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franstastic-ideas · 4 years

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Present Day, Present Time

Undertale - A few months after the barrier is broken, on Christmas day, Frisk gifts Sans with the Reset button as a sign of trust and goodwill between them, telling him it’s his now: to use, to keep, or to destroy. It’s his power now. It may be the best gift Sans has ever received. Sans finally feels like he can move forward.

And he can feel in his SOUL that he wants to move forward with Frisk.

Word Count: 20,603

@nuvex Surprise! I was your Secret Santa for the Gyftmas event! I’n so, so, SO sorry about the long, loooooong, delay! *hysterical sobbing*

Also, this counts as the season prompt for Fransweek, doesn’t it?

Credits for OCs go to @koiikun for Peter and Charlotte, @semisolidmind for Irene, Edgar and Elizabeth, @undertalepre2re for Daddy Longlegs, @eddieveneziano for Spinerette, and @lostmypotatoes for Ku-Mo

Webber and Julian belong to me.

Even prior to the breaking of the barrier, there were an immense number of things that Frisk wanted to experience alongside her monster friends after reaching the surface.

Going on picnics in the spring, trips to the beach during the summer, jumping in piles of leaves when autumn arrived, and playing in the snow when winter came, organizing ladies’ nights and sleepovers with the girls, celebrating one another’s birthdays...

But what she looked forward to most was spending Gyftmas with them.

As it turned out, the monsters celebrated their own wintertime holiday comparable to the surface world’s Christmas, or Hanukkah, or sometimes Kwanza. She had learned of this during her stay in Snowdin Town, a little village located in the snowy section of the Underground that was decorated as though the inhabitants celebrated Gyftmas every day. It was just September when she had first traversed into the town, but all the preparations for the occasion had already been made, completed by a towering tree adorned with an assortment of ornaments that served as the location’s centerpiece, along with plentiful piles of presents lying underneath bearing tags with the names of all the monsters who lived there.

She supposed even monsterkind wasn’t immune to the widespread seasonal phenomenon commonly referred to as ‘the Christmas creep’.

Frisk had fallen victim to it as well. The very instant that Sans, Papyrus, and then Undyne, followed by the rest of her new pals did the jimpity jumpity joodle, the limpity loppity leap (as her fishy friend would say) directly into her heart, her mind instantly began to drift towards thoughts of what she was going to give each of them when the month of December arrived. Though she certainly didn’t have much concerning funds at the time, Frisk was still a generous person by nature – there was little that made her happier than watching the expression of wonder and then delight that crossed the recipient’s face as they unwrapped and unboxed their gift.

Surface or no surface, Frisk was determined to spend the holiday season with her friends, even if it meant plunging into the depths of the Underground a second time with a fully loaded sack of presents slung over her shoulder to do so. Thankfully, it never came to that – with the assistance of Prince Asriel, the six SOULs of the previous fallen humans, and the added SOULS of every single monster in the Underground, the barrier was finally broken for good, so she and everyone else could reach the surface and get to celebrate their first Gyftmas above ground.

Yes, even Flowey – as much as he denied it, she knew that much of Asriel was still hiding behind the sour personality of that foul flower.

She wasn’t about to let one rotten apple hinder her or himself from enjoying a slice of the warm apple pie that was the wholesome found-family Gyftmas gathering she was doing her best to serve everyone.

Sans hadn’t exactly been thrilled with the idea of him partaking in the festivities, even though Frisk had thought that he shouldn’t even remember who Flowey was. She supposed that the negative impressions Flowey left on him in the RESETs of the past, prior to her gaining the power to turn back time from her floral friend, had somehow left a permanent imprint on the skeleton; similar to how Toriel inexplicably recalled that she preferred cinnamon over butterscotch, along with a plethora of other phantom memories the monsters she closely interacted with experienced throughout the courses of her subterranean adventure.

Flowey had been extremely reluctant to leave his previous spot in the empty Underground. He had stayed behind by choice, after all. However, the frequent offers she made during her continuous visits eventually wore him down, and he said he would go with her under one stipulation – that his true identity remained a secret between the two of them. She agreed to his terms, and Flowey allowed her to take him to the surface to join the rest of her companions – he even willingly climbed into the flowerpot she bought and brought just for him!

Frisk and Toriel shared dual custody of him - the kind goat lady apparently saw the good inside him that he so desperately tried to pretend didn’t exist, and decided to welcome him into her home whenever he wished to visit. Flowey unexpectedly took her up on the invitation, showing minimal resistance to the idea before accepting. Perhaps he missed his mother more than he initially thought.

This is what Frisk believed, and not without good reason. One Sunday afternoon just a few weeks ago, the queen of monsters invited the two over for tea and cookies. Everything had been relatively peaceful, nothing out of the ordinary – all until Toriel had wordlessly placed another one of the sweets on Flowey’s plate, unprompted.

The words ‘Thank you, mama’ had instinctively escaped his mouth before he could stop them. Toriel was touched at hearing that, no matter how accidental it may have been, feeling as though the usually bad-tempered little flower had finally warmed up to her.

But for him, it was excruciatingly painful. He was dead silent for the rest of the time spent in her company and swiftly requested to go home with Frisk once they finished their snacks. The sweet goat lady saw nothing wrong with his behavior, simply assuming that his little slip of the tongue had embarrassed him.

In actuality, the very instant Frisk stepped into her own home and locked the door behind them, Flowey had burst into a hysterical fit of tears, sobbing as he whispered ‘mama’ under his breath, over and over again before crying out, ‘I miss my mama!’.

After he had calmed down considerably, Frisk never once leaving his side the whole while, he once again asserted that he wasn’t going to tell Toriel or Asgore the truth. However, Flowey then said afterwards that, perhaps one day, he may. Just not now. He wasn’t ready yet, and he doubted they were either.

Frisk had been nothing but supportive, assuring Flowey that it was fine for him to take as long as he needed in sorting out his feelings towards the matter, to which he again stated as he so often had in the past that he had no feelings left anymore. That was a lie. A lie that the both of them obviously knew wasn’t true.

Someone with no emotions inside them wouldn’t show visible delight when biting into homemade cookies and pie, nor would they shriek with blatant terror when startled by a cheap jumpscare tactic in a poorly made horror flick during movie night every other Friday, or display signs of what could only be described as intense jealousy when their best and only friend is constantly being ‘stolen away’, from their perspective, by a lazy, ketchup-chugging, pun-spewing bag of bones.

Someone with nothing left to feel wouldn’t wail for his mother during a rare moment of vulnerability.

Frisk wholeheartedly enjoyed each and every second she spent in Flowey’s presence, much to the actually rather understandable perplexity of some of her other friends. She could state countless reasons as to why she would feel this way, but one of them was; hearing the sound of his voice made this big house of hers feel less empty.

Several weeks after gaining the official position of ambassador of monsterkind, Frisk had woken up to the unexpected surprise of receiving an expensive estate in a basically brand-new neighborhood. It was undoubtedly worth thousands, maybe even millions, and just staring at it made her feel as though she were glimpsing into a luxurious world she didn’t and never would belong in. She wanted to gently decline the deed, feeling as though she did nothing to deserve it, but as if anticipating this sort of response, the agent who escorted her to the place informed her that the fully-furnished house and the plot of land it stood on was meant to be a gift; purchased with the gold of not only the king and queen, but the funds of each and every single freed monster. They had unanimously come to the agreement to band together in a collective effort to provide her a better home than the one she had lived in prior.

To turn down such a thoughtful gesture after so much preparation had gone into even making it possible, such a thing would have been incomparably rude to do.

A few months later, and Frisk was still unsure of how they learned of her whereabouts, a dingy old apartment building several towns over located directly in the middle of an unsafe precinct where robberies and other crimes were regularly reported. But someone had discovered her secret, despite her dedicated efforts at dodging their numerous questions concerning the subject.

There had been a few occasions back then where, when returning from one of her hangouts with her monster friends, Frisk felt a similar sensation to being followed. She never did catch a glance at her pursuer during those times, but she supposed it didn’t really matter – not once did she ever feel as though she were in any danger when sensing the presence of this other person. Quite the opposite, in fact, as utterly insane as she knew it may have sounded.

Frisk chose not to mention the fact that she may or may not have been dealing with a mysterious stalker to her friends, since she had already worried them enough when they found out where she lived. What followed came countless offers for her to stay the night or even a few days in one of their residences, to which she always attempted to decline, not wanting to impose on her friends. But some of them, like Undyne, Toriel, Muffet, and unpredictably Sans, of all monsters, would not take ‘no’ for an answer. All of them felt as though they could finally put their fears to rest when she stepped out of that building that looked as though it were falling apart at the seams for the last time, and into her safe and cozy new home they had so lovingly furnished for the first.

Sans had surprisingly been the one to accompany her then, assisting her in gathering up what little belongings she owned to transport them to the house awaiting her. The reason why it had shocked her so much at the time was, the smiley skeleton was well renown as having a laid-back, lax nature; or as Undyne, his brother, and several regulars at Grillby’s would word it – lazy.

But that day, something about the skeleton she thought she knew was deadly serious. His expression seemed to frequently bounce between anticipation and dread, happily helping her with shoving clothes and other accessories into suitcases while also glancing around the area every few minutes with a chilling glare, as if daring some unseen enemy to reveal themselves to him. Even he had breathed a sigh of relief that day, once the task was done and over with.

And not long after that, Sans and Papyrus had managed to acquire an abode of their own as well – directly next to hers.

She had thought that with a vast new world to explore, all the monsters she had met and come to know would have eventually scattered across the globe as soon as the opportunity arose. And some of them did, but not any of her closest friends she had made on her adventure - they had decided to take up residence in this town, not ten miles away from the mountain they were imprisoned within. And even the ones that went elsewhere would eventually wander back on occasion, if only to say ‘hello’.

It didn’t make much sense to her, but when Frisk finally summoned the nerve to ask, all of them gave her the exact same answer,

“We just wanted to be close to you.”

And this claim of theirs must have been true, because when the time came for her to send out the Gyftmas party invitations, every single monster responded with a guarantee in some manner or another that they would be there.

But could she actually manage to squeeze the entirety of the monster population and then some under one roof, specifically hers?

Frisk was about to find out.

Some of them jokingly warned her when they discovered just how long the guest list was supposed to be that she was definitely going to regret this, that a celebration this grand scale was bound to bring the house down in the most literal definition imaginable (thanks, Sans). She held no doubts that the party was going to be chaotic, but she sincerely believed that what was to come would be a chaos of the beautiful sort.

This being proven to be correct was all that she really wanted for Gyftmas.

Even after telling them this, they were still going well out of their way to get her some sort of present for the festivity. Frisk believed the lavish house was enough to compensate for every single Gyftmas, birthday, and any other holiday that would come to pass for the remainder of her life, but no, the monsters demonstrated they could be just as determined as she was when it came to expressing their gratitude towards her for everything the human girl had done for them, in and out of the Underground.

Apparently, Undyne and Mettaton were even going so far as making some sort of competition out of who could give Frisk the best gift, and it was also apparently growing more and more intense between them each day as the date of the party approached. She hoped they didn’t expect her to play the role of judge in this silly contest of theirs, because she couldn’t possibly do that, ever – Frisk was certain that she would love both their gifts with equal enthusiasm. She additionally hoped they hadn’t gone overboard with the holiday shopping in their quest of earning her approval, because the two were well known to be mercilessly competitive and had a history of overspending according to their own friends and relatives.

Mettaton may be able to flaunt and throw around all the wealth that came from being a sensational star whenever he pleases, but that still doesn’t mean that he should, and Frisk felt that Undyne really needed to start investing her earnings in an emergency fund of some sort, because she’s already almost burned her house to a crisp while cooking a grand total of eight times since finding a place to live on the surface.

She’s going to need that money when the time eventually comes that Undyne does reduce it down to nothing more than smoking splinters and the very foundation it stands upon in one gigantic fiery explosion, and it was becoming more and more clear to Frisk that the fish woman’s house regularly being engulfed in flames was just one of those inevitable aspects of life that refused to change, in spite of her attempts...

That’s why after the second time it happened, Frisk jumped for getting the local and friendly fire department’s number on speed dial on both their phones. Undyne and the entire force were practically on a first name basis with each other at this point.

But Undyne refrained from ever cooking at other people’s houses, even when it was requested of her by some incredibly brave or very foolish SOUL with nothing to lose; she only did so at her own. That’s probably what upset Frisk the most – she was actively aware that her ventures in the culinary world were deadly in dual senses, and yet that didn’t seem to stop her in the slightest when it came to pursuing her passion. Frisk supposed there was something admirable to be found in that, somewhere...

And while it appeared that Undyne’s skills in the kitchen were getting worse and worse, Papyrus’s were only getting better, even without any comparison needed.

He improved so much, in fact, that Frisk asked him if he would like to be one of the head chefs in providing catering for her guests at the upcoming party, alongside Grillby, Muffet, and Toriel. He gratefully accepted the position with tears flowing from his sockets like geysers, picking her up in one swift motion and swinging her around and around until it nearly made her stomach turn. He promised her that this would be the best Gyftmas dinner she’s ever had, to which she reminded him that this would be the first Gyftmas dinner she’s ever had. If anything, this only spurred Papyrus to put even more passion into his own culinary studies, so his cuisines would be guaranteed to leave a good impression on her human taste buds.

Gyftmas, Christmas – though the two holidays were relatively the same in spirit, what Frisk had told him was not lacking in truth...

Even long before the date of their wintertime gathering, there was still plenty to do. She began her search for gifts almost as soon as the barrier had been broken, but the preparations for the gradually approaching party had commenced as briskly as the day after Halloween. Of course, there was also Thanksgiving to think about then; they came together at that time as well, at Toriel’s house, but the number of those attending had been much smaller than the total count that was to be present at Frisk’s party, since many monsters had chosen to celebrate the occasion with their respective families.

That was why the sheer amount of replies that she received in respondence to the invitations astounded her as much as it did.

But when the 25th finally came, Frisk couldn’t have been more pleased by the nothing short of massive turnout.

The guests began arriving as early as seven in the morning. The event didn’t even officially start until nine, but some of them had showed up early because they wanted an opportunity to talk with their beloved ambassador a bit before the celebration became too crowded and hectic to anymore.

She had woken up a few minutes after six that morning for some last-minute arrangements when Frisk spotted a familiar round skeletal face in the window of the house immediately across from her own. Hers and Sans’s bedrooms faced one another, the space between them not ten feet apart, and the two had carried out entire conversations from their respective windowsills before – fairly often, in truth.

Such a conversation occurred on the dawn of that special snowy morning, surprisingly. Frisk would have been willing to bet that she wouldn’t be seeing him around until after the start of the party a few hours later.

He grinned and tapped on the surface of the frosted and fogged over glass in swift succession with a single phalange before opening his window, silently urging her to do the same with her own. She did so, a gust of cool wintery air flowing into the room, and spoke the first thing that came to mind.

“You’re up unexpectedly early today.”

“paps got me up and out of bed as soon as he realized the hours were in the a.m. and the date had changed.” Sans yawned, just barely managing to cover his mouth, then added, “and that was almost a few minutes after midnight, but about a whole gallon of warm milk later, and i got him to go back to sleep. honestly, that was probably the real gyftmas miracle – as beat as paps was, he denied it to the bitter end and tried to fight off the sleepies to his last ‘nyeh’.”

“That definitely sounds like something he would do.” The mental image of Papyrus suddenly yanking the shorter skeleton off his mattress and dragging Sans behind him down the stairs to the living room in the middle of the night was worth a chuckle, as exhausted as she knew Sans must be right now. “Was he trying to catch a peep at ‘Santa’ in action? Or should I say, ‘Sansta’?”

“nah. he hasn’t tried to capture santa since we were pretty much babybones.” He gave a sleepy chuckle.

“...Capture? ...Santa?” She uttered inquisitively with an arched eyebrow, but he didn’t provide her with any more details on that bizarre little response.

“gyftmas eve is the one night a year that paps makes an honest effort to go to bed early and get some real sleep, ‘cause he’s worried that santa will pass our house up if he doesn’t. but his excitement, his insomnia, and the anxiety over what he thinks will happen if he isn’t sleeping ironically keeps him awake. we go through this every year. i already mentioned the milk, but it took a whole pile and a few hours of bedtime stories to knock him out this one, though.”

“You’re probably already aware of this, Sans, but... you look really tired.” The dark circles under his sockets were a few shades darker, more prominent than usual, and as she said this, another long, deep yawn escaped his gaping maw. “You know, you could go back to bed and get some sleep yourself and just show up a while later, if you wanted to. I wouldn’t be disappointed with you if you decided to do that, really.”

“nah, nah. don’t worry about it. i’ll be fine, just fine, kid. the both of us ‘ll be there when we’re supposed to. actually, expect to see us at least half an hour earlier, since you know how paps likes to show up anywhere he goes fashionably ahead of time. my bro’s such a trendsetter... he’s light years ahead of the rest of us.” He waved off her concerns with a grin that appeared far happier and less weary than it probably should, but was unexpectedly followed by a pensive frown.

Sans grew silent and remained so for several passing moments; so silent that it began to make Frisk feel uncomfortable.

He always made a point of looking at the person he was speaking to, but he wasn’t doing that now. His attention wasn’t on her anymore – it was on practically everything but her, and that worrying little frown on his face only heightened the sense of concern that was washing over Frisk in waves after seeing it.

“...Sans? Is something wrong...?” She asked, a twinge of distress discernible in her quiet tone of voice.

She had to repeat herself twice before he would answer her.

“it’s just... about the party...” His front teeth gnawed on the bottom of his mouth, seeming only more perturbed as the seconds slowly passed by before another grin, wide and gleeful, almost to the extent of being manic, broke across his skull just as suddenly as the grimace had.

“i was just thinking about how loooong the drive’s gonna be to get there... it’ll be so long, i might actually get a full nine hours sleep on the way there.” He accomplished getting through the first two sentences with only a few snorts interspersed into his speech, but he was really struggling not to laugh through the second half - and by the tail end of the third sentence, he was failing miserably. “i mean, i think you have the right to live wherever it is you want, but why’d you have to go and move so far off, frisk? do you not want to see your ‘ol pal sansy as often anymore, is that it?”

“Sans, our houses are literally less than ten feet apart.” She giggled uncontrollably; his laughter was potently contagious.

“but it feels so far away in my SOUL!” He cried out dramatically, clutching the front of his shirt directly at the area of his chest as he fell to the carpet, on his knees.

“We’re talking to each other face to face from our windows! How much closer do you want us to be?!”

“until it’s impossible for us to get any closer.” He replied without a beat, his laughter dying down to a nervous chuckle as a soft blue blush slowly spread across his face.

“Wh-What...?” She stuttered dumbly.

“what?” He parroted immediately after; so immediate that Frisk was almost certain that she must have misheard or imagined what had preceded.

“...Sans, you goob. You really fooled me into thinking there was something horribly wrong! What you just did wasn’t in the Gyftmas spirit, Sans!”

“ok, ok, yeah, now that i think about it, that really was kinda mean of me.” He scratched the back of his skull with an awkward sheepish smile, at least having the decency to look ashamed of himself. “...but it still made you laugh, though.”

“...Okay, I will admit that it was actually pretty funny... Especially that whole thing you do where you grossly exaggerate how far apart our houses are, despite us being next-door neighbors and all...” Frisk then made the valiant effort to appear stern in front of him. “But anymore jokes like that one today, and you’ll leave me with no choice but to take away your present privileges.”

“you... you got me something?” His droopy sockets widened, and the white spheres that served as his pupils enlarged to the extent that they almost looked like twin moons, his reaction all but suggesting that he was truly taken aback by the thought.

“Of course I did. Undyne may be my bestie, but you’re my bestest buddy.” She stated sincerely, but then smirked, a wicked idea manifesting without any warning. “Prepare yourself, because it’s on it’s way!”

“you didn’t have to get me anything, frisk...” That’s what he said, but he wasn’t exactly doing an excellent job at hiding his inner giddiness – it almost made her feel bad for what she was about to do. “...wait? you’re giving it to me now?”

“Yep! Whether you choose to close your eyes or not is up to you.”

“...‘kay. i’ll keep ‘em closed, since i think that’s what you want me to do. sansy ‘ll play along with the surprise, kiddo.” His sockets shut, but not a second later he cracked one open. “...you better not be about to throw a snowball at my face though, ‘cause that’s a declaration of war where i come from.”

“It’s not a snowball, so don’t worry.”

And it really wasn’t a snowball. But he was about to get a face full of something.

Frisk walked over to her nightstand to grab Sans’s present, unwrapped. She had meant to wrap it along with the rest of his gift, but this one had become misplaced, and thus it escaped getting packaged at the time. It was something small, in both size and value, but she was told by Toriel that Sans would appreciate it nonetheless.

It was time to test if that claim was true.

She stood in front of the window, taking in the sight of Sans standing there, his sockets closed and looking as though he were mere seconds away from actually falling asleep in that very spot while standing up. He was definitely nodding off though – it was time for a little wakeup call!

“Here it comes!” She yelled happily, hurling the object she held in her hand with all her might out the window; it sailed through the chilly air and the snow, crossing the few feet’s distance between them and towards him at top speed.

Her sudden shout caused his sockets to snap open, just at the exact right moment for whatever it was she had thrown to pelt him directly in the face.

“buh?!” He nearly spluttered in surprise.

It took a few more moments, as he was still somewhat paralyzed from the shock of it all, but as soon as he regained his bearings, Sans peeled off the offending object covering his eyes; it had felt soft when it collided with his skull, and he discovered that what struck him was in fact a pair of socks.

But not just any pair of socks. No, this particular pair was colored a dark gray, and that itself wasn’t too special, but on them he found images of little cheeseburgers scattered across the fabric. Something red was also oozing out from underneath the top buns of the patties, which was obviously meant to be ketchup. They looked just as though Grillby had decided to design clothing themed around his restaurant’s menu on the side, and Sans was loving it.

“these... these are amazing!”

Frisk knew that he would like them, but she never once thought that Sans, or anyone for that matter, would be so overjoyed to receive a pair of socks as a gift, especially as a Gyftmas present.

He was so pleased with them that he began kicking off his slippers posthaste and sat down on his bedroom floor to put them on. It was while he was doing this that Frisk took the opportunity to actually look at him, specifically his body, and even more specifically, his feet.

They... didn’t look like an actual skeleton’s feet. An actual skeleton as in a human skeleton, that is; which was nothing unusual or out of the ordinary at all for him, she had learned far prior to this point, really. She had been around him and Papyrus for so long now that she didn’t really question what they could do or shouldn’t be able to do as skeletons, but still, these aspects were no less jarring to her when she thought about it for longer than a few seconds.

His feet looked less skeletal, as contrary as that was, and more like a person’s with all the skin and the meat underneath still attached. The only thing even remotely skeletal about them was the fact that they were made out of bone. She wondered if his hands were also similar in shape. They were always out of sight, since he kept them covered with gloves or mittens or had them shoved in the pockets of his shorts or hoodie, so Frisk had never seen them before.

He must have caught her in the act of staring, because a few more moments of ogling later and she noticed he was grinning slyly in her direction.

“getting enough of an eyeful over there?” Sans asked with a wiggle of his eyebone(?), striking what one could consider to be a provocative pose as he slowly pulled the sock up and over his heel, never breaking eye contact with her as he did so.

“Oh, hush.” Her cheeks were turning a deep, flushed red, and it had nothing to do with the frigid air surrounding and flooding in through the wide-open window.

“...sweet mother of asgore!” Sans all of a sudden wheezed, startling her before he replied, nearly sobbing in his laughter as he pointed to his leg, “they’re kneesocks!”

“Kneesocks?!”

“you didn’t know?!”

“No!” Frisk insisted, then added embarrassedly, “...I guess I was so absorbed in the print that I didn’t pay attention to what kind they were when I bought them. I’m sorry.”

“don’t apologize – these are great.” Sans said as he eagerly tugged the other one up the length of his leg up to his patella.

“Sans the skeleton from Snowdin, you aren’t seriously going to wear those, are you?” She inquired with blatant disbelief evident in her expression and tone.

“you bet your burger i am. i’m gonna wear them at the party, and i’m patella-ing everyone that’ll listen where i got ‘em from.”

“Sans, why...?” She half-groaned, half-giggled to herself.

They shared a few more bad laughs together before a knock at the door interrupted them.

“sounds like the early birds are already dropping in.” Sans remarked as he leaned out the window, peering down below to see a few monsters waiting at Frisk’s front door. “paps is gonna be disappointed that he wasn’t the first to show up.”

“Tell him he’ll always come first place in my heart.” Frisk chuckled, already imagining the somewhat pouty expression on the taller skeleton’s face when he saw the other guests had beaten him to the Gyftmas punch, quite literally.

“heh, he’ll appreciate that. hey, just wanted to let you know, he an’ i got most of the cooking done last night before bed, and he’s finishing up the final touches on his part of the spread right now. it’ll be more than a bit of a pain in the tailbone to carry it all in a few dishes per trip, so...” He lifted a single phalange, the tip of it glowing a bright blue along with his left eye. “...i might have to put in some actual effort to pull this off.”

“Ohhh...! Sans is busting out the scary cyan magic eye!” She gasped, clapping her hands with delight. “And all for me and the sake of the party! I’m actually gonna see you use some magic!”

“you act like it’s such a big deal...” He scratched the back of his skull again, turning to the side so hopefully she wouldn’t notice the blush matching the color of his magic blooming in his cheeks.

Another knock interrupted their talk, much louder and more persistent than prior.

“...I better go answer that.”

“‘kay. see ya in a bit, kiddo.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Just a few hours later, and the party had already gone into full swing. The house was packed with guests at every turn, and it would only grow fuller as the day went on. Frisk fully expected the celebration to continue well into the late hours of the night, and she was more than alright with this.

She had received plenty of promises from certain higher profile monsters that they would be attending; the presence of Toriel and Asgore hadn’t surprised her in the slightest, despite their busy schedules that didn’t let up even during the holidays. But Mettaton? Frisk was quite honestly astonished when she saw the modelesque robot strut through the front door and directly into her living room wearing a long faux-fur coat and high-heeled snow boots, even though he shouldn’t be able to feel the frigid temperatures outside.

“Mettaton?!” She openly expressed her shock.

“The one and only.” He lowered his sunglasses, which were entirely inappropriate for this sort of snowy weather, and winked.

“I... I didn’t think you would make it.”

“I wouldn’t miss your little soirée for the world, darling!” He threw up his arms to sweep her into an unprecedented embrace. “Although... it was exceedingly difficult. It’s fortunate that you sent out the invitations in advance as you did, otherwise my fabulous self being present today would have been nothing short of impossible. Being a surface world star is glamorous and all, but... some of the producers I work with really do know how to get my gears grinding!”

“Well, I really am happy to see you here in person, Mettaton, and not on the television as expected.” She eagerly returned the gesture, wrapping her arms around his cold metallic body. “I know that I’m yours and everybody else’s ambassador, but I still can’t even begin to imagine how taxing your career can be sometimes. But remember that today is all about relaxing and spending time with the ones you love. Get some well-deserved rest for the moment and fill the Mettaton-shaped hole in our Mettaton-shaped hearts.”

“That’s right... That’s exactly what I came here today to do. To catch up with everyone else and hear what’s happening in their own lives, while mine’s been spent under the spotlight so much lately. I can’t afford to make the same mistake as I did last time...” His head whipped around the room as if searching for something, or rather someone. “Blooky? Will Blooky be arriving soon? Are they even coming?!”

“Don’t get your circuits in a twist just yet. Blooky’s already here – go look over in the corner of the other living room, where the music player is. I asked them to DJ for me today with the holiday compositions they compiled just for the occasion.”

Mettaton paused in his dramatics to listen, recognizing with apparent fondness in his features the soft tune that floated through the air well – ‘Ghouliday’, one of the first songs the cousins had wrote together when the two simultaneously became interested in music several years ago.

“That song of ours... it feels just like home...” He then took off in a sprint into the next room over, his arms waving around almost like limp noodles in a strong wind as he charged towards the ghost with the express purpose of defying all logic and laws of physics to wrap his beloved cousin in a hug. “BLOOKY! I missed you sooooo MUH-HUH-UUUUCH!!!”

“Waitwaitwaitwait!” She heard Napstablook utter as urgently as their soft voice would allow. “I’m holding punch!”

There was the sound of a crash, several people screaming and glass breaking, followed by a short beat before Mettaton timidly and uncharacteristically squeaked,

“...I’ll clean that up!”

So the party was going great.

The pile of presents underneath the tree was growing bigger and bigger with each additional guest that attended the Gyftmas gathering. A grand assortment of names were jotted down on the tags, but Frisk probably shouldn’t have been as taken aback as she was to find that a good number of them were addressed to her.

A scaly hand suddenly clapping over her shoulder brought the girl out of her thoughts and caused her to shriek in alarm.

“WHOA, hey!” Undyne retracted her hand as if she had been burnt, holding both of them up in a defensive stance. “Didn’t mean to scare ya like that, Frisk. ...You were looking a little spaced out there, so I thought I’d check up on ya.”

“Sorry for reacting like that. I was just thinking to myself... Looking at all these presents here, and so many of them for me, it made me realize how many friends I have now.”

“I still can’t believe you’re trying to fit basically the entire Underground under one roof... and YOUR roof! You had to of known that’s a disaster just waiting to happen. And to go ahead and do it anyway despite that, well, that takes some real guts, punk!”

“Mettaton said that he was going to clean up the mess he made, and I believe him.”

“Wait, what?” She blinked before letting out a cackle. “You mean the ol’ tin can’s already broke something?! I take it back – you’re either fearless, or just plain NUTS for even trying to pull this off! But hey, no matter how it goes, this is gonna be something for us all to remember and laugh about later!”

Her wide toothy grin then turned into a deep frown.

“...Seeing everybody here, with smiles on their faces, just happy to be alive and in each other’s company; it makes me feel kinda bad.”

“Why?” Frisk inquired, incredulous. “Why would what’s supposed to be the most wonderful day of the year make you feel that way? I mean, I’m sure you have your reasons, but you seemed pretty fired up about today before...”

“Well, I feel guilty.” Undyne averted her gaze and tugged at her scarf absentmindedly. “Back when I first met you, I hated you and every other human; because I thought you hated us. And then, well, you and I, we ended up becoming besties! But... it’s moments like these, where we’re all together just having a good time here on the surface with you that makes me remember... what a horrible mistake I almost made.”

“Undyne, it’s all behind us.” Frisk reassured her, reaching up to place her own hand over her towering fishy friend’s shoulder with some struggling before settling on simply patting the sleeve of her arm. “You shouldn’t be thinking about that anymore – especially not today, of all days.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that, but... sometimes I still feel pretty lousy about it.” She wrapped Frisk into a tight, almost suffocating one-armed hug accompanied by an aggressive noogie. “I couldn’t have been more wrong then! I thought you were gonna destroy us all, and that I needed to protect everybody from you. But the truth was, what I needed to be doing was protecting YOU! You really are just like Papyrus sometimes - too darn NICE for your own good!”

“Oww! I appreciate the sentiments, but please don’t noogie the human!”

“See? That sounds JUST LIKE something he would say!”

“That’s because he did say it before. You know, that one time over the phone?”

“Oh yeah, he did, didn’t he?” Undyne ceased her relentless grinding of the knuckles against Frisk’s head for the moment to ponder and reminisce. “Ya know, sometimes that whole adventure you had Underground with us feels like it happened ages ago, and other times like it was just last week. Time is funny like that. ...Oh man. I’m starting to sound just like that old coot Gerson!”

“Stay with us, Undyne! You can’t go slipping away from us just yet!” Frisk teased, laughing at her mortified expression. “You’re still too young for the rocking chair and recollecting of yesteryears!”

“You’re right! I’ve gotta stop blathering on and on about what happened yesterday and focus on what’s happening TODAY! Make some new memories, YEAH!” A few nearby monsters turned her way, but otherwise her exclamation didn’t receive too much fanfare. “Hey, is Alphys here yet? I want her to open up my Gyftmas present to her ASAP!”

“No, she hasn’t gotten here just yet, but she did text me a few minutes ago saying she was on her way.” Undyne shuffled and stomped in place impatiently at this. “Oh, oh! You want to know what I got her?”

“Uh, yeah!” She enthusiastically exclaimed. “...Does it have anything to do with Mew Mew Kissy Cutie, though?”

“Actually, it does!”

“Aw, PLEASE don’t tell me we ended up getting her the exact same thing!”

“What did you get her, Undyne?” Frisk inquired, confident that her friend’s assumption was incorrect, but a sliver of nervousness was still present in her question.

“Well, you know how most of the anime out there is usually based off of those Japanese books with all the pictures in them that you gotta read backwards to understand anything that’s going on? Uh, I think they’re called mangoes? Manhwas? Maybe it was mandalas? No, wait, that still doesn’t sound right...” Before Frisk could correct her, she had already moved on. “Well anyway, she’s got some DVDs of the anime, but none of the books. So I did a lot of scouting on your human internet and found the whole set. But finding all of them together isn’t what took me so long, no – this set is special. They’re all signed. By the AUTHOR!”

“Alphys is gonna flip.” The reptilian monster was usually shy and soft-spoken in nature, but when talking about something she loved, Alphys could become momentarily unrestrained and speak freely about her hobbies and passions.

“That’s EXACTLY what I’m hoping she’ll do! I don’t even know how many hours I spent and how many online shopping websites I had to search through, and let’s not even get into how much money I had to shell out for the set after I FINALLY found it - but seeing her nerd out over something like that, it’ll all be SO worth it. I’d do it again five times and a bunch more if I got that kind of adorable reaction each time!”

“That’s so cute, it makes my heart hurt!”

“So, uh, sorry to be the bringer of bad news, Frisk, but... if we really DID get the same thing for her, mine’s GOTTA be the superior of the two. ...There’s no way we both got her a signed set of Mew Mew Kissy Cutie mangolios, did we?”

“No, fortunately we didn’t get her the same thing.” It was subtle, but the tension in Undyne’s expression eased at that. “Those DVDs of hers you mentioned? Well, I watched the series myself several years ago, and the ones she has aren’t complete. They’re from that old company that went out of business that used to hold the license; and not only did they do a horrendous job with the dubbing, but the episodes are out of order, some of them are even missing, and then the ones that weren’t cut were edited so badly that it’s almost painful to watch.”

“Really? I watched some of the episodes with Alphys before, and at the time I didn’t really notice anything too weird about ‘em. But now that you’ve told me all this stuff, I gotta say, there’s actually a whole lot of plotholes and a bunch of other things that didn’t make much to any sense in the story.”

