#tori never SAYS anything grimly just. puts it together.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

Prompt: Grimly/Tori, homesickness

send in a character/pairing + prompt and I'll write a three-ish sentence fic!

Grimly has no idea where Tori is supposed to be right now--probably nowhere too particular, Kennies are always so scrupulous about following orders, but he's almost certainly given someone the slip to be in Grimly's run-down hostel room past midnight. Grimly feels bad for whoever is supposed to keep track of his friend, honestly, Torisen always seems to walk away from his minders with less trouble than falling asleep.

Perhaps that's not a good metaphor, though, because Tori seems reluctant to fall asleep, even here, curled on his side on Grimly's cot, with a hands-breadth between them. Grimly worries for him, in the barracks of the Southern Host, even though Tori insists, in quiet tones, that things are better since--since. Unspoken is since Urakarn, but Grimly thinks that Tori, clear-eyed and sensible as he is, can be a bit superstitious, and believes that speaking the word will summon the ghost back to haunt him.

Tori carries ghosts around with him so visibly that Grimly feels the same fear, as if Tori's mysterious past is a tattered cloud of weirding, and his voice might shape it into figures and voices and weapons as easily as the Weald singers shape it into ruins.

For a moment, the whimsical thought brings a rush of pain to the surface--Grimly misses home, where things are simple. Where things are easy, and he never sat up late, not quite touching a friend who isn't sleeping, no matter how good his impression is.

Ah, well. Grimly settles himself more comfortably against the wall, and begins composing another verse to his latest epic, about the battle of the vanguard at Urakarn. When Tori wakes up, or gives up on pretending, he'll still be here.

[songfell-ut]

Chapter 14 is gooo

Taking a short break after this. My hands hurt. Yep

The moment Sans appeared outside of Alphys’ laboratory, he knew he was going to hate this. He took in the good ol’ Hotland ambiance – mostly rocks, lava, and being too damn hot – then kicked the snow from his slippers, brushed off his overcoat, and banged on the heavy door.

It peeked open, and a yellow snout showed in the crack. “C-come in,” a voice said apologetically.

Sans rolled his eyes as best he could. “It’s me, Al. Move it, will ya?”

“Sans!” The door flew open, and the reptilian scientist backed up to look at him fully. “It’s r-really you! I thought the h-humans g-got you!”

“They did. I got better.” The giant skeleton bobbed his head at her as he stepped inside. “How’ve ya been?”

She smiled weakly. “Um...”

He nodded and went ahead into the main area, Alphys shuffling after him. The building was three stories, constructed of brick and steel in order to keep any mishaps contained. Now that he was using his sense of smell, it stank in here; Frisk’s workroom smelled like books and priestess and green things growing, but this was something acrid that made the magic of his nose and throat sting. “I’ve been w-working,” said Alphys, somehow phrasing it as a personal fault. “W-would you like something t-to drink? His M-Majesty brought t-tea.”

Sans came to a halt as he spotted a large shape moving from the back storeroom into the nook by Alphys’ first-floor library. The King of the monsters flipped a witchlight on, and it burned so bright that Sans had to shut his eyes. The humans’ lights really were a lot dimmer. “Welcome back, Sans,” Asgore said jovially, seating himself on a couch and gesturing for the skeleton to take the biggest armchair. “It seems you’ve had quite the adventure. How are you feeling? Would you like some tea?”

“No, thanks, Yer Majesty.” The larger boss monster wedged himself into the chair. “I’ve had a hell of a time. What all did the others tell ya, if I may ask?”

Asgore smiled thinly. His beard was longer than Sans remembered, and his hair looked like something had been nesting in it—as if they needed more evidence of how useless he was on his own, Sans thought. “It was quite a story,” said the King. “Would you mind telling me what happened again, please, from your perspective? But first…” He gestured over Sans’ shoulder.

Sure enough, Alphys was hovering behind him, holding something in one shaky claw. “Um,” she explained.

Sans scowled at her. “Don’t gimme that look, Al. I’m not gonna bite ya.” He extended his hand. “That’s a truth stone, right? I don’t care. I’ve got nothin’ ta hide.” Much.

“It’s m-mostly to check for any residual human m-magic that may be affecting you,” the scientist said, presumably truthfully. She allowed him to pluck the cobalt sphere from her grasp and skittered away with a speed that hurt his feelings a little. He and Alphys had never been the closest of friends, but…well, Frisk and her flagrant lack of fear had obviously spoiled him.

Crap. Whatever was in the stone was pretty damn potent, because thinking of Frisk made him want to say things that he had no intention of letting out until he absolutely had to. Asgore was suspicious enough of him having been around the High Priestess and other humans for so long; what would happen if he found out Sans had fallen for her like a ton of bricks?

“Now…” Asgore poured himself another cup. “How did you come to be in the humans’ grasp?”

Sans hadn’t minded telling Undyne all this stuff, but sitting here fiddling with the stupid rock while the King sipped his tea and watched him as if Sans was going to explode—that, he did mind. But he did it, starting with how he’d been out hunting poachers for a couple days straight without eating anything, getting weak enough to eventually be captured, and failing to kill the High Priestess when she came to make him that fateful offer.

Asgore was frowning, one hand to his chin. “She was sincere about taking you as her apprentice, with no attempt to harm you or steal your magic? Didn’t that strike you as odd?”

No shit, King Fluffybuns. “Yeah, it did, but she never even tried anything like that.” It was true; Gaster was the one who’d purloined a bunch of his magic. Sans wasn’t going to muddy the waters by bringing him up just yet. “I could tell she knew what she was talking about with the potions and stuff. She’s pretty sharp.”

“Yes, of course. Forgive me, but I want to be very clear: she subdued you without harming you, single-handedly?”

Sans’ socket twitched. “Your Majesty is correct,” he said stiffly. “She’s the High Priestess fer a reason. Her barriers are stupid powerful. I don’t think you, me, ‘n Tori put together could crack one.”

As he’d intended, the casual mention of Toriel made Asgore twitch right back. From her position behind Sans’ chair, Alphys cleared her throat nervously. “Are you s-sure? A human sh-shouldn’t—”

The skeleton held up the blue sphere, tapping it with one phalange. “Yeah, I’m positive. If humans had anythin’ like boss monsters, she’d be one fer sure.”

Asgore put down his cup. “And this extraordinary young woman also happens to be the child we knew as Kris? Is that correct?”

“Yep. She’s proven it beyond any doubt ta both me and Undyne.” Somehow, Sans doubted Asgore had made her hold the goddamned rock while she talked. “The others forced 'er to lie about bein’ a boy, but everythin’ else about her was real. She didn’t wanna leave here at all, and as soon as she got her memories back, she started figurin’ out how to come back with me. It happened sooner than we planned ‘cause the King tried ta sell some monsters out from under her. She got so pissed off that she broke the law and brought ‘em here on her own.”

“Got her memories b—ah, yes. Undyne said they were taken from her at the convent.” Asgore’s foot patted the floor a few times. “How old was she when she first visited?” he asked, with a new edge to his voice.

Sans frowned. “She said she was ten. She just looked a lot younger ‘cause they weren’t feedin’ ‘er. Why?”

Another slow pat, pat of fur on carpet. “Undyne overheard someone say the High Priestess was King Stephin’s illegitimate daughter. Do you believe this to be true?”

The giant skeleton looked at the blue stone, studying the patterns swirling in its depths. “I’ve seen how the King acts with her, and the guy I was talkin’ to had no reason ta lie. Puttin’ everything together, yeah, it makes total sense.”

There was no response. Sans glanced up. To his surprise, Asgore was staring into his teacup, his brow furrowed; the King set the cup and saucer down so hard that it sloshed all over the table. Sans had never seen him spill his tea before. “What about her other personal connections?” he asked brusquely. “Other friends and family?”

“Uh…” Sans craned his neck around to see if Alphys understood what was going on, but she was pushing her glasses up and looking at him in equal bewilderment. “Well, she’s got a bunch of half-siblings from the King, but she’s not real close with any of ‘em. One actually tried to kill ‘er while I was there.” Asgore blinked in astonishment, and Sans nodded grimly. “She doesn’t have any other family. She said ‘er mom was dead, and I haven’t had a chance t’ask her any more about it. Not many friends, just some lady she knew from school an’ a lot of guys wantin’ ta marry her.” He wrinkled his nasal ridge. “A lot of guys.”

Asgore nodded again. “I see. Thank you.” He finally noticed the puddle of tea, and used the hem of his already-stained cloak to mop it up. “You’ve spent a great deal of time with her. What do you believe are her true intentions? What does she gain from freeing monsters and antagonizing the other humans?”

“Frisk doesn’t think in terms’a what she can get, Yer Majesty,” Sans said irritably. “I know she sounds too good ta be true. I thought so, too, at first. But she really wants to help us, an’ she can do it better than anyone else. She’s already taught me how ta make fertilizer and a bunch of other stuff to improve our crop yields, and she’s got a whole plan t’get us outta slavery fer good—I’ll let ‘er lay it out for you whenever ya talk with ‘er.” He tossed the sphere from hand to hand a few times, then curled his fingers around it. “Did Undyne tell you about the farm on the river?”

The King stroked his beard. “She did, but I have difficulty believing it. I’ve seen that property myself, and I can’t fathom anyone buying it out of pure altruism.”

“’s not just altruism. She wanted t’do it before she even knew she’d been here as a kid, but now she remembers us an’ how much we all cared about her.” Asgore half-smiled in acknowledgment. With considerable effort, Sans forced himself off that tangent, concluding, “Frisk’s the real deal, Majesty. Turnin’ her down ‘cause she’s human would be the dumbest thing you’ve ever done.”

The King sat back, eyes narrowed, and Alphys made a more-than-usually nervous sound. Sans fidgeted with the sphere. “Anythin’ else, Yer Majesty? I wanna get back home.”

Asgore’s gaze shifted from him to the diminutive scientist. “Do you have any questions, Dr. Alphys?”

For the first time, Alphys came around to stand in front of Sans. “Um…d-do you think she’d let me s-study her magic? I just c-can’t believe a human could be that p-powerful.”

Sans shrugged. “On the way here, she hid us with a barrier that kept people from seein’ or hearing me ‘n the wagons for over ten minutes straight. They couldn’t even tell the barrier was there.”

