#so i may be a wee bit inebriated

[navree]

I know you’ve shared your thoughts on Aegon II before but if there’s anything you haven’t or still want to talk about, I’d love to hear it <3 

I just came around to enjoying his character but like others, what he did to Dyana and the child fighting ring makes me apprehensive and I have to check myself and make sure I’m not woobifying him. 

Like, what would you like to see from him during his reign and his relationships with his family now that he’s king. I hope they don’t hammer us with more wild awfulness, (and hopefully he doesn’t lash out at Alicent or Helaena who are going to witness a horrific act of cruelty), to show us how unworthy he is. We won’t know until we know but child fighting rings, really? Most of what I like about Aegon (fan meta aside) seem to be TGC’s own acting choices, apparently the “do you love me line” was improv, so there’s only so much he can do. Thanks!

I know that some people are really dooming about the upcoming seasons and the Greens but I will say, it's not just Team Green who's been part of the backlash to some of the more stupid stuff in Aegon's character, it's been general audiences AND TGC himself. Combining that with the fact that they know there's an audience for the Greens (they only gave Ewan eleven piddly minutes of screentime and he turned that into making him the fandom darling, they know there's a capacity for it, along with as many people appreciating Alicent as they did), I'd imagine that they're not gonna turn those people away with more cartoonish antics, especially the stupid fighting pits. Those especially I think were just there to kinda establish that Mysaria is a champion of the poor, due to her background as a slave (and also I don't remember if they ever specified what Aegon's involvement was in that tomfoolery was because I'll freely admit to skipping over that portion whenever I rewatch the ep).

It's important not to woobify Aegon because, as much as I say that those scenes seem to exist only for the sake of existing and not to really say anything about Aegon other than cartoonish nonsense, they did happen. And there's information to be gleaned from them, especially the Dyana scene, both for Aegon (he's a drunkard and a bit of a lech, as well as clearly inebriated when he attempts to consummate his marriage) and certainly for Alicent, to show why the smallfolk like her and what kind of woman and ruling queen she is and how her own experiences have shaped her and her interactions with other women. But I can choose to focus on the myriad other aspects of his character, and the insights his actor provides into him, and acknowledge that those scenes were poor writing choices I disagree with even if I still think they happened.

I'm unsure as to what I'd want to see from his reign, because his reign is well chronicled in F&B and is incredibly short, and his reign is largely filled with his wartime decisions. I'd like to see his relationship with his council, and with the smallfolk, especially after the coronation and the mythologizing that's gonna come from what happened with him and Alicent and Meleys on the dais, along with the fact that his mother and wife are well known for being adored by the smallfolk. I'd just like to see some of why people would be willing to go along with his reign, especially when compared to the book where they were far more unenthusiastic than they were in the show. I assume he'd have a better relationship with his family than we saw in season 1, especially with Alicent after she proved her love for him in such a big way, but I'd also like to see some good moments with Helaena and especially with his kids, not just to show why he'd be willing to spare Aegon the Younger and Gaemon Pale-hair with his apparent softness for children, but also to an add an extra gut punch in how good everything was going before it goes to shit. And I don't think he'll likely lash out at Alicent or Helaena for anything, since a) Blood and Cheese is gonna happen pretty soon in season 2 and b) there'd be no reason to. Aegon's gonna be nearly as destroyed as Helaena from what happened (and I don't think even he would start castigating his brokenminded wife for how she handled an atrocious situation while in fear for her life, and certainly not his mother who was attacked and then bound and gagged in order to prevent her from interfering at all), and even the source material specifies that he wasn't being cruel to Helaena, he just wasn't capable of providing comfort to her, both because she was just so mentally debilitated by what happened and also because of his own grief. I think if he lashes out at anyone, it'll be Aemond. Speaking of Aemond...

One thing I absolutely want to see is more of Aemond and Aegon. I've talked about them a bit as we've seen in season 1 in the aforementioned Aegon posts, but let's talk about season 2 and what I want. First things first, I want them to expand on the fact that, in the book, Aegon was the only one who wasn't upset with Aemond after Storm's End. I want to see him don his big brother hat and try, in his clumsy way, to attempt to comfort him, to point out that it's not so bad that he killed Luke, and hey he got the Baratheons over to their side so that's good. I want him to take Aemond at his word that it was an accident, to throw him that feast as an Aegon-style attempt to make him feel better. Because I want their relationship to be at its highest point we've seen in the narrative before it comes crashing down. Blood and Cheese is gonna be seen, in universe, as Aemond's fault, and I want that to really fuck with Aegon for a while. I definitely want the family to stand together in the immediate aftermath of it, like from the moment it happens until whatever funeral they hold with Jahaerys, and I'd really like to see Aemond try to be a comfort to his siblings (as I've written in fic, he should tell Aegon, he should be the one to do it) while dealing with his guilt in the process. But as Aegon, as F&B says, drinks and rages and drinks, I want him to start turning over in his mind the fact that it was Aemond's killing of Luke that prompted this horrible thing to happen to his wife, to his children, and I want him to blame Aemond, to his face. To call him kinslayer, to say that he holds him responsible, and I especially want one of those scenes where person A (Aegon) beats person B (Aemond) into the ground while person B refuses to fight back because they think they deserve it. Mayhaps a bit hokey (even tho this show did the stupid White Hart which is peak hokey) but if that beatdown ends with Aegon weeping like a child about the whole thing because he's really just grieving and needs an outlet, that'd be great too.

And crucially, I want Aegon's involvement at Rook's Rest to be a surprise. The source material is oddly explicit in the fact that, if it was only Meleys vs Vhagar, she'd have a chance, but it was adding in Sunfyre that ended up being her doom. So I want it to be primarily Aemond and Criston's plan, and Aemond's prepared to essentially have a kamikaze attack, taking Meleys and Rhaenys down even if it kills him, and maybe it gets close, and then suddenly, in swoops Aegon on Sunfyre. Unexpected but he's there, and he's saving Aemond from Rhaenys and Sunfyre is incurring grievous wounds in the process, before the final plunge happens that kills Rhaenys and injures Aegon. And then, after the attempts at highs after Storm's End and the deep lows of the Blood and Cheese aftermath and the slow attempt to build back up to something normal, when Aegon swoops in to save his little brother and finds himself incapacitated, that's when he names Aemond his Prince Regent. And that's when Aemond takes it, as seriously as he can, and why he refuses to call himself king in the meantime, because Aegon trusted him with this, after everything, and he won't let his family down ever again. @ HBO I don't have a minimum salary requirement if you're hiring, just saying.

The Aemond and Aegon stuff is my main wishcast for season 2, and I've written a Blood and Cheese fic that's my ideal interpretation for how the immediate aftermath can go (still want that beatdown tho, just later in the aftermath), and I'm hoping for everything else I'm proven either right or semi-right. Haven't touched on everything I could talk about with Aegon; there's some sex stuff I've alluded to in previous posts that I almost included here but this is already long and it's an incredibly niche reading of the character, but if y'all wanna hear it lemme know.

[parvulous-writings]

Jealous Vander headcanons? Maybe also how he would feel about moments when reader is jealous? 👀

Just a wee little drabble on some Vander headcanons here - not giving this one a huge amount of structure like with my normal headcanons, I hope this is okay!! This has been sitting with me for a little while, so I wanted to FINALLY get my thoughts down!

CW: Vague mentions/description of catcalling

Vander doesn't tend to get too jealous - at least not outwardly so. It's not usually in his nature, he trusts you enough that you wouldn't make or take any advances from someone without at least discussing it with him first, whatever the situation may end up being.

That being said, there has been one or two instances that he has fallen victim to that green-eyed stare of the beast of jealousy. One of these had been on a late shift in the Last Drop - you had been giving him a hand in collecting the metallic steins that previous patrons had left lying about the place once they had finished with them. One particularly inebriated patron had started yelling at you from a few tables over - this wasn't too unusual, unless you started to listen to what they were saying. Some very explicit fantasies made their way out of the patron's mouth, for the whole tavern to hear. Most ignored it, but of course... Vander could not, not when it was directed at you.

What made it worse was that you seemed to be smiling at the patron. This was mostly, on your part, to keep the patron calm and happy, and not cause any more of a scene. Of course, Vander hadn't realised this, and something entirely unfamiliar to him. It consumed his chest, feeling like fire in his blood.

Before he knew it - and he barely even though about it whilst he was doing it - he was charging forward, putting himself between you and the patron. His arms were folded over his chest, and his glare was one that hadn't settled on his face for quite a few years now. All eyes were on him.

"Get out." His voice was low, threatening. It meant business. "What?" The patron slurred, eventually meeting his eyes, as they narrowed further. "Get. Out. I've had enough." And with that, his patience ran out. He grabbed the patron's shirt and dragged them to the door. He'd likely let them in again in a few days time, once his temper had settled.

You'd had to pull Vander aside and explain to him why you were smiling at the patron, and then his mind had begun to clear a bit. He understood, and felt... Guilty. He had no idea what had caused him to react like that, with such aggression. Well, he did... But he'd never reacted to something like that in that fashion before. It was strange.

From that day on, Vander tries to keep his jealousy in check. You both talk often about things like that, making sure nothing is kept from one another, communicating openly if something bothers one of you.

on the other hand, when you're jealous, for whatever reason, he finds it cute. He laughs a little bit at the prospect of you becoming so fiery over him, but deep down he knows you'll both need to discuss it, and that you do. He never intends to make you feel that way when he's talking to someone, and really appreciates when you tell him how or why you feel certain ways!

[clandonnachaidh]

The Fireballs

Read on AO3

“Just take them and get away from the central belt for a while. It’s nae too far.”

Those were the words that left Geillis McKenzie’s lips as she pressed an unfamiliar set of keys into the palm of the woman sat across from her. Claire Beauchamp sat, chewing the inside of her cheek while she mulled it over. The offer on the table was simple enough. A week off work and a change of scenery in an attempt to wipe the bastard memory of Frank Randall from her mind. She would leave Glasgow and head to another part of the country, barricading herself inside a seaside cottage with enough food and wine to see in the new year in blessed peace and quiet. Her resolution for the burgeoning 365 days would be drunkenly pronounced to an empty room before fastening her fingers around the neck of the wine bottle, relishing in the sweet oblivion it promised.

It was a tempting prospect and the truth was, she was dreading the idea of spending New Year’s Eve in the flat that now sat practically empty after Frank had removed his belongings.

A few days after she took the keys from Geillis, Claire found herself in the small seaside town of Stonehaven in Aberdeenshire, pulling her scarf tighter around her neck as the bitter wind nipped at any uncovered flesh. She thumbed through the information that Geillis had texted her earlier that day, a surprisingly cohesive set of directions to bring Claire from the platform at the train station to the bright purple door of Geillis’ childhood home that now stood in as a place for her to escape to.

Thankful that she didn’t have to drag her wobbly-wheeled suitcase any further, Claire pushed the door past the collection of food menus and pamphlets announcing the next local councillor surgery that littered the doorstep and found herself to be pleasantly surprised with the room that she found herself in. Geillis was fastidiously minimalist in her home, all sleek black furniture and not a single piece of clutter in sight. The quaint seaside cottage that she’d grown up in was anything but minialist. The wooden floorboards were warped with wear and tear, a sneaky bump that had been hidden under a thread-bare rug almost sending Claire flying onto the couch. There was a huge stone fireplace in the centre of the living room but Claire had no idea how she would go about setting it to keep her warm all through the evening. Poking around a bit, she easily found a small kitchen with a huge navy blue Aga stove and a downstairs loo. Geillis had explained that the main bedroom was up a particularly rickety flight of stairs and Claire found herself sweating from the exertion of having to haul her suitcase up them. She quickly set herself to unpacking the few bits of clothing that she’d brought, opened the bedroom window to to let in some fresh air and arranged all of her toiletries in the small ensuite bathroom before jumping into the shower.

Feeling slightly more rejuvenated after scrubbing the travel grime from her skin, Claire heard her stomach rumble in protest. She hadn’t had anything since the hastily grabbed pastry that took her fancy when she ordered her coffee before getting on the train. She remembered that Geillis had drunkenly proclaimed, more than once, that the fish and chips from the local shop in her home town were the best in Scotland and so, Claire grabbed her purse and set off to find it.

Surprised that the streets were quite as busy given the cold sea wind, Claire allowed herself some time to stroll down to the harbour in search of battered haddock soaked in vinegar. It was a good sign that the small shop was queued out the door when she finally found it. She withstood a small wait before placing her order and moving back outside, waiting for her name to be called. She looked out at the sea, forearms set against the weather-beaten wooden fencing that separated the beach from the road and took in a deep lungful of sea air as the wind whipped her curls across her delicate skin.

Someone with lungs big enough to be heard over the wind called her name and she collected her order with a smile, her mouth watering at the smell. There was nobody there to stop her or, God forbid, ask her to share and so she delicately unwrapped the paper and sourced a single, salty chip.

Another voice drifted over the wind and something about it made her look for the source.

“Ye dinna want tae be daein’ yon, quine, the scurry will be awa’ wi’ yer chips!”

That was when she saw him for the first time. His red curls were moving wildly in the air as he sent her a dazzling grin, showing off a set of straight white teeth. His nose was crooked, obviously broken a good few years ago but it gave him a rakish air that Claire found quite charming. The piece de resistance was a pair of bright blue eyes, squinting at her in humour as he fished his car keys out of his pocket.

Despite having lived in Scotland for a number of years, not to mention being around Geillis whose speech became almost unintelligibly broad as she moved through different states of inebriation, Claire’s brain could barely attempt to untangle the mess of vowel sounds and dropped g’s that had carried over the wind in her direction.

There was only one thought in her mind.

What the hell was a ‘scurry’?

The redhead seemed to be taking no small amount of pleasure from having put her on the back foot. His large frame shook slightly as he chuckled, quite pleased with himself, as he slid himself neatly into his small car despite his gargantuan size. Just as Claire was away to dismiss him as some lout, he rolled down the window, trying to give her what Claire thought might have been intended as a wink as he shouted his parting shot over the rising gusts of wind.

“Hae a rare Hogmanay, quine!”

***

“…and with only an hour or so left until the bells, we hope that you’ll stay tuned to BBC Scotland this Hogmanay as we bring you all the best entertainment!”

Claire sat, idly clicking the buttons on the remote as she moved from one channel to the next, not actually paying attention enough to settle on any one thing. She was wrapped up in the sofa under a thick tartan blanket after her attempt at setting the fire had proved fruitless, as she knew that it would. She felt bad for the kindling that she’d wasted in her attempt to get it going but she figured Geillis wouldn’t mind too much.

With a mind of its own, her hand sought her mobile from its space on the couch beside her. Even though she knew it was a bad idea, she opened the usual apps to see that everyone else seemed to be having a great time at various functions and house parties, all sporting alcohol-induced rosy cheeks and arms slung across shoulders of friends that they had spent the whole year bitching about. She counted her blessings that at least she didn’t have to put on any fake smiles, gritting her teeth through another painfully pleasant evening with Frank and his colleagues.

No, Claire Beauchamp was quite happy to be sat on her own, a belly full of deep fried goodness and a glass of her favourite Chablis in her hand which she delighted in pouring down her throat.

“Next to perform on The Hootenanny, please welcome Idles!”

Thumb pressed firmly on the big red button, the screen on the tv reduced itself to black.

Silence descended over room.

If she hadn’t drained the contents of her wine glass mere seconds before, Claire would have thrown the liquid into the air as a series of loud bangs came from the front door. 

Before she could figure out what was going on, the bangs turned into shouting.

“Here, Duncan, open yer fuckin’ door! I’m dyin’ fer a pish!”

Claire pulled the blanket from her legs and got to her feet, feeling irritated at the stranger’s apparent lack of manners. Another few bangs and her worry morphed into anger as she stomped towards the door and arranged her delicate features into the sternest face she could manage.

Unbolting the lock, the wrenched the door open ready to give the stranger an earful.

But there was no face in her eye line to angrily confront. Only a pair of broad shoulders.

The glow from the streetlights creeped its way over the meridians of his almost too large body. Claire’s immediate view was of the man’s chin, slightly dusted with an orange gold smattering of hair, before he ducked down so that he could see underneath the lip of the smaller than average door.

Electric blue eyes, slanted with an air of mischievousness about them. Eyes that had surprised her when they drifted into her thoughts on her return from the chip shop.

“Oh,” he frowned. “It’s you.”

She raised a single eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest, “It’s me.”

“Yer nae Miss Duncan. Fars Geillis?”

He took a step back, allowing her to take in more of him now that he wasn’t cramped into the confines of the small door.

Quickly, she realised that she was staring. And that she hadn’t answered his question.

“In Glasgow. And she’s Mrs Geillis McKenzie now.”

“Och, I ken that fine well enough, ’twas one of my uncles that she married. Although she’ll always be wee Geillis Duncan tae me.”

Claire found herself relaxing a bit to hear that the man wasn’t a completely stranger. Geillis had never mentioned Dougal having any nephews and Claire couldn’t see any family resemblance between Geillis’ husband and the man stood in front of her. Dougal was bald and average height, not anything to write home about. Whereas this man was quite the opposite.

“If you’re aware that she lives in Glasgow, why are you knocking on her door?”

“Saw the light was on,” he frowned as though I had asked the stupidest question possible, shifting from one foot to the other.

There were a few seconds where neither of them offered up any words, waiting for the other to speak first.

When Claire realised that the man was looking at her expectantly, she had to ask.

“Can I help you with something?”

He really tried his best not to blush but failed miserably, “Aye, ye may have heard but ye find me requirin’ the pleasure of utilisin’ yer loo.”

Suddenly the hopping from one foot to the other made more sense. Trying her best not to laugh at his predicament, Claire crossed her arms over her chest and hoped that he would understand the universal symbol of ‘not a chance in hell’.

“Call me crazy but I don’t think I’m going to let an inebriated stranger into the house that I’m staying in, in a village that I don’t know.”

“Am no’ inebriated, I’ve only had a few pints. And as for stranger, any friend of Geillis is a friend of mine.”

Claire rolled her eyes dramatically at the cliche, not convinced in the slightest.

“Well, I’m sure you can find somewhere else.”

The expression on his beautiful face changed from one of mischievous banter to one of grave seriousness.

“Well, I’m guy sorry tae dae this, Sassenach, but I’m afraid I’ll hae tae report ye tae the authorities.”

“Excuse me?”

“’Tis the law in Scotland. If someone knocks on yer door and needs in for a pish, ye have to oblige them.”

“I bloody well do not!” Claire shouted, exasperated. “What absolutely bloody nonsense!”

“‘Bloody nonsense’, she says!” The man countered, grinning wolfishly as he attempted to mimic her English accent.

Her anger was growing by the second, seeing red at his mockery and trying to get up the courage to slam the door in his beautiful face. She would’ve too if she wasn’t glued to the spot, unable to tear herself away from the maddening, handsome, stupid, charming man.

“Yer hospitality is lacking, Sassenach. And on Hogmanay an’ aw.”

Claire’s patience snapped. This man would not make her out to be some uptight English woman. She had heard the term ‘sassenach’ a few times since she moved to Scotland and it had never been said with kindness behind it.

“Fine! You can come in but as soon as you’ve, er… relieved yourself, you must leave.”

“On my honour,” he said solemnly as he raised both hands in supplication.

Claire stepped out of the doorway to let him duck inside and she opened her mouth to explain which door lead to the lavatory when he moved through the small living room with purpose. Of course, she remembered, he knew Geillis. He’d probably been in here more than once.

She watched as his back disappeared behind a now locked door and pondered the idea that that if he knew Geillis, he couldn’t be that bad. If there was one thing that Geillis Duncan nee McKenzie was skilled at, it was taking the measure of someone from a single look. At the very least, the man wouldn’t be dangerous.

And he was rather beautiful. Arrogant but in a way that endeared him to her. Finding that her fingers had a mind of their own as they began to smooth out her curls, Claire looked around the room and embarrassment creeped its way insidiously into her body.

While the world was celebrating the new year, here she was, sat alone in an otherwise empty house with a coffee table covered in discarded fish supper paper, an already empty bottle of Chablis and a box of chocolates that had been dipped into more than a few times. Across the world everyone would be getting on their party outfits while she wore her favourite cosy leggings and big thick socks with her favourite knitted jumper. Anything but glamorous.

With that realisation in mind, the room before her morphed from a scene of quiet solitude to pitiful isolation.

She had been run out of her city by the mere memory of Frank and that enraged her even further.

“Jesus H Roosevelt Christ, you prick,” she muttered exasperatedly, unbridled rage filling her from head to toe.

“Again, I apologise fer disturbin’ ye. But thank ye for lettin’ me inside.”

His voice made her spin on her heel.

“Oh, I didn’t mean—“ she began before deciding it was best to not delve into her dirty laundry with a perfect stranger and sent him a tight, resigned smile.

He made to move towards the door, his head slightly bowed from either humility or inebriation, Claire couldn’t decide on which.

For some reason, she felt disappointed at the thought of him leaving.

“So, any other strange and unusual customs I should know about before you leave? Is a man going to knock on my door in five minutes asking for only my left shoe?”

The man paused and turned around to face her again, his lovely face shining out a look of mischief and excitement.

“Well, I canna say that we’re nae kent for our strange and unusual customs but I think the fireballs are the only other thing ye’ll hae ti’ deal wi’ the night.”

For a moment she thought that she’d had too much to drink. Had the man really just said the words ‘fire’ and ‘balls’ as though they were the most normal things to come out of someone’s mouth?

He noticed her gormless expression.

“Surely ye’d hiv seen the High Street being cordoned off for the night?”

“I haven’t been to the High Street.”

It was his turn to balk.

“Ye came tae Stoney on Hogmanay and shut yersel’ inside? Geillis didnae think tae tell ye?”

“For the love of God, tell me what?”

He smiled a wry smile, “When the clock gets tae midnight, about 40 folk will walk down the High Street swingin’ massive balls of fire around their heids. All the way through the auld toon and then down tae the harbour.”

When Claire didn’t answer, he dug his hands into his pockets, straightening his arms so that he stretched to full height, the top of his head almost hitting the low ceilings.

“It’s an old Viking thing,” he said with a straight face.

Subconsciously, he flexed the muscles of his shoulders and back, taking up even more space. He really was very large.

Viking indeed.

He jerked his left shoulder up slightly and tried to seem nonchalant as he said, “Usually I swing one masel’ but I dislocated ma shooder earlier in the month and it’s only jus’ healed. Shame otherwise I could’ve gied ye a shotty, get ye the best view over the crowd.”

“I’ll pretend I understand a word of what you just said and bid you goodnight,” Claire said firmly as she shifted her weight towards the door, trying her hardest to appear aloof in front of a man that she was fast forming an attraction to.

The Viking surveyed the state of the living room and looked back at her from underneath his eyelashes.

“Havin’ a quiet een, are ye?”

“Yes. I needed a break from the city. I work with Geillis and she was kind enough to let me borrow her place for a few days to get some peace and quiet.”

He gave her a cheeky grin at that, “And then here a stranger comes, crashin’ intae yer front door.”

He put his hand to his chest and smiled kindly at her before bowing his head slightly.

“My maist sincere apologies tae ye…?”

“Claire Beauchamp.”

“Weel, it’s affa fine tae meet ye, Claire,” he said as he pressed a thumb into his chest. “James Fraser.”

“How do you do?” she nodded her head in acknowledgement of his introduction and tried her hardest not to get lost in his eyes.

Looking into his eyes was like looking into the heart of the sun.

Jamie narrowed them at her with a smirk and Claire felt herself blush slightly.

“Yer affa posh tae be a friend of someone as debauched as the one and only Geillis Duncan. Ye said ye work thegither?”

“Yes, we do. I’m a surgeon as well. And I promise, there is nothing posh about me,” Claire scoffed.

He looked at her again, closely, and Claire could practically see the cogs of Jamie’s brain working as a plan came together.

Even though she had failed to light the fire, she could swear that there were flames dancing in his eyes.

“Ye ken, if ye wanted me tae believe ye werenae posh, ye’d dae somethin’ spontaneous.”

Claire was surprised to find that his words sent a shiver down the back of her spine. She couldn’t put her finger exactly on what she was feeling but she knew it felt good.

“What exactly do you mean?”

Jamie took a step towards her, casting another glance at the coffee table of sadness and then settling his eyes on the front door.

“Take a turn aroon the toon wi’ a manny ye’ve jus’ met? Canna be by yerself on Hogmanay, Doctor Beauchamp.”

The offer had been made and Claire knew that she’d be mad to pass it up. She pretended to think it over, lips pursed in fake contemplation as she waited what she felt was an appropriate time to not seem too eager.

“Might as well see these fireballs, I suppose.”

His smile split his face in two and Claire couldn’t help but feel her stomach flip.

“Ace. Weel, we can get going? It’s only an hour until the bells.”

Claire tried to seem casual as she asked for a moment to change into something more appropriate for the outdoors and quickly extricated herself upstairs.

Standing in the middle of the bedroom, she looked at her reflection in the mirror and panicked.

Her mind was completely blank as she tried to flick through the items that she’d brought with her, trying to come up with something that hit the perfect balance of sexy and comfy. Frustration building, she grabbed her phone and shot a text to the woman who was responsible for all of this.

Claire: James Fraser, alright enough guy?

Geillis: Christ, nae wasting any time, are ye?

Claire: Shut up. Anything I should know?

Geillis: He’s an arse man!

