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oriley42 · 4 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: MASH (TV) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: "Trapper" John McIntyre/Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce Characters: Benjamin Franklin "Hawkeye" Pierce, "Trapper" John McIntyre, Henry Blake, Radar O'Reilly, Frank Burns, Maxwell Klinger Additional Tags: Short One Shot, day in the life, Goofiness, Banter Summary:

Frank complains about Hawkeye & Trapper's nighttime "extra-curriculars." As usual, no one cares! A good gay time is had.

[Full fic under the read-more, since it’s a short one!]

“Captain Pierce, Captain McIntyre,” Henry nodded, not quite meeting their eyes as they slouched their way into his cardboard-chic office.

“General,” Hawkeye nodded back.

“General?!” Henry bolted upright, “Where?” His eyes darted towards the liquor cabinet, as if the brass might be hiding between the whiskey and rye.

“Oh, sorry,” Trapper seamlessly picked up the bit from Hawkeye, “We just thought your promotion must have come through by this point.”

“You guys…” Henry sank back down in his chair, “Uh, Radar—”

“The complaint, sir,” Radar stuck the packet of paper in front of Henry’s eyes.

“No, the complaint—oh,” Henry took the paper with a slight tremor in his hand, “Radar, you’re dismissed.” A faint ‘yessir’ sounded from beyond the swinging-shut doors.

“What has the preeminent Major Burns—” Hawkeye began.

“Premature Major Burns?” Trapper offered.

“Parenthetical Major Burns,” Hawkeye suggested.

“Antithetical.”

“Anti-medical.”

“Whatever label you stick on the man,” Henry interrupted, “these charges he’s trying to press are serious.”

Hawkeye and Trapper both paused, mouths slightly open. “Why, Henry, you usually let us work through a few letters of the alphabet before you lay the law down.”

“If you ever lay the law down,” Trapper clarified.

“If it does get laid down, it’s usually to sleep,” Hawkeye agreed, “At our feet, like a good dog.”

“Well, you don’t get mister nice dog—I mean, mister nice Colonel—today.”

“We don’t?” Trapper pressed a hand to his heart.

“But I was going to let him go for a walk this afternoon, maybe even give him a little puppy bath,” Hawkeye protested.

“Major Burns,” Henry continued, a little desperate but significantly less bamboozled than he usually was by this point, “claims that you two break the rules of officer’s conduct and, uh, other things, routinely. Vigorously. On a nightly basis in the officer’s tent and, well, other tents. ‘No tent is safe’ was stated at some point.”

“That little peeping tom,” Trapper breathed, a flash of cold anger in soft eyes.

“I thought he knew better than to bother mommy and daddy when they had their special grown-up time,” Hawkeye replied, leaning back in his chair but not putting his feet up on Henry’s desk—a sign of respect equal to the seriousness of the situation.

Henry’s mouth moved in the way it did when he was rehearsing what he was about to say next and finding it lacking. “Alright. Now, now the way I see it—”

“Yes,” Hawkeye urged him on.

“—the way I see it—”

“Go on,” Trapper added.

“I’m trying,” Henry’s eyes bugged out just a titch, pretty low on the eye-bugging scale for him.

“He’s trying,” Hawkeye explained, patting Trapper’s arm.

“Maybe we should leave him to it,” Trapper suggested, making a theatrical overture towards the door.

“THE WAY I SEE IT,” Henry shouted, garnering an identical pair of faux-shocked gasps from the doctors and a genuine one from Radar, who’d popped back into the office upon anticipating his boss’ imminent railroading.

“Now, the way I see it,” Henry repeated, spitting the words out at top speed, “A little bit of circumspection, restraint, and common sense on your part could clear this up. If I don’t, well, if I don’t see anything then there’s not really any thing to be seen being seen.”

“Yeah,” Pierce agreed readily, “And you’ve never not missed seeing the things that never didn’t happen that didn’t ever not happen.”

“Exactly,” Henry agreed, blinking rapidly.

“Glad we could iron all that out,” Hawkeye slapped Henry’s desk and rose, “always edifying to chat with you.”

“Edifying…” Henry echoed, slightly dazed, as Radar opened the door for Hawkeye and Trapper to exit through.

“Gee, you think he’s boggled enough?” Trapper inquired, “We don’t need a reprimand sneaking up and sputtering at us.”

“I just handed him the Gordian knot of double negatives. I’ll bet you every dollar to my name that he doesn’t cut his way out ‘til Christmas.”

“I’ll match those three bucks and double it,” Trapper shot back, tossing an arm around Hawkeye’s shoulders.

“You two,” Frank materialized in front of them, like a weak-chinned genie. “You two,” he repeated for good measure, “are a disgrace to the uniform.”

“Thanks for noticing,” Hawkeye curtseyed.

“More than a disgrace! An outrage! Degenerate, perverted, unamerican, panty-waisted traitors.”

Hawkeye dabbed at an imaginary tear, “Oh, Major Burns, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“Yeah,” Trapper agreed, “I think I just found my epitaph.”

“Indecent!” Frank followed up, but with less verve. Margaret was nowhere to be found, and he wilted like a sock on a windless day without her support. “If Colonel Blake won’t deal with you, I’ll go up the chain!”

“Up the chain? Hey, that sounds like a euphemism,” Trapper pointed out.

“Yeah, like a delicate way of saying you’re going up to heaven, into the light, making your last goodbyes…” Hawkeye gasped, “Oh, Frank, say it isn’t so?”

“Say what isn’t so?!”

“Oh, Hawk, it’s too terrible to contemplate,” Trapper rejoined, “our very own Major Burns, biting the big one.”

“Don’t be afraid, Frank. Death is just like taking a long nap. You’ve got a lot of practice with that.”

“I’m not afraid of anything! And I’m not dying, and I won’t be pulled into another of your ridiculous, cockamamie, nonsensical….” Frank trailed off, one finger pointing impotently back and forth between the two.

Hawkeye tapped his chin thoughtfully, “Hmm, you’re running strong on adjectives today, Frank, but you seem to be short a noun.”

“Hey, maybe I can spot you one, I think I’ve got a spare in a pocket somewhere…” Trapper started patting his clothes down. Hawkeye helped.

“Well, you’ve certainly got something in your pocket,” Hawkeye grinned, “but I don’t think it’s a part of speech.”

“This is exactly what I’m talking about,” Frank fumed, “Do you see?” he started gesturing towards passersby like he was fervently hailing a passing ship, “Do you see what they’re doing?”

“Hey, is it Twister?” Klinger asked, stopping by in a stunning emerald ensemble, “I’ve never seen it played standing up.”

“It’s a new edition,” Hawkeye quipped, “now it comes with a betting section and double points if you can hold your position while shotgunning tequila. Nice heels, by the way, they really show off your stems.”

“Gee, thanks, they cost me an arm and a leg. Though if I wear them in the OR, they’ll probably end up costing me my ankles too.”

Frank let out a little gurgle of rage. “This whole camp is full of—of reprobates and lunatics!”

“Well, of course,” Hawkeye let Trapper spin him into a clumsy dancer’s dip, speaking to Frank upside down, “who else would you find in the middle of a warzone?”

#MASH #mash 4077 #mash fic #piercintyre #hawkeye pierce #trapper mcintyre #hawkeye/trapper #my fic

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krisseycrystal · 4 years

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rated: t

fandom: Gravity Falls

prompt: “Locked in a Freezer” + Stan & Dipper (& Ford)

requested by: @trashgoblinonyourporch

SO MY AMAZING FRIEND PAX SENT ME AN EXCELLENT CHALLENGE because i have never written a Gravity Falls fic before, w/ my choice of Stan, Dipper, or Ford locked in a freezer and I like to challenge hurt myself even further so i picked Stan & Dipper and had Ford cameo at the end

it’s a Time

hope you enjoy! if you want more angst, feel free to request something! i still have four prompts available on this bad boi alsdkjflkjsf

- o - o - o -

Gelid [Read on AO3]

- o - o - o -

“HEY!”

