Before we start this, i want to put a trigger warning, if you are sensitive to anything relating to death IN ANY WAY please don't stay here, the whole story line revolves around ghosts and the lives they led, and i very much do not want to upset you in anyway!
You, as askers, are spirits from another dimension, no one should be able to hear you, but sans happens to have a special Ouija board, and is happy to translate for you!
To interact, head over to the Ouija Board, and ask a question to one of them, or myself, or maybe leave an offering! Ill make sure it gets to them!
there's also a mention of hate crimes, please stay safe!
Who are the Characters?
Sans (Classic) - status: Alive - The medium - a new guy in town who can see ghosts - Open
Nightmare - Status: Dead - B.1211 - D.1229 (Age 18) - COD - Burnt on charges of Heresy and Witchcraft - Open
Dream - Status: Dead - B.1211 - D.1241 (Age 30) - COD - Brain haemorrhage - Open
Cross - Status: Dead - B.1425 - D.1453 (Age 28) - COD - Died in combat / Shot with arrows - Open
Dust - Status: Dead - B.1710 - D.1735 (Age 25) - COD - Hanged for the murder of his brother and thievery - Open
Ink - Status: Dead - B.1823 - D.1855 (Age 32) - COD - Lead poisoning (painters colic) - Open
Horror - Status: Dead - B.1906 - D.1945 (Age 36) - COD - Head Trauma - Open
Lust - Status: Dead - B.1955 - D.1973 (Age 18) - COD - Murdered for his job and sexuality - Open
Killer - Status: Dead - B.1982 - D.2002 (Age 20) - COD - Stabbed - Open
Geno - Status: Dead - B.1982 - D.2014 (Age 32) - COD - terminal illness - Open
Error - Status: Dead - B.1986 - D.2014 (Age 28) - COD - suicide by hanging - Open
Blue - COMING SOON
Other Characters - you can ask them stuff, but don't expect a very expansive answer
Fresh - 1988 - 2019 (31) - car crash.
Red - 1959 - 1992 (39) - shot by spurned lover
Outer - 1854 - 1882 (28) - fell off a building
(you can also send a question my way, Whisp, if you want a straightforward answer not in character, but why would you lol)
I am curious about ghosts interacting with objects, especially Killer's ability to take things from the living world. (I see your blog title says semi-hiatus so no rush to answer) (can answer in or out of character, whatever is easier/makes more sense to you)
I'm assuming that Killer being able to take only one item at a time means that when he takes a new item the old one will reappear in the real world. Does it reappear where he left it or where he took it from? If it reappears where he left it: if it's in his pocket or something like that will it just fall out? Or does he have to consciously put one thing down before he can take something else?
When Killer has possession of an item he 'stole' can the other ghosts interact with it? Could he loan it to them like he gave Dust his hoodie? Or does that ability only apply to the things he died with?
Can the other ghosts remove or exchange the things on their person? Like could Nightmare take off the cross he was forced to die in?
Can ghosts choose to share their offerings? Like when Nightmare gets an undirected offering could he choose to share it or give it to one of his boys if he wanted to?
im going to answer out of character for clarities sake! and im very glad youve been enjoy reading through the au, heheh!
Killer has to actively WANT to pick up an item to have it, and doing so automatically drops the previous item from what he has - but that in general has to be a conscious decision. that item is quite literally 'dropped' from where he is at the moment of the switch. meaning if he previous had, lets say a coat, and wanted to pick up a battery - he would make that desision, pick up the battery, and the coat would just APPEAR in the real world, right under him. which DOES cause confusion and vauge horror to people who see it, hehe
Killer CAN give things to other ghosts to use, yes, but its IS a loan type situation - he still considered to be the one 'holding that item, and so cant pick up another thing is say, Horror is holding an empty can he swiped - hed need to take it back to swap it out for a new thing.
