#and before you mention my previous typing quirk that was 2 years ago. Shut up.

[mourningmogaicrew]

“The mogai community has become really inaccessible lately because eveyone wants their posts to be formatted with dividers and symbols etc to be ~aesthetic~ and not enough people use IDs”

Damn. Couldn’t be me.

[jamestrmtx]

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Four | Nyeh Heh Heh! (Part 2 of 2)

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There's a time and place for everything, but not now.

You remind yourself of that and quite bluntly suck it up. 

All weaknesses are forced back down and corked shut, establishing a path for you to finish what you started. You went all the way out of the city just to meet up with Papyrus, and you were here to bring some sort of closure as to how you could approach him after concluding with your first meeting. Still, that's no excuse for you to be rude or break any of your hospitality rules, so you smile at the skeleton and thank him for the letter, it's contents you assume’s money judging by how thick and heavy the envelope is.

"This means a lot, but… Are you sure it's okay for me to accept this?"

"Of course it is! Alphys would be glad to fix your phone and even upgrade it for you!"

Now that makes more sense.

But that still doesn't explain why it's that thick and heavy. Whatever contents there are inside it remain a mystery as you wonder how that's possible and why it's even necessary to carry in an envelope what you assume is simply Alphys's contact information. Nonetheless, you store it away with the rest of your belongings and continue on walking until you make it out of the mall.

"I apologize for not, well… doing what we were meant to do today, but thank you for understanding," you say, keeping up with his pace.

"Of course. Communication is key, (miss/mister)!" He smiles back at you and slows down to a full halt when you both make it to the bus stop. "We can discuss all these matters later on, but wouldn't it be better for you to get a check up with your doctor first?" He almost seems to realize something’s off with his question and adds, "Not that your appearance is unpleasant, but that you simply do not look as healthy as the pictures Frisk showed me of you! You look... rather fatigued, if I’m to be honest."

"I'll…" You trail off when you notice you're beginning to compare both Papyrus and his brother's actions with Jerry's.

Jerry didn't notice how different you looked back at your meeting with Sans; rather, he only noticed you were with someone new, and nothing else.

He didn't demonstrate the same level of insight as Sans did.

And he didn't show as much concern as Papyrus did, either.

Jerry didn't-

"I'll keep that in mind." You shove all that aside and step inside the bus, Papyrus following after you. It's jam packed, so you're led to hold onto the nearest hand railing before it takes off.

While you wait for an opening to continue talking with him, more thoughts return to your mind, these about last week and how Jerry wouldn’t stop texting you information about the monsters no matter how much you ignored it all. The only messages you’d opened were the ones about who Sans was, and -- considering in what state that left both you and your phone screen in -- you’ve now established it upon yourself to not look at any other message Jerry's sent. If he wanted to warn you and Frisk about anything else, then he had to gather the wits to apologize for ditching his child for so long and actually reveal some sort of positive change in him.

Hell. When was the last time you saw him -- last December, maybe?

You let all those frustrations out through a huff and loosen your grip on the railing when you notice you've become too carried away with your thoughts. There's no reason for you to be thinking about him anymore. You were over Jerry’s bull crap a long, long time ago, and having him text you again after almost a whole year of complete and utter silence from his part couldn't possibly be enough for you to begin thinking about him again.

"I forgot to mention there's another thing from Sans inside that envelope," Papyrus says, serving as a necessary distraction from your overthinking mind. "He thinks it's useful for what you will be dealing with soon, now that you've made it your goal to learn more about Frisk's monster friends." The doors hiss as the first stop arrives. People begin to stand up and exit, leaving a few seats empty for both you and your companion, as well as those who were also left to stand and hold on. “How was your meeting with him, by the way?” 

