#maybe ill finish my little fic about them even though it's wildly off the mark

[jordantheehennessy]

I’m so curious since you like Niall even before this book (same) what were your thoughts on how the mór niall route this book took? (Really different from anything I saw predicted) also the whole thing about declan being niall’s favorite and hating him as a defensive mech is a move I didn’t see coming but the Niall apologist felt vindicated. He was overly hated in the fandom without the full story

omg hiiiii

i really really really loved it and i felt it was very fitting. idk anything about how the fandom is vibing with niall post-greywaren (tbh the only people i know who've read it are all niall enjoyers or adjacent to begin with) but i found his story to be satisfying. tbf i never fully formed my theories re niall and mor but the thing i kept coming back to was that niall was young and stupid and maybe didn't make the best decisions. like. imagine if declan or ronan suddenly had a child to take care of. ACTUALLY you barely have to do that because they're both so shitty to both matthew and opal respectively. good parents they would not make as they are in the books and i have no reason to believe niall was any more mature by the time declan came into the picture. and? well, I feel im vindicated.

i didn't expect niall to love declan so deeply and explicitly but it was such a lovely surprise. he's literally Just Some Guy and his cows were enough and mor was enough and declan was enough!!!

absolutely ENTHRALLED that mor was the absentee toxic bullshit parent!! deadbeat bisexual milf representation!! finally!! in my dreams she and niall had a much messier relatinship. just. the two of them dragging their bloated, rotting corpse of a marriage through the halls of their co inhabited home so they could beat it into unrecognizable submission..... but!!!! time contraints and other loose ends etc etc i will begrudgingly allow it.

most of my disappointment comes from the implications and repercussions. so. okay, niall is not a total piece of shit but the rest of the story remains! the fairy market and the black market spending and the never ending secrets!!! how do the characters move forward knowing this??? do they even know this??? i want to chew through drywall when i think about how we dont get to see the fallout of this between declan and ronan. actually, just the apologies and making up part felt extremely lacking. like. i feel like there's still so much left to unpack before we can say everyone is hunky dory ????? but. okay. whatever. fine. i can imagine it in my mind's eye.

but who knows maybe my thoughts will change as i think about it more but for now the niall and mor chapters were such a high point of the book for me. easily one of my favorite parts.

[katsens-writing]

Play It Again

Summary: Aziraphale is a little under the weather and very stubborn, much to Crowley’s frustration.

A/N: Speaking of again, I did it again! This was supposed to be just a short little simple fic but now I’ve got two made-up characters with a backstory rooted in true history. Go figure. Anyway, I saw a headcanon awhile ago that inspired me to write this story. You can check it out here! If you are interested in joining any of my taglists, let me know, its no bother at all! Shout out to @goodamens for letting me use their headcanon for my inspiration! (Check out the other note after the story!)

Word Count: About 2.5k

Content: Mild illness, implied bittersweet memories, soft Crowley, stubborn Aziraphale, an implied scared plant. Let me know if I need to add anything!

---

    The phone rang at the front of the bookshop and at Aziraphale’s desk but no one answered it. It rang and rang and rang, to no avail. Less than a minute later, Crowley burst through the front door.

    “Aziraphale? Aziraphale?!” he shouted, panic creeping into his voice and his heart racing. He searched row after row of books, but he couldn’t find the angel anywhere. No. Not again. Please, not again! He thought.

    “Crowley?” A weak voice called from the back of the shop, coming from a room marked ‘employees only’. The demon’s heart sank at the sound.

    “Aziraphale!” Crowley called, rushing to the back and through the door to Aziraphale’s little flat. “Where are you?”

    A small cough came from Aziraphale’s bedroom. “In here, dear boy.” Under any other circumstances, Crowley would have hesitated but something didn’t sound right with Aziraphale’s voice. He dreaded what he might find on the other side of the door.

     It happened, he thought, his heart beating faster and faster while everything else slowed down. It finally happened. Hell’s found out. Or Heaven. Or both. They- they’ve caught up with us! He braced himself and opened the door without a second thought.

