bah

[thethrillof]

 my brain is max static lately but i genuinely do want to write more so 

throw some prompts at me? no matter how weird, as long as it's a fandom i've been remotely interested in. maybe i'll have better luck here than on tumblr vOv no guarantee about length or quality in the remotest sense tho. 

Comments

[rynet_ii]

Random prompts:

- I had a dream once that Abbot Cellach was the headmaster of a boarding school. So. Abbot Cellach, dealing with UNRULY STUDENTS.

- Mahou Tobio; Tobio and Atom fighting a giant robot that a bad guy hijacked.

- Not a fandom but: Write about Juniper's first impressions of Chastity and Noble.

- ...I'd be kinda interested in your take on the "Sans and Chara confront one another in a post-pacifist (but a murder route was attempted) scenario."

not much of a confrontation honestly

[thethrillof]

the kid creeps him out. sometimes.

sure, there’s the urge scratching at the back of his skull to back off when he sees ‘em make their way out of the ruins. how he suddenly didn’t want them anywhere near his bro, can barely watch when they actually head out and fight him, even though everything was fine in the end. which shouldn’t be surprising. papyrus is great.

and the little fact that they know exactly what to do almost all the time. they’re obviously the root of some pretty big things, and it’s a bad feeling he doesn’t care for.

that’s not what creeps him out. he's got a pretty high threshold for this kind of thing, believe it or not.

he knows frisk. not perfect, not even well, but he knows their face. it shows, if not their thoughts, their feelings clearer than a surface day. when they’re worried or angry or cheerful or disgusted. he’s had a lot of looks shot his way, not all of ‘em friendly. they don’t always like him, they definitely don’t trust him. they went on all his ‘dates’, after all, giving him a good long look at who they are plenty of times before they took a step into the golden hall.

the surface changed things. sure, they go watch anime with alphys, they hang out with his cool bro all the time, they’re always bustling around helping tori with her pies and asgore with his tea, and sans can read ‘em like a book when they’re with other people. bored but well-meaning, totally excited, cheerful as they can be.

it’s just that totally stopped with him.

he didn’t know a human could turn off before.

it takes a while for him to say anything. there’s not a whole lot of reason to. and the number of times they’re alone together is incredibly low. they like papyrus more than him, which is totally fair.

still, they share a house. papyrus isn’t always in the room.

frisk is in the kitchen, making some toast. they’re scraping some strawberry stuff out of a jar. lots of new non-pasta food showing up in the fridge lately that neither of them bought.

“hey, kid. you’re doing the face thing.”

they don’t look up when they repeat. “Face thing.”

“yeah, uh, it’s looking a little jammed up.”

nothing. not a laugh, not a sideways glance. just the continuous rythmic scraping of a butter knife.

yeah. a little creepy.

they don’t say anything else. he doesn’t bother pushing it. their being there is making papyrus happy, and sans knows he’ll be back any second.

he goes back to the garage. his bike has a flat. might as well fix it now.

frisk avoids him more after that. they look guilty and kind of pissed off. a few weeks go by where papyrus goes out to meet them instead of the other way around.

sans has the urge to put all the knives away. he doesn’t, ‘cause why? there’s no reason to.

(he doesn’t actually want to know why.)

//

frisk doesn’t care much about routines. they do whatever they want if toriel doesn’t keep them on a schedule. sometimes they’ll be over to hang out with papyrus five days a week. sometimes they only show up for an hour or so. their whole life is like that. everybody indulges them. trying to predict them is useless, and besides, stories about how they just show up and startle the heck out of people are pretty funny.

sans knows when they’re coming. he...also doesn’t question that.

one day, they walk out after a short visit, only to walk back in an hour later, after papyrus is out to take his car on a spin. sans is lazing on the couch, as he does. human infomercials are hilarious. they’re even more hilarious sideways.

frisk stops at the edge of the couch, bracing their hands against the arm. he watches their head slowly slide into view, and egh, some of their hair swings down to lie against the side of his skull. it sounds weird scratching like that, and he brushes it away.

they don’t move.

or talk.

sans is creeped out. sans is not creeped out enough to actually do anything about it. a solid two minutes pass before anyone makes a move.

“You act so useless.”

hm. that’s kind of rude. and out of nowhere.

“what about it?”

“I do not understand it.”

sans rolls over, staring at frisk’s upside-down face. it’s blank.

“well, there’s not much to understand. i’m a lazybones, remember. ‘sides, i have a job and all. i even have a bike. that took some change to afford. not as useless as i used to be, in some peoples opinion.” he winks.

frisk pulls back. they don’t leave, like he’s sort of hoping. instead they walk around the couch, reaching for the remote. their steps are slower than usual. their hands are particularly clumsy--it takes them a few seconds to aim it right.

“hey,” he halfheartedly protests when it’s shut off. “what’s that for.”

“I wish to know something. To. Talk.”

sans sinks into the couch a little more. what? “yeah? why now?” is what he says instead.

frisk is looming over him. their face is still blank. maybe their eyes are a little wider than normal. he wonders if they’re sick.

