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Universal Events: 10 Boys, One Crown, One Down

CHAPTER TWO: ONE ANOTHER

Chapter One

TW(FOR THE ENTIRE BOOK): (Violent) Death, intense gore, depression, slight ableism (SOMETIMES)Keep reading

NNAMDI'S PERSPECTIVE

I knew this could end badly. Confronting someone as hotheaded as Kaede may result in making him angrier, but this didn't mean he was a lost cause. He's an unpredictable person that takes a little bit longer to understand than others, that's all.

I leisurely strolled down the brick road leading to the garden, the white metal arch adorned with flowers of all varieties and thick, thorny vines dipping down a little too low for my tastes— even if I did have to jump to touch them— woven around the frame. Around them, there were rows upon rows of colorful bushes, peaceful and unmoving. The entire gravel space was decorated with a variety of plants, from sensitive flowers to the ginormous oak tree that stretched out in the middle of the garden that housed all kinds of wildlife. I kept my eyes peeled for the odd one out, in all black hunched over a raised garden bed and nodding his head to the beat of his favorite band.

After pacing around the maze of blood red poppies, trying to navigate the maze of flora as they flowers taunted me with their peacefulness, after coming out the way I came in twice followed by quiet cursing, I would up on the other side of a secondary arch surrounded by hydrangeas. This part of the garden seemed a little better, the hyacinth plants were much shorter and more spread out— and certainly less abusive on the eyes with their soft color. For a moment, it was like I was outside and in the real world like a normal kid.

From where I stood on the gravel, I could hear the faintest sound of guttural grunge music coming from a few flowerbeds away from me. I locked onto where the music was coming from and began to carefully weave through the crowds of flowers that occasionally brushed against my knuckles and sent the contact rippling through each other. After a handful of steps, I saw Kaede kneeling over a garden bed of lilies, mumbling the lyrics to himself. I cautiously reached down to tap his shoulder.

"You're really bad at being quiet." He pulled his earbuds out and turned his head, taking off his gardening gloves to pause his music. "What do you want?" This question caught me off guard. I've never seen him act like this. Sure, he could be curt and rude sometimes, but he's never outwardly been this mean to anyone.

"Is something going on?" I asked, nervously rocking on my heels.

"I'm fine." Kaede quipped, standing up and wiping his hands on his already dirt-stained pants. He'd been moving lilies to the barely damp dirt in a raised garden bed. After he was finished, he weaved over to the yellow hyacinths in a stone lined garden-bed and began to pick out small weeds at the stems of the flowers.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

I sighed and sat down across from him, my back against a tall lattice wall, adorned with small clips that would soon help keep plants' stems in afloat. The sun filtered through the diamond holes in the fence, blurring together on the gravel into one gold cover of light blanketing the ground. I looked up to see Kaede pruning a bush of wilting roses he was trying to revive.

"Can I ask you something?" I asked hesitantly upon seeing his steadfast attitude towards his garden. "Why do you want to be the king of Greenleaf so bad? Before you heard about it, you said that you'd stay in The Dome and The Kingdom as long as you could."

Kaede leaned back and propped himself onto his hands, brushing gravel off of his now rough pebble imprinted hands. "I don't really know. I think it does have something to do with The Dome, and everything." He sat back up. "Not that I don't like it here; I'd just like a change of scenery!" He pointed up to the sky, and the giant glass dome that sheltered the Pudiaguay Castle, it was made the temperature ever so slightly hotter, but the fans on the roof of The Dome helped with that. "And Greenleaf is revolutionizing the way the world sees and manages gardening! They're building vertical gardens almost as tall as the castle with everything the city needs, crossbreeding medicinal plants, they help people!" He grew louder with each word, but not angrier. "And so, do I. If dad finally decides that I can be crowned to any kingdom or city, then I can exchange what I know with the scientists and botanists of Greenleaf City!"

"That makes sense, I guess you can do a lot with stuff like that." I looked up at the sky— rather, The Dome. It was almost twice as tall as the castle and thicker than my outstretched arms. Dad—King Abaddon Loshi—said it was to keep me and my brothers safe from thieves, attackers, or any bitter person jealous of the horrendously rich royals. "I guess the change of scenery makes sense, we only go outside of The Dome to go to school, and even then, we're told to come right back."

"I think it's a little sketchy."

"It's to keep us safe! There can be some weird people around here."

"The only weird people are the rich, rich kids at our rich kid school." The two of us scoffed lightheartedly at that.

"They have high expectations." I added. There was a comfortable silence between me and Kaede. I can still remember the first time I went outside The Dome: It was when I was five. My dad told me to stay at his side, Rio was with us too, but he was too distracted by the sights of the kingdom to pay attention to what was going on; watching the huge, lavish buildings you'd see in a story book and the fancy clothes everyone wore, so I had to keep an iron grip—as strong a grip as a 5-year-old could have— on his wrist to keep him from wandering away. We made a few stops along the smooth concrete road to talk to some regulars he knew, mostly high-class purple skinned Iswian acquaintances, but there were some green folks here and there. At one point at the end of our walk, our dad sat me and Rio down on a bench while he went to talk to three men dressed in the same fancy clothing we'd seen a couple feet away from us, but they wore cloaks over them. They were whispering to each other in a language I couldn't understand, but they kept on snatching glances at Rio and I— who were trying to comprehend and deal with what we now know is a slight breeze— to make sure we didn't wander away, eyes landing on us for less than a few seconds. It was strange, and we only went home after a couple minutes.

I was snapped back to the present when I heard the crunching of gravel as Kaede walked towards the arch leading out of the garden. Confused, I stood up and peeked around the corner of the lattice wall. "Where are you going?" I asked, speedwalking and brushing bits of gravel off of the back of my T-Shirt and shorts, even hopping on one leg for a couple seconds to pull a pebble out of my shoe.

"To go talk to Rio." I snapped my head back up and let out an involuntary noise of confusion, earning a heavy sigh from Kaede.

"To..." I trailed off, a subtle question.

"... Apologize, for what I said earlier." He finished. It wasn't like him to apologize to anyone, even if he really wanted to. It was hard for him to face someone after such an outburst, but hearing him say that brought a smile to my face.

"I think he'd like that."

"You should go check on everyone else. Tell them I'm sorry."

"I might do it later, or maybe never." Kaede turned around at this, it was his turn to be confused with a brow furrowed and dark brown eyes just wide enough to capture the sun. "Did you hit your head on the fence or something?"

"It might do you some good to go tell them yourself." I patted him on the back, earning a few sharp scoffs from him. "I know you can." I encouraged. Kaede sighed and kicked a rock off of the path.

"Alright," He caved. "Can you at least see how they're doing n' stuff? I'll talk to them later." He ran his hands through his black coiled hair. After a couple seconds of silence, the two of us went our separate ways; Kaede to the main castle and me to Obi's Library.

I arrived at the adorned double doors leading into the main corridor of The Library and pulled them open, earning a blast of air conditioning to the face. I peeked through the roof high shelves with the Vario ladders to see if I could find a trace of my brother. I thought I'd have to turn The Library upside down to find Obi, searching through the massive rectangular shaped building with hidden spaces around every corner.

But to my surprise, I found both Obi and Dharma in the main space; Obi high up on a Vario Ladder sifting through a range of colorful books while Dharma looked up at him, nervously telling him to be careful while calling out a small list of book titles for Obi to retrieve. Shortly after I walked in, Obi grabbed another book and tucked it into a messenger bag strapped to his side— which was very obviously Dharma's, based on the way it was sharply decorated with more colorful pins and patches than you could ever imagine. Obi wouldn't be able to keep such a maximalist item without going insane, he preferred to have a "Less is More" mindset that never led with its heart.

"... Ok, next I need The 1924 Edition of Thread and Needle: Professional Designing for Experts!" Dharma called up to Obi, who looked annoyed at his persistent yelling.

"I can hear you just fine! You don't need to yell! Also, if you're an expert on the whole fashion business, then why do you need a book on it? I thought you knew all about this." Obi asked, climbing cautiously higher up on the ladder to grab the book Dharma had requested. After pushing the ladder, a little bit to the left, he grabbed a well-thumbed black book with white splotches of torn paper on the cover and pulled it out slowly so he wouldn't lose his balance. I knew this would be a bad time to make myself known; Obi was pathetically easy to scare, and I knew he'd fall if I broke his concentration.

After a few more suspenseful moments, Obi slid back down the ladder with a practiced deftness I knew he'd rehearsed thousands of times— I didn't want to think about the many times he'd hurt himself trying to do that— and handed Dharma his bag, looking relieved to both be back down on the ground and to have Dharma's bag away from him, brushing the small amounts of chipped paint from an old pin on Dharma's bag off of the side of his shirt.

“I honestly can’t understand why you’d want to ruin such a nice bag with all that stuff.” Obi sighed.

“Thank you!” Dharma sang. “This is why you’re my favorite brother. And I’d assume you of all people would know you can never learn too much about anything.”

I felt awkward spectating their conversation, and even more so since Dharma and Obi weren't the best duo considering their differences in personality and interests. I slowly and silently weaved around the bookshelves until they were in view; Even though Dharma stood only a foot or so taller than Obi, he dwarfed him with his unusually height. But the thing that stood out the most was the contrast in their fashion style; Obi dressed like he was all ready to attend an interview, with neatly ironed polo shirts and dress pants. But it always seemed like he didn't know what to do with his hair, so it was usually either leaving it down in a cloud of long, black curly hair or up in a ponytail that he insisted on doing himself, and never with the help of Dharma.

Dharma on the other hand was a fashionable maximalist who could style anything he got his hands on— including his school uniform— and would pass away before he could allow his looks to fall into a minimalistic category, always sporting runway ready outfits that were never too over the top— excluding the times when he did need to dress up fancy, he was the talk of all the school dances and the guy to go to if you needed fashion advice. It was strange to see them together, they could easily pass as friends instead of brothers.

"I guess you can't learn too much." I said awkwardly, scooting closer to the two. Obi still flinched in surprise, fumbling for a book Dharma wanted and almost dropped it.

"Nnamdi!" Obi snapped with a crack as Dharma let out a quick laugh. "Stop sneaking up on me all the time!"

"But I didn't?"

"He really didn't, you're just a scaredy cat!" Dharma put the books in his bag before adjusting it behind him as he stepped towards me. "Did you, like, need something?"

"Yeah, I wanted to bring a message," I spoke, not knowing what to expect from them. "From Kaede." There was a silence that came down on the room for a couple seconds. Obi's eyes darted about and let out a shallow sigh while Dharma quirked a brow in curiosity.

"About?"

"He says he's sorry, to everyone."

"Did he really?" Obi asked, almost incredulous, busying himself by putting some books he was reading earlier back on the shelf. No one would've expected a sincere apology from him, even if they knew he didn't really know how to apologize.

"Really, he even went to talk to Rio."

"Good for him! Nice to know he's finally coming out of his shell, a very angry one." Dharma commented, realizing how harsh that sounded but deciding to leave it be.

"So, yeah. Kaede is sorry, he might stop by later to tell you in person."

After a few more words of exchange and banter—that mostly involved teasing Obi about how easy he is to scare— I bid my goodbyes and exited the large building, abandoning the cool air of The Library and into the warm glow of the sun again. After adjusting to the jarring change in temperature, I began the walk to Camille's Tower.

Fog-Borne Snapshots

All would be consumed by shadow if not for an unseen, smudged streetlamp blanketing all beneath it in everlasting burgundy mist. In some space-time ripples, it is evergreen. For other eternities, it is cerulean. Despite the variance, universal commonality is found in its blurred glow.

This light delineates all forms, together interlocked in a state of static, monochrome bliss. These relics change, but never while I see them. Those that have graced my apertures in eye and mind include wet playground equipment, monoliths with tops trapped in mist, and abandoned antique cars.

The aura that permeates my body remains the same. It is the tinge of warmth felt within someone’s embrace, somehow gleaned from facing someplace where this had last occurred at least a decade ago. It is a sign of life found in one of countless mounds of dilapidated structures in a post-apocalyptic wasteland. It is a spiritual sign of the possibility of solace within the cold, concrete walls of an insane asylum whose inhabitants offer only volatility. It is an infinitesimal, but nonetheless unmoving constant in the midst of chaos, contained and concealed forever from the surrounding universe.

In my disillusion, I believe in the approach of a day when I may graze my fingertips across all of the surfaces. Thought ensnares me while my frozen body maintains a glassy stare as my daydreams and memories, whether fabricated or true, turn to burning rubble where no flame dances. I once again watch the fog-borne snapshots fade to charred blackness behind my eyelids.

https://twwrt.wordpress.com/2023/08/04/fog-borne-snapshots/

This Is The Future That Liberals Want

Ok, I'm going to talk about Ollie and Lucky Against the World and No Flash Photography Please because I cannot stop thinking about them and I will lose my mind if I don't tell. I love them so very much and both proects are still very much in development. Against the World is still developing their personalities and the puzzles and Photography is still missing most of the cast.

Despite Against the World being around for.. a while, I haven't done a whooole lot of work on it and there's a lot that needs to be done. I am so very excited to work on both projects more!!

Right, so the infodumping.

So Against the World is a about these two families that grew up together and they're joined to be like one big family and they go camping for Ollie's birthday one year and while they're out, Oliver (Ollie) Hightower and Elliott (Lucky) Wilkinson, do a little birthday photoshoot for him. So while they're walking around, they see these arrows on trees and they weren't there last year, so obviously, being a couple of 19 year olds, they decide to go exploring! It leads to this staircase, and they take a few pictures before chilling on top of it for a little bit, before being attacked by somthing they don't quite understand. When they wake up, they're in this bright, colorful world. So they have to try to navigate this new world, where they start changing, it gets harder to remember the real world, they meet strange people, and everything seems to be against them. At the same time, their siblings have to try to talk to the town's cryptid to solve the mystery of the stairs and help Ollie and Lucky escape. The kicker? Time moves faster in the stairs world than real life! And the cherry on top? They can only talk to them at night, AND they can't let their parents know!!

During their adventures in the stairs puppety world (the stairs world is puppets btw), they encounter a house. So Ollie and Lucky go up to maybe get help with something. This is where the two stories meet.

In No Flash Photography Please, a group of puppets in the stairs world just finished a show, and need to think of something new fast, to entertain the world around them, to buy their safety. They have no ideas, so they sit around a table, brainstorming and idea bouncing. Something important to note about the stairs world is that people usually encounter the houses when they've forgotten most of their real life. So, the newcomers are immediately accepted as a house member without a problem. Due to this, the house gets crowded really fast! So while filming a show for the world, the Photography crew are also working on building their little neighborhood. Also important to note that the camera is a puppet. And they can duplicate themself, and can not ever stop recording. So there's a knock on the door, while the household is having breakfast. They open the door and see Ollie and Lucky, and as per usual, they try to welcome them into the house. Usering them to sit down and get something to eat. Ollie and Lucky decline because they're going to leave soon, but they just need help with something. So this little exchange gets physical. Just a lot of grabbing to get them to come in and shoving away. In the big mess of everything, there's a flash of Lucky's camera, and then a thud as it falls, and Ollie and Lucky retreat. This has never happened before, and so they're all very much confused. So they pick up the camera and the printed picture and see that the people in the camera don't match them. They take another picture, with flash, and compare it. It once again doesn't match. It's the same pose, but different people. So obviously, this becomes the show. Solving the mystery of the camera, even though no one really cares why it's different.

I don't have a lot of the cast of Photography figured out yet, as it's a lot newer than Against the World. But I was going to lose my mind if I didn't tell someone. Also I kinda want proper documantation of it. According to my logs, I started Against the World on May 13th, 2022. And Photography on March 15th, 2023. There's a whole lot I need to do, but perhaps I'll be able to share the journey with my tumblr as I go!! I really wanna draw all of the Against the World cast, make the rest of the Photography cast, start learning animation and anatomy, and start learning how to sew!! So I have a lot of very big projects going on right now!! On top of job hunting, moving out, and my Luigi cosplay!! AND wanting to get frogs!!

Obviously, some projects are less important than others, but they all hold a special place in my heart, and I do hope to achieve them all. I am so very excited to get stuff done and share my progress!!

I like how I have so much queerplatonic stuff going on in my stories before I even knew that there was a word for it

Disclaimers

All Written by ~ Me a.k.a @chloe-skywalker​

☆ I don’t own any of the TV or Movies that I write for, also don't own any of the Characters I write for either or probably most of their locations etc... (obviously)

Studios/Movies/TV Shows Examples: Star Wars, Marvel, Disney, Warner Brothers, Teen Wolf, Stranger Things, Suicide Sqaud, etc ...

Charater Examples: Harley Quinn, Bucky Barnes, Poe Dameron, Billy Hargrove, Derek Hale, Daryl Dixon, Negan, Joker, Batman, Thor, etc...

♡ But I do own all my writing's and my own ideas

♤ I only own the side characters or love interest that I make up (Example: Beck in a Joker & Harleys daughter Imagine I have written that's mine, but Harley & Joker aren't.) I also own my own locations that I make up.

♧ I do have a Wattpad so my work is on there as well so please do not copy and post my stuff elsewhere unless asking me first and I give you permission.

(I have given permission to 1 or 2 users on Tumblr to repost my stuff in different languages. They even tag me as the original Aurthor.)

◇ If the Imagine has a “ * “ next to it on any of the Masterlists that means it was a requested story.

♡ I don't reply and post requests from my inbox till the requested item is written. Whether it be just the dialogs done or the full story is done. That way I don't lose the story idea. But also even if its not gonna be posted for awhile I don't want to keep it in my inbox.

~ So I did add the "Tip" thing to some of my posts and maybe even all. Now I do NOT do this writing for money or anything its all for fun and it goes with my career and its fun.

I don’t do this for the money at all I just think if someone’s willing to tip me for all the time I spend I spend doing these stories and the work I out into doing this then might as well get the tip right?

So no pressure. And I will NOT be making my blog or any of my posts ones you can only see if you pay. I think that’s wrong and greedy. (No offense if you do it!)

Assassin's Creed Short Story - Am I Dreaming

          Am I Dreaming?

Altair was sitting calmly in a corner of a room. There were several people in here with him, but he had dismissed them as other members of the brotherhood when he saw their bright blue glow in his eagle vision. He was reflecting on his past, on the mistakes he had made and on ways to improve the brotherhood which he now led.

Malik had come to him the night before, and they had continued their discussion long into the evening hours. Altair had expected to see the other man when he had awoken, but this was not the case. Altair inwardly grumbled at the effort he would need to go through to find his way back to Malik, but as per usual, he never let even a hint of his emotions cross his face.

Altair knew there was something he needed to remember. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but something was missing. He was missing something. Did Malik tell him something important that he had lost to the realm of sleep? Had he become so distracted that he could no longer retain knowledge of the simple things?

Altair brought a hand to his forehead as he cursed quietly in his native tongue; knowing that he needed to remember what he had lost. It was no trivial task he was forgetting, but knowledge of vital proportions. This was something he needed to remember if he wanted to live. Altair carefully ran a hand down his face, being sure not to accidently trigger the hidden blade on his wrist.

Something wasn’t right. Altair paused in his movements, feeling something incredibly wrong. Something about his hand and his blade was just…wrong. He was lacking, or maybe too full, of something.  He fought to recall just what was wrong. His hand was wrong.

Slowly, carefully, he pulled his hand away from his face. All five of his fingers were –

Ezio woke with a gasp. “Merda,” he muttered. The apple was playing cruel tricks with his mind. He was no ancient assassin, long dead to the brotherhood. He was not a true hero; he was not Altair Ibn La’Ahad. He was not the founder of the current brotherhood, the one to redefine the way of the assassins.

“Why the hell did I think that?” Ezio groaned as he realized just how messed up his mind had become. He was slowly bending under the pressure, coming far too close to his breaking point. He agitatedly twisted his hand, playing the simple game of catch and release with his hidden blade. If he had not noticed as Altair that he was supposed to only have 4 fingers when he in truth had all 5, he might never have awoken properly.

Ezio shivered violently as the thought washed over him. This had happened before, ever since he first touched the damned leftovers of the lost civilization. The apple had tried to show him information, but all it did was drag his mind to another place. He knew this would continue to happen, and the thought almost terrified him. He knew he always woke eventually, but every moment before then he was completely Altair. He thought like Altair, he saw like Altair, hell, he once even fought like Altair.

He never knew he was dreaming until he woke. Once he woke, he knew exactly who he was. He was Ezio Auditore da Firenze, head of the brotherhood in Rome, friend of Leonardo and sister to Claudia. He was the nephew of the late Mario, and Mentor to all of the assassins under him.

Slowly Ezio broke the meditative position he had taken as Altair, giving his surroundings a closer look. As Altair, he had brushed off the oddity of where he was once he saw the blue of allies beside him. He wondered how, as Altair, he could have dismissed the oddity of having 2 women Assassin with him. Perhaps he had only looked at them with eagle vision?

Ezio wondered exactly who they were, not recognizing them, before remembering that he was to have foreign Assassins with him. He silently stood up, carefully avoiding drawing their attention. They were hard at work with their respective tasks, each working vigorously at their workstations. Their odd clothing and manner was proof that the brotherhood truly was so diverse, and he was proud to be a part of this great organization.

Ezio looked around, realizing that he had not recognized where he was as Altair. He blinked in shock, momentarily surprised as he realized just where he was. How had Altair not noticed the giant statue of himself staring down at him? He wasn’t quite sure why he was back in the ruined Monteriggionni, but he at least recognized where he was, unlike Altair. Ezio bit back the wave of sadness that tried to overwhelm him, the feeling of crushing depression as he remembered just what had happened to his dear home.

Walls had been crushed, his uncle had been murdered. There was no peace for him here, not even in the bowels of his heart’s home. Moving softly so as to avoid drawing attention, he began to make his way out from the room. Luck was not on his side, as one of the foreign assassins had looked up at just that moment, sadness making his footsteps heavy.

She began to speak to him, he soft voice gentle but incomprehensible. Her tone indicated that she was worried, but that nothing of vital importance was wrong. “I apologize, Madame, but I do not speak your language. Perhaps another of the brothers that brought you hear can translate your beautiful words?”

She stared at him without response, a look of sadness in her eyes. Ezio bit back a curse at his folly; of course she would have spoken in Italian if she could understand it. Why was he left without someone who could speak properly? Was it truly the best idea to have people who could not understand each other, work without a translator for help?

Perhaps one of the others would know a common language between them. His hopes were dashed fairly quickly as the only other male spoke up, drawling words in the same foreign language. As he listened, he realized that he did, in fact, know some of the words. They were speaking in English, a foreign language he had not pursued or had much interest in. “Many pardons,” he said with a heavy accent. “But you no speaking Italian?”

The third finally looked up from her work, from where she had been utterly absorbed in whatever she saw at her table. She laughed slightly as she spoke with the other two who now were looking more worried than before, and Ezio strained to interpret the few words he knew. “Another…bleed…really?”

The few words he had managed to catch made little sense to him, but clearly it meant something to the other two. The man was rolling his eyes and waving his hands, replying with something Ezio could tell was scathing and sarcastic. “No, just…fun… of course.” Ezio didn’t bother to bite back a smirk as the other two rolled their eyes. This foreign assassin looked less like one of his brothers and more like Leonardo, and he wondered just how well they would get along.

He considered voicing his thought, already opening his mouth to speak before he realized that his words would have been useless. He shook his head instead, growling softly. He wondered if he should worry about being the only one who could speak properly in the room, but they were obviously all here for a reason. With a sigh, he decided to try and speak anyways, as he truly thought this odd assassin would like his oldest friend. He felt guilty sometimes for what his life had done to Leonardo, and introducing him to someone he might be able to share something with would help soothe his soul slightly.

“You…” he said, trying to remember the foreign words. The three had stopped their discussion and turned to him as he spoke. Directing his words at his intended target, he carefully continued speaking. “Have you meet Leonardo? Would enjoy, much like. Maybe friends? Shit, how do you speak? Honestly, how hard is it to say I think that you might make a good friend for a person who deserves so much more than what he has been delivered?!”

