Collection of Oddities

by TerminusVerso

Summary:

A collection of inane nonsense (ranging from Error being reincarnated as Palette to Dust finding a new love for the color pink) circling around the many AUs and Multiverses of the Undertale world. Some stories will be connected; Others will be random one-shots.

Stop by and see what treasures, or horrors, you can find.

Chapter 1: Rendtale

Notes:

Summary: Sans gets split into two halves. One is stuck in a dirty sock; The other has their body.

"Ugh..." 

Eyes squeezed shut, Sans groaned from his place on the floor. The world felt like it was spinning. Despite the fact, not him or anything around him moved an inch. Pain flared in his chest. A horrid stabbing sensation reminiscent of when the kid slashes him across the ribs. 

What happened, he wondered.

The floor lacked the signature chill of the Judgment Hall... So he hadn't just fought the kid. Feeling around, he noticed the ground was oddly plush. Like carpet? A hand firmly rubbed against the soft, connected strands. Yeah, definitely carpet. But where did that leave him?

The surface was an unlikely option. If he remembered correctly, Frisk reset recently. Though, given his scrambled thoughts, he couldn't fully cross out the possibility. The Ruins? Nah. Sans gave up on bargaining with Toriel a long time ago. Waterfall? No. Too wet; He shouldn't have been watching Papyrus train, either. 

It was a Saturday, wasn't? An exercise free day?

 Great. He couldn't even remember which day of the week it was.

Sans laid limp, thoughts swirling in his mind, much like the room's sensation. Once the dizziness subsided, he dared to crack open his eye sockets.

A pile of sticky-notes. A dusty, old couch and ancient TV. Stairs leading up to a loft with a novelty bone paint. Sans relaxed. He was home. A good thing, but something still felt off. Unusual.

The brat didn't do something, did they? The last thing he needed was more f-ing games and new ways to be tortured. Wait. Where is Papyrus?

It seemed some investigation needed to be done. Especially if Frisk- Chara, whoever the hell they claimed to be, decided to spice up the timeline. Placing his arms on either side of his body, Sans slowly lifted himself into a sitting position. Thankfully, the world remained steady as he did so.

Where to start? He took a shaky step toward the stairs and froze.

His lab! He had been doing something in there, though couldn't quite recall what. Would Papyrus be there? Maybe. Maybe not. There was only one way to find out. Teleportation was fast.  So that's what he did. Sans gathered his magic, ignoring the sharp pain in his chest, and teleported to the secret room. The scenery shifted in an instant, and the stocky skeleton found himself standing in the middle of a messy tile room.

Papers strewn about, old science books laid out, the lights on his broken machine flicker- But no Papyrus... Wait. The lights on his godforsaken machine were flickering. That malfunctioning piece of scrap metal was working.

Sans couldn't not wonder, What on Earth did I do?

It had been nonoperational for years. Any efforts to get it up and running were in vain. He took a step closer, inspecting the outside and notes scattered around it. Then something caught his eye. A little piece of fabric protruding from one of the machine's crevasses. Plucking it from its' hiding spot with the upmost care, Sans drew the cloth closer to his face to get a good look at it.

A... sock? It was a sock. 

Sans winced, Sheesh, Pap is right. I really need to learn the fine art of cleanliness.

Right before he could toss the offending object into the nearest trashcan, something interesting occurred. Something a sock should not, under any circumstances, do. 

"Uhh, me- Sans? I think we have a problem." Sans' jaw dropped as the sock spoke. In his own voice! Shocked, he immediately checked that sock. And it worked. Because... Well- T H E  S O C K  H A D  A  F - I N G  S O U L .

---

Sans the Skel- Er, sock?

LV: 0

EXP: 0

HP: 0.5/0.5

DEF: 1

ATK: 1

*This is an unexpected turn of events.

---

"You've got to be kidding me."

 

Notes:

Tumblr: terminusverso.tumblr.com

Chapter 2: DREAM!

Summary:

Nightmare will always curse his brother's name.

Notes:

Nightmare using his brother's name as a curse word? Sure, why not.

There was something peculiar about Nightmare- more specifically, with the way he cursed. The usual expletives such as funk, witch, or plastered never left the other's jaws. He swore a name with the same amount of malice instead. Over the years, his friend and allies came to terms with this odd quirk. However, long before they had gotten to know the dark king better, things were quite... different. His choice of swearing often caused some problems in their Haventale hideout.

"DREAM!" The angry howl echoed throughout the castle, followed by a crash.

Killer shot out of his bed, startled, and reached for the nearest knife before slamming his door open and dashing through the corridors. His mind was racing. That voice. It was Nightmare. Were they under attack? How far had Dream's forces infiltrated?

Given his swift speed, the tear-stained skeleton reached the site first. Then Dust popped up soon after him, looking somewhat irked, followed by a sleepy Horror. 

What they saw constituted as unexpected. The dark hall held no invaders or anyone, aside from themselves and Nightmare. One of the windows embedded in the stone was shattered; Broken shards of glass littered the ground, but there were far and few in-between. A spot along the wall was noticeably empty as well.

Killer spoke up first, "Nightmare, what's going on? How many are attacking us? Where is Dream?"

"Did he come alone?" Horror inquired, glancing around the hall lazily.

"You threw him out the window, didn't you?" Dust stated, bluntly.

Nightmare leveled them with a confused expression. "What are you lot going on about? Dream is not here; He doesn't even know this place exists. If anything, he's more likely to be in Candytale. Did all of you have nightmares?" The goopy skeleton questioned, frowning slightly.

"But, your shout..."

"The window?"

" 'm tired."

Nightmare sighed and gestured toward the window. "When exiting my room for a nightly venture, the candles blew out, and I stubbed my toe on that-" He pointed outside at an old decorative furnishing. "godforsaken cabinet." The last two words were hissed with unparalleled hate.

"Okay. What does this have to do with Dream, though?"

Nightmare scoffed. "Do you even have to ask? His very existence is a plague upon monsterkind. His very being is a curse upon my life. Why wouldn't I curse him?"

 

Dream jolted awake and shuddered. He had a feeling. A certain unpleasantness that only happened when his brother cursed his very name. The action always sent a dark chill down his spine. It happened quite often. Unfortunately. The light skeleton settled back in bed, snuggling into his sheets. 

Why couldn't Nightmare return to the way he used to be? Why did he insist on cursing Dream's name with such intensity?

 

The Guardian of Positivity didn't sleep well that night.

 

Chapter 3: Your Ghost

Summary:

It's a ghost - a cruel apparition of the one he failed to save - that haunted the Multiverse; Whoever they used to be was gone. Reaper knew this. He did. Really. But that didn't stop him from wanting to bring this ghost back to life.

Ghosts, spirits, apparitions, souls left to wander aimlessly- They were Reaper's bane. He loathed these ghastly images of the past, but at the same time, he was hopelessly in love with one. His ghost. The distorted remains of his precious Geno. Despite everything (the death, the destruction, the harsh words, the intense battles), Reaper believed his former lover was still in there. Somewhere hidden beneath those glitches and dark bones, Geno laid in wait. Waiting for his black-cloaked lover to save him.

And Reaper wanted to do that- to show the insane destroyer, Error, who he used to be. To save him from the madness dwelling in himself.

So the embodiment of death made his way to the one place Geno's shadow could be found without fail: Outertale.

Stars littered the surrounding deep purples, blues, and light azures. Some came together, creating intricate patterns and pictures. Ursa Minor/Major, Draco, Orion, Leo, Canis Minor/Major, and Andromeda to name a few. Those special moments spent stargazing and tracing constellations with Geno certainly helped him remember them. Planets of all shapes and sizes drifted in the vacuum; Each slowly following their natural orbit. Blue giants, red giants, white dwarfs, brown dwarfs, black dwarfs, red dwarfs, supergiants, black holes, pulsars- Reaper had no idea what most of them were but knew they existed in the vast skies.

Comet tails trailed in the distance. Shooting Stars chased each other across the horizon. The beautiful scenery was only broken by the deep blackness of the Void below.

Reaper stepped out onto the flouting rock he knew Error would be. It was the best place for stargazing, after all. And oh did his Geno enjoy staring up at those little specs of light while talking his nonexistent ears off.

"N-no. That-that one i-is Cassiopeia." It seemed the madness never quite got rid of that quirk, as the destroyer was lecturing empty space about the stars above.

His insane-driven lover almost looked peaceful at times like this. A light smile - not at all like the crazed grin worn while destroying Aus - laid on his jaws. The wild look in his eyelights was replaced by a gentleness unbefitting of a madman. Reaper could easily imagine Geno sitting in the destroyer's stead. 

"Geno." The soft mutter made his presence known. Error jolted from his place at the rock's edge and whirled around to face the source. His posture was tense. Ready for a fight. Something the pair, unfortunately, did often. The dark skeleton glared - a disguise for squinting, no doubt - at him. Once the half-blind glitch realized who he was, he spat, "Oh-oh, i-it's you."

The virulence in his tone stung. It always bewildered the Death God. Geno loved him dearly. Error, on the other hand, hated Reaper with a passion; Every time they met, he did his best to make it known. Why? He had no clue. Perhaps it was Geno's cold nature kicking in. Or perhaps he had somehow wronged his lover's ghost in the past. 

"Geno." Reaper pleaded.

Error glitched and ground out, "That-at is n-not MY NAME!"

"Yes, it is. If you give me a chance, I can show you that- who you used to be, how to live outside of the Anti-Void, the best places to stargaze at night, all the quirks I love about you, your family. Your Papyrus." Reaper dared to step closer and offer the other a bony hand. "Please, Geno, give me a chance."

They had had this exact conversation a million times before, and the answer was always, always the same.

Error sneered at the outstretched hand, then did something unexpected. Usually, he would curse at Reaper before vanishing into the Anti-Void. This time Error regarded him coldly, staring at him with an icy gaze that could freeze a flame monster. After a moment, he spoke. "If you really love me - Geno, whoever the hell you're after - take those feelings and let them die. I don't give an ever-living funk about anything or anyone other than myself. You're just wasting my time- time I could be spending ridding the Multiverse of filthy glitches." Error turned around, facing Outertale's extensive solar system. "Now go away! I'm not in the mood for your incessant chatter, you moron."

Reaper's resolve faltered. That was the most Error had ever said to him, and the words- they cut deep into his soul, like barbed wire digging into a fragile substance. It couldn't be true. His lover had to be in there; had to have the ability to care for others. Geno was a bleeding-heart. Literally. Though life brought bitterness, he cared for others more than himself. His universe, his friends, his brother- They were his world. And Reaper became a part of that world.

Error is lying. He has to be, Reaper thought. Geno would never lose that part of himself!

Words itched in his throat, but he refused to voice them. He knew better than to push this topic further. Error quite evidently did not wish to continue talking. The dark skeleton's back faced Reaper- a sign the other planned on ignoring the Death God until he left.

Any words would fall on deaf ears.

Defeated, Reaper respected Error's wishes and left.

---

Reaper shuddered, as a strange feeling sent chills down his spine. Something was... wrong? Off? Missing? That seemed close but not quite right. He shook his head and silently pondered. No, this was far worse than something being slightly off or missing. A grand event just transpired without a single soul capable of stopping it. 

One of the Multiverse's forces - one as vital as Death itself, and on par with Creation - disappeared. Poof- just gone, as if it had fallen into the Void. Never to be seen again. And no good would come from its absence. The Multiverse relied on every single force to hold itself together, including the 'bad' ones. Darkness, Destruction, and Death were equally as important as Light, Creation, and Life. Neither could exist without the other (Well, they could, but not without dire consequences.); Together, they kept the Balance intact. Apart, the world crumbled around them. They circled each other for eons, unable to overpower their opposite.

I need to check on Gen- Error... I should check on Error. Just in case.

Reaper vanished through a dark portal, going back to the Outertale he came from moments ago- The sight awaiting him was one he wordlessly feared. Signs of a brief fight littered the flouting rock. Deadly blue strings laid limp, tangled like they couldn't catch their prey. Glitched bones spread across the battleground. An odd pattern formed from the collective attacks; It looked as though they meant to strike an incredibly speedy foe, and failed. Each attack lacked clear signs of impact- dust, blood, et cetera.

Both magicks were slowly deteriorating, as evident by the light blue particles slowly wafting into the air. Error was dead.

The black-cloaked skeleton stared in horror. First, he lost Geno. Now he had lost his lover's ghost as well.

S O M E O N E  W O U L D  P A Y .

And the few black strings would lead him to the poor soul.

 

After all...

No one could escape the ire of Death.

 

Notes:

The original scene Death was going to come across was way darker, but I decided to forgo that idea... so, no creepy horror scene.

Not today, at least.

Chapter 4: Foolish

Summary:

Blueberror and Error participate in some April Fool's shenanigans.

Notes:

Happy April Fool's Day!

Silence engulfed the Anti-Void- but not on this day, as two errors in the system were plotting to prank the multiverse.

"Blueberror, re-remind me how-w exactly you-you talked me in-into this?" Error hissed, looking down at his outfit. Wrapped neatly around his neck was a torn red scarf. A long white lab coat and sweater covered his chest; old black shorts with a white stripe on each side clothed his legs. Fluffy pink slippers sat on his feet.

It was the very same outfit Geno wore. 

The starry-faced glitch giggled. "W-well, first I-I convinced you-u it would be-be super duper fun-fun to pretend-nd to be so-someone for the day-day, and brought-ght you Ink's old clo-clothes, which-which you rejected-ed for obvious reasons. But... I still-still don't under-understand why you-u decided-ed t-to dress as Geno."

"If-If I'm going-ing to pretend t-to be a filthy abom-abomination for the d-day, I might as-s well be-be the most toler-tolerable one." 

 

Ink's day hadn't been going as planned. Sure, he liked pranks as much as the next skeleton, but this was just ridiculous. Toilet paper - likely an entire month's worth - laid across the roof of his house. How someone got that much toilet paper, let alone got it into the very secure Doodle Sphere, was a mystery to him. With a sigh, he moved to begin cleaning it up.

That plan was cut short, though. Right as Ink went to grab some of the loose paper, a sharp pain stabbed at his nonexistent soul.

An AU was being destroyed. 

"Yes!" Ink squealed, childishly. The destruction of an AU could only mean one thing: Error. His best friend (solely in mind, not in spirit) and rival! And here he was beginning to think today would be lame and full of cleaning. He pulled Broomy from his back and formed a paint portal to the AU.

The sight that awaited caused him to freeze. A hand slowly reached into his pocket and produced a phone. Ink swiftly dialed the number of who he sought. 

"Uh... Reaper, I think your husband is finally taking the whole 'destroy all the timelines' thing seriously."

 

Chapter 5: My Kismet Is A Choice?! (1)

Summary:

Destiny throws Error into a different Multiverse. 
 

Inspired by "Healing What Has Been Broken" and "Falling Into A Different Destiny" by harrish6.

Notes:

Happy Birthday, Error! May the sadness... uh- not ruin the festivities?

Desperation. That was Destiny's drive. She wanted her child, Error, to be safe more than anything in the world. However, as long as his being was intertwined with a similar multiverse, he could never truly escape Fate. Her sister would always be able to pull strings in one way or another. Fate would never fail to find a way to make Error suffer; praising her own hellspawn all the while.

It needed to end.

And if ending it meant Destiny would never see her child again but know he could live a happy life, she would do it. Over and over and over again- No matter what the answer would never change. For Error, she was willing to do anything.

So, when the broken skeleton landed in her arms, she made an improvised decision. Summoning all her power, Destiny sent him far away. Farther than any Sans, human/monster, or deity dared to reach. To a place untouched by the magic of Gods or Goddesses. A world where monster magic was a thing of the past and lived on as a mere myth. A Multiverse composed of a single enormous AU, where Ink (Fate's unholy brat) was no more than a weak, defenseless child. 

Yes, Error would be able to live happily in a place such as that. 

Destiny smiled softly, watching as her beloved child vanished from her arms. May the truest kismet be your guide, Error, my dear child. And no matter how challenging the trials ahead are, hold onto your unwavering determination and yield to no forced fates. 

 

Everything ached. It made sense, considering Ink and the entire Multiverse just attacked him. Bones, flames, energy blasts- Ink spared no expense to make sure Error was defeated once and for all; When he said the entire Multiverse, he meant it. Everyone- Sanses, Papyruses, Toriels, Asgores, Frisks, Charas, and et cetera- Everyone was there, minus Nightmare and his gang. They didn't come. Not even when Error was broken and bleeding on the ground being beaten mercilessly. Not even when he begged for mercy. Not even when his soul cried out for help.

T H E Y  D I D N ' T  S A V E  H I M . 

T H E Y  D I D N ' T  T R Y  T O.

That fact stung more than any of the injuries he sustained. His friends, his allies, the monsters who claimed to have his back no matter what, abandoned him. After everything they had been through together- Fighting the same battles, running from the forces of 'good', watching movies, eating dinner together, sleeping under the same roof, helping each other with personal problems... After all that, they abandoned him. They abandoned Error. Why?

W H Y ?

Nightmare, Dust, Killer, Horror- None of them believed Error was evil. He told them about the Balance; They believed him. Or... at least, they made him think they did. Why else would they have left him to die? Why else would they choose to betray him?

His so-called 'friends' were nothing more than d i r t y  l i e r s. 

A harsh cough jarred Error's frame. It sounded oddly wet, and a sticky substance seeped from his mouth. Blood, no doubt. His eyes were squeezed shut from the pain, so he couldn't say for certain. Given what he went through, though, it was the likely answer. Hell, he should be dead after all that. Yet here he stood- er, crippledly laid. Standing right now would be a horrible mistake. Red made sure the bones were broken, muttering something about not wanting to give Error the chance to run away. Well, it worked. The destroy could only run as far as he could spit blood. Which wasn't very far. It was hard to aim at your enemies while being beaten to death.

What happened afterward was a blur. First, Error fell and fell and fell- trapped in eternal darkness, being torn apart by the unrelenting forces of the Void. Whether or not he went there willingly was a mystery to him. Would Ink push him into the Void? Yeah, probably. Then someone caught him. Error, the destroyer of worlds, was saved. By an unknown stranger who ignored past transgressions and aided him, no less. A true rarity. While the memory remained blurred, he could almost imagine that stranger holding him close and lovingly (a crazy notion, but Error could dream), like a precious treasure made of the finest porcelain. 

Error groaned as a sudden wave of pain washed over his bone. Using what little strength remained, he curled his broken body into the closest equivalent to the fetal position. It hurt. Static rang in his skull, cutting out any outside noises. 

"_e_!" The vowel pierced through the noise. 

"H_y! _r_ y__ ok__?!" The voice was clearer this time, but the stch-ing of static had yet to leave his 'ears'. Or lessen. Error released a whimper at the sound. Cracking his sockets open, he inspection the person/monster shouting in a worried, frantic tone.   

A woman with short, bright pink hair and kind eyes was crouched over him. Her face pinched in worry and obvious distress. Error would have liked to see more of this odd human. However, the edges of his vision were overcome by darkness. It slowly crept along until it blocked everything from sight; With that, for the first time in an eon, the destroyer of worlds passed out from pain. 

 

Chapter 6: Get Off My Lawn!

Summary:

Error's past comes back to haunt him; he doesn't like sharing.

Something happened in the Multiverse- Space and time fluctuated, and the Voids shifted and swayed. It was an unnatural occurrence. One that no monster or human anticipated. And like all unexpected multiversal shenanigans, it had some interesting results. 

 

For Error, the self-proclaimed destroyer of worlds, the day started off normal enough. He harassed an Underfell Sans, stole yarn for his puppets, laughed at Nightmare when he somehow got his head stuck in a tree, ran away from Nightmare after he escaped the tree, watched a new episode of Undernovela- It was great. Though, something strange occurred later in the day.

He... fell asleep. And as anyone familiar with him should know, Error did not sleep. Would never sleep. He hates sleeping more than Nightmare loathes his brother.

When the dark destroyer awoke from his dreamless slumber, the sheer whiteness of the Anti-Void did not greet him. Instead, a deep darkness stretched out far beyond what his poor eyesight could see. This puzzled Error. Why did he fall asleep? Where was this place? Had someone kidnapped him while he slept? Blueberry did it, didn't he?! He growled. Error knew he should've never accepted the Swap skeleton's pretty words and friendship vows. Everyone was always a traitor in the end. A L W A Y S . Friendship means nothing to living beings. It's merely a fancy way of getting close to someone in order to get a better aim at their back. With a sharp, sharp knife in hand. 

Fueled by the rage bound to betrayal, Error sprung off the (oddly grassy) ground and roared into the blackness. "Blueberry! I swear when I get my hands on you, you'll regret every decision you've ever made, and pray for a swift and painless end- Which you won't get!" Usually, the tirade would continue further, however, a little detail caught Error off guard. His voice- It was normal. It sounded almost like any other Sans' voice. The only difference between his and Classic's was the ill raspiness that weaved into his words. Kind of like... he had the voice of someone that should, by all means, be dust. The bewildered and angry skeleton glanced down at his hands. They were white. 

"The funk?!" Nigh frantically, his eyelights scanned over himself, noting each and every change to his being. Glitches? Replaced by equally uncomfortable white, twitching quadrilaterals. Scarf? Error did not wear one, but he sure was now. The offending article - a tattered red scarf that had no business being on his person - was wrapped neatly around his neck. Cozy hoodie? Gone. An itchy old lab coat replaced the soft, comforting item. Shirt? Exchanged for an article that would be as pristine as the Anti-Void if not for the blood-red slash across it. Shorts? Well, actually, his shorts hadn't changed. His slippers, though? The illegally velvety footwear stolen from Abomination #13? They were gone; In their place was cheap, pink slippers!

"Who in the name of all that is unholy stole my clothes?!" Error growled, staring at the changed articles. The very fact someone had partially undressed him and replaced his clothes made him extremely uncomfortable. Who did something like that? Wait a minute- Ink! The insane artist had questionable morals at best, and zero concept of personal space. Not to mention, he was Error's greatest nemesis. Aside from glitter. Allowing Blueberry to bring that fine, sparkling powder into the Anti-Void was a mistake. A great mistake. It got everywhere; The substance continued to be a nuisance, as Error could not fully rid his home of it. More seemingly spawned from the aether whenever he cleaned.

Revenge against Ink comes first. I'll deal with that traitorous Swap Sans later.

Huffing, the destroyer examined the surrounding area. It looked like an unimpressive knockoff of the Void. The sole difference between the two was the grass beneath his feet. "What kind of twisted world has grass in an endless void? And only one patch of it? Ink must be losing his grip on reality." Error scoffed, eyeing the landmark.

As 'exciting' as the dark place was, something about it rubbed him the wrong way, and he wanted to leave ASAP. Plus, he had a vendetta to enact. Which couldn't be completed in the discomforting Void-esque place. With a wave of his hand, Error summoned a porta- Nothing? He blinked. The area chosen for the portal to appear at was empty. How? He tried again. Nothing happened. Gritting his teeth and scowling into the darkness, the destroyer tried again. And again... And again. Sheer stubbornness urged him to continue until exhaustion took over. 

At the end of his desperate attempts to escape, he fell back onto the grass, feeling something unusual. Fatigue paired with an immense tiredness. The kind of tiredness one feels when they need to sleep. It weighed down his eye sockets and was an overall irritating feeling. Error groaned, thinking, I'll rest my eyes for a little while. Maybe it will make this annoying sensation go away. And just like that, the land of dreams claimed him. 

Later on, the destroyer awoke to sound of tiny footsteps and the sight of a Frisk. The brown-haired child was crouched beside him, gazing at him in awe, shock, and worry. This irritated Error further. Glaring menacingly at the familiar abomination, he inspected them in an attempt to determine which AU he was currently trapped in. They shifted uncomfortably and appeared somewhat frightened. Why? He may be the destroyer of worlds, but his present form did not portray that in the slightest.

Error's eyelights drifted toward their feet- Feet which were all over the grass, smushing it into the ground. This caused him to snarl, "Hey, brat! Find your own patch of grass, 'cause this one is mine." Yes, claiming ownership over a grassy patch was weird- But he'll be damned if he didn't have the only good thing in this dark, endless prison!

Startled by his sudden outburst, the Frisk bolted into the unknown, leaving Error with peace and quiet. 

---

- Later That Day -

"Geno, please stop this madness!" After, the resident Sans of Aftertale, pleaded to his bloody counterpart. The only reply he received was an angry hiss from the stubborn skeleton who surrounded the Save Screen's patch of grass (and himself) with a bone cage. 

"Gen-"

"Ugh! For funks sake, that is not my name; If you don't stop calling me that, I'll destroy this pitiful world and everyone you hold dear!" Supposedly-not-Geno threatened. After sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Nice to see some things don't change.

"Will you at least dissipate your attacks?" He asked, gesturing to all the bones his counterpart summoned around himself. 

"Only when you radholes stop rubbing your grubby little feet all over my grass!"

 

Needless to say, this wasn't exactly the heartfelt reunion After expected. 

Notes:

 As of late, I have found myself enjoying the fine art of gardening; More than a few trees have come into my possession. (Three gala apple trees, four mulberry trees, and a white nectarine tree.) In order to increase my investment in prolonging their existence, they shall all be named. And I figured it would be more fun if you guys named them!

I have a few more trees and plants scheduled to arrive (two butternut trees, a liberty apple tree, and seven different types of roses [white, blue, purple, pink, red, orange, and yellow]), and once I'm certain they will live, I'll be seeking names for them as well. So if you have a name suggestion better suited for one of those, save it for later.

 

What name do you suggest, and for which tree?

Chapter 7: How To (Attempt To) Socialize Your Glitch

Summary:

Sequel to "Get Off My Lawn!"; Error still an angry little glitch.

In the Multiverse, there were many traditions which varied from AU to AU. Aftertale, of course, had a special tradition of its own. Every year around Christmas time, a big party would be held by Geno (2.0), and all Sanses and Papyruses were invited to attend. This year After intended to go. With the unholy terror dubbed Homi (short for Homicide)- His Genocide may be the first, but he was far too late to claim the moniker 'Geno' as his own. Especially in the grand scheme of the Multiverse. Plus, everyone met Geno (2.0) first... so suddenly changing his name would be weird.

There was only one problem, though. Homicide wanted nothing to do with the Christmas party. 

"Homi, let go of the wall!" After growled, pulling on his counterpart's legs as he stubbornly clung to the nearest doorway. Homicide didn't move an inch. For an eternally weakened skeleton, the other had a surprisingly strong grip. 

"Never! You can't make me go to that stupid party. And stop calling me that funking name, it's even worse than 'Geno'!" The limpet of a monster replied with malice. 

 

After much help from Papyrus, AKA Later, (and more bribery than he was willing to admit to), they removed Homicide from the wall/doorframe.

 

The seemingly Classic Sans looked down at his watch. The time 5:24 sat on its screen. They were a bit late, but that was to be expected considering Homicide tried to escape on multiple occasions; Said skeleton was sulking next to him, begrudgingly wearing an ugly Christmas sweater that said '404: Sweater Not Found'. After knocked on Geno's door. The action of which seemed to increase Homi's displeasure tenfold. His grouchy, criminally insane counterpart looked ready to bolt at a moment's notice. 

Reaching into his inventory, he swiftly plucked out a chocolate bar and waved it in front of the squirrely skeleton. The other reacted like lightning. One minute he had the chocolate in his hand, and the next, it was being clutched in Homicide's steely grasp. Thankfully, it bought enough time for someone to answer the door. 

Geno opened it, and just in time to see his alternate self cram the entire chocolate bar (and wrapper) into their mouth. A vaguely disturbed expression crossed the bloody skeleton's face before he stuttered out, "C-come in?" 

And After did exactly that, dragging Homicide by the arm to prevent another escape attempt. Numerous different Sanses and Papyruses had already arrived. Edge and Fell from Underfell, Blue/Blueberry and Stretch from Underswap, Sci... who was from somewhere, Reaper/Death from Reapertale, the native Aftertale Sanses and their Papyrus- And many more that After couldn't say he was familiar with or recognized. Homicide tensed behind him, likely due to his strange distaste for others. After still hadn't figured out what exactly happened to his other half. But, all the signs pointed to nothing good. 

Warily, Geno led them over to where Classic, Edge, and Reaper were chatting. Reaper was the first to notice their approach, and After wasn't particularly fond of how the other's eyelight lingered on Geno and then Homicide. The white dot carried an unreadable emotion. One After wasn't about to try to decipher. When they reached the little group, everyone stopped talking. Classic appeared mildly interested, Edge seemed confused, and Reaper- He eyed Homicide with intense curiosity. Hopefully, that curiosity wouldn't end with him getting stabbed. 

Before any introductions could be made, the dark-cloaked skeleton teleported right in front of Homicide, leaned close, and asked, "What's your name, beautiful?"

Homicide growled, "None of your business. Now, get out of my face!"

"And what if I don't?" The death god asked, smugly. Reaper thought he could play the same game he did with Geno. However, the next action proved his assumption to be very wrong. A soft smack echoed across the room. Almost everyone was staring at Homicide in shock. The other Aftertale Sans had not only escaped After's hold but used his now freed hand to hit Reaper. The palm of said hand was sitting right in the middle of the god's face; Ever-so-slowly, Homicide dragged it downward. Pleased with the gobsmacked expression Reaper wore, he decided to add salt to the wound by snatching the cup of coffee from him and taking a sip.

"Yeah, this is mine now. What are you going to do about it?" Homicide stated, wearing a look of triumph.

No one reacted. Not even Reaper, who just had his beloved coffee snatched from him. After wasn't sure what to do. Should he try to get Homi to give the drink back... or not? 'Yes' would be the right answer, if Homicide was a sane, mature monster. But, he was not. Plus, he already said 'mine' and After knew well enough to back off when that word was involved. 

Suddenly, a short skeleton with an ink stain on his face appeared right next to Death and his likely murderer. After noted the poor soul was a tad too close to Homicide. 

"Oh, hi!" The colorful-garbed Sans started. "I don't think we've me-" 

The words were cut off by the pained cry of their speaker, and a harsh crack followed. After sighed and rolled his eyelights. Just another Thursday. He should be happy me and Paps did a weapons check before forcing Homi out from under his rock. You only make that mistake once.

Homicide's latest victim fell to the ground, crying out, "Why!"

"You're annoying." After's, unfortunately, insane counterpart replied. 

As if nothing happened, Homicide walked away. Headed towards Blue if After's assumptions were correct. 

Reaper gazed after the other, whispering in awe, "He can throw a punch, and he likes coffee."

Instantly after, the dark-cloaked god whirled around to face the bloody skeleton in the room, "My sweet Geno,"

"What?"

"I'm truly sorry, but it seems our game of cat and mouse has come to an end."

"Reap-" Geno started, only to be interrupted.

"Shh-shh! Don't make this harder than it needs to be" Reaper turned away dramatically before continuing, "Farewell, Geno. Don't be too miserable without me." With that said, the bringer of death vanished in a puff of black smoke. After had a sneaking suspicion the skeleton left to search for Homicide. But, he'd worry about that later. Mainly when a mass group starts screaming in utter horror and fear. Until then he had other problems.

"Geno, are you... okay?" After questioned the shocked skeleton.

"Yes. No. Maybe? I- I'm just... not sure if I should feel happy Reaper will stop harassing me, or insulted because he thinks a literal other version of me is more attractive."

 

Chapter 8: The PTA Meeting: Linda vs. Homicide

Summary:

Sequel to "Get Off My Lawn!" and "How To (Attempt To) Socialize Your Glitch"; After brings Homicide to the PTA meeting, and is pleased by the results. (Warning: Dark comments made by Homicide.)

The sun held its' position high in the sky, beaming down light onto the school below. The building was quite lively on this day. Monsters and humans bustled in the many rooms and hallways; Yet others had quietened, prepared for the upcoming PTA meeting. A particular set of skeleton monsters sat in one of these rooms. 

"Brother... Are you certain this is a good idea?" Papyrus asked, warily glancing toward Homicide, who had a plate of double chocolate chip cookies in hand. "And why did you bride him with so many cookies? He'll spoil his appetite! Not to mention, miss out on the Great Papyrus' divine culinary skills!" 

A devious smirk spread across After's face. "Yeah, I'm sure- This may even be my greatest idea yet." 

"I wish you would put this much effort into your job. Why torment Linda of all people? She is a perfectly respectable human!" The orange-scarfed skeleton huffed, giving his brother a pointed look. 

"Let's just say I don't appreciate her trying to parent Frisk."

 

Homicide was minding his own business (eating cookies) when a blonde woman with the fakest looking everything - hair, nails, face, eyes, et cetera - approached him. She expression morphed into a mix between a sickeningly sweet smile and a sneer. "Ah, you are the missing brother I have heard so much about. My name is Linda, the school board director, and that over there is my son," She directed his attention toward the equally faux looking child. "Jimmy."

Homicide snorted and rolled his eyelights. "That abomination is yours? Ha! It is the ugliest thing I've ever laid eyes on, and I've seen burning taco covered in soy sauce, snails, and sequins. Where did you get it? A garbage heap?"

Linda sputtered at the comment, trying to think of a comeback.

"Oh, and look at that! It has the exact amount of brain cells you expect it to have." He gestured to the child shoving crayons in their mouth. "Probably going to grow up to spread frozen butter on toast. Or, better yet, die at a pitifully young age because it can't keep a fork out of an electrical socket! Would certainly save me the trouble of putting it out of its misery." 

The mother of said child looked aghast; Her face sheet white, wide eyes staring at Homicide in shock. 

"Don't forget to invite me to the funeral, Lindie. I wouldn't miss that party for anything. In fact, I may even bring a plus-one. Got a friend who knows how to have a deathly good time at parties." He chuckled darkly before walking over to his own abomination, Frisk.

 

"This was a great decision." After whispered, gazing at the pure gold his phone recorded. "I'm gonna bring him back next month. Hellen will 'love' him." 

Chapter 9: Grand Theft Latte

Summary:

Sequal to "How To (Attempt To) Socialize Your Glitch"; Prequel to "The PTA Meeting: Linda vs. Homicide." Homicide and Reaper are criminals.

Notes:

Just a little silliness before I start working on requests.

Gangs and organized groups of criminals popped up in the Multiverse every once and awhile. Each had its own goal. World domination, extinction of humans, total reign over the Multiverse- Every psychopathic group had their equally crazy aims. Though, the strangest one yet involved a hot beverage, coffee. From latte-ceny (larceny) to cold-brewed murder, the odd crime syndicate committed every coffee-themed offense possible and impossible. They were every barista's worst nightmare. People called these cappuccino-crazed monsters the 'Mocha Marauders.'

 

"Give me all the chocolate macchiato if you value your life, abomination!" Homicide growled, leaning over the cafe's counter and pressing his weapon against the barista's throat. 

Said barista, a young man who was not paid enough to be robbed by a skeleton wielding a soggy slice of bread, whimpered. Not because of the threats- goodness, no! The weapon was a bread slice. Far from the most intimidating thing in the world, yes? What he feared - what send utter shivers down his spine and turned his skin ghost-white - happened to be the cloaked monster standing behind the maniac. The skeleton monster resembled death itself. If looks could kill, the blazing blue eyelight would have murdered him twenty times over. 

 

Dusk descended upon the city; The setting sun painted the darkened sky with hues of orange and purple. Mocha Marauders' two leaders walked side-by-side on the empty street. Reaper glanced at Homicide, smirking as he watched the genocide skeleton enjoy the chocolate coffee drink. 

"You know," He started. "we should do this more often."

Homicide hummed in thought before shrugging. "Eh, sure. It's not like I'm doing anything else interesting. After ban me from watching TV because I 'conspired with dark forces to kill our creator'."

"It's a date, then." Reaper said, grinning. "I'll pick you up next Sunday at six o'clock. We can visit all the best coffee places in the Multiverse."

 

Chapter 10: Ink's Guide To Boredom: Getting Ban From The Kitchen

Summary:

Ink isn't a great cook.

It was a peaceful - and subsequently boring - day in the Multiverse. Neither a tentacle or goo puddle could be found of Nightmare, which was odd for many reasons. Rumors from the grapevine said the dark terror had an ill follower. And others told tales of an incident involving a pink dress. Needless to say, Ink did not believe any of the stories circulating the Multiverse. After all, Nightmare would look far better in a royal purple dress. Pink would clash too much with his weird sludgy coating. So, clearly, the dress story - much like the others - was false. 

As for his best friend and archrival, Error, an Undernovela marathon seized his undivided attention; The last time Ink saw the other he mentioned a new episode of the strange show... AU? Whatever it was. So, now the artist had no one to play with. He would visit another AU, but many placed a ban on him visiting when bored. Why? Who knows. Maybe it had something to do with the hairbrush, violin, and undead army/lich incident from last time.

Ink sighed and flopped onto his bed. What do my friends do when they're bored?

Following them would be the best way to find out. However, that was considered 'stalking', and 'stalking' was bad. Therefore, this problem needed to be approached from a different angle. Instead of asking what they do, he should ponder what they like. 

Blue likes cooking. Maybe I should give that a try?

 

Five hours passed, and finally, the perfect culinary creation sat before him. Ink stared in wonder at it. And he continued to do so until Dream sudden slammed open his front door with a fire extinguisher in hand. "Ink, are you ok-" The guardian of positivity yelped as a living blaze zipped by. "Is that flaming, winged toast?!"

"That?" Ink gestured to the fiery toast bats on his ceiling, causing a blaze. "Yeah, I got bored- It seemed like a great idea at the time, but they're just kind of annoying." 

Dream's eyes soon drifted to the magnificent dish on the partially burning counter. "What even is that?"

"A french bagel - You know, like french toast, but with a bagel - and some pierogies and soy sauce. Doesn't it look great!" 

The positive of the two skeletons sighed, aiming the fire extinguisher at the flames. "Ink... Please, for the love of all that is good, never cook again."

Chapter 11: The "I Funked Up" Club

Summary:

Error's a part of more than just the "Friend Club"; He's a part of a club solely consisting of himself.

Notes:

I'll admit this is a bit chaotic and weird.

The Anti-Void: A location known for being so bleak and silent it could drive a monster insane- And many did it claim. The unfortunate, the daring, the foolish... None could escape the white vastness's pull. For once caught, it was impossible to break free. A variety of monsters had been lost to the dreaded expanse. However, most were unknown. Never seen before by prying eyes. Forgotten as time passed on. Only a sole skeleton held the title 'The Anti-Void's Resident'. Many feared him; Others sought to befriend him. Though, most agreed he was a danger not only to himself but to others.

Who was this monster? The psychopath known throughout the Multiverse? Some used to know him by the name Geno. Now he went by the moniker Error, The Destroyer of Worlds. And, on this very day, he called for a meeting of the highest order.

 

Silence was broken as chaos sounded throughout the Anti-Void. No, it was not caused by the errant voices screaming at their only listener. Error caused it. He and the two other members of his club. 

"We sh-sh-should pour glitter into-to Nightmare's goop!" A glitchy skeleton shouted. Though a convincing look-a-like, this glitter-obsessed monster was not the Scourge of the Multiverse. His black bones and error signs may lead others to believe otherwise. However, there were enough differences to separate him from the destroyer: A pitch-black hoodie laid in place of Error's blue one (hood pulled over his head), matching solid black shorts covered his legs, and error signs/glitches were less pronounced. The doppelganger begrudgingly went by the name Xerox.

"Ugh-ugh, but we-e do th-that every Valentine's Day! Be-bedazzling Death's cloak would be-be way more fun-un; imagine him ru-running around-nd looking like a ch-child's failed art-art-t project. The other-er Gods would n-n-never let him-him live it down!" Error, the very first Genocide and Destroyer of Worlds, argued. 

"How about-" The duo's bickering cut off the echoing, fluctuating voice. It's owner - a white glitching skeleton with red/blue in his eye sockets and code running down his clothes and body - scowled in response, silently seething. 

"Replacing In-ink's ink with food col-ol-oring is a-a better id-idea!"

"No- Th-throwing him into-to Monochrometale is a bet-better idea! I-it-" 

"D-dream's recently deve-eloped a fear of-of toast-st-"

"-the-the bridge-dge of unadulterated a-agony-"

"-a des-deserted island with-ith a-a-a crazy, sentient pal-palm tree-"

"-flaming-ing bats!"

"-cow pri-print!"

"Enough!" Fatal roared, causing the two errors to quieten and turn to face him. "How about-" 

The glitch was interrupted once more. This time by the unique sound of a portal opening and aggravating voice whining, "Error," Ink step out of said portal with a pout on his obnoxious face. "I'm bored- Wait, there's two of you?! And who is the weird bloody, glitchy guy?" An hourglass spun in one eye socket while a question mark appeared in the other. 

Error knew exactly how to get rid of the other and keep his counterparts a secret. In fact, the method always worked. Despite its abnormality. He chuckled, "Oh, Ink-k, you moronic cre-creature- Even now-ow, true inte-el-elligence seems to-to escape you."

"What?" Ink asked, curiously, with not a single drop of offense. 

Xerox caught on to his plan and answered instead, "Tch, wh-what he's trying to-to s-say is: You're-re dreaming, you i-idiot."

Ink frowned; a teardrop and broken heart formed in his eye sockets. "Oh... That makes sense. I think? And here I was looking forward to having two of you to play with from now on."

"J-just get the-the heck out a-and go back-back to your colorful-ful heckscape."

The trio watched as the dejected artist opened a portal beneath his feet and fell through. Once it closed, they collectively sighed a breath of relief. None of the Sanses were particularly fond of Ink. At all. One could even say they held a higher fondness for cockroaches when compared to how much they cared about the soulless creator. 

"Ok-okay, now that-at that is settled- What-t were we-we talking ab-bout?" Error asked his two counterparts.

"Wreaking h-h-havoc and general-ral mischief." Xerox said, crossing his arms, likely still upset about the rejection of his glitter scheme. 

The renowned destroyer smirked evilly. "Good-good. What is on-n this week's age-agenda? A-a-any suggestions?" Xerox opened his mouth to speak, but Error quickly intervened. "Th-that do n-not involve glit-t-ter."

Fatal jumped on the chance to speak and, finally, tell the others his ingenious plan. "Nothing interesting has been happening in Undernovela-"

"Y-you take th-a-at back-back!" 

"-so, I think we should create our own drama." Fatal continued as if never interrupted. 

"And-d how would we-we do t-t-that?" Xerox pondered, slightly intrigued by the idea. 

Fatal elaborated, "Well, as you all know, Sci and Edge are still dancing around their feelings for each other, and UT!Gaster is still trying to create a love quadrilateral between Edge, Classic, Geno, and Sci. I say we add Dust, Killer, and Horror to the equation to create a love heptagon." 

Error raised an invisible eyebrow. "Would it-it even w-w-work?"

"I have confidence that it will. The whole reason UT!Gaster is attempting to spark a romantic war between them - aside from the fact his mind is disturbed - is because, in a temporal/dimensional sense, they're all the same skeleton. And he wants grandchildren. Very, very strange grandchildren. Dust, Killer, and Horror come from classic timelines gone wrong, so, technically, they are potential future versions of Sci. Meaning any children from them would be his grandchildren by default. Plus, it would be enjoyable to watch the added chaos."

"We're fu-future versions of-of Geno... W-w-wouldn't that mean-an..." Xerox trailed off. 

"Yeah-yeah, let's n-not mention any-th-thing regarding that to-to any G-gaster." Error shuddered. "They'll pro-probably try t-to hook us-us up with-th Death." 

Chapter 12: Horseskeletons of The Apocalypse

Summary:

FGOD!Error finds himself with... interesting companions. (AKA a short bout of randomness)

Notes:

Took a break from writing a more serious story to make something random and silly.

"How did my life become this?" Error groaned, holding his skull in his hands. 

The Anti-Void - his empty prison - had three new permanent residents. A crazed glitch (much like himself), some Horrortale abomination who was determined to kill anything and everything, and a childish virus that could wipe worlds clean. Said virus clung to him while the two others were at each others' throat, arguing about Fate. Apparently, they loathed her because she manipulated them and destroyed another AU. 

I guess I need to put an end to their fight before they break something.

He gently gapped ahold of the white-boned skeleton attached to his waist, "Al-l-right, Pestilence, time to-to let go-o."

"That is not Paper Crane's name!" The newly dubbed Paper Crane pouted.

Error detached the other and approached the duo, "War, Famine- Break it up. I have no time for this, and no patience to deal with it."

Instead of stopping, the white-blue hooded glitch used his strings to pull Error closer and into a hug. His echoing voice rumbled, "Fear not, Brother. I shall protect you from this knave." 

"Yer bro's dead, idiot. Fate offed 'im" The Horrortale reject hissed, " 'sides, I saw 'im first!" With that said, he forcefully joined the, now very awkward, hug.

A gasp sounded. "HUGS!" And, now, Paper Crane had joined the group hug. 

Error stared at the ceiling of the Anti-Void, pondering many things. Was this Fate's revenge for the llama incident? Where did these skeletons come from? But, most importantly: What has my life become?

Chapter 13: 1K

Summary:

Yay!

One thousand reads/views? One thousand! Honestly, that snuck up on me; I haven't even had time to prepare anything special. I suppose, though, I can start with this: Thank you for everything- all the lovely comments, kudos, views, and et cetera. It is truly heartwarming to know these silly little stories are enjoyed by others. In celebration of this monumental milestone, I'll be taking requests from June 2 to June 11. There aren't any rules aside from do not request anything inappropriate/raunchy and only one-two requests per person.

Also, if I were to make a special story to celebrate this occasion, what would you guys like to see? An update to a preexisting story? An entirely new story? The sky is the metaphorical limit.  

Chapter 14: Request: Operation F.U.N. (Part 1)

Summary:

Request: What about one where Nightmare is captured by the Stars and they try to do 'Happiness Therapy'. Meaning Nightmare is stuck in a room that looks like a rainbow threw up happiness and stuffed animals. With Dream and Blue giving 'friendship lessons'. Nightmare has the most done attitude and is just Not Cooperating. NO dream i do not want to roleplay friendship with the stuffed bears. Dream, Dream get that fluffy ass sweater away from me, i don't care that it even has little sleeves for my tentacles, It Is BRIGHT FUCKING PINK. DO NOT TRY TO WIPE MY GOOP AWAY IT WON'T WORK, JUST LEAVE IT ALONE. God this happy hell can't get any worse. No, NO you did not just try to read fucking fluffy bunny to me, do you have no respect for who and what i am?

(This glorious story was requested by BookwyrmFinallyGotAnAccount.)

Notes:

Hello, BookwyrmFinallyGotAnAccount.

I'll be honest, I am not sure if this fully captures your request, but I hope you enjoy it nonetheless.

Footsteps beat against the ground- a lighter pair pursued by a set of three heavier ones. Local scenery flew by in the blink of an eye. Veil after veil of snowflakes danced along the howling winds, creating a blinding white haze. Snow-coated pine trees and shrubbery blurred from the sheer speed of the running monster: A slivery-boned skeleton, whos chaser were relentless. A viscous black ooze desperately clung to his being, caught in a perpetual cycle of dripping off his bones only to clasp back on; Two limp tendrils made from the substance trailed behind him. If one gazed upon the monster's face, they would see an odd cross between fright and a hateful scowl. 

Nightmare, the Guardian of Negativity, was the fleeing skeleton. A great fury only comparable to the one that plagued him in Dreamtale raged within his being. It burned in his soul and chest, festering like a planet-devouring sun hellbent on consuming the Earth with flame. Thought, despite the rise in internal negativity, he could not bring forth more power or repair his dark armor. How did this come to be? Dream, his self-proclaimed 'brother,' enlisted Sci to help 'fix' him. Meaning, the godforsaken scientist used the opportunity to create a device that would forcibly revert Nightmare to his uncorrupt form. The form of a weak, helpless child. It worked. Partially. Nightmare's true appearance was revealed for all to see. (What he would give to go back and slap that pleased smile off Dream's face.) However, the black ooze refused to recede entirely. (The crestfallen expression the other wore nearly made up for his damned positivity.) It was a part of him; Dream was a fool for thinking otherwise, and forcibly attempting to separate him from himself.

If only my negativity wasn't so useless right now! Nightmare growled at the thought. He hated it, feeling so defenseless and easy to kill. It drew out the old insecurities and fears buried beneath a layer of negativity. 

I swear if I ever get my hands on Sci - or Red, he'd be a good bargaining chip - I will show them a force more frightful than negativity and death combined!

Of course, the forced shift in appearance and power was not the sole cause of his rage. Dream isolated him from his boys- Dust, Killer, Horror, and Cross. And, threw each of them into different AUs, which were notoriously dangerous and difficult to escape from unscathed. Apparently, in the guardian's twisted, delusional mind, they were a 'bad influence'; Demons sent by Satan himself to ensure Nightmare stayed on the path of evil. A ludicrous notion by all means. Killer could be intimidated by a pickle jar. Cross had a cow phobia. Dust feared any and every spider (Muffet's fight was quite traumatic in his AU). Horror cried whenever he saw a trash can because 'Nightmare, how can they be so heartless and throw away perfectly good food.' His boys- Despite being cold-blooded murderers and advocates of negativity, they had the mentality of a man-child. If anything, Nightmare was a 'bad influence' on them. 

Suddenly liquid chains shot past the trees, knocking him roughly to the ground and pinning his body against the snowy surface. He squirmed and struggled. However, the black ink bindings merely tightened with each movement. 

Funk!

Nightmare's pursuers' footfall grew ever closer; The sound nigh thunderous in his invisible ears. Frantic beating from his dark soul shook his rib cage. He could not allow the Star Trio to catch him. Given the circumstances, though, he may not have a choice. The chains tightened further with every additional thrash, squeezing around his body until the world began fading to black. As the world slowly dissipated, a hysterical voice sounded, "Ink, I told you to be gentle with him!"

"Wait, you did? Who are we chasing again? I forgot."

Two exasperated sighs followed, and then Nightmare heard no more as his consciousness got devoured by darkness.  

---

Nightmare awoke gradually, and groggily with a sharp tingle nipping at certain spots on his bones. It burned as if someone tore a layer of bone off and poured lemon juice on the wound. A pained hiss escaped. At the noise, something - likely someone - next to him started; The mattress beside him shifted, and a tiny bit of the pain vanished. It took some effort, but he managed to force his eye sockets open. Bright neon and pastel shades invaded his vision. A sparkling eyesore of rainbow stretched across the ceiling, running down the connecting wall. This room- Either his boys decided to play a sick prank him, or this was not his regal dwelling. Nightmare squinted and mumbled, "Where?" 

"Nighty!" 

Dream! That means- "Ugh, I'm in hell." He groaned, wincing when moving a hand to his face. 

"No, brother, you're in the Star Council's rehabilitation ward." The obnoxious, yellow-clad guardian sat next to the bedside; Positivity oozed off his being and brightened the disgustingly happy smile on his jaws. The hand closest to Nightmare held a blackened washcloth. A bucket of murky water was on the nightstand a foot to the left. As he stared, he noticed a chunk of corruption floating on the water's surface. Dream- that sick creep has been tearing off my magic! The slivery-boned skeleton was disgusted by the realization. That explained why bones stung in certain spots. 

Shifting in the opposite direction, he growled, "Anywhere with you is hell. And, considering your friends are likely here, that must make this purgatory!" 

Dream merely sighed and grabbed ahold of the nearest arm, pulling it closer. The wet, magic-tainted rag got threateningly close to a patch of negativity on the appendage before Nightmare snatched it back. Clutching the arm against his chest, he hissed, "Knock it off! The hell do you think you are doing?!"

"Just cleaning up the last of the corruption."

"Well, don't- If I were a mortal animal, you would be skinning me alive!"

Dream rolled his eyelights and waved a hand dismissively. "You're exaggerating." 

The skeleton foolishly attempted to wipe away the gunk once more. 

"Continue down this path, and I will find a way to transform you into a human solely to tear every strip of flesh off you." Nightmare threatened, enjoying the slight paling of the guardian's face. 

---

Dream departed at six O'clock in the afternoon- but not before trying to battle Nightmare's goop with that godforsaken washcloth, giving up when Nightmare violently snatched it and shoved it in his mouth. The sheer revulsion on Dream's face was a delight. And watching the other attempt to wipe the viscous substance off his tongue was even better. However, that was two hours ago; Those hours felt like an eternity. This childish, colorful hellscape held nothing to amuse the King of Darkness. The sinfully babyish bookcase displayed infantile book (bedtime stories, coloring books, and the like), without a single decent read among them. It was absurd. A waste of space and a disgrace to literacy. 

That, though, wasn't even the worst part: Stuff animals- plush creatures of all shapes, sizes, species, and colors surrounded him, watching with their beady black eyes. Nightmare would not admit it to anyone, not even his boys, but dead yet lifelike toys creeped him out. They looked like they would drag him into a rainbow and never allow him to leave. A shudder slid down his spine. Torture, this must be a new form of torture. How could anyone - except for the insane - choose to live like this. He glanced at yet another staring plush before fully turning away. 

Next chance I get, I should find a sharp object and chop their heads off. Leave them for the Stars to find.

Nightmare's evil plotting was interrupted by a click from the door handle. The gateway leading beyond his neon-pastel prison pushed open, revealing none other than Blue. 

Nightmare glared and hissed, "What do you want?" 

"Mweh-he-he, the magnificent Blue has come to read you a bedtime story of friendship!" The blue-clad skeleton grinned and produced a 'Fluffy Bunny' book from his inventory. Added more subtly after was, "Dream would do it in my stead, but he is still trying to wash the corruption out of his mouth."

Oh, heck no, you are not doing that to me!

That damned children's book would not be read to him, Nightmare, the Lord of Darkness. His situation was demeaning enough already. But how to escape the torture? Glancing around the colorful hellscape, he found his eyes drawn to an unopened box of crayons. A devilish grin crossed Nightmare's skull as an idea came to mind. 

"Hey, Blue, how about I read you a story?"

 

"And then Fluffy Bunny died. The End!" He concluded, using the red crayon to draw 'X's over the cartoon rabbit's eyes and add gruesome details. Blue, who was tied to a wooden chair with a rainbow jump rope, sobbed silently. Big blue tears dripped from his unlit eye sockets. Nightmare made sure to lean closer so the other could get a good look at the picture's gory additions. The negativity received in return was delectable. Please with his work, he tossed the book on the floor and freed Blue from his bindings. The potentially traumatized skeleton immediately bolted, dashing across the room and throwing the door open before slamming it shut and locking it. Soon heartbreaking wails sounded on the other side. His grin's corners quirked up a fraction further. If they were going to make him miserable, then he'd return the favor tenfold. Nightmare wandered over to his bed and laid down, relishing the negativity in the atmosphere. 

I guess children's stories can be fun.

"Nightmare, what did you do?!" Dream's scolding voice echoed from the adjacent room.

Heh. Still worth it.

---

Nightmare stirred in the middle of the night. He tossed and turned in the overly fluffy bed, unable to get comfortable; Plagued by the overwhelming feeling that something was watching him. His eye sockets cracked open and- "Gah!" 

The Dark Lord threw out a hand, knocking away a beady-eyed stuffed animal that was certainly not there when he went to bed. 

I'd much rather wake up to Killer watching me sleep. Not one of those things. 

Glancing at the other plush creatures, he pulled the equally plush and colorful blanket over his head; as he did so, one thought came to mind: This sucks. I hope the boys save me soon.

Chapter 15: Request: Operation F.U.N. (Part 2)

The next few days were an ordeal; A very unpleasant ordeal, at that. Ink had popped by every so often and attempted to coerce him into painting a colorful scenery. The artist yielded all efforts after being presented with an 'interesting' piece. Nightmare, being the Lord of Darkness and Nightmares that he was, decided to get back at him via a morbid painting of the Ink himself murdering Error. It was not well-received. Ink freaked out upon seeing it, threw up his namesake, and fled while repeating, 'I have to find him!' He'd been avoiding Nightmare ever since. Likewise with himself, as the avoidance was mutual. The whole situation- Everything didn't settle right after that, especially considering Error was still MIA and had been for a while.

Dream and Blue attempted to give him 'friendship lessons' and force him to participate in 'tea parties.' The parties, though, ended after Nightmare either threatened someone with a tea cake or listed horrible ways to kill and/or poison someone. Their expressions were priceless, mainly after he informed them of the toxicity of their favorite fruit and tuber. Blue balked at the news that tomatoes could, in fact, be deadly. (During a specific stage of growth and in a large quantity. However, they did not need to know that little detail.) He ruined potatoes for them in a similar fashion. Along with the tomato, it was a recognized member of the nightshade family; Bore a fruit reminiscent of a cherry tomato, which was ill-advised to consume. Neither skeleton would be able to view ketchup or mashed potatoes the same. 

Today, however, Nightmare faced a set of different, arguably more obnoxious trials. 

"Dream," Nightmare growled, warningly. His eyelights narrowed at the fluffy, pink/purple-colored atrocity the guardian presented him. The cheery grin on the other's face made him want nothing more than to slap it off and watch him cry. "no."

The overly positive skeleton pouted, staring at him with big puppy-dog eyes. "But you haven't even tried it on yet! And it's so snuggly- like a constant hug!"

"Are you sure this absurdity isn't a new form of torture? This feels like a new torture method." The Guardian of Negativity spat as he stepped back a few paces, gazing at the offending article with suspicion. He could not fathom why someone would want an amaranthine embrace. 

It would be like another living creature eternally invading my personal space. Nightmare gave it a brief yet considering look. Maybe I should keep it and make the boys wear it when they misbehave; What better punishment than to feel like an invisible being is affixed to you? Like a foe who's forever stalking you, and no matter how far you run, you can not escape.

...No.

I'll burn it later. No one deserves that level of punishment. 

A sigh sounded in the disgustingly cheery-themed room. Dream ceased all attempts to guilt Nightmare into wearing the sweater and pulled it close to his chest. Then, with all the sincerity he could muster, said, "I swear, Nightmare, it is not torture in any way, shape, or form. Why can't you trust me on this?"

"A likely story- Besides, since when are you a good judge of character. Those villagers you befriended were not the noblest or kindest of people." The silvery-boned skeleton laughed humorlessly. "In fact, one could argue that they couldn't grasp the concept."

His opposite flinched, peering down at the ground as if he wanted nothing more than for it to swallow him whole. Silence stretched between them. Neither spoke. Neither tried. Eventually, Dream fled with his metaphorical tail between his legs, leaving Nightmare to stew alone in his happy little hell until lunchtime. 

 

Lunch was an easy-going affair. Uneventfully, at the most- That was until a particular yellow-clad skeleton made it his life's goal to pester Nightmare. Said dark lord begrudgingly sat in a colorful plastic chair with a sippy cup of pink lemonade; A plate of smiling sandwiches laid before him. It was primarily untouched. He'd eaten a variety of different foods over the years, but eating something highly reminiscent of a face was a line he dared not cross. Dream, the horrid creep born from the same tree as him, seated himself on the opposite side of the table. The very ugly, plastic rainbow table. 

And Nightmare had more than enough of his incessant chattering, well-meant questions, happy attitude, and brilliant smile. 

Glaring at the walking, talking ray of sunshine, he growled, "You are killing me with 'kindness'; I demand you stop!"

"What's the magic word?" Dream said in an irritatingly sing-songy voice. 

"Shove a %$@*& up your #&@!"

The Guardian of Positivity paled and scooted his chair back ever-so-slightly. "Ooookkay... 'Please.' The magic word is 'please.' We'll- uh, let's work on proper manners later."

Dream then poked at his food for a while before fleeing once more. A smirk crept onto Nightmare's skull as he watched the happy-go-lucky skeleton leave due to discomfort.

---

Another night came and went, taking another portion of Nightmare's sanity with it. His saintly patience was running out. Fast. He hoped his boys would rescue him by now, but there was nay glimpse of them to be seen or found, which led to many worries about their wellbeing. Dust, Killer, Horror, and Cross could hold their own, but for how long? Were they hurt? Dead? Were they still trapped in separate AUs? Did they escape? If so, did they not know where Nightmare was trapped? The Lord of Darkness loathed not knowing the status of his boys. Curse Dream, and his stupid idea to separate him and his boys.

As the day continued, it merely got worse. After yesterday's trials, Nightmare thought his imprisonment couldn't get any more damning. He was wrong.

Blue skipped into the hellish room half passed noon with important news. At first, he hesitated to speak and stood far away from the darker before moving a single step closer and quietly relaying the message. "Hey, Nightmare, a guest is coming over today."

The Lord of the Night eyed Blue, skeptically. "What kind of guest?"

"Oh, well, I'm glad you asked! A friend from Aftertale needs us to babysit someone for the day. Apparently, everyone else refused to look after him." The blue-clad skeleton added the last sentence as a whisper. However, Nightmare heard him regardless.

"Hell will freeze over before I agree to watch a child."

"Come on, Nightmare! It will be a good learning experience. Plus, you might even become friends!"

A growing dread ached in his chest at a sudden realization. "No, no, no- you did not set me up on a playdate, did you?!"

Blue shuffled his feet nervously, glancing down at the ground instead of Nightmare; A gloved hand twitched before creeping upward to scratch at his neck. "Err, well, if it makes you feel better, I think you two will get along perfectly fine. The monster coming over- He has an acquired sense of humor, like you. Not to mention, he tried to stab Ink and Dream and me. So, try? To be nice? Please." 

 

The day crept on painfully slowly. An agonizing hour later and the Star Sanses' new charge arrived. Though Nightmare got permission to exit his room and 'learn the niceties of interacting with another monster,' he remained there. Yes, this was an opportunity to scope out an area other than the colorful-themed room. The silvery-boned skeleton, however, refused to yield to Dream or Blue's efforts. He would not participate in a playdate. His physical appearance may be that of a child, but he was not about to start acting like one. And certainly not after the most positive of them all attempted to coddle him.

Unfortunately, Nightmare had to admit the 'guest' sounded very interesting. Curse words and crashes echoed from the outer room the moment they arrived; Often followed by the scolding of Dream or Blue, while Ink encouraged the other's violent behavior, which ended with him being scolded as well. The temptation to get to know this mysterious monster grew. Nightmare struggled to ignore it. This monster- they could be a great addition to his team. Plus, his boys had been begging him for another brother. It would be a win-win... if not for the fact Dream would perceive the event as a small victory. He very well couldn't give the creep that, now could he? As the saying went, 'give them an inch, and they'll take a mile.'

Bang! His prison's door flung open, and a figure rushed in. A skeleton with a crazed grin, dressed like he successfully mugged Geno and lived to tell the tale. (A impressive feat. The second Aftertale Sans was notoriously brutal during combat; Known for giving Death himself a run for his money.) Nightmare could only watch in bewilderment and shock as the skeleton saw a unicorn plush and proclaimed, "Stabbed horse!"

"The funk?!", slipped passed the negative guardian's jaws. Who was this skeleton? Why were they referring to a unicorn as a 'stabbed horse'? And, how mentally sound were they?

Notes:

*Homicide has joined the party.

Chapter 16: Request: Operation F.U.N. (Part 3.1)

Notes:

This chapter is brought to you by impatience.

A second passed before the intruder - and, hopefully, savior - noticed his presence in the room. He turned to Nightmare and blinked a few times as if the notion of a person residing here was absurd; To be fair, it was. The Guardian of Negativity would sooner choose to live in a musty, filthy alleyway in Underfell then this rainbow hell. His unwarranted visitor openly stared at him, looking over every detail with a calculating eye. The foreign eyelights lingered on the two limp tendrils attached to his lower back. Then they slowly moved up, inspecting every detail, until they reached his face. And- The stranger doubled over and started laughing hysterically. Nightmare had never felt more insulted. Did this monster not know who he was?! How dare he laugh in the face of Nightmare- The Lord of Darkness and Guardian of Negativity?!

He bristled and puffed up, which made the monster laugh even harder. 

"Ha! The look on your face," The strange skeleton chuckled, wiping a tear from their eye socket. "priceless. Yo- you... Heh-he, you look like a tiny angry kitten!"

Before the dark guardian could formulate a threat in response, a yellow blur burst into the room. The blur - now still enough to be distinguished as Dream - positioned himself between Nightmare and the insolent intruder. A deep scowl rested on his skull. Glancing down, Nightmare noticed the other had something grasped tightly in one hand. It was... a spray bottle? 

Woah. Dream has truly lost his mind. What on earth does that idiot expect a spray bottle to do to a skeleton? 

The two fools had a staredown; Each waiting for the other to make the first move. The tension between them was palpable. A hostile aura sparked to life as the seconds passed. The Guardian of Positivity made his move, breaking the silence with a few words, "Homicide," Dream's tone held the scolding of an enraged, overprotective mother. "leave my brother alone!" 

Homicide, Nightmare thought. Interesting. So that is the name of the monster who dares to mock me. Given the title and outfit, perhaps he does come from an Aftertale... Though, I was unaware there is more than one. Did Ink create another? Surely not. Geno would kill him if he did that.

I wonder, would he have the same weaknesses? I should test that theory; Get back at him for laughing in my face. 

The skeleton in question wore a brief look of shock. When Dream lifted the spray bottle and aimed it at him, it shifted to utter hatred; Nightmare could feel the strength of the emotion perfectly. Such potent negativity was no doubt afflicting the positive guardian. Then, with speed only seen harnessed by a hyper Underswap Sans, Homicide dashed out of the room, hissing and screeching like a demon crawling out of hell. Dream rushed out after him, declaring, "If you don't start behaving, I will tell After to extent the 'no TV' punishment."

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving the Lord of Darkness to his own devices. He stood silently and listened to the ensuing chaos. 

"Homicide- No, no, no, anything but the vase!"

Crash!

"Dream, are you destroying things?!" Ink, for some odd reason, asked excitedly.

"Ugh! No, Ink. Why can't you just drop that?"

"Dream is lying! He's breaking everything in here!" The following racket sounded like a symphony of shattering porcelain.

Nightmare smirked. The Star Simpletons would be distracted for quite a while if the anarchy beyond the door was any indication.

It was time to plot his revenge. 

 

The slivery-boned skeleton sat on the edge of the overly fluffy bed and pondered, what is the best way to get revenge? To his knowledge, Homicide was an Aftertale Sans- a very deranged, violent Aftertale Sans; The Geno of the AU. However, where did he come from? A plethora of alternate universes existed. The likelihood his foe hailed from a Classic timeline gone wrong was slim. And, in the event that he did, there could still be enough variations to alter the entire AU; any number of things could be different- Whether it be the core AU or the way events transpire. That made Nightmare's goal harder, as it would be impossible to discern the other's weaknesses without getting to know him. 

Wait- That's it!

The perfect, most ingenious plan: Nightmare would befriend this skeleton, learn his weaknesses, and use them against him to exact his revenge. 

Chapter 17: Request: Operation F.U.N. (Part 3.2)

Notes:

Okay, I lied- this isn't the final part. Well, not in its entirety. The last bit I need to write is giving me a little trouble, so I opted to post what I have written thus far. Hope you enjoy it!

Sometime later (after the chaos settled), Nightmare enacted the first step in his plan: Getting Blue to set up a formal meeting for him and Homicide. Or, as the imbecile called it, a 'playdate.' Everything went smoothly. More so than anticipated. Blue said nothing about the 'playdate' to Dream; Likely content keeping it to himself or afraid of inciting another impromptu, gory bedtime story. He had half-expected the cerulean blabbermouth to burst from excitement and tell the entire Multiverse. His reputation as the vilest, most frightful creature in the Multiverse would be in ruins if such a thing came to pass. Luckily, Nightmare didn't have to worry about that at the moment. Revenge was his main priority. And, if Blue got the bright idea to go behind his back and soil his reputation- well, the Star Sans would not like the outcome. 

With that handled, now all the dark aura-ed skeleton needed to fret about was dealing with that impudent fool, Homicide. The other was the wild-card of all wild-cards, vastly unpredictable and put the 'danger' in 'dangerous.' Their meeting could go one of two ways: successful or wrong to the point Nightmare would have to fight off the other. He greatly hoped for the former. His current state handled combat poorly, and he only had so much magic to spare. (All thanks to that annoying imbecile, Dream.) Not to mention, the whole point of setting up a stupid 'playdate' was to 'befriend' Homicide and discover his weaknesses, which would be impossible if the lunatic wants to kill him. And an utter waste of Nightmare's effort if it were to fail. 

A gentle knock sounded from the direction of the door, likely Blue with his soon to be 'friend.' The Guardian of Negativity smirked. 

Time to put my ingenious plan into action.

The hellish, color-laden prison's door handle turned before a living force pushed the barrier open from the other side. Once agape, Blue and Nightmare's foe, Homicide, were revealed to be standing in hall connected to the cheery room. Homicide, from what he could tell, looked less than pleased by the situation. An expression of discontent sat on his skull- teeth turned down, eyes narrowed in Nightmare's direction. One would assume the other was angry. However, the second Guardian of Emotions knew better than to jump to conclusions. The emotions radiating from Homicide told a completely different story. Mild irritation (at Blue), curiosity, pride, and mischievousness swelled in him. 

Perfect, Nightmare thought. His own curiosity toward me will be an aid in his downfall. 

The bloody-jawed Sans cautiously stepped into the room. Promptly after beyond the threshold, Blue swiftly slammed the door shut with a near incomprehensible, "Okay, you two have fun, don't kill each other, bye!"

"Rude." Homicide grumbled.

Nightmare found that he agreed with that sentiment. The Star Sans could have stayed for a moment longer and given them a proper introduction, at the very least. But instead, he fled with his tail between his legs. 

An awkward silence fell upon the room. The two skeletons had somewhat of a stare-off, using the opportunity to inspect each other. Homicide's white eyelights bore into his bones as he continued to search for a sign of something. What that something was, Nightmare had no clue. A few uncomfortable seconds later, he decided to take a civil approach and broke the deafening quiet. "Homicide, was it?" 

The other crossed his arms and huffed. "Unfortunately. Even though I'm the first Geno, I can't have that moniker because some filthy glitch claimed it before me!" An evil grin spread across his face before he quietly added, "But he can't keep it if he is dead."

Nightmare felt his eye sockets narrow. "I think I'm starting to understand why they have you here..."

"My charm and good looks?" Homicide questioned with a cocky smirk. 

His jaw nearly dropped in disbelief. Surely, the monster was not conceited enough to believe that. "What- No, You're crazy."

The bloody skeleton snickered and struck a dramatic pose. "Crazy good-looking?"

"Ugh, you are impossible." Nightmare groaned, rolling his eyelights. 

Homicide dropped the pose and smiled, rubbing his chin with one hand. "Impossibly handsome, you mean."

In his mental space, Nightmare completed the equivalent of sighing and facepalming simultaneously, wondering in abject fear: Oh, stars, what horrors have I brought upon myself?

 

Despite the rocky start, the evening went fairly well- So well, in fact, that Nightmare completely forgot about his brilliant plan. He was too caught up in chatting with the crazy skeleton to even consider it. They talked and talked, up until it was time to part ways for the night.

 

Darkness fell upon the sky as the sun had long since set, stars danced and shimmered along the blackish-blue horizon- Not that Nightmare could see it. His room, unfortunately, lacked windows. That fact merely served to sour his mood further. A glass-covered opening would make for the perfect escape route or, at the very least, give him something less repulsive to look at. The dark guardian's eye sockets narrowed at the multicolored mobile dangling from the ceiling above him. It was ridiculous, infantile; Exactly like everything else in his prison. He loathed it. A window - even if impassible and secured with magic proof iron bars - would be a blessing. How he wished for a little peek into the real, unfanciful world. But, knowing Dream, he would have had Ink put a colorful faerie garden or unicorn-housing forest outside. Probably a few permanent rainbows too. Thus, ruining a perfectly good view with childish whimsy. It would undoubtedly be the inspiration for every fantasy-related air-brush painting worn by vans across the Multiverse. 

"When will I escape this hell?" Nightmare groaned, exasperatedly. He then proceeded to smother his skull with an overly fluffy pillow.

Though the lids of his eyes felt heavier and heavier with the passing hours, sleep still managed to evade the negativity-controlling skeleton. Resentment boiled in his soul- hate for that self-proclaimed 'brother' of his, for the uncomfortably soft bed beneath him, for the damned night-light in the corner of the room; most importantly, hate and jealousy for the Star Sanses. The accursed trio and the buildings other residents had succumbed to slumber ages ago. A peaceful, undisturbed slumber based on the ease in their emotional states. If Nightmare had the strength to spare, he would send each and every one of those idiots a dream containing their deepest, darkest fears. Sadly, he was saving up his energy in hopes of gaining enough power to break free. Meaning: No tormenting the subconsciouses of his foes unless he wanted to prolong his escape. 

A growl tumbled out his throat. His silvery-toned phalanges dug into the pillowy object covering his face, causing the delicate fabric to tear. Channeling his built-up aggression, he swiftly righted himself and chucked the pillow with all his might. It flew to the opposite side of the room. Directly on its course was a pile of stuffed animals, which prevented it from hitting the wall and toppled over when the projectile made contact. One by one, the plush creatures fell to the floor with a light thud. Then silence encompassed the room once more. Nightmare simmered. The display was unimpressive and not nearly as therapeutic as he hoped.

That was anticlimactic. 

Suddenly a chilling voice echoed throughout the cheery expanse, with no discernable point of origin. Its tone deep, almost otherworldly and admittedly intimidating as it spoke words only heard in horror movies, "Oh, Nighty, don't you want to play with me? A  G A M E  J U S T  F O R    T H E  T H R E E  O F  U S." 

Nightmare stiffened, unconsciously pulling the sheets closer and wrapping them around himself like a protective barrier. The delicate soul in his chest beat faster with each passing moment. Every following thump-thump it produced, roared in his nonexistent ears and broke the deafening silence shrouding the room. Eyelights darting about, he examined every inch of his rainbow hell, searching and searching for an unseen enemy (or enemies). Alas, it was to no avail. Much to his dismay. The only thing mildly threatening within sight was the damned, beady-eyed stuffed animals- the ones Dream insisted on plaguing him with. However, an unnatural presence hung in the air. An aura that reeked of bloodlust and malice; Not to mention, LOVE. The foul kind that symbolized a being's capacity to kill. He was embarrassed to admit that he, Nightmare, Lord of Darkness, felt... afraid. Held fear for his life.  

Are the stuffed animals haunted? Angry that I disturbed their resting place. 

No. Nightmare, don't be stupid. Dream wouldn't put me in danger like this. Would he? He is a self-righteous moralist; if he thought a risky tactic would make me turn over a new leaf, he might try it.

Soul pounding, he let the blankets fall away and puffed out his chest. Sweat soon began to form at the base of Nightmare's skull as he donned a (fake) confident and composed expression. A chill crept ever-so-slowly down his spine. Thereafter, a tingling sensation inched across his bones- like the eyes of a predator were meticulously examining him, their prey. Smaller bones clinked together, creating a slight rattling sound. Nightmare quelled it by forcing his bones to still. He would not let Dream, or whatever this was, get the best of him; make him show signs of fear.

"I-if this is some k-kind of crazy attempt t-to scare me into acting nicer, i-it isn't going to work. You hear that, Dream. I-it won't work!" The Guardian of Negativity yelled, false bravado failing him before the first sentence. 

A dark chuckle sounded from the room's four corners. Nightmare sensed a faint trickle of amusement in the hidden being's emotional maelstrom. Barely, though. Between the enmity and bellicosity, it was nigh impossible to detect. Either way, he couldn't decide whether that amusement was a good thing or a very, very bad thing. Judging by the next words they spoke, it sided far beyond very, very bad. "Dream? A dreamer? No, no, no- Here, there is only N I G H T M A R E S."

At the end of the bed, a shadowy hand arose from the murky depths and clawed at the sheets, causing a horrid 'sccchhtt' sound with each new tear. The Lord of Darkness could have done many things in this situation. For example: screamed at the top of his lungs, flung a barrage of magical attacks at the appendage, or struck it with a pillow. He, unfortunately, did none of the above. Nightmare completely froze up. His bone stiffened like ice, soul pounding dangerously loud in his skull. The few remaining tendrils he had hardened to perform an attack they were currently incapable of doing. Thoughts ran rampant in the frightened skeleton's mind.

No. 

No. 

No. 

Dream isn't behind this, is he? He may be an utter creep and morally ambiguous, but he would not do this. Not to me. However, if he isn't, then why hasn't he sensed my negativity and bust open the door to make sure I'm okay?

That wouldn't matter unless...

The creature creeping up the bed got to him and the other Star Sanses first. 

The shock of realizing that no backup was on the way happened to be enough to shake Nightmare out of his stupor. Once motionless bones began to rattle together, echoing throughout the mostly quiet room. Quick puffs of air forced their way out from between his jaws. His soul, the purest essence of his being, relentlessly sounded. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. And, refused to stop. Fear still resided in Nightmare- along with wariness and apprehension. Emotions such as those were difficult to triumph. To a mere mortal. Given who he was, it would be a disgrace to allow his very source of power to determine his downfall. 

With a newfound flame burning for survival, the weakened skeleton summoned a magical construct in his left hand. A razor-sharp bone able to fit comfortably in his hand, similar to a knife. Pinprick small eyelights wavered yet firmly gazed at the appendage encroaching on the bed. He angled the magical blade in its' direction. It had no reaction other than to continue its' creeping ascent. Nightmare warily eyed his foe, conflicted on whether or not he should move closer to strike it. Before he could decide, the appendage quickened its' pace, darting toward him at a frightening speed. In mere seconds, it broke free from the shadows and skittered into the light. The night-light's yellow glow revealed it to be a scarred white skeleton arm with a deep crimson liquid dribbling down the phalanges, ulna, and radius. 

The sinister voice promptly called, "Well, little nightwalker, what is your answer?"

Startled, Nightmare strengthened his grip on the magic weapon, as his trembling hands threatened to drop it. He swiftly raised the blade and aimed at the foreign arm, intent on attacking. While the bone descended, on route for slashing his target's radius, a second hand appeared out of thin air and intercepted the weapon before it was able to connect. The bloody, white phalanges wrapped tightly around his armed hand. They squeezed harshly, preventing Nightmare from pulling his hand away to perform another attack. A strangled sound erupted from his throat as he choked down a shriek. An efforts to escape the strong grasp were to no avail. Nevertheless, that did not stop him from frantically tugging his arm back in a desperate attempt to free it.

During Nightmare's struggle, the first hand planted itself firmly on the bed and started pushing up, causing a figure lurched from the shadows. They screamed, "Do you want to play a game?!"

At the same time, the trapped skeleton howled, "Funking hell!"

In a panic, he used what little magic he had been able to save up to summon two gaster blasters; they charged slowly but steadily, releasing the sharp scent of ozone. Then Nightmare took a moment to examine his soon to be blasted foe. A blazing blue/red eyelight, blood laden jaws, manic grin- Homicide! It was that bloody Aftertale Sans the whole time. 

The demonic dragon skulls gradually fizzled out and vanished into nothingness, and with them went the bone attack he summoned earlier. Negativity's guardian blinked at the insane skeleton, at a loss for words. His posture instantly deflated. Shoulders slackening, captured arm falling limply to the side once the other released it. The wicked pressure bearing down on him disappeared entirely. Almost like it was never there. 

The boys would love him, especially Killer, Nightmare's subconscious begrudgingly added. The little hellkite pulled similar pranks all the time. Notably around the holiday months when monsters and humans were most susceptible to the seemingly supernatural. Several alternate universes even worshipped the void-eyed skeleton's eerie personas: Underswap #XXXX26's legendary Halloween spirit, Deadlock, and Undertale #XXXX53's dreaded Christmas ghoul, Eidolon, and Underfell #XXXX94's horrible hall-haunting hugger, Moor, to name a few. Failing to pay tribute to a respective figure caused terrible 'hauntings' to occur. Harmless stuff like moving furniture a foot left/right, silently lurking in hallways, suddenly hugging people (Underfell residents loathe and fear that), nearly scaring the life out of someone if they were highly disrespectful, and et cetera. Homicide already proved to be extremely skilled in one of those.

Together, Homicide and Killer would be a force to be reckoned with.  

As if the universe were trying to prove that further, his scarer, for whatever ungodly reason, produced two middle phalanges from a coat pocket. Then the skeleton practical shoved them into Nightmare's face and cheerily cried, "Look at what I got!"

If it were possible to crash like Error, he would have. There was just too much to try to comprehend. Numerous thoughts and questions ran through his mind as Homicide proudly displayed his prize. Did the skeleton not understand how grave the situation had been? How close Nightmare got to turning him into a smudge of dust and ash? Where was the other's concept of self-preservation? Why did he have someone else's phalanges, and who did he take them from? A nervous itch tickled the back of his neck. The kind that only happened when Dust, Killer, Horror, or Cross did something exceptionally ill-considered. Coupled with that and Nightmare's tendency to parent his boys, it prompted him to snap and lecture the bloody Sans. "The funk is wrong with you! You're lucky I didn't skewer you alive or blast you into oblivion. Next time, consider the strength of your foe before tormenting them in the middle of the night. It may just save your life." 

A majority of the silvery-boned skeleton's scolding went in one metaphorical ear and out the other. The other monster seemed more preoccupied with considering the first sentence as if it was a legitimate question. "A lot of things- oh, wait, are you talking about the fingers? I don't see a problem with this. It's not like Ink ever used them. Plus, he literally can't give a funk anymore." While snickering, the bloody glitch waved the two amputated digits in the air to emphasize his point. 

Nightmare took a deep breath and sighed. "Homicide, you are a strange, strange skeleton with morals that not even I can comprehend. Join my gang."

At least if he is one of us, I can keep him out of trouble- or get dragged into it with him. 

Homicide drew his finger-clutching hand towards his chest, and a thoughtful expression flashed across his face before becoming unreadable. There was nothing (necessarily) worrying about the emotions coursing through him- mainly mischievousness and pride; a steady hatred for Ink's face, too, for some reason. Perhaps a grudge against Blue as well.

A roguish smirk settled on the skeleton's jaws, and in a confident tone, he answered in the least expected way possible. "Hmm, no. If anything, you should join my gang- Do you like coffee?"

The guardian's sockets widened slightly. That certainly was an unexpected turnaround: to offer Nightmare a place in his own gang instead of joining Nightmare's. It was so out of nowhere that he couldn't help feeling disbelief. 

He has a gang? Him, the skeleton who doesn't even know the proper word for 'unicorn'?

How?

And why is he asking about coffee? 

Nightmare's brow scrunched, teeth turned down in a slight frown. "What does that have to do with anything?"

He honestly wanted to know. Unfortunately, Homicide seemed to be in no mood to tell him. 

"Answer the question!" His surprise recruiter demanded, a subtle growl tumbling out after. 

"Sheesh! Okay, I enjoy coffee every so often. Happy?" The dark lord raised his hands in a symbol of defeat, hoping to placate the crazy Aftertale Sans.

The other grinned and rubbed his hands together, evilly- not unlike that of a cartoon villain. With a devious gleam in his eye sockets, Homicide stated in an ominous tone, "Very." 

 

Nightmare could only shudder and worry about what was to come. 

Chapter 18: Request: Operation F.U.N. (Part 3.3)

Notes:

Finally, the final-final part of "Operation F.U.N."

Later, after an elaborate escape that involved toothpaste, a garden hose, and Death.

 

Nightmare silently stood in the background, arms crossed, leaning against a wall; His eyelights scanned the new environment. First of all, it was far more visually appealing than the Star Sanses' rainbow seizure hell. And not nearly as blindingly bright or claustrophobic. It was a rather large room. Almost Greek Revival-like in style, but still quite different in design- like someone mashed their favorite architecture types together. High walls stretched more than several feet above. A rich mocha colored them, accented by a cream white wall trim. The ceiling they led to had many decorative wooden roof supports. Brass/copper chains hung on the supports, holding lanterns crafted from the same metal. Each lighting fixture varied in size and held a candle burning with magical flames.  

Coffee and tortilla shaded tiles checkered across the area of the floor. No rugs or carpet adorned the square/rectangle stones. Two curved staircases sat at the back of the room, leading up a small platform with a rounded balcony attached. Hung on the wall behind was an elaborate tapestry. Various things were embroidered into the fabric: Coffee plants, beans, a coffee cup with hot steam wafting off it- Just overall coffee related things.  

The Lord of Darkness turned his attention to the inhabitants of the building. Many different monsters - primarily Sanses and the occasional Papyrus - were bustling about, standing in groups/chatting with each other, or sipping on a fresh cup of coffee. It was a sight to behold; A strange one, at that. Various powerful, intimidating monsters lurked amidst the crowd. He could recognize a few such as Color, Fresh, Death (for obvious reasons), and- Wait, was that Blue? Upon closer inspection, the skeleton did not appear to be the Star Sans; Rather, he was a casually dressed Underswap Sans with a pistol holstered on his side. Nightmare sputtered and did a double-take. Indeed, the Swap skeleton was armed and coolly talking to a Mafiafell Sans.  

That... is unexpected. 

Done staring at the spectacle, he directed his attention elsewhere. An intriguing group stood nearby; A few inches over to be exact. None of the members sparked a hint of recognition in his mind. However, one, in particular, was a dark glitching skeleton that looked similar to the missing destroyer, Error. Pitch black attire clothed the other. The hoodie's hood completely covered his skull and shrouded his face, making it impossible for Nightmare to check for tear marks. Error symbols glitched around him, but they were far more subtle than the real Error's. He quietly pondered whether or not his colleague knew of the doppelgänger's existence. Likely not. If Error did, then Nightmare and the gang would have gotten an earful about it. 

A second oddity stood directly to the monster's left: Another male skeleton, who also had bones as dark as onyx and flickering symbols; Unlike his comrade in err, he did not hide a single aspect of his appearance. A wide grin stretched across the other's skull. His yellow/magenta eyelights randomly changed between dots and stars, and little yellow stars rested around his eye sockets (three on the right and one on the left). The color residing behind the nasal cavity and eye sockets was solid blue while the teeth took on a lighter shade. Sky blue, perhaps? Probably not, Nightmare could hardly differentiate white from eggshell white. The second glitch spoke very animatedly with the doppelgänger, waving arms and making hand gestures for emphasis. It was somewhat reminiscent of a Papyrus or Swap Sans. Given the short stature and signature grin, Swap Sans seemed more likely. Especially when factoring in the other's 'battle body.' A primarily black version of Blue's outfit with hints of blue, red, and yellow.

The error Swap glanced to the side and met his eyelights as if he knew Nightmare was staring in his direction. Then, grin widening a fraction further, he winked at the dark lord before taking a step to the side and returned to his conversation with the doppelgänger. A certain feeling of perturbment crept in the background. Unease settled in Nightmare's nonexistent stomach. Those actions could not be anything other than deliberate. No one suddenly decides to wink at a random person in the room. The silvery-boned skeleton shuddered at the realization that, although he was discreet, the monster recognized (perhaps from the very beginning) he had an audience. 

In a room containing a minimum of fifty monsters, he managed to pick me out of the crowd. Effortlessly, at that. 

I should be cautious around him. He is not the kind of monster I want to make my enemy. 

Slowly, Nightmare shifted his gaze to the newly revealed spot. That single step exposed yet another glitchy skeleton: A poor soul that held the expression of a monster who wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die. 

How many of these glitches are there? If there are these three - plus Error, where ever he is - then has to be more; each looks like an AU variant of some kind. But that makes no sense. Error has no AU, only the Anti-Void. Do they spawn in the Anti-Void at random then? 

Does Error even know about them? 

...That blank hellscape of his is so vast they may have never crossed paths, and he doesn't exactly make a habit of exploring the place.

Could he have been hiding them from me-  the gang and me? 

Nightmare shook his head in an attempt to chase the thought away. No. Just no. The destroyer may not be a member of their tight-knit group, but he was still semi-close to them. Enough so that they rely on each other during the occasional battle against the Star Sanses. Besides, Error was too 'in the moment' and rash to be deceitful or sneaky. Information of this nature would have been shared long ago, especially considering how Error loved to rant and rave about abominations. 

He quickly went back to focusing on the new glitchy Sans. Negativity practically encompassed the other's soul. It reeked of self-loathing, resentment, hatred (directed at Error's lookalike for some reason), loss, and determination. Instead of black/multicolored bones like the other two, he had sheet-white bones and a splash of crimson caused by the blood dripping from his jaws; colored squares and rectangles glitched to and fro, mainly around his body. A red slash hovered in front of his chest.

A red slash... 

The Guardian of Negavity's eye sockets widened.  Hold on- This is another Aftertale Sans. Where are they coming from?! A secret experiment gone wrong? An unfinished AU? No. No. There is no way Ink created them. Not with the looming threat of Geno beating him to a pulp and turning him into his namesake. 

Is the Anti-Void making them, too?

Nightmare frowned and continued to examine the Sans. His red and blue eye sockets were always in motion, ones and zeroes running behind the numeric-shaped eyelights. Green colored binary code danced along the black shirt and shorts beneath his white lab coat. Crimson blood tainted the snow white of his fluffy slippers and trickled on the tile floor below. 

I feel sorry for the monster that has to clean that up, Nightmare thought. 

Suddenly anxiety spiked amidst the valley of emotions. The glitchy skeleton jolted, strange box-shaped glitches shifting in a sporadic, almost painful-looking way. They promptly stepped to the side and returned to hiding behind the Swap error. An odd reaction. However, the other appeared to dislike being surrounded by so many monsters. Not a phobia per se, more like severe apprehension. Nightmare sighed and allowed his gaze to wander from the trio. As much as he would enjoy picking at the monster's fears, it was a pointless endeavor at the current moment and a waste of time. His eyelights flitted from one group of monsters to the next. While unique and unknown to him, none were particularly worthy of further examination; most seemed to be AU variants he had not encountered before. Though, the weird Sans holding a sock puppet and screaming gibberish was mildly amusing.  

The guardian's frown deepened. He would never admit it, but a hint of jealousy arose as he eyed Homicide's mass collection of followers. At least a few hundred dwelled in the enormous building- bustling about, chattering, working together, bring the entire place to life. As a king, his castle should be just like this; full of life and loyal followers. Yet, the opposite held true. His castle - the home of him and his boys - was deathly silent in comparison. The boys played pranks and argued and sparred, but it failed to eliminate the silence lurking in the dark halls.

Maybe that would change once he officially joins Homicide's coffee cult?

A disturbing thought struck Nightmare,  If I am here to join the Mocha Marauders, will I be expected to give up the gang?

Despite spreading negativity across the Multiverse and killing men, women, and children in cold blood with ease, the notion nearly brought him to tears. The corrupted blob he called a soul clenched painfully at the mere idea. He could not and would not abandon his boys. Dust, Killer, Horror, Cross- They needed him. They relied on him. And, as much as he loathed to think it,  I need and rely on them too.

The Void will overtake the entire Multiverse before I give them up. 

The silvery-boned skeleton nodded firmly and began to scour the room for his less than sane acquaintance. He and Homicide had some matters to discuss, chiefly the terms of him joining the Mocha Marauders. Their contract would include everything (within reason) that Nightmare deemed necessary: an agreement beneficial to the boys (indefinite protection or something of the sort), the privilege to keep his gang together, headquarters visitation rights his followers (Stars knew they desperately needed more social interaction), and the ability to borrow fellow Marauders when required. 

Either Homicide complied with those wishes or Nightmare walked- left on the spot without joining the group and vowing to attain vengeance for his (fragile) pride. They were non-negotiable. The Lord of Darkness would sooner kiss Dream than accept anything less; That was saying a lot considering he wouldn't even hug that creep while wearing a hazmat suit. 

His eyelights scanned over the crowds and passersby until they flitted passed a familiar splash of red and white. He immediately backtracked, searching for the iconic colors' source. Between the almost literal monster sea and the vast collection of hues, relocating them turned into a tedious chore, but Nightmare did eventually find the colors again. A silent cheer sounded in his mind when he did so. Unfortunately, while the monster bore the correct color scheme, they were not the one he sought. The Guardian of Negativity bit back an exasperated groan when he realized the skeleton he found was the Aftertale glitch from before. 

I swear if I find him again instead of Homicide, I will throw him out the nearest window just to be sure I won't see him a third time. 

Nightmare spun on his heels, facing in the opposite direction of the Sans to ensure his mistake would be less likely to reoccur. Then the search for Homicide began anew. He gazed upon the valley of monsters for an exceedingly long time until, as luck would have it, he spotted his target. The bloodied skeleton stood along the wall in a mostly uninhabited area, eyelights focused somewhere in the main crowd. Nightmare couldn't help but notice a particular addition to his psychotic recruiter's outfit. A few long, raven-like feathers. The plumage hung just off the end of his raggedy red scarf. 

Perhaps he took them from Reaper?

"If you keep staring like that, everyone is going to think you are a bigger creep than me." A hauntingly familiar voice called from the side. 

Nightmare's head swiveled to the left so quickly one might think he got whiplash. 

"Homicide!" He exclaimed, somewhat confused. "But weren't you just," His eyelight flitted back over to the wall, only to find it deserted. Apparently-not-Homicide had vanished. "...over there?"

Homicide raised a brow, frowning slightly. "Hmm? No, I was in the kitchen harassing some weirdo in a top hat and yellow vast, who was trying to make deals with everyone."

He was there. I know he was there - "Are there any other Aftertale Sanses here, then?"

"Heh, not unless Geno has come to exact his revenge for me stealing Reaper out from under his nose." The other answered nonchalantly, with a shrug of the shoulders.

Nightmare scowled, glancing between Homicide and the empty spot. 

 

Either you are pranking me, which is highly likely, or you have an infiltrator hidden amongst your group.  

Notes:

I had a blast writing this story. Thank you for the fantastic request, BookwyrmFinallyGotAnAccount.

Chapter 19: Units of Measurement

Summary:

Dream's not particularly fond of how an AU explains measurements to him.

Notes:

Taking a little break from working on the final part of "Operation F.U.N." and decided to write this.

Dream stood amongst the Doodlesphere's hanging papers, glaring at one in particular. An odd, glitchy little sheet leading to an AU that he came to loathe very quickly. Not that there was anything wrong with the alternate universe. The resident Sans just- Well, the skeleton seemed to believe Dream only understood certain things when phrased in a specific way. That, unfortunately, annoyed the yellow-clad guardian. 

He grumbled under his breath, "Ugh, I hate that AU." 

"'Hate' is a bit of a strong word. Try 'dislike' instead; It's less mean. Anyways, what did that poor universe do to get on the wrong side of positivity?" Blue said, suddenly appearing next to him. The bubbly skeleton eyed the supposedly 'hated' paper with curiosity. 

"Wrong side of positivity?" Dream nervously rubbed the back of his neck and glanced toward the ground. "It- uh, it's kind of embarrassing now that I think about it."

Dream and Ink stood in the newly discovered AU. Before them sat the resident monarch - surprisingly not Asgore or Toriel - who leisurely laid across a cardboard and bubble wrap throne. Neither guardian spoke. They merely inspected the strange skeleton garbed in a paper crown, unsewn fabric cape, polystyrene monocle, and cardboard pants. No shirt, or shirt-like article, covered his chest; stray strands of glittery yarn hung from his ribs. 

"So, your majesty..." The Guardian of Positivity trailed off, unsure about what to say. 

"Sans, King of Measurements and Ruler of Rulers! However, you can call me 'Metric.'" The Sans- Metric proclaimed, standing from his throne to do a dramatic, kingly pose. 

Before further words could be said, Ink shouted and flailed his arms about like an energetic toddler. "Oh, oh- I have a question! Why is your staff a big ruler?" 

"This-" Metric gestured to the staff, sounding quite offended. "is not a 'big ruler.' It is a yardstick, which happens to be more than twelve inches." The king looked at Dream and made a halfhearted wave in his direction. "For you, that would be several butternut tree saplings or about three percent the height of a fully grown white oak."  

Dream's smile fell upon envisioning the memory. "...It's because the Sans there always converts measurements into trees for me."

"Hmm. Wasn't your mother a tree?"

"Yes, but that does not mean I only speak in tree!"

Blue opened his jaws, prepared to say something, but was interrupted by the sound of an ink splat and an excited voice. "Hey, Dream!" 

"Yes, Ink?"

The skeleton in question giggled to himself for a moment, continuing to do so as he asked, "Does that mean you want Metric to leaf you alone?" The yellow-clad guardian's smile fell further with each additional question. "Are you oak-ay? Feeling a little cacao? Willow-ing in your misery? Pine-ing for a way out of this? Weeping-"

Dream lifted a hand, interrupting the onslaught of puns, and said with a deadpan expression, "Ink, you are dead to me."

"I can bay-ly believe that!" 

Blue shot the artist an unimpressed look. "Actually, I think I can agree with Dream on this."

The smallest of the three grasped Dream's hand and began pulling him away, leaving Ink behind. The future Pun Lord shouted after them, "Oh, come on, guys! We're a tree-oh. We can fig-ure this out."

Chapter 20: Barking Up The Wrong Tree

Summary:

Nightmare and Dream have an epic battle.

It was the showdown of the century: Two skeletons, their lethal followers/teammates, and some... branches? Neither Dust, Horror, Killer, Cross, Blue, nor Ink knew what to make of the addition to their battle; It made no sense how the fight devolved into this odd mess.

Everything started in the usual fashion: Nightmare and his gang spreading negativity and causing chaos - more or less being the evildoers that they were - and the AU protectors arriving to stop them. Dream drew his bow and shot a barrage of light arrows at the bunch while Ink painted the battlefield. Meanwhile, Blue and Dust entered a deadly tango consisting of dodging, slashing, and blocking.

Sometime after the first twenty minutes of fighting, the Guardian of Positivity abandoned his weapon in favor of a fallen, leafy tree branch; Nightmare followed suit. Now the six skeletons were forced to watch as the two brothers waved the leaf-covered limbs in each other's general direction. The Lord of Darkness swung his branch with aggression and force. Dream moved his more gently, with grace and care. They did that for a while before the positive twin gasped and cried, "You dare speak of our mother with those leaves?!"

Nightmare's branch rustled as if to answer the question. Then Dream dropped everything and fled, crying inconsolably. 

Ink glanced at a smug-looking Nightmare and the direction his comrade ran in. "What just happened?"

Silently, everyone else wondered the same thing. 

Chapter 21: To The MOON!

Summary:

Nightmare-Nightmare Moon.

Notes:

I'm sure other people have had similar thoughts.

In the ruins of Snowdin stood a menacing group of skeletons: Nightmare and his gang. While troubling, that was not what concerned the dark guardian's brother. Dream's eyelights were drawn to something far more worrisome. An odd, sharp spike protruded from the middle of the goopy skeleton's forehead. Like a unicorn horn, but more menacing. Two large masses sat on his back; the faint outline of feathers could be seen through the viscous substance coating them. Those features- They were not normal. At least, not for Nightmare. 

The Guardian of Positivity had to physically stop himself from rushing over to check on his brother. Given the sour expression on Nightmare's face, the kind gesture would be less than appreciated and may gain him a few new stab wounds. However, being who he was, Dream could not bear to keep his worry to himself. His voice escape without permission, "Oh, stars! Nightmare, are you okay?!"

The skeleton in question grimaced and shot his giggly followers a nasty look. It was ineffective and only made them laugh harder. 

"I'm fine." Nightmare's cyan eyelight moved to glare at a silently chuckling Dust. Then he hissed, "Someone decided they wanted to turn me into Nightmare Moon."

Dream furrowed his brow and questioned, "Nightmare-who?"

Blue, who had accompanied him to the AU, gasped excitedly. The little skeleton practically had stars in his eye sockets as he said, "Oh my gosh- You so are! Quick, Celestia, we need to find the Elements of Harmony!" 

"Celestia? Elements of Harmony?" The yellow-clad guardian hadn't a clue what any of that meant. However, given the increase of laughter and the deepening scowl on his brother's face, it related to this other Nightmare person. Blue suddenly grabbed Dream's hand and began to literally drag him elsewhere. "Woah, Blue, where are we going?!"

"We need to find Twilight Sparkle!"

Much, Much Later

Error stood between the two groups, begrudgingly wearing a golden crown with a purple/pink star on it. "Th-this is-is stupid."

"Twilight, that doesn't sound very friendly!" Blue chided.

"We-well, it isn-n't meant t-to!"

 

Chapter 22: Positivity And Creation's Scion

Summary:

Palette looked less than normal when he was born.

Notes:

I intended for this to be more humorous, but it ended up a bit sad.

 

Sorry that this isn't the final part of "Operation F.U.N." It is taking me a little longer than expected to finish it. By the time it's done, I expect it to be around 4,000 to 5,000 words- I already have 3,000 words, so hopefully, it will be finished in a day or two.

Ink sat in a hospital waiting room, practically bouncing with excitement. For a good reason, too. Today was the day his and Dream's little miracle would enter the world. That, however, did not stop people from giving him odd looks or purposefully sitting further away. His red-soaked clothes and crazy, wide grin seemed to be quite the deterrent. Honestly, they were overreacting. It was just red paint; Not blood. Given some of the horrified expressions, one would think he recently went on a murder spree and decided to sit in a hospital for fun. 

While distracted with his thoughts and excitement, he failed to notice one of the nurses walk up to him and attempt to speak. It was only when she gave a polite cough that he realized she was there. 

"S-sir, Doctor Sci w-would like your presence in r-room #021." The timid (and most definitely intimidated) rabbit monster stated. 

The artist leapt from his chair and smiled wider, ignoring how the monsters around him flinched. "Cool! I was beginning to wonder how much longer I'd be waiting. Thanks- Oh, wait, which room was it? And where can I find it? I forgot! Heh-he-he!" The laughter that followed only served to unnerve everyone more. 

With shaking legs, the rabbit monster walked over to the nearby desk and quickly scribbled something down before returning to him and holding out a sticky note. "H-here you g-g-go, Sir."

One brief 'thank you' later, and Ink was standing in front of Dream's hospital room- something that took him far too long to find, even with directions. At the sight of the door, his bones rattling in pure anticipation. Just beyond the barrier were his beautiful lover and newborn son. Probably Sci as well. However, he could care less about the doctor as his enthusiasm to see his family outweighed everything in the Multiverse. Including his job. 

The door handle clicked while it turned; As Ink pushed open the door, its hinges produced a slight squeak. Slowly, the room was revealed. The sight of Dream resting in a hospital bed caught his short attention span. Then it moved to the little bundle cradled in the other's arms. Ink stepped closer, doing everything in his power to keep quiet and not squeal in excitement. 

Once at the bedside, Dream noticed his presence and gently smiled towards him, carefully readjusting the swaddled baby in his arms. Ink nearly vomited at the sheer amount of emotions bombarding him. (Again. The doctors and nurses around at the time were less than pleased by that; Neither was the janitor. So much so that they refused to offer him any help. Talk about rude. Little did the artist know it was because he looked like he successfully escaped from an insane asylum, and no one wanted to approach him.) Ignoring the substance rising in his invisible throat, he leaned closer to Dream, hoping to get a glimpse of the baby.

The other chuckled at his antics before complying with his wishes by gingerly shifted the baby closer to him. Ink watched, containing his vomit-inducing excitement, as the blanket covering their son's face receded. The soft tone of his lover penetrated the air, "Say 'hello' to our little Palette Roller." 

With that said, the fabric moved enough to reveal the boy's appearance: an off-white exterior, black inkspot-like birthmarks, tiny branches shooting off from the top of the trunk with little white and yellow leaves- His son was a tree. A sapling. The guardian stared at his supposed child, dumbfounded. Part of him believed this to be a prank of some sort. However, one look at Dream's told him there were no jokes to be had; This was serious. Ink knew he should say something, anything to be supportive or approving of his son, but what came out of his mouth was, "G-good. Great. He... uh, looks leafy?" Which, judging by the way Dream's expression fell, failed to instill any reassurance. 

The words hung in the air, creating an awkward silence between the two. Ink chose to break it first, by inquiring about another subject entirely so he could escape the uncomfortable atmosphere. "So, where's Sci?"

The artist self-consciously shifted as Dream glanced at him with a hint of disappointment hidden in his eyelights. The bed-bound guardian then redirected his attention back to the sapling and muttered, "Right behind you."

He turned and, sure enough, Sci was positioned directly behind him, leaning against the wall with a clipboard and pen in hand. The lab coat-wearing Sans scribbled quietly on the paper attached to it, seeming to have not realized the artist had entered the room. Ink hadn't even noticed him there when he came in; If he had been anyone else, he would have screamed and attacked the doctor/scientist. But, being the forgetful Protector of AUs, he was used to not noticing things or forgetting about them immediately after looking away. Though that didn't stop him from thinking, How long has he been there? And since when is he a ninja?!

"I'm... going to go discuss some things with him. That alright with you?"

Dream let out a near inaudible sigh and nodded.

Ink took advantage of the hesitant go-a-head, shying away from his lover and straying to the other side of the room. The busy skeleton did not react to his approach. He merely continued to scribble away on his clipboard. Seeing as the other was distracted, Ink slide up beside him and lightly tapped his shoulder. A questioning hum escaped Sci. However, he showed no other indication that he was listening. 

"Sci," The artistic skeleton started in a hushed tone, continuing with a rather insensitive question. "Are you positive you gave us the right baby? I'm pretty sure that's a tree and, you know, not a baby skeleton."

"Certain. That miracle of life is one hundred percent your offspring; I would know, I helped Dream deliver him."

"How does that even work?" Ink asked in confusion. 

The doctor shrugged and stated matter-of-factly, "Nature."

"No, seriously- How?!" 

Instead of answering, Sci shook his head in disappointment and wordlessly walked away.

Notes:

In an alternate universe, the minute Ink leaned closer to Dream was the moment he puked on both his husband and son. Also: Sapling!Palette, AKA the forbidden backscratcher.

Chapter 23: For Honor!

Summary:

The shenanigans that occur inside Ink's household.

Ink sat in his kitchen, humming a gentle tune while swinging his legs back and forth. A savory scent filled the room. Steak, cheesy broccoli, boiled asparagus, broiled honey-coated carrots- Simply smelling the wondrous bounty made his stomach growl. Since he was ban from cooking (for various reasons that may or may not have involved copious amounts of fire), Dream decided to make them both lunch. And the artist had never been more grateful for the other's friendship. The lunch smelled so tempting he physically kept himself from snagging a morsel from each of the dishes. 

Also, it didn't seem like the wisest idea to sneak food at the moment. The yellow-clad guardian held a sharp kitchen knife and viciously chopped carrots on a cutting board. Each time the blade fell, it moved with precision and accuracy no one would expect from the passive, friendly skeleton. Ink had no doubt that if Dream perfected his skill outside of cooking, he would be very lethal in combat. Enough to put Dust and Killer's knife-wielding skills to shame. However, given the aggressive approach, he passively wondered if Blue's cooking style rubbed off on Dream. 

Well, it doesn't matter as long as he can cook something edible. Ink pouted a little. Though, it will never be quite as amazing as my vanilla yogurt french fries and cinnamon steak. 

To pass the time (and distract himself from the not yet ready meal), the artist pulled his phone out. The screen lit up with a single button push. His eyes drifted to a series of recently sent texts from a cheery, blue-wearing skeleton. Curious, Ink clicked on the most recent one. He read it. Then read it a second time as his eye sockets narrowed, and a frown formed on his face. A steady hand snaked over to the abandoned knife and grabbed it. 

Dream noticed this and said in a scolding tone, "Ink, what are you doing? You remember you are not allowed to hold knives because of the incident, right?" 

"Heh, yeah. I remember- That was a fun day. I have never seen Edge so scared of someone before." Ink chuckled at the memory. "Back on topic, I just need this right now." 

"Why?" The Guardian of Positivity questioned while shooting him an incredulous look. 

With all seriousness, Ink slowly raised the knife and put on his 'serious face.' "Because we need to go protect Blue's honor."

"Alright." Dream's face became equally as serious; he walked over to the sink and opened its doors, bending over to rummage through its contents. While shifting things around, a generic horror movie scream sounded. The artist jumped slightly at the noise. Thereafter, his yellow-clad friend came back up, holding a shiny, sharp axe. He stated, while casually resting the blunt side of the blade on his shoulder, "Let's go."

Ink frowned at the weapon. "Dream... Why was that under my sink, and why was there a scream?"

The skeleton in question looked at him and smiled sweetly. In a soft, friendly tone, he replied, "Answer one: Reasons. Answer two: Nothing you can prove." Somehow the gentleness in the way Dream held himself made the words far more menacing. More so than if they were said by an evil megalomaniac. 

A barely audible "And they say Nightmare is the evil twin" could be heard as the axe-wielding guardian made his way to the front door. After turning off the stove, of course. 

Chapter 24: Wrong Outfit, Right Time (1)

Summary:

Blue shouldn't change his costume.

The sunstones embedded in the high-reaching ceilings of Mount Ebott's caverns were shining brightly, creating a daylight effect; this caused the residents beneath the earth to lumber out of bed to begin their day. The shop keeper, Doggo, opened up his store for the day. Lazy monsters filed into Muffet's, the local restaurant, for a quick and easy breakfast. The library unlocked its door, waiting in anticipation for someone to fix their sign. Alas, all they gained was a few morning readers seeking the daily newspaper. Monsters smiled chipperly on the snowy streets, obviously having a good morning. Unfortunately, in one house, the day couldn't have started off any worse. 

"Stretch! What have you done to my magnificent battle body?! It's ruined." Blue bellowed from inside their home. 

He stood in the kitchen, still clothed by starry pajamas, staring at the table in shock with a dark glint in his eyelights. Dull pinprick orbs examined the mess splayed across its wooden surface. Sky-shaded cloth scraps rested on one end while shredded bits of metal laid on the other. They were destroyed, burnt beyond recognition and torn up. Blue, however, had instantly identified the disaster as the remains of his signature outfit. And he was livid. 

The orange-clad culprit sat in a chair on the opposite side of the table; his head hung in shame, actively avoiding Blue's steely gaze. 

"I- well, uh..." Stretch stammered before choking out a nervous, "I'm sorry, bro. It was an accident."

"An accident? An accident! How can destruction of this magnitude be considered an accident?" Blue cried, clutching the remnants of his precious armor. "Now, what am I suppose to wear to my meeting with Ink and Dream? Nothing will be near as professional and worthy of a skeleton such as myself." 

The guilty monster tapped his phalanges on the table's surface. A tense chuckle followed. "Don't worry, bro. I'm sure you have something bluetiful and sansational to replace it with."

"You are already on thin ice, young man. And I will tell Muffet to bar you from her restaurant if I have to." Blue threatened, leveling his brother with a brief glare. Then he turned and marched to the doorway, only looking back to say, "I expect the table to be spotless by the time I return from my room."

Stretch gulped, hopping out of his seat, nearly knocking it over in the process, and hastily scooped up the mess to throw in the trashcan. Blue nodded somewhat approvingly, continuing through the house to get to his bedroom. A loud bang echoed from the kitchen as he placed a hand on his room's door handle. Stretch blew up the trash, didn't he?

The faint scent of ozone wafting up the stairs made the answer rather clear. The blue-eyed skeleton sighed, pondering why his brother couldn't take out the trash like a normal monster. Their royal council-issued waste bin sat directly on the right side of their house. It was easy to reach. And, despite the pests that sometimes rummage through it, Blue placed no traps or puzzles around. His brother should not have any excuses to avoid going out there. Sadly, Stretch's lazy ways caused him to create crafty ways to avoid even the simplest of tasks. 

As long as the kitchen is clean when I finish getting dressed, I'll let it slide, Blue thought. This time. 

The door handle turned with a soft click, and he slipped inside the room before closing the door behind himself. Baby blue walls and plush, light grey carpet greeted him. The room's darkness caused the glowing, plastic stars on his ceiling to shine. Blue smiled. Nearly two decades later and silly little things still work. He had thought they would have stopped glowing years ago, yet they persisted. With the flick of a switch, the overhead light sprung to life and chased away the stars' gentle glow. A quiet 'Mweh' sounded as he made his way over to his dresser, a small white-painted furnishing. Blue searched the drawers, frown deepening as each failed to contain anything suitable for his meeting. Everything was either too childish or not protective enough. Lightly huffing, he folded up any loose clothing and put them back into the dresser. "What will I do now? I can't just skip or reschedule the meeting because none of my clothes are appropriate." He muttered, glaring at the ground. 

Blue stood there a moment, trying to think of a remedy for his problem. Eventually, his eyelights wandered over to his closet door. The tiny room housed many things: relics from the past, personal items he preferred hidden, Stretch's old baby clothes and photographs (an older brother must always be prepared to embarrass/blackmail their younger brother). Perhaps he left a backup set of armor or some more suitable clothing in there? There was only one way to find out. Blue walked over to the door and opened it. 

Neatly labeled boxes sat on a high shelf. A few old coats hung from the bar below it: his own light blue hoodie, a fluffy red jacket he may or may not have stolen from Red, and a couple of different styled grey coats for important occasions (date, funeral, etc.). Several boxes were tucked neatly into a corner on the floor. Deciding to start there, the pajama-clad skeleton pulled out the top two boxes and noticed the battered, old box hidden below. He pushed the other boxes aside to examine the damaged one. It was a white/grey color, unlike its square comrades, which were an unmarred brown. The longer the investigation continued, the more his brow furrowed. Blue gave the box a once-over with narrowed eye sockets. As suspected, no discernible label was scrawled across its surface.

Placing a hand on each side of the lid, he slowly removed it and inspected the contents. A worn parchment bearing the royal insignia sat atop the various items inside. The parchment's ink had faded with time, but the words could still be deciphered. "W__ted __ad o_ __i_e." It said in big, bold lettering. Right below the text was a discolored image depicting a short, hooded monster with a recognizable grin. Blue-colored magick quickly encompassed the bedroom door's lock and flicked it into the 'locked' position. The skeleton holding the paper blushed, folding it and slipping it back in the box. 

"So, this is from before- when we lived in New Home." He added a mumbled, "I suppose that should have been obvious considering the color of the box."

A wide grin spread across his face. That means my old clothes should be in here! I bet Stretch will be so excited to see them again.

I never did tell him why I stopped wearing them, did I?

Blue riffled through the box, seeking the pieces of his long lost outfit. He soon removed a soft, grey leather jacket from it; a furless hood was attached to the back collar. Despite all the horrors the coat was subjected to, it remained in relatively good condition, which pleased him immensely. After setting the jacket down, he placed a matching pair of leather boots next to it. Then a stitched up pair of light blue sweatpants and a white undershirt joined them on the floor. Blue proceeded to snag some socks from his dresser before putting on the old clothes. Once dressed, he glanced at the body-length mirror hanging on his wall and pointed finger guns at his reflection. He looked as magnificent as he did during his teenage years.

Humming a cheery tune, Blue exited his room and made his way downstairs. 

Suddenly, his brother teleported in front of him and took ahold of his jacket's collar, leaning closer to his face. The taller skeleton growled, "Who are you? How did you get into my house? What have you done to my brother?"

He slapped Stretch's hand away and poked a finger into his chest. "Don't take that tone with me, mister! I have no time for arguments; I'm already late enough as is."

"B-Blue?"

"Of course, brother. Who else would I be?" Blue answered with a raised eyebrow, hands on his hips.

Stretch sputtered for a moment before saying, "W-what are you wearing?"

"Oh, these old things? They were in the back of my closet. Mweh-he-he, I nearly forgot I put them there!" The lively skeleton chuckled, "Sneaky little devils."

He walked around his stunned brother only to have a hand landed on his left shoulder; its firm grip prevented him from getting to the front door. Blue glanced over his other shoulder. Stretch stood behind him with a disapproving expression replacing his generally carefree one. "No. Nope, I am not letting you go out dressed like that!"

Blue gently batted the hand away, glaring at his brother while proclaiming, "Papyrus, I am a grown skeleton; I can wear whatever I want. Besides, don't you remember this outfit? You used to love it when you were little- always going on and on about how cool and dangerous your big brother looked."

"What."

He ignored the stressed word and glanced at the livingroom's clock. It read: 8:25 a.m. The meeting would start at 8:40, meaning if Blue didn't speed things up, he would be unfashionably late. Giving a cheery grin, he quickly said, "Oh dear, look at the time. I really must be going, or else I'm going to be late for the meeting." Stretch opened his mouth to object, but Blue was already in front of the door. "Love you, brother! See you when I get home!" After that, he slipped out of the house and bolted down the street, dismissing his brother's cries for him to stop or slow down.

