#I’m going to be crying about elephant snails forever now

[plaguedocboi]

Saw your aquarium posts and wondered if you happen to know what these critters are?

Found them a couple years ago in a Rockpool on the east coast of Australia.

I’m assuming sea slugs 1 and 3 I THINK might be sea hares of some sort? And I think the 4th one is a shield slug? It has a hard flat shell like structure on its back. No clue though what the second one that’s tiny and black with a white ‘face’ is though.

—————————————

1 and 3 are definitely sea hares but I had no idea about the other two so I did some research. 4 is (I think) something called an elephant snail, which I didn’t even know existed before now and I am now obsessed with them.

I have no idea what the second one is and I recommend posting it on INaturalist so someone more familiar with Australian sea beasts can identify it. Lovely lads 10/10 I love them

[unpack-my-heart]

Above, Beneath, Betwixt, Between - Chapter Seven

@constantreaderfool @xandertheundead @violetreddie @tinyarmedtrex @mrs-vh @eds-trashmouth @annoyingtozier @burymestanding

Read on AO3 HERE

No sooner than Eddie had appeared in the doorway, he collapsed, body folding in on itself messily, a crumpled piece of paper abandoned on the deck.  Stan and Mike sprang into action immediately, loyal attendants to their fallen prize, scrambling over each other to get to Eddie first.

Richie didn’t move.

He watched them haul Eddie to his feet, he watched them tentatively let go of Eddie’s arm, encourage him to take a small step forward, and watched Eddie fall onto the deck once more, flailing arms and buckled knees. He watched Eddie’s face twist, shifting through distress, anger, frustration, a brief visit to joy before swinging straight back to distress and the cycle began again. They seem to have forgotten him, standing slack jawed on the grass below, as they haul Eddie back to his feet and usher him back inside, sheet still wrapped tightly around his torso.

Dazed and confused, Richie followed them inside, dragging his feet slightly, reluctant to break the spell, anxious that this had all been a fever dream, the imaginings of a sleep-drunk brain, and that he’ll walk into the house only to wake up in his frigid bedroom, the ghostly spectre he’d grown so fond of drifting on the moors. Spectral. Not flesh but air and heat and … longing.

But, when he walks inside the house, Eddie’s there, an image in soft pink skin and flushed cheeks, and Richie feels sick. His stomach churns, because it’s different now. Their dynamic, the Eddie he’d grown used to over these past sprawling months, has gone. He’s disappeared, a relic of the past. Now, sitting on his new couch, protective plastic sheeting crackling underneath him, is an Eddie reborn. A phoenix rising from the ashes of what once was. Ten hours ago, Eddie would have walked straight through that couch, drifted through it like smoke, leaving no trail, no indication he had ever passed through. Now, he’s sat there, with Stan holding his wrist, checking his pulse.

His pulse.

Richie wondered idly whether he’d notice the difference, whether he’d be able to hear the blood rushing through Eddie’s veins, whether he’d be able to hear each thump of his newly beating heart as screamed out, with voice anew, I am I am I am.

It’s different now. Eddie’s talking to Stan, voice shaky and unstable, answering Stan’s torrent of questions with his newly vibrating vocal chords and holy shit that’s Eddie’s voice. His real voice. His voice as it should have been, how it once was. It’s deeper than it was before, now it doesn’t melt and bleed into the air, syllables lost to the breeze, or whole words that floated skywards so that only the birds could hear.

“So, to address the elephant in the room, or … maybe the elephant that isn’t in the room, your arm,” Stan said.

The space where Eddie’s arm once was, where it should be, is empty. The socket is smooth, unblemished flesh, as if his body had never had any intention of sprouting another appendage. There is no indication that Eddie had ever had another arm, no indication that the recorporealisation process had gone wrong, and energy that should have manifested his left arm had been sucked away, absorbed into the reaction and lost forever.  Eddie looked vaguely concerned, and kept scratching absently at the armless shoulder-socket, as if trying to slough the skin away and allow the bone to extend and blossom like the trunk of a tree.

“Eds?” Richie said, voice tundra cold against the warm air, and it almost makes him jump.

“Richie?” Eddie replies, and it’s happy, so happy that Richie starts crying on the spot. Stupid fat tears fight their way out of his left eye and chase each other down his cheek, skating on the ice of his skin before pirouetting off his chin.

“Are ye crying, soft lad?” Mike asks, voice honey smooth, and it just makes Richie cry more.

Several minutes lost to Richie’s sobs later, and he’s crouched in front of Eddie, who’s still sat on the couch.

“How do you feel, Eds?”

“Honestly? Rather weird. My arm, my … my no arm itches and I can’t scratch it properly and it’s driving me insane”

“Oh, that’ll be energy residue. There will be some left over energy hanging around that area for a few days, maybe a few weeks, a few months at a push and definitely not more than a year. It’ll stop eventually,” Stan supplied over his shoulder, already knee-deep in plates of metal and large segments of complicated looking circuit board.