The King looked him, and at the sphere. Sans was rolling it around on his metacarpals at Alphys’ eye level, daring either of them to say he was lying. When Asgore remained silent, the scientist asked, “What else have you s-seen her do that m-most humans can’t?”

“Be a good person,” Sans mumbled, but the stone’s magic prodded him, and he had to add, “Here’s somethin’ weird. I was checkin’ on ‘er after she used up all ‘er magic on that barrier, and I ended up givin’ her a bunch of my magic by accident.”

Alphys’ jaw dropped. “You did what?” the King demanded.

Fuck. “Not like havin’ a kid or anything,” the skeleton said hurriedly. “I just…she’d been sick right before we left, so she was already a little run down, an’ I didn’t want us ta be stuck out there without ‘er magic.” That was true enough, but he had to physically stop himself from saying exactly how worried he had been. “I picked ‘er up, and next thing I knew, she was fresh as a daisy ‘n I was passing out. The exact same thing happened a few hours ago, right before I zapped us inta the Ruins.”

“I see.” Somewhat mollified, the King stroked his beard again. “Was she able to use any of your abilities, or did she convert your power into magic of her own?”

“She put a barrier up with it, so it was all her.” As he’d told Frisk way back in his prison cell, monsters were useless when it came to barriers; even if a human stole their magic and tried to use it to fuel a barrier, it wouldn’t stick. “Givin’ it away didn’t hurt me at all. It was jus’ like I’d been workin’ really hard, and I was fine the next day. I’m still a little tired from last time, but I feel like I just need ta get home ‘n go to sleep.”

“Hm.” At least Asgore looked thoughtful now, not angry or alarmed. “Has she ever passed any magic to you in a similar fashion?”

Something came into his mind and straight out his mouth: “No, but we did share a dream where she was able t’touch me, even though we were way far apart. Think that has somethin’ ta do with it?” Argh, that stupid fucking stone—

Luckily, this information didn’t seem to make as big an impression. Asgore just shook his head, looking helplessly at the scientist. “What do you think of all this, Doctor?”

“Hmmm…” The reptilian monster folded her arms. “The humans’ royal family has always had the g-gift of magic. She didn’t get any training as a ch-child, did she?” Sans shook his head. “That means it kept growing until she c-came to the Underground, and this environment p-probably stimulated it further. Humans who don’t use their magic as children will usually h-have more power as adults, and her magic didn’t manifest as anything d-destructive, so she was able to w-wait until the optimal time to learn how to use it.”

The King picked up the teapot. “How is she able to turn a monster’s power directly to her own use? And what about the shared dream?”

“I d-don’t think she’d be able to do that with a regular m-monster, Your Majesty. I think it’s because a boss monster’s S-SOUL is powerful enough that he had magic to spare, and his intention for her t-to have enough magic to p-protect them was the impetus.” She turned to Sans. “Have you been in proximity to her at another t-time when she needed m-magic and you wanted her to have m-more, or was this the first time those c-conditions existed?”

The skeleton thought it over, and had to shake his head. “Nah, this was the first time we were in that bad a situation. So, it’s not gonna keep happenin’ at random? It’s just ‘cause she needed it an’ I wanted her ta have some?” And we were cozying up? he managed not to add.

“I th-think so. It doesn’t hurt that you’ve spent so much time around each other, or that she’s been to the Underground and already l-likes monsters. Given that and your naturally strong c-capabilities, that could explain how her body was able to internalize your magic and express it for her own p-purposes. The same factors would facilitate physical c-c-contact in your dream.”

Sans nodded as calmly as he could, clamping his jaws shut as the truth spell urged him to say something about wanting to give her a lot more magic on purpose.

“Fascinating,” Asgore murmured. He absently picked something out of his beard. “All things considered, it doesn’t sound like she poses an immediate threat to any of us, and we may well benefit from her presence. Therefore, I will trust your judgment and Undyne’s, and allow her to stay for now. However, I will hold both of you responsible for her actions. Is that clear?”

“Sure, Yer Majesty.” Sans held the stone out to Alphys, who slipped into her coat pocket. “I’m gonna get goin’ now, if that’s all right.”

“Absolutely,” the King said, getting to his feet. “Welcome back.” He started to extend his hand, but withdrew it as Sans hopped up and started toward the door, hands in his pockets.

“I-I’ll see you out,” Alphys said quickly, covering the awkward moment. “If you’ll e-excuse me, Your Majesty—”

Asgore nodded, sinking back to the couch. A glance over his shoulder puzzled Sans: instead of being mad at the deliberate slight, the King was scowling and staring at nothing again, obviously back to his unhappy thoughts.

For once, Alphys went straight ahead of him, holding the door wide and closing it right behind them. “I didn’t w-want to ask this in f-front of King Asgore,” she stage-whispered up at him, and Sans obligingly knelt to hear her better. “Everything you were saying about exchanging your m-magic—are you…um…”

Sans gestured impatiently. “Spit it out, Al. Like I said, I’m not gonna—”

“A-are you in love with Frisk?!”

…Well, shit. Sans had forgotten how invested Alphys could get in any kind of narrative, and how quickly she’d pounce on any hint of romantic feelings between anyone, fictional or not. When he failed to immediately deny it, the scientist’s face nearly split in triumphant glee. “I knew it! The way y-you were going on, trying not t-to say too much—it was b-better than a whole p-play!”

“Shhh!” he hissed, though no one was even in sight, much less earshot. “Come on, Al! What would that even matter?!”

“Are you k-k-kidding me? Direct magical c-conversion doesn’t happen every day! It’s only possible between m-monsters in a reproductive context, and I’ve never heard of it at all between a monster and a h-human! Y-you gave it to her and sh-she used it twice!” The scientist slapped her own face and rocked side to side so gleefully that Sans thought she was going to keel over. “Everything I said to His M-Majesty was true, b-but there’s n-no way your magic could be interchangeable unless your SOULs had developed an incredibly strong b-b-bond!” Something like a tiny squeal. “I c-can’t b-believe this! You’ve g-g-got to promise me to b-bring her here tomorrow so I can s-see it for myself!”

“She was gonna come visit you anyway!” Sans protested. “I’m not puttin’ a show on for ya, okay? You can just study her magic!”

Alphys dropped her arms and gave him a look that made him more nervous than the entire interview with the King combined. “What?” he asked warily.

She held up one claw, then pulled a small device out of her coat. It was a square of glass set on a rod only a few inches long, framed with stones in eight colors. The scientist rubbed the white one and held it up as the glass came alive, flowing and surging within its frame like a drop of oil on water. “Hold s-still, please.”

Sans allowed Alphys to peer through the glass to check his SOUL, wishing more than ever that he could see it for himself. “How’s it lookin’?” he inquired carelessly, fooling neither of them. “What’s my LV?” A remarkably stupid question: it had been 20 for four or five years now, and LV didn't go any higher than that.

The scientist stared for so long that Sans had to reach down and tap her on the head. “Hellooo? Alphys? Ya there?”

Alphys didn’t move, except to say, faintly, “It’s 17.”

A very long pause. “I must be misunderstandin’ something,” Sans finally rumbled, “‘cause yer makin’ it sound like I lost a few LV. That doesn’t happen.”

“Be honest,” said Alphys, still staring. “How many p-people did you k-k-kill when you were with the h-humans?”

“Uh…one. Just…one. Someone who was tryin’ really hard ta murder her right in front’a me.” It was true, no matter how hard he thought about it. He hadn’t killed that group of poachers on his way back from bringing Snowdrake to the Underground, or even the fucking bastard who’d said something about her and called him names right to his face. “What does it matter? How would I even lose EXP? It’s not like I un-killed anyone!”

Alphys was starting to grin again. “I, er, w-won’t ask too many p-p-personal questions, but…do you feel…nicer when y-you’re around her?”

Sans scowled, but it was hard to keep up. “Are you sayin’ I’m gettin’ so mushy that it’s knockin’ my LV down? Remember the part where that’s literally impossible?!”

“These don’t l-lie, Sans.” The scientist waved the device at him. Sobering, she said, “I don’t th-think we should mention this to Asgore. He’s still a little, um, t-touchy about humans and m-m-monsters.”

“Agreed,” Sans mumbled.

She grimaced, and fiddled with the device, staring at the ground. “Um...d-does she still like p-plays? At all?”

Sans didn't know what to say. “If it'd make you happy, then yeah, I guess she does.”

“Hmm. I think y-you're probably right.” Alphys smiled in a quiet way he didn't usually see, then gave him that knowing look again, tucking the glass back into her coat. “I have a p-proposition for you. Just let me track your LV when you come here with Frisk tomorrow, and I won’t s-say anything strange to her about your SOULs. D-deal?”

He didn’t bother accusing her of blackmail: it was blackmail. Sans tried to look very scary, but she just folded her stubby arms at him until he stood up, said, “It’s too fuckin’ hot out here. See ya,” and was gone.

 ~

 “Wow,” said Undyne. “That’s…wow.”

“Indeed,” murmured Toriel. She took another bite of apple, dabbing her mouth with the household’s single clean napkin. “You opened the box, and reclaimed your memories?”

Frisk nodded, cheeks glowing. “It’s been very hard,” she said, unable to keep a little quaver out of her voice.

This was honestly not what she'd had in mind. She'd planned to tell Toriel everything that had happened with Sans, explaining her mission and her plans for humans and monsters, and what a peaceful future could look like; instead, the former Queen had asked a few questions about her personal life, and now Frisk couldn't stop talking about it.

Toriel took her hand, breaking her out of her guilty thoughts, and Frisk smiled at her gratefully. “I think I’ve cried more in the past week or so than I have in the past year,” the priestess confessed. Not to mention more hugs in the last three weeks than the past three years. “So far, the second fortune seems to be coming true. Making it to the Underground was one of the hardest parts, so we’ll see how my plan might work from here on. And…” She coughed. “I’m not ashamed of what else might happen, I just…”

The air in the room got a little more heavy, the silence more complicated. They were sitting around the table in the chairs Undyne had charged out to grab from someone else’s house; Frisk had been feeling so emotional in general, and so grateful to have two other women to confide in, that she’d told them nearly everything, including the fortunes and the bit about having a child very soon. Undyne was visibly working up to the giant, inevitable question of “Who?” when the boss monster shook her head. “I hope, Frisk, that you’ll think very carefully before you make any decisions of that magnitude,” Toriel said disapprovingly.