    “Aziraphale!” He cried, tensed up and ready for a fight. His eyes darted wildly around the room. When he saw the angel was alone, he straightened, his muscles relaxing a little before he furrowed his brow. Before his heartrate could even begin to slow, his relief was quickly replaced with irritation as his gaze fell on the angel, lying unharmed in his bed underneath several blankets.

    “You picked a hell of a time to sleep in, angel! You didn’t call, didn’t answer the phone! Next time maybe give me a--” he took one look at the angel as he stomped in and frowned, his frustration fading and an undertone of concern taking its place. “What’s wrong?”

     Aziraphale’s face was a little flushed and he had tiny beads of sweat all across his forehead. He struggled to sit up and face Crowley properly. “Oh, I’m dreadfully sorry, dear boy. I heard the phone ringing, but I just couldn’t get myself out of bed to answer it. I’m afraid I’m feeling a little under the weather.” Aziraphale sneezed into a white, cloth handkerchief with a pair of wings embroidered into the top corner.

    “I can see that,” Crowley wrinkled his nose. “Just miracle yourself better already so we can get on with our weekend.”

    “Nonsense, Crowley. It’s just a cold, I’ll be fine.” Aziraphale sniffed as he dismissed the angel’s words. “All I need is a little rest.”

    “Nonsense? Who’s the one talking nonsense? I’m the one making sense here!” Crowley argued. “Did you forget we were planning on visiting Pompeii this weekend?”

    “No! Of course, I didn’t forget!” Aziraphale’s eyes widened as if he were hurt Crowley would even dare suggest the thought. “I did hope though, that maybe we could reschedule?” Aziraphale looked up at Crowley hopefully with those big, pitiful, blue eyes that Crowley hated.

    “Why reschedule when you could just make yourself better and we could go now?!” Crowley asked, getting frustrated again.

    “Because it’s just a cold, Crowley! Humans have been dealing with colds for centuries. I’ll be perfectly fine without wasting a miracle,” Aziraphale replied before sneezing again.

    “Wasting a miracle? Are you really still concerned about what Heaven will think of you using your miracles on stupid things?” Crowley arched his eyebrows in surprise behind his sunglasses. “Aziraphale, I thought we agreed that it’s a little too late to care about what our sides think,” he turned to the angel and lowered his glasses to look over them at him. “Not that using a miracle to take care of yourself is stupid, by the way. I thought we talked about that after the Bastille.”

    Aziraphale opened his mouth to answer but Crowley interrupted him. “No, you know what? Fine. It’s fine!” Crowley shrugged in mild exasperation as he pushed his sunglasses back up into place. “If you don’t want to use a miracle, that’s ok, I’ll use one.” Before he could even lift a hand, Aziraphale stopped him.

    “No!” He cried, before going into a coughing fit. Crowley blinked, pulling back a little in surprise. He was no doctor, but that cough did not sound good. “I forbid you from using a miracle to make me better, Crowley,” Aziraphale forced out, furrowing his brow once he stopped coughing, his voice a little strained. “It’s just a cold. I’m going to let it run its course, and with a little rest, I’ll be better in no time.”

    Crowley scoffed and rolled his eyes. “I see what this is. You’re trying to punish yourself, aren’t you? You think you deserve this because we messed up Armageddon or something? Or because you’ve been ‘fraternizing with a demon’? Well fine. You want to be sick, angel? Go ahead and be sick then, but I’m not going to take care of you!” He turned on his heel and stormed out in a huff, muttering something about that darned angel. Aziraphale just shook his head tiredly at Crowley’s tantrum before sliding back down under his covers. He knew the demon would calm down eventually. He always did.

~

    Crowley came by every day to check on Aziraphale and ask him to use a miracle, but he kept his word and refused to help the angel... or at least he tried to. Aziraphale only seemed to be getting worse and Crowley was beginning to think it wasn’t just a cold. Within two weeks, he was practically on his knees begging the angel to use a miracle.

    “Please, please angel, just use a miracle already!” Crowley pled with Aziraphale. He hated seeing his angel sick like this and he really was starting to worry. “Or at least let me use one!”