Everyone can take off anything they have that they died in - Nightmare CAN take off his crown, and put it on say, Cross, and it can stay there indifferently. but if the item is removed and left on a rock or something, that item will 'ping' back to them after around an hour. that left iten also DOESNT appear in the physical world while its not on a ghost
they can all share any offering! say Nightmare was given an entire cake, that is his cake to do with as he pleases - he can give everyone a slice. communal items can be swapped between any of them if they want to - a book given to Night that hes read a hundred times can be borrowed by Horror just fine. thought they may need a way to store everything, hehe. id imagine some ghosts get possessive of certain items though, and may not want to share. if someone claims an undirected offering, most of them agree to let that person just have it, if no one else is bothered.
hope that answers all the questions! if not, please DO feel free to shoot another question my way, hehe! <3
or, Killer asks Dust a question hes always wondered about.
a fic for the MMau
cw: dead characters, talk of eecution, light gore mentions, hanging/noose, non explicit nsfw, inappropriate discussions, dust centric, in lore elements, my own headcanons, ect
The afternoon in the Lunar Woods Park was a languid, heavy thing. Sunlight, filtered through the dense canopy of ancient birch and oak, dappled the clearing in shifting patterns of gold and deep green. It was the kind of day that felt suspended in amber, thick with the scent of damp earth and wild honeysuckle. The usual spectral activities - Killer’s petty theft of shoelaces from joggers, Cross practicing orb-form dashes between trees, Horror’s quiet ‘tending’ to a patch of blackberries he couldn’t touch, let alone eat - had all been abandoned in favour of a collective, bone-deep inertia.
They were arrayed in their usual spots. Nightmare sat on a moss-covered stone plinth that might have once been part of a fountain, his purple tunic a dark splash against the grey-green stone, one hand absently tracing the charred cracks on his radius. His single socket was half-lidded, watching dust motes dance in a sunbeam. Cross lay on his back in the grass nearby, chain mail glinting, fingers laced behind his skull as he stared at the clouds, the arrows protruding from his ribs pointing skyward like bizarre antennae. Horror was perched on a low-hanging branch, the javelin through his head casting a long, grim shadow. He was meticulously cleaning non-existent dirt from under his phalanges, a habit born from a life of baking.
And Dust… Dust was a silent, hunched figure curled at the base of the great willow tree, drowning in Killer’s oversized grey hoodie. He had his knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them, his face hidden in the fabric. The frayed, blood-red remnant of the noose was a stark collar against his cervical vertebrae. He’d been like that for hours, which wasn’t unusual. His presence casting a subtle, melancholic pall over the immediate area, a psychic fog of regret that made the flowers seem to droop.
Killer was the one who shattered the silence. He’d been pacing, a restless energy coiling in him that the peaceful afternoon couldn’t diffuse. He stopped suddenly, snapping his fingers.
“Hey. Hey, Dust.”
Dust didn’t move. Cross cracked an eyesocket open. Horror paused his cleaning. Nightmare’s smokey tendrils, which had been idly weaving through the air, stilled.
“I overheard something the other day,” Killer continued, his voice a bright, conversational slash through the quiet. He plopped down cross-legged in the grass, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, a wicked, curious grin spreading across his face. “Some living guys talking by the old gallows replica near the town museum. Morbid fuckers. Anyway, they were saying something, and it got me thinking.”
A bad feeling, cold and slick, began to coil in Horror’s non-existent stomach. Cross slowly sat up. Nightmare’s eyelight sharpened, focusing on Killer with dawning alarm.
“Is it true,” Killer asked, his tone dripping with faux-innocent curiosity, “that hanging gives you an erection?”
The clearing didn’t just go quiet; the silence became a physical entity, a suffocating blanket that smothered the birdsong and the rustle of leaves. Horror’s hand slipped, and he almost fell off the branch. Cross’s jaw went slack, the arrows in his face quivering with his shock. Nightmare straightened on his plinth, smoke tendrils lashing in agitated swipes, his expression shifting from serene to utterly appalled.
“Killer!” Nightmare’s voice was a whip-crack, colder than the grave he’d never gotten. “What in the name of every forsaken god do you think you are doing?”