Maybe the first thing Stan should have felt when the thick door swung shut at their backs was panic. Maybe stupidity--he knew that ugly bastard with the toothpick between his teeth was lyin’ when he denied that there were ghosts in his quote-unquote “historic” bar; he knew it--but instead, all Stan can feel is a ravaging, crater-deep guilt.

“Grunkle Stan?”

It was his idea to invite the twins along on this summer trip to the East Coast. It was him who first said, hey, whaddya know, we’re passin’ through their part’a town, Ford. Whaddya say? Let’s pick up the kiddos, have ‘em stuff their duffels in the back and let ‘em tag along on our haunted haunts tour ‘long the New England coast. They’re probably all goofs, anyway. What’s the harm?

This bar.

With its fucking deep-ass freezer.

That’s the harm.

After frantically pulling on the long handlebar once, twice, then heaving as hard as he could and throwing his shoulder into the door, Stan finally steps back and wraps his arms around himself. His faux-gold rings with their cubic zirconia catches on the cloth of his sleeves as he vigorously rubs his forearms. “Kid, do you wear anything else other than those dumb shorts and tee-shirt?”

Dipper’s already mimicking him, smart kid, but his teeth are chattering. Not a good sign. “It’s not like I have access to my bag right now to change! If I’d known some ghost was gonna lock us in a freezer, then I’d have worn something a little warmer!”

Stan rolls his eyes. “Got that fancy new cell of yours, don’tcha? Just call your sister!”

Dipper’s eyes light up. Had he forgotten he had it? Go figure. Shermi’s daughter had been so hesitant to give the twins cells, but after they turned thirteen, well…he’s sure Dipper and Mabel worked their own case pretty hard. It certainly paid off. It’s going to pay off.

It has to.

It only takes a few seconds tapping on the screen with shaking fingers to make Dipper’s face fall. “No service.”

“What? Let me see that.”

Dipper doesn’t fight when Stan swipes the dinky device out of his hand. But he does watch, unimpressed, tiny hands rubbing his arms, as Stan pretends to recognize what the hell it is he’s looking at on the screen. Fuckin’ tiny-ass white blobs. What do those things mean? Is that a percentage? Is 35 good or bad?

He tosses it back, grumbling. They need to get out. Fast. What’s the first thing to get frostbitten? How long does that take?

“Look, kid,” Stan huffs, his breath a white cloud glittering in the dark. “I’m putting you on cell duty. Your job is to think of a way to tell the others we’re down here so they can come rescue our asses.”

Are Dipper’s cheeks pinkening because of the cold, or because Stan cursed in front of him? Hard to tell. “Right.”

Dipper bows his head over his phone, the bill of his blue pine-tree hat obscuring his face. His thumbs tap madly away; how the hell does he do that so fast? Then he turns, tremblingly striding the length of the walk-in freezer back and forth. At each corner, Dipper stops, raising his cell high above his head with a tight grimace. He stretches onto his tip-toes, waves the device right and left, and with a look of consternation, begins the process over again in a different corner.

Stan watches his hands for a second more before it clicks.

“Dipper, take off your socks.”

“My what?”

“Your socks.” Stan hurriedly bends over to do the same, peeling off his holey socks from his shoes before shoving his feet back inside. “Put them on your hands. Your dumb fingers are gonna get frostbit before anythin’ else and that ain’t gonna take more than two minutes.”

“B-but, Grunkle Stan, you just told me to I gotta use--”

“--do you want to lose your digits or not, kid?”

Is it a mercy or a worry that Dipper doesn’t fight him on this?

With his mouth set in a thin line, Dipper hands off his phone to Stan and squats to untie his shoes. Every passing second, the kid’s teeth chatter harder and harder; his fingers shake so much, he fumbles with the strings, pinching them and dropping them over and over again. He tugs and tugs to undo the shoelace, but it doesn’t budge. “G-Grunkle Stan, I can’t--I--”

There’s a terrible, terrible break in the kid’s already squeaky-ass voice.

Like an echo, a ricochet, something else breaks and cracks in the center of Stan’s chest.

He shoots forward, falling to his knee before he thinks better of it. His weary bones scream in protest, but not as badly as his skin does. It only takes seconds for the wet chill of the freezer floor to seep through his pants. He shoves Dipper’s phone in his pocket and doesn’t see the way the screen lights up as he does.

“It’s okay. I’ve got ya, kid,” he mutters and yanks the Converse laces loose himself.

When Dipper’s hands are covered with twin stinky, middle-school white ankle-socks, Stan breathes a sigh of relief. Standing, he finds, is much worse on his creaky body immediately after kneeling.

“Remind me not to Cinderella you again, kid,” Stan groans, placing a sock-mittened hand in the center of his back.

Dipper chuckles, but it’s weak. The kid’s eyes shine a little too brightly in the dark, unshed tears making his eyelashes sparkle with frost. “Y-yeah. That was…awkward.” He clears his throat and holds out his socked hand expectantly, still shivering uncontrollably.

“Hm? What? Oh.” Stan fishes the kid’s phone back out.

Dipper’s face lights up at the same time as his screen does. “Grunkle Stan! Grunkle Stan we did it! We got a message through!”

“What?”

Dipper hurries over, pressing close to his side, and shoving his phone in his face as if he’s supposed to be able to read the tiny black font printed inside those grey boxes. 24%. There’s a funny, probably candid, photo of Mabel beside each one. Her cheek is pressed up against a wooden table with her tongue hanging out of her mouth, her face the utter look of someone who has eaten far too much cake and has icing all around her mouth to prove it. Does she even know Dipper took that picture? Who cares; it’s priceless.

“What am I supposed to be lookin’ at?”

“What Mabel said! She and Ford are on their way! They’ll be here in fifteen minutes!”

Fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes.

“Kid, you tell her to tell my brother to step on it. We could be popsicles in fifteen minutes!”

“Y-yeah, but--”

“--and then as soon as you're done, come over here.” Stan didn’t want to have to do this, but it looks like he has little choice. He turns around, hunting for loose, broken-down cardboard boxes or crates and finds a stash of them pinned between a steel shelf and the wall. Hell yeah. “If we’re gonna last ‘till then, then we gotta hunker. No if’s, and’s, or but’s about it.”

“H-hunker?”

Stan throws several sheets of unfolded cardboard on the floor and covers the floor as much as he can.

“Hunker,” he confirms.

- o - o - o -

The first five minutes aren’t horrible. Dipper is reluctant to huddle close and wants to stand and move around instead of sit down on a makeshift mat of cardboard. The kid admirably performs a few back-and-forth laps of high-knees and jumping-jacks before exhaustion kicks in and his body shivers too hard to do a single rep more.

Stan doesn’t even need to say anything. He holds out an arm and Dipper comes stumbling over back to him, shaking so hard, skin wane and pale, he might be as blue as his hat.

The second five minutes are spent clutching at each other, shivering tightly in a teeth-chattering huddle. In the end, Stan burrito-wraps his jacket around Dipper and pulls him over to curl against the pudge of his front. His socked hands run up and down, up and down the kid’s back as quickly as they can.

At the end of the third five minutes, Dipper begins to cry and Stan knows it’s because some part of him--his nose, probably--has frostbite setting in because it’s settling in on his nose and ears at the same time.

“Shit.”

“I-it--” It’s damn near pathetic the way the kid can barely talk. “--i-it h-h-hurts, G-Grunkle S--”

“--y-yeah. I know; I know…”

Dipper’s breath is thin and quick under the tightness of his tears. He gasps for air, breath puffing up over and over again against his face. It’s pathetic. The way his thin shoulders are pulled up to his frozen ears; the way he can feel the tremors wrecking the kid in the middle of his hold. This entire damn thing is pathetic.

…and so is he, he thinks.

