’s highly unorthodox, but when has anything about our relationship been normal?” he questioned with a bit of humor in his features.

“Never, I suppose,” you admitted.

“Right. And it doesn’t have to be now. I know I want you, I know I love you. I don’t need to know your favorite color or favorite band to know that I loved the girl whose dreams I visited for three years,” he assured, his eyes searching yours. “So if you’re willing to be something more...so am I.”

“I am. I’m more than willing.”

“Good,” he breathed before planting a lingering, soft kiss to your lips. “Me too. I think this is a good path for us.”

“I know it’s the right path,” you assured, your hands resting on his arms, staring into his eyes, finally happy with your life. Finding where you fit in, and with whom, with a perfect man by your side. You could take on the world.

#the right path #Charles Xavier #charles xavier fic #charles xavier x reader #Erik Lehnsherr #erik lensherr fic

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jayundergod-blog · 6 years

Text

Ultimate fear to me.

Say ive smoked some marijuana and im those thinker type when i smoke the chiba. Well suddenly im surrounded by only those bearing tone of demons prophane barbaroc behaviors. I dobt want to go to hell, and this fleshed out before my eyes is the nature of my worst fear. I am not only God Fearing, but damn nervous because Ive nearly awakened what I call the real me, an innervoice guiding. And i have begun eliminating distraction. I have cleared my thoughts and sight of many distractions. And have started to have a certain space for any almost all items under my use amd home. One thing that adds to another frustratoon os not remembering drawers or table or nooks random/common items did put that buisness card? Or it could just be a real pressue on moment and those 3 like mechanical reaches with your hands and ready to go in 5 seconds. I am comparing this new day 1 moment for me to Change from within. In order to make positive impact on future sitiations and various choices given, I have to jump way out of familiarity. I dont know how to make a friend where drugs and alcohol arent at least in the introductio. Its been over 20 years outside of my sponsor in an AA run since I have made any friends outaide of Getwasted Land. And its alnost like some of these people down here might be animated workers of a divine purpose. . Another reason my greatest fear revolves around Hell is Part A: my consistence in screwing up my life and Part B: randomly manipulating in or believing the reason for myaelf that My heart is attatched the right way, I believe God intended to place a mountain of pain shame and addiction and pride, occourances 1 after another saying put down the beer weed dream. Its not working. Test? bad test? CRASH collisions. wrecks.. Sexual imoralities that put me in only tighter, I like to think of as an irrational coat of shame. Switching schools over 20 times social bonding just seemed to naturally wade into the wastelabds. It was cool to say **** things, skip class and sneak a J. So still part B: reason for my greatest fear sometimes i worry my desire to fight evil with fire kind of mentality of a grey angel badass has to often and with any levels of sincerity been ... non supportive of God, and a compmete self failure. I am a highly successful failure. The tides of life had been decided to ensure have a livable income for life. All my lab blood tests come back good. Inspite of ludacrouis unprotected promiscuity and abusing chemicals alcohol included at very high danger quantities and lengths of time. To paranoid to bruah my teeth, and involved with the addict community they really do mess with my toothbrush when i let them know they can not live in my spare room area or you've got to go period. So the balance of pride and shame are big with me. Im simply putting it this way. I am very smart. Like, words don't automatically limit my perception and i discover ideas, inventions, ways to improve systems namely in buisnesses etc. But i believe i may have discovered a few awarnesses in the light of creation that had been considered. And i flow with innovation so much i didnt even write inventions down anymore. But im starting too now. I dont know if tbere is evil in my motives to understand, and my motive to protect the earth with my creative discoveries within the gift of life here. Glory all goes to God. And i feel pride and shame when i point something out like "this motivated by my naturally good heart amd my true self is a divine discovery. I am probably the first to say Ive beaten Lucifar hands down on 3 areas very simple. 1: there is guarenteed 1% of love within this entitty from the bible, And Lucifer is afraid of this within himself. He fears the capacity in his heart. Lucifer fears himself. And that tiny igmored reality of love is capable of seeking forgiveness and apologizing to his creator. Yea i could be nuts but 2: humans, generally any life form brought into light given the breath of life to seek the water of life, are conditioned, refined, we are born with lack of understanding and in time develop sincere amd forced pursuit of underatanding. I take it Lucifer just suddenly came into light an angel with uncomparable tangible working knowledge with math, music, stars, and whatever elae. Put Satan up against a regular devloped human and there is much to gain from the journey in being. Where satan just woke up with his bed made and an attitude similar to mine perhaps. "This can be better". Is where i stop the line. I assume God ridicule came from the statue with emotions and knowledge. Who should be a professilnal liar if he believes himself that his strength and power are not extensioms of God to begin with. Have to be a wicked bad liar to claim pride and ownership of anything whatsoever under the light. And finally 3 i feel im going to remember the 3rd way I checked the scariest guy in hell. But yeah no? assuming the story true, wouldnt the capacity in hiz heart be to close to deny and create fear and the most depressing "what am i going to wear today" moments? Before showing the tear in his eyes emotions. this waa a really long stretch of a first blog in life. Im considering Blog 2 to be straight down to the knit. My **** and my luster. None of you will likely know me so ill drop down my guard and even get into the pride/shame like. yes i was on that crack like they were infinity packs and the only translatable view to the edge lf my heart beyond the mountain God may have intended to be in my way. And yes for sure real sexual absurditiesn have been a matter if