#the later is cramped and a bit hard to read. made for cramming in notes and plans

[jesterjaxx]

i'm sure you've noticed me binging ur content rn but no. that's not enough. i need to eat ur blog like im digging through dirt and shoveling it into my mouth like a starved man in the light of a crescent moon. if your blog was an orange id eat it from the flesh to the seeds to the pith to the peel. i'd hike mount everest to get better wifi to scroll thru ur blog

anyways what do u think different td characters hand writing is like??

Me to this ^^^^ i fucking love it when i see people go thru my blog and like and reblog a bunch of shit i be watching the notifications and giggling

Anyways

[delirious-and-slightly-murderous]

For the WIP ask game: please tell us something about Procrastinating Painter and exasperated but horny manager?

Hi Anon!😊 So glad you asked about this one.

So this is, at its core, a character study. 

A little tidbit of information about me: I am a master procrastinator. And not only when it comes to writing but in all aspects of my life too. I am lazy. If I can do it later, I will do it later. And I'll keep pushing it back as much as I can until I can't anymore. Thanks to this I've become a master at finishing projects with very little time and a deadline hanging like a sword of Damocles over my head. I work best under pressure. That's why I sometimes lose interest in my fics so easily. If I don't have a deadline it's very hard for me to get stuff done.

Soooooo, all this to say that one day, while I was despairing over my WIPs I started thinking about the different ways an artist or creator can deal with procrastination. And then, because every idea I get now mostly concerns or can be applied to Berlermo, I said to myself: But what if Andrés was a master procrastinator like me?

And BAM!

This thing was born. (Also I find it kinda ironic and hilarious that a character study in procrastination ended up as a WIP, don't you agree?).

So the basic idea is that Andrés is a moderately known and successful painter. He's not as successful as he could be because he's very particular and picky with his work and who he works for. So he only paints when he wants to and what he wants to. Which would be fine except that he is a procrastinator so his work is scarce.

Enter Martín, who is Andrés' best friend/agent and kinda friend with benefits. He is the one in charge of making sure Andrés gets stuff done even if the man in question does not want to. This means that Martín lives in a constant state of awe at Andrés' genius and talent, and also exasperation because of his laziness and inability to do what he's told. Also he is very much in love with Andrés and hates himself because of it.

So the fic in itself would cover the span of a month while Martín tries to get Andrés to work on an important commision for a famous gallery. From him we would see his struggle with perceived unrequited feelings for a man he feels he cannot fully come to understand. Andrés would procrastinate and we would see all his process and struggle with it. Until a couple days before the exhibition when Martín is about to kill Andrés, his genius strikes and he goes and produces a masterpiece (a masterpiece that may or may not be inspired by Martín).

So mostly it would focus on the art, the feels, the procrastination, and then the mad rush to get things done in time. (And I'd like to think I'd write it with a very oniric feel to it. Oh and also smut, so very like soulful and poetic smut. But well I don't think that's gonna happen.)

(Oh and also a happy ending where they end up confessing their feelings because I'm weak like that😁.)

So here have a snippet:

Martín started pacing and swore as he narrowly avoided walking into a bucket of bright red paint. 

The room was positively tiny and he still couldn't understand why Andrés insisted on spending all his time in it like some kind of recluse. The monastery was big enough to accommodate docens of people at one time but Andrés was happy to cram himself in the tiniest, most uncomfortable room he could find.  

He wondered how Andrés could live like that. The room was cramped, cluttered with books, canvases, sculptures and various bits of artistic trash. It looked like a museum's warehouse, if museums threw invaluable works in a warehouse without thought or care to what became of them. As he walked he deftly avoided discarded pieces of paper, empty paint tubes and old brushes. It was dirty, paint and dust covered every surface. The space not taken up by art supplies was used by a mattress on the ground shoved unceremoniously into a corner, a small coffee table and an enormous oak work table that seemed to be the centerpiece of the place.

Amongst all this chaos there stood Andrés, serene and unperturbed, unaware of his surroundings. With a brush on each hand and one clenched between his teeth. Before him a half painted canvas stretched like a vision of doom. The colors bleak and depressing. A mirage of untold horrors that sucked the life out of the area around it. The air seeming to grow heavier, dense and charged, stilted and dead. 

Martín could feel it in his bones, the emotions Andrés put into his work always expanding and resonating within him, turning him into a vessel for what Andrés couldn't say.

He was choking on an invisible weight and fought against it to unfurl his tongue from the dry cavern of his mouth and produce a sound. He knew the other man wasn't happy and that his intervention would only make things worse. But he had to shatter the looming tension before it swallowed him whole.

"Why don't you find another place. Maybe an apartment closer to the city."

Andrés didn't stop in his work but his shoulders tensed imperceptibly and the fingers of his left hand started drumming against the brush he wasn't currently using. He shook his head softly, his motions fluid and liquid. A delicate movement of silk floating in water.

"I'm not moving in with you Martín."

Martín closed his eyes, the bright hot pang in his heart a familiar caress at this point. He was like an addict, his feelings for Andrés a raging force that ravages his body and leaves him empty and aching. And still he willingly comes back for more, each time climbing higher with the knowledge that when he hits the ground it'll be more violent than before, the pieces impossible to pick up.

"That's not what I'm asking, you know it's not."

Andrés dipped his brush in a mug near his hand, washing out the dark paint, flicking the brush and creating a splatter of black bottomless dots, giving birth to a galaxy in the space that separates them.

"Don't ask things for which you know you won't like the answer."

Andrés' strokes become forceful then, the brush colliding against the canvas in an uncontrolled manner. The anger and frustration behind the movement captures Martín. He feels like a chick standing at the precipice. He can jump and take flight, taste the freedom and exhilaration of the wind rushing through his wings. Closing his eyes and diving not knowing if he's ready to fly the possibility of the deadly agonising crash a dark shadow at his back.

