Frans is a fucking disgusting ship and I'm tired of pretending it's not.
First of all Sans is a grown ass adult and Frisk is a literal child. I don't give a single shit about your AU where they're both teens or aged up. You took a character who was originally a full grown skeleton and shipped him with a kid. That's pedo logic. That's fucking creepy and you know it. No amount of "but in my AU they're the same age" changes the fact that you looked at an adult and a child and thought yeah they should kiss. What the fuck is wrong with you.
Second Sans doesn't have a romantic bone in his body. Literally. He's a lazy pun making ketchup drinking comic relief. He's not your soft boyfriend. He's not your uwu romantic lead. He's a depressed nihilistic skeleton who knows his timeline can be erased at any moment. Stop projecting your disgusting romantic fantasies onto him. He's not your Ken doll to dress up and make kiss a child.
Third Frisk is a child. A CHILD. They're supposed to be ambiguous. The player, a kid, whatever. They were never meant to be shipped with anyone let alone a character twice their size and age. You're taking a blank slate child and forcing them into a romantic relationship with an adult skeleton. Do you not hear how fucked up that sounds. Frans shippers are either delusional or straight up creeps. You can't separate "cute art" from the fact that it's based on a pedophilic dynamic. "But it's fiction!" Yeah and you're the one creating and consuming content about an adult and a child together. That says more about you than you think.
Frans is a trash ship for trash people. Argue with the wall. I'm done.
Bro just shitted out stuff I already know perfectly well šš
I honestly couldn't give a single fuck about the rest of the fandom's opinion on Frans. I will keep making content for them, and no one is gonna stop me. I don't ship a kid with a grown ass man. I only love Frans in AUs where they're either both adults or the same age. I'm just fucking baffled by how people don't understand this, goddamn it, and accuse me.
1. AUs exist specifically to change the context. In the original, Sans is an adult, but in SchT he's a teenager. In my AU they're the same age. What's the problem? An AU is not the original. It's an alternate universe. If you don't get the difference, that's your problem, not mine.
2. I'm not interested in the original as a romantic base. I've never shipped Frans in canon. I don't need canon Sans and Frisk as a pair. I need MY Sans and Frisk. With their own lore, their own story, their own personalities. These are my characters within my AU. What you see in the original has nothing to do with them!!! How the fuck can you not understand that!!
3. Accusing someone of pedophilia is a serious allegation that you can't just throw around left and right. When you call me a pedo for drawing two teenagers of the same age holding hands, you're devaluing a real issue. You're tossing around a word that should be reserved for actual crimes, not for fictional characters in a school AU. This isn't criticism. It's slander.
4. Demanding that characters never be changed kills creativity. If you follow the haters' logic, then you can't change anything at all. No humanizations. No AUs. No drawing characters at a different age, in a different style, in a different setting. That's bullshit. Fandom lives and breathes through reinterpretation. And if you don't like my reinterpretation, then just walk on by!
5. My content is my business. I don't force anyone to ship Frans. I don't come to your blog and demand you love my ship. I post art for those who enjoy it. If you don't like it, then block me, hide my posts, ignore me. But don't come at me with lectures about what I can and can't draw ;)
Anyway. I'm gonna keep going. I don't give a flying fuck about your opinion!! AND ONE MORE THING, WHY DID YOU SEND ME THAT TEXT ANONYMOUSLY, HIDING YOUR PROFILE? just curious:))
the reason usa birth rates going down is because we have a whole generation of women whose sexual awakening was Sans undertale and none of the men want to wear jorts and drink ketchup and go Er er er
So a while ago I finally figured out what changed to make Frans now one of the most hated ships when it was originally one of the most popular.
And it's simply how we interpret Frisk.
Way back when the main interpretation was a blank slate that you could project onto so you could get attached vicariously to the other characters through Frisk. Like a vessel.
This is how I see it and as an adult woman I see Frisk as the same. This has always been the case this was never not the case.
Then I left the fandom for a while.
When I came back everything changed. Frisk was reinterpreted as forever and always a non-binary child and if you did not accept this you were stupid.
