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alice-beaumont-ravenclaw · 4 years

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A Wonderful Surprise

A/N #1: This is fic #2 of the Brazil series. It was inpired by the ! prompt of the 30 days OTP alphabet challenge as well as Prompt #2 of Fictober 2020 by @hphm-fictober . You can find Alice’s outfit HERE, and the suggested music HERE. (Here are Part 1 & Part 2 of the first fic of the series.)

“Alanza told me she would join us here.”

Alice and her friends were standing near the bronze statue of Floriano Peixoto, the second Brazilian president, in the neighbourhood known as Cinelândia. They were surrounded by buildings built in the Beaux-Arts architectural style, which gave the area a certain European cachet with their columns, symmetry, and highly decorative façades.

“Are you sure about the time?” asked Diego.

“Noon seems like an odd time to meet up,” said Penny, who was wearing a large sunhat.

“That’s what she told me. She said she knew of this place where we could eat lunch close to here, and that it would be simpler to visit the area after,” explained Alice, fanning herself with her map of Rio.

“Olá!” they heard from behind them.

“Alanza!” they exclaimed, running to her.

“How are you? I hope you didn’t wait too long,” she said beaming.

“No, not at all,” said Barnaby, blushing.

“Long enough for us to overheat,” mumbled Tonks and Tulip.

“Oh! I’m so sorry! Come, come. Let’s go and eat. I know this boteco that’s been around since 1921.”

“What kind of food do they serve?” asked Alice.

“Various stuff. You can get pizza, fish, churrasco, feijoada…”

“What are the last two things?” asked Penny.

“Well, churrasco is basically meat barbecued on skewers, while feijoada has black beans, some pork or beef product, and at least two types of smoked sausage and jerked beef,” explained Alanza.

“Black beans, you say?” said Alice. “Well, as I do not want to spend the afternoon passing wind, and that I don’t want to eat something too heavy, I think I’ll stick to pizza.”

“The meat on skewers sounds great,” said Barnaby as they sat at a table under the yellow awning.

After a hearty meal, they headed to the Theatro Municipal, a theatre that borrowed from the Parisian Opéra Garnier’s architectural style. The roof was a vibrant shade of turquoise, and the central dome was adorned with a majestic golden eagle.

“Can we go inside?” asked Andre, using his hand to shade his eyes from the sun.

“Unfortunately, no. We can only go in to see a performance or if we are part of a tour, which were all full when I checked,” replied Alanza.

“Too bad. It looks really nice from the outside, would have loved to see the inside,” said Alice.

“Oh, I doubt it compares to the Paris Opera,” said Alanza.

“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never been inside the Opéra Garnier.”

“What? But don’t you have family in Paris?” asked Tulip.

“I do, but it’s not like the law mandates us to go inside the Opera every time we’re in town. I walked past it when I’ve been to the Galeries as a kid, but until last summer, I hadn’t been to Paris after Jacob’s disappearance.”

“I wonder if this one has a ghost, like the one in Paris,” said Penny.

“A ghost?” asked Barnaby and Charlie as they started to walk past the theatre.

“A phantom, actually. This French author wrote a story at the beginning of the century about a Phantom haunting the Opéra. It turns out that the Phantom is a deformed man named Erik. An excellent musical was made based on this story. I honestly could listen to the soundtrack over and over again,” said Alice, softly sighing.

“So, where are we heading next?” asked Tonks as they strolled through Largo da Carioca.

“Igreja São Francisco de Penitência. It’s a church. The interior is really impressive,” said Alanza.

“Where is it?” asked Diego.

“Right there,” replied Alanza, pointing to a building up a small hill.

“Doesn’t look super impressive from the outside,” said Andre.

“Don’t judge a book by its cover, Andre,” said Alice, nudging her friend on the shoulder.

“Oh, sweetheart, everyone judges books by their cover. Why do you think I put so much importance in my outfits, as well as yours?”

“Believe me, the exterior doesn’t do justice to the interior,” said their Carioca friend as they made their way up the stairs to reach the church.

When they finally made it inside the church, they were greeted by exquisite gilded carvings on the walls and altars, as well as magnificent paintings on the ceiling depicting the glorification of Saint Francis in a Baroque illusionist style.

“Wow,” simply said Andre, his mouth ajar.

“So much gold,” said Tulip.

“Good thing we didn’t bring Jae. He’d be salivating,” said Tonks.

“He’d probably try to take something to sell it,” said Penny as she removed her hat.

“Come on. He’s not that bad,” said Alice as she looked at the ceiling.

“Are you so sure of that?” asked Charlie, raising an eyebrow as he glanced at Alice.

“Well… Ok, maybe not, but he mostly deals in magical contraband, so I don’t think he would see anything here worth selling,” admitted Alice.

“I wouldn’t put it past him to still try and make a quick buck from something here,” whispered Diego.

“Is it common for Muggle churches to be covered in gold?” asked Barnaby.

“Can’t say I’ve ever seen a Catholic church with so much gold. Russian Orthodox churches have their fair share, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen this amount of gold in a church,” said Alice, looking around.

“How do you know so much about churches?” asked Diego.

“I’ve seen some when I travelled with my parents when I was a kid. Even if you aren’t religious, churches can be of cultural interest, as artists were often commissioned to paint and decorate them to show how grand and powerful the Church was,” explained Alice.

“And if you didn’t already know, Alice is in Ravenclaw,” said Tonks, Alice sticking out her tongue at her.

“Hey, where did Charlie go?” asked Andre.

“He’s right…” started saying Alice as she looked beside her, only to see no one was standing there. She turned on herself trying to spot her boyfriend, to no avail.

“Hum, I think he went outside,” said Diego. “He found it stuffy in here.”

“Why didn’t he tell me? I should go with him,” said Alice.

Before she could turn around, Diego wrapped an arm around her shoulders and guided her further inside the church. “Come on; I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to miss all the art in here.”

Alice gave Diego a suspicious look, furrowing her brows, before glancing behind her. She figured that if Charlie had wanted her to be with him, he would have told her. She shook Diego’s arms off of her shoulders and joined the girls at the altar, where Tulip was busy imagining Dennis getting married to the love of his life. Once they were done visiting the church, they went back outside, where Charlie was waiting for them in the shade.

“Are you ok?” asked Alice as she ran up to him.

“What do you mean?”

“Diego told us you went out because you felt it was stuffy in the church…”

“Oh! Yeah, I just needed some air, but I’m perfectly fine now.”

“Glad to hear you’re feeling better, mate,” said Andre as they made their way down the stairs.

“Ok, next up is a sweet treat: pastéis de nata. And it will give us the chance to relax a bit and step away from the heat,” said Alanza.

“Hum, actually, you guys can go ahead. We’ll join you later. There’s something I want to show Alice,” said Charlie, taking Alice’s hand.

She looked up at him, her cheeks turning pink.

“Ok, you two have fun!” said Diego as he guided the rest of the group away from the couple.

“We’ll be at the Confeitaria Colombo!” shouted Alanza as Alice and Charlie walked away.

They left the street they were on, taking a narrow road to lead them to the larger Rua Sete de Setembro.

“Where are you taking me?” asked Alice as she let Charlie lead the way.

“You’ll see,” simply replied Charlie.

“Is it what you and Diego were talking about yesterday?” asked Alice.

Charlie stopped in his tracks and looked at her. “What are you talking about?”

“Diego was looking for you yesterday before lunch, and he went straight to talk to you when I told him where you were. Also, you two looked like you were cooking up some plan last night at dinner,” said Alice as they started walking again.

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” replied Charlie, avoiding Alice’s gaze.

“Ah! I knew it! You were planning something with Diego!” said Alice as they turned into a small deserted street next to an old theatre. “Seriously, where are you taking me?” she said, looking worriedly around.

They crossed a plaza and stopped in front of a building built in limestone that looked like a church. Four statues were on the façade: one on each side of the building, and the other two were on each side of the door. Before she had time to read what was written at the top of the building, Charlie took both of her hands and made her look at him.

“Close your eyes,” he said, smiling.

Alice looked at him, skeptically.

“Please,” he pleaded.

She furrowed her brows, smiling lightly as she closed her eyes after removing her sunglasses. He waved a hand in front of her closed eyes to make sure she wasn’t looking. He gently took her hand and guided her inside the building.

“You can open your eyes now,” said Charlie as he stood behind her.

Alice opened her eyes and what she saw rendered her speechless. Three floors of walls covered in books. A magnificent chandelier dangled from the ceiling, which also had a skylight in iron structure. The intricate details of the wooden frame of the library’s galleries were sublime. Alice felt like she was in a dream. Sure, Hogwarts’ library was big, but it was dark, a little gloomy, and unwelcoming; Madam Pince having a lot to do with that last impression. This library was luminous. The blue walls contrasting with the wood’s darkness and the touches of gold on the wood contributed to Alice’s warm feeling as she stood in this great library.

“Oh, Charlie,” whispered Alice, turning around, the skirt of her dress twirling as she did so.

“You like it?” asked Charlie as Alice wrapped her arms around his neck.

“Like it? I love it!” she said before kissing him on the lips, her straw hat falling backward.

Charlie placed his hands on her waist, closing his eyes as he leaned into the kiss until he realized something. He opened his eyes and cleared his throat.

“What?” asked Alice as she took a step back.

“Hum… there are people around…” whispered Charlie, looking around the room.

Alice turned her head, noticing some people looking at them as her face grew hot.

“Sorry,” she mouthed before looking back at Charlie. “Let’s take a look around,” she whispered as she grabbed her hat from the floor.

They walked around the bookcases on the ground floor, looking at all the old books’ spines. They didn’t dare touch any, as they felt the gaze of the librarian on their back.

“I guess every library comes with a Madam Pince,” whispered Alice.

“I guess kissing in a library won’t get you on the librarian’s good books,” said Charlie, looking behind him. “Anyway, it’s not like we can read anything here. Everything seems to be in Portuguese. We should go back to the others… Alice! What are you doing?”

Alice held a book in her hand while holding her wand over a page with the other. “Shhh, be quiet. It’s just this book had ‘Contos de fadas brasileiros’ written on it.”

“But it’s in Portuguese! And your wand…”

“I need it to use a translation spell Rowan taught me.”

“Taught you? When?”

“Well, she didn’t actually teach it to me in person. I just found it on a note in a book she read,” explained Alice as she read the page her wand was hovering over.

“Quick,” said Charlie, as he looked behind them, “the librarian is coming.”

Alice closed the book and promptly replaced it on the shelf as she surreptitiously slid her wand back into her crossbody handbag. “Obrigada,” said Alice, turning to face the librarian with a sweet smile, her angelic face seemingly calming any worries the librarian had as the couple swiftly left the library.

“That was a close call,” said Charlie once they were outside. “Anyway, what did you say to the librarian?”

“I simply said ‘thank you.’”

“Why?”

“Because it’s polite and one of the few things I can say in Portuguese,” explained Alice as they made their way back to the Rua Sete de Setembro. “Figured something polite, and my sweet face would get her off our backs.”

They leisurely made their way to the Confeitaria Colombo, holding hands and talking about their vacation so far. As they approached it, they saw their friends leaving the restaurant.

“Here are the two lovebirds!” exclaimed Tulip.

“We got some custard tarts to go when we figured you wouldn’t be back in time,” said Penny, holding up a small plastic bag.

“They were delicious!” said Barnaby, rubbing his stomach as he smiled.

“Mate, you have some coloured lip balm on your lips,” pointed out Andre, smirking.

“So I guess Alice liked her surprise,” said Diego, grinning.

Charlie used the back of his hand to wipe off the lip balm as he and Alice blushed.

“Wait, did you two abandon us just to make out somewhere?” asked Tonks.

“What? No! We visited a library!” exclaimed Alice.

“A library? Why would you visit a library instead of eating custard tarts? Are you trying to cover up for the fact that you did spend all that time making out?” asked Tulip, her face inches from Alice’s as she looked at her suspiciously.

“No, they did go to a library: The Real Gabinete Português de Leitura, or Royal Portuguese Reading Room,” explained Diego, making Alanza wince at his Portuguese pronunciation. “The two Argentinian girls I spoke to yesterday said it was a really nice place to see, so I told Charlie he should take Alice there.”