“It was fine,” you reply, assessing his question and the change of tone that goes along with it. His once amiable tone changes for curiosity, almost as if he’d no prior knowledge of how your meeting with his brother went despite having proven the contrary back at the food court. It's sudden but subtle, though as much as you try to understand what it's caused by, you come out short of possibilities. “And he was nice. I wanted to pay for at least my part of the lunch we had, but he covered for it… And now you did the same today, too.” You chuckle at that thought and look up at the monster with a smile. “You’re both just as hospitable, I’d say.”

He sighs, a sound marked by relief. His face shows that same emotion based on how his gaze loosens up and how contentment returns to his expression, once clouded by that earlier one caught with his change in tone, still unknown to you. “It is not my intent to persuade you into anything, but… I was hoping you would both get along better. At first, it was for how worried I was that he would not adjust well to the Surface, but it looks like you could both benefit off getting along with each other!”

It becomes clearer now as to what his intentions are.

He was worried as any caring sibling would be for the other sibling’s well-being. It made sense despite how outgoing both skeletons appeared to be. The elder one looked to be the type to keep to himself more based on the sole, first impression you had of him. He knew when and where to joke around, he knew how to strike up a conversation, and he was thoughtful to a noticeable extent, but all that still didn’t cover up how he approached certain topics with you, even if he was still barely acquainted to you. Even if he was honest and even if he’d been earnest enough to confess his faults to you right on your first meeting, there remained something about him that told he was still keeping certain feelings to himself, such as that of a different weakness found beyond his mistakes. Papyrus showed that quality plenty both in subtle and blatant ways, such as when he admitted when he felt that he’d failed his friendship with Frisk and how he cried when talking with you earlier ago. Sans, on the other hand, didn’t quite reveal having any emotional bond in him when talking about how he’d failed his promise and Frisk in the process. Not that it meant that he didn’t feel any repentance over his actions, but that he simply seemed to take his job as a judge for the Underground into his real-life relationships -- using that mindset even outside the Judgment Hall. 

But, of course, you hardly knew him, so that could just be you overthinking the weight and significance of the situation and misinterpreting what could be a hint of introversion in the monster when compared with his younger brother.

Over-analysis aside, you consider yet another perspective regarding what Papyrus meant when he said he hoped for you and Sans to get along.

Was it really possible he meant that as simply friendship?

Or was he throwing subtle remarks about a possible set up?

“Do you…” A mild sense of guilt overcomes you at the mere consideration of that possibility, though it doesn’t stop your stressed mind from doing what it wants. “As friends, you mean?”

Notwithstanding his seemingly innocent character, Papyrus’s gaze widens and he looks away for a split second, cheekbones burning red. “Yes,” he replies, followed by, “I apologize if that made you think a different way. I just want him to have new friends and open up some more! Though now that you mention it, he..." He trails off and frowns. "He is a bit different from most of our friends. He is almost the same age as Undyne and Alphys, and yet he still hasn’t dated anyone to this day! That, and he always rejects the advances he gets from a few people he knows from Grillby’s bar.”

“Maybe he’s aromantic or something similar?” you suggest, quirking a brow and smiling at the sight of Papyrus's flustered state. “That’s normal, if so. It could just mean he’s not interested in a romantic relationship and stuff like that.”

“But I’m still worried about him -- He’s just like this for making new friends, too! And he’s been acting strange since the Barrier broke.”

Your smile grows the further Papyrus talks, and it’s almost a challenge for you not to burst out a laugh; not in a mocking sort of sense, but for the sheer worry he expresses both through his words and body language. It’s almost as if your personalities have switched, making it now his turn to show his own set of stresses, but in a far more composed way compared to your previously anxious state. He sighs and places a hand over his forehead, expressing his troubled thoughts yet again through the rub of his temples. “If anything, I hope it’s that… And that he’s not keeping stuff to himself!” He looks at you with a small smile and adds, “Could you…” He hesitates, though he recovers with a breath in and a harrumph. “Could you ask him about that one day? I do not know much about these topics myself, but… In the meantime, I was hoping if…”

He trails off for a second time.

