#careful viewers will note. that those are not the words coming out of drews mouth in this gif

[oplishin]

I don’t want that title Seth, I need it. // You fucking deserve it, man.

(December 18, 2023; April 7, 2024)

[crimsonrae]

Reckless Intent: Part One

Summary: When the dance between Sherlock and Delia first began, learning the steps did not come smoothly. But then that would happen when affections haven’t been made clear and a murderer is on the loose.

SherlockXOFC

Rating: M

Warning: Mentions of Prostitution and some minor nudity

A/N: I couldn’t leave the thought of Sherlock and Delia alone and this was how I picture them finally acknowledging the attraction between them. Set about ten years before the events in Enola. Sherlock has only been away from home for about three years.

It hadn’t taken much effort.  

Far less than Delia had anticipated when she had visited with the proprietor of the gentlemen's club, but then she wasn’t surprised by the notion that a group of men who spent their private time ogling scantily clad women, would hire her so quickly to do the same. Her stomach churned with mild disgust while her nerves threatened to undo her.

Large dusky pink feathers danced and skimmed playfully over her delicate slippers, teasing the curve of her calf as she drew the large fan up her body.  

Being in the club was a risk, but it had been the last place her dear friend, Margaret, had visited before her untimely death and the police were making little headway in finding her killer.

She bent sanguinely back in time with the dulcet chords from the piano, allowing a glimpse of the swell of her bosom to the leering crowd below.

Part of their sloth had much to do with the other women's reticence in speaking with the coppers. Their livelihood depended on them being able to keep a secret, after all.  

She winked and tossed her leg up receiving a loud cheer as the men tried to glimpse her coveted virtue.

The other part had much to do with the fact that Margaret had been a former pickpocket and flower-girl, now tobacco-girl. Her death meant little to the constables and even less to the detectives.  

What was one more dead urchin after all?  

It both saddened and enraged Delia, for that had been her life for so very long too. Still was to a certain degree, but she had found employment for her particular skill set... even if it did bring her into contact with the police and an up and coming young detective far too often for her tastes.  

She twirled. The fans just barely hid her assets from the audience as she swayed across the stage.

Unruly fire twisted in her veins as she thought of that arrogant young man. How his cerulean orbs twinkled with dark intrigue with their every encounter... as if she were some mystery for him to puzzle out. She didn’t care for his stares or the odd fluttering he caused her.  

The clip in her hair fell loose as she pirouetted more vigorously than she had intended. Her hair cascaded in soft luscious waves down her back much to the appreciation of her gentleman viewers.

Those flames licked angrily at her throat as she recalled their last meeting. How she had all but begged for his help and he... Humiliated tears burned at her eyes as she tried and failed not to think of his uncaring words.  

Her friend’s death wasn’t interesting. She was likely caught in one of her scams and it ended badly for her. She forced the tears down.  

She tried not to think of why his usual dismissive behavior had wounded her so...

What did Sherlock Bloody Holmes know anyway?

A playful smile curled at the edges of her painted lips as she slid down into a vertical -legged split to roars of delight. Never noticing the lone note of remonstrating silence from the back.

Delia glided from the stage feeling flushed and exhilarated as she was greeted by the knowing chuckles of the other women. There was a strange excitement that came from being so daring and vulnerable before that crowd... she understood now why Margaret had sought it out. She felt almost... powerful.

“You look just like her.” One of the girls murmured, a sad glint tinting her gaze.  

Delia arched a questioning brow, surprised when the other woman continued, “Your friend, Maggie... She had that same dazzled look, Luv.”

A few of the women dispersed, heading for the stage – other's the crowd, but the intent was the same to get away from the coming conversation.  

The woman sighed and adjusted the garter on her thigh as she critically eyed the tight lacing of her silk corset, “We’re not fools, ya know? We know why you’re here. Maggie was a good ‘un. Real riot. Shame, what happened to her.”

Delia’s heart skipped a beat, unsure how to react to being found out so soon – she wasn’t used to others seeing through her disguise. It was foolish on her part; she had visited Margaret here on a few occasions. Hesitantly, she queried, “And do you know what happened to her?”

The other woman sighed and finished tethering her skirt to her hip before turning to her, “’ Course not. She ran into trouble, didn’t she? Word of advice, avoid the red room, else you’ll run into trouble, too.”

The woman spurned Delia with a pointed look before she sauntered off to join another girl on a secondary stage. There was no missing the hint behind her comment.

If Delia’s heart had skipped a beat before, it thrummed with desperate need now. Warily, her eyes darted to the stairs in the back of the club as she pinned a faux skirt over the lacey French drawers that teased her nethers. The private rooms resided above, and Delia shivered to think of what occurred inside. Many of the women sold more than dances, and despite her earlier bravado, such carnality was foreign to her. It saddened her to realize that perhaps it wasn’t foreign to Margaret.

Steeling herself, she pasted a coy smile to her lips and forced mischief to dance in her gaze as she picked up a tobacco tray. She mingled in the crowd. Trading her pouches of dried leaf for coin as she steadily made her way to the stairs. She dumped the tray once she passed the smirking usher at the bottom... now she just needed to find this red room.  

Footsteps and giggling voices interrupted her search before she could even begin. Panic choked at her throat as she sought an open room to duck into, uncertain if her presence would be questioned. She didn’t make it far when a warm hand wrapped around her elbow and yanked her into a darkened room. She yelped, her fist flying at her assailant before she consciously noted it moving, but this too was thwarted.

Her wrist was captured, and her body pressed firmly back into the closed door to prevent any further attack when she caught sight of a familiar pair of cerulean eyes.

“You!” Delia spat, her fear forgotten in the face of her arrogant detective, “Unhand me!”

Momentarily allied that no harm would befall his person, Sherlock stepped back with an arched brow as he faced her ire, “Kindly keep your screeching to a minimum. It wouldn’t do to have us discovered so soon.”

Delia’s mouth dropped open indignantly and her hand tingled with the dark desire to slap his smarmy face. She barely kept hold of her temper as she berated him lowly, “You accosted me, Mr. Holmes. If anything, I should be screaming the building down on you.”

“That would be foolish and counterintuitive to your goals.” Sherlock stated mildly as his gaze deliberately skimmed over her meager dressage. His mouth tightened distastefully, “Though you’ve already proved how foolish you’re willing to be tonight.”

She resisted the urge to cover herself as her gaze darkened almost ferally, “I beg your pardon -”

“You’ll beg for a lot more than that before this night is through.” Sherlock murmured softly, a hint of danger coating his tone that raised the hairs on the nape of her neck and sent heat to her cheeks.

It was then that Delia realized there was no trace of his usual mocking humor. His eyes didn’t twinkle with that thoughtful light but gleamed with dark intent. The passive non-smile that usually painted his maw was now replaced by a tense jaw and a twitching cheek. To anyone unfamiliar with the detective they would merely see an impassive visage, but Delia had encountered him often enough this past year to know he was displeased. In fact... he seemed livid.

The realization sent an untoward shiver down her spine. Vainly, she ignored the embarrassed fluttering he induced in her as she held her scowl, “Why are you here, Mr. Holmes? I didn’t take you for the type to buy his pleasure.”

“Nor did I take you for the type to sell hers.” Sherlock retorted impatiently – even this was unlike him. He was not usually prone to such emotional responses. It made her leery, “I seemed to recall my assistance being required in solving the murder of a one Margaret Harris, Miss. Woodson.”

Delia blanched, her uncertainty growing as she stared bemused, “You said the case wasn’t interesting or worth your time.”

“It’s not.” Sherlock iterated stonily, “But since you seemed intent on running headfirst into trouble, I thought it best to intervene before you did something reckless. Though I see I’m already too late on that account.”

Acidic words danced on the tip of her tongue, but by some odd strength, she kept them at bay. Her attention soundly stuck upon his anger. Delia didn’t understand it, was galled by it... she hated it, “You’re angry.”

“I’m aware.” He answered quietly, making her huff.

Her lips pursed as barely kept reign of her irritation, “Why?”

The air in the room seemed to chill with her question and she had to bite back a gasp as his full attention bore down on her like a malevolent cloud. Incredulity shined like a stray beacon against his ferocious storm of muted fury. He stared at her as if she should already know why he was upset, and Delia had never felt more out to sea. For a wild moment, she wasn’t sure she wanted to be brought back to shore.

“Why?” He growled.  

Delia refused to acknowledge the thrill that hard tone sent through her body as she fought to remember she had been the one wronged in this scenario. Not him.

“Perhaps Miss. Woodson, you are more naïve than I thought. After all, it does take a certain amount of oblivion or perhaps ignorance to not realize where exactly you are standing.” Sherlock lectured crisply as he loomed over her small form, “Is it completely lost on you that you stand in what is essentially a high-caliber bordello? That you are before me in your undergarments? That you are very much at risk of being accosted by far worse characters than myself?”

None of those questions truly answered hers about his motives but rather danced around it. He reminded Delia of a boy she had known as a child. He had had a toy train that he adored more than anything. Strangely, he never played with it, but always had it in hand. He would never let another child play with it and was quite protective of this train. It was his toy. No one else's.  

An inexplicable dawning began to light her mind as if she were seeing the stars in the night sky for the first time.  

Quietly, she prodded him, “I am quite aware, Mr. Holmes. Otherwise, I would not have attempted to defend myself when you did accost me. I understood the risk I took. I also understand that I am not your ward – in any sense of the word. You are not my husband, nor my kin. Your concern for my well being while touching is -”

“Delia.” He barked, making her jump, “Do not insult your intelligence and myself by finishing that sentence.”      

Just as quickly as he had lost grip of his temper, he regained it. She blinked at him wide-eyed as she watched him resume his guarded mask. His control was frightening, but also frustrating. So much went on beneath his prickly surface that to see his countenance crumble was... simply illuminating.  

Her heart beat a frantic staccato in her chest... she wasn’t ready for such illumination, however. Not now. And most certainly not here. She nearly wanted to cry, especially once she realized that to want it otherwise meant she returned his sentiment.  

It simply wasn’t to be born. She did not hold affection for Sherlock Bloody Holmes.  

And yet...

A quiet strangled question left her lips before she could stop herself, “Why are you here, Sherlock?”

His mouth opened to answer before swiftly shutting as he studied her – his head tilted to the side and while she could still make out the fury burning in his bright orbs a strange vulnerability winked like a passing star at her before his visage fell into careful neutrality, “You already know the answer, Miss. Woodson. To speak it would simply be redundant, but I will enact upon that sentiment once we have departed this place. Go and get your things.”

A faint battle ensued within her at his words – Delia wanted so badly to push at him. He dragged her before a truth that she was not ready to face, it seemed only fair that he confirmed her suspicions by admitting his care. But the knowledge that Sherlock was present while Margaret was not, weighed heavily on the battle tides.

She found her back stiffening and chin tilting up as she declared, “I’m not going anywhere, Mr. Holmes. Least of all with you. I came here for answers, I’m not leaving until I have them.”

That thin veil of danger descended upon her again as Sherlock glowered at her. Goosepimples shivered down her arms under his silent predation, as her belly swam with anticipation. She suddenly felt very much like a lamb lost to a wolf.  

Unbidden, a small plea came to her tongue, “Sherlo-”

Abruptly, she found herself pinned to the wall and shock thundered through her veins as she distantly perceived the clips of her skirt yank apart before the flimsy fabric fluttered to the ground. Sherlock’s long fingers delved beneath the hem of her undergarments as his mouth claimed hers in a furious kiss that awoke a tempest in her heart.  

Delia squealed, melting into his embrace even as she latched her fingers to his woolen coat to push him away. She barely managed to budge him, when the door swung open admitting a giggling showgirl and her John.

Sherlock growled, his body covering hers effectively from sight as he glowered at the intruding couple, “Room’s taken.”

The man grumbled an apology as he tugged his conquest back out and shut the door behind him. Then and only then did Sherlock return his attention to her. He raised an innocuous brow as he took in her flushed face and gaping expression.

Pleasure twinkled at Delia through his stern visage and she was torn between the need to slap him and a need to taste his lips again. Quietly, he slipped his hand from her drawers and stepped back enough to give her room to breathe. His hungry gaze drifted along her body for a second time as he took in the long expanse of her curved legs.

He swallowed tightly before returning his stormy glare to her face. He left no room for argument as he quietly ordered, “Get your things.”

Yet argue she did, “I’m not -”

His finger came up in warning as he silently dared her to finish that sentence, “You’ll get your answers once I’ve found them. You will not be staying here any longer than it takes for you to find your clothes. Do not test me.”

Still, Delia hesitated, part of her wanted to demand an explanation. Her heart and her mind were of two battles and the sea he had swept her out to, now raged with drowning swells. She didn’t like this confusion, this uncertainty within herself... she wanted answers and not just about Margaret’s murder.

She bit her lip as she fought not to wilt under his demanding stare, “You’re taking the case.”

“If only to keep you out of trouble, yes.” Sherlock intoned almost impatiently. He bent swiping up her skirt and deftly pinned it back in place, “We’ll discuss the matter of your payment, amongst other things once we depart from here – that man was not here to use this room. I don’t know what ears are in the place. So be quick.”

“Sherlock.” She pushed even as he grasped her elbow and ushered her out the door.

He paid her no mind, “Ten minutes, Delia, meet me outside. If I have to come back for you, I will not be pleased.”

He gave her a small nudge towards the stairs, and she couldn’t help but mutter, “You’re not pleased now.”    

“Ten minutes.”

The steel in his tone had her scampering for the back as her stomach clenched. She ignored the wave of arousal coursing through her but raised a hand to her still tingling lips as she bit back a smile.  

