#ficbitting

[coevalities]

la miséricorde divine

Stop, says the hierophant, mildly. Do not look for him in me. You’ll only hurt yourself if you try. 

Why would it hurt me, asks Chrom, challenging, to know that the man I trust most still lives?

A curl of amusement, sharp. Because handling broken glass tends to cut, prince. A pause, considering. Ah, but. Would you prefer it regardless? To know that I am still Robin, that I am- a hand pressed over the heart, dramatic, demonstrative, eyes wide and guileless- the same, somewhere deep down? That the man you know still exists? Eyes gold, innocent, naive to what he truly is? The hierophant paces, one-two, stepping to the exalt’s side as he begins to circle the clearing, thoughtful, head cocked like the bird of his namesake as he presses his eyes closed for a long moment. Would you be reassured by knowing that the man who so steadfastly stands by your side, who's spent many a sleepless night with you in the strategy tents is the same monster that haunts your daughter’s nightmares and tore the world to pieces?

You’re- False start, stop. There’s a blockage in his throat that he won’t let on exists as Chrom swallows past it, keeping his tone steady with the practiced ease of a general at war. You’re doing this on purpose, he says. You’re trying to scare me, to force me to back down and take it back, and before the man in front of him can take that as his answer and cut him off Chrom barrels on, but that means I’m right—

And if you are? What does that earn you? Robin grins, gentle and sweet as he spins on his heel, the corners of his mouth pulling back and baring teeth. His arms splay out, inviting embrace or to be run through as his eyes glitter. His tone is light, none of the knowing, mocking amusement borne from certainty that Plegia's hierophant so often possessed to be found in his voice. Were it not for the words he speaks— The knowledge that kind, self-sacrificing Robin is the one who will end the world, and do so of his own volition? Ah, but of course, we are one and the same— does this make you feel better, Chrom?

No? And now he laughs, cruelty lacing the sound. Good. Make sure you keep that division between us. It will be better for you in the end. He leans in, raises a finger to Chrom’s lips, an intimate echo of a lover’s hush. 

Let it not be said, Robin says, molten gold meeting Ylissean blue, that the Fell Dragon knows nothing of mercy.

[coevalities]

w? d?

The pin is blank. A possibly useful trinket, but inert. And Yugi has tried, to tune into it like he has before, to synchronize with and call the Noise whose form and soul have been imprinted onto the pin the same he would tap the power of any other pin.

All he ever manages to get from it is static and white noise. 

Yawning, cavernous, echoing blankness, beckoning and beguiling, that he could plummet into, curl up within to be engulfed by the nothing, nothing, nothing, never to be able to escape again-

Yugi always cuts the psych connection quickly after that.

(He wonders what really goes into the making of a Noise pin, sometimes. When Reapers do it, it has to be purposeful.

How does it feel for the Noise?)

[coevalities]

w1 d2

“█▅▄▆,” purrs the Noise. Jou eyes it with something like nervousness if his pride would let him admit to it, but Yugi thinks he hears something like a pleased lilt to the static.

He’s thinking of it like a cat. It’s not, really, barely a mess of writhing, amorphous shadow that somehow still manages to hold the vaguest of shapes. Noise are already half graffiti, abstract shapes and bold lines in place of wing and fur and claw, but this particular one seems to take it even further than that, the only recognizable features being a faintly feline silhouette and glowing gold-white symbols that are probably its eyes. And claws, they know that much. Very sharp, very effective claws.

But it drapes like one, and snakes between his legs like one, bristles in sensations of pins and needles like one. Well, the bristling part, anyway. 

And now it purrs like one.

“D’you really have to keep it out like that?” Jou asks, in a tone that sounds like the vocal equivalent of him leaning as far away from the shadowy figure of the Noise as possible. “I know it’s useful in a fight ‘n all, but I dunno... Something about it kind of gives me the heebie jeebies. It’s the same kind of stuff we’re goin’ up against, you know.”

“I have his pin right here,” Yugi reassures him, showing off the item in question. “I can put him away whenever. But...” He pauses, considering. “I dunno. He’s kind of cute, isn’t he?”

“I dunno if ‘cute’ is the kind of word I’d go for, Yug.”

“▐▆▄  ▁▅▃█  ▄▙▟█▆ ▐▖,” says the Noise, drawing both their attention again before Yugi can respond further. Okay, sure, it’s... a little unsettling, those noises. Sure. But it’s not all that bad, Yugi thinks. 