He was saved from having to make the choice by Andrés humming lowly in his throat.

"I love you Martín, but I'm not going to give up my life for you."

That familiar caress is back and the little chick is safely back in it's nest. The precipice dissolving and the unforgivable ground surging up to meet him, ripping him away in a manner more painful than any death. He shrugs, hunching in on himself, knowing the matter is closed and forgotten.

"Pass me my coffee." He demands, plastering a fake plastic smile on his face. While Andrés chooses to ignore the burning heat of things left unsaid that slowly melt the plastic away. Leaving behind a partially uncovered picture of a grotesque truth.

"I'm painting." Came the absent minded reply, the willful ignorance of man with a staggering lucidity of all the consequences of his actions.

Martín got up stretching legs that felt numb, forced to carry the weight of an unfathomable burden. He slowly walked towards Andrés, his steps the slow and lifeless cadence of the condemned, prolonging the inevitable in their approach to the gallows. 

He took his mug and took a long and deep sip of the liquid inside. He became aware of his mistake when Andrés turned to him with a steaming mug in his hand and a confused frown wrinkling his brow. 

Martín immediately opened his mouth, the dark paint water running down his chin like vomit, maring his shirt and staining skin and teeth. In the sickly pale light of the naked bulb, with the shadows under his eyes and the lingering hurt in his being, it made him look like a corpse throwing up thick and rotten blood.

Andrés laughed, the sound had a hysterically joyful quality to it, a discordant note in the gloominess of the room. It immediately invaded them, running through every crevice, every nook and cranny, injecting light and giving back the life that had been sucked out by the oppressing darkness.

The room changed completely, becoming bright and warm without suffering any real physical changes. It was infectious, contaging Martín and changing him from the inside out without his notice.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in a comfortable silence. And the next time Martín stopped for a visit the room felt warm and homely, cosy and welcoming. He also found that the mugs had marker scribbles on them. One read 'Martín' the other 'Paint Water'.

It put a small smile on his face.

Well Anon, it's really shitty right now and needs a lot of polishing and editing, but I hope you enjoy this and that it doesn't disappoint.☺

[seasonofthegeek]

To Save and to Sacrifice, Part 3

Sending a huge thank you out to @rainbow-moonbeam for the ko-fi donation to do another part of this story. Thanks for your support!

Parts 1, 2, 3:

When one grew up poor, it was hard to ever truly forget the feeling. The land Nathalie was raised in, the one she would later care for and then lose in a sense, had always been poor in relation to most other kingdoms. Even as a young royal when her aunt and uncle were on the throne, she wore secondhand clothes and worked alongside everyone else. Things had grown a bit better for a time under her reign, until the climate began to decline again and the farms most of her people worked died away and she’d sought out an alliance to save them all.

She wrung her hands together as the taxi carried her further away from the palace and deeper into the lower income districts. She doubted many would be able to recognize her, but she kept her hood pulled up anyway, just in case. The driver eyed her in the rearview mirror as they passed under a street light. “You sure this is where you wanna go, ma’am? Not the safest place at night, especially not this hour.”

“I’ll be fine,” she replied tersely. “I have family here.”

He nodded and they made the rest of the drive in silence. She thanked her foresight of keeping a small stash of money to herself during the merger and paid him before watching him drive off. The street was dim, and the cramped buildings along the drive, while not decrepit, had seen much better days. Nathalie took in a deep breath, expecting to smell something familiar, but there was nothing to remind her of home here. Not on the streets anyway. 

While there was technology put to use on the estate, Gabriel was old-fashioned in the way he liked to run things and liked to have a hard copy of everything. They went over the accounts together that were held in large leather binders he’d obviously ordered to be specially made and she’d seen him reading printed emails more than once. She thought it odd when he had so many luxuries at his disposal but now she was thankful. She’d been able to find a large set of binders with the new citizens addresses and information without trying to go through the hassle of using the computer system.

Nathalie checked the hastily scribbled address on the note in her hand once more under a streetlamp before ascending up the cracked stairs of a brick building. She knew it was late for guests but she also knew the people she sought out were most likely awake. She went to the door of the apartment and saw a beautifully designed monogram of “DC” painted on the weathered wood  and knew she had the right place. She knocked softly and listened. After half a minute, there was the sound of multiple locks working and then a whoosh of air as the door was pulled inward.

“Well, we must’ve done something really good or really bad to warrant a visit from the queen herself.” Tom Dupain opened the door with a wide smile as he looked down on Nathalie.

She felt a warmth she hadn’t realized she was missing fill her as the big man pulled her into a hug. She laughed softly and hugged him back before taking a step just outside the door again. She glanced down the hall to be sure no one had seen or heard them before returning her attention to him. “May I come in?”

“Of course.” He stepped aside. “Sabby! Guess who finally came to see us?”

Embarrassment ran hot against her skin and Nathalie ducked her head. “I’m sorry it’s taken so long. I--”

“Nonsense.” Tom waved a hand. “I’m sure you’re very busy. There must be a lot of work to do.” He lumbered through the small living room that opened up into a kitchen and Sabine appeared with a young boy on her hip.

Nathalie blinked. “I know it’s been a while, but surely...”

Sabine laughed and hefted the child up a little higher. “Only babysitting. His mother works nights. Tom, honey, can you get Chris a glass of water? He had a nightmare.”

“Come here, Chris, my boy.” Tom gathered up the sleepy child in his arms and walked him to the sink.

“Let’s go in the living room,” Sabine offered with a gesture to the couch.  

