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deprssivewriter · 3 years

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Errors in general and Nye in particular

Thanks to the best bro for motivation (even though you did it unconsciously).

It’s time to talk about concept and characters, yeah. Although today I will pay attention to the most unprocessed of them.

A brief digression: once upon a time there was a boy of fourteen years old and he wanted characters with angel wings. But he not only had given up on the wings, and he'd given the race the stupid name "Errors," and by the time he was twenty, he hadn't come up with anything better. So, in addition to the wings, Errors each have their own curse (there are only a few types, but more on that later). Accordingly, when they are severely or mortally wounded, the curse consumes them (who understood thay understood, who did not understand they will understand). However, even after the resurrection, the curse does not immediately go away, it torments the wearer for another couple of days (depending on the circumstances), while the body slowly recovers. Errors are born rarely from ordinary people, parents see the wings from birth, even though they are like in a hidden state. By the age of 3-4, Errors awaken their first powers, including their wings, and they can no longer keep them hidden, so for the next few years everyone can see their wings until they learn to control them. We continue to develop my insanity, Errors are immortal. You can kill them only by pulling out their wings, all other methods of killing lead only to rebirth. By the way, the Error itself can not pull out the wings, either, they will grow back in this case. It seems that all the most important things are indicated.

Let's go back to the one I originally wanted to write about. Nye. Initially, he was envisioned as a completely neutral character, but quickly enough something went wrong, and he became an asshole, which probably difficult to find. But a recent conversation with bro made me think about him. I really wanted to write something, and I asked her if she wanted to see something from the life of a certain character. She also said that she wanted Nye and Jack(another Error) to meet for the first time, and I was a little upset. It was in my mind in general terms, but I never thought about this moment in detail, however, as well as about Nye. Among all my characters, he is the only one who does not have a prototype from real life. Somehow, he just happens to exist on its own. Among other things, somehow it turned out that he was fucking special. In theory, the first Error appeared due to a freaking major failure in genetics, according to the theory, all the genes there should have been recessive (I'm not a biologist, so I don't quite understand what I'm saying, I warn you right away). Nye, in turn, was born an albino, which is also a fucking glitch in genetics, and with it came a new curse that no one had before. Nye is currently the only carrier of it (and probably the only one, I don't think that he wants to have a child). So, when I thought about him, I tried to put aside all my negative attitude towards him, and realized that in fact he is very strong, and it is quite possible that he was so twisted because of life. He had to deal with all this shit himself (Errpr’s powers, I mean). And even when he was able to find some information, he still had his curse, which no one had ever seen before. And I will remind you that he is an albino, so he periodically got severe sunburn. I also remind you that the curse begins to work when the wearer is seriously injured. His curse is carnivorous butterflies (yes, what will you do to me). They eat away at the place where the wound is, which is accompanied by hellish pain and not the most pleasant sight, in the case of death, the butterflies eat him completely, while he remains conscious for as long as possible (when I imagine what pain he is experiencing, I already wince). And to avoid suffering, he was able to subdue his own curse, which also happened for the first time in the history of Errors.

Nye has learned to spray his body on butterflies and thus travel long distances in a very short time, he has to wear a black cloak so that the sun can not burn him, and in case of which people do not see his rotten, butterfly-eaten flesh. Also, since some butterflies are extremely good at mimicry, he has learned to use them to turn into any person, which is also a great achievement. Let's go back almost to the beginning of the post, where I mentioned Jack. Nye took him away from his family around the age of 7 to take care of him, so that he would not face the same difficulties as Nye himself. Only Jack's family was good, they loved their son, even too much, perhaps even considered it a blessing that their son was an "angel". But Nye took him anyway. My main character, has a theory that maybe Jack's parents were part of a cult that hunted her once (ugh, in short, Error’s feathers are important shit and that very sect catches them as children until they can't control their wings), or at least were going to give it to them, and all their love is ostentatious, so that Jack does not master the ability to hide his wings for as long as possible. Given that I still haven't refuted this theory, it's possible that this is true, and Nye actually saved him (let's skip the point that after a dozen years, he began to treat him). I'm all for what, maybe Nye is just broken, like almost all of my characters. Yes, compared to someone else (I'm talking about the main OC, yes, her name is Tie), his suffering and pain are not so large-scale, but we all have a different psyche, none of us consists of iron or something harder. In addition, in the end, after almost a decade from the main events, Nye still comes to his senses and realizes that he behaved like an asshole.

