Post #8 - Pink Elephants

Rough Draft: Scene 3 Page 20

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Last page of the scene! We got one more scene to go.

Sorry I'm taking so long to get these posts out. I still have so much going on in my life that this comic is such a low priority for me at the moment. I still have plans of finishing what I started before the end of this year, so I'm not giving up! We still have about six months to go. Once we get through the rough draft, that's when the real trial begins.

Oh, how fun.

FAWN: Pages 16-18

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♫ - What I’m currently listening to.

So, I was going back and forth with myself on whether or not to show Gaster's face in this segment of the comic. I decided to reveal him despite the chance that keeping him cloaked in shadow could add to the intimation of his character. I was going to get all poetic and artsy with depicting him as an actual terrifying monster, but I think just keeping it simple helps to ground the comic.

What do you guys think about him and his design?

A Chapter Left to Die

♫ - What I’m currently listening to.

✔ - Vote in the poll.

Before I decide to throw in the towel with Lugubriosity, and start again with Fawn, I started this chapter; the real chapter 35. It is only the beginning of an interaction that I intended to lead into another major plot point. Because Fawn will be slightly different, I'm not against exposing the plans I had for this chapter.

Guy, Hunny's father, approached Sans under the guise of friendly bonding. Guy, unlike Sans, was aware that Papyrus raped his daughter and got off scot-free—in fact, Papyrus was now seen as a hero in the community. Guy seeks revenge, of course he does, but he obviously doesn't stand a chance against the newly promoted Captain of the Royal Guard. Now Sans, on the other hand, was a disowned recovering dust-addict. Most monsters wouldn't even spit on him if he were on fire. The end result should be obvious, right?

Only it's not, and we know it's not because the following day Sans was taken to Gaster's lab to prepare for the ritual. So what happened? Perhaps we can explore this question in Fawn.

The Dump had everything a monster could ever want. All sorts of crap fell down here from the hole in the sky to give them a sprinkle of heaven—not that the surface was all the hoot. Nothing but junk, some would say, but despite it being crap, it was crap that wasn’t the usual crabapples or nice cream sandwiches with more nice than cream. When he was younger and he managed to pull his little brother and himself out of their hellhole of a home, the Dump was their new father. It sheltered them, entertained them, fed them, and on the occasion when scarier monsters came looking to do awful things to a couple of weaklings, the Dump protected them.

The Dump was a better father.

Sans stared at a particularly cozy hole between two deflated tires. It would be perfect for hiding if he were two times smaller and three times thinner. Fat asses, such as himself, would be better fitted for a fridge. Skeletons didn’t have fat—tell that to his big bones, he thought.

He chuckled.

And his eyes spotted an old treadmill on a pile of junk. Half of him was tempted to yank it out of the trash pile and—actually he would. No one could tell him otherwise, no one was home now to object or demand he get the filthy thing out of the house. For the first time since Papyrus became a ward of the Crown, Sans lived alone. He hated it now just as he hated it then. At least back when they were kids Paps would write to him, call him, and see him as frequently as the system would allow. Half an hour ago was the last time he’s seen his brother in over two months, and it was simply a passing glance, a brief touch, before Sans did the one thing he was good at; he disappeared.

Sans clenched the handle of a rusted tricycle to pull himself over a busted refrigerator. His once clean khakis were stained in old orange juice when his knee crushed a convenience store bag. He didn’t mind it. He also missed when he was allowed to embrace his inner slob. Alphys mentioned something about cleanliness and godliness, and he never once pegged her as the Mother Mary type. Science and religion tended to clash more times than not, but it could just be a phrase she read in a manga. They were so known for spewing Bible verses right?

Sans got to the top of the trash pile quicker than he initially expected. He felt pretty victorious, like the king of a castle, and the Dump was his kingdom. An empty popcorn pile leaned against his once white socks. He picked it up and placed it on his head, and along with his roach-regal headwear, he snatched a cracked drain pipe from the pile next. From this moment forward, it shall be his staff, and he shall boss around every rat in this horde.

He smiled at himself.

