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monocaelia · 3 years

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tending to their wounds

they cannot evade death. but with you around, they're invincible.

feat. albedo, childe, diluc, kaeya, kazuha, xiao

genre : headcanons, fluff, angst [for xiao and kazuha], hurt/comfort

warnings : blood and injury. death mention. minor cursing.

❀ albedo

it's to no one's surprise that albedo isn't human, meaning he doesn't have the same bodily functions as the others in mondstadt do. his body cannot bleed nor can he feel much pain. that's not to say he can't at all, but a simple prick from a piece of shattered flask can't really do the young alchemist any harm.

flasks breaking or nicking himself while conducting his own research never really phased the alchemist. despite the warnings his assistant gave him about laboratory safety, he didn't need to heed them if the injuries didn't apply to him, did he?

it's safe to say that the chief alchemist is... perplexed to say the least at seeing you worry over him. he wasn't expecting you to come rushing through his laboratory door when you heard the sound of falling glass and nearly climbed over all of his equipment to come to his aid.

"really, you shouldn't have to worry," his gentle voice reassures you, but his attempts to calm you down are futile. instead, albedo is met with your furrowed brows in concentration and your fingers brushing against his as you inspect his invisible wounds.

"yeah well, maybe if you were more careful in your laboratory i wouldn't be here worrying over you, would i?" albedo sighs at your response and decides to let you do as you please to his 'injuries.'

the alchemist's teal eyes follow your movements as you reach for the bandages in the first aid kit and begin to wrap them around his finger tips. he doesn't miss the way your tongue pokes out from between your lips as you concentrate on the task in front of you.

despite not needing to worry much about him, albedo finds it endearing that you care so much about his wellbeing. how much you care about him, how often you check up on him and make sure he never overworks himself. you truly are a caring individual, a ray of warm sunshine in his life.

you meet albedo's gaze when your name leaves his lips, eyes filled with curiosity at what he could possibly want.

"thank you for tending to me." he thanks you with tender smile on his face, his spare hand gently ruffling your hair. the flustered expression on your face is hard to miss, especially when you quickly duck your head down and away from the alchemist.

you stutter out that 'this is nothing!' and continue on wrapping albedo's faux injuries. though, the alchemist finds the way your hands shake as they brush against his skin adorable.

❀ childe

childe is a war criminal, in case you missed it. it's not uncommon to find the young man fighting an entire hoard of enemies by himself. the thrill of battle never seems to be enough for him, as he constantly seeks anything that could satiate his need for exhilaration.

finding scars or fresh injuries on the harbinger is the usual for you, regardless of whether or not they're shallow wounds or deep gashes that gush blood and stain your poor floor. not that childe minds anyways, he sees his battle scars as medals of the many fights he has won and wears them with pride.

but, despite being one of the fatui harbingers and an absolute beast on the battlefield, that doesn't stop you from worrying about his wellbeing.

your brows furrow in concern at the sight of childe in front of you; body worn from using his foul legacy form one too many times in succession and injuries sustained from his earlier fight. he shouldn't have protected you, really you could have protected yourself. and yet...

"you're going to ruin yourself if you keep going into your other form all the time, you know." childe laughs weakly at your lecturing; that's all he can do right now anyways. you catch your lip in between your teeth as you rub a cooling ointment on the harbinger's body. "this isn't funny. you can't just die. then no one would be the eleventh harbinger and you-"

"i would leave you alone?" childe smiles when you send him a glare. his rough hand finds yours, squeezing it lightly in reassurance. there's not a chance in the world that he would succumb to death just yet. childe is still young, and there are many others that he hasn't had the pleasure of fighting against.

and he sure as abyss can’t pass away without saying how he truly feels about you.

you grumble to the snezhnayan that you could've handled it all alone, that you didn't need him to go all berserk on the ruin guards that had surrounded you earlier. instead, childe laughs and places a weak hand on your forearm. "i know, but that was the perfect time to show you just how well i can fight. maybe then, you'll finally accept my feelings."

a white lie, really. even though childe knows that you could've handled it yourself, he acted on instinct back then. the thought of you being harmed in any way sends a chill down the harbinger's spine. he wouldn't forgive himself if he reacted a second too late and you ended up hurt as a consequence.

what's the point of harboring the power of the abyss if he couldn't protect the ones he loved.

you roll your eyes at his answer, choosing to quietly resume cleaning up childe's wounds in hopes that he doesn't say anything more embarrassing. as your fingers brush against the snezhnayan's freckled skin, you don't miss the way he leans towards your touch and the happy hum rumbling from his chest.

❀ diluc

the darknight hero is not one to lose his battles, let alone allow any of his enemies lay a finger on him. trained by the knights and his own father, diluc's fighting style is difficult to intercept and finding a weak spot in his defense is futile. even if his sword is too slow, his fists will be glad to meet those that oppose him.

that isn't to say he doesn't get hurt every now and then. you've caught him with bandages wrapped around his hand, blood soaked gauze around his torso. as long as the job was done, diluc didn't mind the wounds he received in battle.

he isn't used to others tending to his wounds, as nobody really knows he's the darknight hero and protects mondstadt in the middle of the night. so when you catch him in the act of cleaning his wounds and offer to help, he kind of freezes up.

diluc wants to decline your offer, sure that he could finish this up by himself. and besides, he doesn't want to burden you with his consequences so late at night. but he knows you would keep bugging him and complain later that he didn't "love you" or whatever dramatic act you'd be committing in the near future.

it's hard to look at you when you're so close to the red haired vigilante. granted, diluc has always been pretty close with you, seeing as the two of you grew up together and shared most of your memories with one another (and kaeya).

but being physically close to you... is another story. your fingers lightly touching his skin, your face so close to his as you inspect other wounds on his body, your hands roaming the expanse of his chest to remove his shirt in case it hid any other injuries you could have missed.

diluc's hands twitch when you inch even closer to him. if he wanted to, it would take one swift movement to have his lips on yours. one swift movement to hold you in his arms and feel the way your skin melts into his.

but the vigilante has self-control and would rather die than make you uncomfortable.

diluc releases a shaky breath when you finally move away from his body, though it's only a brief moment of respite since you immediately move back into your previous position after grabbing more bandages. absolutely perfect for the poor vigilante.

he clears his throat when your hands slide down his arms to reassure the pressure is enough to keep his wounds from reopening and bleeding out. it is then that you realize what you've been doing to the poor red haired man and how close you've been to him and his body.

"oh? what could you possibly be thinking about, mr. ragnvindr?" you tease, raising an eyebrow and sending diluc a playful smile. you fail to suppress your laughter when he scrunches up his face and turns his face away from you, his ears burning a wonderful shade of bright pink.

"i think it's time for you to leave." shocked, you try and apologize and get him to let you stay a little bit more. the night is still young, and he still has more injuries to be looked at! but diluc pays you no mind.

not like he'd have the heart to actually kick you out of his room anyways.

❀ kaeya

the captain of the calvary isn't one to fight, always looking for people to do his dirty work so he doesn't have to. why bother exerting more energy than you already have when you can make others do it for you? it's more fun that way, anyways.

that doesn't mean kaeya is incapable of fighting. if needed to, the blue haired captain would gladly point his sword at the enemy to keep them at bay or spar a fellow knight. scratches and shallow scrapes are what you mostly see from him.

you aren't expecting to be called into the knights of favonius headquarters and be greeted by the calvary captain battered up and bruised in the infirmary.

"you're squeezing me too hard," kaeya comments nonchalantly, as if he isn't bleeding to death on the bed right now. "you'll cut off circulation in my arm if you keep doing that." you shoot him a glare, but the blue haired captain only laughs at you. you tighten the bandage on his arm.

you refuse to get tangled up in anymore of kaeya's antics. it's all his fault you've aged ten years because of him and his stupid actions and refusing to ask for help despite the mission being bigger than anyone could handle. alone at least. it's not like you don't trust him, but a little extra help isn't bad to have.

your frown deepens when your eyes flit up to stare at the blood soaked shirt covering kaeya's chest. you order him to take it off so you can inspect his injury, which was a mistake on your part.

"oh? shouldn't you ask me on a date first before being this forward?" kaeya's laughter rings around the infirmary seeing your deadpan expression at his joke. maybe you should just leave, just leave this stupid man to bleed to death on this infirmary bed. maybe then you would finally be at peace.

"well. maybe i would have asked you on a date if you weren't so stupid to take this dumb mission alone. you could have died, asshole." kaeya only hums in response, which pisses you off even more. it's like he didn't have a care in the world.

in the midst of your grumblings and cleaning of kaeya's wounds, you miss the tender look he gives you; warm and gentle. the captain finds it nice to have someone care for someone like him after so long.

it wasn’t his fault he wanted to do this alone. well, it was, but it’s hard for kaeya to rely on others and be vulnerable to those around him despite how long he’s known them. his walls are built high, refusing to let anybody in in case he accidentally hurts them in the future.

he wonders if you'd miss him if he disappeared one day, but the way your brows furrow in concern at seeing how bad the gash in his chest confirms his answer.

kaeya’s endearing, warm smile is replaced with the usual smug smirk when you look up to meet his gaze. one day, he hopes he’ll be able to let his walls down around you.

"you know, you're really cute when you worry over me. maybe i should get injured more often." the look of shock at kaeya's comment is evident on your flustered face and it takes everything in him to not laugh and open up his wounds again.

❀ kazuha

kazuha isn't one to easily get injured, well at least seriously injured. he was raised by a prestigious family, trained in the arts of the kaedehara clan. with the help of his prior knowledge of fighting and his keen senses, it's hard to one-up the young man to the point of injury.

that isn't to say he has never sustained any injuries. there have been one too many times that the inazuman traveller has shown up at your door with a couple of scrapes and an apologetic smile on his face.

so, it's a surprise when you find kazuha at your doorstep severely injured and clutching something in his burned hand.

it's quiet between the two of you as your eyes scan kazuha's body for any more injuries and your hands quickly move to tend to his right hand. the skin is burnt, bleeding, and his fingers shake from the injuries it sustained.

you whisper an apology to the inazuman when you gently clean the wounded skin with a warm cloth. he doesn't flinch, dazed eyes still staring off in front of you. it makes you wonder what kazuha went through to be injured this badly. though, seeing as the only serious injury was his right hand, you assumed it wasn't from a fight.

"kazuha... what happened to you?" your words are gentle, afraid your voice would scare the inazuman traveller in front of you. kazuha doesn't respond and instead tightens the grip he has on your hand that's bandaging him. his hand is shaking, and you don't realize he's crying until you feel the wet teardrops on your skin.

ruby eyes glazed with tears meet your own when your eyes flick up to confirm that he was indeed crying.

"tomo..." the crack in his voice shatters your heart and you find yourself pulling kazuha into your arms. his own circle around you and his hands grip onto the back of your shirt as he buries his face into your shoulder.

kazuha's body shakes as he sobs at the loss of his friend. he must have held it in until he got to the safety of your home. you were always his safe haven; coming over so you could tend his light wounds and provide a roof over his head if he was passing by your village.

and yet all you can do now is hold him until the storm inside his heart passes by.

❀ xiao

being in pain or having many injuries litter the expanse of his skin isn't unusual for xiao. he's an adeptus whose sole purpose is to serve rex lapis and protect the citizens of liyue, even if it meant throwing his life away.

even then, sustaining larger, more painful wounds didn't make the adeptus bat an eye. despite how horrible it sounds, xiao is used to it all and takes each hit and laceration that comes his way without blinking an eye.

when karmic debt constantly takes a toll against your health and death is the only solution to reaching true peace, it's hard to care about the state of your own wellbeing.

so imagine xiao's surprise when he shows up at the wangshu inn battered and bruised from dealing with a hoard of monsters and seeing you standing in the yaksha's usual spot, waiting for him with a frown etched into your face.

nimble fingers work deftly against xiao's body, quickly cleaning up the lacerations on the adeptus' chest and the scrapes that cover his arms. xiao releases a hiss from the sting of the medicine and you apologize under your breath.

"i knew you would end up like this." your words come out harsher than you intend to. the adeptus doesn't respond. as long as he was the only casualty to come out of this, as long as the innocent lives of liyuens were protected, as long as you were safe behind the walls of the wangshuu inn, it didn't matter how badly his body was injured.

"i just... i just wished you weren't so careless, xiao." the way your voice breaks doesn't go unheard by the yaksha. his eyes snap forward, but your head is tilted down as your shaky fingers worked their way around xiao's torso. "you're always fighting as if no one cared if you died or disappeared one day."

xiao doesn't get it. he doesn't understand why you care about him so much. a being fated to suffer until his dying days are over, one cursed with karmic debt and forced to carry the burdens of the innocent lives he took in his past.

no one should care about him. a monster with blood on his hands.

but here you are, shedding tears for an adeptus who didn't deserve it. the sole yaksha who is fated to succumb to the sweet embrace of death at any given moment.

and yet, despite knowing he doesn't deserve your gentle touch brushing over his wounds, the young adeptus lifts your face with a gloved finger and brushes away the tears that flow down your cheeks. he longs to continue holding you, to feel your skin against his. you're his temporary solace from the karmic debt that hangs over his heart.

an apology slips past xiao's lips, and you cry harder, calling him 'stupid' for almost dying out there. you bury yourself in his chest and he hugs you, afraid that if he let go, you would be nothing but a dream.

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brownandblackpearls · 3 years

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🦇𝒯he 𝒱isitor (Alucard Tepes x BlackReader)

PART 1 SUMMARY:

While trying to escape the clutches of criminals and cutthroats, you stumble across a castle beyond imagination. The corpses staked at the front aren’t enough to keep you out. But after entering, you begin to wonder what you got yourself into, and what the castle is hiding within its walls...

─── Alucard x black female reader

─── imagery + fiction

─── explicit smut

─── TW// slight gore, general mentions of rapists// Fantasy, vampires, hurt/comfort, enemies-to-friends-to-lovers, magic user, cute bats, gardening, cooking, cottagecore MC, castlecore Alucard.

☾ next.

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You fight through the underbrush of the woods, hurrying as quickly as your feet will allow.

They’re on your trail.

You’ve been evading these criminals from the last town you’d passed through, but they just keep stalking after you. They’d been all too eager to see a lone, beautiful woman traveling with no companions, no guides, and no guardians.

They had tried and failed to corner you alone several times in the town and on the roads, but you haven’t made it this far on your own without some learned skills. A finger-bolt of lightning at one’s eye, a fire-heated palm tight on another’s wrist, swings of sharp dagger at all of their torsos, their throats.

Anything and everything to escape. It’s not your first sticky situation, and it probably won’t be your last.

You know how to be quiet. How to hide. And when it comes down to it, you know how to swindle and how to fight, if need be. You try not to resort to that, not out of compassion or concern for the heathens that try to best you...no. You just know that you’re not as skilled as some of the rigorously trained ex-militia and rogue bandits that prey on loners in towns and off the roads.

You don’t know exactly what they want. A woman to toss around between themselves and torture before they descend on you like wolves? A new girl to sell on the black market? A pretty decoy to get carts and wagons to stop on the roads, allowing them to abush, raid, rape and kill as they please?

Whatever it is that they want, you’re not giving it to them.

‘They’ll have to catch me, first.’

You duck and dodge branches, bobbing and weaving through the trees before the forest finally begins to clear. You keep your hand on your dagger’s hilt, just in case.

Who knows what hides in the woods?

Finally, you come to a clearing run through by a small creek. The dense woods have seemed to disperse here, and now all that you can spy are peaceful glens and swaying flowers. Deer jump away through the grass, hares run into their holes, and fish shine from the stream.

It feels…safe.

But you’re not one to be foolish, and so you continue on. Hoisting your basket closer, you can’t help but spy a garden as you pass through the glen.

Fat tomatoes hang on vine, bright orange carrot tops sprout from the soil, green onions, zucchini, berries and fruits….

…Someone has made a garden here. Hopefully if they’re the gardening sort, then they’re the safe sort. You quickly fill your basket with a few items, tuck some coins hidden near the stalks in apology for your ransacking, and carry on.

Finally, the glen ends, the forest stops entirely, and you stumble upon something entirely unexpected.

'A castle...? Out here in the middle of nowhere...?’

A grand, gothic castle of castles, spirals up towards the clouds in the sky. You gaze up at it in awe, sure that there is nothing else in the world quite so large or so spectacular. You’re certain that had the woods not been so oppressive and thick on the way in here, so wide and strenuous, that you would’ve spotted the castle for what it was miles and miles and miles ago.

You whistle low, impressed as you step forward. You take only a few steps before you stop.

A ripple in the wind draws your eye.

Two barely clothed bodies impaled on stakes tower before you, death etched onto their faces. The spikes go through them, hidden by the soiled shifts they wear and rising high up and out through their mouths. It is a grisly sight indeed. Unfortunately, you’re no stranger to ‘grisly’ in these lands.

You move slower, more carefully than before.

Assessing the bodies, the blood is long dried on the stakes and the petrified flesh. Most of the meat is gone, pecked away by crows most likely, and the flesh that remains is hard and dried out.

You have dealt with your fair share of monsters, but you’re not too sure you want to risk running into the one who did this. It was done with malice, strength, and a raw fury. A nonchalance for human life, it seems. Much like the same nonchalance shared by the evil men you run from.

You hear faint voices call from the trees.

They’ve tracked you. And they’re coming closer.

“We can’t come here. It’s cursed ground. Don’t you know who this castle used to belong to?”

“Yeah, and they’re dead. No one’s seen em’ for ages. But I see little footsteps. Have a feeling the lass went this way.”

You freeze, glancing between the bodies, the huge castle door before you, and the mouth of the forest.

It’s the castle and its possible hidden horrors, or the men on your trail.

“Skin like ebony, that one. Pretty mouth, doe eyes. She’d sell for a pretty penny.. We wouldn’t have to raid for months.”

“…Or we could keep her to warm the cold nights.”

Your mind races, trying to choose.

You could fight the men, still. But there are many of them, and just one of you. Your magic is somewhat abysmal without knowledge to guide you, and your dagger won’t measure up to prove the little sword skills you do possess. Your words will probably not get you out of this one, either. Not this time.

“I’d rather make her scream.”

“You would like that, wouldn’t you Macon? But you did that to the last one, and now we’re out here hunting a new lass instead of enjoying the old one.”

‘That’s it,’ you decide.

The castle it is.

You sprint away from the woods as fast as your billowing cloak and dress will allow, ignoring the foul smell of decay and passing between the bodies. You feel as though you’ve irrevocably crossed a line that shouldn’t be crossed, a decision made that can’t be taken back.

You will live with it, you decide. Better that, than capture.

Racing to the front of the grand doors, larger than the largest buildings you’ve witnessed in life before this day, you bang raptly against the wood and stone.

For a moment, nothing happens and you feel as though you will be caught right at the footsteps of this castle.

Then, you hear a doldrum, a creak and whirring of machinery and mass movement. The door shifts open just slight enough for you to slide through, making a gigantic noise in it’s wake.

Quick as wind, you push through and fall to the floor, turning to see the grand door begin to shut closed behind you.

The men stand before the staked bodies, unwilling to pass them and watching you as the doors close you out of their sight.

“You’d be better off with us murderers and thieves, woman!” One shouts futilely. “For even our hearts aren’t as black as the monster’s in those walls!”

The door shuts him and the rest out. You harrumph and stand, wiping the dust off your dress and looking away.

Fuck him. And fuck his threats, and fuck his horrible little friends. Any black-hearted beasts you come across, you could handle well enough.

At least…that’s what you tell yourself to keep a brave face. Better that than nothing.

You look around.

The inside of the castle is larger than life, grand, and dark. Everything is clean and without dust as you would’ve expected from such a structure…an army couldn’t keep this clean…yet it feels unlived in.

For a moment, there is nothing but heavy, oppressive silence. You listen for a breath, a sound, but can hear nothing outside of your own increasing heartbeat.

You turn, looking to the top of the staircase.

Your eyes tell you there is nothing there, but your instincts tell you something else.

Suddenly, the lights of a thousand candles sweep on throughout the grand hall, illuminating a massive stone staircase and a figure standing at the top of it. You have very good sight, but the room is so large that you can barely make out the figure, even with the candlelight.

Nothing is said, the figure is motionless, and you begin to tremble. This must be the one who lives in this place…not an intruder or a vagrant. You don’t know how you know, but the figure is too large, too looming, and too confident even in its vagueness of detail for you to assume it to be anything other than the owner.

The one who likely staked those unfortunate souls outside the walls.

You feel as if the mysterious figure is waiting for something, and you don’t know what to say. But something must be said.

Your voice is as steady as your fear will allow.

“My name is ———. I come from afar. I am…I am seeking refuge…if you will have me.”

“Refuge from the men outside.”

The voice carries through the empty hall, lilting, low, and deadly. You hear hints of refinement in the speech but they are not enough to hide the white hot lethalness you sense underneath. A rage that you cannot even begin to place or name.

“Y-yes,” you stumble embarrassingly, affected, “from the men outside. They followed me here. I have nowhere to go.”

“And so you feel entitled to my protection.”

“No!’ You exclaim, shaking your head. You stopped expecting assistance from people long ago. The life of a lonely wanderer is just that...lonely. “I inconvenience you, and for that I apologize sincerely. Just…just refuge. I can be on my way after they depart.”

“To where...?” The disembodied voice says as calm as a pond at night, yet you feel the ripples that lie beneath.

“Nowhere,” you breathe.

“…And you come from?” The figure disappears like a mist, yet the voice remains.

“I…nowhere,” you gasp honestly, truly afraid now.

“Lies.” The voice spits viciously, sounding closer then far away, as if it’s bouncing around the space of the great hall.

“It’s t-true!” You insist, your trembling hands reeling in towards your chest in a futile attempt of protection from the unseen danger. “I hail from nowhere! I belong to nowhere! I have little. Just refuge, sir. A night, even!”

“I could grant you refuge,” the voice assumes, “or I could send you back out to those men and be bothered with none of you.”

“You wouldn’t,” you breathe, daring a chance to hope.

The voice chuckles humorlessly, dry as dead leaves.

“Perhaps,” it toys. “But I also wouldn’t allow a mysterious woman of mysterious origins to stay in my castle, learn of my ways, only to run back to the outside world and send a horde of farmhands sprinting over to slay me. Wouldn’t be the first time. No, I think I’ll keep you instead. Are you willing to make that bargain with the Devil?”

You pause, your mind blank. You search for an answer to reason with this...this...your thoughts race.

“Look, I know I’ve come into your abode unannounced and rather…rather rudely, making demands, but I must implore you—“

“—Answer me!” the voice barks, making you nearly jump out of your skin.

'That’s it.’

“You’re a prick, you know that?!” You blurt.

“…” You can hear the confusion in the empty air. “…Pardon?”

You push on, figuring that if you’re going to be staked by the unseen castle-owner or given up to the men outside, or toyed with any longer by any of this nonsense, that you may as well speak your mind one last time.

“You know good and goddamn well that I am not running into a fantastical, creepy castle of myth decorated by corpses on the front porch for the fun of it! As if I care or even believe some farmhands could handle much less defeat you when you can clearly impale full grown adults and work such a place as this—!”

“...”

“—And how dare you tease a woman scared out of her wits, can you even pretend to try to put yourself in my place?! Do you know how long I’ve been running from those idiots? If I had your strength I’d’ve staked them myself and added them to your lovely, little welcome collection as a visiting gift, because believe me, I’m sick of running from morons and monsters! I’m not above spilling blood! But as I said before, I possess little, and come from nothing, and journey towards nothing. From that, you can figure I can’t do much in terms of protecting myself besides running into large, spooky places and begging their arrogant owners for some rest—”

“.....”

“—So, I’d very much appreciate if you stopped toying with me and make your decision on whether you’re going to kill me, kick me out, or keep me, because I’m tired of trying to figure this all out by myself and I’m tired of the anticipation. So what’ll it be Mr. I-Like-to-Leave-Corpses-Outside-My-Castle-and-Harrass-Visitors?”

You huff after your rant, waiting.

The voice is silent for a long, long moment, before an accusing tone reverbs back to you.

“You’re the one who barged in—“

“—You’re the one who opened the door!” You return, throwing your hands out in frustration.

“I didn’t, the castle did.”

“Oh, well fuck me, then. I suppose I ought to thank the ‘castle’ and head back out to let those hoodlums try their worst. So long, strange sir! It was interesting, arguing with you.”

You turn on your heel, over this entire day, and knock at the door raptly. You tap your foot as you wait on the castle, arms crossed and dagger in your hand to strike the nearest hoodlum that likely awaited outside. What a day, you couldn’t believe this shit.

The machinery whirs once more and the door barely opens before a large, leather gloved hand reaches past your head and slams the towering door back, closing it shut. The strength the act takes is incomprehensible, you think.

Inhuman, you realize.

The hairs at the back of your neck raise long after the presence behind you appears. You feel no breath on your neck, yet you know someone stands behind you. You can’t look away from the large, gloved hand on the door. You’re afraid to see exactly who stands behind you.

A man...? Or something else entirely….?

You try to speak but gasp instead, short and shocked.

Silence reigns before you get a hold of yourself and choke something out.

“Y-y-you’ve made your decision then…I presume...?” You stammer into a squeaking volume, your anger long gone and replaced by fear once again.

“Don’t make me regret it…” The voice sneers, close enough for the breath of it to shift your hair and the baritone to reverb over your skin. A chill runs up your back and you can do little to hide it. You feel as though the figure behind you is impossibly tall, imperceptibly assessing, and spying every single thing you do.

You feel the presence lean in over your shoulder, a mouth right next to your ear.

“…or you will regret it, visitor. That, I can promise.”

You gulp loudly, nodding your assent without turning around. You feel frozen to the spot. The hand withdraws and your shoulders unclench only a fraction. You feel as if a predator had been standing behind you, and has decided not to destroy you...for the moment.

You wonder if you are right, and why your cheeks suddenly feel so hot when your heart is beating so fast in terror...?

“I’m going to clean the trash off of my porch,” the voice states eerily. “Don’t touch anything until I return.”

As quick as a blink, the presence disappears entirely.

You finally turn around, alone and confused.

There is nothing but the large castle hall, looking back at you.

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AN: Do not under any circumstances copy, repost, or edit any of my work. If you see someone do so, please let me know.

☾ next.

☾ check my blog for more imagines.

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yandere-sins · 4 years

Note

Hello! Can I have “I can bring down a man with a wave of my hand, why would you ever want a weak mortal instead?” With Lucifer from obey me? Or demon Kaito from Danganronpa

Thanks for requesting! I cannot deny any literal demons when you ask for them!! ♥

“I can bring down a man with a wave of my hand, why would you ever want a weak mortal instead?”

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-««

There was a difference between being Lucifer’s hobby and being promoted to assistant out of a mood. Ashamed, you had to admit that you were getting used to simply being played with, degraded, put into the place he wanted you to be in, just because he could. It was almost painful now to have to stick to him like a fly to a cake while his eyes never so much but acknowledged you, papers flying into your directions in the expectancy that you’d catch them like a dog.

Neither of those situations were to your liking.

Sure, there was still the fact that your body wasn’t doing what you wanted it to. Your mouth kept shut while Lucifer managed his negotiations and discussion, and even though your feet hurt, you couldn’t have sat down, even if you wanted to. In reality, you wished you had been able to scream at his partners, make them understand that this was not a situation you wanted to be in, that he had forced it upon you, just like he was forcing contracts and deeds on the poor souls which summoned him.

But as it was, you were unable to tell them about the hell you were in, quietly watching from the sidelines. Even the meetings with Diavolo were futile, because he either didn’t notice the magic binding you, or didn’t care. It was hard to make out with the Demon Lord’s everlasting smile and not much more reaction from him, though you were glad that he at least acknowledged your presence, nodding at you when you entered the room.

The tapping of your shoes on the marble floor of the palace was too much in synch with Lucifer’s as that it could have been your doing, clearly managed by him. But none of the casually passing spirits seemed to notice, or even care about you two making your way out. “Speak your mind,” Lucifer said, much too unbothered for your taste. Considering he was lifting the curse keeping you quiet, you thought he could show at least some concern about what you were going to do.

It was a shame that right that moment, no one was around to hear you if you decided to scream. And really, what would one more or one less scream do to those demons, when that was their daily symphony? You sighed, feeling the restrains fall off you and taking in that feeling with a certain relief. “Are we done yet? I want to go home...”

“Oh?” he asked, the corners of his lips curling upwards in amusement. “Does my little pet miss their playtime so much?”

Despite knowing he’d not react well to your rejection, you simply shook your head. It was pointless telling him, but you did so anyway. “I don’t miss anything you do to me, but I can stand tagging after you like a puppet even less.”

As expected, he took a deep breath before shaking his head. You knew that if anyone, you were one of the few people Lucifer could lose his composure about. But for now, he kept it, even if it was itching in his fingers to put you back at his feet making you tell him you loved him and loved every bit of his treatment of you, even if it was being his forced secretary.

“There is one more thing I need to see to.”

Before you, the world began to blur, and disappointed you had to realize that your ability to speak and complain was taken from you before you even stepped a foot in the portal. Blinking wasn’t helpful as there was nothing you could see while in soaked up in magic, every time you opened your eyes it seemed to be the same as when you had them closed.

But when you did eventually manage to open them, the sun - which you hadn’t seen in what must have been months now - shone down on you, an instant refreshment running through your body. Your mood instantly lifted even if you couldn’t get the worries off your mind, your feet stopping just beyond the portal, and your eyes lowering to follow Lucifer’s back while he kept on moving.

“Good evening,” he greeted the person you had missed at first. You were so used to demons, seeing a real, human person now almost felt disconcerting. “Ah, Lucifer, it’s good to see you.”

The two had, what you would have described as, a strangely familiar and normal conversation, standing at a cliff-side overseeing an, unknown to you, city. On the ground you could see a summoning circle, though, old and burnt-out, grass slowly starting to grow over it again.

“Have you made peace with your revenge then?” Lucifer asked the man. If you had to describe him, he probably was around your age, fairly attractive even if you weren’t sure you’d describe him as your type. He nodded, sighing a sigh of relief. “I’ve been held back by them for so long, they’ve been putting me down and using me as their servant rather than their son. It felt so good to see them in the same, helpless position I was in for years now.”

Oh, you thought. Surely, that wasn’t the same relationship you and Lucifer had, but if anyone, that man clearly understood what it meant to be broken and pushed down into the least admirable version of your self. Out of reflex, you tried to speak up. You wanted to reach out, share your troubles with someone like-minded! But instead of a word, a flimsy, quaking sound escaped your throat, going unnoticed by everyone except Lucifer who’s head turned to look over his shoulder, smirking as he savored your failed attempt of resistance.

“Well, the time to finish our contract will come soon then. I hope you are ready,” he said, disgustingly friendly and with a pat on the other man’s back. As if they were friends when this obviously wasn’t the case. “I’m ready,” the human replied firmly, smiling back at Lucifer and taking a deep breath.

