#utmv fanfiction

[mikimakiboo]

Happier Somewhere Else

It's been a while since I wrote some Nightmare angst :)

Thankfully @somegrumpynerd posted a wonderful thought that gave me a boost of inspiration :D ( surprise surprise hope you enjoy :) )

Tw: some self hatred, mention of past bullying, slight abandonment issue, basically just Nightmare badly needing therapy and having a bad time™

- What would you like to do ?

Nightmare asked as Killer turned to look at him, taken aback by the question. His boss rarely asked him about what he would like to do, surely because the determination dripping skeleton always seemed pleased with everything. He was always so enthusiastic about everything Nightmare asked him to do or anywhere he asked him to go, that Nightmare just didn't think Killer would want something else. But his henchman had looked quite... down, lately, he often found him looking through the window, lost in his thoughts, spacing out during dinner or mid conversation, and so he had been worried that he could be longing for something else that Nightmare didn't think of providing, but now that a truce had been established with his brother, it would be easier to satisfy whatever need he had.

Killer thought for a moment, glancing at the window before looking back at Nightmare. Something he wanted to do ? He didn't want to do anything special, but... he did want to go out... did that count as something to do ?

- I... I want to go in the Omega Timeline... to see Color...

Nightmare didn't respond right away, and Killer saw him frown a little, was his answer not what Nightmare expected ? Should he have asked to watch TV instead ?

Nightmare kept staring at him for a few seconds before realizing that he was waiting for an answer.

- I.. sure, you can.. you can go see him...

He hesitated. Killer smiled, giving him a hug that Nightmare didn't know how to reciprocate, before letting him go and leaving to go to his room.

- I'm gonna pack my bag, I'll be back in five minutes !

Nightmare watched him leave, a feeling that he hadn't felt in years emerged in his soul and he had to take a deep breath to try and suppress it. He looked out the window. It was autumn, his favorite season, he loved watching the trees change color and the leaves falling on the ground, the trees in Dreamtale never did that, his AU had been stucked in a perpetual spring due to the Tree of Feelings. His boys always teased him when he called it autumn instead of fall, they always said he was so fancy and sophisticated.

- Hey, uh.. you're good ?

Nightmare turned, Killer was back with his bag on his shoulder. He looked worried. Nightmare forced a smile.

- Yeah, I'm good, I'll take you to the Omega Timeline.

He wrapped a tentacle around Killer's wrist and the two of them dissappear in a puddle, when the reappeared they were in a white void, a spot in the Omega Timeline that was far enough from the city as to not be seen. Nightmare wasn't welcomed here.

Color was already there, Killer must have sent him a message. He looked at Nightmare with suspicion, as he always did, not trusting him near his friend. The black skeleton let go of Killer, watching him run to his friend to hug him full force, his soul radiating happiness and excitation while Nightmare's soul only clenched in his ribcage. When Killer turned around, Nightmare was already gone.

Nightmare reappeared back in the living room, alone, his whole chest burning from the inside. He felt Dust's presence behind him.

- Hey, uh, I saw Killer running out of his room with a bag, you dropped him somewhere ?

- He's.. in the Omega Timeline..

Nightmare answered without turning around. Dust laughed.

- Off being gay with his rainbow boyfriend again ?

Nightmare forced himself to chuckle but he already felt his lips trembling.

- Yeah.. I'll.. be in my office, I have work to do, do not disturb me..

He said before teleporting, leaving Dust in the living room, confused.

He locked the door and went to sit on his chair. What had he done ? Why did he let him go ? Why did he let Killer leave ? Why did he want to leave in the first place ? Wasn't he happy here with them ? He thought he had been happy, he was always so.. so joyful when they were all together... had he been secretly miserable ? So miserable that now that there was a truce he saw his chance to leave ? To go be happy with his friend, like Dust said, because he wasn't truly happy here ? What did Nightmare do wrong, what did he not see, for Killer to want to leave this soon ?

Nightmare felt terrible, like a giant weight was crushing him and couldn't get up, he could never get up. He had thought that Killer was happy, he truly believed it, but he asked him to leave, and Nightmare hadn't found the strength to tell him no, to keep him away from someone who made him smile more then they could ever had. He didn't find the strength to say no, to lock him here and watch him be miserable and knowing he was the cause of his misery. Not again.

He didn't want to be the cause of anybody's misery, not again, not anymore. He had felt so bad, so guilty, each time a villager accused him of causing harm to them or their family. He didn't want to harm anyone, all he wanted was play under the tree with his brother, his brother was always so happy to be with him. He harmed him too. He harmed him each time there was a storm, Dream didn't like thunder, it always made him cry when it was too loud, he was scared. But where did fear come from ? It came from him. From his apples. He knew that if Dream was scared it was because of him, because he guarded those feelings, each time someone felt fear or sadness or despair it was because of him. He knew it. So if Killer was unhappy, it must have been because of him.

His gaze fell on the picture on his desk, a picture taken by Killer, on which there was everyone. They were smiling, Nightmare was in the back, watching them fondly, his boys, his family. He grabbed the frame carefully, holding it with both hands. He loved them so much... were they happy here ? Did they want to go too ? Should he let them go ? He wanted them to be happy, even if it meant they would be far from him...

He sighed, putting the frame back on his desk, he teleported to his room and fell on his bed. Dinner was almost ready, judging by the time, but he wasn't hungry. Horror wouldn't be pleased with him skipping a meal, but he felt like he would throw up if he ate anything. His chest felt too full, ready to explode, he felt like he had something in his throat making his cheeks tingle. He rolled on the other side of his bed, holding a pillow in his arms as his tentacles curled around him in a protective manner. He was breathing faster, louder, his lips were shaking. He felt pathetic. He didn't have the right to cry. He didn't have the right to feel sad that Killer was happy. He should be happy for him ! He should be happy Killer had someone who cared about him ! He should... he should have seen something was wrong... he should have guessed... it wasn't rocket science, he could never make someone happy, that was his brother's role, not his, it had never been his. His role was to make people miserable, and he was good at this job, so good that he himself felt so miserable at that moment.

He didn't find sleep this night, he just kept rolling over and over and over, listening to the others go to bed too. Horror had knocked at his door, informing him that his plate was in the fridge if he was hungry later. He wasn't hungry. He wanted to throw up. He felt disgusted, disgusted of himself for having neglected Killer so much he didn't notice he wasn't happy.

He got out of bed in the morning, later than usual, he felt heavy. He managed to drag himself to the kitchen and sit at the table where the others, minus Killer, were already having breakfast.

- Mornin' Night, want coffee ?

Horror asked, already making some pancakes. Nightmare nodded, not feeling like talking this morning.

- You look down, bad night ?

Cross asked him, worried, Nightmare was usually the first to get up. He nodded again and gave a small smile to Horror when he gave him his mug, sipping on the hot liquid.

He listened to them as they were having their conversation. Did they want to leave too ? Did they have places to go, people to meet, where they would be happier than here ? Did they know Killer wouldn't come back ? Did he already tell them goodbye ?

- You're sure you're okay ?

Dust asked, pulling him out of his thoughts. His hands were shaking on his empty mug. He looked at the hooded skeleton, and the hooded skeleton looked back at him, squinting. Nightmare looked down.

- I'm fine, just.. just thinking about.. about stuff..

He mumbled, not at all convincing, and he knew it. He got up before any of them could ask anything else and teleported back in his office.

Would they also leave him one day ? He couldn't stop thinking about it. Were they unhappy too ? If Killer was unhappy, were they too ? Would he be strong enough to let them go ? Would he be strong enough to get up after their departure ? Would he be strong enough to keep living without them ? Would he live or just exist ? Would they even want to hang out with him from time to time ? To ask how he was doing ? Who would they ask that ? Dream maybe ? How would Dream know ? They haven't spend time with each other for so long... maybe it was time for Nightmare to catch up with his brother ? Maybe it was time he finally did something right in his life ? Something good, instead of making everyone he met feel like a piece of garbage ? Maybe Dream would stay a little... ? At least out of pity... ? He was always so nice, surely he would accept to keep him company from time to time...

His phone buzzed on his desk. Nightmare looked at it, frowning, he rarely received any messages. He grabbed it, unlocking it quickly to see who wanted to contact him. It was Killer.

" You can come pick me up now :D waiting at the usual spot kiss kiss •3• "

Nightmare stared at his screen for a while, reading the message over and over again, until his phone locked itself on its own after being left untouched for too long. He saw his reflection in the black screen. He felt ridiculous. So ridiculous. He wanted to laugh, and he laughed, he laughed at the absurdity of the situation, he laughed until it turned into crying, until he cried and choked on all those tears he was fighting since he dropped Killer in the Omega Timeline, the tears he was fighting in bed, during breakfast, he let his soul pound faster and harder, his chest burn, his throat hurt, and his eye and cheeks sting.

He thought he had lost him, he thought he was gone forever and that he would lose the others too, he had been so scared, and for what ? For nothing. For nothing at all. Killer wanted to come back home, he didn't want to leave, he wanted to come back. He had been so scared, so scared to be alone again, to be this lonely little child again, this little child with no friends, no one to talk to, to play with... a terrified little child who just wanted to love and loved... he didn't want to go back to that, he wanted to stay with his boys, he wanted them to stay with him, they were so precious to him, his whole reason to live, he didn't bear the thought of losing them...

But Killer wasn't gone, they were all still here, all at home, they were with him, and he would make it last as long as possible...

- Hey you sure he got connection in this old ass castle ?

Color asked Killer. They have been waiting for Nightmare for almost an hour when he would usually show up not one minute after Killer sent a message.

- He probably got his head in a book, he's such a bookworm I swear.

Killer chuckled, sitting on him bag, humming happily. How could he not be happy ? He spent the whole day with his best friend and was now going back home to play with his other besties !

He truly couldn't be happier.

[mellybabbles]

Misplaced Royalty - An Undertale Fanfic

Bad sanses x nonbinary afab reader I have high hopes for this one Info under cut!

Misplaced Royalty - Chapter 1 - MelatoninDepicts - Undertale (Video Game) [Archive of Our Own] Hello! I've been thinking about a concept like this for a while, and thanks to the help of @swiftmitsu, I've finally gotten around to starting it!

Here are the designs, some are big differences, others not so much.

Killer - Butler

Dust - Assassin

Cross - Knight/guard

Horror - ???

Nightmare - Outcast

(Art is by me, please do not repost) REBLOGS ARE SUPER SUPER APPRECIATED!! Please do consider giving the fic a shot

[silverstormsxx]

utmv au/fanfic idea - "to seek salvation"

au where error only destroys AUs he deems as needlessly cruel, such as horrortale or negativetale or flowerfell. He sees this as an act of mercy. Letting them live longer only prolongs their suffering, does it not?

(Feel free to use/expand on this idea if you'd like!)

[ask-codeearasure]

The Outer Realms -- Chapter 17

<-[Previous Chapter]

[Next Chapter]->

Wish to refill Ink's Paints? Go to our Ask Box!

—-----

Chapter Seventeen:

Opposition

—----

“You can’t escape the past. Right? Be a shame if I had to put them on again. Cast Irons… well, it’s hard to clean.” – Vander (Arcane)

—-

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” asked Error, confused.

Ink had just finished filling him in on the information he got from Edge. Error was right, Dream was not dead, but technically he was dying or in critical condition. Whatever golden apples that other skeleton threw at them back in Dreamtale were probably sick twisted copies of his friend’s soul, but it also implied they probably knew where Dream was.

“I don’t know, who knows where these… Outer-what-ever is at…” Ink shrugged, “I just want to check on my dads before we even begin trying to find it.”

Zephyrtop was the last AU in the lineup anyways. For Error, sorting through the code there would be a breeze while Ink caught up with Gaster, Aster, and his four brothers. And considering the former two were the technical creators of Zephyrtop altogether, the probability of it staying destroyed if they were too late was second to none.

Besides, with two of the very few creators left in the multiverse secure under his belt and held highly in his figurative heart, maybe they could help Ink find Dream. Error could only do so much with a being who had no code to his existence anyways.

“My guess is we’ll have to pick a direction and then just keep going until we find something.” Error huffed, cleaning his glasses with his scarf. He was already annoyed with the prospect of another AU he had to recode, remove another destruction code, and-or adding that blasted counter-command just to keep that weird copy of himself from destroying another AU.

“But what if we go in the wrong direction?” Ink asked.

“Then we can loop around. If they called this place the Inner Circle, then the best assumption we have is that everything is in a circle, we can loop around until we find your side-piece.” Error stated as if it were a simple matter. 

“Dream is not my ‘side-piece’, Error,” Ink hissed through his teeth.

The glitch rolled his eyelights. Though he had to admit, he was downplaying the entire thing. Who knew how many AUs were technically out there. It could be hundreds to millions, a good amount of said AUs likely being destroyed by the copy-cat and thus just being blank white nothingness. So if they made the wrong assumption as to how far they could go or not would mean they’d be searching for days to even years.

Even Error understood they didn’t have much time, but there really was not much they could do outside of participate in these fucking guessing games. At this point playing a game of Russian Roulette would get them closer to finding Dream. They could split up, but Ink and his memory problems were as untrustworthy as a pipe bomb with a broken timer the size of a tactical nuke. You don’t know whether or not you defused the damn thing, and even if you did, would you really trust your life with it? So he was stuck here.

Plus, there was that husk running around, that stupid fucking anomaly wearing Ink’s face without a single care in the world. If there was the copy-cat and the husk, that meant there was the likely chance that they both have a similar history to him and Ink. They likely both fought each other over the same reasons and since that anomaly was a pain in the ass to take down, that meant that the other glitch was also going to be a problem.

Either that, or the only things they had going for them was at face-value.

Or he was overthinking it.

He probably was overthinking it.

Definitely.

There is no way Error couldn’t kick BOTH of those impostors’ asses SINGLE HANDEDLY, NO SWEAT, NO FUCKS GIVEN!

Ink tapped him on the forehead, prompting Error to jump and swat their smaller hand away. His friend wasn’t phased.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

The glitch snorted. “Not much. Are we going to your weird parents’ place or what?”

“Awww, did ya finally wanna meet my old men?” Ink playfully rocked back on his heels, loosely crossing his arms behind his back. “It’s about time, they’ve been asking about you for ages!”

He’s…? There is no way they’ve been talking about him to their fucking parents…? Why would they?

“Uh huh. Sure they were.” Error clicked his tongues in repulsion. “No, I just want to get this over with then go back to my Anti-Void and pretend none of this ever happened.”

“Oh. Okay.” Ink’s face fell, but at least they didn’t push the issue. They opened a portal to Zephyrtop’s motherboard and jumped in. Error followed suit, wishing that one day Ink would learn another way to make portals with literally anything else but paint. He hated the texture.

Both outcodes arrived, Ink pleasantly surprised at the fact Zephyrtop’s motherboard was actually decorated, and Error looking through every nook and cranny of the space to find the coding ‘screen’. 

The motherboard looked like a warehouse, storing blueprints and bullet point-filled cork boards, whiteboards only half cleaned, couches, coffee tables, a couple TV screens overlooking the main plaza, circus, and mansion where Ink’s fathers and siblings lived. It was obvious that through thick and thin, this universe was a well cared for outlier in comparison to the neglect all the others had gone through.

