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charlottesbookclub · 2 months ago

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the great outdoors (alistair x reader)

Summary: Alistair goes hiking with you

Warnings/Tags: gn!reader; human!reader; descriptions of danger/injuries (nothing actually happens, Alistair is just paranoid 😆); let me know if I've missed anything!

Words: 3455

Author’s Note: so after my hux x reader longfic, I wanted to do something that would help me shake up my writing style a little bit and allow me to experiment with a different character voice for a while, and thus I've returned to my beloved "misanthropic english vampire" alistair! huge shout out to @shewasafaairy for the super cute idea about alistair being very attentive to his human mate's liquid consumption! ☺️💕

this is set in the same timeline/world as my other two alistair x reader fics, "like real people do" and "it's been a long, long time," but they're all stand-alones, so you def don't need to have read them for this one to make sense! ☺️ I really hope you enjoy!! 🥰🥰

Alistair should not have picked this activity. Wandering the wilderness was his preferred state, so after much insistence on your part that he should be the one to decide what the two of you would do together on your free day, Alistair had picked one of the things he knew best. But it was immanently clear to him now that this had been a mistake.

He saw everything. Each slick patch of mud could cause you to fall, every large stone might result in a broken limb or cracked skull, each fallen tree was covered in sharp branches that were simply devastating puncture wounds waiting to happen, even the simple fact of you walking over the uneven terrain could lead to dehydration, heat stroke, exhaustion. The words and symptoms laid out in impersonal text in Carlisle’s medical books were flashing in a panicked whirlwind through his mind as he watched you pick your way along the trail. He wasn’t certain how much longer he could bear this.

He had been lingering slightly behind you, hands fluttering over you imperceptibly, ready in case you should stumble. But now he came up alongside you, trying to slow his movements so as not to startle you. You turned to him and offered him a beaming smile. While normally he would have enjoyed basking in the glow of your apparent delight to spend time with him – an idea which was still rather foreign to him – in that moment he didn’t like that it meant you taking your eyes off the path.

His worries were only sharpened as he walked closer to you, hearing your delicate heartbeat, sensing the flow of blood that rushed just underneath the barely-there protection of your skin. It wasn’t even that he was worried that his self-restraint would falter. His age coupled with the fact that he usually avoided feeding for as long as possible so as to limit his contact with humans – to the point that he often tested his own self-control – had inadvertently made him surprisingly resistant to the smell of blood. What he feared were the myriad sharp and dangerous objects that came into focus every time he glanced around, ready to tear through your fragile skin or crack your breakable bones and leave you grievously injured or worse.

He was seconds away from simply scooping you into his arms and dashing at full speed back to your house where the potential dangers were at least more familiar to him and less unpredictable. But Esme, after having watched him pick you up on instinct in response some potential threat and hearing your little expression of surprise at the action, had gently suggested announcing his intentions first before giving into his protective reflexes. To that end, he cleared his throat slightly – an unnecessary action for him physically, but one he occasionally performed nonetheless since it helped alert you to the fact that he was about to speak. Your eyes flicked to him instantly, and he stopped, encouraging you to do the same. He didn’t want you to focus both on talking with him and on watching your surroundings as you walked.

“Would you like to return home soon?” he asked, hoping the question sounded casual enough. You looked at him curiously.

“We’re only halfway down the trail,” you responded, a little thread of confusion lacing through your tone. “And there are waterfalls at the end,” you added excitedly, offering him a bright smile before making a motion to continue hiking.

Damn. Waterfalls. Alistair’s mind was instantly filled with visions of slick, sharp rocks, churning water, and spiraling whirlpools. He saw your feet slipping on the wet, uneven surface, you freefalling into the water, your body sucked under the thundering water of the falls and battered against the rocks beneath. He was not able to stop his instinctive response this time as he grasped your arm, making his touch gentle, knowing it would only take the barest exertion of strength to stop your movement and any more than that might bruise you. In response, you turned to look at him, a slightly befuddled smile on your face.

“Alistair, what is it?” you asked as you retreated the couple paces to be face to face with him again. He sensed that the slight change in your tone meant you had read the worry in his features. He didn’t let go of your arm.

“It—it’s quite wet out today. The rocks might be slippery.” It was only one of the multitude of fears that were swirling through his mind, but it was the one that found its way to his lips first.

“It’s the pacific northwest, Alistair,” you responded with a little teasing smile, “it’s usually wet.” The playful music in your voice was utterly endearing, but he could not allow himself to become distracted from the issue at hand.

“Yes, but I—” His sentence stopped halfway. He had only recently begun working himself into the habit of expressing his feelings aloud to others. Well, mostly just to you. He understood on a logical level that being able to convey his thoughts to you was an important component of genuinely connecting with you in the way he wanted to, but that knowledge didn’t necessarily stop the constriction in his throat as he tried to force the honest words from his mouth. He clenched his jaw and fixed his eyes on the greenery around him, knowing he’d stand a better chance of being articulate if he wasn’t lost in the soft depth of your gaze.

“I worry.” Two small words. Hardly sufficient to express the sickening torment he felt at the very idea of you being hurt. He flicked his eyes back to you, needing to know how his sentiment had landed. Your gaze was nearly as warm as your skin underneath the gentle press of his cold fingers that he had not yet released from your arm.

“About what?” you asked quietly.

Alistair was uncertain that he could compress his flurry of fragmented fears into a sentence he could actually verbalize. Instead, he simply cast his free hand around in an encompassing gesture. You watched the motion, your eyes taking in the forest around the two of you. He was fairly certain you heard his unspoken answer: everything.

You stepped closer to him, your expression so understanding that he risked collapsing under the softness of it. In his human life, he had never had the experience of feeling for anyone the way he felt about you. So it seemed a little strange how his body nevertheless remembered just the ghost of how it would have reacted in response to your nearness. His heart would have thundered in his chest, blazing blood and heat into his cheeks. He would have struggled to breathe, lungs catching around his unsteady inhalations. His tongue would have been tied beyond hope of recovery, most of his senses given over to basking in the wonderment of you. Even for someone who usually preferred to be beyond the perception of others, he sometimes wished that he could give that back to you, that his body would betray the feelings he struggled to express in words. Then he could be more assured that you understood the depth of what he felt for you, the way he had woven you into the very fabric of his being.

“Alistair,” you started softly, your free hand reaching up to brush a few wayward strands of hair away from his voice, the faint touch of your fingers against his skin as warm as a sunbeam. Perhaps you already understood.

“You don’t need to worry – I’ll be just fine. I’ve been hiking before and nothing’s ever happened. And anyway, you’re here to catch me if I fall.” You broke into a bright smile at that, and Alistair was instantly overcome by a rush of pride and affection. Then his fears flickered to life again. But what if he wasn’t? What if he didn’t see it in time or he wasn’t fast enough? What if by the time he caught you, the damage was already done?

“But you’re so… fragile,” he breathed. He slid his fingers down your arm to your wrist, catching it tenderly as he softly pressed his thumb to where your pulse point was fluttering delicately just beneath your skin, emphasizing his point. He could feel the way your heartrate increased under his reverent touch, could clearly hear the way your breath struggled in your throat in response to his gentle action. It still shot an unfamiliar thrill through him to know he had such an effect on you.

“Only compared to you,” you whispered in response, catching and holding him in your warm gaze. And compared to the rocks and the trees and the waterfalls, Alistair thought but didn’t attempt to say. The way you were looking at him was having a detrimental effect on his ability to produce words.

Even though he didn’t utter those fears aloud, your eyes flicked over his face for a moment and seemed to read his unspoken worries there anyway. Your features melted into a playful smile then, and Alistair tilted his head in slight confusion, wondering at the change in your expression.

“I would still like to see the waterfalls, but would it make you feel better if you carried me there?” Even though he had spent most of his long life trying to avoid being known by others, he was immensely grateful that you had taken the time to be able to read him this well. He really didn’t deserve you.

“Yes,” he responded immediately, knowing you could certainly hear the emphatic rush of relief in his voice.

You broke into a charming laugh. As he often did, Alistair instantly wished that he could respond to you more intuitively, that he could initiate touch with you more easily without being rendered nearly immobile by the contact with you. Your laugh was so lovely, so welcoming, that he wanted to do something in response, but he didn’t know what. He tried to watch human couples sometimes, just to see what they did. Fingers linked together, heads on shoulders, arms around waists – it looked simple in theory, but Alistair wasn’t convinced that he could make it feel natural, that he could make it feel right.

Your wrist was still held delicately in his fingers. A long-ago memory surfaced, a fleeting, half-forgotten instinct. He flipped your hand over carefully and bent down toward it, letting his lips brush softly against your knuckles. Heavens, you were so warm. A quiet gasp fluttered from your mouth, and Alistair almost regretted the gesture until he realized that you had stepped even closer, your heart beating out an excited rhythm in your chest. You had liked it. And he had enjoyed it immensely, savoring the feeling of your soft skin against his cold, sensitive lips. Plus, whatever long-forgotten impulse had motivated the action had made it feel natural – he could envision himself being able to repeat the little gesture of affection, if you wanted.

Your eyes were wide, your heartbeat still elevated when he carefully dropped your hand, and you let it swing back to your side. Your heightened heartrate had reminded him of something. He shrugged the backpack that he had insisted you let him carry off his shoulder and slipped the water bottle from its sleeve on the side. Unscrewing the cap, he handed it to you, a silent request that elicited a bemused eyeroll and a little chuckle from you. Regardless, you took the offered bottle.

“I’m perfectly capable of keeping myself hydrated you know,” you reminded him with a joking lilt in your words as you took a sip.