---

Blue walked through the sparkly halls of the Star Sanses' base, hoping to reach the conference room before the meeting started. Random Sanses and Papyruses gave him odd looks as he passed. They were ignored for the most part. However, he couldn't help but wonder why his acquaintances and friends suddenly decided to eye him with suspicion. Perhaps they wish to know where I got my magnificent outfit from, the skeleton thought. The idea got dismissed rather quickly, as no one tried to ask or even gave him a 'hello' as walked by. Blue decided to think about the strange behavior later. Right now, he had an important meeting to get to; no time to strike up a conversation or question those around him.  

With a speedy gait, the possibly late Star Sans spotted the door leading to the conference room and Ink, who stood right next to it. Blue grinned, walking up to his friend. He expected a pleasant 'hello' or a light scolding, but instead, the artist stiffened and demanded, "Who are you? How did you get in here?"

"What? Ink, it's me." Blue said, confused. "My armor got damaged this morning, so-"

Ink's face paled. Then he bolted, screaming in horror, "Dream! Dream, run! There is a voicesnatcher in the base, and they stole Blue's voice!"

The blue-eyed skeleton yelled after the other, "What! No, I haven't stolen a thing in my life- Oh, wait... There is that one time." He shook his head and shouted, "But, aside from that, I've never stolen anything!"

Blue watched his friend's retreating form vanish into the distance. 

"Is my outfit really that ugly?" He wondered aloud while glancing down at his apparel. 

Suddenly, a finger tapped on his shoulder. Blue looked over and saw Classic and Red standing next to him. His mean counterpart had a deep scowl set on his skull and narrowed eye sockets, but somehow seemed as though he wanted to be anywhere else; especially when Blue failed to falter under his steely, red gaze. The original Sans flashed his signature lazy smile, soon saying, "Oh, hey! I don't think we've met. You from a new AU or somethin'?"

Blue turned and calmly strolled toward the conference room, refusing to be a part of some kind of prank.

"Woah, rude. I bet he is from a Fell universe." Classic snickered from behind him. 

As he walked away, he heard an unintelligible grumble for the Fell Sans in response. Knowing Red, it was likely a string of vulgar expletives.

Notes:

Any guesses as to what Blue's mysterious parchment is?

Chapter 25: Two Positives Make A Negative

Summary:

Error gets reincarnated (as Palette) and is not happy about it in the slightest. And, Dream and Ink have marital problems.

The Multiverse: A seemingly amaranthine realm filled to the brim with numerous variations of alternate universes, where time itself fluctuates - running either faster or slower depending on location - and great dangers exist. Nightmare, the enigmatic 404 and Infected, X-Gaster, Fatal_Error- These dark beings were the most notable villains of the Multiverse. Even if some (Fatal, 404, and Infected) never stepped into the spotlight and made themselves known. That, though, didn't mean the villains refrained from stirring up all kinds of trouble. They caused many a problem, from killing to destroying to spreading fear across the infinite realm. Why? The 'Good Sanses' started fighting back more grievously. Without mercy. These 'Warriors of the Stars' began killing off those who opposed righteousness. And their resolve had been proven.

Among the list of deplorable monsters, one was missing- crossed out and removed from the equation. This scoundrel was no ordinary villain; He was the worst of the worst, a psychopath none wished to meet or earn the ire of. The monster- Legends say he dwelled in an illimitable plane of vast whiteness, which caused all those who enter to become as insane as him. Or be eternally trapped in blue spider-like strings. Others spoke of his frightening form: A skeletal figure with pitch-black bones, only highlighted by the occasional shade of red and yellow, and a cloak of flickering symbols. And, his voice- It was something of the darkest, most dreadful nightmares. It glitched and shifted like a crashing PC's demonic howl. This monster was known as Error, The Destroyer of Worlds. 

And- H E  W A S   D E A D . 

 

The everlasting sunset of the Doodlesphere stretched far beyond the island's boundaries. Its' various orange, yellow, pink, and purple hues colored the limitless sky. Some shades reflected onto the numerous floating pages filling the air; Thus, creating a beautiful mix of colors on the white sheets. Soft, wispy clouds crept along the expanse. Most were white- soaking in the peaceful colors around them. Though, a rare chartreuse or cerise cloud did appear every once and a while. The scenery was magnificent. Unparalleled by anything in the Multiverse. Dream, however, thought it would be even better with his lover by his side.

Ink, the protector of AUs, his husband, hardly returned home nowadays. He was always busy- with this and that, or et cetera. The members of the Star Council demanded his attention for the smallest of issues. Chara stole Classic's slippers? Call Ink. Toilet clogged in Plumbertale? Better summon Ink, because, for whatever inane reason, he could fix a toilet better than a plumber. It's the worst joke ever. How many plumbers did it take to fix a toilet? None- because not even a whole AU of them was capable of doing it! That wasn't the worst of it, either. The Star Council - everyone aside from Swap Sanses, as they closed themselves off from the rest of the Multiverse once a majority of AUs chose to kill 'villains' - practically ordered Ink to hunt down major threats. Like his brother. Nightmare. 

Dream sighed, resting both hands on his swollen stomach. The place of which housed a little miracle of life. His son, Palette Roller. And... Ink's? Maybe. Honestly, he wasn't sure anymore. With his husband barely in his life, how could he expect him to make time to be a father to Palette? Especially when he didn't make time to be with his husband, Dream. 

When was the last time they went on a date or shared the same bed? Or hung out together, in general?

Too long ago, Dream thought. Cross seemed to be more prominent in his and the baby's life than Ink. The other did not count as a 'Bad Sans.' Not anymore. And certainly not to Dream. Throughout every trimester, the monochrome-garbed skeleton had supported him; Made him feel safe when the worst monsters were out to kill him while he was weak. Did every trivial task his lover should have done without complaint. Offered him a shoulder to cry on when days were tough. Made sure there was food in the house since Dream sparsely went out. Cross was a fantastic friend. A friend Dream didn't know he needed. Today, however, the knife-wielding warrior left on his journey to find a way to revive X-tale. Meaning the Guardian of Positivity was alone once more. 

With a frown, the yellow-clad skeleton slowly waddled his way back to the empty island home. On the outside, it appeared to be no different than a generic Sans and Papyrus house; the interior was vastly larger and littered with clutter and useless items. Used papers, worn paintbrushes, a plethora of odd trinkets from other universes- Nearly anything and everything conceivable could be located somewhere in the building. Thankfully, Ink's absence allowed Dream to organize it all. 

He gently pushed open the unlocked door as a sudden wave of exhaustion washed over him. After closing and locking it, Dream instantly headed for the hideous abomination Ink called a 'couch.' Its' plaid and polkadot exterior was offensive to look at- But, right now, a certain sleepy skeleton could careless. He just wanted a nap. Slowly, he lowered himself onto the tacky furnishing and pulled the equally ghastly quilt off the back before settling down. His frown deepened as a discomforting lump dug into his spine.

Ink, whenever the heck you get back, you're sleeping on the couch for as long as you stay. 

 

Somewhere in the Multiverse, a paintbrush-wielding skeleton shuddered, feeling as though a great force threatened his livelihood. A green hourglass and blue refresh symbol spun in his eye sockets. He gazed at the forested expanse before him and questioned, "Who did I cross this time?" 

Notes:

I'll get the next chapter up as soon as possible.

Chapter 26: Two Positives Make A Negative (2)

Dreams, slumber's either dreaded or revered illusions, flashed by in an instant; visions of happiness soon vanished into ominous warnings. Dream ran. He ran as far as his aching feet could take him. However, it was futile. The darkness- Negativity chased after him in the amaranthine black expanse. Its' oozing tendrils reached out, trying to wrap around his frame and drag him into its suffocating enmity. The Guardian of Positivity awkwardly dodged. Fighting back was out of the question, as both his arms were too busy shielding his middle - his son - from attacks. Continuing forward, the yellow-clad skeleton spared a glance at the sinister foe. Another cirrus struck while his attention was diverted. He glanced back, unable to evade it in time; Wholly out of options as it smacked into his body. Then, suddenly Dream was falling- descending through a vertical tunnel of darkness at high speeds. 

"Gah!" He toppled off the couch, hitting the floor with a light thud. The dastardly-designed quilt hugged his frame and made it nigh impossible to move. After some wiggling around, though, the pregnant skeleton was able to free himself; The offending object was thrown on to a couch cushion. Groaning, Dream slowly pulled himself up. Then he promptly sat down and rubbed his aching spine. 

It was all a dream- No, a nightmare. I haven't had one of those in a while. 

He shuddered at the thought. Why now of all times did such a thing happen? The positive aura from his little Palette combined with his own ousted them. Perhaps his brother was up to mischief? Though, wasn't Ink taking care of that? The Star Council commanded him to find and eliminate all evil forces. And- Well, Dream still objected to the decision. He wanted Nightmare to live. To get better. To mend their broken relationship. (Assuming those things were still possible.) That couldn't be done if either of them were dead. But what could he do? A majority of votes were in favor of the act; Very few disagreed, and even less disagreed enough to make their displeasure known. He had been one of those minor few (along with the Swap Sanses), but, considering his current situation, he learned to keep his mouth shut rather quickly. Dream didn't want to endanger Palette further. As some monsters knew how to hold a grudge and hold it well. Like a weapon they finely polish until the time to strike was near. Thus, why he did not leave the Doodlesphere often. 

H e  h a d  a  t a r g e t  o n  h i s  b a c k . 

Nightmare also had a target on his back. A large one. Not to mention, there was a high chance the dark king did not know about the 'evil purge' going on.

What if I-

A slight smile graced his jaws. He had an idea. It was risky, but if it worked, then it would be worth it. 

"Just... one last chance. I know he can be a better person if he tries. Plus, if it works out, you'll be able to meet your uncle and spend time with him and so on. And I'll get my brother back." Dream whispered, softly, gently rubbing a hand on his stomach.  

Chapter 27: Two Positives Make A Negative (3)

As suspected, Nightmare was up to his usual shenanigans and dastardly deeds- except reaching an all-time low nigh inconceivable for the Guardian of Negativity. Both the affected AU and his location within it could be pinpointed with shocking ease. That in and of itself was a terrifying realization. The self-proclaimed King of Darkness always - without failure or a single mishap - prevented Dream from sensing him as much as possible. To abandon that strategical advantage- Nightmare either had to of become enraged beyond care or decided to no longer hold back in battle. Or, believed Dream had finally given up on chasing after the shadow of his older brother. For all the yellow-clad skeleton knew, the malicious monster and his goons may believe him to be dead, which was a plausible possibility. His universal absence could not have gone unnoticed by anyone. 

Not that it mattered right now; There were more important affairs to attend to, like giving his brother a chance to be in Palette's life. A chance to make a change for the better. One last chance to prove his guideless path was the one he wished to follow. And, in the event it proved useless to persuade him, Dream would leave him be- give up on reuniting with the silvery-boned skeleton he once called brother. 

Palette was his priority now. As such, Dream could not chase after a fanciful notion and risk his child's health and safety in the process. (Ink already did enough of that for both of them: not being around to defend Dream and their unborn child when needed, running off on inane quests at the drop of a hat, vanishing for weeks/months on end. Not to mention, making Dream question why he married the artist in the first place.) His precious little miracle deserved a parent that would put him above all else. Dream wanted to become that parent; would do anything and everything to achieve said goal. Success was the only option.

Hence, why the skeleton now quested to locate some light but sturdy armor before embarking to the afflicted AU. His usual battle attire - while not only too small due to his size - was crafted with long-range combat in mind. Which, in hindsight, should have been rectified ages ago, as Dream always ended up on the front lines alongside Ink and Blue. How many injuries could he have avoided by changing it to something more suitable for close-range combat? A majority. His naive beliefs also brought about unnecessary pain. Nightmare would hurt him, no matter how much he wished otherwise. 

Mercy did not exist. Not even between brothers. 

Exactly why Dream decided to proceed with caution. Before - during a time when an adorable little soul wasn't growing inside him - it did not matter; A millennium of fighting taught him how to take a hit. Whether a punch, kick, slash, magic attack, etc.- Dream could handle it. Palette, however, was frail and tiny. A single errant strike would dust the baby before he was even born.

The Guardian of Positivity refused to allow that. 

While rummaging through his own disorganized wardrobe, Dream finally found the sought armaments: a silky, canary yellow scarf that added plus fifteen defense, light leather armor with mythril plating on the interior, and sturdy pair of boots. Perfect. For its purpose, at least. All in all, the outfit looked like it came straight out of RPGtale; It didn't exactly scream hero either. The dark-hued leather pieces were far from welcoming in design. That, coupled with the ominous aura they exuded, made Dream seem more like a yellow-scarfed highwayman then anything else. 

With a little difficulty, he changed switched his cozy garb for the combat-ready armor. Luck appeared to be on his side, as the outfit was just big enough to fit on him without being uncomfortable. The discarded clothes were tossed in the nearby laundry basket. 

Now that that is settled, I need a weapon. 

It would be foolish, if not suicidal, to confront Nightmare and his gang unarmed. What options were there? The light bow? No, his current size made the weapon awkward to use. A staff? That could work- however, Dream was very out of practice. The sparkly pink pistol Ink had given to him as a joke on their wedding anniversary? Not his style; He wouldn't touch it with a ten-foot pole, anyways. That left... a sword. Cross, the Multiverse's finest swordsman, gave it to him awhile back, claiming he needed to learn new ways to defend himself. And Dream did- He trained both day and night, whenever Cross had the opportunity to teach him. As it turned out, swordsmanship was his second-best skill. Archery was his first. 

Dream smirked and made his way over to the blade. The simple silvery weapon hung just beside his (and Ink's) bed on a small sword rack. In design, Cross' giant sword dwarfed the modest falchion and put its creator to shame. However, he rather enjoyed the simplicity. Especially after witnessing all the atrocities Ink had created in the name of fashion or creativity. A steady hand carefully plucked the blade from its' resting place and affixed it to his side. With that final piece, he was ready to face his brother for the first time after a year of absence. 

 

Heavy snowfall shrouded the landscape as a fierce blizzard raged on in the lands surrounding Snowdin. Snowflakes whipped around in the air like a chilled fog; Preventing the town's residents and visitors from seeing an inch in front of them. The gale's howling echoed throughout the large, forest-esque hollows. Almost deafeningly. Dream trudged across the landscape, fighting against the winds- which, for whatever unfortunate reason, were blowing in the direction opposite of the one he needed to go in. His bones rattled due to the frozen air and icy winds. Cold seeped through his armor. The thin mythril plates inside slowly sapped any residual heat out of the leather. Thus, proving that while it was the better defensive choice, it was not favorable in this sort of climate. Dream shivered as a harsh chill mercilessly nipped at his body. Silently, he couldn't help but wonder if this - going to confront Nightmare - was a mistake. 

 

The ill-clothed skeleton journeyed for what felt like an hour. Snow continued to pour relentlessly from the sky, obscuring patches of ice and deathly drops. Dream managed to avoid them, though, slipped on icy spots occasionally; catching himself before any real damage could be done. It was disconcerting. For multiple reasons. Firstly, the negativity of the AU was weakening him. (And running around in the blizzard certainly did not help conserve energy. Alas, as much as he wished he could teleport into town, the influx of negative emotions there prevented him from doing so. Yet another downside to being the Guardian of Positivity.) Secondly, the leather-mythril armor proved to be more of a hindrance in the weather than anything else. It was not built to handle this type of weather. If Dream could go back in time and slap himself for choosing this armor, he would. Twenty times over. 

As he shivered and traversed the harsh environment, a warm light glistened beyond the sheer white veil. Its' yellow-orange hue inviting any chilled traveler to stop by and escape the cold. Oh, thank the stars, he nearly exclaimed aloud upon sighting it. Soon he would be out of this God-awful weather. Likely the town: Snowdin, which was where Nightmare and his gang were. 

I hope my plan works.

With slight trepidation, Dream stepped passed the snowy barrier and inspected the little town. A magical forcefield surrounded the area, preventing the unrelenting storm from affecting the townsfolk; meaning, the wind and snow's bone-chilling bite not longer nipped at his bones. He felt relief at that. However, the state of Snowdin was far from comforting. Dusty clothes and ashen trails littered the ground. Four identical sets of footprints led through the carnage, leading any who follow directly to the causes of said carnage. He took a step forward and then another before pausing. I'm really doing this, aren't I? A hand found its way onto his armored stomach. It... It is not too late to back out; To go back home where it is warm and safe. 

A frown settled on Dream's skull. His yellow-tinted eyelights drifted down until the hand and protected middle was in view. This plan- was it a good idea? If things went south, would he be able to defend himself and Palette?

But... if I don't do this now, will I ever get another chance to make amends? 

No, the likelihood of another opportunity like this was slim to none. Sanses, Papyruses, Charas, Frisks- Nigh the whole Multiverse was out for the blood of the wicked, and they would stop at nothing to get it. And, unfortunately, Nightmare was next on their hit list. To ignore this chance - pass on it without giving a second thought - would only bring about regret later. 

Dream nodded to himself. That was that; His decision was set. He straightened his back and squared his shoulders, gazing resolutely in the direction Nightmare went in. It's time I finally spoke with my brother. 

Chapter 28: Two Positives Make A Negative (4)

Notes:

(Warning: This chapter contains mild swearing.)

The Guardian of Positivity followed the death-littered path with easy - though appalled by the torment of others - immediately, spotting the skeleton who dared to plague his subconscious. Nightmare: His opposite, the Guardian of Negativity and the one he called brother. Dark sludge coated Nightmare's bones and created eight deadly tendrils on his back. The extra appendages were sharpened, poised to strike. Blood and dust of monsters/humans painted them in a sickening red-grey. Dream's resolve faltered at the sight (not to mention, his queasy stomach), but then he remembered why he was doing this- to give his brother a chance to know his nephew. He stepped forward. Given his poor luck, a twig snapped beneath his feet, alerting Nightmare to his presence. Dream froze. Nightmare spun on his heels, visible eyelight ablaze with power. Its cyan hue cast light onto the other's face, yet failed to rid the innate darkness. The dark guardian's tendrils began to flail in discontent as he sized him up; A scowl soon settled on his skull. Dream, on the other hand, struggled to keep his expression neutral. 

Dust, Killer, and Horror suddenly appeared beside their leader, weapons drawn and prepared to attack. He nearly jolted in shock; however, kept his composure. How did they get there? The lack of magic in the air indicated that teleportation could not be the cause. Then how? Dream internally shuddered and thought, Their stealth has gotten better over the past year. I should keep a close eye on them. Stars only knows if they will take the opportunity for a sneak attack.  

The Guardian of Negativity stepped forward and hissed, "Well, well, well- Look who we have here, a foolish dreamer ready for a fight." A sneer crept on to his face, and his malicious eyelight examined the form of the missing Star Sans. Dark tendrils wiggled behind him in displeasure. "I see your year of absence has not been kind to you, guardian. Such a shame; I highly doubt you'll successfully dodge a single attack with all that fat you're lugging around."

The dark guardian's followers chuckled, darkly, ever-so-slowly working their way around Dream until they surrounded him from all sides. And there they stood, poised and ready to attack at a moment's notice- Like a pack of wolves waiting to strike. Worry weaved its way into his soul. It seemed the team had grown more strategic during his leave as well. Perhaps Error's untimely demise motivated them to prevent a second incident. Regardless, he kept his eyelights locked on Nightmare. With a raised eyebrow, Dream shot the dark skeleton an unimpressed look. 

"Poking fun at my weight? Your standards for spreading negativity have truly fallen, Nightmare." He said, thoroughly disappointed in the childish jeering. Nightmare had more elegance and grace; immature insults and mockery was beneath him. Usually. "Though, regardless of your 'hobbies,' that is not why I'm here today."

Nightmare laughed- laughed and laughed, as if someone told him the world's greatest joke. While he bent over and clutched his stomach, his tendrils waved uncontrollably. Dream remained still, wondering if it was that inconceivable. That he couldn't have other motives for visiting his brother. After a minute-long fit of hysterical laughter, Nightmare reeled in his emotions and righted himself.

"Ha! You expect me to believe that. I'm no fool, Dream." Chuckling under his breath, the Guardian of Negativity continued. "So, what then? Cat got your tongue? Got tired of repeating the same script over and over and over again? No heartfelt, hypocritical speeches about being a better person, or pleading and begging for me to be your brother again? Ha, why I never thought I'd see the day! The goody two shoes dreamer is finally embracing his dark side." Nightmare said it all with hatred in his eyelight. 

"Nightmare, will you give me a chance to-"

"No! I'm sick and tired of listening to your fake morals and hypocrisy. It's high time you listened to me for once. You- Everything you've ever represented is all a lie! Positivity. Happy emotions. It's all bullshit! You could never be the guardian of any of those things when all you ever do is spread prejudice and injustice." Dream flinched back. However, Nightmare continued his rage-filled rant. "Like back at the village. Because of you, I was ostracized and loathed by everyone we were sworn to protect; To the point, they tried to end me on multiple occasions because they couldn't handle a little negativity. I should have known it would happen once more. That your naive, incompetent, foolish ways would never change. You are incapable of learning from your mistakes or the past. And, it seems, that Error is your second victim."

Second victim? Wait, does he think I-

Dream jumped at the chance to defend himself, neutral expression involuntarily slipping into a scowl. "I'll have you know I played no part in his death! Brutally killing a monster with problems they can not control is a low I am not willing to stoop down to; You know this, Nightmare."

The other chuckled lowly, maliciously; His stance quickly changed. Dark tendrils sharpened, growing stiff and positioned outward for a better strike. His cyan eyelight burned even brighter. Shifting into an offensive stance, Nightmare all but growled, "Your right. I do. But that doesn't change that fact you're married to the bastard who did it and did nothing to stop him!" 

Ink killed Error?!

How? Why? Killing Error- Certainly, the artist would never consider that a possibility! Ink loved him just as much as Dream (if not even more). That was just- just impossible. Unbelievable. 

"What are you tal-"

Without so much as an 'Attack the fool!' or 'Take care of that pesky Star Sans!', the surrounding enemies charged forward and began to attack. So much for a peaceful chat between brothers, Dream thought bitterly. He swiftly drew his sword and blocked right as Killer slashed at him with a knife. Then sidestepped a series of bone attacks from Dust before jumping out of the way of Horror's axe. A sharp slash to the arm from a tendril caused him to fallback further. For a while, the five skeletons danced a deadly tango. Swapping attacks with each other, dodging and blocking blows, using dirty tricks to get an advantage- The group of four were doing everything in their power to defeat Dream. Yet he held his ground, yielded to no attack. Taking time to train with Cross proved to be a great decision. Though, even the best warrior was not invulnerable during combat. 

Chapter 29: Two Positives Make A Negative (5)

Summary:

The battle continues.

Notes:

(Warning: This chapter contains mild swearing, blood (?), and violence.)

I keep forgetting to ask- Do you guys want me to put multi-chapter stories into their own book as well as here, or reorganize the chapters, so everything is easier to find?

The battle in Snowdin raged on, causing copious amounts of damage to the environment. Slash marks from Horror's deathly sharp axe tore through the ground, buildings, and trees. Burnt, damp earth sat where (narrowly dodged) blaster beams scorched the land, releasing an abrasive scent; its two components being ash and ozone. Spear-tipped, blue and white bone attacks protruded from the surrounding surfaces. Some had the barest hint of red on their sharp tips. As time progressed, Nightmare and his followers grew more and more frustrated, attacking frequently and somewhat desperately. Dream wasn't fairing too well either. The Guardian of Positivity lightly panted, exhaustion growing with the frustration his foes' held. A yellow flush colored his skull, and his movements were becoming slower and slower. His once spotless armor now had deep gashes with blood-like marrow seeping forth; the only pristine spot being the area that covered his belly.

A pointy tendril stabbed at Dream's side, missing by a millimeter as its target stepped out of the way of yet another knife slash. He warily eyed the snarl on Nightmare's skull while attempting to keep an eye on his other three assailants at the same time. Horror stood a foot to his back right, axe raising for another swing. Dust, on the other hand, positioned himself at a nearby building (Grillby's) and lit his left eyelight ablaze with purple magic. Bones burst around Dream's feet, likely an effort to keep him still while Horror attacks. The flushed skeleton leapt forward, narrowly clearing the obstacle, and turned to counter the axe with his sword. The distinct sound of leather ripping echoed through the air, followed by a stinging pain emanated from behind. Dream hissed in discomfort. However, his hands did not falter as he blocked Horror's blow. 

Sparing the opposite direction a glance, he saw none other than Killer standing behind him. A smug grin laid on the sneaky skeleton's jaws, and blood dripped from his blade. Dream shuddered at the malice inside his empty eye sockets.  

Damn it! When did they get so good? I can hardly keep up. Perhaps it's time I consider withdrawing- make a distraction and getting the hell out of here. Nightmare has made his point more than clear. He doesn't want to talk or listen, and I can't make him.

A bitter part of the guardian's mind added, This wouldn't be a problem if I had Ink with me.

A frown marred his face. Loathing boiled at the fact his subconscious seemed determined to bring up their failing marriage. Dream hastily began to shoo the thoughts away, becoming distracted enough to take a punch directly to the jaw. The sword, luckily, stayed in hand as the force knocked him over. He groaned, landing on a barren patch. His nasal cavity wrinkled as a dreadful scent assaulted it. The stench of ozone alone was enough to make Dream's stomach turn, but together with that horrid ashy, burnt smell (and being so close to the source), he nearly vomited. Choking back a gag, he quickly pushed himself off the ground and jumped away. A second later, twenty bones shot out of the earth; likely would have impaled him if he hadn't reacted so swiftly. Dream wheezed, silently cursing his weakened body. 

Thereafter, the next wave in the assault commenced without giving a moment to rest. Ten-foot tall bones launch out of the ground. They stood in a row on the guardian's left and right, creating a clear path between him and Nightmare. Dream briefly pondered whether or not the trio planned on herding him towards Nightmare. Unfortunately, he soon reached a conclusion, as the Guardian of Negativity barreled down the path with all eight tendrils readied for battle. His soul clenched- heart dropped to the pit of his stomach and bones slightly rattling. Yellow, pinprick eyelights frantically searched for an escape. His magic reserves were dangerously low. Teleportation would be very risky and foolish in this state. It seemed fleeing wasn't an option either. Dust, Killer, and Horror blocked the path behind him. Each wore a manic grin. Glee and anticipation radiated off of them; further prodding proved they were excited that this game of cat and mouse would be ending soon. And in their favor. 

Dream considered what few options he had: Surrendering (As if that would do any good; His four attackers sought dust), holding his ground, forcing his way past the deadly trio, and facing his opposite head-on. None were exactly favorable. Or liable to provide a semi-decent outcome. For a brief moment, he entertained the idea of calling his supposed husband. Despite everything (the failed summonings and ignored phone calls), the pregnant skeleton kept a little vial of ink in his inventory for emergencies. It was tempting. He could easily pull the vessel out and smash it on the ground to summon the artist. Yet Dream doubted Ink would answer the summons. Too many had failed in the past for him to trust the other to come to his aid. Meaning, he needed to somehow weasel out of this mess by himself. 

Nightmare was right about one thing, Dream thought while glancing down at his belly, my foolishness my very well be the end of you, my dear Palette.

However, my own shortcomings will not end you today!

The Guardian of Positivity quelled his rattling and replaced any fear in his expression with a determined gaze and grim frown, defensively raising the falchion he held. His tendril-wielding counterpart sprang forth, slash and hacking with the biological weapons. Dream evaded each attack while using his sword to block any unavoidable ones. As a mucky appendage struck against metal, another swung in front of him, forcing him to take a step back. The motion repeated again and again until Dream realized he was being driven directly to the other three evil skeletons. Dust, Killer, and Horror had prepared their magic and material weapons, waiting for the opportune time to attack all at once.  They looked ready to pounce at any given instant. So, instead of allowing the next slash to push him back further, he whirled the falchion to the side he knew Nightmare's next attack would aim for. 

The blade's edge sliced clean through the approaching tendril. Black, viscous goo spurt from the flailing limb as its severed tip landed on the ground, limp and useless. Stray splatters hit Dream's armor, causing him to grimace. Meanwhile, his opponent released a howl of rage and agony, staring wide-eyed at the amputated body part. Their onlookers appeared shocked by the sudden injury. The guardian couldn't blame them. Never before had he inflicted such a grievous wound on Nightmare. Not even when the other was doing his damnedest to kill Dream and his fellow guardians- Unfortunately, for the dark king, times change. Dream found something he refused to lose; something to protect and fight for. If his 'brother' wanted a real fight, then he would get one.

No more holding back. 

Chapter 30: Two Positives Make A Negative (6.1)

Notes:

*smash hands on desk*

 

 

 

I'm okay. I swear. Now, does anyone have some bait? The ending to this chapter keeps running away, and after 4,000 words, I still can't seem to catch it.

The falchion rose into the air to prepare for another strike. A brief glint flickered across the blade's length once Dream's stance brought it to peak height and reappeared again when the weapon hastily descended with an audible swish, which sounded throughout the battlefield as the sharpened metal sailed toward its next target. Its aim stayed steady and precise, like that of a well-aimed arrow. Until it didn't. A rather sudden, excruciating discomfort bloomed in the armor-clad guardian's abdomen, causing the color to flee his face and sheets of yellow-tinted sweat to form at the base of his skull. His sword-wielding hand began to violently tremble halfway through the slicing motion, sending a shock wave that nearly knocked the weapon into the icy snow through the hilt and up the blade; And, unfortunately, led to the swing missing. Metal met snowy earth as the attack swerved past Nightmare's dark tendril, leaving it unscathed.

Stars of the damned, Dream's mind instantly supplied after breaking through the shock spawned by the jabbing pain.

His eyelights barely held shape due to the agonizing pang, and fat yellow droplets of magic gathered around the corners of his eye sockets. Each breath released came out uneven. Hitched and quickened to the point he sounded like a wounded balloon filled with gravel. Fighting down tears plus forcing his breath to level became a daunting task in and of itself, spectacularly failing when the added sting produced by his other injuries decided to rear its ugly head. His jaws clenched to prevent a wet sob from escaping. All the while, the hand shakily grasping the falchion tightened its hold around the blade's handle.

He drew the weapon close, holding it in a defensive position in front of himself, and prayed it would be enough to block any subsequent attacks. Then, using his free hand, Dream investigated the thick leather and metal armoring his stomach for breaches, rips, and the like. The frantic prodding revealed worrying results. Nothing laid there; no deep gash or scratch. In fact, there was still no discernible damage of any kind. Unsurprising, considering how he focused on protecting that area above everywhere else. But pain and knowledge of the afflicted region brought forth silent panic. An emotion exceedingly tricky to hide from his closest opponent, Nightmare.

Okay, okay. It's fine. Probably just Palette kicking or something. The armor-clad skeleton thought (or more like prayed), attempting to calm himself with (false) reassurance, not even registering that the unoccupied arm/hand had long-since come to rest protectively around the baby's temporary shelter.

Nevertheless, I really should wrap this up quickly and get the hell out of here.

Dream's eyelights raised to study the dark, oozing monster. (When had he stopped watching the other?) A blazing cyan eye gazed back. The malice-filled orb locked onto the younger guardian's form, analyzing- taking in the sight of his scrunched brow and renewed trembling before a wicked grin stretched across its owner's face. Like the way a cat would smirk if their favorite meal fell right into their paws. Blackish-purple tendrils poised themselves for an attack, practically wiggling in anticipation. The Guardian of Positivity could only speculate how much it would hurt to be skewered by the bunch. Needless to say, he did not want to find out. His feet shifted, slowly edging him away from the other while keeping the sword in front to separate them. However, the action sputtered to a halt as a sharp spasm appeared in his gut and forced him to stop himself from dropping to the ground and curling into a tight ball.

Palette, sweetheart, now is not the time for this!

Pinching his brows, Dream stumbled back as far as he was willing to allow himself to without further leading himself toward the trio behind who had yet to attempt to steal their boss' kill. Though the few feet he gained dwarfed in comparison to the dark lord's reach. The sharpened tendrils thrashed at him from afar with wild enthusiasm. Logically, dodging or holding his ground was less than likely to succeed. So the weak, injured skeleton did the one thing he could think of: He let his legs fall out from under him and crashed bottom first into the snow, which (just barely) made the deadly appendages miss the most vital parts of his body and earned him a few new cuts along his arms and legs.

Sticky red magic gushed out the fresh wounds and traveled down the cracks in his armor, staining the dark leather with crimson. Dream's blood-splattered scarf fluttered helplessly in the glacial breezes that swept across the town as he attempted to will himself to stand. Alas, to no avail. The pain plaguing his stomach remained strong, leaving his arms and legs shaking and unwieldy, and the sharp wind stung at any open cuts like an angry hornet. Or an entire nest of the foul creatures. Regardless, he continued to struggle - demand the appendages help him stand (and, quite possibly, run away) - and only when another biting spasm shot through his stomach did he quit. Soon, dropping his sword before pulling both arms around the afflicted area; Each leg lying uselessly half under and half in front of the quivering skeleton's injured, hunched over form. If a small whimper escaped without permission, the guardian would allow it just this once.

Soft crunches in the snow were the only indication of Nightmare's advance; Even then, they sounded featherlight and barely audible above the labored wheezing squeaking past his jaws. Dream kept his head low, unable to bring himself to watch the negative being approach. Unable to face whatever sneer or triumphant expression adorned his counterpart's sludge-coated skull.

A deep, familiar voice filled the air when the footfall halted. "I must say I am quite impressed you put up so much of a fight. You're clearly not as out of practice as I thought you would be, given how you have avoided your 'duties' the past year and forgone maintaining a slim figure." The speaker paused a second, adding in a lower, more sinister tone, "A shame it has to end here."

His eye sockets squeezed shut, new tears gathering in the corners and flowing down his yellow-flushed cheeks. This battle may be the end; The conclusion to their century-old war, and possibly the start of a new one. (Assuming Ink cared enough to avenge him.) Such a chilling thought made his blood run cold and a violent shiver jolt down his spine, shaking his whole body. The many wounds marring his form protested at the movement, decreasing his critically low HP by a point or two. And, in turn, reminded him of how greatly his plan failed.

You are in a corner, Dream. Trapped, low on magic, and with bleeding injuries and a stabbing pain in your gut.

All while carrying a child.

Fear coiled in his belly as though it was a boa constrictor squeezing at his nonexistent insides, planning to make more room for a permanent residence. The Guardian of Positivity knew the risks all too well, yet foolishly decided to go through with his plan. Alone. At the very least, he could have called for back-up. Cross was out searching for a way to revive his AU, yes, but the swordsman might have been willing to postpone his search for a day or more if Dream asked nicely. And Blue- The bundle of pure, unfiltered energy from Underswap had made his stance on the Council's current position quite clear. Though he and his old friend weren't speaking at the moment (courtesy of Ink), Blue would have helped as well. Probably.

I should have left when I had the chance, the traitorous corners of Dream's mind added. Then maybe this whole situation wouldn't have escalated the way it has.

Now the price of Dream's actions could very well be his life and his son's. Meaning: Palette, his precious baby boy, would never grow up to know the feeling of sunlight or a cool autumn breeze, take his first steps, discover his favorite hobbies and explore everything the Multiverse had to offer, or live a full life and start a family of his own one day. All because his mother's idiocy robbed him of the chance.

No. I can't let that happen.

Not without one hell of a fight, at least.

He hoisted his head high enough met Nightmare's eyelight with his own. A dark glint whispered frightening tales of the dangerous emotions running through the mind of the monster before him. It certainly didn't help that a smug expression rested on the dark's face while each individual tentacle waved threateningly behind him, ready to strike at a moment's notice. The other's confidence and conceit grew even higher the longer his cyan eyelight bore into Dream's. After all, the eyes were the window to the soul. So the Guardian of Negativity got a rather good taste of the horrid cocktail of emotions swirling in his being- from the tangy bite of fear to the sour notes of despair. All tainted by love, care, and the will to protect. Whether Nightmare believed those feelings were reserved for the Multiverse, Dream did not know nor did he care. One thought gained priority above all others: escape.

Desperation gleamed in his eyelights' pale yellow depths as their wobbly pinprick forms frantically darted left and right while looking for an opening. Anything would do. A breach in the enemies' defenses, a simple slip up, the tiniest misstep- Anything. Yet, the more Dream observed, the sooner he realized the four scoundrels were not going to give him one. He didn't doubt the possibility that they had planned for a moment like this and planned it well.

If that was the case, then how could he get out of this? And, better yet, was it possible to? A black and white blur sprung to the forefront of the guardian's mind, shifting into an all too familiar skeleton with fluff-laden armor and a bright grin.

Cross! The armor-clad guardian perked up slightly at the thought, which brought a new question to mind. What would Cross do?

What would he advise me to do?

Chapter 31: Two Positives Make A Negative (6.2)

A distant memory surfaced shortly. Infinite islands stretching out into a vast void of warm-colored hues and soft cream clouds, specific sections littered by numerous hanging white paper sheets, and a distinct hint of crayon/paint wafting in the air. Dream could practically picture himself standing there facing Cross.

The monochrome warrior stood a few feet ahead dressed in full armor, leaning tiredly against the knife-sword buried in the ground in front of him. Dream, his yellow tank-topped and grey-shorted trainee, drooped in place- shoulders sagged and spine as straight as a weeping willow; more than a little too lazy to move. The lump hidden beneath the guardian's shirt barely showed, but the sweat dripping down his skull and staining his clothes was more than enough proof his magical and physical capabilities were hindered by something. Both were flush in the face (purple and yellow respectively) and panting from their most recent activities: sword and attack formation practice. Their efforts evident by the sheer amount of bone attacks and red magic knives adorning the miniature training ground. 

Dream glanced off to the side, admiring the Doodlesphere's unique qualities while catching his breath. Even the less than enjoyable ones. (Why Ink thought flying spaghetti dragons were a neat addition to the Doodlesphere, he would never know.) After several seconds passed, his yellow eyelights drifted back over to Cross, who had since abandoned his position on the other side of the island and begun casually approaching. 

A small smile spread across the weary skeleton's jaws when his mentor came to a halt beside him. An action that the swordsman returned in kind, causing his own smile to widen a fraction further. Despite the long training session, Cross seemed to have mostly recovered; his breath steady and purple flush a mere whisper compared to bright shade it had been moments ago. The knife-shaped blade he wielded found itself returned to his back, securely strapped in place, where it could rest until he decided to call upon its aid once more. Meanwhile, Dream stood there with a discarded short sword next to his feet, cracks splintering down its sides and chips littering the blunt edges. The exact opposite of Cross' pristine blade. 

A minuscule, definitely barely noticeable part of the guardian felt jealous. But solely because he wanted nothing more than to fall on his bed and never get up while Cross was already up and moving again. How did the other manage stretching his invisible muscles after a workout like that? He hardly fathomed doing it. Everything ached- from his metatarsals to everything in between there and his blistered phalanges. And, if Dream didn't know any better, he might even say his aches had aches .

Suddenly, a hand holding a simple-wrapped chocolate bar appeared under his nose and startled him out of his thoughts. The delicious, sugary delight called to his magic like a siren to a sailboat. Or perhaps his souling's magic? It was rather hard to distinguish who was craving what during the pregnancy thus far. Still, the yellow orbs in the exhausted skeleton's eye sockets were hesitant to trail past the sweet and to the face of his friend. 

"Here. For your HP. I'm sure you need it after the number we did on this poor place." The corners of Cross' eye sockets crinkled in amusement, positive feelings (mirth, happiness, care) swelling in his soul as he voiced the offer. 

A hand shot forward with renewed vigor, snatching up the food item and drawing it to Dream's skull. Then the chocolate disappeared from between the phalanges so quickly that one would need to slow time to watch the split second his incisors/molars parted to witness it vanishing. A light snicker caused the yellow dusting his cheeks to burn brighter. No longer did Cross wear an expression of shock when Dream ate candy, wrapper and all. Instead, amusement seemed to overpower any other feeling about the matter. If not evident by his laughter. 

While Cross tried (unsuccessfully) to stifle the joyous sounds by placing a hand over his teeth, the guardian sputtered a "T-thanks." His eyelights drifted to anywhere other than the warrior's face. Coincidentally, bring him to examine the battle-ruined isle. "But couldn't you have gone easier on me? You know I haven't done anything like this before."

"No. It's all apart of training." The answer came out muffled and airy, with a hint of mirth lingering in the background. But Dream could tell the other felt a little remorse for using a full-on Royal Guard training regiment. 

A playful smirk stretched across the guardian's face, quickly being replaced by a faux pout. "That's part where you are supposed to say 'yes' and offer to carry me back to the house so we can eat chocolate ice cream together."

The mention of the fluffy armored skeleton's favorite flavor caused excitement to spark in the air. Unfortunately, a taste of urgency and longing ruined the reply. "Heh. Maybe next time, dreamcatcher."

"Only if I don't eat all the ice cream first, criss-cross."

Cross chuckled at the fake threat, pretending to look offended for a moment before the smile on his face faded into a more serious expression. "All jokes aside, the training is important. It may be rough, yes, but that's the Royal Guard way in my AU, and I don't plan to treat you any different from a fresh cadet- because your opponents won't give you any luxuries in combat. Whether you are pregnant or not, battle is battle, just as war is war. The only thing you have to gain from your current situation is people underestimating you."

A hand grasped Dream's sore shoulder and gave it a small squeeze, causing him to lightly flinch while he listened intently to the warrior's words, which drifted into a proud yet teasing tone for the final sentence. "But, for a skeleton who has had no formal combat training prior and has little magic-eating goblin in his belly, I'd say you did well today!"

The Guardian of Positivity blinked in response to the praise. "R-really? But the island is a mess, and my weapon got ruined."

"Combat practice is messy, and weapons break, dude. You'll have to trust me when I say you did a great job; keep practicing like this, and I am sure you will be as good as me one day." The swordsman absently flicked the discarded sword off the ground with a foot and balanced it on the toes of his boot. He soon followed up by kicking it twelve or more inches in the distance, where it proceeded to crack and shatter upon impact. "Might have to find you a better sword first, though. It wasn't as sturdy as I thought it was."

"Thank you. For the training and the vote of confidence."

Cross gave a shy chuckle and pulled a hand up to rubbed at the back of his neck. All while the light purple on his skull flared with a new purpose. "It's no problem. Besides, I owe you anyways, and this is the perfect chance to pay off my debt."

A frown marred Dream's jaws at the words. "You know you don't owe me anything for that, right? It was the right thing to do. I was happy to help."

"I know, I know. I just wanted to do something nice in return. Like combat training..." The sentence trailed off when a loud, repetitive jingle emanated from seemingly nowhere. His friend quickly produced a worn phone from his inventory and grimaced at whatever he saw on its cracked screen. 

"Oof... I suppose this concludes our time for the day." 

"You're leaving?"

"Yeah. There are a few leads I want to check out before nightfall. Plus, I do believe there is a neat little list of errands I need to run for you sitting in my inventory." The other added the last sentence in a playful tone.

Cross' intense magic sprung to life seconds later and swarmed a little ways away, coming together to form a void-esque rift in the dimension. A sinister feeling exuded from the darkness inside. As his feet began to carry him toward the portal, Dream lunged forward and wrapped his arms tightly around the other's chest, burying his face in the soft white fluff of the armor. Which, regrettably, tickled his nasal cavity. The warrior slowly turned in the hold (inadvertently making the tickling worse), encircling Dream in his own arms once he did a full one-eighty. 

The pair stood unmoving. For a second and then another, until the surrounding silence was broke by a light murmur. "Be safe. Especially if you're planning on traveling to any AUs with high levels of negativity, my brother is probably still looking for you." 

The Guardian of Positivity felt the limbs squeeze tight around him in response, drawing away soon after. Once the residual warmth vanished, he dropped his arms to his side as well and took a few small steps back.

"I will. Expect me back sometime in the next few hours, and if I don't return by the time that's passed-" Cross paused, throwing his head back and rising a closed fist to his chest while the other hand rested dramatically across his forehead. "Eat the ice cream without me."

Dream faked a gasp. "And deprive you of the wonders of triple chocolaty goodness? Never! I'll save you a bowl."

"Heh, alright." A small snicker passed the other's jaws as he shifted to face the portal. "Oh, Don't forget to read the book I gave you; it has some important sections I'd like to incorporate into your next lesson in swordsmanship and combat." 

"I won't."

"Good." Stepping into the inky black depths, Cross shot Dream one last reassuring smile before slipping inside. The portal zipped shut, afterward; closed off whatever ill-treated AU laid beyond it from the Doodlesphere. 

Now Dream was completely alone. And, seeing as the tired skeleton had nothing better to do, he opened his inventory and brought out the medium-sized book given to him earlier in the day. It had a thick black cover with blood-red lettering stretched across the front. His brow lifted at the title: 

Escape: A Guide to a Warrior's Strategic Withdraw.

Chapter 32: A Mischievous Broom

Summary:

Broomie loves causing Ink trouble.

Ink cheerily hummed as he got dressed in his usual clothing items- bandolier plus vials, gloves, overalls, sneakers, etc. Once clothed, his hand reached over to an obtuse-shaped wardrobe, which generally had his trusty paintbrush propped against it. When the appendage went to close around the object, it met with nothing. The five fingers merely grasped at thin air. A small frown formed on the artist's face. Thoughts whirling, colors and shapes flashed in his eye sockets with each considered possibility. Soon a green question mark and a red spiral remained. Sharp eyelights flitted to the empty space, examining the scene for clues as to why he grabbed air. His sockets narrowed a faction. Nothing laid there. Not even a stray brush bristle. That knowledge in mind, the senseless notions cluttering his head halted and formed a single question: Where is Broomie?

His brows furrowed, and a hand found its way to his chin; the spiral in his left eye socket swirled. Last night, the giant brush had been there. Ink distinctly recalled placing it against the dresser after throwing on his pajamas. However, that belief could easily be wrong given his poor, goldfish-like memory.

Maybe I moved it later?

Though, when would that have happened? After he had watched that weird movie about singing rocks or before testing the bounciness of his soft, springy mattress? 

The skeleton chuckled at the thought, "Heh. That was fun!" Then the frown on his jaws deepened. "Well, up until all the jumping started to make me nauseous. Black ink is a pain to remove from carpet." 

A dark stain sat where he threw up on the carpet. Despite his best efforts, he was unable to remove his namesake without leaving some behind. Blue probably had some great tricks for cleaning the substance by now. He'd certainly known Ink long enough to need them. The soulless artist began scanning the room. If he found his phone, he could ask his blue-clad friend about cleaning tips. Instead of continuing the search, he paused and internally scolded himself. 

No. Ink, stay on track. You can always talk to Blue later, like at the meeting. Right now, you have to find Broomie.

His eyelights drifted over to the plush, bouncy surface he sleeps on.

Though...

Jumping on the bed again would be fun. 

Ink pushed the thought from his mind and reminded himself of his current mission: Finding Broomie. And, unfortunately, not jumping on the bed, or talking to Blue, or solving that one thousand piece puzzle sitting on his livingroom's coffee table. He began investigating the room once more. Suddenly an excited gasp echoed across the room as a thought struck him, eyelights shifting into a yellow exclamation point and a pink heart. 

"Broomie! Are we playing hide-and-seek?" Ink questioned, glancing around the room looking for his 'inanimate' companion. He quickly began wandering around and looking under/in random furnishings and objects. The effort proved useless. Broomie hid neither here nor there or anywhere. A blue teardrop and orange square replaced the previous shapes his eyelights took on. 

The creative skeleton placed his hands on his hips, stating in faux seriousness, "As fun as this is, I do have an important meeting today; Dream will be upset if we aren't there on time. Pretty sure we are already running a little late. Too much longer and Dream will lecture us when we arrive- And we'll miss all the good snacks!" 

Upon that realization, Ink fell to his knees and shouted a dramatic, "NO! Red has probably eaten all the high-quality chocolate by now. I won't be able to bribe Error into hanging out with me later!"

 

Elsewhere, in an endless plane of sheer white, a loud thump sounded over the unintelligible chatter of incorporeal voices. The sound's volume and overall unexpectedness startled the realms only known occupant. With narrowed eye sockets, Error looked up from his current knitting project. His glitches twitched upon seeing who/what dared to disturb him. A comically large paintbrush, which happened to be his mortal enemy's weapon, laid a few feet in front of him. 

The glitch scoffed. "Oh-h, it's y-you. No better-r than th-that worthless artist-st of yours, I s-s-see. Al-always dropping in-into my home-e - unwelcome and unannounced - solely to-to irritate m-me."

Multicolored eyelights glanced around the space, looking for a blur of brown with a hint of rainbow. Error nearly sighed in relief when not seeing the artist anywhere in his void. A faint twitch drew his gaze back to the brush. He watched in mild disgust as the object's bristles squirmed and formed three tendrils, which it then used to begin dragging its wooden body. It moved further and further away (much to Error's delight), vanishing into the distance and, hopefully, leaving the Anti-Void to torture some other poor soul. 

"E-ew. That-at damn thing i-is just as-as disgusting-ing as its owner-er." The destroyer uttered once he was positive it had left, adding under his breath, "C-creepy-ass brush sh-should have been p-put out of its-ts misery a long t-time ago. Fortunately, f-for Ink, I wou-would die before t-touching that fre-freaky a-abomination. Paintbrushes a-are not supposed to-to be sentient. Or move-ve, much less crawl a-away." 

He tightened his grasp on the knitting needles, prepared to return to working on the barely complete scarf in his lap. However, a little something placed before him caught his attention. Error carefully pulled his red-rimmed glasses from his inventory and slipped them on. Lying in the spot Broomie once occupied was a thin rectangular item covered in a shiny plastic wrapper. The destroyer instantly recognized it as a bar of his favorite brand of chocolate. Blue strings snatched up the sweet delight, pulling it into an eagerly awaiting hand. A note attached to the outer layer prevented him from cramming it in his mouth. He shifted his glasses with a hand and examined the pesky paper, reading the words aloud in disbelief. "'From Ink'?" 

Error grinned maniacally, shooting a glance at the yarn figures hanging above. Then a cold, low voice laced with malice and glee escaped the destroyer's jaws. "If Inkstain wants to play..."

 

"I might as well get a new puppet out of it."

Notes:

Broomie is one hundred percent Ink's wingman. But that doesn't necessarily mean it is a good wingman.

Chapter 33: Multiversal Broom

Summary:

Broomie goes on an adventure.

Ring.

Ring.

Ring.

Ink cracked open his eye sockets, eyelights flicking to life in the form of a red target and green question mark. The rhythmic chime continued to blare throughout his bedroom as he slowly sat up. His eyes narrowed at the cause. That being: a blue-colored phone lying on the nearby nightstand. He groaned and picked up the infernal device. A simple look told him that it wasn't his alarm, but a call from a number his mind failed to recognize. A moment or two passed before Ink's curiosity got the better of him. With a single button press, the call was accepted. 

"Ink, I need your help!" A hysterical voice shouted. The sheer volume made him pull the phone away from his head. After the voice stopped, the guardian cautiously put it back against his invisible ear.

"Wait, Sci- what? Why? It's," Ink glanced at the clock on his wall. "three o'clock at night. I should be asleep. You should be asleep."

"True. However, I was working on my multiversal teleporter and started a test run to see if it works. The only- Gah! Stop it, you foul creature!" More frantic yelling and an unholy shriek assaulted Ink's nonexistent ears. A loud crash sounded on the other side of the phone, likely glass or porcelain shattering, then a metallic bang followed. Soon after, Sci spoke, "Sorry about that. As I was saying before being so rudely interrupted, the only problem is I summoned a demonic eldrich broom instead of a Sans, and I need your help getting it into the machine so I can send it back from whence it came. Or, at the very least, out of my lab. It's making a horrible mess."

Crash.

"...Broke my favorite coffee mug, too."

Ink sighed, "Ugh. Okay, I'll be right there."

He hung up the phone, tossing it haphazardly onto the nightstand, and hopped out of bed. Then he proceeded to grab a paint bucket (which was left conveniently by his bedside for moments like this), using both hands to dump its contents on the floor. The guardian did not hesitate to step into the substance. Soon after, his body disappeared into the colorful puddle and reformed at his desired destination. Ink blinked. The sight of a disheveled skeleton and a messy lab greeted him. Papers covered in coffee stains/complex mathematic equations littered the floor; the substance from his unique teleporting splashed all over the sheets, ruining them further. 

Sci grinned upon noticing his arrival. "Ink, thank go- Why are you not wearing a shirt?"

"Do you want my help or not?"

"Yes?"

"Okay. So, where is this thing you need me to catch?" The guardian glanced around, searching for anything out of the ordinary. However, only standard lab equipment adorned the room. 

"Just in there." The lab coat-wearing skeleton gestured at a closed metal door. Ink rose a brow but did not question his science-loving acquaintance. Instead, he strolled over to it and mentally prepared himself for what could be on the other side. Just as his hand wrapped around the door handle, Sci added, "Be careful. We have no idea what it is capable of." 

He rolled his eyelights and waved dismissively. "Don't worry. It can't be that bad."

Ink crept into the darkened room, quietly closing the door behind. A look around told him how violent Sci's weird demon-thing must be. Lights from various dented machines flickered on and off at random, likely broken somewhere. Scraps of metal littered the floor along with labeled glass shards from beakers, and pieces of porcelain that came together to spell 'Mad Scientist' laid near a wall. Probably that mug Sci mentioned. Or was it a plate? Ink couldn't remember. 

He wandered further into the room with feather light footsteps and slow gait, being as quiet as possible. A shift in the room's darkest corner instantly grabbed his attention. His eyelights morphed, displaying his curiosity for all to see. Stepping closer revealed it to be a rather large, familiar-looking paintbrush. The guardian gasped, "Broomie!"

He excitedly reached for his beloved companion but froze when a horrid noise emanated from it, "Screee!" 

Its bristles twisted together to form three makeshift limbs, which it proceeded to use to inch closer and closer. In the direction of Ink. Said artist's eyelights lit up in fascination and terror. Though, the fascination soon faded as the brush began to quicken its advance. A second screech left its hairy maw as it darted forward and shot sharp bristles at the guardian. The severed hairs punctured Ink's bones like fine needles, causing him to cry out in pain and eye the brush fearfully. 

His Broomie, the real Broomie, would never hurt him. Meaning this crafty impostor couldn't possibly be the real one. 

"Not Broomie! Not Broomie! I repeat: Not Broomie!" Ink wailed, spinning on his heels and bolting to the door. Harsh scrapes against the ground sounded behind him. 

The brush-like creature was pursuing him. 

'Not Broomie' lunged at him, flailing its bristly tendrils like Nightmare on a sugar-high. The guardian narrowly dodged and hopped a few steps back, attempting to distance himself from his weapon's double. A sigh of relief brushed passed his teeth when it whizzed by. However, unable to stop its momentum, the paintbrush crashed into a solid metal cabinet. An eerie hiss tore through its bristles. Chills slithered down Ink's spine while it screeched in rage. 

This isn't going to be easy...

 

A while later, a squeak echoed along the lab walls. Sci started, spilling his coffee on the documents in front of him before turning toward the source. Shadows pooled out from the door Ink had passed through as it slowly creaked open. Once agape, the battered guardian hobbled beyond the doorway with a fistful of paintbrush bristles as his prize; Not counting the ones piercing through bone. 

He stared at Sci, eyelights telling the tale of a frightful battle unlike any other. His voice held no emotion as he said, "Sci, erase the coordinates to that Multiverse and never - and I mean never - open a gateway leading there again." A shudder crept down his spine. "I don't think I will be able to fight that fake Broomie a second time. Not without getting perpetual nightmares."

Chapter 34: Idle Animation

Summary:

Error hates AUs based on video games. (Oh, the irony.)

"S-stay still and let me-me destroy y-y-you!" 

Blue strings zipped around the forest. Each attempting to strike at a swift blur, and horribly failing as the vague impression of a skeleton instantly moved to another location once they got too close. The shamed threads thus became one with the landscape. Some were tangled between trees and rocks, creating a canopy above. Others found themselves haphazardly strewn along the snow-laden ground like dejected party streamers. A rather frustrated destroyer stood in the middle of the chaos with a snarl on his face. 

"Heh. As much as I'd love to, buddy, I can't." The native Sans drawled. Sarcasm dripped from his voice, causing one of his attempted murderer's eye sockets to twitch. 

Error stomped his foot on the ground, childishly, and aimed a few more strings and bone attacks his target. They were effortlessly avoided. A metaphorical vein nearly popped out of the dark-boned skeleton's skull before he roared, "W-why not! Standing still is-is literally the easiest-iest thing a-any li-living abomination can d-do."

"This is my idle animation." 

Another series of attacks missed. Error growled, growing increasingly agitated with each confirmed 'miss.' He ripped a volley of strings from his glitching eye sockets and sent them hurtling toward what soon became the blur's afterimage. His eyelights frantically tracked the movement, trying to pinpoint the other's location. "Y-your creator must ha-have been high-gh out of-of their mind i-if this is you-your idle animation."

"You have no idea." The words seemed thrown and unintelligible due to the Sans' constant motion, but the destroyer managed to decipher them nonetheless. Suddenly the AU's Sans froze. He stood perfectly still, situated with two trees on either side of him. 

A manic grin stretched across the destroyer's jaws. "H-hah!" He cheered, shooting more strings in the unmoving monster's direction. The Sans vanished, making his strings to crash into the snow. 

A fierce roar then echoed throughout the forest, reaching the ears of those far away in Snowdin, "Y-y-you did th-that just to-to m-mock me, di-didn't y-you?!"

Chapter 35: Eons Apart

Summary:

Ink's new companion has some difficulties adjusting to the modern world.

In a small, colorful room sat a skeleton monster adorned by a black ink splotch on his face; A desk littered by blank and crumpled pages laid before him. The artist fiddled with the normal-sized paintbrush resting between his phalanges. For some time now, Ink had been stuck in the same AU, and while it was entertaining, he began growing bored of the place days ago. Why not leave and journey elsewhere for fun, new adventures? Three days prior, a lost Sans came into his care. The poor soul - Dream, the monster called himself - somehow left his AU, got turned about in the vast Multiverse, and seemed to have no idea how to interact with modern society.

Being the Guardian of AUs, Ink couldn't just leave him to suffer- or attack cars because "What such beast roars like a bear that is not evil! It must be slain." It caused quite a stir. Though, he would be lying if he said he did not enjoy watching the spectacle. People frantically screamed as the yellow-clad Sans thwacked their vehicle with his staff, and the resident Sans desperately tried to de-escalate the situation.

"AH!" Speaking of his new friend, that horrified cry of anguish was Dream just now. The guardian sighed and began making his way downstairs.

I swear, he better not have been startled by the toaster again. It's not fun after the first- the first...

A gloved hand brought a portion of the signature tan scarf closer to his face. His eyelights moved left to right while he skimmed through the abundance of notes and reminders. Finally, the mismatched symbols landed on little score counter: Dream vs. Toaster - 0 to 10. Ten times. Smudges from constantly erasing the record to update it laid beneath the dark numerals. The shapes housed in his eye sockets transformed into a question mark and an hourglass. He grumbled under his breath, "I could have sworn it was more than ten times." 

The art-loving skeleton then proceeded to throw the scarf's end over his shoulder, continuing his leisurely walk to the room the cry echoed from. Ink soon entered the living room, and the sight awaiting him was one to behold. Dream stood in front of the TV, some live-action cartoon playing on it, with a distraught expression etched onto his skull. Tears welled at the corners of his pinched eye sockets. 

"Dream, what's wrong? Is everything okay?" The artist internally sighed, preparing for the answer.

Dream's eyes snapped open, and Ink found himself subject to an intense look of pleading. "There are people trapped the black box! We need to save them!"

"This," Ink strolled closer and knocked his knucks against the television's glass screen. "is a TV. It- uh, lets you watch the stories of the people displayed inside."

"Black magic?!"

A humored snort brushed past the guardian's nasal cavity. With a mirthful smirk and raised eyebrow, he breathlessly uttered, "What?" 

"I suspected since the beginning, but I had no proof." The yellow-clad skeleton pointed an accusatory finger at Ink. "You are a demon! And you plan on sealing my soul into one of these moving picture boxes, too, right?"

"Pfft- Well, I can't lie. That does sound fun."

Dream, apparently, failed to grasp the concept of teasing, as he proceeded to back away and proclaim, "Ah-hah! I knew it." Next, the golden-eyed Sans threw open the front door and ran with all his might. 

Ink chuckled, mismatched eyelights gazing in the direction his new friend fled in. 

"Man, this is going to be so much fun!" He cheered, rushing out the door. His gait swift as he continued down the AU's streets. "I better catch up to him before he accuses the barista of witchcraft without me there to see it!"

Notes:

Ink misses the days when he could convince Dream that cellphones have tiny people in them and that fridges were the work of ice wizards.

Chapter 36: Dark Ages

Summary:

Dust ponders why he chose to follow such a technologically inept king.

When a particular hoodie-clad skeleton wrapped a hand around the door handle to his new residence, the last thing he expected to hear was an enraged bellow echoing out the living room. "Fear me, you worthless swine! I have the power to make your worst- Don't you dare turn away from me!"

Hesitantly, Dust pushed open the door to the shadowy, foreboding mansion. His feet stuttered a bit before slowly bringing him inside. A dark skull animated by the viscous substance dripping down it swiveled to face him, piercing his being with a single cyan eyelight. 

"Dust! The people enslaved in the magic box you stole refuse to obey me. Why?" Nightmare huffed, demandingly. 

The murderous Sans rose a brow, questioning, "Wha- Are you talking about the show on the TV?"

The angered Guardian of Negativity snarled and jabbed a bony finger in the direction of the so-called 'magic box.' "No. I am talking about the magic box you used to capture these worthless cretins who can't listen to a king that is right in front of them!"

 Dust couldn't stop a small laugh from forcing its way past his jaws. "Nightmare... Really?"

"Yes, I am quite serious." A scowl worked its way onto the dark skeleton's face. Black, oozing tendrils lashed behind his back, some coiling as if ready to strike for the impertinent tone. One of the eight appendages snaked around Dust's waist and pulled him face-to-face with Nightmare. He gave a manic grin and spoke in a voice drenched in malice, "You should know by now I am not one for shenanigans or tomfoolery. Now, reveal to me the secrets of your black magic!"

A mental sigh brushed through Dust's mind, only added to by the internal words: This is weird. And dangerous.

Still better than all those resets, though. 

Notes:

It's been about five months, and I keep forgetting to mention how my garden is doing- which would be (surprisingly) still alive. Except for the roses. All, aside from one, died. On another note, I added a few new bushes/trees to my collection. Two dwarf banana trees, a dwarf pomegranate tree, and three blueberry bushes!

Still looking to name most of the plants in my garden. Thus far, only the liberty apple tree has been named- It was dubbed "Ambiguous Steve."

Chapter 37: Broomie Roomie

Summary:

A peek into the life of Palette, who has the misfortune of having Broomie as a roommate.

"The end!"

Ink gently closed and placed the storybook on the nightstand next to his son's bed. Said son, the offspring of positivity and creation, laid under a fluffy blanket. A small frown adorned his skull. Palette plucked at the hem of his sleeve before nervously saying, "Dad?"

"Yes, Palette?"

"Why can't Broomie stay in your room with you and mom?" His eyelights drifted over to the aforementioned giant paintbrush, which sat in the darkest corner of his room where the gentle glow of his nightlight did not reach. A chill crept down his spine as the tool's fine bristles seemed to stir and twitch. 

"Eh," Ink shrugged. "I tried to keep him there, but after you were born, he insisted on looming over your crib every night, so I figured I'd just let him do his thing- whatever that may be." 

"C-could you take him, just for tonight? Please?"

"Nah! Broomie gets cranky when I interfere with his life too much. One time, he hid from me for a whole week because I didn't let him hang around the Anti-Void." The forgetful guardian hopped out of his chair, skipping toward the open bedroom door with a cheery grin. He grasped the door handle, pulling the door halfway closed, and gave a soft "Nighty-night, Pal." Promptly shutting the door afterward. 

Palette did nothing as he watched the other abandon him to whatever fate awaited. Shuddering, he used his hands to pull the blanket tightly around himself. A choked whine escaped his jaws when he glanced over to the brush's space only to see it was now empty.

Chapter 38: A Little Death Scare (1)

Summary:

Reaper's followers take things the tiniest bit too far, leaving him in a very interesting situation.

Notes:

Wow! 5,000 views- You guys really know how to make an author feel special.

All of you are awesome! <3

Dark storm clouds that stretched far beyond the horizon tainted the blue sky, threatening to soak the mortal lands below. Thunder roared. Lightning crashed, striking the earth with the anger of the gods. Shrubs, grasses, and flowers were whipped around by fierce gales, which periodically swept across the land; trees strained to keep their trunks from bending beneath the force. Local wildlife scoured every place imaginable for suitable shelter- from the dumpsters in alleyways to the chambers of old abandoned buildings. Some dared to burrow into the earth while others sought unoccupied caves/tree hollows. Anywhere dry and protected was fair game. Humans similarly hid in towering skyscrapers and small houses, fearing the destruction the weather was bound to create. However, the streets were not as empty as one would imagine. 

A tiny figure - small enough that one might mistake them for a doll - dashed down the deserted roads, moving under as many slightly elevated obstacles (cars, benches, postboxes, etc.) as possible. Weaving and slipping into hard to reach places, they ran without pause while desperately seeking out a hiding place. Unfortunately, the stretches of open space made it near impossible to vanish from searching eyes. And, though the being appeared to be no more than a black blob due to the dark cloak shrouding them, it provided very little camouflage. 

He, Reaper, the embodiment of mortality and decay, feared for his life and wanted to put some distance between himself and those responsible for the current situation. The rumble of their gait pounded in his invisible eardrums. His bare feet hammered against concrete, shooting discomfort through each tibia/fibula with every step. Rough asphalt scrapped his poor metatarsals and phalanges. The death god would not be surprised if deep red marrow was leaking from the shallow cuts and sores. Regardless, he continued onward. The pain his wounds caused him seemed like a small price to pay for freedom. 

As he traversed the open space, his eyes locked onto the next thing that he could hide under and shifted his course to that direction. The target was a car. Small, dull red, and lived to see more crashes than necessary, judging by the numerous dents and scratches it bore. It would not provide cover for long, yet Reaper still aimed for its inviting shadows. He intended to escape the greedy eyes tracking his every move. Even if for a mere few seconds. While running, a heavy pressure sunk into the cloaked skeleton's bones, making a few joints stiff and difficult to move. Something in the air stirred. Howls ripped through the air as the winds began to rush across the land, slowly building in speed with each passing moment. The soft scent of sky-bound water tickled his nasal cavity. Rain- It would start raining soon. He could feel it in his bones. 

Reaper quickened his pace despite his body's strong protests. Dampness made its way onto his aching bones, partially due to sweat and somewhat due to marrow leaking from his foot wounds. The small, inverted heart-shaped organ pounding in the morbid god's ribcage worked overtime to regulate his magick flow. His nonexistent lungs heaved for air, leaving him nigh breathless as he zipped down the road. Luckily, the biology of magic skeletons allowed them to survive extended periods without oxygen, so Reaper saved his worry for other matters. Like potentially getting trapped in a heavy downpour with pursuers right on his trail. An activity he had no plans on adding to his itinerary. Ever. 

Once approaching the rear bumper of the vehicle, he internally cheered and began a mad dash toward the shadows. The dreaded sensation crawling along his back disappeared as he vanished into the lovely shelter darkness provided. Vulgar curses sounded behind. Reaper, however, concentrated so intensely on relief that his brain did not register the words. His feet swiftly carried him to the opposite end of the car, where they then stuttered to a halt. The harrowing divide between comfortable darkness and unescapable exposure laid before him. Insufficient daylight lightened the asphalt extent beyond and brightened the sparse few structures useable for cover. The God of Death stood at the edge, panting. Aching, bony legs trembled under his weight, daring him to sit down and never walk again. Dark eye sockets gazed behind, and invisible ears listened for footfall dampened by the shrill sky. Focusing, he training his hearing on the distinct noise. A set of clopping hooves along with several pairs of softer treads sounded beneath the winds. Lightning crackled, illuminating the world long enough from him to see a blob of shadows approaching from the distance. His pursuers were not an immediate problem, then. He had a minute or two at most to rest- ample time to lean against the front tire for support and catch his breath, which took little convincing to accomplish.

Reaper shuffled over to the rubbery wheel and slowly allowed his back to ease against it, taking away a bit of the burden his legs carried. A soft sigh brushed passed his jaws as the weight shifted off the damaged bones. The agony coursing through them only lessened a minuscule amount, but the effect still proved to be satisfying. Though, the longer he remained unmoving, the less and less he wanted to continue forward and place more pressure on his legs again. Why would he? He was a god. Building up that type of endurance never crossed his mind after spending eons floating/flying around and teleporting to where he needed to go. His brother and many other gods, on the other hand, could walk for days. Hell, even Geno could walk faster and farther than him on a good day. Levitation was Reaper's best (and favorite) form of transportation. 

Worth a shot, he thought. Summoning what little magick was available in his reserves, the tired skeleton willed it to flow through every bone in his body, coating them in a near-invisible light blue glow, and attempted to lift them (and by extension, himself) off the ground. Inch by inch, he climbed into the air. A weary grin stretched across his skull as he gained enough height to wiggle his toes freely, without meeting any earthward resistance. The happy expression wavered when the delicate glow encompassing his bones sputtered and vanished. Soon the god found himself falling feet-first to earth. He floundered in the air, flailing his arms like a helpless hatchling and struggling to reignite the levitation magick. It did little to ease the impact. Upon meeting asphalt, a sharp sting shot up the already throbbing bones, causing a pained grunt to escape Reaper's throat. He glared down at them with narrowed eye sockets, feeling betrayed. 

Damn! 

That transformation left me weak- weaker than I have ever been. How long will I be able to hold out? I know I can't run forever.

A hand came up to clutch the left side of his chest. Higher up and to the right laid the skeleton's second most prized possession (the first being the wedding ring Geno gave him), something worn on the dark cloak every day without fail. To most, it appeared to be a mere trinket- a draconic skull pendant that rested on the front of the article, attached where a metal clasp fastened the two sides of the hood. But it was so much more than that. His father or creator, Gaster, gifted the pendant to him shortly after his 'birth.' It held an unimaginable amount of power. That of the likes humans had warred over in past eons.

Dare I- Dare I unleash this formidable power?

The cloaked skeleton shook his head, hand slowly drifting in the opposite direction of the artifact and limply falling to the side.

No. 

No, I can't. There is no telling how it will affect my current form. That much raw magic rushing through a tiny, frail body like this may very well obliterate it. And I'd prefer to make it home to Geno and my brother in one piece. 

With a sharp breath, he stepped toward the rift separating him from those on the hunt- those whos gait was becoming louder and louder by the second. Invisible eyelights scanned the beyond. A postbox laid behind a wooden bench on the left side of the sidewalk roughly eleven feet ahead. Broken and damaged boxes abandoned by inconsiderate people surrounded its base, making it impossible to scurry underneath the metallic mail-holder. Being beaten by the harsh winds had caused the awkward stack to explode into disarray. Some boxes looked ready to tumble off without short notice. Sight drifting in the opposite direction, Reaper noticed that not a single form of cover laid on the other sidewalk. It was an open field decorated by a fire hydrant and several lampposts. Worryingly, even cars were absent from the asphalt road extending past the horizon. Meaning the bench would be his only protection unless he managed to devise a plan before his pursuers get too close. 

He clenched his teeth, mentally preparing himself, and bolted out from under the car, intending to make up any ground lost during his short break. The physical strain aggravated his poor, ancient soul. Pain nipped at his heels and burrowed into the sore bones, making itself at home like a tick snuggled in a dog's fur coat. Sadly, the skeleton's growing familiarity with its presence did not make it any more tolerable. Then a sharp chill crept up his spine as the bench drew nearer. The unsettling gaze had returned, adding onto the stress. Its voracious eyes froze his bones to the core and induced panic and uneasiness in his soul while seemingly piercing through his black cloak and eyeing the bones beneath. A cold sweat broke out on Reaper's back. If he had normal eyelights, they would have reduced to mere pinpricks at this point- or vanished entirely. Shuddering, he used the distant postbox's shiny surface to view the people running close behind. The reflection showed seven robed figures in pursuit. 

The first, and at the head of the pack, was a cloven-hooved bipedal monster with two curled horns poking out the hood of their robe. A raven's skull laid where the clothing item fastened around his neck. Ajax, if Reaper recalled correctly. However, doubt lingered in the back of his mind. As a God of Death, there were many more significant activities/tasks than memorizing the names his followers went by. Therefore, he could not trust himself to recollect any of their chosen monikers. What he did know was Ajax's role amongst his following. (Many gods found it crucial to keep track of those loyal and those not. No one wanted to smite or curse the wrong person, after all. And, naturally, one needed to be sure they were rewarding the right person for their devotion.) The middle-aged monster led those devoted to the God of Death in the lower, northwestern half of Europe. Other than that, Reaper's mind supplied nothing relevant about the crazy goat. His nonexistent eyelights moved to examine the others. Two dog monsters (a jackal-esque male and a rottweiler-like female) flanked their leader. Following close behind them was a cat monster, two rabbit monsters, and a lizard monster.

The tiny skeleton grimaced, directing his attention back to the open road. Three monsters with a decent nose on their face made hiding difficult. How on earth would he lose them? Hiding under the upcoming bench hardly seemed plausible- eventually, someone would reach under and grab him. If not that, then he may become surrounded and forced to surrender or starve/give in to fatigue. Either way ended with him being caught. As disgusting as the notion may be, perhaps he could conceal himself in a garbage can or dumpster. Geno would, without a doubt, ban him from kisses and cuddles until the stench was gone, but Reaper could live with that if it meant evading his pursuers; Especially since he did not want to know what they planned on doing once they caught him. Whatever it was, though, seemed to be the opposite of moral due to the situation at hand.  

Puffing out labored breaths, he straining his tiny legs to carry him further and further for those chasing after him. He kept his head faced forward, refusing to spare a backward glance over his shoulder. Possibly out of fear for the group merely a few paces behind. Or, more plausibly, fearing that the gesture would slow him down and allow the cretins a chance to snag him. All seemed well as he approached the wooden legs of the bench until a sudden gust of wind blew through the streets. The gust caught his cloak, attempted to push him into the hands of his pursuers, forcing him to slow and stumble back several steps. Before it could propel him further, his little arms latched onto the nearby bench leg, barely fitting around, to prevent himself from being swept away. 

His arms began to throb as the force of nature raged on, and each air push made his ironclad grasp slip more and more. It would be a lie if Reaper said he wasn't the slightest bit worried. Or afraid. Or utterly terrified of the consequences of losing his grip/letting go. The duty he fulfilled took him many places within his AU- the mortal realm, the dwelling of Reapertale's panthéon, and all planes in between. In the event the shrunken skeleton got captured, Geno may notice something amiss when he fails to return home to harass him with late-night snuggles. But it would be nigh impossible for the genius to locate Reaper quickly. Let alone save him from his crazed followers. The worst part was: Geno saw this coming, and Reaper completely ignored the other's concerns and placed too much faith in the loyalty of his followers. He wished he had taken his lover's concerns more seriously. Had listened to what Geno attempted to tell him. If the tiny god had- well, then he would be in an entirely different situation right about now. Their conversation haunted the depth of his mind even now, taunting him for disregarding the concerns thrown his way.

Chapter 39: Elder Tomes VII

Summary:

Ink further introduces Dream to the world of technology.

Light from the TV filled the dimly lit living room. Its rectangular screen displayed a bipedal feline with disproportionate features- tiny hands, too large eyes, stubby legs, awkwardly sized head, etc. The creature shifted between jumping, punching, and shouting at the surrounding villagers, who seemed to take offense from the action. Every so often, different menus displaying various things (items, spells, and skills) would pop up, promptly disappearing afterward.

Ink grinned, staring at the TV while mashing random buttons. He may or may not have forgotten which buttons made his character move, and which one brought up the menu to show him what each button did. His scarf was of no use either. Any notes regarding the video game were nonexistent since the artist never wrote any. Thus, causing a bout of messing around until he managed to find the right one.

A soft rustle sounded to the left and drew Ink's eyelights away from his game for a second before they bounced back to the TV.

Dream lingered in the doorway, head tilted to the side with slightly narrowed eye sockets. Curiosity shone in his voice as he asked, "Noble demon of writing utensils, what jovial activities are you participating in on this fine morn?"

"Oh, just playing this new game that was released recently! Probably the only one playing it since it's not even available in this AU- You would not believe that effort I had to go through to get it!" Ink rambled, not once bothering to take his eyelights off the screen. "A bee kept chasing me because I forgot I put these pretty flowers in my scarf. And- And last week, this weird human threw rocks at me; It was fun until Broomie tripped him and left me to take care of the body!"

"I- I see..." The yellow-clad skeleton's voice held more horror towards Ink's recount than astonishment or interest. He then nervously stammered, "M-may I watch? I have never seen a 'game' like this one."

"Heh-he! Sure, it will be way more fun with an audience!" 

A gloved hand patted the open sofa cushion. Dream cautiously accepted the invitation, slowly stepping over and situating himself on the plush surface. His yellow eyelights fell upon Ink's cat monstrosity. The tentative smile along his jaws quickly found itself replaced by a small frown. However, the Guardian of Positivity said not a word as he watched the character spaz throughout the village. Shortly the feline came to a halt by a villager and struck them. A horrified gasp echoed across the room.

Seeing this as a golden opportunity, Ink repeatedly pressed the button, causing his character to punch over and over again. The villager screamed for mercy, for the guards, as their health bar decreased with each successful hit. 

Dream howled in anguish, "No, stop! You're killing them!" His hand stretched toward the TV, alight with healing magic. The effort was in vain, though, since his magic could not reach them nor ease their suffering. A forlorn expression clouded his face at the realization. 

"Pfft- Well, yeah, that is the point of the game." Ink stated, nonchalantly.

The skeleton beside him puffed up in rage, crying, "How dare you treat life like a game?! And to kill these innocents so mercilessly with your otherworldly avatar, perhaps you are more  of a beast than I originally estimated."

At those words, a brilliant idea popped into Ink's head. His eye sockets went dark - void of their mirthful shapes and colors - while his jaws spread into a wide, jagged-toothed grin. He turned to face the righteous monster, who screamed bloody murder upon meeting his gaze. Almost immediately, Dream scrambled off the couch and through the nearest door, muttering prayers under his breath as he left.

Ink chuckled to himself while reverting his face to normal. "Heh. If I had known he was that easy to scare, I would have tried that ages ago!" 

 

Notes:

Years later, Dream was still unconvinced that video game characters were not avatars used by gods and demons. Which confused most people, as he would often state, "I am going to walk amongst the mortals of *Insert Game Title*" before sitting down on the couch and turning on the game console. Ink finds this piece of Dream's past hilarious and brings it up as much as possible and in the worst situations.

Chapter 40: Doom: Eternal Negativity

Summary:

Dust introduces Nightmare to a new way to induce negativity.

Nightmare and Dust sat on the manor's large couch, staring at the decent-sized TV in front of them. The former held an upside-down video game console controller in his hands. His cyan eyelight twinkled with suspicion as he inspected the colorful scenery on display. A masculine figure baring green/orange armor and guns stood motionless in the center of the screen; Dark rocks and lava made up the surrounding area, posing many dangers to the novice gamer. The Guardian of Negativity hummed curiously. Testing a button, the armored character inch forward before breaking out into a full sprint and stopping a millimeter away from the bubbling magma.  

"So, this vid-ee-oh game-" He started, only to be cut off mid-sentence. 

"Video game." Dust received a menacing scowl at the correction. 

"Yes, that." Nightmare hissed, adding, "I can use it to inflict negativity upon others?"

The hoodie-clad skeleton shrugged. "Pretty much. In this one, all you need to do is steal kills and camp- which will make almost any player instantly anger, sad, or annoyed."

"I find one problem with this."

"What? It should be easy. Plus, I already explained how to play the game three times. We are not going over it a fourth!"

"No, not with the game. I comprehend how to play it perfectly. Besides, we wouldn't have to had to go over it so many times if you were better at explaining things." Nightmare jeered, promptly gesturing to a small line of text located by his character's health bar. "My username. Why must it be 'snugglefluffin69'? I don't even know what that means!"

Dust fought back a grin and waved a hand dismissively. "Heh. Don't worry about it. 'S an insult people use nowadays."

The dark guardian's eye socket narrowed. The positivity emanating from the other was hard to ignore and made it difficult to believe the words were a mere insult. He leveled his jaws with a crafty smirk, stating, "Intriguing. You must share more of these new-age vulgar words and insults with me, so I may properly scorn my brother when we once again meet."

Chapter 41: Visiting Friends (1)

Summary:

Where Blue goes, his demons follow.

(Warning: This chapter contains mild swearing.)

Soft, white clouds lagged across the sky. A bright gaseous ball that many called the 'sun' slowly climbed through the blue expanse, aspiring to reach its peak. The daylight filtered past the pastel orange curtains of the standard Undertale brothers' house and illuminated the skeletons playing about and chatting inside. On the old green sofa, Edge and Classic swapped their best puns with each other while their brothers clattered around in the kitchen, cooking up a storm. The two royal guardsmen had entered a daring dual of cookery. Only the most excellent pasta dish would win. Stretch sat at the table with crossed arms and his chin resting on the wooden surface, ensuring that the passionate chefs did not start a fire. 

Their little monthly get-together seemed perfect. Everyone was getting along and having a fun time. However, someone was absent from the group. That someone being a skeleton who was known for a signature dish (tacos) and a gentle smile that could melt the heart of the wildest beast. Blue, the cheery older brother of Underswap Papyrus, had yet to arrive at the designated house for their usual activities- a cook-off/pun-off, dinner, board games, and a movie night. In fact, the other missed out on the past two gatherings. Each time he gave an excuse that fell somewhere along the lines of having something important to take care of or being busy. And, surprisingly, Blue agreed to attend this time. 

Though, it hardly eased the copious worries the five skeletons held for the suddenly reclusive monster. Some would not outright admit to worrying, but it showed. Red eyelights occasionally flicked over to the front door, and a tall, commanding figure regularly peeked out of the kitchen, checking for the small Sans. 

Classic and Edge punned back and forth until a sudden knock sounded at the front door. The noise caused both skeletons to freeze and grin at each other. Soon the kitchen entrance found itself crowded by Papyrus and Fell, who slipped into the area simultaneously; Their orange-wearing counterpart failed to join them. Presumably asleep. They gazed at the door with a hopeful and reserved expression, respectively. Classic lept out his seat with an energy and speed no one anticipated before anyone else took a single step toward the door. Who could blame him? After two months of minimal contact with Blue, they all wanted to see the lively skeleton with their own eye sockets and determine whether or not he seemed okay. It could not be easy living on his own for the first time, especially without having his brother around. But maybe, just maybe, that was an excuse to shy away from the fact that the other was so greatly missed. The cheery skeleton was more than capable of taking care of himself, after all. 

Eagerly, Classic's bony hand unbolted the door and flung it wide open. Light filtered through the doorway, reflecting off a pearly white surface, revealing the person to be everyone's anticipated guest: Blue (and most definitely not the random stranger or mailman that everyone half expected to stand there like a sick joke). The Underswap skeleton stood tall with a bright smile spread across his face, which seemed to brighten further once he saw his friends. His electric blue eyelights sparked, vibrant and full of magic/joy. A few eyebrows raised regardless. Instead of his battle body, an ensemble consisting of a light blue polo shirt, a pair of light grey shorts with matching sneakers, and his signature blue bandana clothed him. No one noticed the chain leash held firmly by his hand.

The grin on Classic's skull widened. In his typical lazy timbre, he said, "Blue, I'm glad you could- FUCK!"

A hulking form bolted past the doorway and lunged at him as a terrifying snarl ripped through its throat. He stumbled backward, narrowly preventing a series of sharp teeth from tearing into his face by tripping and landing on his rear. His eyelights extinguished when the maw of his would-be attacker stopped before him, teeth gnashing at air; swollen red eyelight boring into his frantically beating soul. All breath fled Classic's nonexistent lungs.

Looming over him was a monster. A skeleton like him. Yet not.

He quickly noted the monster was decidedly male- if his own minor resemblances to them were any indication. Jagged fangs lined the other's jaws, set in a borderline feral grin that could cause even a baby Fell to cry. Claw-tipped phalanges on chipped, partially bandaged hands dug into the floor on either side of him, their razor-sharp tips slipping deep into the hardwood floorboards with ease. Classic shuddered at the thought of what those nails would do if flesh or bone laid beneath them instead. His vacant eye sockets slowly crept up to study the top of the growling skeleton's skull. A gaping hole surrounded by sharp, broken edges adorned the back-left side of the bone structure, likely contributing to the unhinged behavior and abnormal eyelight. Based on the length of his bones and stature, he would reach Papyrus' shoulders if he stood up straight and surpass the height of every Sans in the room. It was a wonder that Blue's hold could restrain him from charging forward and killing everyone. Especially given how violently the other thrashed against the bonds securing him to his keeper. As the brute tugged forward, the surprisingly clean dark blue hoodie and black shorts he wore wrinkled.

A pained gag soon escaped the crazed skeleton's throat as his chain collar pushed on a sensitive vertebra. In response, he stumbled closer to Blue and leveled Classic with a ravenous glare as his leash slackened slightly. The original Undertale Sans did not have the guts or spine to remove his eye sockets from the dangerous creature, fearing that once he did, the other would not hesitate to attempt another attack.

Throughout the stare down, his onlooker's posture remained flawlessly reminiscent of a predator worse than those lurking in the underbelly of Underfell's darkest caverns- faux muscles coiled and ready to pounce. Which precisely was what the lazy skeleton feared. Aggressive magic flicked to life somewhere in the room. Quite possibly the doing of one of the Underfell brothers, or an overprotective Stretch. Cautiously, Classic maneuvered his arms behind himself and began to crawl backward.

The further from Blue's "unique friend" he got, the more the weight bearing down on his soul vanished.

"What the fuck is that!" Edge screeched, scrambling onto the couch's backrest while snagging a cushion to create a barrier between him and the threat. Papyrus was so stunned by the appearance of their surprise guest he neglected to scold the Underfell inhabitant for his vulgar language.

Unfortunately for Edge, his outburst caught the chained monster's attention. The unnamed skeleton promptly turned in his direction, blood-red eyelight searing into the pillow, and began to growl before tugging at his bonds again.

Blue gasped and pulled his hands close to his chest, which caused the leash in his left hand to tug his companion back over to him. The broken-headed monster grunted as he landed ungracefully at the other's feet. His already menacing face twisted in a snarl, seemingly displeased but not enough to turn on the person holding him back; the rumbles radiating from his throat refused to die down. Pulling himself into a sitting position, he returned his predatorial gaze to the mustard-loving skeleton. Edge visibly shuddered. Meanwhile, Fell looked half ready to skewer the beast in order to protect the household- red magic sparking threateningly, a calculating gleam in his sockets, a basic defensive pose. Everything about him screamed, "ready for a fight."

Classic, on the other hand, silently gaped at Blue's display of strength. Sometimes, he could not help but wonder if the Underswap Sans was secretly a Judge or Boss Monster. Likely neither, but still the other had to have something special about him for that unnatural strength to be a thing. 

Shaking out of his stupor, he aimed a few choice words at their long-waited guest, "Blue, what the hell?!"

Chapter 42: Visiting Friends (2)

Notes:

The return of The Blue Wonder and his sidekick Hungry Boy.

Papyrus broke free from his shock-induced daze and shot a brief scathing look at Classic for using such vulgarities before rushing to his side, offering a hand to help him up. Which his fallen brother hastily accepted. Once standing upright, albeit on unsteady legs, the shortest (and eldest) host of the little get-together remained caught between attempting to stand in front of Papyrus and hide behind him. The latter option won as the new movement had diverted the skeleton beast's gaze from a cowering Edge to him. Thus, leading the original Undertale Sans to use his brother as a shield to conceal himself from sight despite brotherly instincts screaming at him to do otherwise.

The gangly, armor-clad skeleton paid it no mind; Wordlessly encouraging his one HP brother to seek protection by shifting into a better position in front of him. Then redirected his attention to their long-awaited guest. His tone carried firm yet gentle when he spoke, "I must agree with my brother, except in politer terms."

Blue visibly deflated at the words. His head tilted down in shame, shoulders sagged, and his electric blue eyelights moved to inspect the floor. Catching onto the other's change in mood, the chained creature aimed his bared teeth and low growl toward Papyrus rather than the short monster behind him.

"My sincerest apologies, Classic, Papyrus. It was wrong for me not to ask or say anything about bringing him. I had considered leaving him at home, but last time I did that, it ended poorly. To say the least." He shot a disappointed look at the snarling beast eyeing his friend with malice. "I am fairly certain that Ms. Snowfield and Lila have not forgiven me for the circumstances regarding the passing of their pet cat."

As the Underswap Sans said that, a sleek black feline swept through the kitchen doorway. (Doomfanger, Fell's pet cat, had meowed - more like screeched, in Edge's opinion - to accompany them to their destination. Hence, how she ended up in the 'Tale household. Her owner had no choice other than to bring her.) Her fit figure and well-groomed fur showed how deeply cared for she was. Fell silently used a red boot to nudge Doomfanger back into the kitchen. The cat did not retaliate, aside from casting a nasty glare at her owner. A long, fluffy tail lashed behind her as she turned around and walked back into the cooking space.

Stretch's lanky form appeared in the doorway immediately after. A single hand came up to rub his droopy eye sockets while a big yawn escaped him. As soon as his jaws clicked shut, he set his sights on the casually dressed skeleton at the front door and then the companion next to him. He raised a brow and frowned slightly. "Bro, where on earth did you find that thing?"

Blue huffed, meeting his brother's gaze with a frown.

"Stretch, do not be rude! He is a Sans, and his name is Horror. As for how he came into my care, I found him rummaging through my outdoor rubbish bin like one of those nimble-fingered, masked fiends; he nearly tore the thing apart while looking for food. Being a kind and generous soul, the magnificent me decided to feed him." His eyelights darted to the side, and a hand slowly came up to rub the back of his neck. A nervous chuckle escaped his jaws before he added, "After that... Well, my friend-making skills were so powerful I could not convince him to leave. So, I kept him."

Papyrus dared to step closer, only stopping when the aptly named Horror began to emit a louder rumble. "Blue, my friend. While the Great Papyrus does condone good deeds, don't you think he is a little - how do I say this politely - feral?"

A short growl emanated from the sofa. Edge snaked a hand past his fluffy pillow barrier and pointed a phalange between his more cheery counterpart and the supposed Sans. "We're just goin' to gloss over the fact he's keepin' a demented Sans like a pet?"

"Hush, you ingrate. That creature is better off with Blue than roaming on the streets." Fell chided, casting a wary glance over toward said broken-headed monster. "Imagine taking out the trash at night and finding that sifting through the bin."

While the five skeletons each shot their own uneasy looks at Horror, his handler reached a hand down and gently dragged it across the top of his skull (being extra careful around the jagged hole), soothing the deep growls into nonexistence. Not that that helped remove any hostility in the sitting creature's swollen red eyelight.

The taco-loving guest flashed a small, hopeful smile at his friends and said, "Look, everyone. I know Horror has problems, but since we met, he has been getting better. Give him a chance, and then I'm certain you all will learn to enjoy his company as much as I do."

"Fat fuckin' chance in hell right there, sweetheart." Edge scoffed.

"Language!" Papyrus scolded. His usual accomplice in enforcing such rules remained oddly silent, once again eyeing the floorboards, only brightening somewhat when Horror leaned into his legs.

"I normally refrain from agreeing with my shameful, asinine brother. However, your 'friend' does seem to be an" The taller and less crude Underfell brother paused for a second to find the least offensive words. "acquired taste."

Classic ventured a step out from behind his brother with a deep frown in place, which showed obvious strain around the edges; pinprick eyelights wavered in his eye sockets. He then shifted from left to right, and a hand rose from his side before moving to the back of his neck. "Yeah... Gonna have to go with Fell and edge lord on this one. Sorry, buddy."

Big, watery blue eyes slowly lifted and directed their pitiful gaze to the sole tall figure wearing a hoodie.

"Brother?" Blue asked tearfully.

Stretch cringed away from his pleading expression, opting to look at the wall lest he falter in the face of the shorter skeleton's advanced pouting techniques. "Sorry, bro. The vote is pretty unanimous."

"Please. I promise I'll make sure he behaves throughout the entire evening."

Everyone stayed silent for a moment, each trying not to give in to the puppy-dog eyes pointed straight at them; This was easier for some as they chose to either look anywhere else or focused on the creature glaring at them spitefully.

But eventually, someone broke.

"Oh, all right." Papyrus conceded.

The reactions were instantaneous. Edge and Fell's faces contorted with dismay, both giving a cry of disbelief. Great relief swept over Stretch, evident by his newly relaxed posture and the grateful glance he shot in their tallest host's direction- likely pleased he wasn't the one who wavered beneath Blue's sorrowful gaze. As for his brother, the pouty monster's expression instantly bounced back to cheerfulness while a certain smugness played along his companion's jaws. Classic, however, took his brother's decision the worst. His tight frown deepened, almost pulling into a grimace, and his body tensed.

"Papyrus-"

The royal guardsman in question cut off his brother with a stern look. "Don't 'Papyrus' me, Sans. We owe it to Blue to at least attempt to befriend his unusual friend before deciding we want nothing to do with him."

The blue-hoodied skeleton sagged in defeat and clicked his jaws shut, dropping the subject; All the while, the corners of his teeth remained turned down, and his eye sockets narrowed to glower at the floor.

Meanwhile, Blue beamed even brighter at his friend's response. "Thank you, Papyrus! I promise you won't regret it."

"I'm sure someone is gonna regret it. 'S just a matter of time," Edge muttered, earning the ire-filled gaze of Horror and the deaf ears of his unfortunate associates.

"It is no skin off my bones... Wait-" Papyrus waved off the gratitude, pausing in terror when the gravity of what he said dawned on him. His eye sockets widened as he noticed a small smile form on his brother's face and a similar humored expression on the other three Sanses in the room as well. Not to mention, the twin betrayed looks gracing his alternates' features. "Not a word from any of you!"

"Come on, Paps. It feels like I've been waiting a skele-ton of years for a moment like this." Classic quipped, playfully elbowing his brother in the side before using his free hand to pull a rectangular device from his hoodie's pocket.

"Drop the phone this instant," The red-scarfed skeleton warned.

"Shh, bro. It's been a stressful past few minutes. Let me have this."

Papyrus groaned and rolled his invisible eyelights, allowing the pun lover to take his picture and add whatever hideous caption he could conceive to it. "Let's move on from this horrib- terrible blight on my life and get back to the festivities."

With many activities still waiting to be completed, everyone agreed. Some - like Edge and Classic - more so because they were eager to find a Horror-free room to hide out in until the night ended. That was until Blue's alarmed shout echoed throughout the room, addressing the dark-hooded shadow no one had noticed creeping along the walls and behind the original Undertale Sans.

"Stabby me, you may not kill Classic! Where did you even get that knife? I know it is not the one I allowed you to keep."

Chapter 43: An Insult of the Highest Order

Summary:

The Legend of the Legendary Legend allegendly dubbed the Legending of Legends. Also, Cross offends a demonic Nightmare.

"Surely, you jest," bellowed an incensed voice, timbre as dark as a moonless night and more profound than the most bottomless chasm.

The cause of such a harrowing roar stood straight, posture the embodiment of authority and lethality, at the center of a dark-stoned shrine surrounded by a thick, shadowy forest. Vicious goo clung to the figure's bones and occasionally dripped on the stone bricks below. Black and purple robes adorned by silvery, intricate swirling patterns covered their form, seemingly unaffected by the foul ooze. They- or more accurately, he was the keeper of this forgotten shrine.

The Inimical Shrine. Better known as the resting place of Nightmare, a fallen god.

Oozing tendrils swayed behind him, signaling his displeasure. One such appendage struck the temple grounds with a mighty thump that echoed along the room's hallowed walls. The monster crouched before Nightmare flinched and shrunk back ever-so-slightly, jostling the offering they held out for him. An offering the god sneered at.

He emitted a low growl and stated, "You are serious, are you not? This is your offering to me. "

Cross - the warrior proclaimed his name prior to Nightmare's summoning - gave a nervous chuckle and slight nod, shifting the white fur pelts lining his leather armor.

Nightmare eyed him, thoroughly appalled and outraged by the pure audacity of the mortal in front of him. A snarl twisted on his face. "You summon me - a greater arche-demon of nature and negativity, the Nightmare who haunts the strongest warriors' dreams - and wish to seal our pact with a rotten, moldy stub of a twig."

"Yes?"

"I have never been so insulted by a mere mortal!" He ended the sentence by stomping his foot on the ground.

Making a deep hiss, the oozing skeleton glowered at the obnoxiously monochrome warrior before conceding. "However, it's not like anyone better has shown up in the past thousand years." Cross' expression brightened at the words. Nightmare couldn't help but feel his rising hope- disgusting positivity. "And, even with your pathetic 'offering,' I will be unbound from my current resting place and able to traverse the lands once more, capable of invoking terror and misery in the foolish souls that dare to cross my path."

Cross beamed at the god, not minding the ominous implications in the slightest. "So, you'll form a pact with me?"

"Indeed." Nightmare then lit a hand with deep cyan magic and reached for the wretched twig. "Fortunately for you, I am that desperate."

Notes:

And all was at peace in Cross's life- until Nightmare discovered that he would have no choice but to take up residence in his brother's domain, which happened to be where his new companion lives.

Chapter 44: Request: Prepare For Trouble; Make It Double! (Part 1)

Summary:

Request: Geno and Error are the same person, Error can change his form of Error to Geno whenever he wants, use this ability to take a break from destroying being the god of destruction. But without realizing it, he falls in love with two monsters, Reaper who is in love with Geno and Nightmare who is in love with Error. When these two discover that Geno and Error are the same person, they start a competition to see who falls in love with Geno/Error first. The poor god of destruction meanwhile has to suffer from the two fools in love.

(This glorious story was requested by NekuDog.)

Secrets. Everyone had secrets- from big to small and minor to earth-shattering. Some examples being: Blueberry's deep loathing for Dream. The surprisingly well-hidden knowledge that Ink, the Multiverse's creator and guardian, had not even a sliver of a soul in his body. Nightmare, a Sans labeled by the ignorant as evil incarnate, loved his brother. And perhaps a cartoon containing a certain equine dreamwalker. The 90's virus terrorizing AUs was deathly afraid of Furbys. Sci believed extraterrestrial lifeforms or humans were trying to kidnap him. (As if the paranoid scientist didn't already sleep with one eye open. Monsters from everywhere in the Multiverse sought his vast knowledge and expertise; some more than willing to kidnap him to obtain it.) And, of course, Cross convinced himself that cheese was a conspiracy invented by cows in order to mind-control the populace. Weird? Yes, but a secret was a secret no matter how strange.

Speaking of abnormal secrets, the Multiverse's own Destroyer of AUs kept an arguably dangerous one. One that not even his closest allies knew about or even dared to consider. One that could put a target on the back of a reputable yet reclusive monster: Genocide.

He and Geno had a unique relationship. No, they were not brothers like some silently suspected. Their bond was much more complicated, much more connected. While both appeared to be drastically different - one a seemingly cold-hearted criminal and the other a moody but caring recluse, they shared many similarities; Like the same body and the same soul. In simpler terms, the two were not separate beings but, in fact, the very same person. That was Error's most coveted secret.

He lived a double life.

Half the time, he spent his days as the God of Destruction, eliminating any broken, corrupted, or virus-infected AUs; Managing the code in core AUs to prevent a collapse from occurring. Ink, unsurprisingly, did very little to keep them stable despite being their protector. Thus, leaving Error with an extra task. Not that the dark skeleton minded too much because, this way, he could better ensure the health of Aftertale, Underswap, Outertale, Undernovela, Reapertale, and Haventale (Nightmare's residence).

Aside from the aforementioned tasks, he took some time to hang around his fellow miscreants and aid them in their chores around the Multiverse. The Guardian of Negativity and his ragtag team of rejected Sanses were Error's favorite to visit. They knew when to be serious and when to have fun; And were far easier to get along with than 404, Fresh, or Infected. The glitch may not admit it, but he rather enjoyed Nightmare's company in their downtime and on the battlefield. Plus, operating with them worked in his favor more often than not. Together, they spread negativity and destruction in half the time it would take if they acted alone.

When work slowed and little needed completed, he wore a guise of his former self and returned to where monsters and humans knew him by a sole name: Genocide, the second Sans of Aftertale and bloody glitch of the Save Screen. He could relax and move about fearlessly during these times. Essentially, doing whatever he wanted (within reason) without being attack by righteous fools or framed for any crimes. It was like a break or vacation from his job. But, of course, being a known figure in the Multiverse, Geno had to make regular appearances to avoid suspicion from those closest to him. Especially from Reaper, who often came to visit the glitch after their first meeting. After (his second half), on the other hand, hardly visited as he and Geno did not see eye-to-eye on specific matters- i.e., condoning the destruction of timelines.

Currently, the God of Destruction stood on a cliff's edge surrounded by colorful novas and burning stars set in multi-shaded skies. The purple, light blue, and pink hues of which were an eye-catching wonder. No matter how many times Error saw them, his eyelights never failed to fixate on the expanse with never-ending awe. Behind him sat a dense forest of pine trees. Their close proximity to each other and far-reaching branches created a thick canopy of shadows perfect for hiding in. He would know, as the living barrier concealed his favorite stargazing spot and kept Outertale's residents from spotting him; only a select few knew the location existed. Stardin's citizens rarely ventured into the forest in fear of getting lost or tumbling off the very edge of their small, little world.

The Void was not something to be trifled with, after all. Once fallen in, one could not "fall" out. They were forever doomed to traverse an amaranthine space alongside those who had come before them.

As for who did know about the quaint, stargazing nook: Aside from Error himself, there existed solely three other souls that knew of the location and the magnificent view it overlooked. Those three being monsters the destroyer dared to hold close to his heart- Blue, Reaper, and Nightmare. The accursed trio wormed their way into his life - and into his withered soul - before he had a chance to stop them. Because, by the time he realized he held the slightest inkling of care for them, it was already too late. They became a friend/ally.

Not that he could get rid of them if he wanted to. The three skeletons shared an aggravating trait, stubbornness. Something that Error himself was very guilty of possessing. And expressing. Regularly.

Cosmic winds skimmed across the floating islands. Its stardust-carrying current brushed against his black bones and littered them with little sparkling specks that clung to his clean (-ish) attire as well. The fine powder sparkled like stars on his deep blue scarf as it fluttered in the breeze. Error silently cursed the AU's natural glitter. It was the sole downside to visiting Outertale. Stardust always found its way into hard to reach places and refused to be easily cleaned up. Regardless, it did have a certain charm in specific situations. For example, the times the substance got caught in Nightmare's sludge, making the dark lord shimmer like a mini galaxy, or when it stuck to Reaper's cloak and created a vast starscape on canvas as dark as night. Those instances were some of the destroyer's favorites. But it was less enjoyable when the tables turned. Especially after the time he went on a destruction spree and got made fun of by Ink for being "a ball of angry, glitter yarn."

Though, in the past, Reaper once stated that he looked fetching with stardust glistening in his blood. When in his Genocide form, of course. Receiving such a compliment from the death god as Error would bring a myriad of different feelings.

Speaking of the handsy old bird, it was high time he paid Geno a visit. The black-boned skeleton heaved a sigh; Using a hand, he opened an interface displaying an intricate calendar system. To the top left laid a circular gauge with two lines cutting it into four separate areas. Each portrayed a different symbol. In order, they showed a pink flower, a yellow sun, a brown oak leaf, and a white snowflake. Every area, excluding the one containing the oak leaf, was darkened. Meaning the AU was presently experiencing autumn. Positioned underneath it were a thermometer, clock, and weather forecast bar. Nearby, sperate tabs containing the names of his most frequented AUs floated atop a seven-by-six table. Dates lined each section while the matching weekdays sat on their own row above. Unused cells remained blacked out.

Error pressed the tab labeled "Aftertale." Through a series of ones and zeros, the calendar transitioned over, and the seasonal gauge changed to a snowflake. Mismatched eyelights scanned the data for relevant information. Soon they came to a halt on a specific date. The highlighted day contained a shorthand note telling him that Reaper would be visiting the Save Screen sometime that day. Thus, confirming his suspicions. The destroyer's eyelights flick over to the clock. According to the display, he still had a little bit before he needed to change and go to the endless dark space; the sooner, the better given Reaper's habit of enforcing impromptu visiting hours.

With the wave of a hand, the calendar became ones and zeros before completely vanishing. In its place, a new interface popped up, displaying a long series of tabs and lists and tasks. A quick check through the digital logbook showed that no other work needed to be complete for a while. Though, he did have a meeting with Nightmare scheduled within the upcoming week, which the black-boned skeleton silently looked forward to attending. He waved the log away and pointed his eye sockets toward the colorful, star-laden sky. It was still as breathtaking as ever. Perhaps he could stay for a short time? The Save Screen's bleak scenery paled in comparison to Outertale's visible novas and galaxies; Error could only appreciate the darkness for so long before it became boring. Not to mention, watching the ongoing (repeating) events in his AU was less than an enjoyable pastime. Despite numerous attempts, he failed to alter the universe's storyline or convince After to go through with his utterly brilliant plan. But, until that day, he would keep their AU alive.

"I-if only you'd lis-is-isten to my-my absolute ingenious p-plan." The destroyer stated, gazing out into the bottomless expanse below the stars. He basked in the moment- pondering what was, what could have been, and what had yet to be discovered. Of Outertale's qualities, its most impressive one had to be the way it caused people to think and consider possibilities, even if those thoughts carried little positivity. However, the silence and peace were more than enough from Error.

Shortly a cacophony of voices broke the quiet.

Your plan's not that great.

I think it could work. Just keep trying, and one day he'll give in to your devilish charms!

After!Classy and Geno together? Isn't that a bit weird?

'S not Aftermath, but I ship it!

Are we sure we want to give Error these thoughts? It may ruin his relationship with After more than it already is.

What would the Multiverse look like if Blue had a Lust variant?! Wouldn't that be-

Error groaned and buried his face in his hands before dragging them down, scowling the outlines of entities no other could see or hear. Of course, they chose now to invade his quiet moment in Outertale. Despite leaving him alone for a solid two hours.

Way to kill the moment.

Huffing, the dark skeleton turned away from their ethereal forms. All Error wanted to do was enjoy the serenity of his favorite space-themed AU before preparing to get his nonexistent ears talked off by a chatty death god- Reaper and his stupid, intriguing stories. Why couldn't he quit beating around the bush and tell Geno (Error) how the story ends? Was it a crime of passion? Did the Duchess secretly poison the Archimage out of jealousy? Or, perhaps, the Queen and Judge murdered him to remove a witness of their affair?

The God of Destruction stomped a foot on the ground and roared, "A-A-GH! T-the suspense-ense is k-k-killing me-me!"

SUSPENSE!

It was the potato all along!

I bet - someway, somehow - Ink is to blame.

Dreamboat did, didn't he?! He got jealous that no one wants to love the Guardian of Positivity.

Actually, in the end, it was Archimage himself who-

"T-th-that's it- Y-you are-are all b-ban from talking to-to m-me!" Error spun on his heels and scoured the area with narrowed eye sockets. Only trees, rocks, and snow-like stardust registered in his poor field of vision. Mentally shrugging, he thought, This is as okay a place as any. There's no chance of Ink or Fresh popping up behind me mid-transformation, either.

A flurry of white square/rectangular glitches encompassed the destroyer's feet and slowly worked upward until they obscured his entire body. They dispersed moments later, leaving behind a red scarf-wearing, white skeleton. His lab coat fluttered along with his neckwear in the glittering breeze. Not a sound echoed across the space- mental or otherwise. The sheer nothingness vibrating through the air was quickly broken by soft static radiating off the glitch's glitches.

Geno smirked, victorious.

Peace at last. Or until someone else decides to bother me- like Sci and his hour-long sessions of sharing scientific notes and discoveries.

 

Unknown to the God of Destruction, two skeletons bore witness to his lackluster transformation. (Blue - the only monster trusted enough to keep this secret - was very disappointed when he first saw it, stating that it was "nothing like the epic costume changes in the animes me and Alphys watch.")

And, fortunately for him, neither belonged to his ever-growing troop of enemies.

Chapter 45: Old Bedtime Stories

Summary:

Stretch and Red unearth a box of old storybooks.

(Warning: This chapter contains mild swearing.)

Stretch wheezed, setting down yet another heavy box onto a disorganized stack; Then using the sleeve of his hoodie to wipe the sweat from his forehead. The task - moving his things from his and Blue's old home - seemed to be far harder than he anticipated. Invisible eyelights came to rest on the boxes before him. A small part of his soul died at the thought of going through all of them- Frankly, the idea alone might have caused him to lose one HP. Or more.

How couldn't it? Blue, bless his lively little soul, kept so many things from when Stretch was young. One would have to feign surprise if a box contained an old baby blanket or tiny pajamas. Plus, the orange-clad skeleton's own collection of puzzle-y doodads and gizmos undoubtedly helped add to the workload. Quite a hefty number had accumulated over the years. More than he ever dreamed or wanted.

At the sound of a labored grunt, Stretch glanced toward the doorway to see his partner in crime with a box in tow. The stout Underfell monster hissed, bones creaking as he flopped the square object on the pile.

Stretch gave the other a sympathetic wince and offered an awkward thanks, "Hey, Red. Thanks for helping me move and unpack all this stuff. Don't think I could do it without you."

The other huffed and rolled his eyelights. "Heh. Not a problem. It just warms my dusty ol' heart to see a Papyrus spread their wings and fly." He sauntered back to the pile of boxes neatly stacked outside the front door, adding, "Was quite surprised to hear ya decided to move away from little Blue. Never thought I'd see that day- you know, with how clingy Boss is and that fact 'tale Paps refuses to leave his brother's side."

"It wasn't an easy decision, but now that we're on the surface, Blue deserves to have some personal space- a castle to call his own."

Red snorted at the comment. "Ya got a funny way of sayin' ya want to leave trash on the floor and not get yelled at."

"I suppose that's an added bonus." And it was. Stretch was a grown skeleton, not a little kid anymore. He could make smart - and dumb - decisions for himself, like leaving trash on the living room floor only to trip on it later.

A pained hiss emanated by the doorway. Stretch's unfortunate helper stood halfway in the room, arms quivering beneath the weight of the box he held. "Shit, this box is heavy. The hell did ya put in here?"

"Not sure. Think it might be one of the boxes Blue packed for me." He replied, stepping over to help the other.

"Well, then, let's find out." Red quickly set the box in the middle of the walkway. A sharp-tipped bone appeared in his hand. Carefully, he wedged the blade between the cardboard edges and sliced through the packing tape. Stretch silently watched; As the folds opened, his expression took a turn from casual lazy to downright mortified.

Red raised an eyebrow. "Books?"

Indeed, it was books. Books that had strikingly familiar covers that Stretch thought he would never see again.

"Those are the stories Blue used to read to me when I was little. I could have sworn I threw those in the deepest, darkest pit available in Waterfall." The last sentence was no more than a mere horrified whisper escaping earshot.

The Underfell skeleton examined a random book cover before growling, "Dude, what the actual fuck? I thought yours was supposed to be one of the happier universes!"

"Well, it is. Our literature is just a tad dark..."

"No, this is more than 'just a tad fucking dark'- It's downright morbid! Your brother, Blue, the literal walking ray of sunshine, read this to you when you were a kid?!" Red exclaimed. However, soon, the color drained from his face. In a shocked tone, he murmured, "Oh god, is that why nothing creepy, terrifying, and horrendously revolting bothers him? Because he's too used to messed up shit to be fazed by it."

"I mean, I never thought of it that way."

"Stretch," Red pulled the other down and clamped both hands firmly on his shoulders. Looking straight into his eye sockets with a serious expression, he continued, "after we finish this, I am going to find the greatest of all fuckin' children's books and read you the best damn bedtime story you've ever heard in your life."

"O- okay?" Stretch warily eyed the skeleton as he returned to their job with new vigor.

I've never felt so cared for yet so threatened in my life.

Chapter 46: Winged Terror

Summary:

Red's not happy with Reaper's new pastime, and Geno is Geno.

(Warning: This chapter contains mild swearing.)

Chatter echoed along the long walls of the Council's conference room as the occupants sat around a large circular table, talking to one another. At least fifty different Sanses filled the seats, with a few left empty from absent council members. The conversations were chaotic. Some got confused about who was answering which questions or talking. The curse of sharing a similar voice, one might say. Ink, who was positioned at the "head" of the table, paid no mind to the serious, borderline insane discussion going on in favor of doodling a sketch of Error. Meanwhile, Dream and Blue desperately attempted to calm everyone down to no avail. Many talked over them or refused to listen.

Suddenly the room's massive ornate doors flew open and banged against the walls, causing the room to fall silent. Standing in the middle of the entryway was a black/red-coated individual; His pointed golden tooth shining in the bright lights overhead. The white fluff on his jacket's hood was disheveled- clumps missing and areas tangled together like a bad hair day's worst nightmare. With a deep, angry scowl on his skull, he growled, "Will someone, please, do something about that fly menace!"

"Oh, my stars! Red, are you okay?" Sci exclaimed, jumping out of his chair and rushing to the Underfell skeleton's side. The place where he then fussed over his (boy)friend's rough appearance.

Ink looked up from his drawing, a green question mark and yellow sun as his eyelights. "Huh, I thought Birdtale Sans couldn't make it today?"

Red scoffed and brushed away Sci's wandering hands, which were searching for injuries. "No, not him. Death. The bastard flew down and stole my sandwich like a demented seagull!" He stomped further into the room, shouting, "Not to mention, he has been terrorizing me all week! At my sentry post, at Grillby's, in my own goddamn house- He's fuckin' everywhere! And. He. Keeps. Taking. My. Food."

Nearly the entire room had turned to face him at this point. Some with looks of pity and others with curious expressions. However, closest to him and Sci, a perpetually bleeding skeleton looked up from his book, indifference etched on his face. Sighing, he gently closed it and laid it on the empty space in front of him. Geno - the would-be seagull's keeper - huffed, stating, "He's probably worried you're going to make a move on me and is trying to scare you away."

A gasp echoed across the room, followed by a few Sanses ooh-ing in interest. (Partially due to the fact nothing intriguing was happening in their AUs.) Ink's doodle sat abandoned as he turned his full attention on to the three- the star and heart twinkling in his eye sockets spelling trouble for them; likely several unwanted additions to his private art collection as well.

Sci, taken aback, demanded, "Why on earth would Red do that?!"

"Yeah, Boss proclaimed you're our new brother or whatever." The Underfell Sans raised an eyebrow whilst pulling his nerdy companion closer.

Geno merely chuckled, ominously. His good eyelight drifted over to Sci, who began to shift nervously under the gaze. "Heh. Kid, you are stuck in a room with both your past, present, and future. Guess who your closest future is?"

Once the color completely drained from their faces, a small smirk drew across the bloody glitch's jaws. Red and Sci gaped at him in horror. And, if they stumbled back just the slightest bit, no one would ever tell.

"No."

"Yeah."

With that odd exchange done, Geno reclaimed his book and opened it to the page he left off on, ignoring the numerous eyelights pointed in his direction. Slowly, the onlookers back to return to their previous task. A few, however, continued to shoot the three Sanses a glance. Before the room-wide conversation picked back up, a puff of black smoke sprung to life, twisting and turning behind the glitch before fading into the air. In its place stood a tall, black-cloaked figure with large black wings affixed to his back.

Red glared at the new skeleton and attempted to summon an attack but stopped when a deathly aura washed over his soul. From the depths of the dark article's hood, two dark eye sockets narrowed dangerously at him, which soon softened and returned to admiring a feisty, eternally bleeding mortal.

"Aw, Geno, are you having fun tormenting your past self? He looks absolutely mortified." Reaper crowed, leaning down and nuzzling his skull against Geno's.

“Flattery will get you nowhere.” Geno grumbled.

The death god quickly pulled away, a grin spreading across his face. “Good thing I brought you a sandwich.”

An item wrapped in brown paper with an "R" scratched on the side plipped out of his inventory and into his hands.

