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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 4 years

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Octa A-kun’s Heart-Thumping Day!

For the 1200+ follower milestone, here is the next part of the cursed raven’s story!

Part 1 l Part 2 l Part 3 l Part 4 l Part 5

Today’s tale involves Octavinelle A-kun in a pinch...?! Fight on, Octa A-kun...! You can do it, Octa A-kun...!!

My name is Kon...! I’m just your average, everyday Octavinelle student. I tend to blend into the background, so a lot of my classmates call me Octa A-kun.

I’d say that my favorite food is salted fish, and I happen to like whatever seems to be popular these days. I have the window seat in my home room. Most of the time, I just go with the flow, but I like to keep my head low and stay out of trouble!

All I really want is a quiet, peaceful life!

...So—you may ask—how, then, did I find myself in this pinch?

An arrow whizzes at Octa A-kun’s head, tearing off his fedora and pinning it to the wall behind him. It just narrowly grazes his hair, ripping off a deep green strand with a sharp jolt. Octa A-kun squeaks in terror and collapses onto his rear end.

“Pardon moi, Monsieur Kelp,” comes the light-hearted chirp of his assailant. A young man in a bob cut steps forth, a bow in his hands and a quiver strapped to his back. The billowy white feather tucked in his hat bounces with each stride. “I was in need of some early morning target practice.”

Third year and Pomefiore vice-dorm leader, Rook Hunt, according to the rumors. Be wary of him--once he fixates on something, he will not relent.

“A-Ahahaha...I-It’s fine, senpai!” Octa A-kun stutters, scrambling back onto his feet. He glances at his poor hat, skewered clean through--he’d have to file a request for a replacement later. Azul would charge a fee for it--with interest.

“Ah, how merciful you are, Monsieur Kelp~” Rook laughs as he approaches, each step in his boots the resounding thump-thump of a predator on the prowl.

Octa A-kun shrinks against the wall. “U-Um...! Do you need something from me, senpai...?!”

“Hohoh. How perceptive of you.” Rook plucks his arrow--and Octa A-kun’s hat--and holds his weapon up in the sunlight, his green eyes focusing on the gleam of the arrow’s dagger-like tip. “I’ve merely come for a query, my friend! No need to make such a frightened face.”

“Just a question i-is fine. But it has to be a quick one...! I have to meet up with my partner for a project...”

“But of course. I will not keep you for long.” He tucks the arrow back into his quiver and replaces Octa A-kun’s hat upon his head. “Be honest with me--that is all that I ask of you.”

Rook maintains the curve to his lips as he brings his face closer to his prey. His smile darkens, and the glimmer in his eyes fades into something far more cruel.

“...You would not happen to have been sent by one Roi de Fort, have you? To, perhaps, spy on a little black bird?”

Octa A-kun pales. Sweat collects on his forehead. A lump forms in his throat.

“I-I DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT...!!” he blurts out.

Unconvincingly.

Rook’s eyes narrow. “I have requested for you to speak naught but the truth, have I not?”

He reaches out and takes ahold of Octa A-kun’s collar, pulling him close--so close that the poor boy can make out his own fear-stricken expression in the green of Rook’s eyes.

The hunter still smiles, his teeth a stark, blinding white.

He’s beautiful, Octa A-kun realizes. Beautiful, but deadly.

“Y-You’re being r-really scary, senpai...! P-Please don’t bully me...!”

“La vérité, Monsieur Kelp?”

A drop of sweat races down Octa A-kun’s profile. Pupils dilated, breath hitching, body trembling.

In the distance, a bell tolls--granting him an opportunity to escape.

“Would you look at the time...!! I...I really gotta go now!! M-My project partner’s waiting for me, ahahaha...!! E-Excuse me!” Octa A-kun shouts shaking from Rook’s grip and sidestepping the hunter.

He begins to speed walk away, hands balled into fists and arms swinging stiffly, when Rook calls out to him.

“...Monsieur Kelp.”

Against his better judgement, Octa A-kun dares to glance back.

Rook is staring right at him, his gaze piercing.

“Know this: if you betray her, there will be more for you to worry about than damaged articles of clothing.”

And with that remark, Rook allows his prey to retreat.

But he watches every step of the way.

Until Octa A-kun is nothing more than a dot in the distance.

“Welcome to my roost,” Raven declares with the wave of her hand. “Ignore the mess, and make yourself at home.”

“D-Don’t mind if I do,” Octa A-kun says, carefully ducking into the attic space.

Mess is a bit of an understatement. Raven’s room is piled high with tomes, loose papers scattered on the floor and smears of ink all over.

Tucked away in a corner appears to be a mattress, with a blanket in a nest-like shape, a pillow laid in the center. A bookshelf overflows with volumes on ancient curses, while a strange teardrop shaped seat, decorated with ribbons and wisteria, hangs by a window.

Set upon a large desk is a snuffed out candle, a quill set with a magic gemstone, and several empty bottles and blank labels. A basket spills out its contents--herbs, flowers, and fungi--next to a mortar and pestle.

What really catches Octa A-kun’s attention, however, is the strange collection of glass apparatuses and tubes that line the desk. A small flame dances under the rounded part of a flask, heating up a rose-gold concoction.

“Looks like you keep pretty busy, huh?”

“You could say that. I like to remain productive.”

Octa A-kun offers a timid smile. “Um, if I may ask, what is it that you’ve got brewing at your desk...? I-I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”

Raven pauses.

“...Do you know that feeling of rediscovering a part of yourself you thought you had once lost? Or the rose-tinted glasses which clouds one’s vision? The wonderfulness of meeting an old friend? Think of those things, set in the color of dawn, beckoning a new day.”

“E-Eh?” Octa A-kun combs his brain for a response. “Uh...you mean nostalgia?”

“Precisely. This is my latest creation--Nostalgia. It took me two whole weeks to get this new ink color just right, but it shall be lovely to write with.” Raven puffs up a bit with pride. “Oh, but enough about my personal projects. We need to work on that Magic History assignment, yes?”

“Y-Yes. That report on Unique Magic Development...” Octa A-kun’s eyes follow Raven’s hand as it trails over a series of books on a shelf.

Hexes, and How to Break Them. True Love’s Kiss: Panacea or Poison? Ancient Curses: A Collection of Anecdotes. Journal of Magic Medicine, Issue 32: Jinx Edition.

“Ah, here it is.” Raven fishes out a maroon book with a few sticky notes jutting out of it--Unique Magic: Nature & Nurture--and hands it to Octa A-kun, along with a spare quill, an inkwell, and a fresh sheet of paper.

She gestures toward the seat adorned with wisteria. “Have a seat and work on your half of the report. I’ll be working on my half at my desk after I clean up. We can compare our halves and edit as is necessary when both parts are complete.”

He complies, sitting where he is directed and flipping open Unique Magic: Nature & Nurture.

Two sticky notes immediately pop out at him. One sports a list of various unrelated words (Nostalgia, Sorrow, Regret, and an L word that appears to have been blotted out, left illegible).

The other sticky note has a little diagram labelled Unique Magic, a heart in the center with arrows pointing outward. Needs faith, trust, and a little pixie dust, one arrow remarks. Infusion of feelings requires experience, says another. Practice with Nostalgia, a third states.

Octa A-kun slowly lifts his eyes from the page--carefully watching Raven tidying up her desk.

With the flick of her magical pen--or quill, rather--she extinguishes the flame beneath her flask and sets it into a test tube rack to cool. Raven collects her plants into a basket and tucks them under the desk, along with the rest of her glassware. Then she gathers stray papers and pops open her drawer to stow them away--

And that’s when Octa A-kun catches a glimpse of it.

An unopened letter, in a pale blue envelope.

To My Dearest Raven scrawled across it.

“...And that is the g-gist of it,” Octa A-kun concludes his report, “dorm leader.”

“Excellent work, Kon-san. You efforts are greatly appreciated.” From behind his ornate office desk, Azul clasps his hands together and beams. “I suppose there is no longer any need for Floyd to pay your friends in Pomefiore and Scarabia a little visit.”

“Boooo,” Floyd groans from beside him.

“Th-Thank you for your kindness, dorm leader!” Octa A-kun gushes--if only to (poorly) mask his own fears. He wants to sink into the couch cushions and disappear like sea foam. “B-But...But if I can make a request, sir!”

“What is it?” Azul sounds mildly annoyed, but Octa A-kun steels his courage and persists.

“Um...i-if possible, can you assign s-someone else to check on Miss Raven? I-I’m scared of what Rook-senpai will do to me if I make the wrong mo--EEP!!”

Before he has even finished his sentence, Floyd is flying at him like a shark tearing through water.

WHAM!

Octa A-kun screams as Floyd’s foot connects with the couch, boxing him in and nearly knocking the furniture over. Azul’s glasses flash a pure white, and he makes no move to restrain the feral eel.

“What was that, Konbu-chan?” Floyd asks--no, demands--as he leers down at him. Teeth gnashing. “Did I hear you right? Umineko-kun got in the way?”

“E-Eeeep! Ch-Chill out, Floyd-senpai! You’re...you’re scaring me!!” Octa A-kun whimpers, his poor heart pounding out of his chest.

“Speak freely, Kon-san,” Azul prompts, waving a gloved hand to silence Floyd--but his tone is just as icy and cruel as the eel’s eyes. “What is this I hear about...interference?”

“W-Well...h-he seemed to know that you sent me. And he said he might...do things if I make a misstep.” Octa A-kun furiously shakes his head. “I’ll need a replacement hat after th-that encounter...I-I’m sorry, dorm leader, but I r-really don’t want to be involved in this any more than I have to...!”

Azul leans back in his chair, and his face settles into a serious expression.

“Uwaaah, Jade wasn’t kiddin’ when he said Umineko-kun was guarding Black Pearly like a shark on sunken treasure,” Floyd flicks his tongue along his teeth, which gleam dangerously under the lights of the VIP room. “Even the low level lackies get chewed up and spat out, ehehehe~”

“This is not funny, Floyd. This just makes things that much more difficult,” Azul snaps, pushing his glasses up.

“It’s fine, it’s fiiine,” Floyd insists dismissively with a giggle. “I’ll just follow Konbu-chan--and if that creep Umineko-kun gets close, I’ll beat’em bloody~”

“I-Isn’t that a bit extreme?!” Octa A-kun protests, only to earn a withering glare from Floyd.

“Shut your trap, guppy. No one asked for your opinion,” Floyd hisses--then his expression brightens considerably when he addresses his dorm leader. “Ne, ne, Azul! Can I, can I?”

“Absolutely not. We still need to collect more information before taking such drastic action,” Azul says, his voice tinged with irrtation. “Might I remind you, Floyd, that Octavinelle is, once again, in poor standing with the headmaster? It would not do to further tarnish our reputation with another incidence report.”

“Laaaame~” Floyd pouts, backing away from Oct A-kun. “I’m not allowed to do anything fun anymore.”

“As I was saying,” Azul continues, ignoring the eel, “thank you for bringing this to my attention, Kon-san. Your work here is done--you are relieved from your duties until further notice. Dismissed.”

“Y-Yessir!! Th-Thank you so much, sir!” Octa A-kun breathes a massive sigh of relief. He is quick to gather his coat and hat, then bow to his senpais and hurriedly exit.

Azul pinches the bridge of his nose. “...This will become a problem if it persists.”

“I don’t get it, Azul!” Floyd whines loudly, slamming his hands on his dorm leader’s desk. “Why don’t we just kidnap Black Pearly already and make her ‘n Jade ‘fess up? That’d be sooo much easier than dancing around Umineko-kun!”

“That is not how proper reconciliation works, Floyd,” Azul points out. “If we are to fix this mess, then we cannot hope to resolve it overnight.”

He thinks of the details Octa A-kun had divulged--the countless books that litter Raven’s abode, the fixation on work, the strangely named ink, the interest in curses...Surely they must all mean something.

He pauses, before adding, “...I feel as though I am missing a vital piece of the puzzle.”

“Ehhhh? What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Call it...octopus’s intuition. There is something bigger at play here, something far more powerful than you or I can comprehend.” Azul folds his arms. “And if we intend to bring back Miss Raven into Jade’s arms, then that is one puzzle piece we must find.”

“Hmmm.” Floyd leans down, peering into Azul’s solemn face--then breaks out into a toothy grin. “Ne, ne, you really care a lot about Jade, don’t you?”

“Hmph. Don’t be ridiculous,” Azul snaps, lips pursing into a straight line. “This is merely a case of an employer fretting over the well being of his employee. Jade cannot perform at his best if he is emotionally distressed. I am simply doing my due diligence as his employer to ensure that he is content--it benefits the business.”

“Ehehehe~ In the end, Azul’s heart is juuust as squishy and soft as his octopus form~” The eel wraps his arms around Azul, squeezing the dorm leader against his chest. “That’s sooo cute~”

“FLOYD, DO NOT PRESUME TO KNOW MY INTENTIONS...!! AND UNHAND ME THIS INSTANT!”

“Nope! Don’t wanna~”

Octa A-kun is halfway down the corridor when a hand clamps down--hard--onto his shoulder. The student squeaks in terror as he is whipped around--and comes face-to-face with his smiling vice-dorm leader.

“Good evening, Kon-san,” Jade says nonchalantly, his tone light but his aura dark. “Might I have a moment with you?”

For the third time that day. Octa A-kun’s stomach sinks--but he lacks both the strength and the willpower to resist.

“S-Sure...Wh-What is it?”

Jade cranes his head down, his single golden eye glowing despite his sinister shadow. “I have received word that you have been snooping around campus. Naughty, naughty Kon-san. You should know better.”

Octa A-kun instinctively takes a step back, putting some distance between him and his vice-dorm leader--the information broker of Octavinelle. No secret can evade him, it seems.

“Th-The dorm leader asked me to...!” he confesses, cheeks turning pink in embarrassment.

“Please, be at ease. I do not bite,” Jade says smoothly, chuckling into his glove. “Now then, my sources tell me that you happened upon Miss Raven’s quarters. Is this correct?”

“Y-Yes...”

“Then let me ask this of you--did you, by chance, see a blue envelope?”

“Blue envelope...” Octa A-kun’s eyes light up in realization. “A-Ah, I do seem to recall seeing something like that. She...She keeps it in a drawer. It was unopened.”

“Unopened...?” Jade repeats the word carefully, as though handling a delicate artifact. He brings a hand to his chin in contemplation, his brows furrowing. “It is no wonder why she continues to behave in such a vehement manner,” he mumbles under his breath.

“Um...vice-dorm leader? Is everything alright?” Octa A-kun asks nervously.

“...No. It is nothing, I assure you.” Jade composes himself, smiling once more--this time, without a hint of darkness to it. “Think nothing of it, dear Kon-san. Please, do retire for the night--that was all I wished to know, fufu.”

“O-Of course, vice-dorm leader...”

Jade sees him off with a polite wave.

Octa A-kun waits until Jade is completely out of sight before he collapses into a heap on the ground. He clutches onto his stomach, which twists and knots with fright, and sniffles softly to himself.

Why, oh, why was he not sorted into a normal dorm with normal non-scary students and normal, healthy relationships with their peers? No, instead he’s trapped in the mermaid mafia and witnessing Overblot incidents every single month.

Go to Night Raven College, they said. It’d be fun, they said. You’ll get a great education, they said.

J-Just...Just give me a quiet, peaceful life already...!!

#Floyd Leech #Azul Ashengrotto #twst #twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #Rook Hunt #Jade Leech #Rave. Crowley #angst #this installment was hard to pace #Octavinelle A-kun #Tale of the Cursed Raven #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #enchanted inks

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cuculine-nelipot · 3 years

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Following @hungarianbee‘s lead: “three(-ish) things you associated with your ship(s) that bring you joy.” yes, I technically already did this, but I had more thoughts about coën and regis. sue me

Aiden/Lambert

holding hands all the time, even in bed; postcards and letters from everywhere you go, even if it’s only for a day; raucous laughter in a crowded room, headless of everyone else.

Aiden/Coën/Lambert

carnivals and theme parks in the summer, with fireworks at the end of the day; eating cereal in the kitchen in the middle of the night; reading, and listening to music, sprawled across the living room floor.

Aiden/Eskel/Lambert

hours spent staring with wonder at marble statues, or your lovers lazing in bed; early morning light filtering in through the windows; stacks of magazines ranging ing subject from cars and motorcycles, to history, literature, and art

Aiden/Eskel/Geralt/Lambert

forts made of colourful pillows and blankets; mischievous smiles that lead play wrestling and casual kisses, licks, small bites and wandering fingers; taking bubble baths together with lightly scented soaps

Coën/Lambert

a warm mug sitting perfectly in your hands; showing love through acts of service (a darned sock, sharpened blades, a bowl of cut fruit); your lover’s hair in a locket around your neck

Eskel/Lambert

waves crashing into the cliff-face (the water pooling in a cavern, still, splashes of colour in the stone); lazy smiles at the end of a long night; epic love poems read out loud, snuggled by the fireplace

Eskel/Geralt/Lambert

staying in bed all day, wrapped in freshly washed, worn sheets and warm blankets; hands and lips - slow, and gentle, and searching, (wordless promises to keep, cherish, and protect); the silence specific to talking to a moon, with thick snow covering the world

Geralt/Lambert

pool and poker while blue grass and slow rock plays on an old jukebox, drinking each other’s beer; three squeezes to say I love you; curled on the couch watching war movies with misty eyes

Lambert/Regis

vintage port in crystal glasses; notebooks filled with diagrams, equations and shorthand no one else understands; running your finger’s through your lover’s hair while they sleep

Lambert/Vesemir

desperate prayers in an old Cathedral (asking for forgiveness, repentance, acceptance); warm cider and mulled wine smouldering in your stomach; stolen glances and touches in a candle-lit room.

