#convergingtimelines

[kokorothehuntedhybrid]

Cont. From HERE:

She immediately lifts her head up in surprise at his comment. “Well that’s a first. How did it go? Did he like the place?” She wanted to ask him more questions but she held her tongue.

[kokorothehuntedhybrid]

Continued from here @convergingtimelines:

She calmly walks up to him with her right hand still holding onto Sans’ homemade Valentine’s Day card.

“Hey Papyrus! Making puzzles again aren’t we?” She chuckles lightheartedly for a second and then takes a look at what he created with curiosity. “What does this puzzle do if I may ask?”

[kokorothehuntedhybrid]

convergingtimelines:

Sans said nothing as she cried, knowing that in that moment all she needed was to get everything out. He held her close to his bones, lightly rubbing her back and rocking her slightly.

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She kept crying for what felt like hours until she started to feel ill from being dehydrated. She felt dizzy with a bad headache as a result and decides to lay down on the couch. Right after Kokoro lays down Kowai enters the house. “Well it seems that the-” The feline cut herself off as soon as she sees the display. “What happened while I was scouting the area?”

[thepacifrisk]

@convergingtimelines continued from [x]

Frisk was so confused. Sans was.... Crying? That definitely wasn’t good. They raised their little hand and clutched onto his shirt. If Sans was crying, that meant something was really wrong. But they just couldn’t remember. Weren’t they just sleeping?

“Sans.... What... happened?” They asked, pressing their face against his chest. “Why does my... head hurt?”

Frisk let go if his shirt and reached up to touch the side of their head. Yeah it was definitely wet. But with what? They glanced to their hand..... Why was it.... red?

[drwingdings-blog]

shot in the dark

Gaster was beginning to feel absolutely exhausted.

He’d been awake nearly a day straight, for nothing. He’d slept through an important message after, missed another chance because his head was on his desk, and now he was drinking thick coffee and trying to avoid a second mistake. He was drained and tired and on the edge of a collapse.

But he’d contacted Sans, his Sans, and he couldn’t stop there.

He typed at the terminal, setting back up the automatic messaging that he’d used before the multiverse all but came to his door. The same ping spread across timelines, across dimensions, aimed at any signature that looked likely.

Any signature that looked like it could be Sans.

“This is Dr. W.D. Gaster, communicating across timelines. If you receive this message, please reply and state who you are. Thank you for your cooperation.”