#maybe long-ish whispy hair

[ask-the-undercast-blog]

When do Ember and Alegrya meet?

(Alegreya’s P.O.V)

I walk into Grillby’s with my bag heavy on my shoulder. I’d never worked the night shift before, though I’ve only been working a few weeks. Regardless, I brought energy drinks. LOTS of energy drinks. I’m not the type that stays awake easily.

“You’re early,” Grillby points out, lifting his head slightly as I walk through the door.

“Thought I’d get here before I fell asleep,” I answer, dropping my bag on the floor and yanking out my uniform in one movement; something I’d perfected in my month of working here. I wrap the two pieces of clothing around my arms and walk into the back room.

I strip quickly, nervous as usual that Sans would be at the counter when I walked out, observing my… let’s just say, revealing uniform. I’d made him cross his SOUL that he’d never enter the doors of Grillby’s while I had a shift. He’d promised, but, let’s be honest. He’s never one to keep promises.

I step out into the diner, which is mostly empty in the late hours. Though I do see someone sitting at one of the booths. She seems to be a cat, black with teal-ish hair. A medium length skirt falls down the front of the seat, and she has a spaghetti-strap shirt on. One of her eyes is covered by her hair.

She leans her head back down, after looking at me for a few seconds, and seems to be inspecting the wood pattern on the table. Or she’s just feeling down. One way or the other, she’s a customer, and I walk up to her, feeling conscious, as always, about the length of the skirt I’m wearing.

“Hello, welcome to Grillby’s. Can I get you anything?” I ask the cat.

She turns her head up to look at me.“Yeah, just some fries, thanks,” she answers, looking back down as she says it. Despite wanting to ask what’s up- I’ve always been the curious, prodding type- I walk to the counter to relay the order to Grillby. He nods, not answering, and moves swiftly to the back room.

I sit at the bar for a little bit before Grillby comes back with a basket of fries. I thank him, as usual, and walk back to the cat with the order in my hands. I set down the food in front of her and back up, ready to leave.

“Thanks,” she says, and pulls the basket slightly towards her.

Finally, I give in and sit down across from her. No one else is here right now, so what’s a little chat if there’s no more orders?

“Are you okay?” I ask her.

Her eyes land on mine, cold as stone. She gives me a look as if I’m some sort of weirdo. I don’t know her, after all, I guess. Finally, her gaze- while still hard against her soft appearance- shifts a little.

“Have you ever just… been hit so hard?” she asks, casting a glance downwards, slightly baring her teeth. “Like, someone says something real nasty about you?”

I remember back when I was younger, some of the kids that I ran into while trying to, well, survive, were… less than empathetic of my situation. They’d made fun of my messy clothes, my chattering teeth, my empty, tired eyes. I fight to keep tears from forming.

“Yeah…” I answer her, leaning an arm on the table. She recoils the smallest bit.

“Sorry,” she apologizes, seeing that I’ve noticed her movement. “I’m, uh, kinda germaphobic.”

“No, it’s fine. Everyone’s got their own things.” I’m usually not one to judge.

“Anyhow, I was walkin’ around Waterfall, and I was training. Just in the trash dump, throwing useless garbage in the air to hit. And these assholes come along, I think they were from the Capital or something. They were super snobby, just plain dicks, y'know? Long story short, they were judging me left, right, and sideways. My technique, my weapon, my ‘target of choice’.” She adds air quotations around the last few words, emphasizing the sarcasm the monsters must have used. “They left, and I came here. Just needed to cool down. I can be… destructive when I’m angry.”

“Wish I could say the same, but I couldn’t hit a tree in the Snowdin woods if I wanted to. I haven’t trained a single day in my life; I don’t even know what type of magic I use.” The words seem to spill out before I know it. Even I, who never went to school a day in my life, know not to reveal if you’re weak. Anyone could be an enemy.

But the cat just smiles. “Maybe I could give you some tips sometime.” She winks at me- or maybe she just closes her eyes; it’s hard to tell with that hair in her face- and lifts her head a little more. “My name’s Orbitron. I would shake your hand, but, y'know,” she finishes awkwardly.

“Yeah, I get it,” I say smiling back at her. “My name’s Alegreya.”

