Archive of Our Own

 It felt rather unkind to admit, but Asgore somewhat preferred the Dark World that had bloomed inside of his shop to the one that dwelled within the school’s supply closet. He supposed that he would be a tad biased, though.

 Castle Town was beautiful, however! Make no such mistake to think that Asgore was not taken by the cozy hamlet of lantern-lit shops and cobbled roads that shone with a vibrant blue hue. Above the town rose, black and stark against a starry void, the castle itself. With its ramparts and ironwork fencing to accent its tall, winding towers and grand fortified walls, it was truly a sight to behold.

 And behind it, contained somewhere deep within its winding depths, rose the Grand Fountain. It was the source of true, purest darkness: a necessity to maintain the fragile balance between the worlds of darkness, and that of the Light.

 Years and years of notetaking and research into the Dark World…and as Kris and their friends showed him around, Asgore found himself listening intently to every word, baffled by how little he knew, even after all this time. Was it not often the case, though, that children had a secret understanding of these kinds of things? Perhaps this was a chance to practice humility.

 He was eventually left on his own when the children wandered off up the main road towards the castle. Asgore was…honored, that he was a trusted and welcomed enough guest to this kingdom to be allowed to roam it freely. Honored, and a tad at a loss of what to do with himself!

 A flash of color caught his attention. His gaze wandered to the TV studio that the children had briefly walked him past during the tour. Susie had mentioned it belonging to a ‘Tenna’.

 …Tenna.

 Asgore recognized the name immediately. His suspicion had been confirmed further when Kris bristled and whispered to Susie, who after a nod, had quickly pivoted the tour around to take him to the town’s cathedral sanctuary.

 If Darkners were objects given personhood and life by the emotions and memories associated with them, then Asgore had a very strong feeling that his family’s beloved family television ‘Mr. Ant Tenna’ could very well be inside that very studio. It gave him a curious sense of apprehensive unease, which in turn had him feeling somewhat foolish. 

 After all, what reason would he have to fear Mr. Tenna?

 Kris had always painted a picture of a lively, friendly fellow when they played with Noelle or doodled on the living room rug while they ate their mother’s pie and watched the morning cartoons. Mr. Tenna, with his spiffy red suit and those charming, cartoonish white gloves. He was always smiling whenever Kris drew him. And according to his child, whenever Mr. Tenna wasn’t smiling, why, he had a habit of shrinking down to the size of his insectoid namesake!

 Really, how could Asgore not want to meet such a character? And perhaps he could also indulge in the simple curiosity of speaking with the through-darkness-made-flesh spirit of such a beloved part of his…of the family’s household.

 A shame that Toriel decided to throw him out, Asgore thought as he made his way up to the brightly lit door, I do hope that there are no hard feelings.

 He pushed the door open and stepped into a dazzling green front lobby. The walls thrummed with static. The tiles beneath his paws were polished to the point he could look down and see his wide-eyed reflection. Shining, technicolored-tinged green stars twinkled in the walls while a pleasant tune played through an overhead speaker system. Asgore glanced up and saw a complex system of black cords and dangling wires that drooped down from a vague shadowy darkness that served as the ceiling.

 Several lounges and couches were spaced out in front of him. Further back he saw a desk, behind which there stood a Zapper: a vaguely serpentine Darkner with one lone white slit for an eye that Ralsei explained was a television remote.

 There were quite a few of these fine badge-wearing Darkners around Castle Town. So Kris WAS hiding all of those remotes…!

 With a fond tut, Asgore padded over and greeted the clerk with a wave and a smile. “Howdy! It is wonderful to meet you. I am-” he then stopped and chuckled at himself, shaking his head as he did so, “heheh. My apologies. May I…assume that you already know who I am…?”

 “Eyy, I knows ya, yea. Yous Mr. Dreemurr.” They gave him an acknowledging nod.

 “That I am! And who might you be?”

 “Uh…I goes by Jongler, I s’pose?” They shrugged and drummed their fingers on the desk. “Is there, eh, somethin’ I can help ya with, Mr. Dreemurr?”

 “Well! You see, as I understand, this fine studio is that of a…Mr. Ant Tenna? I suppose that I was wondering if he was here at the moment, so that I may perhaps introduce myself and have a chat!”

 “He is,” said Jongler, “reckon I just saw hims headin’ off to his dressin’ room, down thatta way.” They hitched a thumb towards the hallway leading off to the left of the main lobby. They tilted their head, and one side of their long white slit eye arched up in the impression of a quirked brow. “Ya want me to, ehhh…give ‘em a heads up yous comin’?”

