Oh It Turned Green, Cool

Person A: “Well that was a mistake.”

Person B: “Shut up! I’m not gonna take life advice from some criminal who takes the law into their own hands! You’d probably just try to ruin everything for your own sick enjoyment!”

Person A: “Oh you don’t need my help to ruin your life, you seem to be doing that quite well on your own. Honestly, I’m surprised you have any allies left if that’s the way you treat them.”

Person B: “That wasn’t an ally, that was my wife.”

Person A: “…Oh that poor thing.”

You could tell the exact moment they had caught up enough to see you, their frustrated calls turning into panicked shouts, as they watched you steadily grow further and further away.

With practised ease, you ignored their desperate pleas, focusing instead, on your slow and careful progression across the rotten bridge. You knew that none of them would dare try to follow you, too frightened to risk the ire of the creatures beyond.

This was their bridge, and crossing it meant gaining their full attention.

….A very dangerous thing to have.

It was a fact you knew well, and a fact you were taking full advantage of, especially since it served your needs perfectly. Though they had yet to appear, you knew that they’d sensed you the moment you stepped foot on their bridge. Knowing them as you did, you were certain that they had dropped everything instantly, excited to return you to their side as they always were.

Suddenly a sharp ominous cry, echoed from the sky, your pursuers instantly falling silent in fear, before quickly beginning to call to you with renewed fervour, their terror clear for all to hear.

Finally stopping in place, you lifted your head and watched as the dark shadow separated from the clouds, moving far faster than you’d ever seen them move before. It was in that moment that you knew they had realised that this time you were staying for good, just as they had always hoped you would.

Lips pulling into a smile, you took one step back, then two, before dropping off the edge of the towering bridge, ignoring the screams and shouts of horror from your pursuers, and focusing instead on the rapidly approaching form that you knew so well.

You knew they would catch you…. they always did.

Mmmmhhh!!!!!

This!!!

i have an idea: MC and the octatrio are hanging out one day and somehow the conversation turns to MC's world. they mention that they're actually a merfolk and suddenly the trio is ALL OVER THEM wanting to know what their full form looks like. so they agree to show the boys and they all go to the beach for it bc MC is "too big" for the spaces available in the Octavinelle dorm. the trio thinks MC was just joking around or exaggerating, but nope! they weren't! the boys are absolutely floored as they watch MC grow into a 25 meter long, black scaled, bioluminescent monstrosity from the deep, with a mouth full of sharp teeth and a few too many eyes. they're a deep sea mer, and live in deepest depths of the ocean, hence their terrifying appearance. the boys now simp even harder for MC and all of them MC to step on them

this idea is open to the public btw. if you want to write this prompt, go for it! tag me if you do, i'd love to read it!

wanted a warmup before I do my hw and commissions soooooo did a bunch of nightmare versions of skellys XDXD The rest of the boys are mine or some sort of design mix of my own or BHC. The only BHC guys is Poplar and Ash XDXD

in terms of names tho - here they are:

Nightmare Hound = Drools 

Nightmare Boss = Chief

Nightmare Red = Stain

Nightmare Papyrus = Spree

Nightmare Blue = Nexus

Nightmare Stretch = Extract 

PSA: bot comments are taking over ao3

The above examples have been provided with the authors' permission to demonstrate what these look like.

Basic rundown:

They are all 3 sentences long

Perfect grammar, capitalization, and punctuation

Like absolutely flawless English teacher-style writing with only a single exclamation mark, ever

No mentions whatsoever of character names, settings, situations, or anything that could be tied to the story

The usernames may be identical to people who exist on ao3, but the name is not clickable, and no profile is associated with it EXCEPT when you directly search for that name. What this means: the comments come from an unregistered (not logged in) reader, bots scrape the site for real usernames, attach that to the comment, and post

Please spread the word about this so authors can filter comments and report them accordingly

There has been some speculation about why this is happening at all, and the best guess is that this is a feature that AI-training story-scraping tools are implementing to try and make their browsing traffic look legitimate

Oh, maybe a moor?