Frisk was about to answer when all three women stopped, looked at the kitchen, glanced at each other, and did a sort of collective shrug. Toriel cleared her throat. “Besides abstinence, of course, do you know the steps you should take in order to avoid that outcome?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Frisk replied. Undyne looked lost, but Frisk wasn’t in the mood to explain human biology and birth control—it was awkward enough having to say why she needed to bring her bag with her to the bathroom. She also planned to never ask Toriel whether she thought a run-of-the-mill contraceptive would be sufficient against a boss monster’s magic.

“Well,” Undyne said firmly, moving on, “if it’s a big damn family you want, we’re not going anywhere.”

“Stop it, or I’m going to cry again,” Frisk scolded her, and they chuckled.

There was a more comfortable silence as they finished the last of the apples. “I hope this goes without saying, but if there is anything I can do for you while you are here, my child, you need only ask,” Toriel said, dabbing at her fur again.

“Actually,” said Frisk, “I would like a favor. We brought two wagons with us. One of them has gifts for everyone, and the other has a few provisions and my herbal supplies. Could you please check whether they’ve been inspected, and when we can go unload them?”

Toriel hesitated. Frisk understood why: it was a more official duty than Toriel had performed in a while. “I know it’s a lot to ask,” the human said, “but…”

“For you, dear, I will.” The boss monster sighed deeply. “I’d better do so now.” She folded the napkin and pushed her chair back. “Will you take her home with you, Captain?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. I��” Undyne’s face fell. “Oh. Uh. Actually, my house is…”

Toriel sighed again. Frisk couldn’t help grinning. “Did you burn it down, or wreck it?”

“It was a training exercise that got too awesome,” the Captain said proudly. “I regret nothing! But, uh, I don’t have a house. I’ve been crashing with Papyrus.” She thumped the table. “Don’t worry, Frisk, I’ll stick with you. I’d do it even if His Majesty hadn’t ordered me to!”

Frisk winced, recalling what Sans had told her about the royal pair’s falling-out. A moment later, the fish monster caught herself and winced.

Sure enough, the former Queen’s hands were now gripping her robe, her eyes distant. “Did he?” she inquired. “How typical. Heaven forfend he speak to you or protect you himself, my child.” The boss monster shook her head. “You may either stay here or at the inn tonight, but starting tomorrow, my child, I’d like you to stay with me in the Ruins. You’re very welcome, too, Undyne.”

“But—” Frisk wished she could stuff the word back into her mouth as the monsters looked at her curiously. Somehow, she couldn’t bring herself to say that that was too far from Sans. “We’ll see,” she said lamely.

Undyne nodded. Toriel studied Frisk for a moment before saying, “All right, then. I’ll check on the wagons before I head home. Good night, dear.” She got to her feet, giving Frisk another hug. “Sleep well, Undyne—” She raised her voice. “I don’t know why you’ve been lurking back there, Sans, but I hope you also sleep well.”

“Yeah, I know it’s your house, boss, but eavesdropping is creepy,” Undyne said in the kitchen’s general direction. “Good night, Your Majesty. It’s, uh…it’s good to see you again.”

Toriel smiled a little, and let herself out.

The giant skeleton emerged from the back room, grumbling something about privacy. “Oh, bullcrap,” the fish monster retorted. “It’s not our fault your magic’s so damn strong. A kid could’ve felt it when you came in.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Sans went into the living room and stretched out on the floor, looking at them upside down. “I see Tori got my note. Must’a woke ‘er when I knocked.”

Frisk and Undyne exchanged nods of agreement to not tell him what’d happened. “How’d it go with Asgore?” asked the latter.

“Pretty much what I expected. He made me use a damn truth stone, but at least now he knows I wasn’t lyin’ about Frisk wantin’ ta help everyone.”

Undyne scowled. “That sucks.” She sniffed. “You know what? It reeks in here. I don't mind it, but Frisk deserves better. C'mon, pu—Frisk, we're going to the inn.”

The priestess glanced at Sans, who looked as irate as she felt. “Maybe—”

“That's great. Night, boss!”

It was no use. Twelve minutes later, Frisk was staring at her reflection in the hotel's bathroom mirror, listening to Undyne's energetic nighttime routine in the next room.

The human sighed as dramatically as she could, turning out the light. Oh, well. At least she'd be able to get some sleep.

 ~

 Frisk was too tired to sleep.

For one thing, her brain just wouldn't stop berating her for not sleeping, and for being at all unhappy. She'd made it Underground! She was home! She'd hugged Toriel just a few minutes ago; Undyne was in the next room; the abused monsters were all safe with their families; Sans and Papyrus' house was in easy walking distance...

It was wonderful. It was everything she'd wanted so much as a child that she'd had to forget it to even function again.

...But she couldn't sleep, because she couldn't scoot over and curl up against her giant, grouchy apprentice, which he...probably still was? They hadn't talked about that. They hadn't talked about several things that they really should have already. She'd been exactly brave and tipsy enough the other night to convey her intentions, but that had been pretty one-sided. Just for fun, Frisk tried saying it to herself: I gave him homework to do before he can have sex with me. It...didn't sound better in her head.

She heaved a sigh and burrowed under the thick hotel pillows to escape her own thoughts. Could this situation be any more ridiculous? How many steps had they skipped in a normal courtship? Was it even a courtship if he was both desperate and terrified to touch her?

She didn't care. She just wished he was here.

Frisk must have dozed off like that, because when she sat up, the pillows tumbled off the bed. “Sans?” she whispered.

Something rustled by the door. The priestess fumbled for the lamp, but her hand encountered bone as he reached it first.

It should have been a lovely moment, but the light clicking on forced her to throw the covers over her head. Sans chuckled, giving her a little shiver. "Nice ta see you, too," he murmured.

Now Frisk was squinty and self-conscious. There had been just enough room in her satchel for her oldest, frumpiest, most easily wadded-up nightgown; she'd also forgotten to pack a hairbrush, and the hotel only had huge, saw-toothed ones for monster fur. “What are you doing here?” she asked, sounding more petulant than she meant to.

Pause. "Leavin', I guess," he said in evident displeasure.

"No!" Frisk flew out of the covers and grabbed for his wrist. "I'm sorry! Don't—"

"Hey, hey, easy," Sans said gently, sitting on the floor and smoothing her hair out of her eyes. Frisk moved over on her knees to bury her face in the white fur of his collar, and he rested his hand on her back. She missed the soft, disbelieving smile that crossed his face. "Just wanted t'check on ya. 's kinda weird bein' back in my stinky ol' bachelor pad with just me 'n Pap."

"I bet," Frisk said, petting the fur on his collar. "I wish we could find another bed big enough for you. Mine's been in that room for a couple of centuries at the very least, so it's not going anywhere."

He snorted. "I don't think my room's even big enough ta hold it. The whole room'd just be bed." They both considered this, and he said, "Honestly, I'd be okay with that," to which she had to nod agreement.

It was quiet, except for the snoring next door. "Is Papyrus still asleep?" asked Frisk.

"Yeah. I hope Tori got the wagons taken care of so we can feed 'im tomorrow." Sans lifted both pillows back onto the bed. "I'd be okay, 'cept ya went an' got me used to eatin' every day, so..."

"I'm not sorry." Frisk yawned. She was getting hungry for something more substantial than apples, but knew better than to ask. It was impossible to forget the fear of not knowing when she'd eat again; she had to remind herself that she wouldn't die from missing a couple of meals, and that the monsters had been living this way for years. If she had her way, it wouldn't be for much longer!

Sans was playing with the ends of her hair. "So..."

"Mm-hmm." Despite herself, Frisk was relaxing, her legs complaining about having to keep her upright. It'd been a very long day, and the little tugs on her scalp felt wonderful.

The giant skeleton nodded vaguely. "Alphys wants t'see ya," he mumbled. "She missed you, a'course, but she mostly doesn't believe me 'bout your magic bein' super-duper amazing." Frisk made a pleasantly indifferent sound. "And..." She felt him tense up. "You were right."

"About what?" she asked, opening her eyes, not quite looking up at him.

"Alphys checked my LV—ever heard of it?" She shook her head. "It stands for 'level of violence,' which is exactly what it sounds like. Monsters figured out how ta quantify it a long time ago, 'n mine's been 20 for years an' years. If it could go higher than that, I'd probably be in the forties or fifties by now. Well..." Deep breath. "It's gone down to 17."

"Hm." Frisk scratched her nose where a few white strands were tickling it. "Is it usually difficult to lower it?"

That must not have been the reaction Sans was looking for: he growled at her under his breath, withdrawing his hand. "It's not 'difficult,' kitten-pants, it's impossible. LV is what it is. There's no take-backs on killin' people. I shouldn't be so spoiled by livin' in a nice place with a nice lady an' nice food that I somehow got less evil. It doesn't work like that."

"You're not evil, Sans. You're not perfect, and you have done a lot of terrible things—" He grunted, and she persisted, "—but that doesn't mean you're irredeemable. If you were, you wouldn't care if you were evil or not."

He grunted again, which was not the answer she was looking for. Frisk poked his sternum. "I think you're looking at it the wrong way. You've been absorbing years of accumulated negativity down here, haven't you? What if you've been...I don't know, negating it with better emotions, or maybe sloughing it off like Gaster said? Would that account for your LV going down?"

He just shrugged, and she retaliated with more poking. "Then tell me this: did you kill anyone yesterday, before Undyne attacked you?"

His massive ribcage swelled, carrying her outward and back in as he sighed. "No. One guy said somethin' gross, so I stabbed 'im in the foot. That was it."

She believed him. "And if you'd encountered him a month ago, would you only have stabbed him in the foot?"

The orange of his eyes dimmed. "...No. I'd'a killed him an' all of his buddies, no questions asked."

"All right, then." Frisk absently ran a finger down his ribs, pausing halfway down as he twitched. Was he ticklish? "That's another thing: if your magic's poisonous, why didn't I get sick and die when you gave me some of it?"

The skeleton laughed, short and harsh, nudging her hand away. "I barely even know how ya got it in the first place, sweetheart. Don't ask me why it worked or didn't work a certain way. 'm still not okay with just goin' for it the ol'-fashioned way an' hopin' you'll be fine."

That was the second time he'd called her that. Frisk's heart was in her throat. There was no wine or home-ground advantage here; she had to jump right in. "So..." She tried to sound playful, and was pretty sure she just sounded nervous. "Is that a 'no' after all? You don't ever want to try it? I know you haven't had much chance to practice what I asked, but..."