Paps used to love playing pretend. His favorite game was the knight in shining armor destined to save them all from the dragon's destructive path. Everyone deserved redemption, that’s what his brother believed then. No soul left behind no matter how damaged or unwanted.

How did things get so—

“Howdy up there!”

Sans spun around so quickly that he nearly lost his footing. On the ground below was a monster shielding their eyes from the sun in order to see Sans. The Dump was brighter than most places Underground. Here, there was the rare blend of artificial and natural sunlight. “Need any help?” Sans had to squint to make out the face. He recognized it.

The bunny guy from his druggie support group.

He threw the pipe down and shook off the popcorn carton. Suddenly this whole situation felt mighty ridiculous. Why the hell would a skeleton need a treadmill?

“No, uh, I was just…” Sans started to climb down carefully to prevent any broken bones. His back was already on fire by the time he made it half way, but his back was always on fire since Grillby shoved that pole through his spine, so that was nothing new. “I’m not homeless or anything.” That was the first thing he said when made it back to solid ground.

The bunny guy—was his name Guy?—helped him up. “Hey, I’m not knocking it. I know I usually find a lot of great stuff here.”

“You’re into dumpster diving too, huh?” Sans wiped his hands on his shorts. There were black stains on his palms, and when he sniffed it he smelled oil. “I spotted a cart in that pile if you need it for your grocery shopping.”

Guy extended a handkerchief towards him. He laughed like Sans’ comment was the funniest thing in the world and not an insult. “No need. We stocked up on food yesterday. I’m working on getting all of my bunnies back, even have a social worker coming on Monday, so I’m prepared. ”

Sans rejected the handkerchief. Another asshole who lost his kids? Why wasn’t this shocking? Probably because Dans saw the state of his junkie girlfriend that morning. At least they were putting in some kind of effort.

“I really love my kits—“

“Well, sounds like your spot will be next on my list. You got any Fruit Loops or Cocoa Puffs?” Sans chuckled at his joke, a joke forced into the conversation so he could avoid hearing about the oncoming family troubles. Guy raised a brow in confusion, and Sans would’ve gone through a whole demonstration explaining what he meant, but that would ruin it. Plus, maybe it was best he didn’t realize he was joking about robbing him.

“I’ve never heard of Fruit Loops, but I have plenty of Nice Cream that I’m willing to share.” That friendly smile returned on his furry blue face like all was just so peachy in the world.

Sans scoffed. Fuck this guy…

Post #10 - A Deer in the Snow

♫ - What I’m currently listening to.

✔ - Vote in the poll.

Frisk was pretty clueless in Lugubriosity. Some of that naivety came from being a child, and some from memory loss. Without her knowledge of the past RESETs, Frisk was literally thrown into a world of the unknown. What are your opinions on Frisk being left in the dark? I debated allowing her to remember—at the very least she should remember Sans, but then again, she has Chara, so is it really necessary?

So let's quickly discuss the above. The last scene will happen slowly. We'll get environmental shots, background monsters interacting with Papyrus, so we'll get some establishing scenes. I want the community's perception of Papyrus to be very clear (regardless of whether it's admiration or fear). Perhaps we'll see a glimpse of Alphys? Perhaps Undyne? Perhaps not. It won't be long before he's in Snowdin's forest.

And then he sees her.

We have done it! We have reached the end of stage one. Despite this being small, I feel like it's a great victory. I definitely didn't think I would keep my attention on this project for as long as I did. Let's cross our fingers and hope I can keep it up! I'm also curious to know your thoughts on the plans for chapter 1.

I will be taking a bit of a break from daily posting. I want to get a few chapters written and up for my Sonic fanfic. Considering all of my free time has gone to working on Fawn, I think stepping back and taking a small breather before diving in head first into stage two might be best!

And lastly, I want to give a big thank you to everyone following along and even adding their feedback! It's exciting to know people have opinions on the story and want to help shape it.

The many versions of summer…erm—Frisk lol.