#Witcher Lambert #Witcher Eskel #Witcher Aiden #Geralt of Rivia #Witcher Vesemir #Witcher Coen #the witcher #emiel regis #lambert x aiden #lambert x eskel #lambert x geralt #lambert x coen #lambert x vesemir #lambert x regis #I want to do a none Lambert one now #I just like imagery

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songfell-ut · 4 years

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Chapter 13, something luck something

I gave myself the feels, @lostmypotatoes send help

Link here.

“…AND THIS, MY INTREPID YOUNG FRIEND, IS…THE ROYAL GUARD!! NYEHHHHHH!”

They’d stopped at the head of the staircase in the Grand Hall. Her new skeleton friend had thrown his arms wide at a line of monsters standing motionless in shiny black armor, as proud as a child showing a visitor his favorite toys. “NYEHHH,” he added reverently.

The Royal Guard was quite impressive, like gleaming statues that could come to life and kill you, but Frisk wasn’t scared. She could see their ears poking out from their helmets, and some of them looked pretty silly: a couple of dogs, a cat, a rabbit, a bug, something like a lizard or dragon…

But then there was their Captain, who had just removed her helmet. She did not look silly. “UNDYNE!” Papyrus blared at the tall, eyepatched fish-woman. “THIS IS KRIS! SAY HELLO TO HIM! …ER, UNDYNE? HIS NAME IS KRIS, NYEH HEH! …HE IS A HUMAN! …NYEH? UNDYNE?”

No answer. Undyne’s scarred, scowling, evil-toothed countenance did not waver. Her webbed hand was clenched on the shaft of her spear, cerulean scales and mostly-yellow eye glittering in the witchlight. Even her red ponytail looked menacing as it fluttered in the breeze of passing dignitaries.

The human’s path was clear. Her expression went blank with determination. Frisk looked around and saw vases full of fresh flowers against the wall; as the monsters glanced at each other in confusion, the child selected a vase, tossed out the flowers, lugged the vase back to the Royal Guard Captain, and, with one almighty heave, threw the water right into Undyne’s face.

Frisk woke him even earlier than they’d planned, looking as though she hadn’t slept and sounding very businesslike. Sans was too groggy at first to remember last night, and before he could wonder if it had even happened, she was already laying out their plan for the day.

And…it was not what they had discussed yesterday. It was the opposite. “Lemme get this straight,” he said when she was finished. “Ya don’ wanna sneak out anymore. You wanna tell everyone an’ their mom that we’re takin’ the monsters back t’the Underground as a goodwill gesture in exchange for more cool monster stuff.”

“Yes.”

“So we’re goin’ out as a big deal that everyone knows about, on purpose?”

“Yes.”

“We’re gonna let ‘em think you already cleared it with the King ‘n everything’s fine?”

“Yes.”

“That’s…that’s a big fat lie.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes it is.”

“No. It isn’t.”

“Yuh-huh.”

“I’m not an idiot, Sans! If we disappeared without any indication whatsoever of where I’d gone, His Majesty would assume I’d been abducted and send soldiers after me. I just woke him up a few minutes ago and told him where we were going, and why.”

Something about the way she said it made him ask, “And he’s okay with it?”

Frisk smirked. “We’re going.”

Departing with a lot of fanfare actually took less effort than Sans expected. All he had to do was go down to the stables, announce that Her Eminence was leaving immediately on an important diplomatic mission, hand over her written instructions, and then stand back. For once, his scariness was a real advantage: by the time Frisk brought down the group of silent, shivering monsters, the wagons were already in place, the horses hitched up, and the cargo nearly loaded.

The priestess had been busy mobilizing a small army of assistants, which was a lot easier than their original plan to have him teleport everything from her room. Their provisions and gifts for the Underground were brought down and loaded according to the diagrams Frisk had drawn for the monsters: one wagon was for Ice Cap, who would travel with the majority of the food, while the other had Pyrope and Vulkin, who were wrapped in fireproof blankets and seated away from anything flammable. The other monsters would ride with them in order to stay warm—the canvas wagon covers were good for privacy, but didn’t keep out much of the wind.

Sans had made himself scarce while the work was going on, but when everyone and everything was in place, he stepped up to make Frisk get in with the flame monsters instead of riding up front in the lead wagon. She’d been standing in a corner of the freezing yard to supervise the last preparations; in her full High Priestess regalia, she was as impressive as ever, but he’d watched her closely and seen her trying not to cough.

As her personal guard, and her…whatever the hell they were now, it was his duty to not let her get sick again, but his official consideration was for her safety. They were traveling with a cortege of twelve guards, which would deter most attackers and also help clear traffic ahead of them, but there was no point in putting her on display for someone to take potshots.

They wheeled out of the castle gates and onto the main thoroughfare just after sunrise. Sans wasn’t a big fan of walking, or being in the cold, but his slippers and overcoat were mostly adequate. He wished he could poke his head into the wagon to check on Frisk, but she had asked him not to let the other monsters see him yet; besides, he heard her humming at a couple of points and figured she was busy keeping them calm. Pyrope was a twitchy little bastard, and Vulkin had a bad habit of “helping” via lava, so he’d just leave her to it.

The day passed, and to their pleasant surprise, they reached Frisk’s house on the outskirts of the city long before dark. That gave them more time than expected for Frisk to unload the monsters and shepherd them into the house; Sans grabbed enough food for that night and the morning, and the attendants took the wagons and horses to the nearest inn. Two guards took up positions outside the house before they locked the door for the night, and that was that.

None of the monsters had spoken or made eye contact with anyone all day, to Sans’ knowledge. As soon as they were gathered in the dining room, the priestess allowed him to step in and say, “Heya.”

Frisk retreated as the monsters came alive, swarming around the giant skeleton and all babbling at once in frantic relief. He had been somewhat scary to them in the relative peace of the Underground, but seeing him now was the best possible reassurance that the High Priestess had not been lying or playing some kind of sick game with them: they really would be home by the day after tomorrow.

After a few minutes, Frisk came back into the room, bare-headed and wearing a loose white gown, for Sans to re-introduce her as “Kris,” the not-really-a-boy from the human delegation. Six of the eight remembered her, and Pyrope got so excited that he left a couple of smoking holes in the carpet.

When everyone was done eating and talking, Frisk directed Ice Cap to the attic, where they could safely leave the little window open to keep it cold, while Sans built up the kitchen fire and made an asbestos-blanket fort for the flame monsters. The others sprawled out on the beds or any patch of floor they could, safe and well-fed; still, Sans noticed how uneasy they were, and understood what that was like. He just hoped they’d be able to feel safe again.

Once everyone was settled, Frisk was nowhere to be found. Of all the damn places she could’ve slept in, Sans finally found her wrapped up in her cloak in the bathtub. “Frisk,” he said accusingly.

She made a noise explaining that she was fine, a monster could have the remaining bed.

“Nope.” The priestess squeaked as he bent to scoop her up in both hands. “C’mon, kitten. Time ta sleep literally anywhere else.” Before she could object, he walked her into the smallest bedroom, dropped her onto the bed, and threw a comforter over her. “There. G’night.”

Frisk struggled to sit up. “Wait, where—”

Sans lay down on the floor and sighed noisily. “We’re not t’the Underground yet. Let’s just go ta sleep, okay?”

“…Okay. But, Sans—”

The boss monster emitted a loud, sustained fake snore, cut short by her pillow landing on his face.

Either the demon-child was still satisfied from the other night, or they were just too tired to be reachable, because they woke from a dreamless night to another stiff, sore day of travel.

The monsters were more animated today as they loaded into the wagons, which Frisk took as a good omen. Granted, there was a delay when Sans got too close to the draft horses and scared them so badly that the grooms had to unhitch them for a quick jog around the block, but the crowd gathering on the street to watch still cheered and waved as they set off.

It was another bitterly cold day, and as Frisk leaned into Vulkin, she tried not to think too much about spending the night in the no-man’s-land. King Stephin had still been sleepy when they talked yesterday morning, and the best objection he’d come up with on the spot had been the diplomatic ramifications of bringing so many humans so close to the Underground. She’d countered with the proposal that they leave all their attendants at the border and have Sans handle both security and transportation from then on, as he was a monster and knew the area well. The King tried to backpedal, but Frisk had gone on about a smaller group being faster and safer, attracting less attention, needing fewer provisions, etc., until he gave in.

“Very well. I will ask His Holiness to arrange the necessary financial matters for each monster,” the King had said coolly. “I am trusting you, Frisk, to bring back favorable news, and prove that this mission is any better than a child’s tantrum over not getting her way.”

“I wonder that Your Majesty has ever spent enough time with a child to see one,” she shot back, eliminating any chance of leaving him on a polite note.

Unfortunately, Frisk was now so busy thinking of that conversation – and trying to ignore the bruises she was accumulating from riding in a big, jouncing cargo wagon – that she forgot to mention it to Sans until they stopped for a break several miles outside the city. He’d started bemoaning the logistics they had to work out for that evening, trying to get all these guys fed and coordinated and bedded down and what they were going to do with the horses, and she had to cut him off with “They’re not coming.”

The guards and drivers looked up from their roadside sandwiches at a furious, smothered explosion of sound. They glanced at each other as the massive skeleton growled down at the priestess, but she didn’t seem worried, so they resumed eating as Sans carried on snarling and gesticulating.

Frisk could understand why he was upset, but the third time he ended a sentence with “—‘n did I mention I’m not a fuckin’ horse?!” was enough. “Sans,” she said, and he stopped. “Calm down and think about it. This may actually be safer. Have I ever shown you how I can hide something with a barrier?”

“Uh…” The boss monster shrugged crankily. “I know you’ve got a lotta different tricks.” Snort. “Any chance ya have somethin’ that’ll pull the wagons for us?”

“Yes. You.”

Sans blinked, and covered his face with one hand. “God damn it.”

Frisk turned her back to the guards so she could grin at him through the veil. “It takes a lot of strength, but if it’s just the two of us and the wagons, I could keep us completely hidden for short periods,” she said, more somberly. “In your opinion, is it safer to move by night, or camp outside the border till morning and then make as much time as we can?”

The skeleton tapped his dusty slipper on the grass, thinking out loud. “It’s probably better t’go at night. A lot of this place is so flat that you can see fer miles on a clear day. I can get by pretty well in the dark, so yer right. If we don’t have all of these dorks walkin’ with us ‘n makin’ noise, you’d just need ta cover up the wagons. It’s mostly bedrock out here, so with the wind blowin’ the sand around, we shouldn’t hafta worry about tracks.”

“I see. How far should we try to get tonight? I don’t think we can make it all in one push.”

“Not if I’m all we’ve got,” he grumbled. “Let’s get t’the fence and see how we’re doin’.”

Frisk had a word with the drivers; when they started again, they went at a quicker pace, the better to reach their destination and allow the men and horses time to get back to the nearest village before dark.

She grew more and more apprehensive as the hours passed, and finally dug out her satchel of clothing, asking the monsters to close their eyes so she could change into a more practical dress than her High Priestess leg-trap. Not long afterward, the wagon slowed and ground to a halt; they were at the border, a day’s journey from the Underground.

Sans waited till the other humans were almost out of sight to tell the monsters, “Come on out, guys.”

All but the flame monsters piled out to stretch their legs and wings while Sans ran a trace of red magic along the wire fencing. Frisk watched him pluck at a seemingly solid strand, revealing a length of twine holding two cut pieces together. “Humans go in ‘n out this way,” the skeleton informed her. “’s like havin’ a gate. They just untie it and tie it back up behind ‘em.”

Frisk shook her head and hugged herself tighter under her cloak. Sans didn’t have time to admire how the cold air had turned her cheeks red, or be really irritated at how the men had all gawked at her without her veil, but he did it anyway while the monsters got ready to resume their places. “So,” the skeleton said, resigned, “how’re we gonna do this crap?”

Five minutes later, Sans was trudging along in the fast-fading light, his hands shoved in his pockets, the wagon’s shafts wedged between his wrists and his hipbones so he could pull it in lieu of a horse. Frisk sat in the driver’s seat of the second wagon, whistling softly and watching the tufts of red magic keeping its shafts upright. Sans had to admit that the flat terrain and the laws of physics made it easy to keep the wagons going once they’d started…but it still sucked.

“Are you doing all right?” the priestess asked at one point.

“Neigh,” he responded, and she started snrrking so hard that he threatened to stop and make her pull the damn wagon. Then he had to deal with that mental imagery until it got darker and he could focus on maintaining a tiny speck of magic to sharpen his night vision. It was nearly a new moon out, perfect for moving in secrecy.

It happened some time after midnight. The monsters had fallen asleep; the priestess was dozing, and Sans was on the verge of stopping for the night when a shriek rang out from the wagon behind Frisk, who nearly fell off her seat. Sans had to lift her down for her to run back, leap into the wagon, and rouse Vulkin from a nightmare, humming urgently to quiet her.

“Shit,” Sans muttered as a torch flared in the distance. “Hey, kitten?”

She didn’t waste any time: a whistle raised a golden bubble around them, and Sans winced at the sheer power crackling through it. For the first time, he found he was less worried about being trapped inside a barrier than he was about the amount of magic it was costing her.

Minute after minute passed. Strange human voices drew way too close, and Sans could only stand there while Frisk held the spell steady, diverting enough magic to soothe the terrified monsters. The giant skeleton had no idea how she was blocking both sound and light and hiding the barrier’s presence from the other side while she hummed, but she did it, because the poachers soon concluded that it’d been a false alarm and wandered back the way they’d come. “They’re gone, sweetheart. Drop it,” Sans ordered, and he heard a ragged sound as the barrier evaporated.

That was enough. Sans set the wagons’ brakes, grabbed as many rocks as his remaining magic could carry, and formed stacks under the shafts to hold them upright, then stuck most of his head into the back of the wagon. “I’m so sorry,” whimpered Vulkin. “I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s not yer fault,” he said roughly. In the monster’s glow, he could see the priestess lying on the wagon floor, resting her head on her forearm as she struggled to catch her breath. “Hand ‘er over.”

Later, he would kick himself for dragging Frisk into the cold again, but he had to see for himself that she was okay. Sans bundled her under his coat and sat down against the wheel, folding her into the crook of his arm while he summoned up heat and softness, everything a skeleton usually couldn’t offer.

That was all well and good, but as she turned toward him, trying to reach up around his neck, something weird happened. He allowed her to stand on the ground and rest her weight against him, her arms sliding under his coat and over his bony shoulders; he’d almost gotten used to that amazing, fluttery, possessive thing his SOUL did when she was on him, but this time, it got physically warmer, and he felt like something was…leaving him? What—

Frisk’s whole body jerked. She pulled her head back enough to stare at him. “Sans? What did you do?!”

“I…” Sans had to close his sockets against a rush of dizziness. “I dunno.”

The priestess withdrew her arms and looked down at her hands. She raised one and snapped her fingers, and another barrier roared to life around them. “What the crap, Frisk?” Sans rasped. “Ya don’t have the strength fer that!”

“I do now,” she said blankly. “How…how did you give me magic directly? Is it—”

Just like that, the dizziness had become full-on vertigo. “Sansy needs t’go night-night,” the skeleton mumbled, and the darkness politely stepped up to pull him back down with it.

A band of poachers had made camp near the river. Their sentry glanced up from his breakfast, then leapt to his feet and called out as someone emerged from the morning mist. “Whoa! Easy, pal,” said the stranger, stopping a polite distance away and holding his hands up. “We’re not lookin’ for trouble. I’m just checkin’ somethin’.” He made a strange face, as if he wasn’t entirely sure how faces worked. “Have ya heard who’s s’posed to be out here right now?”

“Maybe,” the sentry admitted. He eyed the interloper’s oddly pale hair, the contrast it made with his black coat and red shirt, and lowered his crossbow. “Depends what you’ve heard.”

“Someone from the High Priestess is passin’ through, doin’ somethin’ with a buncha monsters,” said the newcomer, lowering his arms very slowly. “I was makin’ sure ya weren’t them. We’re pretty new at this, so—”

The sentry gave a bark of laughter. “Dumbass! It’s the High Priestess. She’s out here with nine or ten monsters, all by herself.”

“Really?” The stranger blinked too many times. “Hot damn.” He laughed, too, sort of. “Too bad we can’t get magic outta her, huh?”

The sentry leered at him in male camaraderie. “Ever seen her in person? I know what I’d get out of her!” He slapped his leg, oblivious to the stranger’s twitching eye and clenched fists. “Well, if you’re new to the business, take it from me: keep any humans you find and save ‘em for ransom, ‘specially her.”

Blink. “Ransom?”

“Yeah. Ransom,” the poacher said impatiently. “You know who her dad is, right?”

The pale-haired stranger blinked again. “Duke Whatshisface?”

“Seriously?” The sentry shook his head in disbelieving pity. “Her dad’s the King, dipshit. You never heard about it?” He gestured expansively with the crossbow, enjoying the stranger’s dumbfoundment. “No joke. The old man used to fuck anything that’d hold still long enough. There’s five or six kids left that we know of, and she’s his favorite.” His grin broadened. “You really didn’t know? Man, you’re fuckin’ stupid.” He flapped his hand. “Get out of here. Go on home before you trip ‘n kill yourself.”

In a daze, the stranger put his hands in his pockets and turned around. “Oh, by the way,” he said, and without warning, something erupted from the ground, impaling the sentry’s foot.