“Wait, when you left the church…” started saying Alanza.

“I went to locate the library, make sure I had the right directions,” completed Charlie.

“Aw, all that for Alice… Makes me sick,” said Tonks, sticking out her tongue in fake disgust.

“Jealous,” said Alice, lightly nudging her friend.

“You wish,” replied Tonks, linking her arm with her friend’s. “Now, come on. We’re supposed to go see a royal palace.”

“Actually, it is the Imperial Palace,” explained Alanza as they made their way down the street. “It became the prince regent of Portugal’s residence when he moved here with his family to escape Napoleon’s invasion of Portugal. It is at that time that Rio became the royal seat of power.”

“Bloody French,” said Tonks, smirking as she glanced at Alice.

“He wasn’t French, he was Corsican, and his ancestors were Italian,” said Alice.

“But he was the emperor of France, no?”

“For, like, ten years.”

“His army was French?”

“Yes…”

“Therefore, I reiterate what I said: Bloody French,” said Tonks, sticking out her tongue.

“Stop bickering, you two,” said Andre. “As long as I get to see a palace, I’m happy.”

“We are not bickering. We are having a friendly conversation,” said Tonks and Alice in unison, making Alanza raise her eyebrows and look around in confusion.

“Don’t ask. That’s how they are,” explained Penny to Alanza, rolling her eyes.

When they finally arrived at the Imperial Palace, what stood in front of them was a white three-storey building in a simple baroque style with a tiled roof.

“That’s it?” asked Tulip.

“Well, it has its charms,” said Alice.

“There are some details around the windows,” said Penny.

“It is not what Europeans think of when they hear ‘Imperial Palace,’” pointed out Alanza.

“Thank Merlin, you see it too! I mean, it’s lovely, sure, but it’s no Versaille or Buckingham. Please tell me it’s like that golden church, and the interior is grand,” said Andre with pleading eyes.

“Unfortunately, no. It was stripped at the end of the 19th century and became a central mail office. It mostly serves as a cultural center nowadays, with temporary art exhibitions.”

“Then why is it called the Imperial Palace?” asked Barnaby.

“Because when Brasil became independent, it became the Império do Brasil, or Empire of Brasil,” explained Alanza. “When it was the Portuguese royal family’s residence, it was known as the Royal Palace. Before that, it was the house of the Governor.”

“How come you know so much?” asked Tulip.

“She’s from around here,” said Diego.

“Alice, you live in London. Do you know who first lived in Buckingham Palace?”

“Hum, no?”

“See! I live in London as well, and I don’t know the history of any buildings, except the Tower of London because executions,” pointed out Tulip.

“Alright, when Alice told me you wanted to visit the historic part of Centro, I may have studied up on my Trouxa history. The map I have with me is full of my notes,” she said, showing the scribbles on her map.

“Trouxa?” asked Barnaby.

“People who can’t do magic.”

“Ah! We call them Muggles,” said Charlie.

“So, as much as standing in the sun learning about cultural differences is fun, what is next?” asked Penny.

“Well, that’s pretty much it. Next up for you is to head back to the hotel to relax, so you are ready for tomorrow’s hike,” said Alanza.

“Hike?!” said Alice and Penny.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t have any outfits that are intended for nature,” said Andre.

“I was actually planning to go to the National History Museum tomorrow, since it’s free on Sundays,” said Alice.

“Says the rich girl,” said Tonks.

“Rich people are notoriously cheap,” replied Alice.

“But I don’t want to go to a stuffy museum,” complained Tulip.

“We can separate for the day. You guys can go hike in nature, while Penny, Andre, and I go to the museum.”

“Will there be dragons on that hike?” asked Charlie.

“Charlie. Always asking the important questions,” said Diego.

“Hum, no, sorry,” replied Alanza.

“Meh, then I’ll go to the museum with Alice.”

“Are you sure? There won’t be any dragons in the museum either,” said Alice.

“No, but you’ll be there,” replied Charlie, making Alice blush.

“Ok! I think this is our cue to head back to the hotel before those two start snogging in front of the palace,” said Tulip as she ran towards the street to hail two cabs.

“Well, see you tomorrow then! Tchau!” said Alanza waiving to the group as they joined Tulip.

A/N #2: Hope you enjoyed it! Next up: the museum, where I will describe every single exhibit they see... Joking. Anyway, just wanted to let you know something regarding the Imperial Palace. So, in the fic, Alanza said they interior is rather ordinary, it’s mostly based on pictures of the interior. According to Culture Trip, “in 1980 it was restored to its former glory with the interior replicated to how it was in the 19th century.” Unfortunately couldn’t find any information regarding the current state of the interior.

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hitsuhinalover · 6 years

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Hitsuhina month 2018 & 30 days OTP challenge

Day 2: Taking care of sick other

A/N: Day two!!! I may have gotten a little bit carried away...this is quite long for a oneshot, I think (at least in so little time). Some of my fics for the hitsuhina month/challenge will be much shorter. Also, I hate to write Rangiku such a slacker...but for the sake of the story!!! I'm sorry, Rangiku.

Warnings: I think this is the first time I write a fic where one of them is sick? Besides, an unoriginal title.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Bleach.

Let me take care of you

She hadn't come.

The clock had ticked past eight o'clock about forty minutes ago (forty-three to be precise), but there was no trace of his childhood friend. Catching himself staring at the clock once again, he huffed and turned his attention back to the paperwork on his desk.

Beside having the most powerful ice zanpakuto in the Soul Society, Captain Hitsugaya was known for his abilities to get paperwork done in a way that matched Captain Kuchiki's. This morning, however, reminded him of the dark times his division had suffered from when paperwork was supposed to be done by Captain Isshin Shiba and Lieutenant Rangiku Matsumoto. The same piece of paper had been lying in front of him since other Soul Reapers had started bustling in the aisles, bringing messages and papers in the beginning of the new work day.

When Hitsugaya had stepped into his office at seven o'clock, ready to begin his work an hour before everyone else, he had immediately engrossed in his work. At eight o'clock, he could proudly have told he had been having a productive morning, having gone through a great number of paperwork, meticulously reading all the information before signing. But after that? He stared at the paper, without understanding anything that stood there, until either the clock or the door captivated his gaze once again.

“You can go to see her, you know.”

With a startle, Hitsugaya turned to meet Matsumoto's eyes. She was lounging on the couch, clearly not working, and looking back at him with a slight smile. Hitsugaya knew he should shout at her, to command her to do something productive, but his eyes just slid back to the door.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he announced, feigning indifference. He was looking at the door because he wanted to, not because he wanted someone to come!

Matsumoto chuckled, raising her eyebrows. “Oh, we both know what I'm talking about. She hadn't come today, so you're worried. Go to see her.”

No, he wasn't. She wasn't required to come here every morning, just to wish him a good morning. Actually, it might be better if she came no more, since he had to always stop his work for awhile to reply to the smiling girl, maybe chat a little bit. Often she stayed until she had only five minutes to rush off to work. No, putting an end to her morning visits would be a rational way to act.

“You aren't yelling at me for not working. You didn't even yell at me for coming late, just looked disappointed.” Matsumoto put a hand over her chest, shaking her head. “And it even felt like you weren't disappointed because I came late but because I came, instead of a certain dark-haired girl.”

Hitsugaya glared at her. “Start working, Matsumoto.”

The knock on the door didn't leave the lieutenant time to reply. Hitsugaya jumped up from his chair, eyes glued to the door. Calling the person behind the door in, he hoped his voice didn't sound to others as terribly hopeful as it did to him.

“Some papers from the 5th Division, sir,” a Soul Reaper said.

The Soul Reaper who had come in was a girl with dark hair – but she wasn't the girl Hitsugaya had been waiting for. Despite his excellent memory, he couldn't even remember which seat she held, nor what her name was. He didn't care.

The only girl Hitsugaya cared about hadn't come.

“Where's Hinamori?” Hitsugaya demanded.

“I don't know. I was told to bring those papers to the 10th Division. Do you have any papers I should take back?”

“What do you mean you don't know?”

She shrugged, oblivious to Hitsugaya's widened eyes, rush in his words. “Lieutenant Hinamori wasn't in the office today. But I'm sure Captain Hirako knows everything you want to know, so I can–”

Before she had ended her sentence, Hitsugaya had charged past her and out of the room, leaving the girl gaping after him. She turned to look at the blonde woman who shrugged like she wouldn't care, but looked as smug as a cat that got cream, or sake if that particular cat happened to like it. “Young love is so cute, isn't it?” However, her smirk changed soon into a frown. “But I guess it leaves me with paperwork.”

………..

Captain Hirako didn't know whether his day turned into better or worse when Toshiro Hitsugaya barged into his office. On on hand, it was funny to follow how he and Momo danced around each other, both oblivious to other's gigantic heart eyes. Being asked about his feelings for the dark-haired girl, he started stuttering something about not having any kind of feelings towards his childhood friend, except for a possible tiny spark of friendship. All this while blushing furiously. Very entertaining. And right now, Hirako was beyond bored.

On the other hand, when Hitsugaya thought someone offended Hinamori even in the slightest, or was a hazard to her, he ended up being a hazard to all the poor souls present. Noticing the temperature dropping, Hirako supposed he was now the poor soul in question.

Still, he couldn't pass a chance to have some fun.

“You chose a bad day for confessing your feelings, Momo isn't here today.” A grin, accompanied by a raised eyebrow. “Unless you came for me? I'm flattered, but you're not really my-”

“Where's Hinamori?” Hitsugaya interrupted him. “The 5th Division doesn't have assigned missions for a couple of days, so she can't be on a mission.” The moment the words slipped out of his mouth, he blushed, hurrying to explain. “As a captain, I naturally need to know these kind of things. I didn't especially check the schedule of the 5th Division, don't even think about it.”

With a grin Hitsugaya didn't like at all, Hirako drawled, “Sure, whatever you say.” Having to suppress a shiver due to the sudden cold wind, Hirako decided to reply quickly to the boy's question. “I heard the poor girl was so sick she almost fainted in her way to work, so I gave her a day-”

The door slammed close, making Hirako shake his head. “Why are the young always in such a hurry? Especially the young in love.”

……......

At first, Hinamori mistook the pounding noise at the door for her headache. When she heard the familiar voice of her childhood friend calling her name, she jumped up from the bed and stumbled a couple of steps before collapsing on the floor. Oh, it felt so good to press her burning forehead against the cold floor! She could stay there forever. If she had her eyes closed, the room couldn't tilt and make her want to vomit.

“Hinamori!” Hitsugaya's shout startled her, reminding her of how Hinamori had found her new sleeping place. She should probably reply something to him before he would break the door, since moving felt too challenging.

“You can come in.” Some coughing and four attempts later, Hinamori got the message through. The knocking immediately stopped and the door was slammed open. Hearing his gasp, Hinamori remembered she was still laying on the floor. Oops.

Hitsugaya's fingers squeezed her shoulders, touched her forehead. Mmm. Whether it resulted from his zanpakuto or not, she didn't know, but Hitsugaya's body temperature had always been a little bit lower than others. At winter nights in her childhood, when she had buried herself under dozen blankets, she had loathed when a cold hand had snaked in to touch her neck and startle her. Now, however, she didn't mind Hitsugaya's cooler body temperature in the slightest.

“Hmm?” Hinamori asked when she finally understood Hitsugaya had said something she hadn't caught despite his several repetitions. “Yes, I'm alright, thanks for asking. Just a little bit sick, I think.”

“Yeah, you're burning up.” Had Hinamori looked up, she would have seen Hitsugaya frowning and biting his lip worriedly. “I'm going to help you to bed.”

Hinamori muttered something more or less coherent, which soon changed into a surprised shout as the nice cold floor disappeared under her. Hitsugaya's one arm was supporting her back, whereas the other was under her knees. Having walked the small distance Hinamori had stumbled before collapsing, he placed her carefully on the bed. He was even giving her a blanket, but Hinamori raised her hand to stop him. “Not cold.” He had to lean down to understand what she was mumbling. “Open the window?”

