#this has been in my drafts for eons and sort of scares me because he looks like a demon. so begone | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

askmicrowaveayem · 7 years ago

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MAYEM: Just Like Me - Pt. 7

[Previous]

[Archive] [Cast]

He didn’t know what to say to that.

He could figure out how to paste his soul onto someone else’s and help stop them from slowly shattering, but he couldn’t think of how to respond to that.

He’d always…. Just sort of assumed that his double was in a similar situation as him. Existing, just overwritten. A conveniently empty hole in the world that no one really thought to look at, and which had overgrown over time, until no one missed him at all. Except Sans.

All the stories he’d been told of his friend’s past, he’d slotted into place in the few people around him he met, making assumptions he’d thought were logical with how things fit together. And now he felt like an idiot. And he thought back to the conversation with Toriel, how many days ago--?

And he wondered if that was the difference between their voids. Gaster’s world still existed, he’d simply been spat out of it.

Maybe his twin had never left.

...that sounds like a lot, he said, finally, after taking longer than he’d like to digest it. Trying to find a place in a world where they all look like people you know, but they don’t…

He wasn’t sure where he was going with that, so he stopped talking. And stirred his tea. And reached out to give his double’s arm a squeeze.

Your life is pretty fucked up.

-- “Thanks!” He said as cheerfully as he could manage. Gaster had stopped dwelling on it eons ago. “We’ve got some time to kill while you recover. Maybe I’ll tell you the fucking novel that is my fucked up life.” --

I didn’t know you were into torture, Gaster said, drinking his tea. It tasted like violent explosions. Let’s do it.

He laughed, “Okay. But after the boys leave.” “AW, WHAT?” Papyrus frowned, “YOU NEVER TELL ME THE COOL STORIES ABOUT BEFORE WE WERE BORN!” “That’s because they’re fucking violent and you’re a precious little babybones.” He reached over and patted his son’s cheek, who gave him a very blank look. --

Gaster leaned in close to his double as though he were whispering and said, I think you should run before Papyrus decides to take offense to that finally.

-- Gaster looked at his double, then at Papyrus, who still had a blank look. “Uh. I’ll… tell… you a little… sometime.” Papyrus narrowed his eye sockets. “... Promise?” Papyrus grinned happily as though nothing bad had just happened and stood up to clean the plates. Gaster sighed. --

Gaster patted his shoulder and signed while Papryus’ back was turned. Just tell him stories about your parents. It’ll be fine. He’ll be thrilled to know about his grandparents and will forget the rest for a while.

‘Good idea.’ Gaster signed back, then went back to his coffee. “So how the atom tea?” --

Has anything ever exploded in your mouth before? Gaster asked, not sounding at all threatening, but like he was actually, genuinely curious.

Gaster actually had to think about that for longer than was probably normal. “N-... No? I wanna say no.” --

Gaster nodded. (He didn’t have to think long for his own answer, and for entirely the wrong reasons. ) I’m sure you can imagine, though. It’s like that. I think it’s the sugar.

He swirled the tea around again and took another drink.

Yeah. It’s the sugar.

-- “Are we talking good explosions or bad explosions?” Apparently there was a difference. --

Blaster explosions, Gaster told him. Because he would know.

That was apparently good. He nodded in approval. “Nice.” --

Gaster shook his head, rolled his eyes, and finished up breakfast. Maybe it was because he was more physically stable than before, but he did feel a bit better now that he’d eaten.

-- After Papyrus finished cleaning the both pulled on their lab coats, gave their old man a hug, and were off up to the mountain to keep on fixing the lab and the machine. Gaster looked down into his coffee and gave a little laugh. “Let’s see… I guess I’ve told you about where I lived already, right? Before the war?” --

Gaster nodded, Yeah, you did. The village with a lot of monsters and humans who had trouble communicating?

--&&&^^^^^^^^^^SPOILERSHIT

He nodded back, “Yeah. Some couldn’t speak, some couldn’t hear. We all got along well until war was declared. Those who even had the slightest problem with monsters used that as an excuse to attack us. Everything was really tense for awhile until I got drafted.” “I went off to war. Ma and pop fled. They were too old for it.” --

A monster draft… Gaster wasn’t sure what had happened early in the war in his own world, but… a draft.

He nodded, listening. He wasn’t sure what exactly was coming next, but he was determined to try and hear it out.

It was… a very long story that would probably take the entire day. Gaster was old. He didn’t act old, but he was definitely old. He told his twin about travelling with the other younger able monsters from his village. They were supposed to meet up at a settlement to formally enlist. They were ambushed at one point and split up. That was the last he saw of a lot of his friends from back home. He didn’t know if any survived to even make it to the settlement. Gaster told him about killing his first human. He had been sleeping when one found him and the two fought. Both were young. Both were just doing what they thought was right. Humans were scared of monsters and monsters were terrified of humans. He talked about knocking the humans weapon from his hands casually. He talked about being nearly pulled to pieces by his hands as they grappled like it was nothing. He talked about grabbing a rock and smashing the human’s skull in in panic to try and survive. Then he paused and took a drink. --

Gaster listened, quietly, and fidgeted with the holes in his hands.

He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to speak. He definitely didn’t want to comment.

So he just waited, quietly watching his double drink, and watched to see for a hint of what he should do.

If a touch of comfort would be appreciated right then.

Gaster didn’t seem to need any sort of comfort. This was all ancient history to him. He had come to terms with a lot of the things he had done. Like his Papyrus had told the little Papyrus all those years ago, just because you had to do bad things didn’t mean you couldn’t also still be a good person in the end. He had done many bad things. He hadn’t always been so cuddly. That being said, the real part of the war, when it finally began… he did still get flashbacks. Gaster told his double about making it to the settlement and being shoved with the other skeletons. They were all great mages and fought towards the back lines. He talked about meeting Grillby now and then, how they always somehow seemed to run into one another somehow despite the fire elemental being closer to the front lines. In this timeline Grillby didn’t know who he was. He told his double how he first saw cannons. It was a whistle and then an earth-shattering boom. It blew half of his party of mages to dust in an instant. He and a few others had only been missed by chance. --

While his twin spoke, Gaster was remembering something--still paying attention, but with it in his mind. The talk from the earthquake site, years ago, when his twin had asked about flashbacks. How he dealt with them. Talking if they’d ever go away.