    “No, Crowley. I told you, it’s just a cold. I’ll be fine.” Aziraphale sniffed before sneezing so hard he nearly doubled over in bed.

    “Please?!” Crowley almost whined. “Your bookshop needs you!”

    Aziraphale’s brow pinched faintly. “Bookshop?” his watery eyes flicked to the demon with a small frown. “What’s wrong with the bookshop?” Aziraphale was aware that Crowley had been opening the bookshop when he thought the angel was asleep, in spite of the demon’s vow to not help him. He supposed the demon reasoned that taking care of the bookshop a little wasn’t taking care of Aziraphale, so he was still keeping his word. Aziraphale was quietly amused when he found out.

    “Wrong?” Crowley’s eyes widened and his brow began to bead with sweat but he tried to play it cool. “Ah, nothing’s wrong at the- at the... what bookshop?”

    Aziraphale shut his eyes with a little groan. “Crowley...”

    Crowley shrugged his shoulders with nervous nonchalance. “I may have scared away a customer or two... or three...” his voice trailed off as he looked away from the angel awkwardly.

    Aziraphale shut his eyes with a sigh. “Were you yelling at the fern again?”

    Crowley scowled and narrowed his eyes. “It knows it had it coming.”

    Aziraphale coughed into his handkerchief before falling back against his headboard. “I’m sorry dear boy, I just don’t think I have the energy.”

    Crowley’s heart nearly broke seeing his angel like that. He hated it. “Well,” he asked Aziraphale with a deep, reluctant sigh, his brows pinched in concern. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

    Aziraphale looked at Crowley and smiled tiredly, but his eyes shone faintly in the dim light. “You know, I always loved to hear you play. I miss it. Could you play your violin for me?”

    Crowley’s face stiffened immediately. “No, you know I don’t play that thing anymore.”

    Aziraphale lowered his eyes and sighed with a hint of sadness, and this time, Crowley’s heart did break. “Yeah. I know.”

    “Besides, I don’t have my violin anymore, you know that.” Crowley quickly added, trying to cheer up the angel. “Remember, I lost it in Georgia? You thought it was hilarious.”

    Aziraphale chuckled weakly at that. “How I could forget?” Crowley opened his mouth to retort, but Aziraphale was wracked by a violent coughing fit. Crowley quickly walked to Aziraphale’s side and handed him the glass of water from his nightstand. He felt his eyes beginning to mist but he fought it back for Aziraphale’s sake. He rested his hand on the angel’s shoulder, his other hand ready to take the glass back if needed.

    Aziraphale accepted the glass gratefully and took a drink. Once he finished, Crowley took the glass from him and returned it to the nightstand. Aziraphale let out a sigh and leaned back against his pillow. Crowley quickly looked at him with concern.

    “Over there,” the angel lifted a hand and indicated a corner of the room weakly. His voice was scratchy and strained. Crowley walked over there without any question. He moved aside a few worn books and boxes and found an old, dusty case. He carefully picked it up and laid it down at the foot of the angel’s bed. He flipped the latches on the case and slowly opened it to reveal an equally old, dusty violin.

    Crowley’s eyes widened as he gingerly picked up the instrument. With a gentle puff of breath, he sent up a cloud of dust into the air. Once it cleared, his eyes widened even further in awe.

    “No- no, this isn’t,” Crowley shook his head dismissively. “It isn’t...” he looked up uncertainly at the angel and tilted his head. “Is it?” He didn’t dare think it could be. Aziraphale’s eyes glinted a little at the demon’s reaction. He just smiled in response.

    Crowley’s eyes returned to the instrument in his hands. He softly ran his fingers across the violin’s smooth, red-hued wood. “The Red Violin,” he whispered, awestruck. He looked back up at the angel. “How- how did you ever--?”

    Aziraphale coughed harshly into his handkerchief again. “Remember how you swore they were taking bets at the contest?” his voice cracked.

    Crowley frowned. “Yeah, I couldn’t prove it but I knew they were--” he stopped mid-sentence and he turned to the angel, his eyes narrowing. “You didn’t.”