“I don't know if it's a good idea,” Hitsugaya stated, a frown still lingering on his forehead. “But I'll bring you some cold water,” he promised, already in his way to the kitchen.

Soon enough Hitsugaya was back with a glass of water that she drank quickly. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” Hitsugaya replied, touching her forehead. Still hot. Closing her eyes, Hinamori enjoyed the moment, the feeling of his cool hand on her forehead. Not only did she feel less hot, but also...safer, somehow.

“You should probably get to work,” Hinamori sighed at the same time Hitsugaya said, “I should probably take a day off.” Having stared at each other for awhile, they both opened their mouth. With a small giggle, Hinamori nodded him, prompting him to speak first.

“I should take a day off to take care of you,” Hitsugaya replied to Hinamori's suggestion. “Otherwise, you're just going to end up lying on the floor again.” His smirk evolved into a chuckle as Hinamori's eyes flew open. “Hey! Only because I had to go to open the door for you!”

Hitsugaya rolled his eyes, but the corners of his mouth were turned slightly upwards. “Anyway. I'll send Hell butterflies to Matsumoto and Head Captain Kyoraku, but I'm sure it'll be fine. I haven't taken a day off in ages, and my work today would have just been paperwork.”

Hinamori gasped dramatically. “'Just paperwork'?! You must have a fever, too!”

“Matsumoto won't touch it, and I can do it at the end of the day,” Hitsugaya pointed out.

“Oh, I already thought you cared about me more than your paperwork. How wrong I was!” Hinamori joked, her eyes now shining because of mirth, too. Although Hitsugaya knew it was just a joke, his heart started beating more quickly.

“Seriously, though. I don't want you to get a fever, too,” Hinamori worried.

“Hey.” With no more teasing, Hitsugaya reached for her hand. “Remember how resistant I'm to colds? Back in the Rukongai, you always picked up every common illness there was, but I? Never.”

“And you always just mocked me!” Hinamori laughed, pretending to be offended.

“Just a little bit. I helped, too.”

Raised eyebrows. “When?”

“Do you remember the time I made you chicken soup with Granny? You actually liked it!”

“The time I got a stomach flu afterward? How could I forget it?”

Hitsugaya huffed. “Don't complain, at least you got rid of your cold. Moreover, I'm a better cook nowadays.”

……......

“So, do you remember how much garlic Granny put into soup?” Hitsugaya asked, staring at the ingredients in front of him. After a thorough search and continuous asking, he had managed to localize everything he needed. To his dismay, though, his memories of actually making soup were blurred at best. Maybe he hadn't been the master chef he had thought he had been, after all.

A yawn. “No,” Hinamori mumbled, eyes closed. “Just put the amount that feels right.”

Hitsgaya frowned. Start experimenting, while Hinamori was very sick? Not a good idea. With a glance to a tired-looking Hinamori, he decided he was going to make her soup another time.

“You know what?” Hitsugaya started placing everything back. “I'm going to brew you some tea. Which flavor would you like?”

“Hitsugaya?” Hinamori called.

“Mm?” Hinamori replied, opening drawers. Since he had been drinking tea with Hinamori so many times, he should remember where she kept her tea.

“Stop fussing. I don't need anything.” Hitsugaya flushed almost as red as Hinamori. Whirling around, he was about to announce that he definitely wasn't fussing, but stopped short at the sight of her face. Despite how uncomfortable she was feeling, judging from all the sweat beads that were glimmering on her face, she was smiling. Without being able to do anything at it, Hitsugaya noticed a frown on his forehead and at the corners of his mouth melting away, his lips mirroring a small smile Hinamori had. However, when he remembered Hinamori’s words, the smile disappeared.

“I can leave if you want,” Hitsugaya suggested, already turning away. His voice probably gave him away, but he didn't want her to see disappointment on his face. “You can probably rest better then.”

“No!” Hinamori shouted, startling both Hitsugaya and herself by the intensity of her reply. He turned to look at her, but she didn't meet his eyes. “I mean...it's been great that you've been here, thank you.” A quick glance to his face, then her gaze was wandering again. “Just...you haven't taken a day off for a long time, so you should really be enjoying it instead of taking care of me.”

Sighing, Hitsugaya walked to sit next to Hinamori. “You always take care of others, but when you need help? You say you don't want to cause any trouble.” He placed his cool hand on her forehead, alleviating her headache and fever. Maybe it didn't result only from his lower body temperature, but also from him being a person she cared a lot about. A person she loved. “But I tell you a secret: right now, there's nowhere else I would rather be than here with you.”

#hitsuhina fic #toshiro hitsugaya #momo hinamori #hitsuhina #bleach #hitsuhinamonth2018 #keeping the hitsuhina tag strong #30 days otp challenge

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diamondsareapearlsbestfriend · 7 years

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Sans/Toriel 30 Day OTP Challenge: Day Fourteen

day fourteen: stargazing

prompt: "Your OTP stargazing. Where are they doing this? Are they out camping? Are they sitting on a rooftop? What constellations are they looking at?"

For as long as Toriel had languished in the Ruins, her first few steps outside of the door and into the rest of the Underground were some of the hardest she had ever had to take.

Because the truth was, as much as she yearned for company, after all these years there was also a perverse kind of comfort in her loneliness, a familiarity that would be lost the moment she set foot outside of that door. Toriel was no fool; she knew well what people would say about her, those that even cared to remember she existed in the first place. She was weak, selfish, a coward, she had abandoned her people just as she had betrayed her husband, when they all needed her most. None of it would bother her – for she has endured far worse than a few unflattering names – had she not harboured the suspicion, a sickness twisting in her stomach in the dead of the night, unable to escape into sleep while surrounded by reminders of all she had lost, that perhaps they were right.

Something changed, however, the day she stood in front of Frisk in yet another futile attempt to prevent another child passing through that door. Toriel recognised a gleam in the child's eyes that both excited and terrified her, as she realised simultaneously that she could never hope to stand a chance at stopping them – but also that perhaps they stood a better chance of making it on the other side than any of the others, as they weaved and dodged her wisps of fire magic while maintaining steadfast eye contact as though they knew, somehow, that Toriel could never have brought herself to hurt them. Of course, she still worried about them as soon as that door swung shut, she still replayed the moment over and over again in her mind, wondering if she could have done more, said or done something that would have convinced them to stay with her. And yet, somewhere deep in her soul, she also began to feel the first flickers of hope that perhaps, this time, their efforts would not be in vain. Perhaps that is why, upon realising Frisk had travelled all the way across the Underground to meet Asgore, she did not hesitate to leave – for despite all the trepidation she felt, if she still had a chance of saving one – just one – child from meeting the same fate as the others, she may yet begin to atone for her past failures.

And, in the end, she did – but it had not come without cost. For the same day Toriel saw the human child ascend to the surface, as she hoped but did not dare to believe they would, she saw her former husband crumble to dust before her eyes. Though perhaps she did not have the right, Toriel wept for Asgore, for whatever trace remained of the man she once loved as she saw the Underground turn to terrible disarray, the people grieving for their king and for all that he had promised, their greatest hope for freedom cruelly and unjustly snatched away, once again. That first night, Toriel simply sat there on Asgore's throne, the tears trickling down her cheeks and matting her fur no longer for the Ruins of her past, but for this New Home, as it had once been. She could no longer hide from the reality of their situation – she chose to come back from her self-imposed exile, and now she had a duty. With a final sniffle and a sigh, she rose to her feet, walked over to the throne she had fled from all those years ago and swiftly pulled off the thin sheet that covered it, coughing as the dust that had been gathering for decades filled her eyes and nose.

Toriel did not envision herself ever willingly resuming her rule – but then, hidden away in the Ruins, having warned children so many times that the Underground was a dark, dangerous place that she herself lived in fear of what was on the other side of that door, she never imagined that the Underground would need her again. And, as daunting as it is to meet the unrelenting glare of the public eye again, it also gives her a renewed sense of purpose. To have so many people – her people – looking to her for guidance, she finds herself growing more determined than ever not to let them down, that nobody – monster or human – will have to suffer as they once did. Though her new policies do meet some murmurings of dissent, Toriel is also overwhelmed – and genuinely touched – that there are so many monsters willing to welcome her back with open arms. She realised, in those last few moments before they parted, just how much of a difference Frisk has made, how many souls they have touched just by showing them mercy, by being a friend. Yes, it is eerily reminiscent of the angel in the prophecy, but Toriel can no longer afford to pin her hopes on a fairy tale. She can only try to hold onto what she felt in Frisk – the love and compassion that Toriel wishes to rule by, to preserve and nurture and extend to her people, in place of the fear and hatred that governed them all for so long.

It is not an easy transition, for any of them, but Toriel feels there is change in the air, her heart warmed by the sight of everyone pulling together. Her new school is a success, and she is as relieved as she is grateful to see Undyne – Asgore's fiercest supporter since she barely reached Toriel's knee, the most dedicated captain of the now-disbanded Royal Guard and, if Toriel is honest with herself, perhaps the monster she was the most apprehensive about meeting again – take to teaching like a...well, like a fish to water, she supposes, pouring all of her passion for bringing humanity to justice now into keeping the children of the Underground fit and healthy. Alphys, the new Royal Scientist, also seems very sweet, if needlessly flustered whenever Toriel stops by the lab to see how her research is coming along, but she promises she is working on a solution that will one day enable them to pass through the barrier peacefully, and that she too will not give up.

And, of course, there is Sans – the voice that once brightened Toriel's long, lonely days in the Ruins, now in the metaphorical flesh and literal bone. Their circumstances are very different now; his services as a sentry are no longer required, so naturally Toriel offers him any number of available administrative positions in her court, or even tending to the gardens alongside his brother, but Sans declines, telling her in that way he has where she cannot always tell whether he is joking or not that he's not sure he is ready for such a responsibility, and that he still has some ambiguously-worded "stuff to take care of".

Regardless, he still stops by the castle as often as he can, and Toriel finds herself looking forward to these visits more than ever, the joy of actually being able to open the door after their customary knock-knock joke and seeing Sans' fixed smile widen as yet undiminished. There is a thrill in leaving all of her daily worries and responsibilities behind, if only for an evening, when the door closes behind them; it is almost as if she is experiencing the Underground anew, no longer bound by fear or duty to one place, and no longer alone as they walk through the quiet tranquility of Waterfall.

"So this is where you used to work?" she asks, as they arrive in a secluded but cosy corner of the cavern, empty but for a small wooden sentry hut and what appears to be a telescope.

"One of the places, yeah – depending how you define 'work'. I think I might even still have..." Sans disappears into his former post for a moment, shuffling around under the counter where Toriel cannot see before he emerges with an orange creation in either hand. "Hot dog? Wait, don't tell me – you're more of a cat lady." Toriel smiles, glancing down at the miniature menagerie – though a little dusty, they are not without their charm. "Sorry it's not much of a royal banquet," he adds, meeting her eyes with a sheepish grin, "but, y'know, these things have been selling like – well, like hot animals lately. I sold twenty-nine just the other day."

"My, that is impressive," Toriel says, trailing a finger along the 'hot cat' as though petting it, "and, I am sure, with good reason. But I think I shall leave it for another time, as much as I do like to sample the, ah...local cuisine."

"Suit yourself." Sans shrugs amiably, before taking a bite of the dog himself. Despite the 'royal banquet' remark, Toriel is relieved that he does not seem intimidated by her royal title, for initially she could not help but worry that it would affect their friendship, that the ease and familiarity with which they addressed each other through the door – when Toriel was "Door Lady", and Sans was most often simply "my friend", although in her head she sometimes enjoyed thinking of him as her "mystery man" – would be lost if she revealed her true identity. But meeting in the flesh-and-bone has been more wonderful than anything she imagined, for there is simply no comparison between a disembodied voice behind a door that may have been inches, but could as well have been worlds away, and Sans, her friend, showing her his favourite places, laughing with her, smiling at her...

Well – perhaps, if Toriel is truly honest, it is not strictly true that nothing has changed. It is becoming harder to deny the unexpected, but not at all unpleasant spark of...something in her soul when they are laughing so hard they have to lean on one another for support, or the frisson of electricity when their hands might brush in passing – or even moments such as these, when the soft glow of Waterfall catches the light in Sans' sockets, dancing between curiosity and amusement as they meet Toriel's eyes, and she feels almost as if she has been caught doing something she should not. But to address that would present another set of complications entirely, and Toriel has no desire to do so tonight, so she simply smiles back before averting her eyes to the telescope.