Not with time, his double had said, then.

He wondered, quietly, if it had been the Gaster Blasters that took away the terror of cannon.

Maybe they had in an odd sort of way. Make a bigger cannon to be summoned in an instant without need of ammo. It kept you safe. After the mages had been more or less decimated he was pulled to escort the Seer with Grillby. The skeleton and fire bonded over the journey, even if listening to the Seer was the most frustrating few weeks of his life. They had taken her to the king to see if their proposal of marrying his daughter to the prince of a neighbouring kingdom would help their odds. In the end it didn’t, as the story goes. But at the time it seemed like it would. The Seer was vague as always. Grillby and Gaster were split up again, one on the front lines and one in the back. It was war as war was. Fighting. Explosions. Blood and dust. Panic. He recalled being split off at one point and ending behind the enemy. Gaster stole their prototype guns and a sketched out what he saw of their cannons. On his downtime he experimented with runes and how to meld science and magic together. It got him noticed. The old, dying King liked what he saw. That was when he was appointed royal scientist. It wasn’t because of the CORE or anything so calm or helpful. It was for his death machines. --

Wow, Gaster wanted to say. To laugh and tell him he’d come full circle.

He didn’t.

It was a long story.

He’d settled in to listen.

He wasn’t interrupting now.

Even if he wanted to break the tension with a joke. Offer a high five. Tell him he’d started out with death machines, and ended up creating life.

That might get them completely off track. It definitely would get them completely off track, because his double would probably point out Sans was meant to be a weapons, and he’d have to counter with Papyrus, and--

And no matter what his double said, if this story was being told, then it meant something to him. And if it meant enough that he hadn’t told anyone else, that meant it probably needed to be gotten out, somehow, somewhere.

He wasn’t breaking that.

Gaster only took a small break to get himself more coffee, but even then he continued talking as he moved around the room. This was where things became… vague. “The King wasn’t a very nice monster. Maybe that’s why the war started. I built guns at first, which was fine. That’s what I had started out with. Being the royal scientist meant I got access to all the books I wanted too. I snuck a lot out I shouldn’t have. I learned a lot.” “But… he had me do some things I was not in agreement with. At first. You stop caring after awhile. You get numb to it.” “I hurt a lot of humans very close and personal. He… wanted to know…” Gaster’s voice dropped. He didn’t sound sad or regretful, but rather devoid of anything. “... what made them tick.” Then, his voice was back to normal. “Got me some use out of that medical license I almost got, I guess.” He joked, “It didn’t get very far.” He cleared his throat and sat down, taking a drink. “The king didn’t live much longer after that. Asgore came to power and married Toriel. They were horrible rulers. Forced into a war they didn’t want and had no control over.” --

He got the message.

They lost soon after.

He nodded slowly, looking down at his hands, and still at a loss.

His twin had wanted to be a doctor. He remembered being told that. They’d wanted to be a doctor.

He shook his head slowly, and wondered what might have been different.

They were sealed underground after a few very horrible decisions from the new King and Queen left them nearly wiped out completely. They took the deal to be sealed away rather than exterminated. He built the core. He built containers to house human souls. He built the DT extractor. He made Sans. This was where he started to look regretful. He looked ashamed. Gaster told his double how he sealed the poor boy away with him for the first eight years of his life, just the two of them. No one could know he even existed. He tried to stay detached but… he couldn’t. They bonded. He loved him. He nearly killed him with a DT overdose, something he had told his double before. He swore off the experiments completely after that. To make it up to him, he made Papyrus. They turned into a weird, dysfunctional family. Papyrus’ first day of school. The first day Sans called him dad. Working in the lab with his eldest son. It had all been… wonderful. Then the explosion. His sons were flung into this timeline as homeless children while he was trapped in the void. He could only watch as they struggled to grow up for a second time without him. --

He didn’t care anymore.

He reached out and took his double’s hand.

And stayed silent.

He let his double take his hand but didn’t hold back. Recalling all this was tiring. His life was too fucking long and he wasn’t even done yet. Gaster groaned and rolled his neck before… continuing on even further. He talked about manipulating the void and finding Chara. How it posessed the human and killed over and over again, how he fought it just to slow it down so it wouldn’t affect the timeline his boys had been flung into. How time meant nothing and he wasn’t sure how old he even was anymore. Sans had tried really hard to rebuild the machine but he had to keep himself from starving to death and Papyrus fed all by himself. Then there was the flower. Alphys had tried to make a vessel to house souls since monsters couldn’t and accidently injected a golden flower covered in Asriel’s dust with DT. How it had given him sentience. How he became a resetting mass murderer. He had seen his sons die a lot in alternate timelines he hadn’t been quick enough to save. Sans and Papyrus were killed by the flower a number of times before he learned to avoid it. But he gave up on the machine. He gave up on everything. And Papyrus didn’t even know why or what he had given up on in the first place. --

He knew a bit of what came next. But not the details. Not the story.

He kept his grip on his twin’s hand, just in case.

He didn’t want him to fall back into that monotone.

(Remember he survived.)

--****^^^^^^^^

Gaster paused then, taking a moment to catch his thoughts. Then continued on even further. Chara eventually found their timeline. In desperation he infected Sans just like Chara infected Frisk. They fought and nearly killed them… but they slipped away. Frisk would go on to reset and get everyone free. During the reset he was flung out of his son’s body after their brief reunion to go crashing back into the void. “Then… the next thing I knew I was sitting on a table, staring at my two brilliant kids as a pile of slime.” He finally said, sighing deeply. What a trip. He rubbed his face. “Made the machine to find Chara shortly after. Been chasing them since.” Gaster looked exhausted even though he wasn’t. Eventually a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth and he looked at his double. “After while I found an idiot double who did idiot things just like me.” --

He snorted.