His screams brought his comrades running to see him clutching a huge white bone sticking out of the bedrock, and a stranger pointing wildly toward the river. “Holy crap, it came from over there!” he shouted. “It’s that big-ass skeleton thing! It’s definitely over there!”

Only one of the poachers tried to say, “Who’re you?” before another line of projectiles slammed into the ground heading away from them; he ran to follow the rest of the group, leaving the luckless sentry to try to wrestle the bone free. When he looked up to demand the stranger help him, there was no one there.

“Fuckin’ fuckstick,” Sans muttered to himself from a few hundred yards away, jerking a hand to summon more bones and make it seem like they were still under attack. “I oughta fuckin’…” He kicked a rock so hard that it hurt his stupid wimpy human toe.

Fuck-a-duck. He couldn’t go back to camp like this. With the mist covering him and the poachers haring off in the opposite direction, he could think things over for a minute, starting with whether Frisk had ever come out and said who her father was.

…No, she never had. He’d just remembered something about Rosa – who he now knew wasn’t even her mom – working for a duke, and reached a reasonable conclusion that was totally wrong. It was probably such an open secret that she either hadn’t thought to tell him or hadn’t wanted to in case he treated her any differently. She was probably sick of that already…

Sans was too lost in thought to see something moving in the mist, following him away from the poachers’ camp along the riverbank. When he absently turned to stare at the water, it vanished, only to reappear as he turned again.

So, Frisk had pulled this crazy stunt because there was nothing else she could do about the monsters being sold. According to everything Sans had seen, only the Cardinal or the King could go over her head; therefore, while Duke Whatshisass was in charge of doling the monsters out to new owners, it probably wasn’t him who’d actually decided to sell them. The Cardinal hadn’t bothered her since she said she’d be retiring, and she hadn’t mentioned him at all, which just left the King.

Sans had seen for himself how much the old man treated her like a daughter, go figure. Knowing Frisk, she’d probably told His Majesty to his face that she intended to free those monsters, and he’d decided to keep her out of serious legal trouble and also remind her who was boss by ordering them sold right away. No wonder she’d been willing to flip him the bird right back by stealing the monsters and getting public opinion on her side.

Against all logic, Sans felt his poofy lips curling upward. In a weird way, this was the push he needed to be a little less miserable about not deserving her and a bit more smug that she’d picked him over the zillion guys desperate to snag an illegitimate princess. At this point, she transcended the concept of anyone deserving her. He still thought he sucked, but so what? If he hadn’t imagined what she’d said the other night, then…

The mist was beginning to thin out as the sun came up. Sans paused and glanced behind him, but nothing was there. He turned back toward their camp, reaching for his chain. Better not confront her about something she hadn’t really been hiding in the first place, though now he was determined to ask about her m—

Only the hiss of something flying through the air alerted him in time to fling up a wall of bones, barely deflecting a blow aimed at his neck. Before he could even swear aloud, more things came at him, and he instinctively turned to run away from their camp.

“Hey! HEY!” a voice shouted. Sans’ human ears perked up at the sound. “Come back here, meat-wad!”

His aim wavered as he threw a wave of pointed bones behind him, just missing the figure in the mist. It easily caught one and threw it straight back at him, only to see it glance off another wall of bone. “You!” the figure snarled. “How did you get Sans’ magic? Where is he?! Tell me, you damn coward!”

Sans dodged another one. “Hey!” Dodge. “Hey, listen, ya crazy broad! It’s—”

“Sans?” They both froze at the sound of Frisk’s voice. “Sans, where are you?”

The boss monster finally understood that expression about blood running cold. Fighting chills, he turned his head and opened his mouth to tell Frisk to run.

That moment of distraction was all the figure needed: Frisk came up just in time to see a bone spin end over end and smash into the back of his head, nearly knocking him out.

The High Priestess had heard Sans’ attack on the poachers as she was balancing a frying pan on Vulkin, who’d volunteered to help cook breakfast. Frisk just prayed Sans could divert them without killing anyone, or that he would at least try.

Several minutes later, though, he hadn’t returned. She was passing the pancakes around and had retrieved the bucket for more water when she heard shouting. Her stomach lurched at the sound of bones breaking. Sans!

Telling the monsters to stay put, Frisk reflexively grasped the bucket handle and ran out of the warded camp, keeping another barrier ready. “Sans?” She looked around, squinting through the last tendrils of mist. “Sans, where are you?”

She saw him a split-second before someone threw one of his own bones straight back at him. Frisk choked on a scream as he hit the ground, blood darkening the sand. “Sa—"

“Hey. You.”

Frisk gulped as their attacker advanced on her from the edge of the water. “What’d you say about Sans, human? You know where he is?” The tall monster emerged from the mist, removing her helmet as she glared down with one mostly-yellow eye. “Oh, come on! Don’t tell me you took out a boss monster! How’d you do it? Cheating?” She almost spat the last word. “Start talking, you—”

“Undyne?” Despite her fear, Frisk smiled. “Undyne, it’s you!”

A spearpoint flashed in the air, stopping the priestess as she tried to step forward. “How’d you get my name? Did you torture it out of someone, human? Huh? Was it Sans?!” The spear poked at Frisk, forcing her backward. “Tell you what,” Undyne snapped, pivoting toward the human-shaped boss monster, who was still struggling to get up. “Let’s assume you care at all about your accomplice here. Either you tell me what I want to know, or…” The spear rose.

“No!” In sheer panic, Frisk threw a barrier between Sans and the other monster.

A moment later, she realized her mistake: Undyne had only been threatening him, but as she looked back at Frisk, her gaze was now murderous. “That’s it! That’s how you did it! You used a frickin’ barrier!” She stomped the ground so hard that Frisk felt the bedrock tremble. “I ought to gut you like a fish, you damn cheater! Do you hear me? A FISH!”

“Wait!” The priestess held up her hands, too distressed to be amused by Undyne’s choice of words. “Undyne, please! I’m—” She bit her lip. That wouldn’t work; Undyne wouldn’t believe that she was Kris. It might make her so angry that she’d try to kill them outright. Frisk racked her brains for some way to prove it—she had never shown Undyne her scars, but…

The Royal Guard Captain scowled deeper, this time in puzzlement, as Frisk stared at the bucket dangling from her forearm. “You’re what, human?” Undyne demanded.

Frisk swallowed hard. “I want to show you something,” she said, and took a deliberate side-step toward the water, ignoring the raised spear. “It’s not a barrier, and it’s not some kind of trick. Just watch, all right? And don’t hurt him!”

Undyne glanced around them in case this was a diversion, and at Sans, now lying still and silent. Frisk saw him, too, and her expression made Undyne lower her spear ever so slightly. “What is it? Make it quick!”

Frisk took a deep breath. To Undyne’s bewilderment, the human’s expression went neutral. She went to the river, dipped up a half bucket of water, carried it back to Undyne, and threw it into her face.

Through the haze of pain and gut-wrenching fear, Sans distantly heard Undyne yelling at Frisk, and he felt the barrier she put up to protect him. He wanted to shake her for thinking of him and not herself, and for showing Undyne she could do it. Then there was a dreadful silence, and he couldn’t get up to—

“NGAHHHHHHH!”

Sans threw himself forward, not quite gaining his feet. Hitting the ground again on all fours, he looked frantically for Undyne and whatever horrible things she was doing to—

Frisk was dangling, not from a spear’s bloody point, but from Undyne’s bear hug as the dripping-wet monster swung the human in time to a joyous bellow of “My little bestiiiiiiiiie!”

What the…no, never mind. With an effort, Sans pulled off his disguise and tried not to collapse as the world lurched sideways. “Ow,” he muttered, just to be part of the moment.

Undyne froze, not quite releasing Frisk. “Sans? What the—where’ve you been?” she demanded.

Sans’ glare would have set a lesser monster ablaze on the spot. “Almost gettin’ murdered by yer crazy ass!”

“Really?” Undyne looked puzzled. Then her face lit up. “Ohh, that was you! Ha!” She gave her giant-toothed grin. “Sorry about that, boss. How’d you do that? And why were you saying all that crap to that human back there?”

“I was tryin’ ta throw him off our trail! We’re the monsters and the High Priestess!” Sans sat up and raised one hand to heal his aching skull, indicating Frisk with the other. “Now let ‘er go before ya squeeze her t’death!”

“Hm? Oh, right.” Undyne set Frisk down, letting the priestess catch her breath. “So you’re Kris, huh?” The Captain planted her hand on one hip, watching Frisk brush herself off. “Did you know she was a girl?” she asked Sans.

“Nope. She had us all fooled.” Sans closed his eyes to focus his magic. Fuckin’ Undyne. If he hadn’t been a boss monster, that would’ve killed him!

“It wasn’t my idea,” Frisk protested as she picked up the bucket. “I was only ten, and they said it’d be safer. Can I help you with that, Sans?”

Undyne waved her spear. “Whatever! You’re here now! Ignore him, he’s being a big baby.” She glanced around. “Let’s move out before any more damn humans show up. No offense.” Frisk inclined her head. “You say you’ve got more people with you?”

If the monsters had been happy to see Sans, they nearly turned to dust when Undyne strolled into camp and announced that she would be escorting them the rest of the way home. Once everyone had calmed down, Sans had to admit the fish-lady knew how to get people moving: they scarfed down the remaining pancakes and some leftover oranges, then loaded right up and took off toward the Underground.

“Man…” Undyne was holding it together better than he had the first time he found himself inside a barrier, only betraying her fear of the dome overhead with a tighter grip and her eye darting back and forth. “I can’t believe it. She really is the High Priestess, huh?”

“Yep.” Sans was very pointedly nonchalant, sauntering along as the barrier crackled and the fish monster twitched. Served her right. “She coulda killed me a zillion times over, but she never did. Hell, I tried ta kill her a few times, an’ she smacked me down without hurtin’ me.”

Undyne shook her head. “It’s just…Kris is back, and he’s a she, and she’s the High Priestess, and she’s crazy strong…but she’s still Kris. It’s a lot to take in, you know?”

“Tell me about it.” Sans adjusted his grip on the shafts. He was pulling one wagon, and Undyne was pulling the other one alongside him; all it’d taken to get her going was a hint that she couldn’t do it. She was puffing a bit, but doing well now that they were moving. “So how’d you suddenly know it was her?” the skeleton asked.

“It was from the first time Papyrus introduced us,” Frisk said from the driver’s seat behind him. “I thought Undyne must’ve been upset because she was thirsty, so I grabbed a flower vase and tried giving her some water. …In her face.”

Sans guffawed, freeing one hand to slap his femur. “How’d that work out? Did the nice fish say ‘thank you’?”

“No, she just looked surprised. I thought she was feeling better, so I went back and—”

“The little punk tried to do it again! It was the stupidest thing I’d ever seen, but the kid wasn’t scared of me at all.” Undyne shook her head. “Then the King ordered us to be friends with the humans, so I figured I’d be the best damn friend Kris ever had.”

“And you were.” Frisk sighed. “When we get there, Undyne, I have something for you. In fact, we brought gifts for everyone. Did Alphys ever read the last two Adventure Lady novels?”

“Nah, and it’s been bugging her for years, the poor—” Undyne’s eye widened. “No. You didn’t!”

Sans let them chatter, profoundly grateful that they weren’t doing that weird thing where women hated each other for no reason. Having Undyne on their side, both physically and for moral support, was worth a dozen other monsters. “Did you get him that outfit?” she asked Frisk, nodding at the boss monster. “He’s been growing nonstop, so after a while, he just quit buying new clothes. It drives Papyrus nuts.”

“He’s my bodyguard, and it pays pretty well,” Frisk explained. “Those were a bonus for helping me shop for everyone.”

“Nice!” Undyne couldn’t reach over and smack him in congratulations, so she contented herself with jerking her head. “Good job, boss. Way to find a nice—what do humans call it? A ‘sugar mama’?”

Frisk burst out laughing and couldn’t stop, Undyne joining in as Sans sputtered. Stupid women, he thought sullenly. Why couldn’t they hate each other instead of giving him shit?

A few hours later, Undyne called a halt. “At this rate, we can get there by nightfall,” she said, offering a hand to the priestess half a second before him. “Er…do you have to, uh, go?”

Frisk looked uncomfortable enough for Undyne to nod hastily and point behind the wagon with her spear. “Not much privacy out here. We’ll just pretend you’re not doing anything, okay? Here, I’ll dig a hole for you.”

If that was awkward – and it was – it was nothing compared to the piscine monster making the others talk to cover the sound of Frisk’s business, then leaning over and whispering to Sans, very matter-of-fact, “Is it just me, or is it weird that Kris turned out to be so damn cute?”

Sans wished the ground wasn’t so flat around here, because then he could find a nice big pit and jump right on in. Luckily, Frisk suddenly said to herself, “Oh, dirt, why now?” and stuck her head beneath the wagon to call, “Undyne? Can you please get the little gray bag out of my satchel for me?”

The Captain obligingly found the only satchel with human clothing in it, rummaged around, and tossed the bag over the wagon and into Frisk’s lap. The young woman mumbled her thanks, but sounded so aggravated that Undyne asked, “What’s up? Are you okay?”

A prolonged sigh. “It’s nothing, just a stupid, ridiculous thing that human females have to put up with.” Frisk came back around a few moments later, stuffing the bag into the satchel. “Now, once we reach the Underground, should we all come in through the Grand Hall, or should Sans and I go through the Ruins into Snowdin?”

Sans exchanged glances with Undyne, who was munching on a roasted potato as if it was an apple. “You’d probably better not go straight to Asgore,” she said reluctantly. “When Snowdrake came back, he was pretty messed up, and the King was…uh…”

“Not happy?” Sans guessed.

Undyne’s eye closed. “Yeah. Not happy.”

“We’ll tell him what happened,” piped up Vulkin from inside the wagon. “We all heard the humans talking. Lady Frisk’s in big trouble for bringing us home, but she’s doing it anyway.”

The monsters made generally affirmative noises, and Frisk managed a smile.

“You are?” Undyne scowled. “Here, we’ve got to get going if we want to make it home before dark. Why don’t you give me the whole story on the way?”

They did, starting with Frisk being brought to the convent after her stint in the Underground and her memories being removed at her father’s request— “Oh, crap, that’s right,” Undyne interrupted. “That scumbag said the King’s your dad. Is that true?”

Frisk looked down at Sans in alarm. “Yeah, that’s what the guy told me,” Sans confirmed, not turning his head. “He was talking about her being worth a lot for ransom.”

The priestess grimaced. “I might not be, after all this.” She swallowed. “I wasn’t sure if you knew. I’m sorry if I—”

Sans made himself shrug. “It’s fine, kit—kiddo. Not like ya ever actually lied about it.”

“I don’t get it,” said Undyne. “If your dad’s the king, why aren’t you a princess?”

“Because I was one of many, many children the king had with women he wasn’t married to,” Frisk replied. “To be a princess, I’d have to have come from his actual wife. The first queen died childless, and his second wife died having the Prince.”

Undyne started. “Wait, so he…with just anyone, and you didn’t even count? What the hell is wrong with humans?”

“There’s the million-g question,” Sans mumbled.

Frisk sighed. “Anyway,” she said, “once I stopped begging to go back to the Underground, I settled down and studied as hard as I could. I was ordained a priestess when I was sixteen—”

The story continued until it was time for Sans to pick up with how he’d been caught by a party of five sorcerers almost a month ago. “I figured I’d hang out in jail until someone came ta get me, then kill ‘em,” he said conversationally, “but guess who came strollin’ downstairs?”

“The Duke asked me for help. There was a huge monster in the cells, and no one could decide who would be suitable to take him,” said Frisk. “I figured he must be a boss monster, and I scared them with stories about how powerful he was and how lucky they were that he hadn’t destroyed half the castle already. Then I said I’d take care of him.”

“And you tried to kill her?” Undyne snapped at Sans.

“Tried to burn ‘er, squish her, and blast her,” the boss monster said, almost proudly. “Nothin’ worked. Next thing I knew, I’d signed up fer a month of bein’ a witch ta learn how to grow better crops.”

“Which turned out to be much closer to three weeks, thanks to His Majesty,” Frisk said sourly. “I had each of these monsters taken from humans who were mistreating them so badly that even the Church wouldn’t allow it anymore, and I brought them out here to keep them from being sold again.” Even over the sound of the wheels crunching on sandy rock, they could hear her teeth grinding. “The King knew what I wanted to do, but he thought I shouldn’t have to worry my pretty little head about it anymore, so here we are.”

Sans considered pointing out that the King probably just wanted to keep her out of trouble, but decided he’d rather not be murdered. Undyne’s sole contribution was “…Damn.”

They rolled along in silence. “In three days or so, we can go back to the village and pick up the grain and other things Sans ordered,” the priestess said. “It won’t feed the entire Underground, but it will help.”

“That reminds me, Undyne—ya know the big farm over that way with the maple trees?” Sans nodded in a direction. “She’s gonna get it fer us.”

The Captain gaped at him. “She what?”

“I shit you not,” said Sans. “The human who owned it croaked, an’ she’s been negotiatin’ ta buy it. Turns out bein’ High Priestess makes ya super rich.”

Undyne muttered something under her breath, taking a fresh grip on the wagon shafts. Then her head swiveled, and without being told, Frisk immediately began whistling again. The air around them, which had been a translucent gold, solidified until it was nearly opaque. “They can’t see or hear us at all?” asked the fish monster, glancing up warily.

Frisk shook her head, and paused long enough to say, “They’d have to literally be touching the barrier to know we’re here.”

“No kidding?” Undyne squinted to watch the far-off group of humans through the barrier. Sure enough, they were moving away. “So,” she said presently, “how long are you gonna stay this time? Another month?”

