#songfell

[venelona]

Songfell Frisk my beloved

A birthday gift to @ikustioa / @songfell-ut 💖💖💖

I actually colored this differently - colored and shaded everything in gray and then overlayed colors. Was fun to try but I think I'll stick with just coloring XD

[stacyyyep]

It has been a while!! Here is old fanart for the wonderful @ikustioa ^^

this have been in my work in progress folder for months (maybe years)

got lazy rendering in the end 😔

[songfell-ut]

The High Priest

So you know how @iamjoekurose asked me about if Frisk met an opposite-gender version of herself? The idea high-key got its hooks in me and I procured a little something from the sublime @skyworkartzzz and this is male Frisk.

What's that, you say? Mr. Frisk isn't enough? Well too bad, I definitely didn't spend almost a week one-finger typing a la George RR Martin and this totally isn't a scene taking place the morning of All Souls Day in chapter 6. If it was, I'd clarify that this Frisk doesn't need help putting earrings on...it's a little more involved.

You also won't find a casual version of his outfit at the end of it beneath the cut. Nope nope.

Frisk half closed the bathroom door, eyes squeezed shut as he flicked on the witchlight. He slumped against the sink, groped around for the left handle, and ran the water at full blast, yawning mightily as the steam rose. First step, wet his face: grab a washcloth from the pile he knew was beside the tap, shake it out, and reach down to...jerk his hand back, his stupid brain catching up just in time to avoid being scalded. He forced his eyes open and adjusted the water temperature to a less damaging heat, muttering under his breath. He needed to hurry up and finish shaving, couldn't be late to tea with—

To his surprise, the door opened and Sans ducked inside, slumping onto the floor behind him. The skeleton gave him a little salute in the mirror and yawned wide enough to make Frisk wince a little. “Mornin', chief. Gettin’ dolled up already?”

Frisk didn’t dignify that with an answer—Sans had initially believed that “dolled up” applied to all humans dressing nicely, and when Frisk tried to explain that it mostly meant a woman putting on makeup, Sans insisted that all humans were the exact same, and Frisk was a human, and it was therefore a correct thing to say and he now said it almost every morning. Unfortunately, that happened to be how often he came in as Frisk was trying to shave, sitting far too close in the narrow space to pester him with smart remarks.

Well, Frisk had heard much, much worse, and on mornings when he wasn't tired and cranky, he generally didn't mind if Sans wanted to amuse himself observing human grooming rituals. At least he wasn't saying "Okay, I'll shave it for later" and making Frisk laugh too hard to get a blade near his face safely; he had had to order the giant skeleton out of the room and shut the door at least twice now.

Luckily, Sans remained silent as he watched this morning's routine unfold. Once Frisk had dunked the washcloth in the basin and scrubbed his face in a still-too-hot attempt to wake up, he tapped the vanity's middle drawer to remove the barrier. Therein lay a spotless straight razor, a large silver case of shaving soap, and an immaculate brush, kept locked up out of habit from the days at the monastery where everyone stole everyone else's bath items. The priest checked the soap and made a face at how thin it was getting, which amused Sans, judging by his smirk as their eyes met in the mirror; Frisk ignored him and wetted the brush down, swishing it across the soap till he worked up a good lather, and dabbed along the lines of his beard and mustache, tilting his head to slather it thickly beneath his jaw. Then he checked the mirror one more time to see if Sans thought that was funny, too - no, he just seemed mildly interested - and picked up the razor. It was time-consuming but not too difficult, just quick, careful movements to scrape the stuff off a few little strokes at a time—

Except Frisk was so tired and squinty that it wasn't long before he gave one little stroke too hard and flinched. “Dirt on a frigging—”

“Atta boy. Cuss away,” Sans said cheerfully, and gave another huge yawn, ignoring Frisk’s glare in the mirror. “Yer face is leakin’," he added. "Need some help?”