Geillis: Nae many better ways to start the new year than a shag with a ginger god!

Claire: Very helpful, thank you. I don’t know why I bother, you are no use at all!

Geillis: Och wheesht, you love me really.

Geillis: For real, Jamie is a sweetheart. We’ve been pals since we were bairns. You’re in good hands.

Geillis: Affa good hands 😏

Claire huffed a laugh at her best friend and quickly pocketed her phone into her jeans, stripping off her leggings and jumper.

As quickly as she could, she dug around in her suitcase for the single pair of jeans that she’d brought with her. Thankfully they were the black ones that hugged her arse perfectly. She grabbed a plain white t-shirt and her favourite burgundy cardigan before she realised that it was too long and would effectively hide the said perfect-arse-in-these-jeans situation.

Resigning herself to an evening of being frozen stiff, she decided against the warm winter jacket that was hiding downstairs and grabbed her trusty leather jacket.

Thankfully her reflection in the mirror showed that the jacket stopped just above the line of her hips, allowing the jeans do their all important job.

“Doctor Beauchamp?”

She moved towards his voice, opening the bedroom door and quickly closing it behind herself so he wouldn’t be able to see the mess that it hid.

“Please call me Claire,” she implored.

“I like calling ye Doctor, ’tis…”

“What?”

“Och, nothin’.”

Claire raised an eyebrow, “Spit it out.”

She could swear that she saw him blushing as he rubbed the back of his neck with an open palm, looking her straight in the eye.

“Sexy.”

The single word was said with such obvious flirtation behind it that she couldn’t stop the rush of heat and need that spread through her body. But the wine had made her bold and she decided to give as good as she got.

Without responding to him, she crossed the room and put her hand gently against the small of his back as she made it to the front door and pulled her boots on.

She heard three heavy footsteps and then he was behind her, so close that she could feel his steady breath.

A large arm circled around her body, grazing her waist ever so slightly as he went to grasp the doorknob.

“Let me get that fer ye, Doctor Beauchamp,” he whispered into the mess of curls that were tickling his nose as Claire resisted the urge to close her eyes and lean back further.

Shaking her head slightly to try and dispel the haze that had come over her, she tried her best to keep her voice from trembling, “Lead the way, Mr Fraser.”

Once they were out in the cold air, Claire could see why Jamie had made fun of her for not noticing the preparations earlier in the day. The entirety of the small village was alive with light and music and bodies. Doors were propped open to allow for a steady stream of people coming in and out of pubs and homes alike, shouts and laughter filling the air with sound. The colourful lights that were still strung up from Christmas glistened against the wet pavements but thankfully the rain had passed and was on its way north towards the city, leaving a cool freshness to the air. Children scurried around with their parents, thick mittens and hats almost falling off at every opportunity and as they turned towards what Jamie had called the Square, Jamie grasped Claire’s hand in his own so they wouldn’t get separated in the crowd that seemed to be every resident of Stonehaven and then some. Claire couldn’t help the huge grin on her face as Jamie expertly navigated the both of them through the community, returning well wishes and clapping a few people on the back in greeting.

She was completely entranced by it all. Even though she was new to Stonehaven, people hugged her in greeting and raised their drinks, offering sentiments that she didn’t quite understand but could nevertheless feel the warmth that they were uttered with.

“Aye Jock! Fit like en?”

“Aye aye, loon, nae bad, nae bad!”

When they made it to a spot that apparently promised the best view of the procession, Jamie made sure that his massive frame wasn’t blocking the view for any children and spotted an old friend.

“Alright Jamie! Foos yer doos?”

Shaking the man’s hand firmly, Jamie gave what Claire assumed was a response to the nonsense question he’d just been asked.

“Aye, a’wis pechin’!”

Claire couldn’t concentrate on the rest of the conversation that was going on between the two men. She was much too preoccupied with the fact that Jamie was stood so close to her, his chest resting against the length of her arm. Even the small amount of pressure being shared between the two bodies was enough to make Claire’s head spin. Not to mention the heat radiating off the man even though it was easily below freezing out in the night arm. A frisson of energy that she could not put a name to coursed through Claire’s limbs and she jerked, accidentally elbowing Jamie in the ribs.

Ending his conversation, he turned to her sharply.

“Fit wis that fer?!” he exclaimed in mock outrage.

She tried her hardest not to laugh at the pout on his face.

“I’m pretty sure you’re just making up these words to make fun of me. Honestly, ‘foos yer doos’?”

Jamie laughed, air bursting from his lungs and turning into soft curls of mist in the dark. Claire felt the vibrations move through her body, tingling in her own extremities.

“’Tis a common greetin’ roon these parts, Sassenach,” he put his hand on the small of her waist and turned her towards him, eyes glimmering. “Take a guess fit it means.”

“I have no idea,” she said primly as she accepted the proffered hip flask from Jamie’s hand.

She realised that she wasn’t the only one aware of the charge between them when she saw his eyes darken at the sight of her bring the flask to her lips. He didn’t know but seeing it made Jamie’s tongue dart out to moisten his lips.

Claire took a small drink of the whisky that flooded her mouth, already feeling a little more than intoxicated after the bottle of wine and the arrival of a certain ginger Scot.

“I’ll gie ye a hint, it’s tae dee wi’ birds.”

Her features scrunched in confusion, “Human or avian?”

“We dinna call women ‘birds’ around here, we call them ‘quines’.”

“That’s not an answer to my question.”

He rolled his eyes at her, unable to keep the smile from his lips, “Another hint is that up here in the northeast, we replace our W’s wi’ F’s.”

She sent him a death stare that hopefully conveyed the message of ‘stop-taking-the-piss-out-of-me-or-I-will-empty-the-contents-of-that-flask-over-your-head’.

Thankfully, he seemed to take pity on her, “Foos yer doos is how we ask folk how they’re deeing. It translates to ‘how are your pigeons’?”

“Pigeons?!” she laughed incredulously. “You ask people about their pigeons?!”

Before he could answer, the clocktower rang its first bell to signal that midnight had been struck. A cheer could be heard from further up the High Street as the first fire ball started to make its journey towards the water.

Claire had never seen anything like it. Men and women dressed in kilts, their feet clad in sturdy shoes as they swung huge balls that had been set ablaze in a beautiful arc around their head. It was the perfect heady mix of awe and fear as they made a great ‘whoosh’ every time the fire almost kissed the ground. The darkness of the night made them shine all the more brightly and Jamie bent down to Claire’s ear so she could hear him over the excitement of the crowd.

“Yer hair is affa bonnie in the firelight, Doc,” his voice sent shivers down her spine. “Mo nighean donn.”

She didn’t know what it meant, didn’t care really. She just knew that she wanted to hear him say it again and again.

Claire seized the opportunity and pushed herself back firmly against his chest, taking his hands in hers and bringing them to wrap around her body in invitation. She hoped that she hadn’t massively misread the situation but her worries were assuaged when he tucked her head neatly under his chin and sighed in relief.

They watched as the spectacle continued but both of them would have been more than happy simply standing there, holding each other.

The bells finally chimed their last, signalling that it was now officially Hogmanay.

Claire refused to move from the safety of his arms but craned her neck up to look at Jamie whose full attention was on her.

“Happy New Year, Jamie,” Claire whispered, her heavy breath mingling with his own.

“Happy Hogmanay, Claire.”

Jamie’s head dipped, closing the space between them and pressing his lips against hers, deciding that his wish for the coming year would be to never part from the woman in his arms.

[okaywitheverything]

World’s Worst Best Men: Itachi x Wife!Reader

A/n: I'm not writing a summary but I have a feeling you'll like this one. Not so much romance as usual, but it is fun and I’m proud of it. 

Pairing: Itachi x Wife!Reader, Platonic Sasuke x Reader

Word Count: 1.7K

Here’s the dress I imagine wearing. Though, your imagination is key.

                                  ♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤♤

Uchiha weddings were nothing, if not extravagant and over the top, you should know, you have had one for yourself.

Standing beside your husband of three years, the prodigy, Itachi Uchiha, you couldn't have been happier. Sasuke was getting married and you and Itachi had the most triumphant grins on your faces, both beaming gleefully.

You and Itachi had been childhood bestfriends but didn't start dating dating until late teen years. So naturally Sasuke had been an important person in your life, an amazing boy whom you had watched grow up.

The wedding had been a blast, everyone enjoying themselves to the fullest. Asuma and Kurenai were dancing along with their son in a group with Kakashi and Gai. Kakashi drunk dancing was really a sight for sore eyes.

Genma was at the bar, really vibing with one of Sakura's distant aunts while Iruka was being paired up with one of Hinata's quiet aunts by Naruto.

Minato and Kushina were standing alongside Fugake and Mikoto drinking champagne and feeling proud.Smiles of genuine happiness were on each of their faces as they felt their life goals had been achieved.

Of course all the boys were dancing alongside the Jounins' group with Sasuke in between surrounded by a wild Naruto, drunk Kiba, flustered Lee and other friends of the like.

The girls were in their own group with the bride in between surrounded by perfectionist Ino, jovial Tenten, inebriated Temari, bewildered Hinata and likewise. Ino kept straightening the flowers in the newlywed girl's hair.

This was all you could ever ask for someone as important to you as Sasuke. You, someone who never cried, almost shed a tear when Sauske said his vows. The fact he found love in his life made you really grateful to God.

After all the guest tired themselves out by uncoordinated and off beat dancing, it was time for the best man's speech or in this case, best men.

Naruto and Itachi were the two best men as they both mean the world to Sasuke. His best friend and his elder brother.

With a champagne flute in hand, Naruto started, "Putting our rivalry aside for one day, I would go so far as to call you-, this is only a once in a lifetime privilege remember Teme," He referred to Sasuke getting off track his speech, "-my best friend. Who would have thought you would get married? Howbeit to a girl?"

Everybody laughed, silently agreeing with Naruto. The atmosphere of the wedding hall was bright, beautiful and cheery. The exuberant and buoyant gathering listened with real enthusiasm.

"I don't have anything against you marrying a guy, honestly because all of us expected you to, after you broke a lot of poor girls' hearts."

Sasuke seemed really shocked at this, even his mouth fell open with widened eyes while everyone once again silently agreed. Sasuke's shock told you that he actually had never heard about this rumor before. 

God, he was a really oblivious kid.

"I know, Dobe," Naruto said referring to Sasuke's surprised expression, "I was that shocked too, when I came to know they shipped you with me nonetheless, because that was something even I wasn't aware of." Naruto and Sauke both made disgusted faces, as if on cue. The look of terror on Sasuke’s face might have led people to believe it was the most sinister thought ever.

But they did look cute together.

"But I guess they say, you aren't really best friends if they don't confuse you as homosexuals." Naruto let out a beaming grin while Sasuke gave a crooked smile. Everyone inwardly cooed at the pure expressions.

"However, there is one female I remember you crushing on, the only one in the entirety of our lives."

Sasuke had a look of horror on this face as he shook his head 'no' immediately, trying to get Naruto to shut up, specks of red in his eyes as he threatened to activate his 'Sharingan'.

"I remember you being all flustered and look at (Y/N) with heart eyes.”

Naruto's grin widened, showing his pearly whites, clearly content with Sasuke's reaction. 

Your name caught you off-guard and you were in absolute shock. People turned around to give you a not-so-subtle glance but you didn’t care. You always thought Sasuke was a shy and quiet kid who liked to keep to himself. Mikoto let out a cheer while Fugaku smiled. Itachi let out a deep-throated chuckle from beside you which caused you to turn to him, “You knew about this?”

He silently nodded with a smile on his face and you carried on, “And never even mentioned it to me? Would it have killed you to do so?”

“It wasn’t any of my business. Also, it was pretty funny.”

You lightly hit his arm and retorted, “Oh God, I don’t even know who I got married to!”

A smile still broke out on your face as you turned to Naruto once again.

“I remember once Kiba and I were hanging out and we heard a really high pitched shriek from the forest. We ran all the way inside thinking someone was in danger but it turned out to be Sasuke squealing beacuse it was (Y/N)’s birthday and she gave him a kiss on the cheek for some gift he gave her. I swear our ears started bleeding. He was so red that we thought all the tomatoes he ate finally caught up to him.”

You blinked twice, your expression blank. Then a coy smile made its way to your face. You looked over to find Sasuke as red as a cherry, not even meeting your eyes. He was definitely praying to God that looks could kill, so that Naruto would drop dead.

“I remember that back in the academy, he never let any of us touch his hair because (Y/N) ruffled it while dropping him off. So he would sit through the lessons looking like he just woke up.”

All his classmates snickered at that, recalling the fond memory, while you were amused. It was so hilarious to see such a stoic person so flabberghasted. 

“The most interesting incident that came out of all this was, and I’m totally risking my life by telling you all this. Sasuke would kill me if I even narrate it to anyone, rather announce it on the microphone at his wedding, but your best friend gets married only once. Well hopefully. If I turn up dead by the coming of dawn, it was Sasuke Uchiha everyone.”

Everyone laughed along once again while half of the people were on the edge of their seats thinking what it could possibly be. Sasuke had a puzzled expression on his face, anticipating and fearing what Naruto had up his sleeve.

“Anyways, one when we were high........ I mean drunk, he confessed of a secret love letter he wrote to (Y/N) as a tween but never sent it.”

Your eyes widened as you let out an audible gasp while the room buzzed with chortles and sniggers. Your brother-in-law crushing on you wasn’t necessary negative news but the whole event had overwhelmed you that you could not contemplate even your reaction.

Apparently, you were the only one to be surprised as all the other guests smiled knowingly and cackled. You glanced over to find Sasuke so scarlet that you wondered if the sharingan had spread to his face given that his kekkei genkai was active now.

Itachi chuckled again seeing your reaction and put an arm around your shoulder while gently squeezing. You turned to him and finaly let out a chuckle yourself, eyes still widened in disbelief.

“Am I dreaming?” you asked and shook your head.

“Seriously though, have I been that oblivious Itachi? How could I not notice this while everyone here recalls it as some keen memory?” You held your head with one hand, leaning furthermore into itachi. Your eyes flickered to see Sasuke’s eyes, boring apologetically into your own. 

One look at his chiseled face told you of his anxiety and concern. The small frown on his face saddened your heart.

Does he think I hate him? Poor baby, NO!

You weren’t offened, flattered if anything. But the spontaneity of the situation rendered you speechless.

You gave him the best smile you could muster, wiggling your eyebrows at him and blowing him a kiss from your cherry lips, and grinning again.

He visibly relaxed, shoulders now less taut, jaw a bit slackened though his face remained painted in scarlet hues. Seeing him calm down, you winked at him and turned to Naruto again, anticipating his next words.

“My only regret tonight is that I couldn’t find that letter even inside his personal diary or his deep closet. I swear it was there the last time! No worries, hope you found this speech of mine, entertaining as it is. One last toast to Sasuke though, for his new life ahead. Cheers.” 

Sasuke cooled down with each passing word, smirking triumphantly when he realised he won’t be shred of his remaining dignity anymore.

Everyone toasted together, drinking huge mouthfuls of their wines, rejoicing in Naruto’s words for Sasuke.

Itachi kissed your temple, and left you while moving to the centre of the stage, where Naruto was.

“If I may?” He asked as Naruto passed him the microphone.

“I’d like to say how proud of my baby brother to have come this far in life, as a great shinobi, an excellent son, a marvelous friend and a terific human overall.”

Everone clapped vigourously including you, while all his classmates hollered and hooted. A faint blush adorned Sasuke’s cheeks as he visibly pouted on being call ‘baby bro’.

“And I was about to give a half an hour long speech, but my wee brother’s best friend, Naruto just stole all my content. So much for the tales.” Itachi playfully sighed, all the specatators buzzed with laughter while Sasuke deadpanned.

Well, he wont forget his wedding day ever now. Everyone is dead set on embarrassing him.

“However, I do have something Naruto didn’t have.”

Everyone stilled, waiting with anticipation of what was about to come, including you. Itachi refused to rehearse his best man speech with you because he wanted to write a speech for Sasuke on his own, heartfelt and everything.

He reached inside his tuxedo’s jacket and took out an old cramped paper, yellowing a bit and you raised your eyebrows, questioningly.

Sasuke gulped.

“I have the love letter, everyone!”

Oh Wow.

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

A/N: If you reading this, atleast you made it till the end. Thank you.

So that was that. It was some scenario I just thought about. A bit of a cliffhanger, I haven’t thought about a follow up part 2, but we’ll see if that’s what you want.

Thanks for the love you gave me on my first post, we reached 200 if you count the separate posts I made by mistake. This inspires me to write. Remember, requests are OPEN so feel free to hit my asks page. 

[isitgintimeyet]

Just A Friend

The response to this story has been lovely, so thank you all for reading. liking, reblogging and commenting on this piece of fluff. Hope you continue to enjoy.

Thanks to @wickedgoodbooks for the beta

AO3

Previous

Chapter 6: From Irritation to Interrogation

And just like that, we’re friends, Jamie and I. It’s strange how quickly you can go from strangers to acquaintances to friends. After that walk in the park, something seems to have clicked with us, there’s an ease in our friendship that doesn’t happen too often. Despite our vastly different upbringings, we have many things in common: a shared love of irreverent comedy, a fondness for very good quality chocolate and wine and a determination to succeed in our chosen careers.

Of course, it helps that we don’t have the whole fancying-sexual-tension-romantic thing lurking in the background. As I’ve said before, Jamie is not my type and, judging by the pictures on his Facebook timeline, I am definitely not his, which appears to be doe-eyed, tanned, petite blondes— their pneumatic breasts frequently struggling to break free from their restraints. No tall, wild-haired brunettes with only-slightly-above-average breasts usually firmly encased in sensible lingerie.

I may even invite him to Geillis’ wedding as my plus one. We’ll see. I don’t think I’ll be dating by then, I quite fancy a few months without any of those complications.

********

One of life’s pleasures, for me, when I’m not on-call, is to walk to the local newsagents on a Sunday morning for the newspaper. If it’s fine, it’s another opportunity to sit on my balcony and read it at my leisure. A mug of freshly brewed coffee and a cinnamon bun enhances this experience.

Today, it’s not so fine, but sitting on my sofa while listening to the rain pounding against the window is pretty good too. I’m just about to start the crossword when my phone rings. I quickly swallow my mouthful of bun and glance at the screen—private number. I offer up a silent prayer that it’s not the hospital as I answer it.

“Claire Beauchamp?” The female voice sounds familiar.

“Yes.” I answer cautiously.

“Jes’ a wee word of warning. Karma can be a bitch, ye ken.” The voice grows louder and angrier. I recognise that tone, last heard berating Jamie. “Ye’ll get what ye deserve. Ye canna trust James Fraser, but ye’ll find out soon enough—the hard way, like I did… thanks tae ye.”

“Look, I—“ I begin, but before I can finish my sentence, she’s gone.

My initial reaction is irritation. Laoghaire, no doubt looking around for someone to blame for her recent break up, has cast me in the role of home wrecker, clearly using my carefully honed feminine wiles to lure Mr. Fraser from her clutches. Like Frank, she can’t quite believe that anyone could break up with her, without there being another waiting in the wings, ready and willing to take her place.

My irritation dissipates as I begin to see the funny side of this. She’s obviously thought long and hard about this—checking his Facebook friends, keeping records of his phone calls when they were together. Perhaps she sees herself as Jennifer Aniston against my Angelina. I hope Jamie can see this for what it is and laugh. Besides, in this scenario, that makes Jamie what? Brad Pitt?

*****************

Two days later, Jamie and I have arranged to have a quick drink after work in a mutually convenient bar. Summer has not yet returned to the city. Whilst not actually raining, the air is damp and there’s a definite nip in the air. I do a cursory check of the outdoor seating, just to see whether Jamie is heroically braving the elements, but there’s no sign of him.

I make my way into the bar and have a quick walk around before snagging a corner table. The seats are comfortable and it’s in a prime position for me to keep an eye out for his arrival. This bar has always been one of my favourites in the city. It feels grounded, like it’s been here forever. The stone walls and dark oak beams are unchanging and watching the inebriated trying to negotiate the uneven wooden floor on their way to the toilets always makes for good entertainment. In fact, people come from miles around to marvel at its very crookedness.

I check my phone for any messages. There’s one from Geillis, accepting my invitation for girls’ night on Friday at my flat. I reply and put the phone down just in time to see Jamie heading toward me. He’s obviously come straight from work as he’s still in his navy blue suit and white shirt. I’ve come straight from work too but am not nearly so smartly dressed. Having worn my blue scrubs all day, I’m now clad in jeans and a wrap around top which used to be orange, but has faded to a light amber colour. I feel somewhat underdressed next to him.

“Drink?” He asks, before even sitting down.

I nod. “I’m parched. Think I’ll have a shandy, please.”

“Lager shandy? Half pint?”

“Bitter,” I clarify, not being a great believer in girlie drinks. “And pint.”

He returns a couple of minutes later with a pint and a packet of crisps in each hand.

He takes a huge slug of beer. “Sae, what do ye ken? What’s new wi’ ye?”

And so, I recount my day of surgery to him. And, bless him, he looks interested all the way through my narration. He does turn a bit pale as I begin to explain my use of the bone mallet and chisel, and his crisps remain untouched, but he soldiers through.

“In other news,” I change the subject as his colour returns and he rips the crisps open. “I had an anonymous phone call from your ex, warning me about you and blaming me for your break up. But, never fear, I’ll get what’s coming to me when you do the same to me—“

A bout of coughing from Jamie breaks into my conversation.  I get up and thump his back a couple of times. The coughing stops as he takes a swig of beer.

“Sorry,” he clears his throat and continues. “Crisp stuck in ma throat. She did what? How does she ken who ye are?”

“Presumably she kept a record of your phone calls and is monitoring your Facebook friends. Maybe you need to check your phone, see if she’s set up any other little apps so she can track where you are or what you’re doing.”

He shakes his head. “Aye, I’ll do that. I canna believe she would go tae such lengths. Although…” he pauses for a moment. “... mebbe I can. She was always the, er, suspicious type—asking me about women at work, convinced they were ready tae pounce on me. Perhaps I’m not the best judge of character, Claire. Ye need tae advise me.”

I laugh. “Ok. I’ll be your wingman, if you like. Or vet all your potential girlfriends. How about that?”

Jamie joins in with the laughter. His eyes twinkle and it’s funny the way he wrinkles his nose as he laughs.

“How about you? How’re the Spanish influenced dinners going? What are you up to?” I ask him.

“The plans are going grand. We’ve three dinner options planned out.” As usual, his face lights up as he explains the various menus to me.

“They all sound delicious. I’m looking forward to trying them.” And that's the truth.

“Weel, funny ye should mention that. We are looking fer people willing tae test them. How about it? Fancy trying one out? This week, mebbe? Free, of course.”

My weekend plans are getting better and better. Girls’ night at my flat could be turning into a bit of a Spanish fiesta, a mini replay of our Barcelona trip.

“I’d love that. Thanks. I’m having Geillis, Mary and Anna ‘round on Friday for a catch up. I could give you their opinion on the meal too.”

Jamie types something into his phone. “Great, I’ll sort it. So, good weekend plans then?”

“Oh yes, what about you?”

“Oh, I’ve got a sort of date type thing,” he mumbles into his pint and, to my surprise he goes a little bit red. Is he worried about telling me? Does he think that I will mind?

“That’s nice...isn’t it?”

“I dinna ken, really. I… I suppose so. It’s ma sister, Jenny’s, idea.  A friend of hers from university. Ma sister canna quite believe that I’m no’ yet married and she keeps trying tae make it happen. And Jenny, weel, let’s jes’ say that she’s a force of nature. Ye dinna want tae mess wi’ her.”

***************

I’m not exactly the most gifted cook, but I think it would be hard to go wrong with the box of food and wine that Jamie has delivered. The asparagus is waiting to be cooked, the mouth-watering smell from the simmering  chicken and chorizo fills my flat and bowls of juicy Spanish olives— some plain and some with garlic and chilli are dotted about the dinner table. Feeling inspired, I root out a large jug and begin to cut up fruit for sangria.

Like alcohol-seeking missiles, I’ve no sooner prepared the sangria when the doorbell rings. With many hugs, Geillis, Mary, Anna and I greet each other. I accept their gifts of wine, chocolate and flowers as we head into the flat.

As usual, everyone gravitates to the kitchen as I pass the drinks around, complimenting me on the wonderful aromas. Geillis’ stomach rumbles in eager anticipation.

When the four of us are together, the conversation flows as freely as the wine. Honestly, you would swear that we had not seen each other for months, when, in fact, I saw Anna on Tuesday in theatre, and squeezed in a coffee catch-up with Mary and Geillis only two days ago. The topics we cover are wide-ranging and random. Sangria and olives are accompanied by Anna’s search for a new flat, then the conversation turns to the destructive tendencies of Mary’s kitten as I serve the asparagus and Serrano ham starter.

For the main course, we have the tale of Geillis’ father refusing to wear a kilt for her wedding—he is prepared to don tartan trews but, according to Geillis, that will spoil the whole symmetry of the wedding photos. Neither, at the moment, seem willing to back down but, having known Geillis for so many years, it’s obvious to me who will win.

By the time I bring out the selection of Spanish biscuits and turrón, the conversation has moved on to men, more specifically Mary’s crush on a locum doctor newly arrived in the department. There’s a lot of good natured teasing about this—Mary seems to develop a new crush every couple of weeks, and why not?

