thisavrou_log | [semi-closed] All that you are is the end of a nightmare.

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undertale: frisk

[semi-closed] All that you are is the end of a nightmare.

Who: Lara and Friends and friends of friends
When: March 6-7th
Where: All around ~~town~~ the ship
What: A bad dream gets entierly out of hand.
Warnings: Needless dramatics, flashbacks of violence, possibly actual violence.

It goes like this: a desperate struggle to stop the transference of a thousand year old soul into the body of the person she loves most. A screaming corpse bursting into flames as the winds finally dissipate and sun breaks through heavy clouds. A long nightmare finally over.

Except now there's new nightmares. On Emiri, they're nudged awake. A little flutter, a terrified "What if it didn't work, what if I didn't save her." A delicate hand curling into a fist around the bloody memories of Yamatai. Keeping them in place, keeping them present. Know fear, know terror. Suffer for what you took from me. More memory then ghost until an opportunity presents itself: raw heart wrenching grief mixed with exhaustion. Memory turned ghost, a grinning skeleton, dripping blood and throwing carefully aimed barbs, always one step behind in the halls and corridors of the ship. Gently picking at the exposed wound, gently stripping away armor and defenses. Wither, waste away.

And then a set back: two men, equally powerful, equally talented. They give her armor and a path to follow out of the darkness. Away from the clutching hands and grinning skeletons. Never far, but it's a beginning, it's something. A fight as opposed to a massacre. And Lara fights every night, ceaselessly. It's difficult to say whether she's getting rest, but she's sleeping. Some days are better than others, but every night she follows the path built in her mind. And now, that she can hear Sans' voice again, that she can see him and know he isn't a hallucination is... It's something. Lara is very experienced in losing people, but no one has ever really come back before. The war doesn't end, but the balance has shifted and it's Roth's voice echoing in the dream: Just keep moving.

The scream that tears her out of sleep is hauntingly familiar. Not one from the other people who might be asleep in the room with her, but one that had belonged to a woman, long past dead, screaming her rage to a clouded sky. The room is illuminated, briefly blazing in blue-white light, the woman standing resplendent and terrifyingly beautiful, before the light curls itself into an orb and flies out of the room. Without thinking, Lara jumps up and tears out into the hall after it, running helter skelter even when it's vanished from view and all that's left is a vapor trail till that too vanishes.

Lara stands in the hall, breathing heavily, eyes wild. "Shit.

[ ooc: this is a little bitty plot that is mostly for Lara's established CR, but really "established" is "have you had a conversation with Lara at literally any point and want in on some free drama", there are basically no requirements to who is and is not involved. A supernaturally powered hallucination turned over powered ghost is going to be tearing around causing chaos for people, in the form of bad nightmares and brief hallucinations and taking on the characteristics (good or bad) of the people in those nightmares. I'm leaving it entierly up to players what those are and how effective they are-- if at all. Feel free to do closed threads for CR that is not Lara. Lara is mostly going to be tearing around the ship looking for her. The only rule is don't blow up anything. Plot is backdated to end on the 7th, when Sans and Lara fight Himiko. hmu @ thatoneblonde on plurk for questions/concerns. ]

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Things were going wrong.

It starts with Lara not responding to him over MID. Sure, he's not always especially responsive on a bad day -- and it seems to be nothing but bad days for Lara lately -- but this feels different.

It's not his job to keep track of her symptoms, but turning off the instinct to observe isn't an option. Love certainly doesn't help his concern, and when those same symptoms start appearing in others around the ship, it doesn't escape his notice.

Twenty texts, three voice mails, between all of it Sans is starting to feel a little bit like Papyrus.

To: Lara Croft
From: Sans

Yeah, another one of these. Figure all this running around, I'm probably missing you. Gonna hang around at the aft. Find me or call me when you can.

He presses send, frowning down at his MID. Sitting back is a pastime he enjoys immensely, but fear has a certain way of ruining it. Worrying at the hem of his hoodie, Sans counts the loose stitches. Then he counts the teeth on his zipper. Then he factors the two numbers. Then he subtracts those sets of numbers, factoring them in turn... it's a way to pass the time, if nothing else.

She'll show up. Or call. He's sure she will.

She'll be here.

"☜✠🏱☜👍❄✋☠☝ 💧⚐💣☜⚐☠☜ ☜☹💧☜📪 💧✌☠💧✍"

That's not Lara.

