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Help I can't stop drawing idiots. I found an image of a bunch of guys flipping off their friend in the hospital so l just had to redraw it as these idiots. I'm doing my part keeping this fandom alive. Lmao

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Hurts just a little…

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Out of Touch

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Sans as Sailor's

Ignore the Dust Moon shoe bug jsjsj

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Some really quick dust ketches. Usually, drawing is stressful for me because my OCD has taken over my passions. But drawing dust will always be relaxing, lol. I love his stupid void face.

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stuck in the mood swing between

Dust is cold and serious because he has sensory issues after being in a timeloop <--> Dust literally lost his mind to a kid killing all his loved ones so he deserves to be a little chaotic

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Sans chronic pain headcanon my beloved

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Comforting misery

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Se hizo, señoras y señores, se rostizó a Sargas (¿Pero por qué tantas cicatrices? Shh...es por el bien de la trama). Fue difícil hacerle las cicatrices de quemadura, pero aquí estamos ¡Nosotros somos caníbales, GRAAH! 🗣️!

ENG: We achieved it, ladies and gentlemen, Sargas was roasted (Why so many scars? Shhh, . It's for the sake of the plot). It was hard to give him the burn scars, but here we are. We are cannibals, GRAAH! 🗣️

Edit: Hope it's noticeable that the asymmetrical face is intentional, he's pulling his cheek to the side 🥲!

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🍃

Shriek the bat belongs to @wyvernslovecake.

Kinda second part of this

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Even thought it's pretty common in fanon, it's hard for me to imagine Horror as a hungry beast of some sort. To me, his eating would be clearly disordered, both because of trauma and guilt.

So, of course, I decided to write about it. Feel free to give it a read. TW for ED-like thoughts.

It's Only a Bottle.

Guilt.

Although he had long since grown accustomed to feeling it, it was still foreign. A part of him wanted to believe that none of it was his fault, that he had merely been a victim of circumstance. But another part of him—his more rational self—truly bore the weight of his actions.

And that was why, even though the sight of a full plate of food would have made anyone in his state happy, it only made him nauseous. It had been so long since he had seen "real" food, this almost seemed alien.

The smell of the steaming meat made his stomach growl, yet he hesitated with the fork.

The familiar sensation began clawing at his gut, more painful than hunger. He wanted to take a bite, but at the same time, he would rather die than do so. The aroma was so similar to...

"Not gonna eat?" asked a voice barely louder than a whisper. "You don't seem like the type to waste food."

Horror shot him a sideways glance.

"I'm a little busy right now. Can I ignore you some other time?"

Dust just chuckled and sat beside him. Without paying much attention to Horror, he started eating.

Back then, he had been too caught up between resets and voices to care for food. Reminding himself of its wonders was a pleasure.

So, the clinking of utensils against plates filled the room. Horror didn't even dare cut into the meat—it was disgusting. The raw redness inside, the sound of it tearing under the knife, the thought of putting it in his mouth.

His glowing pupils shifted toward Dust, who seemed completely indifferent to those details. Horror scowled at the mixture of envy and disgust roiling inside him. He didn't notice when Dust met his gaze.

"...Are you vegan?"

"...What?"

Dust pointed at Horror's plate with his fork. "The meat's not gonna bite you, bud."

An awkward silence settled between them.

"What I mean is, uh... I can eat it if you want."

Horror could have handed him the whole plate right then and there. Just looking at it made him sick. But, giving food to this bastard? Hell no.

"Yeah, sure, fatass. If you get any heavier, you'll be going on missions in a mobility scooter."

Dust clutched his chest dramatically, gasping. "I'm not fat! I'm just big boned."

"Oh please. I know three fat guys and you are four of them. If anyone ever gets close to you it's only because they can't break orbit."

"Yeah, well, your mom needs to stop feeding me every time we meet up."

They stared at each other for a few seconds... before bursting into laughter.

Yeah, yeah. They hated each other, or whatever. But there's no better humor than your own.

"But seriously, I can leave you the veggies if that's what you want. Or you could even get something else. That's the one good thing about this pigsty."

Horror's smile vanished as he drummed his fingers anxiously on the table. The thing was, while removing the meat would definitely help, there was something else about the food that didn't sit right with him.

He had held back for years, ignoring the growls of his stomach and the pounding headaches... He hated to admit it, but he had gotten used to that kind of suffering.

It is what it is. He had brought this upon himself—and upon everyone else, too. It wasn't just some small, stupid mistake... No, he had fucked up big time, and fate had let him off easy.

And now he was here, making everything even worse in an attempt to fix the mess he had started, working for a sociopath with a plate full of food in exchange for his hands stained with dust.

"Uh... So?"

It didn't matter what he ate. The textures always melted into something disgusting and made him nauseous. Funny, considering he was a skeleton.

Then there was the fact that he had grown weaker as his body rotted without nourishment. Broken bones were useless in battle. Nightmare would force-feed him, or-more likely-he'd just get rid of him and find someone less troublesome to deal with.

He had to eat something. Gross.

He let out a tense sigh. "Eat it all if you want, starving rat. I'm gonna get ketchup. Just... just that."

Dust raised an eyebrow.

"Ketchup? Nothing else? Not...?"

