Heya ! I was wondering : since in your undertale fics the war seems to take place in Europe (in AmberTale at least, and maybe in EISTale too ?), where do you imagine Mt Ebott to be ? Voilà, random question of the day. Also, I love your work and this blog, I almost always feel like I can relate to what you post. Seriously, you just posted gifs with auroras and I'm giving a presentation about them in two days, it's almost creepy ? Have a super nice week ! ~A random colorful vegetable from Ao3
Oh hello, psychedelic color-and-species-shifting vegetoid companion! Nice to hear from you again!
That… is a GOOD QUESTION.
OK. Here’s what confuses me: Toby Fox is American and a lot of Undertale’s just.. I dunno, aesthetic?, seems to me to be rather American, although it could really be anywhere, and there’s really no way to tell a specific place/time period with any certainty from the intro screens with the spear-waving humans. I set the War between Humans and Monsters in AmberTale in a close fantasy parallel to plague-era Middle Ages, ie right at the end and the beginning of the Renaissance (which was starting already and really got into swing once they got all the corpses cleared out of the way and the land reallotted.) So early 1300s by our dates, and presumably in Europe, since this is European history we’re talking about. Thing is. Where does Undertale actually take place? I think it’s hard to say. When I look at the original game I wanna say America, but I can’t with certainty, and personal preference for aesthetics and stuff makes me want to set it in Europe, by our standards. So I’m gonna go with ‘maybe neither’. Camila Cueves said Glitchtale takes place in a Pangaea-like mega-continent. I’m.. not going to be exactly the same, but similarly, I will say that my stories do not take place in a world that is exactly the same as ours. However, a lot of the places and place names are the same, at least in AmberTale/ChryTale (England and Greece and Normandy exist because they’ve been specifically mentioned in various places.) The Barrier exists in a mountain range roughly analogous to the Alps. Crisco, I have no idea, but it’s not our world. Got sort of a chilly wasteland vibe going there, but hopefully that’s just the doings of the dystopian government and not the state of the rest of the world. Snowflower, different world altogether. They are in a cold place with lots of mountains and sea, and good land with an optimum combination of flat-enough-to-build-on, ocean access, accessibility in general and sunlight (some of the dramatically deep lowlands between mountains get very little sunlight) is at a premium. What’s happening with the war is the Monsters are being forced off both the live-on-able mountains and most of the seashore and into the lowlands, which are not great to live in, but you can survive if you’re Determined. (Sorta like the Underground.) And thus Kip’s joy at being able to experience so many hours of sunlight a day. ..I’m getting alternate-universe quasi-Norway vibes from this one, but the topography would be different obviously, it’d be its own small peninsula.
Thanks man! I’m so glad you enjoy my random weirdness :D Oh, good luck with the presentation! And my week is likely to be rough and very up-and-down because Finals are upon me and my brain has not been giving the best performance lately so that’s concerning, but I’ll pull through, and then I’ll have a whole month of break to write things for you!
“WHAT DID YOU JUST DO!?” Gaster screamed down at him, where he was kneeling in a corner of the basement room. Gaster had formed a magic bone and struck at Sans with it, and Sans had broken it before it reached him with one of his own bullets.
“...nothin?”
“DO YOU HAVE MAGIC OR DON’T YOU?” he formed another bone.
“no? maybe, haha,” said Sans, blocking a second time. Then he got up and tried to run for the door. Suddenly he was dodging a moving labyrinth of bones. The door was blocked. He backed into another corner and Gaster appeared in front of him, still screaming.
“Wait so do I just let you hit me?” he asked, ducking under the bone. His soul was racing. This was... not normal.
Gaster’s hand caught him under the chin, yanked him off his feet and pinned him against the wall.
“DO YOU HAVE MAGIC OR NOT?”
“No!”
“DO YOU HAVE MAGIC!”
“I don’t!”
Gaster flung him down in front of another wave of moving bones. Sans, remembering that he didn’t have magic, covered his head with his arms and closed his eyes. The bones punched through him, he felt the magic tug at his soul. Then all was quiet.
“We’re done,” said Gaster, and he heard him leave.
Sans looked at his arms, then stood up. He was unhurt. He crawled into the main basement and found Gaster sitting on the floor with his head between his knees, taking deep breaths.
“Um. What was that?”
Gaster raised his head and his expression was firm.
“That was good, at least the second time. You need to remember you can do that. The next time it won’t be me, and it will hurt. You need to remember not to fight back. You can’t fight back. For as long as we’re in there—or you’re with them—you don’t have magic.”