Sherlock Bloody Holmes.

Next Chapter

[nerdzzone]

Light After Dark: Chapter Seven

Summary: Brooke Harris was trying her best to be grateful. As the world tackled the COVID-19 pandemic, she was healthy and safe and so was the rest of her family, but her dreams had very quickly been crushed by the economic fallout. Trapped on the quaint island of Jersey with nothing, but free time to wallow in her mistakes, Brooke’s mental health was taking a hit, but when she collides with a handsome stranger she starts to realize that the future might not be so bleak and there might still be a light at the end of the tunnel.

Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC

______________

May. 17. 2020

"You should go on the Great British Bake Off!"

Henry's idea came through the speakers on my laptop from where it sat on the counter. We'd been chatting on the phone for over an hour and at some point along the way, I'd decided to make cookies. It was late so everyone in my house had long retired to their bedrooms and since I needed my hands free for the baking process, we'd decided to switch to a video chat. It was actually quite nice just having our casual conversation while I did some baking and he sipped on some whiskey.

"Everyone says that," I laughed at his suggestion as I sipped my glass of wine while my cookies baked in the oven. "But I couldn't handle the pressure. Don't get me wrong, I can bake efficiently when I need to, but it must be so stressful on the show. I do cry quite easily too so if they said anything bad about something I made I would probably just burst into tears."

Henry chuckled before sticking his bottom lip out in a dramatic fake pout.

"Awe, can't take criticism?"

"I can!" I protested with a smile. "But they can be really harsh sometimes! And they give them such short time limits and then act like they're shit bakers even if they knew exactly where they went wrong, but they just didn't have time to start again."

"But surely there are times when you're in that situation when baking professionally?"

"Not really," I shrugged. "I wouldn't take a custom order if they wanted it done in an unreasonable time and as far as the basics go, I always made sure I went in early enough before we opened that I could get everything done properly."

"That's very professional of you," He nodded approvingly. "And I'd say it's a fair criticism of the show, but they probably need that time crunch to make the show exciting for viewers."

I gasped dramatically at that comment.

"Are you saying that regular baking wouldn't be exciting?"

"I'm sure some of it would be thrilling," Henry smirked. "But I would also assume that parts of it could be comparable to watching paint dry."

"Hmm, sounds much like the list of movies you've been in..."

I tried to keep straight face as I made that quip, but I cracked up as Henry tossed his head back laughing.

"Wow, Brooke," He chuckled, shaking his head. "That was harsh."

"I'm just teasing," I smiled. "And I am sorry if this impromptu baking show hasn't been very exciting."

"Hey now, that's not what I said." Henry smirked. "It's been delightful. Honestly, if all bakers wore outfits like that then it would never be boring to watch."

I blushed and subconsciously pulled up the straps on my silk cami pajama top to make sure it wasn't too revealing. The shorts that matched it were currently hidden from view by the counter, but I was sure he got a good look at them when I'd bent over to put the cookies in the oven.

"It's not very practical though is it?" I asked, trying to seem nonchalant and unaffected by his comment. "There's a lot of exposed skin that could get burnt..."

"So if the outfit isn't for baking, is it for my benefit?"

I took a big gulp of my wine as he waited for my answer, his eyebrow raised questioningly. Of course I'd made sure that I looked nice, even a bit sexy, before suggesting we switched to video, but I wasn't going to admit that so easily.

"No," I shook my head. "These are just my normal, everyday pajamas."

"The ones you save for special occasions must be very impressive then."

"That depends," I shrugged with a smirk. "If it's a really special occasion then I usually don't wear any."

Henry practically choked on his whiskey and I was pleased to get under his skin a bit.

"Wow, that is..." He cleared his throat. "Fair enough."

Before I could do anything but smirk at watching him squirm, my timer beeped signalling the cookies were done. I mumbled a quick 'just a minute' before turning around, slipping some oven mitts on and bending over to take the cookies out, well aware that I was giving him another show.

I checked the cookies quickly to make sure they were done before setting them on top of the oven and turning back to Henry.

"Those look amazing," He praised. "I can practically smell them through the screen."

"They do smell pretty good," I smiled. "But I've learned the hard way how important it is to let them cool."

Henry laughed, but at the same time a tiny voice from the doorway drew my attention away from the computer.

"Aunt Cookie?" Molly asked. "Can I come in?"

At her age, there were times when I was shocked by how big and how grown up she looked, but now she seemed the opposite. With her teddy bear tucked under her arm, her frilly pink pajamas and her eyes red from crying she looked small and fragile. 

"Of course, sweetheart," I smiled. "Can I call you back, Henry?"

He agreed and I quickly hung up before going over to Molly who was still lingering by the door and squatting down to her level.

"What's wrong?"

That was all it took for her bottom lip to start wobbling.

"I'm just...I'm just..." She took a deep breath before letting out a sob. "I'm just so sad."

My heart broke at the sight so I held out my arms and she instantly rushed forward, wrapping hers around my neck. Her whole body shook as she cried, but I just squeezed her tight and rubbed her back until she'd got it all out of her system. Once the sobs had subsided into sniffles, I leaned back and gently wiped my thumb under her eyes.

"Do you want to talk about it?" I asked, giving her a moment to think before she nodded. "Would a freshly baked chocolate chip cookie and some ice cream help?"

Her teary eyes widened in delight at that.

"But I've already brushed my teeth..."

"I think it'll be okay just this once," I winked, earning a quiet giggle. "But don't tell your mum, okay?"

She nodded frantically and I scooped her up into my arms before carrying her over to one of the bar stools at the island. The cookies would have cooled off enough to eat by now so I put two on a couple of plates before adding a big dollop of ice cream. We ate in silence for a few moments before I pressed her.

"So, what's got you so sad?"

"The big virus..."

She mumbled her words around a mouthful of ice cream, but it was what I'd been expecting so I understood.

"It's pretty scary," I agreed. "But what's bugging you right now?"

"Nana and Pops were watching TV and the man said that lots of people died," She confessed and I made a mental note to remind everyone to be careful what they watched when Molly was in earshot. "And that a bunch more people were gonna get sick still."

"Well, unfortunately, that's true," I reluctantly admitted, not sure how much she really knew or really should know. "That's why we came here because not so many people are sick in Jersey so we're safer."

Her lip wobbled again, but she took another bite of her cookie to hide it.

"But what about daddy?"

"He's being super safe," I assured her. "He's being extra careful so he doesn't get sick, but he's being really brave and helping all the people who do get sick so they get better faster."

"I know," She sighed. "But on the TV a doctor said that they needed more masks 'cause there wasn't enough for everyone so what if daddy doesn't have a mask?"

"Your daddy does have a mask." It was a fairly empty assurance to make as I really wasn't sure, but from what I'd seen no first responders were completely out of supplies just yet. "And there's lots of people working really hard to make sure that they don't run out."

She stared me down for a moment, trying to suss out if I was telling the truth, but eventually gave up and looked back down at her cookie.

"Mummy's really sad too," She told me. "So I try to be brave and not be sad so she doesn't get even more sad, but sometimes I just have to be."

If the sight of her crying hadn't crushed my heart before then that comment certainly did. I put my spoon down on my plate and went around the counter to sit next to her. She didn't look up so I reached out and took her tiny hand in mine.

"Look at me for a sec," I requested, my voice soft. She did as I asked and I saw fresh tears in her eyes. "You don't ever have to be strong like that, okay? Not around me or your mum or your nana and pops. If you're feeling sad or worried or upset at all then you can talk to any of us. We're all a little sad and scared right now, but it's always better to get through things together, right?"

She nodded and I wiped away a tear that was sliding slowly down her cheek before kissing her forehead.

"Thanks, Aunt Cookie."

"Anytime, monkey," I smiled. "Was your cookie good?"

She grinned at that and nodded frantically.

"Can Mr. Teddy have one too?"

I laughed at her cheeky request knowing that Mr. Teddy was just a cover for her wanting another, but I shook my head.

"How about Mr. Teddy just finishes mine?"

There were only a few bites left, it wouldn't be as bad as her having a whole new cookie so as she nodded in agreement, I slid the plate over and let her finish it.

"Are you feeling better now?" I asked after she was done as I wiped her fingers and her mouth with a cloth.

"Yes," She said quietly, clearly with something else on her mind. I waited to see if she would elaborate and after a quiet moment, she did. "Do you think we could call daddy?"

"I think we probably can," I nodded. "Why don't you get back in bed and I'll go ask your mummy if he's working tonight."

She agreed and scurried off back towards her bedroom, leaving me the less than pleasant job of telling Cassie about what had happened. I knocked on her door, knowing she would still be awake as it was only eleven o'clock and went in once she answered.

"Hey," She smiled, putting her book down on the bed beside her. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," I assured her. "But Molly's having a tough time. She just came into the kitchen crying because of some things she overheard on the news."

Cassie paled at that information.

"What did she say?"

"She just asked about people getting sick," I told her as I sat on the end of the bed. "And she heard something about the doctors running out of supplies so she was worried about Josh having a mask."

"Oh god," She sighed. "What did you tell her?"

"I said that I knew her daddy would be careful and that I was sure he had a mask." I braced myself for the next part as I knew it would be hard for her to hear. "But she also said that she knows you're sad so she can't show that she's sad too because she doesn't want to make things worse for you."

Cassie's face fell again at that news and for a moment I thought she was about to cry herself.

"Oh my god, I'm the worst mother in the world," She groaned. "I thought I was hiding it well. I can't believe she didn't think she could talk to me about this."

"It's not your fault," I assured her. "She's too smart for her own good."

"Yes, she is," She laughed half-heartedly. "Is she okay now?"

"I think so," I nodded. "She definitely calmed down, but she was wondering if she could talk to Josh. I told her I'd ask you if he was working."

"He's not," She sighed again. "I'll go have a chat with her and we can give him a call. Thanks for helping her, Brooke."

"Anytime. It's nice to be around when she needs a hug."

Cassie swung her legs off the bed and grabbed her phone from the nightstand.

"She really looks up to you," She smiled. "I'm sure it meant a lot to her that you talked it over with her."

I almost teared up at that as it had meant a lot to me too that she trusted me enough to come to me when she needed comfort.

"I just hope I helped a bit," I shrugged as we headed out the door. "And if she says anything at all about a cookie and some ice cream, she's definitely lying."

"I knew I could smell baking!" She laughed. "I'll be down to get some after I'm done with Molly."

I promised to save her a few as she cracked open Molly's bedroom door and I headed back to the kitchen, hoping to catch Henry before he went to bed.

****

Once I got back to the kitchen, I opened my laptop again and poured myself another glass of wine as it turned back on. Once it was ready, I called Henry and he answered almost right away.

"Hi there," He smiled. "Everything okay?"

I took a large sip of my wine before I nodded.

"Yeah," I sighed. "I think so. My niece apparently heard some things on the news that shocked her and with her dad being a paramedic she needed a bit of assurance."

"Ah, yes, I could see how that makes things more complicated..."

"It was brutal," I frowned. "She's sitting there crying because she heard about all the deaths and how there's a shortage of protective equipment, but it's hard to explain to her. I don't want to lie, but I also don't want to say 'yeah, thirty-five thousand people have died in the UK and loads more probably will before this is all sorted out so keep washing your hands or you will too'."

Henry chuckled at my dramatic simplification of what was happening.

"Yes, I would imagine that's probably not wise to say to a child under ten," He smiled. "But I'm guessing you handled it well?"

"I hope so," I took another sip of wine. "I managed to stop her crying, but the warm cookies and ice cream might have had more to do with that than my words of wisdom."

"I'm sure you did your best," Henry assured me with a smile. "We had a similar issue here the other day. George was just very fed up with the whole situation and demanded to know why he wasn't allowed to see any of his friends. It took ages to calm him down."

"It's so hard!" I sympathized. "They're all going to end up so traumatized from going through this in their formative years."

"Probably, but hopefully they'll come out stronger because of it."

I couldn't help, but smile at his positivity as I took yet another gulp of wine.

"I hope so because otherwise there's going to be a generation of emotionally stunted people who are scared to get within two metres of each other."

"Let's hope that's not the case," Henry laughed. "But I have another pressing question."

I raised an eyebrow at that.

"Oh, do you?"

"Aunt Cookie?" He questioned. "Is that some play on you being a baker?"

It took me a minute to realize what he was talking about and then it dawned on me.

"No, it's not," I laughed. "My mum calls me Brookie and Cassie struggled to say it when she was little so growing up she always called me Cookie. Maybe it was a self-fulfilling prophecy, but that's why Molly calls me that."

"That's really cute," Henry smiled. "And a very fitting nickname for a baker."

"It is," I agreed. "It used to drive me insane when I was a child, but it's grown on me over the years."

"I always wanted a fun nickname, but all I got was Fat Cavill!”

I burst out laughing at that as it was so unexpected from the muscled man in front of me, but I covered my mouth, realizing it was rude to laugh at such a cruel name.

"Were they being ironic?" I asked, shaking my head. "How could anyone think you're fat?"

"I haven't always looked like this," He admitted. "I was chubby when I first went off to boarding school and kids can be very mean."

"That is true, but now you're Superman so fuck them all."

Henry laughed and nodded his head.

"Exactly!"

I smiled at his proud grin before glancing down at the time.

"Well," I sighed. "I should probably get some sleep. Sorry our conversation was interrupted."

"Don't worry about it at all," Henry assured me. "Sounds like it was for an important reason."

"It was," I nodded. "I'll talk to you tomorrow?"

"Absolutely," He smiled. "Goodnight, Cookie."

I stuck out my tongue at the nickname before saying goodnight and hanging up.

