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jmbringitonworld · 2 years

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A Good Father

AO3 link for those who prefer to read fics there.

It's Father's Day where I live, and since I wrote something for Mother's Day, I just HAD to do something special for this day as well. I had a busy day today, so this is coming out later than I'd hoped, but the day still isn't quite over yet, so it still counts as a Father's Day fic!

I'm really excited about this fic, because it introduces a new AU idea which I've quickly become obsessed with, and it also stars one of my absolute favourite Undertale characters: Asgore Dreemurr, the Best Goat Dad Ever.

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It was another beautiful day in the Underground. Bright light from the crystals in the ceiling was streaming in through the windows, illuminating the golden flowers blooming in the Throne Room. Asgore, king of the monsters, was cheerfully humming to himself as he watered the flowers, listening to the birds singing and the distant voices of his beloved people, as they went about their day in the Capital.

Suddenly, a piercing scream rent the peaceful atmosphere, startling Asgore so badly that he dropped his watering can. Another high-pitched cry soon followed the first one, coming from the direction of the Barrier. Whoever was making that noise sounded like they were in a great deal of pain. Alarmed, Asgore dashed off towards the cries, too concerned about what could be hurting one of his subjects, to wonder how they could possibly have snuck by him while he was in his Throne Room.

When he reached the Barrier, he was astounded to find, not a monster, but a human woman, who was clearly very heavily pregnant and sporting numerous scrapes and scratches across her body, most notably a large gash on her upper arm, still slowly oozing blood. The human was leaning her full weight against the wall, barely managing to remain standing, as she clutched her protruding abdomen, sweating and panting, and moaning in pain. Asgore was momentarily struck speechless, as he stood, rooted to the spot, gaping at this most unexpected of sights.

This had never happened before. In all the years monsters had been trapped Underground, no human had ever crossed the Barrier from this side. He assumed that this entrance was either too difficult to reach, or was so obviously not something any person should go through, for none had ever tried to. Whenever a human fell, it had always been through the large, gaping hole in the ceiling of the old Home, where it was easier for someone to accidentally fall through, or where the presence of a magical forcefield was far less noticeable. And yet, here was this human, who had gone through the Barrier, despite being alone, injured, and with child.

As Asgore stared in muted shock at the intruder, the woman cowered before his towering height and monstrous appearance. Backing away from the large goat monster, the human’s legs finally gave out beneath her, and she slid to the floor. A tremor suddenly wracked her body, and she let out an agonised wail. With sweat dripping from her brow, the human turned her head towards Asgore and gazed at him consideringly, eyeing his stunned expression and regal clothing. After a few tense seconds, she seemed to push past her fear and her pain, to give him a pleading look.

“Please...! My-... my baby!... Ahh...! My baby’s coming!... Please, help us... please ,” she forced out through gritted teeth, her voice tight with pain, desperation shining in her watery eyes.

It took a couple of seconds for the human’s words to truly sink in, but when the gravity of the situation finally hit him, with all the force of a punch to the gut, Asgore gave a jolt, letting out a panicked bleat, before hurrying to the human. Bending down, he mumbled kind reassurances to her, while gathering her trembling form into his arms with a gentleness belying his massive size. He then rushed out the door, making his way swiftly, yet carefully through his castle, all while trying to avoid jostling his delicate cargo as he ran.

In the back of his mind, he knew that he should kill this human and take her Soul, for the good of his people. It was his solemn duty as king to do whatever was necessary to free his people from their imprisonment Underground, even if it meant forever staining his Soul by taking the lives of any poor human unfortunate enough to have entered his domain. And yet, he simply could not bring himself to ignore this woman’s cry for help. As tainted by LV as his Soul was, it still refused to let him ignore a person in need, no matter who they were. He could no more turn away from this human and her unborn baby, than he could shatter the Barrier with his bare hands. Despite all that he’d done, he was still a kind and compassionate person at heart.

Upon reaching his bedroom, Asgore laid the human on his bed, helping her to sit up and propping up his pillows behind her back. Once he’d made sure that she was stable and as comfortable as she was likely to get in her state, he dug his paw into his pocket and retrieved his phone. With shaking hands, he struggled briefly to punch in a number, before succeeding, and held the phone up to his ear.

The seconds ticking past felt like hours to Asgore, as he listened to the dialling tone with bated breath, keenly aware of the human in his bed, groaning and panting as her body went through the long and arduous task of giving birth to her baby. After what felt like an eternity, his call was finally answered and he heard the voice he’d been so desperate to reach.

“HELLO?”

“Wingdings!” Asgore felt like crying, so overwhelming was his relief. He unconsciously gripped his phone tighter in his hands, as he all but shouted into it. “I need your help! The human- the baby- my room-! I don’t know what to do, please come here right now , the baby could be here any moment -!”

“ASGORE, PLEASE CALM YOURSELF,” Doctor W. D. Gaster’s strong and steady voice cut through Asgore’s panicked rambling. “TAKE A DEEP BREATH AND EXPLAIN TO ME CLEARLY: WHAT EXACTLY IS GOING ON? YOU MENTIONED A HUMAN? AND A BABY?”

Asgore did as instructed, inhaling and exhaling as he tried to calm his agitated Soul, and felt his nerves settle just enough for him to resume his explanation.

“A pregnant human has just passed through the Barrier in my castle, and she is currently in labour. Please come to my room as soon as possible, Wingdings. You’re the only one knowledgeable enough on humans to be able to assist us in safely delivering the child. Please, I need your help, old friend.”

His speech was a little more rushed than usual, especially towards the end of his plea, but his voice didn’t shake. His eyes flicked to the human, still visibly (and very audibly) in pain, as he anxiously awaited the Royal Scientist’s response. Thankfully, Gaster’s reply came swiftly.

“UNDERSTOOD. I SHALL GATHER ALL THE INSTRUMENTS AND MATERIALS I REQUIRE AND BE WITH YOU IN BUT A MOMENT.”

He then promptly hung up, leaving Asgore to stare blankly at his phone for a few seconds, before a sharp cry brought him back to the matter at hand. Schooling his face into what he hoped was a reassuring look, the King under the mountain went to the human’s side, leaning over her and hesitantly placing a large, fluffy paw on her shoulder. He gave her a soft smile, as she gazed up at him, still obviously wary of him, but no longer afraid of him, given his willingness to help her in her time of need.

“Howdy. I am Asgore Dreemurr, the Monster King,” he introduced himself, making sure to keep his voice calm and gentle. The human’s eyes widened, but she didn’t pull away from him, which Asgore considered a good sign. “My Royal Scientist will be arriving shortly to lend us his aid. He is a very capable and intelligent man, who has done extensive research on humans. Besides myself, he knows the most about your kind, and I trust him implicitly to do his very best to help you and your child.”

The human nodded her head jerkily, and gave him a strained smile, the pain and exertion of childbirth painted clearly across her features. “Thank you... Your... Majesty...” she breathed shakily, each word seeming to take a tremendous amount of effort to get out. “Thank you... so much...”

Inwardly, Asgore was impressed by her ability to look him in the eyes, and speak to him so fearlessly, knowing only too well how intimidating his physical appearance was to humans. She seemed to have taken her situation in stride, despite how strange and scary it all must have been for her. Asgore couldn’t help but marvel at this small, defenceless human’s ability to trust him, a large boss monster, in spite of her vulnerable condition. He hoped that that courage would stay with her throughout her labour. She’d definitely need it.

A loud knock jolted him to attention, and he all but flew to the door. He swung it open, revealing his Royal Scientist and long-time friend, who wasted no time in pushing past the king with a brisk greeting, and moving to place his large carry bag on Asgore’s desk. The large goat monster hovered anxiously behind Gaster, unsure what to do with himself.

“Thank you for coming so quickly, and on such short notice, Wingdings. I really appreciate it,” he wrung his hands, eyeing each item the tall skeleton monster took out of his dimensional bag.

Dr. Gaster didn’t look up from his task, as he tilted his head to his king. “NO NEED FOR THANKS. IT IS MY DUTY AS YOUR SCIENTIST, AND MY DESIRE AS YOUR FRIEND.”

Asgore smiled at his back, and went over to the human’s side once again. With much more confidence than before, he patted her hand comfortingly.

“This is Doctor Wing Dings Gaster. He’s not only a brilliant scientist, but has powerful healing magic at his disposal. You’re in safe hands, I can assure you, human. The both of us will do everything in our power to help you deliver your baby safely.”

The human gave him a grateful smile, her eyes flickering to Dr. Gaster for a moment, before returning to Asgore. She turned her hand over to grasp his, squeezing it tightly as she bit out a sincere “thank you, Your Majesty”. Asgore squeezed her hand in return, before releasing it to go over to Gaster, to ask him how he could be of assistance.

