Chapter Text
Loud pounding at your front door jolts you awake. With an alarmed squeak, you free-fall from your sleeping position on the living room light. Thankfully, your little bat form lands on the soft couch below with a soft “thump.”
“CONSOLE! DRACULA! OPEN THIS DOOR RIGHT THIS INSTANT!”
“By the stars!” you hiss, transforming into your monster form, rubbing your sore wings. The banging on your door continues. Brain still groggy, you vaguely recognize the voice on the other side. Grumpily, you walk over to the door, catching the time displayed on the oven’s clock. A scowl stretches across your lips, revealing your fangs. You almost rip your door off it’s hinges.
“It’s two in the afternoon!” you growl, looking Edge straight into his eye sockets. Red snickers at your bed head and disheveled appearance. “Some of us are nocturnal!”
“Sleep is not nearly as important as this!” confidently announces Edge, shoving his phone in your face. You squint at the black screen. Is this some kind of joke? Red glances at the phone and clears his throat.
“Screen’s black, bro.”
“I KNEW THAT! The Great and Terrible Papyrus was merely testing you!” he quickly, before messing with the phone, trying to bring back up whatever he wanted to show you.
Sure, and the red magic covering his skull is a fashion statement, you muse to yourself. Opening your mouth, you let out a wide yawn, displaying your fangs in a cat-like yawn. The action wakes you up a bit more. You lean against the door-frame as Edge finds the video and plays it for you.
It’s a response video from that Jerry guy. One of the few monsters who actively speaks out against your music—saying your shows are a lame cover concert with very few original ideas tossed in. A shame, but not every one is going to love your performances. That’s just how it is. In this particular video, Jerry has some rather unpleasant comments about your “aerial fight” scene from your last show with Mettaton and is a strong believer that if you and Mettaton ever traded real blows, you would lose. Something about Mettaton’s body being created to fight humans, with a hint of misogynistic undertones. Clearly a troll response to your show to get views and comments.
It doesn’t bother you much. Jerry’s entitled to his opinion. Last you checked, Mettaton isn’t a war veteran, nor does he have any real experience on the battlefield. The odds of him winning a fight against you are not in his favor, even if you have been retired for a couple of centuries. If he challenged you to a round of dramatic posing, however, then it would be a pretty fair fight. Mettaton has more than enough flair to potentially outshine you in the right setting.
But that’s a discussion for another time.
“And you’re showing me this…why?”
“THIS INSIGNIFICANT PEST IS TARNISHING YOUR REPUTATION!” scowls Edge. You raise an eyebrow at his increased hostility. Since when did Edge of all monsters care about your reputation?
How do the youngsters say it nowadays? Kinda toxic, not gonna lie? Meh, close enough.
“I mean, not really?” you reply, tilting your head. “His opinion may be wrong, but he can have one. Everyone has that right. Even if it is Jerry. Plus, I’m pretty sure it’s well known that Jerry does a troll account.”
“Sweetheart,” starts Red, you quickly cut him off with cold look, eyes glowing dangerously. Sans and Stretch may have apologized for their behavior—Edge too, in his own way—but Red has not. He does not have the right to call you with such endearment.
“Do not call me sweetheart.”
“R-right,” he sweats before clearing his throat. “Monsters from universes like me and my bro’s take this kind of thing seriously. He’s calling you weak—even if he’s just shitting around—and that’s a problem. A big one.”
“Haters happen,” you shrug. Edge scowls harder as his eyes glow with magic. Why is he so angry about this? “Besides, this Jerry is from my world. So the etiquette is a little different.”
“YOU’RE NOT UNDERSTANDING US!” Edge shouts, upset. He all but strides past you, into your apartment. You raise your eyebrow at his audacity. Red follows his brother inside. You roll your eyes, but close the door behind them. At least it will muffle Edge’s voice from the neighbors.