Knowing all this sooner would have made Error’s job so much easier in the past, but now that he’s thinking about this in the current day, any kind of prideful satisfaction the younger him would have gotten was nonexistent. Instead, the destroyer could only define one thing he felt from staring at the larger picture for so long.

Pity.

But of course, only Ink’s family would have given enough of a damn about their home to keep it this vibrant and alive, efficiently and effectively meeting the needs and wants of the characters inhabiting this universe.

It’s almost like being caretakers was a common theme in Ink’s family, and Error definitely didn’t fit the part. He didn’t even understand why he found this revelation so intriguing. It was unsettling, but Error had already been unsettled since before Ink made the portal.

He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off, like they were being watched.

“I can’t find it,” Error set down the couch he had lifted and flopped on top of it. Since Gaster and Aster were still around and thriving, what was the point of going through this universe’s code? They probably had already thought of something to keep every creation of theirs protected.

“Maybe we should leave; take our chances looking for Dream without them.”

Ink shook his head, but didn’t look his friend in the eye and fiddled with the empty vials on his sash. It didn’t take rocket science for Error to tell he was anxious. The artist had been nothing short of distressed this entire time, both with and without sufficient doses of his paints.

“I can’t do that, Error, I need– I just need to see my dads, man. Maybe they don’t know what’s going on. I mean, they barely get out as is…”

“So what makes you think they’d know what to do?” Error sat up, grabbing a pillow and squeezing it, venting his frustration little by little into the carefully embroidered floral design in the fabric. “You just said they don’t leave as much. They don’t know the multiverse like we do.”

“Yeah, I know that, it’s just–... They’re creators, Error. They have access to some influence over all universes that we don’t!”

“So did XGaster, and look at what happened to him.”

Whatever train of thought Ink was trying so hard to uplift might as well have just crashed and exploded into a trillion pieces. The artist’s hands dropped from their sash, and they didn’t do much aside from stare at the floor. Right. Him. How could he forget?

“XGaster had… ambitions, I guess, but asking any help out of him would’ve been like pulling chicken’s teeth. Impossible,” Ink started. “I don’t really… know where that guy went either.”

“Oh, he's as good as dead,” Error’s tone lightened, using one of his arms to cushion his head and pulled a thread out of his eyesocket with the free one to fiddle with.

“Last I heard, he got killed by his own creations! If only I could’ve seen it myself, but when I went to XTale for any kind of entertainment, nothing was left.”

“Really?” Ink looked up, eyes wide. “Nothing left?”

“Nada!” Error twirled the string around his index finger, grinning to himself in amusement. “If anything did survive, maybe Dream or that BUG Core!Frisk got to them first.”

Maybe Ink should check the Omega Timeline for them later. He slightly recalled the XTale inhabitants primarily having a black and white color palette for their clothing, but because he had to juggle an overabundance of creators around the same time that AU was active, it’s not like he could go out of his way to give it any special attention.

Oh, how the tables have turned since then.

“Well if you don’t want to go, that’s okay, but I really want to.” Ink reached back for Broomie, but then the motherboard shifted. 

The both of them froze immediately, then whipped around to stare at each other. Ink cleared his throat and slowly took down his hand.

“Did uh… Error, did you do something?”

“You think I’d be quiet if I did???”

“Good point, good point…”

Suddenly, there were teal strings that quickly ripped through the ground beneath Ink in the shape of an ‘x’, the air was rushing towards the strange hole they made, dragging the artist with it. Error used his own string to ground himself as he grabbed Ink’s hand. The rushing air was unrelenting as if it was demanding Ink be dragged into whatever hell it had in waiting. Error could see that the window frame his string was tied to was starting to break, forcing him to make a choice.

Either he let go of Ink, or he went with them.

He undid the string and they both were dragged in.

The portal was unlike anything they had ever seen. It was like an endless hole of cubes that made reality. He could sense it was like the Anti-Void, but also not. This was nothing like his home, but it had the same energy as it. When they finally crashed into the ground, it was as if they had fallen off of a twelve story skyscraper.

As Error got up, he saw the ground was blocky and uneven, as if it was destroyed, remade and re-destroyed endlessly, glitching out like some awful video game that had been both incomplete and re-coded constantly.

He looked over to Ink who was rubbing his head and popping his neck, the impact obviously still affecting him somewhat.

Then he heard it.

A glitch-filled laugh.

“Really? I thought I was doin’ yous a favor ‘ere,” said the voice.

How the fuck did Ink mistake that guy for him? Color him insulted to the highest degree.

The glitch barely looked anything like him! In fact, there were more differences than there were similarities. The most prominent thing was the hood of the jacket. It was easily comparable to a large lion’s mane, almost like Mufasa got skinned after everyone left. Bright golden fur was so long that it reached the glitch’s knees. The jacket was black and lined with neon blue but also had teal diamond markings, showing where it had been resown together on the sleeves. Even his shorts had the same markings. He wore a dark maroon turtleneck and a gold and gray-indigo vest over it. There was also an odd neon blue animal skull on the side of the jacket, right below where the hood started. He also carried a similar colored sickle with a golden chain wrapped around his waist. Another thing was his left eyelight. It had the shape of an ‘x’ with several rings around it.

He didn’t even wear his Papyrus’ scarf.

If he did, then Error would at the very least believe Ink had some reason to mistake them for Geno. But no. Their stupidity truly outweighed the odds.

Maybe he should lend Ink his glasses sometime.

“Really, Error?” asked the glitch, “Yous just had ta follow tha idiot ‘ere?”

“And what’s it to you, of all anomalies?” Error himself straightened his posture, already reaching up to his eyesockets for more strings. In the corner of his vision, Ink was already on their feet, their grip on Broomie firm and ready for a fight.

“Oh nothin’,” the glitch hummed, he touched the corners of his own eyesockets but instead of summoning strings like the way Error himself did, they did come, but rather they stood straight like claws, “I was just gonna take ‘im out for ya as a little practice run for when I have ta put up wit’ an idiot of my own.”

Error heard Ink suck in a breath, the artist inching closer to him. Something about this new guy pissed him off beyond what he considered the normal annoyance, which is what every other anomaly had become to him these days.

But no. As far as the destroyer was concerned, this fucker’s intentions were clear.

He wanted to take his place. That very thought on its own made his marrow boil, his teeth baring to match his growing hatred.

“I see what you’re putting on the table, and my answer is FUCK NO.”

“Really think ya had a choice in dis?” the glitch asked when suddenly two large blocks of the land suddenly appeared and collided with Ink from two different sides. Sandwiching him before two teal strings cut right through them. “I was merely tellin’ yous what was about ta happen.”

Ink rematerialized next to Error, a portal painted below him. Broomie’s length was already chopped in half, and the artist’s hands were sporting new cuts, spewing his namesake out from between the joints, a stark contrast to the pristine white Error expected to see every time.

The guardian of the AUs blinked several times, his eyelights spinning several shades of red in different shapes before settling on a triangle and a target symbol.

“WHAT THE FUCK WAS THAT FOR!? THAT WAS A TOTAL SUCKER PUNCH!!!”

“Awes, ya pretendin’ ta be mad at lil’ ol’ me…” the glitch cooed, calmly walking off to the side, not really paying much attention to them. This was his domain, and it was clear he was beyond comfortable and confident here. “It’s real cute that ya pretend ta have emotions, Inky-boy. But ya really shouldn’t be playin’ wit’ people’s emotions, things can get real messy.”

The other error’s new target opened his mouth to interrupt, but then shut it, the accusation taking him off guard.

“What…? I don’t do that!”

“Suuure ya don’t. Like the way ya don’t treat everyone around ya, like they ain’t people? Like they’re jus’ some characters in a book that ya can interfere wit’, o’ watch dem struggle in tha misery planned fo’ em. Like tha way you don’t see me an’ Error as people?” the copy-cat stated, he checked his claws for a second and shrugged. He paused and looked directly at Ink, “Ya only go around an’ play hero, an don’t even care if dey get killed off anyways. Horrortale, Somethin’ New, Dusttale, or the otha AUs’ my friends are from. Ya don’ care about anyone or anythin’ but ya own entertainment.”

Error squinted bullets at the other, his freakish New York accent was getting annoying, and really fucking quick too. He’s sounding a hell of a lot like Nightmare with all that YAPPING.

“Ink, he’s fucking with you.”

Ink went to answer, but nothing he could possibly say came to mind. He wasn’t guilty of whatever the Error-copy was getting at, at least currently, he was free from it, but where the hell did he get that information? Why use it against them now? Was their decision and work to change completely ignored?

Error shifted, looking at his friend from the very edge of his vision.

“Ink?”

“I know he’s fucking with me! I want to know why.”

“Am I now?” the glitch snickered, “Ink, can ya really say I’m lyin’ ‘ere? I mean, let’s look at yer history! Tha moment yous get bored wit’ an AU your first tactic is ta ignore it like a child does wit’ a toy they’ve grown tired of, an’ if it still ain’t entertainin’ enough you let it destroy itself. Isn’t that why ya let Error run around? Yous was bored with Underswap an’ so ya let him keep that Swap!Sans around and let him do whatever he wanted?”

“Hey- HEY- NO, YOU THINK I KNEW WHAT HE DID TO BLUE??” Realizing what had happened to his friend had devastated Ink back then, almost to the point he genuinely thought of killing Error like Blue already tried. Where the fuck did this guy get off on assuming he didn’t care!?

“No, but yous expected it.” the glitch frowned, “I mean, yous had every opportunity ta stop ‘im before an’ after. But instead, ya just ran off wit’ tha rest of tha AU, replaced ‘im tha first chance ya got because ya realized far too late that tha poor guy was too far gone. I mean, it’s not like ya leave Error alive because ya like him. Ya don’t even actually feel anythin’. If ya did then… well yous a shit friend. Constantly leavin’ ya friends ta die in horrific ways, be it a Killer bein toyed with by Nightmare, Error ‘imself destroyin their AUs, Horrortales being allowed ta exist, leavin Dream ta get shot by Edelweiss– Oh…” he grinned as he feigned it as a ‘slip of the tongue’, “Oh right… Ol’ Dreamy gettin shot and put on life-support. And yous… yous was nowhere ta be found! Talk about carin’ ‘bout yer friends!”

“I DIDN’T KNOW ANY OF THAT UNTIL CURRENTLY, I–” Ink’s ribcage rattled, an indication of his frustration, which would only continue to spike to higher heights as their opponent kept talking.

Before Error could catch onto what the artist planned next, Ink was already gone, having summoned a gray and black gaster blaster and shot after the other error.

Error raced after him, letting his strings fly to as many lengths as possible, mainly in hope of grabbing his friend and dragging him back, but Ink had a head start and was too far ahead than what the glitch had accounted for.

Ink’s blaster wasn’t used to shoot their new adversary out of the air, but to propel him forward to fight him head-on. He did feel! His emotions were his own! And if he had known sooner what happened to Dream, he would have tracked down whoever had him themself just so they could be at his side! Whatever he needed and it was HIS!

But soon enough, the only thing Ink began to see for certain was the blind red of unrelenting rage.

“I’LL MAKE YOU EAT THOSE WORDS!”

The glitch dodged Ink in an extremely odd way, Ink just…fazed right through him. The glitch patted his body down and grumbled, “So uncivilized…”

Error almost froze when he saw the scene. The glitch destablized himself. He turned himself into a string of code.

The copy-cat used his strings to grab Ink in a near identical way he did the first time when they met. But rather, they wrapped around his joints. "Oh what's tha matta Inky boy? I was jus’ sayin' tha truth! Ya neva thought we even truly felt pain, or despair. It was only until ya really started lookin' around that you toyed wit’ dat idea, and even then... can we really trust that ya learned yer lesson? That ya see us as people? Tell me, Ink, if ya really cared, then what would ya do on instinct if I were ta... order my friend ta kill that twerp Dream? Would ya even try ta care? Or would ya sit back an’ watch tha show jus’ ta see what’ll happen?”

They didn’t even answer, summoning bucketfuls worth of ink from between their joints, materializing bones and blasters to barrage the glitch with. 

Error blasted the other’s strings, freeing Ink for only a second before they were snagged again in his own contraption of electric blue strings, yanking them back to his side as he reached out for the code to this place, only for the singular thing for Error to hit was a barrier.

The glitch swerved his blaster sideways, ducking under a floating, disembodied wall he recognized as corrupted, carefully crafted code as well, but appeared in the form of organized rubble.

“Why didn’t you hit him too, Error? He wants to hurt Dream!” Ink pulled himself up and struggled against his bindings. Error only tightened them, which served to enrage the artist further.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING!?”

“WE DON’T HAVE TIME FOR THIS, DUMBASS!” Error shot back, continuing to dodge and weave between chunks of rubble and ruin. He noticed all of them had a particular pattern, grays and whites, teals and reds, some gold here and there. It was like his prior-known ‘copy’ themed this Anti-Void after himself! 

As much as he hated other errors more than anything else, there was a certain danger that came from being in another glitch’s direct territory. Given two other errors had almost succeeded in wiping him off the census in the past, Error wasn’t about to risk his neck a third time.

“He wanted to get a rise out of you, Ink! He was manipulating you–” Error looked back as he made another turn, only to see the artist gone, and his strings cut through. 

“ARE YOU KIDDING ME!?”

“He didn’t really think dat through, did he?” asked the other glitch.

Error screamed, spinning around to face the other error, the strings hanging from his fingers and eyes whipping forward to snag a grip on him, but all their intended victim had to do to avoid them was lean backwards.

“How rude of me, I didn’t even introduce myself!” the glitch snickered, “The name is Digital Klezmer! Nice ta meetcha. Though it really don’ matta, I mean ya probably gonna die ‘ere too. Speakin’ o’ which, why’s you helpin’ that guy anyways? I thought you wanted ‘im dead.”

A gaster blaster that had the skull of some animal, maybe some sort of badger, appeared right beside Klezmer, aimed right at Error, ready to fire. Error mimicked the threat, doubling the amount of blasters on his end off the bat. His voice began to mutate, the tone fluctuating and basic voice changing dangerously. Error’s blasters fired.

“MIND YOUR OWN BUSINESS!”

Klezmer’s blaster fired off its own blast but it had a secondary action, shielding Klezmer enough to escape, teleporting behind Error and sitting down on one of the pieces of blocky rubble, “Oh Error, don’ tell me dat ya think he’s ya friend! That he cares about ya!”

The fellow glitch cackled, “Oh, dat’s RICH!” He summoned several bones to impale Error, but Error summoned another blaster to take the hit, the bones going right through it before both weapons dispersed. 

Error bit his tongues. He wasn’t giving this freaking psycho more fuel to tend with. He already had more than enough to make Ink snap, and Error had to find that idiot squid before Digital Klezmer did.

He teleported back to where he and Ink were first dragged in, leaving Klezmer in the dust like he fucking deserved, only to find no sign of him there.

“IIIIINNNNNNNNNNNKKKKKKKKKKK!!!!!!” 

