#healthy colorkiller

[mewobrute]

Killer gets comfort, (inspired by a scene in Steven Universe.)

[zuzuelectricbugaloo]

Yes hi hello I need this engraved into my very Soul thanks. *rips heart out of chest* please and thank you

If you know where this quote comes from no you don't

this was inspired by a few different posts :)

Actually I haven't put this on in awhile

(Killer by @/rahafwabas and Color by @/superyoumna)

[howlsofbloodhounds]

soooo, i was thinking of ships, like colorkiller and rottencrops, and like- does dust get a healthy partner ever? is that a thing, cause idk if i've ever seen one

Iirc, dust/murder is often paired off with Red/Fell Sans, i remember hearing something on the dustale ask blog along the lines of “who judges the judge?” Something like that, and it was fell who’d be doing that.

I don’t remember the exact stuff around it, but yeah Murder’s Saejun & Color equivalent seems to be Fell—although probably not canon like Color & Killer.

[xeiinsuuferst]

Here’s some Crescent and Lux art! ^^ I feel like they’d be closer because they’re the same age and have to take care of two younger kids, which essentially means they can only depend on each other for emotional comfort since they don’t want to burden the little ones. :,(

YAP STARTS NOW!! Just me asking smth and yapping about what I’m planning for this comic etc

By the way, since I’m planning to create multiple comics for my AU, I’m not sure which ships I should include or whether I should just skip adding any (except for some implied moments between the adult Sanses, not the ship kids, lol). SO PLZ GIVE ME OPINIONS PSLPSLSPSLSLSLLSSLSLSSSSS IDK WHAT TO ADD

There are only four ships I’m set on including in the comic (kind of like... situationships, etc ), and those THREE ships are Killermare, Colorkiller, and Cream.

Cream is more like... eh... I’m honestly not too sure. I think they’d be cute together, but I might just keep them as a situationship or something.

Now, I’m going to be honest..I actually kind of like Killermare. 🤷 The dynamic is interesting. (I don’t support toxic or abusive relationships; I mostly want to incorporate some “canon” personalities for the characters. To me, I can’t see Killermare being a healthy relationship at all, and I want to experiment with that in this comic.)

Now, for Colorkiller: definitely one of my favorite ships! I REALLY want to include this ship mostly because they’re super cute, but they’ll most likely stay as a situationship for the most part, lol.

Now I want to talk about my plans for this comic! I really want to explore unhealthy relationships, dysfunctional families, and more! This comic will definitely have some dark themes and maybe even a sprinkle of violence. I mostly made this post to gather some opinions on the ships, but somehow it turned into me rambling about what I want to do with this comic, lol. 😭

It'll probably take me a while to start making the comic due to my EXTREME lack of art skills (and not knowing how to start a comic properly). So, yeah, I’ll likely spend a few more days experimenting with poses before I start drawing the comic, lol. Also, please remember that this comic is more self-indulgent, and I’m mostly making it for myself. But anyway, thanks for reading this WALL of text! I hope you all have an amazing day!!

Lux belongs to AlainaPrana

Crescent belongs to Lunnar-chan

[coolingrosa]

Came back from school to see my question got answered ^^ And now instead of studying for my exams which are this week I will be doing this instead >:3

When i say they feel distant i mean like they seem to argue alot like when Error was refusing to help watch Killer Nightmare felt the need to guilt trip (idk if thats the right word) him in order to get him to help. It doesnt feel like they trust each other very much based on this interaction alone. Even at the two arguments, I noticed that Nightmare was continually provoking Error.

Few other questions: I remember reading another question and the end of ur answer was smth like "Killer clings to Nightmare and Cross clings to Error" I wonder if thats still canon cuz idk when you answered👀

How will Error be related to the gang like will he just be someone who hangs around them or smth? Will he make more appearances in future chapters?

