#( the memories are of his own gaster ofc. so there's no need to adhere to any of it. )

[incorrigiblebones-blog]

@somethingveryveryinteresting​ | lapis lazuli

When he woke up in the pigsty that was his room, rousing to the whisper of the self-sustaining whirling of domestic refuse and staring up at the ketchup and mustard-splattered ceiling, it was there.    After his brother had boisterously barged in, dragged him off—or in the words of the embodiment of the antithesis of quiet: "DEIGNED TO LET THE GOOD-FOR-NOTHING LAZYBONES PARTAKE IN THE MOST NOBLE QUEST TO SLAUGHTER A HAPLESS HUMAN!!"—and "convinced" him to take up post at his station and he spent his stint of vigilant watching by downing the stacked bottles of relish he had been saving for a rough day like this instead, it was there.    Even when he snuck off at the usual time to exchange crude jokes about combusting babies and the like with the woman behind the door, enjoying the sound of her howling and cackling as she always did like the connoisseur of the finest humor that she was, he knew: it was there. Scamming brats out of their precious allowance with some inane business scheme of his? Still there. Wondering how much napping he could get away during his many jobs? There. Heckled at Grillby's about his tab? There.    It was a feeling—no, something more profound than that: a presence that stiffened the bones, hitched breathing, sent the fingers involuntarily twitching, made one feel as though there was something always conveniently lurking past the periphery of vision, and that, no matter what, there would be nothing to be found even if one actually dared to catch a glimpse of that which chose not to be seen; that which was not meant to be seen. But it was there, and no amount of distraction nor denial had proven sufficient for dispelling that sinking feeling of wrongness. He knew nothing could ever be.    His legs weighed down by that understanding had eventually brought him to a clearing in Snowdin's forest despite himself. A place where there was solitude and silence diminished only by wind and the only company would be the surrounding trees and that damned and wretched existence.    Hands tucked in pockets clenched and unclenched, and a deep breath followed by an equally deep exhale laced with reluctance and exasperation preceded what he had come there for.    * "...g--" He stopped, didn't want to utter that name and quickly found that he couldn't have even if he had wanted to. Not only because it threatened to again solidify memories he had worked so hard to repress and stuff into the darkest reaches of his mind—the dusty operating table, the ill-conceived contraption to steal the SOUL's secrets and devour its essence, and the all-encompassing darkness that should have marked the end of him—but because it was as though something unseen had clamped itself on his proverbial throat and simply would not permit it. Sordid laughter escaped him with the realization that admist the flood of darkness recollection released was also... light, and perhaps that had been subdued more so than the ebony and the cold.    " * heh heh heh heh... for fuck's sake. " He dragged a hand down his face, then stared at fingers that had caught and become slick with sweat from his brow like it had been an aeon since the last time he had experienced genuine surprise and dread. " * c’mon, now. didn’t you get bored of me a long time ago? "