“So be it,” Lucifer announced, turning to walk back to you. You found the end of their conversation to be almost anti-climatic, when Lucifer’s arm suddenly sprung up from its place at the side of his body, giving the turned back of the man a push that probably would have moved elephants, judging by how deep it cut into the flesh of the body.

Tempted, your body jumped forward, a normal reaction of your kind. Wanting to help, to reach out. But instead of being able to do anything, you just had to watch as the man broke down into himself, clearly dead already, but gravity just pulled him further and further down, body plummeting off the cliff as there was no hold on it anymore. Without anyone else knowing the things happening here, it would look like a suicide, but the only reassurance you had at that moment, was that he was long dead before he would have met his end on the cold concrete below.

“You thought about it, didn’t you?” Lucifer asked you, eyes keen on every flinch of muscle your body made. “You thought, ‘Oh, he’d understand me, he can save me’ right? If there was anything you wanted, I could give it to you tenfold, and yet, you’d rather see him as a saint, and me as a monster to flee from."

There had never been a moment you hadn't found Lucifer stalking towards you scary. But with the sunset in his back, illuminating his form and casting him into an even deeper shadow than he already was, it was even more terrifying than seeing his visage usually. "He murdered them all, his whole family, you know? So much to your holy saint and you'd still prefer him over me?! I can bring down a man with a wave of my hand, why would you ever want a weak mortal instead?”

It wasn’t your turn to speak, Lucifer made that clear, circling you by, and placing his hands on your shoulders. As if on cue, your body sunk to its knees, and you could have yelled in frustration about it being so easy for him to control you, while you fought the greatest war inside of yourself. You just saw someone die, for god’s sake! It was way beyond you how Lucifer could have no mercy for the strain on you.

Instead, he just wandered in front of you again, your arms lifting from themselves so you could place your hands in his outstretched ones. He brought them together as if in a prayer, with his own around them, your head magically lifted to find his gaze.

“I am your god now, [Name]. You only have to follow me and put all your thoughts in being thankful for me giving you the life you have, do you understand?”

Self-pity wasn’t something you used to have before you met him. But with the nod and the, “Yes, Lucifer,” that fell off your lips without any of it being your doing, you almost envied the poor soul he had just reaped right in front of your eyes.

#Lucifer #Lucifer obey me #obey me Lucifer #obey me!#obey me #obey me! shall we date #yandere obey me #yandere!obey me #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #Yandere TW #Supernatural Prompts #Anonymous

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some-dr-writings · 3 years

Text

Korekiyo and Nagito x SHSL Military General

Korekiyo Shinguji:

· “Simply beautiful.” Korekiyo found himself saying those two words often around The Super High School Level Military General. Everything about such a person was simply so, how could anything else describe them.

· At first he had heard the rumors of you, the strict, stone cold, military general whom had taken over their entire class. With a simple snap of the finger you’d summon your entire class, utter one word and they were already off obeying your coded command. Your every movement was stiff, yet effortless. Everything had a deliberate purpose, even a twitch of the nose. You had such control over everything and everyone around you, all bending to your will.

· Kiyo was content simply observing you at a distance, and yet a part of him wanted to disturb your space, to know you better. Though from a single glance he could tell idle chit-chat was not something you’d partake in, so he was fine. What did surprise him though was you approaching him.

· “I need your expertise.” “AH! Oh… It’s you.” He took a deep breath, placing a hand over his heart. “You startled me. I hadn’t even realized you had come in. How may I help you?” “Anthropology, you study human beings, their culture and traditions, the origins of those, that is what you do, correct?” “Indeed, it is.” In one swift movement you took off your hat, holding it over your chest before bowing. “Please teach me. The better I understand people, I may better understand my soldiers and our targets. I must learn all I can to make conflict end with minimal damage to all sides. I must learn how to form people into as powerful, independent, a team player, and dependable as they can be so that they may survive, even without my direct guidance. That is my sole goal in life, would you assist me in my endeavor?” “… Simply beautiful. I would love to help in any way I can.” And that was how you had begun to regularly meet with Kiyo and visit him in his lab.

· Any and all stories Kiyo would tell you or any artifacts he’d show, you’d always take detailed notes, dissecting them in order to find the humanity behind such fables, find what compelled people to do what they did. Kiyo could not but help to notice how you did seem to have a preference for specific tales, ones of trickery such as Odin and his many escapades. It was not for the aspects of humanity it explored, you seemed to simply enjoy it for yourself, something… quite rare.

· All you did was for others. That selfish love of being the one to protect others or bring them joy, that part of you reminded him so much of his classmate Kirumi, so much so, he introduced you two, thinking you could get along well together, and that he was right on. You and Kirumi instantly clicked, often meeting with one another, exchanging advice and stories. You allowed Kirumi to assist you when you were leading your classmates in study or work and even went out of your way to seek her out. You both did what you loved out of this, assisting others and leading them into becoming their best selves. Seeing such a friendship blossom was extraordinary, especially so between two amazing individuals such as yourselves.

· You seemed to change a little after meeting Kirumi. You were still stark and quiet, rarely speaking, but on occasion he found you’d just sit beside him as he read or went about his own business, both keeping to yourselves while still keeping one another company. Soon though you became more direct. “Follow me.” And that he did, even keeping in time with your foot falls. Soon he found himself on the field where Kaito, Shuichi and Maki were as well. “Oh, Shinguji’s your new sidekick?” “…” “Alright then! Let’s get to training!” Every evening there after you had brought Korekiyo to those raining sessions, strictly making sure he improved every day. Then you also took him to watch Himiko’s magic shows, play tennis with Ryoma, whom Korekiyo thought would not play the sport again till he spotted you speaking with the man, of course a person like you could lead Ryoma back to his old passions. You got Kiyo to regularly spend time with just about everyone, one day he’d be playing piano with Kaeda as he discussed the history of the piece they were playing, the next you and he were in a week long prank war with Kokichi.

· “Here.” Kiyo looked between you and the clothing you had passed to him, most notably those boots. “Be at the front gate of the school dressed in these in half an hour.” Without another word you simply left. When he got to the gate you simply walked away from him to follow. You went hiking. “Winded already?” “N-No… Just… catching my breath.” “I know you can do better, keep up.” You simply marched on as Kiyo tried keeping up. Eventually you had reached the top of the small mountain. “Ah, the city.” You could clearly see it, along with Hope’s Peak. “Keep up hiking. Seeing the greenery should be enough motivation to keep going.” “Oh, you won’t be joining me? I may forget, you know.” “You will not. I train all those under me to be independent and be able to survive without me.” “… So, you’re saying you won’t be around?” “…” You didn’t speak for a moment, your gaze unwavering from the city with your arms crossed. “All day every day you simply tended to your books and artifacts or watch others. You care not for your own health. That cannot do. I… I wish you to survive and have connections. And I certainly believe you wish to live to see the beauty of humanity firsthand. That you cannot do when dead or bed ridden from lack of caring for yourself. Even if introverted, humans are social creatures, so you need to speak with others on occasion on topics other than your passions. You must learn of others, how they see the world in order to connect. Because of you and Kirumi, and others… I’ve learned that making connections is so vital, even if it will hurt in the end, some connections are worth making.” Finally, you locked eyes with him. “My country calls for me, I must protect them, but I… I wish to see you in particular… See you… thrive. Experience the beauty of humanity firsthand, no longer be a bystander. Become unrecognizable when next we meet, become the greatest person you can. Do not die, and do not stagnate. Keep improving and learn what you taught me.”

· “I see, you shall be leaving then…” “… Hmm? What’s the matter, it’s unlike you to become so down cast.” “I have? Well… I love you. You are the most amazing person I have met. I’ve taken advantage of our time together, and seeing it… Y/N?” You still so stoically stood there, but your entire face was flushed pink. “you… love me… I, y-you can go on, why did you stop?” He laughed. He laughed in that almost strange way only he did. His eyes were half lidded, and you saw the crow’s feet in the corners. He was so clearly, gently smiling, you felt as if your heart would beat right out of your chest from the mere sight of it. “Adorable.” “I…” That blush only darkened and darkened, as you had instinctively taken a step back, fearing being so vulnerable in the moment, yet… liking it also. You… you never allowed yourself to be vulnerable like this, or at least so rarely did, you had almost forgotten the feelings. You buried your face into your hands. Kiyo simply took your hands into his own, gently leading them down so he could see that slightly wobbly smile, and the red that so elegantly dusted your cheeks.

· Not even a week later and you disappeared as if you had never even attended the school. Despite the years that had passed Korekiyo made sure to stay connected too his high school classmates. Kiyo had taken to traveling with Rantaro who was searching for his sisters, Shuichi who was putting his detective skills to use in searching for them, and Kirumi who acted as Shuichi personal maid believing with the right assistance he could become a truly amazing person. They were a rather fun group to travel with. In the evenings when time permitted, he and Shuichi would do some exercises and reminisce on the training they had done in high school. Any time they found themselves in your home country, Kiyo couldn’t help but wonder how you were the whole time. Kiyo and Rantaro would often chat through the night when in your country, Rantaro of his sisters and Kiyo of you. They also spoke of the travels they had taken before high school. Being with them… it was simply amazing, and Kiyo was eternally thankful for all you had done for him, and he was the determined to not disappoint your expectations for when you’d meet next… you just had to meet again.

Nagito Komaede:

· Many were confused to see the Super High School Level Military General always hanging around Nagito; you never spoke with him, you didn’t even seem to like him, you were just always near him, even when he left campus you still followed him. Eventually rumors had begun sprouting up that the pair of you were in a relationship of some sort, but even that didn’t make sense. If any asked, you never said a word. Some asked Nagito but even he didn’t know, he just accepted the fact that you were around now.

· “… Weapon, I can hold my tongue back no longer.” You spoke! Nagito was amazed! In your following him around, you had also dragged him around so that you could do your own work and though that Nagito saw your command in action over and over again, but with your gaze locked to his own, that sharp voice resonating deep within himself… the experience was unlike any other. “Am I to see you as human, or a weapon, I do not know any longer.” “Oh? A weapon?” “Yes, a weapon.”

· Nagito felt his breath getting caught in his throat, his heart pounding against his rib-cage in a steady pace, like a taiko drum. It were as if his other senses had gone numb, they existed only for you, your intimidatingly kind visage, your solid unwavering voice, even touch, he could only feel the barest, slightest bit of your body heat. There was only you… So, THIS was the power of the Super High School Level Military General. No wonder all listened and heeded your every last breath.

· “Clearly you hold no self-worth, always calling yourself ‘trash’, always doing everything you’re told by others you see as superior, us ‘Ultimates, beacons of hope’ as you’d phrase it. You have no drive or ambition other than pleasing ones you see as great… That…” You simply stared at him for a moment, you just didn’t move at all. “… I find myself compelled, compelled to take you under my wing, get you to see yourself for how truly amazing you are, and yet I too fear that. If you gain personhood, you would become the most dangerous weapon the world has ever known. You don’t just have luck, you can influence it and predict it to an extent. If you gained self-worth and ambition and decided to use your talent you could destroy the world single handedly. If you wanted too, and yet you are also just as dangerous in your current state. In this state you’d willingly go along with any and all who’d wish to use you as the weapon you are, and with no substantial will of your own, you would be used without fuss and all the while not worry about any destruction you’d cause, believing hope would overcome any despair or tragedy no matter how great. So… to attempt to give you will so you’d be less likely to be manipulated by others, or leave you as you are so you grow no ambition of your own. That is what I cannot decided. As I see you now, I know not what you think, if you gained any ambition what you could possibly want. My goal in life is to protect everyone, even my enemies, and you… You are the greatest threat I have ever met. Your ‘luck’… the travesty it could cause is worse than any atomic weapon I know of and I must be rid of you.” “… It sounds like you could solve this by killing me. Nobody could use me than and I wouldn’t be able to want to use my luck.” Many would find it strange just how matter-of-factly Nagito had stated that, and yet, being around him for so long you were not surprised.

· What… what happened? Nothing about you had changed, and if you had, it was so subtle Nagito did not notice. He was terrified. Something in him screamed to run and hide, yet he was frozen. “Life is never to be weighed lightly. From the tinniest flea to the smartest and biggest whale. Life is never to be spoken of, let alone treated of so flippantly. Even that of your most despised and hated of enemies… At times, death is the only option, but if there are others that exist, they must be taken into account. Life… Life is the weightiest thing in existence. Never underestimate the impact the death of any single creature can have on everything. All life matters, even yours, though you yet to see it. You may deny it but heed my words. You matter. You matter more than you can ever realize. So, should there be a way to defuse the catastrophe that is laying dormant, only building more the longer you exist, I WILL find out how.” That terror that entrapped him faded and he felt as if he were gasping for breath after almost drowning. “You, I yet know what to do with, but for now we shall be retiring to my room so I may go through with planning.”

· Then you turned and walked away. Nagito followed, in aw and amazement at you! You were truly a force to be reckoned with, simply astonishing! Though he didn’t believe he deserved it, if you saw fit to exchange so many words with him, he was truly honored. And he could not wait to see what decision you’d come too; he was quite looking forward to see what you were going to do to him.

· “I need more data. I can not come to a conclusion. We shall proceed as we have before.” Despite saying that, things were never quite the same after that day. You would talk to him on occasion. Not much, but those brief exchanges were captivating none the less. Nagito became your assistant of sorts, keeping count as you did pushups or other exercises, or tidying up and cleaning so you could focus on more important things such as training yourself or others, perhaps even cooking or bringing you food so you didn’t have to interrupt that mental exercise you were trying out. Always being around you, he was kind of forced to pick up some of your habits in order to keep up, like trying to keep pace on your morning jogs. It became a sort of challenge for you to protect Nagito from his bad luck. You tried your damnest to stop the chaotic results no matter how small, whether it affected others or not.

· Despite how Nagito always went on and on about how he was trash, you were impressed with how smart and capable he was, even going over military strategies with him. This quickly spread to other things. You started playing board games, seeing if your strategizing could out do the boy’s good luck, even playing luck-based games to challenge yourself into finding some strategy, even if it were underhanded. No matter what you tried though, Nagito was unflappable, much like yourself. Playing games with him became your favorite pastime- TRAINING! It was training… not for fun. Though relaxing is important, so plaything with him served a dual purpose… yeah, th-that’s it.

· It was late spring on the cusp of summer. “Hey! Y/N! That’s thirty laps!” You waded in the water for a moment, catching your breath before allowing the crashing waves to push you to shore. As the gulls cawed you marched up the shore across the reds, purples, and oranges of the setting sun behind you so beautifully reflecting off the sand. There Nagito stood, a towel draped over his arm, a small bowl of ice cream in each hand. “A small burst of energy before I can get you a more calorie rich meal. “… I thank you.” Nagito simply passed you a bowl before patting your face with the towel, then wrapping it around you… Sometimes he wondered if you always had that light blush on your cheeks. He had been with you for so long, it was difficult to separate how you looked back when you first had met to now. He thought he’d remember, but he just wasn’t quite sure. Though he found himself deliberating on this because it seemed that blush was spreading… “Something the matter Boy? You’ve been staring for a while, and just… kind of holding the towel over my shoulders.” “a-ah! So, I have! I, I deeply and sincerely apologize. I just love yoooooouuuuu-” Oh no. “Your face! I love your face!... So much!” Internally Nagito was screaming about how he just let that slip out despite how he just so calmly smiled like this was an everyday occurrence. Truly, he was a mess of a person. “Y-you too?” Then you squeaked, realizing what you just said. And there you both just stood starting at one another. “Dinner, we’re supposed to get dinn… dinner…” “Y/N?” “Boy, how long have we been dating?” “Huh?” “We’ve been inseparable, and… we do more than train like watch movies an… stuff, so…” You then just walked away. “W-wait, Y/N!” “I can’t speak, I’m eating ice cream!”

· Even after years the pair of you were still inseparable. The only time you seemed to be apart was when you went to war, but no matter the distance or trials you faced, you’d always return to him. As for Nagito… he thought this was for the best, after all, you were a humanitarian, if realistically possibly you’d protect life, so a person as dangerous as himself always under the watch of someone so amazingly strong… always protected by you from the world and even himself… the thought sent his heart a flight.

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bonjour-rainycity · 3 years

Text

Odin’s Ward ~ Chapter 13

Link to previous part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/638162885025120256/odins-ward-chapter-12

Pairing: Loki x female reader

Word count: 2678

Warnings: Adult themes

True age: Y/n: 1197 // Loki: 1323 // Thor: 1575 // Audunn 2961

Human equivalent age: Y/n: 19 // Loki: 21 // Thor: 25 // Audunn: 47

Loki’s POV

“Your Highness, rebels have attacked one of the outer villages and stolen their food supply.”

Damn. I purse my lips in frustration. This is the third attack by rebels in as many months. “Take six of our warriors and station them in the village with enough grain, wine, fruits, and vegetables to feed everyone for half a year. By then it should be harvest and the people will have enough to feed themselves.”

“Yes, Your Highness.” The advisor bows deeply as he records my decision. Pride gathers within me.

“We need to re-think our security strategy for our borders. These rebels keep finding chinks in our armor. We must—” In my mind’s eye, the old painting in the attic glows purple.

All breath leaves me.

“My Liege?” The advisor looks at me with concern.

“I have to go.” Without another word, I stalk out of the room. Once I’m sure no one can see me, I teleport to the attic in the turret.

The last place I had a nice moment with Y/n.

The painting of the door, the one I told her to use to contact me if she ever needed me, glows her favorite shade of purple.

With shaking hands, I reach into the painting, open the door, and retrieve a letter. Just seeing her elegant script—the first sign of her in over sixty years—nearly brings me to my knees. It reads:

Dearest Loki,

Can I even still call you that? I’m not sure I should, given our circumstances. Nevertheless, it is true. You are dear to me.

Anyways,

I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face. I read the words in her voice, I can see the faces she makes as she awkwardly stumbles through writing this letter. It points to her still being the Y/n I once knew.

I read on.

Anyways, I have a favor to ask of you. It’s a pretty big one and could get us both in a lot of trouble if we’re found out. Due to my current situation, I am willing to take that risk. Are you? If so, please agree to meet me so we can discuss the specifics of what I’m asking of you — in person. It is better to keep as much of this as possible out of writing.

I realize that you said we needed to keep out of each other’s lives, and I understand why that is the best way for us both.

Still, I cannot help but be excited at even the possibility of seeing you again.

~ Y/n

P.S. Please burn this letter as soon as you’ve read it. Thanks.

Had the tone of her letter not been so concerning, I would have grinned at her sign-off.

After teleporting to my chambers, I throw the letter into the fire, as instructed, and sit at my desk to craft a response.

My Dearest Y/n,

I hope I have not overstepped in returning your greeting. You raise a valid point in wondering if we can still be that to each other—dear—but I believe our hearts cannot be lied to. There is no point in ignoring the fact when it is just us.

I know you would not contact me unless you absolutely needed my help. Fret not, my dear; I give it freely. If it is to your convenience, I shall meet you tonight in your bedchambers in Alfheim.

To respond, simply write on the bottom of this letter, and it will appear on a copy on my own desk.

I, too, look forward to seeing you again.

~ Loki

I glance over my letter. For all that I want to say, it seems incredibly short. But a voice in my head reminds me that, although seeing Y/n will be fresh air for a drowning man, I cannot lose myself in her completely. She is married. And denial and wishes are no way to live for two people who must spend their lives apart.

After using magic to send the letter to Y/n, I find a book to distract myself while anxiously awaiting her response.

{***}

Y/n’s POV

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a piece of paper appear on my desk in a hazy green glow. My breath hitches.

“Ragna,” I fight to keep my voice steady. “Could you go and find out what the cooks are serving for dinner?”

“Yes, My Lady.” She curtsies and leaves my room. As soon as she’s gone, I snatch the letter from my desk and open it.

Seeing Loki’s handwriting, so familiar after such a long time, makes my heart flutter and ache. After reading the letter, I take a moment to breathe.

I will see him again tonight.

With shaking hands, I write a single word on the bottom of the paper:

Yes.

The letter shimmers once more and disappears. I bite my lip, doing my best to contain my excitement.

There’s a knock on the door and I quickly try to calm my expression. “Yes?”

Ragna enters with a curtsey, as always. “Lamb, My Lady.”

“Hmm?” I find my gaze wandering back to the desk, waiting to see if another letter has appeared.

“For dinner, My Lady.”

“Oh, yes!” I snap my attention to Ragna. Oh, shoot! Ragna. I’ll have to get rid of her for the night. “You know, I’m actually not feeling very well. I think I’ll skip dinner tonight.”

Her brow furrows. “What’s wrong, My Lady? I will have a healer come to check on you.”

She begins to leave. Ugh, I need this room free of other people, not filled with them. “No!” Ragna turns around, a questioning look on her face. I take a breath, trying to calm myself so I can focus on how to make a convincing lie. Channel your inner Loki. After another breath, I put a soft but assured smile on my face. “My ailment does not require healers, but thank you for the offer. It is nothing more than a headache. I would prefer to be alone. Please alert the guards that I am to have no visitors tonight.”

Ragna looks convinced by my explanation. “Yes, My Lady. I hope you feel better. Please call for me if I can be of assistance.”

I smile. “Thank you, Ragna. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight, My Lady.” She curtsies and leaves the room.

Now I just have to wait.

{***}

I alternate between pacing and reading as I watch the sun sink deeper into the horizon. Every minute that passes seems ages longer than it actually is. A relaxing candle does nothing to help. I change my outfit twice before going back to the original.

Finally, it’s pitch black outside.

Should be any minute now.

My heart flutters and my hands shake. I find myself nervously tucking and untucking my hair, unable to decide which is best.

“Hello, Y/n.”

The smooth, familiar voice stops me in my tracks. The voice that, for a short time in my life, brought me both great peace and excitement like no other.

I turn around, unable to wrap my mind around the reality of seeing him again.

But there he is, just as tall and handsome and wonderful as I remember him.

“Loki.” The breath escapes me and suddenly I’m running across the room. He pulls me into his arms and hugs me with as much force as I use to cling to him.

“Y/n, I—” I look up to see him beaming a smile of disbelief. “I cannot believe I’m seeing you again.”

“Nor I, you.” I stroke his face, running my hands over the angular lines that were once so familiar to me. He hasn’t changed a bit. “I,” I take a steadying breath in an effort to calm my shaking hands. “I cannot thank you enough for coming to see me. I know there is risk involved for us both.”

He shakes his head and pulls me to the couch, where we sit. “I trust your judgement and I am here to help. What kind of trouble are you in?”

I look down at our hands, still intertwined. “Please, we can talk about that in a moment. How have you been?”

He shrugs, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. “Well, Asgard is prospering, minus a few rebel factions that would see us undone. We avoided a trade embargo with Vanaheim and—”

I smile, cutting him off. “I asked how you have been, Loki, not the kingdom.” An uncomfortable, insecure feeling pricks at the back of my mind. Why isn’t he talking about his personal life? Oh, how I did not want to feel this way. I try to mask it with nonchalance. “Tell me about your life.”

He sees through me in an instant. He shifts in his seat, looking slightly uncomfortable. “You’re asking me if there have been other women.”

I huff, annoyed at my own insecurity and at having been found out. “I am not!”

He chuckles lightly, returning to his state of ease. “You are, and that’s fine. The truth is, yes, there have been others.” He looks at the ground, running a thumb absently over my knuckles. “None of them stick. I’m not sure I want them to.”

Now I feel guilty. How utterly unfair of me. “Loki…” At the mention of his name, he looks up. “I am with someone else now. For as long as he and I both shall live, as they said in the ceremony. The union between Audunn and I is,” I swallow, willing myself not to sound full of despair over these words, “forever. I hope that one day you find someone who is good for you.”

He smiles softly, though there is too much sadness in his eyes. I pull a hand free to stroke his cheek, letting it come to a rest on his chest when the tenderness re-enters his eyes. “I did.” Subconsciously, I clutch at his shirt, remembering our fleeting time together. After a heavy pause, he grins. “700 years ago a sniffling child was placed in my clubhouse and I was told to entertain her.” He rolls his eyes playfully, leaning back into the couch. “How was I supposed to know I’d grow up to fall in love with her?”

Breath catches in my throat. It’s been so long since I’ve heard him say that.

Loki can tell this affects me.

He leans in and I can see the deep emerald of his eyes. His voice is soft and sincere when he declares, “I do still love you.”

“And I love you,” I whisper without hesitation.

I’m not sure who reaches for who, but by the next breath, we’re intertwined. The kiss is desperate, hopeful, sad, and passionate all at once. Heat floods through my body. Vaguely, I realize that this is the first time in 63 years that I’ve felt desire. I’ve never once wanted Audunn as I want Loki. And as soon as Loki leaves, he’ll take this desire, this connection, with him.

Because Loki isn’t here for long.

With that realization, I stop holding back. Loki meets me there, and soon we’re undressing each other on the couch.

“Wait,” he pulls back, lips pink and slightly breathless. “It wasn’t supposed to go like this. I had a plan. I was going to be a gentleman. This is not being a gentleman.”

I smirk and quirk an eyebrow at him. “Who said anything about a gentleman? I called you here, didn’t I? And I think I’ve been quite clear about what I want.”

That mischievous look I adore pops into his eyes. “Well, if the lady so wishes….”

We pick up where we left off.

{***}

“To be completely honest, I’m not convinced he can. Audunn is very old.”

It’s the early hours of the morning, and we’re leaned against my headboard, comfortably naked, me tucked under his arm. Loki throws his head back and laughs, pulling our entwined hands up to his mouth for a kiss. “That’s awfully unfair of you.”

“It’s true!” I join him in his laughter, loving this time we have together. “All he does is grunt and then he’s done! Absolutely no work required on my part.”

He scoffs playfully. “So what, you’ve just suffered through sixty pleasureless years?”

Now it’s my turn to grin. “There are ways in which a woman can pleasure herself, you know.”

“Yes,” a glint comes into his eyes. “But why should she have to when I am here and oh so willing?”

He kisses me deeply then, shifting so we’re buried in the covers once again, him on top of me. We break the kiss, and I sigh sadly, knowing that our time is running out. “I wish you could stay here forever.”

“What I wouldn’t do to stop time,” he responds sincerely, laying his forehead against mine.

I smile softly, the sadness creeping back in. I kiss him lightly on the nose before pushing against him so we’re sitting up.

He looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to explain why I called him here in the first place.

I look at my fingers, contemplating how I want to frame this. If I tell Loki too much of the truth, that Audunn is manipulative and abusive and filled with hatred, there is a real possibility that Loki could do something rash and ruin future relationships between Alfheim and Asgard. Norns, he could start a war! Besides, it’s not like confiding in Loki would change anything. Even if Audunn were to suddenly be removed from the picture, it is likely that I would just be passed onto the next eligible suitor, not returned to Asgard to be with Loki. With all this in mind, I go with a half-truth.

“I don’t love Audunn, and I don’t want to have his children.”

Unexpectedly, tears enter my eyes. It’s so freeing to be able to share this with someone other than Ragna, to not have to pretend to enjoy Audunn’s company, and to be able to be, well, mostly honest with someone I love and trust.

Loki runs a comforting hand through my hair, looking at me with understanding and sadness. “You will be ridiculed. Alfheim views women as being required to provide heirs for their husbands. If you do not…” He trails off, hesitation in his eyes.

“I know,” I assure him, gripping his hands. “I’ve already been subjected to some of it. It has been over sixty years, after all.” I look him straight in the eyes so he can see just how sure I am. “But I can handle it. I can handle anything if it means saving myself from being bound to Audunn in that way.”

Loki nods steadily, and I can see that he’s made up his mind. “I will do as you ask.”

I release a breath I didn’t know I was holding. “Thank you.”

He brings a tender hand to my forehead and murmurs softly. After a moment, my body warms with the barely-tangible weight of his magic. I feel no different, but when he removes his hand, I know it is done.

“It will either take myself or another sorcerer to remove the spell, so if you change your mind…” His voice trails off.

I shake my head, completely resolute in my decision. “I won’t.” And, heavy with exhaustion and the weight of how my life has just been changed, I lean forward into Loki’s chest. His arms encircle me immediately, and I try to memorize exactly how this feels.

Because it’s likely I’ll never see him again.

He runs his hands gently up my back, easing me into rest.

“You’re a good man,” I remind him, because sometimes he forgets.

Before I hear his reply, I drift off to sleep.

{***}

In the morning, my bed is cold, and I know that he is gone.

A/n Happy holidays! Let me know what you thought and if you would like to be added to the tag list!

Also, stop by and check out my masterlist!

Link to next part: https://bonjour-rainycity.tumblr.com/post/639152911075672064/odins-ward-chapter-14

Tag list: @80strashbag @dark-night-sky-99 @what-am-i-doing10 @chxrryycola @ravenclaw5606 @hiddlebatchedloki

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athenaquinn · 3 years

Text

Bury It || Ally & Athena

TIMING: Current (today) LOCATION: The middle of a forest in White Crest PARTIES: @alejandra-solano and @athenaquinn SUMMARY: Ally and Athena run into a spriggan. Everything is fine. CONTENT: very brief allusions to physical and emotional abuse

Even after everything, there was still a certain peace Athena felt in the woods. Peace and a sense of power. It was somewhere where she could take control and where she could deal with things however she saw fit without having to worry about other people. Usually, at least. Except for some hikers here and there, but Athena also often found her way into more secluded parts of the forest. Today’s venture was somewhere in the middle ground - not so secluded that she was all but guaranteed to be alone, but also not somewhere that she knew many hikers would be going. Especially as the Maine weather began to tease the coming of a proper spring, she knew she’d have to be more mindful of humans when she went out on her hunts. She felt goosebumps run up her arm, then - and so she scanned the clearing, trying to figure out where it was coming from. Eastward, she thought, if she let herself concentrate enough. Another benefit of not many people being around was that it was easier to locate. Rolling her shoulders, Athena began to walk in that direction, fingertips ghosting against her hip where one of her many knives sat, under her jacket.

Ally was going to figure out where that goddamned cabin was whether it was the last thing she did. People can’t just be forming towns in the woods. She trudged through the underbrush, something she had done a lot over the past few weeks. Being alone was something that Ally struggled with. She was vulnerable when she was alone, but the hobbies she took under her belt left her alone so often. She tried to shake the thought away and as she did, she realized she wasn’t alone. She heard someone walking parallel to her and she paused, peeking between the trees. Out of the corner of her eye she noticed what looked like a tree move. Again she shook her head, she had been awake for a long time. “Who is there!” she yelled, grasping the gun at her hip, and looking to the spot in the woods where she last heard walking.

She had the option to leave town now, if she really wanted to. Leave and study somewhere else just like she and her brother hadn’t been permitted to do for college. Except she had reasons to stay here - Ariana, for one - and even if she wasn’t bound to her obligations in the same exact way as before, she still had a duty to protect people, and letting fae run amok all over town wasn’t something that would ever sit well with her. Athena continued to make her way through the forest, careful to not step on any branches, or knock over any piles of rocks. She felt her body tense up again - which had to mean she was headed in the right direction. A figure was moving between some trees. That had to be it, didn’t it? She regarded it (always an it, never anything more, when she was hunting - it was important to separate monsters into their own category), though noticed that it was beginning to approach another woman and for a moment she caught her breath, wavering. The other figure was human - or so she thought - but she felt a bit of doubt swirling in her chest. She could take them both out if need be, she told herself - though she would give it a few moments more, see what happened. Athena let her hand slip under her jacket, fingers wrapping around the hilt of her knife. She could at least guess that the fae was possibly a spriggan, at least based on size. That was one thing to go off of, and to watch out for.