I do not agree with this. I think you're free to interpret it that way, but that is not how I see the character.
Then you see there was the big schism. That is what broke this ship to pieces because I have a feeling a lot of other old fans left as well. So the ones who see it as I do aren't really here anymore. Of course there are a few and I love them all dearly, but the majority seem to have disappeared or got run off. And I fully admit I'm not exactly very present in the fandom either.
So no one was here to contest this and now with new people coming in they see the new interpretation and assume it is always and forever been like this.
That is simply not the case. As an OG fan I can promise you that.
And so now you have this deep seated hatred for something that was never weird and was only made weird in retrospect.
And that sucks because this was my second ship ever. This is what got me into fandom and it hurts my soul to see what first got me here now treated with such derision, and creators for it get accused of being something they are not.
Can you do bad sans/star sans with a reader who doesn't love them or wants to break up because of hurt?
(I need angst right now...)
I love everything, EVERYTHING you write! I hope you have a good day/night! ā„ļø
ANGSTTTTTTTT YES YES YES YES YES!!!! AND TYSM!!!!!
[Warnings: toxicity, manipulation, and unhealthy/semi-dangerous coping mechanisms featured in all of the Bad Sanses sections. Star Sanses are at the end as a palate cleanser]
Breaking up with the Bad Sanses & Star Sanses
Nightmare
Aww, it's so cute the way you think you have agency in this relationship <3 It makes Nightmare just wanna pinch your cute widdle cheek...
But his condescension is all pantomime. Nightmare's been feeling it fester in you for weeks, a rotten black seed of resentment nestled in the pit of your soul. He's tense whenever he feels a shoot of bravery spring up, when the words are just teetering on the edge of your teeth.
But by the time they finally spill, by the time you've found your voice to tell him you want to end things, he's already fully prepared.
Nightmare reminds you of how good you have it here, under his arm. How you want for nothing, as all your needs are taken care of and all your whims are met, no matter how extra or fanciful. You're comfortable, you're fed, you're sheltered, you're loved, and you'd really throw that all away, on the impulse of a human's famously fickle heart?
Nightmare gets visibly irritated when you insist, his brow twitching as he keeps his cool, crescent-moon smile. It was endearing before, but, well, now you're just being foolish, darling.
Fine, you wish to see how long you'll last without him? You want to catch a glimpse into the cruel reality of the average human life? You need to be reminded just how good you have it? That can be arranged.
It happens so fast, your head spins. One second, there's an icy coil constructing your torso, shadows at the edge of your vision. You can see your breath in frigid condensation, a pitiful white flag, as it's squeezed from your lungs while shadows creep into your vision. The next, darkness. Noise. The feeling of deep, naked exposure.
Nightmare's shoved you into some random AU, an autumn-chilled city in the dizzying bustle of night. You're alone on the sidewalk with only the clothes on your back, aloof strangers shoulder-checking you as they carry on with their lives. No money, no map, nowhere to go.
It's a long, cold, lonely night. The people you ask for help are indifferent, shooing you away and barking that they don't have any spare change for you. 24/7 gas stations threaten to call the authorities for your "loitering." Hostile architecture pokes and prods at you when you try to find a dark corner to hide and curl up in. Passers-by ignore your helpless, terrified sobbing as it blends into just another instrument in the nightlife symphony.
You're half-conscious, eyes dry and red and brain fogged over, when harsh hands lift you off the dirty concrete of the alley you found yourself in. They cradle you as the vertigo of a shortcut whooshes in your ears. Nightmare leans in, voice low, tentacles roaming and coiling around your limbs as he holds you to his chest, asking if you've learned your lesson. You have. You'll never take his love for granted again.
Killer
"whew, that's a sick sense a' humor ya got there, sweetheart, even for me."
Killer thinks you're joking, evidently unimpressed by your current flavor of humor. His uncomfortable grin drops flat and blank when he sees the pained sincerity quivering on your lower lip.
He laughs. It starts out as a quiet snrrk behind his teeth, graduating slowly into a full-body shake of hysteria that unhinges his jaw. His bones and teeth clack and grate together. Viscous Determination falls in rivulets down his stained cheeks like dark, frenetic tears.