“You can’t just *ask* that!” Cross hissed, scrambling to his feet, his armour clinking. “Have you lost whatever remained of your damned mind?!”
Horror just stared, his shattered socket seeming to widen further around the javelin shaft. “Killz… why?” he rasped, the word heavy with disbelief.
They were braced for an explosion. For Dust to finally shatter, for the fragile, mostly-silent peace he clung to to be obliterated by this callous, brutal question about the most traumatic moment of his existence. They expected him to vanish, to retreat into the forest depths for weeks. They expected tears, or rage, or the terrifying, blank catatonia that sometimes took him. Nightmare was already rising, preparing to intervene, to shield Dust, to verbally flay Killer alive for his insensitivity.
But Dust… shifted.
Slowly, with a stiffness that spoke of long stillness, he lifted his head from the hoodie. His eyelights were there, small and dim but present, not the hollow voids of a dissociative episode. He blinked, once, twice. He looked not at his horrified friends, but at Killer, who was watching him with unabashed, analytical interest.
The reaction they’d steeled themselves for didn’t come. There was no fury. No crumbling. Just a slow, considering tilt of his head. The frayed rope shifted against his cervical vertebrae with a soft, dry sound.
When he spoke, his voice was its usual ruined scrape, but it was calm. Detached. Clinical, even.
“…Not really sure,” Dust said, the words leaving his throat with effort. “Wasn’t… thinking about it.”
The others froze, their outrage stuck in their throats. Killer’s grin didn’t falter; it just gained a layer of genuine intrigue. “No? Huh.”
Dust uncurled slightly, pulling one hand from the hoodie pocket to gesture vaguely at his own neck. “Hanging for monsters… different to humans. ‘Specially with that rope. Wasn’t… for breaking necks.”
He paused, gathering the words, stitching the explanation together from the fractured memories. “It’s like… a tourniquet. For magic. Not breath.” He tapped two phalanges against his sternum, where his soul would be. “The loop… cinches tight. Cuts off the magic flow from the soul to the body. Soul keeps trying… body starts… starving. Starts dusting from the extremities, in.”
He let his hand fall back into his lap. “Everything… goes wrong. Magic systems… freak out. Try anything to… preserve. To shield.” His dim eyelights flickered up to meet Killer’s. “So… yeah. Maybe. There’s a chance. Body panicking, might summon ecto… try to create a barrier. Unconsciously. Doesn’t know the danger’s… inescapable.”
A heavy, thick silence followed. Cross looked ill. Horror had brought a hand up to cover his mouth. Nightmare had sunk back onto the plinth, his anger replaced by a profound, aching sorrow.
Dust gave a tiny, one-shouldered shrug, the motion so slight. “But I was… a little busy. Dying. Y’know?”
The sheer, devastating understatement of it hung in the air, more palpable than any ghostly presence. A little busy dying.
Killer, after a moment, nodded slowly. The morbid curiosity on his face had softened into something else - something like understanding, or perhaps just the satisfaction of a puzzle solved. No judgment. No pity. Just… data. “Makes sense,” he said simply. “Magic’s a bitch when it’s scared. Thanks, Dusty.”
He then leaned back on his hands, looking up at the canopy as if they’d just discussed the weather. “Always wondered.”
The tension in the clearing didn’t dissipate, but it changed. The horror of the other three was now mixed with a bewildered, reluctant awe at Dust’s composure. At the fact that he could dissect his own execution with the detached air of a historian.
Nightmare finally found his voice, but it was quiet, drained. “Killer… you will never ask a question like that again. To anyone. Am I understood?”
“Sure, boss,” Killer said, waving a dismissive hand, though his eyes held a glint that said he’d file the information away forever.
Cross sat back down heavily, running a hand over his face. “Stars, Killer…”
Horror just shook his head, the javelin wobbling. He looked at Dust, who had already tucked his head back into the hoodie, the conversation clearly over for him. The melancholy aura around him seemed unchanged, perhaps even a fraction lighter, as if speaking the mechanics of it had bled off a tiny bit of the poison.