Up to this point, I have not had any sketches with Nye, except for some very short snatches from the plot, because it is very difficult. It is extremely difficult for me to think like Nye from events of present, he is extremely adept at mixing lies with the truth, so that in the end you involuntarily begin to believe him.

"You know, I almost feel sorry for her. She has everything and nothing — no friends, no homeland, no family… She is a proud person, she never gives up, but her very contempt for death speaks volumes. She has nothing to lose, and she wants nothing but her own death, and she won't get it. Tie is smart enough to understand this and more… She hates us, fights with us, but even so, she understands that the truth is on our side. By blood, she is a person, but by birth she is tied to Errors and **. ***, Yuzuru, and even ****** can be forgiven and accepted. Tie — no, because the hatred of the traitor and betrayal is stronger than the arguments of reason… She knows how to show that she does not care, but she is a living being. She proved to everyone that she was ready to be the best, but it wouldn't change anything… She will live her life with the stamp, so she does not fall in love. Whatever she is, she is afraid that her children will turn out to be Error and live the same life. That they'll live in hell... "The good has sharp fangs" ... that's what Tie once said. Her drinking with *******, her friendship with demons, her lack of fear… God, everyone is afraid, even me, but Tie is not… She seeks her own death, and finds someone else's, " Nye said softly.

I'm sorry, some of the words are censored (?), because I'm not ready to talk about someone’s names yet. Let's go back to the other one. Will you be able to figure out where the lies are and where the truth is, without knowing anything about Tie?

While the real Nye is hard for me, I have a good understanding of the Nye of the future and, as it turned out, of the past. And all this demagoguery I spread only for the sake of the second.

When the curse first consumed me, I didn't immediately understand what was happening. Gradually, the white butterflies of “death" were killing me. I knew I was turning into food for them, but I couldn't help it. I just lay there helplessly, watching as they gradually absorbed my flesh and reached my bones. Everything happened very slowly, and I was conscious until they got to my heart.

But even after the rebirth, they have not disappeared. I didn't want to go through that excruciating pain again, I didn't want to be [eaten] again.

I tried not to get hurt, but it's very difficult, so I started wearing a black raincoat in all weathers to keep the burns to a minimum. That's something.

But in battle, it is more difficult to avoid a blow or even death. In one of these I do not know how, but just for a couple of seconds, I turned into a flock of butterflies, with the help of which I was able to avoid a blow. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, but it struck me. And ever since, I've been haunted by the thought that it's Me who can control my curse, not it.

With small steps, I began to master it, first scattering the individual parts of the body, getting used to the sensations and control over each of the butterflies. Then it was more difficult, it was necessary to learn not only to scatter the whole body, but also to spend as much time as necessary in this state. It's very energy-intensive, but I'm sure it will pay off for me.

Maybe with this ability, I can become something special, something more…

#writing #original character

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viitria-blog · 6 years

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CAPTIVE SOULS & CANDID HOSTILITY.

He took everything from you.

Your family, your home, your freedom. But he wouldn’t have your mind - your soul. That wasn’t his to take no matter how many he’d felled before you, what he could do with a snap of his fingers, what he promised, time and time again.

After all, for all his pretty promises, he had a truce to keep, and a vow to break. As for you?

You’ve just become a pawn in something larger.

* the long-awaited continuation/update to the beloved fic known as Carmine Strings & Cobalt Heelies. meant to be a prologue more than likely turning out to be a casual rewrite, be prepared for a story in the making that entails your troubled journey from the clutches of one celestial to the next - only this time? a whole lot more domesticity, a side of plot served extra rare, and just this shy of a lot less smut.

relations: sans/reader, errpr/reader, ink!sans/reader, fresh!sans/reader, nightmare!sans/reader, reaper!sans/reader

tw: schizophrenia, mental illness, eventual smut, violence, cursing, kidnapping, stockholm syndrome, self-harm

chapter 1 / ? ao3 crosspost next

“I hate you.” You sound strong. You certainly don’t feel strong.

“good.” He sneered right back, blue strings held like ribbons between his fingers.

