AYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY IM GIVING AN COOL INTRODUCTION!! HIII HELLO EVERYONE
this blog is just ranting my a sans x reader fanfic or oneshot ideas that I'm doing for fun :p
i might make mistakes in my grammar because i am not very great at writing..
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this blog was inspired by a fanfic called: "Its just a game" by ht san on Ao3! and that fic made my mind be filled with sansxreader ideas!!
(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧
reason on why am making this blog: I was encouraged (by ht san in a youtube stream) to make a blog based on my ideas for sansxreader fanfics!!)
I might post non-related "sansxreader" stuff (⌐■_■)
I do don't expect criticism. this blog is only for funnies and if writers want to write a sans x reader fic based on my ideas, Go ahead! but please do credit me.. ヾ(•ω•`)o
and if you want to put a "ask" in my inbox on your ideas of a sansxreader idea story, go ahead i will be more then willing to read your wonderful idea please do make it sfw because I am minor (￢︿̫̿￢☆) and please do don't bully me.. PLEASE-! (っ °Д °;)っ
the pfp and the wallpaper blog art belongs to @htsan go check out their artwork!!
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i might post on somedays or don't post at all because of school or im too lazy to make any posts or i forgot about this blog
overall this blog is just a place for me to spill out my "sansxreader" ideas and make imagines when i feel writing about it :p
Undertale mini-comics (Dialogue from the movie, Fantastic Mr Fox)
Ok so im gonna cry harder than ive ever crowd
THESE SCENES MAKE ME SO UPSET- AND I LOVE THEM THEY FIT SO WELL WITH PAPYRUS I FEEL I know Ash is a bit more of a “problemed child” instead of just “weird” but STILL
Im still debating also doing the lines with “Im just…different, apparently.” but thats when Ash talks about his bad temper and i dont wanna change the lines THAT much….I might though- who knows
But ya! Papyrus makes me so upset and i love him so much and he’s also probably cutting my lifespan in half. thats the lesson here
A lot of the fandom being obsessed with theories on who he is and piecing together his lore, sinking their teeth into everything about him as breadcrumbs are set out for us to follow.
Years later(?) Gaster becomes obsessed in his experiments of being able to contact us and creating an entire story just to have the equivalent of an eldritch multidimensional being be put in a rat maze.
The player falling for it hook, line & sinker as they thirst for the same thing as Gaster does. Complete parallels to each other on opposite yet same sides. The methods of finding information being stark contrasts to each other.
Here’s some more stuff and their coworkers. They have three more coworkers that I haven’t drawn yet, but I will. 
I think as the story goes on they’ll find out that he has the same conscience awareness as a human or monster from the underground.
I think he will be able to understand them with using subtitles (like in the game) and the group of scientist will catch on that he’s really focusing close to chest level whenever they speak like he’s reading some thing. which leads them to say, nod your head for yes and shake your head for no so yes, and no questions are how they communicate till further notice 
He’s very laid-back and can tell when someone is threatening or not a threat to him so know spooking the humans other than when they first see him
He randomly gifts Y/N shells and rocks-oh and maybe he finds a really rare and they thought it was extinct fish as a present as well and the group are shocked see it (he’s very proud of himself for that one) but after they told him not to do it again (which let’s say confuses him because he saw a bunch of them, but he can’t tell them that) hehehe this is so silly and fun!
Tldr: I am getting kicked out of the country I have been living in for 5 yrs 💀
Detailed + refined style:
More information/OG post >here<
My Kofi
If you cannot support, a reblog is appreciated! Thank you!
__________________
- ... What happened? -
Well, I've been dealing with a lot of things and... beaurocracy.
Let's say that the fascist-- I mean-- totally not-a-fascist-right-wing party from the US made the situation worse. Me and a friend of mine was denied to extend our stay in this country, because they have too many refugees coming in and we have to leave. (Luckily my friend got another job in another country, however.. I was not so lucky)
If anyone is willing to support my art and labor it will help a lot with this!!
If no one believes my situation you can ask for @ghostangel2000 or @fudgelling-away for confirmation that I am not lying.
I am very priviliged that I can ask for your help and support. That I can at least give you all something back with my art.
Please be patient as well.. It is a tough time in my life. I will finish it eventually. Thank you very much.
Thank you so much for being the coolest community in tumblr.
