The Seven Deadly Skele-Sins

Dreadful Courage

THIS IS A LUSTMARE FANFIC, IT IS THE MAIN FOCUS, BUT THERE ARE OTHER MINOR SHIPS AS WELL.

THIS FIC ALSO INCLUDES ECTO-BODIES, SEXUAL THEMES SUCH AS ASSAULT, UNCONSENTED ADVANCEMENTS, MENTIONS OF PTSD/MENTAL ILLNESSES, AND HEAVY VIOLENCE AND LANGUAGE. PLEASE ADVANCE WITH CAUTION.

×××

All other voices were officially blocked out by now, the burning sensation I felt seemingly dissipating, hearing only muffled yelling, and a barely-there stinging on my neck.

My blood went cold as I watched his sad smile slowly creep into a more crooked one, his facial features getting more and more exaggerated, as the final detail came into view.

Nightmare's eye flashed a cyan colour, and stuck, the pupil small and sharp.

And he whispered.

"I'm the complete opposite of a good person."

×××

Every day, Toriel knocked on the door, trying to get some sort of communication out of me.

She tried beckoning me with food. Didn't work.

She tried beckoning me with warmth. Didn't work.

She even slipped notes under the door, begging me to come out and tell her what happened that night.

I can't. Anytime I think of what happened, I feel overwhelmingly betrayed.

His face is all scratched out and blurred to me now. My mind started rejecting his existence quick.

I was constantly huddled in the corner of my dark room now, just staring at nothing. At this point, I was telling myself that the blackmail getting out wouldn't be so bad, since I hadn't gone back to work once.

I mean, it won't even directly affect me. It was just a severe case of morality and bad things getting out about someone I deeply care about. While at the same time I haven't seen him in six years.

I barely flinched as I heard Toriel's gentle knocks on the door. What does she want now?

"Sans, I brought some food for you... It's just some fruit, nothing much..."

Silence.

"Okay... I'll leave it by your door. I'll be heading out now, I need to go to my part-time, be back at around 6:30PM, okay?"

More silence.

She didn't speak again, and just quietly walked away, and I eventually heard the door to out apartment creak open and close.

Looking at the clock, I estimated that the apartment was empty for around 9 hours. Maybe 10, I don't know.

I'm too tired to think or care.

It took me around 15 minutes just to stumble to my feet, clinging onto a blanket I've had for the whole week.

Did I forget to mention I've been holed up in my room for week?

Anyways, I made it to my door and clasped the handle, my hand trembling greatly from being so weak.

The handle was cold, and once again tricked my hand into thinking it was cold and wet.

It made my hand slip several times, but it also brought back memories of what happened, and I had to do my best to ignore it.

Would it be whiny to say I was traumatized by what happened? Maybe even developed slight PTSD? Would it?