Likepuppetsonastring - Like Puppets On A String...

But No One Came.

A/N: Guess who got into Undertale? And of course the first thing I write about it is an angsty Sans piece. So! This takes place in the early part of a genocide run. Enjoy!

"undyne...we've got a problem." Sans frowned a bit as he spoke into the phone. He stared up into the trees as he told her about the human...or what looked like one. Because, clearly that thing wasn't human. It wasn't a monster, either, though, which was the unsettling part. It was...nothing. Empty. It sent a shiver down his spine when he'd first seen it. But the woman behind the door had called it human, so he'd supposed... But then they were so cold, and silent. The look in their eyes... "yeah...yeah, we'll try. don't worry about paps," he half smiled, the looming purple door appearing at the end of the path, "I'll make sure he's not in the way of the fight. he's busy setting up a puzzle before waterfall, and they'll never get that far." He nodded. "yeah, you watch yourself too, 'dyne. i'll see ya when i see ya." He hung up and glanced up at the door. He could really use some cheering up...a joke or two never hurt anyone, and he could warn the old girl to take care of herself. He knocked a couple of times on the door. Nothing. Sans frowned again. That...never happened. She was always here. Maybe she'd gone to do something? He knocked again, harder this time. Again, there was no response. "lady? you there?" Nothing. Something felt heavy behind his ribs. Something was wrong. It was then that he spotted a track in the snow. It looked as if the snow had been pushed aside by the door opening...but...it was always locked. He'd tried again and again, but... He tried it now...the handle turned. The door was heavy, but he could move it. This didn't feel right.

"hello?" It was dark in here...silent. He walked for a long time, down a hall that looked darker and darker with every step, until he came to a doorway to a small room, with nothing in it but a patch of dying grass. The door on the other side was still open. He took a few cautious steps closer. It smelled a bit like...butterscotch? Or maybe cinnamon. The feeling he’d had when the door opened was getting worse with every step he took. "lady?" But then he saw something that made his bones go cold. A pile of dust lay in the middle of the room, with a footprint in the center of it. That thing... Was in Snowdin. Was heading for his brother.

He was running before he knew what he was doing. He passed through a doorway and suddenly he wasn't in the dark place anymore, but in Snowdin. "PAPYRUS!" There was no one around. No one, not a single monster. Even Monster Kid, the stupid child that he was, had finally wandered away. It was too quiet in his town, except for the unusually loud and frantic echo of his own voice. He didn’t know if he’d ever yelled like this, ever had every fiber of his being on as high alert as it was now. "DAMMIT, PAPS, WHERE ARE YOU?! ANSWER ME! PAPYRUS!" He wrenched open their front door and raced up the stairs, shoving Papyrus' door aside with a BANG. But he wasn't there. No, no, no, no, no... He turned and ran out the door, but instead of appearing on the landing, he was running down the path out of town. Papyrus had been working on something near Waterfall. Maybe he'd taken refuge. Maybe he'd found Undyne. Maybe...maybe... He skidded to a stop.

A red scarf had been kicked to the side of the road. There was scattered piles and smears of dust, not even enough for a proper burial. For a long moment he couldn't move. He couldn't make a sound. It couldn't be real, there was no way, he couldn't be...he wasn't...he wasn't... He was screaming, and there was beam after beam of power and light bombarding the ground, the trees, the sky, the rocky walls of the Waterfall entrance. The ground was shaking and he was screaming and everything was on fire. He came to his sense after a while, and the screaming cut out suddenly, turning into heavy breathing. And the heavy breathing became sobbing as he crumpled to the ground, clutching the scarf. He stopped himself eventually. Stood slowly. Shakily stuffed the scarf into one of his pockets, resting his hand on top of it. He stared around him at the carnage he'd wrought. Stupid, goody-two-shoes, stickler-for-the-rules, spaghetti-loving, pun-hating...wonderful Papyrus. The poor guy had tried to make friends with even this thing. He probably hadn’t even put up a fight at all. He’d probably spent his last breath believing that he could change them, make them good again... No. No more of that. There was only one thing in the world that was worth his energy now. No more breaks. It was time to end this.

“PLEASE!”

That might have been the first time you’d ever heard Dark speak sincerely, or say the word “please” in any context other than sneering dismissive commentary.

He was hanging by one arm, trying desperately to get a hold with the other but failing because his hand was broken to shit, shattered into little pieces by the fall. If no help came for him, he’d fall into the crumbling void, and whether he’d die there or not you’d never know.

But you couldn’t seem to move.

