Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

❝ Hold your hands up to your eyes again
Hide from the scary scenes, suppress your fears
So be mine and your innocence I will consume. ❞

Dark Shines | MUSE

The scuffling in the garbage dump brought the monster’s attention, gold eyes peering through the darkness and picking out the raccoon that glared back at him, black, white and grey face twisted to a snarl. He hissed back, tall frame shuffling forth. The raccoon ceased digging through the garbage with jerky claws and scuttled off, thoroughly annoyed at being interrupted in its search for a meal.

Nix stopped, taking a sip of water, then pulled a grin on his face, kicking apart some trash as he pulled along a cart behind him, filled with a few articles ranging from an old windchime, what seemed to be a toilet bowl and a half broken chandelier. He held out his hand which shone a bright green and morphed into an emerald halberd and pried off a large board.

A bathtub, worn down and broken apart came into view. “Shit.” Nix crumbled when a splatter of dirt fell on to his trousers. “Great, now Naia’s going to kill me.” He huffed and tried to wipe it away, leaving behind a brown streak

There were few things in the bath tub, old Christmas baubles, cartridges, fake jewelry and some books. Nix hauled the box of tomes off and began to sift through the contents, commenting on every one that he pulled out.

A fluorescent diary covered in sequins.

“Tacky.”

A book about puberty.

“Not planning on going through that again.”

A plain brown book.

“Brown.”

A black leather bound book.

“Fancy.”

He threw the ones he liked on the cart and continued on his way, pausing and stopping to flip open a few of them. Some were still filled with drawings, while some were old, super old but completely blank. Namely the leather bound one and he flipped through the yellowed pages, shrugged and moved on to an old cookbook after tossing that in with the others as well.

After he packed some old pieces of stained glass, he tugged at his wagon and continued on down the path. The raccoon returned again, furry face watching after the large monster with dark eyes, the scurried into the upturned pile, scraping at the dirt, uncovering s few shards and finally, a piece of shiny metal that it collected and tried to eat.

It broke a canine.

Chapter Text

" nepenthe "
(n.) something that can make you forget grief and suffering

“Sweetheart, Iggy is down with smallpox.” You mother pointed out, motioning at the little shrub that you had painstakingly grown over the years, even going as far to name it. The same shrub that your sister had stated, seemed to for some inane reason rise and fall, thrive and wilt, grow and shrink and contract random spots at your down phases in life.

Sure enough, when you glanced at it, gaze darting from your bowl of cornflakes to the two foot tall green plant in the little veranda, there were white spots dotted over the surface of the lamina. You looked at and hummed, trying to avoid the worried glance your mother sent you from the corner of your eye and continued to eat your cereal.

You knew your mother was worried about you, as was your father. Whether it was because your spirit plant had spots, or you were way more down than usual or because Maia died a month ago and you still haven’t gotten over it.

Your mother ran a greenhouse in Ebott springs, teaching people how to handle a garden and look after their plants the right way. You could see the years of weeding, watering and digging in her calloused hands, chipped nails and the tan on her skin from staying in the sun for too long. You and Maia had your own interests, you with your art and your sister with acting. Even so, she didn’t mind at all, being one of those parents who just wanted her kids to pursue their dreams but still have a stable life.

“And the spots are white. Now that never happened before.” She added. “When you were down with a cold, the spots were blue and for some inane reason, so were the flowers. And if I’m not wrong, this particular shrub isn’t even supposed to flower.”

That was true. Your parents had frozen at the sight of the large blue flowers that were blooming all over Iggy when you were down with a fever. Maia was just as flabbergasted, even with her limited knowledge of flora and gardening.

You knew she meant well, your mother and so did your father when he entered the kitchen for a cup of coffee and cast a tender gaze at you as well. But those looks bore down on you like needles, wondering if they could see how tired you were of crying and regretting and moping around, that you wanted to keep living on even though you went through one of the hardest times of your life.

And it made you feel sick. You felt like you were abandoning Maia and her memories for your own selfishness.

“Never seen it down with white spots before.” Your father mused, taking a sip of his coffee, the small round dinner table now crowded from the three people clinking their forks and spoon and swallowing their respective drinks (“Precisely what I said.’ Your mother pointed out with a victorious smile). “This calls for an emergency meeting after you get back home.”

“Okay.” You mumbled, finishing the last of your cereal and milk.

“And of course, if you’re late, you know the penalty.” He added with a grin. “Singing the ‘I’m a dunderhead’ song three times for redemption WITH the stupid dance. So unless you want to go through that ordeal, you better step lively.”

“Of course, that goes to me and you as well, sweetie.” Your mother cut in, always the one to remind your father of his humanity whenever he got too cocky. His face fell immediately and he placed a hand over his chest.

“Smout, I’ve been smout…or is it smitten?” He contemplated. Instead, you rose from your seat, carrying any used dishes to the sink to wash them, and then collected your bag from the door. You cast another glance at your parents. They were watching you again and you nibbled your bottom lip, a habit that seemed to hound you.

“You packed your lunch, right?” Your mother asked.

“Yeah. And I can always buy stuff from the cafeteria if I’m still hungry.” You lost your appetite when Maia died.

“Look after yourself and if anyone tries any funny business, knock them out and call the cops.” You father advised. You simply nodded in reply, smiling at the two of them before dropping it completely. He almost seemed to consider something then spoke up again. “And heads up, if they’re selling mystery meat again, don’t eat it.”

“Mystery meat bad.” You noted. “Got it pops.” You gave them a small wave goodbye, only to be stopped by the two of them crossing the room and sandwiching you between a huge hug, tight but not too tight. You inhaled sharply and tried to wrap your arms around them as well, trying not to think sad thoughts as they let you go.

“We love you so much.” Your mother whispered, placing a kiss on your forehead.

“I know.” You smiled again, this one more genuine. “And I love you guys too.”

“More than your mystery boyfriend?” your father joked, then cleared his throat at the looks directed at him. “Right, I’ll stop.” He placed a kiss on your forehead as well, then shuffle back to give you your space. Your family, now brought down to three stood in the kitchen room, casting each other silent looks.

This is what had come down to it after your older sister Maia died in a car crash. Like her loss sucked out the will to live and move on from your Souls, taking away the animated color and eccentricity from the three of you, three crazies of this house who’d annoy the hell out of people they love, talk to animals on street, follow cracked rituals and whip up random explosions in the town and beyond.

“Take care, and stay clear of busy streets.” Your dad added. You didn’t need to be told that, the paranoia affected all of you. You stepped out of the house, the house you had grown up in, a huge structure covered everywhere with plants and flowers and trees.

Courtesy of a certain woman going a little too crazy with planting.

Grabbing your bike from the garage, you wheeled it out of the driveways and on the street, stopping to take in the scene before you. It was still the same as before, the leaves barely changing in the month spent with you locking yourself up at home. You began to pedal down the road, Ebott’s forever cold wind whipping across your cheeks.

You were suddenly reminded of your phase in middle school where you had gone full-out emo with black clothes and eye-liner. The ‘I hate everyone’ phase that your parents and sister wisely ignored and even joked about when you shrugged it off for a more ‘you’ look for highschool. You had a feeling you were falling back to old habits now when the sudden wish to pull on some black overtook your system.

Oh joy.

People still stared at you at school. Maia’s death having spread across the entirety of Ebott Springs, it was a known fact that you were that ‘pretty dead girl’s sibling’ now. You walked past people who were focused on you, hunching your shoulders and you didn’t blame them. When people looked at you, they probably saw your sister, you tall, beautiful sister with her shiny eyes and shiny smile.

You couldn’t even get away from that grief here from that one place where you and Maia were two different entities with two different interests whirling away one to the theater and the other to the art studio. You couldn’t think straight; not under the pitying gazes and the knowing glances your peers shot at you and you bit down on your lip hard to distract yourself. Maia was four years older, she was a senior at this university. Some of them knew her as a friend or an idol.

Of course people would know. You told yourself. But for stars sake, can they NOT know shit for once in their life?

Stupid humanity. Stupid death, stupid, non-existent god who’s weirdly laid back about his creations dropping dead at the age of twenty-four. Stupid stupidstupid-

“Yo ugly!”

You paused midway collecting your books from the locker and let out a sigh, turning to the source of the insult to meet Morgan’s frame now slumped up next to your locker. He wasn’t smiling his million watt smile like he usually was, purple eyes now softer. The insult was friendly and knowing Morgan with his nonexistent beauty standards, that’s the last thing he’ll call anyone seriously.

“Wow, gone for a month and that’s the best insult you could come up with my return.” You stated drily. “It’s so unflattering that it’s not flattering.” Morgan huffed, straightening to his six foot seven height, something that along with his purple eyes, gave away the monster heritage from his mother’s side. Hybrids were a normal thing in Ebott, both at the City and in the springs though rare due to the high survival risks.

If you weren’t wrong, his mother was a half-blood, having a father who was a fish-saurian monster. If you looked close enough, you could see the reptilian slits in his eyes and the pale yellow of his sclera. Then there were the scales around his wrists and arms, almost unnoticeable.

“Come on, I’m going easy on you.” he teased back. “What’s up though? Usually you’re the one dropping eccentric bullshit and annoying the hell out of me in the morning.” You fell silent at that feeling the grief barrel into you once more and threaten to have you break down then and there. You tried to hold it back though. Not wishing to live with the embarrassment as well.

You heard Morgan let out an ‘oh’ and utter your name. “You know…a lot of things have popped up when you were gone.” He spoke up again, thankfully veering away from the topic of Maia’s death, though everything reminded you of it. “We got a new shipment at my gramp’s, a whole box full of stuff. Maybe you could come over and we can check it out.”

You appreciated his efforts but…

“Can’t, Iggy’s contracted white spots and we’re holding a family meeting to get to the root of the problem.” You replied. “And you know the penalty for coming in late.”

Morgan had the grace to cringe. “Well, that cursed song is all on you. Weren’t you the one who proposed it in the first place?” He asked. Despite the feeling in your Soul, of it being ripped to shreds, you smiled while your mind screamed at you for being a traitor for doing so.

“Well, that was just a shitty excuse to humiliate Maia since she was always late to family meetings.” You replied, feeling the lump grow in your throat when you uttered her name. Morgan hummed, casting a tiny but hesitant grin at you.

“Huh, that’s a bummer. How about after the meeting then? I promise you, it’ll be worth your time.” He stated, diverting the topic once more. For once, you were glad no one expected you to get over Maia’s death even after a month of shutting everyone away. Morgan knew you like the back of his hand, he knew when you wanted to forget about something.

The two of you were familiars after all, bound together by the Soul platonically since you were young.

“Sure, but it better nor be something bogus or some elaborate prank or else I’m filling your bed with fire ants.” You joked as the bell rang and the two of you had to separate for your first classes. There was hushed silence when you entered it and you tried to shake off the looks from your classmates. You caught the teacher casting small looks as well as he instructed all of you to present the previous week’s assignment.

You had none to give, having only finished halfway before curling up on your bed and crying at home. He didn’t question you though. “It’s nice to see you again.” He said instead as he passed your desk, a smile on his face. Everyone was smiling today and you could see right through them. You had forced on enough grins to know the difference. It didn’t meet his eyes. “I’m sorry about your sister.”

There it was. You knew he didn’t want to piss you off but you felt frustrated.

“It’s okay…we’re doing our best at home.” You assured anyway. He nodded and moved on to the next left, having you heave out a breath of air you didn’t know you were holding. The next few classes went the same way as well, full of apologies you were tired of hearing and the betrayed clench in your Soul for even thinking that way. How could you think this way? You can’t just skim through the stages of grief just like that!

Art class was okay. Mrs. Murray knew when to ask questions but you couldn’t bring yourself to paint on the easel. Half an hour had passed and your canvas was still bank as your tore through your mind and nibbled your nails for any form of inspiration. Before, you could paint without holding back and fill any blank space with color.

Your art teacher noticed. “Maybe you should take a break.” She proposed and you froze, nervously nibbling your lip, turning to stare at her with a raised brow. “You know, to clear your head. You have a lot on your mind right now.” You sighed, but internally, you were thankful. You wanted to get away from people now, stew in your own negativity.

So you packed your things and went back home, an hour and a half early for the family meeting. Your mother didn’t ask why you were back so soon when she spotted you wheel your bike into the driveway while she was pruning the roses.

“There’s some chocolate in the fridge. Maybe some sugar should perk you up.” She proposed.

“That sounds nice. Can I have two?” You asked, trying to look happy for her sake. You didn’t want to be the sad, moping nerd for the rest of your life. Her lips quirked upwards.

