#i love colouring with orange its so Easy its so easy. no pain. mess free

[obsob]

a piece i did for my portfolio!! oh to be a very large wolf....

[sincognito]

Familiarity | Prologue

Universes: Only Undertale in this chapter.

Pairing: None yet.

Warnings: Major Character Death (Not a Sans or Papyrus), Violence

“Rus is a young mage, his life is simple and for that he is greatful, that is, until a monster turns up on his doorstep late one evening and throws his entire world into disarray. Now he must battle with all new feelings of love, loss, and guilt as he is forced to adapt to this new way of life.”

A/N: And here we have the long awaited Mage AU spicyhoney/puppymoney fic that I promised to post in October since that’s the month of all the spoopy magic and monsters!

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The light of the sun had been blocked out by the heavy clouds above, and the wind that whipped through the valley brought with it flakes of fresh snow. One could have easily mistaken it for a bitter winter’s day and not the soft snows of early spring. The higher he climbed up the mountain the harsher the weather became, and Papyrus found it most fortunate that his travels were almost concluded.

Before him stood the cave’s entrance, a small gap in the rigid wall of stone that could be easily missed by the unprepared. He knew that the cave had been purposefully selected due to its rather remote location. While it worked to keep most amateurs at bay, it did little to deter the more powerful monsters. Papyrus knew for a fact that the poor weather conditions were of the least of his concern.

He leant back into his saddle, gently pulling back on the horse’s reigns. The mountain pony dutifully came to a stop, snorting loudly and giving a shake of its head. The mare had thick, lengthy fur that served to keep her well insulated against their icy surrounds, and her stocky build allowed her to easily navigate the treacherous path that ascended the mountainside.

Papyrus lifted his leg over the side of the horse, dismounting in one smooth motion and landing in the snow with a soft thump. He reached into one of the saddle bags, removing a small satchel that he was quick to swing over one shoulder. After ensuring that he had all of the required tools he walked towards the cave, trusting that his temporary companion would remain in place until his mission had been completed.

The skeleton took a moment to regard the cave’s entrance, his eye lights rolling over the ancient symbols that had been carved into the stone. He ran his phalanges across the deep gouges in the rock, feeling the resonation of an old power, far more ancient than Papyrus himself.

It was a relief to finally step inside the cave’s walls, shielding the rest of his body from the bitter wind that bit at his bones even through the thick furs he wore. It was completely pitch black within, the light from outside barely penetrating further than a few feet. Papyrus raised a hand, warmth spreading down his arm and toward the centre of his palm as a small flame flickered into existence.

Papyrus reached out to the small torch that hung from the wall, allowing the flame from his hand to cross onto the torch and ignite it with a bright flash of light. He allowed the fire on his palm to dissipate, instead wrenching the handle from the wall so he could carry it with him. He ignored the rest of the torches, choosing not to light them as to avoid any unwanted attention.

It only took a short while for him to finally reach the first room of the inner cave. While many called it a cave, it was, in fact, a temple that had been built many eons ago with the sole purpose of containment. The walls were built of bluestone, an extremely strong material that would keep the building secure against most magical attacks from the outside.

In the very middle of the room stood a large goblet-like structure and around it the floor was surrounded by large rings that grew thicker the further they were from the room’s centre. Between the rings were further runic markings, each of them spoke of ancient and dangerous magic and Papyrus was quick to remove his notebook from his satchel.

The light of his torch was just enough for him to read each of the markings and it was easy enough for him to quickly scribble them down with his unoccupied hand. He would have plenty of time to translate the words once he finally returned home, but he had to work fast if he had hope of noting down everything in the room.

Once he had finally managed to copy everything, Papyrus slid the notebook back into his bag before reaching for the thin vile he had brought with him. He calmly walked back towards the stone goblet, looking into the dark water within. He was unsure of what liquid lay inside the bowl but he knew better than to mess with anything enchanted by the mages of old.