Frisk stared at the tiny trickle of blood that was indeed starting its way down his cheek, then sighed in defeat, wiping the blade on a hand towel. “If you could, please.” However smirky Sans was, there really was some benefit to having company with the power to heal stupid inju—

The razor was suddenly enveloped in red mist. "All righty, one sec." Frisk jumped as the blade tugged itself out of his grip and settled on the counter. “There we go. Now hol' still.” The priest watched Sans raise a bony finger and rest the very tip on Frisk's sleep-ruffled hair; a flick of green later, Frisk's cheek tingled as the cut vanished. "Done."

“Thank you,” Frisk said, scrubbing the blood away and steeling himself - ha, steel - to get back to work. Tired as he was, he couldn't walk out of here with only one side of his face done. But he’d probably be fine now that he was more awake, right? He wouldn’t be more nervous and likely to make another mistake in front of Sans, right? Ha ha, of course not. His hands weren't shaky at all from nerves or exhaustion...

Sans broke into his thoughts with a thoughtful sound. “Ya know what? Just lemme do it. Hold real still, okay?” He sat up, his finger curling very gently to rest over the crown of Frisk's head and keep him in place. “Seriously, don' even breathe wrong," he added, lifting the razor on another wisp of magic.

The human’s eyes widened, hands rising in protest as his brain caught up. "No, no, no thank you," he almost whispered, and cleared his throat, pulling enough of himself together to say louder, "Don't worry about that." He ducked out from beneath Sans' finger, smoothing his ruffled hair. "You're a bodyguard and a diplomat, not a valet."

"Dunno what that is. I'm guessin' somebody who shaves rich people?" Sans waggled the razor in midair. "Ya hired me to protect you from gettin' cut up, an' now you want me t'just sit here and watch ya play with sharp objects in your goddamn sleep? Dunno if I'm good enough ta heal you if ya take yer ear off."

That gave Frisk far too much pause before he could answer, "I'm not going to cut my ear off," with very patient dignity, trying to ignore a bit of lather dripping off his neck.

The boss monster snorted. Up came the shaving brush, but before Frisk could tell him to put it down or at least be careful with it, Sans' magic dipped it into the case almost daintily and worked up more soap. "Look, kiddo, lemme try it. If I fuck it up, I'll heal you an' I won't ever mention it again." The brush rose and drifted close enough to dab Frisk lightly on the neck, which tickled enough to make him crack a smile. "See?" Sans said gleefully. "We're good. Just hold still." And his forefinger settled again on the priest's rumpled head.

Frisk opened his mouth to order him out of the bathroom. But…after a long moment of panic warring with irritation and self-doubt, and hearty embarrassment...he swallowed, and, against his better judgment, said, “All right.” He allowed the razor to approach, and watched in the mirror as it drifted close enough for the lightest experimental scrp, scrp on his cheek. It paused, Sans meeting his eye for an inquiring stare; Frisk started to nod, and was stopped by a growl. He tried a smile instead, but that made his cheeks bunch up; he rolled his eyes instead, gesturing to keep going.

Sans chuckled. It seemed he had been watching the morning routine closer than Frisk thought, because there was no need to tell him to pull the skin taut for a closer shave: a speck of magic pressed just hard enough to help the blade pass over the stubble just so. A few swipes, a wipe on the towel, and Frisk let out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "I lied. You can breathe," Sans deadpanned, but when Frisk tried to smile, he got another reproving tap.

It was easier to mock-glare at Sans in the mirror than watch as the blade moved a little faster, with increasing surety, though the skeleton was intent on his work. Difficult as it was shaving oneself for the first time, never mind someone else, the razor made absolutely no nicks, no missed bits; Sans did pause frequently, forefinger tilting the priest’s head this way and that to check his work in the mirror— “Screw this,” the skeleton said presently. “Just turn around.”

With all the cool indifference of a boy letting his mother spit on her hand to fix his hair, Frisk shuffled around in a half circle and waited for more, only for Sans to chuckle again. “Don't give me that look, pal,” he said, sounding…exasperated, but something else, too.