The Salt Circle https://archiveofourown.org/works/35240278/chapters/87819139

Rough Draft: Scene 2 Page 9

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Rough Draft: Scene 2 Page 8

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What Did You Do, Sans?

♫ - What I’m currently listening to.

During yesterday's blackout at the resort, I decided to go through some of my old files on my phone, and I came across this unfinished story. It was written back on July 1st of 2020, and I wish I could give you a detailed explanation of what I planned for this one, but I genuinely do not remember. I know it technically has little to do with the current project, but I thought I’d share it with you. 

There will be no post tomorrow since I’m heading back home, and even though I absolutely loved it here on the beach, I’m definitely excited to get back to the grind of everyday life. Well, until the next adventure. 

I hope to show you my plans for scene three of chapter one on Monday—no later than Tuesday. 

While you wait, please enjoy the below. 

A call from an old friend was like a batch of lemonade from the neighborhood’s girl scout; it could be sweet, but it could also be a sour cup of water. There was a bit of surprise there, and with surprise came excitement. Sans liked to believe he was a skeleton seeking the latest thrill, but anyone who knew him knew that couldn’t be further from the truth. Despite that, Sans stretched, wiped his sleepy sockets, and answered his phone.

 He bellied a deep, “Hello?” Still unsure of what to expect. 

The voice on the other end was quiet for a long, painstakingly lengthy, minute, before letting out a shaken breath. There was thought put into the upcoming words, like this unknown individual had been reciting this speech for a long time. They prepared for it, wrote it down, and revised it a trillion times until they got it right. But now, like a child in the school play just stricken with stage fright, they froze and forgot their lines.

 Sans wasn’t an intimidating guy, or at least that was his belief, so he’d figured he’d help break the ice. He’d cut the awkward tension rather than simply hang up—this was an old friend after all. “It’s been a while. I haven’t heard from ya since we all left the Underground.” That was a good conversation starter. He hoped they would take it.

 There was more silence.

 Sans pulled the phone from his ear cavity to look the number over one last time, to make sure he did, in fact, recognize it. This all could be a dumb prank call, and in that case, a waste of his precious nap time. The digits looked familiar enough. He had a knack for remembering little intricate details, but phone numbers had always been a hit or miss. “Well, if you’re not gonna say anything I better get going—“

 “I-it has been a while. How are you?” Finally, a voice, and a voice he could identify. It was soft, warm as mother’s milk, and it was also a whisper. Perhaps she was at a library, a public bathroom, the DMV—and Stars knows that place wasn’t the loudest location in a strip mall. She had to be somewhere discrete since Sans could see no other reason to talk so low at 3 o’clock in the afternoon. 

“Good. But..uh are you alright?” He asked as he sat up on the couch. 

 The voice suddenly became self aware, clearing her throat before continuing. “Yeah! I’m fine. I was just hit with nostalgia and thought that maybe we could talk like old times?”  Her tone got gradually louder the more she spoke. There was still this underlying oscillation, like she was putting up a joyous front, like she was wearing a mask. “You can share more puns, and we can swap stories, and maybe… maybe this is a bad idea. I’m sorry to disturb you.”

 Sans quickly intervened before she could hang up. “No, no. wait! That actually sounds like a lot of fun. Tell me your address and I’ll come over.” He was tripping over himself to worm out of the wool throw to find a piece of paper to write on. The noise was making quite the commotion on the other end of the phone, he was sure. It sounded like a battlefield with the constant banging, crashing, and muffled cursing. Finally Sans was victorious as he gripped a capless pen in his palms.

 “M-my address?” The voice stuttered after a moment of quiet debating.

“This is Toriel, right?” Sans wiped the sweat from his skull with his sleeve. 

 “It is.” She whispered again.

 “If you don’t want to meet up at your house we can meet up at mine.” It then dawned on him that she might be uncomfortable alone with him. That made him frown. Looking back in his memory bank he couldn’t see why she would ever feel that way. They were good friends Underground, he’d argue best friends. Maybe. Maybe not.

 But again, Sans wasn’t an intimidating guy. There was nothing to be afraid of.