“According to my calculations, you haven’t been drinking the full amount recommended for humans of your age group,” he responded, watching as you dutifully drank from the bottle, even as the amused glint never left your eyes. “And it is suggested that you consume more when you’re engaged in a strenuous activity to avoid the risk of dehydration,” he reminded you.

Alistair was well aware that you weren’t overly concerned with meeting precise recommendations when it came to your nutrient and fluid intake, but he was quite concerned. Everything about your human body seemed… delicate, so easy to throw out of balance. From his own experiences with humans, he was incredibly cognizant of just how breakable you were, but Carlisle’s medical texts that he had been perusing at length had only demonstrated how many other potential risks you faced that he hadn’t even thought to consider. He had considered them now, though – extensively. He simply wanted you to be well.

He scrutinized the bottle as you handed it back to him, reading the little measurement markers printed on the outside and running internal calculations about how much more you might need to drink during the duration of the hike. Your little huff of laughter brought his attention back to you.

“I promise I’ll drink more when we get to the falls,” you assured him with a bright smile. Alistair nodded and tucked the bottle back into the backpack.

“Speaking of…” you continued, “if you’re going to carry me there, how were you planning on— oh!”

Your question broke off into an exclamation of surprise as he swept you easily into his arms. He remembered Esme’s suggestion a second too late. Apparently you didn’t mind though, since after your initial shock faded, you seemed to relax into his firm hold on you. The knowledge that you felt… comfortable in his arms was doing something to him, making his thoughts go a little fuzzy, causing a strange warming sensation to radiate out from his chest. This was not helped by the fact that he could feel every place where your body was pressed against his, the beating of your heart thrumming through him until he could almost believe it was his own. This much contact with someone else was still unfamiliar to him, although not at all unwelcome since it was you. It still took him a moment to adjust though, letting the sensation of you molding yourself against him sink into his mind and body until he could recalibrate and focus on the task at hand rather than fixate solely on how much of you was touching him, the way the warmth of you was soaking into him.

When he had regained most of his control over his senses, he sidestepped easily off the trail and began to run. He was still going far faster than any human, but he tried to moderate his speed somewhat, especially when he heard your little exhalation of breath and felt your hand reach to grab at his jacket as though to steady yourself in response to the sudden movement. He understood that the reaction was likely instinctive – he was certainly not going to let you fall or even become unsteady in his arms.

The trees blurred by him in a familiar haze. This was how he was used to taking in the world; constantly in motion, veiled by a curtain of forest. With you, things were different. He slowed down – he had to in order to avoid hurting you. He had to learn a new way of being, training himself to be gentle, careful. It was coming to him only haltingly and awkwardly, but somehow you never seemed to mind. That lovely, glowing thought filled his mind as he took in the sound of rushing water and slowed his pace before coming to a stop.

He picked carefully through the undergrowth near the trail until he found a spot cushioned by moss and surrounded by soft banks of ferns where he felt relatively assured that you wouldn’t hurt yourself if you stumbled as he released you from his grasp. Slowly, carefully, he eased you from his arms, letting your feet find the spongy floor of moss. He hovered his hands over you as you stood, ever vigilant for the moment when you became unsteady, but you seemed to find your footing again without too much difficulty. He appraised you quickly. He could tell you were a little breathless still. He cringed internally – perhaps he had gone too fast.

“Are you alright?” he asked, a twinge of nervousness creeping into his voice. You just nodded as you caught your breath.

“Yes – I’m perfect,” you responded when you were able to fill your lungs completely with air again. “I just forgot how fast you could run,” you laughed a little breathlessly.

“I’ll be slower in the future,” he promised, deciding not to tell you that what you had just experienced was hardly as fast as he could go.

“No, no – it’s fine,” you assured him quickly. “Actually, it was pretty fun.” Your lips quirked into an irresistible smile and Alistair’s thoughts faltered instantly. No one had ever had an effect on him like this before.

Before he could reassemble the pieces of his fragmented thoughts, you had turned to make your way back to the trail, and Alistair flitted instantly to your side, constantly alert for any potential danger. The path opened up onto an outlook made of wooden beams and slats that were clearly slick with latent moisture and the spray from the falls. He did not trust the structure at all. He shadowed your steps across the boards, his hands constantly held at the ready to catch you if you should slip. He bit back the urge to ask you to just listen to the falls from a safe distance – that was hardly fair to you, but even that knowledge didn’t completely quell his desire to make the request.

His worry reached a strident new pitch as you stepped up to the wooden guardrail and leaned over slightly to get a better look at the thundering, churning, rushing water below. The visions came back to him in an instant: the guardrail gave way, you went sliding into the gorge, you screamed his name as you were swallowed by the water. Without much conscious thought, he was next to you instantly, his arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you tightly to his side – touch for once coming to him instinctively when it came to keeping you safe.

A small sound escaped your mouth, and while Alistair initially classified it as surprise, when you turned to look at him with a delighted smile on your face, he realized that it might have been at least partially happiness. That same strange, warm fluttering ignited in his chest again as he felt you tuck yourself slightly further against him. He stared down at the white, frothy water of the falls almost unthinkingly, conscious mostly of the gentle press of your body against his.

Then you shifted slightly, and he forced himself out of his temporary immobility to release his tight hold on you and allow you to move. He matched his pace to yours as you thankfully retreated from the overlook and took a seat on one of the benches just off the trail. You held out your hand toward him, laughter bubbling just behind your expression, and it took him only a moment to work out what you were reaching for. He quickly freed the water bottle and passed it to you, grateful you were willing to keep to your promise about drinking more water.

“Have I had the recommended amount yet?” you asked, amused affection evident in your voice as you stood and handed the bottle back to him. Alistair checked the little marks.

“You’re very close,” he assured you, trying to match your light tone. Your answering smile was beaming.

“And I presume you would rather that I not walk back to the car?” The way you asked the question told him you already knew the answer, but also that you weren’t displeased with it.

“That would be my preference,” he responded, feeling just the beginnings of a smile tug at the corners of his lips as your smile brightened even further.

“Ready when you are,” you announced, making a sweeping gesture with your hand to indicate your preparedness for him to pick you up. Alistair certainly did not need to be asked twice. He scooped you readily into his arms, the sensation feeling a little more familiar this time.

As he ran back through the lush forest, he was very aware of the way you had tucked your head against his chest, just under his chin. Through the speed of his movement and the damp air flowing around you, he wondered if you could feel the soft, barely-there brush of his lips that he pressed ever so gently to the top of your head.

#charlotte writes #alistair #twilight #alistair twilight #alistair twilight imagine #alistair twilight x reader #alistair breaking dawn #twilight alistair imagine #alistair imagine #alistair x reader #twilight alistair #alistair nomad #nomad alistair #twilight alistair x reader #twilight saga #twilight fanfiction #twilight renaissance

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escapingrealityforamoment · 2 years ago

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conrad fisher x reader fanfic when they're secretly hooking up but nobody knows because reader is best friends with belly and belly likes conrad?

Thank you so much for your request! I really hope you enjoy reading this! :)

The scorching sun beat down upon the pristine sands of Cousins Beach, its intensity mirrored by the searing passion that simmered between Conrad Fisher and me. Our love, once hidden in stolen moments, grew bolder, igniting a desire that demanded to be explored.

In the depths of the night, when the world was cloaked in shadows, Conrad and I sought solace in each other's arms. Our stolen kisses grew more fervent, our touches more insistent, as the hunger within us intensified. The line between friendship and desire blurred, and the embers of our secret romance burned brighter.

But as our love bloomed, so did the stakes. Belly, my closest friend, became entangled in the web of emotions we wove. Unbeknownst to her, her own feelings for Conrad fanned the flames of jealousy and longing, turning the once innocent friendship into a battleground of desire and betrayal.

The tension in our trio grew palpable, like electricity crackling in the air before a storm. The stolen moments and whispered promises became fuel for the fire of drama that threatened to consume us all. The weight of our secret became an unbearable burden, casting dark shadows on our once carefree summer.

One fateful day, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting an orange hue over the ocean, Belly's suspicions grew too strong to ignore. She confronted us, her voice trembling with a mix of hurt and accusation. The truth spilled forth, revealing our hidden affair, tearing at the delicate fabric of our friendship.

Belly's eyes welled with tears, her heart shattered by the revelation. Betrayal laced her words as she lashed out, unleashing the pain and anger that had simmered beneath her facade of innocence. The fallout was inevitable, the fractures in our relationships threatening to sever the ties that had once bound us so tightly.

In the midst of the chaos, Conrad and I were forced to confront the consequences of our actions. We realized that the intensity of our love had blinded us to the collateral damage we had inflicted upon our friendship. Regret washed over us like waves crashing against the shore, leaving us gasping for forgiveness.

But within the tempest of emotions, a glimmer of hope emerged. Belly, in her vulnerability, found the strength to forgive, understanding the complexities of the heart and the unpredictable tides of desire. She chose to rebuild what had been broken, embracing the messy entanglement of love, friendship, and forgiveness.

And so, amidst the backdrop of a tumultuous summer, we embarked on a journey of redemption. Conrad and I vowed to protect our love while nurturing the bonds that had withstood the test of time. The nights grew quieter, the stolen kisses more precious, as we discovered the true meaning of love's depth and the fragility of trust.

In the wake of our shared secrets and whispered confessions, a newfound equilibrium settled over Cousins Beach. The once scorching flames of desire transformed into a gentle warmth, a love that burned steadfastly, knowing the scars of our mistakes and the resilience of our hearts.

As the sun set on our final days at the beach, we stood together, a trio forever changed by the journey we had embarked upon. The memories of stolen kisses and fiery passion would forever be etched in the sands of Cousins Beach, a testament to the tempestuous nature of love and the enduring bonds of friendship.

