#I mean it lots of horror

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

More of Stanley's sketchbook because he makes me sick /pos

(Just imagine he was looking in a mirror at the subway to draw this anshfhwj. The london bus ticket is unrelated, it's just a random knick knack he had lying around<3)

People weren't the only ones Stan met on the streets.

------

+ this is an absolute fucking batshit WILD oneshot I initially wrote for these drawings that got WAY out of hand, if you feel like reading that.

The oneshot below is a stand-alone now, and in no way is related to the drawings above, but I just wanted to show you guys because Jesus Christ

------

Winter of 1981, at a subway station Stan doesn't remember the name of-

The sorry excuse of a transport system that this hellhole of a city called a functioning subway was hardly anyone's first choice of a warm place to stay the night. And yet, here Stanley was; standing like an idiot in the middle of a small bustling stairwell that led down to the full screeching chaos of a train stop on a Tuesday evening. A rowdy crowd of exhausted office workers streamed out like a tidal wave from the entrance of the station, the bustle of their footsteps all too eager to go home and relax after a long day of work.

The faint, stuffy stench of old piss and sweat followed the crowd to the surface from the deep depths of a less than sanitary and overcrowded train station. The pungent smell intermingled with the crisp stinging winter air in a cocktail of shitty city gloom often associated with this time of the year; when the holidays were too far away and the sun seemed to come and go with practically the same 9 to 5 schedule as the workers had, leaving them going to work in the pitch dark and coming back out in the inky black as well.

He might have looked like he belonged there, depending on how one would want to look at it. He stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the sea of prim, pressed suits and neart uniforms. His ratty old jacket and generally unwashed appearance certainly didn’t help his case, but he also knew that stations like these also tended to shelter quite a number of homeless wanderers like him, especially during the winter. So, it wasn't exactly uncommon to see other sore thumbs seeking reprieve from the biting cold and the dangerous likelihood of frostbite from within the enclosed walls of the subway station.

Heck, if most of these underground kingdoms didn't also happen to be a breeding ground for several illicit activities, he might even have followed their lead. But, believe it or not, Stanley's already had enough experience with illegal activities to last him a last time, and he isn't looking for a new fill. He was satisfied with what meager shelter his trusty car offered him, as little a difference it might make in terms of safety.

Stanley's obstruction of the already narrow stairs with his loitering went unappreciated, as shoulders roughly shoved past him and swinging briefcases repeatedly bumped into his sides, usually coupled with a nasty glare and a snide comment or two. He paid them no mind, however. He wasn't here to start a fight with some random bum with a dead end job, as much as he thought it would probably do them both some good to duke their stresses out on one another.

The hours ticked by with wave after wave of new crowds being dropped off by a train and left to pour out of the station into the streets. By the time the streetlights turned on and the pale pink in the sky slowly faded to make way for the stark glittery black of the night sky, the tide of people had slowed to a trickle and rush hour was long since over. He was now the stairs’ sole occupier, with a few occasional stragglers stumbling up the steps and hurrying past him without a second glance.

Stanley did not move from his spot, however. He stood resolutely in the middle of the stairway, fervently rubbing his arms and stamping his feet in a futile attempt to try and regain feeling in his extremities as he waited. Rocking on his heels, he titled his head backwards to let his eyes roam the constellations that carpeted the endless expanse of the sky stretched out above his head, almost losing himself in the scintillating canvas of stars.

It reminded him of old times; of the sparkling beach sand twinkling in the dim moonlight, and the soft sound of lilting waves hovering in the background as he lay back on the cold wooden deck of his ship and watched the stars dance.

He still remembered every name his brother had once recited to him time and time again as he pointed out each star and galaxy from the night sky.

Then, like clockwork, he was broken out of his reveries by a telltale meow coming from below. The sound was a familiar blanket that immediately melted away the tension that had begun to build in his chest as he practically sagged with relief.