At that chance, you intervene, saying, “Sure.” You let out a laugh, a simple sound that seems to be sufficient for the skeleton to relax again. “You both paid for lunch, and you’re here with me after I said I needed to talk with you about the whole situation at the Underground, so…” You take a pause as your smile grows. “It’s only fair I try to pay some of that forward, don’t you think? I’m sure I can find a way to ask him without being blunt about it.”

Tears return to Papyrus’s eye sockets as sudden as thunder on a clear, sunny day. At that sight, you offer him a hug, one he accepts just as quickly. His arms squeeze you tight, similar to that of a child hugging their favourite stuffed animal after a fright, and he nearly sobs into your shoulder afterwards, the emergence of that action incrementing his grip on you. “You are too kind, (miss/mister)!” he exclaims, capturing the attention of the few passengers still remaining in the train. “I will make sure the rest of us you have left to meet are just as cooperative with you!”

You release a quiet gasp, in needful search for air when he lets you go, and chuckle when you see his gaze is as hopeful as someone with a lottery ticket. Were you both not sitting and still waiting for your stop, you would imagine he would’ve hugged you for longer or further showed his gratitude through a bow. “It’s alright,” you say, shaking your head. “Maybe I’m a little weak right now, but as soon as I go visit the doctor and get things cleared out, just say the word and I’ll do what I can to help you guys get settled up here.”

Papyrus sniffles into the third tissue you’ve offered him today and trembles after recovering. He then looks at you with a clearer gaze and a fonder smile, both of these enhanced by the late afternoon sunlight beginning to shine through the train’s large windows. “E- Even if you… consider some of us as enemies by the end of it?”

“It would all depend on how it goes, but…” You rub the back of your neck and allow a pensive frown to take over for a moment. “Based on what I know so far, I doubt I won’t be able to help out. Even if some of you hurt Frisk, I... I still have to acknowledge how much you offered and did for them after you learned they weren’t an enemy.”

His hopeful gaze almost drives into a pitfall and a trace of guilt flickers on his visage.

All other surroundings and people present besides the chair you sit on, his presence, and yourself shift to a sudden blur as you can only concentrate on that change, too abrupt for your liking.

“About that…” he speaks up, hesitating. “There’s something I believe neither Frisk nor any of us have told you about, and that is-”a

Your destined stop finally arrives, interrupting whatever closely-hidden confession the skeleton was about to direct at you.

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[onewhoturns]

The Rhyme of the Rosewater Hag - pt 2

So I kept writing. And I’m still working on it, on page 13 now... It’s devolved. Gotten a bit... smutty. As expected, I suppose. Regardless, here’s some more. Feel free to find me on AO3, FFnet, or buy me a ko-fi.

“Your little friend was right, you know;”

She gasped in surprise, and immediately cursed herself, expecting to choke on icy water, but whatever she was breathing-

“The Hag isn’t someone to trifle with.”

The voice that met her ears didn’t belong to any of the members of the circle, either. Nor did it sound like a hag. It came to her like an echo, like a memory. She blinked what should’ve been water from her eyes, but they were dry. Instead of the silver basin, her hands (and her knees and feet, she noted) rested on stone. Stone that was decidedly not from Gristol. Or from anywhere in the Isles.

She looked up, and felt her stomach jolt as her eyes met pure empty space - an abyss that fell infinitely into nothing. Stone floated in great sheets and in tiny pebbles, suspended but still somehow moving, and she knelt on one of them. But inches away that all ceased to exist. It stopped, and before it grew… nothing. An abyss. The Void.

“You’re lucky I stepped in.”

The voice was coming from behind her, she realized, and quickly she fell back and rolled sideways, a motion that she would’ve modified to bring her to a standing position had her legs not been tangled in skirts. (Was this why her mother had stopped wearing dresses?) Instead, she stopped herself from falling forward and steadied herself on the heels of her palms before working on getting her legs in a more useful position. She didn’t need to look far to find the source of the voice. On a distant jagged rock on the far edge of her large platform. Seated, casually, arms steepled over his knees as he watched her. Seeing him made her movements falter. Her lips parted, as though she might say something, but she just frowned and snapped them shut again. In another few seconds she had her skirts bunched in one hand up to her knees, and her legs were soon under her. As she stood, she stumbled back again.

