castle_perrault | Entries tagged with undertale

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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?"

dustless

//Everyone seemed down for it! Any thoughts or questions can go here~

The air sharpens and chills, frost crawling from the top of the tallest towers and branches to creep along the castle grounds. The trees with leaves quickly fall bare; the sky bubbles with clouds not long before they start sprinkling snowflakes over it all. Winter has finally settled in.

It's not all iciness and faded colors--in fact, it's quite the opposite. While outside is snowy, sparkling winter, inside changed to match. Most of the rooms alone can't keep out the cold, but fireplace after fireplace spring up to crackle merrily and invitingly. Someone (or something) set a mood for celebration, decking the halls with evergreen branches and baubles, glimmering ribbons and candles, color and cheer! And the kitchens have feasts to match, any sort of roast and pie one could hope for, paired with mashed potatoes and puddings and cookies and drinks.

Even the halls ring with celebration. In the distance, voices are caroling their hearts out. It's a pity they always seem to be moving too far away to meet.

All this will greet the castle denizens when they wake up in the morning...as well as changes to themselves.

( tiny )

dustless

locked to

voidster /

lyseandpurge /

antitemporal &

sansational

//warning for general feeling bad and a bit of disordered eating mention.

( they won't notice you )

mercybutton

A (the forest, evening)

In the forest, there is something strange. And something awful.

Deep in the woods, smoke has begun to rise, mingling with the pristine clouds of the Edge. Orange fingers of flame just barely peek through the canopy, pushing aside the treetops to let the smoke out, but with each passing minute the smoke grows thicker, the flame dips higher. The heat from the blaze is almost enough to cut the chill--but not quite yet.

If someone cares enough to investigate or try to stop it--well, they can try. But they'd better hurry.

( one more dance and then farewell )

[The fire mingle is go! Info and planning thread here. Your character can very well sit this one out, of course, if they want. There's actually a fair amount of places that will be untouched by the end of this.]

realbadtime

... huh.

[Yeah that sure... was a graveyard. How spooky. He'd spend time standing here, pondering the semi-permanence of the corpses under his feet but he... well.

There was a lot of stuff for him to process that... Sans really didn't want to put all that energy into. It was confusing, yes. It was scary, yes. Somewhere, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep down, there was a sense of intense discomfort. Not being where he ought to be, questioning if this was actually the surface he'd found, why just him, was there anyone left-

But that was under far too many layers of caked on, cemented and wrought iron apathy that... he just sat down next to a massive headstone, rested back against it... and fell the fuck asleep.

Whatever.

Maybe he'll just stay here forever.

Who cares?]

voidster

( some body horror )

antitemporal

Serif liked last Halloween a lot better. He had wings, during that month. Sure they were tiny and fluffy and probably not meant for flying. But he kept at it, he worked hard, and he was able to kind of sort of hover by the end, just in time for the castle to take his nice wings away.

This time, he's all big and...fluffy. About the same size, but now with flesh and fur and other squishy stuff all surrounding his bones. Almost none of his clothes fit anymore, either. No rattling his bones to make his feelings known. Instead, he finds himself seized with the overwhelming urge to...bark? Whenever he wants to make his feelings known. It's a very loud noise. He'd never thought himself capable of making such a loud noise.

It's only due to very hazy, very distant memories that Serif even knows to call himself a "dog". And he's certainly never had cause to learn the word "puppy". At least he's the sort of puppy usually found back in the Underground, which means that two legs isn't much of a problem.

So even if this wasn't Serif's first choice, he's still determined to make the best of it. Even if his own fur occasionally makes him sneeze, at least he knows what sneezing feels like now. He's never wanted to eat meat before, but there's perpetually frozen hunks of some sort of meat down in the cellar whenever he wants them.

There's a child-sized white puppy in ill-fitting clothes around the palace this month, apparently just alternately enjoying and boggling at this thing called puppy life. He might literally bump into you as he goes tearing through the halls - my, it's amazing how fast you can run when you actually have muscles. Otherwise, you might find him barking at birds to watch them fly away, or else laying in the sun and chewing on a stick. Sometimes, he gives in to some ancient dog instinct and tries to figure out how to play fetch, even if he mostly only has himself to figure it out with. One-person fetch is not very fun, but Serif is a persistent child.

mercybutton

Anyone who has encountered Frisk as of late will have noted they seem awfully angry. Perhaps their temper had been like this before October, or maybe it was their transformation that amplified it--but either way, they have been stalking through the castle and the woods, the strike of their hooves creating sparks and smoke, their hollow eyes emanating a dry heat.

They're a cervitaur like last year, but something is off. Their antlers look more like branches burned to charcoal, curved like horns. Their fur is dark and gray, and the patterns on them seem to be little more than white ash with the peek of red embers underneath. Their hooked staff is of black iron and ravenous red fire. Their hands are coated with soot. Their teeth, fanged, numerous, carnivorous, are shaped to always be bared. Blood and ash and bones.

Also, they're missing a hand, black ash at the end like a cigarette stub.

They radiate heat. Their scowl seems etched on their face. Frisk has been irritable for seemingly no apparent reason--maybe something's wrong? Someone should investigate before they burn something down.

mettaton_rex

[warning: some memory alteration going on here, but mostly-consensual?]

