#static frisk

[coreschristmasparty]

Guys, Geno said he doesn’t like to be called sans so I’m pretty sure he won’t respond to being called sans unless he is the only sans in the save screen because he will presume you weren’t talking about him as according to his own words, he doesn’t deserve to be called a Sans.

[hazyerrors]

Distort3d minds. Part 17/17 End.

Yes this is the end, I wanted to leave it kinda open ended. Hopefully it didn't seem too rushed towards the end. but since I lost all motivation for this comic for a year. once I got it back this august, I was worried if I didn't finish it now I never would. Thanks to anyone who read this comic. Hope it brought you some joy, even just for a little bit.<3

First – Precious {Master post.}

[galacii-gallery]

Forgot to post this but sometimes Static can be a bit creepy ghergnre

[ask-the-determined-river]

[ * They just seem to wanderer the Underground. A bit of muscle memory in which paths to take to get places. But still wandering all the same. They get side tracked and stare at walls sometimes. Before coming back to their senses and walking along the paths again. For a brief moment you feel... in synchronicity with the world again. Maybe you're too far gone off the deep and looped back around? Or maybe they just make everything else so... normal in comparison. ]

After a while, despite focusing hard, River Person enjoys the walk so much, that they begin to forget what they were out there for..... despite the Doctor using their flower face as an extra form of disguise.

"Tra la la...this is...nice,"

They smile mischievously up at the Doctor and begin a joke.

"So...the past, the present, and the future all walk into a bar at the same time.........,"

... "It was... tense...,"

[whirlybirbs]

— BRUISED EGO ; PART ONE ; TOSHINORI YAGI ; 俊典

summary: you & toshinori have a great working relationship. all might is like a mentor. a great guy. a real, stand-up dude. a hero who inevitably has to help you deal with the side-effects of being hit with a love quirk. pairing: younger!toshinori yagi / f!reader ; hero name: derecho word count: 3.6k of pure smut tags: afab!reader, fingering, oral (female receiving), piv, denying feelings, toshi being a genuine lover-boy, someone has a praise kink, surprise it's me, minors dni a/n: i love young dumb full of cum late-twenties all might the tag | next →

"You don't look well—"

"Don't."

You could fry him right now. You could totally, absolutely, blast him with ten thousand volts and call it a night — but you can't, really, because he's fucking All Might. He's All Might and even worse, he's Toshinori Yagi. 

He's... kind. And gentle. And patient. And levelheaded... If not the single reason your entire life fell apart seven years ago.

(That is not true. You know it. You and your therapist have worked through that stuck point — but, it sounds a hell of a lot better than explaining the reason you ended up in prison was by your own actions, not being caught by All Might.)

You're reformed.

Blah, blah, blah, you're the Villain Rehabilitation Program's star graduate. 

They loved using your imagery — the ones of you before you got clean off those Quirk enhancers and put on the straight and narrow —in their PR packages. They love that picture of you — the ones with hands behind your back — cuffed by All Might as you're effectively muzzled by the local law enforcement.

Your lip catches in a snarl.

Don't think about that. 

Don't think about his hands on your wrists. Don't think about the way his boot nudged your leg apart for the frisk — don't think about the way he threatened you, so low and so dangerous, not to move. 

Don't think about how All Might is a bastard, and the media just doesn't know it. 

He's cheeky. Sly. When he's out of the limelight, that eerie #1 smile drops and he's almost normal — if not nearly five hundred and sixty pounds of muscle.  

Like now, on this rooftop, he's more like Toshinori Yagi. Your impromptu mentor in all things heroic. After all, the Hero Commission thought it would be great for the program's image if All Might, the man who arrested you countless times, was the one to integrate you into a more heroic notion. Never mind the dozens of times you went head-to-head with the man, never mind the handful of times you almost won. 

"Derecho, I'm serious," comes his voice; it's softer, almost like he's in his smaller form — the one you always find yourself being partial to, "You look feverish..."

Static snaps across the air and Toshinori takes it — the way it bites at the skin of his hands is nothing. It's a warning shot. Don't come any closer. 

"I was hit with that guy's quirk," you mutter as you try to square your breathing, "I'm fine, I just... Need some time—"

Son of a bitch. 

You've always been a hard one to shake — and even now, as you climb well into the Top Ten ranks, he's never seen you this out of it. You've taken a crowbar to the ribs and recovered better than being hit by some petty criminal's love quirk. 

Toshinori curses under his breath as he winces at the desperation cracking in your voice. 

"If you need to take the night—"

"Yes."

He was slotted to patrol this prefecture with you for another two hours — but seeing the way your whole body looks like it could collapse is... a bit concerning. Toshinori nods, exhales, and waves you on.

"Should I call Recovery Girl?"

Your boot toes the ledge. You need out of this outfit. It's too tight. You're too hot. Your skin feels like it's on fire and the embarrassing ache between your legs is just getting worse with every low, timbred syllable out of his mouth. Don't think about his mouth. 

"I'm fine." 

You're not fine.

Even when you're back in your apartment, trying desperately to shower off the skin-crawling, mouth-watering heat of desire, you can't even come close to relating to the word 'fine'. You're a mess. You try to stand under the heat of the water for a while, to burn the need off your skin, but that doesn't work. 

You're so not fine. 

You can't stop thinking about Toshinori. Must be something to do with the fact he was closest when you were struck with the quirk. Yea. Totally that.

You have to be fine. You need to be fine. This is just a stupid love quirk that will wear off within a few hours. 

Well, a few hours come and go, and it's just getting worse. 

Come on, you are torturing yourself with the evening news, just breathe it out. 

Because you're a hero, and you were a villain. You know what it's like to get hit with disconcerting quirks like this in the heat of a battle. With just a little time, it goes away. Right? 

Right...?

"I AM CALLING! I AM CALLING!" 

Your phone vibrates on the coffee table. Your pupils, full-blown and big, swivel to the photo that ignites the dark of the room. It's a photo of Toshinori — he's in his smaller form, posed beside you in a ramen booth close to U.A.'s campus. He was hellbent on giving you a tour of his old high school.

You always loved how cute he looked in that picture.

Fuck.

You snatch the phone up and answer the call.

"What?" it comes out snappier than it needs to be. 

"Are you doin' alright?" his voice has lost its persona'd gusto. You can tell, just by the soft way he speaks, he's no longer in uniform or on patrol. All Might has clocked out for the evening, and Toshinori Yagi is in the building, "I haven't heard a peep from you all night, zippy." 

Something in your brain goes blank at the nickname. You usually hate it. Usually, you'd bite at him for it. You don't even realize you're white knuckle gripping the edge of the couch as he continues to speak. 

"Y'know, it's okay — I've been hit by love quirks plenty of times before," he goes on; you can hear him juggle the phone to his other ear, "They aren't fun. I'm sorry you're—"

"Come over."

Toshinori almost drops the can of soda in his hands. In the middle of the convenience store aisle, he feels his entire body lurch. 

"What?"

Your head is back against the couch, your hands covering your face in sheer embarrassment. You grit it out again. "I said come over."

"Derecho—"

"I've tried everything," you mutter defeatedly into the phone; you can't even pull your hand from your face, you're so embarrassed you're even telling him this but you need help, "Fingers, toys, even the Hitachi on the highest speed, Toshinori, and I can't—"

Jesus fucking Christ. 

This is bad.

This is... not you. So not you. This is... fuck, okay, right. He's All Might. He helps people. And you're important to him. You're his enemy turned pseudo-protégé turned colleague turned woman-he's-been-ignoring-his-feelings-for-the-last-seven-months. You're Derecho. Number Eight Hero in Japan, his friend. His...

"Give me ten."

And he hangs up.

