#click 4 better quality :pensive:

[pinkf0xy]

hm. bastard dryad time

[nazumichi]

haha so october huh (click 4 better quality)

[id: four drawings of owl house characters as they appear on the new promotional poster, background light purple with darker hatching. first drawing, luz and gus smile at each other and say “same hat!!” second, hunter holds flapjack and looks irritated, arrow pointing to the bird reading “lost strand privileges.” the third, vee, amity, and willow all walk together, talking and smiling. the fourth, hunter has his eyes closed, expression pensive and a strand of cut hair around his finger. end id.]

[moomoorare]

Fox in a suit:

The Uniform of the rebellion.

8: uniform (@mcytmutualsapril)

Click 4 better quality, rbs appreciated ☆

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[ID: a digital drawing of c!Fundy wearing his pastel uniform from the L'Manberg war. He's looking down, pensive and sad, holding a red flower in his right hand. End of ID].

[capricornus-rex]

His Spark of Light (4 - End)

Cal Kestis x Reader

Requested by: @stellar-trinity​ | Prompt: Clingy! Cal Kestis

1 | 2 | 3 | Masterlist

4 of 4

One of the things you told him while catching up was that you’ve volunteered for two tasks—medical work and mechanical work. After having your snack break over space waffles and fruits, you stood up from your seat but Cal snatched you by the wrist.

“Stay with me, please?”

He cooed and then flashed his puppy eyes at you—knowing that it was one of your biggest weaknesses—and you were having an internal battle whether or not to give in. He pulled you in until you sat on his lap. Cal has been behaving like a big baby around you ever since you rejoined the crew.

“I really missed having you here,”

“Sweetie, I won’t be long anyway. Plus, I’ll just be in their med-bay,”

He clicked his tongue and playfully whined like a toddler, “Noooo…”

You chuckled, brushed away the red fringes from his forehead to kiss it, and stood up—his grip on your wrist remained secured.

“Would you like me to help though?”

“That’d be great, come on. We need all the help we can get with the tech in the medical bay. You’re a better mechanic than me,”

You dragged him while he still has your hand in his clutches. The two of you went out of the Mantis and told Cere that you were going back in the base to help with the fighters set up their medical tech.

A fighter stopped in her tracks as soon as she saw you and Cal coming to her general direction.

“Oh, [y/n], I was about to look for you!”

“Yeah, have the shipments of the medical tech arrived?”

“About an hour ago. We need help in setting it up for the patients,”

You turned to Cal, “That’s where you come in. Let’s go,”

Both of you marched through the halls with you on the lead. The medical bay is located in the farther end of the ground floor just past the conference hall. Cal surprisingly kept his grip on to you all the way, you didn’t mind, though it was sort of a neat discovery on your end.

The medical bay’s doors retracted at the push of a button. Most of the tech has been set up but Cal helped out in configuring them until they’re functional for use; you were busy in tending to the patients’ wounds such as replacing their bandages and plastering their wounds with Bacta strips.

You and Cal have made quick work with the things needed to be done in the medical bay. Cal even managed to revive a decommissioned 2-1B medical droid that only needed a new processor, further impressing the doctors and medics in the room.

“Oh, that’s incredible, Cal!” you sincerely complimented his handiwork with the then-decommissioned medical droid, leaning against his arm as you examine it rebooting and making itself aware of its surroundings.

“Nah, it’s nothing. I fix up droids pretty quick,”

You gave him an affirming pat on his chest as the droid’s sounds gradually changed from distorted garbles until it became a monotonous yet coherent voice.

“System rebooting. Registered name: Eye-Em-Nine. Scanners optimal. Hello, my name is IM-9, 2-1B Medical Droid at your service.”

“Awesome work, Cal!” you gleefully said, shaking him by the arm.

“Well done, [y/n] and Cal! Thanks for configuring these old things. Now we can treat patients with better medical quality,” the doctor commends.

“Glad to help,” Cal beamed.

“How are you feeling, [y/n]?” the doctor asked you casually while poring over a patient’s records chart.

“Better actually. Cal here replaced my bandages earlier,”

“Good man. Oh, by the way, as a reward—here, have these,”

The doctor fished out something from the stock cabinet. He approached you and placed two stim canisters on the palm of your hand. The pair of green vials glowed and their light twinkled in you and Cal’s eyes. BD-1 even peeked over Cal’s shoulder to look at it.

“Oh, but Doc… we can’t… we can’t take these,” you stuttered. “The patients need it more than we do.”