    Aziraphale smiled sheepishly at the demon. “I was the only one who put money on Johnny.” Crowley’s mouth opened again but Aziraphale cut him off and continued. “I invested the money in some bonds. When I heard it was going up for auction, I just had to get it. I know it can’t replace your gold violin but--” the angel wheezed as he went into another even more violent coughing fit, hunching over. Crowley winced at the sound of his angel in pain, his heart breaking even more. He briefly closed his eyes against the moisture that was gathering along his lower eyelids. Once Aziraphale caught his breath, he looked up at the stoic demon. “I hope you like it.”

    Crowley’s eyes watered as he lowered his gaze to the instrument and ran his fingers over the violin’s strings. “You held on to it for all these years,” he whispered softly, hoping the crack in his voice went unnoticed.

    “I always hoped you’d play again.” Aziraphale looked up at the demon. His voice was softer as he got closer and closer to sleep.

    Crowley swallowed the lump forming in his throat and he lifted his watery eyes to meet the angel’s blue ones. They weren’t as bright as they usually were, but they were still enough to make his heart skip a beat. He looked back down at the violin case and he carefully picked up the bow. He didn’t even need to ask the angel; he knew just what song to play. Crowley lifted the violin to his chin and the bow to the violin, gliding it smoothly back and forth across the strings like a tide coming and going with the waves, the soft, slow music filling the small back room of the shop. Aziraphale closed his eyes with a smile and listened as the beautiful music surrounded him, singing the words in his head.

“By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes, where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond. Where me and my true love will never meet again, on the bonnie, bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.”

     When Crowley finished all the verses he knew to the song, he closed his eyes and his shoulders slumped as he let out a sigh he didn’t even know he was holding. A tear slid down each cheek but they weren’t sorrowful. It felt so good to play the violin again, like he was rediscovering a piece of his life that he hadn’t realized he was missing. But he was missing it, quite terribly, or he had been at least, and it made him wonder how he had gone for so long without it. He chuckled softly to himself as he looked up at the angel. Aziraphale was resting deeply in his pillows, a small, peaceful and content smile on his face. Crowley thought the angel had fallen asleep so he was a little surprised when the angel spoke up as he quietly returned the violin to its case.

    “Oh how I do miss Elorah,” the angel sighed softly. The red of his cheeks had lessened and he wasn’t sweating as much. Crowley’s shoulders eased a little when he noticed the improvements. 

    The demon smiled wistfully with a little hum. “Me too. She was something, wasn’t she? A regular spitfire.”

    The angel huffed feebly in amusement. “She certainly kept Jonathan on his toes.”

    Crowley’s eyebrows came together in a pang of sorrow. He scoffed in mild, annoyed affection. “Jonathan, that fool. Elorah never was able to cure him of his bull-head, try as she might.”

    Aziraphale smiled sadly. “Yes, but he had a good heart.”

    Crowley hummed in agreement. “Yeah. They must’ve been very proud of Andrew. He had his grandfather’s heart.”

    “And his grandmother’s gift for music,” the angel added in agreement.

    Crowley frowned in thought. “Do you know if... if they ever heard it?”

    Aziraphale smiled, his eyelids half-closed. “Mmhmm,” he mumbled. “They loved it so much, although Elorah said it was missing some details.”

    Crowley huffed in amusement. “Well, that’s probably for the best, considering. I still don’t even know how we--” he stopped as a gentle snore came from the bed. He looked over and saw the exhausted angel fast asleep, his cheeks only a tad bit rosier than usual. Crowley shook his head fondly at the sight. With a wave of his hand, he refilled the cup on the nightstand. He walked over and pulled the blanket up, tenderly tucking it around Aziraphale. He headed toward the door but stopped at the end of the angel’s bed. He stood over the violin case and looked down at it with a small smile before picking it up. He stopped in the doorway and looked back at the angel with a soft whisper. “Goodnight, angel.”

--- A/N: Do you want to what Crowley and Aziraphale were talking about at the end? Curious about who Elorah and Johnny are? Let me know!

