#ofs! papyrus | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sentient-stove · 3 years

Text

Okay, I know nobody asked, but since that 200k word fanfic for Rise of the Guardians was the first ever fanfic I wrote, I remember the plot, so I’m going to tell you about it.

*buckles you into a chair*

And you’re gonna listen. *SPOILER WARNINGS, DUH*

Oh, let me tell you her powers first:

Shadow travel like Pitch, she can control the nightmares, but she has to be in constant contact with them, she can create weapons out of pure and corrupted sand, Sandman’s sleep dust doesn’t work on her and she can turn invisible to the Guardians as well. other than that, she’s pretty low power wise compared to the others. Like, she has a lot, but they’re all pretty draining.

...

So, the plot started in a flashback scene in Egypt, around the time that the pyramids were being built.

Our main character, I don’t remember her name, sits up and we see that she’s almost completely covered in sand. She doesn’t know how she got there, her name or who she is as a person. So she stumbles to her feet, dusts herself off and starts walking. People are ignoring her (duh) and when she finally makes it to a small watering trough, she looks into the water to see that her cornrows are pure white, one of her eyes is gold and the other is a black. Other than that, she looks like how a 18 or so Egyptian girl would look at the time.

anyway, she looks up to see the moon and someone walks through while she’s distracted. The walking through her startles her, she stumbles back, falls through a shadow and is gone.

Then there’s like a montage of all the other guardians becoming guardians, and she’s always either nearby or a slight trigger to it- like with Jack Frost’s, she’s the reason why the ice started cracking, and that’s why he fell in, because there were three people on the ice that day, even though it only looked like two.

Final jump to the events in Rise of the Guardians. She’s changed outfits by now and is wearing black jeans, a black bomber jacket and lots of gold jewelry. She’s chasing one of the nightmare’s in the same town that Jack is in (She likes keeping tabs on him and Sandman since those two move around the most and it’s more interesting than constantly fucking with the Yeti). Anyway, over the course of this time, it’s clear that she doesn’t use her shadow traveling and so the nightmare gets away.

So she’s upset about the nightmare getting away, but before she can really do anything, she hears a yell, and looks to see that in the alley below her, the Easter Bunny is wig snatching Jack Frost (like how in the movie) and right before the snow globe portal closes, she slips through invisibly. She gets out of the way before anyone can see where she is and ends up shadow hopping to sit on the globe and watch shit go down.

Anyway, that scene happens, she accidentally outs herself as being there, it’s implied that she has bad blood with the Sandman, Jack Frost has never met her, Tooth Fairy just knows of her as like a cryptid and she’s halfway friends with Easter Bunny.

Anyway, Santa takes Jack to go have the talk (if you know, you know) and the other three guardians are like: “bitch, you need to go.” And she’s like: ‘fuck no, im staying, this is the most interesting shit’s been in years.’

they try to subdue her, can’t lmao and so they get stuck with her as like a weird protector of the guardians.

So while this is going down, the Tooth Palace attack happens and she tags along, helping take out a few nightmares and she actually rides one until the Easter Bunny takes it out on accident and she ends up landing on a different level of the palace than the main guardians + Jack.

She hears the whole convo from down there and she also starts to see the crumbling from her vantage point and it looks like the foundation itself of the Tooth Palace is corroding.

That all happens, including the scene where Jack is like: “you shitheads had my memories the whole time?”

She’s the first one to pipe up and be like: ‘It’s chill, I don’t have memories either, and look at me, 4000 years strong and I’m still not a Guardian.”

Whoop, there it is.

Teeth collecting montage, not much changes, except for the room scene before Sandman’s death, where it’s her, sandman and jack that are still awake. She stays behind to wake everyone up, not realizing that the snowglobe slipped out of Santa’s pocket and rolled into the hallway...

She wakes them up, they all go out in time to do that cool fight scene and she watches sandman’s death from a closer point because she was shadow traveling through the nightmares, trying to get there in time. She doesn’t and she almost gets KO’d by Jack Frost when he kills all the nightmares.

Funeral, once again, not much changes, although she has to take up a temporary role as the Sandman due to her powers being a weird cross of Sandman’s and Pitch’s.

The next part is as the Warren (Easter Bunny’s headquarters) and she volunteers to go scout the tunnels ahead while everyone else is getting the eggs ready. She gets mixed up and accidentally runs through a wall, landing in Pitch’s lair.

She doesn’t see the lil tooth fairies, because of her location, but Pitch taunts her with her fears and shows her a canopic jar made of corrupted sand. He then explains that she was supposed to be the Sandman, and she was, for many years before she fought him in the desert, got half corrupted and Pitch stole her memories and name as a trophy. That rightfully pisses her off and she almost KO’s him right then and there if it weren’t for Jack Frost showing up and Pitch going off to torment him while she runs around trying to get out.

She literally runs into Jack Frost, grabs him and shadow travels them out. It weakens her, and she tells him to go and warn the other’s while she recoups. In reality, she kinda just passes out in the tunnel and by the time she wakes up, Jack Frost is gone, the Big Three thought she got offed like Sandman and so it’s an awkward funeral walk in moment.

She yells at them for being dumbasses, watches Easter Bunny shrink and is like: “Oh fuck, we need to figure something out because I now have personal beef with Pitch and you guys are on the verge of collapse.”

Pitch comes for his big victory, everyone realizes that Jamie won’t give up like the absolute piece of shit he is and so while the Big Three go to go save him, she sticks back and has a brief one on one fight with Pitch to stall, she almost wins, but gets hit by some blowback of her own powers and so Pitch runs and she has to follow, making her show up to the battle a bit after Jamie turns the first nightmare into pure sand.

There’s the fight scene, all the kids can see the Guardians, but not her because there’s no name to believe in, ergo she does not exist.

There’s this one moment in the film where Pitch rises up behind Jack Frost in the final battle, fully about to take him out with the scythe, but Sandman comes in time and saves him.

Here, our main character pushes Jack out of the way and takes the blow instead. The second the scythe touches her, she’s gone, destroyed. The Big Three and Jack Frost are upset and Pitch shows off the canopic jar to them, bragging and THAT’s when Sandman comes back. Pitch loses control of the jar, Jack catches it and Santa takes it from him to keep it safe.

Once all of that is done and Jack Frost is a Guardian, etc, it goes to the last scene, where they’re having an actual funeral for her with the jar. The funeral ends, Santa places the jar on a shelf and everyone walks away. Except for Jack Frost and the Sandman.

Jack turns to Sandman is like: “She was cool.”

Sandman makes like the opening a jar motion and Jack Frost is kinda confused, but he realizes that since the jar is made of corrupted sand, Sandman can’t open it, but for some reason, he wants him to.

So he takes the jar and pops it open. Inside there’s a single slip of papyrus. Jack Frost grabs it, looks at the words on it, which have somehow shifted from their original hieroglyphs to English.

He reads the word outloud.

and from behind him and Sandman, a familiar voice says: “Took you long enough.”

~THE END~

I hope you enjoyed lmao, I wrote the original fic when I was a freshman in high school and while all my friends were dating, I was writing fanfic about a character that gave no fucks and was just there for the ride. She didn’t even have a love interest, just a close platonic relationship with everyone by the end.

and yes the fic was stolen. I even remember the girl’s name: Clair Deg** (im not trying to doxx her..)

#rise of the guardians #jack frost #fanfic but not really #my first fanfic #please reblog this is so cursed

9 notes · View notes

cocofinny · 5 years

Text

lkjh i thought i should put some of my mobswapfell ramblings here as well if thats ok with everyone ;w;

Scar [Sans]

The brains of the duo, but is also occasionally the muscle.

Has a talent for intimidating potential business partners into a deal by simply staring at them. Though he would rather not have to resort to violence, he will if necessary, and he hasn’t got a single shred of mercy.

