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fairy-verse · 7 months

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So, sort of random questions about the fairy’s as a species:

1) Do seasonal fairy’s get sick with like, the common cold or the flu? Do they have allergies to certain plants that bloom during their off seasons?

2) Are clothes especially important to fairy’s?

3) (sort of weird) But are fairy’s live birthed or do they hatch from eggs?

Have a nice day/night!

Fairies are lucky in the sense that they do not suffer the common diseases of the Big Folk, and yet, a fairy can succumb to other ails. Rare illnesses can befall them should they grow weak and frail. They might find themselves dwindling, their natural light flickering, and their wings weakened to the point where they cannot fly. This is a common illness that might fall on those struck with grief from a lost mate or faerling, though a fairy that finds themselves facing dangers and too much stress on the regular can also find themselves falling into this illness. Only rest and a lifting of their spirit might cure them, if not, then they will die, and crumble to stardust.

Clothes are of no real importance to the fairies. Most enjoy them simply because silks and velvets are soft and pleasant to touch, and they like the way the material strokes over their bones and summoned ecto when they fly. Still, clothes are not a necessity, nor is it frowned upon should any of them choose to not wear any.

The season fairies give live births, and the faerling in question is required to stay by their mother’s chest for the first five days or so. They are weak, grow easily cold, and need to hear and feel their mother’s soulbeat, or else they may become frail as they grow. After those five days have passed, their wings will begin to grow a light and soft fluff; replacing the sticky, leathery protection that keeps them safe right after their birth. This fluff will persist for the first year of their life, after which they will then begin to gain the shape and colour that will follow them for the rest of their lives.

#aufairyverse #utmv #ask for the fairy #general fairy info

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charaofthedead · 11 months

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READ THIS FOR MORE INFO

harmony: the combination of notes that form a chord or a chord progression (several notes that sound good one after the other, its like a scale) (durability)

timbre: the ability of a note to sound different in a different voice or instrument (potential)

melody: the blend of several notes stacked. aka, different notes sound at the same time (range)

rhythm: strong, repeated pattern of sounds or music. (Precision)

BPM: beats per minute (speed) soulbeats:[REDACTED]

(you may not use the idea of soulbeats without my PERMISSIOn)

(the music in this has melodies from jojos bizarre adventure part 3 and from a song called love love nightmare)

#undertale #ask chara of the dead #ask blog #undertale ask blog #digital art #drawing #art #undertale chara #undertale au #undertale alternate universe #chara #asks open #music #fan made undertale music #fan comic #undertale comic

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plasma-studios · 7 months

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why can't we ever burn the right way?

@angstober Day 05: Dried and Cracked.

TW/CW: Hurt no comfort, physical hurt, emotional hurt, soul science (non-sexual), mind rewiring (when Nightmare eats the apple), injury, fire and ice imagery, coma(? or something like that). Fandom: UTMV/Undertale Word count: 1.5k

Summary:

Nightmare and Dream have peculiar souls, but it hardly matters. Then the Apple Incident happens, and ah. Nightmare's soul becomes a ghost of its former self and Dream's soul burns itself (and Dream) alive. Maybe it would be better if they just died. But that's the one thing they cannot do.

ao3: (x)

Nightmare had been thinking of dying souls for the past hour. Perhaps it was morbid. Perhaps it was mere curiosity. He had never seen a dying soul before. The sketch in the book had been his first time seeing anything like it. it had been grayed (his eyes flew to his own purple glow, faint beneath his clothes but unmistakably there) and shrivelled up. The folds resembled raisins quite a lot.

He felt guilty for that comparison for some reason, but it was true. The soul-skin was all shrivelled and dried up. It was what dying— not dead— souls looked like. What souls looked like before Falling Down.

Yet even in their prime, the soul in the book looked completely different compared to his own.

So Nightmare thought his soul was very strange. For one, it weighed. Souls were usually light and weightless, floaty and delicate. Instead, his soul weighed like a rock in his ribs.

For another, souls usually took the form of hearts. He’d read it in books. Yet his soul was, to put it bluntly, a ball of purple light.

One final thing. Souls were usually warm with life. His soul was— well, perhaps not ice, but like cold water forever icy but not quite ice. Oh, and his soul was so quiet. His soulbeat was almost silent, and the pulsing light was easier to notice than the quiet, quiet thumps.

He pondered it till nightfall. Was it different for Dream?

Was it better for Dream?

-------

Dream thought the stars were beautiful.

They always were, but perhaps less so tonight. The throbbing in his chest took away what beauty he could find in their glitter.

A bead of sweat fell from his forehead to the grass. He swallowed thickly. The soul in his chest weighed against his ribs. His breath hitched as the warmth, no, fire in it pulsed for a second longer. The red-hot heat was left there, searing his ribs into rock and his breath into stone.

The warmth faltered, and he let out a breath. The throbbing loosened ever so slightly and he released his fistful of grass.

Beside him, Nightmare’s soul pulsed in time with the quiet breaths.