Error’s voice echoed off the Anti-Void’s floating walls and ruins, and he took to scouring the area close enough to the ‘floor’, keeping all his senses geared for any and every fucking noise that might give away the artist’s location. Ink was so fucking DEAD once he found them. He was so tempted to POP THAT LITTLE HEAD OFF THEIR MIDGET BODY AND CHUCK IT INTO THE NEAREST HOTLAND LAVAPOOL.

—----------

Klezmer sighed when he saw Error teleported away. He shook his head and teleported to a deeper part of his Anti-Void. He really wasn’t going to get an answer to that question, now was he. He knew where Ink was, but what was the fun of going after the guy directly?

Nah.

Too boring. He wanted to see them squirm.

So he settled himself in his seat at his piano and began playing one of his favorite songs, Altale. Whoever wrote that song was more insane than Katagma. It was an oddly upbeat song. But it was also oddly fitting for this little moment between the two knuckleheads he dragged here, letting their hopes rise with the song. Now all he had to do was keep playing. Sure, he was leaving himself as an ‘open target’. But who said he didn’t know everything that was going on in his own territory? Not him.

And like magic, his bait had an impressive effect, and of course it was the Inner Realm’s husk that took it the quickest.

Ink materialized next to him, and could have smacked him upside the head with what was left of his ginormous paintbrush if he didn’t dematerialize into raw code a second before.

Klezmer summoned a gaster blaster that bit down on Ink’s torso, as he spoke, “Oh buddy, I really thought ya had more brains than my husk. I really did. Thanks for correctin’ me.”

Once again, Ink didn’t answer. One of their own blasters was summoned, chomping down on Klezmer’s own and yanking it back, dislodging Ink from its grip. The artist’s namesake dripped to the floor, showing the enemy’s blaster did in fact cut through parts of his ribcage, staining his colorful clothing, but he didn’t seem to care about the weight of his own survival.

Then finally, the shortstack spoke up, his voice shaking with emotion, dominated by an overwhelming layer of rage.

“How dare you.”

They looked second to an animal, a feral beast. More ink leaked out between their barred teeth, some trails dripping from their sockets as the red of their eyelights glowed brighter.

But one look at their sash made it clear every one of their regular vials had already been drunk dry, and it was several days ago too. So the only source of this extra power could only be one thing, and Digital Klezmer already knew well.

Sketch had tried to kill Error before, when both stooges were in the Doodlesphere, and Sketch’s defeat led to the loss of its backpack. That was the only extra source of power Ink had access to.

Ink dropped Broomie, the tool useless to him and broken beyond use. Not even the bristles were in functional order anymore. Everything the artist was using now came directly from his body, from his will.

“I don’t know what hurt you this badly in the past, dude, but whatever you’re after now isn’t worth it. Seriously.”

“What I’m after isn’t worth it?” Klezmer cackled, rubbing his face under his glasses, he stopped almost as quickly as he had started, “Just die.” Two spears made of his strings appeared right from under Ink, unfurling and lifting him up to slam him down on another platform deep in the Anti-Void.

“I wanna reverse all negative creation.” Klezmer growled, “All of it! No more of dis needless sufferin’ ya view as cheap entertainment! And unfortunately I need dat useless guardian alive ta do it! Yous husks are nothin’ but a nuisance! Ya don’t feel, ya don’t care about nobody but yaselves! Hell, if yous an’ Error were ta make some stupid deal, ya’d grow bored of it instantly and jus’ find some bullshit loophole ta find somethin’ you think would be more entertainin’ ta yous and only you!”

The ribbon spears dragged the still tied up artist into a wall of the blocky rubble.

“And yous think that ya know anythin’?! I’ve watched ya long enough ta know that you’re only playin’ wit’ everyone’s emotions ‘ere! How long till ya get bored of Dream an’ Error? What about dem Swap-folk? How long till dey just bore ya? A week?! You’d probably drag a Dust over dere just for sick kicks! At least what I do is merciful, unlike yous!”

He let go of Ink to see if he’s still breathing. Letting the cloud of smoke from the destruction clear.

“Never…”

The second thing he got was a rough cough, but as the smoke cleared, Ink pulled himself back up, the ink in his body surfacing to repair the damage done to his body. Some of the artist’s clothing had been torn off, revealing tattoos that looked like random scribbles covering his lower arms and ribcage, and other discolored, gray patches of bone. The rage in their eyes didn’t subside.

“I will NEVER get bored of them. Not any one of them.”

He met Digital Klezmer’s eye, a spiteful smile gracing his face instead of the twisted snarl the glitch had plastered on it minutes ago. 

“But of course you won’t believe that, since you already profiled me based on the other guy that tried to kill my FRIEND, right? Who’s the dumbass now?”

Ink coughed again, dispensing a pool of ink at his feet as his body struggled to cope again with the amount of damage this new error wanted so badly to remain in place. This guy wasn’t at all like Error, Ink knew this now.

He was worse, really, and that was from a mostly unbiased opinion.

“I don’t care what you assume of me. I would have been devastated if it succeeded, and I would have been devastated all the same if Dream died too!”

The artist stretched his arms out, the ink creating another Broomie right in his waiting hands.

“So fuck you.”

The glitch stared at Ink, almost as though he was seeing the words Ink spoke right before him in material form. Klezmer couldn’t help but mentally compare Ink to Sketch, chuckling. “I guess you’re right. Ya ain’t nothin’ like Sketch. Unlike Sketch, ya don’t just show off your emotionlessness, or selfishness… well, not anymore… And you are right, I don’t believe you’ve changed. Whether or not you have actually started to understand tha sufferin’ of those around yous or even have a speck of empathy. But you definitely ain’t anythin’ like Sketch.”

He summoned several strings and drew them back from a ring that circled them like a giant slingshot.

“Dis… might sting a bit.”

He let go. The makeshift arrow shot right through Ink, impaling him straight through the sternum and the vertebrae leading behind it, but before Klezmer could do anything more with it, a blast of energy snapped it into pieces at the midpoint, Error’s cobalt blue strings were flung about the immediate area, snatching Ink away.

If Ink’s rage was considered animalistic, Error’s was a different lifeform entirely. The glitch’s eyesockets were clogged with his namesake, binary code spinning in his skull like miniature supercells, collecting more and more power to properly launch the amount of destruction it considered a basic portion. The creature before the two other skeletons snarled, the glitching only amplifying the volume and distorting it beyond recognition.

It was debatable if Error could speak properly in this state, with his body barely keeping itself in one piece, but somehow he managed navigating his way all the way here from the other side of the Anti-Void. 

“yOU SHOuLD KnoW BEtteR ThAN TO BREAK mY ThINgs.”

Ink could barely tell what the fuck dragged itself by its arms out of Error’s mouth, or if it even came out of his mouth in the first place. Before he knew it, his friend began to clog the area with electric blue strings, drowning their perception of the area in wires tying them down. Ink couldn’t get a word in, his body creaking under the weight and the tightness of what was, hopefully, a very temporary prison.

The sounds outside were muted to him, but he could figure they were fighting out there.

“--- .... / .-. . .- .-.. .-.. -.--?” Klezmer didn’t even open his mouth, rather the sound – the morse code just emanated from him. He didn’t seem to be shocked, rather his reaction was one that showed he knew what it was like to be in the very state Error was in.

He didn’t even struggle against the strings, rather he destablized himself and kept moving. Now he was the one on the run. Whether or not he had expected it was unknown.

Error pursued him immediately, blasting through entire walls of code that blocked his way. If he was saying anything, emitting any noise at all, it was unintelligible to him. Meaningless. 

He used to destroy everything he hated to fuel his will to live, including minor glitches distantly related to the monstrosity he truly was. But at the same time, none of it made sense. None of the semantics surrounding his past were important. Only the anomaly attempting escape before his eyes, destabilized code bunched together in a being that only knew suffering and grief, abandonment and anger.

So much like him but at the same time so, so different.

It was PATHETIC.

The entity let out a deafening roar behind Klezmer, causing the code closest to him to glitch out momentarily, then proceed to function as it was a second after.

Of course, not all gods went through life unchallenged. There were rules to the madness they shared and pain they carried. Rules not even they understood clear as crystal. 

Klezmer used one of his strings to create a portal only for himself, a split second to get far from Error and to a higher ground, where he made hundreds of spears of his strings and even fractured bones. All with their own rings of strings like crossbows, all aimed at Error. With a golden smirk, he let them loose, each one doing thrice the amount of damage they did to Ink. All the while he made a crossbow for himself. One he could wield. But this one wouldn’t shoot a spear or bone. Rather the sickle’s chain that was previously tied to his waist and now having a small sharp knife made of his strings to ensure it went right through his target.

“Didn’t think I’d ‘ave ta use dis…” he mumbled to himself. “But color me surprised… bastard got a bigger temper ‘dan Wiess.”

There was a click in the Anti-Void as the hurricane of projectiles chased their target, just a shift in the layout code, like something just went missing. 

Then, it was like the ‘ceiling’ grew a corn maze of red bones, stretching half a horizon across the new, demented plaza, connected to a million more blue strings. The ground shook with another haunting scream, and the source of the challenge pulled down the floodgates right behind Klezmer’s projectiles, snapping some in two every which way, cracking down on the ‘floor’ and disembodied walls, splitting some into smaller chunks than they were initially. Dust and grime filled the atmosphere, blocking a clear shot of wherever the target was.

Laughter without a direct source echoed off of what remained of the walls around them, morphing the acoustics and Klezmer couldn’t help but laugh alongside Error. He took aim with his crossbow as several portals opened up with more shots of the crossbow-spears and bones.

He saw the game Error was playing and he’d happily play along, but this was his domain, not Error’s. Thus, he knew every inch Error ran through. Every spot he paused. Every weak point. And thus, he fired the chain. With a rattling sound, it took off and the strings extended and extended further and farther than it would’ve otherwise, dragging the blade with it right towards Error’s soul.

The sickle wasn’t anything that the two idiots had ever faced. It was an Outer Realms specialty. A weapon that specifically did True Damage. There were specific damage types in the Outer Realms, and True Damage was a specialty that Klezmer had thanks to the weapon, specifically only the weapon really. It could bypass all resistances, all armor and specifically target the soul of the opponent, even going as far as latching onto it if the opponent could survive the attack. Meaning that they’d have the weapon stuck onto their soul and out for Klezmer to attack directly. It almost felt like cheating, but it wasn’t his fault someone was stupid enough to stand still long enough to get hit by it.

—------------

Ink made progress centimeter by centimeter, trying to ignore the sound of destruction, screams, and even more destruction. He thought back to the decay of Underfell, the compounding collapse of reality itself before everything imploded into white. Pure white.

He shivered and pressed on, cutting more divots into his bones in the process so more ink could join with the ‘floor’ underneath him.

Then came Error’s roar, the ring of the sound breaking his nonexistent ears, and then the ‘ground’ rumbled. Ink felt something slip under them, and the cocoon around them loosened, but not by much. They were a sitting duck like this, and whether Error wanted his help or not, Ink was convinced he’d die out there.

He had gotten an odd feeling this other Error was vastly more powerful than initially given credit when he was dragged kicking and screaming into this version of the Anti-Void, He didn’t know whether it had an actual name aside from that, but it’s not like they could afford to care, not when so much was at stake.

He wanted them both dead. He made that message abundantly clear.

Ink felt the hole in his sternum and vertebrae mend, and he could finally dematerialize enough to slip through the dozens of layers of strings that bound him. They knew they were getting weaker, having lost more paint than any other fight they could recall, and the migraine had come pounding in when he was dragged in this place too.

Error was right. They really didn’t have the position to fight in confidence here, but they doubted his impostor was manipulating either of them. The things he screamed several minutes ago were in complete confidence and backed with indescribable pain.

Think, Ink, think!

The ground rumbled again, knocking Ink back down in a pool of his own fluids. Another scream, and in the distance, he spotted one of the biggest walls in the area come crashing down, glitching back into the air in far more pieces than it started out as.

Summoning a gaster blaster, Ink jumped on its head and sped his way towards the ensuing fight, ripping off a lock of Error’s abandoned string as they zoomed by.

—-------------

Pain was the one thing Error knew best, but this was too much in one sitting. The glitch ripped out one of the stupid arrows that managed to snag him and snapped it in half, not bothering to watch the material crumble as he went to tend to another spot right next to it.

No matter how much his STATs fluctuated, flying up and down the border of 0 HP and MAXED HP to cope with the sheer amount of stress he just put his body through, Error felt it wouldn’t heal as quickly as he wanted it to, and it was just his luck that his sight cleared just enough before Klezmer pelted him with another barrage of projectiles, overloading his body.

He didn’t want to die like this, but begging was so far out of bounds of the question at hand that it was practically nonexistent, even as Klezmer shot another attack right at him, one the blur of his vision could not keep up with, not even if it were slowed down to fit his needs. 

It was gold. Thin and gold and probably heavy, but boy did it look ugly either way.

It was already too late when Error finally registered the real weight of what was to come, if it were even possible for him. The glitch jolted backwards, a wildfire of agony igniting his body in response to its inability to move and its broken down state.

Then a dark blue blur of his own strings shot its way across his vision, wrapping around the attack. Ink entered the edge of Error’s sight, tugging the chain in his direction, ending up in pieces.

It happened far too quickly for anyone to truly realize what exactly the situation was. The crunching of bone or the splatter of thick globules of ink splashing on the destroyed ground. The most that the two glitches got was the horror on Error’s face and sheer shock on Klezmer’s own, but the thud of the body was heard and the moment the black and gray gaster blaster turned to a pool of ink in an attempt to save its master.

In that moment the two glitches realized exactly what had happened.

Ink had jumped in front of the attack to protect Error, sacrificing himself to the blade of the sickle.

“INK!”

Error jumped and tried to catch Ink but barely made it in time, catching Ink’s husk in mere centimeters before it hit the ground – if one could call it that, considering it still somewhat did. Ink’s husk was flayed, sliced clean in half, only leaving behind the rib cage and up. The last bits of ink from the blaster served itself to heal its master as much as it could but it wouldn’t reawaken him.

“Nononononononono—” Error’s glitching getting worse and far more unstable the more he spoke.

All the while Klezmer couldn’t comprehend the sight before him.

Ink had jumped in front of a fatal shot just to save someone that wasn’t himself.

He didn’t even dare speak. But all he could do was mentally argue with himself to try to comprehend the situation and what to do about it. He took a long deep breath and tore open a portal, bringing his chain back to himself.

“I’m gonna regret dis later, I jus’ know it.” he thought to himself. Out of the portal he got a vial of mixed oil paints.

Carefully he walked over to the fellow glitch, placed the vial and used a string to teleport Error, the vial, and the husk out of the Anti-Void without issues. He stood alone for a moment before sitting down at his piano and played a song he had received from Katagma who got it from some random game… something called Laura Plays the Piano. Whatever game it was, he was told it was depressing.

As if…

As he played though, he couldn’t get the image of Ink jumping in front of the sickle out of his mind. No, emotionless husk would do that. Sketch wouldn’t do it even if someone paid him.

