blizzardtheabsol

There was a quiet tap of one of the bedroom doors closing. Sans paused, lowering the ketchup bottle, wondering who it was. He frowned as Frisk walked down the stairs, clearly taking measures to ensure they didn't wake anyone, before 'sneaking' out the front door. He frowned, taking a shortcut outside and pulling his hood over his head. Frisk walked toward the mountain. Sans snapped a large branch that lay in the path ahead of Frisk, who startled and fell onto their backside, breathing hard. He watched, assured that this was in fact his human, and followed them, slowly coming closer. They reached the mouth of the cave shortly after, looking a

It's a beautiful day outside Snowflakes are falling Ice is sparkling On days like these… -------------------------- It's a beautiful day outside Crystals are shining Rain is dropping On days like these… --------------------------- It's a beautiful day outside Lava is bubbling Steam is hissing On days like these… --------------------------- It's a beautiful day outside Birds are singing Flowers are blooming On days like these… ---------------------------- It's a beautiful day outside The sky is clear The kids are laughing On days like these… ------------------------- It's a beautiful night outside Trees

"bro, this is lame…" Sans grumbled. "it's for little kids. even the sign says so. not to mention we have to pay for the food." "BUT SANS… THEY ALL LOOK SO CUTE…" Papyrus pouted. Sans sighed. "fine, bro… but we're leaving after, ok?" Papyrus nodded, excited, and hurried into the walled pen, followed by Sans. Sans paid for the feed and handed some to Papyrus before sitting down with a sigh. Papyrus started petting the rabbits first. Sans was half asleep when he felt something brush against his hand. He blinked back into awareness and saw a small bunny eating from his palm. He froze, awed, and watched with rising joy.

Broken arms and broken legs, Snapped bones and burning skin... These pains are but words On the lips of a broken man. Pain is mercy and mercy is gone, But memories of dying men are constant. Angels weep and demons cry For the idle words, unspoken and unknown, On the lips of a broken man. Hate follows him like Death stalks the sickly, Fury marches along behind, Poisonous words, endless agonies, and cringing wounds, All accompanied by a pained percussion On the lips of a dying man. But they mean nothing to the broken man, For nothing hurts quite as unforgivingly as a broken soul.