It cuts off aburptly. His hand darts out faster than you can think and grabs your wrist, raising it above your head. Your pulse throbs almost painfully beneath his manic grip, your skin pinched in the gaps between his knuckles, where magic flares and sparks from his joints.
A grin so wide it's uncanny splits his skull, unflinching at Determination trickles down over his teeth and dribbles off his chin. His voice drops low, quiet, and you almost don't hear it over the creaking of his hand as they grip you tighter: "that so?"
You're forced a step backward, and another, until you're moving in a one-sided tango, matching his encroaching steps while he punctuates each one with a question.
"ya wanna get rid'a me? after everything?" Step. "everything i do to protect ya, and ya wanna just throw it all away?" Step. "ya wanna go fuck someone else, is that right?" Step. "wanna feel the grass on the other side?" Step. "or didja finally realize how shitty i am?" Step. "finally figured out i'm no good for ya?" Step. "realized that i don't deserve someone like you?"
His soul jolts and flares with every terse question. Your back hits the wall. You can't tell if the wetness on your cheeks is from tears or the Determination flecking into your face from every spat accusation. All you know is that it's burning you alive.
Killer stops as suddenly as he started, the corners of his snarl unfurling as the hollows of his sockets round out. He keeps you there for a moment, one that stretches under the duress of his empty stare. Then, he releases you, and backs off a step. "yer confused," he mutters, head tilted down, not looking at you anymore. "yer just upset. we're... we're not doin' that. you're not doin' that." Another beat, and he shortcuts away, leaving you in the blaring silence of the home you built together, your heart racing and a violet bloom on your sore wrist.
Killer clings closer to you that night, after he returns from... wherever he had gone to blow off steam. His face against the back of your neck. Legs crooked and his knees nestled into the backs of yours. Arms slung around you, one hand cradling the side of your chest, and the other splayed over the span of your stomach. A thought lingers on his mind, snaps through his soul, as he listens to you breathe. He knows he's not good for you, but he's too selfish to let you go.
Dust
Dust hardly gets the chance to process the words before the defenses rise up a mile high, a barrage of self-flagellation to soften the blow of your admission. Of course you'd want to break up with him. How he even got you in the first place is a mystery.
He's not a good man. He never deserved a kindness as soft as you after what he's done. He'll only hurt you more the longer you stay with him. You will never be happy with someone like him. All thoughts that slither through his head, logic doused in venom that he can't fight against.
It's almost... relief, that he feels. The weight of his guilt over keeping you trapped with him melts away. The familiarity of only caring for himself is a comforting tug at his soul, a feathered graze above the tinnitus flaring through his magic.
There's no fight. No asking for the whys or the whens or the hows. Not a shred of visible emotion before Dust departs via shortcut in a rush of displaced air and static electricity that nips at your skin.
He doesn't bother grabbing what few belongings he's left around your place. A spare set of clothes, a toothbrush, smudged reading glasses that have crooked nose grips but ones he wore anyway because they fit the set of his skull just right.
He couldn't take them back if he wanted to. They smell like you now, so they're yours. They have no place near him anymore. You're left to pick up the pieces and forget about him -- it's the only option Dust's left you with. You'll never hear from him again. This is his final atonement.
Dust stumbles into his room, the ringing in his skull having grown to a throbbing migraine. The numbness dissolves almost as soon as he leaves you, your absence from his side and the notion that he'll need to forget the spatial coordinates of your home a guillotine smashing down onto his neck. It only feels real once he's alone.
That phantom voice, the one coming from just out of his line of vision, is nails scraping against a chalkboard. It chants a wailing reminder that he was an idiot for ever thinking he could reconcile his sins enough to merit him the comfort of a lover. It carves a epitaph to his selfish entitlement he felt for you in the back of his sockets in agonizing detail, lest he soon forget it.
But this is a good thing, the voice comforts like a douse of cold rubbing alcohol on a wound. You're free from his desperate clutches. That light will return to your eyes, the same one you had when you first met, the same one that dulled the longer he stayed.
