arthurrei

…and steve he/him or they/them • isfp • chronically online 🫡 I write fanfics ((multiple fandoms at once)) actverse official blog

[arthurrei07]

so in undertale (or well, in deltarune), the implied ship is soriel, right?

okay, what about underswap?

since papyrus is sans and asgore is toriel,,, uhhhhh is it like,,, gay??? is it like ‘them’???

[arthurrei07]

actverse / take on fell!sans and murder!sans / pt. 6

tws: implied p4n1c 4tt4ck, curse words, nearly pük1ng and mentions of pükē, implied minor character dë4ths.

ship: one-sided dustard.

~

“So, you’re a… sorcerer?”

Fell didn’t feel the need to look at Horror’s face, eyes locked on his poked but not eaten steak as his bandaged wrist barely moved up from the table to stab it again. He just dragged the fork around without moving his hand up, the metal clattering against the table and the plate.

“…Yeah, you could… say that, I guess.”

Fell felt all of the six eyes on himself and on his scrubbing fork as he helplessly pushed it onto the steak once again — only to suck in a breath and leave the oily fork still on the table. He huffed out, his elbows pulled up on the table, and his hands pressed against his forehead.

He fucking hated this.

He was stuck with four murderers, three of them being his past boyfriends. Not only that, but Nightmare had told him that his whole universe was gone—thanks to Murder—and now he was one of his employees.

What a nice fucking day to be alive.

“I,” Fell’s hands dropped back on the table with a loud thud, his fingers gripping on the side of the worn out table, “I am not hungry anymore. Sorry.”

“You weren’t even hungry from the start, dude.” Killer blurted out, getting slapped from his nape by Murder as he merely even tried to dodge. Well, he didn’t shout or anything — and even if he did, Fell was far from listening, not even hearing anything other than his own thumping heart and blaring brain.

Fell scooted back from the extra chair, creating a small gap in between it and the table so he could get out. His feet pattered on the floor as he dropped down from the gigantic chair, his feet suddenly feeling cold as they met with the flooring.

He couldn’t have cared less, right now.

With soft grumbles, he patterned asymmetrically out of the dining area and to the stairs. He carried his left foot onto the first row of the stairs, a loud creak coming out. He pushed his aching body up, and placed his right foot on the second row. Then third. And fourth. And so on.

As he reached the top stairs, his head was absolutely pounding in its tracks, and thump thump thump.

Was he sick or something?

He couldn’t even fucking think. What the hell was going on?

He lifted a heavy foot forwards, his naked foot slapping down on the wooden flooring with a disgusting sound; a wet and a skin sound. That just made him feel sick.

A newfound strength blazed in his chest, helping him to drag his sorryass into the closest room possible for him to see with his frantic vision. He pushed himself forward, head crashing onto a door as he groaned, and he didn’t fucking notice that the door was actually open — and he fell into the room.

Fell held onto the nearest wall he could find, his fingers grasping at the corner. His eyes glanced over at the room, and this was definitely not his room.

He didn’t give a single damn at this point, he was about to pass out.

Fell scooted over at the bed, his hands slamming onto the covers as he lost his balance, falling on the bed poorly. He groaned loudly, half of his body slumped down on the floor as his head was on the bed.

And fuck, had it not hurt. His knees had scratched against the floor.

He tried to breathe in. And oh the damned God of Negativity, his brain imploded with the scent of Comic.

His guts felt like bursting out from his abdomen along with a small but a considerable amount of puke, and the so new yet so old smell totally wrecked him. He started shaking on the floor, teeth clattering against each other as he desperately tried to breathe in and out, but made do with a ragged groan instead.

His palms touched the bed frame but slid off as his head slammed down on the mattress again, his sweaty hands trembling on his laps.

“There you are.”

The next thing Fell knew that he was picked up from the ground like a cat, and placed onto the mattress — passive-aggressively.

Cigarettes. He smelled cigarettes. And booze.

Fell burst out coughing, his stomach running up to his throat—and he gagged.

“Not on me.” Two palms slapped onto his cheeks, startling his half conscious mind as he was suddenly pulled up against a wall — the cold radiating from it getting his head back in the game.

Fell murmured something faintly, and the hands left his face for a split second. He felt the person climb onto the bed, next to him. One leg slid down from his two legs, and the other one slid down from his back — and he was tilted over into a mix of Comic, cigarettes, booze and sweat.

“Breathe.”

And it started. He missed the first two, but suited the third one. Breath in, 1 2 3 4 5. Hold, 1 2 3 4. Let out, 1 2 3 4 5 6.

Fell mostly coughed out as he breathed in, but who really cared? Not him.

“Is—“ Fell shivered unintentionally, “—is that you?”

“Who am I?”

“Don’t fucking play this game with me,” Fell could barely scold, his hands resting numbly on Murder’s left lap, “You know who I meant.”

“Yes, it is me.”

“I fucking hate you.”

Silence.

Just what Fell fucking needed.

“…This happens,” Murder muttered mutely, “the stomach churning and loss of consciousness. It’s because of Nightmare’s damn negativity.”

“Well, could’ve figured that out.”

Fell laid still on Murder’s chest, the ringing of his ears slowly but surely fading into the pure sound of heartbeats as Murder and Fell breathed in sync — both breathing and thumping filling his upset mind. It was almost calming, if not counting the comfort radiating from Murder being so aggressive.

“Why are you doing this?”

Murder slightly shifted.

“Why are you being nice to me right now? You’re the reason why my universe is destroyed, yet you are here, comforting the prey,” Fell’s voice dropped to a faint whisper, his throat suddenly feeling too tight to talk as his words tangled into each other — some incomprehensible murmurs of passive but still not flamed down rage coming out from his lips. He tried to get his shit together, but his mind was too occupied with the negativity radiating from his Boss’ ass.

“I know for a reason that you don’t even stay on Horror’s side this long,” Fell mumbled, “what is keeping you attached to me after all this time?”

Murder sighed quietly, his gaze trailing away from Fell’s as he tried to find an answer for the question.

“Sometimes,” Murder paused, his eyes flicking back to Fell for a brief moment before turning away again, and Fell felt Murder’s body tensing up but he still managed to keep a calm expression.

“Sometimes things feel different, after spending years alone, in a ditch. After being surrounded by nothing but empty, depressive and suicidal energy, something about seeing you here with me… it almost feels comforting.”