That was it: the High Priest gave up any remaining dignity and sat down cross-legged on the bathroom floor. Sans shifted onto his side, jaw propped up on on hand, then took a sideways one-fingered hold on Frisk’s head and began scraping away again, much quicker and more confident than he ever was.

Well, dirt. The priest wanted desperately to say something, but his skin would be in peril if he moved his mouth; he opted to keep his eyes closed, allowing Sans to turn his head this way and that to get each side, gentle as always. He never touched him with any more force than necessary, Frisk thought, at least after that first encounter in his prison cell; even when the assassin was after him and Sans was physically maneuvering him to safety, he had been careful not to hurt him. Having much more direct proof of the monster's determination to protect him, trusting Sans with a literal blade at his neck? It was incredibly endearing.

Actually, given Frisk's thoughts of skeleton parts and pondering conjugal relations, it was better – worse? – than that. Definitely more confusing; all these years of struggling to muster interest in any of the women chasing him, of ignoring accusations of preferring men because if he did like them, he surely would have noticed it in all those years at the monastery—Frisk had started to think he was just...broken in that respect. Why in every circle of Hell was he feeling so strange about exposing his throat to a gigantic monster in total security that Sans wasn't going to hurt him? It wasn't fear that made his skin tingle like that, or at least not more than a tiny bit. It definitely felt nice, except that that wasn't the word for it.

When the process was finished, Sans gave a satisfied grunt. “Ha. See?” He nudged Frisk’s shoulder, and the High Priest shook himself, then obediently shuffled around in another half circle, then remembered to open his eyes and pull himself to his feet for an inspection in the mirror. “Beautiful,” the skeleton said triumphantly, setting the razor on the sink.

Wha— Frisk couldn’t help staring at him in the mirror, eyes wide, feeling and seeing his nicely shorn cheeks redden further. “Once again, you have the wrong word,” he said as coolly as possible, and tore his gaze away to busy himself rinsing and drying the brush and razor.

“Wha?” Sans blinked at him, sockets also going wide, and Frisk watched his cheekbones suddenly change color. “Not you, goddammit! Beautiful work,” snapped the boss monster. “As in, I told ya you needed help, an’ then I did it totally perfect. Not like I was gonna cut yer…” He gave a fake cough, evidently remembering that Frisk might not like to hear any hyperbole about having his throat cut.

“Yes, well done. Thank you,” Frisk said hastily, reaching for the towel and barely remembering to run cool water to splash his cheeks first. He needed something cool right now.

...

...

...

(His more everyday garb:)

[ikustioa]

How would Songfell Frisk react to meeting an opposite gender version of herself?

…I absolutely love this question

If she ever did, it would be through some shenanigans with Gaster—he allows her to look in a particularly magicked mirror, perhaps, or leaves a little thread of subspace hanging, and Frisk encounters her other self in another dream or liminal space.

Assuming it was a male Frisk who had been through her exact life and circumstances, he would be a lot like her, both inside and out. Lean, on the short side, nice features with a well-kept little beard, a lovely baritone voice…and a boss monster hanging around who absolutely adores him. Even if they couldn’t reproduce, the love is there simply because they each are who they are 🫡

Both Frisks would be fascinated by what they figure is just a weird dream or magical hallucination, and their first impression is that their other self turned out much more attractive than they did. (Sigh.) They’d be too polite to ask really personal questions about what it’s physically like to be each other, but once they’re more comfortable from punning back and forth, she tells him that she’s pregnant, or a mother…

And after a long moment, he congratulates her, but he’s so wistful that she feels guilty. They wish each other well, and the next morning, she decides not to tell Sans. It was fun, and weird, and a little sad, but it was just a dream, or a hallucination, or whatever. Sans can tell something’s on her mind, but she’s so busy that she soon forgets it entirely.

Gaster gets his comeuppance for meddling: she never tells him exactly what or who she saw or what was said. He almost dies of curiosity, then concludes that it serves him right.