“Let me go home.”

“no.”

You have no home. Not anymore, not after what he did to it. And yet you still ask, time and time again.

“...”

You have nothing to say, curled into yourself against the empty space that fills this place. No floors, no walls, no sky, nothing but the white. A canvas, filled like a magpie’s nest, if you knew where to look.

You hardly cared, fingers pressing white into your calves, chin tucked against your knees. You watched him work.

“... ugh.” He gets agitated so easily, static bleeding at his edges. His hands can barely stay together anyways, so you don’t get the point. It’s going to tangle, one way or another.

“I hate you.” It slips past your teeth again. You bite your lip, and look from his hands to his gaze. It’s on you now, those mismatched sockets full of… well, you aren’t sure. He’s unreadable.

“i’m regretting letting you live. do you know that?”

You look away, tucking in your chin once more.

It’s suffocating. Reality is nothing more than a piece of clay for him to mold, shape, and break. You are nothing, another piece of the mold, and you can feel when he looks back to his hands, fiddling once more.

The clicking of bones. Static, rising and falling. Agitated huffs.

Staring into the blinding white, it stares back. Silent.

He stills.

“... whatever.” You look up as he stands and scramble to rise with him, panic lacing your chest. Bored. He looks bored, muttering as the strings seem to uncoil, before moving across his bones like living things, winding back to once they came. Your captor doesn’t watch, hands falling to his sides, and begins to walk.

You follow.

“W-wait, where are you going?” You shouldn’t sound so desperate, feet bare against… nothing.

A snort, “what do you care?”

But you do.

Fuck, you do. You just can’t - you can’t be left alone, not again. Not here, not where nothing seems real, where time isn’t real, where you aren’t real. One can only walk amongst the treasures left scattered about so many times before the mind wastes away, the swaying lights far above coiled in blue like an indigo night sky, once terrifying - now a stamp of this hell's making.

You’re going mad here, and you know it.

“Error -”

His name, and the static crescendos. You had thought this place silent ( would like to think it silent ) but it’s not. It’s never silent, never quiet. Not quite. The skeleton stops, slippers still, but he does not turn.

“- Don’t leave me. Please.”

You should know better than to beg.

But what else can you do?

“oh, pest.” It almost sounds kind. Almost, but you know it can’t be. It’s saccharine, toying, mad, and your chest constricts. “i’m not leaving you.”

Are you sick for feeling hope at those words?

He steps forward, but turns on the heel of his next step, and faces you. A smile curls around the edge of his teeth, and the static bubbles. A arm raises to his side, and with it, a tear in the world. Hope. Hope, it’s going to kill you, seeing the open sky beyond it, bleeding yellow and orange like a cracked egg.

“after all, i’ll be back.” That smile turns downright sunny, boyish. “behave, and i’ll even get you a gift!”

You watch him go, and through the static, you can almost hear - NO.

… No.

It may be nothing beneath you, but against your bruised knuckles, it feels like pavement. It breaks skin all the same.

To say this place is like a magpie’s nest is an understatement.

Decorated in treasures and trophies alike, precious things, things you can’t even comprehend, things of fire and ice and steel and crystal and you don’t even know - they all find home here, some wound in the careful cradle of strings, others laid about to be found and re-discovered time and time again.

If you’re lucky, sometimes you find something familiar. Sometimes, you discover a new facet to something once thought fully explored. And even rarer so, sometimes you find something new, tucked here or there, or left like an offering.

But Error would never do that.

You know, because you’ve seen the way he handles his things. In his hands one moment and gone the next, tossed between reality without care, left on the ground like a toy to be forgotten. No, the things out in the open are those he’s grown bored with, left to turn to dust. To die.

The things left in crevices, as if smuggled, hidden? You aren’t sure why Error would do such a thing, but at least they’re interesting.

You’ve found weapons, of course. Things that might be weapons, could be weapons, if handled right.

But you’re not an idiot.

And you aren’t ready to let go. Not yet. Not quite. He can’t make you. That’d be just like handing over your soul, letting him win.

So when you find a knife wedged between the cushion of an armchair ( how did this even get here ), you drop it to the ground after a curious once over of it’s glinting edges in the non-existent light, moving on. No, you’re more interested in the chair itself, and go to steal from it with scabbed knuckles, wanting the cushion -

You drop it in shock.