The next several hours passed by in a blur, as the human woman laboured to bring her child into the world, while the two monsters worked diligently to help her. Gaster’s hands were aglow with green healing magic, hovering over the human’s abdomen, as he barked out orders at his king, and mumbled observations to himself, a look of intense focus fixed on his cracked skull. Asgore was almost constantly moving, as he rushed to hand over whatever item his scientist required, or to fetch him fresh water and clean towels, and the occasional cup of golden flower tea to replenish his energy whenever he started to wane.

The human was losing a worrying amount of blood, and despite Gaster’s best efforts, her HP continued to decline. The tall skeleton speculated that whatever she had been through before entering the Underground, it must’ve affected her so negatively that her Soul had been damaged too badly for him to heal. Perhaps if her body were not under the stress of childbirth, her Soul might eventually have recovered on its own, but as things stood, Gaster did not expect the human to survive her ordeal.

He kept that realisation to himself, however, not wishing to upset his friend and king. Instead, he resolved to at least make sure that the baby survived. He didn’t think Asgore’s soft heart could take two deaths in one day, least of all that of a baby. What would happen to that baby after it was born, though, Gaster couldn’t say. They still needed two more human Souls to break the Barrier, after all...

After what felt like an eternity to everyone in the bedroom, a baby’s wail cut through the air, momentarily halting all other noise. The two monsters both held their breath as the wailing continued, and with one final, pained cry from the human woman, a tiny, blood-coated baby was pushed all the way out of her mother’s womb and into Gaster’s waiting hands.

The doctor went to clean up the squalling newborn, and Checked them over thoroughly. With a note of relief in his voice, he announced that the child, a female, seemed to be in stable condition and showed no signs of ill health. Her Soul was also surprisingly strong for one so young. With deft hands, in spite of the large holes in their centre, he then wrapped the infant up in a soft, clean towel, and handed her to his king.

Asgore gazed down at the baby, mesmerised by how tiny she was, fitting snuggly in the palm of his large hand, all soft, wrinkly skin, warm and alive and, according to his trusted friend, blessedly healthy. A smile spread across his face. She was so beautiful... His Soul thrummed and pulsed, glowing with emotions he had not felt in so, so long. Not since the birth of his son...

A small noise from his bed drew his attention to the human, her breathing harsh, haggard, and looking utterly exhausted. Asgore quickly went to present to her, her new daughter.

“Congratulations, human. You have a healthy baby girl.” He lowered his hand towards the woman, holding the squirming newborn close to her mother’s head.

The woman turned her face towards her baby, love and relief and wonder brimming in her eyes. It seemed to take every ounce of her remaining strength, to lift her hand and place it on her daughter’s downy head. In a voice barely above a whisper, she greeted her child for the first time.

“Hello... Frisk... my baby... I’m... I’m so happy... to meet you... at last...” Her hand moved to caress her daughter’s head, the corners of her lips lifting upwards in a smile of pure adoration for the tiny life she’d created.

Asgore smiled down at the two of them, his Soul warming at the tender sight. He stilled when the mother’s eyes caught his, her gaze firm, yet pleading.

“Please, King Asgore... look after her... for me... take care of... of Frisk... please ... promise me... that you’ll take... good care... of Frisk... and love her... for me... I... beg you...” Her voice wavered, small and weak, but her tone was strong and insistent. Asgore couldn’t look away from her eyes, determination shining within them, despite everything, and the monster king found himself unable to do anything but nod to her request.

“I will. I promise. I’ll care for her and love her like my own child. You have my word, as a king, and as a father,” he vowed to her, with unwavering resolve, no hint of hesitation in his voice. It was an easy promise to make, really; his Soul was already so full of love for this precious life he had helped bring into the world. Behind him, Gaster made a noise of protest, but Asgore ignored him, his gaze fixed unblinkingly on the woman’s, trying to convey to her his earnestness.

The human smiled at him, her face softening with relief, as she sagged against the pillows. “Thank... you...” were her final words, before she closed her eyes. Her hand fell to the bed, landing on the covers with a quiet thump, and her breathing slowed to a stop, her body going completely, deathly still. She still had a smile on her face.

Asgore bowed his head to her, closing his eyes. He remained in respectful silence, while in his paw, his new daughter wailed loudly and pitifully, as if able to sense the loss of her mother. Their solemn moment was cut short when a green Soul floated out of the woman’s chest. It slowly drifted closer and closer to Asgore, before coming to stop right beside the sobbing infant.

Before Asgore could react, Gaster stepped forward, producing a specialised Soul container from his dimensional bag and using it to scoop up the human Soul, taking care not to let it touch him nor his friend. The goat monster wanted to protest, but knew the necessity of the scientist’s actions, and so merely bit his lip. He instinctively drew his newborn daughter closer to his chest, his free hand coming up to hover protectively over her.

Once the human Soul had been safely contained, and Gaster had sealed the lid shut on top of the large glass cylinder, the Royal Scientist held it up for both himself and his boss to observe. Thin, spiderweb-like cracks ran all across the heart-shaped Soul, but despite that, it still glowed a vibrant, verdant green, a testament to the strength of will of its owner. It reminded Asgore of a previous human who had fallen into his kingdom, many years ago, one whose Soul was tinted the same shade of green.

That particular person had been unusually kind and compassionate for a human, and had avoided harming even a single monster, choosing instead to flee from any encounters they were forced into. Unfortunately for them, it was in their haste to run away from the denizens of Hotland, that the human had tripped on the uneven, rocky floor and fallen into the bubbling lava below. By the time anyone was able to retrieve the Soul, it had already shattered and was lost to them forever. Asgore had grieved both the tragic loss of an innocent life, and the waste of a precious Soul, for a long time.

And now, here was another green Soul, almost as if to make up for the loss of the previous one. That meant that they now had...

“SIX HUMAN SOULS,” Gaster gazed at their latest acquisition with a carefully blank face, the long cracks on his skull seeming more pronounced. His voice was cold, clinical, his entire countenance totally emotionless. “ALL WE NEED IS ONE MORE AND THE BARRIER CAN BE BROKEN. ONE MORE HUMAN SOUL AND WE CAN ALL BE FREE.”

He glanced pointedly at the baby, sniffling softly in Asgore’s hand. With a growl, the boss monster hid his child from the other’s gaze with a large, fluffy paw, shifting his body to shield her from any possible attacks. Not that the doctor would’ve stooped to such lengths, he knew, but Asgore was taking no chances. He had already lost two children. He refused to lose another.

“You will NOT get that Soul from MY child,” he practically snarled, his magic gathering around his free hand, ready to form into his trident at a moment’s notice. The air around him started to heat up, until a whine from the baby caused Asgore to quell the fire magic threatening to burst out from his angry Soul. Gaster bowed his head low.

“MY APOLOGIES, MY KING. I MEANT NO HARM TO THE CHILD.” He sighed slightly, his impassive front melting away into a worried frown. “OTHERS, HOWEVER, MIGHT NOT BE SO AMENABLE TO YOUR WISHES. WE HAVE BEEN TRAPPED DOWN HERE FOR SO LONG, AND THE HOPE FOR FREEDOM IS ALL THAT KEEPS MANY OF YOUR SUBJECTS GOING. SHOULD THEY LEARN THAT THERE IS ANOTHER HUMAN SOUL IN THE UNDERGROUND, ONE THAT YOU REFUSE TO TAKE... I FEAR THAT THE CHILD’S FUTURE MAY BE... DARK. AND GROW YET DARKER THE LONGER SHE REMAINS ALIVE.”

Asgore let out a frustrated huff, dropping his protective stance. He understood, on a rational level, that Gaster’s words were true, and yet...

He glanced down at his newborn baby. Little Frisk had tired herself out from all of her crying, and was dozing off within her new father’s gentle hold. Asgore felt his Soul overflow with love, almost alight with the depth of his newfound devotion for this tiny creature, and pulsing in time with the rise and fall of Frisk’s chest. She had only just been born, and yet she already meant the world to him.

“Regardless of what my people demand of me, I will not yield to them my child,” his low, rumbling voice proclaimed, an oath both to Gaster and to Frisk. “That is one sacrifice I will never make. Not for anyone or anything.” He looked up at the other monster, his expression almost desperate. “ You understand my feelings, do you not old friend? You would defend your children above all else, wouldn’t you? Isn’t your youngest just a baby as well?”

Gaster looked uncomfortable, his skeletal hands clenching around the Soul container he still held. He cast his gaze to his friend’s imploring face, then to the baby, a difficult expression on his damaged skull, before he sighed, a heavy, helpless sound.