His body moved almost automatically as he leaned down to detach the frail tabby cat that was attempting to literally fuse with his legs, purring up a storm and rubbing her head against his pants as though her life depended on it. The cat gave a soft chirrup of dissatisfaction at being manhandled, which Stanley absentmindedly replied with a chiding click of his tongue as he lifted her up his chest and gently tucked her into his jacket in a practiced motion.

She thankfully remained blissfully limp in his grasp as he shifted around some more so that she was nestled comfortably inside the dark pocket of warmth inside his ratty jacket. The tiny warm lump that rumbled contently against his front radiated with heat, and his fingers finally began to feel like actual fingers rather than useless stiff frigid lumps of meat and bone attached to his palms.

A pointed cough startled him from his clumsy wriggling to get the cat to settle down. An oddly familiar security guard stood at the entrance of the station at the bottom of the stairs, leveling Stanley an unimpressed look with the metal gate in his grip already halfway closed, ready to seal the subway for the night. He must have been a comical sight; caught awkwardly bent over while trying to get his newly acquired cat to stop kneading biscuits on his stomach, with said cat peeking out from the gap between his collars.

Stanley faintly recognized the guard. He was a much older man, with a shock of thinning white hair neatly tucked underneath a dark blue cap and a strange depth in his eyes that reminded Stanley of the sea; with countless unspoken truths lurking far beneath the surface, but no less grand and knowing of all that the universe had to offer, as though he had already lived a thousand lives before this one.

He had seen the man around before, at another station, doing the opposite of his job by ushering stray buskers and homeless stragglers from the streets and into the (relatively) safe walls of the subway, instead of doing what any other law-abiding security guard would do and kick them out into the elements. He wasn't sure what the older man was doing here, of all places, since all the previous stations he'd seen the man at had been several states over, practically on the other side of the country.

A brief spark of panic shot through his spine at the thought that this man could be following him, but he quickly discarded the ridiculous notion as soon as it entered his mind. He had never even seen him before, and hardly ever even interacted with him; there was no reason for there to be any sort of bad blood between them. Unless he happened to be related to one of Stanley's many, many enemies, then perhaps his fear was a little warranted.

However, the old guard made no move to attack or do anything other than stare judgmentally, almost expectantly. For the first time in a long time, Stanley felt like a child being caught doing something he wasn't supposed to do. He tried his best to keep his uncomfortable squirming to a minimum under the unrelenting gaze, stubbornly returning the man's gaze with his own wary glare. His cat’s muffled whining came from inside his jacket. The traitor, she was leaving him to deal with the old man on his own.

With an exasperated jerk of his head, the security guard gestured towards the inside of the station. For a moment, Stanley stared dumbly, uncomprehending of what the old man could possibly want from him. Rolling his eyes, this time the man gestured more insistently at the small gap that still remained between the metal gate and the entrance, his arm sweeping the air in a low arc as he dramatically urged Stanley inside. Suddenly, it clicked, and Stanley shook his head.

“I have a car,” he said plainly, his voice echoing loudly in the desolate silence of the winter night that surrounded the unlikely pair.

He wasn't sure why he was so nervous, it wasn't as though he was lying. He did have a car, his trusty Stanley-mobile was parked safely away in the corner of an unassuming alley that wasn't often frequented by anyone. There was no way he was reaching it tonight, though; it was practically on the other side of the city, much too far away for him to arrive at a reasonable time. His nightly excursions to meet his small friend unfortunately left him with no other choice than to leave his car behind, the hunk of metal far too unwieldy and noticeable to drive around openly on the streets. He never knew who could be watching, after all.

He had simply been hoping to find himself a dark corner to tuck himself into with his cat, just for the night, but it seemed as though the universe had other plans. Or rather, this strange old man had other plans.

Although, if Stanley thought about it, the subway wasn't such a bad suggestion. This was one of the safer stations in the city; and with the rich neighborhoods being so close by, no rogue criminal or dealers dared to come near this area unless they wanted to be slapped with a hefty fine or face a higher potential to be arrested. And of course, there was the obvious shelter from the unrelenting cold that now seemed to permeate his bones, even with the purring warmth that was nestled inside his jacket.