exploration and i found the most go to being ones least condoned like im straight but a few times on thjs other drug, the only reaskn the drug would be any jse to me if I went straight tranny freakazoid fk or even longer than 12 straight ( kind of) hours. I made a bjg ordeal of it too because i live in comparing to a waizt to shoulder hi body of water like fear. Im always nearly always in fear of something. Even if its just in a house all alone I am watching my tone and volume to not disturb the entity or embarrass myself. And theres usually a lot of BS running around my zone too. But anywhoo, scared of the SwaT teams and demons in a hotel, after the first usual 3 hours of eyes attatched to all directions i can notice without moving i said im going to max this **** out right here yeeaaaaa and i was doing poses for the potentials whoever stands at a second floor hotel window for 3 hours. You catch the drift. Sure part of the freaknicity invomved is mentally appealing. Im nkt going to lie. The flesh of a woman looking jedi equipped i mean has to be no sembalance of a male but thats neithr here nor anywhere for me because this isnt like, my hearts reach in any way. Since the last time i freaked off i encountered sexual encounter with an at the time friend lady and then almost a second time with the hottest coat rack breast formation i ever need to remember. Well she pulls out the money for intercourse part and now i am in not only great confliction but with a prepared spirit for the one of the highest priority lessons I could learn or be corrected on. And just then came a foundation of knowledge and vision. Flesh perveree barbaric using eachother like another drug or relieving some pain or just sheer addicted. Ive never had a time i can remember where there is something between us not being impprtant to me in the sack of awesome goods. If there is no relation there to me now more than ever, then jt is absolute perversive use of the flesh and body. I hope i dont get some effect of a born habbit and tranny zerg away my problem and enhanced self confliction. Hey that was mostly because damn new drug new coping mechanisim, and there are countless survielance vultures and sure there are good birds too but ive raised a lot of attention. I just let go on the FBI something about FBIs mom too. And maybe i just want the 3rd particles in good hands but I cant trust a comey supporting organization who are either ignoring the messed up bridge and back up the lies or they are beings without common sense. Plus some other group(s) i may or may not belong too. Im an expert **** up trying to move out of this world vast potential into a framing of the only way i see contributing chance to 5 generations from now to be atleast alive bearably. But no the world unison is buy what they say to buy no matter what healthier and bio friendly lower cost solutions are hidden from us. What would evolve in systems and technologies supressed by our ROTH oppressors fancy dress night club, is probably far beyond any imagination. But we want to say its cool ill stcik with gasine and everything else unto death. Whats a future generaton? I dont see blood on my hands yet. Not my problem. Or worst yet of the whe set is the sad existance of knowing that better is a controlled possibility removed from possibility by a few tactics to keep humans focused on other problems like, never never represent the problem with details about the CIA plane crash bringing cocain into america. Dont put on the news 24,311 bombs were dropped on other countries. Like is it 100s or thousands of oilline breaks per year? Either way they don't want you to see the pentagon lost 6.5 trlion bucks whoops . And tobaccoo being a substantial source of tax revenue. Whatever moneys not the problem here. Its how ks your FDA cool with 6000 known additves to a ciggrrate? and youre good with modified organism (gene manipulated plant life namely fruist and veggiesbyou can claim intellectual rights to tomatoes now by altering its DNA) that most consumers would lome the right to know but man its over with. Im either going to just die one day... Or I'm going to dye knowing i threw down a few sparks that reached a storm the ROTH associates will have to get stepping. Go buy your own planet or island of youre so obsessed with being king lizard man. Destroying the offspring futures chance of a liveable world and potential of decent m humanity instead of 10 billion people having to suddenly adjust with the last forseeable year with petro fuels or stop kilming the world. stop taking more grip over our societies industries and market lkke..... I know allegedly 90% media is slapped into air by atleast 1 out of just 6 mega corps. Sl is that lime our clothes are probably boiked up to ROTH brands? ummmm blog 1 i might S sell have gave an essay i worked on a year in the American college system at the podium with the XYZ or funny stain black shirt liike.... Yea l make this mire worth while and if it fails me or i fail i might even try a second blog life. But i realoze the value in these blogs being revved around free introduction to inventions. All the way up to a new style of buildings. lkke really hard to see as anything but futuristic, easier, and better in at least a few distinct ways. #1 perk of this technology given we are not on unlimited resource world but ements kf the housing structure are intact by such a way that it can be reutilized and ultimately there is potential for a no waste technology that reaches every door in the earth thats been done up the new way. Syria Afghanistan ans in general the countries that had devestated ways of lives of countless individual lkves of family members pretty much need to be rebuilt by this building technogy unseen. And the speed should be quicker as well. blog1 the ramble of death. the simplicity in taking base technology and enhancing them with personal and ho.e life is not only missing from our choices but unbelievable how eaay it would seem to accomplish the evidence of .mmm It only seems impossible because its not on tap at any restaurants we know. Partly why i have arranged a vision of my most hoped for life one without its core an office and a desk but one built from the potentials of imagination. Imagination being in part most crucial in expanding reality. Alright next one will be shorter sweet cut and dry. The facts in my peraonel history. ps im paranoid schizo like pretty much everything frim swat teams, demons, and ritualistic annual sacrifice held secretly in the depth expanse of a tunnelways descendance into reality where only one hope has life, that is Lord God mercy.