"I don't have the time or the crayons to explain it to you, buddy."

Before Dust could come up with a witty response, Horror got up and walked away from the table. He'd like to say he was mad at Dust, but—why, exactly? he was pissed at himself.

So he was mad at Dust, because technically, they were the same person. Only, it was easier to be mad at Dust because at least he hadn't reached... that point.

Of course, it was all Queen Undick's fault, right? That he had become this. He couldn't eat because no food in the world could erase the smell of human flesh from his head.

But beneath his anger, there was a steady stream of thoughts, just loud enough to be heard through his rage. Ideas that tore deep into what was left of his mind, even if subconscious.

"You destroyed the Core beyond repair, genius. Your temper tantrum took everyone else down with you."

He shook his head at the fleeting idea. He had done what he had to do. He had been forced to. If they had listened to him and dismantled the Core, this wouldn't have happened. Damn it, his fucking "friends" tried to kill him!

Deep down, he knew the thoughts were true. But a thick layer of denial protected him. It wasn't his fault. He hadn't doomed the people of Snowdin. He hadn't doomed his brother.

No.

He wasn't like Dust.

~~~

Between the insomnia and the nightmares, Horror had no desire to sleep. However, the ceiling wasn't the most exciting sight, especially in the dead of night. So, naturally, he sought entertainment in the depths of his own mind.

The thing is, his head, while deep, was anything but entertaining, and if there was anything more annoying than his thoughts, it was his body.

In the end, he settled for eating nothing. He couldn't deal with the implication—whatever that meant—of eating. He'd sip a bottle of ketchup now and then, that he could handle, but tonight, he didn't even have the guts for that.

Something about the smell of the meat, the grease dripping from it, the way its juices stained the plate—it ruined everything.

But his body disagreed. He was so hungry he wanted to tear his own bones apart. By now, he was sure no one knew hunger like he did—a desperate, overwhelming feeling that clouded your thoughts and possessed you.

He curled into a fetal position, clutching his stomach as his thoughts grew more stern than before. While his body screamed for food, his mind reminded him that he wasn't going to get a single meal.

He had spent years starving. It had become a part of him-his punishment, his penance. The reflection of the sins crawling up his back. Because unlike Dust, he was still a judge, and he had sentenced himself accordingly.

He might be a sadistic bastard, but at least he was fair when it mattered. This was—

The sound of the door opening yanked him from his thoughts. Instinctively, his head snapped toward the entrance.

He relaxed slightly upon recognizing the figure, though he'd rather die than admit it.

"Dust? What are you doing up at this hour?" he asked. Though he probably already knew the answer.

"Shouldn't I be asking you that?"

Dust stepped inside, the dim hallway light barely illuminating his features. Horror noticed the red bottle resting in his hands, and Dust caught his curious glance.

"This?" Dust gestured toward it. "I noticed you didn't eat anything, so I thought... y'know, I'd bring you something."

Horror's expression faltered for a moment. The gesture was almost... nice. But his surprise quickly twisted into a scowl.

"Does it look like I need your pity, fuckface?"

The silence stretched between them. Then Dust rolled his eyes.

"Yeah, yeah. Keep rolling your eyes—maybe you'll find a brain back there."

"Look, pal... I just don't want you screwing us over, okay? This affects your performance in battle, which affects mine."

Dust walked over to the nightstand next to Horror's bed and placed the ketchup bottle on top.

"I'm not dying because of you."

Horror sneered. Who did this jerk think he was, his boss? He was barely distinguishable from a hobo.

"Dust, if it ever seems like I care, please tell me. I wouldn't want to give the wrong impression."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say. Good night, Sans. Hope you dream about me." He scoffed.

And with that, Dust left, shutting the door behind him.

...

"... Damn it, he even pulled my legal name. What an asshole."

Horror stared at the nightstand, biting his nonexistent lip. God, he was hungry.

He hesitated. Drinking it felt like giving in to Dust's demands, and he would never.

Plus, the image of the meat was still too vivid in his mind...

But.

He was hungry.

So, so hungry.

His hands hesitated, but, in the end, he reached out for the bottle. It doesn't matter. Dust wasn't going to find out anyway...

It was only one bottle.

Only a bottle.

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Some One Piece doodles from my sketchbooks

commission me!

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Kid: Alright, who made the edibles?

Apoo: I did, did Luffy get into them?

Kid: Do you even have to ask.

Law: But why would this be important?

Apoo: Cause I put a lot of weed in there.

Kid: Yeah, and now they’re making a mess of my workshop.

*Luffy stumbles in behind Kid*

Luffy circling his arms around Kid’s waist: Why’d you leave, it got so boring in there.

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does anyone understand my cursed vision?

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Your Mirror Is Talking.

I finally found a sweater color that suits Dust—victory at last! I’m actually pretty proud of this. I decided to give him a higher turtleneck to better frame his void-like face. The shadow covering the turtleneck makes it look like a creepy smile, which I find ironic. I also took some inspiration from IDUTSHANE’s Dust.

When you're normal Sans again but the lamp looks weird...

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Day 29: 40 years

finally getting back to working on Kidd Pirates Month (january)

Original Prompt list by gratefulcheeses

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