He had stopped moving—no breathing, nothing. The priestess pulled back a little. "Sans?"

"Then what?" he rumbled.

Frisk's hackles rose. "What do you mean, 'then what'?"

"I mean, what happens if we do it 'n I don't kill ya? Then what?"

It was a reasonable question, and she'd just been telling herself they needed to talk about it. Now that she had to answer, though, her mind was a roaring blank. "...Then...that would be...good?"

His hand flattened across her back and shoulders. "Yeah. At the very least, you could cross it off the list of stuff that's gotta happen for monsters t'go free. Sucks that gettin' knocked up is part of the deal.” Snort. “Maybe it's not too late ta find someone you'd actually want the kid to look like. You've still got a zillion guys ta pick from. There's, what, a month left before the timing starts t'get—"

The priestess pushed away hard, ignoring the pain in her chest. "What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded, sitting back to stare up at him. "Is it supposed to be some kind of joke? Or are you saying I'd sleep with anyone in order to make everything else happen?"

He blinked, realizing exactly what he'd said. "Uh. When ya put it like that..." The skeleton tried to shrug. "Heh. Nah, I was...I was just kiddin'."

"No, you weren't!" She jerked a hand upward and snapped her fingers twice, creating a bubble in which she could convey her thoughts at the proper volume. "I know what a joke sounds like, and that wasn't it!"

Sans scratched the back of his skull, bone grating on bone. "Fuck. I didn't mean—"

"You didn't mean what?" Frisk was too tired and hormonal for this! "What kind of shallow, selfish, irresponsible moron do you think I am, Sans?!"

"I don't!" The giant skeleton held up his hands, scooting back against the wall. "Wouldja calm down? Yer not dumb, or shallow, or whatever, and ya gotta be the least selfish person ever! Jus' forget about it, okay?"

"No!" She glared at him till he couldn't meet her eyes. "What were you trying to say? Was it, 'Frisk, I am concerned that you're rushing a major life decision for both of us based on something someone told you at a street fair, and I would like to discuss the long-term consequences, such as the ramifications of a child being half human and half boss monster'?"

"Yes! Exactly! ...Pretty much!"

"Then why didn't you say that? Why frame it as me being a shallow, selfish, irresponsible moron?!" The pain in her chest was getting worse. "No, don't answer that! Here's a better question: are you really that insecure? Do you honestly believe that the only reason anyone could ever love you was because they had to?!"

Sans looked as if the universe had crashed to a standstill. His eyes had gone blank, and his mouth moved a little, but nothing came out.

Frisk cleared her throat and swept her hair behind her ears, face burning. "I know you can't change how you think of yourself overnight, but until you do, I'm not going to sit here and let you insult me or you like that," she said, soft but firm. "Is that understood?"

No answer. His gobsmacked expression didn't change; in fact, he wasn't moving at all.

Despite herself, Frisk wanted to laugh. Poor Sans. He hadn't expected that word, had he? Purely to snap him out of it, the priestess said, "If you really can't make up your mind, then tell me so I can find someone e—"

"No!"

It was Frisk's turn to sit very still as the echoes died away. The boss monster glanced up at the barrier. He shook his head violently, scrubbed his face in both hands, and let his head drop back against the wall. "Look, I'm...I didn't think I was still so damn scared, okay? I thought I was gettin' over it, but when we're actually talkin' about this stuff, I—"

"You don't think I'm scared? I'm the one who's having a child!" If she had to spell it out for him further, then so be it: "Listen to me, Sans. I'm not doing any of this because a fortune told me to. It just helped me figure out how to get what I already wanted. Do you understand?"

His sockets slowly widened, his entire skull reddening, and now her face was hot again. "It's your turn to say something," Frisk mumbled.

Her apprentice rolled his head sideways, eyes flicking toward her, as if he'd scare her off by looking for too long. "So...ya really..." His voice faded and didn't come back.

Frisk desperately wanted to hug him again. Instead, she sighed, rubbed her breastbone – was it heartburn? – and summoned all her priestessliness to say, "Here's what I'd like to happen, Sans. We'll still be friends, I'll be your teacher, and you'll remain my bodyguard until we both decide otherwise. If you make up your mind and decide you want more than that,you need to tell me when you're ready. I won't bother you about it again."

Sans shifted his weight, but didn't answer. The priestess turned onto her side away from him, cuddling a pillow to her midsection—stress always made her cramps worse. "It's very late. In fact, at this point, it's very early. Please go and see if the wagons have been brought in, and have the gifts and the herbal supplies moved to Snowdin. The food can be distributed wherever it's most needed." She didn't hold in a yawn. "I'm going to sleep in for as long as Undyne lets me. We'll come to your house as soon as we're both up. All right?"

No response. "All right," she said. A click of her tongue, and the barrier was gone. Frisk got under the covers, rearranging the other pillow under her head. "Turn out the light, please."

Silence. The light clicked off. She heard him move toward the bed; something smooth touched her cheek, and without thinking, Frisk reached up and clasped his forefinger. "Good night, Sans."

His hand slipped away. Her chest hurt so much that she wanted to cry again.

...He hadn't gotten up yet. Could he tell that she didn't mean the calm, logical things she'd said, and how much she wanted him to stay?

No, it wasn't his job to read her mind, and at least one of them had to be sensible about all of this. Frisk stayed quiet, burying her face in the pillow as she heard him climb to his feet.

But instead of the whisper of magic taking him away, there came a shuffling sound and a soft thump, and another shuffle and thump; a whooshing sound, the smell of leather—the boss monster was removing his slippers and his overcoat, tossing them on the floor. Frisk sat up, trying to see him in the total darkness. "Sans, what are you—"

There was a strange feeling in the air, and a sort of grunting sound, analogous to a human trying to break wind. "There. Think I got it," he said after a moment.

That was strange; he hadn't moved, but his voice sounded much closer. Thoroughly confused, Frisk edged away as he sat down on the bed. The pain in her chest had almost disappeared, but she forgot to breathe as Sans shifted even closer. The mattress creaked, and his shoulder bumped hers as he reached across her lap, resting his weight on her other side and bringing his face just a few inches away.

Frisk's heart was thumping so hard that she couldn't think straight; she didn't understand what was so different about him until she reached up to touch his cheekbone, just below the light from his sockets. Suddenly, it hit her: she could spread her fingers and cover almost the entire side of his face. "You shrunk?" she squeaked.

Sans chuckled again, and Frisk felt-lightheaded. "Ya wanted me t'work on that, right?" He placed his human-sized hand on hers. "Ta-da." Pause. "Man. It's like wearin' clothes that're way too tight. Dunno how long I can keep this up."

Still in disbelief, the priestess rubbed her thumb across his nasal ridge, feeling his breath on her forearm. That explained why his eyes were only about a foot above hers now—it was convenient, but extremely disconcerting, to say the least.

"Till then..." He took her wrist. "Here's somethin' else I wanna try."

Frisk shook her head. "What do you mean? Something like—yeep!"

"Shit!" Sans dropped her hand like a piece of red-hot metal. "Did I bite ya? 'm sorry, I—"

"No! No, I just thought..." She tried to look at her palm, which of course she couldn't in the dark, wondering if she was losing her mind.

Sans let his head drop to her shoulder; she had the impression that he was getting ahold of himself before he sat back up and reclaimed her hand. Frisk tried not to jump as it happened again: he pressed her palm to his mouth, and instead of bone, she felt something warm and soft, exactly as if he'd kissed it.

She now had no idea what to say or what to expect. It was a huge relief to be drawn safely against him, his arms winding around her, stroking her hair and down her back. "So, yeah," he murmured into her hair.

At this size, his touch was a little less gentle than usual, not as light or careful, and he was holding her tighter. Her heart was doing the glued-together thing again; like every other part of her body, it reveled in being held like this, but it wanted her to move even closer and let him squeeze her harder. "Yes?" she managed.

"So...what all did you want me t'do again? Fix the size thing, make up my mind, quit hatin' myself?" The bones of his arms and ribs were starting to dig into her as his grip tightened. "Is..." He exhaled. "I still don't like me that much, so...is two outta three okay?"

Frisk's heart soared. She put her arms around him – all the way, for once – and let him bury his face in her neck, nearly crushing her against his ribcage. He was definitely hurting her now, but she didn't care—if anything, it wasn't enough. "Maybe," she said into his shoulder, playing with the folds of his shirt, which he obviously hadn't figured out how to downscale with the rest of him. "You don't have to be as confident as Papyrus, but are you willing to at least tolerate yourself?"

The skeleton shook his head a little, as if trying to rattle the words loose, then raised it enough to say, "I 'unno. 'm pretty lazy, an' it sounds like a lotta work."

"There you go again!" Frisk tugged on the shirt for emphasis. "You're not lazy. You've done so much for me and for the other monsters—would it kill you to do something for your sake?"

A long pause, ending on a shaky sigh. "Can I start with yer sake, maybe work up to mine?"

She closed her eyes, melting a little. "Deal." It was incredibly tempting to tell him how cute he was, but she didn't want to risk embarrassing him enough to start a full-blown pout. And as long as they were doing this... "Would you turn the light back on, please?"

A short pause. "Don't wanna."

"Why?" Inspiration struck: "I know I look awful, but you can just close your eyes."

"Wha—what kind of stupid crap is that? You—"

"Ha! You see?" She poked him in a random rib. "See what it's like?"

"Ha, ha, lady," Sans growled in her ear, making her pulse flutter again. He shifted his weight without letting her go. "'s not you, dummy. 'Sides, I can see pretty well in the dark already, 'member? I just figure I look goofy as hell, all bones and then this fleshy stuff hangin' off my mouth. At least ya can't see my tongue when I've got it out."

"Your...oh." Frisk's face was even warmer. "So that's what that was." Well, that was good to know. If he was worrying about how he looked with lips on, then that meant he planned to keep them on, which meant...

"Yep. I figured it out from bein' human. Wasn't that hard." Sans ran his phalanges over her scalp, and stopped dead at the sound she made. "Wouldja knock it off? I can't think straight when ya do that."

"Do what?" A sudden, kittenish impulse made Frisk run her nail down the back of his skull.

