#i couldn’t be bothered counting vertebrae

[bewitchedbestiary]

don’t you hate it when your day is ruined by a rogue skeleton horse in your plastic bag arena

[mastermindmiko]

The Ear that wasn't

pairing: George Weasley + reader

word count: 1,312

warning: injuries, death and it's a bit angst

Summary: After the battle of the seven (eight) Potters, George becomes distant, and you decide to find out why

masterlist

After moving to the Burrow, things have changed. Everyone’s more sombre, and the world seems a little darker. The impending doom of Voldemort’s terror a bit more real. Madeye died and Hedwig as well when we were attacked while moving from Privet Drive to here. It was fun pretending to be Harry for a bit, the polyjuice potion wreaked and tasted awful, but looking like someone else was amusing, that was before death eaters started throwing spells left and right at least. 

The most noticeable change in my life was the distance that George has been placing between us for a month since we came here. The first two days I stayed by his side while he was recovering from becoming ‘holey’. We couldn’t bring any medics to the Burrow, so we all had to make due with our collective medical knowledge; finding spells to ease the pain, recalling how to put on a proper bandaid, and how to stop the blood from gushing. 

Fred and I were riding together, and went to the Burrow via another route along with the others in order to confuse the death eaters as to who was Harry while George was getting hit with a sectumsempra. We arrived at the Burrow and there seeing Hermione’s sad expression looking at me and Fred made my heart lurch to my throat. I couldn’t recall a time I’d run faster inside to find George lying on the sofa. 

I spent the first few days tending to him, and spending as much time near him as possible, mostly due to the nature of our relationship and also to take care of him. We’d only gotten news about his ear when we finally reached madame pomfrey (a trustworthy person) who told us that George wouldn’t be able to get his ear back. I’d expected it, but George seemed heartbroken. 

I stayed behind after dinner, tidying up the table at a slower pace than usual, watching as George cleared the cups too. His movement is precise but never without a little whimsy. The bandage is still wrapped around his head, and he starts shoving cups between the crook of his elbow to hold more in one go. I clear my throat, “How do you feel?” 

“Well.” 

I sigh, knowing how curt all his replies have been. He heads into the kitchen and I continue to stack the rest of the plates before waving my wand, sending them into the kitchen. I walk behind them and point my wand into the sink, allowing them to gracefully pile up inside. The magical tools get to work and start rinsing. 

I look into the living room first looking for George, and I see him sitting on the couch twirling around his wand, and staring off deep in thought. Madame Pomfrey had informed us that his (additional) lack of focus could occur due to the concussion and spell, as well as some loss of balance. I gulped, “Do you need anything?” 

“No.” He grumbles, and leans back sinking into the sofa. I walk closer to him and take a seat beside him. He doesn’t bother to spare me a glance. I bit my lip and hesitantly said, “We can go take a nap for a bit in the room if you’d like?” 

“I don’t need you fussing over me.” George snaps, and I purse my lips, used to this attitude from him over the past month. I shuffled closer to him, and confessed, “I’m not fussing over you, I just want to spend time with you.” 

He sets his wand aside and sighs. He puts his head in his hands, hunching over his thighs. The fire crackles and fills up the silence between us. I place a comforting hand on his back, stroking his skin, feeling the soft material of his shirt and his vertebrae. He sighs once more, and deep in thought he whispers, “Why?” 

“Because you’re my boyfriend.” I chuckle at the absurd question, even when he wasn’t I loved spending time with him. He looks at me, palm holding his cheek, and my amusement dies down from seeing his miserable eyes, and wrinkled eyebrows. My hand lifts from his back and moves to his hand. I ask, “What’s going on, George?” 

“I-” he stutters, and looks away. I squeeze his hand supportively, and he closes his eyes. I let all the thoughts that have been jumping around in my head stay for a second of all the things he could say, the most prominent being: I don’t love you anymore. He sucks in a breath and turns back to lock into my eyes. He mused, “I’m not good-looking anymore, and I don’t want you to not want me.” 

I blink, and process. George, the ever confident, forever handsome, cocky and funny George Weasley doesn’t think he’s good-looking anymore. What would even make him think- oh…the accident. I say, “Is this about your ear?” 

He looks away once more and I know that it’s the truth. I start rubbing comforting shapes over the back of his hand, and I reach over to grab his other hand. I protested, “I don’t think you’ll ever stop being good-looking, not to me.” 

He scoffs, not believing my words. I could see his eyes begin to have a slight shine to them. I pout at his expression, and I drop his hand to reach over and cup his cheek. I turn his head towards me, and brush my thumb over his cheekbones. He let out a bitter chuckle before he smiled, sputtering, “I’m practically deformed.” 

I smile at him, and give him a look. I lean into him, smelling his familiar scent that I haven’t been able to smell in a while. The wood and biscuits engulf my senses. I kiss his lips, and his eyes flutter momentarily to a close. I let my lips linger near his before pulling away and watching his closed eyes as he sighs before looking back at me. I whisper, pulling his face to mine, “Even if you were a troll, I’d still love you George.” 

He gulps and checks my eyes for any glimmer of a lie. He leans into my hand, and pouts. He relaxes looking at my face before slowly turning his head to press a kiss to my inner palm. His lips linger and he cups my hand with both of his. He kisses it again before adding, “I don’t want you to not be attracted to me.” 

“You’re plenty attractive George with or without two ears.” I commented. He squeezes my hand, the warmth of his fingers spreading to mine, providing a comforting head during the dead of winter. I convince, “And I believe that there’s more to our relationship than just your looks, George. There’s your wit, and your kindness, and your humour- and I could go on for so long, so you’ll have to stop me, and your smile and laugh, your courage-” 

“I get it, I get it.” George chuckles, and pulls our intertwined hands back up to his lips to press a kiss on each of my knuckles, feeling his warm breath on my hand and the softness of his lips on each of my knuckles. He gazes at me sincerely and says, “Thank you.” 

“It’s only the truth.” I state, and he pulls me into a long and deep hug, resting his head into the crook of my shoulder, giving me kisses whenever he sees fit. My arms still reach after him when he pulls away to say, “I’d also still love you even if you were a troll.” 

“Thank you, that’s good to know.” I laugh, and I finally see that wonderful humorous grin of his. He stands up and encases my hand to pull me up beside him. He presses his lips to mine then suggests, “How about that nap?” 

a/n: I really wanted the gif to be the scene when Harry and Ginny are kissing and he goes "Good morningg", but alas I couldn't find one, so this will have to make do. Hope you liked this one.

[kamesama]

I’ve been dying to see some Sukuna aftercare after some -ahem- rough play. 🥺👉🏽👈🏽 plssss I absolutely adore your writing style

yes. absolutely yes. i'm eating this up.

— lovely: ryōmen sukuna.

— notes + warnings: n/sfw because post-coital bliss; implied rough sex; lots of synonyms for 'wet'; otherwise i'm still your domestic fluff provider™, just a lil' spicy; female! reader x human? sukuna ( idk ); i literally don't know what else to say. — word count: 637

pearls of sweat spilled open across your skin, sticking to the linen bed-sheets. tension melted off your muscles and dampened the mattress. bedroom walls lapped up leftovers of your moans as you heaved, ribcage expanding only to have the thews in between the arched bones squeeze your breaths out.

with sukuna rolled away from you, your blush red thighs pressed against one another, as if to savour whatever remains of the gratification laid lurking between them. the movement was not so subtle, earning you a deep chuckle that seemed to scratch sukuna’s throat through layers of honey; sweet and thick.

a light shift of weight upon the dents in the cushion lead to an uncharacteristically tender kiss planted above the vertebra proudly standing between your scapulae. 

“always so insatiable, aren’t you?” sukuna’s voice dripped onto your skin, hot and balmy. his own lungs devoured the air more eagerly than usual; a giveaway that sweet exhaustion hugged him just as tightly. he extended his arm invitingly as he rolled onto his back, urging you to do the same — a demand that you satisfied swiftly and more than willingly, “come here, you naughty girl.”

your hand patted the space around you blindly, gaze too immersed in the sight of sukuna’s profile. it brought a foolishly pleased smile to your lips as you finally grasped the thin sheet, bringing it up to your loved up and bitten frame. 

sighing in delight, you laid your reddened cheek against sukuna’s skin as he pulled you close. his vast palm massaged your bare breast, fingertips trailing over the erect nipple lazily. all the while, you nuzzled into him, your nose nesting in the small depression on his neck.

stretched tendons and bruised skin wanted you to utter out a promise of never again, but the sheer delight coursing through your veins and getting sucked up by every cell in your body made you sigh yet again; an odd mixture of a moan and a groan, “it hurts, ‘kuna…” you mumbled, eyelids veiling your sight as they succumbed to the pull of exhaustion.

“does it, now?” he mused, as if utterly clueless. as if he wasn’t the culprit behind the ache in your flesh and the mulberry stains across your skin. as if he didn’t have you drench the pillow with vapour dripping off your breath and soak the linen with wetness gushing from in between your thighs.

he could feel you nod and purse your lips, “mhm.” 

with a grin, he continued to grope your breast, only for his hand to trail down the curve of your waist and across your hip bone. his amusement seemed to grow as his touch ghosted across the scorching surface of your bottom, still tainted with hand-shaped splatters of rosy red.

“whatever shall i do…” he murmured, sticking his crimson gaze to the ceiling and taking a selfish moment to savour the aftermath of his unadulterated indulgence. your breathing had calmed, your lungs no longer utterly starved. 

he liked you so; exhausted. overwhelmed. pressed against him as if he was some sort of lifeline; an anchor. 

but he couldn’t possibly leave you a tarnished mess, so sweaty and drenched, with that bothersome ache clenched around your bones. 

no. you’ve been too good, too sweet for him to let slumber take you so filthy, so ruined — even though you seemed to be slipping away already, ravished so thoroughly and screwed so senseless that you couldn’t bother to move a muscle.

it was lovely, truly.

“hey,” he called out, nudging you a little; just enough to stir you from still weak confinements of rest. goosebumps rose on his skin from the way your lashes caressed the spot on his neck, “not yet,” he chuckled, kissing your hairline as he sat up.

“not until we’re out of the bath, princess.”

thank you for reading!

— kamesama.

[mariariley]

Reaching out

Simon Riley x reader

2nd person

feminine terms such as: sweetheart, love, girl

reader is Simon’s s/o

WARNING: eating disorder

Word count: 1k

masterlist || have a request/ask? Here are the rules <3

Food makes me sick and gives me fear that I will ruin my body. I feel guilt every time I eat. My appetite keeps getting worse. I’m writing this on the behalf of all people out there who are struggling with the same problem hence I’m writing in 2nd person. I chose Simon for this because he represents great comfort for me.

Additional inspiration by @saintship 🖤

Every time he lays his eyes on you it seems as if you’re getting thinner. Every time he holds you he fears he’s going to snap you in half. Your wrists and ankles appear thinner as your cheeks are starting to stick to your teeth, exposing your paper cutting cheekbones. The color of your skin had a lack of necessary vitamins and minerals written all over it.

When he’d trace his hand over your back he could count every vertebra in your spine, as well as you ribs. When he’d kiss your collarbones he’d notice how unnervingly exposed they’ve gotten.

He’d notice how you’d try to hide it with wearing his clothes more often.

You wouldn’t talk to him. You wouldn’t tell him anything. You didn’t want to be a burden.

“‘ere ya go, luv.” he said as he served your favorite mug filled with warm tea he’s just made, sitting his heavy body at the kitchen table diagonally from you.

You thanked him quietly as your sleepy body was still trying to adapt to the gloomy morning you had to face. His casual black t-shirt that you often sleep in protecting your tormented body from the light cool breeze of the slightly open window behind you.

“Look at me, luv.” his voice dipped in a barrel with “serious” written all over it.

You wouldn’t lift your heavy head. You wouldn’t speak. You’d just keep drinking your tea.

“Sweethear’, please, look at me.” he adjusted in his seat, leaning closer to you with his elbows on his knees. His gloved hands and a gently ticking watch around his wrist that would fill in the gaps of silence meeting your bowed gaze.

You wouldn’t lift your head. You wouldn’t speak. You’d just keep drinking your tea.

“Y/N.” your name being coated by his raspy voice coming from his smoker cords and rough accent from suburban Manchester made your empty stomach ache even more. His tone calm though. As if he was trying not to scare a hopeless wounded animal sitting before him.

You wouldn’t lift your head. You wouldn’t speak. You’d just keep drinking your tea.

“I am many things but oblivious is not one of ‘em. You need to talk to me, luv. You need to tell me what’s bothering you.” he said as you’d feel his gaze piercing through you.

“There’s nothing wrong with reaching out, luv, you know that?”

You wouldn’t lift your head. You wouldn’t speak. You’d just keep drinking your tea.

“You need to eat. You cannot live with a cuppa and a single biscuit hoping those liters and liters of water you’ve been drinking day after day will ease the hunger.” the amount of reality he was pouring into your brain was almost making your tears come out of your stomach instead of your eyes.

But you wouldn’t lift your head. You wouldn’t speak. You’d just keep drinking your tea.

Which would slam a thick nail into his stone cold heart.

“Listen to me carefully now. There’s two sandwiches in the fridge, ham and peanut butter jelly. You will have a glass of milk with that. For lunch I’ve made the British classic, fish and chips. We will ignore the fact I am not capable of making anything else.” he threw a little joke in there which pulled your lips into a tiny smile and made your gaze finally lift up.

Your sweet eyes met his. You couldn’t see the smile of relief under his mask but his cheeks lightly scrunching underneath his eyes was telling you enough.

“That’s my good gal.” he said before his tall broad figure with a dark aura stood in front of you, looking down at you.

“I will be back before six. I don’t want to see a single crumb on the plates when I get back. Do I make myself clear, soldier?” so he wouldn’t make it sound hoarse and aggressive, he made it entertaining for you.

“Copy loud and clear, lieutenant.” finally he got feedback from you.

“Good.” he said as he leaned to plant a soft kiss on your temple, placing his hand on the back of your head. He was looking down at you for a couple of seconds filled with comforting silence. All that you could hear is his loud inhales that were coming through the dark fabric of his mask. All that you could feel is his hand soothingly stroking your head.

“You willingly did all this for me…?” you asked.

“Shhh. Don’t speak.” he said almost through a whisper before he lifted his mask merely to reveal his mouth. He slowly leaned and planted a petal soft yet long kiss onto your forehead as he closed his heavy eye lids.

You thickly swallowed the urge to burst into tears on his lightly equipped gear he prepared for today’s short mission. Your mouth danced along with your eyebrows as a singular tear tickled its way down your cheek and along your jawline before Simon’s glove caught it.

He gently lifted your head farther up by the chin, holding painful yet soothing eye contact.

“Promise me you will do it.”

“Simon, I-“

“Promise me.”

“I will…” you said as a deep sharp breath scratched your lungs.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“I promise.”

“That’s my sweet gal. You know how to make me proud, don’t you?” he kept tickling your heart with praises and encouragement as he very carefully tucked some of your hair behind your ear.

The last thing you felt was a gentle stroke of his bare thumb on your cheek as the rest of his gloved hand nicely warmed it up.

“Can you buy me those chocolate chip cookies I like on your way back? And some gummies perhaps…” your voice toned down with each word you’d barely muster.

What you said made a light chuckle escape Simon’s chest as the sound of his heavy boots thumping on the old creaking floor was making its way to the front door.

“Duly noted.” was the last thing you heard from him before the sound of the heavy door closing greeted him out, pulling the air from the window and making it whistle its way across your mug as the herb scented steam danced along.

Dividers belong to @firefly-graphics 🖤

[salute--salute]

Seven times my doctor told me to lose weight:

When my vertebrae were slipping off of each other, causing multiple hernias and loss of function in my left leg. Would have left me paraplegic if left un-operated

When my periods hurt more after getting surgery for the above. I was told it was probably PCOS caused by my weight. No one ever checked to confirm, and it couldn’t possibly be from spinal surgery

When my bouts of depression would be easily solved, but always return. It was un-diagnosed ADHD

When I couldn’t put weight on my left foot after landing weirdly after jumping while dancing. I’d broken a bone in my foot

When I couldn’t put weight on my right leg after “spraining my ankle”. I was walking around on a broken leg

When I came in with a resting heart rate of 120 bpm, unable to complete sentences without gasping for breath, with a fever of 106 degrees. It was covid-19, and it very nearly killed me

When I kept having a high resting heart rate, kept being short of breath, started having edema in my ankles, felt constantly nauseous, lost all my muscle strength, felt cramps in my torso, neck and left arm, couldn’t think, had constant stomach aches, the light hurt my eyes, kept fumbling words, lost motor skills, had hyperactive bowels, felt random bouts of pain in my feet, and couldn’t bear heat/cold anymore. It was post-viral thin fiber neuropathy, blood clotting, chronic low-grade meningitis, chronic systemic infection, and dysfunctioning lungs that are only converting ~50% of the air I breathe, all as a result of covid

These are the times that there was something else going on, that was missed because the doc dismissed me with advice to diet and exercise. No doctor ever bothered to ask me if I already did.

This isn’t counting the times that I was told to lose weight and the actual thing that was going on was diagnosed.

I haven’t stepped into a doctor’s office without being told to lose weight for about ten years.

[smells-like-mettaton]

thick fog and papyrus? srsly tho what is up with his battle room lmao

Worth Fighting For

Rating: G Word Count: 1535 Read on AO3: here

---

“Are you sure you want to do this, brother?” Papyrus asked, even though he knew what the answer would be. Sans was the most stubborn monster Papyrus knew.

Sans would probably say the same about him. Their collective stubbornness led to month-long face offs over a discarded sock. Or to Papyrus cooking spaghetti three times a day, waiting for Sans to crack and tell him what was wrong with it.

Or to them standing at the edge of town, shrouded in thick fog.

“I’m sure.” Sans’s voice felt almost muffled by the mist.

That was part of the point. Anyone could train when they could hear and see their opponent. It would take a skilled fighter to battle under these conditions.

And Sans wanted to be skilled. Papyrus could hardly deny him that, after all the time he’d begged to train under Undyne.

“Right.” Papyrus gave a sharp nod, though Sans probably couldn’t see it. “Don’t expect me to go easy on you, br—”

A bone collided with his exposed spine. He yelped, though it was more from surprise than pain.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Through a gap in the fog, Papyrus caught his brother winking.

“Sans! That move is unsportsmanlike!” Papyrus rubbed his vertebrae. Of course, Sans could hardly injure him. Each of his attacks only shaved off one point of damage.

“Good thing fighting’s not a sport, huh?”

“Fighting is more than a sport! It is a way to express the hopes and dreams of your soul!!”

Sans sighed, disturbing the fog enough for Papyrus to see him again.

“Look, bro. I just want to be able to keep myself from getting dusted. I’ll save the dreams for when I’m sleeping.”

Papyrus’s brow pinched. Listening to Sans talk, you would think he never wanted to fight. But he did. Papyrus could see it in the darkness of his eyesockets, in the way his jaw set whenever something upset him.

Something had made Sans angry. Maybe even… frightened. None of Papyrus’s attempts to draw the truth from him succeeded, however.

Papyrus wanted to help Sans channel that anger into something more productive. Fighting could be productive! It could bring monsters together in ways nothing else could! But… not the way Sans went about it.

Maybe Papyrus just needed to show him.

A row of bones—carefully calibrated not to do damage—sprouted from the ground towards Sans. Papyrus couldn’t see him dodge, but he didn’t hear the telltale crack of bone on bone.

“I thought you said you wouldn’t go easy on me.”

A beam of light shot through the fog, and Papyrus sidestepped, his boots crunching in the thick snow. Several more beams followed it, but the pattern was easy to predict. The few times when Papyrus failed to dodge, the lasers barely tickled.

A muttered curse came from his left. Papyrus turned towards it, but didn’t ready another attack.

“Starting with your strongest attack is—”

“Bad sportsmanship?” Sans snapped.

“No. It’s just bad strategy.” Papyrus approached the sound of his voice. He bumped into a few of Sans’s blasters on the way and gave each of them a quick pet. “It’s safer to let your opponent underestimate you. Once you have them lulled into a false sense of security, you can secure your victory!”

“I don’t have time for that kind of strategy!” Sans sounded even angrier than Papyrus had expected. Maybe Papyrus was the one doing the underestimating. “I’m not like you! I don’t have hundreds of HP to spare! I’ve got one shot, and if I can’t—if I can’t win, then I’m…”

Papyrus’s eyesockets widened at Sans’s muffled sob.

“Oh, Sans.” He knelt down by his brother, feeling him rather than seeing him. He wrapped him in the tightest hug he could. Sans slumped in his arms, like all the fight had gone out of him.

“No one is going to hurt you. I promise,” Papyrus murmured. “I’ll protect you, brother.”

Sans tensed, and the moment shattered.

“You shouldn’t have to.” Sans pushed him back. His eyesockets had gone pitch black, two empty holes in the sea of white. “I’m—I was always supposed to take care of you, and I can’t—if I can’t stop the…”

Papyrus didn’t know what he was talking about, but expecting answers from Sans was like expecting Undyne to go a month without burning down her house. It wasn’t going to happen.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, ignoring the hurt that Sans’s shove had caused. Hurt that went deeper than any bone attack or laser.

Perhaps he deserved it. Even if he didn’t know everything, he knew he had messed up.

“You’re right,” Papyrus admitted, making Sans’s head tilt in confusion. “I want you to be strong and great, too! In fact, you're already very strong and great! But we’re safe here, brother. Undyne and the Royal Guard will protect us when a human comes.”

He didn’t bother saying that he would be joining the Royal Guard. It was a matter of when at this point, surely. But the thought wouldn’t comfort Sans at the moment.

“‘M not worried about humans,” he muttered.

“Then… what are you worried about?”

Silence. Like the fog had stolen away even the slight sound of Sans’s rattling bones.

“...Doesn’t matter.” Sans’s eyesockets closed. “Forget it.”

For once, Papyrus decided to face his brother head-on. The way Undyne would.

“I cannot just forget something that is bothering you, brother.”

“Heh. We already have, though. Over and over and over again…”

“Then this time, we should help each other remember!” Papyrus reached out and felt for Sans’s shoulder, then gave it a comforting squeeze.

“Nah. Too much effort.”

Papyrus felt Sans shrug. Annoyance bubbled up in him, but he forced himself to let it go. He should’ve known better than to expect Sans to face his problems head-on. He wasn’t Undyne.

Papyrus blinked. “You’re not Undyne.”

Sans’s sockets cracked open in a confused squint. “Uh, yeah? Did I hit you too hard earlier?”

“No!” He shook his head quickly. “I mean! You don’t have the stats that Undyne and I do!”

“You don’t gotta rub it in.”

“Ugh, brother!” Papyrus sprung to his feet, his hands on his hips. “I’m trying to say, we need to train you differently! I’ve been doing this all wrong!”

“Nah, I’ve just been making it hard on you.” Sans sounded guilty. “Sorry. I’m not a real good student.”

“False! I simply need to recalibrate your curriculum! Nyeh heh heh!!”

A short time later, they again faced off in the dense fog. But this time, Papyrus encouraged Sans to use every underhanded trick in his arsenal.

“Don’t forget your shortcuts!” Papyrus called into the white void as he hurled another wave of bones.

“No good,” Sans huffed, presumably while dodging. “Can’t use ‘em... while anyone’s looking. Magic’s weird... like that.”