Ezio angrily waved his hands in the air, trying to communicate his frustration. The man he had attempted to speak to was now staring at him, both worry and delight on his face. Ezio once again strained to understand the words clearly directed at him despite his lack of understanding. “Truly?” There was wonder in that voice. “Hah…more sense… Desmond.”

Desmond. He knew that name. The goddess had spoken to him, giving him a message for this Desmond. The reason for the presence of the foreign assassins was much clearer now. If they were his link to this Desmond, he needed to their help to find this Desmond. “Dez-mund?” he asked carefully, knowing that his accent made a mockery of the name. “You know…this Dezmund?”

He didn’t understand why the faces looking at him suddenly paled, worry crossing over each feature even more strongly than before as they all struggled to hide it. He momentarily snorted at them for their attempt; he was a master assassin, trained to notice the intricacies of the human body and mind. Of course he could see how worried they were, no matter how hard they tried to hide it. Why were they so distressed? This Desmond was obviously the reason why they were here together, and he wanted them to speak so he could find his answers.

It had been years since the goddess had spoken, and he had never stopped wondering just who she had been speaking to. Sometimes he would avoid thinking about it for days, maybe even weeks or months, but his mind constantly returned to think upon the odd message and mysterious Desmond who was apparently listening through him.

“Shit,” he caught one of them saying. He inwardly smirked when he remembered all the different curse words that he had memorized first. He may no longer be the immature boy he once was, but there was no denying the little pleasures in life. “How long?” It was the distracted one who was speaking, the one who had been so intently focused on her work.

The other girl stepped towards him, as carefully as you must approach a sleeping tiger. “Desmond,” she said. Her eyes locked with his, and she was clearly trying to communicate something. No matter how hard he tried, though, he couldn’t understand another word she said.

The sarcastic man broke in, sounding slightly less worried than the other to. Ezio turned to him in slight relief, glad that someone else wasn’t panicking as it seemed the other two clearly were. “Desmond…really? Wake up.”

Wake up? Was he dreaming? Suddenly Ezio felt cold fear spread through him as he started to realize what those words might mean. He had thought he had woken up from being Altair. He was awake from where he had been in a waking sleep. He had been dreaming so deeply that he hadn’t known something was wrong until he saw his hand, which had woken him abruptly. Wake up…was he still asleep?

Ezio looked around, trying to see his surroundings more closely. As Altair, he had rationalized away anything that hadn’t fit what he knew. He had seen the three assassins simply as three brothers, not as two foreign women and an interesting but incomprehensible man. He had dismissed the odd stone walls and statues, not even noticing them enough to see his own face.

Was he doing the same thing? Ezio would have immediately dismissed this as a folly of an overactive imagination if something hadn’t felt so wrong. Wrong like his hand had when he had felt the presence of five fingers. He had known something was wrong, known it from the beginning, yet he hadn’t been able to understand what until he had seen direct proof that it was wrong.

Slowly he swallowed, trying to look at the room a second time, trying to see if anything was truly wrong. He was in Monteriggionni from after the attack, the room crumbling around him. He almost continued on with his new inventory before he realized that something was indeed wrong. Why was he at Monteriggionni? He couldn’t remember returning here. “Why am I here?” he tried to ask the three, but they couldn’t understand him.

He couldn’t understand them. He was speaking a language foreign to them. He had spoken as Altair, hadn’t he? He had said words in Arabic, cursing and muttering under his breath. He had thought nothing wrong with his words then, and Ezio saw nothing wrong with his words now.

He wondered if he were a dream. If he was a dream like Altair, it would explain why he was with others who couldn’t speak. It would explain why he was in Monteriggionni with the walls in disrepair. It would explain the odd workstations, the ones he could see but didn’t look quite right.

He looked at where they had been working, ignoring the scared looks the others were throwing him, only the man not looking like he was about to freak the hell out. He carefully stepped closer to the man, trying to get a better look at what he was working on. The blurry table started to come into clear focus, holding more than just the piles of papers he had thought he’d seen. The oddly stacked documents were not, in fact, documents at all, but a strange box. Ignoring the man’s now annoyed look, he slowly reached out his hand, afraid to touch the thing and make it change again.

His hand was grabbed several inches away from the odd box, and he instinctively turned to face the man who had grabbed him. “Desmond,” he said flatly.

No. Ezio shook his head. “Ezio,” he said, protesting something he knew was wrong, something that didn’t quite fit anymore, like a hand with two fingers. “I am Ezio.”

The man hesitated, slowly shaking his head. “No, Ezio.” Ezio drew back his hand as the man opened his mouth again, ready to speak. The girls in the background were shouting something at the man, but Ezio couldn’t listen to them right now.

He needed to interrupt the man, to say it instead of him so that the other could shake his head in confusion, didn’t want to understand what he meant. Slowly he pointed his own hand at himself, afraid to speak the words he knew were true. “Not…Ezio?” He hesitated, almost stumbling over his own name. He was Ezio, he could remember every moment of his life, everything that made him who he was, but everything else was screaming that he wasn’t. “I… dreaming? Not real? Not Ezio?”

The man slowly nodded, and Ezio felt his heart freeze. Except he wasn’t actually Ezio, so it wasn’t his heart freezing but somebody else’s, somebody who thought he was Ezio. He staggered back a step, wondering why he hadn’t woken up as this person. When he looked up again, the man had turned to his box and was looking intently at the screen before he focused back on Ezio, except he didn’t because he wasn’t Ezio.

The man spoke, reading something from off the box. “You aren’t Ezio.” He was trying to speak Italian, words horribly accented as he read words that Ezio could now see on the screen. Ezio but not Ezio didn’t want to think about what the man had just said and instead moved hesitantly closer, trying to see what he was reading. There were two boxes inside the box, each filled with words. One was filled with the words the man had tried to say, the other filled with gibberish.

As he watched, he saw both sets of words disappear. Before he could pull back, new words appeared in the left box. He watched in fascination as the assassins hands flew across a table of letters, the picture in front of them changing as the he moved. Something happened, and suddenly Italian words were filling the second box of the screen. Ezio hesitantly read them, afraid of what they would say but unable to avoid them.

“You are Desmond. You’re dreaming, Ezio, dreaming a dream that you aren’t who you are. You are Desmond, and you belong with us in the 21st century.” When Ezio said nothing for a long moment, the words slowly working into his brain, the man beside him made a noise of impatience.

“I’m…Desmond? I’m the specter that has haunted my mind for years? I’m supposed to be the one I delivered a message to? Was this how?” The man made an annoyed sound when Ezio spoke in Italian, clearly annoyed at not understanding. The words on the screen cleared again, and the man grabbed both of Ezio’s hands. Ezio let him, unsure of what he was trying to do but knowing that this man was giving him answers he clearly needed. The man forced his fingers onto the letters, carefully pressing several of them with Ezio’s own fingers.

Ezio watched as his name appeared on the screen in the box as his fingers pushed the letters that made up his name. He understood what this man was trying to show him. Carefully he pushed on the letters, struggling when he tried to make the words separate. The man made an annoyed noise and pushed the empty tile, forcing the words apart. Ezio slowly typed out his message, wondering what to do when he was done.

As he drew back, the man moved his other hand and suddenly words appeared on the other side of the square. Ezio supposed they echoed what he had written, only in the man’s own language. “Ezio I am not, but Desmond? I was Altair, but now I’m Ezio. If I wake again, will I be Desmond?”

The man nodded to him when he had finished reading what he had said, opening his mouth to talk before growling and turning back to the strange contraption, furiously hitting the tiles. When the words appeared on of the boxes again, Ezio watched carefully. As soon as they appeared in the other box, he immediately read the words. “This must be confusing your poor mind. Yes, you’re Desmond, and when you finally regain your senses, you’ll remember that. Now hurry up and type the questions you’re begging to ask, or just wake up so I won’t need to explain how life works to you again. I didn’t realize you really were such a child, needing to be shown how everything works.”

Ezio pulled back, closing his eyes as he finally tried to internalize this new knowledge. He wasn’t Ezio but Desmond, not the Prophet but the one for whom the message was intended. He wasn’t an Italian, but apparently an Englishman; Ezio frowned more at this than anything else he had learned.

So if he wasn’t Ezio but this Desmond, what was he supposed to do? He was interrupted from his thoughts as the man dragged his hand back to the letters, the boxes in the box empty once more. Carefully he pressed the letters once again, going far too slowly if the agitated grumbling of the man was anything to go by. “How do I wake up?”

The man paused and gave him an odd look once he had read his version of Ezio’s words. He sighed a little sadly before …typing?... up his own message. “We don’t know. Normally you only lose yourself for a little while and see things that aren’t there. You seem to be seeing things as they truly are, but as a different person instead. This is new. You’ll probably wake up on your own when you’re good and ready, you lazy bum.” The next words had more space between them, appearing under the others. “What were you trying to tell me about Leonardo earlier, anyways?

Ezio – he really couldn’t think of himself as Desmond, although he acknowledged that this was who the body belonged to – decided to focus on the latter half of the man’s message. If here was nothing he could do at the moment, he may as well converse with this fellow. “I had suggested you become friends with Leonardo, but I suppose he isn’t here now. However, you are here instead, and I can remember none of your names.”

After the man read his words, he smacked himself in the forehead before grumbling lowly. Ezio was starting to wonder if he actually expected Ezio to understand him. He guessed not when the man spoke back up, a hand pressed to his chest. “Shaun Hastings.” Was that his name? The man – Shaun – continued on, pointing to the others. “Lucy Stillman,” he said when he pointed to the blonde woman who was clearly broadcasting worry from the other side of the room. “Rebecca,” was the name he called when he pointed to the once again distracted girl.

“Shaun,” Ezio tried to say. The word fell from his lips, and he had the odd feeling that he had said the name before although he had never once heard it in his life. How often had these lips of Desmond’s said that name? How much of what he felt was being filtered through Desmond’s mind? Did his sense of camaraderie with this man only exist because it was there when he was Desmond?

If he was really Desmond, why wasn’t he waking up? Ezio had woken quickly from being Altair, recognizing within minutes that something was wrong with his body. He looked at his left hand once again, carefully running his right hand over the finger he had thought was missing. That was how he had awoken; as Altair, he was incredibly in-tune with his body. When he had seen the amputated finger fully restored, it had shocked his mind into waking up – or at least, rising one layer from his deep sleep.

It had been a truly incredible shock, and Ezio remembered the moment of incredible disbelief he had felt at the sight. Yet had he not also been shocked when confronted with the fact that he might be dreaming? No, he had not been anywhere near as shocked. He had even offered the horrible conclusion that he was not truly himself. Ezio had been the one to state the idea that he was not truly here, that he was the product of a waking dream.

So why had he not awoken once he had known the truth? Ezio lowered his head as he realized that he still didn’t acknowledge it as the truth. He was Ezio, a master assassin, not this…. Desmond. He had all 10 fingers, and even had his signature scar! Or, did he? Ezio carefully lifted his right hand, this time noticing that he was missing his second bracer, and carefully felt the right side of his lips. The scar was there, but he had apparently shaven somewhat recently. There was stubble beginning to grow beneath his searching fingers, but it was nowhere near the full growth he normally boasted.

Ezio paused as he realized that Altair had this exact scar as well, and if this situation was true, then this Desmond had a similar copy as well. Carefully, Ezio began to look for differences on this body, some defining fact that might tell him for sure that he was not at home. He had changed into the oddest pair of clothes, made of a material more fine and of an entirely different feel than his normal robes. Ezio noticed the looks he was garnering, but proceeded to ignore them as he reached behind his head for a hood.

With a silent sigh of relief, Ezio pulled the white material over his face. It was not as long as he was used to, and his face remained far more open than he wished to reveal, but it would suffice. He checked the bracer on his left hand and found it suitable, the design almost identical to the pair he had left behind. The bracers he had left behind in Monteriggionni, the place where he apparently currently resided. “My blades,” he began before he remembered that none of the three could understand him. Shaun rolled his eyes and pointed him towards the translating device. Ezio quickly typed in the message, trying not to think too hard and letting his body do the moving for him.  “My armor and blades,” he tried again. “I left them behind here when I was forced to flee. Are they still here, or were they removed?”

Shaun leaned over him once Ezio leaned back, his brow creasing as he read his version of Ezio’s words. He blinked, looked at the screen, and his eyes lit up. His hands flew across the keyboard. Within seconds, Ezio had his version to look at. “Of course! We haven’t tried to make our way into your room, the place has fallen into a bit of disrepair when you left, but if you think they’d be there then it’s worth a shot!” While Ezio was reading, Shaun had started babbling incomprehensibly to the other two…Lucia and Becca? He seemed to be arguing with them for several minutes, but eventually one of the two threw up her hands in exasperation and Shaun grinned. Ezio-but-not-really-Ezio watched in fascination as Shaun proceeded to pull him from the room, up into his uncle’s room.

Ezio’s breath caught in his throat as he looked at the state of the study. He had seen it broken before, but not so completely destroyed. He didn’t want to be here anymore.  He didn’t give a damn if he was Altair, Ezio, or Desmond, but he didn’t want to be here. He wanted to wake up from this terrible dream.

Desmond fell to his knees, trying not to heave as tears rolled down his face. Shaun was beside him, his hands fluttering about nervously. “Ezio?” the man asked cautiously and Desmond wanted to be sick. He shook his head, unable to tell the assassin otherwise as his breath caught and stuck in his throat. Desmond tried to pull himself under control, Shaun staying mercifully quiet beside him.

Well, quiet for a moment, anyways. When the man reached over and patted Desmond on the shoulder, he couldn’t help but let loose a sarcastic remark. “Oh, this is brilliant. Don’t take him without a translator, they said. He’ll overreact when he sees outside, they said. Of course you’re overreacting; you’re Desmond, the tiny Assassin child we’re dragging along.”

Desmond huffed out a laugh as he forced his lungs to function normally. “’m not a child, Shaun.” Desmond felt and saw the tension present in Shaun’s body drain away as he responded in English. The hand on his shoulder was anchoring him to the present, reminding him of where he belonged, of who he was.

He wasn’t Altair, the youngest Master Assassin in the history of assassins, past or present; friend of Malik. He wasn’t Ezio, the Florentine man who began with revenge but ended up leading an order of freedom; friend of Leonardo. He was Desmond, the Assassin who had run away but come back when he was needed; maybe possibly friend of Shaun, and Rebecca and Lucy.

He was Desmond, and he was awake.

Assassin’s Creed Story: A Life; The Assassin Is Reincarnated

I have a story I want to write, and here is version 1. I might put it up on my fanfiction accounts, but then if I ever did many to type up the other story, they would clash. So, I’m posting it here instead.

The story centers on Desmond, as he grows up on the Assassin’s ‘Farm’. If you want to know any more, just reread the title: A life; the assassin is reincarnated.

Desmond hated water; he always was unnerved by its presence. His mother despaired of ever making him take baths; he was 6 before he could finally take a shower without panicking. Rain unnerved him, leaving him itching to find shelter even as he stared at it in fascination. The puddles left behind by the precipitation unnerved him greatly; he always expected them to disappear immediately, yet they stayed for days. The lake near the Farm was the only water he could look at peacefully, the only time when the liquid was expected rather than… alien.

Even with his near-fear of water, he always had a container of it with him. Desmond feared what would happen if he ever went without it. He had nightmares of dehydrating in the desert, of his throat baking and saliva drying up before it could reach his parched mouth. His father thought it was an oddly dichotic weakness, and believed that his constant need for drinking water was proof that his hatred of water was false.

He was forced to learn to swim. The traumatic lessons began under great protest, with Desmond being cruelly forced into the water. The only other children at the farm – either far older or far younger than him – all learned to swim with a natural ease. Desmond completely refused to go anywhere near the water when anyone else was around, and would not let them take him to the water’s edge for the lessons. This was the only time when he would scream, when he would viciously fight his parents and the other people who would force him into the water.

His mother hated these attempts, hated the inhuman howling that would burst from Desmond’s throat. She broke down in tears as well, the first time this happened. Desmond hid behind her and shook as he held onto her legs, his body wracked with spasms as he trembled in hate and pain. His mother would bend down, wrapping her arms around him and trying to soothe his pain. His dad… his dad didn’t seem to understand. He kept pushing, trying to force Desmond into the lessons. His mother protected him, and she seemed to be the only one who could see the true terror and loathing in his eyes.

One day, his father grew tired of his avoidance of water. When his mother left the house to help take care of the farm, he made his move. He bodily lifted Desmond up from where the 7 year old was playing quietly, and carried him over to the water. Desmond knew where his father was heading almost immediately. Cries rent the air, ripping through the quiet atmosphere and filling the farm with his shouts. His screams drew everyone from their homes, piercing even the thickest of walls as he cried out in mortal terror, yet no one moved once they discovered who was screaming. They saw his father, the head of their tiny community, and no one went against his words or actions. His father was the leader, the one they all followed, the one they trusted to keep them safe from their enemies.

He fought ferociously as his father carried him to the deep lake. He thrashed and bit and clawed, striking out with his tiny fists. He drew blood, and knew that his father would suffer from heavy bruising on his arms, yet he could not break free. Even utilizing all of the physical training that his father had insisted on for all of his life, he could not escape. His father made it to the water’s edge still carrying him, and then threw Desmond in.

Desmond panicked. He thrashed wildly in the water, droplets spraying out across the surface of the lake as he fought. His frantic gasps sucked water into his lungs, forcing him to choke as he tried to climb up and oh God I can’t breathe I can’t breathe the water the water’s everywhere I can’t breathe I’m breathing water let me out let me out let me OUT this does not belong I can’t breathe I CAN’T BREATHE! MALIK! ABBASS! FATHER! HELP!!! Let me out I hate this I hate this I hate this let me out “PLEASE!!!” Nobody is coming, nobody will help; I need to do this alone, I must do this alone! No one cares about my screams and the traitors won’t help, and I can do this alone… I’m always alone…

Desmond felt his mind suddenly clear as his vision faded. His thoughts and his surroundings turned to gray, a calm overtaking him even as his body began the slow process of death by drowning. His  limbs stilled and his torso broke free of the water, coughing up the fluid in his lungs even as his legs kicked out as hard as they can – as hard as before, only with control. He managed to drag himself through the hated liquid and to the edge, his mind still blank as he forced himself to move with precision rather than terror. When he finally broke free, he coughed and shook and coughed and drowned on land and shivered and his thoughts came swirling back in a panic, forcing him to look up.

His father was just standing at the water’s edge, watching as Desmond tried to breathe with frantic gasps, gulping down the life-giving air. The man had not moved from where he had thrown Desmond into hell, his face not portraying any emotion.  Desmond tried to pretend later that his father was trying to hide self-hatred at what he had forced him through, but in that moment and forever more, he suspected that his father truly didn’t care; his emotionless face was no mask but a truth for how much he felt.

His father only moved to him when he could finally stand straight, when all the unnatural liquid was gone from his lungs and his stomach. He had thrown up, he knew that was the only explanation for the vomit spread across the grass, but he had no idea when it had happened. He was staring blankly at the putrid acid when a hand suddenly landed on his shoulder. Desmond jerked away, giving a full bodied flinch as he pulled back and struck out. The pale blue – barely brighter than gray landscape – figure narrowly avoided having the wind knocked out of him as Desmond struck out with purpose. Desmond stared, almost unseeing as his vision flickered from grays and that silver-blue to the normal hues. The world finally settled into its proper colors as his father reached for him once more.

Desmond didn’t move once he knew who the figure was. He didn’t say anything as his father congratulated him on swimming, on keeping his cool after panicking. He stood immobilized as his father gave him a solemn nod and walking away, leaving Desmond standing by the water’s edge. Water dripped off of his clothes and his soaked form, as he stood silent and still. If he moved he would feel the wetness of his clothes, would feel the presence of water as strongly as he had when he was dying. The sun took mercy on him and came out from behind the clouds, gently drying his clothes and freeing Desmond to move.

It was the stench from the spoiled vomit that finally forced the child to move, unless he wanted to once again decorate the ground with his insides. His stride showed no evidence of the trauma he had just gone through, and no emotion managed to break through the fog and across his face. He slowly walked home, his mouth burning with the acrid taste which had somehow gone unacknowledged. The sting was horrible, and his mouth begged for water. Desmond ignored his bodies pleas, as the rest of his body was screaming for him to get away from the foreign substance.

He made his way back through the Farm with his mouth on fire, ignoring the hesitant glances some of the 30-odd adults cast his way. When Desmond entered his house, his vision had once more grayed out. A neon-blue figure made its way out to greet him. Desmond relaxed slightly at the bright color, somehow knowing that whoever this figure was, they were on his side and wanted to protect him. When muffled sobs reached his ears, he knew that it was his mother holding him and rocking his unresponsive body.

Desmond blinked slowly as his eyesight settled, focusing intently and managing to make his arms rise around his mother’s back. Her tears stopped falling, and she moved to lift him into her arms. Desmond fought not to tear himself away and strike out as she attempted to remove him from the ground, trying to focus on the fact that this was his mother and he trusted her not to throw him away like his father had. His mother’s grip tightened momentarily as she sensed his inner conflict, before she gently let go, instead kneeling so that she faced him on his level and could engulf him in her loving arms.

Neither spoke, although both struggled for words. The young boy looked into his mother’s eyes and saw the sadness inside, the words she wanted to say struggling forwards yet not making it out. He knew that he must be the one to speak if he was to ever speak with her again. His mind blank of appropriate phrases – sorry about drowning, I hate my father, why did dad do this to me, why weren’t you there to save me, why didn’t anyone stop him, does no one understand? – He finally broke his soul-deep paralysis and mustered the tremendous effort to speak as he tried to make his mother smile. “Do I still need to shower tonight?”

His mother laughed as she cried, gently kissing him with promises to help him clean without submitting himself to the barrage of water. Desmond loved her as he held her and she held him, and he felt nothing for his father wrapped in the palest hint of ice blue. Even as he bit back the shaking sobs as his body was rinsed off of pond scum, he didn’t stop loving his mom and feeling apathy towards her husband.

The 7 year old seemed to just stop after the incident. He stopped smiling as often, even though he had rarely smiled beforehand, leaving his face a frozen mask. He never screamed again, even though one boy tried to reenact the same, horrifying scenario. He didn’t talk to the ones that had ignored him, that had not cared at all as his father dragged him to hell. He had once listened to the adults around him, admittedly somewhat begrudgingly, but now he rebelled in small ways that no one saw; no one looked at him enough to see.

His father never again tried to give him swimming lessons, seemingly satisfied with what he had shown that day. Desmond didn’t think he’d shown any skill in the subject, but he didn’t care. He left the house more and more often to avoid his father, going running in the woods outside and around the farm. He had often run before, marveling with the sense of running in green, but he now took every chance he had to escape and run with the wind in the trees. By the time he was ten, he must have run millions of miles in the land around the Farm.

Although his father never tried to give him another ‘swimming lesson’, Desmond refused to let the water defeat him. He was soon able to once again look at the lake without wanting to violently expel the contents of his stomach. Within a month, he was able to stand on the shore without shaking. Within two months, he was able to take a shower without having violent flashbacks. Within half of a year, he managed to force himself into the water, standing with the liquid reaching halfway up his legs. He slowly progressed, forcing himself to go further and further into the hated liquid. Sometimes he would gray out his vision, and the lack of contrast between the water and the earth and the sky made it easier to go farther. Sometimes he hated his father, for forcing him to confront his weakness and the cruel apathy in how he went about it. Three days before his 9th birthday, Desmond managed to completely submerge himself without having a paralyzing panic attack. By his 10th birthday, he could jerkily make his way from one side of the lake to the other without leaving the water or breaking down mid-stride. However, he never managed to stop his dreams of drowning, the moments of mortal terror that left him shaking and unable to breathe and soaked in sweat.