“But why didn’t it hurt?”
Gaster smiled.
“Have I taught you nothing? FIGHT magic needs intent.”
“Yeah but those were real bullets!”
Gaster stretched out his hand and formed a small bone bullet above it, pointing toward Sans. Sans walked closer and cupped his hands around it. He felt the energy fluctuate—five, ten, then one damage. Then it sank to a neutral hum.
“Take it,” said Gaster, and Sans pressed the bone between his hands, feeling a shock of energy through his hands for a moment before it disintegrated. No damage.
“Huh. I didn’t realize you could do that.”
“It takes practice.” Gaster stood with a grunt and dusted his coat off. “Promise me you’ll remember this because I never want to do it again. Also you’ll know I won’t hurt you this time so the effect is ruined.”
“I promise.”
“Good. Let’s never do that again, hey?” he chuckled. It turned into a choke.
“Ice cream?” said Sans.
“Ice cream,” said Gaster.
The post-training ice cream sessions had become an informal part of the ritual, and at some point had turned into an eating competition. Sans was catching up, to his pride—that accomplishment wasn’t nothing, Gaster could put away a vast amount of ice cream. Sans was pretty sure he’d heard him mumble something about drowning his guilt once when he remarked on it.
He had only recently began bringing Sans down there. The safe room was in the basement, thickly insulated and sealed against sound and magic leakage, concealed behind a row of shelves stocked with assorted pickles.
Ever since Sans could remember, Gaster had drilled him on how to respond to questions—about his magic, what his dad did, what his friends were like. Especially about his magic, though. His earliest understanding had been that his magic was a very very important secret, and he had to keep it that way. It would be a game, just between the two of them; no one else could know or he’d ruin the game. Later Gaster explained that some people didn’t like magic for some reason, and so if Sans let anyone see him using magic he might get hurt. Papyrus would be in trouble too. Then slowly he learned the full truth.
Two years before, when he was ten, Gaster had first brought him down here, made Sans kneel in a corner and interrogated him, shouting this time, interrupting him when he tried to answer and repeating questions. It lasted only half an hour the first time. After that the sessions replaced the usual drills.
It was terrifying and disorienting, but Gaster never shouted at him outside of the safe room so Sans was able to mentally isolate it as a necessary part of his training, which Gaster told him it was. Sans sensed that the sessions were harder on Gaster than on him, and that was reassuring. He never broke, though he did start crying a few times: the first time, after they were done, instead of leaving and waiting for Sans to join him, Gaster picked him up and carried him out of the room, then sat on the floor by the pickle shelves hugging him tightly. He was shaking, and continued shaking even after Sans had stopped crying.
Sans stared up into a white light and counted all the promises he’d made in his life. He was soaking wet. Now and then a shiver passed through his body, arched backwards over a chair with hands cuffed to the back. He could faintly hear the humans talking in another room.
He’d passed the first round of questioning almost without conscious mental effort. He knew how to respond to questions. Now he was remembering Gaster, faintly, in fading flashes that he doubted even as he looked at them. The colors of that world were too bright and warm, he could barely believe he had ever belonged to them.
His spine was aching, a persistent sharp ache slowly growing in intensity that sent another involuntary twitch or two through his body. Trying to ignore it, he thought about Grillbz and Papyrus instead, eating dinner without him, hoping he’d appear and slowly realizing that he wouldn’t. He wondered if Grillbz would wait up for him, in case he came home. Home, huh. When had the cafe become home? It undeniably was now. Especially with Papyrus back. Dang, he ought to have told Papyrus that he and Grillbz were a thing. It could only get more awkward the longer he waited. He could be kinda stupid sometimes.
...What time was it? Was it too much to hope that they’d let him go before morning, and he could do the broadcast as normal? He was sure they didn’t know anything yet, but if the broadcasts stopped the day after he was arrested it’d be hard for them to miss the implications.
Late that night Papyrus woke to a gentle light in the room and rolled over to look at Sans’ bed. Grillbz, still fully clothed, was lying there with his back to him.
Papyrus slid out of bed and stood behind him. He was hugging Sans’ pillow tightly, face pressed into the fabric. His eyes were open, and he looked far from sleep. He turned to look at him and Papyrus saw the pain in his face. Papyrus sat on the side of the bed and squeezed his upper arm.
“MAyBE hE’Ll COmE BAcK. I dID.”
Grillbz hid his face in the pillow.
