comic and some writing; you should read One Week before this to understand their relationship more
cw bright colors at the end
I survived.
ink belongs to @/comyet; killer belongs to @rahafwabas
@dustyoldbones @air-png @yummershards @broocksz and @ all killerink fans that have read one week, hi guys can you read this rq thanks i fought many battles to finish this
here’s the script(771 words) below cut:
I was gonna share it either way but I think it’s really funny how I tend to abruptly change the plot near the end. it wasn’t supposed to get angsty in the comic but it did so the writing is mostly gonna be fluff. my bad xd
—————
The sea beyond them shimmered with glittering light from the drooping sun. The sand were light-yellow below Killer’s shoes, but they get just a bit more orange as the sun drops lower. Some would say the sun is feeling down(heh), but Killer, he says the sun is dead.
Killer curled up, looking away from Ink. “… Do they know, too?”
“Who?” Ink faced him, his scarf swishing along with the beach-wind, shaking so violently, yet so gracefully at the same time.
Killer kept his head in place, staring at the ground where the shallow water barely meets his feet. “Your… ‘friends.’ Do they know you… don’t have a soul?” He replied. It is not everyday that Killer willingly choose to start up a conversation. To be honest, he was enjoying the silence beforehand, but he didn’t know what had gotten into him these past two days. Perhaps… he is changing a lot more than he thought he would.
“You mean Dream, Core Frisk, and all of the others?” Ink didn’t wait for a confirmation. “They’re not my friends.”
“Oh. Okay.”
“Well, it’s not like I keep it a secret,” Ink continued, “it’s kinda common knowledge around the multiverse at this point.” He chuckled, waving his hand around while mimicking a mocking expression, “Hahah, the Protector of AUs is soulless!” His half-hearted chuckle and attempt to brighten the mood, and/or to divert the topic, didn’t reach to Killer’s soul.
“Aren’t you… hesitant… about telling them?” Even if he doesn’t want to admit it, his words carried an undertone that sounded like, “aren’t you embarrassed?” And the fact that he knew Ink can read his undertone made his soul warped a little.
Ink tilted his head, seemingly interested in the conversation, though Killer knew well that Ink was just keeping this conversation up to entertain both of them. “Why should I be?” Ink challenged in a playful voice.
His mouth spoke before he could think as he whispered to Ink, “Letting others know how empty you are inside…” Killer watched as Ink noted how uncomfortable he looked, feeling just a little bit more of disgust for himself, but he decided to continue on with the topic anyways. “Letting them know how vulnerable you actually are… isn’t it scary?”
“If they are truly my friends(which they aren’t, how funny), they’d accept me,” replied Ink. “Plus… that doesn’t make me any worse than them.” Killer gave Ink a look, observing as the dying sun casted its final lights on Ink’s face, making it shine pink and orange. “I can still feel as much as they do,” He crossed his legs and dragged his hands over his vials, tracing their shapes and silhouettes. “My emotions are real and I know that.”
“If only I had a choice to hide my soul...” Killer mumbled, more to himself than to Ink as he returned his gaze toward the open sea.
“Even if I can, I wouldn’t.” Ink briefly glanced at Killer, accidentally catching a quick, yet meaningful eye-contact. “My soullessness is a part of who I am,” he said, “I am Ink, the soulless Protector, and I don’t mind being Ink.”
Killer frowned. “I don’t think I like being ‘Killer.’” He’s pretty sure he doesn’t. What’s the point of being “Killer?” There are no good pros to being himself, so he put on his smiley mask to try and savor his identity. Not like that’s helping him much now, since for whatever reason, he can’t seem to find his signature grin when Ink’s around.
“You can be whoever you want to be.” Ink smiled, this time, facing Killer once again.
Killer looked back at him, trying to make his expression as unreadable as possible. “I guess,” he said in a “yeah-sure-whatever-you-say-tone.”
“Killer.” Ink leaned forward toward Killer, but Killer didn’t flinch. He has no reason to be scared. He’s safe. “You can be whoever you want to be when you’re with me. I don’t mind and I like it that way.” Killer listened as the words danced to the wind’s chorus for the dying sun. Ink held his hand tightly, reassuring him the two words, “You’re safe,” with his gentle hand gestures and a soft look on his face. Killer’s soul pulsed, almost painfully. Killer smiled—a genuine, happy, relieved smile—and Ink returned that.
They stayed beside the shore until the moon arrived, granting them with dimmer, yet shinier light. Killer studied the way Ink’s eyes flickered with all sorts of colors as the moon’s lights kissed his face. They both ran alongside the roaring waves and the clashing wind, yet they were not scared.
Killer was not scared.
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thanks for reading my skeleton slop guys. make sure to drink lots of water and stay safe out there :)
a small Killer & Nightmare interaction I wrote a bit ago for @kyarashard’s au after seeing this comment:
842 words; cw small sentence of using pain to cope
you are loved! please don’t harm yourself!
and also cw bad puns🥹
This is NOT canon to kyara’s au at all!!! just a silly angsty little scene I imagined from my interpretation of kyara’s au so far!
