Never Shame The Ship

Easily distracted!

Have been enjoying rp blogs a lot, and since I started my own? Very extremely distracted.

This? Is very late, and I apologize for that.

I still hope it's what you were looking for.

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There was, a relief, in it being over. So that was good. You'd dreaded and worried and wondered, lain awake, researched and feared, and Papyrus had comforted you many times, the days and nights leading up to the surgery.

-then it was over. And everything hurt. You were confined to a bed, increasingly restless, and tired of painkillers.

You were also sure that Paps had to be tired of your grumbling by now. He never grumbled, just taking everything in stride. Sore, frustrated, you'd fallen asleep with tears on your face, wishing you'd just hurry up and feel better. Wishing you didn't feel this way at all.

You'd woken, hours later, to find the exhausted skeleton curled around you, like a barrier that could protect you from the world, while carefully avoiding your stitches. He was sound asleep, looking more exhausted than you'd ever seen him.

A note lays, written in precise, familiar font, on the bedside table. -it's from Papyrus.

"Date-mate, Forgive Me. When I See You Struggle, Cry, Get Angry- When I See You In Pain, All I Can Think Is How Grateful I Am That You're Here. ...How Frightened I Was, When You Went Into That Room Where I Couldn't Follow, Vulnerable In a Way I Couldn't Protect You."

"How Do I Justify Being Grateful To See These Things? As Well As I Understood The Necessity, As Much Confidence As I Held In Your Doctors... I, The Great Papyrus, Was Truly And Deeply Afraid I Would Never See My Most Precious Human Again."

(I may be a bit out of practice with sans character?)

---------

You loved the heck out of your brother. For almost as long as you could remember, Sans had been around with a cheesy grin, a silly pun, and a bad joke, always ready to make you laugh. He'd had to start caring for Paps at far too young an age, but it never seemed to put a damper on his mood- well, mostly. Sometimes it was clearly too much for another kid to have to play the adult, and he sort of rebelled against it in himself by behaving more the fool whenever he had a chance.

When things had gone- bad, you'd known without question he'd be there for you. He took you in, called you family, and teased you mercilessly with terrible knock knock jokes. He was the best, and Paps? Paps was awesome. No one could get your feathers shinier, cleaner, or sleeker. As time went on, he took over from Sans more and more- and you let him. Even if sometimes you felt like you didn't do quite as much as you should yourself.

Then Sans' depression had struck, seemingly from nowhere. He still smiled, still joked, still punned, but... it was different. Bad different. And for the life of you, despite all he'd done for you when you'd needed it, despite how much you loved him, it didn't seem like there was anything you could do to help. You tried, Pappy tried, nothing worked.

The day the barrier fell, you saw the sky for the first time, and it was without question the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen. -for a creature born with wings, what could be better than open sky?

That is, until the sun set, and night fell, and you finally got to see those stars that Sans had been telling you about your whole life. ...and for the first time in far too long, you saw him smile. Really smile. For you, the next step was obvious.

One morning you're coming home, exhausted but happy. You'd gotten some really good pictures this time. Milky way, northern lights, vivid shots of a dozen groupings and constellations- Sans was going to love this.

You only meant to sit at the table for a few minutes. You woke up, several hours later, on Sans' mattress, the big doofus flopped on his back close by, oblivious to the world... and apparently to the fact that he'd fallen out of bed again too. It seemed he'd already been enjoying your pictures, if the ones printed out and currently being crumpled to a mess beneath him were any indication.

You almost left them alone, but then you noticed one print off different from the others, and curious, you picked it up. -it was a note. For you.

's'funny, kid. all those years, me telling you stories 'bout the surface, 'bout the stars? honestly, never was sure how much of it was really something I cared about, and how much was just me trying ta keep you guys's hope up. mine was pretty much shot by that point, an' I just wanted you ta have something to reach for, you know? even if I didn't make it out with you, something ta keep you hopin'.'

'-but now, here we are. both of us. barrier broken, seeing the sky everyday? kinda hard to believe. an' seeing you, those wings of yours flying like they were always meant ta? I kinda think that might be better than any stars. -course, those are real nice too, 'specially the ones you bring me. -pulled straight outta the sky while you're up in 'em.'

A possibly late birthday gift for @thedragonlover , depending on timezone.

------

Your birthday had come and gone, in sweet but simple fashion. Grillby was an amazing cook under any circumstance, but for your birthday he'd gone all out... the memory of that meal would be repeated in blissful dreams for weeks to come.

But that had been days ago, and didn't explain the several bouquets of flowers that were being delivered, one after another, while your coworkers looked on in puzzled envy. Magical flowers, nonmagical, echoflowers and irises, lilacs and others... it was taking several people to carry them all in.