Out of the corner of her eye Ally saw a tree move again. Damn, had she really been awake that long? Still she turned, and what she saw took her breath away. A being creeping through the woods. Was she dreaming? Her mind tried to wrap itself around this impossibility, not a vampire, not a person, not an illegal village in the woods. What was it? Before she could catch her breath it was moving toward her, and she leaped back, tripping over a rock and watching her weapon go flying in the other direction. She always joked about keeping her stake on her, and now she really wished she had. She felt a sharp pain in her ankle when she tried to get back up, watching the beast before her approach. “What do you want from me?” she yelled, pushing herself back. She felt hands wrap around her legs, holding her in place. Its eyes were locked on her badge, attached to her jacket.

The other woman was human. Had to be, at this point. Or at least not fae - and if she happened to be something else, Athena would find a way to deal with it. What was most important was helping someone who was being hurt by a fae. That was always what was most important (at least in her mind, at least now) (her parents might well have had other things to say but she didn’t want them to enter her thoughts and mind again - not now - please, not now) and so that was how she would have to deal with it. Get rid of the fae first, figure everything else out later. She watched the woman fall and winced involuntarily, because that had to hurt (did hurt, she knew, recalling a memory from years ago) more than the mats in her family’s training room. Then the fae was on top of the woman and holding her down. If it was hurting her, then Athena knew she had double the reason to go on the offensive. “Stop that!” She called, suddenly, stepping out from her hiding place. The spriggan (it had to be, all signs pointed to that) took little note of her words, instead continuing to hold her down. “Try to push it off!” She called out, taking a few steps closer. “Knee it, or something. See if that works!”

Ally whipped her head around as a girl appeared from the woods. Brave. Braver than she had been in the same situation. Not the time, Ally. She was wriggling under the hands of the creature and felt herself come up with a sarcastic response. Instead she swallowed and gathered all of her strength. With her good leg she gave a strong kick, flinging it back a little bit. That was when it split into two. “What the fuck is happening?” she yelled at the girl who seemed far too calm for the situation at hand. She felt her attention being pulled elsewhere, toward a moss covered log in the distance. Why did she care about a log? She pushed herself to pull her attention back as the two beings lunged toward her again, hands reaching for the glimmer of her badge. She grasped on to a branch, swinging it to swat one hand away, but the other grabbed her arm. “You knee it!” she yelled.

Maybe asking a civilian, even a police civilian to handle this themselves was a stupid idea. Athena knew full well that at least most of the police were far too human - or not human at all. Either way, even if her parents had made certain she (and their family) were in the police department’s good graces, they also reminded her that there were too many things (countless, even) that she knew how to handle that the police simply could not. That she’d been designed to handle since she was a child. “That thi-that creature-being - is attacking you.” She resisted the urge to huff, because that would only distract her - and for once in recent times she actually felt like she had at least a bit of a handle on things. “Which I know is stating the obvious.” The spriggan continued to attack her, and part of Athena wanted to watch in morbid fascination - wondering what exactly it was that was making this one so keen to attack as much as it did, rather than just steal and leave. “I cannot knee it given that it’s closer to you.” She grabbed her knife, finally removing it from its resting place on her hip. “If you give it a kick, I can,” deal with it, “assist. I can also- ” her sentence cut off, she watched as the spriggan made another lunge at the woman, trying to pull at her hair and grinning, its eyes on the badge. Some spriggans kill after they obtain their desired object. She could see the words on the page in front of her, hear her father’s words. “Just- ” she took another few steps forward, the blade of her knife cutting into the fae’s leg, a small, surface-level wound. That was something of a start, though the spriggan hardly seemed to mind it.

Ally was finally locked in, pushing past the surprise of whatever was on grabbing at her. She could deal with the fact that even though she had spent her whole life researching vampires she had never seen a tiny horned one later. What she needed to focus on now was not getting bit and staying alive. She was annoyed by the girl before her, wondering why she wasn’t doing anything. She watched as she cut into the being with her knife and leaned against a tree, pushing it back towards the girl with her legs. A knife would do nothing if this was a vampire, she knew that, but maybe it would run off if it was inconvenienced enough. “The slicing and dicing isn’t really working.” she yelled, using the branch in hand to swing at the creature again as it leaped toward her. “Fuck this.” she exhaled, deciding that if the girl wanted this thing closer to her, she was going to help. “I hope you’re ready to assist!” she called. As it launched itself at her again she jumped at the creature, trying to pin it down. She was back on the ground and she felt it’s hand close in around her badge. “Now would be a good time.” she said, writhing beneath the creature as she felt claws dig into her skin.

The slicing and dicing isn’t how I’d put it, but it will work, I know that much, was what Athena wanted to say, but held her tongue. Even if an adult was behaving in a ridiculous manner, they still deserved respect. Usually - so long as they weren’t vermin of some sort themselves. That was something that she doubted she’d ever fully shake (even if she knew she’d made at least one notable exception) - but it also wasn’t the worst behavior to have - after all, basic politeness did wonders, she’d found. She raised an eyebrow, impressed at the woman’s willingness to jump into action, though she knew that she had only a little time to work with as it jumped at the woman again. Athena ran over, kneeing the creature before it could grab the woman’s badge, watching with an amused smirk across her face as it crashed against a nearby tree. She didn’t have too much time to focus on the precision of her kick, because this spriggan was either particularly aggressive or particularly determined, or some combination of the two. She ran after it, knocking it to the ground and straddling it, holding her knife to its throat, letting the burn of the iron begin before she sliced it open. Except that the spriggan started to reach out towards her necklace - the one Ariana had given her for Valentine’s Day, and with that she sliced into its shoulder. “You know that thievery is illegal, don’t you?” She spat, watching a bit of blood fall to the ground, though it was still very much alive, struggling under her. She looked over to the woman. “How are you? Did it scratch you at all?”

Ally was sure this was how she was going to die. She always knew that it was going to be related to the supernatural in some way. How would they cover it up? What would they tell her dad? She thought of all the dozens of excuses she had given to bereaved parents in the past. She would soon be one of those. Suddenly the weight was lifted off her body, faster than she had time to register. She watched as the woman sat atop the creature, talking to it, as if she knew what it was. Too calm she remembered. When the girl addressed her, Ally snapped out of her shock. She looked at a small tear in her jacket, a scratch across her skin from it’s claw. “I’ll get a bandaid later. You know how to deal with this? I have a stake...” she fumbled, still stuck on the idea that this was a vampire. The world was too small for there to be anything other than vampires. Right? Ally searched the ground for something, anything to help, frustrated by how defenseless she was. She settled on another loose branch, slowly approaching the struggling pair. She watched as the beast lunged for the necklace at the girl’s throat again. “Watch out!” she called. This thing was injured but damn it was determined.

Her parents had always said that she could use her size to her advantage - that being small was of incredible benefit. It had to have been true, after all - her mother was even smaller than she was and she was one of the most powerful - and, if Athena spent too much time thinking about it - terrifying - people that she could think of, and so it had to be. Use everything about you to throw people off your tracks, throw off any would-be suspicion her parents had said so many times that she had lost count. “I’ve got a bandaid and bandages - we just - there’s a few things to deal with, first.” Adjusting her position to ensure that the spriggan didn’t go anywhere, she blinked rapidly a few times. “A stake? I - no. The offer’s really appreciated and good on you for carrying that around but that won’t work for this.” A laugh escaped from the spriggan’s lips and Athena turned back, hitting it across the face. “I really wouldn’t laugh if I were you.” In her momentary distraction she didn’t notice the spriggan reaching for her necklace again. “The heads up is appreciated!” She called out to the woman, returning her knife to the spriggan’s throat, a smirk crossing her lips. Well, she always appreciated having to work for something. Though still rewarding, when fae put up no fight it made everything just a bit less fun. “Things like this rob and steal and can do much worse, if we let them.” She clicked her tongue against her teeth.

Knives, a band-aid, who was this woman? The medic of the forest? Won’t work for this. What is this? It felt like the world was both expanding and collapsing around Ally. There was more to be afraid of, more to protect people against, and more to learn. The wind left her lungs and she slowly took in the information that the woman was offering up. She hadn’t noticed but the stick she was holding had dropped from her hands. The spriggan must have seen the opportunity because it reached out, grabbing a hold of her bad ankle. She let out a scream and kicked at it, her ankle in searing pain. Grabbing a hold of the stick she stabbed at the hand grasped around her ankle. “Let’s not let them, yes?” she expressed, wriggling. She was frustrated she had been caught in its grasp again.

She had to say, if she had to run into any police officer in the woods, this woman seemed to be one of the best options she had. At least she was willing to jump into action and she’d yet to call Athena a kid, which automatically gave her bonus points, even if she was thinking it. Except that the spriggan had at least partially gotten out from under her and was grabbing the woman’s ankle, knocking her onto the ground. “Seriously? You’ve gotta give up sometime, you know.” Athena muttered to the spriggan, cutting into its arm, forcing it to let go of the woman’s ankle. “You know what happens if you misbehave, don’t you?” It continued to move, hissing and screeching as it attempted to grab at the other woman again.

Ally kept struggling and watched as the woman cut the being. As it’s hands slipped from her ankle, her boot caught on to it’s pocket. As she kicked it away, she watched a few small items fall to the forest floor. She didn’t think much of it, but was surprised to see what looked like roots spreading throughout the ground. “Is that normal?” she asked, feeling the earth developing beneath her. As it shook the being seemed to become more distressed, grasping at the ground, theoretically searching for whatever had fallen. The rage of losing the items seemed to send one more surge of strength through it, as it started flailing around. “Can I help? Do we...?” She didn’t want to say the last part of that sentence, because she didn’t like to think about it as killing. As she attempted to rise off the ground she uttered some curses under her breath. She hadn’t really been paying attention to the pain in her ankle but as she moved to stand it was clear that this wasn’t a simple fix.

“Normal’s subjective.” Athena pressed her tongue against the roof of her mouth. The woman deserved at least that much, she figured. She wasn’t about to get into all the ins and outs of everything, but if she had some vague (even if over-generalized and misguided) idea of what vampires were, saying that much wouldn’t do any harm. “I appreciate the offer, but I don’t want this - well, I don’t want you to come to harm, and I’ve - my mom runs - ran a gym in town so I’ve got lots of training.” The spriggan was flailing just enough and Athena moved to kneel by it, toes of her boots digging into the ground as she slit its throat, watching until it stopped thrashing. She couldn’t take any more time to more fully observe it now, though. “It won’t hurt you any more, don’t worry.” Her voice oddly calm, she grabbed a cloth, wiping off the blade as she glanced over to where something had fallen from the spriggan’s pocket.

His blood seeped into the soil along, crying out as he had. Blood had a memory like no other. It carried with it all his grief and his rage, and his desire for the things he could not have, it carried the cold disdain of the one who had spilled it, and the moral struggle of the police officer nearby. A sacrifice had been made, even if it had not been intended. It was a terrible, wonderful first meal. Tiny roots stretched out from the seeds. For a moment, it was quiet. Then, the ground groaned as the roots expanded and grew deep into the foundations of White Crest. With a loud creak, the seeds rushed upwards, saplings only for a second as thick bark wrapped around the body of the spriggan, lifting it up so that for one horrifying moment it was poised upright like a scarecrow before the wood swallowed up his features, and branches began to form around his arms. Still, the tree grew, up, up. The bark reached for Athena too, as the roots tried to grab at Ally. Inside, they could hear the Spriggan’s body squelch as the branches grew up the length of the tree, tearing its arms from the rest of its body, trapped inside. Leaves spread to fill a gap in the canopy which had not been there before. When it was finished, there was one last creak, as if the tree was sighing in relief, and then all was still.

Ally staggered back as the tree sprung from the ground, swallowing up the creature. She watched with wide eyes as it was violently devoured. It had been hell bent on attacking her only moments before, but still she gulped down a feeling of sadness and guilt. There was darkness as its leaves spread throughout and she waited a second for the tree to do something. “Was that part of it? Is this like a thing it does?” she asked, kicking the base of the tree. “Hello?” She looked over at the other girl, waiting for the guidance she seemed to provide.

Athena jumped - just slightly - as a tree rose from the ground and wrapped around the spriggan. For a brief moment, she watched in morbid fascination - it was something that she’d never seen before, and that made it remarkable (and, she noted, a convenient disposal method for the body). Except then the bark reached out for her and she couldn’t help but let the start of a scream escape her lips as she jumped up and away, the other woman’s words drawing her attention. “Not at all.” She made her way over to the tree, knife still in one hand as she ran her fingertips along the bark for a quick moment before bringing her hand away. “I’ve never seen anything like that. But we might not want to be right next to it - in case it tries to go after us again.” She bit her lip.

Ally nodded and took the other woman’s advice, stepping over the roots that had spread throughout the ground. “What have you seen? You knew a lot about...whatever that was.” Ally said, raising a brow. Her eyes glanced to the knife still in her hand. Had she seen too much? She kept a careful distance between herself and the woman with the knives, especially because she didn’t have her weapon with her. “I’ve seen some things but nothing like that. Or this.” she said, peering up to the top of the trees.

“I’ve lived in this town my whole life so… a lot.” Tongue pressed against the roof of her mouth again, Athena wasn’t sure what to say. There were a lot of ways that any phrasing she provided - even the most basic and simplest - could make someone look at her like she had two heads or didn’t know what she was talking about. Could make them use the same terms she and so many others had used for Blanche back in high school - which now left a sour taste in her mouth in more ways than one. “I will say the whole tree thing,” she gestured towards it, “is new. The thing that attacked you, I’m a bit more familiar with.”

“A whole life of this shit does stuff to you.” Ally muttered under her breath, gazing up at the tree. At least she only had vampires to deal with, not weird tree things. That brought her to her next line of questioning. “Are there more...things? Out there?” she asked, her voice shaking slightly. She didn’t know how she would grapple with a world where every person could be a different kind of monster. She would lose her mind. “Also what exactly was that, and why did it want my badge? I can’t imagine weird little monsters care about impersonating a police officer.” She then realized she had forgotten something important. “Thank you, for helping me. That thing was...scary.” she still didn’t trust the woman, but she had saved her from whatever that was.

“I guess it can!” Athena shrugged, over-enthusiastic again. Not willing to delve too deep into whatever the woman might have been implying. She’d dealt with the spriggan and she didn’t want to think too much about why the tree was growing - if she’d managed to mess something else up - again. “I - there’s a lot out there.” She blinked, because part of her duty was to not let super-average-ordinary humans get more of an idea of everything that was out there. That would lead to too many trying to go after things themselves, when they weren’t properly skilled for it. “Some… things… like to steal for the fun of it, but they can do far worse than just steal.” At the ‘thank you’, Athena shrugged. “Of course. It’s - well, it’s what I do. She opened up her bag, pulling out a bandage. “Do you want me to help out with what happened? I’m pre-med, so I know what I’m doing.” She offered her best reassuring smile.

There’s a lot out there. The breath left her body, a feeling of deep despair pouring through her. Was it all true? Was every book she read full of fantastical creatures just a depiction of the world she couldn’t see. She was lost in her thoughts and pulled out by the other woman’s statement. “What you do? Find them? That’s what you do?” That’s what Ally tried to do, albeit mostly unsuccessfully. Maybe this woman was an ally rather than a foe. She hesitated at the offer for help, but she had a pretty deep cut. “Sure. Although I think I’m going to have to get this ankle looked at by someone with a degree.” she said, frowning at the ankle that hurt whenever she put the lightest amount of pressure on it. “My name is Ally, by the way. You are?” She wanted to look into this mysterious woman.

“Yes.” You could say that. That’s one word for it. “Find them, and make certain that they do not hurt others, because some of them are really keen to do so.” Athena made a small face. She hoped she didn’t sound too crazy, too off-putting. She didn’t want that, especially with humans, and especially a human who also happened to be a police officer, regardless of her thoughts or her parents’ thoughts on the effectiveness of the police in town. “I understand - there’s a reason they don’t just let anybody practice medicine.” She scrunched up her nose as she knelt next to the woman and began to bandage her up. “Athena.” She grinned. “Pleasure to meet you, Ally.”

“Is it like...an organization. Are there others?” Ally asked. Maybe she wasn’t as alone as she thought. Maybe there were other people out there driven to make the world better. She watched as Athena bandaged her and suddenly felt grateful that there was at least one. It made the burden feel just a little bit less, like Athena had lifted the weight of the world off of her, even for just a minute. She noticed the clock on her wrist. They had been out here a while, she had to be back at the station soon. “Fun question, do you know how to get out of here?” she said.

“Yes. Sort of, but not a super formal- ” well, formal but not in the way I will explain, “well, not like when I was in Girl Scouts but yes. There’s people around who help out the town and help keep it safe.” Athena let a soft smile cover her lips. “Getting out of here?” She looked up at the forest around them. “I don’t know right off the bat, but I earned every badge there was to earn, and helped my brother earn some of his for Boy Scouts, too.” She stood up, and offered her hand to Ally. “What do you say?”

There were more people. It wasn’t just her. Today she had been devastated and uplifted. It was too soon today that she wanted to know them, but she slid the knowledge to the back of her mind. She needed to do what she always does. Research. Instead she took Athena’s hand and smiled. “Take me away girl scout.”

#wickedswriting #c ally #chatzy #bury it #:------)#physical abuse mention #emotional abuse mention #// serena was so wonderful to write with and i love ally #also the other writer who did a Thing in this is an absolute delight #:)

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twilitty · 3 years

Text

Waiting pt.3

Waiting

@twilitty

part 3/?

word count: 2.2k

warnings: none

read this first! Edward explores what is causing his wife to act so detached.

Edward was paralyzed with fear. It was a similar feeling to when he watched himself nearly drain Bella of her blood after James had bitten her. The feeling when Jasper nearly attacked and killed her. It was the feeling of a broken man who has now broken another person. He was a porcelain doll with cracks along his figure, and the beautiful, fragile doll next to him gets knocked over by some force that he’s caused.

Bella has been acting differently, more than should be expected after beginning her new life. She’s been unusually distant, taking her vehicle to Port Angeles and not telling him why. She chooses to hunt on her own in the mornings, but Edward knows that she is not only hunting. He can smell her trail when he goes out later in the afternoon, she takes a long route and ends up by the stream bed. No blood along the trail at any point, no scent of an animal she’s killed.

When Nessie is asleep she hands her off to Edward or Rose. When Nessie wakes up she’ll play momentarily before claiming to have forgotten to do something. It’s as if she shows no interest in her daughter, and why? She had chosen to have this child, chosen the child's life over her own. And now she seems disinterested in every aspect of her life.

This burning, paralyzing fear is what pulled Edward out of his home that evening. Entrusting his daughter to her more than willing aunt and uncle, he went to the treaty line.

Standing at the edge now his thoughts run circles around his feelings, taunting him and scaring him. Telling him he’s an awful father and husband, that he made a mistake when he chose to pursue a future with Bella. But what about my daughter? Regardless of his feelings towards his wife, he has to agree that his daughter was the best possible outcome.

All he had wanted was a future with his love, a future where him and Bella could live in peace. And they were given a beautiful daughter, warm brown eyes and red unruly hair. If he had to choose to go back in time and remain away, could he? I can’t imagine a life without her, he thinks mourningly. His daughter is his whole life, he spends every moment he can with her, he enjoys nothing more than being a part of her life.

When she smiles at something he’s done it’s as though his heart will simply burst. He cannot abandon his daughter, there is no reality where he can imagine ever doing so. His wife may be unhappy now, she may be secretive and reclusive, but that is a worthy price for bringing him his beautiful daughter.

“What do you want, old man?” It’s Jacob Black, standing on the other side of the treaty line. He’s in what likely used to be jeans but are now sliced along the thighs unevenly creating an unflattering pair of shorts. His chest is bare, as it always seems to be, and his hair is braided in two strips that fall over his shoulders. He had gotten Edwards' text.

After the birth of Nessie, Bella had appointed Jacob as the godfather, which very few found endearing. This sentiment had brought Jacob closer to the Cullens, often he would be found running perimeter around the family home or bringing new toys and clothing to the little girl. He wears a necklace around his neck that she had assisted in making for him.

It’s a pink shoelace with orange, yellow, and red beads laced through it. It was part of an arts and crafts project Jacob had brought over. He wears it constantly. It’s long and hangs down over his stomach so that when he shifts he can still wear it as a wolf.

Now, Jacob plays with it absently as Edward regards him with pressed lips. “Alright, bloodsucker, let’s spit out your words,” Jacob thinks with little sympathy. It’s a major blow to the vampire's pride to even broach the topic with this man, and knowing that the entire pack will soon hear about it does little to ease his conflicting emotions.

“I would like to discuss Bella with you,” Edward says formally. Jacobs eyes trail over him lazily, as if looking to pick out his flaws and toss them back in his face. “She better not be pregnant again.” Edward chooses not to respond to this. Of course she isn’t, it isn’t possible.

Finally Jacob responds out loud, “You already married her, what more do you want?” A smirk spreads over his lips, “If you’re looking for a second wife I’ll happily offer up Leah.”

“I don’t want anything-”

“Right, right, you’re so selfless and holy and better-than-thou,” Jacob snorts which only adds to Edwards mounting anger. “Let’s get this over with, colonizer.” Edwards eyes roll back in his head, arms crossing over his chest.

“Please, try and take what I am telling you seriously,” he says a little too forcefully. He doesn’t want to argue with Jacob right now, he’s trying to have a civil discussion and instead Jacob is taunting him. Can this boy not take anything seriously?

“Fine.”

Edward gives him a curt nod, “Thank you.” With an awkward glance around the forest, Edward begins his speech. “I was not present when Bella was going through her troubling… phase,” he says the last word gingerly as if not wanting to awaken it from it’s sleep.

“Depression,” Jacob corrects mentally. Edward cringes at the word but continues as if nothing was thought.

“But I have seen its worst parts through the minds of others. I am worried she may not be as happy as she once was. I’m concerned.” The statement doesn’t phase Jacob physically or mentally, instead his thoughts remain strangely silent and he merely shifts his weight to the other foot. “I’m not sure what to do, she is away today and I thought about following her-”

“Are you an idiot? Did you spend the last three hundred years working towards your doctorate in the school of dumbasses?” Jacobs' tone is cruel, his facts incorrect, and his demeanor more than a little concerning. He’s on the defence, as if something Edwards said has offended him. “Sometimes I wish kicking your ass wouldn’t force your daughter into therapy.”

If anything his poor daughter will need therapy from the infinite amount of insults her godfather trades with her father.

“So I’m going to assume you don’t think following her to an unknown location is not a good idea?” It’s a rhetorical question and the century old vampire quickly continues on, “Need I remind you that the second she thought her mother was in trouble she offered herself up on a silver platter?”

What was supposed to be a civil conversation has instead turned into a nasty argument, and Edward isn’t sure what caused the change. “Need I remind you that if there weren’t any vampires that wouldn’t be a problem?” Jacob’s words hit too close to home and he notices this when Edward winces at the statement. “What? You feel guilty now?”

“Yes, yes, I feel guilty because she very clearly is not happy!” Now Edward is yelling, matching Jacobs energy and escalating the situation even more than need be. “Do you not think I wish I could intervene? I have been trying to discuss this with her, bring up speaking to psychologist-”

“She doesn’t need a psychologist, she needs a friend.” Edward wasn’t meant to hear the thought and quickly Jacobs' mind focuses on the necklace between his fingers, trying to avoid that line of thought. “This wood is so smooth…”

“She has Rose,” Edward sputters uselessly, pale hands coming up as if to grasp his wife’s mentally well-being out of the air. “She has Alice, she has Esme. Her and Emmett get along quite well-”

“And she has me,” Jacob says aloud. His tone is quiet, stating a fact and nothing more. He isn’t looking to antagonize Edward and is no longer defensive. “And I’m the only one her age. The only one who isn’t a vampire. The only one who isn’t part of the family she married into.” It’s like running into a brick wall, the reality of the situation hits Edward in the face and it’s all he can do to not falter backwards a step to try and right himself.

His fingers begin to twitch at his sides, eyes eerily still as his brain processes the plausibility of what Jacob Black just told him. “She’s lonely?” He says at last, the word breaking as it escapes his lips and crashing to the floor like a porcelain doll. His wife, the woman who told him she wanted to be a vampire, wanted to spend eternity with him, is lonely?

“She’s-” Jacobs cut off as a howl rings through the forest. The noise echoes off the trees around them, Edward reads it through the other man's mind. It’s his turn to run perimeter around the reservation. “I’ve gotta go.” He turns around and sprints off into the shadows of the forest. His steps quicken and then are replaced by the heavy thudding of four paws. The sound of the wolf running quickly escapes Edwards hearing distance and the forest remains silent.

The vampire stands alone in the forest, the canopy of trees above him cutting off the filtered sunlight of the dreary day. How could his wife be lonely? Didn’t she choose this life?

He feels some piece of information stuck in the back of his mind, just out of reach and he growls in frustration. This was his family, his life, his wife. And of course he didn’t have a clue on how to fix any of it.

How could he have allowed this to happen?

It’s a split second decision that sends him through the woods, angling towards the nearest city. He’s the fastest of his family, matching miles in seconds and never needing to slow down or catch his breath. He doesn’t even need to breathe. It’s a wondrous escape from the bindings of human life, being able to exercise his supernatural body to the full extent of its abilities. His strides quicken as he pushes them to go faster, his muscles pull and release in perfect harmony and work upon their own accord.

Bella had experienced this as a human, clutching onto his shoulders as he tore through the forest with her on his back. It was everything he had wanted. Showing the girl he loved most the side of him that no other human got to see. And she had loved him back. Had. Where are her feelings now?

He slows as he reaches the edge of the highway, it’s lanes converging into slower moving traffic as the city opens before him. Brick buildings stand at attention along main street, the exteriors primed for maximum tourist appeal. Old signs hang from stoops over the doorways, restaurants and gift shops alike. Edward already knows the exact route he had taken when Bella had come here as a human, when she was trapped in that alleyway- “But where would she be now?” He asks himself aloud.

She had driven here, not run as he had. He supposes he could look for her vehicle and then trace her scent to her current whereabouts, but then what? He finds her and approaches her, tells her that he’s been searching her down to confirm that she does in fact still love him? No, he can’t do that, he knows that. Jacob had told him specifically not to do what he is currently doing. Not to follow Bella, don’t act like an idiot.

Yet, here he is. Acting against his and Jacobs better judgement.

He had purposely not spoken to his wife about her trips to Port Angeles because he didn’t want her to feel like she had to ask permission to leave. He wanted her to develop a sense of self as a vampire, not rely on him to sustain her only. He had wanted her to explore her new senses and abilities. He thought everything was going so well. Perhaps Rosalie was right, Bella was better off as a human.

He steps out of the forest, grateful for the dim sky which clouded his skin. He walked aimlessly towards the main street, allowing his senses to take in all that is around him. He smells the fresh bread of the bakery across the road, the sickly sweet scent of melted ice cream sitting somewhere in a trashcan. He smells everything, but comes up without his wife. He hears the cars and the chattering of people as they go about their mindless, petty tasks, but his wife is not anywhere on this street.

He eventually finds her vehicle, a black suv with tinted windows. She had parked at the opposite end of the city, under the shade of a large pine and beside a public park. He sniffs the air experimentally, her scent is travelling in every direction, but the north trail into the park is more potent. She’s been here recently. He looks through her passenger side window, a box of tissues sits on the seat alongside an open glasses case. None of them wear glasses, and this discovery startles him a little.

He follows the trail north.

- let me know if you want to be tagged when i upload!-

@edwardsmate4ever

#twilight #new moon #eclipse #fanfic #twilight 2008 #twilight saga #twilight renassiance #edward cullen #bella cullen #bella swan #fanfiction #headcanon #head canon #hc

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sol-korolevas · 4 years

Text

—𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐥 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐡 𝐝𝐨 𝐮𝐬 𝐚𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭

pairing: rk900 x gn!reader

words: 8.2k+

summary: “there you are, the wound. the warning. what am i, then? the breach?”

warning: super mild violence (for now)

note: gosh writing dbh brings me back to the days where i habitually upload at least one fic to the tag. it’s been several months since my last fic so i’m gonna need to rectify that :3c this work is inspired by a previous fic, but i added more meat into this one. rk900 is such a bastard in my book and i hope i do his bastardness some justice so enjoy!

Never show weakness.

Weakness can be controlled and manipulated. It leaves you vulnerable to the mercy of the enemy; it’ll kill you. But weakness is also a human facet that’s ingrained into the mind. And it’s a remembrance to humanity’s mistakes and proof of the existence of humanity.

Someone told you weakness cannot be shed, but you can tether it and guard it with your ferocity.

And, they said, ferocity is precious.

Wear it like a crown of fangs.

Hold it as a gun, heavy and warm on the flesh of your hand.

“What did you do?”

All of a sudden, you feel the oppressive stare of RK900 pushing down on you. When once you can easily respond in kind, you now feel at a loss.

Control everything, even your weakest emotions.

And yet, you still lost control. You pulled the trigger too early, believing that you had won. After the explosion comes reality, the world shatters, bending forward until it's weight pushes you down onto your knees. The gun in your hand slips out and clatters onto the ground beside you - now just a deadweight. The ringing is loud and you’re not sure if it's from the aftermath of the shooting or from your own mind. You cannot block out the noise no matter how close you press your palm to your ears. Suddenly, you have no idea where everything is anymore. All you can think about is the ‘why’s ‘and the ‘how’s’.

“[Name]!” a familiar voice calls to you and you turn your gaze towards it, eyes watching with a pathetic plea for help. RK900’s icy stare run chills down your spine, even more so when he’s standing tall and looking down upon you like the wraith he is.

He crouches then, setting his gun beside him, his body blocking away the sight behind him as he takes your chin and tilts it up. The gesture is tender, if not for the blankness of his stare.

You sometimes forget he’s incapable of the fundamental kindness humans have. Within his barren heart is just the life force that keeps him moving.

The void in his eyes stare back and you panic, reaching towards his wrist with both of your hands so you can wrap them around it.

He doesn’t let go.

“Why did you shoot the hostage, [Name]?” he murmurs, but the venom in his words is clear. “You were supposed to save it and you failed.” When you don’t respond, he squeezes your chin and, out of instinct, you attempt to stand, almost falling to the ground before RK900 grabs your shoulders and pushes you down.

“Don’t move,” he says. “Just answer my question.”

The flicker of emotion in his words terrifies you and it further reminds you of the catastrophe laid out in front.

“I-I lost control of myself—” you choke out, eyes following RK900’s movement as he stands and walks toward the fallen android.