“Oh come now, I insist,” the doctor gently pushes your hand back away from him. “Besides, we have enough for the patient—and another shipment well on the way. Please accept my quite small token of thanks,”

Seeing that you can’t talk your way out of it, you caved and decided to express your gratitude.

“No, it’s quite a big token, Doc. This is gonna come in real handy sooner or later,”

“You’re welcome, [y/n] and Cal,”

BD-1 chirped curiously when the doctor dismissed himself to accommodate a patient in bed.

“How many stims you got left in you, buddy?” you asked.

BD-1 trilled in a soft rhythmic tone—as if counting—and then replied with one loud chirp.

“Oh, well, these are gonna restock your storage real quick,”

BD tilted his head slightly, ejecting the small tray for you to place in the stims in. when you slid the vials into the slots, the tray retracted into BD-1’s head and then the little droid played a string of happy-sounding tones.

“With you, BD, we feel unstoppable,” Cal cooed and fist-bumped with the tiny droid, and you patted his head.

Now with the job done, you exited the medical bay and saw that there was still little sunlight shining through the windows. The fighters and their commanding officers were busy as usual in different sectors—the communications, the strategical planning, and medical efforts to name a few.

The lightbulb in your mind suddenly flickered on and you had an idea. The thought was at the tip of your tongue moments ago and you finally remembered it.

“Oh! Follow me. I wanna show you something,” you grabbed him by the wrist and let go as soon as you felt his feet carry him.

Cal was impressed that you managed to memorize the layout of the temple without a map. Four days isn’t usually the threshold for a person to have memorized an entire place with all its twists and turns. He was able to keep up to your pace as you sprinted through the hallways; you could have been easy to lose with the blind turns and sharp lefts and rights, but Cal stayed close.

“Where are we going?” he huffed as he ran.

“You’ll see!” you heaved as well.

Cal followed you up to the third level of the temple. Both of you finally finished the flight of stairs from the second floor. He hoped that the run was at its end. You two stopped to catch your breaths, you went ahead towards the open balcony.

“This has been my favorite time of the day and favorite thing to do ever since I got here,” you said as if daydreaming.

Cal walked up to your side and saw what you meant.

The view from the third level balcony of the temple was a breathtaking spectacle. The powder blue sky had a royal blue gradient as the sun began to set. The most prominent part of the view is Yavin itself, the red planet blanketed nearly half of the evening sky, accompanied by a multitude of stars and puffs of clouds while dusk comes in. The trees were transforming into silhouettes when the sky grew into a deeper shade of blue, and the stars were multiplying tenfold.

You gestured a nod, “Look down there.”

Cal followed and saw how small the fighters and the ships—including the Mantis—appeared. He couldn’t believe that both of you have gotten this high up in the temple. He stole a glance at you, he watched you stare at whatever’s happening down below and alternately look at the sky—though you stared longer at the sky, looking at it as if the sight came from a dream.

He stood closer to you as he looked down below.

“When I got here, most of them were wounded, they returned with their ships barely holding it together. Even if I wanted to leave, I felt the need to help them,” you thought out loud. “And then, one of their leaders said something. He had a speech for his soldiers. He said something like, ‘the tiniest of sparks could even ignite the largest of infernos.’ I overheard him say that and I can’t help but think, I wonder which one of these fighters is the tiny spark that would light up the blaze.”

“Well, who knows? Maybe one of the people you saved might be. You’re a hero too, [y/n],”

You smile while slightly shaking your head, “I never thought of myself in that high regard,”

“They could’ve died without your help,”

“That’s literally what you said back in Kashyyyk when we got there,”

“Yeah, and even if I keep saying I miss you every day when you were gone, now that you’ve told me about this, I’m proud of you. You saved lives, that’s a really big deal,”

Your cheeks flushed in color while you try to fight back a smile by biting you lip, “Really?”

“Yeah. Come here you,”

Cal pulled you in close to him again, you were really pressed against his body and he encased you in his embrace while he rested his head on the top of your head while both of you continue viewing the evening scene of Yavin IV. Your small arms attempted to wrap the broad of his back as you returned the hug and he planted perhaps a dozen of kisses all over your forehead and cheeks.

“I think I should go on solo trips more often,”

“Why so?”

“So you’d hug and cuddle me tighter than usual like this,”

Albeit being a half-joke, Cal still went for it and thought of a breakeven.

“How about I just smother you more often so you don’t leave my side ever?”

You rolled your eyes in a pensive manner, and then you smiled when you’ve reached a decision.