“PAPYRUS WILL BE TWO YEARS OLD IN A FEW MONTHS,” Gaster’s voice was unusually quiet, a distant, yet soft look on his bony face. “HE’S SO YOUNG AND ALREADY SO LOUD. AND SO FULL OF VIGOUR. SANS, BY CONTRAST, IS MUCH CALMER. HE’S BARELY FIVE AND YET HE DISPLAYS A MATURITY WELL BEYOND HIS YEARS. ESPECIALLY SINCE... SINCE HIS MOTHER PASSED AWAY...” The doctor’s gaze focused on the sleeping baby Asgore cradled so delicately in his hand. His eye sockets narrowed slightly, his tone becoming thoughtful. “SANS WAS ACTUALLY THE SAME SIZE AS THE- AS FRISK IS, WHEN HE WAS BORN. SUCH A SMALL BABY...”

Asgore hummed in agreement, his eyes tracing every single one of his daughter’s features, committing every detail to memory, to cherish forever. “Indeed. So small . Asriel was much bigger when he was born. Chara must have been just as little, though. Golly, humans sure are tiny and soft and vulnerable.”

Gaster gave a start at the mention of the deceased royal children, his scarred eye sockets widening. Asgore had refused to speak of either of his lost children for as long as the scientist had known him, the wounds on his Soul still too fresh, even after so many years. To hear him mention them now, so casually... Gaster could feel hope rising, unbidden, in his Soul. Maybe, just maybe, Frisk might be exactly what his friend needed to finally move on from his painful past.

Asgore raised a finger to very, very gently stroke his daughter’s chubby cheek. But even that featherlight touch was enough to rouse the newborn from her nap. With little fussing noises, Frisk blinked her eyes, swivelling her head around, her gaze unfocused. For a brief second, Frisk’s eyes met Asgore’s and he sucked in a breath. She had her mother’s eyes... Asgore hoped with all his Soul that she had also inherited her mother’s strong will. His daughter would need to be brave and determined to overcome the challenges the future would bring.

“No matter what, I will protect you, my child,” he murmured softly. Frisk’s head turned towards the sound of her father’s voice, tiny fists flailing in the air, and Asgore smiled down at her. “Not just because I love you with all my Soul, but also because I feel certain that you are the future of humans and monsters. I’d once thought the same of Chara, but... I was wrong... Now, though, I’m positive. You, Frisk, will one day bring about the future I’d always hoped for.”

Gaster gave the two of them a sceptical look. “YOU TRULY BELIEVE THAT THIS ONE, TINY HUMAN CAN CHANGE THE WORLD, WHEN YOU YOURSELF COULD NOT, WITH ALL OF YOUR POWER?”

Asgore looked straight at Gaster, staring directly into those dark eye sockets, as he replied, “I do. I genuinely believe that Frisk can someday bridge the vast chasm between our two races, showing humans that our kind can be trusted, and showing monsters that not all humans are bad.”

Gaster still appeared unconvinced. He gave Frisk a dubious look, trying to see in her what his king did. “A VERY, VERY DIFFICULT TASK, ESPECIALLY CONSIDERING WHAT HAPPENED WHEN THE LAST HUMAN FELL INTO THE UNDERGROUND.”

Asgore’s face turned sombre, as he remembered the previous fallen human’s murderous rampage across much of the Underground. Unlike the human with the green Soul, this blue Souled human had refused to run away, and had stood her ground in the face of the monsters’ hostility, returning their attacks with her own deadly, yet graceful kicks. The violence had only been brought to an end when she had been slain by his previous Head of the Royal Guard. The fierce fish monster had fought valiantly to avenge her fallen comrades, including her husband, and had triumphed in the end, but at the cost of her own life, leaving her infant daughter orphaned.

It had only been a few years since that dreadful time, and the scars on his people’s Souls were still very fresh. Their hurt and their hatred would not easily be assuaged. But Asgore refused to give up hope.

“All the more reason why Frisk must live and grow alongside monsters. My people need to see that our two species are not so different, and that we can coexist in harmony. For the good of everyone.” Asgore fixed Gaster with an uncommonly serious look, causing the other monster to stand to attention out of pure reflex. “This is about more than just freedom.

I know that at any time, I could’ve simply absorbed one or more of the human Souls in my possession, crossed the Barrier, and gathered the final Souls needed to free us all. But doing so would only incite the fury of the humans Aboveground. Merely suspecting that Asriel had killed a human had provoked them into attacking him; if they actually saw me murdering one of their own, and stealing their Soul, the humans’ wrath, and their fear, would know no bounds. They would never accept us amongst them.”

Asgore’s brow furrowed deeply, a dark look in his eyes. It was as if a shadow had passed over his face, as he spoke ominously of the perilous future he sought to avoid.

“Their ire, coupled with my people’s thirst for vengeance, will only lead to another war. One which I fear we cannot win, even with the power of seven human Souls, and which will only lead to innumerable casualties on both sides,” Asgore sighed, long and full of sorrow at the thought of such a devastating outcome. “If monsters are to have any hope of living peacefully on the Surface, then we must first shed our hatred of humanity.” He then glanced down at his baby, his expression softening into a loving smile. “And I believe that Frisk will help us to do so.”

Gaster stood silently for a while, mulling over what he’d been told. He couldn’t deny the truth of his king’s words, and he very much shared Asgore’s dream of peace. But still...

“THAT IS A HUGE RESPONSIBILITY TO PLACE ON SUCH SMALL SHOULDERS,” he remarked evenly, the barest hint of reproach in his voice.

Asgore, dipped his head in acknowledgment. “I know. And I feel terrible for doing so.” He truly sounded it, shame colouring his voice and dragging his shoulders down, as if it were a physical weight on his neck. He looked once more to his young daughter, his expression firming up. “But something in me believes that Frisk can accomplish it. When I look at her, I feel a certainty rise up within me, telling me that she is the one who will bring my people together in a shared desire for friendship and peace. She is the answer to all of our hopes and dreams.”

Gaster privately thought that that’s what every parent believed of their child, but kept that thought to himself, unwilling to dampen his friend’s enthusiasm. It was admirable really. He couldn’t help but be captivated by the strength of Asgore’s conviction, irrational as it was.

Then the king looked towards him, a bright smile lighting up his furry face. “Besides, she won’t be alone! I’ll be with her every step of the way, and I’ll do everything in my power to keep her safe and happy. I will raise her with love and compassion, and trust her to show us all the same as well. That is both my promise, and my wish, as her father.”

Against his will, Gaster could feel his own answering smile tug at the corners of his lips, his Soul radiating a pleasant warmth into his bones. And so, when Asgore asked him for his help in looking out for the child and safeguarding her wellbeing, his voice hesitant and meek, Gaster could only scoff.

“AS IF YOU EVEN NEED TO ASK, ASGORE,” he drew himself up to his full, rather considerable height, crossing his arms behind his back. “NATURALLY, I WILL DO ALL I CAN FOR BOTH YOU AND THE LITTLE PRINCESS. AS SOON AS I RETURN TO MY LABORATORY, I SHALL LOOK INTO THE PROPER CARE OF NEWBORN HUMANS. I’LL ALSO SEE ABOUT PREPARING FOOD SUITABLE FOR HER TINY HIGHNESS. BUT IN THE MEANTIME, BABY MONSTER FOOD SHOULD SUFFICE.”

Asgore beamed at him and Gaster puffed out his chest slightly, looking undeniably proud.

“Thanks Windings! Golly, you’re a true friend. I’m so lucky I have you to count on,” Asgore’s eyes glistened with unshed tears, his voice becoming thick with gratitude. Gaster’s cheekbones tinted a light pink, the colour, faint as it was, standing out starkly against his white bones and the black cracks along his skull. He averted his gaze, coughing lightly into his fist.

His boss was never shy with his praise, but this time felt a little more personal. While Gaster was well used to people complimenting his work, personal compliments were a rarity, and always left him feeling embarrassed. His wife had often teased him about it. To his surprise, that thought was not accompanied by the familiar ache in his Soul. Instead, all he felt was fondness and nostalgia. How very interesting. Perhaps... perhaps Asgore wasn’t the only one whose past wounds were finally starting to heal...

“A-ANYWAY, THERE IS MUCH TO BE DONE! LOTS OF RESEARCH THAT NEEDS... RESEARCHING! I SHALL BE OFF NOW!” he announced, his normally loud voice an octave higher than usual. Asgore nodded his head, opening his mouth to bid his friend farewell, only to snap it closed when Gaster suddenly pointed a long, skeletal finger right at his snout. “AS FOR YOU, ASGORE! YOU SHOULD INFORM THE ROYAL GUARD IMMEDIATELY OF WHAT HAS TRANSPIRED. IT WILL BE THEIR DUTY TO ENSURE THAT OUR NEW PRINCESS IS PROTECTED AT ALL TIMES. MAKE SURE THEIR LEADER IS AWARE THAT FRISK’S SAFETY IS HIS TOP PRIORITY!”

