#barking writing

[silverskye13]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

In which there is mostly talking and some arguing.

[silverskye13]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

In which some arrangements are made

[silverskye13]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Quirrel has grown used to his gaps in memory. A symptom of his quest, he's come to appreciate them as a way of viewing the dying world around him without the lens of sadness and misery he is sure he would feel otherwise. However, on the odd occasion his mind decides to fill a gap, it enraptures his attention.

Welp, I think we can officially say I’ve fallen head-first into this damn fandom now can’t we? Ahahah.

[silverskye13]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

In which the story ends

[silverskye13]

Do you have any scattered/thrown away ideas for FwD you can share?

No thrown away ideas that matter. Not yet anyway. A lot of the plot for FwD is currently a jumble of plot point scrambling to click into place.

I do have one that probably won't make the cut that I can tell you though.

I've got this floating idea that Grillby differs from most of the other boss monsters in the [Underfell] Underground in that he isn't an absolute tyrant. Like yeah if youre on his turf [ his bar ] you have to play nice or he'll kick your butt, but he doesn't go out of his way to bother people on a daily basis just out and about. Not out of any kindness mind. It's just not worth his time [ he's incredibly self centered ].

The issue is sometimes he decides things are worth his time when someone would really rather him not.

He enters the rabbits' shop looking for a unique item for Gaster [ because the rich bastard can afford everything in the goddamn capital so I can't look there, grumble grumble mutter mutter ], and he finds a handmade pin-brooch that isn't exactly what he wants, but is pretty close.

It's about then that the shopkeeper gets robbed.

Now, Grillby doesn't particularly care that the shop is getting robbed. It's not his fault the poor girl can't defend herself. So he patiently waits until she forks over everything in her cash drawer while the teen delinquents gloat about another successful day. Seems they rob her often. Tch. Some people really need to grow a spine.

But this does offer a conundrum. Grillby wants to commission this girl to make a brooch for Gaster, and she can't very well make anything if she can't buy supplies because a group of stupid teenagers keep robbing her blind.

So Grillby follows them out of the store and in a back alley, takes care of the problem.

He finds out a few weeks later while picking up his commission that one of the delinquents was her nephew, and she's devastated over his disappearance. He can't say he particularly cares about the knowledge though. The kid shouldn't have been robbing the store he was looking to buy from. That's just bad luck.

[silverskye13]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

In which the brothers attempt a civil conversation and succeed?

[silverskye13]

I'm not sure if your prompts are open, I sincerely apologise if they're not but- Can you write something with Gaster getting sick and Grillby fussing over him?

“Grillby, really, it’s fine.”

“Mmmm-hm! I’m sure it is.”

“You have - don’t you have something more important to do? What about the bar?”

“The bar will be fine if it’s closed for one day.”

“Grillby come on, don’t be unreasonable about this.”

“I think between the two of us, I have the most reason on any given day.”

“You’re insufferable.”

“And I don’t care.”

And he didn’t care, which was Grillby’s best asset, really, in the face of the miserably grumpy skeleton now hovering pitifully in the kitchen. There was a soft rattle about him as he shivered, knocking sore and slightly off-color bones against each other and forcing a grimace to wince its way across Gaster’s teeth.

Gaster was sick. 

It happened sometimes, rarely. It was a bit difficult to get sick when you lacked much physicality by the way of organs or sinuses or blood. But magic was fickle, and still prone to it’s own little imbalances and pallors, especially when one worked constantly with the heavy magics associated with the Core. Normally when Gaster felt himself getting exhausted and overworked, and his magic going slightly askew, he had the good sense to take a rest before actual sickness set in. This time however, in his stubbornness, he’d attempted to power through the feelings for the sake of a breakthrough, gleaning nothing more than the sore off-color of off-kilter magic, miserable shivering, and a week’s leave from work.

The first day when Gaster had called Grillby to tell him he’d be staying home, Grillby had thought nothing of it. The second day, Grillby had asked with mild humor in his voice if Gaster had blown up the lab again. The third day, Grillby appeared on Gaster’s doorstep, a bag full of supplies in each hand and a stern frown on his face, demanding why the skeleton hadn’t said something sooner about his predicament. Gaster, his friend, shutting himself in, alone in the dark of his house and lazing around all day, not eating any proper meals or enjoying any decent company to keep his soul in good spirits? Unacceptable.

Now he unloaded his bags onto Gaster’s counter, humming quietly to himself as Gaster finally resigned himself to the fact that Grillby would be there all day mothering him. With a muttered complaint under his breath, Gaster hunched a blanket around his shoulders and shuffled into his living room, collapsing onto the couch. 

“Don’t go to sleep,” Grillby chided, “I’ll have breakfast ready for you in half an hour.”

“I didn’t ask you to cook for me!” Gaster called back stubbornly, “I’m going to get you sick too you know, and then where will we be?”

“Magic imbalances aren’t contagious, Gaster.”

Grillby didn’t hear the muttered response, but he chuckled nonetheless and rolled his eyes. Gaster was a brat when he was sick. Grillby chocked it up to a mix of feeling miserable, not wanting to be a burden for other people, and the general dissatisfaction Gaster got when he wasn’t able to work. It turned him abrasive, but in a pathetic sort of way. Like a wet kitten hissing at the hand trying to hold it. He made a lot of rough comments, generally to the effect of wanting to be left alone, but ultimately gave up and basked in the help that was offered to him.