“Oh haha, nice try but you’re only getting one.” She said. You shook your head melodramatically and helped yourself to a bar, shuffling up the stairs to drop your luggage off at your room. The sun filtered through the thin curtains and the cream walls seemed to glow yellow against the stained glass wind chime that hung off the curtain railing.

You placed your bag beside the desk you normally worked at, the stopped at the sight of the emptiness; Maia’s side now stripped bare, with her things collected in boxes that were bunched at the end of the bed. Your own walls were stripped now, the drawings you made under your own bed. You weren’t planning on putting them up again. It didn’t seem fair, not when your sister’s side seemed to lose touch of her even though her essence and laughter still seemed to waft around.

Your gaze flickered to her made bed, the clean sheets, and the lingering smell of her favorite perfume: rose garden. There was the heaviness in your chest again and you staggered back, slamming the door shut as if you were going to be shot in the chest.

Chapter Text

" melee "
(n.) confusion, turmoil; jumble

“White spots.”

“Sweetie, that’s the sixth time you said it.”

“Well, we never had WHITE spots!”

“Seventh.”

“Well no matter how many times I say it, it’s still worrying.”

“What do you think?”

At the mention of your name, you jerked back to reality and turned to stare at your mother, breathing in sharply. “Well…I don’t know…I mean…” You stammered, then fell silent, ears cold. While you were in college, you still stayed with your parents. Ebott springs was a small town but it was the home to the only university specializing in arts in a fifty mile radius. Students from the city came to study there and with you being a native…you really didn’t NEED to move out.

So that meant embarrassing yourself in front of your parents more.

“Okay, I rephrased that the wrong way.” Your mother said. “How do you feel?”

Like shit.

“How do I feel…” you repeated stupidly. “I…I feel like…well how I always feel.” Your father raised a brow, looking right through your lie. He’s known you for twenty long years, resulting in his ability to pick up on every little expression you wore. He knew that when your fingers twitched, you were nervous and when your brow twitched, you were annoyed. And he knew you were lying when your gaze darted to the kitchen counter, then back at him again.

“Yeah, if you were feeling, and I quite, ‘normal’, you’d probably be burning toast and singing nursery rhymes at the top of your voice.” He stated. You cringed. That was true.

“Well, maybe I’ve decided to revoke my childish desire to burn toast and make EDIBLE toast instead.” You argued back. “I’m not heartless enough to KEEP burning poor toast. Maybe once I don’t want to be the evil incinerator.”

Your father narrowed his eyes with mock suspicion and your mother sighed.

“We’re going off track! The family meeting isn’t about toast, it’s about Iggy!” She cut in, though her expression was annoyed, her eyes sparkled and burst like fireworks from her hidden amusement. “And please, you’ll always stay toast incinerator overlord; that’s a habit that will never die out.” You huffed and leaned back on your chair.

The clamor came to a silent pause. Whatever sassy mirth you felt melted away to that emptiness you were slowly associated yourself with, afraid of losing yourself in.

“I don’t see why Iggy’s white spots have any rational connection with me.” You said, tone a little loud and you dare say, defensive when you looked at your parents. “I bet all he needs is a bit of fertilizer and water and he’ll be fine.”

Where you referring to your plant with a gender?

Yes you were.

Your mother pursed her lips. “I guess…” she breathed out. “Maybe this was just an excuse to actually sit down and talk about everything that’s happened so far.” You felt sick now, knowing she was talking about Maia. This wasn’t something you wanted to talk about and no matter how rude you looked, you rose to your feet and surveyed the two older adults before you.

“May I be excused? Morgan needs to talk to me about something.” You stated in a clipped tone, though in the inside, you wanted to apologize over and over. Your parents looked at each other, then at you, then at each other again.

“Sweetheart, please…” Your father whispered but you felt your face harden and you walked out, body stiff. The moment you were in your room, stuffing some money into your handbag, you felt like scum on earth. You looked up, at Maia’s side and caught sight of her diary at the top of the pile of books packed in a cardboard box. You gingerly approached it, collecting the books in your hands and staring down at it like it was a memorial, a prized antique. You almost wanted to open it, read the words scribbled on but you bit back that feeling and put it back where you found it.

After gathering what you needed, you pulled on your too-big sneakers and slipped out of the house, dragging yourself to Grampa Nix’s place after sending Morgan a text to signal your arrival. It was a ten minute walk from where you lived, all green trees and wood benches. You knew the springs had uglier spots where the lesser fortunate lived; you had seen them during fundraisers and was glad you had a better life than most.

Ebott Springs was always a green place. Wherever you looked there was a plant, even though the environment was inexplicably unsuitable, there would be something growing there and thriving. Then, it was also surrounded for miles around with forest and wood, past the mountain that overlooked the small town, towards the city that was in the distance.

You, Morgan and Maia always went into the woods. When you were younger, you’d play pretend, where your sister was either and empress or a queen or a priestess and you and Morgan her loyal subjects. You were always the crackpot, the jester, the mad scientist or anything else that was a role too eccentric to play and you’d pull off the most outrageous of expressions, break into awkward monologues that you never practice and simply laugh till your sides hurt.

You looked down at your feet and turned away from the trees.

After turning in to a few streets, the old garage came into view. Morgan’s grampa wasn’t a mechanic, being more of a major in arts like you. He was one of the reasons why you fell in love with drawing in the first place, but after his prime, he bought this old garage where he began a second hand store after sprucing it up and renovating it. People who had things they could never bother about any more sent them here and they’d be sold to people who did bother about them.

Sure enough, he was behind the counter, jotting down a few things into a notebook while Morgan seemed to be awaiting your arrival.

“Hey.” You spoke up, trying to get their attention, but your voice cracked a little in the end as you bit your lip. Nix was the first to look up and he greeted you like he usually did, a shark toothed grin that reached his eyes (of course your best friend inherited his million watt grin) and a hand whipping up into a semblance of a wave.

“How are ya today punk?” he asked amicably. He was tall, one of the tallest monsters you met so far and standing next to Morgan, you saw how similar grandfather and grandson were. The same gangly, long frames though Morgan’s broad shoulders came from his father. Nix was a little feminine in build but they both shared the same oval faces, the same large eyes with yellow sclera, the same large hands with long fingers and the same messy red hair, though the monster’s was now graying a little.

At his question, you almost winced. People seemed to be asking you that a lot lately and you were tired of giving the same answer over and over.

“I’m okay.” You replied. The older monster raised a brow, then muttered something that went along the lines of ‘bullshit’ under his breath. Like anyone else who knew you since you were in your diapers, he wasn’t buying the act.

“Right sure.” He replied. “You see to be doing just as well as a cat stuck in a storm while the rain is pouring heavy enough to fill up entire buckets.” Forever the blunt one, he didn’t dilly dally in calling you out brutal honesty either.

“Gramps, seriously?” Morgan sighed, but he was fighting back a grin that grew on his face. “Wet cats have done better than them. They’re more of a…a…wet blanket. A wet, muddy blanket that probably belonged to a baby that loved it and is now filled with cooties and rain germs.” You fought back the urge to roll your eye while Nix held his hands up.

“Hey, I’m just pointing out the obvious when no one else would.” He retaliated.

“I think the whole point of pointing out the obvious is to not point it out because it’s obvious.” You cut in drily. The monster showed no sign of insult, grinning proudly instead.

“Well, glad to see some of that spunk is still there.” He stated. “Now, I’ll give you two some time alone to hang out. I’ll be at the back finishing up the mural.” He slipped through the door at the back and you followed after him before glancing at Morgan who was leaning forward on the counter.

They were right about one thing though. You did feel like a drenched cat in a storm. A drenched cat with no one to approach, tossed by the turbulent winds and thrown over and against roofs.

“So what do you want to show me again?” You asked, seating yourself on one of the chairs. Morgan ducked down under the counter and pulled out something large, black and dusty. You almost shivered at the sight of it, unable to decipher whether it was normal dust or monster dust (it was like one of those times where you couldn’t differentiate between spaghetti sauce and blood).

“Guess what this is.” he grinned, purple eyes glittering. You stared at it.

“It’s a book.” You replied.

“Aaaand?”

“It’s dusty and filthy and it’s going to make me sneeze.”

“Okay, try again, smart alec.”

“It’s a big, black, creepy book whose use I have no clue of because it’s not open.”

Morgan rolled his eyes at the remark (it was quite the sight to see him do it, his head actually tilts as well with the movement like he ate far too much meth and was now tipsy) and pushed it forward, a cloud of dust flying up as he did so, eliciting a sneeze out of you. “It’s an augury…or a grimoire…or both. I don’t know.” He explained, carefully opening the yellowed pages to reveal writing in the first page. You collected it from him, flipping through the next few. It was blank.

“Is this….I don’t know…even real?” you asked in a deadpan tone, glancing up at him again. Morgan shot you his million watt grin.

“It’s a REAL fake.” He stated. “Someone probably used this for a Faust play, I don’t know but the last time I checked, Grimoires or auguries or whatever this book is, is supposed to be fully filled with arcane stuff. This one’s blank.”

“Yeah, I noticed.” You mumbled, pushing it back to him. “It’s pretty cool.” You admitted and you were partly glad that you were distracted, at least for a while. Maia wasn’t floating in your head for the first half a second, then she came back again and you couldn’t breathe. Forcing a smile on your face, trying to think of other things, you watched as Morgan seemed to scan the pages once more.

“Yeah, but it doesn’t really sum a few things up.” He muttered, leafing through the last few sheaves. “The script up front…it’s a form of Wingdings or at least a mix of it…you know, the font the skeletons monsters speak?” He looked up at you and you hummed. Skeleton monsters mostly lived in the city, but they were known to be diplomats due to their ability to learn so many languages with ease.

One of them was Wingdings or hands, a font that had three types of script. It was pretty hard for a human to learn, so you veered away from any classes that offered you to teach it. Maia though, as tenacious and determined as she was, she went straight for those classes and no matter how much she sucked at it, she still insisted on learning.

“So what are you saying?” you asked, tone a little bitter from the memory. Morgan nibbled his bottom lip.

“I sent a picture of it to Mistral and he was glad enough to translate it for us.” He replied, shutting the book and handing it over to you. You felt confusion flare up as you took it. “It…it as your name on the front page.”

You wouldn’t have bought it if Morgan hadn’t looked so serious.

“Well, that’s a coincidence.” You commented.

“I know, right! And it’s weirdly creepy at the same time.” He agreed. “And the next few lines are an incantation of sorts…to summon a demon.” He was grinning again, fingers wiggling. You scoffed.

“Oh cool, maybe I can invite them over for coffee.” You chuckled, handing it back to him. “But nah, I don’t want to take the risk as well.” The book was creeping you out and you didn’t really want to associate with it any longer. Morgan however, had different ideas, pushing it back at you again.

“What? You not going to summon it?” He asked. You huffed, but didn’t want to give away the fact that you were too nervous to. He’ll gloat about it for weeks and while it was tempting to have something else on your mind, it was certainly not going to be that. “You too chicken?” He drew the last word out in a sing song voice, and for a split second, you saw the ‘let’s destroy shit’ gene that seemed to pass down through his family, a sort of enthusiasm that you could never comprehend.

“I’m the one who unusually eggs you on to do crazy stuff.” You retorted. It was true, there were times when you were either exceptionally smart or exceptionally stupid. Your family used to state that your common sense and logic had a sort of wanderlust, taking off into the air at random times then returning with news that des your imagination.

It was what bound you two together; you gave him color, he grounded you to earth. While the two of your Souls didn’t resonate in the way of a Soulmate, it did for a Familiar and that was enough to keep you two tied together.

“Chicken!” Morgan crowed out, beginning to cluck and impersonate a hen. You groaned and covered your eyes.

“Stop it!” you spat out. He did, thankfully and you cracked open your fingers to see his mild sadness and embarrassment. He was always one of the composed ones in his family of crazies, just like how Maia was the only sane one in the eccentricity that ran down the bloodline like a gene. It completely skipped her and went to you instead, turning you into a ball of sarcasm and random thought.

“I just thought you’d like to think of other stuff…instead of Maia.” He explained. It was the first time he mentioned her by name but it didn’t hurt. Morgan knew what you needed and he didn’t seem to judge you for it either. “And who knows, it would be a really creepy but fun experience. Something you can look back to and think ‘damn I was scared for nothing’.”

Stars above, you felt something explode inside you when you looked at Morgan, gangly, tall Morgan with his too big hands and his messy red hair, the one who made you feel like a midget. You leaned forward and pulled him into a hug. “If I die, it’s all on you, especially if this thing doesn’t have insurance.” you joked. He hugged back, patting your back.