Although his father never forced him into more ‘swimming lessons’, he increased the intensity of Desmond’s physical training. The display that Desmond had given in his attempt to get away was apparently very promising, and he was pushed harder than ever once his father saw his potential. Desmond ended every day sore, often bruised and bleeding as his father pushed him in his fights. It normally wasn’t even his father who did the actual instructing, but instead one of the other adults who lived in their solitary community. Desmond had never understood why he was forced into these lessons, and he knew even less about why they were pushing him even harder now. The lessons never ended unless Desmond was so close to collapsing, that his vision went hazy at the edges. His muscles constantly shook spasmodically, and the burning after each session never seemed to lessen.

Desmond remembered almost enjoying the lessons, once. Back when he was still young, when he was almost 5 rather than almost 8. When they had started training him then, they hadn’t pushed him as hard; they hadn’t worked him into unconsciousness. They had let him proceed mostly at his own pace for several months before his father started to push him farther beyond his capacity. He had enjoyed the fluid motions of the training stick, of the way his young body was flexible as he flowed from one stretch to another. He had enjoyed learning the new skills they presented him, almost playing with the weapons as he made them dance to his tune. Although Desmond seemed carefree with the weapons, he had a clear respect for both the training tools and the live blades. The moments that Desmond spent twisting through his forms were moments of calm and contemplation, opening him up to the world outside him in a beautiful and oddly peaceful fashion, the subtle flow of acting and reacting to the environment becoming a deadly and beautiful dance of serene calm.

His dad, however, stole this moving peace away from him. When he saw how well his son was doing with the blades and his fighting, he increased the pace and turned his lessons into a relentless assault. “Focus Desmond, focus!” he would cry as he sparred, as if Desmond wasn’t focusing with the entirety of his being. Desmond started to trip up occasionally as his father pushed him, stumbling on moves he had executed perfectly hundreds of times before, tripping over his own feet as he ran. “Strength, speed, agility. No excuses,” his father would say, as if Desmond was intentionally slacking off or not trying his hardest. No matter how hard he hit, how fast he sprinted, or the surety in his steps as he dodged and ran, he was never good enough for his father.

Self-doubt began to cripple him as his father dedicated more and more time to his physical training and less to the informal schooling all of the kids received. Every time Desmond faltered in a move he knew, his father’s disdain grew and it showed in his words and it threw him off until he was screwing up more, and his father was disappointed more and he became ashamed of his progress. Desmond never stopped trying, never stopped pushing his body to the limit and occasionally far beyond what was wise, but he never understood why. He saw the serious faces of the adults and the constant worry they had that would be found and destroyed so he trained his body through the perpetual haze of exhaustion that seemed to engulf him. Once someone tried to console him, to give him a reason as to why this was happening. “One day you'll understand. You'll see. All this unease will be worth something. I promise,” the man had said. Desmond didn’t see, and didn’t believe him.

His father told him tiny bits of information as he fought, rarely deviating from his favorite lesson. He once mentioned that, “They’re looking for us. And they will not stop until every one of us is dead.” He never said who they were, or why they wanted to kill us all. Instead, he kept repeating the same words as if they held all of the answers to life. His father had been intent the first time he told him, reaching down so that the he was on the same level as the toddler when he spoke. “Nothing is true,” he had explained almost gently. “Everything is permitted. You are an assassin, and this is our creed.”

Desmond hadn’t understood then, and he still didn’t understand now. What did it mean, nothing is true? Was everything permitted? If nothing was true, then why say it with a ferocity belying the soul-deep belief of a fundamental truth? Was his body forced to burn in each session because it was permitted, expected of him?

“Live by the Creed, Desmond. Empower yourself.” These words, spoken by his father, almost made him laugh. He didn’t understand the creed, but he knew it was used to control him, not give him personal strength. If the creed empowered them, why were they always ready to run? What help would it be against the mysterious ‘they’ no one ever explained?

No one was willing to answer Desmond’s questions. They told him the same things as his father: “You are an assassin. The Templars are our enemies. Nothing is true, and everything is permitted.” They mentioned an endless war, an eternal struggle, and even told war stories – but they never answered his questions. Desmond stopped asking, and instead began to close himself off from these people who would give him no answers but were always preparing for some epic catastrophe. He believed them, that they were hiding from someone and that the training had purpose. He had to believe them.

The adults in the community continued training him, constantly forcing Desmond to the limits of his body, and then beyond into a realm of unending pain. They never broke bones, but he often went home to his mom – never his father – covered with sweat, his limbs wracked with exhaustion. He raged quietly at his mentors, and at his complete lack of choice. He had no control over his life, no option to refuse anything they tried to teach him or make him do. He couldn’t tell them that, “No, I don’t want to train today.” He couldn’t tell them that he was tired and he hurt and every movement brought him pain. He had tried, once, twice, thrice. He stopped when there was no result, and instead rebelled silently. When his father took him to task, he eventually stopped trying. If nothing he did would ever be good enough for his father, if he constantly screwed up despite his best efforts, then he wouldn’t give his father his best efforts.

Desmond stopped giving his all. At first it was just with his father, not pushing his body until it shook with exhaustion and he fainted into the ground. When his father made no mention of his lack of improvement, he tried even less. His father scolded him, but the remarks remained the same. Sometimes Desmond wondered just how horrible he truly was if he could do so little right, how awful his skill was despite the fact that he had once thought himself talented.

After his tenth birthday, Desmond stopped trying so hard for everyone else as well. He had persisted in showing his best to the others because of the constant, invisible threat of Templars and destruction, but he stopped believing quite so unquestioningly, and thus saw no reason to push himself so hard. Once he managed to swim a lap around the lake – I taught myself, I made myself stronger, you made me weaker – he stopped listening to almost everybody and trained on his own. He put up a weak façade of obedience, one he expected that he would need to reinforce before anyone believed it.

Everyone believed it. Desmond hated the fact that they just accepted his transparent mask without looking any closer, without actually seeing him. He soon realized that they didn’t see a difference because they never actually saw him, just another tool against the Templars. Desmond wanted someone to notice how cold he was becoming, how his words had turned to subtle sarcasm, how his respect for them had dimmed, how he grew impatient with their empty platitudes, how he stopped listening to their words and trained himself instead. No one did, except for his mother. She mentioned it once, and he respected and loved her enough to listen to her worry for him. He treasured her words and kindness that no one else gave to him, but she was not always there and it was nowhere near enough to give him a true connection to their community.

He was lonely, alone in a crowd. His mother was the only one who tried to listen, but she was forced to leave at times and never realized the true depths of his solitude. The only times he could speak with somebody was when they were teaching him, and they refused to listen to him when he spoke. Instead, they would force their beliefs and words on him without care for his thoughts. He tried once to befriend the older teenagers, but quickly realized he was not welcome amongst them. He never bothered trying to connect with his dad; there was never any opportunity to, and their brutal spars didn’t count. The near two-dozen adults were mostly couples, and they only made him feel alone and powerless when he interacted with them.

He trained himself out of sight, where none of the ‘Assassins’ could make him feel weak. He hid weapons in the forest and trained with them, teaching himself how to use them with proficiency. When he practiced with his weapons, it was like he already knew how and just needed to become reacquainted with it. When he practiced with the swords, he taught his body to move like how his mind already knew. He knew that the others couldn’t teach themselves; he had mentioned it to one of the older kids when he was still young and naïve and they had made fun of him and telling him he would only mess up on his own. He fought them all and won with his self-taught techniques, but they never interacted again.

Desmond knew something about him was different than the others. He realized that others had never seen the world like he could when he said that the boys were red and no one understood him. He debated with himself about mentioning it to his mom, always afraid that this new thing would be what caused her to ignore him like everyone else, but he tried telling her just a little anyways. He told her that she was a beautiful blue, shining like a star on Earth compared to the others dim glow. She laughed and told him that he was sweet, that she appreciated the compliment. She didn’t understand. Desmond entirely skipped the next day’s training, hiding himself in the forest and exhausting himself with running through the trees.

Desmond took to running through the dark green forest and the small Farm. He climbed trees and buildings with equal fervor, coming as close to the sky as he could, then racing above the people below. He flew above their heads, soaring over their petty words and away from their lies. He was free when he ran, and he laughed as he flew through the woods. The human hawk jumped from roof to roof, climbing the windmills and pulling away from the restricting earth. He smiled freely as he ran over the rooftops, the only time he smiled in his prison. One day this grin pulled at a scar on his lip – a memento from a training session with his father.

It had been a nasty fight. Desmond was now 14 and his rebellion was only growing with each passing year. He had stopped showing such prowess in his lessons, and his father had finally noticed and taken offense. He hadn’t let up that day, trying to force Desmond into learning, trying to bash the lessons into his head; trying to beat out the secrets he was keeping, trying to subdue him, trying to make him display his full talents. Desmond had already learned this lesson, had long ago decided it was a waste of time trying to find lessons when his father didn’t care enough to give them; he would never betray his secrets, he would never let his father overpower him again, and he avoided showing his true skill.

He lost the fight, but Desmond saw an opportunity where he could have been the victor. If he had used the hidden blade he had hidden away – he wore it unless he knew that his father was back and intending to focus on Desmond’s training – he could have easily defeated his father. For a sickeningly glorious moment, Desmond imagined being the permanent victor of this battle. He was skilled enough that he could even be merciful with his win, causing only temporary harm, yet still doing enough damage that for once it would be his father who would lose.

The young teen did nothing, letting his father land a finishing blow, permanently scarring his face as he struck through Desmond’s lip. Desmond still counted this as his victory: his father had not planned on leaving a mark, yet Desmond had engineered the finish and forced his father to make this final move. When his father realized just what he had done, he froze and pulled back. The man could see just how deeply he had cut and how much blood was pouring off of his son’s face. Desmond smiled for the first time in his father’s presence, splitting the gash open farther and tasting the blood on his lips.

“Love you too, dad,” he lied as he left, heading back home to his mother. He knew that doing this would deny his father a place to recover from what he had just done to his son. Desmond wasn’t sure if his father would be bothered by what he did, or why he would if he did; Desmond knew that this man only viewed him as a tool. The man wouldn’t dare come home and confront his wife for several hours, and by then Desmond would be back to walking and running in the woods.

When he arrived home, his mother forced ibuprofen on him. He was careful not to speak as she fussed over his lip, and instead he examined the bottle. One of the names on the label stood out: it was a name he had seen repeated on various different items, but he had never bothered to ask about it before. When he focused his special sight on the bottle, the words glowed a faint red and he knew he couldn’t ignore it any longer. “Mom, what’s Abstergo?” He asked her, wincing only slightly as his words caused pain to spread as he further stretched the cut.

He tried to keeps his words short, but she laughingly scolded him for making his lip worse as she responded. Desmond listened carefully as she described Abstergo. She started off by mentioning that the average American household contains 3 dozen Abstergo owned products at any given moment, that if you tried to purge them from your life completely, it would be a full time job.  “We pick out battles, I guess. So many to choose from!”

She laughed as she said the last bit, but it was a bitter laugh. She explained that Abstergo had their fingers in not just many pies, but in every one. It was a global conspiracy, a front for the Templars. The Templars who had their hands in everything: politics, war, finance, technology, agriculture… Abstergo was the Templars face, and they were deeply involved in governments, corporations, universities… anything with potential power over the people.

Desmond didn’t tell her as she finished attending his lip, but she had finally given him a face to the scary monsters they had always told him of. He didn’t tell her that he now laughed in the woods, imagining that his greatest enemy wore the face of the pill bottle. He didn’t tell her that he had almost stopped believing in the Templars, that he stopped believing there was a threat hunting for them to eradicate their existence and then dominate the world. As she carefully stood back up and avoided asking where he had gotten his wound, he did not tell his mom that he hated this life and wanted to be free. 

Persevere Through So many Deaths - part 1

My nickname for his story is PTSD - take that as a warning. Major character death, somewhat graphic depiction of violence?

The monsters aren’t the only ones who can die in the Underground.

The flower had seemed nice enough, but a little weird. It was kind enough to explain what was going on, but he lied, and the little white pellets had hurt, gave you deep bruises on both your body and soul.

[Save]

Toriel wasn’t there to scare off the frogs, and you couldn’t figure out how to get away without hurting them, and there were flies coating your body as you were smashed into a wall. Buzzing filled your ears as you lay broken on the ground.

[Load]

Buffeted by waves of stinging insects, you’re knocked back into the flies the Froggit is spitting out, and you fly into death.

[Save]

You feel bad for the lonely ghost – it’s easy to see how sad it is when you are drowning in its acidic tears.

[Load]

The talking vegetable kept trying to shove food at you, insisting that it was there to help, but it tasted like poison as you choked and died, fighting for air.

[Load]

You’ve died four times in the ruins already. Maybe you should have stayed put after all, no matter how long you had to wait… but you don’t feel safe here.

[Save]

Scorching strands of fire cross your desperately dodging soul, but you can’t even scream as you’re seared out of existence.

[Load]

Row after row of fireballs chase you down, spurt from the hands that once tried to keep you safe and comforted. You die in silent agony, your soul shrieking where your body cannot.

[Load]

No matter how much you beg or plead or cry or apologize, she keeps attacking you and you keep dying. You don’t think she realizes that she’s killing you, and you don’t know if that makes any of this better or even worse.

[Load]

She terrifies you, now, and you can barely look at her without your soul burning in agony.

[Load]

You really don’t want to fight anymore – as if you ever did in the first place – and she finally stops killing you. The hug is nice and warm, and her pleas are soft and sad, so you forgive her. Maybe one day you’ll even call her mom again – but probably not, since she never wants to ever see you again.

You wonder if she noticed your flinch as she bent down to hug you. You hope not.

[Save]

The monster before you seems very strong and a little scary. You think he’d understand what he was doing if he killed you, and that he easily could if he wanted to. You aren’t dead yet, though, and he doesn’t seem to want you dead… so this makes the first person to talk to you that hasn’t tried to kill you. Yet. He helps you leave with a smile and some good advice.

[Save]

The bird monster is trying so hard to make you laugh that it’s slaying you with bad jokes. You don’t think that’s very funny.

[Load]

You think the tall skeleton is pretty weird and slightly too loud, but he’s also pretty funny and kind of nice. He’s a different funny than Sans, but he still makes you smile. Unlike Sans, you don’t think Papyrus would understand if he killed you. Unlike Toriel, you think he wouldn’t be killing you, except through a crazy accident or with these weird puzzles.

[Save]

You like the cold, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t painful or deadly.

[Load]

Blue… stop signs? That’s just so weird; you don’t think you’ll ever be able to forget. You wonder if that was the point.

[Save]

You didn’t want to compliment its stupid hat anyways.

[Load]

Despite not being able to see you, the dogs are really good at killing you.

[Load]

You flinch every time they bark, and their attacks are a lot more accurate with all of your movement. You fall to pieces even quicker than before.

[Load]

You have to admit, it’s nice just listening to the two brothers and solving their puzzles – even if San’s word search cheats.

[Save]

The dog hidden in the snow-poff is adorable, affectionate, and he smothers you to death, tail wagging all the while.

[Load]

You are incredibly glad that you took the time to go back and save when you see Papyrus’ last puzzle. It’s a deadly setup, with dogs and chainsaws and flamethrowers, and you begin preparing to weather through all of the deaths and loads it will take to make it through without dying… but the overly exuberant skeleton doesn’t set it off. He blusters, and bluffs, but he disengages the trap and lets you move on. You’re confused, grateful, and more than a little relieved. Maybe Sans the Shorter Skeleton was right, and at least this monster wouldn’t hurt you?

[Save]

You have to face down Papyrus, and you’re worried – for more reasons than just your temporary death, this time. You remember the deadly trap, and how the sweet skeleton couldn’t bring himself to activate it. This battle is probably going to hurt both of you. You’re perversely glad that it’s not just you that’ll be getting hurt, but you feel bad about wanting him to get hurt to, so you try to forget that thought.

His attacks are… kind of sad, at first, and you pause to flirt with him. He’s sweet, and it sounds like he needs a boost of genuine self-confidence; his boasting sounded hollow to you more than once. He’s distracted… and you’re blue. (How could a blue stop sign prepare you for this???) Suddenly you’re fighting gravity as well as Papyrus, and his attacks are getting more powerful, and you’re starting to stumble, and you can see your death approaching as you trip and fall in the middle of his attack.

White bone shatters against you, and you brace yourself for death, for the next hit, but you’re still alive and the attacks stop. Papyrus says something, but you’re fainting. You wake up in his garage with a note asking you to stay put. You walk out of the to-large fence, Determined to see if your survival was just a lucky accident.

It wasn’t. Papyrus won’t kill you. When you wake up in the hospitable ‘cell’ again, you almost can’t believe it. You spend the next ten minutes crying, curled up on the too-small cushion. Someone here refuses to kill you, not even by accident.

[Save]

You end up enjoying your next ‘fight’ with Papyrus, listening to him talk as you dodge all his attacks. You giggle at his completely normal ‘Cool Dude’ attack and as he talks himself out of capturing you.

You go on a date with Papyrus, then out for lunch with Sans. You manage to relax and have fun, even though the grill is filled with monsters that have violently killed you. You wonder if Sans noticed your flinch when you passed the axe-wielding dog couple. If he did, he says nothing.

[Save]

Woshua seems very determined to hose down anything with a speck of dirt on it. You’re still sweaty and gross when you drown, but maybe you’re a bit cleaner than before. You wish the cleanliness would stay and that the pain would go away instead.

[Load]

You make a mad dash across the bridge, and try to double back to confuse your relentless attacker. You just end up trapped, with spear after spear tearing straight through you.

[Load]

You didn’t realize that Sans was a fan of science. You did guess that he was a bit of a practical jokester, to go along with his puns. Both of these facts came to light as you came away from his telescope with red ink around your eye. It matches the puffy redness from crying that was there first.

Sans gives you a full refund on your free look. He also passes you a handkerchief, which has PAPYRUS – COOLEST DUDE written in sharpie along the bottom. You take it gratefully, and don’t ask why Sans has Papyrus’ hankie, or why a magical pile of walking and talking bones would need a handkerchief in the first place.

[Save]

Aaron melts you with his acidic sweat before round housing you in the face, breaking your jaw. You’re very glad that when you wake up, all that’s left of the damage is phantom pains.

[Load]

Your muscles are still spasming from your successful flexing contest when Shyren nervously pops up. You try to encourage her, and she perks up immensely. You end up getting hit with the full force of Shyren’s renewed enthusiasm. Your eardrums pop, explode, and then your head follows suit.

[Load]

You are nearly skewered by Undyne’s spears more than once. You are actually skewered by her spears plenty of times. You now know what an animal on a roasting spit feels like.

[Load]

You really wish the spears would stop appearing from under you. The way they rip through nearly all of your internal organs each time you’re caught by one is incredibly (and unsurprisingly) painful.

[Load]

Who… was that voice? It reminded you of the voice you kept hearing whenever you died.

[Save]

You don’t know what you said that scared the other dummy away – you hadn’t even realized the dummy was alive – but talking didn’t help with this mad dummy. You had almost managed to break free when you were trapped within a circle of homing missiles. The following explosions tore you apart.

[Load]

You enjoy lying around and feeling like trash with Napstablook, even if he is an uncomfortable reminder of all your deaths in the ruins.

[Save]

You haven’t seen a Moldsmal since the ruins – you kind of miss the peaceful little things. You both silently agree to part ways, but there’s another Moldsmal and it isn’t moving properly. You step closer, only for it to spring out of the ground and attack. You weren’t expecting the tall strands and bubbles of spitting acid.

[Load]

You run into a… Temmie, and follow it back to its village. It’s terrifying – there’s something off with these off monsters. You barely stay long enough to sell some things off at the shop, but that’s more than long enough to accidently send the shop-Temmie into a heart-stopping death glare. You decide to leave the village immediately.

[Save]

You try to have a flexing contest with Aaron while Woshua is enthusiastically spraying water everywhere. It helps wash off the acidic sweat Aaron drips onto you, but it scrubs at your skin so vigorously that it feels as if you’re being flayed alive.

[Load]

Undyne keeps chasing right behind you, and the Monster Kid keeps getting in the way. You’re surprised that she doesn’t stab you when you double back to save the kid.

[Save]

You keep running from Undyne, and she keeps chasing. The last thing you see is a sign welcoming you to Hotland before your soul is frozen and a spear stabs you in the back.

[Load]

Undyne gets even trickier with her spears; challenging her was probably not a good idea.

[Load]

You only make it to the river room before you’re once more torn apart by spears.

[Load]

Undyne’s fangs flash just as brightly as her spears do when they’re coated in your blood.

[Load]

You beg for mercy and her attacks slow down… slightly. You’re not sure if you’re imagining the disgust on her face as you’re still skewered. You don’t think you are.

[Load]

Papyrus calls, and you nearly cry at the comforting sound of his exuberant voice. Undyne actually pauses politely until you hang up, and you may just hold the phone to your ear for an extra second in sheer disbelief.

You make it into Hotland, and the first thing you see is Sans. You think about crying to him for help as you run, but Undyne is right behind you and you don’t want to get him or his brother into trouble with their stab-happy fish-lady of a boss. He still manages to save you, even though he’s just sleeping.

[Save]

The surveillance was creepy and the game show was rigged. Electrocution wasn’t fun or even remotely pleasant. At least your new diet of monster food meant that when your body locked up and your bowels voided, there was nothing in them and you didn’t actually soil yourself.

[Load]

Your system was plagued with imaginary aftershocks, locking up your muscles until the electricity was back for real again. While you were frozen, you realized that Dr. Alphys’ frantic hand motions were actually the answers to each question.

[Load]

Tsunderplane was really shy, and became violent when you accidently got to close…but she obviously didn’t mean it, idiot!

[Load]

Blue stop sign meant stop for the blue lasers, and orange was the opposite. You remembered that easily enough, but when large clusters of lasers came flying at you ridiculously quickly… your flight or freeze moments kept getting mixed up.

[Load]

Vulcan thought he was helping. It took everything you had not to scream at him when his ‘help’ killed you. You wonder why you even bothered, when it barely mattered anymore.

[Load]

You weren’t sure about eating ‘dogs made out of plants, but it wasn’t the weirdest thing you’d eaten down here. You stocked up on some, and then asked for one more to go, but Sans put it on your head instead of in your hand. Then he did it again. And again, and again, and again… before you knew it, you had a giant stack of free hot dogs piled on your head. They didn’t stay there long before your giggles threw them off. You think you caught a blue glow, but you’re too busy catching one of the ‘dogs to be sure.

[Save]

Guards 01 and 02 were weird, you decided, but they coordinated their attacks well… very well.

[Load]

You played 02’s chest like a bongo drum, just because you could, and 01 got really mad and flustered.

[Load]

You didn’t have a problem with spiders, especially when they were eating bugs. You decided that you did have a problem with spiders after you were wrapped in webs and swarmed with dozens of them at once.

[Load]

You think wistfully of the nice spiders back in the ruins. Their donuts were pretty good, if just as weird as most food down here, and you had used them to great effect when fighting. You wished you had some of their food with you now, as strands of webs covered up your face.

[Load]

Muffet’s pet spider-muffin had fangs as big as your face, and its mouth was bigger than your head. You found out both of these things at the same time, up close and personal, right before you reset. You wonder if having your head bitten off counts as decapitation.

[Load]

No matter how hard you try to run away, the webs keep you locked up in a firm grip. You have a front-row seat to feeling the dubious pleasure of having your insides melt into goop. You wonder how you-flavored donuts and cider would taste.

[Load]

You really want to start flailing and smash the spiders off of you, but you don’t think you could even if you were physically able to. You know better than to strike back. The webbing trapping your arms just makes that easier to remember.

[Load]

The song was actually very nice, in the beginning. You ‘danced’ with Mettaton, provoking an encore and delaying the demise that would surely come. You were still dropped into the dungeon, but at least you managed to have a little fun. The shaking in your hands was from anticipation, not from being electrocuted to death, no matter what your brain was trying to tell you. You were surprised when the fire stopped, and Mettaton ran away with barely any effort.

[Save]

Sans was hanging around outside the MTT hotel, and invited you to dinner – his treat, this time. You immediately leapt on the opportunity to spend time with someone who was not trying to kill you. You both sit at the table, where you listen as Sans talks. He admits to keeping an eye on you, and you think of all the places he popped up at just when you did, only to never be there when you went back.