“Very reassuring,” Eddie replied sardonically, and they continued to bicker back-and-forth, playful stuff with no real bite, but Richie wasn’t listening.

From where he’s crouched, Richie realises with a jolt of excitement tinged with fear that he could reach out and touch Eddie. He could place his hand on Eddie’s knee, and it wouldn’t fall straight through to the couch. If only he were brave enough, he could reach out and feel Eddie’s skin, soft and warm and alive, under his fingertips for the first time. For the first time, he could pull Eddie to his chest and cradle him, he could poke him in the stomach when he’s being fussy, or he could grab his hand and close his eyes and breathe when they’re lying outside on the grass, listening to the grasshoppers.

“Rich? Are you listening?”

“Huh, wha’?”

Eddie pulls Richie out of his introspection with a dopy grin, all lopsided and too many teeth.

“Stan was asking where I was going to live now, y’know … I can live, and I was wondering whether you’d mind, and  if you do mind it’s certainly no problem, Mike’s agreed that --”

“Eddie”

“Yes, Rich?”

“If you leave me I’ll never forgive you”

– X –

The morning after, Eddie still can’t walk. Richie quickly realises that he must take it upon himself to teach Eddie to walk again. Like a mother hen teaching her chick to run, Richie stands at one end of the room and yells encouragement to Eddie, who shuffles, snail slow, towards him. More than once, Eddie trips over his own feet, or slips on a rogue corner of the carpet, and falls to the floor, comically slow, arms flailing, mouth caught in a surprised ‘O’. Richie always catches him, sweeping him up in his arms.

Sooner than Richie could have expected, Eddie manages it. He walks, unaided, with gritted teeth and a knotted brow, from one end of the living room to the other. He’s almost panting by the time he reaches Richie, but he’s done it. Richie hoots with joy, and wraps his arms around Eddie’s waist and hoists him up into the air, a trophy. Eddie squeals, and smacks at Richie with his one-arm but he’s grinning, a grin so wide Richie’s sure it’s going to split his face in two. Eddie still looks unstable, bambi legs wobbling slightly with each step, but he’s mobile. He stumbles around the small house, running his fingertips over every surface, touch-starved and greedy, he picks up seemingly random objects and holds them to his nose, smelling them, he eats more than his fair share of dinner every evening, and Richie’s punched in the stomach when he realises that what he feels for Eddie isn’t platonic. It isn’t anywhere close to platonic, having skated past that junction several hundred miles ago, and Richie watches Eddie as he walks purposefully into the kitchen, mug in hand, babbling something about learning to swim, and Richie knows it’s not platonic, it’s not anywhere close, because it’s love.

– X –

A loud crash comes from the kitchen, and Richie sits up in bed with a start. He hasn’t heard that kind of crash since Eddie became physical over a week ago. Eddie can walk almost normally now, occasionally tripping over but mostly he strides with determination. Sleep-drunk, Richie charges down the stairs two at a time, desperate to lay eyes on Eddie, the physical Eddie, to dispel any fears that the last week had been nothing but a cruel trick played on an impressionable mind. Luckily, when Richie skids into the kitchen, Eddie’s standing there, a vision in tartan pyjamas, staring at a mess of ceramic shards and honey-coloured liquid on the floor.

“What the fuck happened, butter-fingers?” Richie asked, grabbing the dustpan and brush out of the cupboard to sweep up the shards of mug.

“I -- you’ll laugh at me, I don’t want to tell you”

“Eds, I promise I would never laugh at you, ever never ever”

“Do you promise?”

“I promise”

“I … I tried to walk through the wall”

Richie released a bark of laughter, before clamping his hand over his mouth.

“Sorry! Sorry, I couldn’t help it. You tried to walk through the wall?”

Eddie nodded his head, morosely.

“I guess I was tired, I’m – I’m still not used to feeling tired, you know? It makes me feel rather odd. I guess I forgot I was … real”

Eddie looks so desperately sad that all the hilarious thoughts of Eddie walking full pelt at the wall evaporate from Richie’s mind.

“Oh, Eds. Oh sweetheart, I’m sorry”

The pet name falls out of Richie’s mouth before he can stop it and Eddie flinches.

“Shit, Eddie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, I just –”

“Rupert used to call me sweetheart,” Eddie replies in a reverent whisper and all the air gets punched out of Richie’s lungs. “I haven’t thought of Rupert for … I don’t know when I last thought of him”

“It’s okay to move on, you know?”

“Is it? Is it okay to move on when he never can?”