 “I suppose that would be the polite way to go about it. Could you?”

 “Sure thing. One sec.”

 Jongler held a finger up, and turned around. They pulled a landline phone off of its base and held it to the side of their head, ducking down and clutching it close as Asgore heard it ring a few times before there was a faint click.

 A voice came through that sounded like babbling static. He couldn’t make out a single word of it from where he stood, though it did sound vaguely annoyed. Jongler mumbled into the receiver. When the voice replied, it was softer, and even more impossible to parse.

 It went back and forth for a whole minute, before Jongler turned back around and carefully hung the phone up. As they moved to face him, Asgore watched the tip of their thick, rubbery, snake-like tail twitch and flex irritably.

 “Da boss says you can come right on in,” they said with a nod.

 “Oh! Well, thank you very much, Jongler.”

 “Eyyy, don’t mention it.”

 It was a quick walk past several doors that Asgore assumed led to either stages, sets, or breakrooms before he reached one that was thrice his size and marked with a lone golden star. Engraved text reading “MR. TENNA” shimmered far above his head. Somehow it was only when he had to crane his neck and step back to read it that it occurred to Asgore how Mr. Tenna’s ‘larger than life, because everything is bigger on TV’ stature would translate within the Dark World.

 He was comfortable enough to admit that he was a tad intimidated. He was a Boss Monster, and a tall one for that.

 Kris had always been a tad loose about exactly how tall Mr. Tenna was, but they made it very clear that he would be far, far taller than most monsters. He could get even TALLER, if the mood struck him enough to do so! This door put that into perspective.

 Asgore found himself dusting off the front of his shirt, followed promptly by combing through the fur on his ears and that of his mane. He was meeting not just a high-ranking Darkner (a ‘Boss’, as it were), but a beloved item that had been part of the family for decades, to not even mention the significance the old CRT held to his youngest child. 

 He wanted to do this right.

 He wanted to…be the right sort of man to be Kris’ father. He had acted foolishly and outright grotesquely at times, back in the Flower Kingdom.

 He did not want to be that kind of man.

 He took a breath and steeled himself. With his jaw set firm, he at last managed to will his paw to knock on the door. As soon as he did so, there was a staticky drone on the other side, followed by a creak as it swung open inward of its own accord.

 Asgore inched through the gap. The door quickly shut behind him with a soft click once he was through.

 “Hello…?” 

 It was…a cozy space. For being furnished to accommodate a bonafide giant, it was altogether rather homey. The walls were lined with soft yellowish string lights with bulbs shaped like stars, and a very comfortable bed occupied the far left corner. ‘Bed’ was maybe not the exact word for what was in truth a nest of tousled blankets and a bounty of pillows, but the resemblance to the state that he’d often find Kris’ bed in each morning after they’d gone off to school left Asgore too soft in the soul to judge. Across from the bed stood a backlit vanity. And at this vanity, dressed in his signature red tailcoat, sat none other…

 “...Mr. Ant Tenna?”

 “...heya, Gorey.”

 Asgore blinked at the somewhat subdued reaction. Not that he’d hoped…not that he’d been expecting fanfare or anything of that sort. He supposed that was on him for expecting a very busy man to have something over the top ready for a surprise, drop-in visit.

 Tenna pushed the chair back and gripped the vanity desk as he pulled himself up to his feet. His back was turned, but in the illuminated glass of the mirror, Asgore could see the screen that served as his face. It was currently turned off.

 He wore a long yellow tie that was untucked. Always, always untucked. It dangled down over his stomach towards a large, glossy golden belt buckle that bore strong resemblance to his head, antennas included! A similarly polished ‘TV’ pin was affixed to his suit’s lapel. With a gloved hand he pushed in the chair as he stepped away and finally turned to face Asgore directly.

 His namesakes, those being his antennas, dipped and drooped downwards as one long step brought him within arm’s reach of the immensely dwarfed Lightner.

 Asgore really was not so used to having to look UP at someone.

He stepped and stumbled backwards in his surprise.

 Noticing this, Tenna stiffened. He stood with his hands held together behind his back as he leaned to look down at Asgore, but soon lowered himself onto the floor until he came to rest upon his knees. It didn’t make that much of a difference, but Asgore DID appreciate the gesture for whatever it was worth.