Red's eyes widened. “Wait, is that-“

Reaper cut him off with a bird-like shriek and ruffled the obsidian colored wings on his back, protectively pulling the (stolen) sandwich to his chest. The bread-y delight, though, was swiftly nabbed by a famished glitch; Book now abandoned on the table. A mildly offended pout replaced the god's protective rage. The offender ignored the look (and the menacing glare from Red) while he undid the wrapped.

“A sandwich will get you an hour of cuddling. And it starts now, so let's get this over with.” The bird-esque skeleton's offense melted into happiness as he yanked the other out of the chair, dragging him as close as possible before wrapping him in a strong embrace- Which caused Geno to scowl and attempt to raise his pinned arms (and sandwich) to his face.

“B-but you- The statistics… How?” Sci abruptly sputtered, eyelights flicking between Geno and his own hands.

“Just wait until you see my future- Got two nearby, and neither are prettier than the last.” Geno muttered, still struggling to get a bite of his stolen food. Merely pausing a second to spare a skeptical glance at Ink, who, to his credit, only had one crayon crammed up his nasal cavity out of boredom. "Can't say their taste in partners is much better either."

“Don’t say that! I think all versions of you are amazing and beautiful- but not as beautiful as you.” Reaper squawked.

“Even Horror?”

“No, I thought we were talking Error, Fatal, and-“

“Shush.” The bloody glitch hissed. “Nobody wants to hear about my insane, world-destroying alternates. I don't really want to be reminded of them  either.”

 

“Sci, you okay?”

“Is this what it feels like to be an oracle? To see every branching path and every subsequent outcome?” The skeleton in question asked, a distant look in his eye sockets as he gazed at the floor.

Red gentle laid a hand on the other's shoulder. “Maybe you should go home and get some rest…”

"All my futures suck!" The science-loving Sans shouted before gesturing toward his generic, blue-hoodied counterpart. “Just look at him!"

The lazy skeleton frowned and let out an indignant, "Hey."

Chapter 47: The Laugh

Summary:

Red is concerned about Sci's wellbeing.

Notes:

Happy Halloween!

 

I am so tired...

In the scorching reaches known as Hotland, a dark-coated skeleton slowly trekked down the rough stone paths, aiming for the white facility bridging the flaming lands to the next, New Home. The darkness that had fallen upon the area provided little hindrance. A warm yellow/orange glow sprouted up from the molten earth bubbling on each side of the narrow pathway. It shone bright enough to guide any monster- even those with the poorest night vision or treaded the Underground half-blind.

As he continued onward, the gentle light added to the peaceful atmosphere (unlike in his own universe where the glow burned red hot, like hellfire) and glinted off the faux gold tooth hidden amongst pointy ivory ones. Monsters passed by shrunk back, intimidated. Not that the few night-lurkers were in any danger. The skeleton merely ignored them in favor of adjusting his burgundy and black hoodie, debating removing it; though the light may have dropped, the temperature certainly had not.

Exhaustion prevented him from doing away with the article in the end. Good thing, too. The industrial metal door leading into the laboratory drew ever closer. Closing distance, a clawed hand began to fish through the hoodie's pocket for the spare key. His hand promptly withdrew a thin plastic card- a special ID or "key" that only its owner could use to gain entrance to the main labs. It displayed a series of encrypted information on the front and a barcode on the back, which got shown to the scanner located directly on the door's right side. The little lightbulb attached to the scanner turned green. While pulling the card back, pocketing it once more, the steely metal blocking the entryway slid away and opened up the hall leading to the facility's deepest bowels.

Red sighed, dragging his feet along the ground and rubbing at his eye sockets as he trudged into the clean space; sneakers squeaking once rock switched to tile. His eyelights idly brushed over the dim fluorescent lights and plain white doors. The further he walked, the more the corridor seemed to continue on and on- too far for his inner laziness' liking. Luckily, he soon came to a halt in front of his destination: a familiar white door bearing scorch marks around the edges and frame. The Underfell skeleton grappled with his pocket before producing a small brass key. And if he happened to miss the keyhole a couple of times while attempting to insert it, no one would ever know. Unless they checked the security footage. A tired (and mildly triumphant) grin spread across his jaws once the metal bit slipped into place. The lock clicked as it turned, allowing him to push open the door and enter the dwelling.

What a day, his mind grumbled. Crimson eyelights instantly drifted toward the green couch laying further in the room. He could almost imagine flopping down on the soft surface and enjoying every inch of its chemical-stained glory while resting his weary bones.

If only.

Painstakingly, he tore his gaze away from the inviting napping spot and examined the remainder of the room. Darkness shrouded a majority of the space. All the overhead lights were off; only a sole lamp resting on the side table next to the couch illuminated the room with a dim yellow glow. Papers and gadgets and metal bits littered the nearby coffee table. A dark-screened laptop sat amongst the mess, along with an empty mug. The metal bookcases, containing a plethora of different science books, sat relatively untouched compared to when he last saw them. Where the living room separated into the kitchen, the coffee pot sitting on the steel counter held not a drop of the hot caffeinated substance. The combat-experienced monster found these details odd for many reasons. The main one pertaining to the fact the dwelling's other resident was almost always awake. Even after three days without a wink of sleep.

Eyelights floating behind narrowed eye sockets flitted to the corner hall connecting the living room/kitchen to the rest of the housing unit- i.e., the bedroom, bathroom, and personal lab spaces. Every lab door seemed locked tight without a sliver of light peaking through the bottom.

"Sci, ya home?" Red called quietly, in case the sleep-deprived scientist decided to sleep for once in his miserable existence.

Crippling silence replied; However, just as he was about to shrug it off and check the bedroom, an unexpected sound echoed from further in the house. "AH-HAHAHAHAHAHAH!"

The love-ridden skeleton would never admit it, but he started at the noise, jumping almost two feet in the air before thoughts ran rampant in his mind. One such thought being: Who the heck made that racket? Sci had an evil laugh, sure, and he had practiced it on numerous occasions much to Red's dismay. That laugh, though...

The unhinged laughter reminded him of one monster and one monster alone- Error!

That realization had him instantly bolting down the hall, using a hand to help turn the corner and the force of his momentum to bust down the sole door with light shining from beneath it. A sharp bone materialized in his dominant hand as the metal barrier went flying off its hinges, crashing to the floor. Eyelights flaring, he bellowed, "You have a lot of nerve breaking into this lab! Now, what did you do to Sci!"

A pleading cry prevented him from jabbing the attack into the destructive intruder. "Red, stop! It's me!"

The Underfell skeleton blinked, taking in the appearance of his target for the first time- non-discolored bones, white eyelights, green-framed glasses resting on the tip of his nasal cavity, a towel wrapped lightly around his smaller frame. A pinkish hue spread on Red skull as he realized that he was, in fact, not look at Error but a very underclothed and startled scientist. In the bathroom.

"Wh- Sci?! What on earth were you- I thought Error was in here!" He stuttered, directing his sight to anywhere other than the skeleton before him.

Quickly recovering from the scare, Sci puffed up and shouted, "Why would he be in my bathroom?!"

"I- I don't know! For evil stuff?" Red unsummoned his weapon and threw his hands up in a sign of peace. That did not stop the towel-clad monster from shooting him a nasty glare, likely due to the door that now needed replacing.

"Evil-" Sci squeaked as the towel slipped from his hands, revealing his ribcage, and swiftly pulled it back up. With bright green magic spread across his cheeks, he sputtered, "C-could you leave? I need to get dressed. We can, uh, continue this conversation afterward."

The Underfell skeleton slowly backed out of the room; His skull colored by an equally bright red flush while he continued backward until his spine hit the opposite wall, where he slowly sunk to the ground. The fallen door soon found itself lifted with red magic and carefully used to block the doorway (and the view inside the room). After making sure it would not fall, Red blankly stared at the tile floor.

When did his evil laugh get so creepy? Near authentic, too.

A hand came up and slowly dragged down the length of his skull, only briefly stopping to rub at his droopy eye sockets.

Stars, it is too late for this- I should warn the Council in the next meeting, so no one accidentally attacks that nerd one day.

Chapter 48: Beach Day

Summary:

Geno attempts to take his husband and son to the beach.

A sandy expanse overtook the land, broken by clear waters that stretched far beyond the horizon. Unforgiving rays of sunlight bore down from above, whispering threats of sunburn and melted ice cream, but the way it cascaded into the vast blue and caused it to shimmer almost made the heat worth suffering through. Almost. Many humans and monsters seemed to share a similar sentiment, as various shaped/sized figures dotted the seaside. Some relaxed on colorful towels under pitched umbrellas with a stocked cooler nearby. Others ran around, carefree, in swimsuits and sunscreen armor.

Geno grinned atop a tan, grainy knoll. His usual garb was gone. In its stead, he wore an eerily identical pair of shorts, a white tank top, sunglasses, and the red scarf - which he treasured so dearly - found a place wrapped tightly around his waist.

"Isn't today the perfect day to get away from home and relax outside?" The glitch asked, sparing a glance back towards his two companions.

Reaper approached slowly from behind while Goth trailed beside him. The elder death god sported a strained smile as he trudged across the sand, black cloak skirting along the ground with every step. The day's scalding heat combined with his heavy cloak no doubt created much discomfort. And sweat. Despite various warnings, Reaper insisted on wearing the signature article instead of something more practical; now he was paying the price. Geno felt the raising need to utter, "I told you so," but managed to contain it.

Shaded eyelights drifted to the younger death god. Unlike a certain sweaty fool, Goth ditched his standard garb once he got reminded that he could wear something cute and show pictures to his "friend" later. The new outfit differed little from Geno's- a simple white tank top and shorts with the addition of a floppy, pale yellow sunhat adorned by a few fake flowers. Another exception being that Goth left his scarf in the car rather than wearing it.

Not a bad idea. Though, Geno's determination to keep the item close outweighed his need to lose any added heat.

He fully turned to face the two when they came to a halt. Goth beamed at the sight of the ocean and sneakily (quite noticeably) used his phone to take a picture. The glitch-laden skeleton had a sneaking suspicion about who just received said photo in a text based on how his son's smile brightened further. A black-cloaked god, on the other hand, did not notice the same. His empty eye sockets aimed toward the coast, a hint of trepidation hidden within their depths, before sliding to a group of seagulls surrounding an empty burger wrapper and then to Geno, which make his grin slightly more genuine.

"Yeah, and I can't wait to spend it with my two favorite-" The God of Death started, eyes trailing off to over Geno's right shoulder, where he saw something that caused him to pause and abruptly chime, "Sandwich."

Reaper darted forward in a flash, giving Geno barely any time to snatch a fistful of his cloak's hood.

He yanked the other back with a disapproving scowl. “Reaper,” The glitch chided, shooting a quick apologetic look at the startled, sandwich-carrying human. Not that it helped. The blonde man glared at their group warily as he cautiously continued on his way. “no. We are not doing this again! Remember what happened last time.”

"N-"

“They have fries, too!” Goth chirped from behind, diving past his parents to point at the crisp potato slices in the person's other hand. His fluffy, white wings fluttered with excitement all the while.

"What?" Reaper's skull instant whipped around, his dark eye sockets boring into the food's packaging.

Geno released the death god and sighed. “Goth, sweetie, you are better than this. Do not stoop to your father’s level.”

“But the fries- They have a pretty, shiny wrapper around them. I want it.”

The preceding pout was a force to be reckoned with. Enough so to induce a certain - or a small, very small - level of relenting. “I... I can buy you some fries with a shiny wrapper. You don’t need to steal them from a random stranger.”

“Dad says that stealing them feels far more rewarding.”

While pinching the bridge above his nasal cavity, the glitchy skeleton muttered, “Of course. The one time he is willing to put effort into something other than his job.”

Suddenly, a terrifying scream echoed across the sands. “AHHH! Demon seagull!”

A dog monster stood on the opposite side of the beach had a single finger pointed to the air and an unadulterated look of horror. Geno's eyelights instantly snapped over to the direction. A large, dark-winged figure hovered in the air, a torn sandwich in their greedy talons and a feral grin set on their jaws. The prize soon vanished into the shadowy depths of their hood before they set out to obtain more. People all over the beach screamed and scattered as the bird-beast dove down and began ravaging abandoned coolers.

Geno paled. “Goth.”

The other did not respond, merely looking longingly at a discarded set of fries.

“Goth, come on. We need to go. Now!” He added more frantically. The young skeleton turned toward him, conflicted.

“Ssssscccrraw!” The ravenous creature shrieked from the shore, using its taloned hands to rip off a cooler lid. Consequently, causing more people to scatter and others to frantically a dial number on their phone. It did not take long before a siren sounded in the distance.

“But shiny fries-“ Goth shot a mournful glance at the foil-wrapped food.

“We’ll get some on the way home!” Geno cried, swiftly grabbing ahold of his son's arm and dragging him toward the car.

Chapter 49: Wayward Guidance (1)

Summary:

Ink is not a good mystical guide.

Notes:

Funnily enough, I meant for this to be a short story, then, before I knew it, the plot started running away, and it had to be caught.

...I haven't caught it yet.

Legends foretold of a weapon. A blade crafted from the purest sunstones capable of bending light to the user's whim and banishing darkness to the deepest corners of oblivion. Few people were qualified to touch - let alone gaze upon - the legendary sword, as it was once said to have been wielded by Dream, the God of Light himself. Only a being as pure and righteous as he could hold it. The blade which many called The Sword of Light. One would expect such a revered artifact to be highly guarded, sealed away in a castle's treasury, or cast in stone until a worthy hero arises. Alas, that wasn't quite the case. The very same legends etched into cavern walls and recited by books of yellowed paper told of a different fate. A grand journey.

Beyond the reaches of civilization in wilds untamed, past lush mountains and treacherous terrain, there laid a hollow- a cavernous mouth stretching across the earth, ready to devour those who wander inside. Those searching for a great prize: The Sword of Light. The road to it, however, was not easy. Twisting tunnels and complex puzzles lined the pathway, rumored to have been set by the God of Japes to test a hero's strengths. Accompanying the tricks and traps were beasts. Monsters with faces and shapes unlike any had seen. Their sheer strength unfathomable, prowess in combat like that of a well-seasoned warrior. A common thief's worst nightmare. Yet that alone did not make reaching the innermost sanctuary unreachable. To advance further than the first ten levels, one needed a chosen guide (guardian spirit) to lead them through lest they lose their way, becoming another stray soul amongst the madness.

And, as luck would have it, fate smiled down upon the figure trudging through the dungeon floors. He, much like the many heroes before him, was a monster. A skeleton monster- sturdy, features slightly rounded, and tall (-er than the average height of 4'5"). The standard white colored his bones in contrast to the uncommon black/grey or rare hue some had, and the eerie dots serving as his pupils shone the same shade. Though, his right eyelight was known to shift to red depending on his mood. Another key feature that set him apart from those similar to himself was the long, jagged crimson scar that rested just below his right eye socket.

A relatively close call from a past mistake; Any closer and that eye would have been rendered useless.

Physical appearance aside, the mysterious hero's attire spoke more than a thousand words about his character and skill. Heavy, white/black-dyed leather made up a majority of his armor while snowy tufts peaked out from the collar and sleeves. The fur-lining grew thickest around the neck/shoulders, puffing out to create a fuzzy hood. Neither his chest piece, greaves, nor boots were horribly complex or intricate in any way. They had the bare minimum of style, and the only mildly elaborate thing about them happened to be a series of leather straps; Two of which ran across each side of his chest in a bandolier-esque fashion and met in the back, where his great sword's sheath laid. All neatly clasped together by a golden buckle adorned with a silver dragon skull. In addition, each armor piece bore variously sized and lengthed cuts/patches. However, despite its evident use, the leather was well kept- oiled every month with the best oil money could buy to prevent the articles from drying out and weakening.

Unfortunately, the beasts dwelling in the tunnels' depths delivered quite the beating to both him and his precious apparel. He knew without looking that a simple trip to the nearest armorer would prove meaningless. The damaged bits (his torn, bitten bracers and shoulder guards) needed to be entirely replaced, but they retained enough life to hold up until the journey reached its end.

His confidence to keep up with said armaments was waning. Greatly.

Heaving ragged breaths, he pushed onward in his sweat-laden armor and let his aching feet carry him down a dirt tunnel. Glowing fungi and flora lit the way. Some took the form of long spindling vines and small lily-like flowers, and others resembled giant mushrooms with thin stalks and puffy, frilled tops. Each unique plant emitted a gentle blue/light purple glow, revealing the monsterless space ahead, a sight which caused the exhausted skeleton to breathe a sigh of relief.

The trek continued smoothly, even when the tunnel walls, ceiling, and floor expanded into a large cavernous room. A musty, damp odor assaulted the air upon the first step inside. Strikingly different compared to the deep earthy (and, at times, dusty) scent prevalent throughout the other dungeon areas. Wet plips echoed off wall after wall as water droplets trickled from the stalactites above and splashed into shallow puddles. Overgrown plant life flourished along every surface they stretched across, consuming a majority of the space and providing ample hiding places for anything unsavory; ferocious, clawed creatures or deadly traps. 

The room felt oddly still, regardless- no faint hum of magic in the air, no nigh inaudible thump of heartbeats around to hear. Suspicious, to say the least.

He paused, scanning the area for more tricks, traps, or monsters when an obnoxiously loud sneeze sounded to his left.

Right, the warrior thought, that idiot is still there. Doing nothing helpful.

Hmm, guess I shouldn't be too upset. He did stop talking and "inadvertently" attracting beasts our way.

"Eugh. I am starting to remember why I hate coming here." The other spoke in a piercing voice, not quite shouting but more than loud enough to attract unwanted attention, then added, "So dusty. Good thing it's not monster dust! That would be gross- Wait, is it monster dust? I can't remember."

And there goes the quiet streak.

Keeping his ever-growing frustration from showing provided a challenge he had not faced in years- a challenge of patience and understanding; one he happened to be failing. Eye socket twitching, the fatigued hero settled for shooting his oblivious companion a discreet glare.

The short, slightly transparent skeleton bearing dark splotches on his right cheek hovered beside him, a wide - almost amused - grin stretched along his jaws. The eyelights dwelling within his eyes sockets changed shape and color with every blink. Around him fluttered a silken, yakata-styled robe that stopped shortly before his bare feet. The robe itself was far more complex than the warrior's own attire, being colored a plain tan and accented by a myriad of shades- blue, pink, yellow, green, orange, and purple. Plus, black from splatters obtained via the skeleton's personal hobbies. Hobbies that did not involve combat since not a cut nor scrape blemished his ethereal form.

As his appearance suggested, he was no ordinary skeleton monster but, in fact, a guide or guardian spirit. And far from a minor one as well. Morals called him Ink, the Arch Guardian Spirit of Art.

"Ooh, Crossy, look! We're almost there!" Ink cried. The guardian spirit's arm extended outward with a single phalange aimed in the air, pointing at a neglected entrance located higher on a cavern wall.

Crossy, or more accurately Cross, narrowed his eye sockets and looked up. Brown earth seamlessly merged with the crumbling, light grey bricks lining the opening. Hints of faded rune writings and paper talismans surrounded it. His translation skills may not be perfect, but some of the stone etchings were legible enough for him to puzzle together their meaning. They served to disorient travelers and hide the path from what he could tell. An extra (wholly unnecessary, in his opinion) level of protection to further prove a hero's might. Lucky for him, the magic they once held withered years ago.

Furthermore, the evidence of high security was promising, and, at the very least, implied this entrance could lead to the legendary sword. Unlike the last thirteen entryways that Ink insisted were the correct one.

Containing a sigh, he thought, Fourteenth time's the charm.

Cross pushed forward. And, possibly, struggled to ignore the being who suddenly decided that humming an upbeat tune would be appropriate.

He examined the broken ancient ruins primarily to locate a path to his destination with music (quite literally) in his nonexistent ears. All the while, keeping an eye out for surprise pitfalls or beasts; Any danger Ink would undoubtedly fail to warn him about. For example, those five spike traps the other almost let him fall in when they were barely two minutes past the dungeon's main entrance. The warrior swore the repeated scares nearly took ten years off his life. Maybe a fraction of HP, too.

White eyelights - one bearing the tiniest hint of pinkish-red - gazed over stone chunks and scattered bricks as the wall neared. Logic said they once constructed the stairs leading to the entrance conveniently ten feet up the bumpy surface. Time and negligence reduced what little remained to no more than a craggy surface, seemingly breaking apart while the world showed tranquility around it- A far cry from its former beauty. Especially considering the fixture hardly resembled a set of stairs. Too many uneven ledges and narrowed steps. No one with one-eighth of a brain cell would attempt to tread them in the intended manner. Climbing upward was the best choice.

The skeletal hero nearly halted in his tracks. He desperately searched over and over and over for another option. Alas, his fate sealed the moment he reached the wall's base. The sole way forth could only be attained through grit, determination, and pure upper body strength.

Ink floated closer beside him, mirth wrote across his features. Bright smile, amused crinkles by his eye sockets, cheery colors/shapes for eyelights, and et cetera- An overall irritating amount of happiness. He, thankfully, ending his nonsensical tune and glance toward the opening.

"Pfft- Are you really going to climb that? Looks hard." Cross silently agreed with the spirit's last statement. It looked challenging. Both for him and his aching bones.

Typically such a laborious task fell to magic. However, the warrior's mana reserves contained hardly a drop thanks to his "brilliant" companion. Escaping all the demonic hordes, being led on wild goose chases, and fighting all the nasty beasts Ink brought his way took a lot out of him.

Gulping, Cross reached out and gripped a sturdy-looking rock before doing the same with his other hand and then perching his feet on a good foothold. He repeated the actions multiple times until he scaled one-fourth of the wall. His bones screamed despite the meager achievement, begging him to stop, to abandon his quest and return home to a soft, comfortable bed. Unfortunately for the strained appendages, their owner carried a determined soul- a soul that did not give up without a fight and knew not the meaning of quit. So they reluctantly allowed themselves to be spurred onward.

Laughter rumbled next to him a little past that milestone. The guardian spirit responsible hovered several inches higher than him, wearing that annoying bemused expression he'd worn frequently since they first met. He grinned down at Cross, chuckling, "Heh-he! I am glad I can fly at times like this."

The panting skeleton watched as Ink effortlessly flew to the top, landing flawlessly on the ledge of the opening.

Show off.

Notes:

Alternate summary: Ink needs to stop losing legendary heroes.

Chapter 50: Double or Nothing (1.1)

Summary:

Scenes that didn't make the cut for "Prepare For Trouble; Make It Double." Could also be considered bonus chapters.

Notes:

Good news: Got a new computer to replace my broken one, so I'll be able to post more often!

In Stardin Forest's outer reaches, the sheer stillness permeating the land felt deafening, and the shadows all too consuming- Not even the gentle rustle of the trees could break it, nor the dying light of stars long since passed. All breaths seemingly halted as two figures froze, safely hidden amongst the shades. Their wide eye sockets pointed toward the sole monster standing on the isle's edge, who went about his business (stargazing and periodically tapping on an invisible screen) without realizing his most sacred secret was now known by one too many. Jaws agape, the pair silently watched as Geno (Error) began to move and open a portal to a pitch-black space before disappearing inside.

Neither twitched a single muscle when the last inch of his signature red scarf vanished, and the portal slid closed; Chasing after the skeleton was but an afterthought. Shock remained prevalent in their souls, preventing them from doing much else aside from gape at the once occupied spot. Regardless of any time passed. However, when it finally cleared enough for them to break out of their stupor, each came upon a grim realization: Hidden beneath the thick, shadowy canopy was another soul. And in that instant...

The two rivals locked eyes in the darkness.

 

Twilight encompassed the sky- a plethora of hues (purple, orange, yellow, red, and pink) coloring the wispy clouds along the horizon as tiny stars began to twinkle in the openings. An orange-ish/yellow blur peaked over the edge, slowly descending. Meanwhile, its pearly counterpart strengthened its light, preparing to take watch over the sky and illuminate the dark. Its brilliant glow fought and fought only to be drowned out by the growing darkness spread from mountainous terrain while fading sunlight blazed behind. Streetlights flicked on to brighten the sidewalk and cast shades of their own across the concrete below as shadows fell upon the nearby city, a quaint little place that bordered the coast and crept up into the mountains. Few people roamed the street. A majority of which were monsters. Various nocturnal types that bore a strong resemblance to raccoons, opossums, owls, bats (and, oddly enough, puddles of water), not to be confused with the more common kinds seen wandering around during the day. These monsters, along with the occasional human, traversed the city and used the many benches to their advantage. Some either waiting for the bus or taking solace in the night before starting their journey home, or resting their feet after a hard day's work.

A creature scoffed, sneering at the content beings and their naive joy. His shadowy, black form hid seamlessly amongst the shades cast on the rooftops. The eight tendrils sprouting from his back coiled close behind, stiff and unmoving; On occasions, one would give a light twitch as if wanting to lash out at something. Anything. Alas, the roof was barren. No nocturnal animals to frighten. No stray litter to crush. No roof decorations to unleash his fury on to. He forced the urge down and peered over the edge to the quiet streets, eye glued on a particular figure meandering through the city's shopping center.

Of course, this creeper was no ordinary onlooker. If not evident by his stalker-esque ways.

Some called him a god, and others spat his name in the way one might curse a demon, yet both factions agreed on one thing: He brought terror to all. Despite the bravery few fools pretended to have. His skeletal, corruption-laden appearance was something that no one desired to see, especially in their dreams. He gained quite a reputation for himself throughout the ages- The dreaded King of Darkness, Positivity's Bane, Ruler of Oblivion's deepest stretches, and, his favorite title, the Father of All Terror. Only an ill-informed, rock-dwelling fool would fail to know his name, which many recognized as the mighty and fear-inducing moniker: Nightmare.

The sludge-coated guardian slunk through the shadows, using his cyan eyelight to track the subject of his interest. Beneath his gaze, a red-scarfed skeleton adorned by a white lab coat, black shorts, and fluffy pink slippers strode across the concrete with an unhurried gait. Soon a worn set of red-rimmed glasses joined the ensemble, likely due to the other's inability to see clearly. Nightmare's eye sockets narrowed at the sight of the familiar article. On various occasions, Error had brought out the old accessory when he needed a better look at his knitting project or wanted to shame the boys from creating (crafting, cooking, or otherwise) something horrendous. Thoroughly. With those spectacles perched on his nasal cavity, nothing escaped his eyes.

Cautiously, Nightmare allowed his target to put some space between them before continuing his pursuit. The last thing he needed was to get spotted by Genocide. Or, who he had believed to be the plucky Aftertale Sans. Given Error's sudden transformation into the other, it was hard to believe this bloody, only mildly threatening monster was the friend he cherished dearly. Hence, why the oblivious skeleton obtained a narrow-eyed follower.

The Guardian of Negativity needed to see it for himself. All the lies Error - Geno, whoever he was - fed him, so he could bury the love he felt once and for all.

A low hiss escaped Nightmare's jaws; Lightly frowning, a goo-coated hand came up to rub the center of his chest above the corrupted heart trapped within. Regret was an agonizing little thing. An emotion that seared the depths of his soul and tormented his mind. Out of every choice he had made, he regretted going to that damned AU most of all because every time he thought about it, his heart ached all over again. For a good reason too. Nightmare originally went to the starry universe to see his friend, whom he had been admiring for the past millennia. (Though, if one trustworthy enough asked his followers, they would say he was pining worse than an evergreen.) A small, blue-wrapped box with a black bow/ribbon had sat in his inventory - there it still resided - and contained within was a special gift he planned on using to take their relationship to the next level.

Now, the guardian did not know if he could take that step. Ever. For many reasons, like: How? How had Error managed to keep this secret for so long? Nightmare thought he gained the other's trust and proved himself worthy enough to stand side-by-side with the Destroyer of Worlds. Yet, it would seem that wasn't the case. Error still kept some secrets- which the Guardian of Negativity could not fault him for doing. Everyone was allowed to have specific aspects of their life private from others. Assuming those secrets were non-harmful to anything or anyone. Another reason: Reaper. The deadly skeleton had hidden amongst the same shadowy trees Nightmare used to conceal his form- The trees shrouding his and Error's special stargazing spot; considering the god's presence there, it wasn't as special as he was led to believe.

Chapter 51: Switching Tactics

Summary:

After positivity and negativity are caught in a stalemate, Nightmare decides to use some new tactics to best his brother.

Notes:

Merry Christmas and Happy Holidays! I hope everyone has a fantastic day!

Nightmare growled as he fruitlessly clashed with his brother. Tendrils struck out, thrashing furiously, only to be expertly blocked by a well-maneuvered staff, then said staff whirled around to strike him while his appendages retreated. Sidestepping, he evaded the weapon before it could make contact.

Soon their awkward little dance repeated. Step-by-step.

The dark guardian glanced over to his followers to see if they fared any better, and more than a little disappointment washed over him at the sight. Blue and Horror repeatedly locked weapons - war hammer vs. axe - in an odd contest to defeat the other through brute force. Both seemed trapped in their own world as they violently smashed the poor instruments of death together, not causing each other to budge in the slightest. Ink held off Killer and Cross on the opposite side of the battlefield. His absurdly large paintbrush matched the duo's combined power.

The forces of good and evil were at a stalemate; Neither gaining ground nor any upper hand.

Nightmare grit his teeth, dodging another swipe from his brother's predictable attack pattern. At the current rate, their skirmish may last for a millennia before either side grew weary or yielded- because winning seemed to be off the table given their predicament. They had been warring for eons. Dream understood Nightmare's attack formations, strategies, and tactics almost as well as the dark skeleton knew the guardian's own. That in mind, no side had a clear path to victory. Not with their current methods.

Drastic times call for drastic measures.

Leaping back, he drew his tendrils away from the golden-clad protector, which added an element of surprise to the battlefield.

Something his opponent did not - and would not - expect in the slightest, considering the way his brows crinkled and a tiny frown formed along his jaws. "Brother, what are you-"

Nightmare looked the Guardian of Positivity straight in the eye sockets, stating in a higher pitch than usual mixed with a mocking tone, "Oh look, I'm Dream, and I like making everyone happy!" He proceeded to stick his tongue out before running around the other while chanting, "Golden goose! Golden goose! Golden goose!"

Confusion flashed across Dream's face for a second; then, a childish pout quickly overtook it.

"Nightmare, stop!" The youngest twin cried. A bright yellow flush slowly began creeping up his skull. His shout proved useless against the Guardian of Negativity and only served to gain a fraction of his fellow protectors' attention.

"Stop it!" He whined, stamping a foot on the ground when Nightmare failed to comply with his demand.

Ink and Blue's eyelights fully snapped in his direction. Twin looks of bafflement sat on their faces at the sight of the dark lord's immature antics. Antics that included more than a few mocking remarks, derogatory/obnoxious chants, taunting dances- pretty much anything that would get on Dream's nerves. The pair were so immersed by the display they completely disregard their opponents in favor of watching the show.

Cross used the distraction to his advantage and swiftly swept Ink's legs out from under him, causing the artist to fall into the snow whilst dropping his weapon. Killer followed up by delivering a hash kick to his stomach area. A pained groan sounded as Ink curled in on himself, inadvertently admitting defeat. Meanwhile, Horror swung the blunt end of his axe into Blue's side and sent him sprawling in the snow alongside the AUs' protector.

Nightmare halted his new tactic and smirked as Dream glanced around, slowly realizing his teammates got taken out. "It would seem that you have lost this round, brother."

"Th- that's only because you cheated!" The yellow-flushed skeleton sputtered. "It wasn't even a fair fight!"

A menacing chuckle echoed across their battlefield when the Guardian of Negativity sprung a black portal into existence, gesturing for his followers to pass through. "Til next time." Before stepping in the portal himself, he paused. "Golden goose."

"I am not a goose!"

Chapter 52: Leap of Faith

Summary:

The multiverse is trapped in dark times, which are even darker for a simple skeleton trying to escape the crumbling realms, ashes, and demons biting at his heels.

(Warning: The Darkness, which includes mentions of torture, injuries, blood, and swearing. Proceed at your own risk.)

The world was still; Seemingly frozen in time. Planets ceased rotation. Shooting stars, comets, and meteors sat amongst the stars, suspended. Not a single human or monster stirred from their position on the floating expanse. Buildings usually lit with a warm, welcoming glow had grown cold. Each and every window, open doorway, and lamppost was dark- Almost as if light never illuminated them. Neither flame nor magic flickered. Blackness threatened to overtake the brightest of light. It even reached far into the beyond. The all-consuming force shrouded the sky, hiding the nearby stars and galaxies like a dastardly omen. An omen that said: All heed my warning- Fear not who you don't understand; Fear those with the darkest of SOUL, for they will devour all. Alas, such words fell upon deaf ears. Nothing - not even Nature's mightiest forces - could deter the judgmental from the path they had chosen.

Between the small town and the Ruins (The civilization's oldest place of residence, and historical puzzle labyrinth.), there laid a craggy pathway that led into a deep, shadowy forest. Few traveled there. It was too dangerous, as the floating land broke into many pieces that bobbed and drifted about the amaranthine space. Furthermore, the sparkling stardust coating the ground like snow made it increasingly difficult to navigate. It often reflected starlight into the eyes of brave travelers. Sometimes, poor souls would be blinded and make an unfortunate misstep, reuniting them with the Void below. The oblivion-esque realm was inescapable. Once ensnared within, a being was ripped apart and scattered across space/time. A kismet none wished upon their worst enemy.

Wkdw zdv- Xqohvv wkh zlvkhu ri plviruwxqhv zdv VRXOohvv.

Like the town, silence enveloped the mystic woodlands. Its' normally brilliant, shimmering trees dimmed to the point they no longer produced light. And the eeriness only increased. Nature's wonders - bugs, birds, and animals of all types - were nowhere to be seen, leaving the entirety of the land ominously empty. However, it was not entirely void of life. Or sound. (Though, why would one expect sound waves to traverse the vast void of space? A seemingly impossible feat, yet, many a noise once played throughout the land. Perhaps due to magic. Or, perhaps another force was responsible for this strange phenomenon.) A monster dwelled further down the dangerous road, leaving echoes of hurried footsteps in his wake. Stardust lifted and swirled every time a foot left or landed on the ground. Unnatural darkness enveloped him. Key features needed to determine his monster-species or character were hidden. For good reasons, too.

A burnt, ripped hoodie concealed his figure; The equally damaged hood of which pulled over his head, preventing others from putting a face to his name. Or a name to his face. Many different colors could have been the shade of the article, but the abysmal lighting made it impossible to ascertain. The only concrete clue was the way it seamlessly blended with the shadows, exposing its dark nature. Possibly a deep midnight blue, magnificent royal purple, worn blood red, or foreboding jet black. Even then, though, numerous other colors could easily stand in their place. A pair of dark shorts with a light stripe running down each side revealed a hint to the mysterious monster's identity. Below the hem of pant legs, a distinct set of limbs could be recognized- If one looked close enough, they would see the lower half of a femur followed by a patella, tibia, and fibula. Yes, these limbs were constructed purely out of bone. Meaning the monster currently fleeing for his life was a skeleton. Despite the visible bone, it was difficult to distinguish which shade colored it; The force robbing the universe of its light made it nay impossible to differentiate black from white. And vice versa. The skeleton's shoes, much like his hoodie, were undefined in color and torn, coming apart at the soles. Design-wise, the footwear couldn't be anything other than slippers.

Dashing through the rough terrain, he hopped from island to island, avoiding the steep cracks and perilous ledges. Weaving in between the trees and rocky protrusions with ease; Each swift movement and confident step expressed the skeleton's sheer familiarity with the area. Whether a resident of the dying world or frequent visitor- He knew the lands like the back of his bony hand. From the farthest reaches to the tiniest niches. In spite of his expertise and skillful movements, the enigmatic skeleton was less than in peak condition. Wounds - both new and old - ached. Cuts and burns littered his bones. The most recent ones bled deep red magic, akin to how humans bled blood. Droplets of the morbid magic splattered on the earth, creating a clear trail to the injured monster. Each breath breathed held a labored wheeze, and every step taken had the slightest wobble.

Unfortunately, more than that weakened him. The damages ran far deeper than what was seen on the surface. Cracks and fissures spread across his clothed bones. Some sustained fractures beyond repair; Others permanently lost. Several ribs had long since fallen off, a few phalanges were gone (having been violently torn from his body), and his left eye socket received extensive damage. It was unlikely that he would ever see out of it again. And, possibly the worst of all, magic runes were etched into the skeleton's bones. The accursed symbols ached and burned, preventing the usage of magic- healing auras or attacks. When attempting to summon any level of magical power, a sharp pain assaulted his very SOUL. It was agonizing, like a thousand needles puncturing the magic organ and wiggling around.

That, however, did not deter him from trying. If anything, it caused the stubborn skeleton to try more. What did he have to lose at this point, anyway? Nothing. Nothing aside from his life.

So, why? Why did he continue to run? Wouldn't it be smarter to find a safe place to rest and recover the hard way? No. The forest may be devoid of native life, but undesirable monsters lurked in the distance- A group whose footsteps roared like thunder in the silent woods. The hunters were ruthless, unrelenting; Getting a hold of the fleeing skeleton was their ultimate goal. The fact said skeleton wore a face identical to theirs' meant nothing. It changed nothing. When finally recaptured, the escapee would endure pains worse than death itself before shuffling off this mortal coil. For these monsters knew not the meaning of mercy.

Where? Where did it all go wrong, he wondered. No combination of words could answer his inquiry; No answer could be logically affirmed. Merely question after question spawned by recounting everything that led up to this point.

The distant treading soon grew louder. Twigs and branches snapped under feet, earth scrapped beneath heels, and potent magic hissed in the air. Merciless pursuers, fully prepared for a fight with one of the Multiverse's strongest skeletons, would descend upon the injured monster at any moment. Bones shot out of the ground, attempting to block his path; Lasers from Gaster Blasters flew past his head. One blast narrowly missed the hood of his hoodie. The skeleton dared not to turn around, fearing the blazing eyelights that would meet his own shrunken one. Fucking- Damn it! I can't outrun them forever, he thought grimly. There has to be a way. I have to lose them. But how?!

"Get back here!" A voice bellowed with rage.

The timbre sent shivers down the skeleton's spine, causing him to involuntarily rattle in terror- Consequently making too much noise for his liking. Too much pain as well. Every bone ached as the swift, repetitive movement jostled them. The monster attempted to recompose himself, quell his fear, but it seemed to be a futile task. He was afraid. So very afraid. And the source of that overwhelming horror was slowly closing in on him. How could he ignore that? Especially after all the terrors and pain he was forced to endure. Bolting at fear-fueled speeds, the skeleton persevered through his wounds' pain and weaved across the tree ridden landscape. The thundering steps of his pursuers rumbled behind. An attack or two would whizz by, occasionally. Most aiming to cripple a leg or knock him out; Others went straight for the kill, likely due to certain monsters growing tired of this game of chase. Little did they know, it would shortly come to an end- An end of which there was no true winner.

The vast forest gave away, revealing a sole cliff overlooking the oppressive darkness of the Void and the shrouded space above. If the sky hadn't been so dark and twisted, it would be the perfect place to sit and stargaze. The skeleton, realizing where he was, came to a screeching halt. A sharp pain shot through his bones because of the sudden deceleration; Causing him to stumble closer to the cliff's edge. His breath hitched as he looked at the death sentence from his precarious vantage point. Small pebbles tumbled into the deadly blackness. Never to be seen again.

Fuck. What now?

There was nowhere else to run - endless space surrounded him on both sides, and given the ferocity of his hunters, it was far too late to backtrack and escape the dead end. The strained SOUL in his chest pulsed harder at the realization. Its' steadily increasing thump-thump roared in his nonexistent ears. But not louder than the hunters' deafening gait. What do I do? What can I do, the skeleton thought in panic. He frantically surveyed the area with his one good eyelight, trying to find a way out. Some kind of escape. Anything.

His gaze fell to the expanse below; An idea formed. It was risky, but as previously mentioned, what more did he have to lose? Besides, anything seemed better when compared to inevitable pain and torture. He steadied his shaking bones and breathed rhythmically. Magic slowly gathered in his SOUL, causing a nearly unbearable agony all the while. Pins and needles assaulted the core. The magic runes carved into his bones scorched like a miniature sun. Magic blood flowed freely from wounds and runes. Nevertheless, the skeleton clenched his teeth and continued channeling the supernatural force. Footfall rumbled against the ground, growing closer by the second. Now or never!

He jumped. Jumped into the abyssal expanse below, and prayed. Anywhere but here. I don't care if it's Fallentale, Horrortale, Underfell, Penancetale, Underhell, or - heh - even Aftertale would be preferable right now. Just... anywhere other than this hell.

Using the built-up magic, the skeleton teleported to a place untouched by his hunters and concealed from them.

Chapter 53: Your Worst Nightmare

Summary:

Nightmare finally discovers Blue's worst nightmare.

Notes:

Happy New Year's Eve!

With this addition to the "Collection of Oddities," there are officially fifty chapters!

 

(Well, forty-nine plus the "1k" chapter-note thing- but we don't talk about that here.)

Nightmare tiredly sat in a plush office chair, staring blankly at the massive paper stacks littered across his dark oak desk's flat surface; Slightly beside the clutter laid a small - almost minuscule - set of signed and sorted documents. Despite having attempted to dwindle the workload over the past two hours. Much to the guardian's dismay, as the breathtaking dusk sky he intended to enjoy with a hot cup of tea had long since bled into a black, moonless night.

A worn, ink-tipped quill twirled in his fingers while he contemplated chucking the heaping mess into the nearest well-lit fireplace. Very violently. Maybe inviting the boys to join him, too, since they could use some "family" bonding time.

The image of the murderous trio chanting and sacrificing papers to the flames fled his mind when a jolt of power struck his soul.

"Heh, it seems someone is having quite the nightmare tonight." Nightmare muttered to himself. The feather in his hand stilled and found itself placed next to a porcelain inkwell. Meanwhile, his other hand came to rest on the desk's edge, fingers softly tapping. "But, who ?"

He allowed his uncovered eye to slip closed and concentrated on the negative feeling. His mind's eye trailed the river-like flow of negativity from its destination to its beginning, and once he got a hold of the being he sought, the eye socket snapped wide open in shock.

Blue?  A malicious grin soon crept along his jaws.  What a golden opportunity!

Ink and his brother were a problem, sure- but Blue, sweet and childish little Blue, had no fears or weaknesses on record. And not because of a lack of effort on Nightmare's part. He challenged the other with dreadful beasts, hideous illusions, and nerve-racking scenarios in the darkest corners of the Dreamscape, yet received the exact opposite reactions he expected. Smiles instead of fear. Jokes replaced sobs and tears. Stars, the seemingly fearless skeleton even had the audacity to try to pet a hellish beast Nightmare summoned once.

Meaning, whatever plagued that terror-inducing dream was something no hero stood a chance against fighting. He could barely contain his excitement toward all the glorious fears available to discover about the starry, happy-go-lucky Sans.

The grin on the dark skeleton's skull slipped into a sinister smirk; Snapping with a single hand, he brought forth a special portal - one of which was only used by him and Dream to cross between reality and illusions - before promptly abandoning the paperwork and stepping through.

When Nightmare reappeared, the layout of the surroundings was entirely different. Cold tile laid in place of the mansion's wooden floors, metallic shelves surrounded him from all sides, and illusionary people drifted about, minding their own business. A cyan eyelight examined the area for danger from its narrowed eye socket. It flittered over cans, boxes, green plastic baskets, and shopping carts- The smirk quickly dipped into a frown.

A grocery store? A grocery store?!

A growl ripped past his jaws, causing a few imaginary people to glance at him in concern.

There better be something absolutely horrifying here!

The corrupted lord continued by stomping down the aisles and occasionally hissed at anyone who drew too close, all the while keeping on the lookout for a particular blue-clad annoyance. A bright sky-ish shade caught his attention a little ways into his journey. Trudging toward it, that was when he noticed something that made his slimy corruption boil. 

"Why am I a cashier?! Someone as menacing and powerful as I is clearly more suited for a managerial role!" Blue jolted, swerving on the heels of his boots to face him.

"Nightmare?" Twin blue eyelights jumped between the two near-identical monsters in confusion. "There's two of you?!"

Nightmare scoffed. "No, the faux creature behind the counter is merely an illusion conjured by your mind."

"I'm dreaming?" The Swap Sans pinched together his brows in contemplation, resulting in his very real goopy onlooker rolling an eyelight.

"Indeed. It's a nightmare. A very boring one at that! Is this really what you're afraid of, grocery stores and cashiers?

"I- I think it is a little more complicated than that."

"That doesn't matter! This. Is. Pathetic. I'm ashamed my half of the Dreamscape would even dare to pass off such mundane, meaningless drivel as a nightmare." Rage seethed in his soul. He came here expected quality phobias and deplorable beasts, not this pansy garbage.

Blue opened his mouth to speak but halted when Nightmare's doppelganger gently tapped him on the shoulder with a stray tendril. The downgraded dark lord frowned and held up a scrap of paper, saying, "Excuse me, sir, your coupon is expired."

"NO!" The word echoed through the air as the blue-clad skeleton fell to his knees in defeat, burying his skull between his gloved hands.

The Guardian of Negativity deadpanned at the sobbing mess before turning around and opening a rift-esque portal that led to a vast grassy plain. "I'm leaving."

Notes:

Anyone else out there have boring, mundane nightmares sometimes? Like "Oh, no, there are no clean plates!" or "Darn, I'm trapped in the grocery store until I find that one thing!"

Just me? Okay.

Chapter 54: Choose!

Summary:

Broomie is sweeping away the competition.

Notes:

Happy Valentine's day!

This is... something.

"Pick one!"

The twin declarations echoed across the vast white Anti-Void, emanating from a pair of lovestruck skeletons hellbent on getting into a particular glitch's personal space. 

Error sighed for what very well may have been the tenth time that week; He shifted in his beanbag chair to face the two invaders, resisting the urge to growl unhappily. The short/wide patch of woven, blue yarn drawn close to his chest slowly lowered into his lap alongside two knitting needles. With calculating eyelights, the dark skeleton examined the monsters who dared to disturb his well-deserved free time. Again. 

A beige-clad individual adorned by paints (blue, red, yellow, and more) stood directly before him, and a familiar black-cloaked figure occupied the space beside the other. The duo was instantly recognizable: Ink, the diabolical bane of Error's existence, and Reaper, the annoying ex-lover that couldn't take a hint. Each bore determination in their eyelights (or eye sockets) matched by a spark of confidence in their features; Judging by their posture, neither seemed as though they would be leaving any time soon. Not without a proper answer, at least. One that involved a word other than "no" or "funk off." 

The destroyer weighed his options- be stuck with a soulless being who opposed everything he stood for or tolerate some idiot so far stuck in the dark ages he couldn't move past a dead relationship. A grimace nearly overtook Error's expression as he pondered the dire predicament. Both choices lack appeal. Greatly. And the one he wished he could choose (telling them to go right be to the AU they crawled out of), sadly, laid beyond his reach. So, Error chose the third option. 

"Broom." He stated plainly. 

"What?" An hourglass and question mark formed in Ink's eye sockets as he glanced around as if expecting to find a magical broom lying about the white space. When none presented itself, the skeleton shot Error a baffled look that triumphed the confusion Reaper stared at him with. 

In response, the destroyer lifted a hand and pointed at the giant object strapped to the artist's back. 

Reaper's invisible eyelights trailed toward the indicated direction. Upon setting sight on Broomie, the God of Death raised an eyebrow and stated, "Geno, you need to choose between one of us.  Not  pick a random object." 

Error scoffed. "Hmph! I know that, idiot. I am choosing the broom."

Before the black-cloaked skeleton could say otherwise, he summoned a barrage of strings from the ceiling above, which snatched the item right off Ink's back and brought it to his awaiting hands. The artist merely yelped, doing no more throughout the theft. Reaper, however, shot the broom a menacing glare when it connected with Error's multi-colored phalanges. Deep-seated jealousy hid in the dark depths of his empty eye sockets.

Seeing the god's discontent, Error decided to partake in a few theatrics. (Blame King Doom and Gloom for that. Though Nightmare may be serious, he had a particular appreciation for adding a little flare into the things he did. Especially if that "flare" made more people flee in terror.) A hand slowly rose and ran through the fine bristles atop the art instrument before trailing down, helping the destroyer's other hand tug it close to his chest; It felt as though the broom leaned into the touch. Chills ran down Error's spine at the disturbing thought. Still, the action had the desired effect. Reaper's feathery wings puffed out, like a little fledgling miserably failing to intimidate a large fowl. 

Suddenly, the gravity of the situation dawned on Ink; realization spread across his face.  

"Broomie! How could you betray me like this?" The self-proclaimed protector of AUs fell to his knees, jaws overcome by a deep frown, and eyelights morphed into a blue teardrop and a black, broken heart. "After everything we've been through together- the adventures, the art, the slumber parties... Did all that mean nothing to you?"

The inanimate object had no answer for its old lifelong companion, but if Error didn't know any better, he'd say it almost looked smug. Maybe, even, pleased. The destroyer gave his skull a light shake. No, that was impossible. Odd, too. Perhaps the Anti-Void's insanity-inducing aspects were getting to him again. 

A nice long trip to Outertale with his brand new prize would help clear his head. 

"Gen... Please, please, reconsider! I have chocolate! The broom can't get that for you, but I can!" Reaper pleaded when the dark-boned skeleton turned to face the opposite direction. 

As Error sauntered away with Broomie in tow, he muttered a soft, "You know, you remind me of a tree I once knew."

Chapter 55: Cookies and Traps

Summary:

Another year, another Gyftmas for Palette and Goth to continue their holiday tradition.

Notes:

A belated Gyftmas story.

Soft, pillowy grey clouds blanketed the evening sky. The shadows cast added to the sharp chill in the air and only strengthened as small white flakes slowly began to rain from above, growing the already large stretch of snow coating the land. Barren tree branches bent beneath the increasing load before curving in a way that allowed the hefty snow to fall to the ground. Over the course of a few hours, this would create enormous mounds perfect for playing in once the weather cleared in the upcoming morning. Provided the occasional strong gusts cutting through the surrounding trees stopped kicking up the snow poffs.

Palette hummed softly; His colorful eyelights fixated on the world beyond the frosted glass window to the left. A particularly icy-looking draft urged him to nestle further into his best friend's couch and pull the borrowed starry, blue quilt tighter around himself- which was very helpful in his attempt to fight off catching a secondhand chill. Not that it helped suppress a shiver as the wind grew stronger. Airy howls echoed. Windows all across the home gave a rattle. It, thankfully, took a mere few moments for the noise to die down. Yet, the world outside seemed icier than ever. The young skeleton gave a considering glance at the dark, wooden end table settled below the windowsill. A steaming cup of Geno's famous hot chocolate innocently sat atop it. Despite how tempting it may be, he knew better than to gulp down the devilish treat. Geno made the sweet beverage once a year (during Gyftmas season and solely during Gyftmas season), and anyone fortunate enough to receive a cup savored it. That was if they had the strength to fight their growing temptation.

Which Palette quickly decided he didn't have.

A sleeve-covered arm crept past the blanket's confines and over the couch's armrest, allowing his hand easy access to the mug's handle. He snatched it without a second thought, drawing the chocolaty drink to his teeth and taking a big sip before returning the half-empty cup to its spot. The rich cocoa's taste had his invisible taste buds begging for more. This time, however, Palette resisted the drink's powerful siren call. (Barely. But the budding guardian would never admit to catching a hand before it could snake over and greedily grasp the delight, like an imp after a shiny gold ring.) He refused to squander a single drop left in the mug, primarily because there was no telling if he would be able to get another cup.

Geno's hot chocolate was just that popular. Amongst his family/honorary family, friends, and the many AUs he associated with from time to time.

It took a demanding amount of effort for Palette to tear his eyelights from the drink's general direction and move them to his best friend. Goth sat cross-legged on the dark grey rug stretched across the living room's hardwood floor, busying himself with the various items surrounding him: nondescript wires, switches/levers, ropes, nets, metal spikes, bear traps, and- Wait, was that a fluffy white dog? Palette blinked at the tiny creature. It let out an even smaller yip and began darting excitedly beneath the large Gyftmas tree placed in the left corner of the room, causing the sliver gaster blaster-shaped pendant hanging from its neck to flail around.

Huh. I wonder how that little guy got here? An early Gyftmas present from Ms. Life, perhaps?

Mismatched eyelights drifted the short distance back to the deathly skeleton. A thick tightly-wound rope now laid on the floor and in the adolescent death god's lap. Goth fiddled with one end, attempting to tie a knot; brow scrunched and spectral red tongue peeking out from between his teeth due to the intense concentration. When the random loops came together to make an intricately tied ball, his expression quickly changed to a cheery grin only matched by the beaming cartoon tombstone on the white/red sweater pulled over his cloak. While morbid, it still made him look unbelievably adorable.

Palette opened his jaws to congratulate the other's success but stopped short when he noticed the renewed taste of chocolate on his nonexistent tongue. His gaze shot over to the end table. Its wooden surface no longer held the mug containing the pure chocolaty delight. Giving each phalange a light flex had him glancing down at his left hand in betrayal- because there, in its grasp, laid the missing item. The dastardly appendage gripped the cup's handle naturally as if it hadn't committed a heinous sin against its owner.

You win this time. But make my words, devilish cocoa, I will find the power to resist you one day.

Giving one last glare to the offending hand, the young guardian forced away his empty mug and mourned the loss of the hot chocolate that previously filled it. A light clank sounded as it returned to the place it got stolen from; His hand drew back to his side, doomed to forever lie in shame.

Releasing a defeated sigh, he pulled his teeth into a small pout and questioned wistfully, "Gothy, have I ever told you that your mom makes amazing hot chocolate?"

"You and a thousand other lost souls." The death god barely glanced up, busy focusing on the tiny box-shaped contraption clasped in one hand while the second worked on the blue, green, and red wires poking out of it. "I'll get you another cup when I go get my own later."

"Yes!" Palette quietly cheered, pumping a fist in the air to celebrate the small victory. He could always count on Gothy to snag him an extra holiday treat.

With a pleased smile, his gaze shifted toward the window overseeing the chilled wilderness. Festive shades of blue, red, green, and yellow from the Gyftmas decorations he set up with Goth and his parents softly flickered against the vast white. Reaper must have just turned them on. And it was a good thing he did. All the hues shimmering on the icy terrain looked breathtaking as they danced in the biting darkness- a dangerous thing for a family that contained two crow-skeleton monsters. Luckily, a little pepper spray deterred any (further) attempts to chew on or harvest the sparkling lights.

The budding guardian stifled a giggled at the memory of Geno shooing the two gods from the Gyftmas lights they seemed determined to peck on. If not for Reaper's insistence, the eternally bleeding Sans would have never allowed such a thing to be near or in their house. Why did he give in? The senior God of Death had become quite the holiday celebrator since being introduced to more modern traditions. Though, Palette - and possibly Geno and Goth - suspected that was because they gave him an excuse to abandon his work. Even if for a day or two. Plus, the crow-skeleton got to hoard those tantalizingly shiny lights and flaunt them in front of the forest crows every year. Many were beginning to think there was an unspoken war going on between the raven-feathered beings. A thought which reminded him of his own yearly battle.

This year is the year we finally do it, Palette thought. He gave himself a resolute nod, the corners of his mouth rising higher at the prospect of achieving a particular goal. This year he and Goth were going to catch the ever-elusive Gift Giver.

Like how humans had legends of a jolly man who broke into peoples' houses to leave gifts, monster-kind told stories of their own legendary holiday spirit: the Gift Giver, a mysterious being who was said to have once been a monster whose soul shone brighter than gold and could grant a single wish to those who caught them. Most tales about the spirit dated back to when monsters first got sealed into the Underground, meaning some details might be wrong, but the stories were intriguing nonetheless. And Palette wanted to catch them. For Goth, and a more selfish reason.

The bundled-up skeleton neatly set the quilt aside before throwing his legs over the couch's edge and allowing his sock-covered feet to touch the cool wooden floor. A light chill nipped the bony soles, causing him to push off the couch and move faster to the carpeted space surrounding his friend. The items around the other had since disappeared. Likely hidden. After all, one would not be able to catch a legendary spirit by making their attempts obvious.

"Do you have the traps set up?" Palette said once he stood next to the young death god, who seemed to be pushing loose cables beneath the Gyftmas tree's red skirt.

After tucking the last stray wire away, Goth lifted himself from the ground and used both hands to dust the lower part of his cloak. His eyelight surveyed the hidden traps for a moment. Then, when they proved to meet his standards, he turned toward Palette with a grin.

"Yeah, and it is even better than last year! Uncle Papyrus let me borrow some of his old human-trapping stuff from when he was trying to get into the Royal Guard. He gave me some lessons on how to build a more effective snare, too!" Goth blushed and glanced away, quietly adding, "And lessons on how to escape a snare."

"Aw, but last year was so much fun! We were stuck hanging from that tree for hours."

"...Hours that we could have spent snuggling in bed."

Palette cocked his head, trying to make sense of the words the other muttered into his shoulder. "What was that?"

A bright red flush stretched across Goth's skull quicker than he could blink. Soon followed an awkward laugh and rushed words spoken in a voice raised two notes higher, "Oh, nothing. Just thinking about how excited I am to catch the Gift Giver this year!"

The lie was evident. Due to the emotions behind it and the way his friend lightly shifted from foot to foot. However, before he could point it out, Geno chose that moment to peek past the nearby doorway. Dark red glasses rested on the older skeleton's nasal cavity, and his attire had changed to a set of plain red pajamas- Clearly, bedtime arrived a lot earlier than thought.

Geno smiled and spoke softly, "Boys, remember: don't stay up too late, or the Joy Stealer might take your gifts from beneath the tree."

"Okay, mom!" Goth chimed, seemingly recovered from whatever nervousness overcame him before his mother arrived.

Palette noted it might be best to leave the subject until the other felt comfortable talking about it. Then, in a cheery voice, he shouted his own reply. "Alright, Mr. Geno!"

Odd emotions stirred within the glitchy immortal at the word "Mr." Some form of resignation - amongst other indecipherable things - that failed to show outwardly but still toiled inside.

Keeping the same warm expression, Geno wished them both a quick "goodnight" and disappeared around the corner. The duo heard him grumble softly in the hall, "I wish he wouldn't call me that. It makes me feel old."

A slurred, more ethereal voice responded teasingly. "Ah! But, Gen, you are old."

"Not older than you!" Any further conversation got cut off by a harsh smack and a yelp. Not that the two young skeletons would hear more anyway, as footsteps soon sounded throughout the hall as the only adult figures in the house retreated to their room.

Palette raised a brow at his friend in silent questioning. To which Goth waved a hand dismissively and said, "Don't mind them. Dad might have had too much of that special holiday eggnog Uncle Blue sent over."

"Your parents got some too?"

"Uh, yeah. I think some got sent to everyone?"

"Hmm," Palette hummed. He proceeded to gasp Goth's hand, causing the smaller to stammer and blush anew while he tugged him toward the direction of the couch. "How about we get to work on our epic pillow fort. This year I am determined not to fall asleep in it!"

"Y-yeah!"

 

Later that night, Reaper sleepily hobbled out of his and Geno's bedroom to check on the children and ensure their gifts got placed safely under the Gyftmas tree. Stars knew his lovely bleeding husband would have his skull mounted above the mantel if he forgot to put out their presents.

In the hall, the God of Death carefully maneuvered (or luckily stumbled) around each squeaky floorboard until he reached the living room doorway, clearing the first tricky obstacle of the night. The second being whatever horrors - traps - his son placed to catch the Gift Giver. A fictional character at best, considering Reaper had never seen a being matching their description. Neither in the mortal or godly realms. Still, if it made Goth happy, then he did not mind playing along with the tales Geno told him. Even if it meant dodging nets, spikes, and bear traps every year.

His eye sockets examined the floor space between the doorway immediately. Nothing visible laid there, so Reaper took a chance and slipped a foot past the threshold. There was no sharp pain, weight of a net, or anything else signaling danger.

The dark-cloaked skeleton full strode into the room, deeming the area safe- or safe enough, at the very least. Little snores drifted from what appeared to be a plush structure by the couch and window. Goth and Palette could be seen inside through a breach in the blankets, snuggled up together with a nest of even more pillows and blankets surrounding them; content smiles rested on their lax faces. An adorable sight, if anything. One that made him wish he had a camera on hand to immortalize their cuteness for all eternity. Wait, he did. Reaper opened his inventory and eyed the various contents.

Glass lily? No. Dusty scroll? No. Petrified fruitcake? Definitely not. Shiny emeral- Ah, there it was, sitting right below some of his scavenged treasures: his phone. A hand swiftly summoned the item and aimed for the perfect picture, which he might use to embarrass his son later. Before the shot got taken, though, a light thump echoed near the Gyftmas tree. A little cookie - chocolate chip from the look of it - slowly rolled along the carpet and onto the hardwood floor, stopping at Reaper's slippered feet.

He blinked at the treat and carefully leaned over to pick it up. While doing so, the god's brows furrowed when he noticed a bite missing from the cookie's circular edge. Meaning someone had been eating the cookie. An intruder, perhaps? Unlikely. No one was stupid enough to break into the dwelling of the literal God of Death.

Right?

Muted taps emanated from the area the cookie appeared from, making Reaper's head instantly snap toward the noise. His invisible eyelights watched as, bit by bit, little pieces of chocolate and breading descended to the floor, recreating the previously heard sound with each impact. They then slowly trailed upward and- "Geno, why are you hanging from a net on the ceiling while holding a plate of cookies?!"

The aforementioned skeleton glowered, drawing a phalange to his teeth and hissing a quiet "sh" while pointedly glancing at the sleeping children.

Reaper slapped a hand across his jaws. A peek at the boys showed they only stirred slightly at his sudden outburst. He released a small sigh of relief and let his hand fall to his side.

In a barely raised whisper, the dark-cloaked monster rephrased his question. "What happened?"

"I was going to place their gifts for you since you looked too peaceful to disturb. However, as you can see, Goth's traps are more intricate and well-hidden this year." Geno got an almost nostalgic look in his eyelights. "Reminds me of when Paps was little."

"Do you want down, or..."

"Just leave me here for a little bit."

"Alright." Reaper lifted his foot hesitantly, eyeing the seemingly normal space surrounding the tree before gently lowering it and taking a step back. "I'm gonna use my magic to place gifts instead."

Geno released a tiny snicker. "So you do have some brain cells rattling around in there, after all!"

"More than enough to get you to marry me." The death god retorted, sending the now blushing skeleton a wink.

"Place gifts under the tree, you idiot."

Chapter 56: Vigil

Summary:

Goth discovers the monster isn't under the bed. It's at the foot, watching him sleep.

Night had since descended upon the realm of death. Grey clouds crept along the moonless sky, making a promise to bring about a thunderous storm in the upcoming hours. Perhaps, creating what one might call a "dark and stormy night," the cliché seen at the beginning of numerous horror stories. Howls echoed from the fog-laden woodlands that surrounded the land's sole structure: a mansion.

 

However, this mansion was no ordinary mansion. Within the building's creaking wooden walls lived two dangerous monsters, both proficient in reaping souls, Reaper and Goth. The father and son duo had retired to bed for the day after a long shift spent completing their unappreciated job. One fell asleep almost immediately, and the other could not catch sleep if it were contagious.

In the mansion's depths, the little skeleton child laid on his plush mattress and huddled further into the quilt hiding him. He feared neither the storm nor the howling beasts lurking beyond the veil of darkness. They happened to be a constant in the ominous realm. A thing Goth grew up with and knew very well. No, something - someone - inflicted terror on the young death god's soul. Not a beast, not a nightmare, but an unholy creature that made horrid noises in the shadowy corners unlit by the nightlight's warm yellow glow.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Crunch.

Goth cowered beneath his blanket. The sound repeated over and over and over again as he shivered and hugged his legs to his chest. A tiny sniffle escaped without permission, causing the creature that created the bone-chilling sound to pause a moment before starting anew. Thus, making him squeeze his eye sockets shut and pray the (hopefully) imaginary demon would disappear.

He didn't want to be a coward. He was a death god revered - but more often feared - by mortals; The son of Death and Genocide, who should be stronger and braver than a mere child.

Mustering all his courage, the young death god abruptly cast aside his plush shield and righted himself; a hand stretched out with a single phalange pointed at the noisy thing while he wobbly demanded, "W-w-why are you here?!"

Silence answered.

Goth slowly cracked open his eye sockets and blinked. An even darker mass mingled amongst the shadows laying at the foot of the bed frame. Its hazy shape looked skeleton-esque and appeared to flicker side to side ever-so-slightly in certain areas, like static-y snow the TV displayed sometimes. A bright yellow/blue orb shone where he could only assume an eye socket laid. If not for those details and the fact the figure was about an inch too short to be the only other skeleton in the house, the young god might have believed his father decided to prank him.

Once Goth's eyelights adjusted to the dim lighting and took in the sight of the creature waiting at the end of his bed, he whimpered. Almost immediately yanking his hand back to his side and drawing the covers tight around his sitting form, eyelight quivering fearfully.

Opposite from him stood none other than Error, the destroyer of worlds. The fizzle of the broken-coded being's glitches was masked by the hum of the old house's outdated air conditioning system. His dark-toned bones barely stood out against the shadows, and his opposing form loomed menacingly over the bed's edge, providing a decent view of the white/red striped popcorn bucket clasped in his multicolored hands. Despite the poor lighting, Goth could see a somewhat surprised expression on that foreboding face.

The other seemed to observe him for a moment before answering. "To-to watch y-you sleep-p."

"Don't! Go away!" Goth whisper shouted, trying to keep his voice quiet enough as not to wake the home's second resident. But would it be a bad thing if he woke his father? Probably. Reaper was rather useless when tired, and the young death god doubted the other would be able to fight off a powerful monster in such a state.

At the mini outburst, the destroyer merely raised a brow and popped a few more pieces of fluffed corn into his mouth. "Wh-why? It-t-t never bothered you-you before."

Goth let out a strangled whine and quickly pulled the top of his sheet over his head. For hours he stayed awake under the covers, listening to the dreaded crunching sound until his body rebelled and dragged him into a restless slumber.

 

When the skeleton child woke up the next morning, he found a well-crafted doll of his mother eerily sat in the destroyer's stead.

Chapter 57: Just Another Day

Summary:

Just another day being the leader of the "bad guys."

The day was like any other day for Nightmare, spent hunkered down at his dark oak desk with a pen in hand, scribbling away, and a stack of neatly organized papers beside him. Paired with an occasional break spent staring out the large window behind him, admiring the view of his castle's inner courtyard. And watching the boys do anything stupid if they were out there.

Unfortunately, like any other day, it still had the more undesirable aspects in his routine.

Killer wordlessly threw open the dark king's office door moments after he finished a particularly tricky part in his work. The jolt-inducing sound produced when the door slammed against the wall caused Nightmare's pen-wielding hand to veer to the side, making an unsightly mark on the page below. A single cyan eyelight trailed up to glare at the noisy skeleton.

The anger and annoyance behind it failed to deter Killer as he immediately walked further into the room, grinning; the telltale sound of poorly hidden giggles echoed in the air. Once at the edge of the desk, he halted and seemingly struggled to remove something from his inventory without laughing. If it was another newt or weird plant, the Guardian of Negativity swore he would toss the idiot out the nearest window. Violently. He had no such reason to own as much wolf's-bane, foxglove, lamb's-ear, thyme, and other herbs as he did. It made organizing them in the castle gardens the very definition of his namesake: a nightmare.

"Night," The murderer said through stifled chuckles. He then managed to produce a handful of walnuts from his inventory and continued. "What would you do if I called you-"

Before the no doubt terrible pun concluded, Nightmare blindly grabbed the closest item beside himself - the neatly stacked papers - and threw them at the pun-loving monster's head. The impromptu projectile could not be dodged in time, leading to sheets impacting and scattering all across the floor.

Fighting off a frown at the careless mistreatment of his work, the dark lord growled, "I don't want to hear you finish that sentence or even the slightest whisper of it from any of the others."

"Hmph! Jokes on you, it would have been great." Killer pouted and shook a loose paper off his foot.

"You mean like the time you all banded together to get me a pet newt." Said creature sat in a half land, half water terrarium on a long oak dresser on the far right side of the room. At one time, thoughts of getting rid of the slimy little thing were strong, but the boys would surely hate him if he did that. Killer further proved that point by offense permeating his target-shaped soul coupled with a deep frown and furrowed brow, angry on behalf of the newt they'd grow so fond of.

"Hey, Newty is a beloved member of our team!" He smirked and crossed his arms, adding confidently, "Besides, you make a great witch, and what great witch doesn't have a faithful newt by their side."

Nightmare sighed (somewhat fondly), giving a shake of his head. "I am not a- Nevermind, why don't you go stir up some trouble in an Underswap or Underfell and leave me to my paperwork. I have an important deadline to meet by the end of the week." Before the other could turn around to leave, he chided, "Don't forget to pick up those papers on your way out."

The hoodie-clad skeleton released a dramatic sigh but otherwise complied with his request and carefully shifted the loose pages into a pile, then picking them up as a group.

"Wait a minute," Killer paused, pulling the script closer to his empty eye sockets. Soon after, a sly grin spread across his jaws as he realized what the papers really were: another installment in Nightmare's hit novel series "Lunar Days." A set of stories built around a misunderstood yet loveable villain with a supporting cast inspired by his own unruly gang and the ridiculous things they did. (The Guardian of Negativity would be lying if he said it wasn't the story of his life.)

An odd profession for a king and guardian, yes, but it was necessary. He needed a way to receive a steady income, after all. Stealing money from AUs wasn't always a viable option, and it made purchasing necessary goods like healing items and food far easier. Plus, he may or may not have grown quite fond of participating in the literary arts. It seemed almost as enjoyable as sitting down with a good book on a quiet afternoon.

Regardless, the dark lord certainly did not want nor intend for any of his boys to read it, much less spoil the story for others before he could make a few extra G off it.

"Killer, hand me that right now!" Nightmare snapped, standing up from his chair quickly enough to knock it back a few inches.

Instead of obeying the command, Killer drew the papers close to his chest and stepped a few paces back with a horribly mischievous expression on his face. "Boss, why have you never mentioned you're a creator?"

"Killer-"

The warning got cut off by the other's excited exclamation. "Error is gonna be so mad!"

In a flash, the hoodie-clad skeleton bolted out the door and down the halls while shouting the crazed destroyer's name. Nightmare quickly followed.

"Get back here this instant, you uncultured butter!"

"Only if your insults get better!"

Chapter 58: Ultimate Weapon

Summary:

Blue keeps only the most dangerous of weapons in his arsenal.

Once again, conflict stirred in the depths of the Multiverse due to two brothers and their never-ending war. Or aggressive sibling rivalry, as some liked to say. The usual participants aided the opposing guardians in their current battle. Ink faced off against Killer and Cross while Dream fought Nightmare head-on; Blue, their plucky comrade, went toe-to-toe with the worst opponent he could fight against, Horror.

Not only was the "villainous" sans near doubled Blue's height, but one swift swipe from his mighty axe would dust a one HP monster - like himself - in no time.

Regardless, the Royal Guard-to-be held his ground. He dodged swing after swing, mixing in low HP dealing attacks of his own. A song and dance which they continued as the others focused on their own battles in the background. All was well (from a combat standpoint) until a rock hidden beneath the snow tripped up Blue's footing.

Horror quickly noticed, grin widening at the golden opportunity for a finished blow. His axe sailed through the air with a clear shot at the bandana-wearing skeleton's skull. However, Blue recovered from the slip enough to thrust his hand directly in the monster's face, phalanges clutching his greatest weapon; Almost immediately, silence encompassed the battlefield. His fellow Star Sanses and their opponents gazed at him in shock.

Light blue eyelights hesitantly drifted upward. The axe blade hovering mere centimeters above Blue's skull had frozen in place. Its wielder seemed far more focused on inspecting the object before him rather than anything else. Said object, or "weapon," was a tan semicircle shape with ruffled bits of leaf green and yellow/white cheesy strands poking out the edges.

"Taco?" Blue asked, uncertainly.

Horror said nothing in response; Once several awkward minutes of staring past, the bulky skeleton popped the axe into his inventory before picking Blue up beneath the arms and hoisting him over his shoulder. His new cargo squeaked from the unexpectedness of the action but otherwise did nothing to retaliate. After all, it wasn't the first time something like this had happened. Meaning it came as no surprise when Horror turned around and started walking away from the battlefield while carrying him.

Ink and Dream, on the other hand, failed to foresee this outcome. Evident by the fact that they simultaneously shouted in distress.

"No, Blue!"

"Hold on a moment- I'll save you!"

"Don't worry. I'll be back in time for movie night." Blue called over his shoulder, giving a reassuring smile that didn't quite manage to convince his two teammates.

"Movie night is four days from now!" Dream rushed after the retreating monster carrying his oddly compliant friend.

Meanwhile, the Guardian of Negativity followed after and growled, "Horror, you better not be taking him to the mansion. We don't even know if he is house trained, and you haven't checked him for fleas yet!"

Chapter 59: Volcano Effect (1.1)

Summary:

Why Sci isn't the Royal Scientist.

Long fluorescent lights hung overhead, strengthening the already blinding white of the room's pristine tile floor and walls. Metallic cabinets, tables, and other furnishings/devices added to the overall glare encompassing the room. Numerous lab coat-wearing monsters bustled about while setting up all sorts of gadgets and inventions on the three tables in the middle of the broad space. Amidst the organized chaos stood a commanding figure: King Asgore, a goat monster taller than the average doorway and more power than any resident in the Underground. (As far as people knew.) The Boss Monster took the long, no doubt sweat-inducing journey to Hotland's laboratories for one reason. To judge the craftsmanship, creativity, and usefulness of the inventions laid out before him and appoint the scientist who made the best one to Head Royal Scientist. A position that went beyond being a mere name and signaled a high-ranking status only reserved for the best minds the Underground had to offer.

Anyone bearing the title could run the labs in Hotland however they pleased and begin any projects/experiments they saw fit. With minor restrictions set by Asgore/Toriel, of course. However, neither of the royals interfered much more than that due to their lack of expertise in the area; So long as no projects seemed dangerous, they generally approved them.

Sci (or Sans, according to everyone in his AU) patiently waited alongside his invention, a self-sustained mini-tornado. It was tiers below what the skeleton would usually create - the bare minimum of science he could perform without putting wires in a potato - but there were reasons for that. He didn't want anyone to grow suspicious or give him and his little brother any unwanted attention; Using advanced teachings learned from alternate universes and timelines would do just that. So a more classic approach needed to be taken. Hence, the mini-tornado. Unlike Classic's trash-laden whirlwind, this one held not a single empty ketchup wrapper or dirty sock and restricted itself to a small platform attached to a rotating fan that powered a light blub. The light it emitted joined brightness surrounding the room, but its yellow-ish hue differentiated it enough to be noticeable.

The wind-harnessing device was a marvel of ingenuity in Sci's opinion. Still, it would be a lie if he said he wasn't the slightest bit worried about his competitors. Though his project may be safe and functional, a good handful of monsters throughout the labs entered the competition alongside him, each hoping to be the next Head Royal Scientist.

It had been his oldest dream to receive the coveted title. Though, Sci no longer sought the position for his original reason, which became an unattainable desire the moment he made Ink a promise. (A stupid promise he regretted getting talked into, and perhaps another factor why his future-selves despised making promises.) He vowed to interfere with his AU's storyline as little as possible since the world was still young and impressionable. Annoying but understandable. Resets did not exist in his AU. Not yet, at least. Meaning if any irrefutable damage occurred, it might be impossible to undo it safely without unforeseen consequences. Consequences like a main character staying permanently "on vacation," location going missing, or script breaking/corrupting, and many other terrible things. Given the very dark and detailed futures awaiting him, discovering the effects caused by breaking his AU fell off the list of things he wanted to witness.

But what my inner scientist wouldn't give to study such effects and theorize possible solutions.

The sound of someone clearing their throat drew Sci out of his musings. His white eyelights flitted around the room, searching for the source. All the intellectuals who were previously preparing their inventions stood nervously at their assigned locations; Some more antsy-looking ones fiddled with minor pieces of their projects (cables, dials, and buttons) as they waited. King Asgore had commandeered the center of the room now that he did not need to worry about keeping his bulky frame out of the way of busy scientists. A clenched paw slowly lowered from in front of his muzzle. An indication that he was likely the one who called for their attention.

There wasn't have much time to examine anything beyond that before Asgore stepped forward from his spot and cheerily said, "Howdy, everyone! As you probably already know, I will be judging the tournament in place of Toriel today since she is at home watching Chara and Asriel. I hope we can have a nice, clean competition today and learn more from each other's exploits." The friendly goat monster's two giant white paws clapped together. "Without further ado, let's begin!"

The Boss Monster immediately wandered over to the table farthest from Sci, listening intently (if not very confusedly) as the first scientist - a cat monster - explained their invention and answered any question he asked.

Felix, a white and almost hairless-looking feline, twitched his whiskers the longer their conversation continued, and with each additional question Asgore asked. His amber eyes glanced toward the sweater-wearing lizard beside himself from time to time as if trying to signal the king to move on to the next scientist. An effort that seemingly got ignored. If the other had a tail, Sci had no doubt it would be swaying back and forth in annoyance.

His eyelights drifted over to inspect the other competitors. Seeing that the examination phase might be a while, especially if Asgore planned to ask each scientist fifty different questions about their invention, it made sense to make the most of his time waiting.

Out of the eight scientists participating, the young skeleton could confidently say he recognized six- five from working around the labs and one from his personal and work life. One such monster being Felix. He often worked the night shifts at the lab yet always found time to help his coworkers during the day. The concept of sleep, excluding cat naps, seemed to be a foreign concept to the seemingly ever-busy scientist. Despite that, his calculations were on point. And his coffee addiction was nonexistent. Surprisingly.

Next to the tailless feline stood a small-height reptilian monster whose yellow scales shimmered gold from the overhead light. Alphys was her name. She started as an intern when she first began working at the labs, quickly rising in the ranks and becoming an engineer due to her impressive robotic creations. She kept a rather shy, recluse demeanor. Evident by the fact it took Sci a whole year of knowing her before she managed to successfully stammer out her name in a volume above a whisper. The skeleton hoped that if he did not win, then Alphys would. He had seen first hand that she was a worthy scientist- willing to go the extra mile to help people, able to conceive unique solutions, and held enough morals to prevent herself from intentionally harming others.

Between her and one of his other colleagues were two dogs. The first resembled the large, white-furred canines common throughout Snowdin, and the other appeared to be a brown-coated, dobermann-like monster. Both shared very similar projects; Each with a solid base attached to a mechanical arm bearing a faux hand- An automatic dog petting device, if Sci had to guess.

Past them laid the lab's lead tech specialist (AKA computer wizard) and resident light bulb changer, Cogsworthy II, a monster strikingly reminiscent of a lamppost. That description was quite literal, too. His height far exceeded Asgore's, though, left him a few inches short of hitting the ceiling. Possibly due to the fact he constantly craned his neck down to make sure he didn't accidentally walk into anyone. Or anything.

Beyond Cogsworthy were Scratch and Finch- the King and Queen of botany/geology, respectively. If either got asked about anything regarding their specific scientific field, they would ramble on for hours and hours. Sci learned that the hard way.

With the addition of the last two, that made a total of five scientists he knew. All that left was the monster situated right beside him, his most familiar colleague and not-quite-friend, a tall skeleton garbed in a brown-stained lab coat, long white pants, and a thick wool sweater (as if Hotland wasn't hot enough already). The mysterious scientist happened to be none other than Wingdings Gaster. Otherwise known as his estranged father, who left him and Papyrus in the care of a rock (not a rock monster, an ordinary rock) at a young age because "rocks have good paternal instincts; A dying snow poff told me that yesterday- Good luck!"

Sci side-eyed the other's project with narrowed eye sockets, and a scoff nearly brushed past his jaws at the sight of the thing sitting on the table. Why Gaster would even attempt to bring that was beyond him. Though, the scientist's eccentric behavior likely played a key role. That didn't change the fact his so-called invention - if one could justify calling it an "invention" - seemed more akin to an embarrassment when compared to those of the other scientists. Sure, none of their inventions was anything like what their Multiverse counterparts might create, but at least they used the most basic level of their degree to make them.

"If you wouldn't mind, can you demonstrate your... invention, Dr. Gaster?"

Sci jolted, left eyelight flaring blue and yellow for a millisecond before snapping back to white.

How the-

Asgore's towering frame stood right in front of Gaster, casting a shadow over the tall skeleton and his creation, all while holding a dwarfed clipboard and pen in his massive paws. His gaze appeared somewhat nostalgic as he inspected the brown/red papier-mâché mountain while its creator sifted around their inventory for something.

The young scientist couldn't help but stare. Despite the king's enormous size (and loud footsteps), he failed to notice the other approach, let alone get close enough to give him a good start.

Time sure does fly when mentally cataloging the competition. But I didn't think that much time had passed.

I didn't even recount any embarrassing stories about my colleagues.

Gaster slowly added items (tiny rocks, a shoe, calculator, and other strange objects) on the table, eventually producing a flask filled to the brim with a sharp-smelling clear liquid- Vinegar. The substance dripped down into the makeshift volcano with a simple tip of the glass. Then a light fizzle sounded before a cascade of fluffy purple foam gusted out the top and seeped down the sides, off the table, and onto the floor.

The king applauded, clearly delighted by the messy science fair experiment, causing Sci's estranged father to puff out his chest proudly and cram his calculator in the opening of the volcano.

Because, of course, he would.

"Fantastic, Dr. Gaster! That will be all for now." Asgore smiled, walking the short few steps over to Sci. "Mr. Serif-"

"Just Sans, sir." He tried not to cringe at the unnatural feeling accompanied by telling someone to call him his given name but failed.

Thankfully, Asgore took the reaction as discomfort toward his last name and amended, "Sans, would you please explain the functionality of the invention you brought today?"

Sci nodded, going into a detailed speech involving every aspect down to the most insignificant screw. An overall confused expression graced the Boss Monster's face the entire time he listened, scribbling notes on the clipboard. When the opportunity came, the young skeleton showed off how much energy his tiny invention could generate and the smaller additional devices it would power; how it would help everyone trapped in the Underground. Once the exchange finished, Asgore made his way back to the center of the room to look over his note and select the new Head Royal Scientist. Everyone, aside from Gaster, waited with bated breath from their king to reach a decision. Minutes seemed to have passed by the time the goat monster raised his head to address the room.

"I have examined the notes and can say - with certainty - I know who the next Head Royal Scientist should be. The winner of the HRS Competition is," He paused a moment for dramatic effect before announcing, "Dr. Wingdings Gaster!"

Sci's eye sockets widened.

Gaster? Gaster of all people! There were far more qualified monsters than him: Alphys, Felix, the kind soul who refilled the water dispensers throughout Hotland. Even he himself was more qualified. Not that the glasses-wearing skeleton needed the position. But the nigh unlimited resources at his fingertips would be invaluable when sorting out multiversal shenanigans, plots, or problems- Especially if a particular artist kept breaking everything he touches when visiting. And it would prevent him from needing to import goods from other AUs to get work done.

Felix slammed his paws on the table and hissed, "That's impossible! I demand a redo."

A little out of character for the generally calm cat monster, but Sci could understand where he was coming from, and so could the other scientists who were similarly outraged. After all, Asgore chose the single thing anyone with standard kitchen items could make in under an hour out of all the scientific inventions that took weeks of planning and preparation. The goat monster may as well have spit in their coffee to go along with that insult.

Asgore raised his arms in surrender at the following barrage of angry voices in agreement with Felix. "Please, everyone, calm down! Dr. Gaster's creation shows the kind of innovation we need in the future Head Royal Scientist. His unique out-of-the-box way of thinking is precisely what the Royal Scientist division needs to expand their horizons, don't you think?"

Despite his genuinely pleading voice, disgruntled scientists minus Sci shouted their grievances.

"He can't even tie a shoelace!"

"Yesterday, he nearly caught the entire lab on fire by trying to extinguish flames with coffee!"

"Have you ever seen his handwriting? How is anyone supposed to read that!"

"Just last week, he was trying to explode people with his thoughts! Who in their right mind even does that?!"

"You want to put him in charge of the facility containing the ticking time bomb we use to give the Underground power. Really?"

Meanwhile, as his fellow scientists complained, Sci slowly crept from behind his table and approached the Boss Monster; The tail end of his white lab coat gently fluttering behind him.

"Excuse me, King Asgore," He interjected, drawing the flustered goat monster's gaze. "My self-sustaining tornado, coupled with a wind turbine, could provide the Underground with a reliable, clean source of power for thousands of years. Not only would it be far less dangerous than maintaining the deeper sections of the Core that run beneath Hotland, but it would also produce much less carbon dioxide as a by-product."

"True..." The uncertainty in the king's voice and somewhat bewildered expression spoke volumes about how little he understood the explanation. It made Sci wish Toriel had been able to come instead, especially when he continued by saying, "But, look, the foam is dyed a lovely purple! Isn't that amazing, Sans?"

"No." He deadpanned.

"Now, there is no need to be a sore loser." Asgore chided like he was talking to a small child. Then, suddenly, the goat monster's face lit up as if he just had the most incredible idea. "How about this: Since your invention is quite impressive as well, you can study under Dr. Gaster as an apprentice!"

The mere notion spurred rage in Sci's soul. But he took a deep breath to calm himself and stated coldly, "I can tear apart space-time, traverse plains of existence you can't even imagine, rearrange every molecule in your being, and you want me to study under him."

"Uh." The king nervously took a few steps back but managed to keep a fake smile on his face. In spite of the apparent discomfort in his posture. "Take a few days to think it over, and return with your answer when you are ready."

Once finished speaking, Asgore practically spun on his heels and speed walked to a group of monsters on the opposite side of the room. The scientist's eye sockets narrowed as he watched the goat monster retreat.

Using a hand to push up the bridge of his glasses, Sci muttered, "Oh, I will return with something, and far sooner than you think."

His mind added as an afterthought, So much for trying not to draw attention to yourself.

Chapter 60: Volcano Effect (1.2)

Summary:

Who wouldn't be angry-

Notes:

Probably not the epic conclusion everyone has been waiting so long for, but this is what I originally planned on ending the story with- Hopefully, it doesn't disappoint too badly.

The heels of Sci's work shoes clicked against the marbled floor, punctuating his steps throughout the spacious halls. The sharp echo was palpable even amongst any ongoing chatter. Yet it drew little to no attention, as most were too preoccupied to busy themselves with the worries of others. Each aggressive propulsion sent the end of his pristine lab coat swishing, almost like the tail of a riled cat- which the scientist's downright murderous expression certainly matched. After a particular number of steps, he routinely pushed his glasses back up to keep them from being shaken off his skull.

Though, the action did little to halt his forceful gait as he trod through the Star Sanses' main headquarters.

Despite the ample room between the walls, the space was far too crowded for his liking; Claustrophobic, humiliating. Sanses from all over the Multiverse wandered the inner halls- Each with their own goals in mind. Each likely more successful in their pursuits than Sci.

The failure.

The skeleton whose revolutionary project met defeat at the hands of a half-baked, purple-dyed children's school project that barely even fizzled.

A loud growl tore out Sci's nonexistent throat, causing some Sanses to send him very startled and confused looks as he passed. Unsurprising, seeing as he was marked one of the calmer/less volatile of them. His dull green eyelights flared whilst he shot a withering glare toward a Sans whose j̶u̶d̶g̶i̶n̶g̶ gaze lingered too long. Consequently, making the hoodie-wearing monster recoil anxiously and look away.

The lab coat-clad skeleton would have continued marching onward in blind anger - no, searing rage - walking off to who knew where to do who knew what, if not for a firm skeletal hand suddenly grasping his shoulder. It was large, firm, and warm. Traits that made it all too similar to the paws of a specific goat monster: Asgore. His traitor of a king who'd given him a c̶o̶n̶d̶e̶s̶c̶e̶n̶d̶i̶n̶g̶ pitying pat on the shoulder after assigning his worthless rock of a father the role of Royal Scientist at the official ceremony.

Sci bristled. Summoning the speed of ten dark coffees, he spun on his heels and slapped the offending hand away. In return, receiving, "Woah, kid- Ya okay?"

The voice was a familiar one- deep, smooth, boarding the edge of confident and concerned.

He blinked the crimson hue from his vision and took a shaky breath.

Despite the conclusion his mind may have jumped to, Asgore had, in fact, not traversed dimensions to mock his scientific pursuits further. Nor to drive monster-kind toward a dystopian future. (Even though the line the king walked drew closer and closer to the latter every day.) Instead of the royal boss monster, a skeleton standing above the average height limit for a Sans - i.e., a few inches taller - paused before Sci. The other's larger frame was adorned by various dark clothes (edgy, one might call them): a black hoodie accented with dull red/yellow hues and fluffy off-white trim, long matching shorts, and heavy, possibly steel-toed sneakers.

The Multiverse contained numerous Underfell Sanses, and many looked more than a little similar. Like with most Sanses. But this one- this one couldn't be any other than Red.

Concern painted the edgy Sans' skull as he pulled his smacked arm back to his side.

"Sci- seriously, are ya okay? Ya aren't... lookin' too good." He asked, a frown tugging at his jaws.

On a normal day, such attention from his crush would have left Sci's soul fluttering. Today, however, the scientist could only feel the bottled rage he'd been shoving down since the Royal Science competition. The burning sensation that had merely grown after the assignment of the honored title.

"I'm I okay? I'm I okay?!" Laughter bubbled in Sci's chest, escaping as a broken maniacal cackle. The noise made more than a few Sanses exit the hallway while he continued, clenching his hands into fists and growling, "Why is Asgore such an idiot? Can't he see I'm more qualified to be the Royal Scientist instead of that baking soda-loving, hole-handed, molten-faced-"

Realization sparked in Red's eyelights, then he shoved his hands into his pockets and hissed sympathetically. "Ah... I see ya've fallen victim to the Volcano Effect."

Sci's eye sockets narrowed. "Volcano Effect?"

"Yeah. It's like a rite of passage for most, if not all, Sanses with a scientific background." The Underfell Sans explained.

"Oh," The lab coat-clad skeleton muttered, deflating.

The heat in his rage-ladden soul snuffed, chilled as though dumped in a bucket of iced water. It seemed even the fates had been against him from the very beginning. If a majority of Sanses tried and failed what he'd hoped to achieve, the likelihood of him winning the title of Royal Scientist was next to none.

"Don't feel too bad!" Red frantically amended once the anger fell from Sci's face, leaving misery in its wake. "From what I've seen, every AU has it in one form or another, even Swap."

"Really? Blue had to go through that too?" The scientist sniffled, pushing up his glasses and wiping his eyes with a sleeve. The pristine white fabric caught the magical tears that dared escape without his permission, making way for new ones. Despite how hard he attempted to keep them in.

Red shrugged nervously. "Well, yeah? Why else would he've thrown his Gaster into the Void?"

Sci blinked, adjusting his glasses. "He did what? Wait, Gaster ends up in the Void because-"

An arm suddenly wrapped around his shoulder, causing him to startle. All the while, Red's face dropped. Impossibly paler and marred by an expression akin to fear. The scientist's eyelights anxiously flicked to the left. Standing against his side laid the very monster they'd mentioned, Blue, wearing a friendly smile that didn't portray so much as a hint of malicious intent. (But, after the Christmas party, Sci knew better than to trust those lying teeth.)

The Underswap Sans had appeared so suddenly, as though summoned by the mere mention of his name- or sensing the incriminating topic of their conversation.

Perhaps Sci needed to revisit his theory about the other's possibly demonic nature.

"Heya, Red! Not talking about things you shouldn't, are you?" Blue chimed, flashing his signature cheery grin.

Red shrunk away, sweat slowly sliding down the side of his skull. "N- No, just tellin' Sci here about the Volcano Effect since he just experienced it firsthand."

"I see!" Blue slipped his arm off the lab coat-clad skeleton and took a step back, adding a wink as he said, "Well, then, let me know if you need someone to help give a little extra push!"

"E-extra push?" Sci sputtered, taking his own step away from the other.

"Exactly! But don't go around telling anyone I offered." With that, the Underswap Sans casually walked away, leaving no room for further questioning. He threw in a wave whilst he turned a corner. Thus, disappearing from their view.

Sci shuffled closer to Red, skull periodically turning between his blind spot - behind him - and the location Blue once was. "W- When did Blue become so scary?"

Red warily shot a glance toward the direction the armor-clad Sans disappeared in, quietly muttering, "Before Error kidnapped him, that's for sure."

Chapter 61: Eight Legs

Summary:

Blue doesn't like spiders.

(Warning: This chapter contains mild swearing.)

Snow crunched beneath the feet of a skeleton duo; Not the resident brothers, Sans and Papyrus, but a pair that looked near-identical to the shorter brother. If the Underground were new to the Multiverse, they would be on the receiving end of looks confused and curious alike. Maybe even malicious, depending on the universe.

Thankfully, the out of AU visitors no longer got much attention aside from a fleeting glance now and again.

Classic strolled alongside his red-hoodied companion, munching on the town's local dog-made pastry, a cinnamon puppy. Not to be confused with a cinnamon bunny. Meanwhile, the Underfell skeleton beside him toyed with a plastic spider between his hand. They planned to pay their cheery counterpart a visit. For obviously different reasons, though- Which made the less petty of the two reasonably concerned.

The usually laid-back Sans frowned and voiced his concerns. "Are you really going to go through with that prank? You know Blue is terrified of spiders, right?"

"Well, yeah. That's exactly why I'm doing it. Last time the fucker found a spider while I was around, he practically hid behind me until I killed the damn thing." Red smirked and waved the fuzzy fake arachnid in one hand. "Consider this a little revenge."

"Stretch is going to be furious if he finds out."

"That's a problem for future-"

The door to the Underswap skeleton brothers' house flew open, cutting off the sentence and startling both skeletons. Neither would admit it if their magic swelled aggressively in response. They watched with flared left eyelights as a gigantic, brown (non-monster) spider scurried out the opening and onto the freshly fallen snow. Sharpened bone attacks quickly followed after it, narrowly missing due to the arachnid's impressive dodging capabilities.

Before either Classic or Red could think about moving, Blue rushed past the doorway, eyelights a blazing navy blue, and yelled while brandishing a bone attack and bottle of pesticide, "You can't run forever. I will hunt you down and kill your family- slow and painfully with poison!"

"Blue, what the absolute hell?!"

At the shout, the blue-clad skeleton spun on his heels to face them. He barely gave them a glance before a look of pure mortification spread across his skull, causing him to backpedal into the house and slam the door shut behind himself.

Instead of pursuing the Sans (or the terrifyingly sized spider), the visitors opted to return to their home AUs and ponder what the hell they just witnessed.

Chapter 62: Foolish, Again!

Summary:

Another year, another chance to prank the Multiverse. (Sequel to "Foolish.")

Notes:

Happy Easter!

Error readjusted his red scarf for a sixth time before shedding his iconic blue hoodie, replacing it with a crisp (and maybe slightly burnt from the last he wore it) lab coat. A key element used to pull together his dastardly disguise as one of the more tolerable Sanses in the Multiverse. In addition, he completed some minor code edits to change his well-known shades to the "natural" skeleton white color to give a little extra realism to the whole Geno disguise.

A one-way portal displaying a body-length mirror appeared a foot in front of him. Mismatched eyelights roamed the familiar yet foreign reflection, causing the faux Aftertale Sans to nod in approval at the sight. Though not nearly as breathtakingly handsome as his natural form, Error could dub his guise adequate. His eyelights scaled the reflection from top to bottom again. Make that partially adequate.

A slight shuffling from behind caught the dark-boned skeleton's attention and prompted him to turn toward the slightly static-y sounding source.

In the Anti-Void's ever-present vastness, another code-mangled monster added finishing touches to their own specific Sans disguise. The glitch looked near identical to the bubbly, blue abomination running around with the Star Sanses. Emphasis on "near." Unfortunately, Blueberror could not entirely hide his yellow, star-shaped facial markings. Or he was too attached to the four five-pointed shapes to get rid of them. They had become a pale, almost white yellow hue instead of vanishing like Error's vibrant blue tear tracks.

Aside from that tiny detail, both skeletons wore finished costumes that were more than ready to trick the entire Multiverse and add a special touch to the April 1st shenanigans; mass deception.

Time to drag some reputations through the mud, Error thought when his partner in crime approached.

"Ready-dy?" Blueberror chirped, straightening his disguise's light blue bandana.

"I-I was bo-born ready-y." Snapping his phalanges, he opened a rectangular portal to a sunny, seaside city with cheery monsters and humans bustling about the streets. The destroyer directed a sinister grin towards the unwitting inhabitants, cackling. "Let's cause-cause s-some chaos!"

 

As the glitch duo's anarchy began, a soul - or, more accurately, a soulless being - sensed a great disturbance in the f̶o̶r̶c̶e̶ AUs.

Ink, who was staking out his own house to prevent a repeat of last year's toilet paper incident, jumped down from his "inconspicuous" hiding spot in a nearby tree, frowning at the sharp pain plaguing his chest. Though it might have been a cause for excitement last year, the unpleasant sting brought a sense of dread.

Sure, fighting Error or any other villainous characters promised to be a thousand times more fun than watching an inanimate building- But would leaving be worth it? The previous year, someone repainted every single area in his house white and moved all his furnishings - even the shower and sinks - onto the ceiling(s) of their respective room after the artist had left. Plus, he still couldn't find the ear-grating grandfather clock that the culprit somehow put in a wall somewhere. Or was it underground? That may explain why neither Dream, Blue, or himself found it yet.

"Well, it can't hurt to at least check it out." Ink reasoned, aloud.

The Guardian of AUs lifted the mighty paintbrush from his back and swung it toward the ground. Its orange paint-dripping bristles splat against the grass then slowly dragged across the lush surface, creating a portal to the distressed universe. A smile crept up Ink's skull as he returned Broomie to his back, allowing him a clear view of his creation. Half buried in the earth was an ornate door that looked as though it was minutes away from melting.

Why an ornate door? Well, why travel by a colorful puddle when one could travel by a door-shaped puddle?

Without hesitation, the artist threw open the fake door, sunk into the glossy substance, and rematerialized atop a coastal tourist trap under a cloudless sky.

The first notable thing, aside from the seagulls pecking at abandoned food, was the sounds of people (humans and monsters) screaming in terror with shrieking sirens in the background; Further inland, some major monster magic in play. Fiery hot lasers and various colored/sized bone attacks shot through the sky like a deadly fireworks display. Neither of which were Error and Nightmare's usual MO. Meaning a new player was on the field.

Either that or someone Ink didn't remember at the moment.

Regardless, a job like this called for backup. The art-loving skeleton summoned a blue flip phone and dialed the number labeled by no more than two emojis- a sun and smiley face.

It barely finished its first ring before a cheery voice answered, "Hello, Ink. Did you manage to catch your prankster, or are you butt-dialing me again?"

"'No' to both questions."

"Oh, then to what do I own the pleasure of this call?" Dream sounded surprised. Just how many times had Ink accidentally called him today?

Probably too many.

"Well, there's this pretty-" Nearby screams followed by a bang akin to a cannon firing echoed across the beach, directing the artist's attention back to the ongoing massacre in the background and reminding him of his mission. "Wait, no, not that. In Undertale no. 93044, there is an out-of-universe monster - possibly a Sans, Papyrus, or Gaster - disrupting the storyline here, and I could use your help cleaning this up before my house is painted white. Again."

"Is the portal still open in the Doodlesphere?"

"Yup! It's somewhere around my house. By one of the trees, maybe?"

"Okay. I'll be right there."

The yellow-clad guardian hopped out of the uniquely shaped puddle not several minutes later, ready for battle. He immediately grimaced and strolled up beside the artist upon hearing (as well as feeling) the chaos and fear.

"Over there?" Dream gestured to the fuzzy blot wreaking havoc in the distance.

Ink nodded. "They've been hanging around the city since I got here."

"Hmm. Can you make some binoculars so we can get a closer look at who we're up against?"

"Sure!" A gloved hand promptly dove into his inventory, returning with a small hardwood paintbrush- Broomie Jr., as Ink liked to call it. Not to be confused with Mrs. Broomie and Broomiette.

The soulless skeleton allowed his magic to flow through the drawing instrument and coat its bristles in black paint, which continuously appeared as he created the requested object on a canvas of air. Sleek black binoculars soon popped into existence after placing the final line. Though quick thinking wasn't their creator's specialty, he managed to hold out a hand to catch them.

Once (safely) in hand, the magnifying device got lifted to two mismatched eyelights that alternated between various shapes and colors; Primarily ones tied to fear, curiosity, confusion, and worry. The binoculars showed Ink their opponent: an average-ish Sans-type garbed in choice clothing only seen in a particular AU.

Light shuffles sounded from his left side, signaling his follow guardian's growing discomfort. Maybe Ink was staring too long, or perhaps all the negativity and screams were getting to the yellow-clad skeleton.

"I- Is it Nightmare?" Dream's voice sounded equal parts hopeful and terrified.

Ink tossed his friend the binoculars instead of answering, causing the Guardian of Positivity to fumble to catch them, and yanked his phone out of his inventory. His phalange nearly broke the down button as he began to speed through the long list of contacts.

Meanwhile, Dream raised the object to his eye sockets and raised an invisible brow while inspecting the figure in the distance. "Is that who I think it is?"

A short nod answered his question. The artist would have given a better one, but he was far too occupied trying to make sure he called the correct number. He practically smashed the call button when he finally found the desired phone number. Unfortunately, who he was attempting to contact was slow to pick up the phone, leaving him to shift from side to side impatiently.

On the third ring, someone finally accepted the call. Before they could say anything, however, Ink yelled, "He's back again!"

A familiar deep, groggy voice made a questioning sound. "Uuuuh... Who... Who's back?"

The Guardian of AUs briefly scoured through the numerous note on his beige scarf, saying uncertainly, "That- Uh... mysterious Geno who disappeared before you were able to see him last year?"

"...Right. Keep him occupied until I portal me and my husband there." Fabric rustled, and worn bedsprings creaked. Why would- Oh, right, alternate universes had different time zones.

"Gen, wake up. The sentient, abstract art found-" The following words were hushed, too distant for Ink to make out. But he did hear a tired and grumpy reply.

"Forever. Let me sleep forever."

"I'm sorry, but you have to get up." Some light movement sounded, followed by the death god's distressed cry, "My love- Wait!"

"Tell him to go to hel-" Geno's distant voice came through the speaker. It got even more distant when a crash and garbled static soon assaulted Ink's ears. Then the call dropped.

The soulless skeleton blinked and quickly pocketed his phone.

"What did Reaper say?" Dream questioned.

Ink waved a hand dismissively, using the other to reach for his trusty weapon. "Hmm? Oh, nothing important! Let's focus on catching this Aftertale Sans so we can figure out where he came from."

With that said, he leapt off the rooftop and landed gracefully on the concrete below; Not waiting for a second for Dream to follow before rushing toward the destruction and madness.

Chapter 63: Error, The Dragon's Prince(ss)

Summary:

Error is not immune to kidnappings.

Notes:

Sometimes, I wonder why my thoughts lead me in these directions.

The Multiverse continued as usual: New AUs popping up here and there, Sanses breaking universal laws to visit their alternate selves, and the general clash between the infinite space's two main factions was in progress.

This fine day brought them to a medieval universe complete with castles, knights, dragons, and clear blue skies overhead. Lush, wide-open fields surrounded both forces from each side, providing no cover to avoid long-range attacks; Fighting alongside the typical good-doing menagerie was an armor-clad Sans brandishing a long sword.

Regardless, Nightmare and his gang - including Error, who just so happened to be there - dared not retreat in fear of looking weak. They exchanged attack after attack with their bright-clothed foes. Neither truly winning or losing due to their evenly matched forces.

The tides only shifted when an earth-shaking roar resounded above.

"Dragon! Take cover in the tall grass." The knightly skeleton native to the AU shouted, making a dive for a nearby green patch.

Before anyone had a chance to heed the advice, a red-scaled beast swooped down while holding its claws open wide and snatched a dark-colored figure. Dial-up computer screeches assaulted everyone's ears as Error got lifted into the sky.

"Why did it take him?!" Cross cried, throwing pointed bone attacks toward the lizard creature. Each projectile meant to free his chocolate buddy fell short, thus leaving Error in the clutches of the dragon.

Knight Sans, or whatever his name was, answered from his hiding spot, "Dragons care about three things: shiny/unique objects, valuable minerals, and virgins."

Ink snickered. "Th- Heh-he... Th-that means Error is a virgin!"

"Ink, this is no laughing matter! We have to save him."

The Guardian of AUs ignored him, cupping his hand in front of his mouth and screaming into the sky, "Have fun with your new hubby, Error! I'm glad you found someone that loves you more than your own reflection."

If one listened closely enough, they might have heard angry glitching noises in response.

Meanwhile, Killer cheered, "Ha! I knew it." An action that more than earned Nightmare's disapproving glare and an added lecture when he proceeded to jab a phalange in his hole-headed comrade's direction with a smug grin. "Horror, you owe me a hundred G."

Chapter 64: Dragon On An Old Story

Summary:

"Error, The Dragon's Prince(ss)," but with Nightmare instead.

(Warning: This chapter contains mild swearing.)

Notes:

I don't know.

"Dragon! Take cover in the tall grass." The fearful cry echoed across the battlefield, bringing pause to the staff and tendril attacks exchanged between two guardian brothers, Nightmare and Dream; Plus halted their fellow combatants.

Unfortunately, the shout of warning came too late.

The Guardian of Negativity had no time to prepare before a red blur dove at him from above. Sharp claws soon dug painfully into his sides and helped carry him into endless blue skies, forcing him to watch as the green earth drifted further and further out of reach.

"Why today of all days does an overgrown lizard have to ruin my battle against Dream?" Nightmare growled under his breath, then looking up to the dragon and demanding, "Release me this instant or face the consequences!"

The creature huffed and tightened its hold.

His single visible eye socket narrowed. The cyan light trapped within flared aggressively. "Fine. Have it your way then."

Dark tendrils wiggled out from the space between each claw, sharpening while they prepared to strike, and once ready, they pierced the dragon's toes. The reaction was instantaneous. A mighty screech of agony escaped the flying beast's maw, and its claws retracted. Nightmare plummeted toward the ground at an increasing rate without their support. Thus, causing him to use his magic to teleport to safety.

A fit of bubbly laughter assaulted his ears upon his reappearance in the open field that he got snatched from.

Ink stood to his right- half leaning over, arms clutched over his stomach, and inky black tears forming in the corners of his eye sockets. A yellow sun and a bright green clover danced in the self-proclaimed guardian's eye sockets when he noticed the dark lord, which led to him snorting and laughing even hard.

The artist's eyelights shifted between more cheery colors and shapes before he managed to choke out, "Pfft- Ha! 'mare, are you - heh - embarrassed you're a virgin?"

"What."

"Ink, don't taunt my brother. It is not his fault he can't even get a member of his gang to share a bed with him." Dream glance toward his brother and grimaced, quickly amending, "Oh. B-but- uh, don't worry, Nightmare! I'm sure one day you will find a monster to share love - hate - with."

Fortunately (or unfortunately), Killer chose that moment to intervene with his own question. "Okay, how the hell is Nightmare the virgin and not Blue, Dream, or the goddamn haphephobic?!"

"You're just salty you lost the bets." Horror chimed, shaking a hefty bag of G.

Rather than responding, the eyelightless skeleton spun on his heel and jabbed a phalange in the touch-fearing destroyer's direction. "You fucked Death in another life, didn't you!"

Error blinked, brows furrowing; the strings wrapped around his phalanges aimlessly twirled in the air while he pondered. "U-u-uh- Maybe-be? Don't r-remember. I h-had a lot-lot of eggnog that-at n-night."

"Error, you rascal! You have to tell me all about it." Blue bounded up to the glitch with stars for eyelights.

Dream grimaced once more. "Whoa, whoa! Slow down, Blue. We did not come here to talk about Error's... pastimes."

"We could anyway."

"Ink... No."

A light cough caught the groups' attention. The armor-clad, local Sans gestured to the sky. "Star knights, sinister warriors. The dragon is returning."

Sure enough, the winged lizard zipped through the air toward the skeletons with determination set on its features. Each member of the dark and light Sanses teleported away, leaving the shiny armored knight to fend for himself.

Chapter 65: Gimme The Jelly!

Summary:

Ink wants the jelly.

(Inspired by cs.mt's AU, Unspecified Alternate.)

Notes:

There are over 4,000 words of this nonsense- so godspeed, readers. Godspeed.

Ink silently strolled along a beach, soft sand sneaking between his metatarsals/phalanges and in the open holes on the bottom of his stockings. A delicate smile laid across his jaws as he admired the scenery: clear blue ocean waters like right out of a painting, beautiful tan (almost white) sands littered with shiny shells, lightly clouded skies adorned by a brilliant yellow sun, and vibrant, lush foliage covered in all sorts of big and small colorful flowers. But everything paled in comparison to the gentle, salty sea breeze rustling the plants on the seaside and delivering clean air to the island. It was so much different from the musty, damp air in the Underground or the occasionally polluted, sometimes difficult to breathe air of the Surface.

A nice change of pace, Ink thought.

Not that he intended to end up at this little haven on purpose. The Guardian of AUs had been patrolling around the Multiverse sole-style and couldn't help becoming sidetracked by the numerous astounding universes he visited. From magical lands containing the greatest fantasies to desolate terrains, he stopped to admire them all. Maybe even getting himself a wanted poster along the way. (Because, apparently, one may not steal seahorses in the underwater wild west.) His hasty escape from the law led him here.

As the artist continued his walk, listening to the various sounds of nature, his eyelights shifted to a green question mark and yellow hourglass when he noticed an odd object standing out against the distant shoreline. It seemed larger than a mollusk and richer in color than the white, tan, and pink seashells dotting the sands. Perhaps a marine animal washed ashore?

Ink's smile split into an excited grin. He shot a glance over his shoulder at the enormous paintbrush strapped to his back before making a beeline toward the mysterious thing, saying enthusiastically, "Broomie, there's something in the sand. Let's poke it and see if it's dead!"

When his footsteps came to a halt, the soulless skeleton stood in front of a deep blue gelatinous blob with a dimly glowing, four-leaf clover-esque pattern on its top. Crisp ocean waves lapped over his feet. However, they were nowhere near strong enough to pull the glob back into the sea. Curious, he leaned closer and extended an arm - the phalange at the end of his hand more than ready to jab the jelly substance - only to recoil slightly as thin tendrils rose from around his soon-to-be victim, wiggling at him aggressively.

Wide eye sockets blinked down at the waving blob. The colorful eyelights within shifted between numerous shapes and colors, settling on a pink heart and an orange sun; A hint of recognition laid in their depths. For the gelatinous glob was, in fact, not a thing but a creature like Ink had suspected. And not just any creature: a jellyfish.

"It's so tiny and angry!" The artist squealed, adding to his inanimate companion, "It would look great in my fish tank, don't you think?"

Broomie said nothing in response, but Ink knew in his heart that the giant art tool agreed. After all, the color scheme of the medium-sized aquarium at home seemed, for lack of better words, drab. Despite the abundant green (occasionally brown/yellow), hardy plants and shiny glass pebbles added for decoration. The red, yellow, and clear shrimp dwelling in it hardly provided any cooler colors to the environment, so the tank could use a nice splash of blue drifting around to liven up the place.

Decision made, the Guardian of AUs crouched lower to the ground and outstretched a cupped hand on each side of the sea critter. Shutters ran through the jellyfish's jiggly form the closer the hands grew. Soon after the tremors started, it flattened itself further on the sand to make itself hard to pick up and began waggling its tendril more vigorously (in what it probably thought was a threatening manner).

Ink cooed at the adorable little blob, daring to push his hands a mere millimeter out of striking range, and spoke in the softest voice he could muster. "Aw. Don't be scared, little jelly. I'm just going to tear you away from the only home you've ever known and keep you in a glass cage for my own amusement!"

Those words seemed to motivate it to do the impossible. With unfounded speed and strength, the gelatinous being used its tendrils to propel itself away from the artist's cupped hands and into the shore's shallow waters. The place where it proceeded to zip into the deep, to freedom without fear of captivity.

"Maybe I should have phrased that differently." He murmured. A blue teardrop and purple exclamation point had replaced the previous shapes/colors his eyelights had taken, and a frown tugged at the corners of his teeth whilst watching his target grow smaller and smaller with the increasing distance between them.

Unfortunately for the jellyfish, the monster attempting to capture it did not know when to give up- if his reputation regarding decades worth of failed efforts to befriend Error was any indication of his stubbornness. Ink's eyelights quickly shifted to a red target and orange triangle. He then cast Broomie and his vials aside, causing both to drop carelessly on the sand. (The delicate, corked glasses filled to the brim with various colors luckily landed unscathed.) Little hesitation showed on the artist's face before his bony legs and feet plunged into knee-deep tides, where he started to wade farther and farther out to sea for his squishy prize.

Wading soon switched into swimming since the sands sloped deeper and deeper under the water's surface, leading down to the ocean floor. Regardless, the soulless skeleton kept an even pace. His steady movements easily allowed him to gain some ground (or, in this case, water). All the while, his determined eyelights remained solely focused on the creature. Except for when he got a tiny bit distracted by a colorful ocean-dweller that looked like a seizure given fish form, but that aside, he stayed more or less focused on his goal.

The goal being: catch the pretty blue blob, and worry about whatever consequences the action would have later.

He dove under the water in an attempt to get into a better position to catch the jellyfish. However, seconds after he slipped below the water's surface a clump of seaweed attacked his skull and forced him to halt a moment to bat it away. Nature's ocean flora, unfortunately, had no plans of leaving him any time soon, persistently sticking to him despite his efforts to remove it. Ultimately, Ink had no other choice but to keep the new leafy, green hair if he didn't want to lose his target. So, begrudgingly, he swam onward; Possibly trying to ignore how pretty the seaweed looked as it flowed behind him like a majestic mane.

After what seemed like hours (but was more accurately ten minutes), the artist finally began to close in on the gelatinous being. That was until one blob became two- then three, four, and suddenly twenty jellyfish aimlessly floated in the open waters, hiding the one he followed up till now. His eyelights frantically scanned the crowd, searching for a hint or a distinguishable difference between these jellyfish and the one he desperately wished to catch.

Nothing stood out at first because all the beings were the same (blobby, squishy, and roundish), so he started looking more closely for specific details. The surrounding jellyfish held a deep purple-blue hue, while the one he sought had a more blue with a hint of purple color. Their behaviors seemed drastically different as well. These little blobs drifted along the ocean currents without a care in the world, gentle and calm. His target wiggled angrily at things and displayed aggressive behavior- Like Error! Except Ink could not recall a time when the destroyer wiggled his arms or strings at something in hatred.

Maybe he should ask. Or, better yet, paint a picture!

The soulless skeleton shook his skull. He was getting distracted, and as great as those distractions were, his self-assigned mission held utmost importance. Besides, he could pester the glitch about it later.

Mismatched eyelights returned to studying the vicinity. They flitted from jellyfish to jellyfish, finally settling on a suspicious-seeming blob that almost appeared as though it tried to blend in. Keyword being "tried." The way it shifted side-to-side looked far too calculated, and it actively strove to float on the outskirts of the group- not too close to any of its comrades and more or less away from a particular skeleton.

A random small fish darted towards the peculiar gelatinous creature once a few moments of skeptical observation passed, causing tendrils to lash out at it and scare it elsewhere.

Ink's eye sockets narrowed. Tiny bubbles slipped from between his jaws while he released a silent "hmm." More bubbles stirred as his arms and legs began to gingerly paddle him beyond what he hoped to be the sea critter's field of vision. Then, with the speed of molasses, he circled (hopefully) behind it. Still, the artist did not want to take any chances and miss his opportunity to capture the jellyfish. Good thing he had an idea. A generally frowned upon idea. A black/white gaster blaster popped into existence behind him. The back of its skull sat flush against his spine; each spike protruding from it had been rounded and shortened - for safety, of course - and its dangerous, sharp-toothed muzzle angled downward, facing the sandy ocean floor. Thin, inky bonds soon manifested to fix the attack to his back- similar to a backpack. A manic grin stretched across his skull afterward, and the corners of his eye sockets crinkled with joy.

Ha! And Dream said my jetpack idea would never have any practical use.

