AN: Undertale belongs to Toby Fox, Okami belongs to Clover Studios, and Ink Sans belongs to @comyet
I did my best to not stray too far from Ink Sans’ origin story, and I think I did a good job of accomplishing that.
I am an Okami Dork, and couldn’t help drawing a lot of parallels between Ink Sans’ abilities and the Celestial Brush mechanic of the Okami series. And this was spawned because of it, I hope you guys like it!
For all her power, for all her divine glory, Amaterasu would always look at the residents of the world with the love of a mother. She looked at all those born of creation as her darling children. The people of the earth, her dearest Brush Gods, the Poncles, her many Envoys, even the Celestials, they were all her children. And few things delighted her like seeing them create worlds of their own (what wouldn't find joy in seeing their child follow in their footsteps? Even if the child didn't realize it).
But her love for them did not stop her from Seeing.
Seeing that the worlds her children created were more than just their imaginations running wild. That, slowly, the things they created would become Real.
But Amaterasu grew to love her children's creations as well. Eagerly watching as the new worlds filled with light and love and Life began to appear. But there were also times where she would find herself quietly mourning the ones who were never finished, the ones with Life but no home, no world, with which they could live it. She would see it far too often, see her children's children left to suffer in silence within their incomplete worlds.
But one, in particular, caught her eye.
A Lone, living soul, stuck in a grief-stricken, unfinished world. With a Creator which was too angry, too frustrated, too tired, to ever finish it.
She saw the day when it became too much for the child, and mourned for the soul that shattered. And crowed in delight and relief when she saw that he had not dissolved into nothing by his own hand. He would no longer remember who he was, or where he came from, or why he didn't have a soul of his own… But he was still there, and that was enough for her.
And for the first time in centuries, Ammy Acted. For this child was no within her reach, in a world of his own. A world outside the hands of mortals, but not outside the hands of the Gods. She sought out her colored inks and filled with Light and Love and Life, and used her divine power to send them to him. Returning his ability to Feel once more. (She hadn't meant to drop the colors on the poor dear’s head, but she always was one to get at tad… caught up in her own excitement at times. Though it was rather amusing, few could deny that.)
She couldn't bestow a new Soul upon him, not without bringing him before her in the Celestial Plains, but she would give him new Life. Life and Light and Love that only the Sun and a loving Mother could give. With each color she gave, she saw the emptiness left by the loss of his Soul fading.
She could see as his heart filled with Inspiration, and as he started slowly filling his world with a life of its own, and made a choice she hadn't made in a very long time.
With great purpose, Amaterasu sought out the needed materials from their rarely touched supplies and crafted a new Celestial Brush (the first in countless decades). Filled with her power of Creation, and sent both it and the blessings of a Muse to the child with nothing to his name, living in a world of his own making.
He would be Her Child, though he would probably never be aware of it, and would carry all the power and blessings of such a status. Nor would he be aware of just how much power over Creation he truly possessed. Not unless, somehow, he ended up her realm and saw with his own eyes (eye-sockets? Did it even matter?). She would watch from her place in the Heavens.
For she was Okami Amaterasu, Goddess of the Sun and Mother to All. And like any good mother, she would watch over and be proud of her child and all that he achieved.
We’re all just cities with streets for veins. We’re all just prisoners escaping our chains. We’re all just looking for a way out, praying for a way out. Our bones break, and our hearts turn to stone, but we’re all just letting out flowers overgrow. We’re all just suffocating in silence, yearning for the noise.
I awoke in a dream at daylight, laying there entangled in thin sweaty sheets as the dim light began to faintly illuminate everything I hate. But for some reason, in this fading blasé mindset, life looked so beautiful I could not find my breath.
Half-asleep, I watched as the dust particles danced, riding the air molecules as they formed small currents. A perfectly synchronized waltz. Swirling, widely at first then inward-inward-inward until spurting out to a wave of freedom but inevitably falling back into another spin.
I thought of how symbolic this was of the human experience. Each of us have our own faults, most of us try so very hard to escape the impending doom that hovers above us. But yet, no matter how long or far we run in hopeful fear, we find ourselves met with the same challenges time and time again. They pass but they return in new forms. We are all dying at our own rates.
There are days were it hurts to breathe. There are days where I am grazed and bleeding. These days are when the screams are louder. When all I hear are the echoing voices of memories past and present. There are days when darkness takes over and all that is left is a battered mind of a shattered soul.
