#but he gets to channel his inner mad scientist through other means | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

jflashandclash · 4 years

Text

Tales From Mount Othrys

Ajax: Birth of the Triple A Chimera II

Upon hearing they were surrounded by Romans, Alabaster put on music. If Pax had to guess, this meant the Witch Boy had conceited defeat and wanted Axel and Pax to be comfortable in their last minutes. The phones lines were already down. The Romans must have cut those first while getting into position. Might as well relax to music before they cut the power too.

“I won’t be able to hear—” Axel protested over Pax’s metal mix.

“And they won’t either,” Alabaster hissed. His fingers rifled through the boxes, refrigeration tanks, and crates. He didn’t look down while he searched, trusting—unwisely—that Pax and Matt hadn’t boobytrapped anything.

While Alabaster sought ingredients and pre-rendered runes, Axel tore through their supplies for weapons. He found an antique harpoon gun from Alabaster’s private stash of awesome, several lengths of electrical cord for the band equipment, actual rope, dissection equipment, spikes, and a few crowbars.

They already counted Axel’s sword and Pax’s utility belt. There weren’t many weapons attached on the belt, but Pax had taken to hoarding smoke bombs from their band supplies and darts from the lounge. When they didn’t think Dr. Thorn was paying attention, Pax and Matt liked to throw darts at his spikes and use the smoke bombs as cover in their retreat.

Alabaster cursed, withdrawing his gloved hand from a Styrofoam box of dry ice. “Do they know you that you spotted them—”

“No. I don’t think anyone saw me, or they didn’t indicate if they did. On our hopeless exit options: the back door is locked and barricaded with boxes from when Matt unloaded earlier,” Pax said. Alabaster had been frustrated that Matthias completely blocked the back exit; however, Matt’s impertinence might buy them a few more minutes of cowering and pathetic farewells. “The windows are still shut and locked since you think fresh air is evil or something—”

“It’s to their benefit to charge us from more than one angle,” Axel said, dumping a box of artifacts on the floor. A PVC pipe rolled out beside some naked, wooden statues. Leave it to Alabaster to have porn in the form of long-dead people doing some kind of mud dance. Axel tossed the PVC pipe to Pax. Pax caught it, feeling along the holes. Not the best make-shift blow dart gun, but it would do. “If we can funnel them, their numbers mean nothing. Ajax, did you see explosives or a Bear Cat?”

Despite everything, Pax almost dropped the pipe in his delight. His mouth slipped open and he giggled with—

Axel paused in his rifling to glare at Pax. “The armored vehicle. The kind that rams down walls.”

“Though, also a species in Southeast Asia that I promise to turn you into if we get out of this alive,” Alabaster muttered.

From the name of that animal, it must have been cute. Pax tried not to tremble at the words “if we get out of this alive.”

“No Bearcat,” Pax said. He wracked his brain. “I didn’t see any vehicles.” Which made Pax wonder if the Romans had taxied here with all of their weapons or if there was a flock of eagles perched atop the building like the most overloaded phone line. Knowing how big they were, Pax guessed the ceiling would be sagging if that were the case. “Just that Mr. Friendly Bryce and his Done-With-This-Shirt Centurion, Ari and their gang.”

“Ari,” Axel echoed. He froze. His gaze unfocused as his tufted ears sank into his hairline. “Ari? Julian’s girlfriend? She’s supposed to be in university—unless… she came back to the military to avenge him…” His fingers sank to his chest, where a single medal—Julian’s praetorian badge—hung from a strip of leather.

Pax hadn’t meant to say her name and hadn’t meant for Axel to put together who she was. He puffed up his cheeks and popped them. After the air left his lungs, Pax jumped to his feet, waving his hands towards the ceiling. "Axel! Earth to fucking, badass Axel! We. Here. Going to die. Not just you. We probably only have minutes left. You can feel guilty about Julian’s death on your own time!”

Sure, Axel woke up screaming from the shame and trauma or whatever, but this wasn’t the place for Pax’s brother to stare off into the distance and soliloquize about his sins.

Axel shook his head. The hand near his chest clenched into a fist. “Fifteen, you said?” His ears shot up as he scowled at the “weapons” in front of him. “That’s too many for me. We can’t just pick them off. They’re Romans. They’ll group and we’ll get swarmed. Alabaster?”

Alabaster’s posture looked so rigid that he could have been a statue. A frown tugged his lip in a way Pax normally found cute. “If they were all in one area and none of us where in that area, I might be able to take them out with an elemental explosion of sorts, but I would need time that we don’t have for ritual casting and their utmost cooperation to die”

“Cho,” Axel said. His eyes darted to the entrance of the inner laboratory. If this were anyone other than Pax’s badass, infallible brother, Pax might have guessed panic was setting in. “Think. Think. There’s too many to fight.” Axel unsheathed his sword, stalking between the narrows labyrinth of boxes in the world’s shortest bout of pacing. “We can’t channel them so their numbers don’t matter; we might get flanked if they break through a window. We don’t have enough supplies to barricade all the doors effectively and they could just set the building on fire if we did. We don’t know what individual powers they have. What did older generals do when they were outnumbered and out maneuvered?”

The idea struck Pax so hard that he thought it must have come from some divine source. He would thank his mother (or maybe Prometheus) later. For proper dramatic effect, he snapped his fingers. “The Romans don’t know that we’re outnumbered and outmaneuvered. Not for sure.”

Alabaster’s lip quivered. His emerald gaze danced to Pax. “Didn’t Mercedes’ reports say they weren’t sure if Axel was a monster? And me, a mad scientist?”

“That’s it!” Axel inhaled deeply. “We’ll Zhuge Liang[1] it, or at least a variation of Empty Fort strategy.” He pivoted to their scattered band equipment. “They’re prepared for witchcraft. Not stage performance.” There was a plan formulating in Axel’s head—Pax could tell since he was no longer saying things that would incur a sand-and-soap mouth washing from their Chiich.

Alabaster hesitated, his gloved hand squeezing the lid to the Styrofoam case. He mumbled something in Latin: a prayer, an incantation, or a final request for McDonald? Pax wasn’t sure. When his eyes opened, they blazed. “I’ll get the vat of dried ice in the back. Hecate bless us, I can’t believe I’m leaving things up to luck with you two. It’s like betting against loaded dice.”

Pax, who hadn’t gambled much, resented this comment; he and Axel would most likely be using loaded dice. This almost not-suicidal plan and Alabaster’s cynical “hurrah” made Pax swallow. Now, they just needed to pull the plan off and have nothing go wrong, something that definitely wasn’t in their track record.

