#So Papyrus is all stick lines and Sans has thicker bones

[twentydaysofdrabbles]

The Concierge Plays Fetch - Papyrus (Part 9)

The last two to be found for the sudden meeting remain elusive. Sans and Papyrus. 

You have long since learned not to question the Manager when she decides to suddenly change her schedule around. If her guests had no issue, neither did you. And so you only vocalise an affirmation when the Manager calls you and asks you to find both men - after all, you know where everyone is in the Hotel.

Although, you’re not sure if the skeleton brothers were all that mysterious, preference-wise. 

“HHHHHGHH!” The loud grunt reverberates through the luxurious, well-equipped, if empty, gym. 

Stars, you’ve never seen this place completely empty before, but you suppose that few could get a good workout in when an 8-foot skeleton is busy grunting louder than people yell. Idly, you wonder whether that’s an admirable trait or not - the ability to clear an entire room with one’s voice only.

Still.

It doesn’t take long for Papyrus to finish his set on the squat rack, all of the available weights loaded upon it nearly making the bar bend. Crimson beads of sweat pour off his form, causing his tight tank top and equally tight leggings to stick to his bones. It’s interesting how tall and lanky he is, but at the same time looking built and strong.

Ensuring that you are seen in the mirror just in his line of sight, you wait, hands folded over your belly. You take a moment to carefully examine his figure - the thick bones that look alien and human all at once. You’re fairly certain he has more bones than a human would have; you wouldn’t have survived this long otherwise. 

Thick vertebrae snake up from his sacrum, much much thicker than a human’s, flexing and moving with each squat. His femurs are as thick as your own thigh, his humerus just about the size of your head. No doubt if one tried, they could fit in the expanse of his rib cage. 

And despite the masterful build of his body, the ivory bones are littered with the trophies of battles won, of enemies killed. There is not an inch of his visible body that is completely devoid of marks. It is clear that bones do not scar. Not in the way that skin does.

There is a macabre sort of beauty to him, you think, and somehow it fits right into this world.

And of course, because he is made of bones and magic, you can see exactly where you’d need to hit to incapacitate him. 

"HOW BRAZEN, TO EXAMINE YOUR ENEMY FOR HIS WEAKNESSES IN HIS LINE OF SIGHT.”

Papyrus’s voice is loud, echoing throughout the room, and causing you to flick your eyes up from where you were looking at the crimson magic glowing in his joints, the nicks and dips in his bones where his wounds had healed badly. 

“Pardon the interruption, Mister Papyrus.” You incline your head as he finishes the last of his set, not even bothering to defend yourself.

One, two, three more squats and he racks the weights, panting as he comes out from under the slowly bending bar to sit on a nearby bench. All the while, keeping his crimson lights trained on you in the mirror. How confident, to give you his back while he is unarmed, his midriff bared.

You step closer, just barely out of reach, and look at the groaning bar carefully. “I must remind you that the weights must be returned to the appropriate racks once you are done. All the weights.” It is difficult to restrain a little smile from tipping your lips up at the self-satisfied look on his face that makes his grin look very much like Sans’.

“WHAT DO YOU WANT?” He asks, his booming voice devoid of the scowl from earlier as he wipes away the crimson sweat from his ivory skull.

“The meeting has been moved forwards,” you say, offering another towel to him when it’s clear that the one in his hands had become saturated with thin crimson. 

Papyrus looks at you warily but takes the towel nevertheless, unravelling it and flicking it flat as though expecting something to be hidden in it. There is nothing, which surprises him. His face is oddly expressive for being all bone.

“WHEN?”

“When you have refreshed yourself, Mister Papyrus.” Your hands return to where they fold over your belly. “King Asgore, Captain Undyne, and Mx Frisk have arrived. They are in the Lounge.”

At that, Papyrus jolts and scrambles to return the weights and relieve the straining bar of its burden. “WHAT?! WHY DIDN’T YOU SAY THAT EARLIER?” His screeching is honestly amusing to see and hear, though you are glad the gym is empty. Stars, his voice echoes.

Holding your tongue is easy by this point, all that you ever wish to say trapped behind a careful filter between your brain and your mouth. So despite it all, you only say, “Would you like me to show you to the Lounge, sir?”

“NO. YOU NEED TO FIND MY USELESS BROTHER AND DRAG HIM OUT OF WHICHEVER CESSPOOL HE FOUND HIMSELF IN,” Papyrus booms, finishing with the weights quicker than a human would. He waves you away, as if expecting you to go. Except...

You don’t move.

There is something you must establish with these monsters. With any guest. You are there as Concierge, as service staff. But you will never answer to any of them. And certainly not when their tone is like that.

Papyrus seems to get it immediately. Sharp as a blade, that one. He clears his magical throat and hangs the towel around his neck, facing you with his body. “I CAN FIND MY OWN WAY TO THE LOUNGE, THANK YOU. I SUGGEST YOU FIND MY BROTHER, HE WILL TAKE LONGER TO COAX AWAY FROM HIS DRINK.”

Better.

You incline your head. “Please help yourself to any refreshments in the Lounge, Mister Papyrus.” 

The skeleton only waves, an informal gesture that, although flippant, doesn’t look anything like the imperious move from before. As you leave, he calls out, his voice easily reaching you from the other end of the gym, “GOOD HUNTING, CONCIERGE.”

Unbidden, your lip tips up on one side. Brief, like a sudden breeze, and disappearing just as quick. 

