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undertale-fic-librarby · 3 months ago

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Hey! Do you know any good Errormare fics? I know ‘Wayward’ and ‘At Their Mercy’, but I’m looking for more 👀

Howdy, thanks for asking! Here are some fics that might fit what you're looking for!

It's All Just Training, Right? by atomiCherry, Souldew_UT (Explicit, Complete)

Hopping from universe to universe after his own Anti-Void no longer suffices as a safe place from the chains of Fate, Error winds up in Nightmare’s Castle with none other than the God of Negativity himself, who’s far too pleased with the Destroyer’s presence. Unaware of Nightmare’s true intentions, Error finds himself taken aback by a suspicious yet remarkable deal that very few people have the courage to propose. It was meant to be a simple session, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, but then the both of them find out that there might be more to their meeting than meets the eye… - updates every Tuesday and Friday

Catalyst for Concord by Somebody_OntheInternet (Mature, Incomplete)

“My ecto-o isn’t unsummoning.” He kept his gaze firmly locked on the carpet, refusing to look the other God in the eye. The tentacle in his grasp curled around his radius and ulna, and he squeezed it. There was an awful, crushing silence for a few moments, before his husband spoke: “…you don’t think..?” *----*----* After their mating cycles lined up, the "evil" Gods of Destruction and Negativity find themselves in quite the predicament. They must figure out how to balance their dangerous work with the task of ensuring their baby's development is healthy. That, and they have to ensure the Council does not find out. No matter what, Ink cannot find out.

Signed, Your Penpal by Hellsaint7w7 (General Audiences, Incomplete)

Geno and Nightmare fall in love through anonymous notes to each other and their love of books. But of course, Geno doesn’t stay Geno forever and Nightmare doesn’t handle it well.

Day 1: Teratophilia/Size Difference by Destiny_Of_A_Dragon (Explicit, Complete)

Nightmare feeds on too much Negativity and the only way Error can get them to calm down is by letting them use his body. Error felt Nightmare’s whole body shift and ripple— and couldn’t resist taking a peek over his shoulder again. The destructive Skeleton froze in a soulbeat, eye-lights shrinking as he saw the corrupted Guardian fumbling with their own pants, mind not stable enough yet to undo them properly. Eventually, the fabric tore— and Error’s eyes went wide as he saw what was underneath. S-stars, that was—! That was—! Nightmare was currently over twice his size and full to bursting with excess magic, but Error hadn’t really thought about what effect that might have on their ecto!

Chocolate Pampering by Souldew_UT (Mature, Complete)

Error succumbs to anxiously drown himself in chocolate - eating more and more every day than usual. He pays so much attention to the chocolate which eventually causes Nightmare to get stupidly jealous. Nightmare doesn't like sweets, but he likes to mess around with Error, so he takes all the chocolate away when Error is not present and hides it.

Thanks for the recommendation! The fics being recommended are…

Wayward by Queer_Sleep_Demon (Mature, Incomplete)

Error had always been in control of his teleporting abilities. He knew the ins and outs of world-hopping like the back of his hand. The joke was on him, though, because the multiverse didn't play by anybody's rules. An impulsive decision to teach Nightmare a lesson in respect went horribly wrong. As a result, Error and Nightmare become stranded in a foreign and hostile dimension. Finding a way out was easier said than done.

At Their Mercy by Devcipher (Teen And Up, Complete)

The multiverse had been perfectly balanced when the seven higher beings weaved it together. Through countless interferences, however, the balance has begun to tip, and stability is threatened. Fate's creation has been unresponsive to their warnings, and thus a solution must be made. While feuding with Destiny over a monster to be Ink's counterpart, Karma intervenes. Inspiration from Harrish6's Forced God of Destruction universe, but a unique alternate multiverse/universe of my own. Discord is constantly breaking the link for the ATM discord but: https://discord.gg/DgHWGnMNrs *EDIT: My server got raided twice please message me for a link lol* Tumblr: https://www.tumblr.com/devtemrys

Here's a few more fics that are similar to what you're asking for!

#i've discovered that i can exclude specific ships when i'm searching #so these were significantly easier to find than the last time i tried #fic rec #fic recommendation #ao3 fic recs #utmv #error sans #nightmare sans #error x nightmare #errormare #not suitable for minors #ask #mod sleepy

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plasma-studios · 1 month ago

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On Mercy Chapter 17: in the wake - of the gods

It is a very difficult endeavour for an injured soul to cling onto life. Even with the help of one, two, even three Gods, it doesn't seem so easy for Cross.