Time becomes still. The ocean doesn’t smell like an ocean anymore as the scent of red and blue blood bloats the air. Even the gull birds’ cries have been swept away by the chill of the aftermath. Shadow drapes over the cargos; the area you are in is illuminated by dim lights - the strongest of which is cast over the pile of bodies.

The only sound left is the click of his pristine shoes and your heart beating through your ear.

Your body falls forward, elbows keeping you from fully meeting the ground, as you watch him crouch down and take out the thirium pump. There are black wires still connecting it to the android before RK900 rips the pump away. You see the red LED light on the fallen android’s temple blink rapidly until it goes blank.

“What are you doing?” you ask in horror.

“Cleaning up the mess you made, [Name],” Rk900 says, throwing you a brief glance over his shoulder. His words quickly silence you, the brevity of it all coming back after the initial shock of seeing RK900 doing this.

He then takes the kidnapper’s gun and shoots the android in the forehead, before replacing the gun back into the kidnapper’s hand and once more into its chest. The skin on his arm is dissolved - a safety precaution.

The light of his LED circulates yellow and orange as his skin eventually returns. You watch as RK900 begins to search for something, before finding it - a bullet - and picks it up.

He’s feeling the weight of it, moving it around in his hold as if studying the shape. “I’ve wiped the cameras and cleared the android’s memory cache, now no one will know what happened.”

“No, this is wrong,” you quickly say, scrambling up. But before you can move properly, your body tips forward from the fatigue. And RK900 is there to catch you, gripping your waist with one arm. Immediately you rip your gaze away, not wanting him to see you at your most vulnerable anymore.

But in the end, RK900 wins - he always wins - as you turn your gaze to him. You notice the corner of his mouth twitch as if he’s going to smile. Instead, he says,“ ‘This is wrong’? Would it be better if I tell the command what you did then?”

The numbness in your mind stops.

Some sense finally floods in as you disassemble his words. There’s nothing but a grim reality for you if word gets out. If he speaks - if any of you speaks - then the years behind you will truly be lost, forever. And you’ll be marked by the sin you just committed.

But this is no less criminal than what you just did.

And despite it all, the naively moral person in you still wouldn’t relent. “Unfix all of this, RK900.”

“You can’t tell me what to do, [Name],” he says, pressing the hand containing the bullet against yours., “Not when I am saving both of us.”

There’s no ‘but’s’ and ‘if’s’; no hesitations either. It’s either a shaky road ahead or punishment.

You must accept this and with acceptance, you slump your shoulders. But the grip on your waist tightens and you squeak, feeling soreness everywhere on your body.

“So now it’s a secret, and we lie,” you manage to say, forcing yourself to look into RK900’s eyes. But it’s not easy with RK900, despite having a hand in this. The look of superiority so natural to him diminishes all hope of sympathy for your plight. Although you’re not looking for that; you’re now looking for a semblance of peace, more than ever. “Unless—”

Your breath hitches as he tugs you closer, his pale lips brushing too close to the shell of your ear.

“Unless you are not doing what we all agreed to,” he tells you, voice calm and collected. This is now personal to RK900, you can hear it by the hush of his words. He sees some kind of chance, some kind of reason to do what he did.

Except, he has no sense of monetary or material value. You know because he always plays by the book - he’s a military and police assistance designed to assist human officers.

He wants one thing and one thing only.

“You want me to continue to work as a police detective.”

You watch as he chuckles, eyes creasing with a hint of pleasure glimmering underneath his stormy gaze. But the brief look of human emotion feels foreign; it’s a mask he wears. Underneath the light, he looks far more like a fiend.

The thick blocky letters of his name fizzle in and out as you mindlessly cling onto the fabric of his shoulder.

“Absolutely, but you’ll listen to me without question. No more rebellion, no more excuses- you’ll learn from me and build your profession with my assistance.”

You open your mouth to speak, but nothing manages to come out. In the past, he had always made it hard for you. You came in late, he scolds you; you forget a deadline, he scolds you; you talk too much with a coworker, he tells Fowler and then returns to mock you. To RK900, you’re too careless and naive - vastly different from the perfection that he is.

To anyone else, RK900’s condition can be easy - normal even. But you know, underneath his request, is another demand.

Absolute obedience.

But now, everything is better than being fired.

“Think of this as a punishment for you, [Name],” comes RK900’s voice. He still doesn’t release you, knowing that you hate unnecessary contact between himself and you more than anything in this world. You sense a certain kind of twisted pleasure forming in him, from the smugness in his tone to the way he looks at you. “And think of this as a lesson too, on why you should think before you act,” he adds.

If you have a clearance of mind and of a stronger character, you would’ve argued back and taken control of the situation. Especially since you are his superior in both name and title. And under normal circumstances, you will absolutely rebel against him.

He’s supposed to be underneath you, not the other way around.

Sucking in a deep breath, you say, “Okay, I’ll work harder and accept your input.”

It’s hard to keep sarcasm away usually, but this time you’re serious.

A part of you still doesn’t feel right. It feels like you’re closer to corruption - the opposite of what you want to be. Your cheeks are heating up and there’s a tremble to your limbs. The ringing in your ears is still present.

“Very good, I know we can somehow come to a mutual agreement one day.” RK900 finally lets you go before passing a thumb across your cheek. You flinch and move away as far as you can. He knows you hate the agreement as much as he enjoys it.

When you see him turn his back on you in the distance, you open your hand. The bullet is deformed. There’s a chance that no one will even know this bullet is shot by a different gun. You still have your gun with you.

RK900 could’ve easily mentioned this and gave you peace of mind.

And he must’ve transferred the memory cache into himself before wiping it away from the android.

You’ve always thought he’s trying to work his way above you.

Now you think he succeeded

“Detroit’s first android ambassador.” Fowler’s words are heavy and thick as he paces around his office. You and RK900 both watch in silence, standing side-by-side in front. The screen behind him flashes the news of what happened two days before. Every once in a while you see the frozen features of the android you shot, looking back at you. There’s no life in those empty-looking eyes.

Nothing that gives a hint of it being once alive.

Immediately, you look away.

In one corner, you notice a small video screen with the leftover remnants of Markus’s rebellion speaking at a podium. It cuts off to Fowler speaking at a press conference, but the words are muted.

You fucked up, you fucked up so bad and they don’t even know the other half of it.

“Do you know the name of this android you’re saving, [Last]?” Fowler asks, nodding towards the screen where the android’s face appears. You want to look away, but you know it’ll only force you to dig a deeper grave. Fowler isn’t stupid; he knows all the tics in you from the moment you joined. There’s a reason why he’s here in this position. But Fowler doesn’t wait for an answer, because he says, “RK900, tell [Name] the name of the hostage that was supposed to be saved.”

“Victor, sir,” RK900 says without hesitation. He doesn’t look at Fowler, instead, he keeps his gaze to the floor with an emotionless look on his face. He seems so passive and subservient; you couldn’t even hear the coldness in his voice. You’re not sure whether you like him like this or if you’re envious of Fowler because of RK900’s difference in demeanor.

“Victor—” Fowler sits down on his office chair and brings his fingers together, his elbows resting on the desk— “Android-kind’s hope to rectify a long, long period of scorn and hate from the society that built them.”

He sighs, huffing out a breath. “At least there are still other ambassadors willing to meet us.”

You look up from your gaze on the floor, noticing the way Fowler’s shoulders sag as he picks up a picture frame. There’s a brief flash of tenderness in his eyes before he sets down the frame and looks back at you.

“I’ve asked Hank to make sure the other android ambassadors are all safe - put them in witness protection if need be.”

“That’s a very good plan, sir,” RK900 replies.

Fowler is still looking pointedly at you, his face unwavering in the seriousness of the situation. You know your face is cracked, splitting between guilt and remorse. To the unknowledgeable outsider, they would think it’s from the failed hostage extraction.

Silence slowly brews and Fowler is awaiting a response from you. RK900’s knuckles brush against yours in an effort to make you talk without verbalizing his intentions.

You know you need to speak - you want to speak - but all the words catch in your throat. Even your mind is in chaos; it wants to justify what you did while putting in caution to not let slip of what really happened; it wants to come up with ways to make some kind of amendment, some kind of solution to all this.

But, none of this can rewind time and bring Victor back.

“Why did you allow the kidnapper to shoot the hostage?”

You tense, suddenly hearing the gunshot ring inside your ear again and the painful feeling of your knees hitting the ground. But amidst the chaos, RK900’s footsteps going towards the pile of bodies echoes with clarity. You still remember all the words he said, the promise he made to you, and the promise you made to him. And then, when you finally find yourself coming up with an explanation, you realize you couldn’t.

Years before you promised yourself not to fall into the depths of corruption - as both a civilian and as police.

But, oh, how the tables turned.

“I-I won’t lie, we did fail, and—” you pause just as you feel RK900’s hand bump into the back of yours. It’s a deliberate act; it’s him warning you not to tell. And you look at him - at his face - and see the faint furrow of his dark brows and the set of his jaw. He doesn’t look back, but you can already feel his voice playing against your mind.

Keep quiet.

RK900’s hands are now folded behind his back as he takes one step forward. “We tried initiating contact with the kidnapper as diplomatically as possible, but when he saw us, he struck. I believe he meant to kill the hostage anyway; it was merely a game for him.” He spoke with such calmness that Fowler must believe it.

And Fowler does - you watch him shake his head, his eyes looking to a spot beside your leg. “So it seems as if he’s playing with you - only to end up killing Victor and then himself.” He inhales sharply, before breathing out as he gazes back at you. “And I suppose you were the one who shot the kidnapper?”

“Yessir,” you say, words slurring a little - a lack of eloquence and professionalism as RK900 would put it. You briefly look away, fingers picking at the fabric of your dress shirt.

“Captain, [Name]’s safety was also important - especially when they’re still new to all of this.”

The words sting more than they should. Most because you know in some way RK900 is hiding his own opinion of you underneath a fake tone of sympathy and concern for you. In the end, he’s still the dominant voice and the dominant mind.

You can tell Fowler right now about the degree to which RK900 made you obey him and work until he is satisfied. You once thought about lying to Fowler that you suspect RK900’s a deviant - despite being assured he cannot deviate. But you’re neck-deep in a lie right now and you don’t suppose RK900 will let you off this easily.

And Fowler may not trust androids completely yet but he seems to have full faith in RK900’s responsibilities to assist you as both partner and mentor. Regardless of how many boundaries crossed, Fowler will not be able to regulate that because RK900 isn’t human.

“For now I can look past your rookie mistake, but if the higher-ups question it, I’ll be forced to bring you back into this office for a thorough investigation. Mark my words, [Name], count your blessings now because I damn hope nothing comes out of it.”

This is the kindest Fowler has ever said to you in your work environment.

“Thank you for your words, Captain,” you say, straightening your back.

He nods his head, saying, “I expect a report from you by the end of your shift tonight, [Name].” He then reaches for something, a picture frame, before pausing. “You know, I sense a change in you. You’re not like who you were when you were younger.”

You understand Fowler is expecting an answer from you, but you feel trapped by what he said. A part of you feels confused, wanting him to explain.

You then take a look at RK900, briefly wondering if he’ll say something. He’s looking at you instead, icy eyes watching you back, that telltale sign of condescension glimmering in his gaze. You immediately look back, staring at the group of picture frames on Fowler’s desk.

“Yes, I understand,” is your only response, but you know it’s not the answer you nor Fowler wanted.

You thank Fowler again and leave his office, the burdening feeling of something amiss follows you.

“I work better without someone hovering over me.”

You don’t feel the movement behind you or the heavyweight of RK900’s gaze sliding away. The intensity of his presence continues focusing on you, eventually forcing you to stop typing and push your chair away from your desk.

“I believe right now would be a perfect time for you to work,” comes his smooth response. He’s standing beside you, stiff and straight. He’s a thoughtless being who’s realistically programmed to act and do a certain way. But now he looks as if he’s hiding away his thoughts as you look at him. You try not to glare at RK900; it’s unprofessional. But your annoyance isn’t well-hidden either as you return your focus back onto the screen.

The DPD is empty except for you, Fowler, and RK900. Everyone else has their usual schedule of nine-to-five. It’s been such a common occurrence for you personally to be here earlier that you’re now used to it.

“And within ten minutes the others will arrive,” you say, picking up a pen, “You can’t expect me to finish this report by then, won’t you?” Your attempt to sound less biting fails; if it is any other person speaking you would’ve been kinder.

At least, you want to believe it so.

“Do you even know how to write a status report?” His words are sharp and blunt as ever. Much to your abject horror, he’s reading the document. He doesn’t need to physically control it to do so; he can hack. You watch him narrow his gaze, eyes scrutinizing every word you typed.

Silence folds over you as you pick at your thumb, now childishly put into a corner and unable to speak. You know you hold yourself accountable for your lack of attention to the finer aspects of reporting, but as RK900 begins deleting and re-editing your current progress, you know he’s trying to get underneath your skin.

“Use what I wrote as a guide,” he finally says, stepping back for you to read, “I assume the police academy never taught you how to write.” There’s a teasing lilt in the last of his words, but it means so much more than that to you.

Leaning in, you begin to type, using what he wrote as guidance, just as he directed. You’ve written reports before, for your high school classes and some of college. And it’s not that which is hard; it’s him, all him.

“I understand you loathe my being here, but we agreed to it, [Name].”

You stop typing once more, feeling the familiar ring pulsing in your ear. “I don’t need to be reminded.”

He never said you have to be formal to him. And in some way, you still want to show him his true place.

RK900 raises his chin, his arms clasped behind him. He’s really looking down on you in the most literal sense. “I’m also doing what I’m programmed to do.” RK900’s tone is surprisingly soft this time as if his response is intimately between you and him. “And if you can’t write something simple as a report, then I would suggest you take remedial classes somewhere so you can.”

“I thought you’re going to assist me, RK900.”

“With police work, not writing,” comes his terse response.

“No more rebellion, no more excuses- you’ll learn from me and build your profession with my assistance.”

He takes his duty of being your partner and guide to a much higher level than you had anticipated. And you fully understand that RK900 was built like this.

Except—

The need to hide and destroy evidence wasn’t - no, shouldn’t be - programmed into him.

Many times you’re not even sure you know what RK900 is. Time and time again something tells you he’s a deviant, but the high collar of his uniform and the promise by Cyberlife attests to something else entirely. And his strict adherence to serving humans far exceeded his capabilities of free-thinking.

Just the simple thought of his role in that makes you shiver.

But as you start typing again, you feel the tip of RK900’s fingers settle on the back of your hand and you turn your face towards him, silently asking for a reason.

“Except for that little bit of rebellion back there, you’re doing wonderful,” he tells you, voice soft. The smugness returns as a vague smirk plays on his lips. You furrow your brows and ignore him, steadily keeping your eyes on the monitor as your fingers resume the typing.

“Would you like me to tell the rest not to bother you?”

Before you can respond, you hear footsteps coming into the precinct.

Swiveling your chair around, you see Gavin first, his hands slipped inside his jeans, followed by Chris in his uniform, and Hank walking behind. And Connor, much to your disappointment, must have finally made his decision to leave the DPD.

“Why you gotta upstage us again, Rookie?” Gavin says, holding his hands out.

You are then greeted by Chris and Hank as they take their seats. Except for Gavin, who is still waiting for you to respond. A side of you is relieved he’s here; as annoying as he is, he brightens the place. But, on the other hand, RK900’s still here too.

And before you can react, RK900 is standing firm beside you. A look of displeasure is on his face, lips thin and eyes pointedly looking at Gavin. “Detective Reed, my partner has a name you should use.”

You reach for the cuff of RK900’s sleeve and grip it, pulling it against his wrist. “Don’t meddle, please.”

Despite your attempt to keep your words between you and him, Gavin hears and reacts with a smirk.

“Yeah, ‘don’t meddle’ you stone-faced robot,” he says, sneering. The look of ill-disguised contempt washes over his face as he crosses his arm. “This conversation is between me and Rookie, yeah?” His last words are directed at you, brown eyes flickering over to you, silently asking for input.

“It’s—” you look back up to RK900, figuring that in the end, it’s better to placate him than Gavin— “I shouldn’t talk while at work.” Your words suddenly feel foreign and you want to sink into your chair.

Meanwhile, Gavin stares at you, one eyebrow raising as he places his hands in the pockets of his jeans. “Huh, you sound odd today.” He then waves his hand out and scratches the back of his neck. “Well, whatever, you do what you gotta, I guess.”

You and RK900 both watch as Gavin takes his seat near the entrance.

Then, RK900 moves until he’s blocking Gavin’s entire desk and figure, a motion that doesn’t go unnoticed by your eyes.

“Unrefined wretch - his immaturity will cost him his reputation as the face of Detroit.”

“You have no business judging him,” is your response. You lean back into your chair and cross your legs, partially relieved that the tension has subsided for now between Gavin and RK900. Yet still, another remains, hovering in-between RK900 and you now. Your lips press together, heel rubbing against the tile floors, attempting to strike down the budding irritation in you.

“RK900—” you turn your chair until you can fully face him— “Why do you hate everyone so much? You respect Captain Fowler but only because of his status, right?”

Strategically, it’s uncouth of you to ask such a question, especially during work-hours. You aren’t privy to the notion that anyone can hear you discuss this, or that RK900 himself might be displeased with the question. And true to your thought, he is, as his mouth curls into a frown.

“They are all nobodies to me,” he says, words cool and even. But his eyes are an unbridled storm of hard edges. He lowers himself, bending at one knee as he looks you straight in your eyes. “You may have a good standing with them, but not me - I’m only programmed to work with them.” He presses three fingers on your knee and stands up.

“Do with it as you will, [Name], but I am your partner.”

You blink, but silently you acknowledge his response.

RK900 is right, however. He cannot develop relations with others aside from a strict work code. And there is a contrasting clash between him and people like Gavin, whose casual and carefree manner doesn’t adhere to the serious business professionalism of Rk900. Thus, easy enmity flourishes and that in itself surrounds every other individual RK900 meets.

Hank and Chris now only ever talk to you outside of work.

You feel just a bit more out of touch with everyone, but it’s not your place to argue when you should be putting those extra time to do your duties.

RK900 left for maintenance after you finished your report.

With his absence comes a peace that feels surreal, almost fake. His access to your phone and personal computer means he can send you case files and even message you if he finds it necessary. But knowing he’s going for maintenance means he won’t be able to do any of that for a few hours.

And hopefully, nothing changes during that time.

The last thing you need is someone finding the stored memory cache of that night.

“Don’t think about it,” you tell yourself as you slip on your messenger bag.

Before you can leave, Chris stops you. “Hey [Name].”

He looks around, then says, “I was going to tell you this, but RK900 was there and I don’t want to end up like Gavin.” You see a nervous look on his face when he mentions RK900, which you wouldn’t fault him at all for.

“Don’t worry, RK900’s in CyberLife headquarter now,” you tell him, adjusting the strap of your bag.

“Oh, that’s a relief!” Chris answers, sighing. “Connor wants to meet you, Hank’s supposed to be the messenger but he got work to do. You can find Conner at the old playground - you’ll know which one.”

There’s a beat in-between, before he adds, “Best not to mention it to RK900.”

“—and I cannot believe the process of finding an apartment,” Connor says, leaning against the black railing with a smile on his face. “But it’s liberating, there’s so much detail that I can decide for myself. Hank helped too; he argued with the agent and he must’ve worked something out because the next thing I know, he’s handing me the key.”

He smiles and rubs his hands together.

“It sounds like you really liked the experience,” you tell him. You watch as his shoulders shake, but he’s not laughing. Smile pulling into a frown, you touch his shoulder and say, “Are you cold?”

“Yeah, my internal system sometimes gets sensitive during cold weather - I’ve replaced it with older parts.” He doesn’t look at you, instead, he keeps his focus onto the view ahead, where the ocean stretches until it hits the coast. Dark clouds curl from the factory chimneys in the distance, reminding you of the days spent bicycling through the empty streets, wanting to go inside one of those factories where your parents worked.

And you don’t miss the way Connor’s tone changes when he utters those last words. It’s been a year since he left CyberLife and ever since then, both good and bad changes have come for him. Freedom for the exchange of degradation and a life of half-scorn and half-hope.

You gleaned some of Connor’s experience from Hank. But you never had the chance to fully understand.

A part of you doesn’t want to; comforting words isn’t something you can effortlessly gift to someone.

“You think I can make it through this year?” Connor asks, clasping his hands tightly. He’s looking down, face full of solemnity and a vague sense of defeat. He doesn’t speak much about this kind of worry to anyone, so you are left struck with the realization that he trusts you enough to say this to you.

You suddenly feel burdened and undeserving of that trust.

You shake your head, silently gazing at the space between the two chimneys in the distance. The material of your scarf’s able to hide your mouth, but it cannot hide the frown from your face. “Of course you will,” you tell him, placing your hands on the railing, “You won’t break - I promise.”

The phone in your pocket vibrates and you place a hand over the pocket and hesitates.

Connor turns to face you and tilts his head. “[Name], is something wrong?”

The voice in you wants to answer him that yes, something’s wrong. It’s RK900 calling, because it’s always him that cares too much to call you when you’re off work. No matter how much the deafening voice is telling you now to answer and yell at him, you can’t. Connor is here and this moment is for him.

“Yes, but it’s there’s always a little wrong if you’re me,” you say, chuckling.

His gaze softens and you don’t miss the way he smiles fondly at you. And despite the problems he’s facing, it’s always easy to see him do that. You’re not certain if he’s just like that or if there’s something you don’t know about it. But this is the Connor you’re most familiar with and you terribly miss having him in the DPD.

And since he’s here—

“Would you ever think of coming back to the DPD?”

Surprise appears on his face, taken aback by your abrupt question. He doesn’t respond but the LED blinks rapidly in orange. You don’t want to make it too serious of a question to worry him so you look away and pretend he said no. Connor deserves a break - a long one anyway - and it’s not like there are no androids like him out there who can fill in his space.

Once upon a time, you thought he would be a good replacement.

“If you don’t want to, I understand, but—” you stop yourself, taking in a shuddering breath as you attempt to collect your nerves. It’s unsavory - perhaps even pathetic - of you to want Connor back. But it’s the wishful knowledge that you can see his warm smile in the DPD rather than just the cold gray eyes of RK900 is a thought of comfort.

You feel uneasy and you begin to adjust the strap on your messenger bag. The weight beside you is a welcoming right now.

“No, I would like that,” Connor says, smiling. And you can see it, the flicker of hope in his honey-brown eyes. “I would love to work with Hank again, and I would love to work with you on a case together,” he adds, placing his arm behind his back. Then the grin on his face settles back as he looks to the ground.

“But—”

“But you can’t,” you finish for him, trying to sound as gentle as possible. Both you and Connor know this, that it’s an unspoken rule in DPD that Connor cannot work anymore. He’s ineffective, old, and useless according to his makers and the numerous flaws on his body has rendered him incapable to be on most cases anyway.

But there’s another truth that overshadows everything else.

“My presence isn’t particularly well-liked there.” He laughs, but it’s forced and absent of his usual light humor. You know he’s upset about this - it pains him to not be able to do something he truly loves to do.

“It’s RK900, isn’t it?”

Connor looks back up at you and he frowns. He’s still for a moment, the wind brushing through his dark brown hair. Stray strands linger across his forehead, hiding the LED behind them. “My successor will be the first to have objections. I don’t think Detective Reed would like me back either, considering our last meeting involved my fist to his face.”

“Fuck RK900,” you say, voice louder. You feel the sole of your boots digging into the thin trace of snow as you step forward. “He doesn’t own you and even I have more jurisdiction than him. Gavin’s long forgotten about that incident and I’m damn sure even he would rather it’s you in there than him.”

The fierceness in your words doesn’t betray the way your hands shake. You know it’s wrong to force Connor to come back. But your own selfishness far outcries the sensibility within you at this moment.

Connor blinks, taken aback by your sudden response. You feel the creep of warmth through your cheeks the more time passes, especially when you realize he’s assessing you. That is something Connor will never part with, that instinct-like need to observe first.

But before you can talk more, a pair of footsteps, heavy and deliberate, breaks the silence between you.

Immediately, you feel the warmth that had risen a moment before ebb back into a cold void. In the same moment you attempt to step forth, you decide to step back instead. Cold eyes stare at you, but you couldn’t find the previous energy you had to even look properly.

“RK900.” And it’s Connor who said the first word, calling to his successor in the same clinical manner Rk900 would speak in towards everyone around him. All of a sudden, the [person] who spoke with tenderness is gone, his entire facade now hardwired into that of a near-emotionless being.

And RK900, who up until now has been looking at you, turns his gaze toward him. He’s not in the Cyberlife issued white and black uniform but in a black turtleneck sweater and dark fitted jeans and polished black oxfords. Even so, the entirety of his form recalls the usual coldness of his existence.

You’re aware that the same situation as this morning will happen again. But that was different; the one in front of him had been Gavin.

This time, it’s Connor and he’s—

“A deviated failure, how quaint,” comes RK900’s venomous words, but it’s only concealing the darker intentions underneath. You’re not sure who to push back or who to tell to stand down.

But you know who is more likely to act first.

“RK900, that’s enough; we’re leaving.” In your attempt to break the dangerous tension, you wedge yourself between him and Connor, before pushing yourself against RK900. The uncomfortable closeness only makes you nervous, but the need to separate them far outweighs your own distress. “This is an order!” you add, realizing that RK900’s not moving.

Neither Connor nor RK900 has said anything about your involvement, although they may be too focused on each other to care. This is dangerous, you know, because if they clash then no one - not even a military-trained soldier - can break them apart.

The last time someone tried, it broke their arm.

And that someone was you.

You’re not certain you want to mentally live another day if something like this happens again.

Suddenly, you feel a palm on the back of your shoulder. RK900’s glancing down at you and you look up, desperately trying to plead to him to go.

Don’t make the same mistake, don’t harm him.

“Is this why [Name] wants me back? Because of you?”

You freeze, realizing this will never end unless one of them relents. You can still remember the first time, but now is not the time to relish in the past. And now that Connor has spoken, you know RK900 will make sure he gives him an answer.

Turning your gaze, you see his jaws tense and the glimmer of hunger in RK900’s eyes. A tightness forms in your chest as you change your position and attempt to pull him by his arm. It’s useless; RK900 is as much a stone as he is a war machine.

“Oh, worry not, we don’t miss you—” he breaks, eyes flitting back to you with a look of heavy disapproval on his face— “And certainly not [Name].” The last of his words are also for you, but well-hidden enough that only you know.

Connor’s hand curls into a tight fist and no doubt is he thinking of using it like he did with Gavin. You can see it in the tenseness of his jaws, the wrinkle of flesh between his brows, and the narrowing of his eyes. The potent hostility between them only builds and builds despite the time in-between their previous meeting.

And RK900 sees this, it makes him sneer in a show of dominance.

“Are you really sure you want to fight me here? In a discarded playground?” The mocking tone in his voice is strong enough that you know it’s meant to enrage Connor.

It’s working too. The red on Connor’s LED is flashing dangerously underneath the strands of hair covering it.

As much as you want to see RK900 defeated, you know you cannot let Connor pull the punch first.

“We’re leaving now, RK900, or I promise you I’ll tell Fowler about this,” you whisper, uncaring now of what happens in the future between you and him.

“And what then? Don’t make me remind you of your position right now,” is his response.

You see Connor looking at you, concern written across his face. “What does he mean by that?”

For a moment, all eyes are on you as you attempt to come up with an answer. Once again you feel like a prey underneath the oppressive eyes of RK900. Still, you stand your ground and keep your hands on his arms. “Nothing, there’s nothing really.” A fake calmness is in your voice, one that you know Connor must’ve seen through. You tug once more at RK900’s arm, uncaring whether or not it’s too harsh of a gesture.

“[Name]—” But before he can finish his sentence, RK900 has turned, finally allowing you to pull him away. “[Name] wait!” You hear Connor walking forward, attempting to stop you. But you throw him a look, a silent plea for him to not come.

Not long after, the playground’s out of your line of sight.

You’re going home, the waning frustration having worn away any semblance of peace in you. But the budding anger feels like fangs gnawing at the back of your mind. You don’t think you’ll get any sleep tonight and be able to wake up tomorrow either.

But you also cannot go home, because RK900 is following you even though you’ve walked and walked. The feeling of his cold stare is like a knife stabbing at your back. So you stop, having walked into an alleyway that’s a detour to your apartment, and you turn to face him.

He also stops, standing just a few feet away, eyes settling upon your own. The longer the seconds tick by, the more irate you become and the more nervous you feel. So many times you feel like you’ve been cornered by him. Now that you’re physically cornered, the hair on the back of your neck is slowly standing stiff and a sharp coldness runs down your back.

“I’m off work.” The calmness in your tone surprises you, but you know that calmness will quickly subside the moment something snaps. The glance you give him is only a warning; hell, it’s a learned reaction from him. But, you’re not finished and the flame within you is blazing stronger and stronger still.“And don’t you think it’s unprofessional of you to try to antagonize an ex-coworker?”

“I never regretted my decision,” RK900 says, clasping his arms together behind his back.

“And the first time it happened?”

“That was a mistake.”

You almost laugh, knowing all too well the pain that coursed through your arm when it got broken. Everything was so muddled back then, your memory, that is. So you’re not sure who was the one that broke your arm. You want to blame RK900, but you don’t want to bend that low.

“We all make mistakes, [Name],” RK900 says, sharp gaze stubbornly holding yours, neve letting you go.

We all make mistakes.

Right.

“It’s a bit late now, isn’t it?” you say, words harsh but, in your mind, appropriate. And it’s not like it has a singular meaning. Your own bitterness towards yourself is still there, etched into the very words. Whether or not RK900 notices this is his problem.

And you’ve run out of patience to wait for him to respond.

You turn and continue making your way out of the alley and into the street, where fluorescent lights decorate each shop. There are only a few civilians out, the distinction between whether or not any of them is an android or not now blurred by their lack of uniforms and LEDs.

This time, you remain en route to your apartment, wanting nothing but the comfort of your bed. And when the familiar off-white color of the building appears in your line of vision, you walk faster.

But before you can fish out your keys and unlock the double doors, a hand on your shoulder stops you.

“Why are you following me?” It’s easy now for you to tell apart his hand from others - there’s always a strength to it. You also don’t miss the intrusive warmth behind your back.

This time, you turn out of your own will. The sun hasn’t set yet and you can see RK900 staring back at you, face blank - almost serene.

“I have a question for you, and I hope you may answer it,” he says, voice low.

“A question for me,” you say, sounding out each word slowly. Again, the nagging feeling of wanting to laugh, to scream at him, gnaws at the edge of your brain. You just want to go home and he’s not even giving you that luxury.

RK900 seems to sense it too because for a moment you notice the way he frowns before he reigns his expression back. “If you had answered my call, I wouldn’t have to chase you down like this.”

“Thought you were in maintenance.”

“I can still access the phone application installed in me - you should already know that.”

You press a hand to your face and slide it down hard. You do, you do know he can call you whenever he pleases. It’s not like that was the first time he attempted to do so.