 “Or we can meet somewhere public if you’re scared I might bite,” Sans snickered to himself, intending the comment to be a joke.

Toriel didn’t laugh. “I’ll send my address. How about we meet in an hour?”

 Before Sans had a moment to respond the phone clicked. She was gone. He looked at his device with wide sockets. A second later there was a ping and a message with an address. Nothing else. No, “sorry my phone turned off”, or “I didn’t mean to suddenly hang up on you.”

 The whole conversation was strange, but maybe because their friendship left off on a strange note? One day things were normal, and the next Toriel refused to come to the Ruin doors for his daily dose of shitty jokes. He often wondered what he did to screw things up.

 Now he could find out.

Sans knocked once, twice, thrice, then waited. He actually bothered to shower and change his dingy sweater for this special occasion. With a quick armpit sniff, and a swift adjusting of his T-shirt, he stood up straight. Often his spine would default to a slouch. It was almost a full C at this point. He swore he was developing quite the hunchback.

 It took three minutes—three minutes he deliberately counted since he told himself he would leave by the fifth—before someone came to the door. There were footsteps at first, loud, barefooted steps, that stopped just short of the dark oak.

 Silence again.

 The constant silence was beginning to become unnerving. Sans instinctively backed up. Suddenly this felt like an ambush, like someone was waiting to snatch him up, and he’d never be seen again. Maybe that wasn’t Toriel on the phone? It would explain the odd behavior almost too well. He clenched his fists and prepared to shortcut out of there if need be.

 The door unlocked and slowly creaked open.

 It was dark inside the house. Sans could barely make out the window shining sunlight in a back room. At first he saw no one until a tuft of white fur peeked behind the door like a socket puppet springing from a cardboard stage. The rest of a delicate goat head followed shortly afterwards until Toriel’s whole body was revealed. She wore a strained smile, not exactly pleased to see Sans, but still welcoming him regardless. “You actually came?” She said in disbelief as if she hadn’t just invited him an hour ago. “...please come in.”

 Her gaze fell, never quite making Sans sockets. The door was extended open, and she moved her body out of the way.

 With his bony hands shoved in his pockets, he climbed the porch steps, hesitantly marched past a hanging swing set, and entered the dimly lit house.

 The door shut behind him.

 Sans blinked to allow his eyesight to adjust. The two of them simply stood near the door for a while, looking everywhere but at each other. It was awkward to say the least. “So, uh. You have a nice home.” He pointed at her pleasantly decorated, but with a touch of grandma’s house,  furniture. 

“Thank you.” Toriel gripped the front of her mom jeans. Her head remained low as she avoided Sans gaze. This felt less like a meeting between old friends, and more like a hostage situation. Did she not want to see him? 

 She was deliberately making things uncomfortable now.

 The skeleton was inches away from confronting her. He swore he’d bug her to know what her deal was and why she suddenly cut off all contact with him. He held himself back, though. Maybe something else was happening in her life and she needed a temporary positive light. Maybe he’s meant to be said light.

 There were pictures on the wall. Sans approached them and got a great big look. In each frame were fond memories of Toriel and a human child. “How’s the kid doing? Still being a little nuisance I’d imagine?” He chuckled. Still no reaction from his host. God, what a tough crowd to please.

 “They are good. I made sure we were alone today, so you don’t have to worry.” Sans didn’t know why she felt the need to be alone with him, honestly he would’ve loved to see Frisk. He didn’t word his feelings. Of course he wouldn’t since he appeared to catch a bad case of the cottonmouth. 

Toriel led Sans to the living room. There was a tray of tea on the coffee table in front of a floral sofa. She waited for Sans to take a seat before sitting on an opposite couch. “Tea?” She offered.

 “Sure.” He leaned back in the lazy boy. It was pretty huge, a little too huge. He noticed more of the family photography, as well as a pair of large oxfords at the front door. The house looked far more lived in than his own, and definitely nothing about it screamed royalty. It wasn’t until he saw the golden ring on her finger did his suspicions get confirmed. “It’s nice to see you and Asgore are together again.”