His simple and entirely logical assumption that you didn’t die once was the unintentional straw that broke the camel’s back. Your face twitches in remembered pain and terror, and the permanent grin on Sans face seems to fall. His eyes get darker, and his fists clench. You can tell that he knows something, something about how you keep coming back from death after death, always ready to take more abuse.

You can feel the water beginning to well up, as your vision becomes wavy and blurred. You grit your teeth and keep your eyes firmly closed, willing back the tears with pure determination. When something touches your face, you flinch back, expecting an attack or some form of blow. Your chair topples out from under you, but the expected pain from hitting the floor never comes.

Your eyes startle open slightly, and there’s a blue glow around you as you’re slowly lowered to the floor. You can’t help but stare at Sans, an echoing blue glow dimly lit in his left eye. He’s moved so that he’s beside you now, sitting down on the floor next to you. You don’t flinch this time, even as the glow disappears and he tips his head back.

“how many times, kiddo?” he asks. You don’t want to answer. There’s a minute of silence, where you just focus on even breathing and try not to cry, because crying never helps or makes it stop. “yeah, guess i couldn’t say, either.” You shift so that you’re actually looking at him, rather than just keeping him in the corner of your vision.

You don’t know what he means by that. He couldn’t give you the number of times you died, or the number of times that he died? You see something in his face that tells you it’s both. “Didn’t count,” you murmur, afraid to speak too loudly. His face contorts oddly around his fixed grin.

You watch him breathe out slowly, his skeletal body mimicking the movement of lungs. “this is why i don’t make promises, kid. it’s always so hard to keep them, over and over again.” Sans offered you a smile. “c’mon, kiddo, don’t make these dry bones sit on the floor all night. let’s get back up to the table, and we can chair our stories up there.” You smile slightly as he slowly stands up, stretching and popping his bones back into place before carefully extending a hand to you. You take his hand, half-expecting to find a whoopee cushion, but instead your clammy skin comes into contact with his oddly warm and gentle bones.

Sans easily pulls you to your feet, and you’re impressed by the strength of the small skeleton… though it changes to being impressed by his magic instead when you realize that you’re glowing slightly blue. You slip into the chair, wondering when it was up-righted. Sans slips back across from you, and you meet his penetrating gaze. “look, kid, we can table this discussion for later, but it would probably be a chair-y good idea to talk about what’s happening first.” The ridiculous puns pull a smile onto your face, and you nod hesitantly. “alright, let’s do it like this. you tell me most of what you know, i'll tell you most of what i know, and we both walk out of here with a few more nightmares and a few more answers.”

You don’t really like the sound of that, but Sans isn’t forcing you to talk about everything. Most of what you know isn’t even all that much, so it shouldn’t be too hard to say it. “I keep coming back.” You think that pretty much covers everything, but you should probably say more just in case. What has he figured out already, though? What have you figured out already? “Whenever I die, I wake back up. It’s like it never happened; only a bad dream, but I remember. I can feel it.” Your fist clenches as you raise it up to your chest. “It hurts.” You carefully place your hand on the table, keeping it from shaking.

“yeah. it really does hurt, even though nothing’s there. it doesn’t matter if your body never remembers it – your mind does, and your soul always will as well.” Bony fingers rise up and slowly cover your own, movements obvious and deliberate.  “you ever gone back on purpose before?”

You stare at his hand covering yours, feeling comforted even though you can see your pink skin peeking out beneath the bone. His bones are softer than you expected; firm, but velvety rather than scratchy. You don’t have to think very hard about your answer. “I jumped back to walking with the monster kid. Undyne was right ahead, and I didn’t want to face her or get caught by her. I kept going back, picking up the umbrella and giving it to the statue, walking through the rain and around the puddles. I got a first look at the castle over and over again. It was… nice.”

You bit your lip, unsure whether you want to admit the other time you did it on purpose. Sans face looks softer now, the grin a bit less empty than it was earlier. You wonder how you’re reading emotions in a face made entirely out of bones and magic, before you realize that the magic is probably the how. It was even easier to read Papyrus’ emotions. “I, um, dated your brother several times. It was nice to spend time with him, even though I don’t… even though he kept getting the wrong idea.” You blush.

Sans laughed, and your blush grew deeper. “nah, kid, i can’t blame you. pap’s pretty cool, isn’t he?” You nod, waiting for the punchline or the punch. “you don’t have to keep loading to spend time with him, though.” You bit your lip again, and the taste of blood leaks into your mouth. Sans grin had dropped when he spoke, and you remembered how powerful you thought he was. “it’s kind of unfair, spending time with him, when he’ll never get to remember it, isn’t it?” He doesn’t sound like he’s trying to be cruel, but he definitely isn’t happy.

You wait for him to act on his anger, lash out like everyone else, and stay silent. You aren’t supposed to try and make excuses. Your tablemate just keeps waiting. You can tell that he’s expecting you to say something, but you don’t know what to say. “He…” You begin, and trail off. “He doesn’t have to spend so much time with me, like this.” You stop, trying to find words for all your reasons. “He’s busy with his important job, and I don’t want to mess that up.” You think of how happy Papyrus was when talking about his puzzles. “You don’t have to see me as much, either… but maybe you still do?” You trail off, confused. He figured out that you can go back, but does he remember?

Sans closes his eyes and leans back, finally removing his hand from yours. “aw, kid, you should have realized by now that Papyrus would love to spend time with you. he doesn’t get the option to hang out with his friends very often, so i bet he would really enjoy talking with you if you. you don’t have to reload to spend time with him – just call him with your skele-phone.” The pun pulls a little smile onto your face, and Sans opens his eyes in time to catch it before it slips away. “really, kid, just give him a call when you’re wandering around down here. throw him a bone on the phone every now and then and he’ll talk your ear right off.”

You nod hesitantly, unsure but wanting to believe the laidback skeleton. You had called Papyrus several times – he had given you his number, after all – but you weren’t sure whether or not you were calling him too much. You knew better than to talk a lot or to demand attention. “give him a call as soon as you have time. he always picks up before the second ring, so he’ll be sure to be there.” Sans is smiling again, and it finally feels genuinely happy. Papyrus was really good at inspiring positive emotions wherever he went. “he’ll always answer when you call for him. he’s just cool like that.”

Finally, a smile breaks across your face as well. Papyrus really is a cool guy, maybe even the coolest monster in the entire Underground. You nod firmly this time, the thought of your friend filling you with determination.

[Save]

You feel lighter as you leave the restaurant. Sans had only talked for several more moments before leaving, but not before telling you something very important. “some people out there really care about you.” You wondered who he was including within those people… and why they cared about you in the first place. You had to believe Sans, though – he hadn’t lied to you yet, and he knew.

You were almost sick with relief that you weren’t alone, that you weren’t imagining everything. Then you felt terrible, because that meant you weren’t the only one to have died and come back, that he had also experienced the visceral terror. The sick feeling in your stomach wasn’t from relief anymore.

[Save]

Lostale Chapter 1 - The First Descent

Summary - Somehow, your soul has wandered into the Undertale universe; it probably happened when you lost your grip on life. Now you’re stuck in a land of monsters, trapped by a magic barrier and unending time loops.

You know the story, the people (monsters) surrounding you; you know how to save them, and how easily you can die. It’s a good thing you don’t really care about living then, isn’t it? …Perhaps not, because it’s that lack of determination that let’s Flowey remain in control of the resets. You can’t quite muster up the necessary emotion to save, or load, or even reset; sometimes, you feel that there’s just a void where your heart once was.

First Flowey, then Toriel, and all the rest of the monsters whose paths you cross… they’re slowly forcing you to face the real world. Something about the Underground is inspiring feelings in you, the feeling that there’s something you can do. It’s giving you the ability to care, to joke, to laugh, to cry… After all - the barrier doesn’t care if you can save. You have a human soul - the seventh soul that the monsters need to break free.

Trigger warnings for breakdowns, depression, very slight suicidal thoughts.

You were lying down, fading in and out of consciousness, when you suddenly realized that the world had changed. The numbing fog faded slightly as you tried to figure out what it was – what had just pulled you out of your fugue. You could remember lying in your bed, darkness – dark, darker, and even darker blackness – and someone’s laughter… You didn’t really care, though. You just wanted to go back to oblivion, let yourself fade away…

You sat up; you stood up. You couldn’t keep lying down – something was calling out to you. Your ears were ringing from the silence as you shambled forwards, not really looking around. This wasn’t your room, nor did it even look like a room at all. You stopped just before you stepped on some grass.

In confusion, you looked down and stared blankly at the greenery. What was grass doing in front of you? You hadn’t been outside to see grass since… since…

“Howdy!” You want to snap your head up to see who’s talking, but you can’t bring yourself to muster the energy. Instead, you keep staring at the grass… and the weird yellow flower that popped up out of it. Huh. That’s enough to stir your interest despite yourself, and you focus on the oddity.

“My name’s Flowey. Flowey the Flower!” Flowey’s head bobbed on his stem as he talked, and a giant grin spread across his yellow face. You stare blankly for a moment, before you realize why you aren’t surprised. You used to play a video game with a Flowey in it. You remember liking the game; you remember loving it and going over everything about it you could find. You could remember reading stories, imagining stories, imagining yourself suddenly in this world…

But right now, you couldn’t muster up the energy to care. “Hi, Flowey,” you mutter tonelessly. It was an automatic response, and it was easier to say it than to ignore it.

The flower gazed at you for several long seconds, probably analyzing you and trying to predict how you’d act. You didn’t really know how you’d continue reacting – if you’d continue reacting before retreating back into yourself – so you wished him luck. “Golly, aren’t you polite! You sure seem pretty tired…” You shrug; it’s true. About all you can feel now is how tired you are. “Well, I can help you go to sleep!”

Your lips twitch upwards slightly as you guess at what he actually means. He’s probably going to send you off into eternal sleep. You think about running away, distracting him by talking, dodging when he attacks… doing nothing and letting him kill you. That…sounds kind of nice, actually. Maybe you should let him help you?

Flowey sways happily on his stem, apparently not too put out about not getting a response. “That sure looks like a yes to me! Here, let me show you a neat trick first!” Your heart beats faster in anticipation as Flowey pulls it from your chest. You can’t help but to look, but to see what you are. You’ve always wanted to know what your SOUL color would be.

Helpless laughter spilled from you, unbidden and without thought, as you finally get your answer. Grey – your SOUL was grey, pale and washed out. Any color that might have stained it had been washed almost entirely away. If you look closer, you can see a faint hint of a hue – maybe blue, or possibly green, or even purple. It’s too pale to tell; it might as well be yellow for all you can tell.

Flowey echoes your laughter with his own hollow giggles. “Wow, your SOUL is so weak! You see that heart?” He nods at your heart, and you give a helpless nod of your own, still chuckling mirthlessly. “That’s your SOUL, the very culmination of your being!”

“I guess it’s the soul factor of who I am?” you ask, and a wry grin slipped on your face. Huh. You felt more alive now than you had in what felt like a very long time. You even felt alive enough to try and make bad puns.

The flowers wide grin twitched and faded slightly. It looks like he doesn’t appreciate puns very much. “You’re pretty weak right now, but…” he trailed off in a teasing singsong. You just waited for him to continue, shifting your weight to the other foot. “It can grow stronger if you gain a lot of LV!”

You felt yourself becoming more alive as Flowey’s dialogue kept pulling memories of the game more and more into the forefront of your mind, shielding you from what you were avoiding. “What’s El Vee? Lotsa’ ‘vigoration? Love values? Level? Lovely Violets?” You ask almost playfully, curious to see if the flower would get the same irritated twitch as earlier. It was interesting to see the soulless flower reacting so emotionally.

The twitch you saw earlier did, in fact, return as Flowey struggled to keep playing nice. “Why, no, silly! LV stands for LOVE, of course!” You nod faux-sagely, humor draining away. You wonder if you have any LOVE in your heart. “Hey, don’t worry! I’ll share some with you, and then you’ll have a nice deep sleep!”

Flowey winked, and the air around him sparkled. You…weren’t too sure about letting him kill you anymore. You kind of wanted to see what the Underground was like. Huh – you were wanting things again, more than –

You shook your head vigorously, your most energetic motion so far. No, that was why you couldn’t stay awake, stay aware. You took a step back and watched your Soul follow along simultaneously. You were stepping away from the thoughts like you always did, avoiding reality and the truth.

The being watching you saw your denial and retreat. “Aw, come on, friend! LOVE is nice, and helps you not feel so broken inside!” You wonder how high his LV is. “Look – down here, LOVE is shared through… Little white… Friendliness pellets!” White bullets spun around Flowey, and you were surprised by how small they were. Then again, when you compared them to the size of actual bullets… they were pretty large in comparison, weren’t they? “Don’t they look nice and friendly?” You wanted to laugh at how hard Flowey was trying to appear ‘nice and friendly’ – yet still managing to fail.

Instead, you took a step closer to the flower, watching your heart move closer to the magical projectiles. You weren’t sure what you wanted to do, yet. Dodge or wait? Live or die? …did it even matter? You pulled back, frowning, as you realized that you were caught in an area that was trapped within an eternal time loop. Did Flowey or Frisk hold the power to Save and Reset? If you died… would you wake up with your memories intact whenever they wound time back?

Flowey didn’t care about your hesitation. “Are you ready?” His chirpy voice called out as the bullets spun. “Move around! Get as many as you can!” The ‘friendliness pellets’ all homed in on you and flew forward, slowly enough that you didn’t instinctively flinch back. You waited as they grew closer, and closer… before stepping to the side and watching them fly past. They disappeared before they got too far away from Flowey, but you were busy watching Flowey’s reaction.

His grin slipped slightly, but stayed on by sheer determination. It looked strained and obviously forced, and probably wouldn’t have convinced anybody even if they didn’t know what was actually going on. “Hey buddy, you missed them.” You shrug at him in an almost apology, and he was quick to begin smiling easily once more. “Let’s try again, okay?” This time the bullets formed and shot at you much more quickly, but it was still easy to dodge them.

Flowey wasn’t bothering to try to smile anymore. His little face made no effort to hide the anger and irritation he felt at your repeated thwarting of his attempts to kill you. You doubted he was really trying all that hard, but it probably was annoying to just have someone ignore you like you were ignoring him. You wondered how often Flowey was overlooked, how much time he actually spent in anyone’s presence. People would go mad in isolation, wouldn’t they? Papyrus was his friend, as much as an energetic skeleton could be to a soulless flower, but you didn’t think Flowey talked to people all that much.

…No wonder his acting and conversational skills sucked. “Is this a joke?” he demanded. “Are you braindead?” You shrugged again in response and he looked furious. “RUN. INTO. THE. BULLETS!!!” You couldn’t help but smile as he instantly tried to correct himself, pasting on a friendly face and almost speaking over himself, “Friendliness pellets.”

You gave him a ‘B’ for effort, an ‘F’ for sincerity, and an overall failing grade in accuracy as you dodged the rapidly spinning bullets. You were glad you didn’t let him hit you right away; this was too good to miss. A sudden chill filled the air, and you watched the flower child’s face transform. The friendly smile and cheerful eyes were replaced by a fanged gash and hollow emptiness. His voice echoed as he spoke, low pitched and menacing. Your amusement and lingering numbness turned into instinctual fear as your body began shrieking warning signs at you. Oh.

“YoU knOW WhaT’S gOIng oN HErE, DOn’t yOU?” You shuddered as his voice split as he spoke. You took several steps blindly backward, heart pulsing furiously outside your chest. “YOu jUst WAntEd tO SeE ME sUFfer.” Flowey cut off your escape was with a ring of bullets that blazed into existence around you, a circle surrounding you at waist height.

“Die.”

As spine-chilling laughter echoed in the cave, you frantically ducked and tried to dart under the bullets. You skidded to a halt as they copied you, dropping so that you couldn’t have avoided them. You didn’t know why you were trying so hard, why you were avoiding the bullets, but… you didn’t want to die.

You frantically backed into the middle of the circle as the bullets moved closer, slow in Flowey’s security of his victory. You wanted to scream out for help, to cry out in denial, the hide your rapidly-beating heart before you had a heart attack… so you did. “Help,” came out as a whisper, rasping up your dry throat. “HELP!” You screamed out in terror, wanting someone to save you, wanting someone to come and make everything better, wanting someone –

Someone came. Heat blazed through the air as a fireball slammed into Flowey’s face. He let out a shriek as he the force flung him away, his magic bullets disappearing as he his concentration was shattered. You stared in stunned silence, your throat stinging as you watched the singed plant pull itself underground. A large white monster strode forward, the fire cradled in her palm slowly fading into smoke. It was Toriel.

She watched Flowey disappear before she let the fire fully dissipate, turning away with a sigh. “What a miserable creature, torturing such a poor, innocent youth.” Why was she calling you an innocent youth? She should be able to see that you aren’t. The fuzzy maternal monster turned away from Flowey’s disappearance and towards you, a kind smile on her face. “Ah, do not be afraid! I am Toriel, caretaker of the Ruins.”

She didn’t have to worry; you weren’t afraid anymore. She didn’t have to introduce herself either; you already knew who she was. You show that lack of fear and the decent grip on manners that you still manage to maintain by stepping forward, offering her a hand for a handshake. Your pathetic looking excuse for a heart came forward with you, and you saw Toriel’s eyes focus on it. You stepped back, outstretched hand coming back to cover your exposed heart as you watched an expression of sadness cross her face. You didn’t want to introduce yourself anymore.

You didn’t want to say your name. You weren’t going to say your name unless someone asked… and they wouldn’t.

Toriel began talking again, and both of you pretended not to notice the enormous social gaff you’d just made. “I pass through this place every day to see if anyone has fallen down. You are the first human to come here in a long time. Come!” she called, and gestured you forwards. “I will guide you through the catacombs.”

Your soul throbbed once more before sliding back into your chest, Toriel turning and walking away in the same heartbeat. You wondered what would happen if you didn’t follow her. Would she wait for you? Would she head home without you? She had saved you earlier, but would she continue to save you when all you did was –

“Thank you,” you croak out as you stumble forward. She had saved you, after all. Even if you weren’t sure whether or not you wanted to thank her for that, you appreciated the effort she had showed. You pulled back in alarm as she abruptly turned towards you, concern on her face.

“Is your throat injured?” she asked as she stepped forward. You didn’t say anything, just looking up into her face as she approached. What would she do? You closed your eyes when she lifted a hand – the same one that had burned her former child – towards you. You braced yourself for anything, but still flinched slightly when her soft paw cupped over your throat. The scratchiness inside faded slightly as your skin warmed, a soft glow managing to shine through despite your closed eyes.

This must be healing magic. It felt…kind, like someone asking how your day went, like someone making you a homemade meal, like someone drawing you into a hug, like someone telling you everything would be okay, like someone listening to your fears, like someone wiping away your tears…

You didn’t realize you were crying until the same warmth touched your face, wiping under your eyes and leaving wet cheeks behind. You refused to open your eyes, instead turning your face down. You felt wetness drip from your chin before Toriel placed a hand there, gently applying pressure until you lifted your face, eyes grudgingly sliding open. You saw a smile, gentle and worn, and warm eyes, crinkled and lined with stress and happiness.  

You didn’t want to see this; you didn’t want to feel this. The feelings Toriel was inspiring within you were a lie. You didn’t want to raise a hand to clutch at the one holding you steady. You didn’t want to lean into the comfort she was offering. You didn’t want to sag into her as she enveloped you in a hug. You didn’t want to collapse into her arms, sobbing. You didn’t want to remember your past.

…But you did.

.oOo. .oOo. .oOo

Current >> Next >>Last - Chapter 6 This story is also posted on AO3 here and FF.net here.

Lostale Chapter 2 - Wake-up Call

This is a quiet, calm chapter that mostly takes place in Toriel's sitting room, where pleasant breakfast conversation is discussed. You know, like about how you're trapped beneath a barrier and your only escape is to die or to kill someone else. Fun talk! 

Warning for vague references to planned death, characters getting emotional, and some quality puns.

The darkness surrounding you was warm. You never wanted to leave this nice, comforting oblivion. There was a soothing static surrounding your thoughts, muting the hurt they caused. You felt like you could stay here forever or for no time at all, and everything would pass on by.

…Something called for your attention, breaking through the haze. It was sweet, coaxing, and made you think of soft things. It was warmth and kindness, and even though those thoughts hurt… you found yourself rising to wakefulness.

“Please wake up, my child. It is time to rise and break your fast.” The voice was unfamiliar but gentle, and you knew that it was talking to you. You didn’t want to listen, but you didn’t have much choice from where you were lying down. “Come, you have slept for long enough.”

You shifted groggily, hearing the rustle of blankets and feeling a soft surface beneath you. No matter how much you slept, it never seemed like enough. You wanted to sleep forever, and let the empty world pass on without you. It wasn’t like anyone wanted you there, anymore. There wasn’t anyone…

Which was why you were confused about the voice. Who could be calling out to you? Why were they asking you to wake up? You didn’t want to wake up. Life wasn’t about what you wanted, though, and you felt slumber slipping farther away.

When a hand landed on your shoulder and shook you gently, you forced your eyes open. The first thing you saw was purple, purple fabric and white fur. Had someone dressed up a gigantic stuffed teddy bear? It was only when you saw the face that you remembered what happened before you last fell asleep… or as had actually happened, collapsed unconscious into a goat lady’s arms.

You had sobbed yourself into sleep in a strangers arms; how embarrassing. Of course, you knew her – knew practically everyone in the Underground that you could come across – but to her, you were just a random human that fell apart. She comforted you despite that lack of familiarity, so you owed it to her to get up like she was asking. So you did.

Her hand slipped off your shoulder as you rose, blankets pooling around your waist and warm air rushing to surround you in its place. Even as you shifted, it still felt as if gravity pulled down on your chest, a heavy weight pressing inwards even as you became more vertical than horizontal. It didn’t matter how you felt, though – you owed it to Toriel to try, in thanks for her not flaming you but instead taking you to safety.

…You assumed she had taken you to safety, what with the soft surface you had just been sleeping on. Looking past her, blearily rubbing at your eyes in an attempt to focus them, you could see a wardrobe and a table with a lamp on it. You were inside a house, then – probably her house. You stared at Toriel for several seconds before you realized that you should probably respond to her calls. “…I’m awake.”

Her smile in reply was enough for you to know you had been right to speak. “Very good, my child! Now, please, come with me and I shall see to your nourishment!” She rose from where she had been leaning beside your bed, and waited by the door. She seemed perfectly content to just stand there, a little smile on her face.

You didn’t want her to have to wait on your account. You tiredly began mustering your energy, preparing to either speak again or rise to follow her. Zombie-like in your automatic motions, you swung your legs out of bed, the limbs thudding like lead weights against the floor and side of the bed. You stared blankly for a moment, trying to remember what you were about to do next. … Oh, that was it.

You mechanically push the last of the covers off your lap, and lever yourself upwards. You swayed as you stood, but all in all, you were successful in standing. You debated whether this was worth a pat on the back in reward or a smack on the head for not doing so earlier.

Toriel seemed pleased, and finally left the room. You followed her, not knowing what else to do. You wanted to go back to sleep, but that didn’t seem like an option right now. Not with Toriel leading the way, humming quietly as she ushered you towards a chair at the table. You blinked when you realized you were staring at the tabletop in the dining room. When did that happen?

Several blinks later, you felt warmth besides you, and you looked up to see Toriel placing a plate and cup before you. Your mind slowly focused, finally whirring into gear, as you took a blind sip from the glass. You vaguely registered tasting something sweet and warm, and then something crunchy and oddly tangy as you ate.

“Do you like the food, my child?” Toriel asked, her own plate empty as she leaned forward. You looked down at your equally empty plate – for the life of you, you had no idea what you’d just eaten. You didn’t remember anything tasting really bad, so you gave her a little nod, head jerking up and down on fraying puppet strings. Her smile made the effort more than worth it. “I am very glad to hear this; I no longer have the opportunity to cook for others as often as I would like.” Her smile grew melancholy, and you finally felt yourself snap into the present moment.