But he perseveres.

CW: some unreality

There was nothing left.

He was lying in the shade of a tree. The only tree, really, that still bore fruit. The cluster of red berries was hanging off a branch not too far from his face; if he got to his feet, he’d be able to pluck it.

The cloudless sky was torn at the edges, leaving streaks of ash-gray into places presumably faraway.

The God plucked the fruit, instead. There was a crunch as he presumably bit into the fruit. Then the hand extended back into his vision, with the rest of the fruit. It was an offer.

He said nothing.

“You have to eat something, XSans.”

He said nothing. What was there to say to the God, who with all his power, still could not bring them back? “XSans?”

He was going to die, he thought numbly.

“Is there anything you want?”

There wasn’t anything left for him anyway.

“What do you need, XSans?”

“Just leave me be,” He said tiredly. “Just let me die.” *** You are unconscious? ***

“I’ll die without you.”

That was XGaster.

Breath was burning in his lungs. That person was chasing him, the wind whistling in his ear and tearing at his bloodstained clothes. He couldn’t think, could only run.

He was running.

There was blood sticking to his boots. He cast a desperate glance behind; he couldn’t even see his pursuer, didn’t even know if they could pursue him. Yet the blood trail he was leaving behind wasn’t helping him hide.

(Something was wrong. Why was there so much blood?)

He was gasping. Everything was spinning in a blur. His soul was thrumming, louder than his feet pounding against the ground.

The air smelled like ozone.

(Why—) He touched his cheek. (Why was he crying?)

There was hate burning somewhere in him, anger and fear and betrayal choking out the last breath nestled in his throat.

He couldn’t let his mind catch up with him. He was already tiring out, he didn’t have time to slow down. He didn’t have time to ponder the why. He just knew the how, how to get out, how to get away—

He was running down a hall.

He let out a sob. Why— why was he crying? Why was there this ache in his chest, this fear in his heart?

He flinched. He heard his name, somewhere— but he couldn’t turn back, and it called him again, a whisper soft and distant—

XChara.

He tripped over his own feet, and the extra second it took to get back up cost him a skipped soulbeat. That was XChara’s voice. (Traitor, traitor, traitor.)

He could hear them yelling at him. (Give me the body, you idiot, give it to me—) But it was his body. After everything, there was no way in hell he was giving them anything more.

The souls thrummed somewhere in him. Even as his own soul was beating erratically. Yes, he knew: these souls did not belong to him. But he didn’t care.

His name, again. But this time it wasn’t XChara. He was running, still, the weight of a thousand eyes locked onto him still there, but his head was one puzzle piece away—

He burst through the castle doors and kept on running.

He was still leaving the trail of blood behind him.

He fell over. He was being crushed, the voice pleading for him to come back, commanding him to return, and he couldn’t run anymore.

His vision was blurring. It didn’t matter where he was going anymore—he just had to get away. From the voices, from the pain, from the fear that was tearing him apart. From the blood.

At some point, his head finally pieced it together. The blood. The empty castle. His missing family.

XFrisk’s body lying motionless on the floor.

The trail of blood left in his wake.

Oh.

His family was dead. Because of him?

He tried to get up, but he couldn’t. It didn’t matter where he was running anymore— he had nowhere to go. Oh god— his head was pounding. What had he done?

He was— Cross couldn’t finish the thought. The walls were closing in, some noise in his throat too broken to be spoken. He was falling away. *** Cross. Wake up. *** “Let me ask you again. What do you want?”

He let out a breath.

I want to live— ***

Cross was floating along the edge of a river.

The lax current tugged at him, the water swirling around his limbs in ripples. He could not quite feel his limbs. As things were, he let the water drag him downstream like a leaf caught in a creek. The water came in a rush, pushing against him, pulling him—

Cross.

Blearily, his eyes blinked open.

He is letting you die?

He was about to shut his eyes. Then he caught sight of the full moon.

It hung low in the sky, a perfect, pale circle casting its glow across the surface of the river. The water shimmered beneath its light. Ripples, given silver edges, cast light onto the part of his body below water.