"And I suppose this would be another of the tools of your trade," she comments, running a paw over the smooth plastic surface, "for spotting any passing humans, yes? May I take a look?"

"Sure – knock yourself out."

Toriel lowers her head to peer into the eyepiece, but she cannot see much of anything due to a garish red smear across the lens; she draws back, and as she blinks she feels an alarming wetness, as though something is caught on her eyelashes. "Sans, I am not sure your telescope is working..."

"It's not – oh. Uh, actually, Tori, maybe hold off on that just for a sec –" It may be the fastest she has ever seen Sans move, crossing from his post to her side with an urgency that would concern her, if he did not immediately break out into a wide grin like a mischievous child when she looks at him expectantly. “Actually, never mind, you're good. Maybe just a little red-eyed."

"What is it? Did you do something to the telescope?" Toriel demands, trying to stay stern despite his poorly concealed and inconveniently infectious amusement. She rubs her eyes and blinks down at her paws to see an unsightly red stain. "Is that...ketchup?"

"Okay, in my defence," Sans begins, no longer attempting to disguise the laughter rattling his bones as he holds up both hands in an unconvincing show of innocence, "I wasn't exactly expecting the queen to stop by anytime soon. Sorry, Tori – c'mere, let me get that for ya."

Toriel sighs, smiling despite herself as he beckons her over, but relents, bending down as gracefully as she can until they are almost nose to...well, the little hollow where nose would normally be, for she cannot claim to be familiar with the intricacies of skeleton anatomy, but up close it is curiously endearing. Toriel has a peculiar urge to nuzzle it, but manages to restrain herself as Sans gently wipes the debris from around her left eye – and then, to her astonishment, proceeds to lick it straight off his fingers.

“Still fresh.”

"Oh, do not eat it!" Toriel exclaims, pushing him away and scrunching up her nose in disgust, though she is unable to stop a few giggles from escaping as she plants her hands on her hips, shaking her head in exasperation. "Goodness, Sans – whatever am I going to do with you? I am beginning to think someone ought to cook you a proper meal. Do you know..." She pauses, smile turning a little more sly as she detects an opportunity for revenge, “for a moment there, I almost believed you were about to kiss me.”

She winks and the light in Sans' sockets almost disappears completely for a moment, before he lets out a pffffft of incredulous laughter; it may be the blue glow of the cavern across his cheekbones, but Toriel believes he is blushing. "Heh – wow, okay. I, uh, don't remember that being in the job description when I signed up. Come to think of it, did I even sign up?” He smirks, ducking from her gaze to run a finger around the eyepiece as though checking for leftovers; an unspoken but palpable tension lingers in the air until he continues, hastily changing the subject: “Actually, I didn't really get this to watch out for humans. I just, uh...like to look at the stars, sometimes. I mean, I know they're not the real stars, but it's...something."

Sans still sounds a little embarrassed, as though he is divulging something intensely personal; Toriel is unsure as to why, but she smiles and nods, hoping to put him at ease again. “Perfectly understandable. It is beautiful out here."

A silence settles over them as she takes in the view; inevitably, much of the Underground has changed in her absence, so it is somehow reassuring to find Waterfall just as she remembers it, unspoiled by the turmoil of the city, the light of the sparkling stones glancing off the water's edge just like the paintings of the true stars in her old history books. Despite all that she has lost, Toriel still feels fortunate to know that this place is still here for her, and that she is here with Sans.

"At the lab," he says after a moment, "Alphys has this big simulation of all the stars up on her screen. She says it's as scientifically accurate as we can make it for now – it was an ongoing thing, gathering our research, inputting the data. We used to look at it, map out the constellations...I mean, I'm not sure the guys on the surface would've actually named them 'Undyne's abs', but..." He shrugs, and they share a knowing chuckle as he catches Toriel's eyes. "It's still pretty cool to see them all. You should ask her to show you sometime."

"It sounds wonderful. Perhaps I will do just that." Toriel pauses, trying not to sound too interested as she asks: "I did not know you and Alphys were close. Snowdin and Hotland are awfully far apart, are they not?"

"Huh? Oh, yeah – well, we kind of worked together a while back, y'know, before I was a sentry. Nothing too important, just working out some...stuff.” This information immediately piques her curiosity even further – she never would have taken Sans for a scientist, but evidently they still have much to learn about each other, though she cannot help wondering whether he is being vague due to the nature of their research, or perhaps even his past relationship with Alphys.

As queen, it is technically within her rights to demand he tells her everything he knows, if she believes it to be pertinent to national security – but even if that were the case, Toriel has absolutely no desire to exert her authority in such a way. Sans is – and she hopes he always will be – her friend, her equal, her...well, certainly more than simply another of her subjects to be ruled over. Besides, she reminds herself, she should not be such a nosy old woman – Sans is a big bones, in soul if not in stature, and is free to spend time with whoever he pleases.

So she settles for an equally non-committal hmm in response, and waits for him to fill the silence that follows: “Anyway, I guess that's the view from up here – you can see more down by the river.”

They make their way along a short path into the adjoining cavern, bathed in an eerie blue glow from the various flora, and emerge from the silence into a chamber filled with whispers and rustles, fragments of conversations long forgotten rising from the cyan blossoms. Toriel remembers the echo flowers, of course – they are an institution of the Underground for their striking appearance as much as their unique abilities – but somehow, their hushed but persistent murmurings as they walk through the fields are a little more unsettling than she remembers, barely comprehensible snatches of words drifting by her ears before she can catch them almost mocking, almost as if – and Toriel knows this is absurd – they might be talking among themselves about her, watching, whispering, judging.

"Are you a star?"

"Hmm?" Toriel startles at the curious, childlike voice, stopping in her tracks as her head jerks instinctively to look back over her shoulder – it was so clear, so distinct from the general murmur, for a moment she is sure there must be someone else in the room with them, but of course it is just Sans, who raises a quizzical brow bone.

"I, uh, didn't say anything."

"Of course not. Sorry – it is just the flowers, I know." Toriel manages an apologetic smile, running her claws self-consciously through the fur on the back of her neck. "Do not mind me, I just...I have not passed through here in some time. I suppose I had forgotten just how...lively they can be."

"I guess they are pretty talkative today. Hey, buddy..." Sans ambles over to address one of the flowers on the side, "why so blue?" Toriel cannot help snorting at the dreadful joke as the flower repeats the question in earnest, and he continues, glancing back at her: "You know, I was actually thinking of planting some flowers myself."

"Oh, you were?" Toriel's ears prick up in interest. "How lovely! Which kind? It may be a little difficult to grow them in Snowdin, but if you need any help at all, I would be more than happy to –"

"– but then I realised...I hadn't botany."

"Oh!" Toriel bursts out laughing; Sans starts to snicker as well, which the flower to join in, followed by the one next to it, and the one next to that, until almost the entire field is laughing along, an unorthodox yet oddly striking symphony of braying giggles and deep chuckles playing out over the fields and echoing through the cavern. It is quite surreal, surrounded by the sounds of her own mirth – and, oh dear, does she always snort that loudly? – yet when she looks back at Sans, after they have both stopped laughing but nevertheless exchange wide, foolish grins, curiously comforting, as the flowers begin to feel more like old friends again. Eventually the fields quieten, the last remnants of laughter dissipating into the air, but the warmth in her soul lingers.

"Well," she remarks, grinning back at Sans, "I be-leaf you have a most appreciative audience here."

"I know, right? Maybe I'll start carrying a few of these around with me – my career could really blossom." They laugh again, too softly for the flowers to catch this time, and Sans adds: "Still not the best audience I've ever had, though. I mean, no one beats you."

Toriel beams, feeling her cheeks flushing unexpectedly at the compliment and hoping it is not too visible in their darkening surroundings. "Why, thank you. I am pleased to hear I am not so easily replaced in your affections by echo flowers."

"No way. Well, unless they somehow develop the ability to make pie – then maybe you got some competition, Tori.”

Toriel chooses not to dignify that with a response, scoffing and shaking her head fondly at him as they approach an area she recognises: the grassy bank right next to the river, always a favoured picnic spot. They have no food now, although it would not surprise her if Sans were to produce yet another variety of hot animal from his pocket – sometimes she is sure he must be carrying half the Underground in there – but he simply sits, bones cracking as he stretches his legs out, and after a moment's hesitation Toriel joins him, gathering her robes to arrange herself as comfortably as possible. The grass is a little damp, but she does not mind.

"Y'see, that's the other thing about these guys," Sans says, nodding towards the flowers flanking them on either side of the river, "they seem so harmless. You say something, they say it back, it's all good fun. I mean, they're flowers – of all the dangerous things down here, you'd never think they could hurt anyone, right? But once they're done kidding around, people forget they're here, and they forget how much they hear. And some things – well, maybe some things weren't meant to be heard, and some things you don't wanna remember. But, here, they don't forget, not until they've passed on whatever they've heard. And they get to hear...a lot."

There is barely any change in Sans' usual monotone, but he does not meet Toriel's eyes as he speaks, his skull turned up towards the sparkling stones overhead; for a brief instant, a cloud of darkness seems to pass over his face, as though he is seeing – or remembering – something up there that she cannot. Then it is gone, as he glances back at her and cracks a smile, but his sockets do not brighten as they usually do when it is genuine. "Heh – sorry. I guess I kinda spaced out for a moment there."

Toriel smiles at the pun, but she hopes he will continue; she has rarely seen Sans like this, quiet and contemplative, and while a part of her is concerned about what he could have seen, to say such things, she cannot help but find it fascinating, too. "Not at all. You are quite right – I suppose we all have things we would sooner forget, which we would not want passing freely among the flowers."

"Right." The corners of Sans' mouth appear to lift a little higher as he looks back at her, before speaking again. "So, me and Papyrus used to come here all the time as kids, right? Not a whole lot else to do around Snowdin, but we always had a blast. Then, this one time...we were around here, chilling by the river. Paps was practicing his attacks, and I – well, I guess I fell asleep. But next thing I know, he's shaking me awake, terrified, absolutely crying his sockets out, saying he wants to go home, we have to go home right now."

"Oh, no!" Toriel presses a hand to her mouth at the thought of anything happening to dear, sweet Papyrus. "What was the matter? Did something happen to him?"

"He was crying too hard to tell me, so obviously I had to get us out of there as fast as I could. We get home, I manage to calm him down, and eventually he tells me a flower said something mean to him. Then all the other flowers started saying it, too, and he tried to run away but they were everywhere, they just kept saying it...He thought it was his fault, he'd done something wrong, because they were all being nice to him yesterday."

"Ah, I see. Oh, the poor dear.” Toriel bites her lip, the image tugging at her soul. “Did you tell him –"

"I tried to explain that they weren't actually talking to him, they're just flowers, they just repeated whatever they'd heard – but I don't think he got it, or if he did it didn't seem to make him feel any better. So that night, after Pap's bedtime story, I came back here when no one was around. I went to all the flowers – every last one of 'em I could find – and I told them...'The Great Papyrus is the most sensational skeleton in Snowdin!'. 'No – in the Underground!'. 'The Great Papyrus always produces the most perplexing puzzles!' 'The Great Papyrus is gonna be the strongest, toughest, coolest Royal Guard ever!' Stuff like that – well, I didn't want them to sound like me," he adds in his normal tone by way of explanation, chuckling a little too as Toriel stifles a giggle at the endearingly unconvincing falsetto. "Anyway, the next day, I got up early – okay, Tori, you don't have to look that surprised – and Papyrus really didn't want to go back to Waterfall, as you can probably imagine, but I promised him it'd be worth it, the flowers had something very important they wanted to tell him, but we had to go soon, before anyone else got there. So we did, and, well..." Sans shrugs, but Toriel already sees the genuine pride and affection shining through in his smile at the memory, "judging by the look on his face when we got there, I'd say he got the message."