“I already knew that,” Orbitron replies.

I recoil a bit. “Uh, how?” I ask, confused and shocked.

Orbitron points at my chest. “Name tag,” she answers.

“Oh, right,” I mutter, scratching the back of my neck. I hear the chime of the door opening and turn to see a dark figure fly across the floor and land in one of the bar stools.

“I’ve gotta take care of that customer.” I stand up, jabbing a thumb at the visitor behind us. Orbitron grins at me.

“Alright,” she answers. I turn to leave. “Oh, and, Alegreya?” she calls out. I turn around to meet her gaze. “Thanks.”

I just nod my head and smile at her, before continuing over to the new customer.

“Hello, welcome to-”

“It’s okay, Alegreya, I’ve got her.”

I look up to see Grillby, at the back door, looking back. I feel awkward. “A-alright,” I call back, and plop down in one of the bar stools near the visitor. She looks over timidly at me.

“Hi,” I greet her, trying to break the silence between us.

Now that I’m closer I can see that she’s some sort of Shadow Creature, with holes for her mouth and eyes. She’s very small, no taller than 4 feet, and no legs protrude from the bottom of the split fabric of her dress. She looks nervously at me, her head moving up and down as she inspects me.

“D-do you… work here?” she asks, her voice small. When her mouth opens to speak, a sort of whispy gust accompanies her voice, like someone speaking into the wind. Her voice is very high-pitched, something like the product of a helium balloon.

Realizing I haven’t answered her question, I scramble for the words. “Oh, yeah! I’ve been here for about a month now.”

“I… haven’t seen you… do y-you usually work the night shift?” she asks, stumbling over her words a little less this time.

“No, this is my first time, why?”

“I come here every day. But… not during the day. I’m, u-um, allergic to sunlight.” She peers down at her lap, as if embarrassed to share with me.

“Oh, well, that makes sense. You’re a shadow, right?”

“Something like that. It simplifies things to call me that, but I’m really just a sort of mist, something between a solid and a gas. B-but, not liquid. I-it’s hard to explain…” she mumbles, shrugging a bit and looking at the ceiling.

I don’t really understand, since I’d been too poor to go to school, but the way she explains it helps me a little bit. Was she able to tell that I don’t have an education, or was she just simple-minded?

“My name’s Alegreya,” I stick my arm out, hoping that she hasn’t read my name tag too.

“Charna,” she sticks her arm out reluctantly. I notice some dark substance fly towards her hand, making it slightly darker.

Before I can ask what it is, the back door opens, and Grillby walks through with a tray in his hands. On it are two baskets of fries and a little ball of fire. It moves and I see that it has a face. Who is this? A work helper?

“Charna,” the little fireball squeals, launching herself towards the bar. She’s no bigger than Charna’s chest, and she nuzzles into her arm affectionately.

“Hi Ember,” Charna chirps. and I see her face turn a little bit red.

'Can raw matter blush?’ I ask myself, watching the two new figures hug.

“Grillby, who is this?” I ask, gesturing towards Ember, as Charna called her.

“My daughter,” Grillby answers, and I imagine he’d be smiling- if he had a mouth.

“Who’s the…” I stop myself from asking. Charna and Ember can’t be any older than 13.

“Ember was made by Alphys, in attempts to inject DETERMINATION into more types of non-human/monster matter. She wasn’t able to keep the DETERMINATION inside Ember, but it created a SOUL inside of her, and I took her in.”

How have I never met Ember before? If she lives here, I should have run into her. But then again, I hadn’t met Orbitron and Charna until tonight either, so maybe they knew each other, and only came out during the night, like Charna.

Suddenly, Charna starts coughing, which is even higher pitched than her talking. My gaze follows a trail of smoke back to Orbitron, who has something in her mouth. In front of her, the basket of fries is empty. The smoke is making a long trail towards us, sneaking towards the back room, and up to the roof, where the smoke detector is. The annoying smoke detector.

I rush over to her. “Orbitron, you can’t smoke in here! And you shouldn’t smoke at all! How old even are you?” I ask, panicked.

“Relax,” Orbitron sighs, taking the object out of her mouth with two… fingers? (Do cats even have fingers?) “It’s just catnip.”