He could not quite look away. The current tugged again at him, but—

Stabbing pain in his torso. He let out a gasp, his hand reaching for his chest, but then there was a throb in his head and his hand fell to his side. The water stuck to him, soaking through his clothes but the pain was tugging at him, and the current rushed past him regardless.

It would be easier to just let it take him.

Spiking pain. A gasp. There was— he struggled against it, the feeling in his body, his fingers spasming, and there was nothing but more water.

He was so deep under the water. Everything hurt, a pinprick here then a stab there, as if the pain was being drawn from wherever it could be.

But better pain than oblivion, no?

He was going to drown.

The awareness was sudden— but he was going to drown in the water.

He had to get out.

Cross thrashed against the water. The lulling current was no threat; but his arms cutting through the cold reached nothing beyond and the spiking pain—

Then he was ashore. He lurched onto the muddy bank, half-drenched, half-breathless. He touched the ground. Solid land.

But there was still that dull pain in his head. He pressed his palms into the mud, gasping for breath. Everything was abruptly sharper, thirst and breathlessness magnified. He was suddenly lucid, and he didn’t want to be. He felt it in his chest— sharp and biting, like icy fingers squeezing his lungs. Cross clawed at the floor desperately but his vision was blurring at the corners already, throbbing in time with his erratic soulbeat— god, just let me die.

This must be quite painful.

He curled into a ball. Out came shattered, quivering breaths. Something was stirring in his head, plucking away and sinking into the base of his skull; free of the water, he suddenly realised how much it had dulled everything else, and quickly he was missing the reprieve—

You are mine. Have you forgotten? I take charge of what is mine. You would rather be lost to oblivion? It is my pain that even keeps you conscious at the moment. Keeping you tryingly whole. Fractured as you are.

It was destroying him.

Pain is an old friend, is it not? Or do you wish to die?

Cross let out a soft cry. He’d rather die.

Have you forgotten? You do what I tell you to. And I tell you to endure.

Forgotten? Or not want to remember? He squeezed his eyes shut. A scoff. It echoed in his head; it had not come from his mouth.

He’d been caught up in something. Even if he could not quite piece it together— a swinging eye, hanging off from a vein— patchy skin— searing heat, ghosting over his flesh—

The pressure in his head was mounting. Were the smallest pricks in his head budding cracks? It was getting hard to think again.

You are so fragile.

The pressure loosened. His head lolled to the side, some half-formed words in his throat.

The men were not meant for you.

It stirred in his head, the weight bristling. Then it was gone. Everything was. The pain, the pressure. The moonlight spilling over his clothes.

And there was a touch.

A light, burning touch. Like a moth to a flame. He caught onto it, and really, that was all that mattered. He could feel the heat at his temple, however light. He could feel.

Cross let out a breath. He squeezed his eyes shut.

And then they were open.

The heated touch immediately withdrew. Cross could hear his own breathing, laboured and irregular, and— oh. Everything was rushing back to him.

“Cross?” That was Dream. His gaze lay flatly on Cross, thick with— shock, was it? Dream’s hands lay limp in his lap. There was lingering warmth, right at his temple.

“Cross.” There was a third person in the room. His gaze slammed into theirs. Something tugged at him. Some thread, something that made him take pause. Did he know them?

(A trail of blood. A cluster of berries. A low voice in his ear.)

Images were mixing— where was what?

Fuck, his head was so messed up. He’d probably have to take a few days to sort it through.

“Cross?” Dream was calling to him again. He let out a shallow breath, then realised he had not been breathing, and took in another breath. Was he going to lose his cool for the umpteenth time?

The stranger said something. Something he didn’t quite catch, though he caught inflections here and there. His tone marked it as a joke, ridicule at worst. Cross's stomach twisted. He looked at them, but there was no weight forming in the pit of his stomach the way it should’ve if he had known them before being taken in by Nightmare. No shame, no fear. Had he imagined it, the notion of familiarity?

“Stop glaring at my mentor. And if you can glare, you can reply to me, right? Hopefully. You can talk right now, right?”

He blinked. Dream was rambling. That was odd. What happened to the God he knew, with all his structured cadences and— mentor?!

(If his head had been clearer, he would’ve recognised that the tidbit of information was no accident. A test.)

“Hey.”

He blinked several more times in rapid succession. Mentor? Dream’s mentor?!

“Maybe a little out of it. How much did you drug him?”