Removing the cork stopper from the end of the glass, he tipped the contents into the black abyss of water, watching as it swirled around before mixing together. Papyrus could still smell the lingering scent of iron as he once again stowed the now empty glass, trying to ignore the way it burned at his nasal cavity as caused his magic to spark.

He reached out with both hands, feeling his magic begin to gather around his bones, lighting up a bright orange. Papyrus’ eye sockets slid closed as he began to recite the old words, his magic sparking against the surface of the water as causing the once black contents to begin to glow and brilliant crimson.

Papyrus’ magic too changed, taking on the red colouration as he allowed the power to resonate within his soul. The runes across the floor flashed brightly with magic, the room rumbling as it violently shook, one of the walls lowering to reveal a second passageway concealed by darkness. Just as the skeleton finished the spell and allowed his magic to calm he watched as a silver object began to emerge from the depths of the water. He reached out, grasping the item and rolling it about in his hand, getting a feel for the weight and magical output of it.

The dagger glinted brightly under the light of the nearby torch, the symbols that lined the blade’s handle shone a bright red, matching the rest of the ruins in the room. Papyrus grinned broadly, giving the weapon a test swing, feeling how it sliced through the air like an extension of his own arm. He would certainly learn to utilise the blade.

It was only when he looked back up to the door that had revealed itself that Papyrus realised he had allowed himself to get too distracted. The monster was only just able to leap aside as a large section of stone was hurled in his direction. He scowled at the giant beast that stood across the room from him, watching as it dragged its hulking form towards him.

The creature was extremely large, its whole body covered in grey fur that had perhaps once been a brilliant white. It looked almost like a common goat in shape, with huge, curled horns and its typical body shape. Across its face were ominous black markings and its face seemed to be pulled into an unnatural grin. Throwing its head back the monster roared, charging towards Papyrus, its head lowered to crash its skull against him.

Papyrus easily evaded the beast, his magic sparking to life once more as he summoned a row of attacks that he thrust in its direction. One of them made contact before it reacted, swiping at the remaining attacks and shattering them as though they had been made of glass. It lunged forward again, bearing down on the skeleton in the blink of an eye, snapping its jaws at him.

From the ground an array of vine-like tendrils erupted, easily breaking through the stone underfoot as they too reached for Papyrus. He managed to slice the plant matter with a second set of attacks but was not fast enough to stop the animal as it barrelled into him, knocking him from his feet. Papyrus grunted as the beast snarled down at him, its rancid breath making him ill due to their close proximity. Fortunately, the monster had done exactly as the skeleton had anticipated.

The goat monster was about to clamp its teeth down around Papyrus’ skull when its suddenly tensed, its whole body going rigid as a pained breath escaped it. One of its paws reached toward its chest, clutching at where the dagger had imbedded itself into its flesh as warm crimson spoiled its coat.

The nimble skeleton pulled the dagger free, rolling out from under the monster just before it came crashing to the floor with a loud thump. He looked down on the creature, watching as its eyes began to glaze over, no longer seeing, and the body crumbled away into nothing more than a pile of dust.

Papyrus frowned to himself, wiping the blade clean with a cloth from his satchel. It was rather disappointing, he had hoped for a little more of a challenge.

[mephistophelianmusingsxo]

