Dec 1, 2025
late night doodle
Underblanc - Undyne (Siren form)
She wears white like a wedding dress and sings like a funeral.
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Spain
seen from Russia
seen from United States
seen from Malaysia
seen from Canada
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Bangladesh
seen from Philippines
seen from New Zealand
seen from United States
seen from Canada
seen from France
seen from United States
seen from Singapore
seen from United States
late night doodle
Underblanc - Undyne (Siren form)
She wears white like a wedding dress and sings like a funeral.
This is a continuation of my Underblanc story.
in dream.
—A dark river whispered in the quiet.
Frisk stood at its edge,
watching the black water slide past.
It felt familiar.
And yet… nowhere.
They had no memories of the outside world.
Not since falling into the Ruins.
Within the soft hush of flowing water,
a gentle voice drifted in.
“You finally came, little traveler.
The river never flows backward,
but you’ve been fighting so hard.”
Frisk lifted their downcast eyes.
In the middle of the river
stood a hooded ferryman.
Their outline was blurred,
as if fading into mist.
“I am Charon,” the figure said.
“The one who carries memories downstream.”
The voice was clear and cool,
like a hand dipped into cold water.
Not frightening.
Strangely kind.
“The snow of the Underground wanted to swallow you.
But a golden soul doesn’t melt.
Its whiteness doesn’t stain.
That’s why the snow chased you.”
Frisk tilted their head.
The meaning slipped through the dream
like a slow sinking stone.
“Be careful,” Charon continued.
“Blackening isn’t an infection.
It’s a choice.
A decision to allow despair.”
“You haven’t allowed it.
That’s why you’re still white.”
The ferryman’s smile
was soft.
Almost tender.
“We’ll meet again.
Though you’ll forget—
before you wake.”
A small splash broke the stillness.
The dream shattered.
Frisk’s fingers clenched the blanket.
Warm.
Safe.
They exhaled, long and slow.
The softness, the heat—
it pulled their mind downward again.
A tiny yawn escaped.
From far away came Zephyr’s light footsteps,
and Nothos’s calm, low voice.
“…Strange kid. Really is.”
Another voice layered over it—
flat, emotionless.
Frisk couldn’t make out the words.
But oddly, it didn’t frighten them.
Wrapped in those distant sounds,
Frisk drifted back
into sleep.
---
Underblanc – Masterpost
This is the masterpost for my Underblanc project.
All chapters, prologue, artworks and related notes will be organized here.
Welcome to Underblanc.
This is the masterpost for my AU’s stories and artworks.
All chapters and illustrations are listed below for easy navigation.
If you're new here, please start with the Prologue.
◆ What is Underblanc?
A quiet, snow-drowned world beneath the earth.
A place where color can fade,
and kindness can save a soul.
◆ The Setting
Endless white.
Silent houses.
Poisoned snow that whispers to the heart.
Yet, warmth still survives—in a small home with a lit fireplace.
◆ The Story Begins
A human child collapses in the snow.
A guard carries them home.
A gentle younger brother offers warmth.
And something ancient begins to wake upstairs.
---
📜 Rules / Terms of Use
➡️ Rules
💬 0 🔁 0 ❤️ 1 · Welcome to UnderBlanc — an unofficial UNDERTALE AU. This AU has strict rules to protect the story and worldbuilding. Plea
(Please check the rules before reading or interacting!)
---
📖 STORY INDEX
Prologue
➡️ https://www.tumblr.com/tya-haru/799380693677490176/snow-falls-like-memory-white-silent-and-heavy?source=share
---
Chapter 1 – Ruins
1-1 ➡️ https://www.tumblr.com/tya-haru/799649297076502528/continuing-underblanc-the-warmth-of-the-ruins?source=share
1-2 ➡️ https://www.tumblr.com/tya-haru/799714002326437888/thank-you-for-waiting-heres-a-little-more?source=share
1-3 ➡️ https://www.tumblr.com/tya-haru/799959778927493120/underblanc-continues-muffet-gently-wrapped-her?source=share
1-4➡️https://www.tumblr.com/tya-haru/799960704802291712/underblanc-continues-chapter2the-fold-in-her?source=share
---
Chapter 2 – Snowdin
2-1 ➡️ https://www.tumblr.com/tya-haru/800427164740780032/from-the-ruins-to-snowdin-where-the-snow-whispers?source=share
2-2 ➡️ https://www.tumblr.com/tya-haru/802444717510033408/this-is-a-continuation-of-my-underblanc?source=share
2-3➡️https://www.tumblr.com/tya-haru/802449816920752128/chapter-part-ii-the-brothers-of-wind?source=share
2-4➡️https://www.tumblr.com/tya-haru/802458199156523008/this-is-a-continuation-of-my-underblanc-story-in?source=share
---
🎨 ARTWORK
・Zephy in Winter ➡️ https://www.tumblr.com/tya-haru/800419589780619264/zephy-in-winter-this-is-zephy-from-my-au?source=share
・Sans (Underblanc ver.) ➡️ https://www.tumblr.com/tya-haru/801725506914516992/scribble-of-notos-absolutely-destroying-someone?source=share
・Undyne (Underblanc ver.) ➡️ https://www.tumblr.com/tya-haru/801730691419258880/late-night-doodle-underblanc-undyne-siren?source=share
・Others coming soon…
---
🌙 About Underblanc
A frozen Underground.