“Or,” Murder quickly turned his face away from Fell, “I just like messing with your sorryass. I like to bait preys in first so that I can, uh—“

—Fell burst into pure laughter, a mess of snorts and chuckles coming out rather desperately to keep himself from crying. “You did not just confess your feelings to me like a cringe love story, you fucking bastard.”

“What? I didn’t confess anything. What the hell is wrong with you?” Murder claimed himself back from Fell, almost like a cat that tasted a lemon, and crossed his arms.

“Alright, big guy. Whatever you say.”

Fell sniffed, his left hand running up to his nose to wipe it.

Murder pulled himself up from his own bed, and in a quick motion—he patterned away to the door.

Fell could tell that he was embarrassed.

“Hey, Murder.”

Fell’s voice still carried the traces of his previous laughter, but he was more calm now, seemingly not wishing to poke any more holes into Murder’s pride than he already had.

Murder stopped, but didn’t turn back.

Fell responded back by slowly standing up, moving towards Murder, his movements slow and gentle.

“You,” Fell said with a soft smile, “got rid of my family. So, go sit on a dick, will you?”

And Fell helped himself out of the room.

Murder blinked twice after him, still not sure if he heard that right.

His eyes narrowed, “…Fuck.”

~

Fell Sans belongs to @underfell

Murder/Dust Sans belongs to @ask-dusttale

Killer Sans belongs to @rahafwabas

Horror Sans belongs to @sour-apple-studios

Nightmare Sans belongs to @jokublog

OG Sans belongs to Toby Fox

Actverse belongs to me

~

I really wanted to make them kiss but my brain said nuh uh it’s angst time

next time maybe 💪💪

[arthurrei07]

actverse swap and killer designs!!

took uhhhh days

—mod steve

Killer Sans belongs to @rahafwabas

Swap/Blue Sans belongs to the AU Community

Actverse belongs to me

[arthurrei07]

what IS actverse? Like??? What is the main concept about it? Or is it just your personal version of the multiverse???

actverse is still in progress, but so far there are 8 main deities who kind of rule the multiverse—the main concept is like there is this Game tm, which works sort of like gambling with souls in between these deities. mod steve’s working on the sans designs—so expect to see some of those soon ⭐️

thank you for the ask anon!!

[arthurrei07]

errorink AAAA

tried something new

—mod steve

Ink Sans belongs to @comyet

Error Sans belongs to @loverofpiggies

Actverse belongs to me

[arthurrei07]

actverse / take on cross!sans and swad!sans / pt. 5

tws: mild curse words, mentioned 1njuries, mentioned phys1cal 4büse.

ship: none.

~

Cross was lowkey nervous.

It was not like he wasn’t ever, just, if Nightmare and Dream were powerful enough to destroy AU’s and create souls, how strong would their older brother be? Leave alone negativity and positivity — what the hell was he the guardian of?

He left his weight on his left foot this time, his fingers doing and undoing his sleeves over and over again. He left his right sleeve outwards, and the cold air almost immediately froze his wrist to the bone, causing him to frantically open the sleeve back. He huffed, and actually came to realize that the weather was cold as shit when his breath left white humidity in the air.

His eyebrows knitted.

Well, whatever the guardian he was of, he definitely didn’t know what punctuality meant.

Something creaked, and Cross’ head shot up.

The first thing he saw was a woman, dressed in white as if she was going to a wedding.

“Cross,” the woman’s mouth did not move, “Cross from X-Tale. Welcome.”

Cross couldn’t help but stare, trying to figure out if she even had a mouth. And no, she did not have one.

After some moments of pure confusion he gulped down his sore throat, nodding his head accordingly, “Hello. I was here for—“

“—Yes. I am the lieutenant of the palace.”

Cross’ face scrunched up, eyes looking directly at the woman. Her demeanor was weird, not exactly expressive—but monotone. The woman seemed to figure out what was bugging Cross just from his sour expression, and she bent in front of him — causing him to step back in some kind of an awkward fashion as she met her two palms together, apologizing.

“I am extremely sorry for my mannerism. I am the first prototype created by bliss, so I can’t really control the way my words come out.” She lifted herself back up with a swift move, and faintly smiled at Cross — causing him to blush out of embarrassment.

Cross sheepishly hid his nose under his scarf, sighing softly as he frantically tried to get rid of the newfound embarrassment. He softly muttered, “…It’s no problem.”

The woman seemed to be entertained by his mild stress, and she exhaled out of her nose, “Let’s get inside. His Highness is waiting for you.”

She slowly walked to the side and suddenly, a large gate and a palace appeared, causing Cross to step back once more as he was struck by awe.

The woman gestured with her left hand for Cross to follow her.

The woman did a perfect turn at the gateway, the two large doors budging open with loud creaks as she proceeded towards them, her high heels clicking on the newly formed stone paths. The doors hit somewhere as they fully opened, a deep thud coming out from each side; and she slowly continued forwards.

Cross swallowed, his feet unwillingly urging him to follow the woman.

“This is the headquarters of His Majesty,” The woman took a glance at the demon guards waiting at the sides, and then turned to Cross — nodding softly. “He had asked for you to first meet with him.”

Cross’ cheeks flushed with a faint yellow as she faintly smiled at him, and he tried to shake it off.

His eyes couldn’t help but dart over to her face structure anyway, and he noticed her imperfectly perfect lips, eyes, nose — everything.

His lips pursed as he pulled his scarf up to his nose.

The doors in front of them opened with some loud creaking, and a bright office was revealed.

Cross frowned at the pretty unusual sight of an office — organized and not dirty unlike Nightmare or Dream’s, and made do with a look towards the woman.

The woman’s head just tilted to the side and took a walk to him, gently holding him from his right arm as she pulled him into the chamber. Cross let her take the lead.

Their footsteps echoed in the room, the marble floor shining under their shoes. The woman closed Cross up to the desk in the middle, and put him just in front of it, “I will be outside if you need me. Just wait in the circle until His Majesty comes.”

Cross did a second take at what she had formed out and his head dropped down to take a look at the ground, and seriously, there was a circle rounding up around his feet. As his head perked up to the woman to question it, he was met with—…green.

Cross instinctively flung himself back in a split second, raising his arms to block out any incoming attack. But it didn’t come. Instead, he heard a chuckle.

“Now now, no need to get so defensive,” Cross’ head rose up and up, trying to make sense out of the shadowy and long figure, “I am not a foe.”

Cross took another step back, trying to steady his ground as the feel voice came closer to his person, his eyes following the figure.