You were completely nonplussed by the time someone actually carried a potted, flowering cherry tree up to you, set it down, and walked off without a word. -attached was a small note.

'My star spark, I can't help feel unsatisfied by my efforts. The anniversary of your existence deserves so much more than a meal, or a pretty stone to grace your neck. It- you- deserve the world itself. While I know I can't give you the world, at least I can offer a sampling of the beauty it bears... though it can never come close to matching you own. Consider this a bloom for every birthday before i knew you, and for every one we've yet to share. I intend to be there for al of them.' -yours devoted, Grillby.

You woke up in a unenviable position, one leg folded beneath you, one jutting out at an odd angle beneath your computer table, your cheek shoved against the keyboard- and you honestly didn’t remember how you’d gotten there. You did know that both legs were asleep, your head was pounding, and it felt a lot like you had a fever.

All put together, not a great way to wake up.

Worse still, your efforts to make it back to your room so you could lay down? -failed, perhaps unsurprisingly. Instead you collapsed on the living room floor, and just lay there, helpless, useless, and worst of all, feverish.

Eventually Sans came home, though you had no way to be sure if minutes had passed, or days. Later, you’d have a dim memory of your lover standing over you, his usually expressive features oddly cold, and devoid of emotion. He didn’t say a word, and with Sans, whose default tone was loud, annoyed, and demanding? -that was how to tell when he was really angry.

You were lifted into his arms, and that was the last thing you would remember.

…until you woke again. This time the experience was not nearly as unpleasant, probably in no part due to the fluffed pillows and fresh sheets you’d been lain on, thick comfortor carefully tucked in around you. Of course there was no question how you’d gotten there, but your lover was nowhere in sight.

Oh yeah, he’d been mad. Really mad. Considering Sans, it was no wonder he hadn’t stuck around- he didn’t always have the best temper, so he’d no doubt gone off by himself to cool down. No doubt the news tomorrow would revolve around the number of badly beaten lowlifes turning themselves in, while refusing to say why. By his way of thinking, it was much, much better than taking it out on you

Now though he was nowhere in sight. He’d been warning you take it easy, not to push yourself so hard. He’d been extremely blunt, as he always was, telling you what was going to happen if you refused to listen. You were going to make yourself sick, maybe even hurt yourself, and thus time he wouldn’t save you, wouldn’t wait on you hand and foot, wouldn’t feel sorry for you…

That was what he said anyway. But here you were, tucked into your cozy bed, with cleaned sheets and fluffed pillows, cold compress resting against your feverish brow, and you sure as hell hadn’t gotten there under your own power. A glass of water, and a bottle of painkillers sat on the nightstand.

He had saved you, and then disappeared, not saying a word.

After a bit of effort, you manage to sit up, setting the compress side, as you reach for the painkillers, hoping they would ease the band of pressure around your temples, and maybe even help with your fever too. -and it’s only at that point that you notice the note he left.

‘While Exceedingly Annoyed By Your Lack Of Forebearance Or Caution, I Will Spare You The Exhaustive List Of Reasons That I Find Myself Baffled At Your Having Survived So Long Without The Malificent Sans To Protect You. As Well, I Refuse To Address The Pitiful State In Which I Found You, Your Fragile Human Form Lumped Upon The Floor In A Manner That Served To Leave You Exceedingly Vulnerable To Attack!’

’-Date Mate, I Grow Increasingly Concerned For Your Well Being. You Fail To Provide Your Body With The Necessary Rest Or Nourishment Required To Maintain Optimal Health, And As A Result, Said Health Has Cleadly Been Made To Suffer. Naturally I Am Concerned Largely For How This Reflects Upon Myself, As Your Mate. That I, Second In Command Of The Royal Guard, Cannot Even Assure The Well Being Of A Single Human? Obviously This Is Why I Show Such Level Of Concern, And Not Any Sort Of Weak Emotional Attachment Such As Only Befitting A Weaker, Lesser Sort Of Creature.’

‘As It Seems You Cannot Be Counted Upon To Maintain Your Own Well Being, I Shall Simply Be Forced To Take It Upon Myself Instead! -Therefore, Once You Have Achieved Sufficient Rest, You Shall Be Assigned A Rigid Schedule, Which You Shall Be Expected To Keep, Daily, Consisting Of Optimal Sleep, Exercise, And Nourishment, Until You Are Better Suited To Execute The Task Yourself!

'In The Meantime, I Intend To Have A Word With Your Supervisor Regarding Reasonable Expectations, And How Unreasonable They Will Find Me Should My Mate Continue To Work Themself Into The Ground. -It May Be Best To Secure Your Plans During Said Word. I Am Not Implying Anything, Obviously.’ -The Sinister Sans.