“Oh please don’t die.” He replied sardonically. “Who will annoy me then?”

You chuckled and separated, collecting to book in your hands. “My vengeful spirit.” You replied. Morgan blinked, then looked at the book.

“You know, you don’t have to do it.” He spoke up.

“Sorry, you pulled me into this and I am. All the more reason to plan out vengeance if this screw up.”

“Fuck you and your ego.”

You took a few steps back and bowed dramatically before straightening up again. “Thanks Morgan.” You said. He shrugged and smiled your way, a small smile and a wave as you stepped out of the store, augury-grimoire-death book in your grasp. When you were a distance away, you flipped it open again, the pages fluttering in the breeze that picked up. You nibbled down on your bottom lip, eyes staring at the script.

You did recognize it a little now; a fusion of two wingdings lettering that seemed to vary between uppercase and lowercase. Morgan wasn’t lying about that and you were about to shut it again when it fluttered to the next page, one that was supposed to be blank. You froze when you caught sight of it, staring with growing disbelief.

There were words beginning fade into the yellowed surface, black ink curling to writing.

Chapter Text

" kadota "
(verb.) to disappear; to get lost; fade

The words that materialized into existence should have been a red flag. You should have burnt the book and dumped the ash into the dustbin; but you didn’t. Your curiosity had only grown and you tried to shrug it off by assuming you must have missed something. Besides, living in a world were magic was rampant on the streets, Morgan being partly made of it himself, made shifting words and enchanted books a possibility.

Right, great excuse. That’s totally a believable reason as to why you should keep going-

But that didn’t stop the air of darkness, the unease that hung around the book as you stepped into the house (this should just mean you should just STOP right??? I mean, your ego doesn't matter right now and the mixed signals in your brain firing a million miles a minute should make you stop). Your parents were out; mother possibly to buy some stuff from the store while your father was at another hearing, doing whatever a social worker would do. You shuffled upstairs to your room and threw open the blinds to let the sun filter and warm your cheeks.

It bounced off the walls and over the sheets and you almost heard your sister’s laughter like she was with the sun. You sniffed, feeling your eyes and nose grow hot and wiped away the tears that streamed down your cheeks. You didn’t want to cry; not now.

Finally, you turned to the grimoire-augury and carefully approached it, afraid it might combust and set fire to your sheets. You gingerly opened it again and when there were no signs of danger that seemed to lurk, you sat back on the mattress, peering down at the pages. The symbols had morphed again, twisting into words more decipherable; understandable.

There were instructions now, an incantation and a drawing of a pentagram. You took in a shaky breath, following the words quickly. The supplies were easy to find; flour, salt but there were also a few other things that unsettled you. A sacrifice, preferably something that was once alive and wine. A bottle of wine.

“Right, it’s not like this thing’s going to work, right?” you told yourself softly, shutting the book quickly. You rose from the bed, cast a glance at Maia’s belongings and nibbled your lower lip before moving on downstairs. The air was sweet, possibly from the flowers your mother was growing for the festival that was coming up.

Everyone seemed to be coping with your sister’s death and a tiny part of you wanted to too, but the other wanted to cling to her memory, hoping that if you kept wishing her to come back, she would. That was why you didn’t move the boxes out, why so many of her things still lay in the cracks and crevices.

You walked to the kitchen, the wood paneling of your house brushing up against your shoulder as you threw open the fridge and pulled out a chocolate bar, then the flour. After that, you glanced to the wine cabinet where your father stored his wine; bottles and bottles of it. You never developed the taste for alcohol or smoking. Stars, you never even developed a taste for a romantic partner even though you were a hopeless romantic yourself.

You looked around hoping your parents wouldn’t walk in on you taking the wine and extracted a bottle of Malbec, a smaller one and one of the many varieties he seemed to have. There was a less likely chance he was going to notice it was missing any way and that worked. It didn’t stop the guilt though and you wondered if you should go a little easy on using it.

For your sacrifice; you doubted your ‘demon’ would care much for what it was and simply took some chicken from the freezer with full intention of putting back later. Armed with what you needed, you trudged upstairs again, wondering if Maia was watching you from above, wondering why you were crazy enough to do this.

Out came the broom and tray, then the candles and the flour and salt. After that was the wine and chicken. You arranged it just as the book said, thanking your skills in art as you drew on the circle; a simple star with several runes and occult marks encasing it in three concentric circles. The marks were jagged, even awkward and ugly as some may say; unlike the flowing strokes you’d paint out.

“Okay book, let’s see if you’re the real deal or a really elaborate prank.” You stated, tired after the small labor. The sun was still filtering in and you drew the curtains, lighting the candles and incense. Then you stood up, shutting the door behind you as you poured the wine and read out the incantation in the book. The words were caught in your throat midway, like it was being constricted, but you managed to blurt out the rest.

The world was silent, like time outside froze. The trees stopped whispering, the birds stopped singing and all you could hear was your heart pounding in your chest. You let out a breath that you didn’t know you had held and shut the book, throwing it on your bed. It was a waste of time, but something you seemed to have needed. You didn’t think of Maia for a second.

It both relieved and made you feel guilty.

Nibbling your lower lip, you grabbed the broom and dust pan, using an old rag to sop up the wine. “This wasn’t a good idea. Mom is going to kill me.” You muttered halfway through the labor and you swept up the last of the mess, disposing of the bottle and the soiled flour. AT that precise moment, your parents arrived back and you tensed when they walked into the kitchen.

“Sweetheart, is something wrong?” Your mother asked when she spotted you at the table. Her eyes were concerned, they both look concern; a face that had been their default expression since Maia’s death. You wished you could brush away the grief and insert another feeling instead, something less painful but you shook it off.

“I’m fine. I just had something to eat, that’s all.” You replied quickly. It wasn’t a lie; you did have some chocolate to satiate you sweet tooth.

Your father hummed. “Okay. So, what was the thing you had to do with Morgan?” he asked, pouring himself a glass of water.

“Nothing.” You shrugged. “He just got some cool old stuff he wanted to show me.” You watched him sit across you.

“So he’s not coming over?” your mother asked. “I thought he could have dinner with us if he’s free later.”

“No, he has a shift to cover.”

You watched your parents weave around the kitchen with little to no effort, each of them six feet or more tall gusts of wind. You were the scrawniest in your family of giants, Maia having squeezed every possible gene for a taller stature, leaving you with only a measly few. Everyone towered over you to a point where it was annoying but you had grown used to the teasing.

“Pity.” Your mother tutted, whipping around to look at you. “I actually got his favorite food.”

“I’ll tell him he’s missing out.” you proposed, pulling on a smile. When you looked at your parents, you saw Maia stare back at you sometimes, somewhere in their eyes like they captured some of what made her and sprinkled it on like fairy dust.

“Oh please do. The torture will certainly have him come over the next time.” She replied with a grin. You smiled back and slowly slipped out of the kitchen to leave her to her job while you went on to do your homework. Sitting at your desk at the window, watching the sun slowly dim when you looked up from the sheets and the notebook every now and then, you realized an hour had passed, then another and another.

And with the sun setting, your mood began to darken. What were you doing? Finally your mother called you downstairs and you sat at the table once more for dinner, not saying much. Maia kept coming back into your head and your appetite was waning once more. Eating enough to keep you going, you returned to your room with minimal interaction.

You paused over the floor where the pentagram was drawn and sighed. Right, there was this fucking issue with your sister returning to haunt you for pouring rotten grape juice over the floorboards. You shuffled to your desk, turning the table lap on to finish the rest of your work. You wanted to give up at a few instances as the weight bore deeper in your chest to the point it was unbearable.

But you felt you disappointed people enough. They expected you to keep moving even though it was so, so hard.

After that was over with, you changed into your PJs and put away your things, plopping on bed. Turning to your side, you stared at Maia’s bare bed. Usually at this time, the two of you would talk about things. Books, dreams, bad jokes. It was quality time of sorts but it was gone now.

Gone.

Like her.

You gasped, feeling the whimper escape your throat and you turned around, facing away from the bed while trying to fight back the tears. Curling yourself up, you squeezed your eyes shut.

And began to count.

Chapter Text

" macabre "
(adj.) horrifying; unpleasant.

One…

Two…

Three…

Your voice refused to echo through the small room. You learnt in a poem or a book, that grief was a closed off house where nothing worked and it seemed nothing did. The walls were bare, the window didn’t let in sunlight even though it was light out and the mirrors and the floor didn’t reflect your form or shadow. You felt claustrophobic in here. Again, you tried to count, only to find your voice caught.

You tried again, opening your mouth to speak. You had to try and you kept trying and you tried to claw at your throat. Taking in a deep breath to bite back the panic or the crying and screaming, you saw something shift in the dark. You let out a gasp, though you didn’t hear your breath being released. It was like someone pointed a remote at you and put you on mute.

“One…” A deep velvety voice with a rasped, gravelly undertone counted for you and the dark shifted once more, the rustle of clothes meeting your ears. You felt two hands, two large, hard hands cup your cheeks. “Two…” You breathed in again, trying to fight your way out but the hold was strong and you could barely move. You found yourself backed into a wall. “Three…”

You were shaking now and while you couldn’t make out a face in the dark, the hands, the cold hard hands almost gave away what it was. “Shhhhh…” the voice rasped out, one hand leaving a cheek only to have an index finger pressed on your lips.

Sorry to tell you but I can’t speak, motherfucker. You grumbled in your head between the unsettling air and the pounding of your heart. There was a chuckle and the hold let go of you. You wanted to run but your feet stayed planted on the floor. “Now wake up, my dear.”

You gasped, eyes snapping wide open. You were sweating now, hands gripping the bed sheets. Slowly rising, you ran your fingers across your scalp, biting your lower lip. You tried to still your breathing and keep your mind from racing a mile a minute. Letting out a low gust of air, you felt relieved when you heard it.

“Can I talk?” you spoke up. “Great, okay I can talk. That bullshit was just a nightmare.” You took in another breath and saw something shift on Maia’s bed. Your heart pounded in your chest and for a split second your hopes were up. You turned to face it, then froze, whatever jolt of happiness you felt crashing down and raining around you. Nothing. It was probably just a trick of the light.

Your hands made way to your face when you felt the pain return and you cried and cried. The tears were hot against your cheeks and as you wiped them away, they kept coming back. Your nose felt stuffy and you felt tired. So, so tired, like the reality of the situation came crashing down on you once more and vacuumed away the happier moments.

Maia was gone. She was gone.

“A pity a pretty Soul like yours has to be dulled by grief.” A new voice spoke and you froze, head snapping to the source. The moon provided enough light and when you rapidly cleaned away the blurriness of the tears, you saw someone tall sit at the chair of your desk. Tall didn’t even cut it; they—he towered over your parents, even Morgan in height and stature. “It’s a rather trivial thing for a human or a monster to go through; it almost gets boring in a sense especially after the first few years of watching them weep.”

Keen red eyelights peered at you. You felt your mouth go dry at the sight of the bone that was reflected in the moonlight. “Wha-” you croaked out, scrambling to your feet and backing away to the door. The…whatever it was followed your movement with his stare and your back hit a wall as your hands groped in the dark, fingers brushing against a switch. You flipped it, room now illuminated and revealing your intruder. “You…you’re…”

“Charmed to meet you as well.” Grinned the skeleton monster in black. No, not skeleton monster. Skeleton monsters didn’t have horns like the ones that rose from his skull. This thing…it looked far too sinister to be a monster. He peered at your frozen form, rich wine eyelights taking you in. “I’ve been summoned by many, but like this? Far from it. Now allow me to guess, you want someone resurrected? That’s quite a common request among the grieving.” He rose from the seat, easily hitting seven feet and a few inches, not counting his horns that almost seemed to scrape at the ceiling.

Summoned. The word kept echoing in your head. Summoned, summoned, summoned, brought here, summoned, summoned, you were the one who did this, oh my fucking god that book wasn’t a prop you were going to kill Morgan. This was the demon. The book wasn’t a fake; it was real, real in a way that made you want to scream like you did when Maia died but worse. He kept leering at you, assessing you like how a hunter does with it’s prey.

“I don’t want anything! You…you weren’t even supposed to come!” you protested. “I…I thought this…all this was just a hoax! A stupid joke! I thought this thing was a stage prop!” You couldn’t even scream through your fear as he turned to face you. He was dressed well, black dress shirt, red waistcoat, long black jacket, dress pants and black shoes. He wore a lot of black with a bit of gold. Hanging from his shoulders was a fur lined cloak.