***

Thanks for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Tune in next week to see Pax’s fanfiction of the events. I hope you guys are staying safe and healthy!

Footnote:

[1] In the Romance of the Three Kingdoms, Zhuge Liang opened all the gates of the city he defended and sat atop a platform, where he played his guqin. The enemy leader, Sima Yi, ordered a retreat since this looked too much like a set up for ambush.

#Tales from Mount Othrys #TFMO #PJO #HOO #Percy Jackson and the Olympians #Heroes of Olympus #Writing #Alabaster #Pax #Axel #So--the building changed four times during the writing of this scene and I HOPE I kept correct in this version >>'''#This is also unbetaed since I'm not sure my normal beta has time to read--so I'm sorry for mistakes!#Also--my cat says hi from her sleeping ball of doom

5 notes · View notes

lostinsantacarla · 5 years

Text

Part two (I can’t take complete credit for this. I threw an idea at my writing partner and she ran with it, creating this part of the chapter that’s simply amazing and completely Paul)

1981

He woke up later than usual. His lady friend, one of his many friends with benefits, or in last night's case, "Make me your bitch, Paul!" had long since left for work, but not before providing him with money on the end table so he could buy some beer and cigarettes. However, he decided that using the money to score some high-quality weed from his favorite dealer sounded better.

Sure, the guy was a hunchback, walked with a lead foot, had one bug-eye, and smelled like garbage, but out of all the shady people Paul had bought pot from over the years, this guy had never steered him wrong. It was too bad the old fart was hardly around. For someone who hobbled about as he did, he was fast with his transactions and as soon as the exchange was finished, he was off like a thief in the night. Lucky for Paul, word on the street was that the weirdo was out and about tonight.

Sweet Mary Jane, here I come! His inner monologue announced as he threw on a pair of denim pants, that is, after he found them behind the bushes outside the apartment complex. He had had to run out buck naked, marathon sprinting, to retrieve them without being spotted. Talk about a wild romp of sex for his pants to get thrown out the window like that.

His look was further completed with a band shirt, seeing as one could never go wrong with Led Zeppelin, and black high tops. Then in the bathroom, in front of the mirror, he spent a good amount of time teasing his hair until it resembled a lion's mane; big, wild, and unkempt.

The girls loved his style and always gave compliments about how he looked like a rock star. His hair and his bigger than life personality had opened many doors of opportunity, which in turn led to free food, booze, and sex. He was exuberant and free spirited. Nothing and nobody could hold him back.

Once he was fixed up, the rock star was out the door with the money and made his way down the block. It was a quiet night and the sun had long since set in the horizon. The streets were lined with rundown apartment buildings and small houses, but visibility was somewhat poor since many of the streetlights had long since burned out, or were flickering their last light as he strolled beneath them. He could hear some of the bulbs buzzing and glanced up to see a couple of moths high above, fluttering around one of the dying lights. Needless to say, this part of the neighborhood wasn't the greatest, but it was an even thirty miles from Santa Carla, where the beaches and amusement park roared with life at all hours of the day and night. That was his destination, though he never complained about where he stayed in the moment, because it was a free roof over his head. It wasn't like his childhood home had been anything remotely close to resembling paradise either, but those were painful memories, pushed deep into the back of his mind. Occasionally they would pop up here and there, rearing their ugly heads, considering he was human after all.

He ventured off the main road and resorted to crossing through some dilapidated backyards, as it was a lot quicker to travel. These homes, while much smaller and closer in connection than the ones he'd passed earlier, were also abandoned with windows boarded up and walls marred with graffiti. He kept both hands in his pockets, one of which had a hold over a switchblade. It served as good protection, considering he was aware of the few guys he'd pissed off by sleeping with their girlfriends and then bragged about it later while high, and or drunk. They'd all wanted to beat the shit out of him, and they weren't shy about threatening out in the open. Fortunately, he was always one step ahead of them and like his favorite dealer, made sure never to stay in the same place for very long. Keeping off the main roads would ensure prying eyes weren't watching him.

Eventually he found himself headed towards the more industrial part of the town in search of the weirdo, where the lighting became scarce and dark alleys closed in on him. It was like he was wandering through a maze of brick walls and wooden fences, with garbage cans and discarded cargo boxes choking the walkways. Not a great place to get jumped, so he kept a steady pace and made sure to keep his eyes open.

As he prepared to go around a corner that led down a narrow channel of a one-way street, a high pitched, fearful sounding, "NO!" made him stop dead in his tracks. Instantly, he flattened against a set of steel bars over a foreign doorway, and peered around the corner with his mouth slightly parted in concern.

Just a few feet away, under the light of an abandoned two story building, he spotted a little blonde girl, probably no older than four years old, bawling her eyes out. Her cheeks were red and stained with tears. A middle-aged man with disheveled gray hair pulled back in a sloppy ponytail and wearing a white lab coat towered over the girl. He looked about ready to devour her like a hungry beast. His face was twisted and strained and he reached out to grab her with gnarled, crooked fingers. He barked at her, telling her that if she didn't stop crying any second, he was going to belt her.

"What the...?" Paul muttered under his breath. "hell is this?"

Suddenly the man had a firm grip over the back of the pink overalls the child wore, and was ready to hoist her off the ground. The kid was jerked back, and she let out a painful scream.

Normally, Paul wouldn't have given two shits about other people's problems. Aside from his drug buddies and faceless gal pals, he wasn't close enough with anyone to where he'd stick his neck out for them in a matter of life or death. The only person he looked out for at that point in time was numero uno. Yet the sight of a small, defenseless child about to be harmed by another adult brought one of those painful memories to the surface, no longer buried deep in his sub-consciousness. It reminded him all too much of his past, and of the many nights he'd been beaten black and blue by his step-dad with no one around to help him. Not even his mother, who knew what was happening, would dare lift a finger. Every time it happened, she looked the other way, afraid to interfere—not because she would get hit, but because she would lose the man's attention and he'd end up leaving her. The only way Paul was able to escape the nightmare was by staying out night after night, and only going home when he absolutely needed to. Before he turned sixteen, they kicked him out permanently after learning he had sold all his mother's precious jewelry, including her wedding ring, for quick cash. He was given the boot and ultimately his freedom.

"Fuck that," Paul hissed through clenched teeth as he sprang into action. No one had been there for him, but that didn't mean he couldn't help another little tike out. He bolted away from his hiding spot, and approached the stranger, using his arm to shove the older guy up against the wall. That in turn allowed him to yank the girl away from the weirdo's grasp, and set her down on her feet. She stumbled backwards and continued crying, but Paul ignored her as he became transfixed with the creep in front of him.