And you’ve been dogging me ever since, huh?

“Sure have.” Gaster grinned.

Gaster snorted and gave him a shove. You went through a lot of trouble to meet me, you dumbass.

His grin only broadened. “What can I say? I love myself.” He took another drink of coffee. It was already late afternoon by the time he had finished his life story. --

Gaster supposed not having any tastebuds meant his double wasn’t bothered at all by his coffee having long gone cold. He looked out at the late afternoon sun out the window and.. Didn’t think he’d ever really get used to that.

I don’t think I really have anything much to share back about my life story, he said, discounting being void for a while, I haven’t really been around that long. Thanks for telling me, though. Next time, just ask if you want to hang out or something, though.

“That’s alright. Having a long, eventful life is… overrated.” He said, turning to look out the window along with his twin. He never got tired of seeing the sky. “The calm parts were always the best. Hopefully we’re entering another calm now that everything is over.” “Hopefully over.” He said after a moment of thought. “No more bumps in the road would be ideal.” His gaze shifted back to his double, squinted eye partially open to look at him. “Did you ever manage to finish that interdimensional radio I gave you?” --

Gaster nodded. “For the most part, yeah. It should’ve been able to send out a distress signal if anything was noticed. I… didn’t want to use it and send you all into a panic to come back, so I never did.”

He’d thought about it occasionally, though.

Gaster chuckled, “Yeah I would have definitely come running in a panic.” He looked down into his coffee long gone cold, but didn’t seem to notice. He finished the last of it and stood up with a relieved sigh. It was just nice to finally relax and be calm for a little while. Everything about this was nice. “Maybe I’ll add another setting to it. Just for an indication that a less stress-filled visit would be nice. We’ll pop over for Gyftmas.” He couldn’t help but laugh at the thought. They were like trans-dimensional family friends. Gaster realized he had never had something like that. Ever. He had Grillby at one point but their relationship wasn’t the same. It had been founded over the need to get together and forget. This was more or less the opposite. A lingering thought of how badly a timeline could end up creeped into his mind while they were sat here recovering and he pushed it down. No need to worry about that. He couldn’t change that now if he tried. He couldn’t rush fixing the machine and risk getting them all killed. His double needed time to rest. “How ya feeling?” He eventually said, looking down at his more frumpy ‘dressed’ double. --

“But that means I’ll have to buy two sets of Gyftmas presents,” he said, but nodded along to the suggestion, anyway.

He looked over again at the other question. “All right. Still tired and achey, but, I’m assuming that will pass eventually or I’ll get used to it. Nothing inhibiting.”

It was definitely much better than he’d been expecting to feel just a day after pulling a chunk out of his soul.

...He wondered what it would look like, now. If he’d have the same gap in it his twin’d had after taking a piece out for Sans and Papyrus. Or if whatever he was now didn’t function in that same way.

...he didn’t want to look just yet.

Gaster stayed standing beside his twin. He liked standing. He liked having legs. “It never gave me any trouble after the initial pain and ache.” He said, trying to nullify anything he figured his counterpart was probably thinking. Hopefully their souls were similar enough to act the same way after the same ordeal. “Funnily a hole is easier to ignore than a crack. I guess maybe it just naturally fills in with whatever might be missing. Not physically, but… emotionally?” The doctor shrugged, “Cracks feel like a crack inside you. Like you want to break apart. Like relaxing too much will get you dusted, even if that isn’t true.” He paused and looked down at the other. “But I’m pulling most of this out of my ass.” He smirked, “Souls were your thing, apparently.” --

Gaster listened, nodding along. He tried not to make a face at the description of the pain a crack produced. He was still more used to the image of his double’s soul riddled with cracks, and didn’t want to think what that meant about the pain. Or what it must have felt to have his soul almost fully shattered and only held together by thin strips of void.

“Yeah, I spent a lot of my life trying to figure out what I was,” he said, “Between the things said about human souls and what was said about Monster souls, I didn’t really know what to believe, so I decided to try and figure it out myself.”

He snorted. “That was a fun time, convincing people to let me study the human souls and any monsters to trust me with their souls, let me tell you. It was definitely worth it, though.”

“Guess I finally get to read your notes rather than the other way around.” Gaster grinned, looking excited at the fact. It was funny how their interests varied so much. He had been obsessed with breaking the barrier; weapons and time and space. His twin was more interested in souls. It was, possibly, a more noble venture. As far as Gaster knew it had only gotten his doppelganger ‘killed’ rather than perhaps an entire timeline. Whoops. “Did you manage to figure out ‘what’ you were? I hope it’s something new. Gotta really hammer that freak status home.” He smirked. --

Gaster grinned back. “I’ll try to rewrite those for you, then.”

They’d all vanished along with his memory back in his own world, but, hey. Might as well do some revision. Maybe he could publish that fucking paper finally.

“I think I don’t need to try much harder for freak status,” he added, looking down at his torso before gesturing to all of himself. “But, uh. Yeah. I did. It involves more dead humans, you ready for this?”

Gaster took a moment and looked a little nervous. Right. Humans. That was his thing. He pulled out his chair and sat back down, just in case. “Shoot.” --

“I’m not really sure what I am now,” he said, glancing sideways at his double. He wasn’t going to look directly at him. So if his twin was uncomfortable or wanted to go, he wouldn’t have to feel the need to hide that. “But… previously, I was… I wasn’t actually kidding about the ‘dead human,’ thing.”

“Between studying souls and the journal entries I found of an old skeleton, I… it looks like in my world, skeletons are made with very specific processes. When human souls shatter after death, they literally shatter, rather than just cracking. So to create a skeleton, you need several specific requirements: a human with a very high level of determination who didn’t want to die, a heavily concentrated area of magic, and time for the body to decompose.”