P.S. -‘Clearly I Am Implying Everything, And Would Advise That This Note Be Thoroughly Destroyed. Dinner Is In The Fridge… Expect Me To Return Home Late.’

…crap. Time to burn the evidence, and find an alibi.

The thing you have to realize is that the identity of the first Destroyer itself doesn't matter. It’s name, it's motivation, even the way it kills worlds, don't directly affect the story. Despite being the first, it's still only one of many Destroyers whose actions leave behind the fragmented data that ends up shaping the UnderLie AU. -and this story isn't about the destroyers, its about what continues on after they’ve thrown the worst they have at it. The parts that refuse to die.

-and of course the Remnant.

Still, it was the first. -and in that twisted sense of retribution karma sometimes offers, it was instrumental in the creation of the world, simply for the reason that it was determined to destroy it. It forced the Remnant into realizing its own existence, as the world around it refused to die. As it- no, as they- realized that they were what kept the world from dying.

So the funny thing is? If it had just left the world alone after the first time it was destroyed, if it had just been satisfied with the mass destruction it had enacted, and not become furious over the fact that some small part of it remained, then that probably would have been the end of it. Instead, it's insistence that any trace of what it despised be wiped away, was the very thing that woke the Remnant.

Nothing makes a creature more willing to fight for its existence, than having someone try to destroy it. Nothing makes them more determined to keep what's important, than having someone else try to take it away.

- anyway that's the premise. So let’s run with it.

---------

... Most of the world lay in ruin. Not much was left to prove this had been a place with busy people living intricate lives, with families, secrets, hopes and dreams, the same as anyone else. Honestly, not much remained to show there had ever been anything here at all- now it was just scars in the fabric of the Multiverse, with strips of rent and broken code sputtering dully in the vast emptiness of the anti-void.

The Destroyer was nothing if not thorough.

Which might be why, passing through the same place some length of time later, the sight of something still existing where there should be nothing, made it stop in its tracks. It was mostly just a little patch of shadow, some intact debris, and a shapeless form that might once have been a person, but it gouged at the Destroyer’s pride, it’s sense of right, and left it with one unshakable certainty. This wasn't acceptable. It needed to be fixed, by being better broken.

Again, that's kind of what's funny. It was just a tiny patch left of an entire world, a little broken shadow, no more. -and it would have stayed that way, probably forever, if the Destroyer had just kept walking. But it didn't. Instead, as Destroyer’s do, it went out of its way to erase the last tiny trace of what it had decided didn’t deserve to be.

So, with whatever means it used to such end, it rent again at that tiny place in space-time, that shadow image of a world now gone, and shattered it completely. Splintered fabrics of code, whispering off into the empty nothing of eternity, gone forever.

-except not. Except that said reality bent, twisted, and in the end? -it refused. The world came back together, just that same stubborn tiny bit, with that same broken shape, without feature, distinction, or proof of who they ever might have been. It remained.

So it was destroyed again - that was what the Destroyed did after all. Whether chosen purpose, or the duty designated by its creators, the extent of its existence was shaped by the drive to destroy what didn't belong, what it didn’t accept, didn’t want… in the end, what it thought couldn't be allowed to continue.

…and when it reformed again? -destroyed it again. -and again. -and again.

And still? -it refused.

Because though broken, small, and pointless as this tiny trace of reality might be, each time the Destroyer tried harder, and each time its efforts seem to have less effect, until it stood exhausted, against an enemy that would not give ground, despite being… nothing.

Angry, confounded, it asked the question, “How are you still here?! How do you still remain?!”

At which point, for the first time, that shapeless form of the darkness, shifted. Shifted, turned, and regarded their attacker- and spoke their first words.

“I do not remain… I sustain.” Not challenge, but realization, the understanding that this small pocket of reality about them continued to exist, because they WANTED it to.

…and they did want it to. They wanted it to exist. So they would take what was broken, they would gather the pieces that were left, and they would put it back together. So that's how the Remnant awoke. That's where it came from, or at least that's where it started. Because it was told that something it cared about didn’t deserve to exist, didn’t deserve to be cared for, that it wasn't good enough. That's what made the remnant decide to stand up, and start picking up the pieces.

Because it was tired of listening. Because the Destroyer was wrong. So the Remnant was going to do something about it.

...so I know this is a little strange, and not completely what you asked, but Gaster had his own agenda here, I swear. Hope this makes sense.

-----

It wasn’t real, that was the thing, and from beginning to end, you knew it. …how could it be real, when you knew you were sleeping? But you felt the rocking motion of his boat, you heard the gentle lapping of the water, and his voice, as he hummed, sang, steered the boat along a strangely lightless river... was unmistakable.