I had the usual sense of contentment that I had after a conversation with Henry, but there was a heaviness to it tonight. It was easy sometimes to block it all out and focus on the good that had come out of this pandemic. Meeting Henry, having time to relax, getting to spend time with my family. But in the end, the bad stuff always crept back in. The worry about the future, the sadness of how many lives had been lost and how many would be by the time this was over and now, the impact it was having on Molly and other children like her. She was a pretty tough kid and it was hard to see her crumble like she had tonight. She had a good support system though and I knew in the end she would come out of this mess okay so I picked my laptop up off the counter and headed to bed, trying to keep my thoughts positive and hoping that tomorrow would be a brighter day.

[keyenuta]

TW One-Shot: The Spider and Snow White

Context: for the psst few days, me and a few friends began joking about a Crack ship between two-faced!Neige and Anansi. And just like usual, my shipping but actually began to like the idea of the ship. So here's a one shot about it, hope y'all like it!

Laughter echoed throughout the white gold room as Neige and Anansi interacted with the chat. Teasing and playfully flirting with Neige's fans as the pair didn't exclude the other in this either. In slight jabs, and quick teases, the two little shits teased and messed with the other. A slight poke here, a tickle there, and haughty look there were each thrown back and forth. But both parties knew they couldn't go too far, it was the internet after all. And after a while, suddenly a bright blare of snow white's hum blasted from the laptop as Neige ooed at the donation.

"Ah, thank you so much for the 50 madool Donation Skele-mom67, it truly means the world to me~ heheh" Neige gave a closed eyes smile as a rush of "awwwws" filled the chat, while snickering Anansi poked Neige's cheeks, shifting a playful look at the prince beside him as he finished the message, giving the chat a faux valley girl accent.

"Hey Neige~ love your work, you're sooo, adorable, but I was wondering could you and your "prince" sing a song together? Againthsbkyiusomuch" giving a friendly smile to the camera, Neige swatted Anansi's hands from his cheeks as he giggled

"Heheh, well thank you for calling me adorable dear, it's very appreciated. And as for a song, hmm, that sounds fun, what do you think Nansi?" Quipped the prince, to the resting spider, gifting the camera a fanged smirk, Anansi shrugged

"Sure I'm up for it, although~" he sang leaning forward winking to the chat, Anansi held a hand next to his mouth as he loudly whispered "I don't think Neige could handle it, ya know all the flirting would keep him from finishing the song dearie" at the whispers, Neige pouted as soon it transferred into a sharp smirk only Anansi could see, as in moments Neige whispered into Anansi's ear in a sly tone.

"I bet i'd get you to blush before i do, little spider~" he teased sweetly

"Oh-ho? Try me dough boy, give me all ya got~ but don't complain if you're in this "lil' spiders" web again~"

"Heheh, oh i doubt I will, hope you enjoy being number 2 dear~"

"Careful princey, fly too close to web and you'll get caught. But sure, let's go!"

Reaching into his pocket, Anansi took out a "borrowed" black-blue phone and played a karaoke version of the song as the chat began to blow up in hype.

Song

Chuckling and bobbing his head to the music, Anansi's red orbs closed, while moments later, a silky melody escaped his pursed lips "Oohh~dada-oh-da-oohh," a creak sounded as Neige leant forward in his chair, he knew the spider could song, but still, each time that melody soared, he felt a chill down his spine, his little spider wasn't going to make this an easy bet hm? He thought, and right as that thought echoed, a feathery touch brought him from his mind. The hand, although coarse, held so much warmth, and with them both being in camera, he had to give his fans a show.

So leaning into the hand, Neige fluttered his eyes shyly, watching the comments go crazy with excitement as Nancy continued on, getting closer and closer with every verse,

"The very first time that I saw your brown eyes~" lifting up his head, Neige went with the song, and gazed lovingly at Anansi, ready to see just what his prince had in store for him. And just like that, the gap between the was closed on seconds, as the spider leant forward. Touching their heads together, slick black locks met kinky dreads as the heat between the two filled the small gap as the lyrics drifted on,

"your lips said "hello," and I said "Hi"~ I knew right then you were the one~ " at this, the actor felt their lips brush with every lyric, and despite all this, Neige hid his smirk and teased the spider with an eye roll. Tell me that's not all you have dear~ his eyes said, but in a second a rapid verse dissipated that tease

"But I was caught up!" Rapidly, Anansi yanked the prince towards him, twirling him to rest his back against the spider, while his drifted across his jaw, while Anansi smirked against his ear, his fangs tickling his love while the melody continued, as once more, Neige went with the music. Leaning his head back, gifting the spider an easier angle as the two gazed at the fans in the chat, exploding and typing frantically with energy, only fueling them both even more. "In physical attraction~"

"Oooh~" hummed Neige

"But to my satisfaction~" meeting Neige's face, the two leant forward once more, both smiling as the song continued on as Nancy turned up Neige's chin, only for the actor to whisper "well, aren't you handsy today, my prince~" as Nansi replied

"but, baby you were more than just a face~ And if I e-(N:ever) fall in love" now straddling Anansi, Neige and him sang together, Anansi's baritone intertwined with Neige's tenor in a beautiful vibrato

Duet: Again~

Anansi: I will be sure that, the lady is a friend~

Anansi: And if I eeee-

Neige: (ever fall)

Anansi: in love again~ I will be sure that the lady is a friend(x2)

As the chorus reached its last notes, Anansi couldn't shake the pater in his chest, nor could he get rid of the wide grin he got from the last verse

Anansi: and if I ever fall in love so true~, I will be sure that, the lady's just like you~

As the words left his mouth a scarlet eyes met brown, and for the briefest of moments. Despite the teasing grins and the grounds of the bet, Neige and Anansi both felt a spark that usually only showed up behind closed doors when their masks are off. But with the show having to continue, Neige used this spark, and truthfully smiled lovingly at Anansi, cupping his brown face in his pale hands, giving his prince a truly loving smile as Anansi finished his last verse, wrapping his arms around Neige's waist, gifting him the same.

"I swear that next time, they'll be~ a friend" the note drew out like a whisper on a breeze, as if it was a real promise. Nodding to his words, Neige took in a breath, nearly singing in a whisper as he rested his head against Anansi, as his rosey lips parted into,

"If I said that I, can be your one and only~" gulping, Neige sang "promise that you'll never leave me lonely~ I just wanna be the one you need" as the sound vibrated, Neige rested his arms in Anansi's neck as the spider mutters something illegible. But what was easy to see, with a smile gracing his lips. Neige kept on, "I just wanna be the one who serve- (A:serves you~) and now once again, their voices melded together in a fusion of want and emotion. As now, despite themselves, through this song, it was as if the two spilled their hearts to one another with every note

Duet: Sometimes i feel as if I don't deserve you~

Closing his eyes, Neige kept going, leaning even more against the spider, their chests meeting as he sang out, nearly kissing Anansi with how close they were, a scent of apples and spice wafted between the two as their heads rested together.

Neige: I Cherish every that we share~ And if I e-(A: Ever fall) In love again~ I will be sure that, the lady is, a frieeend!" As Neige held out the note, every E flowed up an octave, cascading down Anansi's back like a waterfall, gifting him a chill this time, but As well, the spider also viewed it as a challenge, amd so, knowing what notes came next, he prepared his voice for what was to come. Lightly pushing Neige away, the two continued to sing.

Neige: and if I e-(A: Ever fall) In love, so true~ I will be sure that(sure that) The lady(the lady's) like you~

As Neige sang, a low "my friend" raised up more and more, every lyric that Neige sang, the louder and higher, and longer the note became. The second my friend eclipsed the first, and after that, Anansi got so high, he approached the limit of a baritone, and with the final my friend, he let it run out, no longer able to keep it going that high for so long, as in the chat, and as well in Neige's eyes, there was a look of shock at those notes, as now, all that was left to do was ride the song out.

And as the lyrics reached their ends, but by bit, both of the students got closer once more, until their voices were nothing but a whisper, as finally their lips once again brushed together, and with one peak to the chat, both saw one message that flooded the stream.

"KISS!" and so, not wanting to disappoint their viewers, and sealing each of their promises, the two students kissed, as both their faces burnt bright red. Seems like this bet was a draw after all.

[16reapergrell66]

500,000 Coin Lowblow

Lucio Morgasson is a bounty hunter. He's sent to retrieve the head of Wyverne Lochland, a woman who had been selling in other bounty hunters. Can he keep his cool around this vixen, or will he be the next one sold?

Special thanks to @vesuviannights for the idea! She had gotten this as a fake fic prompt and I didn't realize how much I needed this till now.

Features: Pining, shower masturbation, blood/gore. Viewer discretion is advised.

It was a quiet night in Vesuvia. The Marketplace was quiet, save for a handful of people left. The lanterns were still lit, softly dancing in a light breeze. Lucio mingled with the crowd, trinkets still clinking and the leftover scent of warm pumpkin bread still clinging to life. He fingered some trinkets, watching them shine as they passed through calloused fingers. Others gleamed, catching his eye, and he picked them up, feeling their weight before placing them back.

 Just a 500,000 coin low-threat, huh? His mind wandered back to that wanted photo of her. Tamed curls, russet brown in color, eyes the color of emeralds, lips painted in a gorgeous shade of red. Freckles dusted her nose, the round apples of her cheeks. She had given the camera a particular smolder, one that gave him weird feelings--a tight, fluttery heart and warm, soft lips licked eagerly to cool them.

     He spotted her, carefully picking along the jewels and trinkets. Her hair was tied back into a loose knot, a beautiful hairpin helping to keep it in place. She laughed, a soft tinkle of bells among the hushed voices. She paid for a few jewels, pocketing them in her pants before leaving the stall.

     Shit, shit, sh-- His mind blanked. His heart skipped a few beats. This awful feeling crept through his limbs, warmth spreading down to other equipment. How in the world she rivalled his own beauty, he didn't know.

     Lucio gently shook his head, trying to clear it of irritating things. He gently grabbed her elbow, pulling her into a nearby alley. He pressed her against the wall, knee between her legs, lips just shy of her ear.

     "Don't you realize what you're doing?" He had growled this, low in her ear. "Why don't you wear a robe? You'll get yourself killed." He still couldn't shake the feeling, how his lips longed to be against hers, how he wanted to mark her, take her, claim her. He couldn't place the feeling, but he absolutely hated it.

     "Um...I-I'm...I….," Wyverne stumbled, stuttering her words. She played this innocent act well, yet there was something stirring in her abdomen. He was so close, a man of his allure doing things to her heart and mind.

     "You need to change, or you'll get caught," he growled, low in her ear. He handed her smooth material, soft and silky in her smooth hands. "Keep this, and please, get out." He pushed himself away, going out of the alley and disappearing back into the flimsy crowd.

     Wyverne clutched the black fabric, her heart racing. That was him! That was the bounty hunter, the one they called simply Morgasson. He was just as handsome as the rumors said, though he was a dangerous edge that loved the taste of blood on his long, silver tongue. She swallowed thickly, a hand over her heart. That was either a lucky shot or he was incredibly stupid! She was wanted for a reason, yet he seemed to buy into her act. If it was gonna be this easy, she'd have to wrangle more dumbasses more often.

♡♡

It was a few days later, the early morning greeting an already busy Marketplace. Wyverne was dressed in something more flattering for her figure, her top partially undone to softly reveal her cleavage. A long flowing skirt hid those legs, those gorgeous curvy legs with delicious thighs. She laughed at Selasi, a hand over her mouth to stifle snorts of pure laughter. Lucio cursed under his breath. Of course this wickedly good vixen wouldn't leave. She just had to stick around. 

     Wyverne grabbed her loaf of bread, paying Selasi. She tore off a chunk with a practised hand, bringing it to her lips. He watched them part, the piece of bread slipping inside, catching on her tongue. Again came that warm feeling, the one that wanted to claim her, mark her, bend her over the nearest stall.

     Lucio saw her disappear down a side alley, the same one as the other night, and followed her. He held an arm in front of her, making her lightly bump into him. She turned to face him, a momentary look of shock on her face. He pressed her against the wall, not as close as last time. His heart was pounding in his ears, a little too fast for his liking.

     "What the hell d'you think you're doing!?" Lucio was in exasperation at this point. Over the past few days, he had given her things he thought she needed--cloaks, blankets, medicine, books. She wouldn't tell him much, but this time he hoped she would.

     "Look, Morgasson. I appreciate the offers, the trinkets, the advice. But I can't leave. Not yet," Wyverne told him, voice soft yet firm. Her lips were painted with that ruby shade again, catching his eye. He bit his lip, smacking his fist against the wall.

     "What else do you need so that you will take my advice and leave this gods damned place??" He almost whined the last bit of his question, trying to look anywhere but at her. His pants felt awfully tight this morning, did they shrink?

     "I can't tell you, Morgasson. It'll put them in danger," she said, giving a slight shake of her head. She glanced down, then met his eye one more time. "I hope that's just a knife in your pocket, big boy," she remarked, ducking under his arm and carrying on with her day, still eating the warm bread.

     Lucio had groaned, low in his throat. That's why his pants felt tight this morning. Did she even know what she was doing to him!? He doesn't have time to pine after a target, he's got others for a lot shallower prices on their heads than hers. If only she'd stop her game--but then again he's loved games in his spare time. 

♡♡

It had been a few days since then, each time his conversations with her grew more and more, till it could almost be called casual flirting. He was sitting at his desk, early morning light shining through the sheers as he finished up a call with his bosses up top.

     "Yes. It took a while, but I found her." A pause, listening. "Mmhmm. Yes. She'll be gone tonight. Right. Take care." He hung up, sighing. He ran his golden hand through his hair, looking at the notes he had made sprawled on the desk.