“Well, I cannot look with all this fog in the way! And whoever has a bone to pick with you will surely blink at one point or another!”

“...Alright, I’ll give it a shot.”

And he did. Lasers blasted at Papyrus again. Blue attacks mixed with regular attacks mixed blue soul magic mixed with strange platforms that Papyrus discovered he could jump on without being harmed.

Until the platforms slid out from under him, dropping him into a spike-trap of bone attacks.

“Clever!” Papyrus called out, escaping with a blue magic-assisted leap. With that many attacks at once, his HP had actually taken a dent. “I bet you could create a maze with those! Any enemy would surely be confounded, then blasted to their senses!”

“Huh, that’s not a bad idea…”

Eventually Papyrus announced the end of the training session. He may have an abundance of HP, but Sans had kept him on his toes during the entire sparring match. There had been no time to sneak a bite of his cinnamon bun.

“So how’d I do? Think I’ll be joining you in the Guard any time soon?” Sans winked as they strode out of the fog.

“You want to join the Guard too?” Papyrus beamed until Sans looked away awkwardly.

“Nah, that was just a dumb joke. I’ve got enough to look out for with bein’ a sentry.”

Papyrus’s eyes narrowed. That was a pun, but at least it was of better quality than usual.

“Very well! It’s important to know your limits! If only so you can more effectively push them! Nyeh heh heh!” He clapped a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “And you certainly did so today! I’m very proud of you, brother.”

Sans’s head snapped up, his eyelights glowing brighter than Papyrus had seen in ages. He quickly schooled his expression into something less expressive, though.

“Geez, bro, all this sweet talk’s gonna go to my head.” He rapped on the side of his skull.

“Good! You need something to fill up all that empty space!”

Sans laughed out loud at that. “Thanks.”

Papyrus knew he wasn’t being thanked for the joke. Still, he played along.

“Of course! That’s what brothers are for!”

As long as Papyrus was around, Sans would never have to fight. But if Sans could feel more confident in himself…

That was something worth fighting for.

[cobaltusami]

Can we get a Ishimondo fic please? Maybe lee!Mondo but its up to you lee!Taka is fine too. May we a tk fic with ishimondo is all I request if its ok friend.

I mcfricking love these two dorks so much-- I had a blast writing this so thank you so much for requesting It friend!

Words: 2746

Characters: Lee!Mondo, Ler!Taka

Pairing: Ishimondo

EDIT: Part two Is here!

Part two: Lesson Learned

Merciless

The library was normally vacant at this hour, as most sane people were In their beds sleeping at three In the morning. Not Kiyotaka Ishimaru though. And by proxy, neither was Mondo Owada, whom Taka had pulled out of bed at this ungodly hour to help study before classes started for the day.

Mondo propped his face up with his hand, His eyes half open as Taka droned on about biology. Was he listening? Well… An attempt was certainly made. But that was It.

The biker hadn’t even had time to fix his hair or throw on real clothes when his boyfriend came barging In- Something he normally didn’t mind but found a bit much today.

He had time to quickly throw on a zip up jacket and throw his hair up into a messy bun, a look he didn’t particularly care to sport. At least his pajama pants sort of matched his jacket…

“Mondo! Are you even listening to me??” Taka stopped his lecture suddenly, whipping around to face his half asleep boyfriend.

“Huh? Yeah, Totally.” Mondo mumbled, sitting upright and rubbing his eyes. 

“Repeat back what I just said.” Taka challenged, folding his arms as he sat down across from the other student.

“You were talking about bones and stuff.” He yawned and stretched.

Taka sighed, resting his arms on the table. “Yes but you aren’t taking In anything I’m saying.” He responded in a softer tone.

“I’m sorry, I’m trying It’s just…” Mondo felt his face flush with embarrassment. “It’s too god damn early In the morning!” 

He tried to put on his usual annoyed or angry tone, But he failed miserably. This didn’t go unnoticed by the energized student.

“Is something else bothering you? Is It me? Do you not like studying with me?” Taka rambled anxiously. “Because I-If so, I can ask someone else to--”

“No! No, It’s nothing like that.” Mondo interrupted, He reached across the table and grabbed Taka’s hands, holding them in his own slightly trembling one’s. “I-It’s just… I’m sorry.” He sighed, Looking away.

“What Is It? What’s bothering you, Bro?”

Mondo flinched, internally shoving his feelings aside as he refused to look at Ishimaru. “Don’t worry about It.” He replied in a softer tone.

Taka knew Mondo quite well by now, as they had been dating for several months. He knew that something was definitely troubling the Biker gang leader, And that he would sooner convince Leon that baseball was fun than he would get him to discuss what was troubling him.

That’s why he needed some... Encouragement.

“Fine. I guess we should continue then.” He pulled his hands away slowly, he didn’t really want to break the hold but it was required for this to work. “Perhaps I need a more direct teaching method.”

Mondo quizzically studied his face. What could he mean by that?

Taka got up and went over to Mondo’s side. “What are the bones in your spine called?”

“Wha? That’s not In the…”

“Answer my question.”

Mondo narrowed his eyes as he looked up at the raven haired student. What Is he up to? “Vertebrae.”

“Very good. How many are there?” Taka walked around him, Standing behind him now.

“Fuck If I know, That’s not even on this upcoming tes--” Mondo clamped his mouth shut as he felt a finger slowly trailing up his spine. He arched his back away from the strange sensations as he stifled a giggle. “What the fuck are you doing?!” He snapped.

As he tried to turn around In his seat to fix Taka with a glare, He felt Taka place his forearm against the back of his shoulders near his neck, and pushed him down against the table, pinning him there.

“How many Vertebrae make up the spine?” He repeated the question calmly, As If this were totally normal.

“Get the hell off of me!” He complained, struggling. Taka was surprisingly strong, able to hold him in place with relative ease.

He felt fingers begin to lightly scribble around his back, paying special attention to his spine. He tried to suppress his giggles, But found he was unable to due to being so tired. “T-Tahahaka! What the hehehell are you doing?!”

“I’m helping you study.” He answered without missing a beat. “How many Vertebrae are there?”

“Thihihihirty threehehehehe!” He giggled tiredly, Relieved when the tickling stopped momentarily.

“Correct. See? You did know! It Is The Cervical, The Thoracic, The Lumbar, and The Caudal vertebrae that make up the spine.” He informed him. “Where on your spine Is the Cervical?”

“The neck.”

“Good. How many of those thirty three are Cervical Vertebrae?” He asked, Smirking.

“I-I don’t know!” Mondo stammered, feeling butterflies fluttering around in his stomach.

“That’s not an answer, Kyoudai.” Taka teased, fluttering his fingers lightly against his neck. 

This action drew an actual squeal from the tough biker as he tried to turn his head to protect his neck. “Tahahahaka! Stahahahap Ihit!”

“As soon as you answer my question!” The Ultimate Moral Compass couldn’t help but chuckle at the not so manly sounds coming from Mondo-- who by the way, was giggling quite adorably at the moment he might add.

“I dohohohon’t knohohow!” He tittered, squirming around to no avail.

“Think about It, how many does it feel like?” Taka hummed. Adjusting his hold on Mondo, he was now able to use his other hand to tickle his neck. He used his other hand to press into each vertebrae in his neck carefully. “Count out loud, How many Is It?” 

Mondo decided that Taka was enjoying this waaaay too much, and he was so gonna get it later. “Onehehe, Twohoho… Threehehee, F-Fohohour…”

Taka suddenly leaned forward and smothered the side of Mondo’s neck with raspberries, Causing him to shriek in surprise.

“FihihivEEEEE! HAHAHAHA! T-TAHAHAKAaAaA!”

“Oh, Whoops, Looks like you lost count. Guess I’ll just start over for you.” He smiled, starting over at the top of his neck. “Don’t lose count this time~”

“I swehehear to gohohod, You’re sohohoho dead after thihis!” He giggled, sending his best glare over his shoulder at his evil boyfriend.

“You’re not counting, Kyoudai~” He sang teasingly, speeding up the tickles to his neck.

Mondo began laughing now, complying with his demands and counting aloud once again.

After some very s l o w movements down his neck, most likely to extend the tickles and make him suffer, he finally arrived at the last vertebrae. “Seheheheven! Ihihihit’s seheheven!” 

Taka relented, pulling back and releasing Mondo from his hold. “Very good!” He beamed.

While Mondo was leaning back in his seat catching his breath, Taka thought about his next attack. He reached around the chair, pinning Mondo’s arms to his sides as he unzipped Mondo’s jacket. 

“The fuck are you doing now?” He panted, too tired to struggle.

Taka leaned down and rested his chin on his shoulder, smiling as he glanced at Mondo’s flushed face. “How many ribs does a person have?”

Mondo’s eyes widened as he nervously thought about it. “T-Twenty four?”

“You don’t sound too sure, Mondo.” Taka continued to smile as he spoke. “Are you absolutely sure?”

Mondo went over his previous biology classes in his head, thinking it over as quickly as he could. “Yeah.” He replied carefully, not liking the smile on Taka’s face one bit.

Taka hummed. “Okay… If that’s your answer.”

“W-Wait! H-How many Is it??”

“I thought you were absolutely sure?”

“I-I am! I just… want confirmation.” 

“Well, If you insist.” Without another word he dug into his ribs.

“TAKA! I mehehean’t verbal confirmaaaation! HAhahahahahaha!”

“You weren’t specific, And since you’ve had trouble taking in my verbal teachings thus far, I feel like my hands on approach Is much more effective!” He grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Worry not, Kyoudai! I’ll count for you this time!” 

“Dohohohon’t you fucking dahahahare!”

Ignoring the empty threats and string of curses Taka began massaging circles against the sensitive bones, starting at the bottom and working his way up. “One, Two, Three…”

“Shuhuhuhut the fuhuhuhuck up!” Mondo barked out through his laughter, his face was hot with embarrassment at the teasing.

“That’s not a very nice thing to say. And you made me lose my place!” Taka frowned, pausing his ticklish attack.

“Y-You deserved It.” Mondo mumbled between small gasps for air.

“I don’t know why you’re so upset, I’m simply trying to help you better your grades!” He said innocently.

“Bull fucking shit.” The Biker retorted. “You’re just having fun tickling the hell out of me, You’re fucking merciless!”

His cruel boyfriend let out an amused laugh, Mondo could be such a drama king sometimes… “Please, Mondo. I--”

“Just you wait until I get my hands on you, Kiyotaka Ishimaru. You’re gonna scream so loud with laughter that you won’t be able to talk for days.” 

“Oh? Is that a threat?” Mercy? We don’t know her anymore. Taka has now woken up and chosen violence.

“Well, In that case, I suppose I should take it up a notch… Wouldn’t you agree, Kyoudai?” The red eyed man whispered in his hotheaded boyfriend’s ear.

Mondo Is now as good as dead, Like please sign your last will and testament by the x on the dotted line.

“W-What are yo--”

“How many nerves are In the human body?” 

“How am I supposed to know?! No one knows an exact amount!”

“Maybe not an exact number, But there is an approximate. So what Is it?” Taka asked. “How many horribly ticklish nerves do you have?”

It was at this moment he knew, He fucked up. “T-Taka wait I--”

“Hmm. Well, Perhaps I can help you figure It out.” Taka smiled mischievously as he shoved his hands under Mondo’s arms, wiggling his fingers with reckless abandon.

Mondo screeched and threw his head back in hysterics. He thrashed around with newfound energy. “SHIHIHIT! TAHAHAHAHAKA NOHOHOHOT THEHEHERE!”

“Well? Do you want to wager a guess? How many nerves does it feel like?” Taka’s sweet smile deceived his cruel actions. “I would imagine It has to be quite a few! You wouldn’t be laughing this much If there weren’t a lot of ticklish nerve endings everywhere. Especially In this spot.”

Mondo doubled over as much as he could, laughter wracking his body. He did this in an attempt to break Taka’s bearhug-like hold on him, but he held strong. “I DOHOHOHON’T KNOW!” 

“Not even a guess? Okay, I’ll give you a hint then. It’s not a million or a billion!” Taka laughed at the squeal that erupted from his boyfriend when he started tickling faster.

“FAHAHAHACK! A-A TRIHIHIHILLION!?”

“Yes! But how many trillion Mondo??”

There was no end In sight, Nor any escape. He even tried throwing himself out of the chair but the merciless assailant wouldn’t allow him to, since he had his arms locked around the back of the chair as well.

After what felt like forever, The Biker sank back into the chair, his head resting against The hall monitor’s shoulder as he laughed. His body felt like jello at this point from a mixture of laughing, struggling, and just not getting a lot of sleep the night before.

Surprisingly enough, Taka relented and withdrew his hands, though he kept his arms around the still giggling man before him. “The answer Is over seven trillion.” 

“Fuhuhuck… That was evil…” He panted.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have threatened me.” the raven haired man hummed in response. “Besides, I learned from you.”

Okay, so maybe we do know who Mercy Is, It seems like things are finally calming down between these two and-- 

“It wasn’t a threat… It was a damn promise…” Mondo growled.

Taka sighed. “You never learn, Do you?”

He unceremoniously released his hold on Mondo as he had started to struggle again, causing the biker to tip his chair over to the side and hit the floor with a yelp of surprise and an ungraceful thud.

Taka was quick to follow him to the floor, straddling his legs and grabbing both of his wrists in one hand to hold them in place. “Are you ready for your next lesson?” He asked, Energized again.

“For the last time… Get the hell off of me!” Mondo yelled, flailing as much as possible. Though that wasn’t a whole lot.

“Don’t worry, It’s the final question!” Taka responded with a mischievous smile. “Ready?”

Mondo eyed him cautiously but said nothing.

Taka leaned down near Mondo’s face, His smile widening into a grin as he spoke in a calm tone. “How many raspberries can your stomach take?”

Chills shot down his spine, that had to be the most unnerving question he’s gotten In a while. “T-Taka, Don’t you dare. I swear to God! I will kick your ass!” He tried to sound angry, but It came out panicked instead.

“Well? How many? One? Two?” Taka pondered aloud. 

“None!”

“None? I’m sure that’s not true, Kyoudai! Don’t be modest, You’re quite tough... I think you can handle at least five!” Taka beamed, giggling.

“FIVE?! Do you want to kill me!? I’ll fucking die!”

“But Mondo! We must find out, For science!” Taka declared, wasting no more time he dipped down and blew a raspberry against Mondo’s quivering belly.

The Ultimate exploded, Laughing rather uproariously as his back arched out of reflex. “NAAHAHAHAHAHAHA! TAHAHAHAKAA!”

“One~” He sang teasingly before blowing another raspberry.

“GAHAHAHAHAD DAHAHAHAMMIT STAHAHAHAHAP!”

“Two~” and another one. “Three~”

“IHIHIHIHIM SOHOHOHORRY FOR THREHEHEHEATENING YOUHUHU!” 

“Hmm? What was that?” Taka asked, halting his ‘scientific studies’ for a moment.

“I-I’m sohohorry… for threheheheatening you…” The giggles still poured freely past his lips as he gasped for air. “I wohohn’t… Get revehehenge on you… Just stohohop…”

“What If I don’t believe you?” Taka asked cautiously.

“I promise…” Mondo mumbled. “I won’t seek revenge on you If you let me up right now.”

Hmmmmm…

“I’ll let you up on one more condition.” Kiyotaka said, His face  turned serious for the first time since this started. “Tell me what was bothering you earlier.”

Mondo flinched. “L-Listen man… It’s kind of embarrassing…”

“Why? You know I don’t judge you, Kyoudai.” Taka frowned. “You can tell me anything.”

“N-Not this I can’t.” Mondo stuttered, Looking away. “Just trust me, It’s better you don’t-- GAHAHAHAHA! TAAAHAHAHAHAHAKAHAHA!” He shrieked with laughter as Taka blew another raspberry.

“Four. Sorry bro, But those are my demands. If you do not comply then I’ll be forced to--”

“OKAYOKAY JUST STAHAP!”

Taka smiled and moved off of the tough student, sitting next to him on the floor. “What was bothering you?” he asked after giving him a moment to collect himself.

Mondo sat up, his face burning with embarrassment as he spoke. “It’s just…” He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “When I’m tired, I wanna find somewhere comfortable to rest… And…”

“And?” Taka asked, perplexed.

Mondo took a deep breath and closed his eyes. “W-WELL, I KEPT ZONING OUT BECAUSEIWANTEDTOCUDDLEUPTOYOUANDSLEEP-- There! I said It!” 

Taka’s face turned pink and his eyes widened a little. He knew Mondo was telling the truth, because he yelled. Which meant he was nervous. 

“S-S-See? I told you that you didn’t want to-- ACK!”

Mondo opened his eyes just in time to get tackled back down to the floor by Taka, This time In a hug. “Why didn’t you just say so earlier!? I was worried you didn’t like spending so much time with me or something!” He mumbled into Mondo’s shoulder.

“Wha?? Why the fuck would you think that?! Of course I like spending time with you babe!”

Babe... It has a nice ring to it. “B-Because... Most people get tired of me.” 

Mondo frowned and gently pulled back from Taka’s hug to look into his eyes. “Hey, Listen. I will never get tired of you. I love spending time with you!”

“Even today?” Taka looked up at Mondo with a hopeful look on his face. 

His cheeks turned red again. “Y-Yeah… Even today… J-Just don’t get used to using that teaching method!” He tried to pick up the shattered pieces of his tough exterior, but alas, they were gone.

Taka giggled with amusement. “Deal. I’ll only use it when you really aren’t paying attention.”

Mondo flinched, Making a mental note to try to always pay attention from now on.

Taka went to pull away from him, but Mondo pulled him back against his chest. “Where do you think you’re going? This Isn’t over.” Mondo smirked.

“B-But Mondo! You promised you wouldn’t--”

“Uh-uh~ I promised no revenge if you were to let me up at that exact moment. Which you did not.” The biker reminded teasingly, positioning his fingers over Taka’s sides. “Any last words, Kyoudai?”

“W-Wait, M-Mondo-- NOHOHOHO!”

Let’s just say, Not a whole lot of studying was done for the remainder of their session. The library filled with laughter once more.

[plus-size-reader]

Care

Hannibal x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1260 words

Warnings: SOFT HANNIBAL

Summary: Narrowly missing being killed and Hannibal insists that you stop working so it doesn't happen again

——————————————————————————————————

You could practically feel that blade against your throat, putting pressure on your jugular as you tried to keep calm. Every time you tried to swallow, it bounced slightly, only serving to quicken your pulse that much more.

One wrong move and this man, this killer, was going to end your life and with it, everything you’d learned about him. He would continue his killing spree, taking countless more lives until being caught.

That was, if Will and the other’s hadn’t shown up just in time to save you.

The bullet that pierced through his skull was so close to you that you could practically feel the vibrating through your own vertebrae. However, you didn’t pay that any mind as you fell to the floor beside his now lifeless form.

Your head was spinning, and you could hardly breath but at least your heart was still beating.

All things considering, it could have been much worse.

Though, when Hannibal found out about it, you would have thought that it was the worst thing that had ever happened in the course of human history. You could practically hear his footsteps all the way down the hall as he approached.

Will had dropped you off at his office after your brief visit to the hospital, right after calling Hannibal to tell him about what had happened. You were fine now, but you should have known Hannibal wouldn’t look at it the same way.

As far as he was concerned, he was having to grieve your loss with you still in the room, just as he would have done in that psychopath had slit your throat in the first place.

...he could be so dramatic.

“What happened?” he asked, entering the room quickly, a demanding tone in his voice as he tried to put all the pieces together. Will had filled him in briefly but the man in font of you wouldn’t be able to sleep until you told him word for word.

If that absolute buffoon wasn’t dead already, Hannibal certainly would have made sure he was after all of this.

“Just an accident Hannibal, it comes with the territory” you sighed, wanting nothing more than to curl up in his arms and not leave for a few hours. However, you knew that wasn’t going to happen for a little while.

At least, not until he was satisfied with your recount of the events.

“Certainly not, plenty of people have never been nearly fatally stabbed”

Your splitting headache wouldn’t let up and you briefly considered telling him that you hadn’t been stabbed. If anything, you would have been sliced open but you nodded anyhow, seeing his point.

Perhaps this didn’t happen for everyone, but it did happen to you and you couldn’t change that.

“I’m fine Hannibal, honest.Jack said I should be back to work tomorrow” you allowed, rubbing your temples slightly as you tried to urge your brain to stop throbbing within the confines of your skull.

The way this was going, you would have to split the bone to even get a shred of relief.

That earned a scoff from the man though. You really thought you would be going back to work with those people after you nearly died? It was out of the question, something that Hannibal had no problem pointing out.

“You will not be going back there, not after what could have happened today” he informed, speaking casually as if he could just say that and you would agree. Unfortunately though, you weren’t just some hound that Hannibal would order around.

You enjoyed what you did and you liked helping people, even with the risks involved. Hannibal had always accepted that, though in his defense, he had never almost lost you before.

This was the first time you had nearly been killed in the field of duty.

“What do you mean? This sort of thing just comes with the job Hannibal. I can’t just stop helping people” you huffed, finding it ridiculous that he would ever suggest that you quit. You had been doing this before you met Hannibal and you weren’t going to stop just because he told you to.

It was simply out of the question.

However, Hannibal didn’t even blink, clearly not getting what about this was bothering you so bad. It seemed logical to him that if you narrowly escaped death today, that you would quit putting yourself in a position to be harmed.

Though, you obviously hadn’t connected those dots just yet.

“Darling, please...I don’t care about the lives you save,” he scoffed, wishing that for once you would just do as he suggested without fighting him on it. All you could think about though was the way he’d chosen to end that sentence.

Even if it was the truth, he couldn’t think like that. He helped people just like you did but you would never suggest he quit out of fear for his life. This was the choice that he had made for his life, and you couldn’t change that.

...Just as Hannibal couldn’t change you.

Profiling was what you had chosen to do with your life, and no matter how worried Hannibal may have been for your well being, he couldn’t order you to stop doing what you loved.

He just couldn’t. Though, he was going to try his best. Something that you knew as soon as the next few words fell from his lips.

“I care about your life”

His voice was desperate now, in a way that you rarely heard for Hannibal’s throat, and struck something within you. Obviously, the threat of losing you had hit him harder than even you thought possible.

Not that you were really shocked.

Hannibal had made it very clear that he had strong feelings for you, and the mourning he would go through if you died would surely tear the man apart. He had been through quite a bit in his life, but nothing like that.

The call he’d gotten from Will had narrowly stopped his heart and he didn’t intend to ever get a call like that again if he could help it.

Now, your demeanor softened as you addressed him, “I’m sorry Hannibal, I know this is hard for you but I can’t stop” you started, standing from your perch on his lounge chair to make your way over to him.

His stance was stiff and tight when you first laid your hands on his arms, but he slowly relaxed into your touch, as he did every time. “How about I ask Jack for a few days off, to recover and we can talk about it some more?” you suggested, smoothing the fabric of his suit jacket beneath your fingers.

It was soft and orderly, as everything on Hannibal was but you never tired of it.

Hannibal hummed briefly under his breath as he considered your offer. It was, in no way, ideal but it would give him more time to convince you that you didn’t need to do this to yourself anymore.

If nothing else, it would give him more time with you than he would have gotten normally.