#conrad fisher imagine #conrad fisher #tsitp conrad #conrad x reader #conrad fisher x reader #conrad fisher x you #conrad fisher x y/n #tsitpedit #tsitp x reader #tsitp fanfic

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women-of-malevolent · 9 months ago

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META: The 5 types of female characters in Malevolent: Dead, Girlchildren, Crazy Old Hags, Wordless Employees, Nameless Community Member. (categories sometimes overlap)

Girlchildren - Faroe, Addison, Sarah, Emily, Lilly, Young Girl Daughter Of A Senator, The Witch, Anais Lachlann - these are tokens that prove a male character's good masculinity. Keeping them alive all the way to adulthood makes you a Good Father And Good Man, worth +9999 Man Points, but they're extremely fragile. Knowingly sacrificing one?! That's negative infinity points. You bad, bad man. How could you? Girls are for protecting, not hurting.

Crazy old hag - Unnamed Witches 1 & 2, Unnamed Elderly Woman, The Widow, Wraith Stanczyk, Hattie & Scratch - a Very Scary And Dangerous Old Woman. She is usually explicitly stinky, she is often supernaturally powered, she is always unpredictable and alarming. She is often associated with animal sounds and filthy or naturalistic living quarters, which John and Arthur usually break into. Sometimes she bestows a boon; the boon can be given freely or stolen.

Dead girls and women - Everyone Else Not Mentioned Elsewhere - much overlap with the other categories. Most have strong implications of sexual violence before their death; several are implied to have been died from childbirth complications. Of the ones who have some voice in the story (Sarah, Emily, Anna), most of their correspondences with each other are about men who subjugated and/or ultimately killed them.

Service Workers/Employees - never any dialogue, never any characterization, usually no names. Noel sexually harasses half of them onscreen multiple times.

Members of a community cluster - often these are goodness tokens. Can John & Arthur Save The Community Cluster? With few exceptions, these men and women are not named or characterized.

Marie Pilon - not easily categorized. A good start in that way. Good to have more and more female characters that can't be chunked into the above not-very-flattering categories. Marie Pilon is characterized by her relationship to the Hattie storyline, where the female version of Arthur is characterized as nothing... John and Arthur both literally dismiss the idea that the female version of Arthur could have a journal, because she's old... the Hattie stuff bums me out so much but Marie is a step in the right direction.

Can't wait to see how Lillith and Anna Stanczyk break the mold!

Other exceptions to this categorization attempt: the unnamed woman who John and Arthur gave a baby (because even if she wasn't this specific baby's mother, she had to be a mother of some kind); Tess's mother (mentioned one time; she was sick); offended woman on train and offended woman in hospital (both are one-off gags - a straight-man-type character reacting huffily to Arthur's madman antics)

#meta #malevolent neg #The remaining women to explore are Lillith + Mother Darkness + Anna Stanzig.... ok

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riftfic · 2 years ago

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14. Human

Who will save you now?

Warnings: strong language, referenced suicide, violence

Featured Characters: Sans, Chara/Frisk (Reader), Flowey/Asriel, Wingdings Gaster, Asgore Dreemurr

Note: If you haven't read the previous chapters recently (maybe even if you have outside the past few days), I recommend giving it another read. It's definitely not a requirement, but I added some extra details throughout the story and a few more scenes, most notably in Chapters 3 & 9, that should help the ending feel even more satisfying.

Several years later . . . here's the next chapter.

< Load | RESET | Continue >

From a single strip at the Underground’s heart, Waterfall tunneled away into a boneyard mess of caves. In one direction, the passage to Hotland sprawled in mushroom-light mazes and a boulder choke disguising Tem Village. In the other, a quiet bubble harbored a simple mouse, neck deep in plans to retrieve a wedge of crystallized cheese. Between them, from a silver door that had only been there sometimes, Sans stepped out into a flood of bioluminescence.

Though a door latched shut behind him, dark, damp stone replaced the surface he reclined against now. Its cold, unyielding texture met his fingertips, a reminder that there would be no second visit.

He clutched the spindly metal bars of that unnaturally gray birdcage. He tucked his chin over the iron rung at its peak, hardly dousing the light of the small monster soul trapped inside.

The task set before him was unconscionable. Even if he managed to survive . . .

“i can’t do that,” he had resisted. “i can’t kill Frisk!”

“They shouldn’t even be alive,” said Wingdings.

The words took Sans by surprise. He set his heels despite the encroaching void and a minute hand nearing his final stroke of midnight.

“oh, but ya want me to take this soul all the way back to asriel, huh?” he said. “make sure he survives? double standard, if y’ask me.”

"I didn't say it was fair,” Wingdings hardly breathed. His eyes gained urgency. “The human . . . might survive, if they're determined enough. But after you pull the lever . . .”

At that, Sans’ anger siphoned away, leaving behind a fear much broader than the fate of one human child. Their mistake had set so many events into motion. Lives had been built and destroyed, paths forged and buried. The machine could rewrite the course of everything as easily as it could leave the butterfly effect intact. They could remain here in the present or be sucked back to the day it all began. With a phenomenon this unpredictable, just about anything could happen . . . but whatever world they left behind, at least it might survive.

“if i do use their soul to run the machine,” Sans said more calmly, “what’ll happen to asriel, then? to me? to the underground? heck, what’ll happen to you?”

It was clear to Sans by the frown on Wingdings’ face that his brother had already considered this question. Despite his ingenuity, the once royal scientist only shook his head.

“I don’t know,” he said, “but I do know what’ll happen if you don’t.”

In the present, Sans beat his fist against the rock behind him. Why did it have to be so fucking twisted? Why his Frisk? And why did he have to be the one to do it? Maybe it didn’t have to work out like this. Maybe there was more time than Dings thought. Maybe he could find another way.

His phone buzzed rhythmically at his waist. He pulled it from his coat pocket and looked at the screen. The image of Papyrus illuminated those shadowy cavern walls below several missed call notifications. Sans took a deep, shaking breath, then another, and answered.

“pup . . .”

“SANS!” Papyrus shouted. “I’VE BEEN TRYING TO REACH YOU FOR HOURS!”

“oh.”

“I’M NEARLY TO NEW HOME. A FRIEND HAS INFORMED ME THAT THE HUMAN IS IN TERRIBLE, TERRIBLE DANGER! IS THAT TRUE?!”

Sans nearly broke down then and there. Though seeing Wingdings again had restored many of the deeper cracks in his soul, it still felt fragile, even more when considering the path ahead of him.

“more than true,” he whispered.

A patch of silence followed. Sans dropped his cheek to rest on birdcage bars.

“tell me it’s gonna be all right,” he murmured into the receiver.

“Sans . . . where are you?” Papyrus asked, more gently than was typical.

“just tell me, please.”

“It’s . . .” Papyrus sighed. “It is going to be all right. Now, WHERE ARE YOU?”

Hearing the words in his brother’s voice quelled Sans’ fear, enough to return strength to his limbs. He lingered on the phone a moment longer, as if the connection truly placed him at Papyrus’ side.

“meet you there,” he said.

You followed in Asgore’s shadow, watching the folds of his cape sway and collide like cattails in the wind. His silhouette consumed yours. He could hold all of you in one hand, let alone the tiny red soul he sought to claim.

Past the end of that long hallway mirror of the Ruins, the barrier undulated with powerful magic. Its waves of golden white licked the crackled stone as if in search of escapees. It contoured Asgore’s silhouette in a crisp white line as he turned to face you.

That all-too-familiar smile prickled the fur along his muzzle. Looking up into his apologetic eyes, you remembered his hands on your shoulders, his all-encompassing embrace that threatened to lose you in his fur. The macaroni pictures, the crayon drawings, the sweaters . . . the buttercup pie. You shuddered.

“Human,” said the king of all monsters. His powerful voice trembled, and the earth trembled with it. “It was nice meeting you. . . . Goodbye.”

He held his trident firmly in both hands and lowered his head . . . but a stoplight glow kept his chin from falling too far. There you stood, hands outstretched, red soul hovering above your palms.

“I’m the last one,” you said.

Asgore stared at the heart-shaped spirit as if entranced. Its warmth illuminated your fingers with ruby firelight. It was in the crimson glint of your eyes, however, that he became lost, captured in the clutch of a ghost from years long gone.

“Do I . . . know you?” he asked, bewildered both by the situation and the question itself.

“Please, take it,” you said. Tears fell down your face. “It’s no good for anything else.”

Asgore’s eyes widened with recognition. “Chara . . . ?”

Intense heat flared in the hallway behind you. Before Asgore could say anything more, a brilliant ball of flame had launched him into the cavern wall. Flecks of gray stone spat out among a field of clouds.

You swung to face the spellcaster. Toriel stood framed in the doorway, her face scrunched in a scowl like a snarling lion. One smoking arm remained outstretched, clenched in a fist.

“What a miserable creature,” she growled, “torturing such a poor, innocent youth.”

You hadn’t known what path the timeline had taken or whether your friends would convene . . . yet Toriel had arrived, exactly the same as before. Though you may have jokingly called her “mom,” the name now rang through your head with the purity of a windchime in the breeze.

Undyne, Alphys, and Papyrus appeared after her, along with a swath of others you had met along the way. You wanted to tell them to turn back, that you did not deserve them, that if they had known the demon you truly were, they never would have wanted to be your friend.

Your color drained. As they approached, a web of vines crawled after them along the dark ceiling and cavern floors.

You ran to Asgore, who sat slumped amid rubble and a brand new hallway door in the shape of his back. He grumbled in discomfort. A layer of dust coated his royal robes and golden mane, which he shook like a dog. You slid to your knees beside him.