Geillis drains her wine and turns to me. “Fantastic meal, Claire. Better than yer usual offerings.”

She pulls me close to her as she says this, and squeezes my arm to show she’s joking.

“Well, I have to confess. I did have a bit of assistance. I mean, I did the cooking, apart from the cookies, but everything came from FraserFood.”

“In that case, give me those chocolates back. I’m no’ sure ye’ve earned them.”

“But I have,” I moan. “I did all the cooking…and made sangria.” I reach across Geillis and help myself to another biscuit. They are melt-in-the-mouth delicious.

“It’s part of a new range they’re launching,” I try to explain as Anna and Mary start to squabble over the last biscuit. “Three course dinner party boxes. Everything you need. Jamie asked if I would test one of them out—“

Immediately Anna and Mary shut up, the last biscuit now abandoned on the plate.

“Woo-hoo,” Anna grins at me.

Geillis nudges me in the ribs. “Jamie, is it? And what else has Jamie given ye, eh?”

“Nothing, we’re friends, that’s it.”

“But we’ve seen pictures of him. Don’t ye want there tae be more tae it? I mean, c’mon look at him.” Now Mary joins in the questioning.

I sigh. “We can just be friends, you know.”

“Friends with benefits, mebbe?” Geillis isn’t giving up.

“No, just friends. Although…” my friends lean forward expectantly, perhaps awaiting some heartfelt confession from me, as if I’d suddenly realised my undying love, or, at least, a good bit of lust for Mr. Fraser. They’re going to be disappointed.

“...Although, I suppose you could say this free food and drink is a benefit. So,yes, I guess that makes us friends with benefits.”

Anna and Geillis look as if they don’t believe me, but say nothing. Mary isn’t prepared to drop the subject.

“So,” she starts. “So, suppose I meet yer—“

“Not mine,” I mutter under my breath.

Mary shrugs her shoulders and continues, “—yer Jamie Fraser. And suppose he asks me out and one thing leads tae another… ye’re telling us that ye wouldna mind?”

“No, I wouldn’t mind. Might be a bit awkward if you break up. I mean, can I still be friends with both of you?”

Geillis, laughing, joins in now. “Suppose our Mary marries Jamie Fraser and asks ye tae be a bridesmaid. Would ye mind then?”

I pretend to give this some thought. “Ah, now that does depend. Just how awful will the bridesmaid dress be, Mary?”

“Och, just hideous. We’ll be having a Disney themed wedding.”

All talking and laughing at once, we try to decide which would be the worst Disney outfit for a bridesmaid and finally settle on Moana.

I get up from the table to go and make coffee, but not before making one final statement on the whole platonic situation with Jamie.

“Look, I know it’s hard to believe, but I have no romantic interest in Jamie and neither does he. In fact, he told me that he’s got a date this weekend and that’s totally fine with me.”

Geillis grabs my hand in passing. “Ok, as long as ye’re fine. We jes’ dinna want ye getting hurt, Claire. We love ye too much fer that.”

I smile at my closest friends gathered around my table and feel a rush of warmth and love for them too. They’re my family, these girls, and, for all the joking and teasing, they have my best interests at heart.

“I know. Thank you for looking out for me. But, Jamie and I are friends, nothing more.”

And with that I head into the kitchen, giving Anna, Mary and Geillis, no doubt, the opportunity to continue to speculate about Jamie’s and my friendship. But really I don’t mind, they’ll get fed up soon enough when they see I’ve been telling the truth all along.

[divagonzo]

Knackered

A/N: Praying this the start of the writer’s block crumbling away...

While I didn’t know about any Secret Santa exchanges (and being low on spoons) I did get some mild inspiration to write tonight. This goes out to everyone flying solo tonight at home, missing friends and family in the middle of all this madness and mayhem.

May your new year be better than the last one.

Note: This was partially inspired by my getting completely pissed Christmas night and posting an AMA and getting nothing. So tonight I’m sober and listening to Rand purring while asleep in my arms, while I wrote this up.

Rated PG-15/15/M for alcohol consumption to excess, consequences of drinking way too much, and some citrus notes at the end. 98% ace safe. 

Demarcation line for 2021 damnit!

Hermione was sitting at home, in her favorite chair by the fire, completely pissed.

Harry was at work and so was Ron. Ginny was off at Holyhead for the New Year's Day match against Puddlemere. Luna was off... somewhere doing Merlin knows what and her parents were in Ibiza on Holiday and patently didn't invite her along. Their relationship was hardly there anymore. She felt that painfully with every day she didn’t hear from them.

Hermione gave Kreacher the night off and bade him a good night.  She went to her beaded bag, which was beyond time for replacing yet she found she couldn't do an hour without it within reach, and pulled out a large brown paper sack containing two bottles she had picked up from Gerry's Wines and Spirits after work. She's popped in, taking in the selection of items and knowing exactly what she wanted tonight for her pity party of one she wanted to have. What kind of world was it that she was celebrating the turn of the new year, a new Millenia, the way some were saying, and all of her friend and family weren't present in her life, whether for work or for holiday. So instead, she'd have a pity party, indulge in more than some wee libations, and fall asleep by the fire tonight since she wouldn't see Ron until Sunday morning.

She wouldn’t see Harry or Ginny until late tomorrow night, if not Sunday morning either. She'd stood in the store, trying to decide on the spirit of her father's tastes - Balvenie, single malt, the older the better, or the tastes of her Mum - Rum, lightly aged, the darker the better.  Then again it wasn't like she was going to pop back up to see Aberforth and get a bottle of his Firewhiskey, not after the incident earlier in term and Ginny spouting off on things that shouldn't have been said in front of first years. She had enough for both and settled on that, knowing that she could take the other as a gift to the parents if she didn't indulge in them herself. Once Kreacher was off for the night, she plated some cheese and pickles and other finger foods and stood at the counter in the kitchen trying to decide on which. She settled on the Scotch her father loved drinking - Balvenie - and she opened the top of the bottle she'd chosen and took a sniff. Compared to her father's tastes, this one smelled a delight, with the color of Ron's hair with the evening sun drifting through it, reminding her of a particularly lovely evening at the Burrow out beyond the pond where he'd made love to her before they fell asleep under the stars. "Accio glass," she thought and a small heavy glass hit her hand easily. four ice cubes tinkled on the sides of the glass before she poured a full measure - two fingers, if she recalled, and took her plate and drink with her back to her chair by the fireplace.

"I better lock up before I start in on this," she muttered to no one, not even Crookshanks, and pointed her wand at the fire, locking the fireplace for the night. Even then locked was subjective, since Ron and Ginny and Harry could easily bypass the fireplace with the wards in place. Bill saw to that, strengthening the enchantments on Grimmauld Place when Harry moved in permanently the previous Summer. It was Harry’s residence but he also allowed Ron and Ginny in since he was also the Secret Keeper.  Sure she had a book, and her small and less than filling meal, and would miss her best friends on this cold night in London. But she had to let them live their lives on their terms, not on hers. She'd promised herself that once Ron and Harry made the Aurors and Ginny signed off on her contract - that she would keep quiet on the nights she would be home alone, by herself, no friends to speak of to have any sort of company. She lifted the glass to her lips and took a sip, savoring how smooth the beverage was on her lips. Then she reached for the little bit of prosciutto and brie and took a bite, then another drink before setting it down to read by the fire. It wasn't like Ron didn't know how she felt about his work, or how he stretched himself too thin sometimes, working full time with the Aurors and then so many extra hours with George. While the Aurors have him the notoriety and professional satisfaction he needed and craved, George was where he made his money, with his ideas and creativity. He had a real knack for coming up with an idea, one that George could run with, and make something of it, then refining it to sell it for profit. Just the few ideas of his that made it to production were enough to pay for their upcoming vacation to Athens, even if it was in the off-season but their first real vacation as a couple, for the two of them, and no finding parents or enormous stress behind finding them.

She picked up the glass and found it empty. "Accio Balvenie," she said aloud and waited, seeing it eventually settle down on the table in front of her. She poured another measure of the caramel brown distilled liquor, enjoying the taste enough to not mind the other effects, of which she wanted to enjoy, like quieting the anxiety in her head of Ron coming back to her.

Harry wasn't so much of a worry, given that Ron was there too. They had a sibling kind of love, one involving the occasional row and some days of not talking to one another, but deep down there was the respect and love forged in fire between them. One short conversation with Ginny was all it took to make things right for them, especially after burying the past actions that affected and harmed so much.

She'd been given a third chance and by God! She was going to not throw it away.

The plate forgotten, Hermione poured another measure. She hadn't been this inebriated since that night in Australia, where she had a meltdown to rival anything she'd had in her youth, and gotten pissed on brandy from a local store, hiding in the bathroom drinking heavily until she passed out. Ron eventually returned to find her, sobbing into a stinking toilet. Ron pulled her from the toilet seat, crying her eyes out and smelling of used brandy. He tidied her up, gave her a few glasses of water, tucked her into bed in his arms and let her sleep for almost twenty four hours.

It was the first time she'd truly felt alive after all the shite they'd gone through the previous year, including magically altering her parents memories to erase her from their existence. It was only earlier that night, before she ran out of their rented house on the Gold coast, apparating to the location nearest to the wizarding hotel they were staying in, and then spent half the night walking the streets, drinking brandy until the wee hours of the morning until she stumbled into their shared room, waking Ron from his fitful slumber, and promptly retching up everything she'd eaten in the past year.

Through all of the tears, the rage, the anguish, Ron was there, cleaning up her mess, tending her tenderly, and listening to everything and letting her vent her spleen of everything in her soul.

"Why couldn't he be home tonight when I need him?"

She picked up the bottle and poured one more, knowing that she would have a repeat of that night on the Gold Coast if she had more than that. She was a lightweight compared to Ron and Ginny, for sure, as long as it wasn't a particular kind of elf-made wine. Firewhiskey they could drink like a grouper and suffer no ill effects but a glass of elf made wine and they were having her reaction after too much brandy.

"Damn it, who schedules a raid on New Year's Evening? What bloody criminal is so mental to be out committing crimes worth catching tonight? I need Ron home, in bed with me."

She had a sniff and finished the liquor in her glass, looking forlornly at the fireplace. "I need him home to quiet the noise in my head. It's too loud in there."

Crookshanks came strolling in, purring loudly, having chased something earlier upstairs. He wasn’t Ron but he would certainly do for now. 

"Ready for a quiet nap in my lap?"

Sure enough, the territorial bundle of furr jumped in her lap and started kneading her legs, turning circles before purring as he fell asleep.

"At least I can comfort someone," She said to herself before falling asleep, the book in her hands forgotten in her inebriated slumber.

*******************

Hermione stirred, hearing a noise from the kitchen. She checked her watch, seeing it was past one am, and heard it again. "Kreacher must be back," she said to herself before hearing what sounded like a glass breaking and a "oh shite," erupting. 

Crookshanks jumped down when she wobbled up onto her shaky legs, pulling the black walnut wand from her hidden holster on her arm. While she was far from sober, the magic she felt growing inside along with the bone deep terror of someone in the house with her was enough to focus her mind on the coming task - seeing who was breaking things in their kitchen.

She stumbled slightly along the wall, using it to support herself up while holding the wand in her right, keeping a nasty curse at the front of her mind. Auror Jones taught her a few things she hadn't sussed out that would be just a hair under the line of being illegal curses. 

A light at the bottom of the stairs lit up someone in the kitchen, bent over the cooling cabinet. She took two steps and heard the step creak. "Shite," she said aloud, bringing her wand up.

And felt it soaring from her hands, landing in the outstretch hand of the person at the bottom of the stairs.

"Hermione?"

Ron stepped into the lights and she felt some relief wash over her followed by a moment of abject terror. 

"It's me. Christmas night I read a chapter of Hogwarts, a History, to you when you had trouble falling asleep."

Hermione took a step and felt her legs giving out, falling firmly on her bum on a step. "Whoa, easy there." Ron was up the stairs in a flash, picking her up and bringing her downstairs to sit at the enormous dining table in the kitchen. "Why are you home? Was I asleep that long? Is it Sunday morning?" Ron sniffed. "You had alcohol, didn't you?" 

She felt defensive a moment before that thought evaporated in her brain haze. "Yes I did. It's New Year's Eve and you were at work. I was all alone so I said I'd have a pity party." She looked him up and down. "Why are you home? And where is Harry?" "He's still at work, writing up some reports. I'm home because our mission ended early. We caught him almost immediately and I'm caught up on my work so Robards sent me home early, said that there were enough bailiffs and aurors on duty that he didn't need me tonight." He turned around and when he turned back he had a glass of water for her. “Drink up," he said softly. She did as he asked and felt a little better. "Do you want me to get a sobering potion from the cabinet? You know we keep them now for these occasions." "Yes, please," her voice was tiny compared to his. He laughed but did as she asked, handing her a vial of what looked like had been drug from the bottom of the Thames. "I hate this potion," she said aloud and chugged down the 45ml of potion, fighting the gagging reflex on the consistency of it. Slowly the fog lifted from her mind, negating all of the alcohol in her system. Ron knelt down in front of her, looking worried. "Drinking while home alone isn't a good idea, Hermione." "I know but I missed you terribly. I am being selfish, expecting you to be home when I want you here and not when you are here. It's foolish of me." "No it's not, but we can talk about it tomorrow after we've had some sleep. I'm knackered and I know you are too, just by looking at you." She stood hugging him tightly. "Quiet the storm in my mind before we fall asleep, please?" She looked up and saw him smile softly. "Promise me that you'll sleep 'til noon tomorrow if I do? I need the sleep too, ya know? And if you wake early, let me sleep in?"

The look of love on his face melted her. She’d do anything to see that smile she loved. He gave it to her willingly, without reservations, never holding back. That was part of why she loved him so much.

”I will. Promise.” Ron held her tight before she felt the magic surround them for the short apparition trip upstairs to their bedroom, for a fast and dirty session before she would sleep for hours - or at least let him sleep in. It was the absolutely least thing she could do for him coming home to her early.

[proxylynn]

Underfell: File Name not Edgy Enough #21

Chapter 21: Fear

WARNING: I WANT NO RESPONSIBILITY OVER SPOILING THINGS FOR OTHERS. THAT BEING SAID, THIS IS HOW FILE NAME NOT FOUND WOULD FUNCTION IN THE AU OF UNDERFELL. BEFORE YOU READ THIS, UNLIKE THE NICE TIME OF UNDERTALE, THIS WORLD IS KILL OR BE KILLED. THIS STORY WILL BE GRAPHIC, GORY, USE SWEARS LIKE NOBODY'S BUSINESS, AND DEAL WITH SENSITIVE SUBJECT MATTERS. FOR EXAMPLE, THOSE OF YOU WHO HAVE READ THE FILE NAME RELOCATED SPOOF WILL KNOW HOW I PICTURE THIS VERSION OF LYNSIE COMING TO THE UNDERGROUND. IT IS NOT AN ACCIDENT. IT IS NOT BECAUSE OF SOMETHING DUMB. IT IS BECAUSE SHE CHOOSES TO END HER LIFE. SO TAKE THIS WITH A GRAIN OF SALT. I MADE IT BECAUSE I NEEDED TO LET SOME OF THIS EDGINESS OUT OF MYSELF. WHICH I GUESS MAKES UNDERFELL LYNSIE EVEN MORE TRUE TO WHO I REALLY AM. ANYWAY, ENJOY. ^_^

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It's nice being back home with Toriel. Minus a few things, it's easy to return to the old routine. Storytime around the fire. Diner table eating with her and Flowey. And just normal non-threatening chitchat that doesn't end with me being hit for some moronic reason. Hell, even sleep was easier to achieve once my head hit the good old pillow. Though for some reason, something didn't feel right. Like there was something left undone or missing that made going to sleep just a wee bit uncomfortable. I don't know. It could be just my weird soul shit acting up or nothing at all. Dumb body with its dumber problems. Yet when slumber came none of that mattered. All that matters is rest and peaceful dreams.

...

That is until a familiar door takes me away and I return to a place that I have been internally dreading. The Void is how it has always been. And the doctor that is its hostage seems to be in an interesting mood as if he's been waiting for me.

"✋❄🕯💧 👌☜☜☠ ✌ 🕈☟✋☹☜📪 ☹✋❄❄☹☜ ⚐☠☜📬" (IT'S BEEN A WHILE, LITTLE ONE.)

I shrug.

"So it has. Time flies when things happen."

"✋☠👎☜☜👎📬 ✡⚐🕆 ☟✌✞☜ 👌☜☜☠ ✈🕆✋❄☜ ❄☟☜ 👌🕆💧✡ ☹✋❄❄☹☜ ❄☟✋☠☝📪 ☟✌✞☜☠🕯❄ ✡⚐🕆✍" (INDEED. YOU HAVE BEEN QUITE THE BUSY LITTLE THING, HAVEN'T YOU?)

"Well, you know. I couldn't just sit around forever. Heh...Be kinda boring for you to see if I did."

"✋ 🕈⚐🕆☹👎☠🕯❄ 💧✌✡ ❄☟✌❄ ☜✠✌👍❄☹✡📬" (I WOULDN'T SAY THAT EXACTLY.)

I tilt my head.

"Oh?"

Gaster chuckles lightly.

"✡⚐🕆 ☟✌✞☜ 💧🕆👍☟ ✌💣🕆💧✋☠☝ ✋☠❄☜☼✌👍❄✋⚐☠💧 🕈☟☜☠ ✋☠❄⚐✠✋👍✌❄☜👎📬 ✋❄🕯💧 ☼☜✌☹☹✡ ✌ 💧☟✌💣☜ ✡⚐🕆 ☟✌✞☜ ☠⚐ 💣☜💣⚐☼✡ ⚐☞ ❄☟☜ ☜✞☜☠❄💧 ⚐☠👍☜ ✡⚐🕆 💧⚐👌☜☼ 🕆🏱📬 ❄☟⚐🕆☝☟ ❄☟☜☼☜ 🕈✌💧 ❄☟✌❄ ⚐☠☜ ❄✋💣☜ ✡⚐🕆 ☼☜👍✌☹☹☜👎 💧⚐💣☜❄☟✋☠☝ ✡⚐🕆 ❄☼✋☜👎 ❄⚐ ☞⚐☼☝☜❄📬 👌🕆❄ 🕈☜ 👍✌☠ 👍☟✌☹😐 ❄☟✌❄ 🕆🏱 ❄⚐ ✋❄ 👌☜✋☠☝ 👌☜👍✌🕆💧☜ ✋❄ ☟✌🏱🏱☜☠☜👎 🕈☟✋☹☜ ✡⚐🕆 ✌☹☼☜✌👎✡ 💧⚐👌☜☼ 💧⚐ ❄☟☜ ✌☹👍⚐☟⚐☹✋👍 ☜☞☞☜👍❄💧 🕈☜☼☜☠🕯❄ ✌💧 💣✋☠👎 ✌☹❄☜☼✋☠☝ ✌💧 🕆💧🕆✌☹📬 💧❄✋☹☹📬📬📬❄☟☜ 💧❄⚐☼✋☜💧 ✋ 👍⚐🕆☹👎 💧☟✌☼☜📬 👌🕆❄ ✡⚐🕆 🕈⚐🕆☹👎 👎⚐🕆👌❄ ❄☟☜✋☼ ✌🕆❄☟☜☠❄✋👍✋❄✡📬" (YOU HAVE SUCH AMUSING INTERACTIONS WHEN INTOXICATED. IT'S REALLY A SHAME YOU HAVE NO MEMORY OF THE EVENTS ONCE YOU SOBER UP. THOUGH THERE WAS THAT ONE TIME YOU RECALLED SOMETHING YOU TRIED TO FORGET. BUT WE CAN CHALK THAT UP TO IT BEING BECAUSE IT HAPPENED WHILE YOU ALREADY SOBER SO THE ALCOHOLIC EFFECTS WEREN'T AS MIND ALTERING AS USUAL. STILL...THE STORIES I COULD SHARE. BUT YOU WOULD DOUBT THEIR AUTHENTICITY.)

Well, he's got me curious, that's for sure.

"You have my interest, sir."

He waves dismissively.

"☠⚐📪 ✋❄🕯💧 🏱☼⚐👌✌👌☹✡ 👌☜💧❄ ❄☟✌❄ ✡⚐🕆 👎⚐☠🕯❄ 😐☠⚐🕈📬" (NO, IT'S PROBABLY BEST THAT YOU DON'T KNOW.)

"Oh, come on. You can't just bait me onto the hook then leave me gasping for breath as I dangle here. Tell me something. Even if it sounds crazy."

A mischievous curl twists his features.

"✌☼☜ ✡⚐🕆 💧🕆☼☜ ✡⚐🕆 ❄☟✌❄🕯💧 🕈☟✌❄ ✡⚐🕆 🕈✌☠❄✍" (ARE YOU SURE YOU THAT'S WHAT YOU WANT?)

I shouldn't fall for such an obvious ploy. But if I didn't, I wouldn't be me and I'd miss out on weird stuff.

"Sir, you take me for someone that is easily befuddled? Nay! Go ahead. Tell me forth your secrets, all knowing and mighty keeper of the Void. Please deliver onto me the unknowns of this world regardless of my limited ability to accept or comprehend them."

He eyes me a moment. And for just a brief second, I would swear there's a hint of a blush to color this man. I guess my words were complimentary enough to get to him yet silly enough to not have it last.

"🕈☜☹☹📬📬📬☼☜💣☜💣👌☜☼ ❄☟☜ ⚐❄☟☜☼ ☠✋☝☟❄ 🕈☟☜☠ ✡⚐🕆 ✌☠👎 💧✌☠💧 🕈☜☼☜ 👎☼✋☠😐✋☠☝✍" (WELL...REMEMBER THE OTHER NIGHT WHEN YOU AND SANS WERE DRINKING?)

Oh boy. Which circle of hell will this lead me into?

"I remember. I mean...I remember some of it. Like the start of the drinking and me telling him about some of the crap that's been happening, like Mettaton calling me. But then it gets muddier than a brown pig lost in a mudslide."

Where am I pulling these weird analogies from? I watch way too many cartoons or not enough. Not sure really.

"❄☟☜☠ ✡⚐🕆 🏱☼⚐👌✌👌☹✡ ☟✌✞☜ ☠⚐ ☼☜👍⚐☹☹☜👍❄✋⚐☠ ⚐☞ 👍☜☼❄✌✋☠ ❄☟✋☠☝💧📬 ✌❄ ⚐☠☜ 🏱⚐✋☠❄📪 ✋ ☼☜💣✋☠👎 ✡⚐🕆 ❄☟✌❄ ❄☟☜ 👌⚐❄☟ ⚐☞ ✡⚐🕆 🕈☜☼☜ ☟✋☝☟☹✡ ✋☠☜👌☼✋✌❄☜👎📪 ✌☠👎 🕈☜☹☹📬📬📬🕆💣📬📬📬✋🕯💣 ☠⚐❄ ☜☠❄✋☼☜☹✡ 💧🕆☼☜ ✋☞ ✋🕯💣 ✌👌☹☜ ❄⚐ 🏱🕆❄ 🕈☟✌❄ ☟✌🏱🏱☜☠☜👎 ✋☠❄⚐ 🕈⚐☼👎💧📬" (THEN YOU PROBABLY HAVE NO RECOLLECTION OF CERTAIN THINGS. AT ONE POINT, I REMIND YOU THAT THE BOTH OF YOU WERE HIGHLY INEBRIATED, AND WELL...UM...I'M NOT ENTIRELY SURE IF I'M ABLE TO PUT WHAT HAPPENED INTO WORDS.)

"Dude, don't hold out on me now."

He thinks for a moment. I take it whatever this secret is that it really is something that's out of his comfort zone. I mean, it does involve Sans and that's his brother, so I can understand the hesitation. This moment of hard thinking comes to an end shortly once he has an idea.

"🏱☜☼☟✌🏱💧 ✋❄ 🕈⚐🕆☹👎 👌☜ 💧✋💣🏱☹☜☼ ❄⚐ 💧☟⚐🕈 ✡⚐🕆 ☼✌❄☟☜☼ ❄☟✌☠ ❄☜☹☹📬" (PERHAPS IT WOULD BE SIMPLER TO SHOW YOU RATHER THAN TELL.)

I am puzzled by this as he brings his left hand up to my face. Suddenly, the hole in his palm swirls with magic before clearing and images appear inside. The scene of me and Sans in his room. We're on his bed and he's laying on top of me, but not in a pervy way, as I trail his spine with my fingers. Suddenly I freeze up and he rolls off of me, laughing as he teleports then returns with a mustard bottle.

"now this is funny. you're so messed up you actually crashed. i haven't seen someone crashed in ages."

He plops down sleepily beside me, already guzzling the bottle.

"i guess this means i win our little game. because this is the last one and i ain't getting any more."

[Rebooting...100% complete.]

[Restarting...now.]

I blink rapidly as life returns to my brain.

"Whoa...Dude...That was trippy as hell."

He snickers.

"just be glad it happened here and not out in town. crashing in public around the wrong people has lead to a lot of easy kills. or so i've been told."

"Wait, so that's a normal thing that happens down here?"

"kind of. like i said, it's been a while since i've seen it happen."

"Then what causes it?"

"no one knows. my guess is that it happens when something clashes with what the person is used to."

He's about to finish off that last bottle when I put my hand out.

"what?"

"Can I have some?"

"no way. this is mine."

"I just want one sip."

"i said no."