Tags: (If you want to join any of my taglists, let me know, it’s no trouble at all!) @parkerspicedlatte @xmarveled @mischievous--misfit @myworstdays @khiroptera

Masterlist   Buy me a coffee? ---

[peacekeeperangel]

Flamethrower Part 7

UUUUGH Sorry guys. Flagging inspiration is a demon. But Hey I’m back right? I’m afraid my gung-ho for this fic is slowly dying out and really it’s mostly me being stubborn and wanting to finish the project I started that’s keeping me going. Any support will be fabulous but I don’t blame if y’all abandon ship at my turnout rate in the future.(low turtle is slooooow) Summary: Not much is known about Sans the Skeleton. He owns a bar in Snowdin. He has a younger brother Named Papyrus. And recently something’s been raiding his trash for food. Reversing the Roles of the Baby Blaster AU originally created by @spacegate

Part 7 of (?) Notice: this Piece is mostly self-edited and may contain typos, grammar errors and run on sentences. if you spot a mistake, please report kindly

A piercing buzz startled Orange awake, causing his flames to flicker wildly before he could regulate his breathing into something resembling normal. Not for the last time he wished he wasn’t such a heavy sleeper but he doubted it would help, especially if White considered doing something other than playing a loud noise at random intervals.

“All agents, assemble in Main Room in ten minutes.” White’s voice came through the hidden speakers with such intensity that made it sound like the monster was in the room with the tiny fire elemental. Of course he wasn’t though, the room was only large enough for Orange in his “Feline” form as White called it, and even then he had to crawl along on his belly to get through the small iron door that vanished into the wall when it was open.

“About time runt.” Blue was already there, the brawny older flame standing in a corner looking fairly broody and mean-spirited as usual. “Was sure you’d get us inta trouble with White again.”

There were others in the room besides the Blue flame, at least four other flames, like them, all different colours and all striving very hard to ignore the obvious confrontation between the youngest of their number and the strongest.

Orange did his best to be as non-confrontational as he could be, hunching up into a ball and keeping his eyes averted from Blue’s angry gaze. “I dun even know why White puts up with you anyway, he should have ground you down for EXP months ago-”

“That’s enough Blue!” a bright yellow flame, almost as big as the burly bully stepped between Orange and Blue.

“Out of my way Yellow! I’m going to raise my LOVE like White wants us to do!” “Not at the expense of our own!” Yellow snarled back, his “mouth” exposed, fangs of yellow flame bared at his peer. “We need to look out for each other, remember?”

“That was before-” Blue was cut off as the large door slid open and in stepped White, his skinny frame ramrod-straight, white lights ghosting along the youngsters as they rushed to form neat rows in bipedal form, as they had long ago been instructed to do. “Very good. All present and accounted for.” White stated to no one in particular as he peered from one child to the other, marking something down on a notepad he carried with him. “the rate of your progression for EXP is down overall.”

Orange flinched as he glanced at the others out of the corner of his eye.  Red looked defeated, Indigo was obviously terrified, Green and Violet were holding back lava-like tears while they reached out to each other desperately for comfort but unable to break White’s rules for “attention” which mostly consisted of staying very still and looking at him while he talked. Blue and Yellow were probably the worst off with the former looking murderously angry as one hand dug into his arm while Yellow looked...empty.

“While this was expected, considering you’ve been grinding out EXP from specially-bred surface animals, you’ve plateaued far sooner than I’ve expected.” it sounded like what White was saying was something positive, the gleam in his eye was unmistakably angry. “I shall be altering your training program to compensate for this failure in growth.”  he pointed a long narrow finger at Orange.

No no no nononono... a welling terror sent him breaking formation, he didn’t know where he could run but anything was better than what White was going to do.

DING! Orange felt his bare feet lift off the floor. “Come with me Orange.” White commanded as he hoisted Grillby in his powerful magic.

“No! Please I don’t wanna!” Grillby thrashed, his flames spouting off like minature solar flares. “Help me Yellow! I don’t wanna burn anymore!” But Yellow wasn’t there. None of them were, just Six piles of Ashy soot in a rapidly darkening room until Grillby couldn’t see them anymore. “Enough of this ridiculous behaviour Orange.” White scolded pulling him further into the dark. “You are a fire elemental, burning is how you exist in this world.” a dim orange cut a door out of the void, “It’s time you used that existence to actually benefit Monsterkind for once.”