The afternoon settled back over them, the sunlight continuing its slow crawl across the grass. But the dynamic had shifted, just a little. They had seen a new facet of Dust’s trauma - not the explosive grief they feared, but a chilling, precise dissection. And they had seen, yet again, that Killer’s moral compass wasn’t broken; it had simply never been installed. He’d asked the question not to be cruel, but because he genuinely wanted to know. And somehow, against all reason and decency, Dust had been the only one not offended by it.
In the haunted stillness of the Lunar Woods, it was just another strange, dark thread in the tapestry of their afterlife. A question asked, an answer given in broken, rasping clinical terms. And the rainbows, when they appeared later that evening as Nightmare’s mood turned pensive, seemed to weep light over a clearing that understood a little more about the precise ways a soul could be undone.
"Bro, I'm heading out!" Sans called over his shoulder, placing the last of his heavy boxes down on the polished granite counter, "I'll be back soon."
Turning around to face his brother, Papyrus stands with his weight shifted to one side, hand on his hips as he replies, "Where are you going? We still have boxes to move, and we need to start setting the important things up!"
"Like the sock pile?"
"Like the soc-NO, you're not putting your socks all over this nice new house!"
"Sure thing bro," his eyelights twinkling, "I'm going to look around the town, see if there's anything interesting," he continues as he grabs his keys and an apple, before walking back towards the walnut wood door, "I'll only be a couple hours at most, did you want to come with?"
Papyrus smiles, his face softening as he relaxed his posture "No, I have too much to do, you enjoy yourself brother, and bring back some ice cream on your way back! We're having that movie night before we settle in, remember!"
Chuckling, Sans responds "Gotcha bro, see ya."
"See you soon Sans."
Sans walks down the cobblestone street, the hustle and bustle of the street much more lively that the quiet of his home town. It was almost comforting, to see others milling about their own lives; knowing he wasn't the only one in existence, that everyone here had they're own lives, and friends and responsibilities, and that they always would, for as long as the world still spins.
As he takes a bite of his apple, he appreciates how the sun beams cast flames of warms into the misty swirling air. The frost - shimmering in the sunlight - almost seemed to glow despite the overcast weather as it thawed. It seemed almost magical.
He'd never really stopped to appreciate nature before, but now as he took the chance to, it was truly enchantingly enthralling.
As he chews his apple, he comes across a large sign "Lunar Woods Park" it reads in easy to read letters, with small cosmic illustrations surrounding the words, the sign battered at the edges, and the paint chipped.
Shrugging, he decides this is as good as a place as any to look around; apparently the park makes up for a large part of the town and their history, and allegedly there are dilapidated ruins of an old castle, which at one point housed royalty. And if that didn't pique his interest, what would?
He strolls a fair way into the forest, noting how the birch trees shift hues from ochre to phthalo to mulberry and mauve as he reaches the depths of the forest, the branches dancing as they sway in the wind; fallen leaves pirouetting around splintered tree stumps. And in the distance, he sees the shadowy form of a person.
He stops, the leaves ceasing to rustle under his footfall, as the figure turns around, the air feeling somehow colder as he faces him.
He's missing half of his head! A giant spear piercing through the top left of his skull, and poking out the other side - partially through his barren eye socket, and the lower part of his cheek bone and jaw. How was he standing?! No one should be able survive a hit like that, let alone be seemingly fine, standing in shock with his eye large as though he was the abnormal one here!
"Oh my god, are you okay?! No, sorry, stupid question, you should sit down, stay calm, I'll call an ambulance, okay, just try to hold on for me!" Sans panics, his arms flailing in the air and he questions what he's supposed to do in this situation, he wasn't taught this in school!
The monster pauses, his mouth opening and closing a few time, looking remarkably like a fish, before he responds very slowly in a gravelly voice "... you can see me?"