Nathalie thought she looked tired but still beautiful. She’d grown up admiring Sabine when the other woman’s uncle married Nathalie’s aunt and became the king and queen of their lands. Sabine was older and looked out for Nathalie when she could. Nathalie cried on her shoulder after her first heartbreak and was there the day Sabine found out she was pregnant with her daughter. Instant regret flooded her for waiting so long to visit. 

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, looking down at her lap. “I should’ve come sooner.”

“Hush now. How are you? Is he treating you all right?”

Nathalie smiled down at her hands. “Gabriel has been a perfect gentleman. If anything, he’s treated me a little too well. I’m trying to take a more active role in things now.”

Sabine’s expression softened. “I hope that means you’ve had time to rest and relax for a bit then. I’ve been worried about you.”

“I don’t want to talk about me.” She looked around the small living room. “How are you? This is the housing you were placed in?”

“They said it’s temporary. We’re a little cramped, but we’re okay. Marinette’s been staying with a friend a good bit which gives Chris some space. His family lives upstairs, but he’s here most nights.”

“You said his mother works nights? I don’t think I recognize him. What’s the family name?”

“The Lahiffes. They moved closeby a few months before we came here. She’s a waitress at an all-night diner now. There’s also a son Mari’s age but he’s got a job at the car plant and his hours vary.” She caught the other woman’s distressed look and grabbed her hand. “We’re crammed in tighter than we’re used to but people have jobs and families are being fed. This was a good move.”

“I’ve heard reports of protests and fights.”

“There have been,” Sabine answered, her voice careful. “I think with time things will die down, but we all try to look out for each other.” 

“Is it more our people or Gabriel’s?”

“That kind of thinking is why there are fights,” she said gently. 

Nathalie scowled. “I’m sorry. I just--”

“I know. You don’t have to apologize to me.” Sabine sighed and leaned back against the couch. “Most of the people we know were farmers or handcrafters but this land isn’t made for that. There’s more technology here and it’s more fast-paced. I think some people are just feeling out of place and out of touch on top of everything else.”

“I don’t know how to fix that.”

“I’m not sure you can. I believe you made the right move in bringing us here. I think people will flourish but it’s going to take time. Healing always does.”

Nathalie tried to believe that but her need to immediately fix things worried at the edges of her mind. “What are you two doing for work? Maybe I can find a way to bring you to the palace.”

“As much as I appreciate that, dear, we’re just fine where we are. Tom was able to find work at a bakery and even though it chaffes not to be in charge, he’s content to be doing what he loves.”

“And you?”

“Marinette and I have been picking up seamstress jobs here and there. We have an ad in the city paper that has helped.” She looked back towards the kitchen.  “And we’re in a good spot to help people here. As much as I would love to get to see you more often, and I would, I think we were placed here for a reason. Things are working out.” She squeezed Nathalie’s hand. “Don’t worry about us.”

“Easier said than done.”

“You are your mother’s child.”

Sadness crept into her heart and Nathalie shut it down. She was getting a whiplash of emotions from this visit and wasn’t sure how much more she could take. She stood and hugged Sabine once the other woman stood with her. “Please let me know if I can do more,” she whispered as she leaned down in the embrace.

“You’ve done plenty already.” Sabine released her and smiled. “But please come visit again soon. It’s done my heart well to see you.”

“It’s a promise.”

___

Gabriel watched Nathalie slowly make her way down the stairs of the brick building. She stopped at the bottom and seemed to be trying to collect herself. He would have to find out who lived in this building and what relation they had to his new wife. The thought of a past lover sent a flash of jealousy through his mind that shocked him out of his thoughts. Their marriage wasn’t one of passion or love; there was no reason to think otherwise.

He stayed hidden in the shadows and saw her make a call on her phone. He was hoping she was calling for a cab to take her back home. He didn’t like her being out like this. There’d been too much unrest as of late.

As if his thoughts had brought forth trouble, a loud group rounded the far corner of the block and Gabriel could see the exact moment they noticed Nathalie. Catcalls and whistles rose up and he watched her stiffen. He was already moving out of his hiding place when another dark figure appeared from a thin alleyway between the group and Nathalie and took an obvious protective yet casual stance.

“Now, that is no way to get a lady’s attention, guys,” the newcomer quipped, voice muffled behind the dark cloth covering most of his face. When one broke off from the group to move closer, the man quickly produced a metal rod that elongated with such grace and speed that it was almost too fast to see in the night. “Ah, I wouldn’t do that.”

Gabriel narrowed his eyes. The newcomer was undoubtedly Adrien. He pursed his lips, trying to decide if he should intervene or take the chance to watch his son in action. It was quite a different thing than seeing him on the grainy security footage he’d seen before. His head swiveled around. Adrien was rarely spotted in this get-up alone and then he saw the smaller figure appearing behind the group.

“There’s always one in the bunch.” Her voice was high and feminine and completely unwavering. “It’s late and I’m tired so you have to the count of three to move along with no trouble.”

The air was thick with tension and then there was an unspoken communication between the previously ruckus men and they moved past Adrien and Nathalie without further incident. Gabriel let out a sigh of relief and settled back into a more comfortable position to continue watching.

___

“Sorry you were caught in the middle of that, but I did try to warn you.” 

Nathalie’s retort died on her tongue when the man pulled away the cloth covering his face and Adrien grinned at her. She straightened and lifted her chin. “All’s well that ends well, I suppose.”

“If only that was the end.” Adrien’s partner joined them, but unlike him, she left the red bandana covering everything but bright blue eyes. 

“My lady, let me introduce you to Queen Nathalie.”

“That won’t be necessary; we know each other quite well actually.” She pulled the cloth away and Nathalie gasped in surprise as Marinette Dupain-Cheng pulled her into a hug. “I’ve missed you! Were you visiting Mom and Dad?”