Turning, Sans feels a sense of fresh dread crawl over his bones. They scrape together uncomfortably, clattering in his sockets. It's not possible. Not since that dream on Emiri. He can't comprehend the language, which only seems to make the tall, achingly familiar man in front of him more terrifying.

Large globs of what looks like tar drip from his body, barely holding itself together. Sans knows him. He knows he does. But from where, he has no idea.

"✋ 💧☜☜ ✡⚐🕆 ☟✌✞☜ 🏱🕆❄ ✡⚐🕆☼ 👍✌☼☜ ✋☠❄⚐ ❄☟✋💧 🕈⚐💣✌☠📬 ❄☟✌❄🕯💧 ✞☜☼✡ 💧🕈☜☜❄📬 ✋❄🕯💧 ✌ 💧☟✌💣☜ ❄☟✌❄ 💧☟☜ 👎⚐☜💧 ☠⚐❄ 😐☠⚐🕈 🕈☟✌❄ ✋❄ ✋💧 ✡⚐🕆 👎⚐ 🕈✋❄☟ ❄☟☜ 🏱☜⚐🏱☹☜ ✡⚐🕆 ☹⚐✞☜📬"

The voice is more familiar than the language, a rasped, uneven whine that reverberates through his skull.

"... You're not him." Sans finally manages, squaring himself. Like Frisk, like Miles, like Lara -- this isn't genuine. He's in control here, and he knows it.

But hell if it doesn't feel real.

"Nah, nah, you're the one who's been making a real mess of things for my girl, arentcha? This is a pretty neat trick, not gonna lie, impersonating someone who doesn't exist."

"🕈☟✌❄ ☝✋☼☹✍ 👎⚐ ✡⚐🕆 💣☜✌☠ ❄☟☜ 🕈☼☜❄👍☟✍ 🕆💧☜☹☜💧💧📬 💣🕆👍☟ ☹✋😐☜ ✡⚐🕆📬"

The voice of the melting skeleton in front of him grows hissing and cruel, no longer sounding anything like the person Sans can't quite remember. It's a blessing he can't understand what's being said. Something tells him it's not very sweet.

Quickly, Sans reaches for his MID, shooting off one final text.

To: Lara Croft
From: Sans

dont come

Edited 2016-03-13 00:20 (UTC)

She's running on empty, or just about. The wandering is starting to feel a little more useless than before, the traces of Himiko farther and farther between. She checks her MID intermittently, fires off a response to Sans when she has the chance, but her focus is outward.

Still when she gets the buzzing notification, she checks. Don't come. Oh... He had to know, he had to know what that would do. Her near aimless walk stretches out into a full tilt run. Not him, not again. She wouldn't let her hurt him.

"✡⚐🕆 ✌☼☜ 🏱✌❄☟☜❄✋👍📬 👍☹✋☠☝✋☠☝ ❄⚐ ✌ ☞⚐☼💣 💧⚐ ☹⚐☠☝ ☞⚐☼☝⚐❄❄☜☠ 👌✡ ☜✞☜☼✡⚐☠☜📬 ✡⚐🕆 👍☹✌✋💣 ❄⚐ ☠⚐❄ 🕆☠👎☜☼💧❄✌☠👎📪 👌🕆❄ ✋💧 ❄☟✌❄ ☜✞☜☠ ❄☼🕆☜✍ 👎⚐🕆👌❄☞🕆☹📬 👎✋💧✌🏱🏱⚐✋☠❄✋☠☝📬"

The familiar keening voice grates against his skull, as if raking over the bone from the inside and catching roughly on every imperfection. He wants to tell it to shut up, so he can think, so he can figure out what to do next, but something tells him actually voicing that would have the opposite effect.

"Let's just get to the point." He mutters, frowning. It's not a member of the crew. Can't be. No one knows about the doctor, except for maybe Wanda, but even then who knows how deep she's looked into his mind. Who knows what the doctor would even look like to someone else -- just more static? Probably.

"✡⚐🕆 ✋☠❄☜☠👎 ❄⚐ 🕆💧☜ 💣✡ ☝✋☞❄ ✌☝✌✋☠💧❄ 💣☜📪 👎⚐ ✡⚐🕆✍"

What comes out next is something Sans doesn't need fluency to understand. A litany of ☟✌☟✌☟✌☟✌☟✌, long and piercing with their derisiveness. Hands shoved deeper into his pockets, Sans tries to ignore his hesitation. This isn't him.