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mavwrekmarketing · 8 years

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Ive been struggling since the election, and now since inauguration, with two questions: First, why does this feel worse than its ever felt before? Second, how can I stop feeling this way?

Why does this feel so awful?

I read a lot of conservative media, and it tells me that Im a sore loser and a snowflake, and everyone I know needs a safe space. We libtards just keep crying and crying and cant get over it.

Well it is true that everyone I know is in terrible pain about this election and now the actions of our 45th president. And it is true, judging from opinion polls, that the 40 to 45 percent of the people who support the president support him just as strongly today as they did two weeks ago despite the travel ban, despite the DeVos nomination, despite the multiple threats issued to our allies. (Many of us fear they support him not despite these things but because of them).

I can live within a framework of such a profound difference of worldview Ive lived through it before. This time, however, it is different. Every comment I see made by those of us terrified by our new president and what he means for the country is met by an equal and opposite comment from those enthralled by the current White House occupant. Those equal and opposite responses take joy in the pain of those on the left. Our national dialogue could now be summed up by Lisa Simpson saying, I am desperately unhappy, and Nelson Muntz pointing and laughing.

A marriage unraveling

Our country, at least politically, has been undergoing a trial separation for nearly 20 years. I would root it in the impeachment of Bill Clinton. My thoughtful conservative friends would tell me Im wrong and the root is the Robert Bork nomination hearings. Both sides would describe the beginning of the separation in basically the same way: this was the point when I realized the other side was in it just to win and had thrown all propriety, all history, all common bond out the window. This is when I realized the other side considered me the enemy.

For at least two decades (three if you want to begin with Bork), we have fought each other pretty intensely, thought ill of each other, said nasty things about each other in public and in private, and (likely most importantly) weve spent less and less time together. If you were a progressive liberal and you could, you likely moved to the nearest urban area. Maybe you even packed your bags and made your way to California (there are a lot more of you here than when I first got here 20 years ago). If you were a conservative, you tended to congregate with other conservatives, either in suburbs, exurbs, rural areas, or the few conservative cities (generally in the South and Southwest).

We chose different neighborhoods, different careers, different friends. The division between us became regional, local, and increasingly racial and gendered.

But we all agreed on one thing: we loved the kid. We have maintained some bond of contact because we love this country. We each have our own way of showing it you conservatives (Ill pretend any of you are actually reading this) talk often of its beauty and its liberty, that it is a shining city on a hill and the land of opportunity. We, in contrast, talk of its inexorable march toward justice and its magnificent history of taking those who rise up and demand their freedom and, eventually, embracing them and making them part of the national character.