Papyrus heard him leave the room later in the night and pace up and down in the hall. When he woke again it was almost morning and Grillbz had disappeared entirely. Papyrus hoped he wasn’t doing anything dangerous.
“Let him breathe, the little shit’s not that strong. These things are easy to dust.”
It had to be morning. This was the only thought left in Sans’ mind and it fizzled in and out like a dying bulb. What time was it? Would he know? Did they know?
He was innocent, he hadn’t done anything, he had no magic, he was innocent.
If he teleported back to the cafe could he convince both Grillbz and Papyrus to run with him? Where could they go? He couldn’t teleport to places he’d never been, and he’d never been outside the fence.
He heard radio static. Someone in the next room had switched on a radio. He waited for them to switch to one of their stations, but they appeared to be waiting.
They don’t know, he told himself over the static. Anything could have happened. They don’t know it’s you. It’s not you. Maybe you can kill yourself with one of dad’s blasters before they get back? Don’t do that, they’ll just go after Grillbz and Papyrus.
Suddenly he was hearing music. Someone adjusted the radio and swore.
He knew that song, it was by Gorillaz. Was he dying? Gorillaz was absolutely banned. The Confederation had a special hatred for the band and he and the old lady made sure to play Feel Good Inc. on Confederation holidays as a special ‘fuck you.’ This song had a softer sound and an almost chirping beat.
Up on melancholy hill
There's a plastic tree
Are you here with me
Just looking out on the day
Of another dream
Melancholy Hill. One of his favorites. He had to be dreaming, and he waited to wake up, wondering why, if he were dreaming such a nice dream in other respects, he couldn’t also dream that the pain was gone and he was free to lie down and relax his body.
The song ended. He waited, staring into the light.
“Heya. Legendary fartmaster here in the confederacy of niceness and non-torture and kittens. How are you doin? Weather is perfectly cloudy with a 10% chance of assholes and a 26% chance of soul-crushing propaganda. Which is why you should stay inside and listen to your radio instead. 99% guaranteed to be not-soul-crushing. Just mildly irritating.”
That was his voice. Sans lay listening in shock.
“Which reminds me, quick trivia: what kinda creature can function both as a fuzzy pet and as a decorative ceiling support? A cat-er-pillar.”
Sans gave a faint, painful snort. That was great.
The broadcast continued to the end, and he listened in fascination to his own voice. Maybe the old lady had someone in reserve and hadn’t told him. He’d have to ask her, when he got back.
Just before they switched off the radio he thought he heard someone say “it’s not him, but I see what you mean about the voice.”
It was another five days before they let him go, but after that he knew he’d be alright. The broadcast played as normal each morning. He listened intently for any tells that it was another person speaking, and that he hadn’t just somehow, unconsciously, made spare recordings of himself on equipment he was sure he didn’t have. Minor things—inflection, transition between ideas—made him wonder, but he was never quite sure. He might have said something like that. Hard to tell.
Finally one evening he was led to an ordinary cell with a cot, where he slept like a dead monster until Markin shook him awake.
“Hey,” he said. “You’ve been released. Sorry about this, stupid mix-up.”
Sans nodded and followed him out, not quite believing even as they gave him back his clothes (complete with packets of emergency ketchup, a tiny flashlight and a whole pancake in the pockets) and steered him out the door and into a dark car. He panicked a little then. He’d caught only a brief glimpse of hazy golden light, no way to tell where they were or where they were actually taking him. Then the car stopped and Markin helped him out and they were standing across from the cafe. He took a moment to straighten his vest before walking across.
The cafe was bustling with the usual morning rush. A few heads turned as he came in.
“Sans?”
“Hey, Sans!”
“See? I told you he’d be fine!”
Suddenly it seemed the whole room was staring at him. Sans waved with his usual grin and looked at Steve, who was regarding him over the rim of his coffee cup.
“Mornin.”
“Hey. How are you?”
“Happy as a flapjack,” said Sans, picking up Steve’s empty plate. He stifled a scream. He’d forgotten he had broken fingers.
“Hell does that mean?”
“Dunno, but it’s true.”
He pushed into the back, Markin following and offering to take the plate, and slid it onto the counter with the other dirty plates. Grillbz was at the griddle with his back to them. He turned as Sans put the plate down and froze, spatula in the air.
“Heya,” said Sans. “I’m back.”