Asgore could only nod obediently at Gaster’s strict orders, his eyes wide. “R-Right! I’ll go have a word with Muttler and his pack at once!”

Gaster drew his hand back, appeased with his boss’s easy compliance. “EXCELLENT. WELL THEN... GOODBYE, MY KING.”

And without waiting for a response, Gaster seemingly blipped out of existence. Asgore blinked at the abrupt departure. “Goodbye, Wingdings,” he whispered into the air. His Royal Scientist was such an odd fellow.

Suddenly, Gaster reappeared, looking very flustered. With hasty movements, he grabbed his dimensional carry bag from where it rested on Asgore’s desk, and shoved his items back inside it without care. Then, without looking at Asgore, he shouted “GOODBYE FOR REAL THIS TIME!!”, before promptly vanishing once more.

Asgore shook his head, chuckling under his breath. An odd fellow indeed.

With the Royal Scientist gone, the room was once again still and quiet. The monster king knew that the coming days would be hectic, with a newborn baby to care for, and with all that he would need to see to. He would need to have a very important discussion with his Royal Guard about their additional duties, he would need to prepare a private funeral for Frisk’s mother, and he would need to address his people, informing them of his acquisition of a sixth human Soul. He would also have to formally present to them his new child.

That last task filled him with dread. He didn’t know how the other monsters would react to his daughter. He dearly hoped that they would accept her, as he had, and that they would come to love her, as he did, but even so... he would have to prepare for the worst. Precautions would have to be taken, as Wingdings would put it. He couldn’t take any chances, not when it concerned the safety and well-being of his precious child.

But just for now, Asgore allowed himself to savour this peaceful moment, and bask in the joy of fatherhood, a blessing he’d believed, deep down, that he’d never get to experience again. Temporarily banishing his worries from his mind, the goat monster looked down at his newborn daughter, feeling a smile automatically blooming across his face. Frisk yawned sleepily at him.

“Howdy, Frisk,” he told her softly, his voice as gentle as his heart and just as full of paternal love. “Welcome to your new home. It may not seem like much, but it’s full of good people. I hope you’ll come to like it here! And I pray you’ll make many good friends.” He very carefully stroked a finger along the top of her head, and felt his Soul squeeze almost painfully with adoration as the baby let out another wide yawn, her little, pink tongue sticking out at him. “I swear to you, on my very Soul, that I’ll do my absolute best to be a good father to you. I may not have been expecting you, and you may have only just been born, but I already love you above all else in this world, and will continue to love you with all my Soul, for the rest of my life, my dear child.”

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As I said before, I really love Asgore, and I think he'd be the best dad if given the chance, so I'm giving him that chance! Even if my attention is split between my various WIPs, I'll definitely write more for this AU in the future.

This AU is going to centre around Asgore raising Frisk Underground, and will heavily feature W. D. Gaster and his kids, Sans and Papyrus. Frisk and the skelebros are going to grow up together, and just to let you know in advance, later on (much later on) there'll be some Frans (Frisk x Sans), although it'll just be puppy love and childish crushes until they're a lot older. There will also be some KingDings (Asgore x Gaster), because it fits the story, and because it has rapidly risen to become my second favourite Undertale ship, all within a couple of days! I don't know how it happened, but I love this pairing so much, I can't explain it!

My goal is to give my favourite Goat Dad the happiness he sorely deserves, and I will unashamedly shove as much fluff into my Goat Dad fics as I possibly can! No shame, no hesitation, only love! Because I love him! Also, Happy Father's Day to everyone!

#JMB writes #pre-canon AU #asgore #asgore dreemurr #frisk #baby frisk #w.d. gaster #frisk's mother #tw: minor character death #childbirth #asgore adopts frisk #asgore is a good father and I will die on this hill #w.d. gaster tries his best to be a good friend #w.d. gaster is sans and papyrus's father #how one baby can change the world #according to her father

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stlentz · 2 years

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sweet child of chaos

#mgr #metal gear rising #jetstream sam #samuel rodrigues #art #my art #pre-canon au

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bard-llama · 4 months

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The First Reaction to Truth is Hatred Chapter 2

Chapter Summary

Having left the Southern Air Temple a day before it was decimated, Gyatso and Aang now find themselves on the run. They head for Omashu, where Aang's best friend lives. Gyatso hopes Aang's other best friend will join them - but given all the Fire Nation has done, he's not sure he has cause for hope.

Fic Summary

When Sozin’s Comet arrives the first time, Gyatso and Aang are on their way to visit Kuzon in the Fire Nation. Unfortunately, the Fire Nation very quickly becomes inhospitable, so they flee to Omashu to meet Bumi. Only the Fire Nation isn’t content to stop with the massacre at the temples. They hunt down Air Nomads around the world over, and everyone knows it’s only a matter of time before they come for Gyatso and Aang.

Read on AO3

#atla #my fics #pre-canon au #kuzon & aang & bumi

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maiko-coy · 2 months

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I don't see any angry, vengeful Dogday in the ppt community so I'll provide for myself beCAUSE IM STARVING FOR THIS, HE DESERVES TO BE ANGRY-- ahem. Anyway, heres an AU where after there is still fire in Dogdays eyes and him being saved fueled the fire and now he wants to keep fighting.

#poppy playtime #poppy playtime chapter 3 #Dogday #smiling critters #poppy playtime au #AU where Dogday absolutely loathes Catnap for what he did And what he did to the others #Dw we'll get catnap later #But for now have an angry dogday that demands justice #hes still nice tho #Im thinking on calling it Second Chance AU but who knows--#There will be a pre-canon part and a post-canon part in this AU #Yall im cooking #Let me cook

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bixels · 24 days

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I'm glad nobody's questioned why Sunset's personality is so different in the AU, but I'll explained anyways. AU Sunset basically has Tempest Shadow's personality. I decided not to adapt Tempest because too many redeemed villains, she doesn't play an important role in the overall story, and her broken horn is so cool and unique to her as a unicorn that any adaptation wouldn't do it justice. So I fused the two together. Sunset's backstory and hotheadedness with Tempest's tired, jaded, anti-social disposition and fighting skills.

Anyways, I hope it's not too jarring of a change. The more I develop Sunset, the more you'll probably notice how OOC she seems. I'll probably end up adopting Sunset into an OC once I'm done with the AU, since she's basically a completely different character.

#i'm saying all this cuz i'm reading tempest's mini arc in the comics #and i'm thinking “wow. all of tempest's dialogue fits au sunset better than actual canon sunset”#just constantly silently stewing in her own head and suppressing eyerolls and avoiding hugs or long conversations with anyone #idk. i just find this sorta personality way more interesting and fun to work with than canon sunset #pre-redemption sunset's just a high school bully. post-redemption sunset's fun and complex but she's just a little too nice and apologetic #like. she kinda has protagonist syndrome where she's allowed to have flaws but not ones that make her disagreeable or hard to root for #so she just ends up a bit more boring than villain sunset. at least starlight got to keep her bitchiness and sass lol #gg20s sunset is an edgy badass loser who can reload a 6-shooter in a split second but also hasn't taken a bath or spoken to anyone in 5 day #wants to do her best in doing the right thing but doesn't know how #personal #delete later #tbh between redeemed villains i like tempest way more. but sunset's more popular so. majority rules

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smushystrawbabies · 1 year

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an old photo from 1993

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inamagicalhallucination · 9 months

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au where atsushi runs into akutagawa literally a few hours before akutagawa gets the weretiger intel like they idk bump into each other and atsushi drops something and aku ends up buying him it and then atsushi goes to work and is like "he's a MAFIA GUY???" and the ada is like "u know him?" and and atsushi is like "he literally just bought me food"

#atsushi nakajima #shin soukoku #sskk #akutagawa ryuunosuke #u guys know i love pre canon aus

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autisticlancemcclain · 4 months

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“This your place?” Keith asked, panting.

His host raised his eyebrow, pushing open the door.

“No,” he deadpanned, “this is my annoying neighbour’s house. He’s on holidays. I’m staying here and using all his things to take revenge for hours of small talk.”

“Oh,” Keith replied, impressed. “Cool.” He’ll have to do that next time Lance is on a solo mission.

“No, I’m – I’m kidding, Paladin.”

“Oh,” Keith repeated, disappointed. “Less cool.”

“Just – get in the house.”

Keith didn’t argue. He followed his host into the small building, nodded as he was pointed to a guest room, and passed out the second his head hit the straw-stuffed pillow.

— — —

When Keith woke, it was dark outside. A scarred face was looming over his, and he bit back a scream, hand flying for his knife on reflex.