 A hush voice crackled through the TV’s speakers. For a man of his statue, he had a soft, gentle voice, high and raspy, but still full of warmth. “Ah…sorry. I guess I didn’t…”

 His hands flexed and curled where he now laid them upon his knees. When they moved, Asgore caught the faintest hint of pointed, curly clawtips that poked out beneath the puffy fabric that covered his fingers.

 A faint shudder washed through him.

 Tenna made a sound like a quick inhale. His chest welled, and he cleared his throat, before speaking again, confidently this time. “Howdy, Gorey! It’s a pleasure to…finally make your acquaintance!!”

 Tenna waved. He swooped his hand up, and then back down right into a short, brief bow where he ducked his head and nodded Asgore’s way. When he lifted his head back up, his screen was a solid square of pinkish-tinged white light. A long pointy nose pierced outwards from the static of his display. His mouth stretched from one side of his screen to the other in a toothy grin that was home to a pair of sharpened fangs.

 Claws and teeth…

 …how much of their hopes and little child dreams did my Kris put into you…?

 The word ‘pleasure’ appeared in midair above Tenna’s head. It was spelled out in a glimmering pink-red font that reflected the string lights, before it quickly vanished from view. Tenna clapped his hands together once. Asgore bristled and gathered himself to stand at full attention.

 I’m being silly. Why would I be frightened of my old television?

 A smile tugged at his snout. “Ah-hahah! Well! And howdy to you, Mr. Ant Tenna. Yes, it is so very wonderful to meet you.”

 “Oh, but we’ve already met! You’re the one who got me all set and plugged in, back when I was fresh outta the box.” Tenna snickered as he corrected Asgore gently. ‘Plugged in’ was written in jagged electric lettering, while ‘box’, as expected, was boxy, brownish, plain, and folded itself away into nothing shortly after it appeared.

 How very cute! How very charming!

 “That I did!” Asgore said brightly, “I suppose, though, this is a meeting of a sort, given this is the first time I have been able to speak to THE Mister Tenna.”

 “You’ve talked to me before,” said Tenna, “remember? You used to talk to me whenever my signal would get a bit fuzzy.”

 Asgore’s shoulders sagged briefly at the fizzling, staticky word. Oh…you…whenever we’d have to fix the broadcast, you felt it when we…

 “...oh…I am…sorry, about-”

 Tenna’s fangs flashed. “OHHHH DON’T WORRY, HAAH HAAH!” He clapped his hands once more. A burst of static electricity jolted out when his palms collided. The fur on Asgore’s face began to bristle. “I know! I GET it, Gorey ol’ pal. I wasn’t trying to…it’s fine.”

 …was it?

 In his excitement of getting to meet Tenna, Asgore hadn’t even thought of the times when they’d given him a knock on top to get the signal to clear up. Or what of the times when the children would play with those magnets? And then there was that summer where Kris put a cookie in the VHS player…

 It was Asgore’s turn to clear his throat. “Ah…well. Still. I do apologize for any harsh words I may have used towards you, back in the day.”

 “Water under the bridge, Gorey. Water, under the bridge!”

 His brow furrowed in the words reflective purple-blue glow.

 Tenna’s feelers sprung up straight. “In FAAAAACT! When I heard you were comin’ a pay lil’ ol’ me a visit, I actually went and whipped something special up…just…for…you!”

 He had arrived barely a minute ago. How on earth had Tenna had the time to prepare anything?

 Asgore then remembered that this was the Dark World. He managed to keep smiling even as the unease started to creep with spindle spectral limbs up the nape of his neck.

 It didn’t make sense. It wouldn’t make sense.

 He just had to accept that there was no true logic here.

 A great gloved talon came down and grabbed him off of the floor. His heart spiked for a moment as he was hauled into the air. The floor fell further and further when Tenna stood upright and raised his other claw towards the vast expanse of the ceiling.

 “W- wait a moment! What exactly are you-?”

 Tenna snapped a deafening note that split the room in twain. The walls fell away. The floor dropped entirely into the formless, shapeless black. Then, with a series of wooden creaks and groans and rattles, a new room fell in place around them. Rickety wooden walls and a creaky, worn floor surged into place below Tenna’s shiny yellow shoes.  

 “Setting the scene,” Tenna sing-songed wickedly, and with a high, crackly croon-laugh. 

 Asgore was brought down back onto the floor. He held his arms out to steady himself, only for a quick jab to the chest to send him falling backwards into a rickety wooden chair.