But even if the demon that summoned you was strikingly handsome with an angled face marked with black strokes on his cheekbones, you weren’t having any of it. He tilted his skull to the side as a wide, terrifying grin grew on his face.

“An accidental summon?” he mused. “Well how childish. Yet seeing how young you are, childish is far too tame a word to use.” His clawed finger bones tapped his mandible thoughtfully. “But then again, those sorts of summons are a favorite of mine. I actually get the job done easier.” There was a flicker and he was suddenly closer. Your body screamed for you to run and run you did, scrambling past him, knowing you needed something to fight back with to stay alive.

The first thing in sigh was the black book and you took it, gripping it in your hands so hard your fingers felt numb. You turned to face the demon who was chuckling. He was amused in a sick sort of way and you held up your weapon as he took a casual step towards you. Then he stopped. “Ah, you summoned me through that? Certainly not my grimoire judging by its cover.” He stated. “Which is strange…and new if I dare say.” he added.

He seemed to scan you again with those slitted red eyelights of his, looking almost feline with that grin on his face. Like the Cheshire cat in Alice in Wonderland. “And I don’t see how a Soul so discontent like yours can be in any way a good profit, especially with all that lovely potential beneath the surface just waiting to be drawn out with the right emotion.”

You felt your breathing quicken when he glided forward, then bent down before you. Even at this level, with that act of supposed submission, you felt small and insignificant; like you had no control over this situation. “Allow me to give you my name; my name is Sans, the demon of Pride.” His red eyelights glittered when he looked up at you. “And I am in your service until the terms of the contract are fulfilled and I may harvest your Soul to take with me.”

You felt your spine grow cold at his words, those simple words and with one awkward movement, you swung the book you held and hit his square across the face.

Chapter Text

" denegation "
(n.) the action of denying something.

There was silence.

Sans’ skull had tilted slightly as his eyelights darted to you like a laser point; that is, if laser points were capable of boring holes into your Soul. You knew you were dead the moment he set his gaze on you, skull shifting back to its original position. You didn’t drop the book, holding it up like a shield.

And then, he smiled.

“I like you already.” He chuckled as he rubbed the spot in which you struck him with. You felt your hands numb and the augury slipped from your fingers and landed on the floor. “But then again, I always like people with spunk.”

“Masochist.” You muttered, breathing in sharply, heart still pounding. Sans…the demon…rose to his feet and shifted back to give you some room (which was something you didn’t expect, especially from one like him). You felt thankful for a split second but it was overrun by fear and panic once more.

He rose to his full height, lacing his fingerbones together as he angled his head down at you. “Are you sure you don’t wish to go by the contract? Even if you don’t, I’ll still chose to wander by you in case you change your mind. That…” he paused, looking at your haggard form. “…and you are adorably amusing to a T; why would a possibly pass off an opportunity to play around?”

“Fuck off.” You snapped. “Get the hell out of my life and take your demon hoodoo voodoo along.” Sans smiled, though it didn’t quite meet his eye-sockets.

“I’d rather not. I’ve been summoned here and I’d like to spend a little more time in this realm rather than go back immediately. That would be a waste of my time.” His eyelights regarded you lazily as he rose from his bow and held out a hand in a very gentlemanly way, wine red looking straight at your Soul. The shade was intense and it made you feel breathless when you saw it hiding something behind it; just barely held back.

You didn’t take the hand, instead brushing past him without much of a glance. “Leave me alone.” you said again, this time with more tire in your voice but there was still an underlay of hysteria. “I don’t want to make a deal with you. I don’t want anything and I don’t want to bring Maia back. She’s dead and as much as I want to see her again, I know better than not to trust you.”

He smiled. It looked like someone carved a curve through melting butter; he did so effortlessly (probably because he must have done it so many times). “A wise choice. Perhaps I ought to give you more credit for your age.” He commented lightly, showing no signs of leaving. You felt your frustration build.

“I’m not a kid.” you stated clearly, venom hissing with each syllable. “I’m nineteen, turning twenty in a few months. I’m an adult.”

“Well, with the centuries I have lived, the years you have spent till now are rather insignificant.” He stated lightly, crossing the room with one fluid motion and he seated himself on Maia’s bed. You felt something break inside your chest when he did that.

“Get off.” You snapped. “You can’t sit there.”

“So you’d rather I stand. I saw that discomfort on your face; you don’t seem very fond of the notion that you are quite tiny.” He replied with amusement. “And is that an order? I will gladly heed your word if it is.”

Your jaw clicked shut. You knew the contract would be sealed on your first order. You read enough books and watched enough anime to know that much. He was trying to push your buttons and have you break apart. You couldn’t fall for it; not when your life was on the line.

“No.” you stated though you wanted him to get off her bed. You were seething if he weren’t seven feet and more of bone, magic and infernal energy, you would have confronted him, tried to force him off no matter how rude it looked. Sans smirked.

“I assumed.” He purred, leaning back and placing one leg over the other. Infuriating. You thought. He was infuriating.

And hot…

But mostly infuriating.

Instead, you took to staring at him at the moment. He was feline in characteristics and refinement and the same amount of smug assholery that came with cats. He stared back, looking rather entertained, brow raised. His scarred eye, the left one seemed to hold a pentagram similar to what you had to draw out, but it kept flickering in and out of your vision like a robin in a tree.

“Well…” you began, choosing your words carefully. “I hope you don’t mind leaving soon. You’ll probably get bored waiting around for me to come sobbing at your feet-”

“That’s a very descriptive image. Surely, you won’t approach me like that; it would be rather embarrassing on your part.” He chuckled, sharp teeth drawn. You nibbled your bottom lip, nervous and annoyed.

“It’s not going to be happening.” You burst out. He hummed. “I won’t be giving in, so you and your smug little smile can waltz back to where you came from.” Your voice shook when you said it. You knew you were just trying to convince yourself, especially when Sans looked at you with a glint in his wine eyelights. A glint that betrayed that he wasn’t taking you seriously.         

But you were stubborn when you wanted to be and you held that stare.

“Ah, you are quite resolute…” He pondered. “We’ll see the results though for ourselves though but I should warn you.” His eyelights dilated into needle thin slits that shone through the black void they were housed in. “My pride will not let me waver either.”

You could only stare back.               

If this was karma biting back for stealing the jar of cookies, then you were sorry.

Chapter Text

" ephialtes "
(n.) a nightmare; a demon that supposedly causes a nightmare

You groaned when the sound of your alarm hit your ears and you pushed yourself up. Groggy and half-asleep you reached out to your phone, tapping the red button that lit up your screen and proceeded to massage your forehead.

The dream you had yesterday was both hazy and clear in your mind. Summoning a demon, him pushing forth what seemed to be an unofficial (and one-sided) challenge. Letting out a sharp breath, you felt the warmth of the sun hug your back and it was comforting. You looked to the side at Maia’s bed. The sheets were still smooth, the tell-tale signs of someone sitting there were absent.

A dream.

No, a nightmare.

You still felt the tingles of fear up your spine at the thought of, thin cold fingers that trailed over the surface. You looked forward next, hands reaching up to cup your chin. Maybe a part of you did believe the grimoire was authentic when Morgan handed it to you. Maybe your paranoia had built up a dream about the consequences.

Breathing in deeply, you shifted your body, just as a shadow passed over your body, eclipsing the light. Your room, the room that held your memories, went cold and your head snapped up to meet red eyelights.

Never mind.

You would have screamed if Sans’ hand hadn’t shot out and pressed against your mouth gently, muffling any sound. He sighed, almost seeming exasperated in an amused sort of way. “I know this can be quite an unpleasant surprise but I would like it if you mortals would keep screaming to a minimum.” He stated with a smirk in his tone. “For starters, it strains your vocals and we can’t have you losing your pretty little voice.”

You tried to calm yourself down, choosing to listen to the clattering and the voices of your parents downstairs.

“You were here all this…were you watching me sleep?” you gasped out when he finally let you go. A raised brow was your reply and he crossed his arms, tilting his skull to the side, looking just the slightest bit insulted. You couldn’t see any more emotion past his features though; he was adept at hiding them. You didn’t like it.

“To think you view me as low as that...” He tutted lightly. “Whether bound to a contract or not, I respect what personal space you may require. I simply took my time acquainting myself to your house.” He waved a dismissive hand. “A charming place, I grew more accustomed to basements and stone castles covered in mildew but this is a nice change.” You nodded dumbly.

Oh wait, the guy was actually serious-

“Wow, that's nice, right, great, please leave. I have to get ready for school.” You stated flatly.

“Amiable way to kick me out.” Sans chuckled as he scanned your annoyed look that sparked out at him and glided out, casting one last glance at you while shutting the door behind him. You took a deep breath in, then out, then in again.

This was bad, this was bad, this was bad…

You tried not to snap, looking up at Maia’s empty bed. “This isn't happening is it?! I mean; you're gone a month and I'm already summoning demons-” You hissed, raking your fingers over your head. “Fuck.” Taking in a deep breath, you tried not to let that panic in your system, like a speeding bullet ricocheting in your insides, take over your sanity. You rose, quickly got yourself ready, then padded out, muscles stiff.

Sans was nowhere in your field of vision and it scared you.

Where was he? Stars, what if your parents saw him?

Horrible visions filled your head, possibilities and worse case scenarios that made you feel giddy when they zipped faster than you could comprehend them. Breathing in and out, you tried to pull on a neutral face. If they didn’t notice him, it was best you acted like you had nothing to hide. Shuffling down the stairs, trying to suppress the urge to race down, the urge to scream in panic, you peeked into the kitchen, eyes watching your parents talk in hushed voices.

Eyes snapped at you when you entered and you stiffly sat at your seat, nibbling your bottom lip nervously. Your parents stared for a second, then exchanged their looks, the looks that clearly stated that they were going to give you a practiced, debated and choreographed talk.

“Sweetie…” Your mother began slowly and you waited. “We…we heard a few things from your room last night…”

You froze. They knew. Your head felt like it was going to explode under the pounding and internal screaming inside it and you felt your face grow cold. Another look was exchanged between them. This time your father spoke up.

“And we know you…we…after Maia died…” He deliberated, then spoke your name. “You probably think that something like this is wrong but people move on from grief in different ways. If you want to get into a relationship with someone…”

Mind blank. Hands shaking like a pager motor, but more from the initial fear rather the disbelief you felt now that spread across your body. “What?” you choked out, and from the corner of your eye, you saw Sans leaning against the wall, watching the interaction with amusement on his features. The panic returned again, smacking you like a ton of bricks.

Your mother blinked. “I…thought you might be having…you know…problèmes d'amour as my grandmother would have put it.” She stated, waving her hand around. “She went through a lot of them after the amount of feedback received from her rose perfume.” Something ached within you when she mentioned it. Maia’s favorite perfume. Also an inside joke that said perfume was an aphrodisiac.

“Well, think about it this way…” you chose your words slowly, keeping your breathing even as Sans sauntered over, past your parents and he was now standing directly in front of you, smug smile on his face. “I’ve been alive for nineteen years…and I still feel little to no attraction to anyone romantically-”

“What about Augustus Waters?” Your father cut in with a grin. You felt your face burn and your gaze flickered down with embarrassment at the mention of one of your book crushes.

“That’s different.” You tried to counter instead, eyes now focused on your father trying not to look at the smirking skeletons who seemed immensely entertained by the interaction. “I meant REAL people. The ‘right here in this plane of existence’ kind of people.” Sans was now chuckling and even then, none of the older adults in this room gave him so much of a glance.

They couldn’t see him, you realized and you almost felt like crying with relief, one fear buried in the mud.

“Of course, of course.” Your mother replied flippantly and your parents smiled at you, the little teeth but hitting their eyes and practically casting a genuine glow kind of smile. The real ones, though while not your best friend’s blindingly genuine grins, it was most certainly one of your mother’s happier ones. It was contagious and soon you were smiling and laughing along as well.

You almost felt like a whole family again. Keyword, almost. Maia’s empty seat still blared in your vision, but certainly not as much as the demon’s distracting, red eyelights.

Chapter Text

" anam cara "
(n.) a person with whom you can share your deepest thoughts and secrets with.

“Ah, ah!” Sans tutted as he stepped behind you while you pulled your bike out of the garage again. “I sense rebellious spirit. You should be going to your university but…” he scanned your appearance. “Judging by how you packed light and your Augury is snug in your pack, I’m safe to say you’re not.”