Two boxes of XL condoms earn him a severely skeptical look from the cashier, but it's fine. Toshinori has bigger things to worry about — like the fact he has no idea what this is going to do to your working relationship, but it's fine. You need help. He knows what this is like — and he would feel awful if he left you to deal with it alone. 

Fingers, toys, even the Hitachi— 

Maybe he'll die, actually. Maybe he'll just throw himself from the nearest roof. 

The mental image of you, alone in your apartment, hands between your thighs as you try desperately to shake the painful ache in your core has him walking a bit faster — your apartment is three blocks over. 

He makes good time.

His knuckles don't even touch the door before you're yanking it open — and Christ, you're a sight to see.

Wet hair, wild eyes, and a permanent heavy breath. The oversized t-shirt clinging to your shoulders is definitely going to be a topic of discussion for a later date. It's All Might merch. His fucking merch. 

When did you even buy that—?

"I'm sorry," you blurt out, looking pained. 

Toshinori's eyes hold your own. Then:

"I've always been a sucker for a damsel in distress."

He's a bastard. A serious bastard. A bastard who you're dragging in by the neck of his t-shirt — a bastard who doesn't complain in the slightest when your mouth is on his in a flash. With ease, he slams the front door shut with his boot and quickly allows you to guide him through your apartment. Your mouth is still latched to his, your hands digging into his shoulders as his hands chase your waist. 

You recognize in the heated haze of the kiss there's a grocery bag in his hand. It knocks against your hip as you accidentally back into the edge of the couch — your hands fumbling for some purchase in the dark living room. 

You pull your mouth from his just long enough to breathe out another apology. 

"Don't. We'll talk about it after," he says, leaning down over you as you scramble back against the leather couch cushions, "What do you need?"

"What do you think?" you hiss as his body presses against yours; he's still in his boots, still in his shirt and jeans. He's... too clothed. Your body couldn't handle anything except the less-than-flattering pair of cotton underwear and the biggest t-shirt you owned. 

You swear he's smirking in the dark. 

"Mouth? Hands?" he presses, his touch cradling your face as he continues to navigate your steady, bruisingly needy kisses, "Use your words."

"Anything—"

Your voice is a rasp, your hands scaling his back as he nudges your knees apart with his thigh and slots his hips against yours. Even in this smaller form, he's got the tactical advantage — not being near death from a fever so high you can hardly think anymore. 

"I need to know," he says as he leans back, his voice dipping lower as his palms brush the skin of your stomach. His fingertips hesitate at the edge of your waistband, and you whine. 

"Anything, Toshinori, stop jerking me around!" 

...What a brat. He almost laughs. But, then he remembers the one time he was left like this — and how desperate he was even after six hours of exhaustive attempts at self-pleasure. 

"Be nice," he chirps as his fingers slip beneath your underwear; his satisfaction builds when you fist the back of his shirt and gasp — his fingers grace the slick, wet folds of your core with ease. It's a tender movement, one that assesses just how pliable you are at this moment. 

And then, two of his fingers are pushing into you down to his knuckles. 

The babbled thank you bursts from your chest — and Toshi actually laughs at how fast you cling to his chest. He didn't anticipate his night going like this. Not with you, wild-eyed and desperate, pulling him into a kiss that's so bruising he thinks his lip splits.

Hands. Hands. Hands. His hands. One hand is between your folds, working you open, and the other is pressing up your curves and settling along your breast. You can't even think straight. The fact Toshinori is so slick, so eager, so good at whatever he's doing, is making the coil in your abdomen go white hot. 

"Fuck—" you strangle out, your lips parted in a gasp as he wets his own lips and watches your face in the dark, "G-God, okay, th-that's good—"

"Better than your own?" he asks, genuinely worried this isn't the progress you need to shake off the quirk's effects. 

"So much better," you wail, coincidentally fueling his ego in a way he never knew he needed. Because, ha, well — who knew Derecho, little miss spiteful and mysterious, just needed a little bit of him. 

"Is it enough?" he asks against her jaw, his forearm flexing as he works the pace up, his palm rubbing gently against your clit. It's an attempt at a coordinated pace, and it seems to be working from the way you're writhing beneath him. 

"I... I still — I can't — I'm so..." you look like you could cry out of sheer frustration, and Toshi suddenly feels a pang of guilt. He can only imagine how you've done this very thing over and over tonight, trying to just cum. Your voice cracks and you whimper, "I can't. I'm so close, but I just can't—"

"Okay," he breathes, his mind swirling with strategic planning, "So mouth."

"Mouth?" you choke, suddenly looking alarmed, but Toshi doesn't seem to care about the added snare of intimacy that comes with him slipping to his knees before the couch. 

Oh my god, he's on his knees. He's on his knees and he's grappling with your underwear, hauling it down the tops of your thighs before throwing it over his shoulder in a very Toshinori manner. 

You've got All Might on his knees. 

It suddenly hits you as he sits up on his knees and nudges your legs apart. He's a man on a mission — dedicated entirely to the task at hand. 

Making you orgasm. 

You wonder how many people have fantasized about this very thing — granted, he's not costume. Thank god. You can't even imagine what the conversation with his dry-cleaning team would look like. 

Toshi's voice knocks you back to reality. "Is this okay?"

He sounds concerned.

Meanwhile, you could kill him. If he doesn't put his mouth on you right now—

Noted. He sees the spark of annoyance, dumb question, and hauls your leg over his shoulder as he delves in. 

Ohmygod.

This is better — the coil is wound tighter, and a little bit closer to snapping, the second his tongue presses flat against your glistening slick. It's even better when he hums, his voice mumbles against your sex as his hands press your thighs to open a bit farther. 

"Keep 'em open."

"Don't talk," you heave between pants, "With your mouth full."

It's like the two of you are at work — this banter. But, his laugh vibrates your core and you moan. That doesn't happen at work. That doesn't happen, ever. A greedy part of you sure as hell hopes this happens again, because holy hell, he's good at this. Methodical. Strategic. Thorough.

His pace doesn't change, the pressure doesn't lessen. The blonde streaks of his fringe tickle the inside of your thighs as he continues his work — and you swear you almost cum when he slips a look up at you in the dark. 

His eyes are so blue that you feel like you're suddenly lost at sea. 

Then, there are two crooked fingers back inside of you. 

You and he are going to have to have a long talk about where he learned all this — because it's so good you genuinely can't do anything but reach out and grip his hair in a panic. You gasp, your whole body convulses, and you almost... almost cum. Almost.

It's Toshi's turn to moan. 

You're suddenly so oversensitive you swear your heart might stop. 

You're writhing away from him, squirming away, and Toshi's lips are parted as his breath fans across your core. 

"Cock," you're suddenly rambling, "N-Need — I need—"

"Right," he stutters, realizing this is good — you're almost there, he can tell. You're so close he can feel it in the air. The static electricity burning off your quirk leaves the room feeling tingly. 

He's wobbling back upright, cursing as he practically falls around the couch in the dark, and palms at the grocery bag he discarded on the floor. He's not graceful about the way he tears about the small box, or about the way he drops the foil square between his teeth as he leans back to work off his belt. 

"Bedroom?" he asks through gritted teeth.

You're nodding, practically falling over yourself to lead the way. Boots, jeans, belt, shirt — all of it is left scattered along the way, and your bare body hits the sheets after an easy shove from Toshinori. Of course, the boxers clinging to his strong thighs are his brand. The All Might logo is almost comical stretched across his hardness. 

You have the wherewithal to roll your eyes as he tears open the condom with his teeth. 

"What?" he shirks, looking down.

"Seriously?" you grit, legs pressed together tightly to try and stop the empty ache between your legs. It hurts. It hurts so much worse when his mouth and hands aren't on you.