Suddenly, six golden wings fluttered — blinding Cross with pure bliss as he squinted to minimize the pain.

When the light was gone, Cross finally selected a face, and was nearly speechless at the absolute flawless face structure; but was quick to get his guard back up. He scowled.

“Ah, I see,” the man sighed, pulling his hair back as he wiped his hands on his green button-up, “Nightmare and Dream, as always, don’t know how to treat their employees. You can relax, Cross. I am not going to harm you.”

And there it was. He was the brother.

Of course. The exact same way to get him to let his guard down.

“Would you like tea, coffee or anything at all? I can quickly whip out something for you.”

Cross’ left eyebrow rose, and he let his arms dangle on his sides, mumbling under his scarf, “I don’t want anything. Thanks.”

“No problem,” the man sighed sourly and snapped his fingers — the hearth nearby Cross instantly bursting out with orange fire, causing Cross to irk in his place. The man’s mouth took an ‘o’ shape, his face apparent of surprise, and he hummed as he put one hand on his desk and the other on the armchair next to him, “Are you always this jumpy, Cross?”

“No.” Cross said, his eyes not separating from the fire. It was radiating a warmth he had never felt before, making his body actually feel like he was in comfortable clothing, and he felt his churning stomach relax even if just a bit.

He heard the man clear his throat with simple coughs, and turned his focus on him.

“I am glad that you are feeling better. I noticed that you were wounded, so I made the blazes as kind as they could be.” He took a bunch of paper in his palms, and hit them twice on the desk to get them in a straight line and placed the stack down; taking just a single paper from the top, “I am Blaze, the guardian of Hearth. It might seem a bit useless, but I do more help to the universe than those idiot brothers of mine.”

He took a pen from his desk, and settled down on the armchair. He glanced at Cross, and gestured with his head for him to sit on the other armchair.

Cross slowly creeped up to the chair, and sat on it hesitantly.

“As you know, you have a new contract, with me. So, I need you to sign this paper here,” Blaze pulled the white A4 up in the air, and placed it down on the coffee table in between him and Cross, “and we can start talking about the other matters.”

Cross watched him place the pen next to the paper, and stared down at them. He huffed out of his nose, and glanced back up, “Isn’t the contract already made?”

“Yes, but I need your signature. That way, you will be out of the Game as long as you stay with me. That will depend upon your behavior, though.”

Cross was taken aback. “…Is that even possible for a non-God? Not participating in the Game?”

“If you agree, then yes.” Blaze spun his fingers in the air, a cup forming in his palm. He sighed, and clicked his nails on the delicate glassware of the cup, “Anything is possible if you make the right contract.”

Cross felt as if the white paper was sucking him in, a single signature seeming too big of a move to do.

“…N-No, I’d rather not. I’d rather be traded in between.”

“My, are you scared?” Blaze mumbled into the cup and put it in the air after two or more sips, “Aren’t my brothers already much of the abusers?” His face scrunched up at the bad thought of… what Cross feared, “I don’t… hit my employees. That’s not my preferred way to ‘punish’, as Nightmare would say. I usually give out chores to do for them.”

“…What kind of chores, exactly? Like getting rid of an AU?” Cross offered, his voice getting weaker towards the end of what he had formed out— Blaze’s left bottom wing was twitching weirdly.

He sucked in a sharp breath, and made do with a glance at his own wing, “No. Gosh, do my brothers literally find the solutions in destroying anything? No, Cross,” his hands grabbed his wing, and he pulled it closer. He swiftly ran his fingers through the feathers and rubbed on certain spots, “I make you clean around the palace. The most extreme I would go is to make you train—but that would be the top.”

Blaze flung his wing back to its former place, and took the cup from the air, placing it down on the table.

“…Your workers don’t train? Then how do they defend themselves? Isn’t it the standard practice for employees?” Cross mumbled, his eyes narrowing down as Blaze just stared, not a single emotion written on his face.

“Since I don’t get involved with wars and crimes or gambling,” Blaze said, his eyes wavering around his office and then back to Cross — snapped his fingers and a ballpoint pen dropped into his palm with orange and turquoise sparkles, “I don’t find the necessity to train them like bunch of animals.”

He slightly bent over to the coffee table, putting the pen down next to the A4 paper. “So, are you convinced enough? Do we have a deal?”

Cross gulped down.

“…Alright.” He reached for the pen, taking it into his palm as he clicked the button on its end. He bent over to the coffee table, and the metal tip of the pen met with the white paper — a messy sign writing upon it.

~

Dream Sans belongs to @jokublog

Nightmare Sans belongs to @jokublog

Cross Sans belongs to @jakei95

Swad/Blaze Sans belongs to SONG_A

Actverse belongs to me

~

i wrote this while listening to nymphology and just perfect

i also changed swad’s personality a lot, but ill fix it in the future chapters i promise 🥹🥹

and yeah, swad nightmare and dream are brothers — ( got the idea in the middle of the night )

[arthurrei07]

actverse/ take on fell!sans, murder!sans and killer!sans / pt. 4

tws: implied nüdity, curse words, scars, mentioned st4bbing, sëx jokes, implied drüggêd character.

ships: one sided dustard, implied nightkiller.

~

Fell was freezing.

His body was wet. His face was wet. His hair was wet. And the water droplets slid down from his hair to his shoulders to his back — they either hurt so fucking much as they went in his bandages or froze him to his guts as they left a wet trail.

Well, it wasn’t as if he wasn’t covered with anything—just the wettest towel he had ever fucking felt and everytime he breathed out, his skin touched it and he got fucking cold, cold as fucking shit.

He could at least feel the gripping bandages covering most of his torso and abdomen, keeping him slightly warm or some shit.

Wait.

Where was he?

This couldn’t be UnderFell. If he was in UnderFell, Papyrus would have already shouted at him to get the fuck up — he would even bang the pans together for him to literally jolt up awake.

Papyrus wouldn’t bandage him either.

Not UnderSwap. Blue wouldn’t leave him out in the cold, and he would have already woken up to his Papyrus’ loudass snoring.

Not UnderLust. Definitely not UnderLust.

Under… Tale? No, he didn’t think so. UnderTale was gone. The border was closed.

Where the fuck was he?

Fell tried to breathe, the air immediately getting tangled in his chest as dry coughs bursted out of the back of his throat. He desperately coughed, his poor voice coming too hoarse for his liking. He groaned softly as his throat ached, a faint murmur rising from his lips as he complained about the cold and wet towel.

