ruinfell

[ruinfell]

[REGRESSION] spider dance

Muffet had heard of the strangeness that had overcome the Captain, and seen glimpses of it in her distant observations. Though common sense told her that it would be a very bad idea to drop in on him--

       oh, she had to, she had to see this oddity in person.

For curiosity, for nostalgia, for a reminder. To know more clearly the crossroads he'd taken, even if she did not yet have the how and the why.

And, of course, perhaps, to get some answers.

It was a long time since the spider-monster had stalked prey, even if her intents were not so dangerous this time around. Her quarry was fairly easy to track, as he simply took to wandering the same woods, afflicted by some manner of ennui that drove him in slow but deliberate circles. One of these paths she intersected with but a simple thread, and waited for him to graze it.

And graze it he did. Not just graze, but catch his foot on, managing to plant his face into the soft snow beneath him with a sharp shriek.

Sleazy rose to his feet quickly, grasping a pair of conjured bone-daggers and sharply turning his head back and forth to see if he could get ahead of what was clearly an ambush. Unfortunately, like most people, he failed to look up, and didn't notice the spider-monster dangling down from a nearby branch, until she could reach over and tap him on the back.

This prompted another shriek, and he almost fell on his ass this time, but managed to just about rearrange his legs so that he remained on them.

"WHAT THE FUCK!!" he yelled, before his sockets went wide in realisation-- "WAIT-- MUFFET??"

He blinked a couple of times, and then rubbed his sockets, to check she was still there. She was, in fact, still there, even being gracious enough to lower onto her feet and talk to him while stood on the ground like a normal person. She doesn't approach too closely, keeping some element of her guard up, but otherwise carries herself cordially.

"You seem surprised to see me, dearie." It is spoken with a bit of a smile, though it barely reaches her face at all. It is not a nice smile.

Sleazy's own guard remains up. Something about her being here deeply unsettles him. "WELL, YEAH. I THOUGHT EVERYONE ELSE WAS… Y'KNOW. DEAD. SO HOW THE FUCK DID YOU GET HERE?"

There was a soft chuckle from Muffet, and she idly twirled her hair around one finger in the brief moment it took for her to think of an unsatisfying answer.

"Well, I had asked for a lift…"

"THAT'S NOT WHAT I MEAN." Sleazy was, as expected, unsatisfied by that answer, and he clenched his fists and narrowed his sockets at her. "I MEAN HOW DID YOU GET OUT."

She smirked, and a sliver of that coldness begin to shine through.

"I had wanted to ask you the same question, you know.

         You did, after all, leave me to die."

—That disarmed him. His glare slackened considerably, as though someone had poked a hole in him to drain out the anger. He found himself almost staring through her, trying to recount the events as he remembered them. It was nearer to the forefront of his mind than it ought to have been.

He never did look back. He ran for his life, they both did. They didn't have time to look back.

The words almost left his jaws-- 'I thought everyone else was dead'. But he'd said that already. It hadn't changed her mind at all.

He felt like he'd had this conversation before.

"... I don't know how I got out." The admission came gently. "Sans and I, we-- we got chased into the CORE. Next thing we knew, we were in another Snowdin."

Sleazy's gaze dropped slightly, and he began to wring his hands together. Even now it was difficult to think about what happened, because he didn't truly understand it, it had always been somewhat blurry. And yet, he swore there was something new when he thought back on it now. Perhaps a fragment he had learned in his supposed future.

It didn't answer any questions for her, true, but she'd never even got this much of an explanation from him before, never told her what happened after. So it was progress. She would indulge it.

"That makes no sense. Why would you run into the CORE?"

"Not 'cause we wanted to! That's where the vines were forcin' us to go!"

"Vines…?"

That gave Muffet pause. She knew that many vines had strangled the landscape as a sign of the encroaching Ruin, but for them to be actively in pursuit? That was unheard of to her.

"I have not heard of the Ruin being pursuant, or moving so fast before."

"What?"

"—The vines, dear, they're part of the Ruin. They crop up everywhere it does, strangle the life out of everything, you must have known."

"Yeah I knew that." Sleazy sounded a little offended by her condescension. "But I mean, it doesn't make sense. Like you said, the Ruin doesn't move that fast. Does it?"

The spider folded two pairs of arms, and tapped the fingers of the others together, deep in thought. She didn't think that Papyrus had much reason to lie, especially not in his current predicament, especially not about something like this. So then, she had been given the knowledge that the Ruin could move, and could chase specific targets–

            almost as if it were alive.

Her features grew grim.

"I don't like what this means, Papyrus. Not one bit."

He didn't bother asking what it meant. That much he'd worked out himself. But… there was a determination set in his own grim features.

"If it's alive somehow… that means we can kill it, right?"

Muffet's head turned sharply toward him. "What?"

"You're figurin' it's alive. It can discriminate an' it can move. It can form plans, obviously, else it wouldn't have chased me into the CORE. That musta been a calculated move."

He clenched his fist to his chest.

"I dunno what that means for bein' infected by it, an' whether it would reverse any of the damage it's done, but if it's alive, there must be some way to kill it. Then at least we wouldn't be under threat of it anymore."