This gave Sans a pause, what on earth did he mean,'you can see me?' obviously, yes, he could, he's just standing there, confused and very much hurt, and could die at any second if he didn't do something soon!-
There's a hand in his sternum. This monster just put his hand through Sans, and not the hollow space where his stomach would be if he had one, no, through his bone. What the hell?
The monster hesitates, looking over his shoulder a few times like he expects someone to peek their head out the bushes and explain it had been a joke this whole time, before hurriedly requesting "Follow me." And starts sprinting further into the shrubbery, their branches cracking as he rushes through them.
Alarmed by the surprising speed this monster seems to possess, Sans hurries after him, twin foot falls thumping and snapping small twigs underfoot.
They don't stop until they reach a clearing, soft warm light cascading down in waterfalls, highlighting wild flowers in purple and gold as the rainbows caress their petals. Trees surrounding the clearing almost dragged inwards towards the meadow as though they were enamoured with the sight, and above it all on a hill stands an antiquated and derelict castle, clearly great once upon a time, yet now fallen into ruin, the hopes and dreams of everything it once stood for in shambles like the castle itself.
In the middle of the flowers sat...another skeleton? Dressed in tyrian purple clothes of an old-timey manner, a circlet of what appeared to be gold encircling their cranium, they stare wistfully into the distance with a singular turquoise eyelight, at the run down castle, seemingly uncaring of their charred bones.
Sans can only stare in horror; this is another monster alarmingly injured, yet completely nonchalant about it!
"Night." The first skeleton calls, causing the other to turn around and stare at them, first with a questioning look, before turning his sight to Sans as the other tilted his head towards him, before his look falls to that of pity.
"Oh, you poor dear," 'Night' whispers, before seeming to steel himself, and turning to Sans and resuming, "I'm Nightmare, this is Horror, and we're two of the ghosts who haunt this park. I'm the head ghost here, in short meaning I'm mostly in charge as I was the first to... arrive here. If you ever need anything explained, you come to me, okay? I'd hate for one of my boys to delude you. If it's not too personal... may I ask? How did you die?"
All three of them pause for a moment before Horror speaks up "Night... he's not dead."
Nightmare stands in shock, eyelight quicky scanning over Sans' form to check if what Horror said is true before Horror continues "Have you ever seen anything like this before?"
He shakes his head, tendrils of smoke curling around his back in confusion, "What is you name child?"
"Sans, Sans the skeleton."
This causes a huff of amusement from Horror, and a light smile from Nightmare, before he walks slightly towards the tree edge, and calls out "Cross?"
From the bough of a nearby tree, yet another skeleton appears, his head peering out through the canopy, before he hops down and jogs toward the group.
Presumably Cross, the skeleton is dressed in chainmail and leg armour, with a shockingly pristine cross the colour of molten sunlight around his neck. But what would catch your eyes the most, would have to be the multitude of arrows protruding from his body, thin trails of blood leaking down from where they'd hit. "Yeah?" The walking pin cushion asks.
"Do you know where Dust and Killer are?"
"Out by the front of the park, I think they're looking to annoy people with Killers power."
"Would you be a dear and go fetch them please?"
"Sure." He smirks, and with that, the creature that was once a skeleton metamorphosises into a tiny ball of light, colours barely feasible to the naked eye spiralling in a waltz for one, flashes of black, white and purple all dancing together. The orb spins in a circle for a second before shooting off in the direction towards where Sans had come from at an unattainable speed.
It was only a few seconds before the orb returned, forming the figure of Cross once again, this time with two other skeletons behind him, both stumbling and appearing dizzy, likely from the speed they had just travelled at.
"Ugh, my head! I hate it when you do that!" The first replies, glaring up at Cross through dark eye sockets, only a speck of light visible in his right. He was dressed in a leather jacked and jeans, with a substance that looked like runny mascara trickling down his face, more pressingly, blood covered his abdomen, stemming from what looked like a stab wound on his right side. A target shaped object was shattered like broken glass across his chest; the small pieces all clearly desperate and fighting to stay together, yet unable to due to strain. He stands up and makes a sort of rolling gesture with his wrists, before wiggling his fingers, and leaning down to the other monster, "You good?" He questions.
