#muster is a desperate “my SKELETON.” before he kills them both. but in the show rex has like a stab and a bloody nose and h

[cyanide-sippy-cup]

Been avoiding the show because FUCK Amazon but. I said I'd post it so I'm postin it.

[owlheartt]

Star Sanses Extended, Chapter 2: Underfell

Dream continues training Papyrus until Ink prompts them to stop for lunch. And then do not end up at the timeline Dream and Papyrus wanted to. (link to Chapter 1 on AO3)

Dream continued coaching Papyrus for the next few hours, with Ink interrupting at random moments. Sometimes he gave good advice, like stick with the group no matter what lure-tactics are used. But most of the time, Ink just prattled on about random things. Dream, on the other hand, was focused. He had a set mind and layed out goals and lists. He showed Papyrus how his magic worked and even prompted Ink to give an example. Ink just drew a tree. Admittedly, Ink’s tree came to life, and it was identical to a real one (the neon coloring being an exception).

Dream’s magic was the embodiment of joy, and it enchanted Papyrus.

“IT’S SO BRIGHT!” Papyrus exclaimed. He couldn’t help gushing over the glowing gold. The magic itself made Papyrus happy, and he wanted to be near it forever.

“Yea. My… Nightmare hates it.” Dream said. He looked a little distant.

“NIGHTMARE IS THE LEADER OF THE BAD SANSES, CORRECT?” Papyrus had been working very hard on memorizing what Dream had been explaining, and it felt good to be able to connect the dots like that.

“Yes! He’s my opposite, and his magic embodies negativity.” Dream said. Papyrus didn’t like how sad the yellow skeleton looked. Despite the joy Dream represented, he hardly ever looked happy himself. At least, he hadn’t in the few hours Papyrus had known him. Maybe today was just long. It must be stressful to switch out one of his team mates. Maybe he was worried that Papyrus would trip them up.

“HAVE NO FEAR! I CAN HANDLE IT. ESPECIALLY WITH THE JOY YOU BRING!” Papyrus placed his hands on his hips, and stood boldly. It was his hero pose that he practiced every morning in the mirror. Sans didn’t know that of course, and just thought that Papyrus came that great.

“I-” Dream cut himself off and squinted a little at Papyrus. “Thanks. This feels a lot like when I met Blue for the first time.” Dream smiled (genuinely, this time), and Papyrus got a taste of how much Dream loved his friends. It felt a lot like how much he loved Sans and Undyne. Maybe… maybe someday Dream would love him the same way.

“YOU’RE WELCOME! NOW, YOU WERE SAYING ABOUT YOUR MAGIC?” Papyrus said.

“Oh, right! I can also spread-” Dream began.

“Hiiiiiss HAPPY BUBBLE!!!” Ink exclaimed, slamming into Dream and wrapping an arm around him. Dream yelped as he was squashed against his considerably smaller friend.

“HAPPY BUBBLE?” Papyrus loved listening to all of Dream’s carefully worded explanations. None of it was ever condescending or confusing, and as the day had gone on it became easier and easier to ask questions.

“I have an aura I can spread.” Dream sat down, forcing the still-attached Ink to plop down with him. Papyrus followed, hitting the soft ground. The grass bent beneath him, and it felt itchy even through his clothes. “It makes the beings near me feel better. Ink calls it my Happy Bubble. The larger the bubble, the more effort it takes to upkeep. Mine tend to extend 7 feet, tops. It makes me nervous to use more magic than that.”

“AH, I SEE. CAN NIGHTMARE DO THE SAME?” Papyrus asked. Dream nodded.

“He doesn’t do it often though, it doesn’t benefit him. We both draw magic from nearby emotions, and artificially made ones don’t do anything for us.”

“Hey, I’m hungry!” Ink said, drawing away from Dream.

“Not now, Ink. Paper and I are busy.” Dream said, sighing.

“No like, it’s past noon. We haven’t had lunch.” Ink said, frowning. He switched to a playful grin and threw his hand over his head dramatically before adding, “We’re going to waste away!!”

“I INVITE YOU ALL TO MY HOUSE. I’M SURE THERE’S SOMETHING IN THE FRIDGE WE COULD HAVE!!” Papyrus said, standing right back up. He didn’t like sitting for long. Or, sitting at all, really. Felt… lazy. “OR IF WE NEED TO STAY HERE..?”

“No, not at all! We can keep tabs on the Multiverse from wherever. Ink, if you wouldn’t mind,” Dream turned toward Ink who had already splashed, well, ink all over the ground. Oddly enough, it looked more like a slab. It didn’t have single pieces of grass sticking up and out of it, and the surface was flat. Ink snached Papyrus and Dream’s hands with a little more urgency than Papyrus thought necessary. Of course, with how unpredictable Ink was, there was the chance it was just him being him.

Traveling through one of Ink’s shortcuts was different from Dream’s. The yellow magic was more like a snap, quick and efficient. Ink’s was… more leisurely. Just by a little bit, but it was still noticeable. Rather than the distinct tug on his SOUL, when he transitioned from the orange place to the new timeline it felt more like he had slid down a slide. He was pulled, but in a rather inviting way.

Looking up and around, Papyrus noticed that they were standing in Hotland, not far from Alphys’s lab. Except it felt as off-putting as when he had met Blueberry for the first time. It was Hotland… but not quite. Papyrus decided to give it the benefit of the doubt though, especially as it looked roughly the same as his Hotland, and he didn’t want to be rude.

“...AH, MY HOME IS THIS WAY.” Papyrus said, and began to march off toward Waterfell.

“Your home? Why does that matter?” Ink said. Papyrus turned around to see him tilting his head.

“Ink, don’t tell me you took us to the wrong timeline.” Dream said. From his expression, Papyrus could guess that this had happened before.

“Wrong timeline? For what?” The most frustrating part about this (in Papyrus’s fantastic opinion), was that it was impossible to tell if Ink was genuinely asking.

“FOR LUNCH. I WAS BRINGING YOU ALL TO MY HOUSE.” Papyrus said, as calmly as he could muster. Ink thought a bit before responding.

“Oh cool! Lunch sounds good. If we could take care of Error first though that’d be great.” Ink said it nonchalantly, but Dream’s eye sockets went wide open.

“...Error?” Dream said.

“Yea why?”

“WHO’S ERROR?” Papyrus didn’t like being kept in the dark.

“Error... is another destroyer of timelines.” Dream said slowly, and Papyrus could see how much effort he was putting into keeping a level tone. “He’s Ink’s nemesis, you could say. He doesn’t really work with the Bad Sanses, but he poses roughly the same threat.” Between the gritted teeth and the vibrating eye lights Papyrus got the general sense that Dream was Not Ok. So he took the one obvious solution and scooped his two new friends up.

“WHERE TO?” Papyrus said, determined. He was going to go and make sure that Error didn’t hurt anyone.

“Why, did you, pick us, up?!?” Dream said breathily, sounding enormously alarmed.

“WOO!! Free ride!” Ink said over him. He wiggled out of Papyrus’s grip and scrambled up him, clinging onto Papyrus like a baby Koala. “That way!!” Ink pointed directly to Alphys’s lab, where Papyrus could hear some banging and clashing now that he was focusing on it.

Papyrus ran straight for the lab, throwing out a foot to smash open the door. Quite a grand entrance if he could say so himself. The room he had burst into, on the other hand, was a mess. There was an assortment of computer bits strewn across the floor, and there was a big computer that had fallen over. Papyrus believed that his Alphys had a similar computer. Undyne had mentioned it once or twice. Of course, it was safe to assume Alphys’s was upright, but he had never been in Alphys’s lab before.

Speaking of Alphys, she was standing in a crouched position near the computer. She had her hands thrown out, as if she had hoped to stop the chaos happening but couldn’t figure out how. Her head was flipping from side to side, looking all around the room desperately, throwing her glasses half off her face. Papyrus had seen a picture of Alphys and Undyne together, and was sure that Alphys looked nothing like this. This Alphys had foggy, spiral glasses, and her outfit under the lab coat was a vibrant red and black.

There were three other monsters in the room, having a stand off in the middle of the debris. Undyne, Mettaton, and… oh dear goodness, was that Sans? Undyne and Mettaton were styled similarly to Alphys, in bright reds and pitch blacks, and they both looked… well, a lot edgier. And stronger. Then there was this Sans. He was a lot more committed to the, ah, black look. His bones themselves were a solid black, to the point that the dim, flickering lights in the lab were just absorbed into him, like a black hole. His eyelights were different sizes and colors, and he looked like he needed someone to talk to. There were glitches all along him, some just as rectangles, others saying ERROR. This Sans felt… surreal. And like he was hurting.

It took all of Papyrus’s willpower to focus on what Dream had been telling him, and not prepare a speech for this Sans. He had to trust that Blueberry knew what he was doing, and had already tried. Well, maybe not for this Sans. Maybe Dream would let him-

Ink launched himself off of Papyrus, rolling along the floor before leaping up and skidding to a halt in front of the glitching Sans.

“Ink?!” Even this Sans’s voice was glitching.

“Heya Glitchy!! Aww, come on! Were you seriously attacking these poor monsters?” Ink sounded completely unphased, barely throwing a glance at said ‘poor monsters.’

“WHAT?” The Undyne roared. She looked mean, and mad. “He killed Papyrus, so this damn fight is mine, I already need robotics over here to leave, don’t make me force you out too!” Killed… him? Papyrus? No wonder Undyne was mad. Oh, what about Sans? Papyrus knew that Sans was going through things, and he needed Papyrus to help make sure he kept going. Had this Papyrus made it into the guard? Or were his life long dreams gone? Maybe he didn’t dream of being a Royal Guardsman. What had he dreamed of? Did he ever make it? What was he leaving behind? As if sensing his thoughts, Dream snapped in front of his face, bringing him back.

“Hey- Paper! If we can stop this fight and convince Error to leave, then we can RESET the timeline! I can’t explain right now, but just know that we can undo what Error has done.” Dream said. “Also please-put-me-down-I-have-to-go-help-Ink-because-he-will-get-himself-killed,” the golden skeleton added in a rush. Papyrus set Dream down before glancing around the room again. The angry triad of monsters all seemed to be getting more aggressive with Ink himself, but Alphys just looked conflicted. With Dream heading to Ink, Papyrus felt inclined to go help Alphys. She was having a smaller problem, but smaller problems tend to get overlooked. If the Great Papyrus didn’t help her, then who would? Undyne might, but she was busy right then.

“ALPHYS?” Papyrus asked her, as gently as he could. “ARE YOU HURT?” Alphys jerked, finally sending her glasses flying. She glared at Papyrus, with small, squinting eyes.

“I’m f-fine, th-tha-thank you-ou. F-fuck o-off.” She growled. Did she just- no matter. Papyrus was ok being the bigger monster (especially because he literally was), and he could move past it. When Alphys turned to start feeling through the debri for her glasses, Papyrus took one big step and picked them up, calmly and maturely handing them to her. “I d-d-don’t need-d h-help!!! I t-t-told y-you, fuck. Off.” She said, adjusting her glasses so that she could see again. Then her jaw dropped open.

“IS THAT BETTER, FRIEND?” Papyrus tried placing an emphasis on ‘friend,’ hoping that Alphys would understand that he only wanted to help.

“P-P-Pap-Papyrus?” Alphys’s stutter only seemed to be getting worse.

“YES, THAT’S ME!! BUT YOU CAN CALL ME PAPER.” Papyrus added, remembering that this timeline had a Papyrus already… it also began to dawn on him that this timeline’s Papyrus had died. Died, what an unsettling concept.

“B-b-b-but,” Alphys said, her eyes wide. “B-b-but y-you-you’re d-d-dust..?”

“I’M… NOT YOUR PAPYRUS.” Papyrus smiled gently. “I’M SORRY.” He added.

“I- th-then wh-wh-who a-are y-you?” Alphys tried to organize herself, her eyes flitting around the room nervously.

“CALL ME PAPER. I’M HERE TO HELP! I’M STILL LEARNING WHAT TO DO THOUGH, SO MY FRIENDS ARE THE ONES WHO ARE REALLY GOING TO HELP!” Papyrus was really good at admitting when he didn’t know enough. Not knowing was frustrating, but no one could know everything. And if you can’t admit that you need help, how could you get better?

“W-we d-d-don’t n-need he-help.” Alphys said, her voice regaining the steely tone she had used earlier. She narrowed her eyes at Papyrus, and the only hint that she was nervous was the way she fiddled with her hands.

“EVERYONE NEEDS HELP, IT’S OK TO ACCEPT IT.” Papyrus said, trying his hardest to sound the exact opposite of the red Alphys. It was hard to figure out if this was just what Alphys was like, or if it was the whole Universe. If Undyne’s stories were anything to go off of, it was the Universe.

“Y-you r-really ar-aren’t P-P-Papyrus.” Alphys said with an accusatory tone. Her words helped solidify the idea that it was the Universe itself.

“ARE YOU OK?” Papyrus decided to skip over all the bickering. He was sure Dream and Ink could use his help, but no matter how Alphys was acting it was important not to leave her hanging.

“I-I-I’m fine.” She said, scowling.

“JUST IN CASE, MAY I CHECK YOUR SOUL?” Papyrus said, almost certain of her answer.

“N-no, g-g-go a-away.” Alphys said.

“AH, ALRIGHT. PLEASE STAY BACK HERE, I DON’T WANT YOU GETTING HURT.” Papyrus said, turning. Alphys seemed even more offended by his statement, but Papyrus couldn’t figure out why. He was just caring for her, after all.

“I-I’m st-staying b-b-back here b-but o-only because I w-want to!!!” Alphys said, raising her voice a little and scrunching up her eyes. Papyrus nodded absently, turning himself towards the battle he had been ignoring.

Undyne’s spears littered the wall and floor, one with it’s sharp point missing. Ink was tied up in blue strings high above the floor, his brush hanging precariously. Papyrus would go and help, but Ink was too high up to reach. Dream’s clothes were a little torn, and he had a bow with a yellow arrow nocked. His aim was switching around the circle, which gave Papyrus the impression that everyone was a threat. Maybe… maybe if he talked to Undyne she would be willing to step back.

“Where’s your blue friend, dreamy?” Error said. His words were as glitchy as his body, and they seemed to have a background noise of static. He had an edge to his voice not unlike the Alphys of this timeline, but it sounded cockier. Error’s eyelights flitted to Papyrus, and his superior grin swapped to a frown before he smiled cruelly again. “What, is this your replacement?” Error cackled, throwing his head back.

Dream stole a quick glance at Papyrus, seemingly involuntary. Undyne and Mettaton stayed focused on the others. Papyrus crept up to Undyne, and tapped her shoulder just as she seemed to brace herself to throw another spear. She whipped around, her irritation etched across her face.

“WHA-” Undyne stopped half-turn, seeing who had tapped her. Her half-formed spear dropped, shattering on the tiled floor. Sounding a lot smaller and a bit sad, she whispered. “Papyrus?”

“HELLO FRIEND. I AM NOT YOUR PAPYRUS.” Papyrus said, reaching up to wrap his hand around her shoulder, trying to be as comforting as he could. Papyrus caught Dream’s eye socket, and saw him smile gratefully before shifting back to Error. Undyne, on the other hand, quickly switched her expression. Her face snapped into a snarl, and she reached up to smack Papyrus’s hand away.

