* stirb jung.

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…no nerves just bones

* i’m not your standard skeleton, haha.

* surprisingly enough, skeletons can still sense changes in climate.

3. A canon character the mun has always wanted to RP as

honestly?? at first, i really wanted to rp as undyne, as in i love her a fuckton and i admire her character a lot.

1. A pet peeve you have as a mun

oh man, i'm just. i'm probably gonna be shat on by many, but one of my biggest peeves is when a mun overtalks about their muse so much it drains my energy to even speak to them.

* hey, what do you know. it’s close to halloween, too.

* this seems to be a way to introduce themselves on this website.

  A mass of murk towering over his turned back, which he refused to stop showing -- for spite, mostly.

You're wasting time, and you're well aware of it.

  He possibly was. Eyesockets lowered to study the scraps he was holding, numb surprise showing as he found his digits curled tight around them. The metal felt too cold against his palms to even describe it.

Your very existence is ticking, but you don't seem to care. Why is that?

  The entity was met with silence. If he was thoughtful enough to turn, he would have seen it. White, oblong face traveled with cracks. An unknown, dark yet darker matter seeping out of them, the deformity of his grotesque grin looking vaguely reassuring.

  Vaguely. And not to him.

Or, perhaps, you're waiting... for them to come back?

  Of course he froze. That was a low blow, you asshole, he would have loved to spit out. Instead, he unconsciously breathed out, chest swelling under his sweater. And of course they noticed.

You are still stuck on a pleasant, unnecessary memory. And it's making you distracted... Sans.

  ''Name's G, as I told you last time. If ya aren't listenin', then it ain't my problem to give the courtesy back.''

  If they could have chuckled, it would have been petulant and bone-chillingly sarcastic.

If you want to convince yourself that you're in desperate need for company, so be it. You're as delusional as I left you.

  Oh, how he would have loved for them to have a physical shape... just for the sake of knocking off part of their jaw with a single strike. But they weren't, and he was past that kind of violence -- he would only have proven them wrong with that kind of reaction.

  He couldn't stand the disdain - the disappointment in their voice. Blunt teeth gritted together, before he was able to spin around, jaw opening to snarl a reply to them...

  And there was nothing behind him.

  Not in the corner of the room, not near him. Not around, not in the house. Gone, in a millisecond.

  Work, more work, piles of thick-written papers stacked on multiple desks. The boiling sound of chimical substance, the little clink bones produce when they're lifted. A tired eyesocket glowing faintly as he inspects it, settles it down none the gentler to spite the failure.

  Rhytmic tip-tapping of bone digits clicking on the keyboard it's the only sound that can be heard.

  Smoke break after smoke break, until the room all but smelled of a cheap brand, and he was forced to crack the window open. The smoke flew out too fast, distracted him, and a becker's content overflew.

  Much more than 15 minutes.

  Time became endless clacking of combat boots on the tiles, back and forth, back and forth.

  Time became a sharpie gotten from the trashpile that whristled its way on the plastic board for calculations.

  Time became his bones rubbing on paper pieces whenever he ripped off a wrong formula, fire incinerating the rests to feed the layer of ashes on the pavement.