A veil seemed to lift from the world around you as you finally woke up. Toriel needed you right now. “Thank you,” you began hesitatingly, noting how smooth your throat felt, how softly your voice came out. “I really appreciated the food.” You took an additional second to brace yourself, to gather your facilities. What should you be doing right now? What did Toriel need? What was she expecting you to do?

…Ah. She was probably expecting you to be afraid, or need more clarification about monsters and the Underground. “Where am I?” you asked, more strongly than before.

Toriel paused before answering you, examining you thoughtfully. “You are in my home within the Ruins, my child. It lies within the far end of the Underground, home to the monsters banished from the surface.” You wondered how much you could be expected to know about monsters; the game had been entirely unclear on the human world outside.

“I…think I heard a story about monsters, before,” you began. “That they were sealed away, locked behind a magic barrier.” You find yourself smiling slightly as you speak, knowing how your words were true and yet a lie at the same time. “I thought it was just a tale, something someone made up.” That someone being Toby Fox, of course – that would be the Annoying Dog, here. You wondered if you’d run into him, and what he’d say to you. …Bark, bark, probably.

The smile Toriel gave you in return was very sad as she spoke. “I am afraid that this is no faerie tale, my child. We monsters are all very real and inescapably trapped by the Barrier – and now that you have fallen here, you are captured within its boundaries as well.” She rose to her feet, elegance in every movement despite how tall and sturdy she was. Crossing the room in several steady strides, she reached down and plucked a book from the bookshelf. She returned to the table, neatly sliding the book beside your plate.

“Here is a portion of our history, carefully created since the construction of the barrier. If you wish to learn more, you may peruse its contents while I attend to the food and the kitchen. When I return, I would be willing to answer any questions that you may have.” Toriel gently placed her hand on your head, ruffling your already messy hair and sending it into further disarray. She smoothed your hair back down, before stepping aside and heading towards the kitchen. You idly wonder whether or not she has a hairbrush before you turn your attention to the book.

It was a slim volume, and you didn’t think this was anywhere near a large enough to contain the monster’s history since being trapped underground. How many decades, centuries, or even millennia had the monsters been down here? Surely it was more than enough to have a proper full-sized book? You began flipping through the pages, skimming for anything that hadn’t been mentioned within the game.

Your memory of the game was somewhat fuzzy at this point – though not half as fuzzy as Toriel – but just looking through these pages was enough to rekindle your knowledge. It mentioned the war with the humans, the barrier being risen, the monsters migration to the far end of the caves, the hard days where monsters slowly adjusted to their new lives, how despair and hope filled the Underground in equal turns, how the king and queen had inspired happiness amongst their subjects, how one day they felt settled enough they had created a child of their own, how a human fell into the Underground, how there was finally hope for peace, how the monsters list their fear and slowly spread across the caverns, how both of the royal family’s children had died, how the king declared war against humans and the underground fell into despair once more, how monsters Fell Down and died…

You gently closed the book and sighed, feeling even emptier at the thought of the monsters’ hardships. They didn’t deserve to be locked down here, just because humans were a bunch of paranoid, war-mongering bastards. You knew that the humans’ fears were almost completely unjustified – the only monster who had ever desired the power that the humans were terrified of, was a soulless creature who was acting based on his memories of how his human friend would have acted. …That was the issue, of course; humans were always all-too willing to grab for power, to help or to harm. It was difficult to imagine a race of beings that were made of positive emotions and magic, that had no real desire for power or the other stupid things humans always dreamed of and fought for…killed for.

The only reason that you knew better, yourself, was because you’d met and befriended all the monsters – even if it was only virtual versions of them within a game. You knew that none of them should be trapped down here, living their lives of forced cheer and failing hope. Your ragged nails bit into your hands as you clenched your fists tight, anger clawing its way to the surface of your mind. This wasn’t right. Your teeth bared in a snarl as you stared at the unintentionally damning book.

You wanted to do something, somehow – anything. What could you do, though, pathetic human that you were? The anger faded quickly, sinking back into darkness and despair. You felt your face slip, emotions dripping like the tears that were once more slipping down your cheeks. You used one of your still clenched hands to wipe the tears away, not sure if they were from anger or sadness. It didn’t really matter, now did it?

“Child?” You duck your head down at the call, trying to hide your crying. You didn’t need to bother Toriel with another breakdown, not after you had forced her to deal with the mess that was you already. Your attempt was for naught, as you felt a warmth settle at your side. There was a gentle pressure against your shoulder, and you let it tug you into the furry mass. You bury your head into the fabric, once more being held by the giant goat mom who was really too good for this world. Too good to be trapped Underground. Too good to be trapped alone within the ruins.

“This isn’t right…” you mutter quietly, your voice muffled. “Why do people have to be trapped, just because another bunch of people were afraid?” You couldn’t communicate to her why you found this idea so distressing, when you’d supposedly only seen her and Flowey, who had already tried to kill you. That didn’t really matter, though. “Isn’t there any way for you to see the surface once more, break the barrier somehow?”

You knew the answer to that, but the book hadn’t mentioned it. Even with your knowledge, you didn’t know if it was really possible for the barrier to be broken – there was Flowey, so where was Frisk? How many humans had already fallen down, fallen into the king’s hands, fallen into death’s embrace and had their souls sealed away? You pull back, and meet Toriel’s eyes once more, tears completely absent from your own.

She looked hesitant, unsure of how to respond. Tell a broken child of how their death could spare a kingdom of monsters, of how the only other way to escape was to kill a monster and steal their soul, or lie? You wordlessly challenged her to tell the truth. “Child… the barrier was constructed by seven great mages. No one has been able to shatter the barrier in the centuries we’ve been trapped within.” She wasn’t lying, but she wasn’t looking at you anymore. Her gaze had fallen, trapped somewhere between cruel memories and harsh reality.

“If it’s been centuries, have you been able to come up with any ideas? Has it weakened any? Have any actions been taken?” You didn’t know why you were being so forceful, the queries and almost accusations tearing their way free without your input. You pull back, regaining yourself, and feel an odd sensation beginning to fill you from within. Maturity, fear, understanding, drive – you didn’t know.

She definitely looked pained as she responded to your questions. “The Barrier is self-sustaining, and will last for centuries more without fading. We do know how to break the barrier, but… it is not a viable option, child.”

For the first time, you did not want to appear as a child before this monster. She wouldn’t share the dark truth with a child, and you already knew what she was hesitant to admit. “What is the key, then? Why won’t it work?” You knew why she didn’t want it to work, but the fact is, that it would work.

She drew back entirely, taking the book with her as she left the table. You watched as she slid the book back where it belonged, and picked up the book from her chair instead. “Would you like to hear a snail fact?” she asked, a pleading tone in her voice. “They are quite fascinating creatures.”

You were being cruel, hurting her with your words, bringing up thoughts and wounds that had yet to heal. You felt sick to your stomach at the realization, and felt even more worthless and pathetic than before. God, you hated yourself so much. This is why you shouldn’t try to do anything, shouldn’t try to help – you only hurt others, made things worse. You really needed to stop trying, just… stop.

You couldn’t stop. “Toriel?” you questioned softly, masking the pain in your voice with the concern you felt. “What is the key to breaking the barrier?” You were gentle, coaxing – as if she was the broken one, and not you. Perhaps you both were.

She remained silent for several long minutes, and you didn’t push. You were afraid to say anything else, lest she start destroying things – the door to the ruins, for one; any leftover positive regard towards you, for another. Instead, you stood from the table and went to her, kneeling down in front of the fire before her.

“…do you truly wish to know?” she asked, just as softly as you had. “There is a reason that the barrier has not been broken, despite our knowing how.” You silently nodded, unwilling to speak up and accidently stop her. “It is a cruel key; must you really know?” You nodded again, firmly. She sighed, but continued.

“To break the barrier, seven human souls must be gathered. Only with the power of seven human souls, equivalent to the mages who first erected it, can the barrier be destroyed.” A tear leaked down her cheek. “Humans have fallen down here before, left the ruins and attempted to reach the barrier. They have all fallen before the king, dead by Asgore’s hands.”

You let out a soft “ah,” of understanding, and reach up to cup her hands. “How many humans have there been before me? How close are you to being free?”

Her face twitched, and another tear broke free. “Too many, and too far.” Your lip quirks up slightly in morbid humor at her poetic non-answer, but you reach up to wipe away her tears. “I have seen so many children come and go, and my heart will always remain trapped here.” You sigh, feeling sorry for her, but the heavy weight you carry in your own chest will not allow you to dwell without drowning even farther.

“Toriel…” you begin, not sure how to ask what you need to know. If you are one of the earlier humans to fall, you could stay with her, and ask her to bring the king your soul upon your inevitable death. However, if it was as you were expecting, and you were the seventh soul they needed… well. “I don’t want to see you trapped here,” you said helplessly. “I don’t… I want to…” you struggle for the right words, for the emotions you should be feeling. “I’m not…” …that still wasn’t right. “I’m willing to…”

“No!” Toriel cried out. She flung her snail book aside as she slid out of her chair, falling to her knees before you. Her arms wrapped around you in a desperate hug, and you felt your insides clenching.  You felt grief begin to rise, but acceptance and gentle warmth caught the emotion and replaced it. You returned her hug carefully for a moment, but pulled back – not out of her grip, just enough to let her see your eyes – your determination, or lack of it when it came to caring about your own life.

“I will not see another child die!” she proclaimed, a queen’s edict, a demand for her subjects to obey and for fate to abide by her whims.

You weren’t one of her subjects, and fate was folly only to its own whims. “I am not a child, Toriel,” you state calmly. Familiar detachment had fallen upon you. “If I am able to help others, if my dying could set other beings and children free…” An empty smile crossed your face as you pulled back and stepped away, trying not to see the heartbreak on her face. This sort of thing was why you needed to die. “At least then it would mean something, yeah?”

She looked stricken, but not surprised. “Child, you…” she faltered. “You could stay with me, be happy here,” she tried. You let your empty gaze speak for you. “You have not even seen the Ruins yet – surely that is something you wish to do.”

You pause, consider her words. You thought you should want to see the ruins, experience the puzzles for yourself. There was a chance of you dying and breaking your soul, though… and you couldn’t quite muster up the desire to experience new lands and people.  You were barely able to muster the desire to try to break the Barrier, after all. You didn’t really have enough energy to spare for much else. You shake your head in negation. “There’s… not much I can want, nowadays,” you try to explain. “There’s not much I can even try to want.” You see understanding and sadness in her eyes, and know you have won. It’s a bittersweet victory, and it tastes sour in your mouth – nothing like butterscotch or cinnamon.

You offer her a helpless smile, empty of all but the echoes of emotion. “I… am sorry.” This was the truth – sorrow was there, that you were doing this to her, but it wasn’t enough. “That would sound nice, but…” you look away.

She draws back, and you hear the floor creak as she stands. “Will you wait one day?” She asks quietly. “Just enough for you to consider this fully – for you to enjoy even a little bit of life?”

You don’t know what will hurt her more – if you stay a little longer, or if you leave immediately. “I’ve considered my death for far longer than this…” you admit, “but… if you want me to wait a little while longer…”

“I do,” she says softly. You take in a deep breath, hold it for a moment, and breathe out slowly. You don’t know what to do.

“Okay,” you accede to her wishes. Your lips do the funny twitchy thing again. “I guess you can show me the Ruins after all.” Something catches your eye, and you stretch out and grabbed the book that had been mercilessly discarded. “Before that, though…” you stand offering the tome back to Toriel, who is still standing in the doorway. “1001 Interesting Snail Facts” is proudly displayed on the cover.

“I wouldn’t mind hearing some of those snail facts, now. I’m feeling a bit too sluggish to move around overly much.” You chuckle slightly, and receive a small giggle in return. Your heart relaxes slightly, loosening the tight band trapped around your chest. “I’m not ready to escargot anywhere just yet.”

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This story is also on AO3 here and FF.net here.

So. Yeah. You're willing to die to break the barrier, and you made Toriel cry. But, hey! At least you made a few good snail puns! ...Here's a warning: more puns are coming. Let me know what you think of them? In case the last one didn't make sense, escargot is pronounced es-car-go, not es-car-got. ...Okay, so I have almost 5 chapters in total written (some need to be typed up and edited), and at this point, I may as well call this story HugTale. So far, there have been hugs in every chapter. (Ch5 may break this streak) What can I say? I like hugs, and Toriel likes giving hugs, apparently.

Lostale Ch 3 - Day of Res-pie-te

Rather than delve into snail facts immediately, Toriel insisted on showing you the ruins. You acquiesced easily enough, willing to go along with whatever she wanted for what remained of the day. Despite the less-than-pleasant talk you two had just shared, Toriel seemed very excited to tour the ruins with you. You followed along just behind and beside Toriel as she led the way out of her home.

The first thing that had caught your eye had been the dark and empty branches of a tree, twisting and rising above a carpet of red leaves. Toriel had called it a ‘never-green tree’, and you’d felt that same quirk of humor that was beginning to arise more often. The name was a lot more accurate than ‘ever-red’, or even ‘ever-black’ – you stood there long enough to watch a leaf grow, already crimson red at its creation, before it soon lost its grip and broke away to join the pile of fallen debris below.

You wondered if that tree was the source of all the red leaves that were scattered in neat piles throughout the ruins, adding a touch of extra color to the entirely purple themed rooms. You spotted several Froggits playing amongst the leaves in one of the next rooms, with a cautious Whimsun fluttering nearby. When you stopped to watch, Toriel joined you. Within moments, the monsters you were watching had noticed, and began to shy away.

You turned away as well, with a slight pang in your heart at the rejection. Huh. You didn’t expect that to hurt. Why shouldn’t you have, though? Didn’t just about everything hurt these days? You continued on, not entirely sure where you were going as Toriel lingered behind for several more seconds. You both wound your way through the entirety of the ruins, from the rotating room to the rock puzzles to the crumbling floors.

Eventually, you reached the room where Flowey had confronted you. Toriel hesitated, but when you made no move to continue, she placed a hand on your shoulder before moving into the flower room. You simply sat on the grass, right before where Flowey had popped up. He didn’t appear, but that didn’t surprise you – he was likely wary with Toriel nearby, and the Flower wasn’t really the confrontational type, anyways. He was the sneaky follower type instead.

You did join Toriel in the flower room, Chara’s grave. She was tending to the flowers when you approached, and you knelt down to assist her. There was silence for several minutes, before she slowly began telling you her tale. She talked about her children, her firstborn son and her only child by birth, and the seven other children she had cared for as her own. You silently noted that you would indeed be the seventh soul – the eighth human to fall.

You spared a moment to wonder what would happen with Frisk; had you replaced them, or just fallen before them? You let the thought linger as you listened, Toriel telling tales of her children’s antics.

You heard about how her son had the kindest soul, always willing to stop and help another. You heard about how her first human child was wary, unable to trust anyone but her son who had found them and supported them when they were injured. You heard about how her second human child had been quiet; always willing to listen and wait before doing anything or making any judgements. You heard about her third human child, who was brash and headstrong, following his heart without pausing to think about the danger. You heard about her fourth human child, who loved to dance and threw her entire soul into the display without any artifice. You heard about her fifth human child, who was endlessly fascinated by this new land and wouldn’t stop until he’d learned about everything he could discover. You heard about her sixth human child, who had eagerly learned any recipes they could from Toriel and then shared the results with any nearby monsters. You heard about her seventh human child, who had felt a profound sense of what was wrong and right within the world and set about ‘fixing’ that wherever he could.

You heard about her eighth human child, who felt broken but had a soul big enough for the entire Underground. You thought that was an interesting description for Frisk…before you remembered that Toriel hadn’t met Frisk. You had frozen, staring up at Toriel with wide eyes, all else momentarily forgotten. Her smile was soft and sad as she abandoned her own flowers to lean over, engulfing you in another hug.

The world was warm within her love, overflowing and reaching out to you. “You said that you are not a child,” she breathed into your hair, “but know that I shall always treasure you as my child. Even if this is the only time we have,” she broke off, “I want you to know how much it means to me.”

You were confused, lost, and hurting. Why was she doing this, saying this? You’d broken down before her, she knew you were broken, and she’d known you for less than a day. Why was she claiming you as her own? Why was she setting herself up for heartache? You’d already hurt her, unintentionally and unfortunately intentionally; why was she only setting herself up for more hurt?

You were still lost as she pulled you to your feet, standing herself. She kept your hand within hers as you began the steady trek back to her home. You expected her to let go when you reached the long corridor to prove your independence, but all she did was hold your hand tighter. You made it through all the puzzles, even managing to lead slightly through the spike bridge and cracked floor maze. Toriel hadn’t seemed keen on you leading, but she let you try – at those times, her grip on your hand seemed to be far more for her benefit than for yours.

Still, you didn’t encounter any monsters willing to confront either of you the entire way back. When you reached the entryway of the house, Toriel finally let go of your hand. “Please, explore the upper floors while I make us some food.” Her smile felt sad as she led you to the hallway, stopping before the first door. “For the time that you are here… you may consider this your room.” It was the room you’d woken up in, the room she would give to Frisk.

You reached out, giving Toriel a half-hug, before heading into the child’s room. She did not join you, instead heading back the hallway, and presumably to the kitchen. You felt exhausted, drained emotionally and physically, and simply dropped onto the bed. You sat there for several moments, not sure what to do. Slowly, you toed off your shoes, and lay back above the blankets. You stared emptily at the blank ceiling, thoughts mulled and indecipherable. You eventually closed your eyes, letting the darkness behind your eyelids echo the darkness within your mind and soul.

Dark…darker…yet darker; the faintest flicker of amusement threatened to rise at the fitting quote. Emptiness quickly quashed that emotion, and you wandered adrift, floating in a sea of denial. You could have remained there; safe from the hurts of the world, but once more a voice came to interrupt you. The sound was accompanied by a scent, unfamiliar but pleasant all the same.

Grudgingly, you dragged yourself back to the real world. Surprisingly, you even still had the energy to spare for opening your eyes, sending the darkness away until you next returned. Toriel was sitting on the bed, a plate carefully held in one hand. “Child?” she called worriedly.

The desire to not cause her any more worry gave you the motivation to rise, until you were sitting cross-legged on the bed facing her. When you moved, she smiled, and once you settled she offered out the plate. You took it carefully, unwilling to dirty the bed with crumbs.

It was a golden pie, and you realized that you knew what the scent was: butterscotch and cinnamon. You felt something rise unbidden in your chest. “I did not know which you preferred more, butterscotch or cinnamon…” Toriel began, shifting slightly. “So I used them both to create this pie. I do hope that you enjoy it.” She smiled, warm but wary, as if expecting another painful blow from you.

You felt tears gather in your eyes as you take a bite. The slice is still warm from Toriel’s fire magic, and you can taste the care and love that went into its creation. It has to be because of the magic that created it – you can actually feel the emotions poured into the food. Warmth, care, safety, concern, happiness, sadness; a promise – you choke, tears starting to overflow as the gentle emotions are pressed upon you. It’s painful, so extraordinarily painful, but it’s the most beautiful pain you’ve ever felt. The taste of cinnamon and butterscotch swirled on your tongue, sweet with enough to spice it up.

“I love it,” you choke, and have to set down the plate to wipe your eyes once more. “I love it…” you sob, as the emotions linger. You force yourself to take another bite, and bite back another sob at the renewed force of feelings. You see hands reaching out to take the plate away, and you desperately pull it back towards you, protecting it. The hands pause, retreat, and you feel a weight settle on your shoulder, pulling you into a hug without dislodging either you or the pie.

Toriel let you cry as you ate, and you could feel a similar warmth emanating from her as you could from the pie. The love that this woman could feel was unbelievable, overwhelming, and you didn’t know how to comprehend or respond to it.

Eventually, you finished, and the two of you sat together in silence for several moments before she began talking. “Oh dear… if this was your response to cinnamon and butterscotch, perhaps it is a good thing that I did not make snail pie.” You can’t help your quiet laugh, but you privately imagine that you would be almost just as torn up inside even if the pie Toriel baked had a more…questionable taste. “Pie believe that it may be best saved for another day.” You couldn’t stop yourself from cracking up, barely believing the pun she’d just made. Her eyes were sparkling as she continued, “I shell just have to wait.” You let out an undignified snort, amusement rising unfettered.

“Toriel, I believe that you butter stop now before you hurt yourself.” You giggle along with Toriel, even as you wonder why your heart feels so light. “These puns are barely half-baked.” That was so horrible, but you both are laughing like it’s the best joke you’ve heard in years.

“Do you know any batter ones, then?” You snicker, but shake your head.

“No, but I’m sure I can cook up a few more jokes anyways.” You should be ashamed of yourself, but all you can feel is happiness. It’s weird, being happy once more.

As you continue to trade jokes with Toriel, you feel another powerful emotion rising up. It isn’t one of your normal negative feelings, still blocked from you by the magical power of Toriel’s pie, love, and bad jokes. No – instead, you’re determined to find more happiness for Toriel.

For just a moment, you felt the world grow clear, and you know that you’ll remember this moment forever. The happiness of trading laughs with someone who sincerely loves bad jokes, the peace from spending time with someone who cares about you very much… it filled you with Determination.

You blink, and Toriel reels off one last pun before she leaves, taking the plate with her and humming as she goes. Something completely foreign had just happened, and you didn’t know what it was. The empty room sapped at your strength and your emotions, and you suddenly felt hollow, worn out and tired. You’d just expended a great deal of energy, after all. Keeping up with Toriel had been no joke.

You wanted to go back to sleep, but instead, you headed out to the sitting room. You had a limited amount of time to spend with Toriel, after all. She was sitting in her comfortable little chair, book in her lap, and you curled up on the floor beside her.

The fire magic from the fireplace warmed you as you listened to her speak, reading softly of snail facts. Every so often a small smile or frown flickered across your face, but you just sat there with your eyes closed, trying to soak up as much of the warmth radiating out as you could while you were able. It was oddly comfortable, and you drifted, half there and half within the void of your mind.

It was a delicate peace, and one destined to break, but it lasted through the rest of the evening. It even followed you to bed, as you and Toriel parted ways for the night and you slipped into slumber. It didn’t last long after that, the balance tipping back towards the darkness that supported you with its emptiness. There was no one to hurt you, no one to be hurt by; no one was supposed to be here, so there could be no one missing when they weren’t there.

You let yourself be vulnerable, open, with the darkness shielding you. You felt protected here, and you let that lull you into deeper sleep, deeper depths of darkness, deeper into the void…

><><><

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Lostale Chapter 4 - Pocketful of Sunshine

It's time to leave Toriel behind, and move forward to the Barrier. She has some things for you before you leave, and each of them are priceless.

I include an interpretation of Inventory and just how you can carry so many unwieldy items throughout the Underground - hopefully it will make sense.

You don’t want to wake up. Of course, when has what you wanted ever mattered? You’re leaving the depths of sleeps behind, rising from the quiet darkness to the deafening turmoil of your waking mind. You don’t like it at all. It’s too loud, too overbearing, always lashing out against you.

Thoughts of the past are dragging at your soul, hounding you with thoughts of what you could have done, with everything that has ever gone wrong. You are trapped within the thoughts of what you could have done, what you didn’t do, what you will never been able to do…

You internally flinch, and try to bury yourself back within the void. You don’t like thinking about many things anymore. It made you so exhausted, tired, dead inside – and wasn’t that a joke? You lacked the determination to do anything, fix anything, to stop hurting others…

There is something you can do. You would startle in remembrance, if you had the energy to spare. You’d been trapped Underground, within the barrier, and you could break it. You could help bring freedom to all of the monsters the barrier trapped, that the humans damned… and you wouldn’t even have to keep going after that.

You wouldn’t be making it out of the Underground, and that was oddly comforting. It was still an abstract enough notion to not be terrifying, but instead, relieving. You weren’t sure if you had enough energy to make it across the Underground in one piece, much less the energy to deal with anything after that. You would be able to stop…but first, you had to make it to the barrier.