“Peace, Paladin,” said Ares, holding up a hand. “I startled you. I did not mean to. It’s time for the feast.

Keith slumped. His heart slowed from its jackrabbit pace. “Yeah. Yeah, man, thanks. I’ll be right out.”

His host nodded and left, closing the door behind him. Keith took one minute to calm himself, closing his eyes and counting his breaths. Once sixty seconds passed, he stood, glancing down at his armour.

That was…fine, right?

They always wore their armour to diplomacy missions. Well, mostly because Keith threw a massive hissy fit the second Coran attempted to force him into the worst, most restrictive suit he’d ever seen. His armour was battered, unpolished, and honestly kind of rank, but it wasn’t like he had many other options. He held out his helmet, inspecting himself in the reflection of his visor.

Shiro would tell him to brush his hair.

Too bad he didn’t have a hairbrush.

He walked out of his room, shrugging. His host was waiting for him by the small hearth in the middle of the house, standing as Keith approached.

“Shall we make our leave?”

“Sure.”

He followed his host back out of the little house. They walk in silence. Keith’s feet begin to hurt by the five minute mark – he has no idea how long he slept, but it was not long enough, and exhaustion still pulled at his frame.

Dryope had mentioned food, though. And something like a party, but one lucky thing about Ares – he doesn’t seem to be much of a partier, either, so hopefully Keith could ditch that bright and early and go right back to sleep.

They walked along the same hills Keith’s host had led them down earlier, only this time they were going up, so it was worse. Thankfully, though, the walk was just barely shorter – they weren’t walking back to the beach, but to the hearth, the big fire pit Keith noticed walking in. All the houses they passed were empty, not even a light by the window.

“Is everyone at the – party, thing, whatever?” Keith panted.

Ares eyed him briefly, not pausing his stride. “Look for yourself.”

They crested the top of the hill, and Keith’s jaw dropped.

The hearth was blazing. The flame burned so brightly and hugely that Keith was half-convinced it was out of control. Surrounding it in hundreds of chattering groups was every single Aegian, tall and wide and small, smiling and laughing. As he watched, an Aegian called something in a language Keith couldn’t understand, and immediately dozens of the tree-warriors rushed up to join hands in a big ring around the fire, twirling and dancing as the watching Aegians chanted and sang.

Keith’s first thought was, Aren’t these guys made of wood?

His second thought was, This looks like a hippie commune. Time to ditch.

Unfortunately Ares caught him before he could go right back the way they can, spinning him around and shoving him down the hill.

“Real hospitable,” Keith grumbled.

His host seemed, as much as such a scary person could look, amused. “On you go, Paladin.”

Keith stomped on. He probably could take Ares in a fight, at least normally, but he was exhausted and injured and weak. Plus, if he was the reason behind yet another failed diplomatic mission, Lance would gleefully hold it over his head for weeks, and Shiro would be disappointed if Keith finally killed him. Plus, Allura would be upset with him, and having Allura upset with you kind of feels like taking a kitten that loves and trusts you and drop kicking it into the sun. Very quickly, you realise that you are the scum of the Earth and the worst person alive. It’s generally just something you should avoid.

As he trudged down the hill, he quickly recognised three familiar suits of armour. They were kind of hard to miss – even as scuffed as they were, they glinted in the light of the massive fire, shining like a bunch of precious stones. Pidge, sulking somewhere near a table of desserts; Hunk, chatting with his host; and Shiro, speaking with the Aegian leader like the tryhard little teacher’s pet he was. Coran stuck out, too, in his bright blue Altean uniform that was somehow pristine even though Keith watched him get flung at a wall and shocked by a bare wire from the broken control centre back on the dead castle.

All the Aegians wore some kind of bedsheet, or their Tinkerbell clothes. Interestingly, the dryads were not the only Aegians present – there were others who looked a little more human, although they had plenty of strange features that reminded Keith they were not. A group of laughing girls looked like they were made from the bottom of a pool in the sunlight, skin shifting with dappled light. Several guys walked around with half a donkey hanging out of their drawers. Keith spotted some honest-to-God centaurs. One girl appeared to be made out of blowing, spinning wind.

Hundreds of eyes seemed to follow Keith as he joined the crowd, glancing at him and then back at their friends, whispering to themselves. Keith shrunk into himself, letting his hair fall in front of his eyes – no one looked mad, or angry, or cruel, but no one looked exactly welcoming, either. Ares had disappeared at some point, not that he was what Keith would consider a friendly face.

Keith needed to find someone he knew, stat.

His first instinct was Pidge – the two of them usually slunked in some corner together whenever they were forced (often at gunpoint, thanks, Lance) to some stupid party. They had a running game called How Many People Can We Convince That Barking Is A Polite Human Greeting Before Shiro Finds Out. So far their score was 135-149, Pidge in the lead. (Keith very much intended to catch up.) But before he could make it over to where she was hiding, a group of water-girls descended upon her like a pack of piranhas, giggling and shouting something about braiding and eye makeup. Keith decided he would rather chew off his right hand than put himself anywhere near that, and did an abrupt 180 in search of Hunk.

Unfortunately, the big guy was still preoccupied. His host – Elijah (or something, Keith would be reminded of his real name eventually) – was showing him some kind of metal box that opened to a bunch of intricately placed gears and bobbles and wires. Hunk was staring at it like the Holy Grail. Not even Keith’s best pleading eyes and sad orphan story would convince him to babysit Keith and glare at anyone who attempted to socialise. Another dead end.

Keith sighed. That really only left –

“Hey, squirt!”

Keith went bright red, cringing with his whole entire body. He loved his brother, he really, truly did, but Shiro was as out of depth as he was at stuff like this and tended to overcompensate by being affectionate. Which wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, except he had a bad case of Foot In Mouth Disease and knew Keith at his most embarrassing early teenage emo.

So.

“Hey, Shiro,” he said stiffly, trying not to die inside as the man pressed a smacking kiss right in the centre of his forehead.

A tall, handsome guy somewhere to their left raised his eyebrows, smiling with amusement. Keith thought he could die. Sometimes, he thought his brother was secretly a forty-six year old suburban mom of three.

“We missed you!” cried his embarrassing brother. He was so genuine about it, it was hard not to smile back at him. “You took so long getting here!”

“My host’s place is at the farthest corner of the city,” Keith explained. “Had to hike here. Thought I was gonna bite it by mile six.”

Shiro snorted. “Drama queen.”

“Yeah, yeah. You try hiking after getting shaken around like a bobblehead. I bet your place is, like, twenty feet away from here.”

“Pretty much,” Shiro agreed, smile turning into more of a smirk. He attempted to dig his knuckles into Keith’s skull, but Keith was well used to his brand of crap and squirmed away at the last second. “Akeso’s sorta the main healer around here – at least I think? They’re not much of a talker – so they live in this building that’s attached to the infirmary. One of the big buildings in the inner circle.”

He pointed to one of the more rectangular buildings Keith had seen on the way in, with a much smaller, rounder building attached to it like one of those suction fish on a shark. It was hard to make out many details in the dark, fire’s light only able to stretch so far, but it looked pretty infirmary-ish.

“Hunk’s staying near the forges. He loves it, you should talk to him about it. He’s all cute and excited, you know that look he gets. Elatreus is impressed with him, practically made him an assistant.”

Elatreus! That’s the host’s name. And Keith absolutely knew what look Shiro’s talking about – the wide brown eyes, clasped hands, talking a mile a minute. He smiled softly. Nothing better for the soul like watching an ecstatic Hunk.

“That’s good. Glad he’s happy.”

“Yep. And Pidge is in a regular house like you, little more in-city. Next to some kind of trap shop? I don’t totally get it. Apparently Dysnomia needs a lot of supplies. Pidge was being all sketch about it.”

“That’s not super reassuring.”

“It is not!” Shiro agreed. He led Keith to one of the many tables laid out, absolutely covered in food. Keith realised he was ravenous, piling up a plate at least a foot high with meats and breads and foods he couldn’t even identify, but that smelt positively godly. At Shiro’s raised eyebrow, he rolled his eyes and selected a single vegetable.

“Make sure you toss some in the fire,” Shiro advised.

Keith squinted at him. “I’m…not gonna do that, thanks.”

“No, no, you have to.”

He pointed to the edge of the fire, where, sure enough, some Aegians were scraping the edge of their plates into the flames.

Keith wrinkled his nose. “The hell are they burning their food for? What a waste!”

Shiro shrugged, stepping into the line. “Akeso said it’s an old tradition, something that their ancestors felt protected them and gave them good will and peace. No one really wants to mess with that mojo, so. Portion of the food is sacrificed.”