Love your work! ❤️❤️❤️

Lost in the Pages~ I’m thinking of doing a series of these with different settings like grassland, forest, etc. What would you like to see?

A lovely commission from @vallleyoflilllies, Error being a silly tsundere and not knowing how to deal with his crush on a human <3 absolutely CLASS idea

---

He was back again.

You could always tell when he was back- you’d come home from work and hear the sounds of a random dramatic soap opera drifting from the TV. He liked those... he would binge-watch entire series’ in one sitting. 

... You shook some of the droplets off your coat, then hung it up to let it drip-dry for a bit. The weather was pretty grim outside. You headed to your room first, changing into pyjamas and picking up your project... you didn’t have any other outings planned today. Sitting with him on the couch sounded really nice.

You made your way to the sofa, flopping down beside him unceremoniously. He didn’t look at you. He wasn’t watching a soap opera today, though- he was watching some cooking show you’d never seen before, based in Italy.

“This is new.” You commented. “Why’re you watching an old people cooking show? You never cook. All you do is eat my food.”

“i put-t-t it on for you, actually. since your cook-k-king is gross.” He said, still not looking at you. You knew him well enough to know his words had no real venom to them. “take notes, glitch.”

You snickered. “Doesn’t stop you from coming back. Weirdo.”

You liked when he was here. 

Error... he had a habit of appearing out of nowhere. Literally- he’d appear out of thin air. Disappearing for days, then showing up again, acting like no time passed. Your first encounter with him had been him shaking you awake in the middle of the night; he was visibly upset and berated you for leaving your stove on by accident, informing you you could’ve had a fire if he wasn’t there to turn it off. You were so tired, and so perplexed by what was occurring, that you just sheepishly apologised- convinced you were dreaming. Apparently somewhat mollified by your apology, he proceeded to... vanish like a mirage.

...

Well. You obviously wrote that off as the strangest episode of sleep hallucination you’d ever had.

The next occurrence was when you left a cupboard door open, and almost stood up into the opened door. You would’ve whacked your head pretty hard. But a firm, large hand on your head stopped you from standing up fully- you heard the sound of a closing cupboard and a glitched “st-t-upid human, you’re going to hurt yoursel-l-lf.”. You were absolutely shocked to look up and see that the monster from your ‘dream’ the other night was real, and glaring down at you.

... He then disappeared. Again. Like he wasn’t even there. You didn’t have time to process it.

It happened with further and further frequency, and for lesser and lesser reasons. At first, it was things of genuine concern, he would make sure you weren’t leaving your oven on, he’d replace the battery in your carbon monoxide alarm. Then stuff of slightly less importance... shutting off a tap you left running. Plugging in your phone overnight when you’d forgotten. And it wasn’t long before it was stuff of absolutely zero concern- turning off the TV when you weren’t in the room, tidying up your shoes when you left them at an askew angle by the door, washing up plates you’d abandoned on the counter. 

Oddly, it felt like in certain ways, he had completely slipped under your radar. Of course you were concerned that a large glitching skeleton monster somehow possessed the ability to instantly get in and out of your home. Of course you were worried about your privacy, your safety, his intentions. He would sometimes look at you for several seconds, unbroken, yellow eyelights blank despite your nervous queries- other times, he would say confusing jittering things to you or himself, about ‘universes’ and ‘alternates’. ‘Mistakes’ he had to ‘eradicate’.

... But... also...

... You weren’t worried at all.

Error was funny. Both intentionally, and unintentionally. He tried to act all tough, speaking with barbs and calling you a ‘glitch’- but to you, he was so clearly all bark and no bite. You shot right back, calling him a broken record player and a weird homeless guy... he took it in stride. He obviously delighted in having someone to play off. To banter with.

... He clearly liked you. He kept coming back, again and again. And you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like him too.

Did you still have questions? Sure. But in the end, it wasn’t really worth driving yourself crazy over stuff like his secret backstory. He could obviously go in and out of your home completely at will, he could rob you blind or murder you if he so pleased. All he did was do a few menial chores, and occasionally eat some of your food.

He clearly just... needed someone.