Desires to be welcomed into the upper class societies, like that of the ruthless Dreemurr Family, and as such acts with dignity and poise. However, as he is considered the ‘new money’ type, he is often rejected and scorned. But that doesn’t stop him from trying

Prefers to leave the more violent parts of business deals to his brother. But if you manage to survive the Hound, then you have to deal with the Master. And you’ll find yourself wishing you hadn’t

Owns several self-built businesses, namely in catering, and he ‘‘‘‘owns’’’’ several other establishments such as Muffet’s Parlour

Scar will take advantage of any opportunity given to him. You have connections with a person who can benefit his businesses and his standing in society? Congratulations! You now work for Scar. Didn't agree to work for him? Nah...you DEFINITELY work for him now ;)

Can play the violin and piano

Rumble [Papyrus]

The muscle of the duo.

Very loyal to his older brother, so if you insult Scar, you gonna die.

Is in fact incredibly intelligent but plays the brute so people end up underestimating him

Knows that he won’t ever be accepted into the circles that his brother yearns for, but doesn’t care. He prefers to mingle with people more on his level.

Frequents underground fights.

Also gambles - and he always obliterates the competition

Can also be found sweet-talking some poor soul he happens to take a fancy to…

Doesn’t mind the violence. He’s very good at offing those who disappoint his brother, and is even better at hiding the evidence…

Is often found in Muffet’s Parlour, but likes to get around a bit. You encroach on his brother’s territory, you’re getting a visit from the Hound himself and getting a stern ‘talking to’.

Can play the saxophone

#fin says stuff #undertale #swapfell red #mobswapfell #sf!sans #sf!papyrus #headcanons #ripped straight from my twitter lol #sorry i just had to get all these out lkjhgf ;w;

130 notes · View notes

homesafterthemountain · 6 years

Note

I am a strong believer in major, life-altering decisions being discussed between significant others if in a relationship. That being said, if Fang was in a relationship with any of the skellies, what would they say about her possible "promotion"? Maybe even in the Soulmate AU, maybe not.

oooh, i might do a what if chapter in this.

Sans- he wouldn’t like it. he’s against killing in general, and if he knew her job he’d be trying to talk her into leaving it or stick to torture without killing. hed be pissed if she decided to take the job, but might be able to handle it if she promised to only off people that proved they deserved it.

Papyrus- hed have been trying to get her to quit as soon as he learns. hed be horrified that shes even considering the job. he would strategically stall her and make it a bother to go to ‘work’, always trying to get her to quit and maybe join the royal guard.

Red- while he doesnt have classic’s same respect for life, he still has a strong sense of justice. he doesnt like the thought of you offing someone for the hell of it, or just for money, if they havent hurt anyone first. however, he understands her desire to provide, if its what she really wants to do.

Edge- he doesnt like it, and shares reds sentiments about offing someone innocent. he is very heavily hinting that you should quit and join the royal guard, very unsubtly. he would strongly disapprove of you becoming a killer who cant even bother to fight their opponents face to face

Stretch- he hates it.he wants you to quit, wants to stop it all, and blames himself for not being able to hold down a job well enough. he tries to bargain with you. if you took the promotion, he’d constantly war with his morals, dating an assassin.

Blue- like papyrus, he’s trying to get you to quit you job in the gang. he’s constantly trying to keep you home or close to him, to make you miss any opportunities to do gang work. he makes the mistake or trying to order you not to take the promotion. he soon realizes he messed up with that.

4 notes · View notes

infinitelystrangemachinex · 6 years

Text

I Could Be the Walrus (Modern Bodyguard AU)

Ain’t Too Proud to Beg - The Temptations Signed, Sealed, Delivered - Stevie Wonder Cry To Me - Solomon Burke

In America, it’s estimated that if you’re murdered, there’s an over fifty-percent chance that it’s going to be by someone you know. Your chances of being offed only increase if you take the same route to and from work every day. And if you say hello to strangers?

“There was a sale on for granite at Legacy Headstones the other day,” drones Suzu, propping his feet up on the cafeteria table. “Passed it on the highway. Though I guess someone would have to find your body first.”

“You’re making all that up.” Shirayuki squints down at the Huffington Post article crammed onto Suzu’s Android that he’s shoved under her nose. “I think my routes are varied plenty.”

Yuzuri jams the toe of her heeled boot into the round of his calf. “Suzu, Obi’s our own personal Rambo. No one is going to murder Shirayuki.”

He arches his brows at her. “It was a buy one, get one fifty percent off sale.”

Pluck any one novel from a decent section of the library, and you’re bound to find some allusion in one in five to the five stages of grief.

Even in literature published dozens of years, hundreds of years, before the Kübler-Ross model was a figment in a Swiss psychiatrist’s imagination. And Shirayuki is no psychiatrist, but if plants have been photosynthesizing since the Ordovician period and human cells have been overmultiplying into cancer since some ancient Egyptian physician scrawled the grisly details onto papyrus in three-thousand-odd B.C., then she’s willing to bet that perhaps even Hippocrates himself wept and maybe labored like a madman over the cold body of the first, and maybe the second, and the third and the fourth patient that gave up the ghost on his table. There had to have been a process of some kind - points B, C, and D - that had led to point E, whenever and wherever he had accepted the concept of crisis and allowed nature to vie one way or the other.

Grief is a result of loss.

Shirayuki had even read once that we all experience grief when we so much as stop at the grocery store only to find that the pancake mix that’s been at aisle three for a decade has been moved to aisle six. Loss. In a matter of seconds, a full cycle of grief - we move on to aisle six.

The Kübler-Ross model can’t even be proven, but then again, neither can gravity, right, and she wonders where she -

Pancake mix thuds into her basket and she squeaks, tilting right over like a chopped tree straight into a solid shoulder.

Obi pushes her away, playful. “Class dismissed, kid. You’ve got nothing to think about over winter break.”

“Work isn’t dismissed,” she reminds him and smiles despite herself. He flashes her a wide grin - oh, she’d once thought him so easy to talk to, but lately, the truth would only snuff out these guttering moments, and such a thing she cannot bear.

“It’s the holidays. You’ve got better things to do.”

She stops dead. “Do I?” she asks him, needle-sharp.

Obi’s just - a grab-bag of a human being. It’s either off the side of a cliff, or the best moment of your life, every time.

Obi’s mouth forms a perfect O. Then his eyes follow an invisible trail of breadcrumbs across the ceiling. “What’s next on that list?” he asks, already traipsing away, so innocent. “Slivered almonds?”

Shirayuki wakes from what can only be a five-year coma. Blinking groggily at the ceiling, she licks dry lips, tastes death - euch, she must’ve slept with her mouth open - and sits up.

And stares blearily at the floor. “Is that one of my suitcases?”

“Oh, yes.” Yuzuri is sprawled on her side on her twin bed, her phone glowing blue in the cradle of her bathrobe-clad body. “Mitsuhide said that Obi said to fill it up.” She looks up, guilty.

Shirayuki blinks once more. Frowns hard, flexes every mental muscle she possesses to piece together the last few days, comes up with nothing -

“If he whisks you off to some top-secret hut in the jungles of Hawaii,” says Yuzuri, gaze fixed on her phone, “you can borrow some stuff of mine, just in case.”

Shirayuki lobs her pillow at her from across the room.

“Hawaii” turns out to be two floors down, three doors to the left of the stairwell.

The apartment is just bare bones. A shocker - that Izana Wisteria would allow even a single empty bed to sit and collect utilities is almost beyond her ability to comprehend, and this apartment has four of them.

Shirayuki stands aside while Mitsuhide, Obi, and Kiki muscle in a flat screen smart TV, speakers, an assembled bookshelf, a box piled high with quilts and sheets, a two-piece sofa set, a dining table and chairs, a microwave -

Kiki shuffles sideways past her into the apartment with an armful of Ikat throw pillows, clearly from Target, and just as clearly secondhand, and that is the last straw.

Right behind comes Obi, smiling at her sheepishly and one of his gloved hands already lifting up the handle of her suitcase.

