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nocturnalsyrin · 6 months ago

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This was done by a friend of mine and I just wanted to join in and share my oc’s even though they have nothing to do with the Pokemon verse ^^

A/N: The story and concept of “Eternity of Dust and Stars” is owned and written by NoctisSyRin. Anyone besides the owner does not have permission to steal, borrow, change, edit or copy anything that has been written by the creator

📒: If they keep a journal, what is the saddest thing they've ever written in it?

Raewyn (Rae): Being a scholar she doesn't really keep a diary for security reasons as she was never allowed to openly document her thoughts in fear of being found out by the Overseer's Warden and Royal Guards. They comb through her chambers regularly in search of items they deem prohibited by their countless laws that get added to daily. However, upon Rae's immediate termination of her status upon freeing the Goddess of Stars - Aetheria from her prison within the Runic dungeon and fleeing of her kingdom entirely, Rae managed to salvage a few papers detailing the horrific practices and study that was performed that has been kept hidden from the public eye. The saddest thing that stands out amongst the crowd of Raewyn's countless sketches, articles and documents that she has preserved over her endless life is the cruel experimentations upon the “Ungifted” that have been recorded for over five centuries. All of which give vivid descriptions about how the Ungifted were treated, kept in small cages barely big enough to fit a large dog, fed scrapes of food and smaller portions of water that would hardly sustain a rat, and left to sit in their own filth and rot as they were quite literally harvested alive, torn apart limb by limb, striping them of whatever little magic that still flowed through their blood until there was nothing viable left to take from their “useless husks” as the cruel scientists behind these heartless actions would define them as. And all of this was done under the name of the Overseer's ruling Queen, Aion - the end goal being a hope for being able to fully harness this useless energy and somehow transfer it to those she deemed fit enough to rule by her side and aid her in her conquest of world domination. As of today none of their experimentations have succeeded thus far and many children and civilians have silently lost their lives under the cruel reign of the Endless Queen… That is until they crossed paths with the Throne of Tears.

Aetheria: Being a celestial draconic beast of immortality and granted the powers of a God meant to empower and aid their subject in a time of need, Aetheria has seen many horrible things while seated upon the Throne of Stars. Things she wishes she could forget but will remain implanted into her brain like a pesty itch she cannot get rid of. And with these things that she has seen she has documented it all within her domain of stars. Displaying all of the world's treason, sins and greeds, victories, and accomplishments out in the open for all to bear witness to as soon as the sun dips over the horizon and the sky blankets itself in a glorious inky darkness speckled with a vast array of shimmering lights. All it takes is for one curious and brilliant minded spectator to take one simple glance at the carefully cultivated arrangement of stars to understand the Goddesses griefs she has laid out for all to see. All they have to do is look.

🩸: Has your OC ever been severely wounded?

Raewyn: Yes, she has canonly died a number of times - both self inflicted or otherwise - and her self-sacrificing behaviors have gotten her into quite a number of sticky situations. She thinks just because she is a Phoenix gifted with the powers of resurrection that her deaths are as meaningless as they are endless, but little does she know - everything, no matter how insignificant they may seem at the time, has a limit.

Aetheria: YES! For nearly four centuries after she helped defeat the plague created by the Throne of Tears by giving life to the Overseer's (Phoenix’s), Aetheria's well meaning actions would quickly come back around to bite her in the butt and she would soon find herself being captured, tortured, studied and imprisoned by her own creations for an unseeable future. Its honestly a miracle that after all that time kept locked in pitch blackness with her own self being the sole company she has ever known - minus the few passing scientists who ceaselessly poked and prodded at her trying to draw more of her magic out for harvest - that the dragon is still very much sane. All of it would come to an end however when a little scholar's curiosity makes them wander far too into the Runic dungeons and past the sealed off barrier she's been enslaved in and free them.

😢: Has one of their Pokemon ever died, and how?

Raewyn & Aetheria: Pokémon don't exist in their world here unfortunately, but they have lost many friends and lovers, as is the curse of immortality.

🧬: Tell me about your OCs' family problems, if they have any.

Raewyn: Living in a society that is solely focused on being the best you can ever be and then being ever greater than that, Raewyn has had plenty of conflicts with her family both when in service of the crown as a scholar and when she was a refugee on the run after betraying said “crown”. She never really understood why it was customary to trample the weak and worship the strong, something that is common practice for those who have been hand picked to serve the crown or have naturally been born into royalty.

Aetheria: Aetheria on the other hand has had minimal family problems. This isn’t due to the fact that she was hand chosen by the Entity of Dust to serve as its Goddess of Stars but just because of different familial and societal differences. The celestial dragons are far more relaxed and empathetic toward their own and the other species around them, having a deeper and more intimate connection with life and all of the world's creations; they - as a species - are rather peaceful by nature except when threatened.

✂️: Have they ever had an argument that shattered their relationship with someone close?

Raewyn: Most of the time the little Phoenix’s arguments are with the celestial dragon Aetheria. They often buttheads as Rae has a more optimistic and gentle view of the world while Aetheria has grown jaded and cold over her centuries of enslavement and torture. Rae is a pacifist and wants to save the world and right wrongs and always tries to see the good in people no matter how far gone they may be while Aetheria has only one set goal in mind - kill Genesis.

Aetheria: The most prominent argument Aetheria has ever had that completely shattered a relationship was with her own lover, Nakimera who now goes by the name Genesis. The argument was spurred on by Nakimera’s desire to achieve Godhood like her lover after she discovered the remains of the fallen and what was assumed to be the perished Entity of Tears. Nakimera wanted to try and revive the Entity in hopes that it would grant her the status of a God after she has been denied of such title again and again during the ceremonial selection ritual that is conducted every time a God falls into ruin, so both her and Aetheria could rule side by side for as long as they lived. This was something Aetheria was fully against as the Entity of Tears brings nothing but calamity and destruction in its wake. In an act of desperation and fueled by the maddening whispers of the Entity that spoke to Nakimera without Aetheria’ knowledge, promising her fame and all her heart desired - to finally be a God amongst men. Naki fled into the night in search of the Entity of Tears temple and attempted the ritual meant to revive it - only for the ceremony to backfire horribly. As soon as the Entity was awoken it immediately set its previous plans - that being the full eradication of the world and everything on it - back into motion. Quickly it set its sights on the knocked out and dying figure of Nakimera who lay bleeding out on his sacrificial chambers floors and it forced its way into her vessel like a moth drawn into a flame, taking over her and eradicating any and all traces of the former owner of the body in a heartbeat. And thus Genesis was reborn anew and with it the horrors that it would soon unleash back on to the world.

🫣: Tell me about a time when your OC has been truly terrified/horrified by something.

Raewyn: When she accidentally witnessed firsthand what happened to all the “Ungifted” children that got taken away from their parents once they failed to prove to the crown that they were not in fact “useless”. She was never meant to see that but she did and now she is on the run with a bounty on her head.

Aetheria: When Aetheria saw her lover Nakimera turned into the reborn Entity of Tears during the war with the Throne of Tears and she knew that she would ultimately have to kill her. She never did and that is something she will come to regret at a later date.

⚔️: Have they ever been in a fight against someone really dangerous?

Raewyn: Being a wanted woman on the run by multiple nations, the dangerous situations Rae seems to always find herself in are endless. The poor little birdy just can’t seem to catch a break.

Aetheria: The worst fight Aetheria has ever been in is when she sealed away her lover and the Entity of Tears for the second time. At the time during this fight no one really knew how to kill an Entity at all - they only knew how to “trap” it. For 6 years Aetheria continuously fought off all of the Thrones armies and forces while simultaneously devising a plan that would hopefully bring the Entity of Tears plans to a halt. What was this plan? It was simple really, lure the Entity back to its temple and tear it apart limb from limb until it could no longer regenerate itself. You see, for as all powerful the Entity’s of the world may be they are surprisingly helpless when in the general area around their domain and although they may be defeated in their domain they are far from “killed” as that requires and whole other set of steps that needs to be taken in order to achieve that outcome. What those steps may be - only the Entity’s know that. And so Aetheria and her army of Overseer’s (the Phoenix’s she created with her own lifeforce) was forced to tear her lover apart piece by piece, engaging in battle that seemingly had no end, spreading their blood, entralls, limbs and everything else over a span of about 3 football fields until nothing but a shambling corpse remained. Prideful, vain and blinded by an unquenchable fury was the Entity of Tears downfall and it only realized its mistake when it was far too late for it to be able to make a run for it once it noticed it was not able to finish the fight it started. Terrified the Entity had one last trick up its sleeve, in a final ditch effort to preserve what little of its life remained the Entity gathered up the last of its strength and sealed itself away within an unbreakable crystalized capsule that resembled a moth’s cocoon. At the same time it forcefully ejected the source of its powers - the Weeping Eyes - out into the world and scattered them into various unknown places where they buried themselves within the soil and grew dormant near the earth core to await the next inevitable revival of their master.

⏳: Has your OC ever been "too late" to do/say something, and it had serious consequences?

Raewyn: The first time Rae was too late was when she realized that her kingdom wasn’t so docile and friendly as they try to make themselves seem. They managed to take over nearly half of the world’s population with the help of the Throne of Tears aid until their tyrannical reign was brought to a sudden stop with Aetheria, Raewyn and the rebellion's aid. The next time was the third revival of the Entity of Tears.

Aetheria: She was too late to tell her lover Nakimera that she never had to join her in Godhood for her to always love and cherish her and that just being a normal, happy, healthy and nerdy doctor was enough for her. It would have always been enough for her. Unfortunately the Entity of Tears got to Naki first way before Aetheria ever had the chance to intervene and try to save her lover from her untimely fate.

🛡️: Have they ever failed to protect someone they love, and what happened?

Raewyn: Despite Rae’s difference with her family she has always loved them from the bottom of her heart. The Entity of Tears took advantage of this and tried to use them as leverage against Rae to try and gain access to the Entity of Dust domain so that it could destroy that which it despised above all else once and for all but it ended up killing them as soon as her family wasn’t useful at all to it anymore.

Aetheria: Nakimera will always be one of Aetheria’s biggest regrets. I am not going to spoil her other regret because that’s for me to know only~

🥊: Has your OC ever been betrayed, and how did it affect them?

Raewyn: Yes. Many, many, many times. It’s not to be unexpected considering how she’s on the run and is working with the rebellion. Being constantly on the run like this while also dealing with the third revival of the Tears Entity has put a massive strain on Rae’s mental state and also challenged her morals more times than she’d like to admit. She always smiles despite how worn down and defeated she may feel.

Aetheria: Only by Nakimera.

🧪: What is the most sick they have ever been?

Raewyn: When she was in her “Flightless” arc. For reasons unknown to everyone but Aetheria, Rae was a Phoenix born with tattered and useless wings. Had she not had an impressive and downright natural talent for magics that caught the crowns eye at such a young age, Rae would have met the same fate as so many other “Ungifted” children that came before her. This wouldn’t keep her from scrutiny however and she would have to always prove herself worthy of being in the crowns court. Rae would also be known as the “Flightless Phoenix” or “The Broken One”.

Aetheria: Aetheria can’t really get sick unless there’s some all powerful supernatural cause at play that quite literally forces her to be sick.

💣: Has your OC ever hurt someone precious to them by losing their temper?

Raewyn: Despite the claims that Phoenix’s are quick to temper and even harder to calm down, Rae goes against all stereotypes of her species. She’s naturally level headed and nice to all that approach her, finding comfort in the more welcoming and empathetic species of the world and tending to hang around those more than the others. But Rae has hurt someone by losing her temper when she was a kid and didn’t have full control over her powers. She was exhausted and overworked trying to become one of the top scholars on the crown which caused a flareup in her emotions and she nearly burned down the entire school building in a fit of rage and she scorched her professors back and nearly took off his wings with how hot her fire blazed that day.

Aetheria: She lost her temper on Nakimera and her impatience to be a God a lot of times and this unfortunately was what created a wedge in their relationship and drove Naki to the brink and confused by the miscommunication they endured in their fights as she felt like she had to become a God for Aetheria to love her again.

⛓️: When was a time that your OC felt truly, inescapably, hopelessly trapped?

Raewyn & Aetheria: This is hella spoilery and I’m not going to answer this one~ Sorry~

#oc #oc stuff #my ocs #original story #original character #story #my story #oc rp #rp #roleplay #loong #phoenix #dragons #mythology #folklore #magic #tragedy

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i-turn-characters-2-warrior-cats · 1 year ago

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Hello!

All you need to do is submit a character from the listed fandoms (if your character isn't on there, just ask!), and I'll give that character a warrior cat's name, backstory, and clan! Not art, as I'm not good at art. I usually do one request per day, and if I get an idea, I'll do an original idea.

WHAT I WILL DO

Character Requests

Elaboration

Headcanons

How they Would React

Small Writing Pieces

AUs of my AUs (EG: Insertcatnamehere if he was evil)

Multiple Animator Project Scripts

Concepts (EG: Titles if they were a book series)

Anything in this vein.

Consider this post a blanket permission to create works based off of these! (art, writing, animation, any of the sort). Just credit me and tell me, I want to see them.

You will never be annoying when you send me asks. I love receiving asks.

I don't care if it's problematic media. I support stealing works from bigoted creators! If you feel uncomfortable with asking for a character from something like Harry Potter, don't worry! I'll always have anon on, and I'll assume you're writing the character now!

I update around one character request per day, I try and get to elaboration requests once I see them, and if I have an idea for a character, I may end up adding them in! (If you have a different idea, just ask for an au of that character!)

Primary blog is at @frightnightindustries

MASTERLIST OF MASTERLISTS

FANDOMS YOU CAN SUBMIT

Over the Garden Wall

Gravity Falls

EverymanHYBRID

TribeTwelve

The Amazing World of Gumball

Transformers Beast Wars

Skyrim

QSMP

DSMP

Wings of Fire

Temmeraire

Cattails

Pokemon Scarlet/Violet, Legends Arceus, X/Y, and Sword/Shield human characters, and the entire national dex

Inscryption

Cult of the Lamb

Deltarune

Undertale

Paper's Please

Henry Stickmin

Dark Deception

FNAF

House

Minecraft

The Incredibles

Generation Loss

Pajama Sam

Peggle

The Owl House

Amphibia

Killer Frequency

The Backrooms

SCP

Trevor Henderson

Welcome Home

Harry Potter

Hannibal

REDACTEDsmp

Saw

The Stanley Parable

Who Framed Rodger Rabbit

MLP: Friendship is Magic

Kaboodle SMP

Don't Hug Me I'm Scared

The Amazing Digital Circus

Godzilla (This includes the entire franchise)

Batman

The Magnus Archives

Stardew Valley

Keeper of the Lost Cities

#warrior cats

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iguessweallcrazyithinktho · 4 years ago

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MWAH

Summary: thinking about laying in bed with Chris and ur little bubba whose sitting or ur chest and bubba is obsessed with kissys and keeps leaning in to kiss you and making a really exaggerated “MWAH” sound and Chris's looking at you guys like🥰🥰 because he’s so in love with y’all but also 😔😔 bc he wants kissys too - not my concept, but I love this to much

Warning: Fluff

Title: MWAH

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader, dad! Chris Evans

Masterlist | request closed momentarily

Please don't post any of my content anywhere else without my permission. Comments and reblogs welcome!

Lady and the tramp was playing on the TV perched over the fireplace. The sound of wood cracking filled the, and the glow of orange and red from the fire filled the room.

Your little one Franklin was laying on your chest, he's little hand gripping your shirt in a fist as he watched the screen. It was a calming day. Chris was home all day, giving you and Franklin cuddles, eating lots of snacks and watching a few movies. It was a great day, and watching lady and the tramp was a good way to end it.

"Mommy." You looked down at Franklin. "Yes bub?" He smiled at you before leaning in and placing a kiss on your lips. "Mwah." He chuckled, pulling away from you. You smiled at him, "what was that for?" He laughed, placing his hand on your cheek, he leaned in once again kissing you. This time you laughed, kissing his little nose. "You like kisses?" He nodded, still cheesing widely.

You turned to Chris, he was looking at you both with a smile on his face. "You two are too much." He leaned over and was going to kiss you but Franklin beat him to it, Chris pouted.