“I-I’m sorry,” Dipper stutters, voice so small. “I-I shouldn’t have--w-we s-shouldn’t have c-come here--I w-was stupid to th-think that--”

“Nope. None of that,” Stan clutches the kid tighter. “Shut up. Now.”

Dipper’s socked hands dig into the thin fabric of his button-up. Whether or not Stan actually meant to bring him to silence, that faltering apology is the last thing Dipper tries to say.

Twenty minutes pass.

- o - o - o -

Ford’s voice, when Stan finally hears it or thinks he hears it, is distant, like a dream. It washes over Stan with all the cotton-balled effect of damaged stereo speakers. Or maybe that’s just his hearing aids going out.

There are mittened hands on his shoulders, separate from the ones trying to pry away the huddle locked against his chest. As soon as the loss of a kid finally registers in his dumb, befuddled head, he writhes and fights. He rears up a socked fist to throw it--but it’s easily caught in a broad, six-fingered hand.

“Stanley. Stanley. It’s me. It’s okay.”

It takes monumental effort to crack open his eyelids and peer up. Something chilled and grainy falls down his cheeks. “Poindexter?”

“Stanley,” and the relief is so great and thick that any bitter anger Stan had in his chest at their belated rescue fizzles. “Oh, I’m so sorry. The ghost was…trying, to say the least. Mabel and I had to exorcise it before we could even get down to the basement. It…the entire process took much longer than it should have. And that never should have…I’m…”

Dipper is pulled away from him and this time, he doesn’t resist. He can see the cool blue-black of police uniforms and the yellow jacket of paramedics.

“We tried to call you, but I suppose Dipper’s phone must have died. It went straight to voicemail.”

“Can it with the s-stupid apologies, will ya?” Stan sighs and his body shakes hard before stilling. “T-tired of it. Shit h-happened. W-we got locked in a f-f-f-fucking freezer. Just…get us the fuck out of here before I th-think about h-how I might sink s-some cruise ships.”

Ford’s smile is rueful and exasperated. He looks over his shoulder at the paramedics that approach with a thick blanket in hand.

“I’ll make sure to keep you away from oceans, for a while, then.”

“W-water and ic-c-c-e in general. Th-thanks.”

“Noted.” Then the humor slips away and something else, something soft, gentles Ford’s face. It’s disgusting. Just like the blanket the paramedics wrap around Stan’s shoulders. “You’re going to be all right, Stan.”

“Yeah…” Stan’s eyes slip left, looking at the freezer’s now-open doorway.

“Dipper, too.”

Stan sniffs. When the paramedics pull Ford back to reach out and take his arms, he nods at his brother in wordless thanks.

#bad things happen bingo #bth bingo #gravity falls #grunkle stan #dipper pines #stan pines #ford pines #fanfic #gf #bthb #locked in a freezer #krissey writes a thing #also none of this is prbly realistic so uh #what's that saying #suspension of disbelief?? ye #something like that i hope #angst

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queenofcarrots · 6 years

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The Watering Hole Pilot Episode: Three is Not a Crowd

(aka Cheers!... In!!… Space!!!)

Finnreylo fan fic for the @finnreylopositive double prompt: CHEERS!. An AU for the old American sitcom Cheers. Post TFA canonverse in which Ben Solo never went to the dark side but clearly other things happened as expected because both Finn and Rey are here.

Set in The Watering Hole, the most popular bar in the military complex on Coruscant, frequented by a likable gang of pilots and misfits. In our pilot episode, the bar’s three employees need to work through a misunderstanding and make some decisions about their relationship.

Note: This is written in response to the @finnreylopositive double prompt (described here); so if you want to jump off from here, make artwork or if this story or write another episode please do so. Just be sure to tag me and tag @finnreylopositive too!

Also on AO3

Rose and Poe trade a glance as Finn walks quickly out of the office, sets down the datapad in his hand, and begins vigorously wiping down the counter at the bar across the street from the Galactic Republic’s main military complex on Coruscant. They can tell something’s bothering The Watering Hole’s assistant bartender. The former stormtrooper is one of the most popular people in military circles; everyone was shocked when he decided to work at the bar instead of joining as a soldier, but no one could blame him. And the work definitely suits him. So if he’s not smiling, or chatty, or both, that’s a definite sign that something is wrong with Finn.

“What's up, man?” Poe asks before he takes another swallow of ale.

Finn ignores him and wipes the counter even more aggressively.

Rose reaches out past her own glass and catches him by the wrist. He stops moving and gives her a side eye.

“Come on, man,” she says. “You are the most transparent person and we can tell when there’s something wrong. So you can stand here and make us keep bugging you, or you can just tell us what’s up.”

He pulls his hand away, drops the rag back into the bucket under the bar, and sighs.

“Okay, fine, I’ll tell you.”

~10 minutes earlier~

“Ben, stop it, somebody could see.”

“Oh, come on sweetheart, this is the office, no one’s going to walk in on us here. And even if they did, what’s a little kissing between coworkers?” Ben Solo, the owner and main bartender of The Watering Hole, sits lightly against the desk and grins up at Rey, his business manager and sometimes-waitress, her booted feet between his, her hands resting atop of his thighs and his hands on her face. He rubs his thumbs against the apples of her cheeks. “You’re a little flushed, are you hot?”

She grins right back at him. “I don’t know, am I?”

Ben works his jaw, watching Rey’s eyes follow the movement, before he touches the end of his nose against hers and says, “I heard a rumor that the General’s son thinks you are.”

She pulls her head back and raises an eyebrow. “The General’s son? He’s a scoundrel, like his father. I wouldn’t trust his opinion.”

“Oh, okay, I see how it is. Well, I heard another rumor that someone else thinks you’re hot, too.” This earns him another raised eyebrow, and one glance at his mouth. He’ll take it. “Yeah, sweetheart, his name’s Finn, he’s the assistant bartender here. Maybe you’ve heard of him?”

Rey looks delighted. “Oh, I’ve met him and he’s lovely. And I trust his opinion, too.” They’re both happy, excited from the flirting, and she steps closer as he tips her head with his fingers and presses his lips to hers. They move together for a moment and he’s just thinking about her tongue when she pulls back again.

The expression on her face is mischievous. “I heard a rumor, too.”

“Oh yeah, what’s that?”

“I heard a rumor that Finn also thinks you’re hot.”

Ben gives her a half-smile. “Oh come on, where did you hear something like that?”

“He told me.” She looks very satisfied.

“He told you? When did he tell you that?”

“Last week, the evening Red Squadron was sent out on that mission to Dantooine. He was sad that so many of his friends were leaving at once, so we had a few drinkies at my place after closing. He got just a little chatty.”

Ben hums and moves his hands from Rey’s face down to her waist and pulls her even closer to him. Her hands grip his thighs a bit more tightly.

“I’m sorry I missed it, that could have been interesting.”

Rey sighs. “I was hoping it would get interesting. I kept thinking he would make a move but he never did.”

“Well maybe we should do something about that. Since we’ve got our thing…”

“Oh, we’ve got a thing have we?”

Ben ignores her interruption and keeps talking. “Our thing, we should bring him in. Make it a thing for three. If he’s interested.”

Rey’s cheeks are even more flushed than they were a minute ago. “Oh, Ben, that is such a good idea. We should do that. Come here and give me a real kiss, now.”

He’s more than happy to comply, and in a few minutes his hands are cupping her ass, hers are in his hair, she’s leaning over, just starting to push him back, and both tongues are fully in play when the door to the office opens and Finn walks in, his eyes on the datapad in his hands.

“Hey guys, I was looking at the inventory and I think we need more bottles…” At this point Finn looks up, and sees the other two, rumpled and flushed, looking at him guiltily. They hadn’t even pulled away from each other; Rey still leaning over Ben, her hands wrapped around his thick, dark, soft-looking hair, his large hands holding her up by her ass.

Finn stutters an apology, does his best to hide his embarrassment, and steps out, pulling the door shut behind him. He hears Rey yell “Finn!” as the door closes, but he’s too upset to go back in. He likes them both and now they’re together and life just really isn’t fair.