“That’s a drug! Especially for a cat like you!” I reach over to grab at the stack of catnip in her hand.

“Let me have this,” she growls at me, standing up and hunching over, looking ready to pounce. “Don’t take my things.” Then she straightens her back, and her expression softens. “I’ll leave the diner. I understand if there’s rules.” She turns to leave, and as she opens the door, she waves at me over her shoulder. “Maybe I’ll see you around,” she calls as the door shuts with a ding!

When I turn back to the bar to grab a towel to wave away the smoke with, and I see Charna and Ember giggling with each other, Charna’s cheeks a full red now.

I get to the back room and grab a towel, turning to Grillby as I do. “Are they…?” I jerk my head towards the door, indicating the two girls outside.

“Oh, yes. They’re in a relationship at the moment.”

“Really?” I ask, looking back at the doorway. I have to admit, seeing two young, shy girls together… It was pretty cute. “Well, that’s nice,” I finish, heading out the door with the towel.

When I walk out of the back room, the smoke is almost all gone. “Wha-?” I ask, and peer over at the girls at the counter. The smoke is spiraling down from the roof and connecting with Charna. She becomes darker and darker until she’s almost pure black. She then flies to the door and pushes it open, and the smoke expels from her. She becomes light gray once again, and flies back- this time flying through the door- and sits back down next to Ember.

“What was that?” I ask Charna, my eyes wide as I approach the little shadow.

“Oh, I can increase and decrease my density by absorbing gases and shadows around me to make certain parts of me thicker. Like this,” she says, and puts up her hand, gathering the rest of the smoke. Her had becomes black, while the rest of her stays her regular colour, as if she’d dipped her hand in oil. Then, she places her hand on my arm, and it settles there, like a regular hand would. Then, the smoke shoots out of her again, and she presses her hand to my arm again. But, this time, it fazes through my sleeve, and seemingly disappears.

“I can choose to touch things. Easy for getting through crowds, though I don’t run into many of those.” Ember giggles at her, and she blushes again, smiling a little.

“You can fly. Why don’t you just fly over crowds?” I ask.

“Well, I mean,” Charna says, her face turning pink, “this is still a dress.” She gestures to her legs, which have seemingly grown out of her dress. I’m assuming that if she can change her density, she can change her form too.

I nod in understanding. “Makes sense,” I reply.

I stand awkwardly for a few seconds before leaving them to themselves. For the rest of the night, I watch the door, waiting for someone to come in, sipping at my energy drinks. Nothing else happens until Charna leaves, Ember goes to the back room, and I’m told my shift is over.

[for-the-first-time-inforever]

Just a Kiss Goodnight

So I had a lot of feelings last night about Bughead and then out popped this little thing. I don’t even know, but I know I adore our little Bughead fam

Just A Kiss Goodnight

Words: 1K

Rating: T(ish)

Read in here on AO3

(MAJOR SPOILERS FOR 1.06! IF YOU HAVEN’T WATCHED IT FIRST OF ALL WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THE BUGHEAD TAG?! BUT SERIOUSLY GO WATCH THE EP.)

Between the rush of excitement and fear at finding the car with Jason’s jacket, the sinking feeling when they get back to the scene with Sheriff Keller only to see the car has gone up in a blaze of glory, and the absolute desperation at realizing Polly was gone…it is a whirlwind of an evening. When Betty finally walks back to her house, soaking wet, the air still heavy with mist and disappointment, the only thing keeping her steady and on the appropriate course is the unwavering presence of Jughead at her side. 