“So this right here...” Frisk plucked a present from the ever-expanding pile, a sparkly tag with the name ‘Alphys’ written in pen stuck to the paper, and waved it around with a smile. “...Is the complete set. All fifty-two uncut episodes in their correct airing order on eight disks, with the additional viewing choice of a brand-new English dub or the original Japanese voice acting with subtitles.”

“Dang, I just realized... Alphys is gonna be so busy with this stuff we got her, she probably won’t have any time to hang out with either of us anymore!”

“Well, I can’t say anything about the books, but maybe we could make the viewing of Mew Mew Kissy Cutie a thing at Ladies’ Night from here on out?” Frisk suggested, believing that the rest of the girls might enjoy it; especially since they could actually follow the plot along without much trouble when watching this edition of the series.

But Undyne didn’t respond to her suggestion. No, the redhead was peering at something behind her, just over Frisk’s shoulder, with a slack-jawed expression. But before Frisk could even begin to ask her what was wrong, a shrill squeal erupted far too close to her ear, forcing her to turn around.

“Alphys!” Frisk shrieked herself, now knowing exactly why Undyne had seemed so distraught. “How much did you-” It was too late, she realized. “You... you heard everything, didn’t you?”

“So much for surprises...” Undyne grumbled sourly, crossing her arms.

However, Undyne’s prickly mood quickly faded when Alphys launched herself at her, flinging her arms around her neck and squeezing with all the appreciation she could convey as she practically screamed her gratitude towards them both.

“ThankyouthankyouTHANKYOUTHANKYOU...!!!!!” Alphys screeched with delight, her grip around Undyne’s neck becoming tighter and tighter to the point that even one of the strongest monsters in the Underground was having difficulty breathing.

“Alphie, you’re CHOKING me...!”

“Oh... OH! Sorry! I’m SO sorry!” She immediately detached herself from the fish lady, somewhat mortified but still giddy, and gave her a chance to regain her breath. “I just... I got so excited that I... I just couldn’t contain myself anymore!”

“Well, you’re gonna have to contain yourself for a while longer, now!” Undyne huffed, a look of faux scorn gracing her face. “Instead of doing the honorable thing and walking away when you had the chance to, you stood RIGHT THERE and heard everything that you weren’t supposed to; and once again, instead of WALKING AWAY and pretending you didn’t hear ANYTHING, you LET US KNOW you were there by calling attention to yourself with all your adorable squeaking and squealing!”

“I... I’m so sorry I ruined the surprise...”

“...I know you didn’t do it on purpose. It’s just... I really wanted to WOW you, Alphie. And I’m sure Frisk here did too, what with how much she was hyping up your present from her.” Undyne then pointed a clawed finger at her. “HOWEVER, because the identity of your gifts have been revealed to you too early, you have to WAIT to open them – ONE HOUR for EVERY MINUTE that you spent standing there listening to us!”

“I stood here for about five minutes...” Alphys decided it was best to be honest with her, to avoid disappointing Undyne any further than she already had.

“Then you can open them at three.” She huffed in response, then peered down at Frisk, who was giving her a fixed stare accompanied by a tiny frown. “Don’t you give me that look! That’s what my mama made me do whenever I snooped around to see what I was getting for Gyftmas before I was supposed to! Heck, sometimes I screwed up with her so bad that I had to wait for DAYS after Gyftmas had passed! Don’t ask me how she always knew I snuck some peeks of the stash before she could get ‘em all wrapped - moms are just really good at finding out about that kind of stuff.”

“Aww...” Alphys pouted in a manner not unlike an upset child, and both Undyne and Frisk had to admit – seeing her like that really was precious.

“It’s just a few hours, Alphie.” Undyne playfully rolled her one good eye and began shoving her good-naturedly towards a group of guests that had gathered around the television. “Let’s go mingle some and then you’ll see the time will pass by before you even know it!”

Undyne hauled Alphys off in such a rush that Frisk had missed her opportunity to give the finned monster her own gift – she watched the couple for a moment, wondering if she should drop in on their ensuing chatter to deliver it, but it seemed they were having so much fun that she’d hate to interrupt. She supposed that Undyne could open hers later, alongside Alphys’s.

Shopping for Undyne had been a bit of a stumper, compared to some of the other monsters that she knew. Frisk’s first choice had been a replica sword, but then she recalled their frequent hangouts at her place and remembered that she had plenty of those – the human girl thought for some time that they had burned up in the fire, but Frisk learned shortly after visiting her new home on the surface that she braved the seemingly eternal flames which still engulfed her old house in the Underground and had gone back inside to rescue them. And aside from a few scuff marks, they were essentially in pristine shape.

Even though she was certain that her anime-obsessed friend would be more than thrilled to receive yet another oversized duplicate sword to add to her collection, Frisk felt that her Gyftmas present needed to be a bit more special. She wracked her brain for days on end, reviewing everything she knew about the powerful fish woman and former captain of the Royal Guard.

So, after much deliberation, Frisk decided that instead of giving her yet another replica for her to put on display...

She would get her a real one.

The only person she had spoken to concerning this idea was Sans (because Papyrus couldn’t keep a secret even for the sake of his own life, and Alphys couldn’t exactly be trusted with this top-secret information either because she became increasingly loose-lipped when excited to a certain extent), who unhesitantly informed her that while Undyne would be ecstatic, going through with it would be a grave mistake on her part.

Undyne was zealous, yes, and incredibly hot-blooded for a fish lady, but Frisk told him that she trusted her to be responsible with the bladed weapon.

“a move which will henceforth be known as ‘mistake number two’.” He had rung in with his opinion then.

But she honestly couldn’t think of anything else that would impress her as much as a genuine steel sword, so at the time Frisk had more or less told Sans to stuff it. She was hoping with all her might that Undyne would prove him wrong – otherwise she’d never hear the end of it from the smug skeleton.

Frisk was aware that someone who had the ability to summon spears made of magic from thin air would probably possess no real need for a sword, but the practicality of the present wasn’t really all that important in the first place – the only thing that truly mattered in the end was whether Undyne was happy or not with her gift.

And speaking of Sans, she quite literally bumped into him on her way to the kitchen. It seemed he just then finished putting all the dishes he and Papyrus prepared in their proper places on the various tables she had set up around the living room, because the faint glow of his magic was still visible in his left eye and she caught sight of a fading wisp of blue from his fingertips.

“‘ey, kiddo. where’s the fire at?” His hands reached out to steady her, their unexpected impact nearly knocking Frisk off her feet.

“It’s in the kitchen – I thought I’d check up on Grillby. He said there were still a few things left that he needed to involving some additions to the spread and asked to borrow mine so he could finish the job.”

“paps is really letting this new position as a ‘head chef’ get to his, uh, head.” He sighed, but it was an unmistakably satisfied one. “don’t get me wrong – i couldn’t be happier that he’s done nothing but improve since we’ve been on the surface; tickled to the bone even... but i gotta admit, paps can be kind of a bossy boots when he’s all absorbed in his cooking. he has this tendency to hover over anybody else with him when in the kitchen, and feels the need to input some well-meaning, but unrequested advice. so i hope he isn’t giving grillbz too bad of a time in there.”

“You told me that everything on the list of dishes he was responsible for was finished. If Papyrus finished everything he was supposed to, then why would he be in the kitchen?”

“to dispense some of his well-meaning advice.”

“...Oh. Well, I think Grillby might be able to handle it?” Sans didn’t seem so sure of her words, and neither did she herself honestly. “He seems like the type to work well even under pressure. From what I’ve seen, for someone made of flames, he’s pretty good at keeping a cool head.”

“yeah, maybe so, but even someone as chill as grillby has got to have an ignition point.” Sans did have a point there, Frisk mentally noted – and while they both knew that the flamesman would never blow up on Papyrus, the likelihood of him becoming tormented by the skeleton’s helpful intentions was quite high. “you said you were going to pop in and check on him? i’ll go with ya – i’ve gotta give grillby his gift anyway, so now’s as good a time as ever, i guess.”

“What did you get him?” Frisk asked, filled with curiosity.

“well, it’s not really much of a gyftmas present, but...” He shrugged, seeming somewhat ashamed. “i’m gonna finally pay off my tab with him, with interest. i think he’d probably appreciate that more than anything else i could’ve got him today.”

“You mean you still haven’t paid off that big bill you racked up in the Underground?” Frisk shook her head, but smiled all the same. “What I have for him isn’t anything material either, but I’m pinning my hopes on the possibility that it’ll be the sort of gift that’ll keep on giving in the long run.”

“it already sounds a lot better than what i have planned. so, don’t keep me in suspense, kiddo - what’s this spectacular gift of yours that’s supposed to keep on giving all year ‘round? it’s not a one-year membership to the jelly of the month club, is it?”

“No, and I caught that reference, Sans.” She giggled, and he swore the sound was almost like bells, if only to him. “Some of the monsters, like Grillby, I couldn’t think of anything to give them that I could wrap up in a box. So instead of something physical, I decided to make a present out of an act or service – I’ve made the arrangements for his restaurant to receive a much needed expansion in the near future, since I heard from him and a few other regulars that the building is getting sort of cramped, what with all the new customers he’s drawing in now.”

“aww, kiddo.” He cooed, “grillby ‘ll probably start crying soot when you drop the news on him. an upsized establishment is the best thing you ever could have thought up to give him. you’ve got me beat in that department - that’s way better than my idea.”

“Gyftmas isn’t a contest, Sans.” She gently chided him. “And I’m sure that Grillby will be more than happy to collect your overdue payments as a present. I’m willing to bet he most likely never thought he’d see a single piece of the gold that went into your meals, so at least it’s a guarantee you’ll be surprising him.”

“ouch.” He placed one hand over his ribcage, feigning hurt. “that was cold, frisk. real cold. you wanna know how cold that was? that was so cold, that i could step right through that front door and walk straight into that blizzard going on out there, and it’d still be a whole lot warmer than what you just said to me, your ol’ pal sansy.”

“i was just teasing you, funnybones.” She lightly slapped his arm, the touch more akin to a light tap as she laughed, “I knew you were always planning on paying him back. You always do. Grillby once told me you never did let him down before when it came to eventually clearing off your tabs, so he didn’t expect you to this time, either.”

“that grillby... what a guy.” Sans shook his head, almost pityingly.

When they entered the kitchen, they found Papyrus exactly where Sans expected him to be, standing behind the flamesman and leaning over his shoulder, closely scrutinizing his work as he chattered on and on in incomprehensible culinary jargon. Grillby’s reaction to this was subtle – to the casual observer, he would appear to be nothing but the very essence of calm. However, the slightly erratic flickering of the flames that composed his body made them aware that Grillby was steadily becoming increasingly distressed at the unwanted commentary and being so closely observed. If that alone hadn’t clearly sent the message across, then the near pleading look he gave the two when he took notice of their presence certainly would have.

“i got this.” The skeleton by Frisk’s side whispered. “‘ey, pap? what’re ya up to in here, slaving away in front of a stuffy hot stove, when there’s a party going on out there?”

“OH, HELLO BROTHER! AND A MERRY GYFTMAS TO OUR GRACIOUS HOSTESS TODAY, MY BEST HUMAN FRIEND, FRISK!” He greeted them cheerfully, then gestured to Grillby. “I WAS MERELY OFFERING MY VASTLY ENHANCED CULINARY EXPERTISE TO ONE OF OUR OTHER FELLOW CHEFS WHO IS IN NEED OF ASSISTANCE!”

“i can see that you’ve been busy.” Sans stated simply, taking in the fire monster’s haggard appearance which Papyrus seemed to be oblivious to. “but pap, it looks like grillbz is about done here, and some of the peeps attending the skelly-bration have been asking about ya in the past half hour.”

It wasn’t a lie, either. At least five monsters had flagged him down on his way to the kitchen alone, questioning him on the whereabouts of his brother. Perhaps it was merely curiosity at work, as the brothers were rarely apart from one another for extended intervals, but the fact remained that several guests were expecting the appearance of the great Papyrus.

Sans wanted to rescue his good pal Grillby from the fate of being subjected to his younger brother’s backseat cooking, but he didn’t want to hurt Papyrus’s confidence or his pride in order to do so.

It was one of his fatal flaws – Sans showed difficulty in being honest with those he loved whenever something was amiss, so he would lie in order to spare their feelings. He held the uttermost purest of intentions, but Frisk had a premonition of sorts that this habit of his would one day return to bite him hard in the boney posterior, and the end result might not be as humorous as it sounded.

“UGH. THAT PUN WAS HORRIBLE. JUST... ABOMINABLE!” Papyrus groaned, his disgusted reaction eliciting a snort from Sans. “...YOU SAY THAT THE PARTY GUESTS... ARE REQUESTING MY COMPANY?! WELL...! I’M TERRIBLY SORRY, GRILLBY, I CAN’T EVEN BEGIN TO EXPRESS MY REMORSE, BUT I MUST LEAVE THE REST OF WHAT REMAINS TO BE DONE IN YOUR CAPABLE HANDS!”

“That’s quite alright, Papyrus.” Grillby’s soft, whispery voice crackled, the relief it displayed only being discernible to the human and the shorter skeleton. “I can finish up the rest of the cooking just fine by myself – you go and enjoy yourself.”

Sans had cleverly played on the enjoyment Papyrus took out of being the center of several’s attention well – he had no difficulty in carting him out of the room and thus allowing the overstressed fire monster to complete his assigned task in relative peace.

Before they slipped out of the kitchen, Frisk left an envelope addressed to him on the counter where she was certain he would find it. Inside were papers, the documents detailing the renovations and additions that would be appended to his restaurant, and all that would be required of him in exchange is that he sign his name on the dotted line at the bottom of the last page.

This is what Frisk murmured to Sans when he inquired over the contents of the mysterious parcel he had noticed she left behind for Grillby to discover.

“didn’t you want to watch him open it, though?”

“Yeah, I did, but... I thought that if he really did end up crying over it, then it might fluster him if he did that in front of you or me or Papyrus. This way, he can be as emotional as needed in his own privacy, and Grillby can find me later to talk about it if he wants to after he’s composed himself.”

“i’m sure he’d appreciate the consideration. pretty much anybody that’s known grillby for long enough is aware that it don’t take much for him to get worked up until he’s shedding soot all over everything. you’d think he’d be the stoic type, someone that isn’t easily moved, but that first impression couldn’t be further from the truth.”

“I think it’s wonderfully sweet. The world needs more caring and tenderhearted men like him. There are way too many aloof, dismissive, and severely emotionally stunted types out there already.”

“yeah?” Sans replied, his interest piqued – not that she picked up on anything unusual or out of sorts in his behavior.

Little did Frisk know, topics such as her preferences in men, specifically monster men, had been frequently occupying his thoughts as of late.

A spark of faint, barely there attraction had manifested following her befriending and hanging out with his brother. He made a valiant effort in forcing these feelings of his down as deeply as he could shove them, to the very bottom of his protesting SOUL. He tried to convince himself that such a thing between them would never work out by using various methods to psyche himself out of his budding crush.

She’s a human. She could still be dangerous. Monsters aren’t supposed to feel this way about humans. The other monsters would make fun of you. It will only end in tragedy. You’d put her in danger if anyone found out. She would never feel the same.

Such excuses was what he relied on to reign in his emerging urges, his desires to pursue a relationship of a romantic nature with her. But the more time he spent with her, the more he heard her laugh that was reminiscent of the chiming of bells at his jokes, his japes, and antics, the more he beheld her smile that shined brighter than the stars he loved so much, the more it became impossible to deny that he had fallen.

Fallen deeply and hopelessly in love.

He was constantly torn between handing out hints that pointed towards his sentiments and doing everything within his power to bury them from her sight. He didn’t want her to uncover his blossoming affections, yet he did want her to. Sans had never felt such a terrifying, yet thrilling sensation in his entire life.

Since he was made aware of his own feelings towards Frisk, there were only two things holding him back from participating in the games of love, presently. The first was the very real prospect that she may not share his feelings. The second, however...

“Papyrus, before either of you go wandering off anywhere, I need you and Sans to stay put for a moment – I’m going to get your Gyftmas gifts out from under the tree. I hope they haven’t been buried underneath the others up by now...”

Papyrus nearly squealed with jubilation and delight, gushing over her thoughtfulness as Sans for the second time that day was caught off-guard.

“you mean the socks weren’t my present?” He questioned, pointing to his legs which were covered up to his patella in tiny burgers and fries.

“Good gracious, how did I not notice that you were still wearing those things?” Frisk remarked, the second-hand embarrassment almost overwhelming.

“your guess is as good as mine, ‘cuz you really should of since you’re so short.”

“Oh hush.” She huffed, scurrying off for a few minutes before returning with two boxes wrapped in brightly colored paper.

Once the boxes were in their respective hands, both noted that the presents were actually rather heavy in weight. They took the time to tilt their gifts from side to side, gently shaking them in front of her, just to tease Frisk a little before opening them. Sans felt the need to casually stick the bow that was on the box to the side of his skull, for whatever reason – this borderline bizarre action still elicited a laugh out of the girl all the same, much to his inner satisfaction.

Because that was a part of love – doing stupid and even irrational things just to make the one you loved happy.

Papyrus tore into his present first, and he couldn’t have been more captivated with what was inside.

“SANS, LOOK!” He proudly held up a thick book with several tabs sticking out of the pages; it was a book of recipes, to be precise. “‘101 WAYS TO PREPARE PERFECTLY PLEASING PASTA’! EVERYTHING I COULD HAVE EVER WISHED TO LEARN ABOUT SPAGHETTI IS CONTAINED WITHIN THE CONFINES OF THIS BOOK! I CAN AT LAST TOSS OUT THAT OUTDATED COPY WITH ALL THE FADED AND TORN BITS I FOUND IN THE UNDERGROUND’S JUNKYARD!”

So that explained what was wrong with his spaghetti then, Frisk thought. Chunks of his previous cookbook were missing, and he must have tried to substitute ingredients and wing the rest of the recipe’s steps, with disastrous results.

...But that still didn’t quite explain why it wasn’t even remotely edible. Just what had he put inside the sauce?!

“so i guess that you’ll be telling that old book...” Sans started, the grin on his face spreading further.

“SANS, DON’T YOU DARE!”

“pasta-la vista.”

Papyrus’s entire body gave an almost violent jerk as a strangled wheezing sound escaped his throat – it was a laugh or a chortle of some sort, that much they were sure of, but he had done his best to suppress it.

“SANS... THAT PUN WAS EVEN WORSE THAN THE LAST!”

“nuh uh. you thought it was hilarious.” Sans calmly contended with a smirk. “don’t even try to deny it, paps. your reaction said more than words ever could.”

“...I DON’T EVEN KNOW WHY OR HOW THAT HAPPENED. I SHOULD HAVE EXPECTED IT, ALL THINGS CONSIDERED, BUT I STILL LAUGHED ANYWAY!”

“i know the answer to that – it’s because i’m the pun-niest skeleton that ever lived.”

“...THAT IS DEBATABLE.” Papyrus shot him an unamused glance. “NOW DON’T BONE-DOGGLE AROUND ANY FURTHER THAN NECESSARY – START UNWRAPPING YOUR OWN PRESENT AND SHOW ME WHAT FRISK GAVE YOU FOR GYFTMAS!”

“ok, patience, paps. don’t get your tibia in a twist.” He chuckled, tearing off the wrapping paper in one swift motion and gingerly opening the top flaps of the box to reveal... another book, even heftier than the last. He flipped through it, his sockets gradually widening as he viewed its divisions. “it’s... an astronomy book. star maps, pictures and scientific accounts of solar and lunar eclipses, statistics about the planets in the solar system...”

Questioning whether he appreciated it wasn’t at all necessary – his expression of wonderment spoke for itself. Sans was positively beaming, and the sight of him wholeheartedly enjoying her gift sent a series of warm fuzzies straight to her heart.

“thanks a bunch, but... you... you didn’t have to get me anything...” He was touched almost beyond words. “this must have cost a literal fortune...”

“Pish posh. Never you mind about the price.” She waved off his concern, only providing further proof to him that the astronomy book was indeed more expensive than she was letting on. “Seeing the look that’s on your face right now made it worth every cent.”

“aw geez, kiddo...” A bright blue blush crept onto and coated his cheeks once more - Frisk couldn’t quite say why, but she found the shade and color to be exceedingly cute.

Papyrus then plucked Frisk from her place off the floor and pressed her firmly against his chest, hugging her tightly as he thanked her. So tightly that breathing was becoming somewhat of a challenge while being subjected to his loving clasp. Sans squeezed his way into the embrace, finding some amount of enjoyment in watching Frisk struggle and squirm before interfering by tugging at the sleeve of the other skeleton’s sweater.

“bro, i know you mean well, but I think you might be squishing her.”

“Yes, please don’t squish the human...” She whined pitifully.

“OH! MY SINCEREST APOLOGIES, FRISK!” He released her posthaste, setting her down with evident care on her own two feet. “I SEEMED TO HAVE FORGOTTEN THAT YOUR FRAGILE HUMAN BODY WASN’T PROPERLY EQUIPPED TO FULLY WITHSTAND THE FORMIDABLE STRENGTH FROM THE POWERFUL PHYSIQUE OF THE GREAT PAPYRUS!”

“I’m fine, Papyrus. Just... give me a moment to catch my breath.”

She supposed his tendency of putting his all into everything, even something as natural as an embrace, was a trait that came about from his friendship with Undyne. The fish woman was in no definition of the word gentle, so even the simplest of gestures such as handshakes and hugs were elevated to an extreme level.

“So, I’ll... take that as a sign that you liked your gift?”

“YES! IMMENSELY SO!” Papyrus answered as he held the cookbook filled with pasta recipes up, almost proudly. “I PROMISE, FRISK, ONCE I PERFECT THIS RECIPE, YOU’LL HAVE THE MOST DELICIOUS PLATE OF SPAGHETTI OF YOUR HUMAN LIFE, YOU CAN COUNT ON THAT!”

Several months ago, her insides would have twisted up in dread at that. But now, she could actually feel her stomach threatening to growl and the faintest traces of drool beginning to form at her mouth. She was genuinely looking forward to his dish to the point that Frisk wished she could eat it immediately, if not sooner.

Against her wishes, all these thoughts and talk of spaghetti spurred her stomach to indeed growl, and quite loudly at that. She could feel the air around them still, and both brothers were staring at her with expressions that could only be described as judgmental.

“you... you didn’t eat breakfast this morning, did you, kiddo?” Sans says after a long pause, almost accusingly.

“...No.” She admitted, seeing there was no sense in attempting to fib her way out of this one.

The once denizens of the Underground took food very seriously, if the vast array of cuisines Frisk came across during her journey were any indication. It seemed each monster she met had some sort of signature dish, such as Toriel’s butterscotch cinnamon pies, Sans’s hotdogs (or even more specifically, hotcats), Muffet’s spider doughnuts and cider, and of course Papyrus’s spaghetti.

Monsters took their mealtimes very seriously, and Frisk had just committed a terrible offense in their eyes, or rather eye sockets.

“FRISK, WHY WOULDN’T YOU EAT BREAKFAST THIS MORNING?” Papyrus questioned her mournfully, sounding betrayed. “IT’S THE MOST IMPORTANT MEAL OF THE DAY!!!”

She had definitely upset him, Frisk realized – he had used three question marks when reprimanding her, something that was usually only reserved for him when he was at his utmost happiest.

“I... I didn’t have time to.”

“kiddo, you’re surrounded at every angle by food.” Sans gestured all around them at the tables, every inch of their surfaces covered by dishes filled with delicacies. “that’s, kind of the entire reason why you asked us all to bring something? so nobody would have to go hungry at this party? so, uh, tell me, frisk – what makes you think the host is exempt from that precaution, huh?”

“It’s not like I chose not to eat anything on purpose, I’ve just been busy.” She feebly defended herself, already aware that she was fighting a hopeless battle. “Making sure everybody’s happy, handing out gifts, that sort of stuff...”

Sans studied her for a moment, seeming to process her words carefully before craning his neck upwards to look at his brother.

“...pap? you don’t mind taking up the position of co-host, do you?”

“WOWIE, WOULD I EVER!”

“Wh-What?” Frisk blinked twice at them, confused beyond all reason. “What do you mean ‘co-host’?”

“it means exactly what is sounds like – pap is gonna take over some of your responsibilities so you can relax.”

“And I don’t get a say in this at all...?”

“nope.” “NOPE!”

Their replies were simultaneous, cheerful, and matter of fact, and before she knew it, Frisk felt the bony hand of Sans clamp around her own, tugging her away from the taller skeleton and towards the banquet.

“But-But I still have presents to deliver to their proper recipients!” She protested, Sans not slowing down in the slightest.

“YOUR CONCERNS ARE UNFOUNDED, FRISK! THE PRESENTS HAVE TAGS!”

“they’ve got tags, frisk.” Sans parroted, as if she had somehow not heard him. “don’t worry your pretty head; he’s got this.”

“Okay, if you say so...” She responded, not sounding convinced at all.

“trust me on this – papyrus is somebody that feels like he needs to be doing stuff constantly, all the time, and he likes being useful. while i do wish that he would sit down and smell the spaghetti from time to time, this is something good to him, and for him. paps being co-host and handing out presents will give him the chance to mingle, maybe make some friends, even. this’ll be like a whole other present, to him.”

“All of that does make a lot of sense, now that you’ve explained it...” Frisk conceded defeat to his logic. “...But that doesn’t mean that you have to pull me around just to show me the table spread. I’m the one that set up everything, remember? I know where the food is.”

“obviously, you don’t, since you haven’t eaten anything yet.” He shot back, and she stuck out her tongue at him childishly – he was just as immature, though, and flicked his own out as well.

Once they were at the table, he commenced piling the food onto two plates, one for her and one for himself. He then guided his human companion to one of the couches, one where not as many guests were gathered around so there was no danger of someone getting rowdy and spilling their food onto the floor.

The moment they were seated, before Frisk could even get comfortable, a tiny hotdog wrapped up in a croissant (otherwise known as pigs in a blanket, Sans’s own culinary contribution to the event) was shoved in front of her face, tapping insistently at her lips. She lightly shoved his arm away, but he was persistent.

“Sans, I know how to eat by myself. You don’t have to feed me!” She squawked as she continued batting at his hands, refusing to allow him to push the tiny sausage past her lips.

It was mostly out of a sense of paranoia of someone seeing them and getting the wrong idea. The last thing she needed was for someone to begin harassing the skeleton because someone mistakenly believed they were an item. Human-monster couples had become a thing remarkably quickly, but Frisk didn’t believe that Sans would ever be interested in pursuing a relationship with one, much less herself.

“well, you could of fooled me.” He snipped, and he used her shocked expression at that to his advantage, popping the pig in a blanket into her open mouth. “there, now doesn’t that taste good, baby?”

“...You’re making me seriously reconsider being a pacifist, Sans.” The girl warned him, but he knew it was all in good fun, wiping away the crumbs at her mouth as she chewed with his thumb before bringing another one to her lips.

She reached up to snatch the little hotdog from his fingers, causing him to pout exaggeratingly.

“Well, well, well... aren’t the two of you getting cozy~” A soft and sugary female voice remarked.

Frisk whirled her head around to find Muffet standing a few feet away, staring at them with the corners of her mouth curved up into a sweet but sly smile.

Out of all the monsters that could have caught the two of them like this, Muffet was by far not the worst, Frisk thought. She would definitely tease her over this, if not the both of them, but she wasn’t one to spread rumors around.

Sans, however, seemed to have no sense of shame and all and curled an arm around Frisk’s shoulders, pulling her closer to his side and flashing a grin that matched Muffet’s own. The two monsters shared a knowing gaze that made Frisk feel as though she were missing something here...

“Hey Muffet, did you come to chat?” She asked somewhat nervously, but the spider lady seemed to be fixed on what she had just witnessed.

“Oh, and what could be happening here? Did I step into a secret little romantic rendezvous between two lovers?”

Frisk nearly blanched, and even more distressingly bizarre was, Sans made no moves to deny her outlandish claims. The most he did was wiggle whatever constituted as his eyebrows at Muffet then turning around and doing the same with her. He then picked up another morsel from the platter between his two phalanges in an attempt to feed her again, as if she were some sort of small animal in need of treats.

“Hmm, that looks fun, dearie. Let me try!” And with that, Muffet plucked one of the pigs in a blanket off of Frisk’s plate herself and poked at the human’s lips with it.

“Muffet, no, not you too-mphh!” She was quickly silenced by the sausage being shoved into her mouth.

“Aww, what a sour expression.” Muffet cooed, reaching out to pinch Frisk’s cheek, tugging it around in different directions before releasing her hold.

Frisk made a solemn vow to herself, then and there – she was never going without eating breakfast again.

The price was just too much to pay.

When she turned her head upwards to look at Sans sitting next to her, all smug, she mentally noted that was probably the point of all this. Nevertheless, an important lesson was learned.

She snagged her plate from the skeleton and scooched as far away from him as possible, all the way to the other side of the couch. Sans, however, just moved as well, sidling right up next to her and slinging his arm around her shoulders once more.

“The two of you are adorable together~” Muffet giggled, taking her place on the couch at the space directly next to Sans. “I actually didn’t come over here just to torment you, dearie. I wanted to speak with you.”

“...About what?” Frisk questioned, suspiciously and with a hint of dread.

“Oh, nothing for you to be wearing such a grim expression. I encountered Papyrus a few minutes ago and he delivered your gift to me on your behalf – I came over here to thank you! An expansion for my bakery, to somehow arrange such a thing was incredibly... generous, of you.”

“I couldn’t think of a single other thing that might make you more happy.” Frisk confessed. “That was the best I could do.”

“Dearie, there isn’t a single other thing you could have given me that would have made me happier.” Muffet shook her head, her pigtails swaying from side to side. “I was elated to have that old building and make it into something of my own, you must believe me on that, but it was so very... cramped. And there was only so much I could do with that limited space, and thus only so much I could earn with the few resources I had available.”

Muffet frowned, her voice dwindling to nothing more than a murmur.

“...I am aware of what others say of me, I’ve heard their whispers; that I’m stingy and constantly demanding money, and perhaps that is true in a certain sense, but I behave so not for myself, but for all of them, my family.”

She gestured around the room, and Frisk could make out several members of the Arachnid family in the crowd. She hadn’t met any of them during her adventure underground, but Muffet was more than eager to introduce them to her after they had struck up a proper friendship and began spending an extended time in each other’s company. Frisk always knew that Muffet was so much more than a money-grubbing spider like some spoke of her as being, but now more than ever was Frisk made aware that she was simply a hard-working monster, toiling endlessly to provide for her family.

“I never once thought such a thing would ever leave my lips, but...” Muffet sighed blissfully, “your gift almost feels too generous. My one and only wish, every year when Gyftmas arrived, was for all of them to be happy. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. I never truly cared much about seeing the surface, if I’m being honest with myself, but ever since they began occupying it along with the rest of us, that’s all they’ve ever been – happier than I’ve ever seen them. And I have you to thank for it.”

Muffet was right – Frisk couldn’t exactly speak for how they may have behaved prior to the breaking of the barrier, but each and every member of her family seemed to be in high spirits whenever she saw them. And today, Gyftmas Day, was no different.

She could spot Irene, the big, buff tarantula, arm wrestling with Undyne, Alphys cheering her on along with several others while Irene was supported by several other spiders and monsters, and it appeared it was going to be a close match. Edgar, a short and rather shy male black widow, was cuddling with his human girlfriend Elizabeth on one of the other couches (fiancé, he frequently insisted, in spite of them only having known each other for a few months at most). Muffet’s father, Daddy Longlegs, who was also one of the higher up employees at Frisk’s office, seemed to be conversing with some other guests over by the punch bowl, the once tall and intimidating monster wearing a gentle smile on his face.

Ku-Mo, Muffet’s mysterious as much as beautiful relative from Japan, who had fled from the war and thus managed to escape the fate of being imprisoned in the Underground, had arrived with her human husband in tow, the two having been married in secret for several years already and were currently quietly enjoying each other’s company by the crackling fireplace. Julian the peacock spider, a dancer and a designer, was bickering endlessly with Mettaton who he often claimed to be his rival, as per usual during their encounters, but even that was far more lighthearted and less snide than the norm. Spinerette, his timid brown recluse wife, was watching from the sidelines, trying to make herself as unnoticeable as possible.

Charlotte and Peter, the twins of inexplicable origin (Muffet claimed the two just appeared before her several years ago, as if having manifested from thin air; no mother, father, nor any relative of the sort accompanying them, and the already massive arachnid family took both brother and sister in without any further questioning), were supposed to be eating together while watching television, but were spending more time tossing mini marshmallows from their cocoa at one other over little comments the other made more than anything. And Webber, Muffet’s first cousin and a tarantula/daddy longlegs hybrid, was busying himself with keeping the Annoying Dog preoccupied with pets so Papyrus wouldn’t freak out.

Watching them all like this, along with the others, it was exactly the sort of beautiful chaos that Frisk had wanted out of today.

Muffet then more or less pushed Sans to the side to envelop Frisk in a loving, six-armed embrace, holding onto her tightly like a lifeline.

“Seeing them like this, this is all I’ve ever wanted out of this life of mine. ...Everyone had to keep up appearances in the Underground, a jovial one; we all wore a smile, grinning and bearing it, but occasions such as these are the ones where I know for a fact that they’re genuine – real. I sleep so much better in my nest knowing they’re all so much happier this way.”

She held the human even closer towards her, if that was somehow possible.

“As far as I’m concerned, Frisk, you’re a member of the arachnid family as well. If you need anything, dearie, anything at all, then please keep in mind that you can come to me for whatever it may be.”

To say that Frisk felt touched by the sentiment would be the understatement of the century. Muffet had a strong sense of family, but didn’t befriend others easily. She spent so much of her time invested in keeping her own kind content that she simply had none left to spare on friendship, not until she left the Underground. Muffet always wore a mask of mystery, much like her relative Ku-Mo, giggling sweetly and deflecting questions about her own state of happiness in favor of focusing on her family’s.

She and Sans were very much the same in that regard – perhaps that was why the two were always so amicable towards each other. They had a mutual understanding.

“Dearie, I know it isn’t much; I’m certain that nothing I could possibly give you could ever properly repay for everything you’ve done for me and my family, but this is my gift to you.”

Muffet gently placed a medium sized box onto Frisk’s lap, light in weight and the wrapping paper covered in little cupcakes. It was so adorable that she hesitated for a moment to open it, but she could tell that despite her modesty when presenting it, Muffet was eager to see her reaction to its contents.