"What were you planning on doing with such a small fry, huh?" he asked, his blue eyes full of rage, yet at the same time he was somewhat... grinning? Yes, he was smiling. He liked frightening this asshole. "You don't look like nobody who would care about her. She sure as hell doesn't seem to like you."

"That is NONE of your business," the man hissed as he pushed Paul's arm away from him. "She will be property of—"

"Wrong answer!" Paul exclaimed as he stepped back, drew his switch blade, and stepped forward once more, shoving the tip dangerously close to the man's throat. "The kid wouldn't be screaming like that if she belonged to you or anybody associated with you. And 'property' you say? That ain't gonna be sitting right with the police now, is it?"

The last thing Paul wanted to do was go to the police. He'd already had more than a few run-ins with them for public intoxication, lewd behavior, and disturbing the peace. Assault and possession of a deadly weapon was not something he wanted to add to his record. Still, he wasn't about to let some asshole get away with hurting a defenseless kid. He wasn't that jaded.

The man's eyes bugged out at the sight of the weapon and he swallowed nervously, buying the bluff. He held up his hands, already breaking out into a cold sweat, and started stammering.

"A-A-All right. All right. Just… let me go. Let me go, please. I don't see why they need… need her so much anyhow. S-She doesn't look like anything special to me. I-I could always find another job at my age! I shouldn't be... be treated like this! No job is worth risking my life for!"

They? Paul raised a brow over his ramblings, but a couple things stood out to him. What kind of job was this creep into where the requirements involved wanting their employees to kidnap children? Was it some kind of secret sweat shop in China? Whatever. He moved back and closed the switch blade before sliding it back in his pocket, his eyes never wavering from the man in front of him. The girl had calmed down and was no longer crying, but squatting on the ground, her body pressed up against the building. She was whimpering and hiccupping with her back facing them. Other than looking terrified, she didn't appear hurt, much to Paul's relief.

"Now," Paul said with an upbeat expression, even though his tone betrayed the look, as it was dark and menacing. He slapped the man roughly across the chest with the back of his hand. "You aren't gonna rat on me to the police, are you? Let's face it, I know I'm a punk, but you don't look all too 'normal' yourself, bud. What's a mad scientist doing going after little girls? You some kinda pervert?"

"I am not!" the man blurted out, completely unnerved at this point. His hands trembled, and he swallowed the lump in his throat. "I don't like that sort of thing at all! And no! Can't get the police involved! I was just doing my job… I..."

In a blind panic, he was finally pushed away from Paul and broke free. Fearful for his life, his footsteps echoed across the alley until he disappeared, and silence once again took over.

Now Paul turned to the kid. He wasn't used to dealing with little ones, but he was still determined to make sure this one wasn't getting hurt by the likes of that jerk, or anyone else who could easily break her jaw. He was by no means a saint, but even he had his own code of ethics and morals.

Scratching at the faint stubble on his cheeks, he slowly approached her and carefully picked her up. She was small and weighed very little, and he couldn't help but think about his baby half-brother, as she was probably around the same age as him.

Ah, hell, stop thinking about any of that, he chided inward. You're on your own, Paulie boy. You've been on your own for a long ass time.

By the time he and the girl emerged out into the open, he saw how dark the skies had grown. He didn't wear a watch, but he noticed a small clock tower located on an island in the middle of an intersection that read the time. Not even two hours had passed since he left his friend's pad. There, in that part of town, the street lights were better maintained (as in, they worked), and not only that, but there were people walking around. Businesses were also open and operating, which meant it was a hell of a lot safer than the alleys.

He was surprised at how well behaved and quiet the girl was after saving her. She didn't even know him, but already showed trust in him as if she could read him. Either that or she was just scared out of her wits. The trust factor became more apparent, however, when she leaned against his chest. She was content, sucking her thumb while her eyelids drooped. The problem for Paul was that he wasn't sure where to go from there, so he sat down on the curb and gently placed her down beside him.

He tipped his chin and stared at his shoes, noticing a hole was starting to form near the toe, but the small girl didn't want to detach herself from his side, and ended up resting her small frame against his arm.

Crap, he'd suddenly become an unofficial babysitter for her.

Long as she isn't wailing like she was, I can deal with this, I think.

He rested his arms across his knees and cracked his knuckles as he stared across the street at nothing while his thoughts rolled around. What did that perv say about her being property? Total sicko. People got their rocks off in the nastiest ways. Just hope I didn't miss my dealer by playing hero...

"Serenity? Oh my god, there she is! Serenity!"

Glancing in the direction of the frantic voice, Paul spotted a desperate looking elderly couple hurrying over to where the two of them sat. Their eyes were not focused on him but what was next to him: the kid. No, not kid, Serenity.

Serenity was her name.

Pffft. As if he would retain that information for much longer after he killed his brain cells with some prime weed. Question was, were they just more weirdos coming after her? Just decked out in clever disguises rather than the mad scientist get up? What was so special about her anyway?

Fortunately, unlike with the first guy, Serenity did respond positively to the sound of the elderly female's voice by calling out, "Grandma...!"

She rubbed her eyes with her tiny fists and yawned.

Paul figured he would be tired too after getting kidnapped and harassed by some douchebag, if he were her age.

Not wanting to startle her any more, he collected her into his arms and got to his feet. By that point, the couple was upon them and the woman's arms were outstretched. With a shrug, he automatically surrendered Serenity over to her.

About damn time, he thought as the grandmother cradled Serenity close to her chest and kissed her face affectionately. Serenity responded by cuddling closer to her relative, but she did offer Paul one last look, as if silently wondering if he'd still be around later.

"Thank you so much," the elderly man said as he stood alongside his wife, looking very tired but relieved. The dude was sweating. He had to have been running around like a chicken with its head cut off looking for his granddaughter. He held out a thin hand for Paul to shake. "We don't know how we can ever repay you! We were about to call the police!"

Paul snorted and shoved both of his hands inside his pockets. "Keep a better eye on short stuff there," he admonished rather rudely. "Lil' missy may not be so lucky next time."

Without waiting for a response, he took off in the opposite direction, determined to get back to his own personal affairs. If he ended up meeting with his dealer, soon enough he'd be so damn high that he wouldn't have any memories of playing the hero in the first place.

Little Serenity was young enough to where she wouldn't remember almost being kidnapped. She'd be back to watching Sesame Street and Mister Rogers.

Sides, it's not like I'll ever see her again…

(If you’d like to check out her back story for Paul, you can find it here.)