"Mwah." He said loudly. You chuckled, tickling his side. He squealed, giving you his sweet laugh. "Momma?." You looked down at him, "yes sweetheart?"

"I wove you." You felt your heart expand twice it's size when you heard his words. "Oh baby I love you too." You kissed him on the nose again.

"Do you love me Franklin?" Chris asked. You and Franklin turned to Chris. Franklin nodded, "yes." He leaned over to Chris, puckering his lips. Chris chuckled softly before giving him a quick kiss. "Mwah."

After sharing a few more kisses it was time for Franklin to go night night.

You and Chris got him ready for bed, changing him into his jammies, and brushing his teeth before tucking him into his toddler bed.

"Alright, you get some sleep Buddy." You and Chris were about to walk out of the room until Franklin called you both back.

"Mommy, daddy." You turned around, "yes baby?"

"Kissy." He was so innocent as he said that. You and Chris turned to each other laughing. "Okay, you can have kisses."

You and Chris walked back over to him giving him kisses. With each kiss he said mwah like he always does and laughed. You and Chris definitely loved him more than the world itself.

"Okay bubba you gotta go to bed." Franklin pouted as you and Chris walked to the door. Chris didn't like hearing the little whimper that left his lips. "How about you come go night night with me and mommy?"

Franklin gasped and nodded. He never got to sleep with you and Chris so this was big. He kicked off the blanket and made his way to you two. He took both of your hands and you all walked to Chris and your shared room.

You all climbed in bed. Franklin right in the middle. He snuggled into Chris and you, stealing your warmth. You all fell asleep in each other's embrace. It was a perfect day, and you didn't want it any other way.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭ 。.・

@badbo1-evans @princess-evans-addict @patzammit @bval-1 @irespostthingsiwanttoseelater @raveviolet @rynabarnesrogers-reading @enn-j @london-dreamer71 @harrysthiccthighss @captainamerica-is-bae @la-cey @weirdowithnobeardo @lovepeacefood @baby-i-am-fireproof @denisemarieangelina @evans713 @smyfmj @thereisa8ella @jillanaholland @rororo06 @briannab1234 @keiva1000 @ughitsnic @kianifan @adriannajackson @boojack73 @marvelnaturalock @notyourtypicalrose @dummiesshort @onetwo3000

#chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans imagines #chris evans x plus size reader #chris evans imagine #chris evans x black reader #dad! Chris #dad! Chris Evans

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peachyteabuck · 4 years ago

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a king is first a man [snippet]

summary: thor’s fighting a double-fronted war, desperately attempting to quell the flames of a revolution, and is grappling with his father’s long-since murder on the battlefield all those years ago. somehow, none of that compares to the trouble of his new queen.

this is a commission for @empyreanwritings who commissioned a snippet from the full work.

pairing: thor odinson x reader

words: 2507

trigger warnings: medieval au i did very little research for, brat taming that includes spanking as a punishment, allusions to breeding kink, angst related to social position if you squint.

notes: major credit to @spacelabrathor for allowing me to steal this concept and write a full fic for it. she’s legit the best and i can’t thank her enough for putting up with me - both in relation to this fic and the rest of our friendship. she’s legit THE shit and deserves everything.

ask box / masterlist / commission info / ko-fi

She walks with the grace one would expect of someone like her: educated, precise, bored. Her back is straight as an arrow, feet silent, smile barely touching her cheeks as she hangs her head in feigned sorrow. In the dim lighting of the “secret” (known only to the highest of servants, the king himself, and, apparently, her) hallway she looks kind, mournful. If Thor did not know better, he might have offered his regards, asked if there was anything he could do to bring one of those toothy grins back to her bright face.

Unfortunately, Thor does know better. He knows as much about her as he does his greatest enemy – what they teach all the generals to learn before undertaking something serious as war: motivations, desired outcome, what leverage she holds over the throne and anyone dumb enough to occupy it. He knows what she thinks, why she thinks it, what she thinks will happen.

Despite this plethora of knowledge and years of military training and etiquette classes and warning from those he trusts the most, Thor loses himself as he backs her into the wall, never touching her but commanding the space between them with precision – just as he yields a sword during battle.

That’s how his heart feels, too, pounding in his chest as if his ribs were the bars separating him from his captor. He can feel heat course through his body, his hands flexing as flint strikes steel in each of his veins. He wonders, for a brief moment, if he is dying – if she had poisoned him just to fall into the very seat she claimed she loathed. No – he quickly realizes. That would be too easy. If she were to kill him, were to stop his heart or slit his throat or plunge his father’s sword into his chest, then were would be no game for her to play; there would be no place for her lightning to strike whenever she wished. She – Gods forbid – would be saddled with responsibility, something her childish bones could not handle. Like a house with no foundation she’d crumble, curling in on herself as servants and soldiers and saddle hands all pried for her attention.

“What?” she questions, arms folded across her chest. Her brow is furrowed, jaw set as she breaks Thor’s thoughts and wretches him back to the moment – back to her. It’s always her, isn’t it? Always has to be her, ever since she arrived on that carriage and turned her nose up at him and refused to kiss the family ring.

“You know what,” he snarls back at her, teeth bared as he leans in close enough to smell whatever the chambermaids had placed in her morning bath. Yesterday it was lavender – light and airy as she explored the castle as if she was a ghost peering through a window. Today was something stronger, something that bites at Thor’s nostrils just as she bites at his patience. “You know you are not supposed to attend meetings of a royal nature unless specifically given permission.”

Thor watches her carefully, watches as she doesn’t even flinch as she lets out a small laugh, rolling her eyes before returning the king’s gaze. It’s odd to see someone like her – someone so young – look back at him with such fire, determination. It had taken him years to reach that level of confidence, to develop the will to stand up to someone as powerful as himself. He can’t tell if he’s furious or impressed or both. Either way, he refuses to let her get the best of him.

Thor grabs her by the back of her neck, quickly flipping her around so her cheek is pressed against the smooth, cold stone, her hands pressed against the wall near her sides.

“If you want to act like a child-“ Thor hisses as each hand pins one of her wrists. “I am going to treat you like one.

The second she’s picked up and tossed over his one of his broad shoulder, she does her best to contort an exit for herself, thrashing and kicking like a cat that had been plunged into a freezing river. Thor, though, maneuvers her as if she was some inert object he was placing on a newly dusted shelf, keeping her wrists pinned behind her back and avoiding the kick of her heel as he carries her into the large chambers they now – whether she liked it or not - share. When he steps through the threshold, he ignores her cries for a moment longer, taking in the scent of her that had filled the room as he notices mused linen bedsheets and pillows strewn across the room, despite knowing it had been made by ever-attending servants when she had gotten up from her midday nap.

Had she been touching herself before she interrupted Thor’s meeting with the council? Had she plunged three fingers into her dripping center, chasing the world’s sweetest pleasure? Had she thought of her husband while she gushed over her hand? Had she whispered his name so the servants would not hear her shameful lust, or had she screamed it – hoping one of them would call upon him to make her stop? Did she think that they thought he had that much power over her?

Thor shakes his head, returning to his original mission. The king smoothly navigates the large room while making sure his bride doesn’t knock anything over (she had ordered many a plate of treats while she was alone, barely picking at any of them, even as the carts the servants placed them on filled the room). Like the minotaur in the maze, he carries her with ease. In the back of her mind she can’t help but admire that – as if he can predict her every physical movement with precision, even before she knows exactly what her flailing limbs plan to do.

Without warning, she’s dropped onto the center of the large bed. She sees her chance of escape, but her hope is quickly squashed when Thor grunts as he moves to pin her down, grabbing both of her wrists in one of his large, war-bitten hands. Something inside her can’t help but flutter as he manhandles her into the position Thor believes befits her behavior, one where he sits at the edge of the bed while her stomach is laid upon his muscular thighs. Her thin dress is torn without so much as a shrieking RRIIIIIPPP – as if even the fabric is surprised how efficiently it is ripped off the newly-appointed queen’s body. It sends a shiver down her spine, the knowledge of the king’s strength and size rusty in its age but easily shined with each exercise of Thor’s power.

“All you brats are the fucking same,” he growls through grit teeth as his large hands lay sharp slaps over her thin underclothes, preparing her for the punishment to come. “You push and you push and you get what’s coming for you and then you act as if you’re innocent.”

The queen gulps, still attempting to free her hands while her legs kick. Thor just laughs at her, pushing her wrists harder into the small of her back as he continues to smack her plump ass.

“Keep trying, my little morning dove,” the nickname given to her by the driver of the carriage she had road in on all those days before falls from his lips like blood after a swift kick to the face, pooling onto her back and in her center. “Eventually you’ll run out of fight and then this will go much easier.”

She huffs, dramatically yelling as the last of her fabric protection is stolen from her, exposing her to hot air in the room. “What on Earth are you talking about!? I didn’t do anything!”

Thor just snorts, leaving a few more smacks against her bare flesh. “This little innocent act you’ve been playing up all these years? It isn’t going to work on me.”

She scoffs, her next inhale sharp as his favorite battle sword with one final slap being laid against her. “I…I-“

The king just laughs deep in his chest, his hand moving from the round of her ass to between her now-trembling legs. Each ounce of golden defiance that once replaced the blood in her veins seemed to disperse as he touches her there, gathering the slick that dripped onto his pants. Suddenly, the clothing feels much tighter than before (though, whether it had occurred in that instant alone was unlikely) as he watched the pads of his wettened fingers reflect the torches along the wall. His face heats as the corners of his lips turn up into a smile – though he suspects the fires are not to blame.

“You took your retribution well,” he tells her, letting go of her now limp wrists to rub at the heated skin. She moans, pressing her face into the thickest gathering of blankets her limited movement grants her, last taste of insolence drying on her tongue. “I think I should show you what those who behave are rewarded with.”

She’s unable to process his words before she’s flipped again – Thor now on his feet while she remains on the bed, though now flat on her back. She’s completely bare but finds no shame in her exposure, watching her husband with fevered attention as he rips his shirt from his body.

Thor’s barely able to pull his linen pants under his ass before she’s begging for him, mumbling something that falls between a prayer and a spell to beckon the king closer to her – words low and desperate as they’re spoken into the heated air between them. He’s so hard it hurts, like his shoulder after he gets a newly weighted sword or his calves when he rides a new horse. It’s this simmering thing inside of him, water in a cauldron close to boiling but not quite there; his whole being existing on the precipice of something he can’t quite identify.

It’s not as if he has the time for introspection, though, because the second the air hits the skin of his hardened cock and she’s grabbing at him and pulling him to her, inside of her and for the first time since he was considered too young to be king his mind is-

Blank.

His mind is blank with a white-hot fire that blinds him as his guttural moans form a symphony with hers. Neither of them speak, neither of them can, brains preoccupied with their bodies and their bodies preoccupied with each other. It feels like battle almost, some carnal instinct commanding his every move while whatever consciousness keeps him tethered to the present surrenders itself to some orgiastic impulse. For the first time in a long time the monarch feels himself lose control as his hands roam her heated skin, as his war-torn palms feels the supple flesh of her chest and pinch at her pert nipples.

She inhales sharply at the small pinch of pain, the way she clenches around him encouraging him to continue.

“Oh!” she moans, loud and unabashed.

Thor had not taken a woman in a long while, too busy with his duties as king. He had moved bedrooms, in fact, since the last time he’d bed anyone, and had no idea whether the architecture granted him privacy from the staff. However, just as you practically waltzed into his highly contentious meeting, Thor allows himself to grunt and roar and curse without pity for the ears of those within the rest of the large castle.

One of his hands plants itself in the sheets, using it for balance as the other moves to rub at the most sensitive part of her. He revels in her screams of pleasure, in her pleas for him not to stop don’t stop don’t stop it’s yours take it please take it please!

A sense of pride swells in Thor’s chest, blossoming with the soil of watching her switch from rebellion to subservience with him having to do so little in such a short period of time.

Tightening in his abdomen distracts him from his preening, hips chasing the same peak she seems to be close to.

Thor tries to piece himself together enough to ask a question he wishes he didn’t have to. “Where do y-“

“Inside of me!” she immediately gasps, voice strained and desperate. “Please!”

Just as he wishes she would, he does exactly as he is told with nearly no hesitation – unloading inside of her just as she screams with her own release.

If the palace occupants could not hear them before, they surely heard the married couple then as they both shouted in vulgar unison. Deep and animalistic and wonderful, they both pant as they fall into a breathless kiss.

Her high recedes like the lake that runs through the kingdom at the beginning of dry season – slow and deliberate and leaving her with a dry mouth. She stares at the ceiling, noticing for the first time that a map of the kingdom has been painted there. It seems, just as she views the room, that she sees the rest of the world with a sharper eye; she wonders that if she were to be escorted outside by one of those ghastly ladies in waiting outside, she would see the night sky with more precision than ever before. If she could sift through the darkness, would she be able to draw the stars? If she were to look back down to Earth and attempt to traverse the forest, could she watch the fauna as they walked through the pitch black?

“Drink this,” Thor’s gruff voice cuts through the thick fog in her brain, handing her one of those obnoxious chalices. The metal and jewels adorning it are cooled by the chilled water inside of it, and she wonders how it stayed so cold despite the heat in the room. “You need to keep a clear head.”

She gives a little snort as she gulps the water down, small droplets spilling from her lips and down between her breasts. It takes all of the king’s minute willpower not to drink that down, too. “Why would I need that?”

Thor…does not have an adequate answer to that, at least one he can articulate. There’s a sense of dread that settles into his gut, winds its way through his gut and makes him feel queasy. He wonders if she hates Asgard just as her mother presumably hates his new wife’s home kingdom, if Thor had done something so devastatingly wrong to this poor young woman and the both of them would have to live in the choice forever.

“You know, if you’re going to spiral each time I say something like that, I’m going to need to behead you,” she jokes as she places the chalice back in Thor’s hands. Her arms shake just a little as she does so.

It takes a long while for the man to respond.

#a king is first a man #king thor #thor x reader #thor odinson x reader #cee tag #lukis does commissions #lukis writes stuff

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alarawriting · 5 years ago

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52 Project #2: Changeling

Inspired by this story. Also by a number of well-known myths, but the central concept comes from @magic-and-moonlit-wings‘s story.

This falls into the category I call “altered tales”, which are retellings of fairy and folk tales and myths that are... not quite canonical.

***

Surely you have heard a similar tale before, of the mother who went to the crossroads by the light of the moon, pulling a wagon and carrying her changeling babe, to demand the return of her own child.

By the light of the moon she went to the crossroads, and she called out that the Faeries had stolen a thing from her, and that she demanded to see the King of the Faeries about the matter. And then, in the moment of an eyeblink, the grove she stood beside was full of faeries, some flying, some in trees, some standing, and all were very, very beautiful, but some were very, very strange. The King was the most beautiful, looking far too young to be the ancient creature he was, with black and golden hair long and wild on his head, and pale skin, and endlessly deep black eyes. “You claim that Faeries have taken a thing from you, but we never take without giving fair recompense. Are you calling us dishonorable?”

“Whether you considered what you left me fair recompense or not, you never asked me if I wanted to make the trade,” the mother said, and presented the changeling child. “You left this child in the crib my husband and I built for our babe, the one I carried in my body and birthed from my loins, and never did you ask me if I would take this one in trade for the one I spent blood on to bring to the world. You made the trade without asking me if this was fair recompense, or if I was willing to trade at all.” Then she laid the changeling in its swaddling down in the wagon, and stared a challenge at the King.

The King scowled, for the mother knew the laws. Faeries are bound to trade fairly. They will cheat if they can and take what they can and they will lie and cast glamours to make an item of trade look to be of more worth than it is, but when summoned by one they have tried to cheat, one who knows their laws, they must make things right. “Very well, child of Eve, we will return to you your babe.”

A bassinette was brought forward with a sleeping babe within. The mother removed from under her skirts a small bag, and in the bag was a small bottle, and in the small bottle there was a tincture of silver. She uncorked the small bottle and tipped it back into her eye, in front of the Faerie Court, so they would all see that she would not be fooled by glamours. Then she looked upon the bassinette with the untouched eye closed. “Yes. I see clearly, this is my child.” She lifted the bassinette and placed it in the wagon. “You have returned what you took unfairly, so I will take my leave now,” she said, because you cannot thank Faeries. They consider it very rude.