No. That Ink did feel. And he felt a lot. He stopped playing and sighed, “Yeah… fuck me. I am tha dumbass ‘ere, I suppose.”

—------------

His soul raced a million miles a second, a trillion miles a zeptosecond, and no matter what Error said or how much he screamed, the body in his hands didn’t respond or move. Not an inch. Not a millimeter. Nothing.

And even then, as far as Error was concerned, nothing outside of him and what used to be Ink mattered. 

The multiverse could burn.

It was like Error’s vision was set ablaze itself, both with glitches and tears he never thought he’d cry again, those blue-transparent pearls landing on Ink’s face, brushing away bits of their namesake, their blood. 

Error felt the ground below them change to something softer, and air clearer, holding the weight of life, but what use was it if his friend wasn’t here? The one person who bothered to spend time and energy on him since they met, regardless of how destructive his behavior was by itself, was doomed, and the glitch knew exactly why.

Ink was low on paints, their literal fucking lifeforce, but he would have rather died instead of him, even if he didn’t truly understand how hard he’d be hit, or how many pieces their little body would end up in. 

The destroyer’s vision began to black out, and Error heard the crunching of grass up ahead of them. 

Danger. Danger. DANGER. He came to finish the job.

“G-GET AWAY FROM US— I’M WARNING YOU!!!”

The figure in the distance was colossal, bearing the slight reflection of light glasses would get from the sun at just the right angle, and it was just tall enough to be the threat at hand. It hesitated, then continued with another step forward, its voice ringing in and out of Error’s fried senses.

“Hell–..-? A|3 y0– 0;ay…—-?”

Its shape muddled further, the darkness closing in. Error knew he summoned something, some degree of magic in an attempt to scare them off, but he didn’t get to witness the result.

[plasma-studios]

more on mercy thoughts Cross' character is tied inextricably to the idea of freedom. will not spoil XGaster's role in the story, but yknow, it's XGaster. obviously there's some history there that may or may not be related to the themes of control and freedom.

Cross’ freedom lies at the hands of XGaster, Dream and Nightmare, and each of these relationships is a different take on freedom that all together demonstrates the Cross’ experience with freedom.

Nightmare’s relationship with Cross goes along the lines of:

“What is freedom when survival opposes it?”

even from the very first chapter, Cross' answer to that question is "survival over freedom"; he consistently priorities Nightmare's orders over his own wants, for the sake of his survival. even if it means sacrificing his own sense of autonomy. he is even resigned to this fact. and it makes sense; he had to adapt to survive, and this is what was left with him.

interestingly enough this differs with Dream; when Dream allows him freedoms with strings attached, he is so often irritated and frustrated, at least internally with some level of suppression. this goes to the question that their relationship explores in the current arc:

"What is gaining freedom if it is conditional?

again, he does not greet the granted leeway with gratitude or anything remotely positive. which obviously makes sense, he's not stupid, but if we look at it at a closer level: the increased freedom holds little value, because survival is prioritised above it. think about it. if survival is linked to Nightmare's orders, Dream's granted freedoms in order to persuade him to betray Nightmare represent the conditional freedom being contradictory to survival.

and then we get to the question shared between both relationships:

“Is loyalty a form of freedom or a form of bondage?”

with nightmare, his 'loyalty' is rooted in survival. his survival is bound to his will. however, interestingly enough, this strict hierarchy allows him to focus on survival without being swamped with turmoil: he is perfectly clear on his and Nightmare's relationship. he knows very well that his loyalty is transactional. he can and has detached himself emotionally from the idea of loyalty being a moral obligation, and rather a necessity. we see this impact the way he acted as his time as a council spy: he was emotionally distanced from everyone, even CORE, because loyalty was no longer by emotional allegiance, but a tool for survival.

with dream, freedom does not mean his loyalty, because conditional freedom is contradictory to his survival. he cannot embrace this sort of freedom as there is always the risk compromising his survival. so he must reject it. survival must take precedence over any loyalty that risks his existence. true freedom cannot coexist with the threat of loss.

[little-buzz]

Quick question to some UTMV fanfic readers--

I was working on a fic where an adult Frisk starts working at Ccino's cafe, living in the Omega Timeline. It's gonna give off found family vibes and working through mental health issues. I wanted to put some spotlight on Frisk in particular because I feel like there aren't enough fics about them as a young adult.

I was just wondering if anyone would be interested in this idea

I haven't written an UTMV fic in a while, but I feel like people aren't gonna be interested in it unless it's Sans-centric. Ccino plays a part in this too, but I want this to be about Frisk.

[maddiemare]

Chapters: 6/10 Fandom: Undertale (Video Game) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sans/Sans (Undertale), AfterDeath - Relationship Characters: Sans (Aftertale), Sans (Reapertale), Sans (Undertale), Papyrus (Undertale), Alphys (Undertale), Undyne (Undertale), Frisk (Undertale), Asgore Dreemurr, Toriel (Undertale) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Aftertale (Undertale), Alternate Universe of an Alternate Universe, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Idiots in Love, its been how many years yet afterdeath still has me in its cold dead grip, Slice of Life, More tags will be added as the story updates, Aftertale Geno Sans/Reapertale Sans (Undertale), Slow Burn Series: Part 1 of three years after... Summary:

With monsters freed from the Underground and Geno rescued from his imprisonment in the Save screen, it should have been everyone’s happy ending. However, Geno's been having some noticeable trouble adjusting to life on the Surface. It’s almost like he’s waiting for something… or someone.

Thankfully, an “old friend” seems to have reintroduced themselves back into Geno’s life - and for the better!

Now, if only he would properly introduce this mysterious companion. Everyone is just dying to meet them!

[saints-helen]

Hehe, first suggestive piece >:333

Basically, crepic foreplay with some sad bits, I'm excited to post this!~

(if anyone thinks cross could dominate you are WRONG. he is a princess in bed and should be treated as such 😌)

cross's breaths were soft, warm, where they fanned against the side of epic's head, his fingertips trailing across his lover's ecto as he laid back in bed, all comfortable and presumably very, Very warm.

he pressed soft kisses against his neck, not biting, not yet, just pressing against the skin, breathing him in, and delighting when cross turned his head to the side, still panting, to give him better access.

"e-epic" he breathed out, and he couldn't help the soft chuckle that escaped him, grinning, as he lifted his head to look at cross, both of their bodies sweaty with all the heat in the room.

and oh.. what a sight he was.

flushed, barely trembling, his eyes lidded and desperate, mouth slightly open so Invitingly that epic Had to force his eyes away, lest he lose himself in the sight.

"yeah?" he answered, and cross took a deep shaky breath, almost whining as he threw his arm over his eyes to hide his face, head turned away from epic.

"don't- look at me like that" he prefaced, then, peeking out, he said "don't tease"

he hummed, "but i like teasing", tugging away cross's arm away from his face resulted in such a pretty little whine escaping him, his brow bones knitting in a near Pout as he tried to glare at him.

"don't Tease" he said again, and epic nuzzled his nose against his cheek, intertwining their fingers together as he kissed the bone beneath his mouth, enjoying the way he felt cross's pulse quicken at the gesture.

"not teasing, then" he replied, his smile ever present; he couldn't help it, not really, not when cross looked This pretty and tempting.

"buttering you up," he said "getting you ready"

"don't wanna" cross huffed out.

"ya gotta" he teased back, earning him yet another whine.

he'd come to find this evening that cross was a very, Very whiny person, and he'd never been as delighted at a discovery like this since he learned how Easy it was to make the man blush.

"stoopppp" he whined, turning his head from side to side in disapproval, panting with eyes squeezed shut.

"i hate you"

"you wouldn't be letting me do this if ya did~" he teases back, only to be met with silence.

ah, right, a bit too soon then, his bad for forgetting.

before it can spiral into anything more, he soothes it away with another purr, nuzzling his nose against his lover's jaw and counting it as a win when he huffs in annoyance.

"bothersome.." he mutters, and epic simply responds "i love you too~"

he's never been one not to listen, however, so he actually begins getting him ready, then.

his fingers gliding down cross's chest to his stomach, enjoying the way his breath Sputters at the sudden change in pace.

he won't go too quickly though, oh no, he's going to savour every single Second of this, commit it to memory, commit Him to memory too, as his hands smooth over the quivering 'skin".

"epic.." he pants out again, more desperation than complaint this time, a soft "a- hah!" escaping him when epic nips at the soft flesh of his neck, quickly pressing a soft kiss against it before moving a bit and doing it again.

he's always gentle with cross, would be even if cross didn't ask him a million times beforehand to be. he'd never been the rough sort of lover, and he knew it was a good thing, as he didn't think cross could handle anything But soft, at least not yet.

he knew the man's life had not been gentle, knew praise was never offered when it should've and that, when someone gripped him, it was never really just to Feel him, never for the sake of it, always was for something else.

he intended to be the exact opposite, refusing to be added to the list of shitty ex lovers who'd never treated him like he'd deserved, who'd taken advantage of his desperate need to please to get what they wanted.

oh.. no, epic would Never be like that, not with a gun pressed to his head.

he'd make sure cross was well taken care of, he'd praise him all throughout , and he knew what cross's inevitable answer would be,

"i didn't even do anything"

it seemed to be his catchphrase, almost, the thing he always said as he blushed, looking off side to side in confusion when epic would randomly tell him how pretty he was, how he loved him,

"but i didn't even do anything"

a denial, almost, a reminder, a plea that he did Not deserve this, even when epic consistently insisted that he did.

always downplaying the work he did around here, how he looked, how lovely he spoke and how funny he joked. it seemed to epic his lover wore the exact Opposite of rose tinted glasses, seeming to see himself as the devil incarnate if he didn't earn Every Little Thing.

he knew cross would feel guilty after this, he knew because he knew him, knew he hated to take an inch without giving a Mile in return, and still feeling like it wasn't enough.

how much effort did this take, then? how much work and careful wording "I enjoy this, I like spoiling my partners" the amount of wordplay needed, convincing, for cross to let him lay him back in bed, looking all pretty, and let epic do all the work?

it Was true, however, he Did like spoiling his partners, even more so if they didn't think they deserved it,

even more so if they've never experienced it before.

epic didn't Like cross's previous partners, didn't like the mark they'd left on his sweet, hilarious, kind lover.

didn't like the way they made every insecurity the man already had ten times worse, so much so that, even now, his claws digging into epic's back, finally unclenching from their place in the bed, hesitant, (and oh how he'd Beg the stars that cross left his mark there), fingers flexing and curling, he still had his clothing on, refusing, even in these most intimite moments, epic the right to look at all of him.

it took long just to get him to unbutton his Shirt all the way, and epic wasn't willing to push anymore than that lest the sweet man get nervous, so he currently admired what of him he Could see, eyes drinking it up with Hunger he'd never dare to hide.

he wantsd cross to know Exactly what he thought of him.

another thing he rememberered, then, when the hand not at his back flew to cross's mouth, eyes squeezed shut at a particularly teasing bite in a place he knew was sensitive, he saw his tempting, far too tempting sharp fangs dig into his palm hard enough to Bleed.

epic, always attentive no matter how hazy his eyes got with lust, put a stop to that quickly, tugging the hand away by the wrist and, using a kiss to the wrist to sneak a look at the wound, assessesing the damage.

not too bad, thankfully, just barely broke 'skin', and his eyes were eventually drawn back to his lover as he tried to yank his hand away, eyes dazed as the tried to focus on him, the newest victim to those teeth the lip caught between them

"please..." he half whined weakly, and epic met his eyes for a moment before pressing the nicked palm to his cheek, then kissing the cut.

"you're pretty when you beg," he murmured, "but i don't like to see you bleeding. don't do this, please" he says, the last word added to make absolutely sure that what he said did Not sound like an order.

it scared him, he'd admit, when cross looked at him like what he'd said was an order.

he hated it with a passion.

"sorry..." he mutters, face turned to the side, and epic will take it,

at least he didn't add "sir" to the end of it this time, by reflex. it never failed to make him nauseous whenever he did.

right, so where was he? ah, yes, he was trailing circles with his thumb against the dip in his hip, a spot he found he Especially liked to tease.

it was very pretty. cross was very pretty. he never understood how anyone couldn't see that, because even if he found himself with his eyes closed, his hands would still shake as he imagined the curves of that body as he smoothed them over it.

cross never liked being too loud, and epic knew it would translate to this, too, because whenever his voice got a pitch higher than he wanted his mouth would always clamp shut.

it wasn't difficult to figure out what cross needed, what he wanted, not at all, and he wasn't quite sure what all the Fuss was about.

cross had told him, hours before they began this because yes, it took him hours to soothe the anxiety enough for them to start, that sex had never really been all that.. tempting, for him before. (understandable, considering his orientation.) that he'd never craved it with anyone as much as he did so with epic.

(and oh.. how Delightful that was to hear, his soul soaring as he grinned.. but before he could inevitably tease him about it cross had thrown a pillow in his face, so he figured he'd keep his mouth shut for now)

that, with those he'd been with before, it always seemed like a dreadful ticking time clock of patience that would eventually run out, when the "I'm not ready yet" would start to be met with frustration instead of care, when the "I'm sorry. are you mad at me?" would stop being met with a response altogether.

again, he didn't know what all the Fuss was about, so what if cross wasn't willing to have sex on the first date? or second? or the thirtieth?

so what if he needed some extra time to feel up to it? to feel comfortable enough being in such an incredibly vulnerable position that required an amount of trust from the man that, frankly, most people took for granted?

epic was happy to have cross in any way cross let him, whether it be his friend, his lover, his queer platonic partner, you name it. as long as he got to stay at his side, making him happy, he was content.

he didn't Need the sex, he'd enjoy it sure, but it was far from a deal-breaker for him, he'd wait for as long as cross needed him to, hell, he'd wait Forever if that's what cross needed him to do.

because he deserved it, he absolutely Deserved it, and he'd said so, too, only for cross to deny him his conviction under the argument that "some people Do need it, epic."

it was absolute bull, the rushing the man was always subject to, but he was too busy listening to cross tell him about always eventually Caving, initiating the act under the guilt of "depriving them" just so they'd smile at him again, stop looking at him with a look that screamed "When?", the lingering looks shot to him, when they thought he couldn't see, when they both were watching a movie that happened to have an intimate scene, where cross, ever so perceptive, fascinating cross, Knew Exactly what they were thinking. He was too busy - he was never the sort to get so angry - controlling his breathing to argue his point.

"pretty thing.." he purred, cross's breath hitching as he bit him again, a calculated move, as he knew cross was about to deny it again.

"doing so good for me.. singing so sweetly.. " a whine "pretty bird~"

he extended his claws, dragging them across cross's abdomen and down his pants, feeling him squirm and writhe beneath him, and stars, he'd never been more turned on in his Life.

cross's arms both wrapped around his neck, holding on tightly as he buried his face in his shoulder, and epic could feel the tenseness in his legs as he tried not to kick them, toes curling.

he didn't enter him, yet, didn't even tease it, still trailing slow sensual circles into his inner thighs, getting a soft moan as a reward for his efforts.

he wanted cross to enjoy this, he wanted him to enjoy it as much as he possibly could, and despite his earlier protests at epic teasing him, he figured cross wouldn't want to go too fast either.

he didn't want to make him feel used, god forbid let him think epic was getting Impatient with him, so for now, and for a while yet, he'll continue to get him wet without actually doing much of anything.

he liked it better that way, anyway.