     He had to do something, this was taking too long. Surely there were other pretty faces like hers, ones that he could easily take and pretend its her. He groaned, leaning back in his chair, rubbing his face with his hands. Why was he going through all this trouble for a gods damned crush? He has refused to make his move for almost two weeks now, he needs a plan in mind. Sighing, getting up and lazily stretching, he moved towards the bathroom, drawing a warm shower for himself. 

     He took off the red silk bathrobe, the steam billowing from the shower as he stepped inside. Water drummed over his skin, making it pink from warmth, running in rivulets down sculpted muscle and countless scars from past skirmishes with other prey. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back and wetting his blond. He could see her, in his mind's eye, the way she had looked at the breadmaker's stall. He growled, low in his throat, wishing that she would leave his mind already as he took a small amount of soap and scrubbed his head. He rinsed the soap through, picturing how her top had shown just enough to tempt, how easily she had laughed, how she had thrown her head back, exposing her lovely neck. Lucio could feel himself hardening, almost tempted to freeze himself out with a cold shower. He grabbed the soap that smelled of pomegranates, and poured some in his hand, washing himself as his mind wandered again.

     Lucio could picture her, under him, a gorgeous look on her freckled face as she moaned his name. He could almost feel how she clawed at him, could almost feel how her walls pulled at him as she came undone. He flinched, a small twitch of the eye, furiously shaking his head. Now was not the time for such thoughts, even though he had washed himself to a full hardness in a matter of seconds. He rinsed off, and another mental image came to mind.

     Wyverne, on her knees, her lips pulled thin from him, her hands on his thighs, his pants around his ankles. He could almost hear her, how she choked on him, the soft pop as he allowed her to pull away, her soft lips dancing mere inches from his cock. He hadn't realized he was stroking himself, thumb running around the sensitive head of his cock and slipping through his slit. He tried to mimic her soft mouth and warm tongue, picturing the way she would look as she begged for his come. He rocked into his hand, fucking it as he pictured himself taking her, pressing her against a mirror, fogging it up as she cried out for him. A low groan, and he spilled onto the tile wall, his come painting the rich blues a creamy white. He stroked till he was spent, grabbing more soap to wash off again.

     "Gods damn she needs to leave," Lucio muttered, to no one in particular but himself. He turned off the shower, pulling the glass door aside and grabbing a fluffy white towel.

     He drew the towel over himself, softly sighing. If only she hadn't lured him.in with that delicious body and gorgeous eyes...and pouty lips. He mussed up his hair, smoothing it back when he left the towel fall around his shoulders. He looked in the mirror, then lathered his face and shaved the shadow of stubble he had. Lucio hummed to himself, applying his signature aftershave that smelled of warm, mulled wine and campfire smoke.

     He left the bathroom, tossing his towel aside, and pulled on a thin undershirt, loose and flowy and looking more like a tunic than an actual undershirt at this point. He pulled on his pants next, a tough canvas that he relied on more and more these days, fitted well so it hugged all the right places. His boots were next, a deep brown with a slight heel to add to his 5'10" frame, boosting him to a height of 6'2". He grabbed a vest, slipping it on and he grabbed his neck belt, fastening it over the popped collar. He grabbed his knife belt, slipping it over this thigh and fastening it, since that's all he needed nowadays. He glanced at the pointed armor, the stuff made for his golden hand, the one he lost to another high-priced bounty. He shook his head, deciding he didn't need it, and headed out, smoothing his hair back with a bit of pomade from his dresser.

♡♡

Wyverne was wandering the Marketplace, her eyes savoring each trinket and fabric roll. She absently popped another torn piece of bread into her mouth, the warm spices of pumpkin filling her. She ran fingers through silk, wool, and brushed cotton, eagerly spinning thoughts about her next tailoring project. She had glanced up and caught him in the very edges of her vision, clean shaven with glistening golden hair still wet from his shower.

     It was amazing, how a man like him could make her feel like a giddy teen again. She took a deep breath, trying to calm her fluttering heart as she continued like she hadn't seen him, a warmth spreading through her and gathering at the base of her spine. She popped another piece of bread in her mouth when she gently bumped into the bounty hunter.

"Hello, butterfly," Lucio said, greeting her. He noticed her hair was up in a bun, messily done with a hairpin to keep it all in place.

     "Morgasson," she replied, a smirk on her lips. He softly bit his lip, trying to not let a soft whine escape from his throat. "What brings you here?"

     "Just you, butterfly." He brushed her cheek with his cool metal gauntlet, wrapping his arm around her shoulders and leading her away from the Marketplace.

     He led her down towards the docks, which weren't such a hustle and bustle this morning. Lucio snuck a piece of bread for himself, chuckling when Wyverne playfully smacked his chest. He went to lick his fingers, but Wyverne grabbed his wrist, a smirk on her lips that he was getting all too familiar with. She brought his fingers to velvet lips, breath catching as she slipped them inside her warm mouth, suckling the few crumbs from his slender digits. Her tongue swirled around them, soft little mewls escaping her throat. She pulled away, looking like the cat that got the cream as she ran to the docks.

     Lucio groaned, a smirk on his lips. His pants were awfully tight again, maybe he needed new ones. He ran after her, long legs quickly catching up to her, strong hands gripping her waist and pulling her back, spinning her around. Wyverne laughed breathlessly, hands on his arms, head thrown back against his shoulder, slight wisps of hair in her face.

     Lucio gently set Wyverne down, resisting the urge to kiss her like a man starved. He wasn't expecting her to kiss him, the softest lips in Vesuvia placing a kiss along the scar on his right cheekbone, red lipstick leaving behind a perfect print of her full lips. She smirked, fingers brushing his hand as she disappeared into a group of people, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

♡♡

Midnight. The streets are quiet. Too quiet. The only ones out are the girls, the ones looking for a fun time in colorful dresses and corsets. Lucio walked into the Town Square, the three tiered fountain lit up. He knew his target would be here, lost in an attempt to go back home.

     There she was, a scared look on her face. The perfect match for Wyverne. Lucio stalked his prey, keeping a distance away from her. She was frantic, muttering to herself as she tried to go back home. She kept looking over her shoulder, wanting to know if she was being followed or watched. She stopped, just beside the fountain, trying to remember how to get back.

     Lucio was behind her, his breathing stilled and heels silent on slick cobblestone. He reached for his knives, still on his thigh, a steel to the silver glinting in the light. When he was close, he wrapped his hand around her mouth, preventing the shriek that followed from escaping her lips. She tried to pry him off, to get away, to scream and shout through his warm flesh hand. He drew the blade across her throat, letting her feel the cool metal against heated flesh.

     "Your luck just ran out, little dove," he whispered in her ear, the point of the blade just drawing blood from her skin.

     She struggled harder, screaming and crying against his palm, trying to break free, kicking him in his shins. The knife plunged into her side, dragging down, ripping the silk dress she wore. Blood poured from the wound, her screams muffled against his hand. She struggled against his body, crying rivers of tears as the knife was drawn across her throat--once, twice, three times. Blood poured down the front of her, ruining the pure white with deep crimson. He finally let go, and she slumped to the ground, laying in her own blood.

     Lucio made short work of the decapitation, bringing it back to his boss for the reward money. 500,000 coin, and Lucio was gonna give it to that very-much-alive, drop dead gorgeous vixen that haunted his dreams.

♡♡

It had been weeks since that night, and Lucio hadn't seen Wyverne around at all. She had seemingly disappeared that day, like she had left Vesuvia. Lucio sighed, toying with the coin purse on his desk. Well, if he wasn't gonna see her again, might as well drink to her honor.

     The Rowdy Raven was as rowdy as ever. Barth greeted Lucio with a nod, bussing the bar area. Patrons laughed, sang merry shanties, played cards, and were just generally in good spirits. Lucio ordered himself a drink, and was about to sit down when he saw her, dancing in all her lovely glory.

    Wyverne's tamed mess of curls shone like a beacon, her laughter hitting his ears like a godsend. She raised a glass, rimmed with salt, and shouted cheers, downing the rest in one single shot. She pressed her lips to the inside of her wrist, and he swore she had glanced his way, making his heart positively ache for her touch.

     Lucio grabbed his drink and followed her, walking to a corner booth and sitting down across from her. He dropped the coin purse in front of her, a loud clink of coin. She looked up at him, green eyes full of wonder.

     "That was your bounty, butterfly," Lucio said softly, bringing his cup to his lips and taking a draft. She watched him, his Adam's apple gently bouncing as he drank.

    "How much...how much was it?" Wyverne spoke softly, her hand over her heart, voice gently shaking. She touched the rough cotton, feeling the weight in her slender, small hands.

     "500,000. It's all yours, butterfly," he told her, as easily as telling someone about the weather.

    "500,000!? Morgasson I couldn't possibly--" Wyverne was in shock when she was cut off, his metal hand on her soft ones. She looked at him, her lower lip trembling, her eyes wide and soft and oh how he wanted to just kiss her.

     "Just take it, butterfly. You need it, and maybe you'll leave this place." His tongue darted out, licking his lower lip. His fingers entwined with hers, all soft sweetness.

     Wyverne bit her lip, taking a sip of her full Salty Bitters, the salt still clinging to her lips. She swallowed the drink, and leaned over the table, kissing him with all the softness in the world. Lucio kissed her, easily parting her lips and slipping inside. Sure, it was a little bitter, a little salty, but something stirred in his gut, something predatory and primal. He pulled away, before the feeling got too strong, his fingers brushing her cheek.

     She kissed his fingertips, scooting around the table to sit next to him. Chat and conversation came naturally, and when the food came around she readily shared, occasionally feeding him. He didn't want the night to end, didn't want to leave her side, not without making her feel so good.

     "I'll see you around….Lucio Morgasson," she whispered to him, his name full of wanton desire. She kissed him again, his hands roaming her sides before she pulled away. Wyverne left the table, and when he looked down, there was her address, signed 'B' for his pretty nickname.

The next day, he went there, to her home on MagickAlley Lane. Her home was modest, colored in a dull brown, her flowers bright and vibrant. Lucio went up the worn oak door, his fingers feeling the smooth metal handle, about to pull it. His fingers fell when he found the note, plastered to the door with his own knife. Strange, since he didn't remember missing any.

Morgasson,

I can easily spend that 500,000 on my own. That sick friend story was just to get you to pity me. Read up on me, big boy, maybe you'll find something interesting for your….equipment.

Cheers lovely! B

Lucio chuckled, deep and low, almost a purr. So, that was her game, her fun and sexy little game. Alright, he could play that game. It was sexy while it lasted, he supposed, as he ripped the knife from the door.

     Guards swarmed him from all angles as he put the knife away, slamming him into the door. They spread his legs, patting him down, ripping the knife belt from him, tearing his shirt almost in half as they searched his chest.

     "Look, guys, if you wanted me naked all you had to do was ask," He commented, smirking like an evil maniac. The Guards simply shoved him further into the door, reading him his rights.

     "We were tipped off that you were here! By one Wyverne Lochland! She's skipped town. So sorry, 'big boy!'" The Guard sneered, pulling him back by the blond locks. "Maybe you'll find a new lover in those dungeons! Move him into the carriage!"

     Lucio busted out into laughter, an evil little laugh that shook him through and through. So she was the one who ratted him out!! That little minx!!! He was shoved into the carriage, still laughing. How dare she think she could put him away and act like nothing happened? Well, he'd remedy that, one way or another. Sure, it'd be a few years with all his charges, but he'd get his last fuck, right at the honeymoon

[aroseandapen]

Expectancy--So Close(Part 6/?)

Read on AO3

Previous Next (Coming soon)

Rating: Mature Pairing: Papyton Word Count: 9027 (Cumulative: 34,473) Summary: After some drunken night shenanigans at a party, Papyrus ends up pregnant… by Mettaton. Unfortunately the latter can barely even remember who the skeleton even is. Maybe by spending time with Papyrus, Mettaton can rediscover the charm that his drunk self had been so taken with to begin with.

Notes: The sexual themes return, nothing too explicit. A long chapter this time, but I thought it was better as one chapter instead of breaking it up. The beginnings of an ectotum.

“Papy? Are you ready yet, sweetheart?”

Mettaton knocked on the door. After a short pause with no response, he pressed his ear against it, listening.

A furious muffled string of words that he couldn’t quite make out greeted him, as Papyrus struggled with whatever he had going on in the dressing room. The unintelligible sounds came to an abrupt halt, and something crashed. Mettaton winced. He hoped that whatever fell didn’t break, and that Papyrus hadn’t hurt himself. Mettaton almost opened the door to check on him, before Papyrus at last spoke up.

“ALMOST READY, SUGAR MUFFIN!”

The endearment had Mettaton’s face melting into a gentle smile. There was something sweet and sincere about Papyrus’ unconventional nicknames for him. While Mettaton preferred to go with the usuals—darling, sweetheart, and so on—it seemed like Papyrus never used the same one twice, making each instance as unique and special as the skeleton speaking them.

The fact that Papyrus felt alright enough to keep making them up reassured him somewhat. But not by much.

His smile faded. Despite the obvious attempts at covering it up, Mettaton could hear the slightest quaver in Papyrus’ voice. He didn’t blame him for it. Mettaton remembered his first experience on live television. Alphys had just made his prototype body; he took the stage as an entertainment robot with a few human-slaying features.

What a joke those had been. Humans always fascinated him, inspiring his dream of having his own corporeal form and being a star on the Surface. Living as a ghost only held him back, he didn’t belong on that tiny snail farm in a small corner of Waterfall. Even his first boxy body hadn’t been quite right; it was only when the little human and flipped his switch and activated his ‘Ex’ form did he truly feel One with the body he possessed.