“Look at this!” says Edge, shoving a different video in your face. You recognize the red and black robot on the screen. It’s one of Mettaton’s alternates that appear on his show Living With Myself. What’s his nickname…Oh, Mettafell is what he went by. Gently taking his phone, you continue to watch the video.
“—to think monsters would say such a flawed monster as her would EVER beat me in a fight is laughable at best! SO! I—your greatest star—am issuing a formal challenge to our little vampire celebrity. Fight me in a real encounter, miss Dracula! Or are you too much of a coward to face me?”
The last ten seconds of the video is Mettafell laughing manically and rapidly posing.
“Huh,” you respond, handing Edge his phone back. “That’s different.”
Both brothers scowl at your lack of response.
“You need to fight him,” firmly states Edge. You raise an eyebrow.
“I really don’t.”
“Sweet—er, bud, in our universe, failing to rise to a challenge like this makes you the other monster’s bitch. The other universes like ours will recognize it and treat you differently. Think of it as establishing a hierarchy or some shit. Trust me, you don’t want to be considered below him. He’s not…kind to those he considers lesser.”
“He really can’t make me do anything,” you point out, unbothered. “Look, I appreciate—I think—what you guys are trying to do here, but I can’t respond to every hater out there. If I did, I would encourage that kind of behavior to continue. People will do some crazy stuff if that means—what’s the term—their senpai notices them?”
Edge pinches the area just above his nasal cavity to calm himself. He rolls his eyes and swipes the screen to Mettafell’s next video.
“He calls Lucy a useless sack of bones in his next video,” deadpans Edge, tapping play on the next short by Mettafell. Your pointed ears twitch. “Seems to think she should quit her job as your makeup artist.” Your ears rotate towards his phone as Mettafell’s voice insults your makeup artist.
Ah…so he does. You’re glad Lucy is out on a date with Tango. She doesn’t have to experience the wave of angry magic that pulsates from you. It causes Edge’s magic to chain react and give a ripple of warning.
You and Edge stare at each other with dangerous auras. Red sweats more as the hostile intentions spike, thickening the air with magic. Quickly spinning on your heel, your eyes scour the room. Your magic is laced with a protective intention. The fell brothers understand it well.
“Where did I put my phone? I should put on the red corset crop top with the black lace sleeves. And three—no, lets do five chain belts—heavy ones. Where did Lucy stash her emergency lip stains?”
Edge and Red grin, finally seeing the fight in you. Good, they respect you too much now to let some fuck like their Mettaton shit on you…not they’d ever tell you that.
***
Social media lit up with video clips of the Desdemona vs Mettafell online fight. Your response video taking the internet by storm.
“Careful, dear Mettafell. You know what they say about those who talk a big game. Big talk, small equipment.”
For flare you end the video doing the splits, holding a sign that says “Bring it, babybot!” written in red and black glitter glue.
The term “babybot” is suddenly used everywhere. It becomes a curse word by the internet and new memes using it are uploaded by the second. Lucy is amused at how viral this became.
“Glitter glue?” she giggles, scrolling through the mass of memes she’s been tagged in. “Really?”
“It was either that or pencil and the pencil didn’t show up well,” you reply with a shrug. You continue to read your book. “I couldn’t find our Sharpies and blood would give a darker connotation.”
“I’m more surprised that Edge and Red helped you film and stage the video without me,” muses Lucy, tapping a phalange to her jaw. “I guess they feel strongly about this.”
Online forums debating who would win between the two monsters become popular on the UnderNet. Impressive spreadsheets detail who has better stats. Would Miss Dracula, retired captain of the Night Guard, be able to compete against a robot created for battle in a would that constantly engaged in violence? The debate is pretty even.
You’re curious how they got their numbers for your base stats. They’ve greatly underestimated your attack abilities and overestimated your health points. They did get your defense point pretty close though.
Lucy feels bad for your public relations team, but this is what you literally pay them for.
“So you’re really going to fight him?” asks Lucy, seeing an ad for the match between bot and bat. A televised match for the world to see.