Its when the kid doesnt live up to our expectations that we have our fiercest fights.

You think the kid is weak, ineffectual, a baby killer, overly tolerant of the wrong element, riddled with crime and racial divisions that only get worse. You think its factories are falling apart, its competitive edge gone. And you think thats because weve been overly permissive parents.

We think the kid is sometimes an entitled bully; that it uses its power unwisely; that it picks on the weakest here and abroad and that it should instead use its power to protect them and help them up. We think the kid has an incredible capacity for charity and kindness and equality, but youve filled its head with suspicion and superstition and, yes, racism and misogyny.

Underlying this disagreement, though in almost everyone I know has been a belief that eventually we would reconcile. Eventually, our mutual love of the kid would bring us back together. Rushing into each others arms, wed embrace and remember that we love our country, love each other, that we are one people, that the music would swell, and wed live happily ever after. Like the end of La La Land, for 20 years weve dreamed of a world where it all works out.

Pictured Above (L to R): Not the Best Picture of 2016. Its still pretty great! But come on, people! Moonlight!

When in the course of human events

Why am I so sad? Why is everyone I know so sad? Because we still loved you, you jerks. We still wanted to share this country with you, in all of its abundance and glory. We still wanted to do great things together with you to send men and women to Mars, to power our industry through renewable energy, to make peace in the Middle East. We have believed that as a nation, we were on a path a long, inevitable arc bending toward justice and that we were walking down that path with you. And 2016 has killed that ember of hope for many of us. We now see and understand that this trial separation is not a trial for you. It never was. You hate us and you dont want to be with us anymore. More importantly, you will do anything you can to have the kid and keep the kid all to yourselves. And that realization is painful.

This realization one we werent ready for after Florida in 2000 and one that was delayed by our unity after 9/11 requires mourning and processing. Sure, it may even require some crying. But if you think thats the end of the story, wow, have you misunderstood our mutual history.

By electing Donald J. Trump, you have asked us for a divorce. Really, youve demanded it. Why do I say that?

You told us you cared about religious liberty. And then you elected a guy who has pledged to stomp on the religious liberty of our friends and neighbors.

You told us you cared about free markets and integrity. And then you elected a guy who has undisclosed business ties to God-knows-whom and is clearly using the power of his office to alter the free market. Hes literally tanked stock prices of companies with tweets! This is so counter to everything you ever said you wanted, we cant quite wrap our heads around it.

You told us you were humiliated by Bill Clinton getting a blow job in the White House and that it demeaned our country. Then you elected a guy who bragged about grabbing women by the pussy and who was accused of rape by his ex-wife. We cant comprehend this.

You told us you cared about the military and its traditions and that we were awful parents because we didnt care enough. And then you elected a guy who disparaged prisoners of war (a group so hallowed in this country, theres a special flag) and who regularly said our military is a disaster.

You told us that you are suspicious of the imperial presidency and executive actions unchecked by congress. This was the unforgivable sin of that Obama guy we loved so much. And then you elected a guy who is wreaking havoc with executive actions that are poorly constructed and poorly communicated. In response to the chaos of his travel ban order, his approval ratings havent budged among conservatives.

You told us that it was all about states rights and municipalities ability to make their own decisions. Youve been telling us that since you guys were Democrats (under Jefferson) and we were Federalists (under Adams); the federal authority is too great and the states must have autonomy, you said! And then you elected a guy who declares he might send the national guard into one of our great metropolises, threatens to defund states that dont support his immigration policies, and declares he will pull federal funding from a university because it didnt allow some alt-right pipsqueak to speak (it did, but thats not the topic for this conversation).

You spent years venerating Ronald Reagan, who called the Soviets the evil empire and particularly had a big problem with the KGB and what it did to its people. He also spoke quite a lot about tearing down walls and not building them. And then you elect a guy who can do nothing but praise the former KGB agent heading Russia, who says hes going to build a wall, and who appears to have deep and shady connections into Russia. Or maybe he doesnt! But you seem unconcerned with even the possibility.

You elected him, and now that hes acting this way, youre still supporting him! We expected truly, deep down, no lie that once he began to behave like the bullying emperor we suspected he would be, the sort you always accused Obama of being, you would begin to pull your support. We so wanted to believe it. But his approval rating is 89% among Republicans. You like how hes acting. And from this we can only conclude

You hate us now more than you love the kid.