… For a moment, she thought she saw a familiar glimmer. Something of the past. She couldn't allow herself to smile, still, but…

Maybe things weren't all lost. Maybe the Captain had not abandoned them yet.

"I have some theories," she began, "with one proven - Green magic repels it. I haven't had reason to push my tests beyond what has been needed to survive, but… perhaps it would be a good time to do so."

Sleazy nodded. "I can see what I can find on my end of things. I can't go back in there myself, but… maybe one'a these weirdos I've ended up around knows somethin' I don't."

Oh, Muffet's certain of that. But best not to break his brain just yet.

"It would be worth asking around. Well, I will not waste any time. You know how to get in touch."

True to her word, it was not long before she had made herself scarce. He watched her leave, thoughtful, and his soul weighed heavy, before he trudged the path back to the house, to begin a plan.

#{}{} V: MAIN #{}{} M!A: REGRESSION #{}{} SERAFIN #{}{} SLEAZY #{}{} MUFFET

[ruinfell]

[M!A: REGRESSION] Brothers

The woods were almost nice to be in, when he forgot about the humans in the timeline. Fin Sleazy could be alone, and think.

Think on everything that he'd come to learn in the past week.

On the nerd dad's mantra, that kindness is enough.

On Reset's familiarity and the way it made his soul feel.

On the kid's barrage of insults and insistences.

On the weird fish bitch's challenging of his opinions of his partner.

He didn't understand why all of them were trying so hard to be nice to him, why all of them were putting in so much effort. He wasn't worth that effort.

Was he?

His phone buzzes. He pulls it out to check it— and it's a message from… his brother?

* hey bro. you know how to get to the clearing in the middle of the woods, right?

He remembers what Undyne had told him. He starts to type:

YEAH.

Another message comes through, hot on the heels of the other.

* meet me there. i wanna talk.

He doesn't respond to the text - his feet do. He gets moving.

Jitters is definitely more nervous than he has ever been as he waits for his brother, having to consciously keep his breathing even, despite having no need to. It's the only way to stop himself from dogging out before Sleazy even gets here, because letting that anxiety overwhelm him was a surefire way to ruin this.

It's so hard to keep his cool when his brother— skull intact, worn armour still on— comes out from the tree line, stepping slowly and cautiously, and freezing as soon as his gaze meets Jitters'.

"... bro?" Jitters speaks quietly, uncertainly. "bro, it's me. sans."

Sleazy doesn't respond immediately. He doesn't even move. He just stares in disbelief.

"surprise, heh."

Sleazy takes a step forward.

"... IT'S REALLY YOU? LIKE, COMPLETELY?"

"yeah. i'm all here, last i checked. mentally, physically." 

Another step forward. And another. Jitters stays still, letting him approach.

"... HOW?" He stops right in front of him, staring down, in complete disbelief.

Jitters shrugs. "not sure about that one, pap, or i'd tell ya. but, i've been figuring it out. bit by bit. things'll work out."

There's just a moment more… and one more step is taken. Sleazy pulls his brother into a tight hug, and lowers his skull against him.

Jitters thinks against making remark about this and just… returns the hug, rubbing his now-sobbing brother's back. He didn't need to say anything. They shared a singular thought in that moment, that transcended any magical curse:

Despite everything, this was still his brother. He always had been. He always will be.

#{}{} V: MAIN #{}{} SERAFIN #{}{} SLEAZY #{}{} M!A: REGRESSION #{}{} JITTERS #{}{} PLOT POST #(( :> )) #(( to those who are confused: there's an m!a on fin's blog to regress him back to pre-blog start ))

[ruinfell]

💫

[SHUFFLE DRABBLES : ACCEPTING]

Car is parked, bags are packed, but what kind of heart doesn't look backAt the comfortable glow from the porch, the one I will still call yours?All those words came undone and now I'm not the only oneFacing the ghosts that decide if the fire inside still burns

All I have, all I need, he's the air I would kill to breatheHolds my love in his hands, still I'm searching for somethingOut of breath, I am left hoping someday I'll breathe againI'll breathe again

It all happened so fast. One moment, he was tending to the flowers on the dresser. The next, sirens and heavy footfalls drowned everything out. He couldn’t make out the words, but he knew they were words of command, and he feared for his life-- and for the lives he had taken in.

And for the life that had left, that he had hoped would return before now.

The declarations were made, clearer now. Hunt them down, kill them. Grind them into dust. Don’t let them escape. He didn’t look back to see who was making them. He grabbed who and what he could, and he ran. He didn’t look back to see if he was being followed. He ran, and ran, and leapt into shadow, and ran and ran and stumbled and ran.

He didn’t answer them as they asked what was going on. Sunny and Clawbite were clueless. Reset and Jitters had an inkling.

Sleazy had no idea what was going on.

He only stops when he leaves the shadows again, when he’s some ways away from where he landed when he teleported. It’s a different Waterfall. His ribs heave with the effort of catching breath he feels like he needs all of a sudden.

And only when he stops, and starts to catch his breath, does he look back.

It’s dark, and it’s cold, and it’s damp, and it’s empty. He doesn’t even feel like he’s there. He feels like he’s far away, at least in part, and he doesn’t entirely exist here anymore. Some part of him is back there, and some part of him in a far, distant place, looking for himself.