Please, no. For the love of all that’s holy, don’t tell me—

“You’re a God?”

Wow. So subtle, Cross. He would’ve slapped himself if not for the intense sluggishness he was beginning to feel in his limbs. Or perhaps he was just now realising it.

The stranger grinned. Not Dream’s indulging smile, but a grin that felt as much good-natured as it did mocking.

Another God.

Something out there was laughing at his expense, he was sure. He was laughing at himself.

“Do you hurt anywhere?” Ah, Dream to the rescue. He was too drugged over to tell, so he dutifully shrugged.

Dream was concerned. His eyebrows drew close together, and he glanced off to the side, to his mentor.

This… was a development.

“Let him rest.”

He was feeling fine. “Fuck you,” He mumbled. Ah. He said that out loud. His mistake.

They burst out laughing. “Wow. Some husband you got there…” Why was he tucked in? He frowned down at the blanket. He was so warm. He wanted to take a bath, he could feel sweat clinging to his bones like there was no tomorrow.

Dream frowned. “Hold on.”

Oh, had he missed something? He looked up, and the stranger was already some distance away. They didn’t stop their stroll to the door.

“Don’t worry. I’m just going to, ah, pick someone up. Have a good night, you two.”

And then they were gone, before either of them could stop them. Well, just Dream, really. His legs were pretty numb. He could probably walk, it would just ache like a bitch. And he could not find it in himself to care enough to get up to stop someone that had voluntarily left him alone.

Dream was still staring at the door. He looked almost affronted.

Cross let out a laugh. Oh, he was very out of it. He had a feeling he was going to regret everything he had said in the past five minutes, but he could not find it in himself to care.

Dream was looking at him now. How long had he been looking at him? It felt like some time had passed. Minutes, maybe.

“You there?” He said gently.

“Eh.” Not sure if he was. “Feels weird.”

Dream was staring at him, Oh no, he thought. Not the intensely unreadable gaze again. He was in no mood to maneuver himself out of another situation.

“Cross?”

Why was he speaking only in questions? That felt mildly irritating. He wasn’t in the mood to keep thinking up answers.

“I know everything’s very hazy right now,” He said gently. “It’s going to be hard to think clearly, but I need you to try.”

He wouldn’t be so unwilling if it wasn’t so hard. But he tried anyway.

“I need you to keep trying. It’s going to get harder and harder to recall, and the harder you try, the more you’ll remember.”

For some reason, what his brain clung to were the first three words. I need you. I need you. But the rest felt important enough, so he fought to make meaning of them.

He touched his head. Somewhere, he felt the delayed terror working its way through him. But he was not conscious enough to feel it in full.

“I got hurt.” Because he was so close, he saw Dream flinch. “I did, didn’t I?”

Dream opened his mouth. He closed it.

“I got hurt. And you’re trying to make up for it, because I got hurt bad.”

Dream was quiet. His hands were still folded in his lap. Still golden, he thought, as he looked into his eyes.

“I’m sorry for it.” There was nothing in his voice. No sorrow, no love. It was almost cold.

He felt the smile tugging at his mouth. Ah, almost. Dream was slipping.

And it was nothing compared to Nightmare’s cold. Not a speck of fear.

“Sorry for what?” Cross pressed on more stubbornly than he felt capable of. “How did I get hurt, Dream?”

The words felt more angry than he was. Really, he felt nothing at all. No rage, no sorrow.

“I got hurt bad,” Cross repeated, softer this time. “And now you’re now, what? Trying to fix it?”

“You were caught up in something.” Dream finally spoke. “Nightmare sent… something, over. I defended against it. But I forgot about you, and you got hurt in the crossfire. I’m sorry for it.”

He saw the way his hands were folded in his lap, pressed against each other. The slight tensing around the shoulders; all signs that pointed to someone wanting to avert eye contact. But his golden gaze remained on his unflinchingly.

“He sent some dead men over.” It wasn’t a question. He really should not have said that. He was supposed to keep to his clueless, unaware, definitely-not-Nightmare’s-spy, identity. But he was tired of these pretenses, and really, Dream already knew. What, surely being so un-put-together had its advantages. It was Nightmare’s fault he was in this condition, so he really had no place to punish him for the information leak.

Eh. Not like Nightmare ran off sense anyway.

