castle_perrault | Recent Entries

Kris Dreemurr has had a pretty long day.

The sort of day that people could probably make really weird game demos about. The sort of day that feels like it came out of Aesop and the Grimm brothers' surrogate lovechild's feverdream. Or whatever. Long day. They're tired. Time to yeet a soul.

Or like, that was the plan. As soon as they get home and open the door to their room, they lose their balance on the edge of literally *nothing* and end up falling- falling-- oof. Ok. Not falling anymore.

In a kitchen.

Not their kitchen.

Their skin is its usual color, but they're in their Dark World regalia, which is either a good or a bad sign. There's no one else around, though, and there are a few baskets full of fresh-looking fruit and bread and stuff on the counters.........

Fuck it! Time to raid a pantry.

dustless

In one of the castle's many halls, a worn tapestry, depicting nothing in particular, succumbs to age and rot and falls.

Behind it lies a door.

Behind that door, should anyone decide to investigate, is a musty-smelling room with drawings papering the walls, corners gently curling in, and dust covering every inch of furniture; a desk, a chair, a bed.

Despite it all, the bed is occupied.

Frisk lies there on their side, half-covered in blankets, exposed skin and shirt just as dust-coated as the rest of the room. Their chest raises and falls shallowly enough that a spider's made a fancy web between the collar of their shirt and a hand curled close to their body.

It might take a little work to rouse them.

notme_anymore

It's very cold these days. Rose doesn't mind. The pine forest where she and Pearl used to live was often colder. Snow that was a foot deep in the dead of winter and burning humidity in high July. It was just how things were.

Rose misses her music--misses it dearly like an aching hole punched through her chest, but she's got no place she thinks she can practice and sing on her own. Always she's paranoid someone will hear. Not like she'll be singing anything, like, questionable, but Rose likes her privacy.

And yet the Solstice has passed and the year will inevitably begin anew. She doesn't need a calendar to know that. She feels it in her bones. The light of new days is coming and she wants to sing so badly that the notes are practically slipping through her teeth. She hums unconsciously too much these days. Well, it's a good time to do something about it.

A

( i used to play )
B

( i was blessed by a stranger )

dustless

Midnight, the moon goes from full to a thin crescent.

The hours tick by; the sliver of moon shifts; the changes leak from the castle, heavy fog sliding up from the ground and foundations themselves, thickening around any subject it encounters, clinging.

Once the first warm rays of light appear in the sky, the changes it inspired melt away, leaving the people just the way they were, and the grounds with only a few dead trees left.

Frisk comes back to themselves, and having a solid body is overwhelming. They thunk down onto the floor in the middle of the hallway and lie there for a while, just getting used to it again.

[definitely late, sorry! if other halloween dealies want to go on, feel free to backdate!]

voidster

Gaster awakens, and wonders when exactly he fell asleep. That doesn't happen these days, you see--sleep is no longer a necessity. It's not even an option.

Then he looks down, meaning to only check his watch, and is genuinely surprised.. and more than a little disturbed. It's become flesh, not bone or the usual mysterious voidstuff. Skin, with all those little arm hairs. How disgusting. His whole body feels thick and heavy underneath his clothing... and is he wearing glasses?? Since when does he need to??

Rude, castle. Ruuude.

One might come across him in his usual favorite places, but a very differently shaped him. He's human now, looking perhaps about sixty with greying hair and glasses. It shouldn't be too hard to figure out who he is--a one eyed man in a white sweater and black pants who always speaks in hands is probably (a) Gaster nine times out of ten.

notme_anymore

Rose is normally seen wandering outside. Whether it's the forest or the Edge or the garden in the courtyard, in any case, she's usually somewhere visible from a window. She's vanished for the last four days since the first transformations started.

Rose has died.

And now she's back. Sort of. ( sleep will not come )

vvykkyd

Wykkyd fell asleep in the warehouse they’d taken over—Seemore, Billy, and he, driven together again despite how time had driven them apart. It seemed not even the universe approved, because Wykkyd woke up in a sunlit room, feeling poorly-rested and strange. When he stood and faced the ornate mirror propped in the corner, he figured it out.

( ain't no rest for the wykkyd )

dustless

For the Castle, the change is not slow.