Jou seems to think otherwise, especially given that the Noise’s posture is straighter, more alert again, and its eyes seem to be staring straight at and through him. Hazily defined, tufted ears prick forward, but it otherwise remains docile. “▇▃▅█.” 

The gold closes in a long, lazy blink. It makes a languid, stretching sort of motion, wisps of deep violet tendrils unfurling, and-

Teeth. Teeth, and a pink tongue poking out. Then it’s gone again, swallowed back up by the dark.

They both blink at it for a moment, slightly wide-eyed.

“Oh,” says Yugi first. “I think... that was a yawn.” He reaches out a hand to carefully scratch under what he thinks is a chin. The Noise makes another sort of odd, stuttering sound, like old computers and phones, and leans eagerly into the motion.

“I’m pretty sure it just wants to eat us,” grouses Jou, mentally taking another imaginary step back. Dogs showing off teeth don’t mean nothing good. He’s pretty sure that applies to other animals too, even if- especially if they’re weird murder art animals involved in some creepy Reaper’s Game. “Hey, if you wake up with that thing chewing on your face, don’t say I didn’t tell you so. I mean, I’ll save you and all, we’re buds, but. Just saying.”   

“Uh-huh,” responds Yugi, absently, still scratching away. “You’re really kind of sweet, aren’t you?” The Noise has since relocated to an odd half sprawl across his shoulders and back, flickering patterns swirling in mesmerizing rhythm as it continues emitting content static.

Jou sighs, before gently starting on herding his friend down the street. “Sometimes I don’t know what you’d do without me, man.”

[coevalities]

miles from way back when

“Camilla…” Corrin’s voice is gentle. It is so gentle. So soft. So very steady despite how Camilla can barely keep herself standing, in light of the revelations her younger adopted sibling, the one she still loves, despite everything, brings with them. “Big sis, please, why do you look so sad?”

“Darling,” Camilla breathes, helplessly. “I knew-” She stops. She can’t–

(Elise, dearest, sweet, gentle Elise, who never wanted this war, who snuck into the underground, the catacombs where those left of Nohr still did their best to pretend at livelihood in disguise to sell flowers. Elise who still believed in Corrin, and led their wayward sibling here to ruin them all.

Elise is dead. And- Xander is dead. Their father is dead. Camilla is next in line for the crown.)

“I knew you’d come back,” Camilla says. She doesn’t know what expression her face is making right now. It must be ugly. It’s how she feels, all twisted and wrong inside because she loves Corrin. She loves Corrin so much it hurts. So anything else, this pained and dark thing curled around her heart, around her love, festering with bitterness, is wrong. 

She’s smiling, she thinks. That’s good. Her tears don’t mean anything. “I always knew, darling. That you’d… you’d come back to us. Once this silly war was ended.”

“But it’s over now,” Corrin implores, red eyes bright without understanding. Corrin had been so naive, so innocent, and Camilla had treasured and sought to protect that, to nurture it, so out of place in the frozen and barren wastelands of Nohr, where the people have grown as cold as the ravaged earth that failed to nurture them, as dark as their sunless sky. Camilla had treasured it so. 

She’d loved Corrin. 

“We can be a family again, all of us,” Corrin is saying. “Garon’s gone, you don’t have to listen to him anymore, I can introduce you–”

She can’t–

Camilla runs. Flees to the stables, spurs her wyvern into panicked, hasty flight, and only then does she allow herself to weep.

(Camilla abdicates the throne for more than one reason, despite her guilt. She does not want to flee, like a coward, and leave Leo to shoulder the burden of rebuilding and recovering alone, but she can’t be queen. She can’t, because the last time she’d loved and nurtured and given herself to something she’d ruined them.

She’d never wanted to be her mother, but maybe, in the end– 

maybe wanting and wishing meant for very little, in the end.)

[coevalities]

when i said shitty au i meant shitty au

—

Robin is draped all across the seat at the head of the makeshift table in the war tent when they arrive, though they readjust their posture once they notice the people filtering in. The result isn’t much better, even if they’ve gone from a drape to more of a lounge.

Gaius raises a brow, then shifts his lollipop to the side. “Oi, Bubbles. You feeling all right?” 

“Oh, no,” Robin says, head atop their steepled hands, with an inordinate cheer that sparks some’s growing alarm. Chrom just places his head into his hands as they not so stealthily stow away a Sleep staff. “Robin’s exhausted, thanks for asking, because Robin is an idiot who doesn’t know what the meaning of limits is. But that’s okay, and not what we’re here to talk about right now.”