“Don’t you think he’d want you to be happy? To remember the fun you two had together, to remember and cherish your love but … to grieve it, and grieve him and …”

Richie’s words fail him, and he flails his arms, a useless attempt at expressing himself non-verbally. Eddie seems to be able to read him, though, as he hums thoughtfully. The mess on the floor glistens in the moonlight.

“I suppose he wouldn’t want me to be sad forever”

Neither of them speak, then. They clean up the mess, and Richie takes the shards of ceramic out to the outside bin, wrapped in a piece of kitchen roll. Eddie’s already upstairs when he comes back in, and Richie can hear the tap running, the sound of someone spitting toothpaste into the bowl of the sink, and then the door opens and it’s Eddie, Eddie who’s stood there in his stupid tartan pyjamas, and his old man slippers and his tousled hair and his tired eyes and he’s got toothpaste smeared on his chin and Richie can’t help it. He pulls a surprised and initially resistant Eddie into an embrace. Eddie’s stiff at first, but soon Richie can feel his muscles loosen and he becomes jellied and pliant in Richie’s grasp. They stand in the darkness of the upstairs hallway, Eddie’s face buried in Richie’s neck, with one Richie’s hands carding through Eddie’s hair, the other wrapped loosely around his shoulders.

“Thank you,” Eddie whispers, and it’s small, a mouse that crawls from Eddie’s mouth and squeaks in Richie’s ear.

“Whatcha thanking me for, Eddie Spaghetti?”

“For … for helping me. For being kind. I haven’t known much kindness in my life, or in my death I suppose,” Eddie laughs at himself, an ugly sort of hiccup snort that makes Richie bark out a surprised laugh, too, and then they’re laughing at themselves, and each other, but they’re still hugging, anchored to each other in the tempest of confusion that their lives have become in the past few months.

“I am so very lucky that you bought this house,” Eddie says, staring at Richie with glittering eyes and Richie tries to convince himself to kiss Eddie, caution be damned, but he can’t because he remembers.

He remembers the letter he got the day before, sat in his bedside drawers.

Instead, he presses a chaste kiss to Eddie’s forehead and pulls away.

“Goodnight, Eds”

– X –

Richie only manages three hours of pretending to sleep, of staring at the ceiling and watching the shadows dance, before he gets up. He tiptoes across the room, cringing slightly as the door groans open, and then shuffles across the landing to Eddie’s room. The door was wide open, so Richie pokes his head in only to discover the bed empty. It wasn’t made though, and when Richie presses his hand to the mattress he finds that it’s still warm.

He immediately knows where Eddie is.

He walks back to his room, less concerned about the groaning floorboards now, and opens the curtains. He spots Eddie immediately. He’s standing at the mouth of the lake, throwing stones into it, watching them skate across the surface and then disappear into the depths, never to be seen again. Richie crosses his arm, and leans against the support beam, and watches.

Eddie looks beautiful. His skin, solid but pale as marble slate, shines in the frosty light of the moon. Richie watches him walk towards the grass, and then, suddenly, he’s off, sprinting towards the trees in the distance that border the forest, the forest that Richie knows Eddie spent a lot of time in immediately after his death. Richie watches him, watches him sprint like a cheetah towards the darkness of the trees, before he skids on his heel, and sprints right back again. Right back to Richie. Right back to their home.

Richie stoops, and opens the bedside cabinet and pulls the letter out. The bright white paper practically glows in the moonlight.

Dear Mr Tozier,

I am writing to inform you that your visa (business - fixed term) is set to expire in less than three months. You will need to return to your home country before the given date, or risk criminal sentencing.

Please be advised that, should you wish to extend your residency in the United Kingdom, you must apply to do so from your home country (The United States of America).

Please do contact my office if you have any further questions,

Yours Sincerely,

James Brown

Immigration Officer

[spinach-productions]

Baby Spinach, chapter 7

Summary: The authorities are called in.  Gaster has 3 coffees and gets in a fight.

Wordcount: 3724

Note: now also available on ao3!

Lieutenant Donahue is the guard on duty when the call comes in.  She secures and cordons off the library, then escorts Aubrey and Gaster to the security office to get their statements.  Gaster calmly relays the events from his perspective to another guard while Donahue speaks gently with Aubrey.  The guard sits with him as they wait for Donahue to finish.

The clock strikes eight.  It’s time for the children’s early evening nap.  Gaster would already be asleep on a normal day, but there’s no point in sleeping because Sans and Papyrus are the ones who need to rest at this time and they’re missing.  They’re gone.  Gaster doesn’t know where they are, or why they were taken.  Will they be able to take their nap?  They’re growing adolescents, their bodies need rest in order to replenish their energy and strengthen their immune systems, but he doesn’t know if they’re going to get enough sleep today because they’re missing and he doesn’t know where they are.