So he’ll just tend the bar until he has to face them again.

***

“Wait, wait, wait.” Poe looks confused. “So, you walked in on them kissing.”

“They weren’t just kissing, Poe, they were making out, right on the desk. She was basically on top of him.”

Poe takes a big gulp from his glass, finishing it up, and sets it back solidly on the bar. “I don’t understand, though. That’s what you do, right?” He looks to Rose for confirmation. “Right?”

Rose is nodding. “Yeah, Finn, I don’t see what the big deal is? Don’t, like, all three of you make out?”

“What?? No! Why would you think that?” Finn takes Poe’s empty glass and refills it at the tap.

The two on the other side of the bar exchange a glance. Rose shrugs. “Uh, because you’re together all the time?”

Poe nods. “Yeah, like you work together, but you also live together, and you hang out together…”

Finn sets down the glass in front of Poe hard enough that some of the liquid sloshes over the side and Poe tuts before taking a sip.

“We don’t live together.” Finn says.

Rose rolls her eyes. “You live on the same corridor, close enough. You’re in each other’s rooms all the time.”

“You’re always flirting,” Poe adds.

“Constant flirting. Glances. Touches.”

“Inside jokes.”

Rose laughs around the rim of her glass. “Oh gosh, the inside jokes are the worst.” She imitates a deep voice. “‘That bottle! It belongs to me!’ ‘Come get it.’ Well, I don’t get it even if you guys think that’s hilarious.”

Now Finn’s looking thoughtful. “Are you guys serious? Did you actually think we were dating - all three of us?”

Poe frowns and nods. “Yeah, definitely. It’s, like, the assumption on the base. I think we all just take it for granted.”

Finn’s still having trouble processing this information. “I’m pretty sure you guys are pulling my leg.”

At that moment, Jessika and Tallie come into the bar, with Snap Wexley following closely behind. “Hey, everybody!” Tallie says loudly.

“Hey Tallie!” Poe and Rose and everyone else in the bar shouts at the youngest pilot.

“How’s life treating you?” Asks Finn, pulling glasses of ale for all three of them as they take seats at the bar around Rose and Poe.

“It’s not, but that doesn’t mean you can’t,” Tallie answers with a smirk. Finn winks at her as he sets down her drink.

Poe turns to the man settling on the stool next to him. “Hey Snap, let me ask you something.”

“Sure thing,” Snap replies, nodding at Finn in thanks as he passes the glass across the bar.

Poe points at the bartender. “Who’s Finn dating?”

Snap smiles and nods. “Yeah, he’s dating Rey and Ben, right? The bartending threesome, that’s how I think of them.” He stops short, then nods at Finn. “Hope you don’t mind, that’s just how my brain works.”

Finn has to lean on the bar for support. “So everyone really thinks we’re all dating?”

Tallie and Jessika exchange a confused glance. “You mean you’re not?”

Before Finn can come up with a retort, the door to the office opens and Ben and Rey come out, looking rumpled, pink, and sorry.

The group at the bar calls out to them, and they wave, but stay where they are, instead gesturing to Finn to come towards them. He does so, in a manner he hopes looks casual. Super casual, yup. Very casual.

As he gets closer he can see that Rey’s eyes are a bit red, as though she’s been crying, and without thinking he puts his arms around her and pulls her into a hug. Ben just stands there, watching them.

Rey puts her arms around his waist and clears her throat. “That’s not how we wanted you to find out we were dating, I’m sorry.”

He shrugs and shakes his head. “That’s okay. I’m glad you’re happy with each other, you guys are two of my favorite people and, you know,” he lets her go and takes a step back, “that’s good.”

Ben’s running a hand through his hair and tapping a foot, and won’t look Finn in the eye. “We were actually wondering if you’d, uh, like to have dinner with us. After closing, we could go out somewhere, somewhere nice, we could, uh, talk?”

It’s a nice gesture, but unnecessary, and Finn shakes his head. “That’s kind of you, but you don’t need to explain anything to me. This is cool, it’s cool. I’m cool.” He’s not cool, not at all, but admitting that won’t help so better not to.

But Rey’s giggling, almost laughing, and she puts a hand on his shoulder before running it down his arm and taking his hand.

“We’re asking you on a date, Finn.”

He looks back and forth between them, Rey still looking slightly teary, but smiling, and Ben looking nervous and slightly uncomfortable.

“What?” He’s pretty sure he’s hallucinating.

Ben finally makes eye contact, and his eyes are beautiful, honey-brown and pleading. “We, uh, like you. Both of us, and we’re pretty sure you like us too. So, you know, a date?”

Finn’s nodding, and feels a smile coming on. “Yeah, a date would be good. A date! I would love to go on a date with both of you. Yes. A date!” Then he turns around to the group on the other side of the bar. “Hey guys, I have a date! We’re going on a date!”

The five friends lift their glasses in the air, and raise a cheer to the happy threesome.

#finnreylo #finnreylopositive #first prompt: cheers!#cheers au #cheers sitcom au #canonverse au #post-tfa

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smoshvalentines2018-blog · 6 years

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Nut Hut - Fanfic Exchange

Written for: @daddyneedshisjuse Part of the Smosh Valentine's Day Fanfic Exchange - please note this account is not the person who wrote this fic. Check back within the next day for the author reveal. Title: Nut Hut Pairing: ShaynexDamien, CourtneyxOlivia (Minor) Rating: T (cursing?) Keywords: amusement parks, school field trip, ive actually never been to this amusement park, the nut hut is a real place though, and all the menu items, and all the rides are real, i googled this stuff, sorry if this is bad Summary: Shayne meets a guy on the school field trip to Hershey Park.   Note for the person I wrote this for: Happy valentines day!! Hope it's a good one haha!

Since Shayne wasn’t in band, orchestra, or chorus (he was more of a theatre guy), he never got to go on the school trips to amusement parks, which sucked because those were basically the only good field trips.

Fortunately for him (and anyone else who wasn’t really musical), the end of year trip for seniors was a trip to Hershey Park. Unfortunately, however, he had forgotten to turn in his permission slip until the last minute, meaning that he was on a different bus than all of his friends.

“It’s just the bus ride, dude. We’ll all meet up at the park,” Noah said. Olivia nodded.

“Yeah, we’ll miss you for the ride, but then we’ll ride all the rides and forget it!”

“You’re right, the bus ride’s not the best part,” Shayne said, knowing full well that the bus ride is the best part of any field trip. Still, there was nothing he could do about it.

He sat down in an empty seat in the middle of the bus. As more people got on and moved past him, he resolved to listen to music the whole ride and ignore everyone. He was pulling out his earbuds when someone tapped him on the shoulder. He looked up and an extremely handsome guy was looking down at him.

“Uh, can I sit here?”

Shayne nodded. “Yeah, yeah, of course!”

“Alright, thanks!” The guy said, sitting down next to Shayne. He grinned adorably at Shayne. “I’m Damien.”

“I’m Shayne. Shayne Topp,” Shayne stammered. Damien laughed.

“Nice Bond introduction,” He said. Shayne smiled awkwardly.

“Yeah, not really my intention, but I’ll roll with it, you know?”

“Alright, that’s fair. Hey, is that a Goldbergs shirt?” Damien asked.

“Yeah, actually! I’m in the Goldbergs,” Shayne said. Damien raised an eyebrow.

“No way.”

“Yeah, I have a couple lines, I’m not, like, an important character or anything,” Shayne said. Damien nodded.

“Still, that’s cool. Actually, I’ve been in a few Disney shows,” Damien said. Shayne was surprised.

“Really? Me too! Which ones?”

The two discussed which Disney channel shows they’d been in, and then moved to superheroes and new movies.

“Coco was so good, dude,” Shayne said. Damien nodded.

“Yes. Actually the best movie I’ve seen all year. I cried at the end,” He said.

“Me too,” Shayne said.