Grillbz stared at him. Sans registered that there were pancakes which needed turning. He nudged around Grillbz and took the spatula away from him. Grillbz’ hand landed firmly on his shoulder, as if checking that he was real. Sans awkwardly scraped the first pancake free, holding the spatula between his palms, and flipped it. It slapped sadly down with an edge over the pancake next to it.
“Ow. Oops.”
Grillbz took the spatula back, quickly flipped the rest of the pancakes and then turned Sans around and knelt in front of him.
“You’re back.”
“Huh, yeah. It’s good to see you.”
“Are you alright?”
“As alright as can be expected.” Sans held up his fingers and grinned. Grillbz visibly cringed, took his hands and looked closely at them. “Hey! It’s alright, I’m alright.”
“...”
Grillbz stood, tossed the pancakes onto a plate, and handed it to Markin.
“Here.”
“Uh, OK?” Markin went out into the cafe. Grillbz held out his arms. Sans leaned into them and Grillbz gently lifted him and carried him upstairs.
“Hey. Where are we going?”
“You need to rest.”
“You’ll be OK without me?”
“I think I can survive another day.”
“Well, good. I do feel kinda awful.”
“You look it.”
“Thanks a lot.”
Grillbz sat him on the bed and brought him his pajamas, then politely averted his eyes while Sans changed. Sans pushed up his sleeve over his new tattoo.
“Hey. I’m decent, look. Now we match.”
Grillbz looked for several moments with a blank expression, then bent and kissed the stained bone.
“Did Gaster tell you?”
“Nope. I saw your tattoo once when you were changing.”
“..When were you in my room while I was changing?”
“Few years ago. When Paps and I were first living with you.”
“Oh, that’s right.” he smiled. “It seems like forever ago but it wasn’t that long at all.”
Sans pulled his sleeve back down and fought a powerful urge to slump down and close his eyes. For a moment he wondered how to ask about Grillbz’ own tattoo, the question between star or dash still seemed important, but then he decided it wasn’t. He trusted Grillbz now, and his interest in the past was fading. But as it turned out he didn’t have to ask. Grillbz itched at his sleeve above the tattoo with a meditative look, then said
“I think the reason it’s blank is because they didn’t bother designating elementals. If you’d been arrested, then either you were killed in prison, or they broke you well enough that they felt you wouldn’t be a threat. If you had a tattoo and you were alive it meant you broke. And I broke.”
“Y’don’t look very broken to me,” said Sans, yawning. Grillbz helped him lie down and pulled the covers over him.
“That’s because you helped me pull myself together, beautiful punster. Do you need anything?”
“Nah...”
Sans was asleep within seconds. It must have been hours later when Papyrus woke him.
“YOu’RE ALiVE!!”
“Hey bro. S’good to see you.” Papyrus lifted him, still wrapped in the covers, and hugged him, crying. Sans noticed his slacks draped across the bottom of the bed. He pawed them closer to him, fished the pancake out of a pocket and began eating it. Papyrus wiped his eyes and looked at him in confusion.
“..SAns. WHerE DiD THaT CoME fROm?”
“Pockets bro.”
“HAs THAt bEeN IN THERe sINCe yOU LEFt?”
“Yep. Good thing monster food doesn’t spoil heh?”
“THIS ISn’T MONsTER foOD! It’S FAkE PEoPLE FOOd!”
“Oh really? Well it looks alright, maybe the Crisco petrifies it a little.”
Grillbz appeared in the doorway with a tray.
“HE’s EATInG A FIvE-DaY-OLD PanCAKE!” shouted Papyrus. Grillbz frowned at Sans, who was scarfing down the last shreds of pancake.
“Please don’t. I brought you real food.”
“Aw thanks, you didn’t have to do that.”
“YES WE DID. JoiNT DEcISION, WE’rE EAtING In HERE. WITh YOU.”
“That reminds me, I couldn’t get the other tray. Papyrus, do you think you could”
“YEP! GlADLy!”
Papyrus gave Sans another squeeze—Sans made a creaking sound, rediscovering how sore his joints were—and then bounded out of the room. Grillbz set the tray down and sat on the side of the bed near Sans.
“Don’t worry about the broadcast,” he whispered. Sans nodded.
“I know! They played it in the next room, I heard it.”
“Oh.” Grillbz looked up at a crashing sound and WHOOPSIE!!! From downstairs, followed by footsteps on the stairs. “I’m glad,” he said quickly, then stood and busied himself with unloading the tray he’d brought. A moment later Papyrus reentered in a rush.
“I MaY HAVe DEnTEd A pOt. SOrRY.”
