Hello Darling! How would Gaster react to walking on in an artistic s/o deep into their work? When he finally gets their attention, he sees they have the paint/charcoal/art medium all over their face? Thank you~
Undertale
-You were probably sitting in either the art room he created for you out of a spare office or on the dining room table, your charcoal sprawled out in all directions on the surface of your canvas AND on your surrounding perimeter, but you paid that no mind as you continued to sketch with a slowly disintegrating pencil, humming as your mind was swathed with blurry dreams and a concentrated spark. Once in awhile you rubbed the underside of your jaw or flicked a knuckle across your nose as you fled deep into your mind, attempting to create a masterpiece as realistic as you feasibly were able.
-Gaster had just gotten home from the lab that afternoon with a tired sigh, shrugging off his coat languidly and placing his briefcase neatly against the wall, still wary of the times both he and you had tripped over it. He wasnât in the best condition that day; his head was pounding, his hands were twitching, and his heartbeat was anxiously thrumming as he breathed deeply, praying that he wouldnât look as ravaged as he did at the laboratory when you welcomed him home from work. He straightened and softly called out your name, his hands being haphazardly clasped across his chest.
-âŠâŠ
-When you didnât respond, he tried again with a shaky, raised tone.
-âŠâŠ
-Once again, when the silence draped over his ears, he willed himself not to panic. He told himself over and over again to calm himself, you were just somewhere in the house, you were a grown adult, think rationally. It didnât stop him from anxiously shuffling through the house, slightly dejected about the lack of your presence, before realizing where you could be.
-He rushed over to your choice of art space, only to see you hunched over your work.
-Gaster let out a breath of relief, muttering a term of endearment as he shook his head, chuckling at your mannerisms and silently deciding that you were possibly the cutest person heâd ever met.
-He walked over to you and wrapped his arms around your stomach, placing his chin on your head so that he could see what you were drawing. It was a charcoal sketch of the pale-coloured rose-crown he had made for you, but he wasnât able to see much as you jerked in surprise.
-He let go of you, spooked by your sudden jump.
-You turned, about to curse, but you stopped cold when you saw Gaster staring at you incredulously.
-He blinked a few times, still staring at your face.
-Finally, you ask him what heâs looking at.
-And he begins to giggle like a schoolgirl.
-That giggle turned into a high-pitched snigger that had you raise your eyebrows and gaze, understandably confused and overloaded with sensory, when he brought out his phone to take a picture of your expression.
-You lunge for the phone, hotly demanding knowledge on what was so hilarious.
-He promptly shows you the photo of your perplexed face, covered in smears of black and silver.
-And then you indignantly rub your hand on his shirt.
Underfell
-You were sitting in your separate office, lazily stroking your paintbrush over the canvas and listening to the crashes, screeches, and explosions that littered the air and rumbled the ground, willing the cause of the caterwaul to shut its grizzly mouth. You gently pet the thick paper with dabs of reds, waves of blue, and lines of white, paying careful attention to the model before you, which jumped in place every moment or so from the force of the tremors below. You had a hulking block of patience that usually took nuclear weapons and hurricanes before it wore to a slim sheet, but, today, as your medium trembled in your fists and on your artist desk, you had enough of the earthquakes that were Gasterâs lab experiments.
-You yelled out to him, vehemently asking him to, you guessed it, knock it off.
-The natural disaster that was happening beneath you hadnât ceased at your call.
-So you tried again.
-This time, however, the rumbling of the earth calmed to a dull vibration, and you hummed with a satisfied appreciation, musing that maybe Gaster did care about you to some degree.
-You turned back to your painting and tuned out the rest of the world for the next few hours, time whizzing by like an irritating mosquito until it was around seven in the dusk, when you had completely forgotten what you had promised.
-But Gaster didnât.
-You had told him that you would join him for one of his favourite activities (which was drinking red wine and talking shit) and it seemed, to him, as if you had bailed.
-Cue anxiety anger.
-He furiously growled your name, knowing from experience that it was usually enough to snatch your attention.
-âŠ..
-âŠâŠ..
-This bitch.