"Ahhh, how wonderful. I am so glad that story had a happy ending." Toriel feels her own smile tugging at the corners of her lips, as it inevitably does whenever Sans talks about Papyrus; even from behind the door, she could always hear the smile in his voice, the fierce, unconditional love behind every word, even when he was complaining that he'd moved his sock collection again. Back then, as much as it warmed her soul, she could not help but feel a pang of something like envy listening to those tales, reminding her of the family she no longer had. But now, it fills her with a new kind of hope, now she has seen for herself the love that still exists in the Underground. She wants – no, she has to protect that love, watch it blossom and thrive, in all its forms, for the sake of all of her people as much as for herself. With that thought, she reaches out and gently places her hand on top of Sans' where they rests on the grass between them. "That was a very sweet thing of you to do for your brother."

"Oh...heh, no, it was nothing really." He grins back at her a little sheepishly, shrugging shrugging off the compliment like he does most things; she has noticed that Sans often seems slightly uncomfortable with, or perhaps simply unaccustomed to praise. Still, Toriel does not intend to stop giving it where deserved, and he does not move his hand away. "I mean, I had to do something. No one messes with my little bro – especially not some dumb flower, right?"

"They certainly do not – unless, of course, they wish to have a bad time," Toriel agrees, and they exchange wry smiles, recent events coming to mind. Perhaps flowers are not the most trustworthy sorts, after all. "Well – as I said, it was long ago, but we also used to bring the children here. Asriel loved to see the stones, the echo flowers – he took it all very seriously indeed." She smiles, warm and wistful; she can still hear him clear as day in her mind: "Mooom, don't watch! I can see you peeking! It has to be a secret, remember?". "I did not like them running off into the fields alone," she explains, "so, whenever wished, Asriel always insisted that I turned around, covered my ears and closed my eyes. Because if I heard his wish, it would not come true, you see?"

How many years had passed, since they were all here; some days it seemed only yesterday, when Toriel and Asgore would sit here, snuggled up together and looking fondly on as the children played. Chara never seemed too interested in the echo flowers, but they liked to sit and swing their legs in the river, deliberately splashing Asriel to make him squeal. And now...now there is only Toriel, a familiar, yet no less sharp twinge of guilt and sorrow in her soul as she gazes up at the sparkling stones, wondering how many wishes had been made here, and how many had ever come true. Was it fair, for her to be the one who survived? For all the times she had failed her family and her people, could Toriel truly say that she deserved her place, her title? If she could have given her own life to change any of it, she would have, in the beat of a soul – but what good would wishing do now, when...

"Hey." Sans interrupts her reverie, and she sees his sockets soften at the edges as he shuffles a little closer, gently bumping the top of her arm with his shoulder, a brief but comforting touch, “if you never found out what they wished for, it could still come true, right?” Toriel smiles and nods, grateful for his unspoken understanding that no more needs to be said, that now is not the time to discussing such matters. “Then I guess maybe we should make a wish. Since we're here.”

"I suppose we ought to honour the tradition." Toriel closes her eyes, out of habit more than anything; she has naturally wished for many things inside of this room and out of this room, though with diminishing hopes over the years that any of them would come true. But now, she wishes that Frisk, wherever they may be, is safe, and happy, and loved. She wishes for peace, for the strength to help the Underground find its way again – for all his faults, she realises, Asgore had held onto that hope, even if it ended up destroying him, for the sake of his people – her people. She wishes to preserve that hope for them, and for herself, wherever she may find it – perhaps even in moments just like this one, when she opens her eyes to the gently amused twinkle in Sans' sockets, and smiles sheepishly back as she wonders how long he has been looking at her.

"That looked like some intense wishing there. I thought for a sec you'd fallen asleep and I was gonna have to carry you back to the castle."

Toriel lets out an undignified snort of laughter, pressing a hand to her muzzle at that rather sweet yet hilariously improbable image. "You would carry me? Oh, Sans – as generous as it is of you to offer, I'm afraid I must question whether you have the backbone for such a task."

"Are you calling me spineless?"

"Come, now – do not skullk with me." Finally recovering from their mutual fits of laughter, she manages to ask: "Did you make a wish, too?"

"Might've done," Sans replies, elusive again, but this time shooting her a wink so as to leave no doubt as to the answer. “I can't tell you, Tori – else it won't come true, remember?”

“I would never ask you to. I was simply curious if you had considered wishing for a new telescope,” she smirks, unable to resist teasing, "as you seem to be having some trouble keeping that one clean."

"Brutal, Tori. You really goat me there." Sans winces, making her giggle as he clutches dramatically at his shirt, as though mortally wounded. "That's okay, though – the sweet thing is, you can see most of the constellations right here. See that up there?" He points up to the ceiling, Toriel's eyes following to the biggest, brightest stone illuminating the river. "We call that one the Tem Star. Or, to give it its full title, uh...Temmius Ijustmadethatupicus."

They continue in a similar vein, tracing out imaginary images in the sparkling stones – a hot dog here, a snail over there, a smiling face before they start to become increasingly specific and nonsensical, making up ridiculous "facts" to make each other laugh. The distance between them seems to grow increasingly smaller, leaning in closer together for warmth – or perhaps simply because they want to, and Toriel cannot help but be grateful that they are a safe distance away for the echo flowers to pick them up. Not because they are saying anything that ought not to be repeated; but simply because, after a lifetime of the entire Underground knowing all her personal affairs, there are some moments – like the way Sans' head falls back against her shoulder when he yawns in the middle of telling her all about the long and complex history of the River Person's Belt, and remains there until they depart – that Toriel would like to keep for herself.

Perhaps the stars above them are not the genuine article, but looking up at their sparkle, all of the hope and promise of wishes made and those yet to be fulfilled that bounces off of the river, shining down on them, Toriel cannot imagine anything brighter – or more beautiful.

#30 day otp challenge #soriel #fanfiction #undertale fanfiction #oh hey it's my first shot at a neutral ending so that's a thing!!#maybe not technically stargazing in the strictest sense #more like echo flowers and chill #( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)#my fic

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shockcity · 7 years

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Bagginshield #15 - getting lost somewhere

Rating: G Summary: for the 30 day otp challenge. Thorin goes missing on the way home from a diplomatic trip to Gondor. AU - Fix it. Crack.

Note: initially i was going to fill a different prompt but then angelsallfire shared THIS with me and my whole life changed

He hadn’t meant to get separated from the main party. How was he supposed to know that there would be orcs watching the roads? It was the Rohirrim’s job to keep riffraff away from travelers – especially kingly ones. Like Thorin. The king. Who was lost and it wasn’t his fault, Bilbo, please –

Thorin had gone over excuse after excuse in the hours since he’d gotten completely lost in the Brown Lands (or what he assumed were the Brown Lands, based on the lack of…everything), but none of it sounded good enough for his husband, who had specifically told him before he’d departed from Erebor that he was not to get lost. That he was to follow Balin and only Balin, and to keep his map on him at all times. And extra socks. Oh, and another blanket, even in the south it gets so cold at night, Thorin, darling….

And so on.

Bilbo hadn’t even wanted Thorin to go to Gondor, but had understood the necessity of it as much as he’d hated the idea of such a long separation. Thorin had been even worse. He’d sulked for days after Bilbo had decided he was more needed in the Mountain than on the trip. He would have to take over Balin’s duties after all…and someone needed to keep an eye on Fili and Kili.

“We can just bring the boys with us!” Thorin had argued, but Bilbo had only given him a patient look until he’d come to his senses.

So it was that Thorin was separated from his hobbit for two long months, all in the name of making nice with the Gondorians who no one actually liked (their perpetual doom and gloom was so bad that it even got to ‘You-Know-Nothing-of-the-World Thorin Oakenshield’). Plus they kept insisting that one could not simply walk into Mordor for some reason.

Thorin paused on a slope of blackened rock, examining his map before glancing at Mount Doom.

Thanks, Gondor.

“What do you mean he’s lost?” Bilbo asked Roäc, his tone very very careful.

“Just that. He’s wandered off.”

Bilbo slowly raised his hands and pressed them against his temples. “Bofur,” said Bilbo with his eyes closed. “I need the fastest horse we have, enough provisions for two, and three pain killers.”

“Balin would also like you to know that he might have gone south,” Roäc added. “Toward Mordor.”

Bilbo exhaled slowly. “Make that five pain killers and a bottle of wine.”

Bofur wisely acquiesced.

“If I follow this star I’ll be going north,” Thorin muttered to himself, but then realized that there were two stars of equal brightness in either direction.

The next morning he watched the sunrise. “That is east,” he said to himself, committing the mountain range to memory. “Now, which way is home? Ah! This way.”

He started out in that direction.

The map was upside down.

Bilbo made very good time to the Brown Lands, which was mostly due to the emptiness of the roads, and the anger (and alcohol) that was fueling his speed. He stopped only to rest the horse and quench his thirst, before setting off across the barren landscape to find his wayward husband.

He didn’t see signs of Thorin until he got closer to the Black Gates, which…of course. Trust Thorin to end up there. Then he spotted some suspiciously dwarf-like footprints leading up the slope of a mountain and right into Morgai.

Bilbo didn’t bother stopping and muttered angrily as he followed his husband’s footsteps up and into Mordor.

“This isn’t right,” Thorin mumbled, looking around. From what he could tell he was still not going north, but had gone east instead. He’d thought it was weird that he’d been traveling at an incline….

And it was really hot, and he was pretty sure he was standing on top of an actual volcano.

Then he saw a figure slowly making their way up the side of the mountain.

“MY HOBBIT!” he cried out joyfully.

Bilbo looked up at him. “YOU ARE SO DEAD,” he promised.

Thorin didn’t doubt it, but was happy to see him anyway.

The eye of Sauron watched them curiously. After all, it wasn’t everyday that there was a domestic on Mount Doom.

“And I told you to take an extra blanket! You could have frozen out here! Whoa, where do you think that goes?”

Thorin blinked at the entrance to the volcano. “Maybe it’s another way down! Let’s look.”

Bilbo glared at him but followed behind. They walked down the path and straight into the heart of the volcano, which was hot and stinky and Bilbo’s eyes immediately started to water.

“This is awful,” he said, reaching into his pocket for his handkerchief. “You have the worst ideas. And no sense of direction. Why are you like this.”

“I told you I was sorry,” Thorin sulked. “How long are you going to be mad at me – my hobbit you’ve dropped something!”

Bilbo had taken out his handkerchief and something had gone flying and had fallen right into the lava pit.

“Oh, dear,” he said. “I hope it wasn’t anything important.”

Then the volcano began to erupt.

Gandalf peered down at them from on top of a giant eagle.

“I think you’ve done middle earth a service, though I haven’t the faintest idea how you managed it.”

Bilbo, lying next to a confused Thorin on top of a rock surrounded by lava, merely glared at him. “I don’t either,” he said. “But you could have told me that you had an eagle capable of flying into Mordor. Life would have been so much easier.”

Thorin nodded in agreement. “Walking sucked.”

#30 day otp challenge #bagginshield #hobbit fic #pure crack

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diamondsareapearlsbestfriend · 8 years

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Sans/Toriel 30 Day OTP Challenge: Day Seven

day seven: laughter

prompt: “Your OTP making each other laugh. Jokes? Stories? Tickle fights?”

Sans' memory is hazy at the best of times, but no matter how many years or timelines go by, he's pretty sure he'll never forget the first time he heard Toriel laugh.

Some things from back in the Underground, he's still not sure whether they happened, or how they happened, or if they happened to someone else entirely – but that day, he remembers almost better than anything. The pause before the punchline, that fleeting moment of uncertainty as he realised he wasn't alone – and then those glorious, unrestrained, braying howls of laughter like nothing he'd ever heard before, right when he was starting to think he'd heard it all before, that they were all just locked in the same pointless loop until the next reset. Maybe you'd call it fate or destiny or something, if you believed in that stuff. Sans never did, but he did know back then, leaning back against that ancient forest door and listening to her laugh at everything he said like he was the funniest, the most fascinating guy in the world – and she was pretty damn hilarious herself – that nothing was ever going to be the same.