He already misses the warmth of the hearth. He already misses the safety of those walls.

He still misses him.

#{}{} V: MAIN #{}{} SERAFIN #(( this is kind of vague because i can't remember all the details )) #(( and it's still a wip from a writing perspective )) #(( but throws this out )) #(( it's also kind of bad bc it's late but shrug )) #ozimulmakesartwork

[ruinfell]

just before i pass out have another shitpost, brought to you by a gay known as @strawhatsanddelibirds who had a dream that i made possible

@mraudio-the-audacious @kxndncss

#{}{} OOC #{}{} SHITPOST #mraudio-the-audacious #kxndncss #grxxnheart #strawhatsanddelibirds

[ruinfell]

retelling of the event that led to the Café Crunch™ in meme format

@kxndncss @buntrousled @hopxlcss @tanezumi

#{}{} OOC #{}{} SHITPOST #{}{} LLYR #kxndncss #buntrousled #hopxlcss #tanezumi

[ruinfell]

“YOU’VE LISTENED TO THIS MASHUP FOR LIKE HALF AN HOUR NOW.”

“so?”

“IT’S GOOD AND ALL BUT THERE’S LIKE FIFTY FUCKIN OTHER MASHUPS ON THIS CHANNEL.”

“but love shack baby.”

“I’M CHANGING THE SONG.”

“wait no don’t not in the middle of the song--”

#{}{} V: MAIN #{}{} SERAFIN #{}{} JITTERS #{}{} MICROFICTION #(( LOVE SHACK BABY LOVE SHACK-- ))

[ruinfell]

(( shitpost time feat. @tanezumi @unseenbutnotgone @hopxlcss @flapsinhands @mraudio-the-audacious @tokcku

tumblr’s doing that dumb thing again where it won’t let me link to webs’ blog ANYWAY it’s the eagle one joke but with llyr being a fuckboy ))

#{}{} OOC #{}{} ART #{}{} SHITPOST #tanezumi #unheardanduncaring #hopxlcss #flapsinhands #mraudio-the-audacious #tokcku #nsfw implied {}{}

[ruinfell]

(( hey, so just for funsies - muse voice claims! features muses from @ruinfell and @ruintale both ))

#{}{} OOC #{}{} HEADCANON

[ruinfell]

h e y. s k e l e t o n s

#{}{} V: CRACK #{}{} SERAFIN #{}{} SHITPOST #(( this is like the most elegant shitpost ever but you deserve it )) #(( also to newcomers: welcome to my blog this is me in a nutshell )) #papetoonvulpine

[ruinfell]

[DRABBLE] A Talk in the Woods

There was a cool breeze out that night – not too chill, or too bustly. A nice time for a walk, and it wasn't like the cold bothered skeletons much anyway. The woods were not wholly barren, and, with the spring air beginning to drift in, the woodlands' residents were awakening and returning.

Papyrus had taken to walking the woods more often lately, but he had asked his brother to accompany him this time. He didn't say as much, but he desired to talk with him, and he picked up on that well enough with his sibling intuition.

It had been a while since they'd really sat down and talked, and Papyrus was nervous. Sans picked up on that well enough, but didn't address it immediately. He remembered how poorly their last real heart to heart had gone, before they officially made the move to the surface-bound timeline. Sans still hadn't grown accustomed to their new home, and rarely spent time here, but he was trying.

"We can stop for a sec if you want," Papyrus suggested, halting and spinning on his heels to face Sans, who trailed behind him sluggishly. They'd kept a slow pace, but they had still gone quite far. "I got a couple thermoses. Thermii?? Of hot chocolate."

Sans was not tired, but… he appreciated the concern, and Papyrus actually addressing him. The silence had been awkward. It, faintly, distantly, reminded him of being led through the wartorn woods on a chain. He did not wish to be in that position again, of being led on a chain, wherever his brother went, with no say and no real agency.

"... yeah, sure." Sans took a seat on a nearby stump. His brother sat nearby on a log, and handed him a thermos, while pulling out his own, popping the cap and taking a decent swig of it.

Skeletons did not have to worry about burning their tongues or scalding their throats so much, seeing as they did not have throats, and did not always have tongues. But they could still indulge in the warmth that hot drinks invited, and the way it could cool nerves, though they lacked those too.

Papyrus spent a moment taking in that warmth, and holding it, before he dared let any of the cold back in by speaking.

"Bro? Can I ask you something?"

Sans knew something was coming, but chose to hold off on answering the question until he'd warmed his palms, and then his jaws and neck, with the welcome beverage. "it's about us staying here, yeah?" That was his guess. Why talk about it here, and now, of all times and places?

"... Yeah. Are you actually okay with this?"

Sans was a little taken aback, his jaw shifting in consideration, and his back straightening from its near ever-present hunch. "why wouldn't I be?"

"Humans, for a start." Papyrus was well aware that was a problem for both of them. "Not gonna pretend I don't get freaked out but uh. My symptoms are probably a lil' easier to manage."

Sans frowned. "i'm not gonna dog out in a mall and start killin' people, pap. i've been dog shoppin' before."