That voice needs to shut the hell up. He finds solace at the bottom of a glass bottle, finally drowning you and it and all its baggage out. He doesn't want to think anymore. He doesn't need the guilt and the twisted sense of relief and the reminder of how much of your life you wasted on trying to love him. And Dust definitely doesn't need to remember that he was so scared of hell, he almost dragged you down with him.
Horror!Sans (Axe)
Haha, good luck with that.
Yeah, no, it's not gonna be that easy. When Axe has his teeth stuck in something, he gets territorial. Possessive. You'd given yourself to him, and he intends to keep you. The method in which he does that doesn't matter to him.
He said or did something wrong? Alright, he won't say or do that thing again. He doesn't put enough effort into the relationship? Time to smother you in affection and gifts and whatever else you want. There's someone else? Give him a few hours, he'll fix that. You just lost feelings? He'll help you find them.
Oh, now you're trying to argue with him? Telling him he doesn't get a say in whether or not you stay with him? Cute, but that's not how this works. You've been together for this long, these things have to be decided together. You don't get to decide for the both of you that it's over. That's being selfish.
You're just trying to get back at him for something, aren't you? Sure, maybe he's been gruff with you, or dismissive of your needs, but that doesn't mean you need to retaliate like this. How immature of you to turn your petty anger into a game like this.
I mean, you haven't been a perfect angel yourself, have you? Axe has stayed with you through your grumpy days, and the times you blew him off because you weren't feeling up to it, and whenever you snapped at him over one thing or another. He never bitched or played petty games with you then, did he?
You're being so selfish right now, trying to end things just because the road got a little bumpy. Axe is going to make dinner, and you're going to sit and eat with him and talk things through to a conclusion you're both happy with, okay?
You have no energy left to keep talking, and you're scared of what he'll do if you make a break of the door or try to sneak away while he's cooking, so you do as you're told. You clench your jaw at the pleased praise Axe gives you when you obey.
The "conversation" is more of the same. You defend yourself, your autonomy, your say in the matter, and he diminishes it. It turns into less of an argument and more of a game of endurance. Too bad you sputtered out in the initial argument. Axe "wins" by default, and you stay.
Maybe you were being selfish. He does always work on the things you bring up. And maybe you were being petty and trying to garner a reaction from him. Maybe you need to do better, too.
Cross
This can't be happening. This is a bad dream, one that Cross will wake up from if he just wills it hard enough. He'll open his sockets, and he'll be next to you, limbs tangled, skin against bone, everything as it should be.
But it's real. You're standing here before him, looking down at your feet, wringing your hands together, telling him things aren't working out and that you think you should see other people.
It takes Cross a few moments of opening and closing his mouth to process it, then a few more moments of repeating questions about whether you're breaking up with him and if you're really serious. All the while he's shrinking back and curling up like a frightened, cornered animal.
The next set of questions come tumbling out before he can stop them, desperate and small and catching in his throat, stumbling over each other too fast for you to answer any of them. Did he do something wrong? Did something happen? Why didn't you ever talk to him? Why didn't you say something? What can he do to make things right?
The questions turn to flustered, rambling begging. There has to be something he can do. Please, tell him what to do so he can fix it. He'll do anything, anything you ask of him. You can't do this, not when he was so happy with you. Please don't do this. Please don't leave him.
Cross isn't in his right mind. His vision is swimming, his thoughts are going a mile a minute, leaving him no time to think over anything he's saying or doing. He only snaps out of it when he realizes he's scaring you.
He immediately steps back into his own space, releasing your arms (when did he grab you?) and feeling sick in his soul. Yet, despite that, he's still pleading with you. He's sorry. He's so sorry. Please don't go. Please give him another chance. Please let him prove that he can be good for you. He won't fuck up this time. He promises.
He flinches when you tell him no. You've made up your mind about this, and you don't want to continue the relationship. He's been in a lot of scraps, but somehow this hurts more than any of them.
You go on about logistics, about how you'll give back the things he kept at your place, and you'll pay your part for the last couple of dates you went on, but Cross has long since stopped listening, his desperation turning to inward blame. He could've done better. He could've prevented this, had he tried harder.