“Wait,” the King said. Now he was glaring. “Do you think we deserve no fair recompense? Return to us what we paid you.”

The mother raised her eyebrows. “Paid me? You paid me nothing, for I made no trade. You gave me no recompense, for I never agreed to sell my child. Instead you gifted me a babe, without conditions, on the night you stole my own. Now both of them are my children.”

Storm clouds gathered over the grove as the Faeries chattered to each other about the insolence of the human woman. “You cannot have it both ways! Either the child we gave you was fair recompense in trade for your babe, or you want your child back and are bound to return ours!”

The mother’s eyes were very hard. “You threw your child away. You left your babe to a human woman, knowing that humans sometimes burn changelings with iron to tell if they are human or not, knowing that humans have burnt and drowned changeling children. You did not ask my permission, so you made no trade at all. You stole from me at the same time as you discarded something you considered worthless. If you throw your trash in my yard, it is mine. It’s not payment for stealing my hen’s eggs or my apples to give me trash you care nought for, without my permission or acquiescence to the trade.”

The changeling spoke in a trembling voice. “My lord, you told me I was banished to the human world, to play the role of a human child. You never said I was of value; you only meant to trick my new mother into thinking me to be her own babe.”

“You are my own babe, for the faeries abandoned you to me, and I adopted you,” the mother said. “That makes you my own, just as much as the one who came from my loins is my own. You will be sisters and twins together and you will both be mine.”

“You think to make demands of the Faerie King?” the King demanded. “Who do you think you are?”

“I am a mother, and a woman. No more and no less. And I will not leave this place without both of my children – the one you stole and the one you discarded.”

“I do not think you will,” the King said, and sneered. “For we do not interpret the law the same way as you do. By our interpretation, you are attempting to gain something for nothing.”

“For nothing?” the mother snapped. “I have fed this babe milk from my own breast. I have warmed her with blankets I wove myself, or the blankets my mother and grandmother wove for my birth, that they gave to me. I have paid for this discarded babe by caring for her when you did not.”

“But you have paid us nothing,” the King said.

“Why should I pay anything to one who steals from me and leaves something he believes worthless in trade for it?” She softened. “But, I can offer you a gift. Even though you discarded a babe you cared nothing for and thought to be garbage and left it in my home for me to care for, I find value in her, and I can give a gift to return value for what has worth to me, even if it had no worth to you when you threw it away.”

“What gift can you offer to Faeries?” The King stood, and the clouds above became thunderclouds, as his brows drew close with his anger.

“Each year, on this night, so long as I live and am hale and hearty enough to make the journey and to speak and tell, I will give you a story. If I am giving birth, or I am ill, or one of my children is and I must care for them, or if I am trapped away from home and cannot make the date, I will return within the month with three stories to pay for the delay. In exchange, I will take home the babe from my womb and the babe you left in my home, and you will trouble neither of them again.”

“I have a different thought,” the King said. “Why not a challenge, to determine which of us is right? We pick a contest, a champion of the Faeries against you, and if you win, you leave here with two babes, but if you lose, both shall stay with us, and you as well.”

“As the one who is being challenged, then, do I have the right to choose the contest?” the mother asked.

“Yes, of course you do.”

From within her skirts the mother drew a cast iron cooking pan. “Then I choose a contest of skill at cooking,” she said. “I have hen’s eggs in my right pocket, here, and I will build a fire and cook them, in this pan. Your champion will also cook eggs, in a pan, on a fire, without magic or glamour, else it would be no contest of cooking skill. Whichever of us cooks the most delicious eggs shall be the winner.”

Now the Faeries chattered in fear, and even the King drew back, for iron is inimical to Faeries, and if the mother used it as a weapon, she could harm or even kill the faeries in the grove. “No,” the King said. “No Faerie can touch an iron cooking pan as humans do.”

“Then you forfeit the challenge to me, and take my original offer, of the stories,” the mother said.

“Before we accept such an offer, let us hear one of your stories. We will judge whether they will be worth two children.”

“That is not what’s at stake,” the mother said. “You will judge whether they will be worth accepting my interpretation of your law, where a thing thrown away cannot be considered fair trade in any way for a thing stolen without permission.”

“Very well,” the King said. “Tell your story, and if we judge it of worth, we will accept your interpretation of the law and let you leave here with two babes.”

And so the mother told this story:

Surely you have heard a similar tale before, of a musician who descended to the Underworld to sing to the Devil and free a loved one.

It happened many years ago that a woman became well known as a troubadour throughout the kingdom, for her singing voice was beautiful beyond compare and she played the flute and the lyre so sweetly one would think her an Angel descended from heaven. But she was no angel. This woman with the beautiful voice and the wondrous skill at playing music was no better than she should be, and she lived the life of any troubadour – drinking, gambling the coin she earned with her music, and spending her nights in the beds of men, as she pleased.

As one would expect, in the fullness of time, she came to be with child. And while she tried to live up to a mother’s responsibilities, old habits are hard to break. No sooner was her babe weaned than she was back to her old ways. She loved her little daughter greatly, but she was not the sort of woman who was good at supervising a child. And so on the night before the little one was to take her first Confession and then Communion, the mother was drinking with her friends, and playing cards, and never noticed that her daughter had left their home to go down to the stream… until they found the girl’s body caught in the reeds and drowned, the next morning.

In grief the woman screamed, and tore at herself with her nails, for she knew that her daughter being old enough to take Communion, but not having had Confession yet, meant that she was old enough that while her original sins were washed away with her baptism, she had accumulated enough sin to go to Purgatory, rather than to Heaven with our Lord and Savior. Her daughter’s eternal soul would never know the glory of God, and it was her own fault.

So she conceived of a plan to go to Hell and bargain with the Devil for the return of her daughter.

What many priests do not tell you is that Purgatory is itself a ring of Hell, the uppermost one. It is the only ring one can be freed from. Prayers for the souls in Purgatory eventually lighten their burden of sin enough that they can go on to Heaven, but it can take hundreds of years, and the prayers of a holy woman are more valuable than the prayers of a woman who lives a life of vice and sin. The musician feared that her daughter would be damned to Purgatory for the length of her own life, or perhaps forever, with no one holy to pray for her. Instead, she would go to the Underworld, to Hell, and offer the Devil a bargain: she would sing and play for him if he would free her daughter.

It is not hard for a woman of loose virtue to find her way to Hell. More difficult when alive, perhaps, but not impossible. The musician brought her pipe and lute through the gates, where she was challenged by a ferocious hellhound with three heads, but she played a sweet lullaby and the dog calmed and went to sleep at her feet.

She found her way to the capital city of Hell, Dis, and presented herself to the court of Lucifer Morningstar, else called Satan, the Adversary of God.

“Why are you here, human woman?” Satan asked. “You’ll be here soon enough with the life you lead, but you’re still of the living, here and now. You don’t belong in Hell… yet.”

“I’ve come to sing for the return of my daughter,” the musician said.

Satan looked down on her, his face stern. “What makes you think you can win your daughter back? Death is final. You were careless and let her go to the stream unsupervised, and now your daughter is dead. What else did you expect?”

“I failed as a mother and I know that,” the musician said. “But I promise you, if you listen to me play, you won’t regret it. I’m the best musician on Earth.”

“I have all of the best musicians that ever were on Earth, before they died; are you so arrogant to think you are better than all of them?” Satan asked.

“Yes,” she said.

And then Satan laughed, for he loves the human sin of pride like none other. “Oh, very well! Entertain me,” he said.

And so she played. Now, I am no musician nor even a singer, to try to replicate her song, so I will just tell you what she sang. She sang a song of the Virgin Mary holding her baby Son, weeping because the angels had told her what His future held, in her dreams, and the love she felt for her Baby overwhelming her and bringing her to the depths of grief, crying out against a God who could be so cruel as to sacrifice His only Son someday.

Against his will, Satan was moved by the song. Before he was Satan the Adversary, he was once Lucifer, beloved of God, and the Virgin crying out against God’s plan woke the part of his heart that remembered being God’s beloved son himself… made, not begotten, as all of us are, but God’s son nonetheless, and the outrage he himself felt over God’s plan in the time before he turned against it, and against God. And as a former angel, even fallen, he longs for the memory of the beautiful music of the heavens, so much so that he is famous for appreciating good music.

When her song had ended, the musician bowed. Satan, hiding how much the song had moved him, said gruffly, “Very well, you’ve proven your skill, and it’s not as if I won’t have you eventually. The soul of a child in Purgatory isn’t worth very much to me… not so much as the guarantee that you will be here with me when your time comes.” He smiled thinly at her. “Do you pledge your eternal soul to me, then?”

“As you said, Lord Satan, I am probably destined for your halls anyway,” the musician said, “but when the time comes, I won’t seek to fight you or confess my sins and fling myself on God’s mercy, if you give me back my child now.”

“Go out the gates of Dis,” Satan instructed. “Walk out through the ring of Purgatory, out toward the gates of Hell, and pass through them. Follow the path upward through the mountain, in darkness, without torch or lantern to light your way. Your daughter will follow behind you, but do not look back until the sun shines on the both of you once again, or she will fall back into Purgatory and you will never see her again.”

“She is my baby,” the musician objected. “I should carry her.”

Satan chuckled. “She’s no babe in arms; she was about to take her first Communion when she died. You don’t need to carry her. She can walk.”

And so the musician left Dis, and passed out through Purgatory as she was instructed, and did not look back. Purgatory is a place of fog, and ghosts. The musician kept thinking she saw someone she knew appear in the fog, but she didn’t dare to turn and look, lest the Devil call that looking back, for she knew he would try to trick her. Nothing exists in Purgatory but what its denizens can imagine, and being shades in Limbo, they have little imagination. In that dreary place, they slowly forget their memories of their lives on Earth, and become nothing more than hollow shades, drifting patterns that were once a living soul. The musician encountered nothing as she traveled; no one spoke, no footfall resounded in that place of emptiness and silence.

She reached the gates of hell and began to walk up the path through the mountain that conceals the gate to Hell. When she had come down this way, she had carried a torch for light, but Satan had told her she must not carry light on her way back. So she traveled up the path, one hand trailing on the cave wall so she would not lose her way or her footing, in complete darkness. And still she heard no sound, no footfall or whisper of breath, from behind her.

Satan has tricked me, she thought. There’s no one behind me. My daughter is still in Purgatory. Her fear and paranoia grew, and she longed to look behind and tell for sure… but she knew she had been told she could not look back until the sun shined on her and her daughter again. It’s a trick to make me look, she told herself, over and over. She’s there, but she won’t be if I look. And if she’s not, if Satan lied, I’ll go back down and wake the dead with my music until he’s forced to return her to me in truth. Besides, how would she be able to see the shade of her daughter in this darkness?

She traveled upward in darkness, and it seemed that the path went on and on, far longer than it had taken her to travel down. It’s a trick, Satan will never let me out into the sunshine. I’m dead already and my punishment is to walk this dark path upward forever, she thought. But what choice did she have? If she gave up and returned down the path, she would surely be trapped in Hell, and her daughter in Purgatory. Of course it seems longer; it’s dark and it’s uphill, she told herself, over and over. And it’s always easier to descend to Hell than to rise up from it. What else should I expect?

But finally, after what seemed like days of travel, she saw the light of the sun up ahead. She quickened her pace, though her legs burned from the long journey, knowing that as soon as she was within the light of the sun, she would be able to behold her daughter – or know if she had been tricked. “Only a little ways longer, my baby,” she crooned to the child she hoped was behind her. “Just a few more steps, and we’ll be in the light.”

And then she was at the mouth of the cave, and the sunlight shone down on the land right outside. She bounded out of the cave, and spun to behold her daughter—

--whose shade was not yet clear of the cave, not yet within the sunlight. She saw a look of anguish on her child’s face, saw her lips form the cry “Mama!”… but there was no sound, and then her daughter’s image faded back into the darkness.

“No!” the mother cried, and ran back into the cave to try to touch her daughter, to catch her before she disappeared completely… but by the time she was in the cave, her daughter was nowhere in sight.

She screamed in rage and grief. And then she marched back down the path again, without a torch, in the darkness, to find her daughter.

Though she was foolish in her recklessness, she knew better than to think she could find her daughter in the fog of Purgatory on her own. So she marched back into Dis and confronted Satan again. “You tricked me!”

Satan shrugged. “I gave you clear rules. You broke them. There’s nothing I can do.”

The musician narrowed her eyes. “You, the original rebel, must follow rules? Are you master here or not? Do you still have to obey rules imposed by your Father, or are you your own being?”

Satan’s face darkened with fury. “How dare you?!”

“What more can you do to me? Trap me in Hell? I’ll be here anyway. Take my daughter from me? Oh, you already did that!” She poked a finger at him. “You can choose to break your own rules, if you like. They’re your rules. You made them; you can choose not to follow them, if you wish.”

“Very well, then. I choose to follow them. You were told what you needed to do to save your daughter from Purgatory and restore her to life, and you didn’t do it. Why should I break my own rules for one who couldn’t be bothered to follow my instructions?”

“Because if you don’t, I will wake the dead and raise them up against you,” the musician said. “Dis is right outside Purgatory and your demons do not go there. They’re too busy tormenting the truly damned.”

Satan sneered. “I don’t fear a mortal musician, woman. Many, many musicians reside within Hell and Purgatory. What makes you so much more than they are?”

“Because I am alive. And because I am a mother, fighting for my daughter,” the musician said, and began to play.

You have never heard music like this, o Faerie King! In her hands, the lyre screamed her fury, and the song she belted out was louder than anyone would imagine a mortal voice could sing. As I’ve said, I am no musician, so I cannot sing or play her song for you, but I can tell you of it. It was a song of purest rage, that mortals must die, that we are all of us condemned for a choice made so long before we were born, that we have the freedom to sin and that Hell even exists. She sang her anger at the concept of death, and the shades in Purgatory heard her song, and it awakened their memories of life, their own anger at their deaths, at themselves for being sinners and God for allowing them the freedom to sin and the Devil and his minions for keeping them there in Purgatory. Their imaginations responded, and shaped Purgatory to be what they wanted. Those who’d been musicians in life took up their own instruments and joined the mother in her song. Those who’d been warriors took up swords and shields, daggers and bows with quivers of arrows.

And Satan saw that the dead were responding to the mother’s song, and feared that she could lead them against Dis and overthrow his rule, or that she could lead them out of Purgatory and up the mountain again and out into the land of the living, where the presence of such terrifying shades would surely drive the frightened living into the arms of God. “Take your daughter and go! You daughter of a dog and a whore, know this; I am taking from you your death. Never will you come here to Hell again, nor to Heaven, no matter how you should plead with The One Whose Name I will not speak. Wander the Earth forever and never know rest, and call yourself happy for winning back your daughter’s life… but she will die again, eventually, as all mortals do, and you will be parted from her forever then!”

“I can live with that,” the musician said, and left Hell.

And this time, when she crossed the boundary into sunlight, she waited until she heard her child’s voice, until she felt the touch of a small hand on her skirts once more, before she turned and scooped her daughter into her arms, and wept like a babe herself.

***

The mother of the two babes bowed as her story finished. “That is the end of my tale,” she said. “Does it suffice to allow me passage back home with both my babes, Your Majesty?”

“Where is that woman today?” the King asked.

The mother shrugged. “That tale, I don’t know. The last I heard, she was headed to the town of Hamelin. She had heard that the priests of that town, rather than being the holy men they should be, were corrupted by the lusts of the flesh, and misuse children for dark purpose, and the elders of the town allowed it. But I do not know what happened then, nor where she is now.”

“Find her, and bring her to us, and we will consider your debt paid in full,” the King said. “Every seven years we must pay a tithe of our people to Hell. A musician who can wake the dead and terrify the Devil might free us from our terrible burden.”

“If I see her, I will ask her to come to you,” the mother said, “and if I hear tales of her, I will bring them to you at the appointed time.”

“And if you have no tale of her, you will pay us with a different story,” the King said.