“I was.” Nathalie stepped back to take in her appearance. Marinette wore what seemed to be a dark red jumpsuit with elbow and knee pads and a hood over her head. “What...”

Marinette’s cheeks darkened and she waved her hand. “It’s a long story.” Adrien stepped closer to her and wound his arm around her waist. Nathalie watched the action and knew it wasn’t the first time he’d done it.

“I see.”

“Looks like your taxi is almost here.” Adrien nodded to the oncoming headlights. “Make sure to go straight back, okay? I think we’re calling it a night ourselves.”

“Oh, did you want to ride back with me?” Nathalie stepped closer to the curb as the car slowed.

Adrien grinned again and scratched the back of his neck as Marinette ducked her head shyly. “No, thanks though.”

She decided it was best to not say another word but waved as she stepped into the car. She wondered if Gabriel had any idea that his son didn’t spend his nights at home and was moonlighting as some kind of vigilante.

A yawn caught her off guard and she let herself sink a little lower in the backseat. And if she missed the motorcycle that rode just a little behind the taxi the whole way back, well, it had been a rather busy night after all.

Buy me a cherry coke?

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Owed to a Grease-cian Earn (baon)

Summary:  Stretch should've known something was up when Edge asked to go to Grillby's with him.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationship, Hints of Kustard, Angst, Issues with LV, Suggested Past Prostitution, Implied Past Promiscuity, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Notes: Note the tags, some angst ahoy!

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

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Back in Underswap, Stretch had always been in the know. He saw things, knew things people thought he shouldn’t, he could Look into souls and sometimes did, felt the sins of others crawling up his back.

He’d given that up pretty quick when they came to this ‘verse. Sometimes, a lot actually, it was better not to know and seeing that shit let him assume too much. It’d taken that ass-of-u-and-me thing way further than it should’ve with Edge and years later, he still had a regret about it. Too much of the negative, not enough of the actual soul and Stretch didn’t miss it one fucking bit.

It did mean he was pretty out of practice, though, and he should’ve known something was up from the beginning when Edge asked to go to Grillby’s with him.

Grillby’s was the only Monster-owned establishment outside of New New Home. Had to give him credit, Grillbz was a pretty savvy businessmonster. He’d hustled to get this place up and running in record time, before any Humans even thought of passing laws to prevent it. Protests here were few and far between and it was pretty damn popular with Monsters and Humans, like the Beanery was. During the day it was a family establishment, with some of the best burgers in Ebott. At night, there was plenty of entertainment. Stand-up comedy, local bands, even slam poetry from time to time and that was what brought them here tonight.

Stretch couldn’t say he actually liked slam poetry, but he loved coming whenever they were doing it. It was worth it for the people-watching alone; interesting folk crawled out of the ground and Thrillered their way downtown for this and since Andy couldn’t come, he’d planned on making it a solo trip. So he’d been pretty surprised when Edge wanted to tag along. It hadn’t even occurred to him to turn Edge down when he offered to come, hell, no, he loved spending time with his honey.

He was feeling pretty damn guilty about it now. Grillby’s was not on Edge’s top ten list of hangouts; he’d probably rather go to the DMV than here. Stretch didn’t mind some grease slathered on his food, added flavor in his humble opinion, but he knew better than that where Edge was concerned, and neither was he much for drinking. And the only person Edge ever seemed interested in watching was sitting in this booth with him. So that meant he got to sit around in a place he didn't want to be, surrounded by people he didn’t want to be with, picking at drinks and food that he didn’t want.

Sounded like a fun night, if you were a pal of the Marquis de Sade. They’d only been here an hour and this was the second time Edge’d gone to the bathroom to wash his hands, impressive even by his standards, considering he was wearing gloves.

It wasn’t Stretch’s fault, no. He hadn’t asked Edge to come along, no sir, he wasn't a glutton for punishment, preferred it to be snack-sized. But he still felt bad; there was no question that Edge only came along to keep an eye on him, hell, he’d already caught his baby stifling a yawn once and this was a Monster who was capable of sitting through meetings about trade agreements. Edge knew his boring.

But if Stretch was filled with relief about Alphys’s news, he had a sneaky suspicion that Edge was still feeling a little fragile about it. S’ok, he got it, the whole situation was a clusterfuck from start to finish. Between his HP, Andy’s attempt at getting some internal air conditioning, and Edge’s LV trying to tap dance on his soul at night, Edge was due a little fragility. If his baby needed to keep him in arm’s reach for a little while, he could deal. For fuck’s sake, it wasn’t like he was the one who’d have to be hands-on if his HP ever gave out, so Edge was welcome to all the extra snuggles he needed until he got back on an even keel. Edge probably considered the boredom and grease a fair price.

Stretch gave the bar a glance, trying to decide if it was worth fighting his way through the crowd for a drink. Grillby was moving tirelessly along with the other bartender, flames tamped down to a steady glow that matched the dimmed lights. Some nights he would put on a little show, give a demonstration on a few interesting things that alcohol and fire could do when mixed. Tonight he was probably trying not to distract from the show, currently what Stretch presumed was a Human waxing poetically about avocados—was that a Human? Honestly, he was having a hard time deciding.

But hey, with the frequent fiery shows, it was no surprise no one tried to burn this place down. Maybe Deb should ask for a special presentation at the Beanery someday.

He’d just decided that sending Edge to get him a drink when he came back might entertain him for about a minute when from behind Stretch came, “Hey, Papyrus! Haven’t seen you here in ages!”

“rolf,” Stretch had to struggle not to make a face. He knew Rolf, a little better than he preferred to remember and from two Universes besides. Here was a Monster who hadn’t shown much difference between Underswap and this ‘verse.