“Alright, but this discussion is nowhere near over” he warned, a slight smile on his face as he relaxed beneath the light stroking of your fingertips over the flesh at the base of his neck.

“I care for you, deeply” he hummed under his breath, pulling you closer to him with a single arm around your lower back just enough to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. 

[abluescarfonwaston]

“Damnit Lambert!” He coughed violently. Rolling over to curl in on himself. “Why didn’t you warn me you had a bad batch of tawny owl?”

He wrapped the cut on his leg. Scrapping guts off his armor. “What are you on about. It was fine.” He wanted to roll up into a ball too but the cramping was only going to get worse and they still had to get a trophy off the damn thing.

“This,” Aiden groaned pathetically. “Is not fine.

“This is what fucking tawny owl does Aiden!” The pain making him snappish. “It helps and then it wears off and you want to claw out your guts. That’s how it fucking works cause this life is a goddamn nightmare!” He stabbed between the vertebrae hard and severed its head quickly.

“Fuck what?” Aiden rolled over. Sounding extra pathetic about it which just pissed him off more honestly. “Who taught you how to make potions Lambert? Cause I need to stab them.”

 He spun on him. Knife to his throat. “Don’t ever fucking threaten them Cat.”

Aiden watched him. His slow heart beating faster than Aiden’s. The stench of the corpse filling their noses. The potion curdling their guts. “Sorry.”

He hated that. How earnestly he apologized. He sat back against a rock. Stared at the things leathery skin. “Vesemir taught us.” Aiden waited. Or maybe he just couldn’t think of a response over the pain. “He was a fencing instructor. He taught us what he remembered but. It’d been a long time since he learned.”

“Lambert?” He groaned. “If this is what all your potions are like then destroying that bag would be an act of love for you and self-defense on my part.”

“They’re not. All this bad.” He defended but honestly some of them were far worse. “Swallow’s decent.”

“Lambert?” He grunted. “You’re a great fighter. But we are never using your potions again.”

He took a sip of the freshly made Petri’s Philter. To test it out. He’d made it like Aiden had shown him but it was the first time he’d done it himself.

“You cheater! Taking a potion before we spar!” Eskel cuffed him.

“I was checking if it came out right.” An idea popped into his head. “You can use one too. Petri’s Philter. See whose works better.”

“Not a fair comparison.” Geralt pointed out. “Eskels better at signs than the rest of us.”

“What are you scared?”

Eskel eyed him unimpressed but went to grab his. Took a swig. “How do we want to do this?”

“Who can toss Geralt the furthest?” He suggested ruefully.

Geralt’s protests when unheard as Eskel launched him into the base of a snowbank with Aard.

He glared at them. Covered in snow.

“Come on Geralt! It doesn’t count if we use a different person the second time.”

“I’m going to throw both you in the river.”

“Just the loser.” Eskel argued.

“Then I don’t get to throw you in.” He grumbled crossing the courtyard to them.

“Nah I’m willing to take that bet.” They both looked at him like he was being daft.

He adjusted his glove. Don’t fail me now Aiden. Launched Geralt into the air.

He landed with an oft and a puff of white snow. Halfway up the snowbank.

He grinned as they sputtered.

“Guess it works.”

“How’d you learn this Lambert?” Vesemir asked as he copied down the last recipe Aiden had had the chance to teach him.

“Found a cache with the information.” The cache was another witcher but he wasn’t going to tell them that.

“Right.” He felt Vesemir watching him. Not believing him.

He dug his heels in. He didn’t owe the old man answers. Didn’t breathe a word as a cold wind whipped through the giant hole in the wall. He wondered if the Cats had caused that one. He didn’t ask but he wondered.

“Aiden what did you use in this necrophage oil?” He sniffed the vial walking over to him.

He perked up from his disappointment over how many less necrophages he’d killed to tell him.

He laughed full bodied and loud. Aiden wasn’t smiling when he finally managed to stop, wiping a tear from his eye.

“I thought you were just shit at fighting but that’s garbage. What’s it supposed to do? Make them itchy? Impotent? Hurt their feelings?”

“Well how do you make them then?”

Next spring he wondered how many Cats were using Vesemir’s recipes.

“Damnit.” He cursed. Shoving the broken arm piece back together. Trying to sow the gash closed.

Aiden watched him from across the fire. Lazily rotating the fish they’d bombed from the water. “You really need to just replace that mutt.”

“Fuck off pussy I don’t have the diagrams on me and were nowhere near anyone who knows how to make it.”

“Well no one’s going to be able to figure out what it was supposed to look like from that.”

He stared at the mangled and ruined armor in his hands. His fingers dug in and the thread he’d used on it snapped. It fell back apart.

He tossed it away with a frustrated scream and ran. Ran until his lungs burned and his feet ached and the exhaustion finally over powered the anger.

Aiden was asleep in his bedroll. His fish still waiting for him- although they had long gone cold. He chewed the small bones not bothering to pick them out.

A small set of papers sat rolled next to it.

He unrolled it.

Kicked Aiden.

“I can’t fucking wear this!” He shoved the diagram back to him.

“It’d be just until you could get new armor. You can’t work in a shirt and pants.”

“Cause Cat armor is a huge step up from that!”

Aiden scowled at him. “Oh cause people thinking for half a second you might be a Cat is worth dying over. Just show off your medallion and bark at them. I’m sure they’ll figure it out.”

“You’re fucking right it is!” He grabbed his medallion and bared his teeth. “I’m not a Cat.”

They had murdered his school. Killed so many. Destroyed the closest thing he had to a home. It was a shitty home and he hated it. Some days he wished they’d finished the job. Some days he was glad he had a home at all.

Aiden face shuttered closed. “Well we can’t all be Wolves Lambert.”

In the morning he was long gone. The diagrams laying in the morning dew.

He picked them up.

However upset they’d be at him for wearing them wouldn’t match how upset they’d be if he didn’t come home. Probably.

He found a leatherworker and had a set made.

“What are you wearing?” Eskel blocked his entry. “I almost shot you Lambert.”

“Glad you didn’t.” He shoved him out of the way. “I’m tired. Piss off.”

He grabbed him. “If Vesemir sees you wearing that-“

“It was this or go without armor so Fuck Off Eskel.”

Eskel studied him. Let go. “Let me warn the others at least. You know that,” He motioned to the armor. “Is going to bring back bad memories.”

“Would you preferred I died out there?”

He raised his hands placating. “Didn’t say that. Happy you’re home.”

“Yeah well that makes one of us.”

No one asked about the armor. They left a set of wolf armor diagrams for him outside his door and he spent the winter in clothing and furs.

No one why he had cat armor. He didn’t offer to explain. He wouldn’t have answered if they did. Would have made it very clear it wasn’t a topic for discussion.

But no one asked.

He sat in his room and stared at it. It looked so similar to Aiden’s. Which of course it did.

We can’t all be wolves Lambert.

No. But why you have to be a cat? Anything else would have been fine.

He gasped short and quick and barely breathing at all. His eyes losing focus. Pinned to the tree by the dead monster’s antlers.

What a shitty way to go.

“Wooh. Glad I came. Thought I smelled wet dog.”

He raised his head. Vision spinning as he did.

A cat. His cat. Aiden.

The world went dark.

“Look who returns!” The fire popped as he opened his eyes. “Holding up alright?”

“Love questions like that.” He whispered as Aiden lifted his head and raised a potion to his lips. “Holding up? Holding up what? My dick?”

“Well you certainly are one so I wouldn’t put it past you.” The vial moved away. His head was lowered onto Aiden’s thigh.

“This is shit and you know it.”

“Yeah. It is.” Aiden craned his neck upward at the stars. “I was really looking forward to yelling at you.”

“Do it you pussy.”

“It’s no fun if your injured bitch.”

“What think I can’t take it?”

“Take what? My dick?” He chewed something loudly. “Come on. Even a lone hunter can use a helping hand some time.”

“Don’t quote Vesemir at me you prick.”

“Oh I’m a prick now? What an upgrade.” A different flask came back and he drank greedily. “And I wasn’t. Guxart said that.”

“Sounds like a dick.”

“No. I like dicks Lambert. He was pussy.”

He chuckled. Which hurt. It pulled at his wounds.

“Did you know it was me?”

“Knew it was a wolf.” He dropped some of the jerky on his chest. He nibbled on it. “Hoped it was you.”

“Would you have helped? If it wasn’t.”

He was quiet while he considered. If he weren’t so tired it would piss him off. “Yeah. I would have.” He believed him. Because it was Aiden. “Glad it was you though.”

“Why?”

“Cause I missed my mangy mutt. Who else is going to teach me how to fish with bombs?”

“I started building a boat. So I could do it on the lake.” He was starting to feel hazy. Aiden’s potions sometimes had painkillers going for them. Which was nice. “At Kaer Morhen.”

“Bet it’s going to leak like a drunkard.”

“Yeah. Bet it will.” He thought of the lake and keep. “I hate that place.”

“Can’t say I understand why you go back.”

“Why do you go back?”

“Go back where? At best the cats have a traveling caravan of misery these days. I don’t visit.”

“What? But winter sucks.”

“Not going to argue with that.”

He had a brilliant idea. “Come home with me. We can sink my boat together.”

Aiden looked down at him. So sadly. He reached up for him in confusion.

“They’re assholes but the keeps pretty big so we can just avoid them. We can sleep in my room. I’ve got a lot of nice furs. It’s pretty. Please?”

“Sure Lambert. Sure.” He cupped the hand that had found his cheek. Kissed it. “Don’t worry. I won’t hold that against you in the morning.”

“If you were there maybe I could breathe. Cause.” It was really hard to keep his eyes open. His hand was heavy in Aiden’s. “The one good thing this life gave me. Was there.”

“Love you Lambert. Love you too.”

“I asked you to come with me.” He said weeks later.

“I surprised you remember. You were pretty loopy at that point. Do you remember explaining why pigeons were the best bird too? Cause that was pretty funny.”

“You’re lying.”

“You wish I was.”

He scowled at him. “I don’t remember your answer.”

“I said I wouldn’t hold you to it in the morning obviously. I’m not stupid.”

“Oh.” The horses crunched gravel as they continued on. “I did mean it. I want you to come.”

Aiden kept his eyes ahead. “We both know that doesn’t matter.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His horse picked up speed at his unintentional request. He tugged him in front of Aiden’s, halting him. “What I want doesn’t matter?”

“When has what we wanted ever mattered Lambert?” He flinched. Eyes stuck on Aiden’s reins.  “It was very sweet of you. But the other wolves would kill me for being in twenty miles of Kaer Morhen and we both know it.”

He couldn’t look away from his dark scarred hands. “Why’d you have to be a cat?”

“Why’d you have to be a wolf?” He moved his horse so they were side by side. Took his hand. “We get three out of four seasons together. That’s pretty damn good.”

“I want more. I want more than this life.”

“Hey. Maybe if you build good enough boats we can.” His hand squeezed. “We could be the first. Retire on some big lake and fish with bombs.”

“With a little house infested with mice because we can’t convince any cats to come within ten feet of us?” He into his golden eyes and for the first time could understand why people called them beautiful.

“With a tiny little house with a leaking roof that you always curse at.”

“We’re never going to get that are we?” He didn’t comment on the tears in Aidens eyes or the blur in his own.

“No.” Aiden squeezed his hand. “But it’s a nice dream isn’t it?”

“It’s awful. Why did you make the roof leak?”

“Why did you fill it with mice?”

“Cause I want it to be real.”

“So do I.”

They clicked their horses forward. Not letting go.

“So this house. Smells like rat shit huh?”

“Yeah. And our clothing gets all mildewy cause we just throw it in the lake to wash it and forget to hang it up.”

“Ugh. I hate that.”

“Yeah it’s awful.”

“But it’s ours?”

“It’s ours.”

“I had a friend. Aiden was his name.”

“Gonna retire to your vineyard wolf?”

“I might.”

“Good for you. Make sure Dandelion writes a song about your beer gut.”

“Lambert-“

“Pardon my interruption gentlemen.” Majordomo stepped into the room. “A gentleman just arrived looking for Master Lambert. It seems urgent.”

“Lambert?” Geralt shot him a confused look.

“Hey don’t look at me! I don’t know!”

“Let’s go met your guest.”

They pushed the door open and he looked to the left. Geralt to the right.

“Who are you?” Geralt asked. He turned to the newcomer.

He exhaled. “Aiden.” When he inhaled it was like coming up for air for the first time in months.

Scarred. Hair long. Covering one eye.

Alive.

“Hey Lambert. Been a while.”

“You fucking heartless asshole!” He yelled as he lifted him off the ground in a crushing embrace. “How fucking dare you.”

“Missed you too bitch.” As he attempted to break his ribs with the force of his hug. “Nice place you got here.”

“It’s Geralt’s and it sucks.”

“Yeah.” He mumbled into his ear. Not letting go. “Our place is gonna be way nicer.”

“With rat shit and everything.”

“Yeah.”

[welllpthisishappening]

falling feels like flying ['til the bone crush]

Someone should revoke her title. 

They’re trying, Emma supposes. Inevitable death probably means people can’t call her savior anymore, but they shouldn’t call her that now and that’s almost entirely because of what an absolute and complete liar she is. Telling Killian she would have done the same after he admitted he didn’t get rid of the shears isn’t her most massive lie, although it might be her most ridiculous. And they both know it’s not true. She wouldn’t do the same thing, she has. More than once. 

AN: That gif has nothing to do with the story! Here is approximately 3.5K where I once again force Emma and Killian to acknowledge their trauma. Not in the Underworld this time, though! So maybe we’re all evolving here. I blame this gif set, which I saw this morning and felt compelled to write something about. Maybe that evolution is also a lie, actually. 

———

“I lied.” Killian hums, exhaustion clinging to the sound, and Emma understands that. Less so why she’s talking right now, but neither one of those words seemed particularly interested in preserving the quiet calm of this particular moment, and she’s never been a lightweight quite like this. In more ways than one, she supposes. Hazy thoughts drift through her brain, muddled as it is by buttered rum and the steady flicker of flames in the fireplace because naturally this is the sort of house that has multiple fireplaces, and she burrows her face closer. 

To Killian’s chest. 

Takes a deep breath, not quite slow, but maybe a little greedy, and they ordered both things. Pizza and Chinese, half-finished egg rolls and beheaded slices of cheese with extra peppers strewn across the coffee table because Emma always likes that extra bit of crust and Killian’s nothing if not a frustratingly endearing sort of pushover. 

With her, especially. 

She closes her eyes. 

“I lied,” Emma repeats, “in the hospital, I mean. Wrong verb tense.” “You’re not making any sense at all, darling.”

Her nose must be cold — if the way Killian tenses as soon as it brushes his skin is any indication, but Emma knows it’s far more than that and far deeper than that and she might be the world’s biggest idiot. Looming death does that to a person, she supposes. 

Breathing isn’t particularly easy. And that’s not only because she ate four pizza slices worth of crust. Still, using death as an excuse again seems like an emotional crutch and an unreasonable reason, her muddled mind capable of clinging to every single letter in that particular endearment. It might be her favorite. 

She’s not sure she’s ever told him that. 

Stupid, really. 

“I told you that I get it; what you did today, and that part’s definitely true. But, uh, the rest of it. That I would have done the same thing? Total lie, right? I mean, I did it. That’s what happened.” Nothing. Just flickering flames and the quiet hum of a TV, neither one of them has been interested in actually watching all night. Emma doesn’t even know what channel they’re on. For all she knows, the remote’s in the kitchen. 

She counts inhales. Tries to keep her exhales measured, most of her face still pressed into the collar of Killian’s shirt as it is. And it takes about five full seconds before his hand moves, starts tracing a calm line up her spine, following that path until he reaches the base of her neck and the goosebumps that have already exploded on her skin and oxygen is overrated anyway. Holding her breath as soon as his fingers card through the ends of hair is basically instinct at this point. 

“Felt wrong to point that out at the time,” he mutters, “all things considered.” “Been kind of a long day.” “Reuniting with long-lost relatives will do that.” Scoffing is not the best reaction. Nothing about this is funny. Includes far too much death and dismay, and Emma’s gaze flickers up. Of its own accord and something much deeper, like the absolute refusal to accept a world where he does not exist. 

Goddamn Captain Hook. 

She loves him so much sometimes she thinks she’ll simply burst with the force of it all. 

It’s a gross thought, honestly. 

And they’ve already spent far too much time in the hospital today.

“Is he ok? Li—” Cutting herself off, Emma grits her teeth, but one side of Killian’s mouth is already tugging up, and the kiss that lands on her forehead is as soft as anything. Maybe bursting isn’t so bad, actually. So long as she can come up with another word for it. “God, that’s so weird.” Killian hums. “Indeed.” “Thoughts, feelings, et cetera?” “Vast. And none of them particularly pleasant.” “Seems fair. That sort of day, huh?” “Indeed.” They need more blankets. Need more things that are theirs in a collective sort of way, but that’s a dangerous and disingenuous train of thought, and Emma’s fingers twitch towards the fire. To ward off the sudden chill that’s settled between her shoulder blades, and it almost works, but it does absolutely nothing to help the sway of her stomach and the acid lingering in the back of her throat, threatening to burn far more than what these meager flames are able to do. 

“Should have finished high school,” Emma mumbles, “then I could choose more accurate verb tenses from my inevitably vast vocabulary. Did. Have done. Would do again, several thousand times over.”

“That’s the future tense.” None of his words come with any kind of pointed emotion, but Emma hears it all the same. Can see the tightness that lingers in the corners of his mouth and the way he’s holding his shoulders, straight as a line, and some joke about rigging that she no intention of making, and the furrow between his brows makes every muscle in her chest twist. Ache too, for good measure. 

With the promise of everything she wants to say and everything she hasn’t or can’t and—

Fuck magic, quite honestly. And the rules no one’s bothered to mention until now. Seems like poor planning on everybody’s part. 

“You heard me.” “I did,” Killian agrees lightly, and his hand has never actually stopped moving. It’s nice. Steady. Something Emma can almost nearly time her breathing too. “I would also choose that particular tense. If given the choice, that is.” “Do you not think you have that?” “I don’t particularly enjoy the thought. I’m rather partial to the option of whim, you see. Pirate and all that. We don’t much abide by schedules and fated decision.” “Seems like it’d be in the by-laws.” “Well, by-laws by their very nature are rather contradictory to the entire pirate notion, but you’ve got the gist of it at least.” Emma laughs. Doesn’t quite regret the sound, even as out of place as it is — just presses it into the edge of Killian’s shirt and the buttons he never bothers to do, trying to brandh the smell of him and the feel of him into every corner of her memory and she’s not really sure what happens after. Once the prophecy is fulfilled, and all that. 

She’s got too much unfinished business. 

To totally leave this particular plane of reality. 

She doesn’t mention that either. Not when the crux of that business is breathing steadily under her hand, and Emma can’t remember when she moved her hand, only that Killian’s warm under her touch, and he’s always so much warmer. Than just about anything else she’s aware of. 

“I thought you were dead.”

Of all the things Emma expects to happen in the midst of this night and this moment — and it’s really not a very long list, admittedly — that did not even make the cut. Wasn’t a consideration or a fledgling idea in the back of her mind, several different vertebrae almost audibly objecting when she jerks her head up. To find Killian staring straight ahead, lips not much more than a thin line across his face. 

Seriously, the rigging jokes almost write themselves. Which is more than Emma can say about her clearly piece of shit list, as metaphorical as it might be. 

“I don’t—” “—When I saw you,” Killian interrupts, and none of the words shake. Come out like a stream of consciousness and memories neither one of them have able to shake yet. Or talk about. Can’t possibly be healthy. “Chained to that stone, blood dripping into my mouth, and then all of a sudden, there you were. Worried I’d simply dreamt you up, couldn’t imagine how you looked quite that lovely in that hell hole, otherwise.” “Oh, that’s kind of insulting, actually.” “Hair like the bloody sun.” “Better,” Emma murmurs. Reaching up, her fingers tangle with the charms around his neck. Pieces of luck and trinkets she hasn’t learned all the stories to yet. The idea that she won’t makes her nauseous. “You told me ‘you shouldn’t be here.’” “Aye, and I meant it.” “Because you thought…” “Living people don’t often appear in such a God awful place, do they? Not without something tragic happening, and my mind was impressively efficient on that front.” “Which one is that?” “Every threat that’s ever lingered, every person I would have gladly run through if it meant you were safe. Half of goddamn Camelot.” Emma might snicker. Killian’s arm tightens, though. And that’s all she’s really worried about. “I think I could have taken Arthur. Y’know if it had come to that.” “Likely not a very good swordsman,” Killian nods, but that’s only so his lips can trace Emma’s temple and the top of her hair. More than once. Like he’s still making sure. “Pampered prince—” “—He was totally a king, babe. That’s like...the most basic Camelot knowledge.” “Ask me in five minutes if I care at all about anything to do with Camelot.” “Should I time it, or…” He scoffs. Presses another half dozen kisses to any spot he can reach, and he can actually reach a fair amount of places. Emma’s impressed. Swooning too, but also pretty impressed. “I kept thinking about you,” Killian says, softer than the last few words have been, and it sounds like an admission and another promise, and it’s weird that it can be both. At the same time. “This house. What it was and wasn’t. All those possible verb tenses.”

“I’m sorry.” “Ah, that’s not your fault, love. None of this is, really, but—well, it did make it so seeing you, realizing you were there...left all of those thoughts crashing down around my ears, so to speak. Falling apart, like an avalanche of what hadn’t been and what I still wanted so desperately. No matter what Hades did.” “Stupid stubborn.” “I believe there’s something about a pot and a kettle in this realm.” “Don’t have that cliche in the Enchanted Forest, huh?” “Not that I’m aware of, no.” “Maybe you just didn’t go to a good college.” “Tell me every Greek word you know,” Killian challenges, and Emma rolls her eyes. Ignores the first few flutters of a headache brewing at the base of her skull. “It didn’t seem fair.” “Which part?” “All of it is also rather vast, but mostly that if you were there, then it happened again.” Narrowing her eyes, Emma tries to piece together those letters and the syllables they make, only to be marginally annoyed when she can’t make sense of them. Killian kisses the bridge of her nose. 

She might have to go get Tylenol soon. 

“Losing you without fighting, without challenge the goddamn reaper myself, was worse than anything He could have done,” Killian continues, and he doesn’t have to be more specific. “Worse than whatever pain I’ve ever suffered. Cut off twenty more limbs; it wouldn’t even come close.” “Do you have that many?” “Your humor lacks a little something; you know that, Swan?” “It’s a defense mechanism.” He noses at her hair. Drags the soft hum of what could very well be either an agreement or the opposite, or maybe even the sort of deep-rooted understanding that’s allowed him to sneak his way into the center of everything, across her skin. The specifics don’t matter, only that Emma’s magic roars under her skin, an inferno, and a symphony, meeting the challenge that no one has really laid down yet. 

“Do that again,” Killian mutters, a low chuckle as Emma’s scratches at his side. 

“I’m not sure I can, honestly.” “Pity.” “Something like that, yeah. And you’re not totally right, you know?” “Ah, and that’s almost rude.” “I’m serious,” Emma says, “that’s—none of that was your fault either.” Tilting his head only ensures that several strands of hair he still hasn’t bothered to cut fall almost artfully across his forehead, and Emma is grateful to a variety of gods, Greek or otherwise, that Killian doesn’t mention how much her hand shakes. When she tries to brushes them away. His hook finds her wrist instead, cool metal against freezing cold skin, and the state of her tongue is going to be a problem. Large as it is in Emma’s mouth, making it all but impossible to properly swallow while Killian’s lips sweep the bend of her knuckles. 