-He gets up, plants a scowl on his face, and snarls as he storms from the living room and into the hallway, his light but sharp steps alerting you of his oncoming flare-up, but what you hadnât anticipated was his magic flinging open your door with a violent, crimson flick of power.
-You also didnât expect him to open his maw to give you a piece of his mind and immediately blanch, gaping at your crimson-splattered image before him, no words escaping from between his fangs in his frozen shock.
-He stared, and you gazed just as intently back.
-âŠâŠ
-Until both you and he realized.
-Gaster let out a gurgling sigh as he bared his canines in blistering exasperation, his claws moving up to the bridge of his not-nose to pinch at the slight incline that adorned his face and his red pupils rolling far back into his skull as you sheepishly wiped your colourful hands against your already devastated jeans.
-You timidly reveal your painting, which is of a crystalline vase of perky echo flowers and yawning opium poppies, receiving a mutter in return for your peace offering.
-âJust get that idiotic medium off of you and follow out on your promise before you lose the chance.â
-You salute him, rushing off to the bathroom to change, giving him a cheeky poke in the side as you passed, relishing in his snake-like hiss as he demanded that you hurried.
-You revisit your art studio later that night as you prepare to retire to your bed, only to find the work in progress painting gone, with little evidence of where it went or how it dissolved into thin air. You, half anticipating that Gaster had already gotten rid of it, give a solemn shrug and mope into your shared bedroom.
-You must never know that he snagged the painting only to put it in a place of honour, right above his office desk in the basement.
-Youâll end up finding out about it anyway. He notices that youâve become a bit distant and bleary, so he decides that since he doesnât like when youâre being all mopey and depressed, that he should inform you of where heâs put it just to see you smile again (because he was beginning to feel guilty for making you think he had discarded it).
-He gets really pissy when you become all happy and sunshine after that little conversation, though.
Underswap
-It was a beautiful day outside, you had commented as you and your cloaked sweetheart sat on his riverboat, which sluggishly swept itself down the valleyâs streams and through the mountain ranges, which you admired wholeheartedly as the minutes gently ticked by. Gaster had a gorgeous piece of scenery he was revering as well, he just wasnât going to admit it was your own profile as you stared wistfully upon the copious fields of flowers that were padding by, waving you two on as a breeze caught both them and your hair as you decided to take out your sketchbook and pastels. You had seen something interesting within the fray of wildflowers and weeds alike that caught your attention like a vice. Gaster stalled the gondola on your unspoken request.
-He adored your concentrated expression, the way it contracted as you meticulously crafted detail after detail upon the blank white sheet, softening as you were prideful of the outcome and puffing out like a chipmunkâs cheeks when you were beyond dissatisfied at a blunder. He resolved not to interrupt your stupor, no matter how deeply he wished to fluster you with a few well-spoken phrases of love. You were too cute to disturb now.
-About twenty minutes had passed.
-Now, Gaster wasnât one to rush you when you were in âart modeâ. On the contrary; he would allow you peace and quiet for hours un-end if you so desired it. Today, though, he felt a spark of subtle impatience course through him as you flipped the pages of your pocket-notebook, scrawling little bursts of swirls and waving lines upon the sheets of once-barren alabaster material.
-He had a surprise for you at the end of the riverride.
-A romantic surprise that he couldnât wait to bestow upon you, but your ass was more interested in the layers of petals that encrusted the meadows before you in fragrant, pearly colours.
-You rubbed your chin and placed your knuckles against your cheek and gazed for a few heartbeats at the landscape every tenth stroke or so, before returning to the drawings upon drawings that had, over the few weeks youâve owned said sketchbook, piled up like end-of-the-month taxes; bountiful and profuse.
-Another ten minutes flew by, and you were still inside of your own mind.
-The boat began its languid descent down the river once again as Gaster allowed the beck to flow again, lazy as sun-melted caramel.
-You didnât glance up immediately, but, once you did, you jerked your head in the boatmanâs direction as the field of flowers disappeared over the sloping region surrounding you.