But hey, he was so broken at the moment that even the slightest bruise would probably kill him. And after all the trouble Nightmare had gone through to get him conscious while he’d been asleep (though his head was still a murky mess, he was quite sure the overpoweringly commanding voice in his head had been Nightmare’s), he was pretty sure he had not outlived his usefulness yet.

Nightmare would probably let it slide. He wouldn’t risk punishment.

He blinked. Dream was looking at him with some mixture of bitterness and amusement. had he said something? He really should stop closing off his ears when he was thinking. But thinking and listening together felt too hard at the moment.

“Hey. Acknowledge that.” That felt a tad too aggressive. Where was his filter? “The dead men. You must know why he sent them. Tell me.”

The bitter amusement sharpened at once. Ah, there was that God Cross knew. Strangely enough he felt no fear.

“I do have an idea, yes.” Dream took pause. Deliberately, of course. But why? Oh, Cross missed Dream’s mentor, reading Dream had been so easy when he’d been in the room.

“So?”

Dream cocked his head to the side. “So what?”

He frowned. “What did you think of it?”

Dream took pause. And then, very deliberately, he spoke. “Pardon?”

“Tell me why they came,” He said with more patience than he had. As if he was being unfair. “Tit for tat. It’s only fair.”

Dream observed him for a moment more. Then let out a solid sigh. “Cross, I only have theories. I don’t know for sure. It was probably a warning?”

“Hm.” He thought about it. Of course he’d send the dead men as a warning, they were disposable but creepy enough. Yeah, it was very Nightmare to be so dramatic.

”Hm, what?” He was so softly amused. The faintest trace of a smile on his lips.

Cross, after a moment, shrugged.

“Yeah. That fits.” His head tilted slightly. Cross could see the gears turning in his head.

“You would know?”

He felt the tone shift, skimming the surface of some chasm between them miles deep. But he was too tired to engage in it. “How did we get out?

Dream did not blink, but Cross noticed he had dropped his smile some time in the last few seconds.

“How did you get rid of them?” Even if they were perpetually decomposing, it took a lot to defeat the dead men. Probably because they were unfeeling, so they just kept going until their bodies were dust.

Again, Dream paused and cast him that sideways look.

“Fire.” He paused again, but this felt more like he was hesitating. “Very, very strong fire. Just ash, now.”

Fire strong enough to reduce the dead men to ash. He could picture it, something blazing like a sun, consuming everything in its radius. That was the kind of wrath he’d expected of Dream when he’d first arrived. All that fear for him.

“Huh,” Cross muttered. “Till their bodies were ash, then.”

Dream shifted slightly. His eyes finally flickered away. “What’s done’s done.” It wasn’t anything new, what he said.

He was very close. Cross suddenly realised how close the two of them actually were. He was right there, almost within arm’s reach.

"Yeah," Cross murmured, trying to shake off the sudden unsteadiness "Guess it is.”

The silence stretched on.

When he glanced back, Dream was gazing at him again.

“Do you want to talk about anything?”

Cross considered it.

(The coolness stealing everything away from—)

“Can I have some paper? And something to write with?”

Does the promise still stand, to acquiesce to whatever I ask?

Dream paused, his gaze flickering with a brief, almost imperceptible flash of something. Surprise, perhaps. But it vanished just as quickly. In this place, the same steady calm he wore like a mask.

He got what he asked for.

So he tested Dream again. “I want to be alone.” Not ‘ Could you leave me be?’ like he’d ask if he was any more lucid. Without the carefully crafted words and phrases to soften the ask. His want clear as day and out in the open.

And Dream acquiesced.

He could work with this. Even if the compliance was conditional, perhaps temporary, he could work with this.

He didn’t even notice when Dream took his leave.

Ah, he really was out of it.

He let out a sigh, and set the pen to paper.

A trail of blood. Down the hall, left in his wake, the wine-red hue— where was that hall? The smell, acrid. What colour were the walls? Red. But before the blood bath?

He couldn’t remember. Fine, then.

A cluster of berries. Red. Red berries. How had they tasted? His teeth, breaking the skin— no, that didn’t feel right. The fruit-flesh didn’t give way, it kept in his mouth, stubborn and thick. Like actual flesh. Mismatch. The two images did not fit into each other. No heat, no cold. A sky without any clouds. A voice in his ear.

No. That last one didn’t fit. But now he was remembering.

I’ll die without you.