"Don't even start," he rumbles as he rolls down the waistband and his cock springs free — he's quick to roll the condom down the thick length of it and lift a finger to wag in your face, "You answered the door in my merch—" 

"Setting the mood," you offer as he steps out of his underwear.

Toshinori then, unceremoniously, drags your hips to the edge of the bed. You almost shriek. It's a bit rough — a bit sudden — but you can't complain when the head of his cock is suddenly being guided through your folds teasingly. Up and down. Over the swollen bud of your clit, across your wet opening. You prop yourself up on your elbows, lips parted, as you try and nudge your hips closer. 

His large hand presses your hips down to the mattress. 

"Toshinori—"

"You sure this is okay?" he mutters, his pupils full-blown as he watches himself slip through your wetness, "I— If it's too much—"

"If you don't fuck me right now—"

"Right."

And he sinks in.

Ha. 

Yea. 

This is good.

You're so glad you didn't fry him earlier. You're so glad. You're so... oh, this is so so so ridiculously good you might die. You might die, because he's snapping his hips into yours and you can see the ripple of his muscles, even in this smaller form. 

His breath is ragged, his voice low and easy.

"You're doing a great job," he says; your core tightens at the sudden praise, "Y-You're doin' really... good—"

Your chest bounces with each thrust, your legs locked around his hips, your whimpers increasing in frequency with every single in and out of his cock. The feeling is better than any sex you've ever had — you've never been so aware of every inch. 

And then, he's knocking his forehead against yours, leaning over you — you're caged against the mattress, and one arm of his is holding your leg up around his waist. The angle change is minute but it's good. Everything is Toshinori so suddenly, everything is so blue eyes and a bright smile. 

It's thorough, a word you're slowly beginning to realize describes Toshinori to a T. There's not a single falter in his pace, not a single thrust that doesn't wind the white-hot orgasm tighter and tighter in your belly. It's worse when he holds your face, though, worse when he keeps fucking you so well while chattering on about how good you are, how strong you are, how beautiful you are—

Your composure snaps when he rumbles out:

"I know you can cum for me like a good girl."

The coil snaps.

Finally. 

After four hours of torture. After four hours of trying. Finally, you cum — and hard. The sort that robs you of your vision and hearing, the sort that has your whole body arching off the bed. The kind you haven't had in a long time. The kind that, of course, Toshinori Yagi would be the man to provide. 

"Fuckfuckfuck—" you babble, gasping, still gripped by the force of the orgasm as his pace quickens.

He's laughing — laughing, and then you're clamping down on him so hard he sees stars. It's all fun and games until he can't stop himself, he can't slow down, he can't breathe, and he's rocked by an orgasm that makes his knees give out. He's wild-eyed, panting, snapping his hips into yours as you whimper and gasp and grip his shoulders so tight he may have bruises. 

Toshinori swallows, then gasps to catch his breath, and then pushes himself up to give you a little room to breathe. His cock is still twitching inside of you.

Your eyes are closed, and your breath is fast. Your hair is spilled across the sheet — and you look content. Satiated. Peaceful. He's rarely ever seen you so tranquil. 

Blindly, and lazily, you reach up to touch his cheek.

At first, he thinks it's going to be tender. Intimate. Romantic.

Then, you roughly pat it twice.

"We're never gonna talk about this again."

Right. 

Because he's All Might. And you're Derecho. You're colleagues. Friends. This was just... him helping you. Like when a friend has a cold. You bring them soup. He... brought you... an orgasm. Just like soup.

Definitely.

...Right. 

"It was just, uh," he breathes, pulling out and cursing at the embarrassingly apparent load in the condom; not like he'd dreamed about this very thing for nights on end, no siree bob, "You needed help. I offered."

That is not what happened. Not even close. But, he's going to tell himself that.

Not like you totally won't think about this every single night ever for the rest of time. Definitely like you won't dream about the way he called you a good girl. Ha. Yea, right. Psh. You're fine. This is fine. Everything is fine.

After all, it's just Toshinori.

He's... kind. And gentle. And patient. And levelheaded... If not the single reason your entire life fell apart seven years ago.

And definitely not the reason your life is falling apart right now as you realize, fuck, you're definitely in love with him, aren't you?

Naaah.

[squidpedia]

HI I’M PEDIA, MASTERPOST DOWN BELOW BUT HOLD ON REALLY QUICK READ MY FAQ:

Boundaries on reposting, dubbing, and pfp’s?

Dubs and reposts are ok just let me know please so i can check it out (and give credit duh)! Send it to my inbox or dm’s or something, anything, pleaseeee I’d want to see!!!!! PFP’s also don’t need permission, just include credit somewhere like your bio!

Do you like [other show/video/series]?

Maybe! All my my non utdr fanart goes to @squidpedias-fanart so maybe check/ask there?

I sent you an ask a while ago/tagged you in a post but you never responded, did I upset you somehow?

NOOOOOOOOOOOO I’M JUST AWFUL AT RESPONDING TO ASKSSS OR TEND TO MISS A LOT OF NOTIFICATIONS I’M SORRYYYYYY YOUREE FINEEEEEE. ITS YOU AND LIKE 150 OTHER PEOPLE I PROMMY IM JUST TERRIBLE. don’t be afraid to rb it and tag me in the rb again, sorry for that!

I also sent you a dm but didn’t get a responce

Yeah my bad you’re far from alone and I’m sorry. I mainly keep my dm’s open incase of inquiries/concerns, but like otherwise when it comes to just dm chatting I prefer to limit that to my 18+ mutuals, sorry nothing against you, you’d have better luck with my inbox!

I liked this drawing concept you made. Can I make fanart, redraw it in my style, or make something inspired by it?

YEAH!!!! Flattered and happy I inspired you in that way!! Just 1) tag and credit me, because I would be so sad if I didn’t see and would love love love to rb it and 2) if it’s a redraw, try to link back to original post if possible (but I forget to mention that a lot so that second part isn’t as big of a deal)

What about writing fics?

A FEW OF YOU ARE WILD FOR THAT BUT YEAH GO OFF?????? Still let me know, give credit, tag me if possible, clarify any questions you have in the dm’s if you want! Id be happy to elaborate on literally anything!

What other socials do you have?

I have a Youtube, Twitter (for lurking only at this point), Instagram , Bluesky, and a Switch (SW-2670-2211-5056) (thats not a social but you should crash my splatoon lobbies)

Do you have any oc’s or personal works?

@an-unconscious-effort-comic and @dragontry-comic (neither stories are connected to each other and are their own projects)

Pronouns?