“Yup,” you reply, flipping a page on your book. “Ain’t no one gets away with insulting my bestie.”
“If this wasn’t a stupid ass plan, I’d almost go ‘aww,’” she deadpans, eyes glancing at you from over her phone.
“I know it sounds dumb,” you sigh, closing your book. “But I did my research on their universe and several other of the fell universes. Edge and Red were speaking the truth. As all these universes are living together now, I can’t ignore it and have to show these other universes that I see them and respect their existence. Think of it as a culture collaboration. Just with more violence.”
“I hate how that almost makes sense,” sighs Lucy, dropping her phone on the couch. “I’m so glad Tango’s universe isn’t like that. Dance battles with magic sound so much more calm than fighting to the death.”
“We’re not fighting to the death. I won’t let that happen. But speaking of which!” you quickly set the book down on the coffee table and hold your head in both hands, staring at Lucy with a large grin. “How was your date with Tango? Tell me everything!”
Lucy’s skull flushes with green magic, causing your smile to grow.
“It was great,” says Lucy with a smile. She faces you and begins telling you all about her date. The dinner, the dancing, the cute things Tango does without thinking, all of it. Lucy’s face is so happy and her green eyes turn to stars as she recalls something particularly cute or fun. She really likes this guy.
You love seeing her so happy—Tango is officially okay in your book.
The match day comes quickly. A large empty lot has been cleared out on the edge of the city. A registered mage is hired to place a barrier around the large arena to keep stray attacks from escaping. Camera crews have their own barriers to protect them and their equipment as they live-stream. Large stage lights shine down onto the arena, even though the sun is still up.
You yawn as you stretch on the grass. Feels like a great evening to kick some shit-talking metal ass. Today is a yoga pants kind of event, but you make sure to wear a stylish halter-top and your leather boots. If Mettafell is going to be trying to beat your ass in style, than you are too.
“I look forward to see you begging on your knees for me to spare you, teehee,” sadistically grins Mettafell. You raise an eyebrow at his taunt. Really? A sex threat? What year is it? The cameras zoom in on you, waiting to hear your retort.
“Now, now,” you tut with a wink, replying in character. “Don’t threaten me with a good time. We both know your not equipped to handle that kind of tussle.”
The robot’s intent becomes angry behind his cool facade. Good. Angry fighters make mistakes.
“I wonder,” he counters, taking his place across the lot from you. “Do vampires bleed? Or do you dust? I’ll be sure to let our curious fans know shortly.”
“Oh, dear,” you smile behind a hand. Your claws shine in the light. “Bold of you to assume you’ll be able to hit me.”
“Cocky little bitch,” he trills.
“I think your eyes need recalibration. I’m taller than you, babybot.”
“We’ll see how tall you are when I hack off your legs. Or should I go for the wings? Options~ Options~”
“Tell ya what, sweetheart,” you use the term ironically, remembering how Red used it. Mettafell’s hostility spikes at the term of endearment. Good to know others have that reaction to the word. “I won’t even use my magic. Wouldn’t want to damage your pretty little face now.” You can almost see Mettafell’s angry aura slipping out of his joints. Looks like the rumor of holding back against a fell monster will piss them off is correct.
The rules are announced over a live speaker. Winner is determined by one of three ways. First, last one standing. Second, calling for mercy. Third, party is unable to fight without risk of dusting. Each party is allowed to add a condition to the fight. You doubled down and confirmed you will not be using your magic in this fight. Mettafell grinds out that the fight is to be set to music.
Oh, ho, ho! You’re so going to fuck with him.
You hear the first song begin its opening riff. Was that Welcome to the Jungle by Guns N’ Roses? How fitting for him. Mettafell launches himself at you. You effortlessly dodge his flurry of kicks. His last kick has you standing on his leg, playing air guitar, for a moment before you dodge a series of his punches. To make things a little more interesting, you decide that you will only move to the beat of the music. When Mettafell realizes what you’re doing, his anger skyrockets and his lips curl back in disgust. Machine whirling makes you take a large leap backwards as two more arms shoot out from his sides to punch you. Two of his hands turn to cannons while metallic wings shoot out from his back.