He did not recognise— no, actually. Though he could remember exactly, the instinctive fear that crept up his spine made him quite sure it was XGaster. What do you want? That was— that was Nightmare. No, it couldn't be, there was no fear attached to it, just fatigue. Let me ask you again. What do you want?

The question kept morphing. It was slipping through his fingers like sand. The trail of blood. The berries. Bitterness. Sorrow, but he could quite grasp why. A memory half-formed. An apology. A promise. Escape.

Blood in his mouth. Promises. Deals.

He blinked.

Slowly, he lifted his hand. And he read the mad scribbles of the past minute.

Quickly, Cross realised something. Or perhaps he had always known it, but now, it was becoming very, very obvious.

The pieces did not fit together. Everything was scattered, incomplete.

Nothing made sense.

The smell of smoke. Laughter that twisting into screams.

There were endless memories contradicting each other. The timeline he had down in the corner had been his fourth attempt, and was now also wrong.

Something was wrong. That much was clear. Cross took a deep breath. He closed his eyes. He could almost see the hall again— the blood-stained floor, the red berries scattered like broken promises, the doors closing on him, suffocating—

Traitor. Bystander.

He found the discrepancy.

He let out a breath.

There were multiple timelines. Multiple narratives running parallel in his head.

Cross opened his eyes.

He would have to burn this.

#xgaster #on mercy fic #on mercy full fic #ink sans #dream sans #utmv #cross sans #utmv fanfic #utmv fanfiction #on mercy #fanfiction #fanfic #fic #xtale #cream ship

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dustcrumbs · 2 months ago

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Dr. Crumbs

What if Dust just shakes, vibrates mayhaps, when thinking too hard about things

So Horror just squeezes him in a big hug and Dust's face gets squished into Horror's big man tits and hears his soulbeat, and that calms him down

- @largefoundation

I don't think it's only the heartbeat that's getting him to focus

But I do feel like Dust gets reslly fidgety when excited or interested. He'll hop on one foot and switch to the other as he rambles to Killer about something or he's just constantly tugging on his scarf as he's telling Horror about his plan to sneak out of the castle to see the aurora or smth idk

#largefound #lovely moots 💕#horror sans #dust sans #i love horrordust

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fairy-verse · 1 year ago

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I have a bit of questions i wish to ask abt fairyverse ^^

1. What would happen if a faerling became frail from not getting their needs? (E.g warmth and feeling and hearing their mothers soulbeat)

2. If two firstborns of a certain season were to have a faerling, would they need another one to be a precautionary heir to rule over that season if they die?

3. Are there other types of fairies besides the seasonal ones?

The faerling in question would at best grow up with weakened wings that will struggle to take flight, possess a dim light that reflects their fragile soul, and have a weaker tolerance for stress and injuries. At worst, they will slowly wither away and die.

The Firstborn are all immortal and do not require any heirs, though a faerling born from two of them would inherit some powers from them both, though these are not nearly strong enough to control either season. Should a Firstborn somehow die, then their faerling may temporarily control their season until they are reborn, but this would be terribly straining on their bodies and could result in death should said Firstborn parent take too long to be brought back.

Yes! The season fairies (all sans variants) are the most abundant ones, but there are also regular monster fairies (for example: Toriel, Asgore, Alphys, Undyne), and with the monster fairies you will also find Papyrus variants. These fairies live in different colonies on the eastern side of the Island, some have even fully adapted to living in Big Folk villages (within barns, attics, windmills, and the like), though you’ll have a larger chance of finding them near and within The Sleeping Sisters, Kval hills, and Willoway Forest. Papyrus fairies are especially easy to find in the Kval hills, though some have also been spotted in Clearfog Town.

There are also regular human fairies, or fae as most will call them. They were born only a few centuries ago, so their colonies are still small. Unlike season and monster fairies, the fae are rather shy and aggressive towards the Big Folk, and they tend to avoid them at all costs. Arguing that their founding mother had been a daughter of the Big Folk matters little, for she was no longer human by the time she grew fat with the first fae. Their father, Ink, had changed her with his magic, so she was no longer anything that could be named. Today, Ink is the only remaining one to know all that is to be known about the fae, and he forgets it all almost as soon as he remembers it; plus, he has so many, many children and faerlings roaming about. He couldn’t possibly keep up with them all.