#the lost boys #lost boys #writing #Paul x Serenity #Sleight of Hand and Twist of Fate #vampires #fan fiction

9 notes · View notes

maxmiz · 6 years

Note

OMFG!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH!! mmm I was wondering if you could elaborate a little bit more in Max story? I LOVE how he is Slytherin's heir

Hey there @dangpanterita. :D Apologies for answering this so terribly late but my job keeps me incredibly busy. Let me elaborate on the two stories:

1. Max’s story in my Potter/Beyblade Headcanon

Max’s story is pretty neatly woven into the Potterverse in my head and my headcanon about him being an heir of Slytherin makes perfect sense somehow when it comes to writing a story with an epic twist. We all picture him either as a Ravenclaw (for his obvious brains), as a Hufflepuff (for his nature) or as a Gryffindor because the kid’s got some courage (he sky-dived off a damned plane to save his friends). And don’t get me wrong, I don’t picture him in Slytherin house either. But as an heir of Slytherin? Hell, yes.

I was working on a fanfic on this for some time while I was still at uni a few years back and I developed a sort of story out of it in my head. We all know that Judy is a hell of a scientist and there’s plenty of evidence in canon to show that she’s extremely shrewd, proud and ambitious - all of which are qualities of a Slytherin through and through. I’m not saying she’s evil though - but she definitely is as much of a morally grey character in my headcanon as she is in actual canon (especially in season 1 where she is undeniably cold to her son for no good reason).

I primarily imagine Judy as the Minister for Magic in my headcanon. A cold but somewhat level headed witch who is pure-blooded,extremely gifted, headstrong and ambitious. She is for the most part motivated only by her instinct for self preservation (arguably a trait of someone who would be a pure Slytherin heir), but she has a soft corner for her half blood son, Max. That is the only thing in the world that made her break away from her family. She abandoned her Slytherin crazed family to protect her son, and severed all ties with her Slytherin roots to move up in the world and become Minister.

So how was Max born at all if she was a typical Muggle resenting Slytherin?

My headcanon is that Taro, Max’s dad, is a Muggle. That Judy, as a teenager, faced a lot of abuse in her household from her father for not channeling her gifts to terrorize Muggle-borns. She runs away one day, drinks a hell of a lot of firewhiskey,meets a teenaged Muggle Taro at a Muggle bar and ends up pregnant. Once she and Taro both sober up, she feels utterly disgusted that she slept with a Muggle. She tries to abort the child, but cannot. Since childhood she’s been wearing her dead mother’s pendant of Genbu (a gift from her father to her mother) and somehow Genbu casts a protective spell around her unborn foetus to ensure the continuity of Slytherin’s bloodline. She feels helpless because she neither wants the child nor does she have the choice to abort it. She feels cursed and knows that her father will kill her child if he knows he’s a half blood. She flees pregnant to the US and with whatever money she had run away with, she joins Ilvermony to complete her final year of education.

She realises, however, that she can’t continue into the next chapter of her life with Max. She wanted to be Minister for Magic and had no interest in being a mother. Also if her father finds Max, he’ll kill him. But she did love Max. She couldn’t exactly abandon him.

So she reluctantly leaves him with Taro to raise the boy and deletes any permanent records of her being Max’s mother. She gives Max the pendant of Genbu and moves on. Once in every few months she would visit her son, but all of that would happen in secret. Max and Taro knew that Judy was his mother, but the world has no idea.

Max often grew up wondering if his mom is so distant to protect him or if it’s only a facade for her not wanting to raise a child. He often feels conflicted by it (much like in canon).

What is the role of Genbu here?

Genbu, as I mentioned in the earlier headcanon (in the Japanese version of beyblade, Max’s bit beast is called Genbu), is traditionally represented as both a tortoise and a serpent. You can look it up. And that’s where the heir of Slytherin theory finds more support. This is Genbu (source: Wikipedia):

Max was always aware of the fact that the locket that he wore was the locket of Slytherin. He was aware of his heritage because he would often only accidentally be able to control ocean waves, but also speak to snakes before he went to Hogwarts. And of course, Judy told him why he could never reveal who he was.

And truly, because of everything he knew, he begged the sorting hat to not sort him into Slytherin. Eventually he gets sorted into Ravenclaw much to his relief.

Genbu is nothing more than the spirit of Salazar Slytherin trapped in a pendant which gives the heir of Slytherin wearing it the power to harness the same powers as him if ever the Slytherin bloodline is threatened. It can also mess with the head of the wearer.

In my headcanon, ultimately Max fights the spirit from messing with his head and tames it to become who he is. A powerful wizard who controls the element of water and controls serpents.

Max’s personality

In my headcanon, I’ve tried to bring out a darker side of Max. His personality is still the same of course, he’s funny, kind and has a heart of gold. But there’s an inherent darkness inside him. Let’s look at canon for a second. Max never loses his cool. But the few times that he did lose his cool in canon, he channeled his rage into his beyblading to epic proportions. With others, the rage is pretty standard. But when Max would snap, he’d snap big time. When his pride is hurt, he hits back big time.

The guy is smart as hell (calculating angles and saving a puppy with a beyblade requires some brains and skills) which is why he is in Ravenclaw in my story. But, he has all the makings of an heir of Slytherin whose dark side remains buried mostly because the Muggle born blood from Taro’s side keeps him grounded and kind.

Let’s not forget, in my headcanon he’s been raised mostly by Taro. So the kindness is natural. But deep down, he’s every bit his mother’s son too. So I have headcanons about Max having a dark side - a manifestation of his inner Slytherin.

2. Brooklyn’s story in Potter/Beyblade Headcanon

To answer your question, yes, I do picture Brooklyn as Credence to a certain extent. I never actually got to formulating his part of the story in my head but here’s how I imagine it going.

We don’t know a lot about Credence as such. We do know that he is a pure blooded wizard who was raised by an abusive Muggle and developed into an obscurial who somehow survived into adulthood. We also know that he’s extremely powerful, had faced a lot of childhood abuse and had grown up feeling different and alone. And of course, that he was manipulated and used by Grindelwald.

Now let us look at Brooklyn in canon. Brooklyn is also an exceptional wizard. He’s brilliant, a loner and if we look at the very last episode of beyblade, he’s grown up extremely lonely and friendless. He was always different from everyone else, gifted. He has an immense amount of power, is not inherently evil by any stretch of imagination. But judging by canon, it is obvious that Brooklyn has some degree of PTSD and probably had faced tremendous bullying or some form of abuse as child. When Brooklyn is in a mad rage, he assumes this dark uncontrollable form. Also, when BEGA was formed, Beyblade’s key antagonist, Boris (I’m using the English dub name) used Brooklyn and his mad rage and pushed him over the edge.

THIS IS ALL VERY CREDENCE AND GRINDELWALD.