“DON’T FUCKING TOUCH ME!!” She yelled at him, spears forming above her head. At first glance, they looked strong and dangerous. But when Papyrus looked closer, he could see how thin the magic looked. Undyne didn’t want to fight him. “YOU’RE NOT PAPYRUS, AND PAPYRUS WOULD NEVER BE WEAK ENOUGH TO SHOW AFFECTION.” Undyne put emphasis on ‘affection’ like it was something evil, unwanted. How wrong that felt.

“LOVE IS NOT WEAK. AND I’M NOT YOUR PAPYRUS. PLEASE WAIT FOR ME TO EXPLAIN.” Papyrus kept his voice level, raising his hands to show he meant no harm. Undyne just made more spears.

“Not my Papyrus?! HA!! How dumb do you think I AM?!?! There’s only ONE Papyrus, and you sure as hell aren’t him!” Undyne sneered. The spears came down, and Papyrus had to throw up a bone shield. More spears missed his shield than he would’ve expected to, although he knew Undyne’s control was never as good as Papyrus’s (his was far too good to live up to).

“PLEASE WAIT FOR AN EXPLANATION!!” Papyrus turned his bones blue so that he could see Undyne. She was still growling, her brow deeply furrowed.

“Why should I speak to you?! It doesn’t matter who you are, just that you’re IMPERSONATING MY-” Undyne cut herself off. She hesitated, spears pausing and angry mask barely breaking.

“YOUR FRIEND?” Papyrus offered. Friends were important. Just like family. Papyrus knew that Undyne was important to him and vice versa in his universe, so it would make sense that it would be the same in this one, despite everyone’s bizarre personality.

“NO!!! Friends are WEAK and PATHETIC. I was GOING TO SAY my BEST GUARD!” Undyne shouted, squeezing her eyes shut. Papyrus removed his shield, and brought up blue bones around Undyne, close enough that she couldn’t use her hands to help her summon magic. Papyrus saw her eyes shoot open with shock and he saw her reach to move.

“BLUE MEANS STOP.” He said calmly. “LET ME HELP FIX WHAT’S HAPPENING HERE, AND WE CAN MAKE EVERYTHING BETTER.”

[greatshell-rider]

SKELETAL ESCAPADES: CHAPTER EIGHT

[Chapter Index] [Previous Chapter] [Next Chapter]

“Are you done yet?” BS1 (Banescale One) said, not for the first time.

“No,” BS3 (Banescale Three), the mage, answered shortly. “I could swear it’s around here somewhere. I sensed something.”

CS2 had its necro-animation puppet—the gecko—crouch lower behind the snow drift it had ordered it to go to. The skeleton’s pale bones were nearly imperceivable against the snow, but its purple aura of magic could still give it away. Especially with the banescale mage sniffing around for it.

“Still seems deserted to me,” BS1 said doubtfully, looking around him at the barren white field. “You’re sure the scout said their den is here.”

“Yes, and the magic I detected confirms it. If you would just give me the space to think—”

“Enough of this,” BS2 (Banescale Two) snapped, with a lash of her tail. “Snow must be confusing your senses, mage. And it’s freezing my scales. Deserted or not, we’re going in.”

“I’m not ready—” BS3 began to say.

“Then stay out here,” BS2 said harshly. “Do your silly little tests that please you so much. Danyr and I will take care of this.” The mage opened their mouth again, and BS2 sneered, “We’ll call you if we need back-up, alright?”

BS1 laughed, and BS3 snapped their jaws shut. They looked nervous and upset, but didn’t object as their clanmates turned towards the hill. Realizing their next move was imminent, CS2 called its sentinel back, the gecko scuttling lightly atop the snow the two banescale warriors had to slog through towards the lair. Once reunited with its fellow, CS2 had both necro-animations burrow back into the snow to avoid being seen, and pulled its awareness back to its own bones, to think.

But it didn’t have much time to do so. Before long, its outside sentinels sent another mental signal, and CS2 itself heard the sound of the two warriors blasting fire and using claws and wings to excavate the snow from the lair entrance.

It had hoped the dragons would keep flying past.

It had hoped they would fall to arguing and fail to finish their task.

It had hoped, even, that the conversation it had overheard would tell it that they were friendly dragons, that somehow news of Atomic confronting the clan chieftain-heir had reached the banescales already and they no longer had reason to attack. Though maybe such news had come, along with an order: make sure Atomic and Tibia had no home to return to.

But its hope had failed. Desperate wishes of the what-ifs and the could’ve-beens—CS2 was done with those. No more. No more of sitting around in its broken bones waiting for others, for dragons, to tell it what to do, how to react, when to hide under the shadows. The commands Tibia had left CS2 with screamed at its bones, a constant pressure on its mind that only grew to the point of pain. Obey, now.

Oh, CS2 would obey.

First situational command: Upon a creature of ill intent crossing the proximity ward and finding the lair, signal your master.

CS2 obeyed, shooting the message down its link to Tibia with all the force and urgency it could muster. The fae was almost a halfmoon away, still in the Ashfall Wastes, but by stretching its awareness far, far, it felt the alert arrive, felt Tibia’s shock and alarm at the signal.

It heard its creator say, “CS2? Tell me what’s—” But before she could finish the order, CS2, using the same stretchy nature of its tattered, magic-saturated, almost-independent soul, did something it had never been able to do before.

It closed off their mental communication, and for the first time in many days, its awareness was centered solely in its own mind and bones. The link to Tibia was still there, the magic that kept CS2 animated still leaking quietly to it, but for all intents and purposes, it was alone now. Just it, its servants, and the invaders.

CS2 received a signal from its lair sentinels the same moment it heard the exclaims of success as the banescales broke through the last of the hard-packed snow covering the lair entrance, and stepped into the tunnel.

“Hello?” BS2 called, a growl edging the greeting. “Anyone home?”

BS1 laughed. “I don’t care what Biaw sensed, let’s find it!”

“Let’s find you,” BS2 snarled, and by the weak moonlight streaming in through the open entrance, CS2 caught its first sight of her with its own skull as the banescale entered the den, wings raised, fangs bared, talons flexed. BS1 kept his back to hers, facing into the cave that now served as the hoard.

Second situational command: Should the creatures breach the lair, do all in your power to defend.

From the shadowy corners of the two dens, CS2 called its sentinels. The squirrel skeleton in the hoard darted down the tunnel into the nesting den, causing BS1 to startle and jump back, almost falling on BS2. The latter snarled and shoved BS1 off, yelling, “Watch it!”

As her shove sent BS1 stumbling, CS2 detached the bird skeleton from the tunnel ceiling and sent it in a dive at BS2’s head. The banescale’s figure blurred, then CS2 heard and felt a sickening SNAP and realized the warrior had smashed her tail into the necro-animation, grinding it into dust against the floor. Shock jolted through CS2—one sentinel down already?

But at the same time, BS1 staggered into the tunnel wall—activating the first of Tibia’s traps.

The dragon cried out as long ribs of elk and moose sprang out of the wall, lengthening and curling inward as more bone buried in wells into the dirt walls funneled into the ribs until they grew into a cage around the warrior, pinning him to the wall. BS1 gasped and yelled, beating his wings and tail in a panic, his legs kicking futilely as the bone cage had lifted him off of the ground. “Keud!” he called. “Help!”

“Shades,” BS2 swore, backing away from the trap and into the den, then jumped around, hissing, eyes sweeping the dark cave. “Someone is in here,” she growled, whether to her clanmate or to herself CS2 didn’t know. “Come out, trickster, if you want to play so badly.” She moved in deeper, but stayed away from the walls. “Show yourself!” She stepped into the center of the den.

Another bone trap activated, snapping upward from the floor like jaws, but again BS2 moved faster almost than CS2 could see, jumping up in a spin and lashing out with her tail, slamming through each protruding rib and snapping them like pine needles.

“Too slow,” BS2 sneered, turning another wary circle. “You’re going to have to try—”

Calling the two from outside, CS2 sent its three available sentinels—the last two still trapped inside the hibernal den, out of reach—darting at the banescale from different directions. One scampering around her feet, to distract her. One falling onto her face and scratching at her eyes, to confuse her. And the third leaping onto her sweeping tail to climb up and look for a loose scale, a patch of bare skin, any flaw in the armor CS2 could dig claws into and at least try to make the dragon bleed a little before she killed it.

The banescale flinched and roared at the skeletons’ attack, but recovered quicker, and CS2 felt the pain of yet more bones breaking and crunching into splinters as she stomped her clawed foot at the bird skeleton, bit down and flung away the gecko skeleton with her jaws, and slapped a wing at the squirrel skeleton on her shoulder, stepping back to let it fall to the ground.

No, CS2 thought, reaching out more of its magic to the skeletons. The bones quivered, but the pain it felt through them was starting to fade as the connections began to die.

“You done yet?” BS2 roared, jerking her head at BS1 still caged to the wall. “We’re dealing with a necromancer here!”

“I’m trying, I’m trying!” he said around a mouthful of rib. “Their Highness didn’t say anything about one of those!”

With no further attacks coming, BS2 stomped over to help break her clanmate free.

NO, CS2 thought, and strained to reach its fellows. It couldn’t do anything without them, its bones too broken to move itself, couldn’t trick the dragons into traps, couldn’t lure them away, couldn’t distract them long enough to keep Lamp and the eggs safe, it just wasn’t enough.

“There’s nothing alive here, like Biaw said,” she growled, digging at the base of a rib anchored into the wall. “It’s all pre-set traps, puppets. Nothing can actually hurt us if you weren’t such an idiot—”

CS2 poured magic into the shattered necro-animations, down the thinning links, begging them to keep going for just a little longer. It wasn’t enough. Little bones, tiny skeletons of prey creatures, stripped of flesh and hide, were nothing but flies to dragons, to be swatted away and ignored. Even as CS2 used every last drop of Tibia’s magic she had put into its bones to try and maintain the connections, it wasn’t enough. The grayness of exhaustion, of its mind losing consciousness, pulled at CS2, warning it it was using up too much of the magic needed to keep itself reanimated. The Dark loomed over it, poised to sink its claws into it and drag it away.

NO. NOT. YET.

The second situational command blazed in CS2’s mind. Defend the den from attacks, to the end. With all its power.

CS2 did something else it had never done before. One link remained, not between it and the other necro-animations, but between it and its master. Its creator. The dragon who continually fueled its ability to think and exist.

CS2 seized that link, and rather than send its awareness down to watch through Tibia’s eyes, or to send a signal, or to push more magic into broken puppets, it pulled.

At first the well of magic, the bright burning spot in the corner of CS2’s mind that tied it to Tibia, resisted. This wasn’t how it was supposed to work. This wasn’t the rules of the game. It was master and servant, creator and creation. One held the power, and the other was given it. A hunter and its prey, the command and the obedience.

But CS2’s soul stretched. It no longer fit within its own bones, and it forced it to no longer accept those rules. CS2 sent claws into the bright spot of magic, digging into it, tearing and gnawing, until it felt that resistance bend, then break.

Magic flooded into CS2’s bones, at the same time pain ripped through its soul. It screamed, and then it stood up.

At the center of its blackening vision, where it could only just barely focus past the pain, it saw both banescales look up. BS2 warily stepped forward. Behind her, BS1 had one wing and part of his neck free of the cage.

You’re too late, CS2 thought, as the magic filled it up then spilled over, streaming out of its bones, flying across the den to all other sources of bone it could sense, which glowed in its vision a stark, vivid yellow. It grabbed the skeletons, its puppets. It ripped the failed cage out of the floor, then the third trap in the hoard wall. CS2 screamed again and stepped forward, off its ledge. Bones flew to it, shattered or whole, and kept it from falling. Bones stacked atop and wove around another, building a body up from underneath CS2’s skeleton so it could walk, stiff-legged and staggering, toward its targets.

BS2 didn’t hesitate but leapt back into the den, wings flaring, mouth opening to bare fangs as she hissed a challenge.

CS2 gathered all the bones, breaking them down and reforming them as it wished, and as the dragon lunged forward, it dove down her throat.

Back in the dark, but this time it was warm, and moved. Wet, sticky, CS2 forced its way down, digging in a hundred claws into the fleshy walls when the tube constricted and rushing air tried to force it back out, the banescale doubling over and hacking, but failing to eject it. It climbed down, down, down, breaking itself down into smaller, denser pieces as the tunnel shrunk more and more, shredding a thousand tiny shards into the meaty throat until CS2 had no choice but to rip through the barrier into a space slightly more open, and found what it was looking for.

It clamped its jaws around the center of the dragon’s violently beating life, and dragged itself back up the throat and out of BS2’s jaws, ripping the heart out after it. Hot dark liquid sprayed out after it, coating CS2 in stickiness as it backed away to watch the banescale take a shuddering step, jaw opening and closing in a mimicry of breath. Wide orange eyes stared up at CS2 in terror, before the legs folded and the body collapsed to the ground in a broken heap. Blood pooled around its head.

CS2 wobbled slightly, disorientated in the sudden coldness of the den, then became aware of its second target. The banescale had half of himself loose, and as CS2 turned toward him, he wiggled free from the rest of the cage, falling to the floor in a graceless pile of flailing limbs. CS2 lunged for him, but he dove for the tunnel and it fell into the hoard, smashing its bones against the far wall from the force of its leap. That rattled its mind, sent dizzying waves of pain washing through it, but erupting from that pain, came anger. Even with all its power now, it still hurt. With all of this magic blazing out of it, still those dragons thought to beat it.

“Help,” it heard the banescale gasp as he staggered down the tunnel towards the entrance. “Help! Giaw, help! Help, it’s coming!”

And it was. Oh, it was.

First, the corpse. CS2 called it, and the skeleton inside the stinking pile of meat shuddered, then ripped free, gore-slick bones rushing to slap into place within CS2’s distorted skeleton. With them came something else, a glowing mist of orange that melted into the purple.

MORE, CS2 commanded, reaching out past the lair with its mind and touching each source of glowing yellow it found scattered across the snow-drenched grassland. MORE, it snarled, calling those bones to it as it pulled itself back upright, then shambled down the entrance tunnel after its fleeing target. The bones came, dredged up from the earth, ripping themselves free of dirt and snow old and fresh, flying to and adding themselves to CS2’s mass as it clawed its way down the tunnel, squeezing its bulk through the entrance to expand and cascade out onto the hill. More and more, CS2 sucked magic now tinged with red from its creator and used it to direct bones that were gray, bones that were white, bones that were little more than dust, bones that no longer sat together in complete sets, bones that had once belonged to souls of beasts both hunted and killer but now were only its own. CS2 built up its skeleton, bigger, taller, stretching it up towards the moons, toward those fake disks of light, until the land below stretched out wide before its senses, until the two tiny black dots it saw far, far below were only barely distinguishable from all the snow, and CS2 identified them: its targets.

Throwing open wings that curtained out the moonlight, CS2 slammed down two great taloned feet of bone on either side of the two banescales and roared.

No sound emerged.

Beneath it, the dragons cowered, having thrown their wings over themselves in a last desperate attempt at protection, huddling together in the snow. But they didn’t flinch at the sound. Because there hadn’t been one. CS2 tried again, putting all its pain and anger into the roar, but nothing, not even the faintest wind, came out. As if CS2 wasn’t even really there.

It raged, smashing wing and talon against the earth, beating at the snow. Bones shattered at impact and others flew to replace them. CS2 could strike the same fist into the hill a hundred times, and a hundred times whatever bones broke, CS2 could remake a hundred times over and replace again and again. But no matter how much magic it used, no matter the force of its frantic despair, its blows didn’t leave a mark. The bones broke too quickly. Other than the misshapen trails left behind by the dragons, the snow was untouched by its presence. Perfect, pristine whiteness shining under the moons.