“Hurry, please!” you blubbered to the stunned monster king. You proffered your soul as if it were on fire. “There isn’t a lot of time . . . !”

Toriel snatched you back by the shoulders.

“What has come over you, my child?” she demanded. “Do you not know what he means to do with it?”

“Mom, I . . .”

“Frisk.” Her eyes had begun scanning the room in fright. “Where is Sans?”

The path to the barrier gave Sans more difficulty than expected. The last time he had attempted these roads with fewer than two shortcuts, he had been a century younger and taking his time, mushroom hunting with young Papyrus. His limbs lagged behind his will. His breath rattled in his chest. Though his fingers slipped against that birdcage no one remembered, he refused to release its colorless patina bars. Everything depended on this.

He took what natural shortcuts he could—river ferries and elevators—but even then, the trip cost more time than he had bargained. At long last, he had reached the innards of Asgore’s home in the capital. He ran, huffing and puffing, down the golden tiles of the Last Hallway.

Even as he sped past, his heart ached to remember your meeting here. The flare of sunlight on your head, the even brighter smile on your face, the secret passwords on your tongue. . . . The memory of that pure soul compared to the corrupted one he had read beside the rift overwhelmed him, and he paused. He touched a hand to the white pillar that once occluded him.

Who were you now? Frisk? Chara? Both? If Chara truly were your forgotten name, if everything he knew about the tragedy of Asgore’s children had happened to you, such terrible memories weighed down on your tiny shoulders. It did not surprise him, then, that your violence had escalated to remember those horrors. Ferocious thorns had been hiding in the soft petal corona of your soul, and neither of you had known it.

Clinging tightly to the forgotten prison in his hands, he buried his sentiments and tore through vine-swathed hallways into a dark passage. He skidded to a halt just past the silvery stone archway to the barrier, where his bones clattered with shock.

The cavern pulsed in radiant waves like the steady spin of a lighthouse beacon. Twisting, thorny roots filled the cavern like a briar patch, and their position changed with every flash of light. Among the vicious mess of chloroplast, monster figures had been tangled, their souls nearly devoured.

The dimming pinpoints of Sans’ eyes could not peel away from your small form, crumpled on the floor before a yellow flower. Your red soul snapped among his vines, barely shimmering in a ruby remnant before splitting apart into nothing.

Sans could not stifle the horror that clawed its way out his mouth. He nearly dropped the cage.

Flowey turned to grin at him. “Trash day already?” he asked, spinning his head in a full circle.

Sans shook. No. This couldn’t have happened. You couldn’t have fallen to that little heathen daisy so quickly. You couldn’t have lost your determination. If only he hadn’t lingered in the hallway. If only he had kept running . . . !

You blinked at the human soul still hovering in your outstretched hands. It glowed red, though not as brightly as it once did. Still alive. Still yours to give. Not torn to bits by a nihilistic plant.

Only moments ago, you had fallen to a flower, the same flower weaving his way into this chamber of darkness and light. Toriel’s hands rested heavily on your shoulders. Papyrus chattered away, as Asgore pleaded with Toriel to give him a second chance. While they were distracted, Flowey dug his way out of the earth, grinning deviously, ready to spring all over again.

Confusion waltzed with your mind, spinning you gently. You had experienced this rush backward a thousand times before. Just a short step in reverse to let you continue after falling or if you disliked the outcome . . . but you did not have the determination to do it now. You had intended to die. You had meant for one of two creatures to take your power and be done with it.

It hadn’t been you.

The world shifted. Time rushed away like the tide, back into the ocean depths. Darkness bled away into golden sunlit tiles and stained glass windows. Birds chirped among a distant rustle of leaves. The air danced with prisms for a fleeting moment before the world reappeared as it had only moments before.

Sans realized suddenly that he stood in the Last Hallway all over again. A glittering pocket of magic danced like a handheld star beside him, where he had touched the pillar and remembered you. It had not been there before.

Air filled his ribcage in jagged gasps. His soul burned as it usually did when you reset time, though somewhat gentler. His hands shook around the bars of that monochrome birdcage with fear, confusion, and exhilaration.

He had just turned back time. He could feel it. And if that were the case . . .

He ran. He sprinted faster than ever to reach you, but you lay still on the floor again. Though uncertain how, and though it hurt him, he turned back the clock a second time. Then a third. Then a fourth. Every time, the flower tore apart your soul like a horror movie on repeat, until finally, Sans arrived one split second earlier. Your soul spun a circle above you as if hanging from a string, and a ring of white pellets had only begun readying itself to deliver the killing blow.

Before Sans knew what he was doing, he was charging Flowey through a rough shortcut, foot extended to drop-kick the weed down into his roots. That cursed dandelion’s shriek had never sounded so satisfying. Sans’ dragon skulls had already manifested over his shoulders, jaws aflame—but when they blasted blue-hot magic out their mouths, Flowey had already disappeared into the earth.

A whip of green struck the ground where Sans had stood. He skipped out of the way in the nick of time, then again, and again, and again. He punched his free hand to the ground, and a wave of long, white magic bones crashed down through the air like meteorites. They speared into the cave floor with enough force to run cracks through the ceiling. Clouds of rock sprinkled down onto his shoulders. Flowey’s grip on his friends and family slackened just an inch.

Flowey surfaced again, undamaged beyond a few frayed petals.

Sans panted, his adrenaline quickly plunging. His bones began aching again, though his raging soul burned brightly through its seams. Sweat slipped down his skull into the neck of his shirt. He didn’t know if he could withstand this much longer. He did not know if his soul could survive another time jump.

“Ha,” chirped the little flower. “Looking pretty rough, there, old pal." His eyes glinted red within the skull-like hollows of his face. "Poor, flimsy little monster souls. Why bother trying? Even Chara was no match for me, and they were a million times stronger than you’ll ever be!”

Sans knew he was right. He did not have the full resilience of a purebred human. Even you had to try several times before making it past this bitter herb. Who in their right mind would bet on him: half blind, right arm nearly useless, only one HP? Just like every moment in his life, he would find a way to fuck this up. Just like every other time before, he would be useless to help.

His hope dwindled down, as did the fire in his soul. He could not find the strength to evade the string of bullets shooting toward him, but they were serendipitously blocked by a fence of small white bones.

“DON’T LISTEN TO HIM, SANS!” said Papyrus through clenched teeth. “YOU. CAN. WIN!”

“We are here to help you,” said Toriel. “No matter what happens.”

“Statistically it’s impossible,” said Alphys, “b-but you’ve beaten the odds before! I know you can do it!”

“Fuck you, Sans,” said Undyne.

Everyone looked at her. She shrugged.

“Sans,” said Asgore. “Listen to me.”

Sans clung to the bars of the birdcage more tightly, eyes glued to the smirking flower afar.

“You are not just your father’s son,” said the king of the Underground. “You have more than magic running through your veins. Remember that . . . and stay determined!”

Sans’ white pupils snapped to Asgore’s blue and brown at once. The statement had struck him somewhere deep beyond the monster white shell of his soul, and still more words passed between them unspoken. Sans then dragged his gaze across all his friends, who looked back with steadfast confidence, even Undyne.

Flowey coiled down on himself, pretending to be scared. “Urgh, no!” he whimpered. “Unbelievable! This can’t be happening! I can’t possibly withstand all of you . . . you . . . !” His face contorted into his evilest grin. “Idiots.”

His vines snapped taut around every monster, and yet another thorny coil snatched Sans from the ground as well. Through ropes of green and brown, Sans watched your red soul go down the flower’s throat, sealed behind hungry white fangs within a golden crown. Then, everything became lost in a flash of white.

Clang.

Sans moaned. Between that blitz of light and now, he had dropped to his hands and knees. His palms felt scorched—and dreadfully empty. Ahead of him, the last withering wisp of gray silver bars dissipated into the air as if made of smoke. Seeing it clawed the magic away from his bones with every mounting breath. His eyes became hollow.

The cage was gone—really, truly gone. Not even a step backward in time could bring it back, and with it, Asriel’s soul. Sans felt the world bottom out. Had he really failed, after everything?

A voice cackled overhead. “Finally,” it said. “I was so tired of being a flower.”

Sans looked upward and blanched. Aside from a few drawings you had scribbled out as a child, he had never witnessed this ungodly creature of countless souls. Sans had only been consumed by him, a coal block among many to fuel his hate. Now, Asriel Dreemurr hovered overhead in all his glory, raging with deathly power in a kaleidoscope of energy. No wonder you had nightmares.

Past the wreckage of their earlier fight, your body still lay heaped on the floor among stone and dead vines, seemingly asleep. As Sans crawled close, tears threatened to form.

He bit them back. No. He needed to hope. He needed to dream. He needed to be determined that he could call you out from the darkness, just as you had done for him a hundred times. It was his turn, now. Everyone would make it to the other side . . . including Asriel.

“Huh?” Asriel grunted as he caught wind of Sans below. “What are you still doing here? I ate your soul, you dirty lawn bag!”

“grass not,” said Sans as he stood, dusting the dirt from his jacket with his left hand.

“Ugh.” Asriel pinched his muzzle exasperatedly. “So annoying. How many times have you died now? Thirty-five? Thirty-six?” He thrust a rocket’s flare at Sans with a wicked smile. “Thirty-seven?!”

Sans gathered your body into his arms and stepped into a last-minute shortcut, safely away from that raw magical surge. After hiding your figure inside an Asgore-shaped wall hole, he flitted through the blue light of a portal once again. He reappeared in the air, directly in Hyperdeath’s path, only inches from his head.

“bone apétit, fucker,” he said and threw a handful of small bones at Asriel’s face. Though they caused no significant damage, they certainly got his attention.