“Don’t worry, it doesn’t matter,” said Grillbz.
Sans went back to sleep immediately after dinner. He woke in the morning when he heard the faint sound of a door closing across the hall.
He slipped out of bed, careful not to wake Papyrus (who was sleeping with his arms and legs going four different directions and all his covers on the floor), and went into the hall. Grillbz was just at the head of the stairs. He paused and waited for him.
“And where’re you off to so early, handsome?” whispered Sans. Grillbz gave a mysterious half-smile.
“Come see.”
They went into the storage room, and Sans saw immediately that some boxes had been rearranged to hide the loose section of boards. Grillbz lifted up the loose section and dropped down onto a crate he’d placed in the wine cellar for that purpose. He looked up.
“Coming?”
“Catch me.”
Grillbz reached up and Sans jumped into his arms. The dusty floor below them was scuffed clear in a track leading back to the broadcasting room.
“So it was you doing the broadcast. I thought I was going insane.”
“No. It was me. There wasn’t anyone else.”
“How’d you get my voice so well?”
“I don’t know, I wasn’t sure if I could do it. But I’ve listened to you a lot.” He smiled. “I was.. so scared, actually, that I wouldn’t be able to do it and—I don’t know, but I knew I had to try, because otherwise it’d be worse for you.”
“It was perfect. Kinda disorienting to listen to actually. But I think you saved my life.”
“Oh God that’s what I was afraid of. Thank God I was convincing enough.”
“You really were, my sparks.” Sans squeezed him reassuringly.
“Yeah... I’m so glad you’re back.”
They climbed into the broadcast room, where everything was as Sans had left it. They checked and cleaned the generator because Grillbz was concerned he hadn’t done it well enough while Sans was gone. There were no problems.
“Do you want to do the broadcast?” said Grillbz. “I can do it again if you’d rather not.”
“Only if you want to.”
“I don’t really, I think you’re better at it.”
“OK cool. Can you do the typing though?”
“Definitely.”
Sans sat on Grillbz’ lap as Grillbz looked over his shoulder to type
>Guess who’sk here?
>Legendary Fartmaster the First?!
>Yesp. -Yep. He’s pretty OK he says.
“Do you not know how to use delete?” said Sans. “Or backspace?”
Grillbz made an embarrassed sound.
“Look, some of us haven’t been able to practice our typing skills every day on illegal machinery.”
“Is that why you’re just typing with your index fingers?”
“Do you want me to do it or not?!”
Sans laughed.
>So who’s on for today?
>The First. No more hot air.
>Haha! I must say I love your designation. Oh, and if I may presume, I think I know who you are!
>..Who?
>Tall, warm, flame affinity. You’re a dragon!
Grillbz made a puffing sound and Sans laughed out loud.
“I mean that’s pretty close.”
“Mhmm.”
“I think elementals are cooler than dragons,” said Sans. Grillbz smiled.
“I ah... oh. Thank you.”
>Well? Am I right or am I right? (don’t tell me either way, leave me in my delusion)!
>That’s not a basd guess. Maybe somedays thigs will get better and I can introduce you. -the First
Sans dictated.
>Oh, that would be lovely!
>Here’s hoping, then.s
>I look forward to it. Get ready to play the song.
Sans held the headset up so he and Grillbz could both hear the music.
I was left to my own devices
Many days fell away with nothing to show
“Pompeii,” said Sans happily. Grillbz raised an eyebrow.
“Petrified bodies...?”
“Nah it’s a song by Bastille.”
And the walls kept tumbling down
In the city that we love
“A song about petrified dead people written by a French jail. Perfect.”
“You are unexpectedly well-educated for a citizen of this country.”
“You talked about this song once before. I was listening.”
“Really! You’re right, I kinda remember that.” Sans kissed him. “I think you remember more about what I’ve said than I do myself.”
“Perhaps you don’t realize how very fascinating you are,” said Grillbz, pulling him in for another kiss. Sans nuzzled in close, only pulling away when he heard the song winding down.
“Alright, quiet in the recording room,” he said. “And don’t distract me.”
“I’ll try.”
Grillbz sat very straight and Sans slipped his headset on.
“Good morning all, it’s Legendary Fartmaster again and it’s a beautiful day.”
Pt 1
That’s it, this is finally completed. Wooot. I may actually start brushing up chapters and posting them to AO3 now idk, hope you liked this ride
Papyrus fell asleep with his head on the kitchen table. Grillbz picked him up to carry him upstairs and he cringed and whined, then wrapped his arms about Grillbz’ neck.