He assumed he would be fine, even if there was more than a little thread of doubt, and quite a hefty chunk of worry dangling at the end of it - he didn't know how well his emotions would be kept in check in such a situation for certain. He knew that war overwhelmed him at a near constant, to the point where it took years for him to regain any normalcy, by seemingly sheer chance.

Papyrus had a great many more concerns, and would come back to that one later. It wasn't the biggest concern, after all.

"I don't wanna keep leadin' you around like you ain't got a choice in it, Sans."

The elder brother very much did not enjoy when his younger sibling took words from his head like that, though he knew full well that at times they may as well be bound twins, and thus privy to reading each other so well. He fully blamed that on how they came to be, though he had no evidence of such.

He shifted a bit on his stump, legs dangling, and heels kicking into the bark in an uncomfortable rhythm. "but that's the thing. i don't. not if i wanna keep up with you."

"But you--"

Papyrus halted his exclamation suddenly. He stared at his brother, swallowing the words that hadn't made it past his teeth, and letting them reform in a moment.

"... You don't have to keep up with me, dude." The weight and gravity of his tone came from its sobriety now, and not its volume. "This isn't like, some thing like with Sunny and Sleepy. I'm not gonna disappear and be a different person one day. You're not gonna forget or lose me. Not as long as we actually talk."

Sans was fortunate for that gravity. Without it, had there been any inch of panic, he would have caught onto it and amplified it, it would have rattled between the walls of his rib cage and grown and grown until it burst from him a thousand fold too large for it. That was the true nature of his curse, and something he had yet to fully shake.

His gaze didn't lift from his thermos, but his legs slowly came to a stop. There was a bit of a sniff.

"If you wanted to shack up in the café timeline, I don't think Sunny would mind. If you feel more comfortable there. Or, hell-- I'm sure Dad would be okay with you staying there too. You don't gotta force yourself to be somewhere that makes you feel uncomfortable."

Sans' grip on his thermos tightened a little, though, fortunately, there was no threat of it being crushed. He simply needed that extra bit of grip, to stay his hands from shaking.

He was safe, for now at least. But he knew the anxiety was welling up in him. He didn't want to disturb this place. He didn't want to lose control of himself when—

"but you're forcin' yourself, pap. you're scared." He could tell, even having not seen the way his brother had worried over applications and spilled his anxieties to his adoptive guidance. "but you're bravin' through it. and i get it. but i'm just not brave like you are. i just deal."

The taller skeleton's face became yet more grave, and his teeth clicked together in a frown, wordless for a time. It was true, he was forcing himself, and he was scared. The fact that he was facing surface life with humans, despite being afraid, meant he could not refute being brave, much as he didn't think himself such. But he could refute that his brother was not also brave, and perhaps more so than he was.

After a good solid minute of thought, Papyrus stood, walked over to his brother's stump, and sat next to him atop it.

"I don't think you're givin' yourself much credit, Sans. Ya forget it's you who took that soul, instead of me?" He nudged the shorter skeleton with his elbow, against the red sweater, about where said soul would be resting. "Even before that. So what if you're not brave the exact same way I am? Don't mean you're not. We're not the same. Even if people like pointin' out how much we got in common with the bastard who made us, heh."

Papyrus took a long swig of his thermos, enough to drain it, and it gave Sans time to really think. His younger brother, he often considered, was the lesser of experience, at least in overall years, but maybe not of wisdom. Sans secluded himself a lot, mostly out of fear and distrust of others, but largely out of fear and distrust of himself. That removed him from a lot of opportunity for experience, and meant Papyrus could catch up — not just catch up, but overtake him.

"you're startin' to sound like one of those fuckin' cwote posts, bro. lay off the tumblr." There was a bit of a smirk from him.

"Oh my god… Anything but that." Papyrus snickered a bit, though that gravity lessened none. "Seriously though. No one minds you bein' around. People want you around. I want you around, and to fuckin’-- have a chance at the surface, y’know? But not if it's gonna fuckin' blow your soul out from anxiety."

It was weird. Sans had always been the one worrying about his brother. It was always his focus in life, his one real purpose. Things had gone astray since their colliding with the multiverse, granted, and a few others had gained his worry, but never to the same degree of his brother. It wasn't just a purpose that Gaster had granted him upon his brother's birth: it was a purpose he fully adopted within his own heart and mind.

He knew that other people had worried for him before. People did care about him. He'd barely heeded them. He'd never really felt like he mattered, not to himself, not if his brother was okay, so it was difficult to believe he mattered to anyone else.

It was weird, that Papyrus worried so much for him. But his heavy, heavy heart, felt lighter for it. The logic felt right; if he actually started taking himself into account, started to look out and after himself in some way… would that help his brother be more okay, too?

Would caring for his own self, be an act of caring for his brother?

It always went back to him. 'You don't have to keep up with me' came back to haunt him from moments before, and he sighed his hectic thoughts out slowly through his nasal cavity. His mind was moving a little too fast; maybe it was trying to stay ahead, rather than keep up.

Papyrus, intuitive as he was, could tell that something was amiss. He let go of his thermos with one hand and wrapped the arm around Sans' shoulders, pulling him into a half-hug.

"You don't gotta figure it all out right this second, dude. Just… figure yourself into the equations while ya do."