But sometimes it’s easier to lie.

“Okay,” you say, fully giving up now. “I’m all ears.”

You think he’s going to talk about Connor, again. But, no, he doesn’t because you notice there’s no trace of displeasure on his face, yet. Instead, he says, “No matter what, I want to remind you all that I did and am doing is for you, [Name].” He closes in, his body now just inches before you. Thankfully no one’s walking the street right now except for a few passing cars.

Your hands are up, ready to push him away, but you stop, letting them linger in the air. “You could change, you know. Be nicer, be better.” It’s hesitant, the way you say those words, and perhaps naive in the way you told it.

“And why should I?” he asks, leaning closer. “Would kindness protect you from the world? Wasn’t it your own kindness that left you injured?” He’s glaring down at you, attempting to trap you in a corner again. You cannot take a step back, the door is right behind you.

“I know you wanted Connor to replace me, I’ve known since you first met him,” he adds, sensing that you wouldn’t be responding any time sooner.

He’s right. And although you question how he knew, you realize it’s too late to find out. But do you even care if he knows? It may be better for him to know he’s not all that superior if he’s second at best.

“That doesn’t mean I won’t honor our agreement,” is your response. “And I only wanted Connor back in the DPD and not as my partner.” You take in a deep breath, mind now burning with the need to stray away from this, all of this.

Your attempt to sound confident in front of his presence only makes you seem like a trapped animal even more. Yet still, you place your hands on his chest, holding him at a distance. RK900 reacts with a chuckle, much to your relief, as he stays.

“Even if the broken one comes back, he will never make you a better version of yourself. Remember [Name], your dream? You told me about it when we first met; you said you wanted to become a police lieutenant at least. You want to earn it through hard and honest work. You have a powerful dream, [Name], and I fully intend to see it happen.”

The conviction in his words shatters you. You know RK900 is incapable of lying, maybe hide facts and manipulate it, but never outright lie. At least, not to you. And you do remember what you told him before. That wide-eyed new member of the DPD, staring at their future android partner and telling it their wish. That was all you.

But to know he knows of your dream baffles you. He’s efficient, merciless, and stoic - a well-built machine. And to think he remembers something as insignificant as your dream makes you want to believe he’s something more.

RK900’s hand suddenly drapes over your own, causing your shoulder to stiffen.

“Kindness is a choice [Name]. ”

He’s slowly pushing your arms down.

RK900 then steps back, his focus still lingering on you. “I see it, from time-to-time, but it should be directed elsewhere. If you can use something more efficient, I believe you’ll make it.”

And he puts his hand up and waves briefly at you. Wordlessly, you wave back.

“And [Name]–” he stops himself, eyes searching for something on you— “I forgot to mention this, but if you don’t need me anymore, I will be forced to deactivate and taken apart. They will see into my memory cache if it happens; remember that.”

RK900 doesn’t wait for your response.

Seconds pass and you feel yourself slumping against the door.

This is all a ploy, one could even admit to saying it was a selfish act of benevolence.

But it’s still not right. You want to believe RK900 is still an android, too crude and unrefined to be anything more than what he already is.

He’s only doing this because that’s what he’s programmed to believe in.

Unconsciously, your fingers touched the back of your hand.

You can feel the phantom warmth of his hand, urging you to comply.

Your phone vibrates with an incoming call. It’s Saturday and you’re off, but the chance to be called on-duty is enough for you to rouse yourself. Sluggishly, you lean over and grab your phone. Several empty cups of ramen fall down before you find it.

Looking at the screen, you notice that it’s not a number in your contacts.

Surely it belongs to a telemarketer.

But right after you slide it close, the same number calls you again.

This time, you answer it.

“Hello?”

“Hey, [Name].”

You feel your heart drop. “Markus?”

note: YIKES i hope you guys like this. i’ve never experimented with long chaptered fics before and as a writer in general i’ve been rusty. i don’t fully intend to make this story any longer than 2-part unless i get some neat ideas going. plus, if you haven’t known, i suck at updating multi-chapters ^^;

#rk900 x reader #connor rk900 x reader #rk900 #detroit become human #dbh rk900 #rk900 connor

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starr-fall-knight-rise · 4 years

Text

Humans are Space Orcs, “Stalemate.”

An update on the Burg war :) Hope you like.

“Commander be advised, more Burg ships have appeared from warp.”

“Shit, how many.”

“I uh….they don’t know sir, but they say it has to be an entire fleet.”

“Damn it.” The darkfire banked a hard right and began angling upwards. McCaster did his best to get information on the battle proceeding above their heads, though most of the information was garbled and confused.

The dogfight above the Gromm city hadn’t lasted more than a few minutes, and while there were still burg drones about, the commander clearly trusted the other pilots to take care of this mess.

They had lost three jets over the course of the battle, which was a surprisingly expensive ad large percentage of their flight budget in the UNSC, of course he ws sure the commander was less worried about the monetary cost as much as he was worried about the cost of lives.

Six pilots dead, and more sure to follow.

McCaster’s stomach dropped back against his spin as the commander cut the jet engines and switched to fusion. The switch was so quick that he only had a momentary feeling of free fall before they were rocketed back skyward cutting through the atmosphere and breaking into the dark reaches of space, the eggshell blue of the sky fading about them until darkness and the vast universe beyond unfolded before them.

A universe that was now besieged by silent explosions and eruptions of short lived fire immediately snuffed by the vacuum of space. Debris flew in all directions, and even the commander was having a hell of a time keeping from exploding cutting this way and that, pulling maneuvers that shouldn’t have been possible slicing between two parallel pieces of floating metal so close that McCaster could see the individual rivets running down its silver length.

Cutting past that, the commander pulled down bringing them in a stomach churning dive before moving back upwards, pressing them back into their seats.

Ahead of them chaos was unloading, the GA on one side and the burg on the other. Ordinance flew back and forth, and, as they watched, stuck and unable to do anything to help, one of the burg ships cut around from the side and tagged one of the UNSC vessels, with a round straight to the port side.

There was a silent explosion, fire ripped through the inside of the hull as oxygen was quickly consumed. The ship listed heavily to one side.

“Fuck! Who was that! Get me a casualty report NOW!” The commander ordered.

McCaster rushed to do as told, but was having trouble with all the comms interference. As they watched, little pods began breaking away from the ailing ship, most of them coming from the breached decks as panicked crew-members fled to the escape pods.

One escape pod was completely annihilated by a passing piece of debris, popping like a popcorn kernel does in a microwave, ripping open and sending bodies flipping like rag-dolls out into the vastness.

McCaster grew sick just thinking about what dying like that would have felt like. Freezing to death as all the glasses slowly boiled from your blood. He hoped that they were all to dead to think about what had happened to them.

“That was the UNSC Esperanca, commander. Captain Silva is not responding, and all coms to the bridge crew have been cut. GA rescue teams are being dispatched casualties are estimated in the hundreds.”

“Shit, shit, shit.” The man continued to cure wildly, “Radio in to the harbinger.”

“Yes sir.”

He connected the coms link so the commander could speak freely, though he was rather concerned about the man’s ability to fly and talk at the same time.

They rotated to the side, executing a tight barrel roll and dive taking them out of the line of a fast moving group of space debris which threatened to pop their ship like a can opener and expose the two of them like a couple of sardines.

“Commander.”

“Tell me what’s happening.”

“The burg brought in a second surprise fleet to back up their first. The Burg command ship has landed planetside just outside the central city, and ground troops are making a march for the capital city. Captain Silva is in contact, and unharmed, but the ship is heavily damaged. Casualty report is up to 220 from all ships 150 of those being from Silva’s crew, and the death toll is rising as we speak. Sunny has dispatched marine drop troops to deal with the burg invasion of the capital city.”

The commander had to stop talking for a moment, as a burg vessel dropped in behind them. The commander cursed again rather violently before bringing them straight towards the debris field. McCaster hopped on the under-wing guns shooting away any piece of debris that he could manage flying as fast as they were.

Again, the commander proved his metal, cutting through the field with only inches to spare leaving the burg drone in pieces behind them.

A couple more GA ships popped into view.

“Get silva to fall back, have some of the GA vessels form a protective perimeter around their ship, I don’t want anyone else getting killed, have them fall back and wait for assistance. Do we know of any GA ship that is capable of multiple microwarps without overheating?’”

There was a long pause.

“Sunny says that the Rundi ships should be able to do at least ten before it becomes dangerous.”

“Alright, new plan, have the rundi ships alternate micro warp behind the enemy fleet, have them take a shot and then warp out, then have the next ship do the same but in a different location. Aim for one ship at a time if you can, or be random if it looks like they are catching on. Pair each of our fleet with one of the Rundi vessels and have them communicate with each other about the micro warps. Let's see if we can’t flank them. Try to hit them at the same time then use the rundi shields to block our unshielded vessels between bouts.”

“Yes sir.”

“And lieutenant?”

“Yes sir?”

“Can you hold the ship or do you need me to return.”

“I have it commander, you do what you need to do.”

“I have a better eye from up here.”

“Good, sir.”

The commander kept the line open listening to the general chatter of the battle. While they watched, the Rundi ships fell back into formation with the four remaining human vessels, while the tesraki ships pulled back to protect the limping remains of the Esperanca.

A body rolled past their window, face pale and cold in death.

The commander kept his cool though.

The burg Ships were still firing, but now the Rundi ships were taking the brunt of the attacks, their superior shields lighting up in shades of blue.

One of the ships vanished leaving it’s human counterpart open to fire, however as the Burg were gearing up to take a shot, the rundi ship appeared behind them. There was a pause as the ships seemed to be deciding what to do, during which time both the human and the rundi ships took that moment to take their shots.

It was a dangerous maneuver, for if either one of them missed the could potentially send their ordinance into friendly territory, but it worked for the time being, and an explosion rocked the leftmost side of the burg hull ripping three decks open to bare space.

Bodies were sucked out into the void and tossed like ragdolls into floating objects.

The rundi ship vanished and appeared back before the human ship just as the burg began to fire.

The rundi shields were not looking great, but another pairing was ready to dot the same taking the focus off the first ship for the time being.

“Commander, Commander.” The garbled voice rushed over the radio marred by the sound of explosions in the background, and shouting.

“Go.” The man ordered taking the ship into a steep incline locking onto one of the burg drones and erupting it into a ball of flame.

“Sir, This is Ramirez with the ground forces. The burg have deployed ground transport and artillery units and are advancing towards the city. We have made a protective perimeter, but our weapons arent going to do shit against those ground units.”

“Sending in air support. Hold tight Ramirez.”

He turned back to the coms and requested bombers to be deployed to the surface.

“What do they want with the capital city?”

McCaster wasn’t exactly aware of alien politics and so couldn't help but asking.

“The Gromm homeworld is the center hub for trade in the galaxy. Each of the home worlds has a warp disruptor that doesn't allow direct warp into a solar system unless authorized. The Gromm capital city holds the coding software that allows this to work, considering it needs access to almost all planets in Andromeda and, by extension, earth as well. We cannot let them get access to that information or else they can easily move in for an attack on any one of us. The rundi homeworld, the Tesraki, humans.”

They cut around the side of the burg ship.

And the commander kept an eye out in the field for something he knew he wasn’t likely to spot.

“Conn, Conn, are you there, can you hear me.”

There was silence, and for a moment the commander thought the worst.

“Right here captain, though I would appreciate if you told everyone to stop blowing each other up for a few minutes. That would make my life much easier.”

He ignored the snark for the moment, “Have you managed to get close enough to hear them?”

“Mmm only close enough to get general impression. If I get any closer, I run the risk of getting exploded, and right now I am already at risk of being chopped in half, which I am not highly appreciative of.”

“What if we came, picked you up, and flew you past. Could you do it then?”

“I could probably manage that. Sending you my location now.”

McCaster hadn’t heard the conversation for obvious reasons, and so was confused as the commander pealed away from formation and started heading straight towards the burg fleet line.

Luckily the larger ships didn’t consider one lone jet enough of a worry to actually fire at them, though the burg drones were eager for blood. The commander pulled some risky maneuvers, cutting through fields of metal, and maneuvering two drones to crash into each other.

He ordered McCaster to follow a beacon into the debris field, and with his help they were able to maneuver further in, slowing greatly and hiding their signature as they turned off the engine and coasted for a bit. They were going very slowly now, cutting through an eerie junkyard of mingled bodies and the skeletal remains of ships. A rundi corpse gently bounced off their right wind and went tumbling away into nothing.

McCaster was looking around for the beacon assuming they were after a ship of some sort, when there was a clatter atop the canopy. Of course there was no sound from outside, but the reverberations through the air on the inside of the canopy made him look up.

And immediately almost peed himself.

The black eyed- leering face seemed quite amused with his near panic attack, white ribbons billowing out from behind it, as it settled itself into place at the back of the canopy.

“Sorry McCaster, forgot to mention we were coming to pick up a friend.”

“Friend my ass.” he muttered under his breath, looking back at the still leering face.

They began a slow creep towards the burg ship, keeping low and below their enemy.

It was a strange angle , hard to remember that in space there was movement in almost any direction. Generally speaking all of the burg and GA ships were on the same grid level, so their approaching presence was hardly noticed. Burg drones hung about the outside of the enemy ship so this was about as close as they planned on getting.

“How about here, this is about as close as I can get you.”

“Mmmm, it may take a few minutes, there is only so much I can do between bouts of screaming.

Their faces were lit a moment later by the fiery glow of another explosion, silent and dead in the vacuum of space.

Everything around them was eerily quiet.

“Well, shit.”

“Don’t give me that conn, tell me what’s going on now!”

“Might want to hurry up commander. This little space battle is simply a diversion for the real plan happening on the surface. Those artillery guns aren't just artillery. Some of the rounds have data nets on them, and may be able to hijack the pertinent information without them even getting into the city, if they land one close enough. I would wager to say you have ten minutes.”

“Shit!”

What followed was sincerely the most insane and terrifying thing that McCaster had ever experienced. The commander flew like a madman, cutting duck rolling and spinning through the debris field with drones hot on their heels all while on the radio yelling for all air units to target their fire on the burg artillery. He probably would have ordered all the ships to break off and use orbital targeting as well, but they were too close to the burg city for that, and too close to the marines who were valiantly impending the burg efforts.

Luckily for them a single one of those data rounds would have to hit an exact target in order to work, but the closer they got the more likely it would become.

Jets whizzed around the city shooting ordinance from the sky when they could.

The data rounds had to be slow in order to remain in tact for the flight down, so that was one advantage they had.

All remaining bombers and jets were ordered down to earth, with the burg drones peeling off behind them.

The freaky alien, Conn let them go just as they were about to fall into orbit ribbons billowing out about him as they vanished into the distance rocketing towards earth at fenominal speeds. The fire licked up at their wings again, but this time McCaster knew what to expect.

He moved himself to the under-wing guns determined to help in any way he could.

They were approaching the ground fast, and an entire formation of aircraft rolled in one mass dogfight over the scene below as burg drones fought aggressively to protect their precious artillery units. The Burg command ship lobbed Anti-Air missiles into the sky causing one darkfire to erupt into a ball of flame.

McCaster though they were going to join another formation of jets heading towards the artillery units, but was surprised when the Commander continued their dive the ground approaching at a stunning speed.

This time he held himself conscious as the commander pulled out of the dive, at the last possible moment. They were going so low, that the power of their engines kicked up a trail of dust behind them knocking burg soldiers to the ground as they marched.

AA guns were useless against them as they careened towards the artillery line.

The wing guns fired repeatedly tearing up the ground, and sending burg bodies erupting in all directions.

The commander narrowed his sights, locking on, and then fired, before peeling off and pulling up. The right wing of their jet was so close to the ground, it clipped the top of a tall shrub sending plant bits in all directions, though it made no difference as the shrub erupted into momentary flames as the explosion reached it.

McCaster tried not to think about how close they had come to dying, and was reminded seconds later when a burg drone, which had been following them from their dive, rammed into the ground exploding just as violently and taking out a second piece of friendly artillery.

Burg bodies were thrown to the ground in the ensuing explosion, remaining cold and still.

One of their bombers was clipped hard in the wing, and went down with an explosion.

A white parachute opened after a moment only to be torn up by an incoming burg drone, with no qualms about shooting a man while he was defenseless.

The commander made sure it was the last move that drone ever took.

Back towards the city more troop transports were dropping soldiers onto the front line. Marines, rundi and Tesraki soldiers were spilling from open pods setting up a defense line around the city. The Gromm were doing what they could to assist though their military technology was rudimentary at best.

“They almost have the nexus back online!”

As it turned out the Burg were well aware of this fact, at at least twenty incoming burg ships cut into atmosphere and were forced to descend to land, creating a defensible position around the burg command ship just as as the nexus went back up

A large, translucent amber dome erupted about the ground where the burg ships were stationed locking them into place with their own shields.

The drones fell back to defend the position, leaving the exhausted pilots to circle around the perimeter unable to get close to the well defended position.

On rundi pilot made the mistake and was immediately shot from the sky.

Overhead, friendly forces had made a defensive perimeter of the Nexus and the remaining burg ships had fallen back leading everything to a standstill. They could do nothing about the burg ships already on the planet for fear of hurting the civilian population.

As for now, the battle had come to its conclusion as a draw, though the war was far form over.

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songfell-ut · 4 years

Text

Chapter 15 took forever ergh

Man, this was a thing. In this thing, Sans cannot do poker face, and Undyne is half bro and half troll. Chapter can be found here.

Frisk wiped the sweat from her forehead and clutched the envelope tighter as she crept over the last "bridge." The monsters in Hotland were supposed to have disarmed all the traps and puzzles for the humans’ visit, but they had replaced them with a bunch of regular wooden planks, not bothering with supports or railings to keep people from falling into the lava.

There! She was across. Puffing a little in the heat, Frisk trotted up the ramp and saw the doctor’s laboratory – helpfully labeled “LAB” – right where they’d said it would be.

But no one had said there would be a crowd blocking it. “…your very eyes!” someone was shouting from a stage in the main area.

It wasn’t very impressive, just a rickety platform with one corner curtained off and a few musicians standing around. The only thing on it was a giant metal rectangle that rocked back and forth on a single wheel, with no human features except for strange, floppy arms ending in white gloves. Yellow and red lights twinkled in elaborate patterns on its front as it raised an arm and twirled in place. “No, you say? It’s not enough?” asked a tinny voice.

Frisk had no idea what it was supposed to be – some kind of loud statue? – and neither did the rest of the audience. The rectangle spun itself impatiently. “Well, then, behold!”

Just like that, the thing froze in place, and there was nervous laughter as it began to look like it was broken—until something darted out from behind the curtain and whacked it in the back. There came a POP and a grinding sound, and the rectangle exploded in a plume of smoke!

But before the audience could work up to a proper state of panic, they heard a silvery laugh. Out of the smoke stepped a dazzling figure; it was shaped like a human, but as the air cleared, the stagelights shone on a monster made entirely of bronze and steel, its features delineated in ivory. Sleek black lacquer served as hair, and it winked an opalescent eye at the gawking crowd. When they didn't get the hint, it raised its hands and tapped them together, then bowed graciously as the applause started in earnest.

This must be the automaton she’d been sent to find! Somehow, Frisk doubted she was supposed to get up on stage to give him the note; if she was, the answer was—

“Yes!” At that cue, the musicians broke into a swift-paced dance tune. Mettaton bowed again, then launched himself into a series of amazing leaps and twirls, hopping around the little stage like an agile, attention-fueled clockwork toy. The audience cheered and clapped along, which seemed to put an extra spring in his step, as Sans would say.

Frisk had crept closer and spotted a set of steps beside the stage. She started up them on all fours, hoping to catch Mettaton after this song. A Royal Guard moved to stop her; Frisk showed her the fancy seal on the note she was carrying under her armpit, and the cat-woman directed her to go up and wait behind the curtain.

The human did so, and immediately bumped into someone. “E-excuse me,” another monster said apologetically. Frisk turned to see a stocky lizard monster with bright yellow scales, wearing glasses and a doctor’s coat; she offered a sheepish smile as the human child backed up. “I’m just here to m-make sure M-M-Mettaton doesn’t s-squeak too much,” the doctor said, holding up an oil can. "I hope he s-stops after this number so I can—"

The audience was applauding again, and the lizard gulped as Mettaton launched right into another routine, the musicians scrambling to keep up. Frisk couldn't help poking her head out from the curtain; she had never seen anything like the automaton, especially not this close.

"I'm so g-g-glad that I finished him on time," the yellow monster said quietly, as if to herself.

"You made him?" the child whispered back in astonishment.

The monster looked a little frightened, as if she'd been caught doing something wrong. "Um...just his b-b-body." She shuffled her feet. "It w-was nothing."

Frisk watched the automaton do a series of backflips ending in perfect splits. "That looks like a lot. It's incredible," she said honestly.

"Really?" The lizard squinted at her to see if she meant it. "W-Well, if you think so..."

Out of nowhere, Frisk felt a cold sensation sliding down her back. The same way one has to sniff at something that looks rotten, the child had to peek out at the audience: sure enough, there was Chara at the back of the crowd, frowning up at the stage.

As Frisk stared, the woman's gaze shifted until her eyes met Frisk's. Chara smiled thinly, and the child's gut knotted. How did—

Another grinding sound pulled Frisk's attention back to the stage. Mettaton’s ankles were starting to smoke as he moved faster and faster; to Frisk's horror, one of the joints locked up, and the automaton's heeled boot skidded across the stage, lurching him off balance. The little human had a panicky mental image of the poor monster lying in a heap, people trying not to laugh too loud, Chara rushing up to help because everyone was watching...

Maybe that was what gave Frisk the courage to drop the envelope and dash onto the stage as Mettaton came careening toward her. She grabbed the nearest pearly-gloved hand and swung him around with all her might, nearly wrenching her shoulder out of its socket.

But it was enough: the automaton slammed his knee and his other hand into the stage and used the momentum to twirl back onto his feet...all in time with the music. The child didn’t have time to catch her breath; Mettaton winked at her with a little clicking sound and then caught her up to dance in place with him, setting her down long enough to let her pose dramatically.

The first time she did it was just freezing up as she faced the audience, but they cheered so loudly that she tried it again the next time she came down, and the next. To her amazement, she wasn’t embarrassed anymore. This was fun!

All too soon, the song ended with a crashing flourish, and she panted happily as Mettaton held her arm up, prompting the now-huge crowd to applaud both of them. The automaton turned to address everyone, but Frisk was glad to stagger back to the side of the stage, where the lizard monster was waiting behind the curtain. “Th-thank you so much,” she said. Despite her scales, she appeared to be sweating, beady eyes fixed on Mettaton. "He's g-going to be s-so upset with me..."

Frisk hated how miserable the doctor looked, as if she expected the automaton to blame her for the mishap because it was her fault. The human tried to think of something to say, and spotted the note in the monster's hand. “Oh, you found it! Thank you!” Frisk cried, as if her life had been saved, and was rewarded with a shy smile as the lizard handed her the envelope. “Here, sir. This is for you,” said Frisk, turning to Mettaton as he came over.

Sure enough, he was scowling. "I was just telling the doctor how amazing you were," the child said as gushily as possible. "But, um, you're so amazing that we're worried about you pushing yourself too hard. Please take more care so you can keep performing for us," Frisk finished.

The automaton blinked, his attention diverted. “Why, thank you, darling,” he said, ruffling her hair fairly gently, “and thank you for your assistance! That was marvelous! Any time you’d like to come back for another performance, my little beauty, you are absolutely welcome.” He gave Alphys a brief glare, then allowed her to creep forward and begin re-oiling his joints as he tore the note open, eyes flicking over the words with inhuman speed. “Ah, duty calls.” The metal monster smiled at Frisk again, working his ankles to spread the oil evenly. “I’m heading to meet His Majesty now. Would you like to come back with me, darling?”

“Thank you, sir, but I promised the Queen I’d stay and meet more people in Hotland,” Frisk lied. She turned to the other monster and gave a half-bow. “My name is, um, Kris. What’s yours?”

“Uh…m-my n-name?” The lizard pushed up her glasses. “I-I’m Dr. Alphys, the r-royal s-s-scientist. It’s n-nice to m-meet you, Kris.”

“I’ll see you later, then, Kris!” Without further ado, Mettaton stepped out of the curtain and leapt off the stage, sailing clear over the astonished humans’ heads and pirouetting once more before he pranced out of sight.

“Um…” Alphys was fidgeting with her claws. “So, d-do you like…stories? Novels or p-p-plays?”

“I don’t know,” said Frisk, rubbing her sore shoulder. “I’ve never read any.”

Alphys’ eyes got wide, and wider. “C-c-c’mon!” she nearly shrieked. “Do I have s-some things to sh-show you!” And she was off, racing down the steps and tearing the doors to her laboratory open as though her tail had caught fire.

Frisk started to follow, but another bad feeling crept up on her, and she had to turn to look at the audience, praying she wouldn’t see—

Chara was still there, still staring at Frisk. But this time, she wasn't smiling. She looked...thoughtful.

Why did that seem so much worse?

Sans lay on the floor in his room, flat on his back, his head spinning. For a long moment, he had no idea what'd just happened. He'd woken up and had to get away in a hurry—from Undyne? Because he'd been chewing on Frisk? That was a dream...right?

But if it was a dream, what was he smelling? The boss monster glanced this way and that. All he saw was his pile of long-outgrown socks, his too-small treadmill shoved against the wall, and the wadded-up sheets on the kiddy-sized bed. Sans grunted and turned onto his side, curling up with one arm under his head.

Then he blinked, grabbed a handful of his shirt, and jammed it into his nasal bone, inhaling so deeply that he almost sucked the material up into his skull. Ha! Frisk's scent was all over him! It wasn't a dream after all. Heh, as if he could've imagined her saying those things, making those little noises and tasting like—

Sans tried to leap to his feet, but he made it about a third of the way before he staggered and fell back with a butt-rattling thump. No good; he'd done too much yesterday and gotten too little sleep. That last shortcut had completely drained him.

It was just as well, when Sans gave it any thought whatsoever. He'd gotten out of Frisk's room fast enough that she had a decent chance of convincing Undyne he hadn't been there. It'd be about eight flavors of stupid to go back to her now, no matter how badly he wanted to.

And boy howdy, did he ever want to. The giant skeleton stared at the ceiling, fighting the urge to rub his face in his shirt like a damn cat. His tongue came up and ran slowly across the back of his teeth, remembering the taste of apples—she must've had some before she went to bed. He'd never be able to eat one again without getting twitchy.

In fact, he had a feeling that life was going to be trickier in general from now on. Being around her had been distracting enough before he knew exactly how soft she was, what it smelled like snuggled into her neck...

Shit. No wonder humans were such obsessive morons about this whole thing. Magic was already tingling throughout his bones, especially his pelvis, a helpful reminder that it was there in case he wanted to have his way with anyone; Sans had to bring his fist up and clonk himself square in the forehead to snap out of it.

...And it didn't even work. The harder he tried not to think of Frisk, the more irritated he got, and he also had a headache.

It was a profound relief to feel the house shake as the front door was thrown open. Undyne shouted something, and Pap's door also banged open; Sans had to smile as his brother loudly rejoiced at seeing Frisk. Footsteps pounded down the stairs, and a moment later, Frisk shrieked with laughter—probably because Pap had picked her up and swung her around, just as he had swung Kris around all those years ago.

Sans sighed. The stairs were too small for him, and he wasn't sure he could manage a shortcut to the living room. Maybe it was just as well: he was tired and cranky, and he hadn't calmed down enough to trust himself yet; better give her some time to get reacquainted with Pap first, before they started handing out everyone's gifts.

Oh, crap. She'd asked him to do something last night with the wagons, but he'd been too distracted by the other stuff she'd said, and too intent on proving that he could do stuff, too. He had spent the past couple days thinking it over while he was pulling the stupid wagon, theorizing that he could cram some of his accumulated magic back down and revert to a lesser height for short periods; listening to Frisk whistle, he'd wondered if he could do that, too, and then gone off a long mental tangent about lips.

Maybe those self-adjustments had worked so readily because he'd had so much practice manipulating his other body parts, or maybe he'd just wanted it to happen badly enough. Maintaining his crammed-down form was something he'd have to work on, and he didn't know if he'd be able to do it at all outside the Underground and its ambient magic, but...

He closed his eyes, letting his body relax, ignoring Undyne's stupid loud voice through the floor. He was home, his brother was happy, they had Frisk here...

Some time later – a few minutes, or an hour – he jumped as the door banged shut downstairs. The boss monster wondered irritably if someone else had come in, or if they'd left, or what. Then, picking up at a random point where his mind had left off, he wondered whether his body felt as awful to Frisk as hers felt good to him. Was it like making out with a coat rack?

The only thing that saved him from another five or six hours of tortured introspection was the smell of pancakes. Sans shook himself, sat up, thought of the living room, and took himself downstairs, where he was met with...no one. To his disappointment, the house was now empty, save for a single plate and a note on the table:

SANS! YOUR GREAT BROTHER (ME) HAS KINDLY AGREED TO ALLOW YOU TO SLEEP IN LIKE THE SLOTHFUL SACK OF BONES YOU ARE WHILE WE ESCORT OUR DEAR

Another set of handwriting, much less elegant and more emphatic, had scribbled out KRIS so hard that the paper was almost torn through, replacing it neatly with Frisk.

FINE THEN OUR DEAR FRISK TO GRILLBY'S AS A CONVENIENT PLACE FROM WHICH TO FURTHER DISTRIBUTE PANCAKES. PLEASE PARTAKE OF THE DELICIOUS BREAKFAST PREPARED WITH LOVE BY YOUR BROTHER, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, AND CONSIDER JOINING U

There was a trailed-off line where the S should have began, and a smear of ink as testament to a struggle for the pen before the other handwriting victoriously resumed,

We're at Grillby's!!! (Much smaller:) see was that so hard

NO ONE SAID IT WAS HARD, NYEH!! I WAS MERELY TRYING TO CONVE (smear)

Why are you actually writing NYEH you damn goober

WHY ARE YOU NOT

oh my god (Much bigger:) SANS EAT YOUR PANCAKES

Sigh. Sans obediently picked up a fork, then realized no one was around, folded the stack in half, and shoved it down his throat. He remembered another time with a fork and breakfast being crammed in his face; little did he know then...

With his mouth still full, Sans abruptly stood up and gathered himself for to a shortcut to Grillby's—only for his magic to sputter and fizzle out. Dammit! Had he only gotten enough back to teleport into the living room?

Well, Grillby's might not be very far, but after the past couple days, he was completely sick of walking. He could just wait a few more minutes for his magic to regenerate. It wasn't like he'd die if he didn't see her right this second. Right?

He glanced at the fork again.

A moment later, he was closing the front door behind him, shuffling through the snow with his hands in his pockets.

To his surprise, one of the wagons was parked outside the house, most of its contents sitting on the ground. Aaron and Ice Wolf were busy moving packages into the shed; the only things left in the wagon were the crates of vials, seedlings, and other items for Alphys. Sans caught Aaron's eye, and the merhorse flexed nervously at him before returning to work.