Yet the first time he stood in front of a camera, he felt the pressure mount and the nerves take hold. As excited as he’d been leading up to it, he nearly froze in place. It took every ounce of willpower he had to keep a confident front and power through his first appearance.

And knowing Papyrus, if he sounded nervous, he likely felt at least ten times as much as his voice gave away.

The doorknob turned, and after a click it swung open to reveal Papyrus. A pink sleeved button up stretched over his chest, his ribcage so subtly defined that Mettaton had no doubts that it’d be hidden to anyone who wasn’t right next to the skeleton. Papyrus had tucked his shirt into dark slacks, a black belt cinching it around his waist to prevent it from sliding down his pelvis. It drew his eyes down to it, to where his pants hugged the upper curve of his hip. Mettaton could reach out and trace over the smooth bone.

“AND THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS READY AT LAST!” Papyrus announced, and Mettaton had to pull his eyes back up to his boyfriend’s face. The lightest orange dusted his cheek bones, although he couldn’t tell whether it was from embarrassment or because he liked the attention Mettaton paid to his dress clothes. Meticulous attention, at that. He had the fleeting urge to test just how good that belt was.

The desire left just as quickly as it’d hit him, but his lips still curled into a playful smile. He took Papyrus’ hand, and stepped in so that he could plant a kiss on his magic-warmed cheek. Papyrus’ smile grew, and he turned his face to touch his mouth to Mettaton’s. Energy sparked at the touch of their mouths, leaving Mettaton’s lips tingling after they pulled away.

After they broke apart, Mettaton took the opportunity to scan over Papyrus’ expression. He’d learned early on—mostly through poorly-disguised nervous habits and anxious chattering—that Papyrus tended to hide anything negative that he might feel, covering it up with positivity and false confidence instead. It’d been convincing at first, but Mettaton knew from experience just how fake an act of confidence could be.

“You absolutely don’t have to come on with me if you don’t want to.” Mettaton wanted to make that clear. “I can tell them that you’ve gotten sick and couldn’t make it. No one would judge you for it.”

Relief flickered over Papyrus’ face, as if he were actually considering the out Mettaton presented for him. Ultimately, though, he shook his head, his jaw set in renewed resolve as he gave Mettaton another peck on the lips. “THANK YOU FOR WORRYING ABOUT ME, METTATON, BUT I’LL BE FINE!! I’M HAPPY TO SHARE THIS EXPERIENCE WITH YOU! IN FRONT OF… THOUSANDS AND… THOUSANDS OF WATCHERS… ALL SEEING EVERY FEATURE AND FLAW ABOUT ME NEXT TO THEIR BELOVED CELEBRITY…”

Papyrus made an audible swallow. Poor dear.

Mettaton rested his free hand against Papyrus’ cheek, pressing his forehead to his. He looked right into those wide, dark eye sockets and spoke with every bit of seriousness as he could muster.

“They’re going to love you, Papy. You’re going to knock them out of their chairs, I promise.”

Papyrus’ mouth tilted into a mischievous smile. “WELL I CERTAINLY HOPE THAT THEY DON’T HURT THEMSELVES THEN, BECAUSE THE GREAT PAPYRUS IS ON HIS WAY!”

“That’s the spirit, love.” Mettaton pulled away, still holding Papyrus’ hand. Baby steps, right at Papyrus’ side the whole way. “Now let’s go knock them dead together.”

“YES!! LET’S!!”

As they entered the backstage area together, Mettaton could hear the murmur of a live audience as they talked amongst themselves, waiting for the show to start. He squeezed Papyrus’ hand, trying to reassure him without words. The sound was familiar enough to him, and by now he found that the thought of so many people just waiting for him to appear excited him, but he knew a monster who was new to the stage might feel so confident on his first time going out. Everything would be fine of course, but he could clearly imagine the stage fright that Papyrus might be feeling at the moment. Mettaton used to get it, when it was just him against a hundred viewers. Fortunately for Papyrus, he’d have Mettaton there with him the entire show.

“Ah good! There you two are!” Someone that Mettaton didn’t recognize strolled up to them. He wore a headset and carried a clipboard. The badge pinned to his shirt labeled him as a backstage assistant. The stranger pressed a button on the side of his headset, muttering something about the guests having arrived before giving them a wide grin. “We’re starting soon, so go ahead and stand right over here—yes on this ‘X’, there you go—and when you get the signal the two of you are going to walk on stage and sit in those chairs. Got it? Ok great! Good luck, I’m going to go make sure everything else is ready, just flag someone down if you have any questions.”

And just like that, the man was gone, presumably to check on some other part of the production. Mettaton doubted they’d see him again. He turned to Papyrus with an excited smile. “Ready, darling.”

Papyrus nodded, looking a bit breathless. “AS READY AS EVER, CINNAMON BEAR CLAW.”

Good, Papyrus still seemed to be holding himself together. He pulled his hand away. They’d have plenty of time to hold hands and be affectionate later on, after the show. “Alright sweetheart, it’s show time.”

Well, almost show time, anyway. They stood there for a few more minutes as the show started and the studio audience clapped wildly for the talk show’s host, Tom, as he came on stage. He sat in his place, and said a few opening words to his audience. The crowd laughed at some joke, which Mettaton couldn’t hear over the rushing magic thrumming through his head. All the excitement in the world couldn’t shake the near-overwhelming nerves that ate at him right before getting onstage. He only hoped that he’d soothed away some of Papyrus’. Mettaton didn’t know what questions Tom would ask them, what he’d say, and the lack of a script had him tense and on edge, no matter how well he hid it behind a charming smile and relaxed pose.

“And now let’s bring on the brand new couple themselves—come on out you two.”

They stepped out from behind the stage, in view of the audience. A round of applause kicked up among the crowd, accompanied by a few whistles. Mettaton turned his head, blowing a kiss out into audience. There was a couple of shrill screams in response, as if a few people had personally caught his kiss. He shook the host’s hand and moved to his seat. When he turned around he caught Papyrus looking out into the audience, gaze darting restlessly, eye sockets wide and jaw lax in his awe. The skeleton waved, and received an upsurge of the clapping in return. Mettaton smiled at the delighted look that lit up in Papyrus’ face, settling down into his chair and waiting patiently as Papyrus sat next to him and Tom pulled the crowd back into a relative silence.

“Well, that was a warm welcome!” Tom said, sitting behind his desk. “It seems the crowd loves you.”

How could they not, Mettaton thought, smiling out into the now-silent faces of the audience. He gave his all into each an every performance. By nature he was an entertainer. “I love all of them as well,” he said, and someone whooped, much to his amusement.

“Thank you for agreeing to come on tonight. I have to say, I’ve always been a fan of your work, Mettaton, and when I heard that you have a boyfriend, I just had to have you on.”

“Thank you for having us; we’re both excited to be here.” It seemed that Papyrus was content to have Mettaton take care of the talking, and he took to the role with practiced ease.

“So, I’m sure a lot of us are dying to know.” Tom rested his elbows on the desk, leaning forward to peer at the two of them over his interlinked hands. “We know already about your relationship, but there is still the burning question: how did the two of you meet?”

That was a question.

They couldn’t exactly tell the truth. How would that make Papyrus look, to say that he’d shown up right at Mettaton’s doorstep after a drunken night together just a few weeks prior? One which neither of them could remember? Perhaps a more embellished version of events would work here, he thought, gears whirring in his head as he tried to come up with an alternative explanation.

“WELL, ACTUALLY…” Papyrus spoke up before he could speak. Mettaton glanced to his boyfriend, surprised, watching him tug nervously at his cuffs. “WE WERE CONNECTED THROUGH A MUTUAL FRIEND!”

That worked.

Mettaton nodded. “That’s true. My very dear friend, actually. She’s the very scientist who helped design and built this body for me!”

“ALPHYS IS VERY SMART! SHE’S GREAT AT MAKING STUFF!”

“Well, we definitely have your friend to thank for so much today. For creating the robot that’s worked his way into all of our hearts, for bringing the two of you together…” Tom counted each thing off on one hand, wearing the very same smile that Mettaton constantly kept up in the public eye. Pleasant, but unreadable, just like almost every public figure he came across. “…and if the rumors are true, for the new little addition the two of you are expecting?”

Papyrus’ grin faltered. His hand drifted to his abdomen, though he seemed not to be conscious of his own actions. “HOW—?”

“The rumors are true indeed, Tom.” Mettaton spoke up before Papyrus could finish. From his experience in show business, very little was private in the end. Finding out that Papyrus was pregnant before either of them said anything to the public was only to be expected. “Although I would say that only Papyrus and I were involved in that part.”

The audience laughed at that, and even drew a low chuckle from Tom as well. Mettaton flashed a bright smile, taking Papyrus’ hand. The bony fingers felt clammy in his grip, and he gave it a reassuring squeeze. The warm smile returned to Papyrus’ face.

“Well, you’ve all heard it here first!” Tom said, looking delighted that the news had been confirmed on his show. “I’m sure the details of that should best be left to sex ed classes, and not brought up on the show, even if I am curious about how a monster with such a skeletal figure and a robot can conceive a child.”

“That it is, Tom.” Mettaton would shut him down if he insisted on bringing up the rather intimate parts about his sex life. The audience could just look it up on the internet. He was sure that plenty of resources about it existed by now, detailed for human eduction. Along with some for entertainment, of course.

The host nodded, and turned just so in his seat so that he directly faced Papyrus. “Now, there are some things I’d love to hear from you, since very little knowledge about you is floating around…”

Tom launched into his list of questions, mainly directed toward Papyrus—about whether he’d had been a fan beforehand, how well they’d known each other, and general things about what they enjoyed doing with each other in their off time including how often that was. They answered dutifully, both refraining from giving out anything that they thought too personal. For the most part, it was Papyrus doing the talking at that point, a shiny new face in the public eye. Nobody knew anything about the skeleton monster, and it made things all the more interesting for Tom and the audience.

Mettaton, for his part, was happy to mostly sit back and let Papyrus chatter on. It gave him the opportunity to really watch Papyrus, the animated hand motions as he spoke about something that particularly thrilled him, the easy and natural smile that seemed to light up the entire stage with its brightness, and the earnest and honest way with which he spoke. He had no doubts that the public would love him, just as he’d fallen in love after such a short time spent with the excitable skeleton monster.

For once, he thoroughly enjoyed watching someone else be at the center of attention.

After the show, he got a jumble of letters in a text message from Alphys, sputtering about how she couldn’t believe they’d talked so highly of her on live television. He smiled and showed the message to Papyrus, who dictated a whole list of reasons why she was a great person who should have much more confidence in her equally great work, and Mettaton tacked his agreement onto the end.

“Really, darling, you deserve it.”

--------------------------------------------------

A few days after the talk show appearance found them hanging out in Papyrus’ room, a favorite place when they didn’t feel like going anywhere. They sat together in Papyrus’ racecar bed, shoulder to shoulder, each doing their own thing in the comfort of each other’s company. Mettaton scrolled through his media accounts, checking on his friends and seeing what fans had to say in his tags. Most of it was favorable, of course, and he enjoyed seeing posts gushing about how he had been on the show, and even more so when those entries included Papyrus in their hype.

As far as he could see, people liked Papyrus a lot, even if they only knew of him as Mettaton’s boyfriend. Papyrus had charmed them, much as he’d charmed Mettaton himself.It pleased him to see the screenshots from the episode, and he found himself warming  all over again seeing the gifs that captured the bright-eyed way that Papyrus spoke, hands in constant motion and a barely contained smile on his mouth.

“Papy, look at this.” Mettaton pulled up one such post, moving his phone over so that Papyrus could view the screen.

Papyrus looked up from the sketchbook he was doodling in and leaned against Mettaton’s shoulder. He lowered his knees to peer down at the offered screen.

“People are really liking you,” Mettaton said with a contented smile as he watched Papyrus’ eyes scan over his phone.

“WELL IT’S NO WONDER THAT THEY SHOULD, I AM A VERY GREAT MONSTER, AND VERY COOL TOO.”

“Very cool,” Mettaton agreed, placing his phone back in his own lap. He didn’t go back to it right away however, looking down at Papyrus’ sketchbook. “What are you drawing there? Another puzzle design?”

Papyrus shook his head. “NOT THIS TIME. I’M THINKING ABOUT A COOL NEW OUTFIT FOR WHEN I START GETTING BIGGER. I NEED SOMETHING FLATTERING THAT WILL ALSO FEEL COMFORTABLE ON MY BODY. I’M ALREADY STARTING TO GET REALLY ACHY, SO I DON’T WANT TO WEAR SOMETHING THAT’S UNCOMFORTABLE ON TOP OF THAT.”

Mettaton made a little noise of sympathy. He shifted in place, sitting up and setting his phone on the bedside table, right beside the football lamp that Papyrus had recently gotten from some discount store that he’d fallen in love with. It limited the space on the table for other things, and was a bit tacky, but if Papyrus liked it then he supposed that it was a good buy. “Do you want a massage? I’ve got some magic fingers that will be sure to melt all your pains and troubles away.”

He glanced down at Mettaton’s hands for a brief moment. Papyrus looked thoughtful and after a short pause he nodded, holding out his sketchbook to him. Mettaton took it and set it next to his phone and the lamp.