“…Murder, Killer.”

And Fell had never been this pissass scared because, well—fucking Nightmare.

He hysterically tried to get rid of the overwhelming tiredness trying to take over his body, his efforts merely even moving an eyelid, leave alone a limb.

His breathing came out in rather ragged and hitching breaths, his utterly dry throat throbbing as he once burst out coughing.

“Calm.”

Fell’s clamping shut chest gradually became relaxed, but he still didn’t hold himself back from audibly groaning.

“Did he wake up?” And the tone almost sounded too familiar to his ears, causing his teeth to bare up — Fell didn’t know if it was because of the voice or the newly incoming wind blowing right onto his face, but with the exception of it being shriller than usual.

He didn’t know if it was Killer’s or Murder’s, just the shitty tone rang in his brain, sending shivers down his spine as he visibly flinched.

“…Seems like he did.” No, this was Murder. The fucking rasp in his voice felt as if he was constantly snorting cigarettes, not even stopping for a breath. He probably hissed when someone offered him water to clear his hoarse throat, like a fucking rabid dog.

Ugly ass voice.

“Check his temperature,” Nightmare said, and Fell heard his heels click on the most probably a wooden floor, his voice getting gradually fainter as his steps patterned away, “take care of him. I will be in my office.”

“Yes, Boss.”

Fell’s eyelids trembled, trying to force themselves upper and upper — some kind of succeeding as they only could squint.

“Oh, shit,” Killer blurted out loud, his lips almost immediately pursing after his utterly unnecessary comment about—about whatever. He slightly glanced to his side, at Murder, eyes narrowing down.

“…He looks worse than before.”

“No, shit, Killer,” The monotone voice pierced into Fell’s ears, two eyes of different colors sparkling under his hooded head, “he literally got stabbed.”

Oh. That definitely made just so much fucking sense.

Killer’s mouth barely opened, an audible scoff coming out as his pitch black eyes—stared, or glared at Murder. His hands raised up to his own chest, crossing behind his arms as his long and slim fingers took his elbow into his palm, almost like grasping. He took a moment to hum sarcastically, an eerie smile placing on his lips as it sent creeps through Fell’s guts.

“Wow, really? He got stabbed?” Killer cooed, his tone suddenly and harshly dropping down afterwards, “Didn’t you stab him?”

“…I’m not talking about this any longer.” Murder muttered, pulling his hood down onto his eyes as Killer hysterically cackled at him.

“Oh, why? Are you embarrassed, Dusty?” Killer’s head tilted to Murder’s shoulder as he put his head down—and Murder immediately jerked back, causing Killer to freeze in his place so as not to fall face first into the floor. Killer dreamily sighed, “Hurting someone you love isn’t really like you, I suppose?”

“Shut up, Killer. It was an accident.” Murder’s shoulders visibly tensed as neither of Killer’s questions were not answered but the prior, his fingers leaving the tip of his hood as it slipped back up to his head and over his cap.

“…You,” Fell’s voice was no different than Murder’s, hoarse and croaky — cracking every time he waited to take in a breath, “…fucking stabbed me?”

Both of their eyes turned to Fell, a sudden change of Killer’s mischievous expression and Murder’s flashing eyes — into an astonished look. They stared at him, as if he was a lamb, running away from them as he was injured—the wolves.

Fell did not like that one bit.

But of course, as soon as Killer was shocked he was also back to his usual self of snarky behavior.

“You didn’t kill him off! Thank the Gods up above,” he took a moment to contemplate Fell even further, then turned to Murder with a gigantic and most definitely a sadistic grin, “and well, you, I guess.”

Killer proceeded to walk over to Fell after Murder didn’t give him the response he wanted—just the same shocked face gazing at Fell—and put a palm on the bottle of water standing on the glass coffee table, yanking it into his hand. He crouched down on the floor against the sofa Fell was laying on, his face facing Fell’s.

“Are you feeling better, sweetheart? Here, you should—“ And something hit Killer’s head from the back, earning a loud snicker from him as he was flung to the side.

“Don’t,” Murder’s words were not even remotely close to angry, but raging, “Don’t fucking call him that.”

“What?” Killer’s head perked back up to the air, a blob of hair batting into Fell’s vision, “He was my boyfriend too. We all dated him, you damned bastard.”

“…What the,” Fell’s right forearm placed downright onto the sofa, then left. He grunted as he eagerly but hardly tried to push himself up to his butt, but failed miserably as his tired body almost immediately gave up, “what the hell are you talking about?”

“Nonsense.” Murder’s fingers snapped and right after that his palm opened, the bottle in Killer’s hands plopping into Murder’s from mid air as he helped himself to Fell, “He is talking about nothing important.”

“Oh, come on,” Killer pouted, Murder’s eyes glaring at him, “are you just going to fucking lie? Not cool.”

“Go back to your pimp, you stupid idiot. If you want to get 11 inches shoved down your throat, go get it from Boss.”

Killer and Murder stared at each other for some solid seconds, their eyes racing to be the most intimidating.

“You could have just said that you want to keep him to yourself, you possessive freak,” Killer scoffed after a while, his eyebrows merely knitting. He pulled his body back up with a quick push and lift of his legs and Fell noticed, one of his legs had scars in the shade of pinks and blacks, definitely some burns of explosives.

Weird. Swap had the same ones.

“He is freezing,” Killer said, his tone not so hard, “replace the towel with something else, and dry his hair.” His eyes glanced back at Fell, and there was another burn on his cheek that he just came to realize — nearing to his lips, on the same side as the burns on his leg, “Put a blanket on him or something. Keep him warm.”

“I already brought the radiator here,” Murder’s index finger raised to point somewhere, and Killer snorted at his possible idiocy — and Fell frowned at his absolute lack of self control. Well, none of them had that, actually.

“Do you want him to die before you have the chance to lay him? Well you know what, I’ll cuddle him. You can go.” Fell saw the piece of mischief written on his lips, and he just knew that he just made some bullshit up to get Murder fuming.

And yet again, something dashed across the air and smacked Killer in the head, but this time he cried out.

“Shit, alright! Leave him to rot, then. I don’t fucking care anymore.” Killer’s footsteps scurried away as they pattered on the wooden floor like bunch of heavy stones — thumping onto the ground with just his socks.

Also, he didn’t miss to flip Murder off on his way out.