A deadly snowfall.
Two brothers who guard the white world,
and a human who arrives without turning black.
---
ETC
Observation Log: Fragment 17-B — UNDO / REDO / SKIP
➡️https://www.tumblr.com/tya-haru/801451904060227584/observation-log-fragment-17-b-undo-redo?source=share
This is a continuation of my Underblanc story.
[chapter: Part II – The Brothers of Wind]
Zephyr carried Frisk up the stairs,
still wrapped in the thick blanket,
now faintly warm instead of ice-cold.
He climbed each step slowly.
Carefully.
So the child’s steady, fragile breathing wouldn’t break.
One of the four rooms on the second floor—
this one was Zephyr’s white little nest.
The curtains were drawn shut,
soft linen layered with thick cloth.
Only a thin blade of winter light
slipped through and reached the floor.
Zephyr sat on the edge of the bed
and laid Frisk down gently.
He removed the white sweater,
tucked the blanket around their small frame,
and watched the color return
little by little
to fingers that had nearly frozen blue.
He placed his gloved hand on the blanket.
It rose and fell—so faint.
A fragile proof of life.
He blinked.
He and his brother breathed, yes,
but never like this.
Never with a chest that moved like a quiet tide.
Such a strange, living thing.
“You’re safe now.
No more snow.
Nothing can get in here.”
Frisk’s lashes fluttered.
A small breath answered him—
the answer of someone
already sinking into sleep.
Only after watching that peaceful motion,
Zephyr stood and slipped out of the room.
The door closed softly,
a tiny green glow flickering at the seam.
Downstairs,
a tall shadow waited for him.
Nothos stood before the hearth,
the fire lighting the lines of his back.
He wore soft, pale knit now—
nothing like the rigid armor from earlier.
It made him look strangely gentle.
Or just tired.
“…They’re asleep?”
he asked.
“Mm-hm.
They’re exhausted.
And… no fever.
But… why weren’t they wearing a protective suit…?”
Snow was dangerous.
Zephyr’s voice faltered.
“No idea,” Nothos said.
His tone low, but not angry.
“Still. They survived.
Reacted to us.
That’s enough reason to breathe easier.”
Zephyr let out a small relieved smile.
Nothos softened his expression,
careful not to dim his brother’s light.
“Nothos.
That kid was really white.”
“Yeah.
Pure white.”
“…Will they turn black?”
The room tightened—
just for a heartbeat.
Nothos kept his eyes on the fire.
Choosing his words.
“When a soul touched by snow becomes tainted,
it turns black.
But… that kid hasn’t.
Not yet.
Zephyr, your eyes don’t lie, do they?”
Zephyr blinked once.
Bright. Certain.
“Nope.
Still white! Super white!”
“Then it’s fine.
For now.”
His voice soothed,
but his gaze drifted somewhere far away.
In the Underground,
snow was poison.
Touch it—
and something in you changed.
Darkened.
Hungered.
The white suits the Royal Guard wore
were more than uniforms.
They were shields.
But Frisk had lain in the snow,
untouched by its corruption.
Still white.
Unexplained,
and unsettling.
A sharp sting crawled up Nothos’s neck.
He rubbed it lightly
and lifted his head to meet
his brother’s worried stare.
“…You’re going to report this?”
“That’s my job,”
he said with a small shrug,
half-joking, half-resigned.
Zephyr laughed a tiny laugh—
and then the fire trembled.
The air in the house
shifted.
A presence
not belonging to either of them
slid down from the second floor.
Nothos’s eyes narrowed,
sharp and alert.
Zephyr’s face brightened,
delighted.
One of the doors upstairs—
one of the four—
opened
slowly.
This is a continuation of my Underblanc story.
Deep in the white forest,
beyond the long suspension bridge,
a pale town slowly rose into view.
Snow-covered roofs.
Frozen streetlamps.