Sans landed on all fours and scrambled. Bullets, fireballs, shooting stars, and lightning strikes raged after him. They left craters in the ground and drove deeper cracks into the ceiling overhead. Stalactites fell and shattered. Sans dodged every one of them. His body thoughtlessly followed the part of him that knew how to survive but had no time to ask permission, so begged forgiveness instead.

As Asriel Dreemurr took a moment to lift his hands, Sans struggled to catch his breath. His hood smelled of smoldering keratin. Holes had been burned through his sleeves. His body felt slick and ashen against his jacket’s cotton interior. The bones he had tossed like a scoop of dog biscuits into Asriel’s face had been the last magic he could muster. Whatever great power the prince of the Underground gathered now, Sans doubted he could survive it.

The world darkened. Sans could no longer see Asriel or the barrier, not even his hands if he raised them. Everything had become silent except the paddle of his own breath.

A skull three times his size suddenly materialized from the shadow. In appearance, it reminded him of those he and his siblings had mastered, though its horns and features mirrored Asriel instead. It laughed in his face—a grim, bone-chilling sound like grating rocks—but Sans stood firm. Brilliant red rage and determination surfaced among the cracks of his soul. How dare Asriel steal from Papyrus? How dare he turn Sans’ own family magic against him?

Waves of light drew into the open bowels of its snakelike gullet. Debris ran past his ankles, recalling images of a lab in shambles, a brother consumed by a beast of timeless indifference. He braced himself, ready to dive into the darkness as he did then and save the ones that mattered most.

A flash of brightness burst over him once more. This time, it ripped the soul from inside him and shattered it into pieces.

His mind floated through an abyss, bursting with the fireworks of everything at stake. He thought of Papyrus, never seeing sunrise; Toriel, never knowing the love of a new family; Alphys, never seeing the true greatness inside herself; Undyne, never free to explore the world; Asgore, failing his people. He thought of you, swallowed in the belly of the very thing you had sought to save. He thought of the entire world, destroyed by the god of hyperdeath, eaten alive by a hungry rift in time. The pieces of his soul quivered in a glow of crimson, ready to disperse.

*But it refused.

The shards sewed back together. A burst of bright red coursed through him like a new flame that had waited a lifetime to be struck. He had to live. He needed to live. He wanted to live! The darkness faded away, and soon the pulsing light of the barrier greeted his eyes once again.

He gaped at his shaking hands, eye sockets wide with confusion and amazement and, more than anything, determination. His soul felt aflame with a ruby-red blaze that forged the bleeding cracks of every pain, every hardship, and every sorrow into an armor stronger than the thickest alloy.

Asriel’s final form hovered ahead of him. Giant wings had sprouted from his back, flaring with blues, reds, greens, and purples. His teeth bared in needle points to rival Undyne’s, seething with fury and frustration.

“YOU . . . GARBAGE BIN SKELETAL FREAK!” he screamed. “WHY? WHY CAN’T YOU DIE?!”

Sans realized very suddenly he couldn’t move. Asriel’s true power had run rampant through the air, cocooning him in a chrysalis of magic he could not escape. He struggled with no result. With no way to resist, Asriel’s attacks barreled into him again, and again, and again. Every time his brightly burning soul rebuilt itself, a little was lost along the way.

“I can feel it,” Asriel growled with relish. “Every time you die, your grip on this world slips away. Every time you die, your friends forget you a little more. Your life will end here, in a world where no one remembers you.”

Sans thought of Windings, lost in a hell of the same description. He recalled how determined his brother had been to hold that same world together in one piece, forgotten or not. Sans could not fail him again, not here, not now, not after how hard Dings had tried, not when all his hopes were so invested in his success. His brother’s words rang through Sans' head, the last he would speak before the ghost of a gray door had separated them.

“I want you to know,” Wingdings had said, “I believe in you more than I believe in anyone else.”

“heh, yer jus’ tuggin’ my tibia . . .”

“For Tesla’s sake, Sans,” Dings snipped. “Can you just, for a second, let me spoon-feed your imperceptibly minuscule single-cell petri dish of a trait you call your self-esteem?” He took a deep breath and steadied. “I know it might seem like you’re my only option,” he said, “but you’re the best option I could have ever hoped for. My big brother. The one who sticks it out through thick and thin. The one I could always rely on to come through for me. You can do this. You can save everyone. I know you can. So, please . . .

“. . . don’t give up.”

Sans closed his eyes and reached his heart out to Asriel’s amalgamation of souls. His friends and family were there somewhere. He could save them. They believed in him. Dings believed in him. His determination to save everyone bled through the confines of Asriel’s magic, and deep inside that monstrosity, something began to stir.

Darkness closed in and images of his friends materialized, though their faces could not be seen behind swimming, fragmented blurs of pitch. Toriel, Papyrus, Asgore, Alphys, and Undyne stood like statues in a ring around him. Under their breaths, they mumbled their deepest wounds aloud: loss, rejection, loneliness, guilt, and captivity.

Sans stared up at his little brother’s towering silhouette, shaken to see him so reduced.

“hey, puppy . . .” he began. He inched nearer. “‘member me?”

Papyrus did not acknowledge him beyond summoning a few bones, which promptly flew in his direction. They were nothing compared to what Asriel had been punting his way. Sans stood perfectly still to allow a large blue femur to pass harmlessly through his forehead, then teleported behind him. He wrapped his arms around his waist until his face lay cradled in the lower curve of his spine, as if it were fashioned to hold his head.

“is that any way to treat your big bro?” he asked quietly. He searched his head for his worst possible joke and turned to the remaining souls. “uh . . . w-whatcha all starin’ at?” He whipped out a finger gun as nonchalantly as possible. “never metacarpal of skeletons before?”

A long, silent moment passed. Then, Papyrus groaned. So did Undyne. Toriel giggled alongside Alphys with a snort. Asgore only sighed.

Sans beamed, then dodged what he saw as a well-deserved barrage of attacks from all five of his monster friends.

“hey, undies,” he said to Undyne past the quick flash of a blue spear. “i liked the tuna your piano. think you can teach me some scales?”

A similar response. Another wave of dangerous magic.

“knock, knock,” Sans said to Toriel. A hand of fire tried and failed to snatch him off the ground. He brushed off the heat. “i’ll take that as a ‘who’s there’. it’s yer local sentry, sans gaster!”

Toriel mumbled incoherently, but her last words sounded clear: “. . . Sans Gaster who?”

“yeesh,” Sans said, tugging at the neck of his shirt. “and i thought we were friends!”

Toriel laughed, then, revealing her face in a glorious burst of joy. Papyrus groaned more loudly than ever into existence.

“THAT’S ENOUGH BOONDOGGLING, SANS!” he shouted.

“i think you mean bone-doggling.”

“I DO NOT!” Papyrus stomped his foot.

With that, the rest of his friends returned to themselves, holding their stomachs or their heads in laughter. Sans wiped a joyful tear from his eye. By then, Papyrus had swept him off his feet into the tightest hug he could muster, which might have broken a rib were they more than specters. The remaining crew piled in: Toriel, Alphys, Asgore, even Undyne. In that one gesture, Sans’ soul swelled with hopes and dreams and burned brighter than ever.

“You’re d-d-doing great!”

“We’ve got your back, punk.”

“We believe in you.”

“heh . . . i’m rootin’ for me too, i guess,” Sans agreed bashfully.

“THAT’S THE SPIRIT,” Papyrus said, then lifted his eyes over Sans’ shoulder. “ONLY ONE MORE TO GO.”

As he said it, their images dissipated. Sans turned to follow Papyrus’ gaze. Another figure stepped from the shadow, eyes burning red through a shifting black cloud. A blood-red knife glinted in your hand. Your ruby soul quivered in the pit of your chest, a beacon through the dark.

“kiddo,” Sans breathed.

You shambled forward and blindly slashed for his neck. He side-stepped the sloppy cut. Your blade lodged into the unseen ground, so deeply it took a few tries to pry it out. Like a marionette, you lolled about to face him.

“It’s all my fault,” you murmured. “All my fault.”

“that ain’t true,” said Sans. He grimaced and ducked another swing. “you’re a good kid. you’ve always been a good kid.”

“I'm sorry,” you mumbled.

“why?” he asked. “you saved us. you saved me. you gave up your resets for it!”

Your razor-edged swipes and stabs began to falter. “My fault . . .”

“the only thing you’re at fault for is trying too bleedin’ hard.”

Though shaking, you continued to jab and swing your dagger with reckless abandon, and he continued to evade its path with infuriating precision. Whipping air and shuffling feet echoed through the dark as if you fought in an empty chapel.

“c’mon, bud!” Sans panted. Sweat had begun to gather on his forehead. “it’s me, sans!”

“Sans?” you replied in a fog. “Sans is dead. I killed him. It’s my fault.”

“i’m not dead. i’m right here.”

He came close, a breath away. Your knife grazed his cheekbone, revealing a stripe of red that trickled down into his shirt collar. As your arm passed his shoulder, he caught you around the chest and held on tight. He buried his face into your neck.

“i’m right here.”

At this, you froze. You held your knife shakily over his head, prepared to strike down into his back—but you didn’t. Though the black, jagged strokes of paint shifting about your head did not cease, the red of your eyes had dimmed.

“frisk. chara.”

He cradled your hiding face between his hands and looked into your eyes a long, long time. You could feel him reaching through your soul, judging you, reading you from cover to cover like an unlocked diary.

“it’s not your fault.”

As the words sank in, tears sprinkled down from that stormcloud between you, raining over your shoes and his. That dreadful, bloody knife clattered to the ground, and soon you followed. You sat seiza at his feet and clung to his coat, your face no longer shrouded. You sobbed into his t-shirt, broken, yet overjoyed to see him alive.