So here’s my headcanon for Brooklyn. Brooklyn was a gifted powerful wizard who never went to Hogwarts. He had a lot of hidden magical talent that he dared not express because the Muggles who raised him were abusive and tried to make him repress it. And he is also an obscurial. I headcanon that Brooklyn’s bit beast is like some physical manifestation of his obscurial form and Boris, for the sake of his personal gains pushes Brooklyn over the age to use his obscurial powers to wreak havoc.

Okay so that’s as much elaboration as I could manage on my headcanons.

Thanks for the question!

#beyblade #headcanons #harry potter #beyblade/hp #max mizuhara #max tate #brooklyn masefield #beyblade headcanon #ask #judy mizuhara #taro mizuhara #bega #crossover

13 notes · View notes

the-undertale-mouse · 7 years

Photo

Handplates: Tempus CH 2 The Plate

Handplates is a really cool if dark take on the Papyrus/Sans/Gaster origin story by @zarla-s and if you haven’t seen it already, I highly recommend it. This is a spinoff of that in which a human enters their lives. This takes place some time before Justice falls. She would be the fifth soul. Some things may be inaccurate, but please be patient with me. I just need to get it out of my head and I need some feedback. I will be reposting some old chapters because I have revised a few things for greater accuracy. ~miamouse

First, he needed to prepare a hand plate for Subject 3. The hand plate served two major purposes: it established the subjects as objects and prevented escape by means of a tracking device. At least 3-T couldn't remove its arm without causing itself extreme pain, so they could skip that lesson. He had a third plate made long ago in case he ever needed to replace Subjects 1 or 2. He abandoned the idea of replacement after a while since it would be too painful...for his foot, where he would get the required material from. In any case, it was good to have a use for it. He used a laser to etch in the the new subject’s number and letter ‘3-T.’

As subject 3 watched, its face paled. “Are you going to brand me with that?! WDG are your initials, but what’s the 3 for? And how did you know my name started with ‘T’?” Gaster was impressed by how close its guess was. What he was about to do was similar to branding.

Gaster had gotten used to questions like these from the other two subjects and decided long ago it was much less annoying to just answer as long as the matter was of little consequence. “I’m not going to brand you, it's more of a...label. 3 because you are the third subject- no, the other two are not humans. They are...artificial constructs. The ‘T’ is coincidence. It has nothing to do with your name, which from this day forth is irrelevant. It has more to do with your speech signature ‘Tempus.”

“That is my name! My nickname anyway. It's my favorite font! This is spooky.” despite everything, Subject 3 seemed amazed that Gaster had guessed its chosen name.

It was hardly a guess, he was simply following tradition. He was a little perplexed how the human knew that. Few monsters other than skeletons spoke in distinct ‘fonts.’ As far as he knew, only skeletons could tell one voice’s ‘font’ from another. Subject 3 definitely looked human. But once again it defied norms...It warranted study, but in the end it didn't matter how monster like or even skeleton like it was. Its soul was necessary to break the barrier.

With that in mind, Gaster strapped it down tight then grabbed his drill and the plate and did not look at the human as he said in an emotionless voice, “Hold still.” It was time for the human's first lesson in this lab: a hand plate makes you an object.

* * *

Pain. Incredible pain in her right hand. Did no one tell this mad scientist hands were not meant to be drilled in?! By the look of things, he hadn't even spared his own hands. Or maybe someone did that to him and in his mind that made it ok to do it to others. That didn't make it ok, but perhaps a little more understandable.

It was still excruciating. Tempus bit back her screams. She hated being seen as weak due to her frail nature, so she trained herself not to cry or scream unless she absolutely couldn't help it. This came close. She kept her mouth shut and blocked most of it, but some sound escaped involuntarily and tears streamed down her face. The actual drilling didn't take long, but the pain persisted. Finally, Tempus felt her consciousness slipping; her body sparing her from the pain.

* * *

Subject 3 seemed to take the drilling well, it hardly made a peep, compared to the wailing of the other two. Gaster was just thinking about the extraordinary strength of humans when it passed out.

He didn't want it to die yet! He had plans for it! Plans that required a live specimen! He checked its Hp. It had dropped from 10 to 5. He didn't understand. Even the ultra fragile subject 1 had not lost any HP. He noticed the streams of red leaking from its hand making a mess on the floor. “Blood...animals need that...this calls for attention, right…subject 2! I need subject 2!”

Skeletons didn’t bleed and in his haste to get the drilling over with, he had forgotten how different humans were. In any case he couldn’t fix it and Subject 2 was much more reliable with his healing magic than Subject 1. He found himself running down the hall to the cells. He slapped his hand on the scanner, and explained quickly, “I need Subject 2 to come with me now. It’s urgent!”

“What?” asked 2-P, curious.

“Why?” asked 1-S, suspicious.

“Urgently!” Gaster emphasized.

* * *

2-P followed close behind Gaster without another word. He didn't seem angry, more like worried. Something was wrong and he needed 2-P’s help specifically. That usually meant healing, but as far as he knew, all three of them were fine. So maybe it was something else. 2-P was so busy puzzling about what he was going to do, he didn't notice they were heading for one of his least favorite rooms: the room where he received his hand plate. Only once they were inside did he realize where they were. This was a place you didn't forget easily. 2-P trembled involuntarily and stopped moving forward.

“Come along. We’re not here for you. I need your help with the thing strapped in over there,” Gaster said.

The person strapped in on the table appeared to be sleeping. They were...different. 2-P couldn't quite put his finger on it. They were roughly the same shape as a skeleton, but somehow...squishier ? Softer? Plushier? Then he noticed their hand, shining with the all too familiar hand plate and leaking some kind of red fluid.

“You...you drilled their hand and now they're hurt!” 2-P accused.

“You can point fingers later. Right now I need you to mend it. At least make it stop leaking all over the floor. Do you think you can handle that?” Gaster demanded.

“Yes, of course. I’ll do my best. But for them not the floor.”

2-P channeled greenish ‘niceness’ energy into his hands and put them both on the hand of the stranger. As he concentrated, he connected his consciousness with theirs: a swirling vortex of thought and feeling. The energy there was nothing like what 2-P had ever felt before; it was much more intense, vibrant, stronger even in their injured state.

Their inner self was curled in a ball, crying. 2-P made his way over to them and held out his hand. The stranger stopped crying and looked up. After a long moment of hesitation, they took his hand. 2-P pulled them up on their feet and into a hug, and after a bit, they hugged back.

Back in the physical plain, the leaking had indeed stopped and the stranger opened their eyes. The eyes were quite different from what 2-P had come to expect. Instead of dark all around and white in the middle, these were white all around and darker in the middle, with rings of blue just before the darkness. It was like they were glowing, but not quite. 2-P couldn't help but stare curiously.