He growled again, much deeper. "That does it." Before she could react. Sans' fingers wound themselves into her hair, metacarpals spread in a loose grasp on the back of her head. She swallowed very hard, but let him tip her face up to his and lean in. His mouth brushed her lips, the lightest touch—

Frisk made another small sound, and to her frustration, his head snapped up. "What's wrong?" he demanded. "'s not my fault I don't know what I'm doin', I'm just tryin' not ta—"

He stopped as Frisk took his head in both hands. "Nothing's wrong. Now do it again," she whispered.

With a blink, and a deep breath, Sans let her pull him down to touch mouths again, but only for a moment before he ducked his head and dropped both hands for the first time. "You know...maybe this ain't such a good idea." She'd never heard him sound like this—not angry, but so self-conscious that he couldn't bring himself to look at her, even in the dark. "There's gotta be other stuff I can do fer—"

"Sans," she said, and when his eyes cut back to her, Frisk rose on her knees, groped around for the back of his skull, and leaned down to kiss him so hard that he had to catch himself before she knocked him over. Whatever magic he was using felt real enough to her: warm and yielding, it offered just enough resistance for him to kiss her back as his arms came up again, almost shyly.

She enjoyed the slow, deliberate movements for several seconds, then paused, silently daring him to stop; she was almost immediately rewarded with a hand threading its way back into her hair, pulling hard enough for a very nice twinge of pain. His other arm circled her waist, and Frisk scowled as his head moved down again. But a moment later, something sharp grazed her neck, and she cried out, grabbing blindly to keep him there.

Luckily, Sans seemed to have gotten the point. He chuckled, an almost predatory sound; something hot and damp trailed up the curve of her throat and along her jawline, his grip on her hair holding her in place so he could lick her neck again, and again, pressing his tongue hard enough to send chills and heat racing through her.

The boss monster let his teeth drift over her skin once more, a little edge of fear sharpening the pleasure. He nipped here and there, careful to lick anywhere he'd bitten too hard, until he misjudged and made her gasp aloud. When he paused to check on her, Frisk shook her head and leaned into him, humming the tiniest bit of encouragement.

That was all the invitation he needed: the world spun as Sans lowered her to the mattress, shoving the pillows aside and discreetly hitching up his baggy trousers. Frisk allowed him to settle himself most of the way on top of her, breathing deeply into the crook of her neck and giving it a few gentle laps. "You didn't mean it, didja?" he said, barely audible.

The priestess swallowed, trying to remember what the hell he was talking about. "I don't—"

He nuzzled her cheek, his phalanges tracing her collarbone. "I know ya didn't really mean it, findin' someone else if I couldn't make up my mind, 's just kinda..."

Frisk sighed impatiently. "I meant literally everything I said except for that."

Tap, tap went his fingers on her shoulder. "Everythin', huh?"

"All of it." Frisk rested her cheek on him. Compared to the incident in the bathroom, when all that had set him off was a glimpse of bare skin, he seemed in complete control of himself; maybe that was another reason he'd wanted the lights off. Either way, she wondered what would happen now. Was he going to go back to his house right away? Cuddle with her till Undyne got up? At this time of the month, it wasn't as if they could—

"'Kay," said Sans, with a different note in his voice. He shifted upward and kissed her again, more confident. Frisk started to speak, but forgot it when his tongue flicked against her lower lip, his hand working its way under her head. Her arms draped around his shoulders as her lips parted, and the feeling of his tongue sliding into her mouth made her whole body turn to plaster itself against him.

Letting him taste her was so absorbing that it took Frisk a minute to realize what his other hand was doing. The backs of his fingers stroked down her neck and along her collarbone, but they didn't stop there; his phalanges deliberately traced the side of her breast, and she was tingling in anticipation when his hand kept right on going to her waist, reaching under her thigh to pull it up so he could—

Frisk went rigid and shoved at his clavicle. The moment her mouth was free, she emitted a steady stream of "Waitwaitwaitwait!"s that brought him up short.

Very reluctantly, he sat up, and she grabbed a pillow to hold between them as an extremely ineffectual barrier. "What the fuck?" the boss monster snarled.

She could have slapped him. "Don't give me that!" she snarled right back. "No one said we were going any further than that, and we can't right now!"

Sans was panting so hard that she could feel it heating the entire pillow. "Okay," he said, trying very poorly to sound reasonable. "Right. Asgore, destiny, can't get knocked up yet blah blah—"

Well, at least she was too angry to be embarrassed. "It's not just that! I've got my period, Sans. You know, menstruation? Did you come across it in any of my books?"

He blinked again, this time in thought. "Yeah. Is that how you say that word? I think I was drunk when I read about it." He shook his head. "So you're...what now?"

God damn it. "I'm bleeding from the exact place where you were going. It's technically possible to go ahead and have sex anyway, but I'm tired, and it already hurts a little, and it would make a horrible mess, and I would completely hate it. That's why the answer is 'no' for at least four or five more days, and then there's Asgore and destiny blah blah. Understood?"

Sans' ardor seemed to have cooled. "Yeah, I get it," he said grudgingly. "Here, close yer eyes."

Frisk thought he was trying to go in for another kiss, but a moment later, the light clicked on. From behind the pillow, she felt another strange pulse of magic. "There. Man, that's better." His clothes shuffled; when her eyes had adjusted enough to look at him, he was back to his usual stature.

She waited, very patiently, and he eventually glanced at her. "So...d'ya want me ta leave?" A beat of silence. "Forever?"

"Of course not, unless you want me to think that you're not interested anymore," Frisk said before she could stop herself.

Squint. Glare. "Is this another thing where you're makin' up stupid crap ta prove a point?" She looked away, and Sans smacked his forehead. "Shit on a brick! No, I'm not ditchin' you 'cause I can't get laid right this second! I just figured..." Squirm. "That was really...y'know..." He sat down again, face glowing. "'m sorry. Did I hurt ya?"

Frisk winced. Now that the mood was officially gone, her neck was starting to feel distinctly chewed-upon, but she didn't want to talk about that. "No, I just meant my period. It's normal to have some pain or discomfort as your body's getting rid of certain things. Basically, it's Nature's punishment for not having a baby yet."

"Wow. That sucks big time." Scratch, scratch. "So...what can I do right now to not get in any more trouble?" he asked slowly.

The priestess gave him a wan smile. "That's an excellent question, but the answer is that you're not really in trouble. If you hadn't stopped when I said to..." She drew a finger across her throat. "But you did, and the rest of it was...fine." She smiled wider, though she couldn't quite look at him. "I think we should go to sleep now."

“Agreed.” Her heart sank as Sans stuck his feet into his slippers and retrieved his overcoat. The lamp clicked off. "Don' mind me," he said abruptly, and turned onto his side, the orange light of his eyes fading.

Frisk sat there for a moment, then climbed over the second pillow, to where his head was resting on the floor. "Good night," she said, and pulled the covers loose from the foot of the bed to get under them from the wrong end.

There was no response, but she felt him reach over to touch her cheek again. She squeezed his forefinger again as his hand rested on the bed; neither of them quite let go as they lay back down, and both swiftly fell asleep.

 ~

 Bam. Babam. BambamBANG went the door.

Frisk jerked awake as light streamed in from the hallway. "What's wrong?" demanded Undyne. "Are you sick, or—"

There was a perfectly frozen moment as the Royal Guard Captain, in her fish-print pajamas and comfiest eyepatch, stared at the High Priestess, resplendent in her rumpled nightgown and a severe case of bed-head, and then at the bleary skeleton on the floor. Then there was no skeleton on the floor, only Frisk reaching for the lamp. Undyne blinked. "Uh..."

"Good morning," Frisk said, not being casual or sheepish, because why would she? "What time is it?"

Undyne scratched her neck, sweeping her loose hair aside. "It's almost eight o'clock. Don't expect me to let you sleep this late again." She glanced at the floor, as if doubting herself. "Rough night?"

Frisk looked at her, and she said, "Yes."

"That sucks." The fish monster came into the room and opened Frisk's satchel. "Not a lot to pick from, is there? You could borrow some of my stuff, but I don't think anything would fit. You're still pretty shrimpy."

"I'd argue if I could." Frisk yawned. "I'll see if I can go shopping later. In the meantime, I should have at least one clean outfit left."

Undyne did a quick, professional sniff test, locating the gown in question and turning to hand it to her. "Here. We've got a busy day. The wagons are ready to be unloaded, and I already had 'em take out...the food...for. Uh." Her eye widened. "That's...wow."

The priestess had been feeling fairly confident that she'd avoided any awkward questions for the moment, though she was dreading the hints Undyne would drop when they got to Sans' house; that wisp of security evaporated under the Captain's stare. "Wow," she said again. "I...damn! Seriously?!"

Frisk had no idea what she—oh. Oh, God. Oh, no. No no no no no—

Undyne had the decency to let Frisk run to the bathroom and stare at herself in the mirror for the count of twenty; then she sauntered in, allowing the human time to snatch her collar up to her chin. "Yep," said Undyne. "Here's your dress." She set it on the counter.

Frisk had another pathetic little hope that that was it, until she glanced in the mirror and saw that her friend's face was completely contorted with the effort of not grinning her giant, toothy, giant grin all over the place. "Really?" Undyne asked rhetorically.

"Shut up." Frisk stared dully at the bruises and occasional tooth mark ringing her neck. "Please, please shut up."

"Pffft! Like I have to say anything!"

"Shut up, please!"

Undyne was shaking her head, not as a threat so much as sheer disbelief. "I—seriously? No offense, but, Sans? I don't believe this!" Her grin faded a little. "Well...” She shrugged. “Not that it's anyone else's business, but just so you know, this is gonna mess some people up pretty bad." The grin faded to a smirk. "There's no way we can tell Her Majesty about this, or she'll turn him into a million toothpicks." It faded a little more. "I dunno how serious you guys are, but..." The smile was gone. "I don't think His Majesty would take it that well."

"Undyne, please don't tell anyone yet," Frisk said urgently. "Sans and I agreed not to let things get too far before I've spoken to Asgore about a peace treaty, and don't give me that look! This is as far as we got!"

The Captain held up her hands. "All right! All right! I know how serious you are about makin' peace, and about all of us. I won't mess that up." She straightened and gave a sort of salute, looking very stern in her pajamas and comfiest eyepatch. "My lips are sealed."

The High Priestess nodded. "Thank you." She examined her neck again in the mirror. Undyne closed the door, still shaking her head; when she was gone, Frisk finally permitted herself to smile.