“’Bout ten days,” Sans answered for her.

Undyne nodded slowly. The whistling stopped, and the human said, “Yes, if all goes well. It depends how long Asgore will let us stay, and what we’ll be allowed to bring back to the castle afterwards.”

“‘We’?” repeated the Captain.

It took Sans a second to realize what Undyne was even asking. He and Frisk had yet to discuss whether he’d be coming back to the castle after her visit, but the possibility of leaving her hadn’t even occurred to him, and she obviously felt the same way. “Yeah, I’ve gotta learn more witchy crap,” he said, hiding his elation. “Plus, the more monster stuff she gets ta show the other humans, the less trouble she’ll get in fer cartin’ these guys off in the first place.”

“And I’m not pulling the wagons back on my own,” Frisk added.

“Got it,” Undyne murmured, and Sans breathed an inward sigh of relief. Another thing they needed to hash out: what to tell the other monsters about…whatever they were now. Everything still depended on him working on himself, didn’t it? It would be easier to learn to control his magic in the proper directions inside the Underground. Who knew? Maybe if he kept thinking happy thoughts and not actively loathing himself, it’d really be possible. Maybe, if he was in good enough shape by the time they straightened things with Asgore, they could really—

The priestess resumed whistling, snapping him out of it. Undyne began bobbing her head along with the melody, and immediately started getting the rhythm wrong, but Sans decided not to say anything; he had a lot more thinking to do before they got home.

Very much against her will, they left Undyne just out of sight of the Underground’s principal entrance. She would announce their arrival, see the monsters to each of their homes, and then report to Asgore; knowing the King would insist on the wagons being inspected before he allowed them inside, they would also remain here.

Undyne checked over the little group of monsters as they climbed out, then paused. “Hey. Sans? Are you…gonna talk to Her Majesty?”

Frisk knew a loaded question when she heard one. Sure enough, Sans took a much longer time to reply than usual. “Yeah, I kinda have to. If she’s asleep already, I’ll leave ‘er a note.”

“Okay.” The Captain picked up her helmet from one of the shafts, pulled it back on, and nodded to them. “I’ll be in Snowdin as soon as His Majesty’s done with me. Good luck, guys.”

“We’ll see you soon,” Frisk replied, giving her a smile and ignoring the butterflies in her stomach. This was it. They were here!

The monsters trotted off, and they very faintly heard Undyne hail the sentries from atop the rise. “Welp,” Sans said. “This way.” Frisk obediently grabbed her satchel, which she’d stuffed with apples and potatoes, and set off after him, trying to be happy and grateful and not on the verge of barfing.

It was another cold, boring day in Snowdin. The monsters were pretty sure they knew what was going to happen today – nothing – and that it was going to keep happening, and it was hard to care much about it anymore. Sure, Papyrus kept nattering about how Sans and a mysterious human had told him they were going to come back to the Underground soon and everything would be all right, but…Papyrus. The denizens of Snowdin carried on with nothing as usual, secure in the knowledge that—

Every monster in town stopped what they weren’t doing and looked around in confusion. Magic was building in the air like smoke from a barely contained fire; there was a hhhwp, and in the empty space in front of the skeleton brothers’ house, there now stood a boss monster in black slippers and a tiny human peeking out from beneath his overcoat. “I told you to wait,” she scolded him, moving the coat aside like a giant curtain.

“What? You were the one whinin’ about how cold it was,” retorted the skeleton.

“Hey!” To their surprise, Undyne sprang up from where she’d been sitting on the step. “Where have you nerds been?” she snapped. “It’s been five frickin’ hours! Were you talking to Her Majesty, or what?”

“Nah, we got lost in the Ruins,” said Sans. “Tori’s asleep, so I left her a note like I said. What’re you doin’ here already? Is everyone okay?”

Undyne looked at them narrowly, then said, “Yeah, it turned out Asgore was already in the Grand Hall, so we didn’t have to waste time finding him.” She had changed into the outfit Frisk remembered: a short jacket, wool shirt, long pants and red boots. “Everyone’s home by now. I left Ice Cap with his family a few minutes ago.”

Frisk nodded gratefully. “What did the King say?” she asked, setting her satchel down.

Undyne hesitated. “Well…he was happy to see everyone, but then they started talking about how the High Priestess was coming in through Snowdin, and he wasn’t happy anymore.”

“How not-happy is he, exactly?” Sans demanded. “Is Frisk in any danger?”

“Nope. The others kept going on about how you saved them from the other humans, and when I told him you were Kris, he got really quiet.” Undyne put her hands in her jacket pockets. “He said you could stay until we ‘know your true intentions.’ I have to babysit you, and he wants to talk to Sans as soon as possible, but that’s it.”

Sans and Frisk breathed sighs of relief. “Good enough,” said the boss monster. He stood on tiptoe, the better to see most of the way across Snowdin. “Where’s Pap?”

Shrug. “I don’t know. No one’s in the house. He must be at the store or something.”

Frisk rubbed her arms unconsciously, turning in circles to look around them, especially at the light-spangled house. “I can’t believe it,” she murmured. “I—” She swiped at her eyes.

The Royal Guard Captain stepped over to the High Priestess and put an arm around her shoulders. “You know what? May I be the first, K—Frisk, to say: welcome back.” She gave the human what was, for her, a gentle squeeze. “C’mon. We’ll introduce you to everyone again. We can take it nice and slow, no pressure to—HEY!” Undyne had spotted a nearby cluster of monsters staring at them. “What are you looking at? Haven’t you ever seen a human before? I know you have!” She pointed at Frisk, who was still tucked beneath her arm. “Remember Kris?”

Frisk quickly forgot her irritation as several monsters hurried over. “Kris! Bro!” One dinosaur-like creature shouldered its way through the crowd, hopping from foot to foot. “Is that really you? Do you remember me? Hi, Undyne!”

Of course she remembered Monster Kid, who was only a little bigger now, still wearing the same armless sweater—twelve years obviously didn’t go as fast for monsters as it did for humans! There was the bunny who ran the store, Gyftrot – stuff still dangling from his horns – a couple of the various dogs she’d petted and thrown sticks for…

Once the first wave of pleasantries had subsided, it was time to tell them the reason for her visit, what Sans had been up to, and why “Kris” had turned out to be a lady. She noticed a few of those who hadn’t greeted her falling back to go spread the news, but saw no signs of Papyrus.

She wasn’t the only one: right in the middle of a very important discussion on someone’s baby sister being ready to hatch soon, Sans let out a growl that shut everyone up at once. “Where’s my brother?” he asked.

Shrugs and mumbles all around. “He was staring at the river again,” volunteered Gyftrot.

Sans waited for more information, then nodded. “Okay, everyone,” he told the little crowd. “We’re gonna head inside for a minute. If anyone sees Pap, don’t tell him I’m back yet, don’t mention Kris, and don’t do anything to freak him out. Got it?”

A chorus of agreement. “Don’t freak out,” someone said helpfully to Papyrus, who had just stepped into view.

Papyrus froze, staring up at Sans. “BROTHER?” he said. Then: “BROTHER! NYEHHH HEH HEHHHHH!” He leaped up and threw his arms around Sans’ massive ribcage, doing a pullup of sheer joy. “YOU’RE HERE! YOU’RE REALLY HERE THIS TIME, LAZYBONES! I THOUGHT…THE GREAT PAPYRUS THOUGHT—”

“Yeah,” Sans mumbled. “Hey, Pap.” He hugged him back for a long moment, then glanced downward. “She said she’d bring me back safe, didn’t she?”

Papyrus looked at Frisk, who was grinning. He looked at Undyne, who was grinning and nodding. The younger skeleton released his brother and launched himself straight at his best friend, tackling her with a wail of “THANK YOU, UNDYYYYNE! NYEHH!” Before the Captain could correct him, Papyrus dropped her and caught Frisk up in a less forceful but similarly enthused hug. “THANK YOU, HUMAAAAN! I—” He stopped, and turned his head to look at her quizzically. “NYEH. WHY AM I THANKING YOU, HUMAN?”

“Ya met ‘er the last time we talked, Pap, in the dream,” Sans reminded him. “An’ you were right. She is Kris.”

Papyrus blinked, still holding on to her. “I SEE,” he said sagely. “NYEH HEH HEH! OF COURSE THE GREAT PAPYRUS WAS RIGHT! I…I…” His eyes rolled up, and Sans caught Frisk just before she hit the snow along with the fainting skeleton.

“Geez. He probably hasn’t eaten anything or slept in a couple days. No worries, we can fix that!” Undyne punched Sans reassuringly in the ribs, then bent and rummaged in her friend’s “armor,” helping herself to the house key before slinging Papyrus over her shoulder. “Listen up!” she shouted at the assembled monsters. “This is all very exciting, but these guys’ve been traveling for a couple days straight to bring the others back to us. We’ll see everyone in the morning, okay?” She poked Sans as he turned to teleport into the house. “Not you! Asgore’s waiting. Get your bony butt over to Alphys’ place before he comes looking for you.”

Frisk gripped his sleeve, but she made herself say calmly, “It’s fine. We’ll be here when you get back,” as she picked up her satchel.

He stared at her for a moment, then gently removed her hand, and was gone.

Undyne let them into the house, flipping the witchlights on and kicking the door shut as Frisk walked into the living room. It wasn’t the biggest or nicest of dwellings, and it didn’t help that Papyrus had probably been stress-cleaning—it would explain why the couch cushions were still damp from the last time he’d mopped them, and why the pet rock by the kitchen was barely visible under a pile of rock-candy shards. Had Sans set those out for his brother to use, just waiting for the pun to sneak up and hit him out of nowhere?

“Here you go, Pap,” Undyne said briskly, tramping up the stairs while Frisk marveled at how much smaller everything was than she remembered. The priestess heard her deposit Papyrus in his pirate-ship bed, slam the door behind her, and come back down to pull a kitchen chair out for Frisk. “Have a seat. Sorry, but they don’t have anything in the fridge.”

“That’s all right,” Frisk said. She unbuckled the satchel and offered Undyne an apple.

The Captain took it politely, but as Frisk glanced down to dig another one out for herself, the monster chomped the apple nearly in half, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. “So,” she said casually, “what were you and Sans up to in the Ruins? No one’s dumb enough to just get lost in there for that long.”

Frisk felt her face grow stiff and hot. “I had to stop and rest because I used too much magic today,” she answered truthfully, and Undyne nodded. “I…actually, maybe you’d know this—is it possible for someone to directly give someone else some of their magic?”

The Captain paused, her eyebrows rising, a smile growing into a giant grin. “Haven’t you heard of—”

Frisk’s face got even hotter. “Not like that! I just mean, if you were weak and needed a little extra power, could, say, Asgore or Alphys give you a handshake, or a hug, and lend you some magic?”

“Nope. They couldn’t.” When Frisk looked skeptical, Undyne sighed, then made a fist. “Look, pretend this is my SOUL.” Another fist. “This one is…we’ll say Alphys.” Frisk wondered if it was her imagination, or if her friend’s face was turning red, almost purple under the smaller blue scales. “My body’s made of magic, and so is hers. But my SOUL is self-contained, and so is hers. Even if I took a chunk of my magic and handed it to Alphys—” She knocked her fists together. “Nothing would happen. She can heal me, but that’s just repairing damage, not giving me power that I could use to attack someone or do my own spells, assuming I knew any. There’s no way to combine or exchange magic unless you’re trying to have a kid, and that’s a whole different thing. It takes a lot of power and concentration, and…it’s different.” She was definitely purple now. “Why are you even asking?”

The priestess thought about it. She made a fist, and loosened her fingers until she could slide the fingers of her other hand through it. “After you left today, I was tired, and Sans gave me some of his magic again,” she said distantly. “Monsters can absorb a human SOUL, but…” Her fingers wiggled. “I don’t think it works both ways. Humans can’t take a monster’s SOUL, at least not directly into ourselves.”

Undyne suddenly looked very, very uncomfortable. “That’s true,” she commented, “for normal monsters. For Sans, the rules are a little different.”

Frisk was so startled that she dropped her hands. “Are you saying I was able to take some of his SOUL because I’m human and he’s a boss monster?!”

“Hell no!” the Captain snapped. More calmly, she said, “It doesn’t work like that. If you really took something from him that he couldn’t get back, he’d be acting a lot weaker, or he’d be dust already.” She shrugged. “If he did somehow give you magic and you had to wait for him to recover, and he did, then nah, there’s no permanent damage.”

That was something to think about. Frisk remembered last night, when she’d just wanted him to hold her. There was that jolt of energy, and he’d almost immediately passed out… She thought of a few hours back, when she’d gotten anxious and her magical exhaustion had suddenly kicked in, forcing her to sit down. Sans had – somewhat correctly – assumed that she was getting cold feet, gotten impatient, and picked her up, and when she turned to put her arms around him, it’d happened again.

Then, of course, they’d been in a uniquely ridiculous quandary where she was brimming with magic that wouldn’t help them get anywhere, and he couldn’t even stand up. Thank God she’d had something for him to eat in her satchel, or they might have been stuck out there all night waiting for him to recover. When she half-jokingly suggested she try giving his magic back to him, he’d almost bitten her head off.

Wait. Wait a second. If his magic was supposed to be so dark and terrible and evil, etc., how had she not felt anything like that from him, much less been poisoned? Frisk had the sudden, idiotic, schoolgirl-ish urge to giggle—did the good magic come out of the top half of his body, while the evil stuff came out of the other thing?

Undyne was shaking her head in wonder. “You need to tell all this to Alphys. She’d have a better idea of what’s—”

Crack went the window.

Both women whipped around at the sound of shouting outside. Undyne wasted no time, slamming her chair back and throwing the door open to roar, “What the hell is going on?”

A moment of quiet; it might have ended there if Frisk hadn’t peeked around her friend’s shoulder. A group of four or five young monsters stood a few yards away, holding stones, their body language scared but defiant. Their ringleader was a feathery snow monster who looked very familiar. “Chilldrake, isn’t it?” the human asked.

The hoodlums drew back as Undyne’s face darkened. “What do you want, kid?” she snapped. “If you’ve got a good reason for breaking Pap’s window, I’m listening!”

“We want her gone,” the drake said, shifting his feet and glaring at Frisk. “Haven’t you seen Snowdrake? He’s not Snowdrake anymore! How can you let a human in here after what they did to him?!”

“And what if she blows us up?” his friend added.

Undyne grabbed a spear from thin air and thrust it in the monsters’ direction. They shrank back, but stood their ground. “That’s not up to a bunch of kids like you,” the Royal Guard Captain snarled. “His Majesty said she could stay. Are you telling me you know better than Asgore?”

They shuffled back again, but a moment later, Chilldrake drew himself up. “Does he know she’s the humans’ High Priestess?” He raised his voice for the monsters standing nearby to hear: “Does he know she makes barriers?”

That got an anxious murmur going. Frisk felt sick; this was everything she’d been afraid of, no matter what Undyne said, or Sans. She glanced around instinctively, but he wasn’t there.

“He knows way more than you do, punk!” snarled Undyne. She advanced down the steps, leaving Frisk in the doorway. “Now get out of here before I get you out of here!”

“Fine!” Chilldrake shook his ruff, dancing a little in place. “If she’s here, it’s not safe anyway! We should all leave before she traps us and drags us off!”

The murmurs were louder and more upset now. The Royal Guard Captain looked at the other monsters in disbelief. “Guys, you were just telling her how glad you were to see her again! She’s the same damn person she was fifteen minutes ago! Are you going to listen to this little—”

“Is she really the High Priestess?” the shopkeeper asked Undyne.

The piscine monster’s face said it all. Too late, she snapped, “It doesn’t matter! She only uses her magic to—”

Everything happened at once. A stone came sailing over Undyne’s head, straight at Frisk, who did not stop to think that it was better to get a black eye or a bad cut than to confirm their worst fears. Reflex kicked in, and a barrier flared in front of her, pinging the rock away.

Her one piece of luck was that every monster froze in place instead of screaming or running to spread the tale of the human who had snuck Underground to use barriers on them—every monster but Chilldrake. “See?” he screamed, flapping his wings so hard that ice crystals flurried off them. “What did I just tell you?! Get out, human! We don’t want you here, and if I have to go tell His Majesty that you’re using barriers, I’ll—”

Whump.

It wasn’t a rock, or a spear, or a barrier. A ball of pure flame struck the ground in front of Chilldrake, who yelped and hopped backward, crashing into his friends.

The monsters’ heads turned toward the magic’s source, the edge of the field to Frisk’s right; each one immediately dropped to their knees or the equivalent thereof, with the hoodlums dropping the rocks and throwing themselves flat on their faces.

Undyne took one look, shook her hand to dispel the energy spear, and went to one knee as another monster advanced. “Your Majesty,” she said in wonder, then apprehension. Her head ducked. “Majesty, I can fully explain and take responsibility for—”

A gesture silenced her. The monster came to stand in front of the house, her amber eyes coming to rest on the High Priestess, features impassive.

Frisk’s heart constricted. She was suddenly ten years old again, not knowing whether to be afraid, whether she should bow or do something royal. She came down the steps, and to her horror, she found herself breathing harder, eyes prickling, throat tightening. “Lady Toriel,” she whispered.

Toriel folded her arms at the waist. She wore a plain robe, adorned only with the Delta Rune in white—the same thing Asriel had worn the day she fell into the Underground, only purple instead of black. The former Queen regarded Frisk for a long, terrible moment. “Where is the human named Kris?” she asked sternly.