“Uh, I feel kind of weird coming on this trip, I moved here two months ago. Not really sure what I’ll do when I get there,” Damien shrugged. Shayne suddenly had an idea.

“Oh, you can hang out with my friends! They’re super nice,” He said.

“Well if they’re anything like you, they’re probably pretty cool. You sure they won’t mind if I tag along?” Damien asked. Shayne shook his head.

“No, they’ll be fine with it. I’m sure they’ll like you.”

“Alright, cool, cool. Uh, we’re almost there, right? I’m pretty excited,” Damien admitted. Shayne smiled.

“Yeah, me too. I think we’re close,” He looked out the window. “Hey, there’s a sign for Hershey Park!”

“Sweet!”

“Exactly.”

A few minutes later, the bus pulled into the expansive parking lot. Shayne and Damien made their way off of the bus. Shayne looked around and caught sight of Courtney, Olivia, and Noah waving them over.

“Where’s Keith?” Shayne asked.

“Oh, he lost his hat on the bus somehow. He’s looking for it,” Noah said. Shayne laughed.

“Who’s this?” Courtney asked.

“This is Damien. It cool if he hangs out with us?” Shayne asked. Courtney nodded.

“Of course. Hi Damien, I’m Courtney, this is my girlfriend, Olivia, and this is Noah. Keith’s still on the bus,” Courtney said.

“Nice to meet you,” Damien smiled.

“Wait, how’d he lose his hat on the bus?” Shayne asked. Noah laughed.

“I threw it.”

“Of course.”

“Hey guys, found my hat!” Keith said, getting out of the bus.

“Sorry about that,” Noah said, not being the least bit sorry.

“Hey, Keith, this is Damien,” Shayne said. Keith smiled.

“Hi!” Damien waved. Keith nodded.

“Hey. I’m Keith.”

“Alright, well! Let’s get going!” Courtney said, clapping her hands together. She lead the group into the park.

They agreed to ride the Wildcat first, and then the Comet. That was about as far as their plans went. As they headed to the Wildcat, Keith began ranting about how much he disliked wooden coasters.

“They’re so rickety! It always feels like you’re gonna fall off!” He said. Noah shook his head.

“Dude, would you rather ride that one?” He pointed at the Skyrush. Keith shook his head vigorously.

“No, no way. Way too high for me,” He said. Courtney laughed.

“We have to ride it now, right?”

“After the Wildcat,” Olivia said. Courtney nodded.

“Alright.”

They got in line, shifting as they talked idly. The line moved quickly, and soon they were boarding the ride. Shayne found himself next to Damien.

“Is this a bad time to mention I don’t love rollercoasters?” Damien asked.

“Dude! You should’ve said something!” Shayne said. Damien shrugged.

“I dunno, didn’t want to ruin your trip. I’ll be fine.”

“Uh… here, you can hold my hand,” Shayne offered. Damien laughed.

“Alright, sure,” He said, taking Shayne’s hand and immediately tightening his grip.

“Dude, do you work out your fingers?” Shayne asked. Damien nodded.

“Yeah, actually, I use one of those flexy things bass players use.”

“Really?”

“No, I’m kidding. Oh shit, it’s moving, shit-” Damien tightened his grip again. The ride accelerated and Shayne was forced to lean into Damien. He tightened his own grip on the brunette’s hand, and just as soon as it started, the ride was over. He and Damien got off, laughing. Keith seemed to be in a state of shock, and Noah and Courtney were laughing at him. Olivia was getting her back out of the bin on the side of the ride.

“Alright, on to the Comet!” Olivia said. Courtney nodded, and the group followed Olivia to the Comet. The line was a little longer, but soon they were in their seats. This time, Shayne was next to Noah and Keith was next to Damien. Shayne and Noah grinned at each other as the ride started. It was a lot smoother than the Wildcat, but Shayne preferred wooden coasters to the metal ones. It was still fun, though.

They headed to the Skyrush, but saw that the line was really long, so they settled for Hershey Chocolate World Factory Tour instead.

“Oh my god, those cows are terrifying!” Keith said.

“Take that back!” Noah said. Keith shook his head.

“Come on man, those aren’t even cool looking cows,” He said. Noah gasped.

“All cows are cool looking cows!” Shayne laughed and glanced at Damien.

“What do you wanna do?” He asked. Damien shrugged.

“I guess I’m kind of hungry.”

“Cool, me too. Hey guys, me and Damien are gonna get some food, anyone wanna come with?”

“Sure- I mean, no, I’m good,” Olivia said, glancing at Courtney.

“Yeah, you guys get your food. We’ll meet up at the Skyrush, text us when you’re heading over,” Courtney said.

“Okay, thanks!” Shayne said, heading off with Damien.

“Hey, let’s go to the Nut Hut!” Damien laughed.

“Alright, sure. Why not.”

“Seriously?” Damien asked.

“Yeah! If I don’t at least buy something, I’ll regret it forever,” Shayne smiled. Damien laughed again.

“Alright.”

They walked over to the Nut Hut and examined the menu.

“Dude! They’ve got fudge dipped bananas!” Shayne exclaimed. Damien laughed.

“Oh shit, you’ve gotta get one,” Shayne said.

“I do.”

“Can I help you?” A young woman asked.

“Uh, yeah, can I get a fudge dipped banana?” Shayne asked. The woman nodded.

“Anything else?”

“Yeah, can I get some cinnamon frosted nuts and an iced tea?” Damien asked. The woman nodded again and gave them the price.

“I can pay,” Damien said, pulling out some money.

“Oh, uh, thanks,” Shayne said as Damien paid for their food, which was soon handed over to them.

“You want to sit down while we eat?” Shayne asked.

“Sure.”

They found a place to sit in the shade and enjoyed their food.

“Damn, this fudge dipped banana is great,” Shayne said.

“Yeah, these cinnamon frosted nuts are pretty good too,” Damien laughed.

“God, I’m thirsty. I’m gonna go get a drink,” Shayne said, finishing his banana and heading to a vending machine. He got a Sprite and headed back to Damien.

“Thank fuck, I’ve been thirsty for the past hour,” Shayne said.

“You… do know that soda doesn’t hydrate you, right?” Damien asked. Shayne shrugged.

“Who cares, I love Sprite!”

“Oh, hey, you’ve got something…” Damien reached over and wiped the corner of Shayne’s mouth. Shit, was he supposed to kiss Damien now?

“Wait, am I supposed to kiss you now?” Damien asked.

“Oh thank you, I wasn’t sure either. Do you… want to? Kiss now?” Shayne asked. Damien shrugged.

“Sure! I mean, you’re really hot, so…”

“You too.”

“Thanks, bro!”

“Uh, kissing?”

“Oh, yeah,” Damien leaned in and Shayne watched his eyes flutter shut as he leaned in as well and the two guys’ lips met. Damien’s hand found its way to Shayne’s knee. Just as Shayne was getting into the kiss, he heard cheering coming from the bushes and pulled back. Damien followed his eyes to see Noah, Keith, Courtney, and Olivia laughing behind one of the bushes.

“Really, guys?” Shayne asked.

“Congrats!” Noah said.

“Yeah, you finally got a boyfriend!” Courtney grinned.

“Uh, who says he’s my boyfriend?” Shayne asked.

“Well, do you want me to be your boyfriend?” Damien asked, grinning.

“Um, yes?”

“Sweet!”

“Okay, this is great and all, but can we please ride the Skyrush?” Olivia asked.

“C’mon, Liv, give them a minute!” Keith said.

“Keith, you just want to get out of riding the Skyrush, which isn’t happening,” Noah said. Keith frowned.

“Damn.”

“Well, shall we?” Shayne asked.

“Yes, we shall,” Damien smiled. They made their way to the Skyrush. It was a really fun coaster, and Keith only peed his pants a little bit.

#smosh valentine's fanfic exchange

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fleeting-phantasm-blog · 7 years

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Trick Question: An Undyne & Papyrus Friendship Fic

(A second version of the post without the gift recipient tagged / my obnoxious yammering--for a cleaner reblogging experience :3c .)