Hm. Toriel must've told them to bring the wagons to Frisk in Snowdin, and then Undyne had gotten Pap to unlock the shed and made these guys unload all the gifts. Nice! That was one less thing to worry about.

Ice Wolf was setting down one of the last packages and climbing back into the wagon. Sans watched in sudden apprehension as the wolf pulled out a crate and trotted down toward the river, raising it over his head to—

It really wasn't Ice Wolf's fault. Apparently, he'd heard Frisk tell Undyne that the crates were all accounted for, and now they needed to go to Hotland; it was already his job to send things there by throwing them into the water, so he figured he might as well help with these, too. One flying tackle and a heated discussion later about the difference between chunks of ice and irreplaceable scientific materials, the wolf monster was directed to the Royal Guards' ferry, which could transport the crates without anything getting waterlogged or melted.

Okay. That was one wagon safely disposed of. Time to follow the other one's tracks in the snow past the deserted librarby – heh, he'd never get tired of that – to Grillby's.

Sure enough, the other wagon stood empty right outside the bar, which was absolutely packed. Sans could smell why: for the first time in months, Grillby was serving hot food. If Sans knew Frisk, no one would have to pay for it, either.

Free pancakes or not, things were quite orderly. The monsters were waiting in a line stretching out the door and along the side of the building; the Royal Guard Captain could be heard directing traffic inside, and those without were politely ignoring Papyrus as he strode back and forth, instructing them to keep waiting. "SANS! THERE YOU ARE!" he said, cheerful as always. "IT'S GOOD TO SEE YOU, NYEHH! I WASN'T SURE IF THE HUMAN IN MY HEAD WAS ENTIRELY TRUSTWORTHY, BUT IT SEEMS SHE WAS CORRECT AFTER ALL! I'M SO GLAD THAT YOU ARE BACK SAFELY!"

"Yeah, I'm here," answered Sans, giving his brother a friendly nudge in passing. "An' speakin' of the human—"

"AH-AH, BROTHER!" Papyrus flung his hands out to block the doorway. "YOU MUST WAIT WITH EVERYONE ELSE."

Sans stared down at him. "What the crap, bro? I already ate. I just wanna get in ta—"

"IT IS A DIRECT ORDER FROM UNDYNE! NO EXCEPTIONS!"

"Well, you're bein' exceptionally dumb!" He tried to stoop to see in the door, but to no avail: there was no room between the monsters in line and those leaving. "Come on, Pap! All I want is—"

A red-gloved finger stabbed up at him. "BACK IN LINE, SANS! NYEH-HEH-HEH!"

And just like that, for one second, Sans was so irritated that he wanted to pick his brother up by the spine and toss him aside. It took far too long to remind himself that he loved Papyrus more than life itself, his brother was just being himself, and Sans shouldn't pick him up by the friggin' spine! What was wrong with him today?

Sans shook himself, pulled a face, and started ambling toward the end of the line. The moment Pap's attention was elsewhere, though, the boss monster turned on his heel, speed-sneaked up to the doorway, tapped on a couple of shoulders, and said, "'Scuse me."

Somehow, no one else seemed concerned that he was cutting in line. A duck, a wriggle and a side-shuffle later, Sans was in the bar, ignoring his brother's orders to come back that instant!

There were so many monsters inside that they'd had to shove the rectangular tables against the wall. Undyne was seated at the high table near the back door, keeping her eye on the line as it moved toward the bar; Grillby had set up a griddle and was silently dispensing one pancake and one blob of hash browns to each monster—not much, but it was still human food, equivalent to a couple of good-sized meals. The stools at the end of the bar were laden with plates, forks, and napkins, but almost everyone was ignoring them and devouring their food on the spot.

Where the hell was Frisk? Even at Sans' height, it took him a moment to locate her. But someone finally moved aside, and his SOUL leapt like an excited little dog at the sight of its favorite human. She was perched on a corner of the bar, tiny feet swinging, wearing her black cloak and a high-necked gown; an intrepid kid had wormed his way into her lap, and Frisk was petting his seahorse-shaped head as she listened to old Gerson. She said something that made the elderly tortoise chortle and whap the bar with his stick, and Sans tried to edge forward.

"Hey!" barked Undyne. The entire place fell quiet as the Captain got down from her chair and stalked over to Sans. "You shouldn't be in here," she scolded him. "Does this look like a good place to just hang out right now? Huh?"

The boss monster ignored her and glared at Gerson, who was occupying both barstools at that corner. Then he looked at Frisk, who was smiling at him, and he immediately forgot what he was mad about. He tried to think of something witty: "Uh." Shuffle. "Hi."

"Ugh! I know the note said we'd be here, but I didn't mean for you to come right in and—are you listening?!" The fish monster had to sock him in the radius to get his attention. "Look, doofus, if you're gonna take up space, do it over there!" She pointed at the gramophone in the corner.

Sans obediently trudged through the press of monsters and stationed himself near Frisk. Undyne followed him, nodding respectfully to Gerson. "So, boss. How was it, living in the lair of the enemy?" the Captain inquired, leaning against the bar. When he looked blank, she prompted, "How'd the humans treat you?"

Why was she asking this now, and what was that look she was giving him? ...Oh, fuck, that was right. She might have seen him on the floor in Frisk's room before he shortcut away, and was fishing for information. Ha. He didn't know whether Frisk had successfully denied it or not; better err on the side of being dickish about humans. "It sucked. They're dumb, they smell weird, an' they all stared at me like a friggin' zoo animal," he complained.

Frisk shifted to look at him, and he quailed at her expression. "Excuse me," she said coldly. "Are you going to mention that you had your own room with a bed even bigger than you are, or how much food you had brought straight to you every single day? All you had to do in return was read and put things in bottles!"

"Seriously?" Undyne punched one fist into her other hand. "Didn't you have to fight for your life against terrible odds, or steel your resolve and withstand all kinds of torture, or something?"

"It was a feather bed with silk sheets," said Frisk, and Undyne made a retching sound.

"Wah ha ha!" Gerson thumped the bar again. "If you ever need another apprentice, girlie, sign me up! Won't hear me complainin'!"

"Me neither," said the kid on Frisk's lap. To Sans' absolute disgust, the seahorse's curved head was snugged up under her bosom, the cloak tucked in like a blanket. Her hood was down, and in the bar's overhead lights, he was reminded of that fateful moment where he'd seen her clearly for the first time, the delicate symmetry of her features and the beautiful red tones in her eyes...

Sans didn't realize he was staring until Undyne coughed. "So all humans are gross and dumb, huh?" She scratched behind her right fin. "Well, if you had to get stuck with one, at least you wound up with Frisk. I mean, she's not that bad, right?"

"Uh..." Fuckin' Undyne! Was she being sarcastic, or actually trying to figure out how he felt? If so, should he try to convince her that he wasn't interested in Frisk, or at least that he wasn't completely batshit in love with her?

...Crap. They were waiting for the next batch of pancakes to finish cooking, so the line had stalled, and now a bunch of other monsters were listening. All it would take was one idiot gossiping about Sans' interspecies love affair for it to get back to Asgore, who would lose what was left of his big dumb mind. Sans had to throw them off...but what could he even say?

Double crap. He made the mistake of looking at Frisk, who had picked up a fork from the bar and—god damn it, she was looking back at him and tapping it against her lips! As if he needed a reminder that she was still stunningly beautiful, or to think more about kissing her. The seahorse was now asleep on her lap, completing the picture of a woman he couldn't hate any less.

Sans gave himself a mental kick in the nuts: he had to say something before someone noticed him ogling her. "Well...it...coulda been worse," he said, turning his head dismissively, "but you should see what she does t'books. She folds the pages up like a damn kid!"

"Oh, yes, I just loved having a ten-foot mother-in-law telling me what I could do with my own things," the human shot back. She turned to address the snickering monsters: "Not only did he get literally one hundred eighty square feet of bed to himself while I slept on the couch like a vagrant, he spent an hour in the tub every single night. I kept having to bang on the door and wake him up! And he has the nerve to complain about how I treated my books?"

The snickering increased as Sans' skull grew warm. Was she playing along, or was she actually mad? Why didn't anything make sense anymore?! "Yeah, well, you snore" was all he could think to say.

With unnerving speed, Gerson swung his stick up and around till it was pointing at Sans' sternum. "And how do you know that, sonny boy?" he demanded.

That was a good question, and the others were eagerly awaiting his response. Sans didn't have the guts – ha – to look at Frisk, so he just shrugged. "I could hear it through two closed doors," he said casually.

Their listeners chuckled, clearly buying it, but Undyne grinned wider. "Good thing he doesn't like humans. You never had to worry about him trying anything weird," she said loudly to Frisk, who was covering her face with one hand. The Captain glanced back at Sans. "Right? 'Cause you don't like humans?"

"Right," said the boss monster. Just in case, he added, "'m not interested. They're too...uh...lumpy."

"Lumpy?" Undyne repeated, voice cracking.

"Lumpy," Frisk mumbled into her hand, and Sans bade a silent farewell to his chances of making it through the day alive.

Gerson snorted. "Never you mind him, girl. I remember when you were even smaller, and you flirted with every monster you met—why doncha try it again? Promise I won't laugh this time!"

The human raised her head long enough to say, "No, sir, but I think you'd fall asleep before we got anywhere interesting," and the monsters roared with laughter, all except Sans.

"That's a fair point," Gerson admitted, once he'd recovered. "A doll like you shouldn't be stuck with a stinky old thing like me. Maybe one of these other fine specimens of monsterhood would suit ya better?"

"Yeah, I'm a fine specimen!" someone called out, prompting more laughter, and cries of "Me too!" and "I'm not, but I'll learn!"

"I don't think so," Undyne said flatly, to Sans' eternal gratitude. "Frisk has a lot of work to do, and she's not gonna be here that long. Anyone who messes with her on my watch is gonna be my new training dummy. Got it?"

"Agreed," the giant skeleton muttered. "Don't want anybody interruptin' her bein' a perfect princess an' fixin' all the world's pr—"

Tng went Frisk's palm on the bar, slamming the fork down and nearly startling Gerson onto the floor. "Don't call me that!"

A moment of apprehensive silence, and then the line began moving again, the monsters whispering to each other and glancing over their shoulders. Well, it'd definitely worked, Sans thought, trying to get his SOUL moving again. No one would think anything was going on between them now. ...How was that little shit still asleep on her?

"Okay, okay," said Undyne, chagrined. "Geez. You're one to talk, boss."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Frisk asked suspiciously, saving him the trouble.

Gerson gave three rapid thumps on the floor. "Very true, Miss Undyne! Very true. Here's an interesting fact for ya," he said to the priestess. "When it comes to sowin' their oats, your average monster's not in any hurry, but bosses? They're almost as determined as humans! Wah ha ha!"

Frisk smiled weakly. "Ahh, I'm just funnin' with you. Don't worry about Sans," Gerson assured her. "Most folks don't know this, but romantically speaking, boss monsters ain't much of a threat to anyone. Sure, they've got that drive to have offspring, but they're too picky to do much about it." He waggled his stick in Sans' direction. "This fella's SOUL ain't interested in anybody weaker than he is. If he can't find another boss monster, he won't fix on anyone at all."

Sans' mouth fell open, and clicked shut. "Wait. What?"

The old tortoise cackled again. "Haven't you noticed, sonny?" he asked. "You're not interested in the ladies – or gents – 'cause none of 'em have enough magic to handle ya. Your SOUL can tell when you meet someone who might work out, and it ignores everybody else. It's instinct—keeps you from hurting a lesser monster by mistake. 'Course, the royals have each other, or at least they did, but..." His shrug was eloquent, almost pitying. "Not sure what to tell you, young skeleton. Hope you find a way to scratch that itch someday."

"Are you serious? How do you know that? Why the hell didn't I know that?!" Sans was too angry to notice how red Frisk was, or how wide Undyne's eye had gotten. "D'ya know how much I've been worryin' about what'd happen if I—" He caught himself just in time. "—got really interested in someone? Yer tellin' me that just bein' interested means it's safe ta go for it?"

"Wah ha! It sure would!" Thump thump. "Ya really didn’t know that? Didn't you get 'the talk' from Asgore or Toriel?"

Sans shook his head. He'd never talked to the King about personal stuff, and Toriel knew how much he hated being a boss monster, so she hadn't brought it up. She certainly never told him what to expect if he did find a potential mate. Sans couldn't really blame her; how was she supposed to know he'd meet someone like Frisk?

Gerson harrumphed at him. "Well, some of us remember how the King and Queen were before the Prince was born—couldn't keep their hands off each other! I had to have a talk with 'em about corrupting our youth with their bad example, and Asgore went on and on about how their SOULs couldn't help it! Poor Toriel wouldn't look me in the eye for a month afterwards!" He cackled yet again. "Not the sort of thing I'd go around repeating to just anyone, is it?"

"Yeah, well, I wish you'd repeated it to me!"

"How fascinating," said Frisk, tilting her head to feign curiosity. That wasn't fair: he knew she was faking, and it was still the cutest damn thing he'd ever seen. "So I don't have to worry about Sans bothering me?" she asked innocently.

"Not unless you're a boss monster, too!" The tortoise had a hearty chuckle at that idea.

No one really joined in, especially not Sans, who was remembering his own words to Alphys. "If humans had anythin' like boss monsters, she'd be one fer sure"...

Suddenly, the little seahorse on Frisk's lap jerked awake, sitting up and rubbing his eyes with one long, hand-like fin. "Good morning," the priestess said kindly.

He yawned a weird little yawn, and mumbled, "Good morning, Princess."

Frisk stiffened. Sans resisted the urge to tie the kid in a knot as the human said, "No, dear. When Sans called me that, he was being sarcastic," with an inflection that made the skeleton wince. "I'm not actually a princess."

Blink. "Oh." Blink. "I don't get it. Aren't you Chara? You were here before, and Lady Toriel said—oww!"

Gerson had rapped the seahorse between the ears with his stick. "Pay attention, sprout," he said severely. "Chara died before you were even hatched. This here is Miss Frisk, you got that?"

The little monster mumbled an apology, ears drooping. Grillby saved them all from further awkwardness by moving over and crackling something at Gerson, who nodded and leaned over to whisper to Undyne, who stood up in turn and stomped the floor for everyone's attention. "Two dozen pancakes left, and we're out of hash browns!" she called out. "Everyone who hasn't gotten theirs yet, count off! One! Two! Three—"

Groaning arose as "Four," "Five," "Six" came down from the head of the line, ending in a triumphant "Twenty-four!" near the door.

"What the hell," complained the twenty-fifth monster. "I didn't come all the way from Waterfall to get screwed again!"

"You shouldn't have come to eat our food in the first place," Dogamy snapped.

"Everyone was already lining up, and I was all the way at the back! So I came to get something for the kids—"

"Well, you should've thought of that before you went and had another one," Faun cut in. "It's people like you who're the problem, making more mouths to feed instead of helping the rest of us!"

"Oh, like you ever get your lazy carcass out to work the fields! I'm trying to keep our race from dying out, and you—"

"No, you—"

Someone shoved someone else, and in a flash, Undyne interposed herself between them. "Take it outside!" she ordered, addressing the angry latecomers as a whole. "Or, don't fight each other over something we can't control! Put some of that energy where it counts!"

"Like where? Going out to look for food and getting captured by humans like her?"

It was no use: more squabbles and counter-squabbles started breaking out, and within seconds, the place was in chaos. Sans moved in front of Frisk, knowing he couldn't trust himself to join the fray—he was already agitated, and it’d be too easy to kill someone by mistake. Undyne had no such qualms, and was dragging a couple of miscreants around in headlocks when an ear-splitting whistle brought everyone to their knees.

The only exception was the child on Frisk's lap. The priestess had shielded his ears with one hand, and was lowering the other from her mouth. "There's more coming," she said into the pained silence, voice clear and steady. "Sans has arranged to pick up several hundred pounds of food, two days from now. We'll bring it straight back here, and every last one of you will have some, including your families." Frisk gave the room a slight smile. "If I'm lying, feel free to eat me instead."

Before anyone else could speak, Gerson tapped the bar next to her. "Is it true that you're in talks to buy us that place on the river?" he asked.

"Yes, and we can improve your existing farmland in the meantime," replied Frisk.

Murmurs arose throughout the room, hope warring with skepticism. "Well," Gerson said slowly, "on behalf of the entire Underground, I've got to say—"

"OH MY GOD!" Sans and Frisk both sighed as Papyrus waved from the doorway. "CAPTAIN UNDYNE! THE QUEEN IS HERE! SHE WANTS TO SEE KRIS RIGHT AWAY!"

The crowd gasped, monsters hurrying to stand aside for Frisk; she waved away Sans' proffered hand, set the kid on the bar, and hopped down. "I'll be right there," she called to Papyrus, and walked out through the aisle, smiling at each monster in passing.

That was what did the trick, Sans thought, along with Pap getting her name wrong—good reminders of the warm-hearted human they'd known and loved. The murmuring started right back up again, but now the thoughtful or hopeful voices were much louder, the pissy ones silent.

The seahorse had floated down to the floor and was bobbing his way through the crowd. Watching him go, Sans wondered about Frisk's reaction to being called a princess. Not only should she be one, as far as he was concerned, she should be in line to rule the whole damn kingdom. Judging from her performance as High Priestess, she'd be damn good at it, much better than her scrawny little half-brother...

Undyne had left right after Frisk, and the other monsters were filing out. When the place was nearly empty, Gerson muttered, "You've got to do better than that, son."

The giant skeleton shook himself and scowled at the old man. "Whaddya mean? I didn't attack anyone. I was just makin' sure nobody went after Frisk."

Another laugh, shorter and more cynical. "You're about three hundred years too young to play dumb with me, boy!" Gerson brandished the stick at him. "What I mean is, I don't blame you for bein' sweet on her, but you can't keep looking at her like that. For one thing, it's embarrassing! Wah ha ha!" Thu-thump. "More importantly," he said, sobering in an instant, "people 'round here have nothing to do but talk. No one's forgotten the whole mess with Chara, 'specially not His Majesty. Better not give him a reason to think history's gonna repeat itself."

Sans tried to formulate a denial, and also several questions, but then the old tortoise banged his stick on the floor again, this time to assist himself in sliding off the barstools. "I'd tell you to leave her be," he grumbled, "but if your SOUL's made up its mind, I suppose there's no helping it." A gross, multi-part sniffle. "That little lady, strong enough to match a boss monster? Ha! Will wonders never cease?" He adjusted his pith helmet. "Well, feel free to come see me in Waterfall, the both of you—but not till tomorrow! This was plenty of excitement for one day! Wah ha!"

"Hold up!" Sans protested as the tortoise started shambling toward the door. "What do you mean, 'the whole mess with'—"

Right on cue, there was a cry of "BROTHER!" as Papyrus popped his head in. "BROTHER, COME AND SEE! KRISK HAS BROUGHT PUZZLES! THERE'S ONE FOR YOU, TOO!"

Ah, the gifting had begun. Sans waved him away. "Tell 'er ta get started without me."

"REALLY? IF YOU SAY SO... OH! HELLO, SIR GERSON! THE HUMAN SAID TO TELL YOU THAT SHE HAS PEANUT BRITTLE, NYEH-HEH!"

"Ooooh," the elderly monster said, perking up. The moment Papyrus was gone, Gerson turned and rapped his stick on Sans' patella. "There you have it, boy! It's like my old mam always said: 'Gerson, if you ever find a girl who remembers how much an old fart like you loves his peanut brittle, you hang on to her, human or not!'"

Sans highly doubted that Gerson's old mam had ever said that, but he wasn't in the mood to argue. In fact, he wasn't in the mood for much of anything. Instead, he turned to the bartender as Gerson gradually left. "Hey, Grillbs. I’ve got a few minutes—what's on tap today?"

It was disgusting, he knew, but the simple fact was that Grillby had to stay in business somehow. When there was no food to serve, he could always sell drinks, and when there were no drinks, he had gotten creative—for example, the "mudslide" he slid down the bar to Sans was named for its primary ingredient and sprinkled with enough magic to…still taste like mud. But it was a drink!

The bartender wandered over as Sans downed the whole thing at once, remembering too late that he could have just put his tongue away and avoided tasting it at all. Clearly, he needed to drink a little more and get his head on straight. The skeleton gestured for another, and when Grillby crackled at him, Sans just said, "Don't worry, Frisk'll pay my tab."

The flames on Grillby's eyebrows rose higher, but he produced another mudslide and watched Sans gulp it down. "So," said the boss monster, "I kinda remember what happened with Chara, but my memory ain't what it used to be since everythin’ blew up in my face." He held his mug out. "Wanna tell me a little more 'bout ‘er?"

"...and this is for you, too," said Frisk, placing another box in front of Toriel.

The goat monster shook her head. "Goodness, child, you shouldn't have! How am I supposed to carry all this back with me?"

"Make Sans do it," Undyne suggested, to general approval.

They had decided to tackle the gift distribution in stages, starting with Papyrus, Undyne, and Toriel, and were opening them in the skeleton brothers' living room. Papyrus was happily occupied with his first gift, an interlocking ring puzzle; he'd declined to open anything else yet, ostensibly to wait for his brother, but mostly out of impatience to get the rings apart.

"Speaking of which, where is Sans?" asked Toriel. Papyrus was already muttering to himself, the rings clicking as he began tugging harder.

"Who knows, Your Majesty?" Undyne had only a few boxes by her feet, and was doing her best not to look at them too hard until everything had been doled out. She brightened as Frisk set two more down for her. "Is that all of 'em?"

"That's all for everyone here." Frisk picked up the very last package, straining a little to lift it, and took it to the back room. When she returned, she said, "You can open them now, Lady Toriel, or wait until you get home. Since we're staying so close by, Undyne, I think you can go ahea—"

The Captain had already ripped open her first box and tossed the lid aside. She paused and squinted at an array of bottles nestled in white cotton. "What's all this?"

"There's regular moisturizer, waterproof moisturizer, burn ointment, treatment for scale rot, an antiseptic for small cuts, and armor polish," Frisk explained, pointing to each in turn. "I infused everything myself, except the polish."

"Thanks! I hope you don't expect me to remember all that," Undyne commented, bending to grab the next box and catching herself mid-rip. "Oh. Uh, sorry, Your Majesty. Your turn."

Toriel smiled. "Please go ahead, Captain. I—"

The box was already wide open. "Whoa!" It was a set of the "history books" Undyne had admired on the humans' last visit—the most action-filled comics Frisk could find, much more violent than the story-driven ones Alphys liked. She grabbed the top one and flipped through it gleefully. "Ha ha! I can't believe it! Are those his guts?"

"NYEHHH!" Meanwhile, Papyrus was now reduced to banging the rings on the arm of the couch. "HUMAN! I DO NOT WISH TO ALARM YOU, BUT IT SEEMS THAT YOU HAVE BEEN SOLD A DEFECTIVE PUZZLE!" He gave the rings a final shake and threw them on the floor, then plunked himself down on the couch, arms grumpily folded.

Undyne glanced up from her comic and snickered. Papyrus looked very hurt until his friend bent to pick up the separated rings, holding them over her head like spoils of war. "See, Pap? You gave it your all, and look what happened!" She threw the rings back on the floor and caught his arms to pull him up for a triumphant noogie. "I knew you had it in you!"

"Y-YES, OF COURSE! THE GREAT PAPYRUS CAN CONQUER ANY PUZZLE! N-NYEH-HEH-HEH! ...PLEASE STOP CELEBRATING MY GREAT VICTORY!"

"I believe I'll open something now," Toriel murmured, leaving Papyrus to extricate himself. She unwrapped the paper on the top box, peeked inside, and immediately gave a squeal of joy. "Oh, my goodness! My child, how did you—" She clasped her hands. "Are those real vanilla beans?! And—"

"I didn't know the exact recipe, so I got every pie ingredient I could think of," Frisk said, grinning at Toriel's excitement. She slid out the bottom box in the stack. "Check these next, please. I couldn't remember if you needed salted and unsalted butter, so I got both."

"Yes, I do! But..." The boss monster pulled out tall jars of milk, buttermilk, and heavy cream, then looked at her narrowly. "I don't wish to be rude, but how long have you been transporting these? I know the weather is cold, but won't they have spoiled by now?"

"Not on my watch," declared Frisk. "I used a few preservatives—if you put a little in the jar beforehand, it keeps the contents fresh for up to a week without affecting the flavor."

"Seriously?" Even Undyne was interested. "That's pretty neat. Is this the kind of stuff you've been teaching Sans?"

"Yes, it is. He knows how to make preservatives, medicine, fertilizer—I brought the recipes and ingredients for those, too. You'll be able to save a huge amount of magic using them."

"I see," Toriel said slowly. She smiled, almost a grimace, as she put the jars away. "It may not have been under the best circumstances, but I am very thankful that he met you again, my child. His life has very hard since...since the accident, and I have not been as supportive as I could have. Spending time with a wonderful friend like you must have been such a relief to him."

"Don't be so hard on yourself, Majesty. You had a lot of problems, too," protested Undyne.

"Yes, but I..." Toriel was definitely grimacing now. "I suppose you're right, Captain. Still, I am very glad to know that he has been in Frisk's care."

Frisk was fighting another blush. Her neck still itched from the healing spell the innkeeper had given her for the “crick” in her neck before they checked out that morning. "I hope I’ve helped. I know what it's like to lose someone, and to feel alone. I've missed you all so much," she said truthfully. "I just wish it was safe for some of you to come back with us for a visit."

Toriel's golden gaze sharpened. "With 'us,' my child? What do you mean?"

"Sans is gonna escort her home," Undyne said quickly. "Also, she wants bring some of our stuff back with her to show off, but she doesn't know how it all works. The humans are kinda used to Sans by now, so we figured he might as well tag along."

"That does sound like a good idea," Toriel agreed, and Frisk caught Undyne's eye for a grateful moment. "Would you like to open something else now, Papyrus?"

"HM?" The skeleton was playing with the rings again, figuring out how to lock them back together. "NO, THANK YOU, LADY TORIEL. I'LL WAIT FOR SANS. WHERE IS HE?"

Undyne was already tearing open another box, unasked. "Oh, no way! Are these targets?!"

"Of course! They look like wood, but it's actually metal." Frisk got up to look out the window. Where was Sans?

"Who knows? Maybe he found a lady friend," Undyne said absently, flicking the metal discs to test their sturdiness.

"That's not a nice thing to say, Undyne," Toriel reproved her.

For half an irate second, Frisk thought Toriel was angry on her behalf. Then her brain caught up, and she turned to ask, "Why? Because there aren't any other boss monsters?"

"Exactly," said the former Queen, "and a lesser monster would not suit him. It's honestly a bit cruel to suggest that he—"

"WHAT ABOUT A HUMAN?" Papyrus asked without looking up.

Pause. "A human?" Toriel repeated as Undyne and Frisk glanced at each other in alarm.

"YES. HUMANS ARE PLENTIFUL, AND SOME OF THEM HAVE MAGIC! COULDN'T SANS BORROW ONE? FOR EXAMPLE, FRISK IS VERY—"

"No."

Everyone froze at the vehemence in Toriel's voice. The boss monster breathed in, and out, almost baring her teeth. "I...excuse me. I need to check that this is everything necessary for a pie."

Undyne let the targets slide off her lap as Toriel took her boxes to the kitchen. "What's the matter with you, Papyrus?" the Captain hissed. "Why’d you have to go and bring up humans? Don't you remember what happened with Chara?"

The skeleton's brow creased. "JUST THAT THE HUMAN PRINCESS WENT TO LIVE WITH OTHER HUMANS...WHEN WAS IT AGAIN?"

"A little over…what, twenty years ago? I guess you were probably just a kid, but still…" Undyne saw how intently Frisk was listening, and sighed. The Captain checked the kitchen, where Toriel was occupied with moving things around and muttering to herself, then beckoned them closer. "Okay, here’s the short version. A bunch of humans came to see the King," she said quietly. "They were here for a couple weeks, and Chara got really depressed after they left. The King wound up sending her off to marry one of the guys she'd met—didn’t you learn this in history class, Pap?"

Papyrus still looked blank, and the fish monster sighed in exasperation. "Anyway, she came right back here 'cause the marriage didn't work out, not sure why. Asgore had a huge fight with Asriel and the Queen about whether Chara should stay here or go marry another human. He made her leave again, but she never got married to anyone, and she didn't come back until the visit where everyone blew up."

"OH." Papyrus looked at the reconnected rings in his hand. "WHAT DOES THAT HAVE TO DO WITH SANS MARRYING A HUMAN?"

There went Frisk's face again. "Because," mumbled Undyne, "as far as everyone is concerned, it all happened because a human got too involved with monsters—an adult human,” she clarified, nodding at Frisk. “The whole problem with Chara was that there was no one here for her to pair off with. Monsters can always figure out a way to combine their magic if they really want to have kids, but she didn't have any magic at all, so it wouldn’t have worked. Besides, humans barely even live sixty years. Asgore thought it'd cause too much heartache if she stayed."

Papyrus digested this information for a moment, then said at least part of what Frisk was thinking: "DIDN'T IT CAUSE A LOT MORE HEARTACHE TO SEND HER AWAY? THIS WAS HER HOME, AND THEY WERE HER FAMILY, EVEN IF SHE COULDN’T GET MARRIED."

"That's exactly what Asriel and Toriel thought, and they never forgave him for it. Then both Chara and Asriel wound up dead, and Asgore blamed every single thing on the humans. Then Toriel stood up in front of everyone and said it was his own damn fault for throwing their child out like a dog, twice, and here we are now."

Frisk shivered. Those were Chara's words from the day Frisk hid in the living room and overheard those terrible things. As a child, she hadn't understood why Chara seemed to hate her kind, loving parents so much. Poor Princess, Frisk thought bitterly, digging her nails into her leg. "Papyrus," she said aloud, "check your gray box. It's not a puzzle."

A moment later, Toriel looked up at a strange sound, like air hissing out of a broken pipe. She finished re-packing the pie ingredients and turned to see Papyrus holding up a bundle of dry pasta, some ground beef, various herbs, and a bag of fresh tomatoes. His sockets were the size of salad plates, and he was making a noise that could best be described as a pre-scream.

"Hey, would you look at that, Pap! You haven't made spaghetti in years! What have you done?" Undyne said through gritted teeth, ending with a glare at Frisk.

As expected, Papyrus paid no attention. He had just enough presence of mind to set the box down gently before he exploded into a rapturous, unbroken "THANK YOOOOU" that lasted at least two straight minutes, starting with a huge hug-and-twirl for Frisk, then Undyne as she rescued the human, and finally ending in the kitchen with "LADY TORIEL!!! LOOK!!!!"

"That is wonderful, Papyrus, but…oh, dear! Look at the time," Toriel exclaimed. "Ladies, may I expect you at my house tonight, around eight o’clock? I'll have a pie waiting!"

Frisk bit back her reflexive protest about Sans. "What about the rest of your gifts?" she asked instead.