“Obi,” she tries, moving to block his way into the apartment, her heart pounding. “I don’t understand -”

He experiments with lifting her suitcase an inch off the floor, and his entire neck immediately breaks out in cords. He grimaces, then lets the non-rotating wheels thud back to the ground. “What did you put in this thing?”

“Obi, it’s Christmas Eve!” She plants her feet, and it’s hopefully as Baba and Deda had always said - the world couldn’t move her, slammed into her back or offered up on a silver platter. “What is going on?”

Obi considers her, his smile as soft as the clumps of snow that had rained from the sky just days prior. Its… unsettling. “This is a lockdown.”

The five stages of grief must work more like a slot machine. Any same three tokens will land you somewhere in the middle, and any non-win sends you straight back to the very beginning.

The average American male is roughly one-hundred and seventy-six centimeters tall, white, nearly obese, has dark hair, and believes in Capitalism. Just such an one has taken an apparent interest in the apartment buildings just west of Wisteria Sciences, and in the unassuming darkness of three A.M., had committed the grievous transgression of trying to enter the building without an access card.

The only thing to assume is, clearly, the very worst.

“That could’ve been anyone, doing anything,” Shirayuki finally says six hours to midnight. She looks up from her textbook for the first time that afternoon and peruses her surroundings with something bordering on horror. Or maybe that’s just the blood rushing from her head. “This all seems a bit excessive.”

“It’s reusable, is the point.” Obi’s mouth is tilted in an apologetic smirk. “Though the TV that we’re not watching was a personal suggestion. You’re welcome.”

She’s certain he’s never sat properly on a couch in his entire life - he’s perched on the hard back of the one adjacent to hers with his back flat to the wall, his legs a long tangle in front of him, a great, dark gargoyle watching over her reading.

She’d thought for the briefest instant that she’d be alone, or sharing with Kiki. How naive she was.

Out of the corner of her eye, she watches one of his arms curl around his shins, hogtying himself with… himself. He’s too flexible to be natural. “Kid - you told Yuzuri and the others not to drop by -”

“I don’t usually do anything for Christmas Eve,” she says quickly.

“But it’s not a problem, the point is just to keep you where you aren’t usually, you could -”

“This is the perfect time for studying.” She eyes him. “Usually.”

Both of Obi’s hands fist in the couch cushions just under the balls of his feet. “Please tell me I’ve done more than screw up some book-reading time.”

A hot flush creeps up Shirayuki’s neck. “You haven’t.”

Obi makes it twenty more minutes.

Then he arches away from the wall and springs feet-first from the back of the couch like an acrobat. Shirayuki yelps in surprise, nearly dropping her book on her stomach.

His laptop is resting on the thin carpet, and he drags it into his lap, connecting it to the TV with a cord - and please, why, on this Christmas Eve where she’s been grounded by the world’s shadiest bodyguard, where a psychopath could very well be combing the building in search of her - why couldn’t he just leave her be?

Furious tapping at his keyboard, and within moments, soft, crooning Christmas music fills the apartment.

Her fingers freeze, halfway through flicking through the textbook for the dozenth time. Oh.

Decades of history have built up to a moment like this: the crackling of a gramophone prickling along the backs of her arms with the bittersweetness of memories that may or may not actually be there, winter’s constant and truest companion. Recorded ages ago, digitized, and now playing loud and clear the cozy horns muffled by another time, all over a smart TV with a screen about as thick around as a fifth-grader’s notebook.

“Chestnuts roasting on an open fire…” murmurs Nat King Cole, and in all the places where a chill might grip her spine in the wake of a shock, warmth instead suffuses her frosted corners. Shirayuki blinks; the miniscule type superimposed over her textbook diagrams blurs into nonsense.

She peeks over the edge of the book.

There’s a fire on the TV.

No, really - that’s it. A blazing, picturesque fire in a fireplace, stockings pushed to the corners and out of harm’s way, hints of greenery teasing the edges of the screen, half-opened presents done up in metallic wrapping paper and glittery bows scattered across a cheery red carpet.

A smile tugs at Shirayuki’s lips. “Is that...?”

“It’s the Yule Log.” Obi half-shuts his laptop screen and glows with obvious pride. A strange look for a man wearing all black and a concealed gun belt on Christmas Eve. “Guess you’ve heard of it.”

The fire burning probably a thousand miles away lights the living room in a warm glow, stark against the whitewashed walls and neutral gray carpet, the taupe furniture. Shirayuki grins and sits up, the open textbook sliding into her lap. “When I was little, we burned a real log in a real fire. Every single year.”

And Halloween would end and she’d already be blasting her Christmas playlists on repeat, and they’d bake more batches of cookies than they could all eat in a month’s time, much less in a weekend’s span, and they would ding-dong-ditch the extras at the neighbors’, and the holidays were a time with nebulous beginnings and ends that blended together and didn’t end at all.

Crouched on the floor, Obi’s smile falters. Ah, she wishes there was a rewind button for life, one you could push and zap yourself back ten seconds or twenty - keep the guttering moments burning, lesson learned and in your back pocket, harmless.

Hippocrates probably wished for the same thing. Only the crisis would veer in the same direction, every time.

Obi reaches out a hand and with two fingers stilted like a clothespin over his keyboard keys, drains the volume on the Yule Log broadcast. He keeps his gaze locked on hers, golden and unreadable.

Then he stands, takes his phone out of his pocket, swipes the screen with one of the fingers black leather doesn’t claim, and then peers at her out of the corners of his eyes like she’s the one with a secret.

“What?” Her stockinged toes grip the edge of a couch cushion.

Self-conscious, she realizes. She’s alone in an apartment with Obi and she’s feeling bashful.

Obi nods once like she’s said it all. “I’ve got just the thing.”

He taps something on his phone, and the speaker between his knee and the TV blares to life.

“Bluetooth?”

Obi grants her a conspiratorial wink, and nothing more. That’s when the singing starts.

This is it. She’s never been more suspicious of Obi than she is in this moment.

“This isn’t Christmas music.”

“We can listen to that later,” he says, stepping closer. Shirayuki tucks her legs in tight underneath her. “We’ve got nothing but time.”

“Obi -”

He makes a gentling, placating gesture, a simple press of his hands on thin air. Hesitant. A twinge of guilt bites her at that - he doesn’t need to reassure her, not anymore.

He nods at the book in her lap. “That - is the most depressing thing I’ve ever seen.”

She could grab it, press it to her chest. She probably should.

Instead, she’s fighting back a wide, silly grin as Obi slips it gently from her lap and, without looking, tosses it across the room. It lands squarely on the armchair cushion and bounces there unharmed.

Strangely, it’s like the past few years go with it, trapped between the pages, tossed out of reach.

The music - a song she knows she must’ve heard at some point, but never committed to memory - starts up with a smart, rhythmic drumming, the horns high and blaring, the singing teasing and jovial all at once, enough to almost coax even her shoulders to start moving, her head to start bobbing.

Obi waggles his brows and backs up into the middle of the room. And then, slowly, matching only every two beats, his hips begin to sway.

Oh - oh, no. Barely in time, her hand slaps over her mouth, choking back a loud snort. From between her clenching fingers, she manages, “Is this how you celebrate Christmas, wherever you’re from?”

“Christmas?” he purrs, teeth flashing white against bronze skin. The song punches a high note and his head flicks to the side in time. “I could be Buddhist. Zoroastrian, even.”

She knows he’s making fun, but she still blushes, sharp and hot. Deda had always done the same to her, with the same effect. “I didn’t mean -”

“Come on, kid.”

It’s sudden. Obi’s voice plunges into a soft husk, and her stomach drops so sweetly -

She looks at him, heart pounding - not faster. Just heavy.

Really looks at him, where always before he had slipped beneath notice. Just a quiet addition to the spaces she occupied, as silent a threat as a cat glowering from the shadows. In a room with two people and him in it, it had always added up to just two.