It took all of Frisk’s training, all her experience as an exalted and lonely member of the Church’s highest echelon, to speak up. “The human child you knew was not a boy, and his name was not Kris. He was a girl, and his name was Frisk.” She swallowed. “I am Frisk.” Damn it, her voice wouldn’t stay steady. “I’m back, Lady Toriel. Please—”

Toriel took a step toward her. Another, and another. Her white-furred hand came up to brush Frisk’s hair from her face. The boss monster stared into her eyes…

And she stooped, opening her arms and folding Frisk into a huge, warm, cloud-soft hug.

Everything pent up behind Frisk’s defenses rose in a surge that crumbled the walls like wet paper. She still smelled like cinnamon and golden flowers, Frisk realized, and she wasn’t ashamed to grab hold of the velvet robe and get it soaked with tears again.

“My poor child,” the boss monster murmured, stroking Frisk’s hair as the priestess’ shoulders heaved. “My poor, dear girl. I’ve missed you so much.” She hugged her tighter. “I cannot tell you how very glad I am to see you again.”

Frisk was sobbing without restraint now, not caring what anyone saw or heard or thought of her. Toriel rested her hand on the back of the young woman’s head and looked up for the first time, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “Am I to understand that this human is not welcome here?” She didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t have to. “Would anyone like to say anything?”

Chilldrake had collapsed in on himself. His beak moved, but all he could muster was “…High Priestess, Majesty.”

Toriel’s hand grew heavier. “Is this true, my child? You’ve become the High Priestess?”

Frisk didn’t have the courage to raise her head. She just nodded.

The boss monster inhaled, and sighed, her diaphragm moving under Frisk’s cheek. “Then we are very fortunate to have you, Frisk.” She glanced up, once. “Wouldn’t you agree, young man?”

Chilldrake did not nod so much as vibrate his head too fast for it to be visible.

“Splendid. We…what, my child?” Toriel listened as Frisk turned her head to mumble more clearly. “They broke Sans and Papyrus’ window? My word.”

Frisk didn’t see who rushed forward, but she heard a scramble to be the first to check the cracked glass and figure out how to fix or replace it or something right now.

Toriel waited for the priestess to get herself under control, then stepped back and took Frisk’s hand. “Captain,” she said, and Undyne was instantly on her feet, fist on her chest. “We have much to discuss. Please accompany us.” And with as much grace and ceremony as if the old house had been a marble palace, the boss monster went inside, allowing Undyne to glare once more at the crowd, then shut the door gently behind them.

#songfell man i love my mom but

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saokpe · 4 years

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HDLW Sibling Week 2020 - Day 2: Pillow Fort

More siblings! I’ve always wanted to write a political drama, glad I was able to fit it in. Enjoy!

@hdlwsiblingweek2020

Comfortable Negotiations

The synchronized steps, bouncing across the overwhelmingly muffled walls of the McDuck Manor, follow the figures of an arrogantly joyful Louie Duck and a stoically serious Huey Duck. Their trenches lead them to one of the few areas of the house yet to fall victim to the rampant colonialism these shrewd visionaries spear head, a solitary wooden desk, two equally simple chairs stationed on both sides. They take their seats.

“Hubert Duck, President of Pillowvile.” The hoodie wearing triplet acknowledges.

“Llewellyn Duck, holder of the title of Current and Forever After Ruler of Cushion Island.” Huey responds. “How have you and your partner’s endeavours fared following your sudden departure from Pillowvile? A severing I did very little to oppose, might I add.”

“Yes, very little.” Louie’s previous smile turns into an almost sarcastic imitation of thoughtfulness. “Well it seems that my business partner’s ingenuity and my business savviness has brought us quite a bit of success, as clear when you compare our charts here.” The confidence oozing duck raises both his arms to reveal two staunchly different pieces of cardboard. Both demonstrated crudely drawn line charts, one with an elegant example of calligraphy spelling out Cushion Island while the other, spelling Pillowvile, could be described as anything but. The former diagram demonstrated a staunch uptick following a point labelled “When we got smarter and left Pillowvile.” The former followed a similar pattern, the line taking a steep dive after a period called “Our smarter halves leave Pillowvile.”

“Uhm…” The self-appointed president of Pillowvile attempts to assess the borderline illegible data. “Very… interesting. But, you can’t run a country like a business dear sibling of mine, way more goes into it.”

“Yet you’ve called ME to discuss negotiations.”

Huey bites his lip, the concise retort robbing him of his high ground. “Well, I wanted to talk to both of Cushion Island’s political powers, yet I see only one.”

“You seem one partner short as well.” Louie correctly assesses.

“Dewford had other businesses to attend to.”

“I’m sure he does.” A grin carves itself forcefully onto a self-assured Louie. “So what did you want to discuss?”

“Well I thought-”

“Pfft- Sorry I just can’t keep it a secret!” The previously reserved negotiator bursts, his body slamming and rolling as his lung expands into a chuckle, “We caught Dewey sneaking through our blueprints, Webby’s currently trying to get a confession from him. I was supposed to lead you on for a cooler reveal but it’s just TOO funny!” He continues between his glee infused snorts.

“Oh…” Huey attempts to speak, left paralyzed in his brothers all consuming laughter.

“You better start talking unless you want to go on another trip into Mr. Cuddles’s play place!” A high pitched demand pierces.

Dewey hung from a collection of patched together blankets, one end tied tightly on his ankle and the other on the insurmountably tall ceiling of this pillow comprised room. Poorly lit and suffocatingly warm and dry, the restrained friend cackles and hacks, coughing wildly as the rope pulled tighter on his body. His feathers filled with lint and tangled plushies, all courtesy of the deep and dark alleyways of the play place. A pool of dolls and toys which hide their bloodlust in their disarmingly soft fur.

“NO! NO! PLEASE, I DON’T WANT TO TALK TO MR. CUDDLES ANYMORE!” The prisoner whines wildly.

“Are you sure? Cause he sure wants to talk to you!” Webby, her expression contorted with malice, drops her prey closer to the pit.

“I’LL TALK, I’LL TALK, PLEASE JUST DON’T DROP ME ANY CLOSER!”

For a second the tensed and thick air is complemented with horrid silence. But slowly and surely the rope is reeled back higher.

“Man I’m good at this job.” Webby congratulates herself.

In between his terrified gasps for air, Dewey is able to speak, “I don’t remember exactly what I came here to do, but if you give me my phone I can read off what Huey wanted me to do.”

“Hmm…” The prison guard contemplates the statement a bit longer. “Yeah that seems believable. Here you go.” The girl chipperly walks to the hanging duck, allowing him to clutch the device before retreating.

“Thanks.” Still hanging upside down, Dewford lets the bright light of his electronic’s screen envelop him, slamming his finger across it until opening the previous chat log he had shared with Huey. He scans through it, reading the last message. “Did u find the weak point? Waiting for your signal” Dewey sighs as the options placed before him thin out. Without thinking, the cornered duck types as fast and haphazardly as someone could, sending the following message: “THE STRINGS BEEN TIED, DO IT, DO IT!” Just as his thumb forces send, his body clutches, his eyes slamming shut waiting for the sudden impacts and his inevitable fall into the pit. Instead, the shime of a new message received echoes.

“What was that?” Webby notices, a particular doll turning in her hand, causing the tied duck to flinch.

Panic stabs through the already hindered operative, his eyes darting to the message which oh so terribly inconvenienced him. “You’re still inside, the plan was for you to escape.”

“It looks like you DO want to spend more time with Mr. Cuddles!” The threat curses with the power of a million witches.

“DO IT NOW, JUST DO IT NOW!” The message sends in the moment of panic, his finger pushing over the final button just as it’s stolen from his hand by a ravenous Webbigail.

A moment of anticipation follows as the messages are read back to Webby’s unknowing eyes. Them widening in horror as the realization washes her.

“You deal with him Mr. Cuddles! I have to go!” She hardly finishes her sentences as her feet trail off.

“NO! DON’T LEAVE ME ALONE WITH HIM!”

A notification rings across Huey’s phone, his body still stunned from the sudden reveal his youngest triplet cast over him.

“I mean, I wouldn’t blame you for wanting to replicate Cushion Island, it’s perhaps the most perfect pillow fort ever created.” Another, of the plentiful, boasts Louie has thrown in the last couple minutes. “I mean look at it.” He directs attention behind him, walls upon walls of multi-colored furniture and cushions hoard the view. The wooden walls that previously housed now rest infected by the stuffing of these misused decorations.

During the monologue, Huey lends a peek at the message Dewey had left for him. Dread befalls the brother, all of his soul used to avoid any sorrow. “You’re the bravest man I know, Dewford.” He whispers.

“What was that?”

Hubert readies his left arm, an arm which had yet to be seen by anyone since arrival. He sighs. “You say that Cushion Island is perfect?”

“As perfect as they come… why?” The creeping suspicion the question arises prevents any hubris.

“I ask because you and Webby actually left your blueprints back in Pillowville, and I wouldn’t really call it perfect.”

The snarky response Louie had planned catches itself at his throat, a worried gulp tossing it back under.

“There was a little design flaw I doubt you knew about in your infrastructure. Poor Webby had a tall order building the whole pillow fort by herself. Especially when you left such a glaring issue in the foundation. All of Cushion Island is being supported by a single sofa cushion.” Huey raises his right hand, revealing a beautifully drawn blueprint, a red circle signalling the sad truth that, yes, one cushion balanced the whole country wide fort. “You’re a shrewd businessman, sure, but when it comes to ruling a country…” Huey finally raises the elusive left hand, clutched between his fingers was the end of an elongated piece of string. “-you need a little bit more.”

A combination of shock and hatred form in the previously egocentric Llewellyn, that manic gaze following the string which, as he feared, led directly into his beautiful Cushion Island. Additionally, as he stares bitterly to the entrance of his magnum opus, the distant figure of his business partner runs frantically towards him. Her arms flail as she attempts to catch the attention of Louie, who already knew it was too late.

“FOR PILLOWVILLE!” Huey screeches as he pulls the string, the movement creating an orchestra of falling pillows and walls. Destruction as far as the eye could see, pain resonating in the echoing screams of those that lived in its warm housing. A domino effect of crumbling dreams and desires. As the final blanket floats over, Louie crumbles to his knees.

Pity does enter the victor’s heart, his body moving in satisfied strides towards his grovelling competitor. Huey lays his hand over his fallen brethren. “May this be a warning to all others who dare defy the power of Pillowville.”

Louie stares back towards him before solemnly returning his view to the ground that used to house his home. “I spent my whole allowance building that.”

“In war we all lose.”

Huey’s illustrious Pilloville was soon discredited and destroyed as punishment for its president’s multiple breaches of the Geneva Conventions.

His second in command, Dewey Duck, was eventually found retreating in the remains of Cushion Island, hiding in the rubble. When asked on the matter, the former ruler informed our reporter that he was fleeing from one “Mr. Cuddles.” This figure has yet to be found.

When asked about the demolition of what he had previously called “the love of his life,” Louie inquired “The what?”

Webbigail, the labeled business partner of Llewellyn Duck, has since been spotted waterboarding various stuffed animals. Some theorize she is training for something bigger.

#HDLW #ducktales #Huey Duck #Dewey Duck #Louie Duck #Webby Vanderquack #hdlw sibling week 2020

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gothiccharmschool · 4 years

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Auntie Jilli, I need help, I'm stuck in my house, and i am almost out of boredom cures! Requesting some gothy project I can do with a sparkly foam skull, fake rose, blanket fort, and the sewing kit I stole from my mother

Dismantle the fake rose, and cut it apart so you have individual petals.

Use the needle and thread to make strands of petals. Knot the thread, put a petal on it, make another knot, leave a few inches of thread, then another knot, another petal, and so on. Here, have a REALLY terrible ASCII and emoji diagram of what I mean! * 🌸------*🌸*------*🌸*-----* 3. Retreat into the blanket fort, taking the petal strands and foam skull with you.

Drape a petal strand around the skull. Drape the remaining ones around your head. 5. Within your blanket fort, hold the skull in your hands and make up silly prophecies, intoning them in a Very Serious Voice. ... This should stave off boredom for at least a few hours.

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indigowallbreaker · 4 years

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“The Taking of Fort Merceus”

Prompt given by @swankaliciouschekov! Can also be found on ao3 here.

(contains no spoilers for the Golden Deer run but does take place post-time skip)

Later, the Golden Deer would blame the late hour combined with the blanket of anxiety that had covered the grounds of Garreg Mach ever since it was announced that the next move was to attack an unbreachable fortress. Doing completely immature and ridiculous things can only follow such conditions.

“So then,” Hilda said hesitantly, pointing to the diagram on the table, “we enter through here?”

Claude shook his head. “No, those are the doors to the kitchens.”

“I thought these were the kitchens?” Ignatz pointed at a spot a few inches from Hilda’s fingers.

“No, those are…” Claude squinted and tilted his head. “Um. I have no idea what doors those are.”

“They lead to the buttery,” Lysithea supplied with an air of frustration.

Marianne’s eyebrows shot up. “W-We’re not going in through there, are we? We might hurt innocent people just cooking.”

A low grumble sounded through the meeting room. Raphael held a hand to his stomach. “Please stop saying things about food. I’m starving.”

“We have been at this for a long time.” Leonie stood and stretched, her spine cracking in clear agreement. “Maybe we should call it a day? Get some dinner?”

Raphael’s emphatic “YES!” was eclipsed by Lorenz. “We cannot leave this table until we are all clear on the plan. At the very least we should all know the difference between the front entrance and the stables!”

Hilda slumped in her chair. “It’s hopeless. It’s so hard to picture this stupid fort.”

In a rare show of unguarded emotion, Claude brought a hand up to massage his temple, letting out a despondent groan. “Teach?” He all but pleaded to the figure at the far end of the table. “Do you have any suggestions?”

Professor Byleth stood and walked around until they were standing beside Claude. As they pored over the map, they placed one hand on Claude’s head, smoothing the hair back rhythmically. Claude’s posture relaxed at the ministrations. In fact, the rest of them felt more at ease as well, seeing their leaders working together.

“We need a new map,” Byleth said finally.

Lorenz looked taken aback. “Do you think this one inaccurate?”

“No.” Byleth looked up at them, effortlessly holding the attention of all in the room like in their classroom days of old. “I mean, a different kind of map. If seeing things this way is confusing you all, maybe there’s a different way of looking at the fort.”

Claude, whose eyes had slipped shut, straightened. “That’s it!” His trademark grin was back. “We need a three-dimensional Fort Merceus!”

“Like a wood carving?” Leonie asked, mildly puzzled.

Raphael groaned. “That’ll take forever to make!”

“Not wood,” Claude said. “Something we can walk around in. Interact with.”

“An interactive fort?” Ignatz eyed the map on the tabletop. “Do we have enough space for something like that? There’s a lot to cover.”

Claude rolled up the map. “We only need the parts relevant to the plan. I know a place with plenty of room.”

- -

The place turned out to be Lady Rhea’s bedroom.

Marianne stopped in the doorway, a look of horror partially hidden behind the hand she covered her mouth with. “Here?! We can’t be here!”

“Rhea’s not using it,” Claude pointed out with a blasphemous shrug. “Alright. We’re going to need more pillows.”

Lysithea suddenly glared at him as she put the pieces together. “You want us to make a pillow fort!”

Claude winked. “Look at you, finally connecting with that inner child you smoother so much!” The glare intensified.

Under Claude’s direction, and underscored by Byleth holding up the map and pointing, the room was remodeled. Leonie and Raphael pushed the bedframe to the opposite corner. The mattress was repurposed as the raised platform in the center of the courtyard. Rhea’s pillows were used as the wall of the gatehouse. Lysithea and Ignatz left and reappeared with pillows and sheets from the unused dorm rooms. When those proved insufficient, Marianne and Lorenz, the latter muttering about dignity and listing everyone’s ages as if this was new information that would stop the absurdity, were sent to get more.

Byleth shook their head at one point and told Ignatz he was standing in the stable, not the armory. “Ah, apologies.” He stepped over a blanket-covered pillow wall onto the mattress. “I keep getting things confused. If only there was a way to label things without, you know, labeling them.”

Raphael grinned. “We need things!” He declared. When no one looked as excited as him, he elaborated. “We need to decorate the rooms so we remember what everything is!”

“I get it!” Said Hilda, clapping her hands together. “We need accessories. Like horse statues in the stable and armor in the armory!”

“And food in the kitchen!” Raphael agreed with matching glee.

The pair turned to Claude, who chuckled. “Sure, go for it.”

They left, brainstorming boisterously together, and passed Marianne and Lorenz who were just returning. Lorenz watched them leave and then faced Claude. “What are you letting them do?” He snapped, sounding remarkably like an outvoted parent.

Claude crossed the room to take the bundle of pillows and blankets from him. “Don’t get your nobility in a twist. Here, come help me set up the barracks.”

Ignatz had confiscated all the green blankets and placed them around the fort. “It’s the forest,” he explained to Byleth’s lifted eyebrow. “For perspective.” He smiled his thanks when Marianne handed him another one from her new armload.

The next Eyebrow was for Leonie, who had blocked off a corner next to kitchen. “In my village, you need a separate place for the hide of the animals you hunt.” Byleth looked pointedly down at the map they held open but Leonie just said, “It wouldn’t be on there because it’s not relevant to the plan, but I’m sure they have a space for stuff like this.”

“That does make the fort more realistic,” Lysithea agreed. “I’ll make a training arena!”

Marianne laid a few pillows against the front wall. “I’m sure there’s a garden in here, too.”

Lorenz, who was kneeling on the ground unrolling a bright pink blanket, said, “Don’t be ridiculous. Military bases don’t have room for flowers and the like. And if it’s not relevant to the plan, why make it here at all?”