Murder took a moment to sigh out of his mouth, his glowing eyes turning back to Fell. They just stared from a distance, not threatening but observing him inch by inch—as if he was something special.

He walked forwards to the sofa and stopped by it. Murder put one knee down on the floor, reaching for the bottle laying on the stained rug. He grabbed it, straightening upright.

“Get up. Drink some water.”

Fell agitatedly huffed out, lips moving as he rasped out, “As if I can. I am physically unable to move. Or you would have been done, you bastard.”

And Murder flung the bottle next to Fell, startling him with the swift action. He slightly bent over to his body, taking the wet towel off him as he rolled it into a ball and just… threw it to the side.

Fell felt the wind blowing onto his whole body, a frenzy of shivers running through his body as he just trembled in his place helplessly. His teeth clenched roughly against the cold, merely even clattering from his bared jaw, “…The hell is wrong with you? Why the hell—“

—Plop!

Murder was out of his jacket. And the jacket was on Fell.

Murder pulled the rolling radiator off from the back of the sofa, and to the side where it faced Fell’s frozen body. After that, he stepped over the white cable, plopping down on the side of the sofa as he gently—gently placed Fell’s head down on his laps.

“…What are you—“

“—Sleep.”

And Murder’s fingers started caressing Fell’s hair with a delicate touch, slowly undoing the knots and untangling the strands without hurting or pulling them. His touch was tender and almost too soft, completely opposite to the dumbass that he was.

As he ran his fingers gently through Fell’s wet hair, he calmed the knots quickly and easily.

This was weird, in complete contrast to his rough and rude way of behaving.

Fell sucked in a soft breath, and the scent of his hoodie hit his nose.

Comic. That was Comic’s scent.

Of course. This was what Killer was talking about.

Fell’s eyes did a last take at the messy living room, eyelids fluttering down to their places.

Time to fucking sleep, he guessed.

~

Murder/Dust Sans belongs to @ask-dusttale

Nightmare Sans belongs to @jokublog

Killer Sans belongs to @rahafwabas

OG Sans belongs to Toby Fox

Fell Sans belongs to @underfell

Actverse belongs to me

~

i kept writing Murder as murfer 😭😭 (smurfer)

[arthurrei07]

errorink errorink errorink theyre idiots

—mod steve

Ink Sans belongs to @comyet

Error Sans belongs to @loverofpiggies

Actverse belongs to me

[arthurrei07]

took three days

swaps fiiine (probably)

—mod steve

Swap/Blue Sans belongs to the AU Community

Dream Sans belongs to @jokublog

Ink Sans belongs to @comyet

Murder/Dust Sans belongs to @ask-dusttale

Actverse belongs to me

[arthurrei07]

actverse / take on swap!sans, dream!sans and ink!sans / pt. 3

tws: man1pülation, p0sses1ve behavior, curse words, phys1c4l 4ssaült. and kissing, (🤯🤯).

ship: dreamberry.

~

“There you are. I’ve been struggling with this single piece of bandage for hours now.” And Ink glared, his pupils changing in between blue and red as his eyes firstly darted at Dream, then to Swap. His hand gripped on the tip of the black stained bandage for a split second—and suddenly yanked it off his arm.

The bandage flapped on the ground.

“Sorry, Ink. Let me—“ As Dream pushed a foot forwards, Ink grabbed him from his shoulders, placed him sharply to the side and urged to Swap — snatching him from his scarf as he lifted it upwards, forcing Swap to look up—into his red flashing eyes.

“You are disgustingly stupid. Why did you do that? Hm? Tell me, Swap—“

“—Woah, Ink—“

“—Shut the fuck up, Dream,” Ink’s orbs scanned Swap’s face, and his head whipped to Dream — tipping slightly to the right as he gestured Swap, “Your boy toy twink is the most idiotic man I’ve ever seen.”

Ink’s head budged to Swap in three snaps, his pupils piercing directly into Swap’s eyes as they changed shapes and directions—keeping the color red, “Do you have any idea about what you have done? Do you know how much destruction is caused because of your silly little ‘defense’?”

Swap grasped the tip of his scarf with his two fingers, pulling it down from his lips as Ink’s hands slipped, “What? Was I supposed to just stand there, beg them for mercy?” Swap scoffed, speechless at Ink for a moment there as he blankly stared at him — doing a take at Dream’s face in disbelief than back to Ink with the anger fuming inside his chest, “Did you really fucking think that Nightmare’s slaves would back up if I did so? No. I had to save my family.”

Ink’s eyebrows raised, and his mouth took an ‘o’ shape.

A raw silence before the storm.

Ink began to laugh hysterically, wheezes and gasps coming out of his throat as he couldn’t hold himself back from being absolutely stupid. As he was wheezing once again, he began to cough—a cough fit finding their way to his mouth as he buckled down.

Swap turned to Dream, and they shared some looks — both confused as much as the other.

“That is,” Swap glanced over at Ink as his voice sparked up with a desperate cackle, Ink’s eyes narrowing as the tip of his lips moved up and up, a crooked grin took place on his face, and Swap’s eyebrows knitting at his eerie reaction, “utterly pathetic.”

Swap’s eyes widened—teeth baring at Ink’s sarcastic comment, and he put one foot forwards, warning, “Watch your fucking mouth.”

The sudden outburst of aggression was followed by the silence of a tense moment, as only their glares spoke.

Swap felt his body tense up as Ink’s head slowly started to budge toward him, his sudden numb face boring into his eyes as his head twitched.

“Okay, guys,” Dream’s voice was urgent of a settlement, it sounded passive but imperious, “I am going to call Error to pick you up, Ink. Alright? This conversation is over.”

“Oh, haha! What a coincidence that you brought him up.” Swap’s breath cut—but Ink clearly didn’t know where he had to stop, “Speaking of Error,” Ink spoke dangerously low, “guess who made a contract with him?”

“Ink,” Swap’s palms softly shook, hands clenched in fists as panic seeped through his trembling voice, “stop.”

“…What?”

“Dream—“

“—You,” Swap did not want to face him, “made a deal with Error?”

“What—“ Swap’s voice cracked, his shoulders jolting back as he got in a defensive posture, “—What else was I supposed to do? The contract we did was you protecting my universe! And you were—and I—“ Swap kept stumbling on his own words, eyes locking on Dream as he took a step to him.

“—What did I do,” Swap irked back like a freaky mouse as Dream walked onto him, “to make you this desperate to go to him? Why couldn’t you just come and talk to me?”