#aufairyverse #utmv #ask for the fairy #general fairy info #thinking of faerlings being neglected makes me so sad #they're just the sweetest little things #all tiny and chirping for their mother and father's help #their small hands balled up and held close to their face as their eyes remain closed

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lightyearssurrogatedaddy · 2 years ago

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Uh ErrInk bc I was in a slight mood

The Anti-Void never made noise. It never hummed, it never stirred. Things echoed without walls, if one is quiet enough they could hear the thrumming beat of their soul, soothing like the sound of a fan late at night. Never terrifying to him, the sound of him breathing, shifting, just him and him alone out in such an expanse. No random, intruding sounds that came from living in an AU, no surprises. He controlled what he heard and what he didn't even without his headphones, he only needed such helpful items when someone else was nearby or when he was out and about. The endless clicking of his needles or off-thought rambling, sometimes saved videos on his phone or a portal to Undernovella.

He liked how simple that was. Absolute silence. All the time. He loved the beat of his own soul, repetitive and constant, never-changing. Just like every other sound he allowed in there. Most things that were too extra and assaulting to the ears were barred. But sometimes unexpected and changing sounds were welcome, because even they have a certain level of consistency he could follow and even lull to.

Some sounds, like the irregular tune of an aimless hum, were more soothing than a soulbeat. Distracted tune-deaf singer voicing colorful thoughts, swinging his feet back and forth underneath the in-the-works of a sweater. Small enough to lay comfortably over his companion's chest with very little crowding or irritation. Blanketed in gentle fabric that pulled and shifted as it was worked on.

Some sounds were welcome, they gave good hugs when they were needed.

#undertale #undertale au #utmv #error sans #ink sans #errink #I've been ranting about them in the #writing channel this time #oooo different ik #not my usual rant channel #also felt weird and fluffy tonight because this flavored water just HIT different bro #fanfiction #I don't know if it counts as drabble bc I can't check the word count #but it's something

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phantomstarss · 11 months ago

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Umbra And The Gangs Relationship.

Just sorta wanted to ramble about Umbra and the gangs relationship with him. Idk if this will interest anyone but I thought I might as well post it.

Imma put a cut here because it's a little long.

HATI:

Even though the sheer… obsession has dimmed over the years, Hati is honestly still quite possessive over Umbra. Umbra is his God. Umbra is his Savior. Umbra is his father Boss. Umbra. is. his. Everything. And Hati doesn't give a single shit that Umbra only 'hired' him first because he was the simplest and easiest opinion. Hati was the first. Hati is his Second in Charge. And that's all that matters.

He values Umbra's life far more than his own. Random jackasses at The Market annoying Umbra? He'll tear them to shreds. Sol and his followers? Not even a second thought. The embodiment of Destruction himself? He'll do it in a soulbeat. Hati would throw himself in any danger if it meant keeping Umbra safe.

Though this doesn't mean he certainly doesn't have… fun with this on occasion. Throwing himself off rather high places to either A: prove a point or. B: for his own amusement. To see how long it takes Umbra to catch him, has become somewhat regular. 'oh? Boss has been doing paperwork all day and has ignored me? Time to yeet myself off one of the castle walls!'.

the rest of the boys were confident Hati was just straight up suicidal. Though Umbra was quick to ensure them this was just a thing Hati did for attention. At this point Umbra is very familiar with the taste of his AU's dirt, when he's just a little too late on the whole melding into shadows.

Umbra realized this to an extent when he first acquired Hati. Though he thought this was more because he left Hati to his own devices (after he could walk that is) in a giant pitch black castle, and the only real socialization he got was Umbra himself and the literal God of Death. for months, nearly a whole year. And maybe the rare visit to The Market once and a while.

Umbra only realized the sheer level of obsession Hati had with him when he brought Fenrir on the scene. He was expecting some backlash from it, he assumed they would probably fight, gripe, maybe even fully dislike each other at first. But never, in a million years, did Umbra expect that Hati would be outright jealous of Fenrir. And he certainly didn't think this was going to turn into bloody physical fights for affection. Or well, praise on Hati's side and fighting for his life for Fenrir.

Umbra, of course, gets rather frustrated with this behavior. He's weaned Hati off of this behavior, to a extent. Though he'll never be able to fully wean him off.