CS2 sank back onto its haunches and lifted its forefeet, staring at them. Its wings, wings, sank to the ground, but only rested lightly atop the snow despite their bulk. As the anger slunk away—it realized, dimly, that the banescales were running away, but no longer cared—a new awareness crept over it. It, it had built its huge skeleton into that of a dragon. These were talons, not the short digging claws for a chipmunk’s paws. It had wings, grotesque and fragile without the folds of skin that lent the ability to fly. And a great horned skull to crown the mess, its jaws bristling with teeth molded from the skeletons of creatures CS2 couldn’t name any longer, so many times had it broken those bones down and forged them anew with others.

This is what it was, now. It stood atop a hill sheltering sleeping predators underneath a sky of glittering stars it, it had never seen, it had never known the winter constellations because it had died, it had been hunted and killed, its body, its body of flesh and fur and blood that once been its own shape and sensation, pierced and cut into by the clever talons of beings so much bigger, so much smarter than itself—CS2 was dead, and now it took its murderer’s form with all its magic, power stolen rather than innate or built, and this still wasn’t life.

The snowy ground might as well be as distant as those cold, staring stars and moons, because CS2 was not of this world. And this world was no longer of it.

Undead.

The pain was back, CS2 realized. It had forgotten it while still caught up in its fury, in the thrill of pursuit, of hunting those dragons, but it was never gone. And it was. So. Much.

Agony ate at the hollowness of it as CS2 sank back down into the lair entrance, magic seeping out of the bones shattered and reshattered along the same lines until there were no further cracks to break. The Dark was back, swooping across its vision in dizzying waves as it stumbled down the tunnel toward the hidden entrance of the hibernal den, suddenly desperate to reach it before the last of the magic evaporated.

I need, it tried to gasp, though it had no lungs with which to breathe and that hurt to know, I need to get there. I need to make sure.

That last burning command, the final situational, the ever-permanent. To the end, keep Lamp and my eggs safe.

It fell through the hole into the cold cellar of a den. How long had CS2 dug? There was no sensation in its bones. But no, no, the holes had been from when it had summoned all the bones in the vicinity, and that had included its two remaining sentinels. Their skeletons had broken through the wall of earth to answer its call, and now their remains were scattered somewhere outside in the snow or down in the lair, following CS2’s staggering path. Collapsed there on the floor of the hibernal den, that was almost the end, the Dark almost claiming it. But the master’s command drove it to be sure, and it dragged its skeleton forward, to lift its skull and see with the last of its clouding vision.

A guardian dragon, statuesque in the gloom, lay encircling his nest of sleeping eggs. Peaceful as snow.

Would the banescales have even found them? Would they have thought to dig deeper, upon finding an empty lair and hoard? Had the commands Tibia had given it been too hasty, too simple? What would CS2 have done, if it could have chosen?

CS2 was not alive, it could not even move, and it still had these thoughts, this awareness, these questions. And it made no difference, whether it had them or not. It didn’t matter, not to the world, not to its master, so the weight of them fell solely upon itself.

It was too much. Too much.

I did it, it sent to Tibia, without remembering it had closed the mental communication. I fulfilled your last request. I can rest now. I get to do that, at last.

And it was dark.

[blustersquall]

Only Make Believe // Chapter 35: Aftermath

I’m really sorry for the long break between chapters. I have an explanation at the end of the chapter rather than filling space here.

Trigger warning for mentions of blood and torture.

I am Cullen Stanton Rutherford. I am nineteen-years-old. I was born on the 12th August. My mother’s name is Alexandra Katherine Rutherford. My father’s name is Charles Stanton Rutherford. I have three siblings. Mia. Branson. Rosalie. I was born in Honnleath. I was raised in Honnleath. I am a member of the TEMPLARs. I am still alive.

I am Cullen Stanton Rutherford…

Cullen was dying.

Hard as he tried to fight that fact, it was one he could no longer ignore. He was going to die; alone, beaten and bloodied in a dank, cold cell, forgotten and un-mourned. It was days since he last saw his captors. Days since his last meagre meal was shoved through a small hatch in the door with a single cup of stagnant water. It was weeks since anyone had come to see him. Come to try and turn him to their side.

He wasn’t even sure if his captors still occupied the building he was in, or if they had moved on and just abandoned him to starve to death. Perhaps this was their last form of torture. He managed to withstand their other attempts and had the open, festering wounds to prove it. If he survived this, his left shoulder would never be the same. He was sure the boiling water they’d tossed over him had ripped the flesh right down to the bone. It was infected though, he knew that from how much it hurt just to move.

I am nineteen-years-old…

There was no sense of time. The cell was pitch black and he couldn’t even remember the last time he saw daylight. Both his body and mind were exhausted, yet sleep eluded him. Some subconscious part of his brain would not allow him to rest – maybe too afraid that if he slept, the rest of him would give out and he would never awaken. Not that he had a comfortable place to sleep. The floor was bare, cold stone and wet. No straw to soak up the damp, not even a ragged blanket to wrap around himself for some feeble attempt of warmth.

I was born on the 12th of August…

He made the effort not to speak and was forgetting the sound of his own voice. Water was so rare, so precious, he couldn’t waste it on speech or shouting in the vain hope someone might hear his cries. He couldn’t – wouldn’t – waste it on tears of self-pity. After all, this was a situation of his own making and he had no one to blame but himself. He used what little energy he still had to write. The stone beneath him was his paper, his right index finger his pen. He scrawled the same things over and over again, trying to keep himself sane. To keep his mind focused and remember who he was.

My mother’s name is Alexandra Katherine Rutherford…

The tip of his finger was raw and rough, his fingernail worn down to almost nothing, yet still he wrote. There was nothing to show for his mindless scrawling, but just imagining the words flowing from the tip of his finger helped. The words, his mantra, the only thing keeping him from falling into the darkness of oblivion that crowded in around him. He wasn’t sure it made any difference. After all, when he died here, no one would know who he was.

My father’s name is Charles Stanton Rutherford…

Why didn’t they just kill him?

It was a question that plagued his mind even now. What good was it to keep him alive and have him waste away like this? Was it punishment for not turning to their side? Was it simply because he was no longer important – never had been – and there was no point wasting time and resources on a man already dead? Or was there someone out there who came by occasionally to watch him slowly perish? Someone who came by to watch him scrawl out words and letters in ink only he could see as he descended into the insanity of isolation?

I have three siblings…

His body was wasting away. Where there was once lean muscle and fat, he didn’t feel anything. When his captors threw him into this cell he had to be dragged. The backs of his legs were so badly injured from the sharp iron barbs constantly pressing into him that he hadn’t been able to bend them properly. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to walk again… Then again, what did it matter? No one was coming. His comrades were dead because of him, and they had been abandoned to their fate by the higher powers. The people in charge who could dispatch a rescue team had left them.

Mia. Branson. Rosalie…

He was nineteen and going to die. It was hard to think of any of the things he had accomplished in his short, pathetic life. It amounted to very little. It was probably for the best that he wasn’t going to live. It would make way for someone who had a life plan. Someone who was going to dedicate their life to something worthwhile. Someone who would accomplish great things. Things he could never dream of. When he died, alone and in pain, a shadow of the man he was running into this conflict, maybe it would be enough to atone for the deaths he caused with his arrogance, his youth, and his eagerness to prove his worth.

So many lives lost, because of him.

Too many.

His family would be ashamed.

I was born in Honnleath…

Apart from a door with a hatch, his cell had nothing. No bucket, no windows. It was truly as though he was thrown in there to be forgotten. Maybe, in years to come, some poor soul would be exploring the foundations and find his skeleton. When that day came, he hoped he didn’t scare them too much. No sound from outside penetrated his cell. He grew accustomed to the rhythm of his own breathing and could hear over the last few days, weeks, or months, how laboured it was becoming.

When torturing him, punishing him for not talking or simply still being alive, his captors were careful to never pierce anything that would shorten his life. They punched him, and he was sure in doing so he had a cracked rib or three, but when using implements they were precise. Skin deep, sometimes cutting or burning down to the fatty tissue or the bone, but never deep enough to do damage to his organs or pierce an artery. They could have have killed him hundreds of times by now. Some of the weapons he saw them wielding were big enough to stab through him, front-to-back. More than once he considered throwing himself at his torturer that day in the hopes he might fall on their sword.

He never did.

He was too much of a coward to do that. Too weak willed to kill himself and spare himself the pain and anguish inflicted on him daily. And now that option was lost to him. No one was coming. No captor, no rescue. No easy way out. He was trapped. Consigned to waste slowly away until his body simply gave up and gave out.

I was raised in Honnleath…

The sound of voices was so foreign to him now that it took time for him to realise what he was hearing. Muffled through the door and walls, he could make out the sound of shouting. The words were too faint for him to make out, and he was already having difficulty hearing due to what he thought might be an infection. Still, it was strange to hear the noise and for the first time in a long time, Cullen forced himself to focus on something other than his own thoughts.

He was amazed he still could. It wasn’t an easy feat. He concentrated, and that took energy he did not have to spare. His head throbbed, pain in his neck, started to pulse making its way down his spine and through his limbs. It was as though, by trying to focus on one thing, his mind forced him to focus on everything. The pain that wracked his body, the gnawing sensation in his empty belly, the dryness of his mouth, the taste of blood, and the open sores on his lips and across his body. He was forced to focus how weak he now was. How little strength there was left in him. Hardly enough strength to breathe regularly. His head was pounding, and he realised for the first time one of his eyes wouldn’t open.

I am a member of the TEMPLARs…

Through the white-hot shocks of pain that attacked every nerve in him, Cullen found his will and the focus he so desperately was searching for. The sound of shouting was closer now. Voices raised. Lots of voices. The occasional loud blast, like a small explosion happening inside an enclosed space. Somewhere in the back of his mind a memory stirred. That small enclosed explosion sound was one he thought he recognised, but that thought was gone quick replaced by an intense panic.

He had no idea what was happening. Beyond the door to his cell he could see nothing, and the sound was still far away. Mustering his strength, be started to pull himself across the ground, digging his fingers into the gaps between stones and forcing himself forward on his belly. The pain was excruciating, and he clenched his teeth so hard his head felt as though it was going to implode from the pressure. The rough ground rubbed at the raw wound on his left side, opening up what small parts of it managed to heal. The pain made him nauseous; clawed hands reaching around and piercing into his skin over and over with every inch he covered.

The stone cut and sliced small wounds into his hands and the tips of his fingers coating them in blood and making them slip when he tried to grip. If he tried to bend his legs, tried to use them to push himself, the pain almost caused him to black out. Never before had the cell he was in seemed so wide and vast. It was like for every inch he moved, another foot of emptiness took its place.

By some miracle of Ferelden determination, he made it to the door. Breathing hard, almost retching from his exertion, he paused to try and hear what was going on. The blood in his veins was pounding in his head so loud it was hard to hear anything else over it. Cullen put his ear to the door. There was still shouting, short and sharp phrases being said, the occasional muffled explosion coming from somewhere. He peered under the door, a small gap of perhaps a centimetre was all that gave him visual. It wasn’t much, and he could make nothing out. The hallway outside of his cell was just as dark as his cell was.

Perhaps he was simply imagining things. Maybe this was the end for him, and the sounds he heard – or thought he heard – were his brain and body’s last-ditch attempt to give him hope. To make it seem like he might be rescued and freed to make the inevitability of death lose it’s sting. Perhaps he would die leaning up against the door, a sign that he never gave up hope. That he tried to help himself.

A flash caught his attention from under the door. A bright, single orb that was there and then gone, then back a moment later sweeping from side to side. The orb grew into a beam, and Cullen shielded his eyes. He heard heavy footsteps, voices drawing nearer to him. The beam of light approaching, sliding under the door frame and giving his cell the tiniest hint of illumination.

Cullen wiggled his bloodied fingertips as far under the door as he could. Captors or rescuers, he didn’t care. He wanted out. He wanted to see another person’s face before he died.

“In here.” A voice behind the door ordered, and there was a jangle Cullen recognised. Keys. Keys inserted into the rusty lock and turned. The door swung open.

Recoiling from the light, Cullen used what little strength he still had to lift his hand and shield his one good eye from the blinding flashlight beam above him. He couldn’t make out who was in possession of the light, they were all in shadow, but he saw people. People who saw him.

“Sweet Andraste’s Flame— Get a medic in here! There’s a survivor!” Someone shouted, and then more voices joined in feeding the order back.

The owner of the voice put their light to one side. Cullen saw the familiar shape of a rifle being holstered as the voice’s owner dropped to kneel before him pulling a black cowl down from around his face. It was a man, bearded and older than Cullen was, dressed in all black fatigues. When he reached out towards him, Cullen flinched.

“Easy there, son.” The man’s voice was gentle, and he moved slow, “you’re alright. No one’s going to hurt you. You’re safe now.” He placed a hand on Cullen’s shoulder, quickly retracting it when Cullen hissed and tensed against the pain that raced through him. “Fucking hell…” The man muttered, “how long have you been down here?” He turned his head, “where’s the medic?!”

Cullen’s body gave out. The small reserves of strength he had running dry and leaving him feeble, weak and trembling from the exertion it took to drag himself across the floor. The bearded man came into the cell and was followed by two other people who wore green bands on their left arm to denote their medical training. The green banded people started talking using words and phrases that Cullen didn’t know or recognise. The bearded man kneeled by Cullen’s head, eyes up and alert, listening to the pair of medics.

His mind hazy, Cullen’s eyes started to slip closed.

“What’s your name, son?” The bearded man asked him, “can you tell me your name? You’ve got to stay awake, alright? Tell me you name.”

Swallowing did nothing to dampen his throat. His lips were dry and cracked and they split when he moved them to form his name.

“Cul…”

“Cul?”

Cullen didn’t recognise his own voice. It sounded more like a harsh rasp, than words that he was making. “Cull-en.” He managed.

“Cullen?”

Grimacing with effort, he forced his lips to form shapes, and his vocal chords to work. “Cull… en... Ruth-er… ford…”

“Cullen Rutherford.” There was a flicker of recognition in the bearded man’s face. He glanced at the medics, then back down at Cullen. “Well, you keep talking and we’ll get you out of here in no time.”

Without realising, Cullen reached out with a hand. The bearded man took it and Cullen felt him squeeze. His eyes stung as tears welled up and spilled out from the corners, dripping down onto the cold ground beneath him.

“It’s alright, son,” the bearded man squeezed his hand again. Cullen started sobbing. “You’re alright now…”

I am still alive.

“Curly—”

The voice that broke through the haze of Cullen’s half-awake mind was male; jarring, panicked, and accompanied by two hands pushing down on his shoulders with immense strength. Try as he might, Cullen struggled to wrench himself free. His body was weak, and he was drenched in sickly cold sweat that matted his hair to his forehead.

“Curly, snap out of it—”

The male voice grew fiercer. Cullen tried to respond, but it was as though his mouth was wired shut. He had no control over his body as a pain wracked through him from head to foot, causing him to convulse and his limbs to contort and cramp.

“Cass! I need some help in here!”

He was fighting. Fighting the fear that still gripped him, fighting the hands pushing down on him, fighting the memories and the nightmares that plagued him night after night. It was such an instinctual reaction to battle against the fear that it was second nature. How did he know he was even awake now? He might have still been asleep. The voices around him, the weight pushing his arms down and now holding his legs could have simply been conjurations of his imagination. Sounds and images sent to torment him.