[hanseokkristarleon]

songfell Frisk-au from @ikustioa hope she love it

[busy-dadzawa-fish]

My attempts on Songfell Frisk (maybe I should have darkened the scene but oh well)

Songfell au is by @ikustioa , this is supposedly Frisk in a purple dress ( I can't remember what the eye colour was so I made it red. You know, like Determination.)

Made in Life Makeover

[unma]

Falling For Your Song, Falling For You Again

Rating: M (Non-Sexual Intimacy) Ships: Frisk/Sans AU: Songfell (by @songfell-ut) Content Warnings: None Word Count: 1,853

Summary: When things get hectic, sometimes all you could ever wish for is a break. Isn't it even better to spend that break with the one you love?

This fanfic of a fanfic is set after Chapter 29 of Songfell, the latest chapter (as of the posting of this fic)

Hey @ikustioa, I'm your Secret Santa this year! I hope you enjoy this! @secretsantafrans

Writing this was pretty fun, but a little difficult because I wanted to do this AU justice. I tend to write fics of a significantly different tone from Songfell, so I was a little worried I wouldn't write something that fit (not to mention I wanted to remain consistent with Songfell's world) so I reread it while writing this, and that only made me appreciate the AU more. Some of y'all might have noticed me mentioning I was rereading some fics recently, and this is why.

Songfell is really good, so if anyone is seeing this and wondering what it's about, give it a read! It's great and I really do love it!

[indydrawsart]

Songfell Sans, created for Songfell Part 9.

[ikustioa]

Normalize touching blasters before marriage

what did you think they were doing (•ิ_•ิ)

[aus-from-undertale]

Frisk centric aus!

(or characters based on them)

UT mob - cute smol human Frisk is a puppy kept by papyrus and sans

Understeam- Frisk is an android

Outertale- Frisk is an astronaut

Underfell- Frisk is having a bad time

Soulfell- Frisk is still having a bad time

Underfell- yep, still bad time

Echotale- Frisk is a grown up in a twisted underground

Zombietale- Frisk is a zombie

Undersail- Frisk is a swimmer

Fantasytale- Frisk is a necromancer

Dancetale- Frisk is a Ballet dancer

Underphase- Frisk is an Otaku

UT storyshift- Frisk is the same, but not the underground

Predatortale- Frisk is in danger

Core!Frisk- Frisk fell into the core and now has ungodly powers

Undernovela- Frisk is spanish

Underkeep- Frisk is slaying 💅💅

Joseontake- Frisk is korean

Dogs of future past- Frisk won't give up on gaster

Archertale- Frisk is an archer

Fairytale- Frisk is red hiding hood

Underlust- Frisk is ace

Mergetale- Frisk and Sans are one

Cattale- Frisk is a cat caretaker

Undernovela- Frisk is running for their life in a monstrous underground

Café Frisk- Frisk is a chef!

Hacker! Frisk - Frisk is a naughty hacker

Pillowtale- Frisk is a plushie

Inverted fate- FRISK IS THE SAME BUT THE WHOLE UNDERGROUND IS DIFFERENT! LOVE THIS AU, LOVE THEM READ IT READ IT READ IT

Undertop - Frisk is a mimic!

Ut- circus- Still a mimic

Stand in- Frans au basically

Angeltale- Frisk dosent have wings as all the other monsters :(

Endertale- Frisk just wants to chill, so come on Chara! >:0

Wondertale- Frisk is Alice in wonderland!

Dreamtale- Frisk is in a coma

Systematic restore-Frisk is a bit early

Oceantale- Frisk is a swimmer

Overtale- Frisk is a monster

DeltaExperiment- Frisk is in Deltarune

Trainertale- Frisk is a pokemon trainer

Poketale- Frisk is a pokemon

Slumbertale - Frisk is in a Dream

Feraltale- Frisk is trying to survive Feral monsters

Feral!Frisk- Frisk is Feral

Detale- Frisk is a bored hacker

Quantumtale- Frisk turned back time!

