2020-04-23 16:56:28 ¶ ● ⬀ ⬈

## Thats a long silly one😅 Could aliza do a scary face, like Sans in ut in the restaurant, or could she train it, because i have this funny scene in my mind since i wanted to ask this question.😁 Sans sitting on the one side and do his scary face, and aliza sitting on the side, doing strange faces, because she got scared by Sans.😁

axetale:

> mercy-monster-deactivated202301:

> > I don’t think she’s really big on it, honestly. Sans is scary enough for the both of them.

> She knew.

> Sans clutched at his shattered skull in the darkness of his bedroom, rocking on the edge of his filthy mattress and cackling under his breath.

> She had answered the call of the justice in her soul, and seen his crimes, the blood on his hands and the sins on his back. She knew the extent of his LV. She knew the state of his soul. She knew what he was, more than monster in species, but in name and deed, and he had seen her fear.

> She should fear him. He had murdered children. Friends and companions. Families as they cowered and begged for mercy. By proxy, he had killed his wife. He had even hurt Papyrus, far more than once. She should know him for what he was, the savage cannibal that had sacrificed his own soul for life…

> But he had never wanted her to.

> Sans ground his teeth together, flinching when he felt one of his molars crack but not stopping, if anything only grinding harder. The pain was reality, grounding him in his storm of iniquitous strife.

> Of course, she was untrained in the true magic of Justice… she wouldn’t remember the true breadth of what she had seen, not in anything but her worst nightmares… but she would remember enough. He wouldn’t be surprised to find her gone the next day, leaving him to his well-deserved fate.

> Uneven laughter melting into shuddering sobs, Sans leaned over his knees and dug his claws into the bone of his skull, as though trying to tear it into pieces. His locket clanked against his teeth unheeded, blackened tears clinging to its jewel-toned curves.

> “what’ve i done… what’ve i done…”

> He didn’t remember hearing her come in. He’d thought he’d locked the door, how could she get in? He always locked the door. But there she was, when he emerged from his consuming depression late in the night, curled up against his side on the dirty mattress and fast asleep. Her phalanges were laced between his, clenched tight and warm against his frozen bones, and he could do nothing but stare, his smile small but true.

> He said nothing, noting the blackened wetness on the cuffs of her hoodie’s sleeves with blase resignation (still cleaning up messes that weren’t any of her concern… that was her mother in her), and only laid beside her on the bare mattress, trying not to disturb her.

> He would find no rest that night, but with her there to steel his soul, and gift her unspoken confidence in him… he, at least, would find peace.

> And that mattered more than all the human souls in the entire multiverse.