“CAN’T YOU HEAR ME?! GET ME OUT OF HERE!” His voice was cracking underneath its echoes and distortion, and it was clear from his tone he’d given up on his “I need no one” attitude that’d been his trademark. He genuinely sounded afraid, and in that moment, so much like Mark.

That, you decided, was the reason that you scrambled over to the ledge and grabbed his arm, grunting from the pain of trying to pull him up. He scrambled along the wall and after a tense moment, managed to crumple onto the ground beside you. Neither of you moved for a long moment, just heaving in labored breaths and trying to get your sense back.

“Why?”

You turned to look at him, frowning in confusion. He was sitting up slightly, hunched forward and holding his broken ribs and hand. You struggled to sit up.

“W...why what?”

“Why did you save me?”

“You asked me to, asshole.”

He glared at you, but the usual deadly malice was missing. He just looked tired. “I’ve asked you for a thousand things. I’ve forced you to do a thousand things, and you...you had the chance to be free, to get rid of me, why didn’t you...?”

You sighed heavily, lying back down to stare at the...ceiling? Was it a ceiling or was it sky, or was it neither? You supposed it didn’t matter too much. “Because...you sounded afraid.”

“Why does that matter?” There was a little bit of anger in that one, but it didn’t seem to be directed at you.

“I’ve never heard you sound like that before. You sounded like...”

“Like him.”

A long pause. “Yes. And no.” He frowned at you, and you elaborated. “You sound like Mark, yes, but...mostly, you just sounded like a person. Any other person. Someone who didn’t want to die. And I don’t think I could live with myself if I let you fall, and there was any chance that you were...”

“What? Human?” A sigh, again, and then, disdainfully, “There is nothing human left in me.”

“Left?” That was a surprise. Since when had there been anything human about him at all? But he didn’t seem willing to tell you any more. You thought for a moment. “Well, it sounded to me like there was something left. Small as it was, it was there. Maybe...maybe whoever you were originally isn’t as far gone as you thought.”

The look he gave you then was terrifying. Not in his usual “I’m going to rip you apart just to see what makes you tick” way, but in a way that was more subtle, and more chilling. He looked at you as if you’d given him hope he didn’t want, and he looked very much like a man that was just too tired. Done up in that suit of his, disheveled and broken, he looked like he could’ve been some politician, caught up in some scandal he hated, just wanting to do the best he could to make the world better. He looked like a different person completely.

“What was your name?” The look hardened. “Before you were Dark, what was your name?”

“It doesn’t matter anymore. That person is dead, and anything they were is dead along with them. What’s dead should stay that way.” He stood, cracking his neck sickeningly, and seeming to pop some of the bones in his chest back into place, and turned away, starting to walk. “If you can’t get up, then die here. If you can, then follow me so you don’t.”

You stood, certain he would be good to his word and let you die here if you didn’t. But you could never look at him the same way ever again.

If Darkiplier was reaching out to you, would you help or let let him die?

You choose.

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OH SHIT HERE WE GO AGAIN

FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK-

DJ Tyler. Nineteen years old, brilliant, quick witted, resourceful brunette with a London accent. That's all anyone kn...

I was listening to this again, with all the new info...and I just...

Dark, all alone at Ego Inc, hours after everyone else has dispersed. It’s been a long day, they’ve been hard at work. And he’s having an internal conversation, as you do when you’ve got three or more minds to listen to at once, when suddenly he sees or thinks of something from the old days. Something completely benign and silly, and he just...loses it, for a few minutes. For a little bit, he just...remembers. For a moment, he can feel that happiness again, and he’s Damien, and Celine, and the District Attorney, and they’re sat around that poker table and Benjamin is betting that Damien can’t do a keg stand and Damien is just drunk enough to try it. And suddenly all three of them are laughing so hard their shared shell is cracking, and they let themselves splinter into parts for a minute just because though it hurts horribly, they feel more real and alive than they have in ages.

The pain from that is what brings them back to reality, though, and the laughter dies off...only for them to look up and see Wilford standing in the doorway looking utterly dumbstruck. He smiles, and for a second, Damien and Celine pull through a little more strongly, because that smile is the Colonel’s, it’s William’s knowing smirk, not Wilford’s manic grin. But then he’s confused again, and shakes his head, the smirk morphing horribly into the grin. He makes some off color joke about Dark falling apart, and wanders off, shooting the wall as he goes.

And Dark is back. And he is alone again.

best quality: his giggles

quick question why tf did i make this

please give me audio edit requests or something i can’t live like this

ALRIGHT WHILE I WOULD LOVE TO LIVE THEORIZE WITH THE REST OF THE COMMUNITY UNFORTUNATELY I HAVE SHIT TO DO TODAY SO EXPECT A HUUUUUGE THEORY POST LATER TODAY.