He throws himself into missions after you're gone, anything to get his mind off of it. He's moodier, he picks more fights with the others, he's more reckless in battle. He gets hurt more. He lets himself get hurt more. It's his self-imposed punishment for losing you.
Error
Lol. Lmao even.
That's all fine by Error. He never needed you to begin with. He's sure he'll be just as fine as he was before he met you (if not more!) when you leave. He's Error, he doesn't need anybody but himself and the Voices, and even they can fuck off for all he cares.
Speaking of the Voices, they really need to go bother somebody else right about now because they've been getting really fucking annoying after you left, what with all this 'Noooo go chase after them!!!' and 'You deserve this for being so shitty to them' nonsense.
No, screw them, screw you, and especially screw the pitying looks everyone keeps giving him when he tells them you broke it off. One tiny, meaningless little relationship in his extended life doesn't affect him in the slightest. You were just a blip on his radar, something he'll forget about in a week that'll have no consequences on his psyche at all.
Except when there's nobody there to look at his latest crochet project. Except when there's nobody there to listen to him brag about all the chaos and destruction he caused three AUs over. Except when there's nobody there to exchange quips with over a bad TV show. Everything's just so... quiet, now. Even the Voices granted his wish and have petered out into the occasional judgmental sigh over the state of him.
Error thought he liked the quiet. It always gave him so much time to think. But now he hates it, because it gives him too much time to think. And the only thing on his mind is the way things used to be when you were around. And when he thinks for too long, he feels this terrible, bulky weight sitting on his sternum. Why does it feel like he can't properly breathe when he doesn't even have lungs?
He can't escape to any of his usual haunts because they're all too quiet. His Anti-Void is out of the question. Any Snowdin Forest is way too serene. Outertale is literally in space, it's devoid of all noise. The only other place he visits regularly is, well, your place, and that one's off limits, right?
Well... It's not entirely off limits. Error can pop in, take some of those snacks you always keep stocked, and mess around with your cozy furniture and comforts as long as you're not around. What you won't know won't hurt you. And hey, this way, he can keep a socket on you and everything you do, even if you were ungrateful for his companionship -- he's just that nice of a guy.
Error is careful to erase any trace of himself every time he visits. He learns your patterns, your schedule, the distinct sounds of your footsteps when you're coming up on your apartment door. He only takes things you won't notice are missing, only moves things around you won't remember the exact placement of. It becomes a regular thing.
You notice that something has changed, though. The dryness in the air that prickles at your eyes when you come home. The shocks from static electricity when you touch the couch or your bed. How the contents of your drawers look somewhat haphazardly rifled through. How anyone you bring over makes an excuse to leave in a hurry, like they've been threatened, after you briefly leave the room and come back. It's almost like someone's messing with you. But that's ridiculous, right?
Dream
Dream knows that this has been a long time coming. I mean, he could literally feel your reluctance and your growing distance from the moment it started. His empathy abilities sometimes feel like more of a curse than the gift they're supposed to be.
He went into damage control the second he felt those feelings start to bloom, filling your time together with things you like to do, and prodding you for how he can make you happier or fix things. He's pretty transparent with you on how he can sense that you're not feeling satisfied with the relationship.
For the time being, you had both agreed to just call it a slump, because those things happen, right? But the feeling never went away. It was a slow torture, feeling your emotions on the subject grow louder every day, when Dream had been putting all his energy into trying to whisk them away and convince you (and himself) that things were fine between you.
But, unfortunately, things came to a head, and you finally admitted that you can't keep pretending things are going to magically turn around if you keep trying to force them. You just don't feel the same anymore.
Dream has to stop himself from asking a slew of immature questions -- why did things end up this way, were you ever really happy with him, what could he have done differently to make you stay -- he knows it's not his place to demand answers from you. He also knows more than anybody that he's not owed an explanation.
He takes it pretty maturely. You're incompatible, and there's no miracle cure for something like that. You agree to go your separate ways and to remember the relationship as a fond experience. He's so grateful to have crossed paths with you, despite now knowing there would be a fork in the road.