“Deep breaths, doc,” Donahue says. She’s swapped places with the guard who took Gaster’s statement without him noticing, and is now sitting in the chair across from him.  She looks slightly discolored.  On closer examination, the entire office looks slightly discolored and farther away than when Gaster first sat down.

“I don’t need to breath,” he says. He’s surprised by how faint is own voice sounds.

“Do it anyway,” she insists.

Gaster focuses his attention inward and consciously facilitates the expansion of his chest by pulling air into his mouth.  The empty space fills like a bellows; he holds the facsimile of breath for a moment, then exhales is slowly back out.  Slowly, the world loses its harsh, bright edges and slides back into focus.  Gaster realizes he was shaking in his seat.

“Thank you,” he says after repeating the exercise a few more times with increasingly success, “That’s much better.”

“Usually is,” Donahue says.  She pats his shoulder reassuringly.  “Have you eaten?”

“Lieutenant—”

“Donnie.”

“Donahue, I appreciate your concern, but I’d prefer to eat after you tell me what you’ve found.”

Donahue leans back in her chair, peeling off her vambraces so she can fold both arms over her chest.  The call went out in the middle of training, meaning she and the accompanying guards arrived on the scene in partial Royal Guard armor. “Okay,” she agrees, “Your statement and Aubrey’s match up: after you left the library, Alphys shoved his kid in the closet and disappeared with Sans and Papyrus.  Aubrey says she could hear shouting, but she was too upset to understand what they were saying.  You came back, you let her out, everyone else was gone.”

“What about Gerald, will you talk with him about the experiment?”

“I’ve already called him.”  When did that happen?  “He’s pretty adamant that it’s sabotage.  That would be a great distraction, but do you think Alphys has the background knowledge to do it?”

“I’m finding there’s very little I know for certain about Alphys right now,” Gaster says quietly.

“I’m wondering if he might have had an accomplice,” Donahue wonders aloud, “One person to wreck the experiment and get you out of the library, one to abduct the kids.  Which brings up another question: why didn’t he take his own kid with him?  Why leave her behind?”

Gaster glances across the office to where a third guard is comforting Aubrey.  She has a blanket draped over her shoulders, and is crying silently into a cup of hot chocolate.  Gaster’s metaphorical heart twists painfully at the sight.

“There’s a lot we don’t know right now, doc.  Next step securing a warrant for his apartment to see if we can find anything. Why don’t you call it a night? I’m heading the investigation, so I’ll call you if I find anything.”

“What’s going to happen to her?” Gaster asks, still watching as the guard dries the tears from her face.

“We’ve gotten in contact with her mother.  She’s been doing environmental studies in Hotland for a few months, apparently leaving Aubrey with her dad while she’s away.  She’s pretty shocked about all this,” Donahue says.  She also watches Aubrey for a moment.  “I’m going to keep them in at HQ until we’re sure Alphys isn’t coming back.”

“That sounds wise,” Gaster says. As badly as he wants Alphys to be caught, he doesn’t want to endanger Aubrey or her mother in the process.

Donahue reties her ponytail with an air of finality.  “Go home, doc.  There’s nothing else you can do right now, and I need someone at your apartment in case they come back.”

“You think they’re just going to come home,” Gaster asks skeptically.

“50% of cases like these end in the kids just showing up,” she evades.

“Do you think this is going to be one of those cases?”

“I don’t know.  It’s too early to tell.”

“Lieutenant,” Gaster says, “This is, for all intents and purposes, an abduction case involving my children. Please don’t try to comfort me with false hope.”

She sighs heavily.  “Alright, that’s fair.  Keep in mind that I don’t have any way to prove this.”  She leans in; Gaster follows suit.  “I think someone paid Alphys to grab your kids.”

“What?”

“Keep your voice down,” Donahue hisses, grabbing Gaster’s shoulder to pull him back in, “The only reason I can think of for why Alphys left his own kid behind is because he didn’t want to get her involved.  I think whoever those kids were living with before they struck out on their own hired Alphys to bring them back home.”

“You think,” Gaster grapples with ideas he doesn’t want to explore, “That they’re with their original parents?”

“I think it’s a possibility,” Donahue leans back and resumes her normal volume, “And if that’s the case, they’re going to need you at home.  Go.”

“How can I possibly—”

“Doc, you are a genius of our generation, but you know nothing about this.  Go home.  I’ll call you as soon as I have something.”

Gaster bristles at the implication he would hinder the investigation, but the irritation only lasts for a moment. He truly has nothing more to add here, and further, he is bone-tired.  Sans and Papyrus (his children) are missing and there is nothing he can do.  Gaster thanks Donahue for her time and shuffles back to the library to gather his things.