Eye glowing blue, Sans wills the large animal skull to form fully behind him, open its fanged maw, and fire.

Except none of that happens, does it? The repetitious ☟✌☟✌☟✌☟✌☟✌ grows even louder.

"✡⚐🕆 👎✋👎 ☠⚐❄ ☜✠🏱☜👍❄ ❄☟✌❄📪 👎✋👎 ✡⚐🕆✍ ✋ ☝✌✞☜ ✡⚐🕆 ❄☟✌❄ 🏱⚐🕈☜☼📪 💧✌☠💧📬 ✋ 👍⚐🕆☹👎 ✌☹🕈✌✡💧 ❄✌😐☜ ✋❄ ✌🕈✌✡📬" The creature wearing the face of the old doctor moved, black tar-like body lurching forward as Sans tried and failed once again to call forth his magic. Despite himself, Sans felt his bones begin to rattle with panic. "✡⚐🕆 💧☟⚐🕆☹👎 👍⚐🕆☠❄ ✡⚐🕆☼💧☜☹☞ ☹🕆👍😐✡ ✋ 👎✋👎 ☠⚐❄ 👎☜👍✋👎☜ ❄⚐ ☼⚐👌 ✡⚐🕆 ⚐☞ ✋❄ 💧⚐⚐☠☜☼📪 ✌☹☹ ❄☟☜ ☝⚐⚐👎 ✡⚐🕆🕯✞☜ 🕆💧☜👎 ✋❄ ☞⚐☼📬 🏱✌❄☟☜❄✋👍📪 🏱✌❄☟☜❄✋👍📪 🏱✌❄☟☜❄✋👍📬"

The scientist--no, the impostor (that is what he was, right...?)-- moved closer, black ooze pooling at Sans' feet. It felt so real. Once more Sans tried to conjure up a wave of bones from the floor, but it was clear his soul simply wasn't in it.

Shit.

Edited 2016-03-14 05:57 (UTC)

It started with the nightmares. Not anything particularly unusual for Frisk, nights of whimpering from choking dust and thorny vines that stank of determination. But where Flowey's presence had been nebulous and shifting before, he suddenly became a focal point, his taunts even more cutting and precise.

"You really think anything will change? You've never had control! You're just a little idiot that can't even hold a single timeline in place!"

Vines through their chest, thorns ripping organs to shreds, and they can taste their blood before the darkness fades...and then comes back like a truck slamming into them.

"You really think Chara will stop with just one timeline? HAHAHAHAHAHA!! Creatures like us are NEVER satisfied! They're gonna go back and pick everyone to pieces, figure out all the ways to make them suffer before they die. And then they'll do the same to YOU."

No, no no no no, they won't, they won't, they would never do that--! Frisk tries to run, to get away--

It's lucky they only land on their back, tumbling out of their bunk and onto the floor below. And even then it's still painful, the impact forcing all the breath out of their lungs as they gasp against the pain. Coughing, rolling up onto their hands and knees, Frisk bites their lip and puts a hand over the locket hidden under their clothes. It's...it's just a dream.

"Howdy!"

Frisk freezes and bolts up onto their feet, looking around in a panic before they see the little flower smiling down from where they'd just fallen.

"As--Flowey? What--?!"

"Hee hee hee! I was surprised it lasted this long, too! But we both know I wasn't gonna keep that up forever." He shuffles over to the edge, roots digging into the wood as if it were nothing more than dirt. "Not without a few souls to keep me stable."

Something is wrong. This isn't like the other times they climbed back down to find Flowey again, when they had been able to coax him into a pot and take him to be with their family. Frisk back up one step, then another, and jumps when the magic of a FIGHT pulls their soul out of their chest. "Flowey...w-we can figure this out. Please..."

"Oh, I've already found my solution! In fact..." Flowey's expression morphs and twists, fangs and thorny vines growing as six colored hearts flicker into existence around him, making Frisk's blood freeze cold. Oh no, no no no no... "I've almost got a complete set. Wanna help me fill the last slot?"