You didn’t have the Determination to brute force your way through the Underground, using trial and error whenever something failed to work. You didn’t have the Determination to keep getting up each time you fell, were killed…so you’ll just have to be more careful. The thought of so much effort is already draining at your newfound conviction, but you force yourself to instead picture the results – all the monsters free, and you free in an entirely different way.

To do that, you’ll need to make it past Flowey, the Royal Guard, Papyrus, Undyne, Alphys, Mettaton, and everybody else along the way… that path sounds near-impossible. Aren’t there any shortcuts that you could take that would require less effort?

Maybe the Riverperson could – oh. The Riverperson wasn’t the only one who got around the Underground quickly; Sans explicitly used shortcuts to jump to wherever he wanted to be. Maybe you didn’t have to trek through the entire Underground; maybe you can just get Sans to take you straight to the king. It would be less work for you, and equally less work for him – right?

He shouldn’t have a problem with it…after all, it was only his promise to Toriel that kept him from immediately killing Frisk, wasn’t it? You’d already convinced Toriel to let you go forward with the express intent of handing your soul over to the king via death… surely that would be enough to relieve Sans of his promise? If the skeleton still wanted to keep the promise after he’s been released from the duty, wouldn’t him bringing you straight to the capital count as ‘guiding’ and ‘watching over’ you?

Unless…unless he wanted to give his brother a chance at human hunting? That would make Papyrus pretty happy, and isn’t that a major part of what drives Sans? …It’d be pretty risky, though, to just hope that a random human would play along with the puzzles and not hurt anyone along the way. Besides, if you did have fun with Papyrus, he might end up attached – there was no question that you were already attached to the cool skeleton even if you’d never seen him in person – and you’re just going to die. There’s no point in befriending Papyrus if you’re just going to take a permanent ‘vacation’ immediately after and never see him again…

Really, exposing yourself to Papyrus could only just cause more pain. There was nothing else that being alive seemed to do anymore but to hurt you and help you to hurt others. You grimace, unsure of what you can do to avoid causing others to feel worse. Maybe you should have just let Flowey kill you right from the start – that certainly would have stopped you from hurting Toriel. If you never met her, then there was no way you could injure her, right?

Was continuing on even worth the chance of the hurt that it could cause? Flowey would be waiting at the end of the ruins, probably – he could fix your mistake. It would be easy, really, so much easier…

“My child?” Something tried to disrupt your thoughts, but you don’t pay it any mind. What should you say to Flowey? “Child?” Should you even say anything?

Something is touching you. It takes several moments for the feeling to register, but once it does, you slowly level dead eyes onto whatever dared to enter your personal space.

It was white. You didn’t like white; it was too empty, too clean, too easily stained – a pretense of purity. You wanted the whiteness to go away and leave you be to the darkness.

It stayed, and even more white entered your vision. You couldn’t comprehend what you were seeing – your mind saw the colors and shapes, but refused to assign them properties or names. “It is morning once more, my child.” The sounds again – you knew them to be words this time. “Come, you should always start your day with a nutritious breakfast!”

You didn’t want to start the day, with a nutritious breakfast or otherwise. That meant you would have to start moving, start feeling. Against your will, you felt yourself get up and rise out of bed. You followed the monster of white and purple – lies and royalty – into the sitting room once more.

The white guided you to a seat, and the white gave you food to eat. You stared at the plate, not really seeing the food you intellectually knew was there or the point of eating it. It would be far too much effort to just raise your hand and grasp the fork, much less slice off a bite and bring it all the way to your mouth. You didn’t want to move.

“Normally I do not encourage desert for breakfast, my child, but I believe today to be worthy of an exception.” The white wanted you to eat –Toriel wanted you to eat. She was trying to help, to be kind. You didn’t deserve the kindness she was showing you, but you couldn’t say that to her. Even though it was true, saying it aloud would only hurt her more.

Instead, you focused until you were actually seeing the plate, rather than just looking emptily past it. Displayed proudly was another piece of the painfully delicious pie. You wondered if it would still inspire the same emotions now that it had earlier, since it had been sitting around for a while.

It did. Even with just one bite, the emotional energy was already pouring into you, forcing you even farther into wakefulness. The feelings you had been numb to, now gained strength and demanded your attention. Sadness, happiness, curiosity, concern, relief – all powered by magic and the emotional power baked inside a slice of pie.

You decided, right then and there, that magic was incredibly weird…but you were grateful, despite your resentment at being forced to feel so much. You realize that you’ve been really rude to Toriel all morning, and turn to face her.

The goat lady is tucking into her own breakfast, which seems far less appetizing than the breakfast she served to you. You don’t know exactly what it is, but you strongly suspect that snails are somehow involved. Eurgh. “Thank you,” you offer, and the returning smile makes all the effort worth it. Thus encouraged, you continue. “I really appreciate all that you’ve done for me, Toriel.”

Her smile slips slightly, but becomes no less real. “Of course, my child. I am happy to have helped, and I am more than willing to do anything else that might aid you.” You can tell that the offer pained her, but that it was an earnest offer none the less.

Well, now wasn’t that a convenient opportunity. You take a second bite of the incredible pie as you think about what you’d be willing to request of her. There was no point in asking her to escort you to the castle – she only shows up there to stop you from dying in the game, and that would defeat the entire purpose of you going. Besides, you don’t want to force her to leave her home in the Ruins – not when that’s practically all she has left.

However, if she took you to even just the end of the Ruins, that would keep you safe from Flowey. He liked to appear just before the exit, and you weren’t sure if he’d let you through without another attempt at killing you and stealing your soul. “Could you…” you start, unsure of whether or not this is the right thing to ask. Toriel nods, wordlessly encouraging you to continue, and you find the strength to continue speaking. “Could you escort me to the end of the Ruins? Then… then can you listen or look for the breaking of the barrier, so that you’ll know when you can leave for freedom?” You felt terrible asking that of her – asking her to look for your death. You were essentially asking her to look forward to the death of someone she cared about, even if you couldn’t understand why she cared for you at all.

She folded her paws together, in prayer or in thought. You slowly finished your breakfast, unsure of whether or not you had once again caused her pain, but you didn’t know what else you could do. It always just seemed to happen, despite your best efforts. You fidgeted nervously with your fork once you finished off your pie, unsure of what else to do.

Slowly, she nodded. “Of course, my child.” It was unfair how much those two words kept making your heart throb in additional agony, forcing it to feel a confusing maelstrom of emotions. Still, you felt your tension drain away at her agreement, no matter how unhappy it seemed. “I shall provide you with several more ways to ease your journey,” she spoke, seeming more focused and less sad now that she had something she could do.

The goat mom rose as she spoke, making her way into the kitchen. You grabbed both of your dirty dishes and followed along behind her, mildly curious as to what else she could do for you that she hadn’t already done. “I have a spare cell phone with my number already programmed within, so you can call me should you ever again need my assistance.” You were truly surprised by the offer – in the game, Toriel never picked up the phone once you left the ruins. Though…that may have partly been the Annoying Dog’s fault, since it was suggested that he stole her phone once more after you left… Yet here was Toriel, giving you the phone right before you will leave her behind…and you weren’t exactly likely to maintain ownership of the phone overly long. Maybe you’ll give it to Asgore before he kills you?

Unsure of what to do with it, you take the phone Toriel hands you and slip it into a pocket, determined to deal with it later. You hand her the plates in return, but as she takes them to the sink, you realize that you can’t feel the phone in your pocket anymore. Had you lost it already? Starting to panic slightly, you desperately try to pull it out. Maybe it had just slipped out of your pocket? When you pulled your searching hand back out, the missing phone was right there in your palm. You stared at it for a moment, confused. Maybe it had just been your imagination? You slip it back in your pocket, intending to put it aside for now. You pat the pocket, intending to comfort yourself with the shape of the phone, but it isn’t there again? What?

Laughter interrupts your confusion, and you look up from where you’re staring at your pocket to see Toriel, paw politely covering her mouth in an attempt to hide her amusement at your confusion. “Are you unused to your pocket dimension, my child?” …is she making a joke, or is that actually a thing?

“You’re saying that I suddenly have a… pocket dimension attached to my pocket?” You question disbelievingly, abandoning your search for your apparently dimensionally displaced phone.

“Oh, no, of course not!” Toriel exclaimed as she busied herself with the fridge. You immediately felt foolish, and ducked your head in shame. You were so stupid, so wrong; you just wanted to di- “It’s attached to you, of course! There is no need for pockets with your pocket dimension!” …What.

“What?” You ask, giving up. “I don’t understand. Why – how would I even have a pocket dimension, much less access it accidently if it isn’t connected to my pocket?” You clench your fists tighter, and then open them, half expecting your phone to magically appear. It doesn’t, and you’re actually mildly disappointed. You wanted your phone to come to your hand…and it does. You stare in disbelief at the ancient device, thankful that you haven’t lost Toriel’s gift, but unsure how to otherwise react.

You hear Toriel bustling around, and look away from your new phone to see her bustling around the fridge. “Well, using pockets does make it easier to tuck things away,” she admitted. “They aren’t necessary, though – simply pick up the item with the intent of tucking it away, and away it shall go! After all, how else would you be able to take food or other larger objects with you?”

So saying, she presents you with several more plates, all holding a slice of pie. You don’t know what she wants you to do, but after a moment, you take one of the pie piece plates. “I think you will want to save that for later,” she softly recommends. “You may eat these whenever you find your strength failing, and they shall help to heal you.”

You swallow a lump in your throat and nod, grateful to the goat lady. She didn’t have to give you the pie infused with the magical energy that was coursing through your veins even now, assisting you and bolstering your spirit. You closed your eyes and imagined this piece going away, waiting for when you need it next. You feel a weight disappear from your hand, and a mental slot fill up inside your mind.

You think you understand how this works, now, and send your phone to the same space. You look to Toriel, who is looking back at you with an expression of pride on her face. “Very good, my child! You are doing well. Now, take these with you as well.” She held back out the other slice of pie, and a new one with it. Feeling unbelievably grateful, you take them both, and place them within your pocket space and take inventory of what you’re hiding away. Three slices of butterscotch-cinnamon pie and one old mobile phone – a queen’s bounty, really.

“Thank you, Toriel,” you say, moving forward with your now-empty hands to catch her in a hug. She returns the hug gladly, enfolding you in warmth. You breathe in deeply, smelling fire and life; fur and dirt; butterscotch and cinnamon. You think that this scent is something distinctly Toriel, and it will always remind you of home.

“You are welcome, my child, but I have yet one more thing to give to you.” She drew back, but you could still feel her warmth. “I am afraid that it is not so much a physical item, as a piece of advice and guidance.” You tilt your head to the side, mildly curious. You think you might have some idea where she’s going with this… “I cannot accompany you outside the ruins, but I have a friend who has promised to protect any humans that cross his path.” You were right, for once. She’s telling you about Sans.

“I know not his name,” she admits, “but he has a kind heart and a good sense of humor – especially with his knock-knock jokes.” She smiles, probably recalling the memory of a particularly good laugh. “He wanders the forests of Snowdin – the land just beyond the Ruin’s exit. He has told me little of himself – only that he has a brother, Papyrus, who means the world to him.” Her smile is soft, and you feel an answering smile on your own face. Thinking about Papyrus almost always helped you to feel happier.

“If you find him, you can count on his help. He is a very good person, and I believe that he will protect you for as long as he can.” Her smile wobbled, and you wondered if there was a term for someone who protected you so that you could die in a specific place that you wanted. Death-guard, maybe?

Sadness was crossing her face, and you needed to stop it before it became any worse. “If he’s a friend of yours, then I’m sure he really is a great person,” you try to reassure. “I’m already looking forward to meeting him.” Toriel seems a little less depressed, but that’s not enough, so you try to think up another pun or joke for her to laugh over – they’d worked fairly well last night, hadn’t they? “If he likes knock-knock jokes, I’m sure to a-door him.” You place heavy emphasis on the pun, and your effort pays off when a moment later, the exiled queen lets out an undignified snort of laughter.

You aren’t sure whether she’s laughing at you or your weak joke, but…it’s enough. This is enough – you’ve done all you can, here, lingered as long as you can. You’re ready to go. A flash of terror bolts through you as you set your mind on moving closer to your death…but this is what you want. “Let’s go ahead, then.” You leave the room, hesitating only a few short moments before heading down the stairs.

Toriel followed along behind you after a momentary pause, likely thrown by your abrupt exit. You would feel bad about being rude, but you were ready to leave now – you needed to leave now, while you still had the motivation to keep moving. You both walked down the steps together in silence, as the hallway turned purple, as you both rounded the corner. Toriel faltered as you both came to the first door, but determinedly helped you tug it open.

You were both silent as you walked through the last, long corridor of the ruins. As it changed color, you prepared yourself for the possibility of Flowey. You didn’t think he’d show up… and he didn’t. You breathed out a sigh of relief as you passed the grass patch, and both Toriel and you stop before the final door.

When you turn to look at her for a final time, there are tears in her eyes. “This is where I must leave you, my child,” she whispered, heartache in her voice. You feel similar sentiments of sadness gather in your own eyes, trying to spill over.

You deny them, and instead nod, pulling yourself together. “Thank you again…for everything.” The smile you offer her is small, but true. “I…actually managed to enjoy spending time with you.” You lick your lips, unsure of whether or not you wanted to say this next sentence. “I think… I could have been happy with you, if this was in another situation.” You tilt your head as you ponder on that thought. “But…I guess this’ll have to do.”

You nod sharply, just once, and are swept up into another hug. You don’t think you’ll ever mind getting hugged by Toriel – each one is an experience of warmth and safety, two emotions that are even more absent than all the rest nowadays. You take in the scent of home once more, feel the smooth sensation of fur against your skin, of tears falling onto your bent head…

You pull back from your last hug, and for a final time, wipe the tears you’ve caused from her eyes. She lets you, and watches as you open the door. “Goodbye, my child,” she chokes out.

You pause, ready to exit. You weigh a last parting statement in your mind – would she want to hear it? Would you mean it? Would this help, or hurt her more? “Goodbye… Mom.” You heard a strangled sound, but you couldn’t bear to look.

Tears finally fell from your eyes as you tore through the door, slamming the portal closed forever more behind you. You didn’t know if the sound of sobs you heard were hers or your own as you left.

.oOo. .oOo. .oOo.

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This story is also on AO3 here and FF.net here.

Flames and Friendship in Fell

This is a birthday gift fic for @anotherfallenangel1997! Thanks for reading my stories and leaving comments; I hope you treasure this story as much as I treasure them. Prompt: "I really don’t like the thought of Sans being beat up by Paps and the other monsters laughing at his misery. So I thought maybe there could be a female werewolf monster. Who works for Grillby, by making sure the VERY aggressive drunks don’t destroy the bar. She knows fire magic thanks to Grillby, and when there is a public beating, they stop it and get Sans inside to eat something and to heal his wounds. She has a soft spot for things smaller than her."

There’s a commotion going on outside; not that this was entirely unusual, but the waves of malice emanating from the crowd were far stronger than normal. There was a natural level of anger and violence in the air, of course, but that was nothing compared to what you could feel right now. You shot a quick glance at your boss, and Grillby met your gaze before giving you a curt nod. Permission granted for you to go outside and find out what was going on. The bar was almost completely empty, and the few that remained were smart enough to not try to give Grillby a hard time while you were gone.

It wasn’t as if he couldn’t defend himself, of course; the fire monster had been the one to teach you the fire magics you called upon so often to defend yourself, and you knew that he was probably far stronger than you. It was your job to knock down any drunkards who got to uppity, though, to slam them back into place if they thought they could start destroying the bar. You were the one to break up the fights when they got physical, to take care of the idiots so that Grillby could focus on the food.

You were quite good at your job, if you were honest with yourself. The local monsters had grown to learn that you were not to be trifled with; you were a wolf that wouldn’t accept their behavior. Bigger and now stronger than most of the local monsters, you had earned your respect and right to intervene when fights got out of hand.

Judging by the sounds of the scene you were starting to make out, you would be enforcing that right soon enough. The crowd was jeering, and you could see most of the dog pack circling around their chosen target. You were a werewolf, nothing like the mutts – you were proud and powerful, and you were your own alpha. It was your right to protect those smaller than you, a right you had fought for and earned.

You clenched your fists, fire starting to crackle along your hands and up your arms. Light played across your fur, burning only what you wished it to burn – never yourself or what you wished no harm. You had trained hard and long for your control, and it paid off now. The hiss of flames was warning enough for the crowd to start backing away, clearing a path lest they find themselves the target of your anger.

You could finally see the victim of the ‘Royal Guards’ ire; it was Sans. The smaller skeleton looked to be in bad shape, sweat pouring off his skull as he staggered in place. His jacket was ripped, and you could see large scratches that had torn through his clothing. The dogs must have gotten lucky, or taken the chance to ambush Sans while his brother was gone. Papyrus, the Captain of the Royal Guard, allowed no one to hurt his subordinates but himself, and that applied to his brother as well as the rest of the mutts. The taller, more aggressive skeleton had been called up to the castle, and wouldn’t return for another day or two yet.

This meant there was nothing stopping you from stopping the pack. You didn’t bother warning them before you were suddenly amongst them, fire flinging from your fingertips as the air was filled with howls and the scent of scorched fur. Fire and bones danced as you fought, Sans attacking as well now that he was no longer forced to be on the defense. “c’mon guys, didn’t you want me to throw you a bone?”

A high pitched yelp followed the skeleton’s pun as a particularly nasty bone attack smacked into a canine muzzle. Finally, the dogs were gone, and the crowd had long since dispersed. Harsh pants filled the air, and you examined the exhausted skeleton who had fought behind you. He was clearly worse for wear, tired and torn up, looking so vulnerable even though you’d just seen the prowess of his magic. After a moment of hesitation, you called out to him. “Let’s go inside. Grillby has a burger bottle of mustard with your name written on it.”

He chuckled lowly, straightening up and regaining his good humor. “doggone it, you know i can’t resist grillby’s food.” You let out a huff of amusement as you led the way back to Grillby’s, Sans right beside you. When you made it back inside the warm building, you found that the few patrons inside had already left and Grillby had closed the bar. It was late, and after a scene like the one outside mere minutes ago, the wiser monsters would be holed up in their moderately-safer houses. It was just plain rude to attack monsters in their own home, not to mention liable to get the attacker killed by someone else.

This all just meant there was no audience as Sans slumped against the bar, not bothering to act tough when you and Grillby were the only ones there. He knew that you both cared for him, and he maintained at least a moderate affection for both of you as well. You had all proved it to each other time and again: Grillby giving the both of you food, you taking care of any fights that threatened either of the other two, and Sans making sure that you were under his brother’s protection as well. It was…nice, having people you could almost trust, be friendly with and not worry that they would attack you – would protect you, even.

Grillby placed a burger in front of Sans as you pulled down a glass of mustard, one of the unopened ones specifically meant for the skeleton’s consumption. You looked up in surprise as Grillby placed a burger before you as well, his harsh flames letting out a pleased crackle – his own version of a, “Good job.”

Taking it for what it was, you slipped into the seat next to Sans and enjoyed your well-earned break and food. You growled lowly in contentment as you enjoyed the food; Grillby had made you your favorite. Sans chuckled beside you as he bit into his own favorite meal, slathered with absolutely ridiculous amounts of mustard. “heh. thanks for the intervention, pal, but you know i could have handled it myself.”

Sans replacement fang gleamed in the light from Grillby’s fire, and you knew full well how dangerous the smaller skeleton could be. You knew he’d pulled himself out of scrapes before…but you also knew how fragile he was. You couldn’t help your desire to protect him, protect those smaller than you who deserved to be protected. It would only take one truly lucky shot, and Sans would be dust.

“Sure, but you know I’m always ready to knock those dogs down a peg or two.” Sans chuckled, and you felt a smile pull up the corners of your lips as well. Your smile would never match the skeleton’s grin, but after a few jokes and time spent in each other’s company, you felt that your smile could give him a run for his money.

“aww, wolfy isn’t happy the dogs got into a fight on her territory?” Sans teased. The dogs may have run of the woods, but this town was yours. Well, and the Captain’s, but he seemed appeased that you made his job easier as long as you remained respectful towards him. You were pretty sure that his leniency towards you was almost entirely due to your friendship with Sans. The brothers didn’t show it very well, but you knew that they cared about each other more than anyone else in the Underground.

“This ‘wolfy’ isn’t happy when others get hurt, you bonehead.” You reach over and playfully noogie him. …The noogie was more of your warm paw gently rubbing against his mostly smooth skull, a gentle comfort to you both. “Especially when the one getting hurt is my friend,” you admit.

Sans didn’t say anything for a moment, just tearing into his burger. You watched as his energy began to rise, magic rushing to his face. “they just got lucky shot in, jade. no need to worry. it ain’t gonna happen again.”

This time you smacked him upside the head. It didn’t hurt him of course, but it clearly let him know you thought he was being an idiot. “You’re being an idiot,” you repeated aloud to emphasize this fact. “One day they’ll get more than just a ‘lucky shot in’, and then what’ll I do?”

Sans shrugged, unbothered. “eh, that just means there’d be more mustard for you and grillby.” Nope. You weren’t having this. This called for some serious measures.

You got up from your chair, and Sans stared up at you with wide eyes. He looked so small, there, even with his fluffy jacket making him look a full size larger than he actually was. He looked nervous, unsure of what you’d do, sweat starting to drip again. You ignored that, and swept him into a giant hug.

“You numbskull,” you mutter into his jacket. “We’d miss you if you weren’t here anymore. No one else drinks your stupid mustard or eats half as much of our food as you do.” Grillby crackled silently before you, alerting you to his presence and agreeing with your words. You could feel Sans face heat up where you were pressing to your chest, but you didn’t let him go. The idiot needed to be reminded of how much you cared for him.

After several long moments, he relaxed into you, bony arms coming up to encircle you in a reflection of how you’d wrapped yourself around him. You buried your sensitive nose into his jacket beside his skull, enjoying the scent of mustard, magic, and bones that had come to mean friendship to you.

“thanks, jade,” he whispered. He must be more tired than you had thought, if he was being so honest, not even dropping a pun or terrible joke. You just squeezed him tighter, enjoying the warmth in the air. This was what you had trained for. This is what you would protect.

.oOo. .oOo.

I can’t help it; I can’t write Papyrus being cruel to Sans. They do get in fights, and they do have a lot of issues, but they still love each other, and nothing can convince me otherwise. It’s just different and harder to see in Underfell, when the Underground is so cruel. It’s not the best, but they’re brotherly bond is still strong. I may have written out some of my Underfell head-canons a while back, and worked out a backstory for the story I’ll one day write… *sheepish smile* So I may have picked on the dogs instead. They’re a tight-knit pack, and protect one another, but… I needed someone to pick on Sans. *sweatdrop* Trust me, they definitely had a bad time in return, and Papyrus was Not Pleased when he got back (well, he will be, if he finds out). I just suck at writing fight scenes, so I maybe blurred over that? This was a prompt I wrote for someone else, and I had a lot of fun writing this. In fact, I enjoyed it so much, that I'm opening up to prompts from anybody who wants to send me one. I won't promise that I'll write it, but I will definitely strongly consider it. So, if you have anything you want to see in the Undertale universe, send me an ask. I'm willing to work with common AU's and maybe whatever pairing... even if I won't write it, I promise not to judge.

Wiping the Slate

Summary: What happens after the happy story, when everything inevitably resets? Undertale short story: You, Sans, Papyrus 494 Words

There's a skeleton staring at you, little white lights in the place of eyes tracking your movements. You were just watching him from the corner of your eye, yet the pain on his face was clear to see. It looked like loss, regret, anger, pain, guilt, abandonment… your own heart pulsed in sympathy, as if you could feel an echo of that cocktail of emotional despair within you.