Grillbz stood outside in the hall with his arms crossed while Sans helped Papyrus change into an old set of pajamas. Sans laughed.
“Geez bro, you have grown.”
Papyrus had said it was alright for him to spend the night. Someone would be there to pick him up in the morning.
Papyrus asked something, and Sans said “I’ll be back, just wanna say g’night to Grillb.” The door swung open. Sans looked up at him. After considering for a moment Grillbz picked him up, swung him across the hallway into his room and stood him on the side of his bed. Sans raised his brow ridges.
“Slow down hot stuff, you haven’t even seduced me yet.”
“He’s staying?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“Good?”
“I agree.”
“Yeah. Good. I was worried you uh… I dunno, you looked worried earlier.”
“I am. Sans, remember something for me.”
“Kay?”
“He’ll always be your brother, but he’s not the same person he was when he left here.”
Sans forced himself to absorb this and nodded.
“Yeah I know. Thanks.”
“I don’t understand why you’re thanking me, but you’re welcome.” He kissed Sans on the nasal bone and lifted him onto the floor. “See you in the morning.”
In the morning when Sans slid out of bed Papyrus was instantly awake.
“WHAt timE Is iT?”
“Early, I just need to do some prep. Go back to sleep.”
“IN youR pAjAmaS?”
“Huh? Yeah, why’d I get dressed any sooner than I have to? Heh.”
“BROTher you arE inSufFeraBlE.”
Sans went downstairs to the kitchen before teleporting, just in case Papyrus was listening to his footsteps. This was part of his morning ritual now, he reflected darkly.
Starting up went smoothly. The old lady asked about his ‘Lovely Warm Friend.’ He gave a brief answer and she immediately shot back
>What’s wrong?
>nothin
>I do have something else to tell you though.
>Well, don’t leave me in suspense.
>my brother’s back.
>Oh! That’s wonderful, is he alright?
>I can’t tell. yes? he’s the same guy.
>No he isn’t. Nobody is ever always the same.
>Excuse the grammar, that was a bit off.
>he’s in the guard so that’s a thing now.
>Oh God.
>Has he talked much?
>no. not yet. he was tired.
>Keep an eye on him and tell me what he sounds like, will you?
>his voice seems different.
>That makes sense.
Sans started to type, pulled his hands back and ran his fingers through each other, then bit one knuckle reflectively.
>do you know what they did to him?
>Obviously I wasn’t there, but I would guess they gave him the usual treatment. He’ll be a mess, he’s had all his thoughts ripped out and fed back to him with the Confederation stamp on them. Be gentle with him, OK? But don’t trust him, not until you’re absolutely certain. Different people take it different ways and there’s no way to know, absolutely no way, until it happens.
>thanks.
>Oh dear look at that I’ve blabbed for too long, play the music!
>From what you’ve told me he’s a strong boy. I’m sure he’ll be alright eventually. Just don’t rush him, and don’t do anything foolish.
>aye-aye. music is go.
Sans listened for the day’s song, still flexing his fingers tensely. When the music started, the first few notes were so soft that he almost didn’t notice them. It was piano music, a haunting, sleepy tune that rose and fell in gentle waves like the waves on a pond. Sans smiled and leaned back in his chair.
>Debussy, Reverie. Tell me how your friend likes it.
>will do, thanks so much. It’s pretty.
Sans wasn’t sure where to teleport. Papyrus might still be in his room. If he’d left, where might he be? After a moment of consideration, Sans came to a decision, closed his eyes, and teleported into Grillbz’ room.
It was very quiet. He opened his eyes.
He peeked into the hallway and found his room door neatly closed. Voices came from the direction of the kitchen. Sans started down the stairs and then ran back, realizing he hadn’t changed.
So Papyrus was with Grillbz—oh. He’d missed the broadcast. Sans brushed aside his sadness and changed as quickly as he could.
“SANS!” said Papyrus as soon as he walked into the kitchen. He looked like he hadn’t slept well, Sans thought.
“Mornin’ bro. S’good to see you.”
“GrillbZ toLD me I shoUlD Stay wiTh You?”
“Were you planning on leaving? I mean, I won’t stop you if you want to, but I’d rather you not. You just got back.”
“welL AlrighT. I, I gueSs It’s oK? i’ll neEd to ChEck.”
“Naturally,” said Grillbz, beginning to flip a row of eggs. “How many for you, Sans?”
“Two.”
“Boring.” Grillbz finished flipping the eggs, and reached for two more.