A distant relative of the Dogi, he had the ears and the muzzle but not much else in common. Not every Monster had taken well to surface life and Rolf was one of them. He wasn’t bad sober, but when he’d been drinking he was a jackass and a half, something Stretch figured out pretty quick on one shitty evening. From the smell of him, he’d already been here a few hours. “i go by stretch, now, remember?”

Rolf only laughed, too loudly, earning a couple of dirty looks, and crammed into the booth next to him. Stretch wasn’t beating too many Monsters when it came to body weight and he was forced to scoot over to keep Rolf from falling into his lap. It was still cramped enough in the booth that he was pressed in tight, the heavy smell of beer and not enough showers strong in Rolf’s fur.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

Grillby had a strict policy against using magic in his establishment. Once, you got a warning, second time, a month’s ban. A third and the ban became permanent.

Which was the only thing keeping him from knocking Rolf out on his ass when he settled a clawed hand on his knee. “You’re lookin’ good tonight, you know that?”

Yeah, in a hoodie and jeans, he was a regular supermodel shaking his ass on the catwalk. Rolf’s grin let his tongue loll out, a dribble of saliva dripping down to puddle on the table. It clammed up into a frown when Stretch firmly moved his hand away and he whined, “C’mon, you always used to be up for a good time.”

“maybe you didn’t hear,” Stretch said coolly, “but i’m married.” Not that any idiot shouldn’t know; the Monster community was small and Edge wasn’t exactly the most private citizen around. Neither was he, to be fair, most of New New home followed his twitter, if not the experiments he got up to with the minions on the weekends.

Rolf threw back his head and his raucous laughter was loud enough to earn a glance from Grillby and half of the rest of the bar, fiery glares both figurative and literal at them both for interrupting the ode to avocados. “Yeah, I heard, everyone heard, you and that dust-scraper shacked up. Think you’re worth more than that, don’t you?”

Just hearing him call Edge that set his teeth to grinding, forcibly wrangling his temper down. He was not going to start a fight, not here, not with a bunch of Human college students listening to some guy wax eloquently about being a lone wolf in a city of sheep. Low, he said coldly, “i know i’m sure as fuck worth more than you. get lost, fuckface, find a different tree to piss on.”

“Come on,” Rolf leaned in too close and the alcohol on his breath was gagging, “I have G. Buy you a pack of smokes and everything.”

Okay, screw being subtle. That implication made his already simmering temper flare into white-hot. He’d heard that gossip, thanks a heap, and he didn’t know who the fuck started it, but it had never been true, not even in Underswap. Stretch gave Rolf a hard shove but he didn’t budge an inch, even when he dug in his fingers. “Fuck you!”

“That’s the idea, pretty,” he leered

Enough of this shit; Grillby would definitely kick Rolf out if Stretch asked and he wanted him gone before Edge came back. This was the kind of stupid bullshit that Edge did not need to deal with right now, not when his LV was giving him a bitchfit. Rolf deserved an ass-kicking but if Edge lost control and gave him one? There was too much of a chance he’d get too rough, his control was taking a walk on the wild side. If that happened, he’d never forgive himself and Stretch was not about to allow his baby to get any emotional scars over this piece of shit.

But his racing thoughts weren’t giving him much to work with. Even if he were allowed to use magic, Rolf was touching him so if he shortcutted, this prick would be coming along for the ride. And going anywhere alone with him would be fucking stupid, calling for Grillby to help would be humiliating, so what the fuck could he— Stretch gave him another hard shove and hissed, “i said no, asshole, knock it off!”

“Yes, you should knock it off.”

Well, fuck.

Those words were dripping with cold, practically freezing in the air itself. Say what you would about Underfell, it’d gone a long way towards helping Edge really perfect that casual sort of menace that usually got people pissing in their shorts.

This was an all-new level of suck, and Stretch wondered a little wildly if it was possible for a Monster to die of panic, because here he was sitting ass to elbows with a guy he’d drunkenly slept with once. Edge wouldn’t doubt him, he knew he wouldn’t, but, but, he didn’t know what to do, didn’t want Edge to get hurt in any capacity, not by anyone else or himself.

“babe—" Stretch started, still struggling with the unfamiliar sensation of not knowing what to say. Just his luck that his one superpower would give out now, usually he couldn’t manage to shut himself up.

But anything he might have said stuck in his throat, unspoken, when Rolf turned to Edge and showed his teeth, growling low in his throat. “Yeah? What’re you gonna do?" he sneered. "Gonna kill me? Add a little more EXP to the pile you’ve already got?”

People talked so blasé about things screeching to a halt, but right now they were all living a textbook example. The entire bar was watching them, even the kid on stage was silent, notebook pages crumpled in one hand as he stared wide-eyed. Grillby was watching closely but he made no effort to intervene, not yet. Only polished the glass in his hand while he waited with everyone else to see how this panned out.

Stretch was about to shortcut out and damn the consequences, take the black mark on his record and pin this asshole down outside with a little blue magic when Edge spoke again.

“Don’t be ridiculous," Edge said mildly. He tucked his hands into his pockets and Rolf probably didn’t appreciate the subtle insult of it. "I’m going to remind you that your monthly stipend is dependent on the contract you agreed to when you moved to New New Home, and that if you break that contract, say, by breaking the law assaulting someone who is only trying to enjoy a drink at a bar, you no longer benefit from it. You can move out and live with the Humans and cover your own expenses without having to worry about petty rules. Although I would remind you that assault is generally frowned upon by the Humans as well.”

There was no telling how much Rolf had to drink, but it wasn’t so much that the picture Edge was a painting for him wasn’t crystal clear, no happy little mistakes, just broad, blatant strokes. Slowly, he slid out of the booth, that low growl still vibrating in his throat and Stretch didn’t think he imagined hearing him mumbling something about whores. That was fine, he could whine like a two-month puppy. Stretch didn’t give half a shit what this asshole thought of him, but he really hoped Edge wasn’t listening too hard.