“Cullen!”

A female voice this time, harsher than the man’s and gruff with what Cullen vaguely recognised as tiredness. His hands clenched around nothing, fingers curling and grasping air, locked in place as pain shot up each digit into his hand. His arms were straining. Every inch of his body felt as though it was on fire and the scar on his chest… It was as though there was something inside him clawing to get out from the wound. Sharp talons piercing and raking his flesh from within, tearing at the injury making it bigger and bigger.

He could sense words being shouted at him but could make no sense of them, as though his ears were blocked and all he could hear was his own ragged breathing and the deafening pleas of a myriad of voices far away but screaming. Begging for mercy. Pleading for help. Voices of people trying to bargain for their lives and then the final gasp as that life was taken from them in one, swift and merciless gesture.

“I’msorryI’msorry—” He grabbed his head, pulling at his hair and digging his fingernails into his scalp. “No—” The screams were louder, closer, drowning out the sound of his own breathing. “Leaveme—Leaveme--!”

In a rush he was awake. Panting, sitting up right, with sweat dripping down his face. The panic and adrenaline raced through him, thundering with his heartbeat while Cullen all but fell back into the room and the conscious world. The room around him was not his own, but it was familiar. Nevena’s room. Varric and Cassandra’s home in Kirkwall. Nevena’s belongings were on the dresser and the bedside table, though Nevena was not there herself. The light was on, and Cassandra was at the end of the bed, her hands clenched around Cullen’s ankles. Varric was at his side, looking pale and alarmed.

Glancing about at the strewn covers and taking stock of his own sorry state, Cullen did not need to guess the reason for their panic.

“You back with us, Cullen?” Varric wore a look of uncharacteristic severity as he sat to the side, his shoulders relaxing slightly under his red robe.

Cullen nodded, “y-yeah…” His throat ached when he spoke, and he realised how dry it was when he tried to swallow. He watched Varric glance back at Cassandra and give a small nod. She slowly released her white-knuckle grip on Cullen’s ankles and backed up a step. “S-sorry.” Said Cullen. His hands were trembling and as he tried to clasp them together he struggled to clench in fingers.

“It’s okay,” Varric sighed. Some colour started to return to his face and he pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hold on a second. Don’t move.” He stood up. “Cass?”

Without a word, Cassandra followed him out into the hallway and Varric closed the door behind him. Now alone, Cullen buried his face into his hands. His shoulders shook as a sob found its way up from deep within his chest and escaped. The faces and the sounds had been so real. Perhaps, foolishly, he had hoped that going to Kinloch would chase the nightmares away from him for good. That he would be free of the faces and the sounds and the memories. It wasn’t the case and it never would be. He would always remember. Always carry those memories with him. And they would always come back to haunt him.

Wiping his eyes with the heels of his hands to try and hide the fact he was crying, Cullen got to his feet. The adrenaline made his whole body feel awake and buzzed. Moving would help calm him down. He went to the mirror on the vanity table and was met with a sorry looking man in his reflection. His hair stuck to his sweaty forehead and the nape of his neck there were dark circles under his eyes, betraying his lack of sleep and the whites of his eyes looked more red. The t-shirt he wore in bed was drenched with sweat and stuck uncomfortably close to his body. He shook on his feet, the aftershocks of his nightmare making his limbs feel almost as if they weren’t entirely there. He clenched his toes into the carpet a few times to feel the rough texture through the bottom of his feet. A simple grounding technique that helped him to breathe easier.

The bedroom door opened and Varric returned carrying a tray with an assortment of items on it. A bowl, a glass of water, and a couple of cloths. He set the tray down on the top of the chest of drawers and picked up what Cullen recognized as a t-shirt.

“Here, you might want to change.” Varric said, his voice gruff but kind.

Cullen took the t-shirt. “Thanks.” He quickly pulled his soiled one up and off over his head. As he rolled the new pale blue one up his arms, he noticed Varric trying not to stare at him. Cullen swallowed hard. It made sense, after all, Varric had never seen the extent of his injuries and in everything, that was a fact Cullen forgot. He pulled the t-shirt on over his head, sat on the edge of the bed and took a drink of water.

“You doin’ okay, kid?”

“I’m fine.” Cullen said with a dismissive air. He didn’t want to talk about it. “Sorry for waking you.”

“You didn’t. Nevena did.”

“Oh…” Cullen’s stomach clenched. Nevena not being in bed with him, not even being in the room, was one of the first things he noticed.

“She tried sorting you out herself, but when you started thrashing, she panicked.” Varric started popping his knuckles. “Cass was with her until I yelled. She was helping her calm down.”

“I’ll go and speak to--”

“I don’t think that’s such a great idea right now.” Varric warned him. He was gentle, but it was still a warning. Cullen’s whole body sagged. “She’s freaked out enough from earlier today, and Cass has given her something to calm her down. I don’t think she wanted to get help. She’s tough, but on top of what she went through today…”

“Yeah.” Cullen took another sip of water before rubbing his thumb and forefingers across his forehead. “What a mess. I thought coming to Kirkwall would be a good thing.”

“It was.” Varric said, “until it wasn’t. Though the reason it wasn’t a good idea was nothing to do with you, or her.” They were silent for a minute or so, Cullen occasionally sipping from his glass and painfully aware of Varric watching him. “You’ve gotta do something about those nightmares, kid.”

“I’ve tried.” Cullen looked up at Varric. Varric, who always stood with such command and looked at everyone so jovially, now looked at him with the gaze of a worried parent and looked older, somehow. “I suppose I dared to hope going to Kinloch might help in some way.”

“There’s no magic cure.”

“I know.” Cullen pressed his thumb and index finger into his eyes, frustration making a pulsing ache develop behind them. “And I told Nevena, they’re not normally this bad or as frequent. In fact, since we’ve been here, they’ve been… alright. Not as vivid or…” He sighed, hanging his head.

“So, what changed?”

“I don’t know.” Shaking his head, Cullen stared at the carpet between his feet. Once more, he curled his toes into it, clenching them a little longer. He could guess at the reason; seeing the woman he loved in the clutches of her abuser, seeing her so scared and vulnerable, and that feeling of powerlessness that came with that vision probably had something to do with it. “Sorry, Varric.”

“Don’t apologize,” Varric dunked the remaining cloth on the tray into the bowl, wrung it out and then handed it to Cullen. “It’s not like you can control it.”

Taking the cloth, Cullen started to wipe the sweat from the back of his neck and his brow. The cold water was a welcome respite on his over-warm skin. “I don’t know if I can carry on to Ostwick with Nevena.” As he spoke, a sense of shame coiled up and through his stomach, a snake constricting around his chest and his throat making him struggle to swallow. “I told her I would, but I don’t think I’m in any fit state. I need to go home. To be around my own things, in my own space.” Varric was watching him when Cullen glanced in his direction. “I don’t mean to sound ungrateful—”

“You don’t.” Varric steepled his fingers. “You sound reasonable and… like yourself. Don’t get me wrong, Nevena is great and clearly crazy about you, but since you’ve got here you’ve been doing a lot of putting her needs ahead of your own.”

“She needs it. The support.”

“And what about what you need, Curly?”

Cullen remained silent. He started to fold the cloth in his hands to distract himself from Varric’s question. What did he need? Cullen knew. He needed to be home. He needed a good night’s sleep in a place that was familiar away from the ghosts of his past and the stress of this trip. He needed some time to collect himself. He needed to be upfront with Nevena about it, too.

“I don’t doubt that Nevena has helped you out while you’ve been together, but you’ve got to remember to look after yourself, too. If you want to go back to Denerim for your own peace of mind, and so you can recover properly – then you need to tell her so.” Explained Varric, with a patience that undoubtedly came with age. “Ostwick will still be there. And Dorian and Josephine can probably send copies of everything they’ve found about her mother to me.”

“She wanted to visit her mother’s grave. If there was one.”

“Which she can do some other time.” Varric took the empty glass from Cullen’s hand. “You two should talk about it. In the morning. You gotta tell her your needs, too. It can’t just be all about her. Even if you’re doing it to help her.”

“I don’t want to upset her. We’ve come all this way…”

“And Ostwick will still be there in six months time. She’s a good girl, she’ll understand if you explain it to her.” Varric gathered up the tray, “try and go back to sleep. Get some rest. Talk to her tomorrow and figure out where you want to go from here.”

“Yeah,” Cullen returned the cloth he was holding to the dish on the tray. “Thank you, Varric. Again, sorry for the trouble.”

“You’re alright, Curly.” Varric gave a slow, genuine smile. “Get some sleep.”

After he was gone, Cullen debated whether to go to his room, where Nevena was sleeping, to check on her, but changed his mind. If Cassandra had given her something to help her sleep, then she was probably knocked out for the night, and Cullen did not want to frighten her or disturb her further by waking her again. He would simply have to wait until morning - a time that seemed days away as he tried to settle back into the pillows and covers to sleep.

It was well after midday when Cullen finally surfaced. He spent the rest of the night somewhere between awake and asleep. Too afraid to completely succumb to slumber, but too tired to resist. When he woke it was always with a start and a yelp, as though he was just catching himself from falling. Each time, he checked he was still in Nevena’s room at Varric and Cassandra’s house in Kirkwall. He paced around the bed a couple of times, breathing, scrunching his toes into the carpet and stretching out his trembling fingers before he climbed back into bed to try and sleep again.

When he couldn’t sleep and found himself staring into blackness and waiting for the first slivers of dawn to peek through the curtains, he thought on what Varric said to him. About focusing on what he needed too, and not just what Nevena needed. His mind was made up that staying in Kirkwall, travelling onto Ostwick was just something he couldn’t do. He had been too long away from the familiarity of home. Too long out of his routine. This trip had been fraught with difficulty for the both of them, and it was wearing on him. He was tired, down to his bone and marrow. He was desperate for the comforts of his own apartment, of his own things, his own bed.

Nevena was the only benefit of the whole trip. That he had met her, that she had awakened something in him he thought dormant, if not extinct, and that she reciprocated those feelings were the only positives he would take. Home, Denerim, was calling him and he hoped she would understand when he explained.

After a brisk shower and changing into some clean clothes, Cullen stripped the bed of the soiled sheets and replaced them with clean ones. When he arrived downstairs, he was greeted by Varric and Cassandra in the living room.

“How are you feeling?” Cassandra spoke first, concerned but brusque. Last night had probably been a shock for her.

“Alright.” Cullen answered. His throat was sore, like he’d been screaming, and the muscles in his hands and his calves ached from where they were clenched during the night, but he had been worse. “Is Nevena around?”

“Out in the garden.” Varric got to his feet. “She grabbed a cup of tea and a book and has been out there for about half an hour. I think she’s still pretty shaken up over yesterday and last night, thought best to leave her to it.”

“Yeah…” Cullen smoothed his hand back through the hair at the back of his neck. Maybe talking to her right now wouldn’t do any good?

“I had a call with Dorian and Josephine, said you and Freckles might be heading back to Denerim—don’t worry, I didn’t say why, just said it was for personal reasons. They’ve made some headway on finding information about Nevena’s mother. Said if you’re still okay to stay until tomorrow they can come with what they have so far to show you.”

Cullen released a deep breath through his nose. “It’s up to Nevena.” He said to Varric, following him through to the kitchen. Through one of the windows he could see Nevena bundled up against the cold sitting on a wooden bench outside. “I’ll ask her.”

“Alright.” Varric flicked the kettle on and disappeared back into the living room. Cullen debated making himself a drink, something to eat, buying himself some more time to think of what he wanted to say – but just the thought of filling his stomach with something made him blanche.

He went outside, closing the door behind him. Nevena didn’t move or glance up from her book The Viper’s Nest, the spine already showing signs of wear, she was engrossed, and it took Cullen clearing his throat for her to almost leap out of her seat, sending her empty mug clattering across the patio.

“It’s me, it’s just me…” Cullen lifted one hand to placate her, while squatting to retrieve the now chipped mug from the floor. “S-sorry, I should have made my presence more obvious. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

Putting the mug safely by the back door, Cullen saw how Nevena held herself. Small, folding the halves of her book back together, while keeping her gaze down. He stood for a few seconds, wondering how best to approach things. She looked afraid, which was understandable given the events of the previous twenty-four hours, but she also looked weary. Like she had slept as much as he had.

“May I sit?” he indicated to the empty place beside her. “I won’t… if you don’t want me too close.” Just saying the words made a place in his chest throb with pain. He knew how necessary it was to be slow and to respect her boundaries. It was like there was a chasm between them now, a stark contrast to the early morning hours of the previous day when they’d been wrapped up in each other, almost naked, exchanging kisses, and touches, and breaths without the weight that now threatened to smother them hanging over them.

“You can sit…” Nevena shifted over to make room, though there was ample on the bench.

Cullen sat, “thank you.” He clasped his hands together in his lap, clenching his fingers until there was pain in his knuckles. His hands were shaking, and he couldn’t stop it, not for lack of trying. They sat in silence, as close as two people could be physically but with an ocean of empty miles between them. Nevena turned her book over in her lap a couple of times.

Cullen wondered what she was thinking. Were her thoughts fixed on last night? On the nightmare he had and how he reacted to it, still asleep and trying to break out of the paralysis? Was she thinking about Rick? About how afraid he made her feel? About how perhaps, underneath everything, all men had the potential to be the same? Was she afraid of him now?

“I—”

“Di—”

They each stopped and exchanged sheepish looks and chuckles. With that brief connection, the distance between them lessened a little.

“You go first.” Cullen offered, turning to face her as much as the bench would allow. Nevena fiddled with a stray thread on the cuff of her jumper for a few seconds while gathering her thoughts. Cullen’s chest was tight, and he made a conscious effort to keep his breathing steady and slow.

“I wanted to apologise… about last night.” Nevena said after maybe half a minute. She tucked her hair behind her ear and dropped her hand back to her lap. “I… I tried to... to get through to you. T-to help you calm down, but… I don’t know. You were thrashing… and… and I got scared. I didn’t want to get Varric and Cassandra involved, but I thought if I didn’t you would hurt yourself. So… I-I’m sorry, for what it’s worth. I don’t know how much they know about… the nightmares and everything…” She sighed, her shoulders dropping and making her seem so much smaller. “I know how private you are, b-but I was frightened you might cause yourself some h-harm. A-and I was… I couldn’t…” she sighed, raked her fingers through her hair and looked at him. “I’m sorry.”

Cullen tentatively reached towards her hands in her lap. He waited to see if she would move them away from him when the tips of his fingers made contact with her skin. When she didn’t, he took it as a good sign and slid his hand around hers. He lifted her hand to his mouth, kissing her skin in the hopes of offering some reassurance.

“You have nothing to apologise for.” He said, his voice low, straining with the effort it took to speak and the weight of the things he desperately wanted to say but that were going unsaid. How could she feel like she needed to apologise for helping him? For getting him help when she couldn’t handle it herself? She never asked for this, just as he never did. “I’m glad I didn’t hurt you.” Cullen lifted his free hand and touched his fingers to her jaw. The corner of Nevena’s lips quirked into a weak half-smile. “I would never have forgiven myself if I had.”

“You’re not angry?”

“Not at all,” Cullen gave a slight shake of his head. “Varric and Cassandra know enough. I’m glad you went to get them. I…” Words failed, and his breath caught in his throat. He sighed, dropped his head and tutted to himself, all the while trying to find how to articulate himself.