Bright white energy gathered in the closed maw of the dragon-esque head before its jaws creaked open and a fiery beam unleashed, forming a large crater in the submerged land. The blast's force propelled Ink through the water like a torpedo.

Plus, nearly knocked the wind out of him in the process.

Water whirled around his shaking body. The sheer momentum the gaster blaster produced prevented each halfhearted attempt to change direction. (Luckily, he had enough foresight - for once in his life - to line up the shot ahead of time.) Everything his eyelights could see looked like someone set a motion blur image filter over it, causing him to close his eyes to avoid nausea. Pressure from the liquid pushing against him forced him to struggle to hold his hands in front of himself during the magic-fueled rush. Nevertheless, they managed to push out just enough for his phalanges to close around a squishy object as it smacked into his hands.

Stinging pain in the appendages followed shortly. Though the sensation was nowhere near strong enough to justify releasing whatever he had caught.

The Guardian of AUs pierced the surface of the water almost immediately after it fell into his grasp. His eyes flew open when he felt the cool air brush across his drenched clothes/bones, revealing the vast open skies above. Which quickly led him to realize how uncomfortably close some of the avian wildlife was. That did not last long, however. The force carrying him high slowed and then reversed, pulling him back toward the water with increasing speed. Faux green hair and a beige scarf flapped relentlessly in the wind alongside billowing clothes (overalls, coat, etc.).

A brilliant thought sparked in Ink's mind midway through the descent. Skeletal arms tucked his pain-inducing prize close to his sternum, and bony legs pulled over them as much as they could. Thus, making what one may call a crude-

"Cannonball!"

The cheer echoed across the sea. Native seagulls fled from their stony, ocean roosts in fright upon hearing the noise, whereas other sea-fowl couldn't be bothered unless a storm shook the waters. Meanwhile, the artist closed his eyes once more and allowed his attack-ridden back to face downward. It collided with the water first, dissipating into an inky black mess that once created a dragon-esque skull and dark bindings, all while spawning the waves of a tremendous splash. Large ripples arose around him as he sunk into the salty fluid.

Thereafter, Ink slowly opened his eye sockets, drew his legs downward, and began swimming back to above water. The squishy object in his hands remained clutched the entire time. The cannonball's waves had long since vanished by the time his upper body resurfaced, leaving no evidence of the wondrous feat.

Not that the soulless skeleton cared.

"Haha!" He laughed, continuing to paddle his legs to keep afloat. Water droplets dripped down his skull and surprisingly-not-dislodged kelp wig. A yellow sun and an orange rectangle glancing down at a familiar blue blob currently in the middle of attempting to strangle his phalanges.

I got him! Question marks briefly danced in his eye sockets, and his brow furrowed while proceeding to wonder, Do jellyfish have genders?

The Guardian of AUs mentally shrugged, holding up his vigorously struggling captive victoriously. "Well, I don't know, but I'm going to call you a boy anyway!"

As if the Gods themselves spited him, a wave two feet taller than himself swelled in the ocean behind and came barreling over him. The force of the water sweeping across his body knocked him down below the water's surface. Ink's limbs flailed ungracefully during his struggle to return to open-air, and the jellyfish in his unclenching hands got whisked into the unknown- much to his dismay.

He emerged with a gasp. His head bobbed above the water, seaweed hair dangling in his face and an empty hand paddling on his left and right. The colorful symbols housed in his eye sockets switched to a black skull and a blood-red crosshair.

"Oh, come on, AU! I'm only taking one jellyfish. There is no need to be mean."

I haven't even accidentally killed anything yet, he mentally grumbled. The AU has no reason to get huffy and try to kick me out.

A startled yelp tore through his throat as another cold wave slammed into the back of his skull, washing more seaweed in front of his eyelights; A deep pout formed along his jaws. First, the weird cowboy-mermaids chased him away. Now, this AU's sea was attacking him. Why were AUs so upset with him today?

His internal pondering came to an end when the loud chortling of seagulls caught his attention. Whether they were laughing at his misfortune or not, the artist couldn't decide. Eyelights taking the appearance of a green exclamation point and a blue hourglass darted in the direction of ear-grating caws. His sullen expression quickly turned into a grin upon spotting the menacing french fry scavengers, which was coincidentally where his prized jelly had washed to: a low, rocky outcropping poking off the island, housing many tide pools.

The white, black/grey accented birds surrounded the blue blob. Its tendrils lashed out at them, holding their hungry maws at bay. Despite the dire situation the jellyfish landed in, Ink felt a joy swelling in his paint-derived emotions that brought a warm-toned star and sun into his eye sockets.

This is perfect!

Though a moderate distance away, the artist could reach the shore in no time if he swam fast enough. And that precisely was what he planned to do.

Now, to retrieve my little jelly friend. He's going to love his new home, and I bet my shrimp will love having a new roommate!

Ink's grin widened in the ever-so-scary way that always sent Error running to the Anti-Void. A grin promising dubious morals and only the wear's satisfaction. However, the artist himself did not recognize it as the cause of the destroyer's sudden desire to escape him. Or anyone else's, for that matter. After all, who'd want to leave someone so fun? No one!

...Except, maybe, most of the Multiverse.

So, oblivious to the ominous feelings his smile instilled in others, he began toward the rocky tide pools where the sea critter laid. True to his intent, the land neared swiftly. Wet sands met with his feet as he trod beyond shoulder-height waters and felt the full force of gravity weighing down his thoroughly soaked attire. Little time passed before the soulless skeleton pushed himself onto the jagged grey-tan outcropping. Wings fluttered, and the sandwich-poaching flock ascended into the air at the approach, leaving only the jellyfish, various starfish, and sea urchins to keep him company.

Ink stopped in front of his target, looming over the creature while it shuttered and wiggled its pesky tendrils at him. His spine curved, both arms slowly reaching downward when-

"Ssssccccrrraaaa!"

Almost as soon as the animal cry sounded, a dark blur shot down from the sky and swatted the Guardian of AUs in the face- repeatedly, with long feathery appendages. He quickly hit back in retaliation, forearm knocking against a small body when it swung outward. His eye sockets rapidly blinked (containing an exclamation point and question mark), feet making a stuttering step back; Eyelights searching for his attacker.

Limp in the sand sat not a seagull, not a raven, but a crow. One of the two avian species he commonly mistook Reaper for (with seagull being the second). The raven-feather bird raised its head and hissed in Ink's direction, causing him to grimace.

"Why are there crows on this island? It's in the middle of nowhere!" He wondered aloud before turning inland, blinking at the sight of vast mountain ranges, plateaus, and forests past the sandy shores. "Okay. I guess it's more like a continent, but what continent isn't a giant island."

The artist reverted his attention to the real problem- i.e., the crow who clearly held some form of grudge against him or was just plain mean. Since glancing elsewhere, it had picked itself off the ground and moved behind the jellyfish with its wings spread over like a shield and black, beady eyes glaring. Daring anyone foolish enough to try to get between it and that which it protected.

Failing to receive the message, Ink crouched then outstretched a hand into the bird's space. A sharp nip at his phalanges brought it reeling back amidst a pained cry, "Gah!"

His face contorted in displeasure - eye sockets narrowing, nasal cavity wrinkling, jaws twitching downward. But the crow showed little care, firmly fixed to its spot and entirely unremorseful.

"Go away, stupid crow. Leave my poor jelly alone!" Huffing, the soulless skeleton swiped. His dark-feathered foe gave a flap of its wings and lifted into the air to dodge the long, sweeping motion.

Thus, leaving a particular unwilling prize unprotected.

Both lunged for the squishy glob, grabbing ahold of it with talons and phalanges, respectively; action devolving into a game of tug-o-war. Their rope being an unhappy jellyfish who was now attempting to remove each grabber using its tendrils.

He kept his hold steady, as did the crow, despite the increasingly uncomfortable sting.

"Ugh- Just... Gimme the jelly!" Ink grunted, struggling against the avian's (freakishly) strong pull.

Using a burst of strength, he yanked the jellyfish from its sharp talons, inadvertently injuring the sea creature but also liberating it (from a life of freedom). Though he did feel a little bad when his new c̶a̶p̶t̶i̶v̶e̶ friend released an odd shriek as the talons drew away and the scrapes along its top began to ooze a clear, light blue substance. The artist would have to patch it up after he escaped.

A raging, partially mortified squawk rang out across the beach thereafter. Ink jolted, wasting no time before bolting along the seaside in the direction that hopefully contained his vials and Broomie. A furious crow chased after him, all the while.

 

The simple wooden door to Ink's "humble" (and messy) abode flew open, startling the yellow-clad skeleton sitting on the couch inside. Freshly brewed tea sloshed out of Dream's cup as he jolted upward before jerking his head toward the entryway. A sight akin to something taken straight from a horror story's pages greeted him. Looming in the doorway was a dripping wet, seaweed-covered form - similar in shape and color to a skeleton - with black-oozing scrapes littering their bones and hiding beneath torn clothes. The being shook the thick clump of kelp off their head, revealing the one monster anyone could have or should have expected: Ink. A broad, triumphant grin laid across his jaws, and he paid no mind to the water dripping on the floorboards where he stood.

When Dream went to scold the eccentric artist for his manic entrance, his yellow eyelights caught sight of the squishy creature strangling his friend's phalanges. A creature he recognized to be mildly (and, in some cases, severely) poisonous to monsters. The tea mug in his hands instantly found itself placed on the coffee table while he rushed over to the other, fretting. "Oh my stars! Ink, are you okay?"

"Yup! Better than okay because I found a jelly." Ink said, holding up the sea critter. His usually colorful and diverse-shaped eyelights had long since settled on a pink heart and an inverted yellow heart, signaling his lack of distress.

Still, the Guardian of Positivity remained unconvinced. Hovering close by but not too close in case his friend suddenly decided he needed a face full of jellyfish.

"Are you sure? Does it sting? Do you need medical attention?" The yellow-clad skeleton frantically looked the other over, keeping an eyelight out for any unspoken injuries.

Ink did not answer at first and instead walked around Dream, waving off his concern like one would a fly, and made his way over to the fish tank sitting across the room. "Oh, it burns like hell! But I can easily heal myself after I get this little guy in his new home."

His strangles hands reached over the aquarium and forcefully pried the gelatinous being off, causing it to drop ungracefully into the water. The blob lashed its tendrils at the artist upon regaining its bearings. Then it moved to the edge of the tank and pushed against the glass, tendrils beating on the clear surface as if it wanted to grab or possibly strangle him.

A light frown tugged at Dream's teeth as he carefully crept up beside the Guardian of AUs. "It looks... unhappy."

Rather than seeing a problem with the jellyfish's emotional state, Ink exclaimed excitedly, "I know, right?! He reminds me of Error- so angsty, so full of unbridled rage." He paused for a moment as if thinking about something, adding in an equally cheery tone, "Here's hoping he doesn't eat my shrimp!"

"When Blue and I said you should get a pet, we at least thought you would take the job more responsibly." The yellow-clad skeleton murmured and shot a thoughtful look at the sea critter wiggling wildly at everything around it.

The poor thing was probably scared; For good reason, if Ink played a part in its abduction. Plus, who knew if the water temperate was correct or if it had enough salt content. Or if it could even coexist with the shrimp already curiously poking out from their hiding spots and inspecting their guest.

Dream bit back a sigh. If Ink wasn't going to do the proper research and take care of it, then the duty fell on him.

The Guardian of Positivity turned toward the door, quickly sparing a second to check the amount of G in his inventory. Seeing he had more than enough for what he planned, Dream strode across the room towards the open front door (because why would Ink ever remember to close a door) and came to a stop when a question reached his invisible ears.

"Where are you going? What about the meeting?"

He shifted to face the curious eyelights of his friend, replying, "The meeting can wait. Right now, I need to run to the nearest AU and pick up a new fish tank and food for the jellyfish."

"But he's already making friends with the shrimp!" The artist gestured toward the tank, directing Dream's attention to the ravenous creature within and shrimp it was terrorizing.

"No, he's eating them!"

With that said, the yellow garbed guardian bolted out the door with urgency and fear prevalent on his features- which ultimately left the shrimp and jellyfish alone with the one monster who had not business supervising anything other than a houseplant.

"It's okay, jelly. Fransqua wasn't my favorite." Ink said, giving the glass shielding the jellyfish an almost sympathetic pat. Then he blinked and drew his hand back before cupping his chin in thought. "Or was that Carol?"

In the end, the soulless skeleton shrugged and walked away, thus, abandoning his remaining shrimp to an untimely demise at the tendrils of their new housemate.

Chapter 66: Breakfast In Bed

Summary:

Dream is not interested.

Ink stood in his humble abode's generic Undertale-inspired kitchen; Much like the skeleton brothers' except containing a normal-sized sink, more counter space, and a small wooden door that led to a large, well-stocked pantry. On regular occasions, he was forbidden (by both Blue and Dream) to entire the sacred food preparation area on his own. This time, however, neither were available to watch over him when his phalanges slowly turned on the front right burner of D̶r̶e̶a̶m̶'̶s̶ his stove.

Various food items occupied the stone-topped counter beside it: salami, a bread loaf, one cucumber, a block of parmesan cheese, three eggs, half a stick of butter, and soy sauce. I.e., the best elements for the perfect breakfast.

The artist believed without a doubt that his yellow-clad husband would forgo the most important meal of the day. The other had been quite nauseous (and grouchy) since becoming pregnant with their beloved miracle, Palette Roller. To the point, he spent most of his time cooped up in bed.

So what better way to surprise Dream than with a delicious Mother's Day meal and not burning down the house.

Again.

For the sixth time that month.

A wide grin stretched across Ink's jaws. He quickly grabbed a medium-sized pan and began cooking his ideal breakfast monstrosity: a toasted salami, cucumber, parmesan sandwich with a side of eggs and soy sauce for dipping it in.

Billows of smoke arose from the burn buttery bread in the shape of skulls when he finally finished and plated the terror. A skeletal hand nonchalantly lifted and disrupted the ominous symbols, waving left to right until they completely disappeared.

Pleased, the Guardian of AUs nodded. It was truly a breakfast fit for the most important mom-ster in his life.

The journey up the stair took no time at all. Before Ink knew it, a wooden rectangle on hinges blocked his way into their bedroom. His free hand turned the handle and threw open the door, allowing streams of the hallway's light to cascade through, illuminating the blankety bundle curled up on one side of the king-sized bed. Then he took a few small steps into the space and presented his creation.

"Happy Mother's Day, Dre-" He sang. However, the words got cut off by a loud, somehow woody sounding hiss followed by a pillow sailing across the room.

It struck the wall directly next to his skull with a thump, slowly sliding down to reveal a sizeable dent. His grin faltered as he glanced back at the bed. Blazing yellow eyelights glinted in the darkness beneath the slightly raised comforters.

Ink gulped in fear.

"All right, I see now is not a good time! I'll be back later." With the said, the artist rushed past the door and slammed it shut; Back pushing against the surface while he recovered from his lover's jumpscare.

After calming, he mumbled into his scarf, "You being pregnant is both a blessing and a curse."

Sharp-tipped bone attacks suddenly pierced an outline around him. Shaking, he heard a furious screech like tree branches scratching on a window emanate from behind. "I heard that!"

Chapter 67: Breakfast In Bed (Nightmare Edition)

Summary:

Nightmare is done with his follower's antics.

When Nightmare got ungraciously pulled from his slumber (no doubt due to outside interference), he felt a disturbance lingering in the air of his room; a monotonous force laying just beyond the lids of his closed eye sockets. A cyan eyelight sparked to life as his good eye socket slowly cracked open. Blinking away residual drowsiness, he lifted his head and stared blankly at the scene before him.

Killer stood in the shadows by his bedside, looming over him in a similar manner to a cat who cornered a mouse. His teeth stretched into a manic grin, and empty eye sockets gazed intently at the dark lord's negativity-laden form. In his hands laid a plate holding indescribable food that looked like something he very well could have pulled from Ink's kitchen trash can. 

Upon noticing Nightmare's newly wakeful state, the LOVE-harboring skeleton somehow smiled even wider before saying in a singsongy voice, "Happy Mother's Day, mom!"

The Guardian of Negativity took a deep breath through his nasal cavity, releasing it as a soundless sigh. A brief glimpse at the antique timepiece on the nightstand told him barely ten minutes had passed since the clock struck five. 

"Killer... It is too early in the morning for your nonsense."

"But-" Killer went to argue but halted when Nightmare turned his target-shaped soul blue and slid him out the room. The magic released him once he was in the hall, promptly taking hold of the door and flinging it shut with the adding click of a lock. His "happy" expression quickly devolved into a pout. 

And his mood spoiled further at the chime of a familiar rookie's voice sounding from behind. "Dude, I told you it was a bad idea to bother Nightmare at this hour. He's not our mom either."

The hoodie-clad murderer spun on his heels, back facing the door, spotting a particular monochrome dressed skeleton leaning against the wall alongside a broken-headed one. 

"I know, but he is scary like one! Just yesterday, I saw an Underfell Toriel nearly fire blast off the head of a Froggit because it looked her Frisk funny."

"That's because she is a Toriel. It's her job to be overprotective."

Horror nodded sagely in agreement beside Cross. 

"Night is like that too!" Killer retorted. 

Rather than arguing, the blander-toned half of the trio rolled his eyelights, pushed off the wall, and began walking away. His equally unconvinced companion snatched the plate of dubious food, following after. 

"Aw. Come on, guys, at least help me make fun of him for being a mother hen around us all the time!" Killer whined at his retreating friends. "Guys!" 

Then an exasperated shout echoed out the dark king's chamber, "Shut up! Either train quietly in the courtyard or go back to sleep."

Chapter 68: New Age Marketplace

Summary:

To enrich Nightmare's outdated lifestyle, Killer takes him to the most mystical place the modern era has to offer- the mall.

Killer frowned while he examined the area. Humans and monsters bustled about the surface AU, either glaring at one another (on rare occasions) or completely ignoring each other. Not that he minded. The less attention drawn to him and Nightmare, the better.

In front of him stood a tall building complete with levels upon levels of floors, numerous glass windows, and a large sign that spelled "Ebott City Mall" in big letters. Many people walked to and from its multiple entrances. Some carried bags/boxes, and others were empty-handed. However, the label barely peaking out of a random teen's pocket implied otherwise.

He started toward the main entrance after sucking in a nervous breath. Nightmare in all his goopy glory trailed behind, but not too far due to the sparkling pink child leash/harness keeping him from wandering off and getting into trouble. The less-than-normal apparel even had a skull-shaped tag bearing a number to call; plus, a warning saying that anyone close enough to read it might get stabbed.

An odd yet necessary precaution.

(The last thing anyone needed was another lawn sprinkler incident or construction crane incident or- Just no more incidences. That's the only thing Killer prayed for.)

The Guardian of Negativity had allowed it up until this point, if only because some people kept shooting them disturbed looks and shielding their children's eyes. It didn't take a genius to guess that negative emotions played an integral part in why. But, of course, even he was beginning to grow tired of his bound freedom despite the emotional disturbances it caused.

"Do I have to wear this infernal child-safety contraption? I can walk beside you without guidance just fine." Nightmare huffed a few steps down as they ascended the stone stairs leading up to the doorway.

Killer tugged him along, affirming, "Yes. It's my turn to introduce you to the modern world, and I am not losing you like Horror did when he took you to see the roller coasters."

Hours had passed by the time the ravenous skeleton managed to find Nightmare harassing the park staff and attempting to set the roller coasters free into the heavens.

"Ah, yes. The looping, metal dragons were a delight to watch in their natural habitat." The other looked mournful for a mere moment before any sorrow disappeared with a dirty glare and scathing tone. "A shame I didn't get to tame one."

"It was for your own safety." His mind silently added, And for Horror's.

"Yes, yes, so you say. It wouldn't have killed you to let me keep a baby one."

"Nightmare, there will be no roller coasters in or around the area of the house."

The dark lord opened his jaws. Nothing further than a single syllable got out before Killer instantly cut off whatever he was about to say. "Not underneath it or above it either."

An annoyed tsk echoed through the air. "You lot never want me to have anything fear-inspiring. What is the point of taking me to this 'm-all' if you will refuse to let me keep anything that will further my goals?"

When Killer placed his foot above the final step, he spun on his heels to faced the grouchy skeleton. "Hey, we let you keep plenty of things!"

A single cyan eyelight rolled in its eye socket. Nightmare crossed his arms and added snappily, "No, you do not! You wouldn't even let me keep the dense paper board with tiny houses and colorful currency."

Grimacing at the reminder of the awful game, he stated, "Trust me when I say we do not, under any circumstances, need Monopoly in a house with four criminally insane individuals. We hate each other enough already."

The conversation seemed to drop there, silent stretching between the two as they slowly entered the building with Killer holding open the pull door for Nightmare. The negativity-laden skeleton wore an indifferent façade upon stepping past the threshold. But little hints of interest and fascination showed: eyelight lingering on specific storefronts, head turning to look at all the new sights around him, and the tips of dark tendrils pointing in the direction of anything he (likely) wanted to grab.

Guiding them toward the large, billboard-esque map area, Killer could have sworn he heard the other mutter, "How many chicks must one trade to purchase such a thing?" What Nightmare was contemplating "purchasing," he did not know.

So long as no theft happened, everything would be fine.

The hoodie-clad murderer directed his empty eye sockets at the map. It vaguely reminded him of a complex subway chart he'd seen on the Internet some time ago- colored lines, map markers, names, and nonsensical shapes spread all over. How was anyone supposed to figure out where they were trying to go?

Thankfully, before Killer's nonexistent eyelights could begin to hurt, a soft murmur stole his attention. He tilted his skull in Nightmare's direction, asking, "What was that?"

A sour expression akin to the one someone might make when biting a lemon graced the ooze-coated guardian's features. Though, eventually, he conceded and grumbled, "Can we view the colorful, stamped horse while we are here?"

Two dark, viscous tendrils pointed into the distance. Killer's invisible eyelights followed their path, seeing a store with familiar brightly colored horses sitting in the windows.

"Uh, sure. Why?"

"They breed wariness and disgust amongst the humans," Nightmare hesitated before adding, "and Horror told me to seek the one they call 'Sun Butt.'"

"S-sun Butt." Killer snorted.

"Yes, he thought it would be therapeutic for some reason."

Abruptly, Nightmare's skull swerved in the opposite direction, and he bolted like a dog chasing after a car. "Come! I sense an object of great terror."

"Woah, hold on! Not so fast." Killer cried, stumbling as he struggled to match the other's high-paced speed.

Then the dark lord stopped as suddenly as he started, screeching to a halt and forcing his tagalong to face-plant onto the white tile floor. A pained groan escaped the unfortunate skeleton.

As he pushed himself off the ground, an awed voice sounded from in front. "Levitation box..."

The hoodie-clad murderer raised his head to see what Nightmare referred to: a completely see-through cube carrying people between the mall's numerous floors. He raised a nonexistent eyebrow, desperately attempting to hold back a laugh. "It- It's an elevator."

"I must have one. It would be a wonderful addition to the mansion."

That sentence snuffed any mirth he felt in an instant. "No, no, no- We are not putting anything like that in the house."

"What about the magic, moving stairs we passed on the way here?"

"No."

Chapter 69: Gimme The Jelly! (Alternate Version)

Summary:

Dream questions his life choices. More specifically, his marriage.

Soft chattering and murmurs accompanied by multiple sets of footsteps echoed from all around. Dream softly hummed while he turned a bread loaf about in his hands, inspecting it. Pleased with the integral and unmolded state of the item, he plopped it into the shopping cart to his left and prepared to move on.

However, an ear-grating voice shouted from behind before he got a single step toward the next aisle. "Jelly!"

The yellow-clad skeleton instantly found himself struggling to hold back a sigh; A hand snuck up to his face to pinch the bridge above his nasal cavity without his consent. Forcing the appendage down, he slowly turned and leveled his husband with an exhausted gaze. "Ink. No."

"Aw. Come on, Dream! We need jelly!" Ink whined, childishly. His paint-splattered arms lifted an unopened jar of strawberry jelly.

A smaller version of the guardian duo then popped out from behind the artist and copied his posture and tone. "Yeah, mom! Jelly!"

"Palette, you know better than to behave like this." Dream scolded. "And, Ink, quit teaching our son bad manners."

Neither skeleton truly acknowledged his words because they were too busy beginning to chant "jelly." Over and over again.

The Guardian of Positivity felt his right eye socket twitch with each successful utterance of the word. "We are not getting jelly, and my decision is final."

 

Cross and Nightmare were peacefully going about their weekly shopping trip in the grocery store: checking out the fifty percent off holiday chocolates, talking about what foods to get for Horror cook throughout the next seven days, and more or less enjoying each others company.

They continued doing that until the more menacing of the two felt a presence lurking behind and warm breath creeping down his neck. A desperate, quiet voice whispered in his nonexistent ear, "Fake my death. Take me with you."

The Guardian of Negativity spun away from the cheese section, stopping face-to-face with the crazed-looking monster he, unfortunately, called "brother."

"What the hell, Dream?!" Nightmare demanded, drawing the attention of his shopping companion, who had been glaring at a dairy brand's cow mascot.

People glanced toward them at the shout but quickly proceeded to return to their own business.

Dream also did not seem too off-put as he pushed himself further into the darker's space (till their nasal cavities almost touched), grabbing ahold of his ooze-coated hoodie, and said, "Fake. My. Death- and take me with you! Quick before they realize I'm gone."

Nightmare roughly pushed the other a few steps away, opening his jaws to decline when-

"Night..." Cross gently placed a hand on his shoulder. A soft, pleading expression laid within his eyelights, forcing him to concede.

"Oh, alright. But remember to take your shoes off when we get home. I don't want you tracking glitter all over my mansion."

Notes:

Dream: *shopping because he is the only functional person in his family*
Ink & Palette: *screaming in the background*

Nightmare & Cross: *shopping like normal people*
Nightmare: *spots Dream* Oh, f*ck no! *turns to run*
Dream: *grabs onto Nightmare before he can escape* Please, brother. Kill me and send me to the heavens where people are sane.
Nightmare: No.
Cross: *pouting*
Nightmare: Fine. We can keep him.
Cross & Dream: *best friend high-five*

Chapter 70: The Legend of Stink

Summary:

Blue learns how to use a bucket of water.

Notes:

Just some crack conceived by a sleep-deprived human.

Water splashed to the ground. Blue grimaced as it narrowly missed his dry armor and halted all movement, swiftly steadying the metal bucket clutched between his hands. The wet, soapy contents inside gradually became still. Thus, causing a relieved sigh to brush past his jaws. Then he resumed his harrowingly slow-paced journey through the Doodlesphere by taking one step at a time.

Thankfully, the unique realm had ample beauty to admire during the trek.

Its warm orange-tinted sky stretched far and wide. Hints of yellow, pink, and light purple hid within its depths, adding more color alongside the pale blue and white clouds drifting by; additional hues laid on neighboring floating islands. From green to brown to every color flower under the nonexistent sun- it held the vibrancy of a painting not even the most seasoned artist could conceive.

Well, no artist aside from the resident one.

While the Underswap Sans traveled the dirt path leading to Ink's awkward yet creative dwelling, he thought back to what brought him here: a text from Dream. It was more than just any text, however. It contained an urgent request followed by a code word, cyan, which remained to date one of their most serious color codes.

Though, Blue had no clue how a bucket of soapy water would help the situation. Or why the Guardian of Positivity needed it. Each text sent to inquire about the matter got left unread and unanswered- another indication of how severe the circumstances must be.

A multicolored door belonging to an equally colorful skeleton brothers'-styled house soon entered view. Despite being the appointed location, no noticeable signs indicating any activity - criminal or otherwise - were visible. Neither a single arrow nor paint attack littered the surrounding area, and the Doodlesphere's deafening silence seemed to be missing the howl of evil cackles; Not to mention the good-natured, friendly banter of his fellow Star Sanses.

Did I arrive too late, or is Dream just overreacting, he wondered. The frown marring his skull deepened. No. No, Dream wouldn't have used that code unless something serious is going on here.

...But what caused him to?

A heavy feeling coiled in the pit of his nonexistent stomach at the mere possibilities.

So Blue cautiously approached his artistic friend's front door and readjusted the bucket in his grasp to dangle from its handle, freeing up his other hand to knock on the painted surface. When gloved knuckles met wood, only a light thump sounded before the force pushed it ajar. His body froze instantaneously. Eye sockets widening and bone lightly trembling. Then a foul scent wafted through the crack. Something far worse than the least visited parts of Waterfall's dump (and his brother's unwashed hoodie collection).

Slowly, the armor-clad skeleton nudged the door open all the way. Light from the Doodlesphere spilled into Ink's living room/kitchen, illuminating piles of trash and rot; a true gag-inducing sigh to behold.

He took a tentative step into the filthy space, hesitantly calling out, "Dream? I have the bucket of water you-"

The words got cut off when a tan and black blur bolted from one of the trash heaps in front of him, moving far too quickly and too close for comfort. It pleaded in desperation, "Save me!"

Though, its pleas went unrecognized.

"Ah!" Blue shrieked, instinctively throwing his arms forward in defense. An action that inadvertently sent the contents in the bucket sailing toward the creature. Loud splashes followed by a startled yelp confirmed a direct hit.

"Betrayal!" A familiar voice howled. The sound of staggering footsteps and a thud soon echoed through the room.

He lowered his arms, eyelights drifting down to his scarer. There sat a filth-covered, dripping wet skeleton surrounded by all manner of garbage (paper, plastic, cans, and- soiled fruitcake?). Pouting, they gazed up at him with a blue teardrop and a grey, broken heart housed in their eye sockets.

The young Star Sans instantly recognized the owner of the shapes, mildly embarrassed he hadn't before.

"Gosh, Ink! I'm so sorry! You startled me." Blue cried, throwing the bucket aside and walking over to his friend. Careful to avoid the new slippery area and hazardous waste (i.e., fruit cake).

Ink, to his credit, seemed to take the apology well; Hardly wasting any time before pushing himself to his feet (though not brushing away the residual trash) and giving a nod of understanding. Possibly already forgetting why he was being apologized to in the first place.

Suddenly the overhead light flicked on. Its warm, yellow glow showered the room in artificial light and fully revealed the previously unseen terrors in Ink's unclean home. A dark fuzzy substance crept up the walls, trash mounds were scattered everywhere, and what was quite possibly once a regular pizza scuttled under the couch like a feral possum.

But neither skeleton focused on that.

Blue even active looked away. In an attempt to not ruin Ink's carpet further and to prevent witnessing something else disturbing.

So, alongside the artist, he jerked his head toward the staircase, which led to a surprisingly cleaner, more pleasant to gaze at section of the house. Dream stood on the bottom-most step bearing an expression best described as a mix of fury, disgust, and concern. What appeared to be a disposable face mask covered his mouth and nasal cavity, and his left hand brandished a floor scrub brush while the other contained a spray bottle filled to the brim with soap.

Beside the Underswap Sans, a horrified murmur of "He found me." was drowned out by the yellow-clad guardian's commanding voice. "Blue! Quick, block the door. Don't let him escape."

And he almost did just that. However, two hands quickly latched onto both his shoulders and spun him around, forcing him to meet Ink's desperate eyelights. "Don't listen to him; Let me out!"

Blue stiffened, confused. Who was he supposed to listen to? Ink? Dream? The odd, living pizza that scurried through the papers and plastic somewhere behind him? Knowing the situation would certainly help make the decision easier.

Alas, his own conclusion on the matter would have to do.

"I-ink? Maybe you and Dream should work out your issues instead of fighting?" Uncertainty laced his voice as he glanced between his two tense friends. "Somewhere neutral. Less smelly, perhaps."

"No! I am the Stink Guardian, Guardian of the Stink. And I shall not succumb to the sanitary power of-"

A growl emanated from the left, making Ink flinch back ever-so-slightly. Loud footfall accompanied by paper/plastic rustles drew closer and closer. Finally, Dream stepped into his peripheral vision and pointed the long handle of the scrub brush threateningly at the other. "We talked about this. Either you are taking a bath, or I am giving you one!"

"You'll never defeat my stench!" The Guardian of AUs (Stink?) proclaimed. Defiance laced his features up until Dream slowly raised the spray bottled and pulled the trigger, sending him to the ground howling, "Ahh! Soap in my eyes!"

Blue watched in mute horror, unable to help when the other's yellow-clad assailant continued the soapy assault. Finishing up the treacherous task by turning to him, stating, "I would ask for the bucket of water, but it seems you already used it."

He blinked. Blue eyelights flitted toward the wet ground, and then the empty bucket making itself at home amongst the trash, ultimately landing on Dream. "W-well, yeah? But- uh, that's not important. What- what is going on here? Why are you two fighting? Why is there trash everywhere, and what's with Ink and his war against cleanliness?"

A mighty sigh echoed through the air while Dream shook his head in exasperation.

"He decided it was time for a change in his guardianhood and - for reasons I can't possibly fathom - chose to dedicate his life to protecting the smell of trash instead of the AUs." The Guardian of Positivity explained unhappily. "Needless to say, he has been ban from quite a few AUs since then; Gotten more than a few complaints too. Sci is livid that he 'accidentally' contaminated a bacteria-sensitive project, and he certainly won't be welcome back in Underfell any time soon."

In other words, he got bored, Blue's mind helpfully supplied. He opened his jaws wanting to touch further on the subject. However, a vengeful rumble sounded first.

"You may have cleansed me, but the stink will live on in my memory." Ink glared up at Dream with a red target and blue teardrop in his eye sockets, looking somewhat reminiscent of a cat who had just gotten an unwelcome bath.

The yellow-clad skeleton responded by wordlessly leaning down and wrapping a hand around the artist's beige scarf. The owner's hiss of warning did little to deter the hand from tugging the article loose before dropping it into the soapy water pooled on the ground. As the liquid seeped in, the inky lettering lining the interior bleed, becoming smudged beyond recognition.

"No, my memory!"

Chapter 71: Money Can Buy Happiness, So Let's Sell Misery

Summary:

Nightmare decides to take a more "scholarly" approach to spread negativity.

Cross, Killer, and Horror felt a joint wave of confusion as they reported to the AU and the location Nightmare had summoned them to. The confusion only grew when nothing negative stood out in the surroundings. In fact, one could almost say it looked peaceful- which was not something the trio imagined after their boss proclaimed he found a new, "legal" way to inflict negativity upon the masses. Thus, leading each Sans to blink uncertainly at the scene.

Under clear blue skies and circled by a vast parking lot/forest sat a large three-story, red-brick facility. A freshly minted sign that spelled (in a generic horror movie font) "Fear University" hung above the front most entrance as well as on the sides of the structure; sprinkled throughout the area were other similarly styled buildings.

Nightmare soon emerged from beyond the glass, push-pull doors, causing nonexistent eyebrows to raise. Their terror-inspiring leader, dressed in a suave dress shirt and pants, greeted, "Evening, boys. I take it you didn't have too much trouble finding your way here."

Most of them nodded in response. However, a specific eyelightless skeleton bearing a target-shaped soul deviated slightly.

"Yeah... Where is here exactly?" Killer asked while shifting his skull left to right, examining the area.

"Here-" Nightmare gestured toward the main building, stating proudly, "is my new college."

"We're in the middle of nowhere, and you build a school here!" Battle-worn hands motioned at the barely visible signs of civilization (buildings, lights, etc.) sitting beyond the horizon.

That prompted the dark lord to roll his cyan eyelight. "Of course. I wanted the optimal location to make sure the students feel as isolated from their loved ones as possible. The fact there are long-distance commutes for those who live off-campus is merely a bonus."

"Why a... school?" Horror drawled, lightly scratching at the edges of his skull injury with a perplexed frown.

"Because my brother just opened a therapist office called 'Find The Rainbow' in the Omega Timeline to help monsters that have lost their AU process their grief; healthily. Meaning multiversal negativity is lowering far too much for my liking since non-locals have begun visiting that accursed place." Tendrils lashed irritable behind Nightmare, and a snare marred his face as he spoke.

Killer chuckled. "So Dream boy has gotten into the business of selling happiness? Guess we have our work cut out for us."

"Dude, doesn't that contradict the phrase 'money can't buy happiness?'" Cross said, furrowing his nonexistent brows before turning to the more negativity-laden of the pair.

"Yes, and no. Money is incapable of purchasing 'happiness' in certain circumstances. However, the opposite is also true. People can buy things that make themselves or the ones around them happy, and depressed people can get therapy- from my brother." The last three words were laced in spite.

And, though the explanation quelled the curiosities of two of his followers, one remained unsatisfied.

Horror crossed his arms, grumbling, "Still... doesn't explain the school."

"Schools are nature's most advantageous ground for brewing misery and the like. Between student debt, stress-inducing classes, surprise quizzes/tests, and mandatory overpriced textbooks, there will be many opportunities to harvest negativity in a place such as this." Nightmare added, rubbing his hands together like a standard cartoon villain. "In addition to all those wondrous factors: the cafeteria food will meet all nutritional standards but taste utterly terrible, all three of you are to be assigned as teachers, and we will have the worst student counselor."

"Dibs on teaching the biology class!" Kill shouted, promptly vanishing into the building to create whatever terrors he had in mind for the curriculum. No doubt something that involved knives.

Nightmare sighed and followed after him, leaving Horror and Cross alone.

The former took one look at his companion, shrugging, "Well... I'm goin' to the cafeteria."

"Didn't Nightmare say the food is terrible?"

"One: No such thing as terrible food, only... unappreciated. Two: Don't care. Food is food."

Chapter 72: It's Not A Cult!

Summary:

Do you ever get collector's anxiety?

Nightmare stood on the outskirts of Snowdin. The gang to his back. Each member tense and bearing their weapon(s) of choice, ready to spring into action on his command. Meanwhile, he himself remained composed as his sharpened tendrils shifted (anxiously) behind. Their foes were in a similar formation along the tree line a few paces ahead, with Dream taking the lead while Ink and Blue covered his back. The former had his staff already drawn and pointed toward the dark lord in a mock threatening fashion.  

Neither side moved. 

Snowflakes flitted through the space separating the two forces. Silence hung in the air like an impenetrable fog, only being broken by the occasional howling winds and crunches caused by snow poffs falling from the trees and onto the ground. A light breeze sweeping across the land nipped at the dark sludge coating Nightmare's secretly frail, silvery bones. But he dared not shudder in the face of his brother. Instead, keeping his expression stoic and form unmoving. 

His brother did likewise despite the thin layers of clothing covering his small, weak body. Clothing that no doubt provided little warmth in the snowy environment. 

One could call their current pause a standoff. However, that couldn't be further from the truth. This pause was merely a formality- a chance to evaluate their opponents' status (magical, physical, mental, etc.), the situation, and the steps required to overcome said situation. 

The real standoff began when both the twins' eyelights met. Yellow blazing at cyan through narrowed eye sockets. And vice versa. 

After several moments passed, Dream appeared to pick up that Nightmare wasn't going to make the first move. So he raised his yellow staff and proclaimed, "The negativity spread by you and your cult ends here, brother."

"It's not a cult. It is my elite team of henchmen." The Guardian of Negativity snarled, crossing his arms over his puffed-out chest. Then, as if to prove him otherwise, a low melodic hum followed by hushed chants echoed from behind.

"Hail the night!"

"Summon the greater darkness!"

"Spill blood for the shadows!"

"Bask in the eternal negativity!"

Nightmare scowled over his shoulder, very pointedly ignore his brother's skeptical eyebrow raise, snapping, "Will you four stop with the chanting and humming already! You've been doing it all week; I have half a mind to cancel that goat sacrifice you all begged me to get an altar for as punishment."

In response, the noise lowered but did not cease entirely. 

Dream merely stared. "Nightmare...  really ? You can't be serious."

"Of course I a-" The negativity-laden skeleton halted mid-sentence when an ear-grating scratching started up. Then fully turned toward his followers and jabbed a phalange at the figure crouched in front of a small stone. "Killer, quit using your knife to carve runes and pentagrams into the rocks. You know the chips it causes to your blade are hard to repair."

"Brother..."

Nightmare spun on his heels at the disappointed, almost pitying voice. His eyelight flared, and tendrils angrily thrashed.

"No matter what you think, it's not a cul-" A burnt, herbal smell wafted through the air, redirecting the dark lord's attention back to his "not" cult. "Ugh, Cross put away the candles. And, Horror, get the goat skull off your head! You have no idea where it's been or if it's received the proper cleaning treatment."

In the background, Ink leaned over to Blue and whispered next to his nonexistent ear, "It's definitely a cult."

The Underswap Sans couldn't help but silently nod in agreement. 

Chapter 73: Is It Too Late To Get A Refund?

Summary:

Killer and Horror are concerned about their new teammate.

Killer trod the cold, candlelit halls of the castle he'd taken residence in with a wide grin stretched along his jaws. Trailing a few paces behind were Horror and their small team's new rookie, Cross- a Sans, much like themselves.

The skeleton's figure had that particular stockiness signature to most Sanses, except less on the rotund side and more on the well-built warrior side; his height reached just an inch taller than Killer's. (No, he wasn't jealous. Not in the slightest!)

Each step Cross made flexed the invisible muscles hiding beneath his heavily layered clothing. (The eyelightless murderer definitely wasn't jealous of that either.)

However, despite the other's envy-inspiring physique, his aura held a sense of solemn acceptance; defeat. A trait only magnified by the lifeless, red/white orbs in his eye sockets and blank expression. (To think other monsters thought Killer was emotionless. At least he emoted more than a bag of potato chips.) It didn't help that the fuzz lining the collar of his black and white jacket drooped in a way akin to wet dog fur.

Like a kicked puppy left out in the rain, the eldest member of Nightmare's gang thought. Me and Horror will have to do something about that.

Teach him how to have real fun- playing in the rain to track mud all over the castle (and anger Nightmare), leaving soap in Nightmare's slippers, throwing plates out the kitchen window, blowing glitter in Dream's eye sockets mid-battle, and all the good stuff. Maybe I'll be able to convince him to put a fake mustache on Nightmare while he's sleeping.

Better yet, we all need to get fake mustaches and see how long we can walk around that hub AU Ink created before anyone recognizes us! And I'll find Ink's address and send him a pineapple pizza- No, wait, he'd probably like that.

Might even put chocolate syrup to it too.

Killer fought down the urge to grimace at the mental image. Once the feeling passed, he chanced a glance toward his colleagues. Horror and Cross still dutifully followed behind, and the light frown alongside the worried glances his oldest companion sent the rookie did not go unnoticed. Something to ask about when they got a bit more privacy. Or, in other words, successfully ditched their monochrome shadow for the day.

(Who knows why Nightmare thought they were qualified to babysit him in the first place. Their leader hardly trusted them to look after the herbal-smelling plants he had growing in the library. And that was on good days.)

Maintaining his smile, Killer turned the corner leading into the second floor's west wing (where all the bedrooms were). Nonexistent eyelights scanned the numerous oak doors before landing on the one right after his and Horror's rooms. He led the way toward it, only stopping to swing the door open and use one arm to gesture inside. All the while, proclaiming, "And here we are!"

Cross took a few tentative steps into the room, vigilantly combing over the sparsely furnished area. In an eerily monotone voice, he stated, "Ah, so this is my resting place."

"Resting place? Heh, you make it sound like you're already dead." Killer snorted, raising an invisible eyebrow.

The warrior's head turned in his direction, empty eyelights boring into his target-shaped soul. "Aren't we all just biding our time until the inevitable winds of fate turn us into sand?"

That successfully managed to get the forsaken Sans' smile to drop.

"Uh. Sure, buddy. How about you make yourself comfortable..." His sentence trailed off, brows pinching in concern as he watched Cross promptly lay face-first on the stone floor, listless and not all that dissimilar to a corpse. The following words hesitantly, if not uncertainly, brushed past his teeth, "And then we can t-talk about decorations?"

Silence hung in the air.

Killer carefully used a foot to nudge the other, earning not even a single budge or sign of life.

"Eugh." A grimace marred his skull, and he shuddered as a chill ran down his spine, taking several steps backward until he stood next to Horror. "I'm starting to think we should have let Dream take this one. He's kinda depressing. And in a way I'm not sure any amount of fun can help."

"...yeah," Horror mumbled, expression equal unnerved while his enlarged red eyelight fixated on their new teammate. "Should I... get a stick?"

"Uh, not yet. Let's wait a few minutes before we start poking him."

Chapter 74: Family Dinner

Summary:

Stretch discovers Blue has kids.

Notes:

Eh. Not entirely happy with this, but I suppose it will have to do.

Keys jingled together; Soon quieting before shifting to a deadbolt's loud click. The front door to the Underswap skeleton brothers' house opened inward, allowing a flurry of snowflakes to sneak inside. Quickly shuffling in alongside them was the lanky, orange hoodie-clad monster many knew as the youngest brother of the resident skeleton duo, Papyrus. Or Stretch, according to the Multiverse's many other Papyri.

A loud yawn escaped him while he hastily closed and locked the door behind himself, barring the Snowdin chill from snuffing the home's inner warmth. Then he kicked off his sneakers next to the doormat in a careless fashion that would no doubt make his classic counterpart faint in horror. And earn him his brother's patented "I'm not angry, just disappointed" expression. Something he had grown somewhat immune to, but only somewhat. Those looks were still highly effective when Blue wanted them to be. So Stretch tidied his shoes, placing them beside a worn pair of azure combat boots.

Usually, he may risk his brother's wrath by leaving them scattered about. Today, however, the lazy-ish skeleton thought better of it. The day had been bad enough with Muffet's being closed, forgetting to eat lunch, getting too distracted via puzzles (No matter what any Sans said, he and his fellow Papyri would solve the horoscope one day!), and having to walk home through the snow. (Because no food meant lacking magic for teleportation.) The last thing he needed was to be on the receiving end of Blue's disappointment on top of all that.

Though, I'd hardly be surprised if Blue found a reason to be disappointed in me despite my efforts. His mind helpfully added, It's just one of those days.

With a sigh, Stretch tilted his skull in the kitchen's direction. Light clinks from metal meeting metal followed by the consistent sound of oil sizzling echoed beyond the kitchen doorway. The mouth-watering scent of cooking taco meat and various other equally heavenly smells filled the air. Thus, prompting a few rumbly pleas to spawn from his nonexistent stomach.

Promises of food - and good food at that - proved more than sufficient to lure him toward the room. His feet were carrying him into the kitchen before the thought to do just that formed.

The orange hoodie-clad skeleton slowed to a halt past the entrance, taking in the scene. Blue stood in front of the stove, fully engrossed in pan-frying taco meat. A white apron shielded his cyan polo shirt and grey dress pants from stray grease splatters.

Unusual considering his brother ordinarily wore more casual clothing after work, and yet it didn't seem to be the strangest thing visible in the space.

Curious eye sockets blinked at the table and counters. A literal feast laid across the stone/wooden surfaces: a glass baking dish containing freshly baked mac and cheese, various-sized bowls holding prepared taco ingredients (shredded cheese, lettuce, diced vegetables [tomatoes, onions], and sour cream), a plate of hollow taco shells, refried beans, white rice, an absolutely wondrous-looking apple pie, and milkshakes.

Milkshakes.

Blue only made those on very, very special occasions like birthdays or big holidays. Any other day of the year, Stretch practically had to beg incessantly to get his brother to consider making the frosty ice cream delights, which made their appearance all the more baffling.

He raised an invisible eyebrow. "Woah. Big plans this evening?"

His brother jolted and spun on his heels (possibly preparing to hurl his spatula at Stretch) but smiled once he realized who snuck up on him. In a cheery tone, Blue answered, "Why, yes! If you bothered to look at the calendar this morning, you would know it is Father's Day. I hope you don't mind that I decided to invite my magnificent children over for dinner."

That sentence caught the lazy-ish Papyrus off guard, causing him to pause a moment to mull over the words. Eye sockets widening in disbelief when they fully processed.

"Wha- wait, children? Bro, when did you-" He sputtered, only to be cut off by the sudden ring of the doorbell.

"Oh, that must be them!" The older skeleton practically squealed in delight, placing down his cooking utensil, turning off the stovetop, and rushing out the room.

"Already?!" Stretch cried, giving chase. He followed Blue all the way to the living room, where he managed to catch his shoulder with a hand. A hand that got quickly brushed away, not disrupting his brother's movement in the slightest. In a last-ditch effort, he pleaded in a trembling voice, "Sans, stop! I'm not prepared to be an uncle, let alone a cool one."

Alas, the action was in vain.

Blue had already reached the front door and unlocked it, throwing it wide open to reveal the two least likely skeletons. Ones the orange hoodie-clad Papyrus never expected to be standing on the other side.

Each bore a striking resemblance to his brother, bearing a similar body type and stature- and that was about it before features began to differ considerably. The one located on the left appeared to be covered head-to-toe in a black, viscous goo with odd tendrils protruding from their back. They had their arms crossed in disdain and a seemingly permanent frown. Not to mention an eerie cyan eyelight that meticulously scanned the area, sucking the joy out of any soul (aside from his brother's) that it landed on.

Beside the dark being stood a plainer-looking monster whose yellow eyelights sparkled like little stars. A soft (possibly nervous) smile graced their jaws, and their bones shone a golden-ish tint in the Underground's natural lighting.

One would have to be a fool to fail to recognize them, two of the most powerful guardians in the Multiverse: Nightmare and Dream.

Stretch's brows knit while a light frown tugged at the corners of his teeth.

Are they here to drop off the kids, or...

Invisible eyelights peeked over their shoulders, hoping to catch a glimpse of tiny skeletons playing in the snow.

His "dreams" - no pun intended - came crashing down as his brother cheerily greeted the pair. "Nightmare, Dream, welcome to my humble abode! Also, hello!"

"Hey, Blue." Dream murmured, giving an awkward wave.

Meanwhile, Nightmare scowled further and allowed his tendrils to spike in annoyance. A menacing growl exited his jaws. "Hello, father."

Stretch promptly choked on air after hearing those words- or, more specifically, the term "father." From Nightmare. Who directed it at Blue, who seemed to beam despite the word sounding distinctly spiteful.

The three Sanses (Sansi, Sans, whatever the plural of Sans might be) turned to face him. Blue and Dream looked him over in concern, and Nightmare held the kind of expression that screamed, "I sincerely hope you are suffocating," which was a little troubling to behold. Sadly, the lazy-ish Papyrus had a tougher time behold his new knowledge.

He glances between them, struggling to keep his lower jaw from falling to the floor. Eye sockets eventually stopping on the bluer in the bunch. "How are they your children?!"

His brother donned a deadpan expression. "When two monsters love each other very much, they-"

"No, no, no, no- I do not need to hear about that part! What I want to know is how-" Stretch gestured toward the duo, leading the dark guardian's glower to return and the lighter to shift awkwardly in place. "are these two full-grown skeletons, who happened to have a tree as their mother, your children?"

"That is something I debate on a daily basis." Nightmare scoffed.

Blue shot him a reassuring look, replying, "The details are fuzzy- But, while I don't recall being intimate with a magical tree, that doesn't make them any less my sons."

That doesn't answer my question, he internally screamed.

Was Blue avoiding the topic, or did he genuinely not know or understand how the situation came to be? If not either of those, then what? Maybe Nightmare and Dream got adopted? That seemed like something his brother might do; adopt strange, powerful beings and invite them over to watch movies or eat dinner.

Before he could ponder further, Blue drew his attention by clapping his hands together and declaring, "Enough chit-chat, though! Come in; it's freezing outside, and I won't have my sons catching a cold."

As the duo walked inside, their supposed father said to the Guardian of Negativity, "Next time, you should invite my grandchildren to join us!"

"Grandchildren?!" Stretch wheezed.

"Of course. Nightmare is a proud father of four-" Blue started, only to be interrupted by a quick, flustered protest from Nightmare shouting, "No, I'm not!" Before seamlessly continuing with pride and joy lacing his features. "And I'm fairly certain Dream has his own little bundle of happiness on the way!"

The Guardian of Positivity blushed at the comment, choosing not to elaborate beyond, "You should visit the Doodlesphere sometime and help me and Ink choose a name. It would be nice to have someone to help me talk him out of naming the baby 'Paint Thinner'."

A wide grin spread over the addressed skeleton's face.

"Of course. I would love to. Now, let's get you two settled in for dinner! I made sure to make plenty for both of you so you can take some home; With how you're both always working so hard, I doubt you have the time to enjoy a proper homecooked meal." His brother turned to him, gently speaking, "Join us in the kitchen when you are ready but don't take too long. Nightmare and Dream might devour the apple pie before you have a chance to taste a single crumb!"

Stretch could only stare in shock while Blue soon ushered his children into the kitchen. After a few seconds, he slowly made the few steps it took to reach the couch and sat with a flop, letting his bones sag against the plush surface.

Children and grandchildren, his hands rose to rest flat across his face. Oh, stars, am I really that old? Where did all the time go? What have I been doing with my life?

The appendages gradually dragged downward, uncovering the upper half of his skull.

Welp, I guess I need to add existential crisis on my list of everything that has gone wrong today.

Notes:

After writing this, I can't unimagine Blue joining the Star Sanses to keep Nightmare and Dream out of trouble while trying to help them mend their relationship.

This 'verse would hold wondrous moments like:
I. "Oh, Nightmare, you're hurt! Please wait a moment while I get you a band-aid and a cookie."
II. "Dream, what did I say about shooting your brother with positivity arrows?! You know those hurt him far more than regular arrows."
III. "Ink, my friend-" *shifts to menacing tone* "If you ever make my son cry, I will trap you in a white box, push it into the Void, and make sure no one remembers you."
IV. "Nightmare, you are grounded. And no, I don't care if you don't live with me- You are going to your room and thinking about what you have done!"

Chapter 75: Waking Hours (1.1)

Summary:

Dream's not a morning person.

Notes:

Welp, here's this nonsense.

A short, round-skulled skeleton laid atop a fluffy mattress held by a simple wooden bed frame; eye sockets closed, jaws half-open, yellow sheets kicked to the floor, blue and yellow-starred pajamas wrinkled, and arms curled around the pillow nestled against his chest. All the while, soft snores escaped him as he slept.

The monster looked like any other Sans to most people when in this vulnerable state. However, his few close friends (and brother) knew that this was how Dream, the Guardian of Positivity, appeared during slumber. Peaceful, undisturbed by the (needy) residents of the Multiverse.

On the nightstand adjacent to his resting place sat three items: a plain desk lamp, a touchscreen cellphone adorned with a yellow case, and a digital clock that read "5:30 a.m." Once the clock struck "5:35 a.m.", a loud jingle began to play while the nearby cellphone's screen lit up with a familiar set of red/green buttons and a phone number. Thus, causing the sleeping skeleton to stir unhappily from his dreams.

"Ugh." Dream groaned, eye sockets squeezing further shut and a frown tugging at the corners of his teeth. A hand slowly released its fluffy captive to thump around on the nightstand in search of ear-grating noise's cause.

The appendage struck empty space several times before he finally cracked his eyes open and used his dull yellow eyelights to survey the surroundings. Shadows encompassed his bedroom, only the tiniest hint of sunlight filtered through the light blue curtains covering the left wall's two windows- making it relatively easy to locate the blinding, bright light found at the ringtone's source.

His phalanges captured the infernal device, promptly drawing it closer to his face. Eye sockets narrowing when its unholy luminescence shone directly in his eyelights. While reading (and rereading) the text, it took his sleep-addled mind an embarrassingly long time to connect the numbers displayed to a name.

Blue?

Dream thought after glancing toward the clock, Why is he calling so early in the morning?

Then his mind graciously reminded him it was around noon in Underswap, spawning the irritated question, Who believed it was a good idea for alternate universes to have different time zones? It wouldn't have killed the Creators to leave them all the same.

The continuation of a harsh rhythmic chime broke through his inner grievances, leaving him cringing.

Why had he picked that ringtone? It hardly seemed logical to be forced to listen to its horrid trills each and every time his blue-clad friend called. Not to mention, annoying when half-asleep and wishing to return to the dream realm he had previously occupied. A world spawned by his imagination that held a wondrous fantasy where he and Nightmare were on speaking terms, coexisting like their mother initially intended. Plus, enjoying a picnic on a beautiful grassy knoll surrounded by tall, majestic oak trees sat beneath a sky brimming with life; galaxies, moons, stars, and enough hues of purple and blue to make Outertale jealous.

It was great- until the dark lord stole his cookie and licked the apple pie they were supposed to share. The apple pie Dream slaved over in his imaginary home's kitchen as well as wished to taste, hoping to see the fruits of his labor. But no, Nightmare had to be greedy and take it all for himself.

Even in his sleepy haze, the anger the Guardian of Positivity felt from his faux brother's actions persisted strongly.

A huff brushed past his jaws. Color-muted eyelights flitted between the cellphone and the warm, inviting pillow that tempted him to lay his head to rest. And oh, how he wished to do just that- return to a slumbrous state where his irrational anger could fade away into the vast stretches of his mind.

Alas, the call could not wait. Blue knew better than to interrupt Dream's sleep this early in the morning, meaning the Underswap Sans had to have a good reason for disturbing him.

(If he didn't, stars save him from the passive-aggressive comments Dream would subject him to for the next seven days.)

He gave a mournful sign and pressed the "accept call" button, groggily groaning, "...What?"

"Oh, thank the stars," cried the distressed voice of his usually bubbly friend. The tone grew even more frantic with the following words. "Dream, I need your help! Ink got bored again and created- well, it is best, or worst in this case, seen in person. It's loose in my house, and I-I don't think I can catch it on my own. Normally, I would ask my brother for assistance, but he is too busy right now. As for Ink, he's currently laughing on my kitchen floor and in no mood to assist."

Of course. Ink, Dream's mind hissed. The last four days have been perfectly uneventful, and then he goes and does this.

Why can't he entertain himself with a book or TV show like a regular person?

"Alright. I'll be there as soon as possible." The Guardian of Positivity muttered (in barely contained annoyance), earning a relieved "Thank you!" from Blue before he ended the call.

Afterward, Dream thoughtlessly tossed his cellphone on the nightstand- not showing an ounce of care when it teetered dangerously close to the edge, threatening to fall off. He then rolled onto his back in a swift motion and blinked up at the ceiling. A second sigh brushed past his down-turned teeth. Lidded eye sockets fluttering as he laid in bed, desperately fighting the urge to close his eye sockets and forsake his friend to whatever creature Ink had unleashed upon his home.

Unfortunately, the pajama-clad skeleton's morality - the accursed angel on his shoulder - told him that "Good friends do not abandon each other." and "Helping Blue is what a good friend would do." Plus, a quieter and unenthused, "No matter how much you currently want to throw Ink at the problem and tell him to deal with it, you can't. You know he would only make it worse."

So, mustering a meager amount of energy, Dream forced himself out of bed and trudged to the light switch. The room lit up with a single flick. Consequently, revealing everything from his sparsely filled bookshelves to the laundry basket pushed in a corner against the wall. His eyelights wandered the illuminated space until they landed on a light oak dresser.

Scowling at the furnishing, he made the short journey over and clumsily pulled a copy of his traditional outfit from the many others folded inside. Soon shedding his bedwear and donning his iconic, sunshiny uniform: a light blue tunic, grey-blue trousers, yellow cape, and golden circlet with a sun etched into the front. Which he nearly neglected to place upon his skull prior to approaching his open bedroom door.

He paused in the doorway, double-checking for anything he may have forgotten. Absently clenching and unclenching his hands while going down his mental checklist before realizing something was missing, prompting him to look down at them.

...My gloves.

His head turned in the direction of his desk on the opposite side of the room. On its polished wooden surface laid the missing clothing articles he sought. Dim yellow eyelights examined the gap separating him and the gloves- the distance being two feet more than he was willing to walk for a measly accessory.

Hmm. No, I'll make do without them.

Dream's skull turned back toward the hall beyond his doorway. He trod the dark, narrow space after taking the briefest moment to turn off the bedroom light. While passing through to the living room, he waved a middle finger in the direction of a hanging picture containing him, Blue, and Ink standing in front of a beach with smiles on their faces. Then proceeded to walk by his fluffy blue sofa and into the kitchen.

The room where his revered coffee maker awaited.

Chapter 76: Waking Hours (1.2)

Relief flooded his soul as he crossed the threshold that divided the cooking area from the rest of the house, and his eyelights instantly went on the lookout for the device. They flitted from countertop to countertop, momentarily landing on the stray beams of light peeking through the curtains hanging above the sink. Chirps and chitters made by the early-rising wildlife sounded in the dusky world beyond. Each distinct animal cry joined together to create a cheery, upbeat song.

Not that that did anything to alleviate his morning grouchiness.

The yellow-clad skeleton would need four cups of coffee or three extra hours of sleep for him to become his usual chipper self. Something he needed to be. After all, the last thing he wanted was to frighten someone accidentally. Aside from Nightmare, Ink and Blue were the only other monsters to hold the knowledge of his less than stellar morning attitude. And appearance.

Or, in the words of Ink sometime prior to shoving coffee at him, "Woah, Dream! If you go into Underfell looking like that, someone is going to think you're going to murder them, their family, pet, and houseplants."

His frown quirked up a fraction at the memory, and as his gaze moved away from the curtains, he spotted a medium black/silver object resting by the sink: the coffee maker, the only machine in his house that could produce the nectar of the gods. (And, no. Despite Ink's whining, he and Reaper did not occasionally get together for coffee dates every Friday. Dream did not have the death god's favorite coffee order - a triple espresso topped with whipped cream and cinnamon - memorize by heart either.)

The Guardian of Positivity wasted no time before approaching it. A hand swiftly pressing the "on" button while the other reached up, opening the above cabinet to retrieve his beloved, apple pie-flavored coffee grounds and a cup. His phalanges randomly grasped the nearest one, a novelty mug that said "#1 Stabby Sunshine" across the front, and deposited it beneath the machine's spigot. Next, he took a quick look at the attached water reservoir. It had at least a cup's worth of water left from the previous day, leading him to channel his inner laziness and forgo fetching more. Then he shoved the ground coffee into the nearest filter; Soon plopping it in, pressing the "start" button, and waiting in anticipation.

The water gradually began to boil and bubble. Steam hissed, exiting via a small vent on the machine's backside. Shortly after, heated liquid worked its way through the device, passing the loaded coffee filter and trickling out the tap. Thus, slowly filling his mug with piping hot caffeinated wonder. A rich, light brown substance that held promises of not only a delicious, apple-y taste but a slightly more wakeful morning too.

Its incredible cinnamon-apple scent wafted in the air, tempting the yellow-clad skeleton to abandon his cup and drink straight from the tap. But he refrained himself. He would not stoop to such lows.

Yet.

However, once the coffee maker fell silent, Dream greedily snatched the mug from its resting place. Hands pressed against the burning ceramic surface, drawing it to his teeth. He took a deep sip without so much as flinching as the scolding hot liquid poured down his invisible throat. It caused a light tingle to course through his body as his magic absorbed the beverage, adding a well-needed boost to his mood and energy supply.

His lackluster eyelights sparked with reenergized magic and returned to their vibrant golden-yellow color after a few moments, giving them an almost cheery appearance. (Though, the same could not be said for his face. For it maintained his signature early-morning scowl; lessened yet still prominent.)

A low hum escaped his jaws.

How can anyone live without coffee, he wondered. It's the perfect thing to drink before starting the day.

And the Guardian of Positivity was hardly the only monster who felt that way. The one thing he and Reaper could always agree on was that the beverage was a gift from the gods. Sometimes literally in the raven-winged skeleton's case since his Papyrus, a God of Death, often gifted him the substance if only to prevent him sleeping on the job.

A light yellow blush spread across Dream's skull at the thought of his fellow coffee-lover. Meanwhile, he glanced toward the plain calendar hanging on the wall. The upcoming Friday listed had a little inverted heart doodled in the corner of its square.

I'm going to need to check if our date is still on for tomorrow- Need to know whether or not I'll be clearing my schedule and making reservations for that neat cafe I found.

I really hope Reaper likes cats.

The yellow-clad skeleton felt nervous excitement stir in his soul but was left sighing when he finished the last drops of his beloved coffee. He stared dejectedly into the empty mug's hollow depths. Exhaustion nagged at his being despite the caffeine he'd already provided. It screeched, demanding further sacrifices to complete his morning ritual of waking up. A ritual that conflicted with his and Blue's prior conversation- i.e., the conversation where Dream foolishly accepted to help the other in clearing whatever chaos Ink summoned to torment his home. (Which consequently deprived him of desperately needed rest.)

Not to mention, he assured his fellow Star Sans aid would arrive soon.

"Soon" being another minute or two. Possible even more.

Or less.

The true answer depended on how much time had passed since the aforementioned conversation. But perhaps there was still enough time to brew two - or, more accurately, four - more cups of coffee? He turned his head to the side, eyelights flicking toward the microwave's clock and catching the time displayed: "5:55 a.m."

The number bred panic in his soul.

Eye sockets widening, Dream promptly placed his mug in the nearby half of the sink while his thoughts raced.

Twenty minutes have passed? Already?

How did all that time pass? Did I lie in bed longer than I thought? How much time does this leave me to get ready to travel to Underswap? Do I have enough time to make another cup of coffee?

The abandoned mug received a sorrowful look.

No, postponing any longer will only make me far later than promised.

His feet then hastily carried him out of the kitchen and into the living room, where he proceeded to grab his golden boots from beside the front door, quickly adding them to his ensemble. A hand gestured to the side afterward, making a small tab that displayed the items in his inventory appear.

The Guardian of Positivity scanned the contents with about as much intensity as his tired mind could muster. All the while, pondering, Do I have everything I need?

Minus his gloves and cellphone, yes. He couldn't imagine needing anything beyond the few monster candies stuffed in there and his housekeys. (As well as a few more cups of coffee. But, alas, time seemed to be working against him.)

The only question that remained was: Which method of transportation should he use to reach his friend? Preferably as quickly as possible.

For a more scenic experience, usually traveling through the Doodlesphere or Omega Timeline was the way to go- unfortunately, those routes were far longer and easier to get lost on (because Ink couldn't go two days without change things around). And since the yellow-clad skeleton wouldn't dare to attempt to use one of those machines other Sanses insisted on traveling with, that left him a single option: teleportation.

An exasperated puff of air wiggled its way past his teeth.

While far from the worst option, teleportation still had some flaws. Blue's distressed emotional state made it difficult to key on to his location, making it harder to teleport directly to him. So, Dream needed to do it the old-fashioned way- AKA, think very hard about the place he wanted to go to and open a rift through the Void leading there. Which was easier said than done. That form of teleportation proved a little more challenging for him to perform. Despite how navigating the inky black depths seemed almost like second nature to most Sanses.

Nevertheless, he silenced his internal complaints and focused, allowing his eye sockets to fall shut.

His mind called to memory the Underswap skeleton brothers' house, the omnipresent scent of tacos (and the undertone of burnt spaghetti from whenever Stretch got brave enough to practice his cooking skills), and an image of Blue standing in front of the doorway, waving at him. Those thoughts seemed to be enough to spark the guardian's teleportation magic.

Sunny-colored energy crackled around him; he could feel the chilling air of the void lick across his bones and the many invisible eyes- all of which shortly vanished. Replacing them was the more tolerable coldness found in the frosty zone of the Underground (Snowdin) and a sensation of pure, undisturbed solitude.

Chapter 77: Love Is Blind

Summary:

Dream has concerns about his son's love life.

The sun shined overhead, casting beams of light across the lands. The vast blue skies it inhabited were clear, barring one exception (not being the many black and white avians patiently circling their prey). Enormous, fluffy grey clouds laid beyond the horizon with a promise to bring turbulent rains later in the day.

Alongside the present scent of approaching storms, salty/fishy odors signature to the beach hung in the air.

The old wooden pier connected to the tan sandy stretch below was bustling: humans/monsters walking or chatting together, children laughing and playing, and seagull - the beach's sandwich mercenaries - flocking to wherever food awaited. No matter if discarded or still clutched in the hands of an unsuspecting victim.

Colorful booths offering various things (food, games, and prizes) lined the structure's edges, drawing more customers to the tourist spot.

Dream hummed, basking in the pleasant emotions emanating from the surrounding beachgoers. It was practically a buffet of positivity. If his brother approached here, he'd probably slink away in disgust. Thus, making it the perfect place for their family vacation. Or brief weekend off since he and Ink (but primarily just himself) couldn't be away from their jobs for too long.

Who knew what Blue had managed to accomplish without someone to keep his shenanigans at bay, especially because Ink brilliantly decided to leave the little chaos-maker in charge during their absence. The Council might very well already be in a state of disarray. And not even a full day since their departure passed yet.

However, more immediate problems were on his mind.

The yellow-clad skeleton lightly shifted on the wooden bench beneath him. Beach attire (tank top, shorts, sunglasses, and sandals) replaced his usual grab, helping him blend into the normal crowd.

Beside him sat Palette. A lovestruck expression rested on his son's face while he watched Goth (whom he asked to join them on their trip).

"Isn't he adorable?" The young artist released a soft chuckle, smiling at his friend. Boyfriend? No one knew whether or not the couple had made it official.

Yellow eyelights followed his gaze, settling on a white-cloaked monster half-submerged in a distant trash can as they rummaged inside.

"Of course, Pal." The Guardian of Positivity agreed dishonestly. All the while, thinking, Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. And he is definitely beholding-

A daring lizard monster - or an ignorant one - slowly began to walk by the occupied trash can. Goth promptly pulled himself out of it to shriek at the passerby, causing them to skirt around the feral crow-skeleton and dash away. Afterward, the death god-in-training plunged right back into the discarded plastics and papers on his quest for half-eaten foods.

Something. Palette is beholding something, and I'm still not quite sure how I feel about it.

Dream quietly added, "It would be nice if he wasn't digging through the trash, though."

"But Dad does that all the time too? He's doing it right now." Palette's smile twisted into a confused frown; one of his hands lifted, pointing to the right.

"Wait- what?!" He turned toward the direction indicated. And low and behold, there Ink was exploring a nearby trash can much like Goth. "Ink, get your face out of that trash can this instant!"

"No- wait, I almost have it. Yes!" The protector arose from the metallic bin, clutching a surprisingly unblemished chocolate doughnut. A triumphant grin spread across his face.

"No. Put that back where it belongs." The Guardian of Positivity chided.

Greedy hands drew the pastry closer, similarly to how a goblin would clutch its prize close to its chest- the exact opposite of what the yellow-clad skeleton wanted. Ink then narrowed his eye sockets and released a sharp, airy sound.

Dream scowled in return, demanding, "Did you just hiss at me?"

Instead of answering, Ink did something that honestly should have been expected. He made a guttural clicking noise before scurrying away like a demon crab-walking with the doughnut clutched between his teeth, which received more than a few horrified expressions from the people standing along the pier. In fact, one of those very disturbed individuals (a humble hot dog salesman) cried a near-silent "Oh, god. Not another one! Why do we still allow weird gremlin skeletons near the food stalls?!"

An exasperated puff brushed past Dream's teeth.

"Can you wait here while I go get-" He turned to face his son, only to be met with an empty seat. "Palette?"

His eyelights frantically began scanning the area, eventually landing on the young artist who had apparently decided to join Goth and now had his hands deep in trash.

A light tap on the guardian's shoulder distracted him right before he stood up to retrieve the pair.

A man dressed in a guard's uniform stood behind him, mouth drawn in a thin line and eyes narrowed. In a clear voice, he said, "Sir, can you please tell your family to stay out of the garbage receptacles? The subsequent littering is bad for the environment, and they are scaring other civilians."

Dream sighed and scrubbed a hand down his face.

Is it too late to say I don't know them?

Notes:

I like to think that the Afterdeath family (primarily Reaper) has this one hot dog salesman they always torment, similar to Team Avatar and the cabbage merchant.

Chapter 78: To Call Forth Powers of Old

Summary:

Killer and Cross practice their summoning skills.

(Warning: This chapter contains mild swearing.)

Two cloaked - or, more accurately, dark sheet-robed - figures stood amid a candlelit room. Thin strands of smoke billowed from the wicks' easy-to-extinguish flames and filled the room with a calming, smoky lavender scent. (Because the candles may or may not have been stolen- liberated from a particular negativity-laden monster's bathroom, which would undoubtedly irk the other when attempting to take a relaxing bath after a hard day's work later.)

Darkness shrouded the space, barring the one area alight with a soft orange glow. Illuminated by its light was an odd chalk illustration that had a robed figure positioned on each side- left and right, respectively.

The unique art piece consisted of random, shaky lines connected to form a big star and circle. (Well, oval. But its artist was more than prepared to argue otherwise.) Senseless symbols (little stars, quadrilaterals, and meaningless blobs) laid inside the shape, adding further complexity to the poorly drawn chaos.

"This will be great!" The first figure chuckled, bony hands wringing together like how a stereotypical villain's would.

The second pulled their makeshift hood down, exposing mismatched eyelights and a red scar before responding in a nervous tone, "But, Killer, we don't even know what we're doing. What if something goes wrong or the floor catches on fire, or-"

Killer rolled his nonexistent eyelights and gave a dismissive wave of his hand, scoffing. "Relax, Cross. All this summoning nonsense is a bunch of bologna. We aren't actually going to summon anything with this disaster."

"Famous last words," Cross muttered, warily eyeing the supposedly nonfunctional summoning circle.

While ignoring the words, the usually hoodie-clad murderer produced pinecones and miscellaneous plant parts (petals, stems, leaves, etc.) from his inventory. He chucked them into the circle once the old grandfather clock hidden in the shadows stuck "3:00 a.m."

Anticipation hung in the air as they waited for something to happen.

Several seconds past and nothing did. However, right when Killer was about to be proven correct, a puff of black smoke erupted from the circle's center, engulfing the room.

"Oh, shit!" Killer swore, swiftly taking a knife into his hand and aiming it at the illustration's general direction.

Meanwhile, Cross shrieked. "My fears were perfectly justified!"

The magical smoke cleared after a few moments spent panicking, leaving not a single wisp behind. And the two froze at the sight revealed.

Inside the circle was their boss's greatest adversary: his brother, Dream. He only had enough consciousness upon his reveal to murmur a gentle, "... 'm not taking sacrifices right now. Go away."

Yellow pajamas covered his small, languid frame and light snores escaped from his jaws.

"Dream?!" Cross cried, staring down at the other.

"Cross?" The aforementioned guardian sleepily lifted his head and blinked up at the monochrome warrior in confusion.

"Killer!" An overly enthusiastic voice added.

Both turned to face the tear-stained skeleton, who pointed his blade at the smaller. "Okay, now that we have that out of the way: Why are you here?"

Dream's brow furrowed, yellow eyelights trailing down to the surface beneath him. "Wh- what? Why did you use my summoning circle?"

"How is this your summoning circle? All I did was throw a random forest junk together and scribble chalk on the ground!"

"Hmm, doesn't matter. Can- can you send me back home now? If 'm out of bed for too long, Ink 'ill steal the blankets."

Realization spread across Cross' face at the request, soon morphing into terror. "Oh, stars. Dream is in the hideout; Nightmare is going to kill us!"

Killer donned a similar expression but was left unable to voice his concerns due to a loud, wooden squeak echoing throughout the room. Thus, leading both to slowly as well as somewhat fearfully turn their skulls in the noise's direction.

As if called forth by the duo's fear, the door behind them had creaked open and in came a dark, oozing figure clad in purple sleepwear.

"Boys, it is the middle of the night. Why are you-" The Guardian of Negativity's sentence trailed off as his cyan eyelight scanned the state of the room (no doubt looking for anything broken or blatantly hidden), finally landing on Dream. An exasperated expression quickly overcame his sleepy scowl. He raised a hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nasal cavity, sighing. "Of all the demons you could have brought into the house, it had to be him."

"He did it!" Killer and Cross shouted in unison, pointing at each other.

All the while, the Guardian of Positivity curled up in his summoning circle and began to fall back asleep.

Chapter 79: Special Ingredient, LoVe

Summary:

Lust questions Horror's choice of ingredients.

Lust hummed a cheery tune as he entered his house, more than ready to rest his aching metatarsals on the couch after a long day's work. However, a divine, chocolatey smell wafted beyond the kitchen doorway, immediately drawing him into the room.

Horror, his loving boyfriend, stood before the counter with a spatula in his hands and a pink apron tied around his waist; atop the granite surface laid a plate of freshly baked cookies.

A small, excited gasp escaped the purple-clad skeleton's jaws. Which, in turn, drew the other's attention toward him.

With a grin, he approached and said, "Aw, you baked while I was out! What did you make them with? I don't recall having all the ingredients for cookies."

The red, swollen eyelight staring at him got briefly hidden by an uncertain blink. "They're made with... love."

Lust's grin faltered. "Oh, metaphorically?"

Horror silently glanced down at the cookies, not making a single attempt to respond.

Dread spiked in purple-clad skeleton's soul. He nervously re-asked, "You do mean metaphorical love, right?"

More silence answered.

"Alright! Well, let's just put these over here-" Lust gently took the plated cookies and moved them over to the counter, mentally adding, where no one will eat them. Then gripped the broken-skulled monster by the arm and guided him toward the kitchen doorway. ", and I'll order us some takeout. How does that sound?"

"...Okay."

"Good. Now, how about you go wait in the living room and watch some TV while I clean up the kitchen?" His mind added hopefully, And discreetly rid this household of your LoVe cookies without hurting your feelings.

Horror nodded and walked into the other room.

Only once the raggedy-clothed skeleton situated himself on the couch and turned on a rather loud action movie did Lust finally begin to enact his plan. That plan being: quietly stepping back to the counter, slowly taking the plate (as not to make any unnecessary noises), and stealthily masking his magic before teleporting to the metal platform hanging over the Core.

"I'm sorry, Horror, but this is the only way." He whispered, pulling his phalanges off the plate's sides and allowing it and its cookie down into the gaping darkness, where they would be spread across space/time.

 

Meanwhile, in the Void, four tall skeletons surrounded a newly arrived pile of crumbled cookies.

"What is this?" The most suggestively garbed in the bunch pondered aloud, eyeing the treats with curiosity.

"Perhaps another one of our illustrious doppelgängers." Theorized the lab coat-wearing Gaster standing beside him, who quickly stolen the ornate cane their well-dressed counterpart held, earning an indignant "Hey!" and a swift smack flying toward his skull. Which he skillfully avoided.

In classic Gaster fashion, the scientist promptly used its pointy end to jab a cookie and created a hole in the mysterious pastry. A green, demonic-faced smoke cloud spewed forth from the puncture.

No doubt a death omen.

"Intriguing." He murmured while adjusting his glasses.

A deep snarl escaped the spiky, red/black-armored skeleton in front of him. The exiled Underfell monster grabbed one of the chocolaty/bready masses off the ground and turned it about in his hand, inspecting it. "Idiots! It's likely just trash one of those ungrateful children of ours was too lazy to throw away properly or just wanted to mock us with."

Ardor - the Underlust skeleton in the group and aforementioned suggestively clad individual - followed suit, grabbing a cookie of his own, and checked the item. Thus, leading to a horrified gasp at what he discovered.

"Oh, dear Asgore. These could kill someone!" Right after the last sentence left his jaws, his purple-pink eyelights caught sight of the edgiest Gaster drawing his cookie to his teeth and taking a bite. "Raze, no! Spit that out this instant; who knows what it will do to you."

Alas, the words went ignored.

Raze swallowed, then gave the bitten cookie an appraising look before nodding in approval. "Hmm. Rich, chocolaty, and it packs a hefty punch to the HP. I can respect that. Asgore knows that's more damage than my worthless, sniveling 1 HP brat has ever done." He continued by giving it a stern look and declaring, "I'm going to name you Peril, and you shall uphold the skeleton family legacy!"

"...It is official now. We have been trapped here for too long."

"Agreed."

"Can I experiment on our new cookie children? You know, for old times sake?"

A chorus of irate no's answered.

Chapter 80: Sharper Than A Sword

Summary:

Cross' first battle against the Star Sanses. (Sequel to "Is It Too Late To Get A Refund?")

Nightmare stood in the shadows alongside his three oldest companions (Killer, Horror, and Dust), concealed by the lush foliage of the AU's Surface- i.e., a bush. The tendrils on his back swayed anxiously as his worried gaze fixed itself onto his newest gang member's black/white-clothed back.

He possessed some (quite possibly many) reservations about allowing the monochrome warrior to participate in his and Dream's ongoing war, especially since Cross wanted to fight the Star Sanses alone. In a one against three battle. Because the other held this twisted notion that he was required to prove his worth to the Guardian of Negativity and his fellow teammates.

But despite how much Nightmare yearned to stop this nonsense, he would respect the Sans' wishes. For now. Thus, leaving him watching - and prepared to intervene if need be - when Ink, Dream, and Blue appeared, looking for a fight.

They glance around in confusion, eyelights eventually landing on the one figure visible in the forest: Cross.

"You're not who we expected." Ink frowned, adding as an afterthought, "Have we met before?"

"No," Cross replied blandly.

Nightmare didn't like the playful grin that soon spread across Ink's face.

"Well, I'm Ink!" The soulless skeleton cheered, quickly followed by his friends chiming their own names. Next, the three fell into a dramatic formation, shouting. "Together, we are the Star Sanses!"

Killer shook his head in disapproval in the corner of the dark lord's vision, and Dust made a fake gagging noise.

"Prepare to be defeated!" Ink said smugly. All the while, pointing the bristly end of his paintbrush at the monochrome warrior.

Cross blinked, unintimidated. "I have researched all of you. I know what you eat for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, when/where you go to sleep, where you hang out, who your friend and enemies are, and the best way to defeat each and every one of you.

The Guardian of AUs gave a nervous chuckle. "Okay. Creepy."

Nightmare couldn't help but share the sentiment, and given the many hours Cross spent completing mundane tasks around the castle, the negativity-laden being had no idea when the armor-clad skeleton had time to create such a detailed portfolio about their foes. Or to stalk them.

Ink was promptly leveled with an unnerving, dead stare. A stare as emotionless as the soulless skeleton when off his paint.

Yet something slithered beneath the surface, only evident inside Cross' aura; something sly, considering. His white/red eyelights examined the art-loving guardian before he said, "No matter how flashy you are or how many people you save, at the end of the day, nobody will remember you."

The artist froze, taken aback in a way the Guardian of Negativity had never seen prior. Then he doubled over, collapsing to his knees, and spewed his namesake across the grass- promptly laying in it, much to his friends' dismay (and to the Dark Sanses disgust).

Cross proceeded to turn toward Dream, voice deadpan as he asked, "Don't you find it ironic to call yourself the Guardian of Positivity when not even you yourself are content and happy?"

"Wait, what? Dream, is that true?" Blue said, glancing at the yellow-clad skeleton.

"Yes, it's true! I'm miserable." Dream's confident stance quickly vanished; his lower jaw wobbled, and a sob broke past his invisible throat. "What kind of terrible guardian am I? How am I supposed to make people happy when I wish they'd all die?"

"Even me?" Ink whined from his position on the ground.

"Especially you!"

While the two "heroes" started to bicker in the background, the monochrome warrior and Blue locked eyelights.

"And you..." Cross moved his blank gaze away and simply stated, "Meh."

"What does that mean?!" The blue-clad skeleton demanded, offense lacing his voice.

"Nothing. Just that your so-called tacos are a disgrace to all tacos throughout the Multiverse."

"You take that back! My tacos are to die for, and I'll have you know, they killed someone just last week." Light blue, liquidy magic gathered around the Underswap Sans' eye sockets.

"Make me, taco desecrater."

Nightmare pinched the bridge of his nasal cavity, watching with an expression that could only be described as a tired/completely done with life. He then murmured under his breath, "Stars, we need to get him a therapist."

"Yeah."

"Agreed."

Killer and Dust chimed simultaneously while Horror merely nodded.

The dark lord's cyan eyelight shifted to land on his brother, who had apparently decided to take fate into his own hands and began to strangle Ink.

While I'm at it, I may need to find one for Dream too.

Chapter 81: Whispering Leaves

Summary:

Spooky nightmare.

Pitch blackness shrouded the sky, creating a near Void-like absence above where neither the moon nor stars shined. 

A dense oak forest encompassed the land below. The shades cast by its thick canopy consumed everything that laid beneath, leaving the area engulfed in an all-consuming darkness. 

Along the undergrowth were thick, barbed vines that twisted and weaved around the woods to form a guided path. At the beginning of the natural trail stood a stocky skeleton. He had a grey-stained, raggedy blue hoodie pulled over his skull and equally unkempt shorts and sneakers. 

Tremors ran through his body as his near-nonexistent eyelights roamed the shadows distrustingly. 

The logical part of the monster's mind insisted none of his surroundings were real, and yet fear still nipped at the erratically pounding soul housed within his ribcage. And, as strange as it seemed, he got a distinct feeling that was not where his soul was meant to be- which only served to make his unease grow stronger.

However, seeing little else to do, the skeleton carefully began to inch his way down the path; Keeping his eyelights vigilant, all the while. 

He walked the grassy dirt road for what felt like hours but couldn't have been more than a few minutes. During his journey, screechy demon-esque cries echoed beyond the shadows and vines that confined him to the forest's trail. That was until they suddenly fell silent, and the air stirred through the trees, carrying with it the subtle murmurs of whispering. 

Against better judgment, the skeleton followed the sound. 

And his decision was rewarded, for a large tree soon came into view. 

Unlike the others in the surrounding forest, this one looked diseased. Dark teal, almost black ooze dripped down its trunk, branches, and leaves; Each element seemed dry and shriveled, giving it a nigh withered appearance, and similarly colored, heart-shaped fruit hung from the slimy branches.

The faint hint of whispering grew ever stronger as he drew closer. 

The words sounded nonsensical at best, merely like murmurs meant to scare away passing travelers- at least, that's what the skeleton hoped the eldritch noises were. Based on sound and tone, they could just as easily be an ancient curse. Something only to be spoken by the monsters of old.

Though, a nagging thought in the back of his mind screamed that he should hold no fear, that the voice was a familiar one. One he should know. One that belonged to a monster whose name sat on the tip of his nonexistent tongue but remained annoyingly out of reach. 

Cautiously, the skeleton approached the twisted plantlife, coming to a halt right beneath its oozing branches, and listened. 

"Killer..." The leaves shook and whispered, "it's your turn to do the laundry."

"No!" Killer shrieked, jolting out of bed. 

In a flash, he was out for his room and throwing open the dining room doors, ignoring the startled looks from his fellow housemates.

His invisible eyelights scanned around the room, finally landing on the negativity-laden skeleton sat at the head of the table. He then rushed toward his father-like figure and haphazardly pushed past his nearest housemate.

"Dude, watch it! Precious cargo over here." Cross snapped, clutching a plate of chocolate chip pancakes.

Killer ignored him and threw himself into the Guardian of Negativity's lap, clutching at the fabric of the other's dark ooze-stained shirt.

"Please don't turn into a tree and whisper chores in my ears!" He begged. 

Nightmare raised a brow before setting down his cup of coffee. "I- I'm not even sure where to begin explaining everything wrong with that sentence."

Chapter 82: Doodle

Summary:

Only the maturest humor here today.

(Warning: This chapter contains adult humor.)

A congregation of stubby crayons scraped across a piece of paper, moving in lines and circles, then drew (no pun intended) away.

Palette grinned down at his scribble-y masterpiece and rushed off to show his parents.

They awaited in the kitchen- i.e., the room with all the pokey-hurty things the little inklet was not allowed to touch.

Dream noticed him enter the room first and smiled warmly, observing the crumpled paper in his hands. "Hello, Pal! What do you have there?"

He proudly puffed out his chest, lifting the picture for both skeletons to see.

The Guardian of Positivity gasped in (mock) amazement. "Aw, it's beautiful. It seems we have a talented young artist on our hands."

Ink blinked and examined the colorful lines and loops. A snort soon brushed past his teeth. "Hah, it looks like a penis!"

Dream gaped in shock at the other, seemingly lost for words.

Meanwhile, Palette's brows furrowed as he looked questioningly at his parents. "What's a pen-is?"

"Well, it's-"

Dream shrieked, slapping a hand over the elder artist's jaws. "Ink, no! He's too young for that!"

 

Palette stared at the horrified faces of his many uncles (Cross, Killer, Dust, Horror, and Nightmare), calmly sipping his tea before stating, "And that's how my father gave me a concept of genitalia at the age of four."

"I always told Dream he should have raised his standards." The Guardian of Negativity hissed, appalled by the tale.

The target-souled skeleton beside him snickered. "Sorry, boss, but I'm pretty sure he raised something else instead."

Nightmare sighed, pinching the bridge of his nasal cavity. "Killer?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

Killer leveled the dark lord with a deadpan expression. "Your input is noted but not appreciated and shall henceforth be ignored."

Chapter 83: Brand Deal

Summary:

Ever wanna buy some Nightmare brand nightmares?

Dream bit back a growl, placing the empty coffee pot back in its place and taking a moment to rub the bleariness from his eyes.

Mornings were the worst, especially- "Dad, quit hogging all the cereal!"

"I'm not hogging it!"

"Yes, you are!"

He turned to face his family.

Palette and Ink sat at the table, battling over this week's most popular breakfast food- tugging the box back and forth between them.

Dream moved to put a stop to their nonsense but found himself frozen in shock.

What caught him off guard was the strikingly familiar face plastered on the front of the box.

His brother's face, to be exact.

The Guardian of Positivity snatched the item out of their hands and drew it closer to his eyelights, ignoring the indignant "Hey!" that emanated from both his son and husband.

"Noot Loops. Taste soul-crushing evil in every bite. A free dead newt inside every box- Disclaimer: No newts got harmed during the making of this cereal?" Dream brows furrowed and his voice grew increasingly horrified while he repeated the text on the box's cover. Then he glanced over to the father-son duo. "What is this?"

"Cereal! It's surprisingly good too." Ink answered, making subtle grabby hands for the box.

"Yeah, I can feel my innocence dying with every bite!" Palette chimed, happily scooping another spoonful of the purple skull-shaped pellets in his bowl.

A grimace overtook the yellow-clad skeleton's face. "Okay. That's enough breakfast for you two."

Yellow magic encompassed their dishes and dumped them in the sink.

"Aw, boo! You're no fun." Ink pouted.

The younger artist followed by voicing his own grievances as well. "But my innocence! How will I lose it now?!"

"Yeah, we are definitely not keeping this." He withheld a huff and exited the room; Whining no's escaped the kitchen even as Dream left the house, making his way around to the outdoor rubbish bin.

Once there, he paused then glance over his shoulder toward the front of the house. A hand slowly reached into the box and returned with a piece of cereal.

After all, it would be a waste not to try it.

Right?

Dream popped it in his mouth and blinked, surprised when the flavor hit his invisible tongue. "Huh, apple-flavored?"

Nice to know Nightmare has a sense of humor, at the very least.

He proceeded to lift the bin's lid and hold the box over it.

His eyelight bounced between the two objects- the bin, the box bearing his brother's visage, the bin, then back to his brother's face again.

"Oh, Nighty, I couldn't possibly throw you away!" Dream sobbed, clutching the box to his chest. Bright yellow tears streamed down his flushed cheeks as tiny hiccups escaped his jaws.

The guardian struggled to regain composure for a while. But once he did, he stared into his cardboard brother's eyelight. It held a pleading, almost sorrowful quality to it- despite the trademark manic glint and matching deranged smile to go with it.

Dream sniffed, wiping residual tears from his face and pocketing the cereal in his inventory. "Well, I guess I'll just have to keep you."

 

Somewhere several AUs away, an ominous chill ran down the spine of a suddenly very nervous, negativity-laden skeleton.

Chapter 84: Brand Deal 2

Summary:

Mare-chandise.

(Warning: This chapter contains mild swearing.)

Killer made his way down the castle's winding, cold corridors to the kitchen; the curtains lining the pathway blocked out the subtle shine of the early morning sunrise.

Once at the destination, he immediately noted from the doorway that a dark looming presence hung in the space.

Nightmare.

The fear-inducing monster lurked behind the kitchen island, facing the entry. His body - tendrils and all - sagged against the surface in blatant exhaustion and his face remained set in a scowl. Within a goo-coated hand's grasp laid a bright coffee mug stating in a bubbly, light blue font, "Smile for the Stabbing."

Interestingly enough, though, two objects sat on the marble counter right next to the dark lord: a brightly colored teal box bearing the demented grinning face of the other and an equally horrifying dark form nearby it.

Killer rose an invisible eyebrow at the former item. "Boss, you have your own cereal?"

"Of course." Nightmare replied curtly.

Brows furrowed at the response. "Why?"

"Everyone loves a good villain, Killer." The Guardian of Negativity explained, only pausing to take a sip from his mug. "Which means they will buy anything that has my face on it. Which, in turn, means we'll earn more funds for the more expensive schemes we currently can not complete. For example, that thing Cross wanted to do with glitter."

"And the plushie?" The hoodie-clad murderer pointedly glanced at the space beside the box.

The exact spot where a teddy bear-sized stuffed animal made in the dark lord's image laid.

"My marketing department said it would appeal to younger audiences. It has one hundred and forty-two purchasable accessories and says my most popular phrases." A negativity-laden hand reached forward and gave a plush tendril a soft squeeze. An almost creepily accurate voice said, "The king is back, bitch!"

The faux tendril received another squeeze.

What came out was a garbled, delayed mess overlaid with static. "I will m-m-murder your fa-family and-and devour your soul."

Killer gaped. He didn't even need to turn around to know the other skeletons slowly appearing behind him (more than likely for breakfast) did similarly.

"Dude, what the fuck?" Cross murmured, staring at the plush as if it were about to hold true to its word and suddenly stab someone.

"...creepy," was Horror's only input on the situation.

Not that the target-souled skeleton could blame him. It was creepy.

The Guardian of Negativity eyed his stuffed double with an appraising look, calmly saying, "Hmm. It seems the batteries need to be changed."

"You mean that's not a product feature?!"

Chapter 85: Ruined Childhood

Summary:

Palette needs better parents.

(Warning: This chapter contains mature themes, mild swearing, child neglect, and quite possibly, adult humor.)

Red stared down at the small white/yellow-clad skeleton child sat before him.

Their colorful, different-shaped eyelights gazed at him in return while their parents were off doing who knows what- probably listening to complaints or making battle strategies.

He still didn't have the foggiest idea how he, out of all Sanses, ended up being the impromptu babysitter for the brat, especially since the Star Base's meeting room held far more suitable Sanses and Papyruses than him.

But here he was, keeping an eyelight on the hellspawn of Ink and Dream. Without a lick of extra G for in it him. Not that they offered a single measly coin in the first place. The oh-so-important duo just abruptly dumped their unfortunate spawn next to him and told 'em to stay with their "charming" uncle Red.

And he fully intended to make them regret that choice.

With an impish grin, the Underfell Sans crossed his arms and leaned back in his seat. "So, kid: boobs or butt?"

Palette thought over the question with as much seriousness as a six-year-old could manage; brows furrowed, jaws set, a small "hum" of consideration- the whole nine yards. The answer seemed to have eventually been found because he perked up, beaming at Red, and responded in unnecessarily loud cheer, "Penis!"

The air caught in his throat. Stunned, he choked out an incredulous, "What?"

"Yeah, Dad says Mom has the best penis!" The brat proudly stated. (As if that, let alone the knowledge of it, was something to be proud of).

If any of the other adult skeletons weren't looking at the duo in concern (or horror) before, they certainly were now.

The sharp-toothed skeleton glanced over to the other side of the meeting room where Dream was currently scolding Ink (for doing something no doubt stupid), murmuring under his breath, "That makes a surprising amount of sense." He then turned back to the starry-eyed child and said in his best trying-to-be-a-parent voice, "Still, don't say that ever again."

Palette blinked up at him, visibly confused. "But I didn't say anything wrong?"

"Kid, do your parents teach you anything, or have you just naturally inherited Ink's nonexistent intelligence? Because whether it's the former or the latter, I'm still going to be fuckin' worried."

"I don't know what 'intel-ee-gance' is."

Red gawked at the befuddled little artist, expression having long since lost any shock/mirth. "Well, shit."

 

Red casual threw open the door to his Snowdin home. Warmth from the crackling magic fire dwelling in the recently installed fireplace/hearth brushed across his bones, chasing away the ache caused by the outdoor's frosty chill. He quickly entered, not wanting any precious warmth to escape, and subconsciously kept tabs on the small presence following behind him; next, closing the thick wooden once deeming everything safe.

Papyrus, AKA Fell - or the constant burning thorn in his side - immediately looked up from the coffee table where he was polishing his signature Royal Guard armor. A rather unimpressed scowl rested on his face as he greeted, "Welcome home, Sans. Did you learn anything of value from the meeting?"

Red- or rather, Sans shrugged. "Well, 'pparently Dream is the top in the relationship, and Ink has no censorship around his child."

The other hummed, boot heel tapping against their wooden floor as he pondered. "Not very useful. Anything else?"

"I also stole a child." He stepped aside, revealing said small skeleton who glanced around in awe at their dreary, dangerous house before noticing the taller.

"Hello, Mr. Pointy!" Palette cheerily said. "Your home has a lot of sharp things. Can I touch them?!"

His brother recoiled and shot him a scandalized glare while hissing out a furious, "Sans!"

Red returned the glare with his own after rolling his eyelights. "What? It's not like Ink and Dream were looking after him- I'm mean, they did leave the kid with me to watch over him. But Outer was, like, two chairs away. And they still picked me! I couldn't just leave the kid with them after the meeting was over."

The red/black-clad Papyrus released an exasperated sigh, and a bony hand rose to pinch the bridge of his nasal cavity. "Fine. Frisk recently said they want a brother anyways."

"Cool. I'll call Tor-"

"But he is your responsibility- if he makes a mess, you clean it. And for heaven's sake, find the Royal Etiquette book." A sharp phalange pointed in the direction of the young artist, who seemed to have lost interest in examining his new surrounding and was now picking at his nasal cavity. "He clearly needs it."

 

And that's how Palette became the Prince of Underfell.

Chapter 86: You're Blue Now!

Summary:

It's contagious!?

A snowy fog danced across the icy field that separated Snowdin from Waterfall, dissipating enough to reveal two figures: a rosy-cheeked human covered in a suspicious, powdery grey substance and a stocky skeleton clad in silver armor and a blue bandana.

They stood several feet apart, gazes fixed on each other, locked in a harrowing turn-based battle.

A set of blue bone attacks soared at the stony-faced human, who patiently waited for each one to pass harmlessly over them.

Next blue magic encompassed their bright red soul. Consequently, coloring the incorporeal organ a vibrant sky-like shade and weighing it down to the ground, only allowing the owner to dodge left/right and jump.

The caster of the magic struck a cliché heroic pose; shoulders squared, back straight, eye sockets closed, teeth set in a confident grin, right hand placed on his hip while the left balled into a fist and raised toward the cavern ceiling.

Blue cheerily exclaimed. "Mweh-he-heh! You are blue now, human!"

Said "human" glanced at their soul, eyes trailing down to their suddenly inhuman and more skeleton-esque, armored body.

In a voice not their own, they questioned, "O-okay. I'm blue. Now what?"

The Underswap Sans jolted, clearly caught off-guard, and opened his eye sockets, gasping at the sight- a skeleton identical to himself.

"Another me has appeared?!" His usual theatrics vanished in an instant, and he leveled the transformed human with an out-of-character glare, promptly demanding in a shockingly deep, serious voice, "Tell me, handsome skeleton, who is the Legendary TacoMaster?"

Previously human brows furrowed at the question, followed by an extremely confused, "What?"

Before Chara - or, in actuality, Frisk - could receive an answer, a tall, bony monster bearing an orange hoodie came running through the snow while screaming; gradually slowing to a halt and growing increasingly more confused than worried/fearful. "SANS, STOP... f-fighting yourself?"

Two indistinguishable faces turned to look at Stretch, who gaped at them in a perplexed-leery manner.

"Bro, why are there two of you? Is this a prank? Are you pranking me again? Is making puns and ominously appearing behind me to make sure I'm working not enough anymore?" The younger skeleton said in exasperation, crossing his arms with a deep frown and warily approaching the pair- occasionally glancing back and forth between them, uncertain as to who would answer.

Blue quickly responded, voice not holding a hint of the emotion or timbre it previously possessed. "No, this is not a prank. I haven't a clue where they came from; I could have sworn I was fighting someone else!"

"Then, how?"

Frisk watched the two share a meaningful look, conveying some unknown silent message. And promptly chose to interrupt via a voice lacing in a thick coat of annoyance, "This funny and all, but can you change me back into a human? I kind of have a schedule to keep."

A second gasp emanated from their new doppelgänger while their orange-clad spectator remained silent. "Me, why would you ever want to be human? We are magnificent enough as is. But, perhaps our lovely portfolio of flattering photography will remind you of our splendor?"

Blue sped off toward his home, and Stretch hesitantly trailed behind him.

Upon noticing his twin not walking alongside them, the short skeleton shouted, "Come along, other me! We have much reminiscing to do."

Frisk begrudgingly followed. All the while grumbling under their breath, "Why couldn't I have transformed into something cool, with sharp teeth" They gave a cursory poke to the dull, seemingly fused teeth lining their jaws, then glanced disappointedly at their gloved phalanges, "or claws? I can't kill anything, let alone tear a piece of paper, with these."

A sudden thought caused their gait to still. With wide eyes (eye sockets?), they watched the retreating backs of the skeleton brothers. "Wait, am I going to be stuck like this forever? Does this mean I have to live with them from now on?!"

 

It was then that Snowdin's resident skeleton duo became a very confused skeleton trio.

Chapter 87: Haunted

Summary:

Geno just wants a hug.

Reaper stood in front of a near-empty kitchen sink, cloak sleeves rolled up and hands vigorously scrubbing way at a plate's particularly stubborn stain. One that almost felt like it might have given his beloved husband a run for his money - and that was saying a lot, considering how determined the Aftertale skeleton had been - but Geno would have gotten the job done in the end.

Alas, certain unfortunate circumstances meant the laborious task solely fell on the death god's shoulders.

His arms ached while he worked away at the grime, and his hand throbbed as its phalanges tightly gripped the scrub brush he forcefully dragged along the plate's surface.

Thankfully, his current chore was nigh complete.

On the adjacent countertop sat sparkling clean dishes; pots, pans, bowls, et cetera left sitting out on either a dish rag or metal rack to dry. Only two cups (a glass and a short plastic cup) and a few pieces of silverware along with the plate clutched his hands remained.

After finishing them, he could finally take a short break before going about his regular job.

Then he would need to work a "little" overtime.

Again.

King Asgore (or Chief, in Multiverse scenes) had begun cracking down on the Death & Reaping department quite harshly the last few weeks. More than blatantly attempting to get into the good graces of the Star Sanses (Ink, Dream, Blue, and anyone else apart of their "merry" band) by having Reaper and his brother, Grim, take care of nonlocal deaths- i.e., deaths that occurred outside of their AU. Alongside their usual duties in Reapertale. Which, in turn, left both senior Gods of Death with little to no time for themselves.

And even littler time to focus on things such as dirty dishes.

The scrub brush-wielding hand pulled away from the plate, revealing a sight that irked the raven-winged god to no end.

Not a single dent laid in the grime.

Reaper bit back an aggravated groan and glared at the stubborn filth.

At this point, it seemed like a hopeless endeavor to continue attempted to clean it; Nothing he had tried thus far yielded any results. Not scrubbed. Not soaking. Not even the industrial-strength cleaners kept locked up under the sink.

Thus, leaving him with little more to do than discard the dish.

A rather wasteful option, in the death god's opinion.

Maybe the Goddess of War, Undyne, would appreciate the stained plate instead? She was hardly one to turn down a challenge, and this seemed to fit that criteria.

Reaper shook his head.

Nah. I'll toss it and pick up another to replace it while I'm working. There is bound to be at least one person who won't miss a dining plate.

With a tired sigh, the dark-cloaked skeleton placed the dish in the sink to dispose of later. Then crossed his arms and leaned against its edge before tilting his skull up, allowing empty eye sockets to rest on the nighttime scenery dwelling past the curtainless window.

Moonlight shimmered in the world beyond, illuminating the dark, twisted forest surrounding his property. The brilliant celestial body emitting it hung one third from its starting position, indicating the time "11:00 p.m."

Twenty minutes remained till the night shift started.

To think he still had so much left to do: finish the dishes, clean the counters, collect/wash laundry, "death touch" the weeds in the garden, fix the flickering lights in the main bathrooms, make a grocery list of things to pick up while out, and many other things he did not have the time of day to accomplish alone.

The death god's eye sockets stared longingly into the night sky. Bitter sorrow nipped at his soul as he thought, If you were here, this would be so much easier.

Don't worry, though. I got this. Grim may be busy, but I'm sure Life can spare a few moments to help tame the garden and gather a few fruits and vegetables for the fridge.

Tiny footsteps sounding from behind reminded him of the household's smallest resident: the precious, fluffy-winged soul he and Geno created together, Goth. A very young skeleton, who should, by all means, be tucked into bed where the God of Death left him merely four hours ago.

That was unless something bad happened.

Worried, Reaper swiftly pivoted on his heels to face the kitchen doorway. Goth stood there clad in his light grey pajamas with a frown marring his face and tiny tears swelling in the corners of his eye sockets; a too big plush clutched in his arms. The plush being the medium-sized doll Geno created in his own visage for their son prior to his... departure.

The little skeleton waddle closer, barely reaching up to the elder death god's knees.

"Daddy?" Goth said in a soft sniffly voice, holding up the plushie. "Can Momma sleep in your room tonight?"

The teeth along Reaper's jaws quickly pulled into a slight frown. He knelt to his son's level, tone gentle and concerned as he spoke, "My sweet fledgling, don't you like having your Momma keep you company and scare away the nasty creatures that lurk in the night?"

"I do..." His son quietly admitted, looking forlornly at the plush. Though, suddenly enough to startle the elder death god, sniffles and purple-tinted tears appeared in full force. The budding liquid magic trailed down Goth's cheeks while he miserably whined, "but he keeps shuffling around at night. An- and I don't like the way he pets my skull when I'm trying to sleep o-or how he sits at the foot of my bed and watches me. I-I-It's creepy."

That information was concerning. For numerous reasons because not only did it mean there was a spirit (quite possibly Geno's) in the house, but it also meant the spirit might not be entirely safe. Especially given its habits and the power required to complete them.

No weak, ordinary spirit had the capabilities to possess and move a vessel, after all. Only top-tier spirits could do that.

And like all spirits, they, unfortunately, tended to turn violent or obsessive the longer they went without their eternal rest. Meaning Reaper had a lot of extra work to do. But for now, the raven-winged god went about comforting his crying child, gently murmuring soothing words and wiping away each tear that fell.

Soon the tears and soft cries stilled, leaving him confident enough to ask, "You feeling better, Gothy?"

"Mm-hm." the little skeleton nodded, awkwardly using his pajamas' sleeve to dry the residual wetness around his eye sockets.

"Good. Has..." Reaper clicked his teeth shut uncertainly, continuing with a different (and arguably more important) question instead. "How recently did Momma start doing that?"

Goth's frown twitched further down, and his brows furrowed as he considered the answer. Once a few seconds passed, he tentatively replied, "A few nights ago?"

A few nights?

An examining gaze moved to the possessed object. A deep red liquid seeped through the fabric surrounding the plush's mouth and chest (right where Geno's knife wound had been).

The death god internally grimaced. "Does he usually drip bloo- red like that?"

"No, but when he does, it always makes my bed messy."

Good. If it had been happening for quite some time, the status of the spirit would be far more worrisome; likely more violent. However-

That would explain why Goth has been asking me to clean his sheets so often recently.

A darker realization nagged at his thoughts.

How could I have not noticed the blood? What if Goth was hurt, and I didn't realize? He could have been bleeding out in his bed, and I wouldn't have even noticed!

What kind of father does that make me?!

With a quick shake of his head, he forced the thoughts away and refocused his attention on his son. Not hypothetical, tragic scenarios. (Though, Reaper was definitely getting rid of Goth's black sheets later and replacing them with a lighter color.) "Okay. Just leave him here, and Daddy will take care of everything else. Alright?"

Goth nodded, allowing him to take the plush and sit it atop the counter.

"Thank you," Reaper said, kneeling back down. Both hands reached forward and cupped the little skeleton's face before the elder God of Death planted a kiss atop his skull, causing a delighted giggle to brush past his son's jaws.

He drew back after a second and pulled the appendages away.

Giving his son a soft smile, he continued, "Now, be a sweet little death god and go back to bed; I'll be up to read you another story in just a minute."

Goth's face lit up with a bright smile, and the tiny white wings on his back wiggled in excitement. He then tottered out of the kitchen and back to his room as fast as his stubby legs manage, no doubt excited by the prospect of his second story for the night and spending a bit more time with his father.

Which would bite into the remaining minutes the dark-cloaked skeleton had intended to use to complete a few chores. But he could not find it within himself to be bothered. His son's happiness was far more important than avoiding the harsh verbal lashing he would receive for his tardiness. (Plus, blocking out King Asgore's voice was somewhat of a skill to him now anyway. Further practice for his ever-improving ability wouldn't hurt.)

Once the little skeleton was undoubtedly gone, Reaper stood and gently took the plush into his hands, giving it a bittersweet smile. "Even in death, your one for over dramatics- aren't you, Geno?"

No reply beyond a ghastly, ragged wheeze echoed throughout the quickly chilling air in the kitchen.

"Don't worry. I'll get this sorted out." The raven-winged god said, not voicing his internal continuation. Or discover whether or not I need to perform an exorcism on everything in the house.

Chapter 88: Mistaken Identity

Summary:

Everyone knows that a fake mustache is a perfect disguise.

(Warning: This chapter contains mild swearing.)

Nightmare hummed a low, melodic tune. Each dark, viscous tendril protruding from his back swayed in time with the short melody, occasionally stopping to help him achieve his current goal: pulling apart a small bread loaf and spreading the tiny pieces on the grassy ground.

The surrounding waterfowl (ducks, swans, and geese) greedily nibbled at the bread crumbs deftly sprinkled in front of the bench he occupied. Some - primarily the geese alongside a single swan - were even bold enough to pluck the food right from between his grimy phalanges. Soft as well as somewhat demanding/pleading quacks and honks filled the air while they ate, leading to a sneaking suspicion that these birds were a little more spoiled than they should be.

Nevertheless, the Guardian of Negativity welcomed their undivided attention and continued to unwind in his spot and dole out bread for the grabby beaked mouths.

It was surprisingly enjoyable; relaxing- holding a peacefulness highlighted by the temperate weather, clear blue skies, warm shining sun, and sheer lack of additional people in the pond area (likely having been scared off due to his presence). The whole situation had long since prompted a light smile to rest along his jaws.

The type of tender, caring smile worn around his boys (and possibly, many ages ago, around his brother).

Though, he dared not consider bringing them to participate. Killer and Cross would, without a doubt, attempt to feed the local wildlife something weird- whether that something be chocolate, an amputated limb, or spaghetti. None of which were healthy for most if not all animals. As for Horror, Nightmare knew the broken-skulled monster well enough that he could confidently say allowing him around may very well add roasted duck, goose, or swan to tonight's dinner menu.

Something not wanted in the slightest.

Perhaps the negativity-laden skeleton had grown soft, for he'd become quite fond of the elegant black swan and other water-loving avians in the short time he spent feeding them thus far. The way they squawked and nipped at each other while trying to monopolize the food reminded him of his boys. And how the three troublemakers jabbed at their nearest neighbor with cutlery when getting served at the dinner table and the way voices raised when someone stole the last piece of bacon.

(That someone generally being Killer, who refused to learn that grand theft bacon would turn his teammates against him for the remainder of the morning. Or until someone either stabbed or pranked him.)

Nightmare shook his head fondly, teeth quirking up a fraction more as he watched the waterfowl.

No. I have not grown soft. I'm merely training these ferocious winged beasts to do my evil bidding, he thought, yanking his hand away from a hungry swan's snapping beak.

The ebony bird gave an outraged honk at the action, miffed about not getting his phalanges alongside the bread, and irritation rolled off it in waves. Thankfully, its retaliation went no further than ruffling feathers and a nasty glare.

"Sorry, but I am unwilling to part with my phalanges at this moment. You will have to make do with what I am willing to give you." Nightmare apologized, carefully tossing the graceful creature a little bread chunk.

It gobbled it off the ground then gazed back up at him expectantly, much like the other surrounding birds.

A soft chuckle escaped his jaws, and his hands returned to picking at the shrinking loaf and distributing the waterfowl their ill-gotten spoils.

Next, much to the dark lord's dismay, he sensed an annoyingly bright presence settle into the empty spot beside him, a presence that could only signify one person: Dream.

How the happy-go-lucky guardian slipped past his radar, he was uncertain. If a guess had to be made, the mass amount of greed/happy animal auras crowding him played a key part.

Withholding a mournful whine at his lost peace, he glanced over to see his brother garbed in his usual attire with the curious addition of a styled, fuzzy blonde strip above his teeth and newspaper.

Nightmare knew he was going to regret asking, but- "Dream, what are you doing?"

Dream started. His hands' grip tightened around the black/blue text, wrinkling it, and the telltale signs of a nervous sweat began to appear along his crown; droplets of semi-transparent yellow magic, which trailed down his skull in increasing quantity the longer the dark lord stared.

He sputtered anxiously, "W-what are you talking about? I'm n-not Dream. No, I am- uh, M-maerd? Yes, I am Maerd."

"That's just your name backwards." Nightmare deadpanned.

"I- I'm still not him." The yellow-clad skeleton insisted, lifting a newspaper in front of his skull and hiding his foolishly disguised face from passersby.

A cyan eyelight rolled at the action, soon followed by an unimpressed murmur. "Whatever you say."

And like that, the negativity-laden monster warily went back to his bird feeding and ignored his brother, who thankfully did not question or mention the activity.

After a minute or so, another familiar and overly obnoxious presence invaded his senses.

He instinctively looked toward it.

In the distance, a short, lithe skeletal figure clothed primarily in brown tones with a giant paintbrush and a hint of black resting on their right cheek was rushing in his and Dream's direction.

It took great effort to smother an irritated sigh.

Ink, Nightmare's mind grumbled. Who's next? Blue? Or maybe that goddamn courier Papyrus whose always popping out of the shadows with a new letter or package?

How does that bastard even keep finding my address so Dream can send me those god-awful letters? The boys and I have changed castles no less than ten times, and we still can't escape him!

The Guardian of Negativity shook his skull and refocused on the approaching artist. The very one that soon skidded to a halt before the bench, startling the many waterfowl that had been (almost) calmly eating. Thus, sending them fleeing to the safety of the pond.

All the while, Dream very slowly retracted his newspaper and folded it onto his lap.

By some "miracle," he did not receive a hint of recognition from their surprise visitor.

"Hey, Nightmare! Hey, skeleton I've never seen before! Did either of you happen to see Dream run through here?" Ink questioned, looking to his poorly disguised brother and continuing. "He is about four feet and five inches tall, has a sparkling smile that makes you feel like your going to be stabbed in your sleep, and is wearing an outfit remarkably similar to your own! You two must have the same fashion sense, which is weird because no one else in the Multiverse wears that shade of yellow. It stands out so much! I keep telling him he would look better in a nice light blue or cream orange- But no, apparently my fashion advice isn't appreciated because I made sparkly, tie-dye animal print."

The Guardian of AUs paused, then blinked - eyelights changing into various colored shapes - and allowed his gaze to once again rest on the dark lord. In a surprised tone, he chimed, "Oh, Nightmare- when did you get here? Actually, I suppose that doesn't matter right now. I'm looking for Dream. Have you seen him?"

Resisting the urge to facepalm never once seemed like a harrowing task; until now. Even when considering the many, many idiotic shenanigans Killer, Cross, and Horror had engaged in in the past: the time they flooded their first castle with chocolate milk (Cross' idea), when Horror adopted a forest's worth of raccoons, that "fun" incident where Killer decided to see how many skeleton children/babies he could swap around before anyone noticed (despite everyone's best effort, some Sanses and Papyri still might be raising the incorrect offspring), and of course how could anyone forget the day the trio ravaged the Multiverse with black/purple glitter.

Sci certainly wouldn't. The poor scientist was one of the unlucky few who received the worse of their attack and got left coughing up glitter for days. In fact, a sparkly puff continued to escape his nasal cavity/mouth with every cough and sneeze to this very day. And no amount of Killer's flirtatious remarks about him having a "sparkling personality" or being "as pretty on the inside as the outside" appeared capable of soothing his ire.