Sans always knew he wanted to keep making Toriel laugh for as long as she'd let him, but really, he was pretty much gone from the first time he saw it in person; not just the sound, but the way her whole face transforms as she clutches her belly, doubling over or throwing her head back as she laughs, throat bared and all her fangs on show with a totally unashamed, raw, almost primal energy that has absolutely no business being as attractive as it is. Sans isn't expecting to be as into it as he is, but hey, he's always been down for learning new things. Specifically, figuring out just how many different noises he can get Toriel to make – snorts and shrieks and howls, and sometimes he can even make her bleat, when he gets the ticklish spot right behind her ear.

He gets to learn a lot of her different laughs: there's the lighter, almost musical titter when she's in a good mood, pleased with herself as she pulls another delicious dessert out of the oven, or recites a particularly interesting snail fact or historical tidbit from school to Sans or Frisk or anyone else around to hear it, and then there's the shrill, high-pitched giggle that pops up when she's nervous or uncomfortable or trying to hide something.

Toriel is a terrible liar, Sans figured out pretty fast; she feels too much to be able to keep it from showing on her face, her eyes too wide and expressive to hide whatever's on her mind and in her heart. A little inconvenient if you're trying to plan a surprise party, sure, but Sans has to admit he's always loved that about her, how open she is and how easily he can read her when he gets to know her tells. Maybe it's a little because he got a little too good at pretending himself over the timelines – but mostly it's just the way Toriel's mouth twitches or how she scrunches up her nose right before she cracks, secrets spilling out in breathless, hysterical whoops, and then Sans starts too before he even has a chance to press her for details, until they're both just giggling like numbskulls at nothing, but it's worth it. It's always worth it.

The one that might actually be his favourite, though, that usually comes later. When they're just chilling on the couch, Toriel with a book on her lap and Sans sprawled out with his legs hanging off the end of the sofa and his skull resting against the crook of her arm or shoulder. He'll be telling her about his new genius idea of giving out discounts for every ten hot dogs or cats a customer can get on their head, or how someone's been stealing beer mats from Grillby's and it's definitely not him, despite what anyone says, because he's been pretty much set for life since back in the Snowdin days. Toriel might only be half listening, peering over her glasses at her lesson plan, but she'll still laugh, a soft, indulgent chuckle as she rubs the palm of her hand tenderly over Sans' skull, warm and comforting as a freshly baked cinnamon bunny.

It might not be as loud or as long as the first time, but it's real, and it's her, and it's perfect.

(Maybe later, some time further down the line, Sans will tell her he's pretty sure he's been in love with her ever since that first day, when he first heard her laugh. Toriel will laugh at that too and insist he's just flattering her, that he couldn't possibly have known that back then, when she was just a voice behind a door – but she'll still reward him with a kiss on his skull or a nuzzle against his cheekbone, and Sans still thinks that maybe, in some way, they've both always known it was true anyway.

Once, back in the Underground, he heard Toriel laugh and he started to feel like maybe there was hope, maybe there was still something, someone out there he could believe in. Someone who might be able to make all the timelines he'd trudged through over and over again worth it in the end.

Now, on the surface, he hears that laugh every day and he knows he was right.)

Toriel has learned many things, in her time, and come later to learn that perhaps not all of them were true. But if there is one thing that she has only come to realise more and more over the years, it is that one must be able to laugh.

Perhaps she had not realised just how much she had missed it until she met Sans; swapping jokes through that old forest door, she felt more alive than she had done in decades, simply to laugh again and to share that joy with someone who sincerely appreciated her jokes, genuine mirth rather than polite, insincere titters out of a desire to appease their queen. Toriel knows well that a smile can conceal a multitude of complications, because people rarely look beneath the surface as long as it reflects what they want to see, reassuring them of what they have already decided to be true – and having known him only as a voice, the first time she finds herself quite fascinated by Sans' appearance, the hard edges and sharp contours of his skull, strikingly different from her own pliable flesh and fur, and his teeth bared in a seemingly ever-present smile, a mask to the world of permanent amusement or indifference.

Yet Toriel has lingered for many hours listening to Sans laugh, and she only grows to appreciate the differences more from up close, when they are firing puns back and forth at one another; the subtle yet unmistakable shift in Sans' smile from merely a fixture to a genuine grin, his warm chuckle as instantly comfortable and familiar as from behind the old forest door, yet immeasurably more wonderful, more satisfying to behold in the flesh and bone– especially when she is the reason for it. Sometimes, when something truly tickles his funny bone, a tiny dimple appears in his left cheekbone, and it is one of Toriel's favourite things in the world.

Sans may have the superior comic timing of the two, maintaining a naturally deadpan delivery up until the moment he drops the punchline; indeed, Toriel is almost envious at times, because she is prone to giving the game away by laughing at her own joke before she can tell it – but she can still surprise him every once in a while, relishing the moment Sans' sockets widen before he lets out that wonderful long pfffft of laughter when she sneaks in a pun before he does, or recalls the somewhat perplexing incident when a child asked they could have their milk from Toriel instead of the cow on the carton. He'll turn to her with a high five or fist bump, which Toriel has just about learned to catch, but even if she does not they are usually both laughing too hard by then for it to matter.

(She may also not be above more devious means, having discovered that skeletons are indeed ticklish – or hers is, at least, especially his ribs and lower spine, and blowing a raspberry there is quite an effective method of persuading Sans to move when he does not wish to, which is often. Until he retaliates, digging his fingers into Toriel's sensitive sides until she is helpless with giggles, and war has been declared, both of them rolling around the bed tickling each other until someone pleads for a truce. Or – on one unfortunate occasion – until Frisk walks in and, having evidently misunderstood what they have just witnessed, runs away again covering their eyes with both hands and yelling “sorry oh my gosh Mom I'm so sorry I didn't know you were I really didn't mean to –“ before running straight into a wall.)

But sometimes it is the moment just before, when Frisk and Papyrus are eagerly talking about their hard day's “ambassadoring” and something will remind them of an earlier joke. Toriel has only to catch Sans' eye, that dangerously infectious twinkle of amusement in his sockets, and they are laughing before either has even said anything, her braying snorts and his deeper chuckles intertwining and building to something louder, stronger, virtually unstoppable until there are tears rolling down Toriel's cheeks and her stomach aches, but it is surely the sweetest pain of all. Frisk and Papyrus will shake their heads, exchanging fondly exasperated looks over their respective family members, but they know by now not to take offence; that it is just Sans and Toriel being Sans and Toriel.

Eventually, they will sober up, the warmth in her soul remaining even as their laughter fades away. Toriel looks at Sans, sees the kaleidoscope of emotions somehow contained within that smile – laughter and trust and love, all for her, so much brighter and better than she ever dreamed it could be, ever since that first time she heard him back in the Underground. Leaning against each other long after they have stopped laughing, his head on her shoulder and her cheek resting against his skull, she feels like she is home.

As long as Toriel can laugh – and as long as she has Sans to laugh with – she knows she has nothing to fear.

#30 day otp challenge #soriel #fanfiction #undertale fanfiction #literally just like 1.5k of dorks laughing i have no excuse #my fic

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diamondsareapearlsbestfriend · 8 years

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Sans/Toriel 30 Day OTP Challenge: Day Six

day six: new to the family

prompt: “Each member of your OTP meeting the other’s family for the first time. Does each family approve of the one dating the other? What sorts of shenanigans do they get into?”

"So...finally meeting the family, huh? Seems like things are getting pretty serious between you guys, am I right?"

"...Kid." Sans couldn't help but be amused, if a little puzzled, by Frisk's 'so what exactly are your intentions with my mother' routine as they smirked across the sofa at him. "We've known each other for how long now? Unless I'm missing something here, I feel like maybe that ship's sailed."

"I'm not talking about me." They were definitely up to something, a worryingly familiar determined glint in their eye as they turned to Toriel, tugging on her sleeve as she sat with her hands folded in her lap. "There's someone else we thought should join us for a nice family dinner tonight. Right, Mom?"

"Ah...in a sense, I suppose, yes." Toriel seemed much more reluctant, only offering Sans an apologetic smile when he looked to her for an explanation. "Dear, are you quite sure this is a good idea? He does tend to be rather...how should I put this..."

"Mom, don't worry," Frisk assured her, patting her hand. "I feel like we've been making real progress on the whole, um...attitude problem. Anyway, he's got to find out about you guys sometime, right?"

"I suppose, but..."

"We'll be right down!"

Frisk scurried eagerly off upstairs before she could object any further, and Toriel sighed before turning back to Sans, placing a hand gently on his patella. "Sans, I...do apologise in advance for this evening. I did hope we might be able to enjoy a nice, peaceful dinner, but you know how Frisk can be..."

Well, that wasn't ominous at all, but he smiled back anyway to reassure her, linking their fingers together. "Tori, don't sweat it. How bad can it really –"

"Hey, watch the stem!" A disturbingly familiar squeaky voice pierced the air, interrupting him as they both turned towards the stairs. "Why are we doing this? You know I don't actually need to eat – there's this thing called photosynthesis? That's pretty basic science, Frisk – golly, don't they teach you anything in school? Your mom must be so..."

The contents of the offending flower pot wisely fell silent as he met Toriel's steely gaze, a stark contrast with Frisk's determinedly cheerful smile as they reached the bottom of the stairs and placed the pot carefully on the coffee table.

"Sans, Flowey – you guys, um, remember each other, don't you?"

"How could I forget?" Sans gritted his teeth, hoping his resting smile masked his instinctive unease as he met the flower's belligerently unimpressed stare – he could still feel the vines tightening around him, scratchy and suffocating, remember looking over at Papyrus, at everyone helplessly ensnared around him and only thinking, as the energy drained out of his soul, that he'd seriously screwed up this time..."Hey, buddy. Steal any good souls lately?"

Flowey ignored him entirely, turning his head indignantly back towards Frisk. "Is this some 'cruel and unusual punishment' kinda thing? 'Cause if so, I'm actually..." His eyes widened to comical proportions as the proverbial penny dropped, darting from Frisk to Sans to Toriel and back again. "Wait, is this a – no. No way. You're dating him?!" He dissolved into hysterical, high-pitched giggles, doubling over at the stem. "That's too rich! M – Toriel, I know you're getting a little over the hill, but gosh – even you must be able to find someone better than some...bag of bones?"

Frisk winced; Sans just smirked, because honestly it was kind of cute if Flowey thought that was going to get to him, like he didn't already know he was punching way above his weight with Toriel.

"Heh – little harsh, but you're not entirely –"

"Actually, I think you'll find you are very much mistaken," Toriel cut him off, her voice sharp and cool as a knife, but Sans could tell from the pink spots rising on her pristine white cheeks that she was pissed, unforgiving eyes trained on Flowey like a laser, "for there is, in fact, no one – nobody I would sooner be with, tonight or any other."

Flowey gulped, wilting back against his pot despite himself, and it was probably one of the most satisfying moments of any timeline, especially when Sans caught Toriel's eye and her mouth twitched at their old corny joke. "Anyway," she continued pleasantly, the fire fizzling out almost as soon as it had appeared as she smoothed down her dress, "I had better get started on dinner. You three..." She narrowed her eyes, a watchful, teacher's gaze over Sans, Frisk and Flowey in turn. "Do try and play nicely, won't you?"

"He's not...always like this," Frisk spoke up after their mother had returned to the kitchen, shuffling their feet guiltily while shooting Flowey a reproachful look. "Sometimes he's nice. Well, kinda. To me, anyway."

"I tolerate you," Flowey corrected them, rolling his beady little eyes. "There's a difference."

Sans glanced longingly back at the closed door, tempted to make an excuse about helping Toriel with dinner, but Frisk was looking increasingly uncomfortable, fidgeting in the silence that followed, and he couldn't help feeling for the kid – they really wanted him and Flowey to be friends, and even if Sans had a pretty good idea of how that was going to work out, he figured he owed it to them to at least try and be nice to the little weed.

"Well, hey, that's progress, right?" he offered. "Good job, buddy. Sounds like you're really...turning over a new leaf."

At least that got a smile out of Frisk, who stifled a giggle behind their hand as Flowey let out a loud groan, drooping dramatically over the edge of his pot.