Midnight strikes with a roar of wind tearing across the grounds, howling through the halls, piercing even the deepest recesses of the castle and gardens with their fog. Most of the trees wave and shrivel their leaves, which are torn to blow around across the grass and through the open doors and windows.

In the next instant, most of the sky is blocked out, leaving only the orange moon looming above through a crack in the clouds.

And the clouds above, the clouds surrounding, billow and tumble and smother anyone they find in their way, awake or asleep, waiting or fleeing. It matters not. Any that it touches are struck through with the chill that covers the castle, and once more, the denizens are forced into forms they should not have.

Frisk is awake this time, lying on the floor of the music room. They see it coming, but they don't run. Even if they could--their whole body aches, lungs stabbing, everything weighted down--there's not much of a reason to, is there?

The fog sinks through their skin, muscle, bones

and then

Frisk

has none of those things at all.

Frisk is gone.

Frisk is not gone.

They don't have eyes to see, but they're still seeing. They don't have ears to hear, but they're still hearing. There's still wind, there's still the music room, and when they 'look' at a nearby piano, panicked but from far away, detached, a handful of the keys slam down.

They 'look' across the room. Frisk is across the room. They didn't move, but they're still rattling against-inside a set of chimes far, far away from that piano they'd been lying by.

No body.

No voice.

No pain, either. That's nice.

A set of chimes twirls around itself, tangling in Frisk's concern.

...This is going to be a weird month.

notme_anymore

[Rose wakes up in the graveyard. She guesses this isn't the worst place she could be.

This looks like another vision, another flashback, another memory that both wasn't hers and was hers. She'll probably wake up again some time soon or stop staring at the wall. This keeps happening, ever since she talkedtokilledstolefrom Pearl. God, reincarnating alongside someone else is confusing.

Except as she watches, nothing happens. The clouds in the sky roll by and Rose is still laying there, which is odd. Is this one taking in the scenery and resting? Maybe. But that isn't like herself. Or maybe it's not another memory, but then what could it be? Time travel? Rose can't do that anymore. Her suspicion rising, she tries to move.

She does. But then she isn't always sure if movements are her own or the Memory Rose's, so she tries to think of something that a Rose in the past would never do.

She flips the bird at the sky. And there it is, her finger triumphant in the air, standing boldly against the sun.

So it is real.]

A
( or someone that i used to be )

B
( or someone that i will be )

C (wildcard)
( or someone that i am right now )

hoarfrostprince

A boy walks through a door, and out another.

A boy clutches at the arms of a familiar figure, and ends up with a handful of scrap.

A boy looks desperately into a churning, violent sea.

A boy looks up at the stars.

The lighthouse has spit him out somewhere new again.

( c= )

regalduchess

Duchess woke back in Paris as if no time at all had passed, but she knew better than to write off her experiences in the castle as a dream. She's not sure why it sent her back; perhaps it realized that she, as a mother, had a duty to her kittens? No time has passed except the time it took to sleep. She woke with her kittens clambering over her and babbling happily about the rising sun. She spent the day watching them, spent some time with Adelaide (who she had missed terribly) and finally, almost reluctantly, curled up with her kittens in their basket to sleep.

She woke in the castle again. This time, though, it was not in the aviary but in the throne room. It seemed to realize that she much preferred that to screaming birds.

Instead of getting upset over it as she had at first, Duchess now knew that the castle was (possibly) considerate enough to not keep her away from her kittens for long, in their perspective at least. No matter how long it may seem for her she was glad for that.

She stretched, found some fish in the kitchens for breakfast, and wandered around searching out what had changed in her absence.

good4you

( And I've received these edges from chances )

mettaton_rex

There's a robot in the gardens.

It might not be obvious which Mettaton this is. The crown's long gone, of course. The thin web of cracks running through his heart-shaped SOUL container, those are gone too. No more scars, not on the outside. The castle put him back in the same condition it found him. When it sent him home.

He never thought he'd see this place again. How long has he been gone, from its perspective? This whole past year, or less than that? Days, weeks, months? Or more?

He's in no hurry to find out. Part of him's hoping that if he sits quietly under this tree for as long as he can, the castle will despair of getting anything interesting out of him and send him straight back to the RUINS.