[dustedmagazine]

Ian Mathers’ 2020: We’re stuck inside our own machines

I’ve had a song I loved in high school and haven’t thought much about since stuck in my head. The song “Apparitions” by the Matthew Good Band is a fine example of the alt rock of the late 90s; if you grew up then but somewhere down in the states (or elsewhere) instead of my southern Ontario you may well have your regional equivalents, and like this one they may not resonate terribly strongly outside of their time and place. It popped back into my head after a long time recently and of course 2020 has changed it a little. A song that as a teen I felt keenly as about loneliness (albeit also about how technology can feed into that) of course now plays on my nerves as another small piece of art about the way that most of us (those scared and/or responsible anyway) have only that relatively narrow, technologically mediated connection to the people we love. All of us, artists and listeners alike, are trying to fit our feelings and art and selves down these little connections, with some success.

On a personal level, 2020 wound up being stressful in ways we couldn’t have predicted even after the pandemic hit. In circumstances that could have seen governments on this continent support those unable to work (and those who shouldn’t have to), support those workers who are truly essential, support workers and renters and even landlords and small businesses, instead we got a near-total abeyance of those governments using the resources we provide them with to save any of us. On a personal level my wife and I were lucky enough to be able to work from home (not that it didn’t come with its own forms of stress, and now that I’m off until January I have several work/stress-related illnesses to recover from) but still saw friends and loved ones lose good, used-to-be-sustainable livings overnight, saw family businesses succumb to a near-total absence of effective government support after months of trying to keep above water, etc.

It is probably no surprise that this is not a situation conducive to listening to music, let alone writing about it; I have deliberately and happily kept busy on behind the scenes stuff at Dusted that I could still manage but looking, at the end of the year, at the amount I managed to actually create is demoralizing if not at all shocking. I’m not sure I think next year will be ‘better’ in many important ways, although at our job there is a growing feeling among coworkers that next year has to have some work/life balance because 2020 was, maybe more than anything else, unsustainable.

That’s not to say I didn’t spend a lot of time and emotion on music this year, and if nothing else constant sleep deprivation, stress, and panic meant I was probably open to being deeply moved by all sorts of art even more than normally (it’s gotten to the point where I can’t even read a sad or moving twitter thread out loud to my wife without getting teary, which is kind of… nice?). Funnily enough the band that did the most to keep me sane didn’t really put out anything in 2020. Personal favorite, Low, instead started, in early April, getting on Instagram with something they called on whim “It’s Friday I’m in Low.” With one brief break they have now done by my count at least 35 shows (catalogued here, by the way), every Friday at about 4 my time.

Admittedly it’s easier for Low to pull this off than some bands, since the 2/3 of the trio that sing are a married couple (they’ve had a couple of socially-distanced backyard shows with bassist Steve Garrington, but he’s mostly been isolating elsewhere). These shows have seen the band’s Alan Sparhawk take a mid-set break to do follow-up phone interviews with the acts featured in the COVID-curtailed touring bands series Vansplainingthat they started on YouTube, or just to give a tour round their vegetable garden and talk tips. It’s seen Alan and Mimi Parker draw on their impressive, 25+ year body of work (averaging 4-5 songs a set, I don’t think they’ve repeated themselves yet) and talk a bit between songs about pandemics, politics, song choices, and whether Alan should grab his bike helmet this time.

They’re not the only musicians out there speaking love and sanity (and playing music) into the strange digital interzone filled with hate and disinformation where we’ve all been forced to gather while locked down, but they were and the most consistent and steady signal being emitted each week. No matter how tired I was from work or what new symptoms I’d developed or what horrific thing I read into the news, even if I had to take an emergency nap while it was actually airing, every Friday the show was there. Once things do return to something more like normal, it’s one of the few things I’ll unambiguously miss about this weird-ass year.

So if that makes an argument for Low as my band of the year (admittedly again… it’s not like Double Negative has aged poorly, either), that does a disservice to those 2020 records I did connect with; even if there are still literally dozens I have to go through, many of which I expect to love, my top picks this year (if as unrankable by me as always) hit me as hard as any top pick in recent years did. So here I present a quick and informal top 5, which the rest of my top 20 following in alphabetical order. Here’s hoping for more time and space in 2021 for music, and even more than that, for more support for those who need it from those who could have been providing it all this time. (The Matthew Good Band, incidentally, always did best with their ballads. “Strange Days” is another I’ve had in my head these days; the image of moving “backwards, into a wall of fire” has stuck with me since the 90s and it’s never felt more grimly appropriate.)

Greet Death — New Hell

New Hell by Greet Death

This one is, in some sense, cheating; it came out November 2019. But that just means it’s the latest winner of my personal Torres Prize for Ian Being Late to the Party (so named because becoming slightly obsessed with Torres’ Sprinter just after I sent in my 2015 list was the first time I noticed that one of my favorite records of each year tends to get picked up by me just after I call it quits on the year, no matter how long I try to wait). This very doom and gloom slowcore/metal/(whatever, just know it’s heavy) trio at first felt very much like my beloved Cloakroom (whose Time Well has also won a Torres Prize) but sure enough nuances revealed themselves. Back in February it felt almost a little too negative, but then the rest of 2020 happened. And the extended burns of “You’re Gonna Hate What You’ve Done” and the title track remain searing.

Holy Fuck — Deleter

Probably the record I’ve been trying to write about the longest in 2020, and the one I’m most disappointed in myself that I just couldn’t get the requisite paragraphs together. It’s a wonderful effort from the consistently great Toronto resolutely human-created (and —mediated) dance music quartet, one that both feels like a summation of everything they do well, and with the addition of some outside voices (including strong turns from the singers of both Hot Chip and Liars) a step forward at the same time.

Spanish Love Songs — Brave Faces Everyone

Brave Faces Everyone by Spanish Love Songs

As the year got worse, this roar of defiance only got more crucial for me to hear every so often; I was a big enough fan of it, even after writing it up for Dusted, that when they solicited fan footage for a subsequent music video you may just be able to get a glimpse of me in it. (I’m the one in a “No Tories” t-shirt.) My punk rock-loving twin brother was the one who introduced me to Spanish Love Songs and we were supposed to spend an evening in June screaming along to them live in a packed, sweaty room. I need that in my life again.

Julianna Barwick — Healing Is a Miracle

Healing Is A Miracle by Julianna Barwick

It’s a sign of what 2020 has been like here that even just this album title leaves bruises, and while I privately worried Barwick would have a hard time following up 2016’s sublime Will (probably my favorite record that year), it seems that continuing to take whatever downtime she needs to keep focusing and refining her particular muse has once again yielded amazing results. Anyone who thinks they know what a Barwick track sounds like should really check out, say, “Flowers”, but much of this record absolutely sounds like Barwick, just even better than before. She also boasted my wife and I's favorite streaming concert of 2020, an absolutely gorgeous rendition of this album with Mary Lattimore showing up.

Phoebe Bridgers — Punisher

Punisher by Phoebe Bridgers

I joked on Twitter recently that I have far too nice a dad (and far too good a relationship with him) to be as obsessed as I am with Phoebe Bridgers’ “Kyoto”, but here we are. Like most of her generation, Bridgers’ social media presence ranges from shit-posting to inscrutable, but even though things are often just as hard to figure out in her beautiful songs (as they often are in life), there’s an emotional clarity to them that can just grab you deep down. Couple that with seriously impressive songcraft and the progress from her already astounding debut Stranger in the Alps and more than anyone else in 2020 I’m excited to see just where the hell Phoebe Bridgers is going to go, because it feels like she’s talented and hardworking enough to go just about anywhere and drag a lot of our hearts with her.

Other Favorites

Aidan Baker & Gareth Davis — Invisible Cities II

Anastasia Minster — Father

Deftones — Ohms

Hum — Inlet

Kelly Lee Owens — Inner Song

Mesarthim — The Degenerate Era

Perfume Genius — Set My Heart On Fire Immediately

Protomartyr — Ultimate Success Today

Rachel Kiel — Dream Logic

The Ridiculous Trio — The Ridiculous Trio Plays the Stooges

Sam Amidon — Sam Amidon

Shabason, Krgovich & Harris — Philadelphia

Stars Like Fleas — DWARS Session: Live on Radio VPRO

Well Yells — We Mirror the Dead

Yves Tumour — Heaven to a Tortured Mind

Five Reissues/Compilations/etc.

Aix Em Klemm — Aix Em Klemm

Bardo Pond — Adrop/Circuit VIII

Charles Curtis — Performances & Recordings 1998-2018

Coil — Musick to Play in the Dark

Hot Chip — LateNightTales

Ian Mathers

[cold-b-writing]