 Shadows pulsed and ebbed.

 A new fantasy was taking hold.

 Darkness was water was fluid was change was potential was power was secret was mystery was danger danger danger danger.

 Asgore went to stand, but as soon as his paws pushed on the armrests, a shape slid into view in front of him. A heavy hand came to rest upon his shoulder and effortlessly pushed him back down.

 “C’mon now, Gorey. Be a good boy and sit down a sec.”

 Something dark oozed from the luminous white fangs that shone upon Tenna’s darkened screen. He leaned over Asgore in a way uncannily similar to a vulture bowing its bare head in prayer before partaking in its meal. A thick, fizzling heat washed off from his body and caused every tuft and hair on Asgore’s to spring and stand on end.

 Looking up and shrinking down against the headrest, Asgore’s throat squeezed itself shut as the grip on his shoulder tightened into an ironclad death grip.

 He was not getting up. That much was clear.

 “Gee…how hard is it for you to relax, anyhow?” With a tut, Tenna let go, and swirled around back towards the room’s still shifting, morphing walls. “...you’re about the same as ever, aren’t ya…mmm…”

 Was that…disappointment? There was something sad in Tenna’s words, too. An almost bitter, weary fondness that fell off with a sigh, before he sprung back into the motions and slipped into the miasmic, rainbow-tinged obsidian curtain.

 Asgore counted the seconds that passed by measuring the beating of his heart.

 One.

 Two.

 Three.

 Four, five, six.

 Seven. Tenna reemerged from the shadows. The darkness slipped off of his broad shoulders like water running off of a duck’s back. As he passed back into view, the room at last began to settle into a more defined form. 

 He sat in the center of a rustic lodge. It reminded him loosely of that lovely cabin retreat he and Toriel had gone on for their honeymoon. Looking around, he felt an odd, nameless unease fill his chest: this WAS the cabin where he spent his honeymoon. The branch wretch on the door, the patterned rug in front of the fireplace, and even the chips on the tiles over in the small corner that acted as the kitchen were a perfect match.

 How did he…? The tapes. 

 Asgore wondered, and immediately answered his own question. He’d taken a series of home videos during the trip and made a tradition out of rewatching them with Toriel each year on their anniversary. Over and over, the tinted scenes of this cozy cabin had shone through the warm, comforting glow of the cathode’s screen…and he had been watching too, hadn’t he?

 Maybe ‘violated’ was a word for what he was feeling. Whatever it was exactly, it faded away when confusion and curiosity took hold upon turning his gaze towards the TV himself.

 Tenna’s snazzy new boots tapped sharply against the wooden floorboards. “Oh, Gorey, Gorey, Gorey…”

 The last lukewarm fond utterance of his name bobbled in rounded, green and yellow bubble lettering. It stretched outwards, as if strained by the click of Tenna’s fangs when his mouth snapped shut. A faint haze of yellow flowers bloomed behind it. These flowers withered shortly after they bloomed as the word faded entirely.

 The first word that popped into Asgore’s mind was ‘sheriff’.

 Tenna was the spitting image of a rootin’, tootin’, shootin’ cowboy. A soft white buttoned shirt hugged the swell of his stomach and the thickness of his upper arms. With his forearms now bare, Asgore noticed that he had several colored wires that bore a strong resemblance to body hair. A pair of denim blue jeans were donned by dangling tassels that swayed playfully with every step. He took long, lazy steps as he waltzed up to Asgore’s chair. He’d picked out a sturdier looking brownish leather belt to wear instead of his previous glossy black one. This one had a simple steel buckle. Over the shirt he wore a vest with an orange base on the bottom and a cow fur print pattern on the top. Tassels poked out from beneath where it snugly hugged against his shoulders.

 To top it off, a signature broad-brim hat sat upon his boxy head. Two holes had been punched into the leather to allow his antennas to poke through comfortably.

 Eyeing the gleaming gold, star-shaped badge on his vest, Asgore straightened up and hesitantly cleared his throat. “Ah…mm…Mister…Tenna? May I perhaps ask what exactly it is you are-”

 Sharp metal claws tenderly cupped him by the face. One slid under his cheek, while the other dragged downwards past his jaw. It was a slow, lazy trip down. It…tickled…almost pleasantly.

 There was a slow carefulness to it all.

 Asgore’s chest shuddered. A little huff wriggled out from his throat.

 “Wh…what…you are…doing…?”