Can I please request just a super fluffy one shot of undertale sans and reader cuddling while sleepy? Just soft and comforting
you guys know what the hell is up omg I need sleepy cuddle time so bad. I hope your pillows are cold tonight and that sleep treats you kindly <3
and I will NEVER tire of classic sans trust he's so fucking babygirl. my little pookie wookie snuggle bear
the irony behind this oneshot is that I wrote most of it at like 1 in the morning
Some Stellar Snuggles (Undertale!Sans x Reader)
The room is dark as you stir awake, your dreams dissolving into the depths of your mind like salt stirred into water. One by one, your senses fuzzily reactivate. Your sight is still blinded by the backs of your eyelids, but you can detect the tiniest tinge of light through them. A fan sits in the corner, buzzing white noise into the room, the only sound you can hear. Warm sheets are draped over your body, and they smell of freshly washed linen from the day prior. Your mouth is dry, the stale taste of sleep remaining on your tongue.
You turn from your back onto your side, away from the source of the light that bleeds through your eyelids. You reach out a lazy arm across the bed, and it smooths over empty space on the mattress. Your eyebrows furrow, your eyes squinting tight as you search further, until you reach the extent of your elbow’s range. The sheets where your limb lands are cool, flat, and to your dismay, empty. Exerting a sleepy grunt, you twist your body to span yourself across the bed, your form practically diagonal on the mattress. You suck in a breath when your palm connects with the freezing wall on the opposite side.
With great effort, you crack your eyes open. It makes very little difference in your eyesight. You open them further and blink away the residue of your dreams, and your vision sharpens to detect the cool light of the moon that falls over the empty half of the bed.
There’s a shadow in the dusting of moonlight, an outline you know well. You roll over onto your other side, squinting into the sudden slat of brightness that floods your corneas. Your head sinks into the pillow, the displacement of the plushness covering one of your eyes as the other traces the shape in the window. Nothing more than a whisper leaves your throat when you call out softly to the figure, your voice still hoarse from sleep. It doesn’t seem to hear you.
You push yourself up with both arms, your legs swinging over the side of the bed and planting themselves onto the old, flattened carpet that’s probably even older than you are. You stand and carefully toe your way across the room, brushing past the discarded jacket on the floor and the multitude of socks that seem to dot the ground like fallen leaves in autumn. Somehow, they didn’t make it into yesterday’s laundry.
Having navigated the minefield of socks, you arrive fully intact at the window (and the figure standing in it). Approaching from behind, you drape your arms around its shoulders and rest the side of your face on the cold, smooth surface of its head.
“What are you doing?” you whisper, “It’s like, two in the morning.”
“i could ask you the same thing.” Sans sighs and leans back into your body, lifting his arm to smooth his knuckles over your cheek. “lookin’ at the stars. they’re bright tonight.”
You cast your sight upwards, your eyes darting between the pinpricks of light dotting the night sky. When your gaze lingers on one, you swear you can see it twinkle, just like you always hear about in old nursery rhymes.
A skeletal hand reaches out and taps against the glass. You follow the direction of the pointed finger as it lands on a small cluster of stars. You recognize the Big Dipper somewhat above it.
Sans traces his finger along the glass, making a spider-like shape on the pane. “virgo,” he says.
He drags his finger over from the constellation and traces a new shape, this one a large rhombus with a hooked stem budding from one corner. “and that's leo. do you see the backwards question mark?”
You nod, following his fingers. He stops at the bottom of the question mark shape and taps on the glass again, pointing to a star that's brighter than the others in the constellation. His other hand drops to page through a book that lies on the windowsill. Its pages are water-damaged and dog-eared, like an ancient tome that survived a flood. Some of the ink is smudged in places, but chicken-scratch handwriting frames the paragraphs and fills in the blanks. He finds the page he's looking for and ghosts his fingers over the text.
“that star is regulus, the lion's heart.”
You lean over his shoulders and study the chart depicted on the page. It's an illustration of different shapes against a black background, a night sky of constellations with each star labeled. You crane your head further, looking over the tips of his phalanges to read the names of the surrounding stars.
“what, you think i'm lion to ya?” Sans says with a chuckle that rumbles in his chest.
The only response you can muster is a tired sigh into the crook of his neck.
“Come back to bed.” You tug at the hem of his white t-shirt. “They'll still be there tomorrow.”
Sans squeezes your dangling arms, uncharacteristically quiet. He hesitates and gives the sky a final once-over, as though he’s committing each of the millions of celestial bodies to memory in mere seconds. He closes the old guidebook with the care of someone handling a delicate artifact, then clutches the backs of your hands.
The world goes black, and for a split-second, the floor is pulled from beneath you, and you're free-falling in the void. The sensation only lasts for a blink of an eye, however, and you'd think your sleep-deprived brain just hallucinated it if you weren't suddenly horizontal.