It - it feels like two now.

Strange how some days, you just notice people. And the secretly empty, three-hour-old apartment suddenly feels very close around them, drawstrings drawn tighter and tighter the longer she looks, until Obi’s warm, amber gaze finds hers at last. Shy - and hopeful.

He raises an arm with the palm up, fingers gently spread toward her. “You can celebrate a bit.”

The lump that rises in her throat threatens rain. But he can’t have known how, what those words mean -

She’s off the couch and across the carpet and her fingertips hinge onto the middles of his, and after a moment of wide-eyed wonder, his mouth splits into the most brilliant grin she’s ever seen.

“You suck at this!” Obi crows. He sashays close again and just barely clips her hip with his, enough to nearly send her careening into the curtains.

Her face burns, but her cheeks hurt from grinning. At least she stayed upright this time. “Of course I do! How do you even dance to, um…”

“The Temptations?” Obi prompts - then, scandalized: “Motown?”

“So how?” she demands, caught halfway between snarling at him and laughing herself sick, trying to, um, locomotion with her arms, a sort of step-slide thing, is that it?

Sniggering, Obi’s hips start in again, rocking from side to side. She can see his waist working under his black shirt, half-hidden by his leather jacket. “Try this, kid.”

She thrusts one hip to the right. Then the other to the left.

“Kid. Oh my -”

“I’m trying -”

Obi covers his face, and howls with laughter into his hands.

Kittens, of all things - tiny, fluffy, squirmy, unsteady on reedy legs - come popping out of the packages scattered around the Yule Log. Shirayuki seizes the opportunity.

“Giving up?” Obi whines, executing a perfect heel-turn in the middle of the living room. Where he pulls this stuff from, she’ll never know. “We were just getting somewhere!”

“I want to watch the Yule Log!”

“You want to watch the Yule Log.”

Honestly, she’ll do anything to pad the time until her next round of embarrassment. But they are adorable. “Kittens, Obi.”

He frowns once at the flickering TV screen, the fire burning high and cheery in the fireplace, kittens tottering across the carpet and tripping over one another, and likely into the arms of waiting cameramen offscreen.

In a single, rapid tug, Obi unzips his jacket.

Shirayuki’s eyes narrow. “Obi?”

And from one of his bottomless pockets, he whips a pair of dark sunglasses. He dons them with a slow sweep of his hands.

“You’ve got better things to watch,” he purrs, and she laughs until tears come.

“Kid, it’s fun, just keep trying -”

“You’re better at it than me!”

“So what?” he snorts. She dodges to one side and barely misses the TV; Obi guffaws. At least he’d ditched the glasses after nearly walking into one of the walls. “Watch out for the Yule Log!”

With agility she never knew she had, she’s up on the couch, stockinged feet pressing deep into the secondhand cushions, arms held out for balance - she sends Izana a mental apology. “I’ll just watch you from here!”

Obi immediately preens, of course he can’t help it. He grins and trails gloved fingers savoringly down his own chest, and even though a laugh is still jumping in her gut - it’s obvious, suddenly, the shape of his chest, the part of his sternum, beneath the fitted black shirt.

A quick movement, and he’s shucked the jacket down his arms, shrugging it to the floor. Next comes the occupied gun belt strapped around his waist - a buckle freed from around his waist, a second from around his thigh. They hit the carpet in heaps.

He’s being funny. Hilarious, really. Looser and sillier than he’s ever been ever, with her, it’s -

Darn, dang him.

“You’re almost as bad as Suzu,” she admonishes, rather weakly, if she’s being honest.

“I’m flattered,” he snorts, and means it - she swears the tips of his ears are pink. But the music blares playful horns, and his hands flick daintily to the sides and he slides up to the couch across the carpet in his socks. The gloved hand proffers itself again. “Just come down! I’m not gonna bite.”

This flush she feels in her neck, her chest - he’s too mischievous, his eyes flare too gold, his grin is just too sharp, his shoulders too lean, his waist too trim in about as few clothes as she’s ever seen him in, too vulnerable, too fun.

The music rises. She doesn’t know where it comes from. She just grabs his hand, lifts her elbow, circles it once with her weight powering the point where they join, skin on warm leather.

Obi spins effortlessly under her direction, a perfect turnout. In a breath, she’s at the very edge of the couch cushion - she tugs on his hand and he’s right there in a sharp inhale, his chest a bare inch from her belly.

She stares down at him, her breaths suddenly shallow. He tips his face up so he can gape up at her in amazement while a televised Yule Log flickers golden light across one cheekbone and jaw. His hand is limp in hers.

No preamble is needed - she knows he’s going to pull it free. Uncertainty parts the curtain of Motown and kittens and laughter.

Her fingers tighten around his. No, she’s not ready, not when she’s finally feeling like this, for the first time in -

Obi’s smile pulls wide in the frame of her short red hair falling about her cheeks. “Knew you had it in you.”

“You still won’t tell me how to dance to this,” she huffs.

He raises his eyebrows, serious. “Then we’d better get to work.”

And then there’s an arm around the backs of her thighs; her knees buckle, she shrieks. A hand spreads across the small of her back and she tips forward off the couch with arms flailing straight into Obi, who tightens his grip on her legs and slings her over his shoulder like he’s been doing it for years, knocking the breath from her lungs.

He’s barking with laughter; she arches her back so she’s not staring at the carpet, hands scrabbling at the slick fabric sloped over his back, gasping for breath, yelling his name - “Obi, Obi, stop, put me down!” - between shocked giggles, trying not to kick his thighs or worse, this is insane -

The release is sudden - without explanation, she’s sliding down his shoulder through the circle of his arms and landing on her feet with a thump. She stumbles - Obi rocks close, a hand on her shoulder to steady her.

Dimly, she senses the song change again. And Obi meets her gaze with a giddy fire in his.

“Now do your worst, kid,” he breathes.

A few stupid antics, and it’s like they’ve mind-bridged. Or more like, she just stops thinking.

Obi rocks right - she follows. Left. Her arms are doing… something embarrassing, probably. Her feet keep the rhythm. He pivots and she pivots around him - they slide apart, socks dragging against the carpet that’s seen more action in the last couple hours than it probably has in the last two years.

It’s release like she’s never felt it before.

She’s sweating by the time they rearrange the furniture and hop up onto opposite couches, still trying to dance with hampered movements, laughing uproariously, though of course Obi hardly missteps once, who does he think he is anyway?

But it’s fine - she’s giddy, she’s lost, she rolls her hips and Obi stops dancing entirely to applaud, she throws one of the Ikat pillows at him and he catches it and flings it back at about ten times the speed - “We’ve got to be more careful, this stuff is Izana’s, isn’t it?” “If it’s Izana’s, then we’re doing whatever we want, hand me that chair.” - Obi drags in his own suitcase at one point and opens it to reveal a cascade of Christmas candy, and she does not ask where he got it from.

It’s eleven P.M. and she’s panting when Obi finally stills her with a hand on her arm. He’s visibly flushed, his black shirt is clinging to him in ways that have her averting her eyes at turns, and - he’s glowing from the inside out, relaxed. Happy.

He looks as happy as she feels.

“Put your coat on,” he says, grinning. “I think it’s snowing.”

Maybe she ought to be worried, she thinks, as she follows at an awkward stomp in Obi’s wider footprints through a burgeoning snowdrift to the shadowed backside of the apartment building. But their borrowed apartment window is open two floors above their heads, a glowing hole in the bricks, and letting through the soaring slide of strings and what sounds like a lyric-less chorus line, and it’s all too weird for her to get scared anyway.

It’s also snowing, just as Obi had said. Fat, clumped flakes yet again, large enough that she feels them hiss by her in the backdrop of winter silence, winces and blinks when they catch heavy as anchors in her lashes.

A clump of snow tips into her boot and soaks her leggings in ice. It pops words out of her. “Obi, it’s freezing! What are we doing out here?”