Silent houses standing in a row.
Warm lights flickered behind their windows,
yet no one walked the streets
except those clad head-to-toe in white suits.
This was Snowfall.
Once a town filled with children’s laughter.
Now a place sealed in snow,
held quiet by ice and time.
Grief passed through the gate,
walked by the wooden guard post
marked boldly with Royal Guard,
and headed toward the back alleys.
In his arms,
Frisk stirred faintly.
Consciousness rose
like cracking a thin sheet of ice.
A whisper escaped their lips.
“…Where… am I…?”
Grief did not answer.
He only slowed his steps.
A cloud of white breath
floated between them.
Frisk blinked up at the snow-bound town.
Warm windows.
Trees frozen like sculptures.
And at the end of the street,
a heavy black iron gate,
a frostbitten garden,
and a house slightly larger than the rest.
Grief’s home.
No—Notos’s house.
He pushed the gate open,
entered without a word,
and brushed the snow from his coat in the wide entryway.
Another door waited beyond.
He pushed it open.
The creaking sound cut the silence.
“I’m home.”
His voice was far gentler
than the one he used outside.
Warmth washed over the room.
The smell of singed wood drifted from the burning hearth.
From its glow,
a tall skeleton in a green sweater appeared,
footsteps soft and light.
“Welcome back, bro!”
His voice was warm,
soft as the firelight itself.
Zephyr —
he peeked into his brother Notos’s arms.
His eye-lights flickered green
as he met Frisk’s gaze.
“What’s this?!”
Notos raised an eyebrow
and sighed.
“Left outside, they’d have frozen to death.
Bad for my record if someone dies on my watch,
so I picked ’em up.”
“Oh!
Nice to meet you!
Nice to meet you, New Person!”
Zephyr beamed,
offering his gloved hand.
Frisk took it hesitantly,
and Zephyr’s smile only grew brighter.
He darted up the stairs,
returned with a blanket,
and carefully gathered Frisk from Notos’s arms.
Then he settled near the hearth,
letting the small, cold body rest on his long legs.
Frisk’s skin was still pale,
but they breathed softly,
eyes quietly watching Zephyr’s expression.
“It must’ve been so cold.
Warm up, okay?
I’ll stay with you until you feel safe.”
A gloved hand brushed through pale hair.
It paused—
then gently pulled away.
The fire crackled,
soft and steady.
Sleep tugged at Frisk once more.
A tiny yawn escaped.
Zephyr watched with tender eyes
and stroked their head
until their breathing steadied.
scribble of Notos absolutely destroying someone
Observation Log: Fragment 17-B — UNDO / REDO / SKIP
**📄【Observation Log: Fragment 17-B】
— Concerning UNDO / REDO / SKIP —**
Author: W.D.G.
> Time is not a line.
Three lights, never touching,
run parallel inside a single soul,
creaking as they strain against each other.
I called them Undo / Redo / Skip.
These names will not last.
One day they will fade,
leaving only scars in their place.
---
Ⅰ: UNDO
Not the power to go back,
but the courage to accept a failure made manifest.
> The deeper the regret,
the farther the rewind.
The stronger the fear,
the rougher the collapse.
Undo consumes light.
Every use drains the soul’s lumen,
bleaching the world around the child.
Soon,
they will no longer remember
what white looked like.
Snow will become only a shape.
---
Ⅱ: REDO
Not a power to re-choose the future,
but the act of touching
a future that could have been.
Those who rely on Redo
blur the boundary between now
and the unchosen.
> The chosen future
and the discarded one
begin to share the same texture.
I call this state
Spectral Threading.
Prolonged usage is dangerous.
Observer and observed
exchange places.
Blackening accelerates.
---
Ⅲ: SKIP
The most sacred,
and the most dreadful.
A passage through the future
without taking part in it,
seen from an observer’s height.
Skip is irreversible.
Use it once,
and the child will never return
to their first-person world.
> Those who have seen the shadow
cannot return to the untouched white.
Its cost is heavy.
The user remembers the imprint of the shadow
but forgets the details,
as if waking from a dream.
The scar remains.
---
Ⅳ: When the Three Lights Align
Undo observes the past.
Redo observes the branching.
Skip observes the future.
When all three manifest,
they cease to be abilities.
A new Observer is born.
> And the child will one day ask,
softly,
as if to the empty air:
“Who is watching?”
If someone answers,
that moment marks
the opening of a third world—
Underblanc.
---
Ⅴ: Final Note
If you’re reading this fragment,
take this warning with you:
> Observation is blessing and curse.
Where light grows too strong,
shadow follows.
Where shadow grows too deep,
light dies.