[savi-our]

Chapters: 7/? Fandom: Undertale (Video Game) Rating: Mature Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Sans (Undertale)/Reader, Papyrus (Undertale)/Reader, W. D. Gaster/Reader Words:  37,383

AU’s - Undertale, Underfell, Underswap, Swapfell, Fellswap, Horrortale and perhaps more ;)

Relationships - Various x Reader, Reverse Harem Trope

☕Perhaps not one of my best, but at this point its hard to tell...☕

Summary:

An unfortunate accident one dark winter night sweeps you off your feet and leads you into a chance encounter with a house full of skeletons! They’re charming, witty and punny all around, but for reasons only known to you - you escape their friendliness intending to never step foot near the woods, or the skeletons, again… or that was the plan at least. What you couldn't have expected was that they're rather stubborn, and for some reason very intent on befriending you? No matter how much you avoid them or how many excuses you provide - they just keep popping up?! Why you?! Why now? And why are there so many?!

Will you be able to ward off your new skeleton suitors and keep your age old secrets, or will you succumb to their wily charms and submit yourself to their affections despite your unnatural circumstances? Will you be able to come to terms with befriending them or will you abandon it all, leaving them and all they are in the dark…

A tale as old as time, in which the reader goes through all 5 stages of grief trying to avoid the skeletons, with very little success and a ridiculous amount of shenanigans.

[tereox]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Undertale (Video Game) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Sans & Sans (Undertale) Characters: Sans (Undertale), Sans Ensemble (Undertale) Additional Tags: Horrortale Sans (Undertale), Dusttale Sans (Undertale), Killer Sans (Undertale), Bad Sanses | Nightmare's Gang (Undertale), Pranks and Practical Jokes Series: Part 16 of Halloween 2024

Summary:

Dust decides to mess with Killer. Horror would like to have no part in it, please and thank you.

[ancha-aus]

I did it

I actually did it.

What did I do you may ask?

I finished it.

I just completed the main story for Ancients & Champions!!

The story I am talking about.

Rambling under the read more line

Okay! So. Obviously this is not the final final wordcount. Seeing as I will still need to edit the chapters and reread stuff but this is about the final wordcount.

And let me tell you. The last time i did an update like this I had just hit chapter 91 with writing and felt like I was close to the ending and said that if I had to write another 10 chapters I would go insane.

Oh silly me. Oh how I was wrong.

Because here we are. Not only did I write those last ten chapters but i OVERSHOT it.

It feels strange at this point to actually be done with writing the main story and main storyline. Again it isn't yet finished finished but the story has ended and it is... strange.

I should be relieved honestly. I have been writing this in my off time since we were still in a pandemic, 2021, and I am close to counting three years with writing it.

It was a journey and a half and honestly I think I am a better writer now than when I started. Hell when i reread some of the stuff i wrote near the start i still get the feeling i want to change some wording or characterization because along the process i really settled on hwo i wanted everyone to act and be. (really considering rewriting the sidestory about Error's backstory but i will contain myself for now)

The thing is. I never actually finished a fanficiton before. (and then she writes a 430K thing yes i can see the irony) it is just. I lost interest in the stories i wrote before so it is strange to actually finish this absolute monster of a fanfiction (aaayyyy i will show myself out)

I am not done with this universe I ended up creating just yet. The fact I started this whole thing because i wanted NightmareXSansXError things is still real funny to me. It just got out of hand so quickly and because i started with just writing for only myself it just kept growing.

But I loved the journey and everyone who on AO3 followed along and the few people here who are nice enough to follow me and my story.

It was a fun ride and as i said. I am not quite done with this universe just yet. But I would be lying if it isn't great that i now have more space to write other ideas i had. and i had quite a few ideas. We will see what the future brings.

See you people around and if i see you at the story, remember, updates every sunday until we are done.

See you sunday.

[mikimakiboo]

Your meat isn't dead, it's still moving

Hi :D I'm here for another fanfic for @ancha-aus :D

But this time it's for the Ghost & Medium AU !

This fic takes place after Dust met Killer and Cross, and it is now time to meet Horror !

Tw: mention of death, forced starvation, sect, Killer flirting

- Stopping for a little snack ?

Dust's passenger asked as he stopped his van in front of the butcher's shop. He didn't even look at him, knowing he would see Cross grinning at him, well, not Cross, his body yes, but Cross wasn't in his body anymore, Killer has possessed him when he was supposed to be exorcized, and now he followed Dust anywhere he went. Cross was there too though, his spirit sitting on the back of the van, clearly displeased by the whole situation. Ash, Dust's ghost brother, was next to him, squinting disapprovingly at Killer like he always did when he flirted with Dust.

- I'm here for work.

- Oooh can I-

- You can't come.

Dust cut him before he could ask. He heard Killer whine but he couldn't care less, he couldn't take him with him, judging by what the butcher said the ghost haunting the shop wasn't a normal one, he couldn't risk bringing another inside without first making sure that it was safe, aside from his brother but he had a necklace to protect him, and even if it was a normal ghost he really didn't want Killer to bother him.

- You're not alone, you have Cross, talk to him.

He reassured the ghost.

- I don't want to talk to that body thief.

Cross said, still bitter about the whole possession thing. Dust could understand, he would be mad too if someone possessed him to go flirt with a random guy.

- You both stay here.

He commanded as he grabbed all the material he needed to communicate with the ghost, closed the van and went to the shop, Ash following him.

From what the butcher said over the phone this ghost had been haunting his shop for about two months now, they would throw the packages off the counter, slam the walk-in fridges' doors, detach the pigs' and cows' pieces from the hooks and generally just throw food around. Nothing weird so far, just a regular poltergeist, but what seemed off to Dust was that the shop had been there for years and it was the first time something like that happened, and no one had died in or near the shop these past few month, so that meant the spirit came to haunt this particular place, just like Killer did with the last house he was in, and seeing how it turned out, Dust wanted to be extra careful with this one.

The butcher was in front of the door, waiting to greet Dust.

- Ah ! You're here, perfect ! I hope you can do something about this.. haunting thing, I'm starting to lose customers and I can't afford to lose my business.

Dust saluted him with a nod.

- I will do everything I can.

- I don't doubt it. The keys are on the door, you do your things, I have a delivery to make so you can just leave them in the mailbox once you're done.

Dust nodded again, watching the butcher get in his own truck before sighing.

- Alright, let's see who's inside..

- IF IT FLIRTS LIKE THE OTHER ONE I AM LEAVING THIS PLACE.

Ash commented.

- I hope not, Killer's annoying enough I don't need a second one.

He pushed the door open, closing it behind him. The shop was dark, the curtains were down, indicating it was closed for the day. There was still enough light to navigate though and Dust went directly behind the counter in the staff area, as it was where there was the most activity.

- Hello ? I came here to talk, if you're okay with that.

He choose a table to put his radio and ouija board, looking around, there were pieces of meat everywhere, some scattered on the floor, it looked like an animal came to make a mess before leaving. He didn't see anyone. Maybe this spirit wasn't that strong ?

- IT DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO CLEAN APPARENTLY.

- Ash, please, don't be rude.

Ash huffed but didn't add anything, letting his brother do his job.

- Are you in here ? I heard you liked throwing pieces of meat on the ground, if I put one on the table, could you make it move so I know you're here ?

He asked, but the radio stayed silent and the ouija didn't move.

- I'm going to put his steak on the table, okay ?

He bent down, reaching for a steak that was already on the ground. Just as he grabbed it he thought he saw a glimpse of red but it was gone when he looked up. He slowly stood up, put the steak on the table, and waited for it to move.

He didn't wait long, just as he backed up the steak flew across the room and hit the wall before falling on the ground once again. Dust saw a vague silhouette in front of him, a tall and large one, but he couldn't see much more for now. Dust smiled.

- Hello. My name is Dust, glad to know you're here. If it's okay with you, would you mind telling me your name ?

The silhouette shifted, and Dust saw a bright red eyelight staring directly at him, before disappearing. In the distance, he heard a door shut, probably a fridge as he heard the noise of hooks being moved.

- YOU SCARED IT.

Dust frowned, but ignored his brother. He grabbed his radio and board and went to the fridge, knocking on the door to announce his presence.

- I'm gonna come in, okay ? I just want to talk, I'm not here to hurt you or take your food.

He said, assuming that the spirit's obsession over the meat meant they felt like it was theirs. He pushed the door open, shivering at the change of temperature, and closed it again. He could see the silhouette, this time a little more clearly, sitting in one of the corners of the fridge, all curled up. Dust stopped in the middle of the room to leave space for the ghost, sitting down, he put his material in front of him.

- Hey, sorry if I scared you, I didn't mean to.

The ghost didn't move, but they were staring at him. They looked like a male skeleton monster, with one glowing red eyelight and what seemed to be a hole in their skull, which was most likely the cause of their death as no-one could survive such an injury. But why were they haunting a butcher's shop then ? They were dressed with a big coat, some thicc sweatpants and winter boots.

- Would you mind telling me your name and pronouns so I can know how to address you ? You can use either the radio or the board.

The ghost stayed silent for a little while before muttering something, not using either instrument.

- Horror... I'm a man...

He had a deep raspy voice. Dust tilted his head, he didn't expect this spirit to be powerful enough to speak without help.

- Hello Horror, I'm going to ask you some questions, okay ?

He told him. Horror didn't respond, but he didn't flee either, so Dust took it as a sign he was okay with that.

- What are you doing in such a place ? Did something happen here ?

- There's... food...

Horror answered slowly, searching for the right words. Dust let him speak at his own speed, judging by his injury he probably had trouble speaking, no need to rush him.

- Are you here for the food ?

He asked. Horror nodded.

- I'm hungry...

Dust frowned. Hungry ? Spirits couldn't get hungry, they didn't have any body to feed, Dust should know, he had a ghost brother and Killer almost panicked when he heard his, well, Cross's, stomach gurgle.

- Do you feel hungry ? Or do you remember feeling hungry ?

He asked. Maybe this spirit had been hungry before he died and this feeling made him haunt the shop ?

Horror looked down, thinking about what the medium said. Was he hungry ? He couldn't feel his stomach, it didn't hurt anymore either. Was it because he wasn't hungry ? Or because he became so used to hunger that he couldn't feel it anymore ? He had been hungry all of his life, he knew what it felt like, he had felt it so strongly when he was there, in this dark room, but he didn't feel it now... he didn't feel anything... his head didn't hurt... was he... was he dead... ? Was that what death felt like... ? Was it why he couldn't eat... ?

- Heyyyyy Dusty ! Ya missed me ? Of course ya missed me ! Oh ! Who's that with you ?

An excited voice yelled, followed by another, less excited, voice.

- I tried to stop him ! I swear I did but he wouldn't listen !

Dust let out a loud sigh, not even needing to turn around to see that Killer was behind him with Cross.

- I told you to stay in the car.

- Yeah I know but then I thought you might be in danger, so I came to the rescue !

Killer argued, feeling very proud of himself.

- I am not in danger, Killer.

- Yeah yeah anyway, who's the newbie ?

It was no surprise that Killer could see Horror, as he was a spirit too, and Cross had gained this ability too since he wasn't in his body anymore and had entered the spirit realm.

- He.. doesn't look okay...

Cross noticed, seeing how Horror was still looking at the ground, his arms around his knees, not paying attention to Killer who was now very close to him, crounching down.

- I DO WONDER WHY.

Ash sarcastically said, squinting at Killer.

- You invaded his space without his consent.

- Well first of all it's Killer's fault, and second of all he really doesn't look good, and not just because we're here...

- What do you mean he doesn't look good ? He looks fine as hell. ~

Killer said with that particular tone of voice that always made Ash gag.

- Now's not the time for that, Killer.

Dust sighed again, sometimes he really regretted accepting going to Killer's house, he couldn't even do his job properly now !

- You're new here, huh ?

Killer asked, ignoring Dust. Horror looked up at him, only now realizing that two more persons were here.

- What killed ya ?

- Killer.

Dust got up, ready to grab Killer by the hood to drag him outside if he continued to mess with his work. The only thing stopping him from doing so was when he heard Horror answer.

- ... Hunger... I... died of hunger... I think...

He seemed so unsure that Dust's anger almost vanished. This ghost didn't know he was dead, it was obvious now, he wasn't here to scare people, he was here because he died hungry and wanted to eat, not realizing he didn't need to anymore.

- Ah yes, hunger, I know how it feels.

Killer confessed with a serious tone that almost caught Dust off guard.

- But it's okay, you won't get hungry anymore now, you're free ! You can do anything you want and go anywhere you want !

Horror blinked, still slowly processing the new information.

- I don't know... anywhere else to go...

- Aww come on, don't you got a dream destination ? Somewhere you really want to visit ?

Dust searched through his pockets to find his notebook, wanting to take notes on the conversation as Killer was surprisingly getting better results than he did.

Horror shook his head.

- Couldn't go out... needed to stay.. inside the walls... our leader said... outside was unworthy of.. of our presence...

- THAT SOUNDS LIKE A SECT.

Ash commented, and even if Dust would have preferred him to be less direct, he was right, that sounded like a sect. Was Horror in a sect before ? Did he die of hunger because they starved him on purpose ? Or did he go outside those "walls" and couldn't provide for himself ? Was it how he got hurt ?

- I know it must be hard for you, but would you mind telling us more about your.. your leader and the walls ?

Dust asked, trying not to jump to conclusions by calling it a sect, even though it clearly was.

- The walls.. protected us... Undyne was chosen by the gods... she decided who was worthy... and who was not...

- Worthy of what ?

Killer asked before Dust could.

- Food...

Dust frowned, that explained his choice in the place to haunt.

- Did she say you were unworthy ?

Dust asked softly, talking about death could be traumatizing and his goal wasn't to scare Horror, it was to understand his life, and death, better in order to help him rest, but he needed to ask questions for that.

Horror nodded after thinking for a minute.

- She didn't like... that I questioned her way... she said it was a shame... I had been worthy all my life...

- What made that change ?

Horror shriveled down a little bit more on himself.

- My brother... wasn't worthy...

No one responded to that as they could all imagine what happened. Horror continued.

- We had a room... for the unworthy... couldn't have food when... when inside... couldn't go out...

Dust looked up from his notes. They starved them. They starved Horror's brother and then they starved Horror, and he died of hunger.

- That must have been horrible, I'm sorry it happened to you...

Horror looked up at him.

- But Killer is right.

It pained him to say that, and it pained him even more to see Killer's smug expression.

- You are free now, you don't have to stay here.

- Can... go with you... ? Don't want... to be alone...

- Wh-

- Oh my God of course you can ! The more the merrier come on ! We'll have such a good time together !

Killer responded with excitement before Dust could even say anything.

Horror looked at Killer for a second before smiling hesitantly, quite relieved, and finally getting up as Killer already stood up. He was... tall. Like, very tall. But that didn't stop Killer from smiling brightly.