“Charmer.” “Aye, that’s my endgame.” There’s not enough room between them for him to run his hand across his face like Emma knows he wants to, and part of that isn’t really a bad thing, but the rest just seems like another entirely unfair thing, and Emma knows the rest is coming. Makes tears burn her eyes all the same. “They were just...gone, you understand? No chance to do anything about it. One moment they were living and breathing. Then Liam was dead. Slumped in my arms in the corner of a cabin he was supposed to spend the rest of his career in. He—he would have been a very good captain.” “So are you,” Emma says, fierce and determined, and Killian kisses in the inside of her palm. She’s moved her hand again. To cup his cheek. 

“For a time, maybe. But then she was gone too, and I thought I could feel it, you know. The exact way her heart crumbled in his hand, tiny bits of dust that I never wanted to blow off the deck. Like some of her still managed to stay. Is that—” The muscles in his throat move, jaw clenching, and Emma has to blink. She hopes the moisture on her cheeks isn’t tears. She’s not sure what’s a better option, really. “Must sound daft.” “No. I—I get that too.” “Do you?” “Not the only one who’s watched Rumplestilskin hold the heart of someone you loved.”

He can’t be holding his breath. His chest is moving much too quickly, but the burst of air that all but flies out of Killian is enough to ruffle the ends of Emma’s hair and possibly even dry some of the tears she’s still refusing to acknowledge, and she can’t get closer to him. 

She makes an admirable effort all the same. 

Like occupying the same few inches of space will ensure that she stays there. 

“Did you—” Killian starts, looking almost pained as the words war for his voice on the tip of his tongue. “Did you like her?” That didn’t make the list, either. It’s entirely possible that Emma is just garbage at making lists. She nods. “Anyone who loves you as much as I do is fine with me. Better than, even.”

His expression shifts again. Light lingers in his gaze, cautious hope, and misplaced optimism, gears whirring in his head that Emma can’t almost convince herself she hears. Her verb tense was on purpose that time. 

That’s a confidence boost, all things considered.

“She was something fierce,” Killian says, sounding reminiscent and not as sad as Emma has worried he must be. “Once she got away from him. Could get a grown man to do her bidding with a single look, the kind of glare that’d set you on fire from the inside out. It was—they loved her too. Men on the ship, would have followed her to the ends of the Earth if she’d asked. Probably even if she hadn’t.” 

His next inhale becomes an exhale almost immediately.

“She never would have asked,” Killian adds, almost entirely to himself, but then his eyes are back on Emma, and they’re a little glossy and just as blue and she’s holding her breath now. “She liked you too, I know it.” “I think she thought I was crazy, actually. Gold didn’t really have much tact in the...introductions.” “Ah.” “Right?” “Right,” he echoes, a pale imitation of her voice that makes Emma’s cheeks ache. From smiling. Legitimately smiling. Huh. “But I suppose that’s part of it, though. She was there again, and I—” “—I’m sorry. For...for all of it.” “Still not your fault, love.”

“How did you know?” she asks, and her voice doesn’t sound much like her either. Wobbles and warbles and some other word that fits the alliteration. “About me. And not being…”

“Dead?” Killian’s eyebrows jump. “Strawberries.” “Excuse me?” “That soap you use in your hair. Smells like strawberries, or strawberry adjacent maybe. Manufactured just a bit. I think it’s my favorite smell in the world.” “Backhanded compliment.” “No, no,” Killian shakes his head. His hair moves again. “It’s not. It’s—well, it’s you, love. Smells like everything that you are and—”

“—I’m manufactured?” “If you let me finish,” he chides, and Emma all but yanks her lips behind her teeth, “It smells like home. Smells like falling asleep next to you and a distinct lack of blankets.” He nips at the tip of her nose. She scoffs again; that’s why. “And your distractingly cold feet, and leather jackets, and how the smell clings to the collars, no matter how long it’s been since you’ve worn them. Lingers on your pillow too, and the fronts of my shirt. You fall asleep against me quite often, you know that.” “Can sleep anywhere,” Emma reasons. “Might be my greatest talent.” “I don’t know about that.” “If I call you charmer again, will you hold it against me for lack of synonyms?” “Tell me how charming I am again.” Emma scrunches her nose. “Now it sounds like my dad.” “Let’s leave the prince out of this. He’s only a prince, aye?” “Far as I know, yeah.” “Good, good. Strawberries, love. Touching you helped too, though. If we’re being frank.” “Anything except blunt force honesty seems silly now, doesn’t it?” Killian nods. Slow and measured, like anything else will snap this tenuous peace, and maybe they can just sleep on the couch. Getting up is an impossible prospect right now. Maybe they can make out a little before they fall asleep. 

“It’s a very big house,” Emma whispers, and they should really figure out a schedule for conversations like this. Talking about it all at once is exhausting. 

“It is.” “You don’t want to expand upon that?” “Oh, I want a great number of things I shouldn’t,” Killian admits, “but as much as I appreciate this fresh round of honesty we’re engaging in, the false hope would—” “—There’s no such thing,” Emma interrupts. “False hope. It’s an oxymoron, ask my mother. And I think you should get some sort of crew again.” “How would you suggest I populate such a thing?” She shrugs. Nearly hits Killian in the chin in the process. “Untold stories. Dwarves.” “I will not have dwarves on my ship.” “See, I knew you’d have opinions. And there was a possessive pronoun in there that time.” “Was there not before?” “No,” she says. “Just called it the ship. Like it’s not the most important thing you have.” “Well, it’s not.” Emma’s cheeks warm. “That was very smooth.” “Someone did guarantee I was a very good captain earlier.” Space continues to be relatively minimal between them, but Killian’s nothing if not adaptable, and he works with what he’s got. Swinging Emma’s legs perpendicular over his, she’s nearly sitting on his lap, an arm slung over his shoulders, which makes it even easier to get her fingers into his hair and his head to rest against hers, and he takes another deep breath. “I know you understand, Emma,” he says, soft and serious, and she doesn’t bother doing anything except cling to him. With everything she’s got left. “All of it, from the very start. So I don’t think I’ll apologize, actually. For what I’ve done, or what I’d still be willing to do. I won’t give up on you, do you understand me?” “Didn’t,” Emma says, only a little optimistic that’s the right verb tense. Maybe she can get her GED, or something. Before all of this ends. “In Camelot, or after. Accept or acknowledge, and I probably would have—” 

Announcing that killing Gold for what he’d done to Killian regularly crossed her mind in the twenty-four hours or so before they finally made it to the Underworld doesn’t really have the right sentiment for this conversation. Far too violent, and just as honest. 

She’d consider killing him now, too. 

For everything he’s doing, and everything he hasn’t, and she should have shoved him in that river. 

Killian doesn’t smile. At least not in a way that reaches his eyes, the same ones that are looking at Emma again, all blue and earnest, and his shoulders shift. When her fingers graze his chin, more than stubble there because, she imagines, spending a day or so underwater with a sibling he only sort of wants and kind of knows doesn’t leave much time for facial-type grooming. 

It’s a good look, though. 

Most of them are, in Emma’s experience. 

“This entire time,” she continues, “you haven’t given up on me yet.” “Works both ways, darling.” “That one crosses realms, huh?” “Pick up things spending so much time with you.” There’s nothing extra in the words. No sap-filled sentiment or promises she’s only a little hopeful will become actions. And they haven’t talked about the rest; might not even have time, but Emma will let herself think about all these empty rooms anyway, of the exact shade Killian’s eyes go when he stands at the helm, and she hopes he doesn’t cut his hair. Not yet, at least. Longer strands make it easier to touch him, to leave a lasting mark, and settle into his center the same way he’s taken root in hers. 

They fall asleep on the couch. 

[annewritesfic]

Happy Endings Don't Exist

i've decided to just keep the same title for all the tlc au stuff sjwjwjwjwj

anyways! so this is based off the end of cress, and for context:

- farrah lost her vision in a satellite crash when she hit her head

- erland is the doctor who figured out kate is selene

- chess has been taken captive by a thaumaturge, one of the queen's lackeys, and cairo is terrified for her

- also i don't know if i mentioned it but kate's a cyborg, a 36.98% ratio, left leg is metal pretty much halfway up their thigh, left hand is metal, a bunch of ribs, vertebrae, and half their heart are synthetic, and her eyes are synthetic with a control panel in the back of their head

- eva was supposed to marry levana today, but kate, reese, cairo, mattie, and farrah kidnapped her right before the wedding could start

okay yeah i think that's it

word count: 1703

triggers: mentions of blood/violence/death, mentions of massacre, mentions of a gun, mentions of torture

"It's me, Eva." Kate clenched both hands into fists and stared at their boots. "I'm the lost princess."

"Oh," Eva said softly. "Oh."

"And, um, in case it wasn't obvious, I was being sarcastic about being great," Kate said, unable to take the silence. "I mean- obviously, you've got your own stuff to worry about, but, like, it- it kind of has been a rough few weeks with the ball and Levana and my sister and Erland is dead and Chess is missing and Farrah is blind and Cairo is- I don't know. She's so still and I'm worried about her, but- don't worry, I've got this under contr-"

"Please stop talking."

Kate stopped talking.

Eva leaned against the wall and slowly slid down until she was sitting. "You. You're Princess Selene?"

"Yeah…"

"The whole time, it was you."

"I mean, I didn't know for awhile, either," Kate said. "Dr Erland figured it out first, but he didn't think to tell me until I was in prison, so…"

"Levana knows, doesn't she?" Eva seemed oddly calm, considering the bombshell Kate just dropped on her head. "That's why she's so fucking determined to find you."

"Yeah."

"And it was you this entire goddamn time."

"You know, you're taking this way better than I thought you would."

Eva leaned her head back against the wall, eyes closed. "It-it makes sense, kind of. In a weird way." She was quiet for a moment, then cracked a smile. "Although I always kinda pictured the princess, like… in a dress."

Kate managed a laugh. "That's probably not happening anytime soon."

"And I thought that if I could just… find her, it would be so easy. We'd present her to the world as the true queen of Luna, and Levana would just crawl and hide in a hole. I didn't think…" Eva took a shaking breath. "I never thought she'd know. That she'd be fighting it."

"I don't think you know your fiancée very well."

Eva's eyes opened, and she stared at Kate with a steady, determined gaze that made Kate forget to breathe for a moment. "Okay, no more secrets. I'm done with big reveals from you, so if there's anything else you're keeping from me, I wanna hear it now."

Kate thought for a moment. Big secrets… cyborg. Lunar. Princess. Eva knew it all.

Well, maybe one more secret. They might be just… a tiny bit in love with her.

But obviously she couldn't tell her that.

"I can't cry," they whispered, sitting down against the opposite wall.

"I knew that," Eva said.

"Wha- how?"

"Your guardian said something about it." Eva ran a fingernail up and down a metal seam on the floor, almost nervously. "And, um… I looked at your files. Your medical records."

"You what?"

"I'm sorry, but-but you were a fugitive and I needed to know more." Eva paused. "I didn't want to, though. I felt- it was too much of an invasion on your privacy. I'm sorry, Kate."

Kate fought to breathe slowly and steadily. "No, it's- no more secrets."

"Are your eyes really…?"

"Synthetic," Kate confirmed.

Eva moved a little closer across the floor. "And that's why you can't cry?"

"It's not like I need the tear ducts for lubrication, and they got in the way of… I have a retina scanner and like, a really small netscreen in my eye." Kate tapped one metal finger against the side of her head. "So there's a lot of wiring… fuck, I can't believe I'm telling you this."

"I think it's pretty fucking awesome."

A laugh ripped from Kate's throat, oddly pleasant.

Eva reached for Kate's hands. "Can I see?"

Kate rolled their eyes, but sighed and nodded. Eva stared into her eyes, almost like she was trying to see right through to Kate's control panel, but then she shook her head with an expression of wonder. "You'd never know."

Embarrassed, Kate bit her lip. "Look at the bottom of my left iris." They pulled up a news feed they'd been watching before the ship had even landed in New Beijing, from the African Union. She didn't bother turning on the volume, letting the news anchor stay muted.

"Wait, is that-"

"Yeah, that's it."

"It's tiny. Just- really just a dot."

"It looks bigger to me." Kate dismissed the news feed, trying not to think about how close Eva was, or how she was still holding their hands.

Eva studied Kate's face - not the retina scanner or the synthetic eyes, just Kate. "I'm sorry I had you arrested. But I really am glad you're alright."

"Don't you hate me for, you know… shooting you?"

Eva's lips twitched up into a smile. She dropped Kate's human hand to pick up the metal one in both hands, studying the tips of the shiny grey fingers. "You know, none of the diagrams I looked at said anything about a gun."

"I like to maintain an air of mystery."

"Funnily enough, I've noticed."

Kate bit their lip again. "The hand is new. It's… plated with one hundred percent titanium. And that's yet another thing I can't believe I'm telling you."

Eva lifted Kate's hand to her lips and pressed a kiss against the cool metal. "Kate?"

"Y-yeah?"

"Just to be sure, you're not manipulating me right now, right?"

"Of course not."

"Good. Just checking." Then Eva slid her arms around Kate's waist and kissed her.

Immediately, Kate's retina display went crazy. INCREASED LEVELS OF DOPAMINE AND ENDORPHINS. REDUCED AMOUNTS OF CORTISOL. ERRATIC PULSE. RISING BLOOD PRESSURE-

Kate dismissed the retina display and kissed back.

Eva shifted to sit back and pull Kate closer without even once breaking the kiss, and both of them smiled into it, relaxing after weeks of stress piling on both of them. Kate broke the kiss and pressed her forehead against Eva's, breathing easier than they had in weeks. Eva gently rubbed circles against Kate's back, calming and soothing, and even though every person on Earth was probably freaking out over the missing empress and determined to find them, Kate had never been calmer.

But then the retina display, alone against the darkness of Kate's closed eyes, caught their attention.

FARAFRAH.

LUNARS.

MASSACRE.

Kate pulled away, huddling against the wall, every happy emotion from kissing Eva quickly being replaced by panic and fear.

"Kate-"

Kate shook her head frantically, and Eva stopped talking for a moment.

"I'm sorry," she said after a pause. "I shouldn't have- shit, Kate, I'm so sorry-"

"No, that's not- it wasn't-" Kate dug their hands into their hair. "Levana."

Eva inhaled sharply. "What did she…?"

"She- she retaliated," Kate managed to say, focusing on the news feed. "She attacked- she attacked Farafrah, the- fuck, that's the town that helped us." The air went cold, and Kate tried desperately to process this. Pictures flashed across the display with so much blood.

"Kate-"

Kate grabbed a wrench and hurled it against the wall in frustration, then slumped against the wall, shaking.

"Has Levana issued any demands?" Eva asked, infuriatingly calm.

"I don't know." Kate grit her teeth. "But they're all dead, and it's my fault. Because they helped me."

"It's not-"

"It is my fault, Eva!"

"Kate, listen to me." A hand settled on her shoulder. "You didn't kill them."

"I basically did."

"Did they know the risk when they let you stay?"

Kate didn't say anything.

"Maybe they thought it was a risk worth taking. Because they believed in you."

"If you're trying to help, you're doing a really shitty job," Kate spat.

"Kate-"

"You wanna know another secret? The biggest secret?" Kate swallowed down the familiar lump in their throat that said you should be crying. Would be, if you were human. "I'm scared, Eva."

Those words hung in the air for a moment.

"I'm scared of her army, and of what she can do, and I'm supposed to be strong and brave but I don't know what I'm doing, I don't know how I'm supposed to overthrow her, and even if I did, I don't know how to be a queen. People are relying on me and now they're dying because of a fantasy that I can maybe save them, but- what if I can't?"

Eva pulled her into her arms, and Kate buried their face in her soft shirt, a headache pounding behind her eyes. "I'm scared."

"I know how you feel."

"Not really."

"Close to it, at least."

"No, because-" Kate curled her human fingers into Eva's shirt. "What if I'm becoming like her?"

"You aren't."

"How can you be so sure?" Kate demanded. "Because I manipulated soldiers in France. And your advisor today. And Cairo, and I- I keep thinking sacrifices have to be made for the good of everyone, right? And then there are the mirrors- I think I'm starting to get why she hates them so much." They started shaking. "And… I tortured her thaumaturge today. I tortured her. And I almost enjoyed it."

"Katie, look at me." Eva sat back and cupped Kate's face with one hand, staring into their eyes. "I know you're scared, and believe me, you're allowed to be. You have every right to be scared. But you are not Queen Levana."

"You can't know that."

"Yeah? I do."

"She's my aunt, you know."

"And my grandfather signed the Cyborg Protection Act." She brushed Kate's hair out of her face. "But here we are."

Kate almost smiled at that.

"Now, how about we never talk about you being related to her again? Because I'm technically still engaged to her, and that's really weird on so many levels."

Kate managed a laugh as Eva pulled them back into her arms. Her headache started to fade, and the news feed drifted out of their gaze. Even with the shit show of Kate's life… Eva felt safe.

"You won't tell anyone, right?"

"'course not."

"And if I'm a shitty princess?"

"I don't think Luna needs a princess. I think they need a revolutionary."

Kate turned that word over in their mind. "I like that more than princess."

"And then, once this is over, I do have some experience in the ruling-a-country field," Eva pointed out. "So I'll help you."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

[faerytale-au]

A Darkness Lingers Pt.1

Word Count: 8,805 Fourth Prompt Place: During and After “Promises and Tokens” Rating: M TW: Mentions of Past Abuse Part 1 - Part 2 Cross posted to Ao3 here!

(During Prom&Tok)     

“So your brother’s getting hitched, talk about a shocker.” Papyrus casually gave Undyne the side eye as they walked. Why everyone kept repeating that he didn’t fully understand. Sans could be devoted if he wanted to be, after all he had helped raise him since he was young, even back when their father was still around.

“I SUPPOSE TO THE UNOBSERVANT EYE IT WOULD BE QUITE THE SHOCK YES.” Undyne could always tell when Papyrus was being sarcastic.

“Hey, I’m not the only one who thinks that, you have to admit Sans doesn’t really do much unless he absolutely has to. I wouldn’t call this a necessity either.” Papyrus stopped in place to stare at her.

“IS THERE A REASON YOU’RE BRINGING THIS UP RIGHT NOW?” When she’d all but demanded him to walk with her to work with the excuse that they were heading the same direction he’d been expecting some friendly chatter. 

Not a cross examination.

Undyne stopped beside him and folded her arms, her expression turning serious as she seemed to contemplate something. “Is the wedding even going to be legal?”

Papyrus was offended. “WHY OF COURSE IT WILL BE! WHY ARE YOU EVEN ASKING THAT?”

“It’s just well...Frisk is a mage.” Undyne stated plainly as she placed both her hands on her hips. Papyrus didn’t see what her point was, and so narrowed his sockets at her suspiciously. He knew she was uneasy with the thought of mages walking around, but last he was aware Undyne liked Frisk.

“THE ROYAL FAMILY AS I RECALL HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH MARRIAGES BETWEEN CLANS. THOSE ARE VERY MUCH STILL PERSONAL MATTERS AND DECISIONS LEFT TO THOSE ENGAGING IN THE BINDING CEREMONY.” Papyrus casually dismissed. But Undyne only seemed more reluctant about dropping the conversation as she frowned.

“That’s another thing, does she know what a binding ceremony even means Paps?” Ah, there was the crux of the matter, he could tell by the way her gaze skirted around him, but he was confused.

“I’D ASSUME SHE DOES, THE HUMANS MIMIC THE WHOLE PROCESS RATHER EFFICIENTLY IN THEIR OWN CEREMONIES.”

What was there to even know he wondered? 

A binding ceremony meant exactly what it was called, the two participating became tied to each other usually until one or both parties fell down shortly before dusting. In the meantime their tokens they exchanged, powered through the upholding of their promises, would act like soft mood detectors and tracking beacons. They would be able to tell when one was in danger or had gone somewhere far away from the other.

But then again that was for Seelie.

Papyrus had no clue what rules would apply to his brother and Frisk, he didn’t even know if it would work the same for them.

He did know however so long as she stayed in the realm and remained a mage her lifespan was sure to endure as long as any other Seelie. However Mages and regular humans didn’t go through the falling down process when reaching the end.

For the briefest moment Papyrus felt a flicker of doubt and worry for his sibling.

What would it mean if Frisk was somehow killed or died before him? Most Seelie didn’t survive when their partner passed away, and there had been stories of the effects tokens could have on those that still lived.

He didn’t want to think about the implications a token from a powerful human soul could have.

So he didn’t.

But Undyne did have very good reasons to worry.

“AND IF SHE DOESN’T I’M SURE IT WILL BE EXPLAINED TO HER. ARE THERE ANY OTHER CONCERNS THAT ONLY INCREASE THE JOVIAL MOOD I AM IN?” Undyne didn’t want to voice it seeing how his expression went neutral, his sockets habitually going wide with an empty grin to match, just as Sans’s so often did when he was talking about a subject he was uncomfortable with. 

Still it was a legitimate question that needed asking. “Yeah, last one Paps. Who’s going to bind them? Last I checked the job belonged to the clan elder, or to the oldest member and your dad is…” She couldn’t bring herself to finish.

Papyrus’s smile finally dropped completely. “AH, I WAS THINKING ABOUT THAT MYSELF. I AM AWARE I AM TECHNICALLY BY TRADITION TOO YOUNG TO KNOW ABOUT THE CLAN RITES, AND THAT SANS IS THE ELDEST BUT GIVEN THE CIRCUMSTANCES I AM HOPING HER MAJESTY AND GERSON WILL BE KIND ENOUGH TO LET ME LEARN AT LEAST THIS ONE.” 

“Is that why you’re heading to the castle with me?” 

Papyrus forced his smile back on but it was so easy to tell for the other Seelie how fake it was. “ONE REASON YES.” 

Undyne shifted in place awkwardly. She was never good with emotions when it came to someone other than Alphys but she was insightful enough to know when an invisible line had been crossed.

“Look, I’m sorry I brought up Ga--”

“IT’S FINE!”  She jolted at how quickly he cut her off and Papyrus was quick to rub the back of his vertebra as he offered an apologetic smile. “IT’S NOT EXACTLY A GOOD THING TO MENTION HIS NAME, YOU KNOW THE POWER BEHIND SUCH THINGS.” 

“...You mean the power for him behind such things.” She glowered. 

Papyrus didn’t respond, simply stared at her, with all the patience many would have thought him incapable of. It was clear he wasn’t willing to continue the conversation. Her sigh of defeat was enough to make him silently grateful even as it irritated her.

“Sorry for the questioning. C’mon we’re going to be late.” 

He smiled and went to follow, only to pause as a thick foreboding chill ran the length of his spine. Papyrus peered over his shoulder as the air around him became saturated with malevolent energy and the taste of sulfur.

If he focused long enough he swore he could see the minimalist movement out of his peripheral, the area usually reserved for wisps or other mischievous Fae that sought to cause havoc. 

He was usually never bothered by such things.

But a clan member could always tell when their eldest was nearby, Seelie or Unseelie alike.

“PAPYRUS! ARE YOU COMING!?”