“Indeed I will. So do we have a bargain, Faerie King?”

“We do,” the King said. “Go from this place, human woman. Take both your children.”

On the way home, the changeling child said, “Mother, I want to be baptized tomorrow. I wish to have an immortal soul like you and my sister.”

“If you can want a soul, you have one,” the mother said. “And you need no baptism; you do not carry the taint of original sin as humans do. But if you want to be baptized to acknowledge your savior as Lord Jesus Christ, I will do so, but it will most likely take from you all of your supernatural memories, and bind you in the form of a human child.”

“That is what I want,” the changeling said. “You bargained for me, to be my mother and to love me and care for me. All I want is to be your babe in arms in return.”

“Then that is what we’ll do,” the mother said.

“But before that, can you tell me… you have some connection to the musician in the story, don’t you, Mother? Who is she to you?”

“She is your grandmother,” the mother said, smiling. “I am the child she rescued from Hell. The Faerie King should have known better than to threaten me. I have none of my mother’s gift for music, but I have never forgotten that my mother challenged the Devil for me, and won. How could I do any less for my own children?”

And then the babe born human woke and began to fuss. The mother pulled the wagon that carried them to a meadow, and sat on the grass with them, her breasts bared to feed both, as she watched the sun rise.

#52 project #alara original writing #altered tales #changelings #deal with the devil

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duhragonball · 3 years ago

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[FIC] Luffa: The Legendary Super Saiyan (154/?)

Disclaimer: This story features characters and concepts based on Dragon Ball, which is a trademark of Bird Studio/Shueisha and Toei Animation. This is an unauthorized work, and no profit is being made on this work by me. This story is copyright of me. Download if you like, but please don’t archive it without my permission. Don’t be shy.

Continuity Note: This story takes place about 1000 years before 66 years after the events of Dragon Ball Z.

Time Patrol. When you’re here, you’re family.

[28 February, Age 850. Toki Toki City.]

The overseer of time itself was Chronoa, the Supreme Kai of Time. Her headquarters was a strange realm known as Toki Toki City, which housed the Time Nest, a habitat for Tokitoki, a bird-like creature of great cosmic significance. Within the Time Nest stood the Time Vault, a stone fortress which housed the Scroll of Eternity. Luffa recognized the atrium of the Time Vault immediately. The first thing she saw when she materialized was the large octagonal table in the center of the room. There was a casserole dish of lasagna sitting on it. Luffa had left it there before she departed for her mission, and now it was half-empty. A pair of plates and forks were lying beside the meal, both stained with sauce and crumbs.

"Excellent job," said Trunks, who was standing to her left.

"The mission, or the lasagna?" Luffa asked. She wanted to lighten the mood, but she had taken a lot of damage, and now that the battle was over, she found it difficult to remain standing.

"Both," Trunks said. He pulled one of the round stools closer and gestured for Luffa to take a seat. "That was a great fight."

"They got away," Luffa said. She lowered herself onto the stool and found it much more comfortable than she had expected. "Did you pull me out of there because I couldn't find them, or because you didn't think I could beat them?"

"Sorry, but you didn't have your earpiece, so I couldn't tell you what was going on," Trunks said. "You accomplished the mission and contained the changes to history. And you found the two that were behind all of this, which is awesome, but I didn't want to push our luck. You see, I know those two. I've had dealings with them before."

"I get it," Luffa said. "Instead of letting me follow them blindly, you wanted to compare notes."

Trunks nodded. "Even if you had found them and defeated them, Towa's quite the escape artist. And if you pursued them out of that time period, we'd have a lot of trouble tracking you down. If they managed to lure you into their territory, they might have been able to steal your energy."

"Mira said something about that," Luffa said. "And Towa acted like I didn't have enough power to justify the effort." She put her elbows on the table and couldn't help but notice the leftovers nearby. "Were you guys done with this, or...?"

"Oh, sure," Trunks said. "Help yourself."

Luffa grabbed the dish and scooped a chunk of lasagna up in her hand. As she began to eat, she noticed the bird, Tokitoki, standing next to her stool. He looked up at her with a curious expression. She didn't know if he was begging for scraps or just interested in what she was doing.

"Towa and Mira are energy thieves," Trunks explained. They travel through time, siphoning ki from powerful warriors."

"If that's what they're after, then you'd think they'd be more subtle about it," Luffa said with her mouth full. "If they stole some energy here and there, it wouldn't actually change history, right? But instead, they're making these guys stronger and more aggressive, and wound up getting your attention."

"Yes, but Towa has ways to draw energy from the damage inflicted upon warriors as they fight," Trunks said. "Look at what she did to Guldo and my father. By enraging them, making them more powerful, the battles were longer and more intense than in the original history. Not to mention your involvement. There's a good chance she was counting on us sending someone to clean up her mess, just so she could harvest energy from whatever Time Patroller we sent."

"Then maybe it's good that I'm the one who confronted them," Luffa said. "Towa was sure I was working for some group, but she didn't know who. That might give us an edge."

"Perhaps," Trunks said. "But they know the Time Patrol will come after them eventually. If she hasn't already figured out you're one of us, she soon will. I'm more concerned with what she plans to do with all this energy she's gathering."

"She put some of it into Mira," Luffa said. "I can tell that guy used to be a lot stronger before, but she said she was saving up for something else. All of her meddling with history, she called them 'experiments'."

"Mira's especially dangerous," Trunks said. "If Towa restores him to his full power, he could give us a lot of trouble. So if she's putting that off, then whatever she's up to must be even worse..."

"But who are they?" Luffa asked. "Towa thought it was strange for me to be traveling through time looking for trouble, even though she's basically doing the same thing. Where did she come from?"

"They're inhabitants of the Demon Realm. In the distant future."

Luffa looked up from her meal to see Chronoa enter the room. She noticed that, whenever the Supreme Kai of Time entered the room, Trunks seemed to stand up a little straighter, if such a thing were even possible.

"Supreme Kai of Time," Trunks exclaimed.

"Demons?" Luffa asked.

"Towa is the younger sister of Dabura," Chronoa went on. "He used to be the King of the Demon Realm for a time. She might have tried to claim the throne for herself, but Towa is much more interested in her research. Mira is a warrior she created to serve her ambitions. Trunks defeated Mira the last time we encountered them, but it looks like she's managed to put him back together."

"But what could they be up to this time?" Trunks asked. "Before, Towa was gathering energy to resurrect the Dark Emperor, Mechikabura. But there's no way he could have returned, is there?"

"No, I'm sure of that much," Chronoa said. "Remember, Towa sought to revive the Dark Empire because she wanted to break the seal on the Demon Realm. With Mechikabura lost to her, she may be looking for another way to reach the same goal."

Luffa didn't care much for her somber tone. Chronoa tended to be much more cheerful, but not now. "Seal? What do you mean?" Luffa asked.

"The universe you know is just the part that mortals live in," Chronoa said. "There's also the higher realms, where gods like me live, and a lower realm. Millions of years ago, Mechikabura was banished to a space beyond time. A seal was created to keep him from escaping into the normal universe. It was meant to imprison him, but he founded what eventually became the Demon Realm, the home of his Dark Empire."

"I think I get it," Luffa said. "If someone breaks the seal, they could cross over to this side, and invade."

"The seal isn't an absolute barrier," Chronoa said. "Lesser demons can pass through without quite as much trouble, but the stronger ones need a large amount of ki to get across. To break the seal entirely would require an enormous power. If it ever happened, an invasion would only be the beginning. Even if the demons were turned back to their own realm, there would be nothing to keep them there. The balance of the entire universe would collapse. Nothing would ever be the same again."

"Then it sounds like we should take the fight to them," Luffa said. "Kill Towa before she can take any more energy."

"I'm afraid we won't be able to find them, Luffa," Chronoa said. "Towa's proven to be very resourceful. She knows that the Time Patrol will be watching for her, so she's always been very careful about having a place to hide."

"I agree," Trunks said. "Our best chance is to keep tracking them through the changes they cause in history. And when we catch up to them again, we'll be ready for them."

"All right, then, I suppose that'll have to do," Luffa grumbled. "I should probably get healed up while I still have the time."

"I can take care of that again," Chronoa offered. She stepped towards Luffa and smiled warmly as she held out her hand.

"No!" Luffa said. "I mean, you've already done enough for me. I can make it to the hospital. Pulmon can take care of it. You don't need to hurt yourself like you did before."

Chronoa shrugged. "Well, if that's the way you want it, suit yourself."

Luffa nodded as she rose up from the stool. "I'll be fine. Just make sure you let me know as soon as you find anything. I want another crack at those demons. My ancestor, Chanisp, he slew a demon or two in his day. Maybe it runs in the family."

"Don't worry about that," Trunks said. "I'm sure you'll get your chance very soon."

*******

[3 March, Age 850. Toki Toki City.]

"Nothing! Three days, and no changes in history, no time anomalies, no nothing!"

Luffa was in her apartment, sitting in her roommate's bedroom. Jayncho lay on her bed, fast asleep. It was a black canopy bed with red fabric hanging from black metal posts. The sheets and blankets were varying shades of pink and gunmetal grey. Despite Luffa's outbursts, Jayncho did not stir. Occasionally, one of the Majin tentacles on her head would twitch, or she would smack her lips and snore quietly.

Luffa had discovered that Jayncho was a very sound sleeper, and she had gotten into the habit of talking to her while she was asleep. It was far easier than talking to Jayncho while she was awake, since the Majin was very terse and eccentric. Besides, Luffa found that she could speak more freely when there was no chance of being heard.

"I haven't seen much of Trunks either," Luffa grumbled. "Not sure what he's been up to, but I guess it doesn't matter much while we don't have a lead on Towa. That smug demon bastard. I'd like to make her eat that spear."

Jayncho rolled over onto her left side.

"No one in this era even remembers the Super Saiyan," Luffa went on. "On my mission to Namek, Kakarot told me he'd never heard of the idea. Well that figures, since they shot him to Earth as a baby. Still, you'd think his mother would have at least told him a few stories about me before they launched him, but whatever. I guess Vegeta's mother might have said something about me, but he barely paid attention, the royalist twit. He thought the Super Saiyan blew himself up on accident. Himself. Don't even get me started on that."

Jayncho did not get Luffa started. She instead raised her hand over her face and murmured quietly.

"I don't know why I'm suddenly sore about it now. I guess switching bodies with Captain Ginyu spooked me so badly that I forgot to get pissed off about everything else. I'm not the Super Saiyan anymore. I don't even know why. But I think I wouldn't mind so much if people at least remembered me. I remembered Chanisp, dammit. Everyone remembered Chanisp. I was a Super Saiyan just like he was. So... did I do something wrong? Was I just not important enough to remember?"

Jayncho did nothing. There was a plush unicorn doll lying beside her pillow. It had a friendly smile and stared pleasantly at the ceiling.

"Your ancestor, Majin Buu. You told me about him. You remember him. He was important enough for that, at least. I just thought... no matter how bad things got, that at least people would talk about me, and the things I did. My wife, all my friends, they're all long dead by now. I figured they'd be forgotten, but at least if people remembered me, then it'd sort of be like they could live on through that. Does that make any sense? It sounds kind of egotistical now that I say it out loud."

Luffa stood up and began to stretch her arms and legs. "I just wish they'd find those demons already, and then I could settle this. I don't know that killing them would change anything, but at least it'd give me something to take my mind off things for a while. After that... well, I don't know. I can't go home. I don't even know where home is anymore. Oh, what's the use? I'll see you later, Jayncho."

She left the room and shut the door behind her. Jayncho continued to sleep peacefully for another twelve hours.

*******

[13 June, Age 1001. Planet Frieza 79.]

Planet Frieza 79 had been abandoned and resettled numerous times over the centuries. Certain populations had attempted to rename the planet, but none of the new designations ever seemed to last. Eventually, it came into the possession of a wealthy Imeckian baron, who used the planet as a private resort. There was a small population of servants and technicians, whose sole purpose was to maintain the manor while their lord was away.

"Who are you two, and what are you doing in my private bedchamber!" he shouted at the man and woman who had inexplicably walked right into his home.

"Why Baron Tur Kee," the woman said. "I didn't realize you had returned. How are things on Imecka?"

"Wait... I remember you," he said, a sheen of cold sweat forming on his face as he spoke. "You did this before. Eluded my security forces somehow, and then you... you did something to my mind... Why can't I remember?"

She pointed the tip of her spear at his head, and a glowing purple vapor appeared and surrounded him. Soon after, it vanished, and the only trace was a curious red glow in the baron's eyes. It faded a moment later, leaving no trace of her spell.

"Welcome home, Mistress Towa," the baron said humbly. "How may I be of service?"

"The usual, Baron," Towa said. "Go and make yourself at home in the servants' quarters until you're scheduled to depart for Imecka. Mira and I will be using the manor for a while, and we don't want to be disturbed."

He bowed to them both and took his leave. Mira closed the door behind him.

"Would it not be simpler to place him under a more permanent thrall, like you did with the servants?" he asked.

"Easier, maybe," Towa said. "But not worth the trouble. The Baron is a powerful man, and if anyone noticed him acting strangely it could attract unwanted attention to this place. What good is a secret lair if it isn't a secret?"

She sat down on the edge of the bed and removed the golden clip from her white hair, then shook her head to let her hair fall freely. With a tap of the blunt end of her spear, her high-heeled boots vanished from her legs and reappeared along the far wall of the room. Then she held up the spear and it levitated away from her, crossing the room and taking up a position next to the boots. Mira stood at attention, never taking his eyes off of his Mistress.

"You are displeased with my performance," Mira said. The words might have suggested hurt feelings, but his voice was cold and dispassionate.

"Don't be ridiculous, Mira," Towa said. With a wave of her hands, her skin-tight unitard rearranged itself, blooming into the form of a red nightgown. "You've been exceptional during these expeditions."

"But you did not allow me to finish that Saiyan interloper," Mira said.

"I already explained that, didn't I?" she said. "I want to know who she's working for. If it's the Time Patrol, then we need to know for certain. If it's another faction, then we might be able to play one side against the other. But if we killed her, then we might never know the answers, and all it would gain us is a small amount of energy that we can easily gather later."

"As you say, Towa," he replied.

She regarded him for a moment and smiled. "Come here," she said. "I'd like you to rub my shoulders for a while."

He moved to the bed immediately to comply. Towa took a deep, satisfied breath as he began.

"You really don't appreciate our relationship, do you, Mira?" she asked.

"You created me," he said. "My only goal is serve you as efficiently as possible."

"Good boy," Towa replied. "The thing is, Baron Tur Kee serves me just as faithfully, you know. At least, he does when I don't forget to enchant his mind. But you're the one I married, Mira. You're the one who fathered my son. Doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"Those were your orders," he said.

"Of course they were," she said. She reached up for his face and leaned back to kiss him. Mira returned the kiss, but immediately resumed his task when she was finished.

"I created you, Mira, to be the ultimate life form. Not just a superior warrior, but a perfect mate. You could think of yourself as my critique of everything I find lacking in the universe. Some might call that egotistical, or blasphemous. A woman falling in love with her own creation. Some might say that I'm a fool. You're nothing more than a living machine, and yet I'm putty in your hands."

"I am whatever you desire me to be," Mira said. "It follows that our relationship is whatever you wish it to be."

"That's the next frontier for you, Mira," Towa said. "I want you to have a soul. To realize that you're more to me than just a slave, and return my feelings. That's enough. Just hold me for a while. No, move your left hand a little higher. Good. Very good."

"I will do everything I can to achieve this goal, Towa," Mira promised.

"Ah, but that's the trouble," she said. "Even if you can grow a soul, I still want you to be my obedient slave. If I can pull that off, manufacture a soul without free will, then I can truly unlock the secret of life itself. With a little more work, I'd soon be able to enslave anyone and anything."

He rested his chin on her shoulder and she ran her hand down the side of his face. "What a shame that you can't understand what I'm telling you," she said. "You're my love letter to myself, and you can only think of yourself as black marks on white paper, unable to comprehend the meaning of the words."

"Perhaps with more energy, I can advance my consciousness as well as my physical strength," he suggested.

"Interesting. What makes you say that, Mira?"