Swap could feel his heart pounding against his throat, the rhythm quickening as his breaths became faster and more shallow as his chest tightened.

He couldn’t help but stare back at Dream, who was staring intently back at him—his eyes piercing and unwavering.

“You know as well as I do that there are consequences to making deals, especially with Error. So why don’t you tell me, because I’m really curious.”

“I—I know I messed up, Dream, I do. But I had to do something. I had to save my universe, even if I had to turn to him. I didn’t know what else to do! I was at a complete loss—and I thought—“

“—Ink. Call Error and bring him here. I will be waiting for him in my office,” Dream huffed, his hands combing through his silk blond hair, “Swap. Come with me.”

Swap swallowed down from his sore throat, “…Yes.”

Dream almost perfectly spun around in 90 degrees, facing the dark and gloomy hallway — and his heels clicked on the floor with soft thumps, fading away into the darkness gradually.

As Swap was about to trail his path, he felt a hand touch his shoulder—jolting back as his wound got poked. He hissed, immediately getting a quick whispered apology from Ink.

“…Shit, sorry dude,” Ink pulled his hand back, placing it on his own arm as he nervously narrowed his eyes.

Silence.

“Be,” Ink hesitated, “careful.”

“…Will do.”

Swap sighed deeply, turning to the hallway.

His footsteps started pattering on the marble flooring as he slowly started to walk to the hallway — slowly fading into the dark, just like Dream. As Ink’s breathing was now nothing but a whistle, his feet felt as if they were sliding too fast into the hall, the long corridor seeming too short for a moment.

But well, that was just an illusion of his panicked mind.

With a soft sigh to at least calm himself down, Swap looked at the end of the hallway — his eyes squinting as he tried to make a sense of the thick dark in front of his face.

Dream’s office’s lights were not on.

—And suddenly, he was pinned right onto a wall with a rough crash—his head hitting it as he groaned loudly at the pain thumping in his brain.

The next thing he felt was his chin getting held by a palm as his head was forced to turn forwards — into a pitch black eye, and a sparkling dash of dirty yellow as a pupil.

“I am not sharing you with another man,” Dream—Dream spoke, “Your mind, your soul, your body — they all belong to me.”

“This isn’t about the deal, is it?” Swap’s hands ran up to Dream’s rock solid wrist, his palms locking on it as his voice was barely above a whisper, “…Dream. What are you on about?”

Swap could feel Dream’s breathing heavily on his lips, the tip of Dream’s breath dancing across his lips as Dream’s lips ghosted Swap’s by a few inches. His fingers were brushing against Swap’s shoulder, tenderly running up to his neck.

“…Dream,” Swap breathed out hotly, “you are joking.”

Dream’s thumb rubbed against Swap’s cracked lips, head slowly peeking down to reach Swap—Swap’s lips, “May… I kiss you?”

Swap gulped, “Yes—Yes, you may.”

Dream slowly closed up on Swap’s lips, gently brushing his wounded lips with his own. Swap felt his breath catching in his throat as his eyelids lowered and mouth opened before pulling Dream onto him, their tongues meeting.

Swap’s hands touched Dream’s chest, running up to his hair as his fingers pressed against his body.

“…The hell?”

—And Swap jolted back onto the wall, his head whipping to—Error and Ink.

“…That was literally the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen Dream do.” Ink snorted — earning a glare from Dream.

Dream’s palms dropped from Swap, or that was at least what Swap thought was going to happen, and one of them stopped on the crook of his waist, “Keep your thoughts to yourself, Ink.”

“I was h—h—here for a mee—eeting. Dream?” Error glared at Dream and his hand on Swap’s waist, eyes squinting like an old lady disapproving of her granddaughter’s marriage.

“…Yes. Let’s go to my office,” Dream glanced at Swap, his hand gently squeezing his waist as it slid down to his own side.

Error huffed from his nose, watching Dream leave.

“I don’t f—fucking trust t—t—that guy.”

Swap embarrassedly smiled, his eyes down on the floor as Error swooshed past them — following Dream deep into the hallway.

~

Swap/Blue Sans belongs to the AU Community

Dream Sans belongs to @jokublog

Ink Sans belongs to @comyet

Error Sans belongs to @loverofpiggies

Actverse belongs to me

~

guys I think error doesn’t like dream. just a thought tho 👍👍

[arthurrei07]

actverse / take on swap!sans / pt. 2

tws: mentioned v10lence, curse words, mentioned accidental drüg usage, bl00d, implied nüdity, implied minor character dë4ths, mentioned g0re.

ship: dreamberry.

(the tws are a bit violent but the story is not as bad as the tws. stay safe either way 💓)

~

“Dream.”

Swap watched Dream dip his pen into the ink case, cling it around in the glass and pull it back as the pitch black ink dripped on the surface of the wooden desk, and then onto the document. Dream, furiously, scribbled something on the paper; the thick liquid messing the original paper as it wetted it.

“Dream.” Swap called out again, his hoarse voice cracking as he talked. As he got no response, he budged towards Ink—yanking his own spear from his hands as Ink flinched back. His right hand fixed its grip on his spear as it nearly slipped through his bloody fingers, and Swap harshly banged the staff on the marble floor.

Dream flinched at the loud noise, his head perking up from the desk. And Swap saw the terror in his eye; absolutely stunned by the mix of green leaking from Swap’s mouth and nose as more dark green stained his clothes, black and red garnishing all over his face and well, solidified hair.

He bolted up from his place, an ear-killing screech rising from the chair as it bulged back.

“Swap? What—What in the stars?” Dream tried to get rid of his coat as he pulled it off of his backside, hurriedly scooting away from the desk.

“What in the stars? Are you fucking kidding me?” Swap left his spear down on the floor as the metal part rattled around with a loud clank and aggressively shook his hand in the air, his blood splattering onto the ground.

His orbs followed Dream as he creeped up to him, Dream’s face turning pale.

“What—What happened?” Dream’s eyes ran up to meet with Swap’s, Swap’s eyes boring back into Dream’s.

“My universe is gone, is what happened,” Swap licked his lips, his spit burning the busted wounds as his face scrunched sourly. Swap huffed out of his clogged nose, the flowing blood spilling out as it dripped onto his armor from his chin.

Dream took a full glance at Swap before turning to Ink — then to Swap again. His eyes narrowed, “Are you… influenced?”