"... yeah. i guess." He didn't sound enthusiastic, but he had not stopped thinking just yet. It'd wind down slowly, it had to, because sudden change panicked him.

"And for my part, I'll try to stop runnin' into shit so much without tellin' ya. Like, I'll let you know when I get this job shit figured out, keep you up on my schedules when I do…" Papyrus' cup was stowed in his inventory, and he stood up from the stump. "Y'know, actually try to keep ya in the loop, heh. I know I suck at doin' that, and it don't really help."

Sans gave a small smile, and little disagreement-- but no teasing, this time. He appreciated the effort. He hadn't felt like they'd been able to talk this frankly in a very, very long time.

#{}{} V: MAIN #{}{} SERAFIN #{}{} JITTERS #(( have some bros ))

[ruinfell]

Blab Jitters

“1. i have never been okay.” It’s not necessarily a secret, but he never tells anyone this, except himself.

“2. i haven’t been keepin’ up with basic hygiene shit like i ought to. probably the stress of everything that’s been goin’ on lately.” Lately, as it turns out, is a varying amount of time that can mean anywhere between the past few weeks and the past couple of years. “i mean my legs and face and arms yeah but my ribs probably have their own ecosystem by now.”

“3. i actually, do, kinda, resent bein’ treated like a dangerous dog. i don’t bring it up ‘cause why the fuck does it even really matter anymore. but it was kinda fucked up. y’know? and no one ever… talks about it. or at least they don’t involve me in the conversation when they do.”

He shuts up after the third one. His expression doesn’t shift throughout from that same, broad smile - save for the opening of his empty sockets. The discomfort he feels, he releases with that opening, so that the prying will stop.

#Anonymous #{}{} V: MAIN #{}{} JITTERS #(( damn y'all goin hard on jitters tonight ))

[ruinfell]

Dream: Three wishes they have. (Jitters - trolling OR in earnest is great)

“first off i want an actual clown car that works the same way they do in the cartoons where you could fit like fifty big footed people in the damn thing”

“second let’s just go ahead and end world hunger and give everyone access to at least enough basic food to live y’know ‘cause people are assholes when they’re hungry.”

“third– i want three more genies. the rule normally says you can’t wish for more wishes but it doesn’t say shit about more genies now does it.”

“you can bet your ass i’m gonna make that my third wish with every other genie too. it’s not even that i want stuff. i just wanna watch the world burn.”

Three wishes, he considered. What would he really want with those three wishes? He never wanted for much, not really. An end to the disquiet in his soul would be nice, maybe. Not having to be afraid of losing his mind to heightened emotion ever again.

Yeah. Letting himself feel something in earnest might be alright.

Getting his home back– his real home, his timeline? Also might be pretty nice. His brother would like that too. And his dad. It’d shut Muffet up and get her off their case... Would he wish everyone back as part of that? He’s not sure. It’d make more problems for Asgore to come back, he bets. He missed everyone, and he couldn’t really hold to the belief of the dead should stay dead, all things considered.

Nah. There wasn’t much he really wanted in life that he couldn’t just grab for himself, if the desire was great enough. He had reason to suspect he could even regain full control of his mind with enough actual work, if he could be bothered - Sunny and Prickly never had issues with their souls, after all, so there had to be some trick to it.

The truth of the matter is, he’d probably just wish for stuff that would make his brother happy, and leave it at that. Because his brother being safe and happy was his greatest wish.

#ozimulmakesartwork #{}{} V: MAIN #{}{} JITTERS #(( why not both ))

[ruinfell]

My Character Must Confess in Threes

Blab: Three secrets they're keeping.

Mwah: Three people they'd like to kiss.

Similar: Three members of the same sex they find attractive.

Different: Three members of the opposite sex they find attractive.

Pastime: Three hobbies they have.

Doing: Three habits that they have.

Psst: Three things that they've always wanted to tell your character.

Shh: Three things they wouldn't want their parents to know.

Dream: Three wishes they have.

Want: Three things they would do to your character if they were alone.

#{}{} OOC #{}{} PROMPT #(( feel free to keep sending these in because of my availability not being great )) #(( also please specify muse!! ))

[ruinfell]

[DRABBLE] Marksmanship

The void was a dangerous place. It was far from empty, like one may assume, but instead unpredictable; the dark depths held untold horrors that knew exactly how to strike when they were least expected.

Expecting someone did not help ease Tokaku in the slightest, as he waited in the unlit clearing. Why Llyr had not simply extended his influence and made space for them, he did not know, but he assumed that the unease was intended to be instilled. Llyr and his beloved companion – Tokaku's usual tutor – were much of the same ilk.

Men who delved into the darkness and adapted within it, rather than run away from it.

This rabbit did not wait helplessly, as the very nature of their meeting was to be of tutelage. Llyr had spied the moment in which Tokaku's long-forgotten weapon had come to fore, and recognised it, albeit with some disdain, as kindred to his own lost arms.

He clutched more tightly to his rifle, kept it level and readied, as the unease seeped further into his bones. He did not keep still: there was no pacing, but he turned on the spot, looked around, made sure that his back was not facing the same way for too long.

His paranoia served him well when a sudden clamour came from the dark.