Inside the gift box was... a blanket. A silk blanket, and it appeared to be a handmade item. The blanket was as white as the fallen snow covering everything outside, and the fabric almost had its own sparkling quality to it as well. Every detail was intricate, so much so that staring at it for too long almost made Frisk’s head begin to spin. Muffet had told her that this present was nothing to get excited over, but the amount of effort that must have went into the weaving of this blanket warmed her to the very core.

“Muffet, it’s... it’s... beautiful!” She cried, holding it up for Sans to see, having crawled back up onto the couch sometime since the spider lady shoved him.

“I’m so happy to hear that, dearie!” And she could tell that what she said was genuine, Muffet’s features relaxing somewhat. “I wanted this one to be my greatest creation yet outside of the bakery business, but... I feel as though the pressure I placed on myself only caused me to make more mistakes. I believe I spent more time retracing my steps and fixing my blunders than actually weaving...”

“Well, the end result is breathtaking, and I mean that in the best of ways. Thank you so much!” Frisk praised her work as she carefully folded up the blanket, intending to place it on her bed once an opportunity to do so had made itself available.

“The blanket should be big enough for two. Perfect for cuddling.” Muffet giggled, then turned a pointed glare towards Sans as she stood up. “And Sans, dearie? If I discover that you’ve stained it with ketchup in the future, I’ll strangle you in your sleep~”

The spider lady then stepped away from the pair, in high spirits like the rest of her kin, leaving the two of them to process her words.

Frisk simply saw her suggestive behavior towards them as Muffet being, well, Muffet. Sans, meanwhile, must have taken what she said more to heart, because a deep blue blush had covered his entire face, but he was grinning shyly as he took the blanket from her, putting it inside the box it came in and setting it safely to the side before placing her plate of food from earlier onto her lap.

“eat the rest before it gets too cold to.” He ordered, seeming to have forgotten or at least pretended not to know that monster food didn’t cool down like human food did.

Nevertheless, she did what was asked of her, otherwise he might decide to feed her again in front of everybody.

“Sure, he clams up because of something silly that Muffet said, but when it comes to him shoveling food into my mouth, in public, that doesn’t seem to faze him in the slightest...” Frisk inwardly remarked, reflecting on the skeleton’s hypocrisy.

They finished their lunch a while later, idle chatter between the two eventually filling in the awkward silence that the spider lady had left behind. On each occasion it seemed to Sans that Frisk was done when her plate wasn’t empty, he prepared himself to feed her again, giving her plenty of warning beforehand to coax her into eating everything in front of her. He continued to do this until it was cleared, the human girl sending him a grumpy glare once she had, to which he responded by pinching her cheek.

“Jerkface.” That was the only thing she could think of to call him, as juvenile as she knew it was – he just smiled warmly at her.

“i love you too.” He immediately replied before turning all the way around, appearing to Frisk as though he suddenly found the wallpaper extremely fascinating.

“i can’t believe i just said that out loud, joking or not...” He thought, but the inner pride swelling in his ribcage for having finally said those sweet words that so often stirred inside his SOUL whenever he was with her won out over any shame and embarrassment he might have felt.

This sense of satisfaction didn’t last long, unfortunately for him, and soon his insecurities and fears took over once again.

Much to his relief, Toriel had made an appearance shortly after his little accidental declaration. Much to his chagrin, however, she came in the company of Flowey, otherwise dubbed by Sans as ‘that awful weed’.

Flowey looked none too happy to be here as well, and the tiny wool winter beanie the queen had knitted for him which rested on his topmost petal did little to brighten the overall mood he was emanating, much less the matching sweater he also wore or the bright red bow wrapped around his pot.

Frisk, on the contrary, thought he was adorable.

“Awww!” She nearly squealed when she caught sight of him, momentarily abandoning Sans to coo over his attire. “Looks like somebody came ready for Gyftmas!”

“Bah humbug.” He grumbled, but the faint blush that bloomed across his face didn’t escape her eye.

What also didn’t escape her observation was the object that dangled over the doorway, directly above them. A clever idea came to her.

“I apologize for his rudeness, my child.” Toriel gave her a sheepish smile. “He’s been in a sour mood all morning, I’m afraid.”

Frisk supposed that he would be. This was very likely the first Gyftmas he would be taking part in after several long years of being a flower. The last time he had a proper Gyftmas was probably when he was the Underground’s prince, Asriel, and that had been a long, long time ago.

“Well, if he’s gonna have that kind of attitude, then maybe I’ll just have to keep his present to myself until he learns better manners.” Frisk spoke as if he weren’t right there, but her tone was discernibly playful – he quickly perked up.

“Well, don’t keep me in suspense!” He demanded as he impatiently wiggled his leaves, “Let me have it!”

“oh, i’m gonna let him have it, alright...” Sans muttered under his breath, but Frisk elbowed him in the ribs and told him to shush.

“Okay, but you have to close your eyes first!” The skeleton by her side raised a socket slightly at this, but said nothing, just stared at her inquisitively.

“...Oh, fine... fine...” Flowey conceded defeat to her whims, closing his cartoonishly beady eyes as instructed.

“And no peeking either!”

“I won’t, I won’t!” He insisted complainingly.

“Okay, now keep them shut...” She giggled, leaning in closer towards him, holding her breath before...

“Mwah!” She smooched the flower, right on the mouth. “Mistletoe kiss!”

“BLUH!!!” He sputtered, retreating backwards and staring at her with wild eyes, then began coughing, wheezing, and hacking as though he were dying. “Bleh! Bluh! Ptooey! Ugh...”

The two women watched his theatrics with an amused glee; meanwhile Sans was sulking a few feet away, mumbling unintelligibly to himself.

“ungrateful brat. would’a been over the moon if that’d been me...”

A few more moments of spitting and spluttering passed before Toriel chose to speak up over her son-flower’s dramatic display of disgust.

“Flowey, dear, you’ve made your point. That’s enough of that.” She chided him gently, placing a gentle paw over his head to give him a comforting pat.

His mother’s warm and familiar touch calmed him considerably, but he was most definitely still sour over the trick.

“And just what was that supposed to be?” He grumbled to Frisk, who was still smiling cheekily throughout the whole ordeal.

“Affection!” She replied cheerfully.

“Disgusting.”

“Well, if that’s how your attitude’s gonna be today, then I’m just gonna have to give this-” A small gift box with a bow appeared before his round beady eyes, which she had somehow procured from behind her back despite there being no evidence of it having been there before, “to someone else, then.”

His demeanor took an almost instantaneous shift; still displeased with her jokes, but far too eager to receive his gift to risk tempting Frisk’s patience with him, just in the unlikely but certainly possible case that she was actually serious about withholding his present privileges.

Satisfied with his compliance, Frisk then placed the tiny box in front of Flowey, resting on the rim of his pot. Before she could begin to question just how he was going to open it without any fingers, or even hands for that matter, he immediately tore into his gift, quite literally, with his teeth. He ripped off the bow first and foremost and flung it to the side, hitting Sans directly in the face – it couldn’t have possibly hurt him, but he complained nonetheless.

In just seconds, Flowey had stripped the box of all it’s wrappings and was free to lift the lid to the bare box lying underneath. Inside was... some sort of micro-sized controller, or that’s what it seemed to be to him and his observers.

“It’s a Flowey-sized game controller!” Frisk explained happily, confirming the identity of his gift. “I asked Alphys to make it for you, since she and I thought it wasn’t really fair that you’re always at a disadvantage whenever we play together.”

He stared down at the controller for the longest, then lifted it into his leaves with apparent wonder, taking a few moments to fiddle with the various buttons and other parts installed into it’s design. After a few seconds, a wide smile crossed his face – not one of his cruel, deranged ones, but a genuinely pleased and pleasant smile.

And that was all the thanks Frisk could have ever asked from the prince turned sentient plant.

Unfortunately, her friend Sans didn’t share the same thoughts.

“i didn’t hear a ‘thank you’...” He all but grumbled, both of his arms crossed like a disappointed parent.

“I’ll say it after I wipe the floor with you in Smash.” Flowey spoke matter-of-factly with a smug and satisfied smirk.

A dark shadow crossed his face, and the skeleton suddenly leaned towards him to whisper something, “...yoshi committed tax fraud.”

...and that was when Frisk and Toriel knew they had to step in before this escalated to an incident.

“HE DID NOT! STOP SPREADING YOUR LIES, SKELETON!!!” The buttercup more or less shrieked, struggling to free himself from his pot as Toriel quickly stepped several paces backwards.

“I’ll talk to you later, Toriel.” Frisk said swiftly, wrapping her arms around Sans’s middle and dragging him away before he could make the situation between him and Flowey worse than it already was.

“Can you go one day, one day without being a colossal butt?” She asked, already knowing the answer before he even opened his stupid mouth.

“nope.”

“See, I knew you were going to say that.” She sighed, more to herself than to him. “I didn’t even get the chance to give Toriel her gift, and all because you couldn’t play nice with Flowey for more than two seconds.”

“sure, blame your bestest pal, sansy.” His tone remained jovial though, despite the blatant accusation that was also present. “here, just gimme the gift and i’ll get pap to deliver it. no sweat.”

“But I wanted to see her face when she opened it...” Frisk whined, gazing down at the tiny box in her hand – inside was a snail shell pendant, the fragile mollusk casing cast in a layer of genuine rose gold on a matching delicate chain. “...And it’s all your fault.”

“ok, ok... even though you’re being all cute and pouty about it, i can tell that you’re really upset with me.” He snatched the box from her hand before she could react, handing it off to Papyrus with just as much speed before turning back to her. “so, let me make it up to you. c’mon, put on your coat and boots and let’s head outside.”

“Outside...?” She parroted, staring at the skeleton as though he had just spontaneously grown a second head. “Outside, as in, outside with all of that snow?”

“hey, the weather’s calmed down a bunch since we’ve been here. see? it’s just fluttering down, completely harmless. so going out there now would be more like standing under a shower of white confetti.”

He did have a point, Frisk acknowledged when she glanced out the window for herself. Aside from that, Sans seemed to be really eager about something, and while the probability of it being over a dumb, not to mention juvenile prank was extremely high, she enjoyed seeing him happy.

So, a few minutes later, the human girl had donned her winter apparel and headed out of the house with him, quietly leaving the party without a word to make their way into her frosted over backyard garden.

The pair sat on a bench in the middle of the area, directly in front of the frozen pond. Frisk had once pondered over purchasing some koi for it, but now she was glad she hadn’t. Just what does one do with the fish when winter came, anyway?

“Okay, Sans. I can tell you’re giddy, so don’t even try denying it – don’t keep me in suspense, now.”

“impatient, much?” He chuckled, but there was a noticeable bead of sweat trailing down his skull despite the surrounding temperature, and it seemed as though he were concealing something from her sight from within the pocket of his hoodie.

He might have been able to hide the last thing from her, if only his hand hadn’t been fidgeting so much. It appeared that he was fumbling with the object, nervously running and drumming his phalanges over it every few seconds as if to ensure that it was still there. She had quite honestly never seen him like this, and it was both concerning to her, yet simultaneously fascinating.

“here we go, moment of truth.” He spoke after a long pause, almost more to himself than to her. “hold out your hand.”

At witnessing her hesitance, he assured her. “this isn’t some prank. i promise.”

And at his usage of the ‘p’ word – promise, any doubts she may have previously been holding onto had instantly been vanquished and Frisk readily held out her hand, waiting. After a moment more, a small box was then placed into her open palm.

“merry gyftmas, frisk...” Was all he said, his voice uncharacteristically soft, and could even be described as sweet.

She glanced over the box, surveying its size.

“...Is it a tiny whoopie cushion?”

“nooooo...” Sans snorted, shaking his head. “if you want to know what’s inside so bad, then why not just... open it?”

Deciding that she’d teased him for long enough, Frisk giggled softly, and gingerly lifted the lid to the box.

To see the contents of the box, she had to push aside some tissue paper concealing the identity of her gift, but once this was done, what was revealed to her was some sort of clear ball, a bit bigger than the larger marbles one would sometimes find in a set of the glass toys. And visible within the ball was a small flower. Not a faux flower made of silk or some other fabric, but a real one that had been preserved in resin, its color a striking bright blue, so radiant it was almost glowing, no, it was glowing...

It was an echo flower.

Undoubtedly the tiniest echo flower she had ever laid eyes on.

She gingerly lifted the preserved echo flower from its box, discovering a long silver chain was attached to it.

Sans had gotten her a necklace. She never, not once would have ever expected him to present her with jewelry – he just didn’t seem like that sort of guy.

That wasn’t to say that he was cheap with his gifts, no, far from it, in fact. But this gesture went so beyond the unexpected that Frisk was left speechless. She needed to say something, and soon, otherwise Sans will believe that he had failed in some shape or form when the reality was, this just may be one of the most precious items she had ever received.

“Sans... it’s not really something I condone, picking favorites, I mean, but...” She smiled, the sort of one that always sent the skeleton monster’s SOUL spinning, and held up the pendant with pride. “This is, without a doubt, the best thing I’ve received today. It’s beautiful.”

“aww... you’re just saying that.” He mumbled, rubbing the back of his head.

“I am not!” She insisted, standing up. “And I’m going to put it on. Right now!”

“here, let me.” He immediately leapt to his own feet and took the necklace from her grasp, unfastening the chain before looping it around her neck.

Both of his arms were wrapped around her as he fumbled with the clasp, struggling to refasten the pendant. At least, that was what he led Frisk to believe. Even in their current position, he could have easily secured the two ends of the chain, if he so wished. But that wasn’t what he wished, so he didn’t – not yet.

To any passerby that may have witnessed the two, it would appear as though they were an embracing couple, and that’s precisely what Sans wanted to believe they were, even if only for this moment in time. He was too much of a coward, too filled with insecurity and doubt to hold her so tenderly against him in a more direct manner.

So, he would prolong this moment for as long as possible, or as long as Frisk would allow him to.

“hehe... silly thing just won’t... it’s like my phalanges are coated in butter.” He pretended to struggle with the two ends of the necklace’s chain once more. “just give me a few more seconds, frisk.”

She missed the near pleading tone present in the last line that he spoke.

“Maybe this would have been easier if you stood behind me instead...?” She suggested, raising an eyebrow at him, not that he could see it – his head was resting on her shoulder so he could see what he was doing with the chain’s clasp.

“maybe, but i’ve got this.” He fumbled with it for a few seconds longer, then finally put a silent end to the charade, thus ending their impromptu embrace.

He took a step back and took in the sight of his handiwork – the echo flower pendant rested directly over her heart and SOUL, just where he wanted it to be.

“there’s something special about that echo flower, though. it isn’t just there to look pretty.” A fierce blue blush was slowly creeping and spreading up and across his skull. “you remember what they’re famous for, right? give it a little tap. might need two or three to work, but give it a try.”

“Sans... am I gonna hear the sound of one of your whoopie cushions if I do?”

“do i really seem like the sort of weirdo that would do that?” He inquired, and honestly, not only was it exactly something that he might do, it sounded like a hilarious idea, but he wasn’t about to ruin such a sentimental gesture with such a cheap prank.

“...Yes.”

“it’s not another whoopie cushion prank, frisk.” Then he quickly added, with a strong sense of sincerity in his voice. “it’s not any kind of prank at all.”

Satisfied with his reply, she did as he previously instructed and gave the pendant a few short and swift taps, then waited.

The flower, despite being trapped inside the glass, glowed just a bit brighter, then...

“take care of yourself, frisk... because someone really cares about you...”

She recognized and remembered those words well. She had heard them before, after all, towards the end of her journey in the Underground. He had spoken those very same words to her in New Home’s Judgement Hall, but there were two stark differences when comparing the sentence from then and now, one of them obviously being the use of her name, as he nor any other monster bore knowledge of the final fallen human’s name.

However, the intonation of the familiar phrase had changed as well – it was quieter, softer, fonder than when he said it in the past.

“...you’ve done so much for us, frisk.” Sans spoke after a meaningful pause. “...and you’re still doing things for us. you... you really care about us monsters. it’s undeniable. you’ve even accomplished the impossible – the barrier trapping us underground broke, and i know you had something to do with it, even if i’m still not completely sure how it was possible, or if the specifics are even really important now.”

He sat back down on the bench, patting the spot next to him and urging her to do the same.

“you just keep on making things better, turning our most insane of fantasies into reality in the present when a whole lot of us back then were so hopeless to the point that some of us were seriously considering... giving up. i just... i think about everything that you’ve done for us, every single day, sometimes even all day, ever since i met you, and, well... i just started to wonder; do you know how much you’re cared for?”

He let out a soft chuckle, closing his sockets and throwing all his inhibitions to the side.

“i know the others are grateful, but i still can’t speak for any of them. i’m just sans the skeleton, after all. but... if the question being asked is, ‘does sans the skeleton care about frisk the human, our ambassador, our savior?’ then the answer is, ‘yeah, he does’. frisk, when i said ‘someone really cares about you’, that someone was supposed to be me. i care about you. a whole lot. i guess you could even say i care a skele-ton. ...i’m just sorry it took me so long to say it, but that’s how i really feel. i just wanted you to know that.”

When he finally mustered the courage to face Frisk again, he was flustered to find her sniffling, nearly sobbing into her mittens.

“...i’m sorry. all that was really stupid, wasn’t it?” Sans somehow felt that her reaction was negative, and that it was his fault.

“No. No, no, no, no. No...” She choked out, but when she lifted the cloth-clad hand away from her mouth, he spotted a shaky smile on her lips. “That... That was... just so... I just... I don’t know what to say... Just give me a few minutes, I’m sorry...”

She managed to compose herself quickly enough, Sans patting her on the back and still feeling lousy for making her cry. Once all of her quaking and hiccupping had ceased, she gave the skeleton a look that he recognized as determined.

“Sans, I have one last gift for you.”

“one more?” He blinked owlishly. “frisk, you’re... you’re really spoiling me here.”

“This has been something I’ve been meaning to give you for a while, now. I just wasn’t sure when, or if it was even conceivable at all, but...”

“frisk, you aren’t making any sense.”

“Just... wait here. I’ll be right back.”

She didn’t return to the house like he thought she would. No, she stepped into the little shed about ten feet away from the bench, then returned a few seconds later holding a white package with a bright red ribbon resting on top. She gently placed the present into his waiting lap, then sat next to him again with a long, almost weary sigh.

“Open it.” She demanded, throwing Sans slightly off guard with how uncharacteristic it was of her to do so.

But Sans still felt the need to mess with her a little before he complied.

“is iiiiiiit...” He tilted the box left to right, then right to left, listening for any shifting noises inside. “...a pair of green shorts with purple-flower print?!”

“...You want a pair of Patrick Star’s trunks?”

“hey, i’d wear ‘em.”

“I have no doubt that you would.” She eyed those burger-covered monstrosities called kneesocks still covering his legs – Frisk almost couldn’t believe that he wore them to the party and was still wearing them; almost...

“okay, that’s enough fooling around.” He unraveled the ribbon with one swift tug, the lid to the box gone in the blink of an eye.

Sans peered inside the blackness of the box...

Reset...?

Those yellow letters stared back at him, that word and the sensation it brought, the thing he had learned to expect and fear through the horrific experience of being trapped in a seemingly endless cycle of mercy and violence by a being untouchable by time, was right before his very eye sockets.

His head whipped up to face Frisk, his grin gone and his expression eerily blank.

“It’s yours now.”

It took him ages to respond.

“.........wh-what?”

“It’s yours now. The RESET button? It’s yours.”

“...why did you think this would mean anything to me?” He spoke softly, sockets narrowing down to slits. “how did you know this would mean anything to me?”

“I knew giving you this would open up an endless plethora of questions...” Frisk sighed to herself resignedly. “Here’s the short answer: the previous owner told me.”

“the... previous... owner...” He repeated those words to himself, yet he still didn’t seem to understand them – his mind was fading to white.

“I had a suspicion, for a long while now, that this meant something to you. That you were... more aware than you let on at times. And he- they, confirmed it for me. This button... it’s caused you a lot of trauma and heartache, even if you can’t remember all of it. And perhaps that’s for the best, really. I don’t know everything myself, but... I’ve heard enough, and my imagination is more than enough to fill in the rest of the story for me, even if I don’t want it too.”

“papyrus... he... he died.” He whispered brokenly, holding his skull in his hands as he hunched forward. “over and over and over again. i can’t remember how or why, but i just know that he did. he shouldn’t be here now, a lot of us shouldn’t be here now, i probably shouldn’t be here now, alive, but i am. we all are...”

“Sans, there’s nothing in the world I can say or do to produce any proof that what I’m saying is the truth and force you to believe me, but I never hurt anyone. The damage was already done by the time I came along.”

“then who did it, huh? who killed my brother and everyone else?” Sans nearly spat, causing Frisk to flinch – what she didn’t know was, his spite wasn’t directed towards her at all; he was suspicious, yes, but...

“I... I can’t say. Because I made a promise that I wouldn’t. But... this person, they’re very sorry for what they did in the past now, in the present. They want to make amends, to atone, but don’t know how or even if such a thing could ever be possible. Once again, I have no proof that what I’m saying is the truth, but this, it was our idea. They agreed to it, Sans, that it was only fair for you, the one most affected by this, to be the one to gain ownership of it – the RESET button.”

“............”

“I’ll answer any questions that you may have, about the past timelines, to the best of my abilities. Just as long as they’re not about the previous owner. But I never hurt anyone, Sans.”

“......I know that.” He whispered.

“You do?” She replied, deadpan.

“i do. you don’t have to explain anything to me, frisk. i believe you.”

She had expected him to fire off at least a million questions a millisecond, to be subjected to an interrogation, maybe even a trial by fire (with Grillby serving as the fire), or something, but not... whatever this was.

Just... quiet acceptance that her word was the truth.

“look... this other person, the one that had the reset button before you, i already knew about ‘em before, frisk. it’s true that when i first met you, i thought you had something to do with the resets, and i was sorta right, but not in the way i first thought. that’s why... that’s why, sometimes, i wasn’t as helpful as i could have been, not as kind as i should’ve been. the resentment that i felt for something that was beyond my control but in someone else’s, there were occasions where i took it out on you. i couldn’t understand how you could just, hurt all of us like that, and then go right back to being friends with us, like nothing ever happened, reset or not.”

One of Sans’s skeletal hands reached up to cup her cheek, surprising her.

“but then the more time i spent with you, i realized that some things just didn’t add up. and now i know why – you never did hurt us. i was blaming you for something that was never your fault in the first place.”

“But you’re wrong about that, Sans – I did hurt you. I did use the RESET button. I never did hurt anyone in any of the timelines, but... you have to understand, Sans, it took me several tries to reach this ending.”

“that doesn’t matter now.” To Frisk’s immense shock, he actually smiled, not grinned, but smiled. “whatever you may or may not have done in the past, you’ve more than made up for it with everything you’ve done in this timeline.” He patted the side of the box containing the thing he once dreaded and loathed “...including this right here.”

“It’s your power now, Sans. At first, I considered destroying it and putting the pieces in the box as your gift. ...But then I thought that wasn’t fair to you, either. So it’s all up to you from this point onward. The decision of whether or not there’ll ever be another RESET rests all on your shoulders, because I’m satisfied with how everything’s turned out. Everyone’s happy now, and that’s all that ever mattered to me in the first place, alongside staying alive. I’m so sorry if my methods of achieving this result put you through any turmoil, though.”

“frisk, i understand and forgive you, but... this other person, though. they may be sorry, but you also have to understand that i can’t forgive them. not unless they apologize to my face for everything they put me, paps, and the others through – even if i am the only one that has any memory left, no matter how small it is, and can comprehend just what happened then.”

“They want to apologize to you, Sans. Desperately. They’re just... afraid to.”

“well, tell ‘em i’m ready to listen whenever they’re ready to start talking.”

“I’ll pass that on, Sans. I don’t know how long it’ll take, but you will get an apology sooner or later.”

“frisk, i...” He spoke after another long moment of stillness between them, clutching the box tightly. “i just... you don’t even know how much this means to me...”

“You’re right. I don’t know, and maybe I never will, but... I can imagine. Imaging how much suffering you went through. And I won’t force you to talk about your experience, but if you ever want to, I’m here. I’ll listen.”

That’s when whatever was left of Sans’s stoic façade faded. Frisk held out her arms, anticipating such a reaction for the last few moments, and he immediately flung himself into her hold. He sobbed into her shoulder, every single emotion he had been repressing since he came to the conclusion that he was enclosed in a vicious cycle spanning across time-space was released. She was simultaneously the first and the last person Sans ever wanted to see him like this.

Frisk didn’t judge him for his outburst, no, she never would. His human was far too kind for that. She simply held him while he cried, stroking the back of his skull and patiently waited for the flow of tears to ebb, not caring in the slightest if they soaked her sweater. Several minutes passed like this, perhaps even hours, but Frisk never gave any indication that she wished to move. Eventually though, Sans did compose himself.

“oh... ohhhh gosh...” His words possessed a slight slur. “that was so embarrassing...”

“No, it wasn’t. You held all of that in for far too long.”

“um, speaking of holding things in, frisk...” He began, but much to his surprise, Frisk just huffed.

“Really, Sans? You’re going to make a fart joke after all this?”

“really, frisk?” He mocked, actually feeling somewhat offended. “is that all i am to you? a bag of misery borne of time-space-related trauma, barely together bones, and ill-timed fart jokes?”

“...Pretty much, yeah.” She replied after a beat, but her tone and expression clearly conveyed that she was joking. “In all seriousness, though, what was it that you wanted to say?”

“well... this is something that i’ve been wanting to tell you for a while now, but didn’t, because, well... i thought there was no point in it since i thought i didn’t have a future. but, uh, now that i know i do, there’s, um, literally nothing stopping me now, except for myself, that is. i...” He took a deep, deep breath, then sputtered all at once, “ohgoshimactuallydoingthiswaitnoicantdothisohmygo-”

“Sans, don’t push yourself! It’s okay! Nobody’s forcing you to say anything!” Frisk almost panicked as she watched him choke and hyperventilate.

“no, frisk; this is something i’ve gotta do!” He insisted, hands fluttering over his ribcage and spasming in different directions – if she didn’t know any better, the girl would say he was doing a killer impression of Burgerpants...

Before she was forced to listen to Sans make any more chicken noises, the sound of what could only be described as peacocks screaming filled the air, along with the distinct crash of what was unmistakably the sound of a window shattering. The ‘peacocks’ were Mettaton and Julian screeching, and when Frisk turned her head in the direction of her house, she saw one long leg sticking out of the snow surrounded by a ring of glass.

“Frisk, darling! I’m SO, SO, SORRYYYYYYY!!!” The robot nearly wailed. “I’ll pay for the damages; I promise I will!”

“No, I’ll pay for the window! Agreeing to engage this fool in a dance contest was my idiotic idea in the first place!” Julian immediately added after, causing the two to squabble over who was more remorseful and who would get to repay their ambassador.

“Sans, this is gonna have to wait until later. I have to deal with this, apparently.” Frisk patted his shoulder then offered him a hand. “You coming?”

“nah, i think i’ll stay out here for a little while longer. maybe use some magic on these dark circles under my sockets, you know, so nobody knows i was bawling.”

“Okay, but if you’re not back in thirty minutes, I’m coming back out to check on you.” Yet another crash, followed by several more screams permeated the once quiet winter air. She groaned, then gave her echo flower pendant a few flicks to trigger the message Sans had recorded. “I know they care too, but I wish they cared like you do. You never break any windows.”

“just because i haven’t doesn’t mean i won’t.” He grinned.

Frisk narrowed her eyes, causing him to snort at her expression.

“...Take some time to think about what you just said, with the screams of those two flamboyant idiots in there as your soundtrack.”

She stomped off towards the house, and as Sans watched her retreating figure, despite the cold around him, he was left with a feeling of warmth, contentment. His SOUL felt light and fluttery, fluffy as the falling snow.

He held the box closer towards himself, its contents something he once hated, but now loved – because it was given to him by the human he loved...

Sans felt another round of sniffles begin, but now he was crying for an entirely different reason – he felt happy.

“if i didn’t love her before... stars, i sure do now.”

#franstastic writes #frans #sans x frisk #undertale #sans #frisk #papyrus #toriel #flowey #undyne #alphys #mettaton #napstablook #muffet #the arachnid family #fransweek

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halothenthehorns · 3 years

Text

All in the Family

Chapter 18: The Man with Two Faces

The result of landing on concrete stairs would cause anyone's head to ring. Let alone after being teleported in the worst version of apparition ever, for what, the seventeenth time now? All while hearing about your kid from the future while you were dead. James felt lucky his head was still attached as he sat up, massaging his aching neck muscles and having to give a very bleary look to these, once again, new surroundings. He found them the least fantastic yet.

The stone stairs they'd landed on descended in a perfect square all the way to the bottom, the only lighting source flickering about was the black fire from the only doorway out of this room. It should have been a rather calm place, certainly not as terrifying considering some past rooms, but there was an echo of death in this one that only the unicorn before had housed. The promise they did not want to be in here.

Wobbling to his feet, he did a quick headcount and still found everyone present, and the book laying innocently on the floor. He was exhausted, and despite the multiple opportunities he'd been given to talk to Evans, and more importantly, this whole instance had forced Remus and Sirius to make up, he was more than ready for this to be over.

Despite being insanely curious who had been on the other side of Harry's door, he still paused in confusion of that chapter title. Two faces? Was that supposed to be a metaphor? He hated those.

"Ha!" Lily shouted at the top of her lungs, and despite being completely wrong and feeling every moment of it, he still paused to watch her rub it in. "I told every one of you miserable lots it wasn't my friend, and I was right! It was that sniveling coward in it all for the gold!"

"I never disagreed with you," Regulus informed her superior smirk, "he was a perfectly viable option." He didn't see why she found herself so smart not falling for the red herring of a villain, it had been fairly obvious if it wasn't Snape it was him, considering the idea someone else entirely had been running in and out of this castle to get that Stone was utterly ridiculous.

"You just agreed with a Muggleborn," Sirius stopped whatever he'd been doing along the stairs to instead stare at his brother like he'd declared himself such a thing. "Our mother would faint on the spot...I'm so proud!"

"Shut up Sirius," Regulus snapped at him at once. "If she's right, she's right, I don't see it happening again."

Lily's haughty expression only grew at still somehow being the butt of their jokes and stalked as far away from all of them as she could.

"Damn it Sirius, you're not helping," James sighed as he watched her storm off.

"I was trying to congratulate him being a decent person, sorry that didn't come across," Sirius shrugged without much concern as he went back to performing his spell on the stairs to find out what was really down here. This was supposedly the place where the Stone was being held all this time, Dumbledore's enchantment, how come nothing was happening to them being in here? Yet no matter what spell he cast or enchantment he tried to invoke, he found nothing to disarm, let alone anything out of the ordinary from this place.

James just went back to reading, and immediately noticed something odd. "Hey, he's not stuttering this time?"

"Thank goodness we never had to try reading much of that," Remus muttered as he stayed where he'd landed and kept rubbing at his abused ribs. "It would have been a disaster."

"No Moony, pay attention," Peter rolled his eyes, "why wouldn't he have a stutter anymore?"

It took a moment for his heavy eyes to focus, but after a few sluggish blinks it clicked in for everyone.

"Why would he fake such a thing?" Alice whispered, checking every shadow now to make sure he didn't burst out of here next.

"Perhaps that centaurs warning should have been taken with much more concern than we previously thought," Frank murmured, "and with a much more pressing time concern."

"Don't start that," Lily tried to fret while shifting uneasily on the spot, all wands still drawn and now pointed to every shadow. "Harry himself said You-Know-Who wasn't in here."

"The man would be hard to miss, even with Quirrell's absurd turban," James tried to agree despite his own unease. He felt the most defenseless, holding the book now and unable to properly hold his wand in his injured hand. He trusted his friends to cover him if anything happened, and he'd drop this in an instant to help, but for now he tried to quickly keep going, only to be stunned once again at the next revelation.

"Bless my soul," James breathed, looking like someone had just punched him in the gut. He searched for her just like always, and she finally met his eyes back, until he was the one to look away. Having to swallow past five years of solid hatred, he looked back and said sincerely, "I, guess I really was wrong about him."

Her brow remained creased, she didn't quite smile back, but for once there was something akin to recognizing he was talking to her without that superior tone she so hated, as if of course she should want to speak back.

"Now don't go spare on me Prongs," Black cut in, ruining the moment and returning her scowl to him at once. His voice still sounded a bit shotty and as painful as James' hand felt, but James couldn't imagine anything stopping Sirius talking long, least of all a plant. "He's still been a ruddy arse to Harry all year, plus those other kids! Someone needs to give him a good kick up the-"

"He went out of his way to save my kids life!" Potter defended at once, and it took a moment for Lily to fully process that. James Potter was defending her friend Sev. "I think that may mean he's not the totally irredeemable bug we found him." Well, in his own way.

Black looked to his other two friends for support, but both of them seemed more than happy to not pick sides on this.

James chose to keep going, and found his resolution wavering at once. Snape hated his kid, for what? Because of him? Was he really going to carry on a grudge to his kid? He knew if roles were reversed he certainly wouldn't like Snape's kid, but he'd never go out of his way to humiliate one like this teacher had been doing.

This was an idea he'd nurse at a later time, for now he was much more concerned with Quirrell doing wandless magic, and monologuing!

Protective instincts kicked in, and he was hardly paying attention to a word he was saying, only focused on the idea that Harry could die from this! Quirrell could have easily killed him by now, or take him off to You-Know-Who! He couldn't even bring himself to glance up, far too invested in this, to see that the others were just as concerned.

The mirror of Erised finally made Sirius stop his incessant checking of the room, they all froze for a moment at that! There must be some secret they were missing, no way would Dumbledore put something in place that showed your deepest desire, which in this case, would be where the Stone was!

Remus had to clear his throat hard past his confusion, but quickly stated, "there must be a trick to this we hadn't understood, it's Dumbledore after all! When's he ever done the obvious thing."

"You've far too much faith in that man," Lily told him, but there wasn't much derision in her voice. A lot of the teachers here had grated on her nerves, constantly not expelling the Marauders and all, and most recently their headmaster had even helped keep something under wraps that the Marauders had all been arguing about. That's all the school had worked out anyways, no matter how wild the explanations of this got.

Lupin's smile turned both relieved and genuinely enthusiastic for the explanation they all got. Black threw his head back laughing at once when Quirrell in fact stated the entire problem they hadn't considered.

"What he most desires is the use of the Stone, not the actual location, therefore he'll never find it," Regulus mused to himself out loud. "That's quite brilliant."

"I just wish the Mirror was in here again," Pettigrew sighed. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Who knows, but considering you still haven't even told us what you'd see in there, it can't be that important," Black rolled his eyes.