Gaster watched from behind the veil as Papyrus turned back around and sauntered off after Undyne. He could tell his magic was riled but the lanky skeleton kept it cleverly concealed as he chased after the blue fish Seelie. 

It was almost impressive how his youngest’s magic control had developed he thought absently.

But then he lingered on what he’d heard. 

So his oldest son was getting married? The possibility of such a thing never once crossed his mind, seeing how cold and distant Sans had become in the years following his departure, it was quite the surprise.

Someone made Sans happy, enough to break through his guarded detachment and a human no less. Oh what irony that was. 

Gaster’s corrupted soul gave a sickening twist as a foul wave of contempt overcame him.

He supposed he wasn’t due an invite.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t by all rights allowed to meet the bride. He always knew his eldest had a soft spot for the other race that was simply his nature as it was all Seelie’s, but to go so far as to bind them to their family name?

What made this one so special?

~~

Frisk wasn’t experienced when it came to cooking. 

In her youth when she had to fend for herself she usually had a kind neighbor to help her, or if she was really lucky the town’s crops would already be just beginning to ripen and she’d pluck one or two fruits for a meal when she was hungry. 

None of that required fire or pots.

So why it had been a good idea to Papyrus and her...fiancé...to let her make dinner she had no idea. She was even a bit worried she’d potentially end up burning the house down; how was she supposed to know when the meat was fully cooked, let alone magic meat too.

Her narrowed eyes flickered over to the cookbook Papyrus had set up for her. 

It said to simmer the meat until browned...how did one simmer meat? 

Magic maybe? Wasn’t that always the answer?

Frisk was so busy worrying and glaring at the food to notice as a thin shadow slipped from the kitchen doorway behind her, it’s shapeless form gliding across the floor to rest just behind her own feet. 

It lingered still as could be while Frisk hummed and begun to look over seasonings.

Slowly the shadow darkened and grew upwards like a pillar of smoke, it’s ascent silent as the grave as it twisted and enlonged. It continued to grow until it was just tall enough it threatened to touch the ceiling and all the while Frisk was ignorant to its presence..

The sharp popping of the meat and a loud gasp from her was enough to cover a nauseous sound of rolling curd and dolloping phlegm, the crackle of raw magic, and the food’s smell of char as it burned was enough to mask a scent of coal and wood.

A face, white and round, cracked from the left corner of its mouth with a matching lightning bolt jagged like cut curving up from it’s right eye rolled out from the churning darkness to grin wide and maliciously at the human woman’s back. 

So this was her? 

Gaster tilted his head as he took in her appearance with an apathetic look. About average height, dressed simply in Seelie garb, but to his keen eye all together plain looking. He couldn’t see anything that would have coaxed his son’s attentions.

Nothing truly remarkable stood out about her that he could see. There were even faint scars dotting her arms if he looked close enough, a feature that normally would’ve been off putting among her kind he was sure, he could even see one or two trying to show from under the collar of her shirt.

Yet.

There had to be something he was missing.

A flare of brilliant magic circled his right socket as a monocle formed and his frown curved up into a smile both fascinated and intrigued. Right in the center of her being he could see a heart floating and radiating the aura of magic around her. 

Her soul was the most vivid and bewitching shade of Red he’d ever seen, determination practically poured from her being in rivets. It made his hands spawn and itch. Even enclosed within her body as it was it gave off a sense of bewitching ambition and drive.

Was it truly a wonder his eldest had fallen for her then?

All Gaster could see...was fathomless potential.

Frisk mumbled to herself as she rushed over to the sink, her hands fumbling as she filled a cup and rushed back over before stilling as an icy shiver raced up her spine. She frowned. It felt as if she had eyes on her, someone watching her as she attempted to pour water over the smoking remains of her ruined dinner. 

Gaster smirked.

Trying to keep calm she drew a shaky breath and tensed. Swallowing down her nerves she turned and froze, her body preparing for a sudden assault or unexpected visitor.

She blinked at the empty kitchen. 

Frisk had been living in the Seelie realm for a while now, unexplained sensations or fluctuations of magic weren’t unusual or uncommon. But this felt off...as if whatever that was she had felt didn’t belong to the rest of reality around her.

Furrowing her brows one of her hands came up slowly to brush the air in front of her as if to feel something she couldn’t see before snapping it away to her chest. She started to breath heavy and glanced down at her palm.

A feeling, something magnetic had rebuffed her.

“Paps? Sans?” She waited, a clamminess overcoming her skin, but no one answered her. Mentally she started to count backwards from ten as she cast a wary glance around her, her eyes lingering in corners and doorways before finally she started to calm down.

Feeling reassured there wasn’t really anyone around she let out a sigh and nearly whimpered as she reluctantly turned back to the stove and saw the meat had turned solid as a brick and black. 

She couldn’t even tell it had been meat anymore. 

Looked like it was going to be takeout for dinner again, Papyrus wasn’t going to be too thrilled.

“WE’RE BACK!” Frisk flinched, talk about convenient timing. 

Frisk smiled in relief as she called back, her eyes locked on the smoldering pan, and shivered as she swore silently to herself that she felt eyes on her again. Her hand clenched the cup she still held nervously as her heart verged on picking back up. 

The feeling of familiar and warm arms encircling her waist relaxed her.

“wow, my favorite, charcoal.” 

Her cheeks stung and the stiffness in her shoulders changed meaning at Sans’s teasing and the chaste kiss he pressed to her cheek. Her worry was instantly forgotten as she smiled at him in amusement. Her fiance had a habit of liking things just a bit overcooked. 

A lot overcooked.

“Well, at least one of us will have a lunch for tomorrow.” She pouted. 

Sans merely chuckled and slyly glanced over to the corner of the kitchen at the same moment as his brother walked in. Papyrus’s loud exclamation and Frisk’s apologetic stammering faded to the back of his mind as his eyelight flared.

Gaster and Sans stared at each other.

His hold on Frisk tightened. 

“Sans?” He blinked and his father was gone. 

Belatedly he took in the way he was standing, like a wall separating where Gaster had been from the rest of the room. His suddenly blurry gaze lingered on the empty corner with a hostile intent roaring through his bones. 

When had he let go of Frisk? 

...Why was Gaster showing up again?

Feeling unnerved he forced a grin and made sure to carefully control his tone as he turned with a shrug. “sup?” 

“You okay?” Frisk drawled slowly, her eyes flickering from where he’d been facing and back to him. If he didn’t know better Sans would swear Frisk knew Gaster had been there too. Coming into her powers he knew she would start to be able to feel distortions just as they could, but he worried; Frisk wasn’t officially tied to the family yet.

Was Gaster so strong now that his human fiance, a simple mage, could sense him?

“fine, just wondering if we have enough ketchup to go with dinner.” Papyrus frowned.

“YOU NEED TO SEE A HEALER FOR THAT ATROCIOUS SENSE OF TASTE.” Sans inwardly sighed as Frisk giggled. He couldn’t help but to be thankful that his brother helped with the subject change. This wasn’t something that needed to be talked about right now, hopefully ever.

He watched as Papyrus stole a spoon and a new mixing bowl. He looked really determined to teach Frisk some skills in the kitchen and Sans wasn’t complaining, he always enjoyed a show.

Even if he was incapable of relaxing now.

~~

(Post Prom&Tok)

Frisk blinked sleepily and let out a yawn, her heavy lids fluttering as she slowly sat up. She frowned as she looked down at herself to see her everyday clothing and cloak adorning her instead of the pajamas she’d worn to bed.

What?

She blinked, and then she was on her feet, Sans standing in front of her with his cloak billowing ominously in the wind whipping around the both of them. His sockets were void of light, and his posture was hunched, almost broken looking. 

An echoing and child-like sob had her looking around to see no one in sight. 

Was she dreaming? 

Frisk didn’t know what to think as a low growl caught her attention. Confused, she looked behind her and froze. 

A being of blackest night stood tall and imposing, their face horrifyingly cracked and grin maliciously wide. Eight hands floated around the creature, circling and moving with purpose. 

She didn’t know how to explain it, but she could feel them staring at her, and it felt terrifyingly familiar. It didn’t take much for her to realize it was the same feeling she’d felt that one lazy afternoon in the kitchen.

Her blood began to race.

There was no doubt what she was looking at was an Unseelie.

“G U I L T Y.”

A stab of ice and terror raced through her at the word, Sans’s voice echoing around her and plunging her under a shroud of fear. 

Guilty?

The next thing she knew it was an out of body experience. Sans and the Unseelie stared each other down and the scene darkened, turned to hues of grays and blues as a chuckle, low and fervent came from her husband. 

It sounded nothing like him.

The Unseelie spoke, and his voice grated Frisk’s hearing like nails on a chalkboard.

“SuCh A dIsApPoInTmEnT...TRAITOR!” 

She just barely caught the way Sans flinched but there was no missing how the air turned cold, how his smile impossibly grew but at the same time lost all hints of emotion.

It was like Sans became a shell, nothing but an empty vessel.

His voice was unusually quiet and subdued, “traitor...thought you hated jokes old man.” 

Her heart skipped painfully in shock. 

Old man? Was this...Sans’s father?

Her silent question was answered for her.

“YoU aRe No SoN oF MiNe…” With that something seemed to break, and the atmosphere instantly ran thick and suffocating. 

Her husband’s smile dipped but quickly recovered and then--

Frisk watched as Sans charged, a blast of ice coating the ground as he propelled himself forward. His expression was haunting, a grin so wide with sockets to match. Her heart hammered as he brought a hand up, thick white phalanges coated in contrastingly beautiful frost and blue magic.

An animistic roaring filled her ears as she spun to see Sans’s father curling and shooting forward like smoke to meet him, the eight levitating hands bloating to gigantic proportions and surrounding him like a cruel halo.

Sans’s hand jabbed out in silent command and bones, both blue and white, formed to shoot forward; thick tails of ice and snow rending the air in their wake as they rushed passed her suddenly spawned body. 

Frisk cried out as one came close to scraping her cheek but dodged out of the way in the nick of time and narrowly avoided being swept away with the attacks by a wide sweep of one colossal hand as it batted them away. 

“What’s happening!?” She shouted in fear, her skin breaking into a cold sweat. 

Frisk went ignored as the hand that had so easily dismissed her husband’s assault met Sans, his smile lifting in one corner before he vanished and reappeared above it, hand raised and then brought down in a furious snap that spawned two demonic looking heads. 

Her eyes widened as their jaws unhinged and two jets of freezing azure light erupted, shooting out with deafening noise like thunder as they connected and shattered the levitating limb in a fashion like glass. 

The Unseelie, let out a pain filled shriek.

Sans landed on one of the floating skulls, a light Frisk couldn’t make out from the distance between them flaring briefly in one socket as his cloak and clothing whipped violently around him. “heh, looks like you’re out of practice gaster, but what do i know? i never practice.”

Gaster looked up scornfully, something Frisk hadn’t noticed before around his wide socket blurring and glowing with an ominous aura as he grew in size and hissed nastily through his own demented smile.

“bUt Of CoUrSe, YoUr BrOtHeR wAs AlWaYs ThE PrOmIsInG oNe!”

Another sob, louder than the first drew Frisk’s gaze and it landed on a huddled child; a smaller skeleton bent over and tucked into himself with his hands covering his face. But there could be no mistake, not with the sharply red colored cloak around his shoulders, smaller but still as eye catching and attention seeking as it’s longer counterpart.

It was Papyrus, and Frisk’s heart ached. 

Sans’s grin finally dropped. 

Gaster whipped up and twirled into the sky like an arching bolt of smoke, his hands moving in front of his face in a circular formation as they begun to spin rapidly. A low whine turning sharp and high pitched snapped Frisk’s attention from where it rested on Papyrus to both of the combating fae.

“Stop it…” She didn’t know why but the words were leaving her mouth without her consent as a burning in her chest grew intense. 

“Stop it!” She cried out just as Sans raised a hand and summoned another skull; this one bigger than the others with immense blue power rolling off of it in thick waves, causing thick icicles to form and instantly break into countless shards around it.. 

Dark and tainted cold light, pitched and subtly hued purple on it’s edges, burst forth from Gaster’s hands just as Sans pointed towards him, the gigantic skull unhinging it’s massive jaw and firing--

“STOP IT!” Frisk shouted till her voice cracked--

The world was engulfed in blinding light.

And then she was falling.

“Seems you did not like that little glimpse into my son’s past.”

She jolted as everything snapped into darkness, leaving her dazed and with a thick feeling of cotton in her mouth. Blinking, the area began to brighten as her eyes adjusted to reveal she was now looking at a stone wall. 

From what she could tell she was in a cavern.

Swallowing nervously she took a step forward, yelping as a shape came from seemingly nowhere in front of her and forced her shockingly weakened legs to waver as she hurried to take a step back. 

Frisk stared with her hands clutched to her chest, waiting for her heart to stop racing. 

Was she still dreaming? It was difficult for her to focus on the thought, the issue slipping just out of reach every time she attempted to answer it. Why was it so hard to concentrate?

“Frightened? Not surprising for a human in the Unseelie realm.” She flinched at how close the voice sounded. 

Twisting her head this way and that she couldn’t make out anything other than the abnormally dark spot in front of her. That feeling was back again, and it was just as present and unnerving as the first time she’d ever felt it.

“U-unseelie...realm?” Her voice came out shy and breathy, the air around her feeling chilly and cold. Now she understood what she felt; it was a feeling of being unsafe, so vulnerable. She was hyper aware of just how powerless she instantly was.

The voice, observant but yet somehow soothing in it’s tone spoke up, “Yes, you need not worry however. No one dares to enter my dwelling here.” 

Frisk found no comfort in the mystery man’s words, instead she only hunched into herself as she tried to fight off the unending chill and frost threatening her skin. A moment of silence fell between them and it was if the entity knew she didn’t have the strength to respond.

“I forget how fragile your race is, allow me to adjust the space for you.” 

There was no warning. The darkness just suddenly brightened and illuminated the space around her almost blindingly like someone had casually thrown a candle in her face, and warmth instantly replaced the abnormal glacial air that had had her teeth nearly rattling.

She didn’t even get the chance to adjust to the sudden flux in her surroundings and assault on her senses before the voice was back. “It’s bothersome how hard it is to read you. Usually I have no trouble in knowing what one needs or feels, but in this case it’s exceedingly difficult. Although I am enjoying it.”

Sucking in air through her nose she rubbed her hands over her eyes and focused on how clear the cavern was now, noticing with a start that the blacker than black spot still stood in front of her, the edges of it curling and coiling like thin tendrils. 

Gradually it shifted and Frisk fisted her hands to try and fight off the wave of bizarre wrongness she felt as the top morphed into what she could see as shoulders before a face emerged, transforming into a taller and darkly elegant looking fae. The bizarre placement of a monocle over a wide socket disturbed her in just how menacing it made him look, but not as much as the cracks her eyes traced.

Right away she recognized him. “Are you...Gaster?” 

He appeared satisfied as he smiled at her. “An accurate assumption.” 

His gaze panned her form for a brief moment before looking back up at her confused expression. His monocle sparked with light ominously. “I would say it’s a pleasure to meet my daughter in law finally, but given the situation that would be a lie.” 

A cold sting raced down her spine as he moved closer to her, his form so imposing and tall in comparison to her withdrawn statue it made her mouth go dry. He easily dwarfed her. “I always knew Sans had unusual tastes but a human bride no less. I see he still maintains his passive aggressive attitude.” 

Frisk didn’t know how to take that but her heart gradually stopped racing as Gaster shifted a bit further from her, the oppressive feeling he radiated dulling with the small distance. It was enough to allow Frisk to gain her bearings, and one fact came slamming back down.

“You said we’re in the Unseelie realm!?” 

The place Sans had vanished to for three years!? What was only three days to him!? 

Frisk felt a wave of panic start to sink in.

How long had she been here!? Would anyone look for her? Did Seelie willingly send out search parties for vanishing mages? Did Sans and Papyrus know? What would Pap do--

Oh no.

Sans

What if he thought something had happened to her? Had thought she’d abandoned him?

“I-I need to get home!” Gaster raised a brow.

“Do you believe that a real possibility for you currently?” He sounded amused.

Frisk found sudden strength as she stood tall and faced Gaster down. No one was going to use her to hurt the ones she loved, especially the only one that had ever loved her when she’d needed it most, and Gaster wasn’t going to keep her here if she could help it.

He was surprised as Frisk attempted to look intimidating, her aura of magic spiking around her as small iridescent flames sparked in a bewitching halo to frame her body. Her emotional response wasn’t what he’d been expecting, in fact, he hadn’t even seen it coming. 

Gaster was definitely enjoying this.

“What are you planning to do? In a one on one fight your chances of winning are low, I have centuries of experience next to you.”  His words seemed to have the impact he desired as he watched her slowly wilt, her flames turning dim as the courage she found turned sour.

But then she perked up again, her flames blooming into raging infernos that wrapped along her arms to ball within her hands. It wasn’t hard for the scientist to imagine the flaring of her soul, to picture it brimming with her determination as she spoke with a tone commanding attention and confidence.

“It doesn’t mean I still shouldn’t try!” 

Gaster shot her a disinterested look but all the same willed his hands into existence and watched her eyes go wide as they enlarged large enough that she could have easily fit through a hole in the center of one palm three times over. 

Still she didn’t back down.

She was either a brave fool, or a desperate mouse wanting an out.

After a moment of Gaster trying and not so surprisingly failing to calculate the ramifications of the possible fallout if they fought he dismissed his hands with a blink. She looked confused as her flames vanished but he simply spoke as if the standoff hadn’t just happened between them.

“I have no desire to fight a battle I would easily win. Instead, tell me human, do you know what an End of an Era is?” Frisk frowned. She didn’t like how that question sounded, she didn’t like how much hearing ‘End of an Era’ made her skin crawl, and could only shake her head as he pressed the tips of his many fingers on his numerous hands together. 

His one good socket narrowed as he spoke.

“Its when the Rulers lose their lives, the end of the current millennia, unlike normal Seelie and their dark counterparts their lifespans are shorter. An unfortunate drawback to being the anchor that holds the Realms very existences in place, to keep magic itself alive and flowing.” She tensed as he moved around her, his embodied darkness bending and flickering like excited vapor as he continued.

“At the Age’s end the realms temporarily vanish, and those fae, mages, all magical beings still alive are suspended in the Either until the previous ruler’s heir or another is selected to become the new anchor. In the meantime the Veil is what keeps your human world safe from the endless flow of magic until the reformation year is up.”

“Reformation year?” Gaster let his hand drop behind his back as he smiled. If he didn’t make her feel so uncomfortable Frisk could have seen the smile almost friendly, like a teacher to a student in a way. Why he was even speaking to her about this she didn’t know, but curiosity had her focusing on his words.

The derisive chuckle he let out quickly banished all temporary illusion of friendliness. 

“You have a very interesting soul, Frisk.” Her hand instantly went to cover her chest.

“You have an interesting eye piece.” His sockets widened and she bit her lip. It felt so similar to when she’d first met Sans, she’d responded just as absent and truthfully when he’d commented on her eyes. 

Was she...at ease...somehow?

Gaster stared silently at her. “...My monocle interests you…”

She looked hesitantly at him. “Is it how you were able to see me in the Seelie Realm?” He went quiet again and Frisk wondered what he was thinking as an emotion seemed to cross his face so quickly she would’ve thought she imagined it.

“...I see, so you knew I was watching did you?” 

“I guessed…” She whispered. 

Gaster was impressed. 

Her heart began to race as he suddenly glided closer to her, close enough that she could see the tiny iridescent gems of rolling colors embedded in the monocle over his one working eyelight as it pulsed brightly.

“It takes a year of human time for the realms to reform and for the Either’s magical influence to settle in it’s new host, that’s why it’s called a reformation year.” He paused and seemed to contemplate Frisk’s befuddled expression before pulling back and cupping his bony chin.

He hadn’t expected Sans’s wife to be this intelligent. Gaster had been right to assume the amount of potential she had, and the soul she carried...Maybe there was something special about her after all.

“Are you sure you still want to know why I have this? Why I am able to see through the veil?” The way he tapped the eye piece, languid and slow made Frisk’s nerves shoot up. But she had asked, and despite everything she had always been too curious for her own good.

“Yes.”

Gaster’s smirk dropped and his sockets darkened.

“When fae and magical beings alike are suspended in the Either the Veil not only protects you humans but us as well. It puts us to sleep as many call it, though that’s far too simple a term and not as close to what it means, what actually happens to us.” His words faded out, went weak until silence swallowed them as he stared unseeing passed Frisk.

He looked haunted and beguiled. 

She didn’t know what to make of that complicated expression but for some reason it hurt her to witness it. Gaster looked as if he’d seen things no other being ever had before. Frisk just didn’t know if that was necessarily a good thing.

He blinked and refocused on her.

“The Veil coats us similar to a shield and blinds us as well. That’s what it’s supposed to do at least. The last occurrence, however, failed to protect me the way it should have.” Gaster watched as Frisk bit her lip and could easily tell how she automatically wanted to comfort him. 

But he ignored it as flashbacks threatened to overcome his vision. Memories he didn’t have all but begging to drown him in their morose nonexistence. It always fascinated him how he could talk about them, but never truly live them, only feel their presence and the old ghostly burning of his torment as if he’d experienced it only seconds ago.

He took a carefully hidden breath and looked at her dully. 

“I was awake, and the Either burned into my sockets and mind endlessly.” 

Frisk felt an icy shiver run up her back as the unfathomable horror of his words struck her speechless. 

He...had been tortured for a year…

Something about that statement resonated with her. It wasn’t the same thing that she’d gone through growing up, in fact it was worse but, she knew what it was like to feel hopeless. To feel as if the torment would never end and to sometimes silently beg to give just about anything to be free of it.

When she didn’t react Gaster simply shrugged. “A year of screaming with no one to hear would have broken a person, but I survived.” 

That didn’t make what he’d gone through okay. 

He didn’t give Frisk the chance to say it out loud though as he turned his back to her, the tenseness in his shoulders going lax as he stood straighter and let out a bored sigh.

“And when we woke up the first thing I did was shortcut to my lab where I took the Either, still filling and pouring from my sockets, and collected it in a flask. Astonishingly once it no longer clung to me but only to the cold and unfeeling glass in my hands it solidified, almost crystallized I would say, instantaneously.” 

He turned to face Frisk again and this time there was a light in his sockets, something warm and full of curiosity that it shocked her to see in an Unseelie gaze.

“Of course I went completely blind in one eye and partially in the other. Though I began to notice how different the realm around me was. Where a pond or tree would rest all I’d have to do is blink and it would instead be nothing but cracked and brittle ground with an obsidian lantern in the tree’s stead. It was gradual at first but then became constant.” 

He paused to give an annoyed roll of his eyelight. “And each time it would leave me with the worst of migraines! Even worse than my son’s ridiculous puns!” 

How frustrated he sounded and the way a floating hand waved dismissively had Frisk struggling to not let out a giggle. Gaster looked so enthused it was hard for her to keep telling herself to be weary of him. His tone had gone fond and so eager with every sentence he spoke.

He suddenly seemed so normal talking about this.

“But then I had an idea, maybe I was glancing through the Veil, each vision was startlingly similar to what the Unseelie realm was described as in the texts, and this ability only manifested after the Either had affected me.” Gaster grinned sharply, his hands wringing together as he looked at Frisk with a sobering conviction that bordered madness.