-You let out an exclamation of protest, but the riverman was less than interested as he chuckled at your complexion, which was smeared with pale smudges of ash and smoke pastel. He decided not to comment on it as he sent you a half-wry grin, his eyes shimmering with infatuation as you brought up the page you had been working on, allowing him to see the masterfully crafted pictures of babyâs breath that you had blissfully bestowed upon the face of the earth with your talent. You remarked sarcastically that it would have been better if the gondola had stayed in place.
-âYou truly are an artist, my dear, with the boat standing still or not,â he said quietly, his blue stare connecting softly with yours, âThough you are the masterpiece here, I distinctly enjoy how much⊠expression goes into your work. You are an artisan, my love; never forget.â
-You blushed and flicked your eyes to the water beneath, sniggering as you attempted to hide your sudden bout of embarrassment.
-You didnât realize what he said was a pun until you observed your pastel-besmirched face within the brook that trickled delightfully and merrily beneath you. Needless to say, you didnât give him the enjoyment of outwardly enjoying his surprise, blaming your apathy on his antics when he queried as to why you seemed so sour.
Outertale
-It was a social gathering that you were 100% not keen on attending, yet Gaster had convinced you to get dolled up and arrive at the affair anyways, a scowl still slandering your expression as you strode into the doors, your arm linked to his. He glanced at you apologetically before the gates of the property opened, but he plastered a beaming grin on his face and enthusiastically shook the hand of the butler who had acknowledged who he and you were, granting you access to the innards of the large, white house. You managed to crook the tips of your lips into a tiny smile at the surprised face of the servant, amused by his confused laugh as your boyfriend cheerfully greeted him, but you werenât able to get very far in that endeavor as the furious feeling returned to your chest tenfold as you spotted the congregations of beautiful, pretentious people.
-You were greeted by the supercilious, patronizing owner of the manor, who you were pretty sure was a misogynist as you saw him bark at his wife for leaving the bedroom and lash out at a poor, plump maid, who looked rightfully terrified as her master roared. He didnât touch upon the fact that his son was smoking a blunt on the balcony, as you had saw and told the monster close beside you when you both were walking up the driveway to the gates, but that was a detail overlooked as he brought his attention back to you.
-He seemed to warm up to you and Gaster just fine, and beckoned you towards the refreshments table so that you could eat your fill of minuscule, vegan sandwiches and gluten-free, milk-free, fun-free sweets.
-He followed you to the large buffet of shrunken food and began having small-talk with ostensibly the only monster in the entire residence that night, asking about the recent speech the 5â 3â monster had put on about the political relations between space-dweller and man.
-You, rightfully disinterested, swiftly kissed where your boyfriendâs ear would be and headed off, ignoring his startled call as you weaved through the crowd of gowned women and tuxedo-clad men, arriving to the large, moonlit balcony that overlooked the extensive gardens of the mansion in a quick, angered blur of activity and noise.
-Besides the two young women who were steadily making out on a marble bench, it was silent and you were alone. The girls glanced up, humiliated and aghast, but you quietly reassured them that they could remain and continue if they pleased, you didnât mind. They glanced to one another, stunned, before giggling and assuring you that they would leave you in peace, as you looked solemn.
-You thanked them and complimented their relationship, to which they both snickered and nodded, heading back into the glittering fray of the gathering behind you.
-You, very much so indifferent to the occurrence that had just unfolded upon the seat, sat upon the very marmoreal settee-like slate that the ladies had been softcore loving each other on, and brought out your sketchbook and a muted, graphite pencil, which was your version of a comfort object.
-You began to draw and blend with the pencil (which you did with your fingers, coating them in silver), gradually relaxing as the night lingered on. Nobody disturbed you, which you were grateful for, since you saw couple after couple coming out to the veranda to kiss and confess their feelings. One even got engaged. You managed to shake yourself out of your art-trance to clap and whistle as the still-standing man squealed with delight, kissing his new fiance with overzealous vigor. They stuck their tongues out at you, tearfully laughing as you gave them an eager thumbs-up, saluting their upcoming nuptials.
-You returned to your sketching after that, and nothing else had disrupted you since.