The dog guarding hands him his briefcase and coat with a sympathetic glance.  He thanks her and leaves the facility without speaking to anyone else. He uses side hallways and avoids eye contact with other employees, because he simply doesn’t know what to say. It’s a route he’s taken multiple times with the chil— Gaster shakes the familiarity from his head and keeps walking.

Every detail of the route back to his apartment has been manually etched into his memory.  He is well acquainted with every turn and curb, every sidewalk, every crosswalk, all learned so he could read while in transit, but there’s nothing in his briefcase he wants to read today.  Gaster pauses by the bush two skeletons threw him from just six weeks ago.  The shattered lightbulb has yet to be replaced.  Does the city even know that it’s broken?  Has anyone even reported it?

He trudges up the stairs to his apartment and shuffles inside.  Everything is exactly how he left it: Papyrus’ playpen is in front of the couch, and still has his new stuffed elephant in it.  Sans’ finished stack of books is next to the coffee table.  The blanket extra blanket is neatly folded over the back of the couch, and the extra pillow is placed neatly at one end. He sighs, toes off his shoes, and heads to the kitchen for a hot drink.  If nothing else, he thinks as he pats the wall in search of the switch plate, going through the motions of boiling water and choosing a teabag will bring comfort in their routine.

Instead, he gets a hot drink and no children.

Gaster sleeps on the couch, where he’s been sleeping since Sans and Papyrus arrived in his life.  He doesn’t want them to think he’s forgotten them when they get back.

Sleeping is difficult.  Getting up and going to work the next day is harder.

Gerald finds him in his office trying to read a book.  He gently takes the book from Gaster’s hands, then takes Gaster out to get coffee. They end up in one of the trendy coffee shops that grew around the facility, where Gerald buys each of them a cup of the seasonal brew.  It smells like the spices put in pumpkin pie.

“Coffee is supposed to inhibit growth in children,” Gaster says absently.

Gerald snorts.  “Never give any to Sans.  He’s already below the fifth height percentile for his age.”

Gaster tips his cup slightly to one side until the liquid touches the brim.  “Do you think Papyrus will be short as well?”

“It’s possible.  These things tend to run in families.”

He looks over Gerald’s obviously aquatic build.  “Does all of your family live in rivers?”

“Most of them, yes.  Some straddle the line into ‘amphibian’ territory, but we’re mostly made to live in water.”  Gerald sips his coffee.

“Mine are all ghosts.  Some of them look for bodies while other carry on the family tradition.”  He tilts the cup to the other side, just enough to stain the paper up to the edge. “Did I tell you that my uncle has a snail farm?”

“You did mention it once or twice.”

Gaster rolls the coffee around his cup a few more times.  “It’s strange.  When Sans and Papyrus were here, I didn’t think of anything beyond the next task that needed to be done.  Now that they’re missing, I’m thinking of all the things we could have done together. I could have enrolled them in school. I could have introduced them to my family.  I could have—” He sets the cup down.  “I can’t even imagine all the possibilities I’ve missed.”

Gerald takes his hand.  “They’re not gone forever, Wings.  Donahue is extremely good at cases like these, she’ll find them.”

Gaster squeezes Gerald’s arm. “What if they’ve just… gone home?”

“You are their home,” Gerald insists, “They don’t want to be anywhere else. You have plenty to worry about, don’t waste time worry about that.”

“No, you’re right.  Of course not.”  Gaster takes a shuddering breath and reaches up to rub the sleep from his eyes. “I suppose I let me fears get the best of me.”

“An easy thing to do, given the circumstances,” Gerald says, pushing the coffee back into Gaster’s hands. “Here.  You don’t have to drink it, just hold it.”

“Thank you,” Gaster says.  He means it from the bottom of his metaphorical heart.  “I heavily dislike coffee.”

“It’s more of a gesture,” Gerald concedes.  “After all, the correct response is to make a hot drink for someone, isn’t it?”

Gaster smiles.  “Yes, it is.”

-

Doctor Snowdrake meets with him for lunch a few days later.  “This isn’t an official visit,” she says as they stand in line for another coffee at the trendy shop down the street from the lab, “I just want to see how you’re doing.”

“Thank you,” Gaster replies. He’s grateful for the support, and also grateful that he gets to order his own hot drink this time.

They order their drinks and choose an out-of-the-way table close to the windows.  Gaster adds a packet of sugar to his tea to see if that makes a difference.

“I was speaking with Lieutenant Donahue,” Doctor Snowdrake says as she adds a straw to her mocha frappaccino, “And thought of something I’d like to share with you: I don’t believe Alphys is the person in Sans’ drawing.”

“No?”  Gaster asks.

“No.  He drew them as an amorphous black mass, which suggests a very bad association, but you didn’t mention Sans having a negative reaction to the library prior to this. If Alphys were the person in that picture, Sans would have avoided anything connected to him.”