Rating: G, All Ages (occasional language) Characters: Undyne & Papyrus Genre: Friendship, Fluff AO3 Link: Right here~

Summary: Guard Captain Undyne is used to taking new recruits under her fins—so much so, that she’s gotten pretty good at discerning what type of soldier the greenhorns are likely to become even long before they’ve finished basic training! But when Undyne throws her latest student for a loop, he, in turn, throws all of her expectations right out the window. Whoopsy doopsy! (Gift for Tumblr user “battz” as part of the Undertale Dating Sim team’s secret santa exchange :3)

Let me start off by saying I’ve learned two very important things recently: 1. That my never-ending patience actually ends after midnight; and 2. When opened with enough force, my front door can launch a fully-grown monster a distance of about a hundred meters—give or take.

…

Okay, maybe add a third to the list: Skeletons are just as durable as they are persistent.

* * *

If someone wants to join the Royal Guard but feels they need a little extra help preparing for the intense entry process, the Underground has tons of options they can take advantage of if they so choose. We’ve got dojos, cram schools, personal trainers, you name it—each and every one licensed and verified by yours truly.

It used be that the Captain of the Royal Guard never got involved this early on, but I fixed that real quick. The Captain should be personally aware of everything at every stage, and they should be both accessible and approachable in case a problem shows up. Like, if there’s an issue at one of the prep schools, or if recruitment numbers suddenly take a nosedive, then that means something’s gotta change—possibly at a very basic or public level. And who better to kick start that change (or prevent the problem from happening in the first place) than the one who, basically, should be the most public face in the entire Guard.

At least, that’s what I think.

To this end, I’ve personally sat in on junior training exercises and given lectures; I’ve dined with recruits who passed the entrance exams on their very first try, and I’ve shared drinks with those who failed ten times in a row—but, dammit, let’s knock back a few and forget for a bit, ya hear?! I’ve also sat down with dozens of ordinary citizens who, though not shooting for anything like the Royal Guard, were just plain sick of the way their lives were going and wanted to turn things around.

I guess what I’m trying to say with all this is that even though I’ve earned an “official” title that affords me a lot of “official” privileges, I’m not about to turn my nose up to the average Joe. The Captain’s duties should go way beyond the fancy suit of armor, and I’m going to make sure it stays that way long after I’ve passed the position on and become a crotchety old pile of dust.

…That said, though, this is the first time over the course of my entire career that I’ve had the pleasure of working with someone of Papyrus’s—what’s the word—magnitude? This guy had the brass balls to bypass every proper, kingdom-accredited training method and bring his (nonstop) requests for “personal Guard preparation” straight to me. No hesitation. No concern for schedules, socially acceptable phone call hours, or even personal space. Rain or shine, there he was—a bony bundle of enthusiasm.

So when Papyrus unsurprisingly bounced back from his 3AM express trip across my lawn care of my front door, I don’t know if it was more exhaustion, admiration, or an overwhelming sense of concern for his well being that finally made the Captain of the Underground’s Royal Guard throw in the towel.

“Alright,” I said. “If you think you can handle it, I’ll run you through the ropes myself.”

And, covered in the muck of Waterfall, his smile could have powered a city.

* * *

I’d like to say Papyrus showed up bright and early for his first session, but that’d be a lie: He never left. I guess camping out in the yard was way more efficient than walking the short distance to and from Snowdin, and “A future Royal Guardsman has to be as efficient as possible. Right, *~*~*Captain Undyne*~*~*??”

I made my coffee extra strong that morning.

Once our start-time rolled around, I stepped out of my house to find Papyrus ready and waiting—albeit, looking all sorts of goofy with his chest puffed to his chin and his arms firmly glued to his sides.

“You can relax a little,” I told him. “This is off-record. I prefer getting to know people without all the stuffy formalities.”

“Yes, Captain Undyne! Right away!” But of course he didn’t relax until I realized he wanted me to say “at ease,” and when I did, he giggled the whole way out of his special form of attention as if it was the best thing he had heard in his life. Then, blatantly ignoring everything I had just said about formalities, he promptly asked, “Captain Undyne? Permission to inquire as to why you are not wearing your armor if we’re going to be sparring?”

“Uh… granted?”

“Why are you not wearing your armor if we’re going to be sparring?” The dude was seriously raring to go, his weight bouncing slightly from leg to leg like some kind of boxer on a sugar high.

“Slow your roll, there,” I said with a laugh. “If you wanna pass the entrance exams, then there’s more you gotta worry about than just the physical.” From under the crook of my arm, I pulled out a ratty old folder filled to bursting with a whirlwind of papers. “You see, a good Guardsman not only knows how to fight, but when to fight, why to fight, and even if to fight. The twenty-page written exam makes sure all our candidates are aware of this—along with knowing a bunch of Underground laws and other general information. We’re gonna start with that so we can get it out of the way. Just think of it like… pulling a tooth, or something. Painful but necessary.”

Yet, when I tried to give the documents to Papyrus, he held up a hand and politely refused.

“Oh, I’ve heard tall tales about that dreaded test,” he said. “But I can assure you, Captain Undyne, that you won’t need to waste even a second of your precious time on helping me study. I’m a walking encyclopedia when it comes to the Royal Guard.”

Classic greenhorn confidence. Seen it a million times.

“Really now.” I challenged. “Then how ‘bout I ask you a few questions just to make sure?“

Contained within the folder I brought were all sorts of documents I had saved over the years: copies of Guard reports and case files, a few book scans, lists upon lists of various laws and definitions. It was a great big pile of organized chaos that I not only used as a constant reference but also willingly shared if one of my units was struggling with some of the more… technical aspects of the job. Some of it you could find in textbooks; others you’d have to go digging through the bowels of the courts to snag even a scrap. For a solid fifteen minutes, Papyrus and I went back and forth, with me tossing out what I thought were the most impossible questions I could find in an attempt to catch that rookie’s pluckiness of his off-guard.

“That’s an easy one, Captain Undyne! The Magic Conservation Act was signed into law by our very own King Asgore Dreemurr, in the Year of Our Dog 19XX.”

Okay, good, he got the year right. Most people miss that.

“Anti-Human Directive 10? That depends: Do you mean the original or the amended second edition?”

Wait, there’s a second edition?

“The Research Division? Why, that’s a special squad assigned to escort the Royal Scientist during important, castle-mandated fieldwork.”

Hang on, that’s not even public knowledge. I formed that group last week because I was worried about Alphys!

I slapped the folder shut, stunned. “Well, roll me up in rice and serve me with a side of soy sauce.”

“Did I win?!” Papyrus chimed. “Permission to ask if we can spar now, Captain Undyne?”

Somehow, by the grace of whatever crazy being drives this world, Papyrus answered every single Dogdamn question correctly. I didn’t know if I should shake his hand or file for a restraining order. Still, if he was so eager to jump into the fray, then I needed to be absolutely sure of something—that he knew the most important answer of all.

“Listen,” I said. “The reason you’re doing all this is so you can become a Royal Guard, right? You wanna get a cool suit of armor, make a name for yourself, maybe kick a few humans in the keister?” Papyrus nodded with so much vigor, I thought his skull would fall off. “Then, before you can even think of crossing spears with me, I need you answer one last question.” His nod that time was a bit slower. His expression grew solemn, showing that he understood this was important. “Papyrus, what is a Royal Guard?”

“What is a…” He tilted his head to the side, brows drawing together as he mouthed the question.

“…Royal Guard,” I repeated, assuring him that I did, indeed, ask the question correctly. “The individual, not the group—if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“Right. Yes. That’s… what I was wondering. Thank you, Captain Undyne.” Papyrus’s voice trailed off into a mumble. He looked to the cavern walls, tapping the ground with a foot as the two halves of his jaw ground together in thought. There was honestly something deeply satisfying watching him fish for a response after he conquered my Q&A session. Finally, after some intense contemplation, he found one—or, rather, a series of them: “A Royal Guard is… someone employed by the Royal Guard? Wait, no. A Royal Guard is a living extension of our king’s righteous paw! Or, well, I suppose you could say that about a lot of things. A Royal Guard is—I’ve got this, Captain Undyne, I swear—is someone who has passed stringent tests and is officially licensed, under royal decree….”