And then Dust felt it. He felt a link forming, a thread connected to his soul, the thread that formed between a spirit and the place, or person in this case, they haunted. The third thread, not counting Cross as he was still connected to his own body.

His third ghost.

He came here to exorcize the place, and instead gained another ghost.

Well... at least the butcher would be happy.

...

Where was Dust going to find enough place for everyone ? Why did it have to happen to him ?

He already felt a headache coming. God, he really regretted meeting Killer.

[secret-time-is-here]

I wanted to get something out for Our Covers Lie (aka The lonely and the one) by the end of the year, but I have zero time (I leave home tomorrow to go be gay with a long distance friend for new years yippe) so enjoy what little I could get done.

Context: first, this is a draft (the actual thing will be much better) and second this is to help practice Error and Cross's dynamic for OCL. So not canon in anyway, and all important points in this will be made again in the actual series. Also for those who are new, OCL au is heavy focus on religion and Error is a god and Cross is an assassin trained to kill him, because all good romances are enemies to lovers obviously (sarcasm).

Concept: Soulmate AU: First sentence your soulmate says to you is written on your wrist.

The kingdom rests, only steps drifting through the halls, yet none of the night guard hears Error. Carefully, he traverses the trims of the castle, tails swaying as his talons catch on the painted brick.

For years, he was alone, the little company he kept was happenstance at best. Despite Nightmare’s gentle reminders and open arms, it wasn’t his place, wasn’t right, wasn’t tradition. How pathetic of a God he is to home under another.

He went about his duties. AUs were killed when needed, Reapertale stayed watched, Nightmare and his rag tag bunch were in check, Ink kept away. Then the cycle broke, Ink returned and things were falling to ruin.

Nightmare had began looking for him, had it already been a months since he last visited? Reapertale stayed the same, but his mind itched to make sure. AUs were holding on by threads he had no control over and slipping into the hands of Ink.

Get Ink in check again. Fix the Aus. Check on Reapertale. Apologize to Nightmare.

The bright casual is wonderfully dim in the night. Few lights interrupt the sleeping town, but only one is out of place. Light glows from one of the towers of the palace.

[silverstormsxx]

Need need NEED a classic sans x au sanses fic where legit everyone in the entire MULTIVERSE is crazy for classic and yandere for him

[ask-codeearasure]

The Outer Realms -- Chapter 8

<-[Previous Chapter]

[Next Chapter] ->

Want to refill Ink's paint supply? Go to our askbox!

—-----

Chapter Eight:

How Have They Not Killed Each Other Yet?

—----

“The more often he feels without acting, the less he will be able ever to act, and, in the long run, the less he will be able to feel.” - C. S. Lewis (The Screwtape Letters)

—-

Ink had refused to move a single inch from his spot. He was wracking that empty skull of his for ideas as to how to deal with the creators instead of focusing on this strange version of Error that he had mentioned… how long ago? Error had been watching him the whole time.

“You can’t do nothing.” Error said.

“Yes, I can.” Ink said.

“No, I mean you won’t let yourself do nothing.” Error said, “Ink, I know you. I’ve known you for a long time. You won’t let yourself sit idly by while someone goes around destroying AUs, especially whenever you claim your precious CREATORS didn't plan for that.”

“But the creators… How do I–”

“SCREW THE CREATORS!” Error hissed, “They can wait. Maybe they should be waiting FOREVER! This- fucking COPYCAT is someone you can stop right NOW!”

Error paused, seething, and a long silence continued between them. He took a long deep breath and calmed himself down before glaring at the artist. 

“Ink, you and I may not agree on what to do with these abominations, but I… for whatever reason, give a damn about you, and I fucking hate seeing you like this more than I hate the creators. More than I despise the idea of a freakish copy of myself running free. You’re going to stop him even if it means I have to GET ON YOUR ASS ABOUT IT!”

Ink stared blankly up at him. Although he appreciated the gesture that Error cared, it wasn't like he could express that the way he wanted to right now.

The artist gave an exasperated sigh, the best effort he could to show how worn thin he became over the last several weeks.

As much as he wanted to help the creators like he always did, hear out their concerns and dissect them to get the best result for their projects— they weren't here. Or at best, they weren't responding. He had been waiting around enough. 

Ink grabbed his scarf and pressed it over his face with his hands, then screamed into the fabric. He then dragged himself upright, stumbling at first, then grabbed Error’s arm without warning to stabilize himself.

Error, decidedly, did not like that. The glitch made a scream of his own, high-pitched enough to rattle the ruins around them and yanked his arm back.

“The FUCK was that for, you half-pint ASSHOLE!?”

The artist gasped, putting an offended hand on his chest to over-dramatize how intense his reaction actually was.

“I was gonna go with what you proposed, dude! What do you want from me??”

“Some fucking elbow room, maybe!? Or did you already forget about my severe haphephobia? I should hang you by your feet over Mt. Ebott myself and make you watch the destruction of ANOTHER UNIVERSE.”

Ink flinched, “OKAY! OKAY! CHILLAX, ERROR, I'M SORRY! Geez louise!”

The destroyer crossed his arms and flipped an end of his scarf over his shoulder, growling indignantly to himself.

“Yeah, sure, you fuckin’ better be.”

Without missing a beat, Ink folded their own arms behind them, kicking a foot back and forth. But as he continued to think silently, something must have ticked the excitement button in his mind, and Ink vomited his namesake all over the ground, which Error quickly jumped away from.

“So uh… where do you think we start? Have you seen this other you anywhere lately? Think they like the same things you do? Liiiiiike stealing chocolate from Underfell!Sans? Stalking people in Outertale? Watching Undernovella? Making dolls? OOOHH, DO YOU ALSO PLAY PIANO AND NEVER TOLD ME? THEY COULD—”

“WILL YOU SHUT UP??? YOU ARE GIVING ME A HEADACHE!!!!” Error looked about ready to chuck them across the length of two football fields, glitches crackling above his eyes and face, some hovering over the discolored skeleton’s clawed phalanges.

This is the last time he proposed the idea of them working together, in so many words. Even with Ink taking half the amount of paints they should, he remained as agitating as he always did.

But according to him, that was still better than talking to a lifeless, empty husk.

Imagining his… ally like that ran a chill down Error’s spine. The taller skeleton worked quickly to compose himself, ignoring the slightly hurt expression on Ink’s face.

“Look. If they're anything like me, their main goal is the destruction of the surviving universes.”

“If your idea is to jump from AU to AU repeatedly, I don't think that's the most efficient plan.” Ink fiddled with the loose threads in his scarf, pulling out a few. “The minute we leave one, he could start messing with it knowing his work will be half-done by the time we’re back… probably.”

The artist stretched, popping away the stiffness in their spine. “No offense, Error, but that guy did a lot more damage than you ever did! He snuck into the Doodlesphere and everything! Brought a piano in, too!”

A growl rumbling in his figurative throat, Error was about to send a retort back, but that last part caught him off guard.

Yeahno, he didn't forget Ink had mentioned that piano part not two minutes ago, but his impostor dragging the entire damn instrument into the Doodlesphere with him was just ASKING for attention. What kind of overconfident bozo did that, unless they WANTED to get their teeth slammed in!?

By some miracle, Error withheld his building outrage, snarling to a nonchalant Ink from between his teeth.

“Okay then, wise guy, what's your idea? We're kinda short on time here, so I'd LOVE to hear it!”

Ink beamed at him, an absolutely elated yet mischievous grin stretching across his face.

“Simple! We go back to the Doodlesphere and watch the remaining universes from there! If one of them starts, I don't know, burning or something, then that's where your other self might be!”

That—

Alright.

That wasn't a bad idea.

But Error didn't want to give them any credit just yet. For that, Ink's plan had to work.

Ink didn't wait for a response, painting a portal to the Doodlesphere on the ground and jumping right through. Error for some reason felt a pit in his soul. Like something was missing. Deciding to ignore it, he walked over to the portal and fell in backwards.

It was upon landing in the Doodlesphere he saw what could only be described as absolute ruin in comparison to what he was used to. Ink didn’t seem surprised, but he could read that the artist wasn’t exactly happy. It was so empty in comparison to what happened when he last visited. He almost wanted to call it desolate, but it wasn't precisely that either. There were other AUs around, spared from the other guy's onslaught, they were just more spread out. Error tried to think about what Ink mentioned, some weirdo dragging out an entire piano into the middle of the fucking Doodlesphere… 

That was far from what Error himself was like. He couldn't imagine himself doing that. It was far from the behavior of any other error in general, even Blueberror had more tact than that.

He bit back his frustration back and asked himself “Why the hell would a guy bring a fucking piano in here?”

Ink shrugged, “Would you do it?”

Error tried his best to bite back his frustration, Ink’s voice was starting to become grating but it was both better than being alone and being stuck in deafening silence. “Not unless I wanted to both waste my time and be caught.”

“Why would he want to be caught, though?” Ink asked as he walked around, checking on the AUs, finding no smoke or fire, or any other suspicious activity.

Don’t beat the shit out of him. Don’t beat the shit out of him. DON’T FUCKING BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF HIM–

Error bit the tip of his tongue and did his best to not drop kick the runt of a fucking idiodic skeletion. “I don’t know, what the fuck were you doing at the time?”

“Oh that’s easy–” Ink froze and looked at his scarf, running through it like some medieval knave going through a scroll to find the part they left off to read, “Ah! Here it is, we were looking for you, because one of the AUs was falling apart while we were still in it, I thought you did it but you didn’t, obviously. So I…” he frowned and started mumbling, “I forced a Chara to come along with us as bait and… we found a bunch of strings tied around AUs but they wouldn’t break.... And that version of you was playing the piano, and… well…”

Error stared at Ink, unsure what the hell they were getting at. The taller skeleton's face twisted with multiple emotions, the most obvious ones being a fucked up sense of amusement and a flicker of his continuously building rage.

For a second, Ink didn't think Error would respond. But of course he would. He always did eventually, if not to get the last word once again.

The artist heard their friend clear his throat, theoretically picking his words carefully.

“Was anyone else there?”

“Yeah, uhm–” Ink bit his tongue again, raking his mind for the faces he knew were there.

“An Underfell!Sans, Carrot, and… Dream? Yeah! Dream was there too!”

Error chuckled, keeping whatever he found funny to himself, failing, then bursting out into a series of giggles he tried to stop before he ultimately gave up, holding his midsection as he continued laughing while a confused and frightened Ink witnessed yet another display of Error's insanity.

Finally, Error managed to pull himself together, wiping his eyesockets free of tears and keeping a strained smile plastered to his face.

The destroyer lowered himself to eye-level with Ink, the smile disappearing in an instant when Ink forced himself to make eye-contact. Error tilted his head.

“Ink, it continues to appall me, hearing and seeing all the bullshit you pull, even in front of your friends! How do they not hate you yet?”

Ink took a step back and looked down at his scarf, where he left off reading, the words ‘ripped out Chara's heart out and took their soul’ written clearly on it. The figurative gears turning in Ink’s mind finally clicked together.

“They probably do now…” Ink said grimly. “That…” they shook their head, “Chara died because of me… That version of you killed them right in front of them, we couldn’t do anything…”

Error grinned, “You’re a damn fool, you know that?”

Ink nodded. He wanted to justify himself, he wanted to argue, but he knew it wasn’t in his best interest to do so, given his intent didn’t exactly equate the very results he was given. They never do. Intent doesn’t always justify the results. He dropped his scarf and couldn’t look at Error at the moment. They could feel the amount of judgment from the look on Error’s face. The artist mumbled, “I not only ruined their story, but I can’t undo it… I can only stop this now.” it was mostly to himself.

Ink was almost too lost in thought to hear Error say “What the fuck is with the blaster?”

They looked up and saw a gaster blaster staring down at them. But it wasn’t a normal gaster blaster either. It looked so strange. So different, yet eerily familiar. It was a skull of some sort of animal, like a candid, and if that wasn’t enough, it was oozing a black substance from its mouth, complimenting the dark gray bone that formed its shape.

Before another word was spoken Ink tackled Error away from the blaster just in time for it to spew out a blast of ink at them, it hit the artist, but not the glitch.

“Illogical.” said an eerily familiar voice.

Error glanced around to finally see the speaker, they looked like Ink when he was nothing more than a husk, but they were very different. They were dressed far more… tamer than Ink, having on a blue hooded poncho and furred boots. They even had a backpack, and a far thinner paintbrush.

This was an Ink Copycat.

“Why would he save the likes of you?” the copycat asked.

Error glared at him and summoned several bones in an attempt to impale the husk, but to his horror the husk took the fucking damage without a single reaction. The husk flipped his brush, transforming it into a goddamn spear, launching it towards the glitch. Error was able to use his strings to catch it just in time. It was less than a centimeter from his sternum.

Ink summoned a gaster blaster of his own and hit the doppelganger while Error shattered the spear. “You okay?” Ink asked worriedly.

Error nodded as he watched the husk heal itself and transform the ink it bled into the brush, “I find it odd that you’re helping your natural enemy. Also, you’re actively taking part in that defect. Why is that?”

“What are you talking about?” Ink asked cautiously. He felt like he was staring into an inevitable reality, one where he ended up like the stranger before him, just worse.

“Emotions.” the husk stated as if it was obvious, he drew a line on the ground, the ink flowed upwards making several swords, “They’re a defect, things for creations to make their stories more interesting. They’re useless for the likes of us.” he holstered the brush onto his back before picking up a sword. “And helping your natural enemy is evident of that. Why help the one person trying to erase you? If anything is unnatural, it is that.”

“He’s my friend!” Ink hissed, swiping Broomie off his back and mimicking the intruder’s movements, but instead flooding the floor with as many sharp projectiles he could possibly think of. Swords, daggers, chipped bones, spears, harpoons, whatever could jab his opponent with just as much business and hurt overriding his mind. Error jumped out of the way, summoning his own arrangement of blasters to target the new anomaly, standing on top of one of them so he didn’t impale himself on the warzone Ink created.

The husk seemed to have found it all unexpected, summoning a whole other gasterblaster to hop on top of it, letting it tank the damage instead while using it and the other to blast the duo. He then used the sword to finish destroying the first blaster letting it explode into the ink he used to make it, creating and sending a variety of knives Error’s way.

Error swerved his blaster to the side and then some, then jumped off to another one right below, letting the previous blaster explode into a million pieces when it was hit. This only served as an opening for Error to summon more to cover his next move, which was snatching Ink off the floor by the hem of his scarf and chucking him straight into the pool of ink they and the stranger created. Ink, sharing an understanding of the assignment, let himself be absorbed into the monstrosity of half-solid blades. The destroyer then turned his attention to the anomaly, who in turn tilted its head to face him. Is this what Ink feared becoming? A fucking weirdo? For once, Error couldn’t fault him. The creature he was looking at was only little more than a emotionless, lifeless husk that lacked all sense of awareness or memory. But he wasn’t here to sympathize. Over his dusted body. The tall skeleton ducked through a barrage of oncoming attacks, dodging a near-shapeless blaster as he yanked two handfuls of electric blue strings from his eyesockets, unleashing them on every moving item as soon as he was in the clear, catching stray blasters, ink swords, and the husk in a strangling grip. Slowly, Error only tightened that grip, his strings tearing the husk’s attacks apart as easily as malicious fingers through wet paper. He was about to do the same for that pitiful creature, but again, it didn’t respond to the pain he was attempting to inflict.