The flash of light hit his vision before anything else could, and he tumbled aside, stumbling to his feet and raising his weapon—

"TOO SLOW. Far too slow!"

The sound carried before light reached its speaker, and Tokaku's expression dropped into an all too displeased frown. Llyr had finally arrived, blowing smoke away from the barrel of his pistol, and holding his cutlass at the ready. Its unnatural surface still held the dancing sparks of gunfire, for far longer than it ought to. "I could have shot again already," the rattish man chided, "and you would be dead."

Tokaku had no doubt of that, but it was still a dick move. He just barely restrained his annoyance. "Did you come here to take pot shots at me, or did you come here to teach me something?" He grumbled, firing off a pot shot of his own. He'd feel smug for it, if it weren't a genuine inquiry.

Llyr was not particularly humoured. He was finding it a struggle to deal with his mirror, despite Nero's insistence that he cease indulging his hypocrisy. His blade is sheathed, and he holsters his gun. If Tokaku wanted to be taught, then, he would teach him.

He approached his new student, and began to readjust him without warning. "First off: do not fucking brandish your rifle like a club." His hands are moved about his firearm, repositioned as the smaller of the pair saw fit. Squared his shoulders, angled his arms correctly, straightened out his gun. "It is a vehicle for bullets, but not only that. You must think of it as an extension of your body. And you will treat it with the respect it is owed."

Tokaku kept his protest within, realising that he would get nowhere arguing at this point. He did, after all, ask for instruction. He wanted to remain open, no matter how admonishing Llyr wanted to be towards him. He also had something to prove.

Llyr sidled up, making sure everything was aligned. He stepped away once he was certain everything was how he wanted it, and huffed gently. (It seemed he'd been picking habits up from someone.)

"Perhaps you are not completely hopeless."

Tokaku had to resist rolling his eyes, though it was quite a feat to. Instead, he held his position.

Llyr noticed something. It was he who had to keep his composure then, choosing to frown instead with scrutiny, and narrow his sockets, rather than let himself smirk at all like he almost wanted to. "You at least remember not to put your fucking finger on the trigger if you are not fucking firing. That is something."

He set himself back a few strides, removing himself from Tokaku's view completely, and then casting a hand out before him, as though gesturing ahead.

For a moment, Tokaku was confused… until a few shapes rose from the nothing beneath them. White bones; magic bullets. They arranged themselves at varying distances, and remained stationary in the positions they set themselves in, for now. Llyr was creating a shooting range.

"You apparently remembered well enough how to use the bayonet," Llyr said with no small amount of annoyance, as he believed swords were for swinging, guns were for shooting, and bayonets meant you were doing neither effectively. "Let us see if you remember how to fire it."

It was not something Tokaku remembered consciously. He knew well enough the steps required to fire a rifle, as it was a process of logic having studied the gun and its base mechanisms. He also knew that, logically, guns needed to be loaded. He'd no shot or gunpowder; they were not things he would ever need to possess, he felt, even carrying a firearm. He'd only gotten half way through telling himself that he could not be expected to fire his weapon when he had nothing to feed into the barrel… when the sharp contrast of the bones in the distance distracted him enough from his looping fallacy to remind him of a very simple and helpful truth.

He could just make bullets.

To make that realisation felt like a puzzle piece clicking into place, and all at once the picture made itself obvious. Most firearms of his day had required barrel loading of ammunition; for a musket of this era and design you would expect it to be loaded with a precise amount of gunpowder, then a lead ball as the ammunition. Another, finer gunpowder was loaded into the pan of the rifle, so that it could be struck alight by the flint and frizzen mechanisms. However, all of these mechanisms were completely unnecessary to a monster, because a monster had magic, which could substitute for the gunpowder and the ammunition both. Magic could be a catalyst, or it could be formed into a solid state that could enact purpose, such as inflicting damage when impacting something it is launched at.

Tokaku followed through the steps carefully, writing and then reading through instruction in his head as though he were speaking it aloud to his instructor as explanation. (Llyr could see the cogs moving, even.) A charge of magic was laid within the muzzle of his musket, and a round magic bullet rested up against it, all without Tokaku moving from his carefully adjusted position. He loaded just enough magic into the pan, cocked the hammer back, moved his finger to the trigger, lined his sight up with the nearest white bone, took a deep breath, and—

BANG.

Tokaku's careful positioning had been broken, but not before a flash of light pierced through the empty blackness and right through the nearest white bone, dead center. The bone shattered outward, and its shards dissipated upward. He was stunned, staring at what had once been a bullet in some disbelief that he had been the one to break it.

Llyr let himself smile just a little this time. It disappeared as soon as Tokaku looked back at him, but the void had eyes enough to have bore witness.

"So you do remember how to fire it. We will actually be able to get somewhere. Now shoot the rest down, and do not be so dramatic about the recoil, will you? You built the bloody thing, it is not going to blow your arm off."

Tokaku fixed him with a look. "How do you know I built it?" He didn't know that. He knew the gun was his, he felt it was, but he'd no idea where it came from, other than it evidently having been in his possession upon his death and erasure from reality.