He was closer now. He hadn’t made a sound - the air was all quiet wailing winds and almost electrical hums, no footsteps had disturbed the dissonance of it - but he’d come closer. Quite close. He was no more than two feet away now, glancing at her struggle with a slight quirk of amusement to his lips, before he turned on a heel and began a slow pacing arc around her. “Yes well - it’s good to see you again, too.”

Her cheeks went pink and she scowled at his wry tone. He did look familiar. But he’d seemed so much older then, she’d lumped him in with her father and the ‘adult’ types. Another glowering presence, only this time in her dreams. Not quite stoic but still off-putting, always watching, observing. This ancient creature that had haunted her for, what, three nights eight years ago? Less? Now he looked - she felt the blush creeping over her neck and chest - well, not much older than her, to be honest. And… and attractive, to boot.

His smirk grew more pronounced, and she wondered if he could read her thoughts.

If you can, I hope you choke.

“A silent empress? That’s a first. Usually you royal types are so outspoken.”

Her lips pursed in irritation as he finally stopped moving, having drawn even closer, and he cocked his head to the side as bottomless black eyes glanced over her with mild curiosity.

“Perhaps you take after your father. He never talked much here, either.”

Her annoyance dissipated in an instant of complete surprise, and her mouth dropped open again, eyes wide, interest piqued. “My father? Here?”

His eyes had sparked as hers had, though how she’d seen it in their pitch black depths she couldn’t know. “She speaks,” he murmured, a hand lifting to her face, thumb brushing across open lips for a fraction of a second as he turned his wrist, fingers trailing lazily down her jaw, her neck, as he went on. “I was starting to think I was too late.” She stilled her head even as she glanced down, watching his sleeve as his hand closed gently around her neck. “That the hag had strangled your lying throat before I took you.”

She closed her mouth, swallowing hard and feeling the slight pressure he placed on that same lying throat. Firm enough she couldn’t mistake it for anything other than his grasp, but loose enough that she breathed unimpeded. Her head swam, his touch having chased previous thoughts from her mind. He’d never been so close. Even when she’d seen him before, he’d been elsewhere - further away, too far to read anything but keen observation on his face. But now…

He was distracting her. Regardless of how true his words were - and were they true? Had he really snatched her from death’s door? From the grasping vines of the Rosewater Hag? - he’d evaded answering. If she recalled correctly, he’d never answered her before, either. For all her questions - who he was, why he was there, where there was, what he was watching her for - she’d been met with silence. She was a child then. His silence, offered from afar, could only be met with pouting and foot-stomping. But she was grown now. He didn’t keep his distance. And he wouldn’t keep his silence if she could help it.

“Why was my father here?” Her voice was hushed, though it didn’t need to be loud to reach his ears - if he even needed ears to hear in this place.

A flash of panic shot through her as his grip tightened, and her hands clutched at his wrist - not quite prepared to offend the god by clawing him off, but making it clear she expected him to let go. He held her like that for a moment, black eyes narrowed in some facsimile of curiosity as fear slowly blossomed in her gaze. Finally he let her go, turning his back, and in another instant he’d reappeared a few feet away, still pacing, examining his fingernails with disinterest.

“No ‘thank you,’ Your Majesty? No apology? How many times have I saved you now, two? Three? Most humans are lucky to escape death even once.”

She stared after him in growing horror, hand lifting to her neck as she tried to maintain composure instead of gasping for air. What was he talking about? Saving her? But hadn’t he just-- No. She turned her gaze to the ground as she rubbed her throat, mind a jumble of thoughts and feelings. He wouldn’t save her just to kill her himself, would he? Void, how could she possibly know: he was a god. The motivations of gods were incomprehensible. And twice? Three times? She didn’t remember being so close to death before… And she’d never been torn from her very reality like she’d been just moments ago.