You hate us now more than you love your own beliefs and values.

You hate us so much that you would side with Russia, you would abandon your principles, you would do anything to defeat us and watch us roil.

We can only conclude that it is precisely our unhappiness with the president that makes you happy. And if that is the case, you dont dream of ever working with us. You dont dream of ever reconciling. You dream of defeating us. You dream of humiliating us.

What do we do now?

In any divorce, you have a set of choices. One of them, of course, is to fake your own death and run away to another country. That is not an option I believe we should contemplate.

Generally, people have amicable divorces or contested divorces. When amicable, they seek counsel that mediates disputes and looks for win-win solutions. When contested, they seek leg-breaking lawyers who will do everything to maximize the outcome for their client, including seeking sole custody.

It is not an option for us to go our separate ways completely because we share the kid. Thus, our previous hopes for reconciliation. Lately, I think we have hoped that a win-win, mediated, shared custody approach was possible if we were to end this marriage. What is clear now is that for years the Republicans have been making use of the kind of leg-breaking, stop-at-nothing attorneys we have been loathe to employ. Theyve been kicking our asses in court while we kept hoping we could work this out.

No more.

So now a custody battle

The election of 2016 could have been a fluke. A goof. An accident. No one thought he would win. It could have even brought us together. If the #NeverTrump movement on your side (Im going to go back to pretending any Republicans are reading this) had taken blossom and you bounced this clown upon his inauguration, I can promise you, we would have come running into your arms. It would have been a great moment of reconciliation. You cannot (apparently) imagine how much we would have loved the Republican party if it ejected this unfit yahoo. A new era of compromise would have been possible. We could have worked with Pence and Ryan.

Instead, you have revealed that you would rather win than care for the kid we both love. So now is when it turns really ugly.

You think were snowflakes? You think were just going to give up and let you take the country away? Thats incredible.

There are some numbskulls on the left talking about secession. As Sam Houston of Texas said on the matter in the 1860s, The federal Constitution, the federal Government, and its starry flag are glorious heritages bequeathed to the South and all sections of our common country by the valor and patriotism of Washington, and all the brave revolutionary soldiers, who fought for and won American independence. This is our country and our government and there is not a chance in hell were going to let you have it by leaving even if that were legally possible (which it isnt, numbskulls).

Were the ones who have marched for this country. Were the ones who have taken blows to the head, been killed, hit with water hoses and blasted with water cannons, fought and bled to protect this country from the likes of its current president. If you think were snowflakes, you better prepare for the blizzard coming your way.

When you see us out in the streets, thats not a bunch of liberals crying. Those arent melting snowflakes who need a hug and a safe space. Thats the inevitable march of some people who loved you and are now very, very pissed off.

Were going to organize every last living voter in every neighborhood in this country. Were taking you to the ballot box.

Were going to be out in the streets opposing every last thing you do from now until we can unwind the coil you have around this countrys throat. We will confront you with the truth about what youre doing to this country and we will not relent.

Were going to hire the nastiest, toughest, smartest, leg-breakinest lawyers in the country. Were taking you to court.

To my countrymen and women with broken hearts…

This is a terribly sad time for us. And now we have to let go of one kind of hope and take hold of another.

Let us recognize, there are two groups who gave this lecherous villain and his malevolent brood the keys to the White House:

First, there is a group of our countrymen who hate us. They are the rank and file of the Republican Party, and they want to destroy us. They will not rest until they take every lever of power away from us, annihilating any compromise in the government. They can show this isnt true at any time through their actions and have failed to do so over and over.

Second, there is a group of our fellow citizens who are scared, hurt, and angry. They feel abandoned by the government both Democrat and Republican and theyve made common cause with these thugs because they hope it will bring them jobs and safety.

Its time that we put aside reconciliation with the former and fight them tooth and nail on behalf of ourselves and the latter.

The Republicans who have given themselves over to hatred will laugh at us. They will mock us. And eventually, they will lose. It will start two years from now at mid-terms, then four years, then six.

We could have had a divorce with shared custody. Not anymore. Were taking the kid.

They have undone our desire to share this country with them. They have dismantled our liberal desire to be reasonable and see their side of things. They have done it by endangering our children and our future. They have done it by putting their anger at us ahead of their professed love of country, and that is the one thing we can never forgive.

(This piece originally appeared on Medium.)

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