 He was silenced, with a bare little wet half-gag sneaking through his lips when the tip of Tenna’s thumb pressed into the spot where his pulse hammered within his throat. Right below his adam’s apple came a pressure topped off by the dangerous prickle of a sharp, steely point pushing against shallow fur and the thin flesh underneath.

 “Hush,” Tenna said.

 Is he going to kill me?

 Asgore’s eyes twitched when he felt another metal claw brushed against the fur on his cheek. Tenna began to massage small, comforting circles there, humming fondly and deeply in the back of his throat as he did so. He was smiling a small, easy smile. On either side of his lipless mouth sat a tiny rosy pink dot.

 In a softer tone, Tenna asked him rather plainly, “...do you want this, Asgore?”

 ‘This’, he made clearer, then, involved shrinking down further until he was the ideal size to crawl into and straddle Asgore’s lap. He was still a couple heads taller than the Boss Monster at this height, and the weight of his metal body pressed against that of Asgore’s chest and stomach as the chair creaked beneath them both. Soft and steady.

 The claw on his throat loosened enough for him to speak.

 A sick sense of deja-vu came upon him in the moment. His thoughts went back to the Dark World within his shop, and to Flowery. A charming enough fellow, Asgore supposed, but…there was an uncomfortable edge to his affections. Some small, meek part of him twinkled with understanding as he recalled Toriel’s face each time he’d presented her with a lovingly made bouquet.

 Shock.

 Annoyance.

 Frustration. Then, a sort of strained, resigned sadness around the eyes, which shone with something dim that he dreaded to but understood was, inherently, a kind of fear. A fear that one day, she would not be able to brush past him…a fear that he would…

 …and maybe for himself, he felt angry that she’d even consider such a thing. But he remembered a hand against his lower back and how it sometimes inched downwards, and how he could see Flowery’s smile in the corner of his vision widen when he bristled.

 Here, though, Tenna was waiting.

 He’ll let me go if I say no. I am not a prisoner here. This is something different. Yes, a form of punishment, but also…

 He caught that thought. Punishment. Somehow he had this inkling that Tenna wasn’t just perhaps a tad bitter about all those hits against his chassis. Though Asgore’s gaze kept flickering to that bent antenna of his, he also kept reflecting on the events of the ‘Flower Kingdom’ and how he’d behaved with Kris and their friends.

 …and…with Toriel…and before that, even, back when the tragedy first struck and he became consumed with righting the wrong that had been visited upon their lovely little Home Town. How lucky he was that Kris even allowed him to visit Castle Town after everything. He didn’t deserve that sort of trust. This place…and Tenna, especially, were clearly deeply, deeply important to them.

 …a punishment…that can show me the error of my ways, and set me on the path to doing better…

 Asgore was a police chief, once. He understood how these things worked.

 The words came through thick and crooked. “I…I would, yes…”

 “And you’re sure?”

 “I…” 

 His heart was hammering against his ribs like a bug trying to break through a window. The weight of Tenna’s hand around his neck loosened by the barest inch, and somehow, something got muddled, and the lack of pressure on his windpipe had Asgore feeling vaguely afraid.

 I need you to hurt me for what I’ve done. I need to be punished. When a man hurts his family, he’s failed and needs to be punished. I have failed as a husband and a father and a chief and a monster and a man and a person. I need SOMEONE to make me hurt for what I have done.

 He remembered the shelter. The darkness. It had been terrifying, that darker yet deeper abyss. Formless and without feeling…it had also been like being half-asleep. It didn’t even feel like all too long before he was once again in the light, spilling out of the rusted doors and onto the grass alongside Undyne.

 This, though. This was something.

 “...I am sure, yes. I…” somehow, he managed a terrible little half-laugh that made his stomach bounce, “I, hehe…I have been caught red-handed, after all! May I ask what the charges are, exactly?”

 He winked.

 As soon as he dared, Tenna’s feelers shot upright.

 The claw came shut around his throat in an instant.

 He gagged. His eyes bulged.

 Sharp, technicolored fangs blazed through the pitch black mirror of Tenna’s screen. When he leaned in, the static made the fur on Asgore’s face prickle.

 “The charges?” Tenna echoed, spitting it out with a harsh twang. “The…heheh…heehee. Yes. The charges.”

