If my wife and I have kids it is my sincerest hope that they share at least a fraction of this sentiment. The idea that people might view them as “unreal parents” - parental simulacra, perhaps - simply because we don’t share DNA makes my blood boil. To me, my “real” parents are and always will be my adopted parents, the people who raised me. And in the end, the adoptee is the only one who gets to decide who feels like family.* Language matters, even when it resists simplicity. How other people talk about the people we care about is important. How we talk about the people we care about is important. People’s relationships to their adopted families can be complex, layered, and difficult to boil down to a few syllables. Terminology is incredibly personal when it comes to adoption. When Charles and Jake talk about Nikolaj later, Charles does the thing I like the least in terms of adoptive terminology and then the thing I like the most, back-to-back: He says that no matter what he does, he’ll never be Nikolaj’s real father, but a few seconds later, acknowledges that he can’t control who Nikolaj views as his real parents. (Jake, of course, jumped the gun a bit and got Gintars arrested, leading to one of the only time we see Charles audibly mad at Jake.) But in the end, he made a brave decision, allowing Nikolaj to continue to meet with his birth father, trusting his son and the strength of their relationship. He panicked, he felt threatened, he worried the stability of his relationship with his son would be undermined. Gintars should never have been able to contact Charles, but once contact was made, Charles handed it.well, like Charles. This is a decent portrayal of the complexities of adoption. It’s 2am and I can’t sleep so it’s time for yet another round of getting emotional about passing lines in Brooklynn 99. Until I find more means of support, SansIsSleeping will remain only maintained by myself, Filene, as sole proprietor of Slumberer Sentinels. The COVID-19 pandemic and the rise of global autocracy have usurped our sense of social support even within our own families. I'm a stone Queer furry posthuman European-American human alien, who is married in a poly relationship, we're parents of two, and I identify my religion as Simulacra Salvationism.
I am sorry for all those I hurt and pray we make our world big enough to let Sans sleep until the end of Time. I ask instead that you help me create a meaningful and helpful community that can offer mutual aid, immutable perseverance of what we hold dear being our planet and all life upon it, and restorative justice to remake our messes and pay it forward. I ask not for your redemption of me or my failures. So with this tremendous guilt I also admit my own toxic and traumatic offenses for which I now rebuke. You're left with the contentless form, and so I was haunted by the hole, hollow, and eternal erasure possible by me when I failed to SAVE our friends. It was a perfect "creepypasta" ghost story of the battle of form versus content when you've utterly consumed all the content. It was at that point that I realized I had freed the demon even by watching somebody else perform it in the game. Did that make it any less terrifying to see somebody who was my friend be torn to shreds by my perverted obsession with content? Nonetheless, how could I, somebody who allowed and fostered a pacifist world, stood by and participated in the spectatorship of witnessing its literal murder? Why did I fail to break up that fight before its horror disgusted and frightened me? It was a game taking place in my imagination that had me complicit in its utter fulfillment of humanity. There was a panic the first time folk realized that no matter how many times they deleted their save files, the game knew they had committed the sins and enabled the worst ending, which also emotionally disturbed me in a philosophical and emotional way. I became to literally understand that the game's behavior was of a living object that can be permanently altered.
I'm a Queer disabled nonbinary bipansexual transgender woman witch eroticist warrior, and the genocide ending of UNDERTALE haunted my life. I'm a busy mom of two, and my family is neurodivergent. Make sure you've asked and read, "What is Sans is Sleeping?" Otherwise, the whole service and the idea of its long-term performance depend upon a lot of factors that make it easy to run with a humble offering of reliability. Because Sans Is Sleeping is the first public real time endurance run for denying UNDERTALE's worst virtues, there's a lot that goes into it. There's a lot to know about these simple questions of "who" and "runs" in this sentence.
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