Unrelated to RoseVerse but what is ur otp and other fav ships, what about your fav character from the undertale aus. ( I think u can tell who is my fav character from my questions cant believe my pookie didnt win Tumblr sexyman)

Also you got any tips for drawing and writing and some resources with which u learned and would recommend? Thanks in advance :) I will tell you once more how much i love your work. If you ever get burnt out, please remember its okay to take a break. I wish you the best for college. Sorry if this was a bit long. Love from India <333

-From the one person who said you were the reason that they said started writing and drawing on stream

1. Unfortunately, yeah, even if they are close by technically, it doesn’t mean they are heathy. They are kinda like childhood friends who have grown into different people but still cling out of convenience and remaining love. If they met as adults, they wouldn’t get along, but they have history to them. They know how to push each other’s buttons, and since they have no one else to fight with without the fear of losing them, they target one another. That’s where their trust comes in, as they are the only people on the whole multiverse that they have. Sure, they are passing friends with Reaper, especially Error, but neither trust him enough to be themselves. They both know the other will never leave, so both can be utter assholes to one another, and taunt to get it out of their systems. It’s not healthy and it’s built upon their grief and subconscious blame towards each other and themselves after losing Ink.

They are in a bitter stage of their lives right now. One day, they’ll get back to who they use to be. For now, there’s only hints thru Killer’s perspective.

2. Error and Cross are parallels to Nightmare and Killer, and that’s all I can rlly say until Cross’s chapters. But yes, that’s still canon.

3. Error will have full chapters dedicated to him in the future! He’s not officially apart of the bad sanses, and is more of an ally to Nightmare as he doesn’t care for the other bad sanses besides Cross and Horror (who don’t come in until much later)

4. LOL I LOVE ERROR TOO! I’ve made jokes about how he’s my husband and I even jokingly got a body pillow of him to match with best friend irl mil_leon on tiktok. He will win this year….trust…

However, he isn’t my favorite! My favorite is core frisk, and ppl used to call me that as a joke and as a nickname!

I have four OTPS, actually. BlackCoffee (reaper and Ccino), ColorKiller (rainbowknife), Errormare, and Drink. Shockingly, Errormare isn’t my favorite. DRINK is. I absolutely adore Drink with everything in me and if I ever see art of it I will kick my feet, and scream with joy. I have multiple analyses about them just IN MY DOCS bout how perfect they are for one another but that’s the story for another day.

Some others I really enjoy tho are BloodMoon (Geno and Nightmare), Crink, Horrorfarm, lowkey Dustswap BUT IN A VERY SPECIFIC WAY AND NOT IN THE OLD FANDOM WAY THWY HAVE THE POTENTIAL TO BE GOOD GUYS PPL JUST WRITE IT SUPER WEIRD, CrossxKiller (only bc my gf and I relate to them!), and Driller!

5. I really recommend binge watching ginjanijaowo and their speedpaints and character design videos! June taught me a LOT about character design and watching them draw inspires me a lot. I also suggest doing ugly arm up sketches before each important project to get the rust off! Don’t limit urself to only one anatomy technique- as I’ve tried every single one in existence and still developed my own. Drawing is all about finding what works for YOU and sometimes, the big popular artists techniques just won’t. Like… doing the gesture line is a very important part of the process….that I will never do LOL

However, giving art advice is tricky as it’s easier to focus on one aspect you want help on so the artist ur asking can focus their advice better! Like asking about anatomy, drawing heads, animatics, story boarding, etc! I wouldn’t mind doing any tutorials for those types of questions!

6. And thank you so much <333 I’m glad I could inspire you to make amazing things, and I really hope I’m able to stream again. Unfortunately, as I type this, my roommates are watching a movie on full volume and it’s bleeding thru the door, so until I can find time…with them gone LOL I cannot @_@ I’m trying tho!! I miss interacting with you all

[genlosscharliie]

hello countryhumans fandom tumblr.com. i make an offering to you. same fic under the cut but the formatting is better on ao3!

It wasn’t that you knew where it was, not by sight anyway, but you still remembered the steps. You let your memory guide you throughout the woods, half surprised they hadn’t been burnt down by now. As quickly as you could without Iran losing you or with your crutches giving out on you, you tried to make your way.

It had to be near here somewhere.