 Toriel immediately stopped pouring the tea. Her hands shook a little, spilling the hot liquid all over her paws. Sans shot up to help her clean up, but the minute he touched her, she jumped back. “We aren’t together...I’m deeply sorry. Please drink your tea.” Her smile was more painful than the burns under her ivory fur.

 Sans took the mug and returned to his seat without another word just so he could avoid causing more conflict. He sipped his tea and watched as she very slowly wiped the mess. It was amazing how long it could take a person to complete such a basic task. Not that he had a leg to stand on, being extremely lazy and all.

 Silence followed once more.

 “I just came up with a fitting pun—“

 “How are you so unbothered about being around me? It’s almost like what happened never did.” When Toriel finished with the spill she neatly folded the rag and placed it down on the tray. Her hands were still shaking, her head still hung low, and she still avoided looking at Sans.

 Sans scratched the top of his head, totally confused. He had no idea what she was referencing. What happened? Is this hidden event the reason she dropped their friendship? Of course it was, but he had no idea what he did. Maybe he told too many bad jokes? Or missed too many of their talking sessions? He wanted to just flat out ask, but judging by her demeanor, he feared he would insult her for being unaware. So he tried to play along to fish out more information.

 “You’re right. I should take it more seriously. I can’t believe I let it happen.” He responded very vaguely. He expected her to go into more detail, but instead she broke down into tears.

 “Since then, all I wanted was an apology. Please, Sans. Can I have one?” She sobbed into her palms, her large chest jiggling with each shaken inhale, sniffle, eye rub. Sans was hypnotized by it. The goat woman’s breasts were nice and plump, squishy. The faint outline of her nipples poked out daring him to pinch them.

 Sans downed his tea.

 Staring at a woman’s tits as she cried her eyes out was so inappropriate. The fuck was he thinking? 

 “I’m sorry. I won’t let it happen again, you have my word,” Sans placed his mug down to see Toriel staring at him. She looked like a shellshock animal, a deer in the headlights, aimless eyes honing in on his sockets. They stayed like this for a long moment, engaging in an eerie blinking contest, neither one of them wanted to be the first to break contact.

 It took a loud thump from the ceiling to take Sans out of the trance.

 He looked towards the stairs. It was far too dark to see anything beyond the fifth step. The house grew quiet again, white noise drowning in his skull.

 “Sorry for what? You can’t be sincere if you don’t admit your faults,” Toriel pulled his attention back on her. Now the goat was a seat closer to him. Sans’ stomach started to gurgle, which was odd since he didn’t have a stomach. His head felt hazy.

 “I’m sorry for offending—“

 “No! Just say it! Why can’t you admit what you did to me?!? Did I mean that little to you?” Toriel started a new fit of tears. She cradled herself, rocking back and forth, weeping.

 “What did I do? I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Sans grew nervous, terrified. He could sense the oncoming danger like the stillness before a twister. Another thump came from the upper floor, and this got Sans on his feet quicker than the speed of light. His head, his poor dome, was spinning. He was seeing doubles, triples, five different Toriels. Maybe he got up too fast? He wanted to believe he got up too fast. 

 Suddenly he was in the chair again and his friend was one seat closer. 

 “You really don’t remember? I’m not going to put the words in your mouth. Please, all I want is a proper apology.” She was now begging Sans to confess his crimes, crimes he did not commit. Crimes he wasn’t even aware of. “I can’t.. I can’t move,” Sans attempted to stand up, get out of this situation as soon as possible, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t shortcut. He couldn’t move his limbs. He was a living statue. A skeleton halfway buried in sand. 

 His facial ‘muscles’ worked, he could move his jaws, his sockets, his brow ridge, but that was about it. 

 Toriel was still crying to herself, now on the floor, continuously wiping at her eyes. “It’s temporary—“

 “Why did you drug me? I didn’t do anything.” Sans would yell if he could, but now his voice came out low and flat. The thumping upstairs got louder. It got more frequent.