They barely have time to dodge the lashing vines, diving to the side and scrambling for the door. Tearing it open and bolting down the hall, Frisk can hear the tell-tale crunching and shifting as Flowey swarms after them. This can't be happening, this can't--

The nightmares have really been getting to him. Miles didn't even want to sleep tonight, but he was starting to run down after the last few days, and he's got shit to do in the morning, dammit. But a scant few hours of sleep seemed good enough after another string of nightmares -- his mind determined to snap back to Dagoola, for some reason. Miles doesn't need to revisit Dagoola. Just the once was enough. But this wasn't his first dream featuring Lieutenant Murka's severed head making conversation with him, so when Miles bolted up in the middle of the night, drenched in cold sweat, he decided to cut his losses and give up on sleep for the night.

Splashing his face with cold water a few times only does so much for him, and he finds himself oddly chilled, pulling his Barrayaran uniform jacket on over his thermals before he slips silently into the hallway. He could just sit and read, but he feels like he'll shake off the nightmares better if he gets up and does something. Sitting around would only make him twitchier. The rec room -- yeah, maybe a little workout wouldn't hurt. It'd give him something to focus on, at least.

But there's a strange quality to the background hum of the ship as he walks through the empty hall, only dimly lit by the emergency LEDs along the floors and walls -- more of a rush in Miles's ears, the roar of shuttles overhead, and he comes to a halt as a shudder tears through him, leaving him robbed of air. He sucks in a breath, as deeply as he can, and shakes his head to clear it as he clutches his jacket a little more tightly around him. It only makes his ears ring.

He shakes it off, doggedly makes it halfway to the rec room when he feels his chest get too tight, the room suddenly tilting around him, throwing him into freefall. No -- no freefall, not yet, he'd have to be home free, first...

Croaking out a feeble, plaintive groan, Miles scrubs his face roughly with his hands, takes a step forward, and damn near trips over the body.

His stomach lurches and the breath hisses out of his lungs all at once, and Miles jumps back like he's just been jabbed with a shockstick, eyes wide. A body in muddied-up Dendarii grays lies strewn across the hall in front of him, no head in sight. Miles's belly goes cold. No.

"Are you gonna just stand there all night?" The complaint comes from behind, and Miles jerks around to see Lieutenant Murka's missing head lying crooked on the floor at his feet. A choked noise escapes his throat and he recoils, his eyes narrowing, and then he goes perfectly still.

"No," he breathes, not daring to move. No, he just woke up from the nightmare. He can't still be in it.

Lara comes flying around the corner at full tilt, hands flattening against the wall to keep her from slamming into it. Breathing hard, teeth bared in an almost snarl, she moves forward.

"Leave. Him. Alone." Funny that she doesn't feel scared. She can see the spectre, flickers of black and dripping tar. Her appearence just makes the flickers worse, solidifying into something... She still doesn't recognize the figure, but the way it holds itself, the way the light burns in it's eyes when it turns to look at her. "Come on. You want me? Come on."

She knows it has to be here, somewhere... But the trail of faint light has long since faded and Lara's worried she's just wandering lost now. Could she have imagined the whole thing? Somehow she didn't think so.

A distraction comes in the form of a small child, bolting down the hall and nearly sweeping Lara off her feet. She leans down and catches them before they can run into the wall. "Frisk! What's wrong?"

At first he didn't really notice. Feelings of something in the back of his mind when he wakes up, that he wasn't quite remembering something in his dreams, but would stick with him anyway. Easy enough to ignore at first, if annoying. But that's not where it ends. He feels it throughout the day, and it grows stronger with time.

Eventually he's able to identify what they are. Whispers, coming as fast as they're going. Eventually, they're strong enough to catch an individual voice, a few words, and Tyler recognizes them. They're whispers he's heard before, in shul, at school when he was younger, some he still heard when he was on earth. But it didn't make sense. He wasn't anywhere near those people and places, how could they be real?

He paused in a hallway to try to think things through. He was in space, the only person that knew him from home was Drew, and he had never been part of those whispers. So what was he listening to? Auditory hallucinations? But where could they come from?

Suddenly, his thoughts were interrupted by Lara suddenly running into the hall he was in and stopping, looking haggard and breathless. Instinct and experience told him that whatever was going on, he should check on Lara. "Lara?" he asked as he approached her. "Are you ok, what happened?"

The figure seems to scream with nothing but an endless wave of splayed hands, their shape tangible against the metal of the ship hull. They don't stay that way for long, unfortunately. With a scream -- expressed by yet more mangled hands -- the tall figure suddenly seems to shrink. Dust runs off their form in waves, leaving the ghoulish skeleton more diminished with each passing moment.