—

The eighth of October, nineteen-eighty, is when your relations with him improve again. You hadn’t wanted them to thaw in the first place, but you could not control all your government decided or saw as right—you just listened to them. You just didn’t think it made sense to distance yourself from that important of an ally.

It was not like you could find allies in your fellow Arab nations, really, either. Reaching out to foreigners was your best call here. What was the point of aligning yourself with your kind if they only brought your people strife? Playing a puppet again? Stupid thought.

Moscow is where you are requested (and requested is a light word, but you were never one to disobey your actual leaders) to accompany your leaders to, to finalise this treaty. The Union will be there, too, they said, try to be pleasant.

He is holding something, some small box, when you spot him as you enter and wave at him. He does not wave back, but he offers you a glance and places the box on the table.

The meeting is all you could expect of it: talking over points, laying out details, writing down things. Nothing in particular stands out in it, until you are dismissed at least.

“Could I have a moment of your time?” he asks when the time comes, and you agree with a healthy amount of wariness. You’d taken a liking to the man in the past forty years of cooperation, but you couldn’t help but be skeptical of your allies nonetheless—especially one as young and ambitious as Soviet is.

He gives you the box the moment the room is emptied, tells you to open it. You do. A present, then? Strange, but you weren’t going to just turn him down.

In it sits an eyepatch. Black cloth with a single, green star atop it. It matches with Soviet’s, and one of those kids’ he had separated from the other.

“Huh,” is your response, but you couldn’t force the smile that rose back down, “Thank you.”

Later, he helps you with getting the bandages you usually use as eye covering off and cleaning out the wound slash gaping hole slash empty socket that once held your eye, then assists with actually getting the patch on.

It looks nice, you think. He gives you a thumbs-up when you ask him; it looks a bit comical with how stoic he still looks as he responds

—

You could hear Iran tapping the shovel against the exposed roots of a tree behind you as you tried your damnedest to remember what direction you were meant to go in to arrive there. It would have been incredibly awkward to claim you knew exactly where this thing was and then get lost.

Eventually, you decide that heading north is the most correct option. You continue in the same direction you were going already.

—

Soviet has a lot more connections than you do, you quickly realise the longer you are affiliated with him. It is most apparent when you are invited to an event that was apparently reserved for the Second World.

You are pretty sure you have seen at least one nation from every single continent, barring Antarctica, and yet you are somehow his only pair of eyes and ears in the Middle East.

Notably, you feel disconnected from the rest present. You suppose that is your own fault for distancing yourself from most of your kin. Eh, not like they would accept you right now, not most of them.

The only people you know here are Soviet himself and the few that had made independent efforts to become acquintances with you (though, the latter was mostly just Korea).

In the evening, you are invited to a walk with Soviet, and you gladly accept. After all, it would be rude not to when he was hosting all of you for this time, would it not?

It is a cold, late-autumn day. Nearing winter. There are small, thin sheets of snow where you walk. You don’t get to see that very often.

He says that he expected you to fare worse under such vastly different conditions. He speaks in Arabic, or his accented, mispronounced-here-and-there version of it.

You respond to him in Russian, your own knowledge of his language equally challenged as his of yours, that your home doesn’t have insulation; it’s easy to deal with it when you have to spend your winters like that back home

The conversations continue from there, drifting from topic to topic, with each of you speaking one another’s language and offering corrections when especially egregious mistakes are made.

You arrive back in your country a day or two later, and are glad to be closer allies—friends, you dare say—with him.

You should’ve probably asked him why he knew Arabic, but with the way he was, he probably would’ve only asked you why you knew Russian.

—

“And you’re sure that you know where it’s buried?” Iran asked as he helped you get back up from where you had collapsed.

You did not speak Farsi, and he did not speak Arabic. It was almost ironic for Russian to be one of the languages you had in common.

“Yes, I am. Shut up," you responded. You were close, you could tell. How, you didn’t know, but you knew you were getting closer.

—

It’s eerily quiet. No one wants to be the first to speak here. Nineteen-ninety-two, January second, is when Soviet’s funeral takes place. You doubt that his body is actually inside the casket. Does he even have a corpse?