“Remember what I said about how souls could repair themselves over time by creating themselves?”

Gaster felt himself involuntarily shudder. He hated that he did it and he didn’t want to, not when it was directly related to someone he cared a lot about, but… ugh. Ugh. Still. He kept a straight face. “Right.” He nodded, leaning back a little and letting himself take a deep breath. Try not to think about having a dead human inside you. It made you feel better than you have in a very long time. Just fucking accept it. --

...he gave his double a moment. It was one thing to tease about having a dead human inside him and another to actually… make him linger on it.

“...if a large enough shard of the soul stays with the corpse after shattering, and the body is in a place of high magical concentration and left alone… the same determination that lets your--Frisk. That let Frisk return to life helps revive the skeleton once enough time has passed. It won’t fuck with a timeline, it doesn’t affect anything outside the body. It’s just enough to get it kickstarted and working, with the ambient magic in the atmosphere as a catalyst.”

He paused again, taking a deep breath. “...that’s why there are no more skeletons. When humans banished monsters, they… it looks like monsters are the sources of magic for the most part. Humans lost the ability to use magic. No more ambient magic in their atmosphere. Monsters don’t have bodies after death. Nothing to reanimate. No more skeletons, unless… there’s a freak coincidence, and you drown a kid in the river that leads to the dump not long after the entryway finally caved.”

He gave a dead little laugh.

“...I don’t think I’m really human. Don’t worry. I just don’t know if I’m fully monster, either.”

Gaster listened to the explanation well enough. It was… a little uncomfortable, but he saved face for his double’s sake. Had this been anyone else he would have noped the fuck out long ago. “That’s consistent. Our humans lost magical ability after they sealed us too, but… jesus, man.” He finally looked over at his twin. “Drowning a kid? That’s fucked up. And this is coming from someone who’s stabbed kids.” He returned that same dead laugh. What the fuck even was this. --

He smiled and lifted both hands to wave them. “The things you learn in the void about your past life, right?”

He hadn’t been kidding when he said some of the things he learned were mostly just important to himself.

“Jeeze.” Gaster inhaled again before reaching over to pat his twin’s shoulder and squeeze. “Rough. We’re both so fucked up.” He started laughing. --

He laughed too.

“We are never telling the kids about any of this.”

“Hell no.” Gaster laughed, his hand going back to the table. He sighed, but was still smiling. “So. Is there anything you want to see before night falls on the surface? I know it isn’t your surface, but you might as well see some stuff while you’re recovering.” --

Gaster nodded. “Yeah. Who knows when I’ll get to see your weird fucking world again?”

He wasn’t about to miss any chance to see the surface, especially in a world that was different than his own. Who would miss that chance?

“Anywhere in mind?”

“Well, I’m not a very good person to be escorting anyone around humans, but I can at least go to the store and the park without having panic attacks.” He laughed in spite of himself. Gaster stood and held down a hand to help his double up. “Then tonight we can break out the telescope. I’m sure you’ve seen the stars already, but… it’s still nice. I think.” --

Gaster grinned. “Sounds good. Yeah. Definitely.”

He got up with his twin’s help, definitely willing to see the stars at any point. Sure, he’d done it sort of, but… it would be different to see them with his own eyes.

“You going to be alright walking a few blocks? If not I can test out my teleporting again.” Gaster asked as he headed towards the door, being sure to stay close to his twin just in case he needed support. --

Gaster nodded. “I can make it. I’m just… kind of getting my balance back, I think. I’ll let you know if there’s trouble.”

He would’ve kept his mouth shut if it were anyone else, but his twin would probably call him a hypocrite if he tried to hide an issue like not being able to get around well. Still. He’d rather avoid teleportation, from what he remembered of it.

Gaster nodded and lead his double outside, locking the door behind him. It was a nice, warm spring afternoon. The row of townhouses ran alongside the base of Mt. Ebott. There were a few monsters outside playing, some children on spring break from school or being homeschooled. Not all monsters were too keen on integrating their children with humans just yet, despite it having been years since their release. He began to lead him down the sidewalk. It was a very peaceful little neighbourhood. Some monsters had started tiny front gardens, golden flowers were a big favorite by the looks of things. There were bees. Bugs. Birds. Occasionally a monster would walk by with a pet on a leash. It was all incredibly… normal. --

He looked around slowly, feeling very out of place and also very… just. Glad.

He had been outside on this surface before, between helping Sans get to Toriel’s and looking out the window of the car, but this was the first time he was actually able to pause and get a good look around without having something else on his mind, like his twin’s imminent death, or how to take care of the kids, or whether he’d die in the extraction.

He’d always imagined the surface. Always tried to not imagine the surface. Always failed, and once asked his twin questions about it that had haunted him for months.

All that, and he was finally looking around, and… it wasn’t normal at all.

And that wasn’t a bad thing.

“Nice world your kids found,” he said, grinning.

“Yeah.” Gaster said, smiling. “I’m glad they ended up in this one.”

They walked along a few blocks and things were pretty uneventful. They passed a house covered from every angle with flowers and shrubs of all variation, a large boss monster tending to them wearing gloves and a straw hat with holes poked in it for his horns. He gave a confused look at the two of them but smiled and waved nonetheless. Gaster gave a lazy wave back. He didn’t hate Asgore, but they didn’t talk much. This Asgore didn’t know who he was other than Sans and Papyrus’ dad. --

Over his time as the royal scientist, Gaster had gotten a lot better keeping calm around Asgore, but he still averted his gaze a bit and mostly just gave the boss monster a polite smile.

...he wondered if his twin would ever take advantage of no one really knowing who he was aside from Sans and Papyrus’ dad. Not for anything necessarily bad, but just… as a chance to rebuild something new, like his kids had done.