So, despite the misery they caused Nightmare to experience, none of those occasions held a candle to the absurdity at hand. None so much as inspired this strong, nigh unignorable desire to permit phalanges to meet skull bone in a grand gesture of exasperation- i.e., a facepalm.

Both hands, however, firmly remained in front of his chest, crushing the remaining loaf clinched between the stiff phalanges and littering crumbs across his negativity-laden lap- which sunk into the dark coating.

That would be a "true joy" to clean out later.

"No-" The dark lord began, barely able to get the syllable out before a skeletal hand boldly clasped over his jaws.

His cyan eyelight shifted to glare daggers at Dream, who quickly amended. "Why, yes, we have! A dashing monster by that description went running past our- uh, left mere moments ago. If you hurry, I'm certain you will catch him."

"Thank you, totally unfamiliar stranger!" Ink cheerily said, giving a polite wave farewell before trotting off in the direction indicated, then seemingly forgetting halfway and stumbling into a trash can.

Or did he do that on purpose?

Nevertheless, The Guardian of Negativity had more pressing matters at hand (pun not intended): removing Dream's bony palm from his jaws as soon as possible, lest he give in to his nefarious desire to traumatize his sibling via a sloppy lick on the hand.

Thankfully, the yellow-clad skeleton seemed to realize his appendage had long since overstayed its welcome and pulled it away, letting fall to his side.

Nightmare couldn't help feeling a pang of disappointment at the missed opportunity to torment his brother. But he swiftly pushed the emotion aside, for he would have his revenge another day.

A day that could not come soon enough because, of course, his brother had to annoy him a step further by commenting, "I'm surprised he fell for that."

"He is an idiot." The dark lord replied dryly. The "I have no idea why you married him" remained unsaid.

He stood, preparing to leave (as there was no point in staying, the waterfowl were long gone) when suddenly an equally familiar, yellow-clothed skeleton burst through the nearby bushes while shouting, "Brother, I need your help hiding from In- uhh..."

"Dream?" Nightmare blinked, turning on the skeleton he had been sitting beside, and growled. "Who are you?"

"Damn, my cover's been compromised!" The imposter cried, jumping from their seat and making a move to run.

"Wait- Gah!" Dream - the real one - yelped, receiving a face full of newspapers.

Meanwhile, Nightmare flinched - but only a tiny bit - as the phony guardian's faux mustache flew at his face.

By the time they both recovered from the impromptu attacks, their attacker was already over halfway across the park and no more than a mere dot in their vision.

The negativity-laden skeleton wanted to give chase. However, his brother's shaken state took priority.

He did make a mental note to tell his followers to be on the lookout for a fake Dream, though.

 

And maybe some high-quality faux mustaches.

Chapter 89: Inky Demon

Summary:

The beginning of a love-hate story.

Darkness faded, and stone crumbled around the short skeleton monster it encased, giving way to a world containing sound/light.

Dream blinked for the first time in five hundred years. Yet the rest of his body still felt frozen in the pleading, desperate pose he'd taken when reaching out to his hurting brother.

His fuzzy, pale yellow eyelights slowly scanned the area, searching. For his brother, the tree, the village- anything familiar. Anything to quell the rising panic in his soul.

Alas, his blurred vision failed to find a single comfort.

The hill appeared overgrown, judging by various browns and greens, no doubt, caused by vines, grasses, bushes, and oaks reclaiming the land. And the tree he and Nightmare once called "mother" laid nowhere in sight. Either hidden from view or devoured by the moss and fungi native to the foreign woods.

Suddenly, he sensed a hollow presence shift near him and painstakingly turned to look.

Stood beside him was a skeletal figure who bore a similar height to his own and wore warm, brown/light tan tones.

He gazed up, seeing their blurry face wrapped in a halo of the darkening sky's gentle blue and purple hues. A face so similar to his own it couldn't belong to anyone other than-

"Br-" A bone-rattling cough swiftly cut off the word. His throat ached due to years of disuse alongside inadequate hydration, leaving his once cheery voice coarse and wobbly. Regardless, he pushed through the pain to ask in a hopeful tone, "B-brother?"

The skeleton laughed; their voice light and bubbly, entirely different from Nightmare's soft, hesitant (occasionally serious) one.

The Guardian of Positivity blinked in rapid succession, channeling his dwindled magic into his eye sockets and strengthening his eyelights. Soon the scene cleared enough to see the monster's features: the odd, dark splatter stretched across their right cheek as well as their growing smile and strikingly colorful, abnormally shaped eyelights (one a yellow star and the other a red heart). A sign of happiness or other positive feelings if he remembered skeleton biology correctly.

Though, startlingly enough, not a single emotion could be sensed within the being before him.

Dream's stiff teeth tug into a frown, and equally hard to move brows furrow.

Is it possible I lost my powers after the tree... fell?

The troubling thought couldn't be explored further, for the odd skeleton stifled their laughter, exclaiming, "Brother? Heh! I sure hope not! I've been trying to court you for the past one hundred years."

That caused him to pause and stare at the other. "Wh-while I was trapped in stone?"

The stranger shrugged. All the while, their unique eyelights shifted color and shape, almost reminding Dream of that odd substance the villagers claimed changed shade alongside their mood.

"To be fair, I thought you were an exceptionally well-shaped rock monster." They started, continuing with blatant excitement, "But now that I know you're not, we can do so many fun things together like visit AUs, pour glitter in drying cement, paint, or eat tacos atop a cash register in Walmart and get ban for life. And I can show you my house!"

There hadn't been a chance to react before a hand warped around his wrist and pulled him up, making his bones flaring in pain as he struggled to stand.

"Let's go!" The stranger cried, dragging the yellow-clad guardian down into an inky black puddle.

 

It was then Dream realized a new, harrowing chapter in his life had begun.

Chapter 90: Droop Noot

Summary:

The Noot that droops. Or Picasso-mare.

(Warning: This chapter contains mild swearing.)

Notes:

It makes sense to me now, but it probably won't later.

Killer groaned in boredom.

A random show played on the widescreen TV in front of him, acting as pointless white noise in the background while his right hand's phalanges aimlessly picked at a loose thread on the sofa's armrest.

Beside him, occupying the opposite side of the furnishing, laid Cross. The monochrome warrior donned an equally bored expression and the posture to match: eyelights blankly gazing toward the television, teeth pulled into a disinterested frown, and bones slumped awkwardly against the backrest with his legs sticking out.

They had been like this for the past three hours.

Stuck.

With nothing to do- no souls to torture, no unsuspecting monsters (Ink, Blue, and Dream) to prank, no board games to play (Nightmare had confiscated them after a game night gone wrong), and absolutely no interesting shows playing on TV.

The target-souled murderer felt a spark of envy for his fellow "bad guys."

At least, the ones not currently present.

Nightmare went on a solo raid. Or to secretly market the defamatory, fiction-esque books about Dream he often spent his "free time" writing- i.e., the fabled "paperwork" their negativity-laden boss seemed perpetually busy completing.

Horror vanished off to wherever probably to lurk in a vast cornfield and make goo-goo eyes at that farmer Sans who foolishly gave him a chocolate chip cookie as a peace offering one time.

Jokes on that poor sap. Once someone fed the broken-skulled Sans, it was nigh impossible to get rid of him.

Killer would know. After all, once upon a time, he graciously shared half a dusty, smushed cinnamon bun with Horror and ended up being stalked by him for the better part of three weeks.

At least those three weeks were interesting, he thought, tilting his skull back to stare at the mansion's white popcorn ceiling.

A magical fizzle sounded a few agonizing minutes later then a dark portal sparked to life in the living room's entryway.

Cross instantly stood to attention, and Killer jumped out of his seat, resisting the urge to bounce on his heels in childish excitement; both watched the dimensional magic in anticipation.

The latter failing to stop a wide grin from growing on his face.

Finally! Maybe Nightmare will have something for us to do. At this point, I don't even care if it's a chore like trimming the garden or cleaning the dishes.

The negativity-laden guardian in question soon came walking out.

Seemingly uninjured.

However, Killer couldn't help but notice a peculiar... change on the other's skull. Nightmare's good eye socket, the left one containing a cyan eyelight drooped below the place it usually sat, which couldn't be something that was supposed to happen.

Well, not naturally.

"Uhhh... Boss, you okay there?" Killer tentatively asked.

The dark lord frowned, glancing toward him. "Of course. Why wouldn't I be?"

"There's just something on- with..." The target-souled skeleton failed to contain a grimace when the eye slowly drifted further down toward Nightmare's teeth. All the while, it remained trained perfectly on him as though nothing changed.

He hesitantly finished the sentence with a quiet and somewhat disgusted, "your face."

Nightmare took a hand, slowly wiping it across his skull. All the action served to do was smudge the eye socket over to the other side and tilt his mouth in a blatantly wrong, lopsided position, almost like it shifted a complete ninety degrees.

"Is that better?" He asked, raising a brow that somehow ended up beside his nasal cavity.

"Y-yeah..."

"Good. Now, if either of you needs me, I will be retiring to my chamber for the evening. Though I loathe to admit it, I feel a tad off today."

Oh, something is definitely off. And it's not just your eye socket anymore.

"Do try not to disturb me." Nightmare stated, giving both (bored) skeletons a pointed look.

In other words, "Don't need me and most certainly refrain from interrupting my rest, lest you wish for your skull to be divorced from your body."

Killer could take a hint.

Plus, he doubted tangoing with that mess would be worth the entertainment.

Or worry.

"I wonder what happened to make him look like that?" The target-souled murderer murmured as the negativity-laden guardian, obviously done conversing, turned to leave.

Cross shrugged, rather brazenly eyeing Nightmare's ass-sets. "I'd still give him a ten out of ten."

"I would expect nothing less from you."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

Instead of humoring the monochrome-clad warrior with an answer, he walked away.

There was a three-week-old clog in the second story's fourth bathroom calling his name.

"Killer!"

Notes:

Let's say Nightmare is 30% skeleton child and 70% goo monster: what exactly is keeping his key features in place?

What's stopping his face from drifting down to his chest? Because, if his uncorrupted form is that of a small, little depressed child, then his actual face probably is around that area- especially since corrupted Nightmare is often portrayed as big/tall.

 

Killer: *looking 'mare in his cyan eyelight* So as I was saying-
Nightmare: If your going to talk to me, at least look me in the eyes.
Killer: What?
Nightmare: *pulls off shirt and points at chest* My eyes are down here.
Killer: *glances at the two lavender eyelight peeking through the negativity* That... is incredibly creepy, and I desperately wish I could unsee it.

 

(Yes, these are the types of questions I ask myself at night and what often leads to the stranger stories I write.)

Chapter 91: Droop Noot 2

Summary:

The sequel no one asked for.

Dream panted as he rushed through the bleak Snowdin weather, determined to reach the pure source of negativity lurking within the outer woods.

Past the (poorly implemented) puzzles, beyond the dense pine forest, and at the Ruin's edge, he stumbled to a halt before the large, one-way purple doors. His yellow eyelights instantly settled on the dark, ooze-dripping back facing him.

"Brother, I am here to-" Nightmare slowly (and somewhat dramatically) turned to look at him, causing the yellow-clad skeleton to freeze mid-sentence.

Dream felt his soul seize in fear and worry at the mere sight of the other's ordinarily composed, confident face, which now looked completely different. Like one of Ink's artworks gone horribly wrong: bearing a ninety-degree rotated smug grin stretched across the right side of his skull, an upside-down nasal cavity lying in the middle of his forehead, and an eye socket/eyelight that were gradually creeping lower down his chin.

He frantically shouted, "Oh, my stars! Nightmare, are you okay?"

"Of course I am, you fool. Why does everyone keep asking that?!" The Guardian of Negativity snapped, tendrils lashing behind him.

A strangled cry left the lighter guardian's invisible throat when the gooey socket - eyelight and all - promptly detached from his brother's face, splatting on the snow. His skull quickly turned sheet white, and his jaws parted as if in a silent scream while he stumbled several steps backward.

Nightmare causally leaned over to "look" at his loss piece.

Said piece (somehow) blinked up at him.

The negativity-laden skeleton hmm-ed in response and said, "Well, this is an interesting development. No wonder I've been feeling strange recently."

Instead of mustering the strength to aid his unfazed sibling, call for help, or reply, Dream did the most logical thing he could do: faint.

He fainted, flopping face-first into the snow. Thus, leaving the dark lord with a missing eye and an unconscious body on his hands.

 

Nightmare's grounded, cyan eyelight glowered at his brother's limp form.

This will be fun to explain to the boys when I get home.

Chapter 92: Art of Seduction

Summary:

It's all in the leaves.

Cross frowned and readjusted the leafy branches strapped to his skull for the fifth time, then took a good long look in the mirror standing before him. Occasionally twisting and turning, eyelights roaming his body in appraisal.

His entire outfit bore the unique addition. Everything from his hoodie to his boots had leaves and sticks either attached to the outside or poking out the hems. The hood connected to his coat had the most intricate design, bearing leaves intertwined with the bushy white fluff. Thus, creating a puffy green/white mane around his neck.

He gave himself an approving nod after a few moments spent examining and deemed his new look more than ready to aid in his venture. And he'd need it, for today, the monochrome warrior would tackle his self-imposed mission with the prowess of the mightiest oak- or pine? Pear? Apple? No, definitely not that last one.

Perhaps, just whatever type of tree Nightmare found most attractive.

And hopefully, by the end of the day, that tree will be me. Cross thought, grinning to himself. Two bony hands quickly rose to fluff the new foliage one last time before he exited his spartan bedroom, heading down the halls to the kitchen.

The most accursed room in the dwelling for it typically had one of his three teammates (Horror, Killer, or Dust) prowling within at all times.

Unfortunate because, at this hour, the dark being he sold his heart and soul to would no doubt be sunbathing in the castle's inner courtyard while reading a book. A place that required him to pass through the cooking area's doors to reach since Dust and Killer managed to block in the other exits to the space by pulling out bricks during a search for non-existent treasure and causing a cave-in.

Please let this be one of the rare occasions no one is there, the black/white-clad Sans prayed as he neared the kitchen.

Alas, no god (not even Reaper) listened to his plea.

As soon as rubber boot heels met polished grey tile, an annoying voice addressed him. "Woah, rookie. Where the hell are you doing dressed like that?"

Cross stiffened, freezing in the doorway.

Mismatched eyelights shifted over to the modest oak table pushed against the wall; sat in one of its matching chairs was his least favorite teammate: Killer.

The target-souled skeleton eyed him while a rather amused smirk stretched across his face. "Well? What are you doing?"

He replied curtly, "Going outside to find Nightmare. Since spring is here, I figured it was the perfect time to strike."

A single brow lifted at the information.

"Wait a minute, are you- you are!" Howling laughter echoed from Killer's jaws, simmering down into chuckles prior to him crying out to the other residents in the castle, "Our little Oreo Cookie has a crush! Somebody get the camera!"

Bright purple bloomed across said Oreo's skull as he murmured a soft, "Shut up."

His feet promptly carried him to the double doors leading to the inner courtyard, where he could escape the teasing of Killer and the rest of his teammates. A hand only got as far as wrapping around a door handle when words broke those sweet, blessed (five) seconds of silence.

Because, of course, the hoodie-clad murderer couldn't keep his snickering mouth closed and called after him. "You do know it's a joke when me and the others call him a tree, right? We don't actually mean it in a literal sense- or are you trying a whole 'turning over a new leaf' kind of thing?"

Cross opted to ignore him, exiting a door and closing it behind himself faster than humanly (or monster-ly) possible.

Giving a relieved sigh at his successful escape, he examined the surroundings.

Dusky, clear skies laid overhead, and the barest hints of sunset were slowly setting in, coloring the horizon a beautiful orange-purple. Each plant illuminated by the dwindling light bore colorful, lush blossoms.

Nightmare, the object of his obsess- love was currently resting in an expensive lounge chair beside the rose garden/fish pond, book in hand and a soft smile resting along his jaws. On the small table right next to him sat an icy glass of tea.

Everything was in order, yet the black/white-clad Sans still felt his resolve faltering. After all, would this be a good idea? What if the other already had some he loved romantically? What if this ended with Cross getting kicked off the team? What if his bold proclamation of love got him sent back to the vast, white hell he escaped?

He shook his head fiercely, forcing the thoughts away.

Nightmare would never do that! We're colleagues (for now), and he is nowhere near cruel enough to do that to me. I'm not going back.

Even if this does go sideways.

Steeling his nerves, he plucked two leafy branches out of his inventory and hesitantly approached.

Nightmare, possibly sensing his presence, glanced up from his book, brows furrowing.

"What are you..." The dark lord blinked, sentence trailing off while his cyan eyelight skimmed over the numerous leaves and twigs that adorned him.

Well, it's now or never.

Cross took a deep breath. Then puffed out his chest and raise his head high, fanning the large branches in his hands like a peacock showing off its colorful plumage. He added in a seductive, albeit nervous, voice, "Will you be my boyfriend?"

Time appeared to stretch on as Nightmare stared at him in response, eyelight searching for something. Perhaps genuineness?

Eventually, the negativity-laden skeleton smiled softly and shook his head fondly. "You're such a fool."

Cross deflated at the sentence, and the vegetation along his body drooped, seemingly affected by Nightmare's words as well.

The dark lord proceeded by closing his book, tucking it beneath his arm, and slowly rising from his seat.

The monochrome warrior fully prepared for him to walk away, to never speak of this again, only to be caught off guard when the other graced him with a chaste kiss on the cheek.

It lasted several seconds before either pulled away.

"W-w-was that a 'yes'?!"

Chapter 93: Art of Seduction (Ink Edition)

Summary:

Why Dream can't have nice things.

Dream's foot tapped to beat of the song playing while he nodded along to the lyrics, using the knife in his hand to chop the fresh ingredients for lunch in rhythm.

The kitchen was quiet.

Well, aside from the upbeat tune playing on the radio sitting on the countertop behind and the sound of the knife hitting the cutting board as it sliced through fruits/vegetables (asparagus, zucchini, bell peppers, carrots, and et cetera).

The yellow-clad skeleton halted his movement and took a deep breath, basking in the calm permeating throughout the house. Not a single room held the noises of art supplies in use or the obnoxiously loud chatter of his husband.

It was simply peaceful.

And that was perfect.

Perhaps he would use this golden opportunity to relax. Enjoy the tranquillity to its fullest by reacquainting himself with the criminally plush reading chair in the sunroom. The very one he hadn't sat in for ages.

He gently laid the knife beside the cutting board, moving his prepped ingredients into separate bowls, and rinsing the plastic surface for the fish fillet he planned on serving alongside them.

Thank the stars Ink is being calm for once in his life. Now I can finally have some quiet time to myself.

And cook a lovely meal without having an overgrown toddler try to add glitter and paint to it every five seconds.

Unfortunately, the Guardian of Positivity appeared to have spoken (or thought) too soon.

Not seconds after the internal dialogue completed, the soulless skeleton came bursting through the kitchen doorway. Covered head-to-toe in twigs and leaves. "Dreamy, be my boyfriend!"

The yellow-clad protector jolted, nearly dropping the cutting board into the sink.

"Ink, what are you doing?!" He gasped, eye sockets soon narrowing as he took in the sight of the dark limbs and shiny, oval-shaped green leaves. "Are those branches from my prized magnolia tree?"

"Uhhh..."

Dream promptly glanced out the kitchen window to see the mangled plant's remains, snarling at the sight. "It took me over a hundred years to grow it to that large!"

Ink blinked, unbothered. "So is that a 'no' to dating?"

"We're already married!"

A wide grin soon spread across the artist's face. "Wow, really? Tree relationships sure move quickly."

"I'm not a tree."

In a flash, Ink moved directly in front of him and proceeded to yank down his yellow shirt's collar and reveal his chest- which, in turn, caused the cutting board to clatter against the sink's metal and an indignant squeak to sound throughout the kitchen.

He then silently reached forward and plucked a yellow, feathery leaf-like growth off the exposed sternum. As if to prove a point.

Dream scowled. "I'm still not a tree."

Chapter 94: Wacky, Insufferable, Arm-Flailing Nightmare

Summary:

Arm wavy goodness.

Frantic footfall beat against sweltering concrete, seemingly echoing throughout the eerily empty streets as three brightly-clad individuals pursued a menacing group of five skeletons: Nightmare, Killer, Horror, Dust, and Cross. All of which whom were all too familiar with being on the run.

After causing trouble.

This time, however, the situation was a little different than usual. Rather than spreading their typical mischief (stabbing, murdering, kicking shins, and etc.) in the Underground, the "evil" group opted to go on a rare mission to a desolate Surface AU.

Everyone hated it, especially the Lord of Nightmares himself.

Hot, dusty air sapped the moisture from the land and what little greenery dared to grace the concrete jungle looked withered and sunburnt, no doubt suffering a long stint of being given hardly any water.

Adding to the desert-esque ambiance was none other than a brilliant, blazing orange-yellow sun that shone overhead without a single cloud in sight. Thus, making his outer negativity melt and ooze and bear down on his hidden silvery bones like a suffocatingly warm winter coat, only further adding to his growing exhaustion.

Nightmare shot a glare toward the sky and silently cursed the burning, gaseous ball in the cosmos.

This is exactly why I prefer keeping business in the Underground. Surface weather is so much more severe and volatile.

Loud, laborious (somewhat wheezing, in Killer's case) breaths escaped the childish murderers following closely.

Though, if I got the boys out of the castle and in the sun more often, maybe they would be more acclimated to this climate.

The negativity-laden monster side-eyed the axe-wielding, hoodie-clad skeleton running alongside him, noting the thick red droplets sliding down his cracked skull.

And less sweaty.

A pant forced its way past Nightmare's jaws as his boot heels slammed against the ground with his speedy gait. If the pace slowed ever-so-slightly due to the biting ache in his legs, he ignored it and pushed onward.

His skull turned left a fraction after a harrowing ten steps, and his cyan eyelight peeked over his shoulder at the monsters producing the rumbling footsteps trailing after them.

Their three pursuers (Dream, Ink, and Blue, of course) ran several paces behind. Far enough away that attacks would be ineffective yet considerably too close for Nightmare and his boys to make a proper getaway. Plus, not a single drop of sweat laid on their bones, no magical flush colored their cheeks, and they looked prepared to continue the chase for as long as they had to.

Or until the "nefarious" Sanses were driven to exhaustion- a strong possibility at this rate. His team was hardly in a position to continue on like this.

Neither was he.

Gritting his teeth, the dark lord began glancing around while trying to formulate a plan, some means to get them out of this oppressive heat and back into the musty, cold shadows of their moonlit castle.

That's when a nearing alley caught his eye.

He veered, taking a sharp left and then a right around the corner of a decrepit building. Silently hoping the break in sight would buy them a little time to do something, at the very least- whether that be escaping or gaining a few precious moments to formulate an attack. Killer, Horror, Dust, and Cross vocalized their protest by giving a miserable whine at the action but followed suit. Regardless of how the sudden movement jostled their bones and brought additional pain to their nonexistent lungs and sore heels.

Together, they dashed along the shadeless sidewalk and past the many withering, overgrown vacant lots to a dilapidated storefront baring a tacky, big-lettered sign stating, "King's Auto Repair Shop." (Probably once run and owned by this AU's version of Asgore if the name was any indication.)

It looked as though it hadn't been used in a very long time. Numerous broken-down vehicles littered the small parking lot's faded parking spaces, along with empty chip bags, soda cans, and candy bar wrappers. Some of the window frames held jagged glass shards. And, most notably, a tattered sunbleached decoration - the weird inflatable tube thing many businesses seemed to be enamored with having - sat by the front entrance attached to a solar panel, flailing around.

The Guardian of Negativity halted before the building's dirty glass doors. His gang stopped shortly after, all sagging in place and greedily pulling air into their lungs.

(Emotion sensing abilities or not, it was easy to tell the four were quite pleased by their current break)

Killer panted, leaning over and placing his hands on his knees while catching his breath. "O- okay... which one of us is- is opening a portal to get the hell out of here?"

Given the tired/irritated looks he received in response, no one seemed eager to expend the magic to accomplish such a feat.

Well, except for one.

Cross had nearly raised his shaky hand when Nightmare spared a glance behind, seeing three colorful blobs approaching in the distance.

"There's no time. Hide." He ordered, leading everyone to spring into action.

Killer dove behind the nearest corner and crouched behind an outdoor trash can. Dust jumped into a putrid-smelling, open dumpster. Because, of course, he would. (It's not like the dark lord hadn't already planned on throwing all of them into a bath after this anyway.) Horror wisely slipped through the shop's unlocked glass door and seamlessly disappeared between the dusty, shadow-covered shelves. And Cross rolled under an abandoned rusty car, taking a moment to yank his clothes' residual white floof under with him.

The negativity-laden skeleton released a mental sigh of relief.

The boys were hidden, and they were safe.

However, as his cyan eyelight flitted around and examined the surroundings, a new predicament became clear: Ink, Dream, and Blue would reach the area in a matter of minutes (maybe even seconds, considering their pace), and he did not know where to hide.

At that realization, a drastic decision was made. One not even he could predict the outcome of.

Or ever live down, if Killer and Dust had anything to say about it.

Nightmare stiffened when their foes drew near enough for him to see their features, hesitantly raising his arm and tendrils in the air before swaying in some imaginary mechanical wind like his flailing, inflatable companion.

Stars, this is humiliating. If those joy-loving fools are stupid enough for this to work, I swear-

The trio walked closer.

He prepared for an attack, only to be rendered speechless when his brother and Ink walked up to the inflatable, waving decoration standing right next to him.

The artist chuckled, jabbing a phalange in its direction. "Doesn't this one look just like Nightmare?"

Dream squinted at his supposed doppelgänger, stating with a hint of awe, "Huh, you're right. It does."

Meanwhile, Blue stared directly at him, skull bearing an unreadable expression. A quick prod at the other's emotions revealed amusement (at Nightmare's situation/actions) and exasperation (with Ink and Dream's sheer incompetence).

There also appeared to be a hint of mischievousness hiding beneath the layers, which worried the dark lord.

Luckily, the Underswap Sans was in no hurry to inform his two companions of Nightmare's location; instead, shouting in faux concern while pointing in the distance, "Oh no! A suspiciously Nightmare-shaped bush is stealing an innocent young monster's strawberry ice cream."

Dream gasped prior to dashing in the indicated direction alongside Ink.

"Brother! Unhand that child's flavored, frozen dairy this instant!" He cried, tackling the pitiful foliage to the ground.

And the Guardian of AUs joined the assault, roaring in (artificial) righteous fury, "Ice cream is sacred, Nightmare! I can't believe you are willing to stoop so low as to ruin it for a sweet, innocent child."

Neither acknowledged the fact that there was no child in sight. Or ice cream that certainly would have melted the moment it got exposed to the outdoors' immense heat.

Nightmare released the breath he had been holding once the pair were thoroughly engrossed in their bush brawl, ceasing his ridiculous impersonation and signaling for his boys to come out.

They all slid from their hiding spots, one by one.

Killer, the last, cautiously crept out from beyond the corner, gazing incredulously (as much as a skeleton could without eyelights) toward their enemies. "Are we going to talk about why the hell that fuckin' worked?"

"Yeah... That's pretty sad even by their standards." Dust chimed.

The Guardian of Negativity sighed and pinched the bridge of his nasal cavity. Shaking his head, he said, "I think we both know why it worked."

A cyan eyelight drifted back toward the do-gooding trio.

Blue stood by soundlessly snickering as the Dream and Ink wrestled the twiggy bush while claiming it could change its ways. All while taking pictures. For blackmai- future "scrapbooking" purposes.

Nightmare blink when the other smoothly slipped the phone back into his inventory - like it had never been out in the first place - and thought, I'm beginning to see why he and Error are best friends.

They enjoy causing drama too much.

Chapter 95: Sapling Care

Summary:

Just Dream and Nightmare taking care of their boys.

Dream, Ink, and Blue rushed along a well-traveled dirt trail- ignoring the numerous signs that held warnings/directions and diverging paths as they focused on their goal.

That goal being: protecting the AUs from the wrath of evil!

Because, moments prior, they had received a concerned message from the local Sans informing them that Nightmare and his gang were in the area. Thus, disrupting their peaceful afternoon hanging out in Underswap (there may or may not have been marshmallows and board games involved) and bringing them here, a quaint Undertale-esque AU where monsters now lived on the surface.

The tallest in the trio - Blue, surprisingly - took the lead; In his raised hand laid a rectangular, metallic device not all too dissimilar to a cellphone bearing several buttons and a screen displaying a detailed map.

(Which they just so happened to "cleverly" call the Bad Sanses Locator.)

On the screen, a little ways away from their pinpointed location was the blinking red dot they had been tracking since arriving in the AU.

Nightmare and his fiendish followers, no doubt.

It also had a couple of nearby restaurants marked to check out later.

For evil, of course.

And Dream thought that family-owned pastry shop would be the evilest of them all, with delicious coffee cakes and cookies. (No, he did not have a coffee addiction. He was simply passionate about finding new places to take his fellow coffee-lover and datemate.)

Alas, caffeinated treats would have to wait.

Their current mission took priority, forcing them - though, only Dream was mourning the loss of coffee - to continue onward, alert for any signs of danger.

Temperate air swept through the lush green trees/bushes kept at bay by a modest, split rail wooden fence located on each side of the dirt trail; a little monthly trimming probably helped too. Birds, insects, and other native wildlife sounded in the distance. Their unique tones and tunes created an eerily peaceful song. Despite the lethal group lurking somewhere among the trees.

That thought alone was enough to inspire the three skeletons to pick up the pace until, finally, the trail opened into a large clearing with a shimmering blue lake settled right in the middle.

No local monsters or humans were in sight, only the menacing skeletal forms the do-gooding group learned to associate with their foes.

This time, however, they wore rather unusual combat attire: flip-flops, swim trunks, sunglasses, and, in Horror's case, a floppy sun hat and a red/white, floral Hawaiian shirt as well.

All three colorful clad heroes halted, vastly different eyelights examining the deceptively unvillainous scene.

Horror sat on the wooden dock a little ways away beside a small tackle box, holding a cast fishing rod. Its glittering bobber slowly bounced up and down in the water. Though enticing (to both Ink - given how he stared at the shimmers - and the fish), it failed to receive a single bite.

Killer and Dust wrestled in the shallows, scaring away any nearby aquatic wildlife, while Cross swam narrow circular laps beyond their battle zone. Away from Horror's fishing spot, likely fearing getting a face full of hooks and tackle. And inciting the other's wrath if he accidentally spooked the brown/grey fish cautiously flitting about the dock.

The Guardian of Positivity blindly approached the most potent source of negativity. His friends followed closely behind.

"Nightmare!" He shouted before blinking and taking in the other's unintimidating position, sputtering, "W-what are you doing?"

The dark lord was resting on his back and buried up to the neck in the sand next to a surprisingly detailed sandcastle, a few colorful pails/trowels, and other oddly childish outdoor toys (a beach ball, plastic dinosaurs, etc.). Four dark tendrils sprouted out the ground on each side of him, lightly swaying in the gentle breeze; Almost like twisted, viscous vines.

Nightmare scoffed and cracked open his good eye socket, piercing the trio with his chill-inducing cyan eyelight. "Nothing nefarious, if that's what you are here to accuse me of doing. Me and the boys are merely eating."

Ink raised an invisible brow, glance toward the three in the water, and leaned over to an equally puzzled Blue to whisper, "They are swimming. Right? Or have I forgotten what swimming is again?"

"No, they're swimming." The blue-clad skeleton murmured in reply.

The  negativity-laden guardian didn't so much as acknowledge their side conversation, eyeing his brother and stating as if they never tried to fight each other on a near-daily basis. Or like a caring father. Either worked. "They're only twenty-eight years old. Can you believe it? So young and with so much growing left to do. Need to let them get the proper nutrients while they can; I'd hate if their growth was stunted due to improper care."

He hesitantly added after a few moments. "You should join us."

"That's a wonderful idea!" Dream gasped excitedly.

Bright yellow magic promptly encompassed Blue and Ink, lifting them from the ground and push them toward the lake.

"Wait, Dream-" Blue screeched as he was dangled above the clear blue liquid, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!"

Ink experienced the same treatment, leaving him to whine at the same time, "But it's not time for my weekly bath!"

Their yellow-clad companion paid their protests no mind and released his magical hold, dropping them. Waves formed as the duo plunged into the deep; below the rippling surface.

Soon, after much arm and leg flailing, Ink and Blue arose. One wearing scowl while the other scrabbled to salvage his slowly staining scarf and ink-bleeding notes.

"Now stay hydrated and photosynthesize." The Guardian of Positivity cheerily shouted to them. Just as he began to turn around, his expression turned thoughtful, and he added, "Oh, and remember to be nice to my brother's scion. There is plenty of water and sunlight for everybody, so there is no need to fight over it."

Dream proceeded to turn left, take ten long steps away from his brother, and did something that would scar many for years to come- i.e., fearlessly burrowed completely beneath the sand.

A task he completed with practiced ease.

Thereafter, his arms shot up like saplings, phalanges spread out in a leaf-like fashion, allowing them to soak in the warm rays of sunlight.

It was certainly an interesting, more concerning sight.

Cross paddled over and grimaced at the two bony appendages poking from the ground, "Err... So Dream has some weird 'plant things' too? About sun and water?" He paused, pointedly glancing toward the negativity-laden skeleton mostly hidden in the sand. "And dirt?"

"Apparently?" Blue shrugged the best he could, scowl being overtaken by with a concerned frown.

"If he suffocates down there, can keep his clothes? Or, maybe, his socks?" Ink questioned, staring blankly in Dream's direction. Then grinned and flapped his arms around in the water excitedly at an idea, causing small splashes. "Oh-oh, I should burn his house down instead!"

The Underswap Sans softly bat the artist on the back of his skull. "Ink, no!"

Notes:

Ink: *places an apple tree sapling with a red bow on the kitchen table*
Dream: *tiredly walks in the room after a hard day of work*
Ink: Dream, look! I got you a housewarming gift.
Dream: *blinks sleepily at tree and bristles* Who are you?! This is my territory! *runs at tree with staff* AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Chapter 96: Nooted

Summary:

I love inspirational typos.

"Brother, if you do not cease this foolishness at once, me and my friends will be forced to take action!" Dream proclaimed, warily watching the darker guardian and his two companions (only Cross and Killer, this time) turn from where they were looting the Snowdin library's shelves.

Which, truly, wasn't all that surprising since his bother always had a certain appreciation for literature.

Nightmare rolled his eyelight and gave a dismissive wave of his hand.

"Your subpar threat has been nooted- noted." He swiftly insisted, whether trying to convince them or himself was unknown. "I said noted!"

Killer gasped, little dim glimmers sparkling in his otherwise empty eye sockets as a pleased grin worked its way onto his skull. "Evil tree baby's first pun!"

At the same time, Cross squealed, "He used our word!"

"Quiet, both of you!" The dark lord snapped, a bright cyan hue slowly creeping over his gooey cheeks; his tendrils thrashed and half-heartedly batted at his followers.

Meanwhile, Ink and Blue silently snickered in the background. Both at the scene and the unintentional wordplay.

It, however, came to a startled halt when the Guardian of Positivity suddenly lunged forward, rapidly swinging his staff at the proud fiendish skeleton duo while shrieking, "Quit corrupting my brother with your Sans-esque ways!"

Chapter 97: How The Turns Have Tabled (1)

Summary:

Geno does not approve.

(Warning: This story contains mild swearing, death, blood/dust, bad parenting, and etc.)

Notes:

Too tired to fully proof and edit this.

Geno foresaw this day years ago. The day his marrow would run cold deep within his bones, and the world around him would grow dim while his HP plummeted to zero.

He had expected - i.e., silently hoped - his personal harbinger of death, his beloved husband, Reaper, would be the one to tear his fragile broken soul from the mortal plane.

Not the death god's pompous, no good, bastard of a king.

Though, it could hardly be said to be unexpected.

Chief, Reapertale's Asgore, made it no mystery that he loathed both the God of Death and his ghoul-esque lover. He took great lengths to silently (and quite blatantly) convey as much via many means: his many, many hateful actions, snide comments at "required" social gatherings (parties and meetings other gods/goddesses were allowed to skip, but Reaper was forced to attend), the multiple assassination attempts (on both Geno's and Reaper's life), and the bloody glitch dared not forget about how the other forbid him and his lover from having offspring.

Something the duo so desperately desired for years prior to their union (back when gods and mortals were still allowed to procreate together), only to have a spite-driven decree snatch the opportunity away.

Geno scolded at the memory from his place on the stony dirt path leading up to his home's demolished doorsteps. Red-stained teeth pulled into a snarl as he sensed the heavenly - more like hellishly - presence directly behind him. Looming menacingly.

Unfortunately, he didn't have the power to do a single thing about it.

His magic was nearly fully depleted, hanging on due to the determination he injected into himself years ago. Deep red blood pooled beneath his crumpled body. The life substance seeped out the numerous cracks along his spine and gashes across his arms, legs, and chest.

Taking his strength with it.

Nevertheless, the glitch painstakingly forced his skull up and swept his hazy eyelights over the soul-crushing scene.

The mansion he and Reaper had spent years in together (laughing, crying, simply enjoying one another's company) now sat in shambles. Mere ruins that portrayed nothing of their former glory, of all the pleasant memories it previously housed within.

In fact, the building had been almost completely leveled during the powerful Asgore's attempt to finally be rid of the skeleton couple once and for all.

A goal that was evident enough based on one little detail.

At the start of the carnage laid the dusty, black cloak that belonged to Geno's mate.

White-hot rage bubbled in his soul, threatening to spill over into an uncontrollable flame. All the while, pale red tears slowly gathered in the corners of his eye sockets then freely streamed down his muddy, fractured cheeks.

All the happiness he worked so hard to achieve, gone.

Gone.

Gone.

Gone.

Like it was never there to begin with.

Geno grunted and used his least injured arm to hoist his upper half off the ground. Stinging aches assaulted his protesting bones, but he persisted. His right eyelight lit aflame, red/blue magic unhealthily pale and weak.

Turning his skull, he glared at his foe over his shoulder.

"Y-you'll," His wheezing, raspy voice cut off, and a wet chest-rattling cough promptly replaced. Pain flared to life in his rib cage/spine with the jostling motion, and a new wave of blood spilled from his jaws, splatting onto the ground beside him- joining the sickly crimson already below him.

Biting back a whine, he grit his teeth and stubbornly continued, "You'll r-regret th- this."

The towering goat monster let out a boisterous, full-belly laugh; Even going as far as to plant his trident in the earth and lean forward slightly while placing a hand on his stomach as if hearing the greatest joke in eons.

A choppy growl crawled up the glitch-laden skeleton's invisible throat, bringing with it an uncomfortable burning sensation. However, instead of his sockets squeezing shut in response, they narrowed to further the ferocity of Geno's steely glower.

Not that it had much effect against the humored king.

Once the laughter settled, Chief straightened himself, gazing down at Geno like he was no more than the dirt beneath his fancy gold-lined shoes, and stated in an overly smug tone, "No. No, I don't think I will."

With a victorious smirk, his fuzzy white paw raised the mighty golden trident and angled the three deathly sharp prongs at the helpless skeleton before sending it barreling downward.

Right towards the dim, fragmented red/blue soul floating just a mere few inches in front of the other's injured form.

The magical organ took a direct hit, and a piercing "plink" sounded throughout the impromptu battleground.

Then Geno's soul crumbled.

And no amount of determination could save him or it.

His bones slowly began to dust not long after- starting at his feet then climbing higher as the ashy powder quickly vanished along the soft breeze.

Using his last breath, he hissed a venom-laced "F-f-fuck you!"

Thereafter, his remaining body (skull, arms, and rib cage) disintegrated into a puff of dust- which blew away as swiftly as the rest, leaving only a tattered, grey-speckled red scarf and white, red-stained lab coat in its place.

 

Asgore scoffed.

The sacred weapon outstretched to where the unsightly mortal once laid vanished, neatly hidden in his inventory where no nosy lesser gods/goddesses or passersby would be able to view its dirtied state.

And he planned for it to remain there.

At least, until he got his servants to make sure every speck of dust was purged and his trusty trident was tainted no more.

For a second, Asgore entertained the thought to leave (escape the crime scene) to have his weapon cleaned at once, but his attention moved to the ugly red cloth marring the brown earth.

He sneered, thinking, Of course. Its clothing.

Dark yellow eyes drifted to the ratty black cloak lying a short distance away.

And that other one's too.

As much as the chief god preferred not to dirty his paws with those creatures' disgusting garments, he'd be a fool to leave any damning evidence behind. Especially if he wanted to avoid getting on the wrong side of the God of Magic (Gaster) and his remaining "son."

However, before he had a chance to gather the skeleton couple's abandoned clothes, a brambly thicket shot up from the ground. The lush green/brown shrubs and small trees twisted and weaved together, growing at an abnormally fast rate until they sufficiently blocked his path. Large, brown thorns on their exterior threatened to drawn blood at even the slightest of touches- should anyone be foolish enough to approach them.

Asgore wisely retreated several steps, shamelessly gawking the plants in surprise. For many reasons, but chiefly one. That magic... Magic of this nature, this caliber, hadn't been witnessed by anyone since the disappearance of a single goddess.

A special goddess.

There was no mistaking her magic for anyone else's.

He turned at the feeling of her divine presence against his back. Consequently, to face the ire of Reaper's most faithful, secret friend: Toriel, the Goddess of Life.

Also known as his ex-wife.

Though, in this instance, she hardly resembled the gentle, nurturing soul he remembered. Despite wearing the same long, flowing green gold-accented dress she had been in the day she vanished.

Her mouth was drawn into a grim line, eyes hardened, raised hands coated in defensive green magic, and white fur bristled.

The King of Gods flinched back upon noticing the burning fury in her moss green eyes.

Toriel lifted her head high, gazing down at him in disdain. Her velvety, kind voice sounded cold and calculated as her booming growl echoed across the eerie forest ruins, "You better give me a good explanation, Asgore. Quick, lest I lose my patience and drag you before the Divine Council like the coward you are."

"Tori, please understand. I- I," He sputtered.

Her eyes narrowed, and she snapped, "Silence! No excuses, or I shall banish you to the mortal plane so you may repent for the loss and betrayal you have brought to the pantheon on this day."

Chapter 98: Our

Summary:

Sharing is caring.

Reaper rushed through the stark white, chemical-scented halls, dark cloak billowing behind him. All while carefully dodging the numerous visitors, patients, and hospital staff littering the far too confined space.

After narrowly avoiding brushing against and subsequently killing an outgoing patient (a young child crying tears of joy alongside their family), he found himself exactly where he needed to be: the maternity ward.

The God of Death paid the new mothers/fathers no mind as he quickly passed, screeching to a halt before the 10th room.

(Though, they did not extend him the same courtesy- given how some shrieked and cradled their loved ones fearfully when his dark, scythe-bearing form whooshed by.)

Busting open the door, he hurried into the small, sanitary space. Just barely remembering to close the door afterward.

Then the name stuck in the forefront of his mind ever since receiving the call at work burst forth, "Geno!"

"Reaper, dear, please calm down. We're in a hospital." The tired glitch murmured from his uncomfortable-looking hospital bed, adding in a hushed chide, "Plus, the baby is asleep. You don't need to go and wake him up."

At the word "baby," empty eye sockets redirected their gaze to the light purple bundle resting against Geno's chest.

A tiny white skull's top peeked out the soft blanket, and featherless, bony wings were exposed out the back.

Reaper gasped, his own raven-feathered appendages fluttering in joy while blue tears gathered in the corners of his eye sockets. He took a few steps forward before hesitantly moving a hand closer to the fragile being.

His son.

"My beautiful baby." He whispered in awe.

The sentence brought a pleasant smile to his lover's face then-

"I-I think you me-an 'our' bea-beautiful b-baby."

The dark-cloaked skeleton's head whipped in the familiarly ominous, glitchy voice's direction.

A dark-boned, "error" sign-flickering monster lounged in the bland waiting chair sat beside the end table in the corner; in his multi-colored phalanges laid a partially shredded magazine.

"Error," Reaper growled. "What do you think you are doing here?"

The destroyer huffed and crossed his arms, letting the ruined booklet flop on the tile floor. "Wit-witnessing the birth of-of our s-son. What the fu-nk do thi-think I'm doing-ng there?"

The jet black feathers on the death god's wings bristled. "Our son?"

"Of-of c-course. Did-d you thi-nk I wo-would come to a-a hellhole like-ike this for j-just any a-abomination?" Error stated as if common sense.

Vacant eye sockets narrowed, and flat teeth pulled into an angry snarl.

His son was no "abomination."

"Reaps..." Geno mumbled, catching the god's attention; his once happy face marred by a slight frown.

"One second, dove." Reaper shifted to face the lab coat-wearing Sans he had ignored upon entering the room. "Sci, can't you kick him out or get security to escort him away?"

The scientist (moonlighting as a doctor) raised a single brow. "He is as stubborn as Geno, if not even more. There's very little I can do about him, aside from giving him chocolate to keep him quiet."

"So he's not leaving any time soon?" The dark-cloaked skeleton noted with a hint of defeat, wings drooping.

Sci nodded. "Precisely."

"Alright." He sighed and turned back to his two favorite monsters (Geno and his newborn son, of course), struggling to ignore the unwelcome presence lurking in the background. "Have you chosen a name for our sweet little fledgling?"

His husband, though still frowning, gave confirmation via a nod.

However, instead of receiving one answer, two were spoken simultaneously.

"Goth."

"G-guillotine."

Both glitches blinked, promptly growling and glowering at each other.

Reaper watched from the sidelines. All the while, idly wondering how on earth the happiest day of his life became so complicated.

And strange.

Sci gently settled his clipboard on the nearby counter and coughed to gain everyone's attention. In a calm voice, he asked, "Is now a bad time to talk about my visitation rights for the weekends? He is our son too, you know."

Chapter 99: Caulk Block

Summary:

Way to ruin a good time, Broomie.

A dopey grin laid across Palette's jaws while his yellow and green, star-shaped eyelights rested on the white-cloaked skeleton sitting in front of him- i.e., Goth, his boyfriend.

Stars, he loved calling the other that.

The artistic teen held his skull in his hands, elbows placed on the table (in a way his mother would no doubt scold him for), enjoying the calm atmosphere of the small, forest-themed café they had settled in for their study date.

Goth scribbled away on the homework sheet their Multiverse History teacher assigned them earlier in the week; His face set in a determination. The quiet scratches of his pencil against the paper hardly sounded above the light chatter from other patrons (humans and monsters, some of which belonged to different AUs).

Palette, on the other hand, had nothing since he already finished his and handed it in.

So no "unforeseen" paint splatters, dog attacks, thefts, or his bored father obtained a chance to ruin it.

He released a content sigh and relaxed in his seat.

This was perfect.

Just perfect.

For many reasons.

One, being the aforementioned completed homework.

Two, no monsters currently in the AU recognized him. Therefore there was no need to worry about his parents' creepy fans/stalkers.

At least, for now.

And three, not only did the starry-eyed skeleton not have to worry about his father abruptly popping in on them, but Goth's parents also left on a rather conveniently timed five-day trip.

Meaning the couple had some less-than-parent-approved plans for later.

Plans that might get him murdered by Geno if the deadly glitch were ever to find out.

However, that was something for his future self to worry about.

For several minutes, the pair sat in silence. All while Palette occasionally helped his boyfriend whenever he got stuck on a question.

Eventually, the artist reached for the half-filled, clear cup of the café's specialty tea at his side and took a sip.

That was when he noticed a flash of brown over Goth's shoulder before it disappeared behind a booth chair at the far end of the cafe, by the entrance.

Palette choked on the tea.

The lesser death god instantly looked up from his paper, expression quickly changing to a worried one as he asked in concern, "Pally, are you okay? What happened?"

"Nothing! Just my father's art supplies stalking me again." He nervously replied, quickly returning the drink to its spot and straightening his back.

"Oh. Alright..." Purple eyelights drifted down to the half-completed worksheet before snapping back up while worriedly demanding, "Wait, what did you say?"

"Uh- I... inhaled my drink the wrong way?"

Goth frowned but accepted the answer. "You really should be more careful."

Palette let out a fake laugh. "Heh-he... Yeah, I know. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have something very not suspicious and creepy to take care of over there."

"...O-okay?"

He silently exited his seat and made his way over to the last spot he had seen the familiar, ominous color. And, sure enough, it was precisely what he feared and expected: the bristly art tool his father lovingly called "Broomie."

"What are you doing here?! I'm trying to have a date." The teen whisper-yelled at the giant paintbrush strategically hidden behind the booth.

Bristles soundlessly flopped against the ground in reply.

He gave an exasperated groan and shouted, "That's not an answer!"

A monster shot him an odd look as they passed.

Palette paid them no mind and pinched the bridge of his nasal cavity, frowning.

Meanwhile, Broomie waved its paint-scented hairs.

"I don't care. Gothy and I are having- were having a good time. We were even supposed to go back to his place afterward since his parents are out of town on a business trip." He snapped.

The brush shifted, rolling on the ground slightly.

Palette bit back the frustrated growl, attempting to calm himself, and instead grit out a harsh "Why are you like this?" at the cause of his ruined date.

Broomie gave no answer.

But he wasn't expecting one anyway.

The sentient paintbrush seemed to live to mildly and severely inconvenience him in every way possible. Whether that inconveniencing be via creeping on him at night (more notably when he was a child), hiding his homework (which often resulted in failing to turn in assignments and receiving bad grades), getting wet/dry paint in his after school snacks, and et cetera. Which included so many things he couldn't even count them with one, let alone two hands.

And, of course, now the yellow/white-clad skeleton could add ruining dates to the list of ever-growing transgressions enacted by his mortal enemy.

Broomie rolled sideways, bumping against his foot.

"Ugh! Fine." The artist conceded.

Defeated, he picked up his father's accursed companion and completed a solemn trek - or a walk of shame, so to speak - back to the table where his boyfriend patiently awaited him.

Goth looked up upon his approach, glancing curiously at Broomie. "What's wrong?"

"I'm sorry, Gothy. It looks like Broomie got lost, so I need to go bring him back to my dad before he trashes any AUs during his search to find it." Palette sighed mournfully.

His boyfriend, being the wonderful saint he was, smiled sadly and offered, "It's okay, Pal. We can reschedule our date for tomorrow if you want. My house should still be quiet with my parents gone- Y-you know, if you'd like to come over afterward and... study."

A green flush dusted his cheeks, matching the strength of Goth's own purple blush before his wary eyelights found their way onto the brush clutched in his hands.

He clicked his teeth, hesitating.

After all, if Broomie knew where they were going to be next, it would take the chance to ruin their time together again. So he settled on, "Maybe next time?"

"Oh. Okay." The white-cloaked skeleton clumsily asked, "Do you need me to open you a portal home, or are you..."

"No, no- I'm good. Got- uh, plenty of magic for the travel." He internally facepalmed. Stars, why did I have to say it like that?

They stared at each other awkwardly for a few seconds until Goth broke the silence with a hopeful, "See you around?"

"Yeah. Definitely!" Palette grinned. Then leaned down for a kiss only to cringed and gag alongside his boyfriend when itchy, paint-tasting bristles rudely intervened.

He settled for giving his boyfriend a hug, swiftly pulling away before Broomie could find a way to ruin that as well.

Being given a soft smile and a short wave of farewell, the artist went on his way; the café door's bell jingled behind him as he exited.

Once fully out of Goth's view, he leveled the giant paintbrush with the darkest, most hateful glare possible. One that would undoubtedly make his Uncle Nightmare (and, probably, his other uncles) extremely proud.

"Why do you hate me, Broomie?"

The paintbrush's bristles flopped to the side.

Palette growled. "You know, if my father didn't love you, I would turn you into firewood and dance on your ashy remains. Just like how mom taught me."

Chapter 100: Pants

Summary:

For shame, Nightmare. For shame.

(Warning: This chapter contains adult humor and nonsense.)

It was an ordinary day in the chaotic household of the Bad Sanses.

Killer and Horror were on the couch fighting over the TV remote, tugging it back and forth; Flipping through numerous channels, all the while.

Nightmare calmly lounged in the nearby plush reading chair with a book in hand and cyan eyelight intently focused on the words.

For a time, their peculiar peace remained.

At least, up until frantic footfall could be heard emanating the dark castle's echo-y stone halls.

All three skeletons glanced away from their activities when Cross appeared in the living room's entryway. Clothes disheveled, eye sockets wide, and skull flushed bright purple as he shouted, "Nightmare, help! There's a ghost in my pants."

Killer quickly raised his hand, relinquishing the remote to his broken-skulled counterpart, and shouted eagerly. "Can I help instead?!"

"No! You'll only make things worse." The monochrome warrior snapped. "I need Nightmare's help for this."

Said negativity-laden skeleton closed his book and placed it on the chair's armrest before he gradually brought himself to a stand.

"Okay," He started slowly. "So you have a ghost... in your pants. What do you want me to do about that?"

"Get it out!" Cross hysterically cried.

"...A-alright." Nightmare stuttered, a cyan blush creeping up his cheeks.

"Great, let's go!" The fluffy-coated Sans snagged dark guardian's wrist, pulling him out the room and up the stairs to his bedroom, where he soon released him three feet in front of an antique, dark oak dresser with solid gold handles.

AKA, one of the many furnishings that had come alongside the castle when Nightmare "liberated" it from its previous owner.

He stood awkwardly, not knowing what to do when his companion promptly brushed past him and approached the dresser.

The Guardian of Negativity frowned. "What are you-"

Cross swiftly pulled open the topmost drawer, revealing the contents inside: multiple pairs of the exact same styled pants and an unwelcome "guest."

"Ah... I see," Nightmare mumbled, staring down at the light blue ghost monster snug in the monochrome warrior's pants drawer. "This is... This is not what I was expecting."

"How could you expect anything else?" Cross violently gestured at the drawer. "I was very clear that there is a ghost in my pants."

"I thought you meant a different type of 'in your pants.' And possibly metaphorically."

An invisible brow raised. "'A different type of'... What does that mean?"

"Oh, Cross." The dark lord gentle pat the other's shoulder as he stepped toward the open drawer, tendrils sharpening and menacingly creeping closer to the apparition haunting the white/black apparel. Then, as swift as a snake, they struck, dusting the monster before they even had a chance to wake.

However, due to the brutal assault, strips of black and white cloth got sent flying in the air.

Nightmare smirked, satisfied by a job well done. "There. Problem solved. Though, I'm surprised the others haven't corrupted you yet."

"I don't care about being corrupted! I care about my pants!" Cross cried, falling to his knees whilst watching the dusty shreddings gently flutter to the ground. "They were too young to die outside of battle!"

Chapter 101: Mother!

Summary:

Who said magic trees couldn't be reincarnated?

Cold snow flitted between the two opposing groups stood on opposite sides outside of Snowdin's best and only restaurant, Grillby's.

The area held not a sound despite being the small town's most popular hangout, and the road stretching all the way from the Ruin's sealed doorway to Waterfall's entrance was empty. Dull and lifeless.

Like the snowy wonderland had been abandoned.

Or worse.

Hardened, yellow eyelights fixed themselves on the menacing, gooey figure backed by four equally terrifying monsters. Each of them donned a dark, somewhat intimidating expression in return. However, Dream would not back down, for he hoped to bring their years of battle to an end today.

And, no, his plan to achieve that did not include physical harm or entrapment in any way, shape, or form.

Regardless of how much Ink wanted to practice his dungeon-building skills.

The Guardian of Positivity squared his shoulders and straightened his back, head held high. His two (mostly) reliable companions standing next to him; One on each side, weapons (unfortunately) drawn and prepared for combat.

Yellow-gloved phalanges tightened their grip around the two objects in his hands.

The confrontation's key items, so to speak: a plain staff and, arguable the most important, a small, nearly pebble-sized diamond-shaped device. An integral part of Dream's current plan, mainly due to its function.

Again, no, it would not turn his brother - or anyone for that matter - into a child. Despite how much Ink wanted a literal ankle biter or two.

It was a locator specifically crafted to find souls that re-entered the Multiverse's reincarnation cycle. He had asked Sci to make it several months ago in hopes of potentially finding the reincarnation of an extremely important person.

One both he and his brother had known since birth.

Their mother. Who the lighter twin hoped to find for many reasons, but primarily selfish ones.

One, he missed the freedom he used to have when she reigned as the primary keeper of the balance between Positivity and Negativity.

Two, he wholeheartedly believed that if they allowed their mother to once again take over their duties - the ones she so "kindly" forced upon them - then maybe he and Nightmare could stop fighting; be brothers again.

The question was: How did he convey as much to his brother?

The last thing he wanted Nightmare to think was that he intended to go through with Ink's idiotic plan to transform him into a literal octopus, cage him, and poke him with a stick. Or any of the artist's other rejected ideas (imprisonment, de-aging, animal transformation, balloon animal therapy, making him glow-in-the-dark [an odd idea no one really understood the purpose of], etc.).

Though, convincing him otherwise would be much harder than it sounded.

Especially considering their rather rocky relationship.

Nevertheless, I can do this.

Dream gave himself a mental nod- not daring to do it outwardly, lest the others believe it to be a signal of some sort.

An easy misconception to come to, seeing as Nightmare seemed to be increasingly more uneasy by the second, tendrils shifting restlessly alongside the growing emotion; his followers, naturally, followed suit, coiling in anticipation to fight.

The yellow-clad skeleton took a deep breath and started, "Nightmare, I grow weary of these scuffles. Don't you?"

The dark lord's eye socket narrowed skeptically, and his negativity-laden form tensed, preparing to block an attack. He proceeded to question with a hint of suspicion in his tone, "If I do, what of it?"

"What if I said I procured a means for us to... repair our relationship? To be free to live our lives as we wish?"

His brother raised a brow, intrigued yet simultaneously offended and wary, "Bold of you to assume I'm not living my life as I wish."

Dream quickly lifted his hands in a placating gesture. (Well, as much as he could while holding two objects.)

"I never said you weren't. I'm just saying you aren't living your life entirely the way you wish; there is more you want in life that you can't currently have. Though, if you did have it, I'm positive-" An awkward cough interrupted, and he nervously continued, "No pun intended - you would be a lot happier and-"

"By the stars, can you get to the point already?" The Guardian of Negativity snapped, shaking his skull and muttering, "To think people claim I am the one who monologues."

It's now or never then.

"I- I'm going to retrieve mother!" The words left Dream's jaws quickly and with little forethought.

Given how everyone's faces and emotions shifted to something darker and heavier, he should have said it differently.

"Dream..." Nightmare said with great pity and sorrow, eyelight clouded by grief, and malicious grin downturned into a frown.

"I know, I know, this probably sounds crazy-"

"Which it is."

In response, the lighter twin's hand raised the small magical device upward and revealed it for all the battle's participants to see.

Luck appeared to be on his side since Ink didn't immediately snatch it out of his hands because it was shiny.

However, Dream dared not tempt fate and explained, voice full of passion and hope. "But it is possible! And this device Sci made - with the Reaper's expertise about souls - will help us find her. It will lock on to her soul signature and magic and lead us to her."

"She's dead, Dream, and she is not coming back. Her soul is gone." Looking away, Nightmare added solemnly, "It disappeared when the final roots of her tree withered and died."

"Then I'll just have to prove otherwise." With that final statement, the yellow-clad skeleton released the small diamond-shaped locator.

It fell toward the snow-covered ground until seemingly bursting with energy, sailing through the air.

Blue yelped and flinched when the device smacked him square in the face before dropping into his hands.

Dream froze in shock. Meanwhile, Nightmare stared whilst beginning to tremble in place.

Killer, noticing his boss' plight along with the others, decided to question worriedly, "Uh... 'mare, are you alright?"

The Guardian of Negativity graced him with no answer, wavering eyelight solely focused on Blue.

"Momma?" he sniffled as cyan-tinted tears gathered in the corner of his eye socket.

 

Error grinned. His mismatched eyelights were fixed on the one-way portal as chaos erupted between the two factions on the other side, ignoring the near-transparent blue string that snaked back into his hand.

The very string that provided a "little" outside interference.

To make things more interesting, of course.

While watching the Dreamtale siblings find their true mother would be a perfect little conclusion to their sad story, a small - i.e., extremely large - mischievous part of himself couldn't help wanting more drama. Thus, why he chose the cheery Underswap Sans to be their mother.

Blue was many things: a friend (or ex-friend, depending on the day), probably a murderer, a professional chef, master engineer, prankster, and the Dreamtale twins' father.

Or at least the template used to create them.

A strange discovery. Though, not nearly the oddest thing in the Multiverse. Two prime examples being how Error was loosely related to Nightmare's infamous murder trio via Classic and how he was single yet simultaneously dating Reaper and Red.

The destroyer nearly scoffed at the thought of the two.

His past selves had terrible taste. Obviously, chocolate was better than either of those idiots. It didn't complain, wasn't grabby (like that handsy bird), was always there when he needed it, and would never dare to leave him.

Unless he ate it.

Error shook the thought from his head and focused his attention back on the show- namely, Nightmare and Blue.

A good thing he did too because, at that moment, the lord proceeded to throw himself at the blue-clad Sans, creating what would no doubt be considered an embarrassing scene for him.

And a risk to his well-crafted, sinister reputation.

Not that the gooey skeleton seemed to care much about that right now, freely sobbing in Blue's arms like a baby; each negativity-laden tendril sprouting from his back clinging to the other like he would disappear any second.

All while, the latter wore a very confused, worried expression as he gently rubbed circles on his newfound son's back.

Error snorted.

Who could have guessed the edgy emo lord is such a momma's boy?

The glitchy skeleton quickly pulled the black flip phone out of his tattered coat's pocket and aimed it at the heartfelt cuddles displayed in the rectangular portal.

I definitely need to save pictures so I can blackmail him later. He thought, giving a snicker, He'll never be able to say "no" to buying me chocolate ever again.

An evil smirk crept up his jaws.

Plus, I can trade this with Ink for more blackmail on some of those disgusting abominations in his stupid little club.

Chapter 102: Sizzlin' Fries

Summary:

Dream wishes he could get greetings like that...

Delicious scents wafted through the air as Dream busied himself in front of the stove, using a pair of plastic-tipped tongs to flip his current target.

Grease fizzled in the pan, splattering across the stovetop when the battered chicken strips hit the oil once more.

They were the meal's main dish, but that did not mean there weren't ample sides available to accompany them. 

On the marble counter behind him sat an array of piping hot foods ready to be plated: steamed vegetables (broccoli, cauliflower, and asparagus), air-fried zucchini/yellow squash, creamy macaroni and cheese, and battered, seasoned, and oil-fried french fries.

The corners of his teeth quirked up at the thought of his culinary accomplishments.

It was rare to get opportunities to make a nice, home-cooked meal considering his hectic schedule spreading positivity, fighting multiversal crime, and that all.

He wanted it to be perfect.

Plus, hopefully, the meal would be a pleasant surprise for his equally hard-working husband.

Feeling determination rise in his soul, he resumed his task. Promptly plucking the crispy chicken out of the oil and placing it upon a plate, then setting it alongside the other dishes before starting a second batch.

After several minutes, a loud click - no doubt caused by the noisy front door - sounded somewhere beyond the kitchen doorway, followed by Ink's near-silent footfall. (Likely a perk of walking everywhere shoeless.)

"Oh! Why, hello there." The husky, sensual rumble echoed from behind, sending a chill down the yellow-clad guardian's spine.

The tongs in his hand quickly found refuge on the countertop, and the burner's heat got lowered as he pivoted on his heels to warmly welcome his lover hom-

A sultry smirk laid on Ink's jaws, his mismatched eyelights fixed on the generous bowl of fries that had been added to the counter some time ago.

Dream frowned, shoulders sagging. "Did you just... seductively greet the fries?"

"Yup! They're looking extra crispy today." Ink cheerily replied, giving a thinly sliced fry a loving stroke.

"So, what? The fries are pretty enough to receive a greeting like that, but not me?" The Guardian of Positivity huffed.

"No, of course not! You're prettier than a potato!"

A yellow flush accompanied by a shy smile bloomed across Dream's skull in an instant. "Aw. Ink, that's the sweetest thing you've ever-"

"But only slightly."

His blushing smile swiftly vanished, replaced by an unamused glower. "I hate you."

"I know," The artist said with an unperturbed grin, soon holding up a tail end of the beige fabric around his neck. "It's written on my scarf!"

Chapter 103: Unicorn

Summary:

Aren't its demonic howls majestic?

(Warning: This chapter contains mild swearing.)

Over time, Sci had seen some very interesting and bizarre things from his future selves.

Classic simultaneously breaking the laws of physics and logic by creating a hotdog stack starting on the ceiling.

Killer dancing the night away and conning gullible Sanses out of their coats at a random Star Sanses celebration he most certainly did not receive an invitation to.

Horror stuffing - and this was no tiny exaggeration - an entire, fully-cooked turkey into his mouth before scuttling under a bed like a monster in those frightening human stories.

(A sight Sci wished he could unsee but would no doubt be haunted by for the rest of his life.)

And, of course, Dust marketing his unholy crossover between Life, Twister, Clue, and Monopoly: LTCM or, as it was alternatively known as, Suffer, the ultimate game designed to inflict the most misery and rage.

However, despite all those things, Geno standing in awe beside a glistening white, rainbow-maned unicorn took the cake.

The scientist raised a brow and carefully trod the pale yellow brick path leading up to Star Sanses' base's main entrance. "Uh... Why does Geno have a unicorn?"

Red, his datemate, who had been sitting on the front steps while fiddling with his phone, glanced up. "I don't know. Because they're attracted to the pure of heart or some shit like that?"

As if to prove otherwise, Geno cackled manically atop his majestic steed- which opened its soft, dainty muzzle to reveal two rows of razor-sharp teeth and released a spine-chilling roar.

They soon galloped after an unfortunate Sans admiring the vast gardens, screaming threats of destruction and inevitable death.

Or, in the unicorn's case, growling like a rabid wolf.

The (unsurprisingly) hoodie-clad skeleton promptly cried out in fear, causing many other Sanses to look their way and shout as they fled the bloody glitch, who seemed to be having far too much fun if the manic grin on his face was any indication.

Sci grimaced, glancing away. "That doesn't look very 'pure of heart.'"

Red shrugged. "Maybe it's an Underfell unicorn."

"...I guess that's possible."

Together, the two watched the spectacle in silence until a familiar, dark-cloaked figure approached while gingerly nursing a large styrofoam cup of coffee.

Said figure, Reaper, then stopped next to them and proceeded to watch alongside them.

"Are you not going to do something about that?" Sci asked. His hand gestured toward the implied scene filled with horrid laughter and screams in the distance.

The God of Death shook his skull and dismissively replied, "Nah. He'll calm down within the next two or three hours." His expression turned sour for a moment before he added, "Hopefully, without killing anyone. I've already done more than enough work today, and I don't fancy filling out any further paperwork. For anyone. That includes you and your timeline variants."

"B-but I haven't killed anyone."

Reaper only chose to eye him incredulously in response.

"Sci?" Red curiously questioned as he slipped his phone into his inventory, crimson eyelights focused on his datemate.

"I haven't killed anyone, I swear!" The scientist adamantly protested and defensively lifted his hands, taking a step back from their gazes.

Chapter 104: A Treacherous, Toe-tapping Plan

Summary:

Error is not a spider.

(Warning: This chapter contains mild swearing.)

The Star Sanses' meeting room was bustling with sound; Unintelligible shouts and demands emanated from the numerous, near-identical skeletons that sat around the circular table resting in the center of the gold and cream-colored space.

Their verbal battle continued for some time until a red/black-clad, sharp-toothed Sans rose, snarling minor obscenities, and banged his fists on the extensive wooden furnishing.

Which promptly silenced the room.

"For fucks sake! This fuckin' nonsense an' talkin' over each other ain't gettin' us anywhere. We need a coherent plan if we're ever goin' to do somethin' about that destroyer an' his damn destructive tendencies." He growled. All the while, his blazing red eyelights swept over the others with a seething glare.

Skeleton after skeleton flinched back at his heated rage. However, their fear got disregarded as Red continued, throwing his hands flat against the surface, creating a loud thud and demanding, "Now, does anyone have an actual idea, or are you bitches just here to complain?"

Ink perked up from his place at the decided "head" of the round table, where he had spent a majority of the noisy meeting doodling and ignoring/improperly answering any questions thrown his way. His expressive eyelights quickly morphed into a yellow sun and orange triangle, and an excited grin crept up his face.

Finally, it was his time to shine; tell the world his inventive plans that no one (especially not Dream) approved. Despite the sheer genius behind them.

As if sensing Ink's "brilliance," the yellow-clad skeleton to his right sent a narrow-eyed, disapproving look his way. One telling him to keep his mouth shut and that, no, whatever his plan might be, it did not deserve an utterance.

Though, like usual, the Guardian of AUs ignored him.

"Oh, oh! I have an idea!" He shouted. Eagerly standing, the artist struck a typical heroic pose - placing a hand on his hip while the other rose, shaped like a fist - and confidently proclaimed, "I'm going to seduce him with my epic dancing skills!"

Stunned silence fell over the room.

Eye sockets widened, jaws dropped - and, in one case, literally detached, clinking onto the table - and various expressions (exasperated, tired, incredulous, etc.) crossed the faces' of each monster.

Dream sighed beside him. Head hung in second-hand shame whilst a hand pinched the bridge of his nasal cavity.

Meanwhile, taken aback, Red stared at him. Sharp, pointed teeth slightly parted in shock- whether at the boldness or sheer absurdity proposed was unknown. He pulled his hands to his side, staring dumbly towards Ink. "Wait. What."

"You heard what I said; I'm going to seduce him via the power of dance!" The Guardian of AUs said.

The lab coat-clad skeleton sitting to Red's left raised an invisible brow, voicing in concern, "Aren't you terrible at dancing?"

A scoff echoed through the air. "No, of course not! I'm a good dancer. So good, in fact, Dance told me never to visit his AU again because my skills were intimidating the locals."

Every surrounding face (aside from a select small few) morphed in disbelief.

"O- okay, but what makes you so certain that it will work?" Sci skeptically narrowed his eye sockets, a light frown working on his jaws.

Ink waved a hand dismissively and stated a matter-of-factly, "Because he's a spider! And he'll be so impressed by my awe-inspiring dance skills we'll fall in love, have lots of babies together, and live in the Doodlesphere for the rest of eternity."

Classic worriedly interjected, "Uh... Don't spiders eat their lover?"

"Pfft- Maybe. I don't know. But, Error won't eat me!" He paused a brief moment, uncertainly creeping up his face, and his mismatched eyelights shifted toward Blue as he worriedly asked, "He won't eat me, right?"

The Underswap Sans stiffened when the entire room's attention shifted to him, causing him to straighten in his chair, where he had been lazily solving a word crossword puzzle. A crossword puzzle that was stealthily swept into his inventory before anyone could notice.

"I mean, I never saw him eat much of anything aside from chocolate or the occasional random object. But, considering his ability to digest anything and his obscure morals, I wouldn't put it past him to try." Blue replied, nervously tucking the pen in his left hand under the table.

"So there's a possibility."

Blue nodded grimly. "Unfortunately."

Ink blinked, suddenly frowning before fumbling with the folds of his scarf. When he finally found the information he sought, a few damning words left his jaws. "Oh... Well, shit."

"Ink, what did you do?" Dream immediately questioned, yellow eyelights zeroing in on the artist accusatorily.

"Well, I might have already sent him a video of-"

A blocky, white portal split the cream-colored ceiling overhead. Thus, allowing a volley of blue strings to descend upon the room as fearful screams pierced the air.

They wiggled and writhed, keeping Sanses at bay until a group of strands coiled around the artist's waist, then bound his arms and legs together.

Making it impossible for him to reach his paint vials or loyal brush.

Ink gave a startled yelp when dastardly threads heaved him into the air. Slowly raising him higher, tauntingly. "Uh... Guys, I need a little help over here!"

Upon noticing his predicament, a series of shouts (some panicked, others not) sounded.

"Ink!"

"No!"

"Someone blast the strings!"

"Good riddance!"

A few Sanses (mainly Blue and Dream) attempted to reach him but kept becoming tangled in string and tripping over one another.

"REMEMBER ME!" The soulless skeleton screamed as he got yanked through the glitchy portal- which prompted the remaining strings to retreated and the rift to slip closed.

 

On the other side, Ink's eye sockets squeezed shut to block out the far, far too white space suddenly surrounding him. Cool, nigh refreshing darkness instantly flooded his vision.

Its non-trauma-inducing nature helped calm his faux nerves to an extent.

Though, not nearly enough.

Each black, swirling tattoo littering his bones pulsed similarly to a frightened heartbeat while the strings pulled his bound body toward his, quite possibly, final destination. The dull throbbing only picked up the pace when his momentum slowed to a halt.

Leaving him hanging helplessly in magic, impenetrable blue threads.

Unable to do a single thing about it.

Soft static played in the air, accompanied by the overwhelming pressure of dangerously high LOVE; A clear indicator signaling where and who laid beyond his tightly closed eye sockets: Error and his dwelling.

He cried as fearfully as his paints would allow him, squirming much like a fly caught in a web, "Error, please don't eat me! I taste nothing like chocolate!"

A grating glitched beep sounded.

Ink's eye sockets cautiously cracked open.

There Error stood, his face froze; mouth twisted in revulsion, brows pinched, and nasal cavity wrinkled.

After a minute or so, he shook off whatever crash had come over him and balked. "E-ew! Wh-why in this-this d-disgusting, abomination-ridden m-multiverse would I-I e-ever want t-t-to do that-at, you fr-freak?!"

"B-but... my dancing-"

"Is-s terrible." The dark-boned glitch hissed, narrowing his eye sockets into angry slivers.

In conjunction, his multicolored hand covered in thin blue strings clenched, causing their grip on Ink's form to tighten. Almost enough to threaten cutting deep into his heavily-clothed bones.

Error sneered, pulling the artist several inches away from his face, and growled, "H-honestly, I should-ld end-end you just f-f-for subjecting me-me to that dis-disgusting eyesore."

"Hmm. Fair enough!" Ink conceded, gaze drifting toward the other's glitchy yellow teeth. "So, are we going to kiss now?"

The question's recipient instantly recoiled, cringing as a blocky portal to an unspecified destination (Underfell) swiftly opened beneath the soulless skeleton's dangling form. "UG-UGH! N-no, you weirdo! I-I swear you always-ways ruin ev-everything."

With that said, the destroyer unceremoniously dropped Ink into the universe with a shudder. "D-don't come back-back!"

Before the portal closed, the artist yelled, "You're the one who kidnapped and brought me here, but okay! See you next week!"

Chapter 105: Feline Brotherly

Summary:

It's not the true cat experience without sudden, unauthorized breaches of personal space.

Nightmare wasn't the best sleeper in the world, as one could imagine given his namesake.

The long cold dark nights he spent in bed were often accompanied by tossing and turning and the inability to find any solace in the land of dreams. A place that happened to be commonly plagued by his fears and traumas: his boys suddenly hating him, the happy life he built crumbling down around him, and, of course, the incident.

Nevertheless, the dark lord allowed his trio of miscreants to herd him off to the large plush mattress awaiting in his room.

They were tired of him watching them sleep. Apparently.

He could hardly fathom why. It was a perfectly reasonable pastime aside from catching up on writing his stor- paperwork, and their dreams provided him ample energy to work through the day.

But, according to them, Nightmare required "real" energy obtained by a restful night's sleep. Thus, prompting them to do everything in their power to keep him there once they finally managed to herd him into his dank, lightless bedroom.

Horror fluffed his scarcely used pillows before wrestling him into bed. Then Killer lit a warm, chamomile-scented candle. It cast a pleasant yellow glow across the large stone room's dark, shadowy corners, and the herbal smell it exuded quickly overtook any other odors.

Cross soon joined their efforts, plucking a worn book from the numerous shelves and letting his soft voice fill the space with fanciful tales of myth and mystery.

Nightmare felt his body - tendrils and all - relax after a few moments. All the while, sensing the love, dedication, and care his boys carried for him.

When his eye socket slipped closed, he slept for the longest he had in... well, quite possibly, centuries.

However, a heavy weight settled on his chest sometime during the night. And, eventually, the pressure became too much and roused his sleep-addled mind from an otherwise peaceful slumber.

Sleepily, he urged his eye socket open and blinked up to see two yellow eyelights peering down at him.

"Hello, brother." said the familiar figure calmly sitting on his chest.

Nightmare screamed.

 

The resident Sans trio startled when the Guardian of Negativity's cry echoed throughout the castle, reaching them down on the first floor in the living room.

They nearly hopped out of their seats, alert and prepared to check on him, when a bright yellow cat burst through the room, quickly followed by their leader. Who happened to be violently swinging a wooden-handled broom at the creature while rage twisted his face.

"Personal space, Dream!" He furiously screeched, aiming his bristled weapon.

The feline - Dream - yowled in pain as the broom made contact.

"Personal space!"

Chapter 106: Inktober Shorts (1) - What Do You Call A Group of Glitches?

Summary:

A snuggle. You call them a snuggle.

(Warning: This chapter contains mild swearing.)

Ink and Dream rushed through the bustling Surface street littered with monsters and humans alike. Despite the fact skeleton monsters were an extreme rarity, no one so much as gave them a second glance; not even the monsters who should have known the resident skeleton brothers were some, if not the last, of their kind.

Dream panted while his feet pounded against the stone pavement. Skull flushed a light yellow and matching-colored sweat droplets trailing down his forehead. "Ink, as much as I love randomly running around AUs with you, what are we doing here?"

The artist glanced at his companion, not slowing his gait in the slightest.

"I got a notice stating Error is somewhere in this AU. We have to find him before he destroys anything." He quickly found himself side-eyed with a disapproving look, causing him to tack on, "Or hurts anyone!"

Still eyeing the other warily, the Guardian of Positivity struggled to keep up next to him and questioned between breaths, "Okay, do you know where he is?"

A wide grin worked its way onto Ink's face. "Yup! This way!"

He led them across the city to a small suburban cul-de-sac lined with large, fancy houses alongside spacious well-groomed yards.

One of which they burst into, breaking down the dark oak front door and walking inside.

Though, Dream was more hesitant to enter. "Uh... Ink, isn't this breaking and entering?"

"Yes. But we are investigating evil, so I'm sure it will be fine." The guardian said, waving off his concern and examining the darkly decorated foyer around them. Then, naturally, walked further into the house.

"What are you-" The yellow-clad skeleton sighed when he got ignored, trailing after him.

Ink proceeded to nonchalantly wander the abode, poking his head through doors and touching/moving anything not nailed down (despite Dream's protests) until they approached the one door he had yet to open. It laid at the end of the second floor's left hallway, bearing a far too tempting to ignore "do not disturb" sign.

A brown-gloved hand reached for its silver handle.

"Wait, don't-" His exasperated companion warned, only to have his voice cut off by the hinge's obnoxious squeak. Thus, leaving the Guardian of Positivity mute; Face cringing with each loud creak of the door.

When it was finally fully opened, both skeletons froze at the sight inside: a luxurious bed that currently held an odd Sans bearing strange blocky glitches and his dark-boned companion that had "error" signs flickering around him. Snuggled under the blankets. Together.

"Error! So scandalous!" Ink gasped.

Just as the words left his mouth, light snores gently drifted from the pair.

Dream raised a brow, carefully inching closer to their prone forms. "Wait, are... are they sleeping?"

"Looks like it!"

The soulless skeleton suddenly snorted, humor sparkling in his eyelights, and playfully nudged the yellow-clad guardian's side.

"Wh- Heh-he, what do you call a group of glitches?" He instantly replied without missing a beat, "They're a hiss!"

Dream frowned. "Ink, that doesn't even make any sense."

The aforementioned artist huffed in mock offense. "Yes, it does! It's because they're so grouchy."

"Then wouldn't that be better to call them a-"

An irritated shout pierced the room. "REAPER! For fucks sake, get rid of these noisy assholes; I'm trying to sleep!"

Ink and Dream startled, glancing forward to seen Geno had partially risen from the bed's fluffy dark-toned blanket, eye sockets narrowed at them, and teeth pulled into a snarl.

They promptly turned when a rush of cold air chilled their spines.

Reaper, in all his unamused glory, stood behind.

Dream paled. Meanwhile, his artistically inclined partner-in-crime gave an unabashed, friendly grin and waved.

However, it did little to improve the death god's soured mood.

"Hmm. So that's why the door is broken. Heh, and here I thought some human had a death wish." His aura darkened, and he slowly lifted the sharp, hooked weapon gripped in his phalanges. "Sorry, not sorry, guys, but it would seem you have to go."

Ink dodged the blade, holding up his hands in a placating gesture (or as close to that as he could get without remembering what it looked like). "Woah! Okay, okay- watch the scythe."

Reaper eyed him for a moment before drawing the weapon to his side. Its gleaming blade blatantly pointing at the exit. "Leave."

"Alright! We're going." Dream took the artist's hand and pulled him out of the room.

From there, the do-gooding duo booked it out of the death god's home, leaving him to ponder how exactly two moody glitches came to be napping in his bed- especially since there had been only one there when he went to get groceries.

Chapter 107: Bloody Angel

Summary:

The beginning of a love story.

(Warning: This story contains sadness, child neglect, vomiting, animal death, and blood.)

A sighing breath echoed throughout the dense forest, carrying in it the sounds of defeat and untold anguish.

Clear blue waters filled the great lake sat amid the lush greenery. Within its reflective surface dwelled the mirrored image of a slumped, teary-eyed young skeleton sitting on a rock. He wore a (mostly) typical outfit for a monster his age: a yellow and white striped sweater (stained across the chest with a dubious, brown substance [definitely not the chocolate he stol- "borrowed"]), beige shorts, sky blue flip-flops, and a hat; the captain-style white/black, gold-rimmed cap laid awkwardly atop his small skull, being several sizes too large to fit correctly.

But it was one of the very few precious gifts from his father (that wasn't random trash the elder artist picked up like a stone, fistful of snow, or an empty cinnamon bun wrapper), so he wore it anyway.

Another heaving sigh found its way outside him.

Palette absently plucked a smooth, flat stone off the ground and chucked it at the water. Instead of skipping like he'd seen them do for Ink, it slapped against the surface, creating a small spray of water droplets before sinking nigh instantaneously.

Yet another disappointment to add to today's lengthy, ever-growing list.

Sniffling, the young artist fought back the green tears threatening to spill from his eye sockets alongside the broken sobs attempting to claw their way past his jaws. An action that only served to cause the opposite of what he wanted. Instead of being willed away, the magic droplets blurred his vision as they sprung forth, trailing down his cheeks and trickling onto his shorts, and the chest-rattling cries he tried so desperately to contain made his invisible throat clench and burn.

It hurt but nowhere near as much as bitter aching sorrow in his soul. The sheer stabbing sensation that happened time and time again when he recalled the exact source of his misery; why he traveled out to this secluded local in the first place.

Ink and Dream forgot his birthday.

Again.

And what's worse about the matter was the duo weren't even fighting or doing any of their duties to keep the AUs safe- They were at a party. Some obscure celebration cobbled together by a no-name Sans from the outskirts of the Multiverse.

One of the many, many gatherings they received an invitation for.

That children were, apparently, no allowed to attend.

He knew his mother would make it up to him later, with gifts and cake and all cuddling the other could squeeze into the day. However, for just once, Palette wished he could celebrate his birthday on the actual day he was (supposedly) born.

Not the next day.

Not the day before.

Not two weeks later.

After all, this very day happened to be a monumental occasion in the young artist's life- at the stroke of "7:16 PM," he was officially turning thirteen years old. Meaning he would finally be out of his stripes. He'd be a big boy who could go on missions alongside his parents, order things not on the kids' menu, and stay up late to watch TV.

Not that he didn't already do the last one, but what Ink and Dream did not know wouldn't hurt them.

Palette's tears quickly tapered off once a few moments spent expressing his anguish passed, his undeveloped mana supply being unable to support the long-term discharge of the liquid magic. Thus, leading to a harsh, ugly feeling boiling within his soul.

He sniffled, hands fisting the fabric of his shorts as he glared down at his lap.

I can't keep my parents around on my birthday. I can't skip a stone. I can't even cry correctly!

Sure, crying barely qualified as a fun pastime, but at the moment, he wanted to sob to his heart's content- even if the associated negativity wasn't the best for a budding half positivity spirit, half skeleton monster like himself.

Alas, there was very little he could do about his body's refusal to shed any more magic.

Giving a final sniffle, he used a yellow sleeve to dry beneath his eye sockets and wipe the residual wetness from his cheeks. It wouldn't be surprising if the bone around the former looked slightly red and puffy. It certainly felt sore enough, given how the fabric made the area sting uncomfortably.

That, coupled with his low mana and the burning sensation in his nonexistent throat that had yet to subside, made the skeleton-spirit hybrid feel miserable.

Then, further adding to his suffering, a slight pang began nipping at his belly; Soon followed by a loud gurgle.

"Great. Now I'm hungry." Palette grumbled, a pout coming to rest on his features.

He promptly opened his inventory. It contained many things: crayons, paints, colorful papers, a nifty little spiked bracelet thing Red gave him (he still didn't fully understand what it was supposed to do, but the Underfell Sans told him to take it whenever he went out, saying something like "well, some mildly responsible party needs to know where you are and that you're protected."), plastic safety scissors, and etc.

Yet, notably, no food.

The young artist slumped atop the sitting rock, the corners of his teeth turned down.

He must have forgotten to grab a snack before leaving the house.

Of course.

Palette had been in such a hurry to spend the day anywhere else (preferably a place where he wouldn't get reminded his parent were away from home), he neglected to nab a pack of fruit gummies or chips in case he got hungry. Meaning the hybrid stripling had no way to sate his hunger or replenish his magic quickly.

On the bright side, he should have enough energy left to teleport one time. Or, well... somewhere close, at the very least.

A thoughtful hum escaped his throat.

Underswap is nearby, isn't it?

Palette straightened himself, a small smile creeping up his jaws.

Maybe I'll see if Uncle Blue will share a taco or a chocolate chip cookie with me, and then we can hang out and play a game or two. It'll be fun!

That is, if he didn't go to the party alongside my parents, his mind bitterly added, instantly bringing a frown back to his face.

Regardless, going there remained the most logical option. The Doodlesphere, his home, took far more magic than what he currently had to access it. And Uncle Stretch certainly wouldn't turn him away.

Plus, even if neither were home for so reason, the resident Muffet might take pity on him and graciously gift him a meal to eat.

Nodding to himself, the young artist prepared to teleport and subsequently jolted when a strangled cry echoed beyond the tree. Thus, causing panic and worry to usurp any feeling of sorrow, hunger, anger, and fragile hope.

Palette sprung to his feet, letting them guide him in the direction his feeble emotion powers sensed distress.

After jumping over rocks and pushing through bushes/short trees, they brought him to the beginning of a tiny clearing containing a variety of different shaped red, orange, pink, and yellow flowers and flat-topped tan mushrooms.

Green/yellow, star-shaped eyelights scanned the area in search of the troubling emotions' source. However, not a single person (human or monster) occupied the space- neither standing openly in the flower-littered grass nor lurking behind the trees.

The guardian-to-be glanced up.

The thick leafy canopy above bled away around the clearing's center, revealing a bright blue sky adorned by thin wispy clouds and an utterly enchanting figure: An angel, who, much to Palette's delight, was slowly floating closer to the ground.

Large, downy snow-white wings that glisten in the sunlight aided in their descent. Much like the halo of light surrounding them, a long white cloak with edges that licked at the air similarly to flames billowed around their small frame; accentuated by the wavy red scarf flowing around their neck. Its hood remained firmly drawn over their head, barely exposing what no doubt was a dainty skull.

Palette paused, jaws agape as a light green flush bloomed across his skull.

So pretty.

The beautiful being soon touched down with the grace of a butterfly, then-

They suddenly gagged and doubled over. A bloody red waterfall sprung forth from their parted jaws as they heaved until the brown-feathered form of a small bird came out. It flopped listlessly onto the ground in the sickly colored mess. Though still gave a twitch from time to time as a sign of (somewhat existent) life.

The winged skeleton panted for a few moments before wiping the blood off their chin and slowly straightening themself.

They glared and snapped at the brilliant blue above. "Ugh! Stupid birds, you're not the only ones who use the skies." Then their rage deflated alongside the tension in their posture while adding sullenly, "...I should have listened to dad when he said not to fly with my mouth open. I didn't think he was being serious about the bird thing."

They were upset.

Palette didn't need eyelights to be able to tell. His inherited powers did it all on their own, bringing forth a strong desire to comfort the pretty stranger and ease their negativity.

Without thinking, he stepped forward.

A twig snapped beneath his foot.

The winged skeleton's head jerked in his direction, allowing him to see their stunning purple eyelights and shocked expression.

A bright lavender flush colored their skull as their eyelights met his.

They sputtered and took a few steps back, mortified. "H-how much of that d-did you see?"

Palette ignored the words, more focused on their face- the way the light cast shadows upon it, how each individual section looked, how their blush burned brighter as he stared.

"W-well?" The beautiful skeleton demanded, ruffling their wings.

He blinked, opening his jaws to answer their-

Wait, what had the other said?

Instead of asking them to repeat, the hybrid blurted out, "Y-you're pretty! I like your blood!"

They jumped, eye sockets widening and feathers puffing. "O-okay? T-t-thank you?"

 

"And that's how Gothy and I first met!" Palette concluded while a pleased grin rested upon his jaws.

The stunned faces of his uncles stared at him from around the living room's sitting area. All seemingly left at a loss for words and capable of doing no more than gawking or glancing between the two love birds in confused/worried wonder.

"I wish you wouldn't tell that story every time you introduce me to your family members." The death god beside him muttered softly, burying his face in the red scarf around his neck and shyly tugging his cloak's white hood over his skull.

A childish whine crawled out of Palette's invisible throat. "But it's such a great story!"

Goth narrowed his eye sockets a fraction. "No, it's not. It's terrible and sad and-."

Killer quickly interrupted before the lovers could continue their minor dispute. "Okay, let me get this straight: You-" He raised a hand, pointing at Goth, who shrunk in on himself at the action, "up and coughed blood/a dead bird on the ground, and you," The phalange shifted over to Palette, "flirted with him?"

"Yes? I'm fairly certain something similarly strange happened between my mother and father. They did tell me how they met at least once." The young adult said with an added shrug. Meanwhile, his partner sunk into the couch in embarrassment; bones flushed, hands pulled over his face, body curled inward, embracing the hold of furnishing's cushions as if it would hide him from the surrounding world. And Palette's extended family.

Nightmare shook his skull. Whether in disappointment, fondness, or amusement was unknown. "You truly have my brother's tastes and Ink's romantic prowess."

Notes:

In an alternate world -

Palette: I like your blood! *looks from Goth to the bird twitching on the ground* Also, are you going to finish that?
Goth: ...N-no? I wasn't trying to eat it, to begin with?
Palette: Sweet! *noms bird*
Goth: Eugh! *backs away slightly in disgust yet blushes* Is this how mother felt when he met father?

Chapter 108: Inktober Shorts (2) - Not In Papyrus' Household

Summary:

Pun bad.

It had been a whole week since Frisk freed monsters from their underground prison. Sure, there was still plenty of things to sort out with the local government, but they were finally happy in the sunlight (or moonlight, given the time of day) and settling into their new homes atop the mountain that once caged them.

And Sans couldn't be happier.

He smiled down at the empty boxes he'd helped his brother unpack throughout the day; sweat glistened on his brow.

It took far more effort than expected. However, seeing Papyrus' happy face when he got off their old green couch and started opening and unpacking made it more than worth it.

Even if he would need a few more extra hours of sleep that night to rest his achy bones.

"Brother!"

Sans jolted at the sudden call, lazily turning on his heels, looking up, and facing the lanky (and, for once, normally dressed) skeleton standing behind him.

"When will you get rid of this accursed sock? It's stinking up all the other clothes." Papyrus gestured at the aforementioned sinful clothing article, which laid on the very top of their collective "need to put away" clothes pile.

The hoodie-clad comedian's smile grew into a small grin. "Never, bro."

His brother crossed his arms and raised a brow, demanding, "And why not?"

Sans' grin spread even wider as he said, "I have got a bad case of sockholm syndrome."

Papyrus appeared far from impressed. So much so, he gave an annoyed groan and glared, simply stating, "Sans, no."

Between his growing snickers, Sans replied, "Sans, yes."

"I am disowning you. Now, repack your things and go find another unfortunate soul to pester with your horrid sense of humor."

"Aw, bro. You don't really mean that, do you?"

"Yes."

Papyrus picked up the short skeleton by the hood of his hoodie and deposited him outside on the front step, closing the front door behind him.

Then the lock clicked.

"Uh... Papyrus?" After a few moments with no response, Sans nervously continued, "Okay, this is funny and all, but are you going to let me back in?"

A hollow wind breezed through the empty space between him and the front door.

"Welp. Guess I'm sleeping at Tori's tonight." He stuffed his hands in his front pockets before slowly making his way toward the lamp-lit street, channeling magic for a teleport.

"At least, she'll appreciate my puns."

Chapter 109: Inktober Shorts (3) - Memories, Sweet Memories

Summary:

Sci is terrible at hiding things from himself.

(Warning: This chapter contains mild swearing, implied/referenced sex as well as talk about said sex... and future sex.)

Sci awoke with a tiny stretch, squinting at the whispy golden light streaming through his shared bedroom's closed grey curtains. There was a bony arm slung around his waist alongside a pleasant ache in his pelvis from his and Red's late-night "activities." The mere thought of which almost had him blushing.

A brief glance at the alarm clock sat atop the nearby nightstand showed how much said "activities" caused him to oversleep (or undersleep, depending on when he and his lover actually went to bed).

On its digital interface laid "8:23 A.M."

Definitely the latter option then, given Sci's unhealthy relationship with long, napless shifts at work.

Something that he had to be dressed and ready for by 9:30 A.M.

"Ugh... Guess I better get up." He murmured to himself, slowly inching out from under the sheets, careful not to disturb his bedmate. Then he picked a discarded green t-shirt (bearing a science pun, of course) and a pair of plain black shorts off the carpeted floor and slipped them on.

From there, the mostly dressed skeleton tip-toed his way downstairs and to the kitchen- i.e., the sacred haven of any sleep-addled person's most prized possession: the coffee maker.

By the time he had it clean from yesterday's brew and new one trickling into the pot, a set of warm arms captured his waist and tugged him into a hug.

Sci gentle turned his skull to see Red's half-lidded eye sockets and dorky grin.

"Mm. Mornin', beautiful." The bulky, sharp-toothed skeleton sleepily muttered.

A soft smile graced the shorter's jaws while he greeted in return, "Morning, gummy bear. Coffee should be done in a couple minutes."

"Awesome," His datemate mumbled as he pressed a chaste kiss into his cheek. Thus, making the scientist blush a light green before he pulled away and stumbled off to the living room.

No doubt to half-sleep, half-watch TV on the couch during his wait for their home-brewed bean water.

Sci opted to stay in the kitchen until the coffee was done.

(After all, if he got on their sinfully soft sofa without it, he doubted he'd have the strength to will himself get up and go anywhere else.)

When the machine finally beeped, signaling the coffee's readiness, he snagged two mugs from a cabinet, filling them up to the rim with delicious caffeine, and cautiously made his way to the couch and coffee table, where he handed his eager lover a cup.

"Thanks!" Red said, quickly downing half the cup in one sip.

Sci slowly drank from his own cup and settled into the space next to him. "No problem."

There, they relaxed on the plush cushions with the ambient sound of some random cooking show.

Though, their relaxation hardly lasted.

Their front door went flying across the room without warning, banging against the adjacent wall and splintering into pieces to reveal a disheveled blushing Geno.

"How dare you fuck me- I mean, Sci!"

Red flinched back. "The fuck-"

Meanwhile, Sci proceeded to spit out his coffee and coughed. Once calming his nonexistent lungs, he interrupted by crying a loud yet equally embarrassed, "How do you even know that?!"

The bloody glitch huffed, placing his hands on his hips. "We're the same person, Sci. Any memories you make, I get ."

All color swiftly fled from the scientist's face. "Wait, does that mean you know about..."

Geno grimaced, suddenly looking as uncomfortable as Sci felt, and glanced away. "Yes. As much as I wish I didn't, yes."

Thankfully, the other didn't mention anything further about it and shook his skull.

"But that's not why I'm here." the Aftertale Sans turned to Red with renewed fury, jabbing his phalange at the sharp-toothed skeleton's face and saying, "Next time you fuck him, you better give it your all because I know you can do better than whatever that was last night."

Then just as abruptly as the bloody glitch appeared, he left- calmly walking away like nothing happened and leaving the front door splintered on the floor. Consequently, allowing a cool autumn chill to invade the house.

Jaws agape, Red sputtered, "W- what the hell was that about?!"

"I... I think he just gave us his blessing?"

"To fuck?"

"I- I guess."

Together, the two awkwardly sat in silence and stared at the space their door (and Geno) used to be.

"Did the sex suck last night?" Red suddenly asked, self-consciously picking at the hem of his boxers.

"No, it was great! Don't worry about what Geno said." A bright green blush deepened on Sci's skull, and he shyly added, "Though, I wouldn't have minded if you were a little rougher..."

His datemate instantly perked up and purred, "Well then, don't worry, sweetheart. I can certainly do that next time."

 

Somewhere else, deep within the dark corners of the multiverse, there laid an ominous stone castle atop a barren knoll surrounded by a thick white fog and jagged trees.

In the confines of its walls, a hoodie-clad Sans began quietly laughing to himself.

Nightmare stilled his quill and glanced up at the soft noise, eyeing the murderous skeleton who so graciously decided to invade his office space. The one currently occupying the sizable, purple reading chair pushed into a corner alongside some over-filled bookshelves, a small wooden table, and a curtainless window.

"Killer, what are you snickering about?" He eventually asked, somewhat pondering whether or not he would regret it.

Stifling his laughter as he stared out at the moonlit sky in amusement, Killer replied, "Oh, nothing. Just the fact a Sans has become a man with the blessing of a moody bastard."

An incredulous expression crossed the dark lord's face. "I don't want to know what the means, do I?"

His follower shrugged.

"Eh. Probably not." The target-souled murderer paused before turning toward Nightmare, empty eye sockets laden with curiosity. "Unless you want to gossip about someone's sex life."

"No." Nightmare deadpanned, shifting his attention back to his work.

"Aw, come on! You know you want to hear about it." Killer whined.

The Guardian of Negativity sighed. "No, Killer. I truly don't."

"It's a tale of love with destruction, death, and an unholy love triangle- You know, perfect story material."

His quill halted mid-sentence, and his cyan eyelight slowly returned to the slyly smirking skeleton.

Nightmare sat the writing utensil flat on his desk, leaning back into his chair and clasping his hands together- not all that unlike a stereotypical movie villain (or a businessman interested in a proposal).

"I'm listening."

Chapter 110: Inktober Shorts (4) - Night Garbage

Summary:

No trash is safe.

Blue grinned, placing the plate of freshly cooked tacos in his hands on the kitchen table. He then cupped a hand next to his mouth and chimed, "Stretch, dinner is ready!"

A mere few seconds passed by the time the lanky, orange hoodie-clad skeleton teleported into the room. "Sweet. Looks great, bro."

Once the brothers settled down with their own plates, a thud and several clanks came from beyond the kitchen door leading to the side of the house.

Blue instantly leapt from his seat. "The masked, nimble-fingered bandits are back!"

His gloved hand threw open the door with vigor while the other reached for the broom he kept nearby just for these occasions. He took a single step past the doorway and raised it high, prepared to thwart his Surface enemies, only to pause.

Leaning over the garbage can's edge was an "average" height skeleton bearing a long beige scarf and colorful eyelights.

The Underswap Sans slowly lowered his weapon. "Ink?"

Instead of answering, the artist hissed and sprung away from the black, rolling bin before scurrying down the moonlit street on all fours.

Like a crab.

Or, probably more accurately, a demon.

Stretch snorted, walking up beside him. "And you wonder why I don't approve of your friendship with him."

Chapter 111: Inktober Shorts (5) - Lunar Days: When Two Dreams Meet

Summary:

Dream finds one of Nightmare's old rough drafts.

Excitement filled Dream when Ink told him he discovered a new untouched AU in the far, far outer reaches of the Multiverse.

Though, it wasn't exactly what he imagined.

Once he and his two friends (Ink and Blue) stepped through its designated portal, they found themself surrounded by a lush hilly plain encompassed by a thick oak forest with a small decrepit village sitting off in the distance.

Warm oranges, yellows, pinks, and purples colored the landscape while cool greens and blues overtook the sky; certain places looked splotchy and incomplete, like mere sketches of what was supposed to be there.

Before the trio could begin exploring, a Sans-like skeleton approached them, appearing seemingly out of thin air.

They were average height (in Dream's opinion) and garbed in a green tunic, matching cape, and light grey shorts. Worryingly, however, their overly sparkly lime green eyelights faced opposite directions.

Or, as Ink would say with his immense lack of tact, "Had completely different postal codes."

"Heya, stranges!" The Sans spoke in an obnoxiously squeaky voice. "Are you lost?"

Dream smiled nervously, raising his arms as they breached his personal space. "Oh! Uh, no, I think we're fine-"

They got uncomfortably close to his face, whispering, "Let me help you."

"Eugh." The yellow-clad skeleton shuddered and put some distance between himself and the other.

Ink snorted beside him as he clutched a hand over his chest, above his beating soul, face twisted in a mix of disgust and horror. The artist then chimed, "He's just like you!"

"I am nothing like that." The Guardian of Positivity swore, warily watching the odd monster. Who, thankfully, had lost interest in him and leaned down to look at a tiny pebble hidden in the grass before scooping it into his hands.

An eerily wide smile, almost too big for the other's jaws, spread across their skull. "Hello, pretty rock! You and me are going to be best friends forever; And then I'll abandon my brother for you, and he'll never talk to me again."

Blue hummed, eyeing the creepy monster in consideration as he tapped his chin with a gloved phalange. "...I don't know. I kind of see a resemblance."

Dream frowned. "Blue, please don't joke about this."

Silence answered.

"...Please tell me you're joking."

Chapter 112: Inktober Shorts (6) - It Is Your Past and Future

Summary:

Classic is in denial.

(Warning: This chapter contains mild swearing and potentially adult humor.)

"Join us! Join us! Join us!"

The ear-piercing chant came from all around.

Classic's permanent grin pulled tight with worry (and maybe the tiniest hint of fear). His pink-slippered feet carried him backward, away from the five skeletons - who were all versions of himself from both past and future - cornering him.

In his own living room, no less.

"I'm not gay!" He cried above their ominous mantra. Thus, causing everyone to pause and stare at him incredulously.

The original Sans amended, "Okay, maybe I am. But I'm not so narcissistic I'll fuck myself!"

An amused, glitchy chuckle invaded the crowded space. "O-h, trust m-m-me, you ar-are."

It felt like cool ice water washed over his soul, chilling it down to its very core. Classic's eyelights shrunk into mere pinpricks at the familiarity of the voice and what it typically entailed.

The tiny white dots gazed past his various timeline alternates, landing on the dark-boned glitch leaning back on his green couch.

He stumbled further into the corner behind him, paling. "Error! Why are you here?!"

"We-ll, I-"

"It's fine. He's with us." Geno interrupted, gesturing to himself and the lab coat-clad skeleton standing beside him.

Sci nodded, supporting his claim.

"But why?"

"You know why."

"...No."

The bloody glitch smirked. "Yes."

Classic collapsed on his knees, tilted his skull up, and wailed toward the ceiling, "NOOOOO!"

Notes:

Later that day, Classic begrudgingly accepts his membership for the "Narcissistic Gays Club." That doesn't mean he's going to talk to them about how nice he thinks Red's ass is, though.

Chapter 113: Inktober Shorts (7) - Prank Gone Wrong

Summary:

One does not carelessly use glitter around death gods.

Palette hummed a short cheery tune as he walked home from school, albeit a tad slower than usual.

His left hand clutched the top strap of his overstuffed backpack. It was full of both art supplies (paints, brushes, crayons, markers, etc.) and thick textbooks- which were "perfect for starting a fire," as his father would as. The heaviness of them uncomfortably pulled down on his arm and caused his nonexistent muscles to ache and strain.

However, he didn't mind too much and merely continued on his merry way.

A couple of monsters on the street shot him concerned looks when he passed.

He had no idea why.

Everything was fine.

Nothing unusual.

...Excluding the weight settled on his back.

Said "weight" cooed, nuzzling his cheek with its own and fluttering its large bird-like wings.

Palette stumbled slightly due to the shift in balance but quickly recovered, glancing over his shoulder at two blown white eyelights and chiding, "Gothy, please don't do that. We could have fallen, and I don't want to accidentally squish you."

The short death god merely tightened his hold around his neck and waist in response. All the while, a soft bird-like chitter left his jaws.

Unsurprising considering he had stubbornly refused to release Palette at school due to the artist's current affliction: Glitter. The gold and silvery, sparkly kind.

I.e., the perfect bait for any type of corvid. Or creature that tended to be utterly enamored by "shinies."

Like the street crows circling overhead; The ones Palette was half convinced were conspiring against him, preparing to mob him on the sidewalk like the rabid geese-fox he had accidentally released from his father's "special" workspace (the basement) days ago.

One could only hope the mismatched creatures hadn't settled down to repopulate. On the off chance they did, the glitter-laden skeleton would handle it later.

After all, he had bigger problems at the moment.

Glitter problems.

And it certainly didn't help that the fine sparkly powder covered him from head to toe, shimmering in the afternoon sunlight.

His yellow/green, star-shaped eyelights glanced at the sky.

Two ravens (and a seagull?) seemed to have entered the crow flock. Thus, joining his growing following.

A grimace briefly overtook Palette's smile. Hopefully, I'll be able to make it home without attracting any more birds than that.

Keyword: "hopefully."

If not, the cheery artist had no idea what he would do.

Aside from getting revenge on the cause of his blight: The art students, some being a few of his classmates, who believed it would be a funny prank to set up multiple "glitter traps" throughout the school. The very thing that had forced Palette to push his boyfriend out of the way of an oncoming glitter bomb and take the horrid sparkly curse himself.

At least, he got cuddles out of the deal, though!

Happily enjoying Goth's warm embrace, the starry-eyed skeleton traversed the path home.

Eventually, an eyesore of a house with multiple tacky lawn decorations and rainbow picket-fence came into view.

His house.

Palette's feet hurried him down the driveway, across the mosaic-esque walkway, and to the front door.

Where he promptly realized he didn't have a key.

Given his extra weight, he couldn't exactly lean over and grab the emergency one hidden beneath the mat either. So he raised a hand and knocked on the door while depositing his bookbag right beside it.

His mother's voice chimed almost immediately from the other side, "I'll be there in just a minute!"

The door opened not even twenty-five seconds into that "minute."

It made him wonder if the other had been waiting there; the possibility alone certainly lined up with his theory that the yellow-loving skeleton enjoyed answering it in his free time.

Dream presented a welcoming smile, mood quickly shifting to concern when he realized who laid on the other side of the door. And their current state.

"Oh, my stars! Palette, you're covered in glitter!" He gasped, tentatively reaching a hand forward. "Are you alright?"

Before the hand could so much as penetrate his personal bubble, a sharp warning hiss echoed through the air, startling his mother into frantically pulling it back to his side.

"Be nice." Palette gently admonished his, apparently, overprotective boyfriend.

The other warbled softly but otherwise, showed no remorse for his action.

Shaking his skull, he redirected his attention to Dream and offered an apologetic smile.

"Yeah. I'm fine. Though, as you can see-" Blunt teeth nipped at his cheek, a demand for attention (or some weird bird thing), and his hand promptly pushed them away. "Gothy, not in front of my mom!"

His mother raised a brow, saying nothing.

Thankfully.

The glittery skeleton then coughed nervously, a bright green hue coloring his face. "Anyway, as I was saying, things got a little out of hand at school, and Goth hasn't been entirely thrilled by the thought of leaving me alone. Or letting me go."

A considerate expression fell upon Dream's face. He hummed, eyelights examining the death god on his back. "Hmm. Well, this is quite a predicament."

The yellow-clad skeleton took a moment to think before nodding to himself. "I'll get some cleaning wipes and paper towels so you can clean off outside and see if I can find something shinier to distract Goth. Maybe he'll like the silverware as much as your father."

With that, Dream moved to walk back inside the house to retrieve the aforementioned items.

When his back fully faced Palette, he felt his feet lift from the ground, slowly growing an increasing distance away from it.

Palette blinked dumbly. "Uhh..."

Hearing his uncertain tone, his mother turned and glanced around until he wisely looked up.

"Palette?!" He frantically shouted, proceeding to point at the winged monster carrying him. "Young man, you stop flying away with my son this instant!"

Rather than heeding the words, Goth parted his jaws with a hiss and ascended further amongst the clouds.

Palette frowned.

"Sorry, mom! I guess we're going now?" He paused before adding, "If I don't make it back home again, please remember me!"

Dream stretched a hand toward the sky as if to grab him, crying, "Don't say things like that, sunshine! Everything will be fine- I'll call Geno; He'll know what to do!"

Chapter 114: Inktober Shorts (8) - The Sacred Roll

Summary:

Why Nightmare can't go on vacation.

Nightmare trod the rustic stone brick path heading straight to his lovely castle's dark, iron accented wooden doors. His hand pulled along a rolling suitcase filled with travel amenities/necessities. And souvenirs, which he gathered during his peaceful one-week vacation to a musty sunless cave.

For his boys, of course.

The four hellkites would no doubt give him all kinds of grief if he forgot about them.

Not that he ever would.

They certainly strived to make very, very lasting impressions, not all that unlike the vivid face imprint Killer had somehow left on the ceiling in the dining hall. Nightmare still failed to understand how the target-souled Sans managed that feat. Without help, no less.

A fond smile crept up the negativity-laden skeleton's jaws. Giving an amused shake of his head, he casually hurried down the path, more than happy to finally be home and able to revel in the chaos (and delight) his boys brought into his life.

Plus, sleep in the luxurious king-sized bed awaiting in his chambers.

The rough, stony ground at his vacation spot left much to be desired when it came to comfortable sleeping arrangements. Despite his history of resting on tree branches and the hardened dirt below his mother's thick leafy canopy.

Perhaps the luxuries of a king had spoiled him.

Mostly like, Nightmare decided as he approached the two large double doors at the castle's entranceway. All the while, noting that they were, surprisingly, in one piece. His free hand gripped the goat-shaped door knocker's metal hoop and banged it against the small metallic plate beneath it, then waited a moment.

No answered.

The dark lord's brows pinched together while the first stages of a frown tugged down his teeth. Slowly, he pulled open the door - it was unlocked, worryingly enough - and stepped inside, dragging his suitcase in along with him.

He expected to be greeted by four eager, snickering murderers immediately upon entering, but no one was there. The foyer was devoid of any living monsters and merely held hollow, unwelcoming suits of armor and old faceless paints he never bothered to take off the walls.

His suspicion automatically raised. Thus, leading him to notice something peculiar. The atmosphere- the heavy, oddly quiet air encompassing everything it touched, making the old building feel like the haunted castle it was meant to be.

Dare I utter the cliché phrase, "It's quiet. Too quiet."

As silly as it may be, that didn't make it any less true. Especially considering the typical excessive volume of the insane individuals who should be lurking within the long, winding halls.

Nightmare hesitantly shuffled forward, closing the door behind himself.

It slipped shut with a creek and an all too deafening bang in the surrounding silence. Again, nothing happened. No feet hammered excitedly against the stone floors to his location, no voices shouted to greet him, no magic crackled to signify a teleport- No anything.

Did something happen while I was gone?

A nigh sub-zero chill ran through his bones at the thought, and the corrupted soul hidden inside his rib cage gradually began to beat faster and faster. His cyan eyelight scanned the surroundings for any signs. Of what? Nightmare didn't know yet. Though, he silently feared what the answer might be.

When all appeared in order, aside from the extremely thin layer of dust (normal dust, not monster dust) on everything, it seemed high time to do a different type of investigating- i.e., searching for emotions.

After all, those would allow him to find his boys.

Provided Killer, Horror, Cross, and Dust were still within the castle.

Somewhere.

The Guardian of Negativity clenched his jaws before closing his eye socket and focusing, calling forth his greatest magical ability. With it, he gently probed each room (primarily, their favorite locations), searching. Feeling around for the slightest indicator of his boys' mental state.

The hunt stretched on a whole minute longer than he wanted until he finally felt a cacophony of various emotions in the- Nightmare double-checked his mental layout of the castle and confirmed that, yes, they were in the living room/den.

His magic closed in on the designated space, allowing him to sort their feelings; gauge the current situation.

It was loud, messy; A mixture containing distress, sorrow, anger, and almost nonexistent mirth.

The first three were all that was needed to send the negativity-laden skeleton speeding across the castle, feet propelling him forward like an angry mob laid at his heels.

His breaths came out ragged by the time he halted in front of the room's darkened doorway.

Part of him wondered why he didn't just teleport or traverse the shadows. It would have been far easier and fast. Not to mention, more efficient.

Alas, poor decision-making happened to be one of worries/fears many side effects.

Nightmare cautiously took a few small steps forward and peeked inside. The tension he failed to realize he'd been carrying withered.

But, unfortunately, found it replaced by exasperation and alarm.

The living room's state fared worse than ever seen: furniture toppled/pushed aside, trash shoved into a corner, blankets from who knew how many rooms fashioned into tents, and on a large throne of pillows (some possible from the dark lord's own bed) rested a four-inch-tall cardboard roll with several measly squares of paper on it.

Those details paled in comparison to the madness of the skeletons dwelling in the space, however.

His boys...

They were filthy! Their bones bore enough dirt to convince Nightmare they hadn't showered a single day since he left, and nonsensical crayon markings covered their faces. Furthermore, to make matters worse, their usual clothes appeared to be nowhere in sight. The four Sanses wore a makeshift toga of rags (curtains, sheets, table cloths, the good table cloth, etc.) in their stead.

Only Killer's apparel seemed objectively the worst. It featured toilet paper wrapped atop his skull, a wooden spatula in his hand, and a heinous robe crafted from sewn-together, mismatched cloths.

The scene ongoing in the room didn't look much better either.

"This is unjust! Cruel! How could you forsake me?!" Cross sobbed, kneeling before the toilet paper's throne.

Killer stood tall at its side, his patchwork robe billowing in the nonexistent wind as he shouted, "Silence, your god has spoken! You shall not have a single piece of chocolate for the rest of the day!"

The monochrome-clad warrior crumpled, light purple tears streaming down his cheeks. "NOOO!"

Around him, his fellow Sanses chanted, "The god has spoken! The god has spoken! The god has spoken!"

"What the fuck."

Nightmare blinked, eye socket widening while his jaws clicked shut. He had not intended to say that aloud but found himself grateful for it, nonetheless.

Killer, Horror, Dust, and Cross simultaneously startled, halting whatever that spectacle was, and turned toward him.

Their faces instantly lit up. Then they surged forward, shouting an enthusiastic, "Nightmare!"

His gooey hand raised in a signal to stop, causing them all to freeze in place.

The Guardian of Negativity took a deep breath. "I leave for one week, and you four create a sorry little society worshiping a used roll of toilet paper."

By some miracle, they had the decency to look marginally ashamed.

Nightmare continued, glancing at his eldest son- follower. "And, Killer, I know I'm going to regret asking this, but what in stars' name do you think you are wearing. It's hideous."

The target-souled Sans puffed in indignation.

"Excuse you! I am the revered Priestess of the Scared Roll." He snapped, proudly gesturing to his criminal garb. "These magnificent robes are my holy regalia."

"It's true; This is the peak fashion of our society." Dust agreed.

A small sigh brushed past Nightmare's jaws.

"I swear you four will drive me insane one day." He murmured, pinching the bridge of his nasal cavity.

The dark tendrils on his back proceeded to gesture at the room's horrid state. In a clear, commanding (one might say fatherly) tone, he added, "I want this mess cleaned up before dinner. If there is even a hint of cardboard or toilet paper in the castle by that time, then everyone is banned from the kitchen - yes, even you, Horror - and I will prepare dinner tonight. And every meal for each subsequent night a piece of toilet paper is found."

His boys blanched and scrambled to pick things up, screeching a mutual horrified, "NO!"