“That’s true,” Gaster says, stirring his tea thoughtfully, “He disliked being around Alphys, but no more than he disliked being around anyone.”

“Exactly.  Sans is a child, and moreover, he trusts you; he wouldn’t hide something like that.”

“Do you agree with Donahue’s theory that someone hired Alphys?”

Doctor Snowdrake takes a sip of her drink.  Gaster suspects she does it to collect her thoughts.  “I believe Alphys was involved,” she says slowly, “And I believe he is not the reason Sans and Papyrus ran away.  Beyond that, I couldn’t speculate with any kind of accuracy.”

Gaster nods, more to himself than as a contribution to the discussion.  “Have you had a chance to talk with Aubrey?”

“I have.  Without breaking confidentiality, it seems that her problems developed after her mother left for Hotland.”  She sets her drink to the side.  “I’m sure Lieutenant Donahue will go over the details with you.”

“She doesn’t like being called ‘lieutenant’,” Gaster points out.

“I know,” Doctor Snowdrake says with a sigh, “But we work in a professional capacity.  I feel uncomfortable referring to her in such an casual manner.”

-

“I’m not going to stop telling you how to say my name,” Donahue says on Gaster’s third coffee excursion this week. She downs an espresso in one go and sets the tiny cup back on the table next to two full ones.  Gaster assumes she has a long day ahead of her, and possibly several other long days in the recent past. 

“Doctor Snowdrake feels the same way I do,” Gaster says, invoking a ‘group opinion’ to give his argument strength. He shifts the bitter drink around in his cup. 

Upon hearing of Gaster’s dislike for coffee, Donahue, a late-nights-and-weekends champion, has started him out with a cappuccino and some kind of muffin.  Apparently they have complimentary flavor profiles.  Gaster has yet to stop being surprised by Donahue’s eclectic, yet strangely cohesive knowledge base.

“I tell her the same thing,” Donahue says with a dismissive gesture, “And I’m going to keep telling you the same thing too, doc.  It’s Donnie.”

Gaster cringes at the thought of referring to a colleague so informally.

Donahue watches the cringe. “I’ll settle for dropping the title,” she concedes.

“Thank you,” Gaster says with sincere gratitude.

“Anyway, I wanted to tell you that we got a warrant for Alphys’ apartment and went over it.  He’s not there and there isn’t much to suggest he was planning anything, but he pretty obviously hasn’t been taking care of anything. The cupboards were bare and there were dirty clothes everywhere.”  Donahue sips her second espresso, presumably able to enjoy it now that she’s chugged the first round of caffeine.

“Are you allowed to tell me these things?  I very desperately want to know the details of the case, but I don’t want you to break the law on my behalf.”

“I’m the kids’ social worker, you’re their guardian; I’m allowed to bend the rules when we’ve got half the people we need to properly run the department,” Donahue says with a wink. 

“The weird thing,” she continues, “One of the weird things, is that Alphys’ wife (who is apparently a geothermal engineer named Astrid, you’ve probably worked with her before) says this is completely out of character for him. According to her, she married him because he was soft-spoken and great with kids, but according to their kid Aubrey, he did a complete one-eighty after Astrid left for Hotland.  Got short-tempered and snappish, stopped taking care of Aubrey.”

“That’s odd,” says Gaster.

“Yeah.  I’m wondering if this is a case of blackmail.”

“What could anyone hold over Alphys? Librarians aren’t known for their documentable scandalous behavior.”

“Who knows?  Everyone’s got secrets.”  She finished the second espresso and starts on the third.

Gaster takes a moment to reflect on this.  He absentmindedly takes a sip of his cappuccino and, surprisingly, isn’t disgusted.

He looks up from his cup.  Donahue is uses her many teeth to smile knowingly. It looks like a tired, yet optimistic shark silently saying “I told you so”.  Gaster silently appends ‘coffee with lots of milk’ to his list of possible hot drinks.

-

Gaster lets his mind linger on blackmail material on his way home.  He himself was less than focused before he gained corporeal form, but hasn’t done anything he would consider blackmail material.  What could Alphys have done that would allow someone to coerce him into this? 

He unlocks his apartment, goes through his coming-home routine, heads to the kitchen, and flicks the light on. Sans is sitting at the kitchen table.

Gaster stares.  Faintly, he wonders if Donahue was right.

Sans is wearing the exact clothing Gaster last saw him in: the same oversized jacket he won’t let Gaster replace, the same shirt, the same shorts.  He’s taken the seat in front of the door, and is sitting with his hands folded on the table like he’s waiting for a business meeting to start.  Under different circumstances, seeing an eight-year-old child posture like this would be comical. 

“Hello, Doctor Gaster,” Sans says in a voice that sounds nothing like his own.

Oh, Gaster thinks disappointedly, Donahue was not right.  “You’re not Sans,” he says.