Sin City

It is said that loneliness is one’s lack of social activity, another humans company but true loneliness is isolation, it’s an emotional power to emptiness. It is more than just that feeling of wanting company, true loneliness is disconnection. No matter the amount of bodies that swarm your own with heat you’re still lonely, you’re still cold. It’s an impossible struggle to react and build a meaningful human contact. You’re hollow. Your insides whistle and echo the sounds of voices but they don’t quite reach your ears, the soft haze, the quiet buzz fades still. People fear being alone, they fear they may become lost without constant interaction but I, I chose to be alone. I chose this life. It wasn’t forced upon me, it was what my heart chose. You may ask “What is it like being alone?” And I can truly say, it is critical that you first assess the reason and actions to bring you to this point, whether in reasons for physical violence, emotional anguish, or the degree your mind is willing to go to accomplish this sense of being alone. I mean after all, we’re all, alone aren’t we? No one ever truly understands what it is like to be them, to experience their happiness, their pain, their sorrow and their guilt. So, how can we say that we are in fact not alone? We are. Some people find it easier to be within their own company, smothering their monadic existence from others. Pretending that all is good, life is perfect and they’re hunky dory. Drawing fucking pictures of a life everyone wants but not one single being has. Bullshit. Whether you will like to disagree or agree with my matter at fact, you cannot deny that solidarity is a fleeting feeling. It is universal. Race, creed, social standing. Once in a person’s life it will visit their soul and leave a mark so deep, they will always question if it ever left. Every song, every piece of literature, every painting extracts the inescapable fate of pure loneliness and we somehow are fundamentally distant from this, we protest that we do not have it. The paradox to all human existence for our social entities is to seek connections. May it be with another human or simply an object that holds great sentimental value.

Which leads me to my next point, by now you’ve probably already guessed my life became tangled in ways it never should. A typical story of a child not wanted, and a child gone wayward. However, you would be wrong. My childhood was the exact juxtaposition to expectancy, I was an only child. Sweet little protégé to dear old Dad’s booming company. Showered in love and adoration from the minute I was born, a child couldn’t ask for more. But it was never enough, I never belonged, I couldn’t excel in the areas my father wanted to carry on his heritage, try he might have, he could never tether my soul, could never cage my free spirit. I wanted to explore the world, I wanted to become accustomed to more than what I had growing up, I had a wild zoe for freedom. Academically I excelled in everything I did. From the writing short hand classes my father enrolled me in, to the logistics and statistics courses. In effect, there wasn’t much I didn’t excel in, but it wasn’t me. I didn’t care for flash suits, fancy jobs, exquisite restaurants, nature was more my thing. No convention or obligation, seeking out every unique possibility in each circumstance as it was. Enjoying whatever I deemed appropriate in this socially adverse world, limitations were minimal, and I rather relished in my adventurous unconventional conformity of a woman. Freedom, now freedom is open to arguments; social and political views as something that must be contained and controlled or something that cannot be. It has been across everyone’s lips, touched their tongues but never their actual mind set nor their soul. It has touched every human heart with adept fingers and a shadow that looms. Forever changing but never abandoning.