At this point in your... ‘relationship’... Error seemed to have given up on the excuse of doing chores in order to be in your home. He still did them, sure, but sometimes he’d just stay anyway. Once he seemed to clock that you tolerated him, whether or not he was unexpectedly picking up your dry cleaning, he began sticking around all day. He would hover nearby you, drifting in and out of whatever room you were in, watching you like a curious cat. If you acknowledged his existence in any manner, like with a question about his day, he’d visibly brighten and start chattering. He’d sit on the couch with you. Listen while you rambled about work, family, friends, anything... making snide remarks and staring with those bright yellow eyelights.

He was more akin to a helpful, close friend/roommate than anything else. You’d grown to kinda just accept that Error was part of your life now.

... He was very easy to accept.

///---///

Error let a slow breath escape him. His temper had been, only moments earlier, absolutely foul. Foul enough that the multiverse would’ve done well to fear him.

... You had no idea that before you arrived, he’d been seething on your couch, glitches overtaking his vision- literally blinding him with anger. Twitching, burning, infuriated by his difficulty with simple tasks while angry. It had been an awful few days, so awful not even the TV could distract him.

... Then he’d heard your front door open. He heard you sigh to yourself, shake off your raincoat, kick off your shoes.

... His vision had cleared. His Soul had thumped. Finally- the only thing that could distract him.

Your home was the only place where he felt warm. It felt like the only place he could come back to, that welcomed him, with familiar smells and sounds and trinkets that brought him back to reality. Even better when you were physically in the space with him, like you were now, nestled beside him on the couch. Unlike the anti void, a vast expanse of white nothingness where he had only himself to talk to, he liked how your home was full of things that had meaning to you. Your Soul’s energy had soaked into every item in the home- as had your scent.

... He glanced at you, then back to the TV again. Did you know you were the only creature in the multiverse he wanted closer?

(He had one of your shirts, in the anti void. You didn’t know. He figured he probably should return it soon... but it kept him company, when he couldn’t directly be with you.)

It was odd. You calling him a weirdo had made him feel so calm- affirmation that you still didn’t know what he’d done, that you still liked him. Still wanted him in your home. He sometimes asked himself what he, the destroyer of universes, was doing hanging around in a tiny backwater AU with a nobody human... but like most things in his life, he found that if he asked too many questions, the pain in his head became too intense. 

At the end of the day, you being close to him and talking to him made him feel good. That was all he needed to know.

Even just watching you had calmed him down; back before he realised you were happy to let him in.

You had settled in, your breathing was slower. Someone, relaxed around him... it felt good. Though he desperately wanted to stare at you, and talk to you, he also didn’t want to seem clingy. He tried to act like he didn’t care, pretending he was watching the Italian cooking show.

...

He didn’t manage long.

“there are aus with m-m-much better looking-g-g mediterraneans than that.” He said, yellow mouth pulled into a sneer.

... You gave him a customary ‘mhm’. 

You had no clue what an AU was. But you humoured him; he liked that. You didn’t really know what most of the things he talked about were, you’d just give him some nods and hums, maybe you’d tease him. You probably just thought he was nuts.

He finally glanced over at you. You were leaning on the side of the couch... something in hand.

...

He felt his Soul skip.

“a-a-are you crocheting?”

... 

... You looked up at him, you seemed surprised to hear him comment on what you were doing. Your eyes on him made his magic all but purr. He was looking at your ‘project’- a few terrible tangled messes, a ball of brown yarn, and a crochet hook pinched between your thumb and forefinger.

(You were in pyjamas. He liked when you were in pyjamas... he liked when you were comfortable. Comfortable around him.)

“... Oh. Uh... well, I’m trying to crochet.” Your voice soothed his glitches. Everything about you was a balm to his angry, spiteful, troubled Soul. “I’ve only just started. I can’t really work it out.”

He tilted his skull. “what are you-u maki-i-ing?”

Were your cheeks getting pinker? “... Nothing in particular, maybe a scarf? I just wanted to get into crocheting.”

He stared. “what don’t y-y-you understand?”

“Making the knot at the beginning. I dunno where to put everything.” Your brow furrowed. “You know how to crochet?”