The other looks up at him with wide eyelights, before nodding, staying silent. He was dressed in a loose, billowing white shirt, black buckled shoes and navy breaches. More confusingly, he was also wearing a grey hoodie, which was clearly too modern for the time era he must have come from going by the style of his clothes. He reaches for his neck, fiddling with a jarringly red rope tied tightly around his throat, too tight for anyone to breathe with anyway, the ends frayed as thought cut with a sharp implement. He presses his weight against the first new arrival, before looking at Sans, and tilting his head in an obvious question, who are you? his eyes ask.
"Who are you?" His friend echoes the unspoken question from the smaller, "Ah, shit, am I not the youngest anymore?" He almost whines, "No fair, I like being the baby!"
"You are a baby." The so far unspoken skeleton pipes up, his voice sounding hoarse and like it had been rubbed raw. It likely had, going by the noose around his throat. He makes a face of displeasure at the sound of his voice, his hands going to rub at it, his eyes downturned.
"Big baby." Horror continues. And runny mascara makes a noise of dramatically feigned astonishment.
"How DARE you!" He pulls his hand up over where his soul would be as he pretends to go faint, fanning himself with his free hand. "No, but like, actually, who he?" He calms down and points to Sans.
"Sans." Sans very uncreatively states.
"Sans, eh? Pretty name for a pretty face." He flirts as he get up in Sans' face, eye sockets half lidded as he stares at him with a smirk on his face. "How'd a fine thing like you end up dead here then?"
"Not dead Killz." Horror mutters under his breath, meaning this is probably Killer, and the time traveller over there is Dust, morbid names they have here.
"Wot."
"I'm not dead." Sans very simply states.
"Then how are you... here?? Seeing us??"
"I suppose that means you've never seen anything like this either? How about you Dust? Cross?" Nightmare queries.
Both Skeletons addressed shake their heads.
Nightmare turns to Sans again, "Do you have any idea why this may be? Have you seen any ghosts before?"
"No clue, and not to my knowledge? I'm new in town, just moved in with my brother, and sure, I saw some strange looking folks when I was out, but I didn't really think anything of it? Not until now anyway..."
The ghosts all pause, staring at each other with silent queries and conversations brewing in they're eyes, before Nightmare once again speaks in his almost melodic voice,
doind a redraw of MM Nightmare, who i call Charcoal! because i have improved like CRAZY since i did the drawing refs for MM lol
not sure why my pen is SO scratch rn - ive got a new compurter, and moving stuff has been a GASTLE, but i should have more space and less lag, so thats good! but im pretty sure the issue rn is my pen nibs, though ive tried three, lol, i might have picked u; bad ones or something, bleuugh
anyway, yeah, im gonna colour him now <3 lineart doesnt matter too much when i do the rendering style im plannin on anyway, ha
You probably answered this somewhere but what are the ghosts powers?
the powers are the little things our ghosts can do in death! some positive, some... not so. i have them mentioned in each individual post for them, but thats old at this point, and i dont mind listing them here for ease! :)
Nightmare - Head ghost of the park -> will receive all none specified gifts given to the ghosts in that area. Can change weather in the local area - prefers cold, wet weather to combat his hatred or bright lighting. Can blow out candles and turn off lights.
Dream - like Nightmare, he can change weather is he REALLY tries. he creates 'warm spots' when people stand next to or over him. As well as people feeling overwhelming joy or content when around him. he also has the ability to dreamwalk to those close to death.
Cross - Orb form. he can turn into this tiny little speck of light, and in this form, he can move up to 5x as fast as you would be able to naturally.
Dust - Can float in the air -> not exactly flying, just hovering, though he can go as high up as he wants. Living beings will feel sad after being around him for about an hour.