‘Freedom’. Freedom means many things to many people; politically the freedom to vote and choose your respected candidate, socially for you to choose what and who you like to acknowledge with. Standing free with those that fight for the freedom of speech, distancing yourself from those who fight for an entirely different cause but still freedom. Financial freedom is what got me in to this mess. Where others seek to free themselves from debt, standing credit and foredooming loans, I propelled myself further and further in to the outstanding debt. What’s more surprising is, I don’t particularly wish to be free either. Which is funny, wouldn’t you say? For a woman that has documented nothing but her free spirit doesn’t seem to want to be free of the hold finance has on her. I have to say it is interesting that we all pursue this Liberty as an ends to a means. An end to all our struggles. But what is our deliverance? The no longer outstanding debt, the ability to do what we like? Say what we like? It is not truly being what we all call 'free’. If you look, it is our hearts that drove us in to this mess at the beginning yes? So, who is to say that our hearts will not choose the same path? It will remain unchanged as long as our heart yearns for what it just escaped from. Why? Because we desire what we think we cannot live without. And… Voila! We find ourselves in debt again. It’s a viscous cycle. It eclipses all we know and only serves what we don’t. Feeds off the hunger of curiosity. And well, being a natural spirit of curiosity, I was an easy target. I was the prey awaiting the predator to seize. It was not an approach in the dead of night, it was more an ease of comfort and insurance slinking its way around your body, your mind, your heart until you realise and it’s too late. It’s not a peripheral remedy. It’s simply not something to help you balance your books it becomes your life. Symptoms begin to fester, and you apprehend that it’s a disease, but rather than dealing with it you run. I ran. Intoxicated with the deadness of every human strategy, the knowing that it’s something I could never conquer, my heart fell steadfast into corruption and sin. Captivating and keeping hold of the rebellion that would cause mankind to leap from ignorant innocence to full blown understanding. I do suppose that if my life had taken a left instead of a sharp right, I would never have found myself in this position, but then again, I also suppose that I wouldn’t be happy, I’d be stuck working at my father’s company, lumbered with a healthy pay-check and all the cuttings and trimmings that went with it. At least this way I was gifted with a substantial pay-check for doing what I love. I wasn’t just put on this earth to work and pay bills, that was not a life. Just an existence. There were other places I could have chosen to work, other industries I could have pursued but not everyone finds the labouring of a nine to five exciting and appealing but rather tedious. This line of work is for the ones that don’t have any advanced education or a set of degrees, for the ones that don’t have the looks or the luck, or the ones that don’t have enough gumption to be a pimp; they live a life of has beens and recent regrets. It doesn’t require sets of specific skills and it’s readily available in any city that you step your foot in. Have you guessed it? When the clock hits twelve we deal; cards and crack. Yes! The drug industry, let’s not call it that. That brings unwanted negative connotations, disastrous assumptions to those involved. Instead, I oppose we call it a free trade on the very large capitalism scale. Distributing and supplying to those who live the life in the fast lane, the ones that search for a kick, the ones that become solely dependent on the next hit. I would say I was sorry but I’m not. As long as their struggles line my pocket, I would continue to benefit from transactions, grant them another five gram, ten, the amount is limitless when you have the money. I feed their uncontrollable addictions to illicit drugs, I destroy families; people all alike. There is no age, no specific gender. It is whoever is willing to pay. Drug dealing requires no real hard work, but it’s no fun when you lose, and your balls are in the blender. Your pay-check comes from the clientele and if you slip up and squander your batch, you’re the one that suffers then. You have no income until your next run. It’s all a muddle of colours, a twisted web of lies. To say I had simply lost my way was quite the understatement. To be brutally honest, I had become adrift the many other souls settled in the ruins of their independency. People observe the streets just as people observe the sky, in one single hour a multitude of colours can paint the sky; blues, greys, oranges, yellows. In my line of work, it is crucial that I notice these. I may approach you genially, by no means am I nice. Granted I can be affable when I please, but please; do not ask me to be a friend. I simply can’t. Pick a colour and chose your path. Drug smuggling, runner, courier however you please to perceive. It is my job and as a right in doing so, I notice trends throughout rife city life. When demand is low, I simply move on. I cannot recount a single moment where I have remained in a place for longer than six months, that is until now. New Orleans has become my home, or perhaps I should say my place of work. An advantageous opportunity I could never resist. If I had known what I know now, it is almost probable my deterioration in to crime and misdemeanours would certainly have happened more rapidly. Would you believe me if I told you witches were real? Would you believe me if I told you I work for them? No, no, what if I told you my very purpose in this is to run errands where vampires cannot go? Would you believe me? Of course not. You’d only but believe I am a woman turned insane from her reckless use of narcotics or perhaps an insensate pursuit of an old crazy woman way before her time, my time. However, consider this there isn’t just one monotheistic being – Humans. We are only a minute percentage of the world’s population. Forever persecuting other people, killing them because they’re far more superior than anything mortality is capable of. But immortality, immortality is something else altogether. Creatures of brief season that remain for an eternity. Wherever you look in history, you cannot escape the record of inquisition, they have always been a part of our world. Undertaking, preceding and strengthening what we mortals are unaware. I once claimed loneliness and freedom were my downfall, I believed them to be a disadvantage of no plausible use, but as it turns out being in this new reality grants me the greatest asset of invisibility. Slipping from sunset to sunrise unseen, unnoticed. Free.