"Oh, sure, you're real funny bones. Never heard that one before. You know, if you insist on hanging around, the least you could've done is brought your brother along. Now he's much more fun."

Sans frowned, instantly not liking where this was going. "You know my brother?"

Flowey nodded, suddenly lighting up with a sunny smile Sans didn't trust one bit. "Oh boy, we go way back! We had some entertaining little chats back in the day – golly, that one was gullible. He believed anything any old flower told him. Hey, Sans, here's a fun puzzle – how many times do you think I could've killed him? Because, let me tell you, he sure couldn't have made it any easier for me. Seriously – what kind of Royal Guard member leaves himself open and vulnerable to a strange flower like that? When you think about it, I was doing you all a favour when I –"

"But all that was in the past!" Frisk interrupted, desperately lunging forward and clamping both hands across Flowey's mouth before he could finish. "And now you wouldn't ever...new leaf, remember? That whole murdery phase is over – that's what you told me, remember, Flowey? Right...?"

Sans saw their face twist in concern as it faded away, edges bleeding away to black before his eyes as he clenched his fist, struggling to block out the images – he'd tried his hardest to forget those timelines, but sometimes he still got flashes; dust scattering in the wind, bright red scarf garish as blood in the snow as it slipped through his fingers, grabbing for whatever was left; a retreating shadow, sometimes, but he never saw a face. He didn't want to give Flowey the satisfaction, but he could already feel it burning in his soul, white hot rage like nothing he'd felt in a long time, blazing through his bones and creeping up through his socket until Frisk and his surroundings all faded and there was only Flowey, illuminated in a cold blue glow as he took a step forward off the couch.

"Listen. You better stay away from Papyrus, or..."

"Oooh, or what? Let me guess – you're going to kill me?" Flowey's smile grew increasingly menacing, mouth stretching into a grotesque grimace as he wriggled free of Frisk's grip and leaned forward, stem stretching out until he was right up in Sans' space, eyes glittering with malice. "And what will your precious Toriel think of that, when she finds out you're just like all the others?" Suddenly, his face shifted, flickering like a TV set into an unsettlingly accurate imitation of Toriel's, her white fur and big, sorrowful eyes gazing out. "Oh, Sans, how could you? To think, I truly thought I could trust you – that I could love you – but now I see how foolish I was –"

"You guys, cut it out!" Suddenly, Frisk's voice cut through the darkness as they pushed their way between them, forcing them apart so that Sans stumbled and collapsed back onto the sofa, his vision fading back to normal in time to see Flowey shrinking back into his pot. "Just...stop with all the creepy face stuff, okay? Both of you," they added sternly, turning back towards Sans; he lifted a hand to his cheekbone and saw the magic still pulsating there, rising to the surface instinctively even though he wasn't intending to do anything with it. He shook his skull to let it settle, but as his vision cleared all he could see was the disappointment in Frisk's eyes. "You know, I really thought maybe we were..." They shook their head, silence hanging heavy in the atmosphere between the three of them as they turned away, back towards the door. "Forget it. I'm going to go help Mom with dinner."

"Kid, wait –"

But they were gone before Sans had a chance to defend himself, and he let out a sigh, glancing out of the corner of his socket at Flowey.

"That wasn't very nice, y'know."

"Your face isn't very nice," Flowey replied sulkily; Sans let out a quiet snort of laughter, tempted to come back with something even more childish, but then he remembered the look on Frisk's face, and yeah, that didn't feel too great. It looked like it was up to him to be the responsible one this time, which, welp – this was gonna be interesting.

"I don't care what you think about me," he continued, seriously, "but Frisk really wants us to be friends – yeah, I know, but would it kill you to at least try to pretend to play nice for a while? You know, it might not be so bad."

"Frisk wants everyone to be friends." Flowey laughed bitterly, the words dripping with derision. "That's their thing, right? That's why they had to drag me all the way up here, instead of killing me when they had the chance. I mean, gosh – I came so close to destroying everything in the Underground, and now they want to let me loose on the surface? They'd really risk your happy ending for some...idiotic hero complex, 'cause they just had to prove they could save everyone?" His squeaky voice rose with frustration as he cocked his head to one side, widening his eyes in fake concern. "Well, gee – when you put it like that, sounds pretty messed up. Don't you think, buddy?"

"Sure. I get that." Sans glanced back at the closed door to the kitchen before lowering his voice, leaning forward to rest his humerus on his patellas. "But what I'm wondering is, if you hate it here so much...why didn't you reset?"

In an instant, Flowey's theatrical shock shifted into the real deal, his stem stiffening in indignation. "You – how'd you know about –"

"Did some research," Sans replied with a shrug, as Flowey squinted suspiciously at him before breaking out into a smirk.

"Golly, isn't today just full of surprises! Alright, I admit it – that's a new one. I guess maybe I didn't explore every single possibility, after all." Flowey leaned forward again, vines creeping out of the bottom of his pot to anchor him in place as he sprouted two leaves and rested his head on them, mimicking Sans' pose. "Well...who says I'm not thinking about it, hmm?" His eyes grew bigger and blacker, voice becoming more distorted like he was speaking through static. "Maybe I'm just biding my time...waiting 'til you all think you're finally safe, free from the nightmares of the past. I could do it, you know. Anytime I wanted, I can turn it all back. Any...moment..."

Flowey kept inching forward, grinning into Sans' unblinking sockets like they were locked in a staring contest – until finally he couldn't hold it in any more and started to laugh, soft snickers turning to full-blown guffaws as Flowey jerked back in surprise.

"Whoa, dude, that's intense," he eventually managed to get out. "A+ for effort, gotta give you that, but – pfffft – you thought we were safe up here? Buddy, lemme tell you, I don't even remember being safe from all of this. You. Frisk. The others...heh, that's a good one.” Sans' laughter slowly petered out as he counted them off on his fingers. “There's a lot we didn't figure out, but we knew we were never safe – so hate to break it to ya, but you're really nothing new.”

"What...?" Flowey's nightmare face slowly faded away into something almost inadvertently adorable as he shook his petals, tilting his head in confusion. "And you're saying that doesn't...scare you? Hanging out with the kid who has the power to take everything from you – from Papyrus, from Toriel? Everything you've all worked so hard for and suffered so much, and knowing you could still end up right back where you started? Not even a little bit?"

"Nah," Sans shrugged, leaning back and kicking his feet up on the sofa. "Not any more. You wanna know why?"

"Why should I care about your idiotic –"

"I trust Frisk," he continued anyway. "They wouldn't do it, not now. I know it's not their first time – maybe they didn't always get it perfect, heh, who does? But they're a good kid, and I...believe in them." Sans felt a warmth growing deep in his chest – in his soul – and he never realised just how good it felt to be able to say that – to feel it. "Sure, they could reset any time – hell if there's anything I can do about it. All I know is, I spent a long time not trusting, not believing in anyone, and sometimes...sometimes you just gotta appreciate what you have, you know? If I didn't let myself trust Frisk, that they'd come through and do the right thing in the end – even for those who, some would say, really didn't deserve it – we wouldn't have any of this. And I wouldn't have Tori."

"Golly, isn't that just swell for you," Flowey retorted sarcastically, but there was a glimmer of curiosity in his eyes that wasn't there before. "Frisk sparing me didn't change anything. It doesn't matter what they want – we'll never be friends, not like they are with all of you. Not like it was with..." For a second, he almost looked sad, expression softening as he gazed somewhere into the distance, to timelines past, although it was gone in a flash when he caught Sans' sockets and glared defensively. "It's not like I haven't thought about resetting. I could still do it. I just...I'm just tired of it all." Flowey let out a bitter, world-weary chuckle, and yeah, Sans definitely recognised that feeling. "I'd seen everything down there. Nothing was fun any more, not when I already knew what everyone was going to do, right down to the pitch of their screams. I didn't have anything to stick around for – I just wanted Frisk to finish me off. But they were just too...too nice."

Sans had to laugh at the way Flowey screwed up his face in disgust at the word, nodding in solidarity. "Yup, sounds about right. Kid's pretty damn persistent."

"Gosh, it's sickening, really. I had to go along because they just wouldn't quit." Flowey rolled his eyes, but not with quite so much vitriol as before. "I still don't get it, but I guess this place is..." He lifted his head, looking around at Toriel's cute, cosy house. "At least it's new. I'll probably get bored of the surface soon, too, but for now – it's not the worst I've ever had it, I guess." He smirked again, but it looked more like a mischievous kid than a being of ultimate evil. "Although who knew there's a timeline where Toriel gets desperate enough to date you? Golly, even I almost feel sorry for her, and I literally have no soul!"

Sans just chuckled; he hated to admit it, but Flowey was trying so hard to be intimidating, he was almost starting to find it endearing. “Thanks, bud. I'm sure she'd be real touched to hear that.”

“Heh – you're, um...” Flowey's smile wavered, eyes darting around the room nervously like he suspected Toriel might have been hiding behind the couch all along , “not actually going to tell her I said that, are you?”

“Soup's on!” Frisk burst through the door before Sans even had a chance to consider all the ways he might be able to leverage this newly exposed weak spot. “Hey, you didn't kill each other,” they added brightly. “Good job! If you're lucky, Mom might even give you a sticker.”

Flowey groaned as Sans grinned, reaching out to tap the edge of his flowerpot as he slid off the sofa. “Now you're talking. You need a lift there, buddy?”

Flowey grimaced, but apparently even he wasn't immune to Frisk's hopeful smile at this indication that maybe they'd bonded, or something.

“You know I don't have to stay in the pot,” he grumbled, as Sans picked him up and followed Frisk through to the kitchen. “It's just easier, is all. You better not drop me.”

Tempting as it was, Sans thought, it had nothing on the way Toriel's face lit up as he walked in carrying Flowey, her smile simultaneously astonished, relieved and proud.

“Oh my goodness – flowers, for me?” she exclaimed, clasping her hands together in mock surprise. "Why, Sans, you shouldn't have!"

“Actually, Tori, I might just have to hang onto this one,” he replied, setting Flowey down on top of the pile of books Toriel had thoughtfully placed on his chair. “What can I say – this guy, he really grows on you.”

“Ugggghhhh.” Flowey buried his head in his petals as Toriel snorted with delight and Frisk giggled guiltily. “Are they always like this? How have you not – uhhh...” He faltered as his pot mysteriously wobbled, just as Sans' foot collided with his chair leg under the table. “I mean – how do you stand it?”

“Pretty much,” Frisk sighed sympathetically, reaching out to ruffle his petals. “You just kinda get used to it.”

“Well, don't get used to this, 'cause I'm not hanging around waiting for you losers,” Flowey muttered, flinching away from their hands, but his face immediately brightened when Frisk slid a perfectly sized, snail-patterned watering can across the table. Sans grinned, unable to resist winking as he caught his eye; Flowey stuck his tongue out in retaliation, but somehow he didn't seem quite as threatening.

Frisk beamed and shot Sans a double thumbs-up while Flowey was happily drenching himself; Toriel smiled indulgently, and, psychotic flower sort-of family and all, Sans was starting to feel like this was definitely something he could get used to.

"Your Majesty! Dinner...is served!"

"Papyrus, my dear, you know you do not have to call me that," Toriel answered as he knelt extravagantly at her feet, smiling as she took in the impressive spread laid out before her; granted, it was only spaghetti, but everything was beautifully arranged and garnished, the three places set impeccably and cutlery polished to perfection. “This is far from the first time I have had the pleasure of your company, is it not?”

“I know,” Papyrus rose to his feet, sockets shining as he met her eyes with a bright, hopeful smile, “but it's been my dream to cook for the queen ever since...Well, ever since I found out we had a queen! Plus...” He cupped a gloved hand to Toriel's ear in a stage whisper, “my brother, finally bringing home a date?! Now that hardly happens every day!"

“Goodness, is that so?” Toriel feigned shock, pressing a hand to her chest and biting back a giggle as she caught Sans' socket as he sat at the table, nonchalantly munching on a breadstick. “Why, I would have imagined the eligible young monsters of Snowdin would be lining up outside your door.”

Papyrus let out a cackling nyeh heh heh, clutching his ribs as though it were the funniest thing he'd ever heard. “For the Great Papyrus, naturally – but Sans?! I didn't think he could even find a pair in his sock collection.”