Dream untensed and let out another breath. His soul thrummed soundlessly in his chest. The quiet thumps were relentless against the bone.

He smiled. It felt like a crack.

His soul went on thrumming, erratic and alive. The fire burned painlessly. Well, more painlessly than before. The fire tended to spike at odd moments. One moment he was counting the stars and the next he could hardly breathe with the weight in his chest searing the underside of his ribs.

It was easy to ignore the fire in his chest in the daytime, where he couldn’t tell the warmth and the sunshine apart. It made it easier, though the fire never truly went out.

Which wasn’t all that bad, either. It kept him warm through the colder nights, and even simmered down it felt like love, liquidy and honeyed warmth in his stomach, like a roaring hearth.

Dream closed his eyes. He fell asleep with the soul in his chest thrumming like a tired butterfly fluttering its wings to flick off mud.

-------

The bite was tasteless.

Nightmare couldn’t tell what was breath and what was the apple’s flesh; both were sinking into his tongue and then his teeth and then it was bitten through so easily—

The wind picked up around him. He could feel the bite as it went down, rigid and unyielding but a part of him. His other hand forced another bite from his mouth out of the apple and this time he recognised the welt of blood in his throat, mixing with the tasteless flesh and—

He couldn’t feel his soul.

Something cracked his face upon. A cruel sound bubbled up in his throat, waiting for the crack to shift and the chance to slip right out but his back hurt and then he was arched, something breaking his bones and shifting his ribs—

Why couldn’t he feel any pain?

The sun was out.

His back was torn upon and the thing spilling out wasn’t his blood.

Why was—

“Nightmare?”

Dream was frozen.

Nightmare wasn’t cold. Nightmare was nothing. He felt nothing.

Except—

Why was the pain—

(Dream.)

“Dream?” The word was choked out on croak. “You—” leave, don’t look back, something is wrong, I am not me—

Why was the pain different?

“Nightmare?”

Why did the pain feel good?

Why did the pain feel free?

The sun was out.

It was noon and the sun was out.

“Nightmare!”

Dream reached for him but he stilled midway, eyelights the size of pinpricks, a pained gasp escaping him—

(Dream.)

Nightmare reached forward, hand touching his fingertips and agony (true agony, not the tasteless bite, not the tear in his back or bone) bloomed from the touch.

Why did his brother’s touch hurt?

Why did everything else— not?

He reached for his brother—

Something reached back.

He blinked and—

Who am I, right now?

-------

“Nightmare!”

Dream fell to his knees.

The waves wouldn’t stop, thrumming through the ground and gripping him through the air—

Waves of negative energy, he realised vaguely. Nightmare.

Dream couldn’t move his legs. In the absence of sunlight his his soul was heating up, festering and hungry.

Dream was burning up.

He looked to the sky, throat parched and dry. Why was there an eclipse?

“Dream.” The voice came as crackling, as if dusting upon its words being spoken.

Something in Dream made him stop struggling, stop breathing, it isn’t safe to stay leave leave—

That isn’t my brother. (Is it? Isn’t it?)

“Dream.” The wind slowed down around him. He was choking on his breath and his soul was burning him alive.

Dream looked up, and he didn’t recognise the person before him.

Oh, he thought dimly. Nightmare ate an apple.

Dream was accustomed to his soul burning up.

He would not wake up for the next six hundred years.

This time, it burnt out.

-------

Dream’s soul was not shrivelled or dried. Dream’s soul wasn’t dead yet, it was still dying.

It would never truly die. It had turned to stone, and stone has no life. It simply is.

Nightmare could destroy it, though. Break the stone into crumbling pieces of dust.

(Did he even want Dream to die?)

The world was different. The world felt warped. Pain felt sweet and hope tasted bitter. Guilt tasted honeyed and regret even sweeter.

His blood ran free and his soul felt like nothing.

If he’d looked a little closer, he would’ve seen the slightest crack in the dim gold.

He looked up to the eclipse. He wasn’t smiling; it was as if he had forgotten how to.

In time, he would forget the cold too. He would not feel his soul for centuries. He would forget the still serenity of a quiet soulbeat. He would forget the languidness of his old soul. Nightmare was no longer himself.

But the soul would still weigh in his chest, like nothing at all.

He would summon his own soul later and see the dry soul-skin at the edges, as if starved of life and falling apart at the edges.

And he would feel the sunkissed revolt in his throat.

-------

“Do you ever wonder what’d it be like without it?” Dream asked a lifetime ago.Nightmare paused, a finger hooked and ready for the page turn. “Without it?”

“Our souls. As in, you know.” Dream yawned. “What if we had normal souls? Lighter souls, less ball and more heart-shaped.”

“Like,” His eyebrows scrunched up. “Weightless?”

“Maybe not that much,” He amended. “Just less heavy. Less hot. Less cold for you, too.”“Ah.” Nightmare hummed. “I wouldn’t mind that. If only just for curiosity’s sake.”

Dream nodded, “A soul. A normal soul. Just like everyone else’s.”

“Sounds different.”

“Sounds nice.”