“of course.” He said, sitting up. The TV was now purely background noise. “why do you seem surp-p-prised?”

You gave him a look, and a teasing smile that made him feel fidgety and hot. 

“... You’re so right. How could I have been so blind. You scream ‘guy who likes to crochet’.”

Error shifted. “how can you not know how to make a slipknot? they’re easy. there’s a lot of method-d-ds.”

“There are? Course you'd know, grandma.”

“maybe try a pret-t-zel method.” He pointed to your yarn, sitting forward even further. “make a pretzel sh-shape with the yarn. then catch the inside loop.”

You made a loop over your finger.

... Then kinda just paused, unsure.

“n-n-no, a pretzel.” He narrowed his sockets. “don’t you kn-kn-know how to make a p-p-pretzel?”

“No.” You said, honestly. Then you glared at him. “But also, you’re shit at explaining.”

He loved when you sassed him. He leaned in. “maybe the cross method is easier for your t-t-tiny human brain. loop the thread twice ov-v-ver your fingers so it’s an x shape. then tuck the loose end under the x and catch that. eas-s-sy.”

... You looped the yarn over your finger twice.

...

“But like. Where do I tuck the end of it?” You said.

“under the x. you... ugh.” He grunted. “c’mere. gimme the-the-the end of the thread.”

...

You flushed. But you shuffled, sitting up, passing him the yarn.

Error leant over- he took your hands in his.

...

He took your hands. In his.

He froze, for a split second. Your hands were in his. He stared down at them; tiny, soft, warm, shrouded in his blackened bones. He had expected contact with you to feel like lightning, but it didn't, your hands were just... nice. Everything he’d dreamed of. 

... 'fuck' was the only thought running through his head. Repeating over and over. He didn’t mean to take your hands, he didn't realise what he was doing until he’d already done it- he was just so accustomed to instinctively hating the idea of touching anyone, he had no idea how to stop himself from doing it when the urge overcame him. He was just so comfortable with you, so warm- he hadn’t thought twice. In that moment, the thought to recoil from you hadn’t even occurred to him.  

He hadn’t thought twice about touching you. 

... It wasn’t until this very moment, your hands warming his bones, that he realised he was indulging an urge he’d had since the moment he first saw you.

...

Error couldn’t allow himself to acknowledge how deeply he’d been taken off guard. And equally, he couldn’t allow you to see it. So he forced himself to continue.

He didn’t want to let go of your hands.

“it-t-t’s a basic slipknot. i don’t get where you’re conf-fused.” He said, defaulting to insults, as he did when he felt any kind of gentle emotion. He hoped his glitches would hide the nervous stutter.

He moved your fingers in his claws, precisely, holding up the end of the yarn. Your hands felt tiny in his.

“do it lik-k-ke this. you want the end to be about this long. not too sh-short.” With the eye of someone who had done it a thousand times, he looped it over your first two fingers. “make an x, over your fingers, like that-t. you see? then you tuck the tail under here. but not-t-t all the way through.”

... 

... His eyelights moved from the thread, to your face. He caught you looking at him. He was very close, his mouth only a few inches from your face. Close enough to literally feel the warmth coming off you. 

... Just like that, he found it was difficult to swallow. 

You flinched, seemingly flustered at getting caught staring- you forced yourself to look back down at the crochet hooks. You bit your lip, apparently in embarrassment.

Your mouth.

...

It took him a few long, difficult moments to draw his eyelights away from your soft, soft lips. 

“... pinch the tail so you dont lose it.” His claws continuously brushed yours as he circled the thread over your own fingers. He took your left hand. “put your other finger through the loop. like... that. then slide the hook through and catch it. there you go, a slipknot.”

... He could hear your heartbeat. It was faster.

“make sure not to tighten it too much. the knot doesn’t count as a stitch. if you were knitting, it would count. but it doesn’t count in cr-crocheting.”

...

He felt like he’d reached the end of his list of excuses to keep holding your hands.

... He let go. And... he sat back against the couch, refusing to look at you, worried about what he might do if he did. He could feel the energy in his cheekbones, they were probably bright blue. 