They were each silent for a few minutes. Cullen’s mind turned over all the things he was desperate to say. About going home to Denerim. About what happened in the Chantry. About Rick. About her. About Ostwick. So many things they needed to talk about, so many things that were so important to discuss, and yet Cullen could not find the words he needed to start. Where did he start?

“He’s always going to be there,” Nevena said, her voice rough and cracking. Cullen saw her eyes were watering. Before he could react, Nevena wiped them on her sleeve. “He’s always going to be on the fringes of my mind.”

“…Yes.” Cullen replied. He hadn’t lied to her the night before, there was no point trying now. “I think he’ll be there, the same way my friends and comrades from Kinloch are always there. Perhaps, not actively, but occasionally you’ll glimpse something out of the corner of your eye, and it’ll all come flooding back.”

“The worst part,” Nevena sniffled and rubbed the heel of her hand against one eye, “is I felt sorry for him.” There was anger in her voice, though at Rick or herself, Cullen wasn’t sure. “He did terrible things to me, put me through Hell and planned to do… I felt sympathy for him. Does that make me an idiot?”

Cullen tilted his head to one side. “I don’t know. Maybe it just makes you human.”

“When you were talking to him, trying to get him to let me go…” Cullen’s insides froze. Was she going to mention the fact he said he loved her? Was that where she was leading? Shit, he wasn’t ready to talk about that yet. “I felt like I was watching Cullen the soldier.”

Relief washed through him and Cullen exhaled. “You were. A little. We were given some training in communicating to hostile forces verbally. I was mostly concerned about getting you away from him.”

“I’m sorry you had to do that. Fall back on your military training… That must be difficult, given everything you went through.”

Cullen shook his head again. “Your safety was my main concern. I had to use all the tools at my disposal. Even the ones from years ago.” More silence. Nevena shifted towards him, leaning her forehead against his shoulder. Cullen eased an arm around her waist, guiding her closer to him. She was shivering under her clothes. Cullen guessed it wasn’t just from the cold. “I dreamed about the day I was rescued last night.” He said, the words escaping him without his say-so.

“Really?”

“Hm.” Swallowing back his unease at such a sensitive topic, Cullen tried to empty his mind and simply allow himself to speak. “I’d been left to die in a cell. I had a mantra to keep me going. Something I repeated over and over again. I would spell out things on the floor with the tips of my fingers.” The scars were faded and almost invisible now, but they were still there below the surface. “I hadn’t dreamed about the night I was rescued in years.”

“Do you remember much about it?”

“Small things. Sometimes I’m not sure what parts I remember are real, and what parts are my imagination trying to fill in the gaps.”

“You’d think being rescued would be a happy memory.”

“You’d think.” Cullen closed his eyes and inhaled shakily. “Nev, about Ostwick…”

She sat up straight to look at him. The weave of his jumper was now pressed into her forehead. “What about it?”

It was now or never. Cullen knew if he held his tongue now, then he would always hold his tongue in their relationship on matters that were important to him and that pertained to him. That he would focus all his energy into Nevena’s needs and wellbeing and forget to tend to his own.

“Nev, sweetheart, I don’t think I can manage the trip there.” He said, keeping his voice as level as possible. Nevena’s expression was still. “I know it means a lot to you to go, to see your old home, to learn about your mother, and I want to be there with you. To help you. I just… I can’t right now. This whole experience has been… Last night, I think, it was everything that’s happened coming to a head. I need the familiarity of home. Of my own space and… I need some time to let everything that’s happened sink in. Do… do you know what I mean?”

Cullen’s stomach was heavy and tossing all at the same time. The tightness in his chest made it hard for him to breathe in, and every breath was an effort. He searched Nevena’s face for recognition, a glimmer of what she was thinking or feeling as what he said registered and she considered it. He hoped she would understand that this was something he needed. That he wasn’t rejecting her, or turning away from her or them, but that this was for his wellbeing.

Very slowly, Nevena started to nod her head. “I do know what you mean.” Cullen’s stomach lurched when she brushed her fingers back through his hair, curling it around his ear. “This whole trip has put us both through the ringer. Ostwick will always be here, and after everything that’s happened, I don’t know if I could stand any more emotional sucker punches.”

“So, you’re okay with going back to Denerim? Cutting things a little short?”

“Of course. It’s what’s best for the both of us right now.” Something about the finality of Nevena’s words made Cullen’s body go cold. “I feel bad for wasting Josephine and Dorian’s time.”

“Varric said he spoke to them today… they have some information about Miranda already, might be able to bring it tomorrow.” Cullen told her, hoping to alleviate the sudden unease that replaced the tension in his stomach. “We can leave afterwards if there’s time, or the next day. Get the morning ferry and arrive in Denerim in the evening.”

“Whatever you want,” Nevena managed a small smile. When she went to get up, Cullen stopped her, and she gave him a questioning look.

“We’re alright, aren’t we?” Cullen asked, his cheeks growing hot. “I mean…”

“We’re fine,” Nevena’s expression softened. For a few moments her eyes flickered back between his and then over his face as if searching for something. She looked poised to ask a question, her lips parting, Cullen saw her inhale… Then, it was gone. The question welling up inside her gone and she dropped her gaze. “We’re fine, Cullen.” Still holding his hand, Nevena got to her feet. “Let’s go talk to Varric.”

Thank you for reading, I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Again, I apologize for the delay between the previous chapter and this one. I have buffer chapters written, and I’m beginning to close in on those buffers (after this one, I have 3 chapters already written). I was hoping a month off might give me some time to get another chapter written, and continue to have a 4 chapter buffer, but it didn’t happen. I don’t want Make Believe to become one of those fics where you guys have to wait 6 months for an update. So, I’ll try and pull my finger out and get the last few chapters written. I just want them to be good, and worthwhile, not... mediocre. 

Anyway, as always, this chapter has been uploaded to the fic on AO3 for those who prefer to read there. Please let me know your thoughts in comments/tags/reblogs. I hope you enjoyed, and I’ll see you in the next chapter. <3

[themalicealyce]

Sarcasm and Puns: Chapter Eight

Summary: You're an introverted person, have been all of your life but it wasn't as if you were shy, you were just content to have your only friends be your brother and your roommate. Though when your brother's young daughter makes friends with the human ambassador of monsters you open up to the idea of having a larger group of friends.

Rating: M

"Hey loser I got soda!" you called out in to you quiet apartment.

You toed off your shoes as soon as you crossed the threshold, tossing you messenger bag onto the floor alongside them. Hemlock lazily looked up from where he was napping on the couch and meowed at you in greeting before putting his head back down neatly on top of his folded paws, drifting back to sleep.

"You're the loser." came Vincent's childish retort from his room through the slightly cracked open door.

You snorted at the answer, rolling your eyes as you went into the kitchen to fish out the rum. Vincent soon joined you, standing on his tip toes to pull two glasses down from the cabinet. You watched him for a moment as he struggled to reach them off a tall shelf, before he managed to get them down with a huff.

"So how was it?" he asked as he moved around you to the freezer.

"Surprisingly fun. I think this is yours by the way." You reached into your pocket and tossed the bag of glitter at him as he set the cups down on the counter, rolling your eyes at him as you began to pour the drinks.

He pouted, feigning distress. “Awww, no fun you found it before anyone could use it.”

Your phone beeped, and you ignored him in favor of checking the alert. Pulling up your messages there was a new one from Papyrus. You paused in pouring to read it.

'HUMAN NOVA! NYEH HEH! I HOPE YOU MADE IT HOME WITH THE GREATEST OF EASE! FROM THE GREAT PAPYRUS!' you smiled at the cute message and showed it to Vincent before sending a quick reply letting him know you were home.

"Wow." Vincent remarked now taking the drink you offered him. “Does he actually talk like that? Also, please don’t tell me you’re getting more people drawn into all of your spy nonsense." He sighed before taking a sip of his drink and immediately making a face at the taste.

"One, yes, and he's a total sweetheart. Two, you refuse to call my cat by his proper name, but code names are ‘nonsense’?" you answered with a question, taking a swig of your own drink having a much easier time with it than your lightweight friend.

“Touché.” Vincent shrugged taking another tiny sip of his drink, still scowling at the bitter taste on his tongue even as he moved towards the living room.

"Oh, and he's an incredibly tall skeleton man." you shrugged as if it was totally normal, following him into the other room. Vincent looked up at you with wide curious eyes, now far more interested. "Really? That's so cool! Do I get to meet your new friends?" he said the last word playfully, taunting your lack of a social circle.

"Totally dude." you answered enthusiastically, ignoring his tone. “I’m basically going to force you to.”

You both settled on the couch as you told him all about Papyrus, Undyne, Alphys, and Toriel, drinks steadily disappearing. Eventually you put the topic aside and the two of you switched to watching campy old scifi movies, taking breaks to make fun of the hokey acting or dated effects.

"Oh my god, listen to how young NPH sounds in this." Vincent giggled to himself when the late 90’s ‘so bad it’s good’ classic started.

"I know right? He’s such a sweet baby." you nod back in a drunken imitation of sage approval, turning back to the screen only to cheer with a slight slurring in your voice, "Get it kids, crush those bugs!"

Vincent snorted only to recoil seconds later. "Holy shit that lady's laugh is demented!" he winced.

The two of you fell comfortably back into the familiar routine of talking over the movie, making your own comments and jokes. A few drinks and another movie in, you were somehow back on the topic of the monsters you met that night. Vincent was only half-heartedly listening to you ramble as he sleepily leaned against your shoulder with the odd light of some sort of laser fight casting off of the tv.

“Mmmmmhmmmm.” Was his response to whatever nonsense you were repeating over and over in your hazy state.

You frowned at his disinterest when a sudden thought came to you. “I’m gonna text ‘em.” You said aloud, though not really to anyone, as you patted around you in a vague search for your phone.

“Nooo.” He whined through a yawn curling into a ball on the couch. “No drinkin’ and textin’.” He warned sleepily, but his eyes never opened, and his breathing steadied.

He was unable to stop you, and you weren’t about to take advice from a passed-out person anyway. You rolled your eyes, you were fine to text. Right? Oh well, by the time you found your phone your mind was already made and there was no going back. You opened your messages, finding your previous conversation with Papyrus close to the top so you clicked on it. You stared down intently at the little on-screen keyboard for a moment wondering how you ever used it, it was way to small to type quickly on. You managed to navigate the way to small keyboard though and send a message.

‘Paps spagetti and hang?’ it read along with your address.

When he didn’t immediately reply you looked at the time, noticing the hour you shrugged, he was probably asleep. Instead you found your way to your laptop, because music never sounded like a better idea.

You aren’t sure how long you stayed up that night, but you couldn’t have been asleep long when the thunderous knocking from the door startled you awake. You left your room in time to see Vincent flail wildly as he rolled off of the couch hitting the floor with a thud that made you wince. Even Hemlock yowled annoyed from somewhere, though you didn’t see him. You were a bit sluggish and disoriented but over all thankful for your lack of hangover because the noise right now would be killing you. Your roommate’s groan reinforced your point as he curled in on himself trying to shield his eyes and ears instead of moving from his spot on the floor.

“Who the hell could that be?” you croaked, finding your mouth dry and your throat sore.

“Don’ care. Answer. Neighbors.” Vincent managed to get out reminding you that you indeed do live in an apartment building that didn’t have the thickest of walls and it must be early in the morning.

“Coming!” You cried frantically trying to appease the knocker into momentary silence as you nearly stumbled backwards in your attempt to move towards the door, your legs weak and numb. There was a short pause, a moment of reprieve as you forced your legs to work, but it didn’t last long. Too quickly the loud rapping at the door continued. You moved to the door as quick as you could manage with your sluggish limbs protesting all the way and threw open the door with as much power as your tired, groggy body could muster.

Behind the door you found the tall form of Papyrus stopping his fist mid-knock. His face lit up at the sight of you.

"GOOD MORNING HUMAN!" the familiar booming voice greeted. "I, THE GREAT PAPYRUS, HAVE ARIVED READY TO HANG!” He beamed, undeterred by the confusion on your face. Instead he peeked in behind you at you messy living room, still cluttered from last night’s fun.

You were suddenly very aware of your tangled hair and rumpled clothing, what a mess you must be. "I as-" you cleared your painfully dry throat and tried again. "I asked you to come over?" only vaguely remembering texting him last night.

"OH YES, I RECEIVED YOUR REQUEST FOR QUALITY TIME WITH THE GREAT PAPYRUS! Even though your spelling needs some work. AND CAME BRIGHT AND EARLY TO SHARE THE BEAUTIFUL EXPERIENCE OF BREAKFAST SPAGHETTI!" Papyrus answered nodding eagerly.

A neighbor pounded on a shared wall and you heard the muffled "Shut the fuck up!"

"Please no more yelling." Vincent whined, repeating the sentiment but much nicer.

Remembering last night a little more clearly you replied, “Oh yeah, I remember. Sorry it must have been really late.” You cringed at your drunken self.

“OH IT IS FI-“ He started speaking again in his loud over-eager tone and desperate to make it stop you placed a finger to his teeth shushing him gently.

"Too early, it’s quiet time for building." you chided softly not removing your finger until he nodded in understanding.

“It is fine, it didn’t wake me, however I was very excited to see it this morning.” Papyrus continued on as if you never interrupted him, but at a much more manageable, inside voice.

You finally noticed that he was carrying an armful of grocery bags that you took from him stepping away from the door to allow him in. “Make yourself at home, I’ll be back in just a minute I just woke up." you gestured to your obvious sleep rumbled appearance. "Oh, and that's my roommate Vincent." you added as you passed the couch on your way to the kitchen to set the bags down.

You dropped the bags off and grabbed some painkillers for your whimpering roommate. You decided to fix a cup of water and take a couple of sips to soothe your throat before you headed back to your room to make yourself slightly more presentable, tossing Vincent the bottle on the way. You looked wistfully toward the bathroom, briefly considering going through the effort of showering, but you didn’t have the luxury of time. You didn’t want to make your guest wait longer than necessary so instead you opted to get clean and changed as quickly as you could. After a bit of searching you threw on the first clean black t-shirt you found and some simple jeans and zipped a jacket up over your them for good measure. You then did what you could to tame your matted bed head before just tying it back into its usual loose ponytail and brushed your teeth quickly.

You came back into the living room, which was dimmer than it was before, probably in an attempt to appease Vincent's hangover. You saw he must have been doing a bit better because he was holding your small black cat up to the skeleton and talking to him softly, but happily. As you got closer you could hear the conversation.

"This, O Great Papyrus, is Sir Hemsworth. He nearly died valiantly to obtain this title, so he respectfully urges you to refer to him as such." Vincent was basically preaching, and you groaned.

Papyrus, however, looked enthralled by whatever fantasy story your roommate was weaving about your rescue kitten. It made you want to flip on all the lights in the room just to spite him and his headache.

Instead you just crossed your arms and mad your presence known. "His name is Hemlock." you intoned. You knew you were fighting a losing battle over your cat's name, and it wasn't going to get any better if he brings Papyrus over to his side.

Somehow Papyrus’s expression managed to mimic a pout without even lips, you were again impressed with his expressiveness with the lack of muscles or skin. You relented to him with a long-suffering sigh. “You can call him Hemsworth if you want.” You said barely suppressing the need to roll your eyes. You watched as Papyrus’s expression immediately lifted and he took the kitten into his own arms. "It is very nice to meet you Sir Hemsworth, as I am sure you are exceedingly delighted to meet me." He cooed as Hemlock allowed himself to be coddled, lapping up to the attention like the lazy, spoiled cat he was. He rubbed his small head against Papyrus’s sweater covered ribs purring absently. Papyrus looked awed as he reverently petted Hemlock who was allowed to crawl all over his new friend.