A tiny smirk graced Nightmare's face. "That's what I thought. Now, you best hurry up, lest I begin preparing ingredients for wild mushroom, berry, and oak bark stew."

Once the threat left his mouth, they moved impossibly faster; bumping into one another in their haste as the dark lord watched.

After this, let's hope you four think twice before worrying me like that again. Or ruining the good table cloth.

It was expensive.

Notes:

Well, now I can say the oddest thing I've done for a story is measure a roll of toilet paper.

Chapter 115: Inktober Shorts (9) - Noot Snoot

Summary:

Boop.

There was a slow rise and fall to Nightmare's chest as he slumbered, mind absently roaming the land of dreams. His subconscious reveled in the peace it provided.

The lack of conflict, hardships, and many other happenings he dealt with in his day-to-day life.

Alas, the illusion broke when something firm and slightly pointy touched his nasal cavity.

Mid snore, the Guardian of Negativity groggily pried open his eye socket to see his four followers surrounding him on the bed, staring unblinkingly at his face. Which, to his sleep-addled mind, appeared far creepier than it should have. Especially since the odd Sanses did similar things on a regular basis.

His cyan eyelight drifted to a phalange. The one touching his "nose." Then it trailed up to look at the monster it was attached to, a skeleton bearing a target-shaped soul. 

His brows furrowed while he gazed at the other questioningly.

Killer, in his infinite wisdom, offered two words. "Noot snoot."

The crazy skeletons promptly arose with a cheer and rushed out of the room. Thus, leaving a tired and extremely confused Nightmare behind.

Eventually, the dark lord grumbled before rolling over, attempting to find a new cozy position, "I'm not even going to ask..."

After all, at this point, he knew better than to dare question anything they do. 

Chapter 116: Inktober Shorts (10) - Newt Noot

Summary:

He has achieved ultimate power!

Nightmare grunted as a powerful smack from Ink's paintbrush sent him flying backward into a tree. His spine gave an annoying, dull throb and nothing more since the thick tendrils on his back absorbed most of the impact.

He pushed himself off the snowy pine's trunk. His single cyan eyelight tracked his hyper opponent, foolishly attempting to keep track of his own followers as well.

Unlike usual, they were off facing Blue and Dream- and not faring too much better than the dark lord himself.

Ink suddenly grinned, his eyelights shifting to a bright yellow sun and a green exclamation point.

Anyone on the battlefield could recognize that look and fear what it meant: He had an idea.

Something that had a long, long history of being bad.

"I've always wanted to do this!" The Guardian of AUs chimed, reaching into the very front of his pants.

"Eugh!" Nightmare grimaced and put some distance between them, warily watching while his tendrils poised to attack/defend. "Whatever it is, I am certain it can wait for an appropriate time and consent."

It didn't take long for the artist to yank his hand back out, revealing a small glass flask.

"Pfft! Error said something similar when I pulled a chocolate bar out of my pants a while ago, except with more swearing! Oh, and threatening to desecrate my grave." Before finishing the sentence, he abruptly chucked the glass directly at the Guardian of Negativity.

Unprepared to dodge the projectile, his tendrils shot forward to block it. It shattered on impact, covering him in a glittering (thankfully, not questionably colored) blue liquid.

A collective gasp sounded throughout the forest.

Everyone had halted fighting; Their eyelights fixed on him.

The substance on his gooey tendrils/bones started to shimmer more, a bright glow beginning to rise from it.

Nightmare's brows furrowed. Inquisitive, he pulled a blue splattered appendage to his face.

"Wha-" The negativity-laden skeleton couldn't finish speaking before he magically vanished.

Thus, leaving behind a pile of clothes.

With no one in sight.

A bloodcurdling scream pierced the air. Not emanating from his fear frozen followers, Ink, or Blue- but Dream, his utterly horrified sibling.

"Brother! No!" The yellow-clad skeleton wailed.

He spun on his heels, facing Ink. Yellow tears gathered in his eye sockets, and fury burned in his eyelights as a betrayed howl escaped his jaws. "Ink, why?!"

The artist shrugged, making a noncommittal noise.

A misjudgment on his part.

The Guardian of Positivity's expression instantly darkened, causing him to look like he was one step (or several feet, seeing as that was how far away Ink was) from becoming the Guardian of Murder.

Ignoring the tension between the Star Sanses, Killer shook free of his stupor and hesitantly approached the clothes pile. His knees trembling beneath him, voice shaky when he quietly asked, " 'mare?"

No one answered.

Killer silently reached down to gather the articles.

Upon moving the hoodie, a wide grin crept onto his face.

The target-souled murderer gently cupped the gooey, dark newt with little tendrils on its back in his hands and raised it high for all to see, happily shouting, "The prophecy has been fulfilled! Our leader has taken on his most powerful form!"

He then turned to his closest companion and demanded, "Horror, get the good sacrificing tools. Noot'thulhu rises!"

The broken-skulled Sans nodded, scampering off through a portal. Meanwhile, the deranged skeletons he left behind immediately began dancing around Killer while he held Nightmare to the sky.

Soon a low, rumbling chant permeated the air. "Noot'thulhu! He is the most powerful of them all! Noot'thulhu! He is going to kill you all!"

Said "newt" lord sat upon his bony pedestal extremely unamused but unable to do anything to stop it.

Ink, in a rare moment of wisdom, slowly took a step back. His eyelights nervously fixed the scene. "Uh... We should run, shouldn't we?"

Dream carefully crept beside him, happy his brother survived and fearful of the current cult-esque display. "Oh, definitely."

Both turned toward Blue, who happened to be excitedly repeating the chant alongside their enemies.

"Blue, stop chanting! Let's go!"

The Underswap Sans reluctantly did as asked, pouting. "Aw, we were just getting to the good part."

"Doesn't matter!"

"But it's been so long since I've participated in a demonic sacrifice!" Blue's voice deepened drastically when he added, "And I want to feel the oozing of blood on my gloves again."

His two friends paused to stare at him.

After a moment, Ink leaned close to Dream's "ear" and whispered, "Maybe we should leave him..."

Dream glared at him. "Maybe I should leave you."

Chapter 117: Inktober Shorts (11) - Skeleton "Fun" Facts

Summary:

Blue!Chara learning one of the many wonders of being a skeleton.

(Warning: This chapter contains mild swearing.)

Notes:

Back again with your regularly scheduled cursedness! Enjoy!

Chara - in all their skeleton glory (and Blue's spare clothes) - watched from the kitchen table as their hyper doppelgänger worked around the cooking space, preparing dinner.

Which just so happened to be tacos.

Again.

They had been living in the skeleton brothers' home for a whole two weeks now, and yet they never once witnessed the other cook anything else.

At least it tasted better than Stretch's spaghetti, though. That pasta was so awful Chara was half-convinced he made it with LoVe, not love.

Shaking the horrid thought of the "food" from their head, the once-human-now-skeleton directed their attention to the less stomach-turning meal Blue began scraping out the pan and onto a plate.

Soon enough, the old porcelain dish had a mound of taco meat piled high atop it.

The eccentric blue-clad monster then placed the pan and spatula to the side and grabbed a spoon. His gloved hand dipped the small metal shovel into the meat, putting a small amount on it before pulling away. However, instead of bringing the silverware to his jaws, he skipped them entirely and pulled it up to his eye sockets.

Chara promptly gawked in horror when an unnatural puff of air displaced the steam rising from the meat.

Their skull-face contorted in a way they didn't know possible as they asked incredulously, "Did you just fucking blow air out of your eye socket?!"

"Language," Blue chided, lowering the spoon and turning toward them. "-and of course! Skeletons have no internal components, such as organs, flesh, and etc. Meaning we are capable of breathing, eating, and talking through any orifice in our face. Provided it's not blocked by anything."

After the explanation, he shoved the spoon in an eye socket and hummed. "Ooh, this tastes better than yesterday's!"

They cringed and murmured in disgust, "What the fuck..."

 

Monsters are so weird.

Chapter 118: Inktober Shorts (12) - Dead In The Water

Summary:

A skeleton and his shark mer.

Notes:

Tired.

Merfolk, the mysterious aquatic - not to mention, somewhat feral - monster-like creatures of the sea.

At this point, Reaper had been working with them for a little over ten years at Starshore Sanctuary. A place where mer who were unable to be released back into the wild, whether due to illness or permanent injury, could live out their days in relative peace.

His role at the facility was to take care of a particularly feisty skeleton-shark mer suffering from several health issues (frail bones, weak soul, abnormally high determination, some type of pixlexia) and old poaching injuries.

Said mer - Genocide, or Geno, as he had gotten so lovingly dubbed after he attempted to kill all his previous keepers - had been in Reaper's care for nearly the entirety of his decade working there.

Apparently, the morbid jokester was the only landwalker Geno would tolerate.

Maybe because he happened to be the only one with a big enough "death wish", as some would say, to hop in the saltwater tank and groom him.

Once he moved past the fact the mer could easily him apart with razor shape teeth, the self-assigned chore became half the fun of the job. Mainly due to Geno's interesting personality quirks. The shark mer seemed to have a love-hate relationship with showing/accepting affection. That included affection shown via cleaning the other's hard-to-reach joints and tail.

But of course, like any job, it had its ups and downs.

For example, Geno did not like it in the slightest when Reaper's job involved him doing work unrelated to him- i.e., the slightly glitchy mer shark hated getting ignored.

Like right now.

Reaper had his empty eye sockets focused on the checklist in his hands, marking off his completed duties. A few being: feeding Geno and some of the other mer in the facility, releasing small live fish into Geno's enclosure so he could hunt/exercise if he wanted to, helping set up an old tank for a newly transferred mer, and adding some more shrimp/plants to improve the ecosystem in Geno's enclosure.

A soft hum escaped him as he went down the remainder of the list, deciding what to get done next. He eventually chose "prepare Geno's medications for tonight." So, the mer caretaker returned the clipboard to his interdimensional storage space, straightened his plain uniform's polo shirt, and began approaching the large metal double doors leading to the hallway beyond.

That was when a scaly wet mass suddenly slapped against his cheek, knocking his skull to the side before flopping on the ground.

Stunned, he blinked; nonexistent eyelights glancing to the floor.

There laid a fish. Still fresh and alive, given how it flailed helplessly on the chilly light grey tile.

Reaper let out an exasperated groan and gently rubbed the stinging mark on his face, murmuring, "Today is going to be one of those days, it seems."

He turned toward the crescent-shaped, pool-like enclosure. A skull poked out of the water by the edge. Just enough for him to see two narrowed eye sockets and white eyelights fixed on him.

It promptly vanished under the surface.

Wisely, the land-walking skeleton quickly moved.

Soon after, another fish came soaring out the water and through the air, thumping on the tile floor where he had previously been standing.

Geno popped his skull halfway out again. This time, glaring heavily before disappearing once more.

Reaper promptly took three steps to the side. Right on time, too, because an algae-covered, grey lump exited the pool only to smack the wall. It cracked the white tile it hit. Thus, marring the surface in the exact place his skull would have been blocking.

"Did you just throw a rock-" He demanded, walking over to the watery area Geno lurked within.

However, the skeleton never got to finish since another fish slapped him square in the face, sending him stumbling backward. Then the ground suddenly gave away behind him, and he fell into the opposite side of the pool.

He kept his calm as he briefly sank, and his relatively weightless body soon floated back to the surface.

After a few seconds spent adrift, something large and firm and undoubtedly living brushed against his back. It never left, solidifying its place behind him when two soaked bony arms exited the water and wrapped around his waist, tugging him back into a soggy chest.

A puff of air crawled up Reaper's nonexistent throat without his consent, taking the form of a heavy sigh. "You enjoy making my job harder than it needs to be, don't you?"

Geno's subsequent chirp was more than enough confirmation for him.

Chapter 119: Inktober Shorts (13) - Noot-dle Soup

Summary:

Some trees don't fare well in cold weather.

A loud sneeze echoed throughout Nightmare's resting chamber- i.e., his bedroom.

The dark lord in question laid in his large fluffy bed, covered by a thick comforter, and burrowed into the many pillows surrounding him.

His external negativity was missing. It had receded as the first sign of his illness, revealing his many other symptoms: yellow-green flushed magic, which stubbornly colored his cheeks, and bones unnaturally pale and without their natural silvery sheen.

Sniffling, he grimaced as his chest rattled when a wet cough tore through his throat.

And, of course, because his body hated him, he promptly sneezed again right after. However, unlike the first, a sickly colored magic got dislodged in his nasal cavity and began dripping down his face.

"Uuuugh. Disgusting." Nightmare groaned, sluggishly reaching for his royal purple handkerchief on the nearby nightstand. His phalanges fumbled with the fabric a second before pulling it up to his stuffy nasal cavity and gently dabbing the ill substance away. After finished, he tossed it to the side to be taken care of later.

As it landed somewhere (probably on the floor or the opposite side of his bed), the bedroom door opened just enough for Killer to poke his head inside.

His empty eye sockets conveyed a surprising amount of pity as he examined Nightmare's sickness-laden form, then softly asked, " 'mare, you alright? Do you need more blankets?"

"N-no, thank you, Killer. I'm fine." The Guardian of Negativity said.

The target-souled Sans appeared skeptical, eyeing him dubiously.

"You sure?" He stated in concern while onehandedly gesturing toward him, "You're still shivering an awful lot."

Nightmare blinked. True to his follower's words, he had been shivering and, apparently, doing it quite loudly given the muffled clinks emanating beneath his blanket.

He nuzzled himself further back into his pillows, suddenly self-conscious about the unruly rattling of his frail bones, but nevertheless replied, "Yes, I'm certain."

"Hmm, okay then. I'll be back with some soup in a minute or two. Horror should almost be done cooking it by now."

"T-thank you."

Killer nodded and quietly closed the door. Thus, leaving the sick guardian to relax back into his warm nest until lunch arrived.

Not even a full minute later, the hoodie-clad murderer returned; This time, bearing a face mask and carrying a large ceramic bowl with white strands of steam billowing from the top.

" 'm back." He chimed, slowly stepping to Nightmare's bedside. His hands held out the dish. "Here ya go. It's a little hot, so be careful."

The dark lord painstakingly pushed himself into an upright position, reclining back against a couple of pillows. Then, with shake limbs, he accepted the bowl and subsequent spoon offered to him, giving his follower a quiet "Thank you."

His weak cyan eyelight studied the creation. It had a rich-colored broth containing bite-sized pieces of meat and vegetables (carrots, onion, celery, etc.) and smelled strongly of chicken and herbs.

Perfect.

Nightmare held the bowl close, dipped the spoon in, and stirred it.

Little noodles instantly swam up from the bottom of the dish.

He paused and stared.

"Something wrong?" Killer questioned.

"The noodles... They're shaped like an angry octopus."

A tiny snort escaped past his follower's mask. "Heh! Yeah, Horror got a little carried away in the kitchen after he heard you're sick."

"But why an angry octopus?"

Killer shrugged, cheekily saying, "You are what you eat."

Nightmare huffed.

"I am-" A soft sneeze interrupted his sentence but failed to stop him completely. "- not an angry octopus."

The target-souled skeleton shook his skull, pulling a box of tissues out of his inventory. "Nope. Right now, you are a sad small sick one."

Chapter 120: Inktober Shorts (14) - LOOK ME IN THE EYES!

Summary:

Just a tiny child piloting his goo mech. Definitely no cursedness here. Nope... Okay, maybe there is.

Notes:

It returns!

A hollow wind whistled across the snowy landscape of Snowdin Forest.

Dream glared up at his brother's hulking, negativity-laden form; Staff in hand and ready to strike should the other grow violent. "You can't keep doing things like this, Nightmare! It's not right. These people have hope and dreams and-"

The terrifying skeleton in question scoffed, crossing his arms. "You say such things all the time, yet you don't even have the nerve to say them while looking me in the eyes."

His arms untangled, and his phalanges grabbed at the hem of his gooey hoodie.

Dream shifted, reasonably uncomfortable, pulling his staff close. "Uhh... What are you-"

The clothing article got torn off in a fluid motion.

Yellow eyelights were instantly drawn to two glaring light purple ones just barely visible beneath the vicious negativity shrouding his brother's chest.

"EUGH!" The Guardian of Positivity's features contorted in disgust, his feet promptly carrying him several steps away from the other.

Nightmare, however, advanced. All the while, demanding, "LOOK AT THEM, DREAM! If you're going to lecture me, then look me in the eyes and sincerely tell me you think what I did was wrong!"

Dream gagged and turned his skull away.

Then, suddenly, a pool of darkness welled up from the snow between them, staining the ground as a beige-clad skeleton hopped out.

"The creators are screaming, 'there is evil!' And it must be purged with fire!" Ink cried, pointing a phalange toward the dark guardian before whipping a torch out of his inventory.

Dream's gaze returned to his brother's general direction while he reached to grab the artist, fighting down the urge to retch. "I-ink, no! That horrid being is s-still my brother! No matter how disgusting and utterly sinful his existence is."

Chapter 121: Inktober Shorts (15) - Unchangeable

Summary:

Some things don't change.

Geno leaned back against the soft, luxurious black cushions covering the couch in his and Reaper's spacious living room. The nearby fireplace contained a blazing flame to help fight off the October chill seeping into the mansion. Though, it did little to dissuade him from acquiring a cozy dark grey blanket and draping it across his legs/lap.

Further adding to the nigh wintery mood, a steaming cup of hot chocolate rested atop the plain square coaster on the dark oak coffee table in front of him. Beside it laid an interesting novel he picked up from the multiversal market called "Lunar Days."

It had gained quite a loyal following. Despite being a blatant parody of the ongoing war between Dream and Nightmare. But, perhaps, that's what made it so good: being able to see a different, faux version of the Sanses claiming to protect their livelihood (as well as the ones threatening it) in wacky situations otherwise considered unusual and entertaining.

He was excited to see if it lived up to the hype. And the supposed drama it contained.

Geno eagerly retrieved the book and flipped it open to the first page, eyelights scanning the incredibly well-written text. If the smile creeping up his jaws from reading the beginning paragraph alone was any indication, he would be investing a lot more G into collecting the rest of the series.

His phalanges quickly flipped the page in under a minute's time. Fully engrossed in the tale, he pulled his feet onto the couch and-

An electronic, sci-fi-esque ringtone suddenly blasted throughout the room, causing him to jolt while fumbling with the novel as not to drop it.

Once calming himself, the bloody glitch closed the book, dog-earing his page, and released a heavy sighed.

"Of course, moments after I sit down to relax..." He grumbled. All the while, returning the riveting tale in his hands back to its place beside his hot chocolate.

Next, he hovered the noisy rectangular device to his waiting hand using blue magic and checked the screen.

A frown tugged at his teeth.

The name and number proved the caller to be none other than his timeline alternate, Sci. Odd considering the young adult hardly ever called during work hours unless he was taking a break. Or something went wrong.

Like the time Classic volunteered to help test something and ended up nearly hurtling into the sun.

He clicked the "accept call" button and lifted the device to his ear. Or the general area in which it would be.

"Geno," The scientist immediately cried. His voice sounded miserable, carrying the undeniable sound of defeat, shame, and fear. "I'm s-sorry! Reaper stopped by while I was working on a new project, and it was shiny, so he-"

All thoughts regarding his previous irritation vanished, quickly replaced by worry and the like. Geno straightened in his seat, stiff and alert.

"Woah! Calm down." He said, adding the most vital question when Sci's quick speech trailed off into panicked breaths, "Is he alive and uninjured?"

"Theoretically, but the project was a prototype and extremely unstable, so it did change a few things-"

"Sci, a simple yes or no will suffice."

There was a stagnant pause on the other end, followed by shuffling and what sounded like glass crashing onto tile. The Sans eventually quietly spoke, "...yes, he is alive and unharmed."

An invisible weight rose from his soul, and Geno could feel his tense shoulders and bones slack. "Good. Now, do you need me to come to get him?"

"Yes. I think that might be for the best."

"Okay. I'll be there in a minute." The bloody glitch ended the call before standing up and teleporting.

When he landed, he found himself right outside of the massive, bustling lab in the AU's Hotland.

Teleporting inside would be more convenient. However, there were anti-teleportation measures to prevent monsters like Nightmare from easily breaking in. Thus, making it impenetrable via normal Sans magic.

Meaning he always got to take the long way during his visits.

Fun.

Ignoring how the busy residents briefly halted their tasks to glance at him questioningly, he walked toward the entrance's two large metal doors. They automatically opened once he was within range of their sensors.

Inside, the building looked a lot different compared to how it got remodeled later in his own timeline. After Gaster fell. The floor plan was more open, with a place for guests to wait, fake plants, and a few water coolers strewn about; the loft where Alphys generally kept her personal effects (bed, shelves of manga, etc.) was gone. As was her (creepy) desk of many cameras and monitors, and in its place sat a reception desk occupied by a bored rock elemental.

Heads turned as he stepped further into the building, eventually coming to a halt in front of the elevator.

A confident, grey cat monster wearing a pristine lab coat and an assistant's badge approached, questioning sternly, "Excuse me, sir, what do you think you are-"

Geno flashed a purple and golden badge displaying the Royal Family's insignia. The color promptly drained from the feline's face.

Fighting back a smirk, he stood tall and clearly stated, "I'm here to see Sans."

The lab assistant gulped fearfully and quickly nodded, soon nervously escorting him through the labyrinthine hallways to the closed door of Sci's personal lab.

His left hand pushed open the door while his feet carried him across the tile and into the space.

Sci swiftly jumped up from his seat at his desk and apprehensively shuffled closer.

Meanwhile, Geno examined the state of the normally well-kempt room.

Papers, both torn and whole, were littered all over the floor alongside jagged glass shards. Sat on the stark white counter at the back of the room was a skeletal feline garbed in a dark cloak, bearing two small fluffy black wings on its back.

He paused. His eyelights fixed on the strange creature. "Is that..."

"Reaper, yes." His younger self answered, giving a small nod.

Geno hummed, squinting in mock scrutiny. "I don't see any difference."

"He's a cat!" Sci shouted, waving his hands toward death god.

A brow raised in response. "So? He was practically already one before."

"How?!"

The bloody glitch leveled the other an expression that couldn't get interpreted as saying anything other than "you can't be serious."

Taking a deep breath, he coolly stated, "He likes to cuddle with me when it's the most inconvenient, creates unholy noises during the later hours of the night, makes it his business to be in the exact same room as me, and follows me into the bathroom for no logical reason other than to play with the toilet paper while I'm taking a shower."

As if to validate his explanation, Reaper gracefully hopped off his perch and confidently strut over to Geno, long bony tail held high and slightly wiggling in the air. Then he proceeded to rub his small cat-like body against his husband's legs.

The seemingly immortal skeleton watched, unamused, blinking down at the other. "You're shameless. You know that, right?"

The deathly cat repeated his previous action, giving a confirmational meow.

Chapter 122: Inktober Shorts (16) - Newsletter

Summary:

Don't get your life advice from newsletters.

Heart-wrenching, terrified screams echoed from all around. Flames crackled as they devoured the quaint wooden homes and buildings sprinkled throughout Snowdin's once cheery town.

Dream and his two companions - Blue and Ink - stood amidst the fleeing residents, drawn weapons pointed toward the hulking, tendril-lashing form at the crux of the chaos.

The yellow-clad guardian nocked a glowing magic arrow in his bow and pulled it back, aiming for the beast's chest. His voice carried an air of authority as he shouted over the noise, "Brother, why must you commit these heinous acts? I know you can be a better person if you try!"

The negativity-laden skeleton in question laughed. Each sharpened tendril on his back curled in faux delight.

Giving a sharp grin, he took a menacing step forward and jeered, "I'll have you know I tried to subscribe to 'Being A Good Person Monthly.' It's not my fault they mixed up my subscription with the one for 'Be The Best Fatherly Villain Weekly' and refused to change it."

Dream glanced at the four child-sized skeleton monsters clinging to the dark lord's legs. "Huh... That explains so much."

Chapter 123: Inktober Shorts (17) - Ultimate Dad Move

Summary:

Yes! Channel the power, Nightmare!

(Warning: This story contains mild swearing.)

Nightmare and his followers trudged onward through tall, dense pine trees and knee-high snow, course set for Snowdin. I.e., the second most sparsely populated location in the Underground and the perfect place to snag some supplies (healing items, food, etc.) with minimal resistance.

Though, the journey there was proving to be far more difficult than the dark lord initially imagined.

Despite striving for the element of surprise, his boys seemed to want the exact opposite. Especially Killer and Horror. He barely resisted the urge to rub his temple to stave off the headache forming there while he listened to their bickering.

"Get yer hand... outta my skull, Killer!" Horror said, borderline growling like a feral wolf.

"Ha, make me!" Killer jeered. However, his tone changed very quickly when he shrieked, "Did you just lick me?!"

One could practically hear the smug grin on Horror's face as he released a simple, amused, "Heh."

Which, of course, his target-souled teammate took offense to.

"Oh, you bastard!" Killer hissed.

There was a thump, then a heavy crunch in the snow followed by Dust's irritated shout, "Hey!"

Next, thuds and growls echoed from their direction. Only broken by Cross' sudden yelp and cry, "Dude, watch it!"

The noise devolved into unintelligible shouts and grunts from thereon.

Nightmare's pace slowed to a stop. All the while, his good eye socket began to twitch, and the jabbing sensation along his temple grew.

Giving an exasperated sigh, he turned.

His followers were a tangled pile of limbs flailing at each other in the snow. Angrily.

His tendrils promptly wrapped around their waists and pulled them apart.

"I swear if you four don't stop fighting this instant, I will turn this raid around!" The negativity-laden skeleton snarled, scowling.

Their skulls hung in shame. Together, they chimed morosely, "Sorry, glorious God of Terrors and Darkness."

"Ugh! And stop calling me that while you're at it." He unceremoniously dropped them face-first into the snow, stomping off toward their destination.

Behind him, a flurry of curses mixed with shuffling sounded as the four scrambled to stand and follow him.

Chapter 124: Inktober Shorts (18) - Hoodie

Summary:

The Anti-Void has been invaded by Halloween shenanigans.

Error stood inside his domain.

A plain blue hoodie sat on the ground in front of him; innocently, clashing with the untarnished color of his home.

The destroyer narrowed his eye sockets at it. "H-hmm."

Using his signature magic, he willed several strings to slowly lower from the "ceiling" and wrap around a portion of the article before yanking it off the ground.

As it flew up, the inky puddle hidden beneath it took shape, springing off the ground with a thunderous, "BOO!"

"GA-AAH-H!" Error screeched while a flurry of glitches raced down his body. "I-ink, wh-at the f-f-funk?!"

The artist grinned. "It's Halloween! I thought it would be fun to surprise you!"

"F-f-for starters, Hall-oween is a-almost two-two weeks a-away. And-d s-s-second, why the-the funk did y-you think it-it would be a g-good idea to sc-scare M-ME." The dark glitch snapped.

The blue hoodie was all but forgotten as he summoned five Gaster Blasters, giving his foe a manic snarl.

Ink gulped and took a few steps back. "Uh-oh..."

Chapter 125: Inktober Shorts (19) - Trick or Treat

Summary:

Just two pals having a Halloween fun time.

Beneath the full moon, monsters and humans alike walked the neighborhood dressed in costumes - ranging from frightening to silly - and participated in typical festive activities: trick-or-treating, bobbing for apples, carving pumpkins, viewing Halloween decorations, chatting with one another, and visiting home-made haunted houses for a fun scare.

"And here is our most terrifying attraction!" Blue declared, a fuzzy paw of his bunny costume gesturing toward a single white sheet hanging by a clothesline between two trees in his front yard.

The children stared, unimpressed.

"This isn't scary at all." One piped up.

"Yeah! I have a closet at home scarier than this." Another chimed.

The onesie-clad skeleton smiled. "Mweh! You're only saying that because you haven't seen the special surprise yet."

"W-what's the 'special surprise?'" A shier child in far back stammered.

On cue, a wolfish beast hopped out of the nearby bush and gave a thunderous roar.

Each child jumped and shrieked in fear, dropping their candy-stuffed bags/buckets as they hurriedly fled the yard.

The Underswap Sans giggled, quickly gathering the abandoned treats. Then offered a chocolate-filled pumpkin bucket to the "feral canine."

They raised two bony clawed hands upward and gripped both sides of their wolf head, pulling. It popped off, revealing a rounded skull with a jagged hole on the left and swollen red eyelight.

The previously disguised skeleton allowed the mask to hang by a hand at his side and used his free one to shove the candy in his inventory.

"Yes! Nice job, Horror!" Blue cheered. His paws rubbed together in a villain-esque fashion as he added, "If we keep this up, we'll beat Ink in that candy collecting competition in no time."

"Can taste... the victory. It's sweet." Horror agreed.

Suddenly, numerous high-pitched giggles and screams echoed a little ways away.

Blue perked, a sly grin slipping on his jaws.

"More kids; Get into position!" Embarrassment quickly colored his face. "Please."

The monstrous Sans nodded and slipped the faux head back over his skull before vanishing into the leaves.

 

From the front pouch, Killer and Nightmare watched on. Neither wearing much of a costume beyond a plain witch hat and pirate captain's jacket, respectively.

"I thought he was supposed to be one of the good guys..." The target-souled skeleton murmured, clutching his hot chocolate close while he leaned against the banister.

His boss shrugged, watching the duo terrorize yet another group of children and collect their ill-gotten gains. "Hmm, perhaps, but his morals have always been dubious at best. He is my father, after all."

Killer slowly took a sip of his beverage. "Yeah, I always forget about that..."

Chapter 126: Inktober Shorts (20) - Party Time

Summary:

Ink continues to astound others.

Ink grinned. His mismatched eyelights admired the various decorations (orange fairy lights, fake tombstones, cobwebs, etc.) his friends helped him set up throughout his home for something special: a Halloween party.

A grand event numerous guests had already arrived for. If the fact skeleton monsters of all shapes and sizes were bustling around/talking to one another was any indication.

They wore various costumes ranging from the generic princess to, in lazier cases, each other's everyday clothing.

While examining the more creative outfits, the Guardian of AUs spotted a familiar combination of black and blue in the crowd.

"Error!" He cried, running toward the other before promptly trapping him in a suffocating bear hug.

"GAH!" The glitch released a strangled yelp. His body vigorously squirmed, trying to break free from Ink's steely grasp.

After an uncomfortably long time, the soulless skeleton pulled back and beamed at his scowling best friend, now taking the time to get a good look at the other's features. I.e., the dark charcoal-like substance painted on the front half of his white skull, the slightly off blue shade of his tear marks, plain eyelights, the deep red liquid dripping down his jaws, and blocky white glitches.

Ink's brows furrowed. "Wait, you're not Error."

"So you finally notice-"

"You must be his father!" He squealed, eyelights shifting to pink heart and a yellow exclamation point.

"Wait, what?" Error's "father" asked incredulously.

Ink ignored him and gasped. "It's still too early in our relationship for meeting each other's parents. I need to go get my good impressions kit!"

With that, the artist rushed off, disappearing into the surrounding monsters as he sought out said "kit." Which was actually just a small brown cardboard box containing a single note reminding him to replace the previous contents.

Thus, leaving behind confused and somewhat worried Geno.

Chapter 127: Inktober Shorts (21) - Party Time 2

Summary:

Even the Bad Sanses have their moments.

Killer smirked, leaning back against a stone wall while popping a random candy in his mouth.

Excitement tingled in his soul.

Nightmare had graciously permitted him as well as his three partners-in-crime to throw themselves a Halloween party (since Ink didn't invite them to his).

It was held in a medium-sized room (because the negativity-laden monster didn't want them to ruin the ballroom) and had all the party essentials- right down to decorations, snacks, and punch (the fruity kind).

His fellow teammates even dressed up for the occasion: Cross wore a medieval knight's armor, Dust had a headband featuring depressed-looking bunny ears and a small fluffy tail clipped the bottom of his hoodie, and Horror donned a red flannel shirt paired with a faux beard. Meanwhile, he himself opted to wear a cheap witch costume.

Picking the last candy out of his pocket, Killer glanced around the room in search of his next sugary target.

A frown settled on his jaws.

Mainly due to a peculiar character in the room. A familiar yet equally unfamiliar skeletal monster garbed in a long white coat and a red scarf; their back faced him as they hunted around the snack table.

Killer cautiously took a few side steps toward the table where Dust sat, methodically picking through a bag of colorful candies and separating them by color.

"Do you know that guy?" He asked.

The bunny-eared murderer glanced to where he was looking and gave an uncertain, "...No?"

His vacant eye sockets found their dark depth fixed on Cross and Horror, who had been setting up a fun board game nearby.

"Either of you?"

Both shook their heads.

"Well, then, let's find out who they are!" Killer declared. He moved, then promptly screamed while pointing at the other across the room. "Who are you, and how did you get into our top-secret Halloween Party?!"

The intruder turned their skull from side to side, searching, until they slowly shifted to face him.

For the first time, their facial features could be seen clearly. They had a pasty white skull bearing odd black/blue patches, two mismatched eyelights, and unhealthily yellow teeth dripping a cherry red substance.

Though the suspiciously colored liquid was a mystery, Killer would bet good money on their tooth coloring being caused by sugary goods similar to the partially unwrapped chocolate bar clutched in their hand.

Using their free one, they gestured to themself as if to say, "Who? Me?"

The target-souled skeleton nodded.

They blinked, a hint of surprise visible in their expression. "Re-ally? I e-expect this t-t-type of-of idiocy from-om the squid a-and Dream, b-but cer-tainly not you-you."

"What do you me-"

Killer's words got cut off as the designated party room's doors flew open, allowing Nightmare to stride into the space. In his gooey hands laid an orange, Halloween-themed bowl filled to the brim with candy.

"Boys, I-" The dark lord started. His entire body froze when his single eyelight landed on the mysterious skeleton. "Genocide! What are you doing here?!"

The newly proclaimed "Genocide" calmly nibbled on their chocolate, raising an invisible brow. "H-huh... It-it seems t-t-the ap-ple doesn't f-fall too far fr-from the t-t-tree, n-now does it-it?"

Chapter 128: Inktober Shorts (22) - Easy Mistake

Summary:

Reaper, it should have been obvious.

The sun peeked over the horizon, coloring the sky in a myriad of pink, purple, and orange hues. Slowly disappearing along with it was the warmth in the air as the evening October chill set in.

Childish laughter and excited shrieks echoed outside in the neighborhood's streets. Thus, promoting a promise of a delightful Halloween night full of trick-or-treating and small scares.

Goth, clad in his white angel outfit, readjusted his hold on the black/orange bag in his hands. All the while, resisting the urge to bounce on his heels when Reaper finally emerged from his own bedroom wearing a store-bought Grim Reaper costume and approached the front door.

"You ready to go trick-or-treating?" He asked, smiling softly.

The little seven-year-old nodded vigorously. "Mm-hm. Is momma coming? I thought he was supposed to be home in time to come with us."

"What are you talking about, pigeon? I picked him up from the Halloween party a few hours ago; He's in the kitchen." The elder death god said, a hand gesturing to the nearby room.

A confused frown worked its way onto Goth's tiny jaws. He crept through the small foyer and peeked past the doorway into the adjacent kitchen.

By the stove top, making hot chocolate, was the strange skeleton his father had brought home.

Though they wore his mother's signature white coat and red scarf, Goth remained positively certain the other was someone else. Their face, eyelights, and bone colors were too wrong for them to be Geno.

So he voiced as such, "That's not momma."

Reaper's smile faltered. His brows furrowed while he glanced into the space and examined the other. "A- are you sure? He has the glare and everything."

Chapter 129: Inktober Shorts (23) - Costume Decisions

Summary:

Dream is slowly becoming his father.

A frown tugged down the corners of Dream's jaws. His eye sockets narrowed at the suspiciously familiar blue/silver armor Ink presented him with.

"No."

The artist pouted, pushing the outfit closer. "Aw, come on! Geno and Error are dressing up like each other for Halloween. You and Blue should swap outfits with each other too." He looked oddly thoughtful before adding, "I'd go to Nightmare since you don't want to, but I think we both know he won't look nearly as convincing in Blue's armor."

The apparel was thrust further into the yellow-clad skeleton's personal space. Thus, leading him to push it away.

Well, as much as the Guardian of AUs would let him.

"No. I'm not going dressed like my father."

"Please." Ink begged, expression equal parts pitiful and off-putting.

Dream sighed; the bones of his left hand twitched with the urge to pinch the bridge of his nasal cavity.

Curse those beady, soulless puppy-dog eyes.

"Fine." He relented.

"Ye-"

"But you better make a note on your scarf, so you don't forget. I don't want you chasing me around thinking I'm some kind of mimic or body-snatcher."

Chapter 130: Inktober Shorts (24) - Toaster

Summary:

The boys make a bagel.

Nightmare huffed, heels clicking against the castle's stone brick floors as he made his way to the kitchen. All the while, hunger gnawed at his stomach.

An accused consequence caused by becoming far too invested in his "paperwork."

Once nearing the entryway, he noted the warm orange-yellow glow of candlelight and the rhythmic thrum of voices.

"Ugh, not again." He groaned, frowning.

The dark lord proceeded to approach the room, albeit reluctantly.

Inside, four varyingly clothed skeletons surrounded the central counter. On it laid candles, odd rune-like markings, a plate, a butter knife, several toppings (jelly, cream cheese, etc.), and a toaster currently in use.

The new, closer proximity allowed him to hear his boys chant, "Bagel! Bagel! Bagel!"

A pop sounded. Then a well-toasted bagel's golden brown tips peeked from the device's slots.

"Ah-ha! It has been summoned!" Killer cheered. "Now, we must complete the holy snack rite!"

All four immediately began circling the counter, dancing and humming.

Nightmare slowly stepped away from the doorway. His skull shook in equal parts fondness and exasperation. "I swear those four can't even cook normally..."

Chapter 131: Inktober Shorts (25) - Abandoned For Another

Summary:

That's rough, buddy.

(Warning: This story contains mild swear as well as alcohol and drinking/drunkness.)

A medium, dark brick pub sat amidst the snowy, pine-laden town. Atop its front, plain black letters spelled out the restaurant's name, "Grillby's."

The small sign placed on the outside of the door was flipped to "open," signaling its current status. (If the divine scent of greasy food wasn't enough of an indication.) Warm light filtered through the windows. Beyond the clouded glass, one could make out large and somewhat spiky silhouettes moving about within.

An unfriendly chill permeated the air, ruthlessly nipping at all the living inhabitants in the outdoors.

Red chivalrously shed his fluffy-hooded leather jacket and offered it to his date-mate, who gratefully accepted.

The sharp-toothed skeleton had to admit he was a little nervous taking Sci here for a date.

Underfell didn't exactly have the best reputation in the Multiverse with its "kill or be killed" motto and all. However, he at the very least knew what to expect: a few crass words here and there, maybe one or two attempted stabbings, ninety percent guaranteed protection via his brother's captain status (which meant next to nothing in other universes), and nothing ominously cheery like in that freaky Underswap place.

No monster could be that outwardly friendly without having a devious plan to stab someone/everyone. And he knew that for a fact because even Dream, the literal embodiment of positivity, looked like he wanted to stab Ink in the back - or, well, anywhere in general - sometimes.

Sci shifted nervously beside him. "Red, are you sure this is a good idea? Your AU isn't especially open to... outsiders."

"It'll be fine. Just let me know if anyone heckles ya an' I'll kick their ass." The black/red-clad Sans reassured, wrapping his arm protectively around the other's waist as he led him inside the establishment.

A few regulars (the mutt guards and weird, perpetually drunk rabbit monster who practically lived in the pub at this point) watched when they stepped in, anxious and shifty. Not to mention, notably huddled as far away from the bar as they could get.

His guard instantly raised, and he pressed his date-mate closer to his side.

He half expected the King of all monsters to be sitting there considering how everyone acted, but instead, a single dark-cloaked monster sat there. A strikingly familiar one that caused dread to fill the air and brought with them the horrid odor of decay and death.

And now alcohol, given they were surrounded by empty whisky glasses and wine bottles.

Carefully, the skeleton duo approached.

The monster barely acknowledged them, only briefly glanced and downed half his glass.

"Reaper," Red narrowed his eye sockets, questioning, "What are ya doin' here? This ain't your typical type of joint, an' that definitely ain't coffee."

"D-drinkin'." The death god slurred despondently before returning to nursing his glass.

Sci frowned, expression laced with worry. "Ar- Are you okay? Is everything alright?"

"No, he left me!"

The dark pressure bearing down on the restaurant increased tenfold.

"Wh- who?" The scientist tentatively asked.

"Geno! He left me for a potato!" Reaper wailed. All the while, tears gathered in his vacant eye sockets.

His non-alcohol clutching hand reached into his robe's mysterious pocket and produced a simple touch-screen phone. After a few drunken miss clicks, he managed to pull up a social media post bearing a photo of a white coat-clad, bloody Sans and potato sitting on a park bench while watching the sunset.

Sci eyed the picture. Then leaned forward, adjusting his glasses. "Huh... That is a nice-looking russet."

Red chuckled and said jokingly, "But you wouldn't leave me for it, right?"

A few moments of silence passed.

"...Right?"

Chapter 132: Inktober Shorts (26) - A Place To Rest

Summary:

Palette does not understand bird customs.

Palette stared unhappily at his messy bed. The sheets were half draped across the floor, and the pillows were randomly spread atop the mattress- something that happened every morning due to his chaotic sleeping habits.

(I.e., the reason he was no longer allowed to leave glass in his room at night and why the front door now had several locks on it. Dream installed them after the eighteen-year-old artist, in his words, "escaped from the house while sleeping and terrorized a local pancake shop because he dreamt about an anthropomorphic pancake kitty... wielding a chainsaw.")

Pushing down his reservations, Palette got to work.

First, he arranged his four pillows: two by his headboard and the others pushed against the left wall- a precaution to keep him from smacking against it when he, much like his father, forgot which side of the bed to exit. Then his hands gripped the blanket and lifted it, laying it evenly across the mattress prior to tucking the edges underneath.

Despite the effortlessness of the task, it easily remained his least favorite chore. Why go through all the trouble to complete it then? He had promised his mother he'd tidy his bed before leaving to hang out at the park with Goth.

Speaking of the teenage death god, he stood in front of Palette's bedroom doorway and patiently watched while waiting for him to finish. A light purple hue covered his face.

The artist frowned. "Are you okay, Gothy? Your skull is a little flushed."

"I-it's nothing! You're just really good at that." His friend said, burying the lower half of said flushed skull into his red scarf.

"Making a bed?" Palette raised a brow before smiling, cheerily offering, "Do you not know how to make a bed? I can show you! We can even practice doing it together!"

The blush grew even brighter, practically glowing due to its intensity.

"Oh! Oh, no, i-i-it's too early for s-something like that!" Goth immediately sputtered. His legs shook as he stumbled backward out the door. All the while, his hands nervously tugged at his scarf and his feathers puffed, making his wings look soft and fluffy like they had when they were children.

He proceeded to glance away, mumbling in a volume no one else could hear, "I couldn't possibly... I didn't even bring any nesting materials- Oh, stars..."

The color on the other's face impossibly increased.

Palette blinked and hesitantly said, "I don't understand. It's just a bed."

A silent moment passed.

"Are you... afraid of beds?"

Chapter 133: Inktober Shorts (27) - I Need A Virgin!

Summary:

Lust is on the hunt.

Within the Star Sanses base, the many Sanses/Papyruses of the Multiverse were for once having a calm meeting, discussing current affairs and-

Lust suddenly burst into the meeting room.

"I NEED A VIRGIN!"

Dream frowned. "Uh, would you be willing to share why?"

"The Bad Sanses came to my AU demanding one for their Monopoly ritual- and, as you can imagine, my universe is low on those."

"Oh, take Blue! He'll be a great sacrifice." Ink chimed, eagerly pointing at his friend.

Lust leveled the artist with a deadpan expression. "Sweetie, I need someone who's a virgin in more than just spirit."

At the words, Stretch slow turned toward his brother. "...Bro. What is he talking about?"

Blue chuckled nervously. "Heh... Well, you see, it's kind of a long story. And I may or may not have children I visit regularly."

Chapter 134: Inktober Shorts (28) - Pathfinding

Summary:

Ink will always find a way... to break things.

Together, Ink and Dream sped through the dense pine trees of Snowdin Forest, doing what they did best: blindly rushing toward evil.

No more than a few seconds later, the latter realized his artistically inclined companion was no longer following behind him. He halted and immediately began searching for the other. All the while, worry crept onto his face.

Dream perked but promptly deflated when he spotted his friend, who was awkwardly walking into a tree yet somehow not colliding with it.

"What are you doing?" He asked in exasperation.

"Sorry, Dream! My pathfinding is broken again; Go on without me!" Ink cried, then proceeded to break the laws of physics further by beginning to spin while still walking in the same place.

The Guardian of Positivity sighed, donning an unamused expression as he turned away and continued down his chosen path.

Of course, it is, he thought.

A moment after, his mind deviously added, Maybe I should leave him there for a few days. It's not like he's magically going to free himself any time soon.

Chapter 135: Inktober Shorts (29) - Yawn

Summary:

Blue is just your average, unintimidating Sans.

(Warning: This chapter contains swearing.)

Red grouchily stomped his way through the Star Sanses' base while a scowl rested on his skull, and irritation pulsed within his being. He would give anything to have spent the last ten hours anywhere else.

Alas, it just wasn't meant to be.

Surprisingly, or very unsurprisingly, the weekly meeting far exceeded its allotted time limit thanks to Ink and his inability to stick to a single subject without bursting into song, a completely unrelated tangent, or becoming distracted. Overall, creating a bad time for everyone involved.

And it certainly didn't do any favors for Red's burning hatred of the far, far too brightly colored base and its owners.

However, there was one thing (besides sitting next to his crush, Sci) that made suffering through the whole ordeal worthwhile. The Star Idiots kept some damn good food in the base's kitchen. High-quality stuff, the shit he'd have to fight other monsters for back in his AU.

Lasagna pasta, fresh tomatoes, onions, herbs, nice-ass potatoes for homemade french fries- It had everything he (or his brother) could ever want all in one place and ripe for the taking.

And no one would even get mad if he ran off with anything! Thus, making the situation almost like grocery shopping but better. Especially since he no longer had to put his neck on the line to obtain a measly handful of basil leaves.

Preparing a mental "shopping list," Red entered the kitchen area. An expansive tiled space lined with multiple fridges, cabinets, counters, stoves, other kitchen-y stuff, and several doors leading into vast walk-in pantries.

Blue, his disturbingly cheery doppelgänger, was already there brewing a pot of black coffee and fixing a small snack. A sandwich from the look of it.

He crept past the other and to the opposite side of the kitchen, carefully making sure to keep the untrustworthy monster in his peripheral vision. Then went about stealthily - i.e., blatantly - cramming things in his inventory.

Nothing happened for some time, just his usual thievery.

Until something did.

Blue yawned. And as he did so, his signature blunt-toothed grin split open and revealed several rows of sharp, blade-esque teeth. Which seamlessly slid back together as soon as he finished, like nothing happened at all.

Red gaped at the other. Skull paling while his eye sockets widened, and the fur around his jacket's collar raised like a cat's hackles.

He instinctively stumbled backward, spine hitting a counter. "Jesus fuckin' Christ! What the hell, man?!"

A frown tugged down the corners of Blue's teeth. He turned toward him, saying, "Language, Red! And what are you asking about? You're going to have to be more specific if you want a proper answer."

"Your fuckin', creepy-ass shark jaws, for starters!"

"My 'shark jaws?'" The Underswap Sans questioned, raising a brow.

"Yes! Those unholy chompers of yours put even Horror's bear trap of a mouth to shame!"

Blue blinked, perhaps surprised. "Oh... Well, what do you want to know about them?"

"What do I want to- You, the Sans from what has been dubbed one of the most peaceful alternate universes, have a set - scratch that - multiple sets of teeth to maul someone with. Why?" The Underfell Sans snapped. All the while, carefully inching toward the doorway.

He received a shrug in response and an uncertain, "I'm not sure they've always been that way."

"Sure they have." Red snarked, narrowing his eye sockets. "Anything else I should know about before you give me another soul attack?"

The blue-clad skeleton hummed in thought. "I have a second pair of arms and a third eye socket. Do you want to see them?"

"FUCK NO!"

Chapter 136: Inktober Shorts (30) - Walk The Walk

Summary:

Ink is at it again.

Notes:

Alt. Summary: Ink is the embodiment of Skyrim.

Dream huffed. He had his head propped up with one hand while the other aimlessly tapped on the surface of his desk. On it laid an assortment of papers (proposals and etc.) to be approved or denied; things he wished could be outsourced to another branch of the Star Sanses but got deemed too important for anyone else to handle.

Unfortunately.

Just as he reached to pick up a pen, his office door flung open. Stood on the other side was none other than his mightiest (and most questionable) companion, Ink.

The artist strode into the space. Frowning.

However, that seemed to be the least concerning part of the situation.

As Ink walked, his arms/legs swapped places with each other, and his body switched between crab-walking in mid-air and gliding across the floor while T-posing.

He, thankfully, soon came to a halt in front of the desk. Thus, allowing his form to return to its normal appearance.

"Dream," Ink whined. "My walking animation is broken again, and some of the new recruits are convinced I'm a demon because of it."

Dream sighed, resisting the urge to shoot his friend a flat expression, and offered a sympathetic smile. In the most unirritated tone musterable, he said, "I noticed. Perhaps you should go see Sci, Cross, or Error to see if you can get it fixed."

"I already tried! Instead of helping, Sci somehow made it worse, Cross - well, I forgot what exactly he did, but it still wasn't helpful, and Error laughed at me."

"Have you tried asking your estranged son? What did you say their name was again? Jelly? Peanut butter?"

"I have a son?!" The soulless skeleton gasped, bouncing on his heels excitedly.

Dream gave a small nod. "Yes. He's-"

"I need to tell everyone!"

"Wait, Ink, your animation is still-"

Ignoring him, the artist glitched his way out of the room.

The Guardian of Positivity listened as horrified screams proceeded to echo beyond the doorway, followed by the choppy, nigh demonic declaration, "I ha-ve a s-s-on!"

He released an aggravated groan and banged his forehead against the desk. "...And now his audio files are broken too. Great."

Chapter 137: Inktober Shorts (31) - Spider Law

Summary:

These rules are inapplicable to Error.

(Warning: This story contains mild swearing and potentially adult humor.)

Notes:

It's here, the last short story for this year's Inktober!

I'll admit I wasn't certain I'd be able to finish thirty-one different stories in a month, whether due to my occasional health issues or lack of ideas, but I did. And I'm happy!

As exhausting as it was, I had a lot of fun, and I'm glad everyone's been enjoying the stories.

I know I'm not the best at responding to the comments due to my horrid social ineptness, but I do appreciate them and everyone's kind/funny/creative words. So, thank you!

A horrid glitched cackling echoed throughout the air.

Error grinned wickedly while his deadly strings tightened around his prey: Ink, who was suspended above the Anti-Void's "floor," bearing a nervous expression.

As usual, the artist ended up in this harrowing situation by taunting the destroyer and interrupting his "job." However, this time the glitchy skeleton planned on finishing it.

His yellow-toothed smile stretched wider.

"I-I think I'll a-all almost m-iss our l-l-little tussles with-with e-each other." He jeered, sarcastically.

Hope sparked in Ink's eye sockets. Then Error let out a cruel bark of laughter, crushing it. "H-h-heh! A-as if."

His disproportionate eyes proceeded to narrow at the beige-clad pain in his neck. "B-but at least now-now that I h-have you hang-ing by a-a thread, I c-can finally get-get rid of-f you and-"

"Y-you can't kill me yet!" The Guardian of AUs interrupted, bringing an annoyed frown to his face.

"I-is that so-so, squ-id? W-w-why not?" Error demanded.

"I- Uh..." The soulless skeleton sputtered, mismatched eyelights bouncing from place to place until they landed on the dark web of souls hanging above. Thus, giving him an idea.

"According to spider law, I have to fuck you before you can kill me!" He shouted, staring intensely at the dark glitch.

The reaction was nigh instantaneous.

"W-WH-AT?!" Error stubbled back, eye sockets widening, and a garbled shriek on his tongues as a wave of glitches crawled across his bones.

He instinctively clenched his hands. The thin blue strings roped around the tips of his phalanges tensed. Consequently, further squeezing the magical binds around Ink's small frame.

"Y-yeah! We have to fuck before either of us can kill the other." The artist wheezed.

"W-w-we are-n't d-date-mates, you-you freak! A-and I'm not-not even a-a sp-spider or-or a spid-er m-monster!" The destroyer snarled. All the while, error signs fizzled in his eye sockets and along his bones.

"So you admit you know about spider law?!"

"T-that's not-not wh-at I- U-u-ugh! W-why do you-you al-ways r-ruin my d-dramatic novella-inspired mono-monologues by r-r-running your s-stupid mouth?!" Error whined, stomping his foot. "Even-even S-sin has the de-cency to-to let Asgoro f-finish his speech-speech b-before ruining h-his plans."

"Good thing we're not in a novella then."

"O-only be-cause you never f-f-follow the script when-when we r-role-play to-gether!"

"Yeesh! Calm down. Your inner Sci is showing."

"You-you c-c-can't te-ll me wh-what to d-do!" The glitch screeched.

"Well, technically, I can. But that doesn't mean you'll liste-"

Ink yelped as he promptly got deposited into a portal and landed onto a solitary rocky island in Hotland; Surrounded by red hot, bubbling magma.

He blinked, glancing around before calling up to the still-open portal. "There are better ways to make a situation heated, Error!"

Chapter 138: Candy?

Summary:

Run while you still can, Blue!

Notes:

Happy Halloween!

Halloween was in full swing: decorations set, costumes donned, a crisp autumn chill permeated the air alongside laughter and joyous/frightful screams, and candy for trick-or-treaters rested in decorative dishes monitored by their respective owners.

Ink sat on the steps of his front porch, swinging his feet back and forth as children and adults alike avoided his house. Perhaps it was blood-red paint splattered across his shirt or the far too wide grin on his face, but either way, almost no one wanted anything to do with him.

He perked when a familiar blue-clad figure cradling a babybones started to approach him. The infant skeleton appeared swaddled up in a blanket, sleeping, while a faux halo rested above their tiny skull.

So, naturally, the artist held back as much as he could when he shouted, "Hey, Blue!"

"Hello, Ink!" His friend greeted as he reached the steps before glancing around, a confused frown overtaking his smile. "Where's Dream? I thought he was supposed to be handing out candy with you."

Ink laughed.

"Pfft- You jokester, he's right here!" He gestured to the lit Sans-faced jack o' lantern beside him. The only indication it was supposed to be Dream was the yellow cape draped around it. "We've been hanging out together all day. It's been fun, if not a little quiet..."

He then leaned forward to whisper, "I think we might be playing the 'let's not talk to each other' game again."

Blue grimaced. "...Okay. Uh, would it be alright if I take a few pieces of candy for Serif?"

"Sure, go ahead! I still have plenty."

The soulless skeleton watched his friend step forward and examine the stuffed pumpkin-shaped candy dish on the lowermost step.

Blue soon glanced up, asking, "Have you been remembering to give some to the trick-or-treaters?"

"Nope! But that's half the fun!"

A brow raised. "How?"

"Heh, because parents always come to talk to me when their children complain about not receiving any candy." Ink answered, proceeding to lean close to his friend's face. "I crave social interaction."

Blue withdrew, abandoning any notions of obtaining candy.

"Uhhh... Well, it's been lovely seeing you. Bye." The Underswap Sans said quickly. All the while, speedily backing away from the steps.

Ink merely smiled, his farewell being the ominous words, "See you later! And don't forget: I know where you sleep- I made a note and everything!"

A shudder ran down Blue's spine, and he clutched his child closer, hastening his escape. And maybe, just maybe, began formulating plans to move far, far away.

Chapter 139: I Am Murder

Summary:

Why Killer's not allowed to name the children.

Nightmare attempted to get comfortable in the foreign bed beneath him, too exhausted to wrinkle his nasal cavity at the scent of sterile chemicals in the air. His tendrils laid limp on either side of the stiff white-sheeted furnishing, forcing his arms to cradle the tiny infant skeleton peacefully sleeping against his chest.

He didn't notice Sci approach his bedside until the scientist began speaking. "Alright, Nightmare. Everything is in order, and you'll be released from the maternity ward in a few days after you are confirmed to be in good health after that... process."

Sci nervously glanced down at his clipboard, adding, "But- Uh... A- are you sure you want to name your son 'I Am Murder?'"

The dark lord's brows furrowed, and a frown tugged down his weary smile.

"What," He swiftly yet carefully shifted his son to one arm and snatched the object.

His cyan eyelight examined the document, specifically the part bearing his son's registered birth name.

"Killer!"

The lethal Sans in question sat in an uncomfortable-looking chair several inches away.

At Nightmare's growl, he looked up from his phone (no doubt having been using the camera function to obtain a plethora of baby photos) and shrugged with a playful smirk. "What? It's a good name!"

"No, it isn't. Our son would have to introduce himself as 'I am I Am Murder!'"

"Yeah! That's exactly why it's perfect!" The target-souled skeleton insisted.

Nightmare narrowed his eye socket at the other. Thus, causing him to pout and slump back in his seat while saying, "...Fine. We'll name him something else- but 'I Am Murder' will always be his name in spirit."

Chapter 140: The Dork Lord

Summary:

Just Nightmare and the boys playing a game.

(Warning: This story contains mild swearing.)

Dim candlelight illuminated the cold stone walls of the dungeon. Water droplets slow dripped down the ceiling, falling onto the ground with a barely audible plink.

In the ominous space, Nightmare and his followers were settled around a circular wooden table bearing numerous game components: papers with character information, a folding cardboard board map depicting crypt-esque scenery, little figurines [character pieces and etc.] helping add to said scenery, several instructional books, dice of multiple colors and varieties, cards, and a lengthy one-person table divider.

The dark lord peered over the latter object and said, "Alright, bitches, roll for a perception check."

One by one, each skeleton cast their twenty-sided die.

He leaned forward and examined the numbers. Amongst the four, Killer's appeared to be the highest- a natural twenty.

Something the target-souled murderer had a knack for receiving in the game. A fact rather evident. Especially considering his previous successful rolls to seduce, marry, and have a child with the door of the nearby town's pub. (He, thankfully, eventually failed a roll and had to divorce his wooden lover as well as leave his odd skeleton-door child behind.)

After briefly looking over some of his notes, Nightmare described the subsequent in-game occurrence in his soothing yet rumbly narrator voice. "The group continues through the dark crumbling ruins. Halfway through, Sans Two notices a glimmer beneath some rubble. He's drawn closer and sees it belongs to a lustrous silver blade pulsing with power-"

Before he could finish speaking, the dungeon's reinforced steel door was kicked open by a familiar yellow-clad skeleton, declaring, "Nightmare, I'm here to-"

Everyone at the table groaned, loud and irritatedly, sufficiently cutting him off.

The Guardian of Negativity promptly shouted, "Ugh, whatever you want can wait! We're busy."

He then used his magic to push Dream out of the room and slam the door in his face.

His brother whined, "This is board game obsession of yours is becoming a problem; You five never want to battle anymore!"

"Go away! What part of 'we're busy' do you not understand?!" Nightmare snapped.

A defeated sigh echoed from beyond the door. "Fine... But I expect an epic battle later to make up for all the ones you've missed over the past two weeks."

"Alright, whatever, just go!"

When the soft sound of footfall marked the other's exit, he redirected his focus back to the game, asking, "Now, where were we?"

"The blade pulsing with power." Killer helpfully answered.

"Ah, yes!" The negativity-laden skeleton passed him a card. "Sans Two gets an ancient enchanted sword of hellfire."

Cross huffed, crossing his arms over his chest. "Why does he keep getting all the cool stuff?

"...More luck." Horror solemnly replied.

Chapter 141: Kidnapping

Summary:

Mistakes were made.

(Warning: This story contains mild swearing and violence.)

When Nightmare got back to the castle after an exhausting two-day trip to Underfell to make a peace treaty with the AU, he expected many things upon his return: the kitchen to be on fire, trash littered around, the rose garden he had painstakingly attempted to grow reduced to lifeless brambles, his followers screaming obscenities and trying to sacrifice an Undyne to the "Dark Lords" again, and etc.

However, as his feet carried him through the oddly untarnished halls and to the living room, he found himself stunned in front of the entrance; Eye socket widening at the sight that laid beyond the threshold.

Inside, Horror had a slumbering white pajama-clad babybones bearing downy wings cradled in his arms.

Killer and Dust surrounded him and softly cooed about how cute the infant monster was. Meanwhile, Cross sat off to the side, looking unnaturally high-strung and concerned. Yet, oddly enough, confused as well.

How very suspicious.

The negativity-laden skeleton tentatively took a step into the room. Eye socket soon narrowing as he warily voiced, "What's going on here?"

Horror looked up, surprised." 'mare? You're... back early."

Killer instantly perked. His hands carefully snatched the small baby from his broken-skulled companion, causing the latter to release a mournful whine at the loss. Then he excitedly presented the sleeping being to Nightmare and said, "Meet our son!"

A frown tugged down the corners of the dark lord's teeth. "I was unaware any of you were in a relationship."

"Oh, we aren't."

"Then how-"

Magic crackled in the air. Thereafter, Geno came barreling through a sudden portal, unleashing a furious screech that sounded like a mix between a dying fax machine and a pterodactyl. Blood-red froth bubbled along his jaws, and his left eyelight was ablaze with blue and red magic.

The four monsters responsible for his rage promptly panicked.

"...Damn."

"Fuck! He found us!"

"Oh shit, run! RUN!"

"I told you guys it was a bad idea!" Cross cried as he and his fellow Bad Sanses scrambled toward the exit.

Before Killer could escape, the enraged glitch tackled him to the ground. But not before the target-souled skeleton could safely pass the winged babybones to Horror has he fled.

"HOW DARE YOU TAKE MY CHILD!" Geno roared, wrapping his phalanges around Killer's "throat" in an ironclad grip.

"Boss!" He pleaded, outstretching an arm toward the dark lord in hopes of salvation.

"I've not rested nearly enough to put up with this right now." Nightmare grumbled. He raised a gooey hand- though, instead of being used to aid the other, it began massaging his temple. "Besides, you should have known better than to take an infant skeleton from its mother-"

"I'm his mother too!" Killer gasped, trying to pry away his attacker's hands.

"- Skeleton mothers are notorious for being extremely aggressive for the first few months after their children are born. Did the lesson not stick after you carelessly provoked Dream during his first outing with Palette?"

"H- how could I forget... almost getting curb st-stomped by an angry ball of sunshine?" The hoodie-clad murderer rasped.

"Given the current circumstances, clearly, you don't remember the event enough." Nightmare deadpanned.

Chapter 142: It Follows, It Haunts

Summary:

You can not escape, Dream. It already has your scent. (I.e. Lunar Days!Dream returns.)

After a long (and exhausting) day's work, Dream teleported to his bedroom within the Star Sanses main base before shrugging off his traditional garb and replacing it with a silky pair of light blue pajamas. Then he quickly made strides toward his all too enticing bed, intent on sleeping until sunlight streamed through the room's moonlit windows.

Or until he was late for a meeting.

Either worked.

A content sigh escaped him once his body hit the mattress, and a soft smile stretched across his jaws as he snuggled into the fuzzy soft sheets/pillows on the bed.

His breath slowed when his mind soon began to drift off into the dream realm.

However, whatever half-formed illusion sprung up shattered at the sensation of a warm puff of air brushing along his neck followed by a high-pitched, ear-grating voice, "Has anyone ever told you you smell like apples? I like it."

The distinct sound that could only belong to sniffing echoed in the air.

"Stars all mighty!" Dream shrieked. His eye sockets snapped open, and he twisted his body around to face two lime green eyelights shimmering in the darkness.

Eyelights which belonged to an, unfortunately, familiar Sans-like skeleton curled up beside him in his bed.

Instinctively, his arm shot forward. The fist on the other end hit the intruder square in the nasal cavity.

They recoiled in pain, whining while holding their injured "nose," "Hey! I was just trying to be friendly."

"Then leave me alone!" The Guardian of Positivity retorted. His hands proceeded to garb a random pillow and violently shove it in the other's face, attempting to smother it.

Chapter 143: Dinner Time

Summary:

Dream, just feed the child.

(Warning: This story contains bad parenting and possibly child abuse/neglect.)

Notes:

I'm pretty tired, so I'm just going to leave this train wreck as is.

Together, Dream and Palette sat at the kitchen table. A wide spread of long since cooled, plated foods littered its surface.

The surrounding room was quiet, barring the occasional rustle caused by impatient shifting and increasingly louder (and more frequent) stomach growls.

Eventually, Palette mustered the courage to look up from the napkin he had been fiddling with and said, "Mom, can I start eating yet?"

Dream frowned, giving him a stern glance. "No, Palette, you know the rule: we only eat once everyone is at the table."

"But it's been five hours, dad's not back, and I'm hungry!" The young artist whined.

A tired sigh brushed past the yellow-clad guardian's teeth as his son stared at him pleadingly, jaws wobbly and eye sockets bearing the tiniest hint of tears.

His shoulders slumped while the acerbity in his expression melted away into discontent.

He reluctantly stood and pushed his seat away, conceding. "Fine, I'll call him- if he doesn't answer, then we will eat without him."

Palette perked, a small yet hopeful smile coming to rest on his face.

Meanwhile, Dream meandered beyond the kitchen and made his way to the front door. He flicked on the nearby light switch once there before putting on his slippers and stepping outside.

The outdoor lamp affixed to the colorful bricks next to the doorway illuminated the darkness spread across the small porch-like area. Moths quickly began to gather around its brilliant yellow-orange glow.

Not even a few seconds later, a black liquid bubbled up from the cracks in the concrete, pooling into a decent-sized puddle that a beige-clothed skeleton soon rose out of. His mismatched eyelights instantly focused on the lamp as if possessed- and, much like the fluttering bugs swarming around it, he promptly attempted to get closer and grab the glowing fixture.

Before he could so much as jump high enough to reach it, Dream moved an arm inside the house and flicked the switch once more, turning off the light.

"Aw... It died." Ink pouted, eyeing the darkened lamp with a faux mournful gaze.

Dream cleared his nonexistent throat. Thus, causing the other to turn toward him in surprise.

"Oh! Hi, Drea-"

"Ink. Dinner. Now."

The Guardian of AUs rolled his eyelights. "Sheesh! Okay, bossy."

Chapter 144: New Dad

Summary:

Dream, Cross, get a room if you want privacy.

(Warning: This story contains cheating/infidelity and intimacy [kissing, etc.].)

Notes:

Whooo! December is upon us, and I have a ton of writing I hope to get done before the year is over: some one-shots, chapters for ongoing stories, etc. So expect a lot of additions to the "Collection of Oddities" this month!

A warm smile rested on Dream's face while a flurry of excitement and happiness buzzed in his soul.

Ink left the house early to take care of a severe emergency in a distant, dangerous AU (which he'd likely forget about before managing to address it), liberating the Guardian of Positivity from his typical nonsensical chaos. I.e., randomly jumping up and down on the bed in the middle of the night like a child, leaving mustard under the pillows, flicking on/off the bedside lamp, drawing on Dream's skull while he was trying to sleep, and many, many other things.

But, best of all, his absence provided plenty of freedom for a certain skeleton to visit.

Dream released a content sigh as he wrapped his arms around a muscular waist.

Cross pulled back slightly, gently cupping his jaw and clicking their teeth together. He let his eyes slip shut before slowly leaning forward, deepening their kiss while firm hands worked their way under his shir-

"Mornin', Mom, Dad."

His eye sockets snapped open at the voice, and he and Cross instantly jumped away from each other as if electrocuted.

With a bright yellow flush creeping up his skull, the guardian spun on his heels to face his seven-year-old son, who by all means (based on the time displayed on the microwave clock) wasn't due out of bed for the next hour and a half.

"P-palette!" Dream nervously greeted. All the while, failing to fight down an uneasy laugh. "My sunlight, you're... up early. Is something wrong?"

The pajama-clad child yawned, absently rubbing his belly, and said, "Too hungry."

"Of course... I was just about to get started on breakfast anyway." Dream lied, quickly moving to the fridge and removing the carton of eggs inside.

Meanwhile, Cross anxiously gestured at the doorway. "I'm gonna..."

He slowly began to creep in the exit's direction. However, before he got even three steps toward it, a tiny hand caught his large one and caused his mismatched eyelights to drift down and meet two pleading ones.

"Dad, you aren't leaving for work already, are you?" Palette whined, staring up at him with a pout.

The monochrome warrior froze, akin to a deer in headlights. His eyelights shifted to Dream, who merely stared (equally surprised), and then back to the young skeleton.

"I... no?"

Palette gasped excitedly. "Does that mean you're going to eat breakfast with mom and me today?!"

"...Sure- uh, buddy?"

"Really! Thanks, Dad!" The child promptly unhanded Cross and scampered into the hall, presumably to go complete his morning ritual for the day.

Once he was far enough away, the sword-wielding skeleton gave his lover a glance and questioned, "He... he does know I'm not Ink, right?"

Dream grimaced.

"...Eh. Maybe, maybe not- He has issues understanding things. Sometimes, I wonder if Ink dropped him on his skull a few times and never told me about it..." He said, casting a worried look in the direction his son wander off in.

"...That would explain some things," Cross admitted, then leaned to the side to glimpse down the hall, watching as the retreating young skeleton miraculously tripped over the thin air and proceeded "demon crawl" back to his bedroom instead of getting up. "Then again, it might be Ink's genetics shining through."

Chapter 145: Crunchy

Summary:

Ah yes, a staple in every tree's diet.

A foul, rotten odor dominated the kitchen. Though, that was hardly the worst of the issues: the sink was piled high, one-week-old dishes were strewn about the counter, an old pan of spoiled green meat rested on the stovetop, and stuffed, possibly leaking trash bags were stacked next to the trash can.

Killer stood at the threshold of the room. His face had long since contorted in disgust, and if he had eyelights, they no doubt would have extinguished at the heinous scene before him.

"All right, who forgot it was their turn to clean the kitchen!" He demanded, voice echoing throughout the castle's stone halls.

In a matter of seconds, Horror and Cross rounded the nearby corner. Faces expressing a mixture of curiosity and worry. They soon came to stand beside the target-soul murderer, daring to gaze inside the aforementioned space.

Both gagged, then wrinkled their nasal cavity once a putrid-scented waft assaulted their sense of smell.

"...Disgrace." Horror growled.

His monochrome companion pulled sleeve over his mouth/nose, eye sockets watering as he choked out, "H-how... how did it even get this bad?"

"I don't know, but we have to do something about it before Nightmare finds out! He'll ground us - quite literally in the dirt - for an entire month, if not longer for this mess!" Killer snapped.

"Then let's get cleaning."

Everyone nodded in agreement, however, remained hesitantly stood at the decidedly "safe" side of the doorway.

Cross, ever the hero, eventually took a step into the space. Then another. And another. And another- until he finally reached the counter.

His eyelights quivered while he carefully grabbed a soiled plate's cleanest edge and lifted it. A shiny blackish/brown, oval-shaped creature with two long antennae scuttled out beneath, darting across the granite surface before flopping onto the floor.

The subsequent chaos was immediate.

The plate in Cross' hand crashed to the ground, shattering into many pieces as he shrieked, "Kill it, kill it, kill it!"

A statement promptly followed by Horror and Killer exclaiming their own thoughts, respectively.

"...Not good."

"Great! Where's a slipper when you need one?!"

While they panicked, Nightmare slipped into the room - drawn by both the negative feelings and commotion - and picked up the situation's confused catalyst.

The trio paused, holding a bated breath, waiting for their fearless leader to squash it in his hand.

"All this fuss over a little bug?" The Guardian of Negativity pondered aloud. He proceeded to turn the insect over in his hand, inspecting it, and lifted it to his face-

It disappeared into his mouth with a near-deafening, wet crunch.

Once he finished his impromptu snack, he said, "You three are hopeless."

Cross paled and quickly turned away, and Horror stared.

Meanwhile, Killer cried, "What the heck?!"

Nightmare raised a brow, passively waving off his alarm. "What, it was merely a bug? They're perfectly edible. Dream and I used to eat them all the time with our foraged mushrooms and moss."

"You... poor child." Horror said, eyeing the dark lord almost sorrowfully.

He scowled at the other and crossed his arms over his chest, tendrils swaying indignantly. "I am by no means a child; I have lived for more than ten centuries longer than you."

"...You poor child." The broken-skulled skeleton insisted.

Chapter 146: Mid-stakeout Snack

Summary:

Eat your moss!

Moonlight peeked through the oaken canopy overhead. Its soft, white rays were barely enough to illuminate the brown leafy layer spread across the ground. Crickets chirped from their perches hidden in the forest's lush foliage, and bats squeaked as they devoured insects in the night sky.

Beyond the treeline, past a dense shrub barrier, laid the makings of a small town: a main roadway, sparse streets, rustic log buildings (used as houses and shops alike), and meticulously spaced out metallic streetlamps that brightened the sidewalks/roads.

Moths fluttered around the latter structure, providing subpar entertainment for their bored watcher, Blue. The azure-armored skeleton sat crosslegged behind some bushes, slumped with his elbows resting on his knees and hands propping up his head. His eyelights flicked from moth to moth while mentally counting them for what had to be the fortieth time that night.

And he highly doubted it would be the last.

He and his fellow Star Sanses - Ink and Dream - were requested to stakeout the area by the local Sans due to the Nightmare's increasing activity (i.e., seemingly harmless appearances) in the AU. Something that could spell more than a little trouble if the fallen guardian was planning something dastardly. However, it seemed more and more unlikely as the hours passed; Blue wished he would hurry up and do something if he did have an evil plan in the making.

A loud gurgle cut through the air.

Responding to the subsequent sharp hunger pain in his soul, Blue winced and turned to their group's "leader" to ask, "How much longer until we call this mission a bust? We've been waiting for Nightmare and his gang to appear in this AU for the last seven hours, and I'm starting to get really hungry."

Ink made brief "hmm" of consideration, lightly shifting in his crouched position halfway poking out a bush, holding a pair of binoculars to his eye sockets... backward.

"No idea! But we should wait at least another two or more hours before deciding they're not going to show up." The soulless skeleton chimed, oddly focused on whatever he spotted in the town.

Given his track record, it was probably nothing. Then again, Blue wouldn't put it past the other to secretly be watching people (a couple, family, or otherwise) or a well-positioned TV through a window.

"Alright," The Underswap Sans sighed. "But you're buying me tacos after this."

Ink grunted a noncommittal, "yeah, sure." and waved him off, so he turned back to the uneventful streets they were tasked with watching.

Not even a minute later, a finger lightly tapped his left shoulder. The hand and subsequent arm attached to it belonged to no other than Dream.

The ever-cheery monster offered an understanding smile and said, "Since we can't leave and get food just yet, do you want to share some moss with me in the meantime?"

His hand slowly gestured to the fine green growth sprouting along the base of the tree next to them.

Each corner of Blue's jaws quickly drooped, creating an uncertain frown. All the while, his nasal cavity wrinkled as he attempted to decline the offer as politely as possible. "Uhh, no, thank you."

"More for me then." The yellow-clad guardian said.

He proceeded to scrape a generous helping of moss into his hand and shoved it in his mouth. Then repeated the process over and over again until eventually sniffling, murmuring, "J-just like how Nightmare used to pick it."

Blue cringed, shuffling slightly closer to Ink. His voice carried a hint of concern as he whispered to the other, "I worry about him."

Ink gave a single glance between him and their friend before shrugging, almost uncaringly.

"Yeah, me too, but this is pretty normal by his standards- You should have seen the looks on the Council's faces when a stray butterfly wandered into the meeting room, and he shoved it in his mouth. I'm pretty sure someone cried." The artist grinned at the memory before exclaiming, "It was great!"

Blue cast a nervous look to where Dream was sorrowfully eating the forest's vegetation. "...I think that worries me even more."

Chapter 147: A Normal Trip To The Grocery Store

Summary:

Dream, why do you do this to yourself?

Yellow eyelights glared at a vast selection of differently branded, pre-cut bread loaves lined across a lengthy aisle shelf.

Dream hummed; His arms crossed, and his foot lightly tapped on the white tile floor below as he pondered the age-old question: White or whole wheat?

Though (while both types had their pros and cons), the real question was: Which one would he be more likely to get Ink and Palette to eat?

...and preferable not complain about.

"The white bread it is then." The, for once, causally-garbed guardian nodded to himself, deducing the answer nigh instantaneously, then reached toward a decently sized (and priced) loaf. "That will keep both of them from giving me any grief. Plus, I'll finally have something to cram vegetables in between to trick Ink into eating at least moderately healthier."

Speaking of the artist, Dream foolishly glanced down the adjacent aisle. In front of a sparsely stocked shelf, amidst a small crowd of five people, was his husband, who happened to be-

"For the love of- I just wanted one normal family outing," he grumbled, hand abandoning the bread in favor of pinching the bridge of his nasal cavity.

After taking a breath to regain some semblance of composure, the Guardian of Positivity proceeded to march past the other shoppers and stop right beside the soulless skeleton. He wasted no time, grasping the other by the wrist and tugging him away from the aisle shelf. "Ink, quit groping the toilet paper!"

"Why? It's so soft and fluffy." Ink whined.

"People are staring! Not to mention, it is highly inappropriate behavior for a monster your age."

Dream scowled as his husband scoffed and crossed his arms defiantly. "You don't know how old I am!"

"No, Ink, you don't know how old you are-" The thought screeched to a sudden halt when the guardian came to an unexpected realization- i.e., noticed the distinct lack of a certain bubbly teenage skeleton. His eye sockets narrowed dangerously. Thus, causing the other's defiance to melt into faux nervousness. "Wait, where is Palette? You were supposed to be watching him!"

Ink shrugged and offered a timid, "Oops?"

Dream's ever-growing sense of defeat escaped him in the form of a drawn-out sigh. "We better find him before-"

Three loud voices interrupted, echoing from beyond the aisle.

"Stop!"

"Block the exit!"

"Someone catch that kid!"

Dread instantly wormed its way into his soul. He found himself rushing in the commotion's direction, pulling Ink along with him, before freezing in sheer shock at the sight the noise led him to.

Palette, the very child he and Ink were missing, was heading toward the store's entrance, wearing a wide grin on his face. All the while, holding a raw chicken above his skull.

"FREE THE CHICKENS!" He cried.

As his son exited the building, poultry in tow with four livid employees following close behind, Dream buried his hands in his face and unleashed a frustrated scream.

Chapter 148: Until Death Do Us Part

Summary:

Ink and Dream participate in a traditional tree spirit divorce.

(Warning: This story contains heavily implied cannibalism, death, swearing, violence, fear, and blood/dust.)

Notes:

I tried to keep it nongraphic.

A content sigh left Nightmare's jaws.

He lied, back to the ground and arms crossed behind his skull, on the edge of a grassy field bordered by a lush oak forest. The afternoon sun overhead provided ample light for some well-deserved photosynthesis.

Cross, Killer, Horror, and Dust were not too far away, resting in their own relaxed positions- also taking in the sun, as per the Guardian of Negativity's insistence.

It was perfect. Just him, his boys, the warmth spreading throughout his goo-laden bones, and a rare yet very needed peace-

An enraged roar echoed beyond the trees, "I'm so sick of your shit!"

And there went the coveted peace he so greatly desired.

The (comparatively) young skeletons he watched over jumped up and shifted into defensive stances at the sound. Each instantly alert, keeping a keen eye out for danger.

Nightmare followed suit, albeit more slowly.

Then, without warning, Ink came bursting out the nearby treeline, appearance expressing more emotion than Nightmare had ever seen: clothes disheveled, jaws clenched, teeth turned down, eye sockets wide and damp around the bottom edges, and eyelights quickly changing shape but remaining a steady deep purple.

Fear, if the dark lord remembered the hue's meaning correctly.

"Nope, nope, nope, nope, nope!" Ink chanted, sprinting past the five skeletons.

A familiar yellow blur sped into the artist, tackling him across the grass before pinning him to the ground and raising a gloved fist.

"Stop making this more difficult than it needs to be!" Dream snarled. "Now that the ritual has started, we only have until the sun's setting hours to break our union, and I won't have you ruining it with your squirming and begging."

Nightmare blinked, and a mild sense of surprise budded in his soul.

The Guardian of Negativity had honestly expected this to happen far sooner. Though, he couldn't fault his brother for waiting until Palette was old enough to not require both his parents before ending things with Ink.

"Dreamboat, Dreamy, please, if this about the dirty sock in the milk jug, I'm-" A loud crack silenced the plea, followed by several crunches as Dream began to finish what he started.

His boys' faces morphed in horror.

"What the fuck?!" Killer gasped.

At the same time, Dust and Cross shouted "Shit!" and "Oh god, we have to stop him," respectively.

Nightmare immediately took action to prevent their interruption; his tendrils shot out and wrapped around their waists, pulling them to his side.

Best keep them out of the way, he thought. After all, this was not the type of rite to stand between unless someone wished to shorten their life span. And the dark lord would much prefer his saplings live for as long as reasonably possible.

However, the four Sanses seemed to feel differently about the matter, for they squirmed against his hold while Cross cried, "What are you doing? We have to help!"

Nightmare gently ran a hand along the top of the warrior's skull.

"Shh," He soothed, giving the four a comforting squeeze with his tendrils. "Just let nature take its course."

A thunderous, nigh wet crunch split the air.

"I... suddenly don't like nature." Killer nervously stated, unable to remove his horrified gaze from the gruesome scene playing out before them.

After many crunching noises (and much shivering and occasional whimpering on his boys' part), Dream stood. Only a smear of red fluid, a fine grey powder, and shredded clothes laid where he had previously been situated.

Slowly, his skull turned to face them. Pinprick, yellow eyelights quickly zeroing in on Nightmare.

He licked the blood and dust from his teeth and proceeded to flash his signature grin, greeting cheerily, "Hello, brother!"

The skeletons in the dark guardian's grasp flinched away; snuggled closer to him in a bout of misplaced fear.

Dust voiced what they all seemed to be thinking as they warily eyed Dream, who merely met their fright with a briefly confused look and a warm smile. "Can we all agree to never be within a hundred meters of him?"

Chapter 149: Out of the Pan and Into the Fire

Summary:

Ink's just trying to get rid of the evidence.

Whispy, white strands of steam steadily rose from the slowly heating pot of milk on the stovetop.

Dream took the silicone spatula resting atop the counter beside his pre-packaged hot chocolate powder, then gently stirred the pot's contents to reassure himself the bottom wasn't burning. And, considering the last few attempts where the dairy turned dark and chunky, the consistent white color and smooth texture made it an extraordinary success.

Thus far, at least.

There still laid many pitfalls where the beverage could go wrong: the milk needed to reach a temperature beyond warm-ish (and not burn), the cocoa mixture had to be added in, and once finished, the concoction had to be poured into a cup without it spontaneously bursting into flame.

Like had the previous times the guardian nearly got the tricky drink ready to serve.

He glanced at the numerous chipped, slightly burnt mugs piled in the nearby sink and grimaced.

At this rate, I'd have better luck wrestling Geno's hot chocolate recipe out of his cold, half-dead hands.

Or giving up altogether, much like with everything else I've tried to make.

Cooking truly required some pertinent skill the yellow-clad skeleton failed to summon time and time again.

Perhaps that was why Nightmare handled all the cooking during their childhood, and the villagers panicked or made excuses whenever Dream wanted to use their brick stoves/ovens.

"Well, at least Ink won't care how it turns out," The Guardian of Positivity mumbled to himself. His eyelights returned to warily observing his twenty-second attempt at hot chocolate. "I'm not giving it to Palette if it starts creating skull and crossbones-shaped black smoke again, though. That can't be healthy for a child."

But hopefully, if all went well this time, he wouldn't have to worry about any deathly omens from his cooking. Might finally have something to give both skeletons to help fight off the cold as well. Since the father-son duo was currently outside enjoying the many wonders winter brought upon their yard- i.e., the snow (and the icicle, which Dream successfully dissuaded them from licking).

Certainly isn't a bad idea to check on them to make sure they aren't freezing out there, he thought, giving the pot another stir. The temperature is rather low today, and a toddler ("and a man-child," his mind near silently supplied) should not be out in it for too long.

The yellow-clad skeleton nodded to himself and pulled the spatula out of the pot before returning it to the counter. (Something told him it would somehow find a way to melt into the milk if he left it in there unsupervised.) Then he gave the pot a firm glare, daring it to go up in flames the moment he turned his back, and strode over to the window above the kitchen sink.

He gazed out the slightly frosted over glass at the winter wonderland laying beyond. A thick, heavily disturbed four-inch layer of snow coated the backyard, which oddly glistened with a dancing yellow and orange light. Yellow eyelights slowly tracked the warm-toned glow to its source, sockets widening when they locked onto Ink's form holding their horrified-looking son above a lively blaze, prepared to drop him.

Time felt as though it slowed as Dream instantly teleported next to the artist, managing to simultaneously steal away the toddler in his hands and slap him across the face. All the while, shouting, "INK, NO!"

His husband yelped, quickly backing out of his range.

"What was that for?!" He whined as a gloved hand rose to rub his stinging cheek.

"Preparing to toss out son in a fire!" Dream hissed, cradling a shivering, sniffling Palette to his chest.

"But he said he was cold!"

"So you tried to throw him into a fire?!"

"How else was I supposed to warm him up?"

"Oh, I don't know- take him inside, paint him a scarf or extra coat!" Dream snapped sarcastically- then the toddler in his arms suddenly whimpered. Thus, prompting the guardian's anger to deflate and allow concern to take its place.

Though that hardly stopped him from shooting a scathing glare at Ink before addressing his son.

"Come on, Palette. Let's get you a nice, fuzzy blanket and some hot chocolate." He paused, remembering the abandoned pot left on the burner, and added with a faint sigh, "If the milk isn't burnt again."

Chapter 150: Suspicious

Summary:

Can we appreciate the odd synonyms thesaurus.com has? Because some of them are hilarious.

Silence encompassed the darkened halls of the Star Sanses' base.

Despite the building's typical liveliness, only a single office bore the tiniest hint of natural candlelight and hushed voices. Inside laid a small, square table surrounded by four skeleton monsters: Dream, Ink, Red, and Classic.

"I... have concerns about Blue." The latter Sans started. "Recently, I've noticed him sneaking around the base at night, whispering into his phone when he thinks no one else is around, taking pictures of archived documents/battle plans, and much more- which is overall pretty un-blue-like for him."

"Yeah. I've noticed 'im doin' a whole bunch 'a questionable stuff too. Like mappin' out the buildin' like he's plannin' a heist or somethin'." Red added.

Dream hummed, pondering the information. "He's been quite not born yesterday on the lookout as of late, I agree."

"What?" Classic raised a nonexistent brow. One could see the gears turning in his skull before he hesitantly asked, "D- do you mean 'suspicious'?"

"Su-spic-ious?" The yellow-clad guardian carefully sounded out. All the while, his brows furrowed, and the corners of his teeth tipped down. "I've never heard such a strange word. Are you sure it's not fake?"

"Well, a lot 'a people know it, an' it sounds a helluva lot better than what you said," Red grumbled.

"'Not born yesterday on the lookout' is a perfectly common and understandable phrase."

"Maybe in your era."

Ink playfully nudged his fellow guardian with an elbow.

"Ooh, I think he's calling you old!" The artist chimed, snickering.

Dream huffed, crossing his arms before slumping against his seat's backrest. "Having lived six thousand four hundred and twenty-five years does not make me old."

Every pair of eyelights in the room turned to him. Their owners' faces were frozen in shock.

After a few moments, Classic blinked and said, "Uh... by normal monster standards, it kind of does."

Chapter 151: Store-bought

Summary:

The child is not produce.

Ink smiled as he threw open his charming abode's front door, bags of groceries in hand, and chimed, "Dreamy! I'm back from the grocery store with the thyme and vegetables you wanted, and this time I didn't even lose Palette!"

Dream promptly appeared from the kitchen to help him, reaching for some bags.

"Oh, thank yo-" He froze mid-sentence.

Judging by the growing horror on his husband's face, Ink knew he messed up- even if he had no idea what exactly he did wrong.

The answer became clear, though, when the other gestured toward the baby sling on his chest and cried, "Where is our son?! That's a bag of potatoes!"

Ink glanced looked down.

True to Dream's word, he did indeed have bagged potatoes where his son used to be safely cradled.

"Huh... I thought he was being quieter than usual- We should keep these instead!"

"INK!"

At the yellow-clad guardian's vicious snarl, the artist held his hands up in a placating manner. "Okay, okay! I'll go back and find him."

 

Somewhere else, in an abandoned AU, Nightmare strolled into his castle's spacious, somewhat modernized kitchen.

The numerous stone counters within were overflowing with piles upon piles of logo-ed plastic bags, which bled onto the floor beneath. Each bag contained so many foods, ingredients, and other necessities that they looked about ready to burst.

In fact, a few bags on the ground already had.

Nightmare cautiously walked around the mess and addressed the food-loving Sans, who had busied himself stocking the items in the lower cupboards. "Ah, Horror. I see you've returned from your shopping trip." He once again swept his eyelight across the many bags, adding in a flat yet joking voice, "Did you find everything you were looking for?"

"...Yeah." The broken-skulled skeleton replied, not once looking away from his task, storing one boxed/canned food after another.

The Guardian of Negativity nodded in approval despite knowing the other couldn't see it. Then stepped closer, leaning in to examine the goods on the central counter.

After a moment of scrutiny, he couldn't help noticing something that didn't belong amongst what his follower acquired: a small - far, far too small to be more than a few months old - infant skeleton adorned by a starry yellow and green onesie.

Nightmare aborted, quickly jumping back and accidentally knocking a foot against a stray bag. Thus, creating a loud clank (likely caused by a can) and a rustle.

Which, in turn, caught the tiny monster's attention.

Their multicolored yellow/green eyelights instantly locked onto him before they released an excited squeal and fruitlessly grabbed at the air in the dark lord's direction.

His entire body froze. Even the tendrils on his back, which typically wiggled and swayed as he stood, became motionless.

The Guardian of Negativity slowly questioned, "Why is there a... baby?"

"There... was a buy one get one free sale on bags of potatoes... I couldn't find another bag." Horror murmured, standing. His large clawed hands were extremely careful as he freed the infant from the bags and cradled them to his chest.

Nightmare relaxed when his watcher's attention shifted to strings on his subordinate's hoodie.

"So you deemed it fit to bring home a baby instead."

At the other's hesitant nod, a tired sigh brushed past the dark lord's jaws while his eyelight glanced downward and landed on the target-souled skeleton rummaging through the grocery bags on the floor, no doubt trying to find the candy Horror promised him. "Well, I suppose it isn't the worst thing you've brought home."

Chapter 152: Coming Out

Summary:

Nightmare should choose his words more carefully.

A piercing cyan eyelight swept across the four skeletons standing side-by-side in the center of the room as candlelight cast an eerie ambiance over the space. 

Horror, Killer, Cross, and Dust held varying degrees of anticipation; the curiosity radiating off them was palpable. 

Neither Sans knew why their leader - or father figure, considering how often the dark lord parented them - summoned them into the castle's designated entertainment room. Something, exactly, what it sounded like: a spacious, central area where a TV, board games, consoles, computers, video games, and other pastimes resided. 

For entertainment when not working, after a job well-done, or to troll the Star Sanses when they played online games. (Though, they tried not to bother Dream too much. The cheery guardian was shockingly good at player-vs-player combat in that RPG-esque farming game his group had taken to playing in their free time. Who knew one could kill another player with a low-level, copper watering can?)

Nevertheless, they silently agreed that he likely did not want to play a sudden round of Monopoly. That game was, in no uncertain terms, banned in the castle. And for numerous weapon/rage-related reasons- i.e., the time the Sanses (Nightmare included) turned the entertainment room into a warzone over a certain "Baltic Avenue" trade gone wrong.

"Alright, boys. Today, we are going to be practicing hand signals- which will hopefully make our supply runs go a little more smoothly." The Guardian of Negativity stated, catching the group's attention.

"In the game room?" Killer wondered.

He nodded. "Yes. I want to practice these in various environments to gauge how you all react and how well you can use your surroundings to your advantage."

Seeing his followers waiting for further detail, the dark lord continued.

"Now, on to the signals we'll be working on today and what they mean. When I do this," Nightmare raised an arm from his side and held the attached hand flat in the air, like he had it resting on an invisible table. "I want you to hide somewhere in this room. Does that sound easy enough?"

They nodded a curt "yes," much to his relief.

"Good. When I do this," Nightmare turned his hand face up and curled his phalanges inward in a "come forward"-like motion. "I want you all to come out." He gave them each a searching glance before asking, "Any questions?"

"Will there... be food involved?" Horror instantly drawled. 

"No."

Cross raised his hand. "Do we get extra credit for hiding in plain sight? Like, for example, if I were to successfully hide behind or next to someone?"

A frown played along the dark lord's jaws. 

"No. Such actions would be far too risky, and I have no intention of encouraging it; Anyone how even dares try it will be assigned extra chores for the entire month." He said. "Any further questions?"

A chorus of "no"s answered, leading Nightmare to perform the aforementioned "go hide" gesture.

All four of the skeleton monsters promptly disappeared in various corners of the room. 

Dust slipped under a black couch, eyelights vaguely peeking from beyond the plain skirt shrouding the underside. 

Horror vanished into shadows beneath the burnt-out candle - the one everyone kept forgetting to replace - and shimmied between the wall and bookcase, hiding. (Albeit somewhat trapping himself.) 

Cross dove into a pile of beanbags shoved against the wall. His mismatched red/white eyelights just barely shone in the fluffy darkness around him. 

Killer smirked mischievously and slipped past the game closet door, leaving it cracked just enough for his empty eye sockets to peer into the main room unseen.

Nightmare nodded to himself, eyelight grazing over each area with mild approval. 

"I'll admit that was slightly better than I was expecting." He said, then motioned for them to come out. Thus, prompting three of the four to filter out of their hiding spots.

At the same time, an amused voice sounded from the closet. "'mare, I'm gay!"

While the surrounding Sanses began snickering, the negativity-laden guardian heaved a mighty sigh. "Killer... You know, when I said 'come out,' that's not what I meant. "

Muted chuckles echoed throughout the air, followed by a far too pleased, "Yeah, yeah. I know, but did you really expect me to pass up this golden opportunity?"

Chapter 153: Flying South

Summary:

Because birds.

Palette sniffled, holding back tears as he clutched his small lover's hands.

The white-cloaked skeleton held hostage merely gave him a soft smile and a reassuring squeeze. "It's okay. I won't be gone for too long."

"But it's going to be an entire season!" The young artist wailed. Yellow/green tears began to stream down his cheeks, soaking the yellow scarf wrapped around his neck.

"Oh, Pal, I promise I'll be back before you know it- then we can do all kinds of things together, like visit that amusement park you mentioned last week." Goth said, freeing his hands (after Palette reluctantly relented his grip) and gently using his cloak's sleeve to wipe away his boyfriend's liquid sorrow.

"...Okay."

Despite wanting the tender moment to continue forever, Palette knew their time for goodbyes had come to an end when Reaper finally drew away from Geno, stating, "See you in the spring, my dove. I'll make sure to return with many gifts for you."

Not a few seconds later, he approached the couple and asked his son, "Ready to go, pigeon?"

Goth shook his skull.

"In just a second, dad." The lesser death god leaned forward and gave Palette a peck on the cheek- the romantic kind, not the bird-trying-to-eat-your-face kind. Then, he went and captured his mother in a tight hug before pulling back and moving to stand next to Reaper.

The father-son duo soon started to flap their wings, slowly rising into the air.

"See you in spring, mom, Palette," Goth said.

The young artist shouted after him, "Love you; Stay safe!" while the bloody glitch nearby chimed, "Be safe, dear! Don't talk to any strange birds, and for stars' sake, please keep out of the garbage!"

Thereafter, he and Geno stood in silence as they watched their loved ones gracefully fly down the stree-

Goth smacked face-first into a telephone pole, sliding down an inch before quickly righting himself, flying off into the horizon alongside his father.

"So majestic," Palette whispered, wiping residual magic from his cheeks.

Instead of sharing the same awe, Geno frowned and grumbled in concern, "...stars, I hope they don't fly into a building or a plane."

Chapter 154: Catnap

Summary:

Restarting C.A.T. OS

Notes:

Might not make much sense since I should be asleep right now.

Sweat glistened on Reaper's forehead. He furrowed his brows in concentration as his steady hands carefully lowered the final piece of bread atop the sandwich plated on the marble counter below. It settled perfectly. Thus, marking the end of the most perilous part of his cooking journey.

Grinning, the death god jabbed a toothpick in the center of his creation and popped a black olive on top. Then placed french fries, apple slices, and a sauce dish containing a generous helping of ketchup alongside it.

He took a step back, admiring his work.

Truly, it was a lunch fit for a king- or his lovely husband, in this case.

Here's hoping Geno isn't craving something else now.

But if he is, I certainly would not mind eating this and making him something different. Reaper thought, eyeing the flawless layers of meat, cheese, and vegetables between the sandwich's bread.

I wonder if I could get away with taking a bite...

He quickly dismissed the notion; dared not give in to the more feral, bird-like part of his mind screaming at him to peck the food apart... and dig through the trash can beside the counter. (Geno would never forgive him- whether that be for serving him food with garbage on his hands or creating a mess in the kitchen. Again.)

Giving his skull a shake, attempting to clear the foul thoughts, the dark-cloaked skeleton moved to the fridge and procured a cup of iced tea (his lover's current favorite drink) from inside.

Afterward, he grabbed the sandwich's plate with his blue magic before exiting the door leading out to the garden: a surprisingly lush grove holding numerous plants (flowers, fruit trees [apple, pomegranate, etc.], and bushes) located behind his and Geno's dark mansion, brought to life by the latter's impeccable green thumb.

Sometimes, it even seemed like the Goddess of Life herself was jealous of the mortal's influence over the cursed, desolate lands Reaper had long since called home.

The death god hummed softly, allowing his feet to carry him down the stone path to where a small resting area sat. It didn't take long until he reached a large hammock tied between two trees amongst the outdoor furnishings (chairs, tables, etc.). Inside the makeshift bed laid a familiar, red/white-clad skeleton.

"Geno, my dove, lunch is read..." Reaper trailed off as he took in the other's form- curled on his side, a hand lightly resting on his distended belly, and pale red drool dripping down his slightly parted jaws.

A soft smile worked its way up the dark-cloaked skeleton's face. He slowly guided the plate his magic held to sit on the dark, metallic table next to the hammock and added the tea along with it.

"Heh... Guess I took a little too long making that Sanswich if you're dead asleep now." He mused.

This turn of events wasn't too much of a surprise, though. His beloved had taken to napping rather frequently as of late through no fault of his own.

In fact, one could say it was more Reaper's fault than anything else.

His empty sockets came to rest on his husband's swollen stomach, catching the briefest glimpse of a tiny purple souling fluttering around within.

Our little Gothy.

His smile stretched wider. Thereafter, he ever-so-delicately placed a hand atop his lover's baby bump, hoping to be gentle enough to go unnoticed. However, soon found that hope dashed when the other instantly released a quiet, "Mrrp?"

Like those sleeping cats he had seen pet owners disturb in passing.

Try as he might, Reaper couldn't resist snorting before falling to his knees and clutching the side of the hammock as he chuckled.

Geno shifted and blinked sleepily at him.

"Wha's 'unny?" The bloody skeleton slurred, a frown coming to play along his jaws.

The death god stifled his laughter enough to answer, "Nothing. Just thinking about how much I- I love you."

"Tha's... s'upid." Geno grumbled.

Reaper smirked, noting the light red hue creeping across his skull while he turned to face the other direction to sleep. "Perhaps. But I enjoy thinking about it, nonetheless."

Chapter 155: Mental Scars

Summary:

Nightmare can never unsee it now.

(Warning: This story contains Palette [who can pretty much be his own warning at this point], mature themes, possibly adult humor, and etc. Viewer discretion is advised.)

Nightmare took a slow sip of his coffee, sitting on one of the wooden barstools placed in front of the central kitchen island.

Bacon cracked and sizzled as Horror busied himself cooking at the stove while Killer lazily chopped the various fruits (strawberries, apples, pears, etc.) for the household's breakfast fruit salad.

It was nice. Almost peaceful.

Though, there was one thing that bothered the dark lord to no end: his nephew, Palette, standing a mere foot away, gazing at him with wide starry eyelights full of utter wonder.

"Your tentacles are so cool!" The six-year-old shouted.

Nightmare felt joy and conceit swell in his soul from the genuine compliment. However, those feelings crumbled when the child followed it by saying, "It's like a bunch of penises!"

The elder guardian instantly took a sharp inhale. Thus, forcing him to choke and spray coffee across the counter-esque space. As the caffeinated liquid dripped down his teeth, he stared at his nephew in what could only be called shocked revulsion.

Meanwhile, the two other adults in the room had opposite reactions to one another. Horror turned, giving the small skeleton a startled, wide-eyed blink, and Killer dropped his knife atop the cutting board and fell to his knees, laughing.

After a few moments (which Nightmare primarily spent trying and failing to regain his composure), Palette hesitantly said, "Uncle?"

When silence answered, Horror promptly followed up by asking, "You... okay?"

The Guardian of Negativity set his cup on the kitchen island; an impassive mask ever-so-slowly slipping over his face as he stood from his seat and calmly - as far as anyone else could tell - walked to the doorway.

He paused just long enough to speak a quiet yet curt, "No." Then continued trudging deeper into the castle, grumbling, "Eat breakfast without me. I'm taking a shower for however long it takes for that unholy mental image to go away."

Once the dark lord melded into the long hall's farthest shadows, Killer managed to quell his laughter enough to stand and wipe the extra tar (i.e., tears) gathered around his eye sockets.

"Pfft- heh... Oh, kiddo! Heh-he... That was beautiful; I've never seen Nightmare leave a room so fast!" He crowed.

Palette frowned, uncertain, looking down toward his feet in shame. "Really? I think I upset, uncle Night-night..."

"Nah. He's good. Just scarred by the thought of having a skele-ton of giant dicks attached to his back."

The young artist lifted his skull, a curious glimmer shimmering in the depths of his eye sockets.

"Why? Dad likes mom's-"

Killer quickly interrupted, face contorting in a very reasonable mix of horror and disgust.

"Oookay! We are officially dropping this conversation and moving onto something else-" The target-souled Sans turned to his equally unsettled counterpart. "Horror, please, make us a note to tell Dream and Ink to keep whatever happens in the bedroom in the bedroom."

The broken-skulled skeleton nodded and pulled a small notebook and pencil from his inventory, mumbling, "Will do..."

Chapter 156: Art of Seduction (Dream Edition)

Summary:

Feral tree begins first steps of courting ritual.

The sounds of footfall and light chatter marked the end of yet another successful Star Sanses meeting. Monsters, primarily Sanses and Papyruses, slowly flittered out the room. Very few stayed behind to ask questions or express concerns regarding universal threats.

Dream sat alone on his side of the table, skull propped up by his arms, which rested on the smooth wooden surface below his elbows. Not a single person disturbed him, as most were too busy talking the supposedly most knowledgable in their group: Ink, the Guardian of AUs.

Who also happened to be the skeleton the yellow-clad being's golden eyelights currently fixated on.

So fixated, in fact, he failed to notice Blue bounce up to him after waving goodbye to his brother.

"Heya, Dream!" He chirped, slipping into the neighboring seat. "What are you doing?"

Dream hummed, eyeing Ink a few more seconds before glancing toward him and answering, "Nothing much, just watching Ink. He's so confident when he is in his element."

Azure eyelights jumped back and forth between him and the artist, then their blue-armored owner smirked slyly.

"Does somebody have a crush?" He prodded in a sing-songy voice.

"What- No, I just like him as a friend..." The guardian instantly denied, only to have his eyelights drift back to the aforementioned skeleton as he murmured affectionately, "Even when he does that adorable thing where he gets paint all over his hands and smears it across his face."

"You do have a crush!" Blue gasped, eyelights morphing into twinkling stars.

"Blue..." Dream softly warned, nigh sighing in relief when Ink, unlike some of the other monsters in the room, ignored the Underswap Sans' outburst.

Luckily, however, they didn't appear to have any intentions of inquiring about it since they - alongside the last few monsters in the room, barring the duo seated at the table - left.

Unfortunately, taking Ink along with them.

His half-second of mourning the artist's departure got interrupted by Blue excitedly proclaiming, "You should ask him to be your boyfriend!"

The yellow-clad skeleton's expression shifted, brows furrowing while a thoughtful frown tugged down the corners of his mouth. "Hmm... You think so?"

"Yeah, you two would be so cute together!"

He pondered the idea for a moment, eventually straightening confidently and declaring, "You know what, I think I will! It's about time I shifted my focus away from my brother and settled down with a nice skeleton."

"That's the spirit!" Blue cheered.

Alas, his glee was fleeting, for when Red walked through the meeting room's door, barely able to open his jaws to greet them, Dream lunged across the table and tackled him to the ground. All the while, holding a magically summoned knife to his throat.

"Wait- WHAT ARE YOU DOING!" Blue shrieked, jumping from his chair with enough force to send it flying backward.

"Yeah, sunbeam. What the heck?!" The Underfell Sans growled.

Dream merely pushed the sharp edge of his blade further against Red's vertebra, causing crimson marrow to bead from the subsequent wound. "In order to prove my worth to my prospective mate, I must demonstrate my many prowesses and bring this land to its knees so it may never defy us." He pushed off the other and made way for the exit. "Though, defeating someone as weak as you will not earn me much credit."

Blue shouted after him, "Dream, no! Things don't work like that here; there are other ways - that don't involve assaulting/enslaving people - to show romantic interest!"

The words went unheeded as the Guardian of Positivity vanished behind the door and into the hallway. Startled screams followed by an ear-piercing war cry that simultaneously sounded like an eldritch horror and a rustling tree in a hurricane soon echoed beyond.

Blue grimaced. "Egh... Shoot, we have to go after him."

Red, however, was too lost in a sudden revelation to care.

"Hold on a second..." He started. "Does that mean Nightmare's been trying to get laid this whole time?! After everything, the fights, terror, and destruction, all we have to do is hook him up with a nice piece of bone to fuc-"

Blue teleported beside him and slapped a hand over his pointed jaws, causing him to freeze up in surprise. Then shrink away slightly at the subsequent glower he received.

"Red, you can shut up now." The Underswap Sans stated.

Chapter 157: After Dark

Summary:

No one wants to snuggle spooky. :'(

(Warning: This story contains mild swearing.)

Notes:

I worked on this far longer than I wanted to and am still not quite happy with the outcome, but I hope everyone enjoys it nonetheless. Also, I didn't proofread this, so I don't know how coherent it will be. I'm tired.

Merry Christmas; Happy Holidays!

Cross diligently dragged a warm soapy sponge back and forth across the small plate in his hand, then rinsed the residual suds and placed it alongside a near-identical one on the metal drying rack beside the sink.

A living presence entered the room just as he began to remove the rubber dish gloves from his hands- It was Killer. He could tell based on the other's magical signature alone. Not to mention the way his feet soundlessly swept over the ground in that all too familiar way of a predator well-versed in stalking its prey, keen on the element of surprise and not wasting any unnecessary energy.

After a moment, the target-souled skeleton decided to make himself known like a normal person - or as normal as he could be - and chuckled. "Heh. Little late for a snack, don't you think?"

"Not really. Besides, Nightmare was hungry too." Cross shrugged, tossing the gloves by the sponge before turning to face him.

Which just so happened to be in time to see Killer stiffen while his grin dropped and empty eye sockets widened, notably looking between him and the two cleaned plates. He watched the color gradually leave the Sans' bones- an impressive feat for a skeleton.

Slowly beginning to tremble lightly, Killer asked, "You gave him something to eat?"

"Yeah?" The monochrome warrior frowned, slightly off-put by his associate's sudden change in behavior. "Is that a problem?"

Killer practically exploded at the question, throwing his hands in the air and shouting nigh hysterically, "A problem? Is that a problem?! Yes, it's after midnight! Everyone knows you don't feed Nightmare after midnight. It-"

Coolness swept over the room. The kind that permeated the air and relentlessly nipped at the bones of anyone unfortunate enough to be caught in it, bringing with it an abrupt sense of dread.

A shudder worked its way down Cross' spine. The sensation of ice quickly chased after it and refused to leave the area once the action was complete. As the monochrome warrior resisted the urge to tug his coat tighter around himself, he passively noticed (via peripheral vision) a dense fog growing across the nearby windows. Something not near as distracting when the lively flames dancing atop the kitchen's numerous candles extinguished- snuffed out by an invisible force, plunging the room into total darkness.

"Oh shit... It's started." Killer whispered, using the softest yet most horrified voice Cross had ever heard from the mass murderer.

"What's started? What's going on?!" He whispered in turn, blindly stepping forward, fumbling to reach the other.

The target-souled Sans did not grace him with a response. Instead releasing a sharp "Shh!" as Cross neared, moving past what he assumed to be the central counter.

Silence stretched between the pair. Not a sound made aside from the light shuffle of black/white boots on tile.

Cross prepared to release the breath he was holding when his associate's warning proved pointless- until an eerie wail echoed from somewhere within the castle.

Somewhere fairly nearby.

His body instantly froze, leg paused mid-step while his soul leapt in his chest.

"Welp, soldier boy, you're on your own." With that said, the magic in the air spiked, and Killer's presence vanished from the room- He teleported away.

"Wait, Killer, don't leave me!" The monochrome warrior cried.

Despite his plea, the eyelightless deserter never magically returned. Thus, leaving Cross alone and defenseless against an unknown force.

Damn it, he thought, What am I supposed to do now? Killer seemed... legitimately frightened, so I doubt this is a prank. But if it isn't that, then what? Did someone break into the castle?

Another spine-chilling, airy wail pierced the air.

It sounded far closer than last time, and as much as Cross didn't want to discover the source of those noises, Nightmare...

He sighed, concluding, wouldn't be happy if I didn't, at the very least, try to confront a potential intruder.

He attempted to summon his courage to do so. However, found hardly a sliver available in his soul- every other emotion bubbling up was merely another flavor of negativity after the other, with fear being the most prominent, quickly overpowering any meager bravery musterable.

Not that the ex-royal guard member would allow that to stop him.

Suppressing his rattling bones, Cross channeled his extensive mana pool and brought an attack into existence. The offensive magic gathered in the palm of his left hand, eventually taking the shape of a small dagger-sized bone. Though most were traditionally white, this one consisted of bright blue magic, making it glow softly in the absence of light. And creating the best impromptu flashlight manageable.

It illuminated a small area around him, casting a blue-toned hue over the nearby counter and floor tiles.

Perfect.

Unfortunately, he had a feeling the potential intruder thought otherwise, seeing as a third cry broke through the hall. Right from the other side of the kitchen door. Most worryingly though, this time, instead of being a wordless noise of anguish, it distinctly formed the word "Please."

It sounded nothing like the other resident Sanses - too feeble, too young, too haunting - but that didn't keep him from praying for the contrary. So, against his better judgment, Cross hesitantly stepped forward. Closer to the door, just barely raising his left hand and shining his attack's light on its dark wooden surface.

"H-horror? Du-dust? I-i-is that you?" He asked in a tight, tentative voice.

A loud "cu-clunk" rung in place of a reply, and the unoiled henges of the kitchen door screamed as it creaked open.

Then, before Cross could even think of teleporting away, the door (now fully open) came to a stop, and light footfall sounded until a figure halted at the edge of his blue magic's glow.

He gulped, wearily shifting his gaze down.

Standing there, cast in the hall's shadows, was a Sans-esque skeleton unlike any he had ever seen. (That was saying a lot considering how many Sanses the swordsman had met.)

Their skull was small and delicate yet somehow still distinctly mature, holding the type of regalness one would expect from a prince/king in the storybooks Ink once shared with him. It bore a nasty crack - nowhere near as bad as Horror's, but still unsettling to behold - that stretched over their right eye socket. The left, however, held a light, almost dull, purple eyelight- glazed over, unseeing. A detail only complemented by their blank expression.

Their bones were akin to treasure, shining silver even in the darkness. Cross, however, couldn't help but notice the more concerning aspects: they were frail and thin, bore an ill grey-ish tone beneath their silvery sheen, and didn't have the type of bone mass (hard-earned or not) he or any of his teammates had.

The second element most concerning was their stature, which fell on the short side, perhaps somewhere just shy of Ink's and Dream's. The pair were rather vertically challenged, making it all the more unusual. And certainly pointed quite heavily toward malnutrition. Something Horror would be dying to remedy if he ever came face-to-face with the mysterious skeleton.

As the monochrome warrior gave them a quick scan from head to toes, he realized even their outfit seemed a bit unusual compared to the standard Sans hoodie, slippers, and shorts combo. The clothing appeared almost medieval, consisting of a dark - possibly black - tunic, matching-colored, long-legged trousers, and low, leather boots. All of which seemed to have seen better days, given their numbers tears and frayed seams.

It didn't make them any less enchanting in that eerie, ethereal kind of way- harmless, at first glance, yet still utterly terrifying.

And even if they did look like they couldn't throw a punch to save their life, Cross knew fully well appearances could be deceiving. (After all, Ink seemed like a good person and friend up until he abandoned him for weeks to months in the unholy white hellscape Nightmare saved him from.)

Plus, he was hesitant to believe they were truly defenseless with the ominous (dare one say "negative") pressure in the air. So he opted to lead with caution, not quite able to fight fear weighting inexplicably heavy on his soul.

"Who a-are you? H-h-how did you g-get in here?" The swordsman stuttered, raising his attack-wielding hand.

They didn't respond. Merely lumbered closer, moving past the doorway while Cross instinctively backed away, consequently trapping himself between them and a counter. Step after step, they neared ever closer- close enough he could hear a wet sniffle.

They were... crying?

His brows furrowed. "A-are... are you okay?"

The Sans froze at the question. They tilted their skull up, meeting his eyelights with their lonely one, and blinked. The distant expression vanished from their skull, replaced by watery eye sockets, wobbly jaws, downturned teeth, and a wrinkled nasal cavity that twitched with their many subsequent sniffles.

Cross barely had time to react when they flung themself at him, forcing him to slam against the counter's edge before sliding down. He bit back a pained hiss as his rear hit the ground and stiffened while their arms wrapped around his waist, trapping him.

Albeit in a... hug?

That was surprisingly unthreatening.

He relaxed slightly, fear ebbing. Slowly, his right hand raised and gently pat them on the back.

"Uhh..." He awkwardly soothed, switching to rubbing circles along their spine. (That was something people did when trying to comfort another person, right?) "There... there? It's okay?"

His tactic accomplished little more than making them cry wholeheartedly, leaving him little to do aside from sitting awkwardly and waiting out his current predicament.

Alas, Cross could not stay here all night. He had to check on the other residents in the castle, especially Nightmare since Killer was so certain feeding him after midnight was a bad idea. Hopefully, the dark lord didn't have indigestion or something.

"Can you let go?" He softly asked, giving his hugger's arms a push.

They, in fact, could not and seemed to make it their personal mission to hold on tighter. Thus, leading the monochrome warrior to push harder and harder.

"If you could just let go..." He grunted. All the while, his phalanges attempted to pry the other way, only to fail due to their surprisingly steely grip.

Defeated, he looked down at his captor. They buried their face in his chest while light purple tears streamed down their cheeks, showing no sign of budging- whether it be now or in the future.

Just my luck, Cross thought.

He leaned his skull back against the cabinet and accepted his fate. Given Killer likely wouldn't be returning any time soon...

 

I'm going to be stuck here a while, aren't I?

Chapter 158: After Dark (Dream Edition)

Summary:

Ink creates his own danger.

So much for a peaceful night.

That was the sole thought that ran through Blue's head when he stepped around the corner, prepared to deliver Dream his final stack of paperwork before turning in for the night, only to see Ink in front of the yellow-clad guardian's office door.

And, no, the other wasn't just standing there creeping like he had on numerous other occasions. He was physically leaning back against the hardwood surface, expression laden with faux fear as a relentless force pounded and attempted to push open the obstacle from the other side. All the while, vicious snarls and stray, sickly yellow tendrils snaked through its cracks.