And so on, and so on.

Once Papyrus realized his twisty little spaghetti strand of answers wasn’t getting him anywhere, he stopped talking and just kinda stared at me. Then, all at once, the confidence he built up over the course of the afternoon deflated from his body.

“I’m sorry, Captain Undyne. I guess I… I don’t know the answer to that.” He slumped over so far his voice was muffled in that weird costume of his. The poor guy probably thought he just ruined everything. I couldn’t help but walk over and give him an encouraging pat on the back.

“Well, that’s no good,” I said. “It’s hard to become something if you don’t even know what it is. Still, you’ve got time to figure it out. Study up, and see if you can find the answer. Once you do, we’ll move on to some actual sparring, okay?”

This time, when I handed him the folder, he actually took it.

* * *

Anytime I train someone, I’m reminded of what Alphys once said: The more you observe something, the more you start to notice patterns in its behavior, which then makes it easier for you to form a hypo- … hippoth- … Basically, you hang around something long enough, you get better at predicting what it’s gonna do.

For folks like Papyrus, experience has told me that I have to be a little careful when working with them. I’ve seen his personality type before: a naïve go-getter filled with all sorts of shiny fairy tale dreams that he hopes to live out if he gets into the Guard—which is fine; I’ve got some pretty faffy dreams myself. It’s just, when it comes to his particular type of personality, I’ve learned over the years that their spirits tend to, well, wilt when the going gets tough. Not always, but often enough. That’s not to say they don’t make excellent soldiers, though. The ones who’ve made it through and come out on top are some of the best damn Guards I’ve had ever had the honor of working with. They have this goodness inherent in them that’s getting more and more difficult to find these days.

Unfortunately, in this line of work, that genuine goodness is also getting more and more difficult to keep. When folks like Papyrus join up and realize what real Royal Guard life is all about—when “niceness” becomes “weakness”, when they’re constantly faced with the worst of society… with all the injustices in the world that don’t have easy answers (if any at all)—then that goodness starts to falter. Give it enough time, it rots into bitterness and then anger, even hatred. I’ve seen it mark the faces of many of our veterans. I’ve even struggled with it myself.

That is exactly why I didn’t want Papyrus to jump in to combat training as quickly as he had been hoping—and, probably, why I didn’t agree to train him right away. The most I knew about him before all this began was what I had heard from his brother, Sans, and even that was enough for me to form a conclusion. That first day of training only solidified it: Papyrus is too good. Too nice. In the most beautiful, wonderful sense, Papyrus absolutely does not belong on a battlefield, and I will be damned before I put him there.

I thought starting with the written portion of the entry exam would give Papyrus a good idea of what we do and how I work before he got a taste of the real serious stuff. My plan was to spend a week or two drilling him with questions, grilling him for every wrong answer, and ensuring he learned his stuff through the only way the Guard knows how to teach it—with no punches pulled. Maybe then he would realize, before he got too invested, that this might not be the life for him. That he could back out with no hard feelings and discover a ton of other options just waiting for someone like him.

Then, his uncanny knowledge of Royal Guard matters both public and highly top secret oh my god flushed that idea. Immediately after Papyrus’s first session, I found myself scrambling for a new plan of action.

I needed to know more. If I could learn more about him, maybe find out some of the things he liked to do, I could sort of… nudge him away from the Guard.

Maybe.

I was never good at subtlety, but it was worth a shot.

So, that week turned from “Let’s Learn About the Royal Guard” to “Let’s Learn About Papyrus Instead”—under the guise of teaching him more about the Guard, of course. One day, I took him for a tour of the castle grounds. The next, I showed him around the barracks. The day after, we grabbed a bite to eat at a popular Royal Guard pub in New Home. The whole time, I took a backseat during our conversations and let Papyrus do what Sans said he does best—talk about himself.

And, wouldn’t you know it, it worked.

“You’ll find that my magic is kind of like yours, Captain Undyne, in that it mostly takes the form of projectiles. You’ll also find that it’s not like yours in that it’s really popular with certain … canine types. I’m not sure why.”

“…So, there they were, trying to gang up on Sans. But then—and this is the best part, Captain Undyne—then came the Great Papyrus! Wham! Bam! Thank you, ma’am! We never saw those troublemakers again.”

“…And that was third time I had to swoop in and prevent a giant brawl. All because he was too lazy to give up his special seat at the bar. Can you believe that, Captain Undyne? Who knows what might’ve happened had the Great Papyrus not been there? Sheesh!”

Outside of his countless tales of personal heroism, (all of which held about as much water as Hotland), a common trend across Papyrus’s discussions was his brother…

“Let me be the first to apologize for Sans’s laziness, Captain Undyne. Once I become a Royal Guard, I swear I’ll work three times as hard to make up for his churning void of inactivity.”

…And that got me thinking. Clearly, Papyrus was the type who loved to do things for others. Sure, he complained when “others” meant “Sans”, but it was obvious he still got a kick out of it beneath all his grumbling. If I could steer him towards something like that… something like cooking… cleaning… some kind of job that allowed him to use his talents for the sake of others… then….

It was towards the end of the week that Papyrus gave me back the folder I loaned him.

“I’m sorry, Captain Undyne,” he said. “I read everything in here front-to-back, but I’m afraid I still couldn’t find the answer to your question. And while these conversations have been incredibly enlightening, they, too, have led me no closer to the truth.”

I chuckled. “Well, it’s not exactly an easy question.”

“To say the least. You’ve posed a real stickler, Captain Undyne. A puzzle capable of japing even me! But, if it means you’ll train me in Royal Guard combat, then the Great Papyrus will never give up.” He flashed a confident smile. “So, I talked to some of the Guards myself to see what they thought.”

As it turns out, during the times we weren’t hanging out, Papyrus was running around asking every damn Guard he could find what they thought it meant to be a Guard, and when he pulled out a list of responses that unfurled all the way to the ground, some teeny tiny part of me might have started to think that maybe there was a better way of doing this.

“Were… any of those the right answer, Captain Undyne?” Papyrus asked, once he had read off each and every one. “Don’t tell me it was ‘Bark’ the whole time. Otherwise, I may have to rethink my opinion of Lesser Dog.”

And although I had suddenly learned more about my own guards in the past hour than I had over years of working with them, all I could do was shrug. Papyrus still didn’t get it.

“P-permission to ask for a hint?” His face was the picture of disappointment.

“Do you get hints in the heat of battle?”

“…Yes?”

I shook my head with a laugh. “Chin up and keep working, Papyrus.”

* * *

That weekend, my routine patrol turned up some disturbing news. Papyrus refused to leave his house.

“Eh, sometime yesterday he started moping around. It got so bad, I actually had to go out and buy our groceries. He’s giving even my laziness a run for its money.” Sans’s signature grin only widened, as if this behavior of his brother’s wasn’t something incredibly worrying. “But I always knew he’d grow into his true calling. He’s kind of a late bloomer.”

With that frightening thought in mind, I marched myself right over Papyrus’s place and pounded on his front door. Once, twice, three times. Yet there was no answer.

“Papyrus?” I called. Still no response. Is he in his room? I rounded the back of the house and peered up. A shadow moved behind the second floor window of Papyrus’s bedroom. Bingo. I balled up a wad of snow in my gloves and tossed as lightly as I could. Sure enough, the hefty thump was loud enough to draw a bony white face to the glass.

“Captain Undyne?” Papyrus opened the window a smidge. “What are you doing here?”

“I should be asking you the same thing,” I said. “What’s going on? Sans says you’re being quite the lazybones.”