He hesitated, then slipped his fingers down into the deep brown thatches of your hair.

“You’re really here,” you said, looking up into his face.

Sans crouched down to your level and shrugged. “think so.”

“Am I dead?”

“uh.” He scratched the back of his skull and winced. “ya ain’t in yer body, that much is for sure. hopin’ you might join me on the way back, though . . . if you’d do me the honor.”

You hugged him again, even more tightly than before. Conflicted by memories old and new, shame hooked onto your soul with claws sharper than the dagger at his feet. His hand in your hair was all that kept you solid.

“I’m sorry.” Your tears fell faster as you considered the road leading you here. “I made you fall into the rift . . .”

“that one’s on me,” Sans said. “i knew what i might find down there.”

Your face sombered. “Did you find . . . him?”

Newfound brightness ignited his eyesockets. “he’s . . . alive,” he said quietly. He could scarcely believe the words. “trapped between time and space. it’s just like i thought.”

You were never more relieved to be proven wrong. Still, questions encircled your head like stars. Where was his brother, now? If Sans had gone to that place, how had he returned? How had he survived the rift, and Flowey no less? Was he the one turning back the clock? That should have been impossible.

As you extended a hand to smear the streak of red you had carved into his face, a terrifying thought occurred to you.

“Determination,” you breathed. “Sans, you didn’t—!”

“no,” he said.

“Monsters don’t bleed,” you said firmly in an attempt to call out his bullshit.

“not full-blooded monsters, no,” he agreed.

Several moments passed in which you digested these words, and what they implied.

His smile slowly fell into a grimace, a mix of regret and weary sadness. He sat down in the darkness across you. Here, the two of you were truly alone. He breathed in, breathed out.

“skeletons are kinda hard to come by,” he began hesitantly, “if ya hadn’t noticed. we’re only born under certain circumstances . . . with . . . certain parents.”

He lifted his head to the darkness above as if he might see the sky. A piece of him drifted away into nostalgia on Noctis wings. Bittersweet was the only word you could surface for his expression now.

“hardly look nothing like dad,” he began with a half-hearted shrug. “he was like . . . a dragon made of blue stars, a constellation in a nebula. huge, bigger than asgore. gast clan always was, compared to the dreems. i see him in my magic, though, sometimes. his face in my blasters, even if just the skull.”

You couldn’t find words. Surely he didn’t mean what you thought.

“don’ hardly look like mom, neither,” he said with a partial smile, “but we got her bones. we got her structure. i got some of her determination.”

“You’re half human.”

“i’m all me, thanks,” Sans snipped. Talking about it seemed to crawl over his bones like a spider bake sale.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” you asked, genuinely hurt.

He paused and picked at the healing cut on his cheek. He rubbed the red fluid pensively between his thumb and forefingers. “everyone down here knows what it means to be a skeleton,” he said quietly. “i thought you knew too, at first. we all did. a lot of folks thought it was why you shacked up with us instead of tori.”

Your shoulders relaxed.

“by the time i realized it . . . honestly, i didn’t know how to tell ya, kid. it's a sensitive subject.” He drew his coat around himself more tightly. “we’re the only ones left, y’know; me and puppy-dog. and dings. when the war started, humans went for families like ours first. papyrus was a bean, dings was just the right age for it to hit him later, and i . . . i remember everything, as always.”

Your guilt ascended all over again.

“we were just kids," he went on, "but nothin’ scared those purist humans more than a fuckin’ mule.”

“i’m sorry,” you said.

“don’t be,” he murmured. “not your fault.”

“But it is,” you insisted. Your tears began rising again. "I’m human. I’m responsible. After everything humans have done—after everything I’ve done—I don’t deserve any of you. I don’t deserve to be here. You shouldn’t have saved me . . .”

Sans gently wiped your face with his sleeve. “lemme finish, kid,” he said quietly. He heaved a long, drawn-out sigh, as if releasing a toxin trapped inside his ribcage. “i got a reason to hate humans, sure. they drove us down here. they blocked us in. hell, even monsters gave us a hard time for that half of us. papyrus was so bent on catching a human just to prove what side he was on. thought people might like him more.”

You felt sick.

“but,” Sans said, forcing you to meet his eyes, “my human parent sacrificed everything to save us. she stayed behind so we could get away. so many of us are alive because of her. you wanna tell me that was wrong? you wanna tell me she was responsible for everything that happened to us, just for being human?”

Your tears continued to fall.

“you can’t help where ya came from,” said Sans, “but you can choose where ya go. and boy have you gone to some good places.”

“Like the dump,” you quipped with a faint smile.

“heh, yeah,” he said. “like the dump.” He hung an arm over your shoulder. “so maybe you’ve made some big mistakes . . . but your heart was never in the wrong place. you want to make up for it. you want to be good. that’s what really matters, right?”

You sniffled and nodded. You had said the same to Alphys. Were you really beneath your own advice?

He gathered you into his arms again. After a long time kneeling there, faces in shoulders, he helped you back to your feet.

“gonna need you to step in from here on out,” said Sans. “the chances hyperdoofus listens to me are about a million to negative one.” He smirked. “think you can handle it?”

You took his hand and squeezed.

“Only if you stand there with me,” you said.

His heart swelled in his chest. “i can do that."

Holding onto one another tightly, you stepped out from the darkness into a rainbow of light.

Notes:

And thus we have arrived at my third and final head-cannon: skeletons are what happen when a monster loves a human. I think my nervousness about dropping that bomb contributed to the delay in a latent sense, haha. Sorry for that again.

The idea of skeleton monsters always puzzled me, because in most folklore and fantasy contexts they have a direct tie to humans. Undead, more specifically. But in the context of the Undertale universe, undead didn't sit right with me. Skeleton monsters that conveniently mimic human anatomy didn't either. Then I had this thought. It explained several things for me: the blood from Sans' cut in the no mercy run, the reason he's so powerful, that "fourth wall" breaking tendency he and Papyrus both share... I massaged things some for the narrative here, but yeah.

I had been building to this a little bit as a possible reveal, then considered sidestepping it, but then as I really hammered out my ending it became an essential fact. I added more scenes and details in earlier chapters to get a little more traction on it, hence why I recommended rereading. :) Either way, I hope you find it at least interesting.

Thank you again to everyone who held on until now. Only three chapters left!

Next Up! Chapter 15: Determination.

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shootinwebs · 4 months ago

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i often wonder how alastor would respond to racism in hell (in life is another story, and also varies depending on which stage of his life -- but he also didn't have supernatural powers) since he's so unpredictable and it seems like it's hard to tell whether he'll retaliate, escalate, or let things go in any given situation. and then he's also in hell where there are very little consequences for killing someone. and most people in hell are scared shitless of him (if we're going by the webcomic).

but. i also hc that he tends not to respond to personal attacks about his identity unless they're relevant to his mother (i.e. he'd attack someone for a racial slur, but not for an insensitive comment about being ace), unless he's really really in a fragile place and ready to respond like a cornered animal.

#i hc he was really timid in life until maybe like age 16 #hazbin hotel #alastor hazbin #alastor's mother #alastor's mom #headcanon

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mychlapci · 10 months ago

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oh the ultrasonic cleaning tub thing for cleaning is hilarious and also feeds into my headcanon that cybertonians are shit babysitters

compared to protoforms and sparklings, human children are incredibly fragile not to metion imature and unpredictable, when you hold them you've gotta be careful

if you wanna put a human child down, they're like an old man, they need help

fuck, you can bowl a protoform

humans bathe their children very carefully, especially the very young ones

meanwhile a cybertronian will just grab their sparklings who got dirty wrestling in the mud and yeet them into a tub of cleaning solvent like sacks of rocks

like i know the autobots can handle grown humans but i would not trust them with a baby

aaaaa i glossed over that ultrasonic tub thing, but it really did bring forth a very satisfying image. it's so fun.

also YEAH, i always imagined that cybertronian sparklings would be sturdy as hell. It would be terrible design on Primus' part if they were just fragile and useless for a few hundred years straight. you Can bowl a protoform! with no issue. they're made to survive most things thrown at them.

Cybertronians will throw their babies and toddlers and kiddies around like a sack of rocks, it's literally fine. It's why they don't understand why humans always cradle their young so close to themselves? Like??? you can just grab it by the leg and it's gonna swing after you, no biggie?? Sparklings don't mind, of course. I think they even like being swung around, even if some get really fussy over having to be bathed and put to recharge.

Cybertronians have to be really careful when interacting with human children because their first instinct is to Yeet the Child and that is a no-no in human culture.

#tf hc's #texty #celibacy week

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messitydepressity · 5 months ago

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Been a little bit since I have shared a chapter update for "Let Me Be Your Shelter' on here, but we're in the last few chapters so for any of y'all that like to binge read, here is chapter 12/13

GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE

Fury's and Bronte's hooves strike against the ground, furiously chasing after the mockery of a cowboy that's bobbing and weaving his way back east.

Toward the ranch he'd come from, Joel knows in his bones.

The greasy fuck fires twice blindly back at him and Tommy, throwing his gun in frustration when it comes up empty.

He's out of bullets and they're closing in, it makes him erratic and desperate, him and his horse unpredictable. Tommy shoots at the muscle of the horse's legs, trying to hobble it and make it throw its rider.

None of his shots hit, but it does make the horse skittish. It's frantically carving an irregular path making the man atop it cling to its mane to stay astride.

He fails when the horse starts to kick its hind legs, bucking him over the horse's head and throwing him down with a stomach-twisting crunch.

They don't bother with the horse once he's down, letting it continue its way to freedom.