You took the peaceful moment as a chance to check your phone, finding several enthusiastic texts from Papyrus responding to your cringe worthy drunk text. Quickly clicking away from those you checked the rest of your messages finding one from Alphys asking what anime shows you've seen so she could start planning what to bring to your inevitable viewing party and one from Toriel telling you that she had fun at dinner and hoped to see you again soon. You were responding to the texts when you felt Hemlock rub against your legs, causing you to look up, sensing the serene moment was just about over. Papyrus was starting to fidget with impatience, though he looked too timid to break the quiet. You felt a little bad for your earlier bluntness with him. You wondered if you could have handled keeping the peace in your apartment building any better. Slipping your phone in your pocket, you vowed to make it up to him and get that happy, hopeful look back on his face.

“Are you ready for my famous breakfast spaghetti?” Papyrus’s voice eager, but still keeping his quieter tone.

“Yep, ready whenever you are.” You said with a smile, growing excited now that you were more awake.

He instantly bounced back with new energy, grabbing your hand and practically dragging you towards the kitchen. You shrugged back at Vincent as you let the skeleton manhandle you again, stifling a giggle. Vincent responded by scooping the cat up from the floor and held him up by his front legs, waving gently with his little paw as you disappeared into the next room.

Cooking with Papyrus turned out to be more fun than you thought it would be. In the kitchen he seemed more in his element and his volume slowly but surely crept back up to familiar levels, but you barely even noticed through your own boisterous laughter. Vincent had eventually come into the room to sit on the counter and joke over the enthusiastic, verging on violent, manner of cooking Papyrus had coaxed you into. It felt like you were a kid playing in the kitchen at Papyrus’s side smiling and going along with his instructions, even when you would turn the heat down behind his back or insist he use a cutting board. To be fair, the food the two of you made would still likely end up mostly inedible, but that didn’t matter much to you as you and Papyrus flitted around in a blur of activity.

“You are very lucky to have found a friend like THE GREAT PAPYRUS to teach you how to masterfully craft such a dish! Maybe with a bit of practice you too could be as great of a chief as I! Well, maybe not quite as good as me, but very close I am sure!”

“We’re friends?” you asked giddy smile dropping for a moment, unsure.

“WELL OF COURSE WE ARE FRIENDS! You invited me over to your home, and we bonded over my clearly amazing skill in the culinary arts.” He paused for a moment seemingly studying your facial expressions. “WE SHARED GENUINE COMPLIMENTS!” He gestured emphasizing his statements sounding amazed by all of it.

You bit you lip trying to keep yourself reigned in, but it was no use. You couldn’t help but launch excitedly at him wrapping his lanky skeletal form in a tight hug. “I’m really glad you want us to be friends.” You muttered against him trying not to sound too emotional.

Papyrus stiffened as if he didn't know what to do with your sudden attack of affection, but he soon relaxed into your grip and patted the top of your head like one would do to a child. You could hear Vincent snort of laughter from his perch on the counter, but you pointedly ignored him as you slowly disentangling from the embrace.

You turned on your heels to playfully glare at your roommate. Vincent rolled his eyes in an overly dramatic gesture of exasperation but couldn’t keep up the act and instead stuck his tongue out at you teasingly.

“Way to ruin a moment.” You said in a mock annoyed tone.

“Too gushy, emotions are gross.” Vincent said back immediately, hardly having to think about it as you two easily fell into playful bickering.

The banter was cut off when a phone rang in the kitchen, you instinctively reached for your pocket before you saw Papyrus retrieve his own and smile apologetically before answering it. As he held the phone up to his skull in imitation of where a human’s ear would be you scooted closer to Vincent trying to give your guest at least the illusion of privacy.

It was hard to not pay attention as the conversation was more like a quick shouting match. It had no anger behind, but it was full of energy with Papyrus gesturing wildly even though the person on the other end couldn’t see him.

“I hate to run but I have a training session with Undyne!” He announced as he pocketed his phone.

“Training?” you questioned curiously.

Instead of an answer you were lifted from the ground and swung in a circle by Papyrus’s crushing hug. “I MUST LEAVE BUT I WILL BE SURE TO SEE YOU AGAIN HUMAN FRIEND.”

You let out a slightly choked chuckle. “Hard to breathe.”

He dropped you instantly and you crumpled to the ground with a small thud. He scratched at the back of his skull sheepishly as his cheekbone faintly glowed an orange color. “My apologies.” He muttered offering you a hand to help you up.

“’S fine, just warn a girl next time.” You shrugged pulling yourself of the floor with his help. “I’ll talk to you later, go have fun.” You shooed him blithely.

Papyrus nodded easily and left the apartment in a whirlwind of excitement to get to his training session, whatever that entailed, leaving you and Vincent in your mess of a kitchen. In his wake you and your roommate stared at the ruined dish of horribly over-cooked pasta you created. The silence felt as though it stretched forever before his stomach rumbled unhappily and yours responded similarly.

“You wanna go out to eat?” He asked.

“Yeah, there’s a new place I want to check out.” You answered already looking up Grillby’s on your phone.

[kurokoros]

Title: Incandescent | Chapter Three

Rated: T (language/violence)

Summary: There are monsters in the world. Demons that crawl from the blackest pits and breach the Earth, murdering and feasting on the bones of humans. Lucy has spent her entire life training to fight the skeletons in her closet. Natsu has spent his life running from them. Unfortunate circumstances find the pair of them at Saint Katherine’s Academy, a school of black magic and demons. (Monster Hunter!AU)

Word Count: 3696

FF.net | One | Two |

“What the fuck,” Gajeel murmurs, staring down at Natsu from the balcony. His knuckles turn white as he grasps the metal railing, leaning forward to get a better look. Down below, Natsu stares back at Lucy, green eyes unnaturally bright. She finds herself unable to look away as he stands in the center of the ring, his lips twisting up into a smile that’s all teeth. Her breath catches in her throat, eyes widening in something between surprise and amusement. Natsu sends her a wink then, and Lucy feels her face heat slightly, her lips twitching into a smile.

Gajeel elbows her in the ribs, gaining her attention. She blinks up at him, head tilting to the side curiously. A moment later she stiffens, narrowing her eyes, not liking the way his lips are curling up in a smirk. His gaze is amused as he stares down at her. “Someone wanted to impress you,” he teases, nudging her once more.

She shoves him back, rolling her eyes before crossing her arms. When she looks back at Natsu he’s already turned away, his back to her as he converses with the announcer. Lucy’s eyes narrow as she catches the look on the man’s face, his expression twisted into something like rage. The announcer hisses something at Natsu, his gaze fierce, and even from here she can see the fighter’s body go tense. He leans toward the announcer, snarling something that has the other man stepping back. The announcer throws his hands up, then turns and walks away.

Natsu’s head snaps around to look at her once again, his shoulders relaxing when he sees her waiting there. He smiles, but it’s faint, tense, and Lucy realizes that something is wrong. The announcer doesn’t look at him as he calls out for the next match. A new name replaces the one the Natsu fought, but his stays in place, much to her annoyance.

She understands how it works, of course. The winner stays until they’re knocked down or there’s no one left.

Natsu’s eyes stay locked with hers, and Gajeel’s words come back to her. She kicks at her friend, hitting his shin lightly. “He’s a crowd pleaser,” she murmurs back, shrugging slightly. At least, she thinks so. He certainly put on quite the show last night, after all. This time it was faster, not nearly as showy, but even more exhilarating in her opinion.

Maybe it’s the thrill of watching a man drop that quickly—that effortlessly, or maybe it’s because she was right. They’ve found a new recruit, and one with training to boot. Usually, the new recruits can’t fight to save their own lives, but they’re angry, they want to learn. Regardless, she’s certain that he’s a people pleaser, a cocky one, but a people pleaser nonetheless. He wouldn’t have taken her challenge if he wasn’t.

He has something to prove, and Lucy knows that that’s either going to be the thing that makes him strong, or it’s going to get him killed.

Gajeel snorts at her response. He pries his hands from the railing, leaning forward and crossing them instead, his elbows pressed to the metal bars. A new match begins, and Gajeel casts her a sideways glance, one brow quirked in disbelief. “My ass,” he huffs, rolling his eyes, scoffing at her comment. “Crowd pleaser,” he murmurs under his breath, almost too low for her to hear.

She ignores it. “What about your ass?” she asks him, teasing. She knows exactly what he’s insinuating—knows that he’s probably right, too, but that doesn’t mean she has to give him the satisfaction of agreeing. She knows Gajeel. If she blushes and admits that maybe he’s right, it’ll go straight to his head. An arrogant Gajeel is her least favorite Gajeel. Besides, he should know better than to mock her right now. She’s the only thing keeping him from being kicked out of Saint Katherine’s for good.

He owes her and he knows it.

“Don’t play coy, Dreyar,” Gajeel snaps back, shoving at her once more. Lucy rolls her eyes, not too concerned with her friend at the moment. At least he’s not as angry as he was earlier. She’ll take teasing Gajeel over pissed Gajeel any day of the week. “It’s not a good look on you,” he finishes, straightening to his full height as the fight begins.

Briefly, she wonders if Natsu will end it so quickly a second time, but three hits later, she knows he’s holding back once more. “I beg to differ,” she tells Gajeel, gaze trained on Natsu. He’s a heavy hitter, she notes, but also light on his feet, fast. He’s definitely had some kind of training, compared to the other fighters, and that just solidifies her theory.

Gajeel snorts, leaning back from the railing. She glances up at him, watching his expression turn bored as he stares down at the fight. So he knows, too, then, that Natsu’s holding back. As if feeling her gaze on him, Gajeel peeks over at her, raising a brow. He glances down at Natsu, then back at her. “I’m sure he’d really love to please you though, so you’re not entirely wrong there.”

Lucy chokes on her spit and Gajeel cackles. She wonders what would happen if she shoved him over the railing. Makarov wouldn’t be happy about it, but he’d get over it. Levy would be mad, but Lucy could deal with that I it meant Gajeel would shut up. And she thought Laxus was bad. “I swear,” she hisses at him, sending him the meanest look she can muster, “I’m going to kick you out of the car at a Denny’s on the way home and leave you to get mugged.”

Gajeel pulls a face, but he shuts up. Lucy sighs, relieved, and allows herself to relax a bit. Natsu’s second fight is done by the time she turns back, and she finds his eyes already on her. It doesn’t last for long. Another fight is called, and she sees his eyes harden, his shoulders slumping as he realizes another fight is about to begin.

Beside her, Gajeel sighs, his own shoulders going rigid. “He really is Igneel’s kid,” he murmurs, watching Natsu with shrewd eyes. He drums his fingers against the metal railing, expression pinched. His teeth grind together suddenly, loud enough for Lucy to hear, and she cringes at the grating sound. “About fucking time we found him,” Gajeel snarls under his breath, shaking his head slowly.

Lucy sighs, shifting on her feet for a moment before placing a hand on his shoulder, giving him a comforting squeeze. Gajeel spares her a quick glance, his gaze softening slightly as he looks at her. His shoulder shakes beneath her palm, but ignores it. “Do you think he knows what happened to—” she cuts off suddenly, sucking in a sharp breath. Lucy shakes her head, unable to finish her question.

He seems to understand, leaning into her touch slightly. “I don’t know,” he tells her gently. “Mikhail just disappeared one day. I’m guessing Igneel did the same.” He bares his teeth at the mention of his father. It’s a sore subject for him, she knows. His father just disappeared. No note. No body. Nothing. Just gone. She can’t imagine what that would be like.

At least Lucy had bodies to bury. She knew what became of her family. Gajeel doesn’t even have that.

“You know, there’s a chance they’re not dead,” she reminds him, not looking at him. She watches the fight below, watches Natsu take a blow to the face that sends him stumbling backwards, watches him return the hit twice as hard. “You didn’t find a body,” she continues softly, wrapping her arms around herself, throat growing thick with emotion. “They could still be…” she trails off, biting her lip, not sure what else to say.

A heavy hand falls on her shoulder, Gajeel giving her a comforting squeeze, even though she should be the one helping him. She made her peace already. Though, she supposed the situations are different. Lucy’s father made a mistake that got both him and her mother killed. They didn’t want to leave her. Gajeel’s father might have just—left. She has no idea what that would be like.

His hands slips from her shoulder, patting her on the head instead. “I know, Bunny, I know,” he murmurs, glancing down at her with a half-smile.

She sends him back the best smile she can muster. “Maybe he’ll have answers,” she reminds him, trying to look on the bright side of things. They’ve found one of the missing hunter’s kids. They might get answers on where they all disappeared to. Saint Katherine’s might be getting a new recruit, which they desperately need now. And Lucy? We’ll, she’s found someone interesting.

“Maybe he won’t,” Gajeel counters, shrugging his shoulders. He always has been one to assume the worst. He’s not a worrier by any means, but she knows that he’d rather be realistic than hold hope in something that will just disappoint him in the end. And she gets it, she does. She was there once too, but not having hope only made her a shell of who she was.

She glances up at him, coy. “Don’t be a pessimist, Gajeel,” she says almost mockingly, echoing his words from before. “It’s not a good look on you.” She turns on her heel, heading for the stairs. For a moment, silence is her only answer, but then she hears him chuckle, the sound low and familiar.

Lucy grins as she walks down the stairs, taking them two at a time. The air is beginning to give her a headache, the noise as well. Besides, she has no interest in waiting around and watching Natsu half-ass his fights. Now that she’s seen what he can really do, they almost seem like a joke.

It takes a moment, but she can hear Gajeel follow after her, slower, taking the steps one at a time. He leaves space between them, hanging back several feet instead of catching up like she expects, though she isn’t entirely sure why.

While heading down the stairs, she casts a glance towards the ring, noticing that the third fight has ended. Natsu meets her gaze for a moment, murmurs something to the announcer, then starts towards her, pushing through the crowd. Lucy comes to a halt just outside of the ring, waiting for him to reach her side. Gajeel stalks past her, casually bumping his shoulder as he walks by, heading for the front doors of the warehouse.

Lucy waits for Natsu to reach her side, shoving her hands into her pockets as he worms his way through the crowd to meet her. He’s beside her in a moment, bruised and bloody, but smiling nonetheless. He wets his lips as he comes to stand next to her, grimacing when he tastes the blood on his mouth from a particularly vicious hit that she must have missed.

“You leavin’?” he asks her, curious. The announcer calls his name, shouting for him to come back, but Natsu ignores him, keeping his eyes on Lucy. He shuffles on his feet, ducking down slightly to get closer to her.

She grins back at him, turning to face him better, wincing as the crowd beginning to jeer at him, snarling crude things that Lucy wishes she could unhear. She hears something about herself, as well, but ignores it in favor of staring up at him. “Heading outside,” she replies, shrugging slightly, suddenly nervous under the weight of so many people’s eyes. She doesn’t like being looked at by so many people. “It’s loud in here,” she murmurs, grimacing slightly.

Natsu laughs, deep and throaty, and Lucy shivers at the sound. He ducks down just the slightest, leaning in so that his lips brush against her ear. “Two hits,” he breathes against her, low and almost teasing. Her heart stutters at the sound, pulse racing and a heat spreading through her. “I told you.”