Bound Together: Part 12

Utadukeeus: After a good nights rest. Frisk and Toriel got up out of bed and stretched. "I'll go make breakfast." Toriel said, opening her bedroom door. "I'll go see if he's awake!" Frisk giggled. Toriel slowly made her way downstairs in her pajamas and walked over to the kitchen. Frisk skipped down the hallway to Habriel's room. She quickly opened the door cheerfully. "Hey, Habriel." Frisk said. "Are you-" they paused and looked at Habriel. He was sitting up straight in his bed. Hiding most of his face in the palms of his hands, all they could see were his eyes between the cracks of his fingers. The eyes were wide open and had bags. They soon realized he was shivering and breathing dramatically. "Not again...." he mumbled. Skywardsister: They were unsure of how to approach him; they wanted to run to him and embrace him, but ended up approaching him slowly by the foot of his bed with an outstretched arm. "Hey, Habriel," Frisk called softly to the fatigued-looking boy. He barely moved from his position. "Habriel, what's wrong?" Finally they reached him and rested a hand on his shoulder. "You can tell me." Habriel revealed his face at last from behind his palms, displaying a weak face with dark, droopy eyes. Utadukeeus: "Over and over...." Habriel said. "You and mom, over and over and over and over.....I tried to stop.....no matter what I did, it wouldn't change a thing." He started giglling. "It happened over and over, I couldn't stop dreaming about it." He started laughing, which only unsettled Frisk. "So I decided not to sleep....." he placed a hand on his forehead as he laughed again. He kept laughing. He laughed even when tears streamed down his cheeks. He didn't know why he was laughing. But it wasn't funny. Skywardsister: "What? What happened over and over? Here," Frisk pulled him into a hug, though he did not seem all quite there mentally. There were trying their best to comfort him to no avail. "You need to sleep, Habriel! Mom and I have had nightmares too, but we all need to sleep!" Toriel did not hear their conversation while in the kitchen. "Come on! You can tell me what's wrong!" Utadukeeus: "I'm a monster..." Habriel said. Frisk looked up at him. "Every time I close my eyes. I see their faces. They won't go away." "Habriel...." Frisk muttered. "I killed you and mom...." he said. "over and over. I couldn't stop....." Skywardsister: "But it didn't happen," Frisk insisted suddenly. Their eyes opened with fierceness. "I don't think I should tell you, but you may be seeing other timelines. That's what Flowey was trying to remind me of... the timelines in which I... go berserk." They held their head in their hands. "For you, in the present, it didn't happen... it's only that it could have." Utadukeeus: "Oh....how sweet." Habriel said condescendingly. "You finally admit it." "What!" Frisk gasped. "What are you talking about? What's going on?" Habriel looked down at Frisk, smiling menacingly. "Don't you recognize me, partner?" he asked. "It's me." his eyes turned from violet to red within seconds. "Chara...." "What!?" Frisk gasped. "What's going on?" "Sleep well last night?" Chara asked. "I knew one of you would eventually break....." Skywardsister: Frisk tumbled off the bed in an instant at the voice and red eyes, stepping backwards while watching Chara's mind control Habriel's body. "Till one of us breaks?" They asked cautiously, continuing to move towards the open doorway. "You've been waiting all this time? I didn't think you were patient." Utadukeeus: "It's kind of funny..." Chara said, getting out of bed, unsettlingly quick. "During your little argument with Asriel, in front of everyone. You didn't want to take the blame." He placed his hand on his chest. "Oh, but you don't understand." Chara said mockingly. "It was all just a different me." They started giggling maniacally. "What a terrible lie." "Why?" Frisk choked. "Why are you doing this?" "It's simple." Chara shrugged. "To show that even someone like you isn't above consequences. You thought you could just reset and get away with what you did? You can put the blame on me all you want. But the truth is, I didn't help until the very end. All those lives, all that LV gained. That was all your doing." They took a step forward. "But it's all okay, because you can just reset and pretend like none of it ever happened." They took another step. "Or....so you thought....." Skywardsister: "I'm done with resets," Frisk stated grimly. By now, they were in the hallway with their back towards the wall and their front towards the doorway. "I know I can't keep running from what I've done." They were trying to think of their next move; where they could run, what they could say. Utadukeeus: "You're right?" Chara said. "You can't run from this. You think that after what you've done, you can just get a happy ending?" Chara stopped smiling. They actually gave a look of resentment to Frisk. "No. Since when do people like you ever deserve a happy ending? You didn't kill for power, or for any pseudo virtuous reason. You killed because you were curious. Because you thought it was fun. It's disgusting." "Stop it..." Frisk choked. "Tell me something." Chara said. "Did you ever care about any of us? Genuinely care? Or did you just pretend to like us just so you can get that happy ending?" Skywardsister: "I DO care! I care about everyone here!" By now, Toriel had finished making breakfast and could hear Frisk's voice rising from down the hall. She grew concerned, but wasn't sure who they were talking to, and was afraid it was Flowey. "My remorse for everything I'd done isn't enough already?! What do you want?!" Utadukeeus: "I want you to answer for what you've done." Chara said coldly. "You've killed everyone without a second thought. There were countless times where they begged you to stop. They begged for their lives and you didn't care. You wanted to push on because it was fun. You say you care about everyone. But if you did, you'd never have taken that route. Right till the last moment, you could have start over. You wouldn't be dealing with this. But you....you...." Tears streamed down Chara's cheeks. "You had to push on. You had to make me kill my best friend....." Skywardsister: A thud made both children look to the side. Toriel stood over them, displeased and upset, not quite understanding what was happening. Both of them had tears in their eyes, and she didn't know the context or what she could do about it. "Mom..." Frisk whimpered. Utadukeeus: "Children..." Toriel growled. "What's going on here? Explain yourselves." Chara turned to Frisk. "Yeah, Frisk." Chara said. Wiping their tears away. "Go ahead. Tell her what's happening. Tell them what caused this, I'm sure you'll be more than happy to tell her." "Please...." Frisk said, still crying. "Alright then, mother." Chara said. "Since Frisk doesn't have the guts to tell you. I'll gladly share the whole story." Chara smiled menacingly again. Toriel looked over and saw Habriel's eyes were bright red. Skywardsister: Her heart leapt into her throat. This wasn't Habriel. Quickly, she grabbed Frisk by the hand and began to run, out of the house, through the snow. She was steering them towards Snowdin, towards Sans and Papryus' house. Surely they could help them. Maybe they could stay with the skeletons until things returned to normal? Utadukeeus: "You can't run." Chara said, slowly following them from behind. "I'll still get you." They walked over, put on Habriel's jacket and went downstairs and looked for where Toriel hid the knives. They found one and picked it up, smiling. Skywardsister: Toriel sped through the snowfields, finding the town with no time to spare. With Frisk in tow, she banged the door with a fist, startling the skeleton brothers inside the inviting home. "i'll get it, bro," Sans waved his brother off and got up from the couch. As he opened the door, Toriel threw herself and her child inside the house at the first chance. "whoa, hey, tori, what's the problem?" Sans asked, eyeing their haggard appearance and hurried breathing. Frisk looked as if they had been crying, and Toriel seemd to have seen a ghost. Sans closed the door behind them fast, leading them over to the couch and sitting them down in their humble abode. Papyrus was concerned for them, offering to give them anything they needed. Toriel politely declined, but explained their situation. Utadukeeus: "so the kid's not himself?" Sans asked. "know how'd that happen?" "I do....." Frisk said. All eyes were on them. "Do any of you know someone named Chara?" Skywardsister: "oh..." Sans lowered his eyes and sighed at the name. "yeah, kid." Toriel reacted similarly. "Chara was a bit like you, kiddo. Same height, age, even similar hair. Chara lived in the underground before you came along." Utadukeeus: "Well...." Frisk said. "This is gonna be a little complicated. It's easy for Sans to understand because he already knows about most of this." Frisk pulled out their menu and showed everyone the 'Reset' button. "With my Determination." they said. "I can control what's called timelines. If I die, the reset automatically activates and loads a save point for me. Those save points are when I'm feeling determined. But, if I manage to either leave the Underground or break the Barrier. I can do a true reset. That completely moves everything back to square one. With that said, I can go through the Underground in different ways. I can be nice and befriend everyone. Or I can kill everyone." Skywardsister: Toriel sat and heard them out, trying to understand. But it was hard. Only Frisk and Sans and a few select others understood these concepts so easily, and of course it was difficult to suddenly accept the idea that there are pretty much multiple parallel universes in which anything can happen in contrast to this one. Sans attempted to help her understand it, too. Papyrus sat listening beside his brother. Utadukeeus: "There is one timeline." Frisk said. "Where I decided to do the latter. I gained so much LV. I didn't know it, but when I fell in the Underground, I somehow awoke Chara from their grave. They didn't really reveal themselves until the end. They wanted to erase the timeline forever and I refused. They did so anyway. There was nothing but a cold breeze and darkness. Then, Chara offered to make the world again, asking me if I was above consequences. I said no. After a little chat, they made the world and reset the timeline. The new timeline. That's this one. When Flowey talked about how I killed everyone....he wasn't lying. And now Chara's back, and she's possessing Habriel." Skywardsister: "Then what can we do to stop them?" Toriel asked, looking at Sans. "How can we get them to stop possessing Habriel, at least? Then we can worry about dealing with them." Sans looked at his brother solemnly; he recalled the alternate timeline in which he persistently killed Frisk/Chara over and over again because they killed his brother and everyone else he cared about. "I don't know. But we can ask Alphys if she thinks she can conduct some experiments." Utadukeeus: "Wow!" Chara's voice filled the room. All hairs stood up straight as a transparent image of Chara appeared in the middle of the room. "You actually did it!" they said. "You admitted to everyone that you're a murderer! I'm so proud." "Where's Habriel?" Frisk asked. "Lying unconscious in the cold snow outside of the ruins." they said. "But don't worry, I'll give him company as soon as I'm done here." "Why are you doing this, child?" Toriel asked. "Because of that terrible creature." Chara said pointing at Frisk. "They think they can get away with killing all of you and just pretend like everything's okay." Skywardsister: "I know it's not okay! Didn't I just tell you that?! And didn't you just acknowledge me telling you?!" Papyrus hugged his knees to his rib cage in fright at the translucent, demonic child standing before them all. Sans growled, nodded towards Toriel, and teleported away. He hoisted up Habriel's freezing body and brought it into Toriel's house, kept the fireplace going, and returned to the scene. Utadukeeus: "If you truly thought that, none of this would even be happening." Chara said. "You murdered all of them, because it was fun....." "And what about you!?" Frisk snapped. "You wanted to destroy the world and move on to the next one! How's that okay?" "Putting the blame on me again, I see." Chara said. "I'll be honest with you. If I hadn't gained LV, I wouldn't be the terrible creature you see before you." They pointed at Frisk again. "Thanks to you, I got it." Sans teleported back in the room. "so you're doing this because you think they should pay for what they've done." he said. "it's almost like you care about everyone. meanwhile, here you are, throwing habriel around like a toy you hardly care about." "Oh, you wanna talk about him?" Chara said with an unsettling smile. "Let's. Frisk isn't the only person guilty when it comes to him, but all of you. You might not know it, but there's a large number of timelines when Frisk destroyed the barrier and you all immediately moved out to the surface. That boy, no matter the timeline. Ran away to Mt. Ebott, EVERY timeline. Including the ones where you all moved out to the surface. And while you all would make yourselves comfortable and happy, he would lay on the flowers and expire." Chara held her arms out. "No one would be there for him. This is the only timeline where he actually survived. The only reason is that you didn't move out just yet. Despite how you feel now. He's just as much of a broken toy to all of you as he is to me. I'm just much more open about it than all of you." She started laughing. "But leaving him isn't your only sin, now is it?" Chara said, addressing everyone. "I know you all have something to confess." Skywardsister: "Why would you do this to us, child?" Toriel didn't look sad anymore. She was tired of being sad. Of course she still was, but now she looked angry. "Frisk clearly wanted to reverse what they did to us; that's why they reset the timeline. You just want it to be what you believe." Sans folded his arms in disgust. "yeah," he said. "and what gave you the idea that we'd just abandon habriel? the poor kid." Utadukeeus: "So they get bored, kill everyone." Chara said. "Then they reset and try to sweep it all under the rug. That makes it all okay? No, they need to pay." they turned to Sans. "As for Habriel, you've already done it before. At least fifty times, I'll let that sink in." they started chuckle to themselves. "But you know what? I challenge you all to prove me wrong. I invite you all to the ruins where we can all settle our differences. If I win, Frisk doesn't get their happy ending. I kill everyone and erase this world for good! I won't be so kind as to make it again. Since it seems that you're all okay with them killing you anyway. But if you win, I'll admit that I'm wrong. I might even help make everyone's lives better. But that won't happen. None of you stand a chance against me. See you all back in the ruins!" they vanished laughing.