—————
“Why do you still have that?”
Nightmare’s presence was sudden and uninvited, though Killer didn’t flinch at the other’s scolding tone. Killer’s gaze followed Nightmare’s small gesture toward a pair of jackets—with black, white-lined shorts draped over both of them—hung crookedly in their half-opened closet.
“Can I keep it?” They asked while fiddling with their shoelaces, giving no effort to fix its tidiness.
Even if none of their vision were placed on Nightmare, Killer could still feel the other’s scowl tighten. “If you really want them back, I’ll go find another pair for you.” That wasn’t about the jackets themselves, and it didn’t feel like an offer born out of kindness, either, with the way the air around them shifted colder and denser. It sounded like Nightmare had already planned to, anyway.
“It won’t be the same,” Killer replied as they pulled with legs up against their chest with a hug and rested their chin on their knees.
“It will never be the same.” Nightmare’s sharp confirmation did not enlighten Killer. As much as they appreciated the honesty, they’d much rather Nightmare would leave them alone in their mourning.
The sound of Nightmare’s approaching footsteps made Killer raise their sockets to look at the taller figure, looming over them with an eye shining in authority, yet little to no malice. Killer dropped their hands from around their legs immediately as Nightmare leaned down to fix their untied-shoelaces. The dark goop dripped down on Killer’s (already-dirtied) white sheets, though Killer didn’t mind the stains it left. It’s not like it’s any different from their own determination. A quick pun made its way to Killer’s mind and they smoothly let it slipped, “What happens when two laces fell in love?” Their grin widens.
Nightmare spared a glance at them, squinting before letting out a brief sigh, “What.”
Even if there wasn’t a clear question mark at the end, Killer takes it anyway. “They get tied together for life.”
The silence stretched beyond the joke as Nightmare shakes his head. “I do not get it,” he said, resuming to tie Killer’s other shoelaces.
“Awh, c’mon, don’t tell me ‘s knot good.”
“It’s not good,” Nightmare claimed immediately before stopping his motions to look up and stare at Killer once more as realization hits him.
Killer’s soul pulsed brighter at another given chance. “Just say you’re tied of ‘em.” They stifled a quiet chuckle to their own pun.
“Ya, cállate,” hissed Nightmare. He proceeded to finish tying up their shoes, silently mumbling something—with an eye-roll, of course—about Killer delaying his plans. Then, he stood back up to his full height and headed toward the door.
“So, can I keep it still?” Killer repeated the question from earlier, almost shouting across the room.
“It’s unnecessary. Throw it away, it’s a waste of space.” Nightmare looked back.
“Don’t you miss them?”
“That is… irrelevant. You have to learn to move on, Killer.” The name swam across the room easily.
Killer avoided the other’s glistening, cyan eye. “It’s not that easy.”
“I know.”
“You don’t.” Killer crosses their arms, curling up closer to their legs.
“Are you doubting me?” Nightmare turned around fully.
“I am.”
“You are not the only one that have grieved, may I remind you.”
“You act like this has happened before.”
“It has.” The air tensed. “…And it was worse than this.”
Killer turned up their gaze, their empty sockets meeting with Nightmare’s stern eye. Questions flashed through their soul, but all they could manage to catch was, “How?”
“Because it was you,” Nightmare said, his voice softening low enough to be considered a whimper. “It was you who left them. It was you who left me.”
“…They didn’t… tell me anything ‘bout that.”
“You don’t talk about people that are gone.”
Killer bit their tongue(if that was even possible for a skeleton), afraid to speak more—afraid to hear more. Their soul raced as they gripped their tibias and wrapped their fingers around their fibulas. It’s almost painful with how hard they’re holding their own bones, but as long as the pain is blocking out Nightmare’s presence whole. As long as the pain is blocking out everything.
“Take that information however you want.” Nightmare turned back around. “Nothing will ever be the same.” Nightmare gave no further explanation, which Killer was very grateful for, before he left.
When the door slammed closed, the air felt colder, somehow. The moon has left. Killer’s light is gone. They slowly, painfully loosened their hands and let their body fall backward onto the bed. The mattress welcomed them with a thump! and hugged them with its sheets. For a while, Killer stayed there. They didn’t think, yet Nightmare’s words circled around their soul.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” They spoke aloud, repeating the question they had asked Nightmare.
You don’t talk about dead people, idiot, a voice replied. Its familiar. It sounded like someone they used to know. It’s not real. Killer stared at the ceiling. It’s not real. It’s all in their head. They responded anyway.
“That’s stupid.”
—————
I’m still really unsatisfied with the ending a bit; the person Killer was referring to in the second-to-last paragraph was Dust. the Spanish just means “alright, shut up.”