When she glanced up, he watched her with a single raised brow, that same look of mild amusement. Waiting. Observing her reaction.

“I’m-” She stopped herself before she might say more, pursing her lips. She wasn’t about to apologize. And she wouldn’t thank him after he tried to choke her. If he’d tried, he would’ve succeeded, her traitorous mind nagged at her. It was a warning. But a warning to do what? To behave yourself. To submit.

Ha. No, she wasn’t about to believe that. She raised her chin defiantly, managing to adopt a tone almost as careless as his, filing her curiosity away to examine later. “I appreciate what surely must’ve been a real chore for you, all-powerful Void god,” she drawled, before her tone hardened. “Now if you’d be so kind as to inform me of why my father was visiting this hellscape, I’ll be on my way.”

The amusement was no longer so mild, both brows raised as his lips curved into a mocking smirk. “You’ll be on your way, will you?” He seemed to break into pieces in one location as he reformed in another, a swirl of black shards. He swept an arm out, gesturing to the edge of the stone platform. “Go on. Try.”

She seemed to feel the grating, shifting, ringing of stone as it moved, even though it made not a sound. A path formed. The suggestion of a path: jagged, yes, with a few ominous-looking gaps, but manageable. Emily’s eyes darted over it, suspicious. His voice drew her gaze.

“If you make it to the gate, you’ll be home before I can tell dear old Corvo what his daughter’s been meddling in.”

Again, he mentioned her father. Familiarly. As much as she tried to keep her lofty facade, her frustrated confusion wasn’t particularly well hidden. And when she looked back to the path there was, indeed, a gate. Some ways off, but located squarely at the end of the winding path. Two shards of obsidian that seemed dangerously poised against each other, as though they might fall at any moment. Her gaze followed the whole trail back from the gate, eyes spotting each precarious ledge and leap, until she looked at the start of it all: four feet away. A single, non-threatening two foot drop.

“Well?”

Her head jerked up again, to find him standing midway down the path, arms crossed over his chest as if in challenge. No, not ‘as if’ - it was a challenge, plain and simple.

“Afraid you might ruin your pretty dress, Your Imperial Majesty?”

She fixed him with a glare sharp enough to pierce skin. The black-eyed bastard just stared her down, still with that eerie vicious amusement. She scoffed. If he thought she was scared of a little physical strain, he obviously didn’t know her. She kept her eyes on his, her own brows lifting in brief challenge, as she kilted up her gown, getting the layers of fabric to cooperate and perch where she wanted them so she might move more freely. Two steps back, then she began to run.

One drop, a quick turn, planting a hand and vaulting sideways over another stone - she ran it fast, faster than was strictly necessary, gaze calculating each movement just before she had to make it, bounding lithely, the muscles in her arms and thighs burning pleasantly, quickly warming up to the motions she practiced every other night. But the next gap was big - bigger than she’d thought - a yawning chasm between stones--

“Emily-”

More speed-

She watched the edge, calculated, and flung herself at the last moment. As she hit she dove into a roll, even as her knee protested the unexpectedly harsh landing. Too late, she realized she’d miscalculated. Her breath froze in her throat as she tried to correct her course. It was sheer luck that let her weight shift just enough to shift back from the looming edge, pebbles scattering and freezing in air instead of falling off the sheer drop. She stumbled backwards, trying to steady her footing even as she cursed herself for hitting the wrong spot, angling her roll too much forward and not enough to the right-  

“Emily-” Her back thudded up against him just before he closed hands around her arms, stilling her, stopping her from bowling him over and pushing them both off of the opposite ledge.