Any

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UTDR/UTY COMICS MASTERPOST

(uty comics are highlighted in orange if you’re more interested in the strictly undertale comics)

Clover’s Memories (ongoing - i prommy)

(12/4 - today i had the realization that maybe i should just redraw some of the panels if i hate looking at them so much to the point that i cant even finish coloring the lineart. So i did that! Yayyyyyy)

Silence | Memory 1 | Memory 2 | Memory 2.5 Coming Soon | Sound | Memory 3 | Discrepancy | Memory 4 | Static

Clover’s Hat (post revive au)

Part 1 /// Part 2 /// Bonus

Kanako Integrity Duo (really short mini doodle comics)

Reconciliation // Introductions // Ceroba // Chujin

Miscellaneous:

Kris and Clover Interaction // Clover’s Sacrifice // Frisk vs. Clover’s POV // Clover Tells Martlet a Secret // Who’s Your Friend? // Pipe Down // Family Visit // Unwell // Letter // Humor // Gamer // They // Kicked Out // It Keeps Happening // What’s In A Name // Clover’s Nightmare (i’ll probably make a cleaner version later) // Banter // Time

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TAGS:

#Happily Ever After and Then Some (HEAaTS?) -> everyone lives au (based on the events of undertale and uty) including chara, flowey/asriel gets his body back, fallen kids, where i offer very limited explanation for why or how because it simply makes me really self-conscious to try to come up with reasoning and really i just want to imagine these characters in fun and interesting scenarios. Theyre all alive, just go with it and have fun! Note this is not a comic series or anything, i just like doodling random scenarios sometimes. So a few comics, some doodles, whatever is fun rn for me

#Phantom integrity au -> someone sent an ask once about what if clover’s narrator was integrity. It’s a fun idea to explore and where I got the concept of Lilac’s design for! It’s not something I think about very often plotwise but I like drawing ghosty lilac. Ps if you wanna make your own content based off this concept, please go for it!! You don’t even have to use lilac, i call it the phantom integrity au and not narra lilac just in case someone wants to yoink the concept for their own integrity. I think that’d be awesome :)

#Deltarune Orange -> went crazy one too many 5am mornings in a row and started cooking this. Basically just my deltarune yellow take but i wanted a unique name and it has stuff to do, with orange

#Fallen Kids -> all posts talking about my designs and thoughts for the other 6 human souls and also clover is there too hi clover. Its mostly lilac sorry

#Pedias art -> self explanatory

#Other peoples art -> you should check them out please 🥺

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[orbital-inclination]

Moltendreams - Error Sans Alias - Static Pronouns: he/him, they/them Personality: Petty, holds a mean grudge, Big Tsundere, Complete Shut-in, Quick Tempered and Moody, fanatic with his interests, externally aggressive when in actuality he is quite shy. An absolute troll. His favorite passtime is messing with others. Paradoxically touch starved and suffers from haphephobia. Reckless with his own well being.

This variant of Error is capable of both love and compassion, he just hides it under a grumpy exterior and several layers of denial and self-destructive dogma. Other Notes:

Reluctant to harm Papyrus directly, though Static can't articulate why, and will generally avoid encounters Papyrus in any given AU.

Had a good relationship with his dad/W.D Gaster, actually.

Relates to "pest" pets; rats, mice, snakes, spiders, beetles, he loves them all.

Would have a pet rat of his own if he wasn't afraid of it shocking itself by chewing on his wires.

His favorite kind of chocolate is mixed with a hazelnut filling.

Views Frisk as a younger sibling.

Into Parkour.

-More Info undercut! -

Abilities: Static uses wire instead of string. Wire and summoned attacks can and do hold an electric charge. His presence alone messes with electronic devices. Residents of a particular AU may get a few minutes or seconds of warning as sweaters get staticy, computer screens glitch out, and anything with a battery spontaneously dies or gets super charged. By creating a circle of alternating RED and CYAN bones, Static creates a sort of reverse faraday cage. While Static can produce electricity, he can't directly control the voltage. He can only hope to direct it. The voltage of a charge is directly influenced by his emotional state. If you touch him, you will find his clothes zappy with static. Do NOT attempt to fight him in humid or watery environments for, hopefully, obvious reasons.

About: Static originates from a pre-Pacifist timeline that was followed by a looping Genocide Route. Through repetitive iterations, and an escalating instability in the timeline, the monsters of the underground began to recall events they didn't witness and memories they shouldn't recall.

Working together, Static, at that point still Sans, and Alphys were able to pin point the root cause of their timeline's instability. They made a plan to save the underground and separate Frisk from the Anomaly but when it came time to execute their plan something went catastrophically wrong. As a result Sans was torn from reality, and caught in the space in-between. Eventually, he escaped but not unscathed. Static has vague conflicting memories of his past, and to this day, questions if any of it was real. He can't find his original AU and secretly fears it may have been the first world he destroyed. He is still looking for it.

Outcode Politics: Static views all outcodes the same way he views every iteration of the original timeline that even slightly deviates: as glitches to be terminated. Bugs in the code he needs to hammer out before it all goes to hell. Static believes that by destroying deviating timelines and AUs, he is preserving the stability of the original. He is “saving’’ it from corruption by trimming the branches back. Despite his position as the self proclaimed Destroyer, Static is not above biases and making exceptions. 

Static includes himself on his long list of glitches in the code to be terminated. Static has a different view on the Spirits of Creation that Fable/Ink does. (Spirits of Creation are the in-universe term and stand-in for the creator of an AU). He calls them eldritch parasites. Abominations that should be avoided at all costs. And absolutely should not be encouraged or interacted with. Though he won't admit it out loud, Static is terrified of them. OG Error @.LoverofPiggies/CrayonQueen) Moltendreams @.me Edit: he has been named! Edit 2: revised his profile a bit

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Big Plans - Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

cw: sex, angst

Let's proceed to the next stage.

The Day of Ash. Its conclusion's already foregone, and he has little patience for repetition. But this part is key.

For context's sake, it bears revisiting.

The scene's already been painted. If a courtroom were a stage, the gallery would be breathless for the denouement. Which will arrive, and in due course. As the High Priestess says: Patience is the companion of wisdom.

For now, picture this:

The banquet at the Last Drop, and Fissurefolk with crumbs clinging to their smiles. The songs, the stories, the slow-reeling hours.  The bundt cake had been served up in generous helpings, each portion with a dollop of sugar. Sweetness: too rich to taste of scarcity.

Too real to taste the bitter arsenic of disaster.

In the backroom, Sevika treated Silco to a different song. They'd swapped a stogie of potent brightleaf, each drag burning a sultry line from throat to belly. Silco had draped a stolen sheepskin pelt on the floorboards, and spread Sevika down upon it.  Her nails were in his back, and her tongue filled his mouth, and her sighs filled the air.

"Fuck me," she said. "Fuck me now."

He went into her, exquisitely slick depths parting for him, inch by inch. His vision blotted out to static, his ears ringing bells. Outside, the thunderstorm of boots and bodies gathered its charge.

That is how he recalls that final night.

Everything hung in perfect equilibrium. One side tilting toward delirium; the other, disaster.

They kissed and gasped and kissed again. His teeth closed around her bottom lip, piercing its fullness. He swallowed her sounds as they rocked together, slow and steady. Every second of pleasure counted. Every gasped cry and shivered moan were an offering. 

To gods unnamed; or to Zaun.

When you fuck and live, you fuck for them both.

His climax was a gut-shot—bang, bang, bang, nailed to completion. He collapsed against her, sobbing behind gritted teeth. Sevika's own climax was unending. Every small movement set off an aftershock that fluttered from her womb all the way to her eyelashes. By the end, they were gummed wetly together with tears.

From rawness of hurt and hope and whatever lay beneath.

After, they lay in a languid, sweat-sticky tangle. Their heavy breaths sawed through the dusty air. The stillness felt holy. As if they'd found some secret within themselves, and were listening to it resonate. Sevika nuzzled into the damp hairs curling over at his temple. Silco dropped a wet kiss to the hollow of her throat, followed by a hard, deliberate rasp of stubbled cheekbone between her breasts. The burn glowed in his wake.

Even then, he'd liked to leave marks. Reminders of where she belonged. With him, and the future they'd seize. No takebacks; no middle ground. 

Glory or dust.

Sevika jittered out a sigh. "Sil?"

"Mmm?"

"When all this is over..." Her fingertips traced his hairline. "What d'you want to do?" 

"What?" he murmured, barely cogent. "Why think of that now?" 

"Just... something I'm tellin' myself. For motivation's sake."

"We're motivated."

"We are." She kissed him again: soft, sweet, uncertain. "Still. I wanna hear. You fought for this shit your entire life. Thought you might have plans for after."

"Visualizing, are we?"