He hits the ground running, flipping over their first real tie to Ellie since they had found Jesse, only to find the bastards eyes open and fixed.

The entire left side of his skull is fractured mush.

"God fucking damnit!" He can't keep coming up short, it's been two days, two fucking days.

He knows he has gone manic, he don't need a mirror to see his blown pupils and the crazed flit of his eyes to show him the proof.

He hasn't slept in forty-eight hours and hasn't eaten in longer, it feeds his mania and his anger.

The only cure for it is his kid, alive and breathing, in his arms. He doesn't mind losing himself to the hysteria, not as long as it keeps him upright long enough to find her and bring her home.

"We gotta keep going Joel, he's useless dead. If he's out here, she's out here. We just gotta keep lookin' big brother." Even his little brother has slipped into some sort of fucked up head space.

There's a simmering rage in Tommy's eyes he don't recognize, a turbulent storm that only seems to reinvigorate him and keep his head focused.

This is the Tommy who had served two tours in the Middle East for the United States Army.

Both of their humanities are slipping.

He brings his booted foot down onto the dead man's head in three vicious stomps, the fragile bones of his nose concaving and crunching with the first.

The reinforced structure of his cheeks collapses inward with the two others, leaving his jaw unhinged and attached only by a thin frayed piece of muscle.

Wiping the heel of his shoe on the front of the unrecognizable fuckers shirt, he gathers a pool of mucus in his mouth and spits into the ruined cavern of his face.

May Joel find him in hell one day to give him everything he deserves.

"I want to personally deliver that gift to Anderson, he goes into the cooler until I get the opportunity." They've already had Bill collect the body they'd left in the river and keep him on ice for the time being, what's one more?

Stoic and terrifyingly quiet, they gallop away from the mangled remains.

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void-ink-studios · 1 year ago

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Even More Parenting Nonsense

I talked at length about Scarab and his whole deal with parenthood. Seems only fair that I give my thoughts about Prismo, so here we go.

Also, y'all might've tempted me into writing something. Hope your happy with yourselves.

Prismo, despite being "Everybody's Pal" comes across to me as a very isolated being. His only company is superficial, except for Cosmic Owl, at least until Jake and later Scarab. He only interacts with other gods and the briefest of moments with mortals. So Prismo has almost... no experience with children. He understands the concept and theory, and would like to interact with kids, but it's only under very dire circumstances that a kid would ever be the one to find the Time Room. So, the prospect of parenthood is equal parts very exciting for him, and also completely terrifying.

He talks to Life about it. A lot. Like, a lot a lot. He probably tries to talk to Simon as well. But both sources had their own strangeness that makes their advice hard to apply. It mostly just leaves him feeling more lost and confused than before, but he's at least assured that kids know when/if their parents love them, and that goes a long way. It's the little bit of reassurance he needs because, despite whatever mistakes they might make, he knows that they'll both love this kid, and try their absolute best.

Prismo tries his best to stay calm when their kid is a grub in the burrow, because Scarab keeps assuring him that they'll be fine until they emerge, but it doesn't help much. He just knows that babies are fragile, their baby is alone in a hole, and that a lot of things could go wrong. He's kind of relieved when they emerge from the burrow early so he can hold them and be reassured that they're safe and sound.

I think Prismo is, above everything else, afraid. He's afraid of losing more people he loves, especially when this one is so tiny and reliant on him. He's afraid especially of Nightmo. He knows that Nightmo is a defense mechanism that only emerges during extreme negative emotion, but Nightmo is unpredictable. Yes, it did emerge when he wanted to protect Scarab, but then the Nightmare attacked the thing he was trying to protect because it does not recognize friend from foe. Prismo is terrifying Nightmo might do something terrible if it ever emerged around their child, and that Scarab would never forgive him for it.

Compared to Scarab, Prismo is a lot quicker to intervene if bad decisions are about to be made. While Scarab operates under the idea that 'experience is the best teacher', Prismo tries to more directly teach why something might be a good or bad idea. He's a lot more likely to explain the why, and a bit more directly involved in how things might play out.

Honestly, Scarab and Prismo together cover a lot of each other's weaknesses. Scarab is orderly and structured, able to place down rules to curb initial impulses. Prismo then intervenes if the kid still wants to do the thing against the rules. And if they go through with it anyway, Scarab is there to watch the consequences play out and basically ask "What did we learn from this?"

#prohibitedwish #scarab x prismo #scarab the god auditor #prismo the wishmaster #prohibitedwish fanfic #fanfic prompt #fan child #prohibitedwish fankid

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tinyenha · 2 years ago

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𝔐𝔶 𝔓𝔢𝔯𝔣𝔢𝔠𝔱 𝔐𝔞𝔫𝔫𝔢𝔮𝔲𝔦𝔫…

𝕮𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕴: 𝕻𝖗𝖔𝖒𝖎𝖘𝖊

No one POV

"Ahh... Tomorrow is the day. The day Mother left me and Father to the afterlife. I should go tell Father and visit her grave together" Y/N signed and went to her father's room where he stored all his personal belongings. While she walking, she looked out the window and stared at the nature that surrounded the mansion, her home. She lived at the big mansion along with her Father.

Every year, Y/N and her Father visit her late mother's grave to celebrate the day of her mother's death. Her mother died when she was still young because of her unknown sickness. She is still young when her mother leaves her. Many medicines and treatments her mother tried but it didn't work as planned. As much as she doesn't want her mother to go, she knows that people's death is unpredictable. Especially people that she treasured the most. Until now, she still remembers her promise with her mother to take care of her father and protect him from any danger. She kept her promise. She only has her father left.

Flashback...

Young Y/N and her mother take a walk in the nearest garden to spend their free time together. The garden is full with white roses and baby breath. Butterfly wings are displayed as they fly about freely. "Mother look! White butterfly!" Young Y/N grabbed her mother's attention and pointed at the butterfly that she just mentioned. Her mother smiled sweetly and patted her daughter's head. "How beautiful. You like them?"

"I love it, Mother! They're beautiful and small. Sadly they're so fragile, we can't hold them just like when I'm holding cute kitten." Young Y/N pouted while staring at the white butterfly. Her mother sadly smiled and patted her daughter's head. "That's true, dear. They are so precious. We need to protect them from any danger. Just like us, we protect each other from bad people. Be kind to people and animals. Help each other, protect each other. Spread love and keep smiling. Promise me that, okay dear?"

Young Y/N nobbed her head, understanding her mother's words. She held her mother's hand gently and stared at her. "Just like how you and Father protect me, I promise to protect both of you. You and Father is the only treasure I have now. I love you guys so much. You're the best. No one can beat my love for you and Father." She hugged her mother tightly. "Thank you, dear. What a lovely and thoughtful girl." Her mother hugged her back and caressed her head gently.

End of Flashback

No one POV

Y/N smiled sadly, remembering her memory with her beloved mother when she was 5. She is already 23 years old. After her mother's death, she feels empty even though there are maids who help clean their mansion and always take good care of her. Growing up without the warm love of a mother is the hardest reality that Y/N needs to face. She tries to live happily just like her mother wishes. Her father also tries his best to spend time with her. Thankfully, her father never failed to make her smile and know her well. "What Father is doing right now? Hopefully, he is not busy with his work." She thought.

The villagers of Lockwood have known Y/N's family well. Y/N's father worked as a mannequin maker and already run his business for a long time since he used to help his family carry all the materials to make the mannequin. Even though there is a lot of better job he can do, he decides to continue his family tradition and explore more about mannequin creation. His customers are mostly from royalty with different backgrounds. Besides that, he also makes toys and music boxes for the kids. His lovely personality and kindness never fail to make villagers' hearts melt. He was very sociable with all the villagers that he passed by. Y/N's late mother is also one of his customers. She came to his workshop and requested him to make a small music box as her comfort item during nighttime. Since then, they become closer and eventually fall in love with each other.

Once she arrived in front of the room, she knocked on the door slowly. "Father? May I come in?" She heard rustling inside the room. "Sure, dear. Come inside." She opened the door and saw her father carving the mannequin. Her father's room was full of sketches that displayed mannequin diagrams. Books are stacked just like a tower. Material of the mannequin is everywhere including his crafting tools. Her father stopped her work and looked at his daughter. "You look sad.... Are you okay? Need anything, dear?" "Urm... Mother's death anniversary is today... I wonder if you're free right now. Let's visit her. Like usual, our tradition every year..." She smiled sadly while playing with her dress lace. "Of course, dear. I almost finished my work. Let's get ready. We can grab some white roses for her and clean her grave." He smiled sweetly and went to his daughter. Her father caressed her head gently. She sighed. "I miss her Father..."

" I miss her too, dear... Don't be sad. Mother doesn't want you to be sad. Smile for me" Her father gently caressed her daughter's cheek. Y/N sadly smiled and hugged her father. "Promise me to stay with me, don't leave me alone." She whimpered. "I promise. I will protect you no matter what happens. You're my only daughter. You're my pill of happiness that brightens my gloomy day. No one can replace your place."

Her father hugged her back and tried his best to hold back his tears. He knows how hard her daughter's life is. How sad her life was without her beloved mother. He feels guilty that her daughter needs to face this reality. But with her wife's promise, he will treasure his daughter for the rest of his life. He doesn't want his daughter to feel lonely. He wants to give his best, give a lot of love, and provide her the happy life that she deserves. Protect her from any danger. He only has his daughter left. No one else can take her away from him.

Taglist: @rinbowaman @heesbaby @deobitifull @enha-stan @shawnyle @gyus-honey @kaykay11sworld @httpsrinrin @sunghoonsfeethair @nshmrarki

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lilkrissmuffet · 3 months ago

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Hey how are you doing so imagine the butterfly bio female get into an intense heat one night, she can help but think about cell while touching herself but feels unsatisfied so decides to sneak outside her creators house to see him, and beg him to take her and her pheromones are strong enought to get him in the mood ?