She touched her cheek, and he kissed it, in accordance with pre-arranged instructions. Then he replied: "I have a strong motivation to destroy the Saiyan time traveler we encountered," he said.

"Yes, I see," Towa said. "Could this be pride in your design, Mira? Or ambition? Or maybe you feel humiliated by your perceived inability to defeat her. Could it be that your hatred for this Saiyan woman is greater than your love for me? I wonder if I should be jealous."

"My devotion to you is absolute," he assured her.

"Naturally," she said. She got up to move to the side of the bed, and gestured for Mira to lay down beside her. "You only want what I allow you to want, but this fascinates me, Mira. Does this prove that hate is more powerful than love? Or perhaps hatred is simply more primitive, and easier for nascent intelligences to develop. I almost hope this Saiyan girl does try to interfere with our plans again, Mira. It could be worth it just to see how you react."

"Is it worth risking your ultimate objective?" Mira asked. There was no emotion in his question. A genuine husband might have asked "Would you really give up your dreams just to understand me better?" He might have had tears in his eyes, or placed his hands over his heart. But not Mira. He spoke as if he were asking Towa whether she preferred coffee or tea.

And she adored him for that. It wasn't just his cold demeanor, though it did give her a thrill. No, she loved Mira not only for what he was, but for all the things he might become. He was truly the perfect man, an undiscovered country that she could go on creating and exploring forever.

"Have I ever told you why I want to break the seal on the Demon Realm?" Towa asked. She snuggled up closer to him so she would feel the warmth of his breath as he answered.

"You have said before that it would liberate Demonkind," Mira said. "That it would allow the Dark Empire to be restored, and to expand into the outer Universe."

"I did say that before," Towa admitted, "but only because that's what Mechikabura wanted to hear. Now that the Time Patrol has defeated our Dark Emperor, I suppose there's no longer any reason to hide my true motives."

She took his hand and intertwined his fingers with his own. "I've heard about the seal my whole life, Mira," she said. "How the Kais sealed us away, how the great Mechikabura turned our prison into a mighty nation of evil, and how it all came to an end because he tried to break the seal, only to fail. And I heard of how the seal was just permeable enough to let certain beings through, given enough energy. It always seemed to me that breaking the seal was the only goal worth achieving.

She pulled his arm over her like a warm blanket. "Soon enough, I learned to pass through the barrier at will. I could go anywhere I wanted, but the real wonders lay in the outer Universe. It's no mystery why I spent most of my time out here, instead of back in the Demon Realm. For a time, I honestly started to think that the Kais had been right to seal our kind away. They had built a magnificent world, while ours always seemed so stagnant. But they didn't seal us away. It was just Mechikabura they feared. We demons worshiped him as a god-king, but only because we had been trapped alongside him. Punished for his sins, he was as much a jailer to us as the Kais. Maybe more."

"If you felt this way, Towa," Mira asked, "then why did we travel back in time to revive Mechikabura?"

"Excellent, Mira. You know, there was a time when you never asked questions at all. Your curiosity has come a long way." She gave him a playful kiss on the nose and smiled before continuing. "I never hated Mechikabura, if that's what you're asking. It's just that his legend had been this constant in my life, and I needed to see what he could really do if he had the chance. My scheme to restore him to his former glory, that was a test. Three tests, really. First: a test of your capabilities, of course. You served me brilliantly in that adventure, Mira, as you always have. Second: a test of my enemies. I wanted to discover what sort of resistance I could expect to face. The Kais, the Time Patrol, and so on. Third, and most importantly: it was a test of Mechikabura's reputation. If he could shatter the seal, then I would have been satisfied. As the one who resurrected him, his successes would have been my own."

"But Mechikabura failed. The Time Patrol defeated him."

"Which was a setback, but one that also showed me the path forward. I learned more from Mechikabura in a week than I had gained from years of research. And his downfall proved that he was an anchor holding us back. With his power, he made me into a Demon Goddess, and that was exhilarating, but it also proved that his power wasn't unique. Any demon could become a "god" like him with the right preparation. And when I finally shatter the seal, it will prove that I've truly surpassed him."

"Then you must understand my need to defeat that Saiyan woman," Mira said.

"Of course I understand, Mira," Towa said. "But for me, it's about more than just proving my superiority. Once the seal is removed, the Kais will never be able to make another, because I would just remove that seal as well, and the next, and the next. They'll have no choice but to accept the presence of demons in their precious creation. And who knows what sort of chaos that will bring? It will be a new world, brought into existence by me."

"You would create an Empire of your own, then," Mira suggested.

"Hardly, Mira," she said with a smile. "The universe already has far too many kings and emperors and gods. I seek knowledge, not conquest. And that's why I didn't let you kill that little Saiyan woman. To you, she's just another warrior to conquer, but to me, she's an opportunity. A chance to learn what our enemy is planning. Her energy is pitiful, but she might improve, or lead us to more powerful enemies who could serve our purposes."

"Then you believe we can gather energy from even stronger fighters in history," Mira said, almost hopefully. She grinned as she enjoyed the hint of emotion in his eyes.

"Yes, Mira!" she whispered excitedly. "The Saiyans and the Ginyu Force were just the beginning. Now that I've learned that the energy stealing technique works, I can refine it, and use it on more powerful targets. And best of all, the targets are historical figures, so we know exactly where to find them. The Time Patrol will discover our tampering eventually. Maybe they already have. But so what? All they can do is clean up the changes we make to the timeline. Meanwhile, we escape to our present time, and the energy we steal is ours to keep. Some for you, and some for my experiments."

"What of the side-effects from the temporal changes?" Mira asked. "Before, you had mentioned concerns about making frequent trips into the past."

"At first, I was cautious," Towa said, "but with the knowledge I've gained, I don't think it should be a problem anymore. Let the Time Patrol worry about any time anomalies we might cause. And even if they fail to prevent history from changing, you and I will be protected from those changes. When I'm finished, I'll have a universe made to my own liking. A chaotic wonderland where I can roam freely through space and time. And if the Saiyan girl tries to get in our way, you can destroy her, Mira."

She decided to tease him a bit. "Or... on second thought... perhaps I'll let her live," Towa said. "She can join our good Baron in the servants' quarters, and she can bring you tea every morning."

"Whatever you wish, Towa," Mira said. She sensed a hint of resentment in his voice, but decided not to point it out. Instead, she simply embraced him and gestured with her finger to magically douse the lights.

"That's right, Mira," she replied. "Whatever I wish..."

NEXT: History and Trunks

#dragon ball #fanfiction #lssjluffafic #luffa #trunks #chronoa #tokitoki #jayncho #towa #mira #toki toki city #planet frieza 79

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songfell-ut · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 12 does stuff

Still not to the Underground because Frisk is that lady at the office who gets everything done for everyone and then if she ever gets sick of takes a vacation everyone is like “OMFG WHERE IS SHE” amirite @lostmypotatoes

Chapter can be found here.

She had never been so tall before! She could see the top of everyone’s heads! “Look at me!” she crowed as the others came in the door.

“Hello, dear,” King Asgore said sheepishly as Toriel froze on the threshold, arms full of groceries. “Er…do you need any help?”

Frisk was standing on the King’s shoulders, clinging to his horns. “Asgoooooore,” his wife intoned, starting low and sliding up to a very warning note.

“Yes, dearest?” He beamed at her. “Do you like my new hat?”

Asriel laughed, taking the sacks from his mother’s arms to set them on the table. “I remember doing that when we were little,” he remarked.

“And I remember how your father turned his head too fast and nearly took your eye out,” retorted the Queen.

Frisk gripped the horns a little tighter, hoping Toriel wasn’t going to make her get down. “Oh, it’s fine, pumpkin,” Asgore said. Nevertheless, he tapped the human’s shoe. “Perhaps you could sit down, child. It may be—”

The moment Frisk moved her foot, it slipped. Down she went—

—into the King’s arms as he caught her, swung her around in a wide arc, and hitched her up to sit on his shoulder. “Ta-daaa!” he boomed over the child’s shrieking laughter. “You see, Tori? No problem whatsoever!”

Toriel’s face was such a picture that Asriel gave a quiet “Pfffft” and had to hurry out of the room under her glare. “Of course not,” she said tartly. “You do realize we have to give him back in one piece, don’t you, sweetie pie?” Ignoring their complaints, the Queen reached up to set Frisk on the floor. “Now, Gorey, you put these things away, and I will put Kris to bed. Say good night, my child.”

“G’night, Your Majesty,” the human said forlornly.

“Good night, little one.” Asgore’s eyes crinkled as he smiled at her. “Sleep well.”

Frisk trotted to the bedroom ahead of Toriel, bouncing a little. Even if it was bedtime, this was the best thing that had ever happened: not only did she get to spend the night here, the other humans wanted the monsters to keep thinking she was a boy, so they’d asked Toriel not to give her a bath. It was just pie, playtime, and a bed all to herself! Why couldn’t Asgore and Toriel be her real parents? Why couldn’t—

The bedroom door opened, and the dream suddenly changed. This was the right room, but it was cold and smelled dusty, as if it’d been abandoned for a long time. Asgore was standing in the middle of it, huge and silent, shoulders bowed; the King seemed older, angrier, his features drawn tight with grief. He looked up at her as if she was a stranger. His eyes shifted downward, and narrowed.

The priestess raised her hands as he gripped his trident. “Your Majesty, wait,” she tried to say, but he was slashing at her and—

Frisk woke up in her own bedroom. Muzzy with sleep, she had no idea why her blanket was so huge, or heavy, or why it smelled like leather. No matter: it felt so safe that the fear ebbed away as she lay buried in its folds, and so comfortable that she turned over and nearly went back to sleep.

The door was ajar. Smells crept in, and voices, but mostly smells. Her stomach growled, and Frisk reluctantly had to struggle her way out of the—coat? It was Sans’ new overcoat, wrapped around her several times, more like a tarp than a blanket. Her head was almost a foot away from the nearest opening, and she didn’t even know where the foot of it was. She slithered up through the neck, played with the fur around the collar for a moment, then adjusted her robe and climbed out of bed.

The voices turned out to be Sans, who was drying his face with a napkin, and Dr. Gaster, who was seated at the table in his own form, almost as eerie by daylight as he had been in her barrier’s glow. “Good morning, Your Eminence,” he said serenely.

“Good morning, Doctor,” she responded in kind. “If you’ll excuse me a moment…”

“Of course.” The monster sipped his coffee as she went to her dressing room and mostly shut the door.

Sans was tapping his phalanges on the tabletop. “So, it looks like we’re—” He broke off, looking from the undisguised skeleton to the dressing room. “Wait. What the crap?”

“The lady and I became more intimately acquainted in your absence,” said Gaster.

“Doctor,” Frisk called warningly.

Gaster chuckled. “Forgive me, my lady. I couldn’t resist. What I mean,” he said to Sans, who was fully bristling, “is that she caught me trying to steal her box the first night you were away. She trapped me until I explained myself, and I learned that when an angry High Priestess puts you inside a barrier, none of your magic is effective, especially not a human disguise.”

“You did what?!” Sans’ fist came within millimeters of the tabletop, but the dressing-room door opened, and he stopped exactly in time. He gave the table a little pat instead, dropping his hand into his lap as Frisk came to sit next to him. “Ya broke in here while I was gone?” he demanded.

“He did indeed.” Frisk glared at the doctor for a moment, then turned her attention to breakfast. “What has Sans told you, Dr. Gaster?”

“I explained our deal to him, and he has related a remarkable story about your trip to the Underground as a child.” Gaster drained his coffee and set it on a tray. “Please forgive me, but I must know: do you recall anything about the day of the accident?”

Sans sat up straighter. It obviously hadn’t occurred to him to ask her that yet; she didn’t blame him, after all the emotional turmoil of the previous night, and she couldn’t blame him for waiting so intently for her answer.

But she was finding it a little difficult to focus. It was finally sinking in that she had told Sans everything, that he knew she was Kris and had agreed to take her to the Underground. She’d really get to see everyone again, and she could talk to Asgore as an old friend; maybe the jolly King she’d known as a little girl was still in there somewhere, ready to be brought back…

Frisk finished chewing and swallowed as both skeletons waited for her response. She had to remind herself that Gaster had only agreed to help her mislead everyone – including Sans – in exchange for information, and that it was a very valid question. “I don’t know what happened, no,” she said slowly, to their disappointment. “I remember getting permission to go to Chara’s performance with Sans and Papyrus, and I know I was supposed to do something, but that was it. The next thing I knew, I was in a stagecoach, and Rosa was telling me I’d be going to school.”

Sans’ brows rose a little, and Gaster said, “A pity, but understandable. Many people who survived the event have little to no memory of it, given the amount and violence of the magic involved. Sans tells me you were brought along in the first place as a sort of test?”

Frisk made a face. “I was told that monsters were unpredictable and we needed to know how they’d behave under different circumstances, including whether they’d treat a child as well as a human would. They made me pretend to be a boy ‘for safety.’”

“Yeah, like humans treated you that fuckin’ well,” Sans muttered, ignoring Gaster’s not-very-hard smack on the head.

The High Priestess took as dignified a bite of sausage as she could. “I always had a feeling that my missing memories were linked to the Underground,” she said around it, “and now I know it for a fact. I have a more solid connection with monsters than any other human alive. If I were to go with Sans to reestablish diplomatic relations, Asgore might just hear me out. When I was there as Kris…” She swallowed around a lump in her throat. “He and Asriel played with me for hours.” Thinking of Asriel hurt too much. Frisk said, just to be saying something else, “I know he’s changed, and so have I, but...”

“Nah, ya haven’t,” Sans mumbled, making her go bright red.

Gaster glanced back and forth between them, but merely said, “Persuading King Stephin to allow it may be difficult. The last time he and King Asgore spoke, it was not on the most amiable terms.”

“So I hear.” Frisk pressed her lips together. “We need to convince him, and everyone else, that it’s necessary. Based on Sans’ knowledge of solar arrays and your own work, Doctor, how soon could you make a prototype to demonstrate to the public?”

“It depends how large and how strong a model you’d require,” admitted the doctor. “Is speed more important, or impressiveness?”

“I’d like something before we leave, please, even if it’s only large enough to power a witchlight. Now that Sans has been here for two weeks without incident, people are starting to get curious, and let’s be honest: if we can get people used to you, Sans, they can get used to any monster.” Frisk poured herself more milk. “We need to pair that with the idea that we don’t have to steal magic anymore, and it will help immensely if everyone is talking about solar power while we’re gone.”

The boss monster shrugged agreement. The priestess toyed with a fork, steeling herself. “Another thing. This sounds exploitative, but I’ve had copies made of the reports on each monster confiscated the other night. I sent them to as many different administrative offices as I could think of. Each report had my confidential seal on it, so I’m sure people have read them. I want to see if anyone is talking about it.”

The men were quiet. Sans was clearly displeased, but he was listening. “Believe me, I hate to use their suffering as a political prop. I really do,” she said, half stern and half apologetic. “But as things stand, monsters being enslaved is a fact of life to the average human. We can’t let it be an abstract concept anymore. Most people don’t know the kind of conditions monsters are kept in, and the time is right to make them care about it.”

Gaster inclined his head, and they both looked at Sans. He took such a long, deep breath that Frisk wondered how there was any air left in the room afterward. “Ya really think so?” He glanced at the royal sorcerer. “You know humans pretty well. There’s no other way ta do this?”

“Nothing as effective, long-lasting, or nonviolent, no.” Gaster leaned his head on his hand, and the extras with the pen and notepad materialized, scribbling away. Frisk wished he wouldn’t do that. “Humans do not like change, or being inconvenienced, and they cannot stand to be told they are wrong,” explained the doctor, “especially when presented with clear evidence that they have been wrong for a very long time. Letting them pretend that this is a new issue they can feel strongly about without having to do much of anything themselves…I’m afraid it is the ideal path to social change.”

“Wow. Humans suck,” Sans observed. He glanced at Frisk, who couldn’t hide her apprehension. “Don’t gimme that look, kiddo. If you ‘n the doc say it’s the best way to get monsters free, I’m not gonna fight ya.”

“Thank you,” she said simply, and his answering grumble was much quieter than usual.