White reached out and opened the door. “Now go out there and grind out some EXP.” he proclaimed before throwing Grillby into the writhing, screaming maw of hell.

“I gotcha kid.”

Grillby jolted awake in time to watch a glob of half-melted metal get thrown out the open window in a field of blue magic. The heat of the room was so intense that Grillby was barely able to feel the familiar chill of Snowdin’s “Night” cycle. He was amazed that Sans was able to remain so composed in the intense heat.

“Feel like talking about it?” Sans asked, closing the window. Somehow the short skeleton always knew when Grillby was having nightmares. He never said anything about the nightmares, only asked if the flame elemental wanted to talk about it.

He never wanted to talk about it. “No...” Grillby mumbled. “Want me to stay?”  Sans asked pulling a new Fire Talisman from a pocket, hanging it once more from a small nail on the wall. Once Sans had sat down and explained the purpose of the little metal plates Grillby had felt utterly relieved to have them. Actually he had wanted to put up more than one but Sans told him that they had to make them last, since they were difficult to make.

“...” Grillby hugged his pillow and tried very hard to avoid Sans’ gaze. This was the third time tonight he had melted a talisman.

“Just let me know kid. I’ll be right outside.”  

______

“Sans this cannae go on!” Caedmon barked.

“Says the monster with the highest Home-repair bill in Waterfall.” Sans yawned as he poured himself something strong from the bar into a shot glass. “How’s Undyne’s cooking lessons by the way?”

“That’s different and ye know it ye bony bugger!” Caedmon growled from his stool at the bar. “You’re barely getting enough rest standin’ sentry and the Boy’s managing to blow out nearly half a dozen talismans a night. Ye need to do something!” “I am doing something.” Sans replied before throwing the glass back and downing the beverage in one solid gulp. “I’m making sure the kid’s safe and getting a full night’s sleep without worrying that the Fire Elemental’s version of wetting the bed doesn’t burn the house down.”

“The kid still won’t say what’s givin’ him terrors is he?” “Nope. And I know he’s uncomfortable sleeping on the bed.” Sans sighed, “Or maybe he’s just uncomfortable sleeping with me there but it’s way too risky in case a talisman blows out.”

“Can’t ye ‘read’ him like all yer other clientele?” Caedmon asked dryly.

“I’m not freaking telepathic Ironbutt.” Sans replied dryly, “My shtick is just good observation and really good intuition.”

“Really now? Just that?” Caedmon leaned forward. “Okay then can you gue-”

Before the living armour could finish his sentence Sans had a shot glass full of the same liquid he had just drank himself. 

“It’s harder with some but....”  Sans grin grew to Cheshire levels without moving an inch.

“Oh shush.” Caedmon said with disgust. ______

“What do you want to do today Grillby?” the elemental stared at Papyrus like he was cracked. “I...don’t understand?” Since he had recovered enough from his illness to get out of bed, Papyrus had dedicated himself to the care of their new housemate with all the gusto he put into pretty much anything he did. Papyrus was to be a great hero after all! You couldn’t be a great anything without putting everything into it! The only problem was that Grillby appeared to be just about uncomfortable with everything. Sans suggested that something had happened to Grillby that was so terrible that it made the little elemental frightened of the world- Which meant it was up to Papyrus to show Grillby that the world was wonderful! “Come now Grillby!” Papyrus crowed, pointing at Grillby. “There must be something you like to do, that makes you feel happy?” the little elemental shrunk back and looked away from the finger. “Y-y’ello hided with me a lot. That was nice.” “Nyeh?” this was new information. “Who is this Yello monster?” Papyrus asked curiously, turning his head to look Grillby in the eye. The elemental only responded by squeezing his eyes shut, looking more like a tiny pillar with clothes on a kitchen chair instead of s child. It was clear that this was one of those things Sans told him about. A bad thing that Grillby wouldn’t want to talk about. Fair enough, Papyrus concluded. He would simply have to work with the information given. “So you enjoy hiding then? Well I don’t know if there are very many places to hide in this house...” he looked around. “But let it never be said that the Great Hero Papyrus let a challenge best him!” and before Grillby could ask the skeleton dashed out of the kitchen with a cackle of glee. Grillby carefully slipped off the chair to follow Papyrus only for the Skeleton to burst into the room with a handful of small objects. “While the Great Hero Papyrus is constructing your fun for today, he thought that you might enjoy the use of his Battle Strategy models. Feel free to call on the Great Hero should you need him for anything!” the teenage skeleton unceremoniously dumped the items onto the table before once more dashing into the living room.