The dust pools at their feet, mixing with the leftover tar until it forms a gray slurry. Sans wonders if he'll be sick. He certainly feels close to it, stepping back reflexively to avoid being completely coated by the remains.

As quickly as it starts, the creature's disintegration slows to an abrupt end. And as the dust settles back to coat the ground, the grinning, bloody mask that remains is all too familiar to one of them.

"Didja miss me, sweetheart?"

Sans blinks. That's him, alright, but with fresh cruelty sharpening the edges of his grin and sockets. Blood oozed from his clothes and down his bones. Immediately, Sans recognizes the slippers he was forced to throw away some time ago. A tension tightens in his chest.

Is this how Lara sees him?

"It's not real." He tells her, and perhaps himself, his voice calm but firm. "N' hey, I thought I told you not to come."

The levity forced into his voice is just that: forced. Still, he takes the time to toss her a quick wink before widening his own stance in preparation for the worst.

This is where an actual supernatural power would be nice. Lara's thinking something along those lines as she stalks the halls with increasing irritability. She's hoping she doesn't run into anyone she knows. For a lot of reasons, really.

She sees the head first, thinks of course. Her eyes track up to the person standing in front of it and her insides go cold. Ah... Of course.

"Miles."

The contrail has long since vanished, but Lara had kept on doggedly anyway. For all the good it's done her. When she finally stops, she's breathing hard, putting a hand out against the wall to steady herself. Tyler's voice catches her attention. It's almost a relief to see him. If their acquaintance has taught her anything, it's he's exactly the sort of person one wants to have in a crisis.

She waves off his concern, offering something that's almost a smile. "Ah, it's a bit-- I don't really know how to explain," is what she settles on. "You haven't seen anything strange, have you?"

Miles freezes at Lara's voice behind him, trying to tear his eyes away from Murka's head. You have to hide the body is the first thought that springs to mind. What? There's no body there, it's just his... But he can see the blood leaking from the severed stem of Murka's neck in front of him -- and from the body, too, when he jerks around. Belatedly, he stumbles his way around the body toward Lara, as if to block it from view. Too late.

"Lara," he breathes, face pale, and not just from exhaustion. "What are you, um... Isn't it late?"

His voice creaks despite himself, his chest going tight. "If you're gonna keep standing there," Murka pipes up from behind him, "will you at least pick me up off the floor? I'm getting tired of having to crane my neck -- so to speak..."

Without thinking, Miles snaps over his shoulder, "Well, now you know what it feels like."

Edited 2016-03-23 01:55 (UTC)

He furrows his eyebrows at Lara's question. If she's seeing something strange, then, for all the good it does, it means he's not alone in whatever's going on. Maybe she even had an idea or two of what it was.

Hopefully. "Seen, no. Heard, though... Yes, I've been hearing things."

Their breath is nearly completely driven out of them by the impact, and Frisk gasps for breath as they scramble back from the grasping--wait, it's not vines, those are...

"Lara!" Frisk grabs her hand and starts dragging her down the hall. Flowey's mocking cackle is growing closer, and Frisk can hear him tearing up the hallways as he goes. "We gotta run, he'll hurt you if you get caught, come on!!"

Oh, it knows how to get under her skin still. The return of the spectre that had haunted her for days is almost enough to push her back a step or two, a Pavlovian response.

Sans' voice grounds her a little. "You had to know I would anyway."

They were a confusing, jumbled up mess, but it was something like family. Her hand tightens on the metal pipe she'd brought along. Hard to say how much good it would do in a fight against... Whatever this thing was. She doesn't stay still, doesn't give the creature the benefit of a still target. Himiko, if that's who this really is, had commanded the power of the elements and the loyalty of the Stormguard. In this form? Feeding off memory and nightmare... Who knew what she could do.

As if in answer to the thought, the bloody skeleton's grin stretches wider. You wanna see what I can do, sweetheart? You just hadda ask...

That's not good. That seems like quite a lot of not good. But on the bright side, it seemed that Miles' nightmares or whatever this was weren't the sort that came with attacks, so. That's good.

Lara reaches out to steady Miles as he stumbles towards her, hands firm on his shoulders. "I was looking for something. I think I may have found it." She glances past him to the head on the floor, finds it grinning at her with a ghoulish little twist. "You aren't real."

This never especially worked when the thing was living in her own head, but that doesn't stop her from saying it.

That sounds rather ominous... She's not sure if she hopes it has to do with her little hunt or not. If it is... She doesn't like the idea of another person being dragged into this, even if it does seem to be the norm.