FENRIR:

The two have a very symbiotic relationship with each other. Dare I say a pack like relationship

Umbra provides food, Fenrir feeds everyone. Even though Umbra doesn't need to eat. Umbra protects him, Fenrir protects Umbra. Despite not needing any protection from a mere mortal. Umbra cleans him, Fenrir cleans Umbra. Though it never does much. Umbra comforts him, Fenrir comforts Umbra.

It's pretty common for the two to make cuddle piles.(that they usually drag the other's into). Be it because one - or both - of them is upset. Or one Umbra's light scoldings turns into cuddles. Or simply Fenrir looking for a snuggle partner, and the God is a perfect candidate.

Despite all this Fenrir never feels like he's enough for Umbra, or even the rest of the Gang. Umbra comes at any sigh of stress, no matter the day or time, perhaps before they even realize it. Umbra has battled God's for them. Umbra has taken them from their darkest moments and rebuilt them. Umbra takes care of the all, doing anything within reason for them. And what does Fenrir do? He makes sandwiches and fights Umbra's lesser half.

Umbra always says it's more than enough, Umbra lets him have pretty much everything he wants. Even to this day it still surprises Fenrir to an extent. Especially considering how he used to treat Umbra.

Biting, clawing, kicking, screaming, acting like a caged feral animal. Umbra used to not be able to leave Fenrir's room without a new hole in his shoulder or one of his tentacles. Yet he put up with it (mostly). Dealt with all the wounds. Dealt with all the outrageous accusations, every. Single. Accusation. In. The. Book. 90% of them made zero sense. Even Fenrir, in his confused state, knew it. But he still threw them, in any desperate attempt to get Umbra just to leave him alone. But he didn't. He stayed and helped Fenrir through his mental knot.

He owes countless things to Umbra. And he plans to make it back.

SKÓROS/WISP:

Why Him? Of all the creatures in the Multiverse, Why Him? Hati, Fenrir, hell even Xolo makes more sense than him.

Hati was the first. Seemingly perfect for this 'job'. Despite his clinginess and need for attention he was perfect. He listened without a second thought, he'd lay down his life for the God. He'd kill with a smile on his face, and be complacent if ordered otherwise.

Fenrir cooked, cleaned, provided where the others couldn't or simply refused. He protected those he knew and loved. Unlike Skóros who slaughtered mindlessly. Fenrir was large, he could hold his own in a fight even without magic or weapons.

Xolo was the cast away lover of Sol. A strong enemy and even stronger ally. He has strong magic, he knows basic medicine, he was in the royal guard. He. Knew. Things. He even started his own rebellion.

And Skóros himself? Absolutely. Nothing.

Yet Umbra still keeps him. Keeps him safe. Make sure he eats - and gets rather mad if he doesn't. Cleans him- Cares for him.

Skóros can't count the times he's just layed in Umbra's lap while said God rambles on about something. Just… having a casual conversation with him, even if it is mostly one sided.

Skóros can't count the times Umbra comes to his aid with Nightmares. Slowly coaxing out of those horrific memories.

Skóros can't count the times he's been praised over the smallest and strangest things.

Skóros can't count the times Umbra has put up with his childish outbursts. Physical or verbal.

Skóros can't count the times Umbra has healed him, be it from Sol, the others, or himself.

...

Skóros. Can. Count. The. Times. Umbra has smiled at him.

And it's too many.

He just doesn't understand.

XOLO:

Happy. Confused. But happy. Sol had painted a very specific picture in his head. And Umbra was nothing like that picture.

Or, well, mostly. Xolo expected the table throwing. Perhaps not throwing a table about 15 feet long, made of pure stone and slightly crystal, that probably weighed about 20 tons, being thrown halfway across a room the size of a football field, and hitting the wall and shattering like glass. But he did expect table throwing.

Xolo trusts Umbra to an extent he never thought he could. Umbra understood things, he doesn't blow up or sweep it under the rug like Sol would. He didn't have to walk on eggshells.. mostly. Talking about Sol or trees typically ended in future throwing or Umbra disappearing for a month.(leaving them to be babysat by Extinction who was a little too excited to play 'dad') but mostly harmless.

#Forgive me for that lack of content for Xolo #Still working on their relationship #EquinoxVerse #Umbra #Hati #Fenrir #Skóros/wisp #Xolo #cross sans #nightmare #killer sans #dust sans #horror sans #EquinoxVerse ramble

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