He doesn’t pull back, just smiles against her skin, so close that she can feel the heat from his breath against her cheek and neck. For once, she’s incredibly glad that Gajeel disappeared on her. She’d much rather not give him something else to tease her about.

Lucy leans back slightly, just enough to meet his eyes. “You were right,” she murmurs back, removing her hand from her pocket and bringing it up to cup the side of his face. He watches her curiously, but doesn’t pull back. Slowly, she runs her thumb across his mouth, biting back a smile when she sees his lips part. She swipes her thumb across his jaw, smearing the blood gathered below his split lip.

He shivers at the fleeting touch, a low rumble pulling from his throat. Lucy grins up at him, then pulls back suddenly. Natsu frowns slightly, confused, but she just sends him a wink and turns on her heel to walk away, leaving him stunned behind her.

She makes it nearly ten feet before he snaps back to his senses. He calls after her, “What about your name?” Lucy pauses, tossing him a glance over her shoulder. For a moment, he doesn’t move, but then Natsu takes a hesitant step towards her, teeth pulling at the ring in his lip in a way that makes Lucy want to take the loop into her mouth and—

“Come find me when you’re done,” she tells him, biting her own lip absentmindedly, glancing from his eyes to his lips. Suddenly, she wishes she hadn’t brought Gajeel along with her. She shakes the thought away, a smile worming onto her lips. “I’ll be outside,” she promises, nodding towards the doors. He glances behind her, then over his shoulder at the ring, where the announcer is still screaming at him to get his ass back over there.

He turns back to her quickly, heaving a sigh. “One hour,” he tells her, throat bobbing as he swallows. Lucy watches the movement, watches him shift on his feet again, his fingers twitching, itching for a fight. He glances behind him once more, grimacing when he sees the announcer pushing his way through the crowd. He swears under his breath, then turns to her expectantly.

Her eyes narrow just the slightest as she considers it. An hour isn’t long and she was planning to stick around regardless of how long it takes. She smiles at him and it’s all teeth, a challenge in her eyes. “Thirty minutes,” she tells him, mostly teasing. Honestly, she doesn’t plan on going anywhere until he finds her again, even if it takes all night.

Natsu groans, and she finds herself liking that sound. The look he gives her is smothering, heavy and thick, almost smoky. “Forty-five,” he bargains, green eyes glinting in the low light. He wets his lips once again, his tongue tracing across the ring in his skin slowly, almost teasing.

Lucy leans in close, lips almost touching his. “Deal,” she breathes against him, pulling back just as quickly. Her lips twist into a wide smile as he stares at her, grinning himself. She twists on her heel, stalking towards the doors, feeling his gaze on her back until she disappears entirely.

Lucy almost wishes she hadn’t agreed to forty-five minutes. Almost. Not for want of leaving, of course, but because Gajeel simply wouldn’t shut up. He’d been whining since they left the warehouse just over a half-hour ago, wanting them to leave and get something to eat because he doesn’t want to wait around for her “boyfriend.” This, of course, was not the exact word Gajeel had used, his being much cruder, with insinuations between the sheets.

She had sweetly reminded him that there just so happens to be a Denny’s nearby and “would you like to go there, Gajeel?” Her smile had been fangs and poison, and he had quieted quite quickly afterwards.

Good. When she brought him along, she had been hoping for Gajeel to be the strong, silent type. Have him be backup in case of a demon or man that got too handsy with her. She wasn’t anticipating Gajeel to complain for half the night. After about the first thirty minutes she was fed up and had thrown him a couple fives, telling him to go to the nearby gas station and grab them both something to eat.

Gajeel at least had the decency to hesitate, making her promise to call him if anything went wrong. She shooed him off, but promised him anyway. Anything to get him to quiet down.

Fifteen minutes later and he’s still not back and Natsu still hasn’t come out. Lucy sighs, leaning back against the wall and closing her eyes. It’s been a long couple of days. She sucks in a shaky breath, running a hand along the side of her face. Her foot begins to tap absentmindedly, a hum leaving her as she waits.

There’s the rumble on an engine, and Lucy turns in time to see her car pull into the grass being used for parking. The headlights blind her for a moment, but they go out quickly as Gajeel shuts off the car, throwing open the driver’s door haphazardly. She rolls her eyes, grimacing when he actually kicks the door shut.

She’s going to have a talk with him about that later.

Gajeel begins stalking towards her just as the warehouse door is shoved open, the heavy metal squealing in protest. Lucy’s head snaps to the side, squinting slightly to see who it is, a smile pulling at her lips as she realizes it’s who she’s been waiting for.

Natsu catches sight of her a moment later, his own lips pulling into a tired smile as he takes a step towards her, brushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes. He grins down at her, stopping once he’s only a few feet away. Lucy’s gaze peruses his form, noting the way his shirt clings to his skin, the way his chest is heaving from the last fight. He says nothing, waiting for her to speak. Behind him, Gajeel sends her a wink, a sandwich already shoved into his mouth.

Lucy glances down at her phone quickly, checking the time. She giggles when she sees it, smiling up at him. “Forty-five minutes,” she tells Natsu, who huffs a laugh in return.

When he looks back at her, he’s smiling, something almost fond in his eyes as he peers down at her, shoving his hands in his pockets. “So can I get a name?” he asks after a long moment, more curious than suggestive.

She smiles, shoving off the wall and closing the slight distance between them. “Lucy,” she tells him, eyeing a teasing line of sweat running down the side of his neck. Her gaze snaps back up to his, then slides passed him, over his shoulder. “And that’s Gajeel,” she says, nodding at her friend.

Natsu stills slightly, glancing back over his shoulder to look at the other man. Gajeel catches his eye and winks before taking another bite of his sandwich. His grin is wolfish, though not entirely unfriendly.

“I didn’t know you had company,” Natsu says, turning back to her. There’s a stiffness to his shoulders, and she expects to find anger in his gaze, but is shocked to find something like nervousness there instead.

Her lips press into a thin line. He’s had trouble with people before, would guess that most of the fighters have. Natsu has been fighting all night, but as soon as he sees Gajeel his shoulders roll, joints popping and cracking. His hands tighten into fists.

Lucy tilts her head to the side, batting her eyes at him. He wavers slightly, glancing between her and Gajeel behind him. “What?” she teases lightly, hoping to ease the tension in his shoulders. “Looking to get me alone in the dark?” she asks him, voice dipping into a whisper only he can hear. His breath catches in his throat and she grins.

Natsu wets his lips, glancing from her eyes down to her mouth. His green eyes are intoxicating when they meet hers, hooded and low. “Only if you wanted to,” he murmurs back, leaning in slightly before jerking backwards when he hears Gajeel take a step closer.

Lucy huffs and rolls her eyes, places a hand on her hip and cocks it to the side. “Relax, Dragneel, we’re not going to mug you,” she tells him seriously when she sees his jaw clench. Behind him, Gajeel frowns, looking half-ready to argue with her. She sends him a stern look, baring her teeth. “We’re not mugging him, Gajeel.”

Natsu stiffens suddenly, head snapping around to look at her like he’s seen a ghost. She simply blinks back, confused. “How do you know my name?” he snarls suddenly, rounding on her. He takes a step towards her, but it’s not threatening, despite the look in his eyes.

Gajeel growls at him, but Lucy holds up her hand, holding him back without a word.

“You’re Igneel’s kid,” she replies simply, shrugging. Natsu deflates instantly, sucking in a shuddery breath as he stares down at her, eyes wide. For a long moment he does nothing, simply stares, gaze burning into hers.

Finally, he shakes his head, running a hand through his messy hair. “What the hell do you know about Igneel?” he asks her, not angry this time, just confused. Her heart squeezes in her chest, then sinks to her stomach. He doesn’t know anything either.

It’s Gajeel who speaks up, though Natsu’s eyes don’t leave her. “Only that he disappeared off our radar over fourteen years ago.”

His gaze slides to the right of her, eyes narrowing just the slightest as he sees something in the darkness. Lucy starts to turn, a chill sweeping through her. There’s a sudden snarl, and then Lucy catches sight of a large creature lunging for her. An arm wraps around her waist and she finds herself thrown to the ground, Natsu landing heavily on top of her just as a gun goes off.

[hgfstreamchats]

Avengers: Infinity War

How's every little thing, night human? Alright, alright Have you seen this already, or should I avoid spoilers for it? (I haven't seen the one that just came out) I haven't. Aha, gotcha. I'm seeped deeply enough in your pop culture that I know how it plays out, however. *nodnods* Loki looking all awkward there. "we KIND OF just had an apocalypse there" As one does. Hello! Took a minute for my keyboard to key in there, but wow Excellent! I know this guy probably came first, but he's SO much like a bad ripoff of that guy from Ben 10 ikr? GO LOKI! I mean, it was a good try.

A knife, though? A knife of all things? Thanos is INCREDIBLY dumb. It could have worked. It wouldn't have been much of a movie if he did, but I was rooting for Thor to kick his ass Yeah. there was a crowd-wide scream in the theater I was in when Loki died There was a lot of yelling that night actually I admit I'll be mad if he really is dead this time. Well whether he is or not, there is that tv show coming And there's always reboots. true, true And other universes I mean, there is no reason why they can't bring in Lady Death at some point And Deadpool. Even though they won't have her be Thanos' flame But she usually isn't against trading souls Then they can have Deadpool cockblock Thanos. I mean. I would watch a whole movie on that premise A wacky romantic comedy! just... cockblocking Thanos, who is definitely that ugly fratboy that Lady Death has no interest in everyone wants to cockblock Thanos. It'd be the feel-good hit of the summer. I mean. I would watch a whole movie on that premise A wacky romantic comedy! just... cockblocking Thanos, who is definitely that ugly fratboy that Lady Death has no interest in everyone wants to cockblock Thanos. It'd be the feel-good hit of the summer. "Why do you think I would want to deal with more dead people, it's like... a logistical nightmare" Besides, she can take the long view. Everyone dies eventually. "This person wasn't supposed to die for another 80 years, you've destroyed the balance" ...Multiple times, in some cases. *cough*Optimus*cough* OP would cockblock Thanos Ha! lol Side note, I just think it says some unflattering things about a villain when all their minions are THAT toadying and talk about 'em in that weirdly... worshipful? way. All culty and all. Agreed Greetings. Hello! Good evening, both of you! My mistake, one of you! I am pleased to not miss seeing the poor decisions of good meaning individuals. More realistic :< all Marvel characters do is make poor decisions. constantly Good people don't always make smart decisions just because they are kind 'Good' people notoriously make bad decisions, because it makes them feel better. Cough cough, Autobots. dangerous faces > Yeah, and 'bad' people notoriously make bad decisions because they have some stupid personal grudge they want to satisfy. Cough Megatron cough. And I make both kinds of bad decision, so does that make me a neutral person? I just think it means "emotionally satisfying" is completely orthogonal to "achieves your goals" True ... boy this was hard enough to watch the first time Of course Rocket knows about it AND NOW: shenanigans why an omnicidal madman gets ready to kill untold infinities Is it truly omnicidal, if he only wishes to kill 'half'? Semi-omnicidal? Oh he has "reasons", they're just too stupid for words I wonder what he did with species that were on the last of their kind? Actually I kind of want to know why he's in charge of an army in the first place. Does seem like a cause that shouldn't have so much of a following But, he only JUST started collecting the infinity stones. Before that it seems like his power WAS his army. He did have one a while ago, but Loki lost it Without all that he's just... some guy? Relatively big and tough, I guess, but who cares? I think he is supposed to be strong without the stones There isn't that much proof of it though If it's just physically strong, then--again, who cares? boring We do not have enough history to say for certain what resources he started out with. Maybe he adopted all of them We know he adopted at least two children, maybe he just... collects them or something And we do not know how long he has been collecting followers. One can amass an army from nothing, if they have enough time and drive. I guess; it just seems kind of bizarre. I'm rolling my eyes so hard right now. She has forgotten about her mother very quickly. It's not *that* nice of a knife. Trauma can make you forget things to survive That was kind of how I interpreted it, yeah. Repress and deny. I would not trust this man to pick up a parcel on time, let alone kill in a vital situation. Even easier for such a young child Oh, I like him. Out of curiosity, how many of us have seen Endgame? Not me. I have not. I've heard it's three hours long and I'm going to wait for, ahem, something I can watch at home and pause in the middle. It's not because I want to talk spoilers or anything, just curious It is very long I feel like they need to bring back intermissions if they're going to do that. Get the biggest popcorn/drink/whatever available . . . That is not stealth. Drax doesn't really "do" stealth "why" GEE I DUNNO subterfuge: a literally alien concept He's so full of shit. People cry out of relief, too. Or any strong emotion. He's such an aft That is a fun toy, though. So sad He can bend reality. There is no tension. Still sad because you know what is going to happen It's obnoxious to watch him pretending there is so he can play out his little ~dramas~ You have no idea what he might do to her now, and that is the truly sad part At least in the comics he deluded himself into putting on limits so he could be sexier for death. This is just dull. *high five* I feel like they were trying to make him more relatable, but... somehow the power of sexy is more understandable They were trying to make him more relatable? Sorry, who wants to relate to THAT? I think so, I mean, they tried to make a lot of the characters more relatable Would not destroying a stone that is one of the pillars of the universe have consequences? You'd think, right? But I don't remember that being brought up at any point Well, the soul stone is inactive so... maybe, maybe not It keeps just being "oh no we can't DESTROY it, we could use it!" But inactive might not be the same as destroyed, right? I think they are more a force for changing the laws of the universe than actually controlling it At least, in the comics it seems more that way At least, in the comics it seems more that way whoops okay I'm ducking out for the torture scene Good choice That is one way to solve the problem. That was it, right All done? Done. good, good "oh we're using made up names" Did Strange lose his teleportation ring? He could just leave, if he chooses. Heh. Maybe it only works short range? Maybe it only works on earth That sounds like a lie. And yet GOTG says that she is the last survivor of her race That's not how planets or anything works. Does he not have several stones that bypass these finite laws of the universe? He could create. He could just double all the resources Or teleport things to the places they are needed, his justification is a lie, he's just an asshole euuuurgh, the other torture scene brb Sloppy. what a loving father It's fine to sacrifice her own life to save all, but she cannot sacrifice her sister to the same end. Back So he killed much more than half of them? And crippled this one, just be be even more of a prick. This is the guy who thinks mass murder is the solution to every problem. Mass murder is the solution to several problems, but certainly not all of them. They almost accidentally murdered their allies I'd argue that at this point Thanos has "when all you have is a hammer"-ed himself into mass murder as a solution Exactly. "Oh, there's a famine? TIME TO KILL EVERYONE!" No one can be hungry if they are dead. Again though, there are at least two planets where it lead to one survivor Ha. better than none This seems like something he could have done earlier. Then they are bad at their jobs. Only one win scenario... Before their options narrowed so badly. Maybe the "one" is to make them feel desperate Give me the Ring, Frodo~ He may also be lying about the fourteen million. Maybe desperation is part of what leads to the success of multiple lines Convenient that he brought a sacrifice. I am so angry about this This seems like a great moment to shove him into the abyss. He may be too heavy for her to push. And, right? Is this supposed to make us feel sorry for him? Because it's failing. It makes me feel even more sorry for her Why does anyone like this character? Because he is entitled, and thinks he is a genius, when he is only selfish, and stupid. PRO TIP: Don't try to make us feel sorry for someone for whom genocide is a first step No idea, then again, I don't know anyone who does I don't think I've seen one positive word about him. Even, like, as a character Oh it's the sad music Poor Gamora. The comic book version is fun... being a large ham who literally wants to woo death and got cockblocked by Deadpool The nicest thing I can think to say is... well... at least he isn't trying to bone death in this a literal skeleton I prefer that idea but... at least it isn't into nec-romance Ha, nice. . . . I call shenanigans on this physics. maybe physics work differently here I think physics definitely works differently here. All this to protect one guy. Tactics also seems to work differently. One guy who was willing to sacrifice himself. Where is the air support? Surely they can muster more than two men? Humans can't fly naturally They can pilot machines. Nice. Wakanda should be full of flying machines. But, also, was that the bifrost? Can he... use that now? true I thought that was Heimdall's thing I'm sorry to be nitpicking, it just occurred to me And you'd think so, right? The axe allows him to use the bifrost. They said the hammer could use the power of the bifrost Ohhhh Oh, shut up! Unfortunately he is insane, regardless of what happened. I wish the filmmakers could get their hands off Thanos's dick for like two seconds. nobody's gonna be fuckin' grateful you murdered half of everyone you know His tiny, tiny one. I do like Starlord. ...Mostly. He is very resilliant, even without the magic. I feel like cutting his hand off would have been more expedient than trying to pull the gauntlet off, too. But then the movie would be over. Who cares! Cutting his head off would solve even more problems. Very true. Indeed. Hand first, then head. My god he's an idiot This was NOT the time Oh, you stupid, stupid fragger. Argh, I know, right? If he could have waited TWO MINUTES Bad decisions all around. He could have had ACTUAL revenge They could have started with those. Maybe they, uh....... take time to warm up? She had one job. And yes, saving her friends is important and all, but still. Okay, not that I don't like pithy comments, but it seems like they could have made better use of their surprise round Like that! Hopefully he is not storing any important organs there. I HOPE this is part of his plan. After his big talk earlier about how he wouldn't give up the stone to save them. It would have to be. Stark's presence must be part of the final win condition. Endgame: final phase of chess when you sacrifice important pieces for victory That alone says it is part of the plan Okay, fair. I hadn't considered this before, but maybe part of their attraction for each other is because they are connected by the stones Unicron's sake, why is he still talking? nobody caaaaaaaaaaaaares nobody likes you shut up forever He likes fellating his own ego. *GRUMBLE* I do wonder if this means it wouldn't have helped to have just. Started with that instead of trying to protect Vision Because he's the last person in the universe who he respects to have a say *enough to have a say This is why it is important to kill first, gloat after. Yep. No matter how tempting it is to do otherwise... Prioritize. awwww, he's SAD. Nobody cares! Cry more tears, you big disgusting grape. It shouldn't be allowed for characters to mourn over people they intentionally and willingly murdered Also, his 'instant' snap takes forever. It takes long enough for people to know they're dying. Like for Scarlet Witch it makes sense, because she actually did have to kill the willing Vision, Gamora fought for her life and he didn't have to do it Notice how none of his "equally likely to die" soldiers are shown dying? Very fair and impartial. He deserved that. He deserved to live, and lose them all for his failures. aw, noooo. :< I bawled at this part in the movies Good point. Good thing Stark handles his trauma well. And Thanos gets his sunrise that he does not deserve. With music that says we're supposed to get all sappy over it. While the rest of the galaxy fights over half the animals and resources left. Keep in mind he halved all living resources, so unless you can eat rocks... yeah, there isn't actually more resources now What a crock of drainage. Alright, light note to end on, because we need one. It's going to be more than half of everyone dying too. Wait The post credit scene There's aftercredits stuff And because I have zero interest in listening to Thanos's sad man music. Oh, yes! Small spoiler, don't wait for the post credit scene in endgame, there isn't one Oh, huh. Breaking the tradition, huh? Now the biggest question, is does the gauntlet count mechanical life forms as 'alive' enough to erase? I don't want people disappointed like I was His comment about ~sparing half of humanity~ made it sound like he was deliberately choosing who would live and die, at least on a species level. Hm, we don't see any erased by the click, but that doesn't mean that they aren't So I guess it would depend on whatever terrible opinions Thanos himself has. She called him Nick I had to explain that symbol to so many people after the movie ...okay, I'd shop here I need this shop same Okay, maybe not. A feel good way to end the evening. This is a movie that needed to end with mercy gas. Yes. Good night, everyone! Thank you for coming! I do not want to be carried home by a big strong man who will watch my movies for me. It makes it sound like you want Thanos to fart at the end Speak for yourself. And thank you for streaming! Night all Goodnight! Goodnight And as far as I'm concerned, he did. One long, continous one, from his first scene to his last. On that note, good night. They edited it out in post. But we know.