So, that was how he found himself hunkering down for the night inside a shabby old subway station, with a satisfied cat still rumbling away against his chest and a strange old security guard locking down the gates behind him. The man said nothing as he hooked his keys back onto his belt and gave a firm pat on Stanley's shoulders as he walked past him, pausing to scratch his cat behind her ears before moving away. His footsteps bounced off of the grimy tiled walls with an odd reverb as he turned a corner.

“You'll be safe in here,” the man said, voice sage and gravelly. The words had a weight to them, and seemed to hang in the air with such a presence it was as though the old man had never even left his side.

The subway was empty, quiet. It was such a stark contrast to the loud rowdiness of the rush hour crowd these halls once held. Stanley hadn't yet registered the utter silence of the station as he aimlessly made his way down the winding, deserted halls of the ancient station. He mindlessly walked past the aged and peeling advertising posters plastered on the walls, his nose becoming accustomed to the stinging stench of the subway. The quiet seemed to swallow the sound of his steps as he explored the branching paths and endless tunnels. They were almost kaleidoscopic, dizzying, nonsensical. There were doors where there shouldn't be, and deadends where it didn't make sense.

The silence only began to truly settle in his bones the more he walked. He suddenly wished that he would head the telltale footsteps of the old security guard again, just to hear another sign of life in this underground hellscape other than himself. The ghostly memories of screeching trains and bustling crowds haunted the halls; now, only nothingness reigned supreme. He glanced down at his small feline companion, who slumbered away against his chest, blissfully unaware of his jackrabbiting heartbeat threatening to burst out of his ribs. The silence seemed to permeate every inch of space and crush the air out of his lungs. He couldn't breathe.

Stanley’s steps grew faster, more frantic as the walls and ceilings seemed to close in on him. They grew smaller, tighter; squeezing, trapping. He hardly even registered his cat's complaints as she was jostled around in his grasp, breaking into a full out run. His breathing sounded loud, too loud, and the world was collapsing around him.

When he finally broke out into a large, open platform, he could finally breathe again. He had arrived at the tracks, the empty tunnel where the trains would pass an empty, gaping maw in the wall that seemed to swallow all light around it and beckon him closer. He felt his cat wriggle out from within his jacket and hop out with a displeasured yowl, scampering away and disappearing behind a corner much like the old man had. True silence pierced his ears and thrummed like a deafening pressure in his temples. He was alone.

Stanley was stuck in that subway station for years.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

At your side [End of Season 2]

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[fuckmeyer]

the choice between Edward & Jacob is not a question of which relationship is healthier or which partner is best suitable for Bella. neither is correct. neither is best. neither produces a happy ending for Bella. at the end of the day this is still a vampire novel. any choice Bella could make would yield, at best, a bittersweet happily ever after.

if she chooses Edward, she gets the terrifying Breaking Dawn ending: a girl who rejected her call to grow up has hung her love & her eternity on an emotionally stunted partner who hates himself marginally less than he loves her. she's a teen mom with a kid she never wanted who perpetuates the generational trauma passed down from her parents. by keeping this child, the Cullens have set the stage for an uprising/cold war against the Volturi who are likely to take revenge in order to maintain power. Bella is living in a tenuous "dream come true" wrapped in a nightmare & doesn't realize it.

choosing Jacob is the true coming-of-age ending that rips the stitches out of a wound that never fully healed. even if we ignore the fact that she ends up with a man who sexually assaulted her (we must bear in mind Jacob's character is influenced by smeyer's racism, but it did happen), they can't have a secure romantic relationship. based on the high imprinting rate of the pack, Jacob will likely find his imprint in his lifetime & will lose himself to the imprintee. he will no longer be her Jacob. he will inevitably abandon her (whether he wants to or not), & she must reconcile with the reality that she will always be inadequate to Jacob's imprint. & say he never manages to escape the vampires? he will presumably not age for a long time, meaning the relationship Bella always feared with Edward (her being an old grandmother while he stays forever young) remains a possibility. this is the story of a girl who slaps a Band Aid on an open wound & calls herself healed while flinching every time she sees the shadow of the knife that cut her.