“Not a bad bargain.”

Cal beamed, leaned closer to you and kissed your lips, shortly but sweetly. He slicked back the loose hairs on your hairline, exposing your forehead and planted another kiss there; and then he rested his cheek over your head again as both of you enjoy the scenic evening view.

[a-travels]

taken: 4 jun, 2017 Shree Chamundeshwari Temple, Mysore, India

three lefts make a right

Just to get it out of the way, no I don’t think the monkey is sucking his thumb. I’d like to think it held it there specifically to pose and look all pensive for the shot. I’m definitely good enough to get a wild monkey to pose for me. Finally, a purpose for my monkey-like sensibilities.

I’d like to think of myself as a perfectionist. I don’t think that’s necessarily a bad thing, and it’s certainly not my response to the classic, “Tell me a weakness about yourself” interview question, though I do think sometimes it actually is. But I’ve found it is often a great strength of mine, and I think is a strength when harnessed in the right way. I mean not even just for myself, but I think there is incredible value in catching small details, seeing things that someone else might miss. Sure, sometimes it can be irritating to others, seeming like you’re nitpicking, pointing out the smaller details that an ordinary person may not notice. I’ve always been taught to go the extra mile in whatever I do and I think that eye for detail really has helped in that pursuit in many regards, though to my mother’s chagrin, I may sometimes go “too far”. 

Whether it’s extra time or extra effort or a little less sleep, to me I can’t rest till I know I’ve done everything to my level of standards and quality. If it’s a powerpoint, I will sometimes belabor for hours making sure the fonts, spacing, colors, formatting, animations, figures, everything is right. Even if I may hate the assignment, even if I hate myself for spotting every small detail that needs to be made just right. Hell, I had a 2-minute presentation to make for my CT Scans of vertebrates class in senior year of undergrad and I spent 2 hours on a figure that was perhaps useful for 20 seconds of dialogue? Credit where it’s due, I was still very proud of it, comparing the different sizes of saber-tooth lions, cross-referencing the sizes of the animals, making my own scale, being able to relatively scale them by holding a ruler up to the computer screen. I made it minimalist and chose the colors, I added shadows because I’m insane, and for what? It’s not like that figure alone was the determinant between an A- and an A. The rest of my presentation was solid and I probably would have done well anyway. But yet I did it anyway. I can’t probably explain to you why, but at the time, I knew I wanted a graphic showing the sizes of the different saber-tooth lions (since my project was a CT scan of a saber-tooth lion skull) and that there were no good ones available, and the one that was available was small, low quality and grainy. In terms of thinking it through, I probably didn’t. I thought my presentation’s quality would be worse and I spent the time to fix it and make it better. (Also I think I’ve beaten this image to death so you might as well see it if you're curious, just click here)

I think it speaks to my larger desire/need to do things “right” and do them “right” the first time especially. Honestly, at this point, I’m sure you see all my posts and think I’m a psychopath worrying about bothering others, being right, being genuine enough (tbh I’m probably a bit insane). Point being, my detail-oriented mindset speaks to the larger need to want to do something “right” or be “right”. In my head, I know that pursuit of perfection and “rightness” is just a fool’s errand⸺no one can be right all the time. Ha, well you better believe I know I’m not right. I know this in my head, I know I can’t be “right”, I know I’m often not, and yet I still feel this nagging compulsion to try for it anyway. Mind you this doesn’t extend to everything; I don’t think this ever extended to my grades, I never shot for or wanted to be a valedictorian or something, or wanted to be the best martial artist or swimmer. It was specific things, here and there, and I can’t really describe what made something different or want me to be “right”. It probably is one reason why I keep thinking about self-correcting messages, if I said the “right” thing or not, from two posts back.

You see the quotes around every “right” I write? That’s because “right”, as you know is often subjective. It means different things for different people. The “right” flavor for someone in a dish may be for less spice than in mine, or more spice, or more salt. I think that makes things all the more challenging because navigating the realm of options and finding my “right” is half of my battle. It’s almost definitely why I think I’m so indecisive. I was literally deciding where to go to college until 10 minutes before the deadline. And that’s the heart of the problem: in my pursuit for being “right”, I tend to delay.