She sobered.

“If the Either could take away my sight, why couldn’t it help grant me another?” She had a feeling she knew where he was going with this and she felt her stomach drop.

“The gems in your monocle, it’s the solidified Either?” He looked so proud at her answer that it did weird things to her chest. A sense of accomplishment, a feeling of satisfaction. Frisk had only felt that particular way once before, and it had been the only time her father had ever smiled at her.

Gaster...found himself wanting to be honest with her.

“...You’re more intelligent than I’ve given you credit for.” The feeling increased in Frisk’s chest. 

“Excellent for a human, my son wasn’t completely clueless choosing a partner after all it seems.” And the feeling quickly changed to a mild offence as she frowned. Apparently Gaster was where Sans and Papyrus both got their mood ruining habits from.

“But yes, it turns out the gems when placed in a particular fashion can infuse objects. This eye piece not only allows me to peer easily through the Veil without repercussions but to choose when it happens. It offers me control.”

Frisk did not like the way his eyelight flared, the sheer malice and mania inside of it. But it didn’t scare her, if anything it made pity form a knot inside of her. She hesitated but found the strength to say what had been on her mind as he’d ranted and raved.

“It must be awful, being here alone?” 

Gaster’s face for the briefest moment went lax. His built up excitement and sense of triumph shattered as if Frisk had taken a hammer to it and replaced the feeling with a cold sensation of apathy. 

“I...can’t fully imagine what it’s like for you. You seem so…” Her words failed her but still she struggled to get her meaning across as Gaster leveled a detached stare so piercing it felt as if her very soul had been laid out in the open. “...like you’re meant to be around people, to create and discover and then share that with others.”

He slowly looked down at nothing and he didn’t know why he said what he did but found he didn’t regret it. For some reason it was bizarrely easy to confide in this particular human. “...It’s a similar feeling to being in the Either, only there’s no hope of it ending.”  

Frisk’s response was instant. 

“There’s always hope. Even if it feels impossible.” 

Gaster looked sharply up at her.

“Such confidence when the evidence says otherwise. There has never been an Unseelie returning to their previous nature once banished and I stand firm on my belief even now. You humans are nothing but trouble, the very reason our monarchy and the magic in the world goes ignored and depleted.” Frisk flinched but stood resolute before him, squared her shoulders even as she clutched her hand to her chest.

“Beliefs can change…” Her mind flashed back to her parents, doubt and confusion trying to turn her voice hollow, but she pushed the vision down and said “People can change. If they are just willing too.” 

Gaster turned to fully face her and his many hands vanished as his grin turned into a firm and curt line. He had never seen such fire in a being before, her determination shone so strongly it nearly emanated from the golden tone of her eyes turning them brighter.

He had never seen golden irises before in his many years of life, how was he just noticing them?

“Where does such hope come from? The conviction in your eyes?” 

A smile, warmer than summer and brighter than the darkness he’d long become accustomed to slowly curved her lips as her thoughts instantly went to horrible jokes and a grin so expressive even in its perpetual existence. And her eyes softened as she thought on political rants and the smell of tomato sauce within loving arms.

“Your sons gave me that.”

His face crumbled and Frisk saw the way his already hollowed sockets emptied even further. Watched as his hands flickered in and out of reality as if he couldn’t concentrate enough to decide on summoning them or not. 

Gaster looked pained and so remorseful that it felt as if it saturated the air itself. 

She...wanted to help him.

“How did you end up here?” 

Gaster didn’t speak and the air around them grew heavy and suffocating as his stature steadily grew dauntingly taller. Like a switch had been flipped his whole demeanor changed into hostile and violent, his monocle glaring white as he begun to approach her with corrupted intent.

Caught off guard Frisk took a step back and stumbled, her rear and hands stinging as she fell to the ground and continued to move backwards. Her mind raced to figure out what she’d done to cause Gaster to slowly corner her. Her blood was rushing loudly in her ears like a deafening roar and it took all her will not to cry out, only to continue in her retreat in a bid to keep distance between them. 

Her heart was threatening to rupture in her chest.

Gaster’s voice was low but it was loud enough in the stillness engulfing them as he bent over her. “That is a story I don’t feel like telling.” it was laced with utter rancor and spite. 

“Why don’t you ask that husband of yours?” 

Frisk felt her lungs lock up as her back hit wall and tried to curl in on herself as he so cruelly leaned down and closer to her that the darkness of his form devoured the area and space around her. Like a vortex that consumed everything in it’s path.

Sans? Was it to do with what she’d seen earlier?

Her father in law gave an amused and mordacious leer.

“After all, you’re not even here.” 

Her cry was cut short as the world went black and tilted, smoky darkness and the scent of something bitter flooding her senses and suffocating her. She tried to push back, tried to get away but there was no escaping.

It was the closet again--

Mom was home--

Shouting--

“frisk!” 

She jolted upright, the piercing sob she let out loud and bloodcurdling right before she felt a pair of bony arms wrap around her. 

For only the briefest second she struggled, the thought of Gaster’s enraged sockets and the sound of her mother’s voice sending her into a frenzy to escape, but quickly she relaxed as the smell of ketchup and the clothed ribs she was tucked against registered through the panicked haze. 

She...she was in bed?

Blinking she tried to get her breathing under control as Sans rocked her.

“hey, it’s okay. shh was just a nightmare. i gotcha.” His words were so reassuring just as they always were when she had night terrors, but the feeling of asphyxiating darkness still clung to her skin like static.

It wasn’t just a nightmare.

But she couldn’t bring herself to say it, not with how she clung to him and felt the sins and fears of her past rolling down the slope of her sweat soaked back. For now she was selfish, she only wanted Sans’s comfort.

She shut her eyes and tucked further into him as she relished the feeling of his phalanges running through her tangled hair and brushing away tears that had run down her cheeks. She grounded herself with how he began to hum a calming tune as he nuzzled her.

Gaster’s words echoed…ask your husband.

For the life of her she couldn’t figure out what that meant. 

What was there she didn’t know about Sans? He never kept secrets...at least she didn’t think he had any to keep, he’d always been so open with her, said what was on his mind.

But then again she hadn’t known about Gaster.

G U I L T Y

She hadn’t known he could sound like that or look so...dangerous.

“Sorry.” Anxiety and curiosity made her hoarse reply come out a near whimper but her loving husband only chuckled lightly.

“nothing to apologize for, wasn’t really out. sleeping desserted me tonight.” Frisk weakly glanced over to his end table and snorted as she saw a half melted sundae sitting abandoned.

“Papyrus is going to get onto you for midnight snacking again.” She commented.

Sans gave a wink. “only if he finds out. going to turn me in?” 

Frisk smiled and felt the last of her tension melt away. “Never.”

 Tomorrow was another day and she’d ask him then, maybe with sleep she would have a clearer head for the upcoming conversation. There was not an ounce of doubt in her mind that it wasn’t going to be a sensitive subject for him.

And she was too haunted by her own demons tonight to try confronting his.

~~

“Sans--we need to talk.” The words felt rough in her throat but she didn’t waver as Sans pulled up short of the door to turn and face her. 

The look he gave her was one of mild confusion, he hadn’t heard her sound so uncertain since she was a child, and he let his hand drop from where it had risen halfway to the handle. He gave her his full attention as he widened his smile at her and forced his concern behind a wall of habitual patience as he responded. “sure, what’s up?” 

“...Right now?” Frisk was a little taken aback at how quickly he relented. He was about to head off to work but instead he was delaying to make sure she was okay. Frisk forgot sometimes just how attentive and caring he was, how often he put her first before everything besides Paps.

It almost made her change her mind bringing the topic up in the first place. She really didn’t want to upset him. Not when he looked so ready to placate or fix whatever was bothering her.

He always did so much for her.

Sans was silent as he noticed her shuffle in place, his eyelights taking in how she shyly looked at the floor with hesitancy. Something was definitely wrong, maybe to do with her night terrors from last night? 

He tried his best to give a lazy chuckle and added a shrug for good measure. “i have time. undyne isn’t going to say much.” 

Frisk swallowed.

“It’s about Gaster.” 

That was the last thing Sans expected to hear from her. His eyelights immediately went out and a chill permeated the air as all the light around them seemed to dim and fade out with how his aura flared and spiked. 

Frisk tensed, her eyes going wide as she recalled Gaster and his suffocating darkness. Suddenly she was also recalling how Sans had looked in her dream and she wasn’t even thinking as she took several steps back. 

Sans was quick to notice the retreat. 

She never ran from him, Frisk never looked as if she might be at risk around him.

It hurt, it was a harsh slap from sanity.

Immediately he blinked his eyelights back into existence and the mood shifted, the light turning once more to its previous brightness as a drop of sweat ran the curve of his skull. His mind was racing and he found it hard to concentrate on anything other than his wife and how she cowed.

“i’m sorry frisk i--i didn’t mean to.” She quivered as he reached for her but she didn’t fight him as he embraced her. He swallowed down the magical saliva building in his nonexistent throat. “just...how do you know that name?” 

Frisk’s tensed posture loosened at the remorse she heard in his voice, the fear. Sans appeared terrified, but rather from her knowing or from just who exactly Gaster was she couldn’t be sure.

“I met him.” Before she knew it Sans was holding her at arms length with his hands gripping her shoulders, not enough to hurt or bruise but firmly, as if she could slip through his grip and be lost within seconds. 

His tone was hushed but stern, hard as iron and cold. “what do you mean you met him?” 

She had to remind herself that this was her husband, he’d never hurt her and would be the last person who’d ever wish any ill will on her, that he loved her in order not to shrink under his aggravated gaze.

She’d never seen this side to him before. He was so...uncontrolled. “My nightmare…last night.” 

Sans shook and gritted his teeth as he forced his hands under his cloak so that she couldn’t see the way his hands balled into tightly clenched fists. His sockets lidded in thought.

It had been years since Sans had even heard that name last and it angered him how now that he did it was from his own wife of all people. It was bad enough he’d seen him before they’d gotten married. He should’ve known that wouldn’t be the last time he saw him.

What was his old man up to?

“i don’t want you looking into this.” Frisk looked at him. 

It sounded like he had just given her an order, not a request or even a soft plea, a command. And it made something harden in her chest, burn in rebellion. Out of the whole time she’d known him Sans had never made demands of her. 

“What?” Sans leveled a look so empty and void of all his familiar softness it felt as if a stranger was standing in front of her. 

“i’m serious. gaster is dangerous. stay away from him.”

She bit back the initial response that built up on the tip of her tongue. Why she had the sudden urge to fight him so fervently on the subject puzzled her, it was just a feeling; a boiling and simmering feeling of wrongness for her to listen and cut off all contact with the Unseelie.

Something was telling her there was another path she could take, a better one.

It couldn’t be wrong if her very soul cried for her to obey could it?

Unknowingly what she said struck her husband like a blow. “I want to help him.” 

Sans...was outraged, frozen in shock. 

Frisk didn’t know the implication behind her statement, how insulting it was to his role as Judge. In a way it sounded as if she thought there was a flaw behind what he’d done, as if there was hope for someone he’d deemed beyond any sort of salvation.

She wasn’t aware just how damning it sounded to throw her support behind a being who represented everything wrong and unnatural with the world and how it should be. By saying what she did Frisk might as well have just crushed a flower beneath her heel and called life itself disgusting.

But this was Frisk.

There were times he forgot just how pure she was. How determined and strong the woman he loved could be if she tried hard enough, of course she’d want to help someone if she could, that’s all she’d ever wanted as a child. Why wouldn’t she give that back tenfold as an adult?

He loved her, so much.

It was that fact alone that cooled him and made his voice come out weak instead of bitter. “you can’t.” 

If his own dust and blood wasn’t enough what hope did she have? She was only going to end up hurt if she tried and Sans did not want that. He could already see the cogs turning in her head and he hated it.

He couldn’t think of a way to convince her.

Frisk didn’t believe him, she desperately wanted to after all as a fae he knew more about how his world worked, but she just couldn’t. Something in the way his shoulders slumped told her she couldn’t ignore this.

She let out a gasp of shock as he abruptly turned away and opened the door. He was going to leave? Just like that? They hadn’t even finished talking.

What was happening? “Sans--”

“frisk.” 

He paused long enough to speak but didn’t even turn to look at her. “i have to go.”

Her heart felt like it broke as the door shut behind him. But she knew the pain was nothing compared to his, he’d sounded as if he’d been about to cry with how his voice had broken, she’d seen the way his shoulders had shook. 

Frisk wondered if he even knew he’d reacted that way.

[mymelodyheart]

Starting Over Chapter 1 ~The Birthday Party~

James Fraser peered through his front windshield into the sunlight and wished he was back in his apartment in Edinburgh. If his older sister Jenny hadn't called earlier to drag him out of his blissful, mind-numbing slumber and reminded him of his nephew's birthday, he would have been still in bed. Instead of his usual routine of sleeping until past midday, eating junk food and washing it down with beer, playing Xbox and going back to sleep, he'd found himself putting on some fresh clothes and driving to Lallybroch. His sudden motivation had more to do with his nephew, wee Jamie. He wouldn't miss his birthday for the world, come rain or shine. Unfortunately, sunshine and children's parties seldom bode well for his mood while nursing a massive hangover.

It had been three months since he was last in Lallybroch - three months of avoiding his family and dodging questions about his future. He knew he'd hit his limit for grieving the untimely death of his career and feeling sorry for himself. It was time to face the world of adulting, and it was time for a change.  But what change? A job in the Fraser distillery?  It was his legacy and fallback plan, after all.

But he didn't need the money, and his brother-in-law, Ian Murray, was more than capable of overseeing its running. He considered going away to take an extended sabbatical and figure out what he wanted to do with life.

Not too long ago, he had been the nation's sports phenomenon until his sterling rugby career was prematurely cut short by a neck injury sustained during a Six Nations game against France. Later, it was discovered that he had a triple fracture of the vertebrae. Although he avoided any serious nerve damage and had worked with the best therapist in the country in an attempt to get back on the field, he'd been advised by his doctor and friend, Joe Abernathy to retire.

See it this way - you could have ended up in a wheelchair. Count your blessings, Jamie. You're still young, you have a fat bank account from your time in rugby and sponsorships, and the future is full of possibilities. How about going back to your roots? Like your family's distillery?

Jamie pushed himself out of his black BMW SUV with an annoyed grunt and grabbed the toy bicycle from the back seat of the car. He could hear the loud, shrill screams of children and smell burger meat grilling on the BBQ. Tugging on the collar of his T-shirt, he grimaced at the perspiration running down his back. It was a warm day, and already a headache was starting to grow. From his vantage point, he could see the flowers in the front of the manor house in full bloom and the path leading to the rear garden where the party was being held. Colourful birthday buntings were hung, and balloons decorated posts and hedges. Whether he wanted to be surrounded by people at that moment or not, coming home always hit him with a sense of nostalgia for a time when life was less complicated.

Tamping down the sudden urge to turn around and walk away, he thought of his wee nephew and kept moving. He wondered what kind of reception he would receive now that his identity had been stripped away. He'd always been a rugby player and the game ran in his veins. However, it appeared that the end of his career seemed to have cast a shadow over his every interaction. Ever since he retired, the topic of rugby had been delicately avoided anywhere he went. He thought if someone asked him about the weather or complimented on how good he looks one more time, he was going to implode.

Is this how it's going to be from now on? Pretending as though ten years of his rugby career never happened? What was the point of all the hard work then?

Jamie came to a stop when he reached the back of the house and took in the scene before him. A few adults were clustered around the makeshift buffet, and some congregated around the BBQ. There were probably around twenty children surrounding an entertainer who was dressed as a cartoon character from Paw Patrol.   Conscious of his damp shirt sticking to him, he felt sorry for whoever was in the mascot outfit on this sweltering day. Somehow it made the state of his mood, and the complexity of his life seemed insignificant compared to the person earning a living dressed as a dog. Disgusted with his wallowing and despondency, he pulled himself together and took in a huge fortifying breath and braced himself.

"Uncle Jamie! Uncle Jamie! Ye're here!"

Jamie's gaze landed on the small figure hurtling towards him, hands flapping in the air. Putting the toy bike on the ground, he crouched down and grinned, opening his arms to catch his nephew. His lousy mood and discomfort dissipated all at once. " A chuilein ," he breathed, gripping the boy's small frame and lifting him in the air. He smelled of lollies, vanilla buttercream and baby sweat.

Wee Jamie squealed with delight as he was spun around. "I knew ye'd come, uncle! Ma said ye have lots and lots to do." As soon as he was released, he eyed the shiny red bike and let out a gasp. "Is that my pressie, uncle?"

He laughed. "Aye, that it is. Want to try it?"

"Ma! Look what I got from uncle Jamie!" his namesake shouted at the top of his lungs as he excitedly got on the bike. 

Jamie watched his nephew pedal towards his mother to show off his latest acquisition. 

Jenny turned, smiled and then she was coming towards him.

"Aah, the prodigal son is back home." Her face was flushed with heat, and her expression showed relief. He had been expecting reproof or anything of that sort. But his sister seemed genuinely happy to see him.

Guilt prickled his nerves. "Jenny ...can we talk?"

"Not now lad. We have plenty of time for that later. I'm just glad ye could make it." She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek and stood back to get a better look at him, a platter dangling in one hand. "I need to get more buns in the kitchen. Can ye sort out the lass in the mascot costume for me? My purse is upstairs," she explained, jerking a thumb towards the children's entertainer.

"Aye, of course, I'll do that." There was a squeeze in his chest at the prospect of facing his whole family and explaining his disappearance. He knew it had to be done, and it was only a matter of time.  

..........

What have I gotten myself into? Argh, Geillis you owe me big time! 

Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp rolled on her back in the grass, gasping for air as half a dozen five-year-olds piled on top of her. The impact of hyper and sugar-high children nearly dislodged her mask. She wished she was dressed as a clown or some other cartoon character instead, and one that didn't require her to put on such a weighty headgear. Alas, the birthday boy was a Paw Patrol fan.

Under different circumstances, she would have enjoyed the company of children, but she felt like dying from heat and exhaustion. Sweat trickled down the nape of her neck, and the fusty smell of her mascot headgear was making her nauseous. Without looking at the mirror, she knew her hair was an untamed mass of frizz thanks to the humidity.

Surprisingly, she hadn't collapsed from fatigue after her back to back shift at the hospital. She had been up all night when she was called into trauma surgery during an emergency. Despite having very little sleep and her body crying out for a much-needed rest, she couldn't back out on her promise to help her best friend, Geillis. 

Geillis had just started her own business in children's party entertainment. The venture was still at its early stages, and because she was double-booked that day and didn't have enough money yet to hire extra staff, she had pleaded to help her do the Paw Patrol gig in Lallybroch. 

How could she say no? Claire was already guilt-ridden for the many times she had cancelled on their night outs. These days her life revolved around her job at the hospital, planning her wedding and Frank. It was the least she could do for her neglected friend and social life.

"Who's hungry?" a voice shouted from the designated BBQ area. "Burgers, hotdogs and chips are ready!"

Instantly she was relieved from the weight of tiny bodies holding her down. Sitting up, she adjusted her mask as the children abandoned her for food.

"Um, Geillis?" She looked up. It was Jenny Fraser, the mother of the birthday boy. Claire hadn't bothered correcting her and elaborating that she was a stand-in for her friend. After all, this was just one-off and favour for Geillis.

"Yes?"

"Listen, the other children's entertainer is here already, and the bairns are eating. I believe yer two hours are up. D'ye mind collecting yer fees from my brother? He's just arrived and..." Jenny shrugged, looking down at the empty platter she was holding. "...as ye can see my hands are full at the moment."

She stood up, and through the eyeholes of the dog mask, she glanced at the newcomer. 

Aah, bloody hell, it's James Fraser. The Highland's homegrown hero is back.  She wondered how she failed to make the connection. She was in Lallybroch, the childhood home of Scotland's rugby best and finest centre.

"Ah, of course, I don't mind."

Jenny gave her a grateful look and smiled. "And thank ye. I ken it's nae job for the faint-hearted keeping the wee bairns entertained especially on a hot day like this. Ye must be shattered. Not to worry, though, I promise to give a good review online for yer new business."

She bobbed her big doggie head and watched Jenny turn and approach her brother before disappearing into the house. 

After all these years, the sight of James Fraser could still make her heart kick into a gallop and the moisture in her mouth dry right up. What is it about this man that turned her into a lovesick teenager just by looking at him?

Easy now, Beauchamp. You're as good as married. Remember Frank?  The weight of the three-carat diamond engagement ring on her finger served as a reminder.  Think Frank! Frank! Frank! Frank!   But her head refused to obey, and she continued to stare.

The first and only time she exchanged words with James Fraser, he was half-naked in the men's locker room being treated for a hamstring injury during a game. Her friend, Joe Abernathy, was a Tournament Medical Manager for the team, and through him, she had been there to assist for her own selfish reason - to see a live rugby match, up-close. It hadn't been difficult for Joe to get her in since she was an intern from the Royal Infirmary Hospital, and was more than qualified to assist. 

She remembered only too well when she came face to face with the famous rugby player. He had been cocky as sin when she was caught staring awestruck instead of preparing the ice pack for his thigh. How could she not stare? Given his considerable height and athletic frame, he was one fine specimen of a man, gorgeous and bursting with character. 

"Like what ye see, love?" he asked in amusement, flexing his pecs to tease her.

Mortified at being called out, she felt the heat creep up her neck. Not one to be intimidated by the display of cheek, she swallowed her embarrassment and tilted her chin at him. "To be honest, I've seen better. Robbie Henshaw is more my type," she retorted, referring to another rugby player.

A ruddy eyebrow shot up. "A sassenach that fancies an Irish charm! Weel, that's funny. I had a feeling ye like looking at my arse."

Ooh, the arrogance!  "Sorry to give you the wrong impression Mr Fraser but, I thought I was looking at your face." Joe's snort and Jamie's frown sent her backing away to get the ice before he could respond. But by the time she returned, he was already surrounded by his manager and other paramedical crew, her presence and their exchange soon to be forgotten. It didn't come as a surprise since, in the grand scheme of things, she was just one of a myriad of faces he came across daily.

Later on, Joe teased her regarding the chaffing rejoinder she had launched at Jamie. "You should have seen his face after that comeback you did back there?"

"Sorry?"

"Come on, LJ ...stop pretending you don't know what I'm talking about. I saw sparks flying." LJ stood for Lady Jane, a nickname Joe had given her during her first year of internship at the Royal Infirmary Hospital. It all began when their mutual friends made fun of her voice, and posh English accent, jokingly pointing out that she sounded like she just had tea with the queen. The moniker remained ever since.

"Sparks? You must have mistaken it for my short fuse firing off."

Joe boomed with laughter as he walked away. "You definitely like the man ...no use denying it. Your mouth may be saying one thing, but your face tells another story."

"I most certainly do not!" 

"Oh, and LJ?" Joe paused and turned around, ignoring her vehement denial.

"Yeah?"

"Don't believe everything you read in the newspaper about Jamie. Most are just tabloid nonsense."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever."

Yes, it's true she had a crush on James Fraser and had religiously followed his career. But her infatuation was just that and nothing more, even though she was often teased by her colleagues in her early years of internship. She was realistic enough to admit he was way out of her league, especially when he had been photographed and linked to high profile women in the past and fawned over by over-eager fans. After the locker room incident, she crossed path with James Fraser a couple more times, and there was never any hint of recognition on his part. She simply put it down to her baseball cap concealing most of her face and her refusal to engage, in case the embarrassing episode of her ogling at him was brought up.