Which might give away who he is, to anyone who knew him. That uncharacteristic quietness. The thoughtful look as he runs a finger along the thick silver band wrapped around his left wrist, pausing to tap the steady red light glowing at its centre. It should be flashing and blaring the alarm by now, shouldn't it? He couldn't be further away from where he ought to be...

...well, he supposes he's still technically in exile, at least.

He leans back against the trunk of the fruit tree, looking up at the sunlight through its branches. Better appreciate that while he can, this time around.

dunwhale

“Here you are,” the Outsider mocks. It's too monotone to be mockery, really, his voice is the cool and measured cadence of one who knows what they want to say and will say it in due time. Daud wants to bare his teeth, but he doesn't. He stands still in the enforced silence of the Void and has no choice but to let the Outsider talk. “I thought you would be more grateful, Daud. After so long spent balancing on a tightrope, you now have the second chance that you've wanted.
“Nobody here knows what you've done. They don't know about the blood you've spilled to keep yourself afloat.”
( did you nearly drown in it? )

unriddling

When was the last time he ate? Two days ago? No, yesterday, he choked down a granola bar he'd found buried beneath some paperwork. Stale, perhaps, but enough to keep him going. He hasn't slept in more than that, but the science building has copious amounts of coffee even for Gotham University standards.

The demonstration is in four days.

Edward's done all he can. Julie too, though she's spent more time in the wheres and whens over the whys and hows. That's entirely his job. And he's done well, as always.

Nonetheless, he hasn't gone back to his room except to shower, double- and triple-checking his bio-harddrives.

That's what he's doing now, hunched over the lab table and going over the circuitry in front of him, then shutting his eyes to do it again, in his head.

They're fine. (He's fine.)

Of course they are. He's done something everyone called beyond impossible. His work is perfect, and it's performed perfectly for months. This is only the confirmation.

It's fine. It's perfect. All of it. From function to design to size.

...He keeps telling himself this, over and over, until the litany turns into disconnected noises inside his brain. The coffee's gone cold on the counter beside him. His bio-harddrive slides to the cool table below.

And Edward Nygma isn't awake to notice the world shifting around him.

Now there's a man in a labcoat with his face resting among the ballroom's cakes. Maybe someone should wake him before he moves his head and gets frosting in his hair?

heelstruts

There's an aeroplane cringing in the aviary.

...Look, close enough. A castle can't be expected to go through every little detail with a fine-toothed comb. A loud thing with wings probably belongs in the aviary and that's all that matters.

For a long, awkward moment, Starscream seems frozen where he is. There are birds perched on his pauldrons, wings, and upheld claws, many of them singing jubiously (about murder).

He opens an eye and peers around as if he were expecting something else. He lifts a claw and stares a songbird right in the eyes.

Starscream flails violently and the flock dissipates, and his next indignant screech is loud enough to echo.

"Who dares?"

dustless

All across the castle grounds, anyone awake to observe the midnight hour is witness to snowdrop flowers bursting from the snow.

The air settles to something softer, warmer. The layers of ice and snow start to melt away, enveloping the world in a gentle fog, though it will still be a few days yet before the slush outside dries away.

Almost tentatively, more flowers push their way from the ground; leaves on trees bud and start unfurling by sunrise.

Inside, the distant caroling and laughter gives one final burst of cheery sound before fading into nothing. Between one blink and the next, the castle is back to how it was; faded, old, quiet.

And, of course, the changed beings of the castle will find themselves back to how they once were, with added remembrance of everything that happened while the world was encased in winter.

( falling )

//don't forget, even if this is making it 'official', backdating for more age-related shenanigans is absolutely allowed!

returnvoid

The thing about being scattered across time and space, it turns out, is that your sense of time (and space) gets warped. A year a minute a moment an eternity a blink of the eyes.

This particular Gaster has been absent a good while, as far as linear time is concerned. Whether this registers or not isn't particularly clear, since he seems to move through the castle as if he belongs there, observing and collecting and recollecting what he knows about the place. Every so often a room he's unfamiliar with or hadn't seen before gives him pause, but for the most part he moves relatively confidently despite preferring to stick to the shadows.