* * *

Tempus woke to a pair of eye sockets staring into her soul. She stared back, unable to utter a single syllable, until her hand throbbed and she gave an involuntary, “ah!” and went to rub it only to find a metal plate there.

The smaller skeleton's hands flew to their mouth in concern. “Oh no! Does it still hurt? Of course it does, mine hurt for a long time afterwards. I did my best. I could-”

The initial shock wore off and Tempus breathed a little. Yeah, it still hurt like heck, but it was manageable now. She realized this little guy was responsible for erasing the pain. She smiled weakly and managed a “thanks.”

The smaller skeleton still looked concerned when they said, “It's the least I could do.” They weren't really that small. They were about Tempus’ size, maybe an inch or two taller, come to think of it. The skeleton’s face was the spitting image of Gaster’s, but 150% more innocent and less...broken. They were clothed in a green hospital gown and on their skeletal right hand gleamed a plate just like hers except it read ‘WDG-2 P’

Gaster had said there were 2 others: ‘artificial constructs.’ She thought he meant robots or something, but this was more like a... clone. The WDG marked him as one of Gaster’s belongings,The ‘2’ stood for Subject 2, but what did the ‘P’ stand for? Gaster had said something about voice signatures, which seemed to be fonts judging by her signature ‘Tempus’ and Gaster's first name ‘Wingdings.’

Tempus remembered that it was a symbol font, which must be why he was surprised she could understand his voice. She knew it because she and her best friend used to write secret messages to each other in wingdings. It was easy once you got the hang of it. She went through all the ‘p’ fonts she knew, trying to decide how their voice matched up. One of her favorite fonts was called ‘Papyrus’ and it seemed to fit, especially when put in all caps, but she wasn’t sure why. She decided to test her theory. “My ‘T’ stands for Tempus, my name, which also happens to be my favorite font and apparently what my voice sounds like. Your voice reminds me of the Papyrus font. Does the P stand for Papyrus?” she asked.

“Papyrus? I haven’t heard of different ‘fonts’ But I like it! I am usually called Subject 2 or 2-P or Brother, but if you want to call me Papyrus, then I don’t mind at all.” he beamed.

“It’s nice to meet you, Papyrus” she said sincerely.

Papyrus’ eye sockets seemed to sparkle at that simple statement. Like he never heard those words used like that before and he enjoyed hearing it. “Likewise!” he responded.

Gaster was watching their interactions carefully. Like he was ready to intervene if the big bad human lifted a finger against his creation. He was oddly protective over his ‘artificial construct.’

Just then, another skeleton entered the room. “you left the cell unlocked, so i figured i was allowed to follow....who’s that? they have a hand plate...did you make another...no, it doesn't make sense. they're not the same. where did they come from? what are you going to do with them?” This skeleton was dressed like Papyrus, but they were shorter, and had a rounder face with bigger eye sockets that had white pupil-like dots in the middle. If Tempus could pick a font for them, it would definitely be ‘comic sans’ but she thought it better to ask them first.

Before she could, Gaster stepped between them. “Stay away from Subject 1.” He ordered, surprisingly protective.

“Why? You didn't say anything when I was talking to Papyrus. What's the difference?”

“The difference is that Subject 1 is incredibly fragile. Even the slightest injury could prove fatal to him,” Gaster explained.

Tempus knew a thing or two about being labeled as ‘fragile’ and she hated it. “I’m not going to hurt him! I just want to meet him!”

“A likely story,” Gaster said, but moved aside anyway. “Any funny business, and you are going to regret it deeply,” Gaster threatened unnecessary. Of course she would regret it if she hurt someone!

Tempus threw Gaster a glare, and moved towards the smallest skeleton.

* * *

the person was different than anyone 1-S ever saw, but that wasn't saying much when he only ever saw two other people his whole life. they were about as tall as his brother, give or take a couple of centimeters. they looked like a skeleton wrapped in some sort of squishy material with some brownish yellow fluff on top that draped their head and went just past their shoulders. their features were pleasant enough, he guessed. again, he didn't have much to compare them with. the most striking feature were the eyes: white with black dots instead of black with white dots. each had a ring of blue around the black, as if they were glowing, but it wasn't quite the same effect.

“Hi, my name is Tempus, what's yours?” asked Tempus. the name suited them. it seemed to match their words, though he never heard of any ‘Tempus’ before.

“my given is name Subject 1, or just 1-S. i am also known as brother, if you want to be nice, i guess.”

Tempus frowned thoughtfully, “How do you feel about Comic Sans, or maybe just Sans to be casual?”

1-S didn’t know what to make of this. he knew ‘comic’ meant funny, and ‘sans’ meant without, but the way tempus said it, it seemed to mean something different, something better. ‘Comic Sans’ sounded like something that resonated with his being; it felt right and he liked it. his face cracked into a smile, “sure. if you wanna call me that, i’m game.”

Tempus smiled, “Sans it is then.” they held out their hand and sans stared at it, unsure what the gesture meant.

Tempus cocked their head to the side and frowned a little. “Don't you know how to greet a new pal?” they seemed a little sad and concerned.

sans shook his head. he had never done much greeting at all ever.

Tempus sighed, “I guess I should have expected this. If you ever meet someone new, however unlikely,” they paused to glare at Gaster (sans was beginning to like this person) “the nice thing to do is take their hand in yours and move it up and down, like this,” Tempus did as they said. it felt kind of nice. their hand was soft and warm. sans smiled a little. then frowned as he felt the plate and realized that gaster had already hurt his new ‘pal.’ did that man ever take a break from hurting people?

“Do you not like it? I’m sorry. You don't have to shake hands, it’s more of a suggestion. Not everyone does it. Heck, some people don't even have hands. It's just something I'm used to.” Tempus reminded him of his brother a little, the way they apologized like that.

“no, no. it’s not you it’s gaster. he drilled a plate on you too. it seems new. does it still hurt?” sans asked. his plate hurt for days after he got it.

“Yeah, it’s still pretty sore. I just got it a few minutes ago. It was awful. I passed out and everything. But Papyrus healed it so that the pain at least isn't as sharp.” sans hatred for gaster grew in conjunction with his love for his brother, along with sympathy for his new pal… ‘pal’ didn't seem right. too distant, despite them having just met.

Papyrus came over to join the conversation as well. “I’m glad I was able to help,” he said. “Brothers like us should stick together.”