Papyrus sat up, and the two adjusted their positions, so that his back was turned toward Mettaton. His eyes raked over Papyrus’ back. With how the shirt draped over his bones, they seemed so small and delicate that it was hard to believe that he really had the strength that Mettaton had heard of. Even if Undyne always boasted that Papyrus was ‘strong as heck!’ from their old sparring matches. He felt no muscle mass beneath his fingers as he spread his hands over the soft material of Papyrus’ sweater.

From there, Mettaton wasn’t sure what to do. On the one hand, he’d been told on multiple accounts that he did give a mean massage. On the other hand though, Papyrus didn’t have much for him to knead. He didn’t know how much a massage would help the strained magical connections between bones.

Good thing he specialized in improvisation. Starting at the shoulder blades, Mettaton pressed his fingers into the bone, pushing and rubbing until he felt Papyrus relax into his ministrations. He moved up, massaging over the collarbone, and inward, paying extra attention to the minuscule spaces in between his vertebrae, circling his thumb into their invisible connections.

Papyrus sighed as he worked over his spine, slowly moving his hands down over the small of his back. From his reaction Mettaton assumed that he was doing a good job.

“Feel good, sweetheart?” he murmured, unwilling to break the peaceful quiet that had settled over them.

Papyrus nodded, letting out a sigh that sounded almost like a moan. “IT DOES,” he breathed out, his voice just as low as Mettaton’s.

They continued on in silence for a few more minutes, until at last it seemed as if he’d massaged all the tension from Papyrus’ back, and he was putty in Mettaton’s hands. He pulled his hands away, satisfied that he’d done all he could. Instead of protesting for more, Papyrus fell back onto his back beside him, arms flung out to the very edges of his mattress and eye sockets closed.

“THANK YOU, I FEEL SO MUCH BETTER.”

Mettaton smiled. He remained sitting up, content to just gaze down at his contented lover. Unable to resist touching him, he stroked the top of Papyrus’ skull. It was evidently welcome, with how Papyrus leaned into his touch without even opening his eyes, and he kept it up, exploring the dips and curves of his skull, his neck, and even the collarbone and shoulders he’d just massaged.

So warm, so firm under his touch. As fragile as they’d looked when the clothes fitted snug around them, under his touch they felt sturdy, not as hollow as he’d expected them to feel compared to actual bones he’d held. Which, to be fair, were chicken and steak bones, and he supposed that they couldn’t be compared to a fully grown skeleton monster.

Regardless, he felt as if he could explore Papyrus’ body for hours, and it still wouldn’t bore him in the slightest.

Mettaton trailed his fingers down Papyrus’ chest, feeling the shape of each rib through his sweater. Papyrus shifted into his gentle ministrations, letting out a soft sigh. Mettaton kept an eye on Papyrus’ face as he touched him, how smooth and peaceful his expression looked. All the usual grins and facades had melted away, and Papyrus looked so still and relaxed that Mettaton almost thought he’d fallen asleep beneath his hands.

His hands traveled even lower, ghosting over Papyrus’ abdomen. Papyrus’ eye sockets popped open and their gazes locked. Watching for any discomfort in his expression, Mettaton kept moving down until he felt his fingers brush the end of Papyrus’ sweater and he broke eye contact to look at it. He toyed with the hem, the loose fabric that muted the orange glow underneath it. Papyrus remained still, making no moves to stop him, and Mettaton could feel him watching. The anticipation felt thick between them.

His eyes flickered up to meet the curious dark sockets. “Can I see…?” he asked, pinching the fabric between his fingers.

Papyrus had all but stopped breathing, his chest still as he stared back up at Mettaton. Neither of them spoke. After a long minute, he gave a slow nod of consent. Smiling, Mettaton leaned down to press a kiss to Papyrus’ forehead.

“Thank you, sweetheart,” he said, and returned his attention to Papyrus’ sweater

He took his time in peeling it back, treating it as he would a precious gift. Nerves radiated off of the skeleton below him, but Papyrus lifted his lower back to assist Mettaton in pulling the fabric away. Inch by inch, he lifted it away, pinning it to Papyrus’ sternum with his hand, his gaze caught up in the sight he revealed. Papyrus squirmed beneath the intensity of his stare.

Orange magic swirled in the space where his abdomen would be, if he had one. It didn’t have a definite form yet, but it felt almost solid when Mettaton passed his hand over the magic, just the smallest bit of give when he put light pressure against it. Papyrus made a squeaky sound, arching into the touch, and Mettaton smiled at the reaction. How cute.

He shuffled lower, leaning down to press his lips to the unformed magic, which would soon protect and nurture the soulling attached to Papyrus’ soul. It was warm against his lips, and tickled his nerves. “Beautiful.”

Papyrus’ breath hitched, and Mettaton looked up at him from where he touched his chin the magic that whirled underneath, fixing him with an adoring smile. Papyrus looked away sharply, a healthy orange flush decorating his cheekbones. Cute, cute, cute. Mettaton wanted nothing more than to eat him up, to slide back up his torso to devour his mouth in kisses until Papyrus had no air left to breathe and orange suffused every bone in his body

For now he restrained himself. He didn’t want to overwhelm him. Despite how the pregnancy implied a sexual history with each other, they hadn’t been intimate since that drunken night. They were still getting a feel for each other, and Mettaton wanted to take things slow. He wanted to savor their relationship, developing just like their child inside Papyrus’ soul.

Mettaton’s grin turned mischievous, and he pressed his lips again to the half-solid magic. He blew into it.

“NYEH?!” The reaction was immediate. Papyrus’ body jerked under him, but there was no escape from the raspberries he gave his vulnerable stomach. “AH, NO!! BETRAYAL!!!”

If Papyrus wanted to sound offended, he had no chance of it as he instead dissolved into helpless giggles. Laughter rumbled in Mettaton’s chest as he kept up his assault, higher and higher, until he could attack Papyrus’ neck with his lips. Papyrus let out a shrieking laugh, twisting underneath him. Mettaton hummed into his vertebrae, an after a moment he lessened his attacks, gently mouthing an apology against his neck. Papyrus’ laughter turned into a breathy moan, and he tilted his head back to allow better access.

However, it wasn’t until he felt Papyrus’ legs close around his waist that he realized that he’d maneuvered himself between them.

Mettaton pulled back to look down at Papyrus. His boyfriend had wrapped his arms around his shoulders, as well as his legs, the blush on his cheeks more pronounced. Papyrus panted, mouth hanging open and looking as if they’d been doing some activities of a more lewd nature.

The thought had his cheeks heating up as well. So much for not pushing things too far too fast with Papyrus.

“Oh my, I’m sorry Papyrus, let me just—.” Embarrassed, Mettaton moved to get off and give Papyrus a little space.

Just as he began to pull away however, Papyrus’ tightened his grip around his waist and shoulders. He froze, blinking at the blushing skeleton underneath him, his face to bright and lively with the glow of his magic. Mettaton never thought that he could feel so hot while laying in a racecar bed.

“IT’S OK.” Instead of shying away as he’d expected him to, Papyrus held his gaze. Mettaton found himself transfixed. He could detect the faintest wisps of orange deep within his eye sockets, much like the magic that swirled in his abdomen. “YOU DON’T HAVE TO—I MEAN, I DON’T WANT YOU TO.”

Mettaton’s face smoothed into a smile. “Well, if you insist.”

Their mouths met,charged with intent. Papyrus parted his teeth, the tongue he’d caught snatches of previously probing at his lips. Mettaton hummed into the kiss, letting his own tongue meet Papyrus’. The legs around his waist drew him further in, until the two were pressed flush against each other. They parted with panting breaths, unable to break eye contact with each other.

“METTATON—.”

Papyrus looked so needy, whining and raising his hips to grind against his. Mettaton’s breath hitched, heat rushing straight to his groin. He couldn’t take it, he wanted Papyrus so badly. He opened his mouth to tell him just that, too, grinding back down into Papyrus’ pelvis.

“Papy, baby—.”

“hey, bro?” Sans’ voice broke through, accompanied by a knock at the door.

“SANS!!” Papyrus let out a choked yelp, jolting up from underneath Mettaton.

The sudden movement knocked Mettaton over, and he tumbled off the bed with limbs flailing and speakers screeching. He scrambled to grab something—anything—to stop his fall. His hand found the lamp, and it came crashing down on top of him with a loud thud. Papyrus leaned over the side of the bed, and met Mettaton’s disgruntled look with a sheepish one, but before either of them could say anything Sans spoke up again.

“bro? you guys ok in there?”

“JUST FINE!!!” Papyrus called out, not sounding fine at all. “YOU CAN COME IN, DON’T WORRY!”

Despite his assurances, a long moment passed before the door swung inward, and Sans’ skull appeared in the space. His eyelights wandered from his brother on the bed—back straight as a pole and face flushed a brilliant color—to the tangled mess of limbs and lamp on the floor that was Mettaton. Mettaton had to resist the urge to groan. None of the scene before him could be seen as innocent.

“did i, uh, interrupt something?”

“OF COURSE NOT!”

“No… no, not at all.” Mettaton bit back a groan, part from frustration and part from how he’d managed to land right on a pointy part of the lamp. He could feel it digging right into his side. Mettaton rolled over, pulling at the cord that had gotten wrapped around his arm.

“right…” Infuriatingly, an amused grin formed on Sans’ face. “well, you certainly seem like you’re having some quality time with that lamp there. no wonder. i bet it’s the light of your life.”

“SANS!” Papyrus’ squawk cut through any protests that Mettaton could’ve made. He put his hands on his hips, but it didn’t look quite so intimidating when he still sat on the bed. “DON’T YOU HAVE ANYTHING BETTER TO DO THAN TORMENT US WITH YOUR TERRIBLE PUNS?”

“nope. not at all.”

Ugh. Mettaton could just about roll his eyes at that. He resisted the urge. Such a thing would be unbecoming of a proud celebrity such as himself, which was still true no matter how he managed to get himself on the floor, up close and personal with a novelty lighting fixture. Instead he focused on detangling himself, returning the lamp back to its former position on the night table, and dragged himself into a standing position.

There was a beat of silence, before Sans continued speaking. “well, i guess there is one thing,” he said, gaze shifting from Mettaton to his brother. “i was wondering if you guys were planning on making dinner or something, or if i could head over to grillbz for a bite to eat.”

Both Papyrus and Mettaton groaned simultaneously.

“WELL, WHY DIDN’T YOU START WITH THAT?”

Sans shrugged. “i wouldn’t have been able to use that joke on you. the opportunity would’ve been too far gone and poof, never again would i get the chance to make a lamp pun on a celebrity robot. and what a shame that would’ve been.”

“Yes, a real shame,” Mettaton deadpanned, sitting on the edge of the mattress. He craned his neck to look back at Papyrus, still stiff and straight on the bed behind him. “What do you think, Papy? We could always order something to eat and watch a movie.”

And if they ordered something for themselves and allowed Sans to go out to eat, it would mean that they could have some quality alone time, which tended to be far and few in between whenever they hung out at the skeleton household. Although Mettaton wasn’t not keen on going back to what they’d been doing before, after Sans’ ill-timed interruption, he couldn’t deny that curling up on the couch with his lover, some takeout food, and a nice movie sounded like a delightful idea.

Papyrus looked conflicted. He looked between Mettaton and his brother, his thought process plain on his face. Mettaton could read it as if he was speaking out loud, knowing how much Papyrus hated letting his brother each out, when there was perfectly good food to be had at home that wasn’t nearly as greasy as Grillby’s would be. He’d been crystal clear on his thoughts of greasy food from that establishment, although Mettaton found that it was greatly exaggerated. Grillby’s didn’t have as greasy of food as Papyrus claimed it was.

But on the other hand, he knew that Papyrus would be just as eager to have some alone time. The comfort of his own home—the place that Papyrus always said he felt most at ease in—combined with those rare snatches of privacy for the two of them, with no danger of Sans catching them.

(Silly a fear as it was to Mettaton. Papyrus was an adult, and so was Mettaton. If the two of them wanted to have some more intimate times, whether or not Sans was in the house, then it was Sans’ own fault if he happened to walk in on them during it.)

“WELL I GUESS HAVING SOME TAKEOUT SOUNDS NICE… JUST THIS ONCE, THOUGH. DON’T THINK THAT I’M BECOMING LAZY LIKE SOME PEOPLE.” Papyrus shot Sans a pointed look. “I WILL MAKE DINNER TOMORROW! SO DON’T THINK ABOUT BRINGING HOME A BUNCH OF GROSS LEFTOVERS TO FILL UP OUR FRIDGE WITH.”

Sans didn’t seem offended in the slightest, his grin lax and easy on his face. Mettaton wondered if the shorter skeleton ever stopped smiling. “cool, sounds good. have fun, bro, don’t do anything i wouldn’ do.”

“YOU MEAN BEING A FUNCTIONAL ADULT.”

“yup, that. make sure you don’t.” Rolling right along with his brother’s insult, his eyelights flickered over to Mettaton’s face. “take care of paps, catch you both later.”

And just like that, Mettaton blinked and Sans had disappeared from the doorway. His jaw dropped open—he knew he hadn’t been imagining things back when Sans vanished from his doorstep in a flash. “How does he do that?”

Papyrus gave him a puzzled look. “DO WHAT?”

“Vanish! Teleport! I don’t know, whatever he just did to disappear like that!”

“OH!” Understanding dawned in his face, but Papyrus didn’t seem all that perturbed. “THAT’S JUST WHAT HE DOES. YOU GET USED TO IT. HE’S JUST TOO LAZY TO WALK THE TWO FEET TO THE FRONT DOOR!”

Right on queue, he heard the front door open, and Sans’ deep chuckle that was cut off by its closing as he presumably left the house. Papyrus glared at his own bedroom door, left ajar after Sans’ vanishing act. He kept it up for a few seconds before he shook his head in disbelief, returning his attention to Mettaton.