He looked familiar, which was a weird and unreal feeling, since you'd barely had any contact with the recently released monsters, and you'd definitely never met this skeleton before in this life of yours. You want to get to know him, though. Want to find out if (that) he has a fondness for bad jokes, if (that) he has nightmares that make him doubt the reality of the world, (that) he's worried everything will be torn away from him, that he's patient and laid back until he's been forced to the edge of the apocalypse, where he snaps back with all the ferocity of an angered dragon, why it feels like the two of you could be (are) (once were) such good friends…

You shift in (expectance) surprise as another skeleton walks up towards him, tall where the other is small, pointed where the other is curved, loud where the other is contained. You feel that you should know him too, but there's something terribly wrong about this picture. You're expecting the new arrival to shout, to emote expressively, but he just crouches down to (his brother's) level and speaks to him quietly.

(Sans) looks at him for a moment and shrugs, looking down for a moment before turning back towards you, still with that mix of painful expressions that makes your heart ache and burn. (Papyrus) follows his gaze, and you see his mouth quirk up in an empty grin (that he learned from his brother) but it did nothing to hide the pain in his gentle black eyes. You saw tears start to form before he firmly tears his gaze away from you, catching his brother's skull in his phalanges. (Papyrus) lifts (Sans) head until their eyes meet, and you can see the defeat on the upturned face before (Papyrus) bent down, gently bringing their foreheads together and whispering words of comfort. Some of the pain slides off both of their faces at the reminder that someone is still there, that someone will at least remember –

You want to go over there and drag them both into a hug, hold them tight and tell them that you'll never leave, that you promised – you swore on your soul that you would always love them and their entire ragtag family, no matter what came your way or whatever trials you faced – together.

But that's a ridiculous thought. You shouldn't intrude on such a private, emotional moment. After all, you've never met these two strangers before.

…no matter how much your heart screams otherwise.

Lostale Ch 5 - No Shortcuts on the Road of Life

Summary: You've made it through the Ruins - now it's time to meet a new friend. Of course, you're mostly just hoping for a quick ticket to the king, rather than any laughs. we'll see about that, alright kid?

The echo of Toriel’s cries faded into silence, even though you could only stand numbly by the door. The Goat Mom was gone, leaving you behind just as you had abandoned her. There was the sensation of cold stinging against your face, as the chilled air found a weakness and pounced upon your tears.

You didn’t bother to dry your cheeks, feeling that you earned whatever pain they brought. Really, the mild sensation of cutting wind was nothing compared to what you really deserved. You gritted your teeth and tried to push aside your guilt and your grief. Just standing here wallowing wasn’t getting you any closer to the barrier.

The dark trees towering above seemed to echo your mood, and you found comfort in their quiet presence. Everything around you was still – the trees barely rustled, no animals called, only the slightest of winds was even moving at all. The snow blanketing the landscape seemed crisp, almost entirely clean and untouched, but a section had been slightly cleared as a path.

You began along the path, paying no mind to the camera you knew Alphys had hidden in the bushes. That didn’t really matter, now did it? No, the only thing that mattered right now was the skeleton that was probably already following you. You paused at the sight of a thick branch across the path. You lifted a foot and gently tested the wood’s strength, pushing down more forcefully and looking for any sign of it weakening or snapping.

It didn’t; the branch was strong, and you would have to apply far more effort if you wanted to break it. You wanted neither the branch to break nor to expend your effort; you’d leave that to Sans. You stepped over the branch and continued walking, head cocked at an angle so you’d be able to better hear the –

Snap. There it was. You turned slightly, just enough that you could see the broken branch over your shoulder. A small smile crept onto your face as you looked away and continued forwards. Sans was definitely here. You thought you heard him scurrying between the trees at one point. You didn’t bother trying to find him; he’d only hide if you tried, and he’d reveal himself in due time.

After another minute of walking, that due time came. You paused at the bridge, and heard the crunching of heavy footsteps in the snow. You turned around to look, not bothering to wait.

A darkened figure was determinedly striding towards you, wreathed in black smoke, tendrils of the void curling around him. Your eyes widened at the threatening display, not expecting Sans to look so terrifying. Was this really Sans? You couldn’t recognize the figure, hidden in plain sight as it was.

“H u m a n,” rasped a low voice, and the unearthly sound of it sent shivers scraping down your spine. Despite your rising fear, you looked forward at where you assumed eyes would be – it was hard to tell, as the monster’s shape seemed distorted. “Don’t you know how to greet a new pal? Reach out and shake my hand.”

A blurred hand extended from the smoke, a limb seemingly made of darkness. It only took you a moment to steel yourself, reaching out with your left hand to firmly clasp the one extended to you. The sound of a long, wet fart filled the solemn air, and you couldn’t help the smile that twitched onto your lips. That was so juvenile…

The darkness instantly vanished, revealing the figure before you in full color. There was no doubt that this was Sans – a chubby skeleton (how even?) wearing a blue jacket and black shorts, a wide grin spread across his face. The grin seemed to light up his eyes – his eye sockets – as he began to speak, this time in a far friendlier tone. “heheh,” he chuckled, and you felt your smile grow in response to his good humor as you finally let go of his hand. “the old whoopee cushion in the hand trick. it’s ALWAYS funny.”

You snorted and shook your head, but you couldn’t deny the humor on your face. “anyways, you’re a human, right?” You nodded in affirmation and he continued, eyes sharp as he tracked your face. “that’s hilarious. i'm sans. sans the skeleton. im actually supposed to be on watch for humans right now.” His eyes shifted to the side, and you felt the call of opportunity.

“What do you do with the humans you find?” You ask faux innocently. You knew what you wanted to ask him, but you weren’t entirely sure how to without tipping him off that you knew far more than you could be able to reasonably claim.

Sans shrugged, seemingly unbothered by the change in the script. “eh, i'm supposed to bring ‘em up before the king, but i don’t really care about doing that.” Well, that was helpful.

“Really?” You ask, shifting to stand more solidly. “That would have been pretty convenient – that’s where I’m trying to go.” You were tired of speaking around, and guessed that you two could keep circling your words for hours if you didn’t just get straight to the point. “I need to get there and give him something.” You tapped your chest, right above where your SOUL had manifested. “I promised someone that I’d break the barrier for her, after all.”

A hint of surprise finally crossed San’s features, but that was it. “huh. too bad, then. i'm not up to giving free lifts to just anybody who needs to go places.” You hum lightly; you hadn’t expected Sans to make this easy, after all.

“Well, then,” you shrug. “Would it be easier for you to just take my soul?” You spread your arms out to your side, showing how vulnerable you were. “It’d make it a lot easier for me, but I’m not sure how long it’ll last without some form of protection.”

The surprise was replaced by wary suspicion, and you couldn’t help your amusement. “that’s not a very funny joke, kid.” That made two out of three monsters in the Underground that were treating you like a child – how old were they, and just how young did you seem? “there’s only one way take a human soul, and, uh, i kind of doubt you’re up for dying right now.”

You can’t help your laughter. Wow, that had to be the most inaccurate statement you’d ever heard. The skeleton before you shifted, stepping back slightly and seemingly prepared for an attack. “Sorry, Sans,” you say with a smile, and your tone make him even more uneasy. “It’s just that, you guessed exactly what I was up for.” You shrugged. “That’s what I’m offering – my death, and my soul to the king.”

You grimace slightly, as something you’d completely forgotten occurs to you. “Although, ah, I was kind of hoping to dissuade him from war against humanity, first. I don’t think that would end well for either of our civilizations or people.” Sans eyed you speculatively, judging your words and intentions.

“huh. you serious about that offer, kid?” he asks, seemingly not caring about your answer either way, and you nod. He hums, and then tilts his head, seemingly listening for something. “eh, i'm not really up for any human killing.” He chuckles hollowly before continuing. “my bro’s probably getting impatient up ahead, and i made a promise – “

“She knows what I’m doing.” You interrupt, and Sans smile drops without moving an inch. “She told me that someone promised to protect any humans, to guide them – but she knew where I’m going, my intentions when we parted ways.” You swallow past the lump in your throat. “I think that releases you from the promise, but…”

You close your eyes, and give up. You weren’t going to make Sans do anything that he didn’t want to, that would hurt him further. You’d already done enough of that already. “Okay.” You drew in a deep breath. “Okay,” you repeated yourself, as you reassured yourself of this new path. “You don’t have to do anything,” you admit quietly.

This path would be a lot harder, and you didn’t want to traverse it…but when was life about what you wanted. “You mentioned that your brother is up ahead, right?” You asked, an empty smile pasted on your face. Your chest was heavy, and you could already feel the weight of life bearing down on you once more. “I’ll keep going for as long as I can,” you say, and the words feel like a painful promise and you have to close your eyes, “but I don’t think I’ll be able to make it.”

You would play the games, go along with what everybody wanted, but you wouldn’t be able to hold out very long. “The Underground is dangerous, and it’s not just the king who is willing to kill humans. If I die to some random monster, I don’t want it to go to waste.” You level your gaze on Sans, unwilling to compromise on this point. “When I die, I don’t want my soul to just shatter. It needs to be taken to the barrier, and with how weak it is, I don’t know how long it will last in the hands of someone who doesn’t know what they’re doing.”

There was no fighting your conclusion. Sans had to know how dangerous the Underground was – thus the whole promise of protection in the first place. “you’re a pretty determined kid, aren’t ya’?” he asked, and you couldn’t identify the tone in his voice.

Even still, you shook your head in denial. “That’s the problem,” you admit quietly. “I’m not determined enough to make it through the Underground alive.”

Sans looks disbelieving, and you wonder if he thinks that you’re the one behind the resets. “well, you look pretty determined from here,” he disagrees, and you have to roll your eyes.

“Give it five minutes, and it’ll be gone,” you admit. “I’ve only got so much energy, and I’ve already wasted enough effort convincing you.” You can’t help but scoff, bitter. “I hope it was worth it.”

You instantly regret your words as you see his face darken, and you flush in shame. “…sorry,” you say quietly. “I didn’t mean that how it sounded.”

Something claps you on the shoulder, and you look up to see Sans standing right before you. “eh, forget about it. come on, i'm sure Papyrus will love to see a real human.” He gives you a gentle push, and you finally move across the bridge. You can see Sans’ sentry station, but to the side and in front of that is…

“Wow,” you say dully. “That is one bizarre lamp.” It’s one of the weirdest looking things you’ve ever seen, and you’re including yourself in that category. In fact, it probably looks so weird because it does resemble you.

Sans just shrugs, an easy gin on his face. “pretty convenient, huh? why don’t you go hide behind it while i talk to my bro.” You go ahead and hide behind the out of place object, figuring that you may as well at this point. You close your eyes as you wait for Papyrus, and then listen as the two banter. You lean forward, forehead resting against the cool surface of the lamp. Unlike Frisk’s short lamp, yours doesn’t have a shade, the light spilling out from above rather than the sides.

You wonder how it changed, why it replaced the more familiar conveniently-shaped lamp, which admittedly would have been far less convenient for you. You are forced to smile several times at the familiar jokes which you can’t help but overhear, appreciating each brother’s efforts.

Papyrus… he really does sound happy, even when he’s scolding his brother. Frustrated too, of course, but there’s no denying the tall skeleton’s good humor. It’s infectious, and you feel your own mood improve slightly. Sure, Sans was a complete bust, but at least now you’d be able to spend time with Papyrus. If you’re incredibly lucky, maybe you’ll even make it to his fight and then subsequent hangout.

“NYEH-HEH-HEH-HEH!” Rings out through the air, and you give in and chuckle. “HEH!” comes the parting call, and you know that Papyrus has left.

“ok, you can come out now.” You slowly step out from behind the lamp, giving it an appreciative pat for being such good cover. Sans is just standing where you left him, the grin on his face looking far more real now. You approach him, not sure what to say, but knowing that it’d be rude to just leave without saying goodbye.

“…Thanks, I guess,” you admit. “I suppose I’ll see you around?”

He doesn’t say anything, so you go ahead and start walking away. “hey, pal,” he calls out, and you stop. “i'm not going to drag you to the king, but…” he shifts, then winks. “i'll keep an eye socket out for ya’.”

Genuine warmth floods through you at his pronouncement and you offer him a smile in return. “Thanks, Sans. Eye appreciate it.” You tap just below your eye in time with the pun, and he lets out a startled laugh.

“in return,” Sans continues, “would you mind doin’ me a favor?” You nod warily, already feeling the weight of future exhaustion. “my brother’s been kind of down lately… he’s never seen a human before. and seeing you might just make his day.” That was an odd thought – that your presence could make someone feel better, rather than worse. “don’t worry, he’s not dangerous. even if he tries to be.”

“…Alright,” you acquiesce. It wasn’t like you could avoid Papyrus or his puzzles, and you already knew that the vibrant skeleton wouldn’t kill a fly – or a human, as was the case here.

“thanks a million. i'll be up ahead.” With that, Sans turned around and walked back the way you both came, back in the direction of the Ruins. You feel a spark of bitter anger – if he had used that power to just take you to the king, you wouldn’t have to keep thinking about ways you have and you will screw up – but it fades quickly, lacking the passion to keep burning.

You head forward yourself, but unlike Sans, in the correct direction. You quickly come to the first crossroads; the path splits up, with a branch turning left while the other continues straight. You peer down the left of the fork, and think you can spy a glimpse of water through the trees. This must be the first save location outside the Ruins, then.

Scanning the small clearing, you look for any sign of a Save point: a glowing yellow star, a feeling of determination…but there’s nothing. Stepping forward, you reach the spot where you’re pretty sure the Save spot was in the game. “The convenience of the lamp still fills me with determination?” You mutter questioningly under your breath. Much to your expectations, nothing happens.

A bitter smile slips across your face without your consent. “Of course it doesn’t.”

.oOo. .oOo. .oOo.

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You can’t see it, but over on AO3, Sans is actually speaking in Comic Sans.

So, you’ve left the ruins. The style changes slightly, as we leave Toriel behind and make contact with the Skelebros, who I utterly adore... as will become abundantly clear soon enough.

This is actually five chapters behind where it is on AO3 and FF.net ... oops.

Lostale Ch 6 - Rocky Road and Nice Cream

Summary:  You make your way through Snowdin Forest. It’s simultaneously much easier and just as hard as you thought it would be. The snow passes by in a blur, but you’re about to reach the end of your emotional tether… Words: 2,380

Despite the disappointment of not being able to Save, you have to continue on. You’re already dragging your feet, not looking forward to trudging through all of the cold snow. You don’t feel numb just yet; even the now-dried tear tracks feel almost warm. You wonder how long it will take for the cold to sink in.

Skipping the side path, you make your way straight ahead. There is no need for detours or dawdling – there was nothing you didn’t already know about the room to your left. Instead, you decide to just go straight forward as far as you can. You don’t even stop at the box, not needing nor wanting the tough glove. You weren’t going to fight back against any monsters. They didn’t deserve to be hurt.

Papyrus voice carries clearly along the path, and you have to stop for a moment beside a small rock to admire the clarity and sheer volume he was projecting. The skeleton must have heard you, because he turned away from Sans and to your direction. You study his face, skeletal but not monstrous. You think it might be a lot more terrifying if you weren’t already familiar with Papyrus’ good heart, and accustomed yourself to the sight of skeletons.

Papyrus, however, was not accustomed to the sight of you. He looked to Sans for guidance, only to find the smaller skeleton facing you. Papyrus couldn’t see, but Sans was winking at you. When Papyrus twisted back to see what Sans had just been looking at, Sans turned to face his brother. Papyrus turned to Sans for help again, but Sans was once more apparently studying you. Papyrus turned to copy him…

You felt a fond smile grow on your face as you watched the two monsters begin to spin in place, unsure of which direction to look. Sans kept his hands tucked in his pockets as he spun around surprisingly quickly, yet somehow lazily? Papyrus ended up flinging himself all over the place as he twirled, and you could just catch a look of confusion in the brief moments he was facing your direction.

Papyrus gave up, and just turned away from you, and leant down to whisper into Sans ear…ear-hole? Where his ear would be if he were a human? Sans obliged, leaning closer to his brother, but you couldn’t see either of their expressions. That did nothing to stop you from hearing Papyrus’ booming voice – it carried marvelously through the snowy landscape. “SANS!! OH MY GOD!! IS THAT…A HUMAN!?!?!??!?!”

You tried to hide your smile as both brothers turned back to look for ‘a human’. You already know that Sans is going to pull the obnoxious brother card, but can’t quite bring yourself to interfere. “uhhhh…” Sans turns to Papyrus with his standard grin in place, but you can almost see the wicked spark in his eye. “actually, i think that’s a rock.”

You helpfully reach out and pat the rock in question – it comes up to your knees, so it barely takes any effort. What was such a large rock doing in the middle of the path? Papyrus’ face falls, and you can see disappointment written clear across it. “OH.” His voice is quieter, this time.

“hey, what’s that beside the rock?” Sans nods to you, and you manage to muster up a wave for the downcast skeleton, drawing his attention back towards you.

Said skeleton immediately brightens up, his voice even louder what appears to be his normal volume as he speaks. “OH MY GOD!!!” He leans back over to Sans, and whispers slightly more successfully than the time before. “IS… IS THAT A HUMAN?”

Sans faux whispers back, loud enough for you to hear, “yes.”

“OH MY GOD!!!” You never knew Papyrus was so religious. “SANS! I FINALLY DID IT!! UNDYNE WILL… I’M GONNA… I’LL BE SO…” Papyrus seems to have lost his words in his excitement, and you can’t help but feel the gentle tug of amusement. “POPULAR!!! POPULAR!!! POPULAR!!!” Papyrus shouted at the top of his non-existent lungs.

The energy overflowing off the skeleton was managing to hype you up slightly, and you almost felt excited yourself. Papyrus drew himself back up to full height, and coughed into his fist. “…’AHEM’” he said, and you wondered if just saying the sound had the same effect as clearing your throat if you didn’t have a throat to clear. In any case, Papyrus certainly seemed to have pulled himself together, and was now staring you down with a surprisingly ferocious face. “HUMAN! YOU SHALL NOT PASS THIS AREA!” Have the skeletons watched the Lord of the Rings? “I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, WILL STOP YOU!!! I WILL THEN CAPTURE YOU! YOU WILL BE DELIVERED TO THE CAPITRAL! THEN… THEN!!!”

Papyrus composure faltered slightly as he tried to continue. “I’M NOT SURE WHAT’S NEXT.” He recovered quickly, however, continuing along with his previous enthusiasm. “IN ANY CASE! CONTINUE… ONLY IF YOU DARE!!!” His intense look slipped into something far happier before he dashed off, already laughing at the top of his breath. “NYEH HEH HEH HEH HEH HEH HEH HEH!!!”

You mentally shrugged and began walking towards Sans and the exit to the next room, as ready as you will ever be to continue on. “well, that went well. don’t sweat it, kid.” You glance over to see him just as relaxed as before, easy grin on his face. “seriously kid, you can chill out. not all the monsters here are as friendly as my bro, but i’m sure they’ll warm up to you soon enough.”

You already knew that the monsters are more than happy to make friends, but that doesn’t make you any less aware of the times you had died to them when playing the game. Sans is probably just trying to make sure you don’t lash out back at the monsters in fear, but he doesn’t need to worry about that. He’ll probably figure out soon enough that you’re willing to take the blows without attacking back, preferably before you get killed…but it’s not like it would make much difference, would it?

…No, you need to speak to the king, to argue for peace on both monster and humankinds behalf. Shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you notice that Sans has already disappeared. You don’t want to move, but you force yourself down the path once more. You need to keep walking, moving towards the goal you’ve set for yourself.

.oOo. .oOo. .oOo.

You’re startled to realize that you’ve successfully made it most of the way to Snowdin without dying along the way. Most of the teenage monsters were avoiding you, though you did run into and subsequently immediately ditch Jerry. Doggo had been easy to pet and get past, and you quickly left him smoking on dog treats. You pet Lesser dog once when you first met him, and then several more times when he abandoned making his snow-dog and excitedly rushed up to you for more pets. You even managed to disguise your scent and quickly bypassed the dog couple, though your clothes had suffered from the experience.

You wince, as your clothes hadn’t been the only thing to suffer from that battle, and gently rubbed at where the deep gash in your side had been. There axes were sharp, and even though adrenaline and fear had done their point in helping you dodge, it hadn’t been enough to escape without injury. As soon as the couple had left, you had fumbled for one of the Nice Creams you had bought. “Love yourself; I love you!” Ha! What a joke. Even though the words were a clear lie, you still felt warmth blossom inside you as the magic healed your wounds.

Thankfully, Doggo and Lesser Dog had dropped enough gold to pay for several of frozen treats – you hadn’t needed to bother with snow golf to collect any more funds. Sans was there as well; he’d already given his barely-useful blue stop sign speech earlier, and he had tried to sell you from fried snow. You humored him the first time, agreeing to pay 5G for what was essentially water, but just shrugged noncommittally when he bumped the price of his ‘product’ up to 50G. He didn’t seem too put out, so you didn’t feel too bad at not playing along any longer. He hadn’t played along with your plan, after all… admittedly, if he had, you definitely would not have been able to humor him. It would be a bit hard to play along if you were dead.

You barely humored him at his crossword puzzle, as well. You had stopped for just long enough to glance down at it and see the it was technically unsolvable, just like the endless puzzle that was life, but you felt that if you paused now you would never start again. You listened to the following brotherly squabble with a hint of fondness. All the monsters down here were just too good, too precious to have been purposefully trapped down in this small, confined cave. You agreed that Crosswords were harder to Papyrus’ dismay, but you honestly agreed with the smaller skeleton and you couldn’t muster up the energy to lie.

Papyrus’ spaghetti had been… well. You weren’t exactly sure what to think of the dish, but it was entirely frozen solid, so you didn’t get to try any… not that you wanted to. It looked fine from the outside, but the clink it had made when you poked it with a fork was vaguely ominous, and you remembered theories about how terrible Papyrus spaghetti really was. This effort was supposed to be almost edible according to Sans, if you were remembering correctly, but what did that even mean?

You supposed it didn’t actually matter. You couldn’t eat it, and you weren’t even filled with Determination by the hungry mouse nearby. You were just depressed that Papyrus was trying so hard, but that it was going to waste. Even if the mouse one day heated up the spaghetti, what did it matter? The lovingly crafted spaghetti would just sit there, eternally uneaten and unwanted by everyone who noticed it.

When Papyrus asked you about the spaghetti, you weren’t sure how to respond. You didn’t want to cause any hurt, but you also didn’t want to lie. In the end, you just admitted that you couldn’t figure out how to warm it up. Papyrus seemed slightly saddened by this, but he almost instantly bounced back to full brightness. Literally – he was almost bouncing in place, bright smile on his face as he ‘guided’ you through his puzzles.

They weren’t exactly very complex puzzles, so it only took you a few tries to get the second X/O puzzle right. It was a bit harder when you weren’t looking at it from a top-down perspective, but you thought that you could almost see how it resembled Papyrus from a ground view…if you squinted and leant back a little, maybe tilted your head slightly. The puzzle-making skeleton just kept getting more excited by your “INCREDIBLE PUZZLE-SOLVING PROWESS”, and he rushed ahead past you and Sans to ensure that the rest of his puzzles were in top condition.

The lazy skeleton was waiting on the other side of where the spikes had been before you solved the puzzle. He winked and admitted that, “nothing is my favorite thing to do.” This startled you into a bitter laugh.

“That sounds about right,” you admit. “Luckily for me, that’s probably what I’ve got to look forward to once I help break the barrier.” After you were killed and your soul used, you wouldn’t have to keep going. Either you faded to the back of the mind of whoever absorbed you, or your soul just passed on to wherever souls went. Either would make you – well, not happy, but… You wouldn’t be hurting any more.

Sans eyed you seriously at your response, and you weren’t sure whether he was more curious or morbidly amused. “you’re really dead-set on this, huh?” You huffed out slightly harder than normal, the only sign of your amusement as you nodded in agreement. “well. guess it isn’t my business, but, uh…” he trailed off. “isn’t there anything you want to live for?”

That was the wrong question to ask. All it did was make you think of the reasons you had to die – all your reasons to live had already passed on. “Nope,” you said succinctly.

The skeleton closed his eyes, and you wondered despite yourself how that was even possible with solid bone. “huh. you really think there’s nobody waiting for you, nobody that cares for you?”