“Eh. Maybe.” And he went back to his book, and that was the end of it, a lifetime ago.

-------

Dream woke up with dust in his mouth.

The sun wasn’t shining, but the eclipse had long ended. It seemed there was simply no sun left to sun for him.

He felt nothing but hollow. His brother wasn’t here. How long had it been?

Perhaps it would be better if he was already dead. Dried soulskin, sunken soul, dimmed light. He already had a crack in his soul. It wouldn’t be difficult to split it wide upon, for a normal soul.

But his soul was different. His soul wasn’t normal. His soul wasn’t mortal.

He didn’t know how to feel when the trickles of heat started up again, flowing through the gaps and veins somewhere in the golden mass of light.

-------

Dream would meet Nightmare in another place, another time, and think, my brother died before me that day, didn’t he?

-------

Normal, no, mortal souls dry up and crack with even just age. Their souls were different. If put under pressure and still youthful, maybe they would shrivel up a little or crack here and there. But they would never perish.

So Dream would have to keep on burning.

And Nightmare, Nightmare—

Nightmare was already dead. He was long dead, with his dry soul-skin and soul starved of life and falling apart at the edges.

Not a single part of him was alive that wasn’t decaying.

-------

Dream learnt to burn silently, just like how Nightmare used to ponder silently under that tree.

#angstober 2023 #angstober #angstober 2023 day 05 #angstober 2023 day 5 #day 5 #day 05 #writing #writing challenge #utmv fanfic #utmv fanfiction #dream sans #dreamtale #nightmare sans #dream and nightmare #dreamtale fanfic #dreamtale fanfiction

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lightyearssurrogatedaddy · 10 months

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Uh ErrInk bc I was in a slight mood

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

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

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

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

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

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phantomstarss · 2 months

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Umbra And The Gangs Relationship.

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

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

HATI:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FENRIR:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

SKÓROS/WISP:

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

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

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

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

And Skóros himself? Absolutely. Nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

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

...

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

And it's too many.

He just doesn't understand.

XOLO:

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

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

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

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

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axewchao · 9 months

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In This World, There's Only Monsters

Ended up thinking of this either shortly before or shortly after I posted the pic of Rockruff!Dal and Sawk. Basically it's a weird mesh of Undertale and PMD. Less of a crossover and more Undertale borrowing various elements from PMD. No Pocket Monsters anywhere, only UT Monsters.

...So at that point it's more of a basic dungeon-crawler RPG than anything else =w="

Dal is a human that was somehow sent to this world, and is found by Toriel in the Ancient Ruins, a place that was once a normal area before one day transforming into a Mystery Dungeon, or as they're called in this world, a Labyrinth. Labyrinths are dangerous, packed with all kinds of puzzles, traps, Monsters that are sliiightly more feral, and folks are known to get lost/stuck in them if they're not careful. Or if they're just adventure-hungry/treasure hunting idiots.

Dal follows the usual PMD protag formula of having amnesia this time around, unlike Rockruff!Dal. Can't remember anything other than his name, his age, general facts/knowledge and that he's a human. But while his personal memories are gone, the emotions linked to those memories still remain, and he eventually starts recalling things if current events mimic them well enough. Toriel's motherly behavior towards him is a good example; one bite of her cooking, clearly done with love and care, is enough to trigger Dal's memories of his own mother, albeit faintly. He doesn't remember Celeste's face, voice, or even her name, but what little he does recall is enough to drive him to silent tears.

And while Toriel isn't going to stop him from finding other ways to jog his memory, she is quick to warn him of one very important thing: Never let anyone find out he's a human. His very SOUL could give him away, as it's still the right side-up heart shape and instead of being pure white, it's a deep blue, shining strong with Integrity. And unlike normal Monsters who are made of magic and dust, Moomore is still made of flesh and bone, has a heartbeat alongside his SOULbeat, and bleeds when injured.

And speaking of magic... monsters can't seem to use theirs lately. Huh. No time to wonder why, since Dal can evidently use magic himself. Maybe he's got a surplus since he doesn't need any magic to... y'know. Make up his body n' stuff...

Why keep his humanity hidden? Because the humans that appeared in the Monster world before Dal were seen as bad omens, and all of them were killed before too long. It has been a long time since a human last arrived in the Monster world, so most people wouldn't notice a thing, but Moomore isn't the type to take such a risk, especially if his life would literally be on the line. Which it is.

But the questions remain... Why is Dalex here? Why'd he lose his memory? How much has he really forgotten? Why do Monsters see humans as "bad omens?" Why are humans even appearing in this world at all, when it's clear that Monsters don't want them around? Can Dal really trust anyone in this world? Will Dal be able to hide in plain sight, or will he be caught and inevitably killed?

And most importantly... if we're throwing PMD aspects into this adventure, that means Dal's the Hero... so who's the Partner? :3c

#Undertale #Toriel #Dalex Rathmore #Moomore #UT!Moomore #Team Evoke #got no idea what to call this AU #would've called it 'dungeontale' but that's taken i checked- ;w;#axewchaoscribbles

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