His hands balled in his lap.

...

“Thanks.” You said, gently. Genuinely.

...

Error didn’t know how to process what he was currently feeling. He wasn't sure if he'd ever know how. So he just kept his sockets glued to the TV.

“... s-s-sure." He said. "whatever.”

there’s nothing purer or better than how much kids enjoy being picked up and then hurled at soft surfaces

So prison au- what if….. natural disaster? I live where blizzards and tsunamis alike (plus earthquakes, avalanches….) are a potential thing, but any kind- something that keeps at least a skeleton (heh) staff trapped there, power out, inmates increasingly agitated, possibly the usual rules are slowly slipping out the window for survival reasons- or because a lot of the staff abandoned the inmates there when the last minute warning came in. What would MC do? Would there be risk of a riot, or would the guys simply casually break out to get to her to make sure she’s safe, get food, keep her warm….. etc 👀 can’t help but imagine she’s the type to try to stay and help even if the place is being abandoned in panic because criminals or not, they’re people, dammit-

OOOOOOOOOo

Mc is one of very few staff members who stay behind. She knows a natural disaster could result in any number of serious injuries and there needs to be at least one medial professional on hand. Most guards and staff, knowing that a total blackout would cause a lot of cell doors to open, decide to save their skin and just make sure the front gates are bolted behind them- but she knows these are still people. She’s not going to leave them to die.

Sans: He thinks it’s very sweet that she wants to stay, very kind of her, proof that she’s wonderful. But he disagrees entirely, he tries his damnedest to convince her to leave and might even get the closest he’s ever been to angry with her. Why should she care about the stupid prison population? She’s better than them. She’s an angel. She’s better than all of them. They’re all criminals, he’s a criminal, she should be making sure she’s safe and saving herself like the others. When it’s clear she’s not going to do that, he settles for making sure she’s safe, and puts himself in charge of resource management.

If he can’t get her out, he’ll just show her exactly how intelligent and useful he is. A well-organised ideal partner who’s calm in a disaster. 

Red: Red is absolutely vital to the safety of any staff who chose to stay. They know it, he knows it... he already has experience with controlling the prison population after all, this is nothing new to him. In fact, he’s in an even better position than before, because there are no guards to intervene; if he or his gang attacks someone there’s nothing to stop him from killing them. The prisoners already respect and fear him and now that’s just increased tenfold. With the majority of the guards having self-evacuated, the remaining staff approach him and, sheepishly, request his help... like approaching a mob boss for protection.

If this situation had arisen in any other circumstance he would’ve demanded a lot of nice things in return for their safety. A protection fee, if you will (old habits die hard). But... he’s acutely aware of Mc’s presence- he’s aware she’s probably pretty frightened right now. He’s aware that what he does in this situation could heavily, and maybe even permanently, affect her opinion of him. So, despite his deep-rooted instinct to take advantage of the moment... he agrees to protect the staff and keep order for free.

He might teasingly request ‘payment kisses’ from her. But that’s more for the sake of lightening the mood.

Skull: Mc’s personal bodyguard for the entire duration of the disaster.

Not wanting him trapped inside his room if something terrible happens, Mc lets him out, under the condition he behaves and does what she says. He never leaves her side; he looms over her shoulder, always within arm’s reach of her and often holding onto her shirt like a lost child. If anyone comes too close or anything seems like it could be a threat he lashes out with his trademark brutality... he’s also very particular about her looking after herself, sharing his Sans-rationed food with her and bundling her up in blankets if she ever falls asleep. The other two skeletons dislike the amount of contact he gets & the obvious intensity of his feelings, but there’s not much they can really do... it’s best to let him have what he needs. Besides- the longer he’s around her, the more lucid and reasonable he seems to get.

For a little while, Mc is the most powerful person in the entire prison without even realising. Sans defers to her, and he controls all the food and water and materials. Red defers to her, and he decides whether her and her colleagues live or die via his chokehold on the prisoners. And the only thing standing between the prison and the force of nature that is Skull is his love for her.

I’m (or I intend to be) more active on my side blog, go there if you wanna talk!

Thank you!