Charatale- Frisk is in a Chara world

Revolutiontale- Frisk meets the monsters on the surface

Datatale- Frisk has a brother called Data

Chromatale- Frisk is a grown up and discovers a secret

Exiletale- Frisk gains a new power after a fight

Kingdom of Crystal Sky- Frisk is a runaway princess

Moontale- Frisk REALLY wants to kill sans

Undergate- Frisk discovers a mysterious key

Soulwarstale- Frisk is on the land of the dead

Ragnartale- Frisk is a princess tangled with a romance triangle

Songfell- Frisk is a priestess

Lockfell- Frisk is a prisioner

Undercrystal - Frisk makes a wish

Grimmstale- Frisk's story is being told with YOUR help

Heavenfell- Frisk ends up in a violent underground

Reversed context- Frisk is a bitch

Over the void- Frisk wants to uncover secrets

Turmoitale- Frisk is in a turmoil

Tartarosstale- Frisk is being judged

Namelesstale- Frisk can't win against undyne!

Eepytale- Frisk is happy

Summontale- Frisk has to trap de monsters

Spitetale- Frisk is good. Out of spite

Grouptale- Frisk and all the other 6 souls are together

Woundtale- Frisk won't forget sans

[meatballsu]

Do you know any good fanfic in frans category that you would like to share ? :)

I haven't had quite patience to read fanfics recently. In my memory I enjoyed Songfell and Sooner or Later You‘re Gonna be Mine a lot.

Serena Walken(Msmelanie) is one of my favorite authors, ReckoningTale is a master piece to me.

Thebananahasspoken is another great writer and Franstober is a collection with many different short stories.

Dancing a Duet Alone is my favourite Dancetale fic.

If you can handel some extremely gore I would definitely recommend Pneuma Rot. It‘s not a pure-ship fiction and mostly focuses on Frisk’s struggle in the underworld which made me pity her a lot. Creep is another but unfinished, and Sans is very very sick in it (made me uncomfortable many times).

Many Fransweek works are also wonderful. Sadly I don't have a habit of bookmarking works so these are pretty all I could remember.

[venelona]

Birthday gift for @ikustioa that I procrastinated on posting here

Go read Songfell (@songfell-ut) if you haven't yet what are you doing

Also bonus sketch that i scrapped

happy boy

[undertale-museum]

Frisk / Human

Comic - Honorable Mentions

[Last updated: 30May24]

——————————————————-

a. Love like You [lyric comic] by @/thepacifrisk

b. Frans Week - Swapfell by @/ideayaengine

c. Underlust by @nsfwshamecave

d. Witch AU by venelona

e. Witchfell/Apprentice AU/Songfell by lostmypotatoes

f. Frans Comic Masterlist by Venelona

Auto: this is an outdated list. Venelona has an updated one pinned I believe.

.

Fanfiction - HMs

b. To Galaxy’s End by Banana Has Spoken

Frans, Treasure Planet

.

h. Slice of Life Skele Comic by Mimi_the_artist_

Human OC, Red, Blue, Stretch, Horror

2021 - 2024, 215 pages

i. Something New - by rahafwabas

j. [an] Asylumtale comic by qbanalras

[songfell-ut]

Happy birthday, Vene

This was drawn by @venelona on Discord and I cleverly tricked her into letting me put this here so I can do a very small gift and rewrite the fork scene if Frisk was a dude. I realize this is not reassuring to those of you who are tired of my self-AU, but I super swear I am editing the final draft of Chapter 34 in the other tab right now.

Also, it's not the entirety of their first meeting in Frisk's room, just skipping around to the relevant bits, explaining how there's still a dramatic reveal if this Frisk isn't wearing a veil because you can pry that dramatic reveal out of my cold dead hands.

Over a day later, the High Priest shut the outer door to his chambers, whistling to himself. He set a covered tray on the table, sat down at the mirror, and checked that his eyes were clear, or at least not too red. Then he picked up his coronet and settled it over his head. He stared at his reflection for a full minute, as if waiting for the young man in the mirror to get up first; with a sigh, he finally pushed himself to his feet.