Keith would be less pressed about it if the food didn’t look and smell so good. Scraping perfectly good food into fire felt like spending hours polishing a sword only to scratch it three seconds later – effort for no reason. When it was their turn, though, Keith did as the custom dictated. He’d learned enough about questioning weird traditions.

He held eye contact with Shiro and flicked his one vegetable into the flames. Delightfully, his brother’s eye twitched, like he was considering shoving Keith into them. Suddenly, this custom was Keith’s favourite he’d ever been forced to partake in.

By the time they finally sat somewhere to eat, Keith was so hungry he was ready to eat his fingers along with the food. He inhaled his food for a good five or six minutes, ignoring Shiro’s attempts first at conversation, then at slowing him down.

“Christ, kid,” he said, voice tinged with either horror or awe. Maybe both. “Eating like I never fed you in your life.”

“You haven’t,” Keith replied around a rib of some kind. “Adam fed me. You made ash of everything you touched.”

Shiro’s expression soured. He poked sullenly at some kind of leaf. (Serves him right for trying to be some kinda health freak now that he’s in charge. Keith once watched him eat an entire Costco sheet cake at three in the morning, and that had been his first and only meal of the day. Keith enjoyed bringing it up every time Shiro preached about the benefits of salad and watching him just start screeching to drown Keith out. Good times.)

“I didn’t turn everything to ash, you ungrateful brat. I made muffins that one time!”

You microwaved an already cooked muffin, Keith thought, wisely choosing to eat some kind of rice dish instead of bringing it up. And it tasted like erasers afterr. So.

“Sure, Shiro.”

Shiro nodded, satisfied. He picked up the leaf, sprinkled with some…orange thing, maybe, Keith couldn’t tell exactly, and took a delicate bite. He looked less satisfied.

“So,” he said, setting down his plate like he was looking for an excuse not to eat it. He looked at Keith expectantly. “You must want an update on Allura.”

Keith blinked. “Oh, shoot, yeah. I didn’t see her. She good?”

“Yeah, from what we can tell. When we got to the infirmary, Akeso stitched up my knee, then we –”

“You had a knee injury?” Keith interrupted. “You should have said something!”

Shiro smiled gently. “I got it treated, dork.” He bumped their shoulders together, trying to ease Keith’s upset expression. “I’m fine, okay? If Akeso didn’t bring it up, I would have. Promise. It wasn’t too bad, anyway, I swear.”

Keith frowned harder. He had noticed Shiro shifting slightly when they were first confronted by Dryope and her army, but Shiro had walked away without limping, so he’d allowed himself to stop worrying. A stupid mistake, and one he should know better than making. He knows his stupidly self-sacrificial brother.

“Keith, seriously,” Shiro assured. He leaned down, unlatching his thigh and knee braces, then pulled back the rip in his undersuit. Keith wasn’t comforted by the size of the rip – nor the placement of it – but the wound didn’t look too bad, and was stitched neatly. Some kind of salve was spread all over it, under the clear wound dressing. As he watched, the wound seemed to contract, shrinking ever so slightly.

“Healing magic,” Shiro explained, putting his armour back. He patted Keith’s shoulder. “Akeso is super practiced at it. They stitched me up but warned that overdoing magic healing is as bad as cheating death, so it’ll still take a couple weeks to heal fully. Just won’t hurt so bad and might heal a little faster than with just stitches.”

“That why Allura is still out?” Keith clarified, finally letting go of the tension in his shoulders. Shiro looked relieved. “No speedy magic?”

Shiro nodded. “Exactly. After Akeso stitched me up we went to go visit Rhea, check on Allura. She’s tucked in this massive bed-nest thing, snoring away. She’s fine. Just super drained and needs all the rest she can. She’s in good hands.”

Relief punches out of Keith like a physical force. It’s one thing if his friends are injured, a whole other if they’re unconscious – but with Shiro’s assurance as well as Coran’s confidence earlier, he can relax. The two of them can read people like no one else on the ship – except maybe Lance. She’ll be fine.

“Speaking of Lance,” Keith said.

“No one brought up Lance except your own brain,” Shiro responded patiently. That infernal smirk twitched at the corner of his mouth.

Keith went red, barrelling right on. “Where is he? This stuff is right up his alley, I figured he’d be out twirling until he passes out in the punch or something.”

Shiro frowned, looking at him funny. “He is? He’s been over –”

Just then, the music that had been playing in the background changed – there was a collective inhale, then all the instruments played something at once. Keith didn’t know much about music, but the something felt intentional, deeply so. A song was beginning, rather than endless background music.

Excited murmuring moved in waves throughout the gathered Aegians. People started shifting. High above everything else, loud and excited, rang a disbelieving laugh – a very familiar laugh.

Keith whipped his head up, roll dropping from his hand and bouncing into the dirt. At the edge of the crowd, lit softly by the orange golden flames, was Lance – but it was no wonder Keith had missed him before. He wasn’t wearing his armour.

He was wearing a dress!

Well, not really a dress. One of those ancient Greek toga things, that looks like a droopy bedsheet. Keith had noticed it on several – almost all, in fact – of the Aegians; a draped, white garment, cinched in the waist, pinned at the shoulders. It hadn’t looked anything special on them.

Lance, though, wore it like it had been made for him. Maybe it had. Most Aegians wore the toga-thing pinned at both shoulders, but Lance’s was only gathered at one, the rest of it falling artfully on his chest, looking dangerously like it was about to fall off. The cinched golden rope acting as a belt made his waist look downright tiny, like someone could pick him up around his middle and throw him, or something. It wasn’t crazy short, or anything, but Lance surely didn’t wear it down to his toes, like some others did. A pair of simple brown sandals wrapped all the way up his calves.

There were actual freaking laurels in his hair, along with what Keith could only assume were gold threads, wrapped around a few tiny, careful braids. A golden bracelet wrapped around his bicep, contrasting with his many Earth-made bracelets and anklets, and his plastic blue Moana watch that he never took off.

“He looks ridiculous!” Keith cried.

Shiro tried poorly not to laugh. “I think he looks nice!”

“He looks like a freaking Roman statue!”

The music started to swell, and Lance reached out to grab an offered hand, and suddenly Keith’s blood went cold.

“What is he doing all over Lance,” he hissed.

Shiro raised his eyebrows. “His…host?”

“Hosting immoral thoughts, maybe!” Keith protested. Shiro choked on his drink. “Look at his damn hand! Gripping Lance’s waist like there’s a magnet involved! What’s he want, to pick Lance up like a prize and show him around, or something? What a creep!”

But Lance wasn’t scowling, or even using his polite I-hate-you-and-can’t-wait-to-talk-crap-about-you-to-my-friends smile. He was just smiling, and concentrating hard on his feet, wrapping his own hands all over Mr. Creep. As the music got more complicated, they started dancing.

“What’s your deal with Peithos?” Shiro questioned. “What’s he –”

Keith ignored him. “And they have some kinda dance prepared? He’s supposed to be helping Lance recover, not teaching him a dance! How long have we been here for?”

Shiro finally sighed, giving up on his questioning. He watched the dancing duo, although with significantly less (zero) animosity than Keith.

“‘Bout ten hours? Give or take.”

“Ten ho – ten hours,” Keith said, stumbling over his words. He tore his eyes away and stared at his brother, alarmed. “We’ve been here ten whole hours? I thought it was, like, three!”

Shiro nodded, taking a long sip out of his cup. “Yep. Surprised the heck outta me, too. Went for a nap after checking on Allura, and boom, sun’s down, Akeso’s waking me up, and my leg hardly hurts anymore. Exhausted sleep is sleep, man, I feel you. Pidge, Hunk, and Coran knocked out, too. Only Lance stayed up. That’s why he’s not in armour. And why he knows this dance, apparently.” He nudged Keith’s shoulder, expression suddenly much more solemn. “You know how he is with sleep.”

Keith softened. He turned back to the blue paladin with a sigh, watching the half-Aegian twirl him around. The music got faster and faster and the man grabbed Lance around the waist and lifted him, twirling them both like it was easy as pie. Lance threw his head back and laughed, cheeks flushed and nose squinted like it does when he’s really laughing.

“Yeah, I know. Still, though. I don’t trust that guy. Too friendly. And Lance is too comfortable.”

“That’s fair.” Shiro was staring at him, too. “I don’t really trust many people here, actually. I think Rhea is trustworthy. And Elatreus. The other people, I can’t say yet. But Dryope…”

He turned to glance at the leader, who watched the festivities over the rim of an ornate glass. She sat on a carved rock, her father next to her. The rock-seat to her right was left empty. Keith could guess who it was for.

“There’s something they’re not telling us,” Keith finished, nodding. “Agreed.”

He turned back to look at Lance and Peithos. The song had ended, but they were still standing close to the fire, bent close. Lance was gesturing like crazy, smile lighting up his face. Peithos was intently watching his every move.