It is only when they turn down the road onto her block that she realizes her palms are itching. Not in the odd way that precedes one of her panic attacks, when her fingers dig bloody crescents into the soft skin of her hands, no, this time, she realizes, they are itching to reach out and grab Jughead’s hand, to lace their fingers together until they are palm-to-palm. Betty has never felt this lightly burning desire before. The want to feel somebody close and breathe in their presence. She thinks back to earlier, her room, that kiss, and it takes every ounce of strength to not let a whispy sigh slip out of her mouth. They haven’t talked about it. Honestly they haven’t had the time in the midst of all this chaos, and the closer they get to her house, the more she wants to dig in her heels and draw up short, demand they talk and figure all of this (is there even a ‘this’ to talk about?) out. But there is also a weariness that has settled into her bones and chest and she’s aching for her bed. Jughead is quiet beside her, but not uncomfortably so. And she can’t bring herself to end this innocent moment. The rain patters softly on the concrete pavement around them, streetlamps spilling puddles of light onto the rain slicked ground and everything is so peaceful. It strikes Betty as odd that the world continues to spin so smoothly and at ease when her internal world is slowly falling apart. They sneak around the back of the house, the ladder that Jughead had used earlier to climb up to her (his quiet greeting of, “hey there Juliet” still lingers in her ear) is still propped against the window and later she’ll have the presence of mind to ask where the ladder came from, but right now all she can do is stare between her open window and Jughead. A heavy sigh leaves her body, robbing her of the ability to stay upright. So she mutters something that might pass for a goodnight, though she couldn’t tell for certain, and turns to scale the ladder into the safety of her room. Just as she turns, she feels a hand grabbing her own lightly, and she’s pulled around to face Jug. His eyes search her face for a long moment, and Betty flushes prettily under the heavy scrutiny. As her gaze hesitantly meets his own, she wonders briefly if this is what it’s like to be one of his stories, to be so intimately studied, to feel like someone is able to read every word that’s written across her soul and see the hidden meanings that are woven delicately between her ribs. Perhaps this is what it’s like to truly be a blank page: to put herself in the hands of an author, completely open and trusting him to find the perfect words to make her story a good one. Whatever it may be, she feels hot and flushed under his calculating eye, and she wants to duck her head, but she is lost in him. Just as she opens her mouth to finally speak, his hand reaches out to cup her cheek, a slightly roughened thumb brushing gently along the rise of her cheekbone and she can’t prevent the soft gasp that slips from her mouth. That is most certainly not the sound she had intended to come out, but everything about this…feeling…she has with Jughead jumbles her brain. And before she can blink again, he leans in. Presses his mouth to hers. It’s just like earlier, a soft, steadying pressure that gives way to this beautifully warm thrumming in her heart that tingles and dances along her skin. Jughead slants his mouth over hers, pressing more insistently and she flushes from head to toe as she sucks in a heavy breath through her nose. When she exhales, she melts. Positively melds into his arms that are taught around her waist as her own wind around his neck.   His hand flexes against her back before pulling her slightly closer, until there isn’t a bit of space between their bodies and despite the cool rain he is like the midday sun in July, warm and radiating heat and she is drawn into him like nothing she’s ever experienced. Eventually, though, air becomes a necessity and Jughead forces his mouth from hers with a rough yank. The look on his face matches her rolling emotions, the confusion and hesitancy are there, but so is the quiet whisper of 'this feels so right…why does this feel so right?’ But that momentary burst of emotion slips away into a soft smile as his thumb brushes along her kiss swollen bottom lip and he whispers, “Night, Betts. I’ll see you tomorrow.” It is a spur of the moment decision, but Betty is feeling bold and beautiful and maybe a bit reckless (he makes her feel like this; he makes her feel so much more) so she throws her arms around his neck, burying her nose into the warm skim there and hugging him tight. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with that, but after a few stiff moments he relaxes into her embrace and pulls her tight, his arms slipping around her waist once more. “Night Juggy. Thank you. For everything,” She whispers the words into the crook of his neck and she can feel the smile he presses into her forehead. “You know I’d do just about anything for you…you can always count on me.” She’s heard those words before, from other people (a vision of ruffled red hair and shining eyes flashes in her mind) but for some reason, Betty believes Jughead entirely. They say their goodnights and she climbs up to her room, throwing her wet clothes into a pile on the floor before pulling on a soft nightshirt and a pair of shorts and slipping into bed. When her eyes close, her mind is filled with images. Flashes. Polly. Jason. She’s going to be an aunt. Archie’s voice floats momentarily through her ears but then all she can hear is Jughead’s ragged breathing as his mouth moves over hers and her stomach tingles and her toes curl. Her fingers come up to her lips, and if she really focuses, she can feel and taste and smell him, surrounding her and wrapping her in warmth. When she finally manages to give herself over to her dreams, it is the most soundly she has slept in months.