“You only knew me for a night.” You snapped, tired. You felt like you were lugging around more than you could carry once more and even with the sun streaming through the trees, you still felt cold around him. “Stop judging me.”

“Well, you aren’t denying it, darling.” The demon purred. He winked at you, scarred eye-socket shutting mischievously, catching you off guard to a point where you were tripping on your feet as you wheeled the bike out. Pulling yourself on it, you glanced back at him, spine hunched. He was staring back still towering over even on your bicycle.

“Sure.” You admitted. “But I’ve skipped school once or twice for emergency meetings with my friend.” You didn’t start pedaling just yet, watching his skull morph to mild interest with a sort of fascination. You only met one skeleton monster, and that was Mistral, and ill-tempered one that moved to the city.

But Mistral had a shorter but slimmer build with an oval skull and slightly smaller eye-sockets; taking on the stern professor appearance. Sans was taller, broad shouldered with more angled and cat-like features and personality. And considering you haven’t seen much skeleton monsters, he was a fascinating specimen, even though he didn’t fit under the monster category.

“I didn’t expect you to be so vocal about your little crime.” He commented. You sighed.

“Well, sorry that’s all you’re getting.’ You replied, pushing your foot down and riding out of the house, faster and faster till your surroundings were a painted blur of color and smells and sounds. The wind was cold and your eyes watered. You were pedaling fast; too fast but you wanted to get away from him. One turn, then another, then another.

You hit the breaks the moment his house came to view; the old Laurent family mansion who’s larger than life and your house rooms were renovated to spacious apartments. Morgan had ducked out of the main entrance and had stopped when he saw you there, staring at him with no expression whatsoever on your features. He uttered your name.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, concern in his purple irises, but you wordlessly alighted from your bike, walked up to him, grabbed him by the hand and pulled him down the street and into the nearest alleyway. Morgan complied nervously, obviously put off by your strange attitude. You knew; you could see it in his eyes.

And you didn’t recognize yourself either.

The alley was a lot cleaner than how they are usually interpreted in books and Morgan stepped back to look at you better as you shifted your weight and fiddled with your bag. “’What’s up’, he says.” You muttered. “You know ‘what’s up’? That book you gave me…” you added, awkwardly trying to get the zipper open. Morgan simply watched.

“Hey, you know, I can get that for you.” he offered. You shot him a furious look.

“No you can’t. I’m the one with the tiny human hands. Your hands are too big and clumsy.” You hit back, too annoyed and stressed from everything so far. You didn’t mean to snap at him but he took it well. At least you hoped he did.

“Well, that’s just offensive. My hands are gorgeous, thank you very much.” he hit back and you grumbled with frustration, unsling your bag and dropping it on the floor of the alley for a better view. “We’re going to be late.” He added but you didn’t care. Sans was now standing by your side, looking completely unruffled as he bent down, large hands and slender finger bones lacing around your hands and helping you pull the metal zip.

The ivory white bone was cold and you drew them back as soon as they slipped off yours, as if you were shot. “I assumed you needed help, darling.” He simply said. “But I apologize if I made you uncomfortable in any way.” He held up his hands and took a step back. You stared at him for a long second.

“Okay, you’re going from eccentric and weird to freakish.” Morgan stated, breaking you away from the wine red gaze that was fixed on you. Instead, you pulled out the book…Sans called it an augury and held it up.

“This thing…this book. Morgan it’s real.” You blurted out. The skeleton made no attempt to stop you, snickering instead. It didn’t soothe your anxiety. “I did whatever I could, got the candles, the incense, the chicken from the freezer-” by now you were rambling.

“Which was quite a blow to my ego if you ask me.” Sans added. “Honestly, who summons a demon with frozen chicken?”

“Who summons a demon with frozen chicken.” Morgan blurted out.

“And the wine was far from reaching my standards with its quality.” Sans continued. You sighed with aggravation.

“I don’t know at else was I supposed to use?! I wasn’t going to kill a kitten! No way!” you demanded. “But that’s not the point! I summoned a fucking demon and now he’s hounding me for my Soul. I know it sounds farfetched and crazy and you might be having second thoughts about being my friend because I’m always pulling off crazy bullshit like this like when I dragged you into the woods but it wasn’t the woods and we were actually trespassing on private property and I got you arrested and everything but I’m sorry for that and…”

You were cut off my Morgan’s hand on your shoulder, lavender hues boring into you. “I believe you.” he said and something lifted from your chest and scattered. “I don’t think I can’t believe you considering how you’re acting. I’ve known you since we were in diapers.”

And with that, he pulled you into a hug. Morgan smelt like how he always did, like fire flowers, a hint of sushi and wood, a smell that sent comfort pouring through you like a stream of water. You hugged back, reveling in the warmth until he broke away, his face now more serious.

“Now, first question, is that son of a bitch here so that I can punch him in the skull? Do demons have an invisibility cloak or something?”

You bit back a snort and held up your hands. “Okay hold up.” You chuckled. “Yes he’s invisible and no, don’t try punching him. I love you way too much for that.” Sans hummed behind you.

“Well, I would try ripping him apart if that affirms anything.” He added. Your smile twitched and you clenched your own fist, biting back the urge to slam it against his skull. Sans chuckled breathily, eye-sockets narrowed as he silently challenged you. You stared at him for an intense moment until your ringtone snapped you out of your reverie and you huffed, trying to ignore the looks from the two companions of yours.

“Just a sec…” you mumbled. “I might need to take this…” You accepted the call, your mother’s voice picking up on the other end.

“Hello?” she called out. Your lips quirked to a smile.

“Yeah?” you replied quickly before she could yell into your ear again. She sighed at the other end and spoke up once more.

“We’re called to the police station again.” She called out. “I don’t think the meeting will take very long and I don’t think they have any leads at the moment. You sighed when she mentioned it. Maia had dies in a hit and run accident, the driver of the car that had run over her fleeing the scene without so much as a second glance. You remembered how angry you used to feel every time they reached a dead end but now…you just felt numb.

“Right…” you mumbled. “Just…stays safe.” She said something else but you didn’t catch on to it, the call ending in the next few seconds. You stuffed your phone back into your pocket and focused on Morgan again. “So…” you spoke up. “What do you think about some exploring?”

Morgan’s eye twitched. “No, you’re not dragging me into anything-”

Chapter Text

" ikigai "
(n.) a reason for being

“Well, that was refreshing.” Sans commented as he sat on Maia’s bed again, deep, wine gaze following you around the room. You ignored him, opting to try finishing any assignments that were probably teetering at the edge of incomplete and sat down at your desk. “Wouldn’t your parents find out about your little misadventure though? Surely they would be disappointed.” He was grinning like a cat at this point, sharp teeth pulled back.

“I don’t want you to follow me around.” You snapped back. “The last thing I want is people assuming I’ve gone nuts talking to thin air after Maia…” you stopped. “And get off her bed!” It was true. While Sans was quiet, he still seemed to demand your attention, whether it was by asking you annoying questions or by commanding it.

Throughout your earlier detour with Morgan to the woods where the two of you skipped stones at the lake and sat in the shade where the sun still touched you, he did nothing but talk, never even bothering to drop his glamor to reveal himself. You tried not to answer him in fear of looking like a nutcase in front of your best friend and Sans seemed to have noticed and still went on with his chattering.

Now, he fell into his silence, smile slowly fading as you groggily scrawled on the paper. You were feeling like your vitality was being sucked out by your anger like a black hole. The augury sat next to you, and in a moment of anger, you pushed it off the desk and it flew over and landed on your bed. Sans rose from his seat and set it back on the table.

“I’d handle this with a little more care if I were you.” he advised, standing beside you. You recoiled and stared at the book. The same book that started this mess.

“Take back your crazy hoodoo voodoo tome or whatever.” You stated, looking away. Sans sighed.

“It’s not mine, darling.” He corrected, voice like honey. “Auguries don’t summon demons, that’s the task set for grimoires. I have my own, settled far, far away from here. How you summoned me using this is beyond me.”

“I still don’t want it.” you insisted stubbornly. There was a moment of silence, the skeleton refusing to move from your side. He collected the book again and from the corner of your eye, you saw him slip it into the bookshelf then return to you.

“Expressing your anger this way isn’t the healthiest way to go by it. If anything, you should try talking to someone.” Sans stated suddenly and you snapped your head to look at him. There was a small grin, but it wasn’t teasing or malicious like the others. For split second, Sans was a regular skeleton monster, genuinely concerned for you. Not some smug demon who crawled out of hell or wherever he came from.

“Of course,” he added, insufferable smirk returning. “I can’t have you succumbing to despair just yet. I’d lose what I have set my eyes on.”

You felt the annoyance return, slithering through your Soul. You instinctively reached up to your chest, faintly feeling the hum of it. “Let me guess, it’s colorful and it’s a bumpy equilateral triangle that’s also the culmination of my being?” you asked with a snarky tone. Sans grinned.

“You forgot to mention the sweet, tantalizing energy that it lets out.” he added. You froze, mouth twitching downwards again.

“What?!” You blurted out. To say you were disturbed was an understatement and the blush that spread across your face gave away the fluster you felt. The way he said it was…okay…was…that. Yes, that. Like a wolf eyeing a frozen deer. He waved a bony hand in the air, leaning against your desk and casting his eyelights on you.

“Your Soul, darling.” He explained. “It’s one of the prettiest I’ve seen.” Now he was spouting complements. What next?

“Then what’s stopping you from taking it?!” You sassed, turning a page of your notebook. You felt his red stare on your back and your bare neck, hot but for some reason, not uncomfortable.

“Indeed…”

The single word hung in the air, tense and you felt your breath catch in your throat. Sans looked at you with intensity. “Why can’t I just harvest your Soul…” he mused. “It may not seem it but your grief has marred it. It still shines, yes but not how it would have previously…and my pride only allows me to pick the ripest of the lot.” His grin spread across again, unsettling and dark.

For a split second, you flickered into an encounter. Then it was gone.

“So I simply have to wait with the necessary patience, wait for you to give in and seek my help.” He finished. “And then I will work for you till the task you require is satisfied and I may collect what will be rightfully mine.”

You breathed in, then got to your feet and walked out of the room, the atmosphere too much to bear.

You needed to go to work anyway. Your attendance had been sporadic and while your boss was an understanding about it, you knew better than to slack off.

“Child… Sans mumbled after you had exited the room, walking up to the bookshelf and sliding out the augury from the shelf once more. The black book was smaller in his hands as compared to yours, smooth black leather against his rough white bones.

He carefully flipped it open, spotting the new passage that had bled into the pages; a poem that had gone unnoticed and unread by you. He had been hanging around the augury, trying to figure out its secrets, but the frustrations of not being able to read its contents still flared up every time he looked at it. Augeries were bound to one’s Soul and to do so was an invasion of privacy.

He has standards and a code he religiously followed after all.

It was simple; auguries were objects that could take on any form even that of a person or an animal, that supplied to its user a foretelling as a riddle. They were oracles, bringers of omens good and bad, possessing magic far different from the twisted ink in his, his brothers and kinfolk’s grimoires.

He paused when he thought of Papyrus, Papyrus who hated it whenever he would leave on being summoned. Being cast away young, their homes and sense of security stolen and working under the whims of Toriel had planted within him paranoia that was uncommon for his age. Sans was always there for his baby brother and he made sure his contracts were quick and easy.

You were going to stretch out his plans longer. He had seen stubbornness before and while he kept his word and while he previously waited for the ones foolish enough to summon him to give in to desperation he knew just by looking at you that you were going to dig your heels into the dirt. He also knew he could simply let this slide, of course but his pride stopped him from doing so. He wasn’t going to lose to a mortal.

Besides, this Augury was something that caught his eyelight. They never summoned demons. That was something that was another sect of magic altogether. Sans adored enigmas and games; he could be incredibly cruel and manipulative when he wanted to be and challenges…they thrilled him.

How did it supply the spell to summon him though?

A small smile crept up his skull and he placed the book back in its shelf again.

“…I was summoned here for a reason, wasn’t I?” He mumbled, then stopped when he heard you call out to presumably your father.

“No, no put that hammer down we aren’t going to tear apart the cabinet just because just because the door is jammed.”

“It was a joke!”

“And it wasn’t funny.”

Sans had the grace to laugh.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

" eumoirous "
(adj.) happiness due to being honest and wholesome

“You were crying in class today.” Sans stated lightly, a small smile dancing on his skull, flickering in and out of sight like a cat. You had stayed behind after class on his request to help him pick up the essays that he ‘accidentally’ dropped as the students piled out. You gathered up to more sheets of paper as he placed his pile on the desk.