"Well, yeah. Like, I see myself walking on the Bridge, without getting frisked. Without those degrading searchlights and the names they call us. You know what I mean, right?" 

"I do." Silco's jaw hardened. "Personally, I'd tear the Bridge down. Reroute everything so we aren't dependent on one mode of transit across the Pilt.  Our harbor still opens out to sea. Our trade could be redirected. We could do business with foreign merchants. I've no doubt there's a market for our wares across Runeterra. Places less sanctimonious and more eager to profit."

"What wares?"

"The gold and gems. But there's more to our domestic industry than the treasures below. You've seen the construction boom in Topside's residential sectors. All from our marble, our slate, our granite. Once Zaun's ours, we'd tap into that sector. No need for a bridge. Or the thieves squatting on the other end."

"See? You do have big plans!"

"Schematics. That's all."

"Helluva lot more than most of us got." Cupping his head in both hands, she sought his eyes. "What else?"

He rested his interlaced palms on her sternum, and his chin atop them.  "Reforms. Top to bottom. Law, infrastructure, security. Chaos without an axis devolves a society to madmen. But we won't survive as a monoculture, either. A diversified economy's the best path forward. We could open our borders to trade with merchants from across Valoran. Build the docks into proper berths, so we're dealing with international vessels on our terms, without them trying to get a foothold in our territory." His eyes slitted, drowsy yet speculative. "What we need is a haven for entrepreneurs and free thinkers alike."

"People who'll treat us as equals instead of animals?"

He grinned: a tiny bite of incisors into her skin. "Exactly. A whole world of profit's out there. We'll tap into it. Show the world that we're more than just gutter-trash."

"And here, I'd be satisfied with a plumbing system that doesn't freeze my tits off come winter."

"Copper piping—" he was warming to the subject— "is where the solution lies. We'll invest in citywide upgrades. A sewage network that leads to treatment plants outside of town. Lessens the runoff so the river fish are fit to eat year-round. We'd also start a sanitation corps. Their sole objective would be to rid the streets of refuse."

"Big plans. Real big." Her touch didn't falter, but he felt a shift in her voice. A sidestep more than a withdrawal. "What about... y'know. The kids?"

 A chill crept through Silco. Gently, he disentangled, easing himself upright. His bare arms roped around his knees. He let out a slow breath, measuring how much to reveal.

Then—

"More reforms. Loads of 'em. No more debts inherited from parent to child. Anyone in arrears would be offered financial advice, and legal recourse. Then there's the quality of education. Most sumpsnipes can barely scrawl their names. How's a nation meant to advance if its children can't count coin? Universal schooling is the least Zaun can provide. Medical centers that offer basic services. Soup kitchens with free meals. All of it must happen, if our folk are to succeed."

"Mighty generous. What's the catch?"

"No catch. Only stipulations." He met her eyes, aglow in the gloom. "These children have spent a lifetime dodging Topside boots. They should be given safe spaces, where they can explore their talents. Without the constant threat of those spaces being torn down, the way our orphanages were."

"Some of those little boot-dodgers could do with a kick, though."

"Maybe. But there's a difference between coddling and support."  His palm rolled open. An invisible blade balanced on either side: compromise and conviction. "The right to learn in safety is as necessary as the freedom to grow from mistakes. The kids would get their licks. But they'd also get a choice." His voice softened. "The rest would follow."

Sevika softened in turn. "Knew it."

"Knew what?"

"You're a big sap when it comes to kids."

"Quit taking the piss."

She shook her head. "Always knew you cared. Deep down. Otherwise, why go through with this at all?" Her palm squeezed his forearm; a caress bordering on worship. "It's gonna change, Sil. You'll change it. The kids'll have better than we ever did."

Her eyes met his. The compassion seared. Because of course she could see straight through him, to the gnashing fears hidden below. Same way he could see through her, to the long-dead hopes buried in her bones.

Like fossils: fragile but irrefutable.

They'd been told since birth they were inferior, and inferior beings must perish. Yet they'd survived. Doggedly, brutally, defiantly. And having done so, deserved a shot at more.

Tonight, they'd seize it. They'd turn the tables forever.

No fairness; only equity.

"After..." Sevika swallowed. "Y'think we'll have something more stable?"

"Stable?"

"Y'know. More than night-rallies, and smuggling and stabbing bootlickers in back alleys."

"Why? Got the itch to settle down?"

A flush stole across her cheeks. Her eyes cut away. "Nah. Just wondering."

"Wondering what?"

"Don't make me spell it out."

A few beats. Then realization sank home. The ice thawed; a smile crept across Silco's lips.

"Are you implying...?"

"What?" Sevika challenged, knowing exactly what was implied. The blush deepened, a charming mottle of deep rose. In a fistfight, she was seldom caught off-kilter. But intimacy always did it for her; abraded the roughness down to the girl she'd been: bruises on her knees and big dreams tucked close to her heart.

Like his stolen bergamots stuffed in her pockets.

"Say it, love," he goaded gently.

"Naw."

"Say it."

"Fuck off!"

"Say it, or I'll guess." He slid back down into the lovely warm circle of her arms. His head settled into the lovelier, warmer declivity between her breasts. He nuzzled, playfully. "Are you, by chance, expressing an interest in—don't be shy—sharing your bolthole?"

"Never... never said that." But she was shivering; a different thrill entirely. "Just wondering if I should start clearing out some drawers."

"Making room, hmm?"

"Place could do with a fixer-upper."

"My skillset does extend to home repairs."

She scoffed. "Being handy with a hammer's not a skillset." But her arms found their home around him, as he found his in the shelter of her. "We could split chores."

"Equitable distribution of labor?"

"Someone cooks, someone scrubs the dishes. Someone sets the table, someone brews the tea..."

"Better be me. Not sure I'd survive another mug of leaves-and-grit."

Her ribcage jerked; a peal of laughter that threatened to break into tears. Silco's own chest felt vaguely smothered. By emotion; by hope.

They'd seen enough of sorrow for a lifetime. Why not dream a little?

 "Let's see," he went on, kissing his way from one breast to the next. "The labor's divvied. But what about the living space? It'd need renovations. New plaster for the ceiling, so the cockroaches don't rain down from the cracks. New floorboards, too. Solid wood so the place stays dry. Nothing like this—" He rapped his knuckle against the nearest plank, eliciting a resounding echo of termite damage, "—so during our more, ah, exuberant endeavors, we don't drop down two stories and land right in old Josiah's stewpot."

This time, her laughter bubbled up without reserve. "Soundproof the walls, too. So the neighbors don't cuss us out every night."

"And morning."

"And evening."

"And afternoon."

"And—" Her laughter sank, husky; the kissing had become an openmouthed sampling, "—whenever we feel like it."

"There's the spirit."  He lapped the roseate bloom of one aureole, savoring her whimper. "What else? Oh. A balcony facing south, with geranium pots. Or a row of night-blooming jasmine. You could dry the petals, press them, crush them for sachets. Or better yet, grow your hair long and wind the flowers through it."

"Fucking sap. My hair's not fit for braids. Gets greasy five seconds after washing." The laughter ebbed. Her mood receded into something both sweeter and more pained. "Nothing like Nandi's."

"Nothing like Nandi," he agreed.

He felt it immediately: the full-bodied flinch, struggling and failing to disguise itself. But he understood. It wasn't envy; only memory. Loss was loss. There was no cure but time.

The question was how much to steal.

Taking her chin, he kissed her again. Kissed the burn to bed; the flame to smoke. He made love to her lips until they parted. Until that sweet pain ebbed, into the background, where it belonged. Her thighs shifted, enfolding his hips; her breath stirred on hungry hums. Each kiss tasting like a gift she couldn't give herself.