Once Rolf slunk away, back to an empty table in a dark corner of the bar, Edge sat back in the booth, across from Stretch and everything around them slowly resumed, like a film reel flipped back on. Glasses clinked, bottles opened, and the kid on stage started up again about pencil graffiti.

“my hero,” Stretch smiled wryly, the tension in his soul leaking out, leaving him weak with relief, “you're a smooth motherfucker when you want to be, aren’t you.” He frowned when Edge didn’t say anything, “babe?”

“Give me a moment,” Edge said tightly and Stretch took a good look at him, at the pinpricks of his eye lights, the way his gloves creaked as he clenched his hands together.

So he did. Didn’t talk, for once, let all the words bubbling in his mind fizzle out and instead, he busied himself making a tower around his empty beer bottle out of the condiments and silverware. There was enough math involved to keep him entertained, weighing out on whether the ketchup or the vinegar was best as a foundation, the exact formation required to balance the saltshaker in the end of a spoon.

He was just jenga-ing in the last fork when Edge gave the ketchup base a flick with one finger and it collapsed in a mini shower of flatware.

“you asshole, you have no respect for art,” Stretch laughed, gathering up forks and spoons. Then softer, “you okay?”

Edge sighed. “I feel that’s a question I should direct back to you.”

“me?” Stretch scoffed, waving that off, because no, thanks. “please, i could have handled that asshole in two seconds if it weren’t for ‘da rulez’” He made little air quotes around it, just to see if Edge grimaced. He did, and that right there was encouraging, a nice little slice of normality.

“I know you could.” Edge reached over and took his hand, squeezing gently. His gloves were buttery-soft against Stretch’s bones, but he sort of wished he could feel the light scrape of phalanges. “I’m not upset with you, I want you to know that.”

“yeah, i know.” Stretch gave him a lopsided smile. Edge had never held his previous indiscretions against him, if that was what you called fucking around with anyone that offered. This was the first time one of them had shown up asking for an encore though, so it was kinda nice to hear.

Edge looked at him searchingly then slowly nodded. “So long as you know.” He drew Stretch’s hand up, his breath warm as he kissed his knuckles gently. That was better, much more normal, so it was something of a surprise for him to drop Stretch’s hand and pull out his phone to start typing, enough that Stretch blinked at him in confusion.

“what are you—?”

“Contacting Embassy security.”

That gave him a hell of a jolt, “babe—"

“It’s not only about you,” Edge didn’t look up from his phone, “If he’s like this often, drunk and aggressive, he’s a danger to himself and others. I don’t want to hurt him, love, but he needs help before something worse happens.”

Of course. Of course Edge was thinking about helping him, so worried about his LV, about hurting people, and here he was making sure some asshole was gonna get better than he deserved. Stretch loved Edge, more than he could explain, sometimes so much it scared him a little, but the warmth that rose in his soul right at this moment was soft and sweet, begging to be properly shared.

“you’ve got a good soul, babe.” Stretch regretted it the moment he said it, too teasingly light, and the way Edge’s eye lights constricted made his own soul throb once in sympathy, that warmth dimming. By unspoken rule, only his soul got to be talked about and held, his supposedly perfect LV-free soul.

True to form, Edge didn’t say anything to that. He only tucked his phone back into his pocket, shifting to stand, "I'll get us another round, try not to get into more trouble while I'm gone."

"i wasn't trying to get into trouble the first time." Stretch pointed out. It got him a brief smile, but not the kiss he was angling for. He saved his sigh until Edge walked away, tracing the circle of moisture his bottle left on the table with one absent finger.

“babe, you have a beautiful soul,” Stretch whispered to nobody at all, “someday i’ll get to tell you that.”

For now, he only turned his attention back to the stage. A woman was up there now with hair in a rainbow of fascinating colors and no paper notes, only raising the microphone with brisk determination. He watched with interest as she began talking about public transportation, only glancing once at Edge who was standing in line at the bar. No one else was giving Edge so much as a cautious look and the bartender’s smile as he stepped up was friendly.

It allowed him to relax, focusing more on the show. No one thought anything bad, then, no one let Rolf’s drunken anger give them a worry about Edge’s LV, even if it was jarringly high.

Good enough.

~~*~~

Rolf was considerably drunker when he stepped out of Grillby’s at closing time to see the plain black cars waiting for him. His waitress had cut him off about an hour before, fucking unfair, he’d been sitting by himself, not causing any trouble at all. Hadn’t even said a word when the dust collector and his whore left earlier, kept his head down looking at his drink.

None of the Monsters leaning against the cars looked remotely threatening, but he wasn’t stupid, not by a long shot. ‘specially not when one of them was Sans, and maybe he’d swapped out the pink slippers for sneakers, but otherwise he could’ve stepped right out of Snowdin, the hoodie and shorts, that easy grin. Made Rolf think of other days, better ones, staggering home through the snow with a drink in his hand and a song in his heart.

“heya, rolf,” Sans said, easily, “was hoping you’d come with us, yeah?”

Hoping, right. Conjured magic was heavy in the air, clammy humidity before a storm, and part of him was ready for the fight, more than, wanting to lash out and hurt a couple of these pricks for daring to try laying hands on him. But he wasn’t that drunk, not that stupid, and he wouldn’t get off a single hit, he knew. Not against Sans.

He only walked up to the closest car and one of the Monster’s held open the door for him, one for the backseat. He hesitated long enough to sneer, “So much for freedom on the surface.”