The husk stared at the duo before grasping its brush and flung it upwards, letting as much paint it would allow before destroying it with the ink sword, transforming them into a railgun. It was aimed directly at Error. The masses of weapons it created before reliquified and began to rush towards Error in the shape of grasping hands.

“I’ll make this quick.” the husk said.

Suddenly, Ink burst out of the pool of ink, dyes, and paints, wrapping his body around the equally vertically challenged stranger. With his eyelights dark shades of orange and red, the artist put it into a headlock and yanked it by the head backwards recklessly. The weapons continued in Error’s general direction however, and in a last ditch effort to not get absolutely sauced by the stampede of messy pointed things, he opened a portal to Outertale, slipped in, then exited out another one at the back of the crowd, summoning a dozen blasters to shoot them out of the air, and hopefully, burn them out of existence.

The husk summoned a dozen gaster blasters and fired them off at itself and Ink with the pressure high enough to cut through the railgun forcing them both to be separated. When the blasters were done, the husk forced itself up using the ink that pooled around them to heal itself. But its spine that held its head forced its head to barely be hanging by a thread. It reached up and pulled its head back into place, the ink that came from the cracks in the spinal cord disappeared, melting back into bone.

“I suppose I must dispose of you as well.” the husk whispered, seemingly disappointed in this outcome.

Ink was trying his best to draw his bones back together as quickly as possible but from their peripherals, they saw a familiarly grinning figure toying with one of the AUs. He turned and saw it was that strange Error doppelganger, but he looked back at his own copy who was summoning several cannons, when he glanced back towards where the glitch copy was at, he was gone but the AU was on fire.

A decision had to be made, and quickly. Ink grabbed Broomie, twirling the oversized brush in his hands, and summoned a wall to block off his copy from hell itself. Before he could hesitate, the artist charged towards the AU, grabbing it at the last second as Error’s vengeful screams echoed through the Doodlesphere. But Ink couldn’t look back, not when he was so close to finding the answers he and Error wanted to know. Ink dematerialized into his namesake, and jumped into the burning page. When he materialized again, he saw the same results from that Underfell AU weeks prior, but now every resident realized the weight of the situation they had no escape from. If Ink had a heart, it had already dropped to join his soul. In the distance, he could spot Core!Frisk rounding up as many survivors as they could to take to the Omega Timeline, and Ink mentally cheered on their effort as he turned away to find Error’s impostor.

—-------

“You've been abandoned.” said the husk, staring at Error, the cannons rotating to aim towards him. “Creations matter more than your existence as they always have.”

Error was going to have a fucking aneurism if this thing kept talking. “And I bet you like the sound of your own voice way too much.” He would take care of Ink later, perhaps shove his face in the closest store of acid the second he came back. Fucking teach him not to run without warning, the little shrimp. And you know what? He was going to use this senseless pipsqueak as PRACTICE for that moment. The destroyer cracked his knuckles and grabbed another fistful of strings, summoning more blasters to counteract the cannon obsession his opponent favored this second. “When I get my hands on your code, you are going to wish death welcomed creatures like you.”

The husk fired the cannons before disappearing into the sea of ink that has yet to disappear. It didn't care about the threat. It didn't have the capacity to. Why should it? Appearing behind Error, almost predictably so, it swung its brush to fling a pool of sticky pink paint in an attempt to glue the glitch down. It had obviously grown bored with the fight and wanted to take advantage of Ink's absence. ‘Oh SHIT-’ was the last legible thought on Error’s mind before the husk reappeared behind him, and in a last ditch effort to either save himself or get the both of them fucked over, Error twisted around where he stood, grabbed the anomaly by the face, getting splattered with the sticky pink paint in the process, and summoned a gaster blaster to snap its jaws around them both, squishing the husk’s ribcage and pelvis between its gnashing teeth, and taking the brunt of the blast from the cannons in the back before it eventually broke apart and allowed the thing and Error to get pelted as well.

The husk and its paint seemed to have finally run out of steam. The ink and paint fading away into dust. The husk forced itself up, despite only having one arm left and barely 25% of its ribcage. To escape, the creature used its wrist to gather a final pool of ink and disappeared into it. The pool faded away just as quickly, leaving behind a stained, tattered backpack.

The fight was finally over.

Spitting out the blood that pooled in his mouth, Error watched the abomination escape in the most satisfying, decrepit state that blessed his eyelights. He sat up, out of breath, but still alive and fucking thriving. At once, Error screamed in celebration, yanking himself to his feet in an attempt to do an insult of a victory dance as well, but then his own lower body complained, and loudly. Error collapsed back to the floor with a pathetic groan, wishing he brought his pink feather boa with him. That item always crossed over his confidence in yellow highlighter with a cherry on top. Whenever Ink comes back, he’s fucking DEAD.

—----

Searching through a self-destructing AU wasn't exactly what Ink was expecting, nor did he even know what to expect. It was legitimately tearing itself apart. He'd open doors only to find nothing but pitch black. There were masses of crystals that would turn into drawn human eyes that had the texture of newspaper. It was… insanity.

He ran to where Snowdin should've been only to find the snow was now turning into lava only to shift into grass, then confetti, then crumbled paper, then actual code then–

Stars, he felt a migraine coming on. He made a note to himself to never ever drive anyone to have one of those ever again.

But there was no sign of the Error copy. None. Where was he? He couldn't stay here for long because if he did, he'd be torn apart by the AU’s destruction. But holy shit, out of all the mind-breaking creations he helped create, none of them compared to this level of reality-bending destruction.

Reading the script of what this AU was supposed to be gave him even worse results. Every AU had a set path of stories depending on the choices of The Player, or really any other characters the creators wanted to have the most autonomy and power of the narrative. Instead of there being a script in the first place, Ink’s eyes were assaulted by randomized code in many fonts, half of them unreadable, and others using alphabets and numbers he didn’t know existed. The artist shoved the physical copy of this corrupted script in one of the pockets of his scarf for later reference.

Before the closest pool of liquid could dissolve into something nonsensical, Ink dove in, traveling back towards the Doodlesphere as fast as he could.

Error’s glitches had managed to regenerate most of his injuries by the time Ink resurfaced, the artist dropping Broomie in favor of checking on his friend.

“Error! Are you okay?” Aside from the remnants of the scuffle around the area and the AU Ink had just escaped, nothing else around them seemed to be damaged. Except for Error’s already shaky sense of pride. The destroyer in question sent Ink a dangerous sneer. He had to reboot at some point before they returned, and on top of his predictable anger, he was still just a little out of it.

Error mumbled angrily under his breath in response to Ink’s question, then swung some backpack into his face as if that was another insult to his being. “YOU LEFT ME!” Ink caught the backpack before it had a chance at hitting him as intended, then set it off to the side. “I’m sorry, Error! I don’t think I had the time to say anything-” “YES, YOU DID, ASSHOLE!!!” “I DON’T THINK I DID, DUDE! I SAW THE OTHER YOU BACK THERE!” “YOU SAW MY WHAT!?” Error quickly gave up on Plan ‘Bash Ink’s Face Into The Ground’, yanking out more strings and aggressively stood up to look around the Doodleshpere from where he was. “WHERE IS HE!??!??!”The longer he waited around in this place, the more he became tempted to finish his importor’s job, which was supposed to be HIS FUCKING JOB IN THE FIRST PLACE, DAMN IT.

Ink let out an exasperated sigh, keeping a pointed gaze at Error. As much as he wanted to trust his friend 100% to not destroy everything here, Error’s behavior could go from 0 to 100 without the flip of a dime, he didn’t need to be provoked for his destructive tendencies to be asserted wherever he went. But this risk was necessary, in the artist’s mind. “Error, I lost him. Whatever he did, one more universe has been destroyed, and the only thing I have to show for it is this! Whatever it is!” They held out the script, which remained glitching between several textures, codes, languages, and numbers. Ink felt his migraine intensify at the sight of it, and his stress level only seemed to grow, even with the miniscule amount of paint still in his system. Error sneered down at the script as if it personally offended him, swiped it out of Ink’s hands to look at it himself, and took his glasses out of his pocket to get a clearer look at whatever kind of monstrosity he was supposed to decipher. Maybe. Ink hoped his trust in Error wasn’t displaced in this regard. While Error did his equivalent of working, which was staring daggers at a corrupted arrangement of magic papers that came with every AU, Ink took a second to lay down, gracelessly swinging  an arm over his eyes to block out the light. What a day they’ve had so far. First another ‘Error’ lookin guy, now an impostor of his own that was too close in resemblance to his worst nightmare for any comfort. Usually, he would have been thrilled to meet them as he did every new creation, but this other him wanted to hurt Error, then him, and Ink didn’t know what else he could lose before he lost his own mind. Who knows? Maybe it’s already gone! “I can hear your stupid thoughts from here, Ink. Drink your fucking paints.” Error said from a distance. Ink groaned in complaint. “Error, I don’t have any more! I’m gonna rot here!” “You idiot,” Error grumbled. There was a shift, then a couple steps made themselves audible, and the backpack was nearly kicked into Ink’s face. “Open it. Dumbass.” They sat up instantly, ignoring the pounding in their skull to give Error a warning look, only for the glitch to shrug and look back at the script he was given. Ink huffed, grabbed the backpack, and almost tore the top open, only for a gleaming substance to catch his eye from the inside. Oh. Ink didn’t know what he expected to see in there, but a collection of potion bottles and two books was not on his list of findings for today. They sent a questioning look to Error’s back, then back to the potions, stored in adorably decorated jars maybe twice as big as his own vials. Then it hit him. “Hey, Error?” “What now? I’m busy.” “Did you take this from the other me?” “Yep,” Error replied, popping the ‘p’. “Huh… thank you!” “Yeah, yeah, shut up.”

He didn’t know what to think now, and a part of him was kinda done with doing that as of right now. Ink lifted a pale, yellowish potion from the backpack, admiring the texture of the liquid inside. If this was paint, they didn’t think it was the same type they were used to drinking at the start of every day- wait a minute. Hesitatingly, Ink untied the string around the top and the body of the jar, then slowly twisted the lid off and sniffed at the concoction inside. Oh! It’s oil paint! No wonder it looked so strange to him at first! Ink twisted the lid back on, and with both hands, aggressively shaked the jar to mix the oil and dyes back together. By the time he was done seconds later, the paint was a brighter, more solid shade of yellow, almost the exact same hue his paints were, when he was still getting a stable and consistent supply of them. Before he could taste it, Error cleared his throat, and Ink turned to look in his direction as the glitch put his glasses away and crumbled the script into a ball. Ink choked on his own breath and moved to stand. “Hey, no! We need that!” “Not anymore,” Error tossed the ball away. “It’s a self-destruction code.” “Wh- huh?? Scripts don’t usually have ideas like that in them, Error.” “You sure about that?” “Yes? I help creators make their own stories, dude, this means I have access to the planned script and everything that’s supposed to happen in every universe. So believe me, whatever you read was not there before the other you happened.” Error’s figurative brow furrowed. “I think it’s genius, Ink, hacking into an anomaly’s code and putting a self-destruction command in it… I should have thought of that myself…” Ink gave his friend a blank look, one of his eyesockets twitching. Error smiled antagonizingly in response, then continued to fuckin’- Ink couldn’t guess accurately, but if he had to, maybe Error was thinking about the ensuing destruction in detail, but with his name written in Sharpie all over it instead of his impostor’s. Ugh, neither of them even caught their name…

They applied their attention back on the paints, their only saving grace. Ink took a small gulp of the yellow mixture, and near instantly, his compounding migraine ceased by the smallest fraction. Aside from it tasting like expired crackers, the potions still did their job, and would continue to do so. Hopefully. Ink didn’t want to question what else could be in these things, if there was anything aside from the properties he was used to.

He made quick work of the remaining jars, only taking little sips of each one to ensure they lasted him longer, then gently placed them back in the backpack and pulled out one of the books. “Do you know of a counter-command, Error? Or maybe you can remove it entirely?” Ink flipped through the pages, spotting sketches that started out with some life, then gradually seemed to wilt. They continued on, but came across a pattern of the same thing being drawn over and over again from page to page, then all activity stopped once he got to the middle of the book. He wasn’t going to judge, everyone develops art at their own pace, but considering this belonged to a copy of him, they couldn’t help but get a little… concerned. Error came back into his range of vision with a Sans Classic doll, tossing it from one hand to the other then back again. He must have portalled back to the Anti-Void to pick it up, maybe for his own comfort and brainstorming. Ink themself was not fond of Error’s home dimension. It was way too blank for his liking, but Error was a creature of habit. Changes easily stressed him out, so having some sort of familiarity within reach was for his own best health and processing.

Even though they were both in Ink’s territory, Ink wished he had something like Error did with his dolls. The Doodlesphere has been left so shredded that any semblance of comfort Ink got from the papers that resembled the AUs was now… What was the word for it? Sabotaged. His job was to protect the wills of so many creators, their wants and plans for the future for their creations, and he failed. Error snapped his fingers right in front of the artist’s face, jolting him out of his thoughts and back to him, where really, all their attention SHOULD be, thank you very much.

“Did you get all that?” “Uh…” “Nope. You did not.” “Sorry, Error, I got a little distracted.”

“OBVIOUSLY. Here Sans was telling me everything I needed to know and you were not listening! What kind of multiverse-saver are you?”

Ink made no comment, nor had the energy to rebuke the minor insult. Instead, he sunk into himself under Error’s judgmental stare. Error wasn’t impressed, but took that as a signal to continue without the rudeness of being ignored this time. “Anyways! Sans says I can, in fact, either counteract or erase the self-destruct command, but I need direct access to each anomaly’s code for it to work…. Yay, me.” Whatever joy in Error’s voice went down the drain at that last part, but Ink picked up that tiny spark of hope, feeling the urge to vomit again at even the tiniest idea of being able to reverse whatever curse the Error clone put on the multiverse.

“NO-” Error pointed an accusatory finger into Ink’s face, like he was scolding a rabid cat. “Don’t get excited. DON’T YOU DARE GET EXCITED-” They got excited. 

“GOD DAMN YOU.”

[plasma-studios]

but all will be well (ao3: x)

inspired by @dycefic's fae short story (story) go show it some love it's one of my favourite pieces of fae media

In a world where the divine has grown weary of grandeur, an immortal finds meaning in life through a deal with the Fae for a child. His wish is granted, but not without a cost.

OR: Ink is an immortal that makes a deal with Fae!Error for a child, that turns out to be a child Fae i.e. Dream. Child Fae!Nightmare is also involved, much to his peril. Though, surely, things will all be alright in the end. Surely nothing bad will occur within a conflict that involves a past God, a Fae, and two child Faes. Surely not?