if she chooses neither (team therapy), her healing requires her to lose or be at least partially disconnected from everyone she cares about. Bella must spend the rest of her life shut out from one world while never fully existing in her human world ever again. she must always keep secrets. she can never go back home. even in the unlikely event that she manages to escape the Volturi, the threat of being hunted by vampires will never leave her. in addition, she must face her worst fears (aging, losing Edward) while always keeping in mind the immortal life that could have been hers, if only.

even the "healthiest" option produces scars that will never quite heal.

Twilight is a horror. Twilight is a vampire novel. Twilight is gothic. Twilight is fiction. neither Edward nor Jacob is a "bad" choice because neither will give Bella her happily ever after. the choice between Edward & Jacob is simply a matter of which horror story you prefer to read.

[daeyumi]

🔹 Anamnesis 🔹

[Cycle of the Stars au]

[determinate-negation]

so much early amerikan history is just reading things that are casually stated but contain traces of the most immense human suffering, some of the absolute worst crimes against humanity ever committed, and its just like everywhere. whatever

[feketeribizli]

ummm proper post of me alien au 😁 not much to elaborate on we are just having a bit of fun... (well not all of us. pray for lando lol)

[blackkatdraws2]

I have a lot of leftover drawings in my gallery. [Blank Scripts AU]

[Content Warning: Images below contain Gore, Death, and Disturbing/Uncomfortable Imagery]

I find it a bit cute knowing they start out as crazy and then slowly settle into something calmer and relatively healthier after learning to adapt to each other's lust-turned-love. [Stanley did it first but hey :3]

[rohirric-hunter]

Genuinely amused when people who don't know anything about Christianity try to draw on it as a source for their fantasy -- "Oh this is my half-demon OC who takes damage from holy things and is stuck in a church, better hope that communion wine in the back doesn't spill anywhere!" You mean the regular. wine in the back? The very normal alcohol that is completely indistinguishable from any other alcohol to anyone at all until the actual communion ceremony? The Mogen David? That wine? Okay. Sure. *is imagining your OC screaming and running from a liquor store*

[elizakai]

scribbles of our guy </3

[goryhorroor]

day 14 of horror: horror movies + deeper meanings

[daphnalia]

i hope he pulls a meryl streep (said with love)

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

hope you feel better soon!

I am riddled with ailments, but I stay silly!

[guppyscolita]

All the dread magnificence of perversity

[lunarrosette]

Oh Francis there is something terribly wrong with you and it deeply fascinates me

[lovesickeros]

☆ you sow; & thus you shall reap what you are owed

{☆} characters tsaritsa {☆} notes cult au, imposter au, drabble, gender neutral reader {☆} warnings blood, violence {☆} word count 0.8k

You are dying.

Gold melts into the dirt, bleeds into the very earth that you'd molded by your own hands – a familiarity you do not understand the source of – you know it to be true, yet you do not remember it as Teyvat does. It weeps, in turn, for the way you bleed upon it, the way your lungs strain for breath.

It is fury and sorrow and fear and hatred so raw that your mind buckles.

You will die.

"A dying godling and its judge, it's jury – it's executioners," The voice is hollow and cold, sweeps across your broken body like the first chill of winter, "Archons who saw themselves Gods, now brought to heel by their own hubris."

A cold hand upon your cheek, the brush of a thumb across your lip, the gentle caress of cold across your skin. You know her – you don't remember, you shouldn't recognize her but you do – and she knows you. The cold beckons and you follow, let her kindness settle in the hollow space of your chest. You want to speak, to cry and scream and rage, let the world burn around you in a fit of flames so hot even she cannot contain it – but she silences you, quiets the anger seeping into your blood, quiets Teyvat itself.