The thought isn’t one you want to have here, amidst the crowd. Citizens, human ones, and nations like you alike are present. Some look more upset than others do, some look like the only reason they aren’t openly celebrating is because they’re in public.

You whisper a prayer to him under your breath. Soviet didn’t believe in a God, but you did, do. You get a side-eye from the person to your left, someone you do not recognise and could care less for. They are bearing a flag you don’t recognise off the top of your head, so they are unimportant to you.

You stay longer than strictly necessary, unsure of when these customs—unlike yours—ended officially. The funeral only lasts a day, hardly that, even. It is odd to you, especially for someone so important.

When you come back home, it’s like a wall of emotion you didn’t even know existed came crumbling down on you. So that was the last of your friend, huh?

A few days later, you discard of the eyepatch and instead leave it to detoriarate over time in a desk drawer you would not look at if you got the chance to. You return to bandages to cover that half of your face, only with a crudely drawn star atop them this time around. It’s silly, but commemorative enough for you.

—

Iran shouted at you to duck a second later than he should’ve, and you end up whacking your head against a particularly low-hanging branch of a tree. You really should’ve brought your walking stick with you, instead of depending on blind (hah.) muscle memory.

You offered him—his general vicinity—a glare that was entirely useless considering your blindfold. You hoped he got the memo anyway.

—

You can see the writing on the wall, you are not stupid. You are not unaware of your people’s turmoil. I t acts like a parasite, how could you be?

A combined anguish, an anger and a sense of mourning you hope is displaced, all of it boils under your skin, bubbling and popping and threatening to escape any moment, to come to a point where your people could not keep a lid on their ideas and follow in their neighbours’ footsteps.

It is inevitable. You are not unaware. They believe you are, but the crows had started circling long ago and you have kept a silence about you when it came to it.

Your allies are closer to you now. This does not matter in the present. Iraq and Iran and Palestine will not save you from a fate of near-death and sickness and collapse, they will not just like Russia and Venezuela and Korea will not.

You wished you had more time, at least, to prepare.

You dig in your pocket for the worn eyepatch, extracted from the drawer hours ago, when you had began your departure for this forest. So far from your home, it had to be safe, didn’t it? You hope it stays in-tact as you stuff it into as secure a container as you could find on short notice.

It is just over midnight, the moon shines on you like she knows of all your misdeeds and your sins and how you have mistreated your people in favour of an unjust ruler. You deny the notion vehemently, peer up at her with defiance unlike that you can muster around the people you hate.

You dig your shovel into the earth, drive it in again and again and again like you are burying a body you came across and not one of your stupidest, most sentimental possessions that you have not touched in since nineteen-ninety-two. It is the late two-thousands now.

Dirt stains the inside of your nails and your palms and your trousers as you kneel down on the bare earth, depositing the triply-checked secure box into it. You heave in air as you force yourself back to your feet rather than collapsing here, or in the grave.

You pour the dirt back over it, praying for a thousand different protections over it as you smooth down the mound that forms. You do your best to make it look like untouched ground.

You will not be safe from the violence that is coming, the unrest, but it will be, and for tonight, you think that is enough. Just for tonight, that is enough, you think as you begin the long trek to your own house.

—

The only good thing about being unable to see was the fact that you could get Iran to do this one thing for you, you thought, listening to the crunch of metal being shoved harder than was needed between dirt.

After a handful of minutes of waiting around, circling around the same tree six times, he announced that he had found something as a sound distinctly unlike dirt was heard from where he had dug it in.

You made haste to get over to where he was standing, crouching beside him to feel into the cavity now present there. You had forgotten just how deep you had buried this thing, but that mattered little as your fingers found purchase on the container—edge of it, anyway—and latched on.

You dug it out with your bare hands now, Iran standing off to the side and watching. You thought your hands were shakier than normal, but whether that was a result of finally getting this thing back, or exertion that wasn’t exactly healthy for you to commit to in this state, or something else, was entirely unknown to you.