"Please? I'll take the remains. I just want something to wet my whistle."

He snorts.

"what are ya? some old-timer in a saloon?"

"What do I need to do to get a sip?"

He pauses for thought.

"well...nah. you'd never do that."

"What?"

He looks at me, then the bottle, and then back to me with a smirk slowly forming.

"how bad do you want some of this?"

I look at him funny.

"don't give me that look. i ain't no perv. i only mean to offer you a dare."

"...I'm listening."

That smirk of his grows.

"i'll let ya have the rest of the bottle, if...you can keep from laughing at one last little joke."

"...That's it?"

"that's it."

"Okay...What's the joke?"

"heh...what do you call a skeleton with benefits?"

I tilt my head and shrug.

"I dunno."

He motions me to lean in closer and doing so lets him whisper in my ear rather huskily.

"a bone buddy~."

I almost giggle but don't. Probably because of the weird 'what the fuck' feeling his tone gave me or the suggestive wink he gives me when he pulls away. Just when I'm about to say something, he starts to snicker and slaps his knee.

"heheheh...oh man...you should see your face right now. oooooh, that was so worth it. here. it's yours."

He hands me the bottle. I just look at him and then the bottle before looking back at him.

"what?"

"Gonna be honest here...I...I can't tell if you were really joking."

He grins like a saucy Cheshire cat.

"maybe i did. or maybe i didn't. the world may never know, kitten. now are ya gonna drink or not?"

This is a weird moment. Yet a rare one. And I look unsure of anything else other than drink.

"Don't make this weird, Sans."

I take the bottle and drink.

"weird? this ain't weird. wanna see something really weird?"

"...You have my attention, good sir."

I eye him funny as sits up and turns his back to me. With no warning he yanks his shorts down, underwear included, and I get a full moon view of his pelvis. This has me dropping the bottle is sheer shock before snickering.

"Oh my god...Is that your coccyx? It's like a little tail! *giggles* That's fucking adorable."

"heh...that ain't even the best part. check this out."

He actually is able to wiggle it and I lose my mind, gripping my sides in laughter.

"Stop...*laughs* That's too...that's too fucking cute!"

He pulls his shorts back up and turns to me with a playful smirk.

"don't lie. ya liked looking at my cute ass."

I settle down enough to breathe properly.

"Dude, you are a cute ass."

He moves closer and removes his shirt.

"how about now? am i still a cute ass?"

I merely smile.

"Now? Now you're just eye candy, sugar bones."

"yeah? ya like what you see, kitten?"

I'm amused by this, as noted by my smirk and coyish way of retrieving the mustard bottle to finish it off completely.

"I can't say that I don't. That's some fine bone structure you got there. Mmmhmm."

He moves in closer as I chuck the empty bottle among the scattered dozen on the floor.

"ya know...you can touch me if you want."

"Yeah?"

"yeah. and who knows..."

He puts a hand on my arm and starts to rub it in a slow yet tender way before having it move up my shoulder then neck to finally rest its caress upon my cheek.

"maybe something more...fun...will happen."

I smirk.

"That's a rather naughty suggestion, bone boy."

"maybe i'm just in a naughty mood."

I nuzzle his hand.

"And here I thought you didn't like me."

He presses his forehead to my own. His eyes hold a hazy look to them.

"i might like you more if you use those soft hands of yours to bone up on more of my anatomy. starting right..."

He takes my free hand and puts it on his manubrium.

"here~."

"Hmmm...Gimme a sec, things are fuzzy, but I'll try."

My thumb grazes the bone above.

"This is the clavicle...The crown that mounts these lovely ten ribs and their two floaty ones."

My fingers scroll down the full length of the center of his chest.

"Under the manubrium is the angle, then the body, and ends in the xiphoid process. And that makes up this beautiful bundle we call the sternum."

I kiss his manubrium and he shudders.

"*groan* fuck..."

I glace at him funny.

"Sans?"

It happens so fast. His mouth is on mine...and I'm not pulling away. After a few seconds, he pauses the kiss. His hazy eyes stare into my befuddled orbs. Not getting any reaction, negative wise at least, he leans in and starts the kiss again. It seems fairly tame at first, his hands slowly feel up my neck and cup my cheeks. But then it gets more heated, he grabs a fistful of hair in the back of my head and growls lowly. I break the kiss in a whimper.

"what's wrong?"

"*wince* Too tight."

Surprisingly, he eases his grip.

"don't be afraid to tell me if i get too rough."

He presses his skull to my forehead.

"you okay with this? what i'm doin' and all?"

I shrug.

"I guess."

"good...good...*sigh* i don't wanna hurt ya. i want ya to like it."

His hand in my hair begins kneading my scalp, making me purr and him smile.

"i want ya to feel good. like...like how ya make me feel."

I grin like a doofus.

"I make you feel good? Awww...You flatterer."

He smirks.

"ya know how you wanted me to feel better? well...i need your help doin' that."

"You do?"

"yeah."

"But what about..."

"shhhhh..."

He nuzzles his way to my ear.

"trust me, we're gonna have a great time~. ya do trust me...don'tcha, lynsie?"

I shiver in his hold as he leaves little kisses along my jaw.

"I do."

He doesn't waste time after that, pushing me over and pinning me beneath him, captured by his relentless affection. Hungry kisses, gripping fingers that claw, and all done without a single care.

"mmmmmm...purr for me, kitten~...i wanna hear how much you're lovin' it~."

"*moan* Sans~..."

The sounds, raw yet sweet. It's so strange. He's more active in this moment than anyone sees him move in a week. Between the lavished kissing, his hands exploring thin skin to feel bone, and his legs trying comfortably keep me pinned, he's putting way more effort than me. For what little I do, my hands timidly try to find a place to hold him but linger only for fleeting moments since the contact made has him groaning. Though as more time passes, some sounds get louder than others and movement grinds to a halt. A more normal sound is heard admixed his pleasure. Snoring. Sans hears it too and stops his fooling around. It appears as though I passed out. Either from the alcohol or overwhelming heat of the moment, who knows. His figurative toy's batteries now in recharge mode, he calls it quits on anymore fun.

"heh heh...not bad, lightweight. lasted longer than i thought. was hoping for more but..."

Not about to pass up a new bed accessory, Sans makes himself cozy on my chest and nuzzle my boobs.

"this works too. *coo* ya really do make a good pillow~."

His sockets close and he yawns into a sigh, time for his own sleep.

Gaster pulls his hand away and I am blushing the same level of red as his sweater's collar.

"And that...That legit happened? For really real? This isn't some fucked up mind manipulative magic to make me see shit...right?"

He sighs.

"✋ 👎✋👎 🕈✌☼☠ ✡⚐🕆📬 👌🕆❄ 👎⚐ ☼☜💣☜💣👌☜☼ ❄☟✌❄ 👌⚐❄☟ ⚐☞ ✡⚐🕆 🕈☜☼☜☠🕯❄ ✋☠ ❄☟☜ 💧⚐🕆☠👎☜💧❄ ⚐☞ 💣✋☠👎💧☜❄💧📬" (I DID WARN YOU. BUT DO REMEMBER THAT BOTH OF YOU WEREN'T IN THE SOUNDEST OF MINDSETS.)

Things start to click in my head...and not in a good way. Why? Why didn't I fight that? What about Grillby? Where was he in my mind during all this?! The fuck is wrong with me?! And Sans...Sans!

"That son of a bitch!"

My snap is so sudden that it actually makes Gaster jump slightly.

"He gets all up in my ass over even the smallest hint of Grillby and me being a thing, then does this bullshit? Fuck that! I am so giving him a piece of my mind!"

"👌☜☞⚐☼☜ ✡⚐🕆 👎⚐📪 ✋❄ 🕈⚐🕆☹👎 🏱☼⚐👌✌👌☹✡ ☟☜☹🏱 ❄⚐ 😐☠⚐🕈 ❄☟✌❄ ☟☜ 👎⚐☜💧☠🕯❄ ☼☜💣☜💣👌☜☼ ❄☟☜ ☜✞☜☠❄💧 ⚐☞ ❄☟✌❄ ☠✋☝☟❄ ☜✋❄☟☜☼📬" (BEFORE YOU DO, IT WOULD PROBABLY HELP TO KNOW THAT HE DOESN'T REMEMBER THE EVENTS OF THAT NIGHT EITHER.)

I fume.

"Oh well, that's just great. That's fucking fantastic! So he gets to be normal and not have a damn clue, all while I get to walk around knowing he came on to me, but I can't say a god damn...thing...oh...oh shit!"

Slowly that starts to sink in and when it does, it's not pretty.

"☟🕆💣✌☠✍" (HUMAN?)

"Oh my god!"

"🏱☹☜✌💧☜ 👍✌☹💣 👎⚐☠🕈📬" (PLEASE CALM DONW.)

"Calm down?! Your brother was doing stuff to me, and most likely, wanted to fuck me! I mean, that's fucked up considering a lot of our history has been him wanting me to leave him the hell alone. How does that even work?"

"🕈☜☹☹📬📬📬" (WELL...)

"No, I mean, for real, how would that even be possible between us? I saw his ass. Granted, it is very adorable, as drunk me put it. But he doesn't have...you know...stuff down there. Does he?"

"❄☟✌❄🕯💧 ☠⚐❄ ☟⚐🕈 💧😐☜☹☜❄⚐☠💧📪 ❄⚐ 🏱🕆❄ ✋❄ ✋☠ ✡⚐🕆☼ 🕈⚐☼👎💧📬📬📬☞🕆👍😐📬" (THAT'S NOT HOW SKELETONS, TO PUT IT IN YOUR WORDS...FUCK.)

"It's not?"

"☠⚐📬" (NO.)

"Huh...So there's no chance of there being a dick there but made of bones? Because there are creatures with bones in their penises."

"☞⚐☼ ❄☟☜ ☹⚐✞☜ ⚐☞ ☝⚐👎📪 💧❄⚐🏱 ☼✋☝☟❄ ☠⚐🕈 👌☜☞⚐☼☜ ✌☠⚐❄☟☜☼ 💧✋👍😐 🕈⚐☼👎 👍⚐💣☜💧 ⚐🕆❄ ⚐☞ ✡⚐🕆☼ 💣⚐🕆❄☟✏" (FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, STOP RIGHT NOW BEFORE ANOTHER SICK WORD COMES OUT OF YOUR MOUTH!)

I don't think I could've imagined a time in my life where I'd see Gaster as flustered as he is now. His skull is glowing as bright as a roman candle and his eyes, while giving me that "what the fuck is wrong with you" look, are wide with embarrassment. Needless to say, I'm surprised but I get why he's upset.

"Okay, calm down, doctor. I meant no disrespect. As we are ones with curious minds, do forgive me for thinking unorthodox thoughts when it comes to you and your siblings' anatomy. I know not how you function and my lack of understanding tends to let my imagination fill in the gaps. Please, accept my humblest of apologies."

I bow my head in forgiveness and that seems to settle him a little bit.

"✋❄📬📬📬✋❄🕯💧 ☞✋☠☜📬 ✡⚐🕆 👎⚐☠🕯❄ 😐☠⚐🕈 ✌☠👎 ✋ 👍✌☠🕯❄ ☜✠🏱☜👍❄ ✡⚐🕆 ❄⚐ 😐☠⚐🕈 ☜✞☜☼✡❄☟✋☠☝📬 ☺🕆💧❄ 👎⚐ ❄☼✡ ❄⚐ ❄☟✋☠😐 ☞✋☼💧❄ 👌☜☞⚐☼☜ ✡⚐🕆 💧🏱☜✌😐 🕈☟☜☠ ✋❄ 👍⚐💣☜💧 ❄⚐ 💧🕆👌☺☜👍❄💧 ☹✋😐☜ ❄☟✋💧📬" (IT...IT'S FINE. YOU DON'T KNOW AND I CAN'T EXPECT YOU TO KNOW EVERYTHING. JUST DO TRY TO THINK FIRST BEFORE YOU SPEAK WHEN IT COMES TO SUBJECTS LIKE THIS.)

"Yes, sir."

He moves as if he aims to take a seat, but there is nothing here aside from us. Yet to further ruin my understanding of how things work, he's sitting as if he's on a chair. So many things in my brain break from this and I hate it.

"☺🕆👎☝✋☠☝ ☞☼⚐💣 ✌☹☹ ❄☟✋💧📪 ✋ 💧☜☜ ❄⚐☼✋☜☹ ☟✌💧 ☹☜☞❄ ⚐🕆❄ ☜✞☜☠ 💣⚐☼☜ ✋☠☞⚐☼💣✌❄✋⚐☠ ❄☟✌❄ ✡⚐🕆 💣✌✡ ⚐☼ 💣✌✡ ☠⚐❄ ☠☜☜👎 ❄⚐ 😐☠⚐🕈 👌🕆❄ 💧☟⚐��☹👎 💧❄✋☹☹ 👌☜ ✌🕈✌☼☜ ⚐☞📬" (JUDGING FROM ALL THIS, I SEE TORIEL HAS LEFT OUT EVEN MORE INFORMATION THAT YOU MAY OR MAY NOT NEED TO KNOW BUT SHOULD STILL BE AWARE OF.)

"Yeah, she tends to do that."

I plop down on the floor. No way I have the power to sit in nonresistant chairs.

"✞☜☼✡ 🕈☜☹☹📬 ✋ 💧☟✌☹☹ ❄☜☹☹ ✡⚐🕆 ⚐☞ ❄☟✋💧 💧⚐☹☜☹✡ 💧⚐ ❄☟✌❄ 👍✌☠ ✌✞⚐✋👎 ☜☠👍⚐🕆☠❄☜☼✋☠☝ 💧🕆👍☟ 👌☜☟✌✞✋⚐☼ ✋☠ ❄☟☜ ☞🕆❄🕆☼☜📬 ☹☜💧💧 ✡⚐🕆 ✌☠👎 💧✌☠💧 ☝☜❄ ✋☠❄⚐ ✌☠⚐❄☟☜☼ ☼⚐🕆☠👎 ⚐☞ 👎☼⚐🕈☠✋☠☝ ✡⚐🕆☼💧☜☹✞☜💧 ✋☠ 👍⚐☠❄✌💣✋☠✌❄☜👎 👍⚐☠👎✋💣☜☠❄💧📬" (VERY WELL. I SHALL TELL YOU OF THIS SOLELY SO THAT CAN AVOID ENCOUNTERING SUCH BEHAVIOR IN THE FUTURE. LESS YOU AND SANS GET INTO ANOTHER ROUND OF DROWNING YOURSELVES IN CONTAMINATED CONDIMENTS.)

"Which surely won't happen again for any discernible reason whatsoever."

He sighs to himself, probably regretting this whole conversation more than he thought he would.

"✌☠✡🕈✌✡📬📬📬🕈☟☜☠ ✋❄ 👍⚐💣☜💧 ❄⚐ ❄☟☜ 🏱☟✡💧✋👍✌☹ ☠✌❄🕆☼☜ ⚐☞ 🕆💧 💣⚐☠💧❄☜☼💧📪 ❄☟☜☼☜ ✌☼☜ ❄🕈⚐ ☝☼⚐🕆🏱💧 💣⚐☠💧❄☜☼ ☞✌☹☹💧 ✋☠❄⚐📬 ❄☼✌👎✋❄✋⚐☠✌☹ ✌☠👎 ☠⚐☠❄☼✌👎✋❄✋⚐☠✌☹ ☞⚐☼💣💧📬 ❄☼✌👎✋❄✋⚐☠✌☹ ☞⚐☼💣☜👎 💣⚐☠💧❄☜☼💧 ☟✌✞☜ 👌⚐👎✋☹✡ ✌☠✌❄⚐💣✡ 💧✋💣✋☹✌☼ ❄⚐ 🕈☟✌❄ ✡⚐🕆 💣✋☝☟❄ 👌☜ 🕆💧☜👎 ❄⚐ ⚐☠ ❄☟☜ 💧🕆☼☞✌👍☜📬 ❄☟☜✡ ☟✌✞☜ 👍⚐🏱🕆☹✌❄✋✞☜ ☼☜☹✌❄✋⚐☠💧 🕈✋❄☟ ⚐☼☝✌☠✋👍 🏱✌☼❄💧📬" (ANYWAY...WHEN IT COMES TO THE PHYSICAL NATURE OF US MONSTERS, THERE ARE TWO GROUPS MONSTER FALLS INTO. TRADITIONAL AND NONTRADITIONAL FORMS. TRADITIONAL FORMED MONSTERS HAVE BODILY ANATOMY SIMILAR TO WHAT YOU MIGHT BE USED TO ON THE SURFACE. THEY HAVE COPULATIVE RELATIONS WITH ORGANIC PARTS.)

"Makes sense so far."

"☠⚐☠❄☼✌👎✋❄✋⚐☠✌☹ ☞⚐☼💣☜👎 💣⚐☠💧❄☜☼💧📪 💧🕆👍☟ ✌💧 💣✡ 😐✋☠👎 ✌☠👎 ⚐❄☟☜☼💧 ✡⚐🕆 ☟✌✞☜ 💧☜☜☠📪 ⚐🕆☼ 👌⚐👎✋☜💧 ❄☜☠👎 ❄⚐ ☹✌👍😐 ❄☟☜ 🏱☟✡💧✋⚐☹⚐☝✡ ❄☟✌❄ ❄☼✌👎✋❄✋⚐☠✌☹ ☞⚐☼💣☜👎 💣⚐☠💧❄☜☼💧 🏱⚐💧💧☜💧💧📬 ❄☟✋💧 💣✌😐☜💧 ☼☜☹✌❄✋⚐☠💧 💧🕆👍☟ ✌💧 ✡⚐🕆 😐☠⚐🕈 ⚐☞ 💣⚐💧❄☹✡ ✋💣🏱⚐💧💧✋👌☹☜📪 👌🕆❄ ☠⚐❄ ✋💣🏱☼⚐👌✌👌☹☜📬 ❄☟🕆💧📪 ⚐🕆☼ ❄✡🏱☜ ☟✌💧 ☜✞⚐☹✞☜👎 ❄⚐ ☼☜🏱☼⚐👎🕆👍☜ ✋☠ ✌ 👎✋☞☞☜☼☜☠❄ 💣✌☠☠☜☼📬" (NONTRADITIONAL FORMED MONSTERS, SUCH AS MY KIND AND OTHERS YOU HAVE SEEN, OUR BODIES TEND TO LACK THE PHYSIOLOGY THAT TRADITIONAL FORMED MONSTERS POSSESS. THIS MAKES RELATIONS SUCH AS YOU KNOW OF MOSTLY IMPOSSIBLE, BUT NOT IMPROBABLE. THUS, OUR TYPE HAS EVOLVED TO REPRODUCE IN A DIFFERENT MANNER.)

He frames his hands over his chest and a faint outline of an upside down heart appears, yet something isn't quite right about it...It's hollow.

"💧⚐🕆☹💧 ✌☼☜ ✌ 💣✌☼✞☜☹⚐🕆💧 ❄☟✋☠☝📬 ❄☟☜ 👍⚐☼☜ ⚐☞ ✌☹☹ ☹✋☞☜📬 ✌☠👎 ✌💧 💧🕆👍☟📬📬📬❄☟☜✡ ✌☼☜ 👍✌🏱✌👌☹☜ ⚐☞ ☝☼✌☠❄✋☠☝ ☠☜🕈 ☹✋☞☜ ✌💧 🕈☜☹☹📬" (SOULS ARE A MARVELOUS THING. THE CORE OF ALL LIFE. AND AS SUCH...THEY ARE CAPABLE OF GRANTING NEW LIFE AS WELL.)

The gears grind in my head.

"Wait. So what you're telling me is, and excuse my bluntness...You have sex with your souls?"

"✋☠ ☹✌✡💣✌☠🕯💧 ❄☜☼💣💧📬📬📬✡☜💧📬" (IN LAYMAN'S TERMS...YES.)

I scratch my head in puzzlement as he allows his strange soul to return to him.

"...I have so many questions now."

"💧🕆👍☟ ✌💧✍" (SUCH AS?)

My mind blanks, I didn't really expect him to be willing to answer.

"Um...uh...This soul thing...Is it just limited to your type or are the other monsters able to do it?"

"✋❄ 🕈⚐☼😐💧 ☞⚐☼ ☜✞☜☼✡ 👌☜✋☠☝ 🕈✋❄☟ ✌ 💧⚐🕆☹📬 ☜✞☜☠ ☟🕆💣✌☠💧📬 👌🕆❄ 💧🕆👍☟ ✌☠ ✌👍❄ ☟✌💧 ☠⚐❄ 👌☜☜☠ 👎⚐👍🕆💣☜☠❄☜👎 ✌💧 ☞✌☼ ✌💧 ✋ 😐☠⚐🕈📬 ✌☠👎 ✌💧 ✡⚐🕆 ☟✌✞☜ 💧☟✌☼☜👎📪 ☟🕆💣✌☠💧 ☹✌👍😐 💣✌☝✋👍 ✌☠👎 ❄☟☜ 🕆💧☜ ⚐☞ ❄☟☜✋☼ 💧⚐🕆☹💧📬 💧⚐ ❄☟✋💧 ☞⚐☼💣 ⚐☞ ✋☠❄✋💣✌👍✡ ✋💧 ☹⚐💧❄ ❄⚐ ✡⚐🕆☼ 😐✋☠👎📬" (IT WORKS FOR EVERY BEING WITH A SOUL. EVEN HUMANS. BUT SUCH AN ACT HAS NOT BEEN DOCUMENTED AS FAR AS I KNOW. AND AS YOU HAVE SHARED, HUMANS LACK MAGIC AND THE USE OF THEIR SOULS. SO THIS FORM OF INTIMACY IS LOST TO YOUR KIND.)

I rub my face and drag my hands down slowly.

"*annoyed groan* So this whole time...Not only am I carrying around a ticking time bomb that can make me kill people...Not only is it now going through some messed up hormone crap...Not only is it the most wanted thing in the entire Underground...But it's also a reproductive organ? What the actual fuck?!"

He smirks and rests his chin on his knuckles in amusement. This sitting trick he's doing is amazing.

"✡⚐🕆 ☠☜✞☜☼ 👍☜✌💧☜ ❄⚐ 🏱☼⚐✞✋👎☜ 💣☜ 🕈✋❄☟ ☜☠❄☜☼❄✌✋☠💣☜☠❄📬 ❄☟☜ 🕈✌✡ ✡⚐🕆 👎✋💧🏱☹✌✡ ✡⚐🕆☼ ☜💣⚐❄✋⚐☠💧 ✋💧 🏱☼✋👍☜☹☜💧💧📬" (YOU NEVER CEASE TO PROVIDE ME WITH ENTERTAINMENT. THE WAY YOU DISPLAY YOUR EMOTIONS IS PRICELESS.)

What? So...Was he just fucking with me this whole time? I glare weakly.

"Don't tease me with shit like this."

"☟☜☟ ☟☜☟📬📬📬✋☞ ⚐☠☹✡ ✋❄ 🕈✌💧 ✌ ❄☜✌💧☜📬 🕈☟✌❄ ✋🕯✞☜ ❄⚐☹👎 ✡⚐🕆 ✋💧 ❄☟☜ ❄☼🕆❄☟📬 🕈☟☜❄☟☜☼ ✡⚐🕆 👍☟⚐⚐💧☜ ❄⚐ 👌☜☹✋☜✞☜ ✋❄ ⚐☼ ☠⚐❄ ✋💧 🕆🏱 ❄⚐ ✡⚐🕆📬" (HEH HEH...IF ONLY IT WAS A TEASE. WHAT I'VE TOLD YOU IS THE TRUTH. WHETHER YOU CHOOSE TO BELIEVE IT OR NOT IS UP TO YOU.)

I groan loudly and fall back, laying flat under the weight of weird information that is fucked up.

"What is my life anymore? Things were so much simpler when I was dead inside and I'd stay in my room for so long that everyone would forget I was even home. Souls were just metaphysical concepts of intangible thought and not actual things that can be seen or touched. *groan* Do you wanna know something funny?"

"💧🕆☼☜📬" (SURE.)

"Sometimes I still wonder if they've noticed I'm gone or not. I doubt it. But it would be funny for them to finally notice now. To finally remember that I was fucking there!"

My chest hurts and I feel old darkness creeping back from the depths of my being. Gaster's amusement dies there. His features going emotionless with familiarity.

"Mind if I do something weird? I've bummed myself out and need to feel better."

"👎⚐ 🕈☟✌❄ ✡⚐🕆 ☠☜☜👎 ❄⚐📬 ✋❄ 🕈⚐☠🕯❄ 👌⚐❄☟☜☼ 💣☜📬" (DO WHAT YOU NEED TO. IT WON'T BOTHER ME.)

I shut my eyes and think for a moment. Soon my fingers begin to tap on the floor in the vague tune of Simon & Garfunkel's song "The Sound of Silence".

"♪Hello darkness, my old friend. I've come to talk with you again. Because a vision softly creeping. Left its seeds while I was sleeping. And the vision that was planted in my brain...Still remains. Within the sound of silence.♫"

I don't know what it is about music, but it helps me. In my darkest days, I'd lay in my lightless room and just listen to the radio till I fell asleep. Letting my mind wander and create all sorts of fantasies to escape to rather than sink in despair. And since my iPod isn't here, singing is the backup alternative.