Pettigrew gave him a little glare, then glanced at Potter quickly and waved him on to change the subject.

Quirrell transitioning into stating You-Know-Who had in fact been at the school during the time Harry had overheard him being threatened was possibly the scariest part yet. Their headmaster had still been at the school at that time, it seemed ridiculous You-Know-Who had gotten in at that time, right? Quirrell just kept going though, seemingly talking to himself, but then getting an answer. This was crazy, they were convinced everything was out to kill Harry Potter!

He now had the Stone in his pocket? Regulus at once took back what he said about brilliance, if the thing could just appear like that anyways! This kid had just been sentenced to death, they were all sure of that.

All of them, because no one wanted to hear of You-Know-Who murdering an eleven year old child, while sticking out of the back of someone's head!

None of them had ever actually seen You-Know-Who. He was a ghost story, the figure their parents spoke of that was trying their very lives, but inside the confines of this castle, they were safe from him. Now that illusion was ruined, they got more of an idea than they'd ever wanted of his features, his future.

"How is that thing possible!" Frank hissed backing as far away from that book as he could go. "Vapor! Even ghosts can't take over bodies of another!"

"If you find out, do let us know," Regulus murmured, unable to wrap his mind around the fearsome Dark Lord, the powerful bringer of their world, into this. A shadow of a creature, not even human. This was like magic of nothing he'd ever heard, it wasn't natural. Wasn't that the idea though, the promise he'd been offered, to go forward in life with one who had already conquered death. Was this the end of that quest?

He could still see the look in Bellatrix's eyes, the vivacious gleam as she told of her first duty as a Death Eater, serving the Dark Lord. She kept grabbing her arm in reverence, though never revealed what could be under her sleeve, she kept stroking the spot and promising him this could all be his as well very soon. Why should he have said no? Looking on at Sirius now, a mingled disgust and fury such a blight could exist, he honestly felt himself in that moment it was very clear what his answer should have been.

Yet this was no more easy an answer than not taking his cousins offer to go someplace special with her this summer. Because the Potter's had been murdered, and had apparently been nothing but weak willed saps about it the whole time. He'd rather die than be such a useless wizard, and serving the Dark Lord was the only way to make sure he fulfilled his life's roll.

"That's a lie!" Sirius thundered so loud, for a moment Regulus was sure the roof would cave in. "How dare he ever-" Lupin grasped his shoulder hard, Pettigrew was white knuckled and grasping Potter's elbow, who looked faint at his own words. Then as Harry shouted much the same, Potter still managing to keep going to see his kids reaction was all Regulus could think, the Dark Lord himself admitted he had not been telling the truth in that moment. Potter had fought back and what's more, the Muggleborn stood her ground to protect her young, which someone of lesser magic should never have been able to do. So what was the truth? How had the Dark Lord become this way? What was he agreeing to follow?

His mother would curse him if she heard he'd been asking all these questions, but this is why he'd never spoken such things aloud, he'd seen Sirius do this first. His father would be far more than disappointed hearing Regulus had been consorting with Muggleborns, even agreeing with one of them, and not defending the Dark Lord's will now as he bade Quirrell attack Harry and there was uproar all around. Instead he kept his silence, just like he always did, and chose instead to watch these events play out.

Lily found herself leaning against the wall, pale and shaking from hearing of a death now marked for her more vividly than ever. No distance in the world she put up would make hearing this any better, she'd be sacrificing her life for a child she had refused a connection to up until this point, she suddenly felt as cruel and heartless a monster as Voldemort. Alice was suddenly there, grasping her hands and promising her this wasn't set in stone, but Lily could picture it, now more than ever. Could no longer pretend she wasn't entertaining a future with a child in her arms, and a death for his future as surely as her own.

The struggle of Harry against Quirrell was terrible to listen to, the pain that child must have been feeling as his own scar seared him while he found the one way to harm his opponent echoed around this room as if they could still hear the screams. His, falling, his passing out, and Potter just stopping there, surely Harry had died, and You-Know-Who would rise again as if this were nothing.

"James?" Peter whispered, staying close and trying to offer all the comfort he could, but it felt like he wasn't even there. He just remained frozen, gaping down at the book and still pale as a ghost.

"Prongs," Sirius said forcefully, and that did snap him out of it, like only Sirius could. His head swung towards him, but his eyes remained unfocused.

"Harry he..."

"It's alright Prongs," Peter soothed, patting his shoulder and reaching forward like he was going to take the book, "we still have time to fix this, I'm sure Harry's death-"

"He didn't die," still slightly devoid of just a bit of sanity from hearing it all, James finally looked properly at all his friends. "There's still more left, he's going to be fine!"

Remus felt a bit concerned for his health, but Sirius was quick to play along. "Of course he is, he survived when he was a baby, right! Ten years later, bah, he'll walk away with another cool scar!"

"You're incorrigible," Peter grumbled to all of them, but James looked just slightly heartened and kept going, having to wait hardly at all to find Padfoot to be right.

"Ya hear that Evans? Hey, Lily? Harry's survived, he thinks Dumbledore's turned into a Snitch," Alice kept gently trying to coax a reaction out of the red head who seemingly went comatose.

The girls words did seem to put something back into her, she snorted in surprise and glanced back around her, finding Alice with the brightest most encouraging smile of anyone, and Frank waiting patiently for her to come back to her senses before offering, "there you go, see, Dumbledore did come and fix everything. I'm sure we were just being paranoid before thinking he set all this up." Well, he was clearly trying for comfort.

He was a big guy, broad shouldered with white blond hair and sharp blue eyes, but he always spoke in a soft, kindly voice as if afraid to startle anyone. Lily appreciated that right now. Whatever his goal, it had worked, Lily refocused her energy on a child she couldn't yet lay claim to no matter how attached she felt to him, and realized there was someone right now she could question. As soon as they got out of here, she'd have something to say to Dumbledore.

She held her tongue though, not really looking for another argument which she was sure she'd get from Lupin at least, the way he'd been defending the man of late. Instead she listened intently to the, informative, passage between Harry and Dumbledore in the hospital wing.

At least he started with the important information, that Quirrell was gone, and the Stone was safe. Potter seemed to have a hard time saying the words Harry had nearly died doing so, and finally Lily understood what he had seemingly grasped at once from all this. This was a child not yet born, but could someday exist. Why not, at least for now while traveling through his world, learn to understand him.

"The thing?" Regulus demanded, askance at once. That mirror itself had been a stupid explanation as far as he was concerned, genius indeed! If you left any room for it to be pulled back out by anyone but yourself than you were a fool! "He really did set all this up for that Potter kid to find out about all of this? Go down there and what, prove himself?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Lupin scoffed. "He's impressed Harry found out about Flamel, that's all. He would never try to get Harry dragged into this!"

"Sure seems that way," Frank disagreed as he thought back through it all. "That door was ridiculously easy to get through, those challenges certainly were easy for a bunch of first years, clearly the only problem You-Know-Who had was getting past Fluffy, though that admittedly was no one's fault, Hagrid seems a bit of a blabber mouth."

"Easy! Harry almost died there at the end, Dumbledore said it himself!" Potter fired right back.

"You-Know-Who being on the back of Quirrell's head was not part of the challenges, likely an unforeseen event at all, I'm sure the man's never had You-Know-Who slip into this school like that before, let alone at all."

"You're just looking for someone to blame because You-Know-Who nearly came back," Remus snarled. "Dumbledore's not a Seer, this isn't his fault, and Harry's a very nosy kid who got in and got lucky. Don't you put this on anyone else!"

"Okay," Peter cut in before anyone could return with something else. "We could argue about this all day, but for the love of Merlin, James is almost done. Can we please let him finish and go back to arguing about this in the real world."

Remus turned away, clearly thinking his point had been made, while Frank rolled his eyes heavily at such a daft idiot blindly following anyone. He wasn't saying Dumbledore was pure evil, but some accountability for the man who clearly had a plan from the beginning would be nice, having Hagrid pick that thing up in the first place right along with Harry Potter felt like no coincidence.

James was at least grateful to Peter for that, but was stunned stupid only a few moments later when again their headmaster encouraged Harry to call Voldemort by his name.

"But, why?" He wondered aloud, clearly only to his friends attention now, the other four were just shifting impatiently and waiting for this to be done rather than dwelling on something so ludicrous to them. He'd done it on a rare occasion when he was trying to prove something, but never so casually.

"Don't know, I suppose I've always done it out of habit," Sirius muttered. Now he thought about it though, Dumbledore was right. If they kept refusing to acknowledge the real name, they may even grow fearful enough to start flinching like twits along with everyone else, though thankfully the four of them had never delved that far into it.

James eyed that for a moment, before going on cheerfully through the rest of the conversation calling him Voldemort as well. Evans, Frank and Alice, looked at him like he'd gone nuts, but only shifted uneasily at something so unfamiliar happening right in front of them. Regulus was the only one who flinched, outright ducked like he expected someone to pummel him just for being in hearing range of this, but was ignored.

The idea of him coming back again, just in another body, was truly terrifying, and James certainly hoped that didn't happen until someone found a way to keep, Voldemort, as far away from Harry as it was possible to be. Dumbledore's statement was certainly helpful to him, he'd set out himself to make sure he never full returned!

Then Harry asked a really good question, why him, why the Potters? Sadly he cursed Dumbledore's name colorfully for the lack of response, earning a glare from Moony but not much else. He certainly hoped Harry lived to be old enough to hear the answer.

At least it was explained what exactly had gone on with Harry and Quirrell's inability to lay hands on him. His voice went soft, he dared not look to Evans, but no matter his mind telling him otherwise his eyes betrayed him and he glanced over to her.

Her face was impassive, and though she'd been trying not to show it, James had seen hints the past few times she was growing to care for at least the idea of Harry. He couldn't tell now what this had done for it, but he certainly hoped she didn't find it as repulsive anymore, that was his kid, their kid! And she was his saving grace, the reason they were getting this experience! He'd be sobbing and bouncing off the walls in her place, sadly all he got for his efforts was more questions in wondering why he couldn't have done that for her and Harry.

Dumbledore stating he'd left his Invisibility Cloak in anyone's possession was laughable to him right now, but no matter the circumstances of that he was just happy it had somehow landed where it was supposed to with Harry. Considering he was feigning any knowledge of it right now though, he couldn't do more than exchange meaningful looks with his friends, but couldn't quite get all the way past it.

"Snuck down to the school kitchens eh? Thought you didn't have this thing now," Alice frowned at him.

"I don't," James shrugged as carelessly as he was capable of. He was fairly good at it when not confronted by Evans. "Must get it in the next year or so, looking forward to that at least!"

He did not appreciate Harry asking about Snape's hatred, terrified it would erupt something between Remus and Sirius again, but Dumbledore's answer was very thankfully diplomatic, and the two simply shifted awkwardly but seemed able to make no more fuss about it. James honestly just hoped it would never come up again, he didn't like the calculating look he caught on the other group.

"You, saving Snivellus' life!" Peter thankfully broke the tension by bursting out laughing, and thankfully only the three of them knew it as his too high pitched, nervous giggle while trying to shield something. "You'd sooner snog the man!"

"As if I needed more nightmares Wormtail," James made a disgusted face at him while giving him a grateful smile and loudly moving on.

Ron and Hermione's entrance was a bit adorable, they were all happy those kids made it out as surely as Harry. Harry and Hermione's conversation about Dumbledore's desire to have all this happen certainly wasn't helping the tension though, so James quickly moved past that, and the news of a Quidditch defeat as that would make no one feel better, and found himself genuinely touched at what Hagrid did for Harry.

"That is the best gift ever!" Sirius whispered, his eyes gleaming with want right now. He'd love to get his hands on that photo album, see pictures of them in their future, proof of Evans and James' wedding for one.

His best mates small smile completely agreed, the four of them already knew they couldn't hold a grudge for what Hagrid had unintentionally done to Harry, this gift more than made up for everything, even the dragon, Sirius grudgingly decided.

"You have got to be kidding me!" Alice's brows shot up in absolute outrage when the End of Term feast held Dumbledore giving points to those kids. She'd clung to disbelief through all three, surely Dumbledore really wasn't doing this.

"I think it's sweet," James chuckled. "Harry deserves a reward for saving the world from, Voldemort, and he would have gotten those points if he'd played Ravenclaw anyways."

"He lost those points because he was sneaking out of bed at night, nothing to do with the Stone!" Frank protested.

"At least they only tied Slytherin for the cup, and didn't outright, oh, never mind," Regulus rolled his eyes heavily as Dumbledore and Potter finished.

Alice and Frank wanted to still be mad, they honestly understood why Slytherin would feel snubbed for this happening, but at the same time they couldn't hide a beaming pride Neville got those last points, that their kid stood up for his house like that. It really made them understand why the Marauders were hooting and high-fiving Harry's accomplishment, even if they held themselves back from doing the same.

Potter's mood sobered at once, all of them feeling downcast this was ending with something as depressing as Harry having to go back to those Muggles who didn't deserve to have such a kid in their presence.

James found himself finishing the last pages with a spring in his voice though, an honest feeling of hope. He'd take the information given in this, and the first thing he'd do when he got back was see to it this didn't have to be his future.

#Harry Potter #Fanfiction #James Potter #Remus Lupin #Sirius Black #Peter Pettigrew #Marauders #Wolfstar #Regulus Black #Frank Longbottom #Alice Smith

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imaginedmelody · 4 years

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The Unreal Reality of “Community”

There’s a moment at the beginning of the first season of “Community,” where Britta turns and says to Abed, “You understand that TV and life are different, right?” And I have to say:

One of the things I love most about the world of this show is how absolutely, utterly untrue that is.

Everyone on “Community,” at least when it starts, really believes they have one foot firmly grounded in reality (except for Abed, who knows he doesn’t). But quite frankly, nothing they encounter at Greendale is normal. The line between fantasy and reality is blurry for ALL of them. If anything, Abed (and Troy, once the two of them become Troy-and-Abed) are, in a roundabout way, sometimes the most grounded in reality, because they at least acknowledge that they’re playacting half the time: during their adventures in the Dreamatorium, or when Abed is “doing a bit” from a genre (like his identity switch at the Sadie Hawkins dance), or when they fake-film Troy and Abed in the Morning. They deliberately engineer some of their world’s weirdness.

But the rest of the characters are totally at the mercy of it. Some of what happens to them is imaginary, sure- but not nearly all of it. Hell, not even most of it. Their lives are not filled with the ordinary drama of relationships and college classes, but instead with adventures that defy description or belief. They engage in campuswide paintball games where everyone disappears into characters- and after which the campus is inexplicably restored back to total normality the next morning, despite what should be thousands of dollars in property damage. They become embroiled in pillow-and-blanket-fort wars, and get trapped inside a space flight simulator inside a KFC truck, and get drugged at a Halloween party and turned into zombies. Those aren’t imaginary. In this show, they are real things that actually happen.

Even when things are debatably more “realistic,” they’re still heightened. The group delivers a baby during their anthro final. Their former Spanish teacher kidnaps the dean and declares himself dictator of the school. Their friend from a weird cult dies and makes them all submit to a polygraph test to prove they are innocent of his murder in order to obtain his vast fortune. And that’s not even taking into consideration the themed dances and the nonsense classes and the Dean’s weird costumes, all of their everyday experiences imbued with a level of weird that would make no sense in an ordinary world. Even the fact that they’ve provably interacted with each other, unknowingly, several times before coming to Greendale elevates their lives to a new degree of strangeness.

I could go on! Because fantasy in this show is also a vehicle and a metaphor for bonding. Twice, Dungeons and Dragons is used to repair a personal rift. The group dresses as Pulp Fiction characters to surprise Abed for his birthday party, only for one of them to get embroiled in a whole different story that Abed is reenacting. A game of Hot Lava helps them avoid, and then finally cope with, one of their own leaving.

And the reason all of this works so well is because increasingly, there is very little line drawn between what’s real and what’s not. Even though they protest and drag their feet sometimes, they all buy into the weirdness of their world 1000%, whether it’s acknowledged fantasy (like the D&D campaigns) or impossible reality-defying adventure that somehow, at Greendale, is entirely real. They don’t sit it out, at least not for long. Even if they roll their eyes and try to avoid it, they embrace the randomness and unpredictability of the environment they’re in. They pick up their paintball gun, or their parallel-timeline-creating dice, and they get to work.

And to me, that makes the moments of genuine, real emotion that much more effective. Because when the characters become invested in the idea that this world is so much bigger than them, and let go of anything being “normal”- that, ironically, is when they actually learn to connect.

#community #nbc community #imaginedmelody writes meta #i'm reposting this because it didn't show up in the tags last time #and i just wanted to try again and see if i could get it to work this time around #(i'm proud of my meta okay!!! i just want people to SEE IT)#i probably overanalyze this show and dan harmon would be like 'yo it's not that deep'#but that's what fandom is for me!#overanalyzing and having fun in the process

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lost-eternity · 4 years

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Matchup Requests *CLOSED*

This was done as a trade instead of a standard match up, hence why I am permitting it. :)

Matchup for @stormra

okie dokie I match you with...

I have to admit, this was a bit of a difficult one. It was really between Charles Grey and Sebastian. And it was close. But a few small details caused me to lean towards Grey instead of Sebby. I’ll explain why later on.

First of all, your love languages mesh rather perfectly

Charles Grey’s (inflated) ego causes him to thoroughly enjoy the praise and affection you lavish upon him

He enjoys being treated as a prince and has no inclination to returning these affections

It’s a selfish love but weirdly enough, it works

He also doesn’t give enough craps to care for society or propriety to be embarrassed or ashamed of your advances

He is quite inept at displaying physical affection and his attempts are half-hearted at best

It’s that blasted ego again

But he does try. In his own little way

He may (attempt to) awkwardly cook something for you, or more likely than not, force you to take fencing lessons

He always wins

And he goes really hard on you claiming that you would never learn if he went easy

It’s laborious and by the end of each session you are close to collapsing from exhaustion

Insert a lewd joke here, “Oh, my dear, if this is how easily you tire, I better condition you for my bedchamber...”

Yeah, it turns out he is a complete pervert sometimes

But fencing is one of the few ways he can actually express himself

Which seems a bit paradoxical if that expression is affection or love

But it is kind of cute.

He is determined to teach you, and although he may not be the most outwardly affectionate, the amount of time and effort he invests in you is enough to tell you how much he cares

He is a very busy man you know, running missions and odd errands for the queen

His free time is extremely precious for him

So the mere fact that he is spending it with you is a lot more monumental than most people would assume

But you are smart enough to realise this

And that is one of the reasons I did not pair you with Sebastian.

Sebastian is a lot more how shall we put it... salacious. His flirting is subtle in public but that bastard would do anything to make his lover blush, testing the limits of society and still managing to get by without being caught... somehow. It’s his way of exercising control and I think that would really clash with your love language.

So,

Charles Grey is also a rather chipper fellow.

Like "chipper" may be an understatement

Excitable puppy man is more like it, at least when it comes to fencing... or maiming... the dude has weird hobbies

But he really understands your desire to travel. He is full of jittery energy that he uses releases running errands for the Queen, travelling across all of the UK. And really most of Europe running diplomacy missions and handling sensitive cases

He would probably be hesitant to allow you to accompany him

But you'd wear him down eventually

Grey really understands your wanderlust, he has a hard time focusing on monotonous tasks or locations as well

So he may allow you to join him

With one *small* caveat

You have to defeat him in a fencing duel first

Which is absolute shit. But you understand where he is coming from.

That ego of his leads him to consider himself the best swordsman in Europe, if not the world

He figures that if you manage to strike him down then you could handle yourself with anyone

And that is no small task

It seems entirely daunting and near impossible (which is probably another reason he assigned it)

And that brings me to my next point.

Charles Grey needs some who is open minded and chill enough to out up with his shit

But also stubborn and outspoken enough to shut him down when he tries some spectacularly stupid

Which is why you would work well with him. Not only does your nonchalance perfectly foil his constant energy and inquisitive nature, but you also have set your boundaries and know when to shut down schemes and ideas

So yeah

You begin training extra hard

For maybe like a day

Then you give up

It's hard, everything hurts, you are exhausted, and all you MIGHT get out of it is one lousy trip

So you begin putting training sessions off

"I'm not feeling well."

"I'll start once I finish this book"

"Oooh, it's too late now"

To say that Grey would be discouraged and slightly hurt is an understatement

His passion and life blood is fencing. He has worked really hard to get to this point and the fact that his significant other takes no interest in it wounds him

This could definitely be a point of discourse if your relationship

But you have to remain open with each other and talk it out

That is the most important thing. Communication. And let's be honest. Charles isn't not going to say shit

He is "too manly" or too egotistical to admit his feelings

You'd have to be the one to approach him on the matter

But I feel like you would. You are used to hearing problems from your friends. You know when something is wrong and better yet, you listen

After a talk, he understands that it may not be the fencing specifically you are disinterested in

But you just struggle to maintain motivation

And from that moment on, Charles Grey becomes your personal cheerleader

He's the mom at a soccer game freaking s c r e e c h i n g and going "that's my girl!" whenever you win a match

He takes pride in all he does, and he is proud of his protégé

He never allows you to lose motivation and is (annoyingly) insistent about the fencing

Which again, could lead to some arguments if you resist

But he is doing it from a place of love because he can see how miserable you are cooped up in the same place

He knows you

And finally, the day arrives that you set to duel Charles Grey himself. If you win, you get to attend some of his missions with him (others are too sensitive to risk being seen by a civilian)

You are understandably nervous, but also introspective. Honestly it is probably a tidal wave of emotions far too complex to convey with words

But ill try

Let me just....

This morning was like most mornings.

A heavy fog blanketed the docile countryside, most animals just began to shake off the effects of the previous night's slumber.

Commoners rose with the peeking rays of the sun, beginning to perform their routine tasks before the last of the fog had been burned away by the heat. For most people this day was completely, utterly, ordinary.

But not for you.

This day meant everything. This day meant your freedom.

You had risen before even the sun, shedding your skirts in exchange for ivory fencing gear, exchanging your fan for a rapier and your hats for a meshed mask. This had been your life for the past year, and would continue to be so until your final breath.

But today. Today was different.

Today determined your future. And quite frankly, your sanity.

And all you had to do was defeat your lover in close quarters combat. A monumental task in-of itself. Half of your acquaintances thought you mad, the other half patronized you, treating your struggle as a desperate cry for attention. They simply couldn't understand why a lady would go through such trouble as to challenge the country’s greatest swordsman. A woman's place was in the house, and in home is where she is complete. Why would she bother her pretty little head and sully herself in the wretched world around her? That was a man's job, such trifling affairs should be of no concern for a lady.

"She is odd, that one." They would say. But they didn't understand, how could they?

Raised under the constrictive hand of the patriarchy, they were forced into complacency. A complacency so culturally ingrained that they themselves never sought to question it. Or, those that did often keeled to the whims of man's iron fist in fear of social ostracism and reputational backlash.

But you were different.

From childhood you felt the pangs, the longing to not only see but experience both the beauty and sorrow of the world around you. To learn and ingrain yourself with the cultures, to explore every nook and cranny of your planet. You could never understand why those around you seemed so content with living and dying inconsequentially, never experiencing the midnight sun or the sweeping winds of the steppe. Dying without ever truly living. Merely existing in their self-made reality, completely ignorant to the bright, beautiful world around them.

Why stay put when you can travel?

Why exist when you can live?

These questions, along with the persistent voice of your instructor (and fiancé), kept you focused and motivated. All of that training, all of those hours of arduous, grueling work had lead to this moment.

You stood within the fencing hall, the lack of bodies usually present caused the room to echo with each clicking foot fall on the tile floor. It was wide, empty, and entirely unwelcoming. It felt like a stranger to you, despite the year of training you had completed within its walls.

Before you stood a similarly dressed figure, its face obscured by the dark meshing that covered the helmet.

It was entirely impersonal.

A faceless enemy in a sea of a faceless crowd.

But you knew better. His posture was all too familiar to you. The slight tilt of his head, the pitch of his shoulders, the strangely comforting steady hand in which he held his weapon. This was your lover, Charles Grey. And your opponent.

It was definitely surreal. He rarely ever wore his mask in training. The absence of his characteristic gloating smile and talkative nature felt almost lacking. It was rare that he would be so quiet... so solemn. But he was just as aware of your current situation as you were. And how much it meant to you.

Without a word, he raised his weapon and the battle commenced.

It was an intense battle

With every blow he performed, your parried and dodged

With a feline grace, you danced up-top light heels, twirling and spinning in an almost melodic fashion

Metal clashed against metal, each crack ringing through your ears

You had trained enough with him to know that he had a tendency to leave his left side unguarded and exposed

But he also trained with you to know that you can forget to guard your knees

And as the minutes tick by, marking one of the longest conflicts you had ever had with him, exhaustion sets into your bones

And you falter

The blow is lightning fast, you hardly have a chance to comprehend his movements

But his hips are besides yours, his knee hooked behind your leg.

He pushed you backwards with his forearm, causing you to fall backwards, only to trip on his knee and slam against the ground

Something cool and metallic is pressed to the back your neck

You don't need to look to know it is the rapier and that you have lost

The sound of you two's laboured breaths echoes through the empty chambers

Several seconds tick by as the two of you gather your thoughts

...You... lost

You finally turn yourself around, noticing that Charles had removed his fencing helmet

Damp silver hair sticks to his forehead, matted and plastered across his face

For a moment, a look of sorrow flickered across his handsome features, only to be replaced by that typical cheeky grin

"You lost, luv. Better luck next time, eh?"

You never really had much of a plan

But seeing that smug expression kicked your instincts into overdrive

With one fluid scissor sweep, you dislodged his balancing, a well-placed kick aiming where the sun don't shine toppled him over entirely

And then he was on the floor next to you, his face contorted in an express of pain

You were quick to discard his weapon and straddle him, keeping his wrists pinned above his head to the floor

"Lesson one: never trust your opponent"

You parroted this line to him, one he had told you many of times

He only managed a pained grunt in response

Chuckling, you apologized with a chaste kiss which he all too eagerly accepted

He was probably just being theatrical to get more kisses

You did not have much time to ponder the situation before a polite round of applause erupted from a nearby alcove

You nearly jumped out of your skin

You did not notice the shawled figure, cloaked in all black, like a walking shadow

The figure took a few steps forward, emerging to the light

And that is when you realized who it was

Queen Victoria herself

By her side, astute as always was the man you practically considered a brother

Charles Phipps

By now, you were extremely aware of the suggestive position you were in

Straddling Charles Grey, your hips against his, his wrists clasped tightly in your hands and pinned above his head

And oh, gods that insufferable smirk with which he was regarding

"As you can see, your majesty, my darling is highly... proficient." Grey practically hummed

You quickly scrambled to your feet, unsure how to handle yourself in the presence of a queen

Turns out, Grey had invited her to witness your duel in hopes of securing you a position under her employ. Either as an emissary or housekeeper.

According to Phipps, She was quite impressed by your performance, even though you lost

The only other person she had seen to be able to keep pace with Grey was Phipps... and a certain blonde who shall not be named

And that is the story of how you became the head maid for the Queen herself and an emissary on par with Grey himself, running missions as a husband-wife warrior squad, haha

You two probably met in an odd way

I’d say for a fact that you were attracted to Sphere music hall

It’s like that place was made for you

Semi-modern concert style music hall which people hailing from all backgrounds and classes intermingled together in harmony

Divinations and readings were done for free and in return, each patron was given a bracelet depicting their star sign.

As a matter of fact, a lot had to do with the star signs.

Meditations were conducted in between hours and food served

It was a really great place to go, somewhere you fit it because you had always been an outcast

Forced to keep your craft a secret in fear of retribution from the church, you usually made coin as a street performer and singer

It was not a lot, but it was certainly enough to keep you off the streets

Unfortunately that also meant you were constricted to the same place

Your family had consistently tried to marry you off to some rich white dude

Well, rich(er)

But you did not want to be wife and then a stay at home mother

That was somehow worse than your current situation

Also your opinionated and confident demeanour often scared off potential suitors

It was a serious problem because apparently women were supposed to be soft spoken and weak.

But you on other other hand, never showed weakness

It was far too “masuline” apparently

So you decided to strike out on your own and try to make it as a singer

Easier said than done

In the music hall, you truly felt free to express yourself

Its charismatic leader put major emphasis on the stars and night sky, he was extremely introspective and the two of you instantly hit it off (I considered matching you with Blavat instead of Grey but I kinda feel like you two would work better as friends)

You were completely enthralled with his demeanour and exuberance

And you consistently attended the hall as it was the only place you felt you truly belonged, no one casting judgmental stares, no whispers behind your back, and most of all, you felt a sense of camaraderie that you have never felt before

And as a result, you fell victim to the cult

Initially, the Queen garnered concerns over the existence of this Music Hall and the traction it was gaining. As a result, she sent out her very own Charles and Phipps to scope out the place before sending word to Ciel Phantomhive

Infiltrating undercover as guests, the Queen’s handy butlers began an inspection of the area

There they ran into you

Literally

You were in the middle of entertaining a small portion of attendees with a song at the behest of Blavat himself (he was actually looking to hire you as a backup singer for the Starlight Four but you were not aware of this)

You were reaching the crescendo of your song when a drunken man slammed into you

You uttered an apology but he seemed rather intent on making himself a nuisance

“Watc’ yaaaa, yaaa stoopid *hic* bitccccc”

You took a few steps back in response as he staggered forward, raising a palm as if to strike you

Before you could react, a flash of white covered your vision

A man stood before you, sword drawn and dawned in a blindingly white coat

Silver tresses rolled down his back, as he glared up at your attacker from behind attractively long lashes

How he managed to sneak a rapier into the party was completely beyond you, yet here he was

“Now, didn’t your mama teach you manners?” He cooed, a slightly maniacal smile across his lips

“Yoooou wanna go?” The man sneered, “I can tak *hic* you pwetty boooy”

Of course, this scene began to attract attention

The murmurings and pleasant violin music had all but stopped as thousands of eyes turned to face you

Blavat had to step in, nervously defusing the situation

He had the drunkard escorted out and moved to confiscate the weapon from the white-clad man only to get the think pointed at his throat

“A man’s worth is in his sword. It would be cruel to take that away from him.”

You were entirely unsure if he was being literal or making a dirty innuendo with that statement

Regardless of his intentions, he was promptly thrown out as well

Much to the chagrin of a separate, similarly dressed man who seemed down right exasperated with his partner’s trigger happy (blade happy?) tendencies.

You decided to follow this peculiar stranger out and thank him for what he did

You found him trying to crawl through a window, seeking re-entry into the part.

“Uh, excuse me...” You called to him as he fiddled with the lock on the window. You had no idea how he managed to climb up that high in such a short amount of time, but he had perched himself rather precariously on the window sill.

“Not right now, luv.” He called back, “I am busy.”

“I just wanted to thank you for what you did back there. I could have been hurt.”

He paused, not once looking back at you. “Right. Who are you?”

You were rather taken aback

He literally just saved you, how could he not remember you?

“Look, if you aren’t going to pay me the mind to even look at me, I won’t take the effort to thank you.” You huffed and turned to walk away

“I wouldn’t go back there if I were you.”

His voice caused you to halt in your tracks. You spun around to stare at him incredulously. “Excuse you?”

God, those silver eyes were breathtaking as he gazed at you, practically oozing with a feline grace

“Those people aren’t good people.” He stated in a matter-of-fact tone

“Oh? And what do you know about them?” You retorted defensively

“More than you, obviously.” He finally managed to pry the window open. “Her majesty has good instincts. She knows this place is dangerous, else-wise she wouldn’t have sent me.”

And with that weirdly convoluted and vague sentence, he slipped back inside and disappeared

You were left to ponder the meaning of his words

Her majesty?

This bloak knew the bloody Queen?!?!

What else did he know?

What could possibly be so bad about the hall?

You decided to call it quits early that night to process. You never thought you would ever see him again, or so you thought

You had been doing your research, sticking your nose in places you probably should not have

Blavat, someone you once considered a close and trusted friend almost seemed menacing to you

And he definitely picked up on your closed off body language

But you knew that something fishy was going on during those “private” events. Only specific people were ever invited (AKA not you)

It all just seemed really sus

And you were determined to find out

So you snuck in

Having spent many hours in the hall, you were aware of certain passages and entrances that others were not

And you were able to sneak in without much issue

But you weren’t able to see much

A heavy smoke filled the air, smelling pleasantly of posies and roses

Your eyes began to droop and heaviness set into your lids

And you fell asleep

You woke up, with the concerned and slightly perturbed face of Blavat staring down at you

Well, shit... busted

“We had a nice thing going, y/n. And you just had to ruin it.” Blavat stated callously. “You know those events are private.”

And with that, you were barred from entering the music hall... permanently

This was definitely rather devastating as it was the only place you could truly be yourself without fear of rejection of prosecution

But now you were more sure than ever that something was amiss in that hall

Why else would they be so strict?

You were probably only left alive because they knew that whatever gas they used to put out those in attendance also affected you before you could see anything incriminating

And so you began trying to locate that mysterious man in white

He seemed to have more answers than you did

It did not take long to figure out his name and occupation. Charles Grey. Butler to the Queen herself

He must have been quite the impressive butler to be going out on scouting missions for the Queen and not just serving tea

Regardless, gaining an audience with him was nearly impossible

So you would just have to attract his attention...