“The second fortune,” Gaster mused, and they both looked askance at him. He gave her a rare smile. “You’ve chosen to set monsters free. You will have to work very hard, my dear lady, but your life will be quite interesting. May I ask how you are feeling?”

Frisk thought of Asriel again, of being taken from the Underground. She rubbed her forehead as Sans glared at the other skeleton. “It hurts very much, Doctor,” she said quietly. “I’m not going to lie. But…” She gave him a watery smile. “Once I get through this, I’ll have the other things, too, the joy and love.” Something occurred to her, and she smiled wider this time. “And my ‘innumerable’ family. I hope the monsters will fit that description.”

“Damn straight,” commented Sans, which made her flush again.

Gaster nodded, and she was almost certain that he waited for her to take a sip of milk before he asked, “Have you selected a father for your child?”

The priestess choked mid-swallow and had to push away from the table to double over, coughing, while Sans checked her for immediate danger and then snarled at Gaster, “What the hell kinda thing is that ta ask a lady, y’old perv?!”

“What indeed.” The royal sorcerer folded all of his hands, looking back and forth between the red-faced sorceress and the redder-faced skeleton. “Forgive my impertinence. I’m sure it will happen quite naturally. For now, Your Eminence, you need only concern yourself with your apprenticeship, and with furthering the cause of monster freedom.”

Frisk climbed to her feet, waving away Sans’ offer of assistance. “One moment,” she croaked. She would have loved to know what exactly he was saying to Gaster as the bathroom door closed behind her, but it was all she could do to breathe normally. What did the doctor think he was doing, besides embarrassing her and Sans most of the way to death?

“Whaddya think yer doin’?!” Sans leaned forward, but had to sit back as Gaster’s extra hands reappeared, wagging their fingers in sync. “What happened to not interferin’? It’s none’a yer damn business what she does!”

“I am acting purely to further Her Eminence’s goal of peace between the human and monster races,” Gaster lied with his stupid lying face. At least, that was what it looked like to Sans. “However strict a schedule she may be on to fulfill her maternal destiny, it would not behoove her to be encumbered too soon. You have thirteen days left of your tenure here, during which she will want to accomplish as much as possible, and after which you will hopefully be able to escort her to the Underground for a successful diplomatic mission.”

“I know that.” Sans rubbed the back of his skull. The workroom floor hadn’t been that comfortable, but it hadn’t exactly been a comfortable night, so whatever. “That doesn’t give you any right to bug her about somethin’ so personal,” he snapped.

Gaster sighed, laced his all fingers together, and pushed them outward to crack every joint at once, making the boss monster twitch. “Enough beating around the bush, Sans. Frisk is not the sort of woman who forms intimate attachments quickly or easily, and out of the very many men who would be glad to have her, she has not found one who suits her. Even without the timeline imposed by her fortune, based on what I have seen and heard, you are by far the likeliest—”

Wham.

Sans did not dent the table this time. He nearly broke it in half.

Gaster blinked at the crater in the wood surface as its dust settled. “I thought you would be at least somewhat ambivalent by this point,” the doctor remarked, and raised his voice as the bathroom door creaked: “Please give us another moment, my lady.”

The door closed. Sans flexed his hand, ignoring the splinters and bits of shattered china lodged in his metacarpals. “I was up all night thinkin’ about it,” he growled. “Doesn’t really matter how I feel, does it? Facts are facts. ’m three or four times bigger’n her, I’m a boss monster, an’ even if I never touched her, I’d ruin ‘er whole life. What would the other humans say? Ya think they’d ever listen to her again if they thought she was screwin’ around with a magic skeleton?” Snort. “Even if we could do it, ’m still basically poison. Ya know exactly what I mean.” He peeled a long curl of wood from the table’s surface. “This is all assumin’ she’d be okay with me in the first place. I mean…look at me.”

Gaster peered at Sans’ SOUL, and his expression said it all. “The darkness intertwined with your magic could potentially be damaging,” he conceded. “As we discussed, you need to decide whether it’s worth holding on to the anger dragging you down, for your sake and hers.”

“Who says I’m holdin’ on to anythin’? ‘s more like bein’ stuck in a tar pit. She’s helped me get my head out, ‘n that’s about it.” Sans jerked his thumb at the table. “Be honest. Would you wanna have a kid with someone who does stuff like this?”

The older skeleton was silent. Sans waited, half hoping he would say something witty or insightful that would solve everything, but Gaster just shook his head. “That’s what I thought. Time fer you to go,” said the boss monster.

The royal sorcerer grimaced. “Sans, please. Are you even going to try?”

The table itself started shaking, a film of red creeping over the books and dishes. Dr. Gaster stood and tugged on the chain to become human, then strode out of the room and slammed the doors behind him without another word.

Sans glared at the table. It was pretty damn broken, all right. Good job, asshole, he congratulated himself. How was Frisk going to get anything done now?

…Welp. He’d repaired the table before, hadn’t he? Why not try it again? Might as well prove to himself that he could do better for her sake, or prove to the doctor that he couldn’t—either way, he had to give it a shot.

The boss monster took a deep breath, imagined the broken wood and china all coming back together as they’d been, and flicked his left hand. His magic slowly lifted the table, pushing from beneath till its overall surface was mostly sort of level again, then straightened out the legs and settled it back to the floor.

So far, so good. Next, he smoothed the jagged, splintered ends jutting out of the crater into a nearly unbroken surface, separating the smaller pieces of wood from the broken china. With a supreme effort, he directed the wood to fill in the remaining gaps, and imagined the china re-forming into plates and cups.

To his elation, there was a flurry of movement, leaving the wooden surface scarred but whole and the dishes looking like dishes again…which, as he released the spell, tumbled apart into broken heaps, the wood poofing back out where it’d started.

He scowled and gestured again, but the same thing happened again, and again: the stuff mashed together well enough, but wouldn’t stay that way. God damn it, why wasn’t it working? Was he trying to do too much at once? No, that wasn’t the problem; he had more than enough power, and he was focusing properly. He was using the exact same magic as before, and he sure as hell intended it to work, so…did he need to get madder at himself for ruining her workspace? Or…

Sans thought it over, then got off his stool and went to rap on the bathroom door. “C’mon out, kitten,” he said. “I need a favor.”

Frisk emerged as he backed up and sat down facing the broken table. She looked at the wreckage, then at him. “Are you all right?” she asked.

“I will be in a sec. C’mere.” He extended an arm.

She was a little doubtful, but came to him readily and let him tuck her against his ribcage. “Um,” she said into his wrinkled shirt.

He stroked her hair with one phalange, focusing on her warmth, and her smell – which now included a hint of leather from his coat – and how big a pain in the ass it’d be if she had to replace the table. She was busy enough, she didn’t need this crap! Besides, what would his past self say if he knew he’d screwed things up for Kris?

Frisk turned to see what he was doing, absently twining her fingers around one of

his, and Sans suddenly knew exactly what to do. There was a boom and a crackling like wood being broken, but in reverse: her mouth hung open as the cloud of red magic dispersed, leaving the table in nearly the same shape as before, perhaps a little bent in the middle. The breakfast dishes were intact, though they looked as if someone had glued them back together in a hurry. “Ha! There we go,” Sans said triumphantly. “Good as…used. Not bad, eh?”

The priestess leaned back against his clavicle. “I suppose it’s the next best thing to not breaking it in the first place,” she murmured.

Ouch. And speaking of which… He grimaced. “Hey. Frisk?”

“Hm?” She was still holding the lowest phalange of his right forefinger, examining the relatively-smaller bones of his hand.

As always, Sans scanned her face for signs of distaste or nervousness. He never could find any, or understand why not. “Uh. I’m…’m sorry I didn’t believe you. Ya shouldn’a had to show me all that.” The boss monster played with one of her wavier locks of hair. He liked it better when she didn’t put any stuff on to straighten it. “’m sorry you spent all that time scared ta talk about it.” He exhaled, ruffling her hair. “’m sorry you were right t’be scared.”

Frisk let go of his hand. She didn’t say anything, just laid her head on his clavicle, face turned from his.

Sans sighed, and dropped his arm. “Yeah. So,” he mumbled.

She shrugged, so slight a motion that he could barely feel it. He was about to reach for her again when she stepped away. “It’s all right.” Frisk went to the repaired table and stacked up the partly-broken dishes. “I don’t know if I would believe me, either,” she said over her shoulder.

He couldn’t think of anything else to say. The silence felt…complicated. “So,” he said. “What’re we doin’ today? Ya want people ta not be scared of me. Should we go rescue kittens outta trees, maybe bring some orphans candy or somethin’?”

Frisk paused, as if shaking herself, and suddenly smiled, in a way that made him nervous. “Now that you mention it—”

It was thus his own fault that, within ten minutes, Sans found himself accompanying her back into the castle town. On their recent excursions, Sans had been using his disguise, and Frisk dressed as plainly as possible, keeping her hood up; this time, not only was she in her High Priestess gown – though she’d omitted the headdress in favor of her red-lined cloak – Sans stayed beside her as his own giant self. As far as he was concerned, the only problem was that she insisted on walking the whole way in order to be visible and gauge people’s reactions. Oh, well. At least they matched again.

Their destination today was the group home where Frisk had stayed as a very small girl. It was a long walk to the poorer part of town, but the visit itself was brief enough; they were admitted in the middle of the children’s morning break, so they had a head start to the long dining-room table before someone spotted the bakery boxes they’d picked up on their way over. Sans ended up having to lift Frisk the rest of the way before she was lost under a surging tide of greedy little hands.

Of course, the magic demonstration turned out to be the ideal icebreaker. To his disgruntlement, Sans was conscripted to make toys fly around – though he drew the line at the actual children begging to be flung across the room – while Frisk distributed the pastries they’d brought and the boss monster contemplated his life choices. He’d enjoyed playing with Kris back in the day, but he never signed up to perform for a bunch of literally snot-nosed brats!

But he had to admit that it was working: after a few minutes, only the most timid children were still hanging back, and by the time the priestess was done telling them about the different kinds of monsters she knew, almost all of the kids had crept up for a closer look. He contented himself with the fact that Frisk seemed pretty happy, though he wasn’t a big fan of how many kids were coughing on her.

In fact, some of them got a little too comfortable with him, and Frisk had to cut the visit short when they started crawling into his huge slippers and lifting his shirt to poke between his ribs. The priestess and boss monster waded out amid cries of disappointment, closing the door with some difficulty.

“Damn, that was intense,” said Sans on their walk back to the castle. “So, ya lived there till you were…?”

“Eight. Then Rosa found a job for me in the castle kitchens scrubbing pots. I’ve had better experiences.”

He thought again of Kris’ scars and protruding ribs. “Permission to go up there ‘n bust some heads?”

“Denied,” she said. “I started collecting affidavits about the old cook the moment I came back here as High Priestess, and she’s been in jail for over two years now. She won’t get out for a good while.”

Sans still would’ve liked to find the bitch and see how she liked someone bigger hurting her, but it probably wasn’t something Frisk would want to hear. Instead, he asked, “D’you always call yer mom by ‘er first name?”

Frisk returned a passerby’s smile and nod, and said, “I often have because I wasn’t very attached to her, and it turns out I was right. Rosa isn’t my mother.”

The boss monster nearly stopped in the middle of the busy street. “Say what?”

“I found out around the time I went to the Underground, so I forgot it along with everything else. It’s a long story, but the short version is that I was put in Rosa’s care when I was a baby, and she pawned me off wherever she could until my father stepped in.” Frisk smoothed her hair behind her ears as the wind whistled around them. “Rosa did check in on me periodically to be sure I was alive, which is more than I could say for anyone else before I met you all.”

Sans had to jam his hands in his pockets to keep from hugging her right there. “So…”

“My real mother is dead. I’ll tell you more later.” To his surprise, Frisk fell in step beside him and reached up, and he obligingly leaned down for her to take his elbow. He thought of Kris again as she smiled up at him. “Let’s go back now. We have a lot of work to do.”

Sans did not forget about that conversation, but he never quite managed to bring it up again: they were so busy preparing for the trip Underground that, before he knew it, only ten days remained of his visit.

For one thing, three of the mixtures he had formulated were not working much better than the control she’d set up, but one was doing well, and another was so promising that Frisk ordered more of its components and some additional seedlings. He had finalized his list of food items to bring back with them and eventually persuaded the priestess to stop buying more gifts, after the final two novels in a series Alphys had been reading and a set of children’s puzzles for Papyrus.

They didn’t really discuss what had happened the other night, but they were comfortable around each other again. At her request, they had resumed their “slumber parties,” trading jokes later into the night than they probably should have and falling asleep on opposite sides of the huge bed. Sans found he could now keep himself in check by thinking of Kris: though most of his feelings were as strong as ever, or stronger, it felt a little creepy to lust after her, which was…better, he guessed.

It also helped, in a weird way, that she tended to be upset after whatever dreams she’d been having of the Underground. Two of the past three mornings, he’d woken up with her curled up in her blanket against his side, and his SOUL had damn near melted.

Her sudden proximity could have been a problem, but on close self-examination, Sans found he’d rather punch himself in the spectral junk than take advantage of her emotional vulnerability. That was a huge relief; it meant he could turn and drape his arm over her or pet her hair in fairly good conscience. A little part of him knew that this probably wouldn’t last forever, and he’d be back in trouble once Frisk finished working through everything, but, eh. That was a later problem. Right now, things were almost perfect, and he wasn’t going to ruin it.

…Was it his imagination being mushy, or did his SOUL feel a little lighter? He never could remember to have Gaster check for him when the doctor was there.

That morning, on his tenth-to-last day in the castle, Sans didn’t wear his device when he accompanied her to matins. He’d stopped using it entirely on their trips into town or walks around the castle. Frisk used the cold as an excuse to wear her cloak outside instead of the circlet or veil; as she’d predicted, people were now curious enough to stop to speak with her and gawk at the ten-foot skeleton. Though they got their fair share of fearful whispers and angry looks, no one had the courage to say anything with Sans right there, which was good enough for Frisk.

The boss monster understood what she was doing, and tried to behave himself on these social forays, but he hated every second of it. Frisk had a knack for keeping an eye on him and walking away when he started getting agitated by too many stares or stupid questions, but he hated that she had to worry about him hating it. More than ever, he wished she’d found a smaller, cuter monster to show off.

It was also strange that, in spite of her increased accessibility, there had been no signs of anyone else plotting anything, much less attacking her. Frisk checked in regularly with the palace guards, who still hadn’t found whoever generated that huge burst of magic at the All Souls service; anyone clever enough to have planned the operation had obviously been capable of covering their tracks, a prospect that didn’t sit well with either of them.

There was, however, a single incident that nearly made it all worthwhile: one day, an elderly woman came up to tug on Sans’ trousers as they stood outside a bookstore. When he glanced down, the lady demanded up at him, “What time is it?”

Sans looked at Frisk, and at the equally nonplussed bystanders. Luckily, far over the humans’ heads, he could see a clock in the distance. “Uh…couple minutes after noon.”

The old lady frowned and nodded, as though a great truth had been revealed unto her. “I see. Yes, thank you.” She hobbled back the way she’d came, and they heard her say to no one in particular, “What a nice skeleton.”

For some reason, the way she said it was so funny that he instinctively caught Frisk’s eye and found she was trying to suppress a grin. When she motioned for him to follow her, they made it as far as a little side street before she started giggling, flapping her hand for him to take them back. It was time for lunch, but more importantly, it was time to sit down in the stairwell outside her rooms and howl with laughter for no reason that either could have explained to anyone else, except perhaps that each of them had been tense and ready to laugh at almost anything, and was glad that the other was laughing too.

As usual, every time he started to recover, she snrrked and got him going again. When the priestess had almost caught her breath, Sans retaliated with “What a nice skeleton” in his best old-lady voice and nearly killed her.

Unfortunately, it was the only bright spot in several days of not much fun. At least they were productive, especially her tactic of “accidentally” leaking the confiscation reports; on their afternoon walks, several of the people stopping them to chat specifically wanted to know if the terrible things they had heard were true, and what would happen to the monsters in question.