"♪In restless dreams I walked alone. Narrow streets of cobblestone. 'Neath the halo of a street lamp. I turned my collar to the cold and damp. When my eyes were stabbed by the flash of a neon light...That split the night. And touched the sound of silence.♫"

Gaster stands up and I can hear him moving over to me.

"♪And in the naked light I saw. Ten thousand people, maybe more. People talking without speaking. People hearing without listening. People writing songs that voices never share...No one dared. Disturb the sound of silence.♫"

He comes to stand over me now. I open my eyes and find my vision swimming. He just stares down at me with his hand behind his back. I simply continue my short song.

"♪'Fools' said I, 'You do not know. Silence like a cancer grows. Hear my words that I might teach you. Take my arms that I might reach you'. But my words like silent raindrops fell...And echoed in the wells of silence.♫"

He nods softly and offers a hand to me. I eye him and sigh through my nose before taking his hand, letting him help me off the floor.

"♪And the people bowed and prayed. To the neon god they made. And the sign flashed out its warning. In the words that it was forming. And the sign said, 'The words of the prophets are written on the subway walls...And tenement halls'. And whispered in the sounds of silence...♫"

"💧🕆👍☟ ✌ 💧⚐💣👌☜☼ 💧⚐☠☝📬" (SUCH A SOMBER SONG.)

"And yet, it makes me feel better when I'm feeling blue."

"✡⚐🕆 ✌☼☜ ✌ ✈🕆✋☼😐✡ ☝✋☼☹📬 👌🕆❄ ✋❄ 💣✌😐☜💧 ✡⚐🕆 🕆☠✋✈🕆☜📬 ✋❄🕯💧📬📬📬☼☜☞☼☜💧☟✋☠☝📬" (YOU ARE A QUIRKY GIRL. BUT IT MAKES YOU UNIQUE. IT'S...REFRESHING.)

I smile shyly.

"Thanks."

I notice I'm still holding his hand and instinct tells me to let go...but I don't. It feels too good to have living contact after feeling bad. If it bothers him at all he doesn't say a word. We just stand there. This odd sense of tranquility slowly comes to me. It's...It's nice. Too bad my brain always ruins good things.

"Gaster..."

"☟💣💣💣✍✆" (HMMM?)

"Forgive me if this is too personal. But...Can I ask what happened to your soul?"

The feel in the room chills. His grip on my hand suddenly tightens. I regret speaking.

"Gaster?"

He doesn't say a word but his grip gets painfully harsh. The bones in my hand squeeze uncomfortably.

"Gaster, stop. You're hurting me."

He pauses, his grip loosening slightly. I try to take my hand back and this proves to be a terrible move. The moment he feels this movement I'm hurled across the room and pinned to the wall by dozens of hands. The wind is then knocked out of my lungs by the force of his real hand slamming into my chest and forcing my rainbow swirl of a soul out through his palm as I snarl meekly.

"✡⚐🕆 🕈✌☠❄ ❄⚐ 😐☠⚐🕈 ✌👌⚐🕆❄ 💣✡ 💧⚐🕆☹✍ ✋💧 ❄☟✌❄ ✌ ❄☼🕆☜ ✈🕆☜💧❄✋⚐☠ ☞☼⚐💣 ✡⚐🕆📬📬📬⚐☼ 👍☟✌☼✌✍" (YOU WANT TO KNOW ABOUT MY SOUL? IS THAT A TRUE QUESTION FROM YOU...OR CHARA?)

"I told you, Chara doesn't know about this."

"☟☜ ☟✌💧☠🕯❄ 👌☜☜☠ 💧🏱☜✌😐✋☠☝ 🕈✋❄☟ ✡⚐🕆 ✌💧 ⚐☞❄☜☠ ✌💧 ☟☜ 🕆💧☜👎 ❄⚐📪 ☟✌💧 ☟☜✍ 👎⚐ ☠⚐❄ ☹✋☜ ❄⚐ 💣☜📬" (HE HASN'T BEEN SPEAKING WITH YOU AS OFTEN AS HE USED TO, HAS HE? DO NOT LIE TO ME.)

Now that he mentions it...

"He...He has been quiet for a long time."

"💧👍☟☜💣✋☠☝ 👌☼✌❄ ✋💧 🕆🏱 ❄⚐ 💧⚐💣☜❄☟✋☠☝📬 ☠⚐❄☟✋☠☝ ☝⚐⚐👎 ☜✞☜☼ 👍✌💣☜ ☞☼⚐💣 🕈☟☜☠ ❄☟✌❄ 👍☟✋☹👎 🕈✌💧 💧✋☹☜☠❄📬" (SCHEMING BRAT IS UP TO SOMETHING. NOTHING GOOD EVER CAME FROM WHEN THAT CHILD WAS SILENT.)

This has me worried. I want to trust them both. But this does make a small shadow be cast on Chara for acting shady.

"☜✋❄☟☜☼ 🕈✌✡📪 💣✡ 💧⚐🕆☹ ✋💧 ⚐☞ ☠⚐ 👍⚐☠👍☜☼☠ ⚐☞ ✡⚐🕆☼💧📬 ✡⚐🕆 💧☟⚐🕆☹👎 👌☜ 💣⚐☼☜ ✋☠❄☜☼☜💧❄☜👎 ✋☠ ✡⚐🕆☼ ⚐🕈☠📬" (EITHER WAY, MY SOUL IS OF NO CONCERN OF YOURS. YOU SHOULD BE MORE INTERESTED IN YOUR OWN.)

His free hand cups my soul, his fingers flex into it and I wince. This adds a whole new feeling of weird now knowing what other thing my soul is.

"☞✌💧👍✋☠✌❄✋☠☝📪 ✋💧 ✋❄ ☠⚐❄📪 ☹✋❄❄☹☜ ⚐☠☜✍ ☟⚐🕈 💧⚐💣☜❄☟✋☠☝ 💧⚐ 💧💣✌☹☹ ☟✌💧 💧⚐ 💣🕆👍☟ 🏱⚐🕈☜☼📬 ☟🕆💣✌☠ 💧⚐🕆☹💧 ☟✌✞☜ ✌☹🕈✌✡💧 👌☜☜☠ 💧❄☼⚐☠☝📪 👌🕆❄ ✡⚐🕆☼💧📬📬📬🕈☜☹☹📬📬📬✋ ❄☟✋☠😐 ✡⚐🕆 😐☠⚐🕈 👌✡ ☠⚐🕈 ❄☟✌❄ ✡⚐🕆 ✌☼☜ ⚐☠ ☹☜✞☜☹💧 ✋ ☠☜✞☜☼ 👎☼☜✌💣☜👎 ⚐☞ ☞✋☠👎✋☠☝📬" (FASCINATING, IS IT NOT, LITTLE ONE? HOW SOMETHING SO SMALL HAS SO MUCH POWER. HUMAN SOULS HAVE ALWAYS BEEN STRONG, BUT YOURS...WELL...I THINK YOU KNOW BY NOW THAT YOU ARE ON LEVELS I NEVER DREAMED OF FINDING.)

His index finger suddenly plunges into my heart-shaped soul and the roar I let out is a garbled mess of distorted sound.

"✌☠👎 ❄☟✌❄📬📬📬❄☟✌❄ 💧❄☼✌☠☝☜ 👌☜☟✌✞✋⚐☼📬 ✋ 💧🕈☜✌☼ ✋ 🕈✋☹☹ ☞✋☠👎 ⚐🕆❄ ❄☟☜ 👍✌🕆💧☜📬" (AND THAT...THAT STRANGE BEHAVIOR. I SWEAR I WILL FIND OUT THE CAUSE.)

"A͘ŗ͠g̸h̶! ͘͠T͟a̶͜ke̶ ̢҉y͜o͝ur d̷̕a̡̧͠mn̢͟ ̷fi̧͠n̕g̕̕͝e͟r͟ ̷̵͘ò̸ứ͟t͘͠͠!̀͏̡"

I thrash in the grip of his conjured up appendages but it is a futile effort that hurts me more.

"✌☟ ✌☟ ✌☟📬 ❄☟✌❄🕯💧 ☠⚐❄ 🏱✌☼❄ ⚐☞ ❄☟☜ 👎☜✌☹📬 ☼☜💣☜💣👌☜☼✍ ✡⚐🕆 🕈⚐🕆☹👎 ☝✋✞☜ 💣☜ ☞🕆☹☹ ✌👍👍☜💧💧 ❄⚐ ✡⚐🕆☼ 💧⚐🕆☹ 🕈✋❄☟ ☠⚐ 👍⚐💣🏱☹✌✋☠❄💧 ⚐☼ ☼☜💧✋💧❄✌☠👍☜ 💧⚐ ☹⚐☠☝ ✌💧 ✋❄ ☹☜✌👎💧 ❄⚐ ❄☟☜ 👌☜❄❄☜☼ 🕆☠👎☜☼💧❄✌☠👎✋☠☝ ⚐☞ ✡⚐🕆☼ 💧⚐🕆☹📬 ✌☠👎 💧✋☠👍☜ ⚐🕆☼ ☹✌💧❄ ☜✠🏱☜☼✋💣☜☠❄📪 ✋ ☟✌✞☜ ☹☜✌☼☠☜👎 ✌ ☞🕆☠ ✡☜❄ ☟☜☹🏱☞🕆☹ ❄☼✋👍😐📬" (AH AH AH. THAT'S NOT PART OF THE DEAL. REMEMBER? YOU WOULD GIVE ME FULL ACCESS TO YOUR SOUL WITH NO COMPLAINTS OR RESISTANCE SO LONG AS IT LEADS TO THE BETTER UNDERSTANDING OF YOUR SOUL. AND SINCE OUR LAST EXPERIMENT, I HAVE LEARNED A FUN YET HELPFUL TRICK.)

His invading digit moves deeper into the heart and the sounds of pain I garble out with are anything but human. Though his actions do seem to have the effect he was alluding to, as the clashing ten colors of my soul abruptly recede to leave only one randomly...it's orange.

"🕈✋❄☟ ☹✋❄❄☹☜ 💣⚐☼☜ ❄☟✌☠ ✌ 💧☹✋☝☟❄ ❄⚐🕆👍☟📪 ✌☠👎 ✌ ☟✋☠❄ ⚐☞ 💣✡ ⚐🕈☠ 💣✌☝✋👍📪 ✡⚐🕆☼ ❄☼✌✋❄💧 👍✌☠ 👌☜ ✌👍❄✋✞✌❄☜👎 ✌💧 ☜✌💧✋☹✡ ✌💧 ⚐☠☜ 🕈⚐🕆☹👎 ☞☹✋🏱 ✌ ☹✋☝☟❄ 💧🕈✋❄👍☟📬" (WITH LITTLE MORE THAN A SLIGHT TOUCH, AND A HINT OF MY OWN MAGIC, YOUR TRAITS CAN BE ACTIVATED AS EASILY AS ONE WOULD FLIP A LIGHT SWITCH.)

[You're filled with BRAVERY.]

"G̢et̨ ̀ỳou're̛ fųcki͜ng͘ fíng̷e҉r̷ o̸ùt b͞efo҉re ̕I͜ ̨b́rea͞k̴ ͠i̕t͟ o͟f͏f a̷nd ͞c̷ram̵ it̛ s̀om̧ęwh̷ère̛ n͜ot͝ ̧even̛ go͟d da̴res͢ to͝ ̴see!"

My teeth are bared and I'm snarling like a rabid dog. He merely chuckles.

"☞✌💧👍✋☠✌❄✋☠☝📬 ✋ 🕈⚐☠👎☜☼📬📬📬" (FASCINATING. I WONDER...)

His finger moves and the orange bleeds into another color...purple.

[You're filled with PERSEVERANCE.]

"Th͞i͘s dísp͡la̢y̕ ́in p̨o͏w̨ęr ̨i͜s̵ qu͟i͞t͘e ̸únn̷e͡ces̷saŕy̶. Yóu k͢now ͜Í'̷m͠ n͝o̵t͏ ́i͜n ͞an͡y pos͏i͜t̡i̷o͘n to̧ stơp y̶o̵u. ̴S͜ǫ i͝f̷ ͜you c̶a͠n s͏t̕óp̀ s̛trơk̢in͡g ͢your e̡gó ̕a͘n͜d́ g͘et ́t͢o ͘the ̵pơi͘nt́ ͜o̵f̕ ́t̵his cl̶e̡çhé͘ s͡how of ̢yòurs,̷ ̵m͏ay̨b̢e̕ ̶w͠e̡ ca̡n ̧aćt̀u͏a͡ll͟y d̸o̢ s͜om͢ethin͘g ̢ţha͜t va͠gu͏ely ̢r͠esem͟bl͢e͝s ͏pro͘g͟re̷ss."

That seems to get to him for a moment before his eyes narrow a bit.

"💧⚐ 💣✡ ❄☟☜⚐☼✡ ✋💧 👍⚐☼☼☜👍❄📬 ☜✌👍☟ ❄☼✌✋❄ 👎⚐☜💧 👍⚐✋☠👍✋👎☜ 🕈✋❄☟ ✌ 🏱✌☼❄ ⚐☞ ✡⚐🕆☼ 🏱☜☼💧⚐☠✌☹✋❄✡📬 ❄☟✋💧 ⚐☠☜ ✋💧 ☼✌❄☟☜☼ 🏱⚐💣🏱🕆💧 ✋☠ 💣✡ ⚐🏱✋☠✋⚐☠📬" (SO MY THEORY IS CORRECT. EACH TRAIT DOES COINCIDE WITH A PART OF YOUR PERSONALITY. THIS ONE IS RATHER POMPUS IN MY OPINION.)

"I͠t̀ ͠t̵ąkes ̴on͜ę t̨o ͞kn҉ow ̨on̷ȩ.͘"

He glares and another rough internal flick has my soul change color once more...green.

[You're filled with KINDNESS.]

"I'm̴ ҉s̢orr̶y. I'̕m͡ ̴b͢ei͡ng̡ ne͏e̛d̷l̀e̛ssl͜y҉ m̢ea͞n͞. ̵I k̛now̛ ͜yo̵u͜'̀re̢ ju͟st ̶tr͝y͟ing ţo ̵hel̀p̛.͞ B͘u̧t th̷e pa̡i̡n͟ ͏ma͝k̀es ̧me͡ ͜cr͝a̷n̶ky͡. Ýo͜u'͢re̸ not mad͏ ̵at ̡me,̵ are̴ ̶y͞o͟u?"

A look comes to his face that I'm not quite sure of.

"📬📬📬☟⚐🕈 👎⚐ ✋ ☝☜❄ ❄☟✋💧 ❄⚐ 👌☜ ✡⚐🕆☼ 👎☜☞✌🕆☹❄ 💧❄✌❄☜✍" (...HOW DO I GET THIS TO BE YOUR DEFAULT STATE?)

I stick my tongue out at him childishly.

"✋ ✌☹💣⚐💧❄ 👎⚐☠🕯❄ 🕈✌☠❄ ❄⚐ 😐☜☜🏱 ☝⚐✋☠☝📬 ❄☟✋💧 🏱✌☼❄ ⚐☞ ✡⚐🕆 ✋💧 ❄☟☜ 👍☹⚐💧☜💧❄ ❄☟✋☠☝ ❄⚐ ✌👎⚐☼✌👌☹☜ ✋ ☟✌✞☜ 👌☜☜☠ ✌👌☹☜ ❄⚐ 🕈���❄☠☜💧💧📬" (I ALMOST DON'T WANT TO KEEP GOING. THIS PART OF YOU IS THE CLOSEST THING TO ADORABLE I HAVE BEEN ABLE TO WITNESS.)

However, he adds a second finger into my soul and for the first time in my life I scream.

"💧✌👎☹✡📪 ❄⚐ 💧❄⚐🏱 ☠⚐🕈 🕈⚐🕆☹👎☠🕯❄ ✌☹☹⚐🕈 🕆💧 ❄⚐ ❄☜💧❄ ⚐🕆❄ ❄☟☜ 💣⚐☼☜ 👍⚐💣🏱☹☜✠ ❄☼✌✋❄💧 ✡⚐🕆 🏱⚐💧💧☜💧💧📬 👌🕆❄ 🕈☟☜☼☜ ❄⚐ 👌☜☝✋☠✍ ☟💣💣💣📬📬📬✋ 👎⚐ 💧🕆🏱🏱⚐💧☜ 🕈☜ 💧☟⚐🕆☹👎 💧✌✞☜ ❄☟☜ 👌☜💧❄ ☞⚐☼ ☹✌💧❄📬 ✌☞❄☜☼ ✌☹☹📪 ❄☟✌❄ ⚐☠☜ ❄☜☠👎💧 ❄⚐ 👌☜ ✞☜☼✡📬📬📬❄☼⚐🕆👌☹☜💧⚐💣☜📬" (SADLY, TO STOP NOW WOULDN'T ALLOW US TO TEST OUT THE MORE COMPLEX TRAITS YOU POSSESS. BUT WHERE TO BEGIN? HMMM...I DO SUPPOSE WE SHOULD SAVE THE BEST FOR LAST. AFTER ALL, THAT ONE TENDS TO BE VERY...TROUBLESOME.)

He can't possibly be thinking of letting that THING out, is he? He can't really be that crazy. He can't! A twist of those intruding phalanges has every fiber of my being ignites in the fires of unpleasantness as my soul throbs into its next color...pink.

[You're filled with PASSION.]

"❄☟✋💧 🕈✋☹☹ 👌☜ ✋☠❄☜☼☜💧❄✋☠☝📬 🕈☟☜☠☜✞☜☼ ❄☟✋💧 ❄☼✌✋❄ 👍⚐💣☜💧 ❄⚐ ✡⚐🕆📪 ✡⚐🕆 ❄☜☠👎 ❄⚐ 💧❄✋☹☹ 👌☜☟✌✞☜ ✌💧 ✡⚐🕆 ☠⚐☼💣✌☹☹✡ 👎⚐📬 ☠⚐🕈 ✋☠ ✋❄🕯💧 🏱🕆☼☜ 💧❄✌❄☜📪 ✋ 👍✌☠ ⚐☠☹✡ ✋💣✌☝✋☠☜ 🕈☟✌❄ ✡⚐🕆 💣✋☝☟❄📬📬📬" (THIS WILL BE INTERESTING. WHENEVER THIS TRAIT COMES TO YOU, YOU TEND TO STILL BEHAVE AS YOU NORMALLY DO. NOW IN IT'S PURE STATE, I CAN ONLY IMAGINE WHAT YOU MIGHT...)

"Ẁe̸ll̨ h͠ello͝ t҉he͡re͏,̧ doc̨to͞r~."

Perplexion comes to Gaster. My voice holds a rather flirty inflection.

"Wh̢at'̷s͞ wr̕on͡g, ̸G? ҉A͢re̸n̵'̴t ́I͏ s̵t͘ill a̵d̷oráble? ̴O̴r ͞i̸s͠ t͟h̴e̕ s̴in o͜f͜ fi͏nge̵r͢in̷g ͜a̶ lad͢y'͏s ҉so͝u͟l̵ ҉sink̛i̡n̴g̴ i͝n ̛no͝w?̧ ̷M̷mmm̵..̨.s̀ųc̶h̴ a͡ ̨n͠au͘gh̴ty ͢boy y̧ou áre͠~͘.̶"

His hand almost retreats in disgust but even this doesn't sway the man. Though the uncomfortable blush he has is worth the weird feeling this trait gives me.

"✋ ❄☟✋☠😐 ❄☟✋💧 ❄☼✌✋❄ ☟✌💧 👌☜☜☠ 💧☜☜☠ ☹⚐☠☝ ☜☠⚐🕆☝☟📬" (I THINK THIS TRAIT HAS BEEN SEEN LONG ENOUGH.)

"Oh̛ ͝m͜y̴.͝ ̀Is͜ ̛tḩe͞ g҉oo͘d ḑoc͏t͘o͝r͢ dįs͡t̛u҉r͝bed b͘ý l͞įt̷tle͠ ơļ' m̵e?"

"☠⚐📬 ✡⚐🕆 ✌☼☜ ☞✌☼ ☞☼⚐💣 👎✋💧❄🕆☼👌✋☠☝📬" (NO. YOU ARE FAR FROM DISTURBING.)

"Ģi̷ve me͝ ̴s͠om̷e ̡tim̀e ̷an̡d thèn҉ ̡you͝ ͠c҉a̕n se̵e̡ j͏us̸t͞ h̛o̷w dist̕u͘r͜b͏i҉ņg I͟ ̷c̨a͝n ̨be~.́"

I lick my lips hungrily and he flinches, making me snicker.

"R̵ęl̷a̸x, G.͝ ́I͞ ̸d͞on'͝t bit̴e̡...͡unl҉esş y̴ou ͢w͠ánt m̨e͏ t͢o͏~?"

"☠⚐🏱☜📬" (NOPE.)

His fingers shift and I convulse in the grip of his hands.

"☠⚐ 💣⚐☼☜ ⚐☞ ❄☟✋💧 ☝✌💣☜📬 ✋❄🕯💧 ❄✋💣☜ ❄⚐ 💧❄🕆👎✡ ❄☟✋💧 ☼☜☹☜☠❄☹☜💧💧 ❄☼✌✋❄ ⚐☞ ✡⚐🕆☼💧 ✌☠👎 💧☜☜ ☺🕆💧❄ ☟⚐🕈 👎☜✌👎☹✡ ✋❄ ☼☜✌☹☹✡ ✋💧📬" (NO MORE OF THIS GAME. IT'S TIME TO STUDY THIS RELENTLESS TRAIT OF YOURS AND SEE JUST HOW DEADLY IT REALLY IS.)

No! He can't! Sure, I doubt that THING can hurt him and this room might be the safest place for that THING to be let free in. But this isn't the world where my body is. I don't know if unleashing the Black Soul in the Void makes it stay here and not affect my body in the waking world. I can't risk it. I can't!

[You're filled with DETERMINATION.]

"S̀t҉o̶p!́ Y̧o҉u̴ ͟c̨aņ'͡t ̷d͝o̢ t̨hi͘s̷!̷"

"✡⚐🕆 ✌☼☜ ✋☠ ☠⚐ 🏱⚐💧✋❄✋⚐☠ ❄⚐ 👎☜☞✡ 💣☜ ⚐☼ 👎☜☠✡ 🕈☟✌❄ ✋ 🕈✌☠❄ ⚐☞ ✡⚐🕆📬" (YOU ARE IN NO POSITION TO DEFY ME OR DENY WHAT I WANT OF YOU.)

"Y̷ou̧ ̶d̵on't ͢kno̶w ҉w͏h́a͢t y̧ou͘'҉r̛é deal̛in͢g͠ with̀.҉"

"❄☟✌❄ ✋💧 🏱☼☜👍✋💧☜☹✡ 🕈☟✡ ✋🕯💣 👎⚐✋☠☝ ❄☟✋💧📬" (THAT IS PRECISELY WHY I'M DOING THIS.)

"D́a͜mn it̕, ́G͞a͘s̶t͝er, ́don't̨ b̢e͏ so͏ ͜s̢tu̴píd!"

The sadly familiar sting of a hand colliding with my face is felt and with it my resolve wanes.

"✡⚐🕆 ✋☠💧✋☝☠✋☞✋👍✌☠❄ 🕈⚐☼💣✏ 👎⚐ ✡⚐🕆 🕈✌☠❄ 💣☜ ❄⚐ 😐✋☹☹ ✡⚐🕆✍ 👎⚐☠🕯❄ ❄☟✋☠😐 ☞⚐☼ ✌ 💣⚐💣☜☠❄ ❄☟✌❄ ✋ 🕈⚐☠🕯❄📬 ✡⚐🕆 ✌☼☜ ☠⚐❄☟✋☠☝ 💣⚐☼☜ ❄☟✌☠ ✌ ☝☹✋❄👍☟📬 ✌☠ ✌💣⚐☠✌☹✋🕆💧 ☞☼☜✌😐 ✋☠ ❄☟☜ ❄✋💣☜☹✋☠☜📬 ☠⚐❄☟✋☠☝ ✡⚐🕆 👎⚐ 💣✌❄❄☜☼💧 ✌☠👎 ✡⚐🕆☼ ☹✋☞☜ ✋💧 🕆❄❄☜☼☹✡ 💣☜✌☠✋☠☝☹☜💧💧📬 💧⚐ ☞⚐☼ ⚐☠👍☜ ✋☠ ✡⚐🕆☼ 💧✌👎 ☜✠✋💧❄☜☠👍☜ 👎⚐ 💧⚐💣☜❄☟✋☠☝ 🕆💧☜☞🕆☹ ✌☠👎 ☹☜❄ 💣☜ 🕈⚐☼😐✏" (YOU INSIGNIFICANT WORM! DO YOU WANT ME TO KILL YOU? DON'T THINK FOR A MOMENT THAT I WON'T. YOU ARE NOTHING MORE THAN A GLITCH. AN AMONALIUS FREAK IN THE TIMELINE. NOTHING YOU DO MATTERS AND YOUR LIFE IS UTTERLY MEANINGLESS. SO FOR ONCE IN YOUR SAD EXISTENCE DO SOMETHING USEFUL AND LET ME WORK!)

His words hurt me. Cutting deeper than I'd care to admit. As a result, the brightness in my soul begins to darken.

[You're starting losing HOPE.]

"Yo͝u̸..͟.You d͡on't ̛mean͏ t̶hat.͢ Yo͟u̶'r̵e̵ ͡ju͏st ̶l̀as̨hįn͡g̕ ̶ou͝t ͠b̀ec̷a̴u͘sȩ y͢o͟u͟'̴re͟ u͝pse̡t̀.̴"

The look he gives me is cold.