“Brothers? What do you mean-oh! you guys haven't met any girls before, have you?” Tempus asked.

sans never heard that word before. he looked over at Papyrus and he looked just as confused. If gaster knew, he didn't say. he just put his head in his hand and sighed, exasperated, though sans couldn't imagine why.

Papyrus went ahead and asked, “What's a girl?”

Tempus answered patiently, “Being a girl means a lot of things, but the short version is I prefer to be referred to as ‘she/her’ instead of ‘they/them’ or ‘he/him’ or especially ‘it.’ It also means you would say ‘sister’ instead of ‘brother.” for some reason, her face glowed a bit red and she was smiling a little at the end. she was different, but that made her interesting. of course gaster had to spoil it.

“Alright, that's enough. It is not your sister. It is not related to you in any way. Come on, all of you. We are heading back to the cells.” gaster said with a note of finality. whatever. he couldn't stop sans from calling Papyrus brother. now he was determined to call Tempus sister. he didn't quite know what the relationship should be between them, but he felt like she deserved it. like Papyrus said, brothers and sisters needed to stick together.

#handplates #undertale #fanfic #papyrus #sans #tempus #gaster #patience #blood #chapter 2

13 notes · View notes

true-miamouse · 7 years

Text

Handplates : Tempus Pt 2

Handplates is a really cool if dark take on the Papyrus/Sans/Gaster origin story by @zarla-s and if you haven’t seen it already, I highly recommend it. This is a spinoff of that in which a human enters their lives. Some things may be inaccurate, but please be patient with me. I just need to get it out of my head and I need some feedback.~miamouse

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

Gaster decided to spend a bit of MP to create a ‘shortcut’ directly to his private lab. The increased exhaustion was worth avoiding Alphys and the questions she would ask. “This way, hurry up. Hold on to my coat.” It was necessary for 3-T to hold on to something of his while they took the shortcut. Hands were advisable but he didn't hold hands with his own creations, let alone this human. It obeyed wordlessly and in the blink of an eye, they were in his office.

First, he needed to prepare a hand plate for 3-T. The hand plate served 2 major purposes: it established the subjects as objects and prevented escape by means of a tracking device. At least 3-T couldn't remove its arm without causing itself extreme pain so they could skip that lesson. He had the third plate made long ago in case he ever needed to replace 1 or 2. He abandoned the idea of replacement after a while since it would be too painful...for his foot, where he would get the required material from. In any case, it was good to have a use for it. He used a laser to etch in the new subject’s number and letter ‘3-T.’

As subject 3 watched, its face paled “Are you going to brand me with that?! What’s the 3 for? And how did you know my name started with ‘T’?” Gaster was impressed by how close its guess was. What he was about to do was similar to branding.

Gaster had gotten used to questions like these from the other two subjects and decided long ago it was much less annoying to just answer as long as the matter was of little consequence. “I’m not going to brand you, it's more of a...label. 3 because you are the third subject- no, the other two are not humans. They are...artificial constructs. The ‘T’ is a coincidence. It has nothing to do with your name, which from this day forth is irrelevant. It has more to do with your speech signature ‘tempus.”

“That is my name! My nickname anyway. It's my favorite font! This is spooky.” despite everything, subject 3 seemed amazed that Gaster had guessed its chosen name.

It was hardly a guess; he was simply following tradition. He was a little perplexed how the human knew that. Few monsters other than skeletons spoke in distinct ‘fonts.’ As far as he knew, only skeletons knew their ‘fonts’ instinctively (as seen with subjects 1 and 2 who called each other by name without Gaster giving them one.) Subject 3 definitely looked human. But once again it defied norms...it warranted study, but in the end, it didn't matter how monster-like or even skeleton-like it was. Its soul was necessary to break the barrier.

With that in mind, Gaster grabbed his drill and the plate and did not look at the human as he said in an emotionless voice, “follow me.” The human seemed to sense the change in tone and followed hesitantly, but without question. It was time for the human's first lesson in this lab: a hand plate makes you an object.

* * *

Pain. Incredible pain in her right hand. Did no one tell this mad scientist that hands were not meant to be drilled in?! By the look of things, he hadn't even spared his own hands. Or maybe someone did that to him and in his mind that made it ok to do it to others. That didn't make it ok, but perhaps a little more understandable.

It was still excruciating. Tempus bit back her screams. She hated being seen as weak due to her frail nature, so she trained herself not to cry or scream unless she absolutely couldn't help it. This came close. She kept her mouth shut and blocked most of it, but some sound escaped involuntarily and tears streamed unbidden down her face. The actual drilling didn't take long, but the pain persisted. Finally, Tempus felt her consciousness slipping; her body sparing her from the pain.

* * *

Subject 3 seemed to take the drilling well, it hardly made a peep, compared to the wailing of the other two. Gaster was just thinking about the extraordinary strength of humans when it passed out.

He didn't want it to die yet! He had plans for it! Plans that required a live specimen! He checked its Hp. It had dropped from 10 to 4. He didn't understand. Even the ultra fragile subject 1 had not lost any HP. He noticed the streams of red leaking from its hand making a mess on the floor. “Blood...animals need that...this calls for attention, right…subject 2! I need subject 2!”

He found himself running down the hall to the cells. He told himself he didn't want the liquid to ruin the floor. He slapped his hand on the scanner, and explained quickly, “I need subject 2 to come with me now. It’s urgent.”

“What?” asked 2-P, curious.

“Why?” asked 1-S, suspicious.

“Urgently” Gaster emphasized.

* * *

Papyrus followed close behind Gaster without another word. He didn't seem angry, more like worried. Something was wrong and he needed Papyrus’ help specifically. That usually meant healing, but as far as he knew, all three of them were fine. So maybe it was something else. Papyrus was so busy puzzling about what he was going to do, he didn't notice they were heading for his least favorite room: the laser room. Only once they were inside, did he realize where they were. This was a place you didn't forget easily, what with the giant laser that shot people's eyes, and the chair with straps to keep you still. Papyrus trembled involuntarily.

“Please no! Not today! I’ll be good! I-” Papyrus pleaded.

“It’s not what you think. Take a look at the chair.” Gaster said.

It was occupied by someone who appeared to be sleeping. They were...different. Papyrus couldn't quite put his finger on it. They were roughly the same shape as a skeleton, but somehow...squishier? Softer? Plushier? Then he noticed their hand, shining with the all too familiar hand plate and leaking some kind of red fluid.

“You...you drilled their hand and now they're hurt!” Papyrus accused.

“You can point fingers later. Right now I need you to mend it. At least make it stop leaking all over the floor. Do you think you can handle that?” Gaster demanded.

“Yes, of course. I’ll do my best. But for them, not the floor.”