That combination of a detail-mindset with constant drive to work hard is a potent combo, one because always working and fixing details is probably exhausting (I get exhausted from my own way of being), but also because I think that mix can result in the drive to work but to the level of quality and detail that I like to work towards. And then there’s me, the detail-mind but perhaps less driven. I don’t know if it’s a lack of drive, but the best way I can describe it is a kind of lethargy. “Wait.” “It’s not right yet.” “I can’t do it now, it won’t be right.” I often find myself pushing things off and waiting to do something. Like just yesterday, I put off writing a paper all Thanksgiving break thinking of all the details I needed, comparing it to the details other sample papers had and would end up going down rabbit holes, till I realized last night I never actually started writing the damn paper. Maybe not a decision per se, but the same holds true with decisions. Though, when I do make a decision, I own it, I stick with it, and I do not tend to regret it. And I think that’s the upside to working towards a “right” choice, that if the due diligence is there, then you can rest easy with the choices you make. Where it goes astray is when you don’t have the luxury of time with an action or a choice, which is almost in every scenario.

For some time recently and even now, I’ve been wracking my brain over doing something. And I apologize if I sound cryptic, but I told myself to wait till the moment was “right” to do this “thing”. My own doubt around doing this continues to bounce around my head and I don’t know if I’ll ever know if there’s the moment to go for it and do what I want to. But for now, I just sit like this monkey, waiting, for the moment when I think it is “right”, or for that time when I wisen up and realize that there never will be such a perfect, “right” moment like I seek.

Life doesn’t work in such an idealistic way where you get to be “right” or do “right” all the time. Life is not always “right”, and yet I strive for it, as I know others do (I think. I hope?). Life gets its color from being a bit messy and wrong. If everything was “right”, there wouldn’t be evolution, there would be spontaneous creation (which I guess is the basis of creationism⸺the idea that we are “perfect” and were made that way and not actually a series of millions of years of failed random chemical and biological experiments). I know it’s ok to be wrong, not perfect. I know I’m far, far, far from a perfect human being (I can’t say definitively if I’d make it to The Good Place), but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to work towards being one. Just because you can’t be “right” doesn’t mean you shouldn’t try, right? I don’t want to necessarily stop being detail-oriented, but I think I need to be able to discern when I need it and when I don’t.

tl;dr - wait, am I right?

[redeyedryu]

Apathy & Happenstance

Chapter 5 - Misunderstandings and Memes [Ao3] | 1 | 4 | x | 

It only took me two months but here’s chapter 5! I’m so sorry for the wait I’m absolutely terrible.

Summary:  You answer the call; misunderstandings ensue. You and Sans share a little memement and you make a skeleton pout.

He called you for a reason, right? So you should answer the call, yeah?

Papyrus is angrily tapping his foot, irritated that it's taking you so long to make a decision. You can hear something that sounds like a growl eliminating from the explosive skeleton and have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep the grin off your lips. Maybe you'll let it ring a bit longer? Just to piss him off.

So you do just that.

You wait until the last possible second to answer the call, teeth clenching as you reign in a wicked grin. You imagine that if Papyrus had hair he'd probably be pulling at it by now, livid at your inability to do something as basic as answering a simple phone call. Eventually though, despite the anxiety bubbling in your chest, you force it down and hit ‘answer’, setting the call to speaker as Papyrus growls an exasperated, “FINALLY!” before returning his attention to gazing out the window.

Time to get this over with. And maybe give Edgelord a tiny break.

Before you get a chance to say anything, however—not even a greeting or an opportunity to breathe awkwardly into the receiver—you're met with a deep voice asking, "this some kinda sick joke?"

You're stunned into silence, blinking a couple times in your confusion. Is this Papyrus? The voice doesn't quite match up with what you had imagined—if anything, it reminds you of the smaller, rounder of the two skeletons; it's a low, rumbling baritone. And what does he mean? What's a 'sick joke'? "What?" is your very eloquent reply.

“look, pal,” he starts, pure venom to what would otherwise be a friendly moniker, “i dunno if this is just how you get your rocks off or what, but this ain't funny.”

You try to cut in but he doesn't stop, just keeps going off on you. That you're sick, that you need to get a life and stop dickin’ around with Papyrus.

Geeze, this guy isn't even giving you a chance to explain anything. Whatever. Might as well let him blow off whatever steam he's got, you can wait. He’s probably been on the verge of a meltdown for a while if this tirade is anything to go by. People don't typically just blow up like this for no good reason, after all.

Not unless they're ‘The Great and Terrible Papyrus’, your mind supplies dryly, causing you to huff air through your nose in a quiet laugh. Rather unfortunate that you have to be the one on the receiving end of this outburst, though.

You lean back into the plush of the couch, eyes closing as you let the stranger on the other end do his thing.