The items were, in fact little male and female monsters, mostly dressed in fancy armour and holding fancy weapons. Most appeared like animals, others appeared to look like random items. There was even a turtle-monster that reminded Grillby of the old Turtle that had visited them awhile ago.

Then at the bottom of the pile, he spotted it. A bright yellow doll shaped like Grillby in green armour, grinning fearlessly, their mouth fully exposed to the world.

Grillby stared....

“You have to Orange...” he gasped, lava leaking from blackened wounds as he held the sword to his chest. Grillby dropped the doll, kicking at it and sending it skittering across the kitchen floor. Gasping and panting he held out his hands, watching as tiny licks of flame expelled off his body, the heat of the room rising.

No No nononono... he tried to calm down, to get his fire to calm, but nothing was working! He was going to burn down the house and kill everyone and then White would be mad at him and-

“Here you are.” A fire talisman was pressed into Grillby’s hands and with it a force seemed to press his flames down until they were back to their normal consistency. “Feel better now?” Papyrus asked kneeling to look the elemental straight in the face.

The tears began to well up into Grillby’s solid white eyes. “Sorry...” he murmured fiddling with the little metal disk in his hands. “Do you need anything else?” Papyrus asked, his voice surprisingly soft. “It’s okay to tell me, It’s a Great Hero’s job to help people in distress!” Grillby blinked and wiped at his face. “... Wuz a Hee-row?” He mumbled. “Want me to show you?” Papyrus asked holding out a hand. ____

“I’m home.” Sans called out... to find Papyrus sitting cross-legged on the couch with a large pile of comic books stacked next to him. “Hello brother!” Papyrus called out cheerfully. “Grillby asked an important question, so I have been reading him all the finest quality examples of Heroism I have collected from the Trash!” Sans quirked a brow. “Izzat so? Where is the little dude?” Papyrus tilted his head. “Grillby? Please ring once if you would like Sans to know where you are, twice if you do not.” Ding

before Sans could ask, Papyrus hopped off the sofa and motioned quietly to Sans before moving towards the back of the sofa. Sans followed his brother’s silent instructions only noticing the throw blanket that had been ever-so carefully poised to make a little tent in-behind the sofa, under that tent was a nest of blankets and pillows scoured from every inch of the house with currently housed a ball of fiery fuzz curled around a small silver call bell. “The Great Hero Papyrus has been training his new sidekick on the important lore of Heroism!” Papyrus declared primly. “Grillby and I have been going over lore while he makes his secret hideout extra comfy!” Grillby in his feline form peeked over a pillow to look up at the elder skeleton. Sans grinned. Once again Papyrus to the rescue, it was obvious that Grillby was the most relaxed he had ever been since entering the house. “I’ll have to commission you Papyrus. It looks super comfortable in there. I might need one.” “It’s for Heroes only Sans! Nyeh heh heh!” despite his protest Papyrus chuckled in pride.

“Riiight. I bet there’s a few around the house I don’t know about too?” “Well there was going to be more...” Papyrus replied sheepishly, “But good Heroes need lots of rest to be at their best when they are needed!”

“Well no rush, You’ll be only one ring away it seems!” Papyrus groaned.

It was later that night that Sans personally added the curtains and extra blankets and pillows to Grillby’s bed. The little elemental managed to sleep fairly soundly... But Sans had to telekinetically pull a Fire-tailsman from it’s hook on the wall to keep the cherry-red metal from scorching the drywall. “Baby steps.” he murmured over the hiss of the melting snow on the windowsill.