A soul carrying these three powers
will always be tested.
And yet—
there is hope.
If that child touches
kindness,
the three lights will not erode each other.
They will simply fold together,
quietly,
gently.
---
This record is incomplete.
There may be a continuation.
Or perhaps there never was.
--------------
A fragment from my AU Underblanc.
A world shaped by snow, observation, and irreversible choices.
From the Ruins to Snowdin, where the snow whispers and the shadows watch.
―――――――――――――――
📘 Chapter 2: A Pale Figure on the Snowfield
―――――――――――――――
Beyond the Ruins
lay a world so white
that it stole Frisk’s breath away.
Snow fell constantly from the gray sky—
tiny, stinging grains
that didn’t feel like ordinary snow.
They pricked the skin,
cold in a way that hurt,
as if the air itself carried a warning.
Frisk’s chest tightened.
Something about this snow
felt wrong.
Last year, when they had been trapped in that tiny room,
the flakes drifting past the skylight
had been a brighter, gentler white.
Even the wind that slipped through the cracks
had been sharp,
but never painful.
(…So this is…)
Underground snow.
Falling from the dark stone ceiling,
its presence felt eerie—
almost malicious.
Flowey’s words echoed in Frisk’s mind.
They tried to move forward,
but their knees buckled.
The long walk,
the cold,
the fear—
Frisk no longer knew which one
had taken their strength.
They simply
couldn’t move.
Snow gathered on their shoulders,
their hair,
their green sweater.
Relentless.
Frisk tried to stand again—
and collapsed.
A small figure sinking
into a world of white.
Their breath scattered in pale clouds.
Tears fell silently
into the snow.
No one was there.
No path.
No help.
So this is what it means to die,
Frisk thought.
Just like the insect that had stopped moving—
they, too, would stop,
and the snow would cover them.
The falling flakes
were beautiful enough
to be terrifying.
Then—
the wind ceased.
In the silence,
footsteps broke the stillness.
Crunch…
crunch…
Coming straight toward them.
A shadow approached.
In the endless snowfield,
it alone did not waver.
When Frisk lifted their face,
they saw a flash of white.
A coat, pure as new snow,
decorated with golden embroidery.
A loosely tied scarf.
A shoulder dusted with snow
the wearer didn’t bother to brush off.
Only the faint blue glow
of a cigarette ember
moved in the stillness.
And the face—
a skull,
pale and striking
against the winter world.
Irritated.
Sleepy.
And somehow perfectly composed.
A quiet blade
in the frozen wind.
Frisk gasped.
The skull knelt down
to peer into their face.
One eye glowed cyan.
The other, red.
Clear and sharp,
focused entirely on them.
“…A kid… out here?”
The voice was a sigh—
soft, bitter, strangely sweet.
He crushed the cigarette into the snow
and took Frisk’s arm.
His touch had no warmth.
He was bone, after all.
Yet somehow,
he didn’t feel cold.
“Can you stand?”
Frisk shook their head.
Their legs trembled too much.
He let out a short, tired breath.
“Don’t push yourself, short–stuff.”
The next moment,
Frisk was lifted easily
into his arms.
A smooth motion—
practiced, effortless.
One reason alone:
they had been moments
from disappearing into the snow.
“…Trying to die out here?”
he murmured.
Frisk’s chest tightened.
He looked down,
eyes catching the faint color
beneath their lowered lashes.
Something shifted
in his expression.
“Heh…”
A low sound,
as if he had discovered
a hidden gem.
He began walking,
still holding Frisk close,
along the endless white path.
“Don’t die on me.
It’d be a pain.”
Frisk trembled,
and whispered,
“…Thank you…”
He didn’t answer.
He heard it—
but he didn’t answer.
He simply walked on,
cutting through the wind,
carrying a small life
through the white world.
Frisk drifted into unconsciousness
in his arms.
Crunch.
Crunch.
The sound of boots
over half–melted, frozen snow.
When he passed a shabby wooden hut,
several figures in white suits emerged,
closing in on him,
sniffing the unconscious human
in his arms.
“What’s that?”
“Smells weird.”
“Grief, what’re you gonna do with that kid?”
They crowded closer.
The skull—Grief—
silenced them
with a single glance.
His cyan eye glowed faintly.
“Behave, mutts.
The Commander hasn’t given the order yet.”
His voice held no anger.
No heat.
Just a quiet, unmistakable authority
that made the white–suited figures shrink back
and clear the way.
Grief swept his coat behind him
and walked on,
as if listening to the direction of the wind.
Snow began to fall again,
softly burying his footprints
as he carried the child
into the endless white.