Somehow

Given his affinity towards sword fights, you were sure that a loud brawl outside the palace itself would almost certain garner his attention

The real question was, where in the world would you get people foolish enough to pull such a stunt and risk getting arrested

Sooo, maybe not that

You might have to work backwards

Ask around and find those that may be acquaintances with him

Which was a lot harder than it looked

It took days of searching, but you were eventually sent to speak with a mortician who according to your contact “knows everyone who is no one”... whatever that meant

It did not take too long to find out

This mortician was... eccentric to put it in the most polite of terms

But he was definitely connected with Britain's underbelly

Which you assumed is where the “everyone who is no one” comes from

You came in hoping to pay him off, to which he blatantly refused, instead asking for you to make him laugh

Which was an odd request but one which you were willing to comply if it meant breaking the case

You spent hours trying different tactics to no avail

Until you sang a very dirty and very perverted song (Most likely “God’s Loophoel”. Yeah, actually don’t look that up, it is exactly as it sounds)

He seemed to enjoy that far too much as his cackles were absolutely thunderous

In tears, he kindly revealed to you that he was familiar with this Charles Grey and could pull a few favours to get you in contact

But he never said when, nor did he ever say where

But he did ensure word of your snooping reached the ears of Charles Grey who surprised you in your own home whilst you were halfway dressed

He initially was very cross with you poking around, scolding you and chastising you saying that it was “no business for a lady”

But you shut him down pretty quick

And afterwards, the two of you hit it off and decided to make evening tea on Sundays a staple thing

Grey would inform you about the progress of the Sphere Music hall and in return, you would keep well away from it

It worked out for the two of you

But word of your sniffing around had also reached the ears of one certain earl and his own demonic butler

I would be careful about what questions you ask and where you poke your nose

We wouldn’t want it to get bitten off, now would we?

this was a lot of fun to write, I hope you enjoyed reading it, dear. Let me know what you thought

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spideypoolbigbang · 4 years

Text

SPBB 2019 - Masterlist

Thank you everyone for another great year of Spideypool Big Bang 2019! For ease of reading, we’ve compiled a Masterlist of all our works below the cut. See you again for SPBB 2020! /End SPBB 2019

Title: The Bias of Judge, Jury, and Executioner

Author: IAmAllYetNotAtAll

Artist: Luce-xoxo

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 13K

Summary: Shield has tasked the Avengers with capturing and sending Deadpool to the Ice Box after a visiting diplomat is murdered. Peter has to disprove the allegations despite the substantial evidence against him, save his best friend, and also figure out why the thought of losing Wade terrifies him.

Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

Title: A Full Guide On How To Adopt A Pet Spider

Author(s): noshallowend

Artist: thatbanananana

Rating: Mature

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 8802

Summary: One, keep your Spider well-fed and hydrated. Eye-eating you in a questionable coffee shop will do. Two, your little pet needs a room, or is it you? Well, anyway, you have been warned, so don’t complain if you wake up pinned to your bed by a 5’ 10" love bug.

Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

Title: Choose Your Words Wisely

Author: TimidTurnip

Artist: Sofreakinmanyfandoms

Rating: E

Warnings: Dubcon, sexpollen, mpreg

Word Count: 10k

Summary: Peter should know by now that you can’t just say the first thing that comes to mind. That words carry weight, especially when directed at someone like Loki. Peter doesn’t really understand how getting him to fuck Wade is a punishment, not until his stomach starts to swell.

Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

Title: Peter Parker and the Very Bad No Good Mercenary Fleet

Author: ChibisUnleashed

Artist: ask-spideypool-42069

Rating: M

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Temp Character Death

Word Count: 24,232

Summary: So what if Peter’s an enhanced human being? His everyday, average, utterly normal human being powers of very good lab work and drive to innovate have been far more useful to the universe. Peter Parker, owner and founder of Parker Tech, has been leading the cosmos in medical technology for years. Ever since he founded it, in fact.

Peter can’t leave a person in need without aid. It’s just not in him. So when he finds out a mercenary blockade has prevented the transport of vital medical supplies to a planet just outside of the United Front’s jurisdiction, he decides to go there and fix the situation by force (Because it’s mercenaries. Force will be necessary.)

Wade doesn’t really care either way, but if a hottie in a tight suit offered you a ridiculous amount of money to lend them a hand, would you say no?

Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

Title: Parallel Horizons

Author(s): mokuyoubi

Artist: Meeps

Rating: E

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence, Temporary Major Character Death, Deadpool being Deadpool

Word Count: 40,700

Summary:When Peter B Parker enters the collider again to return to his own dimension, he’s dumped out a week into the future, but still in Miles’ universe. Repeated attempts to return home only speed up the damage done to his body by the glitches, and leave him stranded 2 years in the future. Enter Deadpool, who’s seen a lot of versions of Spider-Man, but never one so in need of a friend. He vows to save Peter’s life, whether he likes it or not. Along with Miles and Gwen, they work to repair the damage, and find out what’s keeping Peter from being able to return home. And maybe Peter finds he has more in common with the strange Merc than he could have anticipated.

Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

Title: Shooting For Your Heart

Author: theultimatespidey-petey

Artist: Jay

Rating: Teen and Up Audience

Warnings: Canon-Typical Violence

Word Count: 43K+ words

Summary:

“In my defense, I didn’t expect you to get hurt.”

“And I didn’t expect to be run out of town, yet here we are.”

He went suddenly stiff, “Wait…you were run out of town?”

“As if you didn’t know,” Peter grumbled, but when he looked up he did a double-take at Wade’s confused expression. “Almighty, you really don’t know, do you?” he snapped the drawer shut, “Well, after that little fiasco by Two-Stone Canyon, a little rumor spread that me and you were in cahoots. The rumor got some ground and it turned the whole town against me. I was run out before I could defend my case. Why'dya think I was out there the other night to begin with?”

<><><><><><>

When Peter Parker, a deputy known as Webslinger, gets accused of working with the West’s deadliest outlaw he finds himself on the run from the people he once trusted. But in an effort to prove his innocence, he finds himself captured by the very outlaw tarnishing his name.

Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

Title: Rooftops

Author: Jo

Artist: AiralySwirls

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Wade-typical temporary death

Word Count: 11,800

Summary: Spider-man is a mercenary. He’s not proud of it, but a job is a job and he’s good at it. Things get more complicated when he does a job one night with a loud-mouthed and sharp-shooting Deadpool, and even more complicated when the two grow close. When Wade introduces some demons from his past into Peter’s life, things fall apart.

Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

Title: The Order of the Silver Spider

Author(s): @mscaptainwinchester

Artist: @blondeulence

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Word Count: 34000

Summary: When Wade Wilson signed his loyalty to Queen Shiklah of Monstropolis, he did it for the money. That he’d thought he was in love with her was secondary. But as the years pass, and Wade begins to understand that Shiklah doesn’t return that love, his eyes begin to wander elsewhere. Prince Peter of Spider was supposed to be a distraction, a momentary dalliance to fill the time. But it’s difficult for someone to be a momentary distraction if you can’t get them out of your head. What was meant to last a night turns into something much deeper. Soon, Wade must question what’s more important to him: loyalty to his word or loyalty to his heart. Prince Peter of Spider is barely holding things together. With his wife murdered by a would-be usurper, his kingdom’s future was put into question for the first time in centuries. As the pressure mounts to find a new spouse and produce the heir that will assure his kingdom’s future and treaty negotiations between his tiny principality and King Anthony of Longueile heat up, Peter welcomes the distraction of Colonel Wilson of Monstropolis. But Peter finds himself still distracted even months later, and quickly must face the fact that he is in love. Can he find a way to secure happiness with another ruler’s consort, or will he be forced to marry out of duty and never truly know love again?

Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

Title: Your Heart’s in the Right Place (And So are the Furnishings)

Author: Doctoring

Artist: Moemai

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Word Count: ~25,800

Summary: I mean, friends to lovers is one thing, but roommate to lovers has that whole efficiency appeal to it.

Peter is thinking about moving when his lease is up. Wade makes it his mission to convince Peter to move in with him. However, there’s a lot of home makeover (and flirting) he needs to do first before his crush will even consider it.

Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

Title: You Can’t Spell Awesome Without Me

Author: Pineau_noir/ @pineau-noir

Artist: Dropthebeet/ @albeenocookie

Rating: Mature

Warnings: No major warnings apply

Word Count: 25k

Summary: On Peter’s 30th birthday, he finds a red and black mark over his heart. Then, on his way to his teaching job at Empire State University, a heavily scarred man dies in Peter’s arms. The two things don’t seem connected until Peter’s Spidey Sense goes haywire and his AI, Janet, tells Peter about soul marks.

But soulmates are just an urban legend, like Reagan killing all the birds in 1986 and replacing them with spies, right?

Meanwhile, Wade is stuck in the hospital, after losing his favorite kidney and briefly being dead. He flirts with his cute nurse (Anthony), gives a false name (Thom Cruz), and learns to live without his precious righty (his kidney).

Peter and the Avengers are on the hunt for the slightly shady man who may or may not be Peter’s one-and-only until something unexpected brings them together.

Spoiler— it’s really dumb and ordinary but Wade lives for the drama of it all: car chases! Illegal drug rings! Exotic animal smuggling! Or as Peter tells it, patrolling and seeing cars go by, accidentally stealing a bottle of ibuprofen from Tony Stark, and finding a stray kitten.

Either way it’s going to be all the fluff and domestic Spideypool the author can manage.

Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

Title: Rock You Like a Hurricanrana Author: Jennicide Artist: Aredesification | @aredesification Rating: E Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Word Count: 111K Summary: Peter thinks he’s finally made it now that his masked persona, Spider-Man, has been offered a full-time contract with one of the largest wrestling companies in the United States. He’s spent years training for this moment but nothing could have ever prepared him for getting into the ring with Pileta de Muerto, the hottest heel in professional wrestling entertainment, on the night of his debut. And to make matters worse, their first meeting was a complete disaster. One of his biggest idols probably (definitely) hates him, but he’ll manage somehow because they’ve got a show to do and everything in wrestling is scripted anyway… until it isn’t.

Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

Title: Parker’s Monster

Author(s): Rainbow820

Artist: Alfie

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Graphic Descriptions of Violence

Word Count: 30k+

Summary: In the early twentieth century, world tension is at an all time high. A young university student in New York, Peter Parker, meets Wade Wilson, a military officer from Canada on a chance encounter as Wade looks to find his professor Doctor Connors.

America needs Doctor Connor’s work and Wade needs him, and Peter Parker wants to protect his professor. Wade finds something captivating in the student who feels the need to save everyone around him.

War rips through Europe and Wade has to leave with Doctor Connors, but Peter is not one to be left behind. Falling in love at the worst of times Peter will do anything to keep Wade with him, anything.

Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

Title: Bettas are just P®etty Assholes

Author(s): DefendersofMCUniverse (GeekMom13)

Artist: SpiderKatana

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Major Archive Warnings. Minor Character Death, Mermaid anatomy,

Word Count: 8,644

Summary: Wade really loved his job- going around taking care of pointless mers and eating all the best food in the ocean. But he really, really hated Bettas. They were grumpy, conceited, and liked to get in his way far too much, even when they failed miserably. (They always failed, Wade just hated the superficial scars they left. Because, honestly, he already looked like Neptune’s left nutsack, did they need to make it worse?) Really, how hard was it to just… let him kill the worthless mers of the pod? It’s not like he took on contracts for the productive members of pod-ciety. It just figures that one assignment he meets a Betta-mer who changes everything. Why the fuck did he have to be so pretty?

Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

Title: Cradle Author: macaronigrille Artist: nonexistenz Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Word Count: 8971

Summary: Peter’s encounters with Deadpool are initially only fleeting. He doesn’t know much about him, simply that he’s a trained mercenary for hire who’s nearly impossible to kill.

Impossible to kill, maybe. But as Peter spends more time with Wade, he realizes that Wade is not unbreakable. From broken fingers to head injuries, Peter teaches Wade how to be cared for, and Wade returns the favor when Peter needs him most.

(Or: 5 times that Peter helped Wade with his healing factor, and one time that Wade returned the favor.)

Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

Title: Odds Aren’t in Our Favor Author(s): NexusPhenomena/Nhrive Artist: Chez Rating: Explicit Warnings: Minor Character Death, Graphic Depiction of Violence Word Count: 75k Summary: What happens when the world is forced to sacrifice children in the name of order and justice? The Games are the result. Wade had never been lucky in life and as he made his way into District 12, fate showed him just how much they didn’t like him. Now scarred from his experiences, he must deal with helping the new tributes make their way through the games. Can he help keep one of them alive? Peter has suffered so much in life as it is and when it’s finally his turn for the games, will he be able to make it out alive? What will he lose along the way or is there possibly anything to gain? Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

Title: Neighborly

Author: DramamineOnTopOfMe

Artist: DrunkRat

Rating: Mature

Warnings: None that apply

Word Count: 9k

Summary: Peter’s finally moving out! And Wade Wilson helps him move in? Peter knows that Spiderman and Deadpool are now neighbors, but he can’t let anybody else find out. Especially not Wade! But for just how long can Peter keep his secret when there’s crime in his city and a mercenary next door?

Fic Masterpost || Art Masterpost

Title: on a genderbender

Author(s): Devral

Artist: Art Wolf

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: none

Word Count: 40k

Summary: While checking out one of Doc Ock’s warehouses to try to figure out what Doc is up to, Wade and Peter accidentally activate a machine that changes someone’s gender. Peter is the unlucky recipient of the change. Wade does his best to take care of Peter by stuffing as much food into him as possible and sneaking in some leg ogling while Peter works to get himself back to normal!

Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

Title: a world away

Author(s): silvyri

Artist: Limeonik

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Mild Self-Harm (it’s Wade), Temporary Character Death (it’s Wade again), some violence

Word Count: 35k

Summary: Peter is saved by a mysterious scarred stranger when a extraterrestrial stowaway causes the Avenjet to break apart mid-flight over the Pacific Ocean. Stranded on a deserted tropical island with the man who can’t seem to get the hang of verbal communication, Peter struggles with not knowing how his friends and family are faring in an alien infested New York, his growing feelings for the man he names Wade, and how Wade came to be on their little island in the first place.

Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

Title: My Heart’s A Little F*cked On You

Author(s): Spiderkatana and Dr.FumblesMcStupid

Artist: Chez

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Explicit Language, Very Brief Major Character Death

Word Count: 26,000+

Summary: When Peter was forced to leave his childhood best friend (and first crush) behind, he didn’t think he’d ever see him again. He definitely wasn’t expecting Deadpool, the first person he'd really felt safe with since then– to be the same boy who gave him an over-sized Captain America hoodie, threw rocks at Flash Thompson, and used to calm Peter down by softly singing La Vie En Rose.

AKA The One With The Silver Unicorn Charm Necklace.

Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

Title: Behind Closed Doors

Author(s): crookedswingset

Artist: babyshawk

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Temporary Character Death (Wade), Police Corruption, Angst, Bad Decision Making, Happy Ending

Word Count: 140K

Summary: When the Benefactor arranges a successful hit against a cop in a Spider-Man suit, Peter Parker has one shot to go undercover, infiltrate the criminal’s operations, and shut them down for good. But, to do that, he needs to let everyone in his life think he’s really dead. Even Wade.

Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

Title: there’s a fire in your eyes

Author: bisexualbarry

Artist: luminspidey

Rating: mature

Warnings: graphic depictions of violence

Word Count: 36k

Summary: When Peter moved to a boring town in Maine, he thought his life would be normal. Instead, he’s now being stalked by a creepy man with a wicked plan. Even after escaping him once already, Peter can’t go anywhere without feeling eyes on him.

Cue Wade, a man who’s a mystery from the start who has weird injuries that seem to heal right before Peter’s eyes. Along with him comes a ragtag family that don’t quite seem to match. The biggest reality check, though? Vampires are real and they live amongst humans.

Now Peter has to try his best not to get kidnapped (again) by an evil vampire who’s trying to assemble his own group of elemental controlling vampires. And Peter happens to have a very fiery presence.

Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

Title: In Which Peter is Not Okay

Author: ladyamante

Artist: Gensyz

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: PTSD, Past rape/non-con, Violence, Suicidal ideation

Word Count: 55k

Summary: Peter has hit rock bottom. He is anxious all the time, he can’t get out of bed for days on end. He’s isolated himself from his friends and Aunt May. What happened with Skip was ages ago, and he’s Spider-Man now, so he should be fine, right?

One night, Peter finds himself at the top of a building, ready to jump, when an unlikely person steps in.

Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

Title: Five Years Grown

Author: 343EnderSpark & thelonebamf

Artist: thelazydrawer

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Character Death, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Bullying, Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Homophobic Language, cliffhanger ending

Word Count: 137,096

Summary: Growing up in a New York City that has seen the likes of superheroes and extraterrestrials was never going to be easy, but finding a friend was sure to make the journey more fun. A young Peter and Wade meet and bond over their shared hobby of dumpster diving and a fast friendship forms between them. While Wade’s home life is complicated and downright abusive, he slowly finds a place among the Parkers, learning to trust Ben and May as he grows closer to Peter. Yet no relationship stays the same forever, and Wade’s sprouting feelings for Peter are at odds with the expectations people have for the two of them. Things only grow more complicated when Peter develops his spider powers, and is unsure whether or not he should confide in his friend. Of course nothing could keep the two apart for long… or could it?

Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

Title: (life)lines

Author(s): Anhumblegoose

Artist: Cheermione

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Happy Ending

Word Count: 49k

Summary: When Wade takes home a callboy, he isn’t expecting to find his second chance at love. Now that it’s in front of him, he doesn’t want to let it go. He knows he can make his sweetie happy; that they can pull each other up. That is, if his baby boy’s insistence on keeping secrets doesn’t end up tearing them both down.

Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

Title: Big Enough Umbrella

Author(s): fancastical, aka @fasterthanmybullets

Artist: @the-italian-pasta, aka romeyruu

Rating: T

Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence, Child Abuse, Happy Ending

Word Count: 58k

Summary: Peter is high key miserable at the beginning of senior year. It takes everything he’s got to get out of bed sometimes, let alone go to school. It’s a problem, then, that the first person to make him laugh since Uncle Ben’s funeral is also the new school bully, a guy from Canada named Wade who steals money from freshmen and has no sense of propriety or, if the bruises he’s always showing up with mean anything, self preservation. Wade doesn’t expect to stay in New York City long. His dad never lets them stick around after people start asking questions. So it really shouldn’t matter what the nerdy guy in his Spanish class thinks of him, and yet he’s bending over backward for even half a smile from Peter, and making all kinds of promises he’s not sure he can keep. Wade knows it’s not gonna end well. But when has that ever stopped him before?

Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

Title: Rebound

Author: @evansenpai13

Artist: @Ninja46464

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Self-Doubt, Alcohol, Sexual Intercourse, Mature Themes

Word Count: 9K

Summary: Peter needs to see Wade. At 3 am. And the ever Spider loving Merc has no reason to deny the man he loves. Of course, it’s not as expected, why would it? Peter B. Parker recently divorced his sweetheart Mary Jane and just as any distraught human being, needed someone to rely on. It just so happened that Wade was the one he confided on.

Matters become difficult when Peter believes Wade to behave oddly due to the loss of Vanessa. Though the present events are long after the incident, this belief clouds Peter’s judgment on what’s really happening.

Wade just couldn’t catch a break nor drop the feelings he had for the other. But Wade being Wade, did his best to get Peter out of the slump he was in. All while pushing aside the love Wade had for Pete. He would never be selfish enough to admit those feelings at such a sore time in Peter’s life. Or would he?

Give it time and a bit of alcohol, and what will happen once both men open up to one another? What’s Peter’s thoughts about the divorce? How will Wade help? Will Wade finally be honest? How will Pete react?

What will become of their relationship?

Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

Title: Careful What You Wish For

Author: @xbloodrunsredx

Artist: @sillytheotter

Rating: Not rated

Warnings: Referenced Past Non/Con, Slavery Undertones, Depression

Word Count: 15k

Summary: Wade Wilson is a mercenary that has had a rough life, but meeting a strange, powerful genie certainly puts things in perspective; through trials and memories, they struggle to find common ground… and there are too many questions that need answering before they can even try. But they can work it out—Wade knows it more than he’s ever known anything, even if the genie refuses to give up his name, or the past that hangs over him like a dark cloud. After all: he can just wish for it, can’t he?

Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

Title: Two Lies and a Truth

Author: @salios

Artist: @sofreakinmanyfandoms

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Mild stalking

Word Count: ~6K

Summary: Having a thing for your teacher seemed like a reasonable fetish back in highschool. Personally, Peter hadn’t ever found a teacher worth pining after, but then again he’d had the saltiest, most sour, dried out educator-jerky the world had ever produced. There had definitely been fresher fish to cast after.

So again, while he understood it was a respectable and somewhat common kink, it wasn’t for Peter. He also realised, within three months as a TA, that it was super uncomfortable to be on the receiving end. Especially when you were being actively chased not by one, but two over eager students with no concept of personal space.

Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

Title: Falling Backwards

Author(s): KiwiBerry

Artist: princessellie3

Rating: T

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence

Word Count: 7.4k

Summary: Peter loves being an Avenger. Or at least he thinks he does? It’s kind of hard to tell since he’s missing about four years of information after a run in with a mind-altering mutant. Luckily, he has two over protective, father-like figures to help him figure it all out. Oh, and a man in a red jumpsuit who keeps calling him “Spidey” with a fondness that almost rivals Aunt May. So, yeah, Peter loves being an Avenger (or at least he hopes he does. Mr. Stark would be so pissed if he didn’t.)

Fic Masterpost | Art Masterpost

#spbb masterlist #spbb 2019 #spideypool big bang #Spideypool #Spider-Man #Peter Parker #Deadpool #Wade Wilson #Marvel

65 notes · View notes

sandalaris · 4 years

Note

OTP/Pairing questions: SethKate 1, 9 and 10? 💖

I put 1 under a cut, because it became really very long.

9. Favorite aspect of them/their relationship dynamics? (Can be headcanon)

Probably how, despite everything working against it, there’s an equality to them once they get out of the abductor/abductee mentality (which happens fairly quickly all things considered.). There’s hints of it through out the show, but my favorite moment of it is when Sonja enters the picture. Seth does the same power play with both of them, glaring them down while advancing towards them in a display of dominance, and yet Sonja backs down, dropping her gaze and giving up ground to him while in her own work space, a place she should feel in complete control in, and a large, uncovered window right there that keeps her from being isolated with him. But when he pulls that same shit with Kate, while utterly alone in a motel room that belongs just as much to him as it does her and no one around to play witness, she stares right back and refuses to give into his dominance play. (There’s absolutely more evidence to Seth and Kate being on equal footing, but this one *chef’s kiss*)

There’s something I find so utterly delightful in someone like Kate, young and a little naive at first and all softness wrapped around steel, able to stand on equal footing to the bank robbing murderer who’s at his utter worst for a bulk of the time she knows him. Especially when the tough and fiery tattoo artist/forger who’s used to being in the criminal world and dealing with people like Seth couldn’t do it.

10. Least favorite aspect of them/their relationship dynamics? (Can be headcanon)

As much as I like what all it means/represents for them and how it contrasts with the Seth and Sonja dynamic, the fact that Seth pulled a power play on Kate in the first place, that he tried to cow her into submission, is something I don’t care for (wouldn’t change it, too necessary for their individual story arcs and I like what it reveals about their relationship), and how much Kate aimed for Seth’s most vulnerable points when fighting with him in season two. (Which if I’m honest, I would be tempted to change, even though logically I know it’s a character flaw for her that helps round her out as a character. Which probably says more about me than her that I’d be tempted to change it if I’d had the power.)

I know they’re each dealing with a ton of shit in season two. Seth’s got control issues to begin with, and that’s not even getting into all those protective instincts, both the new one’s with Kate’s name on them and the one’s belonging to Richie that find her a convenient target, and how much Seth feels that if he can just bully Kate into obeying him he can keep her safe and with him. And Kate’s angry and hurt and lashing out at someone who she feels holds some of the blame for those feelings. She keeps threatening to leave, and Seth’s abandonment issues are extra sensitive after what went down with Richie and Kate knows this. They’re both in a fucked up place, although Kate is trying to put herself back together while Seth’s still wallowing in his hurt and anger.

It’s something that I don’t think is a big problem after season two. Kate was already on the path to healing before she left (even if she’s not there yet by the end of the season) and while it falls more in the realm of headcanon, I think she acknowledges her destructive lashing out to herself and makes a point to try and not let herself slip back into the habit. And while Seth still has his issues, he’s not being ruled by them quite so hard after season two. He probably still does some controlling things, ordering her meal for her if they’re at a sit down restaurant and phrasing things more as commands than requests, and I still have a headcanon that he assigned her bodyguards without her knowledge after the events of season three, but those things are manageable. Again, I wouldn’t change anything that happened or their respective issues, but if I had to point out my least favorite part of their dynamic it would how they were in season two when he was too controlling and Kate took careful aim to hurt Seth as much as she could with her words.

1. If you had to change the pairing’s very first meeting, how would you change it? This has gone into full on What If territory and thus is long and under a cut. :P

If I had to change how they met and somehow keep it in the same canon-universe, I’d probably have Carlos drag the Fullers to the Twister, because he’s the one who wanted the family there so badly. Seth and Kate wouldn’t really meet until all hell broke loose and the initial massacre had passed, leaving the Geckos, Scott and Kate, and Professor Tanner still alive, and Seth wouldn’t really get to know/care about her until after they were on the road together (meaning no scenes where they’ve linked arms or him shoving her behind him while they navigate the underground tunnels, because Kate doesn’t mean anything to him at this point, is just another body to place between him and the vampires).

Instead of asking if he wants company, Kate would ask for a ride to the nearest town, because she doesn’t know enough about who he is and what he’s capable of to truly trust him not to mean her harm, especially after Tanner. Everything, both good and bad, that happened between them in season one wouldn’t be there to bind them together or give the other insight into who the other is. They’d stick around after actually finding the nearest town because Kate doesn’t actually have a plan and Seth’s terrified of being alone and they’ve talked just enough and are just tired enough to find it easier to not leave the other just yet, but it would be with this idea that’s its temporary. Their relationship would be different, far less trust or care between them, but still enough of a foundation and understanding that they decide to stick together for a bit. First week would pretty much be the same because trauma needs sorting through.

Seth would be a lot more obvious about his physical interest in her as time goes on, because he doesn’t have the guilt of being the one to put her in that place or her daddy’s death hanging over his head (Carlos would have disposed of Jacob before they ever even got to the Twister in this, and Seth only finds out after the fact that he even existed at all or what he meant to Kate and the fresh grief she’s carrying with her), and because he doesn’t care for her nearly to the same depth here and is therefore less careful with/protective of their relationship/her (if he makes it too awkward and she leaves, oh well. He'll wish her luck and then find someone else to travel with.) It doesn’t mean as much as it would’ve had he made the offer in canon, more just him making it obvious that he’s interested if she is as opposed to the declaration it would have been in show. Kate is a still a sheltered, sexually-repressed teenager who’s never gone past kissing though, and while she’s been through a shit ton of trauma that has her questioning where she stands on her convictions, she’s not really ready to jump into bed with anyone, let along an almost-stranger, even after she realizes he’s interested in something more akin to dating than a one-night stand. They may or may not start something, I’d have to write it out to see (and I’ve got too many fics in the works as is :P), but if they did it’d be caught somewhere between Seth’s jumping in feet first and Kate’s more celibate dating habits. All shared meals at actual restaurants and heavy make-out sessions in various stages of undress and Kate still asking for separate beds (they sadly never do grow to that level of familiarity and emotional intimacy while on the road together that they do in show). She’s not comfortable telling Seth about her inexperience here and he makes his own assumptions based on hormonal teenagers who stiffen everytime he messes with the button on her jeans. (They both keep jumping to the wrong conclusions, but neither are at a place where they will ask the other such questions.)

It’s a much slower emotional build, taking those weeks on the road to get to what they had by the end of season one in the show, but Kate still leaves, because Scott is still the most important person to her and Seth still has issues with brothers. It happens sooner and without a big fight, because they don’t mean as much to each other here to try and convince the other to stay/come with, but it’d feel more like an end to both of them than it ever did in canon. They’d eventually come back together after they fix things with their brothers (and maybe dealing with Amaru, I’m not sure how much of that would change in this without diving deeper into it). Scott’s still a culebra but holds none of the loyalty he did to Carlos in canon, and would be more likely side with the stranger wearing glasses who wants to rule Malvado’s territory than the man who murdered his dad and gave his sister to a serial killer, and Kate’s going where her brother does. Her and Seth give off a This is my Ex vibe when they meet again, but it’s not as awkward or as angry and hurt as people think it should be and Richie is a nosy little shit who genuinely likes Kate (a first for him with Seth’s romantic entanglements) and Scott has no problem sharing stories of his sister’s past exes with the new guy and basically they learn about each other’s pasts through the other’s brother in a way that means they understand a bit more of what they are getting into when they get back together.

Fin!

If I got full room to play and didn’t need to keep the storyline in tact in the slightest and can do an All Human AU (which I not-so-secretly want to explore) where they meet under entirely ordinary circumstances....

Kate’s in college and living away from home, and has come to the realization she doesn’t want to live the life she was always told she wanted.

(Kyle put a promise ring on her finger during senior year and keeps making comments about getting a job so he can support them and looking at houses in the same small town she grew up in and no one gets why she went to college in the first place when she’s already got a man to take care of her and why don’t you come home, Katie, when are you getting married already, what are you waiting for-

Kate can’t breathe when she thinks about it because she’s only eighteen and there’s so much she wants to do even though everyone she went to high school with is already settling down and talking babies and she’s not ready not ready not ready--- She calls and breaks up with him while sporting her first ever hangover. She only went to the party because the semester was almost over and she needed a break, but she got drunk on purpose. Some part of her wanting to experience this one thing that she was always told she shouldn’t do, and somehow started talking to a complete stranger and out it spilled just how utterly terrified she was of being trapped into a life she’s come to realize she's never wanted. She doesn’t go into details, but she wakes up with an inner peace and utter clarity of what she has to do under the headache and rolling stomach and the taste of something having died in her mouth, and she can’t help but know is was the best decision she ever made.)

After that she settles into this life she’s built, gets her own place off campus and learns who she is in a way most people don’t do until they’re in their thirties, and maybe she doesn’t know where she’ll end up but she knows its not Bethel and the life she’d almost fallen into.

They meet at some hole-in-the-wall restaurant that Kate goes to with friends now and again and has good enough burgers to attract someone like Richie who’s a secret foodie at heart. Seth’s at the counter waiting for his to go order and she’s been sent up to see if her group can get more napkins or something else equally mundane.

Seth’s not really the kind of guy she normally goes for, sprinkles of gray in his hair hinting at him probably being too old for her and a rough manner of speech that would have shocked her not even a year before when she was still getting used to life outside a small town. She notices him though, and that’s worth noting she thinks. When he looks over, quick and casual, before looking again less so.

Kate’s close enough to his type, even with the modest layers of clothes and apple pie sweetness, that he starts flirting before he’s really considered it. She doesn’t quite flirt back, but she doesn’t not flirt either, something smothered and peeking out at him when he manages to catch her attention more fully. She snarks at him when he gets cheeky and isn’t quite able to stop the smile from creasing her cheeks that makes him want to coax another from her. Both of them linger at the counter when their purpose for being there has long faded, not quite ready to end their little back and forth until its stretched past of the point of Too Long and Kate makes her excuses to go back to her friends. He ends up turning around in the parking lot to go back inside and ask for her number, half cursing himself for it because he doubts he’ll be in town long but part of him felt far too disappointed when she walked away to not go for it. If she’s entirely honest, Kate’s not sure if she would have given it if her friends weren’t watching the whole exchange, because she’s always been able to logic her way into making the smart, safe choice over the one she wants (one of the reasons it took quite so long to break up with Kyle) and Seth seems to have Bad Idea stamped across his forehead - see rough manner and possible too old age and hints at a crude sense of humor - and the way he leans forward with that smarmy, utterly confident grin that says he knows just how much she likes that suggestive flash of teeth and play of muscles beneath his button up... She consoles herself with the (very disappointing) thought that he probably won’t contact her anyways.

He calls her that night.

(I’m gonna stop there, because I have ideas on how Kate and Seth’s relationship would progress in something like this, and this question is entirely based on how they met, not how their relationship progresses. Plus, this is way too long already.)

#SethKate #asked and answered

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emjenwrites · 4 years

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Picnics and Bonfires [A TRC Fanfic]

This is written for @oldkingyounggod for @trcspringfling. She asked for a fic where the Gangsey has a bonfire and hangs out, so I delivered. This also proves that I'm capable of actually writing fluff when I mean to not just by accident. It tries to veer into sad things a couple times but I think I managed to save it each time. We'll see I guess. 🤷‍♀️ Hopefully you enjoy it, Aurum.

Also, the title is terrible, I'm sorry.

It was interesting the way that endings had their own feel even when objectively not much was actually changing.

Blue’s bedroom was the as it had always been. In fact, the only thing different was the old duffle bag she’d dug out of the basement and stuffed full of clothes and toiletries and a blanket and a few other things she’d deemed necessary. It sat on the foot of her bed along with her school backpack, also stuffed full. Somehow that changed the whole feel of the room. It wasn’t like she was moving out of anything. She was just going to be gone for a little while, but it still felt like something was ending. Maybe it was. Maura had always been diligent about giving Blue her independence, but this would still be the first time Blue had spent any long period of time away from her mother and the other women of Fox Way. All that new independence was bound to change someone. Still she was excited. Last year this trip had seemed like an impossibility. It was amazing to actually be able to do it.

“Blue!” Calla yelled up the stairs. “Your Raven Boy is outside!” As if Blue’s window wasn’t open and she hadn’t the Pig pull up outside.

“Coming!” she hollered back, stuffing her feet into combat boots and flying down the steps with the laces still untied. She left the duffle bag and backpack on the bed; those were for bright and early tomorrow morning.

She hurtled into the kitchen and retrieved the perfectly ordinary fruit salad she’d made that morning from the fridge. Calla and Maura were sitting at the kitchen table watching with fond smiles on their faces.

“Tie your shoes before you trip,” Calla said.

“I’ll tie them in the car!” Blue called over her shoulder as she raced out of the house and into the bright early summer sunlight. It was summer, everything was going to be alright.

Gansey was just getting out of the Pig to come knock on the door. Blue almost reached him before she stepped on her shoelace and tripped. Gansey’s eyes widened and he only barely managed to catch the fruit salad before it hit the pavement. They stared at each other for a minute then Blue burst into laughter. “Calla told me to tie my shoes before I tripped,” she told him.

Gansey grinned. “Then I guess it’s good that I was here.” He set the fruit salad in the driver’s seat and turned back to hug her. No kisses. Even though Gansey hadn’t shown on St. Mark’s Eve this year, neither of them was quite ready to confirm that meant they could kiss without him dying.

When they broke apart, Blue circled to the passenger seat and got in. Gansey handed the fruit salad to her and got in as well. Blue looked into the back seat. It was just the two of them. “Where’s Henry?”

“He wanted to drive himself,” Gansey said. “I think he wanted to take his car on one last spin.”

“Does he know where the Barns are?” Blue asked.

“I gave him directions,” Gansey said. Officially speaking the Barns didn’t exist so you couldn’t exactly find it using Google Maps. “He should be fine.”

Gansey pulled the Pig out into the street. Blue had offered to let him drive the car Ronan had given her—they’d started to call it the Green Pig—these last few months to get used to it but he’d refused. She got the feeling that he regretted not being able to take his Pig on this trip, but was too aware of the problems with taking a car that reliably broke down on the drive between home and school on a cross country trip to mention it.

“Did you tell Ronan we’re on our way?” she asked, rolling down the window and smiling as the wind blew through her hair.