Just outside his bedroom, he let the whistle peter out into a thread of magic that ran ahead to check the loose barriers he'd set around the bed. Two echoes came back, one very close by. "Good morning. Please step back," he said into the slight crack in the door.

A pause, then a soft creak of floorboards, unnervingly quiet for something – someone – his size. "Further, please," he ordered.

The skeleton made a noise he couldn't interpret. Floorboards creaked again, and the bedframe groaned under his weight. The priest turned the doorknob, picked up the tray, and elbowed the door open.

Sans was sitting near the edge of the bed, legs crossed, elbows on his knees. He had left the nearly transparent inner bedcurtains closed, but opened the windows, and even just his outline through the thin curtain looked menacing; the light shone through his filthy shirt, shadowing the spaces between his ribs, and the fire in his sockets fully illuminated his features. The young man made himself place the tray on a side table and pull up a chair with perfect unconcern, as if he couldn't feel him staring his down. "I see you're all healed. You must have slept well," he said coolly. "I know I did."

The skeleton glanced behind him at the rumpled sheets. "Uh..."

"You were alone the whole time," the priest hastened to assure him. "There's a very comfortable couch in my office that I've been using."

skip

That didn't feel quite right, but without more evidence, the priest decided to leave it for now. Instead, he pulled the side table closer and removed the tray's cover.

Sans twitched at the sight of steaming hotcakes, piles of cheese-sprinkled eggs, tomatoes, and crisp-crusted sausage links. The priest cut a tomato slice into quarters with his fork, speared one and popped it into his mouth; rather than making Sans share the napkin, he dabbed his lips in passing with the very edge of one sleeve.

This courtesy was lost on the skeleton. "Need somethin’ ta wipe with?" he inquired, and plucked at the curtain. “How ‘bout this?”

The young man ignored him and made a show of chewing, swallowing, and lifting another tomato to his mouth. Sans didn't have a stomach, but if he had, the priest probably would have heard it growling; the monster was shifting around and scowling, clearly agitated. So the human quickened his pace, taking a huge bite of egg, a chunk of hotcake, and a sausage in turn, eating as fast as he could.

Sans' eyes had lit to orange again, and the human was glad to put the fork down. "There. You see? It isn't poisoned," he said briskly. he stood and pushed the side table over to the bed. "Help yourself."

The orange faded. Sans’ skull tilted this way and that, like a wary but curious animal. "What?"

"I had breakfast over an hour ago. This is for you," the priest explained.

Sans glanced at the tray, then back to him. The human waited for a full ten seconds, almost holding his breath, before he was rewarded with a rude noise. "Can I have another fork? Don't want your germs," he said.

skip

The skeleton's face was impossible to see clearly. Now that it was quiet, it reminded the young man too much of when he'd grabbed him in the cell. His instincts screamed at him to pull his hand back and throw a barrier between them, but determination surged as he remembered how he'd already faced down the boss monster’s attempts to kill him. He was going to forge a lasting bond between their worlds and hand over a kitchen utensil like a normal person or die trying.

Slowly, Sans reached down through the gap in the curtains, and the human fought to keep from panicking as the massive hand approached. The skeleton paused...and plucked the fork from his grip with delicate courtesy, holding it up between them. "Hm. Too small. Still dirty." He tossed it to the floor.

The High Priest stared at the fork. He stared at him. He retrieved the fork, stood up, dropped it into the pitcher, and plunged his hand in after it. Out came the utensil; the young man strode over and shoved the bedcurtain aside enough to gather up a fistful of it as a makeshift towel. This bed was centuries old and the curtains worth as much as a commoner’s entire wardrobe, but they belonged to the High Priest, which meant they were his. And as High Priest, if he wanted to use his antique linen to dry a mostly-clean fork in order to please a giant monster who was intimidating him and somehow also being a complete snot, then who was going to stop him? No one, that was exactly who.

With a righteous huff, he turned back around, still polishing the bedamned fork. "Here," he said, fully facing Sans for the first time. "I hope this is satisfactory."

Sans looked at him. He didn't say anything.