She only asks out of reflex. If this night has taught her one thing, it’s that Obi always has something in mind.

He turns to face her, a black silhouette against the light shafting down from their window above, against the pale glow of the fresh snow. His clothes don’t shed snow well, and patches of white cling to his shoulders and back and thighs. She smiles.

“You’re cold?” he teases, voice loud underneath the distant hum of the orchestra, arms crossed.

“Yes!”

“Then come here.”

It’s a bit disconcerting that his face reflects every bit as much surprise as hers is surely showing.

“Uh, I mean.�� He visibly swallows. Stumbles forward a few steps, unsteady in the snow, and - opens his arms. “Here.”

She pitches forward without thinking. Warning skitters up her spine, an ugly reminder. Tonight she’s let herself be so relaxed, she shouldn’t -

Whatever she’d thought would happen, doesn’t. Obi catches one of her wrists gently, if clumsily, his leathered fingers seeking their place around where her parka and mitten meet. He meets her eyes - It’s me, just me - and splays her open hand on his chest, just above his heart.

Her own gives a single, deafening, answering thump. She goes numb from the waist up. “Um - uh -”

“Figured you shouldn’t go much longer without learning this, too,” he blurts, the words almost somersaulting over each other in their haste to leave his tongue. His breath clouds white in her face - he’s close. So close she might feel the impact of his words on her cheeks. “Uh, real dancing, I mean. The Wisterias like balls. And stuff.”

“Oh. I - right.” She blushes - Zen - not the hot blazes of embarrassment Obi’s witnessed a dozen times so far tonight, but something deeper that wends its way under her skin.

As far as she can recall, she’s never said a word to Obi about any of - any of that. But he’s careful, eyes searching her face earnestly. Considerate with the knowledge he effortlessly gleans from mere scraps. The mittened-together fingers of her left hand slide into place between his index and thumb, and his fingers drift closed over her hand.

And she’s not afraid. She hasn’t been for even a second this entire night. The thought that she even might have been is ludicrous to her inner ear.

Obi’s free hand falls to her waist, then slips higher until she senses the press of his fingers at the top of the small of her back, coaxing her closer. Her body pulls in a soft arch into his, her coat and his jacket thick padding between them, and she becomes only gradually aware that they’re swaying from side to side, so comparatively still are they to how a sheet of snowflakes races infinitely to the ground against the dark sky stained orange by streetlights.

It’s remarkably easy to let her weight descend against his; her chin tips back so she can look at him, haloed in the window light, his eyes dark wells. “This is real dancing?” she asks, her smile pulling her chilled lips from her teeth.

He rolls his eyes, a smirk tugging at one corner of his mouth. “You’re gonna need real lessons for the real stuff,” he admits. “But I can loosen you up a little.”

She’s not sure if she’s supposed to laugh or not, but the moment passes and Obi’s hand cups her hip, his thumb pressing into her pelvic bone. It guides her into a gentler sway, unlocks her knees; he returns it to her back.

Terrible. Hours of monkeying around the whole apartment, and she still needs loosening up?

“You don’t have to do any of this,” she says as carefully as she can, like setting a china plate on a stone tabletop without a sound.

His hand at her back tightens, drawing her closer. Pressed this tightly to his front, she can feel where his gun belt isn’t under his jacket; he’d left it on the living room floor with a shake of his head. They’re not the weapons I rely on, kid.

“Sure I have to,” he says, amused. There are bright white snowflakes frosting his short lashes, and she finds herself staring a bit too long, too vacantly. “What are bodyguards for?”

She gives a short laugh, surprised. “What do you think bodyguards are for?”

“I think we’re multipurpose.” He lifts his hand and she turns out clumsily, her boots sifting through inches of freshly-fallen snow in the path of their circle away from and then back to him. He cinches her in tight again, and it’s - nice. “And now when the boss asks you on a fancy date, your body knows what to do. Bodyguard.”

The only thing to do is to just shake her head, sometimes. She stares at his dusky cheek, the texture roughened and organic in the light from the window. “You put me on lockdown.”

“I’m sorry,” he says immediately. She shifts and looks into his eyes, and he holds her gaze, narrowed and earnest.

Someone honks from a great distance off, carried far on the thin, sharp winter air. The orchestra drifting in through their window changes - a new song, something deeper, heavier on the cello. It’s ethereal in the snowfall, so otherworldly her heart aches when her mind tries to cling to the blend of sensations, to the bite of cold fought off by Obi’s warmth, to the silence under the noise.

“You don’t - don’t be sorry,” she stammers. This is a misstep he can’t brace her against. “There really could be someone dangerous out here.”

Obi is silent just a blink too long. And she feels, in a small, terrible way, the distance between them yawn a little wider.

“You read through Christmas Eves,” he says softly.

Her heart twists. “I study.”

“Do you want to study now?”

His face has gotten closer, she swears it. She can see the spikes of fresh snowflakes forking into his lashes. The fingers inside her mitten curl against his chest, stiff in the cold that’s slowly burrowing its way through her.

“No,” she whispers.

Obi gives her nothing. Just a single, slow blink, and then his gaze wandering away from hers, staring instead somewhere off in the snowy darkness.

She’s struck with the overwhelming urge to lay her head on his chest. The thought of how nice it would feel for his arms to go around her, tuck her in closer.

The thought is quashed almost the moment it touches her brain. Obi was altogether too nice today.

Finally, he says: “You’ve had something on your mind.” His jaw flexes once. The silence rings with his inner noise.

She thinks, for a single moment, of Hippocrates. Crisis. Of grief.

Then she turns her back on it all.

“It doesn’t matter,” she tells him quietly. “I mean - not today.”

He still doesn’t look at her. Maybe it’s just a side effect of the life he’s chosen - eyes always on what you’d least expect.

But now there’s no one watching her watching him. And that’s all right, she thinks - a private galaxy enfolding just them, all virgin, untried ground.

It’s peace anticipating a blaze.

“Okay,” is his answer for her, and he gives her hand in his a long, warm press. Somewhere, from miles away, church bells gong into the night. Idly, he adds, “Merry Christmas, kid.”

#Eeeehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh here it is I guess #obiyukiwinter #day 1 #obiyuki #So this is ahead of the most recent chapter #There's at least one chapter between the two #Months have passed #But it's still just a job so they're not FRIENDS #But now that's changing #And yeah they're still on lockdown through Christmas huehuehuehue #modern bodyguard au #my writing #infinitelystrangemachinex

31 notes · View notes

raccoonsinqueen · 7 years

Text

So Close, Yet...

What are we having tonight? Mafiatale!Sans x Reader, Mafiatale!Papyrus x Reader, and Mafiatale!Gaster x Reader!

Appetizer: Should be working on other stuff, buuuuut

Main Course: You like to think you’re a nice person. You’re always kind to the people around you. You like to bring sunshine into their rough lives, and try to keep a smile on your face despite the rugged times. You’re not even mean (most of the time) to the short skeleton who won’t stop teasing you, and you always greet his younger brother with a hug. You don’t even turn them in when you find out that they’re involved in organized crime, or even tell them you know for that matter.

So yeah, you consider yourself a nice person. You know, besides the fact that you’re a serial killer.

Dessert: It’s rated T, but honestly has some rough violent imagery so if you’re not good with that you gotta skit skat paddy wack, my friend.

Oh.... Geez .

He was dead.

You gently set the knife down next to you on the counter as the rain furiously roared outside. You didn’t want to get blood on your new apron, after all.

You waited for the remorse to hit you.

You waited.

And waited.

And... Was that it?

No, no... that was just satisfaction. Why? Because you hated him? Because of his abuse for years? Maybe revenge was what you truly needed?

Well, you thought you’d at least feel a little guilty about it. Though, you had been dreaming for this moment for at least a year. And, if you were completely honest with yourself, you had always had a fascination with death, even as a kid.