"Because," Llyr answered, "how else would you know how it works? It is exactly as my pistol, which I built. Magic-fed, because it gives the advantage of not having to faff about reloading in the thick of battle. We are fucking alternates, you fool." A fact he at least told himself he was loathe to accept… but maybe he did appreciate it a little more now than he did before, seeing how quickly Tokaku remembered, and how finely his arm worked. And how much easier it made teaching and explaining things, when he could draw on latent experience and knowledge, and had a rough idea of what his student was capable of if he actually put his mind to it.

It also helped that Tokaku was a surprisingly open-minded student, at least now. He had been a very close-minded man before, and Llyr had not forgotten the way he spoke to him, his friends, and his partner. Yet, Nero lended his aid readily, and Tokaku took his lessons on board with little to no resistance. Llyr had seen for himself the horned man's graduation from quivering mess on the floor to, maybe, a passable swordsman.

He kept a close eye on him, now, as the rifle lined up with each target before blasting it into the nothingness. Some targets became a challenge, as Llyr began to move them: in very specific patterns at first, but becoming less like a pathed movement, and more like a dangling carrot with the last few.

Tokaku shot down each one with care in his precision. He took his time with this task, recognising it well enough as opportunity to familiarise himself further with his bonded weapon. With each shot he could feel how the magic flowed through it, and study the mechanisms, not just through sight, but through sensation too. He became quicker with each shot, until the last few were fluid twitches and motions that seemed as natural a motion as turning one's head.

Llyr had gotten lost in the dance of it all, evidently, as, when the final bone shattered and the music ended, he found Tokaku was staring at him in a great manner of confusion.

"Why do you look so pleased with yourself?" He almost sounded offended, but he was a bit past taking offense with the look on Llyr's face. He was often just unreasonably smug, he'd noticed, and it wasn't intentionally provocative. His face was just stuck like that.

This time there was definitely a reason, and Llyr felt a little embarrassed for being caught out.

"... Well," said Llyr, finally managing words, but not liking how his face lit up a bit with the first sound that left him, "maybe I am a little pleased to see a firearm handled properly."

There was another moment of Tokaku being stunned… before he began to laugh. Not a mean or condescending laugh; a sound made by someone who was quite relieved to realise that a rather intimidating person was not nearly as scary as they had tried to make themselves look. It was not the first time he had had this experience, and he was sure it would not be the last. Llyr's embarrassment at his honesty was very much from a place of not understanding his feelings, and, for Tokaku, seeing that was like looking in a mirror.

Llyr truly had not wanted to let go of his distrust and disdain for Tokaku, and, now that he had been forced to, he had been left vulnerable — not to Tokaku, but to himself.

"You said it yourself!" Tokaku barked through his laughter, "We are alternates, you fool!"

Llyr didn't feel any less embarrassed to hear his words parroted back at him… but the humour with which his mirror took such a thing, did make him feel a little less awkward.

He just about regained his composure, albeit notably lacking in threat now. "Enough of that, you tittering twat. One more round of targets and then you can fuck off and eat carrots or whatever it is you do when you're not running away from swords. I am tired of you." The jabs came a bit thicker, but they had noticeably much less sharpness to them now.

Tokaku's laughter tapered off, and he leveled his rifle up to the forming target range once more, with a renewed determination.

#{}{} V: MAIN #{}{} LLYR #tokcku #ruintale #(( gods sorry this is 2050 words it's hardly a drabble anymore OTL )) #(( this happened between the training session where toki stabbed nero and the thread with toki showing audio his gun i just hadn't wrote it #posting it to this blog first bc more followers tbhhh ))

[ruinfell]

(( i’m almost done with a drabble that i’ve been working on for... a few months now tbh, in some form or other

for now, here’s a picture of llyr being llyr: ))

#{}{} OOC #{}{} SHITPOST #{}{} LLYR

[ruinfell]

hey guys! small announcement, i will be focusing more on my f2f/para blogs and discord rp from this point onward as best i can, rather than my blog-style blogs. these two blogs being this one, @ruinfell , and its non-fell counterpart, @ruintale

not going to go super into why, but i’ll put a little under the cut since this is kind of out of the blue

the tl;dr of it is, that i’ve been in the undertale blog-style roleplaying community for ~3 years, and the scene seems kind of... dead at this point. what pockets of it are still alive that i’m aware of, are closed off, or feel very toxic to me, personally. i’m not suggesting that they’re intentionally this way or that they’re toxic as a whole, but i have had a lot of very negative experiences, and do not wish to continue within that environment.

however, i still love undertale, and i still love the friends i’ve made through it and held onto, so i still want to do undertale rp in general. i think the best way for me to do this is to take tips from marie kondo, and remove from my life what no longer sparks joy.

#{}{} OOC

[ruinfell]

[DRABBLE] Growth

LLYR had been given cause, lately, to be far more alert and paranoid. His sleep was normally quite deep, and peaceful, despite how he was often haunted - but right now, he couldn't afford to sleep deeply, with his partner vulnerable and recovering.

He knew that this place, the bedroom Webs had graciously offered for them to rest in, was likely one of the safest locations in the multiverse right now… but, when it was just them, and the house fell quiet and still, he couldn't shake the fear that seemed to lurk just out of reach at all times, ready to grip him. And so, he waited for a danger that would never come.

It was not quite danger that came for him.