The world always seemed a little too bright with the bedcurtains open, and the light from the window was in his eyes. The priest rubbed them on his sleeve, and scratched under his jaw where the curtain had brushed it. "Well?" he demanded.

Sans didn't take it. He was leaning forward, hand dangling as if he'd started to reach for it and somehow forgotten what he was doing. His sockets were blank, an odd color washing over his bony face. "Uh," he said. "It's."

The priest didn't know that that could be a complete sentence. It probably wasn't, he thought in growing irritation. "Sans," he said carefully, "are you going to use this, or would you like to eat with your hands?"

The skeleton shook himself and turned away. "Never mind. 'm not hungry," he grumbled.

The human bit back the urge to call him a colorful name or two. "Sans, this is not a joke. There is nothing wrong with your food, except that it's cold. Eat it. Please."

"I will, I will." Sans hunched his shoulders. "Just gimme a couple minutes."

He did not have the time or patience for this. "Sans. Look at this." The monster glanced up, and in one motion, the human stabbed a sausage and another chunk of hotcake. "Say 'ahhh,'" he ordered, and when Sans blankly repeated, "Ahh?" he thrust the fork into Sans’ mouth.

skip

Sans was not wondering the same thing. He was thinking how he'd woken up not knowing where he was and had had to figure out that he wasn't dreaming about the battle in his cell: a human witch really had trapped him and knocked him out with some kind of weird brain-magic. Once he got over the fact that he couldn't take any shortcuts and wouldn't fit through the windows, though, he had to admit things could be worse; the bed really was the most comfortable thing in the world.

Talking with the witch was not comfortable. It was bad enough when he was asking Sans questions about his capture and not breaking out of prison, but then he had to give him food and say things that made sense, and things that made even more sense, and then...

Sans did not like anything about humans, especially their looks. He never understood how they could be attracted to each other long enough to reproduce; they seemed far shallower than monsters, for whom the inside really did count more than the outside, except maybe when it came to reproduction. But that was a rare occasion for them, and they thought humans' obsession with it was shallow and weird at best. Sans in particular had no interest in the human form unless he was trying to destroy it: male or female, they were all just skeletons with varying degrees of hair, meat and fluids in the way.

And then this infuriating human had turned around in the sunlight, curtain and stupid fork in hand, and Sans suddenly couldn't breathe. The overall picture was what made him feel a huge mess of feelings he didn't like or understand, but he could see every detail perfectly: lips pursed in annoyance, the sun reflecting off that black circlet thing, chestnut hair shining and reddish-brown eyes half closed against the light…even the seemingly dull, coarse hair on his face showed wavy patterns picked out in golden threads.

And then the human had tipped his head and shown a glimpse of his throat, and now Sans couldn't think things right. All he could try to do was turn away, then eat it all in order to make him go away, and only his punning instinct had saved Sans from saying or doing anything else stupid.

Why did Frisk have to like puns, too?

This was bad. It had gotten very complicated, very fast. He had to get out of here. The human had demonstrated some emotion behind his priest-y facade; maybe Sans could appeal to it, persuade him to pick some other monster and not risk boning things up? Priests weren’t supposed to bone, right? Ha, ha, etc.

…Granted, this one could probably manage it, given how powerful he was, not to mention easy on the eye sockets, but there was no telling if he was—

"...going to do it," he was saying, wiping away tears of laughter. "I'm not all-powerful, but I have enough influence at court and with the Church to guarantee your safety." Frisk looked up at him, bright-eyed, and his SOUL did another loop-de-loop. "So, Sans. Will you stay?"

He didn't want to, it was a bad idea, and he said, "No," in his mind.

Frisk smiled, tilting his head.

"Yeah," Sans said out loud.

[ikustioa]

His old clothes look waaaay better on her

.

Socks

Thank you @venelona 🖤

[e-icreator23]

Songfell Liu: good *shows belly* I'm pregnant

*Songfell Vaggie gives Songfell Mi a hot chocolate*

*he looks and is surprised. he drinks it*

SongfellMi: why is the big man in the cell?