A gift he couldn't deny her.

She'd never be Nandi. Nor would she ever stop feeling her sister's absence. But he wasn't here, on the last night before the final charge, for a specter.  

He wanted what they had now, real and alive between them.

A second chance.

"Listen, love," he breathed, thumbing the wetness beneath her eyes. "No one will ever replace your sister. No one. But you are your own. And you're mine. And I swear to you—if tonight doesn't fuck us into the ground—we'll do everything we've planned. We'll fix up that bolthole. Fix up this whole damned city. And then we'll live our fucking lives."

"Sap," she said again.

"Not if it's true."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He held her gaze. "Do you want it?"

"Want what?"

"All of it. The balcony with geraniums. The jasmine in your hair. The new roof, and new walls. The new life." His stare deepened. "With me."

She bit her lip; the flush faded into resolve. "Yeah."

"So let's have it."

"With what coin, Sil?"

"I've got a cache of loose rubies in my mattress. You're welcome to pocket a few, as a down-payment. Hell, if it means selling all my loot in the lockbox, we'll do it. If we've got to wait fifteen years before we can afford even one seed of jasmine, we'll still do it." A sudden honesty creased the conversation, cutting through their banter. "Anything. Everything. As long as you're game."

For a moment, she looked at him, as if seeing beyond his words. Her pragmatism never failed, even when her temper veered off course. But it was as if his confession had opened a different door, and longing beckoned.

There were many avenues they'd never gone down. Places they'd both learned were dangerous: Tomorrow and Always; Safe and Sound; Nothing's lost and Anything's Possible.

Paths that weren't lies but far-off lights in the distance. Too far to cross on foot.

But now...

"Would everything," she whispered, "include the usual?"

"The usual?"

"I mean… d’you see yourself wanting a family?"

Silco fell still.

"An anklebiter, or two? The chance to do better for someone than anyone's ever done for us?"

The stillness deepened. Their stares locked. The silence looped into an eternal second. In that space, Bloody Sunday’s screams echoed and re-echoed.

"I...I don't know," Silco said at last. "Maybe not now. But... someday."

"Someday?"

"When Zaun is real. When this city stands on its own. When the future's set in stone, not a whisper in the wind." He smoothed the furrow between her brows, trying for levity. "Why? Don't tell me you've slipped your dose?"

"'Course not!" she snapped. "I take that crap everytime we go to bed!"

"But you've thought about the alternatives."

She chewed the corner of her lip, rolling the answer around. The dream was no longer dead in her eyes. It had transformed. "I think..."

"What?"

"Someday."

"Someday?"

"Zaun's gotta be real, first." She cupped his left cheekbone. The future pulled them down, into each other's grip. The scent of jasmine blooming from somewhere unseen. "And Zaun needs you, Sil. So after everything goes down... after things settle..."

"...there's more to look forward to." His face split on a smile. Contentment finding a home in their shadows. "Forward being the operative word."

"Damn straight."

He shut his eyes, drinking in the heat at the crook of her neck. The rest of him sank against her body. Down between her thighs, to that familiar dip that was wet and waiting for him. To a place that kept him warm, but one he couldn't lay claim to as a home. Not yet.

But someday. 

Yes.

And just like that, the revolution burned bright. On a peltstrewn-strewn pallet on the backroom floor, they began making their plans all over again.

"Marble stairs," he breathed, as he slid inside her. "Lapis-laid floors."

"Fucking bougie," she gasped, palms starfishing his hips. "I'd never set foot on 'em."

"I'd haul your arse inside by the ankles. Every day. With fresh jasmine twined in your hair..."

"Greasy fucking hair..."

"Beautiful hair." His head hung down, forehead touching hers. Her lashes fanned velvet over his cheek; her breaths grew short against his throat. "Shining and strong, and I swear—"

"Swear...?"

He rolled his hips, dragging himself over her sweet-spot, just the way she liked. Her belly quaked; her head tossed back on a cry.

"I swear it'll only be the start."

"Yeah?"

"Hmm." He thrust deeper, dizzy on her rising sobs. "Zaun's owed so much more. And we'll take it all. Everything."

"Everything," she groaned, arching up to take him fully. "Everything, fuck..."

"Like that?"

"Gods, Sil, don't fucking stop—"

Silco's spine tautened. His body had gone rigid, poised at breakage. Still he held himself steady, prolonging the moment as he did the promise.

Each syllable sinking deeper than a knife to the gut. The cuts would last a lifetime, but the scars would be worth it.

They'd last the distance when all else bled away.

Sevika shuddered; a tear slid over her temples, vanishing into the darkly clinging hair along her scalp. It was greasy, from hard hours of work, and the slew of harder nights leading to this. But it was beautiful, too, for how alive it was: how resilient she was.

How real she felt, falling apart beneath him. Keeping him tethered in all the places he was unraveling, too.

When she came down, she was laughing again. Laughing, and crying, both.

"Not the worst thing," she gasped, "a girl could hear before dying."

"Fuck that," he gritted, locking in for the home stretch. His nerves sang high; a keening pitch he chased the limit. "You'll die old. On—on feather pillows and cotton sheets. After a full life of scrapping, and the best bloody sleep you've. Ever. Had."

"And y-you...?"

"Me?"

"You'll be there?"

He caught her hand, kissing her rough knuckles. "No."

She gasped as he pinned her arms above her head. Sank his full weight down, till the burn between their bodies, blissful bright electricity, stole every doubt beyond the room.

Wiped everything beyond the moment.

"I'm not dying," he grunted, seconds from bursting, "until Zaun's come to life."

She shuddered. He surged. The finish struck like lightning.  Bright static spooling through his skull to ignite a fire in the blackness.

Revolution was like that: just another word for apocalypse, stripped of the terrors.  Not that they'd be spared the latter. Freedom always had a price. Always broke bones and bruised souls.

But the vows, in their shared gutter-tongue, were binding. Full of crude designs and raw hopes, but as real as that night.

Real as the scars.

[littlebittykittycommittee]

More "not explicit proof of Good Chara but damn it adds so much that to me it is":

The fucked up parallel of Chara in Asriel's body TRYING to kill the humans they hate but being held back by Asriel and in Pacifist ultimately changing for the better, trying to honor Asriel-as-himself's dying actions by helping a human navigate the Underground and even befriending them and finding hope again from Frisk's actions, helping them save the world

.... compared to Chara in Frisk's body being FORCED to kill the monsters they love because the player is forcing that on them and in Kill All ultimately turning into an indiscriminately murderous shell of themself, maxing out their LV to protect themself and taking Asriel-as-Flowey's wish to kill everyone and erase the world to heart

Which again like was it INTENDED?? Idk man, but it yields up a cool complex lil Chara and I love that. I want to pin a little medal on them and give them a hat. They're so fun if read as non malicious and full of potential for growth and change!! (like ALL these characters are, like have you SEEN them. they all change. SOME of them more than others *coughcough Asriel*) (but yeah the idea that the only thing Chara took from Asriel's death was that they hate him and monsters too now and they are unmoved by Pacifist and Kill All doesn't change them, just appeals to them because they like murder.... that means they don't change at all, ever, in their life or their death and they are instead the most static, boring, flat, shallow villain in Undertale lmao. C'monnnn.) (Let them be the dead kid who had a change of heart! Let them react and change in response to our actions in the game world as much as the other characters do!)

[stargazer4501]

What Do You Think The Human Souls Sound & Taste Like?

Ok so hear me out.

This is in reference to my take to Dusttale, or more accurately, the aftermath/sequel to Dusttale.