“And you care because…?” you asked, handing him the leaflets. “You’re telling me demons can feel?” Sans took them, then his hand reached forward and lifted your chin up so he could look at you better.

“We can, yes; but love. It was something we were incapable of.” He replied. “And your depression will just worsen your state. You are far too stubborn, however, to speak to you family or friends.” You flushed at his touch, cold like ice, and pulled away.

“Yeah, sure because it takes away the luster of my Soul or whatever; you only told me that around fifty times.” You stated. “You know what? I’m just more convinced I have to wallow in my own self-pity and such if it means getting you away from me.” Sans simply smiled at that, removing his glasses to narrow his eye-sockets at you playfully.

“Even then, it would be a wonderful challenge.” He said, sorting the papers up. You eyed him for a second now that his attention was diverted.

“What did you do to him?” You asked. Sans’ skull snapped up to you.

“Who?”

“Mr. Greene. What did you do to him?” You stated. Sans raised a brow when you stepped closer. “Did you pull off some hoodoo voodoo or something?” He paused, surveying you, then chuckled.

“Hoodoo voodoo? Well, I can cast a few glamor charms and such to disguise myself such as now for the sake of staying inconspicuous; but other than that I can’t use the full potential of my magic.” He stated. You blinked, alarmed at the sudden fact. “As surprising as it sounds, demons have rules and vows that are bound with their summoning and a formation of a contract.”

....

PFFFT- okay this is hilarious

“What kind of rules?” You asked carefully. Sans hummed, seeming pleased with the questions asked. He looked outside for a second, and you saw the sun cast its glow on his skull. For a moment, he almost looked angelic.

“We can only perform minor spells that are centered on ourselves once summoned. It was a measure to make sure a few don’t move on to eliminate the one who called on them immediately without the formation of a contract.” He elaborated, then grinned. “Of course, that doesn’t really stop some of them; demons still have their claws and strength.”

You took a deep breath him, feeling like you had taken a plunge into an icy lake. “Oh.” Was all you managed to say aloud.

“We can only use our magic when bound into a contract; used mostly to fulfil the needs of the mortal who summoned us.” He finished. “You look pale.” He added. You took a step back, wanting some space between the two of you.

“I’m fine.” You mumbled. Sans watched your face, skull now more serious.

“Have you checked your augury?” he asked. You tensed at the mention of that book, the book that brought you into this mess. You gripped the books you held till your fingers felt numb.

“I haven’t and I don’t plan on, thank you very much.” You replied curtly. Sans hummed and gathered his own papers, walking to the door. He paused beside you, bending down slightly. You looked up to meet his gaze. Red clashed with your own hues; pools of wine and hellfire. You had a sudden urge to paint them on a canvas.

“I recommend you do try reading it.” he stated, then gave your head an affectionate pat. You froze, trying to comprehend his sudden action, when he walked out of the class. You hug back for a few moments, digesting whatever unfolded, when Sans’ voice echoed in your head. He told you to check the augury.

You had been avoiding it for the past week, mostly because of the uneasiness you felt, as if you were expecting something. You didn’t want to know if you could trust Sans’ words, if they were just lies that would lead you tangled in a web with no escape. Even so, your curiosity was a nosy little thing, poking at your mind as you shuffled down the hallway to your next class.

Maybe the augury could provide some answers to your predicament, maybe even a way to get yourself out of this mess. You knew you shouldn’t get your hopes up, but the possibilities excited you and you wanted school to end.

The next few classes flew by and Morgan saw you off at the entrance. “Just give me a call if things get worse.” he advised. “Just reminding you; I’m right here and I have a pair of ears, eyes, a nose, a pretty awesome laugh, a body bag and a battleaxe in my disposal.”

“And fists.” You reminded. “We can’t mess with those babies.” Morgan grinned, holding a fist up to deliver a kiss on it. You grinned and mirrored his movements as well, bumping your clenched hand with his. Then he pulled you into a hug.

“And just so you know, I miss her too.” He added. Your heart ached at that line. A lot of people missed Maia; what wasn’t there to miss about her? You stepped back, smile wavering slightly. You didn’t want to forget about her warmth, but holding on to it just made things more painful.

“I know.” You replied. “I see it a lot.” He breathed out, face now sad.

“We…better get going. You sure I can’t drop you off?” he asked. You shook your head.

“No, I’m going to work after this; started taking extra hours to make up for the month long leave.” You replied. “Besides, a lot of people still have their apologies they have to blurt out while I wait tables; I received twenty-four ‘I’m sorry about your sister’ comments in the past week and who knows, I might just break the world record of being the most pitied restaurant waitress in history!”

You threw your hands up at the end of the sentence, inciting a laugh from Morgan. “That would be revolutionary.” He stated.

“The TURNING point of history, the world as we know it will stop SPINNING and…” you were cut off by him clamping a hand on your mouth, now wearing a deadpan expression.

“Pun again and I’m throwing you into a river.” He stated blandly. You sighed dramatically and waved your hands dismissively. “I’m serious.”

“Sure, sure.” You smiled. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“You better.”

Sighing, you skipped down the stairs, then paused when your ringtone began to play. Looking down at your contacts, you accepted the call on realizing it was your father. “Yeah? Dad, is something wrong?” You asked. There was shuffling in the other end of the line, then a voice spoke up. Your lips twitched.

“This is a robbery. Your parents have been taken hostage.” You father stated with an overly exaggerated falsetto. “When you come back home, you will hand over a ransom; chocolate cupcakes from Ms. Trent. If you refuse we will post embarrassing baby pictures of you on social media, understand?”

“Oh no, whatever will I do?” you gasped. “Oh, maybe I should call the police!”

“No! You don’t just say that to someone who’s taken your loved ones hostage!” he blurted out, now chuckling. You laughed along, then froze when you saw Sans waiting at the gates, now having shed his human persona. He was obviously just visible to you now and he watched you carefully.

“Right, but on to the stuff I need to say; remember that one old lady; the crabby one?” You father continued. You turned around, deliberately ignoring Sans.

“Right, so she asked your mom to help out with organizing a garden party. We’re wondering if you’d like to chip in as well since you have pretty good taste in art, you know, by commissioning a piece for the occasion? We’re getting paid pretty well for it and who knows this might be your first step into setting up a career.”

A pause.

“Seriously?” you mumbled out. “Dad…that’s…wow…” You always wanted to pursue art as a career, be it traditional or digital. When your graphics tablet was trashed after years of loving use, you started investing in a new one, a bigger better one with the some of the money you made off at work. The commission may just be enough to set you up.

“Yep! What do you say?” He asked. You grinned.

“You kidding me? This is perfect!”

It was.

Chapter Text

" sphallolalia "
(n.) flirtatious talk that leads nowhere.

“Could we have some ice please?” called out the monster couple from the table. You nodded with a smile and quickly ducked behind the bar counter and brought in some ice to the table. After supplying some, you put it back, ears buzzing. There were more people visiting today and you found yourself struggling to keep up.

The chefs at the back were going crazy as well, trying to keep up with the influx while preparing meals in half the time. It was utter chaos inside and a few orders were detained. You already had four on your list and were yelled at by two customers, leaving you upset and edgy at the moment.

“You okay there?” Baz called out, straightening out her hair and dress shirt with a frown. Baz frowned a lot, like a thundercloud always hovered over a head and scared a majority of the employees (her staggeringly tall frame didn’t help either), you included.

But there was no denying what a mother hen she was under the tough exterior.

She focused her gaze on you, wolf ears twitching irritably. You fidgeted as well.

The new uniforms came in out of the blue yesterday, something a little more dapper to fit the aesthetic. The number of changes that seem to pop up made you feel like you were lugged into a carousel against your will and went on three rides straight at the highest speed (to a point where you wanted to barf). You were so disoriented and overwhelmed, it took a few hours to get used to it.

Yours was a little tight round the shoulders and arms but you were managing.

“I guess.” You mumbled in response, then turned on your heel when you heard another call. This one seemed more like he was ready to start trouble, you realized, when he seemed to have a thunderous look on his face. “How can I help you?” you asked forcing a smile on your face.

“Why the hell did is my order taking so long?” he demanded. You let out a sigh. “I’ve been waiting here for fifteen fucking minutes! I demand to see the manager.”

“The manager is out.” you replied the calmest you could, trying to curb the panic. “And I apologize if the meal is taking so long; we have a lot to deal with is all. Maybe we can give you a side dish, on the house?” The man glared at you. The trick, free food that is, usually worked but he was to frustrated to even think straight.

Well it was his loss because...I mean...free food?!

“I’d rather not pay for my whole meal, thank you very much.” he snapped, rising from his seat. “If most of the work staff is as useless as you are then you can bet my bucks that I’m not coming back here again.”

You cringed, but took the insult. You couldn’t screw up right now. And as if to add insult to injury, the tall glass of Pinot Noir that he had been sipping was quickly collected and spilled on you.

Then, he left in a huff, leaving you staring after him blankly. You retreated, grabbing a few tissues to wipe away the stain while trying to suppress the humiliation that burned in your chest and heated you ears. Baz was at your side in an instant, glaring after the man, lupine face twisted to a snarl. “Asshole.” She hissed with glittering red eyes. They weren’t the same shade as Sans’ though, being more of a brown-red and certainly not as pretty-

Wait...

Never mind, his smug face was on repeat in your mind.

“I’m fine.” You assured, grabbing her arm to hold her back. “The guy’s gone anyway and it’s for the better. Pity…my uniform’s ruined.” She glanced back and nodded slightly.

“Clean yourself up; we can’t have you parading around with that huge stain. Maybe try asking around for a spare shirt.” She instructed. You mock saluted her.

“Aye, sir!” You grinned, even though your mood was anything but happy. She waved her hand dismissively and you slipped into the employee room. After collecting a spare, you locked yourself in one of the bathroom stalls and changed out of the soiled clothes. Your black waistcoat was drenched as well, but you couldn’t see the stain; you decided to keep wearing it.

After you rinsed it, of course.

You rinsed the stained shirt under the tap and gave your vest a quick wash as well. You weren’t sure if you got rid of most of the wine, but it should work. Placing it on the counter beside you, you frowned at the white fabric. The thing was a lost cause.

“Pity, and it was a rather nice uniform as well.” Sans spoke up suddenly and you yelped, nearly falling back. He stood tall beside you, now having traded his cloak to show his ornate long jacket. His hands were folded behind him.

“Could you please stop doing that?!” you hissed. Sans smiled in return and you fought back the urge to punch his skull.

“I’ll try.” He replied. “And that was perfectly good wine gone to waste. I don’t like it when people just choose to throw their drinks around at innocent bystanders. It’s almost barbaric.” You glanced up at him, then at your ruined shirt.

“Yeah.” you agreed softly. “It was the expensive stuff too.” Your shoulders sagged. “I’ll have to pay for this if I can’t get the stain off.” You paused. “And no, Sans I will not sign a contract just to get a wine stain off of my uniform so please fuck off.”

Sans chuckled. “Language, darling.” He teased lightly. “However, if you wish I could try and see what I could do. I have some experience with fabric and embroidery so I may be able to get something as trivial as this fixed.” You blinked.

“You can sew?” you blurted out and for some reason, you couldn't help but imagine him bent over some embroidery like an old granny, sewing beads together. the thought made him seem much less intimidating. Sans looked down at you with a small smile, almost gentle as he gathered the shirt and peered down at it.

“Yes, when you’ve lived for as long as I have (centuries, in my case), you do pick up on a few things.” He replied. “Why? It seems unlikely for someone of my standing to know such a trivial thing?” You nodded dumbly and Sans hummed. “Well darling, as surprising as it sounds, immortality can get boring and with someone like me, whose pride would only harvest the best Souls to offer. Waiting for a decent Soul to summon you can be tiring.”

“So you learn stuff so you don’t go crazy.” You finished. A grin stretched across his skull, shaper than a knife.

“Precisely.” He purred. You felt your face heat up and you awkwardly pointed behind you.

“Right, I need to go…and uh…you better scarper before someone sees a shirt floating in midair. They may not take it as well.” You paused, another thought entering your mind. “Sans…will the augury really help? I don’t want this to be led on to some crazy trap that you may have placed.”

“I suggest you do.” he replied. “The augury is bound to you, as a guide or a foreteller. While to follow the path it sets up is up your choice, it would still be best if you would try to look into it.” You nodded and quickly walked up to the door, then stopped when you heard Sans call your name again. You turned to face him, hand on the door handle.