Short answer? Her 'creator' ain't getting her back 😂

Longer, more satisfying answer:

Mother had warned you time and time again. That he was too dangerous, too unpredictable. Even if he had ultimately decided to spare this wretched planet a terrible fate, Perfect Cell was still not to be trusted.

Not like that would stop you tonight.

You were on fire. Burning from the tips of your butterfly wings to the biological core deep within, the one that separated you from all of Mother's other, clunky, mechanical creations. They had no soul, no heat. Not like you.

Now that same heat was consuming you in your own bed, more powerful than your programming could ever hope to override. And you knew exactly how to douse the flames. Drifting towards and through the open window, moonlight fills your iridescent wings like delicate stained glass. You knew that your body was not built with fragility in mind, but your heart had yet to be tested. Part of you hoped he might be gentle.

Another part didn't care.

"How did you manage to find me, little one?", Cell wonders, the ghost of a smirk playing at his lips. He almost seems impressed. "Why, I thought I had sufficiently suppressed my-"

"Pheromones." You answer simply, concisely, sounding every bit like Mother even if you have yet to realize it. "You and I both share entomological DNA, yes? Therefore, you release pheromones, just as I do. I do not need to detect energy signatures when I can simply smell you from miles away."

You found him standing sentinel atop the roof of the tallest skyscraper in West City. His eyes had been closed then, deep in thought. But now here you were, practically demanding his attention.

"Huh. And you were desperate enough to come all the way up here to see me? How cute..."

You can practically hear the glimmer of sharp, white teeth revealed by his grin as Cell snatches your tiny wrists and yanks you into his arms. You gasp softly, a mere fly in his web, your cheek pressed to his hard, armored chest. He's surprisingly warm, his low, deep voice rumbling from within.

"Mm. Now that you mention it...you do seem to carry a most delectable scent, my dear." The tips of Cell's claws trace up the length of your spine to the base of your wings. He chuckles quietly when you shiver in his tightening grasp.

"Do you think you can...assist me with my problem, Mr. Cell?", you ask timidly, your own words breathless and heavy with the weight of your need. He can feel the heat through your synthetic flesh, and it beckons him like nothing else.

"Look at me, pet." The android purrs, deftly slipping his other hand beneath your chin, arching your slender neck to meet his magenta gaze, "That's Mr. Perfect Cell to you...But if you really want to know what I think..."

He leans down then, tilting your head to the side to brush his impossibly smooth lips against the willowy antennae-like appendages that serve as your ears. Sound is not the only thing they're sensitive to- your body quivers like a lone leaf on a branch at Cell's touch, his long fingers seeking out the source of that ever-enticing aroma. A honeyed ambrosia that teases a hunger into his voice, so raw that you'd never expect it.

"I think," he growls, suddenly spinning around and dipping you back over the edge of the roof like a dancer, his movements graceful and swift. Pressing a deceptively chaste kiss to the hollow of your throat, he allows you to dangle above the city while his mouth lingers, savoring the taste of your skin. You fall silent with shock, staring up at the moon with stars in your eyes until terror screws them shut. Stimulates your vocal cords to cry out into the night.

"You should've listened to your mother."

💚

#ask box #mister perfect cell 💚#thank you for the ask :3

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randomthefox · 5 months ago

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Part 1

Sonic races into Eggman's base and starts doing his thing, plowing through badniks. After breaking through the entrance he can't help but notice that the robots he's busting through do seem a big stronger than usual, almost like they're fighting with fresh batteries, and yet they don't have any small animals inside them like he might have expected from that. So he figures Eggman must be using a new energy supply for his bots. An alarm starts blaring through the base so Sonic books it because he's here on a rescue mission after all and Eggman is unpredictable there's no telling what he might do to Bumblebee's friends once he finds out Sonic is here.

Soon makes his way into the holding cell neighboring an experimentation chamber where Eggman has all the transformers locked up in their cages. Megatron is the only one absent because he's in the experiment room behind a huge closed door, Eggman working on him in there. Sonic looking up at one of the Decepticons through the electric bars of his cage and goes all "wow, you guys are big =x didn't think Bumblebee was just a runt." Optimus is like oh you met Bumblebee is he safe and Sonic is like yeah he's fine, he called in the cavalry I'm here to set you guys all free. The Decepticons are like you can't do shit look at how small and fleshy and fragile you are.

On que the huge steel doors of the experiment room open and Megatron stomps out into view, with his chest hollowed out with black metal scarring and Eggman is inside with his Egg Mobile, piloting Megatron around like he's a Mecha. The Decepticons are horrified and even the Autobots are like damn that's fucked up. A hoard of badniks flood out along with them, and Megatron infuses them with Dark Energon powering them up. As the hoard of robots surges towards Sonic, he starts rolling and jumping and homing attacking and stomping through them until he reduces the entire squadron of badniks to scrap, leaving all the Transformers impressed. But then Eggman just cackles and pilots Megatron into holding out his hand and sending out a surge of dark energy, and suddenly the energon that had been shared into the badniks surges up from the piles of scrap and makes the broken bits of metal explode sending out pops of shrapnel that blast Sonic back as he's taken by surprise.

Megatron's body is being controlled by Eggman piloting him, but he can still talk independently. Megatron speaks as Sonic is shaking his head from that and Eggman is gloating over it, and directs him to the power generator for their cages is in the experiment room. If he can blow through that it'll shut down their cages. Optimus is like yes that way we can help you and escape, and Megatron is like no so my Decepticons can get off their ass and scramble this egg and save him. Through that Eggman starts trying to stomp on Sonic while he spins his way through and past him and makes it into the room to blow out the generator, causing all the cages to shut down while Eggman throws a tantrum.

Optimus tells all the Autobots to roll out and get out to safety. Megatron orders the Decepticons to rally to him. Both hesitate, but Optimus tells them to trust him as he trudges out and makes his way towards Megs to help Sonic, and the Autobots flee. Starscream starts screeching that since Megatron is just a puppet for a fleshling that makes him the leader of the Decepticons now and he orders them to evacuate the base and regroup, and the majority of the Decepticons do indeed bail leaving only Soundwave and Shockwave stick around.

As everyone mostly clears out it's left to Megatron with Eggman, Optimus on one side of them and Sonic on the otherside. They both charge at him, but Megatron just does a lariat and sends them both flying back. Optimus is weak from his imprisonment and Sonic is running low on fumes and is trying to fight a giant fuck off robot on foot. Eggman reveals that with the experimentation he's done, he's found that the Transformers are powered by a power source called Energon which is abundant on Earth including within its living inhabitants! And as long as he is inside of Megatron, Eggman's own natural living energon output is empowering Megatron making him even more powerful than normally (and also mentions that since he's piloting the robot he's benefiting from brain and brawn and is undefeatable). Optimus does mention that when he does a scan of the room on a different light spectrum, he does see Sonic as this massive glowing radiant source of pure energon. Looking from Eggman Megatron's carved out chest cavity, and then to Optimus, Sonic says that gives him an idea and he spins past Megatron going between his legs and towards Optimus.

Sonic bounces up to his shoulder and goes "bet you're hungry after that prison food, huh? Well open wide!" And he jumps down past the face plate and down Optimus's throat and lands down into his belly. With Sonic inside him Optimus starts surging with energy and glows until all the scuffs and dust from his time being held prisoner evaporate away, and he stands tall back to full strength and then some! Optimus and Megatron start fighting, and with Sonic and Eggman fueling them they're pretty evenly matched. Optimus and Sonic both decide that what's important is everyone has gotten to safety, so they decide to beat a tactical retreat and Optimus goes truck mode an starts driving away while evading Megatron shooting after him and escape the base.

Soundwave walks up and points a gun directly in Eggman's face, but Shockwave pushes it aside. Shockwave is impressed by Eggman's experiments and how he has taken total control of Megatron against his will, and he wants to learn more from the flesh creature. Shockwave is loyal to his own cruel twisted idea of scientific progress, and hoping to lay claim to the Decepticons once he has enough knowledge to dispatch Eggman and Megatron both with all he's learned. Soundwave is loyal to Megs through and through and will stick around by Megatron's side until a moment to free him presents itself. And Megatron is a prisoner in his own puppeteered body, able to speak but not act as Eggman pilots his body for his own interests. An unholy Deceggticon trinity.

Optimus and Sonic make it back to Tails' workshop, and Sonic hops out of the drivers seat of the truck before Optimus transforms back to robot mode. As they arrive Bumblebee is the only one there, and he excitedly starts explaining to the two of them that he and Tails made an amazing discovery, opening his mouth as Tails pops out from it and goes "tah-dah =D " explaining what they discovered about Earthlings being able to energize and empower Cybertronians! Sonic is like "whoa, crazy stuff for you guys to figure out on your own like that!" with a knowing smirk.

While Optimus just nods with a sage acknowledgment that it will be a powerful collaboration for them, especially since now the Transformers are scattered and off who knows where across the planet, and he wants to do whatever he want to both reunite his Autobots and also ensure the rogue Decepticons cannot exploit the planet or harm its inhabitants. Tails agrees that last point is particularly salient because it didn't take them long to discover that Earthlings are a potent energy source for Cybertronians, and he doubts Decepticons will be nice enough to ask permission before swallowing someone up to charge up from their organic energon output like Bumblebee did.

and so it would go from there into some episodic ventures showing the various Transformers meeting and teaming up with their receptive Sonic characters.

#transformers #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #crossover #sonic x Transformers crossover #sonic x transformers

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