Frisk hid her elation that people did care enough to ask her about it, and developed a rote response that it was true, and terrible, and she would push for harsher punishments of mistreated monsters. That was when she also mentioned that the illustrious Dr. Serif was working on an alternative source of magic, and when it was perfected, monsters could be freed entirely.

That statement always got a reaction, and she was almost relieved when one person finally came right out and said, “How on earth are we supposed to get that much magic without them?” It gave her the chance to explain how the Underground used the sun’s light to generate power, and when the man smirked at such a ridiculous lie, the High Priestess had to step on Sans’ foot to keep him in check; Frisk was irritated enough herself to tell the man and the rest of their impromptu audience that Dr. Serif had been working with her emissary to prepare a public demonstration next week.

“That sounds neat. You should probably tell the doc about it,” Sans grumbled as the little crowd dispersed to spread the news.

Frisk did indeed have some explaining to do. The upper classes of the court and Church were not supposed to care about idle gossip, but by the afternoon of the following day, after their studies were done, she found she was not only obligated to lend Sans to Dr. Serif and the other sorcerers to go over their plans, but “invited” to chat with the King before dinner.

By that point, Frisk was not in the mood to dress things up. “I’m going to free the monsters we took from their owners,” she told King Stephin behind a soundproof barrier. “I will hire guards if I have to, and send Sans along regardless, but as soon as they’ve recovered enough to travel, they are going back to the Underground to stay. His Holiness can double the deposits, or jail me, for all I care. Those monsters have suffered enough.”

“My dear, that is not going to work,” the King said, just as bluntly. “Every owner in this kingdom will fear that you are plotting to take their property from them, and like it or not, monsters are still classified as such.”

“I am ‘plotting’ exactly that, Your Majesty. I’ll do it safely, peacefully, and legally, but I will do it.” When the old man looked ready to argue, she added, “I’ve learned a great deal recently about a boy named Kris who became attached to several monsters on the last visit to the Underground. A very great deal, and it’s had quite an impact on me. Do you understand, Majesty?”

The King of the human realm regarded her for almost ten full seconds. Frisk would sooner have carved her eyes out than look away first, and he eventually sighed a long, long sigh. “You wish to return, then?”

“I am going to the Underground with Sans in nine days, Your Majesty,” she informed him, “and I would much rather have your permission than not. If all goes well, I intend to stay for five to ten days before I return here.”

He gave her a sharp appraisal that she didn’t understand till he said, “Will that be enough time to prepare your apprentice to serve the Underground single-handed?”

Frisk had long since made up her mind how to “prepare” her apprentice, but she had no intention to discuss it with the King yet. “I believe so,” she replied.

He closed his eyes. “Have you heard recently from Lord Owen and his lady sister?” he asked, much too casually.

“Yes, sire,” she said calmly. “They will both be here for a visit in roughly three weeks.”

“Wonderful.” He opened his eyes and smiled at her. “I am glad you’ve made up your mind regarding these matters. May I ask—”

The High Priestess had been resisting the urge to cough for over an hour, and so it wasn’t really dishonest to interrupt him that way. The problem was that once she started, she couldn’t stop, and had to accept his injunction to go back to her rooms.

“I knew it” was the first thing out of Sans’ mouth when he got back. She was in bed, in her nightgown and robe, huddled under the covers with the fireplace lit. “Told ya those little pukes were gonna get ya sick.”

Frisk gave him the stink-eye, coughing for emphasis. His expression softened at the sound. “Okay, okay. Can I getcha anythin’?”

“Sleep,” she croaked.

Sans couldn’t do that, but he could and did tell the guards that Her Eminence needed to be left alone because she’d caught some kind of crud. When he went back into the bedroom, she was already dozing. Good—maybe she’d be having better dreams soon.

One week left.

Frisk had slept through the previous day – guarded from interruption by her massive apprentice – and part of this one, waking up to eat dinner in bed. Afterward, she was busy catching up on mail, including a reply from the Owens’ land broker.

As High Priestess, her wealth was such that the broker was happy to offer her only ten percent down, with interest much higher than Frisk intended to pay. The priestess had to write three replies for that one: an answer referring the broker to the real estate agent who would negotiate the rest of the transaction on her behalf, a letter informing her agent that he was about to get a very large commission, and a note to Lord Owen updating him on the whole business and greeting his family. She might be planning to reject him in the most overt way possible and embarrass him in front of the entire kingdom, but that was no reason to be impolite, was it?

Sans was stretched out on the other side of the bed, eyes closed. It was easier to let him stay there than trying to make him work and having him stick his head in the door every ten minutes to fret about whether she was still alive. “Tell me again why ya won’t get a secretary,” he said as she massaged her hand.

“I told you, I don’t trust anyone with all this.” Frisk patted the mattress between them, which was his cue to wriggle a finger and waft her cup of tea over from the side table. She took a sip, murmured her thanks, and let him put it back without opening his eyes. “I wish I could do that,” she remarked, putting the three envelopes aside. “There we are. I’m feeling much better, Sans. Will you please let me get up now?”

Several minutes of negotiation later, with the massive skeleton hovering as though she was seventy years old, Frisk was out in the workroom to check the seedlings’ progress. “This is amazing,” she said, looking over the three tiny plants growing from his latest mixture. “If you keep this up, we could think about converting some of your existing cropland to pasture and eventually getting some sheep. You could probably also use some chickens, couldn’t you?”

“Yeah, we ate all ours a few years back. Tori would love to have some more,” Sans remarked. “Meat, eggs, and somethin’ ta fuss over.”

Frisk smiled a little. She’d avoided asking too many questions about her old friends, as it was clear the news was largely not good. She glanced around, and Sans proffered her tea, unasked. “You know…” This took some courage, but it was such an obvious thing, and they hadn’t discussed it: “We don’t have to leave in exactly seven more days.” She checked her calendar. “It’ll be four more days till they demonstrate your prototype. I’d like to be there for that, and I haven’t had a chance to talk with His Majesty again, and I’d like to have a letter from him or something official to give to Asgore so he doesn’t have to take my word for—”

Sans chuckled. That rumbling sound had always raised the hairs on the back of her neck, but lately, it did it in a good way. “Stop babblin’, kitten. D’ya want me ta stay longer?”

Her hands trembled as she set the cup down. “If…” The priestess swallowed. “If we leave a couple of days sooner, I could stay in the Underground longer, assuming everyone would be all right with it.”

The skeleton scowled at her. “Why the crap wouldn’t they be? Are ya scared they’ll be like, ‘Yeah, we loved you as a kid, now go to hell?’”

Frisk’s fidgety silence said it all. Sans drew a deep breath, but saw her flinch, and released it slowly. “Okay,” he said, as calmly as he could. “I know ya haven’t had a lotta luck with people, but this’s different. I’m not sayin’ there won’t be any problems with anyone, ‘specially the ones who didn’t know ya that well. Some of us might be dicks about it an’ not believe ya right at first. But…” He also fidgeted, various colors sweeping over his skull. “Ya look different, ‘n that’s it. We all liked ya ‘cause you’re…you. Hasn’t changed.” Fidget. Scowl. “If anyone tells ya to get lost, I’ll—” He caught her expression and said with fake cheer, “—give them a biiiig hug and tell ‘em ta be nice.”

“Excellent. Thank you.” Frisk took his hand, or at least a couple of his fingers. “Really, thank you,” she said, softer. “I hope you’re right.”

His fingers closed around hers. The bones were always warmer than she expected, no matter how many times she touched them. “Let’s try this,” he said quietly. “Take off the barrier when we go t’sleep and lemme see if I can reach Papyrus. It might work better to have him spread the word first that Kris is comin’ back with Sans in a few days, as opposed t’just showin’ up as a total surprise.”

The priestess couldn’t help smiling self-consciously. “I’d like to surprise everyone,” she confessed, and he chuckled again. “But I know it might not be the best option. Honestly, it depends how everyone there is feeling about humans after Snowdrake returned safely.”

“Yeah…traumatized an’ thinkin’ someone workin’ for ya was strong enough ta steal my magic,” said the skeleton. He squeezed her hand very gently and let go. “But he might also have spread the word that yer the one who set ‘im loose. We’ve gotta talk to Pap ‘n find out.”

Frisk thought about it, and the prospect of removing the barrier did not appeal to her whatsoever. The demon-child hadn’t showed up again for either of them, even when she’d left the barrier down and Sans had spent two nights outside it; she knew better than to assume it had gone away entirely, so where was it?

…But it did make sense to try to contact Papyrus, and she didn’t have any better ideas. “All right,” she said, and coughed into the bend of her elbow. “I’m going to take it down now and get back to sleep. Will you be in soon?”

“Sure.” Sans gave her a little salute. “Night, kitten. Get better so I don’t hafta listen to er hackin’ anymore.”

That nickname should’ve annoyed her, but Frisk liked it better each time. The inner glow lasted until she was in bed and had to remove the barrier, which she found she did not want to do. Maybe it would be all right; maybe the child was busy wreaking havoc somewhere else tonight and wouldn’t check her room? It…could be all right. There was only one way to find out, she told herself, not believing a word of it.

It was the same dream as before, but more intense: her husband crept into bed and tricked her into turning over so that he could roll her onto her back and slip his hands under her nightshirt. When she tried to mumble in self-defense, his mouth was suddenly against her lips; he tangled his fingers through hers, his slight weight pressing her into the mattress as he pulled the nightshirt up over her ribs.

A tiny pause, waiting to see if she’d stop him. She sighed, then relaxed as his head dipped to lick her neck, fingers winding in her hair to pull her chin up and nip at her throat. His other hand trailed down her side to her hip; he made an approving noise as he encountered bare skin.

Her underwear was missing solely because she’d forgotten to put a second load in the dryer that afternoon, but she wasn’t going to tell him that, especially now that his mouth had moved up to her cheek, then back to her lips. Her arms circled his shoulders as he began to kiss her in earnest, their teeth clicking gently, though he always led with his tongue to avoid biting her.

She’d long since stopped thinking about how weird it was to make out with a skeleton, and she never got tired of his bones’ smooth texture against her skin, or of feeling him shudder as she ran her hands over his skull. He pulled his head away, panting, and sat up to move his shorts aside—she’d told him several times to just leave them off in bed, but he was still curiously shy about letting her see him without clothes, especially when he had what they called his “extras” out.

Usually, by this point, he would have attended to her for a few minutes – or more! – to be sure she was ready, but this time, he clearly couldn’t wait. Well, that was fine. She was more than happy to let him hook his forearms under her knees and lean forward; he wasn’t that much shorter than she was, but it was the best way to—

Something was wrong, something much worse than sexual frustration or an intruder in her office.

She was still dreaming, but in a too-real way that she instantly recognized. Frisk was back in the castle, standing beside the huge bed, with her own Sans sitting squarely in the middle of the mattress; his head was in his hands, his whole body hunched up and shaking. Frisk tried to ask him what was wrong, but the words died as she spotted the thing standing over him—it was the child, the demon from the other world.

The child didn’t have its knife out, but it didn’t need to. It was smiling in vile satisfaction as Sans’ shoulders shook. Her stomach clenched as she saw red droplets trickling over the bones of his hands and wrists. “What did you do to him?” Frisk snarled. The air surged as she raised a hand, golden sparks flying. “Get out of here before I put a barrier around this whole damned kingdom! You know I could!”

The child stopped smiling and looked at her. For the first time, it spoke: “Ask him what he could do to you.”

Its voice felt like a nail being dragged down her eardrum. Sans must have heard it, too, because he curled in on himself harder, and Frisk’s heart broke into a few more pieces. That little—why wouldn’t it leave him alone?!

Frisk gathered all of her willpower and gave a sharp, high whistle, snapping the barrier back into place and jerking herself and Sans awake. She sat bolt upright and glanced around in the dimness, throat itching and adrenaline pumping, only to see that it was early morning and the child was gone.

The priestess coughed. With a sigh of relief, she climbed over the foot of the bed to tap the witchlight on, then turned to say, “Are you all right, S—”

Dear Lord. Frisk had assumed the blood was part of Sans’ nightmare, but to her horror, he was sitting up again and staring down at his hands, which were absolutely coated in dark, slick red. Fresh crimson drops were still sliding down his face, splashing onto his metacarpals and dripping through the gaps to soak into the mattress. “Sans!” she cried. The priestess gathered up her robe and leapt onto the bed, kneeling beside him. “What in God’s name happened? Where are you hurt?”

To her bewilderment, the enormous skeleton shook his head and waved her off. “Go ‘way,” he moaned.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she snapped. “Whatever happened, whatever it told you, it wasn’t real!” The young woman tried to peer into his face, but he turned away. “Sans, look at me!”

He shook his head harder and tried to shuffle away from her, his arm coming up to scrub his sockets with his sleeve and smear more red across his brow. It finally hit her that he wasn’t injured, he was crying—

It was all Frisk could do not to break down, too. Why had she ever agreed to take down the barrier? But much more importantly, why wouldn’t the child leave him alone? Why did Sans have to be so miserable? She could remember standing by his house in Snowdin as a child, holding his hand and smiling up at him, sensing how unhappy he was behind his lackadaisical exterior and how hard he was working to hide it. He hadn’t deserved to feel that way back then, and he didn’t need a demon to help him torment himself now!

Where had that misery even come from? Was it from witnessing the child’s genocide in his own world? From what Gaster had said, that sense of powerlessness and futility was still echoing somewhere in the back of his mind, waiting to resurface in his nightmares. And what about becoming a boss monster, knowing he no longer fit in with the other monsters – literally – and would live forever as a complete anomaly? Or his efforts to keep his brother happy by absorbing the Underground’s distilled misery, working it out the only way he knew how, till he believed that darkness and violence were naturals part of himself—when was it all going to stop?

Sans jumped as the priestess stood up and grabbed the back of his head, tipping him forward till his forehead was resting on her sternum. “Stop,” he muttered into the thick folds of her robe, trying to pull away.

Frisk’s arms shifted. They could barely fit around his skull, but she had a strong enough hold that he’d have to hurt her to get free. Sans shook his head, carrying her back and forth. “Would ya fuckin’ stop already?” he demanded, more desperate than angry.

“Why,” she said, more of a statement than a question.

No answer. Frisk drew breath to hum at him, but he shook his head again so violently that she almost fell over. “Don’t pull that crap on me now! Quit wastin’ yer damn magic and go away!”

What in the world? “All right, and no,” she retorted.

He growled, but for all his vehemence, he hadn’t so much as raised his arms. His next attempt to dislodge her was so half-hearted that Frisk barely moved. She didn’t need to make any sounds beside the steady, thrumming rhythm of her heartbeat; as she held on, his breathing started to slow down, and he was soon resting so heavily against her that she had to brace herself to hold him up. “We’re both fine,” the priestess said over his head. “All right?”

Sans nodded faintly. One arm looped around her, and most of his palm rested on her back. She felt more red soaking into her robe as she let him nuzzle the downy material over her heart, or SOUL, as he’d call it. It was more than a bit embarrassing to have his face right there, but he’d been through so much that this seemed like the very least she could do.

Besides, said a wry, far-off corner of her mind, if I’m going to conceive in the next month or two at the latest, this will be the least of my worries.

Dirt. Now it was impossible not to think of her twice-interrupted dream with a Sans much closer to her size, and impossible to ignore the question of whether her larger, angrier skeleton had enough magic – and creativity – to love a human without hurting her, physically speaking. Being determined to find out didn’t make her any less apprehensive about it.

Then there was the question she was afraid to even look at too closely: if a boss monster was able to give her his magic the way a regular skeleton apparently could, did she have enough magic – and determination – to give him a child and some semblance of a happy or normal life?

“’m fine now,” Sans eventually mumbled. “Leggo.”

Frisk made a disbelieving noise. “’m fine,” the skeleton said stubbornly.

“Mm-hmm.” Frisk let go and reached behind her to take his stained hand. “Come here.”

Sans obediently got up and followed her into the bathroom, wiping his eyes again as he sat down where she pointed. She washed her hands, then moved aside for him to wash his; as always, it took forever because his hands were too big for the sink, forcing him to work in sections. Once he’d gotten the majority of the red off, Frisk grabbed a black washcloth and some soap to help work the last bits out of the gaps in his metacarpals. Strange: they’d spent enough time together to be used to platonic physical contact, but it felt so intimate for him to let her touch him between the bones of his hands that she didn’t know what to do with herself.