“Another thing.” He added, wine red eyelights trailing down your frame. “I forgot to mention how adorable you look in that uniform of yours; I’d love to keep dropping by if it means seeing you in this ensemble more often.” You froze, feeling your cheeks heat up under his intense, dark gaze. They seemed to sparkle when he looked at you.

“Thanks.” You mumbled quickly, pulling open the door and escaping the stifling atmosphere. What was that about? Why was the comment dropped all of a sudden? You groaned, tugging at your sleeves as you buttoned your waistcoat, nibbling down on your bottom lip nervously.

“Okay, was he flirting with me?!”

Chapter Text

" gallimaufry "
(n.) a confused jumble.

“Long day at work?” You mother asked when you were back at home. You smiled softly and nodded. “We have some leftover pasta in the fridge you’re hungry.” She moved forward and gave you a hug, filling your nostrils with the smell of earth and grass. You hugged back, feeling your mind flutter and haze over in the warmth.

“Thanks. I just need to stop at my room.” You said, adjusting your sleeves and biting your bottom lip nervously. “You going somewhere?” you added when you saw her handbag hanging off of the chairs. Your mother turned to it.

“No, not really.” She replied. “I just got back, actually. There are still no leads on the driver. The guys at the station aren’t taking the job very seriously either. If Undyne was still around though, she’d have kicked their asses for slacking.” She let out a tired sigh and you saw how fatigued she looked at the moment. Taking her hand in your own, you looked at her seriously. She looked back, brows furrowed slightly.

“You better get some rest.” You stated. Your mother chuckled.

“I will, I have a couple of things to sort out first.” She paused. “And we still need to move Maia’s things to the attic.” You froze at that point, head pounding and rattling at the thought of having to wake up to a half bare room. At least when her things were still around you felt a sense of security. You looked down at your feet, half wanting to argue back.

But the tired look on her face stopped you. She looked tired and done.

Was she moving on? Was everyone else moving? Why weren't you?! Was there something wrong with you? Why couldn't you let her go?!

Deep breath.

“I will, just give me some time.” You replied. Your mother frowned.

“You can’t keep holding onto them forever, you know that right?” she asked. You paused, feeling frustration bubble up and rear its ugly head. You stiffly stepped back and walked away without a word, ignoring any calls directed to you. Shuffling up the stairs, you stumbled into the room and looked over at Maia’s side.

You hand found the switchboard, illuminating the room. Then you breathed in deeply.

You walked towards it carefully, then sat down on the bed, feeling the soft sheets under your palms. Something gripped your throat, squeezing all air out of you and you lay down on the bed, smelling the Rose garden perfume that was slowly fading away. There was a new smell as well, one you faintly recognized but couldn’t put your finger on.

Instead, you shut your eyes, feeling the last few traces your sister left behind. Your eyes looked at the boxes that contained her clothes and her trinkets, from trophies and medals to her notebooks. Her cellphone lay tangled up with her jewelry. Her account had been cancelled the other day and with that went her voicemail. You remembered dialing her number so many times as if possessed just to hear her again.

You didn’t show that you were upset with your parents, but you cried the entire night after.

You lay there for a second until the feelings was too much to bear and you forced yourself off her bed, feeling like a traitor. You’re a traitor. Your brain chanted over and over. You were forgetting about her and the sound of her voice, so caught up in your own problems. You weren’t grieving; you were supposed to be grieving.

Taking a deep breath in and out, you looked up at your bookshelf where the augury was nestled between a copy of Pride and Prejudice and Twelfth Night. You reached up and pulled it out of its spot, flipping the pages. Sans was right about one thing; the book was ticking away since you had last left it a week ago.

Words were scrawled on a new page. Words in black ink. Words that made a poem.

You...were really going to suck at figuring this out...

There once lived a Sparrow
Who in a storm was tossed in the wind
The wind blew north
It’s cries gone unheard
The rain came down heavy and hard
washed it away with its turbulent currents
And tried to have it drowned.
It was soon taken away
far from home
Far from familiarity
Far from love.

And the Sparrow lost its voice.
It lost its will to live and
It lost its happiness
It found themselves alone and cold
Lost…
Lost and to never be found.

It wasn't a long poem, but you had the nagging feeling it was incomplete. The depressing tone of it didn’t make you feel any better either.

You shut the book and was about to place it back in the shelf before you had another idea and pushed it on your desk. It didn’t explain anything, but you didn’t complain either. It wasn’t a trap since it didn't explode or try to eat your face and while Sans’ advise didn’t really work, he wasn’t lying to you either. You sat back on your bed and stared into the wall blankly.

The poem was about you, that much was obvious; but all it did was personify your current predicament. There was no sign on what you should do. Groaning, you fell back on bed and proceeded glare up at the ceiling.

“Well?” Sans asked, materializing before you, stack of papers in his hands. You glared at him, then turned around. You heard him sigh. “Now that is rude. If you don’t wish to speak to me then you could just say it.” You scoffed and rose, facing him. His arms were now crossed while he stood there watching you, then he sat on Maia’s bed like he usually does, placing the sheets next to him. You didn’t stop him; you had given up on doing so anyway.

“Like that’s going to stop you.” you mumbled. Sans tilted his skull to the side with a soft chuckle. “But there wasn’t anything that could help. Just a poem that didn’t explain much.” You fell back again and shut your eyes. “I feel tired.” You mumbled.

“Then you should rest.” He replied softly. You hummed, turning your body to your side to face him. His wine eyelights were trained on you as well, shining against the darkness of his eye-sockets. You didn’t know why, but you found your lips quirking upwards at the sight of him pulling on his magnetic glasses and peering through his sheets. He was probably correcting some homework.

“Do demons sleep?” you mumbled. Sans looked up into your eyes, a small smile playing on his mouth.

“We do, but not as much as a human.” he replied. “It isn’t as much of a necessity considering our endurance. Quite useful too…” he motioned to the piles next to him and you could have sworn there was a hint of weariness in his eyelights.

“When was the last time you slept?” you asked, watching his eyelights flit over the paper, showing slight annoyances from time to time.

“A few weeks ago at the most.” You blinked with awe at his answer and Sans grinned, resting his mandible on his hand. “Why? Are you actually going soft for me, darling?” You choked, feeling your cheeks heat up and you turned around. Then you rose.

“No.” you stated flatly. “Now please leave. I need to change into my pajamas and eat some leftovers.” Sans rose, but he didn’t move just yet. You huffed impatiently under his amused gaze as you walked over and tried to push the seven foot eight tall pile of bones out of tour room. He backed away a few steps, then stopped, looking down at you.

He whispered you name softly and you froze, glancing up at him, hands on his ribcage. He paused, hands reaching up to cradle your face, cold bone against warm skin. You found yourself breathing in heavily, head dazed…

And he smushed you cheeks together with a sadistic grin on his skull.

Wha-

WHAT?!

You groaned between his hands, slapping away his hold. He chuckled with glee and stepped out of the room and you shut the door. “You suck, Sans.” You muttered to him through the half open crack. Sans ducked back into your line of sight, hand reaching out and stopping you from shutting it. His skull leaned forward.

“I adore you too, darling.” He whispered with a teasing hint in his voice.

You stuck your tongue out at him in retaliation and slammed the door on him. You turned around, taking in deep breathes, trying to still the pounding in your ears. There was knock on the door and you opened it again, staring up at his skull.

“I need to correct those papers. Unless you want a ‘C’ in your assignment for disrupting my corrections and grading, maybe you should give them back.”

“Oh…”

And

"Fuck you."

Chapter Text

" raconteur "
(n.) a person who excels in telling anecdotes.

“I still find it hard to believe you can sew.” You commented, looking down at the shirt he had made. “What next? You were prominent historical figure or something?” It was meant to be a joke but Sans tilted his skull as if deep in thought, eyelights glinting smugly.

“Well, I may have started a war between two rival gangs in the 1920’s…” he mused. “But that’s unimportant. Yes, I can sew. We’ve been through this already.”

You folded the shirt and carefully placed it alongside your uniform in the cupboard. As much as your ego told you not to accept his gift, free clothes weren’t something you could turn down. You’d be an idiot if you did (a huge idiot, actually). The idea of Sans learning a skill that was considered so feminine at least a century and a half ago was…hilarious when you really mulled it over.

“Where did you pick it up?” You asked. He rarely spoke about himself or his personal life. You were curious about his perspective.

Sans hummed, eyelights watching you with a strange look, a mix of amusement and mild surprise. The he chuckled. “It was in the later 1700’s. I was under a contract with a noblewoman and I picked up some of her habits, though it came with a fair share of belittling.” You blinked.

You knew for a fact that monsters and humans had very…separate cultures that didn’t really mix until a few centuries ago, after the leaders had to look eye to eye to prevent a war from breaking out. But there was still some interaction where some monster traitors and criminals were accounted for as slaves and sold to noble families.

It was basic history and sometimes Morgan used to wonder what could have happened if humans and monsters did draw their arms and pit against each other. You knew the answer though; the monsters would have lost. They unlike some humans, had a conscience.

“What was she like?” you asked instead, snapping yourself out of your thoughts. Sans raised a brow, resting his chin on his hand.

“Curious, are we?” he remarked.

“Yes, yes we are.” You hit back with an exaggerated British accent. He smiled; it was slight, but he smiled and straightened up.

“She was an interesting one.” He replied. “Quite a talented woman, adept at sport and other activities that were becoming of a lady at that age. That and that she was serial killer if I’m not mistaken; she had taken it onto her as a hobby to pose as an innocent woman in front of society but end the lives of unsuspecting men after she murdered her husband. I was mainly tasked to cover up her tracks and lure people in.”

You…didn’t know what to say to that.

"Wait..." you spoke up. "Are you talking about the red lady? Wasn't she the reason a revolt started up in the local villages after her death?" Sans raised a brow.

"A revolution? Who knew she left a mark so deep..." he murmured. "And to think I was the indirect cause..."

"People died, you know."

"We will speak no more of the subject, as intriguing as it is." he interrupted, looking torn between feeling smug and impressed and mildly horrified. It was the most you had seen from him and you found yourself giggling a little.

“And I take it you had a lot of other crazy people to work under?” you asked.

Why were you even asking this?

Sans was happy to change the subject though. “Megalomaniacs, crime lords, anyone with a rotten mindset and a position of power.” He answered. “Which is why I’m rather fascinated with the position I’m currently in…” His gaze bore down on you now. “An incredibly basic human being summons me on accident. You’re not anything like my previous contracts and you’re certainly not a part of a cult…”

“What-” you squawked out only to be interrupted.

“And the lifestyle you lead is so…simple. The only thing that you could openly want is your sister…” your stomach clenched a little at that. “…and even that task is impossible for me to attempt.” You shrank back.

“Well, I want a lifetime supply of kit-kats.” You managed out. “But I doubt you’d go by it since your ‘pride’ won’t let you take such a generic and low blow. Right?” Sans smiled.

“Maybe.” He agreed. “But I did say it was something you could ‘openly’ want. Everyone longs for something deep inside your subconscious. All I have to do right now is wait for it to surface, for you to figure it out and I can finally leave with what I want.”

“I don’t want anything else.” You denied flatly. You were pretty sure you didn’t and even though he chuckled a little at the statement, you kept going. “I finally have my life cut out for me and I’m not stupid enough to sell my soul.”

You were pretty sure of yourself. There wasn’t anything you could possibly ask for at the moment and he seemed to have caught on to it. “Alright.” Sans murmured. “We’ll see who falls first, darling.”

“This isn’t a challenge. It shouldn’t be a challenge. It’s a fact.”

“You’ll keep saying that, but I’ve been around for longer.”

“Age doesn’t matter. Shut up. I’ve experienced some stuff too. I know a little on how life works.” You retaliated. His wine eyelights glittered deep red.

“Really?” he whispered. “Says the virgin?”

Silence.

“JACKASS!” you seethed. Oh the rage, the horror, the sheer embarrassment. How fucking BIASED was this guy beginning to prove himself to be. Sans’ amused laughter told you he just said that to push your buttons, that your reaction was just what he was trying to get out of you, but you were too frustrated and flustered to care. “You’re a jerk, Sans! I big, fucking jerk!”

“I love you too.” He sang and you threw a pillow at him. It bounced off of his skull and onto the floor. His mirth melted away to a blank look. “Really now? I thought you could do better than that.”

You grabbed another pillow and threw that as well. This time it was caught by a horn. Sans skull jerked a little at the sudden impact and the object tore at the seams. You froze, watching it land beside him and the polyester pool out, sticking to the fabric of his jacket and pants.

Oh shit.