It was... Satisfying, to say the least. And beautiful, in a sense. Seeing him motionless, breathless, lifeless was aesthetically beautiful. You could’ve likened it unto a night sky. One of which you had stolen every last moon and star and planet and comet from, and tossed it into the ocean never to be seen again.

That was really poetic, you should write that down.

Maybe you were in shock? Yeah, that was probably it. You were in shock and that’s why you didn’t mourn. After all, you had loved him for years regardless of abusiveness. That’s why he was so good... at hurting you...

You shook your head. Well, he’s dead now, so a lot good that did him! Moral of the story? If you take advantage of your fiance, you should... make sure she’s probably not crazy first?

You don’t know, were you insane? You didn’t really feel insane, but you did just kill a man so...

Oh well, now’s not the time to worry about your questionable sanity, you needed to dump this body and get out of town! Then you can put this whole ordeal behind you, grab some donuts, and move on with your life. You could live in the city? The city sounded fun?

It’ll all be over after this. Those urges you had been feeling every time your fiance turned his back would go away right after this, right? After all, it’s not like you could get addicted to this kind of thing, right?

Right?

Wrong.

You watched the man fall to his knees in front of you, one hand to his neck in an attempt to keep the blood from pooling out and one grasping at your red cloak. His scarred eyes looked up as he gargled on his own flesh, as if begging for any form of mercy.

And you gave it. You weren’t sadistic. You gained no pleasure from seeing this murderer in painful and tormenting agony. You wanted to see him dead.

With one last stab to the back of his neck, the man fell to the floor, motionless.

A wave of contentment fell over you, and your itching subconscious and crawling psyche was put to rest. You picked up your victim with all the strength you could muster and sat him up against the building behind you. Afterall, just because you were a serial killer doesn’t mean you’re gonna leave his body just twisted up on the floor to rot. You had more class than that. Plus, it kinda became your ‘signature’. So to speak. You’d sit them up, close their eyes, made them look.... peaceful. Beautiful.

The Red Reaper . That’s what they called you in all the newspapers and radio shows. When you adorned the red cloak, you were kinda hoping to get called Little Red Riding Hood , but everyone thought you were a dude so The Red Reaper it was. You sighed. That was probably for the best anyway. The police were really bad at catching you. Heck, the mob was closer than they were.

Ugh, the mob. They were the worst, truly the suckiest. Not because they cheated, stole, and killed, though that was a pretty shallow move. But because they were so darn annoying!

You picked this city because of one thing: The crime rate. You soon realized you were probably insane because of your urge to kill, but you really didn’t have the urge to kill good people. They were beautiful in life, why would you kill them? That made no sense. But bad people. Oh, they were ugly . Gross. People who killed, raped, tortured, those people would be MUCH more beautiful dead . You were practically doing them a favor.

The problem with killing bad people? You end up offing a lot of hitmen. And regional managers for said hitmen. And just gang members in general. The thing is, organized crime groups don’t really like it when you kill their members. Good news? Less and less people were wanting to murder, rape, and even steal. Bad news? These gangs were getting real pissed off, and were hunting you down like a wolf.

Ah well, no big deal. After all, what’s a wolf going to do against a tiger? Probably a lot, if it’s in a pack.

But you were good at sneaking. Like right now, as you traversed the darkened alley. You went over crates, past dumpsters, through twists and turns to get where you needed. Although, sometimes you stumbled on some... interesting conversations.

“Where’s Jerry?!” The man’s thick brooklyn accent hit you like bag of rocks. In an instant, you swiftly put your back to the dumpster in front of you with almost unparalleled stealth, your hands tracing of your knife almost hungrily. More grunts? Maybe if there’s few enough you could do a little extra clean up today...

“Sluggish jerk’s always late...” You heard another man say, before he was interrupted by a third.

“Shut up!” The third one boomed, “We gotta keep our cool before-!”

“ before what, boys? ”

Whoa. That was one deep voice. It was almost haunting, in a sense, but was heavy with a dark, deep weight. You leaned back, curious. Now that you could practically hear the shivering of the grunts behind you, things were getting really interesting.

“I-i-it’s him!” You heard one of the men crash into something.

“it’s me.” The voice rumbled.

“Y-You’re S-S-!”

“in the flesh.” You heard the voice chuckle lightheartedly a bit, though you didn’t know why. Nothing he said was funny. Maybe one of the grunts fell?

The third grunt seemed to pick up his voice in confidence, “Right.... It’s just... We were expecting your-”

“my younger brother?” The voice was so casual, it was strange. “yeah, he’s the nicer one, isn’t he? but he’s busy. so what’s the deal? where’s the package we were promised weeks ago?”

“W-We promise we aren’t stiffin’ ya, sir!” The second grunt quickly relayed. “It’s just-”

“The Red Reaper.” The third one finished.

There was a tense silence, and you felt a surge of pride. Looks like you stopped a package, whether it be drugs or weapons or whatever. You were basically a cop now.

“i.. . see .” The voice growled in distaste. Distaste? Who was he to judge, he was in the mob. And judging by the other’s reactions, he was pretty high up on the food chain. “well, it looks to me like you folks are... incompetent.”

The grunts started to panic, “B-B-But, sir-!” The first one was cut off by what sounded like something sharp slicing into flesh. Was he using knifes? It didn’t sound like it, and you knew that sound well. Then what as he....

“W-W-WE CAN’T HELP-!”

“what? one guy with a cloak and a knife? come on, me and your leader had a deal and he doesn’t even have the guts to face me? even after we’ve already given you our monsters’ lives? who’s gonna pay for that, hmm?” Another sharp noise. What was he using? You were so curious!

“P-P-Please! You need me alive, right?” The third grunt begged, “T-To relay the message?”

“i think this sends a clear enough message.”

“Please, SANS-!” And the last one was killed. Welp, saved you some time. But... that still made you wonder, who was...?

The voice —er— Sans sighed. And before long, you heard footsteps fade away into the alley. As soon as you heard nothing but silence, you stepped out from the shadows. You looked at the grunts that littered the floor.

You bent down and inspected the wounds. There was a large gaping hole right under his chin... all their chins. Almost like he used a spear or a really sharp stick to kill them. Hmmm, it was painless. You could get behind that.

Well, whoever this strangely named man was, he was gone now. You’d have to stow away that name for later though, things might get interesting if you could kill a crime lord of some kind.

You looked to the three bodies, before you began to pout at a sudden realization. Ugh, your murder was going to get overshadowed by these three. You know that should’ve been a good thing, not getting caught and whatnot, but you worked hard to kill people, the least you could get was some credit!

No no, you were being childish. You exhaled as you began your walk home.

Once again, going through the dark alleys of the city was as easy as breathing to you. You could honestly do it on autopilot, and you did. Finally, you reached the alley of your apartment. You hid under the shadow of the dumpster next to your fire escape, before you stripped yourself of your red cloak, your blank-white mask, your chest compressor, and your blood-stained boots. Moving the dumpster, you pushed it to the side easily and lifted up a piece of loose pavement. You set your ‘costume’ in the crevice, before veiling the secret place once again.

With a relaxed sigh, you casually made your way up the fire escape. You could probably go in through the front door, but this way was easier. When you made it to the top, you easily slid the window open and slipped through. With a stretch, you checked the time.

You sighed again, this time more melancholy, “Got work in thirty...”

Well, doesn’t mean you can’t take a quick shower! You stripped yourself of your clothes as you entered your bathroom, before switching on the water and waiting for it to get lukewarm. Unfortunately, you didn’t have the luxury of hot water. Afterall, only one of your jobs pay.

Stepping in, you let the water run down your body. There was no blood to wash off. Your cloak was always long and large enough to cover your entire silhouette, plus you were very clean with your cuts. Honestly, though, you hadn’t washed your boots or cloak once. Where would you? Your sink? It was already red anyway, so there was no need.