“We’ll keep an eye on them,” Shiro promised. His smile was small and reassuring. Keith glanced at the half-Aegian, then back at his brother, nodding slowly.

“Yeah. Yeah, I think we should.”

After the weird dance, the party started to die down. People slowly started to head out, first in singles, then in couples, then in large swathes. Pidge was one of the first to make her getaway. Keith looked around for his host, but couldn’t manage to land his eyes on him. He hoped he hadn’t already left – he had no clue how to get back to his guest room in the dark, and wasn’t super pumped about sleeping on the ground if it came to that.

“You know where the house is?” Keith overheard Peithos murmur, so close to Lance there wasn’t a place they weren’t touching.

Lance grinned up at him. “Yep! I’ll meet you there, don’t worry about me. Go do what you need to do.”

The half-Aegian smiled gratefully at him, then rushed off.

Some host, Keith thought bitterly.

His glare was apparently pretty pungent, because now that Lance’s distraction was gone, he looked over quickly. He brightened, jogging over.

“Keith! Hey! I haven’t seen you all night.”

“Yeah, wonder why,” muttered Keith sullenly.

“I hope you –” Lance frowned. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“What’s that supposed to mean,” Keith repeated, mocking. He rolled his eyes. Unfortunately he still managed to notice the expression on Lance’s face – wounded, not mad. He faltered.

That wasn’t how their arguments were supposed to go. “You know what it means,” he insisted, but it sounded unconfident even to his own ears.

“I really, really don’t. I looked for you earlier, I couldn’t find you when everyone else –”

“You looked?” Keith asked incredulously. “I couldn’t’ve pried your eyes away from Tall, Dark, and Handsome if I plucked them out of your head!”

Lance’s already-present flush exploded out of control, so bright Keith could see it even in the dying embers of the hearth. “I wasn’t – he’s not – you’re not – what are you talking about!” he finally managed, tripping over his words in a way he usually didn’t. “Peithos and I were just – were just – we were only dancing! He taught me the Spring Dance, earlier, when he was showing – showing – me the wildflower fields, and –”

Keith narrowed his eyes. He realised for the first time that Lance was swaying, slightly, and even as he talked himself out of his embarrassment, the red didn’t totally fade from his face, staying high on his cheeks.

“– I don’t know what your problem is, I swear, every time I have fun you live to ruin it. Gods, can’t I even have – have – have one thing, I just –”

He kept tripping over his words, like his tongue wasn’t working with him. Keith frowned harder.

“Lance, are you – drunk?”

“What? No!”

That Lance said clearly. He whirled on Keith with a new layer of clarity in his eyes, dark like pits and absolutely flashing in fury.

“You think,” he seethed, stepping forward, “that I am so freaking irresponsible, so absolutely stupid and idiotic, that I would get intoxi – intoxish – intoxicat –”

He couldn’t even say the words. Keith stared at him in alarm, because he raised a good point – Lance liked to pretend, but he really wasn’t irresponsible like that. Keith had never heard him swear. He went to bed at the same time every night. As far as he knew, he’d never actually touched a drop of alcohol in his life – it would be out of character for him to get wasted at a diplomatic mission, late at night, when they were separated and wary.

Something was not right.

“Lance, I think you should maybe –”

“Gods, you ruin – you ruin everything.” Lance blinked, hard, then glared at Keith, shoving off the steadying hand Keith had placed on his elbow and stumbling backwards. He held his gaze for several moments, absolutely glowering, and then – to Keith’s great horror – his brown eyes watered. Tears built up faster than he could wipe them away, tracing a line down his cheek. Keith staggered backwards.

“I hate you sometimes,” he said, and ran off.

Keith watched him go, aftertaste of the delicious food turning sour in his mouth.

— — —

all art by @jiveyuncle!!

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appeypie · 11 months

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refs for my skyward sword prequel thing that ive been thinkin about for a whileee...

most of the details are in my head but there's a little bit about them on my artfight page ^_^

#ss prequelverse #au #ghirahim #demise #skyward sword #the legend of zelda #loz ss #loz #honestly i think the master sword should be a little smaller. i think its even smaller in the game #but you get the gist #he has sword upgrades like fi #and like how the mastersword changes slightly in appearance from game to game..#he has the ability to slightly change over time too ^^#(into something a little easier for me to draw LOLOLLOL)#also in MY opinion this is less of an au and more of like. pre canon #like all of my normal ghirahim fanart/hcs have this as a backstory if that makes sense

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trivalentlinks · 2 years

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since i have been coming up with increasingly niche and unhinged e/q meet-cute concepts lately here’s another:

(warning: temporary character death, mention of child death, references to torture, mention of suicide-adjacent themes)

So it’s about five years pre-canon, while Moreau is at the peak of his power, with Eliot a steady presence by his side, and things are only looking up for him.

Quinn, on the other hand, is not having such a great time. See, he took a job in Egypt that should have been a slam dunk, but what he didn’t know was that he was actually working against a Moreau subsidiary group that was a lot better funded and better connected than he thought.

So Quinn is stuck handcuffed to a chair in a warehouse, held hostage by people who are far more competent than artifact smugglers have any right to be, and he’s resigned himself to a slow, unpleasant death, when suddenly a Mysterious Woman appears out of nowhere.

It turns out, she’s here to offer him a job. She wants him to remove Eliot Spencer from Damien Moreau’s side. She’s not in a huge rush: she’ll give him six months to do it.

She asks Quinn if he can do this and he’s like “Oh, yes, absolutely, I’m definitely the one for this job.”

[This is partly because he thinks that if he takes this job, she’ll at least help him get out of his current predicament (that’s basic manners, right?).

But it’s mostly because he’s an arrogant 25-year-old who really thinks he can take out Damien Moreau’s right-hand man even though last time he went up against a Moreau subsidiary (a week ago) he ended up getting captured and still has no good exit.]

When she smiles at him and offers a hand to shake on the deal, he's about to ask her what he's meant to do with that when he realizes that his right hand seems to have slipped out of the handcuffs, which is a bit weird. When did that happen?

His thumb is dislocated (had it been that way before and he just hadn’t noticed? He's sufficiently fucked up that it's possible, though it seems unlikely), but he quickly uses his mouth to reset his dislocated thumb and shakes on the deal.

After shaking on it, the Mysterious Woman turns around to leave, her heels clicking lightly on the warehouse floor.

"Wait, you're just leaving me here?"

She turns around and raises an eyebrow at him. "Why? Do you need help getting out?"

He glares at her.

"Aisha has a false pocket. Front left. That's how she accesses her hidden knife. Omar has injured his right hand, which he usually uses to draw his gun. It'll take him two seconds to remember to draw with his left."

"That's all you're giving me?"

"If that's not enough, then you must not be the man I thought you were," she says with a smirk before sauntering out.

Which is rude. More than fair, but rude.

In the end, though, it is enough for Quinn to get out and eventually make his way back to his safe-house in Rome.

Once there, he starts to wonder what exactly happened. Was the Mysterious Woman even real? He has never had such a vivid hallucination before, but he was very fucked up (roughed up, drugged, sleep deprived, and dehydrated).

She did give him some good intel that helped his escape, but then again, it was all the kind of info that he would have figured out himself if he weren’t so out of it, so. Could still have been his subconscious mind.

He asks around his contacts a bit (as much as he can without giving the impression that he’s gone round the bend) and finds that nobody’s heard of anyone like her, and who in their right mind would try to go up against Damien Moreau?

After concluding that she was probably a hallucination (which is disturbing, he’ll have to make sure never to fall into that kind of state again), Quinn decides to go on with his life.

Three months later, after a successful job in Chelyabinsk (one shot, through a brick wall, in the dark, after waiting an hour in 20 below freezing temperatures), Quinn goes back to his hotel room and finds the Mysterious Woman, sitting on the armrest of the plush hotel chair, looking like she owns the place and asking him if he’s made any progress on the job.

So, uh, oops. Turns out she was real, and now he has three months to remove Eliot Spencer.

That’s fine, though, Quinn is feeling like he’s on top of the world now, he can totally take down Eliot Spencer.

This turns out much, much harder than expected. Even getting any intel at all about Spencer's whereabouts turns out to be unfairly tricky.

After working his way through Moreau lackeys of various stripes, Quinn finally manages to get close enough to see Spencer at the docks of the Port of Mombasa. Unfortunately, Spencer sees him first, and by the time Quinn's aimed his weapon, Spencer has put a bullet in his chest.

Quinn is pretty sure that the shot he fired hit Spencer, too, but by then Spencer has put another bullet right through his heart, so he doesn't quite have the time to find out.

His last thought is that there are worse ways to die than in a gunfight with Eliot Spencer.

