#Where are your PJs?

[purplebluepen45]

12 Days of Fontcest

"SLEEP WELL, BROTHER..."

.

Prompt by @underfellover

What? That's literally their PJs. Sans' too lazy to even change his clothes and Papyrus loved the costume so much that he wouldn't take it off. It's to show how much he appreciated Sans' work on his costume ^^

And... the heck-?! This took me so long to get the proportions right and I wanted to add Papyrus' scarf blanketing them, but uhhhh... this was already too much for me ^^;

[nofacednerd]

a little continuation of the comic from the other day!

[nazbruhh]

Yeah

[liquidstar]

the goddamn show came out

[c00kietin]

Made another silly lil rat doodle before I go to sleep :3

[pastelaspirations]

So... Uh... Remember how I said something about "Inktobertale only truly ending in our hearts if we let it end??" Well, about that-

I'M SORRY, MAN. But eeey, as far as I can tell, tumblr doesn't have strict time stamps of when something was posted. >:) So we can just pretend I posted this in October hehe. (Unless tumblr absolutely does have time stamps of when something was posted and I am just completely hopeless as an individual-)

✧˖°.Ta-da✧˖°. A drawing that I s t a r t e d back in early September, then went on to not touch again for months. It's so funny. I don't draw for months, but the very instant I begin drawing again, I complete a drawing in one freaking day. I AM G R E A T. I AM NOT LOSING MY MIND, I'M F I N E-

So, congrats, yippee, I am not dead. :D Hi, hello, how have you all been doing, I've been doing g r e a t, the same picture of mental stability I always have been-

Here's a version without the filter; I'm practicing with my "filter" stuff to see if I can get better and actually do the stuff I want to do ;_;

[greatgaspiads]

Slumber/PJ Party

Babes Week 2023, Day 6

And a little something extra—an alternate timeline if you will—below the cut 😉

[triglycercule]

i love characters with barely elaborated on personalities and traits and all that. dust sans??? absolute perfection i can do whatever the fuck i want with him. headcanon anything i want as long as it fits the framework that askdusttale has given me. nightmare??? his one main trait is that he's bad do you know how amazingly vague that is. i have even MORE freedom with him than anyone else. there are various different types of bad guy and i can make nightmare all of them and none simultaneously because he's simply not all that elaborated on. once i lose that creative freedom i lose all will to do anything with characters

[local-soda-can]

cleaning my room by myself: so yippee!, im getting stuff done, going at my own pace, get to listen to music or talk with partners if i’m on a call w/ them, not getting yelled at!

cleaning my room with my mom: not yippee, im still getting stuff done but i constantly feel like i’ll be judged if i don’t do a good enough job, having a bunch of tasks given to me one after another so now i feel like i need to do things faster, i have to endure her annoying and loud show she watches on her phone, gets yelled at(and slapped :3)

[ithilienns]

watching fan commentary on the lotr filming process is so hard because every five seconds they make it so painfully obvious that the only thing they know about nz is that it's where lotr was filmed

[inmenanswiththejaffacakes]

Wait so they lied about recording a reunion?? lmao this cast man 😭

[z0mbiefrank]

.

[penrose-quinn]

I love it when I listen to an album for the first time and you can tell how much this person was so in love that it bleeds out of their music.

[friedricebunny]

A series of haruichi mamiya sprites where he's dressed up like This

[inkblot-skyz]

Thinking about how Undertale literally saved me from being a terf like. Damn this game has everything, great storyline, amazing music, terf repellent, great queer rep-

[salty-dracon]

You could hear it on your mother's tongue when you were a child, like a weight holding it down, changing the sound of her voice. The weight of knowledge. But not academic knowledge, like the kind you study in school and parrot back. The weight of horrible truths you've learned by living life. The weight of memories so heavy that they must be handled with a similar gravity, proportional to the octave of voice used to utter those secrets. Truths so horrible they must be hidden away, barreled up like wine, before one accidental little shake causes them to explode.

"Are you saying you wouldn't be sorry if it was any other little girl?"

His question, and the weight on his tongue, told you that there was something behind his words. Had he lost another daughter? Did someone kidnap someone dear to him? Perhaps he had a friend who had lost a daughter. Or maybe someone else had made this "mistake" before, and it cost him dearly. Or perhaps he was just kind- so kind that he wasn't just angry on behalf of his daughter, but on any number of your gang's victims.

Was there any way to answer his question?

Could you explain to him how you got here, on his front porch? No, because that would mean going back decades in time, back to when you were still a teenager. You were burned out of high school and looking to take some time off. You said you'd apply to college in the spring, and recuperate with your friends instead. And that's what you did, following them around on their excursions late into the night. Dad always told you that the time between high school and college was the happiest time of your life. You intended to live it to the fullest with all of your friends.

One morning, the night after a big party, the police showed up at your door. They accused you of selling hard drugs. You argued with them that you had done no such thing. They could search your car, search your room, search your body- there was no evidence that you'd done anything like that. You were so confident. When the cops collected evidence from your clothes and car, they found the evidence.

And of course, no one believed you after that. Not the judge, not the jury, and not even your parents.

You ended up in prison, scared for your life. You weren't particularly strong, smart, or rich. You'd just be a punching bag, hated by everyone else.

And then you met Pike.