Oh shit, this was hilarious.

Sans picked off the polyester, sighing at the sight of the torn pillow. “You…you can fix it right?” you asked. Sans smirked slightly.

“Maybe, for your soul.” He chimed in. Your face dropped and you placed your hands on your hips.

“I’m not selling my soul to get a pillow fixed, darling.” You mimicked sassily. “Now begone. I need to hide this before my mother notices it and-” you were cut off by a knock on your room door and your mother speak up from the other end. You paused, looking over at Sans who dusted himself and proceeded to leave casually, throwing you the ruined pillow.

“Good luck.” He chuckled when the door swung open and he stepped to the side, presumably under a  glamour. Your mother walked past him and stopped when she saw you clenching the pillow in your hands with a raised brow.

“Surprise…?” you smiled hopefully, shooting a subtle glare at sans who leaned against the doorframe.

“Okay, I knew you were going through your own problems, but let’s keep damaging property to minimum. This isn’t an angsty teen movie you are living in.” she stated, her tone clipped. “Honestly! When I look at you, sometimes I feel I raised a rabid dog, not a human being.”

“Ouch.” You muttered. “But animals are better than humans, right?” you added. “You still love me, right?”

Her expression softened. “Of course I do, sweetie.”

And.

“But that doesn’t fucking excuse you. Get on your feet, you're fixing that pillow AND cleaning up the backyard.” She paused. “We need help clearing up the sanctum a little as well. The party next week is probably going to be a little bigger than expected.”

You slumped and nodded mutely. “Yes ma’am.” You saluted, then flipped Sans off when her back was turned. He simply smiled and turned on his heel, vanishing.

Asshole.

Chapter Text

" jayus "
(n.) a joke so unfunny and poorly told that you can't help but laugh.

Three and a half weeks of school had gone by, leaving you breathless at the sheer amount of things that had taken place so far. The play your sister was taking part in was still going on, now with a dedication to her. You refused to attend it; it would have just pissed you off seeing someone else play a part your sister worked so hard to do so. The Phantom of the Opera was one of her favorite works after Pride and Prejudice and it was just going to be a blaring reminder of her.

Your parents understood and they went on to hold the small party they usually had for Halloween. The neighbors and a few townspeople always attended every year, brought in their contributions for it. It was something you always enjoyed; a small quiet party in your parents’ garden, when some of the guests were probably strangers.

Your extended family was out of the question. Your parents didn’t get along with them all that much.

“I’ll admit, I enjoyed some of your essays for the recent chapters learnt.” Sans, sorry, Professor Fontaine’s deep voice cut through, snapping you out of you reverie. He leafed out some of the papers that contained your peers’ thoughts on the recent chapter taught to them and smiled round the class through his glasses. “Color me impressed; it seems I’m stuck with a few bright minds.”

There were a few giggles and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. A good majority of the class seemed to have developed a crush on your ‘English teacher’ in the few weeks he was here. You didn’t blame though; Sans was an attractive skeleton monster and it wasn’t a surprise some of the students and teachers were tailing after him love-struck.

Even Morgan admitted he was “Kinda cute, if you know what I mean.” It was betrayal. Ultimate betrayal. You refused to speak to him for the next twenty seconds.

Nibbling your bottom lip, you began to doodle absent-mindedly, pencil flowing over the paper like second nature.

The papers were passed on and you stopped and collected yours, glancing down at the grade, a ‘B’. It wasn’t bad, you decided and grudgingly returned the smile Sans shot at you. His eyelight sparkled a little when you did and you felt a painful thump in your chest. Resisting the urge to clench at your shirt fabric, you quickly ducked inside your desk and stuffed the paper into your file.

You weren't blushing, you weren't blushing, you weren't blushing.

The room was just hot.

Right.

Even though it was 15 degrees out.

Riiiiigggghhhhttt...

“You guys coming tonight?” You asked Morgan, glancing up and turning to him now that you noticed he was awake. He grinned sleepily.

“Don’t we always?” he asked. “Mom made some salad this year; I know, pretty underwhelming. But after Gramps went and bought all that extra veggies like a goof, she couldn’t just let it all go to waste.” You chuckled at his almost animated face. You, Maia and Morgan always loved the little parties your parents held. It was a mutual agreement that seemed to transcend all petty arguments.

“That’s comforting to know.” You grinned. “It would be really boring without you; you know, no one to drag into trouble with me.”

“Please let’s not do anything crazy this year.” Morgan silently begged. “We’re legally adults…can’t we act our age a little?” You huffed.

“You mean adulting? What’s that?” you asked playfully. Morgan rolled his eyes but grinned anyway. Then his purple eyes drifted to you book which you opened again and a menacing grin stretched across his face. He grabbed it before you could react and scanned the page you were doodling on.

“Ohoooo, you never told me you had a crush on Professor Sans…” he grinned. You blinked, head snapping to your notebook which he now displayed. There was a messy sketch of Sans in his demon form, horns curling out of his skull. The copy made of graphite was peering back at you with the same insufferable smirk he wore sometimes.

“GIMME THAT!” you screeched loudly, earning some glances from the class. Sans looked over at your desk and to your horror was making his way towards you. You grabbed the notebook and began to feverishly erase it with shaky hands. By the time he was at your desk, most of the drawing was gone.

“May I know what the matter is here?” he asked silkily with a raised brow. Morgan tried to suppress his giggles, glancing at you from time to time. You flushed a bright red and stuffed your notebook in your bag and looked down at your feet. No way were you going to show him! Sans would never stop teasing you for weeks.

“N-nothing!” you stuttered out, trying not to look him in the eye. Your insides felt like scrambled eggs at this point and he chuckled softly.

“I see…I’ll let you off for now but the next time you disrupt my class, I’m afraid detention is the only thing you’ll have to answer to.’ He replied. You relaxed slightly when you heard his footsteps lead away and cast a scathing glare at Morgan.

“You’re dead.” You hissed. “After school, I’m drowning you.’

“…You know I’m part fish monster, right?” Morgan contradicted. You fought the urge to grab him by the collar and throw him out of the window. As much as you loved Morgan in all his six feet of dumbass, his teasing smile was enough to infuriate you.

“I’ll drown you in lava.” You decided instead. “I’ll travel to the far corners of the planet, find myself some old dude and force him to teach me how to learn lavabending and I’ll drown you in the stuff.”

There was a snort beside you and Morgan broke into soft giggles, coaxing a smile of victory on your face.

“You need to relax a little.” You father chuckled. “You’re not really at the legal age to drink yet, sure, but there’s some drinks that you and Morgan could sip on. I bet you’d love to try this bottle of…” He peered down at the label and frowned. “…huh, expired grape juice….okay who brought the drinks in?!” The moment his loud voice carried into the garden, one figure slunk back with embarrassment.

“Nah, I’m just tired…” you replied quickly, looking around at the set up. There was chattering, small talk, the works all over the place and you simply watched them, content with the lack of interaction. Your father blinked and nodded in understanding, patting your head.

“You can rest if you want.” He replied. You shook your head with a smile; it would be rude to just up and leave. Instead, you chose to sit at the steps in front of the large sliding glass windows of the sanctum; aptly named for the large, open space with a glass roof where your mother grew her indoor garden. You leaned your head on the palm of your hand, feeling an empty space in your chest.

Maia wasn’t here.

It hurt.

You leaned back and watched some of the people, new faces who had just moved into the city flitting around and exchanging pleasantries and getting to know their new neighbours. Outiside, you could hear the rambling of trick ’o treaters who stopped at the gate where your mother stood guard, handing them candy.

You shut your eyes, trying not to think of Maia, or the fact that she was dead. You tried not to think of all the other parties and birthdays that she wouldn’t attend no matter how much she loved them. You tried not to think of her still form that you were unfortunate enough to see at the morgue or your mother screaming like she had been punched in the gut. You tried not to think of the sadness.

But you still did and you couldn’t breathe.

It came down on you like turbulent rain; merciless, unending. You weren’t paying attention around you anymore, staring down at your hands while trying to stop the tears from escaping. Some people cast a few glances at you but did nothing. You expected that.

“Tears don’t suit you. I told you that before.” Sans spoke up. You glanced at him; he was still wearing his glamor and was holding a crate of red wine in his arms. “Ah, one of the teachers invited me over as well.” He explained on catching sight of your confused expression. “I took this as a chance to interact with your parents without having to flit around under the shroud of invisibility.”

He looked very self-satisfied. Meanwhile, your ears were buzzing with shock.

How were you supposed to react to this?!

“Where did you get that stuff.” You asked, aghast as you pointed at the wine. Sans glanced down at it, then up at you with a slight smirk.

“Oh, I have my ways.” He replied slowly. You blinked and decided not to question him further, almost afraid of him admitting to murder to contribute to your parent’s Halloween party.

Sans looked amused and he sat beside you, completely undisturbed. Looking down at your hands, the two of you watched the garden in silence, silence that was immensely awkward on your part, which was accompanied by you casting a glance or two to digest whatever was happening until your mother arrived, clad in a witch hat.

She probably wanted to ask you about the punch that you were in charge of, but stopped at the sight of the skeleton monster next to you.

“Oh hello! I take it you’re the new English teacher?” she greeted with a polite smile and Sans rose, holding out his hand to return it. She took it. “It’s nice to meet you Mr…”

“Fontaine.” He replied smoothly. “And likewise.” Your mother glanced at you.

“I’m glad you could join us tonight though they never really told me they had a new teacher.” She shot you a small glare and you rolled your eyes and stuck your tongue out at her. Sans had the grace to chuckle under his breath, holding up his crate of wine.

“I really don’t mind as much.” he assured, a smile growing on his face. “But I’ll be glad to say your child is a good student (grades while being rather abysmal due to their short attention span). I’m honored to meet their mother.” You watched dumbly as he handed over the wine. “I hope my contribution is appreciated.”

Your father joined in the conversation. “Tempranillo? That’s some good stuff!” he mused. “You have good taste, just saying since we live in a household where one occupant is a plant crazy hippie, one obsessed with the existence of hot men in classical literature and the other was delivered by wolves.”

“Delivered by wolves?” Sans chuckled, eyelights flickering to you. Your father nodded, his seriousness rivalling that of a screeching pastor, but Sans seemed to stick to the surface of the phrase and took it as a simple joke. You almost felt bad for his painful obliviousness at the moment.

Ah, what a naive, naive demon. You almost shook your head.

Then your father glanced at you. “Oh, and please, don’t eat the lasagna Nix brought with him; he cooked and you know how Nix’s cooking is.”

“Deadly.” You finished with a small grin. “Morgan’s here? I’m going to go drown him in lava and feed him to my goldfish.” You father and mother blinked at you while Sans seemed to be fighting back his own laughter.

“You…don’t have goldfish.” Your mother pointed out. You shrugged in response.

“I’ll buy some and turn them into man-eating beasts.” You replied. They were smiling now

“Well, don’t keep them around the house in case they mutate and end our existence.” She played along. “Can’t be eaten just yet; my flowers need some intensive care.” Her eyes shone and you could read what they were trying to convey. ‘And so do you.’ You got to your feet and gave your parents and awkward side hug and sent a curt nod at Sans.

You found Morgan puking out his grampa’s lasagna in the bathroom and sat with him, patting his back. He looked up at one moment and shot you an expression of pure torture and unease.

“You’re an idiot.” You stated bluntly, though your eyes screamed empathy. Morgan groaned and emptied his gut out in the bowl again.

“I hate you too.” He mumbled.

Chapter Text

so it's uh...been a hot few *nervously looks at the last update two years ago*. a lot has happened recently, to be honest, between burning myself out with this fic and moving on to new fandoms and interests *also nervously eyes the alt account and the fics there*. i know pandemonium is a fic pretty well loved and received by my audience and honestly, i'm glad you guys have taken to it so much. unfortunately, i cannot bring myself to continue on with what i left off. thus, as of today, and after a very unnecessary pause ( having lost my mother and needing to move towns, lets just say my life has been a clusterfuck, but i still feel like i owe you guys after all the love and support ),

pandemonium is officially discontinued.

HOWEVER! i know how it feels to be left off a story mid way and there are a lot of questions you might have. so i have compiled a google doc / drive with all my unreleased chapters + the sumarry of what i envisioned the ending to be. feel free to check it out and maybe, just maybe, one day someone else might finish this work and give it the end it deserves.

till then, thank you so much for the support.

LINKS ;

O1. pandemonium, the unreleased, the ending and a few parting words ( in styyyyle )

O2. the rest of my works i guess + GASP one??? unreleased??? idea???