“He said to be there by two,” Gansey said. “We’re going to be there a little bit after so it’ll be fine.”

“Your phone’s still off, isn’t it?” Blue asked. After winning the battle of wills and cited studies about the benefits of gap years with his parents, Gansey had turned off his phone so he had a valid reason to pretend not to have known if they changed their minds. Sometimes he turned it on to make important phone calls, but overall, he was harder to reach than Ronan these days. It had been sort of funny at first, but it was starting to get old. Blue was glad he’d probably turn the thing back on once they were on the road and his parents couldn’t stop him anymore.

Overall, though, Blue did her best not to think about the cultured but undeniably giant blowout which had happened in the Gansey family when Gansey had announced his intention to take a gap year. She especially tried not to think about the fact that Gansey had eventually won that argument by agreeing to start college the next fall—"probably at Yale, Mom and Dad, possibly Harvard, but probably Yale.” He confided in Blue that he still thought he’d won on that front too because, “Yale has a good history program and it’s not like they can force me to major in law or something else stupid like that.” Still, Blue tried not to think about it because she didn’t like to be reminded that this year was simply delaying the inevitable: next fall Gansey and Henry would go away to fancy colleges and Blue would still be stuck in Henrietta. She knew that Gansey would give her all the money she needed if she asked, but she didn’t want to be in his debt like that—especially since she was fairly certain he’d never let her pay him back—so she made sure not to bring it up.

“You really should turn your phone back on,” she told him. “You’re eighteen now; it’s not like they can stop you.”

Gansey just shrugged and focused on the road.

~~~~

Even if you hadn’t known the Barns was literally magic, you would have felt something different about it. Being there felt a little like how you’d imagine stepping into a fairy tale did. It was the sort of place that radiated a feeling that here all things were possible.

Blue loved it. She’d grown up surrounded by magic, but the kind of magic the psychics of Fox Way practiced was a different kind of magic than the magic of the Barns. The magic of Fox Way was subtle and careful. It was easy to miss or brush aside as a lucky guess. The magic of the Barns was loud and ostentatious and uncanny. It was glorious and Blue loved it.

When she and Gansey arrived, preparations for a picnic were well underway. Ronan was in charge because it turned out he was the only one of the Raven Boys who could cook (Adam had been informed that knowing fifteen different spices to mix with rice did not count as cooking). Blue was a better baker than cook anyway, so she didn’t complain. She did question why Ronan and Gansey had subsisted on take-out, cereal, ramen and microwavable mac-n-cheese cups while living at Monmouth if Ronan had been able to cook the whole time.

“There’s no stove there,” Ronan explained, taking the fruit salad from her and somehow conjuring a place for it in the overpacked fridge. “How was I supposed to cook?”

“You could have bought one,” Adam spoke up from where he was shucking corn at the kitchen table. “It’s not like you two don’t have the money.”

Ronan and Gansey both shrugged like the idea had never occurred to them. Maybe it hadn’t.

Henry was a bit late. Turned out he had managed to get lost despite following Gansey’s directions to the letter. He first called Gansey and when Gansey obviously didn’t answer because his phone was off he called Ronan and Adam answered. Despite first Adam and then Gansey’s best efforts, Henry wasn’t able to find his way to the Barns despite it sounding like he was in the right place. Eventually, Ronan took the phone from Gansey, and Henry was arrived in five minutes. This led Blue to believe the Barns hid itself from new people, which was at once both utterly ridiculous and utterly unsurprising given the feel of the place.

Once Henry arrived things kicked into high gear. Adam and Ronan pulled a grill out of one of the outbuildings. It had no charcoal and no propane tank, but somehow it lit right up when Ronan tossed a match into it. No one questioned it.

Blue was put in charge of the other food while Ronan grilled because Ronan (correctly) judged her as the only other person who could be trusted not to accidentally make the food inedible. Adam was pressed into service as the fetching things, so he spent a lot of time running back and forth. Gansey and Henry were (also correctly) judged as the most incompetent where food was concerned so they stayed out of everyone else’s way by attempting to teach Opal to play catch in the driveway. That ended rather quickly when they realized Opal was perfectly capable of taking a bite out of a baseball like it was an apple.

“Does she have guts?” Henry asked when he and Gansey finished relaying the story to Blue in the kitchen.

“I don’t think I want to know,” Blue said and set them to work cutting vegetables for the veggie plate that Ronan insisted was a vital part of any picnic. Who would have thought Ronan Lynch would ever be in the position of advocating for people eating their vegetables?

When all the food was done they laid it out on the kitchen table and countertops and filled their plates before going to sit on the front porch. The weather was beautiful and the air smelled like hope and new beginnings. The food was very good too—it turned out Ronan really did know how to cook.

Everyone went back for seconds and thirds—Opal went back for fourths and then ate her paper plate too. While they ate they talked only about good things. No mention was made of demons or death prophecies or dead fathers. It was good.

After lunch, they put the food away and went on a walk around the full perimeter of the Barns. Walking the Barns was not quite as uncanny was walking in Cabeswater had been—the Barns was not alive—but you still came across a number of odd, obviously dreamed features. For a start there were the sleeping cows. Most of them were still in the fields where they’d fallen asleep upon Niall Lynch’s death. None of the Lynch brothers had been at the Barns long enough afterwards to figure out how to move them—the cows might be dreams but they were just as heavy as real cows—but now that he was living at the Barns again, Ronan had plans to dream something that would make them easier to move.

“It feels wrong to leave them outside in the elements,” he mentioned.

There were lots of other things to discover as well. In the far back of the property they found a camouflaged wooden cover hiding a dark shaft that vanished into the ground. Henry kicked a rock into it and it fell out of sight before a horrible, hair-raising grinding emanated from the depths of the pit like the rock was being ground to bits. Ronan didn’t know what the pit was and admitted that he and Matthew hadn’t been allowed this far from the house so it was likely it had been here since Niall was alive. Given the horrible noise, they all decided they didn’t want to know what it did so they covered it up again so nothing fell into it and headed off again.

The rest of the walk was much less exciting and by the time they got back to the house the shaft had mostly faded in favor of ideas for what to do next. Unsurprisingly, there was a large assortment of lawn games in one of the outbuildings—Blue was fast realizing that just about anything could be found at the Barns if you knew where to look. They divided into teams—a feat that ended up requiring them to all take turns being the judge which in turn rendered the concept of teams rather useless. Still, time flew by until dusk when it was getting too dark to play anymore. They were just beginning to get set up for a bonfire and S’mores when a car pulled into the driveway.

Henry was the first to notice because he was in the process of carrying things outside. “Are we expecting anyone else?” he called through the screen door.

“Because someone’s here. It’s a gray Volvo.”

Everyone else paused. Ronan and Adam looked at each other. “Told you he’d come if you asked him to,” Adam said quietly.

“It’s been hours; you’d decided he wasn’t going to show too,” Ronan growled. “Don’t kid yourself.”

Adam didn’t deny it.

A car door slammed and then someone was pounding up the steps and across the porch. The screen door banged against the wall and Matthew threw himself at Ronan in a full-on leap that nearly knocked Ronan off his feet. “Ronan!” Matthew squealed. “It’s so good to see you!”

“Good to see you too,” Ronan said, sounding a little like he’d gotten the wind knocked out of him.

“I’m sorry we’re so late,” Matthew said, speaking so fast Blue had a hard time understanding him. “I had to retake a test for school. Ms. Fischer said that if I didn’t retake it I’d fail sophomore year and Declan said that wasn’t acceptable so he helped me study real hard and then I went into school today and Ms. Fischer came in so I could take the test again and then when I was done we went back to the house to pick some things and came right here! How much did I miss?”

“Well you didn’t miss the bonfire and S’mores,” Ronan said. “I’m glad you made it.”

“I brought popcorn, jellybeans and chocolate chips,” Declan said from the kitchen doorway. Blue jumped. She’d been so focused on Ronan and Matthew’s reunion that she hadn’t even noticed the oldest Lynch brother come in. He was dressed in a suit as always and holding a Walmart bag that did indeed appear to contain popcorn kernels, jellybeans and chocolate chips.

“That’s an interesting combination,” Henry said.

“It’s hideous,” Gansey said. “Really, Ronan? You let me go all this time thinking that monstrosity was a you thing not a Lynch thing?”

“It’s even better when you mix caramel sauce and chocolate sauce in too,” Matthew said emerging from Ronan’s arms with a huge smile. Ronan and Declan at least had the decency to look a bit grossed out by that proposed addition.

“Alright, it’s good you came,” Ronan said to Declan his voice much more level that it usually was when the two brothers met. “We’re going to be starting the bonfire so if you’re making popcorn, you should start it now.”

“Alright,” Declan echoed with a nod and that was that.

~~~~

Blue half suspected the bonfire to be lit with some kind of dreamthing, but it turned out that Ronan and Adam planned to light the fire the old-fashioned way—at least it seemed like the old-fashioned way, though she supposed there was no guarantee the matches or firewood weren’t dreamed. In a surprisingly short time the fire was blazing.

Blue went inside to use the bathroom. On her way back out she peaked into the kitchen where Declan was hard at work making two huge vats of popcorn. A paper plate with some of the leftovers from their picnic feast was sitting on the counter next to him. Blue was going to continue on outside, but then Declan looked over his shoulder. “Can you take that out to Matthew?” he asked pointing at the plate. “I want him to eat some actual food before all this junk.”

“Sure,” she crossed the kitchen and picked up the plate.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” Declan called after her as left the kitchen. “The popcorn’s almost done.”

Blue made her way back to the bonfire and handed the plate over to Matthew who pouted a bit but started eating when Blue told him that Declan said he should. Matthew listened to Declan like he was his father not his older brother, it was a bit unexpected, especially given the state of Declan and Ronan’s relationship. Blue had gotten used to thinking of Declan as the hated outsider of the Lynch family; Matthew’s obvious adoration of him was disconcerting.

Declan came out of the house about five minutes later, carrying two large bowls—turned out he’d thought of those who didn’t think the popcorn, jellybeans and chocolate concoction was edible. Matthew immediately held out his hands for the bowl with jellybeans and chocolate. Declan raised an eyebrow Matthew showed him the plate Blue had brought out which was somehow already empty. Declan handed the bowl over without comment and gave the other bowl to Gansey who looked very relieved to have some normal popcorn. Ronan passed sticks and marshmallows around and the bonfire was on for real.

There was a lot of talking and laughing and many sticky fingers. Blue and Henry tried Declan’s popcorn concoction and it turned out to actually be pretty good. Gansey jokingly muttered about being betrayed and took the normal popcorn over to sit with Adam who had said he, “abstained from that kind of culinary insanity on principle.”

Eventually, Gansey and Adam headed off to get more wood for the fire. Matthew jumped to his feet and announced that he was going inside for caramel sauce and chocolate sauce. He vaulted over his bench and bolted for the house. This left Declan and Ronan—who moved so he could better talk to Matthew—sitting on the same bench with no buffer between them. Both brothers fidgeted and avoided making eye contact.

“Thank you for inviting us,” Declan said after a while, his tone slow and halting. “It made Matthew really happy.”

“No problem,” Ronan said, equally slow and halting. “I’m glad he’s here.”

They lapsed back into silence until Ronan ventured, “Is he doing alright at his new school? He said he was flunking.”

“He didn’t study for a final,” Declan said. He was sitting very rigidly, staring into the fire. “Some of his friends decided they were going to go on some kind of trip instead of studying and talked him into coming with them. I was able to smooth things over with his teacher and he says the retake he did today was better.”

He lapsed into silence for a moment then went on, “I’m a bit worried about him actually. It’s not that he bends to peer pressure, it’s that I don’t think he knows was peer pressure even is. He believes the best in everyone, and I don’t want to know what would happen if he fell in with someone who wanted to manipulate him. We talked about it on the way down here, but I can’t tell if he listens to me half the time.”

Privately Blue thought that tonight she’d seen plenty of indication that Matthew listened to what Declan said to him, but she didn’t think it was her place to say.

“I could say something to him if you’d like,” Ronan ventured sounding like even he was a little surprised he was even offering. “Tell him about the importance of being your own person and not letting other people make your decisions for you.”

There was a long pause. “Sure,” Declan said right when Blue started to think he wasn’t going to respond at all. “If you would do that, that would be helpful.”

“Okay,” Ronan said. He looked like he was going to say something else but then the screen door slammed and Matthew pelted back across the dark grass, clutching two bottles to his chest. Blue wasn’t sure where he’d been able to find them. Caramel sauce and chocolate sauce didn’t seem like the kind of things Ronan would buy for himself; maybe he’d bought them knowing Matthew might be here today. Declan took another handful of the popcorn concoction and held the bowl out to Ronan who did the same. Then Declan offered the bowl to Blue and Henry. “Last chance,” he said quietly. “It only gets worse from here.” Blue and Henry took handfuls as well, just as Matthew leaped back over the bench.

“I’m back!” he announced the world’s biggest smile gracing his face.

Matthew joyously squirted the sauces into the bowl of popcorn and mixed it together with a spoon he conjured from his back pocket. They all watched in growing horror as the bowl turned into a sticky mess and Matthew dug in with relish. After a minute he realized everyone was staring at him. “What?” he asked. “Would you like some?”

Before anyone figured out how to say no without hurting his feelings Adam and Gansey were back, only they didn’t appear to have any wood. Instead they were lugging a large crate between them.

“What’s that?” Henry asked, looking a bit confused.

Adam and Gansey heaved the crate up onto the bench. “Fireworks,” Adam said grinning. “Are they dreamed or regular, Lynch?”

“I have no idea,” Ronan said, which answered the “does Ronan know everything you can find in the Barns” question. Then he grinned back. “Do you want to find out?”

“You bet we do!” Matthew plotted the popcorn concoction bowl into Declan’s lap and leaped to his feet. “Where did the matches go, Ronan? Where should we set them off?!” --

#trc spring fling #trc spring fling 2020 #the raven cycle #the gangsey #the lynch brothers #blue sargent #ronan lynch #declan lynch #matthew lynch #henry cheng #richard gansey iii #adam parrish #blue x gansey #bluesey #ronan x adam #pynch #mine #trc spring fling fic

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rose-of-gabriel · 4 years

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Stalker

@ghostoftreebeard was unfortunate in that they got me for RebelCaptainSecretSanta, and I did not get my life together until now. So yeah, sorry about that.

Thank you for introducing me to the wide world of rogueone!collegeAU

prompt: “Oh my god, are you stalking me?”

Cassian doesn’t even know her name, and trust him, it’s not for lack of trying. At first, he had barely noticed her, save for a passing “she’s hot but I’m not going to entertain that thought any further because you’re the TA, Andor. For God’s sake!” As that first term went on, he realized she wasn’t doing any of the assignments, and while she always showed up for exams, her tests ended up in the trash instead of on Professor Draven’s desk. Cassian tried to look her up in the student registrar, but she didn’t match any of the I.D pictures. She’s a ghost, haunting nearly every class he assists for the next three semesters.

Maybe she’s just a history buff. All of Draven’s lectures are open to the public, and plenty of locals take advantage of that fact. Cassian suspects she’s a student, though, with her worn out Yavin State hoodie and battered rucksack. Despite his responsibilities during lecture, Cassian’s eyes always drift to the back of the room, where she sits with her feet propped up on the seat in front of her, hair in a messy bun and eyes smudged with black liner. Cassian wishes she would sit closer so he could make out the color of her eyes.

It happens in the spring. He’s TAing for Draven’s class on the U.S Reconstruction period when she doesn’t show up the first day. He tells himself that he doesn’t care, but he can’t deny the disappointment when she is absent the following class period, as well. He does not spend extra time in the library or walk extra slowly to the bus stop in hopes of seeing her. He definitely doesn’t get to class early next week, staring at the doorway as students pour into the room. He nearly loses hope when – just as Draven begins the lecture – she stumbles in.

Cassian prays that no one notices his involuntary gasp. Even from the front of the room, he can see that her lip has been busted open, and a massive bruise swells over her right cheek. There is a large bandage over her temple and her knuckles on both hands are wrapped in gauze. Cassian’s ears are ringing as he takes in the sight, a million questions racing through his head. He notices distantly that a few other students turn to look at her before whispering to their classmates. She doesn’t seem to notice or care, pulling out her notebook and propping up her feet like nothing is out of the ordinary.

Draven normally wants to hear Cassian’s feedback at the end of each lecture, but today he’s out the door before Draven even closes his laptop. Half of his brain is chanting that this is none of his business, this is none of his business, this is none of his business! The other half is locked on to the back of her head, weaving through the rush of students in a desperate attempt not to lose her. He doesn’t have a plan, or a real justification for what he’s doing. Sure, he’s decent in a fight, but he doubts whoever did this to her is going to show their face in broad daylight. The thought of that person sends his blood boiling and has him clenching his hands into fists. In that moment, he’s certain he could tear a man limb from limb.

The woman heads to the coffee shop a few blocks from their building and Cassian pauses at the edge of the sidewalk. This is when he should stop. He knows this, knows that he should never have come this far, it’s just… the idea of anyone hurting her fills him with more emotion than he’s felt in years. Something inside is telling him to trust his instincts and follow it, follow her.

He doesn’t give himself time to second guess when she comes out of the coffee shop, just puts one foot in front of the other. She heads to one of the computer labs, next, prints something, then to the park where she plants herself on a bench and pulls out a book. She lays down as if she’s in her living room and not a public park, holding the book to keep the sun off her face. Cassian decides to sit down at one of the metal picnic tables and pull out his own book, though he doesn’t retain a word of it. He’s idly thumbing the corner of one page when suddenly a hand is snatching it away from him.

“Ay!” He exclaims, the word dying on his tongue as he looks up.

Her injuries are even more worrisome up close, but not nearly as frightening as the death glare she is giving him. “You stalking me, Mr. Andor?”

His mouth struggles around a response, his thoughts far too preoccupied with the color of her eyes: green, with flecks of gold, like stardust.

Eventually, his brain catches up to the present and he says. “I could argue that you’re the one stalking me. I’ve seen you in every class I’ve taught for the last three semesters.”

She crinkles her nose, clearly not expecting that. “I like history, sue me.” Then she shakes her head. “Wait, how the hell did you follow me around all day and then somehow turn this on me?”

Cassian can’t help but laugh at that. “I’m not a very good stalker. I don’t even know your name. You’re not on the student roster.”

Her posture loses some of its edge, voice sliding into something more playful. “So you looked me up then, aye?”

A shiver runs through him. He admits, “It’s hard to resist the mystery.”

His eyes lock with hers for a few moments, entranced by their depth. Then his focus turns to the gruesome state of her face and his stomach turns. She notices, and all softness in her expression vanishes.

“Ah, I get it.” She growls, letting his book drop to the table with a bang. She gestures to her face. “You saw this and thought I needed your ass to follow me around and what… protect me?”

“No,” Cassian says immediately, because its true! He doesn’t doubt for a second that she can take care of herself. “I just… I was just worried.”

“You don’t even know me.” She scoffs, turning on her heal and marching away from him. He nearly chokes trying to find something to say, anything that might make her turn around, but words don’t come. He gets up slowly, embarrassment and frustration churning in his gut. Then, before he can grab his things and sulk home, she comes back, this time stepping into his personal space.

“And not that it’s any of your business,” she says, jutting out her chin, “but I got these in a fight and won. I don’t need some stalker to protect me.”

She stomps away again, but only makes it a few steps before Cassian finally finds his voice. “I know you’re smarter than everyone else in that room.” She stops. “I know you could ace those exams in your sleep.” She doesn’t turn around but inclines her head, so he knows she’s listening.

“I know you drink black iced coffee at every hour of the day, and you fiddle with that necklace when you’re thinking.” She faces him, hand settling over her sternum where he knows a large stone sits hidden beneath her shirt. He’s watched it dance between her fingers more times than he can count. It’s fueled hundreds of questions that keep him up at night, never dreaming he would know the answers.

She approaches him slowly, like a cat assessing a stranger. She stands within arms’ reach of him, eyeing him curiously. Figuring he has nothing to lose, Cassian continues.

“I’m guessing you have at least one tattoo,” she raises a coy eyebrow, “and your favorite color is green.”

That earns an explosive laugh. “How the hell do you figure that?”

Cassian shrugs, fighting a smile. “Wild guess.” Green is definitely his new favorite color.

She rolls her eyes. “We’re adults. We don’t need favorite colors.”

“I disagree.”

She makes a dismissive sound, but her lips creep up in a smirk. Cassian feels warm down to the tips of his toes. He has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling, knowing that he is being utterly ridiculous.

With a sigh, she squares her shoulders and says, “You want to get a drink, stalker?” Cassian hasn’t fully processed her question when she starts backing away, wearing a self-satisfied grin. “My name’s Jyn, by the way.”

0o0o0

They end up at the Cantina, a bar just off campus that’s popular with undergrads because they never card. Cassian learns that Jyn’s a sociology and criminology double major. The history classes she audits are just for fun. She’s also pretty good at coding, turns out, and helps student clubs design their websites. In turn, Cassian reveals that he went to Yavin for undergrad on a scholarship, but when he was a kid, he wanted to be a spy.

Jyn laughs. “Yeah, I can see that.”

Cassian takes a swig of his beer. “Really?”

“Of course. When Draven turns to you during lecture, you’re able to nod like he isn’t putting everyone to sleep.”

Cassian chokes on his beer, which makes Jyn laugh even harder. He laughs too, even as he tries to clean up his shirt. Soon they’re both on their third beer. The sun is far below the horizon and the Cantina is buzzing with people. All through the evening, Cassian resists asking about what happened, but his worry must still be evident, because eventually Jyn sighs, fingers pulling at the cord of her necklace.

“These guys have been bothering my brother for a while. I needed to send a message that he’s off limits.”

“Is your brother in trouble?” Cassian keeps his voice even, free of judgement.

Jyn wrestles with what she wants to say next. “You know the Empire?”

“The neo-Nazis cult?” Cassian can’t suppress his shock.

Jyn nods. “My brother got caught up with them after his mom died. He didn’t buy into their shit, it was just better than getting lost in the system.” Her eyes flit to his, then latch back onto the table. “Anyway, after a few years, he finally broke ties and ran. That’s when my dads found him and took him in.”

Cassian’s speechless, so many questions battling in his head. He settles on the most impossible one, the one that has him brimming with nervous amazement. “You took on a fascist cult single handed?”

Jyn seems surprised at his question, like she can’t believe that’s what he got out of the story. Then her lips are slowly pulling upward, and she’s shaking her head in fond disbelief.

“Not in its entirety, but a handful of guys, yeah.” Then her expression sobers, and he knows the playfulness in her next words is a disguise for genuine fear. “Ready to run?”

Cassian answers sincerely. “No. Based on my experience in the system, I don’t blame your brother.”

Relief and surprise wash over her features, piercing green eyes going wide. Several weeks pass before the subject is brought up again. Several weeks of grabbing lunch after class, of Jyn stopping by during his office hours. Several weeks of dinner at his place and study dates at hers. He meets her brother. Her dads ask about him when they call. He talks about her to his friends and they’re all probably sick of it by now, but he doesn’t care. Cassian Andor is happier than he’s ever been.

#rebelcaptain #jyn erso #cassian andor #rogue one #star wars #rebelcaptainsecretsanta #I'm so sorry this is so so stupidly late

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upstartpoodle · 4 years

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Moving Forward (Prologue)

Rating: T

Relationships: Dwight & George, George & Ross, George & Cary, past George/Elizabeth

Summary: When George saves Ross' life from the French General, Hanson decides to take immediate revenge. Stuck at Nampara, seriously injured, he and the Poldarks must learn to get along as he recovers in order to eliminate the threat that Hanson and his brother pose for good.

@harry-leroy, @forcebros, @ticketybooser I’ve finally decided to start posting the post s5 AU, if only to encourage me to get on and write the rest of it ha.

AO3

***

“Well, gentlemen, now that this…inconvenient matter is being dealt with, I think it is time that I take my leave.”

Sir George Warleggan forced his knee to stop bobbing nervously up and down as the loathsome Mr Merceron stood from his seat in Trenwith’s parlour, the smug, self-satisfied look on his weathered face quite horrible to behold. His mind was in a whirl at the sight—had been ever since the man had suggested passing on proof of Ross Poldark’s attempt at espionage to General Toussaint, thereby likely seeing his longstanding rival killed and the report of the proposed French invasion of the south west suppressed. He had not, at first, quite believed that such a thing was being said to him. As unscrupulous as he had often been in his own business dealings, a scheme which would leave a man, however disliked, dead by collaborating with one who meant both his home county and his country at large great harm was going a little too far even for him. And yet, it seemed as if Merceron and his horrid brother were quite satisfied to use the French to rid themselves of a nuisance to them, consequences be damned, and it had left George without the slightest idea of what to say or do in response to their plots.

“Will you not stay for another drink?” his uncle asked, eyebrow raised. George glanced over at him, trying for what seemed like the hundredth time that evening to gauge his feelings with regards to the night’s rather alarming proceedings. Cary did not appear to be overtly concerned—he was of a kind with Merceron when it came to ruthlessness, in ways that had made his nephew uncomfortable in the past on a number of occasions—but not so long ago he had agreed that some distance from the two men would be preferable, for the sake of their own reputations if nothing else. For what, then, did he wish now?

Merceron seemed about to reply to the offer, but whether it had been to accept or deny it, they never found out, for George cut across him as politely as he could.

“Uncle, I am sure Mr Merceron is tired after the day’s events,” he said. “It is very late, and he shall no doubt wish to return to his lodgings in Truro.”

Despite his courteous words, his tone brooked no argument. There was a short pause, before Merceron inclined his head in George’s direction. There was a slight smile upon his face, but the twist of his lips greater resembled a grimace, his eyes cold, like two pieces of hard flint set deep beneath the ridge of his cruel brow.

“You are quite right,” he agreed, and though his tone was mild, George sensed that he was not entirely pleased. “I must return to Truro. Mr Warleggan—(he nodded to Cary)—when we next meet, I hope that our…little problem will be no more, and our reputations shall be restored. Sir George, if you would perhaps be so kind as to show me to the door? There is a matter I wish to discuss with you.”

“By all means.” The request was not quite polite, and George would have very much liked to refuse, but the look in Merceron’s eye told him that he would not leave until he got what he wanted. With that in mind, he pushed himself out of his seat and followed out through the door and into the hall.

“I sense, Sir George,” Merceron remarked once the door to the parlour had been closed behind him with a soft click, “that you are not entirely comfortable with this plan.”

George opened his mouth to deny it, but Merceron held up a hand to silence him. He glared at the man, wishing to make it abundantly clear that he did not appreciate being shushed like a contrary child.

“I understand why you might be concerned—(George had to bite his tongue to stop himself from retorting “that, I very much doubt”)—but I assure you, none of this shall ever be attached to your name. If all goes well, nobody will even know that anyone was involved at all, save for Poldark and the General, of course. Enys might suspect something, but who would listen to his word over mine?”

George was sorely tempted to point out that as the Enyses had, in spreading the word about Merceron’s mistreatment of his prisoners, managed to do some severe damage to the man’s reputation, it was quite possible that Dwight’s testimony would be taken very seriously, if not by various official persons, then by the court of public opinion. Still, he did not think it wise to rile the man, nor to remind him of the fact that Ross was not his sole enemy in Cornwall, and so he quashed the urge before he could make any imprudent observations.

“And if all does not go well?,” he said instead. “If your brother is caught, if his part in this scheme is discovered, it will not take long for your name to be connected to the whole business as well.”

Merceron smiled then, that cold, cold smile that didn’t reach his eyes. He looked like a shark, George thought, cruel and emotionless.

“Oh, there shall be no risk of that, Sir George,” he replied. “If my half-brother should be so foolish as to be caught in the act, so to speak, I shall be the first to condemn him for his deplorable plots. I am well-known amongst those who matter as a man dedicated to the service of His Majesty and this country against the Jacobins and their sympathisers, and Ralph and I have never been…close. Naturally, no suspicion shall be attached to me.”

What you are is a traitor, George thought. A filthy, cruel, horrid traitor and an arrogant hypocrite, prepared to torture those you deem Jacobin criminals whilst using those of the same sympathies to rid yourself of a man whom you have deemed troublesome to you, who would be willing—even happy—to abandon your family, loathsome though he is, to the consequences of your shared scheme, just as long as you remain unscathed. It was then that he realised that he could not simply sit at Trenwith, hoping that this whole mess would somehow resolve itself. He would have to do something, would have to intervene. But how?

“I see,” he returned, trying to keep the coldness out of his voice. If he wished for Merceron to leave, he would have to let him believe that he had succeeded in persuading him not to protest the plan. “Well, please do not let me keep you, Mr Merceron. The roads here can be dangerous so late at night, and I should not wish to delay your return to Truro.”

Merceron did not move, staring at him narrowly.

“I should be pleased to hear that I have set your mind at ease on the matter,” he said. “It is unwise for allies to disagree when one wishes for one’s plans to succeed.”

George swallowed, mind racing. He needed to think of a plan of his own, needed to get rid of Merceron before it became too late to act.

“I see that there is little risk of the reputations of my family and myself being harmed by tonight’s events, whatever they may be” he lied through his teeth. “And if you feel that Mr Hanson’s actions, no matter how successful they are, shall not reflect on either of our…sympathies, I have no further objections to offer you.”

Merceron nodded, brisk and satisfied.

“Good, good,” he said. “Well, Sir George, I shall take my leave of you. If you do not object, I will take the liberty of calling upon you in the morning, where I hope to bring you good news.”

With those words, he turned on his heel and left through the heavy front door, without waiting to hear any potential objections to his visiting the next day that might have been issued. His departure did little to ease George’s mind, however. He had wasted too much time dithering, and he needed to act at once. A vague plan was beginning to form in his mind, but did he have the nerve or the daring to carry it out?

“Trigg!,” he called into the shadows once he was entirely sure that Merceron was gone. “Trigg!”

“Sir?” The footman stepped silently out into the candlelight, livery immaculate and face expressionless underneath his powdered wig.

“Trigg, would you be so good as to fetch me a pistol?,” he said, then, remembering that Hanson had been armed when he left Trenwith, amended his request. “Actually, it might be best if you bring me two.”

Trigg, who was usually so poised and professional, seemed to choose that moment to forget all the training he had ever received. He stared openly at his employer, utterly baffled.

“Two…pistols, sir?,” he asked, dumbfounded. “But whatever might you do with two pistols?”

His confusion was understandable—George had never been a shooting man, and even if he were, it was hardly likely that he would be inclined to shoot pheasant or whatever it was that such people hunted in pitch darkness—but the urgency of the situation had lead him to be, perhaps unfairly, a little short with the man.

“What one usually does with pistols, I imagine,” he replied, a bite of impatience in his voice. “I certainly don’t intend to dance the gavotte with them.”

Unfortunately, this only served to make Trigg more baffled.

“Should I call for Dr Enys, sir?”

George fought the urge to throw up his hands in frustration. Would this be his lot in life now—condemned to have his staff finding evidence that he was deranged in every out of the ordinary request he ever made? He heard the grandfather clock in the parlour begin to chime. No time, no time.

“For goodness’ sake, man,” he snapped. “I assure you I am not suffering under some unexpected fit of lunacy. Now please, make haste. I must go to Nampara, and as it is likely currently inhabited by an angry French General and a man with two pistols and no morals to speak of, it would be imprudent of me to arrive there unarmed.”

Some measure of comprehension began to dawn on Trigg’s face, clearly possessed of some inclination of what the two half-brothers had been planning, and, for once, George thanked God and the Devil for servants who listened at doors. If he wished to protest the prospect of his master flinging himself into imminent danger, he quickly masked any sign of it, and with a polite “of course, sir”, we went about his task with all possible swiftness. George felt himself relax only marginally.

“George!” Any relief that he had felt at Trigg obeying his orders was stamped out as his uncle stepped suddenly out through the parlour door to join him in the hall, a dark, angry look on his sour face. “What the devil are you doing?!”

George could only presume that Cary had overheard the last part of his exchange with Trigg, and from his expression, had been none too pleased with its contents. He swallowed nervously. The footman was one thing, but how on earth was he going to persuade his uncle?

“I am going to Nampara,” he said as calmly as he could. “This plan… Uncle, surely you see that they have gone too far?”

“It is perhaps a little…,” Cary conceded, just barely, working his jaw in displeasure. “But that is no reason for you to put yourself in danger! You—”

“But do you not see?!,” George exclaimed in exasperation. He needed to go, before it was too late. “These ‘Merceron devils’, as you term them, will put us all in danger if their scheme succeeds. What do you suppose General Toussard shall do should his plans remain undiscovered? You know he harbours ill intentions towards Cornwall, and to England, and I cannot in good conscience allow knowledge of his dealings to be suppressed.”

Cary threw up his hands in frustration.

“But why must it be you?!,” he barked. “What possible—?”

“Who else will intervene? Merceron has ensured well enough that nobody else will know of it.”

His uncle looked as if he were about to say something, but at that moment, Trigg returned with two loaded pistols in his hands. George moved to take them, but Cary’s hand shot out to seize his upper arm, stopping him in his tracks. He fought back a wince as the bony fingers dug into his flesh.

“I will not permit this” the man growled, eyes flashing, giving him a little shake to emphasise his words. George sent him a defiant look, tugging his arm sharply out of his grip.

“It is not for you to permit me anything,” he replied caustically. “I am no longer a child that you may scold into submission. Or do you perhaps mean to become my jailer once more? You will not find that so easy whilst I have all my wits about me.”

He had not forgotten the man’s role in subjecting him to the awful treatments of Dr Penrose, and apparently, neither had his uncle, for an uncomfortable look that seemed ill-suited to his dour countenance stole across his face, effectively silencing his protests. George sent him one last glare, before taking the pistols from Trigg, who had been standing silently to the side, pretending not to notice that his two employers were arguing fiercely in front of him. It seemed that Cary was not completely finished, however, for, before George could reach the door, he spoke once more.

“For God’s sake, nephew, do not do this!,” he cried. “Not for the sake of a man like Poldark!”

George turned back to meet his gaze, one hand resting against the heavy wooden door.

“It is not for his sake that I am doing this.”

And with that, he stepped through the doorway and out into the cold night air, without looking back.

***

He rode as fast as he could, glad of the full moon that hung high in the night sky—he wouldn’t have fancied his chances of arriving on time without it, at least not without running the risk of plummeting straight over a cliff in the dark. As it was, he made good time to Nampara, only allowing his horse to slow when the shambling old house came into sight. He thought he could just about make out a light in the window as he dismounted, but as he approached, nervously adjusting his grip on the two pistols Trigg had given him, he saw that something was wrong. Even though there was a low fire crackling in the grate of the parlour, there was nobody in the room. Nor could he hear any kind of movement from the house. Was he already too late? There didn’t seem to be any sign of a struggle, but nevertheless neither Ross nor Hanson were there. In that case, where could they be?