“Wait. So where’s–” and aren’t they a noisy bunch; that one is one of the newer recruits whose name they haven’t bothered to remember yet. If ever. ‘Robin’ sighs, sits up a little straighter, then slams a mess of tomes and maps down onto the table to shut them up.

“Sorry, Robin can’t handle the strategy meetings right now,” they say, a beam much sharper than Robin’s mild ones splitting their face. “They have been unceremoniously told to, and I quote, ‘get some damned sleep for once in their life.’ You’ll be temporarily answering to me while they take that nap of theirs. Don’t worry- anything they can do, I can do better.”

[coevalities]

“You don’t use conventional projectiles.”

“Nah,” responds Braig, drawing out the ‘n’. He fiddles with something or other along the sights of his disassembled weapon before he holds the part up to the light to scrutinize it. Beside him, Dilan just looks out toward the targets at the other end of the shooting range.

“Then why reload at all?”

Braig’s reply comes, slightly distrait but for the most part attentive: “Takes a moment to make them, you know? Better to do them in batches than on the fly. Less distracting.”

Dilan squints, letting that sink in for a moment. “And... the advantage to this, as opposed to regular ammunition?”

“Hey, you just said it, didn’t you? Ammo. Can’t run out this way-- Or, well,” Braig corrects, deeming whatever corrective maintenance he’d done to be sufficient and starting on reassembling the components, “it’s harder to, anyway. Can still run out of mana like with regular magic-- and before you say it, it’d take a long time before a fight makes me hit that particular limit.” He grins a little, all teeth. “And I dunno what I’d be doing as a sniper if I let something go on that long.”

Dilan hms in response, but allows the explanation to stand. “Suppose they’re more efficient than regular gravity spells that way. But if you’re that good a shot then wouldn’t it be easier to just cast the spell regardless?”

“Geez, I appreciate the faith you have in me bud, I really do. Bu-ut,” Braig drawls, accent lilting over the word, “my madness does have a method to it, believe it or not. The main reason I use the guns is for ease of delivery. Has to do with the ballistics. Easier to tweak the physics of ‘em. They’re not material constructs, so air resistance isn’t much of a thing, for one, so load up a little unstable magic...” and he demonstrates, here, with one newly reassembled arrowgun, taking aim, sighting down the barrel, firing--

and missing, the bolt going wide by a few feet across several dozen meters of distance and the gale force winds that have suddenly picked up in the field.

Braig only stares unimpressedly up at the other guard. “Whoa. Hey. Not cool. Dial back the raging storm a little, would you?”

“Where’s the fun in that,” says Dilan, completely straightfaced. His tone is flat; his expression is light. Challenging. “I thought you said they didn’t face air resistance. Is a little wind so much trouble for you that you’d balk at it?”

“What?” Braig laughs, then reloads his arrowguns with another spark of Graviga. “I said air resistance, Dilan, not an Aeroga from a guy who’s way too good with wind magic for his own good. Magic interference is still a thing, y’know.” That said, his cocksure grin from earlier turns defiant. “But c’mon, you know me better than that. As if. Gimme your best shot, big guy, let’s do this thing.”

[coevalities]

@thethrillof​ ‘i might revisit it’ i said, turns out here it is, the revisit

[NO,] says Gaster without turning around. One of his hands plucks the chocolate bar being inched sneakily off of the counter out from Chara’s questing grasp. [BEHAVE. AND I WILL SEE ABOUT ALLOWING YOU SOME LATER. BEFORE HIS AND HER MAJESTIES RETURN.] 

The king and queen’s second child scowls briefly, a bit put out that their attempt at stealth was thwarted so easily, but quickly schools their face into a smile to rival his own.

“I cannot understand you,” they proclaim with solemn gravitas, even as the prince squawks out a scandalized ‘Chara!’ immediately before they spring up and begin to engage in an impromptu game of keep away with the hand as they try to reclaim the treat. 

[THAT IS NOT FOR EATING,] chides His Majesty’s Royal Scientist, though with a distinct lack of force to his voice. Yet another free hand swoops down to catch the platter that Asriel drops when his paws go to his snout in (a failed) attempt to stifle his giggles, then offers it to him again once he has managed to somewhat calm himself. Despite the circumstances and reprimand his tone remains mild as he hovers over the pot on the stove in the royal family’s home. [AND CERTAINLY NOT BEFORE A MEAL AT THAT.] 

