#and also pearl casually mentioning that she’s “got nightmares from that” when gem fished her (not false related but! pstd real)

[legally-allowed-to-slime]

“You won, you won!”

“Yeah, I won.” False repeats, relief seeping into her body.

And out of the corner of her eye she spots the glint of flint and steel, the red flashing. In a split second her sharp reflexes ascertain that it’s far too late, before she meets Ren’s cunning eyes. The first Reaper, and the last.

Falsesymmetry was blown up by Renthedog no no stop it—

False jolts herself out of the depths of sleep, wide awake and panting hurriedly.

Her hand reaches for the sword by her side. She can’t seem to shake the habit of sleeping with it since Demise started. How could she think Ren would ever betray her like that? Idiotic nightmare. He’s her best ally.

Not ally. False whacks herself on the head in self-reproach. Friend. She’s got to stop thinking of life as war, got to stop being skittish around reds, got to stop tiptoeing everywhere she goes and logging out in dim caves and unfamiliar bases.

It ended. It’s over.

It’s over.

False bites into a pillow to stop from screaming. It’s childish, she knows, but ever since she’s won the nightmares won’t stop. She’s afraid to sleep. The blood and the death refuses to leave.

They won’t kill her, False reminds herself.

They’re out to get you.

Even if they did, the game’s over, it doesn’t matter.

They’re going to kill you.

Fear and panic and anger at herself floods her mind, all at once. Stop being so paranoid, the game is over, just get over it, will you?

She swings out of bed, instinctively checking for pressure plates before shaking her head and opening the door to let in the cool night air. It’s late, really late. Even the more nocturnal hermits are sleeping. The server is peaceful… for now.

False sits in the doorway, hands twitching and eyes carefully watching. She forces her elbow onto her hands to stop the shaking, but it doesn’t work. Her hand inches toward the hilt of the sword, wraps around it, holds it steady.

Angry mutterings devolve into quiet sobs.

She’s not sure if she’s getting over it any time soon.