“Are you serious? The bed was literally four steps away.”
“just think of all the time i’m saving in the long run,” Sans shrugs, nestling beneath the covers. “i’m nothing if not efficient.”
Cold bones slide against your calves as Sans notches his body against your back. His knees slot perfectly into the backs of your own, thighs and femurs running parallel to each other. Firm ribs rise and fall against your back, an odd feeling, but not unpleasant. A skeletal arm drapes lazily across your waist, tracing your lower ribs through your shirt. Something sharp pokes the back of your neck. You twitch at the feeling, earning a half-hearted “sorry” from the owner of the offending nasal bone. Teeth press against the nape of your neck, soft and deliberate.
Your breathing steadies, matching his, but your brain isn't quite ready to simmer down yet. “What woke you up?”
Sans presses another kiss to you, this time tugging at the collar of your nightshirt to plant it on your shoulder. “hard to sleep when you're getting kicked all night.”
You sigh at the feeling, brushing your hand over his. “I don't do that. Uh… right?”
“nah.” Another kiss.
You lock your fingers between his. “Then answer the question.”
There's a puff of surprisingly warm air across the back of your neck, then nothing. Cold air rushes to fill the vacuum created by his absence as Sans rolls to his back. You frown at the loss of heat, and you chase it, turning over and pressing yourself against his side. Your arm slings across his chest, and you lift your head to let him slide his arm under the space between your neck and the mattress.
You can see the faint glow of his eyelights illuminating the bow of his nasal bone. They’re almost like stars themselves, you note as your body molds snugly against his. He's completely still for some time, before resuming the artificial breathing motions of his chest.
“been having some weird dreams lately.” Sans rubs idle circles into your back.
You tug a pillow onto his shoulder so you can comfortably rest against it without bones prodding into your skull. “Like what?”
Sans brings his free hand to rest behind his head. The glow from his eyelights disappears – he must have closed his eyes. The arm around you squeezes your body almost protectively against his torso, and his head tilts to tap his skull against the top of your forehead. He inhales deep against your hair, the long, slow rise of his empty chest and the slight whistle from his nasal cavity perfectly mimicking the instinctual need to breathe as opposed to his usual aesthetic choice to breathe.
“doesn’t really matter.” A warm exhale fans over your head. You can feel the tips of skeletal fingers tracing squares into your back, light and slightly rounded. “they’re not real.”
You close your eyes and drag your hand down his ribs, counting the pattern of ridge, divot, ridge, divot as your fingers dip and rise over them. You follow them as they curve away into false ribs, and you note the points of the floating ribs that poke up into his t-shirt. Beyond that, the shirt falls into empty space, molding over the arch of his ribs and pooling down to meet his spine. The emptiness used to be alien to you, but now, it’s as familiar as any other body you’ve shared a bed with.
“Some people think that dreams have meanings. Like, a common one is dreaming about your teeth falling out. They say it represents something in your life you’re stressed about that you can’t control.”
“yeah, well, tooth be told, babe,” you jab Sans with a finger, eliciting a chuckle from him, “i don’t believe in that stuff. dreams are just your memories blending together while you’re unconscious.”
“Like a smoothie.”
“huh?”
“Dreams are memory smoothies.”
Sans turns his head the other way, but the shake of his shoulders betrays his attempt to muffle his laugh. “i think it’s time to go back to sleep. you’re going a bit bananas on me.”
“Nuh uh.” Your jaws part with a treacherous yawn. “I wanna keep talking to you.”
You snake your hand up his shirt, the pads of your fingers sliding over the smooth ridges of his spine. Here, closer to his center, it’s warmer, thrumming with magic from the proximity of his soul.
A swell of drowsiness sweeps over your mind like a wave lapping at the shore, steady in its rhythm as the last of your wakeful tension leaves your legs. Your torso and shoulders follow suit, slackening as your consciousness is gently swept beneath the tide. You can almost hear the soft foaming of sea meeting sand (or maybe it's just the white noise of the fan) and the rocking of the current (probably Sans’s breathing), singing to you like a maritime lullaby.
The shapes being drawn on your back become more abstract, hard edges and corners dissipated into loops and swirls. He draws a soft-edged rhombus with a hooked stem budding from one corner. An upside-down Y. The squiggle of an uneven W.
Sans cycles through the constellations as he feels you relax, your breathing slow and soft against his shoulder. He moves his other hand from behind his head to tug the covers up further around you, making sure you're fully wrapped up and warm. He cranes his head up with all the gentleness in the world and gives your features a final once-over, as though he’s committing every tiny detail, each little imperfection on your skin to memory.