“I am not,” the imposter agrees.

Gaster sets his briefcase down. He would normally put it on the kitchen table, but given the situation, he decides to deviate from his routine. “Why do you look like Sans?”

“That is neither here nor there,” the man says.  “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

The man rolls his eyes.  Gaster feels his eyebrows move involuntarily up his face.  “Of course, let me clarify: do you have any idea what you’ve done to my sons, doctor?”

“Your…?”

“Yes, doctor, my sons.  The two skeleton children you’ve adopted without so much as a by-your-leave?  I lose track of the for a measly few months, and they came home talking about things like libraries and rooming contracts and fairness.  You’ve completely ruined them.”  He straightens his posture in a way suggests he’s taking on a great deal of stress due to someone else’s incompetence.  “Luckily, I know how to handle children and can salvage the situation.  More to the point, I would like to turn this into an opportunity.”

The imposter is sitting in full view of the phone, leaving Gaster no way to call Donahue or the authorities. His only chance is to keep this man talking until he comes up with a better plan.  “What kind of opportunity?”

“You are a scientist, Doctor Gaster, and it’s been some time since I’ve had the chance to collaborate with anyone on my work.  We could do more for the monster race together than I could do alone.  Additionally, I understand that you and my sons have grown close over the past few weeks.  Joining me on this project would be a way for you to spend time with them.”

Gaster feels something stirring in his chest.  “You’re the one they ran away from.”

“They hardly ran away, I simply misplaced them for a time,” the man says with a wave of his hand.  He looks increasingly annoyed with this conversation, as though it’s not going to direction he wants.

Gaster examines the emotion in his chest.  It feels like a very volitile form of anger, and it makes his magic crackle in his hands. “You taught them that their needs weren’t important.”

The man sighs heavily.  “Doctor, if you knew what was really going on, you’d understand that their needs truly aren’t important.  My sons have a great destiny ahead of them, and you’ve polluted them with toys and naps and soft blankets.”

“They’re afraid of you,” Gaster grits out.

The man rubs his temples.  “I can see we’re getting nowhere with this.  Let me try another approach.”

The room is flooded with blue light; something seizes Gaster’s soul.  He tries to retaliate with his own magic, but the blue surrounding his soul prevents the energy from translating into form.  It lifts him just high enough that his toes skim the linoleum floor.  Several weeks ago, Sans threw three place settings into the air on the off chance Gaster planned to report his presence; today, a man wearing Sans’ image is using a similar maneuver as a much more violent threat.

The man hops down from the chair and crosses the room.  “I had two beautiful, well-behaved sons.  They weren’t perfect, but they were children and I forgave them for it.  Then you came along and undid all my meticulous work. It could be years before I get them back into shape.  I’m giving you a chance to make up for your mistakes and have a place in their lives.”

The imposter is holding a handful of blue magic.  He raises it a bit higher; Gaster is raised a bit higher.  It hurts.

“What do you say, doctor?”

“You’re disgusting,” Gaster says.

The man throws his hand down; Gaster is slammed into the floor hard enough to send his hands skittering across the room. 

“Wrong answer!”

“Is this what you did?”  Gaster grits out, “Is this why they’re afraid of you?”

He’s pitched sideways.  “You dare suggest I would hurt my own sons?!”

Gaster collides with the counter. The corner catches the small of his back, and a drawer pops open with the force of the impact.  Cutlery clatters to the ground.

The man takes a deep breath and releases the magic.  “I can see you need some time to consider my offer.  Please do so.”  He crosses the kitchen, extracting a small packet from his (Sans’) pocket and tossing it onto Gaster’s chest.  It’s a sampler of the two-part polymer Gaster uses to do repairs on his body.  “I’ll be back in a few days for your answer, then I’m moving my family out of the city.  You’ll never see them again.  Think carefully, doctor.”

He leaves the kitchen, looking back for one last moment.  He looks heart-achingly like Sans.

“And do remember that I love my boys. It would be a shame if they got hurt due to your actions.”

But he very clearly is not.

- Baby Spinach - Part 7

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11 Questions Tag

I was tagged by @lemmetalkaboutkpop (literally forever ago but your questions took so much thought hahah, thank you💕) and @jeno-jeyes (thanks!💕) (I’m answering 22 questions because I was tagged twice so this will be really long lol sorry)

Rules: answer the 11 questions I come up with, add 11 of your own questions and tag more people.