It's easy to tune people out when you don’t let their words hold any weight over you.

You're not sure how much time passes, and at some point you feel the couch shift as someone sits down beside you (honestly a little closer than you’d like). Probably Sans, you think. Must have gotten his fill of the view. That or he’s curious about whoever it is that’s tearing you a new one.

Eventually, you tune back in to the rant on your phone just in time to hear,

“don't ever let me catch you tryin’ to contact my brother again, capiche?”

Seems he’s done with his rant, as well as expecting some sort of reply, considering he didn’t just hang up on you.

You’re admittedly kind of curious about what's going on in their lives if this is his automatic response to someone trying to make light conversation (though, to be fair, you might have instigated a potential existential crisis) with his brother, but decide you don't care enough to pursue that train of thought. The angry monster on the other line is still awaiting a response, so you take the opportunity to finally speak up.

You take a deep breath, not bothering to open your eyes or lift your head from the cushion of the couch, and then release it. “You done?” you ask the voice on the other line. Silence is your only answer so you take that as a yes. “Look,” you continue with something of a sigh, “I don't know what's got your bones all rattled, mister, but I can assure you this isn't a joke. Believe me, that’d be loads better than having to deal with this headache.

“I get that this is really weird and that pictures can be edited, and judging by your reaction just now, you've probably been dealing with some shit, so how about this…”

Cracking your eyes open, you pull your screen in front of you, the device lighting up with the motion. You zero in on the little camera icon on the interface and tap it, causing the screen to immediately begin displaying a thumbnail of your face; the live feed is undoubtedly being displayed to the ball of anger on the other line at a bigger resolution.

“It's a bit harder to edit live footage, right?” There's the shuffling of fabric as you sit up from your slouched position and shift your phone to capture the skeleton sitting beside you. And yup, kudos to you, that is definitely edgy mcsharktooth sitting next to you. “Say hi to Sans, Sans.”

The sharp-toothed skeleton beside you merely makes a sound reminiscent of a tongue clicking before flipping the camera the bird, looking rather smug over his childish display.

“Rude,” you half-heartedly scold as the sharp-toothed skeleton chuckles, before swiveling the phone to capture sight of Papyrus, who's still standing in front of your window. He looks pensive, standing there with his arms crossed, his expression tight, and his posture ramrod straight.

“And over here, we have Papyrus: Edgelord edition.” you announce. The addressed skeleton shifts his skull to send a scathing glare your way, his sockets narrowing, before he simply averts his attention back to the view outside. With a quiet laugh of air pushed through your nose, you twist the phone back to you.

“Still think I'm ‘dickin’ around’?” you query, your expression flat, one eyebrow raised. There's silence on the other line for a beat—long enough that you have to question whether or not Sans (and you know it's Sans for sure, he practically admitted it himself, after all) hung up on you. It's just as you're clicking a button at the side of your phone to illuminate your screen that his voice finally breaks the silence that settled. "huh..." he scoffs, and you hear the strange sound of something hard scratching against something equally as unyielding. "wasn't... wasn't expectin' that." Yeah, take that, mister grumpy pants, feel that guilt roll across your bones. "guess you really weren't messin' with paps..." There's the sound of what you assume to be bone rubbing against bone again before he says, "i uh... i s'pose i owe you an apology..." A corner of your mouth twitches, a smile tugging at his acquiescence, and proceed to click out of the video call, returning to voice only. Phone now resting on your chest, you're able to fully slouch back into the couch cushions, releasing a heavy breath of air as you do. "Yup." "sorry, bud." The apology doesn't really feel sincere, in all honesty, but at least he acknowledged that he was wrong. At least he made an attempt. That’s more than you’ve gotten from others. At his "apology" your grin grows full force, the corners of your lips curling. Your response is a near automatic, "Not your bud, pal." There's a snicker on the other line before Sans, not missing a beat, shoots back, "not your pal, friend." "Not your friend, mate." "not your m-" "th' fuck you two doin'?" snaps the skeleton at your side, effectively putting an end to your impromptu back-and-forth. You can't help but laugh. "Memes, Sans. Memes." you tell him, tilting your head to the side to grin at him. "Only the greatest of quality content the internet can provide." "th' fuck're 'memes'? 'internet'?" he questions you, the space around his nasal cavity and his eye sockets curiously scrunching up in his befuddlement. "don't cha mean th’ undernet?" You quirk a brow before shifting your head back to a forward facing position, head shaking ever so slightly in disbelief. "Oh man. You poor, poor soul." "tch. whatever, ya weirdos." he growls, crossing his arms over his chest and glaring off to the side. You're able to just make out his quiet mumbling of, "how would i know 'bout yer stupid aboveground jokes." "Hey," you nudge the pouting skeleton with your elbow, effectively getting him to look back at you (though the edges of his seemingly permanent grin appear tight and dipped). "No need to get all salty." You have to bite your lip at the way the ridges of his skull, just above his eye sockets, furrow like eyebrows in his confusion, trying to puzzle out how he could be considered salty without any salt—were you planning on dumping some on him or something? Was that another weird ass aboveground thing? Did humans sprinkle themselves with salt for some reason? Or was it just another dumbass expression? Probably that last one, he surmises. You, meanwhile, are still trying to maintain a semi-neutral façade. You're finding it really hard to deny how fun it is, riling these two up. You can sparsely recall a time in the last few years where you smiled and laughed as much as you have in the last hour or so. It feels... nice. Really nice.