After you finished, you dried yourself off with a towel. One quick rub down later, and you picked out your uniform after slipping on some undies. A simple blouse, a skirt that reached your knees, two black shoes, and an apron. There, now you were ready. You weren’t too late for work now, were you- ?!

Five minutes!? You practically sprinted out of your apartment, rushing down the steps and through the lobby.

“Late again, Y/n?” Your landlord called.

“Unfortunately!” You called back as you burst out of the door, not having the time to hear his response.

You ran down the street. The great thing about living in that small, dingy apartment was that it was easily a fifteen minute walk to your work. But you didn’t have fifteen minutes.

Before long, you made it to your place of work, hopefully not too late. It was a nice place, a restaurant and bar. You had been excited to work there... before your boss started working you like a rented pack mule. But you loved your boss and the people you met there, so even though the money wasn’t great you kept it.

You opened the doors and ran to the counter, almost completely out of breath. “Ah! Sorry I’m late, Mr. Grillby!”

You huffed as you looked up at your boss, who was currently and casually cleaning a glass. But he wasn’t the only one there, another monster was with him. You tilted your head. Strange. Monsters don’t usually visit before you open.

“...You’re not late, Y/n.” He simply said. Grillby wasn’t much for many words.

“I’m, uhm, not?” You looked at your watch. It said you were at least seven minutes late?

Grillby beckoned you closer, and you showed him your watch. “...That’s ten minutes late.”

“Oh!” You blushed a light color, bashfully smiling. “Sorry, Mr. Grillby! I didn’t mean to make a scene in front of... uhm...”

Grillby gestured to the monster in front of him, his stoic expression unchanging. If you could say that about literal fire. “Y/n. This is an old friend.”

The monster outstretched his hand. He was a classy looking monster, but still had a relaxness about him. His jacket was on the counter, revealing his suspenders snapped around his shoulders. His fedora shadowed most of his face almost eerily, though.

“heya.” Oh. Oh. Well, this is interesting. “the name’s sans. sans the skeleton. ms. y/n, i’m assuming.”

“Sans?” You offered him the brightest smile, as you took his hand and giggled. “What a silly name!”

#undertale #mafiatale #mobtale #sans #papyrus #gaster #mafiatale sans #mafiatale papyrus #mafiatale gaster #sans x reader #papyrus x reader #gaster x reader #reader insert #undertale fanfiction #raccoon with a book

535 notes · View notes

nightshade-imagines · 7 years

Note

~ with UT/UF/US bro: SO takes a hit in place of his brother, during a difficult fight (maybe an angst moment or a genocide run). They sacrifice themselves for the skelli’s brother, and they say before dying that they are less important than him, and they have been honored to die for him (they know how much the bros care for each other). What’s happen?

Alright, I’ve had this one in my inbox for a while, because I wasn’t quite sure how to write for it without being repetitive. I had written as ask about S/O dying for the US and UT bros a while ago, and their reactions would most likely be the same. The scenarios of death is different, but the overall reactions would be the same either way, so I’m just gonna do it with the UF bros. (Death ask: https://nightshade-imagines.tumblr.com/post/161586494430/first-i-love-your-writing-and-thats-why-i-want#notes (I’m still really bad at angst)

💔UF Sans: Red had murdered you to stay in the house after the child began murdering people, but you wanted to help. He was at Grillby’s during their battle with Papyrus, figuring that his bro could handle the human. After a few hour’s he begins to wonder what’s been taking so long and goes to check up on him. When he arrives he sees the human standing in font of Boss, who is severely injured, and they are about to throw the final blow when you jump in and take the hit. Red screams and throws a bone attack at them, killing them instantly, before running to your aid. You breath heavily as he tilts your head up to look at him, “Common, sweetheart, look at me”,when you say your piece, he tells you to shush, “Hey, Don’t say that, I’m gonna get you out of this I promise”, tears are welling up in his eyes as he speaks, you brush your hand down his cheek, a weak smile on your face before your eyes go shut and your body falls limp. “Sweetheart? Sweetheart!?! Please, please don’t do this to me!”, The tears are running down his face as he pulls your body close his chest and buries his face in your hair. After your death, Red becomes dangerous to be around, acting cold and angry all the time and crying himself to sleep at night. One day Boss enters Red’s room, only to find his jacket and a pile of dust setting on the bed. Red couldn’t take the pain anymore and offed himself in the middle of the night

💔UF Papyrus: (Papyrus unusually gets killed before Sans in the genocide routes, but I’ll go with it anyways) Boss was at a meeting with Undyne and what’s left of the royal royal guard to discuss the human that has already taken out some of their best soldiers, when Undyne gets a call from Alphys that they’ve reached Snowdin and are doing battle with Red. As soon as Boss hears this, he rushes to his brothers aid. By the time he gets there, Red is already a sweating, wounded mess, and hardly able to stand as the human draws closer. You jump in front of him right before their final blow, taking the hit, and for that moment, everything in Boss’ mind slows down. The knife goes through your chest and you fall the ground. Boss throws a bone, killing the human and rushes to your side. He tries to heal you, but it’s no use and you die, your blood staining the snow all around him. Your death shatters his ego, and he becomes emotionally unstable. At first, Boss blamed Red for your death, saying it was his fault for being so weak! You wouldn’t have had to sacrifice them self if he would have been able to beat them! After some heated yelling between the brother, your words come back to his mind and he bursts into tears falls to his knees in defeat, “It’s my fault…I should have been there to save them.”, his voice us barely a whisper. Though they were just in an argument, this is he of those moment that they really act like brothers and Red rushes to pull him into a hug, “It wasn’t your fault, Papyrus, it was that human”, Boss Hugs him back, trying to hide the tears. Boss never is the same after your death, he quits his job as head of the Royal Guards and shuts himself away from everyone except his brother.

#undertale imagines #undertale #underfell

46 notes · View notes

asktemmie-frisk · 6 years

Text

Dangerous Tailspin (Lost and Found Arc)

When Chara got to Asgore's house, she frantically knocked on his door like her life was in danger. Asgore made it to the front door to find her and Frisk, and decided to welcome them.

"Oh. Howdy, Chara. Why are you home s-"

"Dad, can Frisk and I come inside please?" Chara interrupted before Asgore could ask her anything.

"Well, of course, but why are-"

"Please! We just need to come in. Please don't ask why, and please don't tell mom Frisk and I are here."

Chara started crying at that point, accidentally tugging at Asgore's heartstrings.

"Okay, sweetie. Come in. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

Chara and Frisk quickly went inside before anyone else could spot them. They rushed to the second floor of the place, trying to find a room to hide in.

Meanwhile, everyone in Toriel's car, especially Sans, were cursing themselves for pushing Frisk and Chara too hard.

"Why the fuck did I have to go that far?" Sans said, getting angry at himself.

"I shouldn't have tried to make him say anything, especially if he didn't wanna."

"Stop beating yourself up, Sans. We all fucked up." Asriel said, staring out the window and keeping an eye out for Chara.

"DAMN RIGHT WE DID!" Toriel rudely blurted out.

"We practically forced them out of this fucking thing, and we didn't even think about how they feel!"

"WATCH THE ROAD, MOM! DAMN!"

"DON'T YOU TA-"

Before Toriel could finish her sentence, a truck honked its horn, grabbing enough of Toriel's attention to make her swerve back into her lane. A quick, silent reprieve was dealt, yet Toriel was still riled up.

"Keep. Your hands. ON! The wheel!" Papyrus said, recoiling from Toriel's road rage.

Toriel did as Papyrus and Asriel said, too scared to go berserk while she was driving.

"Sorry. I...went out of control. Obviously." She said, ashamed of herself.

After about 4 more minutes, they all made it to her house, scrambling to try to get to them. Toriel grabbed her keys and rushed to get the door open. She unlocked it, and slammed the door open.

"CHARA! FRISK! LISTEN, WE're...sorry?"

The house felt completely empty. Toriel and Sans got scared. Asriel and Papyrus were trembling, and they grabbed each other to try to keep calm.