The world was dark, you couldn’t see where the river went or what lay beneath the water, and you should have been afraid- but he sang, as he did, and you felt safe.

Only a dream, as the demands of life retreated, briefly, and for the first time in days, you slept well. –and you knew it. You hadn’t had time to spend with Gaster since your new job had started, and you missed his boat and his song, and that was why you dreamed about it. …but it felt so real.

-when you woke, you found a note by your bedside. It made no sense, except within the construct of your dream- but that couldn’t be. You read it, and you read it twice, confused. -it was from Gaster, only it couldn’t be.

‘Time is greedy, I think. Hoards it’s moments like precious treasure, doled out grudgingly at best. …too busy, too busy- time doesn’t care. I do. Let me steal moments for you, instants and memories, ours to keep.'

'…Tra~la~la… Time does not know me, nor I know time. …so I will find you between moments. In my breath and my song, and the boat that carries me. -think of you. In this moment, in this breath, keep you. Carry you. In dreams, if in no other way. …my love. My dream. Tra~la~la… ask no questions, til morning comes, come dream with me…’ –(us!) Gaster

You made the mistake of setting it down, pinching that place between your eyes as you tried to make sense of it. -when you looked again, it was gone. You couldn’t explain it, and maybe you shouldn’t try…

Some hurts faded with enough time, others didn't fade, but changed... and some? Some let you move on from them, mercifully allowing you to move forward and live your life, healing and happy, until some specific reminder came along to prove they still existed. Like an anniversary, for example. Of a loss. A pain.

You'd realized it was approaching before the month even changed, and immediately shoved all the calendars in a drawer, without a word of explanation to your mate.

Grillby didn't need one, and he didn't say a word, but in his usual, quiet manner, he did his best to show you in a hundred different ways that he was there for you. -most of which you missed, too caught up in your own thoughts.

Just having him close by though, which he seemed to be more and more as the day steadily approached? Honestly, it meant the world to you.-and you started noticing more and more. The cup of hot herbal tea that just sort of appeared when you weren't looking? That new book you'd been wanting conveniently showing up on the coffee table? He even started closing the bar early, something he almost never did, not saying why, just being there for you, no questions asked. Because that was the kind of monster he was, the kind of monster you'd fallen in love with.

Today, he hadn't left your side at all, his arm around you, his head on your shoulder, no sound but the crackling, comforting whisper of his flames. -it was soothing, and exactly what you needed. He didnt press you to talk, but you knew he would have listened. He was good like that.

Sadly, he'll need to go in early to work tomorrow, to appease impatience customers, but you'll find a note beside a vase of beautiful fire lilies, all orange and yellow with just a tinge of red in places- it was impossible for them not to remind you of him.

'My sweet star, words will never express what I feel for you. When you're happy, safe, I could ask for no more- and would that I could make it so you always were. Since I cannot, instead let me continue to be the arms that hold you when you're afraid, the shoulder to rest on when you are weary, and the reminder of how far you have come, and how much you have gained. How much you are loved, not only by me, but by everyone lucky enough to have you care for them. ...your light, my dancing spark? Shines brighter than my own. Never doubt that for a moment.' -Grillby.

1. -An explanation. I know I probably don't have to explain, but I also know I've been acting weird(er) in chats, having trouble with my writing, and posting really, really erratically as a result... probably worrying a few of you. Since I don't want that, it's like this. A few weeks ago, my anxiety meds were misplaced. I still have no idea what could have happened to them. But the pharmacy wouldn't replace them without requiring an unbelievable crapload of money for a bottle of pills- so uh, without any other options I could see, I've been trying to wait it out, and ending up a ball of nerves as a result. Not good.

2. -A reassurance. My new prescription was filled three days ago, and I'm starting to feel more like myself. I was never in a position where I considered doing something harmful, mostly I just stayed away from people, distracted myself with rp's where I could get out of myself, and slept. It's going to take a minute to readjust, but I'm already feeling better.

3. -This is really two things, gratitude, and apology. Thank you for your kind words. Thank you for your support, and your encouragement, and your friendship. -and, I'm sorry I didn't say what was wrong. That I tried to play it off, instead of admitting sooner that I wasn't okay. -I'm not good at that. Admitting when something isn't okay. That maybe I even need help. It's not something I'm used to being able to admit.

I'm temporarily closing requests. (I hope it's temporary?)

I currently have four asks in my box, and I'll try to get to them soon... but at least for right now, no further requests will be accepted.

Honestly, my heart's not really in it right now, and neither is my head. Hence the much less frequent updates.