No one paid him any mind but Claude did smack him over the head with a throw pillow. Byleth stiffed a giggle and everyone beamed at the sound. Even Lorenz didn’t look too put out with the treatment if it meant such a reaction.

Before long, Hilda and Raphael were back. “Oh, good! A garden!” She said when Marianne pointed out her creation. “I grabbed a few flower charms from my room for general decoration but they’ll work better there.”

While Hilda placed various tchotchkes in their intended rooms, Raphael sat in the kitchen and passed around dinner. They were all mindful of their crumbs in relation to the bedding but Rhea’s carpet was not treated to the same care.

“You know,” Lorenz mused, “we have a drawbridge for our residence in Gloucester territory.”

“That’s because you have a moat,” Lysithea pointed out, taking a large bite of a cookie Claude had given her in exchange for her bread roll.

“Then we should make a moat!”

Ignatz stood and peered over at the forest he had created. “Blue blankets should do it. Maybe we could put a few pillows underneath to give it a different texture. Set it apart.”

Lorenz brightened. “An excellent idea!”

Claude got up from where he and Leonie had been stacking pillows to make a tower. “Sounds like we need to make another supply run. I’ll go this time.” He winked at Byleth. “Watch the kids for me, will yah?”

As the ‘kids’ yelled their disapproval at Claude, he left. Hilda crouched next to the garden. “Oh you did a great job, Marianne! I could just…” Without finishing the thought, Hilda flopped over onto the garden, nuzzling into the pillows. “I knew it! So soft. You couldn’t do this in a real garden.”

Raphael laughed and took a few pillows from the kitchen to make a wall around her. “There— now you have a nice garden bedroom!”

Hilda cheered and pulled a blanket from Lorenz’s moat-bound pile and made it the roof of her room. “Fort Hilda!”

“Hey!” Lorenz tried to swipe the blanket back but Hilda held fast. With a huff, Lorenz sat himself in the armory. “Stay over there then! None of you are allowed in Fort Gloucester.”

Marianne lifted the roof of Fort Hilda, a rare smile lighting her face. “May I come in? You’re napping on my garden after all.”

“Of course! Anyone can come in except that smelly Lorenz.”

“Excuse me, I am nothing of the sort!”

Giggling, Hilda all but pulled Marianne into the fort. Raphael grabbed the last of the sheets from the bedframe and draped them over the kitchen. “C’mon, Ignatz! Our’s is gonna be the best fort. We have all the food!”

Leonie dropped the towel she had been about to top the tower with. “Room for one more?” Ignatz pushed over the wall marking the scullery and welcomed her inside.

“Lysithea~” Hilda called in a singsong tone. “Come on! I saved a flower bed just for you~”

Without hesitation, Lysithea crawled into Fort Hilda. In the former armory, Lorenz pouted and grumbled to himself. He sat up straighter when Byleth carefully picked their way through Fort Merceus to sit down beside him. “Fort Gloucester-Eisner,” they stated. Lorenz grinned viciously out from his mess of blue blankets.

From the kitchens, Leonie threw a wadded up red pillow case that must have come from a former Black Eagles bedroom. “Fireball!” She yelled as it hit the top of Fort Hilda.

Raphael, holding a chicken leg in one hand, pumped his fist in the air. “Go Fort Kitchen!”

Hilda’s laughter echoed from her fort as Lysithea peeked out. “Have some of that!” She tossed a throw pillow at Fort Kitchen but it bounced off the wall and hit Lorenz’s feet.

“Watch it!” Lorenz snapped as he picked up the pillow. He aimed for Fort Hilda but it sailed harmlessly over the far wall and hit the four poster instead.

“Good arm,” Byleth said flatly. Lorenz flushed as Ignatz burst out laughing into Raphael’s shoulder.

Soon pillows, pillow cases, and even a few socks were thick in the air. At one point, Marianne tossed Byleth a rolled up towel and told them to use the “Sword of the Creator” to bring peace. Marianne hadn’t been able to hold in a giggle but Byleth had accepted the towel solemnly. Sometime after, Ignatz took off his cloak to make Leonie a shield; a barrage of scarves Hilda had swiped from a Blue Lions bedroom hit the shield, defending Fort Kitchen from the onslaught. Lorenz cursed quiet un-noblily when Raphael scored a hit right into his eye.

A sharp, intrusive, and scandalized sounding “What is the meaning of this?!” stopped the fighting cold.

In the doorway of what everyone was abruptly remembering was Rhea’s bedroom stood Seteth. He was staring around, taking in the stacked pillows, layered blankets, scraps of food, striped mattress, discarded socks, and guilty faces. Stepping into the room, he crossed his arms as if physically holding himself back from total outrage. “Clean this up at once!”

Hilda squirmed out of her fort and propped her arms on the outer wall beside the half-finished drawbridge. “I’m sorry,” she said sweetly, “but your authority is not recognized in Fort Merceus.”

Leonie gave whoop from where she was reclining in the buttery Fort Kitchen had taken over. “What she said!”

There was a ten second pause that Seteth was surely counting. “I beg your pardon?” He finally ground out.

Lorenz stood from his fort and straightened his hair as he spoke. “We were preparing the final touches for our invasion and needed a better way to picture the battleground,” he explained grandly, as if he were not surrounded by bedding.

“You made Fort Merceus,” Seteth said in a dangerously low voice, “in the Archbishop’s bedroom?”

“Yup!” Raphael said. “And we made it better, too!”

Seteth’s fingers were now digging into the sleeves of his shirt. “And whose idea was this, exactly?”

“Here we are!” Claude announced, all but pushing past Seteth with an armful of pillows. “Fresh from the knights’ rooms!” He turned and noticed Seteth, and seemingly ignored the half horrified, half shaking-from-suppressed-laughter faces his friends were aiming at him. “Ah, good evening, Seteth! Did you want to add some strategic input? We could always use your guidance!”

His attempt to butter up Seteth lead to another ten seconds of silence that Seteth was probably speeding through at this point. “What I want is for you all to clean this up! How could you disrespect the Archbishop like this?! This room has been kept in pristine condition for her return and you— you have eaten in here!” Seteth waved an arm to gesture at the whole of Fort Merceus. “Among other atrocities!”

Claude plopped the pillows onto the drawbridge. “How dare you. This is a very serious meeting of the minds.”

There was a lot of whispering going on between Fort Hilda and Fort Kitchen that Byleth cleared their throat to distract Seteth from. “We promise to clean up when the meeting is over.”

“No,” Seteth cried, dropping his arms to his sides and forming shaking fists. “You will clean this up right now!”

Claude snorted. “Unless you’re hiding Rhea up your poofy sleeves, I don’t see the rush.”

Seteth tried to eek out a few words at once, one of which might have been ‘poofy’, but he settled on, “It’s the principal of the thing!”

“What were you even doing up here so late?”

“I could see the firelight in the window and came to check on things. You’re straying from the point, von Riegan!”

Claude snapped his fingers. “The curtains! Thanks for reminding me. They’ll make great ballista platforms.”

Seteth gasped like touching Rhea’s curtains was an act most forbidden. “Don’t you dare!”

With a shrug, Claude stepped to the side so he was no longer between Seteth and Fort Merceues. “Fine then. We’ll use something from her closet.”

“You wicked—”

“NOW!”

As one, the whole of Fort Kitchen, Lysithea, and Hilda threw a continuous volley of fireballs. Marianne kept them well supplied with the pillow cases Lorenz had been swiftly collecting during the conversation.

Overwhelmed by the sudden attack, Seteth backed out of the room with his arms over his face. Once he had stepped out, Claude surged forward and slammed the door shut, clicking the lock home. There was muffled, unintelligible roar of frustration from the other side. Claude flashed a smile with his back against the door. “You are all brilliant and don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

The handle rattled. “Open up this instant!”

“No authority!” Hilda cried. Raphael and Leonie added their cheers.

“You leave me no choice! I will return shortly with the knights!” Dramatic stomping marked his exit.

Lysithea stood and said in a grandiose tone, “Golden Deer, the fort is ours.” This time, the whole of Fort Kitchen and Fort Hilda cheered and pumped their fists into the air.

Lorenz sank into the courtyard. “We are in so much trouble.”

Claude stepped over the front wall and sat beside Byleth in what was rapidly becoming Fort Eisner. “Eh, we’ll be fine unless he comes back with Cyril. I think that kid seriously wants to kill me.”

“We need a flag,” Leonie decided. She turned to Ignatz. “If Rhea’s desk has ink, do you think you can make one?”

“Sure! The flag of Fort Merceues or our own flag?”

As the others made plans to keep the Seteth away and worked to improve their forts, Byleth and Claude remained in Fort Eisner. Claude pulled his knees to his chest and rested his chin on them. Byleth absently fiddled with the towel Sword of the Creator. “We didn’t get any planning done,” Byleth said after a while.

“True.”

“That wasn’t your plan, was it?”

Claude let out an amused huff and turned to look at Byleth with soft eyes. “You saw them in the meeting room. They needed to relax. We have plenty of time to iron out the details.” He watched Raphael knock over a tower and steal its pillows. “Actually, you keeping me calm in there gave me the idea.”

Byleth looked out at their laughing students. The flag was coming along well and there was talk of hanging it outside the door.

Wordlessly, Byleth handed Claude the Sword of the Creator, which Claude took with a chuckle. The chuckle cut off when Byleth once again began running their fingers through Claude’s hair. Claude’s eyes fell shut, still grinning. He would have been dismayed to know he missed Byleth’s return smile.

#fire emblem: three houses #fire emblem three houses #claude von riegan #golden deer #fe3h #feth #mine #heres hoping the link is okay #thanks again swank #yall have no idea how fun this was to write i was giggling all last night

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bedbellyandbeyond · 5 years

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Wake Up

(Story Post)

“Wake up…” Dusty put his fingers through Dante’s hair lightly. It was a similar scene each morning. Dusty would wake up to start getting ready for work and would walk out to the living room to find Dante sleeping there. The only difference today was that he actually had a couch now so Dante was sprawled out on that. This brought his head up to the height of Dusty’s hand which made touching it just way too easy. After a few seconds of grooming, Dusty suddenly felt embarrassed and decided to just slap him on the forehead.

Dante jumped a bit. “Huh? Ugh…” He rubbed his eyes and yawned. “I’m awake… What day is it?” “Saturday.” “Time?” “Eight a.m.” “God… Dusty… Do you not believe in sleeping in?” “I have a toddler.” Dusty crossed his arms. “But also, I have an extra shift today so I need you to feed your son this morning.” “Ah. I can do that, yeah…” Dante sat up and scratched at the stubble on his face. “Do we have eggs?” “Cereal is fine,” Dusty said. “Naw, I want to do better than that,” Dante said. “Do you have time? I can make you eggs.” “I’m not hungry.” Dante got up off the couch. “If you have time, I’m making you eggs.” Dusty frowned and looked down. “I have time…” Dante patted Dusty’s shoulder but the demon pushed his hand away and went to go get his son. Dusty couldn't believe how much self restraint he had to exercise on a daily basis. Being around the one he'd bonded to made him feel like he was going crazy with desire and sometimes he had to be harsh with him to try to keep himself in check. Grey had been up for about an hour now but he has occupying himself with a small collection of rocks he'd started. Dusty came in and scooped him up, lifting him for a kiss to the forehead. “My handsome prince, are you hungry?” Dusty asked smiling. “Yeah,” Grey said getting excited. “Well, Papa's gonna make you eggs this morning,” Dusty said. “Special big boy eggs just for you.” Grey giggled. “For me?” “Yes sir.” It had seemed pointless not to tell Grey that Dante was his father at this point. Grey took it well, but at three he couldn't understand the implications and was just happy to have two parents all of a sudden. He already liked Dante so it wasn't hard for him to get used to the idea. Dusty changed and groomed his son before taking him out to the living room. With his horns coming in, Dusty would massage argan oil into his head to relax the process. Grey loved it when he did that because he liked the smell, so Dusty always told him they'd visit Morocco one day to see the trees where the oil came from. It was wishful thinking but he truly hoped he'd be able to take Grey along anywhere around the world. “Good morning, Grey,” Dante said as he watched them come in from the hall. “Breakfast is almost ready.” “Eggs!” Grey exclaimed seeing the yellow scrambling on the stove. “Big boy eggs!” “That's right. Eggs for Grey and his Daddy,” Dante said as he starting serving plates. “I told you, I'm not hungry,” Dusty said, bringing Grey over to the dinner table and putting him in his high chair. “You should eat before going to work. It isn't healthy to start the day on an empty stomach,” Dante said. Dusty was just silent and sat down beside his son and put his bib on. Dante served up breakfast and sat down to eat with him. When Grey asked for apple juice, he got that for him and put it in a sippy cup. Dusty left him to help Grey with his food while he got properly cleaned up for work. “So you're good to watch him today?” Dusty asked. “For sure,” Dante said, wiping ketchup from Grey's cheek. “When are you back?” “I think we'll be done around two.” “Where ya going?” Grey asked, looking a little distressed. “Daddy has to go to work today,” Dusty said, taking his son's face in his hands and giving him a kiss on the forehead. “There's no school today, so I can't bring you with me. But Papa's going to watch you today, okay?” Grey pouted but nodded. “Okay...” Dusty straightened up and fixed his hair. At work, assistants wore business casual and weren’t allowed to wear suits, so Dusty opted for a dark grey shirt, yellow tie and black trousers. “Do I look good?” “Yeah!” Grey exclaimed. “I love you, baby. See you later.” Dusty smiled and waved before stepping into the shadows and disappearing. Grey looked at the space where Dusty had been for a bit before turning back to Dante and pouting. Dante smiled and tousled Grey's hair. “Hey, do you want to play a game with me?” “Yeah!” Grey nodded. “With the animals and the houses?” “Naw, Papa doesn't have his video games with him...” Dante said, a sting of longing for his PlayStation in his heart. “I mean like...hm.. Want to make a pillow fort?” “Fort?” Grey asked. “Yeah, I'll show you.” Dante got up and scooped him out if his high chair. “Making forts is so much fun.” “Okay!”

It wasn't until part way through the day that Dusty realised he'd forgotten his phone at home. He could just pop back and get it but he figured it wasn't worth it since he didn’t really use it too much and he was there for a meeting. If he needed to contact home then he could use the phone at work. The reason they'd been called in on the weekend was for an emergency intelligence briefing. Fay asked Dusty to note take and organise any files that came with the briefing. Usually assistants wouldn't been invited to these kind of meetings but since the assistants had become so involved in managing digital paperwork, having them there in the meetings had proven to be more of a benefit than a detriment to the classification of information. This was Dusty's first meeting like it and it was nerve racking. He and Fay had shared several lunch breaks with Korsgaard and Camilo so he knew them well enough, but there were big wigs in the room he hadn't even seen yet in this meeting but there looked important and intimidating. A couple officials from NASA were present which alarmed Dusty somewhat. There was also several Yulinian liaisons at the table distinct from immigrants by their other worldly fashion and flag. Being the resident translator, Fay was seated beside them, and Dusty beside him. It would be his job to record Fay's translation and keep note of any translation he might want to reattempt later by marking the recording time. This would be Dusty's first translation meeting though so he was anxious to do right. The subject matter of the meeting didn’t help his nerve. The Yulinians had come to report an unidentified vessel spotted breaching the Oort cloud at the border of the Sun solar system. When communication was attempted with the vessel, it disappeared off their radar. From what Dusty had been taught, he knew that it was the Yulinian Force’s job to patrol and protect the borders of each solar system in the Milky Way Galaxy so for them to report this kind of breach it must be a threat to security. His worries were confirmed when the APID officials expressed their alarm. APID, being the first point of contact for the Yulinian peacekeepers, would be in charge of reporting to other space departments across the globe and NASA would be deciding defensive action from here on out. The Yulinians would collect intel and report once again within the next four months, sooner should any emergency occur. Beyond that, since they had no information yet on the origin of the vessel or even whether it was piloted or drone operated, the meeting ended shortly thereafter since intel was top priority. Dusty left the meeting a little shaken. The first thing he wanted to do was tell everyone he knew, but he’d signed a nondisclosure agreement at the beginning of his employment and it was reiterated in the meeting that if it got back to the government that he shared any of the information presented in that meeting with anyone without clearance, it would be considered treason. Fay bought him a coffee afterwards to calm his nerves and assured him meetings like that have occurred before but no actual threat to the Earth had ever come of it. The Yulinians were just very thorough by nature and their efforts to keep the galaxy safe rarely went lacking. Security had been ramped up exponentially since Dari's abduction and a breach in Oort cloud was common, the only significance was that they couldn't identify the intruder. Fay was sure that they'd be found and proper measures would be undergone to find out their intentions within Earth's Solar System. Seeing a scale diagram of how far away the Oort cloud truly was from Earth helped ease Dusty's anxiety about it considerably and he was able to assure Fay that he'd be fine going home alone since stress could potential misdirect his travel.