"Alright, bro, take it easy," Sans finally interjected, grinning along despite the hint of blue colouring his cheekbones as Toriel laughed guiltily, both of them turning to look at him. "Ever think maybe you're not the only skeleton around here with high standards?"

Toriel smiled back, bushing a little herself as she turned back to Papyrus with a conspiratorial wink. “Ah, but you see, he is a fast learner. Impressive, what one can achieve with the help of a good teacher, is it not?”

Papyrus nodded thoughtfully as though appraising Sans' performance, before clapping his hands together, positively glowing with pride. “Congratulations, brother – your dating power is way higher than I thought! If you keep it up, who knows – one day, maybe you'll even be as strong as Frisk!”

“Hmm, I am not sure I would go that far just yet; there is always room for improvement,” Toriel quipped, before deciding to follow her child's example and show Sans some mercy by changing the subject, as much as she enjoyed teasing him just a little. “But I digress – surely the greatest significance of this occasion is that I finally have the honour of sampling the Great Papyrus' world-famous spaghetti!”

Papyrus' chest puffed up with pride as he gestured excitedly for her to sit down. “Of course – sit, eat, enjoy! Cooked to perfection just for you, Your – Toriel, if I say so myself. Bone appetit!"

Toriel grinned as she took her place opposite Sans. "Do my ears deceive me, or was that a pun?"

“A pun?! Obviously not!” Papyrus wrinkled his nasal cavity as though it were the worst thing imaginable. “It was a...sophisticated play on words.” “Otherwise known as a pun.”

"Sans, would you just – just stop flapping your mandible for a moment and let the queen enjoy her dinner in peace."

Shaking her head fondly at their squabbling, Toriel lifted a forkful of spaghetti to her mouth. Having been extensively warned that Papyrus' cooking was something of an acquired taste, to put it mildly, she was pleasantly surprised – it was perhaps a little undercooked, but the sauce was thick and rich with a good, strong flavour.

Swallowing, she was just about to pay her compliments to the chef when it hit – a searing heat burning through her throat like nothing she had experienced before. Toriel heard her fork clatter to the floor as her mouth fell open of its own accord and she found herself unable to do anything but pant helplessly, as though her tongue was trying its best to escape the cavern of burning hellfire.

"Tori? Tori, you okay? Stay with me here." Sans' concerned face blurred into an indecipherable white blob as her eyes stung with hot tears and he turned accusingly to his brother. “Pap – what the hell did you put in there?”

"Well – I – you said it was too cold! So I just added some more chili before –"

"How much chili?"

"A few...um...cups?"

Sans hissed something under his breath Toriel would not have approved of under normal circumstances, but for now she could only gasp, thumping the table in a wordless plea for help. “Well, get her some water or something!”

“Water! Yes!” Toriel could just about make out Papyrus frantically searching the fridge, various food items flying through the air. “Oh my god, Sans, what if we've killed the queen?!”

“We?”

“Just hold on, Your Majesty! I'm coming to your aid!”

Before Toriel or Sans could respond, Papyrus hurled himself across the table, plates of spaghetti and salad splattering on the floor as he thrust an unidentified bottle in her face; Toriel was so desperate she seized upon it like a long lost lover, gasping with relief as cool, creamy milk hit her throat, soothing the burning sensation. She kept gulping straight from the bottle, draining every last drop until no more remained. Blinking the last of the tears from her sore eyes, she took in the scene of disarray surrounding her: food splattered everywhere, Papyrus still splayed out across the table like a trophy rug and Sans wearing half of his dinner across his skull like an unconvincing wig.

“Toriel! I'm so sorry!” Papyrus was the first to break the silence, sockets drooping as though he might be about to cry next; Toriel was about to reassure him, but he grabbed her face, squeezing her cheeks together inelegantly to prevent her from speaking. “Sssh, no – you must protect the royal tongue! I'm afraid the Great Papyrus has been foiled, once again, by his own lofty ambitions. I just wanted tonight to be...” He sighed, sliding surprisingly gracefully off the table and back onto his feet, only taking a few salad dressings with him, “special.”

“Pfff – Papyrus,” Toriel eventually managed to say, finally prising his hand from her jaw and setting it gently but firmly back on the table, “my dear, please do not worry yourself over this! I am quite all right – in my time, I have attended many more disastrous dinner parties, and none quite so entertaining.” She smiled at him, squeezing his hand in hers in what she hoped was a soothing manner. “In any case, I would even say you have succeeded – for this is certainly one of the most...memorable evenings I have spent, possibly ever. And I would not have it any other way.”

“She's right, bro.” Sans joined in, leaning over to pat his brother on the back. “Don't be upsetti over spicy spaghetti – that's how it goes, right?” Papyrus smiled and nodded, looking more like his usual self as Sans rolled up his tomato-splattered sleeves, uncharacteristically motivated. “Now throw me a bone here and let's get this place cleaned up for dessert.”

“Oh yes, of course – dessert!” Toriel clasped her hands together, trying to conceal her excitement as she caught the knowing glint in his sockets – she had almost forgotten it in all the commotion. Papyrus' brow bone shot up in suspicion, but he was soon smiling again as the three of them set to work, wiping spaghetti from the walls and plucking strands out of places they should not be – most frequently between bones – until the kitchen was once again in an acceptable state to reveal what Toriel hoped would still be the jewel in the crown of their evening.

“Now, this is just a little something I cooked up,” she announced, placing the covered pie down on the table, “in honour of the Great Papyrus' many, many wonderful achievements and services to our kingdom! Though, I confess – such a fitting tribute would not have been possible without the help of your brother here.”

“Pretty sure it would have,” Sans shrugged off the compliment, but slipped his arm around her waist with an affectionate squeeze as he grinned up at her, both barely able to restrain their glee. “Tori just likes to pretend I can be helpful sometimes.”

Despite his modesty, Toriel knew without a doubt as she lifted the cover that her own hands could never have so skilfully crafted the extra special decoration that adorned the top of her usual recipe – or, for that matter, have elicited quite such a perfect reaction, as Papyrus' sockets bulged almost right out of his skull, hands pressed to his cheekbones as a wonderful, seemingly contradictory yet uniquely beautiful symphony of utter rage and unbridled joy played out across his face.

“Oh my god, Sans! Toriel! It's...You...I...”

“What's the matter, bro,” Sans asked innocently as he took his seat, “don't you like our Papierus?”

"Like it?! I...I love it! It's awful! And yet perfect!" Papyrus clutched at his skull in anguish, but it was a broad smile, as warm and dazzling as the sun, that broke out across his face – an even more satisfying sight to behold than his pastry likeness on top of the pie, as he cut carefully around his own image. “Quite an ingenious ruse, Your Majesty,” he conceded, around a mouthful of butterscotch and cinnamon, “even the Great Papyrus must admit – sometimes puns can be palatable, when presented in pie form!”

“Really?” Sans' voice was casual, but Toriel already recognised the sparkle in his sockets at being handed such a golden opportunity. “Well, that's all I kneaded to dough.”

Toriel burst out laughing, unconcerned about the crumbs spraying her dress – it was already liberally stained with spaghetti, anyway, and there were far more important things, like the pride in Sans' smile as he dropped the punchline before joining in with her laughter, or for that matter Papyrus' strangled groan as he shook his skull in despair at the two of them before speaking up again.

“Actually, Toriel – there's one more thing I forgot to give you.”

“Oh?” Toriel inclined her head in curiosity as she set her fork down, praying that it would not be more food – she didn't know if her poor stomach could survive another round. “How sweet – but there is no need, you really do not have to give me anythi–”

Before she could finish her sentence, Papyrus had already produced a sturdy contraption of wood and metal seemingly out of nowhere, presenting it to her with a flourish as she blinked in surprise. “Oh! It's a...”

“A shovel!” he beamed, enthusiastically if a touch unnecessarily. “I read it on the internet – it's a surface tradition!” He cleared his throat, as if reciting from memory. “When someone starts dating your close friend or family member, you're supposed to give them a 'shovel talk'. Except I'm...not really sure what I'm supposed to talk about,” he admitted with a shrug. “But anyway – now you have a shovel, just in case dating Sans ever gets too stressful and you need to go away and plant some flowers!”

“Ah...of course.” Toriel smiled, suppressing her laughter as she glanced slyly over at Sans, whose expression was somewhere between amused, bemused and perhaps even a touch offended. “What a lovely tradition, and a thoughtful gift! I shall treasure it – thank you, my dear Papyrus. As the children say...I dig it.”

She was unable to help herself, a snort escaping as Sans chuckled and Papyrus, for once, did not voice his displeasure as his left socket twitched a few times. “It's...going to be like this all the time now, isn't it?”

“'Fraid so, bro,” Sans replied with a shrug, his grin becoming just a little more bashful as he caught Toriel's eye and added, “I, uh...really hope so, anyway. Sorry about that."

"No, you're not." But Papyrus was undeniably smiling, fondly exasperated, a sentiment Toriel was coming to recognise all too well. “But I forgive you, because the Great Papyrus is nothing if not selfless. And...” His voice became quieter, more serious, glancing between Sans and Toriel as the sharp lines of his skull appeared to soften for a moment, “it's a small price to pay, to have my brother back. Sans, I used to...worry about you, you know, back in the Underground. I knew something was wrong, but I just didn't know how to...”

“Pap,” Sans interrupted, his voice catching on the single syllable as he laid a hand on his brother's arm; Toriel bit her lip, an ache in her chest at the rare glimpse of raw emotion that flashed across his face, just for a second, before he ducked his head, letting out a soft chuckle. “Don't you worry your great and powerful head about me, okay? I'm doing great.” Toriel knew he meant it, smile smaller but genuine when he glanced back up at her, then at Papyrus. “Never been better.”

“Thanks to her!” Papyrus reached out over his head and grabbed Toriel's hand, holding it in the air like a prize fighter. “Toriel! Despite your...equally questionable sense of humour, I'm honoured to pledge my loyalty to you both as former member of the Royal Guard and current mascot of monsterkind – but, mostly, as someone to share the considerable responsibility of looking out for my brother.”

"Oh!" Toriel found herself unexpectedly emotional at the sincerity of Papyrus' words, the warmth shining in his sockets – Sans was indeed lucky, as he had always said, to have such a cool guy looking out for him, and, as she squeezed his hand gratefully in return, Toriel knew that she was, too. “From the Great Papyrus himself, it is indeed an honour and a privilege. Rest assured, between the two of us, I trust we will not find the task so...punishing.”

“Okay, guys,” Sans interjected, evidently trying and failing to appear annoyed at this assessment of his character, “that's sweet and all, but seriously, what am I here? A skeledog?”

Toriel and Papyrus glanced at each other, a telepathic understanding passing between them, and without a word they reached out and grabbed him, each hooking an arm around his ribs to pull him up into a three-way hug. Sans let out a yelp of half surprise, half laughter as he was effortlessly lifted off the ground and firmly sandwiched between them, but Toriel knew he had no desire to escape even if they had any intention of letting him. Papyrus leaned in to bump his skull affectionately against his brother's as they clung together, and Toriel felt a surge of tenderness as she held onto both of them, at once familiar yet renewed – the need to nurture and protect, to preserve the love she felt so strongly in this moment, enveloping all three of them and warming her through to her soul.

“I know dinner didn't exactly go according to plan, guys, – but I gotta say, this has been really uplifting.”

“I could still drop you,” Papyrus threatened, but he was still smiling, as genuine as it was reluctant as Toriel giggled, leaning in to steal a quick nuzzle against Sans' cheekbone.

"I do not think he will.”

“I know,” Sans replied, running his fingers through the fur on the back of Toriel's neck while reaching out to pat Papyrus' skull with his other arm, somehow maintaining a perfect balance between the two – until he wobbled, almost bringing them all crashing down before they caught him, laughing, stronger together. "I think I got a pretty good thing going on here."

#30 day otp challenge #soriel #fanfiction #undertale fanfiction #it's BAAACK by unpopular demand!!#sorry this is so long and probably bad bc idek how to flowey #but at least it's posted and i can move on with my life #or something #my fic

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