1. If you could teleport anywhere in the universe, where would you want to go? I’d love to go to another planet that has life on it!! Or else just somewhere far away from everything so I could look at it all (as long as I wouldn’t die lol)☄

2. If you were stuck in a fairytale for the rest of your life, which one would you want to be stuck in the most? Honestly fairytales creep me out so I wouldn’t want this but if I had to pick then probably Cinderella because the animals are cute and I could talk to them🐥

3. What is your favourite type of meal? Breakfast or dessert!! (and if you mix them together like sweet cereal or crepes with nutella or whatever then omg😩👌)

4. If you’re going to watch Produce 101, who are your top 11? If not, who are your top 11 biases? I might watch pd101 I’m not sure yet but I don’t know much about it so I’ll do my top 11 biases - lee taeyong, kim taehyung, byun baekhyun, mark lee, min yoongi, wen junhui, mark tuan, jackson wang, kwon jiyong, cha eunwoo anddd chae hyungwon (this physically hurt😢)

5. What is the weirdest experience you’ve had with a substitute teacher? I don’t think I’ve had anything that strange but one time this substitute taught my class the wrong thing and we all failed our English coursework🙃

6. What are you looking forward to most this weekend? I’m not, it just means I’m further into my exams and I’ll be even more stressed

7. What are you passionate about? I’m pretty passionate about my opinion on certain subjects (homophobia, racism etc, all the important stuff), reading and probably biology🤓

8. If you had to pick any character in a book, movie or tv show who is most similar to you, who would you choose? Why? This is such a difficult question because I’m just not as exciting as any characters😣 I relate to chandler from friends in some aspects but I’m not as funny… and also liesel from the book thief except with less balls… idk hahah

9. What is your favourite joke? There’s this really long joke about snails going on a picnic that is the least funny joke in the world and I can’t even tell it because I always cry before I finish it but I don’t even want to tell anyone because it’s so bad I’m embarrassed to say it’s my favourite joke ahahaha I’ve loved it since I was about 10 though (if you actually want to hear it feel free to ask, but it’s shit🐌)

10. What is the best school memory you have had? I’m really emotional about this because it was my last day of school on thursday, I’ve had so many good memories💕 the one that comes to mind is when my best friend hit this girl who deserved it and I just felt so proud and it started a whole big thing but it was so worth it and everyone was like “yeah good job for slapping her!!!!” or else just all the times where I laughed until I nearly threw up or until I had tears streaming down my face WHY AM I STARTING TO TEAR UP WHILE I’M TYPING THIS AAH😢

11. If you could want anything in the world, what would it be and why? What I want is to know what I want lmao, I just want to be happy and comfortable (how boring, sorry)

Now onto the next 11 (I am so sorry for making you scroll through this but I’m on mobile so I can’t do the thingy and I cba turning my computer on, pls don’t hate me)

1. Favourite song from your childhood/growing up? Dragostea din tei by ozone😍😍 OR thunderbirds are go by busted👌 everything in my childhood was so good!

2. Is there anything happening soon that you’re excited about? The end of exams (although they’ve hardly started), summer holidays, my school formal and green day’s concert🎶 all of these are at least a month and a half away but I have nothing sooner than that

3. If you could have any pet, what would it be and what would you name it? If we’re talking anything… a pocket-sized elephant called marmalade but they don’t exist😭🐘 other than that I’m pretty content with my two cats tbh💕🐈

4. Favourite music video? I love the dunkshot selfcam one with my whole heart, but also switch… and war of hormone will always be precious to me! And currently I can’t get over 365 fresh👍👍 I can’t pick, and I’ve probably forgotten something

5. Favourite concert or someone you would like to see? The first time I went to see hudson taylor was incredible, so was seeing marianas trench! I’d like to see bts/nct/everygroupthatwillnevercometoeurope😊

6. Favourite type of weather? Sunny with a nice breeze☉

7. Best holiday you’ve been on/favourite place you’ve visited? Carvoeiro in Portugal, I love it and the fact that I’m not going there this year actually breaks my heart💔 the people are amazing, the beach is beautiful, the night life is so good - you should all go

8. Your first word? Star🌟

9. City or countryside? Countryside🌳 but with easy access to the city

10. Favourite film? Peter Pan (2003) (still makes me cry lmao)

11. Do you have a dream or something you definitely want to do in life? Nope, I just want to be happy but idk what will make me happy so it’s a bit of a problem😓 I’m hoping that uni will help me figure it out!! I’d definitely love to travel though🌎

Okayyy my questions now (honestly I’m exhausted, why did I do this all in one go??)

1. What is your happy song? 2. How do you attempt to make yourself feel better when you’re sick? 3. Favourite currently airing tv show? Or favourite ever if you aren’t watching anything at the minute! 4. What is home to you? 5. Do you have a pet hate? What is it? 6. What are you most scared of? 7. What made you fall for your bias? 8. One good decision you’ve made in life? 9. If you could spend 24 hours as another person (fictional or not) who would it be and why? 10. What’s your favourite cereal? 11. What is something you’re really interested in?

I tag: @griffinrunes @fresh-and-ten @softybub and @reikojinxx