But that doesn't mean he's not taking it hard internally. Dream can't go to that cafe you introduced him to, no matter how much he loved the croissants. Seeing someone participate in a hobby you're passionate about makes him uncomfortable. He boxes away the coat he once lent you, the mug you'd always use, the blanket you had shared. Things from when you were both first falling in love with each other, when splitting up wasn't even on the menu.
There's something sour there, too, in the back of his throat. It's an animosity towards you that he's disgusted in himself for even humoring the thought of.
Dream has no roots. He hasn't settled down since he's been de-petrified, despite the little cottage reserved in his name over in the Omega Timeline, the one he only started using when you came into his life. He let himself get comfortable with the idea of staying in one spot for your sake. Now you're gone, and that blissful wish of having a reason to stay is embittered.
He just needs to get back on the road again, get back to the nomadic lifestyle he knows so well. It's the only lifestyle he's allowed himself to know, after all, and maybe it was for a good reason. Besides, he's got people to save and worlds to mend. A quiet life with someone was always just a pipe dream, anyway.
Ink
Oh. Okay. That's nice. So, uh, do you want to reschedule that thing the two of you had planned for next week, or...?
Oh! Oh, yeah, no, that's cool. Ink didn't really want to go do that, anyway. Besides, why waste time on a stupid date when it could be much better spent at your place? You have that big soft bed with all those pillows and funny little stuffed critters, so it's a place Ink very much prefers spending time with you. Plus, he'll let you do that thing that makes him feel all funny in his chest cavity, the one where you trace the swirly patterns carved into his ribs. He likes how you do it, soft fingertips tickling his bones. He wouldn't let anyone else touch him like you do.
...Oh. You... you don't wanna do that either, huh? Haha, it's starting to sound like you don't want anything to do with him anymore. But that's not true, right? You're always holding him and saying those pretty words to him, the ones that make him feel a special shimmery shade of gold. He's even said them back a few times! That's what you had wanted, right? For him to... to... ugh, what was the word? Recycle? Reconcile? Reciprocate? Reciprocate!
Well, he had done that, just like you asked. He repeated that he loved you whenever he (rarely) thought of it. He wrote a script on small talk in the folds of his scarf to remind him to ask about your day, no matter how boring (he could always tune it out). He even started planning dates! Sure, they were all invitations into the Doodle-sphere to watch him paint, and sure, he had accidentally forgotten about you a couple times and wandered off to go do something in another AU, leaving you stranded, but he was reciprocating! Just like you had asked!
And now... and now you don't want to see him anymore? Okay, fine, he'll give you a break. Let you cool off and come back later. Ooh, with flowers! You're supposed to give your partner flowers, right? That's what Blue says. Flowers and other silly, sappy stuff, like poems and affirmations and respect. He'll get you all those, and then things will be okay again.
But you repeat yourself, adding a simple explanation on top -- you're ending things, you don't want to see him again, and he won't ever see you again.
He wrings his hands together, his magic churning an ugly shade of green at the finality in your tone. It roils and aches through his bones, a tingle creeping up his spine, his chest, his throat...
Ink vomits a wave of sticky brown paint right onto your hardwood kitchen floor, where you strategically led him in the very likely event that this happen.
He wipes a smear across his teeth with the back of his sleeve. Um, what were you talking about again? He almost doesn't want to know, because whatever it was made his body feel all small and heavy and sick. Was it something sad? He hates talking about sad things.
It takes a couple more explanations. With most of his paints on the floor, it goes through Ink's head a little easier. You don't want him around anymore. Apprehensively, Ink shuffles out, collecting his things that you've kindly gathered in a pile and porting back to the Doodle-sphere and barricades himself there. Nobody hears from him for several weeks. When he finally does pop up again, he's the same old familiar Ink, chaotic and mischievous and looking for a good time. Your name comes up a few times, and whenever it does, he feels that same twinge of sickness, but he can't for the life of him figure out why. Who were you again?
Swap!Sans (Blue)
Blue's world stops. Did he-- mweh heh-- did he hear you right? Because if he did, that would mean you just said that you wanted to break up, so there's absolutely no way he heard you right, because that would be ridiculous. ...Right?