You opened it without thinking much for it, getting it into your hands at least. It had been so long since you had gotten your hands on it. Iran piped up with a “Didn’t think it was real,” somewhere behind you.

You traced your thumb over where the star was embroidered, the one that wasn’t scarred enough that you would’ve hardly made out the bumps from them. One of the threads was loose. You felt over the string. Also worn.

Huh. That was a bad feeling. You’d let it get too ruined, one of the few gifts you actually cared for getting (and one of the few, in general, that you had even gotten). How time flies, or something. It made you upset, why did it mae you upset?

Iran placed a hand over yours before you could too in your head about it. “You sure that thing’s even wearable?” he questioned, the sorry state of it probably even more evident to him than to you. He didn’t sound genuine in his asking, so you didn’t bother with responding.

A beat of silence passed before he shifted to put an arm under yours, hoisting you up suddenly and getting you to nearly drop the patch in your surprise.

“Come on, we’re going home," was all Iran said to you, helping you in getting your crutches from where you had discarded of them in favour of digging like a dog. You didn’t respond, only nodding with your lips pressed into a thin line as you pocketed the eyepatch.

You followed him this time around, he seemed to remember the way back. Your mind conjured up the image of Soviet’s ghost watching over the two of you, like some guardian demon. You mentioned it to Iran and earned a laugh from him. That improved your mood slightly.

It was... well, it was definitely not fine, per se. But you would live, you thought. You’d lost much more than a gift before, hadn’t you?

[mewobrute]

i got two mini comics with Killer "talking" to his other stages, its just angst.

Heres the first one

(hes talking about Nightmare in the first panel btw.)

heres the second one

heart soul = stage 1. circle soul = stage 2, and big crazy circle soul/the red one = stage 3. for anyone wondering.

[howlsofbloodhounds]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!! (Hope I'm not late TvT)

GRgehehheh I can't draw rn but I'll give some headcanons I have on the back burner of my mind

- Valentine by Laufey is definitely Killermare's / ColorKiller's song

- The star sanses are the most overworked sanses ever and if they do have vacations they have dates in underswap because they feel the safest there

- Imagine Killer meeting Color for the first time after being with Nightmare for so long, like, His eyes already got so used to the dark that seeing Color literally blinded him or something

- Geno and Dream are secret besties

- Bad Sans poly but everyone has a major crush on killer meanwhile Killer is the most oblivious one out of all of them

- Epic likes to show Delta memes but Delta does NOT know what the hell memes are (I like to imagine he's just a guy that doesn't get into internet culture a lot)

- Domestic ColorKiller but Killer adopts a stray black cat that reminds him of Nightmare (he's coping)

I have more but these are the ones I remember the most shfhwhhdhw

Thank you! Dw, you’re not late!

And I have to give that song a listen to soon, but i love that yall are recommending me songs, please keep doing that 🙏. And the idea of both Color and Delta not being very big online people is hilarious, because they have no clue whatsoever what Epic is talking about, but at least Epic has Cross and Killer.

Bad Sans Poly where Killer is oblivious is adorable, but i raise you that Killer is very aware and just thinks it isn’t real—and if it is real, then it’ll pass.

Honestly i think Color would be supportive of Killer having a cat like that. Killer may be more hesitant, because it’s not like he misses Nightmare for any emotional reasons or Nightmare as a person—he just got used to his presence, the purpose provided, although he definitely prefers what Color offers more—and if he’s trying to “be better,” and “good” then missing Nightmare might be “bad.”

Only Color comes in clutch, reassuring him that emotions are not “good” or “bad”, and no one gets to tell him who he can or can’t miss—regardless of what his relationship with those people might’ve been.

So long as Killer is aware of the harm done to him, that it was undeniably wrong and unwarranted and not deserved at all, hes entitled to feeling or thinking whatever he feels or thinks about nightmare. And that doesn’t make him “bad” and isnt a sign of backtracking or making no progress—and i think killer would definitely be the one focusing on being taught how to be a “good person” part, using color as his moral compass, even though color is just more focused on keeping him safe, healthy, happy and recovering.

{ @orchidlikesgamez }