It was then that he noticed the faint sound of metal clashing upon metal drifting on the wind from a nearby barn. Was that…? He strained his ears, and again and again he heard it, clearer and more distinct now that he was listening for it. He crept forward cautiously, his grip on the two pistols white-knuckled, and, careful not to be heard or seen, slipped through the doorway and into the cavernous darkness, lit only by the thin beams of moonlight shining through the slats of the worn roof.

Well, he thought as he took in the scene that lay before him. You wanted to find both Ross and Hanson, and now you have. The reason behind that sound of clashing metal had become apparently clear the moment he had stepped into the barn—Ross was engaged in a fierce duel with a man whom George could only presume was General Toussaint, blades flashing as they danced furiously in the faint moonlight. Beyond them stood Hanson and—much to his surprise—Demelza, who looked pale and drawn and worried. Hanson still had one of his pistols, he saw, and was watching the two men fight with the calculating precision of a snake waiting to strike.

All of a sudden, it seemed as if Ross were about to overpower the General, and it was then that Hanson uncoiled, levelling his pistol directly between the man’s shoulders. George knew that he could no longer afford to wait. Almost without thinking, he raised the first pistol and pulled the trigger.

The bang was deafening, and so startled by it were the other inhabitants of the barn that they barely seemed to notice as General Toussaint crumpled into a heap on the floor like a marionette whose strings had been cut. Ross staggered forward as his opponent collapsed, searching about him for the source of the noise. His expression of wide-eyed astonishment, so out of place on his usually scowling countenance, would have amused George in any other situation, but a movement out of the corner of his eye, past the other man’s shoulder, had caught his attention. Hanson. The man had floundered at the sight of him, stunned by the sudden turn of events, but as the General crumpled down upon the floor, and he came to understand exactly what it was that had happened, his expression turned black with rage. The movement which had caught George’s eye, he realised, was the pistol meant for Ross having found a new target. In a split second, he knew what the man was about to do. Eyes wide and alarmed, he pointed his second gun towards his would-be assailant and, forcing down the instinct to hesitate, pulled the trigger.

In the chaos of the moment, it was unclear which of them had fired first. Sparks flew, and George felt the smell of gunpowder sting in his nose, Hanson’s yell of pain echoing in his ears amid the reverberations of the shots. Other people were shouting as well, he thought, but it all seemed strangely distant as he noticed a sudden, sharp pain in his side. The pistols slipped from his hand as the world tilted alarmingly, but there was no accompanying thud to the ground, as if someone had caught him from behind. More shouting, desperate and urgent, but his world had narrowed entirely to that pain, a strange darkness beginning to encroach on his vision. There was a reason why he should try to fight it, he thought, but he could not remember why. Yes, why?

Well, at least I might see Elizabeth again, was the last thing he thought before he allowed the blackness to swallow him whole.

#poldark #poldark fic #george warleggan #cary warleggan #joseph merceron #ross poldark #ralph hanson #general toussaint #poldark au #poldark s5 #moving forward #post s5 au #mine #fic #my fic

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icyharrington · 5 years

Text

Repentance (Michael Langdon X Reader)

y’all better believe me when i say, writing this fic kicked my fucking ass. holy shit. i really hope y’all like it tho !! i haven’t been this excited about an idea in a while. i didn’t proofread this tooooo hard, so i’m sorry if there are any mistakes!!

plot: you’re a sinner. luckily for you, michael langdon is willing to help you repent.

warnings: priest!AU, fem!reader, BLASPHEMY, i mean really lmao u deadass fuck a priest in a church, dirty talk, religious talk, female & male masturbation, exhibitionism, degradation, boot licking, cum play, spanking, fingering, blowjobs/facefucking, cunnilingus, rough sex, orgasm denial, overstimulation, squirting

word count: 7.8k

tagging some people i think might be interested: @wroteclassicaly @lvngdvns @langdonsrapture @duncvn @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @langdonsinferno @americanhorrorstudies @xtheinevitableprophecyx @tickled--pinkmoodpoisoning

You weren’t a religious person; not by any stretch of the imagination. You couldn’t recite a Hail Mary to save your life, and the last time you’d been inside a church was at your cousin’s communion years ago.

It felt so familiar yet so foreign, like the broken remnants of a dream from years before, as you made your way up the rain-slick stone steps of the old white church from your hometown. Against the dreary white sky stretched the slender branches of dead trees, splayed like corpse’s hands without their usual sheaths of greenery.

Why am I here? you thought, pulling your jacket tighter to your body as you took in a shuddery breath.

It was a good question that you didn’t have an answer to. You hadn’t planned to come here, but there was just something about the outdated building that drew you in; as you’d passed it on your drive home over break, you’d let your gaze linger perhaps too long, eyes traveling over the fading wooden planks and pointed steeple, topped with a lopsided cross that almost seemed ominous as the rain swirled around it. You’d found yourself wondering, half-heartedly, if the place was haunted.

This was the church your mother had been made to attend when she was a child, adorned with pink ribbons and patent-leather shoes. Was it always so creepy? you remembered asking her in passing.

You pushed open the doors of the church, wind rustling your hair back as you made your way inside. The inside of the church smelled musty and was visually unremarkable, furnished with rows of wooden pews, dust-laden bibles tucked into the compartments attached to their backs.

There was nobody there, which you’d anticipated, seeing that there had been only a few cars in the parking lot when you’d arrived. All at once you felt stupid for having shown up, unsure of what your goal had been to begin with.

The only sound in the church came from your boots against the blue velour flooring, fingertips tracing the cool edges of the pews as you made your way towards the back, where the altar was. Adjacent to the altar was a small wooden booth, which you immediately recognized as a confessional. Your grandparents had taken you to church, once when you were very young, and had insisted you sit in the booth and confess your sins. You’d felt so grown up sitting there behind the curtain, the small space seeming much more expansive in contrast with your petite frame; with your head bowed, you’d solemnly told the priest that sometimes, you took extra cookies when your mother’s back was turned, and in turn he’d instructed you to recite a Hail Mary.

Approaching the confessional, you tugged idly at the heavy velvet curtain, running your fingers over the frayed material. You wondered what sorts of sins you might confess to now; it wasn’t often you reflected on your actions or sought any sort of forgiveness, at least not from an omnipotent being that you were unsure about the existence of, anyway. You pulled it open, wincing at the jarring sound of metal rings scraping against the beam that the curtain hung from. The inside of the booth was dark and smelled like dust. You coughed.

“Hello, my child.”

Startled, you jumped at the slightly echoed sound of a smooth voice drifting from the metal grate. You leaned up against the doorway, one hand drawn to your chest, squinting in an attempt to more closely view the shadowy figure apparent on the other side.

“I didn’t know anybody was here,” you said softly, heart pounding. “I- I was just taking a look around.”

“A newcomer, are we?” The voice was beautiful; with each vowel the man formed came a sort of melody, low and languid, and you realized that your arms had become overtaken with goosebumps. Was the temperature of the little booth cooler than the rest of the church? You couldn’t be sure, but again you hugged your jacket closer to you.

You chuckled, taking a step further inside, suddenly intrigued. “Something like that.”

“You don’t come to these sorts of places often,” said the voice, a statement rather than an inquiry.

“No,” you agreed. “I don’t.”

There was a period of silence, and without being entirely sure why, you reached over and pulled the curtain shut, shrouding yourself in darkness. Through the metal grate, you could see the figure of the man shift, and gingerly you sat down.

“So why did you come?” asked the priest, although something about his tone told you that he already knew the answer, perhaps even better than you did. Was all of this small talk normal during a confession?

“I- I’m not really sure,” you said truthfully, folding and un-folding your hands over your lap as you became increasingly more nervous.

“Sure you do.”

You cocked an eyebrow, shifting on the uncomfortable surface below you, moving to dig your hands deep into the pockets of your jacket.

“Is there something eating at you, my child?”

Your lips turned down at the sides as you considered this. Was something eating at you? Deep down, in the depths of your mind that you didn’t dare tread?

“I- Maybe?” you said finally. Your entire body was on edge and you couldn’t be quite sure why. You weren’t frightened, not really, but you were certainly feeling something out of the ordinary.

“You’ve been thinking a lot lately, haven’t you?” said the man, and you found your eyes half-closing in bliss as you reveled in the silky texture of his syllables. “Reflecting. Worrying, even.”

You nodded weakly; despite the barrier between the two of you, he seemed to pick up on your wordless reply.

“You’re afraid that you’re a bad person,” he said simply, and you could almost swear that he was laughing around those last two words, a twinge of mocking to his tone.

Your mouth went dry, and you cleared your throat. “What makes you say that?”

“Don’t we all worry that sometimes? Fear ourselves, our wickedness.”

You blinked, utterly confused at the strange turn that this conversation was taking. Yet still, somehow, you felt compelled to stay.

His voice lowered to a breathy whisper, sending waves of…something through your body and making you squirm. “But I’ll let you in on a little secret.”

“Y-yes?” you croaked, eyes wide as a single slat of pale light fell upon the man behind the barrier, and for a brief moment you could see an eye, hooded and blue, looking in at you.

“We’re all bad people. Every last one of us.”

You swallowed.

“Even you, my sweet child.” He moved closer to the openings in the barrier, and you could just barely make out the shape of a pair of lips, curved and plump. “Especially you.”

“F-father-“

“-Langdon,” he corrected. “Call me Langdon.”

You repeated his name softly, so quietly even you could hardly hear it, and you heard the man inhale sharply at this. You liked the way his name tasted rolling off your tongue, sinful and sweet. There was no way this man was a priest. But if he wasn’t a priest, then who was he?

What was he?

“You,” he began, and you could almost sense the smirk on his face as he spoke. “Are a very bad girl.”

Oh my god. This wasn’t really happening, was it? Had you stumbled into a porn set unknowingly? Once the thought crossed your mind, you almost laughed. No, he couldn’t have meant it to sound that way. He was a priest, for god’s sake.

“So what do you suggest I do?” you asked timidly, looking down to your palms, which were now covered in shallow marks from where your fingernails had been digging into the damp skin. You couldn’t see Langdon, but you were sure that his gaze would be nothing short of piercing. “Recite some Hail Marys? Ask for forgiveness? You haven’t even told me why I’ve sinned.”

He let out a dry chuckle, and you heard a dull thud as you assumed his palms made sharp contact with his thighs. “Would you like me to show you?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Show me what?”

“How I know that you’re a sinner.”

You chewed pensively on your lip, before clearing your throat with a sort of self-assured finality. “Fine. But I’m starting to think you’re full of shit.” You added the last part in an attempt to lessen how vulnerable you appeared to the man; you doubted it would change much, but something told you that you were going to need all the confidence you could get.

He let out an amused hum at your words, the silhouette of a hand reaching forward and pressing against the metal. Up close, you could see the protruding veins in Langdon’s large, calloused hand, with several expensive-looking rings adorning his long fingers, and you willed away a certain feeling that was threatening to impose itself upon you.

“Come on,” he urged, and you reached out to mirror his actions, carefully placing the tip of your finger against the metal.

In an instant the world was bathed with a sudden bright, unholy light, and with each turn of your head you could see clear images; images of unspeakable darkness, of depravity and desire. You recognized them all from your dreams, from passing thoughts you’d tried to usher away, from the shadows cast across your bedroom walls late at night. The images were pulled straight from your mind.

You drew your hand back as thought it’d been burned, letting out a pitiful yelp as tears streamed uncontrollably down your cheeks. You blinked, and all at once you were back in the confessional booth, colorful spots dancing before your vision as if to taunt you.

“What the fuck was that?” you demanded, but the words sounded weak once they’d passed your lips.

“Oh, come on,” said Langdon coolly. “You can’t be that unfamiliar with your own mind.”

“Those- those things,” you murmured, teeth chattering as the booth seemed to grow colder with each passing second. “They weren’t from my mind.”

Were they?

You could see your breath in front of you now, and in one swift, desperate motion, you lunged for the curtain and tore it open, stumbling out into the light. The second you left the booth, you fell limply into the front pew of the church, heart hammering in your chest as you struggled to comprehend what had just happened.

You could hear something stir inside the booth, the door to the priest’s side cracking slightly before a man- Langdon- emerged from the darkness. He was tall and clothed entirely in black, save for a starched white collar, with golden waves cascading over broad shoulders and framing his angular face. He was handsome- devastatingly so, in fact, with fierce, light eyes and full lips that curved into a devious smile.

You supposed you should be afraid, after what he’d just shown you. You supposed you should turn and run and never look back, finally leaving your hometown for good like you’d always vowed.

But you didn’t.

“Who are you?” you asked him in earnest, breath catching in your throat as he approached you, an unreadable expression on his face as he looked you over.

He grinned, and in his eyes you saw something entirely wicked. “I’m the man who’s going to absolve you of all your sins.”

“Wh-what? You’re going to make me pray?” At this, he laughed, unbridled and loud.

“Oh, my poor, sweet, dear,” he drawled, dragging the toe of his impeccably shined black shoes along the ground as he clasped his hands neatly behind his back. “Of course not. I’m going to make you repent.”

He stopped only a few feet in front of you, tilting his head and dragging his gaze over your body, which was fairly well-covered in jeans and a jacket. Still, you felt exposed under his stare, helpless.

“But I’m afraid that you’ve committed so many sins in your lifetime that it would take far too long to have you repent for every single one,” he said matter-of-factly. “Which is why you’ll repent for each cardinal sin instead.”

“And what if I don’t want to repent?” you said defiantly, though you weren’t sure that this was the type of man you wanted to be disobeying. You couldn’t help yourself, though; you had to test the waters, see what might happen if you put up a fight.

He gave you a pointed look, and you thought he might utterly devour you right then.

“I don’t think that’s the case, though, is it?” he said, taking one hand out from behind his back and stroking the backside of his hand along your jaw. You tensed at his touch, a chill making its way up your spine when he used his thumb to trail lazily along your lower lip. “I think you want to be on your knees for me.”

You widened your eyes but said nothing, watching the cocky half-smile stretch across his perfect pink lips. Why weren’t you fighting him?

He dipped forward, bringing his face only inches from yours. He was even more beautiful up close, you noticed, and you squeezed your thighs together as a familiar ache began to make itself known between them.

“I could smell your cunt from the second you stepped inside this building.”

His voice had dropped several octaves, and you shuddered at the feeling of his hot breath on your skin. The vulgarity of his words had caused you to gasp, but you couldn’t deny the way your mouth watered at the sound of his velvet-smooth voice forming the word cunt.

“I could smell it when you came inside the booth, when you heard my voice.“ His eyes flickered as he paused to take a breath. “When you said my name.”

He spoke almost condescendingly to you now, and you were frozen in place as he pulled down your lower lip, running his thumb over the inside until it was slick with your saliva.

“Most people are afflicted with desires of the flesh,” he said. “But you- your thoughts were remarkable.”

“Langdon…” you mumbled, looking down to your hands as they fidgeted aimlessly over your lap. Your cheeks were hot and had flushed bright red- from the way Langdon regarded you, with a predatory hunger woven into the perfect features of his face, you could tell that your shyness only excited him.

“Never have I come across a woman who wanted to be fucked as badly as you do,” he said, so close to you now that his lips brushed against your cheek, sending a surge of electricity through your body. “And as you can imagine, I’ve encountered a myriad of sinners in my day.”

“So what are you gonna do about it?” you breathed, surprising yourself with your sudden bout of bravery. He seemed pleased with this response, raising an eyebrow wryly before standing up straight to look down on you.

“The first sin you’ll repent for will be lust,” he said, and you found yourself biting your bottom lip at his commanding tone. “On your feet.”

You did as you were told, standing up from the pew and presenting yourself for the so-called priest. Then he circled you, never once allowing you to evade his sight, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he moved; finally he took a seat where you had been seconds before, splaying his palms over his muscular thighs.

You bowed your head respectfully as he observed you from his sitting position, skin burning under the weight of his pale-eyed gaze.

“Take off your clothes,” he said abruptly, crossing his legs and leaning back so that his long hair fell over the side of the pew. “Now.” Your mouth fell open, but you know better than to protest; there came that feeling again, sharp and prominent, and you quickly worked to pull off your jacket and discard it on the ground behind you. Next came your sweater and loose-fitting jeans, your hands shaking as you unbuttoned them and tugged them down your thighs, the dark denim pooling at your ankles. Once you’d bent down to take off your boots, you kicked your jeans behind you to join your discarded jacket and sweater.

You wrapped your forearms around your stomach self-consciously, all at once becoming hyper aware of the way your nipples had stiffened, poking noticeably through the thin, un-padded cup of your bra.

Langdon leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and settling his chin in his palms before shooting you a venomous stare. “All your clothes.”

You nodded, reaching behind yourself to unclasp the hooks of your bra, slipping the straps down your shoulders with a timid reluctance. Pulling away the lace fabric from your breasts, you averted your eyes to the ground as Langdon took in the sight of you.

“When atoning for our sins,” he said softly, stretching his arm out to reach your face, gently guiding your chin to look at him. “We aren’t granted the luxury of modesty.”

He patted your cheek before hooking his fingertips into the waistband of your underwear, which wasn’t much more than a flimsy scrap of black lace. He inhaled sharply, eyes fluttering back into his head as he seemed to be basking in something, though you couldn’t be quite sure what. He pulled them down a few inches, exposing the smooth skin of your pelvis, and impatiently you hurried to meet his hands with yours, helping him tug off the garment altogether.

You were about to toss the underwear alongside the rest of your clothes when he shook his head and held his hand out expectantly.

Furrowing your eyebrows slightly, you handed him the bundle of fabric. You watched with slight embarrassment as he began to level it between his palms, working the material between his fingers as a thoughtful expression crossed his face. “They’re drenched,” he remarked finally, lips curling into a disgusted sneer. “You really are a whore, aren’t you? Walking around with soaked panties, mind plagued with vile thoughts- and regarding a man of the cloth, no less.”

Despite the biting nature of his words, you could still see a mischievous sparkle behind his eyes as he pocketed your underwear.

“It’s despicable, really. Pitiful.” His tongue danced over his bottom lip until it gleamed with spit, and with a quick glance downwards you saw that he was hard. “You’re lucky I’m here to help absolve you.”

You ignored the natural impulse to try and cover up, the degrading nature of the situation arousing you far more than you cared to admit. Your center was throbbing painfully now, so intense that it was beginning to distract you, your thoughts roaming without abandon.

“Show me how you touch yourself at night when you’re alone with all those filthy thoughts,” he ordered, reclining again in his seat and casually tucking one hand behind his head. In this position, his erection was impossible to ignore, and your mouth nearly fell agape at the massiveness of the protrusion.

“Y-yes, sir,” you whispered, dizzy with lust as one hand crept towards your inner thigh, easing yourself into the task. You widened your stance, moving your hand to the warm, padded flesh at the top of your thighs, wincing when you discovered the abundance of your juices that had build up there.

“Go on,” he said, sounding as though he were calling a dog over to him. At this your fingers made contact with your neglected, pulsing clit, spreading your wetness as you formed tight, firm circles over it. You whimpered lowly, partly from the pleasure and partly from the thick humiliation blooming in your throat, and he smirked.

“Come on now, we both know you can do better than that,” he chided. “I want to see you fuck yourself.”

You swallowed thickly, pressing a finger undecidedly against your slit. Sensing your hesitation, Langdon’s demeanor shifted from somewhat playful to completely unamused, and his hand shot out to grip your wrist. He let out a bitter sigh before he spoke, eyes boring so intensely into yours that you shivered.

“I said fuck yourself.”

Your breath hitched and you scrambled to obey his commands, immediately slipping two fingers through your folds and past your entrance. You groaned at the feeling of your walls stretching out, wasting no time before you began to thrust upwards into yourself, struggling to keep yourself balanced as your knees weakened with your impending orgasm.

“You don’t really expect me to believe that slutty cunt of yours can only take two fingers, do you?” he said, and with a labored breath you shoved a third finger inside, gritting your teeth at the intrusion.

The sound of your fingers pumping in and out of your pussy was nothing short of vulgar, and you shut your eyes tightly in an attempt to ward off the shame that was rapidly engulfing you.

“Harder,” came Langdon’s harsh command, and you tried your best to comply, curling your fingers and pushing roughly against your spongey inner walls.

You were a panting mess, forehead shining with perspiration and lips bitten red and swollen, when he finally stopped you. It was cruel, the way he’d waited patiently until you were on the brink of release, but you couldn’t bring yourself to complain; this was a punishment, after all.

Wiping your glistening moisture across your thighs, you pulled your fingers from yourself; then, looking over at Langdon, you wrapped your lips around them and sucked off the remaining wetness.

He stood up, casting you over with his shadow as he towered above you. Stepping around to face you, he used the back of his sleeve to wipe away the beads of sweat that had formed by your hairline, a look of sincere tenderness on his face as he did so. That tenderness, however, was short-lived, and within seconds he’d returned to his unforgiving stance.

“Kneel.”

You did without having to be asked twice, knees instantly making contact with the faded, discolored carpet.

“I suppose it wouldn’t be entirely necessary to have you repent for the sin of pride. It’s quite clear just by looking at you that you have none left. Void of any dignity, on your knees, writhing in desperation like a bitch in heat.”

You blinked at him with eyes as wide and innocent as a doe’s, pressing your legs together as a fresh wave of arousal pooled in the pit of your stomach. You knew that he was merely teasing you, hoping to convince you that you were exempt from his punishment, but you knew better. There was no way he was planning to grant you any mercy- you could see it in his eyes as he leered coldly upon you, his pretty mouth pressed into a thin line.

“But,” he continued, just as you’d expected. “Just to be certain that you’ll be absolved, you will repent anyway.”

He lifted one leg and planted his foot on the seat of the pew, presenting you with a well-shined, expensive looking shoe, the toe of which formed into a dangerous point. “Clean it. With your mouth.”

You poised an eyebrow at the man but did not argue, fearing that he’d punish you more severely if you disobeyed. His shoe looked clean enough, not a single scuff to be seen in the shining leather, and, scooting yourself closer to the pew, you ran the tip of your tongue along the side of it experimentally. It didn’t taste like much, which helped to ease your worries, and it wasn’t before long that you were flattening your tongue and lapping at the stiff material like your life depended on it.

“Good girl,” he praised, but there was little kindness behind the encouragement. He rolled his heel back so the sole of his shoe was in your face, and with a nearly inaudible huff you began to lick up and down the patterned grooves.

Cringing at the thought of all the dirt you were letting into your mouth, you were relieved when he pulled away and jutted your chin up towards him with the tip of his shoe.

“Turn and face me,” he said, taking a step back and folding his hands behind him. You shifted away from the pew so that you were eye-level with his crotch now, eyes falling to the straining bulge in the front of his dark, immaculately pressed slacks.

A ray of red-tinted light spilled through the stained glass window behind Langdon, bouncing off the black stone of his ring as he trailed his fingers towards his belt. At a teasingly slow pace, he freed his belt from its hold, the room silent save for the soft clinking of the metal buckle.

“Most often overlooked by humanity is the sin of gluttony,” he said, the sides of his face obscured by long tendrils of golden hair. He tugged down his zipper and unbuttoned his pants, taking a moment to palm at his bulge obscenely before reaching inside to retrieve himself.

“What do you hunger for, hm?” he asked, hissing as he cupped himself inside his pants. You could see his hand sliding up and down his length just out of your sight, and you stifled the sudden compulsion to reach into his trousers and grab him.

“Do you have cravings that can’t ever seem to be satiated?” His words flowed rhythmically, tone so soft you could almost swear he was singing to you. “Do you take all that’s given to you only to find that you’re still starving?”

You bobbed your head up and down, frantic and needy, parting your lips when at last he revealed himself to you. His cock was massive, just as you’d anticipated, thick and flushed deep pink at the tip. He ran his thumb over the swollen head, smearing a bead of precum across the toughened skin around his slit.

You felt lightheaded, overwhelmed at the pure, erotic beauty of this man, this stranger, whom you’d so willingly allowed to defile you (and in a fucking church, of all places).

“You’re a ravenous little thing, aren’t you?” he mocked, fucking his hips into his loose fist with a throaty grunt. You kept your hands on your thighs, awaiting further instructions, growing restless with each passing second that his cock wasn’t in your mouth or hand.

God, you really were gluttonous.

He looked ethereal from where you knelt, full lips curved into a perfect “o” shape as he jerked himself over your face. It was fascinating to witness such a man allow himself to come undone like this, chest rising and falling and sweat forming on his brow with each stroke of his thick cock.

Tilting his head back towards the ceiling, he let out a guttural moan, quickening his tempo and bringing himself closer and closer to the edge. You were so turned on that you were fairly sure your juices must’ve dripped onto the carpet by now, a filthy proclamation of your desire; the uncomfortable throb of your cunt only intensified as you witnessed Langdon nearing his orgasm, breaths strangled and raspy.

He peered down at you, wetting his lips. “Open your mouth.”

You unhinged your jaw, angling your head under his cock like you knew he wanted. He pumped along his shaft a few more times before releasing a silky stream of hot, salty cum into your open mouth, an animalistic bellow of pleasure floating from his lips like music.

“Don’t even think about swallowing it.”

You felt his thick load begin to settle on the back of your tongue, but you ignored the instinctive urge to swallow. He tucked himself back into his pants, fastening his belt before sitting back down on the pew. He patted his thighs, eyeing you sternly, and obediently you approached him and settled yourself on his lap.

His warm thigh pushed against your core with little mercy as soon as you sat down, and you found yourself grinding down against it, chasing the pleasure that he hadn’t yet allowed you to obtain. At this, he landed his palm sharply against your thigh.

“My personal favorite sin is wrath,” Langdon said, placing his hands on your hips to keep you from wriggling around on his leg. “It’s both fascinating and amusing to see all the horrible things people can be pushed to do, all because of a little bit of rage.”

He lifted you up slightly and pulled your upper body over his lap; you complied with his adjustment, situating yourself so that you were laid fully across him, your hair falling in your face as your head hung forward- you clamped your jaw shut as tightly as you could manage, terrified of what might happen should you let a single drop of his load fall from you. His hand grazed the tender junction between your ass and thigh and you shuddered, whining when he wedged his knee back between your legs.

“I can feel the rage that’s burning deep inside you, my child,” he said, gathering your hands behind your back and holding them together at the wrist. He used his other hand to push down on the small of your back, in turn applying pressure to your soaked cunt with his knee; you cried out, the sound muffled through your closed lips.

“Do you ever wonder when your grip on your own sanity will spiral and you’ll finally snap?” You stiffened your jaw, praying you wouldn’t mistakenly let anything drip, the texture of his load seeming to become denser the longer it sat on your tongue. You couldn’t afford to be disgusted by the way it’d grown bitter and cold, coating the inside of your mouth with each minimal movement of your head.

“Answer me,” he growled, kneading your ass cheek hard enough that you felt his fingernails cutting into your delicate skin.

A pitiful “M-mhm,” was all you could muster.

“Such an angry girl,” he stated, voice dripping with faux-sympathy as he circled his fingertips over your thighs, preparing you for what was to come. “We can’t have that, now can we?”

Without warning he slapped your ass so hard that you nearly forgot about the cum inside your mouth, your body surging forward before he caught you and brought you back. He allowed you no time to recover from the blow, administering a second hit to the opposite side of your ass. You ground your teeth, eyes watering in both pain and focus as you fought to keep your mouth shut. He hit you again with even more sadistic aggression than the first two times, and inadvertently a tear dripped past your waterline and down your hot cheek.

He continued his ruthless assault on your ass, each smack harder than the last, until he landed a particularly intense one that you were sure would leave a red handprint on your skin. The force was almost enough to cause you to scream, and for a moment your lips parted, unable to bring one hand to stifle yourself given Langdon’s bruising hold on your wrists. In turn, a small stream of cum dribbled from the corner of your mouth and down your chin.

You hoped he hadn’t noticed, but realized you’d had no such luck when he released your wrists and instead grabbed a fistful of your hair. Yanking your head back, he lowered himself so that he could speak gruffly into your ear, tracing shapes over the irritated skin of your ass.

“Make a mess and I’ll have no choice but to extend your punishment,” he warned. He waited for you to nod in understanding before releasing your hair, straightening himself again and promptly making contact with the swollen expanse of your backside.

Taking deep breaths, you kept your eyes squeezed shut while Langdon beat down on you over and over; you probably would’ve enjoyed the spanking had it not been for the added responsibility of keeping a load of cum in your mouth, and you were beginning to fidget. His knee was still being held unyieldingly against your crotch, his slacks no doubt slick with your arousal, the friction sending shocks of pleasure throughout your body each time you twitched.

It was clear that the act of punishing you had gotten Langdon hard again, the rigid length of his cock pressing into your side as he hit you.

“This aroused you,” he said flatly, as though it had only been just now that he’d come to that conclusion. “But I shouldn’t be surprised. It doesn’t matter how you’re being touched, does it? You’re so needy that you’re just grateful you’re being touched at all.”

He let out a taunting laugh, running his fingers through the back of your knotted hair. “You may swallow now.”

You followed his instructions right away, gasping in relief once his load was all gone. The inside of your mouth still tasted like him, the vaguest hint of savory sweetness on your tastebuds. After spending a few seconds stroking your raw ass in steady, soothing motions, he grabbed your sides, manhandling you until you were back in a sitting position on the edge of his knees. For the second time during your encounter, he unbuckled his belt, shimmying his pants and boxers partly down his thighs and allowing his cock to spring free.

You knew better than to succumb to your desires, stomach churning with want at the mouthwatering sight of Langdon’s erection. All you wanted was to feel him- pump your fist along his veined shaft, wrap your lips around his warm skin, glide down his length until you were convinced you could feel him deep in your belly. He was right- you didn’t care how he chose to touch you. You just wanted to be touched.

“It’s time for you to repent for the sin of sloth, my child,” he said, massaging the tip of his cock with his thumb. “Spoiled little sluts like you are always far too accustomed to being given everything they want without ever having to lift a finger.”

He took hold of your upper thighs, pinching the supple curves while he guided you so that you were straddling him. Your breath caught in your throat; you were so close to what you wanted you could almost taste it.

“Is this what you desire?” he asked you, wrapping his long fingers around your wrist and moving your hand to his cock. Instinctively you grasped it, teeth sinking into your lower lip as you traced along the prominent veins adorning his shaft.

“Yes,” you said breathlessly. “God, yes.”

“You should know better than to use the lord’s name in vain in the presence of a priest,” he teased, cinnamon-scented breath hot on your neck. He ghosted his lips against your jugular, just barely placing an open-mouthed kiss against it, erupting your body into chills.

“Please,” you all but whimpered. You were subconsciously rolling your hips down on Langdon’s lap, desperate for any sort of release, and he reached forward to firmly hold you still.

“Work for it.” He placed his hands down on either side of him, lips just slightly curling upwards at the corners as he resigned to resting with his back against the pew.

You eased yourself forward, holding his cock upright by the base. Lifting yourself up, you grazed the flushed head along your slit and dipped it past your entrance, jaw already unhinging at the slight penetration. Heart pounding, you slid down onto him, tears springing to your eyes at the sheer intensity of his thickness stretching out your narrow walls.

“Oh fuck,” you grunted, eyes rolling back into your head when all at once he filled you to the hilt. Langdon remained motionless, but you could see the way he sucked his lower lip into his mouth at the feeling of your pussy enveloping him, and from the back of his throat came a low hiss.

“That’s it,” he said encouragingly, clearly unable to contain himself as he began kneading your tits in his hands. You squealed, just barely rocking yourself, still trying to get used to having something so massive inside of you. “I want you to fuck yourself on my cock. Can you do that for me?”

“Y-yes, sir,” you said, reaching over Langdon’s shoulders and gripping the edge of the pew with both hands to support yourself. Langdon repositioned his hands so that they cupped your abused ass, latching his mouth onto your sensitive nipple and swirling his tongue over the peak as you hoisted yourself up.

You brought your ass back down, losing your breath all over again as Langdon nibbled at your hardened areola. You were already beginning to work up a sweat, but still you continued to fuck yourself as you’d been instructed to, gaining momentum with each bounce of your hips.

The lewd sound of slapping skin rang throughout the empty room, melding with the strangled, depraved moans escaping your throats. Never before had you experienced such unadulterated ecstasy, and you weren’t sure that you ever would again. You were insatiable, slamming your hips down at an almost painful rhythm, knuckles turning white over the edge of the pew. The head of Langdon’s cock reached your cervix and you saw stars, unable to think of anything but your impending orgasm and the beautiful man beneath you.

“Fuck, oh fuck, Langdon, please-“ came your incoherent cries, burying your head in the crook of his neck to more closely listen to his own sounds of pleasure. He was far less vocal than you were, being the composed man he was, but it was obvious that he, too, was coming undone by the way he was clutching your ass, forceful enough to leave bruises.

He growled, bucking his hips up to meet you, sending streams of tears flowing down your cheeks. It hurt, but you loved the pain, craved it, knowing that you wouldn’t be able to forget this for weeks.

“Fuck- I-I’m close,” you croaked, blinking away a bead of sweat that had fallen into your eye, heart hammering violently in your chest.

With that, he pushed you up off of him with such power that you stumbled back and fell onto your ass, his cock leaving you just as you were about to unravel. You sniffled pathetically, watching with glassy eyes as he rose to his feet, cock shining from the wetness of your cunt.

“Envy,” he said, glaring down at you, “Is the most laughable of the cardinal sins. Desiring what others have while ignoring your own blessings is truly humanity’s biggest flaw.”

He leaned down to thread his fingers through the hair at the top of your head, yanking you upright by the root so you were on your knees. “I know what you desire, pathetic girl. Release. Unfortunately for you, though, I’m the only one getting any of that today.”

He was taunting you, enjoying the distress evidently plastered across your face as he coerced open your jaw. Then he thrust his cock into your mouth, forcing you to taste your own arousal coating him, quickly deciding on a rapid, merciless pace to fuck your face with.

You couldn’t do much more than gag, taking shallow breaths through your nose as he pushed himself into your throat, using your hair as reigns to direct you.

You felt his cock twitch, and then your nose was pressed flush against the neatly trimmed blond curls surrounding his pelvis, one hand keeping you in place as warm spurts of cum shot down your throat. When he was sure that you’d consumed every last drop of his load, he let you go, tossing you onto your side like a rag doll.