Toriel smiled at her. "We can come back here tomorrow, of course! After all, I missed seeing Sans today. We don't need to stay cooped up in the Ruins for your entire visit!"

"AND IT MAY BE POSSIBLE THAT I WILL HAVE LEFTOVER SPAGHETTI FOR YOU, LADY TORIEL!" added Papyrus. "NOT THAT I EXPECT IT TO GO UNEATEN, NYEH! I WILL MERELY BE SURE TO MAKE ENOUGH FOR EVERYONE. I WOULD HATE FOR YOU TO MISS THE TRIUMPHANT RETURN OF CULINARY PERFECTION!"

"Yes, of course," the former Queen said kindly, eye twitching only a little.

The priestess hesitated, and Undyne stepped in again: "We'll see what happens this afternoon, Your Majesty. We've got a lot more stuff to give out, and Alphys wants to see Frisk, too. I don't know how late we'll be back here tonight, and it's a long walk to the Ruins—"

"That's what Sans is for!" Toriel said gaily, and Frisk felt a twinge of irritation. "If I come across him," the boss monster continued, gathering up the boxes of ingredients, "I will be sure to send him straight here. Until then, my child, please enjoy your stay. I'll see you this evening!"

There was no way out of it, so Frisk smiled and nodded and waited for the door to close before she said, "Dammit."

Undyne shrugged sympathetically. "It's a mom thing. Mine was the same way."

Frisk bent to pick up handfuls of packing paper. "So was mine," she muttered.

The Captain waited for more, but Frisk went on grabbing and folding up paper until it became apparent that that was all. Undyne shrugged, glanced at her unopened boxes, and shrugged again, reaching for the comics. "Just put it outside," she advised as Frisk looked around for a larger trashcan. The human sighed, draping her cloak over her shoulders as she opened the door.

Papyrus was puttering around the kitchen in sheer bliss. Out of habit, Undyne got up to supervise, and they were soon embroiled in a deathmatch against the tomatoes and noodles. "Higher! HIGHER!" the Captain yelled. "Remember! You have to break your foes' fighting spirit! Hear their cries of defeat and smell their agony!"

The skeleton clanged the wooden spoon harder against the sides of the pot. "Yes! I hear it!" he exclaimed.

"Yes! Good! You—" Undyne stopped. "Wait. I hear it, too." She went to the door, through which came a distinctive, high-pitched sound. "Oh," she said in disgust. "What the hell is he doing here?" The fish monster reached for the doorknob. "Close your ears, Pap."

Papyrus blinked, spoon still poised for a mortal blow. "But I don't have—"

Undyne opened the door, and the skeleton dropped the spoon into the sauce mixture as a shrill mechanical voice cut through the air: "I simply can't believe it! My little beauty grew into such a real beauty! What a sight for sore eyes amidst all these...these monsters!"

"Shut up, tin man," snapped the Royal Guard Captain, coming onto the porch. "I—oh! Hey, Alphys! Where did you guys come from?"

"From a place with manners." Mettaton adjusted his fur stole and swept back his fringe of real black hair. "That awful skeleton said my little beauty was here, so I came all this way—"

"Do you know where Sans is?" demanded Frisk, who was still recovering from the shock of going to take out the garbage and encountering Mettaton instead.

"Y-yes," said the scientist, coming up behind the automaton. "He came to see me in a p-panic because he forgot how to teleport home. I hope he's still sleeping back in the l-lab."

Frisk stood stock-still. “He forgot…?”

“Pffffahahahaha!" The fish monster slammed her fist into the side of the house. "Oh my God! I knew I should have dragged him out of Grillby's when I had the chance! He was drunk, wasn't he?"

Alphys just sighed. Frisk growled under her breath, which made Undyne laugh even harder. "He..." She choked back a sob. "He was right here, and he walked all the way to...to..."

Pause. "I think he t-took the ferry," Alphys said, and moved back as the Captain collapsed into a snorting heap.

Oh, for God's sake, Sans! "Never mind. It's wonderful to see you again, Mettaton!" she said with unfeigned enthusiasm, shaking the automaton's still-pearly-gloved hand. His arms were much less floppy now, his body more streamlined, face smoothly outlined with tiny gemstones. Before he could launch into any further praise, the human moved aside and took Alphys' clawed hand. "And thank you so much for coming all the way here, Doctor. It means a lot to me."

There was that shy, scaly smile. "Th-thank you, um, Frisk. I'm r-really glad you're here." She chuckled nervously. "This is going to t-take some getting used to. But...you are v-very p-pretty."

Frisk smiled wider, and bent to give the scientist a hug. “Thank you,” she said in Alphys’ ear. “I’ve really missed you.”

The scientist mumbled something, then yelped as Undyne suddenly scooped them both up. "You know what else? This lady brought a buttload of presents for everyone,” she announced, setting them down on the porch. “Go on in while I grab your stuff!"

"I..." It was no use pointing out that the living room was about a third of the size required to open all the additional gifts, especially Mettaton's: Undyne was already charging toward the shed. "Yes, please, come in," said Frisk, leading the way inside. It would pass the time till Sans got back, she thought ruefully.

It wasn't his fault. Grillby had talked, and Sans had drank mudslides, and then Sans didn't know where he was anymore.

Everything was a blur for a while after that. He had no explanation for why he kept walking back and forth past his house, or how he wound up on the ferry, or how long he'd been lying outside the lab when Mettaton's rib-prodding woke him up. Sans had made it inside and found some nice cool floor to collapse on, and nothing else happened for a while.

Then a horrible, oozing feeling of dread crept over him, starting at the top of his cranium and trickling down till it hit his SOUL. He twisted to look upward at a familiar little pair of feet. The demon-child was suddenly peering down into his face, waving merrily, whispering, “Good to be back.”

And then it was gone. It stayed gone, too—no more fear, no nightmares, nothing. That was a relief, but a really weird one. The thing probably hadn’t even been there; it was just the mudslide talking…

The next time Sans awoke, he was alone, and any lingering apprehensions vanished as he looked at the clock. It was already late afternoon, heading into the evening. Shit! Where was Alphys? Where was Frisk?!

...Right. She was in Snowdin. Okay.

Where was Snowdin?!

Think, think. Snowdin: he lived there. It had his house. Sans took stock of his magic, which was doing well, and his mental capabilities, which could probably direct his teleportation now without getting him encased in solid rock or dropping him hundreds of feet from the cavern ceiling. The giant skeleton concentrated, and a moment later, he was back on the floor in his own room.

An odd smell was drifting up from the kitchen almost directly below. Dammit, he'd told Frisk not to actually get any spaghetti stuff! Oh, well, Pap sounded pretty happy. Where was everyone else?

A faint thud on the side of the house answered that question; Undyne was outside, laughing her ass off. Not long after, the front door crashed open and more voices flooded the house. To his surprise, he heard Mettaton and maybe a little of Alphys before Undyne and Papyrus drowned her out. There was Frisk, too, directing things—how the hell were they going to fit everyone inside?

The answer seemed to be a combination of Papyrus sitting on the stairs and Undyne smushing up against Alphys on the couch. Sans wished Undyne would hurry up and ask her out already; Al could use some non-fictional companionship, and the house could use a little less time with Undyne in it.

Should he at least come out and say hi, even if he had to stay upstairs and lean over the railing? But he didn't feel like talking to everyone, or making them feel like they had to find room for him. Besides, for all he knew, Frisk was still mad at him, just because he'd been a stupid jerk in front of people and then disappeared without warning for half the day...

No, better stay where he was for now, safe in his room, listening to them have fun as Undyne brought the presents in, and not feeling jealous or lonely at all.

Mettaton went first, because he was Mettaton. He also had the bulkiest set of gifts, including several bolts of very expensive silk; the automaton was so overjoyed that he promised to have his tailors make a couple of things for Frisk, too, and loan her some of his new hair accessories. Sans just hoped he wasn't going to make her wear the literal paint she'd bought for his face!

Did she even own any makeup? He'd never seen her wear more than a tiny bit. Come to think of it, he'd never seen her wear anything fancier than that dumb, sexy purple dress for All Souls Day.

There was more mechanical jubilation from downstairs, this time over the sets of dance steps and sheet music. Now MTT was proposing a grand fete after the next shipment of food arrived and Frisk's measurements had been taken, perhaps toward the end of her visit. After all, she still couldn’t be sure that Asgore was willing to make peace between the two kingdoms, and whether the dance would be a celebration or a permanent send-off; more importantly, they couldn’t start planning till the caterers knew exactly what they'd be working with.

Sans smirked into the darkness. A party, huh? As long as it didn't remind anyone of the farewell gala thirteen-ish years ago, then whatever, Frisk would love it; he'd be careful not to stare too hard if she got dressed up. He'd seen plenty of fancy ladies at the castle, and he was sure he could handle the sight of any—

Cries of dismay came through the floorboards. The boss monster was ready to zip downstairs and start busting heads, but the furor died right down, and he soon pieced together what'd happened: Papyrus had come over to admire something with a plate of spaghetti in his hand, only to trip over...probably nothing, and Frisk had thrown herself between the silk on Mettaton’s lap and the flying arc of tomato sauce.

The good news was that Mettaton was offering to take her laundry back with him, including a stain treatment for her sacrificed dress; the bad news was that she didn't have anything clean to wear in the meantime. There was a moment of silence as they tried to figure out what to do, with Mettaton's entourage all the way off in Hotland and the shops already closed for the day.

Alphys spoke, and after another quiet moment, Papyrus yelled something, his footsteps tramping excitedly up the stairs, Frish right behind him. They clattered around for a minute in Pap’s room, probably the closet; then she headed to the bathroom at the end of the hall, Sans trying not to tense up as she walked by.

He must have made some kind of noise, because now Papyrus was knocking on his door. "BROTHER? IS THAT YOU? IF THAT IS YOU, COME OUT THIS INSTANT! WE HAVE ALL BEEN CONCERNED ABOUT YOU AND YOUR TENDENCY TO DISAPPEAR FOR LONG PERIODS WITHOUT BEING HERE!"

Sans cringed. Of course Pap would be worried about him not coming back! Feeling like a complete ass, the boss monster got up slowly, yawning wide and rubbing his sockets as he opened the door. "Hey, bro," he mumbled. "Sorry 'bout that. I just thought I'd get some rest, didn't know I was gonna fall asleep."

"HMPH." Papyrus didn't just make the sound; he always had to say "hummff." "COME DOWNSTAIRS AND SAY HELLO TO OUR GUESTS. AND SPAGHETTI!! THE GREATEST GUEST OF ALL!!"

Oh, for God's sake, Frisk! Why had she—no, there was no use crying about it now. He couldn’t count on giving it away to anyone, either: even the starvingest monster remembered what Pap’s cooking was like. "Whoa, really? Lemme see," Sans said with enough enthusiasm to make Papyrus race downstairs to the kitchen.

The boss monster came out and paused at the head of the stairs. There was a small table in the corner at the foot of the staircase; he lifted it up and set it down next to him in the hallway, then zipped himself down to sit in the now-free space. God, he hated being huge. "Hey, guys," he said, pulling his legs up to his ribcage.

"What do you mean, 'hey, guys'?!" Undyne was glad for the excuse to put down her spaghetti, though it was difficult to find room for it on the floor. "What the hell have you been doing, besides being drunk and stupid?" She tried to stay angry, but a smirk kept showing through. "Did you seriously go all the way to the lab because you couldn't find your house?"

A beat of silence. "Yes?" hazarded Sans.

The only thing that saved Undyne from another attack of the giggles was the bathroom door opening upstairs. "Is that you, Sans?" called Frisk.

His SOUL went pitter-patter again. "Yeah, I'm back. Couldn't stay away from Pap's spaghetti," he replied, earning a soft “NYEHH” from the kitchen.

"I dunno, this might not be the right batch for you," Undyne said, loud enough for Frisk to hear. "The sauce is, uh, good, but it’s..." Snort. "It's..." Cough. "It's really lumpy."

More silence. It took Sans a second to remember why he wanted to punch her for saying that, and then fucking Papyrus had to add, “LUMPS ARE ESSENTIAL FOR PROPER FLAVOR!”

It was quiet upstairs; then Undyne snickered, and Frisk burst out laughing, the sound echoing down the stairwell and setting Undyne off again until both women were near tears.

"Private jokes are for children, darling," Mettaton informed Undyne, nudging his own plate away with his foot.

"You're for children," she mumbled, and Mettaton rolled his crystalline eyes.

“WELL?” A moment of crisis united them again: Papyrus was in the kitchen doorway, looking expectant. Alphys bravely twirled up an entire forkful and crammed it in her mouth, moving her cheeks to fake a smile.

They all fell respectfully silent as Papyrus went back to the kitchen, Undyne grabbing a glass of water for Alphys to help wash it down. "Oh, d-dear. Well, getting back to your idea, M-Mettaton," the scientist wheezed, "we should r-really ask His Majesty b-before we have any big events like that."

Mettaton clicked at her. "Oh, Alphys, it won't be anything excessive! Just a band, a few tables, every single monster in the Underground dressed in their absolute best—"

"Like this?" Frisk asked wryly, coming down the last step.

Sans had angled himself to face the others, and he stayed that way long enough to see their reactions first. For some reason, Mettaton looked as if he’d swallowed a bug. “Really, darling?” the automaton asked distastefully. “It’s like wrapping a star sapphire in toilet paper.”

Papyrus, on the other hand, was absolutely delighted: "AH HA! I KNEW IT WOULD FIT YOU, HUMAN! SANS, LOOK AT WHAT I'VE HAD IN MY CLOSET ALL THESE YEARS, JUST IN CASE, NYEH-HEH!"

"I l-like it. If w-we ever had a costume party, that w-would be perfect," Alphys remarked, adjusting her glasses.

Undyne snorted. "Yeah, except he didn’t look like that up top!"

Sans had no idea what to expect when he turned his head. He’d just been imagining Frisk in a ruffly ballgown, and it occurred to him much later that if she’d come downstairs wearing something really fancy or weird, he’d have been fine. But she wasn’t, and he wasn’t.

Frisk was wearing his old clothes. The blue hooded jacket, the white shirt, the black pants with white stripes—there they were, wrenchingly familiar and yet very different. For one thing, they were a bit too small on her; the pants reached the tops of her knees, while the shirt just barely covered her midsection. She wasn’t a lot taller now than he’d been before the accident, but as Undyne had immediately noticed, Frisk was filling it out far better than Sans ever had.

Her perfect figure notwithstanding, it also hit him that she was wearing the most shoddy, unfashionable, lazily masculine clothes possible – hence Mettaton’s distress – and she still looked like a princess.

"SPEECHLESS AT MY FORETHOUGHT, EH, BROTHER?" Papyrus had puffed his own chest out. "THE CLOTHING YOU WORE TO THE GALA MAY HAVE BEEN DESTROYED, BUT I HAD A SECOND, SECRET SET HIDDEN AWAY! DID YOU NEVER WONDER HOW I ALWAYS WASHED YOUR CLOTHES SO QUICKLY WHEN YOU WERE IN THE SHOWER?"

Sans tried to say "Sort of," or literally anything else, but too many things were crowding his mind, starting with nostalgia, and amazement that he'd ever been that small, with some bemusement that she was still so tiny. But that outfit also represented everything he used to be, everything he wanted back and couldn't have...and Frisk, who he was supposed to pretend he didn't want.

That was plenty of emotional crap to work through, and it wasn’t even his biggest problem. When Sans tried looking down to get ahold of himself, he found himself staring at the one thing that fit her perfectly.

“YES, I EVEN PRESERVED YOUR SOCKS FOR POSTERITY!” boasted Papyrus. “I HAVE ALLOWED YOU TO KEEP THAT GIANT PILE IN YOUR ROOM, EXCEPT OF COURSE FOR THE ONES I MADE INTO SOCK PUPPETS. BUT THOSE THAT I SAVED AS REGULAR SOCKS HAVE BEEN AWAITING THE DAY WHEN SOMEONE COULD WEAR THEM AGAIN!”

Sans made a noise. It could have been a disagreeable noise, or a polite one, or anything in between. He didn’t know, or care, because her feet were right there, and his dumb old socks had somehow become the most erotic thing imaginable—and he could imagine a lot of things. Sure, her feet had always been cute to look at because they were so small, but so was the rest of her. Those stupid goddamn socks were…more cute. A lot more.

Not for the first time, he thought of last night, smelling and hearing and touching, and wondered what’d happen if they ever got around to that stuff again with more lights on. He could handle seeing her, or everything else at once, and literally no combination thereof.

Frisk was looking at him, wine-colored eyes wide with puzzlement. “Sans?” She raised one foot to scratch her other calf. “Are you—”

Noooope nope— The only thing Sans could do to keep from tackling her in front of everyone was yell, “Be right back!” and take a shortcut to the first place he could think of.

There was stunned silence in his aftermath. Alphys gave a faint, heartbroken moan of “Oh, c-c-c’mon, he was right at the best part!”

“My, my,” Mettaton said slowly. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was being…amorous.”

“Nope, no way, he’s just weird,” Undyne muttered. “He probably doesn’t have a thing for feet at all. …Geez, did you guys see the way he was staring?! What’s wrong with him?”

Frisk was beet-red. “Well, dinner was absolutely delicious!” she chirped. “Thank you, Papyrus! So, Alphys! Why don’t you open your gifts now?!”

By unspoken consent, they turned to watch Alphys pick up her first box, passing their plates back for Frisk to discreetly scrape back into the pot and shove back into the refrigerator. Luckily, Papyrus wasn’t paying much attention; he was still staring at the foot of the stairs where his brother had been. “HOW STRANGE,” he muttered. “I REALLY THOUGHT HE’D LIKE THE SOCKS.”

One hour later, the clock struck eight, and Asgore jerked upright, staring blearily into the semi-darkness. Only the kitchen light was on; the fireplace was down to the last embers. The King of monsters retrieved his cold tea, threw it into the grate, and got up to put the mug in the sink.

A sound at the front door made him look up; a heavy knock made him scowl and raise his voice a little more than necessary. “Yes? Can it wait till morning?” he asked brusquely.

“I don’t think ya should, Yer Majesty,” said a familiar voice.

Asgore’s scowl deepened until he was nearly snarling. With great effort, he said, “One moment, Sans,” and tossed the mug into the kitchen, ignoring the sound of ceramic breaking. He took his time crossing the living room, and was in no hurry to unlock or open the door. “Good evening,” he eventually greeted the other boss monster.

Sans was a couple of steps down, putting him and the King on eye level. “Evenin’,” he replied. “Sorry ta be here so close to bedtime, but I owe someone a favor.”

Asgore raised an eyebrow. “A favor? What do y—”

“Dreemurr.”

The King stood as though he’d been changed to stone: not even his eyes moved as Toriel emerged from behind the leafless black tree in the courtyard. She nodded grimly, folding her hands. “I am here to say something to you about Frisk. Anything you say in return will be a waste of breath.”

No reaction. She nodded again and took another step forward, voice flat, eyes cold and hard. “You’ve allowed Frisk to be here, but I know you, Your Majesty. You’ll let the rest of her visit pass without so much as a word to her, and you will let her go home empty-handed, hoping Stephin will forbid her to come again and save you further discomfort. Never mind the possibility of procuring food for your people and freeing our kindred from slavery, unless you—”

“Tori,” grunted Sans. “Leave ‘im alone. Get to the point.”

Asgore glanced at him in surprise. Toriel ground her teeth, but after a moment, she said calmly, “You are right, my friend. I will be brief: I wish to inform His Majesty that if any harm befalls Frisk for any reason while she is here, there will be consequences…and that if His Majesty does not meet with her in a diplomatic capacity before she returns to the humans, I will do so.”

Both men started. “You can’t do that,” the King protested. “When you left here—”

Sans braced himself, and sure enough, Tori drew herself up till she seemed about thirty feet tall. “Do not tell me what I cannot do, Dreemurr!” she thundered. “When I left here, I ceased to be Queen, but I have not ceased to be me! You will not take another child from me, and I will not allow you to deprive our people of their last hope because you are too proud to admit your own incompetence! Do you understand?”

One more long, frozen instant. Asgore took a deep breath…

He slammed the door shut.

Sans coughed theatrically. “So. That…that happened.”

Toriel’s eyes closed. “Take us to Snowdin, please” was all she said.

Sans complied, letting her come up and lay a furry hand on his arm before he whisked them through space and onto the porch of his house.

“Thank you, my friend,” said Toriel. She gave him a tired smile. “I am so sorry. You wanted someone to talk to, and I made you take me straight to that close-minded, selfish—” The former Queen shook herself. “I…don’t suppose that whatever you wanted to talk about can be discussed in a minute or so? I’d like to collect the girls and head home now. If you want to stop by tomorrow—”

“Nah, the timing’s my fault. Don’t worry, it’s a short thing,” Sans said absently. He glanced at the door, wondering if everyone was still there, then ceasing to wonder as he heard several different voices at once and also some clanking. It sounded like they were playing charades. “It’s more of a thing I’d like ya to think over so we can talk about it later. And don’t tell anyone. Please.”

Toriel nodded pleasantly. “Of course, Sans. What is troubling you?”

Sans grabbed the doorknob, said, “I’m in love with a human,” and opened the door to boisterous greetings of “Sans!” “Where have you been, punk?!” and “SANS! THANK GOODNESS! QUICK, HELP ME EXPRESS THE CONCEPT OF ‘SUMMER RAINDROPS’!”

#songfell #shoulda been like three ones oh well

79 notes · View notes

jenniferroland · 3 years

Text

[starter for @loverot]

"If you can look at what's there and not eat yourself hollow with shame, you are not human anymore."

Transferring out of Mount Massive to play brain scrambler in the middle of the Arizona desert was hardly a step up. She’d put in a request for leave numerous times and been denied on the grounds that her research skills and capability as a pathologist made her “too valuable an asset” to allow her to be off the asylum campus for any extended period of time. But when a handful of her female coworkers began experiencing hysterical pregnancies from proximity to the Engine, she was suddenly a liability instead. Never mind that she experienced precisely no negative effects from it; if anything, her mind felt sharper when working on location than it ever did in remote labs, like popping a handful of Adderall.

The segregation came without warning. Experiments and treatments went unfinished; communications went dark; theories withered and died without the proper environment in which to nurture them. Uprooted and shipped away to some toxic waste dump, Jennifer Roland never felt more useless.

Day in and day out, she sat behind a monitor, watching religious fanatics of varying degrees of insanity fight and fuck and feast and absolutely slaughter one another. The scheduled bursts from the Towers would resound, the crew inside the lead-insulated concrete shelters would shield their eyes, and shortly thereafter, an all-out shitfest would ensue on the screens in front of them. Recovery teams were dispatched to covertly collect any bodies they could, which were promptly tossed onto the slab in the operating theatre or iced in the morgue. Occasionally, they’d get a few on the table who just refused to fucking die, and in more than one instance, Roland would return to her quarters with a black eye or finger-shaped bruises branded into her throat.

“That’s why you get hazard pay,” she can recall Jeremy Blaire assuring her over drinks. “Relax, Jen. The building is radiation-proof. The radio waves can’t hurt you in there.”

Once rare, those desperately clinging to existence (it could hardly be called life by the time they’d arrived at the lab) were showing up in higher and higher numbers. Their presence always fucked with the medical equipment — due to the high levels of radiation they were exposed to, she was assured by Dr. Ewen Cameron — but more than that, it was affecting people: relief nurses, research assistants, those who had the least contact with them. It was Cameron himself who paged her into the telemetry lab to show her the increase in radio wave blips on the radar, seemingly organic hotspots of radiation cropping up out of nowhere. The “feedback loop,” he’d called it: such prolonged exposure to such vulnerable individuals mutated them from receivers to projectors.

These unholy fucks were walking nuclear reactors, and they were bleeding it inside the lab.

Between autopsies of lunatics and treatment of her infected staff, Roland accumulated the most exposure to these residual waves, which is perhaps why she held out the longest. While others were rushing to the bathrooms to puke their guts out or sobbing into their workstations, Roland kept the Towers from collapsing under its own weight. Just like she had at Mount Massive, at least in her own mind. Such responsibility, of course, takes its pound of flesh, resulting in a sharp uptick of headaches and irritability in the doctor.

In fact, she kept an iron grip on the facility, even as employee numbers began to drop. Some transferred; some just dropped dead. All were required to vacate the operating sector by 22:00 hours so that it could be “defunked” for the next day. Roland, of course, oversaw this expedition, which usually consisted of hanging out in a hazmat suit and surfing what little internet they were allowed access to while the facility was cleansed. The longer she sat at the computer, the more severe her migraines would become, which she chalked up to blue light exposure.

But when the urgent email alert – MOUNT MASSIVE ASYLUM STAFF EVACUATION – popped up in her notifications, the pain in her skull went from throbbing to blinding. The computer mouse flew from her hand and shattered on the floor as she dug the heels of her palms into her eye sockets, desperate to relieve the pressure behind them. Searing white heat tears at her retinas and she’s utterly convinced that her brain is hemorrhaging.

Through that glaring light appear misty shadows of men in lab coats, blurred as if through a foggy camera lens: men with clipboards and scalpels and blue latex gloves. A scrawny lad in his early twenties wriggles futilely on the table, strapped to the gurney by too-tight leather restraints around his limbs and forehead. He’s fully conscious but barely cognizant of anything but fear. She can hear the low timbre of male voices floating around her, murmuring words she cannot or perhaps will not comprehend. Her focus is on the young man before her and the muffled syllables he attempts to utter from beneath his oxygen mask. Cutting through the underwater noise is the sound of her own name, sharp and deliberate, and her gaze falls to the laryngoscope clutched tightly in her left hand.

Shifting behind the boy on the table, she adjusts her grip on the tool and removes the oxygen mask from his face. He’s drooling quite profusely. With the sleeve of her right arm, she gently mops up his mess before prying his mouth open with her fingers. At this moment, his eyes snap up to hers, pupils blown wide with terror, and though his movement is highly restricted, it’s evident he’s trying to shake his head. The raspy frantic whisper of “no, no, no” does nothing to phase her colleagues. She attempts to quiet him with a soft shushing (to absolutely no avail) and inserts the curved blade into his throat. Tears, mucus, and saliva flow together as he struggles to breathe; his eyes plead for mercy, the lightless gaze of a soul all but relinquishing itself to the higher power of Death. As she preps the endotracheal tube for insertion, Jenny tries to swallow her nerves but they catch in her throat, dry and brittle. Guilt won’t save them now.

“Oh, God, please—”

Roland’s torn out of the vision by the inescapable urge to vomit and she rolls onto her side to wretch away the venom in her memories. With no recollection of how exactly she ended up on the floor ten feet away from the monitors, she pushes herself up and wipes away the acid from her lips. Just like she had in her memory.

And she feels sick all over again, but not just for the fate of that patient: for all the rampant fuckery shoveled upon her by Murkoff. Psychological manipulation, radiation poisoning, blatant sexism. She enlisted in this army to study genetics, not to torture the cognitively vulnerable to the brink of insanity.

Fuck Jeremy Blaire. Fuck Murkoff. Fuck this Project Bluebird bullshit.

On the way out the door, she flicks a half-smoked cigarette into the server room trashcan to trigger the emergency sprinkler system. Whoops.

* * * * * * * * *

She never liked the company cars, anyway.

As the frame of the Mercedes rolls into the lake behind her (and with it all traces of her identity), Jennifer Roland makes her way through the Mount Massive Wilderness Reverse to the runoff reservoir. Armed with only an industrial flashlight-stun gun and her unlisted phone, she’s well aware that this mission will more than likely be her last. But when you’ve got nothing to lose and an insatiable hunger for vengeance, death doesn’t seem so bad.

Tucking her hair up under her cap and securing her phone in the zippered pocket of her plastic splash suit, she hoists herself up into the drainage pipe that pours into the lagoon from the sewers. The hospital isn’t even visible from this side of the mountain; according to her map, it’s about ten miles through a sea of blood, shit, and god knows what else to Mount Massive Asylum. If she’d ever wondered how Andy Dufresne felt escaping Shawshank, this is about as close as it gets.

Rats and snakes are her only company for the first several miles but in the last stretch of three, the scent of fresh death hits her like a brick wall. Mutilated corpses litter the pathways, slipping into the murky sewage and compounding the horrific stench. The closer she comes to her destination, the more pungent the odor becomes until she’s stumbling upon half-dead patients and doctors alike, as lifeless and miserable as the Temple Gate victims. The feeling of another impending migraine strikes her but she presses onward. She’s not sure what’s more unsettling: the gut-wrenching screams coming from above her head or the periodic gaps of silence between.

Drenched in blackwater, Jenny navigates her way up into the hospital block, only to be met with the gory sight of her colleagues and former patients strewed about the ward like discarded toys. She stands gravely still listening for anything — a scream, a whisper, a breath — but no sound breaks the stony silence. The only living presence in the block appears to be a few very persistent bees buzzing around her head. The doctor carefully peels away her suit and the clothes underneath, tucking them away in an air vent and replacing them with the least fluid-drench patient uniform she can find. Thank you for your sacrifice, 937.

Jenny’s exceedingly careful not to cause too much commotion with the beam of her flashlight as she stalks into the hospital security station and logs in under one of her former colleague’s ID. The security footage tapes appear to be highly corrupted, with some of the cameras shorting out completely, but through the hazy grey static, she can just make out a man’s shadow: impossibly tall, grainy, almost translucent, as though it were comprised solely of smoke. Shredding through its victims like razors through tissue paper. Clearly, this storm of fuck is just beginning.

“Ain’t a perdy sight, is it?”

Hot, humid breath hits the back of her neck before she can react and a spindly hand clamps down on her wrist.

“Not as perdy as them nails, brudder.”

“Don’t talk ‘im t’death. Get the goat and go.”

“Awful s-sorry ‘bout this, boy, but I gotsta.”

Jenny’s not keen to stick around to find out what exactly it is this dissociative man “gotsta” do. Firing up the switch on the stun gun, she jabs the pointed prongs into his throat and digs in. His grip on her tightens before it releases, the perp collapsing to the ground and clutching his bleeding neck with a frankly overdramatic gurgle.

Roland flees through a labyrinth of plastic wrap and broken gurneys, but the heavy slap of bare feet limping on the floor behind her soon catches up. And just as she looks over her shoulder to catch sight of him, her ankle snags against a tripwire, knocking her face-first into the bloodied tile. That fall triggers the release of two sheets of barbed wire that rattle towards her, coiling around her legs and torso; clearly, this trap was meant for a bigger monster than her. The barbs easily rip through the uniform fabric to sink into her thighs, calves, stomach. The more she wriggles, the deeper they sink, and the shards of shattered glass on the floor only amplify the pain.

Her only chance to protect herself is the flashlight that launched no more than a foot away during the fall. If she can just tear her arm free-

The arch of a dirty foot secures its grip on the flashlight handle.

“Just like a coward t’run. That won’t do at-tall, Dennis.”

“You shouldn’ta run, boy. Now you’ll be all bloody fer the weddin’.”

He picks up the flashlight and turns it over in his hand, checking the weight and feel of it; he decides he likes it.