"💧🕆👍☟ ✌ 🏱✌❄☟☜❄✋👍 ❄☟✋☠☝ ✡⚐🕆 ✌☼☜📬 ☹⚐⚐😐 ✌❄ ✡⚐🕆📬📬📬👍☹✋☠☝✋☠☝ ❄⚐ ✌ 💧☜☠💧☜ ❄☟✌❄ 🕈☜🕯☼☜ ☜✈🕆✌☹💧📬 🖂💧👍⚐☞☞🖂 ✌💧 ✋☞ ✌ ☟🕆💣✌☠ 👍⚐🕆☹👎 ☜✞☜☼ 👌☜ ✌☠✡❄☟✋☠☝ 💣⚐☼☜ ❄⚐ 💣☜ ❄☟✌☠ ✌ ❄☜💧❄ 💧🕆👌☺☜👍❄📬 ☜💧🏱☜👍✋✌☹☹✡ ⚐☠☜ ✌💧 👎✌💣✌☝☜👎 ✌💧 ✡⚐🕆📬" (SUCH A PATHETIC THING YOU ARE. LOOK AT YOU...CLINGING TO A SENSE THAT WE'RE EQUALS. *SCOFF* AS IF A HUMAN COULD EVER BE ANYTHING MORE TO ME THAN A TEST SUBJECT. ESPECIALLY ONE AS DAMAGED AS YOU.)

[You're losing more HOPE.]

My soul is almost drained of color. My weakened emotional state made this verbal assault of his rather easy to break my defenses. I don't know if this was part of a plan to make me less willing to fight back or if he's being honest, either way, I don't do a thing when he forces his entire hand into my dull soul. I feel pain, but I remain silent. My body begs to be free, but I'm dead slack. I do nothing...except give up.

[You've lost all HOPE.]

My soul turns pitch black as my body limps in his grip.

[You're filled with RELENTLESSNESS.]

"✌☟📪 ❄☟☜☼☜ 🕈☜ ☝⚐📬 ✡⚐🕆 💧☜☜✍ ❄☟✌❄ 🕈✌💧☠🕯❄ 💧⚐ 👌✌👎📬 ☠⚐🕈 🕈✌💧 ✋❄✍" (AH, THERE WE GO. YOU SEE? THAT WASN'T SO BAD. NOW WAS IT?)

There's no response.

"☟🕆💣✌☠✍" (HUMAN?)

Suddenly one of my arms breaks free and grabs hold of his neck.

"Į tr̡i̶ed̴ t͢o w͜a͝r̨n y̢oų.̶..̛"

He strikes me as he pulls away to set himself free, his hand no longer in my soul and the other appendages tightening their hold as my eyes fade to black with a malicious smile smearing my lips.

"You should've listened while you had the chance."

He's shaken but not easily intimidated.

"💧⚐ ❄☟✋💧 ✋💧 ✋❄✍ ❄☟☜ 👌☹✌👍😐 💧⚐🕆☹ ⚐☞ ☼☜☹☜☠❄☹☜💧💧 👎☜✌❄☟✍ ✋🕯💣 ☠⚐❄ ✋💣🏱☼☜💧💧☜👎📬" (SO THIS IS IT? THE BLACK SOUL OF RELENTLESS DEATH? I'M NOT IMPRESSED.)

An emotionless chuckle leaves me and it slowly builds into haunting laughter.

"✡⚐🕆 👎⚐☠🕯❄ 💧👍✌☼☜ 💣☜📬" (YOU DON'T SCARE ME.)

My laughter stops instantly.

"That will soon change."

[Meanwhile: the child's bedroom in the Ruins]

Things are usually peaceful when sleep claims the waking world. The word usually being the key term here. Not everything sleeps in the hours of the night. And not all is peaceful when not a sound is heard. So in the normally quiet dark room where the human and flower rest, a soft light began to emanate from covers of the bed of the human. This soft glow started out weak, hardly ever noticeable to the shadows that consumed the room. But as time went on, the glowing got brighter, and the dark of the room weakened. Soon though the building light stirs the senses of the flower and once he rubs the sleep from his eyes the sight gets his concern.

"What the...?"

The light grew brighter and the human makes weak sounds of pain. Worried, Flowey stretches out a vine and shakes the girl a bit.

"Hey. Hey. Wake up. Come on, wake up."

Her response is only to whimper and the glowing flares. Fear and curiosity has his vine pulling the covers off of her, revealing the source of the light to be coming from her chest.

"Ah hell. What kind of crazy junk is this?"

She suddenly sits up and the glow of her chest dims, freaking Flowey out enough to yelp. He's quick to cover his mouth, hoping he hadn't disturbed Toriel. Nothing happens as the room darkens once more. Though a chill permeates the air where only warmth was felt. At least the human was awake and things were normal.

"You know, you're going to have to tell me about this weird stuff that happens when you sleep sooner or later. I can't help you if you don't talk to me."

There's no response.

"Human?"

A faint dull glow casts in front of her and something makes Flowey shiver.

"Howdy...It's me...your best friend."

Oh no...

"Lynsie?"

"Do you remember it, Asriel?"

If flower's had blood, Flowey's would be running cold.

"When you killed your brother, you looked just...like...THIS!"

She turns to him quickly and he sees the face of death. Black eyes with red irises piercing into his very being. He knows those eyes. They were once his a long time when he became a creature of unimaginable power. The shadows seem to surround those eyes and the form it creates is one he thought he'd never see again.

"S-S-Stay away from me! You're not real!"

"What's wrong, Asriel? Afraid of your own shadow now?"

"Stop it! Leave me alone!"

"I don't think so."

This THING grabs his pot and Flowey can't make himself move.

"Those fool thinks they can get rid of me. But you know that isn't going to happen, don't you, little Prince?"

These words. Who the hell was this, because this sure as hell isn't Lynsie.

"Who...What are you?"

The sound of approaching steps is head and it smiles.

"Isn't it obvious?"

It puts the pot down and seems to disappear into the darkness.

"I'm the bad guy."

The bedroom door opens slightly.

"Children? Is everything okay?"

"Don't come in here!"

Flowey's warning is too little too late. Toriel enters the room and turns on the light, revealing the grinning black soul girl behind her.

"Mom, look out!"

She doesn't register this fast enough as the Black Soul clutches both hands together and swings them downwards hard, hitting Toriel on her back to knock her over.

"Mom!"

"Ah ah ah. You can't call her that till after the True Lab. Stick to the script, Flowey. Frisk isn't here to break the game for you anymore."

How does it know all this?

"Poor, Toriel. You just can't get a break today. Well...Hehehe...I can fix that."

The Black Soul reaches for Toriel's leg, most likely with the aim of breaking it as it had teased. But Toriel is not an easy mark for attack and her own self-preservation instincts make her swipe a fiery paw at the threat to her life. Whether this is part of the Black Soul's twisted game or it underestimated Toriel's reflexes, but it takes the hit and is sent crashing into the hall's wall with enough force to leave a body dent, much to Toriel's horror.

"N-No...No no no no..."

Mothering nature trumps the defensive one and she moves to check on the unmoving smoking body lying limp in the hall. But she doesn't make it very far, not with the vines wrapping around her.

"What are you doing? Release me, flower."

"I can't. It's too dangerous. That thing isn't her."

His words take a moment to alert her to the issue at hand and it sinks in more when creepy chuckling comes from the hall.

"Awww...It's so cute seeing you care for her. Such a good little mama's boy you've become."

The body rises awkwardly from the floor and those eyes gleam wickedly, a scorch mark across the belly.

"But if you think a family bond will save you from me, you are wrong...DEAD wrong."

"Entity..."

Even when confronted by death, Toriel is worried about her loved ones over herself.

"If harm is truly your intent, then do one small kindness and tell us why. What fills you with so much hate that you seek to end our lives?"

To this, the Black Soul seems taken by, almost confused or insulted.

"Hate? My dear, Toriel, you've got me all wrong. I don't hate. Hate is not a part of me at all."

That's an answer none of them saw coming.

"You...You do not hate us?"

"Then what the hell is your problem?!"

It shakes its head disapprovingly.

"Sorry. But I'm not into the whole cliché of revealing important plot/character information that can ultimately cripple my diabolical plans. By the way, I don't have any diabolical plans, that's just this body's childishness coming out. Either way...My secrets aren't meant to be told to just anyone. Those are things for her to know and her alone."

Her? Who is her? Did it mean the human? Damn this thing for speaking in nonsense. It didn't answer much and leaves only more questions in its wake. Yet before another question could be thought up or asked, the Black Soul grips its chest in pain and stumbles back into the wall.

"*wince* Damn it...Seems my time is being cut short...hęh̵.͞..A̸n҉d jus͞t̢ ̀whe҉ń t͜hi͏n͢gs w͝e͏re ̀gét͡ti̢ng ̸int́eres̴ti͝ng̕ ̷I ͟f̢all ̕fǫr̸ ͠t̀h҉e cl̛ic͞h҉é ǫf monơl̀ogu͢ing ͘ţi͞l̕l̨ I'̧m b̡est̢e̶d͡."

It points to them and smiles painfully wide.

"T͜his͞ i͢sn't ̕thȩ ̷l͞a̷s͝t҉ ͘y̢ou've̸ ̛s̴èen o͡f ͜m͞e.͜..̨I sh̸al̕l ̧ret͟ur҉n...̴A̧n̡d ̛ẁhen̕ ͝I̡ do...͏Į s͝hall ͏b͠e͠ ͘m͏ore̕ ͟pow̶erful ͏t̢h͏a͘n͞ ́y̕ou c҉an p̶o̢ssibly̵ im̸a̛gi͘ne!"

The intense threat is made less threatening when it abruptly vomits black slime and collapses to the floor face first. There's a long pause as tension mounts as to if this is another fake-out by the Black Soul. But after a bit of time with nothing happening, Flowey releases his hold on Toriel and she cautiously approaches the human's body.

"Lynsie? Child, can you hear me?"

The human doesn't seem alive. That goop still oozing from her mouth. Toriel kneels and checks for any sign that the girl isn't about to die.

"Is she breathing?"

"I...I can not tell."

"*coughing and gasping*"

Suddenly the girl springs to life, spewing up more of that goo from her lungs before air can let her breathe once more. Toriel does her best to help keep her weak body from flailing and helps her stand once she's stabilized.

"Are you alright, my child?"

Shaken, she merely nods her head. Though none truly believe she is fine.

"Do you need anything?"

She shakes her head.

"Okay. Let me help you back into bed."

That has the girl tremble and Toriel frowns.

"...How about some milk and a story? Does that sound better?"

She nods.

"Very well. But then it is to the tub with you. I know not what that 'stuff' is, but I do not want it to linger on you longer than needed."

She nods again as Toriel walks her towards the living room. Flowey from her perch just lingers, contemplating on if he should follow or not. That Black Soul really shook him to the core. It knew things. Things she shouldn't know. It didn't help that it acted differently too. Unlike when he saw it before, this thing was more cat-like, teasing and toying with them whereas before it was calculatingly cold with deliberate actions. It was like it was a completely different THING all together. Very...Chaotic in nature. This was troubling. Maybe it would be best to ignore the fear and make sure the human was alright. After all, he'd like some reassuring if he went through something like that. Spider walking on his vines, he carefully makes his way around the puddle of sludge, noticing that the amount was slowly shrinking. Weird stuff. He didn't like it. He just hoped it was gone by nights end.

[Meanwhile: Skeleton household]

Hard times were also had at the home of Sans and Papyrus. Though not to the same extent as a what went on in the Ruins. No...After the whole "Queen went nuts" incident, Papyrus wore sans down enough so that the elder sibling would talk about what he's been keeping from him. This was fine, as Sans was sick of hiding things anyway, but he was wary that Papyrus would believe any of it. Sure enough, this was how things went down, at least, not at first. When it came to some of it, Papyrus was willing to accept with not much convincing, such as the human possessing a strange soul. With how she was he had no doubt that even her soul was off in some way, shape, or form. What wasn't believable was that she was capable of immense power so strong that it would corrupt her into a murderous psycho. Once that lost him, Sans didn't bother trying to explain anything else, much to Papyrus annoyance. So as they laid in their beds, different trains of thought came to them.

Papyrus was irritated and that made trying to sleep harder than normal, what with his high levels of stress-induced adrenaline. Sans was less than informative and what he did tell him made little to no sense. The human...THAT human...Sans dared to insinuate that that pitiful thing could match or even out power him, the great and terrible Papyrus, in strength. Her? Compared to him? The levels of bullshit were so high you could taste the foulness. Still, Sans is a poor liar when it comes to him and during their chat Papyrus couldn't sense any sign of falsehood in his brother's words. So maybe...No. No, he refuses to even entertain the idea of the human being strong without proof of some sort. But how? How to get said proof? Hmmm...seems a duel is in order. Only then could he truly test her might.

Sans on his end felt relief for once. Nothing was shackling him anymore. No promise hanging over his head. No human to bother him. No Black Soul around to randomly trigger a murder spree. No reason for Grillby to act all weird at the bar. And nothing to make him feel weird or mess with his head while laying in bed. Sure, Papyrus was a dick as he predicted he would when he started to tell him about stuff. But fuck that. None of that mattered. Things were normal again. He could finally unwind and hang loose if he wanted to without worry. Oh yeah, this was going to be sweet. Sure, the human could and probably would pop back into his life. But who knows if and when that would happen. Till then there was no reason for that chick to be on his mind. Why would he even want to think about her? All she ever did was cause him trouble. Okay, maybe not always. There were some good times. Hell, she'd actually pun along with him and not give him shit over it. That's a rare thing that only the old lady does. Damn it...There he goes again. Wanting just to have a moment to himself and yet that woman finds a way into his skull. Argh! Why do humans keep plaguing his life like this? All he wants is some peace!

[Time Skip]

Four days...It's been four days since that night...And it's been four days since I've slept. I can't do it. I can't. I can't go back there. I can't trust anyone. Chara hasn't said a word and Gaster is...well...Gaster. I want to trust them but how can I when this shit happens?! I've kept myself busy by getting back into my old habits. I trained like crazy for the first two days. Toriel managed to fix my messed up tooth by filling it with a bit of silver. She practiced doing this on a potato before feeling good enough to try it on me. Luckily it worked and my head didn't explode. By day three I only got half of my normal stuff done. And now, day four, I'm about ready to keel over. Every time my eyes close for a second too long I panic. My brain is not responding to this well. It's desperate for sleep of some kind. After around the seventieth consecutive hour of being awake, it started triggering microsleep. This is a temporary episode of sleep or drowsiness which may last for a fraction of a second or up to thirty seconds where an individual fails to respond to some arbitrary sensory input and becomes unconscious. I've gone through this before once. I experimented to see how long I could make myself stay awake. I ended up lasting four and a half days before forcing myself to sleep because I was just so fucking tired. That was some good sleep and I ended up sleeping through the entirety of hurricane Wilma. Knowing this and the signal of the microsleep, I'm not sure how much longer I can keep this up before my mind shuts down or I end up with a far more worst condition than random insomnia. It doesn't help that all the training used up a lot of my energy. My internal batteries are aching for a recharge. But I can't risk it. I can't! I can't let that thing back out! I can't fall asleep! I won't go to sleep! I can't do it! I CAN'T DO IT! I CAN'T DO IT!!

"Child, please stop..."

Toriel, who has been watching me pace circles around the old dead tree, comes to me and holds my arms back. I'm shaking and my nails are dripping crimson. How long was I digging into my skin for?

"You can not continue on like this. I beg of you, please, get some rest."

"No! N-No sleep...Can't sleep...Bad things happen in sleep. Can't...C-Can't let the bad stuff happen."

She frowns with ever grown concern. She's been worried sick since that night. Aside from the Black Soul stuff, she told me about, she nearly had a heart attack once her eyes saw all the hand marks Gaster printed on me. It didn't help that I refused to tell her how or what they were from. Though it was a convenient way to disguise the hickey Grillby gave me. I'm not very talkative lately if you can imagine, though when I do my lack of sleep is obvious in my slurring stutter and slow brief pauses.

"At least will you come inside and sit with me? There is no need to pace around."

I can't sit still. Gotta keep moving. Gotta stay awake. Gotta get her off my back if I'm to stay awake a second longer.

"...S-Sure. But...C-Could you make that...c-cheesecake I like? It m-might help me...relax."

This eases her some and she takes me back into the house where she sits me on her chair before leaving to go get things to tend to my cuts. Wow, these are deep. I was really digging in there. She returns to see me breaking my nails to prevent moment like this till they grow back and she sighs to get my attention.

"You poor thing. Why must you insist on dealing with such things on your own? I am here for you if you need help so badly."

"I d-don't need help."

She kneels and takes one of my arms to start healing.

"You do not need to be so stubborn. Holding your troubles in only makes them worse."

I bite my tongue to keep myself from yelling something along the lines of her being a hypocrite.

"Where is F-Flowey?"

"I let him out while you were pacing. The dear needed to stretch his roots, what with being stuck in that pot for so long."

Her magic seals the flesh up and she puts my glove back on before working on the other arm. I keep forgetting to put them on after I take them off.

"He's worried about you too. I know the two of you are very close. It must pain him seeing you try to handle this on your own."

There's no need to guilt trip me over this. I already feel like shit. I hate being like this. I'm becoming everything Gaster said I was. I hate this. I hate this! I hate myself! I hate you! Why are you so weak?!

"Lynsie, calm down, please!"

I'm shaking even more now and my hands are pointlessly clawing at her chair.

"I...I n-need to go...Need to m-move..."

"No. You will sit still and let me finish. This gash is too deep to be left alone."

I'm trying! Don't you think I am? Every part of me is going crazy!

"...When I am done, are you going to stay in the house?"

"Y-Yes...I'll s-stay inside...Please...I can't...I h-have to move."

Her displeasure is very evident on her face, but she takes this small victory and finishes healing me. The moment she's done, I'm already out of the chair and walking nervously. She attempts to pat my head reassuringly but I flinch and she pouts.

"I will be in the kitchen if you need anything."

I nod, holding myself to try to make the trembling stop.

"I mean it...I will help you. All you need do is ask."

I nod again and she reluctantly moves the other room. I slowly go to my room to collect my iPod before heading downstairs. I want to be alone. I need to be alone. I need to get lost. I don't trust myself in this state. I'm too on edge to be okay. I pop in the earbuds and search for something fitting of this mood. Something angry. Something messed up. Something that will keep me awake as I walk around the large space by the exit door. Finally, I find something appropriate..."Last Resort" by Papa Roach.

"♪Cut my life into pieces. This is my last resort. Suffocation. No breathing. Don't give a fuck if I cut my arm, bleeding...This is my last resort...♫"

Oh yeah...So fucking appropriate.

"♪Cut my life into pieces. I've reached my last resort. Suffocation, no breathing. Don't give a fuck if I cut my arm, bleeding. Do you even care if I die bleeding? Would it be wrong? Would it be right? If I took my life tonight. Chances are that I might. Mutilation outta sight And I'm contemplating suicide. 'Cause I'm losing my sight. Losing my mind. Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine. Losing my sight. Losing my mind. Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine.♫"

My chest starts to tighten at memories of when I'd last played this song. Always on really bad days. Really sad days. Days where I couldn't see any point to anything. Days like these. Like today.

"♪I never realized I was spread too thin. Till it was too late. And I was empty within. Hungry! Feeding on chaos. And living in sin. Downward spiral, where do I begin? It all started when I lost my mother. No love for myself. And no love for another. Searching to find a love up on a higher level. Finding nothing but questions and devils. 'Cause I'm losing my sight. Losing my mind. Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine. Losing my sight. Losing my mind. Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine. Nothing's alright. Nothing is fine. I'm running and I'm crying...I'm crying...I'm crying...I'm crying...I'm crying. I can't go on living this way.♫"

The problem with listening to songs like this when you yourself are pretty fucked up is...it tends to only fuck you up even more. The words get to me and I trip over my own unsteady feet, smashing into the floor by the door. I don't even bother with trying to get up. I'm too depressed to give a shit about it.

"♪Cut my life into pieces. This is my last resort Suffocation. No breathing. Don't give a fuck if I cut my arm, bleeding. Would it be wrong? Would it be right? If I took my life tonight. Chances are that I might. Mutilation outta sight. And I'm contemplating suicide. 'Cause I'm losing my sight. Losing my mind. Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine. Losing my sight. Losing my mind. Wish somebody would tell me I'm fine. Nothing's alright. Nothing is fine. I'm running and I'm crying. I can't go on living this way! Can't go on...Living this way...Nothing's all...right!!♫"

Thank the lord for that song being short. I'm not sure if I could take it for another minute or two. Probably end up a big sobbing mess. Wait...Why do I feel...Oh god damn it! I'm crying! Why the fuck am I crying?! Can't I go one fucking day without being such a bitch?! It's because I'm weak. Look at me. I'm such a pussy that I'm afraid to even go to sleep. Hell, I wasn't scared when I had those Freddy Krueger dreams. After three visits from that guy, we became friends. Friends! With Freddy mother fucking Krueger! The dream killer! Yet here I am. Crying into the dirt like the biggest bitch on the planet because someone was mean and brought out the worst part of me. Pathetic. Gaster was right. I'm a worm. A weak, pansy ass, bitch of a worm that is nothing but useless. I...I wish I was dead.

"*muffled* hey, you doing okay in there?"

Great! Just great! A witness to my misery. Ugh...At least he can't see me.

"*muffled* kid? i know you're there. the old lady would've spoken by now."

This is so awkward. I haven't spoken to Sans since I left Snowdin. And the shit Gaster showed me made me want to see him less. Maybe if I do nothing he'll think he was hearing things and leave.

"*muffled* giving me the silent treatment, huh? bitch move, kid. but i can fix that."

[knock-knock]

I flinch. A strong urge pulling at me.

[knock-knock]

"*muffled* come on, ya know ya wanna say it. don't leave me hanging."

[knock-knock]

Why? Why am I compelled to do this?!

"*weak* Who's there?"

His chuckling is really laughter once I remove the earbuds. No point trying to drown myself with music now.

"inu."

"Inu who?"

"inu you couldn't resist a knock-knock joke."

I groan, rolling onto my back knowing this wasn't going to be a short joke chat.

"geez, i know my jokes aren't for everyone, but it wasn't that bad."

"It's not you...You're f-fine...The joke was fine. I'm j-just not feeling well."

"huh? you sick or something?"

"I haven't s-slept...in four days."

"the hell? why not?"

I get quiet.

"kid? ...did...did something happen?"

I move closer to the door. I don't know where Flowey is or if Toriel is spying on me, but this is stuff I can only share with Sans.

"Sans...Gaster...did stuff to me."

"uh...w-what...what kind of stuff?"

"Bad s-stuff...Very bad...He..."

"please don't tell me if it's of the xxx variety."

You're one to talk, perverted asshole.

"N-No...dingus. He f-forced it out...The Black Soul."

I can't see him due to the door between us, but it's not hard to imagine the look that comes to him from that.

"he did what?! don't tell me you...you didn't kill tori, did ya?"

Ow. That hurt. His level of worry is strong. Then again, I'm weak enough to have that question hurled at me.

"No. S-She's still alive. I didn't k-kill anyone...thankfully."

The breath of relief he lets out is louder than I thought a guy with no lungs could make.

"thank asgore. heh...well at least there's some good news. you're getting better at controlling that thing."

My hands ball into fists as I start to seethe internally.

"You're wrong. I...I wasn't the one to put it back in its cage. Gaster did."

I snarl at myself. My self-loathing perks my energy up to a decent level.

"He was able to manipulate my soul like a child toying with a bug in a jar. I was completely powerless. I...I couldn't do a damn thing."

"i did tell ya you were messing with a devil you couldn't handle."

"ARGH!!"

In a fit, I punch the door. My knuckles crunching into the stone is a sickening sound. Yet what neither of us expects is that the force pushes the door slightly, the chill wind of the other side creeping in through the small gap.

"hey, take it easy. you're not the first to be played by the guy. it's just what he does."

"That's not it. I'm pissed off at myself."

"the fuck for?"

"For all of this. None of this would be happening if I wasn't so weak."

"you just cold cocked a thick as hell stone door and not bitching about the pain. you're not weak."

"You don't get it!"

I don't mean to snap, but I'm too tense to hold back.

"I am weak! If I wasn't...I wouldn't have fallen down here. The Black Soul wouldn't have been awakened. I wouldn't be putting everyone in danger. I wouldn't be too fucking scared to sleep!"

I can feel my heart racing. Sweat is starting to fall and I'm panting.

"I am weak. I'm a pathetic waste that's better off dead. At least then I can't hurt anyone. So then why..."

I bash my head into the door.

"Why the fuck am I more scared to die than I've ever been before?!"

I bash my head again and this time I see the red stain on the dull stone. before feeling the trickle.

"what the hell are ya doing?"

"I don't know anymore! I'm just so tired! *meek* So...fucking...tired..."

Damn it, again with the crying. I'm such garbage. I'm just...

"lynsie..."

"*sniffles* What?"

"stop it."

I'm sorry...What?

"Huh?"

"stop it. just stop. stop with this depressing self-pity bullshit."

I rub my face of tears and blood.

"Stop? Hehehe...*sarcasm* Oh yeah, why didn't I think of that? Just stop feeling things. Problem solved!"