The papers slipped from Blue's hands, scattering across the floor. He could feel the shockingly malleable bone of his face twist as his tiredness changed into bewilderment and worry.

Instantly, the Underswap Sans danced around the papery mess and rushed over to his friend, joining in on the effort to prevent whatever dwelled within Dream's office from escaping. His added weight on the door felt like it did little to nothing with how strong the creature inside pushed. And it's anger-fueled growls- a shudder ran down his spine.

They sounded even worse up close.

"Ink, what's going on?" He demanded.

"Nothing is going on; Everything's fine!" The artist claimed, batting away a tendril that wandered a little too close to his face. "Dreamy just didn't like the peanut butter and jelly sandwich I gave him, which is crazy because who doesn't like a good peanut butter and jelly sandwich!"

"Peanut butter and jelly sandwich..." Blue murmured. His eyelights drifted toward the dark window-lined hallway in front of them, sockets widening in realization. "Wait, what time is it?!"

Ink shrugged and pushed harder on the door with a huff as their opponent slowly began to overpower them. Thus, causing the door to creak open inch by inch.

"I hardly see what the time has to do with Dream's criminal hatred of PB and J." He grunted.

Blue ignored the comment and pulled an azure-cased touch-screen phone out of his pocket, activating the lock screen. It displayed the current hour along the top.

A sight which left the armor-clad skeleton gasping, "It's a quarter past midnight!"

"Alright? Why is that important again?"

"Because Dream turns into an even crankier version of his brother when he eats after twelve o'clock!"

"Oh... right. I forgot about that." The soulless guardian reached for one of the art tools on his belt. "I should write that down! It might be important in the future."

Blue quickly slapped the other's hand, causing it to retreat to its previous position. "No! Keep holding the door. I'm going to run down to the kitchen and get some apple juice to calm him down."

"Okay!" Ink chimed while Blue pocketed his phone and dashed off in the direction of the kitchens/nearest snack room.

The Underswap Sans barely made it into the adjacent hall when he heard his friend wonder aloud, "Huh... Why am I holding this door again- GAH!"

 

He wisely decided to hasten his pace.

Chapter 159: The Dad Sanses

Summary:

They've reached their final form.

(Warning: This story contains mild swearing.)

Notes:

Happy New Year's Eve!

"Ugh, this is the worst!" Ink complained.

Blue couldn't help but silently agree as Horror shoved a picture bearing a young, timid Frisk-esque child wearing a dull azure-colored dress in his face.

"This one... Aliza. She is... good cook." The broken-skulled Sans boasted in his typical rumbling drawl. "Makes... the best stew you will ever taste."

He politely nodded. "That's wonderful, Horror."

"No, it isn't." The soulless guardian beside him rudely interrupted before obnoxiously groaning when Error produced yet another photo album of a tiny white skeleton with fluffy wings and proceeded to explain each picture to him in extreme detail.

Given the destroyer's own poor memory, it was a little unsettling how much he had committed to heart. Especially when it came to certain... unsavory details.

Blue resisted the urge to gag while the dark glitch described the color, consistency, and smell of his apparent child's baby vomit- that he, for some reason, decided to capture in photographic form.

As the description went on (for far, far longer than it rightfully should), Ink began to look a touch green and whined, "I thought fighting them before was bad enough, but this is hell."

An irritated huff sounded from the other side of the sterile, white-tiled lab room they occupied.

"If you didn't want to be in this position, then you shouldn't have thrown around mysterious, unlabeled potions from a laboratory. We have procedures in place for a reason; To prevent things like this from happening. " Sci grumbled.

He was hunkered over his workstation, surrounded by various scientific instruments and vials and bottled chemicals, pouring and mixing them seemingly at random. A valiant effort to find a cure.

Light blue eyelights drifted over to where Dust and Killer laid: a large, clear glass jar with several air holes poked into the lid, sitting atop one of the top shelves of an overcrowded bookcase. Both Sanses were shrunken. Probably about the size of a Bitty, if not a little smaller. And, quite obviously, considering their vigorous tiny fist shakes and snarling faces, very unhappy.

Cross, their monochrome comrade in evildoing, emoted far less, mainly due to his drastically different situation- i.e., currently position twitching on the floor.

A successful cure. Here's hoping for a successful cure, the Underswap Sans reminded himself.

He looked back to the monster in front of him. Horror was still rambling on about his daughter and/or Frisk (Blue wasn't sure which one it was at this point), unbothered by his lack of input or participation in the conversation. Something he felt extreme gratitude for.

Dream, however, did not seem to have such luck with his brother, who demanded his undivided attention. Undivided attention that went to looking over Nightmare's fourth seemingly endless wallet of photographs.

"Brother, just how many Sanses have you adopted?" Dream hesitantly questioned.

"All that will let me-" Nightmare answered cooly before turning toward Error, growling, "I'll get you one day, Error! And your little Genocide too!"

The dark glitch glanced up from his album and scoffed. "F-fat cha-nce in-in hell, y-you dirty g-g-glitch! I'm not-not letting my prec-ious Gothy be-be r-related to some e-e-emo, backwater abom-ination with an-an apple t-tree complex!"

"You will be my son whether you want to or not!"

"Brother, maybe you should calm-"

"Sci, you're my son now!" The dark lord suddenly declared, pointing at the aforementioned skeleton.

Thus, causing the young Sans to startle and nearly drop a chemical vial before whipping his skull in the other's direction. "What- no!"

"Shut up, and let me add your picture to my wallets!"

Chapter 160: Egg

Summary:

Death bird does bird things.

Exhaustion-laden eye sockets narrowed at the bedroom doorway. Between its gothic-styled framing stood a five-foot-tall skeleton shrouded in a billowing black cloak with large ebony wings folded behind his back. The almost lively article's hood sat limply around his neck, giving a clear view of his blank face and, in turn, his rarely visible eyelights.

Each magical white pupil appeared dilated and took up most of the darkness beyond the other's eye sockets. An indicator that he had entered what Geno liked to call "bird mode."

The Aftertale Sans crossed his arms as well as he could above his bulging stomach. All the while, his expression remained stony while he glanced between the blocked exit and the bed just a few steps behind him.

Despite previous efforts to keep the furnishing tidy, it now housed a makeshift nest: a collection of meticulously arranged sheets, pillows, glittery threads of yarn (likely stolen from an unsuspecting child or crafter), large dark-colored feathers (unmistakably Reaper's), several twigs/branches, and bits of white cottony fluff liberated from a shredded cushion.

It, unfortunately, seemed to be yet another newly discovered side effect of his pregnancy's impact on his husband's ever-growing list of avian instincts- which, apparently, decided to branch (no pun intended) out from digging through trash and add nest building.

Amongst other things.

Eyeing Geno intently, the death god gave an urging flap of his wings before stepping forward. An action the pregnant monster counter-acted by stepping backward.

It didn't take much to guess what the other was thinking, especially considering his actions during the past few months.

"Reaper," Geno cautioned. "Don't you dare even think about it. I am pregnant, not an egg."

His husband didn't show any indication he heard, let alone understood what was said aside from making a low, rumbling croon. Then continued to advance. Thus, forcing him to take small and very cautious steps in retreat.

"Reaper," He repeated. "Stop."

The crow-esque skeleton once again failed to heed the warning and displeasure in his tone.

Typical, Geno mentally grumbled.

Soft, grey carpet flattened beneath his feet as his husband herded him toward his creation. Not long passed until he bumped against the bed's - or, in this case, the nest's - edge. Reaper wasted no time slipping hands under his armpits and deposited him in the center of blankety, pillowy mass.

He squirmed and tried to escape to no avail. Only having his fate cemented when he soon found himself pushed into the mattress and covered by wings alongside a far too pleased skeleton. Who decided to announce his victory via a joyful chirp.

Geno huffed, blowing a feather out of his face. "One of these days, I'm going to pluck you like a chicken."

Chapter 161: Date Start!

Summary:

Overprotective brother.

Waitstaff dutifully puttered around the restaurant floor while people participated in light chatter with their respective table-mates. Cross had half a mind to hail one to take away his table's dirty dishes but instead found himself once more admiring his companion for the afternoon: Dream.

The stunning skeleton sat across from him, bearing a warm smile that never failed to melt the warrior's heart. All the while, garbed in his traditional date clothes. I.e., a semi-casual outfit; a light blue polo shirt, long grey pants, and dress shoes all expertly tied together by the pale yellow bandana hanging loosely around his neck. A stark contrast to Cross' own bushy fur-collared, white leather coat, dark-toned jeans, and black and white accented combat boots.

The taller smiled softly, albeit nervous.

"Dream, this date has been lovely..." He started, then felt a light warning squeeze on his throat's vertebrae. Thus, reminding him of their date's other... attendee, so to speak. "But can you get Nightmare to remove his tendril from my throat? It- it's starting to get uncomfortable to b-breathe."

Yellow eyelights cast their gaze onto the aforementioned monster, settling on what seemed to be the spot right over his shoulder.

A deep voice proceeded to rumble, no doubt from the booth to his back, "I'm not going anywhere until I know Romeo here isn't going to mess this up."

An exasperated frown marred Dream's face before he sighed and demanded, "Brother, stop! You can't keep doing this to everyone I date."

One could practically hear the annoyance in the darker, more violence-prone twin's voice as he hissed, "Why not? If Ink was smart enough to get the message, then this sniveling fluff ball will leave eventually."

"Nightmare." The frown on Cross' lover deepened, and his eye sockets narrowed into a glower.

"Ugh-" Nightmare groaned at the look, soon conceding, "Fine. But don't come crying to me when you inevitably get your heart broken."

"I won't- Cross and I have been dating for over seven years. You should know by now that we are very serious and committed to each other." Dream pointedly said.

"Whatever. Because of this unholy hassle, you're paying my bill."

A, for once, ungloved hand directed a phalange toward the exit. "Just leave, brother. I'll handle it. Again."

The slimy, dark tendril holding Cross' neck hostage slipped away, taking with it the pressure threatening to suffocate him should he make one wrong move.

"...I'm starting to think he only does this to get free lunch," Cross grumbled, turning in his seat. His eyelights fixed on Nightmare's back as he retreated out the restaurant's clear glass door, exit signaled by a chime. Something far too soft for someone so needlessly intimidating.

At least me and Dream can finish our date in peace now, he thought.

Cross returned to his previous position and opened his mouth, planning to continue a prior conversation with his date-

"Oh! Hey, Dream! Fancy seeing you here! How are you?" A loud, familiarly annoying voice interrupted.

Mismatched eyelights glanced to the side to see a beige-clad individual anyone would fear to have intruding upon their day. Meanwhile, Dream jumped slightly, expression morphing to shock as he exclaimed, "Ink?!"

The artist gave a cheery nod and waved.

"Ugh!" Cross whined, banging his skull against the table's polished, wooden surface, rattling the dish on top.

And there goes the peace...

Notes:

I just can't let the boys have a nice date, can I?

Chapter 162: Here Lies-

Summary:

A dark day for some, and a bright day for others.

Notes:

This story was inspired by my friend, Claudy, so shout out to them for inspiring me with more cursed ideas.

Goth silently stood garbed in an ever rare black cloak, shirt, and dress pants with matching sleek shoes. The bloody glitch to his right wore similar attire while tears streamed down his cheeks as he stared down the closed wooden casket placed upon the catafalque before them.

For the funeral.

The attendees were far and few between- simply Geno, the minor death god himself, and his father: Reaper, who seemed to be far less mournful than one should be under the circumstances.

In fact, the elder dark-cloaked skeleton appeared downright jovial. More so than usual, if his victorious dance in the background was an indication.

Goth frowned at his father's disrespectful antics, but it also reminded him of a question he had pondered since learning of this event. "Mom, I'm sorry to ask... but who's dead?"

Geno sniffled, gently wiping the tears from his face with the tail end of his scarf. "My virginity."

The young adult blinked before glancing toward the other, dumbfounded.

"What..." Goth sputtered, "But- If that's... Then how did you have me?"

His mother gave no reply.

"Mom?" He tried, only to be met by further silence.

Chapter 163: Crazy? I Think Not!

Summary:

They just appear, don't they?

For the first time in many resets, the house of Snowdin's iconic skeleton brothers found itself sheltering no short, brown-haired children- seeking a date or otherwise.

Instead, the inner dwelling was still. The only signs of its current habitation were the turned "on" overhead lights hanging above the center of the living room and the faint banter/chainsaw noises emanating from Mettaton's cooking show, which ran on the TV in the background.

However, the one monster home to appreciate it didn't so much as give it a glance. Because he, Sans, was far too busy frowning whilst peering over the couch's backrest and out the window directly behind.

And, for once, he had concerns regarding his mental health.

Just beyond the slightly frosted glass, skirting the border of Snowdin Forest, laid a short, stocky skeleton- who appeared to be entirely identical to himself, barring the black splotches on their right cheek, odd eyelights, and strange choice in attire. Something admittedly suitable for Snowdin's chilly weather. Well, if not for one detail.

Their outfit consisted of numerous layers made up by what seemed to be a shirt, a slightly longer-sleeved shirt, gloves, a coat, some weird skirt-pants, more pants, and, strangely, no shoes. Not even fuzzy slippers. Or... socks.

By far, they stood as the most boldly dressed skeleton monster Sans had ever seen. (And that was saying something, given his own brother's taste in clothing.)

He sighed when the stranger noticed him, turning his way with a sunny grin and an excited wave.

Ugh! Why does there have to be another one, Sans internally groaned. All the while, resisting the urge to unleash a frustrated scream.

This mysterious interloper was hardly the first he'd witnessed. In fact, they had been appearing nonstop (and at random) since the end of the last twenty resets. The turning point, when it became all too common for him to be going about his day-to-day life and spot one- like the dark-cloaked, winged doppelgänger digging through the rubbish bin behind Grillby's bar. Or the black-boned, glitchy fellow he caught cackling manically in the woods prior to them getting chased off by a yellow-clad version of himself.

Whining pitifully, Sans turned and sunk down into the couch cushions and tucked his knees against his chest. Effectively curling up into a ball.

"I think I've finally gone crazy..." He murmured to himself, silently praying Papyrus would return soon and dispel the haunting creations of his mind.

Alas, his hope shattered when a bubbly voice chimed from beside him, "No, you haven't! We are very much here and not figments of your imagination."

Sans jolted. Immediately, he whipped his skull to the left, and his shrinking eyelights landed on the stunningly bright cheer of a starry-eyed, blue-armored skeleton modeled after himself.

In his living room.

On his couch.

Right next to him.

"GAH!" He screamed, scrambling backward, spine pressing the armrest opposite to the intruder.

The unwelcomed individual remained undeterred by his outburst, giving a polite wave and loud greeting. "Hello, friend!"

"Aahhhhhhh!"

"Rude," Blue grumbled as he watched the Classic Sans bolt upstairs and disappear behind his bedroom door with an audible slam followed by the clicking of a lock. (And perhaps some murmurings of need to see the local doctor. Or priest.)

Killer popped out from beside the couch, huffing in agreement, "Yeah, he could have at least offered us a drink before he left."

Chapter 164: Winter Coat

Summary:

Goth is fluffy.

Palette resisted the urge to bounce on his heels as he stood outside the Death family's residence and rang the doorbell. Warmth fluttered in his soul at its haunting, broken chime. All the while, his excitement grew with the following call of "Just a minute!" that echoed beyond the oaken barrier separating him and Goth.

Ages (three months, one week, and two days, to be exact) had passed since he last saw his crush. The death god-in-training had chosen to hole up indoors alongside his father (Reaper) at the first signs of winter because of something about birds and not liking cold weather. Or maybe a bear-like hibernation?

The artist wasn't sure anymore.

Though, it hardly seemed to matter now that he would finally be able to see Goth again.

During their time apart, the other refused any and all visitors and only accepted the occasional phone call, which did little over the holiday other than sour Palette's mood- Both with sorrow and worry.

In fact, it got to the point his mother routinely began to ask him if Nightmare approached him. And, while his estranged maybe-evil uncle hadn't stopped by to chat (or threaten him, or whatever Dream thought he would do), Palette had noticed a looming, ominous shadow watching him in the distance at least once over the past three months.

A sighting that was later accompanied by a mysterious set of gifts placed on his bed: a nice set of light-colored oil pastels, a bar of fancy milk chocolate, homemade blueberry muffins (thankfully, Underswap Sans free), a wooden carving of a small bird, and a crudely knitted, flour-speckled scarf.

At least, Palette hoped it was flour- especially since he "wisely" chose to taste it.

His grin nearly downturned at the mental reminder of his foolish decision. I really should take mom's advice and stop putting random things in my mouth like dad. Then I wouldn't have to worry about-

The artist was snapped from his thoughts as a shrill, metallic squeal assaulted his nonexistent ears when the front door's rusty lock disarmed and the ancient wooden slabs creaked open. The ravens resting in the surrounding forest's gnarled trees scattered in the wind while they parted inch by inch, shrieking in dismay.

After what felt like an eternity, the old double doors halted- parted just enough to reveal the swirling darkness beyond and allowed bone-chilling air to billow forth alongside a soft fog. Palette remained rooted in place, waiting with bated breath. His patience was rewarded for a white-shoed foot soon breached the shadows, stepping forth into the light, followed by the rest of his friend.

He quelled the urge to tackle Goth into a hug, instead greedily drinking in the sight of the other. That included everything from his nervous smile, cutely furrowed brow, soft purple eyelight to the silky-looking feathers covering most of his body- Wait...

Since when does Gothy have feathers?

Palette blinked. Sure enough, the unusual addition didn't appear to be his imagination.

Short, white plumage sprouted across a better part of Goth's skull, starting at his cheeks and forehead before stretching down/around to the back. Then, leading to his neck, where slightly larger and puffier feathers resided. It seemed likely they spread across his entire body from there, seeing as more of them could be spotted covering his hands/legs and poking out of the hems of his clothes.

While the artist gawked, the feathered death god slowly stepped forward and gave a shaky wave.

"H-hey, Palette." Seeing the other's lack of response, Goth's expression quickly fell. He ducked his face into his scarf and turned his skull away, murmuring, "I look stupid, don't I..."

Palette shook out of his stupor, complete with widening eye sockets and a vigorous head shake before he vehemently denied his crush's claim, "What?! No, you look so soft and fuzzy!"

Without thinking, he reached forward and gently stroked the feathers along Goth's cheek, causing a thick purple hue to bloom across the latter's face.

"Oh! D- do you like them?" He squeaked. Once the words left the god's jaws, the two large wings on his back fanned out across the porch, and all the visible feathers on his body puffed up.

A cheery grin tugged at Palette's teeth as he nodded, "Of course! They're adorable- just like you!"

"O-oh!" The flush along Goth's face grew brighter. All the while, he burrowed further into his scarf and gently wrung his hands together, eyelight drifting to the ground.

Palette had no time to comment on it (i.e., check if Goth was alright) before the other suddenly sputtered, "I- uh... W-we should go inside! Mom made some cake when he heard you were coming over!"

"Alrighty! Let's go!"

Chapter 165: A Fool's Fool

Summary:

The boys are at it again.

Notes:

Happy April Fools' Day. The joke is that it's way past my bedtime, and I don't want to proofread.

Panicked screams echoed across the hollow caverns of Mt. Ebott, more specifically in the frosty, ice-laden region known as Snowdin. Footsteps rumbled throughout the buildings and trees as monsters trampled the freshly laid snow during their mad dash toward Waterfall's entrance.

Two figures ran not too far behind, slowly gaining on the group.

Both bore a striking resemblance to the laziest of town's local skeleton brothers: Sans, who, coincidentally, was nowhere to be found. The same held true for his brother.

Those that knew the comedian best (i.e., Grillby and his usual patrons) noticed many differences between the three. First being the glitched stutter the strange skeleton monsters had to their steps. Second, the differing sound of their voices. And third, apparel. Clothes Sans would not be caught dead or alive in- unless Papyrus begged him to wear them.

The bright azure-eyed one - the one ominously closing the distance between them the fastest - wore a mock Royal Guard uniform accented by silvery-blue highlights and the light blue bandana wrapped tightly around his neck.

As for the one several paces behind the other - the one the townspeople feared the most (if only because of his violent disposition) - he was adorned by an odd mix of lab/casual clothes: a stark white lab coat, black shorts, fuzzy pink slippers, and a tattered red scarf the fluttering in the wind while trailing after him.

The latter skeleton (Error) laughed maniacally and flung sharpened bone attacks at the town's fleeing residents, encouraging them to move faster. A crazed, joyful grin stretched across his jaws while the frantic monsters attempted to dodge.

Alas, the effort did very little for most.

His well-aimed projectiles sailed forward and mercilessly pierced his targets. Thus, creating a symphony of shrieks/curses. The afflicted monsters, however, steeled themselves and continued pushing onward.

Tough crowd, he thought.

Not that that makes this any less fun. In fact, if anything, it only makes this all the more exciting.

After all, chasing these glitches down and dragging Geno's name through the mud was far better (and more entertaining) than watching all the abominations around the Multiverse get all the fun today.

He deserved to have a good time too. Plus, a break from destroying those stupid new AUs the Creators added.

"W-we should visit-visit Underfell n-n-next! Those s-silly, edgy monsters could use-se the opportunity to-to lighten up a-a bit." Blueberror called over his shoulder, adding his own attacks into the barrage.

They missed. Purposefully.

But the disguised destroyer smiled approvingly, nonetheless. "H-h-ha! I l-like the way-way you t-think. Abomination #13 n-needs to be-be taught a lesson-son for h-having the audacity t-t-to stop stocking h-his secret stashes w-with chocolate."

"M-mwehehehe! Perfect, I h-have pink and purple glitter t-to throw around-ound people's houses t-t-too!" His cohort cheered. "We c-can add extra in-in Red's sheets a-a-and clothes d-drawers."

It was moments like this that Error appreciated having the glitched Underswap Sans as an ally and not an enemy. The other was truly the evilest, most vile monster in the Multiverse.

(Somewhere in the coldest depths of an abandoned AU, a dark, negativity-laden skeleton sneezed before glaring around his bedroom, somehow feeling offended.)

With nothing more to be said, the conversation fell into a comfortable silence between them.

After a while, Error noted they were beginning to approach the entrance to Waterfall. A fact easily recognizable from the way the icy pines and snowy ground started to thin out, transitioning over to deep blue/purple stone and shimmering crystals alongside echo flowers.

His eyelights darted to the mouth of the crystal-laden cavern. Though his vision could hardly be considered perfect, he could still make out several escaped monsters on the other side. Each seemed to have some magic bullets summoned, given the ethereal crackle in the air. However, they were oddly aimed at the stony ceiling near the entrance.

Instead of him, the threat to their livelihood.

Why are abominations so stupid?

The destructive glitch's eye sockets soon narrowed in realization. Those bastards are planning to collapse the tunnel to prevent me and Blueberror from following them!

Stars be damned if those filthy glitches think I'm going to let that happen!

Error growled, pulling at his magic. A decently-sized Gaster Blaster spawned high in the air beside him. Magic gradually gathered in its maw until white/blue sparks crackled between its jaws, and the scent of ozone flowed freely.

He aimed it at the plotting monsters and prepared to fire-

"STOP!"

The terror-inducing duo slid to a halt and turned at the cry of a painfully familiar voice. And Error instantly regretted it. Because there, posed heroically in the thinned tree line, stood his greatest enemy: Ink.

Of course, now he's here to ruin the fun, the disguised destroyer internally grumbled.

The obnoxious artist (oblivious to what he had ruined) grinned, staring at Error with an intense excited gaze that sent a shudder down the red scarf-adorned skeleton's spine.

"Yes! We've finally caught you!" He cheered, promptly frowning and stroking his chin in thought. "Wait... Why was I looking for you again?"

Error groaned. It was just like the Protector of AUs to ruin a good time without even remembering why he was doing it in the first place. That had to be the third most aggravating thing he hated most about the artist. Something only triumphed by his nigh creepy tendency to stalk the destroyer through AUs, no matter what form he took.

Before Ink could clear his confusion (or say anything to lessen Error's annoyance), a thunderous crash sent everyone leaping.

With wide eye sockets, the glitch glanced over his shoulder. Where the entrance to Waterfall once laid only contained an impassible wall consisting of rubble- large stones and shattered crystals that would be a pain to move and weren't worth teleporting past. Meaning...

The townspeople escaped.

His face twisted into a snarl as his skull swung back toward Ink.

"Y-y-you id-idiot! Because of-of y-you, those di-disgusting abominations got-ot a-a-away!" He barked.

"Y-yeah!" Blueberror chimed.

"Huh?" The soulless skeleton frowned, raising an invisible brow. All the while, his eyelights shifted shapes/colors a few times - cycling through question marks, hourglasses, and spirals - then settled on a green upsidedown question mark and an orange triangle.

Error's jaws parted, prepared to spit all manner of insults at the other, but a bright yellow figure came rushing through trees with two Sanses less enthusiastically trailing after him.

"Ink, there you are! Why did you suddenly abandon us in the Ruins?" Dream demanded, rushing to his beige-clad friend's side.

In natural Ink fashion, the artist ignored the Guardian of Positivity and looked straight past him at the skeleton pair approaching the do-gooding duo. One had a dark flowing cloak, and the other had a red scarf almost identical to the item currently wrapped around- It's Geno and Reaper.

Error resisted the urge to slap his forehead. Ugh, why are they here too?!

While he cursed their appearance, Ink beamed as they slowed to a stop where everyone had gathered.

"Oh! Hey, guys!" He said, pointing a paint-stained phalange at him. "Look, I found the weird Sans!"

All heads- aside from Blueberror's and Error's own, of course - turned in the indicated direction.

"Huh... So he wasn't lying." Geno mumbled, eyeing him critically.

At the same time, Reaper tilted his head and got an interesting look in his eye sockets the disguised destroyer didn't like in the slightest. "Well, this is unexpected." The deathly skeleton paused, adding, "He's kind of hot-"

"E-ew," Error exclaimed while Geno immediately whirled around, hissing, "Reaper!"

The God of Death squawked, narrowly stepping out of the way of the swift hand aiming to swat his arm. An action that merely served to cause his husband to glower.

As the lovers bickered, Dream decided to examine him and Blueberror. His yellow eyelights looked them up and down individually before snapping back to the latter.

He gasped, crying, "Wait- Blue, what are you doing here?!"

The glitched Underswap blinked, then a devious grin flashed across his face and found itself promptly replaced by faux innocence.

"T-terrorizing people? Destroying-ing t-t-things? H-honestly, Dream, th-that much should be-be obvious." He replied, voice laced with an artificial sweetness Error thought only PTA mothers were capable of.

"But why?!"

Blueberror shrugged, summoning a volley of blue/white bone attacks and shooting them at the two Star Sanses duo. Ink and Dream dodged to the best of their abilities but still got nicked by the blunt edges.

Their pained yelps snapped Reaper and Geno out of their little world, causing the couple to take battle stances against their perceived enemy. Against Error.

It was almost laughable to challenge him, the destroyer of AUs. But given the day, he was willing to entertain them. If only because it meant more entertainment for himself.

The disguised destroyer waited, giving them the liberty to make the first move. However, as soon as they realized he wasn't attacking, their will to fight vanished, and they... stared. Awkwardly.

After a second, Geno briefly glanced away and scratched behind his neck.

"So you... you actually exist, huh?" The bloody glitch mused, his expression soon lost every ounce of composure, leaving solely rage. "Do you have any idea how much trouble you've caused me?! Quit wearing my clothes!"

The sentence "But I am you, so they're my clothes as well" crossed Error's mind, but he held his tongue and instead pulled his teeth into a sly smirk and jeered, "O-oh, so-so you get th-this upset w-w-when Reaper steals y-your pants?"

Geno recoiled, a thick red blush blooming across his skull. "Wha- Leave my relationship out of this!"

"Can I marry both of you?" A voice suddenly interrupted.

Both skeletons turned their head toward the speaker, twin looks of confusion gracing their features. When the words finally registered, Error's face pulled into a tight grimace, and Geno shot his husband a scathing glare.

"W-wha..."

"Reaper!"

The death god held up his hands in surrender and took a step back. "What! It's a valid question."

"It-it isn't, y-y-you fr-reak!" Error snarled. "C-come on, Berr! L-l-let's go. The-the winged c-creep ruined-ed the mo-moment."

"A-aw..." He heard the glitched Underswap Sans whine from where he was, for a lack of better words, play-fighting Ink and Dream.

The disguised destroyer rolled his eyelights and used his magic to reach for the vast, white realm he called home. A blocky, glitching portal sprung up in front of him.

Blueberror skipped to his side and stepped through. Error quickly followed suit. The sooner he got away from Reaper the better, after all.

Unfortunately, as soon as he passed the threshold, the aforementioned death god cried, holding a hand outstretched toward him, "Wait, what's your name?"

"Byte- A-as in, b-byte the dust-dust and l-l-leave me a-alone!" Error growled, slamming - as much as one feasibly could - the portal shut. Thus, leaving just him, his bean bag chair, his Anti-Void, a concerned Blueberror, and the young silent skeleton bearing charcoal wings and plague doctor's mask cutting open one of his puppets with a scalpel-

"W-wait- Who the-the h-h-hell are y-you?!"

Notes:

I really wanted to add a little more to the story, but it's late and I'm tired.

Chapter 166: Cuddle Bug

Summary:

And yet it still somehow gained horror elements-

(Warning: This story contains swearing.)

Notes:

My friend requested some Errink floof for Error's birthday. I hope this is floofy enough. Especially since I'm more well-versed in the art of writing cursed/sad/scary stories.

The life of a college student: an experience that could be described by many, many (mostly negative) words. But, if Error had to choose one, he would pick "excruciating." Between classes, assignments, and part-time jobs, it seemed nigh impossible to scrounge up a second of time for himself- whether that time be for eating, cleaning, or (the glitchy skeleton's new favorite pastime) sleeping.

Which was precisely why Error finally collapsed onto his bed at the late (or early) hour of 5:51 am after spending the whole night working on his latest programming project. He lazily crawled under his soft, navy blue blanket - not bothering to change into nightwear first - and snuggled into his pillows. Then closed his eyes, slowly allowing slumber to claim him-

Click-click

Creeeeeeeeak

Thud

Click-click

Dark-circled eye sockets snapped open. And they stayed that way as the young adult laid in bed, completely frozen with his soul pounding in his ribcage.

Was... that the front door?

Did I forget to lock it? No, I definitely locked it- I remember turning the deadbolt and the door handle to the "locked" position because I stubbed my toe on the shoe rack when walking away. That has to mean someone...

Forcing down his alarm, Error pushed himself up and blindly gazed into the darkness of his bedroom, listening. Just when he was about to write the noises off as his imagination, a single set of footsteps echoed in the hall. Growing closer and closer to his, thankfully closed, bedroom door.

It was the front door- GOD DAMN IT.

He threw himself toward his nightstand, groping around the hardwood surface for a critically important item in a situation like this: his phone. After a solid thirty seconds of futile searching (and the footfall nearing closer than comfortable), a realization wormed its way into his mind. One that he could have smacked himself on the forehead for- I left it in the kitchen!

Eye sockets widening, the dark-boned skeleton swung his head in the general direction of his door- the flimsy, unlocked wooden barrier the intruder had since stopped in front of.

Shit, shit, shit- What do I do, he internally shrieked.

Error failed to find an answer quickly enough, for the door handle soon rattled as if grabbed. Next creaking, turning no doubt; followed by a loud, drawn-out squeak as the shadowy blur the young adult identified as his door began to push open.

His hands procured the closest weapon within reach- a fluffy, light grey-pillowcased... pillow. Certainly not the best to fend someone off with, but he had confidence he could make it work if need be.

After all, there was a reason they were always used to suffocate people in movies. Right?

Error grit his teeth and raised the fluffy object above his head. All the while ignoring the nervous sweat gathering on his skull, the thumping in his ribcage, and the quivering of his limbs.

When the door halted its movement, he stiffened and eyed the newly revealed figure standing amongst the hall's shadows. They were short, blurry (mostly due to the lack of his glasses), and possibly armed, considering they appeared to be clutching something in their right hand.

The intruder proceeded to step inside, much to the dark-boned skeleton's dismay. Then a shadowy appendage (an arm, perhaps) moved around the nearest wall, reaching for the light switch he could only assume. And apparently succeeding. Thus, bathing the room in a dim yellow light.

The glitch blinked rapidly and squinted due to the sudden brightness. However, once his vision cleared (as much as it could), replacing the dark, fuzzy figure was now a short, brown/white blur bearing splotches of color.

His attack pillow promptly found itself lowered back to its proper place on his bed.

"I... Ink?" He groggily asked, raising an invisible brow at the bright-eyed art major lingering in front of the doorway. "How... How did you get into my... apartment?"

The other smiled warmly, waving the object (his keyring) in his right hand. "Heh-he! You gave me copies of the keys, remember?"

"Mhm... right." Error sighed, flopping into his pillows before scrubbing a hand over his face. "And you're... here this early because?"

"It's your birthday, cocoa bean! And, as your boyfriend, it is my official duty to give you birthday cuddles!" Ink proudly proclaimed, probably wearing one of those adorable, dorky grins along his jaws.

The dark-boned skeleton snorted.

"Yeah. Sure-" He said, rolling over to make more space. "Hop in, or whatever."

His boyfriend cheered.

While Error closed his eyes, the other quickly invaded his space- crawling under the blanket and pressing himself into the glitch's side before resting his skull on his chest. Despite Ink struggling a little to get comfortable, Error's breathing slowed, and slumber called to him like a siren to a sailor.

"Hey, are you falling asleep?"

"...Maybe." He replied, tiredly.

"Boo!" Ink huffed.

"Hey, I'm not that one who decided to surprise a college student at the ass crack of dawn." Error grumbled, cracking open an eye socket to peer down at his pouting boyfriend.

"But I brought cake- I even have candles and presents and confetti to go with it so we can throw you a super awesome birthday celebration!" He whined.

"If it's that important to you, we can do it later."

"Promise?"

"Yeah, rainstorm. I promise."

"Yay!" Ink cheered, throwing his arm around the dark-boned skeleton's chest in a mock hug. "I love you, Error!"

"Yeah, yeah- Shut up and sleep."

Notes:

I got a little lazy toward the end since it's getting really late and I want to go to sleep.

Chapter 167: Steps To Victory

Summary:

How Nightmare's boys met Dream.

The Underground was in a state of mayhem: monsters screaming, buildings burning and crumbling from the sheer force of the attacks they were dealt, dust blowing through the air, and...

Negativity on the rise.

Nightmare's teeth curled into a cruel grin as he watched his newly formed team work.

Dust and Killer manically giggled as they struck down the monsters attempting to escape- using a bone attack and a knife, respectively. Meanwhile, Horror, with the aid of his trusty axe, chopped down anyone (guards or otherwise) willing to stay and put up a fight.

They were nowhere near coordinated enough to be considered a well-oiled machine, but the trio would certainly get the job done. And right now, that was all the Guardian of Negativity needed from them: a little well-placed chaos to brew a storm of dark emotions.

Alas, all good things must be ruined.

By a particularly obnoxious, ignorant ball of joyful sunshine, to be specific.

The viscous dark tendrils on his back coiled in distaste, and his expression morphed into a scowl as a powerful positive force swiftly neared.

"Nightmare!" A high-pitched, ear-grating voice bellowed from behind.

Dream.

"Of course, it's him. Here to ruin the fun as usual." Nightmare snarled under his breath, calmly turning in the other's direction.

The Guardian of Positivity stood amongst the dusty white buildings and streets of New Home with his head held high, back straight, and not a single weapon drawn- confident (if not foolish). Despite barely being tall enough to reach Nightmare's chest.

By the time he could so much as shoot the yellow-clad skeleton a scathing glower, all the area's residents had either perished or unfortunately managed to slip away. (By no fault of Dust or Killer. Or so they would later claim.) Thus, allowing the dark lord's ragtag team the freedom to swiftly return to his side once they noticed an "interesting" challenger approached.

Killer was the first to slip right beside him; protective, wary. Good qualities to have in a potential guard, Nightmare noted.

The target-souled Sans then raised a brow, gesturing at their "guest" with his grey powder-coated knife. "Who's the short stack?"

Curiosity radiated off his fellow murderers when they slowly joined him, clearly having similar unspoken questions. So Nightmare, like the great and benevolent leader he was, decided to quell their intrigue with an answer.

"Unfortunately, that 'short stack' happens to be my so-called brother." He sighed, ignoring how Dream preened once the final word left his jaws.

"Pfft- Look at him! He's so tiny!" Dust cackled.

Horror silently examined the vertically-challenged guardian before shaking his skull, frowning. "Too small to eat..."

"Hey!" Dream cried indignantly, cheeks puffing out while he pouted childishly at the trio. "I am not that short!"

"Ya kinda are, kiddo. Now, where are your parents so we can get you home before an... accident happens?" Killer jeered.

Instead of responding to the comment, the Guardian of Positivity huffed and reached into his inventory. He magically produced a folded step ladder after a moment of riffling.

Nightmare frowned. "What are you doing?"

"Shh!" Dream urged, taking the object in his hands and fiddling with the legs, struggling to get it to unfold. "Just... Just wait a moment!"

After a nigh painful two minutes, the metallic ladder conceded. Its pieces shifted and parted, allowing it to take on its true form.

His brother cheered and promptly propped it on the stone floor. Next scrambling up the three steps and resuming his previous pose, adding the extra flare of jabbing a phalange in Nightmare's direction.

Perhaps like one of those dramatic knights from the stories the negativity-laden skeleton used to read to him.

"Prepare to give up your evil ways, brother. Because I am here to save you... from yourself- And be tall while doing it!" Dream declared, puffing out his chest. Consequently, succeeding in appearing more like a kitten that can't quite fluff up yet.

Killer, Dust, and Horror instantly broke into a fit of snickers.

All the while, Nightmare groaned and buried his face in his hands.

"This is so embarrassing..." He grumbled while his tendrils curled around his body as if trying to hide him. "Can't you be normal in front of my new henchmen? This is ridiculous!"

Chapter 168: Height of Sorrow

Summary:

You're adopted.

Nightmare calmly - well, as calmly as a busy, stressed ̶f̶a̶t̶h̶e̶r̶ dark lord such as himself could - trod the halls of the imposing, regal dwelling he called home. His cyan eyelight scanned the numerous closed doors and entryways, searching.

An hour and twenty-six minutes ago, only two out of his three ̶c̶h̶i̶l̶d̶r̶e̶n̶ henchmen arrived when he had summoned them outside for their daily sunning and teamwork activities. (I.e., pool games, tag, hide-and-seek, and other training exercises they seemed to enjoy.) An unprecedented event, which was a cause for concern unlike any other.

Especially considering which Sans was missing.

Dust. Arguably the most unstable of the mentally disturbed trio.

Though, that statement was debatable, seeing as he left Killer and Horror practicing their swordsmanship with pool noodles. (Why they won't let him get real ones to fight in the water with, he would never know. But, at least he could take solace in the fact they couldn't hurt themselves... Easily.)

Nightmare shook his skull nigh fondly at the thought of the two, then quickened his pace.

I should hurry up and find Dust before they grow bored and get into the flowerbeds again. It takes so much effort to replant everything after they've played in there.

I swear I need to put fencing up one of these days.

His feet paused for a moment. All while a light frown tugged the corners of his jaws downward.

On second thought, that would be more likely to encourage them than anything else.

Giving an exasperated sigh, the dark lord continued walking along the deep purple rugs lining the cold stone corridors. His non-existent ears perked not two minutes later when a soft, watery noise bounced off the walls.

A sob, the Guardian of Negativity instantly recognized.

Brows pinched and teeth drooping further, he swiftly navigated the winding halls until the concerning sound grew louder- emanating from a dusty, unused room. The decrepit wooden door was wide open, allowing Nightmare to see the very skeleton he sought. A sight that would have been relieving if not for the big light purple tears streaming down Dust's cheeks and the anger and sadness lining his posture.

"You're not my real ladder!" He suddenly shouted, storming to the doorway before shoving passed - and subsequently startling - Nightmare. Who only watched as the heartbroken monster marched away.

Confused, he peered inside to see what had gotten his ̶s̶o̶n̶ henchman in such a... unique mood. What laid within was the expected: old furniture covered in dirty off-white cloths. However, it did have an addition. A metal step ladder- which, somehow, promptly fell onto its side as if crestfallen.

The negativity-laden skeleton raised a hand to his temple and began massaging, attempting to stave off a forming headache. "Why couldn't I have picked the normal ones..."

 

Chapter 169: No Mother Left Behind

Summary:

Just admit you love him, Error.

Error's numerous blue tongues poked out from behind his teeth while he focused on the yarn and knitting needles in his hands, completing one purl stitch after the other. Thus, slowly allowing his latest project to take shape. (I.e., the form of a scarf.)

The vast white space surrounding him was silent, aside from the soft metallic clack of his knitting needles. The perfect atmosphere for concentration. (Especially without the chance of a certain artist dropping in and pestering him incessantly about nonsense- being better, having people who care about him, etc.)

Unfortunately, the dark-boned skeleton's peace got rudely interrupted by a sunshiny voice proclaiming, "Pardon me, sir. You have mail!"

The sudden presence beside him startled the glitch. Consequently, causing the long, pointed knitting instruments he held to slip and ruin a stitch.

Error growled, angrily tossing the botched scarf aside, and threw a nasty glare toward the person who dared to disturb him. Cheerily looking down at him, not at all deterred by his murder-laden eyelights, stood a Papyrus garbed in a traditional blue mailman's uniform with a brown messenger bag thrown over his right shoulder.

Courier, the destroyer recognized, dismayed.

How the obnoxious skeleton always managed to weasel passed every firewall Error set was beyond him. When asked, the mail-delivery worker would merely answer with an annoying, "It is my duty to go where my job needs- wherever it might take me. No barrier shall stand in my way!"

Courier riffled through his bag and produced two items, holding them out for the glitch to take. "Here is your mail, sir."

"F-f-fine! G-give me-me t-that-" Error hissed, roughly snatching the items away with his strings and bringing them to his lap.

His eyelights slid over the mail curiously. The first piece appeared to be a black envelope bearing a blood-red wax seal depicting a raven taking flight, and the second was a small oval-shaped box sealed by a little heart sticker.

Brows furrowed, his hand lifted the former and turned it around. The sender's address written in neat (painfully familiar) cursive on the back read: Death Family Estate, Reapertale.

Error frowned.

Why was that crazy bird sending him mail? Again. He thought they had worked out their (mainly Reaper's) problems together but clearly not.

The dark-boned skeleton growled before pulling his glasses out of his inventory and adjusting them on his face.

This better be important...

His multi-colored phalanges pinched a corner of the envelope, intent on tearing it off- until he shuddered due to the uncomfortable sensation of being watched.

He glanced up, irritated to see Courier had not moved from his place right beside him... and now held delighted sparkles in his eye sockets.

"W-w-what are-are you s-standing aro-around f-f-for?! Get-get o-o-out of here-re!" The Destroyer of AUs snapped.

The Papyrus, thankfully, took the advice (or threat) and promptly but professionally fled. Error turned his attention back to the letter. However, not before he sealed Courier's entrance point behind him and added a few new traps for extra security. (Not that they would help in the future.)

His hand then swiftly ripped the top of the envelope off and pulled the contents out: a slightly crumpled piece of paper folded in half. While he unfolded it, the envelope's remains got dropped into a portal leading to a realm prominently colored red and black. The rift between worlds closed as quickly as it opened, cutting off a series of swears and a gritty roar, "Quit leavin' yer fu-"

Error ignored Abomination #13's rage and inspected the letter, which caused his fractured soul to twist in his chest. Inside the folded paper contained a poorly written "Happy Mother's Day, Momma!" followed by a crudely drawn crayon picture of the dark-boned glitch hugging a little cloaked skeleton that had white squiggles sprouting from their back.

"T-that damn tiny-tiny abomination i-i-is still confused...." He murmured, gently laying the Mother's Day card next to him on the "floor."

With it out of the way, his mismatched eyelights drifted to the box. The destroyer carefully peeled the heart sticker off the side, sticking it to the top of the box, and freed the lid. Small fancy dark chocolates covered in a spicy milk chocolate drizzle laid within.

He carefully picked one up and popped it in his mouth. It was sweet, rich, and packed the perfect amount of punch- exactly the type of chocolate he loved.

"B-b-but... I-I guess-ess it w-w-wouldn't hurt to-to play al-along."

Error continued nibbling on the sweets while a string latched onto the drawing and lifted it to the Anti-Void's ceiling, where it would rest alongside his puppets. (Out of the way and where no one except for him could appreciate it.)

Chapter 170: It was a Tree-gic Love Story

Summary:

The best of both worlds- or not.

(Warning: This story contains mild swearing and cursed Genomare. Do not proceed if you value your sanity.)

Notes:

This- This is why I shouldn't be allowed to write when I'm tired.

Clear skies rested overhead. Not a single cloud or plane or flying creature (unless you count Death invisibly lurking in the background, seething in jealousy) dared mar it; Only the sun and its radiant brilliance laid claim to the space.

A soft smile played on Geno's jaws as he sat in front of his lover. A black picnic blanket was spread out beneath them, bearing all the necessities for their romantic outing: water, food (sandwiches and fruit slices for the Aftertale Sans and a nutrient-rich powder mixture for his partner), a bouquet of roses, and of course, the picnic basket they carried everything in.

"You know, it's been a while since we had a day to ourselves; just you and I." Geno murmured, gently tracing the edges of Nightmare's dark cyan trunk. "Usually, whenever we have a remotely quiet day, something always seems to get in the way- whether it be the boys or-"

An enraged howl echoed over the hilly landscape they'd made themselves home at, growing louder and louder until- Dream breached the horizon, rushing toward the duo at full speed with his weapon drawn.

"Get away from my brother!" He screeched. An arrow already zoomed through the air, freed from his bow, sailing right for Geno.

"Stars, damn!" The bloody glitch hissed, swiftly teleporting out of the way of the projectile before snatching Nightmare's pot off the ground while the dark tree lord rattled his branches in anger at their afternoon being ruined.

By his brother, no less. (Do the tree codes of brotherhood truly hold no weight anymore? Whatever happened to "Thou shan't interrupt thine brother when he's on a quest for bitches?")

"Give him back, you dirty brother stealer!" The Guardian of Positivity shouted after them.

Geno continued moving forward, not even looking back as he shouted a firm "NO!" and teleported him and Nightmare back to the safety of their castle. And away from his deranged, over-protective brother.

 

Notes:

(Don't worry about the comments already down below; The situation has been handled.)

Chapter 171: The Mighty Ground Cleaner

Summary:

Nightmare marvels at Horror beast taming skills.

 

(A part of the "From Medieval Times" series.)

The soles of Killer's sneakers squeaked against the polished stone floor as he strolled through the halls, minding his own business. Path set to the destination of his epic, wholely exciting quest for- a snack. He got so graciously reminded by his rumbling stomach.

Frowning, the murderous Sans pondered, What should I eat?

Lunch wouldn't be ready for another few hours, and he certainly didn't want to spoil his appetite before it came time to ravage whatever culinary masterpiece Horror planned to whip up. Meaning whatever he ate needed to be something light, not too filling. Something like - stars, he loathed to think it - a salad. (Because he and the others needed to set a good example for Nightmare after the whole "junk food" incident.)

Wiping a streak of black gunk from his eye socket, he gave an imaginary solute and a moment of silence for his old, lazy eating habits- that probably took several years off his life, considering how unhealthy they were.

Then the target-souled skeleton continued on his way. He navigated the mansion's twisting and turning corridors until he spotted the turn leading to the main kitchen hallway. As the corner grew closer and closer with each step, the loud airy drone of a machine increased volume.

A vacuum, Killer passively acknowledged.

A clear indication Horror was in the middle of cleaning. A fairly common occurrence since the broken-skulled Sans took keeping the cooking space spotless quite seriously, especially if Nightmare had passed through recently. Killer hardly had half a mind to blame him for that. After all, he (and likely everyone else in the mansion) wasn't convinced the out-of-touch guardian understood how to work, let alone use, the showers/bathtubs present in nearly every bathroom. Even after having the simple procedure explained more than once.

In detail.

Very needless, overly thorough detail.

Killer sighed and gave a disappointed shake of his skull. At this point, we can only pray he washed off in the last rainstorm with those disgusting soap roots.

Just the mere thought of their pungent earthy scent was enough to cause his nasal cavity to wrinkle in disgust.

I know he's a nature spirit or something, but that does not mean he needs to smell like one...

Shooing away the phantom memory of the odor, he rounded the corner and stepped into the kitchen hallway- and who happened to be waiting there? The little forest gremlin of a skeleton he'd just been thinking about. The very one that single-handedly thwarted his overzealous consumption of ketchup, cookies, and anything Papyrus would never let him have (when the lanky health fanatic was alive) by being an impressionable menace.

Though, his slight bitterness at that fact barely seemed relevant when he found himself far more intrigued by what the guardian was currently up to. An inquisitiveness only enhanced by the other's curious position.

Nightmare, in all his goopy glory, crouched next to the kitchen doorway, peering inside with an almost child-like attempt at stealth. It looked hilarious- and certainly didn't line up with what one would expect to see from someone who always tried (and, more often than not, failed) to be the most intimidating monster in the room.

Holding back his snickers, the murderous Sans strolled forward and halted beside him. From his new vantage point, he could see a phone (Dust's, if he recalled the device's purple/blue pattern correctly) clutched in the negativity-laden skeleton's gooey hands. The screen had the camera function open, set to record. However, instead of recording the object of his interest, the only Nightmare seemed to be capturing was his thumb.

Not that he knew (or noticed) that.

Smirking, Killer leaned closer and asked, "Hey, 'mare. What're you up to?"

"Silence, Killer!" The dark lord hushed, shooting a brief scowl in his direction before turning back to the scene in the kitchen, completely enamored. "I am making a visual log on this 'fohn' of Horror's mastery over the mighty, little ground dragon."

The target-souled Sans raised a brow and peeked around the corner.

Horror stood in plain view by the counters while maneuvering the long handle of the vacuum cleaner, sucking up more dirt (which Nightmare undoubtedly tracked through) and crumbs off the tile floor.

The negativity-laden skeleton's eyelight sparkled in adoration as he excitedly murmured, "The beast follows his orders so easily with very few cues, almost like its moving along with him; Truly a well-trained creature if any. Horror has a promising future as a tamer." He then added quietly to himself, "I wonder how he would fare when challenged with a larger species of dragon?"

Killer frowned. The soul hovering in front of his chest wavered as it soon fell victim to the increasingly more common feelings of worry and disbelief he'd been subjected to since coming to live at the mansion. Something that seemed to plague everyone in the household when Nightmare was involved.

"Seriously? Has no one in this house taken the time to explain to you what a vacuum cleaner is?"

The dark lord slowly turned his skull and blinked, staring up at him in wide-eyed curiosity. "The beast has a name? You must tell me everything about it; I command you to!"

Chapter 172: He Who Lurks In The Deep

Summary:

Ink, you might want to consider burning the house down instead-

"It's perfect!" Ink declared, smiling proudly at the black bubbling goo frothing in the pot in front of him before pouring a hearty serving into two bowls.

Dream grimaced as it fell into the dishes with a wet plop, seemingly shrieking as it settled.

"Is it?" He anxiously questioned. All the while, eyeing the ominous "soup" skeptically.

"Well, almost- I know just the thing that'll spice it up a bit, though!" The artist conceded. He proceeded to (finally, if not worryingly) leave his post at the kitchen counter/stove area and made his way over to the china cabinet; Then walked around to the side and began pushing on it.

The yellow-clad guardian spectating his "culinary adventure" frowned, raising a brow. "What are you doing?"

"Don't worry! I just need to grab something from the basement real quick." Ink grunted. The furnishing soon gave under the force he exerted on it, revealing a worn door.

"That's not worrying..." Dream murmured, hesitantly stepping closer. "What exactly do you plan on getting from down there?"

The self-proclaimed Protector of AUs hummed, throwing his hand around the rusty old door handle. "Oh, some-"

The barrier separating the basement and the kitchen creaked all the way open.

"Finally, light!"

Both skeletons froze, staring down into the darkness.

Thousands of spindly legs, small hairy bodies, and glowing eyes greeted them; Amongst the mass, arising like an eldritch god, stood Blue. Who had certainly seen better days given his bloodshot red/blue eyelights, disheveled appearance, and the many, many spiders wriggling over his body.

A startled yelp escaped Ink's jaws when a stray spider crawled out, swiftly scuttling past him and Dream and into the beyond- and he could only hope out of the house.

"EUGH! STARS!" Dream screamed as more spiders began to ascend the stairs alongside the unnerving form of their former best friend creeping on all fours. "CLOSE IT! CLOSE IT! CLOSE IT!"

Unlike many other times, Ink certainly did not need to be told twice and swiftly slammed shut the door closed before anything further could escape.

A furious hiss-like shriek followed by pounding shook the basement door.

The duo shared a look.

"We're buying a lock for that, right?"

"Definitely."

Dream whipped out his phone, already searching the internet for the most durable lock in existence. Meanwhile, Ink doodled a note on his scarf in bold lettering to contact Sci later about creating an impenetrable lock not even Error could destroy.

Notes:

Blue belongs to the spiders now-

Chapter 173: What Did You Just Say-

Summary:

Ink can ruin any moment.

(Warning: This story contains the usual Ink warnings, bla bla bla, Ink being gross, and mentions of cannibalism.)

The Star Sanses were out and about. However, unlike usual, their weapons laid snug in their inventories, and not a single one of them was locked in combat or fighting to destroy their enemies- unless one counted vanquishing food.

Blue calmly bit into a sandwich as Dream slowly nibbled at his salad. All the while, Ink messily devoured his third - and, hopefully, final - burger.

They were taking their decided lunch break- A monster couldn't save alternate universes and fight evil on an empty stomach, after all. (Despite how residents of currently under siege AUs felt otherwise.)

The trio shared a small table pushed back into a corner- far away from any other patrons. Something the two more courteous of the trio decided on to spare them from the atrocity that was their soulless companion's loud, messy chewing. And overall feral eating habits.

"Mm!" Ink suddenly interrupted, food still in his mouth. "You know, once - a long, long, long - time ago, I ate my own children!"

Blue and Dream instantly halted.

The former placed his sandwich back on its plate and pushed it away, skull looking a touch green. Meanwhile, the latter's jaws froze mid-chew, causing his mouth's contents to grossly flopped on the table.

"Oh! Hey, are you going to finish that?" Ink chirped, reaching for the mess.

Blue released a disgusted noise and swiftly slapped the artist's hand away while Dream made a mad dash for the nearest bathroom.

"This is why no one wants to eat lunch with or around you." The armor-clad skeleton groused.

Chapter 174: Forever Mine

Summary:

The multiverse is ̶G̶e̶n̶o̶'̶s̶ Error's basement, and he's not letting any of the resident vermin consort with what's his.

(Warning: This story contains minor swearing, mild nonverbal threats, and yandere/possessiveness, to some extent.)

The multiverse was a vast, amaranthine space spanning hundreds of thousands of worlds- holding everything from universes to voids to ethereal plains.

One such place had long since been dubbed the "Omega Timeline." Somewhat of a hub area where monsters of all types (skeleton, goat, fish, dinosaur, flower, etc.) either lived - if their home AU was corrupted/destroyed - or visited to mingle with their counterparts.

All were welcome, even the less decent and sightly. Which was precisely why Reaper ventured there for a mission.

This time, not death-related.

Gathering his courage for the nth time that day, the dark-cloaked skeleton approached a Classic-esque Sans standing by the entrance of the pastry shop he'd just entered. His sole friend and lover dutifully followed behind him, glaring - or, more accurately, shooting deadly looks that nearly caused the death god to need to reap someone - at anyone in the vicinity.

"Good evening. I'm Reaper." He started. All the while, Error scowled over his shoulder as he wrung his hands together and awkwardly asked, "Want to grab coffee sometime? Or... do a science-y thing? Sanses like that, right?"

The Sans' pinprick eyelights flicked nervously between him and the destroyer.

Unbeknownst to Reaper, Error's teeth stretched into a manic/possessive grin while he raised his hands to his eye sockets and pulled down thick blue strings.

The death god's "prospective friend" paled (as much as a skeleton could), instantly retreating back towards the nearest door. His bones rattled, nearly matching the violent tremble in his voice when he stammered, "I- Uh... j-j-just remembered something I n-need to do... u-um... far, f-f-far away from here! In a place w-where we will never meet a-again!"

With that said, the Sans broke into a full-blown sprint, vanishing quicker than a Papyrus who heard about a sale on spaghetti.

Defeated yet again, Reaper deflated. Shoulders sagging, anxious smile melting into a disappointed frown, and dark cloak losing its lively supernatural flow.

"Damn, that was the 1598th one..." He grumbled, turning to Error, who had since donned a mask of faux disinterest and allowed his strings to dissipate. "Why doesn't anyone want to hang out with me?"

"Maybe because you're an annoying bird-" The godly skeleton's expression fell further, causing the glitch to huff and add, "That happens to be a caring and cuddly idiot. Their loss."

 

And my gain, he thought darkly.

Notes:

Anywhere can be a basement if it's dark, dank, and disgusting enough- Luckily, the whole multiverse meets that criteria... in Error's opinion.

Chapter 175: Sweet Victory

Summary:

Nightmare needs to learn how to share.

Nightmare crossed his legs and examined the chocolatey artisan cake, plate held firmly in his hand. The fork in the other descended upon the pastry, piercing its soft spongey layers, and pulled away a generous bite.

"Nightmare, get off! I'm not a chair!" Dream whined. His smaller body squirmed against the snow-laden ground as he tried (and failed) to throw the dark lord off his back.

The Guardian of Negativity hummed, pretending to ponder the demand before replying with a deadpan, "No."

"Then will you at least share the cake?"

"No."

Meanwhile, Cross and Killer were finishing securing their remaining foes: Ink and Blue, who had their neckwear (a scarf and bandanna, respectively) wrapped tightly over their teeth, keeping them quiet. Or, as quiet as they could be kept, given their muffled nonsensical objections.

"He's so evil," The monochrome warrior murmured in admiration, side-eyeing the dark lord as he tormented his brother. All the while, doubling the rope's knot, preventing his and Killer's captive duo from escaping.

"I know." The target-souled Sans mused, "It makes me wish he'd take a piece of my-"

"Dude!"

"What?"

"There are children present; You can't say stuff like that." Cross discreetly gestured to a nearby cluster of little pine saplings.

Killer stared at him for a solid minute before sighing. "I think you're spending too much time around Nightmare and Dream."

Notes:

Nightmare committing the truest of evil: not sharing cake-

Chapter 176: Their Battles Will Be Legendary

Summary:

Error needs to get out more.

Error reclined in his beanbag chair, doing what he usually did whenever he wasn't destroying AUs or terrorizing a certain squid: knitting while listening to the soothing yet intriguing dramatics of Undernovela. But, of course, his silent demand for tranquility got broken when a magical pop followed by a series of giggles sounded from behind.

The destroyer resisted the urge to groan and hazarded an irritated glance over his shoulder.

Two blurs of black, off-white, blue, and red - colors indicative of Killer and Dust - stood out amongst the sheer white of the Anti-Void as the duo chuckled to themselves mischievously.

"D-do I even-n want to-to k-k-know why you-ou two are h-here?" He asked.

Killer composed himself enough to step forward.

"Well, since you're cooped up in here all the time-" His fellow murderer shoved him aside and cut in, palpable excitement lacing his voice, "We have a surprise for you!"

A surprise...

How mundane.

Error rolled his eyelights and returned to his knitting. As his needles clicked together, he said, "O-okay? And-and I c-c-care about that-at be-because?"

"It's a surprise," Killer whined. "And surprises are fun! Now, just step through the portal."

"Yeah!" Dust chimed.

The dark-boned glitch reluctantly placed his yarn and needles aside and stood from his cozy resting spot, turning to the duo. A gaping magical rift laid behind them. It was open wide enough to fit several full-grown bears through (don't ask Error how he knew) and let in a stifling wave of heat, pollen, and the sound of chirping crickets.

His face twisted in displeasure.

"Fine." He walked to the portal and stepped through.

If only to encourage Killer and Dust to close it, so no bugs got into his pristine dwelling. (The last thing he needed was another spider and butterfly infestation- Stars only knew where Ink had found all of them.)

"Yes!" The LV-laden duo cheered, quickly following behind him.

A mountainous landscape and clear night sky greeted Error on the other side. However, it paled in comparison to the beauty of Outertale's vast and colorful skies- and not only because of the light pollution from the nearby city.

"Amazing." He drawled without a hint of interest or sincerity.

Error proceeded to passively survey the scenery until his mismatched eyelights caught a blur of something. A bright yellow/white object hung aloft in the heavens.

A frown fell upon his teeth while he pointed at it, asking, "What is that?"

"You mean the m-"

The words Killer and Dust spoke washed right over him as he stared at the... thing, eyeing the way it was mocking him with its superior height and brilliance; challenging him to-

"F-F-FIGHT ME-ME, YOU COW-COWARD!" He shrieked, yanking strings down from his eye sockets. "GET-T-T DOWN HE-HERE!"

 

"This was a bad idea," Killer muttered as the destroyer sped off into the distance, ready to fight.

"You think?" Dust deadpanned.

Both turned away from each other, eyelights fixed on Error. The dark-boned glitch was in the midst of climbing up the side of a building using his strings, attempting to get closer to his celestial target.

"Should we..."

Killer shrugged. "Nah, let him do his thing. He looks happy."

"He looks crazy-"

Chapter 177: Lunacy

Summary:

The start of an age-old rivalry.

(Warning: This story contains mild swearing.)

Geno sighed, relishing the cool mountain breeze brushing against his bones.

He was on the Surface -  the Surface , outside of the Save Screen - under the sky for the first time in days, weeks, years, maybe even centuries. Tiny sparkling dots littered the darkened plain above, revolving around one massive celestial body: a brilliant glowing orb that illuminated all that spanned below it. 

"Is that..."

The death god - the monster who put in the immense effort to free him - nodded. "Indeed. I imagine it's been a while since you've s-"

"NO ONE IS SHINIER THAN ME, YOU BITCH!" Geno screamed, rushing toward the peak of the mountain with a sharpened bone attack in hand. 

"Dove! Wait!" Reaper squawked, struggling to catch up to the bloody glitch. 

Notes:

Geno: I am Zhao- I mean, GENO! GENO, THE MOON SLAYER! I WILL SLAY THE AVATAR!
Reaper: Dove... It's the middle of the night, go to bed-
Geno: NEVER! I MUST SLAY THE AVATAR!
Reaper: Can it at least wait until morning if you're going to make me work?
Geno: But the moon will be hiding by then-

Chapter 178: Mall-ful Amusement

Summary:

Dream, guardian of apples and protector of horses.

(A part of the "From Medieval Times" series.)

Notes:

Dream finally gets his mall adventure. :3

Ink hummed, licking the pink frozen treat he'd obtained from a cute little cart in the mall's center. His legs gently swung back and forth while he leaned back on a bench in a fairly populated area next to some children's ride. A flashy, spinny thing with pretty music and colorful horses.

It was a pleasant change of pace- doing something other than helping AUs/creators, fighting nosy Sanses, or taking care of boring house stuff.

Why didn't the artist do this more often? Take a day off, find new and interesting things to experience?

I should convince the others to let me have a week to "monitor" some "new AUs" and have some fun.

With a mischievous grin, Ink metaphorically patted himself on the back for his brilliance and sloppily shoved his ice cream between his teeth. Thus, freeing up his hands to summon a pen from his inventory.

The pen's tip barely brushed against his scarf (to immortalize his cleverness as a note) when a burst of magic and a loud crack erupted close by, sending people screaming and fleeing for cover/the nearest exit.

He blinked, glancing in the direction everyone fled from.

There, standing atop the carousel canopy, was Dream. The yellow-clad guardian had his staff held high above his skull, and his expression set in a defiant glower.

"BE FREE, HORSIES!" He proclaimed. A bullet of golden magic spawned in the air and promptly struck the pole holding one of the faux horses, causing it to lifelessly thunk on the ground. "BE BOUND BY THE SHACKLES OF MAN NO LONGER, AND RUN THE WILDS UNTAMED!"

Children cried, parents panicked, and security pulled out their tasers and began to aim. All the while, Dream continued his righteous destruction to free the wooden equines.

"Hmm... A responsible and caring person would probably do something about that- Good thing that person isn't me!" Ink slipped the pen back into his inventory and continued eating his ice cream until-

"Ink." Said a chilling, stony voice.

The artist violently flinched, nearly losing his frozen treat in the process, before recovering. Slowly, he turned his skull to see Blue standing beside him with his crossed arms, foot tapping, and unparalleled disappointment lacing his features.

Oh no-

Ink nervously chuckled and glanced away. "I can explain..."

"Ink, you're grounded."

He shot up from his seat, outraged. "What?! That's not fair! I only sent him there because I thought it would keep him entertained while you went shopping!"

The Underswap Sans remained unmoved by his argument and gestured to the carousel- and by extension, Dream, who was still in the midst of his horse revolution while security struggled to figure out how to stop him. "And now he's destroying mall property- You better hope I can talk us out of this mess, or you are working overtime to help pay for the damages."

"But-"

"No 'buts,' Ink." Blue's eyelights gutted out, and he leaned uncomfortably close to Ink's face, wearing an ominous wide grin that would put even the most unhinged of Sans' to shame. "I ' m  n o t  g o i n g  t o  j a i l  a g a i n  ."

Chapter 179: This Is For Flying, Right?

Summary:

Dream marvels at modern witchcraft.

(A part of the "From Medieval Times" series.)

A loud airy drone filled the house. It permeated all the rooms and implicated the telltale promise of cleaning- or the torment of dogs, cats, and other unfortunate souls.

"Come on, Dream! It's not going to hurt you." Ink assured over the noise, stepping nearer to the terrified skeleton he'd cornered on the couch.

"B-but the growling..." Dream whimpered. His pinprick eyelights intently watched the device the artist dragged closer with a fierce (illogical) dread.

"That just means it's working!" He chimed, grinning. All the while, closing the distance between the odd Sans and his foe. "Come on, give it a little touch! It won't hurt!"

The yellow-clad guardian hesitantly reached forward as if the device would suddenly sprout a maw and snap at him. Shaking like a leaf in a tornado, he stammered while gently running his hand along the top of the vacuum hose, "T-there, t-there- N-n-nice, cleaner b-beast."

Ink snorted. "Heh-he! It's not a beast, silly!"

Dream blinked nervously, asking, "O-oh, so then w-what do you call it?"

"A vacuum. It's like a- darn, what's the stick with bristles on the end called again?" The soulless skeleton paused, tapped his chin, and pondered before exclaiming, "Oh, right! A broom! It's like a fancy broom!"

"A broom?" The Guardian of Positivity repeated. He then stared at the "fancy broom" and examined it in a new light, fear seemingly melting away into a wary curiosity. A small proud smile overtook his frown as he soon proclaimed, "So this is what modern witches use to traverse the skies!"

Ink's eyelights flickered between various colors and symbols. "Pfft- I'm sorry, what?!"

Before Dream could recite his unique conclusion once more, the front door opened. Blue walked in, bearing all the features and tiredness of a monster who hadn't slept ̶s̶i̶n̶c̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶e̶y̶ ̶h̶a̶d̶ ̶c̶h̶i̶l̶d̶r̶e̶n̶ in the last few... days? Weeks? Months? (Er, it was best to just say he had failed to gain good rest in quite some time- better to not dwell on how long it had been and whether or not a certain pair of skeletons was the cause.)

Carrying bags of groceries inside, the Underswap Sans closed the door and surveyed the scene. Then said in a disapproving tone, "Ink, you better not be teaching Dream weird things again."

"I'm n-"

Dream hopped up from his spot on the couch, interrupting the Guardian of AUs. "Oh, Warrior of Blue! Welcome back from your successful hunt and trading! The noble paint demon was teaching me the new ways of witchcraft!"

Blue took in an audible breath, and his face expressed how hard he would have facepalmed if his hands weren't full. The phalanges wrapped around the plastic bags twitched as if wanting to go through with the action. However, since he couldn't put the bags down yet (lest Ink instantly raid them for ice cream), he settled for a nigh silent mumble laced with exasperation, "I really wish you'd come to me with your questions instead... Stars knows I don't need to deal with another 'fire dragon' incident. It took so long to clean up, and the neighbors still haven't accepted my apology cookies."

He slowly meandered his way to the kitchen doorway, pausing. "Also, Ink, you're grounded."

Notes:

Let's be real, we all need witches on vacuum cleaners; It would be great-

Chapter 180: This Is Fine-

Summary:

Just a normal day in Snowdin.

Snowdin was a peaceful place. Far away from the ever-challenging life in Waterfall, the innovation of Hotland, and the chaos of the monster capital, New Home. While that did tend to make life bland, the locals occasionally got to witness a special treat that brought some excitement to their little town.

"Bow before your evil overlord!" A tar-eyed skeleton proclaimed, a strange dark tree held aloft over his skull.

A few bunny children (and even some of the adults) played along and bowed as he and his group ran past.

"Guys, stop! You might jostle his roots too much!" A yellow-clad skeleton monster, who they'd learned in passing was named "Dream," shouted. All the while, chasing after his supposed adversaries.

Following behind him, albeit more leisurely, were two others: one adorned in a magnificent blue/silver armor fit for a royal guard and the other clad in a hodgepodge of brown clothes with a paintbrush on his back.

"What has the Multiverse come to..." The former groused, frowning while he watched the skeletons ahead fight over the tree.

"Chaos. It was always chaos." His walking companion cheerily said. Then promptly dashed toward the chaos, shouting, "Now I'm gonna lick someone's arm and see if my tongue sticks!"

Alone, the armor-clad skeleton sighed, stopping on the snowy path before pulling out a phone. "Why do I stay here? How did I ever let them talk me into this?" 

Chapter 181: Yeah, No-

Summary:

Killer thinks Nightmare is cheesy.

(Warning: This story contains ✨swearing✨.)

The Underground stood to be the most violent, unfriendly place imaginable- which was why a particular black/red-clad skeleton was infinitely confused and irritated by the situation at hand.

"- and then my boyfriend turned into the moon." The tar-eyed doppelgänger - who had so rudely interrupted his nap - concluded, leaning against his sentry station with a grin.

Sans huffed and bared his sharp teeth, snarling, "Look, jackass, I don't just a flyin' fuck- who are ya? How did ya even get here?!"

His look-alike brushed off the attempted intimidation like it was no more than dirt on his shoes. Then, much to Sans' further annoyance, the other's grin slipped into a smug smirk. "Who am I? How am I here? That's simple. I-"

Both tensed and turned toward a rustle from the nearby trees. Sans shifted his magic, prepared to thrash one of the local mutts if need be. But, instead of a nosy guard looking for some bones to chew, a skeleton - just like the other, in the sense that they both appeared uncomfortably similar to himself - came barreling out of the trees, showing no signs of stopping as he aimed directly for the first doppelgänger.

"I am not the moon!" The small, purple-uniformed monster shrieked.

"Oh, shit!" The tar-eyed skeleton backed up before breaking out into a sprint while the other quickly followed behind him.

"Where do ya fuckers keep comin' from?!" Sans futilely bellowed after them. Neither so much as slowed nor halted to answer his question.

Resigned (though, more like too lazy to chase after them), he leaned back in his chair. Crossing his arms, he tapped his foot, grumbling, "I swear to the angel, if Gaster had a shit ton of secret clones, I'm gonna kill the old man all over again."

 

Chapter 182: Moonl-

Summary:

Do not utter that word in his presence.

Killer yawned, blinking the residual blurriness from his eye sockets as he walked into the dining room. Everyone was already seated for breakfast. Including Error, which was rare considering the glitch preferred to co-exist with empty space.

And only sustain his existence with chocolate.

He continued to the head of the table and planted a chaste kiss on Nightmare's cheek, causing the other's teeth to quirk up ever-so-slightly. "Morning, Moonli-"

The target-souled skeleton (and everyone else in the room) startled when Error slammed his hands on the table and demanded, "D-D-DID YOU SAY-SAY 'MOON'?!"

Killer blinked. "W-what?"

"ARGH!" The glitch shrieked and threw himself over the table towards Nightmare.

 

Chapter 183: Green-eyed View

Summary:

Killer isn't too fond of the new guy.

Killer huffed and crossed his arms. All the while, leaning back against the kitchen's doorway and glaring as he begrudgingly watched the dark lord he'd vowed to follow fret (as much as the negative being was capable of) over the fluffy, monochrome nuisance they'd recently picked up from an empty AU. Despite Killer's insistence to leave him.

Cross - the new monster to their ragtag group of murderers - looked down at the ground in shame while Nightmare lightly chided him for barely touching his lunch and hiding training injuries. After which, the ex-Royal Guard was promptly dismissed to his bedroom for the "rest his body desperately required."

A location that the target-souled skeleton bitterly recalled laid closest to the negativity-laden guardian's own quarters.

Nightmare must have sensed his growing irritation because he soon turned his cyan gaze over to Killer. Thus, causing the Sans' twisted soul to quiver into the loose shape of an inverted heart for a millisecond before returning to its usual target-like appearance.

However, despite how he wished to revel in the other's attention, it failed to quell the sheer ire he felt for the armor-clad swordsman- just another thing their newest addition had ruined.

Nightmare stepped closer, frowning as he looked him up and down- examining, looking for a problem. "Killer, you have been rather... moody for the last few days. What's wrong?"

Killer scoffed, scowling in the direction Cross left in.

"Nothing's wrong; I'm fine." He growled.

Nightmare followed his gaze. The dark lord's teeth curled into an arrogant smirk, and he cocked an invisible eyebrow while amusement sparkled in his eyelight. "Are you... jealous?"

Killer flinched at the accusation. "What? No! I just don't see why you need to spend so much time with the rookie! It's not like he'll die if you leave him alone for a few hours-"

Nightmare rolled his cyan eyelight. Then, before the target-souled skeleton had a chance to process the action, he suddenly leaned forward and clicked their teeth together in a chaste kiss.

"There," The negativity-laden guardian said, pulling away with a (presumably) pleased grin. "Now stop complaining and get back to work. I expect several AUs drenched in negativity by the end of the day."

Killer dumbly nodded, a deep red hue quickly working its way up his cheeks.

"S-s-sure thing, b-boss." He stammered.

Chapter 184: Ruffled Tempers

Summary:

Two birds, no stones.

The halls of the Star Sanses' main base were bustling with monsters as usual. Primarily, Sanses and Papyruses that Ink had called to participate in his weekly meeting, which Geno was beginning to suspect was just an excuse to discuss nonsense (or force people to talk to him).

The bloody glitch crossed his arms and huffed as he and Reaper entered the crowded meeting room. Not a second after their feet passed the threshold, his husband suddenly placed his arm out in from of him, halting the Aftertale Sans mid-step.

Geno frowned. An expression he found deepening as he looked towards the other.

Reaper's face was marred by a thunderous snarl, unlike anything he had ever seen on the easy-going monster.

"Reaper? What's wrong?" He asked, worried.

The God of Death ruffled his wings and growled, not taking his eye sockets off the crowd. "Stay behind me, dove."

Soon after, a Sans emerged from the assembly of skeletons. The ebony wings on the newcomer's back ruffled in agitation while his narrowed eyelights glared daggers at Reaper.

Geno glanced between the two as they sized each other up. Once the avian skeletons finished their assessment, they fanned out their wings and comically puffed their feathers, squawking.

"Oh, great..." The bloody glitch sighed, cringing and covering his non-existent ears as the duo began shrieking aggressively. "Now, there's two of them."

Chapter 185: Sweet Breakfast

Summary:

Dust gives Horror a birthday surprise.

(Warning: This story contains mild swearing and suggestive behavior.)

Horror had been dreaming peacefully - or as peacefully as he could while having a dream about food - when a click followed by a loud squeak stirred him from his slumber. His mind slowly pulled away from the visions of a freshly cooked chicken as he groggily pried open his eye sockets.

At first glance, nothing appeared out of the ordinary in the hazy darkness of his bedroom. However, after performing a cursory sweep a second time, his swollen red eyelight landed on something he hadn't noticed before: a short blurry figure standing in his open doorway. He blinked. Then repeated the action several more times until his vision cleared enough to make out the person encroaching on his space.

They were a skeleton monster with striking dual-colored eyelights, garbed in a dull blue hoodie, black shorts, and a tattered red scarf.

"...D'st?" The broken-skulled skeleton slurred.

His boyfriend chuckled, stepping into the room and letting the door fall shut behind him.

"Morning, big guy." Dust purred, approaching the end of the bed with a playful twinkle in his eye sockets. "I've got a surprise for you."

Horror's brows pinched together.

He muttered, confused, "You... do?"

A sultry smirk crept its way up the hoodie-clad murderer's jaws. In a flash, he yanked the sheets off the top of Horror, letting them pool on the floor before crawling over him. The broken-skulled skeleton blushed and firmly placed his hands on the other's hips to steady his boyfriend as he straddled his waist.

"Yup, and I'm certain it's a surprise you'll enjoy." Dust chimed and leaned back, staring down at him proudly.

Horror almost asked him what the surprise was when the hoodie-clad murderer began fiddling with his inventory. Though, he shortly discovered the answer as his boyfriend declared, "I made cake!" while taking a plate out of his inventory. All the while, holding it at an angle so he could see it.

Horror stared at the white ceramic dish; Sat atop it laid a near petrified, unfrosted chocolate cake with the words "Happy Birthday" poorly piped across the top in blood-red icing.

"It's... beautiful." He murmured.

Dust shrugged. "It's a piece of shit, but thanks."

Chapter 186: Silent Ritual

Summary:

Some doughnut believe they are a cult-

Silence was something Nightmare had grown all too familiar with during his childhood. A sad aspect of his life attributed to the hours spent alone guarding the tree while his brother was off gallivanting in the village. A time when the shunned guardian only had his books to keep him company and to stave off the sheer madness, loneliness, and boredom that came with sitting under that stars-forsaken, over-grown piece of lumber for days on end.

Nowadays, however, his life held the complete opposite. It teemed with warmth, companionship, and endless chatter he never even considered possible (for one such as himself) to obtain- which was why the stillness in the air disturbed him to no end.

The dark lord lightly tapped his phalanges on the surface of his desk, unable to focus on his paperwork. (I.e., the next story in his surprisingly successful book series.) Everything seemed... too off- too quiet given the other residents of the mansion. There were no cries of justice for stolen tacos (or knives, or etc.); no lively laughter from the instigator (or instigators) of the mansion's latest prank; no incessant whining because his boys were bored and wanted him to go outside with them.

Solely unadulterated noiselessness radiated throughout the negativity-laden guardian's dwelling.

Unable to withstand it any longer, Nightmare swiftly stood from his chair and sought out the absent causes of annoyance in his life; His magic zeroed in on his boys' magical signatures. Then, with a direction in mind, he sunk into the ground. Thus, allowing him to move through the shadows and rise from the pooling darkness in a dim room- one of the numerous unused bedrooms, he recognized.

Partially.

The room appeared to have undergone a makeover since he'd last seen it. Much to his dismay, the white sheets that had once covered the antique wooden furnishings littered about the space were missing, and a mess of sloppily carved runes acted as a blanket in their stead. Though, the irritation the dark lord felt could not compare to his ire when he noticed a particular addition to the decor.

Lit candles of various sizes adorned every remotely flat surface in the room. Soft strands of smoke billowed from their small flickering flames and quickly dissipated into the air, filling it with a pungent herbal scent. In the center of the waxy catastrophe laid a red (hopefully, paint) circle that bore intricate designs spiraling within it.

At the epicenter of it all sat an innocent doughnut covered in pink icing and an array of colorful sprinkles, surrounded by a circle of four skeletons shrouded in tie-dyed bed sheets.

That explained where the sheets went.

"Boys!" Nightmare bellowed, drawing two and a half pairs of suddenly nervous eyelights. "I told you no lit candles in enclosed spaces." He frowned and offhandedly gestured to their... activity. "Take whatever... this is outside. Now."

"Aw..." Killer whined and lowered his oddly ornamental dagger while his co-conspirators (in potentially burning the house down) pouted alongside him.

Chapter 187: The Morel of the Story

Summary:

THEY'RE GOING ON A TRIP-

Notes:

Surely I'm not the only person to consider this possibility-

Nightmare and Dream stood several feet apart, with their comrades by their sides, at the very place that started it all: their old home in Dreamtale. The ruins of the Tree of Feelings. However, this time, the two groups did not face each other to fight. They had met up to make a treaty, bury the centuries-old hatchet (so to speak), and usher in a new era of peace between the Sanses.

"Do you find my terms amiable?" Nightmare tagged to the end of his speech, sending an imploring gaze at his brother, who raised his skull to-

Ink stepped between the two, chiming, "Are you sure we can't fight on weekends? Or every other weekend? Oh, we should have battle Sundays!"

"Ink..." Dream groaned, a hint of weariness making its way into his voice.

"Okay, okay- No more questions..." The soulless skeleton conceded, eyelights flickering through numerous shapes and colors before he pointed a phalange at the old giant apple tree stump nearby and promptly said, "Can I ask what's up with the weird glowing mushrooms, though?"

Both twins paled, then slowly turned to the tree stump with matching looks of dread. Growing on the remains of their dead mother laid clusters of colorful glowing mushrooms.

"Oh, stars-"

"Fuck- It lived."

"Uh... Boss? What's wrong?" Killer asked, stepping forward to investigate only to be held back by a dark oozing hand.

The Guardian of Negativity grimaced, his tendrils waving wildly as he frantically turned and summoned a portal to their base. "I have no time to explain- We must leave here at once!"

"Yes! There are other suitable places to craft a treaty! Now, we must go!" Dream agreed, opening his own portal.

"But-"

Nightmare's tendrils seized his followers. Meanwhile, Dream swiftly gripped his friends with magic.

Just as the two nearly finished dragging their companions through the portals, a voice called from the distance, "Wait! Please, brothers, don't leave me again!"

Chapter 188: The Sea-gall of Him

Summary:

Skkkkkkkkkkkkrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh

Reaper huffed beneath the blaring sun, holding up the sides of his black robe to keep them from dragging against the ground. Sand slid underneath his sandals while he trudged up the largest sandy hill on the beach, stopping atop, front and center, where all could see his glory.

Especially Geno.

He wiped the sweat from his skull and glanced down at the crowds talking, relaxing, and enjoying the bounty the various nearby fast food restaurants had to offer. A bounty that they were not offering to him and his family.

"All shall give sacrifice to the God of Death, Reaper! The best husband and most handsome skeleton alive!" His voice bellowed, stirring the sea and shaking the very earth.

The raven-winged god spread his arms toward the sky and fanned out his wings. A swarm of umbral birds gathered overhead, blotting out the sun and shrouding the clear blue above in darkness.

"Now fly, my pretties! And bring me all the french fries!"

The winged scavengers instantly descended upon the beachgoers, causing mass panic while they snatched their lord's sought treasure out of the hands of unsuspecting humans and monsters.

Geno sighed under the safety of his umbrella. All the while, flipping a page in the book he foolishly thought he would be able to enjoy without screams of terror in the background.

Goth gently shook his arm, staring up at him with wide, hopeful eyes. "Mom, can I-"

"No."

"But-"

"No."

The little skeleton pouted and watched in jealousy as his father terrorized the land and ate unjustly liberated fast food.

Chapter 189: You Might Want A Doctor For That

Summary:

Nightmare is 30% banana tree from his father's side-

(Warning: This story contains the typical weirdness and swearing.)

Notes:

It's been a while since I've written a cursed story for Nightmare, so now this is a thing...

Killer yawned and rubbed his eye sockets, smearing black ooze across his hands and the sides of his face as he lumbered into the mansion's kitchen.

Cross and Horror were not too far behind him. The former's face pinched in discomfort while he clutched his invisible stomach, fighting off what were undoubtedly sharp pangs of hunger; Accompanied by low rumbles if the look of distress on the face of the broken-skulled skeleton beside him was any indication.

Not much of a surprise. The monochrome warrior had arisen to train before the sun dared to shine upon the dark woods surrounding their home (unlike Killer, who had wisely slept in). Thus, meaning he was long overdue for a large meal to make up for all the magic he spent fighting the practice dummies. Or shooting gaster blasters. Or... whatever he did in the training field in the early morning.

Horror appeared to take fixing Cross' plight upon himself. Since he rushed past Killer and to the fridge, throwing ingredients on the nearby countertop for a hearty breakfast of bacon, cheese and vegetable omelettes, and pancakes.

The actions did little to disturb Nightmare, who had already claimed a spot in the cooking space in front of a half-full coffee pot. A mug laid his gooey hands. A warm brown liquid - his morning caffeine elixir - just barely peeked over the brim.

Killer quietly crept up beside him - leaving ample space between them, lest the dark lord lash out thinking the murderer wanted his coffee - and stopped at the toaster. He groggily liberated two slices of bread from the bread box next to it, popping them into the device.

As he waited for them to heat, his non-existent eyelights slid over to Nightmare. Dark bags highlighted the negativity-laden skeleton's eye sockets. Though, more notably strange, his usual hoodie was gone, replaced by a tanktop that showed off the angry hissing lumps on his arms.

Killer froze and blinked.

Wait, hissing lumps?!

He fully turned to face Nightmare, staring in disbelief.

There were several bulges along the dark lord's arms. Each bore a tiny cyan eyelight, and little tendrils wiggled around them, threateningly striking the air.

"What the fuck, Nightmare?!" The target-souled skeleton shrieked and flinched away from the other.

The Guardian of Negativity took a slow sip of his coffee and waved a hand dismissively. "Don't worry. If they are removed today, they shouldn't have enough magic to survive on their own and will die in a few days. Perhaps even a few hours, if we are lucky."

"Dude..." Cross gasped, staring at Nightmare's arms, mortified.

"...Babies?" Horror wondered. All the while, examining the mini Nightmare lumps from a respectable distance- i.e., where they couldn't lash their tiny tendrils at him.

The negativity-laden guardian raised a brow, then looked down and considered the disturbing growths on his arms. "Hmm... In a sense, I suppose. However, they are more akin to clones."

"Nightmare..." Killer said before taking a deep breath. "I repeat: WHAT THE FUCK?!"

Chapter 190: "T" To Victory

Summary:

The yellow chicken is intimidated.

Notes:

I'm not too familiar with Dreamswap, so there's bound to be more errors than just the Sans here.

Nightmare's breaths came heavy and fast as his feet pounded against the sidewalk. Despite the aches in his legs and the slow loss of magic from his various wounds, he pushed onward.

Cross and Error flanked him on either side in a similarly ragged state. The distress radiating from both their souls was palpable, nauseating to even the Guardian of Negativity. Nightmare dared not allow his mind to linger on it, nor the faux godly being following not too far behind him and his friends.

He needed to focus on escaping- or, at the very least, getting Cross and Error out of the situation safely.

His purple eyelights darted around the empty streets, which had long since been evacuated after the seemingly kind shopkeeper they met ratted them out to the Justice Reign. (If he and his friends made it out alive, that rabbit monster would be plagued with the gift of glitter for a lifetime. Enough to make up for all the hurt and misery the two skeletons behind him were experiencing.)

The shrunken purple pinpricks looked left, right, up, down- anywhere for something he could use to his advantage. That's when he saw it: an alleyway.

A long series of narrow passageways with twists and turns and plenty of little nooks to slip into- the perfect place to lose someone.

He veered toward the entryway of their salvation and dashed inside, only to be met with a solid wall.

It was a dead end. A corner they could be pushed into; a box of walls none of the three monsters had the magic to escape.

A sinking feeling - hopelessness, despair - weaved its way into his weakened soul. Given the pained whines behind him, Error and Cross were overcome by similar feelings as well.

At the sensation of fiery hot magic sparking in the air, Nightmare spun on his heels and trembled.

Dream stood at the mouth of the alleyway, head held high and wings flared in conceit, prowling forward like a lioness stalking a gazelle.

The Guardian of Negativity did the only thing he could think of. He caught Error and Cross by the shoulders and forced the two behind him. They huddled close as the short skeleton became the living barrier between them and the bloodthirsty-winged tyrant.

"It's the end of the line, Nightmare. There's nowhere left for you to run and hide; our battle finally ends now. Rejoice." Dream sneered, a devilishly pleased grin stretched across his jaws; nothing like the soft, warm smile that had long since faded from the negative guardian's memory.

"N-night..." Error whimpered, fearfully.

Meanwhile, Cross gripped Nightmare's shoulder and trembled.

The silvery-boned skeleton fought back the tears that threatened to spill from his eye sockets. All the while, his soul squeezed in dread.

He had to do something. If he didn't, then after himself, Error and Cross would be... eliminated.

There had to be a way out. Something, anything they could use to defeat Dream or get away from the other, like a secret weapon-

There is one, he recalled. There is one way out of this.

It would be risky, but if they could pull it off...

Nightmare took a deep breath, face steeled with determination as he said, "Execute Operation: T."

Cross gasped. "Are you sure? I thought we agreed it was too powerful?"

"I-it'll be dangerous-ous..." Error added, uncertainly. "A-a-are you sure we-we can do i-it?"

"I'm certain. If we want to get out of this alive, we have to use it. It's the only way."

Error and Cross shared a look before they crouched behind Nightmare.

"Are you still attempting to escape?" Dream scoffed. "You know it's futile- even if you do, every person in this town will turn you over to the Justice Reign the second they spot you. There's no place in the multiverse for creatures like you."

Nightmare merely glared at the beast he once called "brother" as his friends hosted him atop their shoulders and gripped his ankle to keep him steady. Once stable on his perch, the negative guardian spread his arms akin to how one might do it if they were trying to keep their balance on a thin platform or rope.

"What are you doing?" Dream asked, a tilt of nervousness worming its way into his normally confident voice.

Nightmare did not grace him with an answer. Instead, he stared down at him and cried, "Charge!"

The Guardian of Positivity squawked, spinning on his heels and fleeing when the trio chased after him.

Chapter 191: Lunate Destruction

Summary:

A mad scientist plots to destroy his greatest enemy-

Red expected a lot of things when he opened the door to Sci's lab while carrying a piping hot bag of takeout from Grillby's. Things he would usually expect: a messy lab, over ten empty coffee cups littered around the room, and a horribly sleep-deprived skeleton throwing himself into his research without understanding the concept of a break.

And for the most part, he was right-

Barring what his boyfriend was doing.

"Sci, I got dinner. You haven't eaten yet, right?" The Underfell Sans said, pausing when he noticed his boyfriend hunched over a set of metal panels, colorful wires, tools, and a half-empty coffee pot. "What are you doing?"

"Creating a laser!" The scientist energetically declared - in a manner far too happy for Red's liking - before taking a long sip from his coffee pot and cackling as he began hooking wires together.

"You know, maniacal cackling typical ain't the sign of a good idea..." Red murmured. His free hand brushed aside disorganized papers on a nearby table and put the takeout bag in the freed space.

Sci huffed, offended. "This is a great idea! It will shoot through Mt. Ebott and destroy the moon!"

"Okay, that's enough coffee for you. You need sleep." Red sighed, using his magic to pry the coffee pot away from his boyfriend's side. 

Chapter 192: A Rivalry Written In The Stars

Summary:

Challenger sighted-

Sans nervously stood at the edge of the barrier's cave, unmoving as his fellow monsters (Papyrus, Undyne, Alphys, Toriel, and Asgore) and Frisk stepped out of the mountainous prison and into the vast open Surface beneath a dark star-laden sky.

The short skeleton had dreamed of this moment for so long. So long, in fact, he even gave up on ever seeing it come true. Yet here it was: the Surface, their freedom.

The end of the Resets.

Part of him still expected this moment to slip right through his phalanges- for the other shoe to drop. For something to - inevitably - go horribly wrong.

So he remained rooted in place, staring as his brother and the others crowed in joy.

Of course, like the cool dude he was, Papyrus noticed the lack of a short skeleton by his side.

The lanky monster turned around and shouted, "Brother, what are you doing? Come enjoy the very fresh and cool Surface air! Stars knows it would do that foul coat of yours some good to collect a scent other than ketchup and socks."

"Sure, bro." Sans casually replied, revealing not an ounce of the turmoil twisting his soul.

His slippers hesitantly shuffled over the threshold. Chilly mountain air instantly brushed against his bones, causing him to shiver and pull his hoodie tighter around him. All the while, his eyelights flitted over every conceivable surface - no pun intended - in sight: the mountain rocks, the trees, the city on the skyline- finally landing on the sky.

Stars - billions and billions of shimmering white specks - adorned the night. Sans couldn't help but compare them to the glowing rocks littered atop the ceiling of Waterfall. They were smaller, brighter- more than a stone for childish wishes to be made on.

And at the center laid a brilliant white orb that dwarfed them all: the moon.

He gazed upward in awe, then stepped forward-

Sans blinked.

No longer was he underneath an amaranthine sky filled with sparkling lights. Instead, he was lying down in his bed and looking up at his old bedroom ceiling back in Snowdin.

Back in the Underground.

With the moon and stars out of reach.

Sans groaned and buried his face in his hands, howling, "I SHOULD HAVE DESTROYED YOU WHEN I HAD THE CHANCE!"

He jolted at a sudden loud knock on his bedroom door followed by a concerned, "Brother, what are you screaming about?!"

Chapter 193: Luna-tic's Accord

Summary:

Why didn't you lead with that?

The air in the Save Screen was tense as Geno and Sans stared each other down after yet another failed negotiation. 

"I won't help you destroy the world, Geno." The latter growled, turning and beginning to stalk away. "Not if it means Papyrus will never have the chance to be happy."

Geno smirked. "You know, if we go through with my plan, it will destroy the moon in all foreseeable timelines."

Sans spun on his heels, expression serious. "Okay, I'm listening."

Chapter 194: Lunar Divergence

Summary:

Interesting approach...

(Warning: This story contains mild swearing.)

One by one, Killer, Dust, and Horror exited their boss' dark viscous portal and stepped into the shadows of their mission's location. A Surface AU, given the lush hilly forest surrounding them.

The portal slowly melted into sludge behind them, leaving them stranded under the moonlight until they completed their job.

"...Moon." Horror growled, swollen red eyelight glaring up at the sky.

"Ugh, great! Of course, that fucking orb is out..." Dust groused. His grip on the sharpened bone in his hand tightened while purple, angry magic flared around it.

Killer scoffed, casually flipping his knife. "Come on, guys. It's not that big of a deal."

His broken-skulled counterpart grumbled in disagreement. All the while, Dust snarled and jabbed his bone attack towards him, "Not that big of a deal- What kind of Classic deviation are you?! Don't you hate the moon too?"

"Well. Yeah, but..." The target-souled skeleton donned an impish grin before he boasted, "I decided to seduce it instead."

Chapter 195: Moonlet Grudge

Summary:

It's a family thing.

Goth hummed and leaned against Palette's shoulder. The guardian-in-training tapped away on his phone, showing the minor death god all the cute animal pictures he had taken while out patrolling AUs with his parents.

Ink burst into the living room just as the screen transitioned to a little fox cub, practically vibrating with excitement. Or yellow paint.

Both Goth and Palette jolted and turned to face the soulless artist.

"Kids, look at what I just finished!" He shouted, displaying a painted canvas proudly.

It was covered in cool hues - purples, blues, and a slight hint of green - and sprinkled with a galaxy of white speckles. All of which highlighted the main focus of the artwork: a sphere painted with white and pale yellows, seemingly glowing due to the light shading surrounding it.

Goth shrieked and sprung forward, tearing the picture from Ink's hands before throwing it to the ground. His fluffy white wings flared as his talons shredded the canvas into ribbons.

Ink took a sip of his blue paint, collapsing on his knees and wailing, "No! My moon painting!"

"Gothy, stop! It's just a painting!" Palette cried, jumping up from the couch and quickly moving toward his friend, only to back away slightly when a sharp hiss escaped the death god's jaws.

Goth glared at the two skeletons, chewing on the shreds of painting.

His mother would be proud.

Chapter 196: The Voice

Summary:

He's trapped in the magic box, Reaper-

(Warning: This story contains mild swearing.)

A blue hue illuminated Ink's face as he hunched over his computer, faux tongue poking out due to the intensity of his concentration. He slowly navigated his way through the software interface on the screen. Then, after a repeated attempt to click a few buttons, he successfully imported in a bar with jagged squiggles.

Giggles built in his chest while he maneuvered his mouse cursor over a little drop-down menu labeled "effects."

Before the artist could click on his desired option, his office door creaked open and allowed light to stream in from the hallway.

Dream cautiously peeked his head in, concern etched on his face.

"Ink... I told you I get worried when I hear you giggling in the dark." He said, flicking on the overhead light and hesitantly stepping into the room. "What are you doing?"

Ink grinned. He flipped his computer screen around for the other to see, exclaiming, "I found this neat software! I want to see if I can use it to make Error's voice even glitchier!"

"That's-"

"Just wait; It'll be great!" The artist interrupted.

The Guardian of AUs was shockingly fast at turning the screen to face himself and clicking to the "glitch effect." Once applied, his cursor eagerly hit the play button.

A smooth, clear voice growled through the speakers on his desk, "Why the fuck are you recording me, you freak!"

Dream blinked, surprised.

Meanwhile, Ink pouted and crossed his arms. "He sounds so normal! Lame!"

Not seconds later, a blur of black fabric and feathers swirled behind Dream.

"WHERE IS GENO?!" Reaper demanded, wings flaring aggressively. All the while, a chill spread across the room and encompassed the space in a thick sheet of dread. "YOU BASTARD, I SWEAR I'LL LEAVE YOUR SOUL IN THE VOID FOR THE REST OF ETERNITY IF YOU DON'T GIVE HIM BACK RIGHT NOW!"

The death god raised his scythe, left eye socket alight with a blue flame, displaying his ire.

"REAPER, WAIT!" Dream screamed, holding up his hands in a pleading gesture.

Ink glanced between the two Sanses before yelling, "WHAT ARE WE SCREAMING ABOUT?!"

Notes:

Reaper: *sobs over computer* Speak to me, my love! What curse has fallen upon you?!

Chapter 197: Haunted Photograph

Summary:

A picture's worth a thousand words.

(Warning: This story contains mild swearing.)

Ink hummed in adoration. His yellow and pink heart-shaped eyelights were fixed on the scene before him, drinking in the beauty.

A rainbow of galaxies stretched across the sky in all directions, sprinkled by glowing lights that twinkled far in the distance. They shifted and swayed, moving around their orbits both slowly and quickly. Like a celestial royal ball forever trapped in an amaranthine waltz.

However, the artist only had eyes for one piece of the scenery: Error.

The dark glitch sat on the edge of the bland, rocky island they occupied. The knitting needles clutched tightly in his multicolored hands moved at a more and more aggravated pace as the minutes flew by, until he growled and threw the project into his lap.

Error turned to face the soulless skeleton, snarling, "T-take a pic-picture; it-it will l-l-last longer!"

Ink gasped. "That's a great idea!"

He fumbled with his inventory for a moment, soon producing his phone and quickly snapping a picture of the destroyer before he could object.

Grinning, the artist opened the "gallery" app to inspect his prize. All the while, Error crossed his arms and glared.

Ink's smile faltered upon seeing the image. It showed a bloody white-clad figure adorned by a red scarf standing behind the glitch, equally unamused.

"Error, you're-" He paused, eyelights flicking through numerous shapes and colors. "Haunted!"

The dark glitch blinked, frowning. "What-at?"

"Get away from my bestie, you ugly spirit!" Ink lunged forward, pulling the giant brush off his back and sending a glob of paint sailing toward Error.

"I-Ink, what-what the f-f-fuck!?"

Chapter 198: Is It Really A Crime?

Summary:

Ink's parent privileges were revoked.

(Warning: This story contains swearing.)

Lively. That was one word to describe the atmosphere of the Star Sanses' base. A few others were: chaotic, noisy, and crowded. All of which factored into why the same did not hold true for a single corner of the building. The nigh forbidden space sent chills akin to sheets of ice down peoples' backs and overwhelmed them with an intense sense of dread, barring the group that frequented the spot.

Reaper churred and ruffled his wings, silently watching as monsters anxiously skirted around his space. I.e., the seating area assigned to him and his family to avoid unfortunate incidents (or make extra work for the death god).

Geno lounged in the seat beside him, a discomforted expression resting on his features while he passively tapped his phone. Taking pictures, no doubt.

Goth and Palette played on the floor in front of him, quietly giggling to themselves and battling with their toy animals.

Neither seemed to share the bloody glitch's disdain for the Star Sanses' base or the skeletons that ran it. Which Reaper supposed was a good thing; He did not want either child to be suffering like he and his dove were. Though, the death god suspected the children would much rather be back at the mansion or, better yet, on a lovely day trip out to peaceful AU.

Alas, he and Geno needed to be here.

Their presence was required at the location, according to Ink and Dream.

The two guardians were adamant that all Sanses not aligned with anyone nefarious - Nightmare - make an appearance and a weekly report at their base. Said report held things such as how their AU was doing, whether or not anything/anyone suspicious had been sighted, and current relations with nearby AUs.

Nothing too invasive, thankfully.

But it was still something Reaper, alongside many other monsters, could do without- if only because it wasted time and made for a general annoyance.

Being the God of Death hardly constituted an easy task, after all. He rarely had the opportunity to take time off from the job he'd long since been bound to in his AU and preferred the idea of spending any accrued free time relaxing with his family. Not filling out paperwork for a couple of Sanses that thought they were fit to govern the Multiverse. (Altogether, the three barely qualified to watch after a pile of dirt, let alone a potted plant.)

A shame most Sanses were too lazy to do anything about it.

Including himself.

Reaper sighed, wondering when Geno would finally be called up to Blue's office to receive their paperwork.

They requested it over an hour ago and had yet to hear anything about it. If it took any longer, the raven-winged skeleton may have no choice but to resign himself to the agonizing fate of waiting/completing the paperwork alone and send his family home. Something that was becoming more and more likely by the minute.

Between Geno's annoyed groan and Goth and Palette's steady decline in interest in their game, he knew they would only last ten to twenty minutes longer. And he doubted any of them would have against leaving sooner than later.

I should ask and save them from suffering any longer. I'm sure Blue won't notice if I fill out Geno's paperwork.

Just when Reaper's jaws parted, the question on the tip of his non-existent tongue, excited chatter echoed on the other side of the nearby corner.

The self-proclaimed Guardian of AUs, Ink himself, casually walked out from behind it and continued along- engrossed in conversation with the monsters surrounding him. A small black-boned skeleton child trailed after him like a duckling, whining and clutching at their stomach. A clear indication they wanted to be fed.

The death god glanced to the side and watched as his dove's expression changed from irritated to stormy.

Geno slipped his phone into his inventory and stood from his seat, cracking his knuckles. "Time to kick some ass and steal a baby."

"I'll watch the children while you're gone." Reaper chimed. "Have fun, dear."

"Oh, I will." The bloody glitch promised and began advancing toward his target.

Though Ink wasn't known for being the most aware (spatially, socially, or otherwise), the odd sixth sense he had developed regarding glitches clued him in on Geno's approach. A fact evident by the way his eye sockets widened, eyelights flickering through shapes and colors as his head snapped toward the other.

In a fleeting moment of clarity, he glanced down at his offspring and panicked.

"Oh, shit! Wait- Not again!" The artist pleaded, "Geno, at least let me keep one!"

Chapter 199: An Artistic Masterpiece

Summary:

He just wanted to be pretty.

(Warning: This story contains violence and stabbing.)

A manic grin graced Killer's jaws as he and Dust finished clearing out New Home's castle, leaving not a single soul - aside from themselves - remaining.

Gray and red speckled the regal white halls; It coated every conceivable surface, barring what Killer noticed was an incredibly comfortable-looking chaise longue.

"Hey, Dust!" Snickering, the target-souled skeleton threw himself over the furnishing and posed. "Paint me like one of your murder victims."

Dust raised a brow. He stood silently, calculating, before a smirk spread across his face.

"If you insist." The hoodie-clad murderer said with deranged cheer, lunging forward.

Killer didn't have time to dodge the jagged bone attack aimed at his rib cage, causing it to slide into his lower ribs. Thankfully, away from his soul.

A pained hiss crept passed his clenched teeth. All the while, he jerked back and summoned a barrage of sharp bones between him and Dust, forcing the other away from his wounded form.

"Fuck! Dude, what the hell?!" The teary-eyed skeleton snarled.

Notes:

Killer: Boss, Dust stabbed me!
Dust: Hey! You asked for it!
Nightmare: *does not care enough for this conversation* Boys, go to your rooms.
Killer: But I didn't do anyth-
Nightmare: Room. Now.
Dust: Heh-
Nightmare: You too.

Chapter 200: Comedy At Its Finest

Summary:

Talk about a stick-y situation.

Snowflakes gently fluttered down from the cavern ceiling, adding to the thick sheet of little ice crystals adorning Snowdin.

Papyrus trod the snow-laden path to his brother's sentry station. All the while, he expertly avoided any slippery patches of ice and pondered how to handle the lazy skeleton's antics. I.e., his avoidance of work.

Once reaching his destination (and solving his puzzles in record time), the Royal Guard-to-be prepared to scold Sans for sleeping on the job as always. However, he found himself stunned at the sight of his brother.

A wake.

Sitting in the snow and slapping a poor defenseless stick?

"Sans, what in the Underground are you doing?" Papyrus demanded, causing the stocky skeleton to look up at him with a lazy grin. "A royal sentry should know better than to fight something that cannot defend itself!"

"Heh, just trying out some new slapstick humor." Sans chuckled.

The scarf-clad skeleton's eye sockets narrowed. "Sans."

"Papyrus." The other chimed, grin impossibly widening.

A scowl marred Papyrus' great features before he captured his brother by the back of his hoodie and lifted him up like an unruly kitten. Then, with a swift stomp, the poor stick crunched beneath his red boot, splintering into tiny jagged pieces.

"Rest, dear stick. Suffer at the hands of my brother no longer."

Chapter 201: Apple of the Earth

Summary:

Nightmare needs a botany book-

Nightmare's brows furrowed as he concentrated on the most trying challenge he'd faced in centuries: preparing dinner.

Atop the counter in front of him laid the ingredients he selected from the kitchen fridge. Mushrooms, fruits, edible bugs (which mysteriously disappeared when his back was turned), poultry - Anything he had experience cooking with prior to being a mighty beacon of negativity.

The tendrils lining his back aided his quest by completing various little tasks: sorting through the mushrooms, gathering spices, and etc.

Dust and Killer watched from the other side of the room. Their curiosity palpable even to those without Nigthmare's abilities.

His cyan eyelight landed on the third member of his gang as the other stepped through the kitchen doorway, carrying the spoils from his trip grocery store.

"Ah, Horror. Welcome back." The dark lord greeted, examining the earthy brown lumps peeking out the top of one of the bags. "I see you picked up some ground apples while you were at the store. Good. They will do nicely for the pie I plan on making later."

A loud snort escaped Killer. All the while, he raised a brow. "Ground apples? Heh- Boss, those are potatoes."

"I do not appreciate your correction; you'll get no pie when it's finished." Nightmare sneered while his tendrils took the bags from Horror.

"Aw, come on! That's not fair." Killer whined.

Dust smirked, snickering as he wrapped his arm around the target-souled skeleton's shoulder. "You heard him, Kills. No ground apple pie for you."

Chapter 202: The Maw of the Beast

Summary:

Moonlight, dark halls, a quest for a snack- what could go wrong?

The halls were laden in shadows, scarcely illuminated by the cloud-covered moon beyond the windows.

Cross crept along the stone floors. His feet slowly slid across the surface with as much stealth as he could muster, keeping his footfall quiet enough to not penetrate the surrounding bedrooms.

The last thing he wanted to do was wake up his fellow Sanses. After all, some - or, more accurately, all - of them could get a little stab happy when on low sleep. And the monochrome warrior did not like the idea of getting stabbed because he wanted a midnight snack.

Anxiously, he hurried past the final doorway; in fear his empty stomach would ruin his chance to make it to the kitchen unscathed. Thankfully, whatever rumbles it had were withheld until the room was safely in view.

Thick curtains shrouded the windows inside the space. They blocked out what little natural light the moon could provide, leaving Cross to traverse the room blindly. Not that it proved to be much of an issue for him. He had been with the gang long enough to understand the general layout of the kitchen.

Or, at least, that's what the swordsman thought before he reached for the fridge, only to bump into a large solid object.

The collision sent Cross stumbling backward, forcing him to catch himself on a counter. Thus, saving him from meeting the hard stone floor.

Soul pounding, he blinked and looked up.

A swollen red light stared down at him.

Panic instantly gripped Cross.

He should have known going outside his room at night would be a bad idea- that he should have endured his hunger and stayed in his room until morning. Now, instead of getting stabbed, he would fall victim to the creatures that haunt the castle halls and-

The monochrome skeleton yelped as the fridge opened. The light streaming out of it stretched across his soon-to-be murderer: Horror, dressed in his nightwear with a confused expression on his face.

Light purple blush colored Cross' skull.

"Oh-" He bolted upright and straightened his shirt, looking anywhere other than Horror. "Y-you startled me."

"Sorry..." The broken-skulled Sans rumbled softly.

Cross watched as the other slowly turned to the fridge, considering its contents.

"Are you getting a midnight snack too?" He hesitantly asked.

"Mhm."

Horror pulled a small bowl of strawberries from the top shelf, then dumped the dish's contents into the gapping hole atop his skull.

Cross grimaced. "Dude, why?"

His fellow bringer of negativity shrugged. "Saves... time."

Notes:

Now Horror and Blue need to go on a dinner date, then they can scar an entire restaurant by eating like the incredibly cursed creatures they are.

Chapter 203: Microwave For Ten Minutes

Summary:

Killer makes poor choices-

(Warning: This story contains mild swearing.)

Dust hadn't been sure what to expect when Nightmare called him down to the castle's designated medical room. Paint wounds, arrow punctures, bone fractures, cuts, broken bones - those were the usual injuries he typically got summoned to treat.

After missions.

Something no one had been assigned as of late due to the "Sunshine Rainbow Friends" cracking down on AU protection measures. Thus, making their jobs a hell of a lot more risky/dangerous.

Though, he supposed the room's occupant made sense.

Killer sat in the plush chair beside the bed, frowning while Nightmare prodded him with a few devices and looked him over. Thin cuts and tears adorned his clothes and bones. Signs of a fight, and given the red marrow dripping down his nasal cavity and the angry swirling soul outside his chest, he lost.

Dust snorted. "You look like shit; What happened?"

Killer crossed his arms, glaring - i.e., pouting - at the ground.

"Going to ignore me?" He scoffed and made his way over to the med kit atop the bed.

"Don't mind him. He's just being childish because someone-" Nightmare said, shooting a pointed look at Killer, causing the target-souled skeleton to sink further into his seat. "Thought it would be a good idea to play a prank on Error."

"It w-s a g-great pr-nk!" The murderous Sans' patient argued. His voice came out buzzing and gravelly; Almost carrying the same droning noise as-

Dust blinked.

A series of snickers escaped his jaws, slowly building into a howling laughter that left him clutching at his non-existent stomach. "Pfft! Heh-he! You- you sound like s-someone left your voice in a... in a microwave!"

Chapter 204: Of Corpse-

Summary:

Dream just wants to help his village friend.

The warm hues of sunset were slowly replaced by the deep cool blue of night.

Nightmare sighed and snuggled against the lower roots of the Tree of Feelings, seeking what little protection it could provide against the rapidly cooling night air. He expected his brother to curl up beside him like he always did when the temperature began to drop.

However, instead of settling down for the night, Dream pulled his cape tighter around himself and casually started walking in the direction of the village.

A small frown marred the Guardian of Negativity.

"Where are you going?" He asked.

Dream halted and turned around, surprised.

"Oh! I didn't tell you? Steven asked me to help him hide a body tonight!" His brother explained, smiling cheerily.

"What?! Why!" Nightmare demanded. All the while, abandoning his spot beneath the tree to tread closer to the other.

The Guardian of Positivity shrugged. "Oh, apparently, his wife-"

Nightmare did not wait for him to finish his sentence before interjecting, "Dream, you are not leaving this tree to go hide a body!"

"But..."

"No 'buts.'"

"Fine, brother." Dream pouted and crossed his arms over his chest. "Just don't start whining when neither of us knows how to get rid of a corpse!"

Notes:

This is why Dream knows so many morally dubious things to teach Palette-

Chapter 205: Stolen Floof

Summary:

Error must be the cutest- at any cost.

(Warning: This story contains swearing.)

A series of loud crashes accompanied by heavy footfall and shouting echoed throughout the mansion.

Nightmare sighed and silently mourned the loss of whatever vases, paintings, or furnishings he would need to replace later. Meanwhile, mentally preparing for the chaotic storm swiftly approaching his reading room.

He gently sat his mug on the small table beside him. Then, as if on cue, two skeletons burst through the doorway; Each radiated anger and determination.

"Error!" Cross cried, face set in searing anger. "Give me back my coat!"

The dark-boned glitch pulled the fluffy black/white coat tighter around himself and hissed. "Fuck no! I need it so the voices stop calling you cuter than me because of your 'floof!'"

"I don't care! Give it back!"

"I'm not giving up this 'floof,' asshole!"

When Cross stepped forward, hellbent on retrieving his coat, Error made a break for the nearest exit.

No, not the door, much to Nightmare's dismay.

The destroyer snarled before chucking a heavy, thick-paged book out the window on the other side of the dark lord and threw himself out the opening. His monochrome pursuer didn't hesitate to follow after him.

Nightmare's cyan eyelight drifted over the shards of glass they left behind and out the window, looking to where the two were chasing each other around the garden.

"Why did I ever think it would be a good idea to invite him to the group..." He grumbled.

"I don't know!" Ink cheerily chirped from behind his chair.

With a defeated huff, the Guardian of Negativity stood up and grabbed his mug. "I regret my decision more and more with each passing moment."

Chapter 206: Flirting, But Wrong

Summary:

Ah yes... very romantic.

Red, green, blue, and yellow Christmas lights twinkled overhead. They hung along the ceiling and walls with sparkling ropes of silver tinsel and other decorations.

Sci nervously watched as Red concluded his conversation with Geno on the other side of the room. His eyelights trailed after the latter, only moving away when the glitch disappeared into the kitchen. No doubt to help Papyrus prepare hot chocolate for everyone.

He turned his gaze to Classic, who was engrossed in conversation- completely distracted. Unaware of the happenings of the skeletons around him.

Now was his chance to strike.

The scientist took a big sip of the liquid bravery - i.e, the spiked punch - in his glass. Then, quelling the jittering in his steps, approached the edgy monster he'd been attempting to find the right time to talk to all evening.

"H-hey, Red!" He started, causing the other to turn toward him and raise a brow. Gulping, Sci continued, "Are you made of C7H4O- because I want to watch you burn."

The scientist awkwardly smiled and tried to wink, resulting in his eye socket twitching... in a less than sane-looking manner.

"Uhh..." The Underfell Sans stammered, sweat glistening atop his skull as his eyelights nervously darted toward the nearest exit. "O-okay?"

Chapter 207: Flirting, But Not Better

Summary:

It... worked? More or less.

Notes:

Anyone that has watched Gravity Falls will know exactly which scene this takes inspiration from.

Geno leaned back in one of the fluffy chairs resident in Reaper's living room and crossed his arms, eyelights fixed on the death god as he weaved pillows and blankets together for them to cuddle in.

They had been dating for roughly a few months. Or maybe longer. Time worked weirdly between AUs and endless pitch-black voids.

The bloody glitch still wasn't sure why he agreed to date the other but had to admit it was far better than sitting in the Save Screen alone with only Sans to talk to from time to time.

And Reaper certainly proved to be quite serious about their relationship, more so than anyone Geno had considered pursuing a romantic relationship with in his AU. Back when he was the only Sans of the AU and could interact with people rather than stalking them through his windows.

The god of death practically made it his life's mission to shower him in affection- whether it be via gifts, sneakily stolen kisses, hugs/cuddles, abrupt dancing (which Geno could begrudgingly admit was adorable), or amorous comments.

Perhaps it wouldn't be such a bad idea to flirt back for once? Give the raven-winged skeleton a sign Geno did not intend to lead him on or use him to escape his prison; Show the desire to form a deeper connection.

A bright red hue tinted his skull at the thought, and his weak sliver of soul fluttered anxiously.