...he wondered if anyone noticed how different his twin looked with his soul’s new addition. Or maybe he was just really tuned in to the differences himself, and it wasn’t as dramatic a change as he felt like it was.

Gaster had thought about that in particular with Asgore. They had both suffered the loss of their kids at one point. They were both fathers. It could be something to talk about, but… he was awkward. He didn’t know how to start a conversation. He just kept his distance, despite how many times Papyrus encouraged him to go over and ‘just talk’. He wasn’t very good at ‘just talking’. As they rounded the corner they came across another old monster; a wrinkly old turtle carrying a bag and probably making his way to Asgore’s house. Gaster frowned but tried to ignore him. Gerson gave them both a very strange look. --

Welp, nope, there went his practiced calm.

He gripped his double’s arm and ducked a bit closer behind him, keeping as far from Gerson and his line of sight as possible.

Gerson had spared him before, and he tried to tell himself that this wasn’t even a Gerson who knew who he was, but--

He’d been in a position to be spared. And he never wanted to be there ever again.

Gaster glanced down at his double and found one of his hands with the arm he was clinging to, taking it and leading him straight passed Gerson. The turtle stopped and watched them go. “Am I seeing double or have the geeks multiplied?” He laughed. “Fuck off Gerson.” The doctor said loudly, but didn’t turn around to face him. --

His grip tightened and he kept his head down.

Let his double handle this. It would probably be fine. It was his world.

(oh fuck don’t provoke Gerson you idiot)

-- The turtle only made an annoyed grumble before shuffling on his way. It wasn’t until they were outside of earshot that Gaster looked down at his double and said, “I don’t think we get along in any timeline.” --

He snorted. Even just a small laugh helped dissolve the lingering fear, now that they were farther away.

“I don't fucking understand what decides what things stay the same and what things don’t. This is fucking ridiculous.”

He finally managed to loosen his grip some. Haha, wow, that was… that was a pretty intense, dumb reaction, huh.

-- Gaster was still holding his twin’s hand, but it was relaxed enough for him to let go if he was feeling comfortable again. “I have no fucking idea. Gerson, the CORE, us being idiots, Sans ‘n Pap being linked to us somehow…” He let his thoughts trail away. --

“....at least that list isn’t. Entirely bad things.”

He didn’t let go just yet. But he would. Soon enough. Still. Fuck.

Gaster chuckled at that, “Yeah. Just few and far between. But they’re there.” The further they walked the busier things seemed to become. Humans started to meld in with the monsters and the houses parted for small businesses. They got a plenty of strange looks; they were a pair of similar-looking monsters holding hands. It was weird even on a good day. Each time a human walked a little too close the doctor’s magic would twitch… just a little. It was barely noticeable and he didn’t outwardly react, but it was definitely there. Still. He managed to stay calm. --

Gaster really needed to introduce these humans to Temmies and moldsmols if they thought he and his twin were odd. Still. He shifted his grip on his twin’s hand so it was less holding and more his hand covered his twins’.

He… he wasn’t used to human, not at all, but he wasn’t traumatized by them like his twin was. He’d been helped along with Gerson. Now maybe he could help along with the humans.

He sparked his magic, just enough to give his twin a bit more of a squeeze than his hand could’ve done alone.

They were doing just fine.

#undertale #RP log #mayem #just like me #kid #goop #sans #papyrus #gerson

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mermaidsirennikita · 7 years ago

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are you an art historian? sorry if I got that detail wrong but I was wondering if you knew how people know the identity of a person in a portrait? For example, how do you know if a medieval portrait is of the queen or a noble and not an imaginary person or someone unknown? sorry if my question makes no sense

No, it’s a good question! And I wouldn’t call myself an art historian yet, but I’m a tentatively aspiring one. I might be one later if I do a fuckton more research and/or… get up the energy for grad school. But I have my B.A. in art history!

SOOOOOO, spiel below.

Unless there’s an inscription, note, title, etc. written on the portrait it’s technically impossible to be 100% beyond a shadow of a doubt sure about a sitter’s identity… I actually ranted about this eons ago because people on Tumblr are super desperate to find new portraits of Anne Boleyn (why Anne? why not literally any other famous lady whose face has been largely lost to history? because she’s Anne Boleyn, and since several probably authentic images have not proven that she’s super foxy hot people are looking for something that will). It usually takes years for art historians to come to a consensus about the identities of unidentified sitters, and EVEN THEN, people still argue about it. I’m sure this painting of Mary, Queen of Scots took tons of effort to uncover and based on what little I’ve read there’s great reason to believe that’s Mary (it even looks like other images we have of her) but I’m sure someone will write an article about how it’s REEEALLY someone else entirely. I researched Lady with an Ermine by Leonardo da Vinci for my capstone project, and even tho we have letters from Cecilia Gallerani, a mistress of the man most likely to have commissioned the portrait, saying “yeah so you have this portrait of me painted by Leonardo when I was younger” clearly referring to Lady with an Ermine… but there will still be outliers who say it isn’t her.

So. In more conclusive cases, there will usually be records in place that let us know that a portrait was commissioned in the first place. In the case of Isabella d’Este, we know that she was after Leonardo to paint her portrait and that it never happened but was in the planning stages–which leads to the conclusion that there are probably preliminary drafts in existence. You find a preliminary draft of a woman matching Isabella’s general description and age, dating to the right time… You can probably guess that the woman is Isabella.

Today, we also have technology that can help us guess how old a work is–it’s way harder for forgers to do what they once did because art historians can test for pigments and other materials that were only in use for certain time periods, and that helps narrow down the era. Before then, there were stylistic notes that could give you an idea of when a painting was made. For example–prior to the popularization of the three-quarter pose by artists like Leonardo, female sitters of Italy were usually in profile. So if you find a portrait of an Italian lady sitting in a three-quarters pose, you can probably date the portrait to the late fifteenth century or later–and then you go into things like her style of dress, etc. Style of dress goes a long way towards identifying a person’s place of origin, especially for women–English women dressed very differently from Italian women of the same era, and so on.