"Do not speak, little godling. Guide my hand," She is cold; her hands are not gentle, yet it is bliss compared to the callous, cruel hands that have shattered you. She is cruel and cold and brutal but she is love in the way she kisses the crown of your head. She is love in the way she is the bulwark between you and the world that has scorned you – she is fury in the way she brings them to their knees. "And I shall enact judgement most divine."

They will pray for forgiveness, and they shall find themselves wanting.

"It wasn't our fault!" They cry, but you cannot recognize the voice – it breaks and cracks like glass. "They were too human. How were we meant to know? We– we thought they were.."

Silence.

You watch your judge – the executioner, the blade that shall carve their sins into the very marrow of Teyvat, stand above you like death. As cold as winter and just as brutal. Your temple has been painted in the gold of your divine blood, and she shall complete the masterpiece with their own. The Archons shall become the grandest art in the world – this temple the canvas, their blood the paint and their bodies the palette. The cold that cuts sinew cradles you – it sings to you, whispers sweetly in your ear and carves bone from body in the same breath. The cold presses it's lips to your wrist and it cradles a heart within it's palm – judges them and finds them guilty.

It is her spear that rests between their ribs, her sword that dissects and her dagger that carves – the cold devours.

In the breadth of this divine sanctuary, the Archons dwindle. They become the pieces of a divine work of art, they bleed and bend and break upon her hands. She shakes the heavens and carves mortality into the bones of the divine – your word is Law, and you weave their deaths into the roots of Teyvat itself.

They shall know of their grand folly in every moment henceforth and longer still and they shall weep.

And as the curtain falls, as the world crumbles beneath fist and blade, she cradles your face between hands too cold – as gentle as a shard of ice between your ribs, as brutal as the kiss of gentle snowfall. The world buckles at the loss of six, but she alone does not allow it to break – you will have to mend the wounds of the world when you are well, but today you weep and Teyvat weeps with you.

And alone, the cold remains.

Stone has eroded, the wind has ceased, the flames have been extinguished, the storm has been silenced, the forests have gone quiet and the seas go still.

But the cold remains, bathed in gold.

It wraps you in thick furs, cradles you against the winter storm that brews beneath a veneer of composure. It brings you home – lets the world settle into a stillness and silence that inspires only dread and still she presses a kiss to your brow.

It is cold, but there has never been something so warm.

Where hands have broken you, she drapes you in furs, wipes away the thick gold that clings to your skin. She pieces you back together where you have been shattered, reshapes you where you have been bent – makes of you something new. Not a god and not a mortal but something wedged between them.

But you are yourself.

And you are where you belong.

They shall put you back together and you shall know only the worship worthy of the divine. They shall carve this world into your image, tear out and burn away the rot that festers.

All you need to do is say the word and they shall be your tools to make this world your own.

One word and those who wronged you shall burn, too.

Just one word. That's all it takes, and they shall take away your pain.

[alyimoss]

horrortale king papyrus "ending", aka what happens if horror joins nightmare

i was thinking of making this into a fic or smthn but idk when ill get to that so. nevermind that im just gonna make a post. lotta yapping ahead. (word count: 1972)

so, i see a lot of people, when including horror in nightmares pantheon, say that he was either a) abducted against his will, or b) coerced by food, both for himself and his world. and i dont have much against the first interpretation, but the second… something's bothered me about it for a while, and its the simple fact that canon horror isnt that selfless. if nightmare were to offer him a deal, he would first and foremost be thinking about his own interests (he has already proven to be this kind of person in the comics).

so i instead think that were nm to offer him a deal, horror would only agree to a specific multi-part deal. and the first part? undyne's death.