TL;DR: Immortal Ink/Fae Error x changeling Dream and Nightmare AU

Word count: 3.4k

There was once an immortal. An immortal who had once been known as a god but had long let go of such a title. He had tired of it, and with time chose to step away from the elaborate altars and ornate temples. Quite literally in his case: his steps had been soundless against the temple’s front steps.

How his acolytes had cried out in his absence; how the flowers rotted quickly in the gardens; how quickly the stories of him turned desperate. Devotees cried out with hands raised and ready offerings but he was already gone from their grasp.

These were all memories of a past life now.

So Ink slipped through the cracks of memory. Stories turned from desperate to angry, from angry to pitiful, then to nothing at all. He stopped listening to stories. His temples faded into ruin, into dust, and still he never returned.

He found his own way in the world. It was its own type of indulgence, really. For decades he did nothing but wander. But with time, there were no more beauties left for him, for he had seen them all: he tired of them once again.

There was a void in him that nothing could fill. Not worship, not life; it was the nature of his existence. Immortality was a lonely existence. If not for the nature of his Godhood, he would’ve departed from this world a long, long time ago.

But he was born a God, and the world could not continue on without the presence of its Gods. So, he had to make do.

He began to learn. Learned to mimic others. Learned to mimic warmth and frostiness, grief and sweetness. He found himself in the town squares and open fields, finding himself among the mortals again. For a while the pretense satiated him. 

But there were times when his mask slipped. Times when he faltered, unsure of how to react. 

They sensed it, he knew. They felt it; he wasn’t like them. He was good at pretending, but he was not perfect. It was unfair, wasn’t it? To fake warmth and attract folk to him like bees to honey when he wasn’t warm or sweet at all.

It was unfair. It really was, wasn’t it? He felt guilty at the thought. And if nothing else, Ink acted on feeling and nothing else.

So with time, he distanced himself from the others and dropped the pretense of warmth.

But as time passed, he only grew lonelier.

But the world was still there for him, with all its ugliness and beauty. So it was the world he was drawn to; he became a painter, an artist: mimicking the world through creation (an old friend) and for a while was content. Or as content as an immortal could be.

The others would stay to chat, but they would not stay. They would compliment his art, but they would leave thereafter. They were not cruel, they were not sweet, but they were kind enough and the brief moments of interaction were their own sweetness.

Perhaps that is why he soon grew comfortable enough to dream. Gods dreamt, but of their devotee’s prayers and wishes. Immortals didn’t dream. Most of them didn’t, anyway. There was just his voice in his dreams. Just him and hopes, of wonder. He was still lonely. The idea of companionship began trickling into his head like water into a cup.

But, for a time, he did nothing about it. It would still be unfair to search for a companion, the nature of his being being what it was. At minimum it would hurt him to leave them behind in death’s arms; he had heard stories of forlorn lovers, broken hearts and people driven to insanity faced with the death of a beloved. The heartbreak might even be mutual; then, he mused, what joy would there be in such a relationship? What would be the point?

For a while he considered kin instead of love. But separation would be no less painful than with a lover, perhaps worse: would the nature of his being affect a child of his? He did not want that. So for a time he was alone, and found what bliss there was in it. 

Then there were the Fae. They had always been there, really; just as Ink had been, and with the very nature of their existence being so different they hardly ever made contact. It was mutual, really; the breadth between them, a silent agreement to stay out of the other’s path.

But that agreement was no more than silence when the thought came to him one autumn-stained night. And the thought would not leave him, nor did he let it. So one night, with the wind of fallen leaves in the air, he made his way to the village well and tossed a copper coin into it. Quickly the wind fell into a silence, the ripples of the toss into the water smoothing over, and he wished for a child.

Then a whisper of sharpness, like a simper, like a laugh. 

“You know there will be a price to pay.” Ink did not look back. “I also know I may set conditions.”

“I suppose.” And the voice had dulled ever so slightly, as if disappointed. Not all-together  pleased. But Ink had not come here for them. 

“The child will be unharmed. You may set me a debt. You may set me a test. But in any case,” He continued, though he knew he would find a way to pay any debt and pass any test. “The child will not suffer. No death, no hurt; no misfortune, no pain. No curse, no hex. Let my debt be mine and mine alone.”

“Ahh.” And there was a note of amusement, of curiosity, of intrigue in his pleased voice. “That is a fair condition. Very well. By sunrise, you will have your child.”

A child that would be nothing like him. A child, whole and loved. A child, safe for him to love. Ink smiled. The wind started rustling again. When he turned to leave, the Fae was already gone. But the apple weighed in his hand and he found his way home in no time at all. 

True to the Fae’s word, which was always true, there was a beautiful babe waiting for him. A boy with charming, glowing eyes and pearly white bones. 

Ink cradled the babe in his arms the same way the mothers he’d watched had, but was careful to adjust the child so he would not kill them in less than a day. He felt almost nothing as he tipped the small bottle of milk into the child’s mouth; the soft, milky aroma that came of it elicited no stronger reaction than a twitch. 

The child smelled so strongly of honey. 

He wiped the drool from the child’s mouth, watched as he gazed back at him with round eyes; then, suddenly, they gleamed with a brilliant gold, and a gurgle left them. 

It was like the sound of a river, the sound of life.

The sheen of gold was gone as soon as it had been there, but then there were the small hands reaching for the half-empty bottle. It was a small bottle. 

Later, he would understand the gold gaze to be a sign of the child being happy. And, perhaps if the child was happy, he was content enough. Someday, there would be a price for this. The Fae would surely claim something grand and terrible. The Fae were not humble creatures.

Neither was he. It would be worth it. He had done miracles before, turned water to wine and blood to roses. If grandness was what was demanded of him, he would simply acquiesce like all the other times he’d done in the past. 

The tiny fingers reached up, grasping at the air before gently curling around the fingers around the milk bottle; he held on as if Ink was his entire world. Ink could feel all the internal gravitas that the memories of a past life had brought forth unravel in an instant.

He could feel himself turning soft. The sensation was not entirely unwelcome. Was this, oh, how it felt like to be mortal?

Ink gave the boy a fitting name, but was not so foolish as to speak it aloud should the Fae have been listening. But it was a beautiful name, and it suited the child very much.

He waited for the Fae to come and collect, but nothing ever came of it. All was well as the babe matured from a very, very small child to a very small child. The child was healthy and knew the joys of living so well that he never cried. They spent springs in meadows and summers in lakes, and though Ink waited for the time where he would need to pay the price, he was left waiting for months and months on end with no Fae contact at all.

Then, when autumn came, the child suddenly became ill. Once so eager to leave the walls of their dwelling Ink had begrudgingly constructed after realising it was not wise to leave a child out in the open, the child now tugged on his hand not to hasten their leave, but to stay. For a while, Ink assumed it had been the cold weather that had brought the abrupt rejection and merely made notes to mark the warmer days for their time outside, but even on the warmest autumn afternoons the child’s resolve remained.

Ink realised the child’s sickness a week in. As the days passed, his bone only grew increasingly, bitingly cold. The nights were the worst of it, and though the warmth of magic he had not used in a very long time unfurled through the house enough that it felt no different than summer sun, the child still shuddered and held onto him, looking upon him with small eyes that seemed to plead for him to make him well. He wailed for nights on end, so pale even in the candlelight of the beeswax candles he kept alight, and Ink began to grow tired. 

Though, the fatigue was minuscule compared to the grief. 

Try as he could, and did, nothing lifted the sickness from the child’s bones. All his Godly miracles did nothing, and neither did the herbs and remedies from the village. Vaguely, he recognised the cruel irony: love heralded grief, he had known that much. Yet, foreknowledge had changed nothing in the end. 

The child stopped crying midway into winter. He was so cold now, as cold as winter ice, but he no longer shuddered and pleaded for him to make him warm and well. The cool neutral nothingness in the child was worse than the days of constant consciousness trying to get him to rest, even for a minute. Neither did the child smile or laugh, and with startling clarity that filled into him as coldly as the child’s bone, he knew very well that this was the price to pay.

But had he not set the condition? Why was the child being made to suffer? Had the Fae wronged him? Now, he did not remember the heat of fury until it filled into him. He would utterly des—

No, he had set the condition, and the Fae could not break the conditions of a deal as they so pleased. There had to be something else at play.

But, suddenly, he cared less about the deal he made now almost years ago, and touched the child’s cheek, warmth pooling in his palm. The child stirred ever so slightly, but it did not seem to melt away the state he had fallen into. The child’s eyes did not show gold for the entire season of frosty winds and snowfall.

“Stay with me,” He murmured. Pleaded. “Stay with me,” He repeated, but the child did not seem to hear. 

By spring, the child had begun to return to his former self. The new season brought with it tentative hope, though the shadows of winter's ordeal still lingered. Ink watched as the child’s colour slowly returned, the once pallid cheeks now flushing with the faintest hints of life. The small eyes that had been so dim and pleading began to regain their spark, the light of curiosity and joy flickering back to life.

Yes, perhaps that was enough. No matter of the Fae’s curse or demand, if the child could recover, that would be enough. 

The next autumn, the child again grew weary and ill, and it was then Ink was certain of the Fae’s role in it. The confirmation had been unwelcome, but undeniable: it had come with the cool, steady clarity of a realisation utterly unquestionable.

But it had been nothing compared to the sight of the baby’s small bed empty. 

He considered many possibilities. Would it matter if he turned wrathful? Who in this world could stop him? Even the Fae would not be able to defend against him forever. It would not be the first time utter destruction had become of him; yes, the memories of previous times brought shame and regret now, but he could find no shame or regret in what he wanted to do in this moment.

Who were the Fae, to demand him come looking for them? Who were they, to abduct his child?

In the end, he merely returned to the well where his wish had been made so long ago. If there was even a chance of retrieving his child, well, how could he not go?

In the small bed of moss behind the well, he found two identical children asleep. Their eyes were closed, but their bones were pearly white even in the light of soon dusk, and the triumphant voice echoed with anticipatory delight. “One is the one you took home with you, the delightful gold-eyed child with the sweetness of honey. The other is a changeling, the one that made your autumns weary and winters fretful. The child you take in your arms and leave with will be yours forever, and the one you leave behind, you will never see again.”

Ink breathed, struck by a so very mortal emotion— terror.

“Choose. That is your test.” The Fae’s voice was so assured in themself, and how could they not have been? It was a cruel test. The cost, he now knew, was the child he would have to leave behind. The Fae must have been sure that he would choose the honeysweet boy; but, as he gazed upon the child that was always sickly in the colder seasons, he could not choose. 

Carefully, he touched the cheek of the honeysweet boy, then the cheek of the changeling child. One was of unbridled warmth, and the other so cold it burned. Surely the honeysweet boy had been tailored to perfection, made beautiful and flawless that he’d want to keep him. And the changeling child, though he did not know for certain, must’ve been made to suffer for the same reason, though for opposite ends. 

This was the cost. He understood it now. It had been the changeling made to suffer, not his own. The condition set had not been broken.

He could not quite take ‘his own’ into his arms and leave the changeling behind, as much as it seemed to be the only option he had.

Then, briefly, he exhaled.

“You said,” He said softly. “That the child I take in my arms and leave with will be mine forever, and the one I leave behind, I will never see again?”

“Indeed,” The voice was cruel, eager, curious.

The decision was made, and Ink took the honeysweet boy into his arms. The glitched, monstrous laughter of the Fae rang out, but it cut off as soon as Ink readjusted the child so he had enough leverage, and took the changeling child into his arms as well. 

“You— you cannot take both!” The voice was layered, glitched; and with the absence of any gloating or cruelty, Ink knew with certainty that he had found his solution. 

“Did you say I could only take one?” Now, the weight of a God found itself in him as he turned sharply to face the Fae, several feet taller than himself, and yet he stared unyieldingly into his mismatched eyes with ferocity that was gaining on him by the second. “No, you did not. I shall take my children, both of which I have loved and grieved, and you will do nothing of it.” “I will not allow that.” Now the Fae’s voice was becoming twisted, angry, inhuman. 

“Yes,” His voice was quiet, piercing. “ You will.”

Because he was watching the Fae so closely, he saw the way he faltered, the way his mismatched eyes widened. 

“You are— not mortal.”

“Your soul will be torn into tatters if you dare take my children from me,” He spoke plainly. “We are not bound by the deal anymore. I have done my part. You have done yours. Now leave me, or—”

“You have not passed.” His voice steadied. The chaotic, messy noise consolidated into a single sound. “You have not failed, but you have not passed. Your debt is unpaid.”

Fool. Ink opened his mouth, but the Fae continued. “I will not claim your children. They will be yours, forever and ever, when you leave with them. That is not what I ask.” “Then,” And Ink’s eyes were sharp, but he was curious too. “What price would you have me pay?”

The Fae was silent. His mismatched eyes were on him, and it was clear for the few moments of silence that lapsed between them that he was hesitating.

“I will go with you.” The words were declarative, sure. Ink blinked. It took a moment for the words to register. “They are still Fae children, even if just half-Fae. I will not have you hurt them with or without intention.”

Ink considered it for a moment more.

“Fine. Come with me, Fae.”

“Actually—” He let out a glitched sigh. “Call me Error.”

Ink glanced upon him. He looked away. 

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?”

“Nice try.” His tone was completely neutral. He followed the path out, and once he stepped out with his children tightly in his embrace, he let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding in. 

“The honeysweet child will no longer be just sweetness.” The warning came with the tone of conversation. “He was made that way for the test. He will begin to grow into his own, and experience his own unhappiness soon enough.”

“And the changeling child will become well?”

“Yeah, I guess Nightmare will.”

Ink came to a stop, then turned to Error incredulously. “You call him Nightmare?”

He raised his hands in surrender. “It’s not like I realised you would find a loophole and bring him back! His entire existence was crafted to fit that role, anyway.”

Ink let out a huff. Then, he paused, and touched his mouth, as if in a daze.

Error’s eyebrows creased. 

“What’s the matter with you?”

Ink let out a long, steady breath, and continued on his way. He would never voice the thoughts swirling around in his head in a haze of madness: if the children had brought love and grief into his life, what was the biting annoyance he felt now that was yet free of any real ire?

“Please tell me you don’t have iron in your house.” Ink turned to retort, and realised Error had adapted his form so that he appeared less unworldly. The glitching edges of his clothes, and the hum in his voice had been smoothed over or turned quieter, and he now looked no more unworldly than Ink.

“Well?” He prompted.

Ink gazed at him impassively. 

“Don’t make me regret this.”

Error laughed, a laugh steadier than a cackle, but it was still a glitching laugh beautiful in its madness.

Perhaps someday, he would finally tell Error the name he had chosen for the boy: Dream, because the new life had seemed nothing short of a miracle, a dream. 

Perhaps. Perhaps not. He would not make a decision on the first day.

Once upon a time,  there was an immortal that abandoned godhood for the simple reason that he found no meaning in it. He’d left the elaborate altars and ornate temples behind to wander the world, stuck between the living, feeling masses and the simple awareness that he would be alive for forever and ever. There had been simple joys he’d found in this unique sort of existence here and there, across the centuries he’d been alive for.

But the life that awaited him now wasn’t too bad either.