Ah, so this is Mettafell’s NEO form. You think you like your Mettaton’s final form better. You notice your opponent is now also fighting to the beat of the music. Guess he’s still a Mettaton at heart after all. He simply cannot be upstaged.
The song changes. You continue to troll your opponent by dancing out of the way—not even bothering with attacking. Mettafell’s attacks, while still on beat, increase in intensity.
***
Grillby’s is buzzing with tension as his bar is filled with standing room only. Thankfully, Grillby set up two large televisions in his bar, so not everyone is packed at the front trying to watch the fight from his little TV behind the bar.
Seeing you fight is bad for Grillby’s soul.
“This is fucking wild!” grins Fellby, watching the fight. His flames whip around in excitement. On the screen you cha-cha slide out of the way from a chainsaw attachment followed up by a bend and snap to dodge a bomb. “She’s completely fucking with him, just dodging like that. Damn, I heard she was a war vet, but she’s dancing laps around our murder bot.”
The praise of Fellby does nothing to calm Grillby’s nerves. His flames spark in alarm as Mettafell fires both his cannons at you. Leaping into the sky, the tracking missiles follow you. With a burst of speed you land behind Mettafell, forcing him to have to detonate his bombs early. He spins around, trying to slice you in the abdomen. In response, you sway your hips out the way, hands behind your head and a smirk on your face. You look confident out there. Shit, you’re even fighting to the upbeat music. But Grillby can’t help but worry. He doesn’t want to see you get hurt. Fell monsters are not known to hold back. This fight is taking years off of Grillby’s life.
“Fight back!” someone in his bar shouts. Suddenly a chant of “fight back” rings through the establishment. Grillby scowls as Fellby joins in, throwing his fists up.
As if you heard their cries through the screen, you begin your counter attack. It’s quick and takes your opponent by surprise. After four songs of doing nothing but dodging, the fifth song starts and you use a burst of your supernatural speed to get close to the bot, fist raised. He instinctively goes to block, but you drop to your knees.
You punch out his groin area, completely ripping off one of his legs with a single hit. Grillby’s eyes grow wide and Fellby’s cigarette falls out of his mouth. Holy shit. Right below the belt with zero hesitation. You’re not done though. The second you punch out his lower half, you spring up behind Mettafell and roundhouse him right between his wings. He falls forward, almost landing on his face.
As Mettafell lifts himself up by his arms, you offer him mercy.
The bar roars in approval. Grillby nods. The robot should take the out while it’s offered. Mettafell is clearly losing this fight and is now down a leg.
“Ah shit!” hisses Fellby as his fallen cigarette burns a hole in his shoe. “I liked these!”
“…I told you not to smoke in here,” frowns Grillby, crossing his arms.
“Yeah, whatever.”
Grillby rolls his eyes at his variant before returning his gaze to the screen.
At your offer of mercy, Mettafell fires his cannons at you. In a flash, he’s flying in the air. With a mighty flap of your wings, you shoot up into the air, twirling to the music and dodging the blast. Your opponent has no interest in being spared. He’s only getting started.
Or at least, that’s what Mettafell says before you flicker behind him and send him crashing down to the ground with a kick. Vampiric strength is no joke.
“Damn,” whistles Fellby, taking a shot with a wide grin. “Little bat’s got a big bite. I’m impressed. She could choke and collar me any day.”
Grillby’s flames burn red as he glares at Fellby. Fellby snickers as he pours himself another shot, purple flames popping. Stars, he loves fucking with Grillby. His orange variant makes it too easy, nowadays.
On the screen, you’ve completely pinned Mettafell’s wings and arms behind him and rest your boot on his chest. Raising your hand, you make a finger gun at his head and playfully say “bang” on screen. You once again offer Mettafell mercy. He struggles against the pressure of your boot, but doesn’t have a way to wiggle out without completely breaking his body. With a huff, he accepts defeat. The announcer officially ends the match.