Has it only been a year? Mettaton wonders, huddled up beneath silken bedsheets as the mist creeps through the castle. It's a silly, childish, hopelessly undignified thing to do, he knows. It won't stop the curse, or whatever, from finding him. It won't stop the castle from making him into whatever it wants.

He wonders how much damage he'll do this time.

Then he wonders why nothing's happening. Of course, it took a while for him to change, last time. Maybe it's another delayed reaction.

...he doesn't think he wants to be alone when it happens. If there's time, he could go and find his twin. Or get to somewhere public, at least.

He throws back the sheets. And that's when he sees the wand, lying on his dressing table, as though it's been there all along.

It's golden and glittering, a cluster of stars at the end surrounding a pink heart-shaped gem. It's about the right length to be wielded using both hands. He knows exactly what it is.

He waits for the compulsion in the back of his mind, telling him to pick it up. And waits.

There's nothing.

The sky grows light outside, and there's still nothing, and Mettaton looks down at the wand, and at his hands, and breaks into incredulous, choking laughter. "...really?" he asks the ceiling, the walls, the whole indifferent mass of stone waiting silently around him. "Really? Now you're giving me a choice?"

He could snap the stupid thing in half, stomp it into a billion glittering fragments and burn them. Part of him still remembers how good it would feel, to tear something apart because he can, reduce it to dirt beneath his boots. The other part of him feels sick at the knowledge.

But he knows, with that weird intuition castle magic sometimes grants - he can destroy it, if he wants. He can ignore it, if he wants. He can sit this month out.

...quietly. All alone. While the rest of the castle goes on without him.

...

He picks up the wand. What the hell. At least he'll know what happens. It's not as though he really wants to be himself, right now.

He strikes a pose, the wand raised high above his head. Light from the window refracts through the crystal, casting shimmering pink-tinged rainbows across the walls.

The words come to him as if he's known them all along.

"Glittering starlight, make the world's dreams come true! Love! Beauty! Freedom! OHHH YES!"

And he's swept off the ground, light streaming around him, into him, forming itself into ribbons and frills and bows, gently reshaping him -

- a deep ache of regret somewhere in the middle of it all, she would have loved this -

- and Bishounen Warrior Starlight Idol opens his eyes, and blinks a couple of times, hovering in mid-air as he looks down at himself. It's his original costume, pink and gold, glitter and lace, nothing like the spiky, blood-red outfit of his corrupted form. He - he didn't know he could still transform this way. He'd thought the wand's power was lost to him forever, after what he'd done -

- his crystal is still cracked in two. Not the one on his wand, of course - the one within the huge bow around his waist, that looks like a larger version of the other. Or should, if not for the jagged scar down its centre, with the cold, dull grey of grief and despair spreading through the gem that should be glowing vibrant pink.

But even if it's not fixed yet - maybe there's a way. He was able to transform, despite everything. There must be a reason for that.

Maybe there's someone here who needs his help.

Starlight floats down to the floor again, and steps out of the room, wand clutched tight in his hand. There's no time for stage fright, is there? The show must go on!

[Magical boy Mettaton is here to save the day! Maybe. (Icon chosen purely for sparkliness.) ETA because I realised it could probably be interpreted either way: he's still a robot. He's just Mettaton from an AU where everyone is magical girls/guys/nbs.]

dustless

Midnight.

The world goes cold, half the trees seeming to shiver. Leaves crinkle, fading from green to reds, oranges, and yellows; some even further, to brown. They drop to scatter over misty ground; that mist is thick, unnaturally so. The wind whispers, casting it through the darkness. It gains a life of its own, creeping into doorways, crawling over stone, searching.

Where the mist spreads, the castle's shadows grow longer; not all of that can be explained by the moon that seems overfull and glaring orange through every window.

It finds the castle's denizens, whether they are awake to flee or they rest in their beds, enshrouding their forms and sinking into their bodies--until an eerie hiss of wind follows and seems to sweep it away.

For some, there will be no evidence of this mist until later, after the sun climbs over the castle.

Others may not be so lucky.

( warning for body horror, gore, mention of child neglect )

//Event has begun! Characters are transformed into whatever you'd like them to be--unless you'd rather they stay normal or change later through the month, of course that's fine too~

But if they do change, they'll stay that way until Halloween's through! Enjoy!

voidster

( CW: sickness mostly in the form of arthritis, mild vague body horror )

((Tag in for now like normal, I think I'll add top levels updating things later on though!))

voidster

( arthur itis )

dustless

( literal dirt nap )

☼

( they deserve some playtime! )

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25	26	27	28	29	30	31

living skyward

not so dustless now

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

made out of meat

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

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

springing [age event: end]

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

(no subject)

let it snow, here we go! [age event: begin]

if you're lucky too

cheek to cheek in hell

intro

this is just embarrassing

[Halloween event] - No dogs in the castle

bombero

I can be your hero, baby [halloween event]

i will be your ticket taker; come inside, it's a dream [Halloween Event: Begin]

feels like a year every minute (forward dated a bit)

tonight, on hoarders--

[slightly backdated revival post] good morning sunshine!

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August 2019

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