He’s talking about Toriel, or trying to find out more about your background. Either way, the answer is the same. “Nope,” you repeat.

“you sure about that?” Why was he still pressing for more answers? Didn’t he love doing nothing? Why wouldn’t he just let you –

“There’s no one,” you firmly declare, and level your best glare on him. He just shrugs it off with an easy smile that you’re starting to really despise.

“funny. i could have sworn that i heard from someone who cares about you very much.” You never thought you’d think this before, but you just wanted Sans to shut up.

“You think Toriel cares about me?” You can’t help the bitter laughter that spills from your lips. “She cares about an idea, an image; I’m just someone who was there was she needed anybody. I could have been anybody – hell, I’m just a nobody! She just wants someone because her own kids are dead, and that’s exactly what I’m going to be soon enough! So why don’t you just drop it, and let me drop dead in peace? This is hard enough as it is!”

You’re screaming by the end of your rant, but Sans looks unfazed. He looks ready to retort, but you aren’t listening any more. You don’t want to listen to him, to his words, to his attempt to make you want to live. Why is he even trying? Why won’t he just give up? Why was he wasting any effort on you? The only thing you’re good for is dying. That’s the only way you won’t hurt anyone else.

 .oOo. .oOo. .oOo.

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Also on AO3 here and FF.net here. (If you visit AO3, the skeletons are speaking in the proper fonts!)

Yeah. You just blew up at Sans in complete frustration. …well, at least it’s better than the numb void you were feeling before?

In the next chapter, Papyrus takes a much more predominant role!

Lostale Ch 7 - Burning Bridges

Summary:  Propelled by the power of your fury, you storm off through the Underground. Hopefully your less-than-positive emotions won’t place you in a bad situation… Words: 2,541 Warning for being injured

You blaze your way through the next rooms in a fury, anger outweighing your exhaustion. Indignation at Sans filled you with the energy to continue onwards. What right did he have to try to make you want to live, when it was the only thing you could do, when he himself had already given up? All he would do would be to make this harder for you, more painful for everyone despite your best efforts.

In your anger, you misstep and begin sliding the wrong way along the ice puzzle. Panic instantly replaces anger, freezing your veins as you see the cliffs edge approaching. No, no, no, no! You try to scrabble backwards, sideways, anyways but forward – the ice is too slick. You can’t stop yourself as you pitch over the edge.

Whump. Your heart is beating far too fast in your chest, your breath coming in heavy pants, and your lungs hurt – but you’re alive. You sit, dazed in the snow, safe and intact. You place a hand over your heart, trying to slow down the rapid pace. You’re unhurt from the fall, despite the tall drop.

You stare uncomprehendingly at the hill above you. How had that not hurt? Had you landed on golden flowers again? You peered down, and see that your but had firmly landed on a large pile of snow. You had sunk into the snowy covering, but weren’t even touching the ground. …The Underground was ridiculous, you decided.

Shakily, you stood up and brushed the snow off your clothes. You should have remembered that Papyrus wouldn’t activate a puzzle that could genuinely hurt anybody, despite his affinity for spikes. Right in front of you is his sculpture, incredibly detailed and apparently defying all laws of physics. You wonder just how much work went into this, how much time – how many times he spent the exact same time trying to create a perfect image of himself through the medium of snow.

At that point, you would have given up and just created snow-lumps like Sans did. Expectantly, you turn to find the lazy lump that was always there… only to see an actual snow sculpture in its place. You stared at it, disbelieving. Was that really…?

You wandered over, and trailed a hand on top of the creation. Yes, Sans had really made a snow-hot-dog. Snow-‘dog. This skeleton…

You felt your anger at the snow-apostrophe-dog’s creator slide, replaced with bemused amusement and confusion. Why was this different? Why was Sans putting in any effort beyond just being a friendly stalker? Had… had he not given up yet?

Guilt washed over you like a cold shower, reminding you just how cruel you’d been to him when he’d only been trying to help. You’d shouted at him, hadn’t you? Thrown away Toriel’s love back into his face, declared it worthless? You were sick, weak, pathetic; you didn’t deserve the affection you knew Toriel did hold for you. She did care, and you’d spat upon that.

You were a cad, a coward, and you deserved the anger Sans would no doubt be feeling towards you. You’d essentially told him that his friend didn’t matter, that her grief made her deluded… You’d even given him her name, when for whatever reason, they had specifically never told each other that information.

Well, you guessed that Sans definitely wouldn’t help you out now. It was a tossup as to whether or not he’d still be willing to keep an eye-socket out for your death, and if he did, it would only be for monster-kinds benefit, not yours.

You make your way back up through the hill in a daze, and your thoughts are as slippery as the tiles you cross. You manage to make it through without slipping again, and you feel a pile of snow land on your head before it shatters. You’ll never know what shape it took, and for whatever reason, this fact only makes you more depressed.

To the right is a path that leads down to Sans, where he shows off his short-cutting skills. You send it a guilty glance and continue forward, unwilling to confront Sans. You didn’t know how angry he would be with you. You can’t remember how he had appeared during the tile puzzle right after your argument – you’d shot straight through, and he hadn’t lingered behind. You wince, and could only hope that your abrupt and irritable behavior hadn’t offended Papyrus. Great, that was just another thing you could feel guilty about.

You would apologize to Papyrus if you ever saw him again. First, though, you had to make it through the snow poff room and Greater Dog. You were not looking forward to the upcoming fight, and desperately wished that you could save. You’d been lucky so far, managing to quickly disarm the dogs due to your foreknowledge, and the rest of the forest’s inhabitants had left you alone. There wasn’t a quick fix for Greater Dog’s battle though, so you braced yourself as best you could before approaching the last snow poff. Hopefully Sans was close by, despite his doubtless anger at you. This was probably going to hurt.

.oOo. .oOo. .oOo.

Everything hurt. Your body was sore, and you could already feel bruises forming on your skin. Your chest felt compressed, damaged, and you wondered if Greater Dog had messed up your ribs when he lunged at your chest for cuddles. Your hands were numb for being out in the cold for so long and then the sheer amount of repetitive stroking motions you had made to soothe the excited dog.

Greater Dog was long gone by now, and you wished you could see how much HP you had left – or even had in the first place – but that was impossible. You might be Underground, but there was no graphical user interface for you to interact with or read. It didn’t matter, though. It didn’t matter how much you were aching, how much you wanted to sleep.

The next stage of your adjusted plan was drawing close. If Sans wouldn’t bring you to the Capital, like his job said he should do, then you’d just have to get a member of the Royal Guard to do it. Papyrus wouldn’t drag you to the capital, but whenever he defeated Frisk in a fight… he always trapped them and locked them in his shed for Undyne, didn’t he? …For varying definitions of ‘trap’ and ‘lock’, of course.

There was no need for you to heal. The Nice Cream in your pocket-space inventory could wait for later. The quicker Papyrus dropped you down to minimum health, the quicker this would be over with. …The quicker you got moving, the quicker Papyrus would fight you.

With a groan, you rose to your feet and started forward. Greater Dog had pushed you to the ground and then never relented in his pursuit for affection. It had been adorable in the first few moments, before it quickly turned agonizing under his sheer force.

Luckily, the last bridge was right before you. You tapped a foot along the first ‘plank’ to ensure that the bridge was sturdy, and the hard rock you felt reassured you. Bless Papyrus’ heart for painting over the rock formation to make it look scarier. You were grateful that he’d also installed rope handrails, and gave them a gentle tug to ensure they were secured. The rope was taut, barely moving despite your efforts. Good.

You started slowly along the bridge, keeping a tight grasp on the ropes in case you tripped. You felt exhausted, and wouldn’t be surprised if you stumbled. Wouldn’t that be a terrifying waste of a death?

“HUMAN!” Papyrus interrupted your thoughts with his shout, and you looked up from your feet to see the two skeleton brothers waiting on the other side of the bridge. “THIS IS YOUR FINAL AND MOST DANGEROUS CHALLENGE!” The most challenging thing about this would be keeping a straight face, not showing any amusement or pain. “BEHOLD! THE GAUNTLET OF DEADLY TERROR!”

You examined the faces of the two across from you. Papyrus looked determined to stop you, to defeat you with his last puzzle. Sans…didn’t seem to be angry, but you weren’t really sure. He was wearing that same grin, just the same as always. Had it even dropped when you’d been yelling at him? Your anger had distracted you so much that you didn’t notice.

What immediately caught your notice now, however, was the giant spurt of flame erupting beside you…and the spiky mace above you…and the two spears pointed directly at you…and the canon, which at this point, seemed like the least threatening weapon…if it weren’t for the dog, which was happily bobbing from a rope. Yeah. The ‘Gauntlet of Deadly Terror’ was pretty intimidating – or it would have been, if you didn’t expect Papyrus to shut it down rather than activate it.

Until then, you simply enjoyed the heat from the flames. It burned against your numb skin, but this pain felt amazing. You took a step closer, holding out your hands to the warmth, and sighed with relief as feeling started to return.

“HUMAN! PLEASE BE CAREFUL! THAT IS NOT HOW YOU SOLVE THIS TRAP!” You blink and look back at Papyrus, who now seemed extremely worried. Why? You were just warming yourself with the nice fire. Sure, it would be dangerous if you got too much closer, but you weren’t that much of an imbecile…

“heh. i don’t think they can take the heat, bro.” Sans shrugged, and you wondered how much effort it took to look that careless.

“SANS!” Papyrus stamped his foot once, but turned back to face you, elegantly rubbing a gloved hand under his chin in thought. “DESPITE YOUR DEPLORABLE PUNNERY, I DO BELIEVE THAT YOU HAVE A POINT. THIS CHALLENGE SEEMS…A LITTLE UNFAIR,” Papyrus admitted sheepishly. “BESIDES! IT WOULD BE TOO EASY TO CAPTURE THE HUMAN WHEN THEY ARE ALREADY WOUNDED!”

You blinked in surprise. You were pretty sure, despite the sad state of your memory, that this wasn’t how the script went. How did Papyrus even notice you were hurt, anyways?

“IN FACT! I BELIEVE THAT WE SHOULD ENSURE THE HUMAN IS AT FULL HEALTH, SO THAT THE HUMAN CAN FULLLY APPRECIATE THE MAGNIFICENCE THAT IS THE GREAT PAPYRUS’ PUZZLES! NYEH-HEH-HEH-HEH!” Wait, what?

Before you had the time to recognize what was going on, Papyrus had dismissed the death trap and was striding towards you. You were frozen in place, looking up, up, up at the tall skeleton right before you. This was the closest you’d ever been to Papyrus, and now you could clearly see just how much taller than you he was. His bones looked larger than a normal human’s, and his face was far more pointed and narrow.

Despite his threatening countenance, his easy grin and warm kindness kept you from truly panicking. You were confused and uncertain, but not scared. He wasn’t crowding you, just standing right before you on the bridge. If you wanted, you could back up, but you didn’t see the need to just yet. He wasn’t…doing anything, just looking at you and now he was bending over?

“HUMAN?” He questioned softly. “WILL YOU COME WITH ME, PLEASE?” Automatically, you nodded before you even registered his question. There was no way that you could deny him anything when he asked with such a sincere voice. “ARE YOU ABLE TO KEEP WALKING?” You nodded again, more hesitantly this time, as you started to understand what he was asking. Your ribs still hurt, and you were slow, but you could keep moving forward…probably.

“GOOD! I AM GLAD!” Papyrus stood back up, no longer on your height, but you could still clearly see the smile on his face. “THEN, HUMAN, PLEASE FOLLOW ME BACK TO MY MAGNIFICENT ABODE, THE HOME OF THE GREAT PAPYRUS! IT IS THE BEST PLACE TO BEGIN FEELING BETTER, NO MATTER WHAT THE PROBLEM IS!” He held out a gloved hand to you, and your fists tightened reflexively on the rope railing.

You didn’t move. This…was not how things were supposed to go. You were supposed to fight Papyrus and then wait in his shed until Undyne arrived, and then be ferried to the barrier – either in person, or as a soul. Papyrus wasn’t supposed to stop and aid you. He wasn’t supposed to try to help you.

You take a faltering step backwards. This wasn’t making sense. You took another step backwards, barely feeling the rope burns starting to form on your hands. You were so confused. You stared at his face and step backwards, but it was locked in your vision, unmoving. What was he doing? You stepped back, but  Papyrus was still too close to you, right there when you needed to stay away from him.

“HUMAN? THAT IS NOT FOLLOWING ME, NOR THE CORRECT WAY TO GO.” His voice rang in your ears, inescapable and powerful. “IN FACT, I BELIEVE THAT YOU ARE GOING IN THE EXACT WRONG DIRECTION!” He was slowly moving toward you, hand still outstretched. “LET ME GUIDE YOU, HUMAN. I PROMISE THAT I WILL NOT HURT YOU.”

He couldn’t promise that. That was the exact thing that he shouldn’t be offering. If he wouldn’t hurt you, then he would be the one getting hurt. You would be hurting him – were already hurting him. You could see the sting of rejection in your face. He didn’t know why you were denying him – he could only guess that you were afraid of him, or that he’d said something wrong. That he was wrong, when in reality, the only thing wrong here was you.

Go with him and make him feel better now, or run away so that he wouldn’t be hurt later? (Could you even run at all, with your body so sore? Maybe you should have eaten that Nice Cream after all, and maybe this could all have been avoided. Maybe he would let you get away?) This was why Sans should have just taken you straight to the king. Now it was inevitable that you hurt Papyrus, just like you’d already hurt Toriel.

Your heart hurt, and your head was spinning. What should you do? You hear a keening whine echoing between the cliffs, and realize that it’s you making the sound. You’ve let go of the ropes and crouched into a ball, rocking back and forth. Go or stay? Leave or go? Listen or Leave? Pain now or later? You were hurting, everything was so confusing, and you didn’t know what to do! Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth –

Something was surrounding you, lifting you. You curl up tighter, trying to draw yourself into a ball, trying to ignore whatever was going on in the world. You didn’t know what to do, and you couldn’t deal with this again, not so soon. You’d already done so much today, tried so hard. Let someone else deal with this, now. The pain was too much for you to handle – mental, physical, emotional -

Darkness came calling, beckoning you to fall. Gratefully, you let go, relaxing into the sturdy yet infinitely gentle hold. For now you would rest – everything else could come later.

.oOo. .oOo. .oOo.

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Also on AO3 here and FF.net here. (If you visit AO3, the skeletons are speaking in the proper fonts!)

…so. You fainted, again, into the arms of someone who cares, again. At least this time it can be attributed to blood loss and emotional fatigue. …Is this a bad time to mention that I suffer from choice paralysis? I’ve never fainted from it, but I have been locked into place for indeterminable amounts of time, suffering mental agony the entire time…

All Powerful Azzy the Protector

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! Welcome to year 2017 everybody, and may it be a good one! This is my Secret Santa gift to @emeraldlazers and I hope that they like it! We’re both part of the @undertale-dating-simulator and it’s been awesome working on it.

So, prepare for almost 1k words of fluff (with light foreshadowing and some somber undertones) between Chara and Asriel! I hope I did both of their characters justice.

Asriel glanced over at Chara, sitting up on their bed with their legs crossed, idly waving them side to side as they studied a monster history book. He ducked his head to hide a smile as Chara glanced up sharply, trying not to let them see how much the sight of them comfortable and at ease made him happy. They were constantly tense, on guard and wary, as if they were always expecting a blow or an attack to come whenever they relaxed. It hurt his soul to see them hurt, but everything within him felt lighter when they were happy.

Chara was happy, here, and they were slowly showing it to the world. It had been over half a year since they had fallen, and watching them slowly bloom under their love was amazing. Sure, Chara still didn't seem to always trust it or believe it, seemed to think they needed to earn the affection or that it was just a trap or a lie, but Asriel could see how much it meant to them, how much they were letting themselves  start to be happy.

He could see, because he watched them a lot. He had been careful in the beginning, worried that he might accidently hurt them. His first memory of them would haunt him always, seeing their bruised and bloody form lying on the cold cave floor. Those first few days, as he helped them to Home and as they healed and limped around the house, he had been terrified that he might break them, cause that weird red liquid to spill out again and the nasty discolorations to pop up all over their fair skin.

Now, though, he knew how tough they were. He saw how proud they acted, how self-sufficient they were, how determined they were not to let anything slow them down. Asriel was awed at how cool they were, so very happy that they were his friend – his friend!!! Chara had been wary of him at first, which he understood because he was a very scary monster! He was terrifying to all his foes, and no doubt Chara had been worried that he might try to take revenge on them!

Asriel puffed up his chest as he thought about how tough he was, how tough he'd have to be to take care of all the monsters one day when he became the King, how tough he'd need to be to make sure Chara was safe-

"Hey, Prince Puffy-Paws." Asriel's breath left him in a woosh as Chara spoke and he froze. "You're thinking about being the God of Hyperdeath again." Asriel laughed nervously as he rubbed at his ears.

"What- no, Chara! I'm just, uh," he cast his eyes around desperately, looking for a distraction, any distraction, and spotting nothing.

"You were, weren't you." Chara flipped over off of the bed, coming up beside Asriel and poking him in the chest. He squeaked and fell backward, waving his arms wildly as he tried and failed to catch his balance. He landed with a thump on the floor as Chara laughed, the dark edge behind their laughter ever-present, but it was covered by their genuine happiness, so Asriel didn't mind being the butt of their joke.  Much.

"All-powerful Azzy, huh." They reach down and ruffle his ears, and Asriel can't help but beam up at them. "That's a pretty powerful thought." They look pretty thoughtful indeed, a contemplative look on their face as they glance back at their history book. Asriel felt warmth glow in his chest at their interest in his culture, and in thinking so much about him being strong.

"What would you do with all that power, Azzy?" Chara snickered as he failed to sit up properly, trapping him against the floor. "What would you do? Take revenge on the mean old humans?"

"What- no!" Asriel shouted, stopping all attempts to get up and instead pulling Chara down beside him. They squeaked, but he just carefully pulled them down to lie on the floor beside him. He was careful as they froze for several seconds, but a true smile broke across their face. "I'm going to use my power to protect you, and everyone in the Underground!"

Asriel stared at them firmly, trying to convey just how serious he was. They seemed trapped in his gaze, breath caught as they listened to him. "When I have the power, I'm going to make everyone happy, make you happy. I'm going to make sure everyone is safe and protected, and then I'm going to give everybody their freedom. I'll be strong enough to save everyone, to make sure that everyone can live good lives, can stand strong and proud without fear! With you by my side, there's nothing we won't be able to do!"

Asriel didn't think he'd ever seen such a soft look on Chara's face before. It transformed them, made them appear even more beautiful in his eyes. It was such an open emotion, antithesis to almost all expressions they dared to show. The goat prince blushed as he saw the wonder, admiration, and awe on the face of his best friend. He wrapped a paw around his special locket and fought the urge to look down, making sure Chara knew he was serious.

"I'm going to make you proud, Chara," he whispered. "You, and mom, and dad, and Gerson, and everyone else – I'm going to make sure that we'll all be okay." He leaned forward, gently bumping his forehead into Chara's, mindful of his tiny horns. "Together, we'll be able to do anything, right?"

Chara sighs and slowly closes their eyes, leaning forward until their breaths mingled. Asriel closed his eyes as well, just breathing in the closeness of his closest friend, letting happiness flood his soul. "Yeah, Azzie. We'll save everyone together."

Bedtime Promise

This is a secret santa gift for @victoriasandres0599, thanks to the @undertalesecretsanta​ secret santa event! Sorry it’s almost a little late, but I have your Underfell story here for you - I hope you like it.  (You can also read this here on AO3)

Bedtime Promise An Underfell short story

Words: 903 Summary: It’s time for Papyrus to go to sleep, but the little monster doesn’t want to.

"Sa-ans, I don't wanna go to sleep!" The tiny skeleton scowled up at his bigger brother. It looked more like a pout than a scowl, scrunching up his pointed little face. "I wanna play some more!" The energetic skeleton bounced in place, just about the farthest thing from tired and sleepy.

Sans really wished he had some of Papyrus' energy and enthusiasm, but it seemed as if the younger and far more excited skeleton had stolen his vitality and was using it to bounce around. Sans grimaced, feeling even more tired as he watched the energetic display. "c'mon, bro, you know you hafta' go ta' sleep," Sans pleaded.

"Nuh-uh!" Papyrus shouted, shaking his head rapidly and in all directions, looking like a wet dog monster trying to dry off. Sans closed his eyes and tried to gather his strength as Papyrus began repeating himself, growing louder and more empathetic with each repetition. "Nuh-uh, Nuh-uh, NUH-UH!"

"Papyrus!" Sans cried out, and Papyrus quieted. "hey now, don't you want to be ready and full of energy tomorrow morning?" Papyrus nodded with full force, canines gleaming as he tried to show off just how energetic he would be. "you won't be if you don't get some sleep tonight. you'll be tired and want to lay-about like me – you might even take a nap in the middle of the day."

Papyrus gasped in horror at the thought. Sans took no offense at how offended Papyrus was – just as he didn't understand how his brother could be so full of energy and so alive all of the time, neither did Paps understand that Sans liked to rest and conserve his energy for when he really needed it. That was far more unfortunately often than he would like, in this kill or be killed world of theirs.

As much as it made going to sleep a trial every single night, Sans hoped that Papyrus never lost that energy, his boundless enthusiasm. It was a good defense against the world, keeping Papyrus safe and ready to fight back or run for far longer than most anyone else could. Right now, though, there was no need to fight or flee. They were as safe as they could be, and they needed to rest for when they weren't as safe tomorrow.

"-and then I wouldn't be so Great, because you can't be great if you're always sleeping instead of going out and doing great things!" Sans tuned back into Papyrus' babbling, going on a rant about how he'd never be as lazy as his brother. "However, I am the Great and Terrible Papyrus," Sans bit back a snicker – his bro had decided that would be his nickname a time ago, and refused to ever let it drop – "and as such, I will continue to go out and do Great things! And people will stop fighting and look up to me and see how great I am! And those that keep fighting, I will be terrible to, and then they will be terrified into seeing how great I am!"

"ya can't do that if you don't get ta' sleep soon, paps," Sans broke in. "look, bro, i'll – i'll even do that thing you like me to do." Papyrus instantly stopped what he was doing, and zoomed over to Sans. His sleeping 'cape' fluttered out behind him, a soft red blanket tied around his neck. It had seen plenty of wear and tear, and was more than a little bedraggled, but it was beloved and both brothers took utmost care with it.

Sans felt a magic blush light his cheekbones as his brother stared at him with rapt attention. "Please, brother?" Papyrus said softly, looking up at him with big, pleading eyes. Sans felt a familiar wash of anger as he spotted the crack along marring his brother's bones, but that just made him more determined to keep Papyrus safe; and if keeping his bro safe meant embarrassing himself, then so be it.

Papyrus didn't seem to think it was embarrassing, at least, and his precious brother's opinion was really all that mattered. "you gotta get into bed first," Sans began, and Papyrus had already launched himself into his sleeping area before Sans finished the sentence. Sans let a genuine smile grow across his fanged face; his brother was so cool… and adorable. "alright, then." Sans cleared his throat awkwardly, and Pap wrapped his 'cape' up around himself.

"hush my brother, it's time to sleep, "quiet down here in the caverns deep.”

"wrap your cape around you tight, "brothers gonna tuck you in tonight.”

"little monsters need their rest, "that way they can be the best.”

"and you'll grow up big and strong, "righting the world and fixing the wrong.”

"hey i know that you'll be great, "to be terrible is your fate.”

"and i'll be beside you there, "that is something i'll always swear."

Sans let his voice trail off as whistling little snores filled the room, his brother already fast asleep. Maybe it was still a little embarrassing to actually sing out loud to his little brother, but it was worth every moment for the peace it brought. The most precious thing in the world to him could finally lay down to rest, the still-innocent soul relaxing and trusting in Sans to keep him safe.

"i'll always be there for you," Sans swore quietly beside his brothers bed. "i promise."