The bar cheers loudly as drinks are ordered.
Grillby sighs in relief as he watches you help Mettafell to his remaining leg. He picks up a glass and beings to polish it. From an item box, Mettafell takes out an item and offers it to you. The object is incredibly shiny. The camera eventually zooms up and focuses on the item. Fellby spits out his drink, a stream of fire leaving his mouth as he coughs.
“WHAT THE FUCK!” he shouts, his sunglasses slipping down as his flames flare. “IS THAT A FUCKIN’ COLLAR?! IS THAT METAL FUCK SERIOUS?!”
Grillby tilts his head to his counterpart. His confusion seems to only anger Fellby.
“He’s practically proposing to her, idiot!” he clarifies. “It’s a symbol of telling others that someone belongs to someone else!”
The glass slips from Grillby’s hands and shatters onto the floor. Scattered glass shards are ignored for the television. Both fire elementals watch the show closely, turning up the volume as high as it can go.
You gently grab the collar with one hand and look down at it. It’s a beautiful piece. Black leather encrusted with what appears to be diamonds and rubies. A perfect match to your outfits you wear on stage. Expensive looking, too.
Fellby sucks in a breath between his clenched teeth as Grillby feels his soul go cold. Were you really going to accept his collar? Wait…did you even know the importance of the act?! You didn’t have Fellby shouting it’s symbolism like Grillby did.
“Holy shit! Are they collaring?! On live TV?!” someone screams in the bar. The entire establishment goes dead quiet to hear the program.
“Despite what you may think, Mettafell,” your voice carries through the bar. “I do know the significance of giving someone a collar. I can’t help but notice it has my initial on it, not yours.”
“Oh, shit,” whispers Fellby, the quietest Grillby has ever heard him. Purple flames pop and wave. “He’s asking her to collar him.”
Raising your other hand, you take the collar in both hands. With a tug, you rip the collar in two, allowing the pieces to fall to the ground from your fingers. Glitter rains as some of the stones are sent flying from the force. Mettafell looks stunned as he watches the pieces fall.
Grillby can suddenly breathe again.
“If and when I find myself with a significant other, we will be equals,” your voice continues, steady and confident. “For that reason, I’m sorry Mettafell, I will not be accepting this collar, nor will I be collaring you.”
“Damn,” whistles Fellby leaning forward on the bar as he watches the TV. “That was fucking hot.”
Grillby is too relieved to scold his counter part for his indecency.
“Well, well,” says a fedora wearing fire monster in the back. Killby swirls a glass of bourbon as he eyes the television with a smirk. “Color me curious.” He fishes out a crumbled piece of paper with your address on it. His red flames singe the edge of the paper. “We’ll meet soon, doll.”
***
“Out of my way!” scowls Edge as he leaps up from the couch, pushing Stretch out of the way as he hurry pasts. The lollipop falls out of Stretch’s jaw as he spies red magic pooling in Edge’s eyes.
“W-what?” stuttered Stretch looking baffled at Red on the couch. Papyrus, Blue and Oak sit in front of the TV in various states of tears. “What the stars happened, Red? Bro?”
Red shrugs.
“The bat turned down my world’s Mettaton’s live proposal after kicking his ass. Boss is upset his ship isn’t cannon. The others are moved by the rejection speech.”
“You go, girl!” sniffs Papyrus, drying his sockets with a tissue. “Don’t lower your standards, just like the Great Papyrus!”
“Someday you’ll find the one who meets them!” chimes in Blue, blowing his nose into a blue plaid handkerchief.
“We could have bought so much food for the amount he spent on that collar,” sighs Oak, wiping his sockets with a napkin. “He should have presented her a cake. Everyone loves a good cake. Or at least a chocolate rose! Where’s the romance?!”
Stretch slowly backs out of the room, leaving his lollipop discarded onto the floor.