“nah, you got it wrong, pal,” Sans’s easy smile never wavered. “you’re pretty free to do what you want. out from under the mountain. out in the sunshine. but your freedom ends right about the point you make the humans want us all dead. that kinda takes away my freedom.” He stepped closer and Rolf hastily climbed in the car. Too late, Sans stood in the open door, keeping him from closing it. “anyway, we’re just here to help you get home.”

“Home,” Rolf repeated, hopefully. Sans nodded, his grin widening.

“gotta little tip for you, first.” His pleasant smile seemed anything but when coupled with those suddenly dark sockets and Rolf swallowed hard, the pressure of too much beer heavy in his bladder. “stay away from stretch.”

The reminder of the little whore made his anger surge again and Rolf blurted out, scoffing, “I get it, that pussy stays in the family, huh.”

Sans laughed as if it was the best joke he’d heard in a year. His eye lights flared back to life as he chuckled and Rolf let out a little tremulous laugh of his own, “nah, don’t be stupid, i just don’t like to see anyone hurting my brother.” A cheery ting choked off Rolf’s laughter and he cringed, strangling on lack of air and terror as Sans leaned into the car, one of his eye lights flaring like staring into insanity. His voice was deeper, trembling in Rolf’s very bones as he whispered, “stay away from stretch or you’ll have a really bad time.”

Then it was gone and there was only Sans and his easy smile, along with the sharp smell of urine. He slammed the door shut, giving the top of the car a slap and it drove off in a short caravan, headed towards New New Home. He watched a little longer, until the taillights twinkled out of sight before he said to no one in particular, “good enough for you?”

He didn’t bother looking over his shoulder at the sudden flare of crimson eye lights. “for now.”

Sans nodded, “they’ll either get him some help or get him on house arrest until he wises up. it’ll work out.” Sans slanted a glance over his shoulder, towards the sudden click of a lighter and a whiff of cigar smoke. “whoever gets home first gets to top?”

A dark chuckle and a plume of exhaled smoke. “you’re seriously underestimatin’ the appeal of getting’ to lay there while you fuck me.”

“am i?” The innocence in his voice was as pure as New York snow, “guess you’ll lose, then.”

There was nothing but the sound of a shortcut, a faint pop of displaced air, and Sans cursed aloud and vanished into one of his own, leaving the street empty and a neon sign flashing with the word, ‘Grillby’s’, the same above as it had been below.

-finis-

[patricianandclerk]

some hamish mckinnon notes

feel free to feedback/send asks/discuss!

Brief

Plump, rosy-cheeked and appears to be into his fifties. Thick, blond hair that's thinning ever so slightly on the top, has a tendency towards yellows and browns in his wardrobe - fan of tweed, but also of clothes with various patches on them, and tends to look a few decades out of time. He has sensitive feet, and wears red slippers virtually all the time.

When he was a child (thirteenish) in the late 1600s, he was taken by faeries, who dropped him, for the sake of fun, in the middle of the states in the mid-1800s. Ended up in the middle of a cultist sacrificial ritual, but it went wrong, and instead of being devoured a legion of demons half-possessed him. They're connected to him but can't actually control his actions, and tend to just follow him around and get him to entertain them. They used to be cruel to him, but they've got bored of that and are now just entertained by whatever he offers them as he won't generally attack people.

Bought the antique shop in London in the 1970s and just stayed ever since, as dealing in antiques and speciality magic items is rather easy for him, but doesn't take all too much effort.

He reads voraciously and often, and he's relatively good with the Internet - took a secretarial course in the 70s, learned to type on the computer in the 90s, took another IT course recently.

External Body

Hamish is a short man, plump and rounded off – round belly, thick rounded thighs, thick arms, round cheeks with red apples in them. He has a small mouth, red with plump lips, and heavily lidded, round eyes, which are a softly golden hazel. If you look very closely, you can see the shadows shifting about his irises – the physical reflection of the Horde’s connection to him. He has small crow’s feet and frown lines at his brow and around his mouth, but his hair is thick and deeply golden-blond, burnished with a little brown, and not greying at all, although it is beginning to thin slightly.

His skin is generally pale all over, and mostly unmarked, with patches that go very red very quickly. He has a heavy chest and rounded belly, with broad thighs and calves – he’s quite muscular beneath the fat, especially his calves, his shoulders, and his arms, but you wouldn’t think it to look at him. Holds himself very small.

His feet are only a 5 or a 6 maybe? Quite small feet, and they’re very delicate-looking.

Quite a bit of body hair, but it’s a lighter gold than the stuff on his head, and it tends to dust very finely on his chest, his back, his belly, his thighs and calves. His hands are usually very delicately kept and manicured, with super soft hands.

The horde are a legion of small demons, a few hundred of them that are insectile – they each have six little arms, bat-like wings, little legs, and are a sort of reddish brown colour. They look and feel like bats to the touch, and are that kind of furry-warm, but if you press on them you’ll feel that they’re hard-shelled underneath the soft outside of leathery skin, and on the inside they’re insectile, with hemolymph etc, and their skeletal system is external.

You see them as dark shadows and funny dark spots around Hamish, often under chairs, behind shelves, etc, and semi-non-corporeal so that they just seem like thick shadow. 

Job(s)

Hamish owns McKinnon Antiques in London, which is an antique shop that specialises in haunted and supernaturally charged objects.

His main thing is as a supplier for others, and to get hold of things for some people and pass them over – he’ll usually come in and get hold of something and mostly take it off someone’s hands? Like, he always makes sure that he gets a haunted object away from someone because he’s very aware of how big that weight can be on someone, and then he’ll either put it into storage or sell it on.

He’s a big supplier to businesses and so on.

He makes some income from the several flats above his shop, and also owns some other storage spaces and houses and such that he rents out through an agency. He is not a very friendly, involved landlord – the renters upstairs (usually faeries that are struggling to get the hang of appearing human enough to rent elsewhere, usually as a stop gap before they get work elsewhere) pay him directly in cash, but the others are run through an agency with a director so that Hamish doesn’t have to interact with anybody.