we already know the whole "eating humans" thing was moreso to spite undyne and foil whatever plans she has than to help the residents of snowdin, shown by the fact that sans himself doesnt eat humans and that he urges everyone to keep this a secret from undyne and the rest of the underground. if a mysterious, powerful entity suddenly appeared and asked horror for his servitude in exchange for something he wants, a "mutually beneficial deal", i guarantee you that first and foremost he would think of undyne. of the traitor who sacrificed him "for the greater good".

and he would get that. i dont know if he would prefer to kill her himself or let nightmare to the dirty work, but either way, its not a hard thing for someone as powerful as him to do. only after his final act of revenge is certified does he think about everything else. with undyne gone, the underground would be left without a ruler, and things would likely get even more chaotic than usual. plus, they would still be left without food and without power.

i think hed ask for their CORE to be repaired or something else to be done about the power and magic situation going on in the underground first, but. i see this as something out of nightmare's range. hes not exactly a mechanic, and he doesnt want to waste time and energy getting someone who is just for another underling. so horror compromises on just food. regular deliveries of enough to feed all the monsters left in the underground. and this is a bit tedious, but still doable, and nightmare would likely agree.

but theres still one more part to the deal, and that is an opportunity to set a plan in motion.

with undyne out of the picture, someone would need to take control. and sans has the perfect idea of who.

the monster who has kept snowdin fed for years; who reported to undyne and mediated when her temper flared up; who kept up the puzzles and security around snowdin; who tried to keep the others' spirits up even when times were darkest…

thats right. he wants papyrus in charge.

i often see ht papyrus being portrayed in fandom as kind of a dope. someone innocent despite his creepy appearance and still rather incompetent. and this frustrates me because hes anything but. hunger, death, murder… all have taken their toll on him, and hes certainly not fine or completely sane. but id say hes arguably the sanest out of all the monsters weve seen in the comic so far (other than flowey and mettaton, i suppose… though mettaton is uncertain since weve only seen him in the past). hes also shown handling a lot of responsibilities, like the previously-mentioned providing of food and mediating when undyne goes too far. this applies to his brother, too, who was also known for having a temper. horrortale papyrus is still pretty cheery, but hes less idealistic, more responsible…

anyway, all that to say that 1) horrortale papyrus is horribly underrated and idk why because i love him dearly, and 2) between the reasons above and the fact that he's his brother, i think sans would consider him a perfect next-in-line. plus, all this power and respect and recognition… werent these all things he yearned for?

so before he leaves with nightmare, he does a little manipulating of the playing field. i dont know what this would be, honestly. talking papyrus up to others? making sure other monsters are aware of his capability and his kindness and his resolve? i dont know. but he does it. and after hes gone and undynes death is discovered, papyrus is chosen as the next king.

and you know what? i dont think he would want that.

because hes already gotten a taste of his "respect and recognition" via being an important figure in snowdin, and its been nothing but hell the whole time. hes exhausted. hes not one to be lazy or give up, but even a guy like him has his limits, and frankly hes probably reached them a long time ago. but the people desperately need a leader… and he cant exactly deny them. reluctantly, he agrees.

maybe a week into his rule, a miracle happens. food appears.

no-one knows where its from, but no-one can really care. "dont look a gift horse in the mouth" or whatever. the royal guard has to tear ravenous monsters away from the food in an attempt to save some to be rationed out. some guards undoubtedly succumb to the temptation themselves. but a good amount is saved and rationed. and the people look to papyrus with a new kind of reverence.

because how is it possible? under undynes rule, everything went to shit, and despite the years of promises, nothing was ever fixed. but as soon as papyrus take control, they get food, a good, livable amount of food, for the first time in years. theres hushed whispers that there must be a higher power involved. some seem to view papyrus himself as that higher power. the support for him grows from acceptance to wild endorsement. parents able to save their children thanks to the food cry and promise him unyielding loyalty. monsters who had all but accepted their deaths and met with a miracle instead fall at his feet. some compliments are backhanded: "i thought you would just be a useless stand-in, but youve actually saved us!!"