“I have…little else to do. Today.”

frisk never says ‘i’. it’s a thing sans noticed pretty fast. they’re also one of the most active and nimble people sans ever met. it’s weird, that they’re acting like their body is new. it’s weird that they’re talking like this. it’s weird.

it’s like they’re a different person.

and, oh. huh.

he thinks a word to himself he’d never say aloud in front of them. he has some standards.

well. what does he know about humans.

“i got nothing better to do either,” he sighs. “whats up.”

lbr would we expect much else from poor, long-suffering sans

[rynet_ii]

the world's most Awkward social situation

[vyctori]

How about Frisk meeting Héctor from Coco?

difficult to write bone man

[thethrillof]

So there’s a kid loose in the Land of the Dead.

It’s not Miguel this time, Héctor made absolutely sure. He knows which cops tell the truth, and besides, everyone knows what his Miguel looks like. At least, everyone dead by last year.

Technically, it isn’t his business. It’s bizarre, since the kid managed to get over alive and nowhere near Día de Muertos, but he could ignore it…

…Except no, he couldn’t. The thought of a living child, lost, alone, weaving through the streets was unbearable.

The rest of his family agrees, and they go.

Splitting up wasn’t a part of the plan. Héctor just made a too-fast turn down one of the hundreds of nooks and crannies not too far from where the flower bridges should have been, and lost track, just in time to hear the sound of slow footsteps far too heavy for any skeleton feet. Flesh, organs, those weigh more than you’d think. It’s an echo from just ahead, and screaming for the rest, if he’s right, would scare the kid off. If he’s wrong, hey, he can catch up, he’s fast.

He follows.

First turn in the winding back alley, he runs into them. Quite literally, they’d stopped and he’d crashed right into their back, bouncing off and nearly falling to pieces.

There’s no mistaking it. They whirl, he can see skin. They’re fully, undeniably alive.

“—Hello!” he starts, sitting up from his ungainly sprawl on the ground. “…You’ve been making quite the ruckus! More than I ever did. Almost.”

They stare. Maybe that wasn’t the best way to open the conversation.

“…And, I, uh, I bet you want to get home. I don’t know if the officers told you, and—and I don’t want to alarm you, but it’s best you get back by the end of the night. You might fade if you don’t.” Maybe? This isn’t something he’s heard of before, and he did a tiny bit of research just in case Miguel or someone else did something crazy when they were supposed to visit. “But they’re a little scary, right? Real friendly, but some of them can be real hard-headed, you know? Real numbskulls, if you know that I me—”

The kid shoves their hand in his face. Héctor leans back to avoid what he thinks is a hand going for his mouth, and they just leave it hanging, and keep staring.

What—?

They ask, in a very soft voice, if he knows how to greet a new pal.

“…Yes. Yes,” he says, reaching out to shake the weird kid’s hand. Finally, they stop staring and start grinning. “I’m Héctor! I’ll be your friendly…ah, tour guide back.”

They say their name’s Frisk, but they shake their head. They don’t think the cops can help, and they need to keep moving. They’re looking for somebody.

“Believe it or not, they aren’t completely horrible at their jobs. If you really need to see someone, they—we, you and me, all together, can work it out!” He rolls, rattles, stands.

Comparisons leap out like flashing gold. Frisk’s shorter than Miguel; they can’t be more than ten. Their skin is a little darker than Miguel’s, their eyes are paler, their hair is far longer and a wild mess. He glances down at their shoes, a newly-born habit, and he can barely tell what sort of boots they are. Admittedly, he isn’t as good at is as the rest of the Riveras, but this time it’s more to do with the filth-splattered state of them, going partially up their pants. They’d been running through mud at some point. Had they gotten all the way down to the docks?

How in the world did they get here?

No, they insist, cutting him off before he can ask. They need to keep going. They don’t need to go back to life yet, they just…overshot.

Héctor has no idea what that means.

Though he just stood, he drops down to one knee, settling a hand on their shoulder. “Look, kid, it’s dangerous to linger here. I promise I’ll help how I can. If you take too long, you’ll die, and you’ll never get to leave, even if you find who you’re looking for.”

…Hopefully that matters to them, he considers a little too late. Their face slips from friendly grin to something grim and set.

“You’re too young to be here,” he adds urgently, squeezing lightly. “We can figure something out.”

A shadow sweeps across the alleyway. Frisk stiffens under his hand, and Héctor quickly spins and holds his arms out in front of them. He knows it’s not a threat, but instinct of a father still lingers, and they’re so small.

The ground shakes with the beast’s landing.

“Héctor!” the family choruses from atop her back.

“Look, here’s my family--and Pepita. You don’t need to be afraid of them,” Héctor says, even though they haven’t moved. Frisk’s a lot braver than he was the first time he met her. And the second. And that one time last week. “She’s my wife’s Alebrije. Her spirit guide. We’ll all help you here.”

Frisk looks doubtful.

He turns, takes a few steps backwards towards his family, and holds his hand out where they can still reach.

“Promise, kiddo.”

There is a very long period of silence. Even his family, devoid of context, holds their breath.

Okay, they say, and grab his hand again, nearly hard enough to yank it off. They’ll give him a chance now. Just one. They’re on a mission and they’re not going to stop, no matter what.