The agency is called the Wednesday Letting Agency, the name being one that Asmodeus came up with when it was established back in the 1970s.

Abode(s)

Hamish owns the entire building McKinnon Antiques is in, which is the flat just above the building, which is two storeys of the actual flat, and then the other like, half a dozen storeys are like, three more flats and some extended storage? The flats are from an entrance at the side, and are usually the faeries and whatever.

Hamish’s flat is two stories, so like.

You enter the shop, which is crammed full of stuff, and then has a whole further area of back storage, a little kitchenette, and then you go up the stairs into the first floor, which is Hamish’s living room/library – a room with a very plush and cushy couch, lots of bookshelves, a nice radio and record player. It’s got a lot of soft surfaces, a lot of the McKinnon tartan hung up, and a lot of blankets and cushions, and you really would feel like you’d stepped back in time to look at it all.

There’s a small, cramped kitchen with a fairly big oven and some okay gas burners, but not much counter space, and just a little dining table that’s made for two people. Hamish does not have a toaster or an electric kettle – I don’t think he actually has anything electric in his kitchen.

Upstairs, he has his bedroom and then the two other bedrooms that are used for storage, although he always has some cots he can fold out for people who desperately need somewhere to sleep, usually JP and Colm, and later like, Velma. Hamish’s bedroom is a bit more cramped than cosy, with a lot more books, clothes, etc, all stuck into the same room, but you do step in and feel like, warm and comfy rather than claustrophobic. His bed is huge, very plush with four posts and a top, and he literally has like, thirteen or fourteen blankets on his bed.

Religion & Worship

Hamish was raised as a Christian, but is now an atheist, and is generally very uncomfortable with a lot  of religion and very religious people.

Childhood & Young Adulthood

When he was 13, Hamish went wandering in the woods to avoid like, his parents and that, and ended up straying off the path when he heard a funny noise, and was seduced by like, a very pretty man just off the edge of the path? Ended up stepping off and off the path, into the midst of a faerie realm

Hamish was kept as a sort of pet and toy as he grew older, once he was old enough to have sex, he did? It was always pseudoconsensual, but it was obviously affected by the whole situation around him – he could choose to initiate it, which he did with other boys, but it was slow and uncertain, and as time got older it was more charged, more complex

He did age in the fae realm, but far far slower, and once he seemed to be around 25, the faerie prince who was most infatuated with him grew bored with him and his blossoming manhood, and they decided to turn him out…

In the middle of a summoning circle in America, where he stumbled in amidst the Christians that had been radicalised by a demon and were trying to summon another demon. It was all just a joke – the idea was that they’d summon the horde of demons and be devoured, which the original demon found super funny?

But because they used Hamish as a sacrifice to open up the split in the parallel realms and not a human, the magic didn’t respond right – Hamish’s capacity for magic had been permanently changed by his centuries in the fae realm, and so the demons were bound to him instead

And then…

He had to deal with the Horde.

The horde are a legion of small demons, a few hundred of them that are insectile – they each have six little arms, bat-like wings, little legs, and are a sort of reddish brown colour. They look and feel like bats to the touch, and are that kind of furry-warm, but if you press on them you’ll feel that they’re hard-shelled underneath the soft outside of leathery skin, and on the inside they’re insectile. They’re one of the smaller species of pseudo mammalian demons.

For a few years, as Hamish began to work himself out – this was just after the civil war, so he managed to find for himself a place in the country to work with the demons, who just fucking tortured him the first few years, but once he got a handle on them and learned to live with them, and then he made his way into Dinwiddie, Virginia.

When he started travelling north toward New York, in like, a little bit after the civil war, he met the angel Asmodeus, who immediately took an interest in him. He, Jean-Pierre and Colm had just landed in the US and were spending some time in NY – later, obviously, they’d move elsewhere for another like, fifty years, I think going across the top of the US, then down to California in the mid 1900s, then to Texas, and then back East to go back to Ireland as they came into the 21st century

The demons were immediately fucking terrified of Asmodeus, which meant that like, for the first time in nearly a decade, someone could get close enough to actually touch Hamish, who was beginning to show his age now, starting to look a little bit older, now looking like he was in his thirties, and Asmodeus didn’t know why, but he was super interested and engaged with Hamish?

He slipped a little bit closer, took Hamish into bed, and to his surprise kept thinking about him afterward?

Middle Age

Hamish settled in NY, began working with a carpenter in the city and then began working in furniture making, so that when he makes his way back to the UK in the 1920s, he looks the age he does in the 21st century, that he looks like he’s in his 50s, opened up the shop in town, and then just. Stayed there.

Asmodeus comes to visit regularly.

Hamish buys and sells antiques, is generally quiet with himself and is often uncomfortable with a lot of people because he’s still frightened of bringing the demons out in public because they’re little cunts. They’re not actually cruel anymore, they’re just mischievous and sort of stupid, which makes it all difficult.

Velma comes in regularly enough, and she very much encourages Hamish to come out of his shell a bit – Ash does the same when he’s around, but isn’t actually hugely social himself, so isn’t the best at it, whereas Velma encourages Hamish to come to bars, restaurants, parks, etc. The Horde likes Velma.

When Ash comes in, he’ll normally sleep with Hamish in the same bed and give him a little taste of domesticity? They tend to settle in together, Ash will take him out for dinner and expensive wine, will often take him dancing somewhere quiet, and then they’ll spend a few days together, reading, etc.

Asmodeus isn’t at all big on botanical gardens, libraries, or museums, but will specifically go out of his way to bring Hamish to places like that.