As he expected, he was back just after 2pm but when he stepped into the living room, he didn’t see anyone, just a fort of pillows and blankets in the middle of the room. “Dante? Grey?” Dante came crawling out of the pillows, finger to his lips. “Shh, I got him down for a nap...” “You did?” Dusty asked. “I didn’t think he would without me...” “Me neither but I put one of your shirts on a pillow and that did the trick,” Dante said. “Oh.” He looked at the pillow fort and sighed. “Pretty much everything I own is on the floor now…” “I’ll do a laundry run later,” Dante said. “How was work?” Dusty rolled his lips and frowned. “Can I, um... Can I give you a hug?” Dante’s eyes widened a bit. “Sure. Yeah, of course. Did something happen?” “No...” Dusty pulled Dante into a hug and held it for moment. “...It's just...when you're at APID and there’s...like... All these aliens and space stuff and I just find it hard not to be reminded of how...extremely small we are in the universe... Like, everything only matters if we let it matter.” “Ah... Yeah, I can see that,” Dante said, rubbing Dusty's back. “But...we're made of matter, so we must matter, right?” Dusty pulled away and rubbed his neck. “That's a bad joke...” “I mean, it's not entirely a joke,” Dante said. “For a lot of people at APID, I think that's what excites them most. The endlessness of space. The point of existence. They love it. But for some of us, it can be really scary and worrisome. But life is an amazing thing and it is what you make of it.” Dusty nodded, looking down. “...Just so you know, that hug doesn't mean anything...” “No, I know...” Dante crossed his arms. “Sometimes we just need a hug.” Dusty turned and went to look around in the kitchen. “I thought I left my phone here... Have you seen it?” “Oh, yeah. You got a couple calls,” Dante said, grabbing it off the coffee table. “I tried answering them but they'd hang up.” “That's weird.” Dusty came back over to grab it. As soon as he touched it though, it lit up and started the ring. He didn’t recognise the number, and it wasn't a local phone number. “Must be a prank or something,” Dante suggested. “Maybe.” Dusty answered it anyway. “Hello?” He blinked then looked at Dante. “Syd?!”

#lore #Dusty #Dante #Grey #demon #implied mpreg

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memes-saved-me · 5 years

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Why I believe in Ghosts or that there is something other than us

This is going be a list of my personal experiences. I'm not saying these were downright ghosts but I myself have tried to debunk them and failed.

Some of these are long and I made diagrams so strap in

My first sort of creepy paranormal memory was a dream (hear me out) I had as a kid everynight for almost a year when I was 4-5. I would be sleeping in my bottom bunk bed and a bald man would come out of the wall beside the bed and take me into it. I remember it vividly. The room was in black and white but mostly grey. It was a kitchen and he would sit me on the kitchen top. The only light was coming from an open closet/cupboard where he would go to and I would jump down and run back through the wall and wake up in tears. My godmother gave me a Dreamcatcher which I still own to this day and it all stopped. The real creepy thing is the fact that when my little sister turned 4 she had the same dream but from her top bunk. She had just been born when I dreamt it and we didn't talk about it until she told us she had a dream where a man took her into his kitchen and she ran away. When we asked what he looked like she said "bald". We sleep in the same beds in the same place to this day.

This one I have tried to bebunk many times but failed. One night me and my sister were "camping" in my grandma's livingroom in our 2 person tent. I got up to go to the toilet and when I looked into the TV as I climbed out of the tent, keep in mind this was back in the day when TVs were massive boxes and had an actual reflection, I saw someone standing behind the tent. My child brain went "Nope" and I went back to sleep. They were completely white and once I thought about it when I was older I wrote it off as being light reflecting off the TV but when I tried to recreate it nothing worked.

Again at my Grandma's house, where I will not sleep alone because it feels like you are being watched. When I had baths at hers I remember knocking on the wall every few times and something knocking back. You could say it was an echo but it didn't do it everytime and on the other side of that wall is the garage which is made of concrete bricks.

Skipping ahead a few years to when we moved in with my mum's bf at the time (We moved back to our old home later. Long story). This house was weird, so weird we gave whatever was in it a name, "Old Tom". My first experience and the only time I have been genuinely scared on this list was one night I woke up to something tapping the wooden ladder of mine and my sister's bunkbed. I had a blanket drapped over to make a fort so I couldn't see the room at all and I was too scared to pull it back. I called out to my sister but she was asleep and at the other end of the bed from the ladder. It picked up pace and I was curled, crying at the top of my bed until it stopped completely. I tried tapping on the ladder the next morning and it makes the exact some sound.

Same house. It was my first night alone there and as a joke my mum text the house phone, "It's Old Tom. I'm watching you". The house phone was downstairs so when it wrang I didn't hear it at first and only made it to the landing when it stopped ringing. Once it stopped ringing the creepy automatic voice read out the text. That's normal but what's not normal is the fact it read it multiple times as if someone was pressing the phone to make it. I called my dog upstairs and shut my bedroom door for the night.

The same dog who was 7 at the time would stare at the kitchen doorway when no one was in there. Never had she done anything like this her entire life and she never did again.

Around this time me and my sister visited France with my Auntie and Grandma. We stayed in an old farmhouse in the middle of nowhere which had been done out and renovated except for the old and completely original Black Smith's Forge which was attached to the house. This thing was something out of a horror movie. While playing in the garden I wouldn't look in the windows. All the glass was broken and dusty. It was more than 100 years old and untouched. Me and my sister were staying in the new rooms they had built in the attic area which was the closest to the Forge. Everything was fine until our last night when a clanking noise started. It sounded like someone was working in the Forge and hitting an old Forge. I didn't sleep that night at all and it continued on and off for hours. My sister heard it too.

I've seen a shadow figure run across the road infront of my house and disappear infront of a car.

I've heard someone speaking in touges in my bedroom and to top it all off I've heard someone whisper my name into my right ear in that said bedroom.

If you made it this far thank you for reading my rambles. I may do another of these about family member's experiences if anyone actually cares. Have a nice day

#ghosts #paranormal #supernatural #ghost encounter #ghost stories #ghost adventures #most haunted #creepy #personal #life experience #dead #the afterlife #paranormal experiences #supernatural experience

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luxwing · 5 years

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They say the sun is supposed to rise again tomorrow.

A week ago the man on the television told us that. He was speaking to a scientist who’s hands shook as he explained what was going to happen. The man kept sweating. Every day is the same story since. Different scientists explaining the same information, diagrams, animated recreations of the sunrise.

Every day, the man on the television cries. I don’t understand.

We haven’t had to go to school this week because the trains don’t run. This always happens when there’s a sunrise predicted. All the roads are closed and there are sirens and a lady’s voice asking people to stay calm and indoors, followed by how many hours until the sunrise.

“Please bring all children and pets indoors. Stay off the roads and make sure your Timothee Brand Window Shields are in place! For assistance, dial 45 and a professional Sunrise Associate will be right with you! Currently twenty one hours and five minutes until next sunrise.”

My first sunrise was five years ago. Dad says they’re happening more frequently whenever he peeks under the shields. I keep asking him why he was afraid of the sunrise, but he just tells me I wouldn’t understand.

I told mom that I wanted to see the sunrise someday and she started crying.

“Currently fifteen hours and thirty minutes until next sunrise.”

Mom told us to bring blankets to the basement. We make a fort out of pillows and sheets and it’s like camping. Mom and dad didn’t help.

“Currently two hours and nine minutes until next sunrise.”

Mom started crying again and dad has been on the phone for the last hour. They’re both in tears and I don’t understand. I think my oldest brother does, but he won’t tell us what’s happening. Says it would scare us.

I’m not scared, I just want to see the sunrise. I’ve read books about suns and they sound beautiful.

“Currently three minutes until next sunrise.” The voice stops and is replaced with a high pitched wail that pulses and makes my ears hurt. Dad locks the shields and ushers everyone to the basement and under the blanket fort. Mom is in the corner with her face covered. Dad locks the basement door and sits on the stairs with his hands clasping his beads.

The sirens stop.

I hear mom sobbing.

Then, I hear the sun.

I barely remember my first sunrise and I had forgotten the song. It’s an unnatural voice, human enough to be singing but only enough. It pulses like a heart beat. Little rays of light peek under the shields and I hear mom whimper as they glow through the cracks under the door. Dad moves off the stairs.

My brother pulls me close and tries to make me look away, but I want to see the light. No one will tell me why I should be afraid and I want to know.

I move my head to look up through the floorboards at the light. It only looks as though someone turned on the light upstairs. The song continues, becoming so loud at one point that it’s like the sun is inside our house. Mom and dad are huddled in the corner together and my brother won’t look up.

I want to know what the sunrise is. I wiggle out of his arms and move to the stairs. Mom yelps but no one stops me. Brother whispers for me to get back. I climb the stairs and press myself against the top step, tilting my head to look under the door where the light is coming from.

I see our living room, rays of light pouring from under the shields. I hear the singing moving through our hallway.

One of the window shields wasn’t locked, turns out. It swung upwards and sun flooded the room.

I saw eyes.

The eyes saw me, too.

Mom was crying.

The song changed and I heard my name among the notes.

Then, it was night again.

Nothing changes. Dad yells at me for scaring them, swears when he sees the broken shield lock. Mom looks at me and turns away. I catch her staring sometimes.

I ask brother why the sun has so many eyes. He tells me to never ask anyone that question.

I still don’t understand.

I still want to see the sunrise again.

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endlesstalesofwonder · 6 years

Text

Malec Week: Harry Potter AU

So I’m not attuned to the entire Harry Potter universe, so instead I used it as a two-word prompt and let the words fall where they may. Enjoy!

Alec never saw the harm in reading. Reading was a means of gaining information, new or old, in different styles of writing and diagrams. The Institute’s library was full of “boring” books – Magnus always made a point of calling them that – which were neither stimulating or worth reading the spine.

The best books were part of the restricted sections, which, under prior management, had been locked up tightly. Now, as Alec was the Head of said Institute, he had those same keys to read, see, and do whatever he wanted to those books. He learned his lesson, however, when the first book he picked up tried to eat him, and the second nearly set the entire building on fire while in a tornado.

That had been hard to explain to some of his co-workers. Underhill had understood. And then he followed in Alec’s footsteps and nearly made the place turn to rubble.

Alec found safety in exposing his children to books that would neither spontaneously combust nor threaten the lives of others simply by looking in its direction. Lost in the mundane world of literature, Alec had gotten lost among the black hole that was ordering books and other things online and ended up buying the entire collection of Harry Potter.

Magnus scoffed when Alec had first showed him. There’s absolutely no truth in their magic, he had told him. Wands are ridiculous, and thus Magnus launched into speaking about how there was only one kind of wand he liked handling, and Alec straddled him on the kitchen floor.

Every night, Alec read to both of their boys. Rafael had refused to listen to such nonsense and removed himself from the room whenever Max demanded another chapter. It took half of the first book for Rafael to stay in the room and question the logistics of the fictional world.

How could someone live in a closet? Who needs that many presents? Who would want a rat – wasn’t Uncle Simon one? Does that count? I want an owl, papa.

Alec never saw the harm in reading such adventures aloud.

His sons, he had learned, were adept readers like himself. They paid attention to every detail. They started quoting the book aloud throughout the day, even sending relevant fire messages whenever they pleased. Those privileges were revoked when one was sent into their bedroom when entangled around one another. It had progressed into buying costumes and feigning accents.

He realized half way into the series.

Alec got off of work early that day. He was the boss, and therefore had the most flexible hours than anyone else, and Magnus was working on a treaty negotiation in India with their warlock ambassador. Alec entered their apartment, as he usually did, and tossed his keys into the bowl beside the door.

He made his way into the kitchen to find the room devoid of his children – or the kitchen chairs. It wasn’t uncommon for them to suddenly go missing. They had also started making forts out of their blankets to read ahead in the books. In search of the children, and consequently, chairs, Alec made his way up into their bedroom

Which was also empty. Their beds were made, complete with blankets and extra throws, and their things were still in their rooms. It took that split second for full-bloom panic to set in his chest.

This could not happen when Magnus was gone. Alec was a good – no, excellent – father, and he’d be damned if he let anything happen the second his husband was gone. He turned on his heel quickly, turned the handle of the door, and – there was faint, muffled giggles.

Alec froze. He spun back around – and to his horror – made sure to look left, then right, before turning his direction upwards.

“Hi, papa,” Rafael sheepishly greeted.

Alec could feel all the blood rush from his head to his feet. There was nothing – no book, manual, or parent-teaching group – that could have prepared him for that moment. His children were sitting on the ceiling, upside-down, as though the gravity had shifted to allow them to sit there. They were dressed in their Harry Potter costumes.

“What – How?”

“Wingardium Leviosa!” Max’s hand shot out from the folds of his robe, his hand clutching a twig they had picked up from the park one afternoon, claiming it was his ‘chosen wand, papa’. The lamp that was perched beside Max’s bed shook slightly before levitating up towards the ceiling, flipping around, and settling beside the blue boy.

“By the Angel,” Alec muttered.

“Are you going to tell daddy?” Rafael was always more perceptive with Alec.

Alec ran a hand through his dark locks. It was one of his few tells, as Magnus reminded him, that revealed his stress, but way of thinking through situations. “No,” he decided. “I can do this.”

“Lumos!” Max cried again. The entire apartment went completely dark, but the stick – wand – was lit perfectly at its tip with a ball of bright white light.

Alec wasn’t so sure he could do this alone after all. He dug in his pocket for his phone. He flicked it open, found Magnus number – “Expelliarmus!”

Alec phone shot straight into the wall. The device poked out from the dented hole in the wall. Max giggled, of course, in delight. Rafael gasped.

“Max!” his older son exclaimed.

“What?”

“I want to get down,” he said simply. Calmly. That’s what Alec needed to be.

“Uh…”

“Max?”

The younger boy cowered into his robes. “I don’t know how.”

“¿Qué quieres decir con que no sabes?” Rafael hissed.

“Rafe,” Alec stepped in. Children fighting on the ceiling, that he could not reach no matter his height, was not on his list of things he wanted to happen while Magnus was gone for the weekend. “Max. I need you to calm down.”

His blue boy had turned into a blubbering mess. Tears stained his cheeks and he was trying to sniffle through the waves. “I don’t know how.”

“I know, blueberry, but I need you to stop crying if I can help.” Max took large, hiccupping gasps of air in attempt to calm down.

“Mira. Mírame.” Rafael grabbed Max’s hands away from his face. Smearing away the tears was only making the mess worse. “Breathe with me.”

Rafael coached his younger brother into controlling his breath, and in relation, lower them from the ceiling without him noticing. They fell, slowly, turned, and landed safely in the kitchen chairs. “Perfect.”

“I’m sorry, papa,” Max immediately turned, arms stretched for his father.

“You’re okay, blueberry.” Alec scooped him up, holding him tight against his chest. Their hearts were beating beside one another, both erratically thumping away with fear. He pulled Rafe into his side, giving him a thankful squeeze. “You’re okay.”

Magnus came home on Sunday sometime in the evening. He kicked off his shoes, threw his jacket into the corner of the room, knowing it would magically find itself in their closet by morning, and followed the noise of speaking into the living room. His boys were huddled together in the middle of the sofa, Alec’s head rising above the other two near his neck. He made sure to stay quiet, cautious of any sleeping bodies, and ran a ringed hand through his husband’s hair.

Alec no longer jerked whenever he suddenly approached, but instead bent his head backwards to greet the man. Magnus pressed a kiss to his hairline. “I trust everything went well?”

His husband hummed. “As well as expected.”

“What does that mean?” Magnus circled the couch, pausing to stare at the cardboard box sitting beside the reclining chair in the corner. He couldn’t see any specific objects, other than the stick Max begged to have one day. “What happened?”

Alec shook his head slowly. Max was curled up in his lap, head rested perfectly in the crook of his neck, and Rafael took sanction on his side in a mirrored position. Magnus loved seeing them like this, but not with no much tension still hanging in the air.

“I’ll tell you later,” Alec promised.

Magnus nodded, accepting that for now until the truth was told later. He settled beside their eldest son. He jerked awake at the sudden shift in weight before realizing there was no attack on his life, and then repositioned himself into his other father’s arms.

“What are you watching?”

“Harry Potter.” Rafael groaned in his arms. Magnus rose a quizzical brow at his husband.

He had a lot of explaining to do.

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voxcomentumultis · 5 years

Note

“What are you doing under there?” ((ingo and cody))

@acesfight

Realistically, the blanket fort would have collapsed instantly, or while he was building it, but it held together by the sheer will of Cody’s powers. He had a flashlight in one hand and an open book in front of him. There was a diagram of the anatomy of a butterfly on the page he was reading. He pointed to the butterfly’s head.

“That’s the proboscis,” he told him. “It’s usually curled real tight against their heads, but when they’re hungry it kinda turns into a straw so they can drink nectar from the flower.”

#acesfight #what are our children but our dreams manifest? | cody interactions #returned | cody verse

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cheeseeatingtrashmonster · 6 years

Text

Moments

Lukadrien June day 27: Mutual Support. Thanks @lukadrienjune

Read the whole month on AO3

"Adrien slow down!" Nathalie called across the foyer. Adrien slid to a stop and ran to the door of the office where she stood.

"Hi, Nathalie. Did you need something?"

"Don't run in the house," she said.

"But I have to change and shower before Luka gets here."

"You look fine," Nathalie said.

"I was just at the animal shelter," Adrien said. "Luka's allergic to cats."

"Fine. Don't run in the house."

/*****/

"I'd like to be clear," Adrien said with a smirk. "Just because I tell you I have a photoshoot does not mean I'm fishing for you to stop by with coffee."

"I didn't think that you were," Luka said. "I just like seeing you."

"If you two aren't careful, no amount of makeup is gonna cover that blush," the makeup artist working on Adrien between shots said.

"I brought you coffee, too, Nicole," Luka said, holding out the cup to the makeup artist.

"Keep him," she said to Adrien, taking the cup and downing a gulp before setting it down to finish her work.

"I'd like to," Adrien said.

It was Luka who blushed that time.

/*****/

"You're here!" Luka said, grinning. He was slouching as he sat at a booth for his school's club fair. The room was packed and loud and hot and Adrien could see on Luka's face how much he didn't want to be there.