He likes it even more when it cracks like a Louisville slugger against her temple.

* * * * * * * * *

Her muscles are stiff and achy when she regains consciousness, somehow sore and numb at the same time. The swelling beside her left eye blurs her vision slightly, but she knows she’s in some sort of chop shop, upright in a DIY-patient restraint system that would make even Hannibal Lecter shudder. Her instinct is to attempt another escape, to writhe her way out of these straps if she has to chew her shoulder off to do it. There’s no telling how much time she has before someone-

...Whistling.

#Eddie Gluskin: Lord Eddard of House Gluskin #Dennis: Goat Boy #Billy Hope: Anyway Here’s Walrider #Jeremy Blaire: Cokehead Elon Musk

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lucy-sky · 4 years

Text

Important Negotiation (Ezra x Reader)

This is my second fic about Ezra. I’m still not very confident about writing him, but I just had to return to this character one more time (at least) because the stories in my head want to be told no matter how silly they are :DD Ezra’s speech is still a huge challenge when English is not your native language, but I tried REALLY hard. Apologize for any possible mistakes, and once again, any feedback is greatly appreciated!

Summary: What happens if two touch-starved idiots harvesters accidentally meet in the shower after a hard working day, and one of them is Ezra?.. Apparently you're in a pretty awkward situation, which requires a serious negotiation...

Warnings: Uh... I can identify this fic’s genre as “soft porn without plot” I guess :’D Although it only contains heavy petting not the actual sex, I think it turned out quite sensual?..

Words: 3 176; gif by me (plz credit if using)

Tags: @biobiopsy, @rzrcrst (I’m not nearly as good as you, but I’d be happy if you took a look... as an expert, you know :D)

The corridor is dimly lit and quiet as you walk to the bathroom. It’s your usual habit to go there after the rest of the crew is already in their quarters preparing to sleep. Since it’s basically the only place you could get some privacy, you don’t want to be in a rush because there’s someone else waiting to use the shower. You prefer taking your time after a hard working day.

The contract you’re currently engaged on is quite profitable, the crew is nice too; all of them are experienced harvesters you could learn a lot from, so you consider yourself lucky. Yes, the work is exhausting, but you believe it’s worth it. The only thing that gets on your nerves sometimes is that your employer is really strict, obsessed with the rules. Each day is precisely scheduled: what time you get up, eat and work, the curfew hour... Relationships with the crew are also strictly regulated. No inappropriate actions or contacts allowed; it’s called work ethics - your employer points. You all are here to do the job, not to make friends or have affairs. Maybe it’s for the best, but sometimes you feel like you’re suffocating. So this time of the day, when you quietly sneak out of the room you share with another female member of the crew, and head to the shower is like a breath of fresh air. This time only belongs to you.

You sigh deeply as you strip of your tank top and sweatpants and get under the warm streams of water. Today was really exhausting, but thankfully there’s only one week left until the end of this contract. One week and your crew will leave the Green with solid sums of money in your pockets and you will finally be able to have proper rest. And for now you need something to ease your body and mind.

Sliding your hand down your lower belly, you close your eyes and the image of a man appears in your head. Sometimes you think you should be embarrassed because recently you often catch yourself on fantasizing about one particular man… Who is your fellow crew member.

You cannot tell exactly when it started. Was it after the first time you were assigned to work in pair, or a bit later? Perhaps after the first time he called you “little one” - a moniker he gave you as the youngest member of the crew. You’re also not sure why you find this man so attractive. Maybe it’s his deep brown eyes, or his lips that look so soft… Or his ridiculously messy dark hair with a small blond streak in it… Or is it his fancy manner of speech and the sound of his voice? Anyway, you were attracted to him and you couldn’t deny it.

Sometimes you have a feeling that the attraction is mutual. There’s something in the way he talks to you, something in his smile and occasional touches… But even if it’s so, you’re not here for romance. Rules are rules. So all you could do is touching yourself in the shower, imagining how his touch and his kiss would feel on your bare skin - the only luxury you could afford.

Throwing your head back a little, you sigh with delight, and let his name silently fall from your lips:

- Ezra.

You’re so lost in your fantasy that at first you don’t even register someone else’s presence in the room. Suddenly the sound of a man clearing his throat practically makes you jump. Quickly you step out of the water stream and grab a towel from the hanger nearby to cover your nakedness. The next second you realize who’s standing in front of you.

It’s him. Ezra. In flesh-and-blood.

You blink stupidly, struggling to identify if it’s really happening or you’re experiencing some weird sort of hallucination caused by exhaustion or whatever it is in the atmosphere of this goddamn planet.

- Calm down, little one, - the man says in a quiet, soothing tone. - I apologize... Kevva knows I had absolutely no intention to startle you like that.

- Wh… What are you doing here?.. - You manage to mumble.

- Same as you, I believe, - he shrugs. - I intended to take a shower, and since the door wasn’t locked, meeting you here was the last thing I expected to happen.

Only now you notice that he’s standing in front of you wearing nothing except a big towel wrapped around his hips and a pair of rubber slippers.

- Did I… Did I forget to lock the door?.. - You blurt out, asking rather yourself than him.

- Apparently so. Or… Allow me make an assumption… It could be something that you wanted to happen subconsciously, without realizing it to the full extent.

- What do you mean? - You frown at his words. - And why are you still standing here? An adequate person would already have apologized and left.

- I might not be adequate enough but I’m not ignorant either, - Ezra says, mischievous sparkles playing in his eyes. - Pardon my boldness, but I suppose I know exactly what kind of an action was interrupted by my unannounced appearance.

Instantly you feel the blush creeping up on your cheeks. Of course he saw you pleasuring yourself. You don’t even know how long has he been around. You want to sink under the ground. Why wouldn’t he just leave? Does he find joy in torturing you like that? You want to hit him in the face, and normally you would do exactly this, but for some reason now you’re just frozen in place.

- But I assure you, - Ezra continues in the same soothing tone. - It’s a completely natural thing. We’re human; we need each other. Physically too, among other things. You think I don’t know why you’re doing it in the shower? I’m familiar to this, girl. For sure we can satisfy ourselves without any difficulties, but warm water just makes it easier to pretend you’re in someone’s arms. I myself experience this firsthand. Let’s face it, little one. It’s been a while and we both are starving for a simple skin-to-skin contact. So… If you will indulge me, I’d be more than happy to propose my assistance. And being a gentleman, I’m not inquiring any sorts of favors from your part, believe me. It’s just a suggestion from one solitary person seeking for some warmth to another.

- Okay, I’m confused right now... What kind of assistance are you talking about? - You ask, narrowing your eyes. Actually you can’t believe your ears - did he just suggested to help you getting off? Seriously?

- I think I made myself clear enough, didn’t I? - Ezra cocks his head examining your baffled expression.

- Yeah, okay... But what makes you think that I can say yes to this?

The corners of his mouth twitch into a smug smirk.

- Forgive me, little bird... Of course I cannot asseverate that, perhaps my eyes and ears are just playing tricks on me, but... I might have noticed you uttering something very similar to my name.

- What...

Now your face is not just blushing. It’s burning. You didn’t think it’s possible to make you even more embarrassed than you already are, but he just did it. You’re lost for words. It clearly makes no sense to deny the obvious now that you were caught in the act...

- There's nothing to be ashamed of, little one, - Ezra says quietly with a sudden tenderness in his voice. - For what it's worth, it's only chemistry... After all, let's just endorse the reality that I would already have left, or you would have slapped me in the face if only we weren't attracted to each other since day one. You're not the first day in the business and I'm convinced you're pretty much capable to push back against me or any other intruder. And yet, I'm still here.

You think about his words for a couple of seconds. He's right, you have to admit. You sensed some sort of vibes between the two of you since the beginning. So if you both have sympathy for each other - what are you losing? In fact, only a few minutes ago, weren’t you busy imagining how his lips would feel against your skin?..

- And dare I say, - he adds as if he read your mind. - If it wasn’t for the sake of annoying work ethics we’re bound to follow, I’d probably be more precise in my intentions since the very start.

He makes an expectant pause here, cunning brown eyes scanning your face, waiting for a response.

- So, birdie... what do you think?

- I think you talk too much.

You didn’t intend to sound this bold, but Ezra chuckles contently.

- The answer is positive, I assume?

- Correct, - you reply, unintentionally copying his strange manner of speech, something you noticed not the first time you did while talking to him.

This conversation is so weird... As if it’s some kind of... Negotiation? You’re still feeling awkward, but Ezra’s smile is warm and reassuring as he makes a step closer.

- Than let’s reject the useless pudency, shall we?

His hand reaches yours; fingertips brushing against your knuckles, making you release the grip on the towel you’re covering yourself with. Your heart is beating way too fast. You have no idea why you’re so flustered, as if it’s your first time… You imagined this so many times it’s hard to believe now it’s happening for real. Inhaling sharply you close your eyes and let the towel slip down to your feet. When you open your eyes again, you find him silently admiring you with lustful eyes.

- Aren’t you the finest creature, little one, - he proclaims.

- Your turn, - you try to sound confident, but your voice betrays you, trembling a little. Ezra smirks at this.

- Your word is my command.

His towel falls on the floor as well and you can hardly take your eyes off him - he’s so beautiful to you, all of him. Tanned olive skin, scars on his upper body, a trail of dark hair beneath his belly button... You’re not sure what to do next, but he’s suddenly gentle as he takes your hand and leads you closer to warm water still pouring from the showerhead. He positions himself behind you and you shiver when his lips are finally against your skin. He places soft kisses along your shoulderblade, then gently brushes your hair aside to kiss the nape of your neck. You bite back a moan when he reaches the spot right behind your earlobe. He’s so impossibly close you can feel his hot breath as he whispers:

- So what do you want me to do, little one?

- Touch me.

- With the utmost pleasure.

His hand immediately skims up the curve of your thigh, and your skin breaks out with goosebumps at the contact when he cups your breast. You gasp and he hums in approval, caressing your soft flesh before giving your hardened nipple a light pinch. You’re about to scream when his free hand palms your mound. You’re craving for more, but Ezra is unhurried, dragging his fingers along your slit to spread the wetness between your folds slowly, as if you have all the time in the world… And then your body jerks when he strokes the very tip of your throbbing clit with his finger. He teases you like that a bit more before finally adding so much needed pressure. Your knees go weak at the intensity of the sensation. You can’t even explain why it feels this good. He doesn’t really do anything you couldn’t do yourself, but his fingers just feel differently, both rough and deliciously tender if such a combination is even possible, and the way he’s holding you tightly against his frame and nuzzles into your shoulder just makes the whole act even more intimate.

- F-faster, - you plead in a shaky voice, feeling the tight knot in the pit of your belly is about to burst.

A whimper, a bit louder than you wish it to be escapes your parted lips when you feel his warm tongue on the side of your neck. Immediately, Ezra's hand covers your mouth and you’re internally crying in frustration as he slows down his movements.

- Shhh, be quiet, little one, - he hushes and his hoarse whisper against your ear gives you chills. - As much as I appreciate your grateful response, that'll be a shame to get fired only a week before the contract ends, right?

You nod in agreement, humming into his palm as he keeps going, increasing pace and pressure again until your body finally surrenders. Digging your nails into his hip in search for some support to keep balance you shudder, coming hard on his fingers. You’re trembling in his embrace, overwhelmed by this blissful sensation: warm, pulsating and so incredibly sweet, sweeter than all honey in the world. The pleasure runs through you in swift waves, and when the last tremors of your climax subside, you feel like melting into a puddle against his firm chest.

- You alright, little one? - Ezra asks. His arms are still around you, fingers drawing circles on your belly absentmindedly. It tickles a bit, but you don’t mind.

- Mhm… - You make lazily. - Uh...thank you…

- The pleasure is mine, - he smirks, placing a kiss on the top of your head.

His warm body feels like home. All you wish for right now is to stay like this forever, never losing the physical contact.

There’s something else you wish for though.

He’s undoubtedly hard against your backside, and you can’t fight the sudden urge to touch him. The man lets out a ragged breath as you reach behind you and let your fingers trail down his lower belly. Now it’s his turn to shiver in response to your gentle caress.

- Little one, - he sounds a bit raspier than usual. - I meant it when I said I’m not requiring favors...

- What if it’s not really a favor, - your palm wraps around his length, giving him a light squeeze and earning a quiet grunt from him. His cock is warm and thick, and feels amazing in your hand. - What if I just want to touch you too?..

- Therefore, I dare not protest, - you sense a hint of relief in his voice and smirk under your breath. He definitely needs it even more than you, and frankly speaking, you think he deserves it.

Ezra’s hips jerk a bit as your thumb makes contact with the tip of his cock, brushing against it softly. Encouraged by his reaction, you give him a couple of firmer strokes causing him thrust into your hand.

- Kevva, that feels good, - he mumbles, and suddenly you desperately want to see his face. You need it. So you turn around.

He opens his dark brown eyes to meet your gaze. The look is so intense it gives you shivers, and without any second thoughts and useless doubts, you press your lips to his.

He responds immediately, kissing you back feverishly, like a starving man, humming against your mouth, and you have to suppress a moan again at the delightful sensation when your tongues touch. Ezra’s hand grabs the back of your neck, pulling you even closer. His plump lips are almost as soft and nice as you imagined, only better, because they are real. You keep working on him, stroking him up and down in a steady pace, and you break the kiss only to taste the skin on the crook of his neck, hot and salty under your tongue. Your fingers run along his pecs and collarbones and you wish you didn’t have to keep quiet because you really enjoy his grunts and ragged gasps. There's something very satisfying in realization that you make him feel this way.

You increase the pace as the thrusts of his hips become more erratic and he tightens the grip on your hair. You kiss him again and he hisses into your mouth and bites on your lower lip almost painfully, but it’s a good kind of pain. You feel him throbbing and swelling, and a couple more movements of your hand finally bring him over the edge, his warm load spilling on the floor and your lower belly.

- Damn, birdie, - Ezra breathes out, relaxing against the tiles and pulling you closer to his chest. - I fully realize that current circumstances are far from being perfectly romantic, but still I must confess here and now - I’m pretty much into you, y/n.

You’re surprised to hear your name from him. You’re not sure, but it’s probably the first time you hear him saying it. For some reason it feels important. Despite the circumstances, it gives his confession even more value.

- I’m pretty much into you as well, Ezra, - you smile. - Even though you’re by far the biggest weirdo I’ve ever met.

- Why is that, if I may be so bold as to ask?

- Well, you know... That massive speech you delivered to convince me... Wasn’t it easier to just come over and like... kiss me maybe? - You shrug.

- That might be. But I wasn’t certain I’d not end up with a black eye or a bloody nose in this case... Simply due to your dexterous self-preservation instincts, - he chuckles and you scoff into his chest.

- Yeah, this is actually very likely of me. Who can blame me though?

- Wasn’t even trying. It’s the world we live in, little one. You have to be tough and cautious; otherwise your chance to survive is quite slim... And you see, I, on my part, am being cautious too...

- You’re really good at negotiating, I must say...

You both laugh quietly, as Ezra wraps his arms around your frame and lets his fingers run through your damp hair. You stay like that for a little while, simply enjoying the intimacy of the moment and the warmth of each other’s bodies.

- I have to make a point, - Ezra goes after the pause. - That normally I possess much higher levels of stamina. It’s just the months of touch starvation took their toll... We’re only human as it was stated in previous conversations...

- Right... - You smirk, tilting your head to look him in the eye. - I might give you a chance to prove it than... Once we’re done with this goddamn contract, of course.

- Sounds like a tempting offer, birdie, - Ezra grins before leaning in to steal another kiss. - I’m ready to negotiate.

- This is gonna be a long week… - You murmur softly, kissing him back.

***

Thank you for reading!

#pedro pascal #prospect 2018 #prospect #ezra x reader #ezra (prospect)#fanfiction #lucy tries to write

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save-the-spiral · 4 years

Note

Hey, I know you have a lot of asks, and I really hate to back it up so feel free to ignore this, but would it be possible to have some fluff featuring Fledge? Any scenario is fine!

This. Got out of hand. And I do not apologize. Welcome to an in depth dive into a side headcanon I have as well as my development of Grizzleheim in Fledge’s timeline(s).

(Fledge’s tag) Content warnings for civil war, violence, blood, weapons, animal violence, child neglect, child abandonment, child endangerment, faking child death, arguments, cultures being disregarded and/or mocked.

Fledge had a good start to their childhood, actually.

They were one of those rare, irresponsible cases from those who inhabit the Spiral. They send their baby, all bundled up in a basket, through the Spiral Door. Many do this in the secrecy of night, they fake the death of this small being and send them off, trusting in the love of another world.

And the Door does send the child wherever they will grow up happy, healthy, and alive. This happened with Irisi as well, just sending a baby away and hoping for the best, and she appeared, so small and precious in a maroon blanket and woven basket, in the warm pyramid of Krokotopia where the Spiral Door rested, where the Door knew someone in that world would take her in and love her.

But Fledge was sent in a ragged baby blanket, pale patches of soft sheep worn from their pastels into white though still stained, frayed stitches and moth eaten holes throughout. It was a small threadbare quilt, barely covering Fledge’s swaddled body, and the rush of a fresh breeze startled Fledge from their sleep, causing them to cry out in distress.

Grizzleheim was not a peaceful world at this time.

The Bears were a prosperous people, their trading culture expanding across the Spiral, their invented Common language becoming a staple of all questing wizards, all of their fellow merchants as well. Their monarchy was strong, centralizing their trading into coffers for the entire society to thrive. Their strongest warrior, Valgar Goldenblade, had recently ascended to the throne, his teeth sharp and gilded blade sharper.

The Wolves were an instinctive people, focusing on what it means to be one with nature, their healers fundamental to their community. They favored the environment around them most, finding solace and meaning in the trees, the waterfalls, the rivers, the genuine and unapologetic nature of nature itself. Their land was encroached on, their trees felled with no regard for their funeral practice of planting a new sapling. The Bears cut down the strong, aged trees of ancient Wolf ancestors for timber, for their new cabins and ships, and that was cause for the Wolves to fight back. They sharpened their claws and gritted their teeth, and their healers prepared to work long days.

The Ravens were an intellectual people, focusing on philosophy and the meanings of what people think and do. They created vast libraries of knowledge, compiling it and trying to find the significance of the everyday aspects of the Spiral. Trying to find deep magic, how it interacted with wizards, exploring what history was recorded, interpreting a history that is not theirs. The Ravens were called pedantic by the Bears and Wolves, in far less kind words. What the Bears and Wolves also suspected was how the Ravens would hide and plot in secret, stealing what little recorded histories and academic texts the other two cultures had. The Ravens knew they would be found out one day, and so they kept their talons sharp and quills sharper, prepared to fight and then record their victory, as all histories are written.

And so, claws screeched against the metal and wood of finely crafted shields. Talons scraped and knocked against horned helmets. Blades cut into flesh, whether it be furred or feathered, the tool itself tasting blood, uncaring of its use.

All anyone outside of Grizzleheim knew was that trades were stopped, and merchants had gone to their home world, and nothing more.

Why, then, did the Spiral Door send an infant into this world?

Why, then, is anyone brought into such a cruel world, one might as well ask. The Spiral Door was not truly given a sentience, only as much as any tool of destiny or fate has.

But what right does any tool have to make a decision without a master to guide it? When does the hammer gain some sliver of sentience and smash the priceless crystal of its own accord?

Largely, people believe the Door itself cannot think, cannot reason, and does not decide where lost infants go. That is the only reasoning the young wolf had when she found this swaddled lost child, cold, afraid, and alone. A battle ended a day ago, and she had planned to sneak away, back into Wolf territory.

Her name was Eir, and she was first and foremost a warrior, no time or need for any kind of romance, though her friendships ran deep, and she had never thought of bearing pups of her own, too intent on being another pillar of support to her community. But Eir was a Wolf of duty, of protecting the weak with her own compassionate strength.

So this large armored woman, pale grey fur matted with blood and dirt, set aside her spear coated in the flaking dried blood of those who destroyed the land the Wolves saw as sacred, and she carefully lifted the young human with her large paws, her sharpened claws causing more tears in the fabric. It was reminiscent of how her claws so easily raked through thin, feathered flesh...

Eir’s eyes widened, her breath catching in a rough puff of air, the flash and recollection of how the civil war was progressing sinking into their mind. This, Northguard, was no place for a child.

But then, where was there a place for a child? The pups of the Wolves’ entire society were all hidden deep in the caves of Mirkholm Keep, but any fortress could fall, and that was so very far away from the Spiral Door.

She quickly, automatically, set the child aside for merely a moment as she discarded her armor, laying it aside to rest with her weapon. She wore only a woven tunic colored a deep blue, coppery brown designs to match her eyes in runes of strength and protection weaved throughout it, alongside her leather skirts to protect her. Eir gathered the infant in her arms, only to swaddle it clumsily in her warrior’s tunic, leaving her furred back bare, cold wind already rustling her fur and seeping into her flesh.

Eir knew she would do anything, anything for this child. So she wrapped them in her tunic and held them close, attempting to soothe their whimpers with soft croons of song as she began to walk the rainbow bridge, the bifrost sparkling and tinkling musically. The soft chimes of the bridge seemed to soothe the child, for which Eir was grateful, but then she was in Northguard proper.

There was only one choice. She would not gamble with the child’s life, would not expose it further to the elements to avoid conflict. Eir always preferred to face problems head on, anyway, and keep hope in her heart.

It was with that hope that kept her head held high as she surrendered to a pair of bear guards that held their blades to her throat.

The only defiance Eir showed while imprisoned by the enemy was in the care of the child she held in her arms. She insisted on keeping them at her side always, on never letting them out of her sight. Soon the child grew hungry, thirsty, and dirty, and thus the guards were forced to bow to her demands lest they sit and hear endless wails of an infant and know it was their fault.

They knew of Eir. Of her prowess in battle. They knew that even without a spear or armor, to truly fight her would result in many deaths, and the bears would not stand for that needless bloodshed when they could simply assist in the care of a child.

Then a council was held, because word escaped and spread through Grizzleheim that a child was being held alongside a war prisoner.

The oaths of peace and pacifism, just for this meeting, were held on magic and blades, the knowledge that breaking those vows would result in painful death sending shivers down every oath taker’s spine. And then they all sat, outside, in the emptied marketplace of Northguard.

Three groups sat there, tension rising.

The Bears, at a well crafted table, the redwood’s varnish shining in the weak winter sunlight, the carvings’ depiction of violence causing others to scoff. The king himself, Valgar Goldenblade, sat between his advisors and weaponless guards, his chair just slightly more intricate, facing his own stronghold where the famed warrior would come.

The Wolves, on woven mats and rough rugs, furs as well, all sat on the well trodden ground. All of them were slight, with keen eyes, smelling of herbs and spices, obviously healers. They were wise almost to the point of cynical, the war sharpening them into fine, dangerous points. They awaited Eir’s arrival with bated breath, the warrior a friend, a pillar to their community.

The Ravens brought their own table and chairs, spindly things, old and used with no thought for upkeep. Some of the Bears sneered at the poor craftsmanship, the crude make of their furniture, treating it as another tool as opposed to a facet of a home. The Ravens sat, curious about the child, wondering how it appeared in Grizzleheim at all.

Eir was brought forth from the stronghold of the Bears, and the Wolves murmured in discontent, lips pulling to reveal teeth without them thinking of the threat.

She was hunched over a bundle in her arms, her large form conveying a weariness everyone could see. Her fur had patches matted and encrusted with blood and dirt. Her coppery brown eyes were anxious as she quickly gazed at those gathered in front of her, though she obviously found solace in the sight of the elder healers from the Wolves.

“The child?” The leader of the Ravens croaked as Eir approached, standing in the middle of the semicircle of gathered people. “Is it truly a human?”

Eir clutched harder at the swaddled form in her arms. “Yes, and they are healthy and safe in my care.” She stared hard at the leader, fur bristling.

“The warrior is truthful. She has only requested or spoken on the behalf of the child, and has been almost fervent in her care” Valgar spoke, face passive.

“Yet still, a human child does not belong with the Wolves.” A raven spoke.

“And yet it belongs with you birds?” A wolf healer spoke, his nose scrunching with distaste. “For what purpose, to examine them, to experiment on someone with so much potential yet no bias of race?”

“How dare-“ The same raven spoke again, standing up abruptly.

“Calm yourselves!” Eir snapped, her voice a stage whisper, as she rocked the baby back and forth, intent on soothing the child who had awoken.

“Forgive me, Eir.” The wolf healer said with a bow of his head.

“Forgiven, Helge.” Eir answered absentmindedly.

Words were paused as the child still fussed in her arms, and everyone witnessed one of the living legends of the Wolves coo and rumble to comfort a human infant, mumbling in a sing-song with kind, gentle eyes.

“We... must decide the child’s fate.” Valgar spoke again. “The child was left at the Spiral Door... correct?”

“Yes.” Eir did not look away from the baby’s swaddled form. “The poor pup was left in rags, I could not leave them to freeze, so I gave them the clothes off my own back for their safety.” She did not appear to notice how jaws clenched, how they all knew what it supposedly meant for a child to be sent through the Door.

“But still...” Valgar’s voice became firmer, more insistent. “We cannot allow for the human child to be raised as a Wolf. It would be far better to have the honor of a Bear.”

“A Bear’s honor?” The Raven’s leader exclaimed. “What use is honor? Why not the safety of becoming a Raven? We could teach them magic, we could-”

The eldest wolf, fur greyed and eyes milky with blindness, scoffed loudly. “Besides. Saying a Bear has honor is an oxymoron. Since when has a Bear possessed the amount of honor I have in a single claw?” The wolf raised their paws, showing some missing digits, but still wiggling them mockingly.

“We have honor! Just due to your Wolves’ jealousy we have-“ A bear advisor snarled.

“Jealousy! Jealousy?!” The elder spoke again, spitting at the ground. “Jealous of what? Gold? Bowing to the whims of others who demand your goods? Or maybe, maybe jealous of the sacred trees you callously felled and carved into what, a bookshelf? Another pretty table? Bah, jealousy.” They spat again. “The nerve.”

“What?” Valgar stood, pressing a hand on the angered advisor’s shoulder. “Sacred trees? I was not told of any sacred trees.”

“The Wolves plant trees to mourn their dead, and to imbue life in the world where death has touched. It is common knowledge.” A raven piped up, then bashfully turned away once attention was on them.

“Yes. Everyone knows of the significance, yet you Bears chopped down our most ancient of trees.” Eir spoke again, voice soft in its reprimand.

Valgar looked around, mouth open slightly. “We... did not know...” He sat back down hard, a paw to his face. “I cannot believe...”

“You truly did not know?” Eir asked.

“No.” The helpless, almost vulnerable tone caught everyone off guard. “No, we would never! As far as I knew, that land was in our territory!” The king gestured widely in the direction of the Wolves’ land. “And yet, my ignorance deceived me, and I have ruined... oh, to imagine if the tables were turned, and our stones were desecrated...”

The Wolves were almost statues, the eldest of them shaking.

“Aside from that, we had no quarrel with the Bears.” Eir’s soft, forgiving tone was simply another blow to Valgar. “Everything since has been a result of that, retaliation for and unknown slight...”

“Did you Ravens do this?!” A young bear guard growled. “Manipulated us into war?”

“No- we were caught in the middle of that as well... simply nearby, collecting artifacts.”

“Artifacts?” Another Bear sneered. “You mean stealing from us? Our masterpieces and treasured items?”

The Raven’s eyes widened. “They were untouched for decades! Artifacts!” She insisted.

“They were kept safe! To be used is an honor, but some are so old to use them would be to ruin them, and thus they are kept secure and isolated! And you stole them!” Valgar’s voice was stern, as if he had come back to himself.

“None of this matters!” Eir’s voice flared into a yell, unrestrained. “The war is nothing, apparently, built on lies, yet still that does not matter!” She gestured forward, displaying the now awake and staring young human. “They matter! This child! And all the others that we dared endanger in our foolishness! To argue of artifacts and territory is to ignore the youth who cry for warrior parents gone for months, for homes that are ruined, and empty bellies neglected. You all must come to a compromise. Now.”

With that, she walked purposefully to the Wolves’ area, where the healer Helge had set up a soft nest of furs and woven fabric for Eir and the child. With a nod of thanks, Eir sat with legs crossed, settling the child with a large paw gently supporting their head.

“... She is right. A compromise, and peace, must be made. Today.” Valgar’s determined tone washed over the rest, conveying the need and trust that they could reach peace in so few words.

“We shall.” The lead raven nodded sagely, leaning forward, now eager.

The peace was almost laughably simple, once met.

Eir sat, letting words pass over her tired mind in a low rumble, her eyes only for the child in her arms.

They were so small. So soft, fragile. They had bright brown eyes, dark brown skin. They had two little hands, terrifyingly small in her large paws. They had a little nose, its bridge wide, and it was so much more charming than any human trader she had seen, she wanted to prod at it with dulled claws and cause them to laugh like she did at times for the pups at home.

This child deserved a world to grow up in, a peaceful, kind world.

And they got it.

Fledge had three names, really. As part of the peace treaty, they moved from pack to stronghold to roost, rotating around and learning the ins and outs of every culture, of what it meant to be a Wolf or Bear or Raven. Their three names were simple, just called Pup (sometimes Puppy, by a teasing Eir), Cub, and Fledgling.

They changed who they were with ease, happy and content with the shifting, asking to be a girl or boy or neither when it suited them, and their families complied. Almost every citizen of Grizzleheim had housed them at one point in their life, had seen how small and charming and wonderful this strange child was.

They were allowed to speak as much or as little as they wanted. They could spend weeks only communicating in the broad, blunt gestures of the Grizzleheim sign language, or more nuanced of Common sign language. Then other times they would grow excitable, teeth bared as they rambled on to their friends and fellow wolf pups as they played in the creek, talking of their studies with the Ravens and the honor code of the Bears.

They learned the ancient runes, their own strange passion that few understood, but they allowed it, they encouraged it, because to see their Pup or Cub or Fledgling smile like they were given the world was enchanting.

They were a natural fire wizard, as well.

The destructive magic would usually be a worry, but they were taught control of their strength with the Bears, and an appreciation for wild untameable things from the Wolves, and an understanding of magic itself from the Ravens.

And so their fire magic was life, was what kept people warm in the harsh winters. It was the necessary burns to control the forest and keep it from destroying itself later, it was the cauterization of a bad wound to keep someone alive. Their fire grew so quickly, still in control. It was a spark that quickly flared and crawled each kindling of knowledge and passion into a bonfire, something to be loved and celebrated.

Just as Fledge had been loved and celebrated.

Whether she was their Cub, or he was their Fledgling, or they were their Pup, they were loved so very much, and always cared for, and always warm.

So the Spiral Door made the right choice, if it can do such a thing.

#ask #emmpresivelydone #wizard101 #fledge #writing #headcanon #wizzy101 #wiz101 #w101 #ocs #irisi #grizzleheim #hi hello tell me what u think or PERISH i must know this got so out of hand but its amazing

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