 His voice took on an airy lith, that of a grizzled sheriff. The curl of his toothy maw twisted at the corners. “Your charges, Asgore Dreemurr, I reckon, are as follows: severe and gross neglect of your youngest child, abandoning your fatherly and husbandly duties in the aftermath of tragedy. You’re also lookin’ at several counts of CRT abuse, but that’s lower on the list. Let us take it from the top, m’kay, Gorey dear?”

 Something crept into his staticky drawl at the end there. Something softer and lighter, smelling of kitchen spices and that perfume he remembered from when he leaned in for the kiss during their wedding ceremony.

 It sent him reeling so much that he didn’t even register quite what Tenna said for just a moment. 

 “I remember when you’d come home and walk right on past me and lil’ Kris. I remember, Gorey, the times they’d try an’ fix themself a sandwich and end up cutting their little fingers, and they’d call for you-”

 “Oh, sorry. That was just the mixtape I made for you. The one that sounds like your child, calling for help.”

 “-and you’d already be hunkered down and holed up in the bedroom, workin’ on those damn research notes of yours. Haha! I REMEMBER, GOREY, WHEN THEY’D PUT THEIR LITTLE BLEEDIN’ FINGERS ON MY SCREEN!”

 It slammed into view. It landed upon the air with a thick, hideous splat. Red, darkly oozing words leaked their crimson woe onto his snout in a series of oily crimson droplets that each landed in icy cold spurts that stained his fur. The word faded, but the red didn’t.

 Tenna’s laugh was a thin, brittle thing. It crackled in his speakers and churned inside of his throat. The sharp tip of his thumb rammed into Asgore’s jugular. He felt his pulse throb frantically.

 Tenna’s voice hitched. “Or when they’d try and show you a picture. Asgore…I SAW them draw all of those pictures for you! Oh, Kris, our Kris…just a precious little artist, Gorey. I- I’d watch them there, drawing, taking so long to pick out the colors. They, haha…they always went with green, ‘cause I reckon they knew it was your favorite color. Green thumb an’ all’at! Hah…!”

 It was getting harder to sneak air into his lungs. Asgore sucked in a breath through his partway opened mouth, only for Tenna to squeeze once and then loosen barely, causing the breath to get caught somewhere in his throat. He made a feeble sound while the cathode patted his shoulder.

 “Oh, but it’s OKAY, Gorey. I get it. I REALLY get it! You were just…you were just so BUSY, weren’t ya? Oh, GoreGore, always so BUSY. Busy buys bee! I just can bee-lieve you were too caught up in your research that time they stuck the fork in the socket and-”

 His vision blurred.

 His paws went numb.

 Something buzzed hatefully right next to his ear.

 “Ohhh…but that wasn’t as important as your research, was it?”

 Just as the world started to dim, Tenna let go. Asgore sputtered a cough and slumped forward into Tenna’s chest. A weight wrapped around his shoulders. Two strong arms embraced him and pulled him close, while a steady claw grabbed the back of his head and pushed his snout into Tenna’s ‘collarbone’. 

 Tenna hummed for a moment. With his face buried against his chest, Asgore could hear the subtle whirrs and buzzes within his body. Something tick, tick, ticked inside the cathode’s chest. Did a TV have a heart? Had Asgore managed to break that heart at some point?

 “...I just can’t understand it, Asgore. Why? Why don’t you…?”

 A shaky sigh rattled in a pair of artificial, wired lungs. Or did he even have lungs?

 “...you used to bounce them on your knee, watchin’ me…and then one day you just…decided it wasn’t worth the time. Those sweet little eyes…how can anything be worth more than seeing them smile?”

 Such a soft, sweet question. So small, so dear, so trusting. Tenna held him with a gentleness that made Asgore’s soul give a pained shudder. Hot air tingled inside of his arms as he lifted them and slowly, slowly wrapped them around the TV’s waist. In the strangest way, it felt like he was hugging himself for just a half-second. 

 He and Tenna were of a very similar make.

 Tenna and him sat for a moment in a very quiet, tragic silence.

 “...why? Why don’t you do that anymore?”

 Why?

 Oh. Asgore often wondered that himself.

 Would it be enough to answer with the simple truth of, “because Kris has gotten too big for that sort of thing”?

 He knew that Tenna knew. It felt twisted, what, with the strained tension in his body, but he couldn’t help but feel a sort of gentleness towards the TV in the moment reserved for a small, confused child. His jaw creaked open.

 “...things…changed…Mr. Tenna…”

 But I had to find the truth! I had to show everyone what really happened! I had to, I HAD to-!