“—He got shot by a bear tranquilizer,” Ink blurted out as Swap just started talking, earning a half assed glare from him. Ink’s voice lowered as if Swap wouldn’t acknowledge him when he talked, “…Murder got him from his butt.”

“That fucking bastard. Shot me from my butt? How dare he—“ Swap’s passive-aggressive muttering faded into something like a shrill whisper and his eyes blinked, not syncing. He felt himself wobble on his feet—almost as if he was swaying in the bare air — wind swinging him around, and he would have most probably crashed on the floor if it wasn’t from Dream.

“Alright. Let’s get you bandaged up. You too, Ink.” Dream lifted Swap onto his chest as he got him in a bridal position in his arms, carrying him out of his office.

Swap could barely make out what Dream and Ink spoke about, his ears receiving the soft whispers only as faint, passing sounds. His head pulsed with every passing moment, his eyes fading in and out of focus. He was drifting in and out of consciousness.

Suddenly, after a good while of just black, a burst of cold water hit his body, jolting him fully back to consciousness. The sudden temperature change caused him to gasp — his body coming back to its senses.

Swap shivered, teeth clattering as he and Dream made eye contact.

“I need you to bear with me until I get you clean,” Dream’s eyes darted back to the faucet, turning the switch to hot.

Right. Swap’s focus shifted on the tub, and he was literally in his own blood in it. Not only that but his body was covered in grime, sweat and dirt. Water did little to help in this situation, only causing him to groan every time it burnt his injured skin.

He could only imagine what Dream was obligated to see—and feel, since he was going to bathe him, sticky and green blood — dotted with pieces of dirt.

The whole scene was truly disgusting.

“It’s fine,” Dream said, his voice soft. He reached out for what seemed like a bottle of shampoo, getting a bit of it into his left palm as he placed the bottle down somewhere on the ground — cupping both of his hands until the shampoo separated equally.

“Alright,” Dream got closer and Swap noticed that he had got rid of all of his fancy clothes — just in his black bodysuit, “I am going to wash your head. Do you have any wounds there?”

Swap sighed, “No.”

And Dream’s tender hands started stroking his hair, rubbing and massaging his scalp. Swap felt his rock solid hair soften under his palms, and the shampoo started to foam up. Swap huffed as his pounding head relaxed when Dream rubbed his temples, his body unclenching from the firm grip.

Dream took the header, gently rinsing Swap’s hair as the blood and the foam ran down from his shoulders and down to his body. Swap groaned as the shampoo stung his wounds — and suddenly realized—oh Gods, he was naked?

A weird sense of panic took him over, but was immediately calmed down by Dream’s thumb rubbing over to his shoulder.

Dream said nothing, but Swap could feel that he was also low key embarrassed.

Next up was his body. Every time Dream tried to softly clean his wounds, Swap hissed painfully — his nails digging into his own laps.

Dream basically did what he could do as Swap kept jerking away, at least got to clean the dirt off.

Then, warm water poured down from his hair again, the dirt getting off him and down into the drain hole.

After they were done, Dream took a towel from the side, softly pressing it against his hair as he drained it. Then, he lowered it down to his body, wrapping him with it. Swap’s mind filled with the scent of Dream, and wondered if it was Dream’s towel or if he was in Dream’s chambers.

Dream gently brushed Swap’s bangs out of his eyes, and then cupped his cheeks, taking a look at his lips, “…Who busted your lips? They look—uh, fine, but—“

“—Don’t lie, Mr. Smiles and Rainbows,” Swap flinched when Dream’s thumb stroked his bottom lip, “I know that they look bad as shit.”

They shared some glances, Dream’s worried and Swap’s a bit frustrated, and Swap decided to speak up, “…Killer. He punched me because I stabbed Murder.”

“You stabbed Murder?” Dream breathlessly let out, his teeth baring up, “You stabbed Murder.”

“I am not a fragile little Nymph. I don’t play ‘pretty’ and ‘beautiful’ when someone fucks up my territory to the ground,” Swap scoffed, a pastel colored blood ran down from one of his nostrils, and he quickly sniffed it back.

“…About your universe,” Dream’s palms backed up from Swap’s face and to the tub’s edge, fingers pattering in the edge one by one as he opened his mouth to talk—getting cut off by Swap.

“—Other than Papyrus — who literally got his arm torn out, everyone is pretty much dead.”

Swap couldn’t help but gaze up at the white ceiling, his fingers slowly tracing the edge of the tub as he finally felt as if the tranquilizer had worn off, and actually struggled to take in the extent of the damage.

Alphys, Asgore, Undyne were gone. Not only them, everyone was gone.

As his breaths mingled in the warm air, his throat hurt. Swap kept his eyes rested on the ceiling, his mind still trying to process what had happened—the deaths of everybody he knew and cared about.

“…Let’s bandage you up, alright? We can talk about this later.”

“…Okay.”

~

Swap/Blue Sans belongs to the AU Community

Dream Sans belongs to @jokublog

Ink Sans belongs to @comyet

Murder/Dust Sans belongs to @ask-dusttale

Killer Sans belongs to @rahafwabas

Actverse belongs to me

~

hoped you liked it!! dreamberry are my babies 😭😭🥺🥺

[arthurrei07]

he’s flabbergasted guys

—mod steve

Killer Sans belongs to @rahafwabas

Horror Sans belongs to @sour-apple-studios

Actverse belongs to me

[arthurrei07]

murder and killer!!!

—mod steve

Killer Sans belongs to @rahafwabas

Murder/Dust Sans belongs to @ask-dusttale

Actverse belongs to me

[arthurrei07]

actverse / take on killer!sans / pt. 1

tws: implied d0mest1c a6use, bl00d, v10lence, curse words.

ship: nightkiller.

~

“…Boss is calling you.”

Killer took a moment to scoff out of his nose, almost like a snort but in exhaling manners. He spared a glance at Horror, his eyes narrowing as that crooked grin did not leave his stitched lips—scooting back from the table as his chair squeaked against the wooden flooring.

“This,” Killer’s fingers gently pressed on the side of the dish, “belongs in the trash.”

Horror’s eyebrows softly knitted, his eyes turning away from Killer and to Murder. Killer’s teeth bared — his lips not shifting from the smile, the black bloodstains being visible to any eye, “Of course. Alright, big guy.”

He raised his clenched hand up in the air, the clean fork shining under the dim light. Killer left the fork onto the table, the metal clattering around until it finally stopped.