Papyrus channeled greenish ‘niceness’ energy into his hands and put them both on the hand of the stranger. As he concentrated, he connected his consciousness with theirs: a swirling vortex of thought and feeling. The energy there was nothing like what Papyrus had ever felt before; it was much more intense, vibrant, stronger even in their injured state.

Their inner-self was curled in a ball, crying. Papyrus made his way over to them and held out his hand. The stranger stopped crying and looked up. After a long moment of hesitation, they took his hand. Papyrus pulled them up on their feet and into a hug, and after a bit, they hugged back.

Back in the physical plain, the leaking had indeed stopped and the stranger opened their eyes. The eyes were quite different from what Papyrus had come to expect. Instead of dark all around and white in the middle, these were white all around and darker in the middle, with rings of blue just before the darkness. It was like they were glowing, but not quite. Papyrus couldn't help but stare curiously.

* * *

Tempus woke to a pair of eye sockets staring into her soul. She stared back, unable to utter a single syllable until her hand throbbed and she gave an involuntary, “Ah!” and went to rub it only to find a metal plate there.

The smaller skeleton's hands flew to their mouth in concern. “Oh no! Does it still hurt? Of course it does, mine hurt for a long time afterward. I did my best. I could-”

The initial shock wore off and Tempus breathed a little. Yeah, it still hurt like heck, but it was manageable now. She realized this little guy was responsible for easing the pain. She smiled weakly and managed a “thanks.”

Gaster had said there were 2 others, ‘artificial constructs.’ She thought he meant robots or something, but this was more like a... clone. The ‘2’ stood for subject 2, Gaster's label, but what did the ‘P’ stand for? Gaster had said something about voice signatures, which seemed to be fonts judging by her signature ‘Tempus’ and Gaster's first name ‘Wingdings.’

One of her favorite fonts was called ‘Papyrus’ and it seemed like a match, especially when put in all caps. She decided to test her theory. “What is your name,” she asked.

“Papyrus” he grinned. “What’s yours?”

“Tempus,” she answered.

“That's a nice name, very fitting,” he beamed.

“It’s nice to meet you,” she said sincerely.

Papyrus’ eyes seemed to sparkle at that simple statement. Like he never heard those words used like that before and he enjoyed hearing it. “Likewise!” he responded.

Just then, another skeleton entered the room. “you left the cell unlocked, so i figured i was allowed to follow....who’s that? they have a hand plate...did you make another...no, it doesn't make sense. they're not the same. where did they come from? what are you going to do with them?” This skeleton was dressed like Papyrus, but they were shorter and had a rounder face with bigger eye sockets that had white pupil-like dots in the middle. If Tempus could pick a font for them, it would definitely be ‘comic sans’ but she thought it better to ask them first.

Before she could, Gaster stepped between them. “Stay away from subject 1.” He ordered, surprisingly protective.

“Why? You didn't say anything when I was talking to Papyrus. What's the difference?”

“The difference is that subject 1 is incredibly fragile. Even the slightest injury could prove fatal to him.” Gaster explained.

Tempus knew a thing or two about being labeled as ‘fragile’ and she hated it. “I’m not going to hurt him! I just want to meet him!”

“A likely story,” Gaster said but moved aside anyway. “Any funny business and you are going to regret it deeply.” Gaster threatened unnecessarily. Of course she would regret it if she hurt someone!

Tempus threw Gaster a glare and moved towards the smallest skeleton.

* * *

the person was different than anyone he ever saw, but that wasn't saying much when he only ever saw 2 other people his whole life. they were about as tall as his brother, give or take a couple of centimeters. they looked like a skeleton wrapped in some sort of squishy material with some brownish yellow fluff? on top that draped their head and went just past their shoulders. their features were pleasant enough, he guessed. Again, he didn't have much to compare them with. the most striking feature was the eyes: white with black dots instead of black with white dots. Each had a ring of blue around the black as if they were glowing, but it wasn't quite the same effect.

“Hi, my name is Tempus, what's yours?” asked Tempus. the name suited them. it matched their voice. sans suspected there was a pattern here.

“you can call me sans, unless, you know, you hate me and wanted to use my given name ‘subject 1’ or you hate me and feel like being lazy and just want to say ‘1-S.’ he directed all the salt towards Gaster. He knew Gaster would ignore it, but it was fun to say anyway.

Tempus smiled, “Sans it is then,” they held out their hand and sans stared at it, unsure what the gesture meant.

Tempus cocked their head to the side and frowned a little. “Don't you know how to greet a new pal?” they seemed a little sad and concerned.

sans shook his head. he had never done much greeting at all ever.

Tempus sighed, “I guess I should have expected this. If you ever meet someone new, however unlikely,” they paused to glare at Gaster (sans was beginning to like this person) “the nice thing to do is take their hand in yours and move it up and down, like this,” Tempus did as they said. it felt kind of nice. their hand was soft and warm. sans smiled a little. then frowned as he felt the plate and realized that Gaster had already hurt his new ‘pal.’ did that man ever take a break from hurting people?

“Do you not like it? I’m sorry. You don't have to shake hands; it’s more of a suggestion. Not everyone does it. Heck, some people don't even have hands. It's just something I'm used to.” Tempus reminded him of his brother, a little, the way they apologized like that.

“no, no. it’s not you, it’s Gaster. he drilled a plate on you too. it seems new. does it still hurt?” sans asked. his plate hurt for weeks after he got it.

“Yeah, it’s still pretty sore. I just got it a few minutes ago I think. It was awful. I passed out and everything. But Papyrus healed it so that the pain at least isn't as sharp.” sans hatred for Gaster grew in conjunction with his love for his brother, along with sympathy for his new pal… ‘pal’ didn't seem right. too distant, despite them having just met.

Papyrus came over to join the conversation as well. “I’m glad I was able to help,” he said. “Brothers like us should stick together.”

“Brothers? What do you mean-oh! you guys haven't met any girls before, have you?” Tempus asked.

sans never heard that word before. he looked over at Papyrus and he looked just as confused. If Gaster knew, he didn't say. he just put his head in his hand and sighed, exasperated, though sans couldn't imagine why.

Papyrus went ahead and asked, “What's a girl?”

“Alright, that's enough. It is not your sister. It is not related to you in any way. Come on, all of you. We are heading back to the cells.” Gaster said with a note of finality. whatever. he couldn't stop sans from calling Papyrus brother. now sans was determined to call Tempus sister. he didn't quite know what the relationship should be between them, but he felt like she deserved it. like Papyrus said, brothers and sisters needed to stick together.

#handplates #zarla-s #tempus #sans #papyrus #gaster #undertale #fanfic #miamouse

19 notes · View notes