“DON’T LET IT BOTHER YOU TOO MUCH. IT’S ONLY WHEN HE STARTS USING IT TO PRANK PEOPLE THAT IT’S ESPECIALLY ANNOYING.”

“But how does he do it? Is it a skeleton thing?” None of what Papyrus said had answered his question.

Unfortunately, Papyrus only gave him a shrug. “I DON’T KNOW! I ASSUME HE DOES THE SAME THING THAT WE DO TO SUMMON OUR BONE ATTACKS, EXCEPT ON HIMSELF! HE JUST, I DON’T KNOW, GOES INTO THAT PLACE WHERE THE ATTACKS ARE WHEN THEY DON’T ACTUALLY EXIST YET? I HAVEN’T TRIED IT MYSELF, BECAUSE I’M NOT A DREADFUL LAZYBONES LIKE MY BROTHER IS!”

“Huh. I see.” Except that hadn’t cleared up anything at all.

“ANYWAY!” Papyrus sprung up off the bed with an energy that Mettaton wouldn’t expect from a pregnant monster. “WE HAVE A MOVIE TO COMMENCE HERE! LET’S GO, MY SHINY METAL GEM OF A BOYFRIEND.”

Mettaton shifted on the mattress, preparing to stand up. Before he could even get up, however, Papyrus bent down over him, slipping one arm underneath his knees and the other behind his back. With a huge grunting, Papyrus straightened up, lifting Mettaton up bridal style.

“Oh my.” He wrapped his arms around Papyrus’ neck, surprised by their new position. “Papy, sweetie, I don’t think that you should be carrying me in your condition.”

“NONSENSE!” He took one labored step, and then another. “JUST BECAUSE. I AM CARRYING. A CHILD. DOES NOT MEAN THAT I CANNOT. CARRY. YOU.”

They went on for a few steps more, until they reached the door. Papyrus stood strong, although it felt as if he were shaking until Mettaton’s weight. He opened his mouth, about to insist that Papyrus let him down, but it seemed that his boyfriend was one step ahead of him. With a long groan, Papyrus tipped his arms, setting Mettaton lightly back onto his feet.

“UNFORTUNATELY IT SEEMS THAT I AM RATHER… DRAINED… FROM HAVING A LITTLE SOUL WITHIN ME. MY SWEEPING YOU OFF OF YOUR FEET WILL HAVE TO WAIT FOR A FUTURE DATE,” he said, sounding regretful.

Mettaton gave him a warm smile. “Aw don’t worry about it, Papy-dear. I eagerly await the day you do. But until then, allow me.”

With a swift motion, Mettaton scooped the skeleton right up into his arms. He felt light as a feather, as if he weren’t carrying a full-grown pregnant monster. The lack of significant weight surprised him so much that he nearly threw Papyrus right out of his arms. His grip tightened, securing the precious package in his grip. Once he stabilized, he pressed a kiss to the top of Papyrus’ skull. Disappointment flickered across Papyrus’ face, and Mettaton nuzzled his nose against his forehead, banishing the cloud that seemed to be hanging over his boyfriend’s head.

“I’m counting on you to rescue me and carry me to my room next time I’m low on batteries, though, alright love?”

He understood how Papyrus might be feeling after his failure to carry Mettaton more than a couple feet. After all, Mettaton felt very much the same whenever he was on a low charge, when he wasn’t able to keep up his usual performance and found that everyone around him had no issues. It made him feel a bit useless, and he didn’t want Papyrus thinking that way.

“So I heard that you and me have a date with the couch and a cheesy movie.”

Papyrus seemed to brighten up at that, and Mettaton hoped that the smile he flashed up at him was a genuine one. “RIGHT! OFF TO THE LIVING ROOM!” he exclaimed, jabbing a finger in that direction.

Mettaton nodded, and set off at a brisk walk, taking care not to jostle the pregnant skeleton in his arms.

“To the living room!”

He carried Papyrus out of the room and settled him down onto the couch. As soon as he left him to get the remote, Papyrus snatched up the blanket that was folded neatly over the arm of the couch. The sneaky skeleton. Mettaton didn’t comment on it quite yet, and flipped through channels before he settled on a cheesy romance story that he’d seen before. As he returned to the couch, he assured Papyrus that it included plenty of action and explosions as well, befitting of Mettaton’s taste for them. Romance, drama, explosions—Mettaton was glad that they could find common interest in those things. It made it easy to find a movie that they’d both enjoy during their dates.

Mettaton stood between the couch and the TV, hands on his hips and looking down at the blanket burrito Papyrus had turned himself into.

“Am I invited to the Blanket Party here?”

Papyrus grinned at him, pulling the ends of the blanket tighter around him. “I’M AFRAID NOT. ONLY SKELETONS ALLOWED IN BLANKET LAND, AND AS IT TURNS OUT I AM THE ONLY SKELETON HERE.”

“Can’t I come in, after giving you a ride down here and performing my magic massage on you? And if you don’t let me…”

Papyrus glanced down at Mettaton’s wiggling fingers, the very same ones that had massaged him and which could start up a tickle assault once again. Grinning nervously, he nodded, opening up the blanket for Mettaton to join him. “I GUESS YOU MAY! JUST ONCE, I SUPPOSE THAT WOULD BE ALLOWED.”

“Thank you, it’s so gracious of you.” With a pleased smile, Mettaton curled up next to Papyrus to join him beneath the blanket. Papyrus draped it over the both of them, and they shifted until they didn’t have any angular points of their bodies jabbing into one another.

They eventually found a comfortable position, nestled up against one another beneath the covers, and turned their attention to the movie. Papyrus was the most attentive viewer, and although Mettaton had seen the movie before, he delighted in making sly glances toward Papyrus to catch his reaction to the more intense parts. They both found themselves wrapped up in the movie, and an hour passed by without either of them conscious of time moving forward. As if controlled by gravity, Papyrus’ head dragged down to rest against his shoulder, and as the movie started to wind down near the end, he could just see the skeleton’s eyes falling shut. He made sure to keep himself extra still, to be a good pillow for his boyfriend as he began to doze off.

Until Mettaton’s pants buzzed, making him jump in his seat and shove against poor Papyrus nestled against him. “Oh goodness!”

Papyrus raised his head and drew back somewhat, pulling the blanket securely over his shoulder.

“WHAT IS IT?” he asked with a sleepy drawl, making Mettaton feel even worse for disturbing his rest. He’d been so cute, dozing off against his shoulder, with his peaceful expression illuminated by the television.

Mettaton fished his phone out from his pocket, moving with care so as not to jostle Papyrus too much more and not succeeding. He glanced down at the screen, and raised both brows when he saw the caller. His agent, who rarely called him on his days off. They were his days off for a reason, and Mettaton refused for them to be disturbed. He’d seen what happened to celebrities who took on too much too fast, and the aftermath when they inevitably cracked beneath the pressure. Mettaton refused to take part in that.

That only meant that it had to be important, Mettaton thought with a heavy sigh. His agent knew how he felt; it had to be something that required his immediate attention.

He gave Papyrus a regretful look. “It’s my agent. I guess she has something that she needs to tell me. I have to take this.”

“AH.” Brief disappointment flickered across Papyrus’ face, but it disappeared a moment later when he nodded in understanding. “OF COURSE. IF IT’S IMPORTANT, YOU SHOULD TAKE IT!”

“Sorry, my love,” Mettaton said, kissing the top of Papyrus’ skull before he left the warmth of their shared blanket, standing up.

Papyrus wrapped the blanket tight around himself, once again a blanket-and-bone burrito as he settled back against the armrest. He gave Mettaton a bright smile, still edged with exhaustion from having what must have been a nice nap disturbed. “IT’S QUITE ALRIGHT! PLEASE DON’T WORRY ABOUT IT, I WILL BE RIGHT HERE WHEN YOU FINISH!”

Mettaton gave him a grateful smile, raising the phone to his ear. “Thanks, Papy-baby, you’re the best—Hello?”

“Mettaton! Oh my god, I’m so glad you picked up!” The breathless voice of his agent rang out through the speaker. At least something bad hadn’t happened, considering how excited she sounded.

“Yes, of course.” Mettaton wandered into the kitchen where he could have a bit of privacy. Not that he wanted to hide the conversation from Papyrus, no. He just wanted the chance to take in whatever she had to tell him without having his facial features scrutinized the entire time. “What did you need?”

“I’m sorry for calling, I know that you don’t like being bothered on your days off, but I just couldn’t wait with this!” In his mind he could practically see her smiling on the other end of the line, making the wild gestures she was prone to do as she spoke. “There’s a big movie coming up, and they’ve opened auditions for some pretty important roles. I got in touch with some of my contacts and scored you an audition!”

She knew just how to get his attention. Mettaton’s face lit up at the promise of a big production, which was sure to get his name in the global light. His fanbase would increase exponentially, and he’d be offered even more important roles if he did a good job at this one. Which he’d do a fantastic job of course, as Mettaton always did. His smile stretched from ear to ear, and she had him hooked.

“Really? Please tell me all the details.”

And so she did, launching into an explanation about the movie, and what sort of roles that he’d be auditioning for. All the while, Mettaton listened with rapt attention, taking in all that she had to tell him. It seemed almost too good to be true. A big production would even pay well, he imagined, and while he wasn’t hard for money it would still be nice to start getting a fund saved up to raise his baby on the way. Maybe even a college fund, if they were so inclined, or acting lessons. Sports, toys, games, anything his future little angel could desire, and enough to care for Papyrus too. He didn’t know if he’d eventually marry Papyrus, but his boyfriend deserved to live comfortably for the rest of his life, regardless.

But he was getting ahead of himself.

“Where will filming be located?” he had to ask, imagining some lovely place in a nearby city, where perhaps Papyrus could come visit for a weekend and they could take a tour of the city, walking hand in hand as Papyrus’ stomach grew rounder and heavier with their child.

“I’m glad you asked!” she told him, and he guessed that she was standing just like he was, pacing back and forth as she poured out everything into his ears. “It’s in a truly gorgeous location. I went there once on vacation with my family, and I know that you’d have a great time in your free time and just being on site during filming! It’s in Hawaii!”

“Ha…” Mettaton did a quick run through in his mind where Hawaii could be. It took a moment; his grasp of Surface geography still wasn’t where it should be. “Isn’t that a little far?”

“Do you think so? It’s rather close compared so some other locations these films get shot at. I know there was one…”

He let his agent ramble on, casting a worried glance toward the door. Although he couldn’t see Papyrus from there, the skeleton still weighed on his mind. He knew that films could take a long time to complete, and with it being so far away, he’d be gone for months at a time. Which, during this critical period where Papyrus and Mettaton were still bonding, would make their developing relationship difficult.

And Papyrus needed all the support that he could get. He was pregnant! And from what Alphys had told him, the skeleton would get more exhausted as the months wore on, devoting more and more magic to the baby. Unlike monsters with fleshy bits that could hold a late-development soulling, pregnancy strained skeletons more than many others.

“So, I can get you in for the audition tomorrow—what do you say?” she was still talking, suddenly asking for his input.

“Huh? Well, I, um…” Mettaton scrambled to regain the thread of the conversation. He stumbled over his thoughts, trying to collect himself before she could notice his hesitance. “Give me a couple hours to think about it. I have people that I should talk to about this.”

“Oh?” She sounded surprised, even a little put out, like she hadn’t expected him to respond with anything but an enthusiastic ‘YES’. To her credit, she recovered quickly, and she was all business again in her very next utterance. “Oh, well of course! Call me back as soon as you can; I don’t want you to miss out on this huge opportunity. I don’t know when another like it will come by!”

“Right, don’t worry.” He felt sick. An opportunity that might never come by him again, just what he needed to hear. Great. “Talk to you soon, darling, goodbye.”

He hung up the phone, shoulders slumped. His agent only meant well, of course, but he found himself hesitating. A big movie production would be perfect for Mettaton’s career. No doubt it’d benefit him, and Papyrus, and his soon to be baby. Yet at the same time, he’d be leaving Papyrus alone during the great majority of his pregnancy.

Mettaton might even miss the baby’s birth.

It was only a possibility, but the doubt froze him in place, where he’d never hesitated before. He remembered when he’d first gotten his new body, the prototype, and how he’d abandoned the most important person in his life who had supported him through thick and thin. They’d never once blamed him for leaving them alone in the cold dirt.

Mettaton couldn’t do that to someone again.

He shook his head, clearing the thoughts and the associated guilt from his mind. Regardless, this was something that he had to talk to Papyrus about. His boyfriend deserved a say in his decision, whatever it may be.

“Papyrus, sweetie?” he called out as he reentered the living room, almost hesitant to rejoin Papyrus.

Something in his tone put Papyrus on alert. The drowsiness vanished from his face, and straightened his spine, eye sockets widening. “WHAT IS IT, MY LOVE?”

Not even one of his unique pet names were used, as if he knew that the matter at hand required a serious attitude.

Mettaton focused on his breathing, berating himself for being so nervous about this. He could go on stage and perform in front of hundreds and hundreds—even thousands—of people without even a flinch, yet when it came to a small conversation with his boyfriend, he found himself rendered almost mute.

He forced himself to keep walking, until he reached the couch and could sit down next to Papyrus. Knees pointed toward the skeleton, hands folded in his lap, he began his explanation.

