#zeroiha

Your awful puns are driving me to drink!

*well, i’m glad you’re both being responsible. good for you. 

More like skelethot

GET TO WORK ON YOUR BOOK as much as I love rping with you I’d rather see you finish that goal. Do what you gotta do but get that goal.

|| —for none are free of sin || Sinday Generator ||  

Generated: Gluttony 

     Sans very often dreamed. Didn’t remember, most nights, but the little not-so-whimsical things had a habit of waking him up, so he knew they were there. Since they didn’t bother hanging around his memory, though, he had no way of knowing if this was the first dream involving Lorona he ever had. It was certainly the first that he could recall. 

    They were in a living room. Not his, from the looks of it, and he’d yet to see hers. Yet judging from the sofa and coffee table and tiny oriental rug, they were definitely in someone's living room and were making a decently sized mess. No bit of table surface was left exposed, all taken by empty bottles and the used wrappings of food. 

     He remembered laughing at something Lorona said, and when he shot back the remaining bit of his whiskey, she smiled and filled it back to the brim. 

     It was a loop that repeated for what felt like an eternity.  

     They would laugh at silly things the other said. 

     Eat a variety of delicious, greasy foods. 

     Drink liquor and beer and more.

     Refill when it ran out. 

     Laugh again. 

     He remembered enjoying it immensely, save for the fact that Lorona would (occasionally) spew out regurgitated bits of brownie mixed with hot cocoa. It filled the room with a vicious, sour tint and sopped in splattering globs onto the floor. Lorona would blink her teary eye at it, wipe her mouth, and then continue on drinking and eating and laughing as if nothing had happened. 

     Sans would smile, and experience a warm, growing glow of adoration for her. Once, as she was attempting to clean excess bile from her lips, he wiped the remaining bit away with his thumb. She thanked him with a messy, fleeting kiss. He kissed back.

      It filled his mouth with the taste of spoiled pie and iron tanged blood. 

      Sans could not throw up. No monster could, not in the same way that humans did. Yet it seemed perfectly natural when he felt a hot rise of liquid in his metaphorical throat, Lorona watching as a small river of red poured out from behind his row of white teeth.  

      She put a hand on his shoulder, which had a warm, comfortable weight to it, and suggested that they stop. He looked up to see if she was being serious, and the tiny wrinkle that dipped in her forehead suggested that she was. 

      And any affection gathered for her began turning into an irrationally enlarged burst of irritation. 

     They fought quietly between snapped words and continued gulps of drink and food. Sans struggled to keep each sip of whiskey down, and at one point, Lorona mentioned that it was only the brownies he’d gotten for her which made her sick. It stung more than he cared to admit. 

      He remembered muttering around a bite of burger, “guess it’s hell, then.” 

      And when he woke up in a brief moment of semi-consciousness, Sans rolled to his side and dry heaved along the side of the bed. Then he remembered that, in this reality, it wasn’t physically possible to do.

SEND 'SLEEPY' PLUS A NAME AND MY MUSE WILL TALK ABOUT THEM WHILE ON THE VERGE OF FALLING ASLEEP

      “ma’sure she gets home safe, n’nice...” Sans mumbled through a mass of alcohol drenched breath as he leaned against a familiar cushioned seat in the back of Grillby’s bar. “tha’s m’friend...gon’ miss’er...” 

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CAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAPT. 

I love you. 

Come’re, you