Now, to find Sans.

And you know exactly where he will be.

#undertale fics #mafiafell au #mafiafell papyrus #not papyrus x reader #or is it? #still a mafiafell sans x reader #the concierge #ficlet #drabble #so sad ao3 is down from a ddos attack #i've only got tumblr for now

[queenofallcorgis]

Permanent

Summary: Dan and Phil get matching tattoos after TATINOF.

“This is such a stupid, stupid idea,” Dan mumbled from where he lay on the chair. He shifted uncomfortable, feeling his back sticking slightly to the vinyl. “I mean, seriously stupid.”

 “You can still back out,” Phil sounded a little worried himself.

 The idea of getting tattoos after their final TATINOF show had been something they came up with while finishing a bottle of champagne. At the time it sounded amazing and they spent most of the night bouncing ideas off each other.

 In the sober light of morning it still sounded like a decent idea so the research began. They finally picked out a small shop based on reviews and it looked great. Everything was nice and clean and the artist was a lovely, bubbly girl.    

 But…the idea of having a needle stabbed repeatedly into his skin in order to leave a permanent mark still terrified him.

 “I mean…we said it was to remember TATINOF but we have the video and the tour and…” Dan trailed off.

 “If you want to leave we can. We can get ice cream or whatever,” Phil shrugged and Amy, the tattoo artist, waited patiently. “I see it as…we get so busy you know? I see our lives getting even crazier and this has been the best year of my life. I want something that will always be there to remind me of this year. No matter where we are or what is happening…that reminder will be there.”

 The year really had been a whirlwind. Would it be so bad to have a constant reminder? Wouldn’t he want to remember the year he accomplished more than he ever dreamed of? The idea that Phil would have the same tattoo, that they would have this bond, was so special.

 “Okay,” he sucked in a deep breath. “Let’s do it.”

 “You sure?” Amy asked, raising a pierced eyebrow at him.

 “Absolutely.”

 He turned to look up at the ceiling as Amy lay the stencil over his left collarbone. They had agreed to the iconic cat whiskers and then a quote underneath chosen by the other person. Amy waved over Phil who took one look and nodded frantically, a wide grin across his face.

 “It’s going to look awesome Dan!”

 The whir of the needle made Dan jump and he lifted his chin higher so he wouldn’t be tempted to look down.

 “Need me to hold your hand?” Phil asked teasingly.

 “No,” Dan scoffed but held it out anyway. Without another word Phil intertwined their fingers and squeezed.

 It didn’t really hurt. It felt like a deep scratch but was far more painful when the needle went right over the bone. He tensed and let out a hiss, grateful that Phil just squeezed his hand tighter.

 “Alright Dan,” Amy swiped a cotton pad over the tattoo. “All done.”

 “Really?” He asked, letting out a breath.

 “Yup, sit up and I’ll show you,” she helped him into a seated position and handed him a small mirror.

 It looked like someone had actually just drawn the cat whiskers with sharpie. The lines were bold and strong, reminding him of all those times they had laughed and doodled on each other. Underneath it, written in comic sans, were the words.

  This was the most fun I have ever had.

 For a moment Dan actually felt choked up. Eighteen-year-old him would have never imagined that he would be here. It was everything he had ever wanted and now it was with him forever.

 “It’s amazing,” if they noticed his voice was slightly thicker no one said anything.

 Amy hummed along with the music as she bandaged up the tattoo and helped him back into his shirt. The pain tickled slightly, like a bad sunburn but Dan felt almost like he was on a high at the time so it didn’t even matter.

 “Your turn Philly!” Dan sang out, hopping off the chair.

 Phil looked a little paler now that it was his turn but he rolled up his sleeve regardless. He had decided to get his tattoo along his bicep with the cat whiskers at a slight angle and the quote along the arm.

 He didn’t even need to ask Dan to take his hand.

 Despite all of the photoshoots and shows they had been the only people to have drawn the cat whiskers on each other. It was a little odd to watch someone else put them on but Dan had been the one to draw them on the stencil.

 By the time the words were done Dan couldn’t stop smiling. Phil let out a long breath as Amy pulled away and stretched his arm a bit to see the tattoo in the mirror.

 “Normalness leads to sadness,” Phil read, a smile on his face. “And in Papyrus too. It’s perfect.”

 “I was going to pick ‘It’s weird that apples bruise like humans. I’m glad they don’t scream when you bite into them.’” Dan said with a laugh. “But this one seemed to fit better.”

 Throughout Amy telling them about aftercare and giving them some supplies Dan was giddy. Now he could understand why people got tattoos, especially having chosen a tattoo for someone else. This was now a part of them.

 He couldn’t stop stealing glances at it as they sat next to each other on the couch. Planet Earth played in the background as they ate Chinese food out of the containers but the buzz still remained under his skin.

 “So, piercing or another tattoo next?” Phil asked, waggling his eyebrows. “We’re living our punk dreams.”

 “It is cool, kind of like a secret,” Dan ran his fingers lightly over the edge of the bandage. “We don’t get a lot of those.”

 “No we don’t,” Phil tapped their feet together.

 And even when his sweater drooped a bit during a life show and showed the tattoo it was fine.

 Even during the shit storm that followed Phil accidentally revealing his it was fine.

 No one knew that they had picked the tattoos for each other. No one knew what the tattoos really meant.

 And that was a secret they could keep to themselves.

#phanfic #phanfiction