"don't be a bitch."

"Did you come up with that idea all by yourself? *mock gasp* You should get a Noble Prize."

"fine! see if i try to be nice again."

"Ah, come one. I'm busting your not real balls."

"i take shit from pap 24/7, what makes you think i'm gonna stick around to take it from you?"

"You don't have to. I just..."

I sit back against the door, feeling my body weigh heavier than ever.

"*sigh* You're the only one that knows what's going on with me. The only one I can talk to about this crap. The one I trust. As much as I piss you off and make you hate me...You're my closest friend. You don't hold back on me. You don't pretend to be someone you're not. You're bare bones honest and willing to call me out on my stupid junk. And just like that, without knowing it or even trying...You make me feel better when I really need it the most."

I wipe my face into my shirt as I hear only silence on his end. I smile sadly to myself.

"Sorry for the mushy talk. *sniffle* Dumb soul hormone crap makes me such a pussy sometimes."

I'm lying to myself and him with that one. I don't know why I said all that stuff. Probably the filter in my brain diverted power to my emotional stuff because it's not up to speed right now. But I know what I said was true. Sans is my friend. And without him, I'd probably not be here. Still, I'm not about to tell him that.

[knock-knock]

"Who's there?"

"comma."

"comma out here."

"Heh...Good one."

"no, i mean it. let me take ya to grillby's for a bit. i know it would make his day to see ya again. and who knows, it might help ya feel better once you get a little tipsy."

I think I'll stay away from the hard stuff for a while. Freaky shit tends to happen.

"As good as that sounds, I can't. Not that I don't want to. But Nanny will lose her mind if I just leave. That, and I don't think I can move anymore."

"you used up your last bits being a little cry baby, didn't you?"

"Yeah. Guess I've gotta be a big girl and face the music now. It's getting harder to keep my eyes open."

"...ya want me to, i dunno, stick around? make sure you don't go coo coo for killer puffs?"

That gets me to smile for real this time.

"I'd like that. Thank you...Sans."

Either it's getting darker or my lids are shutting. It doesn't take long before exhaustion takes me, my head lulling to the side and making my body follow it to the ground with a soft thud.

"lynsie?"

Sans gets no response other than loud shallow breathing.

"*scoff* calls herself weak? kid lasts better than i do when nightmares strike."

Picking himself out of the snow, Sans dusts himself off and gives the door a second glance. If he wanted to, he could use that small shift in the stone to his advantage and pry it open with some well-placed bones. It wouldn't be hard to abduct a helpless sleep deprived human. Yet...Something told him that t wasn't the best move to make. For one, no one wants another pissed off Toriel rampaging through town again. And second...what she said, all that dumb girly feeling stuff...some of that felt more personal than intended and it made him uncomfortable.

"Child!"

He flinched at the voice of Toriel and the level of worry it held. Was it because of motherly reasons or did the human's Black Soul come out when he wasn't paying attention?

"Why? Why do you keep doing this to yourself? Why will you not let me help you?"

That made his sockets widen. She didn't even let her own mom in on any of this? But...She opened up to him. Why?

"As much as I piss you off and make you hate me...You're my closest friend."

He felt heat beginning to pool in his cheekbones and he pulled the hood of his jacket over his head to hide this as he returned to his post.

"damn, woman. staying stupid shit like that. messing with me."

At his station, Sans plopped down on his seat and began drinking from a bottle of mustard he'd stashed there the day prior. The tangy yellow concoction brought a much-needed chill to his heating bones. Though it did little to ease his mind on the events that only moments ago happened.

"friends...heh...i don't need any friends. fucking bitch."

He fiddles with the bottle before drinking more.

"And just like that, without knowing it or even trying...You make me feel better when I really need it the most."

His grip on the bottle got harsh, making him guzzle the condiment like a hardcore drunk before slamming it onto the station's counter top.

"argh! get out of my head!"

She was becoming a parasite to him. A virus that was spreading to every thought he had. It was driving him crazy! There has to be a way to make this stop. Something that could be done to make all this weirdness end. Something that would get this out of his system. But what?

"SANS!"

Lost in his "hate the human" thoughts, Sans failed to notice Papyrus storming over to his post.

"huh? what's up, boss?"

Papyrus eyes his brother questionably.

"what?"

"YOU'RE AWAKE AT YOUR POST."

"uh...yeah. and?"

"I HAVE NOTICED YOU HAVE ONLY BEEN MORE ACTIVE WHEN THE HUMAN WAS AROUND. SO...WHERE IS SHE?"

Great. Now the fucking human was messing with his behavior too.

"she ain't here if that wasn't obvious enough. otherwise, there'd be an annoying punk hovering around me like a damn fly."

That made Papyrus fold his arms with a cocky smirk. Sans didn't like that look.

"the fuck is that look for?"

"I WAS BEGINNING TO THINK YOU HAD GONE SOFT ON ME. YOU SEEMED TOO CLOSE TO HER AND NOW...HEH...IT LOOKS AS THOUGH I MISSED QUITE THE AMUSING FIGHT."

Sans glares strongly at his sibling, his current mood not helping matters much.

"piss off. i don't fucking like her!"

Now it was Papyrus's turn to glare.

"DO NOT TAKE THAT TONE WITH ME, SANS. I HAVE NO ISSUES WITH PUTTING YOU IN YOUR PLACE."

Sans huffs and claws the underside of the counter.

"whatever."

"WHATEVER INDEED. FOR WHATEVER THIS LITTLE THING THAT'S GOING ON WITH YOU AND HUMAN, IT BETTER NOT INTERFERE WITH ANY FUTURE ATTEMPTS ON TAKING HER SOUL."

"*scoff* trust me. that's the least of my concerns."

Papyrus sneers.

"I MEAN IT, SANS. I WON'T HAVE ANYTHING SCREW UP MY CHANCES OF COLLECTING THAT SOUL."

"i told you, that would be the stupidest thing you can do. that soul of her's ain't worth the trouble."

Papyrus slams his hands down on the counter, cracking some of the wood.

"IF YOU TRULY EXPECT ME TO BUY INTO THIS BLACK SOUL NONSENSE THAN YOU BETTER FIND A WAY TO PROVE TO ME THAT IT'S REAL!"

"and how do you expect me to do that? have it triggered and let her kill half the town?"

"OF COURSE NOT! SHE'D NEVER GET THAT FAR INTO SUCH A SPREE ONCE I SLAY HER."

Sans rolls his eyes and Papyrus snarls.

"YOU DON'T THINK I CAN KILL HER?"

"her? sure, you'd kill her no problem. she'd probably let you do it if things got really bad. but the black soul? that's a different story all together."

"YOU TALK AS THOUGH YOU'VE SEEN THIS 'BLACK SOUL' IN ACTION."

Sans breaks eye contact with his brother.

"YOU HAVE, HAVEN'T YOU?"

His clawing into the wood gets harsher.

"that thing isn't something you want to mess with. don't go after something you can't handle."

This is something Papyrus did not like hearing. So much so that he grabs Sans and yanks him over the counter by the scruff of his shirt's collar.

"YOU DARE THINK THAT PITIFUL CREATURE CAN HARM ME?!"

Sans is so not in the mood for this shit.

"no! i don't think it would harm you! i know it would kill you!"

Papyrus, being the colossal dick that he is, slams his brother into the snow hard.

"YOU MISERABLY PILE OF SHIT! HOW DARE YOU! IF YOU WEREN'T MY BROTHER I WOULD KILL YOU FOR SUCH SLANDER!"

"then fucking do it! if it means i don't have to put up with your shit anymore, then kill me now!"

To that, the great and terrible Papyrus flinched. They both remain motionless for a time. The only thing heard is the wind rustling trees in the background. Slowly though, Papyrus gets off Sans and leaves. Sans stays on the ground. His own words had struck him and his chest hurting for even saying them.

"Golly..."

The sudden voice has his head looking up behind him to see an amused yellow flower.

"I have seen a lot of things. And I mean a LOT of things. But that? That's a first in my book."

Sans groans.

"fuck off, weed. i'm not in the mood for any of your crap."

"Oh, I know. I heard everything."

Sans cocks his brow.

"...everything?"

"Yep. Everything. Seems you're more willing to chat with her than you ever were with me."

"to be fair, you don't make me want to talk. *growl* you piss me off to the point i want to pluck each and every petal from your bulb as slowly as possible."

Flowey sighs with a shrug.

"Oh Sans, just as bitter as ever even when the timeline treats you right."

That gets his attention and Sans rolls over.

"you...*rage* it was you! you were the one fucking with the timeline before frisk!"

The smirk that comes to Flowey is anything but innocent.

"Gee, took you long enough this time."

Sans bares his teeth as his left eye begins to flare.

"Wow. You look mad. I haven't seen you that mad since all those times in the Judgment Hall."

"i'll fucking kill you!"

Sans doesn't get to make a move against the mocking flower, as vines spring up from the ground to ensnare his limbs and keeping him down in the snow covered dirt.

"Ah ah ah. That isn't very nice. Don't you know this is a pacifist run?"

"i'm gonna rip your head off and shit down your neck!"

Flowey cringes a little bit.

"Okay, disturbing. Makes me think of questions I never want to know the answer to. That's a new feeling."

Sans pulls on his vine restraints, meeting stronger resistance than he thought he'd get from a flower.

"Look, I don't have a lot of time to waste while you struggle for no reason. I'm not here to be the big bad flower. I only want to talk. So if you'll calm down, I'll let you go."

"why the fuck should i believe that? for that matter, i can just kill ya right now and no one would know."

"Oh, you know as well as I that at least one person would know. And she won't take my death very well. Just as she didn't take it well the first time."

That made Sans pause. His magic dies down along with his thrashing.

"you...you remember the dead timeline?"

Flowey folds his leaves and huffs.

"I don't know what I was thinking. Go get Papyrus, you said. He'll help us, you said. That lunatic yanked my roots out of the ground so fast my entire life flashed before my eyes!"

Sans snickers.

"heh...dying sucks, don't it?"

"You would know. You've killed me plenty of times. And Frisk has done the same back at you. Guessing that's karma for you."

Sans didn't find that joke very funny. Though he was surprised when Flowey retracted his vines and set him free.

"See? You calmed down and I let you go. Now can we talk without having to attack or defend?"

Sans was still wary. This flower had many tricks he didn't know about or liked. Maybe he could spin this unexpected moment to his advantage and learn what it knows.

"fine..."

He sits himself up and leans back on his palms.

"ya wanna talk, weed? then let's talk."

Flowey sighs with relief and smiles childishly.

"Good. Because I have a few questions to ask you. Questions only you have the answers for."

"ask away. i doubt you got anything too crazy to ask."

"Alright...So tell me, Smiley Trashbag..."

The face of the flower morphs into a very dark and creepy thing. Hollow eyes and pointed fangs.

"Just how much have you told my dear sister?"

[nookishposts]

Ode to a Knife

Tomboy from the word go, I was fascinated by gadgets and tools right out of the womb. My first 1964 transistor radio, with ear piece, 4 inch antenna and 9 volt battery just begged to have the back pried off and the guts removed with less than surgical precision, in order to get some idea of how it worked. Putting it back together was rarely successful, so I hid it in the barn until I could figure out how, or at least find someone non-parental to do so, with sealed lips. Ditto with the Easy Bake Oven, the limbs and heads of every doll, the whirling top that shot sparks when you pushed the knob on top, and the chain of my first bicycle. The “uh-oh” rarely dawned until I was happily surrounded by cracked or greasy bits and pieces.

But my favourite gadget to this very day remains my trusty Swiss Army knife. I bought it with babysitting money when I was 13, for  $15.00 at the local sporting goods store where I hemmed and hawed over special features versus cash reality. The one I chose didn’t come with the nifty spoon and fork of the really high-end models, but it had several blades, a corkscrew, tweezers, a saw, bottle opener, scissors and a hole punch. I knew it was destined to be mine when the sales clerk removed it from the cabinet for me to examine, I opened the main blade, and immediately cut myself. The first of many important lessons that knife has taught me. We were made for one another.

The weight of that knife in the pocket of my shorts made me feel like ‘all that and a bag of chips’. Before I understood the damage I was doing, I carved my initials in trees and table tops and desks and porches like I was seeking immortality. Camping with the family took on a whole new dimension. Need a marshmallow roasting stick with a fine point? Replacing a busted tent peg? A branch with notches on either end to string a bow for shooting arrows?  Remove a splinter from your thumb? Shorten your beach-destined Daisy Dukes another inch while your Mum isn’t looking?(Cut my own way too short once and lived with the mistake, knees stapled together, for an entire summer).   Rest assured, my SA knife and I had you covered.

I made holes to string up a flattened plastic bag with thin vines for a makeshift roof on a rainy hike. I cut down more than one Charlie Brown Christmas tree. Opened a bazillion pop bottles, beer bottles, cassette tapes, rusted locks, stuck cabinets, and heavily-taped boxes. I kept it pristine. Was certain I could perform surgery in the deep woods with only dental floss and a bottle of whiskey if called upon to do so.I recall feeling so very mature when I used the corkscrew to uncork my first bottle of Moody Blue, Lonesome Charlie, Alpenweisse, or Blue Nun at a bush party. That knife went all the way to Australia with me, safe in the perfect-sized pocket of my rucksack, for easy access. Can’t do that anymore. Wouldn’t make it past security let alone onto the plane. It still feels like I have forgotten something when I have to leave it at home to travel. (Yes, it can go into cargo, but I pride myself on one carry-on bag, always.)

Of course it got used for stupid stuff too. There’s a scene in Fried Green Tomatoes where George and Julian go with Idgie to rescue Ruth from her abusive husband,and George calmly trims his fingernails with a rather menacing knife that appears out of nowhere, as the husbands attempts an objection. The sight of the knife stops him cold. I once did kinda the same thing when out with a girlfriend at an event in Toronto; we were leaving the dance and some straight male thugs decided we would be fun to harass. There I was, maybe 20 years old, with a pitiful 4 inch blade opened, custom-fit in the  hand I hung at my side, standing calmly between my girlfriend and the potential for real trouble. They got in my face a little, yelled some disgusting slurs, and I didn’t move a muscle or say a word. When they walked off, I nearly collapsed with relief on the sidewalk. The girlfriend told me what an idiot I had been. She was right. It was the only time in 45 years I ever considered my knife a weapon.

This morning I was using that same knife, the little white shield logo worn almost invisible by 45 years in my hands, to dig out dandelions in the front yard. I leave the dandelions for the bees until other blossoms pop, then I just thin them as best I can to keep the yard tidy. Our house is for sale and though I don’t care about a pristine lawn, first impressions from the street are everything. As I was poking into the damp earth, trying to avoid stabbing worms, slicing the stubborn stems and tossing them into a paper bag, I found myself thinking about how long it took me to earn fifteen dollars in 1974, how many times I taught a wee one to play checkers, how many diaper changes, how many yawning attempts to stay awake until grateful parents returned home at 2 am a little too inebriated to drive me home. I vaguely remember charging 75 cents an hour and a dollar after midnight or something like that. So, let’s say 20 hrs to earn knife money. A couple of years later I would work a lot longer and harder to buy my first guitar. I still have that one too.

I don’t live on a farm anymore, nor do I hike and camp as much as I once did. So my Swiss army knife lays nearly-but-not-quite forgotten much of the time. It still has it’s place in my knapsack, but is more likely to be used to trim a loose thread or a flower stem than any act of serious practicality or derring-do. I have real carving tools for any kind of small woodworking projects I may undertake of a quiet evening on the back porch. It’s not at all the same as sitting staring into a late-night, mesmerising campfire, whittling away at a stick with the same knife I probably used to cut and butter my toast that morning, and to clean the fish for supper after a day in the canoe. 

Our immediate future may well involve some acreage and daily chores involving twine, bags of seeds and feed, maybe field-mending a loop to keep a pen gate closed. My denim shorts come cut no higher than my knees now, with deep pockets for secateurs, soft leather work gloves, and the right-sized Swiss Army knife. With some care and a little luck, we might get another 45 years together, and the tiny scar on my right thumb will continue to remind me that even the most-loved and most familiar tools must always be  carried with respect.

[rosegoldbridesmaiddresses]

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[givemethatgold]

Rescued pt 9

Summary:  After Bucky comes to your aid in a moment of panic you extend an invitation to family dinner. Neither of you could have foreseen how this small act of kindness would alter you, and your life, forever.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader, Tony Stark x alcohol Warnings: Swearing, alcoholism, stress baking Word Count:1616

Author’s Note: I’ve been struggling with finding the time and inspiration to write lately, and I apologize profusely if this is reflecting in my writing! Morning sickness is a bitch. @bxckytrxsh is my lovely proof-reader and sweet, sweet friend.

Previously

“Tony Stark, and you are?”

Freaking the fuck out right now!

“Y/N Y/L/N. How’s Bucky? Is he,” you stopped and willed away your tears, “is he going to be okay?”

Tony’s eye immediately softened.

“He’s going to be fine. Y/N, look at me, you saved him. Now, why don’t you come with me? The team has more than a few questions for you.”

Tony scoops you up in his arms like you weigh nothing and starts walking towards another entrance that seems to lead into the living quarters of the compound.

“Hmmm...on second thought,” he pauses and sniffs, “maybe we should get you to a shower first.”

You were trying hard to remain calm and collected but it was an extremely hard thing to do when you were sitting at a conference table with the majority of the Avengers sitting across from you.  It felt like you were at a job interview from hell.

Scarlet Witch, Falcon, and Captain America sat off to one side of the table. Iron Man, Vision, and War Machine sat as far away from them as they could, and Black Widow was in the middle seemingly acting as both interrogator and buffer. 

You shifted in your seat, becoming increasingly uncomfortable with the heavy silence. Your ankle had been wrapped and was elevated on the chair next to you, but the movement still caused a twinge of pain. You fought to keep a neutral expression; afraid that any word or expression could be taken incorrectly by the intimidating group.

“So, by the time Bucky woke up, the fire had already spread throughout the house?” Natasha had finally broken her silence after hearing you recount your perspective of the last three days. Of all that had happened, she seemed unusually interested in the house fire.

“You don’t think it was an accident, do you?” It came out as more of a statement than a question.

“Y/N, I don’t want to alarm you but we need to face facts and take action.” Natasha’s face softened minutely as she reached across the table and patted your hand. The surprised looks on everyone’s faces didn’t escape either of you, but you both chose to ignore them; the current topic being too important.

“When those Hydra operatives caught up to you, they already knew who you are and what you... meant to Barnes.” Tony, who was already into the scotch at 9:30 in the morning, finished his glass and leveled his gaze at you. “We think they tested him with the fire to see how he would react. Hell, they may have even orchestrated your meeting in the parking lot just to encourage him into gaining a weakness.”

I’m sorry, what I meant to Bucky? Past tense?! Who does this asshole think he is? Okay, that’s it. I am so fucking done being the weak link and getting stepped on.

When you had come close to being attacked in the parking lot, a small ball of rage had begun to form in the pit of your stomach. You had allowed it to take over when your mom had revealed her cancer, but the resulting damage to your knuckles had you forcing the emotion down and running from it. That tiny ball had been added to, a lot, over the past couple of days; the fire, the hospital, getting shot at, getting hurt, seeing Bucky bleeding, almost losing him, and now. Hearing this man, one of Bucky’s supposed teammates, talk about him so flippantly, like he was some lab rat and not a human being; this was the straw that broke the seal on that rage.

“First of all, you supercilious prick,” you rose up onto your hands as much as you could, “it's what I mean, to Bucky. I’m not going anywhere, regardless of his past and what is happening now.  Secondly, if you are so goddamn confident that Hydra knows about me and my family, what the fuck are you doing sitting around here!? Go bloody get them and put them somewhere safe!” 

By the time you were done your speech you were yelling, and not just at Tony. The room sat in stunned silence for a breathe then everyone sprung into action. Sam and Steve both gave you a quick nod before exiting the room, Vision disappeared through the wall, Natasha and Wanda both came to give you a few words of reassurance before sprinting away, and after a mini-quarrel, Rhodey and Tony got up and began to exit. 

“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” You called out to Tony, using your best authoritative nurse voice.

“I am going to, as you so eloquently put it, go bloody get your family,” Tony replied, giving you a withering look.

“Not inebriated you’re not!”

“Sweetheart, I’m Iron Man, if you thi-”

“Mr. Stark!” You interrupted. “I don’t care who you are when you put on a fancy metal suit. Right now, you’re a drunk mess on a Sunday morning who needs to sober up and see a therapist!” You were shouting again but you couldn’t find it in you to care. “If you so much as look at one of your suits, I swear to god I will call it in and report you for a DUI. This is my family, I won’t risk you compromising anything!”

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.!” Tony called, leveling you again with a challenging look.

“Yes, Mr. Stark?” A disembodied voice replied.

You were able to keep your expression neutral and continue the staring contest with Tony.

“Where is my suit? I’ve been calling it for over a minute.”

“It’s in its dock, where it’s going to stay. I’m inclined to agree with Miss Y/L/N, and I won’t be assisting the operation of your suit until your blood alcohol level is back to zero.”

The shock on Tony’s face quickly turned into indignant rage. His casually cross arms were not at his sides with his hands clenched into fists. You took a moment to worry he may try to punch you, but quickly dismissed the idea. Tony could be a hotheaded asshole, but even he had limits.

“Come on Stank, time to walk it off and do some thinking.” Colonel Rhodes was poking Tony with his cane, trying to get his attention.

Tony stayed staring at you for a moment longer then disappeared out the door. You let out the breath you had been holding and sank back down onto your chair. 

“I’m impressed,” Rhodey said softly to you, “not a lot of people can stand up to Tony, never mind win one of his ultra-alpha staring contests. Give it a few days, I expect he’ll come around.”

You gave him a small smile in thanks for his kind words then slumped forward to rest your forehead on the cool, polished table. Gently banging your forehead a few times before going completely limp in order to better question your behavior towards your host; a friggen superhero. 

“May I suggest you rest in your room, Miss Y/l/n? It’d be a wee bit comfier than the conference room. I calculate that your family will arrive within the hour.”

Lifting your head you looked around for the source of the voice; a speaker or intercom. Coming up empty you just spoke aloud, thanking the woman and asking for directions to your room which, apparently, Tony had arranged for you while you had been getting cleaned up and attended to in the med-bay.

Great. Wonderful. Excellent. Phenomenal first day, Y/n.

Rather than going to your guest room, you had found solace in wandering the halls and exploring the compound. So far, you had discovered that the Avengers seemed to like rom-coms, had a library full of fantasy and science fiction novels, and someone must be a musician as one room was equipped with enough instruments to make a small orchestra happy. They also had a kitchen to die for, stocked full of sugary cereal and a crazy amount of protein shake powder. 

This is what superheroes eat? Can’t Stark afford a nutritionist and private chef? Christ.

Deciding to blow off some steam while waiting for your family to arrive, you stayed in the kitchen and began to bake. Four loaves of bread, three meat pies, a massive pot of chili, and peach crumble later you started wondering what was holding up the arrival of your family. 

Remembering the built-in AI who seemed to mother-hen the group, you tentatively called out.

“F.R.I.D.A.Y.?”

“The quinjet is ten minutes out, I apologize for my incorrect calculation. I didn’t account for people not believing Captain America.”

“Jordan...” you muttered, shaking your head. It was no surprised to hear that he put up and fight and refused to go quietly. 

You could just imagine the panic they must have felt waking up in the hotel with you gone, Jordan’s truck gone, no way of getting a hold of you, and then the Avengers bursting in claiming their lives may be in danger. 

“They will all be escorted to the conference room where you were earlier today.” The AI informed you.

“Would it be possible to bring them here? I think everyone could use some comfort food while they hear the news.”

After the debriefing and dinner, the Avengers had left your family alone in the common area. While you were grateful for the opportunity to be with him, you were finding it hard to speak. The guilt of what had happened was falling on your shoulders; knowing that none of it would have happened had you just been more careful when buying those fucking groceries.

Your mom and dad had tried to console you, Karen had flat out told you that you were being dumb if you thought that any of this was your fault, and Jordan mumbled something about needing to do background checks. The one person who you could always count of to bring light to a situation and make you laugh was being uncharacteristically quiet.

Before you could ask Mikey how he was doing, your name was being called. Looking toward the door you spotted Bucky, leaning heavily on the doorjamb but looking a lot more alive than the last time you saw him.

“Bucky,” you breathed, heart leaping into your throat at the sight of him on his feet, “How are you fee- MIKEY, NO!”

Part Ten

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[sending-the-message]

A Mouse in the House by jonny_z

What do you do when you have a mouse? Get a cat, I suppose. Seems logical. What do you do when the mouse eats the cat? Well, I decided to study the fucker. Turns out, that was not the best idea I’ve had. Ok, I’m getting ahead of myself. Let me back up. I live in what some might consider a shithole. I myself, consider it… rustically charming. So, living in an older house with, shall we say, ample opportunities for renovations, you’re bound to end up with the odd, freeloading quadruped about. It started simply enough: little gnaw marks on my cereal boxes, chew holes through my trash bag, small black dookie pellets littered hither and yon. Evidence that I had an interloper who was attacking my Cinnamon Chex. Nobody, but nobody, fucks with my Cinnamon Chex. You see, I don’t have much anymore, after that Harlot left me heart-broken, penniless and with a 400 credit score. My entire world consisted of work, whiskey and Cinnamon Chex, so anyone attacking one of my three pillars of this shit existence was branded as my nemesis.