So when you tell the grumpy skeleton, "I can give you a crash course—on memes and surface culture—if you want." you twist to face him, sincerity in not only your words but your expression as well. You see that curious little pin prick of light in his eye socket shift to look at you—he doesn't turn to face you, still sitting with his arms crossed and turned just slightly away—and simply makes that clicking sound again, "tch", before resuming his pouting. You think his skull looks a bit red but you're not sure—maybe the light's playing tricks on your eyes? Whether he's blushing some weird variant of a skeleton blush or not, you can't help but to snicker. Seems he's not quite used to sincerity and sentimentality. But you're getting off track now, aren't you? Since you still have Sans on the phone—well, blue Sans since red Sans is pouting at your side (goodness, this is going to get so confusing)—you might as well get to the heart of the matter. You take a deep breath, hold it for a beat, and then exhale, refocusing. You tilt your head down a fraction towards your phone and ask, "You still there, Sans?" The skeleton's deep voice answers, "yup." "Alright. Cool. Good." Oh god, stop yourself before you start rambling. "So since all that fun stuff's been cleared up, how about we get down to business? D'you know what's going on?" You cast a glance to the Sans sitting next to you as you pose the question. Yup, he's still pouting. "Either of you, actually. I take it y'all aren't pairs of twins that just so happen to share the same name as well as face." "heh. nah, they ain't that." Blue Sans is quick to respond. "Evil clones?" Red Sans sputters at your side and you think you hear Papyrus choke on air over by the window. "e-evil clo- tha heck kinda dumbass question izzat?!" the shark-toothed skeleton practically growls, now twisted to face you. You snicker and shift to sit sideways, to address him face-to-face. You prop your face up on your knuckles, elbow pressed into the cushion of the couch, and set your phone on the top of the couch. "Well I mean your brother does go around calling himself the great and terrible. How else am I supposed to take that? Not to mention your guys' wardrobe choice." "tha heck's wrong with our clothes?" he snaps defensively, his eyelights dipping to take a quick glance at his attire before flicking back to you. "Nothing, nothing," you're quick to respond. You're biting your tongue, trying to keep yourself from laughing more. The Sans on the other end of the line, however, is chuckling unabashedly. "you dress like an edgy teenager, is what she's tryin' not to say," he manages to get out between his laughter.

Talk about tact. Thanks a lot, Sans. "wha-! i ain't-! you don't-! sh-shut up." Red Sans stammers. Oh great, he's turned himself away from you again. He's embarrassed, isn't he? "Aw, come on, don't be embarrassed," you attempt to placate the flustered monster. "I think it looks pretty cool. Black and red go really well together!" "sh-shut th' fuck up n' stop messin' with me!" he practically snarls, that curious red tinge dusting across his skull again. You think maybe you should feel bad about teasing him but you're currently overcome with a pleasant sense of childish giddiness. It’s such a refreshing difference to always feeling so numb, so… empty. "Okay, okay. Alright. I'm sorry, alright?" you manage to say, only letting a single, quiet giggle escape your lips. "Let's just move on and get back on topic, yeah?”

Red Sans doesn’t grumble or growl in disagreement, so you press on. "So if you're not clones—evil or otherwise—what are you guys?" "i've got an idea," blue Sans speaks up. You look to the phone, curious. Red Sans's skull tilts ever so slightly in your direction; obviously listening too. Though you can't see the broody skeleton at your window with your back now turned on him, you're sure Papyrus is listening as well. "Yeah?" you prompt. "how familiar are you with the multiverse theory?"