“He eaTs too much,” remarked Papyrus, then flinched. “I’M sorRY! I MeAN I Don’T CAre, iT doESn’T mATTeR?”
Grillbz laughed and shrugged.
“I mean you’re not wrong.”
There was a brisk and unnecessarily loud knock on their door while they were cleaning up from breakfast. It was Undyne, and Sans was instantly relieved. He didn’t know her very well, but he’d heard good things. She was a Captain, the highest-ranking Monster in the Guard, and she was obsessed with ‘order,’ constantly saying that things would be better for everyone if the humans and monsters could just cooperate. She seemed to believe it too. Possibly a bit insane, but it wasn’t a bad kind. She held her monsters to a high standard but as long as they lived up to it she didn’t abuse them. She talked with them briefly, and brushed off Papyrus’ questions about staying with Sans and Grillbz with a “yeah I kinda figured.”
“So it’S oKAy?”
“Yep. Come along, kid.”
They watched the two of them leave, Papyrus trotting at Undyne’s heels, occasionally looking back at them. Grillbz rested a hand on Sans’ shoulder, pulling him close.
“I missed the broadcast,” he said regretfully.
“Heh.”
“...I didn’t tell him.”
“I know. I never meant to.”
“No, not about that, about us.”
“What about—oh. Oh geez. Oh yeah. I should probably tell him.”
“You’ll do it?”
“Yeah I should, heh, I’m his brother. Oh man. What do I say?”
“Hm. ‘Hey, Papyrus, your two favorite people fell in love while you were gone.’?”
“...I don’t know if I can say that.”
“Why not?”
Sans looked up at him and grinned.
“Eh don’t get me wrong egg-warmer, I’m not ashamed of you, I just.. dunno how to explain that to Papyrus.”
“He’s not a child, Sans.”
“I know! I just can’t imagine looking him in the face and aaagh. Telling him. It’s not something I’ve done before. Give me a couple days to get used to it, I’m still adjusting to him being back, and now I have to think of what to say.”
Grillbz kneaded his shoulder, smiling.
“Alright.” His smile darkened. “...you may have a point, it might upset him to find out too quickly. He needs to feel comfortable first.”
“So no smoochies in front of the lil bro.”
“...I would assume not? Why, were you planning on it?”
“Not particularly, no, but I can put ‘gross out Papyrus with PDA’ on my bucket list if you’d like.”
“Our bucket list, hopefully, assuming you don’t go find some other PDA partner.”
“As if. You are literally the hottest guy I know.”
Grillbz gave a disappointed sigh, but he was grinning.
It took Sans more than a couple days. They adjusted quickly to having a household of three again. Papyrus was out on patrol most days, sometimes into the night, but it was good to have him back when he was there, although he seemed nervous and flighty. Sans hoped he’d be able to calm down soon. He didn’t know how to help him.
Sunday he was out on his usual buying run, chatting with Lucy—a fluffy white dog he’d known since they moved to Twelve—when he noticed one of the human Guards staring at him. He was standing with Markin, one of the regulars at the cafe, but Sans barely recognized him. He’d been there once or twice, maybe, he thought, with others. He mentally ran over what he’d been saying to Lucy, trying to decide if he’d said anything risky. No, it had all been completely innocuous.
“Y’think they’re watching me?” he said quietly, slipping it in at the end of an anecdote about the annoying crows that had moved into the neon letters of the noodle house. Lucy laughed and nodded, not missing a beat.
“Oh yes.”
“Cool. Thanks—I’d better get back, then, before I start dropping eggs, Gribz might not be eggstatic about that. Seeya.”
He slung his carry strap over his shoulder and started down the street with his load thumping against his femur. The air was smoky with a haze of dust particles from the plains beyond the fence mixed with ice and freezing steam which hung sluggishly in the cold air. He wondered if they were following him. If they were, the best thing he could do would be to pretend he didn’t know. He couldn’t teleport. They’d catch up with him eventually, and then they’d know he had magic and things would be ten times worse for him. He kept walking at a slow, easy pace.
He was about fifty yards down the street, and starting to hope he was OK, when two taller forms appeared close behind him. He stopped and glanced up at Markin, smiling.
“Heya.”
“You’re under arrest.”
“Ah geez, really?”
He set his bags down and tried to think of a handcuffs joke to distract himself from his rising panic.
It was late evening when Papyrus knocked on the door to the cafe, and it opened almost immediately. Grillbz wasn’t looking at his face at first, more at the level of his lower ribcage, then he looked up, visibly disappointed.