I’ve posted about this “revamp” of this AU in a previous post, but as a refresher:

This AU of an AU takes place after the events of Dusttale with some minor alterations. The story will mainly revolve around the survivors (heavily NPC based, with some main characters & my OC Vani). However, a few of the survivors try to bring back the dead by using a DT injections (much like in the game, except in this version: Alphys used Artificial Determination while the survivors use Determination collected from the human souls), also these new DT injections are mixed with the 7 human soul traits. This does work, but with some minor complications, which will be explained more in the notes.

Now to explain the question:

Basically the author of the notes is writing down their research & findings of each human souls; things like how common each trait are within humans, what injection they are used in, side effects of said injections, rpg style stats, etc. However there are 2 items of information that I might need some help on: What sound/pitch each soul trait makes &, for a hint of humor because “Undertale”, what each soul traits tastes like.

That’s where I looking to you all for assistance/headcanons for this.

*Side Note: When I say sound/pitch, I’m referring to the amount of Hertz (which I think is the measurement of sound wave frequency or pitch)*

*Side Side Note: In this AU, the red human soul trait is not Determination (since all humans have it) but instead is Willpower (I’ve seen a few saying it could be Love since its in red, but I think Willpower makes more sense)*

I already have the frequency picked for each soul, now I’m just trying to figure out what specific sound/noise they make.

Here’s what I have so far:

DETERMINATION

Color: Gold

Injection: DT-pDT PT v1.0

DETERMINATION Category: Pure DETERMINATION Injection Prototype version 1.0

Fallen Humans: All

Frequency: 0-20k+Hz

Sound Description:

Like a choir with every living thing singing

Sounds like screaming in an auditorium when distressed

Taste Description:

Similar to water that is both freezing & boiling

WILLPOWER

Color: Red

Injection: DT-WP PT v1.7

DETERMINATION Category: WILLPOWER Injection Prototype version 1.7

Fallen Humans:

Chara

Frisk

Frequency: 9.9k-10.6kHz

Sound Description:

Sizzles of an orchestra of cymbals constantly increasing & decreasing in volume

Taste Description:

Hot & salty copper

Metal sitting out in the heat

BRAVERY

Color: Orange

Injection: DT-BV PT v1.2

DETERMINATION Category: BRAVERY Injection Prototype version 1.2

Fallen Humans:

Hiro

Isaac

Frequency: 18.9k-19.6kHz

Sound Description:

Hoard of mosquitoes quickly approaching

Taste Description:

Fresh cold sweat with a hint of cinnamon & pumpkin pie

JUSTICE

Color: Yellow

Injection: DT-JT PT v1.6

DETERMINATION Category: JUSTICE Injection Prototype version 1.6

Fallen Humans:

Clover

Otis

Frequency: 15.9k-16.6kHz

Sound Description:

Hiss of a firework with anticipation of when said firework will explode

Taste Description:

Overly sweet & carbonated TV static flavored drink mixed with gunpowder

KINDNESS

Color: Green

Injection: DT-KN PT v1.5

DETERMINATION Category: KINDNESS Injection Prototype version 1.5

Fallen Humans: Sam

Frequency: 6.9k-7.6kHz

Sound Description:

Taste Description:

PATIENCE

Color: Cyan

Injection: DT-PE PT v1.1

DETERMINATION Category: PATIENCE Injection Prototype version 1.1

Fallen Humans:

Gena

Lily

Frequency: 999-1.6kHz

Sound Description:

Taste Description:

INTEGRITY

Color: Blue

Injection: DT-IG PT v1.3

DETERMINATION Category: INTEGRITY Injection Prototype version 1.3

Fallen Humans:

Dawn

Otto

Frequency: 12.9k-13.6kHz

Sound Description:

Taste Description:

PERSEVERANCE

Color: Purple

Injection: DT-PR PT v1.4

DETERMINATION Category: PERSEVERANCE Injection Prototype version 1.4

Fallen Humans: Yu

Frequency: 3.9k-4.6kHz

Sound Description:

Taste Description:

[ask-dcf]

Meanwhile, with the young Trio…

*The kids have met many strange creatures, sparing left and right despite it being very tricky in some cases. All of them slowly getting used to their abilities… Now they faced an obstacle….. A catipillar in front of a wall of fog that was vaping…. And was gaming*

*SLAM*

*She holds up a prime drink but instead of prime it says “Pillar”.*

*She crushes it with claws*

*Frisk pulls Chara back*

*With a wave of his hand, he summons a horde of digital butterflies and sends them towards the trio. The cuts they left were sharp and painful, taking away small chunks of their HP making the kids help in pain. Chara looking pissed with her eyes static now.*

*Wings turn sharp and claws come out*

*Frisk pulls Chara back*

*Frisk steps in front of her to face the caterpillar*

*He leans closer to the trio, arms crossed*

*Chara’s eyes twitch in anger*

—————————————————————————————————

Art by @xjunjox

Special monsters and streamerpillar by @theyoshimister

[jjaydazo]

I won't post wips here anymore

you heard it

from now on i'll be posting on kofi of my stuffs early. (when it comes to comics at least) I need some money too.

static tier only has snip peeks cut of the whole comic. but also it has cute extra doodles I made of frans, specifically lust sans x detective frisk

so far i only made a static tier member there. later I'll make black and white tier then HD tier (which most of my content here will be suggestive) I'll make them soon I almost forgot to put my kofi here

[masterofthenova]

I wanted to summit my characters to christmas aus but they need to be public for me to do so…

So here's Cibil, as well as her siblings Ash and Decay, alternate rewrites of Poppy Marusina, Dusted, and Rust respectively

Poppy is by FMSdraws Dusted and rust are by dihze All 3 of which can be found in the @ut-poppy-askblog

Tldr: poppy falls into the core and fucking dies. Dusted and Rust aren't doing well either

To make an attempt to shorten an exceedingly long story, this version of poppy originates in multiverse 5691, a multiverse where the omega timeline was built in the ruins of an abandoned timeline rather than a white void. Most individuals in this multiverse are weaker than their canon counterparts as well, at least at the beginning of the story. As an abandoned timeline didn't have the safety that the closed off white void had, eventually the destroyer had found their way into the OT. though the destroyer was never supposed to find the OT in the first place. Not only that, they were teaming with some unknown magic. The fight should have been on a relatively even playing field, hell the OT shouldve won, but it was almost as if the destroyer had found a blind spot of Core!frisk’s omnipresence. Attacks didn't seem to phase him, even coming from powerful figures such as Dusted or Rust. As the destroyer moved throughout the omega timeline, static effects began to appear everywhere, and touching objects with the effect would leave people with stinging sensations throughout their body. It was attacking their code directly.

The fight eventually ended with Poppy, Dusted, Rust, and Core on a bridge in hotland. Bone attacks blocked a side of the bridge, turning it into a dead end. Seeing no other ways for their kids to escape, and not being able to trust their own omnipresence at that point, core had opted to make an attempt to fight the destroyer…however his attack landed first. The destroyers attack tore through Core’s code, tearing them apart at the seams before condensing them into a singular point in spacetime. They had been deleted entirely, wiped from the future, wiped from the past. They fell to the ground, their body coursing in pain that they hadn't felt for lifetimes. Their once grayscale color palette had been stained red, and similar static marks that surrounded the ot now covered their body. They were singular. It was as if they had never been omnipresent in the first place.

Seeing how there was now a void in the code where core frisk belonged, the code made a desperate attempt to save itself. It rewrote characters to fill the void, causing poppy (cibil) to be raised by dream, rather than core frisk, though often figures such as monarchy chara or Mr.Asgore would play parental roles as well.