Most European portraits were of a certain class, up until some artists and patrons started playing around with everything from idealized peasant scenes to like... the proto-gritty shit Rembrandt dabbled in. This is especially true for Catholic nations. You had to be AT LEAST of the upper middle class to afford to commission a portrait, and for that matter, many artists tended to court a certain specified clientele. Raphael spent much of the prime of his career working for the pope, and so that meant that he spent a lot of time in Rome, and that in turn meant that he was often in the service of glittery rich Romans. Now, does this mean that the sitter is always rich? No. Raphael also painted a famous nude, La Fornarina, and the sitter was quite possibly his lower-class mistress. But in that case, the person commissioning the painting was probably a rich guy who wanted a nude, and Raphael was like “fuck yeah getting a chance to paint Margarita naked and get paid for it, life is sweet”. Patrons normally had $$$, basically, so if we see a typical portrait we know that we’re looking at that class, most likely, and the more expensive the portrait looks, the richer the sitter (and the patron) likely was. Rarer pigments indicate more money spent, more detail on the clothing equals greater $$$.

When it comes to incredibly important families, there are spmetimes dead giveaways. Bronzino’s portraits of Cosimo de’ Medici I’s household often featured details like rubies and pearls among the women, which one art historian I read from theorized was a signature of the Medici at that point in time. It wasn’t unusual for women in particular to wear emblems of their families, because the portraits of them were usually commissioned by fathers or husbands, and essentially these were ownership tags. That’s what Cosimo was doing, most likely. If you know the artist–in this case, Bronzino–you probably know where they worked at a certain point in their lives. If you know when the painting was executed, you know the artist was probably in X city. Who would be most likely to employ Artist X during that time? A small cluster of families. You sort of have to narrow it down. Most important families of Europe also had coats of arms, which can show up in their paintings–but unfortunately these are often the first to deteriorate and they begin to look similar.

When an artist was painting a famous sitter like Mary, they might include her initials somewhere, maybe in the case of a king or queen with a good Rex or Regina for measure. Kings and queens are often given little identifiers, too, though these aren’t always consistent. In several portraits of Mary her hands are emphasized because beautiful hands were prized at the time, Mary was considered a beauty, and so on (also Elizabeth’s hands were rumored to be scarred after her bout of smallpox, and whether or not this was exaggerated I wouldn’t be surprised if this was a dig after her reign began). Mary is also often depicted in widow’s wear; now, this doesn’t mean that she wore those clothes often, but she was an iconically beautiful young widow after her first husband died, and then she *oh so tragically* lost another… A lot of artists probably worked off of one painting Mary actually sat for in widow’s wear to have shopped around to potential suitors. From what I read of this newly discovered portrait, Mary probably never sat for it; it was a tribute/propaganda piece by a support, and most likely the artist was working off of copies.

It’s kind of like how many portraits of Elizabeth I during her reign depict a few of the same things; grand red hair, magnificent clothes and jewels, flawless skin, dark eyes, the same basic facial features. Did Liz have the time to sit for umpteen portraits? No! And she didn’t want to. She didn’t want the reality of her aging appearance, she wanted the iconic Elizabethan image circulated, and so it was. Art historians can later pick up on the commonalities between these propaganda pieces and figure out who they’re of.

In the case of this newly discovered work, I imagine the art historian also did a lot of research about the patron’s potential ties to Mary, the political climate at the time, whether or not the artist had materials to work from regarding Mary’s appearance, and so on. Like I said, the painting looks like Mary, though that… doesn’t necessarily mean much–but the eyes are similar to the other portraits we see, the profile is right, her hair is styled as it was in other paintings, the outline of the clothes seems fine.

Basically, there is soooo much that goes into “proving” a sitter’s identity and even then you’ll never be 100% right in the eyes of everyone. For years, people thought a portrait was of Katherine Howard, and recently that was debunked. Everyone shops that portrait of a blond lady with one tit out as Lucrezia Borgia; it’s not. Identifying people is cool but for a lot of art historians it’s somewhat irrelevant, because we’re more looking at what a portrait reflected about the times and that’s why Mary’s identity IS relevant in this particular case. Going back to the Secret Anne Boleyn Painting conspiracy theories–people just wanna see a hot Anne there, and that’s what’s frustrating. By showing us Mary here, this art historian has also given us an example of people showing their support for this embattled queen through propaganda commissions, and for that matter getting scared and covering it up. That speaks to the political, social, and cultural goings-on of the time.

Some art historians love to find SEKRIT IMAGES because that sells books, but when you ask a lot of professors “do you think that’s a portrait of JANE SEYMOUR” or whatever they’ll probably be like “eh idk man”. The identity is less important on its own than it is as it relates to the reasons by a commission. I mean in my case the identities of portraits I studied in school were only really relevant in that I was able to discuss the political constructions that wives and brides became in one Italian court. Otherwise identity didn’t matter at all. And tbh, that ambivalence towards identifying people probably makes it even harder for the art historical world to come to a consensus on ANYONE. But this new discovery sounds pretty solid and honestly, it’s really cool.

#Anonymous

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shadow-wasser · 8 years ago

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WIP Fic Whenever: The Weakest, Of the Gods

WIP Fic Friday is a place where I will put a ‘quick and dirty’ first draft of either a short story or a chapter from a longer story. This will hopefully encourage me to improve my writing output. I missed last week... oops. This is from the “The Gods Have Horns” setting. Warning: Eye-related horror.

You always thought you were, kind of, the weakest of the gods. Not because Breath is like, a shitty aspect, but more because you never really went that high up the god tiers, and Pages are like, supposed to have further to go, than most.

You don’t mind that much, though. You don’t need lots of flashy powers to enjoy life.