When Quinn wakes up, everything hurts. Also, he's drugged, sleep deprived, dehydrated, and handcuffed to a chair in a familiar warehouse in Cairo.

He's not too surprised to hear the clicking of stilettos against the warehouse floor and to look up to see the now-familiar Woman.

"You didn't think you could get out of our deal by getting yourself killed, did you?" She asks with a raised eyebrow. "Remove Spencer from Moreau’s side. You have six months."

The second time around, Quinn starts the hunt earlier, and manages to sneak up on Spencer at close enough range that the latter doesn't get a chance to draw his gun.

It's too close range for Quinn to use a gun, either, though.

Murdered by Eliot Spencer with his bare hands turns out to be a much less pleasant death.

This time, when Quinn wakes up in the warehouse again, the Woman isn't there. She must have figured he knew what he needed to do by then.

The third time around, he tries to make use of some of the things he knows from his previous run-throughs.

This goes very badly for him.

Left to die after being worked over repeatedly by an Eliot Spencer who's intent on figuring out where Quinn got his Intel on Moreau's organization is not a pretty way to go at all.

Quinn decides to make the fourth run-through about intel collection only.

He survives the six months that time. In those six months, he learns quite a lot about Eliot Spencer.

Not habits or preferences. Spencer doesn’t have those, other than the standard ones of a competent professional. It figures. Habits and preferences could often be turned into weaknesses, so of course, Spencer wouldn’t have those. That would be too easy.

The biggest thing is the depth of Spencer’s loyalty. Spencer would do anything for Moreau. It makes Quinn a little wistful. He’s dealt in that kind of loyalty before. He learned the hard way that it wasn’t for him.

(Quinn doesn’t think it’s for Spencer, either. Sometimes it seems like the things Spencer does for Moreau are killing him inside. But Quinn’s not here to judge.)

Another thing he notices is the accent. Somehow, improbably, unbelievably, despite everything he’s done, Eliot Spencer still speaks homicide with an accent. Quinn couldn’t believe it the first time he saw it. After two more incidents, though, it’s undeniable.

In theory, this should be a weakness. Quinn had known people who couldn’t shake their accents, even after years. They didn’t survive long. (”We all call it an accent, but you know what it actually is, right? It’s being human,” a friend had screamed at him through tears when they were thirteen. She didn’t make it to her fifteenth birthday.)

And yet Quinn knows, as much as he knows anything, that somehow, for Spencer, the accent isn’t a weakness.

It’s unfair, really. That’s the thought on Quinn’s mind as he drifts off to sleep before waking up six months earlier in a damn warehouse.

The fifth run-through, Quinn infiltrates Moreau’s organization. This goes remarkably well. By the times he’s six months in, he’s working a job directly under Eliot Spencer. (It helps that he knows from previous run-throughs exactly what he needs to do to get promoted as quickly as possible.)

Quinn doesn’t lose track of time, exactly. He knows precisely when his deadline to get rid of Eliot Spencer is.

He does get a little distracted, though. Who could blame him? Working with Eliot Spencer is incredible. He’s learning so much, and hey, it’s not like he’s in that much of a rush. If this iteration he doesn’t kill Eliot in time, there’s always the next one. He can just call it another intel-gathering round.

(And if that doesn’t explain how bereft he feels when he’s pulled back six months into the past, well. He doesn’t owe anyone an explanation, anyway.)

The sixth run-through, he manages to start working with Eliot much earlier.

It’s a good run-through.

The first time he spars with Eliot happens in this one. The first time Eliot smiles at him and calls him a show-off after he takes Eliot down with a perfect flying scissor sweep. (It’s a fair criticism, but hey. If you’ve got it, flaunt it.)

It’s also the one where he gets to know Eliot’s sense of humour, the way his lip twitches and he ducks his head sometimes when he’s trying to hide a smile.

This one was just for intel, too.

On the seventh run-through, Quinn finds out that Eliot has surprisingly strong opinions about proper julienne technique for someone who refuses to do any cooking himself. This will need more investigation.

On the ninth run-through, he actually manages to goad Eliot into making dinner for him. It’s a waste, Quinn muses, for this kind of talent to go so unused.

On the twelfth run-through, Eliot admits to Quinn, on a late-night stake-out, that he’s not entirely sure that Quinn is real.

“It’s just... sometimes it feels like you were custom made by G-d for me,” Eliot says.

“That’s surprisingly romantic of you,” Quinn says.

“Not like that,” Eliot growls, glaring at Quinn. “I just meant that you remind me what it’s like to feel alive. You do it so easily, like you were made for it.”

“You do realize that that’s even more romantic, right?”

“Or maybe you were just sent to kill me,” Eliot says with a roll of his eyes.

Quinn freezes for a moment, just for a fraction of a second before he remembers to snort at the joke and keep a light tone as he says, “Maybe I was.”

Eliot catches the way Quinn paused, though. He narrows his eyes. "Wait, what was that? I know you aren't actually here to kill me, because you’ve passed up at least half a dozen good opportunities to do it."

Quinn swallows. "I was offered a job to kill you once, some time ago," he admits.

"Why'd you turn it down?"

"Who'd be crazy enough to take a job like that?"

Eliot smiles at that, as Quinn intended, but Quinn can't shake the off feeling the conversation had put in him.

The next morning, he cuts the run-through short.

The thirteenth run-through Quinn tries to kill Damien Moreau. The job was to remove Eliot from Damien's side, and that should count, right?

He fails. For all the times that Eliot has trusted Quinn with his life, he would never trust him with Damien's.

Well, it has been a while since Quinn has been killed by Eliot Spencer.

The fourteenth run-through, Quinn does manage to take out Damien Moreau.

His resulting death at Eliot's hand is slow and brutal, but he does console himself with the thought that at least this one will be permanent.

It isn't.

The Woman appears again, this time.

"You wanted him removed from Damien's side, I removed him from Damien's side! That should have counted," Quinn rages at her.

"If you think Spencer's loyalty would have died with Moreau, then you must not understand either of them."

On the fifteenth iteration, Quinn relives all of his favourite moments.

His favourite jobs that he shared with Eliot. The exhilarating ones when they worked together like a well-oiled machine, and the quiet ones where he saw the softer parts of Eliot that the latter usually kept hidden.

The time he goaded Eliot into cooking for him. The time they destroyed the kitchen when they tried to cook together.

The time he found just the right song and the right mood to get Eliot to sing along to the radio on the drive back to the airport after a nice, clean job in Krakow.

(He doesn't relive the time Eliot told him with palpable guilt and shame about the man who had taught him to use his knife to create rather than destroy. The man who had tried to save him from himself.)

He relives all his favourite moments and tries to carve the memories into stone.

The sixteenth iteration, he kills Eliot Spencer at the first opportunity. (Before Spencer comes to like or trust him. Before he would see it as any kind of betrayal.)

As soon as it’s done, without even checking whether he got paid, Quinn calls the agents he’s worked with until he finds one who offers him a job that he can start immediately. It’s a long one that looks like it will be dangerous and difficult. Exactly what he needs.

He only makes it one day into the job, though. That first night, he goes to bed only to wake up back in that damned warehouse again.

“What the fuck?” Quinn yells out, when he sees the Woman casually leaning against the wall. “I did exactly what you fucking wanted this time!”

“I said remove him from Moreau's side. I didn’t say to do this by killing him.”

“You... didn’t say not to,” Quinn says, furrowing his brow.

“That’s fair,” the Woman acknowledges with a tilt of her head. “It’s the same to me anyway, so if that’s how you want to play it, fine. Just close your eyes and count down from 10, and you’ll wake up back on that job you lined up looking for that monkey. I won’t save you from Moreau trying to hunt you down for killing his right hand man, though.”

She takes a step forward and bends down to look at Quinn at eye level. “Is that how you want to play this?”

"... What choice do I have?”

“You can’t think of any other way to do this job?”

Quinn thinks of all the moments he shared with Eliot, the happy ones and the more painful ones. He thinks about the guilt in Eliot’s eyes as he told him about Toby. He thinks about Eliot admitting late one night that Quinn made him feel alive. He remembers Eliot inadvertently reminding him of what his job was (what he thought his job was?).

“Well?” The Woman asks. “Can you think of another way you’d rather do this job?”

Quinn smiles up at her. “Absolutely.”

This will be interesting.

[End]

Edit: Now on AO3 here! If you liked it, I’d really appreciate a kudos/comment there <3

#eliot spencer #mr. quinn #alternate e/q meet-cute concept #it's possible that i don't actually know what the word 'meet-cute' means #given the warnings i had to attach to this one #not gonna tag this one 'leverage prompts' because even i have to admit it's not a prompt at this point #pre-canon au

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