and papyrus smiles tightly at them all as panic mounts inside him. what will happen once this food runs out? will more appear? what if it doesnt?

but it does. it appears consistently, on a schedule. the people rejoice every time. but papyrus still finds himself fearing every day. barely able to rest amidst his panic. being king is a lot of responsibility, and he finds himself constantly overworking, so, so tired… but hes still putting on a smile for the public and assuring them that everything is okay.

with a consistent source of food, hes able to focus on other problems, such as getting monsters treatment for the effects of this hell that theyve been living in for so long and restoring the core. he's constantly meeting with different monsters, doing paperwork, handling this matter and that…

hes not alone. toriel would help him, i think. she knows what being a ruler is like, after all, and he is her good friend. but i dont know if other monsters, who rejected her as their queen, would be thrilled to have her even as an advisor. if mettaton is still sane, perhaps he would help, too, in whatever ways that he can. but papyrus still feels this… absense.

because his brother isnt there.

he never told anyone where he was going or what was happening. the most papyrus knows is that hes sure this all has to do with him somehow. but nothing else. not how, not to what extent. not whether hes even alive.

and for this one reason i think he would be so much more tired, so much more miserable. hes lost his only family, his support. the brothers' relationship in horrortale is pretty clearly strained, but theyre still shown to be close because, well, theyre family. theyve always been close. always helped each other. they were always there when the other needed to get something off his chest or get help. they kept a lot of secrets even from each other, yes, but im willing to bet that number's a whole lot less than the number they keep from others. what im getting at is that sans and papyrus are extremely important parts of each others lives, and one losing the other is a huge and unbearable change.

…and yet, with growing pangs of horror (ha) and guilt, papyrus finds that he doesnt know if its really much different now.

hes lost his biggest support, the one person he could tell almost anything to. but really he lost him years ago. for a long time, hes kept more secrets, done more work, put up with so much not to agitate his brother… even through his love, i think there was a mounting resentment and aversion to him… and he finds that with sans gone, he really gets about the same amount done. maybe more, actually, now with food and with toriel's help. and its a horrifying realization to him because thats not how he wants to think of his brother!

he did his best. he did help them, even if it was through backhanded and frankly horrible methods. his personality was a result of the hunger and that wound. if he was here, hed likely be more like his old self now that food is finally available. his brother isnt a bad person. he cant be, because papyrus cant handle that thought. but that resentment is unresolved. he feels abandoned. he doesnt know what emotion to feel. he prefers to just not think about it after a certain while.

and its the same with undyne. he misses her, he misses his friend. but she's been gone for years, too. when he thinks of her, he cant help but feel fear and anger. and thats not what he wants, either. he doesnt think of her, either.

and so hes left to rule in misery. roaming the unnaturally empty underground with the entirety of monsterkind praising his empty step. he has help, he has friends, but he still tries to handle everything himself. hes so tired that he doesnt even lie down because he doesnt know if he'll be able to get up. hes so stressed. even though they now have food, he barely eats. his eyesockets seem to sink somehow deeper into his skull. for the leader of a people finally recovering from devastation, he looks like hes only getting worse, and really he is. every day drains him more and more, and though he pushes himself to persevere for the sake of the people, he doesnt know how long he can go on.

doing what he thought was best, sans doomed his brother. if he ever goes back to his au to visit or something, he would see that first-hand. i think he'd struggle to accept it. would just run away. try to convince himself that he did what was right even as the guilt burns at his ribs.

this deal turns out more beneficial for nightmare than horror. nightmare gets a servant and a new source of negativity through ht papyrus (and though it would also spread a lot of positivity, i think its so little when compared to the whole mutliverse that nm finds it an acceptable trade and that some "positive" feelings, like the kind of god-like reverence some monsters in horrortale have for papyrus, are actually quite negative and feed him still), and horror gets to better his underground by sacrificing the only monster he probably bothered to care about: papyrus.

anyway. horrortale king papyrus. thats it thats all im gonna say goodnight