Grillby started by putting some water on the stove for tea, because no matter the malady, a warm drink tended to sooth most things. While he waited on the water to boil, he busied himself with cooking something simple for Gaster’s breakfast. Oatmeal, he figured, would do just fine. Something bland and warm and slightly sweet to take the edge off of aches and pains.

“You know,” Grillby hummed, his voice not unpleasant as he worked, “If you took better care of yourself I wouldn’t have to do things like this.”

There was a low grunt in response from the other room.

“Never taking any decent rests aside,” Grillby continued, a smile in the color of his flame, “Eating more than one decent meal a week at my house would probably prevent stuff like this. I can still teach you how to cook you know. It’s really not that hard. I’m told it’s a bit like chemistry.”

There was another grumble from the couch, this time noticeably more sour.

“Oh come on, you mean to tell me you don’t like chemistry anymore?”

Grillby served up the tea and oatmeal with a slice of toast for good measure, expertly balancing the plate and mug as he walked. He smirked down at Gaster, curled up into a ball on the couch, blanket pulled over his head like a cowl. The skeleton shivered and offered him a glare.

“You’re insufferable,” he muttered again.

“And yet you suffer me,” Grillby smiled, waiting patiently as the skeleton disentangled himself from his blanket enough to take the food he was offered.

“Not of my own free will,” Gaster murmured, though there was a noticeable smile in his voice as he spoke, “I just can’t kick you out myself right now.”

“Of course,” Grillby hummed, still smiling, and then said more seriously, “That bad huh?”

Gaster frowned and, to demonstrate, reached a hand out in the direction the remote was sitting in. Blue magic fizzled to life in a crackling of sparks, arced like angry lightning around the remote for a moment, before giving one final snap and dissipating. The remote hadn’t moved.

“Oof,” Grillby shook his head, “You’ve really done a number on yourself this time Wing Dings.”

“Yeah yeah.”

“Have you thought about seeing a doctor, Doctor?”

“Nah it’s fine,” Gaster yawned, shivered, and took a sip of his tea, “Besides there’s not much they can do about it. Give me something to ease the aches and help me sleep it off maybe.”

“Hmm.”

Grillby moved then, helping himself to a quick exploration of Gaster’s home - all while the skeleton watched him mildly, eating his breakfast. He didn’t ask what Grillby was looking for, probably too tired to rightly care about it. He did, however, manage to muster a questioning expression when Grillby returned with a blanket hugged in his arms. The elemental stood, burning softly warm beside his friend for a moment, before offering to switch blankets. Gaster complied with little protest, and then sighed with relief when the blanket warmed by the heat of Grillby’s fire wrapped itself around him. 

Grillby smiled, “Feel good?”

“Yes,” Gaster hummed, letting the warmth seep into his bones and ease his aches and pains, “That’s absolutely fantastic, thank you.”

Grillby flipped on the TV and stood quietly by the couch, watching the movie that was playing and waiting patiently for Gaster to fall asleep - which he did. Grillby threw the second blanket - now also warm after he’d held it - over Gaster’s sleeping form so the heat could help keep him comfortable and sleeping. Then Grillby busied himself with his friend’s house.

There were a lot of simple, insignificant things that could help monsters feel well, Grillby knew. After all, wellness wasn’t just how you felt physically. A lot of it also had to do with the mind. You could feel so much more miserable when you lived in a mess - which Gaster did. He wasn’t terrible, mind. Most of his mess was clutter and the neglect of never having the time to clean properly. But Grillby set to work on it nonetheless, both in an effort to help Gaster feel better and an effort to keep busy while the skeleton slept.

Grillby picked up clutter, started laundry washing, changed sheets on beds and swept floors. He took out the overflowing trash, cleaned out the refrigerator and cabinets - and all while Gaster snored and shivered on the couch, while the day lengthened and passed, until Grillby was cooking dinner, and the warm, smooth smell of a soup made from scratch roused Gaster from his exhausted sleep. This time when he wandered his way into the kitchen, he wasn’t shivering, and Grillby recognized a more healthful color on the skeleton’s cheekbones.

Gaster looked around his sparkling kitchen, and then rested his eyes gratefully on the smiling elemental as he cooked. 

“You’re insufferable,” he said for the third time that day, this time smiling softly as he spoke, “What in the world would I do without you?”

“Oh exactly the same thing you would do with me I suppose,” Grillby hummed, “Though with a smellier house, I think.”

Gaster chuckled and shook his head. He walked up behind Grillby as he cooked, wrapping his arms around the elemental’s waist and resting his head on his shoulder. He sighed, relaxing into the warmth of Grillby’s flame.

“Thank you, Firefly.”

“You’re more than welcome, Doctor.”

[silverskye13]

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Oro has spent the last several years in isolation at the edge of the world, training in an attempt to prove himself after his estrangement from his brothers. And what better way to prove himself than this new rumor he's heard - the Colosseum is looking for a new Champion, and strong knights from all over the corpse of Hallownest are gathering to test their might. It should have been a simple thing, really. All Oro would have to do is enter the Colosseum, hack his way to the end of the tournament, and finally get the one thing he's always been chasing after. But there is more than one Nailmaster entered into this tournament, and now Oro must come face to face with the reason he left all those years ago, under the King Fool's fell gaze.

There’s gonna be some gory moments in this one ladies and gents [ i mean, it’s the Colosseum of Fools ], so just a heads up there! Otherwise, sit back and relax and enjoy my new fixation :D