 He was falling. His back hit the chair, hard, as Tenna suddenly snarled, and took him by the shoulders to shove him against the headboard.

 “YOU changed.”

 Two hands on his throat this time. Tenna dragged his hips forward, and an awful lull churned in the pit of Asgore’s stomach. His thighs squeezed tight as Tenna grinded against him a second time.

 “You…you started to REALLY hit me, when you started with those damn notes…! I noticed! I NOTICED, Gorey!”

 It was just what you did with a TV! If the picture got fuzzy, you gave it a few thumps until it cleared!

 But if the Dark World brings mundane items to life, gives them character and the ability to feel-

 “...and Toriel. She noticed when you stopped coming down for dinner without bein’ asked to. We all noticed. And when you stopped playin’ games with the kids, or when you started to shuffle off to bed without so much as a goodnight.”

 ‘Goodnight’, for how soft and cloudy the words were, hung in the air heavily.

 He wasn’t off to bed! He was up there, pouring over his research! He was…he was trying to excuse himself again, wasn’t he? And in the midst of being punished, too…

 Tenna rolled his hips in a slow, churning motion. A damp heat sparked in Asgore’s belly. He tensed his jaw and tried in vain to choke out the words while Tenna’s grip on his throat remained locked in a mechanical vice.

 “I…I didn’t…want…to…”

 Another thrust gagged him more than the chokehold ever good. Flecks of spittle flew out from his parted lips and peppered Tenna’s screen. His teeth parted like a zipper’s. Inside, his mouth was a glowing white voice of rainbow-tinted light. A long, snake-like, forked tongue uncoiled and slithered out in between his fangs-

 -and lapped the spit right off of his screen. Tenna’s mouth snapped shut with a sharp tink.

 “What DID you want, Gorey, honey? Hmm? Ohhh, to solve the mystery, right? To figure out what happened? Write it out, spell it out, in big boy science words so everyone would see and know that you weren’t crazy…?”

 His voice was a slithering coo. He opened a hand so he could stroke Asgore’s cheek, all sweet and slow.

 “Gorey, Gorey, baby HONEY…what happened was you got it in your little head that you’d find whoever done DID IT and drag ‘em by the neck through the streets. An’ then you’d throw ‘em on the rocks in front of Tori, and it’d be so beautiful, and she’d fall into your arms again. Kris told me about you pushing them out of the store, Asgore.”

 His stomach was full of acid. Hot pleasure swelled alongside cold, icy shame.

 “I…”

 The pressure on his throat tightened a whole inch further. His fur felt wet and warm, suddenly. It was so bright for a world of darkness. The light in the windows was so lovely. Outside, he could even hear birdsong.

 “Move. Your. Hips.”

 There was one tape that he hadn’t watched ever since he moved into the shop. It didn’t feel…right of him to do so. He began to slide his hips back and forth, into Tenna’s bulk, and then slowly pulled away, in a steady yet uneven lull. The air in here smelled like all-spice mixed with warm woodgrain and something bitter and wine-y. Tenna had been kind enough to loosen his grip enough so now he could pant a few shaky, trembling huffs.

 His thoughts were sluggish in time with the rocking rhythm.

 That one tape. He’d taken them all with him, but he hadn’t watched the one at the bottom of the box. Funny and somewhat tragic, considering that it was the only one he and Toriel had directed together. The rest were candids and home videos. That one, though…from their honeymoon in a cabin much like this…

 “You’re a kind man,” Tenna crooned, “but you’ve got these angry eyes, Gorey. Angry, awful, ugly little angry eyes.”

 It was Toriel’s idea that they make such a video.

 Such a shock to some, maybe.

 She was such a raunchy girl when they were in college. It was always such a thrill when she let that part of her come through. Maybe on some awful level, yes, he’d hoped that with the right flowers, someday, he’d see that side of her again…maybe…

 His eyes twitched. His lashes fluttered dimly. Tenna’s fingers grazed over his lips, coaxing his mouth open.

 His screen was hot.

 His tongue was smooth, long, and nimble.

 A taste like liquid white noise filled his mouth. It was warm and buzzy. Firm and shifting.

 The tip of Tenna’s tongue lapped at the top of his mouth in time with a slow roll of his hips. Something managed to escape his throat. A thin, pathetic almost noise…

 He jerked his hips forward roughly. Tenna grabbed his hip with a free hand and held him steady. Asgore was forced to sit still as Tenna ground hard against his swollen manhood. Thick salvia was clotting his gullet. He couldn’t breathe.