ALL I’M GONNA SAY FOR NOW IS FUCK YEAH MURDER MYSTERY TIME

also IF THE UNUS ANNUS WEBSITE WOULD WORK THAT WOULD ROCK AAAAAAAAH

I like to think that sometimes dark will get these twangs of guilt or regret and he can never work out why, but there’s a reason he’s never got rid of that cracked mirror in his office. Or maybe he is just as broken as Wilford except wilfords response to being torn apart was to just spiral into it while dark tried to fight back and regain agency over himself? Like that’s why he’s so determined to get revenge, he’s just as hurt by wkm as wilf, he’s just dealing with it differently

I think Dark retains all the memories of WKM, and all of Damien’s memories, but the person/people that he was are forever changed (but maybe not completely gone), and that the dark entity that powers him led him to a different kind of insanity, one that’s hyper-focused and obsessive rather than sporadic and hyperactive and stereotypically “mad”.

DAMIEN

In case you’re missing the oddball excitement that’s going on right now. Also, @markiplier is hanging out in the chat with us now!

Home (A DBH Kara and Luther Drabble)

Winter in this part of Canada was incredibly cold and dreary. It snowed every few days, and when it wasn't snowing, it was overcast and windy, blindingly white all around. Everyone who lived in this particularly frigid part of the world knew better than to spend more than an hour or so outside at a time, lest they risk frostbite or worse. Everyone, that is, who was human. Luther trudged around the side of the house, laden down with freshly cut firewood over both arms. He'd been out since before dawn, making sure that all of the chores that needed doing outside were done before Rose and Adam even woke up. It seemed like the least he could do in reture for all of the  help they'd been in the past few months. He was careful not to be seen, given that his kind was still forbidden to be here. If he was caught, then people would start asking questions, and that could lead to problems for his family. Shaking those dark thoughts out of his head, Luther climbed the steps to the porch and started setting the logs into the firewood stand by the door. Just then, the door creaked open. "Luther?" "Good morning Kara." Kara's snow-white hair was gently touseled. Was it his imagination, or had it grown a little bit since they'd been here? Her borrowed nightshirt hung loosely around her thin frame, bunching where her arms crossed over her chest. She couldn't have looked more human. She couldn't have looked more beautiful. Kara frowned, head tilting slightly to the side. "Have you been out here long?" He shrugged. "A few hours?" "Your jacket..." "Hm?" She nodded at it, and he looked down. It was completely soaked through. "Oh. I should probably dry this." "Come inside. Bring the rest of the firewood, we'll light it so it's warm when Rose and Adam get up." He smiled and nodded, following her as she went back into the livingroom. As he dropped the wood by the fireplace, he caught sight of her socks, and started laughing. He was rewarded with a soft smile. "What's so funny?" "Your socks...?" The smile got even bigger as she held up a foot to show off. "Do you like them? They've got little rabbits on them, and they're so soft." "They're adorable." You're adorable, he wanted to say. She seemed pleased by this. "I thought so." They lapsed into comfortable silence for a little while. He heard the sounds of breakfast being made. The smell of pancakes and bacon wafted out into the living room as Luther got the fire going. He loved the smell of food cooking, even if he didn't need to eat. There was something comforting about it, a sense of home he'd never known before he'd come here. He sat back on the couch to watch it for a moment. Kara sat down beside him. "The fire looks lovely." "Breakfast smells good." They glanced at each other, and chuckled. Kara shook her head. "Is is crazy to say this feels like a dream? Like I might wake up tomorrow, and be back in Detroit. In the car, or Todd's place..." Her smile was gone again. He slid a bit closer to Kara and put his arm around her. It made his heart jump a bit when she melted into his side, slender arm going across his chest. He hesitated for only a second before pulling her hand into his own and holding it. "I never felt like this at Zlatko's." He could feel her looking up at him. He didn't talk much about his time before they met, and for good reason. In his mind, he didn't really exist before he met Kara and Alice. He'd been a machine back then, and he'd done terrible things he'd rather never think about again. This time, though, he felt the need to say something. "Zlatko at well every morning, but everything smelled like grease, not food. That place felt...small. Far too small. This place is smaller than that house, but this...is home." "Home," Kara laughed. He looked down at her again, and was surprised to see tears in her eyes. "It's nice to be home." Sitting there, with her curled into his side, the smell of food in the air and the warm fire at his feet, far away from the cold slums of Detroit, Luther couldn't agree more.