“What? That is not true!”

I shrugged. “Well, whatever it is, it’s weird and it worries me, so I’m not leaving until you come out.” He made as if to protest, but I cut him off. “Papyrus, I’m wearing four layers and am fully trained in survival tactics. Also, there’s a general store down the street. I will wait as long I have to.”

He couldn’t win, and I think he knew it. With a sigh that fogged up the glass, Papyrus disappeared from his window. Not a minute later, I heard the front door open, and I met him on the porch. Dude was a mess. I mean, dark circles under his eye sockets, definitely-did-not-sleep kind of mess. The whole thing gave me a prickle of déjà vu.

“You were thinking about that question again, weren’t you?”

Crossing his arms over his chest, Papyrus seemed to fold against the doorframe. “Captain Undyne, should I really be aiming for the Royal Guard, when I, apparently, don’t even know what a Royal Guard is?”

Oh. Oh boy. Here we go.

Well, it was what I wanted, wasn’t it?

But I didn’t think he’d be this upset!

He really put his all toward this, didn’t he?

What was I thinking?

I…

“Follow me,” I said. “Class is taking an emergency field trip.” When Papyrus didn’t budge, I pulled out my trump card. “Captain’s orders.”

* * *

At the garbage dump between Waterfall and Hotland, there’s a particular place I like to go to whenever life gets me down and I just need a good think. It’s a small hill overlooking the cascades made up of a bunch of appliances that have all rusted together into one big pile of Dog-only-knows what. It’s just close enough to the tourist-y parts to let me keep an eye on everyone while still far enough away to provide a little bit of peace. It’s where I first saw Alphys.

It’s also where I took Papyrus.

Carefully, I hoisted myself up onto what was left of a washing machine. Papyrus plopped down next to me and, staring at his lap, sat there absentmindedly kicking his legs in the air. You could practically see the rain cloud hovering over his head.

“Permission to ask…” He stopped himself. “Um, why are we at the dump, Captain Undyne?”

“So you can see what a Royal Guard is,” I said. “At least, to me.” That seemed to perk him up. He straightened slightly.

“What do you—”

“—Hey, close your eyes, listen for a bit, and tell me what you hear.”

Papyrus did so. “Well, okay. Let’s see … I hear the sounds of the river. I hear bits of trash falling into the water. Oh! I also hear the Great Papyrus.”

“Anything else?”

He listened again for a minute. “…Kids. I think I hear kids.”

Sure enough, a group of tiny voices—the usual crowd of mischief-makers; I could tell—gradually rose above the din of the dump.

“Whoa, check this thing out!”

“What is it?”

“It looks like one of those human game machines. Yeah, see? You use these buttons to move what’s on the screen.”

“Does it work?”

“I dunno. They probably wouldn’t have thrown it out if it did. I can ask my cousin. He knows all about this kind of stuff because he uses lightning magic.”

“But wait, we don’t have any games to go with it.”

“Oh yeah. Well, maybe there’s some nearby. Let’s keep looking.”

The kids carried on like that for a good while, buzzing with excitement over all the things they had found. It was only after they had gone did I turn to Papyrus again. “What do you make of that?”

“Sounds like they were having fun.”

I nodded. “Right? But isn’t it a little strange? I mean, think of where all this stuff came from.”

“…From humans,” said Papyrus.

“Exactly. The very things that killed our ancestors, drew us into an unwinnable war, and then stuffed us all into the Underground. The very things that, even though we haven’t seen one in-person for years—thank Dog—are still part of our society.” I held my arm out over the mountains of trash. “They’re in our classrooms, textbooks, and museums. They’re in our picture books, our TV shows, our homes. They’re even in the far corners of our dreams. For what it’s worth, those kids shouldn’t want to associate with this stuff at all. They should be scared of it. But they’re not. And you know why?” I stood up on the washing machine and gave Papyrus the best grin I could muster. “Because they know they don’t have to be; the Guard will protect them.” I took a breath. “There’s no telling how long we’ll be stuck down here, so the best thing we can do is make sure everyone sleeps soundly today without having nightmares about tomorrow. That, to me, is a Royal Guard: someone who keeps even boogiemen away.”

Papyrus had grown quiet. I wasn’t sure if he was just listening—or if he was surprised, stunned into silence, or what—but his expression, unreadable though it might have been, told me he was hinging on my every word. So, I went on.

“You see, you can memorize facts and protocol until your brain bleeds, master every fighting style known to monster, work your way up to a spot higher than that of even the King … but it all means jack if it doesn’t serve a purpose; if you don’t have a reason, a goal, something that gets you up in the morning and pushes you to do what you do even when every fiber in your body is telling you to stop. For a Royal Guard, well, that’s what makes a Royal Guard.” I gave him a nudge with my elbow. “And that is something you have to define for yourself, Papyrus. Nobody else can tell you the answer.”

Having said what I wanted to say, I took a breath and let my words sink in. Before Papyrus got too involved, before he decided to throw his life—his goodness—out into an uncaring world, I needed him to fully understand: A Royal Guard is what he makes of it…but it shouldn’t be about the gear, the status, the parties, the semi-legal ability to use semi-lethal force… It should be something greater than himself, greater than even the Great Papyrus.

“I’ve got it.” Papyrus’s voice wrenched me from my thoughts. “I know what a Royal Guard is!” He stood up and, once again striking that dorky pose with his hands on his hips, proclaimed to the Underground, “A Royal Guard is someone who makes the world a little safer for those who are small and don’t have a lot of HP!”

That… was quick. I whistled through my fangs. “Nice! I dig it. A ‘protect the weak’ kind of person? That’s totally you, Papyrus!”

He fidgeted and flushed straight to his forehead. “W-well, I don’t know if I’d necessarily say ‘weak’. On the contrary, Sa—”

Unfortunately, the sudden addition of Papyrus’s full weight, coupled with his now excited jitteriness, had loosened the washing machine’s age-old hold on the mountain of trash. With the explosive creaking of corroded metal, our former seat sent us tumbling to the ground atop an avalanche of household appliances.

Again, like I said before, skeletons are just as durable as they are persistent. Fortunately, the same can be said of fish as well. Soaked in nasty water and garbage, and surrounded by a mob of concerned onlookers, we laughed and laughed until we realized our guts hurt not from laughter but from possible internal bleeding.

* * *

As we walked back from the dump that day—two bruised and bandaged peas in a pod—Papyrus had his head tilted to the sky, and his steps seemed doubly as sure of themselves. Yet, watching him saunter about in that overblown stride of his, I got the strangest sense that, for the first time in a long time, Papyrus had finally, truly begun to relax.

Now, if only he could teach me how to do that.

Not gonna lie, I was still worried about him. Like some neurotic, different-species mother, I knew deep down I was gonna worry about him and that brilliant goodness of his ‘til the day I was six feet under. But, I also knew that if I stuck to him like glue, if I became the best Captain I could be…

No, wait, scratch that last bit…—

“Hey, Papyrus? Before we start your training proper, I need you to do one last thing for me.”

“Oh, I don’t know if I’m ready for another tough question just yet, Captain Undyne.”

“It’s not that, ya dork. I need you call me ‘Undyne’. No more of this ‘Captain’ stuff, okay?”

“…”

“Remember what I said? Formalities get in the way of getting to know people. I mean, unless you call all your friends ‘Captain’ because, if so…”

“What?! No, not at all! It’s just, you really want to be my… friend?”

“Why not? I think we make a pretty cool team.”

“B-but I’m not a Guardsman yet! I haven’t been trained in honorable combat! I haven’t even—”

“—Papyrus.”

“Yes, Capta-, er, Undyne?”

“Permission to be your friend?”

“P-p-p-p-permission granted!!”

…—If I became the best Friend I could be…Then, maybe, I wouldn’t have to worry about him quite as much.

#next day reblog #(well maybe not technically lol)#(it was supposed to be but I forgot pffff)#undertale #undyne #papyrus #trickquestion

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