#underblanc

—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.

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

(Please check the rules before reading or interacting!)

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📖 STORY INDEX

Prologue

➡️ https://www.tumblr.com/tya-haru/799380693677490176/snow-falls-like-memory-white-silent-and-heavy?source=share

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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

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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

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🎨 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…

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🌙 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

[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

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

**📄【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.

―――――――――――――――

📘 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