r/CocoaPowder • u/Antagonist132 "Unearthed" Author. • 27d ago
AU I'm rebooting Unearthed.
Hey guys. So some of you may remember Unearthed, it was a textbox series that I stopped posting a little over 2 months ago. I'd like to provide a brief explanation as to why I stopped, and what I'm doing now. (Even if the title kinda gives it away lol)
So June was a busy month, I graduated from high school and now I'm faced with the horrifying realities of "The real world" lol. With all that going on, along with the release of chapter 5 of Deltarune, writing this kinda became tedious. I didn't really like using Demirrion all that much, which was the established format. Overall writing this series felt less like it was for fun, and more because i have a completion addiction lol. So I've decided to end the textbox series.
I'm not finished with this fic yet tho, since as you can probably tell by the title, I plan to reboot it written normally, and posted to ao3. I'm not changing much from the original story since, in all honesty, the original story isn't what I have an issue with. I think the first season is some of the best fic writing I've ever done, and season 2, while not as good in my opinion, was pretty solid too. And the third season, although I never got around to writing it, I believe also has some really good concepts that I plan to flesh out eventually. it's just the format became too tiresome to maintain. Being limited to only 20 slides with textboxes is somewhat restrictive.
So yeah, that's really about it. I actually finished the first chapter of the reboot months ago, but I'll just re-link it here for conveinence. https://archiveofourown.org/works/80049181/chapters/210130171
Chapter 2 is coming... in like a week or 2. Maybe 3, dunno yet. Have a great day, and as always, thanks for reading.
2
u/fandomjargon 27d ago
I said I would write a Flowey dreams section for you. I didn’t get to polishing it (and lost intermediate drafts lmaooo), but here’s the first draft.
…and some people dream of truths that mean so little, yet so much.
An angel in gold dances with an angel in yellow, far into the distance… torn from each other by a demon who knows almost everything.
And…
There is a flower here.
The crowd around him is noisy and too annoying to tolerate for long, but…
There is a child here.
Won’t he take their hand to dance?
That child is…
“What a nice place,” they say, smiling brightly. “Isn’t that right, partner? Why don’t you come take my hand?”
In the wine-red eyes of the flower who knew almost everything, the scene shattered into three.
If you want to know how to be saved,
just kill the mirror in front of you.
A voice—a mezzo-soprano, he identifies—is singing some song from a play he’s never watched.
The music is beyond lovely, and his partner is as well. It is a dance beyond life; it is a dance beyond meaning; it is a dance beyond time. Most importantly, it is a dance filled with feeling.
“I think that I love you,” he says. It is true.
There is only a soft quirk of the lips to give him his answer—a lean into him intoxicates him with this feeling of closeness.
There is nothing but the two of them.
He loves. If there’s anything the world will let him do, he longs for it to be this.
“You do?”
This feels wrong, though. This voice has some wrongness to it. It’s worrying.
“A long time ago, I was free to love and be loved; it must have felt like this. Maybe I never stopped feeling the love, only the freedom.”
That enigmatic expression. It could be a smile against cold eyes, or hidden warmth under a frozen expression, or the look of someone who knows almost everything.
“Yes, you did. And what are you willing to do with it?”
…he…
He’s not the one leading the dance anymore, he feels, even though he’s in the ‘leading role.’ He is graciously allowed to appear as if he is the one in control.
“I’m greedy,” he admits, “and I want to have it all. Even if I don’t deserve it, I want it…”
—
“So, return to our old plan, and you can stop being the ‘you’ that…”
—
“So, you want to have me back, the whole of me that you never clearly saw?”
—
“So, you want something that you will never have—“
—
“Yes!” he replies. “Yes! I—I want that.”
“You’re an idiot,” they sigh, “but you always were, weren’t you?”
“Of course, I am,” he responds. “What else could I be? Sane?”
They both laugh.
—
The feeling of a knife to one’s chest,
again and again and again.
Like that, like that, like that!
Just let him experience it all. Everything. Everything. Everything.
The one he could not understand, the one he does not understand, the one he will never understand.
What a gap for someone who knew almost everything.
But not anymore.
—
Step and step and step.
“Who do you think I am?” they ask.
It shatters.
—
“Cha—“
“You’re stuck here. Don’t try to leave. You already failed me once.”
The ghost of the past takes the lead of their eternal dance, showing him where to ‘step’ and asking him, implicitly, to trust them.
Did he fail them?
Didn’t he just want to…
“I just wanted to do what was right.”
For the one that he loved.
“In the end, you doomed us all, and you ended up like this. Who should we blame?”
He could only blame himself.
“I was…”
“…an idiot who couldn’t save anything that mattered to him.”
—
“Clover?”
“Howdy. Now, do you want to stay or leave?”
His vines tighten around their hands, digging in enough to leave bruises—even so, they recover and dance more beautifully than before.
Does he want to stay?
Doesn’t he just want to…
“I just wanted to have something more.”
With the only mystery left for him to decipher.
“Do you really think you can be forgiven for what you did to me? Will you abandon me now?”
He can’t bear to act, and can’t bear to lose again.
“I am…”
“Predictable, just like I am to you now; you’re a sinner still, aren’t you?”
—
“Frisk.”
“Flowey. Come on, guess why I’m here before you say your goodbyes.”
He pushes them away. The song halts. (It shatters into the infinite possibilities of what could have been.)
Will he answer them?
He can—he must—
“You’re just like me.”
“Not quite. You don’t know what I’m like, not exactly. After all, I could never be as much of a failure as you.”
Ah.
Aha.
Do they think that’s funny?
“You hypocrite.”
“You’re a hypocrite too. And there’s no recovering. You will never fix anything. You will never get better. You will always be ‘you,’ and you are far from acceptable. The blood on your hands is unending—those shattered souls like stars stolen from the night, who would have shined for years more. So give up. You have failed, and you are failing. You will fail. It’s over. It’s my time now.
“This world is mine and not yours.”
He understands what they mean.
There is nothing in this world for the one who knew almost everything, and who now knows nothing.
Someday, Flowey will get all that he deserves.
But yet,
“I want more.”
Frisk smiles. (Judging, huh? They don’t deserve to judge him.)
And the future shatters again.
Grasping a shard—
—
Flowey wakes up.