Ink - can create tiny things with these little blobs of paint he can form. limitless ink for him to play with.
Horror - can be hears when he speaks or moves. only as a faint whisper, or as footsteps, but he CAN. He is also able to mask this gory wounds, though not the javelin IN his head. Just the gore.
Lust - Lust can be physically seen in certain circumstances.
Killer - Killer has kept all item on his person at the time of his death. He is also capable of moving - with difficulty - light items. He is also capable of taking ONE item from the physical world at a time, i:e: he can steal a cup, and that cup will be gone for everyone in both the real and the ghost realm, because HE has it.
Geno - When a living being walks through him, they feel the same pain he felt when he died.
Error - can mess with technology and stop them from working, often producing a range of error messages and glitches. he can also still use his strings, though they disappear if he puts whatever he was working on down.
Horror did undying ever visit you after you died? If so how often did she come visit you
until one day, she stopped. And never came again
Horrors not an idiot, he knows what happened. before that, he though nothing was more painful than watching her come to grieve and mourn him everyday, and beg for his forgiveness, but the day she stopped, he felt something in him die with her.
Lust what is something you've always wanted to try but didn't get a chance to when you were alive?
... he just wanted to dance. ANYTHING young adult themed, really. drinking, dancing, partying, trying to drive for the first time, traveling, trying new foods or clothes, just...
He thinks he wanted to go to a club, but the reality s, what he REALLY wanted the most was to make a friend.
"I do gigs at this little place just outa town; it where i met Tori and the kiddos - just the odd stand up show when its possible, and i have the occasinal shift at the store down the way - Carin' for the ghosts is a full time job all on its own, though to be fair!"
Im so SO sorry this took so long! i dont know whats wrong with me, but everytime i though of answering asks here recently its filled me with just, this profound sense o dread like nothing, and i was SCREAMING at myself to just get up and do them, and i just.. couldnt, so, i really just managed to push through it and put of a half asked drawing because i need to, im so sorrty! its nothing to do with you in particular, asker, dont take it like that AT ALL - its just- ugh, shitty mental ilness! <3
What do the ghosts do for their birthdays and when are their birthdays?
Before Sans, the park ghosts, in particular, would tell them happy birthday, and let them decide what they did for the day, play their favourite game to pass the time, sit around and tell stories, nap. Whatever the birthday ghost wanted.
In Error, Ink and Lust's case, its a bit more complicated
Error tends to set himself a project and tries and finish it by the end of the day, to have something hes proud of
Ink has completely forgotten his birthday.
Lust just gets really sad, mostly. He walks around some of the more crowded areas, ans watches the people enjoying his day, with no knowledge of the significance to the ghost watching.
Dream and Geno do very similar things to the park ghosts, they let the birthday ghost decide what they do that day - typically. Dream gets very excited, because its his BIRTHDAY! (and Nightmares too...) and will eagerly walk the halls and talk about what it was like to be king! Geno doesn't like his birthday much, to him, it seems stupid to celebrate the date of his start of life, now that he's dead.
But now, Now that Sans is here, now that Sans can see them, can Give them things! They get a cupcake! All to themselves! Sans will make it clear its an offering to that ghost, which means that Actually get it, and they enjoy a nice sweet treat!
Sans wanted to be able to buy them al gifts too, but he doesn't have enough money to buy everyone things, and besides, he doesn't really know if the things they'd want even EXSIST anymore, and no, Killer, I'm not buying you a knife!
Their birthdays are the same date as their original selves - the date their AU was made is considered to be their birthdays, meaning Dusts is very soon! I decided to draw Cross here instead of Dust though, because while it would have made more sense, i haven't drawn Cross nearly as much as I would have like to, so - Cross!
Wow, almost 600! Time really does fly by when you're dead, huh?
as i sain on my main account, im gonna be a little slow on getting more stuff out again; my meds were upped and now im not doing so hot, so hopefully after my body gets used to it, i'll be doing better and getting back to it <3 thats for understanding