Over a year and a half ago, she'd watched him score try after try for the national team during the World Cup, along with everyone in the local pub she frequented. There had never been a doubt he was destined to become one of the all-time greats in the rugby world. But no one had seen the injury coming, especially Jamie. Claire could still remember the heartbreak in his eyes when he announced his retirement on live TV at the age of twenty-eight, despite the light-hearted joke about having more time to practice his golf swings. And just like that, he disappeared from the media circuit. 

After a while, rumours started to spread that he had gone off on a self-destructive bender. Joe Abernathy had confirmed the stories were true and he had tried to reach out to him, and so had the local community and his own family. Instead of being coaxed out into the light, James Fraser hid in his apartment, refusing to answer calls and emails. She thought what a waste if he ended up as a drunken slob as she'd never known him to be anything but a fiercely confident man even to a fault. Although she was a nobody to James Fraser, she had urged Joe multiple times to keep trying to reach out. Unfortunately, he didn't want the help and soon, even his staunchest fans began to lose interest. Except, maybe her.

Making her way towards him, she watched with interest as James Fraser smiled at his nephew whizzing about on his new toy bike. Russet coloured hair curled unruly over his brow and brushed the nape of his neck. He looked rather pale, and it was the first time she'd seen him with a beard. The uneven state of it told her the facial hair was a product of self-neglect rather than a style change. Her gaze dipped lower. With his feet braced apart, arms folded across his chest and at least his six-four height, he towered with an impressive bearing. Clad in faded black jeans that hung low on his hips and a white t-shirt that stretched over his muscular build, he looked like a modern Highland warrior.

"Hi there." 

Claire's thought bubble burst, and she quickly reeled in her dwindling focus and pulled it higher until she met his eyes. A pair of pale ice blue with piercing intensity momentarily froze her in place.  Right! What was it again I'm supposed to do? Oh yeah, collect the money, and get the hell out of here. Piece of cake.  "Hi." 

He gave her a forced smile as he fumbled at the back of his jean's pocket. "Ye've come to collect yer money. How much does my sister owe ye?" 

"That'll be seventy quid, please. And um, good to see you out and about, Mr Fraser."

He stopped and squinted at her as if attempting to see through her doggie disguise. "Ah, a sassenach!"

"Yes, I've been reminded often enough."

There was a moment of silence.

Puffing his cheeks, he dragged a hand through his hair and rapidly let out a lungful of air. "Christ, I didn't mean it that way. And please call me Jamie. Everyone else does. And nae need to be so formal!"

She nodded her big head. "Alright ...Jamie, it is then. And don't worry. I didn't take offence. I know you didn't mean anything by it."

He was about to pull a note out of his wallet, but he stopped. As if he was in search of the right words to say. "Ye have a beautiful voice. What's the word ...aye, husky. Kinda like a bedroom voice."

Her heart skipped a beat, and she searched his face. It seemed he was genuinely just attempting small talk. "Thank you."

"Would ye like a drink before ye go? It's a hot day. Ye must be parched."

"Ah, no, I'm quite alright. But thanks."

"Ye have a name?" He drew out a hundred-pound note from his wallet, pinching it between his fingers.

"Call me Chase. I'm one of the Paw Patrols." When he laughed out loud, she was grateful for the mask that hid her unexpected smile. 

"Weel, Chase I think ye sound bonnie." He took a careful step forward to peek through the eyehole. "Ye bonnie under there, Chase?"

Oh no, you don't!  She took two steps back.  This is getting bloody ridiculous.  In as much as Claire was enjoying the harmless blather with the handsome Scot, she knew she was running out of time. She had a couple of hours of nap to take, shower, and meet Frank for a dinner date. For the most part, he was affecting her in ways that no other man had made her feel. Including Frank. "I really need to go," she said hoarsely.

"Right. Just one request before ye go. I'll give ye this ..." He waved the hundred-pound note in front of her. "...and ye can keep the change if ye let me see yer face."

Claire felt a stab of exasperation.  Why does it matter what I look like?  She was exhausted, hot and bothered and all she wanted right there and then was to get out of the stuffy costume. "Why do you need to see my face?"

Suddenly he looked uncomfortable. "What I meant ..."

She didn't let him finish. "What if you don't like what you see? Do I have to give the change back? Don't you have enough girls fawning over you?"

His shame morphed into annoyance and then into smug. "Careful, Sassenach, ye're starting to sound a little jealous to me."

Ooh, he's back to his usual cocky self.  "Wot? Me? Jealous?" she fumed almost sputtering. 

"Aye, jealous." He looked like he enjoyed making her feel uncomfortable as a corner of his mouth lifted into a half-smile.

A cloud above her head darkened, lightning threatening to shoot at all sides. She knew it was the heat and exhaustion that was making her cranky and tried to take calming breaths. "You're presumptuous and rude."

"And ye're annoyed because I can see that the idea of girls fawning me irks ye."

That's it, I've had enough of this palaver.

Claire rolled her lips inward to plump them, then reached up and removed her mask. Gratification coursed through her when his jaw went slack, and his blue eyes turned a deeper shade.  That's right matey, I am not at all that bad!  As she took a step forward, he straightened his posture, a groan escaping from his throat. He saw the intention in her eyes and knew what was coming.

"Jealous, you say?" she hissed. Remembering the embarrassment Jamie had caused her during their initial meeting, she shoved him against the wall of the house, not caring if anyone was watching the spectacle she was creating. Surging up on her toes, she brought her face up close to his, their noses almost touching. "That's right, darling, I would rock your world."

Ah, what the heck ...I'm getting married soon, I might as well.  Not giving Jamie a chance to get a word in edgeways, she leaned even closer and merged their mouths together. To her astonishment, his lips parted, and the kiss hit the ground running in no time. One strong hand gripped her chin and pulled it down further, allowing him to slant his head and deepen the kiss more.  Jesus H. Roosevelt Christ!  Shock exploded into her brain, and she swayed a little under the onslaught of heat. Jamie pushed his tongue deeper, making a low moaning sound, and she echoed it in kind. Then she felt his hand slide behind her neck as if he couldn't allow her to get away, and that's when she knew she was losing control.  What the hell are you doing Beauchamp? Remember Frank?

Claire pulled away and took a deep breath. With his mouth damp and parted, he too was trying to draw in as much air as he could, his face a mask of stunned disbelief. "Ye look familiar. Who the hell are ye?"

Swallowing the odd lump in her throat, she plucked the hundred-pound note out of his fingers. "I'm gone. I'll have a receipt sent over." She took a few steps, stopped and then turned around to look at him. "Oh, by the way, I sincerely hope you're done feeling bad about your rugby career. Circumstances mess everyone up once in a while. And I guess it's fair to say, you've been messed up really bad. But, please, don't lie down and play the victim. I know you're better than this. Look at this way, you've achieved more than anyone could in a lifetime. You did it, Jamie. You've already achieved what you set to do. And I wish you all the luck in the world." 

Taking advantage of the group of people approaching them, she hurried away.

"Hey ...wait, what's yer name?"

This time she didn't respond nor look back. With as much dignity as one could summon while dressed in a doggie costume, she ran as fast as she could.

[avengerscompound]

The Tower: Unexpected, 17

The Tower: Unexpected An Avengers Fanfic

Series Masterlist Previous //

Pairing:  Avengers x ofc, Bruce Banner x Bucky Barnes x Clint Barton x Wanda Maximoff x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Tony Stark x Thor x Sam Wilson x OFC (Elly Cooper)

Word Count:  2282

Warnings:  Labor, surgery.

Synopsis: A little over 2 years after moving into the Avengers Tower, Elly finds herself pregnant against the odds.  While some are excited, others are terrified, and pregnancy that none expected to happen causes rifts through the group and threatens to end the relationship.  

Author’s Note:  Written with the very sleepy @fanficwriter013

Chapter 17: Delivery Day

Thor had to leave the following week.  He said he’d just make sure things were in place in Asgard to run smoothly while he took time with us to be here for when the babies were born and he could stay with them for as long as he could before needing to worry about kingdom things.

Unfortunately, the babies didn’t quite feel like waiting for him to return.  Two days after he left I woke up with an intense pain that ran along my side and up my back.  I sat up and made a strained moan.  I’d gone to bed with Nat in her room because I had gotten to a point where with the size I was it was feeling overwhelming to have everyone there.  She sat up with a gasp.  “What’s going on?”

I rubbed my back and winced.  “Hurts.”

She shifted over and grabbed the tablet, quickly tapping on it.  “Alright, mishka.  Just breathe.”  She said.  I whined as the pain faded and back and started breathing through my teeth.  “Alright.  FRIDAY, code purple.  Let everyone know.”

“Purple?”  I asked.

“One boy, blue.  One girl, pink.  Equals purple.”  She said.  “They’re coming.”

“No, Nat.  It’s too early.”  I whined.

“Not according to these numbers.”  She said.  I whined again and flopped back in the bed.  She looked down at me and massaged my hips.  “Come on sweetie.  We have a little bit of time but we have to get you to the medbay before you’re in full labor.”

I went to sit up and doubled over in pain as another contraction hit.  Natasha moved behind me and started rubbing my back.  “It'll be okay.”  She soothed. “Everyone will meet us there.”

When the contraction passed I struggled to my feet and Natasha supported me as I gathered up my things and put on some slippers.  We weren’t going very far.  The very first building ready in the compound had been the medbay so that the babies could be born nearby.  For that reason, I couldn’t be bothered getting dressed properly.  I just threw on a robe and grabbed the bag I’d packed with clothes and diapers.

“Will the doctors be there yet?”  I asked as Natasha led me out through the house.

“We’ll find out when we get there.”

“Where are the others?  Are they going to meet us?”

“Should be,”  She said.  “That's what the code purple is for.”

I nodded.  “Okay.  Good, good.”

“You just worry about those babies, mishka.  We’ll worry about everything else.”  She said opening the car door and letting me in.

Another contraction hit and I doubled over in pain, resting my head on the dashboard as I tried to breathe through it.  “Hurts, Tasha.”

“I know.  But you gotta keep with it.”  She said as she drove down our drive toward the rest of the compound.

“Don’t want to.”

“Don’t you want to meet them, mishka?”  Nat said as she pulled the car up outside the large building that held the medbay.   She turned to me and stroked my hair.  “Don’t you wanna hold your little babies?”

I whined and nodded turning from her and opening the car door.

“There we go,”  She said and got out and came around to support me.

“Why can't Thor be the one who's having the babies?  He's the fertility god.”  I grumbled as she led me inside.

She stifled a laugh.  “Why don't you ask him?”

She led me into the medbay and just as we got there another contraction hit.   I doubled over and moaned.  Natasha supported me and rubbed my back.  “Just breathe, honey.”

“Can’t.  Hurts.”  I hissed, trying to focus on my breathing.

“You gotta, printsessa.”

“Can’t they just stay in there?”  I whined.

Nat kissed the top of my head and smoothed my hair back.  “No, honey.”

Wanda, Steve, Clint, and Tony almost fell through the door behind us and stopped dead.

“How can I help?”  Wanda asked.

“Can you please give birth to these babies?”  I asked.

She chuckled and shook her head as she approached me and brushed back my head.  “That’s all on you, beautiful.  I might be able to block the pain though.”

“Mm… that would be good,”  I said, leaning toward her a little.  There was a sudden gush of fluid from me and I looked down and started crying.  It all felt overwhelmed and not at all ready.  I wanted everyone here and I didn’t even think Thor would be able to make it, and now my water just broke all over Wanda and Nat’s shoes and soaked through my slippers and it was too early.

“Woah, that was crazy,”  Tony said.

“Not helping, Tony,”  Natasha said, holding me.  “Shhh… it’s alright, mishka.  They’re getting ready.”

Almost like she was summoned Doctor Schroeder came out and smiled at us.  She didn’t even look blearly or like we woke her up or anything.  “Hi, Elly.  You ready to have these babies?”

“She’s gonna say no,”  Natasha said.

“Well, it’s too early,”  I grumbled, following the doctor into the prep room.

“We knew they could come anytime.  It’s now, Elly.”  Doctor Schroeder said.  There was a team of medical staff in the room and a man came over to us.  “Elly, this is Doctor Jamil the anesthetist.  He’s going to do the epidural and spinal block.  But first, you need to go and change into the robes.”

I went and changed and when I came back Doctor Jamil put an IV in and had me sit on the edge of the bed.  “Okay, who’s the lucky parent who gets to support her while I do this.  Needs to be good with needles.  In fact, if needles make you squeamish you should probably leave the room because this is it.”  He said and held up a large needle.

“That'd be me,”  Nat said.

“If you stand in front of her and let her lean against you.  We'll wait for another contraction so we know it won't happen during the procedure and then I will insert this between her lower vertebrae.”  He explained.

Natasha nodded and got into position.  I leaned on her and he felt down my spine finding a spot between vertebrae.  He waited until another contraction hit and I groaned and my hands tightened on Natasha’s back.

“It’s okay.  I’m right here.”  She soothed.

I nodded against her neck and when it was done he put the needle in.   When everything was where it should be and taped in place, he stood back.  “Okay, lie back and get comfortable while it kicks in.  You won’t be able to see anything that’s happening and you should only feel pushing and pulling sensations.”

I did as I was instructed and they wheeled me into the operating theater and started setting up the barrier and bringing other things over.

The other’s all scrubbed up before coming int to meet me.  Wanda looked around the room as she moved to my side.  “All of us will fit in here right?”

“Yes.  We've set it up so there are places for you all to sit or stand.  Just remember, this side of the curtain is the censored part.”  Doctor Schroeder said.  “Over here you will see the surgery and you need to not get too close.”

“Okay.”  She said and sat by my side.

The medical staff started prepping me as my body began to go numb from the waist down.  “Where is everyone?  Bucky said he'd hold my hand.”  I said starting to get quite distressed.

Steve looked at the door and then back at me.  “He and Sam are dealing with a code green.”

“No.  Oh no.”  I said and started to cry again.

“Shh… it’s okay, Elly.  He’ll be here one way or the other.”  Natasha soothed.

“I'm not sure if there is enough room in the theatre for the Hulk.  We can pull the curtains back on that wall, it's glass and he can watch on the other side but he needs to stay calm for Elly's sake.”  Doctor Shroeder said.  She ran something along my stomach and looked over the partition at me.  “Feel anything?”

I shook my head, trying to get my tears back under control.

“Good.”  She said.  “I’m now sure how much longer we can wait for everyone before I start.”

“They're working on it,”  Wanda said.  “There's a lot of noise.”

I completely broke down into tears, covering my face and sobbing loudly.  “I don’t want to do this.”

“Elly.  Listen to me,”  Natasha said sternly.  “It's okay.”

“No, it’s not!”  I cried.  “Everyone was supposed to be here!”

“Sorry, sorry,”  Sam said, shoving the door open and pulling on a gown.  “We had some serious negotiating to do.”

Bucky and Bruce followed him in a little more calmly.  Bruce’s skin was green around the neck and one of his eyes was iridescent green.

“You both came,” I said taking a shuddering breath.

“Sorry, El,”  Bruce said, his voice coming in in stereo, but his normal timbre and the deep rumble of the Hulk.

“Is everyone ready?”  Doctor Shroeder asked picking up the scalpel.

“Not yet,”  Wanda said.  “We’re missing one.”

“Is he going to be able to get here?”  I asked as Bucky moved to my side and took my hand.

“I think so,”  Wanda said.

“I can’t wait for him.  I’ll have to start and hopefully, he gets here before they're out.”  The doctor said.  She ran the scalpel over my abdomen as a large rumble of thunder sounded around us.

“There we go,”  Wanda said with a smile, reaching over and patting my hand.

“Tell me if you feel any pain?”  Doctor Schroeder asked as she started the surgery properly.

The door pushed open again and Thor strode in.  “I made it!”  He boomed.

“Just in time,”  I said a wave of relief falling over me.

“Good, good.  Let us meet these children.”  He said.

I squeezed Bucky’s hand, Natasha gently stroked my brow as they went about cutting and moving things about to get to the twins.

“Babies, El,”  Wanda said softly.

“Mm-hmm.”   I hummed.  “Who do you think they’re going to get to first?”

“I think Riley.”  She replied.

“You’re going to find out in a second.”  Doctor Schroeder said.  A moment later, I felt a weird pressure as one of the babies was pulled free.   “It’s your little girl.”

She didn’t cry as they fussed around her, getting rid of the placenta and clamping and cutting the cord.  “Goodness, look at you.”  One of the nurses said.

“Is she okay?  Why isn’t she crying?”  I asked.

“Ms. Maximoff, your daughter.  Could you take her to Elise?  Hold her against her skin for a moment.”  Doctor Schroeder said.

Wanda made a soft noise, as she took Riley.  “Our pretty little girl.”  She said and brought her over to me, placing her gently on my chest.  “Look at our brave little girl just watching everything.”

I looked down into my daughter's eyes.  She made some soft sounds and just looked around us with her big blue eyes.  “Oh, look at her.”

“Curious little girl.”  Wanda hummed.

I breathed her in and kissed her softly.  “Hey, Riley.  Welcome to the world.”

“She's so small,”  Bucky said.

“She is tiny.  Bright blue eyes like her daddy.”  I hummed.

“She's like little Steve.”  He said.

I smiled, not being able to take my eyes off her.  “Yeah.  She is.”

“Captain Rogers.  I'm going to need you in a second.  Miss Maximoff. I'll need you to follow the nurse out to the other room so they can check her over now.”  Doctor Schroeder said.

“Okay,”  Wanda replied, gently cradling Riley but not taking her from me yet.  “I'm going to have to take her back.”

A few stray tears ran down my cheeks.  “Bye baby.  Your Daj will look after you for a bit.”  I said nuzzling at her cheek.  As I did I felt that pressure in my abdomen again and the sound of a baby crying filled the room.

Wanda took Riley away as Pietro was cleaned up and seen to.  He was handed to Steve by one of the nurses and Doctor Schroeder turned her focus back to me.  “Okay, take her over to meet, Elly for a moment.  Everyone else needs to clear the room.  Go hold your babies.  One of you can stay to hold Elly's hand.”  She instructed.

Tony, Bruce, Clint, Sam, and Thor all gave me a soft look before shuffling out of the room and Steve brought a still wailing Pietro over to me.  He put him on me and he began to quiet.  “Oh, Steve.  Look at him.”  I said.  “Is he okay?”

“He's just a little fussy,”  Steve said.  “His world just got infinitely bigger.  He’s better with his mommy.”

“Needed your mommy,”  I said softly.

“Okay Captain Rogers, if you can take him in with the others.  Agent Romanoff, Sergeant Barnes time to decide who's staying.”  Doctor Schroeder said.

“El?”  Natasha whispered.

“I don’t mind.  Just want someone here.”  I said, nuzzling at Pietro.

“I’ll stay,”  Bucky said.  “I know how you get, Nat.”

“Kiss my babies for me,”  I said.

“Of course, Mishka,”  Natasha said.  “I'll smother them with kisses.”

I reached up and caressed her cheek.  “Thank you, Tasha.”

“Of course.”  She said and kissed my forehead.  Steve lifted Pietro from me.

“We should be about half an hour.  Then she'll go into recovery.  You can one at a time check on her there.”  Doctor Schroeder said.

“We'll let everyone know.  Thanks, Doc,”  Natasha said and left with Steve, leaving me with the medical team and Bucky holding my hand.

// NEXT

[every1studio]

“ceo’s secretary” [ateez] PART 1

genre: FLUFF + SPICE (under the cut~)

ficstyle: bulletpoints + scenarios 

request: being ATEEZ’s secretary 

note: I’m back and I’m starting off with a bang 

HONGJOONG

“Y/N!”

that was the 2nd time your boss called your name

you knew that if he called again for the 3rd time, you’d get in trouble 

well that was what he told you

you always did what he told you and he would be extremely content when you did

Hongjoong is a very caring boss and he was very professional who was always looked up to by his subordinates and workers 

he’s one of those outgoing bosses

he was very patient with other workers and when they messed up, he’d just smile and tell them to take their time

but unfortunately with you, it was a different story

there were always consequences when it came to you messing up

the first time you got in “trouble” for being tardy, he made you lock the doors and made you count the number of times he smacked your ass 

with your consent, of course

I mean... you were clearly trying to get yourself in trouble in the first place

knowing that you would have your boss’s undivided attention 

you “tried” to hurry to gather his papers to prepare for a meeting as he was sitting in his office continuously tossing a ball in the air 

“Y/N!”

you bit your lip as you closed your eyes shut; knowing what would come afterwards

you heard him place his ball on his desk and his footsteps echo closer to you

“sir! I’m sorry.. I’m just about done-” you frantically gathered the last of documents before turning around 

but before you could finish your sentence you felt him turn you around by the waist and placed both of his hands on your desk

making sure that you were trapped in between the space between his arms

“I gave you 10 minutes to get everything together for this very important meeting with some very important people. was that too much to ask?”

his stern yet suggestive voice sent chills down your spine; vertebrae by vertebrae

“I-”

Hongjoong placed his finger on your lips, “I don’t wanna hear anything until this meeting is over..”

you thought you could relax a bit when he removed himself from your desk 

but right as you turn around to grab your laptop, you felt his hand smack your ass quite loudly 

you inhaled sharply as you quickly looked at him wide-eyed

he just smiles as he adjusts the rings on his fingers

“sir..” you knew what was to come but you wanted to play dumb for enhance the experience 

“that’s just a little taste of what’s to come..”

he looks down at his tie and back at you, indicated for you to fix it for him

“such a good girl/boy for me.. let’s get to this meeting~”

SEONGHWA

Seonghwa has always been a quiet yet strict boss

in order to be his trusted secretary; you have to start as an intern at his company before applying to be his secretary

many of your co-workers have tried to applying to be his secretary but none lasted long enough; 2 weeks max; so it surprised everyone when you hit the 1 month mark of being his secretary

everyone asked you what was your secret to staying for such a long time 

even though you thought he was INCREDIBLY handsome, you kept that admiration to yourself 

you did everything that he asked for and more 

he was impressed by your hard work and notice that you never complained even though he gave you the most difficult tasks on purpose 

one night, he noticed you were pulling more all-nighters than usual

he’s always noticed that you tried to finish work before it was given; overworking yourself 

you were nodding off to la la land until you felt a warm jacket place over your shoulders 

you turned as you saw your boss pulling a chair up next to you, “you need to rest as much as you work. how will you be of any help to me if you don’t take care of your health?”

he was so close to you

you didn’t want him to see the dark designer bags under your eyes so you quickly went back to work, “I’ll leave when I finish, you shouldn’t stay too late, sir.. you have a meeting tomorrow morning at 8-”

“that YOU are also attending.. I can’t have my secretary dozing off during an important meeting”

he gets up and closes your laptop

“get home and rest up. you can continue tomorrow morning”

he escorts you out of the building when you see your ex 

you weren’t ready to see him, especially since you weren’t completely over him 

you see your ex smirk at you as he shoves his hands in his pockets and makes his way over to you

“wow Y/N, it hasn’t been a full month yet and you’ve already settled in with another guy?”

your boss could see how uncomfortable you were at the presence of this guy

you felt Seonghwa’s arm wrap around your shoulder, “and you have a problem with that? if you’ll excuse us..”

he escorted you to his car as he opened the door of the car for you and drove off

after a couple of minutes, you realized that you had left your car at the company’s parking lot and when you brought that up, he gave you a smirk while keeping his eyes on the road 

“I would’ve thought you were going to say something about what I said about us... but if it’s just your car you’re worried about, wouldn’t it be easier to just spend the night?”

you gripped the hem of your shirt; not sure if you heard it right

“sp-spend the n-night?”