[vickyvioletdraws]

COMIC SINS - Ch. 22 Awoken

Chapter 22. Awoken Dust hovered throughout the air, gliding ever gentle to the stillness of the room. Darkness crawled in the corners as beams of marigold light poured in, creating a warm shower of colors illuminating the corridor. Vibrant tiles reflected the figures housed within, whom had all but destroyed the beautiful refuge in their personal wars. A calm after a storm. Lying on the ground just beside a crumbling column laid two small children, their clothing ragged and dirtied from their conflicts. Both unconscious, one wore thin hand-me-down pajamas; attire only appropriate for night time. The other child laid underneath the first, wearing a very torn up knitted sweater; one that was once a periwinkle blue with two horizontal stripes, now faded from wear. Aside from their differentiating clothing, the two children bore the same face, like identical twins. Several yards away from the sleeping pair sat an entirely different figure. A monster who had begun to stir before the others. The ivory creature rolled over on his back bone, attempting to rise. Moving proved to be a struggle, the hall echoing the crackling of his joints. The bulky skeleton breathed deeply through his teeth, only to exhale again with a soft sound. "frisk..." The skeletal creature moaned, attempting to wake his friend. "kid… ya gotta wake up. ya gotta be okay..." Sans pushed himself, laboring to roll over once again. Successfully landing on the front of his ribs, he propped himself up with his ulnae so as to look at the distant pair, now in a position to crawl over to them. "frisk, wake up… please..." Sans' words appeared to have worked. The innocent one he had pleaded to began to move slightly. Frisk squinted their chilled face tightly and then relaxed, inhaling loudly through their nose. A quiet mumble could be heard, if only faintly. "frisk?" The monster in blue begged. He dragged his bony body closer, having the need to be at his friend's side. "you okay, bud?" "Mm," The child uttered in assurance, making their way towards consciousness. "Nnns." Was all that escaped their dry lips. Frisk finally opened their eyes, and they turned over their fragile body. "...Sans?" "kid?!" Sans exclaimed, relief filling his skull. "what happened back there?" He began his slew of questions early, crawling a little closer. He stopped, however, remembering the other child just beneath. Though they were not yet awake, Sans could not take the chance of coming near them in his crippling state. Frisk sat up, aches and pains streaming all throughout their body. The child looked down beside them and hesitated before jolting back a bit, recalling the wicked actions of their doppelganger, still lying next to them. "so..." The monster started up. "did you do it?" Sans paused, uncertainty lining his tone. "i'm honestly not sure what you did, but…" His voice fell to a whisper, keeping quiet as to not wake the enemy. "did you win? did you… finish the job?" Frisk looked up at him, taking a long moment to comprehend what he had just asked. When it finally clicked, the child raised their shoulders and folded their arms, quite put off by Sans' suggestion. "I didn't kill Chara, if that's what you were hoping for." Frisk spat. "chara…?" Sans accused. "what are you even saying right now?" "Oh, sorry." Frisk said apologetically. "Chara is the soul that possessed my body and did bad things." The child in pajamas uttered rather quickly. "Well, this Frisk's body anyhow." They shook their head vigorously. "Long story. Never mind all that." "what? never mind all-" Sans cut his sentence short in bitter frustration. "never mind all that?! kid, we don't play with soul business around here! that's kind of a really important detail." He gritted through his teeth, almost shouting. "Please don't get mad," Frisk pleaded in a tone of remorse, one they often used with grownups that they were fearful of. "It's all over now." They insisted, placing a gentle hand atop the forehead of their twin. Frisk looked down upon their mirror image and smiled weakly, but they soon turned back up at the chubby skeleton. His teeth drooped, the corners of his mouth showing his great disbelief. "You should be smiling." Frisk stated at their friend, his eye sockets lowering. The child pushed him in the right direction. "Aren't you excited?" They beamed. "Aren't you happy?" Sans gazed at his friend and their counterpart, one still on the ground unmoving, like Sleeping Beauty, if the sleeping one was a demon, he thought. He sighed very deeply, and pushed himself off the ground, resting on his knee caps. "pal, i'm afraid there aren't very many things in this world that can make me happy..." Sans finally muttered. "so… don't be-" His words hung in the air having been cut off by the noise of a child's moans. The sound however, did not emit from the youth he was conversing with. The wicked human finally came to, their limbs struggling to gain momentum. "Chara…?" The kind human whispered in a friendly voice. "Are you doing alright?" "Mn." The waking child moaned. "Mnnnuh?" They continued unintelligibly. Finally opening their eyes, the child jolted up rather quickly, startled to be surrounded the way they were. "Ugh. What are you all staring at?!" "Good morning, Chara." Frisk greeted with a smile, and yet a hint of nervousness could still be heard in their tone. "I'm glad to see you're awake." The child in the blue shirt huffed furiously. "What kind of crap are you spouting now?" They hissed. "You're not my mother." Frisk was taken aback, but pressed on despite their sibling's hostile behavior. "Mothers aren't the only people who love and care for others." Chara stood up swiftly, pushing their twin aside. "I've had enough lectures from you." Ignoring the reckless response, the innocent one followed their lead and got on their feet as well. "Are you leaving us, then?" Frisk said with a forced hint of sorrow. "We'll miss you." "Bull." The dark child retorted. "I'm not leaving without… finishing the job." Chara stated, a smile finally forming on their face. Frisk quickly turned around in a panic and placed both hands on their mirrors shoulders. "No, Chara, it's time to leave!" The child whispered a yell in desperation. "Please!" The wicked one attempted to walk forward, but was thoroughly blocked by their sibling. Though they could have easily overpowered their enemy, Chara did not need to. While Frisk held them back, Chara only needed to move their head a little to the side so as to make eye contact with Sans. "That's right, comedian. I'm leaving!" They shouted so as the skeleton would not miss it. "Chara, don't!" Frisk begged, trying with all their might to push them towards the exit. "Chara, just go! You've won!" The wicked and dirtied face fell more sinister as it pressed on relentlessly. "I'm leaving for good and I'm never coming back!" The invasive words filled the corridor, and the cruel message slowly sank into the ivory monster sitting just a few feet away. "I'm never resetting the timeline. You'll live down here lost and alone! And you're never going to see your stupid brother ever again!" Frisk pushed their doppelganger away as hard as they could manage. Stumbling away from the force, Chara regained their balance, slouching. Frisk whispered very quietly, stuttering. "Just go." The child sniffed. The wicked one reached up with their dirty sleeve and wiped the edge of their mouth, which had a bit of saliva dripping from its corners, and they too sniffed deeply through their nose. Chara looked down at their two enemies and let a moment of silence pass. "Damn right, I won." With that, the evil child in the striped shirt turned around on their heel and moved onward towards the exit. A subtle laugh could be heard alongside the echos of their rough footsteps, and after a mere few moments, all hints regarding the megalomaniac's existence faded away into nothing. Frisk shook like a leaf and cupped their mouth, trying desperately to hold it all in. "I'm s-so sorry, Sans," The innocent one whimpered. They squinted their eyes tightly, keeping the tears in. "I didn't mean for this to happen, I..." The child finally looked down towards their friend, whose image bore a disturbing sight. His eye sockets were empty, cold and stony. He sat on the floor completely paralyzed, and yet his whole skeleton quivered sharply, rattling his bones. Still alive, but dead inside. Dropping to their knees, Frisk mustered the strength to crawl over to their friend, who surely was in need of his own. The child in pajamas wrapped their tiny arms around Sans in an attempt to comfort him. "I'm so sorry..." Frisk's voice cracked horribly, finally breaking down. "The other Frisk told me this would work… that we would win this way… I really thought it would, but if I had known..." The small one's voice fell numb and mumbling. "If I had just known… It's all my fault, I'm so, so sorry..." After a minute of indistinct blubbering, the child felt something on their arm. Sans had reached up with his bony hands and held his friend in return. Frisk embraced their friend tighter, though his eyes were just as incapacitated. "it's no one's fault, kid." Quiet. The golden corridor lay still, its burning windows losing light. The polished tiles below were smudged with the air's heated moisture and grey dust of dark origins. Mighty pillars that once stood tall and proud were torn apart, their bases in shambles. A hall with so much thought and care now laid to waste after a monster's cruel destruction. Amidst the center of the vast hall, their frail bodies huddled close together in a worn out embrace. Frisk's tiny body had several cuts, and their skin was badly bruised all over, though some of the purple and blue marks were not recent. The innocent one clenched tightly to their friend, who did not have nearly as many scars, but almost seemed in far worse condition despite it all. He held tightly to his small friend in a protective gesture, but deep down, it was not the child who needed it. The two held one another for what felt like an eternity. Aching from his quivers, Sans' rattling finally subsided. The two had their rest, their anxious breathing quieted down, and they were almost ready to fall asleep. Dead silence. A slow, sharp inhale. Sans finally rose up his skull, drifting away from the child's warm shoulder. He looked down on it in dismay, regretting ever leaving it. "hey," He whispered in a deep voice, the sound so low that no one could hear it, except for the one whose ear was just an inch away. Frisk cautiously pulled themselves away so as to look up at their friend's face; A sight that they feared to witness more than anything else in the world. The skeleton's teeth were straight and vague; not smiling, nor frowning. His eye sockets were pitch black; no white specs or fiery glows could be found. The vacant pits in his ivory skull would never be the same. The child's cheeks had signs of dried up tears, but in that moment, a fresh flood came streaming down. "S-Sans…?" Frisk attempted the words. "I can't express… how sorry I am..." The child huffed, their breathing uneven once more. Sans shook his head, but his friend did not listen. "I can see… I can see how much pain you're in… because of me." Sniffling sharply, the child forced themselves to continue. "I, I can't comprehend it, but I see it, it-it's there! I can see what the other Frisk was warning me about, it… it hurts! It hurts so much, Sans. How do you do it? How can you stand to live this way?" Sans was off put by such a seemingly mature question. "oh, kid." He uttered, gently patting the top if Frisk's head. "heh. you took the words right outta my mouth." Bowing his cranium, he thought of ways to properly answer his friend's question. "pal... there's no real answer to that..." He dropped his arm in bitter defeat. "there is no living with the pain a person feels every day. it doesn't really work. not for me, anyhow." He raised his skull once again, but his eye sockets still bore no light. "but you just gotta think about… the people who love you. the people who make you smile, or the people who smile because of you." Closing his eye sockets, a vivid image flashed within his mind. Another skeleton, one whose smile washed away all fear and doubt. A grin that will be gone, now and forever, but never so much as forgotten. "Sans…?" The little human nudged, wondering if their friend had fallen asleep. Sans looked back down at the child. "heh. just remember those people, those smiling faces." Tilting his face, Sans turned to look out the stained glass window, where through the misty air and trees, he could see a little bird who had just landed on a skinny branch. "do it for them. ya gotta live for them."

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This is not the end. (A lot of people on fanfiction thought it was, and to those who did, I'm very sorry, haha.)

CHAPTER ARCHIVE