You might be able to find him... just about anywhere, really, though he's partial to the gardens and the music room. His method of traversal isn't necessarily always mundane, however; sometimes rather than walk from place to place he'll slip through the walls or ceiling (or floor) instead. Or even assemble himself out of nothing, particle by particle, bit by bit if his target destination is across the castle and he has to rewrite his location parameters, or something.

Hopefully this doesn't surprise anyone too much.

If nothing else, by the end of the day he'll be found in the kitchens, where a flurry of hands would probably be flitting around collecting ingredients and tools and mixing bowls. Simple hobby, whim, or stress baking? Who knows.

oldmantiger

Kotetsu...isn't quite sure what's going on here. His first thought was that this place must be some sort of weird school? A "boarding school", like he's read about in some books. A school far away from home. But there are no teachers - at least, none of the adults will admit to being one. And none of the other kids seem to think it's one.

If he's been kidnapped again, it's a lot more comfortable than last time.

But one thing he does know is that people need his help! It might not be with anything as heroic as stopping a bank robbery or beating up a kidnapper - yet - but they still need his help! And as a (future) hero, he is determined to do whatever he can!

...but feeling like a hero is easier if you have a costume. That's one of the most important things he's learned from TV.

So some people might find Kotetsu out on the lawn one day, a bedsheet in one hand and a pair of scissors in the other, as he industriously works to make a suitable cape and maybe even a mask for himself. The scissors are a bit big and also maybe made for his other hand, but he keeps at it anyway, frowning down at his work with his tongue stuck out just a bit.

In the end, he has a cape that's a bit ragged at the edges, and a domino mask that keeps slipping down over one eye. But it's enough to embolden him to seek out people who might need help!

Or maybe just train his abilities by racing through the hallways really fast. Or trying to carry a Christmas tree from one room to the other. If you should happen to see a twelve year old boy dragging a Christmas tree behind him with one hand, don't bother asking if he needs help. He's got this covered.

sansational

Sans tries to be the sort of guy who never lets an opportunity pass him by. That hasn't always been the case, but call it a New Year's resolution, if you will. Even if it's a resolution he's had to make a few different times.

The castle is full of new people. Well, not technically new, but a lot of them probably think they're new right now and that counts for about the same. Which means the castle is probably full of nervous, scared people - nervous, scared kids. And that just won't do. Sans thinks a lot about what he can do to liven the place up a bit in a way that won't rely on the castles often capricious magic - to help people feel at home.

Sometimes, old material is the best material.

He spends an evening shortcutting back and forth between the kitchen and the tunnels underground, ferrying water sausages from the former to the latter so they can be brought into happy conjunction with some buns. The next day, Sans sets up a small table outside, and on that table he haphazardly piles what look for all the world to be hot dogs. In his opinion, in the opinion of most of the Underground, that's exactly what they are. But be careful if you bite into one - they're actually cattail plants. The Underground doesn't know hot dogs as anything else.

Next to the table, Sans sets a sign messily painted on a piece of posterboard. A few small, stray skeletal fingerprints are a testement to Serif's assistance earlier.

hot dogs: 1 joke

hot cats: 1 pun

ketchup costs extra.

Sans, for his part, settles into the chair behind the table for a nap in the sun. Don't think that means you can try sneaking off with the merchandise, though. He'll come awake whenever anyone draws near.

"hot dog for your thoughts? or, uh, preferably your jokes?"

S	M	T	W	T	F	S
				1	2	3
4	5	6	7	8	9	10
11	12	13	14	15	16	17
18	19	20	21	22	23	24
25	26	27	28	29	30	31

living skyward

[intro] EVERY DOOR A WINDOW

not so dustless now

when i was a child

breathe out, out, out [halloween event: end]

made out of meat

the dead can sing [halloween]

vox angelus {intro/halloween}

come on, come on, come on, breathe in [halloween event: begin]

i don't know if this is me at all or just some ghost of me (starter)

the end is a new beginning | starter post

The Cat Returns

I've picked petals looking for answers

upon pillars of salt and pillars of sand ['canon' update]

[Open] Facing Down The Things We Cannot Outrun

when and what and why and--

[intro] it is time for a large, screaming distraction

springing [age event: end]

turn a blind eye, days and nights we lost to weakness

A hero to the rescue!

(no subject)

Profile

August 2019

Syndicate

Most Popular Tags

Page Summary

Style Credit

Expand Cut Tags