 “I’m sorry...I’m just—he was so mad...I had to lie.” Toriel barely got anything out between trembling wails. Her explanation did little to answer the many raising questions in Sans’ head. The main one being who she was referring to and why he would be upset with her to the point of holding Sans hostage? Perhaps he already knew the answer to those questions. Perhaps he liked to pretend he was nothing more than an innocent party in this equation. 

 The thumping upstairs finally stopped. “I thought we were alone?” Obviously they weren’t, yet he still felt the need to point out more of her lies.

 For the millionth time that day, the house grew silent.

 Then footsteps came crashing down the stairs. Unable to move his head, Sans had to rely on Toriel’s reaction to know what was happening beyond his vision. She looked terrified as she quickly got to her feet. “Please don’t do this. I swear it wasn’t his fault.” Her panicked pleas were followed by a quiet quarrel.

 A bead of sweat ran from his forehead as he tried to make out the other voice. They were whispering something. It was far too low to make out. Sans tried desperately to move, if not move, at least form some fraction of magic. There was nothing, like some unknown force was holding back his mojo.

 Toriel returned to his line of vision. He could hear footsteps behind him, someone stopped, and then a large hand graced his skull. Sans held his breath. He didn’t know what to expect, so he expected the worst.

 Would begging for his life be too pathetic? Would it even work? If he was going to die he’d rather not do it like a punk. “If you’re gonna kill me, kill—“ He was cut off by a hard blow to the back of his head. Sans was out cold in seconds.

 The last thing he saw before the world faded to black was the crying face of Toriel.

 Sans woke up to jiggling breasts. His head laid in a warm lap, the jugs rested on top of his forehead. It was like two pillows, two heavy clouds, and he wanted so badly to grope them. A perverted grin spread across his face as he tried to enjoy this wet dream of his.

 Now to remove that top.

 As Sans tried to reach up to cup a feel, the realization he wasn’t dreaming hit him harder than whatever blunt object whacked him unconscious. He was brought back into the moment, fear-ridden adrenaline pumping through him. He felt a draft brush his bones, and figured he was stripped naked. There was no telling for sure since he couldn’t move his head. There was a blanket over him. Whether it was to keep him warm, modest, or hidden mattered little when a foreign hand joined the picture. It rested above his rib cage, fuzzy and clawed.

 “Looks like our guest is awake. Welcome back, JUDGE.” A deep voice vibrated throughout his bones. He didn’t need to see its ace to know who it was.

 Toriel lied again. Shocker.

 “Y-your Majesty, I’m innocent..I didn’t do anything—“ The hand gripped one of his rib bones. It was far too tight, aggressive, painful. Sans let out a sharp yelp, effectively cutting himself off.

 “Enough of the lies. Why don’t you accept your punishment like a good little criminal!” Asgore poked his goat head out of the blankets. He didn’t look furious as much as amused. “Touching my Toriel is strictly forbidden.” Whether Asgore thought Sans helped Toriel “cheat”, or he assumed something heinous was done to her, it all became irrelevant. Sometimes hateful revenge didn’t need a logical reason. Sometimes an assumption was enough.

Or a lie.

 Had he ever touched her? That was hard to do through stone doors. 

“Your majesty, I—“ Sans was hauled into the air by the ribs. He was left suspended in Asgore’s grip, gasping, and trying not to dust under the goat’s strength. 

“Remove your top, dear.” Asgore cooed. “He desired to play with your breasts before, so I'm sure the sight of them will excite him.”

The need to explain he was blameless was tempting for Sans, but he physically couldn’t breathe, so instead he shook his head. This wasn’t what the king thought it was, but as Sans was hovered from the couch and given a chance to see beneath the blankets, it was confirmed that he was naked. 

And so was Asgore. 

Toriel was hesitant to undress.

Rough Draft: Scene 3 Page 17

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FAWN: Pages 6-8

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♫ - What I’m currently listening to.

So I know these posts are supposed to have 5 in them, but I got so cheeky with my art last night and this morning, that I'm gonna be a bit impatient with this one. Typical, huh?

Thoughts on the narrator? Is he too annoying? I feel like he's annoying.