“As I said, that was my agent on the phone. Normally she knows not to contact me on my days off, because those are always my ‘me days’. Well, now they’ve been a lot of ‘me and my wonderful, handsome boyfriend days’.” Papyrus beamed at that, and somehow it made it harder to continue. “So I knew it’d be something very important when I answered, and it was. Of course. She wouldn’t call if it wasn’t…”

Mettaton was aware that he was beating around the bush at that point. If Papyrus noticed it, he didn’t comment on it, but the pleased look on his face melted into concern. At the very least, he could tell that Mettaton was unsettled because of the conversation.

“WHAT DID SHE SAY?” he asked, browbones furrowed in worry.

“Well… she gave me some pretty happy news, actually!” He didn’t feel right making Papyrus think that it was something bad. “She told me that she got me in for an audition for a big movie production, which—.”

“OH!” Papyrus didn’t let him finish, his face lighting up. “THAT’S WONDERFUL! I BET YOU’D KICK SERIOUS DERRIERE AT YOUR AUDITION AND GET THAT PART NO PROBLEM, AND THEN YOU’D GET TONS MORE PARTS IN TONS MORE MOVIES AND IT WOULD BE GREAT! I’M HAPPY FOR YOU, METTATON!”

“Yes, but there is a catch with it.”

“OH?”

Now came the difficult part. He looked down at his hands, twiddling his thumbs. Mettaton couldn’t quite bring himself to meet Papyrus’ curious gaze. “If I do get this part, the filming location would be in Hawaii… which is very far away and I’d be gone for months at a time for the filming.”

“OH.”

Oh indeed.

“WELL, UM… HUH.” Papyrus fell quiet. When Mettaton glanced up, he saw that Papyrus had dropped his own gaze, now staring down at his lap. His hands lay neatly folded over his stomach, rubbing his thumb over the concealed magic.

Neither spoke up. The silence lengthened between them; Mettaton didn’t know what to say, and it seemed that Papyrus didn’t either. He couldn’t blame him. It was hard enough to imagine leaving Papyrus alone for his own selfish goals. Just liked he’d abandoned his cousin to become a star.

Napstablook had said that they forgave him, but the guilt wasn’t so easily assuaged.

“I THINK… I THINK THAT YOU SHOULD GO.” Papyrus looked up at last, giving him a smile, a hint of sadness in how his forehead creased and the curve of his mouth strained. “YOU SHOULD TAKE THE OFFER! THIS IS A REALLY GOOD OPPORTUNITY FOR YOU! AND YOU SHOULD GO. IT’D BE GOOD! REALLY.”

“Are you sure?” Mettaton asked, hardly able to trust that Papyrus was truly alright with it. “I’ll be gone for a very long time. Most of your pregnancy, probably. Maybe even for the birth of the baby.”

Papyrus nodded firmly. He leaned forward, laying a hand over Mettaton’s clasped ones, resolute. “YES! YOU SHOULD DEFINITELY GO AND TAKE THIS! IT’LL BE FINE! WE CAN VIDEO CHAT ALL THE TIME, AND YOU CAN TELL ME ALL ABOUT YOUR EXCITING MOVIE LIFE! AND IF YOU MISS THE BABY BEING BORN, THEN I WILL MAKE SANS FILM IT AND SEND IT TO YOU WITH LOTS OF PICTURES, SO YOU CAN FEEL LIKE YOU’RE PART OF IT.”

He paused, and his gaze drifted off to the side with a thoughtful look.

“WELL. MAYBE NOT. THAT MIGHT BE A LITTLE BIT GROSS? BUT I BET IF YOU REALLY DO WANT THAT, THEN I CAN GET UNDYNE TO FILM IT FOR YOU. SANS IS STILL A BIG LAZYBONES AND HE’LL PROBABLY SECRETLY FILL MY PHONE WITH DUMB SELFIES INSTEAD OF ACTUALLY DOING HIS VIDEO TAKING JOB FOR ME.”

Mettaton couldn’t stop the smile from growing across his face, despite his worry. He kissed Papyrus’ cheekbone. “Has anyone ever told you that you are the absolute best?”

Papyrus gave him a huge grin. “I THINK IT’S BEEN MENTIONED ONCE OR TWICE BEFORE. AND OF COURSE I AM, I AM THE GREAT PAPYRUS AFTER ALL.” His smile turned a little mischievous, lopsided and turning his face to shoot him a sideways look. “AND YOU ARE THE BEST, AS WELL. WHICH IS WHY I AM A HUNDRED PERCENT CERTAIN THAT YOU WILL GET THIS PART FOR SURE, AND THAT IT WILL BE A VERY GOOD THING FOR YOU.”

He didn’t deserve this skeleton. “Thank you, Papy, I love you.”

“I LOVE YOU TOO!!”

It was settled then. Hawaii here comes Mettaton, with the blessing of the sweetest monster in the world.

But when he turned away to pull up his agent’s contact, he didn’t see how Papyrus’ shoulder’s slumped and the joy drained from his expression. And whenever he glanced back, looking for reassurance in Papyrus’ smile, it was there, as bright and enthusiastic as ever without a hint that anything might be wrong. How was he to suspect anything otherwise?

[inlinenewsstory]

https://ift.tt/2rz7AGp post was originally published on this site

Ben Kothe / BuzzFeed News; Getty Images; ABC

Writers who worked on the original Roseanne series say they’re struggling to reconcile the brash and bold character they spent years writing for with the new conservative, Trump-loving iteration.

“A lot of people involved in the show were surprised when she turned right-wing and supported Trump because that was just not the person or her character that we had known,” said TV writer Stan Zimmerman, who worked on Roseanne for two seasons.

Across nine seasons between 1988 and 1997, these writers worked to put words in the mouth of actor Roseanne Barr, supplying her with both zingers and warmth through their deep understanding of the titular character.

But four writers who spoke to BuzzFeed News said the 2018 version of the character Roseanne Conner — an avowed Trump supporter who fought with her pussyhat–wearing sister and is prejudiced against her Muslim neighbors — is unrecognizable to them.

“I don’t recognize that character,” said one writer, who asked to remain anonymous because they still work in the industry and feared professional repercussions. “I believe the original character would’ve said, ‘Who cares [about having Muslim neighbors]?’ And now she’s saying she does care.”

“I don’t think that Roseanne Conner would’ve voted for Donald Trump,” said Miriam Trogdon, who worked on the show for two seasons. “I don’t think that she would’ve, but apparently she did.”

“I don’t think that Roseanne Conner would’ve voted for Donald Trump.”

Having worked on the original series and become attuned to characters like Dan (John Goodman), Jackie (Laurie Metcalf), Darlene (Sara Gilbert), Becky (Alicia Goranson), D.J. (Michael Fishman), and, of course, Roseanne, the writers said some details in the Roseanne revival don’t make a lot of sense to them.

“The pilot was overtly political and the old show was not that way,” said Trogdon, who worked on the show for two seasons.

Trogdon said the main character’s justification for voting for Trump because he “talked about jobs” did seem like something Conner might have been drawn to. “But the original Roseanne, I think, would have been more upset at his attitude toward women and his misogyny,” Trogdon said. “I think that the original Roseanne would’ve questioned how a super-rich guy like this would have any sense of what a lower-middle-class family like the Conners were going through. She would at least question it, but they don’t dwell on that. They picked an aspect of what Trump was saying that would fit into the original Roseanne character.”

“I think that the original Roseanne would’ve questioned how a super-rich guy like this would have any sense of what a lower-middle-class family like the Conners were going through.”

Zimmerman, too, said he believed the character’s new politics have been brushed over.

“I read an article in the New York Times talking to Roseanne,” said Zimmerman, “and when they brought up, ‘Oh, but Roseanne Conner would be so union and Trump is very non-union,’ she was like, ‘I don’t wanna talk about it.’ So things like that are worrisome because I want her character to stand up for the underdog, but for some reason she has bought into this Trumpian way of looking at things.”

A spokesperson for ABC, which airs the show, declined to comment for this story, but noted some original writers now work on the revival. Representatives for Barr did not respond to requests for comment.

Roseanne Barr and John Goodman in 1989.

Lynn Goldsmith / Getty Images

Zimmerman specifically pointed to two plot points in the original series that he said showed the character’s softer, liberal leanings: In “The Driver’s Seat” (Season 6, Episode 11), the show addressed how Roseanne was abused by her father growing up and she felt guilty about spanking D.J. because she wanted the break the cycle of abuse. But in the revival, Roseanne condones spanking as a form of punishment.

Additionally, in “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” (Season 6, Episode 18) Roseanne visits a gay bar and is kissed by another woman, a rarity for 1990s network TV. “Roseanne was supposedly so liberal, socially anyway. And this really challenged her thoughts,” said Zimmerman.

A lot has changed about Barr since her show first aired. Most notably, the star has taken a sharp turn to the right. Not only has she been unapologetically outspoken about her support for President Trump and his policies, she has also been known to tweet radical conspiracy theories that Minority Leader Nancy Pelosi is a reptile and criminal, or that Hillary Clinton and other Democrat officials secretly operated a worldwide sex-trafficking and pedophilia ring. As recently as March 27, the same day the Roseanne revival premiered, Barr accused Parkland shooting survivor David Hogg of performing a Nazi salute in a since-deleted tweet.

Lois Bromfield, who worked on the show for four seasons, told BuzzFeed News she thought it was a hoax when she first heard about Barr’s recent politics. “It bothers me. There are times when I go, ‘What the fuck?’”

“I don’t know her that way. I know her as a really open, liberal person,” said Bromfield. “I don’t know what the deal is with [her current politics]. I don’t quite get it. I guess something changed in her life or maybe I just didn’t know her that well.”

“Roseanne is a really big supporter of women and human rights and animal rights,” Bromfield said. “Roseanne is not a bigot, she’s not a backward person at all, so her liking Trump is just so odd. It comes out of left field.”

The anonymous writer said Barr was “allowed to like Trump” but described her as “a conspiracy theorist in the Alex Jones tradition.”

The writer blasted ABC for giving the controversial Barr a show but refusing to air an episode of Black-ish that explored the topic of NFL players who kneel during the national anthem.

“That was too political for them and then they’ve got Roseanne spewing her love of Donald Trump on the show, and the real Roseanne spewing conspiracy theories about Hillary Clinton and Pizzagate,” the writer said. “I don’t know why they’re giving this woman a platform.”

Roseanne Barr hugs her co-star Sara Gilbert during the 1997 series finale.

Chris Pizzello / ASSOCIATED PRESS

The former Roseanne writers said they worry Barr’s personal politics have now overshadowed those of her character’s, particularly as she became famous for playing a character named and modeled after her.

“It is sometimes hard to divorce Roseanne Barr from Roseanne Conner,” Zimmerman said.

Trogdon said she believes audiences should never be privy to an actor’s personal politics. “A character should be who the character is and not who the actor is in real life,” she said.

She said Barr is responsible for the politicization of her character.

“Who she is as a human being, I don’t think it should become an issue, but [Barr] makes it an issue by tweeting and standing out like that. That’s a choice on her part.”

“I would have difficulty if I were on the show,” Trogdon said. “I would wish that she wouldn’t tweet so that didn’t become something that was played into the show.”

In the lead-up to the revival’s premiere, the show’s marketing was Trump-heavy as media stories and reviews zeroed in on the “ambivalent Trump-era politics.”

This made the former Roseanne writers nervous about what had become of their beloved characters.

“I came in holding my breath thinking, What am I in store for?” Zimmerman said. “I was pleasantly surprised watching. The first episodes were so smart and witty.”

Trogdon also praised the new writers for capturing the tone and humor of the old seasons, but added she believes the show was better once it got politics “out of the way.”

“It reminds me of when you first get on Facebook and you think, I wonder whatever happened to so and so, and you look ’em up and find out they had two kids.”

“It reminds me of when you first get on Facebook and you think, I wonder whatever happened to so and so, and you look ’em up and find out they had two kids,” she said. “It’s like catching up with people you were really good friends with at one time, and that’s how this sort of feels to me.”

Bromfield said she, too, was hesitant to watch the revival because of Barr’s politics, but she also ended up enjoying the first few episodes of the sitcom.

“I really didn’t want to love it. I wanted to be pissed off because I know she supports Trump,” Bromfield said. “But I have to tell you, I just got suckered right in. It’s really good.”

But, Bromfield added, “I’m just watching it from an artistic point of view, and when something comes up on the show that’s really volatile and turns me off, then I guess I’ll get turned off.”

Roseanne meets her Muslim neighbors.

Adam Rose / ABC

The series has also been a huge hit with viewers, achieving monster ratings. Its March 27 premiere drew an astonishing 18.2 million viewers and the following episode, which aired consecutively, grew to 18.6 million. These were the highest ratings for any comedy on any network since September 2014. Only three days after Season 10 premiered, ABC renewed Roseanne for an 11th season.

“Look at her ratings! Look at her ratings!” President Trump told a rally in Ohio two days later. “They were unbelievable. Over 18 million people — and it was about us.”

Trump, who is known to obsess over ratings, personally called Barr to congratulate her. “It was about the most exciting thing ever, and it was just very sweet of him to congratulate us,” Barr told Good Morning America.

“I think in probably every household in America, this is probably what’s going on.”

Bromfield said the changing Conner family is perhaps simply reflective of a changing country, which is what might explain the show being such a hit.

“I think in probably every household in America, this is probably what’s going on,” Bromfield said of the political tensions in the Conner family. “There’s such conflict between Trump supporters and people who are not supporting him. I think it fits beautifully into the show.”

Zimmerman credited the show with having a “knack of touching a nerve with America.”

“There’s raw honesty in those characters and families and how they fight,” he said. “But at the end of the day, you knew they still loved each other.”

LINK: Here’s What Makes The “Roseanne” Reboot Work

LINK: The “Roseanne” Revival’s Shockingly High Ratings