You wander. You fly. You sometimes accidentally run into other gods, or hear them calling your name from afar. You rarely answer them. Generally speaking, other trolls have not been kind to you, and you much prefer the company of beasts. All of you turning into immortals with robes and wings and shiznasty powers has not changed that basic fact.

You don’t hang around the aliens much, either. You might stumble upon some accidentally, if they’re in that span of time between when they start talking, and when they start building cities. But you don’t stick around long. After locals spot you, they tend to say your name, for thousands of years afterward. It’s a little annoying.

So, you find worlds of animals. Worlds upon worlds where only animals walk, where nobody splits the air with speech. You’re not all that lonely. You tell yourself you’re happy.

(You can hear Eridan calling your name sometimes. You don’t ever say his.)

You are reclining under a tree in the moonlight on a vast savannah, listening to chirping night-critters, writing beat poetry, in your head, to their songs. Then you see the lights, moving above.

A spaceship.

You are not afraid, but you are cautious, and disappointed. You’d rather that a star-faring civilization not colonize this world. It’s always a pain, to have to find a new planet to live.

The starship, which is truly enormous, comes to ground, and you know, even before it lands, that it’s not a regular alien ship.

It’s purple, for one, and bedecked in banners and streamers and flags. Those sorts of decorations, you’re pretty sure, don’t usually survive on spaceships. They burn up, or something.

And you recognize the sigil, on the banners. The aspect of Rage.

You haven’t seen Gamzee in, well, probably eons, but you don’t really keep track of time anymore. He stopped calling your name, after only a few years, when you first split off from the rest.

You’re pretty sure, he doesn’t miss you, anymore.

You’re not sure, if you ever missed him.

Aliens are coming out of the spaceship now, opening up the sides. They are all sorts of different aliens, many you’ve never seen before.

The spaceship unfolds like an intricate paper sculpture, inflating into a tremendously giant tent. There’s a carpet rolling out along the ground, and out of the tent steps-

Whoa, he’s huge.

You shouldn’t be surprised. You all can basically look however you want, now, within trollish reason. Like, you can have working legs, when you want, which you usually do. Also, you can look more like an adult, if you want, but you usually don’t like to. You like the way you feel, when you look young.

But Gamzee must be, eight feet tall, at least, not counting the horns. He’s wearing a black and purple vest and a fancy coat, striped pants and heavy boots. You can’t see his face clearly from under your tree, but you’re certain he’s still wearing his subjugglator paint.

You should go greet him, right? Maybe you can convince him to leave this planet alone, for whatever it is he’s doing. But he’s all dressed up and you’re basically just wearing your godhood. You quickly try to make yourself presentable, dredging an old hat with a feather in it out of your sylladex, even though the green clashes. You wish you had some real pants.

You feel kind of silly, for being nervous. It’s just, Gamzee, right?

Gamzee is talking with one of the aliens, but he looks up as you approach. And yes, it’s still Gamzee, he still has that lazy, satisfied expression, though his purple eyes have a degree of intensity you don’t remember being there before.

“Tavros,” he says, his voice a low rumble that makes your horns vibrate. “And there I thought you’d up and died ages ago, brother. Miracle.”

“Uh,” you reply. “No, I’m alive. I’ve been alive, this whole time. I think.”

“None of us had our knowing on about that there thing what you said.”

You feel a little bad, now. You might have told them you were alive, at least. When you speak, your tone is a little defensive. “I’ve been, exploring. And, communing with the animals. It’s peaceful, out here. And no one, judges me.”

Gamzee’s painted brows crease, but then he smiles. “Brother, why don’t you come inside? See my ring?”

“Uh, sure?”

You follow him behind a curtain, and into his ship. Inside it’s purple, and shadowy, and it smells bitter and musky. You can see aliens of various shapes and sizes running around, through curtains and around mirrors. You can hear distant screaming, or maybe it’s laughing? Maybe it’s applause. The air is full of smoke. By the time Gamzee and you reach your destination, your eyes are watering.

It’s the very top of the tent, a wide balcony from which Gamzee can look over the rings being set up, and the savannah stretching to the horizon.

There’s an alien there, its face painted in black and white, and Gamzee waves a hand at it. “fuck off.”

It fucks off.

Gamzee settles himself in a chair that looks more like a throne, and you are amazed at how easily he fits there, fits here, now naturally he seems to take up divinity. Not a hint of uncertainty, not a pause of hesitation. Every inch a god.

You’re almost envious.

“Lots to do here, brother,” he says. “We meet in a time of miracle and wonder.”

“What are you here to do?” you ask.

“Spread the mirthful word, my brother. Ain’t been a whole planet devoted to the Carnival, not yet.” He smiles lazily, and maybe there are a few more teeth in the grin, this time. “High time for there to getting been done.”

“The whole planet?” You can’t keep the surprise from your voice. “Not just, like, one city?”

“Naw, brother, got to think bigger than that. Nothing but tents and rings and sideshows and freaks, far as your motherfucking ganderbulbs can see and then more.” Gamzee gets up from the throne and walks up to the edge of the balcony, resting his arms on the railing. Then, he turns.

“But enough all and about me, my invertebro! What is all up and happening with you?”

“Gamzee, I… That’s all, very nice, and all, but I’m not sure that’s all, a good idea? Turning the planet, into one big, um, circus?”

Gamzee frowns, and, for a moment, narrows his eyes at you. You take a step back.

Then, he’s smiling again. “Brother I know we ain’t got our squawk on in millions of sweeps and all, so you don’t got it in your pan that I got my motherfucking understand on what all this is about you dig?”

“W-what?”

“Rage, brother. You even know what Rage is all about?”

“Not, um. Really. I mean, I know it means, being angry, but it’s probably more than that, because Breath is about more than, you know, breathing.”

“What’s Breath about?”

You blink in surprise. “What?”

“I want you to get me all up in the schoolfeeding, Tavbro. What’s your motherfucking aspect all getting itself about?”