The first act was to try and catch the sonofabitch myself. I set out about my dilapidated, three story garbage heap to try and find the fucker’s hiding spot. The problem is, I really didn’t have baseboards to speak of and one would be hard-pressed to find a section of wall, floor or room that didn’t have mouse-sized holes in it. After about a week, none of the traps were sprung and I had all but given up on hunting the cereal thieving bastard. Even laying down flour near his normal “dining area” to try and trace footprints back to his escape hatch was fruitless; it seemed that the flour was too obvious for the conniving little douche. So, I decided it was time to up my game and find myself a natural predator. As fortune would have it, my shithole house was in a shithole neighborhood and I had an abundance of semi-feral felines roaming the alleyways. One never had to wait too long before one of the local Toms knocked up an alley hussy and she spit out a litter of furry hell-spawn. It took little more than a hunk of McGarbage on a boot string to corral one of the wee guttersnipes into my foyer so that I could apprehend him. He was a feisty little shit: the first afternoon that I made him my prisoner, after distracting him with the other half of my McYucky sandwich, I attempted to pet him. He bit me for my trouble. I named him Dick. He didn’t care.

I figured Dick would probably be too full of processed beef abominations to want to sniff out my intruder, but I grossly underestimated the voracity of an infrequently fed feral feline and he set about with little haste tracking around the other critter’s munching ground. Low to the ground, I watched Dick as he slinked about my mismatched wood flooring in search of a live, wriggling meal. He made his way, weaseling up the stairs like a slinky in reverse, on to the second floor. He paused for a minute, regained his bearings, acquainting himself with the yet undiscovered level of my domicile before proceeding up the stairs once more, en route to the attic door on the third floor. I personally never made many trips into the attic. When I had moved in, I noted that it was filled with rubbish and ruined furniture from previous tenants, probably dating back a few decades. Between the mildew smell and queef squeak of the floorboards, I found no reason to ever fully explore that particular room. To be honest, my time was spend drinking on my dirty, jizz and tear stained futon with occasional trips to the commode to shit, shave and shower. But I digress. Dick stopped outside of the attic door, which had a sizeable gap between the base of the old, paint peeled door and the discolored floor boards, the threshold long ago either rotted or kicked away. He got almost flat to the ground and began to let out that low, guttural cat yodel, signaling that his target had been acquired. He stared at the door, tail twitching in a perturbed manner and continued to grumble. “Well,” I thought. “This should be short work.” And I trekked back down the stairs to my futon and cheap bottle of whiskey to drink and sulk myself to sleep, as per custom.

The next morning, I expected to find the gory evidence of mouse murder. Gore, I found in spades. Mouse bits? Not so much. What I did find was a ragged, jagged, gnawed hunk of cat tail just outside of the attic door. This was an unexpected turn of events. So, shit-snacks... I may have grossly underestimated my rodent opponent. What should I do now, I wondered aloud, to no one in particular. I’d like to pause and interject here. As I am writing this, I am more or less sober. This a great deal different than my usual states of incredibly drunk or incredibly hung over. In moments like now, I have the virtue of extreme hindsight and clarity. At the time, this was not the case. Instead of realizing that something was truly amiss with this creature sharing my house, I just assumed that it was more ‘rat’ than ‘mouse’, and being that Dick wasn’t full grown, I just passed it off as a battle royale that ended in the rat’s favor. Perhaps, I surmised, there were two or more rats involved. A gang of rats, even. So, I decided to adjust my tactics and impose a heartier predator to take on this vermin infestation. In much the same manner, using my urban fishing skills, I wrangled two decent sized, surly Toms who clearly regarded me as their lesser and they strutted, nuts swinging, across my floor to the plate of McDysentery that I had prepared for them. For sure, I thought, this would be the end of my invader. After all, I had cereal to think of.

In much the same way, the two Toms skulked their way up to the third floor attic door and yowled at the brood beyond. This time, I thought, I was out to win the game. I grabbed my bottle of turpentine flavored whiskey and proceeded back up the crumbling steps to the third floor where to terrible Toms sat outside the door to my attic. In fact, I grabbed a camping chair and a bag of stale chips to complete the ambiance and prepared for a little, quadrupedal gladiator show. I quickly set up camp and opened the door to the attic to set loose those magnificent bastards and was immediately assaulted by the mold scent and a new, yet undescribed funk. Something deep and rich in its awfulness, with the slight twinges of metal at its outskirts. As if the mold wasn’t bad enough, I imagine this was the rotting remnants of poor little Dick from the other day. The Toms wasted no time and bolted in to the shadows in the back of that rotten attic. Obscured by the foul-smelling darkness, the sounds of mayhem and murder ripped through the otherwise silent room. Munching my stale chips, I wondered if I should grab a flashlight to catch the action as it unfolded. The action, however, lasted as long as a Mike Tyson fight. I could tell by the tone of screeching from my two tough Toms that the tide of the battle had shifted against them. The low, guttural war cry sharply shifted to a pleading cacophony of retreat. Retreat, however, was not on the enemy’s agenda. Briefly, I saw the mangled form of one Tom try and drag his way out of darkness into light, like a soul damned to the pit, groping skyward for the heaven he would never reach. The poor shit was dragged menacingly back into that awful blackness to assuredly be ripped asunder by whatever ungodly creature resided in the blackness.

After the melee, I sat for a long time and pondered what had just occurred. In as little as three weeks, whatever had taken residence in my home had graduated from cereal to kitten to full grown alley cats in as much time. This did not bode well for yours truly. Thoughts of whatever was in that attic haunted me in my half-inebriated state. But, much to my later chagrin, whiskey has the dubious moniker of “liquid courage” for a reason. My thoughts shifted from fear to anger at whatever the fuck thought it could intrude on me, eat my cereal and my fucking cats! It didn’t matter that I had them each for less than a few days; they were like my miserable extended family: a reflection of myself in their shoddy, unloved and disheveled state. An inexplicable rage burbled up inside of me like the first wave of violent bourbon induced vomiting and I leaped from my chair and grabbed my now empty bottle of whiskey to swing like a deadly cudgel against whatever mutant rat was living in my attic.

I burst through the entryway like a demented warrior, bottle raised above my head, yelling like a maniac at top lung and hitting the room at full drunken lumber. As I closed my distance into the shadows, time itself slowed to a heated heartbeat pace. Each moment in those few seconds, etched like a camera obscura forever into my thalamus, no matter how much I try to kill the memory with booze….

First heartbeat

I hit the separation between the light from the landing outside of the attic door to the dark of the inner attic sanctum.

Second heartbeat.

The shadows revealed themselves to me, like a two dollar whore dropping her filthy dress to the cigarette burned carpet of a seedy roadside motel.

Third heartbeat.

From the level of my waist, eight glowing orbs, so red that they were black, shot up at my direction and fixed on me; a predator honing in on its prey. They spoke destruction in their gaze, and that gaze was pointed right at where my giblets were housed.

Fourth heartbeat.

A low, hungry rumble undulated from just below the glowing orbs. It was a song of death. My death. I was man-bacon. And I had stepped directly into the motherfucking frying pan.

Fifth heartbeat.

I shifted my forward momentum to one side of my body and spun around on my heel, parlaying my forward drive into centrifugal force, propelling my terrified ass directly out the way I had come. Suddenly sober, I sprinted with every ounce of fleet footedness I could muster. Pure and primal survival kicked in as I heard the scraping its nails made as it dug into the floorboards for traction, preparing to make me into its next meal and presumably grow to full human height. I managed to grab the door, slamming it shut mere seconds before that whatever-the-fuck-it-was locked its teeth into my ass cheeks. I heard it hit with a thud and grunt as I continued into the half functioning bathroom. See, like a proper loser, I kept bottles of whiskey in about every room just in case I found my idle hands wanting. Opening the top, I ripped my shirt off and stuffed it into the open maw of the whiskey bottle (after taking a solid pull from it, of course, because fuck sobriety right now) and produced the Zippo my bitch of an ex had bought me one birthday. Lighting it with a practiced flourish, I set ablaze the Molotov cocktail right as that eight-eyed carnivore discovered the concept of doorknobs.

With the skill that only middle relief pitching in little league could bring me, I hucked that flaming bottle at the mass that held those goddamned eyes. In a magnificent explosion of whiskey fueled fire, the cocktail hit home and set that shit-weasel ablaze. It screamed bloody murder and began to thrash back to the shadows of the attic, lighting the old boxes and musty furniture in its retreat. As the fire quickly spread from shit heap to shit heap, the creature made it’s exit through the window, screeching as it fell. I paused a moment to catch my breath, smiling like an idiot in victory until I realized that my house would probably burn around me if I didn’t get the hell out of dodge, post haste.

Grabbing another bottle of whiskey on my way out, I walked away like the closing scene of a John Woo film, building artistically blazing behind me. I paused, a sudden thought occurring to me… so few times in my life had I fought a battle and won, that it seemed a waste not to revel in my one victory a bit. I took a hearty swig of my dime store booze and sauntered cockily over to the rear of my flaming house to physically piss on my fallen foe.

As I rounded the corner, I saw in full, clear view what I had unwittingly vanquished. Lying twitching on the ground was what looked like a rejected HR Geiger sketch of a spider: the size of a small dog with a pale, hairless, smooth white body, dagger like legs and menacing mandibles which were still soaked in the blood and viscera of my poor, poor pussy cats. I could see that my flaming onslaught had melted three of its eight eyes, but, other than that, it looked more dazed than wounded. Staring at it, swaying drunkenly, I lost myself momentarily in the wickedness of the thing. What a perfect predator: quiet, sleek, ruthless… I wondered for a moment how large it would grow if left unchecked. It began to stir, ever so slightly, proving to me that I had indeed only stunned it. Any moment now, it would shake off the haze like the end of any of my lonely, whiskey soaked nights, courtesy of a heartless succubus who took my time, my money, my happiness and left me for some cocksucker with a better job and a sports car… And then, the angel on my shoulder was smited by the devil on my other as a dark grin cracked over my face, growing until my teeth bared and my skin began to crack.

A box, some tape, a note and a short drive was all it took. She always liked surprises. And I recall, she often told me she was fond of my eyes… well, I have new eyes to show her, and those eyes scream out murder.

[head-aches]

i LOVE thicc culture, like i'm on and off insecure about my weight, but im learning to love how chubby and short my legs are, and my squishy cheeks and my squishy everything else for that matter. yeah, i may be slightly inebriated, yeah i may be wearing a corset to hold my tummy in a wee bit, but i feel SO good, and i took some real fire nudes earlier on and maybe i do needa drink a wee bit and tweak wee bits to love how i look, but the more i do it in private and giddily, the more i'll genuinely feel like it daily. some days i am replused by my figure and my physical awkwardness but im having more ups than downs lately over how i look and that feels incredible.

[isitgintimeyet]

Road To The Aisles

AO3

Previous

Happy Sunday. Time for another chapter and if we’ve had a hen party, surely it’s time for a stag do (without Wee Jamie).

Thanks to you all and especially @wickedgoodbooks @happytoobserve @mo-nighean-rouge for their support.

Chapter 21: A Staggering Circumstance

Rudy: Let's have a bachelor party with chicks and guns and fire trucks and hookers and drugs and booze!

Gary: Yeah! Yeah yeah! All the things that make life worth living for!

Bachelor Party

Jamie leant back in his chair and closed his eyes, a finger marking his place in the report he had been reading. He mulled over the recommendations succinctly articulated by Jenny. Ever since her recent fact finding visit to the Macallan distillery, she had been enthusing at every opportunity about the new architecture, technology and design and was preparing a presentation on her vision and proposed five year plan for their own distillery to the Board.

Jamie sighed. The Macallan was certainly impressive, but they were a much bigger outfit and, as part of a larger group, had the finances to support change on this scale. As a smaller, independent distillery,  Broch Tuarach was not in that league and, truth be told, Jamie found comfort in the old technology and older buildings. But he did realise that some change certainly would be good for the business. It was all a balancing act really, tradition versus technology, investment versus profit, increased visitors versus spend on amenities.

A ping from his laptop made Jamie open his eyes. He smiled at the email from Claire - just a very brief message (love you) plus one attachment. He opened it up. With four weeks to go before the big day, this was the latest version of their wedding planning Excel spreadsheet.  He quickly scrolled down looking for the tasks Claire had assigned to him, clearly highlighted in yellow. There were two - he had to pick up thank you gifts for Ian and Wee Jamie and then collect William’s special wedding outfit.

He glanced across at the photographs on his desk - an ever growing range. The latest additions included a black and white snapshot of Claire holding William, laughing as he tried to paw her face, his happy grin clearly displaying his two front teeth and another of himself crouching next to William whose arms were outstretched, waiting for his father to cuddle him. And more photos to be added over the coming weeks, too, without a doubt.

The next four weeks could not pass quickly enough. Jamie longed to see Claire in her wedding dress. He longed to stand up in front of family and friends and make that forever commitment to Claire and to hear her say those words to him. In their day to day lives, nothing would really change, and yet, Jamie knew in his heart of hearts, marriage to his Sassenach would change everything for him… everything.

A slight tap at the office door roused him from his contemplations and, with only a brief pause, Ian came in. Jamie gestured for him to sit.

“I’m no’ disturbing ye, I hope?”

Jamie shook his head. “Nae. Jes’ digesting this report from Jenny. She has some grand ideas, ye ken.”

“Aye, that’s our Jenny. A woman with a vision, Nae doubt. But I didna come here tae talk about that. I jes’ wanted tae clarify something with ye. I’ve had an email from Angus… about yer stag do.”

“Oh, god. I thought it was all sorted. Curry and pub. That’ll do me fine.”

“Aye, that’s still the plan, but Angus wanted tae tell us about a club that’s jes’ opened that he can get us complimentary tickets fer. It’s called…” Ian consulted his iPad. “... ‘Gentlemen’s Relish’.”

Jamie sighed. “Er, that wouldna be a strip club by any chance?”

“Angus says not. Apparently, it’s a high class establishment frequented by discerning gentlemen requiring sophisticated entertainment.”

Ian showed Jamie the image of the flyer Angus had included as an attachment to his email. Jamie snorted with laughter.

“Sophisticated entertainment, ma arse. The pictures of those women in gold bikinis…  It’s jes’ a lap dancing club. I’m no’ interested. And I dinna think Claire, or Jenny fer that matter, would be too impressed. Let’s stick tae the plan.”

Ian stood up, “ I kent ye’d say that. But I had tae ask. And ye’re right. Chicken Jalfrezi and a few beers is much more ma kind of thing too. Dinna fash, I’ll set Angus straight.”

***************

Jamie supped his beer contentedly and looked around, catching snippets of conversations from his friends all in various stages of inebriation. His belly was comfortably full of lamb madras, rice and many, many poppadoms and now beer. He belched softly, a sure sign it was time to switch to whisky.

He shifted on the bar stool, trying to fit a wee bit more buttock onto the seat, but gave up and used his long legs to support him instead. That was the only downside of this pub, the seating. But worth it for the old fashioned ambience, the dark wood panelling, the lack of trendy, loud young crowds and, of course, the wide selection of craft beers and single malts.

Angus was talking animatedly to Rupert. From his elaborate hand gestures, Jamie was fairly certain he was telling Rupert about the ‘gentlemen’s club’. Jamie smiled. That wasn’t his idea of a fine evening. The whisky would, no doubt, be overpriced and watered down and however scantily clad and attractive the girls were, it wasn’t his kind of entertainment. Well, he corrected himself, it would be his kind of entertainment if it was his Sassenach providing the lap dance… a deeper connection there, not just providing a service to a series of nameless punters.

Jamie shifted, trying to lessen the stirrings in his nether regions at the thought of Claire giving him a personal lap dance. Perhaps he would ask her when he got home, perhaps she would be willing to…

A sudden shoulder shove from behind pushed Jamie off his stool. Struggling to regain his balance, his beer sloshed over the glass and onto the floor, catching the front of his shirt on the way. He turned around, anticipating an apology to be met with a sweaty and, once again, inebriated Tom Christie.

Tom leant fully against Jamie’s now unoccupied bar stool and looked up at him.

“Fraser,” he acknowledged. “Celebrating or commis… commis… drowning yer sorrows? I may have had a couple of nips maself. Is yer girlfriend no’ with ye?”

“Fiancée.” Jamie corrected and offered no further conversation. He put the dregs of his beer on the table.

“Aye, a fine lass, that one. If ye ever change yer mind, pass her ma way, would ye?”

In an instant, Ian was at Jamie’s side, a calming hand now resting on Jamie’s shoulder. At the same time, Tom’s drinking companions joined him.

“I suggest ye get Tom some fresh air and a taxi home.”  Ian spoke directly to Tom’s companions.

They hesitated and looked at Tom, now slightly swaying. “Och, he’ll be fine…”

“Now.” Jamie’s voice was harsh. “And that’s no’ a suggestion, mind. Get him out of ma fucking sight.”

He deliberately turned his back on Tom. Ian watched as Tom was, reluctantly, led away. John passed Jamie a large whisky.

“Ye did right, there, Jamie.” Ian reassured him. “He’s no’ worth the effort. And fer some reason, he has it in fer ye.”

“Aye, I dinna ken why.”

“Jealous, most like. He wants tae be ye. Ye have the family distillery, ye’re good looking, if ye like that kind of thing,” Ian joked. “And ye’ve Claire too. Ye need tae let him go and forget it. This is a night tae celebrate, not think about twats like him. And therefore…”

Ian cleared his throat and continued. “So, gentlemen, can we have a toast please tae the man of the moment, who’s finally leaving the single life and getting married in three weeks time tae the lovely Claire. I'm no’ sure quite what he’s done tae deserve her, but anyways, she’s said yes. So raise yer glasses tae Jamie Fraser… lucky bastard.”

“Jamie Fraser… lucky bastard.”

*******************

Claire pulled her dressing gown tightly around her as she checked the spy hole on the front door. A single blue eye stared back at her.

“‘S me, Sassenach.” The blue eye blinked. “Would ye let me in… please?”

She opened the door to find Jamie standing on the doormat, keys in one hand, bag of chips in the other. He stumbled slightly as he came in.

“I tried tae get ma key in, but I think there’s something wrong wi’ the hole. Mebbe it’s broken.”

He pushed the chips into Claire’s hands as he leaned in and gave her a kiss. She winced slightly as the beer and curry fumes hit her.

“I bought ye a wee gift, Sassenach.” Jamie indicated the lukewarm bag of chips.

“Thanks. Good night then, I take it?”

Jamie started to take his jacket off, struggling to get his arms out. Claire watched for a moment, amused, before depositing the chips on the hall table. She unfastened the buttons on the cuffs and pulled his jacket off.

“I thought my jacket was broken then. Is everything broken ‘round here?” He pulled her into a bear hug. “Ye dinna have a gold bikini, do ye, Sassenach?”

“No,” she laughed. “Why?”

“Och, jes’ a thought.”

He relaxed his hug and brought one hand up to her hair, selecting a random curl. Her hair smelt of rosemary and mint, fresh and clean. Letting the curl drop, his hand followed a familiar path down her back towards its favourite destination. He squeezed her arse through her dressing gown. His other hand crept between their bodies, finding its way through the layers of smooth fabric. He cupped her breast, feeling the nipple harden against his palm. Claire gave a small contented sigh.

“Will ye come tae bed?” He whispered.

“Yes, but, please clean your teeth.”

Jamie headed for the stairs, smiling. “Aye, I will do. I’ve some ideas…”

He stumbled on the bottom stair but, unphased, carried on talking. “Sassenach, babe, I’m going to rock your world.”

Claire made the usual nighttime rounds - checking the locks, turning the television off, switching off the lights, before following Jamie to the bedroom.

“Ok, then Fraser, what ideas have you got for me—”

She stopped suddenly and took in the picture in front of her. Jamie lay, fully clothed, diagonally across their bed still wearing one shoe. The other was, inexplicably, on his bedside table, next to his watch, a beer mat and several after dinner mints. He gave a small snore, adjusted his balls through his trousers and farted.

Claire sighed. She quickly undid his belt and trousers and slowly shimmied his trousers down his hips before pulling the legs. She unbuttoned his beer-stained shirt.

“Jamie, Jamie. Wake up. You need to get ready for bed.”

Jamie emitted a mumbled ‘aye’ and rolled onto his side.

“Jamie, wake up.” She tried again, adding a shake of his shoulder.

With Jamie most definitely asleep, Claire left the bedroom and returned with a blanket and bucket, which she positioned next to his side of the bed. By a process of pushing Jamie’s inert body and pulling the duvet from underneath him, she managed to create enough space in the bed for herself. Tucking the blanket around Jamie, she finally crept into bed.

Perhaps Mary has the right idea, she chuckled to herself, maybe I should get me a ‘toy cupboard’.

Jamie snorted as if in agreement.

Claire moulded her body against Jamie’s back. “You raise a girl’s expectations, James Fraser and then you don’t deliver. But I forgive you.”

“And I can’t wait to be married to you,” she whispered. “I know on a practical level, nothing will change, but, for me, I know everything will change…” She lightly kissed his back. “... everything.”

[nookishposts]

Avianotics

Recently returned to a more rural life, we are getting to know our neighbours. They come in all sorts.

I have taken most recently to having my morning coffee with the birds. We tempted them by hanging a couple of feeders from the clothesline attached to one corner of the deck. I do belief that the monthly budget line for bird seed has now equalled the mortgage payment. And the feathered folk have come to expect certain standards. We on the other hand are merely “staff”. Unpaid but for regular quality and dependable entertainment.

I know we live in an area of avid birders. Amongst whom I remain clueless when it comes to identification. Certainly I can tell a robin from a raven, but not a lot more than that. With a small set of binoculars and the handy little guide from the 50 lb bag of mixed seed I hauled into the dining room, I am getting schooled in bird wordery . Junco, nuthatch, grosbeak,finch and titmouse. From the beginning we’ve had chickadees, jays and wee wood peckers, but the cast of each morning’s dramedy is growing exponentially. We could mount our own production of A Chorusline, re-named A Clothesline. Or , given the occasional turf war, Nest Side Story: “I feel flitty, oh so flitty, I feel flitty and snitty and starved!”

The blue jays are HUGE. They squat like sumo-wrestlers readying for a match, and they can be downright thuggish if the lineup at the Seed-ateria  extends further than their patience. Woodpeckers amaze me with their grace; they hang in impossible ways from the spherical cage filled with black sunflower seeds, but prefer to perch atop the tightrope of the suet feeder, poking purposefully into their plunder. The high-fat and high-protein mix helps them weather the winter months. They are also the ones most likely to feed in a snowstorm, their little red caps reminding me of the red-touqued fortitude of Voyageurs crossing Canada by canoe. No sooner had I lamented the distinct absence of cardinals to a new Facebook friend when the first one appeared. They are quite shy apparently, and tend to be ground-feeders. Sure enough, the emboldened one made himself a feast of the mess beneath the feeders; all the stuff that the wee line dancers boot and scoot and boogie aside in their quest for the best bits. 

I sit, coffee in hand , feet up, fascinated. It’s a bit chilly to open the window enough to eavesdrop, so I am forced to imagine conversations around the breakfast buffet. Having the audacity to add a new tray feeder filled with peanuts this morning made for ripe commentary:

“WHAT have they done now?!”

“I dunno, it looks weird, but it smells good, doesn’t it?”

“Smells like the feed store.”

“Well, duh. Of course it does.The gardens are under a foot of snow and we know they don’t cook. Where did you think this stuff comes from, the seed fairies?”

“(GASP) There’s no such thing as Seed Fairies??!! Go on, ruin my childhood you big spoil-sport.!”

“Wanna go check it out?

“Race you!”

And just like that it’s become a riotous new 4-way swinging teeter-totter, complete with snacks.

I stuck some over-ripe grapes on the railing a few days ago, just before a big snow. Birds need water as well as food and I thought the sugary juice from the fruit might do. We have a string of soft white lights that run along the same railing and they glow under the snow, each bulb about the size of...a grape. That led to some confusion, and I think, a little cussing as a result. It occurred to me later that if left long enough the grapes might begin to ferment and we’d run the risk of encouraging the  jay-thugs to become inebriated. Oh goody. I can well imagine Mama-jays tugging Papa home by the ear :”I figured I’d find you back at the bar with your mates. Come home now, we have chicks to feed.” It may explain why they occasionally hit the window with a great thunk. Would it then become our responsibility to provide both rehab and relationship counselling? I don’t need to see a bluejay on a bender, a woozy woodpecker, or a tipsy titmouse. And nobody needs to break anything including the windows. Best re-think the fresh fruit and just put out a pan of water instead.

As I walk each day, I watch for hawks, ravens, herons and the occasional eagle. I see them hunting in the pastures both drifted and scrubbed by the wind; sparkling, ruggedly pristine, home to furtive field mice, ground squirrels and other flightless non-hibernators. As the prey birds swoop low, in my head I hear the deep sighs of a cello. As they rise again to cruising altitude, my inner soundtrack is filled with a bluesy muted trumpet. It’s an interesting space between my inner ears and the outer ones that take in birdsong and the actual flutter of wings in the air. Evenings, a pondering of owls and the call of coyotes through the darkness of the trees sets my imagination squirming. We live on a peaceful but never silent road, sounds carry and change with the wistful winds. The stillness of early morning brings the clearest birdsong, and reminds me that we too have lively and tender friends to feed.