[words-writ-in-starlight]

Tori as Cinders and Jame as Briar Rose. That, thats a great concept. Tori chasing after his sister for thirty years (unlike canon) just gets me.

RIGHT????

Okay, so, some other thoughts I’ve thunk about this.  Obviously I would call it “oh my love (as the cities you were razing)” because that line fucks.

Obviously Tori is both Cinders and Snow/General White--he blames himself for not saving Jame (as all versions of Tori must) and so on his mission to find her, he starts rallying the resistance.  He assumes Jame is dead, at first, while he and Burr and Rowan and Harn and Rose and a couple others escape on a sabotaged ship.  Rose bleeds out from her wounds while she’s pumping oxygen, but with one less person burdening the system means they live to make landfall.  They go into hiding briefly, but then...

Then the Banes start turning out, in huge numbers, slim and lethal soldiers with clawed hands and silver eyes, and black curls shorn down to their scalps.  Tori understands the very first time he sees one, looks into his sister’s eyes, his eyes, and doesn’t see a goddamn thing looking back.  The Bane hesitates, though--not a flinch, just.  An extra moment in raising its arm to shoot him.  Tori shuts his eyes and puts a bullet through its heart, and rips off his glove without thinking, to see the ring on his hand.  Its stone is as white as snow, and he breathes, and breathes, and breathes, and then he reloads his gun and starts shooting Banes.

They are not Jame.  They are not.  He repeats the words until he can shoot them with his eyes open, looking into those silver eyes as they go dim and still.

(Jame, dreaming, sees her own hand rise, holding a gun, pointed at the other half of her soul, and screams no, helpless in the grip of a nightmare, one of the thousands upon thousands of nightmares she sees in fragments, and the hand--hesitates.  And then Tori shoots her--it--them--and she’s gone, snatched away to the infinite mind of a Behemoth, rolling across a planet like a storm front.)

(Her body, the real one, frowns faintly in her glass coffin.)

Tori leads from the front, as General Black.  This is why it’s rather important that he wears all black, you see--the Banes are armored in steel grey with the red crest of the Master for an accent, and an apology wouldn’t bring their general back, if you shot him by accident.  He ignores the way his own people flinch, if he comes up on them too suddenly.  He’s not here to be their friend.  He’s here to be their fixed point, the star they all navigate by, and to follow his ring as it slowly, so slowly, tints darker with each inch the resistance creeps toward the heart of the Master’s power.

Torisen wears his ring on a chain around his neck, after the first time it’s nearly lost in a fight.  He can hide it, that way.  Not everyone is eager to know that their general is seeking the woman they’ve been killing all these years.

(The Banes don’t flinch from him, not quite.  It’s not enough to be noticed as anything more than good luck on his part.  But Tori doesn’t often get shot, either.)

Grimly goes by the name Red Hood and brands his virus the WOLF, and Gorbel and Lyra overthrow their planet’s Snow King and pick his Mirror chips out of their skulls to give the resistance a home base, and the fearless general Aerulan and her wife and guardian, nicknamed Brenwyr the Beast, become known for their gift for evacuating planets before the Master’s forces can hit.  Kindrie, the best healer in the resistance, always knows when someone is going to die, and he’s given the nickname Godfather Death for his talents and his bone-white hair.

The anthem of the resistance is written about Pereden, who slew a Bane Behemoth--except, of course, that he didn’t.  He ordered his people to fall back and then he was never seen again, and Tori didn’t argue when the resistance hailed him as a hero, dead of his wounds.  He needed the support of Pereden’s father, Ardeth, commonly called the Cat.  He kills Pereden quietly for his treason, orders Harn and Burr to burn the body in secret, and bites back the guilt when he replaces Pereden in Ardeth’s affections, as the new Marquis de Carabas.  The resistance needs the money.

(The boy who really did kill the Behemoth died without anyone seeing him, in that same battle, after he brought down the Behemoth through pure dumb luck.  A child, too young for war, really, mourned by only Torisen and his closest advisors, those who knew the truth of Pereden’s treason.  The only witness to Donkerri’s death is the Bane who kills him, and the sleeping soldier watching through its silver eyes.)

The first Bane, the Bane that went wrong and got wired into the Master’s defense grid, is also the Bane whose mind has touched Jame’s the most, in the thirty years of their dreaming.  She knows him inside out, knows that there’s a whole person in there, knows that he’s full of broken glass and hate and the need to kill.  He has some of her memories, some of his own.  She presses the face of her brother, their brother, Torisen, the other half of her soul, into his mind whenever she can, tells him I love him, lived for him, would die for him, protect him.  The Shadow Bane, as he’s been nicknamed by the resistance, coughs out stasis fluid on his knees as Tori’s soldiers pull wires and tubes from the ports on his spine, and then grins, through drenched black hair.

It’s Jame’s face, but she could never wear a smile like that, Tori thinks.  It’s been thirty years since he could feel sick, but he feels the memory of it as the Shadow Bane rises to its--his?--feet.

“So,” he says, standing on shaking legs and ripping the last of the wires away with his own hands.  “You’re the one she loves.”

“Sir?” Burr asks, casting a glance at Tori, as if to ask if they should, maybe, have just shot him.

The Shadow Bane steps forward, wavering, and his starved frame looks nothing like Jame, doesn’t even have her claws, but he has her bright silver eyes and Tori stands his ground.  One of the damp fingers raps him on the chest, where the scarlet glow of Tori’s ring can be seen through his shirt, and the Bane’s voice is low and rasping from disuse, utterly unfamiliar, but the laugh is still bright and cruel when he says, “You’re closer than you think, brother.”

“Take me to her,” Tori says, keeping his voice carefully even.

“She says it’s my choice,” the Bane drawls, tracing his hand up to Tori’s throat, as if considering trying to crush it in his hands.  Tori thinks he might be able to stop him, depending on how much of Jame’s strength is in those fragile-looking hands.

Then the Bane moves, lightning-quick, and Tori remembers that this was their first attempt, known for instability, who wiped out a moon, and then--

The kiss draws blood, maybe his, maybe the Bane’s, spilling iron and salt across his tongue, and their lips are both stained red with it, when the Bane pulls away, a feral light in his silver eyes.

“A blood price, then, for our sister,” the Bane says, bright and mad.

The Bane, mad and cruel and as dangerous to his allies as his enemies, lives three days in freedom, before he dies to save Jame, newly released from her glass prison, so that she can kill the Master.  Jame kneels over Torisen, holding his bloodied chest together as she shouts for the resistance, shouts for a medic, and gives the Bane a nod of gratitude as the light goes out of his silver eyes.  

It’s only her long hair, falling almost to her waist, that saves her from being shot on sight, when Kindrie and the survivors of Tori’s original seven storm into the throne room.

“Who are you?” Kindrie demands, holding up a hand.

“I’m--” Jame’s voice fails her, looking at the Banes dead around them, the one in black, the many in silver and red, her hands covered in gore with her ring ablaze on her finger, and then she says, “I’m Tori’s sister.  He needs help.”

Kindrie presses his lips together, hesitates, and then says, “Arrest her.  I’ll see to the General.”

Jame is still in chains, sitting at Tori’s bedside, when he finally wakes up nearly two weeks later.  No one can look at her.  Only a few can bear to speak to her.  Tori reaches blindly for a gun, when he comes around, and then he blinks and sees the long black hair bound back into a braid, the shackles around the slender wrists, and he says, “Don’t tell me they chained you up.”

“I’m afraid so,” Jame says with a wet laugh, and she shakes her wrists to make her chains clink.  “Hello, brother.”

[tanoraqui]

#i just love grimly so much okay #i have literally nothing else for this scene it's just #tori sneaking into grimly's room to not-sleep there instead of not-sleeping in the barracks #and grimly having a lot of complicated feelings about being a safe place (good!) and also having no idea what tori's issue is (bad) #that's the secret grimly! it's issues all the way down! #also if i was going to write more of this it would be like #something something 'grimly is one of the only people who figured out on his own that tori had someone important to him once' #because tori hasn't quite mastered covering for it yet #tori never SAYS anything grimly just. puts it together. #admittedly he assumed it was like. a friend. maybe someone he grew up with. #didn't make the leap to 'presumed-dead-but-actually-deaged-twin-sister' because who the hell WOULD

Prompt: Grimly/Tori, homesickness

send in a character/pairing + prompt and I'll write a three-ish sentence fic!

Grimly has no idea where Tori is supposed to be right now--probably nowhere too particular, Kennies are always so scrupulous about following orders, but he's almost certainly given someone the slip to be in Grimly's run-down hostel room past midnight. Grimly feels bad for whoever is supposed to keep track of his friend, honestly, Torisen always seems to walk away from his minders with less trouble than falling asleep.

Perhaps that's not a good metaphor, though, because Tori seems reluctant to fall asleep, even here, curled on his side on Grimly's cot, with a hands-breadth between them. Grimly worries for him, in the barracks of the Southern Host, even though Tori insists, in quiet tones, that things are better since--since. Unspoken is since Urakarn, but Grimly thinks that Tori, clear-eyed and sensible as he is, can be a bit superstitious, and believes that speaking the word will summon the ghost back to haunt him.

Tori carries ghosts around with him so visibly that Grimly feels the same fear, as if Tori's mysterious past is a tattered cloud of weirding, and his voice might shape it into figures and voices and weapons as easily as the Weald singers shape it into ruins.

For a moment, the whimsical thought brings a rush of pain to the surface--Grimly misses home, where things are simple. Where things are easy, and he never sat up late, not quite touching a friend who isn't sleeping, no matter how good his impression is.

Ah, well. Grimly settles himself more comfortably against the wall, and begins composing another verse to his latest epic, about the battle of the vanguard at Urakarn. When Tori wakes up, or gives up on pretending, he'll still be here.