“Hmmm. Still can’t understand that,” they singsong, before letting out a vindictive cry of triumph as they succeed in snatching the candy away from the disembodied hand holding it. The sound of their laughter fades slightly in volume as they rush out of the kitchen and into the sitting room, but then abruptly pitches back sharply up in an indignant, bewildered cry: “Blech!”

[YOU CANNOT SAY THAT I DID NOT WARN YOU,] calls Gaster through the doorway, despite the shocked and mildly concerned pitch Asriel’s ears have taken on. 

Chara retaliates by slinking back into the kitchen, equal parts sulky and mutinous, and throwing the rest of the bar of unsweetened baking chocolate back at him.

[coevalities]

undertale: gaster cooking with the kids. (who are the kids? sans and papyrus? asriel and chara? narrachara and frisk? whatever sounds interesting.)

bold brackets are wingdings. i’m sorry for the capslock abuse in advance, this ended up a little less cooking with kids and more… something else, despite my intention in the beginning. oops. i might revisit this later with something a bit more prompt appropriate.

[I DO NOT THINK THIS IS A GOOD IDEA,] Gaster says, uselessly, to the hand that would have seemed to be intent on trying to dislocate his if such a thing were actually a threat to him.

“NONSENSE,” responds the eighteen year old Papyrus dragging him along one of Snowdin’s outroads. Said skeleton had showed up at the lab in Hotland earlier that day, and upon Gaster dropping his current projects to stop by the main lobby in concern had declared for all present to hear that ‘GASTER WILL BE TAKING A VACATION DAY FOR VERY IMPORTANT FAMILY MATTERS, NYEH HEH HEH.’ 

That was the only explanation the younger skeleton had given before Gaster was unceremoniously abducted from his workplace by his own younger brother. And now here they were, after having taken the Riverperson’s ferry back from Hotland. “SANS IS GRADUATING,” Papyrus says, with something almost like an pointed tone in his voice. “I’M SURE THAT YOU’RE AWARE, BUT THAT’S A BIG DEAL! SUCH AN OCCASION ABSOLUTELY DEMANDS A GRAND CELEBRATION!”

Gaster’s free hand flutters uselessly in the air for a moment before he gives it up as a bad job. It wasn’t as if he’d forgot, or didn’t think it important that his other brother was finally coming back from his extended stay in New Home for his studies (outside of a few visits every now and then on the weekends), but… [HE SAID HE WANTED IT TO BE A QUIET AFFAIR. THAT IT WAS NO BIG DEAL, REALLY.]

“WELL SANS HAS BEEN KNOWN TO OBFUSCATE THE TRUTH AT TIMES! ALSO, HE SEEMS TO HAVE A SKEWED IMPRESSION OF HIS OWN SELF IMPORTANCE.” Papyrus’ tone and gaze both somehow manage to flicker to the side dubiously at that. “I DO NOT KNOW WHY HE INSISTS ON BEING THIS WAY!” 

[PERHAPS HE IS JUST HUMBLE?] offers Gaster mildly, before wincing as Papyrus tugs him along slightly more sharply at that. [OW. IT WAS JUST A THOUGHT.]

“AS HIS BROTHERS WE NEED TO SHOW HIM HOW MUCH HE IS APPRECIATED! BESIDES. IT’S TOO LATE TO BACK OUT NOW, AFTER I’VE ALREADY MADE ALL THE NECESSARY PREPARATIONS! THAT’D BE INCREDIBLY RUDE.”

[JUST HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE YOU ALREADY ROPED INTO THIS.]

“JUST UNDYNE!” Papyrus chirps innocently. “…AND POSSIBLY EVERYONE ELSE IN TOWN.”

[EVERYONE.]

“WELL, NOT EVERYONE. THE ROCK FAMILY IS ON VACATION, APPARENTLY. BUT GRILLBY HAS ALREADY PREPARED HIS RESTAURANT AND EVERYTHING!”

[EVERYONE,] repeats Gaster, faintly. Suddenly his previously-held, vague plans for a modest family dinner seem woefully inadequate. He’s fairly sure there isn’t even enough in the pantry for anything more than a small meal and cake. He hadn’t had any time yet for groceries this week, and…

“NYEH HEH HEH,” says Papyrus, as if aware of what Gaster is thinking. “NOT TO WORRY, BROTHER. THIS IS A GROUP EFFORT, AFTER ALL! I’M SURE GRILLBY AND THE INN LADY WOULD BE THRILLED TO HAVE THE EXTRA HANDS IN THE KITCHEN.”