"I brought you tea and a croissant from Tom and Sabine's," Adrien said, setting both on the table covered in Robotics Club pamphlets, fliers, and diagrams. A little robot walked around beside the table, one of Luka's classmates controlling it with a remote.

"You're great," Luka said. "Definitely one of my favorite people of all time."

"You look like you could use a break," Adrien said.

"I'm waiting for Anna to come back," Luka said. "She started her fifteen minute break a good-" he glanced at the clock on his phone, sighed and said, "forty minutes ago."

"What does she look like?" Adrien asked.

"Why?"

"Just tell me."

Luka described Anna and Adrien leaned over to kiss Luka's cheek before backing up and scanning the room.

"I'm gonna find her so I can steal you away for a few minutes until your eyes don't have that pinchy look they get when you're people'd out."

Adrien all but skipped off and Luka tried not to sigh like the lovesick fool he was.

"So, that's the boyfriend?" the kid with the remote asked.

"Yes he is."

"So, he gets you pretty well."

"Better than I ever dreamed."

/*****/

Adrien paced back and forth, trying to take deep breaths. He wasn't sure why his heart was beating so fast, but it was annoying and painful and scary in and of itself. His stomach felt like someone was grabbing handfuls of his insides and his head was just a little light on his shoulders. Adrien didn't know what to do, how to make it stop. Pacing at least made him feel like he was doing something, so he kept walking back and forth in the dark of his room while Plagg stared at him with large eyes that didn't give much away.

"Why am I like this?" Adrien whispered, coming to stand in front of Plagg.

Plagg didn't respond. He flew over to Adrien's bed and hunted around in it until he found Adrien's cell phone, which he dropped in his hand. Adrien stared at it for a moment, then with a few swipes it was ringing before he knew for sure who he had called.

"Adrien?"

It was Luka. Of course it was Luka.

"I'm sorry." He had probably woken him up. It sounded like he had woken him up.

"You okay?"

The shaky breath Adrien drew was enough of an answer.

"Can you talk to me? Tell me what's wrong?"

"I don't know," he said. "I don't know why I feel like this and everything's too much and I don't know why it won't stop."

"You're going to be okay," Luka said. "Is there anything you can think of that I can do to help you calm down?"

Adrien shook his head as he said, "I don't know. I'm sorry."

"That's okay," Luka said. There was some background noise for a moment and then Luka asked, "Do you want me to just play my guitar and sit here on the phone with you?"

"Yeah," Adrien said.

It took a while, but Adrien eventually felt his nerves dial back the intensity enough that he could sit on the side of his bed, and eventually enough to lay down and curl up with the phone to his ear.

"Sorry I woke you," Adrien said.

"Please don't be," Luka said, not even pausing in his guitar playing. "I just wish I was there with you so I could help more."

/*****/

"So I'm applying for a summer music program," Luka said, lying with his head on Adrien's lap while Adrien scrolled through his phone with one hand, the other resting on Luka's hair.

"That's so cool!" Adrien said, setting his phone aside. "For guitar or composing?"

"Composing," Luka said. "But there are fewer composing slots open this year. I probably won't get in."

"You'll get in," Adrien said. "Just look at how popular the band has gotten."

"That's nice of you to say," Luka said. "Actually, I have a favor to ask."

"What's up?"

"I have to audition to get in," he said. "Send in a sample of something I composed."

"You want me to help you record something?"

"I want to send in a version of the song I wrote for you."

"You don't need my permission for that," Adrien said, his hand stroking Luka's hair back from his forehead. "It's yours, you wrote it."

"I wrote it for you," Luka said. "It's yours. I made it, but it was never mine."

"Then fine, I give you my permission," Adrien said. "What did you mean by 'a version' of Sunshine?"

"Oh, that," Luka said. "Sunshine is only one side of you. I'm adding a little because you're also Chat Noir. I'm calling it Sunshine and Shadows."

"I... thank you," Adrien said, leaning down to kiss him. "I can't wait to hear it."

/*****/

"I haven't seen my father in eight days," Adrien said, letting Luka through the front door. "Nathalie said she saw him twice. I think even she's getting worried. She also seems worried about the increase in akuma attacks. She usually tries so hard to hide when she feels anything. If I can tell she’s worried…”

"This whole giant place and the only person in it you can find is Nathalie?" Luka asked, reaching for Adrien's hand on instinct.

"I guess. It's seemed bigger since... since it got emptier."

Luka looked around the giant foyer with the horrifying painting at the split between the stairs. Gabriel Agreste might be a big name in fashion, but he needed to stop assuming that talent applied to home decorating as well.

"What if you showed me the rest of the house?" Luka said. "I've pretty much just seen the dining room, your room, and the room with the piano."

"The piano's not always in that room," Adrien said.

"You know what I meant," Luka said. "Would you want to? I'm a little curious."

The afternoon was spent running around, sliding down the hallways in their socks as fast as they could, putting sticky notes on all the doors they'd explored, opening every closet door, and eventually bringing quite a few pillows and blankets found in the guest rooms to pile them in the dining room and make a giant blanket fort. It became one of Adrien's favorite memories. The moment that cemented the afternoon the top of the list was when someone tripped over a stray blanket and started looking for the entrance.

"Adrien? What in the world possessed you to do this to the dining room?"

"Father?"

Adrien tried to jump to his feet, only to get the "ceiling" of the fort to collapse on him.

"You made a fort?" Gabriel asked, reaching to pull the roof back into place. "You haven't done this in years."

"I'm sorry, we can put it back, I'll do the laundry myself, but I wanted to-"

"This is wonderful," Gabriel said, crouching between two chairs with the blanket between them held over his head. "May I join you for a minute?"

Gabriel looked exhausted and really only did stay a couple minutes, but he was there. He was *there*.

"I'm holding you to the laundry you promised," Gabriel said as he exited the fort. "The thing about growing up is that you can still have blanket forts, but now you're the one dealing with the cleanup, too."

When they heard the dining room door close again, Adrien realized he was on the verge of tears.

"Hey," Luka said, reaching out to run a hand in a slow pattern up and down Adrien's back. "You're okay."

"No, I know I am," Adrien said, taking a breath. "I was right, something's going on with him. But he... Luka, he hasn't done something like that in years."

"I know," Luka said.

He didn't say more, because there wasn't more to say.

#lukadrien june #miraculous ladybug #adrien agreste #luka couffaine #lukadrien #nathalie sancoeur #gabriel agreste #events #my writing

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fioreofthemarch · 6 years

Text

Count to Ten

Happy Valentine’s Day friends. I wanted to write something fluffy and centered on a simple motif but it came out as angst lol. Enjoy!

Words: 2500 Pairing: Link/Zelda Summary: When the barriers between asleep and awake blur, and the haunting of dreams shakes up an otherwise serene holiday, Link and Zelda find grounding in numbers. Content note: Mentions of mental health issues

I can’t sleep. I have tried, a thousand times, to close my eyes. Each time, I remain.

But you. You sleep without end.

Once in a while, I will reach out, reach forward, send myself across the land to find you. But you never stir. Each time I think another year has passed it has barely been a day.

So I’ve stopped counting. Now, I only count to ten. Minutes, hours, days…years. Only ever ten.

And with each ten I know you are ever closer.

I pray, I survive, I exist, for you to wake.

In through the parted curtains the sunlight streams and bright, though it is, it is not warm. Fingers curl against a blanket, pulling it higher, plunging those beneath it into a solitude of warmth. Another hour…another minute…

But the sun is up and the day has begun! It yearns to be seen, waking hours yearning to be lived where dreams were groggy and dark. He is awake. The blankets are thrown back.

A groan beside him reminds him; he was not sleeping alone. Dainty hands shoot out towards the covers that had been so rudely pulled away, and his companion buries herself once again, muttering softly, “Don’t…it’s cold…”

All that’s left of her now is her face, resting on a downy pillow, and her golden hair frizzed by sleep. He leans down to kiss her forehead and notes the faint, pleasant smell of a floral hair wash. Others struggle in the countryside – the simplicity and demanding starkness of it having the intriguing opposite effect of confusing them. But not her. She loves this cottage – enjoys the stripping away of the many burdens she wears. He does too, he realises, a shiver through his bare body reminding him. They both sleep naked. In part for this aforementioned reason but in most part simply to be close to one another; to feel the presence of another in the depths that night brings for them both.

Thinking he will let her sleep another hour, he stands to dress.

Sums were never his forte, so he asks her. “What is three by twenty-four?”

She is awake now, combing her hair and parting it perfectly down the middle of her crown. Without stopping she answers. “Seventy-two.” She does not ask him why he has asked. They don’t ask many questions here.

“And four by twenty-four?”

“Ninety-six. Five by twenty-four is one hundred and twenty.”

He’s impressed. Such speed for something so foreign to him, and with a casual air of simplicity.

As she braids her hair, he sifts through a coin purse, counting out one hundred and twenty rupees. The merchant had told him he’d round down to the nearest ten as a favour, so he would either need seventy, ninety or one hundred and twenty. He takes the entire purse.

The braid is done, and she’s standing behind him now, hands rubbing his shoulders. “I’m heading into town,” he says. She answers with a kiss on his neck.

“Can’t you spare a few minutes? Only some. You left me all alone in bed.”

He does not fight, and in fact, the notion does even not cross his mind. He stands and spins around to face her, taking her into his arms. “I can only spare a few minutes. Ten at most.”

“Oh, you’ll make it to ten then?”

Her joke is remunerated by an embrace that sweeps her quite literally off her feet, and she squeals with delight. He carries her eagerly up the stairs, and as it turns out, neither of them make it anywhere near to ten minutes.

The merchant unveils his handy work, made exactly to the specifications and diagram that had been provided.

“Four hours work, at a rate of twenty-four rupees per hour.”

It’s a pittance, but the merchant is paid anyway. His customer tells him to keep the extra six, saying, “I’m a friend of the Queens, money isn’t an issue.”

The merchant drinks in the sheen of the six extra rupees, his eyes hungry and mouth positively salivating. Six rupees is barely enough to buy a stew at the nearby inn, let alone anything worth gawping at.

“Link, my dear boy! I hope you stay her friend for a long time to come!” He is hopping on his feet, blushing like a bride. “For that, I will help you carry it up the hill and across the bridge. Is Her Majesty in? I should so like to see her face.”

Four more rupees are placed in the merchant’s hand, and he looks about to burst.

“For your help,” his customer tells him. “Round it to ten like you said. And she is most definitely in.”

At this, the merchant begins to weep.

Ecstatic doesn’t quite cover it; she is beside herself, muttering with joy and wonder, making for herself a verbal diary of her plans. All the while she dotes on the new apparatus, fashioned by a local merchant in about four hours and exactly like the ones kept in the castle some hundred years ago.

“I thought since you were so fond of elixirs, and none of the workstations survived…” he begins, but she has thrown herself around him mid-sentence. Not needing to tell her the rest of the dull story of how he found the diagrams, contacted a fabricator in Hateno, waited on its completion and did the silly business of payment, he hangs back to let her begin her work.

A second braid is tied to secure her hair from her face, and the work indeed gets underway.

The apparatus is little more than a table really, with a handful of mounted clasps and a series of different tubes and vials, though there is one small scientific marvel. A lamp, big enough for burning only a tiny flame, is secured to the table. The merchant provided enough oil to start, but they would eventually need to find more. This all in all made a fine workstation, and before long, water is boiling with a tincture of some fine powder, made from ground flowers found in the garden.

“Nothing special,” she says when the mixture is nearly ready. “Just something to soothe the nerves and calm the mind. Not that we’ll ever need it here.”

A day turns into a week then two. A letter comes as a summon to take them away from this place. The royal seal is printed on the back, the fine lettering reading, Her Majesty’s holiday must soon come to an end. There was no point hiding or destroying the letter. Responsibility is not a thing to be avoided, but rather to be proud of. As much as he wanted peace…

He runs his hand over the ink, tracing the bold lettering and coolly detached words, and then folds the paper, resisting the urge to scrunch it tightly in his hands.

When he steadies his thoughts, he finds he is shaking, beads of sweat having formed on his brow. The paper is gone, he is sitting now, on their bed, and it is night time. An hour has passed him by in its entirety with no trace or imprint. It is simply gone. He bites down on his lips to bring pain. Pain grounds him. Pain is real and tangible and cannot be questioned.

She finds him and sees the hollow look in his eyes. Her hands are on his shoulders, lips to his ear. “It’s okay, I’m here, it’s over now. You’re awake and alive.” It does little to calm him, so she brushes his hair from his eyes and says, “Perhaps I should get you some of that tincture.”

He drinks what she gives him and falls into a needing sleep.

Where am I? What is this place?

I’ve never been here before, but still, I walk and run and climb. Everything is new, every rock and blade of grass. Every animal. Every foe. I tell myself to press forward to find something, but a part of me is just trying to escape what’s behind.

The newness buries its way into me, unseating my core, never letting me rest. How can I belong when all I see is an unfolding discovery? When will I see something twice?

I was told I was sleeping. I was told I had been brought back.

But from where?

Where did I come from?

Was it lonelier than here, or about the same?

He wakes shaking, but solid and unable to rise. The morning sun stings his eyes, and in desperation, he cries out. His muscles jerk, hands clawing for purchase and in a fit, he throws the covers to the floor.

She jolts awake immediately, yelping and ready to curse him from here to Eventide when she sees.

He has stumbled, sobbing, to the floor. On all fours he heaves, sweat mixing with tears as he tries in vain to pick himself up. She is at his side in an instant, a hand rubbing his back and another gently prying his hand from the bedpost that he has gripped in his panic.

She tries to bring him back into bed, but he wrenches himself away with a strangled, “No!” and so instead she finds him a robe to cover his naked body, and dry the sheen of sweat on his skin. She wraps him up, lets him sit on the floor with his head resting against the wall, and finds her own clothes to dress.

He watches her and thinks that he has never seen her in anything but blue, and white, and gold. He wonders what she would look like in green. Or red. Or black.

It is a mundane, trivial thought, but it brings him out of his stupor.

“I’m sorry, Zelda,” he says. She turns, and he sees on on her face the twitches of a hidden frown.

“Never apologise for needing help,” she tells him.

Another batch of tincture is brewed, and in a second pot, a few cups worth of hot tea. The night hours have been marching steadily on, and soon it will be morning once more. They sit on their bed, but he refuses to lie down, terrified of what sleeping could bring.

After his episode earlier that day, a tense air has gathered in their house. It is suffocating, sticky like steam, and even the fresh air brought in by opening the windows does not dispel it. They can bear it no longer and shut the windows tight, but by now the house is utterly frigid. Water has been boiling since the sunset, and a seemingly endless stream of tea consumed to keep warm.

But still, the air weighs heavy above them. Exhaustion, and anxiety, whatever the reasons, will make even the brightest day thick and unendurable.

The tincture does not help. It has been abandoned in favour of tea.

“It was probably just a placebo…” she sighs. “I can run more experiments back at the castle.”

“You think we should go home then?”

She nods gently, but still, the notion wounds him. He was hoping for at least another week away, to let his frantic mind settle. The city is full of sound and sights and jobs to do and people to see and he just…couldn’t. Not yet.

“I think we should have you seen by a doctor, even if we can’t quite figure it out,” she says.

“I don’t know if that will help.”

“It might. I read about anxiety like this, many years ago.”

“I doubt they wrote a book about this–”

“I lived some of it, and still do. There are techniques, beyond remedies to help you sleep. I’m not a doctor but–”

He waves away the conversation, not wanting to think about it. Placing down his warm cup, he lies down on their bed and enjoys the comfort the blankets bring. As the sun begins to rise, he begins to doze.

Another nightmare, another panicked awakening.

“Zelda!” he cries. He gasps for air, flailing, and she is there as though she had never left. He realises that is indeed the case and it sparks guilt within him.

She takes his hands, captures them, holds them steady.

“Look at me, look at my eyes, only my eyes,” she tells him. He obeys. Her eyes are deep green, in contrast to the blues she loves so much. In any other, she might look mismatched, but she is exactly as she wants to be. The thought grounds him, and his taut breath goes out of him like a wave.

“Look at me,” she repeats. “Do as I say.”

He nods.

“Count to ten. Each number you count, let it go. Let it all go.”

Let what go? How? He doesn’t understand. The air in his throat is hot, and he feels as though he is treading water, dipping under periodically such that he soon might drown.

“Count to ten,” she cups his face in her hands. “With me.”

They count.

One. The pain of dying, and his final thoughts of how he had failed

Two. Anguished waking, and the bareness of a new life.

Three. The haunt of memories regained, but never enough, a dog chasing its tail

Four. Blood on the ground and muscles bruised, relearning to fight

Five. Long, empty days without a soul to talk to, bookended by nightmares

Six. The insurmountable history placed on his shoulders, compelling him to continue no matter what his own desires are

Seven. Finding something to fight for marred by the fear of failure once again

Eight. The brute strength of his foe and the hatred it harbours for him, though he does not know if he deserves it

Nine. The emptiness of a mission complete, and wondering what happens now

And ten.

It’s gone. All of it, gone. Not forever, but for now. The calm hits him quick, but he is grateful for it.

They embrace, and neither says a word for a long, long time. The day is just beginning, but for now, he wants to stay home. He wants to be with her, and only her, in a place where he can choose to forget.

He reaches for the thick blanket left tangled on their bed, and wraps it around them both.

#breath of the wild #zelink #legend of zelda #breath of the wild oneshot #tloz #my writing #im sorry this is so fucking weird #i wrote it in about 40 minutes with no planning #happy valentines day?#tumblr oneshots

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