A weaker monster might back down from such a harrowing - and deeply embarrassing - task. However, Geno was nothing if not determined.

Steeling his nerves, he pushed out of the chair, only briefly mourning its comfort, before making the dreadfully short walk to his boyfriend.

When Reaper noticed his approach, the death god turned to him and tipped his skull in question. Not unlike a bird.

Geno felt his cheeks grow hotter, no doubt burning bright with his embarrassment.

"I... uh-" He fumbled, then halted as an uncomfortable feeling began to grow in his chest.

His eye sockets widened as he promptly clenched his jaws shut; A horribly familiar pressure built in his ribcage, followed by an itch in his non-existent throat and a stinging of pain from the slash across his chest.

Dread washed over Geno's soul.

"Oh no" were the sole words he could think of as his boyfriend took him by the arms and pulled him close to stabilize his trembling legs.

"Dove? Are you alright?" Reaper asked, the worry on his face palpable.

The glitch wanted to answer and reassure the other.

Alas, no such option existed in the cards fate had dealt him.

Geno attempted to move back, but Reaper's feather-soft grip proved too strong for him to currently break away from. And, try as he might, he could not hold back the rising sensation in his chest for a second longer.

Lurching forward, the wounded Sans shook as violent wet coughs rattled his body.

Once the action subsided, his eyelights darted up to the raven-winged skeleton holding him.

The other stared at his cloak in awe.

A deep crimson liquid dripped down it, and small white glitches flickered on atop, sparkling like glitter.

"A treasure," Reaper whispered, enraptured by the flicking movement of his robe's new decoration.

Chapter 208: Seven Years

Summary:

Papyrus' greatest enemy.

Notes:

HAPPY 7TH ANNIVERSARY, UNDERTALE!

Afternoon light filtered through the windows behind the living room's old desaturated green couch and shone on the agitated dust motes dancing in the air. Lemon and ocean-esque scents permeated the space, filling it with a sense of cleanliness. A feeling only amplified via the pristine shining surfaces of the surrounding walls, furnishings, and trinkets.

Papyrus wiped the magical sweat from his brow and directed his attention to his most challenging adversary yet: a seemingly innocent item that had adorned the living room's floor for so long it very well may have become a part of the carpet.

"For too long, you have been a plague upon my household- sitting there, mocking me with your presence whenever I pass by!" The lanky skeleton proclaimed, holding the feather duster in his hand high before posing much like a knight ready to vanquish a mighty beast. "Prepare to meet your end, sock!"

Sans poked his skull out from behind the kitchen doorway, his brow raised in curiosity.

"Bro, what are you doing?"

"The task I've spent seven years building up the courage to complete: getting rid of your accursed sock!" Papyrus huffed, leveling the aforementioned clothing article with a nasty glare.

All the while, his brother's eyelights flicked to the kitchen.

"Hey, Blue." The ketchup-loving monster called, answered by a hum of inquiry. "You mind taking care of this sock?"

With a speed akin to teleportation, a silver/blue armor-clad skeleton appeared in the room and snatched up the offending item in a blue-gloved hand.

"Not at all, friend!" Blue replied, waving cheerfully to Papyrus. "Hello, other brother! Don't mind me; I'm just going to dispose of this outside."

He vanished in a spark of magic.

The crash of an explosion sounded in the distance, and the ground rumbled not long after. Strong enough to shake the various picture frames hanging along the walls.

Sans' lazy grin widened.

"That better, Paps?" He asked.

"Sans, you..." Papyrus stammered, staring in disbelief at the spot his foe once laid. Then directed his annoyed scowl toward his brother. "Ruined my epic conquest to impart cleanliness upon this house! Now how will people see how brave and cool I am?!"

Chapter 209: Octo-Dad

Summary:

How babies are made- but not really.

(Warning: This story contains violence, injury, and swearing.)

A stormy growl tore out Nightmare's throat as he found himself under fire from more shimmering golden arrows. Their brilliant yellow gleam radiated positivity (all the nasty emotions like hope, love, and care), causing the non-existent bowels of the dark lord's stomach to coil.

The riled tendrils on his back flailed outward and deflected the projectiles to the best of their ability.

Alas, they could only react so quickly, especially while being assailed by a near endless barrage of speeding arrows.

Eventually, one of the golden projectiles pierced a tendril's gooey exterior. The dark ooze hissed and bubbled around the arrow's edge as the positivity ate away at the corruption, drawing a pained hiss from Nightmare's clenched jaws.

Another tendril sharpened and cleaved the positivity-poisoned appendage clean off slightly below where the arrow's magic had taken effect. Thus, allowing the attack to fall away from his body and dissipate. Meanwhile, the severed negativity plopped uselessly on the ground, twitching and squirming before falling still.

Snarling, the Guardian of Negativity settled his cyan eyelight on his opponent.

Dream stood unwavering- even in the face of Nightmare's evident p̶a̶i̶n̶ anger. He drew his bowstring back, causing several arrows to appear along his weapon's frame. Each ready to fire.

Nightmare raised his tendrils defensively, tensing when Killer's back suddenly bumped against his own.

The target-souled skeleton wasn't fairing too well against his opponent.

Then again, not many could go toe-to-toe with Ink.

Not without severe injury, at least.

Killer had since abandoned his precious knife in favor of clutching his battered, cracked shoulder. To prevent it from getting jostled around too much and creating a worse injury, no doubt.

Nightmare's eyelight flicked between the other and his foe. Even through a passing glance, he could see deep red liquid welling around the splits in his follower's bone and slowly sliding down his arm.

Droplets of blood slipped off, splattering down onto the dark lord's freshly severed tendril.

Both sides of the battlefield halted as a loud crackle echoed across the landscape. Eyelights - yellow, cyan, multi-colored, and pitch-black - landed on the source with varying degrees of concern, intrigue, and shock.

Nightmare's negativity and Killer's blood fizzled and sparked. Then merged into a bubbling, deep - nigh black - purple mass; It wiggled and squirmed until it took the vague shape of a skeleton.

Said skeleton-shaped ooze soon sat up after a moment struggling to control their gelatinous limbs. Once situated, their chest spat out a swirling black and cyan glob that hovered mere inches away from the space.

They curiously eyed the shifting magic before looking up at Nightmare and Killer with wide purple eyelights. Their face twisted into a snarl not a second later. All the while, they hissed and promptly scuttled away.

"Shit!" Killer swore, pulling away from Nightmare. "What the fuck is that?!"

The dark lord's teeth curled in disgust as he regarded the fleeing creature the target-souled skeleton was referring to and grumbled, "Ugh... Something I'll need to pay Error to get rid of later."

Chapter 210: Anniversary

Summary:

Do not worry the octopus-

The inky tip of Nightmare's pen absently tapped atop his paperwork. His brows furrowed, stony expression morphing into a scowl as minutes passed while his cyan eyelight scrutinized the blank document beneath.

Though the dark lord loathed to admit it (perhaps even as much as he despised to acknowledge his past in Dreamtale- t̶h̶e̶ ̶s̶o̶f̶t̶ ̶w̶e̶a̶k̶ ̶N̶i̶g̶h̶t̶m̶a̶r̶e̶ ̶t̶h̶a̶t̶ ̶d̶i̶e̶d̶), he was on edge.

The entire day, he had sensed a restrained series of emotions from the residents of his castle. Flickers of impish glee, sparks of carefully concealed joy, faint impressions of congratulations- all of which his power struggled to sense a hint of. It was nigh maddening to the Guardian of Negativity, not knowing what was going through the minds of his subordinates.

Dust and Horror? He could tolerate being blind to the insanity plaguing their minds. For a short while.

But, Killer?

Killer's silence was unbearable. The murderous Sans tended to be blunt and open when it came to what he thought/felt, despite the issues with his soul; For him to suddenly be so closed off brought up some concerns.

Nightmare jolted, tendrils flailing and sharpening at their tips, when a loud knock sounded from the other side of his office door.

Perturbment settled in his soul.

His followers hid their emotions so well he hadn't even noticed one of them approach his general vicinity. It would seem they were using their teachings on how to more effectively avoid Dream to their fullest potential.

The negativity-laden skeleton always knew teaching them that would one day backfire on him.

He willed his tendrils to relax, giving himself a faux air of dignity and composure to cover up his underlying discomfort. Not a second too soon either, for the monster on the other side of his office door swung it open without any regard for permission to do so. It came as no surprise, seeing as the skeleton beyond the door's threshold was the most impatient amongst his crew: Killer, the target-souled menace of Nightmare's day-to-day life.

"Hey, boss!" The Sans greeted in a playful, sing-songy voice.

Joy trickled past the steely invisible wall he had set up between Nightmare and his emotions, eliciting a few displeased twitches from the dark lord's tendrils.

"What is it? Can't you see I'm busy?" The Guardian of Negativity growled, glaring down at his empty sheet.

Killer sauntered forward, making his way around the sofa seated in front of the desk, and planted his hands on the wooden surface before leaning forward. "Can't a skeleton visit his favorite dark lord unannounced?"

Nightmare glanced up at the other and raised a brow.

"What? No?" The target-souled skeleton gasped in mock offense.

"Killer."

"Fine, fine- You caught me," Killer slipped around the side of the desk and leaned over Nightmare's armrest, clicking his teeth against the dark lord's jaw. "Happy anniversary!"

The negativity-laden guardian blinked as the other drew away, tendrils twitching while a cyan hue spread across his cheeks.

He rolled his eyelight and huffed, "Sentimental fool."

"Come on; You know you're a sentimental fool too."

Nightmare sniffed, pointedly ignoring how a dark viscous tendril snaked around the Killer's waist and tugged him close. Nor acknowledging the way the murderous Sans snickered before leaning into the hold.

Chapter 211: Flirting, But Still Not Quite Right

Summary:

Direct and straight to the point.

Notes:

Alt summary: Ink learns that love hurts-

Error's feet dangled off the edge of a craggy, lifeless island sitting on the outer reaches of Outertale's Ruins, the dark-boned glitch's favorite place to gaze at the stars; Admire the colorful galaxies laden across the sky. Mainly due to the fact the spot wasn't typically frequented by the AU's residents. Thus, providing him some well-deserved peace after a successful job.

However, the celestial expanse failed to hold his attention today. Instead of being enamored by the vast cosmos stretching further than any monster's eyes could see, his mismatched eyelights gazed through his red-rimmed glasses at the puppet gently - and nigh fondly - held in his colorful phalanges.

The puppet was more complex than his usual yarn creations, bearing numerous tiny details and features: an intricate outfit consisting of various items (a beige scarf, a white long-sleeved shirt covered by a brown and gold coat, brown and green art gloves, dark brown overall-like pants, black toeless stockings, and a sash with a rainbow of faux hearts sewn onto it), a yellow star and a pink heart for eyelights instead of the usual white dots he'd sew, and a large splotch of black on the right cheek.

Out of all his puppets (aside from one that bore downy wings and a white cloak), it had the most effort and care put into its creation. Not that the destroyer would ever admit that if asked. The affairs of his heart were not for others to meddle with, despite their insistence to do so.

You should tell Ink you love him- It's annoying to watch you dance around the subject whenever he's around. A disembodied voice rang.

A scowl quickly washed over Error's skull before he clutched the Ink puppet close to his chest as if to hide it from the invisible beings plaguing his life and scoffed.

"Wh-what m-m-makes you think-nk there's even-even a s-sn-snowball's chance in-in h-hell of that-that h-happening?" He snarled.

The... power of love? Another voice replied uncertainly.

The glitch rolled his eyelights. "O-o-oh, sur-sure, the p-power of-of l-love- because that-that s-solves every-everything."

Don't be so grumpy, Error! You'll never know if you don't try! A voice that sounded suspiciously like Blue declared.

Meanwhile, a different voice reasoned, Geno did get Reaper, so not all hope is lost...

Error hummed, brow furrowing in consideration. "I s-s-suppose... And-and I a-am cuter than-than h-him, so m-my chances o-of succeeding-ing are f-f-far h-higher."

Alas, his other worries outweighed his confidence in his dashing good looks.

"B-but what-what if I m-mess it u-u-up? W-what do I d-d-do if-if Ink n-never talks to me-me a-again?" He huffed, glancing down at the puppet resting against his chest.

It'll be fine! You can't mess up more than Sci did- and he practically threatened Red! Poor guy still gets nervous whenever Sci has anything that produces fire. A voice reassured.

It was mildly effective. (If only because the voices had questionable to horrible insight at best.)

Though, Error couldn't deny he was undoubtedly the best in his "evolutionary" line; If any Sans were to succeed in romancing a datemate, it would be him. There was no way Ink wouldn't fall for his roguish charm and devilishly good looks.

As the dark-boned skeleton went to create a portal to a mirror to a̶d̶m̶i̶r̶e̶ confirm his own handsomeness, he felt a crackle of magic in the air accompanied by a wet splat.

The power of your love summoned him! One of his personal banshees screamed, followed by a cacophony of squeals.

Error grimaced at the intensity.

Yes! A cheer broke through the intense sound. Now is the perfect time to declare your undying love for him!

Begrudgingly, his eyelights flicked over to Ink; The other stared out into space on the other side of the island with a lost look in his gaze- an expression typical for the forgetful artist.

"Yeah, no- That's not happening." The destroyer grumbled and fidgeted with the skeleton's puppet counterpart.

Come on! Just go over there and give him a smooch, a voice whined.

No! Error needs to sweep him off his feet and-

GUYS! They haven't even held hands yet; don't rush things!

Do you think Reaper-

The voices descended into a war, incessantly bickering about how Error should go about "wooing" his romantic interest. All the while, a few suggested seeking partnership with several abominations the glitch would sooner murder than be caught near.

While the quarrel continued, he groaned and prayed the ache forming along his temple would remain at a tolerable level.

You're not going to let Geno win the romance games, are you? A smooth-toned invisible entity inquired.

Don't worry. It's okay to be scared of losing, another chimed.

The accusation drew a rumbling growl from Error's chest. "I-I am not-not s-s-scared, a-and I'm n-not losing-losing any-anything!"

Snarling, he swiftly stood and chucked his Ink puppet into a small portal to the Anti-Void (where it could safely rest on his bean bag chair) before marching to his target.

"H-h-hey, s-squid!" Error sneered.

The soulless skeleton turned toward him and blinked. Then a wide grin stretched across his jaws while his eyelight danced between different shapes and colors, eventually landing on an orange sun and a pink heart.

"Oh! Hello, Er-"

Ink's enthusiastic greeting got cut off as a black, yellow, and red fist slammed into his stomach.

"I-I fucking l-l-love you-you!" The destroyer roared, glitches flickering along his body while he pulled his hand away.

"Why," Ink groaned, clutching his non-existent stomach as he crumpled weakly onto the ground.

"H-h-ha! S-see, he's a-already falling-ing for-for me! I win-win!" Error crossed his arms and flashed a victorious - if not slightly manic - grin.

Chapter 212: Not The Children

Summary:

Nightmare is truly the evilest mastermind in the Multiverse.

(Warning: This story contains mild swearing, violence, dark/implications themes, etc. Please proceed with caution.)

Nightmare's tendrils swayed in the air, content. Red oozed down their pointed tips, and light grey speckles crawled beneath their outermost layer of corruption. Something that would need a thorough cleaning later, lest the dark lord become a harbinger for diseases spawned by the filthy remains.

He gently dusted his hands of the deceased monster that stood before him mere moments ago. Or as well as one could with the equivalent of silly putty for "skin." All the while, his cyan eyelight swept over the carnage he'd caused.

The pitiful universe - some unholy combination between Underswap and Haventale - was in ruins. Buildings smoked as dying embers clung to life in their charred rubble, and ashes and dust washed across the streets as the oxygen-rich winds they rode fueled the residual flames. People (whether monsters, humans, men, women, or children) languished in their new world: a place where only fear, anger, desperation, and sorrow trickled through the veil of desolation.

Interestingly, the AU's land itself seemed to change to match the dark tone. The once peaceful city colored with vibrant hues now appeared disaturated- dull and grey like the dust and ash burrowing into its crevices. As if all the joy and life got sucked out of the landscape alongside the fleeting vitality of the broken souls it used to house.

Everything, barring the low crackle of fire and the occasional rumble from a crumbling building, made not a sound. Not a snail squeaked, not a leaf whispered when it fell, and those who got spared during Nightmare's assault were wise enough to wallow in misery. Silently. No doubt fearing if they released a single plea or sob for a loved one, the negativity-laden skeleton would finish them off- slow and painfully. Or, in special cases, leave them alive to fester in their guilt of survival and failure, longing to join those they lost until they finish the job themselves.

Truly a glorious sight that never ceased to entertain.

The Guardian of Negativity felt his teeth curling into a cruel smirk at another job well done. And one less universe to pollute the Multiverse with its repulsive positivity- happiness, love, excitement. Everything vile that made humans and monsters alike feel warm and gooey.

Disgusting.

With a dignified sniff, Nightmare straightened his hoodie while his tendrils fell to rest behind him. Then set forth, treading the grey/red-coated street and preparing to hop to the next AU on his ̶s̶h̶i̶t̶ "your existence has wronged me" list. Despite his desire to revel in the fallen world's despair a little longer.

Alas, it could not be. A busy monster like himself needed to snuff the light out of AUs quickly and efficiently. After all, he had other places to be, groceries to pick up, outdoor time to supervise, bedtime stories to read-

An arrow whizzed through the air and pierced the ground in front of him. Thus, halting the dark lord's stride.

He looked down at the object that landed mere centimeters away from piercing his right foot. Its exterior glistened gold and exuded a warm yellow light that invigorated the area within its glow, bringing color back to the dreary land. A sign it carried positivity. Which could only be the indication of one thing- or, in this case, one skeleton.

A scowl settled on Nighmare's face, and his head slowly turned in the direction the projectile came from.

In the nearby alleyway, sandwiched between two dilapidated burnt structures, stood a yellow-hooded figure: Dream, his "dearest brother." Aka, the Guardian of Positivity and the aching thorn in the dark lord's side. The younger skeleton's eyelights burned yellow-orange, laden with righteous fury. All the while, he had his metaphorical muscles tensed for combat and his trusty weapon in hand. A finely crafted golden bow adorned by sliver spirals carved into the sturdy wood and three lush apple leaves sprouting out the top/bottom. The next arrow already sat where the one at Nightmare's feet once did, nocked, and the weapon's lustrous silver string was pulled back, ready to fire.

The Guardian of Negativity casually shifted his body to fully face the other, sizing him up. His piercing cyan eyelight looked Dream up and down.

The first thing of note: he had noticeably grown an inch taller since their last encounter, leaving him almost as tall as Nightmare in his corrupted form. I.e., an impressive 5'8". Therefore, further closing in on the corruption-laden skeleton's regal 6-foot height.

It seemed nigh ridiculous, looking back upon the days when the other used to barely come up to his chest. But, now, it was more and more apparent how much Dream matured over the past 500 years.

And his height only counted as one piece of evidence.

As for the other three: His magic increased- growing in strength/potency with his rising age, thriving following, and the positivity he graced the AUs. An attribute evident by the magic overflowing from his mana pools, adding a golden sheen to his bones. (Consequently, making Nightmare's own goals all the more harder to achieve. However, the dark guardian was no quitter. His "bother's" gained power stood as a mere setback in the grand scheme of things.)

Alongside his aforementioned climb into adulthood, Dream's features had begun sharpening; Their appearance becoming akin to that of the shining white knight depicted in those juvenile tales he'd insisted upon having read to him during the naiveté of their youth.

Moreover, with those changes came a new code of dress.

Gone were the noble finery he had worn in his youth. In their place, the lighter guardian donned green-tined leather armor accented by a bronze-esque metal around his more vital areas (joints, neck, chest, etc.), heavy moss-colored boots (without laces), and a yellow cloak fastened around his neck by an enchanted pendant. The golden trinket sparkled a rainbow hue, depicting an eclipse- the sun devouring the moon.

Charming, yes?

It seemed the younger skeleton still held a grudge over the "corruption" incident. But who was Nightmare to criticize fashion choices? Especially when he himself preferred a more intricate attire than the plain hoodie and sweat pants he'd been lounging around in before opting to get a few cesspools of positivity checked off his ever-growing list. (These days, he needed to spread negativity whenever an opportune chance arose. Even if that meant going out in a less than desirable state.)

Evil never rests (long), after all.

Or so they say.

But perhaps that phrase came about because good did not either- always aiding in the creation of more AU, spreading those disgusting gooey feelings to those "in need," being a general, stubborn annoyance.

The reminder nearly made the dark lord groan in exasperation.

Why did the "champion heroes" from stories have to be so determined? So set on getting their way? It was ridiculous. Foolish, even.

Alas, that was how "heroes" were. The same as his "brother."

However, that didn't mean Dream was anything to sneeze at (unlike the hideous, rainbow-clad artist that escaped someone's night terrors). He remained one of the most worthy opponents to brawl- when he decided to think with his head rather than his emotions.

The Guardian of Negativity withheld a sigh, fortifying himself in preparation for what would no doubt be another grueling battle. Something he would much rather delegate to underlings.

Underlings...

His eye sockets involuntarily widened a fraction when an ingenious idea sprung forth. He'd been looking at the situation the wrong way. In fact, this encounter may be a marvelous chance to try a new approach to thwarting the lighter guardian's do-gooding ways.

Nightmare's teeth twitched into a smirk as he offhandedly stated, "Ah, Dream, I was beginning to wonder when you were going to arrive."

"Quiet, Nightmare." The younger snapped, glowering. His golden arrow trained toward the center of the corruption-laden skeleton's chest, "I'm not here to play games."

It would seem someone was serious today. Nightmare's stunt in the last alternate universe must have struck a nerve with the armed guardian. Unsurprising, given how he left the residents screaming and begging for non-existent mercy while they wallowed in the blood/dust of their families.

"And neither am I." He responded, coolly crossing his arms behind his back. The tendrils that dwelled there sprawled out on each side of him, flexing while they aimlessly coiled in the air. Dream tensed, his gold eyelights watching their every movement. In faux curiosity, the dark lord then asked, "How long have we been doing this for- a hundred years, a thousand, a millennium? That is certainly an adequate amount of time for a skeleton to grow bored of this same old song and dance."

"Have you considered my offer then?" The Guardian of Positivity's eyelights met Nightmare's own, a glimmer of hope fluttering within the golden orbs.

A weakness.

His shoulders fell lax, and the bowstring he held firm slackened, causing the loaded projectile to tilt toward the ground. It never ceased to humor Nightmare how vulnerable the other became when faced with the hope he may return to his old, ineffective ways. It was fascinating. Almost as if Dream's grievances only applied to one version of Nightmare, the one he didn't like better. The one the lighter guardian desperately wished his "real brother" would claw his way out of- shed the coat of negativity corrupting him and return silently standing by his side.

The mere idea caused Nightmare's tendrils to twitch at the thought. Then, a series of light chuckles trickled passed his jaws almost immediately.

"Oh, heavens, no! It's almost as adorable as it is disgusting that you've held onto the notion that I might one day agree after all this time." He sneered.

The hope in Dream's eye sockets crumbled as soon as the words reached his ears, replaced by bitterness and sorrow before it became buried beneath a cold facade of indifference. Despite how he must be heartbroken inside.

The negativity-laden skeleton pushed on, feigning disinterest by inspecting the tips of his phalanges. Not unlike how one would examine their fingernails. "But, no. I merely intend to state I've grown tired of this same old game of cat and mouse, and I mean to put an end to it once and for all."

"What are you planning, Nightmare?" Dream demanded.

The corners of the dark lord's teeth quirked higher in a sinister fashion.

"If you must know, in my years traversing the Multiverse, I've run across many things: fantastical beasts like those in storybooks, sprawling forests bountiful in flora and fauna untouched by humanity, dark and mysterious places only books dare to spin tales about." He drawled, tendrils slowly swaying up and down as he spoke. "However, those pale in comparison to the greatest thing I've found: the vilest, most cruel creatures the AUs have to offer-"

The tension in his "brother" increased tenfold.

"Children." Nightmare concluded.

Dream flinched, physically taken aback. His brows shot up, and his face contorted in a manner of puzzlement the Guardian of Negativity could only recall seeing when the other faced a particularly complex task.

"What?" The younger asked incredulously.

The disbelief and confusion radiating off him were palpable.

Perfect.

The negativity-laden skeleton took advantage of the other's state to summon an ooze-framed portal. It split the air beside him, revealing the aforementioned creatures' most cherished sanctum: the living room.

Screams and cartoonish explosions filtered through the rift alongside the blue-white glow of a screen. Snack wrappers and crumbs littered his once pristine floor as well as his children- or, more accurately, the hellkites aptly named Killer, Horror, and Dust. All three skeleton children were completely engrossed in their show. The same cartoon the dark lord left on when he'd departed, trusting it would keep them sufficiently non-destructive and entertained like it always had. And it seemed the gamble once again paid off.

(Though, he couldn't help but feel slightly miffed when his eyelight caught sight of the stains now adorning the noble attire he had attempted to dress them in- much to their chagrin.)

"Boys!" Nightmare shouted, gaining the attention of the young trio.

Their little skulls turned in his direction, creepily in sync as usual, and their expressions conveyed misery and annoyance at the interruption of their brutally violent show.

Though, he felt that would soon change with his next words. "If you vanquish this foolhardy moonsail, I'll take you all out for ice cream afterward."

Each child perked, and their eyelights (or eye sockets, in one of the children's case) sparkled at the mention of the forbidden treat that they were so rarely granted.

(Dust's sugar highs were a force to be reckoned with that left Nightmare down two antique vases, several ancient tomes, and brought forth a massive headache as he tackled the futilely that was trying to contain the deranged child when he had too much energy for his own good. Killer and Horror posed completely different challenges entirely- truly they brought forth the greatest trials the dark lord had ever had the displeasure to face. Including but not limited to: attempting to eat the furniture, hanging on the curtains with knives, sliding down the stairs, stinging from light fixtures, and a plethora of other headache-inducing activities.)

Dream balked. "What- no! Children, don't listen to him; He's just trying to manipulate you into doing his dirty work, so he has an easier target to kill."

"Shut up, ugly!" Killer snarled, jabbing a sticky, crumb-coated phalange at the Guardian of Positivity. The vitriol in his tone caused the other to flinch back, startled.

The younger guardian removed the arrow from his bow to raise his arms in peace. "Now, child-"

"We're getting that ice cream even if we have to tear your arms off to get it!" The target-souled child hissed.

"Yeah, old man!" Dust growled, duel-colored eyelights flaring at the one who would dare deny him the sugary delight promised to them while his jagged-toothed companion rumbled a low "Mm-hm" in agreement.

"No!" Dream shrieked as the trio promptly pounced out the portal, descending upon him like a pack of wild dogs starved for an artificially flavored dairy product with high sugar content.

Nightmare watched on, reveling in the guardian's agony as he refused to fight back against the children's onslaught of attacks (bites, kicks, punches, etc.) All the while, he rubbed his hands together while his plot unfolded. "I knew those little plague rats would be useful. Eventually."

Chapter 213: Moon-Watcher

Summary:

Papyrus needs to start planning an intervention-

Stars glistened overhead, dancing along the colorful swirling paths set by their galaxies. Each shimmered a brilliant hue. Red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo, violet- there was no limit to the amaranthine rainbow stretching far beyond the horizon.

Waterfall's wishing cave couldn't compare to the beauty, the sheer wonder that was the Surface's night sky.

However, the stars were vastly outshone by the illustrious white orb staking claim to the nigh endless space.

Sans snarled at it as he glowered through the telescope perched near the edge of one of Mt. Ebott's numerous cliffs.

Chilled air rolled down the mountainside, rustling the trees and bringing with it the frosty scent of snow from the peak. Despite the thinness of his hoodie, the short skeleton remained unaffected. The fire of his hatred left him immune to the cold biting at his bones and only burned hotter while he continued to observe his foe.

"You sit there, mocking me- but mark my words, one day, I will have my revenge!" Sans growled under his breath. All the while, his left eye socket briefly crackled with blue and yellow magic.

"Brother, why are you muttering menacingly at the sky?" Papyrus asked, worriedly glancing up from his picnic blanket laden with puzzle books.

Sans flashed the other his signature grin.

"Heh, don't worry about it. It's nothing." He looked back toward the moon, snarling, "Nothing at all."

His normally cheery and eccentric brother frowned. "Sans, your obsession with the human's sky rock is becoming quite concerning..."

Chapter 214: Nightly Company

Summary:

Monsters under the bed.

Notes:

Been kind of tired recently, so it's not my best work.

The light sound of fabric brushing against stone whispered through the hall as Nightmare's slipper-covered feet shuffled against the frigid stone floor. Slowly but surely moving him in the direction of his salvation. All the while, his tendrils dragged along the ground behind him as if weighed down by an invisible force. (Though, in reality, the dark lord was simply too tired to lift them.)

A massive yawn split Nightmare's jaws, causing his bones to rattle from the sheer force of it.

It served as an accused reminder of his own foolishness and vanity; how the Guardian of Negativity stupidly believed he could handle forgoing sleep for days and days on end. An action most unwise. Alas, it needed to be done. Regardless of the ramifications it had on his health. His many battles with Dream and his ragtag team of do-gooders had eaten away at the time he normally stuck aside for completing his various daily tasks: making treaties, signing documents, working out trade routes with allied AUs, keeping the peace between his followers (lest they devolve into an unruly mess hellbent on pranking and stabbing each other), etc. Thus, leaving said duties to pile up until he had a mountain of work to complete.

In his youth (long before he had devoured the apples), Nightmare would have been thrilled by his current position; Utterly enthused by his hard-earned status as a "king." After all, kings held the love and respect of their people, were protected by their loyal knights, didn't have stones thrown at them if they dared to enter town, slept in real beds. They had all the things he'd so desperately craved.

What a fool he had been.

Being a king was so much more than the mass of luxuries it provided. There were nigh amaranthine lists of tasks to finish and a plethora of intricacies involved in ruling a "kingdom," such as: keeping his followers happy and fed, ensuring he had ample resources available (whether it be food, first-aid supplies, or other necessities), making peace with those that wished to bring harm to him (and by extension his followers)- the list went on and on. Near maddeningly so.

Kingship truly belonged under the definition of his namesake, as it sufficiently proved itself to be a nightmare.

If I'm suffering this much, then at least Dream is suffering too. If not even more due to that soulless idiot he befriended. The dark lord thought, coming to a sluggish halt outside a set of lavish oak double doors bearing silver handles. His bedroom doors.

He reached for one of the handles, missing it several times before grabbing a solid hold of it. Twisting it took far more effort than he would ever be willing to admit, but when he finally turned the metal knob and pushed open the attached door, the sight of his regal, immaculately clean sleeping quarters greeted him.

Nightmare stumbled inside, allowing the door to naturally fall shut behind him. Then his cyan eyelight zeroed in on the (currently) most enticing furnishing adorning the space.

His bed.

And what a magnificent and welcomed sight it was.

Every single thing in the room was dwarfed by the massive four-post structure, including the Guardian of Negativity himself. Even the cloud-esque mattress and the sea of pillows littered atop looked like they could easily encompass anything. Which happened to be the exact thing Nightmare was hoping for- a cloud of comfort that would take all the pressure off his weary bones and allow his body and mind to rest.

He forewent changing into his pajamas - true be told, he wasn't sure he had the strength to try - and eagerly climbed beneath his comforter, snuggling down into the fluffy mass while his tendrils sprawled and got cozy amongst the many pillows.

A soft sigh gently brushed passed his jaws. Meanwhile, his eye socket slipped closed.

Just as his mind slowly began to drift into the dream realm, he heard a faint shuffle followed by a nervous/excited emotion weaving through the air.

Begrudgingly, Nightmare opened his eye socket and glanced toward the right edge of his bed. "Boys..."

A series of giggles echoed from down below before being quickly shushed.

"No one's... here." A low, rumbly voice replied.

The negativity-laden skeleton groaned and pinched the bridge of his nasal cavity. "I know you four are down there; You are far from convincing nor nearly as quiet as you think. Now, get out from under my bed and return to your sleeping quarters."

Four skulls popped up from over the side of the bed.

"But what if we have bad dreams?" Dust whined. All the while, each of his fellow conspirators gave Nightmare their best puppy-dog eyes- aside from Killer, who merely sat smirking and pawing the blanket covering the bed.

The dark lord rolled his eyelight.

"Ugh. Fine." He wearily conceded, adding with a glare and a sharp hiss, "You better not make this a habit."

The Sanses ignored the statement, almost immediately piling into his bed and cuddling against him.

Huffing, Nightmare closed his eye socket and growled under his breath. "...Menaces."

Chapter 215: GO, FIRE MIST!

Summary:

It's his special attack!

(Warning: This story contains swearing.)

Notes:

Akuji belongs to xClaudyy (alternatively known as Claudy)

Dream sighed as he stared across the round wooden table, yellow eyelights fixed on the latest child he'd had to liberate from his brother's clutches: Akuji- or so the boy had introduced himself as when he threatened to smite the yellow-clad guardian.

A threat that still stood, given his perpetual death glare.

Dream grimaced under the intensity - the anger, the annoyance, and the discontent - held within the small skeleton's mismatched eye sockets. They were narrowed into nigh predatory slits; only the left bore an eyelight. A dull white - nearly grey - dot that seemed to do nothing more than examining for weaknesses. It was unsettling. But nowhere near as discomforting as the negative scion's right eye socket. The cavity looked akin to a dark abyss- an all-consuming void that threatened to devour any positivity it touched.

The Guardian of Positivity nervously leaned back in his chair and wrung his clasped hands beneath the table's edge, unsure how to defuse the situation. Most - if not all - of his brother's offspring seemed disposed to aggression. If they weren't biting, hissing, attempting to stab something/someone, or bringing terror to everyone in the general vicinity, then he would doubt the validity of their heritage.

Not to say his brother didn't have less violent children. This one, however-

He ran his eyelights up and down Akuji, studying his newest nephew. Much to the boy's dismay, if the deepening of the scowl etched on his skull was any indication.

Liquid negativity slithered down from the ornamental circlet atop his skull, moving at a molasses-esque speed toward his vacant eye socket. Yet never reaching its destination. It appeared stuck in a loop- forever inching downward to no avail, much like Nightmare's own corruption.

His outfit was a mix of regal and casual, somewhat reminiscent of what his father wore in his youth and what he wore now. An ivory dress shirt covered by a negativity-laden tailcoat - bearing the same rippling movement as the substance coating his crown - and white shorts with a black stripe running down each side adorned him. (The boy would be wearing shoes as well... If he hadn't lost them during his attempt to hit Dream with them.)

All things considered, the Guardian of Positivity didn't have his hope up for Akuji being one of the "nicer" ones. Especially not with the growing spite seeping out of his soul.

Or the many knives he had tried to impale/slash Dream with throughout his "rescue."

"Are you going to say something, or are you going to sit here and stare at me all fucking day?" His nephew snapped.

The yellow-clad skeleton flinched at the biting tone. He could feel the vitriol saturating the atmosphere around them, shrouding the corners of the room in creeping spindly shadows- like vines of darkness slowly encroaching on and snuffing out the room's light.

Dream gulped. "I know this situation is new and scary for you, but-"

Akuji slammed his fists on the table and snarled. "Ugh! Shut up. I don't need to hear that bullshit spiel from you; I've already had this damn talk with the idiot in blue and weirdo high on paint."

He grimaced upon hearing the unkind descriptions of his friends.

"Oh..." The guardian mumbled, hesitantly continuing, "Well, it would still be beneficial to discuss-"

His nephew reached inside his coat - no doubt aiming for an inner pocket - and withdrew a fist, which sailed forward as it opened. Thus, causing a cloud of red powder to splash in Dream's face.

"PAPRIKA!" He screamed, his eyes watering due to the stinging of spice in his eye sockets.

In his panic, the yellow-clad skeleton went to jump back- only succeeding in falling back in his chair and slamming into the ground.

Chapter 216: A Spud-ding Rivalry

Summary:

Red is tired of this.

(Warning: This story contains swearing.)

"What do you have that I don't?!" Reaper sobbed, staring imploringly at the russet potato in his hands as he further curled up on the tattered, dusty sofa cushions beneath him.

"Well, for one, it has some dignity." Red snidely grumbled, watching the death god from his kitchen doorway with a bottle of mustard in hand. "Now, when the hell are you going to move off my couch? It's been a fucking year, and I'd sure as hell love to be able to get my ass back on there. It's hard to have an excuse to be lazy when there's nowhere to laze."

"Geno!" Reaper howled pitifully. All the while, burying his face in the cushions.

Red grimaced. "Stars, you're such a sad sack of shit... We need to get you on a dating app."

Chapter 217: It Wasn't A Lie

Summary:

Cross gets a special birthday surprise.

Cross kept his hands firmly over his eye sockets as small hands gently guided him through his shared home and, eventually, brought him to a halt somewhere.

"Ready?" Dream asked, a note of giddy excitement seeping into his voice.

The monochrome-clad Sans nodded; His soul fluttered in anticipation while his mind raced with ideas of what his boyfriend could have gotten as a surprise for him.

A new sword? Some fancy chocolates? Perhaps a petrified fruitcake so he could finally get revenge on Epic?! The possibilities were nigh endless.

"Alright, you can open your eye sockets now."

On cue, Cross instantly pulled his hands away from his face and allowed light and color to flood his vision. Then examined his surroundings.

A breathless gasp brushed past his jaws.

It was better than he could have ever imagined.

Sitting on their kitchen table laid a large cake adorned by several lit candles. However, that was not the most notable feature of it. Rather than being the traditional circle, rectangle, or square, the cake borrowed the visage of humanity's greatest creation: the taco.

"It's beautiful," Cross murmured, awed by the masterpiece set before him.

"I'm glad you think so." Dream chimed. A sly twinkle gleamed in his eyelights as he added, "I hope you don't mind that it's chocolate flavored."

A faux sniffle escaped the swordsman. All the while, he rose a phalange and wiped an invisible tear from his eye socket.

"What did I ever do to deserve someone as wonderful as you?" He mused before leaning down and clicking his teeth against his boyfriend's cheek.

The yellow-clad guardian giggled, skull flushed by a bright yellow hue.

Notes:

Yes, Blue tried to steal the cake-

Chapter 218: Well, Sheet-

Summary:

Boo

"In this world, it's sheet or be sheeted!" Flowey screamed before his red spiny vines shot out from the earth and tossed a white bed sheet atop Frisk.

The human gave the blanket-clad flower a thumbs up.

Chapter 219: Soulless

Summary:

Blue is going to fix that-

Notes:

Happy Halloween!

Sadly, I've been too busy to write a proper Halloween story, but I still wanted to post something today.

Ink nervously shifted from side to side on his feet, hazarding a glance at one of his most cherished friends- whom he'd just confessed his... issue to.

Blue took the information in stride and slowly repeated, "You are soulless."

The artist looked down at his feet before wiggling the toes that peeked out of his stockings. "Yeah."

His friend gasped, appalled.

"That's horrible! No son of mine will be wandering around without protected feet." The Underswap Sans proclaimed, producing a beige pair of shoes from... somewhere.

"Since when am I your son?"

"Since you proved incapable of taking care of yourself." Blue undid the velcro straps holding the footwear shut, then shoved them in Ink's hands. "Now, put on these shoes. The next AU we are scheduled to check out today has a lot of small rocks, and I don't want you to accidentally cut your feet."

"Do I have to?" The sole-less skeleton whined.

"Put on your shoes right now, young man!"

"Sheesh! Fine!" Ink conceded before saying under his breath, "I liked it better when you were trapped in the Anti-Void with Error."

Blue's eyelights crackled with magic.

"What was that?" He asked in an icy, low voice.

"Nothing!" The beige-clad guardian quickly amended. "Just talking to myself about how much I love my new soles!"

Notes:

Ink is soulless and sole-less. I'm kinda disappointed in myself for not realizing that sooner.

Chapter 220: Loot

Summary:

Noot's got loot-

Nightmare stepped out of a dark viscous portal, entering the main common room of his and his followers' foreboding, stoney dwelling. He promptly moved to the side and ushered the trio through after him.

One by one, the three Sans exited the magical doorway. Heavy boxes and bags burdened their arms, the objects having forced their way there due to the murderous skeletons' lack of inventory space. (They foolishly failed to clear their inventories like the Guardian of Negativity had asked before they left for the mission.) Each carried an assortment of goods: non-perishables, medical supplies, and whatever else his followers had time to grab, whether that be a new pillow to adorn their bed with or a shiny trinket they couldn't resist grabbing.

Killer, Dust, and Horror instantly began sorting their respective hauls. No doubt eager to squirrel away the items they'd swiped for themselves if their messy, nigh nonexistent categorization and haphazard handling of the supplies were any indications. 

Despite their chaotic enthusiasm, the dark lord gave himself a mental pat on the back for a successful raid. With the number of resources they managed to "liberate" from that Underfell AU, their food pantries and medical cabinets would have ample materials for a long while. Assuming his followers didn't accrue needless injuries via dares or attempt to prepare another "special breakfast" for him. 

Nightmare experienced a hard enough time choking down the last meal they jointly cooked for him, and hell would sooner freeze over before he dared to brave their cooking again. 

A sharp "Ow!" followed by an indignant whine of "Nightmare!" alongside giggling echoed throughout the room, pulling him out of his musings.

The negativity-laden skeleton sighed. 

A leader's job truly never possessed a moment of respite. 

"Killer, put it down." He ordered. His cyan eyelight narrowed at the aforementioned Sans as he hovered next to Dust, smirking while brandishing an old pipe. A scowl marred the latter of the two as he nursed the bruise blooming on his skull. 

"No," The target-souled skeleton huffed and clutched the flaky red-orange metal cylinder against his chest. "It's my emotional support pipe!"

Nightmare resisted the urge to roll his eyelight. All the while, a gooey hand rose up to pinch the bridge of his nasal cavity. (It appeared to be a signature action whenever he was around his followers.) "I fail to see how a rusted, hollow cylinder of steel can offer you emotional aid."

"It brings me joy when I hit someone with it."

"Of course..." The Guardian of Negativity deadpanned. 

Chapter 221: Blanket Issue

Summary:

Sheet-

Ink enthusiastically trod the snow-laden terrain of the Underground's resident winter wonderland. A cheery grin stretched across his face, and his eyelights flashed various bright shapes and colors, signaling his excitement.

After all, what wasn't there to be excited about? New AUs were a rare joy to run across. Even more so when he had never stepped foot in them before or seen so much as a hint of them, leaving a plethora of possibilities: foreign nooks and crannies to explore, familiar yet unfamiliar monsters and humans to meet, a whole new story to witness, and all sorts of fun trash to sift through. The only thing that made the situation even better was the fact he had the time to explore it. All of it.

Usually, Error or Nightmare got in the way of such adventures. But, today, neither evildoer appeared to be hellbent on making their misery other peoples' problem and were tucked away in their quiet little corners of the Multiverse.

The artist's stride gained a skip to each step as he noted, Which means there is nothing to stop me from exploring this place down to the last trashcan... Unless Dream gets moody about me leaving him with the paperwork again and drags me back to the base.

Or the local Sans mistakes me for a demon and chases me out of the AU. But what are the odds of that happening for the 147th time?

He soon began humming - a tune slow and deep, ominous to anyone other than himself - and scanned the area.

The trees were the standard pine typical to the Snowdin region, pinus strobus or the northern white pine. (Dream could never say Ink didn't learn anything during his extensive lectures about trees.) Snow adorned their upper branches; A majority of the lower ones had lost their white coat due to the weight pulling them down and causing the icy blanket to fall. Thus, leaving a collection of snowpoffs beneath almost every tree.

Ink squinted passed the vast stretch of green, brown, and white. Between the trees, he spotted a distinct sloped structure sporting a red hue that acted like a shining beacon, cutting through the dense colors of the forest.

The soulless skeleton's grin spread even wider.

"Oh, the sentry station! I wonder what this universe's Sans is like!" He excitedly murmured to himself and giddily bound through the snow at a less-than-natural pace, stopping in front of the old wooden structure before the oldest snowflake fluttering in the air could hit the ground.

His expression fell upon examining it.

Much to his disappointment, the local Sans did not appear to be there. In the skeleton's stead sat a stained white sheet draped over the chair behind the sentry station and atop the lump sprawling over the counter.

Ink pouted. "Aw... I really wanted to meet him. Now, who's going to join my cult- I mean, team of completely normal monsters that want to help others!"

The blanket-covered lump adorning the sentry station partially rose. Following its movement, a tired voice rasped from beneath the sheet, "Bud, no matter how you try to rephrase that, it's not going to sound any better after you called it a cult. And even if it wasn't, I wouldn't be interested in joining. I have enough things to worry about- and I don't need more."

"GHOST!" The artist shrieked, spinning on his heels only to disappear into the woods in the blink of an eye. Or eye socket-

 

"Rude," Sans the "ghost" mumbled before laying his skull back down and closing his eye sockets.

Working for the Royal Guard paid him nowhere near enough to motivate him to go after the other.

Chapter 222: Happy Noot Year

Summary:

Nightmare is judging Killer's cooking skills. Harshly.

Holidays. Nightmare tried and failed many times to puzzle out people's fascination with the events- all the colors, the decorations, the loud noises, and odd traditions. Only within recent years had the negativity-laden skeleton begun to grasp the allure.

In his youth, holidays meant Dream would drag him off to the village (the last place the darker guardian wanted to be) and "encourage" him to be social/make friends. Now, they meant quiet (in the loosest sense of the word) days at home with his trio of rambunctious man-children or a short trip to a reserved space if their accursed puppy-dog eyes succeeded in swaying him into allowing them something a little more special for the occasion.

This holiday fell in the range of the latter.

Nightmare contently reclined upon the couch on the furthest side of the spacious hotel room. Killer, Dust, and Horror occupied the collection of seats surrounding the snack-covered coffee table in front of the blazing fireplace, making a mess - he would undoubtedly be the one to clean - and loudly swapping stories of their most recent pranks on the Star Sanses.

The corners of his teeth quirked up a fraction, causing a nigh imperceptible smile to grace his corruption-laden features as he glanced toward them with a whisp of fondness dancing in his eyelight. (Not that the Guardian of Negativity would ever admit his gaze contained that specific emotion to anyone.)

The open window placed before him allowed the dry chill of the moonlit night to flow through the privately rented space he had acquired for the occasion. It had taken a fair bit of gold, but the monsters that owned the hotel were more than happy to keep his and followers' presence a secret in exchange for further lining their pockets. And, though expensive, the security it provided them was well worth it. After all, celebrations were best when they had a guarantee of no interruptions from Dream and his do-gooding posse or any would-be heroes.

The day was about him relaxing, his boys having a good time, and nothing else.

Nightmare passively reached over to the small table beside his seat and removed a half-filled wine glass from its decorative coaster. His gooey hand drew the glass vessel to his teeth, allowing him to sip the crimson liquid inside. Despite what its color implied, the substance was no more than a rich-colored fruit juice. Even with ample cause for celebration, he dared not procure anything as frivolous as alcohol for the festivities, lest a certain trio of Sanses sneak a sip and become ten times more difficult to handle.

A shudder ran down his spine at the thought.

I fear the day they realize they could easily swipe drinks from Grillby's when we're on a supply raid.

Thankfully, they're more focused on stabbing people and being a general nuisance to everyone during those times.

Nightmare's cyan eyelight gazed beyond the snowflakes that fluttered past the window screen and watched vibrant explosive-sounding sparks begin to illuminate the sky with colorful lights and patterns. (It was merely by the luck of the gods he'd managed to deter Killer from visiting any fireworks store and creating a cacophony of color/noise of his own.)

As if cued by the loud noises/fleeting sky artistry, the murderous trio across the room halted their tales and commenced a joyous chant. "New year! New year! New year!"

"This year, I'm going to wipe the battlefield with Ink!" Dust suddenly declared, breaking off from the chant.

As he spoke, a menacing grin slowly crept across his jaws. The other no doubt held a grudge from one of their more recent battles when the soulless skeleton decided to make an enemy for life by "accidentally" covering Dust's clothes in glitter. And not just any glitter: bright pink glitter. The hoodie-clad murderer had to be barred from the castle for several days in order to prevent the spread of the nigh-inescapable substance and give him time to (mostly) rid himself of its presence.

Alas, it did little good- evident by the glimmering sparkles Nightmare periodically spotted around their living space.

"What about you, H?" Dust asked, looking over to the broken-skulled Sans seated beside him.

"Hmm..." Horror tapped his chin thoughtfully before plainly replying, "Cook more."

The duo turned expectantly toward their chaotic group's third member.

"My New Year's resolution is-" Killer started, a devious smirk resting on his skull.

"To learn how to cook." Nightmare calmly interrupted.

The target-souled skeleton scowled, offended. "What? You can't decide my New Year's resolution for me!" His expression melted into a childish pout while he crossed his arms over his chest indignantly. "Besides, I'm a fantastic cook; The pizza I made yesterday was great!"

The Guardian of Negativity leveled him with an unimpressed stare. "It was a frozen pizza you left on the counter for three hours before eating it raw. That hardly constitutes as 'cooking.'"

"I-" Killer attempted to defend himself, only to be cut off by a sharp disapproving glare from Horror.

"We start lessons... tomorrow."

The knife-loving Sans huffed and sunk further into his seat.

Chapter 223: Drama King

Summary:

Cue the music-

Killer withheld a tired groan as he trudged through the castle's dark, windy halls/stairways to Nightmare's office, which the corruption-laden skeleton had "conveniently" decided needed to be on one of the upper floors of the towering structure. (The hoodie-clad murderer would forever curse the other's anti-teleportation wards and his "more exercise is good for you" argument.)

Despite Killer's desire to do nothing more than return to his room for some well-earned rest, he - very, very unfortunately - was required to deliver a report regarding his latest reconnaissance mission in the Star Sanses' base. A task easily described as "stand beside Ink and Dream while wearing a fake mustache and discover their most recent plans to thwart the spread of negativity."

It was a deceptively simple-sounding job. So much so the teary-eyed skeleton had thought it would be easy.

Oh, how wrong he was-

The Star Sanses' meeting was absolute chaos. Mainly because of a certain airheaded artist hellbent on starting every conversation he could possibly think of. Conversations that included, but were not limited to: the concerning confession of trying to roast his child over a fire, the ethics of murder, a long tangent about watercolor paint, an attempt to convince Dream and Blue to let him take his pet jellyfish on a walk, and so, so much more.

He nearly praised Dream as a saint for getting the soulless skeleton to shut up for more than a minute. And the other only quieted down because the yellow-clad guardian shoved candy and a coloring book in his face.

I swear, how do any of those Sanses confidently follow Ink when he acts like a child on an endless sugar high?

Nightmare better give me some time off for putting up with that nonsense...

The hoodie-clad murderer made one final turn into a hallway sparsely adorned by various furnishings (ancient tapestries and decorative tables Nightmare had skipped removing after he obtained ownership of the castle), soon walking to the large - possibly Asgore-sized - set of doors perfectly centered in the middle of the corridor. As he reached for a handle, passive nigh gloomy classical music quietly began to filter through from the other side.

Killer would have rolled his eyelights if they were visible.

Giving the door handle a turn, he pushed into Nightmare's office- a dreary room stuffed to the brim with papers, books, and writing instruments; Among the filled bookshelves sat a dark oak desk and spinning office chair. The front of the latter faced away from the entrance.

With a raised brow, the teary-eyed skeleton approached the desk. "Nightmare? I swear if you aren't in here and made me walk up all those stairs for nothing-"

His jaws clicked shut when the chair slowly began to turn. All the while, the violins within the music swelled, darkening the tone of the song. He silently watched as Nightmare spun in the seat, halting the furnishing's movement once he fully faced Killer.

The Guardian of Negativity's posture could only be described as cartoonishly villainous: hunched forward in his seat, arms propped against the chair's, hands laced in front of his chest, and eye socket narrowed.

Killer felt his soul twitch in amusement.

"I see you have arrived back unscathed." The corruption-ladden skeleton commented, looking him up and down for any signs of injury.

Killer snorted. "Has anyone ever told you you're dramatic?"

The dark lord's face soured before he scoffed, "I am not dramatic."

A smirk slowly crept across the hoodie-clad murderer's face. "Between the creepy music and generically evil posture you got going on, you're not convincing anyone of that anytime soon."

"Just give me your report and leave." Nightmare hissed.

 

Chapter 224: Beach Day

Summary:

The darkness is really getting to me-

Brilliant rays of sunlight glistened along the ocean waters and warmed the sand across the beach.

Dream hummed- eye sockets shut and arms crossed beneath his skull, acting as a pillow; All the while, he happily basked in the warmth from atop the beach blanket he'd laid several hours ago. The yellow-clad guardian could faintly make out the sounds of waves lapping at the beach and his friends (Blue and Ink) splashing around on the shoreline in the distance.

He couldn't be sure how long he'd been lounging in the sun when a nervous presence tentatively approached before stopping in front of him.

The Guardian of Positivity lazily opened his eye sockets only to be met with the worried expression of his blue-clad companion.

A frown marred Dream's face as he pushed himself into a sitting position. "Blue? Is something wrong? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. But, uh..." The Underswap Sans awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck, looking down at the sand. "H-have you seen Ink? I kind of lost track of him..."

Dream froze, dread crawling up his spine. "Please tell me you're not serious..."

Blue shifted uncomfortably. The guilt lacing his emotions was the only confirmation the yellow-clad skeleton needed.

A tired sigh escaped him. "Okay, where did you see him last-"

"QUIT HIDING THINGS FROM ME!"

The duo started at the scream. Blue and yellow eyelights - respectively - whipped toward the direction the familiar voice came from.

Sat atop the sand a distance away laid Ink. He had a bright red crab clutched between his hands, dangerously close to his face but just far enough away that the creature couldn't pinch him.

"TELL ME YOUR SECRETS!" The soulless artist demanded, shaking the crustacean captured in his grasp.

"Ink, no!" Dream shouted, pushing off the blanket and running to the Guardian of AUs. "What have I told you about harassing wildlife!"

Notes:

*loads gun*

Ink's gotten a little too incomprehensible lately- Must be time for Ink 2

Chapter 225: Butterflies

Summary:

I guess that's one way to put it-

Ink sat, hunched over his desk, thinking- and not working on the mountain of paperwork that needed to be completed by the end of the day.

Not that the chance of it getting finished was high to begin with.

Frowning, Dream placed a cup of green tea down in front of the artist. Something he'd been hoping would aid the forgetful Sans into working better. "Ink... You've had on your thinking face for quite a while now. I'm growing concerned."

Ink blinked and looked toward him with (faux) curiosity, mismatched eyelights flashing various symbols/colors. "Why do people say, 'Butterflies dance in my stomach when you're around?' I know it's supposed to be one of those emotional things, but why can't the eldritch demons of my past sins be dancing in my stomach because they're just as happy to see you alive as I am?"

"I..." The Guardian of Positivity sighed, pinching the bridge of his nasal cavity. "Why do you think of these things instead of working?"

Chapter 226: Avian Antics

Summary:

Just bird things

Reaper stood in front of the kitchen counter, staring intensely at his empty coffee mug. Though one would think he was attempting to will it to refill itself, Geno knew his husband had nowhere near the required amount of wakefulness to piece together such a thought.

Not this early in the morning, at least.

"Don't." The bloody glitch hissed warningly, looking up from the pancakes he'd been preparing.

Alas, his word went ignored. Soon a skeletal hand slowly inched the mug closer and closer to the edge of the counter until it finally tipped over the rim, crashing onto the ground; The shards scattered across the kitchen tile.

Geno huffed. "I swear, sometimes I can't decide if you're more like a cat or a bird..."

In an act of revenge for yet another lost mug (likely the fifth to be broken that week), he took a small pancake and tossed it at Reaper's face. The dessert-esque item softly flopped atop his skull.

The raven-winged death god startled, feathers fluffing, as he drowsily recognized the breakfast food as a seemingly devastating attack. It didn't take more than a second before the deathly skeleton fled the room with a symphony of crashes following in his wake.

 

"After he gets more coffee, he can clean that up."

Chapter 227: The Gang

Summary:

They will strike fear into the hearts of many.

When a hush fell over the castle after hours of the other residents being their usual selves, Nightmare knew there was trouble. And, like always, it fell upon him to make sure they weren't doing anything extensively foolish.

Heaving a deep sigh, the negativity-laden skeleton pried himself away from his desk/paperwork and set out to search for his rambunctious followers. Thankfully, the area he needed to check got narrowed down significantly once he became in earshot of their stifled laughter. Nightmare followed the sound until he eventually reached Cross' bedroom.

The monochrome warrior typically attempted to stay out of his fellow teammates' shenanigans. Being new to the group, he was still quite shy and uncertain when it came to his place in the gang and social interactions.

If events like these helped the abandoned Sans grow more comfortable in his new home, Nightmare supposed he could deal with it.

Hopefully, with minimal headaches.

The dark lord sighed and knocked on the door. Any noise happening beyond vanished, leaving an eerie silence.

"Cross, may I come in?" He asked, putting on his best "I'm not mad, just tired" face.

The door was slow to open, and when it finally did, it was only cracked enough for Cross to peek out of his room.

The swordsman nervously glanced away from him, gripping the door. "Good morning, Nightmare. I... Uh..."

The Guardian of Negativity resisted the urge to sigh. Despite his best efforts, it appeared the newest member of his team still remained extremely wary of his presence.

"You need not worry, Cross. You aren't in trouble. I merely require to check on the three that might be." Nightmare amended.

Cross stared at him, searching for something, before hesitantly shuffling to the side and fully opening the door.

"Betrayal!" Killer dramatically gasped while Horror and Dust pouted.

The trio were seated on the floor alongside four small fuzzy, noodle-like creatures with beady little eyes; Each animal seemed to be adorned by a tiny replica of one of their outfits. They were no doubt Error's handy work.

He would need to apologize to the glitch later.

The negativity-laden skeleton walked in and pinched the bridge of his nasal cavity, gesturing at the scene with his free hand. "What is this supposed to be?"

"Your new gang!" Killer chimed, regaining his excitement. The hoodie-clad murderer promptly grabbed his tiny doppelgänger to show it off.

A light frown marred Nightmare's gooey skull. "Return them to the forest at once. Weasels are not indoor creatures, and I won't have them ruining the castle's expensive furniture."

"But they like it here!" Dust whined as the weasel in his hands hissed, trying to wiggle free while nibbling at his phalanges.

The dark lord leveled the other with an unamused expression.

"Clearly, you both have different opinions on that matter. Put them back wherever you got them before lunchtime." He continued with a tone of finality, "And make a reminder on your calendars for your new rabies shot appointments."

Killer, Dust, and Horror whined in complaint while Cross gave a silent nod.

"You wouldn't need it if you didn't insist upon playing with the wildlife." Nightmare chided. "Perhaps this event will be enough of a lesson to keep you from bringing wild animals out of the woods."

 

It wasn't. Evident by the fact Nightmare found several deer grazing on the books in his office the very next day.

Chapter 228: Hallowed Garb

Summary:

Dress for the job you want-

Notes:

Happy Halloween!

The sun perched low in the sky when Killer placed on the final pieces of his totally awesome and not cliché vampire costume. Between his own natural eeriness and the outfit's ominous, not at all cheesy appearance, there was little doubt he'd be the scariest monster out that night- aside from Nightmare or Horror (and possibly Ink, if the artist managed to weasel his way into the Halloween festivities).

Despite nighttime being the optimal setting for added spookiness, Killer had to admit he would rather start trick-or-treating early to get more candy than spend most of the night trying to look more scary. Nightmare rarely allowed him and his teammates any opportunities to obtain sweets, after all. He needed to make every hour of the festivities count, especially if he wanted enough spare candy to stash away for future use- whether it be for eating after a rough mission or bribing Horror to do his chores for him.

Grinning, Killer spun on his heels to face the rest of the living room and, by extension, his fellow trick-or-treaters.

Everyone else appeared nearly ready to depart for their barely Nightmare-approved candy mission. Dust and Horror seemed to have decided to wear matching costumes- zombie-themed if their torn and bloodied/dusty outfits were any indication. The former was helping the broken-skulled skeleton with a few last-minute additions of bloody face paint. Not that Horror required it. As one would expect (purely by name if not for the other's mangled appearance), the Sans looked like a creature straight out of a monster movie: dripping in red, horrifying in every sense of the word, and downright ready to murder someone.

Killer's confidence withered when he realized the extent of his competition. I'm going to lose so much candy to that bastard. How are people not going to drop their candy bags and run as soon as they spot him?

Even Cross' costume appeared more well-thought-out than his own. The swordsman donned an extremely convincing ancient knight armor. Or maybe it was an old Royal Guard uniform left behind by the castle's previous inhabitants.

The target-souled skeleton raised a brow at the thought.

He had to find where Cross' sense of adventure went because he'd clearly lost it somewhere. What was the point in changing out of his Royal Guard uniform if the monochrome warrior was just going to put on a different one? Picking a unique outfit they wouldn't normally wear during any other time of the year was half the fun. The second half being the copious amount of sugary treats Nightmare begrudgingly promised to let them keep (so long as they didn't break any of the dark lord's rules while they were out, brushed their teeth, and ate their vegetables at dinner).

"So, who's ready to collect so much candy we get sick?" Killer chimed. His question was met with a series of nods- except from Cross, who looked slightly uncertain about his phrasing.

A deep rumble sounded from behind him. "While I will allow you to obtain these sweets you so greatly desire, I beseech you to refrain from collecting illnesses. Stars know you four have enough problems already."

"Nightmare!" The murderous Sans turned toward the other, excited. His cheery expression dropped as he examined the casually-clad gooey skeleton and whined, "All of us are supposed to be in our Halloween costumes by now! We're losing daylight- if we take too long, everyone else will get all the good candy!"

The dark lord rolled his cyan eyelight. "We are perfectly on schedule, Killer. A few minutes will not ruin your chances to participate in these frivolous holiday activities."

"But you agreed to dress up with us this year!"

"I am nothing if not a man of my word. This-" A tendril flicked the small, light purple cloak discreetly tied behind him, lost in the mass of tendrils swaying on his back. "-is my Halloween costume."

"All you did is put on a cape- not even one that fits you! You could have at least worn fake fangs, too, then we would have almost matching costumes." Killer huffed and crossed his arms, scrutinizing the Guardian of Negativity's outfit with narrowed eye sockets. "What is your costume even supposed to be? Discount wizard? Witch with a budget?"

"Crippling childhood trauma." Nightmare bluntly replied, walking over to the front doors. "Now, let's get this sorry affair over with before I begin regretting allowing you four holidays."

Chapter 229: Holiday Ritual

Summary:

Nightmare, that's not quite the right holiday spirit-

(Warning: This story contains minor swearing and wishes to do violence.)

Nightmare had decided to refrain from questioning his followers' antics long ago, as it often spawned more confusion than any reasonable conclusions. However, on certain occasions, the dark lord couldn't help but ponder the reasoning for their actions.

He stood at the entrance of the foyer and slowly sipped his tea, watching as a quartet of skeletons struggled to drag the desecrated remains of what appeared to be a butchered pine tree through the castle doors. If not for their giddy - perhaps somewhat frustrated - expressions and the fact the firewood stockpile had yet to dwindle, the Guardian of Negativity wouldn't have batted an eye socket at the display.

His tendrils swayed softly behind him, twitching at the growing irritation spreading amongst the group.

It seemed the tree - if it could even be called that at this point - was stuck.

"Must you bring those mutilated remains into the castle? Is it truly that crucial?" Nightmare asked, drawing the attention of the supposed leader of the futile crusade.

"It's a Christmas tree!" Killer huffed, dropping the sorry excuse for a branch he'd been tugging to gesture exasperatedly at the pine, "We can't have a proper celebration without one!"

"What an odd, barbaric practice..." The negativity-laden skeleton murmured.

As the four continued their sorrowful display, he came to a decision before stepping forward, wrapping his tendrils around the limbs poking through the doorway, and hauling the tree completely inside- alongside several startled skeletons still clinging to the branches, who quickly abandoned their posts with wide eye sockets.

"Very well, you may have it." The dark lord announced. "However, you are to keep it out of the good living room- and don't forget to dispose of it once its purpose has been fulfilled, lest the castle be invaded by pests."

He pondered for a second, adding, "We shall stick some disembodied heads outside as well. There's no point in going halfway if you'd like to celebrate this tradition."

Cross grimaced, an uncertain noise rising from his chest, "Uh... That's not a part of Christmas."

"Who cares! I have an excuse to go lob some heads off humans- Those prissy bastards on the Surface have had it well for too long." Killer exclaimed, pulling out his knives.

The teary-eyed skeleton tilted his skull toward his equally murderous counterparts, "Horror, Dust- you want a slice of this action?"

The rise of the duo's own weapons seemed to be all the confirmation Killer needed.

"Yes! We'll be back later!" He cheered, rushing off with Horror and Dust trailing after him.

"Guys, please don't!" Cross cried. The monochrome-clad Sans quickly exited the front doors with a panic-stricken expression, "Do you have any idea how gross that's all going to be when we need to clean it up later?!"

 

Nightmare shook his skull at their antics.

Holidays have certainly changed since I was a child, he mused.

Chapter 230: Weather Report

Summary:

No one wants that in the weather-

Many could argue what the best part of winter was- hot chocolate, warm nights spent sitting by the fire, the holiday spirit in the air, days off from school/work, and a plethora of other things. For Palette, the best part of winter was undoubtedly snow.

Sporting a cheery grin (which his mother always gratefully commented looked nothing like his father's), the artist wrapped a multicolored scarf around his neck and secured it in case the winter winds picked up. Goth stood patiently beside the front doorway as he added additional snow protection (a heavy, pale blue jacket and fuzzy boots). He'd offer the minor death god an extra coat, but the other had already thoroughly prepared for the weather.

A fluffy white coat covered the bulk of the small glitch's frame, making him as puffy as a snowpoff. (Palette passively wondered if he was as cuddly as one too.) Around his neck laid a large red scarf, likely belonging to Geno, that swathed the lower half of his skull- so much so that it was hard to tell what expression Goth wore.

Palette liked to think he was smiling. After all, they had an amazing day planned.

"Ready to go to the park?" Goth asked after he finished zipping up his boots.

"Yea-" The artist merrily started, only to amend, "Oh! Hold on, I need to consult the oracle before we go!"

"The oracle?" His friend's head tilted to the side. Well, as much as it possibly could with a giant scarf holding it in place.

Palette nodded. "Yup! Off to the oracle, we go!"

He dashed - though "waddled" would be more accurate, given all his winter apparel - into the living room and stopped at the TV while Goth followed slowly behind.

It took some fumbling to grab the TV remote, but once Palette had it within his grasp, he said, "Oh, great oracle, will the skies burn red with fire as flames rain down from the ashen clouds above and set a light the tormented souls of this plane?"

With the push of a button (or several since he couldn't remember which one turned on the TV), the dark screen flickered to life. It displayed the local weather channel- hosted by none other than Mettaton, of course.

"Snow clouds will be rolling in this evening, bringing cool winds and, what we currently expect to be, several feet of snowfall-"

"Aw..." Palette huffed, turning the device back off.

Goth raised a non-existent brow, questioning, "You wanted the fire thing to happen?"

"Nope, it's just what my dad asks the oracle every morning- and then he sighs like he's really disappointed when the oracle never predicts it!"

"Are... Are you sure you don't want to move into my house? The manor has plenty of rooms, and my mom wouldn't mind..."

Chapter 231: Horrible

Summary:

Oops, all Horrors-

Life held many branching paths and doorways to new opportunities. Nightmare often found himself wondering why he'd chosen this one: The role of the shadow-laden king estranged from his blood family and hellbent on killing the kindness strewn throughout the worlds, all whilst he became... the unwitting father of four.

His cyan eyelight pierced beyond the living room's doorway, eye socket narrowing. Sitting along the couch, surrounded by a plethora of snack wrappers, were three out of four skeletons he'd become responsible for: Killer, Dust, and Cross. Each engulfed by one of Horror's hoodies. Something that the dark lord very much doubted they received permission to borrow since Horror was away, taking a few days to visit his AU.

Nightmare sighed. "Boys, return Horror's clothes to his closet at once."

"But they're our clothes," The rowdiest chaos-bringer of the group argued, ignoring how his oozing eye sockets brushed against the fabric.

"Killer," The Guardian of Negativity started, warningly. "I am not playing this game today- I expect you out of that hoodie, with it washed and neatly folded, before the hour has ended."

The teary-eyed Sans huffed, throwing his hands in the air. "Why?! You said you wanted more Horrors in the castle!"

Nightmare groaned, pinching the bridge of his nasal cavity. It twinged with a slight soreness- not too unsurprising, given the action had slowly become more and more commonplace with each passing day.

"This is not what I meant." He crossed his arms behind his back, tendrils flicking in annoyance, and began pacing. "The spiderwebs need more spiders; We need to find where Error wandered off to and return him to the front door so the mailman stops leaving letters from Dream; The trees outside need more broken branches and fewer leaves; And there aren't enough feral cats to guard the main gate!"

"No one is going to me seriously with this disaster of a castle!" The negativity-laden guardian hissed, glancing toward the skeletons who'd shrunken back into the couch.

Nightmare paused and straightened his posture before pointing a phalange in the direction of the stairway. "Now, clean yourselves up, get dressed, and meet me at the front doors. We have a mission today. If you do well, I'll consider stopping for ice cream on the way home."

The three scrambled into action at the mention of the cool, sugary treat.

As they disappeared up the stairs, Nightmare wondered to himself, What has my life become...

Chapter 232: Eight Years

Summary:

Thou shall not slight a Papyrus without consequences.

Notes:

A belated story for the 8th year anniversary of Undertale-

Stretch and his brother casually trod the snow-laden path, heading from Waterfall toward their hometown, Snowdin: A quiet, nigh abandoned townlet hidden within the chilled depths of Mt. Ebott. The lankier of the two was less enthused about the purpose of their journey. I.e., something that he had been putting off for a long time and had, frankly, been hoping his azure-clad sibling forgot about.

Alas, the fates were cruel.

"Brother," Blue started, pulling the tall skeleton out of his mourning. (A lost day of laziness needed to be grieved, after all.) He didn't miss the slightly judgmental side-eye angled his way as the other continued, "It has been several years since we moved to the Surface. How have you not cleared out the old basement during that time?"

The orange-hoodied Papyrus nervously rubbed the back of his neck. "I've just been... you know, busy?"

"Busy doing nothing."

"And other things!" At the proclamation, the vertically challenged skeleton shot him a skeptical expression- one that very much said, as his older brother, Blue was not buying the excuse. With a sigh, Stretch conceded, "Okay, maybe I haven't been doing much..."

"Perfect!" His brother proclaimed, a sly grin pulling at his jaws. "Then you should have plenty of room in your schedule for a little cleaning. Perhaps I can even give you a few tips you can apply to your bedroom."

"Do I have to?" The tall skeleton groused, dragging his feet through the snow as they drew further into town. And, by extension, closer to their old house.

"If we want to get our previous home renovated, then yes, cleaning is a must." Blue's nasal cavity wrinkled in disgust whilst he added, "I don't want any workers stumbling across any moldy experiments you left down there. It would be a health hazard!"

Stretch shoved his hands into his hoodie's pockets, grumbling, "I'm not the one that had an eldritch horror in my closet-"

"What was that?" His brother's head slowly turned toward him, a dangerous glint in his eye sockets.

He flinched away. "I... Uh- You just want to show off your cleaning skills, don't you!"

The azure-clad Sans hummed and turned his attention back to their path.

"Well, I do own the best cleaning service in New Monster Town for a reason-" Blue's skull shifted slightly to the right before he paused his steady gait. "Oh, here we are!"

"Great..." Stretch sighed, begrudgingly turning to face the structure.

Their house remained as it had when they left: windows darkened, frame no longer adorned by colorful Gyftmas decorations, and devoid of warm smoke pouring out the chimney. The extra snow piled along the roof was the only thing that could be considered different/new.

"Are you prepared for a wonderous adventure of cleanliness?" As those words left his brother's jaws, Stretch realized his last-last chance to escape had slipped by him. Not that he could have slipped away to Muffet's even if he wanted to.

He shot Blue an unimpressed look. "That's what we're calling this?"

The other huffed, drawing a set of jiggling keys out of his inventory. "You know, you could pretend to be excited to spend time with me at the very minimum."

"I think we both know I'm not excited about anything when cleaning is involved."

"Well, if you spend more time cleaning and less time complaining, then you can start doing something you'd actually be excited about." The azure-clad Sans remarked before walking around the left side of the house and flipping through the keys.

Stretch, unfortunately, had little choice but to follow closely behind him. (Especially if he didn't want to lose his milkshake privileges.)

They approached the cold wooden door leading down to the basement rather quickly. Blue wasted no time thrusting the key into the door handle and throwing it open. It flew to the side with a grating squeak, revealing a darkened set of stairs leading downward.

His brother stepped to the side, politely motioning to the gaping doorway. "After you, my dear brother."

"Really, bro..." When the other continued to stare expectantly, Stretch slumped and gave a heaving sigh, "Fine- If there's a sentient pizza slice or whatever, I'll let it get me first."

He slowly descended the stairs, applying caution with each step. Chiefly, out of worry that there could actually be sentient mold out to get him; The possibility wouldn't be a stretch given some of the more questionable things he'd likely left behind. Thankfully, his slippered feet ran into nothing twitching or fuzzy when he halted at the bottom step.

The pitch blackness left the things hidden beyond it a mystery. However, the lack of skittering was promising.

His brother waited several moments - no doubt holding off in case the Papyrus began wailing in agony - before carefully making his way down each step and joining Stretch at the bottom.

"I admit, you must have left it cleaner than I expected if we haven't gotten attacked by now." Blue mused.

Stretch shrugged. A gesture hardly noticeable in the meager light dripping in from the open door above, yet the movement seemed enough to catch his brother's attention.

The azure-clad Sans' eyelights glistened in the dark. "I assume our mighty cleaning conquest may still require a few heavy thwacks with a broom?"

"Eh, we shouldn't discount the possibility just yet. As soon as the lights turn on, everything will probably go running- and, hopefully, not climb all over us to get outside."

Blue sighed. "We may as well get this over with then."

Stretch briefly startled when the lights overhead suddenly flicked on. He would have been more upset at the lack of warning if he wasn't so baffled. The sight that greeted them was not what either expected- but, for a particular orange-hoodied skeleton, it certainly wasn't an unwelcomed sight. Confusing? Yes. Unwelcomed? Never.

"Uh..." Stretch dumbly voiced, taking in the view.

Everything - from the space between the floor tiles to the folders on the desk - held an aura of cleanliness he never thought possible. They shined, not adorned by a speck of dust. Or even a grain of dirt. The old sheets covering long-forgotten projects looked as good as new, not holding the wear or tatter they had when he last saw them.

Blue glanced around, equally dumbfounded.

"Immaculately mopped floors? Organized shelves? A perfectly dusted ceiling?" His voice grew more and more frantic with each question. "How could this be?!"

Both skeletons jolted when a triumphant "Nyeh-hehehe!" sounded from one of the sheets. The spotless white fabric dropped to the tile, revealing an armored Papyrus equipped with cleaning supplies.

Stretch raised a brow at the stranger- himself, but worryingly cleaner?

Meanwhile, his brother mustered a shocked, "You!"

"Yes! It is I, the Great Papyrus!" The monster declared, striking an epic anime-esque pose. "For one whole year, I plotted my revenge to steal from you the honor you have taken from me- and now, my revenge has come to fruition!"

The armor-clad stranger spread his arms out wide, gesturing to the surrounding room. All while the sparkly clean walls glittered behind him. "The glory of completing this epic conquest belongs to me, the Great Papyrus! All shall tremble before my superior cleaning prowess! Nyeh-hehehe!"

Blue's knees clacked against the floor as he dropped in defeat. "He even color-coded the boxes..."

"Sorry, bro." Stretch leaned down, giving his brother a gentle pat on the shoulder. "It seems he swept the competition."

His brother instantly glared up at him. "Could you not kick me while I'm down-"

Chapter 233: A Fine Fiendship

Summary:

They're awkward bois.

Notes:

A small gift for a friend.

Also, the story has minor swearing- How fun!

Raiding AUs could go one of two ways: extremely successful or horrifically disastrous. Nightmare liked to believe their current venture belonged in the former category.

Smoldering ashes laid where buildings once stood, and sparking embers from residual magic glowed amongst the hues of brown and grey. Monsters screamed horrid cries of terror even in the distance. A beautiful display of negativity, if the dark lord had to say so. And that wasn't the end of their accomplishments. Not only had his gang succeeded in driving away the Star Sanses, but they'd managed to collect (mostly undamaged) supplies along the way and kept injuries to a minimum. An impressive feat for the rowdy, impulsive skeletons he'd taken in, especially given their track record.

After such a well-done job, the four certainly earned a well-deserved break. (As long as that break did not involve breaking things and making puns about it.)

A dark, viscous portal - not unlike the corruption covering his being - sprung into existence with a spark of magic and a flick of his wrist. However, Nightmare came to a startling realization after he opened the gateway home. His eye socket narrowed. All the while, his brilliant cyan eyelight skimmed over his followers. Killer stood right behind him (lurking as usual) with Dust positioned off to the side while Cross anxiously shuffled around his inventory. And Horror-

The dark lord paused and shifted his gaze toward the treeline, then the smoldering ruins, before settling his eyelight back on the group.

"Wait," He stated, drawing the attention of those accounted for. "Where is Horror?"

 

The dusty, snow-laden paths of Underfell's Snowdin Forest were barren from local monsters, aside from one very tired skeleton. The sharp-toothed Sans shifted uncomfortably as he stared across the mere four feet separating him and the stranger brought into his AU.

"Red, this is Horror!" Blue chimed, gesturing toward the tall, broken-skulled skeleton. Red found himself on the receiving end of the motion as the azure-clad monster continued, "Horror, this is Red!"

"I'm sure you two will find you have lots in common!" With a beaming grin, he engulfed the awkward duo's feet in blue magic and pushed them closer together.

Red shot an uncertain look toward the Underswap Sans. "Uh-"

Before he (or Horror, who appeared to be taking the situation in stride) could object, Blue's phone jingled a short and cheery notification tune.

"Oh! That's for my next appointment! Good luck you two!" The azure-clad Sans vanished in a sudden crackle of magic. Thus, leaving the pair alone.

"Did he really just fucking leave us?" Red growled, crimson eyelights burning a hole where the Underswap Sans once stood.

"He... did," Horror blandly replied.

"Well, what the fuck are we supposed to do now?!" The resident Sans hissed, taking a step back. "He didn't give me a damned manual for this stupid 'friendship' thing!"

His companion - ever wise with words - shrugged.

"Ugh... I knew I should have stayed in bed today." Red groused, longingly glancing toward the direction of his home. Or, more accurately, his bed.

Despite the conversation dying like a fish on land, neither made any move to leave.

After a solid two minutes of silence, the shorter of the two awkwardly asked, "So... What do you do for fun or whatever?"

"Stabbing."

"Heh, a respectable pastime."

Chapter 234: Crumbled

Summary:

The return of a fan-favorite character.

(Warning: This story contains mild swearing!)

Something had changed in the Underground; Red wasn't sure what, but he knew for certain it spelled trouble- quite possibly in bold, capital letters. The density in the air and space between the Void had experienced a shift. One not too dissimilar to when the spacious caverns beneath Mt. Ebott underwent other major events- the resets, the core malfunction that subsequently erased several monsters from existence (including the edgy skeleton's own father), the fall of the first human, et cetera. Thus, why the normally lethargic monster found himself fueled by new vigor, racing along snow-laden trails and away from his assigned post.

His breath came out in fogged puffs as his sentry station drew further and further behind. Red didn't doubt he'd get a harsh scolding courtesy of the captain - his brother - later for disobeying strict orders, especially after getting caught sneaking off to Grillby's and sleeping on the job. However, the sharp-toothed Sans refused to expend a single second of the energy, let alone the mental power, to pray for the other's forgiveness.

If his theory was correct, he'd need everything - every little bit of strength and fragment of HP - he could muster to tackle the rising threat. And that also included his old lab equipment. A fundamental element to help steer the Underground away from yet another disaster.

Had there not been external risks, Red likely would have left it in the basement beneath his home. It certainly would have been more convenient. Unfortunately, convenience did not favor those with secrets to hide- particularly if those secrets were to be kept safe from a demonic ghost child hellbent on causing mass extinction and a surly younger brother.

Red huffed, taking a sudden, sharp turn off the common paths and into the forest. The trees grew denser with each passing minute as he delved further into Snowdin's less explored territory and drew nearer to his best-kept secret: a deceptively crude-looking log cabin. Shabby enough that no one would think to enter if they stumbled upon it, but sturdy enough to harbor a hidden entrance below.

His world abruptly tilted downward when he reached the small, snowy clearing in front of the building, followed by an aching snap at his HP. Snow quickly covered Red's startled face as he thumped against the ground.

Shit, was I too late?!

With furrowed brows and grit teeth, he quickly pulled himself out of the snow and began scanning the trees for his assailant. Shadows weaved between the looming pines, stretching and concealing whatever may lay beyond them. All the while, the light breeze picked up into a howling wind. His crimson eyelights failed to detect a single monster among the rustling foliage. Just when the sharp-toothed Sans was beginning to suspect his attacker had fled the scene, he felt a spike of LV.

Red instantly whipped around, eyelights flaring whilst a cage of bones snared his would-be assassin. "Heh! Gotcha, you fuckin' bastard!"

Laying in the middle of his trap was...

A cookie-

Its exterior featured large, dark brown chunks - likely chocolate - and a small bite mark.

"I-" Red stared down at the baked good, brows pinching together as he checked the item.

The status box that appeared in front of him stated: Peril, a rich chocolatey cookie that packs a punch.

Which certainly failed to soothe the conflicting feelings brewing in the edgy skeleton's soul.

"Who the fuck names a cookie? Better yet, who the fuck gives LV to a cookie!" Red growled, sneering at the deathly pastry. "I can't believe I ran for the first time in ten years for this..."

Notes:

Happy April Fool's Day!

Chapter 235: Grey Day

Summary:

This isn't a novella-

The Doodlesphere was always a treat to visit. Its warm, cotton candy-colored skies were friendly and inviting, like the colored pages of a child's picture book, and never failed to inspire peace and wonder- if only Dream could say the same for the realm's sole resident.

"Ink," He called, softly knocking on the door to the aforementioned artist's house. "You are three hours late for our get-together with Blue. You haven't gotten your hand stuck in a drawer again, have you?"

The Guardian of Positivity frowned as silence permeated the air. "If you don't reply in the next minute, I'm using the spare key!"

Not a squeak echoed from beyond the wood. Which, depending on what Ink had gotten up to, was either a good thing or a bad thing. With a sigh, the yellow-clad skeleton reached into his pants pocket and retrieved a steel key adorned by rainbow stickers. More precisely, holographic rainbow stickers. They were, unfortunately, the only way to help his forgetful friend remember his door had keys- and were eye-catching (i.e., shiny) enough that the artist would undoubtedly feel compelled to h̶o̶a̶r̶d̶ carry them in his inventory.

After turning the key in the lock, the door gave way far easier than usual due to the unforeseen lack of clutter littering Ink's living room. However, Dream doubted the soulless skeleton had taken those cleaning lessons (courtesy of Blue) to heart. The stack of fresh empty paint cans piled into a corner seemed like more than enough proof. More concerning than Ink's inability to organize, Dream noted as he flicked the light switch beside the doorway, was the choice of color. Or lack thereof. Various shades of grey paint dripped off the ceiling and walls.

The culprit of the monochrome monstrosity - Ink, the supposed lover of all hues (particularly the bright ones) - absently stood next to a window, grey-tipped paintbrush in hand, whilst he blankly gazed at the glass' reflection. Despite the artist's preference for vibrant colors, even his outfit appeared to match the new dreary interior of his home. His normally beige attire was notably bleached.

"Uh, Ink?" Dream tentatively took a step closer to his seemingly downtrodden friend. "Are you alright? If this is because your favorite show got canceled..."

Ink whirled around to face him, throwing his arms in the air.

"Nooooooooo! The weather is rainy," The soulless skeleton proclaimed, to which Dream flatly glanced toward the spilled glass of water dripping down the sunny window as his friend sullenly continued, "There's nothing to do, and no one has been answering my phone calls!"

To prove the supposed crime, the artist pulled out his phone and illuminated the screen for the Guardian of Positivity to see.

The yellow-clad skeleton leveled the other with an unimpressed look, eyeing his and Blue's ten missed phone calls. "It looks like you're the one not answering."

"That's beside the point-" Ink huffed before swiftly tossing his phone to the other side of the room, where it landed with a thunk and light cracking sound. Then, he dramatically slumped against the windowsill with a whine. "I'm bored!"

"And it didn't dawn on you to join me or Blue for brunch instead of bleaching your clothes and painting your house grey?"

"Wait, that was today?"

Dream pinched the bridge of his nasal cavity, taking a deep breath. "Ink... We discussed our plans for today four hours ago; An hour before you were supposed to show up."

Chapter 236: Clever Boy

Summary:

Crow? I think not!

It wasn't an uncommon occurrence for certain residents of the Multiverse to get together for activities: holiday celebrations, birthday parties, casual meet-ups, etc. Geno had participated in all of the above at one point or another- primarily, due to Reaper's insistence. (Which was no doubt a ploy to show him off to all the other unmarried Sanses.) He very rarely decided to host such events himself, and he was beginning to remember why.

The glitchy skeleton sighed into his cup of lemonade. All the while, wearily regarding his younger self as the scientist ceased detailing a notepad and pulled out a pair of binoculars.

"Sci, please stop researching my husband." Geno tiredly urged, wishing more and more that he went through with forgoing social interaction for the day.

The lab coat-clad Sans adjusted the binoculars in front of his glasses, arguing, "But there's so much about him we don't know! For example, what makes his magic so powerful? Is it his magic that's so deadly, or does he naturally produce a fatal toxin? Are we certain he's a crow and not a species of raptor?"

The bloody glitch raised a brow. "Have you been skipping sleep again?"

"Geno, he is a primordial god akin to a force of nature. The odds crows existed at the time of his conception are statistically low." Sci pointedly gestured toward where Reaper had settled across the room, crouched close to the floor while holding his prized possession: a sandwich. "Just look at him eat!"

Geno watched as the raven-winged menace (that somehow became the love of his life) violently shredded the poor heap of bread and cheese before shoving it between his jaws.

With a hum, he slowly hid his face behind the glass in his hands. "I... can't deny there is no way to prove or disprove your theory."

Chapter 237: ADVENTURE!

Summary:

The real treasure is the violence we committed along the way-

A hero's journey was said to be a holy mission; A quest full of treasures, noble deeds, and endless wonders. All for the purpose of defeating the demon lord. Blue had accepted the task for the honor of his hometown- to bring back the peace after so many heroes from their village had failed the quest. However, once setting out with his assigned companions, Blue couldn't be less impressed.

He quietly sat on the edge of a town's decorative central fountain, watching the supposed chosen heroes destined to fight alongside him.

"LET ME BUY YOUR FRUIT!" Ink yelled, tossing a handful of gold at a poor merchant's face.

Blue's gaze drifted over to the right, where he witnessed a yellow-adorned skeleton chasing a local logger with an axe.

"THE TREES OF THIS VILLAGE WILL BE HARVESTED FOR FIREWOOD NO LONGER!" Dream declared, tossing the weapon at the unfortunate soul running away from him.

Blue hung his head in shame, voice muffled by his hands as he wondered, "Is this why all the other heroes gave up and joined the demon lord?"

Chapter 238: Phoenix Wrong

Summary:

One might call him an ace attorney-

In life, Dream had learned that there were many situations worth questioning- but whether or not he wanted to hear the answer was debatable.

He sighed, dragging a hand down his face after he took in the apparel of his less-than-mentally sound friend. "Do I even want to ask?"

Ink blinked. "Ask about what?"

"The suit." The Guardian of Positivity deadpanned.

"Oh, it's so I can be an attorney!" The soulless skeleton chimed, flashing a cheery grin.

Dream found it an arduous effort to keep himself from walking away and leaving the impending disaster to someone else- if only because he wanted to complete tasks other than wrangling his menace of a friend. Alas, unleashing Ink upon the populace was an action so cruel he couldn't convince himself to go through with it.

Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nasal cavity and explained, "You can't be an attorney, Ink. You don't have a law degree, and not even a kangaroo court would let you operate in their building."

"Pff- That doesn't matter! All I need is my trusty badge!" The artist flashed the shiny gold pin attached to the collar of his suit before abruptly shoving a bloodied knife into Dream's hands, proclaiming, "Now go get framed for murder so I can get my first case!"

Chapter 239: Agent of Chaos

Summary:

Personally inconveniencing-

After a long day's work, Dream enjoyed the simplicity and peace of taking a quiet moment to sit in his office. However, the yellow-clad skeleton knew he had jinxed himself by enjoying the moment for far too long when the door to his office slammed open. With a huff, he straightened himself in his chair and regarded the familiar intruder with weary eyelights.

"Dream, I've decided!" Ink loudly proclaimed, striking a dramatic pose in the guardian's doorway. "I'm going chase my new life goal - that I decided on five minutes ago after seeing a really sparkly suit - to become a PI!"

"You're already a purposeful instigator, Ink." He blandly commented.

"No, not that kind of PI!"

Dream raised a brow, amending, "A petty invader?"

"Nope."

"A periodical irritant-"

"Of course not! Stars, you are bad at this guessing thing- I'm going to be a private investigator!" Ink frowned, furrowing his brows as he pondered, "Or was it a plastic inspector?"

A heavy sigh weaved its way past Dream's jaws as he cheerlessly inquired, "And what exactly do you intend to investigate?"

"Uhhhh- I didn't get that far in my plan." The soulless skeleton paused, taking a minute to - one could only pray - think before he clapped his hands together and announced, "Oh! How about you cheat on Cross so he can hire me to investigate you!"

If Ink noticed the sheer plummet in Dream's expression, he didn't indicate so in the slightest. Not even with a hint of remorse.

"Cross and I are not dating, and I'm not doing that! You should know better than to ask that of someone." The Guardian of Positivity chided.

Ink shrugged off his firm, scolding tone and gave a smile that was undoubtedly foreshadowing things to come. Things that would likely end with Dream swatting the other with a broom. Perhaps even Broomie for that extra sting of betrayal.

"We'll see!" The artist ominously said, running off to who knew where to do who knew what. However, the yellow-clad skeleton had a sneaking suspicion he knew precisely what his fellow Star Sans had planned.

"Ugh..." He groaned and slumped back in his seat, taking a moment to mourn the loss of his quiet evening. Then, retrieved his phone and dialed the third number amongst his contacts, a call which the recipient speedily answered.

"Hello?"

"Good evening, Cross. If you see Ink, spray him with the water bottle."

Chapter 240: Important Announcement

Summary:

Due to the usual weirdness of my titles/summaries, I'd like to clarify that this chapter is not a story.

I originally planned to hold off on doing this for a while longer, but the situation has changed within the past few days. This year has been very difficult for me for various different reasons; None of which good. I had a health crisis for my birthday and am still working on paying off a major medical bill. Then the hurricanes happened, which caused its own set of issues. And, now, my last remaining grandparent could very well not have more than a year left. Assuming the treatment for their issue doesn't work.  

I want it to be clear that I'm not abandoning these stories or any other stories. However, I need time to sort out everything in my life and I'm not sure when I will return. There might be an update here and there, but likely no more than that. As for comments, I'll try to respond to as many as I can.

I truly do appreciate the support people have given this silly little collection of odd stories, and I hope the new chapters released alongside this update can renew your smile. Before I vanish off into the shadows for an undetermined amount of time, I hope to post five stories- the two posted alongside this will count toward that goal. (Or maybe they won't? It depends on how much energy I'll have later-) They may be longer or shorter depending on what free time I'm willing to allocate toward writing. 

May everyone stay safe and have a fantastic rest of the year!

Tldr: The fanfic writer's curse hit and the curse hit hard. :')

Chapter 241: Rated E For Everyone

Summary:

Catch!

Sometimes, Dream couldn't help but ponder if they were the issue: The Star Sanses, protectors of all that is good, positive, and-

"Ink, stop it!" The Guardian of Positivity demanded. His boots hit rough against the ground as he trod toward the aforementioned artist.

In classic soulless nature, the beige-clad skeleton - once again - skirted the line of morality by hovering over an innocent bystander in their most recent battleground.

Not to save them.

No-

To punch them.

"Oh, come on! Where's your fighting spirit, Dream?" Ink complained, raising his magic-splattered fist from the poor spider monster's face. Any hope slowly forming in their eyes vanished when their captor proceeded to ignore the golden guardian and lay down another well-aimed punch.

"These are random people!" Dream hissed, gasping the artist's scarf like the scruff of an unruly kitten. The goal had been to pull the other back. However, the attempt failed when the soulless skeleton slipped his skull out from under the fabric.

"And," Ink questioned, promptly adding in a cheery tone, "Also, you can just ask me to paint you a scarf if you're cold, silly! Sparkles and sequins are in this season, and you really need a new look!"

The Guardian of Positivity pinched the bridge of his nasal cavity. All the while, his hand clenched into a fist around the other's shed scarf. "Ink, you remember why we are here, right?"

"Nope!"

"We came here to protect these people from my brother and his gang!"

"But Nightmare and everyone looked like they were having so much punching people- or was it trees? Either way, it's fun!"

"Ink," Dream chided.

Any effort he'd put into an "I'm disappointed in you, and am losing my patience" expression went ignored. A blatant observation given Ink's slow blink toward him and subsequent delivery of an additional punch to the poor spider monster beneath him.

"I'm an equal opportunity fighter!" The artist claimed. Even though he couldn't muster the courage to fight the toaster this morning, the yellow-clad guardian thought. "Besides, don't you think everyone gets lonely being left out of our battles?"

"No! Now, release that monster."

"Killjoy..." His companion whined, letting the pummeled monster lay to rest. Or, more accurately, crawl away since they didn't seem to want to chance the artist changing his mind on the issue. A wise decision, considering Ink's quick turnaround regarding the matter. "Oh, hey! Another person- and their face looks so punchable too! It almost reminds me of Blue!"

The soulless skeleton bolted in the direction of his new target.

"INK!" Dream shrieked, taking off after the soulless skeleton. "THAT IS BLUE!"

Chapter 242: Two's a Crowd, Three's a Murder

Summary:

There's always someone in the woods-

Night shrouded the sky. Glimpses of stars and moonlight could scarcely be seen beyond the thick forest canopy above. The weather was cold and dry, just unpleasant enough that many people would marvel at the warmth of their homes rather than dare brave the outdoors.

It was perfect.

A perfect night for crime.

"I didn't think I hit them that hard!" Palette frantically cried, nervously shifting back and forth beside the downed human crumbled on the earth.

His partner in crime, a death god by birth, lamented with a paled expression, "My mom is going to be so upset! I got grounded from soul-reaping yesterday; I can't have another month of no TV! Undernovella just started re-airing!"

"O-or," The novice artist stuttered, wringing his hands together. "We don't tell him."

"What-"

Palette turned toward Goth. His eyes were wide and pleading as his jaws shook. "Look, my mom wouldn't be entirely thrilled about this either, so how about we just-"

He gestured to the scythe on his companion's back.

The white-winged skeleton shifted uncertainly, then slowly nodded before stepping forward. Together, the duo grabbed a leg each and began dragging the human off into the dense brush.

 

"Nightmare," Killer called in a low, singsongy voice.

"Ugh," The dark lord lowered the binoculars from his face, scowling. "Can't you see I'm busy? Things were just getting interesting; It's not every day I get to witness my nephew commit murder."

The hoodie-clad murderer's non-existent brows raised in surprise. "The kid killed someone?"

"Indeed. Given how often he basks in the company of that death god, I consider it surprising it's not happened sooner." The Guardian of Negativity mused.

"Heh, good for him! Anyways," The target-souled skeleton dragged Dream out of the nearby bushes by the back of his shirt. "Guess who I found skulking in the woods and being a creep like you!"

"Uh... I- uh, good evening?" The yellow-clad guardian stammered, brushing away Killer's hand.

Nightmare huffed, then stood and brushed off his clothes. Binoculars pocketed into his inventory. "Don't compare me to him."

Dream tensely glanced away, determined to look anywhere else, before releasing a stunned gasp. "Palette!"

"Shit!" Nightmare could only muster pride as his sole nephew swore for the entire forest to hear. His brother, on the other hand, swiftly changed from shocked to looking like he'd sucked a lemon.

Chapter 243: Unlucky Rabbit's Foot

Summary:

The hare in the moon.

Notes:

I've really had this sitting around for 2 years- 2 years, and I've only just now gotten to it! It was originally going to be an Inktober story during 2022 but I never got to finishing it :')

As the warm hues of sunset gave way for night to arrive, the new moon left the sky dark and chilled with umbra laden across the entire landscape. Only a single building bore light across the darkened territory: a castle surrounded by twisting briars and arching thorns. Most were typically asleep by the time the moon reached its peak. However, the building's allotted residents found themselves enamored. Much to their target's dismay.

Nightmare - guardian, lord, and unfortunate keeper of four idiots - was more than steaming from the ears as his followers cackled, staring down at him. He should have locked the door. Alas, it had grown too late by the time the dark lord had managed to escape Horror's mandatory dinner.

It proved something no skeleton could flee from after their extended mission. "Good food is required before a good rest," apparently.

Had he not gotten distracted from the new moon's curse, the Guardian of Negativity would have been curled up in the safety of his office- like all previous nights afflicted by the celestial body. Instead, to his terror, the most private and weakest form of himself was on full display for his followers to ridicule.

Nightmare hated it.

No, loathed it.

The symbol of weakness that solely made itself present when he should be at his most powerful amid the darkness: his animal form. Like most guardian spirits, the dreaded state only forced itself upon them - akin to a werewolf's curse - when their aligned element rose to its peak. And the dark lord's left much to be desired. It made him everything he despised, everything he'd desperately tried to escape. Weak, defenseless, and... small. A far cry from the image of fright he should be.

A fact painfully reminded to him as he glowered up at the four skeletons snickering at his pitiful form.

"Cease this mutiny at once!" Nightmare demanded, stomping his paw against the cool brick flooring.

Despite attempting to maintain some semblance of his authority, the order went ignored.

"Aw! 'mare, when were you going to tell us you can turn into a bunny? You're so wittle and floofy!" Killer cooed, reaching down to ruffle the dark lord's black floppy ears.

A dull-clawed paw slapped the offending hand away. The large bundle of fluff, unfortunately, attached to the dark guardian's rear twitched in irritation whilst he warned, "All of you are treading a thin line. I suggest you cease, lest you face my wrath upon sunrise."

"Why?" Dust chimed. The hoodie-clad murderer leaned against Horror, who gazed down at Nightmare with sparkling eyelights. "If you're like this, then next time we can just kill our enemies with cuteness!"

The Guardian of Negativity snarled and fisted his paws together, snapping, "Because I'm weak!"

"My brother can turn into a lion. A creature which, at the very least, can hunt and fight. But me," He snarled, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut before admitting, "I can't do anything useful like this. It's pathetic! And none of you should have even been here to see this!"

His followers promptly fell silent. With the newfound vacuum, the words seemed to echo along the stone walls and taunt him.

The four Sanses shared glances and varying looks until Cross got pushed forward. Against his will, if the brief, soured expression that crossed his skull was to be believed.

"Uh, I..." The swordsman nervously rubbed the back of his neck. It took a minute, combined with a jab in the ribs from Killer, for the other to find his words. "If there's anything I learned while living here, it's that weakness isn't always what it is made out to be. Everyone here has gone through something or another that makes other monsters think we gave in to the poor stack of cards we were dealt. But we survived- and now we're together. With you. This doesn't change who you are or anything you've accomplished."

Horror nodded. "We're... a team 'cause we cover for everyone else's... weakness. You're no different."

"Fools, the lot of you." Nightmare scoffed and glanced away. "A faith founded by idiocy is doomed to fail."

Dust shrugged, offering, "I guess we'll fail together then."

"Yeah!" Killer agreed. He paused to ponder and then stated, "One question, though."

Nightmare sighed. "What."

"If I chopped off one of your feet, would it grow back later?" The target-souled skeleton asked, earning him a round of jabs from his associates. A gasp subsequently left his jaws. "Better yet! Can you infiltrate the Star Sanses like this? There's no way Ink wouldn't see you and put you in his pocket!"

"Killer!" Cross shouted, aghast. "What if they hurt him?! Don't you remember Ink's last pet?!"

Chapter 244: Sun Time, Fun Time

Summary:

Taste the sun!

Reaper prided himself on being an adequate father. Not perfect by any means, but always there should his little fledgling need him. The endless job of soul-reaping added some difficulty with its demanding hours, lack of pay, and often strenuous fights. However, the raven-winged skeleton kept himself reachable for the shining light of his repetitive life- and a faint buzzing from his pocket indicated said "shining light" needed him.

The death god's scythe drooped, much to the relief of his current target. Relief short-lived when his brother swooped in from behind and slashed the spirit, sending them on their way to the afterlife.

"Sans!" The slim, cloak-clad skeleton groused, "That's the third time this week! You really need to turn off that infernal device!"

Reaper- Sans winced. "Sorry, bro. I gotta take this."

"Sans," His brother started, chidingly.

The raven-winged skeleton grimaced at the tone. All the while, pulling the phone out of his pocket and explaining, "Look, Papyrus... I know I've been taking a lot of time off from work recently, but you gotta trust me when I say this is very important. If that doesn't sell you, then just know it's very important to me."

"Fine," The taller soul collector conceded. His arms crossed as he huffed and stationed himself nearby, stating, "Take your call! But I expect an explanation for all your mysteriousness later!"

Flashing a grateful (and, perhaps, somewhat relieved) smile, Reaper drew the phone to his ear and pressed "accept."

"Gothy-" He began, only to bristle when he got swiftly interrupted by a sharp wail.

"DAD!" His son cried, gasping through what sounded like tears. Consequently, causing the raven-winged skeleton's feathers to flare. "Fresh got in the house again!"

"Shi- shoot." The death god corrected, then awkwardly glanced toward his brother, who watched with a raised brow and curious eye sockets. He pinched the bridge of his nasal cavity, sighing, "Go outside and fan out in the sun. It should be enough to scare him off for now. I'll meet you in the garden as soon as possible, okay?"

A soft little sniffle came from the other side of the phone. "Okay."

"See you soon." With that, Reaper ended the call and promptly pocketed the device.

His brother's wings gave a flick. "You're leaving. Again."

A sigh weaved its way past his jaws as he met Papyrus' disapproving gaze.

"I really am sorry about leaving you to clean up this mess on your own- and I promise I'll make it up to you later!" Reaper placed the scythe on his back and began gathering magic, which didn't escape his brother's notice. Nor the other's tired acceptance of the fact he'd once again be picking up another shift of Sans' work. The raven-winged skeleton bit back the guilt building in his soul, adding, "My kid needs a moment of my time. When he needs me, it's non-negotiable."

Papyrus blinked. "Kid-"

"I'll try to be quick. Thanks for covering for me, bro!"

 

Several moments after the elder death god left, the younger finally snapped out of his stupor and threw his hands in the air.

"You have a child?! How is that possible?!" The cloak-clad skeleton questioned, yelling out into the open space, "You can't just run away, Sans- and not explain how I'm an uncle!"

A wide grin spread across his jaws before he cheered, "I AM AN UNCLE!"

Notes:

Apparently, birds sunbathe to kill parasites. I like to believe this works on Fresh- or, at the very least, scares him off.

Chapter 245: Not the boi!

Summary:

Sharp son you got there, Killer-

Notes:

Akuji belongs to xClaudyy (alternatively known as Claudy)

Snow crunched, narrowly dulling the sounds of two pairs of footsteps. What it failed to dampen was quietened by the vast, dense greenery. The AU's Snowdin forest certainly had a healthy, uplifting habitat with its lush flora, vibrant winter flowers, vocal songbirds, and... lingering smell of gingerbread cookies. It seemed untroubled- and most certainly unprepared for trouble.

An apt choice for a first mission.

One might think the job beneath him, a prince: Scion of Negativity and Future Lord of Darkness. But, no. It's apparently "time to learn the family business" and "about the right age where he should start pulling his weight."

Akuji scoffed, shuffling his feet as he reluctantly followed after Killer. Gone was his regalia. In its place laid hideous winterwear his father no doubt mugged someone for, given how it sagged on his frame. His offhand clutched the hilt of an old rusted knife the target-souled skeleton had given him for "defense" whilst claiming it to be a "family heirloom." It looked about as heirloom-worthy as one of the old, disused knives from the kitchen drawer. Not to mention, about as useful as a dull pair of scissors laden with tetanus.

Luckily, no monsters crossed their path and put the object's durability to the test. He didn't hold any delusions regarding the knife's combat capability- unlike his companion, who swore by its reliability.

As they walked, the smaller skeleton allowed himself to wander slightly. His "mentor" paid little to no attention when that wandering became making a slow and steady getaway. An action which quickly proved regrettable.

The snow beneath Akuji's feet gave way to a sloped cliffside once he'd nearly cleared Killer's range. He stumbled, slipping down the edge. His hand swiftly discarded the knife in favor of helping his other claw at the icy rocks, struggling to gain a hold.

The negative scion scrambled against the surface and yelled, "Father, help!"

Killer appeared in a blink, gasping, "No, my boy!"

The hoodie-clad murderer leaned down and threw himself off the edge - passed Akuji - with eye sockets solely focused on the knife tumbling down the cliffside.

The shadows nigh shrieked and thrashed around Akuji while he dug his phalanges in the rocks, pulling himself up to safe ground.

"Well, fuck you too!" He screeched down the cliffside before stomping away and grumbling, "Shiver in the snow, fool! I am going home."

Notes:

For those curious, Akuji's first appearance is in chapter 215. It's also his only other appearance-

Chapter 246: Ill Grace

Summary:

Sharing is caring-

Notes:

One final cursed story before I vanish off into the shadows!

Thank you for all the kind wishes and comments; I hope everyone has/had a fantastic holiday!

"DREAM'S CURSED NIGHTMARE!" Killer dramatically wailed as he burst into the dining room in front of the dark lord, who sluggishly trailed behind while less than regally nursing a cup of tea and brandishing an ooze-dripping handkerchief. A formidable weapon in its own right. If only because no one in their right mind - other than the owner - would dare to touch it, especially after it gave a subtle squirm.

"Quit overreacting! It's merely a cold." Nightmare sighed, sniffling slightly. Rather than thrashing behind him in annoyance, the negativity-laden skeleton's tendrils curled tighter against his back and caused him to stumble.

His target-souled companion caught him, musing pitifully, "Which means I can't kiss you; Which makes it a curse!"

The castle's three other inhabitants, who had previously been enjoying their breakfast in peace, stared up at the pair from behind their bacon and pancakes.

"Dude..." Cross confidently stated, jabbing a chocolate syrup-coated fork into his breakfast. "We need to curse Dream back."

Horror helpfully wiggled the salt and pepper shakers. "Have herbs..."

"I'll get a knife!" Dust chimed, pulling a maple-dipped blade out from between his pancakes.

"Yes!" Killer grinned, helping Nightmare into his seat before rushing into the nearby doorless room. "To the the kitchen! That stupid, empty glowing ball of yellow won't know what hit him!"

Dust followed his fellow hoodie-clad murderer (to keep him distracted), giving Cross a thumbs up.

Nightmare tiredly blinked and eyed the monochrome warrior. "Why are you instigating this madness? Out of the four of you, I expected you to be the most reasonable one."

Cross leveled the dark lord with an incredulous, non-existent eyebrow raise, explaining, "Because if I don't, Killer will whine all day and make it everyone else's problem anyway." He reached out a hand. "Now, give me your tea cup so you can share your cold with Killer."

"What?! No!" Nightmare gasped, yanking his drink close to his chest.

"Share your cold with Killer so he can kiss you!"

"Was this the true plan the whole time?! You're all deranged!"

Dust screeched from the kitchen. "But you love us anyway!"

 

"Ugh... I don't have the energy for this."

Chapter 247: True Evil

Summary:

It socks to be evil-

"Ah, you've finally arrived." Nightmare stated, words serving as an ominous greeting to his followers. His cyan eyelight remained steadily fixed on the doorway until every last Sans filed into his office.

The quartet of skeletons shifted uncertainly. No one seemed to have any inkling as to why he’d called them- and, though he wished to touch on the topic, it wasn’t their latest performance in Underswap. Despite the fact it stood as an incident he would rather avoid repeating. The dark lord still couldn’t fathom how Dust had gotten an icicle stuck in his nasal cavity when he’d only turned away for one second. A single second to taunt his brother, then his other followers were suddenly frantically attempting to unsheathe a spear of ice from the hoodie-clad murderer’s nose. Such events marred his gang members’ reputations. Not to mention, his own well-crafted visage of villainy.

Not that much further damage could be done to it as things currently stood.

Killer stepped forward and casually leaned on the dark oak desk separating them, questioning for the group, "What's up, boss? You don’t typically call us this early after a mission; Horror hasn’t even finished cooking lunch yet." The target-souled skeleton gave a sly smirk before musing, “Or were you just looking for a reason to see me?”

“Neither in your dreams nor your nightmares.” The Guardian of Negativity deadpanned. His tendrils flicked and curled as he crossed his arms, continuing, “As for the purpose of this call, I have an important matter to discuss with you four. Worry not, for this will merely take a moment of your time, and afterward you can return to business as usual- so long as it does not threaten the integrity of yet another set of curtains.”

Horror huffed, grumbling, “What’s more... important than lunch?”

“Fear,” Nightmare plainly replied.

The confusion radiating from his followers was palpable; To the point magic would be unrequired to discern the emotion, as it made itself quite evident via their raised brows and questioning expressions.

“Fear?” Cross slowly repeated.

"Indeed. It has become increasingly clear to me during our recent outings that my being does not strike terror into people as much as it used to." The negativity-laden skeleton frowned at the admission. All the while, his tendrils gave a discontented squirm. "I called upon you four for the purpose of testing my remedy for this dilemma. Do be warned - should you agree to behold it - be prepared for something that is not for the faint of heart."

"Heh!" Killer boldly chuckled before confidently stating, “Hits us with the spookiest thing you got then! We can handle it!"

Dust nodded in agreement whilst Cross and Horror shared a look, no doubt steeling their nerves.

"Very well." Nightmare conceded.

He pushed his chair back and stood. A wet slop echoed off the chilled stone floor as his feet landed against it, continuing up until he rounded the corner of his desk where he paused. Thus, revealing his new weapon: a waterlogged set of socks. They sagged, pooling water beneath him. All the while, maintaining a generally unappealing appearance.

Killer’s face scrunched in disgust as he recoiled.

"Ugh! Why?! How are you wearing those and keeping a straight face?!"

"The inhumanity!"

"How... could you..."

"I have lived to see you’ve become a demon."

The dark lord smirked. "I see this method has the desired effect. This will be a suitable weapon against my brother."

Notes:

‘Tis the season for more cursedness!

In all seriousness, I’m planning to post at least 5 stories for the holiday season. These stories were plotted in advance prior to my last note. Plus, I did a little late winter cleaning and found a few extra finished stories I may post!

Hope everyone has a happy holiday!

Chapter 248: It Began At Midnight

Summary:

It was an ambush-

Only a select few nights a year could Nightmare expect undisturbed peace. A break that bore quiet and reprieve from his typical duties of spreading terror, battling the accursed trio that always stuck their noses in his business, and watching after his four idiots. Killer, Dust, Horror, and Cross had gotten better. Somewhat. At the very least, they seemed to have learned to bother each other instead of constantly bringing their inane shenanigans to the dark lord.

That night, however, proved to not be one of those blessed peaceful nights.

The negativity-laden skeleton laid in his bed, eye socket closed as his mind slowly began to wander away from the practical to visions more fantastical. Rather than succumbing to slumber's call, he tiredly opened his eye at a rustling sound. Occasionally, the faint squeak of hushed words followed.

He slowly lifted his cyan gaze and reached for the nearby lamp's cord. One tug illuminated everything from his bedside to the very edge of the dark oak furnishing's end, revealing four skulls peering over the top of the footboard.

Killer slowly lifted a small, plainly decorated pink cake above his head, whispering, "Happy birthday."

Nightmare sighed, not deigning to give the quartet more than a deadpan utterance. "You deeply disturb me, and I loathe to think how the lot of you got in here after I locked the door."

"We were here before then," Dust murmured.

"Go to bed."

Chapter 249: It Began At Midnight (Dream Edition)

Summary:

This is an act of war-

Dream breathed a contented sigh as he snuggled deeper into bed. The feather-stuffed pillows against his skull felt heavenly, soothing the pounding headache that had accumulated over the day. The blessed furnishing was all the more comfortable without Ink there to ruin the peace in his own special way- i.e., bejewel the pillows, randomly drop a bucket of paint on his side of the bed, or initiate an impromptu battle for who got the blankets. And those options didn’t even scratch the surface of the artist’s plethora of annoying habits.

The Guardian of Positivity couldn’t imagine handling the other’s nuisances at the moment, let alone attempting to co-exist within the same AU.

Had the yellow-clad skeleton been granted one birthday wish, he would selfishly hope the soulless guardian wandered off somewhere. With any luck, to get lost for a few days. It was exactly what he needed after a long day spend catching up on Ink’s long-forgotten paperwork. For someone so passionate about the AUs and their people, he appeared horribly inept at cataloging them with a concise/meaningful system beyond crayons and drawing up stick-figure censuses. Which, of course, meant Dream had to go back through everything and fix it.

Or, at the very minimum, formulate something legible. Something he wouldn’t have to do for a good while, seeing as Ink hadn’t checked in or reported any new AUs. Thus, leaving the Guardian of Positivity with a work free weekend. A notion that drew a small smile from him.

Palette is tucked into bed; Ink’s probably crawled off to look at a shiny rock- Could this night get anymore perfect, Dream pondered, burying his face in the pillow. The pillows he didn’t have to share for once.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, DREAM!”

“OH MY STARS!” He swore. The sheer volume and abruptness of the screech in his ear sent him bolting up right, swinging out a fist toward the source.

The yellow-clad skeleton blinked as Ink yelped and bounced off the wall into the bedroom trashcan.

Palette, who most certainly should not be up that late, cheered from the doorway. “Ooooooo! Ten points, you shot dad into the trash!”

“Palette,” Dream pinched the bridge of his nasal cavity, wearily chiding, “We don’t celebrate – or rank – hitting people.”

“Dad does,”

“I would expect nothing less, at this point...”

Notes:

And this is how Ink lost his couch privileges-

Chapter 250: Request

Summary:

He's weak-

Notes:

It's hard to believe it has been 5 years since the beginning of the Collection of Oddities. When I first started it, I never imagined that it would go on for this long- or even be so well-received. I will forever be grateful for how kind and supportive everyone has been over all these years, and hope to continue writing more stories for people to enjoy!

Happy 5th Anniversary; Hope everyone has a fantastic weekend!

Nightmare wasn’t one to do anything at the behest of another. After a childhood spent experiencing the demanding presence of others, he prided himself in carrying a firm, unwavering stance- barring a few exceptions.

“Can we, please, keep it,” His life’s greatest bane stared up at him with wide, pleading eye sockets.

The dark lord examined the mangy, crumby-eyed pale kitten gentle clasped between Killer’s hands. It squirmed, squeaking pitifully as the hoodie-clad skeleton held it up.

“No,” Nightmare resolutely denied, tendrils flicking behind his back. “You can hardly take care of a house plant- What’s possessed you into believing I will allow you to bring home a living, breathing creature?”

A pout swiftly settled across the target-souled monster’s face. “You let me bring home Cross!”

“That is far from a valid argument. Cross is both self-sufficient and easily manageable. Unlike a kitten, he requires neither looking after nor interference to avoid unruly messes.”

“But, moonlight-”

“No.”

 

Upon nightfall, the Guardian of Negativity laid in bed whilst begrudgingly leaving the newest addition of his household curled against his neck. Purring, like most animals of its accursed variety. Killer smugly grinned beside him, occasionally poking at the little creature.

“You love me,” He audaciously claimed.

Nightmare huffed, closing his eye socket. “Shut up and let me sleep.”

Series this work belongs to:

• Part 1 of Collection of Oddities