Ah, he... he did hear you right. That... That's okay! Blue respects your feelings and he's happy you told him how you feel and he's ready to have a mature conversation about what happens next and stars who the heck is making the room all blurry and spinny right now--???
It takes Blue a couple hours for the panic to bleed from his system before he's ready (and able) to talk. Even through his tears, he tries to put on a smile and wave off your fretting as he curls into a ball on the couch and hyperventilates.
When the initial shock is dampened, through sniffles and long, shaky inhales, Blue listens to whatever explanations you have to offer, and he accepts it with no fuss or argument. He loves you so much, enough to let you go peacefully and amicably. Even when it feels like his soul is being crushed under a vise and will never feel happy ever again.
You meet up the next day to exchange the things you left at each other's places. Blue looks significantly more put together than the previous day, but don't let it fool you -- he was a sobbing mess being passed from comforting presence to comforting presence. He's only so okay now because of his wide support circle. Having his friends and family from his own AU and from all the other AUs he's visited united in a sort of Blue-support-squad was an... interesting cultural exchange, to say the least.
When all is said and done, Blue only asks for one last hug before you part ways. He wants to memorize the shape of you in his arms, so he can remember how good it felt to be yours before things went south.
The passage of time is a potent remedy. After nearly a year of no contact, you get a text from an unknown number. It's Blue, asking if you'd want to hang out with him (and a few of his friends as an emotional buffer).
Blue wants to still be friends. He's given his soul the time it needed to heal plus a little extra, and now that the relationship has faded to a fond memory, Blue realized that he still wants to be a part of your life, if you're alright with that.
He has a large heart for someone with no organs to speak of, after all. When Blue loves someone in any way, he finds that he just can't stop loving them. He's reconciled with the fact that he loved you romantically and things didn't work out. Life just goes that way sometimes.
Now, if you'll give him a shot, he wants to love you strictly platonically. You don't have to be his best friend, or even a super close one -- he just wants to keep making memories with you, good ones and bad ones.
literally thank god sex isnt real and was just invented by big fiction to emphasize greater social and psychological themes i was getting scared id have to do all that
I just got finished with a very big, but very fun commission today!
I got given the very fun job to visualise all of Sansās work outfits from @sinnabon-the-skeleton ās fic dating start-
Theyāve been wonderful to work with the whole way, and this was made extra extra fun because I also really like the fic in question (not to mention I got to draw my favourite guy like 7 times)
Iāll also link the fic under the cut for anyone who wanted to read it- itās very fun and I highly recommend it!
Lazy cuddles. Itās what Sans loves the most when it comes to spending time with you. He loves being lazy and he loves cuddling, and especially so when you allow him to drape himself over you like a weighted blanket. Youāre so warm and soft and he swears that youāre so much better than his bed. You just accuse him of loving using your chest as a pillow. He didnāt deny it; he just smiled and sent you a wink.
Those mornings when nothing needs to be done and the sunlight is just peeking in through drawn curtains? Yeah, Sans loves those too. He may wake up at one point and find you still asleep, and heāll justā¦ watch you for a while, cheek resting against your chest. Sometimes he just canāt believe heās been this lucky. The fact that youāre with him, that you tell him you ālove himā, itās so surreal heās oftentimes thought it all a dream. Admittingly, heās been afraid of waking up and being alone in his messy room again. But no, youāre always there, ready to hold his cheek and stare into his eyelights until a blue blush appears on his lovestruck face.
He loves it when you huff and puff at him for leaving his socks laying around, and he apologises and smiles so goofily it makes you supress a snort. Having you there to be annoyed at himā¦ You just donāt understand how much he loves you.
Heās not a guy that normally seeks out the touch of others. He just doesnāt like it that much, but you? Oh, he canāt stop touching you. If he could glue himself to you then he would. Butā¦ then it would be difficult to hide that little box he keeps fiddling with in his jacket pocket. That little box with a single ring inside. Itās the only reason he sometimes goes away to be alone. He needs to practice; build up his courage to ask you to marry him.
He wants to be with you forever. He hopes you want that, too.
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