"What have you heard?"

She follows a few paces until she hears... Something. Her frown deepens and she turns a corner, tugging Frisk down a hallway. She's not running, not yet, but not staying still seems like a good idea.

"What's chasing us?" Her voice sounds strangely calm in her ears, even while the rest of her feels alive and alert, every cell nearly vibrating from it.

Miles stares up at Lara in wild confusion, heart thudding in his chest. Her hands on his shoulders should be an anchor -- he wants her to ground him, wants something to ground him, desperately. He feels cold all over.

"Wh-- " The breath whooshes from him before he can get the word out. Miles chokes determinedly on. "You can see him? You can see -- this?" His breath catches in his chest, quickens. His voice melts into a groan. "Oh, God."

This must be a nightmare. There's no other explanation. A dream within a dream... God dammit. This is what he gets for trying to sleep again. He ought to have learned by now...

"You really do have a thing for brunettes, don't you, Admiral?" Murka pipes up from behind him. Miles jerks his head over his shoulder to stare at the lieutenant's severed head in abject panic. "But I don't think she'd make as good of a bodyguard as Commander Quinn. At least that's her original face, though -- it is, isn't it?"

"Heh, you got me, kid."

He doesn't take his eyes off the sick parody of himself, taking a few slow side steps away from Lara. It goes against instinct, but his trust in her doubled with the glint off her pipe is enough for Sans to allow himself a little confidence. Draw the figment's attention away, allow Lara an opportunity, and rid the ship of this creature for good. A fool proof plan.

Sans made it nearly halfway around the skeleton's flank before the hull seemed to vibrate, a long line of bones cracking up from the floor.

You wanna see what I'm capable of? Well lemme take a crack at it.

The bones rush towards Lara, splintering as they run along the floor. It's not how Sans' magic works, he knows that intimately, but Lara wouldn't know that of course. She's seen him fight, but only in brief moments. He never even bothered teaching her about blue attacks.

And if Lara didn't know...

With the skeleton's attentions focused on his friend, Sans summoned a row of blue bones, encircling himself in a protective cage.

"Lara, I'm gonna need you to listen to me."

The angled themselves in a row, preparing to fire. What Lara doesn't know, the creature wouldn't know. That had to be true, right?

God, he hoped Lara was still feeling in her contrary mood. Or at least, whatever compelled her to disregard his instructions before was still carrying loud and clear in his tone.

"Whatever you do, move as much as possible."

Don't move, don't move, don't move.

Edited (PRESSED SEND TOO EARLY WHOOPS) 2016-03-29 03:46 (UTC)

He pauses before answering, unsure of how much to reveal. A lot of it was fairly personal, after all, but still... "Stuff from my past. Whispers, mostly. Things I've heard, from people that aren't here, some aren't even alive anymore." He pauses for a moment again before speaking. "None of it nice, really."

Frisk whimpers and tugs harder on Lara's hand, trying with all the might in their body to get her moving faster. The cracking and shifting sounds are followed by a hideous laugh that echoes far more than the hallways should allow, and Frisk blanches in terror.

"It's--you gotta run, you can't fight him! Please!"

Suddenly a large, thorny vine shoots around the corner to slam into the wall near the pair, and the red heart hovering in front of Frisk's chest quivers even more. Flowey's catching up--

Not the right thing to say, perhaps. Lara keeps one hand on his shoulder but reaches with the other to cup his cheek, gently turn his face back to look at her if he'll let her. She won't force him, force seems like the least helpful option right at the moment.

"Miles, look at me." Even if he doesn't she'll carry on, "He isn't real. There's something--" God, she doesn't know what will settle him. "Do you remember that day in your office? When I saw something?"

She tenses when she sees the line of bones, taking a hope and a skip back when they start to move, gripping the pipe like a bat. Her eyes flash up to Sans when he speaks.

Everything in her is telling her to move, to dodge, to attack, to do something, but she spares him a look and freezes, holding herself perfectly still even as the urge to move screams through every inch of her.

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[semi-closed] All that you are is the end of a nightmare.

7th (1/2)

(2/2) i'm sorry for this novel omg

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just links this in advance: http://grompe.org.ru/static/wingdings_gaster.html

late night, 6th

I SWEAR I MEANT THIS TO BE SHORTER

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SUCH A NOVEL OF SUFFERING

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IM SO SORRY

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shh never be sorry.

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