"What happened to them" was all the two could ask themselves. Toriel then investigated the rooms and noticed something off.

"That is strange. Sans, do you smell butterscotch or chocolate?" She asked.

"No. No, I don't." Replied Sans.

"Neither do I. Usually when Chara and Frisk enter the house, the faint scent of butterscotch and chocolate hangs in the air. But I cannot smell anything. But that could only mean..."

Toriel pondered their possible whereabouts for a moment. Then, it struck her. She became incensed beyond measure as her hands were set on fire.

"ASGORE DREEMURR. I'm going to KILL HIM THIS TIME!"

Toriel was so mad, she ripped her front door off its hinges, charging towards Asgore's house. Everyone else followed. She roared loudly enough to get Undyne and Alphys' attention. Then, the reptile and fish lady ran over to Asgore's house, only to find the former queen turned herself into an EXTREMELY dangerous fire hazard.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! What the hell's going on right now?" Undyne said, confused as to why Toriel turned into a matchstick.

"T-t-t-Toriel, I think it would be b-b-best if you c-c-c-calmed down f-f-first." Alphys stuttered, scared of the boss monster.

"FUCK OFF, YOU FAT LIZARD BITCH! I DON'T NEED TO HEAR YOUR SHIT RIGHT NOW!" Toriel roared at the top of her lungs, bearing her teeth.

Alphys promptly stood down, scared of being singed. Undyne held her hand up in defense and backed off slowly to Alphys. Thanks to people being too scared to interfere at this point, Toriel proceeded to rip Asgore's front door off its hinges. She made a few errant tugs, but she ultimately tore off the wood, clawing at whatever remained. Then, she turned her attention to Asgore, who was in the kitchen making himself a cup of tea.

"YOU!" She screamed.

Asgore dropped his cup of tea upon hearing Toriel's enraged tone. He quickly turned around and, upon seeing her murderous appearance, tried to run for his life. She quickly caught him, and started beating him with her bare hands. As much as he tried to block her punches, she stood up, snatched a knife out, threw him to the ground, and stabbed his shoulder. The king bellowed in pain, and Toriel repeated the action on his other shoulder. He shouted in pain again as she held the knife to his face.

"Do you see that blood coming out of you?"

She sadistically turned his attention to his stab wounds, then back to the knife.

"That's for hiding her from me."

"Toriel, please! I-AAAAUUUGGGHHHH!"

Toriel plunged the knife in his arm again. Then she grabbed him and threw him on the table to beat him some more. She kept throwing her fists in his entire body, not caring how scared he was. Then, she threw him back on the ground, kicking him repeatedly.

"Where are they?! TELL ME!"

Toriel refused to stop beating Asgore as he started crying.

"Please stop. I-"

Toriel punched Asgore in the face for that next hit. Then after a few more minutes of hurting Asgore, she got fed up.

"Alright. Enough of this."

"SOMEBODY HELP ME!" Asgore loudly begged before Toriel started choking him to death.

Chara and Frisk heard the king's cry for help, and they rushed downstairs to help him, only to find Toriel strangling him to death. Chara ran to Toriel, grabbed her, and threw her off of Asgore, who Frisk accompanied to help catch his breath.

"Slow and deep, goat king. Slow and deep." He said, stroking Asgore's head.

Chara made her creepy face at Toriel, angry at her and scared for Asgore.

"Why the fuck would you try to kill dad, mom?!" She angrily lashed out, starting to cry.

"Whatever your beef is with him has nothing to do with me. I'm the one you were coming for! Leave dad alone; he has nothing to do with it!"

Toriel angrily glared at Chara as the fire she summoned from her hands creeped up to her elbows.

"Since when do you know whether your father has anything to do with anything? Your father is a pathetic whelp! A fucking murderer! Are you really telling me I'm doing the wrong thing by offing this piece of shit, young lady?!"

"Listen to me, mom."

"Chara, you don't g-"

"LISTEN TO ME! If dad's a pathetic whelp, then you aren't much better! You call dad a murderer, but the way you just tried to kill his ass confirms that you're just like him in that specific sense! So before you try to kill him again, remember that you're going down the exact same path!"

Toriel was stopped right in her tracks, and the flames that creeped along her arms extinguished themselves. She was shocked. Not only was Chara backtalking her without even a slight amount of fear of consequences, but she was telling (well, more like yelling) her the truth. Toriel tried to speak to her, but there was nothing to say, for Chara was right. And why wouldn't she be? In her rage, she tranformed into the mental image that she put Asgore in for decades. Chara surging her compassion and common sense into Toriel's mentality and forcing her back into reality caused Toriel to regain her composure and realize how horribly she treated Asgore, not to mention almost killing him. She shook with fear, feeling the guilt of almost killing Asgore.

"No. No. No! Why? Why did I...? I've...oh, God. I AM just as bad. Worse, even."

Toriel trembled and held herself, making her way to the couch to think about what she did. She said absolutely nothing.

"Dad, you okay?" Chara asked softly, making her way to Asgore to check on him.

"Well, considering that you both just saved me from being choked to death by your mother, I'm, uhh, pretty good." Asgore said, nonchalantly.

"This happened before when you were married, didn't it?"

"Well...yes. Your mother has always had a problem with her temper, and she always took it out on me. She always spoke down to me, and she often beat me up when no one was looking. She always claimed it was because she loved me. But now I'm not sure whether that was true or not."

"How bad did it get?"

"When I was sleeping every now and then, your mother took a knife and held it at my neck if I woke up. She'd tell me 'let me keep going, or else'. Apparently, that was how she was having sex with me at some point. After that, we had sex without the whole knife thing, and about 9 months later, Asriel was born."

"...Mom raped you."

"Really? I mean, I enjoyed how she felt inside. I didn't know I was being raped. I just thought she had an attraction towards danger, or being dangerous."

"You were, dad. You know, all this time, you thought mom was too good for you. But in reality, you're too good for her, and she's not good enough for you."

"But I still love her. I know if-"

"Dad, mom never loved you. She wanted to use you like a piece of trash, and throw you away."

"That's not true. Is it, Toriel?"

Toriel kept her voice as low as she hung her head.

"I did love him once." She said.

"No, you didn't." Chara snapped.

"You raped your husband, abused your husband, almost killed him, and when he finally decided to show some backbone, you fuck him over and leave him suicidal. If you ask me, that's not love. That's called being a parasite. Maybe if you looked at yourself and the way you act more often, you'd be able to see what you did and what you're doing is wrong."

Toriel started crying. She was angry, too.

"I don't have to see myself. I don't need to hear this, either. I'm leaving."

Toriel left without another word with tears in her eyes, knowing what she did. Chara was right about the abuse she did unto Asgore. She never felt guilty about it until it was too late. She walked sadly to her room and closed the door, crying her eyes out.

Frisk and Chara walked out of Asgore's house with scowls on their faces. When they got back inside Toriel's house, they saw Sans, Papyrus and Asriel.

"How much exactly did you hear?" Frisk and Chara said, not even bothering to be tactful.

"All of it." Sans said with empty eyesockets and a scowl.

"I'm sorry if this offends, but I am VERY disappointed in Ms. Toriel right now."

Papyrus said, shaking his head in disaplointment to Toriel.

"Brother, I'm sorry for earlier and making you deal with what just happened."

"I forgive you, Papyrus." Frisk said, trying to put on a smile.

"After all, you are very great. Certainly you're great enough to be forgiven for your wrongdoings, especially if you feel remorse. Unlike SOME people I know."

"Yeah. So, anyway, let's get your paperwork in here." Sans requested, trying to change the subject.

"We got permission to homeschool you for a little while, so we can get it inside so nothing bad happens to it."

Chara, Frisk and Sans got all the paperwork inside the house, which was set just within the living room. Meanwhile, Toriel kept crying upstairs. It didn't look like she would stop for a while, and it would take a bit before things calmed down.

0 notes