Pike had a big, hearty laugh. He slapped your back and said, "I took one look at you and I knew you weren't supposed to be in here! It's dangerous to go alone, kid. Come roll with me, and I'll help you get out ASAP."

You believed him. And true to his word, he was right. He knew exactly what to say to the right people, and taught you what to say too. You watched your sentence be shortened and shortened, until ten years later, you finally walked back into the streets of your hometown alongside him.

When you got to enter your home again, Dad wasn't there. Only Mom. It turns out they'd had a falling out after your arrest. Dad wasn't interested in having a kid who went to prison. He'd gone to spread his seed elsewhere. And Mom... her house stank of trash and vermin, and her skin sagged off her arms.

You tried to get a job. Anything to pay for Mom's bills and get her some help. In between your job applications, you cooked and cleaned, killing rats and throwing out the endless mound of trash. But no matter what, you couldn't... you just couldn't get an interview.

Then you remembered Pike. You called him, asking if there was any place a former inmate like you could find work. Pike said, with his usual jovial tone, "Come visit me. It's dangerous work, but I know you can do it, kid."

And you believed him. And true to his word, he was right.

He was a ransomer. He had connections that would identify targets- usually children of poor families with little in savings- and he would get his people to kidnap them. They would be safe, of course. Pike wasn't a monster. The kids would be given snacks and games and food, while locked in a little apartment. If they tried to escape, they were threatened with dismemberment. Of course, the threats were empty- you knew that, because you were in charge of watching the kids. But the threats were enough to get their parents to pay.

Once, one of the kidnapped children- a little girl- began crying and you instinctively tried to comfort her. She escaped, but she came back to you when you apologized for scaring her. Pike clapped you on the back again after that- he said you had a real knack for taking care of kids.

You never kidnapped any of the kids. But you saw the ones who did. Huge men, covered in tattoos. Were they like you were in high school? How long were they in prison? What horrible crimes had they committed, besides kidnapping? Did you want to know? The paycheck kept you from asking.

Until one day, things went really wrong.

One of the kidnappers had been arrested in connection with a different crime. Pike needed a getaway driver. That had to be you. He promised he'd pay you double for this job. And besides, you wouldn't even be manhandling the kid.

The target was a little girl, about 10 years old. She was walking home alone from school when you stopped the car beside her, your two co-conspirators grabbed her, and they threw her in the car as she screamed and cried. She was silent, almost catatonic with fear, when the kidnappers handed her off to you to take care of. You asked her, your voice trembling, if they did anything to her. She said they'd just grabbed her, and she was scared. She wanted her dad. You asked her to tell you about her family. It usually calmed the kids down to talk about the people they loved. She began talking about her dad- he was a tall man with big hands, and his name was Adam.

... Adam?

"Pike," you said, running to his office, "she says her name is Robin, and her dad's name is Adam Monteith. I know Adam Monteith- we went to school together! Are you telling me I kidnapped his daughter?!"

Pike checked his notes. "Shit, did we pick up the wrong girl? That explains why Marco was so cocky over the phone- we didn't nab his daughter." He shrugged. "Do you know his phone number? It's worth a shot to-"

"No." You shook your head. "Like I said, I know Adam. He's a good guy. I kidnapped his daughter, but that doesn't mean I can't make things right. I have to give her back, now."

"You're missing out. The big payday comes after we-"

"Pike, just this once. Adam was my friend."

Pike narrowed his eyes at you. "No pay for the next job."

You nodded. "No pay. But in exchange, you keep your hands off her."

Which led you to here.

Robin, the scared little girl, was watching you carefully through the glass screen. The moment you let her out of your vehicle, you apologized to her over and over, hoping she understood. She ran to the door and into her mother's arms, screaming for her. Adam came out to greet you with a gun in his hand, furor rippling through his voice as he stared at you, the whites of his eyes the only part of him visible in the cold, dark night.

"We're sorry," you said, your voice shaking under your breath. "We didn't know she was your daughter."

Adam's voice dropped. Just like you heard your own mother's voice drop when you were a child. "And that’s your justification?" he asked. "You’re sorry because the vulnerable little girl you kidnapped was the wrong little girl?"

He gave a huff- was it the cold of the night? A gasp of disbelief? A sadistic chuckle? "Are you saying you wouldn’t be sorry if it was any other little girl?"

Every moment of your life, from ten years ago up until now, flashed through your mind in that moment. You made a mistake, and you didn't know that mistake would cost you everything. You believed the wrong person, and that person took your future away from you. You had every opportunity to be a better person, and you resigned yourself to being the only good apple in a barrel of bad apples. Could you explain any of that to him?

There really was only one answer.

"I've... lost my right to be sorry."

You heard the click of a gun. The barrel was pointed at your chest now.

"It's for your mother, right?" he asked. "Because you need the money for her. So you harm other mothers you don't know. Because they're not the 'wrong' mother."

You nod. "Yes."

"So, if your mother were to learn what you did for her, do you think she would feel sorry?"

The truth was, you didn't know. You never told her what you did.

"Depriving a mother of their child," he said, the anger in his voice transforming into cold sadism. "Maybe you've lost your right to be sorry. But I'm not sorry at all."

He pulled the trigger.

“We’re sorry, we didn’t know she was your daughter!” “And that’s your justification? You’re sorry because the vulnerable little girl you kidnapped was the wrong little girl? Are you saying you wouldn’t be sorry if it was any other little girl?”