 Yet, somehow, he could manage a moan.

 Tenna pulled his tongue out when Asgore made a wet noise and coughed against his screen. Thick trails dangled from the monster’s mouth. Where flecks of salvia landed on Tenna’s display, the white pixels became multi-colored fractals, rainbow globs that distorted the lines of his mouth where it shone through underneath.

 In a swish of white motion akin to a pendulum's swing, Tenna’s tongue lapped it all up, and slipped back into his maw. He smiled now with flat teeth and kept Asgore going by shifting his weight side-to-side idly. Each little motion made the pressure twitch and fidget.

 He then glanced down. He absently reached up to touch his throat.

 His fingers came away covered in shiny red blood.

 Tenna made a sweet little noise. “...red-handed.”

 Guilty, guilty, guilty.

 She had asked him to choke her, during their honeymoon. It frightened him. For a moment, he feared that he had acted in some way that gave her the idea he was a violent man who would ever do such a thing. It was a form of play, of course. Perhaps he was just a stuffy square compared to her, the campus party girl, who had a special store she’d visit with Carol somedays, and where they’d find things that wouldn’t be out of place in a medieval torture dungeon!

 Toriel frightened him at times!

 She was truly a wonderful, one of a kind woman.

 …the ways in which he frightened her and the children in the years following that dreadful day…the times he’d push Kris away when they tried to grab his hand, or that time they hugged his leg and giggled, thinking he was off on some adventure that they wanted to come along for, and he didn’t think, he simply got angry with them, and he shoved, and…

 …

 …after a point, Toriel was on a first name basis with the hospital receptionist.

 She was so good with people. Always…making friends…

 “Yes,” he agreed softly, “...and rightly so…”

 Tenna pressed his full weight down. Was it blood or spit that wetted Asgore’s lips? He could still taste the static. It tasted like cold coffee, butterscotch cinnamon, and burnt cotton candy.

 “Never raise your voice around Kris ever again. You understand me?”

 He nodded.

 His final groan was a whimper. He came, and slumped with his head falling forward into Tenna’s chest once again. This time, instead of a hug, Tenna gave him a pat on the head and a small squeeze on one of his shoulders.

 His throat hurt. Dull, throbbing. It itched more than anything, really. Boss Monsters were known for being able to take a beating.

 A haze fell over the world. Asgore vaguely registered that he was being carried somewhere. He’d drifted off. His body was heavy. He didn’t feel any better about anything.

 His throat did feel better at some point. He patted around blindly. A thick, soft cloth was wrapped securely around his neck, which had quickly since dried out. The cuts weren’t very deep.

 Wherever he’d wound up, it was soft and comfortable. He shifted his legs and lifted his head slightly off of what he safely assumed was a pillow. Vague shapes formed of fuzzy gray shadow faded into view as he blinked and opened his eyes. He spotted the vanity, and then the door, and quickly deduced that Tenna had gotten him patched up and situated on his very own bed.

 His eyes then flicked towards the nearby night table. A piece of paper sat perched atop next to an alarm clock with a pair of hands designed to look like Tenna’s arms when he had those silly gloves on.

 There was also a glass of water. Alongside it sat a small plastic bag with two white pills.

 Asgore took the note and flipped it over. He had a sense of deja-vu and chuckled, thinking back to college once again. Oh, the places he’d find himself in. The beds he’d wake up in, sometimes.

 The note was written in plain black font, “pills should help with the pain. There is coffee brewing in the breakroom, first door on the left when you leave.”

 And underneath, drawn in a simple, curly loop, there was a hollow red heart. Hollow. That was a word for how Asgore felt in the moment.

 He then heard through the wall a muffled laugh. Tenna’s voice came through right next to his head…or maybe he was simply speaking loud enough it sounded like he was right there. Either way, he sounded…happy.

 “Do I wanna play cowboys? Oh, well, is the sky blue? Pop quiz, worth twenty points.”

 Asgore heard another voice that he quickly recognized as Yellow, the cowboy borne from the yellow flower from Toriel’s bouquet. “Erm, well, sky’s blue sometimes. Are yah talkin’ generally? Or well, when I was back at dah Kingdom, the sky was all sorta’s colors. Like…seven of ‘em.”

 “I thinks he means in general.”

 “Oh okay dat makes sense.”

 That would be Jongler, wouldn’t it?

 Asgore sighed.

 The pills were bitter.

 …most things that you needed to swallow in this life were.