Training kicked in, and she stomped down, then jammed elbows and head back-- He’d disappeared again, and once more she stumbled, this time tipping backward, and she quickly tried to lower her stance, spread her feet and get stable once more, arms braced to help her balance-

He grabbed her wrist - whether to steady her or force her further off-balance, she didn’t know and she didn’t care - she wrenched out of his grasp and let herself fall to the ground -- at least there it would take more than a misstep to fall into the Void.

“Emily. That’s enough.”

His voice had lost some of its mockery, its amusement, instead sounding cross. Emily’s heart was racing, the terror of nearly plummeting into the Void mixing with the sheer exhilaration of the run beforehand. She was panting, limbs surging with pent-up nervous energy, all wound up. When she met his eyes, his lips twisted wryly.

“I’ll admit, you made a valiant effort-”

“I’m not done,” she insisted, dragging herself to her feet. She clenched her fists, rolled her ankles, flexed her toes, glaring at the next edge.

“Yes you are.” He was in front of her once more - close, incredibly close - and a strong palm pressed against her sternum, stopping her from moving forward.

She blinked, eyes that had been on the stone now staring at his chest, and she quickly refocused her gaze, tilting her head back just slightly to meet his eyes again, angry and stubborn.

Whatever annoyance or anger that had been in him had softened, and his smirk was almost patient. “I admire your tenacity, empress, I really do.” Every time he spoke it was disorienting, sounding as though it was both burrowing into her skull and echoing from miles away. As he reached a hand up to cup her cheek she only managed to stop her body from flinching, though her features still twitched, showing her desire to recoil. “But you are done.” Fingers grasped her chin firmly and he directed her gaze toward the gate, his eyes not leaving her face even as the stone path curled in on itself, leaving the primordial archway standing alone, too far for any jump she might attempt.

She felt her shoulders sag, and this time when she turned her face away he let go of her. Her tone was bitter. “You didn’t even make it possible-”

“It’s possible. Just not with your… current skills. You’ll be able to reach it, one day.” The words seemed to amuse him for a moment, but he shook his head, and in another instant was a few feet away again. “But no, I didn’t intend for you to leave so soon.”

She glanced once more at the distant gate, fidgeting for a moment, then sighed as she looked away. Undoing the knots and folds she’d used to keep her skirts out of her way, she smoothed the gown free of wrinkles as best she could, but made no effort to approach the god. “Do you intend to answer my questions, then?” Despite her relatively unassuming pose and even, almost casual tone, her glare was intense.

He turned to face her again, meeting her piercing amber glare with a black abyss that would drive her mad if she wasn’t careful. Again, that smirk. He held her gaze for far too long to pretend he hadn’t heard her query. Just as the air grew thick, unease shooting darts of warning through her body, he disappeared again.

A cold hand tucked under her hair and cupped around the back of her neck, and she swallowed her squeak of surprise, attempting to step away from the presence that loomed once more at her back. Another hand looped around her waist, holding her still. She stiffened, skin rapidly reddening, and she realized with some chagrin that his cool skin was almost a welcome relief. Once she stopped trying to move away, his arm retreated. She had to admit that, after her run - and after such a close call - the chill of his touch soothed her heated skin. Emily shifted foot to foot, hands balling into nervous fists, but gradually her breath became even again, quiet, her limbs no longer trembling from the shock and exertion.

She hesitated, and was about to voice her question again when he spoke.

“You know…” he mused in a low murmur, “I would’ve stepped in either way.” His arm circled around her again, the fluidity of the movement emphasized by the smoke that seemed to waft off of him. It wasn’t an iron grip - she was sure she could break it if she tried - but graceful fingers drummed against the dip of her waist before coming firmly to rest. His hand peeled away from her neck, pushing aside hair that had long come loose from its styling, skimming down the curve of her neck, her shoulder, cupping her arm, and she felt him shift until his chest pressed against her, breath curling like smoke around her ear.

She closed her eyes for a moment, brow furrowed, unsure if this was fear she felt or- or something else.

“...But then you made all those oaths…”

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