-You didnât noticed that, around the strike of midnight, Gaster had emerged from within the estate and stood beside you, glancing at your temple every now and then, his gaze enraptured by both the glow of the moon and the gleam in your eyes. He leaned against the railing of the balcony and murmured your name.
-âŠ..
-And murmured it again.
-This time, you looked up from your sketch and locked your wearied stare with his, gasping slightly as he leaned down to kiss you.
-He pulled away, complaining that he had missed you the entire night. He peered at your drawing and smiled freely, saying that if you were going to draw more masterful orchids such as the one you did that night, that heâd have to steal your sketchbook. You, rightfully exasperated, groaned in displeasure and covered your face with your hands, running your fingers down your features, glaring as Gaster began to snicker.
-You asked him what he was laughing at. You really shouldnât have, for he laughed a great deal, but tonight you were too tired to think straight.
-âWell, babyâŠâ he skimmed his yellow orbs sideways for a heartbeat before glancing back to you, sniggering harder, âUh, you just rubbed your fingers, which are covered in lead, on your face.â
-You grumbled, griping that he had brought this upon you.
Mertale
-You almost never got any time to relax at the shores, since there was always one little aquatic, attention-whore of a puppy prying and whining for every ounce of your mental and physical being to be focused onto him. You knew he adored you, sure, and you cherished the ever-loving shit out of him, yes, but sometimes you just could not keep up in stride with your fish friendâs tail-strokes. As smart as the pain in your legs and shoulders would be every waking second of the day with the knowledge of both the previous and upcoming workout you have had and will receive, you still looked forward to it. Even if it was anything but peaceful at times.
-Today, though, was one of those blissful days when Gaster fell asleep on your lap, something akin to a purr rumbling in his chest as you stroked his briny, froth-laden head as he dozed. His face was handsome and almost⊠charming as he slept. His ragged features were diluted and his rows of teeth were hidden beneath a sweet smile. He looked less menacing, less predatory, moreâŠ
-Like the person you knew he was within.
-You still knew he could tear the guts out of a great white if he put his mind to it, but you decided to let that little detail slide as you brought out the small sketchbook you had brought to the coast and began to work with the scarce amounts of water colour that you managed to stuff into your little drawstring bag.
-An hour or so had passed, and Gaster was still in a serene state of slumber. Your picture, though, was turning out particularly awful as you, time and time again, hadnât learned a thing about using salt water to moisten your paints. It wasnât going to work like you wanted it to now, it wasnât going to work how you wanted it to ever. Starry blotches of white sprinkled your canvas as the spice of the ocean dug into the complicated, tight-knit surface of the paper, drawing a hiss from you as the sea anemone you were attempting to create peppered itself with pallid, irritating space that you could never fill again.
-Suddenly, Gaster jolted awake, snarling with malicious fury.
-This action slammed your painting into your face, sprayed your watercolours all over the both of you, and petrified you to the point where your resting heart rate registered as a panic attack. His eyes flashed with an animalistic, savage gleam as he bared his fangs, his thundering gnashing rendering you to a shaken, shivering body in the sand as you watched him bat away your canvas and your mediums, cursing with a gurgling screech.
-Alarmed, you asked what was wrong as calmly as you could muster in your terror-stricken state.
-He turned to you and his gaze became tender, a sharp and strange contrast to the violent expression that was contorting his face with its ugly grasp. A touch of presence brushed against your mind, âYou gave a sound of pain,â he stated simply, his eyes narrowing as he abruptly reached to the conclusion that, no, nothing was indeed wrong. He relaxed at that as you replied vehemently that you were just cursing your artistic abilities, to which he stared at you quizzically.
-You, still quite shOOk, asked him what he was looking at.
-âWell, Y/NâŠâ he began, quirking his eyebrows and poking your cheek with a sharp claw, lightly stroking it down to your mouth, âI like what you did with your face, but I think I liked it better before.â
-He pulled his finger away to show you the array of pinks, purples, and greens that tarnished his pale flesh, which were the exact culprits that were, by process of elimination, discolouring your entire complexion.
-You hissed again.
~Mod Jellyfish~