Killer took one single look at both of their faces, the expressions—oh, the expressions. Almost gave him enough enjoyment to leave their sorryasses alone to rot. But he wasn’t done.

His neck took two cracks to turn to the staircase, eyes wide bulging as the streaks of negativity filled in his pitch black eyes, streaming down in some straight lines on his cheeks, “Enjoy your rat meat meal. Absolutely delicious, right?”

He heard some hitching on Horror’s breathing, and Murder uncomfortably moved in his place. Killer snorted, his feet stepping up to the stairs.

The wood creaked as he pushed his body up and up, feet one by one changing places on the stairs. His ear twitched as the cold air drifted through somewhere and onto his face, clearing his wet hair away from his mouth and eyes.

He helped himself up to the top stair, orbs looking around to see which room’s door was wide fucking open, making him freeze to his guts—and it was Nightmare’s.

“Killer.” That bastard was standing there, staring at him.

“What am I being accused of this time? Hm?” Killer snickered, his voice coming out rather hoarse and strangled. Blood ran up to his mouth, stopping his giggles in the middle. He nearly frowned, his taste buds tingling with the sharp taste of iron—then expectorated into his mouth and spat it harshly on the floor as black splat onto the ground. He huffed, eyes back onto Nightmare’s face.

“Let me guess,” Killer said, that stupid smile occupying his own face, “I failed the mission. Oh but Musty reported me to you, because I not only failed the mission, but I failed against that little Fae twink of your damned brother.”

Killer suddenly gasped out, his bandaged hand raising up to his mouth, showing that he had remembered something — a shock apparent on his face. Then his arm fell completely limp on his side, head slightly tilting to the left as his eyes refilled with the negativity, “I almost forgot, can you believe that? I also broke Murder’s arm, and insulted Horror’s cooking. Oh! But you already know those, huh?”

Nightmare’s shitless face—Killer wanted to break every single bone on his pretty little face, and to break them dirtily. Oh, how would he have enjoyed seeing him scream in agony, down on the floor — dying and in pain. But thank the Gods above, the trio of the brothers always returned. Not even a single damage to their body; not a busted lip, not a crooked nose, no nothing. Thank Error and Ink, right?

“Pathetic. Desperately pathetic, I am.” Killer mumbled.

“What are you exactly upset about, Killer?” Nightmare asked, his stupid teal pupil looking directly into Killer’s eyes.

“Funny question, Nightmare,” Killer spat out his name as if poison, his lips almost trembling as they forced the stitches, “Maybe the fucking contract you got my soul with. Does it ring any bells? Hm? No?”

Killer’s head perked back up, the water droplets dripping on his bare shoulders. “If I had not made that deal with you, I would have been the most powerful Fae to ever exist. The most dangerous. The most deadly.” Killer dreamily sighed, an obvious sarcasm toned in his exhale, “Maybe then I would be able to get rid of the blue asswipe.”

“You would have died if you had not made the deal. Remember,” Nightmare’s voice was calm, and Killer had to physically hold himself back from not attacking his goddamn ass, “you destroyed your own territory. You basically saved yourself from your end by making the contract.”

“I should have died, then. It’s better than being your favorite toy to play with.” Killer left his weight on the other leg, a soft shift of position causing him to get easily irritated.

“What do you want me to do, Killer?” Nightmare offered, voice hinted with aggression, “Help you create your family again? Get rid of Chara for once and ever? Make you live like princes, high and above — without any fears or disorders? Tell me, what do you want?”

“You tell me. What do I want?” Killer bit back, his lips still on their ugly grin and—he just hated it, Gods, he wanted to get rid of his complete face, “What do I want, Nightmare? What do I look like I want? Your dick? Your money? No. I want to get rid of you. I want you to die in a ditch, slowly and painfully.”

“And why do you exactly want it? Because I hit you? Or because I remind you of Papyrus every time I look dissatisfied, disappointed and frustrated?”

Killer’s eyes studied Nightmare’s face, every bone structure, his lips and nose, his… eyes. The different shapes of pupils, the different colors. He was absolutely beautiful. And Killer wanted that. He wanted to be pretty. He wanted to be charming. He wanted to be powerful. And maybe then, he would be content with his damned existence and cursed body.

“You are already flawless.” Killer got taken aback, but well, Nightmare could read minds after all, “You are attractive, drop dead gorgeous, even. A simple busted lip and a crooked nose won’t change anything about your face.” Killer slightly flinched, his grin fading away from his lips as Nightmare took a step closer — his hands gathered behind him, “You are incredibly talented and powerful. I saw you grow the roses near the Tree of Feelings with just your bare hands, and believe me when I say this, I have not seen anything like those white flowers in my thousand years of being. You have an amazing talent at using your knives, and any weapon at all — you almost seem too angelic when you use them. Especially against Murder.”

Killer’s eyebrows furrowed, his black orbs following Nightmare’s every move as he stepped closer and closer to his person, “You are just telling me what I want to hear.”

Nightmare paused in front of Killer, his head slightly piping down to make an eye contact with him. Killer’s dialed pupils followed Nightmare’s muscles softly budge into something kind, a gentle smile forming on his black lipsticky lips.

Killer hated his smile more than he hated his own.

“Is it so?” Nightmare cooed, his arms dangling on his side for a moment before he reached for Killer’s face, his bruised cheeks fitting right into Nightmare’s palms as he cupped them tenderly, thumbs rubbing onto his cheekbones, “Do you really think that I am just flattering you?”

Killer’s teeth gritted, and he yanked himself back from Nightmare, “Don’t fucking tease me, you bastard. I will obliterate you.”

“As you wish.” Nightmare’s arms sagged on his sides for a second, then he tucked them into his pockets.

They stared at each other, eyes not leaving one another.

…Killer was the one who cut the eye contact. He sighed from his nose, arms crossing on his chest as he leaned against Nightmare’s torso — getting wrapped with his arms.

Killer blinked twice, the wet layer in his eye clearing. The negativity streaks on his cheeks slowly cut — and a single circular pupil shone out of the darkness.

“Glad to have you back.” Killer felt Nightmare’s voice tingle on his chest, reaching Killer’s ears as his soft breathing filled his mind.

“…Yeah. Glad to be back.”

~

Killer Sans belongs to @rahafwabas

Nightmare Sans belongs to @jokublog

Murder/Dust Sans belongs to @ask-dusttale

Horror Sans belongs to @sour-apple-studios

Actverse belongs to me