This change did not prevent the attack on the OT. The destroyer, seeing a redscale figure appear from seemingly nowhere, opened a portal banishing them to the reaches of space. As for the sibling trio, Poppy had gotten ensnared in some of the destroyer's strings, Dusted opted to aid their sister while Rust did what they could to fend off the destroyer. In a sick combination of the heat from the magma, already being low on energy, and the destroyer’s unknown magic, rust faltered, taking a blast from the destroyer head on. It wasn't a quick blast either, magic continuously bore down on their body until it had begun to fail, slowly dripping away into a molten mess. Rust had effectively been killed. Dusted, seeing their counterpart fall, opted to make one last attempt to run, to try and get Poppy to safety. As the destroyer's attention turned to the fleeing duo, the destroyer sent a singular bone for the weaker of the two. The bone pierced through Poppy’s neck, the force of the impact shoving her over the edge of the bride and down into the magma of the core. A blaster quickly followed, partially missing dusted, only hitting half their body, however the magic still tore away at dusted down to their very code.

As for Poppy. She sunk into the lava, her arms covering her face in a hopeless attempt to save her from at least some of the pain. Her efforts were in vain, the magma burning away at the layers of her skin, exposing the magic that made up her own body. She could do nothing but scream hopelessly into the magma, the molten rock flowing into her mouth moments after. She knew she would die there.

Until she felt…determined? She didn't want to die there. She couldn't die there. She had no idea where the feeling was coming from until her hand found its way to the bone still piercing through Poppy’s neck. The surface of the bone had been destroyed by the magma, allowing the destroyer's magic to mix in with Poppy’s, letting her feel determination that wasn't her own. It was fading fast, she had to use it before it was gone. The magma scorched her eyes as she struggled to open them, pain making every movement she made excruciating. Before her, in the lava, there was a dimly glowing reset button. It didn't belong to her, but she had no other choice. She reached out one of her hands, her fingertips barely reaching the orange button, turning it a bright shade of yellow.

The pain ended, everything went quiet. Calm even. She could see herself drifting in a void-like place, her skin slowly turning black. Poppy hadnt had determination before, nor did she have a save point to return back to. That, mixed with the corruption from the anomalous event, led the core itself to explode much more violently than it normally would have. Poppy’s code was scattered so far and so thin throughout space and time that she became omnipresent, existing through hundreds of multiverses, with a blind spot of course. She was entirely separated from her home multiverse. She could never go back.

Once the destroyer had fled due to the explosion of the core, Dusted was left stumbling through the ash covered remains. Their body was burnt and scarred, blood seeping through the burn marks that had not instantly cauterized they stumbled their way over to Rust’s half molten body, pain shooting through their body with every step they took. They managed to take a critical chip from Rust’s broken body, clenching it in their hands before falling unconscious.

Poppy was found by another omnipresent being, taken into their group, working under an organization from another multiverse called the wardens. The same organization had gone to what little remained of Cibil’s multiverse, and at Cibil’s request they opted to attempt to save Dusted and Rust, as well as a handful of other survivors from the multiverse.

Dusted was taken to a hospital in a distant OT, the damage to their code was incredibly severe, however they were able to be saved. Of course not without the loss of their right leg and eye. They adopted the name Ash soon after meeting another Dusted alternate in the OT. As for rust, they sat broken in a basement for years before finally being dragged out and repaired. Most of their original parts had to be replaced, however their new body was incredibly optimized, created to be a weapon and nothing more. While they had been personified, and their appearance entirely shifted, the repair was successful.

i ran out of motivation to keep writing

[prism-forgone]

Asriel Dreemurr is a Prince of Doom ((bangs pots and pans))

[ALT: he seems like he'd be a prince of doom since princes usually act like their opposite aspect AND he acts like a life player methinks]

via @ghostzdrawz

in a reblog for this post: x

putting this as a separate post because it got so long that i couldn't simply put it below your reblog ^^'

yes that is exactly my classpect for asriel!!

( just as a sidenote, I find it very fun that, given my track record of assigning UTDR characters classpects, when a character is a Prince, they are also literally a prince in canon, like Ralsei, and now Asriel).

Asriel Dreemurr // Prince of Doom

You (very correctly!) stated Princes ghost their opposite aspect, and they do that since it's only prudent for a destruction class to destroy their aspect through leaning into the opposite one, too. The fact Princes destroy their aspect or destroy with their aspect supports this even more. They're destructive inwards and towards their environment, zeroing in on things having to do with their aspect and, depending on their mental state, destroying the enemies of its well-being or (usually, really) making it wither.

The ways Asriel supports Doom as an aspect are so numerous that it isn't even funny, so I'm just gonna list some things from my aspect notes and provide brief explanations:

affinity for unfortunate events, either in being the victim or invoking them (the incident he and Chara had with buttercups instead of cups of butter, Chara's death and subsequently Asriel's death during the scheme they both agreed on, creating entire timelines where he concocts his own genoroutes)

natural magnet for the worse parts of the narrative (being fated to live as a soulless being by pure chance, since his ashes were on the flowers purely by coincidence)

great supply of empathy and/or wisdom (the former is true for Asriel, who has a soul; the latter for Flowey, who is soulless and tested how things work many times - he even gives you a mock tutorial)

sufferers and martyrs (Asriel sacrificed himself to not kill anyone, even when attacked)

affinity for attunement with some kind of... otherness, alongside Life (like the exiles or horrorterrors in HS, or what I interpret as game mechanics in UT, and kinda just us - Flowey addresses Frisk, Chara and the player all at separate occasions)

Doom's symbolism of skulls, fire, explosions and bombs (he literally uses all these in his various attacks, most in the Omega Flowey form, that one with the added caveat of vaguely destroying Doom by using plants, Life's domain, too; but the skull appears in his Hyperdeath form attack)

literal meanings of death, sacrifice, entropy, acceptance (the first two are already plenty clear, entropy is just what Flowey was doing before we got here again and again, and what he attempts to do as Omega Flowey; and acceptance is what he finally exhibits at the end of True Pacifist)

abstract meanings of deterioration, nihilism, stagnation, static state of affairs, pessimism and limitations (most are already clear - the static nature of Flowey is him resetting again and again, to the point where Sans, along with whoever he was conducting research with, noticed the time anomalies and literally had depression induced because of the fact time is just Standing Still in a loop and nothing seems to matter anyhow so why bother trying <- destroying with Doom at its finest example; but also, the loop could be seen as something exactly opposite, since Flowey always tests something different).

Additionally, as the Extended Zodiac tells us - even though I try to not rely on it too much - the best a Doom hero can be is wise, kind and non-judgmental, while the worst they can be is being filled with bitterness, resentment and fatalism. The difference is between if they cling to the past or if they learn from it.

so, yeah. to sum up, my track record already shows i need very little to get me going about this so i'm very sorry ☝️however, counterpoint: it's really fun to do this hahah

[askaxetale]

I have a question for Frisk if she can answer! Do you wish you could be alive to be with sans?

A small voice breaks through the static fog… a long forgotten memory of a dying world.

“I… I wish I could be there… he’s so broken, the way he acts… it hurts to see him like this. I know he’s still my Sans after all he’s done to help Aliza and Pappy.”

The voice soon vanishes, covered back by the static.

[askswordfrisk]

You can’t blame your husband for worrying. There are a lot and I mean A LOT of harmful things in the vast multiverse. Error sans, nightmare, XGaster, Neutral Frisk, Terror Asgore, King Sans, Bette, Static, and the list not only goes on, but it keeps getting longer. It’s very bad out there.

*A hand gently places itself upon the woman's shoulder. Looking behind her, she saw one of the many orphans she and her boyfriend took care of. They were neither a Frisk or Chara — they were a Kris. This Kris, despite the vacant poker face, gave off an understanding aura.*

*She sighs softly, turning around and hugging the teen closely.*