Sobbing softly, you drew your knees to your chest, too humiliated to lock eyes with the stoic man who had reduced you to this. You were nothing more than a sniveling mess, defiled and debased, throat aching and lips trembling.

And yet still, somehow, your cunt was pulsing, screaming to be touched.

“Please, Langdon,” you mumbled in a daze, unsure if you’d even spoken at all once the words had left your mouth. “Please.”

He looked sinfully delicious from where he stood, towering above you as you lay sprawled across the floor, and with disappointment you watched him put away his dick. Using what little energy you had left, you tugged at the pristine hem of his pants, and he tilted his head inquisitively, a small smile creeping across his lips at your hopeless state.

“Please. I don’t know what you want me to do. Just— please.” You got onto your knees, nuzzling your cheek against his thigh like a cat begging to be fed.

“Please what, my child?” he asked, voice dripping with condescension. He caressed your cheek with his thumb, wiping away your partially-dried tears in the process. “Was this not enough for you? My cock filling your mouth, your cunt? You’re asking me for more, when I’ve given you so much already?”

You lowered your eyes, ashamed.

“How fitting, then, that your last sin to repent for is greed.”

He gripped your upper arm and jerked you to your feet, casting you haphazardly onto the pew. Langdon licked his lips, admiring the view of your naked body strewn across the wood, your chest splotchy and red.

“You want to cum? Is that what you want?” he demanded, sinking to his knees and prodding apart your thighs. When you didn’t reply, he gave your inner thigh a hard slap. “Answer me.”

“Oh god,” you sighed, melting at the tantalizing feeling of air blowing against your pussy when he spoke. “Y-yes.”

“Hm,” he hummed, entwining his arms with your thighs so he could keep them apart, “Very well, if that’s really what you want.”

He lunged forward unexpectedly, burying his face in your cunt, lapping vigorously between your folds and gathering your sticky secretion on his tongue. You moaned wildly, one hand tangling with his flaxen waves, unintentionally rolling your pelvis against his face. Drawing his tongue between your outer lips, he met your bud at the very top and enclosed his lips around it, adding just enough suction that you were overwhelmed. Writhing helplessly against him, you screamed out as he dropped one of your thighs and impaled you with two of his fingers.

He was cruel, the way he pounded his fingers inside of you unrelentingly, his mouth working fervently at your clit. The edges of your vision blurred, and it wasn’t long before your stomach was dropping, indicating your approaching climax.

“I- I’m- fuck!” He flicked your bud once more with the tip of his tongue, and then you were cumming, head thrown back in euphoria as your orgasm consumed you.

Your cunt vibrated as Langdon snickered against it, and it was then that you registered the truth of the matter: you were well and truly fucked. He had no intentions of letting you breathe, instead continuing to toy with your throbbing clit, a third finger pressing inside you with a filthy squelch.

“Shit-“ you sobbed, his tongue forming brisk shapes over your bundle of nerves, fingers effortlessly working you open. You had no choice but to take it; the pleasure coursing through you was so potent that it was becoming unbearable, but you were sure that had been his goal, to punish you with the very thing you’d been yearning for.

He turned his fingers inside you, angling them to hit the deepest spots that nobody else had ever been able to reach. He curled them, brushing against something spongey and sensitive, and for a moment all you could see was white as you came for a second time.

Just as you’d feared, Langdon didn’t stop; now he was sucking so ardently on your clit that you could hardly move, falling limply on the back of the pew, legs weak and numb under his iron grip. He continued to drive his fingers deep inside you, your body shaking feebly each time his fingertips grazed your cervix.

“Langdon- please, no m-more,” you pleaded, but he only laughed, spreading apart his fingers inside you to stretch you further. He retracted from your clit with a noisy pop, and you were about to breath a sigh of relief, until he removed his fingers from your core and used them to replace his lips.

“N-no, it’s too much, please!” You were crying now, struggling against his mouth as he moved his head downwards to lick stripes up between your folds, his thumb forming circles over your defenseless clit.

He sucked one of your outer lips into his mouth before delving deep into your entrance, starting to fuck you with his skillful tongue. You could feel that well-known dip in your belly yet again, and the muscles of your thighs tensed and contracted when he pinched your clit between two fingers.

The coil in your stomach snapped without warning, and then you were cumming; this time, however, was different- a wave of clear liquid shot out from your overstimulated cunt, soaking Langdon’s face and the front of his shirt.

He backed away, finally, lips pulling into an evil grin as he examined the mess you’d made. You were wide-eyed, shocked at your newfound ability, sweat-stained chest rising and falling. You were sure in other circumstances you’d have been embarrassed, but right now you were far too exhausted to care.

“You’re a messy little thing,” he laughed, wiping his mouth off with the back of his sleeve and licking his damp fingers clean. “So what do you think? Have you learned your lesson?”

“Y-yes, sir,” you said, shutting your legs protectively just in case he decided to go for one more round.

“Good.” He returned to his feet, looking just as pristine as he had when you’d first seen him, save for his gently tousled hair. “And what do you say, after I’ve gone through all this trouble to ensure your absolution?” He questioned you as though you were a petulant child, resting his hands on his hips.

“Thank you, sir,” you whispered hoarsely. Your body ached all over, from your ass to your cunt to your hips to your back. Langdon would be the only thing on your mind for the next week, that you were sure of.

“I’ll be expecting you back, though, so I can be sure you’re still on the right path.”

“Believe me, sir, I will be.”

#michael langdon #michael langdon imagine #michael langdon smut #michael langdon one shot #michael langdon x reader #cody fern #american horror story #ahs apocalypse #ahs smut #ahs one shot #apocalypse #mine

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alphawave-writes · 4 years

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Sigrold week 2019 Prompt 1) Beginnings/Universe

Read it here or find it on ao3. You can support me by asking about my commissions or buying me a ko-fi

It begins with a touch. Just a simple stroke of the fingers on the back of his hand. It’s accidental, not on purpose, or at least that’s what Siebren tells himself when he glances up the wrist, arm, shoulder, and finally face of Dr. Harold Winston. It’s the last one that draws his attention. Siebren does not pretend to understand the finer points of human emotion, but even if he hypothetically could, there was no way he could truly interpret the expression Harold gives him at this moment. It’s multi-faceted, prismatic, utterly indescribable and gorgeous all the same time. But like a black hole, he wants to know how it forms, what causes its formation, why it appears to him now, when they’re all alone in the Commissary.

“Sorry,” Harold says as he takes the seat opposite Siebren.

“I-It’s fine,” he gruffly responds.

There’s a few seconds of silence where there’s nothing to be heard but the hoots of the gorillas in the distance and the whirr of the vending machines. Siebren takes off his gloves and folds them neatly together before pocketing them.

Harold stares at his hands, his eyes widening microscopically. His own hands fidget in front of him, clenching and unclenching. Another curious reaction.

“Did I ever tell you I learned palm reading?” Harold asks.

Siebren can’t help but chuckle. “Which stereotype are you living up to now? The American one, or the Chinese one?”

“Hey, I never said I believed in it, or that I’m any good at it. Just that I know a bit of it.”

“That was far from what I was suggesting. The universe is so vast and mysterious that I would not be surprised if there is an inkling of truth to it. However unlikely that may be.”

“Just give me your hand, big guy.”

Siebren does, and regrets almost instantaneously. Harold’s hands are surprisingly soft to the touch, and the caress of his fingertips sends shivers down his spine. His cheeks redden, his breathing becomes unsteady, and the universe begins to fade away.

Siebren feels a lot of things for Harold Winston. Admiration, for one. Companionship is another. It’s so rare that he finds someone he can consider his intellectual equal. But what he feels right now in this moment is something else entirely. It’s gentle and warm, not unlike the slide of Harold’s thumb over his life line, then his head line, and finally his heart line. Heat blossoms from Harold’s touch, traveling up Siebren’s arm only to dissipate within his chest.

Harold hums quietly, biting his lip in thought. Was it just his imagination or did Harold’s lips seem more kissable today? “So,” Siebren cleared his throat in the vain hope his thoughts didn’t transfer to his voice, “w-what does it all mean?”

“Well, if I remember this correctly, your life line says that you will be mostly healthy, although you might get into a serious accident later in your life. Same with your head line. Which probably means it might be the same accident that will affect your body and your mind somehow.”

“That’s a little morbid,” Siebren frowns.

“It’s a little better here. Your heart line says you’re rather passive in your love life, but you are willing to sacrifice a lot for love. That being said, you are more career-centered,” Harold suddenly smiles. “I’ve got the same line myself on my hand.”

“I wouldn’t know if I’d call myself passive.”

“You’re in a relationship?” Harold asks.

Siebren shakes his head. “Single, I’m afraid, and have been for a long time. If I must be honest, I have yet to be in a relationship one would call ‘steady’.”

“So I was correct,” Harold grins.

“Probably,” Siebren can’t help but smile. “Although I’m not sure about the sacrifice thing.”

“Maybe you just haven’t found the right person yet. I did your right hand after all. Right hand is supposed to show you what your future holds.” Quieter, Harold says, “Perhaps you might find a love worth sacrificing for.”

Siebren stares into Harold’s chocolate eyes. There’s something to his words, something hidden beneath the layers that he does not recognize but that he wants regardless. He wants to decipher it, wants to know what it means, wants to hold Harold in his arms and press his lips against that incessant stubble and be one with the universe.

The thought startles him, not because of its suddenness but because it feels like a natural progression of events. Despite his experiences, this fluttering in his throat feels normal, and necessary. His eyes trail down to Harold’s long chin and bare forearms and firm hands, ordinary things that seem extraordinary in the context that is Harold. They’re soft to look at but they’re deceptively strong, hardened over time. A fitting metaphor for the man it belongs to.

Harold suddenly smiles. “What is it?”

Siebren tries his hardest not to smile too widely. “Could you teach me?”

“Sure,” he says. He offers his own hands to Siebren.

As Siebren caresses Harold’s palm tenderly, Harold patiently teaching him the basics of palmistry, the heat settles comfortably in Siebren’s stomach, making him feel like he is being embraced by the universe itself. Harold is the one to bring this feeling to the surface, this strange but wonderful sensation that Siebren wishes to last forever.

It’s the first time he feels this way, but it won’t be the last. Not by a long shot.

It begins with a sound. Not a normal sound, but not a frightening sound. Harold is walking along the hallway when he hears Siebren chatting to some of the cleaning staff, who are hanging off his every word. Siebren has an uncanny knack for being profoundly poetic about space and the universe. Not many of the astronauts appreciate it, possibly because of their extended stay on the moon, which might be why his captive audience—who usually only have brief stints on Horizon—are so utterly enraptured. Even Harold himself is not immune, pausing in his step so he can get drawn into the story.

He hears it again, and Harold understands what that sound is. It’s a laugh, almost a cackle. Excited, brash, abrasive. In another context it might have sounded cruel or mean, but here in the company of others, it sounds…pleasant. Very pleasant, in fact. So pleasant that Harold gets the strange urge to pull that sound from Siebren’s lips and make him laugh again.

Siebren turns to Harold and gives one of his rare smiles. It’s soft, smoothing out the harsh lines of his face. Uncharacteristic but it suits him beautifully.

Harold smiles. “Telling them about the magnificent universe?”

“The universe is magnificent. Those who think otherwise are fools with narrow minds.”

“Compared to wide minds.” Harold points at Siebren’s large forehead.

Siebren puts a hand on his forehead and rolls his eyes, continuing his story. He continues his conversation about moon dust, and the mysteries of gravity, and the many subtle ways he has manipulated it to suit the Horizon One lunar base. It might sound like boasting, but there is genuine interest and heart in his words.

Harold lets the meaning of the words drown out, focusing instead on the sound of Siebren’s voice. Siebren is a passionate man, but there’s something almost romantic about the way he talks right now, like he is speaking of a lover that’s in another country and not of the mysteries of the universe. He speaks in hushed, low tones, teasing out every sentence, a heavenly song from mortal lips.

Harold knows Siebren can be passionate, but it hasn’t truly computed until now just how passionate. He loves every aspect of his work, and he wants the world to know that he loves his work. There’s a sparkle in his ocean blue eyes and it reflects the beauty of everything around him. For a brief moment, Harold wishes Siebren will look at him like that, like he is the centre of the universe, the answer to his question, the thing Siebren wants.

He blinks, and the cleaning staff are gone. Siebren’s stopped talking, his lips pulled into a knowing smirk.

“Earth to Dr. Winston. Or should I say, moon to Dr. Winston?”

Harold shakes his head quickly. “S-sorry. Just spaced out there.” With a grin, he adds, “in more ways than one.”

Siebren’s grin gets wider. “I always knew you were out of this world.”

“I’m over the moon that you think I am.”

There’s a few seconds where Siebren’s face scrunches up and his lips thin before he bursts into laughter. The sound is melodic, melodic. Utterly enrapturing.

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t think of anything else.”

“It’s fine. You just didn’t understand the gravity of the situation.”

“That is a good one,” Siebren chuckles. “I am stealing that one for my own use.”

“Didn’t your mother tell you that stealing is bad?” Harold teases.

“I don’t think mijn moeder can do anything about it. We are on the moon.”

Harold giggles quietly as his body feels weightless. He’s taken away from gravity, pulled into the orbit of Siebren’s dazzling stare. It’s been a long time since he’s felt this way, and usually it scares him, because every time he’s the first one to feel it. All his past relationships failed because they did not feel the same. Perhaps it’s ironic and sad that he should feel this way, up in the stars, away from everyone. But Siebren is no ordinary man. His eyes reflect the beauty around him, and in that moment, Harold’s reflection never looked so sublime. For once, Harold feels safe and secure, like Siebren will take care of him regardless of whether his feelings are returned or not.

It's the first time he feels this way for Siebren, but it won't be the last.

It begins with a kiss. Soft, desperate, eager. Objectively, it’s not all that good—Harold's stubble roughly grazing over Siebren's chin, the tentativeness to move their lips—but it’s the emotions that make their kiss so beautiful. In this moment they are but a singular entity, their kiss catalysing a chemical reaction that merges their bodies into a new, wonderful substance. Their wordless thoughts combine together, a swirling vortex of love and want and need and fear and worry.

When their lips part, they both let out a soft breath, blooming galaxies into formation. The world has disappeared. The Earth and the Moon and the stars and the Sun are nothing. All that exists in their universe is Harold and Siebren and the space between them.

“Harold,” Siebren whispers.

“I love you,” Harold says, even though they both know it is absolutely unnecessary. Siebren knows Harold loves him, just as Harold knows Siebren loves him.

Siebren holds Harold's cheeks tenderly. "I love you too. Does that mean...?"

"I want to be with you," Harold whispers. His fingers card into Siebren's scalp, making Siebren shiver in content. "I want us to be together."

"Then why don't we? We can be together. Just the two of us."

Harold leans forward and kisses Siebren again, taking them both back to that black void. With their caresses they recreate the stars, the asteroids, the galaxies, and the planets. With their affection they breathe life to Earth. With their sighs the universe expands and grows organically, chaotically, exactly as it should be. Earth glows, crystal blue waters amongst soft green trees and swirling white clouds, highlighting the contours of their faces.

With their kisses, they have created a new world, a new beginning, a new stage in their relationship. From now until eternity, they shall be one.

#Overwatch #Sigrold #Sigroldweek #Sigroldweek2019 #Ah I can't believe Sigrold week is here!#I am so excited you would not believe #Or maybe you do believe because I am apparently the 'master' of Sigrold #Not that I think I am but I'm definitely one of the most prolific so I've got that going for me #Some prompts will be normal others will be AU #You just gotta stick around and see XD

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commentaryvorg · 4 years

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Danganronpa V3 Commentary: Part 6.1

Be aware that this is not a blind playthrough! This will contain spoilers for the entire game, regardless of the part of the game I’m commenting on. A major focus of this commentary is to talk about all of the hints and foreshadowing of events that are going to happen and facts that are going to be revealed in the future of the story. It is emphatically not intended for someone experiencing the game for their first time.

Last time…

…Kaito went to space. That’s all. He was in space, and he was happy.

Now to start chapter 6, which I am not quite as excited to get into – can’t possibly imagine why. There’s still definitely a lot I want to talk about, though.

We open the chapter with… Makoto. Not the Makoto we knew (he doesn’t exist), but a kid who’s called Makoto nonetheless. That’s almost certainly the most popular thing to name your kid in this universe, even probably for cultures that aren’t Japanese.

We also have some bizarrely cheerful music. Originally my feelings about this was just that it gave a very weird mood whiplash from everything else that had been going on. But now all it makes me think of is this game’s bonus board game/RPG mode that this music is actually taken from, which I may have got rather addicted to played an inordinate amount of one point. Hearing this now just makes me want to roll some dice and optimise my characters’ stat spreads, dammit! (And by “my characters”, obviously I mean Kaede, Shuichi, Kaito and Maki, who else.)

Makoto: “I don’t have any talents or anything. I’m just a regular teenager…”

…

Makoto: “Getting into an elite school like this was just the start of my bad luck.”

The writers (entirely out-universe here, of course) really just wanted to drop all these similarities to Makoto Naegi here just to mess with us and make us wonder if this kid really is him despite looking different, didn’t they.

Makoto: “I want to run away from my daily life… I want to run away and just forget all this…”

This is considerably less like Makoto Naegi, though. He may have been ordinary, and a little daunted at getting into an elite school, but he was ultimately pretty chill with it and didn’t really want anything to change.

Makoto: “But I’m okay! I have a reason to live!”

Remember the Monokuma Theater last chapter where Monokuma said he’d be thrilled if Danganronpa was people’s reason to live? Apparently it really is, for probably way more people than just Makoto here.

Makoto: “I’ve got something to look forward to! That’s why I’m gonna be okay! Thanks for the courage! Thanks for giving me something to get totally obsessed with! Thanks for the strength to keep going!”

This is extremely relatable to me! This is what genuinely loving and caring about a work of fiction looks like! I can’t tell you how many times in my own life I’ve felt like things are going great for me almost entirely because there’s a work of fiction that I absolutely love that makes me happy just to think about.

Makoto: “I’ll keep on rooting for you, so please keep trying your best!”

And look, he cares about the characters! Obviously, somewhere inside him he is hoping to see bad things happen to them, but that’s because he wants to see them overcome those trials! On the level on which he is actually engaging with the characters as if they’re people, by cheering them on like this, he just wants them to succeed.

It’s kind of like the way I’ve been doing this commentary. On the one hand I’ve been very unabashedly appreciating all the horrible suffering everyone’s gone through and the ways in which it’s been emphasised because that’s what makes this fiction so enjoyable. But when I talk about that, I take the more detached, third-person-pronouns approach, like they’re elements in a well-crafted work of art. Whenever I use second-person pronouns as if I’m engaging with the characters myself, imaging that they’re real people I could talk to, I almost never say anything about how I appreciate their suffering. I’m not engaging with them because I want them to suffer. I want them to suffer so that I’ll end up caring about them even more and therefore will want to engage with them more. Which would all still be thoroughly fucked-up if they really were real, but this is how engaging with fiction works.

(I am making a big point to stress all of this about Makoto here because, oh boy, the next time we see the in-universe audience, things are not going to be remotely this way and that is my biggest issue with this chapter.)

Makoto: “And—! One day, I’ll also—!”

…audition for Danganronpa and hopefully probably get myself killed in one, is what he’s about to say.

No, Makoto. You were doing great at being a healthy, wholesome appreciater of fiction (aside from the part where it’s not really fiction and you’re watching real people die) until now. Genuinely wanting to be a part of your favourite works of fiction is usually quite an understandable sentiment… but not when it’s Danganronpa, what the actual hell.

We have suddenly jumped from Makoto being a reasonable example of someone enjoying a work of “fiction”, into him being an example of how utterly fucked-up this outside world actually is. People – specifically, teenagers – will apparently willingly throw their lives away to be on Danganronpa if they don’t think their life has much else going for them. That’s why this Makoto hates his life, to make him someone who’d want to do this. If Danganronpa really is his only reason to live, then it does make some kind of twisted sense that it’d also give him a reason to die.

Something important to note about this scene is simply the fact that we’re seeing it. This is in a context entirely removed from anything happening right now in the Academy and is for our eyes, the out-universe audience, only. So there is no reason to doubt that what we’re seeing here is the truth. This Makoto kid really is watching “Danganronpa V3” unfold like it’s basically a work of fiction and having a great time.

I’ve seen some people propose the idea that sure, the killing game was put on as a “fiction” for people’s entertainment, but only for a shady illegal underground audience of people who should know they’re being shitty, probably hidden away somewhere in the deepest darkest corners of the internet. On some level, I might like to believe that, because it’s nicer and easier to buy than thinking the entire world is this obliviously twisted. But Makoto here is a completely ordinary teenager who would be very unlikely to have any idea how to access something like that, and he doesn’t seem to have any conception of the fact that what he’s watching and enjoying so much is illegal and frowned upon and he needs to keep it secret. So I don’t think that can reasonably be the truth here.

Anyway, back at the Academy, Keebo is busy destroying everything. He’d better leave the training spot alone, though – that place contains precious memories of Kaito and deserves to remain undamaged.

Also bear in mind that this is still the same evening after Kaito’s trial. They are not getting any time to rest here.

Keebo: “Did you call for me? Please keep it brief. I have other matters I must attend to.”

Geez, Keebo. “Keep it brief, because I’m busy getting all of us killed”? Yeah, maybe that’s why they won’t want to keep this brief.

Maki: “What’s with that weapon and the jet pack?”

Keebo: “I obtained this equipment from my lab.”

Maki: “You had equipment like that… in your lab?”

Implicit in Maki’s words here is the sentiment of: then why the fuck didn’t you use it *sooner*? Which, yes. Very much.

Keebo: “I made some modifications to drastically improve their power output and functionality.”

Tsumugi: “Since when have you been able to do that? You didn’t level up or anything, right? Did… something happen?”

The fact that it’s Tsumugi asking him this suggests that he really wasn’t supposed to be able to do that at all. It would be pretty stupid of Team Danganronpa to have someone that potentially dangerous here. Obviously they figured he’d never do anything drastic because his inner voice had him on a leash, but the suggestion from Tsumugi’s words here is that he shouldn’t even have been able to make those modifications, inner voice or not, and he just figured it out himself somehow by being a smarter person than she’d written him to be. Maybe he learned a thing or two from his time with Miu?

Keebo: “I wanted to be treated like a real human. A creature of flesh and blood like you all. But I no longer have the luxury of clinging to that wish anymore!”

You never had that luxury, not while abandoning that wish (and only temporarily, mind you) would have saved your friends’ lives!

The writing is trying to present this like it’s some kind of character development, but there’s been absolutely no build-up to Keebo realising something like this. And there’s no reason that the seven people who’d died before his lab opened up wouldn’t have been enough, such that he somehow needed to see four more deaths before finally making this decision. The only actual change now is the lack of his inner voice – but that never had anything to do with the part of his character that felt awkward about not being human and shouldn’t be making a difference to this supposed character development.

Tsumugi: “If you do something like that… we’ll all die too, y’know!? There’s no oxygen in the outside world… There are no living things…”

Tsumugi would like to remind us all that there is definitely 100% not anyone alive out there, even though Kaito's efforts just proved that there almost certainly somehow is.

Shuichi: “Our hope is… everyone here. Our friends who are still alive.”

Shuichi is good. He’s not going to forget the last thing Kaito said to him!

Keebo: “We simply do not have the power to change the outside world on our own.”

Well that’s very foreshadowy of you, Keebo. He’s only talking about making it less uninhabitable, but.

Keebo: “All we can do now is refuse to submit to despair!”

Shuichi: “And you would be willing to let all of us die to accomplish that?”

Yeah, doesn’t sound very not-despairing, does it, Shuichi? Keebo’s just gunning for a different type of despair right now.

Keebo: “Kaito and Kokichi gave their lives to end this killing game… We should follow their example! We should be willing to give our lives to end this killing game!”

Okay, so to be fair, this might sort of count as following Kokichi’s example, since he wanted to ruin the audience’s experience (even though he went about it in literally the worst way possible by giving them two incredibly entertaining trials). Killing ourselves to give them a boring ending is actually along the lines of what Kokichi at least should have been trying to do, and is in fact what everyone will attempt in the end once they realise what’s going on.

But fuck off with your implication that Kaito would have wanted this, Keebo. Kaito gave his life so that everyone else could survive and escape, not so that they’d all do the same as him! Kaito’s sacrifice was only ever about “ending” the killing game so long as doing so would save everyone!

Maki: “…Is that what your inner voice is telling you to do?”

It’s interesting that Maki considers this possibility. I wonder what she thinks his inner voice is, since she’s pragmatic enough to not believe in hearing voices, especially not for a robot.

Keebo: “We can never submit to despair! Because we are students of Hope’s Peak Academy!”

Keebo may have lost his inner voice, but he’s clearly still very much a thrall to the other kind of brainwashing that’s been going on here.

Shuichi: “Because there might still be hope. There might still be a place to call home.”

Keebo: “And what are you basing that claim on?”

Shuichi: “…Nothing. I just have a feeling.”

Shuichi just has a hunch! He’s doing a Kaito and he knows it and it’s so lovely that he’s able to say that with a smile!

Maki: “Just a feeling…? You sound like that idiot right now.”

Maki knows it just as well, of course. She’s smiling, too! I love how her calling him an idiot has become a thing of affection now. They really are his sidekicks.

(I am going to bring up and be delighted by every single moment in this chapter of them fondly remembering Kaito like this and you can’t stop me.)

Shuichi: “…Kaito said so. […] There can be no killing game without an audience.”

…So actually, Shuichi was basing his claim on something after all and just wanted to act very Kaito about it anyway, and that is adorable. Well, maybe he felt like it was appropriate because this still isn’t very concrete evidence, but.

Look at him being really sure of this argument, though! Kaito gave everything to prove that and he succeeded, and Shuichi is not going to let his efforts go to waste.

Shuichi: “There’s still a possibility!”

Keebo: “True, we cannot say there is absolutely no possibility. But even a mere possibility—”

Shuichi: “That possibility is our hope!”

Finally, someone gets it! The actual meaning of the damn word! They don’t know for sure that it’s true, but so long as they can keep believing that it’s possible there’s a home for them out there, that is hope.

Monokuma finally shows up with his Exisals in tow. (I wonder what Monotaro makes of the small mountain of screwed-up bloodstained toilet paper in the recesses of his cockpit.)

Monokuma: “Huh? Is the robot malfunctioning? He must be – why else would he try to defy me?”

Haha, yeah, Keebo is very much meant to be part of the workings of this killing game and not someone who should try and fight against that, isn’t he?

Goodbye Danganronpa

Wow, geez, that was late for a title card. I forgot we hadn’t even had that yet. Of course, this title is pretty straightforward, yet a lot more literal than anyone would be expecting it to be on their first time through.

Maki: “But why did Monokuma leave a weapon like that in the research lab? He’s… pretty careless, isn’t he?”

Good question! The way Maki’s actively asking this suggests it’s something that actually has an answer, but I’m still not convinced it’s anything but lazy writing.

Maki: “If the outside world is destroyed, then the mastermind must be in this school, right?”

Makiii, Kaito proved to you guys that the outside world probably isn’t as destroyed as it seems! Don’t you believe that too? (I mean, yes, the mastermind is in fact in this school, but there’s no reason to necessarily think that right now.)

…Actually, Maki still buying the lie about the outside world despite Kaito’s efforts to discredit it might be down to her in particular being very subsceptible to the Flashback Light’s manipulation. There’ll be some more indications of that in this chapter.

Tsumugi: “Someone… You mean a Remnant of Despair, right?”

Tsumugi is very quick to keep things on-script and remind everyone that this is definitely about Remnants of Despair.

Maki: “If we can find them and kill them, then this killing game should end.”

Shuichi: “Ah, I don’t know about *killing* them…”

Yes, Maki, listen to Shuichi! Remember that the last time you tried to kill the “mastermind”, you nearly got Kaito killed instead! Kaito risked his life because he didn’t want you to kill anyone else, even if it was the mastermind!

Maki: “…Hope?”

Shuichi: “Our home. Where we’re going to live after this killing game ends. I know there is hope out there. We have to find it before we leave.”

This is what Kaito was talking about when he said Shuichi could find “something beyond the truth” – something beyond that destroyed world they saw at the end of the tunnel. Kaito sacrificed everything for the plan to give them this hope!

(And again since I must nitpick: they wouldn’t be finding the “hope”. The fact that they’re even looking means they already have hope, thanks to Kaito.)

Himiko: “This isn’t some fictional story, so I don’t think things’ll work out that well…”

Hoo boy. We’re in chapter 6 now, all gloves are off, hints are being dropped left and right and they do not care about being subtle.

Shuichi: “But if we look for it, we just might find it. If we don’t try… we’ll never find anything.”

This is also quite Kaito of him! Kaito never specifically said anything with this wording, but he was always advocating the idea that you’ve got to put in the effort to be able to get anywhere.

Maki: “No matter how impossible it seems, we’ll accomplish it.”

Speaking of Kaito! This… is awkward localisation. Maki’s phrasing here is a close match to the Japanese phrasing of Kaito’s “The impossible is possible, all you gotta do is make it so” catchphrase. Evidently, Maki’s localiser is a different one to Kaito’s, and they never got the memo about what Kaito’s catchphrase was changed to in English and just translated this directly.

This is still clearly reminiscent enough of Kaito to get across the point that she’s thinking of him anyway, but Maki is meant to have straight-up said that the impossible is possible, and, awwww! That’s adorable.

Shuichi: (Maki…) “…Yes… that’s right!”

Shuichi agrees! He’s happy for the reminder! They are such good sidekicks.

Hope Searching time, again! This is still an appropriate title, because, like Shuichi just said, they are searching for proof that they have somewhere to return to, and that is hope.

A sudden tremor causes part of the entrance hall’s floor to collapse and reveal a staircase downwards that leads to Kokichi’s lab. Shuichi guesses that this was meant to open with a mysterious item, presumably if things had been proceeding as normal and Monokuma had happily given them their “presents” like at the beginning of any other chapter. But, awkwardly, there was never any mysterious object around here that looked like something that could have opened this. Yet again, anything which is not directly meant for the player to interact with simply doesn’t exist in the game world, even if it’s something that should exist as part of the story.

“Now it is time to test your bonds with your friends!”

DID YOU KNOW THIS DANGANRONPA GAME IS ABOUT FRIENDSHIP.

…Okay, this whole Friendship Power mechanic for this investigation is actually a very thinly-veiled way to force you to investigate places in a completely linear order by restricting where you have access to until you’ve reached a certain point in the story. But since they were going to have to do that one way or another, I love that they flavoured it to be about this.

“So work hard to end this killing game before dawn breaks!”

Oh, boy, this, though. This whole time limit mechanic is really badly-implemented.

The first thing is that it’s not a real-time time limit at all. I’m leaving my game running as I type this and it’s not going to make a difference. The timer just ticks forwards a small amount every time you examine something or talk to someone, as is appropriate for what is after all a visual novel and not an action game. I’ve seen several blind LPers assume it was a real-time time limit (because the game is very vague about it) and get instilled with a sense of urgency because of that, so I guess that was meant to be the point.

What the real, ahem, “challenge” of this time limit is is that you’re supposed to try not to examine anything nonessential. Which is really not an okay way for a mystery visual novel to be! Half the fun of these sorts of games is seeing what kind of silly bonus dialogue you get for checking things that don’t matter, to the point that many people’s approach when investigating a room is to figure out what object will progress the plot when they examine it and then examine that one last. But here, the developers are telling us we’re “failing” at playing the game properly… when we’re trying to play the game as much as possible. That’s quite frankly rude. They went to the trouble of writing a bunch of bonus dialogue for this investigation, and yet they apparently don’t want anyone to see it.

There’s also the fact that, from my experiments, there is extremely little leeway. You can examine at most two or three nonessential things while still remaining within the time limit, and anything more than that causes you to run out of time before the end. Even if someone is actually trying to examine only the essential objects, on a first run through they’re not going to know exactly what’s important, because sometimes the relevant thing is not that intuitive, and they’re almost certainly going to make more than just a few “mistakes”!

And the punishment for “failing”? I’m sure literally everybody has already seen this themselves, but all you get is Shuichi briefly going “Oh no, I took too long!”, a brief cutscene of the Academy exploding… and then it puts you back at the beginning of whatever room you were in with the timer wound back far enough that you can hypothetically finish from here. It’s the most petty of slaps on the wrist, but of course it shouldn’t be any more than that, because having to replay the entire chapter for the crime of not knowing exactly what was important, or, gasp, wanting to see more dialogue, would be incredibly obnoxious. So what’s the point in even having it be possible to fail in the first place?

What they should really do is have the timer tick forward only when you examine something plot-relevant. That way you’d get the illusion of being in a hurry to anyone who’s on a first time and hasn’t realised how it works, but none of the annoyance of meaninglessly “failing” or of it being incredibly inconvenient to actively go looking for bonus dialogue.

…Also. Uh. Turns out I was partially wrong about it not being a real time limit. I assumed that because the timer doesn’t seem to visibly move when you’re standing around, yet you can notice it tick forwards a small chunk whenever you finish examining something. Buuuut, as I left it running while typing this, with Shuichi just standing in the hallway, the timer has progressed a bunch. Some quick science, namely staring at the screen for a while, confirms that it does actually move in incredibly small pixel-by-pixel increments that are hard to notice unless you’re looking for it. So I guess also don’t go leaving your game running during this part either! Geez. …And, turns out it also ticks forward outside of dialogue if you’ve had the Monopad open for a while. It doesn’t even let you pause the game to pause the timer! Rude.

The timer does however completely vanish during actual dialogue, meaning that it is presumably actually paused then. …Yes; I did some more science to confirm this, this time sitting on a dialogue box for probably something like half an hour and seeing the timer still only tick forwards a little bit once I finally clicked through the dialogue. Talking (or thinking) is a free action, apparently, even though standing around without talking or thinking isn’t.

Anyway, here’s the method I used last time I played this chapter to be able to see all optional dialogue anyway while still technically not “failing” because fuck you too, game: Save as soon as you enter a new place. Go nuts examining everything you want to, while noting which ones seem to be necessary to progress and which ones aren’t. Before leaving for the next place, reset back to your save and this time go through the room while only examining the correct things (fastforwarding the dialogue if you want, not that it matters), so that the game thinks you did so in the minimum amount of “time”. Then head to the next place (as quickly as you can, apparently), save as soon as you enter it, and repeat. Doing this last time I played was how I learned that there was so ridiculously little leeway for “mistakes”, because even then I only just barely made it.

And of course I’m going to be doing that again on this playthrough to get all the optional dialogue, because that’s what this commentary is here for, dammit.

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