When those were done, Frisk rinsed the washcloth out, patted her face to cool it, and had him sit down again. He held still as she started cleaning off the blood – or tears, or whatever it was, exactly – but he wouldn’t look her in the eye. A little more red oozed from the corner of one socket as she worked, and without thinking, Frisk placed her palm high on his cheekbone to wipe it off with her thumb. “What happened?” she asked softly.

Sans looked at the floor, then at her, reaching up. For a second, she thought he was going to push her hand away; instead, he curled his forefinger around her wrist and turned her palm over, looking at it as though he’d never seen a human this close before. “I couldn’t find Pap,” he mumbled. “Had a dream where…” His entire skull turned a spectrum of colors again, and he released her, closing his eyes as she eased the cloth around the edges of his sockets. “…stuff happened, then I thought I was awake, and…” He shivered, hunching his shoulders again. “I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“That’s fine,” she assured him, turning to wring out the washcloth and dab more soap on it, wondering what exactly he’d seen. Her heart was starting to feel quivery again. “Look up, please,” she said, trying to feel maternal.

The skeleton remained docile through several more scrubbings and a final once-over. He had recovered enough by now to towel himself dry, but as he handed it back, he absently wiped his face one more time on his sleeve. “Sans,” she scolded him, pointing in the mirror to yet another red streak on his jaw, this one transferred from his shirt. Frisk picked up the washcloth with a sigh. “We’re going to have to send that to the laundry.” She swiped the last bit off. “I won’t blame you for getting upset after whatever that thing did to you, but…”

“I wasn’t—” There was a slightly stupid pause as he tried to formulate a denial of having been upset. She just looked at him, and he switched tactics, protesting, “Hey, you got messy, too. ’s yer own fault. Next time, don’ grab me like that.”

Frisk wouldn’t dignify that with a response, though he was correct that her robe had dark splotches on the front and back. As Sans poked at his sleeves to check if they really had to be washed, the priestess leaned toward the mirror and opened her robe, seeing where his tears had soaked through and left rusty spots on her cleavage. “Dirt. You’re right, I need a bath.” The young woman sighed and rubbed her eyes, unaware that Sans had looked up, or that his entire world had instantly become fixated on the front of her robe. “Maybe after breakfast.”

Sans didn’t answer, but the silence felt different this time. Frisk stopped as she heard how heavily he was breathing. Funny, she remembered that sound from…from her dream. She swallowed hard, and without thinking, she turned to face him.

Sans moved very deliberately, kneeling in front of the priestess with his arms outstretched on either side of the sink and his face looming above hers. His mouth hung slightly open, eyes burning, breath hitting her like steam. When she tried to speak, he leaned closer. “Don’t move,” he rasped in her ear.

“Okay,” said Frisk, sounding much calmer than she felt. Despite his injunction, she glanced down and realized she’d forgotten to cover herself.

Damn, damn, damn! She’d never heard him like this before! What was wrong with—

Frisk stopped and gave herself a mental smack in the face, because she knew exactly what was wrong with him. “Sans, please,” she said, hoping he couldn’t hear her heart pounding.

A soft growl. “Seriously, Frisk. ‘m tryin’ not ta lose it here. Just…just gimme a minute.”

The young woman nodded. Should she try to calm him down, or put him to sleep? Whistling usually worked fast. She swallowed again, and licked her lips.

Wrong move: Sans leaned down and nudged her hard with his cheek. “Hey.” His voice gave her chills, mostly not good ones. “Ya do that again, and…” He inhaled so hard that she felt a rush of cold against her scalp. She tried not to wince or make a sound as he exhaled. “I already said no more noises. ‘Kay? They’re not gonna work on me right now,” he warned.

Think. Think, think. He was playing with her hair, one phalange trailing down her neck to her collarbone and her partly open robe. And a small part of her, an urge that steadily grew as his breath washed over her and his fingers brushed her cheek, actually wondered what would happen if she didn’t stop him. Hadn’t she wanted this for a long time, no matter how much she enjoyed his friendship?

No. Not like this, pinned against the bathroom sink, with him so worked up that one slip of his hand or teeth could do irreparable damage. “Sans,” Frisk said, loud enough to divert his attention. “I have two things to say. Can you listen to me for fifteen seconds?”

“…Good question.”

At least his hand had stopped moving. Before it could start again, Frisk said, “The first thing is that you have to stop. I am not ready for this, Sans, and neither are you. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

He was shaking again, the bones of his wrist rattling against the sink. She didn’t know whether to let him speak or keep him distracted, and quickly chose the latter: “The second thing is…why did the monster eat the tightrope walker?”

The trembling stopped. “Hm?” Sans paused, and she prayed that it’d be enough to shift his mental gears. “I…I dunno. Why?”

“Because,” Frisk said, “he wanted to have a balanced meal.”

Pause. “Heh,” Sans mumbled. “I thought it was ‘cause he wanted ta learn the ropes.”

He wasn’t moving. It hadn’t worked. Think think— “Come on,” she said, trying to sound old. “Be a nice skeleton.”

“…That.” Sans made a slight sound, and she almost wept with relief as his shoulders twitched. “That…” He started snickering, and put a hand to his forehead, allowing her to scramble away, yanking her robe shut. “Oh, man!” The skeleton leaned against the wall. “Why the hell—”

Frisk managed a smile. He glanced at her in the mirror, sobering. “Goddammit. …Sorry. I mean, dirt.” Sans got up and moved back against the wall. “Want me ta go away forever?” he asked, not very jokingly.

She shook her head. “No, but I think we’re long overdue for a talk about this.”

He flinched as though she’d poked him in the eye socket. Frisk waited for him to say something, anything, only to be interrupted by a knock on the outside doors.

Goddammit, indeed. The priestess allowed him to go welcome the distraction while she retrieved the washcloth to scrub the nearly-dry gunk off her breasts, thence to her dressing room to change into the most boring dress she owned and think things over.

On sober reflection, she mostly couldn’t believe that she’d been so determined to stay so stupid. Gaster had said to her face, under a truth spell, that Sans was “deeply in love” with her, direct quote. And what did she do? She’d actually checked a magic textbook to see if he could’ve possibly meant something else! How idiotic was she? Lust and love were not the same thing, but she knew Sans, and he wouldn’t be feeling one without the other. If both were in play now thanks to heightened emotions from those dreams, and then seeing her robe open…

Damnation. Now all she could think about was how she’d shown her scars the other night and let him touch her, and—oh, God, what about the time she lured him into the bathroom? The sleepovers? Dragging him along to tea and making him watch Luke flirt with her? The full-body hugs? If he’d actually felt this way the whole time, or even just part of it, what had she been doing to him?

Even worse was the realization that she hadn’t really believed it, and yet was operating on the half-conscious assumption that he was hers if she wanted him—stupid and presumptuous, not a good combination.

Well, no more. It was time to stop pretending her hopes for him were just going to work themselves out at some point, and to stop wasting her energy on endless what-ifs about physical or magical possibilities. None of it meant anything until she actually talked to him.

…At least she understood another aspect of her fortune now. She doubted if Sans knew that it was a crime for a human to have physical relations of any kind with a monster—Gaster might not even know. It very rarely came up, as monsters were primarily viewed as utilities, but miscegenation was a serious offense. It had been easy to avoid thinking about it or dismiss it as something she could get around via political influence, but going forward, she had to be realistic.

So. Realistically speaking, her good reputation – and Sans being a skeleton – had protected her from any real suspicion, but if he did somehow become her child’s father, she had no intention of trying to hide their relationship. Not only would she be unable to legally marry him, she’d have to call in some very sizable favors to avoid prison time or worse. Who knew? Maybe that was how she could get out of being High Priestess…

She was still deep in thought when she left the safety of her dressing room, not looking at Sans, who was devouring his breakfast as fast as he could. She decided to let him finish while she went through her morning mail, a task so boring that it was guaranteed to calm her down.

The skeleton gulped down the rest of his food in record time, but couldn’t help peeking at her as he got up, trying to gauge her mood. Nope, she didn’t look mad, so—

He stopped, looked again, and frowned. Her expression was utterly blank, her hands gripping the paper so hard that the edges were digging into her skin. “Hey, hey,” Sans chided her, taking the note and setting it down on the table. “What’s wrong?”

He could barely hear her response: “We’re leaving.”

Blink. “Wha?”

Frisk didn’t move, except to stab a finger at the note. Sans picked it back up and felt his brows rise as he read aloud, “‘Greetings. His Grace the blah blah Duke Archibald blah blah Duke Archiblah requests the assistance of the exalted Thea in arbitrating the matter of eight monsters to be placed with new owners in—’ What the fuck does he mean, ‘new owners’?! I thought you—”

“I did!” Frisk’s face was white. “I can’t believe it. He’s doing this on purpose! He…”

Sans stared at the Duke’s crest on the little square of paper. “Yer dad?” he muttered.

“He knows, and I know that I did everything exactly right, and he still—” The High Priestess didn’t brush a tear away so much as slap it off her face. Sans watched helplessly as she closed her eyes and got her breathing under control. “Start packing, Sans. We’re leaving tomorrow morning,” she said, very cold and precise. “We’re going to bring those monsters back to the Underground ourselves, and I will stay for ten days as their first official human visitor in thirteen years, and if my father doesn’t like it, I will cordially invite him to go fuck himself. He’s certainly had enough practice.”

The boss monster’s jaw hung open. “I—”

“We’ll pack up everything today and commandeer two wagons tomorrow morning. I’ll take the monsters and say they’re going to my house in Riverside. We can stop there overnight.” She took the note back and began crumpling it into a tiny ball. “We are not going to tell anyone anything before we leave, including Dr. Gaster. If anyone else tries to tell me what I can’t do…” The High Priestess unfolded the ball and ripped it into halves, quarters, and tiny shreds before scattering the pieces.

Thus began one of the most hectic, stressful, yet anticlimatic days he’d ever had. Plans were discussed, or dictated to him; many many items were put into boxes or bags; and the little mental counter he’d had going of his days remaining in the castle was tossed out the mental window. He should’ve been glad that he was going to get her to the Underground so much sooner than expected, or at least somewhat grateful that the note had completely overshadowed the morning’s events, but frankly, he didn’t have the time.

…Until now, right after dinner, when they finished wrapping the last of the empty glass vials in some of the furs for Mettaton and stuffed it into the last empty satchel. Frisk glanced at him and bit her lip, and before she even spoke, Sans hopped up and retreated to the bedroom.

Sure as Fate, Frisk got up, too, and she followed him in before he could shut the door. He stuffed his hands in his pockets, staring at the rust-brown spots on the white sheets. “I hope they can get those out,” he mumbled.

“Sit down,” she said.

Sans turned to stare at her. “What—”

“Sit down, Sans.”

Something in her tone sent prickles up his spine and down his limbs. He shifted his weight, avoiding her gaze. “I think I’ll sleep out there. We’ve got a hell of a lot of—”

“Sit down on the floor right now.”

Her voice was low and perfectly gentle, but it made him fold his legs and settle his coccyx on the floor, and all he wanted was to leave the room. “Frisk,” he pleaded.

“Keep your hands where they are.” The boss monster shut his eyes as she came close enough for him to feel her body heat and smell the wine she’d had after dinner. It hadn’t been that much, had it?

Now her arms were around his shoulders, hanging most of her weight and all of her softness against him like a necklace. Sans went rigid, his breath coming quick and harsh. Not again!

Frisk rested her head on his jawbone. “What did you dream about, Sans?”

Whatever she was doing, he couldn’t move, and he couldn’t lie to her. “I…was the way I used ta be, my old size. I was gettin’ in bed with you, and ya let me…” What the hell was she doing to him? “…ya let me do everythin’ I wanted. Then I woke up, ‘n you were dead. I bit yer neck clean through, you were all twisted up, blood everywhere—”

“It was a lie, Sans. You didn’t kill me.”

“‘Course it was a lie! It was a fuckin’ dream!” He laughed shakily. “Pun intended, I guess. Point is—”

“The second part was a lie. The first part really happened, just not here or now.”

Sans snorted. “I don’ even know what that means. It was just a dream, Frisk. Hate ta break it to you, but they’ve got lotsa stuff in ‘em that doesn’t actually happen.”

“Really. Like this?” She ran her hands over her skull, and Sans’ whole body shuddered. Her voice dropped. “Should I demonstrate anything else we did?”

He was panting again, jaws hanging slightly open. If she wanted to talk about this— “D’you know what’d happen if I fucked you for real?” he snarled, and it was her turn to flinch. “Even if I squashed myself down to my human size, an’ I made sure everything else fit,” he said scathingly, “’m not a human, an’ I’d still be pumpin’ ya full of magic. And guess what? I’ve been stewin’ in all this hate and the shit I absorbed from the Underground over…what, ten, twelve years?” He snorted. “Ya still won’t let me infuse anything ‘cause my magic sucks. Givin’ it to you would be the same thing, but a million times worse.” His hands flexed inside his pockets. It was almost a relief to be getting all of this out…almost. “Yer magic’s pretty damn strong, ‘specially for a human, an’ you could maybe handle a little of mine, but I’m a boss monster, remember? I dunno exactly how high my power’s scaled up compared to a regular monster, but it’s way the hell too much. I’d kill ya one way or another.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” the priestess said. “I’m going to have a child by next All Souls Day and bring it to the festival, remember? I can’t do that if I’m dead.” Something very soft brushed the side of his head. “I understand what you’re saying, and I know you’re worried about me. But it’s not impossible. Gaster said you’ve been sloughing off whatever’s built up around your SOUL. You can do it, Sans.” The soft touch was her hand; she was petting him like…not like a dog, more like a mother with an upset child.

…Right. That was how she’d pacified him the very first time they met, when he was going to obliterate her and steal her SOUL. She’d petted his blaster until he just stopped being angry. Fucking hell, what if he’d really done it?

Just like before, he couldn’t dwell on it, couldn’t stay mad. He hadn’t blasted her. She was fine. Sans breathed in, and out. He felt her shifting along his ribs, and his mind jumped back to what he’d seen in the mirror when she forgot to close the robe. She could’ve obliterated him with a barrier at that range, but she never did what any sane woman would do. Telling him that joke about the tightrope walker, saying they weren’t ready yet—

Click, click, click. Sans could actually feel things settling into place, realization crashing through the wall of anger and self-pity. “We’re not ready yet? Meaning…”

If that seemed to come out of nowhere, Frisk didn’t show it. “No, we’re not. At the very least, I want to be back safe in the Underground and have things straightened out with Asgore before I think about that,” she said. “And you need to practice…sizing.” Squirm. “But mostly, stop hating yourself so much. Please.”

A long pause, and one bewildered, honest question: “Why?”

Frisk sighed in patient exasperation. “Think about it,” she said into what would’ve been a human ear. “Meanwhile, you’re right. We need to get some sleep.”

“Seriously?!” Sans struggled to get his hands out of his pockets as she stepped away. “Ya can’t say all that an’ expect me to just—”

Frisk was back in front of him, and before he could blink, her hand went to the side of his face, resting on his cheekbone. “I know that was a lot to take in, but the point is that I want to help you, Sans,” she said. “Right now, that means sleep. Can I sing something for you?”

The last of Sans’ resistance crumbled as he placed his massive hand on hers, trapping it against his cheek. She’d won. If she wanted him to think he was great and not a giant, psychotic, poisonous piece of shit, he’d do it. If she wanted to wait till they were Underground and then let him have her, he wasn’t going to argue anymore. If she wanted him to tear his own head off and eat it…

Frisk indicated the bed with a motion of her head. As he stretched out and closed his eyes, still disbelieving, she cleared her throat. Out came that glorious sound he remembered, the same song: “May all your dreams be sweet tonight, safe upon your bed of moonlight. And know not of sadness, pain, or care…”

He didn’t care anymore about dreams, or his crappy magic, or what a pain tomorrow was going to be. I’m goin’ home, he thought. Goin’ home with her. For now, that was good enough.

#songfell #guess i'll put the announcement/request separately

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