Then, lift it again, slowly.

Underneath, as if left by a child’s careless hand, lays a doll.

Your lip curls, your nerves tense, and the hair on your arms raise. Goosebumps. But you set the cushion aside anyways, hesitate, and reach in. You flinch when you feel the cloth of it's knitted jacket, warm against your fingers, but pull it out anyways. Carefully knitted, the texture reminds you of a sock monkey, stuffed plumply and staring back with those blank button eyes.

Red jacket, red sweater, shorts. A golden tooth and sneered grin.

You don’t know what it is, beyond the fact you’ve seen others like this - dolls, precious things Error usually keeps so close, kept in beds of twine far above your head. But not this one. No, it peers back at you, and it feels alive, and you can almost feel the frustration that clouds your mind, not your own.

But similar.

“... Hi.”

You stop, clutching the thing lowly. You’re speaking to a doll.

A doll Error probably made, a thing that probably has more horror to it than your toenail. And yet, as you almost drop it in your disgust, something stops you.

… It had been abandoned, left here. No, not abandoned. Worse. Shoved away, aggressively left to be forgotten. Just like you. Left amongst these kleptomaniac’s collectives, another thing to rot to dust.

You hold the doll just this shy tighter.

“I won’t leave you.”

The world shudders and gives way for him, as it tends to do, as it should. Cracking wide, beyond lying a place filled with so much it blends to nothing, screams to him in a chorus of welcome home. He’d scream back, but hums a merry tune instead, rattling within his skull.

The can feel the way the universe behind him sighs into the anti-void, whatever information it gives scattered. That world stands for now, but he got what he want, no destruction required.

He's happy, for all an abomination can be.

What he notices first, hand outstretched and a soul cradled within, is the blood on the ground.

Once vivid ruby marks, impacts of dried marron, now. It's not a splatter or spray, but a small puddle in a line, and for a moment, he thinks it's pretty. Bringing some color here - and just as quickly, it's erased.

The blood is gone, and nothing remains.

A low sigh, and he considers his options - before the strings of his hands ensnaring his new gift wind tight, before rising to join far, far above. A snap, and they disconnect, leaving a new trophy in his constellation of souls.

“i'll be back for you, #76.” A warm farewell, isn't it?

Then off he walks, looking for that pest of his, knowing he should at least be sure if they're dead or not, voice all encompassing and a murmur all at the same time.

“... no, no. that wouldn't do it any justice.”

“well, it has been some time.”

“...what?! no?? that's disgusting.”

“i am to please, heheh.”

They talk to him; and he talks back.

Why wouldn't he?

He's explaining the properties of a good cross-stitch to himself or to thousands by the time he finds them. Error took his time, their soul was stationary, and there was nowhere they could go he wouldn't feel that hum.

The Destroyer stops. They're asleep.

Curled atop an armchair he doesn't remember getting ( how did he even drag that here ), their chest rises and falls evenly, knees tucked and hands pressed to themselves. Peering closer, he sees what that familiar hum is.

In between bloody fingers and swollen knuckles, sits abomination #21.

“... lovely. this is where you've been hiding, and with a human no less.” Error suppresses a sigh, clucking his teeth. “tsk tsk, and what would your brother say?”

The doll only gleams back, black button eyes revealing nothing.

The human stirs, but does not wake. Error stills, but his magic does not.

Strings curl, winding along his arms, living coils of magic, extensions of his very soul, wanting back their prize. But the monster hesitates, and grits his teeth, agitated.

The doll isn't theirs. It's his, and there's to take back. They're both his, and it isn't worth it, not for two stupid glitches within his own world, two meaningless things who will come back to him sooner or later, grovelling. Begging.

And he will laugh, he knows it, when that moment comes - the thought even bringing back his grin, a curled edge to yellowed teeth.

“fine.” Error relents. “enjoy the pest, pest.”

The doll says nothing.

Error walks away, static in his eyes, and calls back down abomination #76, nearly cooing at the poor white spade. Blue strings work to completely encase it - a cocoon of his design.

He can feel it's agony.

“... for now, it will only hurt a little.”

#reader insert.#undertale.#original.#CSCH.

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