Breath… you know what it is. You know it in your core, like the sigil has been branded into your thinkpan, which is probably has, now that you think of it. Breath is freedom. Unfetteredness. The feeling of responsibilities being shed, of being light as air, of being held accountable for nothing.

You think you’ve done a pretty good job of being Breath.

“Freedom,” you say, eventually, uncertainly. “Breath is freedom?”

Gamzee laughs. You don’t see what is so funny.

“Aw, brother, I’m all about that too!”

“Huh?”

Gamzee leans forward, and his voice quiets. “Rage, brother. Rage is the hole what’s left when freedom’s gone. Rage is the thing in your thinkpan that makes you stop. Makes you hesitate. And I kill that. I MOTHERFUCKING KILL THAT!”

You jump at the change in volume, then feel immediately sheepish.

“Aw, Tavbro, don’t be all scared. It’s all good and miraculous that every single one of my motherfucking followers has all their Rage gone. Would be a better motherfucking world if everyone just said what’s on their motherfucking mind and did what they motherfucking wanted. Freedom. Brother, don’t you agree?”

You swallow. “Uh, I’m not sure I understand. I thought you were a, Bard? You don’t destroy, directly, right?”

He shakes his head. “Naw, brother. But it goes and shrivels and dies all on its own. Here, I’ll up and show you.”

He turns, and looks out at the savannah. The animals have never seen aliens before. They only look up curiously, don’t run, as Gamzee’s followers set up the circus.

He points. “See that motherfucker over there?” You go up and look. It’s one of Gamzee’s followers, a funny looking red alien with four arms. “He’s been wanting to try something but ain’t letting himself do it. And that ain’t no way to be thinking in my Carnival.”

Gamzee looks at you, and smiles, mouth friendly and eyes hard. “Don’t want none of that in my Carnival, brother.”

The red alien, who had been focused on erecting a large pole, turns to a brown furry alien next to him. And without hesitating a moment, he reaches up and rips out the furry alien’s eye.

And eats it.

You don’t watch the rest.

“I think that’s kind of sick.” you manage to say, eventually. “Did you, make him, do that?”

Gamzee actually looks confused. “It’s freedom, brother. It’s only what he wanted all and up to do, all in real life like.”

He must see the distress in your expression, because he then follows that up with: “We do the same thing, Tavbro.”

“No, I,” you don’t know what to say. He’s going to make your planet (you can’t help but think of it as yours), your whole planet, be like that? Without restraint or empathy or kindness? “I don’t think it’s the same thing at all.”

Gamzee frowns, then just as quickly smiles again. “Sure thing bro. We don’t gotta work together, though it’d all make me as happy as motherfuck if we up and did.”

He turns to look at the view again. “You can still up and stay if you wanna get your watch on, my brother. Or go on chilling with the birds and bees if that’s what speaks to you and all.”

“Gamzee,” you say, after a moment. “Can you, um. Use a different planet, maybe? I kind of, like this one?”

He looks at you, sidelong, and says nothing.

“Like, I like it, how it is? Not made into… a carnival…” You trail off.

“This is a good planet for a Carnival, bro. Not like you were up and using it.”

“Gamzee, don’t- I was kind of, living here-”

“IT’S NOT LIKE YOU WROTE YOUR MOTHERFUCKING NAME ON IT!”

Gamzee whirls, and his appearance is transformed. His fangs are bared, expression furious, and the scleras of his eyes look more orange than yellow.

“Tavbro, you ran, you can’t claim nothing. NOT MOTHERFUCKING NOTHING. Ain’t even acting a real god, just running around playing like you’re STILL A MOTHERFUCKING KID. This planet is MOTHERFUCKING MINE, brother. Can’t claim NOTHING. And I. Am going. TO DESTROY THIS MOTHERFUCKING PLANET. And there ain’t nothing you’re gonna do about it, are you?”

You sit down. Hard. You are sitting in a four-wheel device. You didn’t realize you still had one. You’re not sure if you can move your legs, actually. Or feel them.

“Didn’t motherfucking think so.”

Gamzee turns, to look back at the Carnival. And you…

You can feel it. The animals. Ripping into each other. Killing mates, killing young, predators going mad, fear-aggression spiking into suicidal terror…

He’s wiping out the whole planet.

Your planet.

By now, your communing abilities are highly developed. You’re more powerful than the Summoner, more powerful than any mortal troll could ever have been.

But when you reach out to get the animals to stop, you can’t. Divine power trumps psionics, you guess.

You have divine power. You are the Page of Breath. The Page to Breath. But if this is freedom… what does Breath want from you? You wish you were a Seer.

But you’re no Seer. Barely even a Page. You’re sitting there in your chair like a fool. The clown made a fool of you.

For a moment, you think you might hate him. Then you realize, no, you just want to be free of him. You just want-

And that’s when you get it. You really, actually get it.

“Gamzee,” you say slowly. “I think, there might be, two kinds of freedom.”

“What the motherfuck are you talking about?” he rumbles.

“Yeah, there is… there is freedom to. That’s your kind of freedom. But I think my kind of freedom is freedom from. Which is different. So that’s, I think, what I’m going to do.”

You Breathe.

And they are free.

All of them. The animals, the followers. Free of their burdens. They are free now, of Gamzee. They can do what they want to, really want to, and not just reflexively enact their most base impulses.

You can hear cheering, from below. Or maybe screaming. Maybe applause.

“What the fuck did you do!” roars Gamzee, turning on you.

You stand up. The chair is gone. You do not need to be afraid of him. You are free of your fear.

You spread your wings.

“I think, I’m doing, what I need to do,” you say. “Which is, to say, stop you.”

The wind whistles, and-

------

It is the first time, but not the last, you fight another god openly.

It is the first time, but not the last, you really felt divine.

------

Your planet, at least, died free.

#wip fic #fanfic extra #homestuck #fanfiction #my fic #gamzee #tavros #godstuck

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