Seonghwa pulls up to his overly elaborate driveway as he puts his arm around your headrest, “does that bother you? I would appreciate your presence but if you are THAT uncomfortable.. I could take you home-”

you didn’t know what was going through your mind at the time but you rapidly shook your head 

he smirked as he got closer to you, “is that a yes or no? if you don’t use your words how am I suppose to know?”

he loosens his tie as he gets closer to you, “right, Y/N?”

YUNHO

you didn’t think it was anything when your boss stopped taking care of you

he used to be quite gentlemanly and caring

from opening the door for you, to carrying heavy paperwork 

being his secretary, other girls were envious of you but you just saw it as your boss being a decent human being, it was in his nature to take care of his employees 

but all of that changed when he took the whole company out to eat 

he sat next to you after he noticed one of the floor managers putting his arm around you

you were close to the floor manager, being friendly co-workers so it didn’t bother you too much since it seemed like he had a little bit too much to drink 

even if it didn’t bother you, it bothered Yunho 

he tugged his tie loose; trying not to think about it 

but he couldn’t help himself from constantly checking up on you

right when he looked over after conversing with a couple of interns, he saw the floor manager placing his hand on your thigh

that was when he got up and made his way over to you

he grabbed your hand and made you get up from your seat

“Y/N, I forgot that we have a couple of things to finish for the partnership with WAVE.inc”

without another word, you both left many confused looks on the rest of the employees sitting there with only the sound of sizzling meat to compensate for the awkward silence 

Yunho had opened the door for you and you silently sat in the passenger seat 

he came to his senses when he sat on the driver side of the car 

“I’m sorry Y/N...”

you were confused, “sorry for what sir?”

he couldn’t tell you the truth; the truth that he has fallen in love with you

how cliche was that? falling in love with his secretary?

he clears his throat before answering, “I realized that I finalized those papers to WAVE.inc so.. I brought you out here for no reason...”

you could tell that he was acting weird but you just nodded

“you can return to the dinner if you want.. I’m gonna head home first..”

you bid him a good night and left him in his car; you couldn’t act all buddy-buddy with him, he’s your boss

after that, all these strange things started happening, because Yunho didn’t want to show you his feelings for you 

but it came to the point where it was affecting his work and you HAD to break this silence 

you usually came early before anyone was there so that you could prepare Yunho’s set up for the day

but by the looks of it, Yunho had been living in his office so you caught him with his shirt unbuttoned and his tie in his hand

“sir.. have I done anything wrong?” you asked as you turned your head to the wall and looked down 

“yes, you did..”

he walked over to you to grabbed your hand placed it on his bare chest  

you felt your face getting red as you could feel his heart beating just as fast as yours

you didn’t know what to but he took the lead for you

when you looked up to him, he caressed your face and you both leaned in

things got heated 

5 minutes in, you found yourself laying on his desk with your hands tied behind your back 

and frankly, you didn’t mind

[ I am sectioning these off into two parts because I’m lazy but I wanted to push out some content /: ]

[ masterlist + guidelines ]

[bcdrawsandwrites]

Next entry for @badthingshappenbingo!

I AM NO LONGER ACCEPTING PROMPTS! The single-bone marks on the card indicate which prompts I have received and am going to write, and I finally have prompts that will earn me a bingo once they’ve been posted (but they’re not posted yet)!

This fic has also been posted to FFN and AO3, so you can check it out on my Assortment of Broken Bones collection on there if you like!

This prompt came from @tomato-bitch! She had a more specific scenario in mind for this prompt...

Prompt: Mugging Characters: Héctor and Chicharrón, pre-movie

---~~~---

The night was cool, but not chilly, the air crisp and refreshing in his... well, where his lungs would have been. The sky was clear, the stars were bright, and the moon was full—it would have been a perfect night to sit outside, either on the rooftops or around a fire, and talk with his nearly-forgotten family.

But Héctor was far from Shantytown tonight.

He wished he weren't. He would rather be anywhere but here, doing anything other than what he was about to do.

Drawing in a breath, he cringed, bringing his hands to his cervical vertebrae, still tender from a few days ago.

"You think you can just waltz in here, take our stuff?"

"I'm sorry, señor, really—I'll be on my way and never bother you agai—"

"Oh, no, you're staying right here."

He swallowed down the pain in his throat. His voice was still rough—it was part of the reason he hadn't spoken to anyone in Shantytown for a few days. A small part of the reason, anyway.

"What do you guys think? That left femur of yours would fetch a nice price on the market, eh?"

"What—no, no, por favor, don't! I-I promise I won't come back, I won't say anything—"

"But you want this, right? You took a pretty gutsy risk coming here to try to swipe it."

"I-I..."

"How about this. You do us a favor, and we'll consider not pawning off your unbroken bones. And maybe throw this in as well."

"I... sí, okay, I'll do whatever you want!"

Whatever they wanted... He pinched the bridge of his nose, reminding himself not to use that phrase again.

"Wait, wait, no, that's... I-I don't have..."

"If you don't have that kind of money on you, we have no problem exchanging your bones for it."

"...How long will you give me?"

"Get back to us in three days. Right here, the morning following the third night."

"Thr—you can't be—?!"

"If we don't get it then, we'll track you down. Don't think you can hide, amigo. We have ways of finding you. So do we have a deal or not?"

"...Sí."

"Good."

It was not the kind of money that he could make running errands. It was not the kind of money he could make on odd jobs, or even pawning off every item in his possession. He'd tried, even—sold his good pens, the only chair in his shack, even the blanket he used to keep himself warm at night. He spent a day running every errand Ceci threw at him. (She'd asked him what he was trying to save up for this time, what the plan this year was, what happened to his throat. He couldn't give her a straight answer.) The money he'd saved up had straight-up not been enough.

It was the night of the third day, and the money was due tomorrow morning.

Héctor had no other choice.

...At least, that's what he told himself. The police were still an option. They weren't exactly on good terms with him, and he wouldn't exactly be in the clear himself given he'd been the one trying to steal in the first place (in order to illegally cross the flower bridge), but he could inform them of the criminals who were threatening him. The police could take care of that, and... well... he'd probably be arrested, but even a week in jail was better than permanently losing half his bones to some scumbags in the underworld of the underworld.

But... if he went to the police and got himself arrested, he wouldn't be able to cross. Dia de Muertos was only in two days. Even if by some miracle they didn't arrest him, he wouldn't be able to get...

Sighing, Héctor shook his head, bringing himself back to the present. No, he had to do this. If he wanted a shot at seeing his Coco again... he had to.

He had to.

After waiting for a few more moments, he surveyed his surroundings again—the buildings were tall here, and quite old. It was still several layers above Shantytown, but old enough that very few people actually lived here these days. The Land of the Dead, normally quite bright at night, was dark here, with few working streetlamps and no lights shining through any windows. As a result, it was not the safest place to be. Héctor had learned that the hard way, and discovered the reason why it could be so unsafe.

And now... he was about to become part of the reason why it was so unsafe.

It's for Coco, he told himself, shutting his eyes. It's for her. You can just do this once, so you can see her again, and then never do it again.

He peered down the street from his spot in the shadows of the alley, looking in both directions, but it was still clear. Something within him desperately hoped that someone would be here, while another, deeper part of him begged whatever higher power existed to not let a soul cross his path. But it was either this, getting torn apart, or missing another chance at crossing the bridge.

Leaning against a cold wall, he waited in silence, listening for any sounds of movement. For the past few hours, he'd only heard the occasional stray alebrije, which soared in the distance overhead. There were no creatures here in these streets, skeletal, alebrije, or otherwise.

As he waited, his mind drifted, and he tried to picture how old Coco was now. It was hard to imagine her as anything other than the small child he'd left behind, hard to imagine anything other than her soft, young voice. But she was in her seventies now, he knew—older than Imelda had lived. He wondered what sort of family she'd made for herself—if she had children of her own, if they had their own children. He wondered if she was in good health now.

Maybe he'd get to see for himself in a couple days, if everything went right.

If it didn't... well, maybe he would be lucky enough to try again next year. He couldn't count on it, though—as much as he hated to think of his daughter in such a state, she may not be in the best health. This could very well be his last chance.

He was so lost in his thoughts that he nearly missed the sound of footsteps. Sucking in air through his teeth, he listened—yes, someone was absolutely walking down the street, coming around the corner down the block. The footfalls were hesitant, as though trying to make as little noise as possible, though occasionally they moved in short bursts of speed. It was either someone who was very scared... or a criminal.

He desperately hoped it was not the latter.

Sure enough, someone came into view—they had a slight frame, and he could just make out the skirt they wore—a woman, then? Her feet made a pock, pock, pock noise as they made contact with the ground, and her bones did not clack—at least, not loud enough for him to hear. What was a soul like this doing here?

The still night air easily carried her quiet voice:

"No... no, th-this isn't right."

Héctor froze up, backing against the wall. She definitely sounded afraid.

"I thought I saw the path was...? Maybe it was f-further down?"

She was lost.

Carefully he poked his head out again—she wouldn't see him in the shadow of the alleyway like this. She was closer now, and he could see her better—from her frame and her voice, she sounded like she'd died young, what he could see of her clothing looked nice and clean, and she carried a big purse slung over her opposite shoulder. Meanwhile, her body language radiated fear and unease.

His immediate instinct was to approach her, reassure her, tell her the correct way to go, and, if she let him (people didn't tend to trust the nearly-forgotten, after all), help guide her out of this terrible place himself. But he held himself back, swallowing down the lump in his throat and feeling it plummet down to his stomach cavity.

No, he wasn't here to help her.

It's for Coco, he told himself again, gritting his teeth as he ducked back into the alley. It's for Coco, it's for her, you have to do this.

The woman was getting closer, though a part of him prayed that she would turn around, head back the other way.

It's for Coco.

She was getting closer. He could hear her nervous breathing.

It's for Coco.

Closer now. The stars reflected off of the tears in her eyes.

It's for Coco.

He did not want to do this.

But it's for Coco.

He did not want to do this.

But if you don't do this, you'll never see her again.

She was right in front of him, and he lunged at her, aiming for the purse.

The woman's scream tore through the night, and Héctor crashed to the ground—he'd missed. Immediately she took off running, and he reformed, charging after her. "Get back here!" he called, hating how rough his voice sounded, hating what he was doing, hating every part of this. "Just—please, just give me your money!"

She didn't answer, only screaming into the night: "HELP! SOMEONE, PLEASE!"

Any other night and he would be running off to help. Was there anyone around here that would do that?

The terror of the idea struck him—what if someone else was here? What if someone came to her rescue, and attacked him? Took him to the police?

"HELP!"

He couldn't let that happen—he had to get this over with, but his broken tibia ached and his fibula was threatening to pop loose again—he wasn't going to be able to keep up with her. Let her get away, a small part of him said, but he shook the thought away—he couldn't do that, but he wasn't sure if he could catch her, either.

Whether by stroke of luck or some devil tempting him, the woman's shoes caught on an uneven cobblestone, and she stumbled and fell.

Leave her alone, the small part said, but he charged at her anyway. He tried to yank her purse away, but wound up yanking her back up to her feet. Rolling with it, he shoved her against a nearby wall. She was crying.

"Leave me alone...!" she sobbed, as he tried to tug the purse away.

"I-I... I don't want to hurt you, señorita," Héctor stammered. "Just give me—"

To his surprise, she fought back, shoving at his sternum and jostling his broken ribs. He hissed in pain, but very quickly realized a problem, as the starlight above them reflected off her shining white bones: she was a remembered skeleton, and he was not.

"Get away, get off of me!" she cried, kicking and shoving at him as he struggled to keep hold of her. Her foot struck at his bad leg, and he held back a cry of pain, but the strained noise came through his throat anyway.

Apparently encouraged by this, the woman shoved at his bad arm, and he felt the two cracked halves of it rub against each other.

He couldn't fight her—she would win.

He had to play dirty.

Pulling back the arm that she'd successfully pushed away, he swung his fist at her, swiftly connecting with her skull and knocking it off her shoulders. While she screamed again, he'd successfully stunned her enough to stop fighting. He grabbed her purse, yanked it off her shoulders, and ran.

"No, no! GET BACK HERE! HELP! SOMEONE!"

But there was no one else around, and Héctor bolted off into the night.

He wasn't sure which was heavier: the stolen purse, which he struggled to carry, or his guilty conscience, which threatened to tug his heart down to the ground.

---

Héctor did not take the purse back to Shantytown, but sought out a safe spot on the way back to the location where he was to meet the awful men who started this in the first place.

Are you sure you're not one of them, amigo? a voice within him asked, and he swallowed the lump down again.

Sorting through the purse, he found several useless objects—a book of some sort, a box of candies, a stack of letters... He set them aside for now, continuing to dig through the purse until he found what he was looking for: a wallet.

As he'd hoped, it had a fair amount of money in it—more than he would have expected someone to carry on their person, but... he wouldn't complain. Pulling a meager amount of money out of his own pouch, he put it with the stolen money and began to count.

To his dismay, it was barely not enough. Wincing, he dug through the purse again, hoping he'd missed something, and sure enough, he found a smaller wallet within. For a moment he wondered why she would carry two wallets... until he realized this one didn't carry money.

Smiling faces of living family members peered out at him—brothers, sisters, parents, grandparents, nieces, nephews.

She had a family, too.

He turned to look at the other objects he'd set aside: The book was a sketchbook. The box of candies had a sticker label on the outside with a man's name on it. The letters were all addressed to different people with the same last name, in places in the Land of the Living.

She'd died recently, he realized—possibly on the way to mail these letters. She'd died, and had gotten lost, and he'd...

No, I had to do it. It's for Coco, it's...

Another thought shoved itself to the front of his mind:

What would Coco say, if she knew you'd done this to get to her?

His breath caught in his throat, and when he finally managed to breathe, it came in short, harsh sobs.

---

Héctor felt numb as he stood before them. He no longer had the purse; he'd hidden it away, feeling like he couldn't look at it any longer without getting sick.

"Ey, wasn't expecting you to actually do it," the man said, his mouth twisting into an unpleasant grin. "You came through, amigo."

I'm not your amigo. I'm not anyone's amigo, Héctor thought, but said nothing, staring off to the side.

"We could use someone like you."

"No."

"Suit yourself. Oh... but you wanted this, right?"

Again, Héctor said nothing, but didn't resist as the man pushed a large box into his arms. He did cringe when the man slammed a hand onto his back.

"Nice working with you."

Another voice spoke up: "Uhhh... jefe?"

They turned to see one of the other men, who had been counting the money Héctor had turned over. His stomach twisted.

"He's just... barely short."

"...Huh. You're right."

Héctor took a step back, wondering if he could make a break for it. "It's... it's only a little," he said. "If you give me another day, I could—"

"Oh, no, no, we had a deal." The man stepped up to him again, the friendly air he'd had earlier now long gone. "You make up the money to us, or we'll make it up with your bones."

"It's... I... I'm nearly forgotten, my bones are barely worth—"

The man lifted Héctor's chin with his knuckle, and Héctor grit his teeth as his head was turned to one side, then another, before he forcibly yanked himself away.

"No... I think you might have something worthwhile on you."

Héctor opened his mouth to protest, just as the man's fist connected with his face.

---

It was evening on Dia de Muertos, and Héctor had his scheme ready. His jaw still ached something terrible, but he reminded himself that he'd been lucky.

One tooth was a pretty small price to pay for being able to see his daughter.

But what about—

He shut down the voice again. No, focus, he just had to finish putting his plan into action, and then he could cross the bridge, and see his Coco, and then he would never have to think about the rest of this terrible, terrible week ever again.

"Hey, that's—"

"You!"

Instantly recognizing the voices, Héctor seized up in terror—no, this couldn't be happening, the police couldn't have found him this early—

"What do you think you're doing here, Rivera?! What are you doing with that?"

With a surge of panic, Héctor bolted, leaving behind the materials he'd fought so hard to retrieve, and any hope of seeing Coco that year.

He'd failed.

---

Héctor sat on the edge of his hammock numbly, having no other seat in his shack anymore. Dia de Muertos wasn't even over, but he couldn't even enact his plan—couldn't even go anywhere near the bridge. The police were clearly on the lookout for him—perhaps someone had given them a description of him as a forewarning.

He shuddered, one arm wrapped tightly around himself while his other hand massaged his jaw.

"You're back early."

Nearly falling backwards off his hammock, he looked up in shock to see Chicharrón standing in the doorway. The old man could move quietly when he needed to. "S... sí," he stammered, fighting to get back into a seated position again. "It's... it's not a good year."

He sat back, and the hammock immediately twisted, dumping him out the other side. He groaned, but made no effort to get back up.

Chicharrón stamped closer, grasped him by the heel, and yanked him away from the hammock. "Up."

Shakily he pushed himself back up to his feet, but couldn't keep his back straight for the heavy weight in his chest. Cheech looked him up and down, frowning, and Héctor sighed. "I didn't lose another rib, if that's what you're wondering."

"Then what did you lose?"

Perceptive. Héctor grimaced, showing his teeth, and turned his head to his right, so Cheech could see the missing tooth on the left side of his bottom jaw.

With a deep hum, Chicharrón turned around, stamping his way out the door. He didn't need to speak for Héctor to know that he wanted to be followed. Not particularly feeling like wallowing alone in misery tonight, he limped out after him. He would've snatched a bottle on his way out, but he'd sold that too a few days earlier.

To his surprise, Cheech immediately turned and climbed up the ladder (actually a series of boards nailed to the side of his house), sitting up on the edge of Héctor's roof, and Héctor joined him. The shack wasn't particularly tall, but it was still a nice view regardless. The old man produced a bottle that he'd evidently been hiding in his rib cage and took a deep gulp from it before passing it to Héctor, who gladly took a drink himself.

The alcohol took some of the weight off of his heavy heart, but it didn't make it go away entirely. It was better than nothing, at least, and Héctor and Chicharrón sat in silence for some time. No questions about how he'd lost his tooth, or why the night had been so terrible (other than the obvious). Just silence.

It was comforting, for a time. But the memories and thoughts of the past week didn't fade—of his failures, of Coco, of what he'd done. The latter especially still haunted him; every time he closed his eyes, he could see the woman's terrified face and hear her voice.

The comfort was soon gone, and the silence became suffocating.

"Cheech," Héctor finally said, voice choked. "Have you ever screwed up?"

"You think I'd be here if I hadn't?" Chicharrón snapped, yanking the bottle away and taking a swig, draining the last of it. He tossed the empty glass into the water below. "...Yeah. I have."

"What... do you do?"

"What can you do?"

Héctor snorted, leaning back to look at the stars, but it was cloudy tonight. It took him a moment before he realized Cheech was staring at him, and he gave a start.

"Wasn't a rhetorical question."

Oh. Héctor rubbed his jaw again, massaging the spot where he'd been hit. He couldn't go back to those men—there was no way he could get that money back without risking them trying to steal anything else from him. They may have already spent the money on who-knows-what anyway. He thought back to the woman, but he had no idea where she was staying. Even if he did, there was no way she would want to go anywhere near him. He couldn't blame her for that; he wouldn't want to go anywhere near himself either, after that.

"Well," he started, forcing a laugh. "I could... never do that again."

"Pshaw. Everyone screws up eventually."

Héctor shuddered. "No. Not like... not like what I did."

Shrugging, Chicharrón looked out over the town. "That it, then? Nothing else you can do?"

He thought about it further... and then he remembered. "Actually... I think there is."

"Yeah? What's—"

Héctor made to climb down off the roof, forgot he'd been drinking, lost his balance, and slid down off the inclined surface and into a pile of bones on the ground.

"Hm," Cheech grunted, staying up on the roof and tipping his hat over his eyes before leaning back. "Idiota."

---

He'd hid the purse away, in the midst of some fake plants, beneath the plastic wood chips that surrounded them. It took him a while to find the exact spot, and he earned himself a few odd glances when people saw him digging around. ("I dropped something here," he would explain, which wasn't technically a lie.) After a few hours of trying different spots, he finally unearthed the purse, carefully emptying it of any plastic chips before slinging it over his shoulder.

The next part of the plan was risky, but he knew a way to make it slightly easier. He swung by Ceci's place—her apartment, rather than her studio, and nearly bumped into her as she carried a basket of offerings to her door.

"Héctor?!" she cried, scrambling to keep a hold of the basket. "What are—ugh, I don't want to deal with your schemes tonight—"

"I—I know, Ceci, but please...!"

"I actually have the night off tonight, and for once—"

"I know Ceci, but I just—"

"Why are you wearing a purse anyway?"

"Ceci, por favor, I really, really need your help—just one thing, one."

He must have looked really desperate, because Ceci sighed, dropping her shoulders. "Fine. One thing," she said, stepping through the door to set the basket down. "What do you need?"

"I need... an outfit."

---

It was a nicer outfit than he'd expected—a warm cloak with a hood that he was sorely tempted to keep, but he'd promised her he'd bring this one back. To make sure he'd keep his word, she'd kept his goatee, which worked well enough, given he was disguising himself anyway. She'd also agreed to brush his wig, peppering it with some silver hairspray to make him look older. Instead of keeping the purse slung over his shoulder, he carried it in his arms, occasionally looking it over as he walked, rehearsing in his mind what he was going to say.

Still he felt uneasy as he reached the police department, and forced himself to walk through the doors without limping. A woman glanced up at him as he set the purse on the counter.

"I found this discarded near the street," he said, trying to hide the fact that his leg was in agony, as well as his terror that they would recognize him here. "Did... someone report a missing purse?"

After a brief conversation, the woman said she'd get it sorted out—a few people had reported missing purses recently. Héctor nodded, grateful, and left the building, nearly forgetting to mask his limp. He did limp back to Ceci's, though, exchanging the borrowed outfit for his original and his goatee.

"What were you doing, anyway?" Ceci asked, as he stuck his goatee back on. She was a lot less short with him than usual, and he chalked it up to the fact that he'd actually returned the outfit intact.

"Had to... return a stolen purse to the police," he said, quickly brushing his hands through his hair in an attempt to knock the silver out of it. He only succeeded in dusting the palms of his hands silver. "The police and I are, um... not exactly on good terms, heh, so I had to go in disguise so no one recognized me. They'd think I was up to something otherwise."

"You usually are," Ceci remarked, then swatted at his hand when he tried to brush it through his hair again. "Stop that, you'll get that silver everywhere." When he sighed, she crossed her arms. "You returned it, didn't you? What's there to be upset about?"

Good question. "Just... tired," he lied. He was hoping he'd feel better after returning the purse, but all of that woman's money was missing. Even if he'd been able to put it back, it wouldn't erase the fact that he'd chased the woman down and hit her.

He did have one extra thing added to the purse, however: a note.

I'm sorry for what I did. My daughter would never have wanted this. I hope you can enjoy your time with your family, on both sides of the bridge.

It didn't change what he'd done, but for now, Héctor hoped it would be enough.