“Oh. Hello.”
He stepped aside and Papyrus silently came inside, feeling shamed.
“Did you see Sans?” asked Grillbz, and Papyrus forgot everything else.
“nO. He’S NoT bACk YEt?”
Grillbz shook his head.
“He’s been gone for more than four hours.” Papyrus stared. Grillbz forced a faint chuckle. “He’s probably talking to someone, he... loves to talk.”
Papyrus didn’t say anything to this. A moment later, they both jumped at a knock on the door. It was Lucy.
“Did Sans get back?” she asked.
“No,” said Grillbz, “Why, did you see him?”
“Yes, I was talking to him before he started back, but that was hours ago. Some of the humans were looking at him funny.”
“Humans. What kind of humans, kid punks or Guards?”
“Guards.”
Grillbz made a distracted motion with his hand, then turned and half-sprinted into the back. Papyrus was staring at Lucy.
“thEy ToOK HiM?”
“I mean..” she wrung her paws. “I don’t know? I didn’t see, I was trying to keep an eye on them but then they disappeared while I wasn’t looking. It did look like they were following him. And, I don’t know where else he’d be...”
Grillbz reappeared, yanking his coat on over his arms, and blazed past them out into the night, leaving Papyrus with a vacant look and Lucy shouting “where are you going?!”
He didn’t know. He didn’t know where they had taken him, and if he did, what would he do, go stand outside a window and get shot? But he stayed outside, searching every street Sans might have taken in case he’d just sidetracked and gotten delayed somehow, until his body ached with the cold, then slowly headed back, telling himself Sans might be there, with Papyrus, safe. Not alone and completely cut off from help and abandoned in some darkened cell where he’d never find him.
When he got back the cafe lights were still on. Papyrus was sitting in a corner, staring down at his hands, which were folded on the tabletop in front of him. Grillbz shut the lights off and coaxed him upstairs.
A/N: it’s ALMOST done finally! I think maybe one more chapter-thing? I was not planning for this to turn into this long drawn out project I was just gonna finish it quick... just like all my other WIPs hahaha...ha... *sweats*
c’est la vie
So I usually feel kinda weird about sharing personal stuff on here but this directly affects my creative output, which is something that, amazingly enough, several of you are invested in so I figured I should give you an update.
I am a solitary person who asks for help probably less often than I should, who once rolled down a flight of stairs, audibly spraining an ankle in front of several people, and then jumped up and limped quickly away muttering “Nope thanks I’m good” when they asked if I was OK. Despite this, after considering it for about half a year, I finally went to talk to a counselor about stuff.
Obviously since there’s only been one visit we’re not 100% certain but she thinks I have dysthymia and that sounds about right. It’s a mild, but chronic form of depression and it’s kinda been ramping up for two years and a bit.
So if it seems like my update speed has been steadily decreasing over the past year or so then yes, I think it has? I am struggling to do normal things and my writing speed, instead of getting faster with experience, is grinding down along with the rest of my life at present.
Don’t panic, as I’ve said it’s pretty mild. I’m just doing things a lot slower than I’d like.
I’m not abandoning anything yet, I am a stubborn person who likes to finish what they start. You can pry these stories from my cold dead hands. Also, writing actually helps me feel better. I’m not stopping. It’s just... happening.... kinda..... more..... slowly.
In which Sans (all lowercase and the internal monologuing) and Toriel discuss Sans’ ~~~hot~~~ crush (ohhh that pun is an undead omnipresent meme by now).
I have been looking forward to writing this scene for some time now and not only has it not disappointed me, it turned out slightly better than I was planning. I was not planning the pie but I think that little moment of confusion just makes this so much better.
And I am kind of the Toriel in relationships. Like ‘no you just got rid of Jerkface Douchebag the First, why do you need another one? where did it come from? put it back there.’ Eheh.
This being the Dystopian Sansby Dream AU... I wonder what Toriel has in her past?
Tags and titles are indeed showing up, but no text reblogs and not the bodies of posts. Anyway, the ‘read more’ links on the Dystopian Sansby Dream AU posts are broken, so I deleted those and the whole posts are viewable on my dash. I wanted to keep them from being long and cluttering up stuff but oh well. Honestly those are a mess anyway but an inherently broken, non-viewable link is one of the worst things in the world if it’s to something you wanted to know the end of. Speaking of that I need to write the ending. It’s got a couple more chapters to go. Why am I doing this?