Shadows shifted along the wall, growing longer and then shrinking again, with a muted sound barely breaking the silence. Llyr's sockets opened suddenly as the sense of something amiss crept up his spine, making each of the sharpened processes along it phase through his sweater and stand on end.

The silence fell again, though his form did not, arched upward and wound tight with tension. He scanned his eyes across the room, this way and that, trying to find the change in atmosphere, the piece that did not fit.

It was only when his gaze turned back in front of him, at the foot of the bed, that the piece revealed itself.

"—Sans?"

Two frowns of very different nature met one another, as the fearful sea-green light from one small skeleton bounced dimly from the clean white skull of the other. Just as Hound had snuck into the café to tear through Hope's heart, it seemed Jitters had snuck into their refuge to tear through his. Albeit without rending claws at the ready. But he hardly needed them with that weight of disappointment on his brow, and at the corners of his mouth.

Jitters fixed his gaze squarely upon Llyr, noting how he shrank. His stony expression was immovable, shielding how his heart was not quite so.

"sup dad. how's dr. pepper doing?"

Of course the storm wouldn't come without a breeze. Llyr spared a slight glance over his shoulder, toward the slumbering form, still fearing to remove his eyes from the other waking monster for too long. But seeing that, despite the intrusion, despite his distraction, Hope was still alright, was something of a relief to him.

"He is mending," he answered with a sigh, "though it may take some time yet. Webs was a great help."

"can't say the same for his son. gave him a pretty nasty crack, didn't ya." Jitters hardened his gaze. It took effort, but he wasn't about to let on to that.

Llyr, as one might expect, visibly flinched: the mere mention brought back that flash of memory that he'd tried to bury, and all the anger and fear that came along with it. He struggled to turn his gaze back, and did so with some reluctance.

"I am sorry." It came as reflex.

Jitters felt something in his expression flinch, too, but he suppressed it. He needed to remain as stone; he needed to be firm about this.

"sorry for going at him like you were gonna dust him? or sorry that i saw it?"

Llyr was silent for a good while. The answer was obvious, he knew it already, but the weight of the question was too much to simply let the answer leave him without thought or struggle.

The smaller skeleton did not wait for the answer. "yeah, i know he tried to kill nero. i know. i was there, i saw it. but i thought you were-- i thought you were trying to be better."

Jitters' stumble didn't go unnoticed, but Llyr didn't remark on it. He could understand. He knew, in the moment they locked eyes, what about this had upset his son so much.

"... I only meant to protect him. I know I took it too far, I was taken over by fear. I feared that… that if I did not do something about it, enough about it, that I would lose him entirely."

Llyr swallowed hard, and his gaze dropped. "I do not want to go through that again."

Some of the harsh stone in Jitters' face smoothed out, and he spent a moment, studying his father's body language, studying the way his eyes moved as he spoke. He knew Llyr was full capable of lying: it was something of a genetic predisposition. He didn't sense it here. No lies, no deception. But no real explanation, either.

"go through what? what happened?"

He'd never been much for dancing around the subject, so he simply asked.

"A long time ago," Llyr began, as so many stories did, "there was someone important to me, above all else. I could not save her. And I could not find the ones who killed her and make them pay for what they did."

"so you freaked out."

"Yes."

"would you have killed him if someone hadn't stopped you?"

"What?"

"hound. would you have killed him."

"... Yes."

This time, Jitters swallowed hard, and dropped his gaze. His fists balled in his pockets. He knew Llyr was being honest, and he appreciated that he was, but—

"you can't do shit like that. you can't. it's not up to you. yeah, he might come back to finish the job, but-- it isn't just you looking out for nero."

Llyr sank a bit with the guilt, but Jitters pressed on.

"i'm not mad that you attacked him at all. he probably woulda put his hand right through him if you hadn't. i'm not pissed that you hit him once or twice. i mean damn i kinda like the dude and see where he's coming from but he needed a few punches. i'm disappointed that you kept going. and that you would have kept going. that you started yelling at him. you can't do that."

It took some effort, but Jitters managed to step forward to the edge of the bed, so that he could place a hand on Llyr's shoulder, and face him proper. Gone was the stony face; his frown now held back tears instead of feeling.

"you're not that person anymore, dad. we all believe you're better. i know you're trying. but don't let one asshole throw you off. okay?"

He couldn't keep his head low anymore, not with his son in his face as he was. Llyr found himself staring right ahead, frozen, for a moment, as the words truly sunk in. He had never really recognised his own improvements, simply accepting his own changes in attitude as part of the change in environment. Having people he could trust, and love, and not being surrounded by enemies and closed-off souls, had brought out things in him he had either forgotten, or thought long-dead.

He had honestly spent just as much time moping over how he had regressed and struck a child so much like his own, as he had moping over his injured partner. He had to accept the disappointment, learn from it, and move on. Else Hound would have managed to strike two down with one blow.

Llyr took a deep breath… and reached out with both arms, to lift the smaller skeleton up onto the bed and pull him into a tight hug. His exhale hitched some, though the cause was well hidden, as his face practically buried itself in the furs at Jitters' hood.

Jitters appreciated having his face hidden for about the same reason.

#{}{} V: MAIN #{}{} LLYR #{}{} JITTERS #{}{} PLOT POST